The Boar and the Butterfly - Nibo89 (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Prologue

“My memory... hehe. King Robert Baratheon... murdered by a pig. Give me something for the pain, and let me die.”

What eloquent last words for a king. But Robert had never been an eloquent man. Not as a rowdy young man. Not as the leader of the Rebellion that put an end to the Targaryen Dynasty. Not as the first non-Targaryen ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He wasn’t about to turn into a damn poet on his deathbed.

But I’ll leave my legacy behind…oh, Seven f*cking Hells, who am I kidding?

What grand legacy had he left? Half a kingdom in debt to Tywin Lannister? Another half in debt to the Iron Bank? A queen who might spit on his corpse? A demon son who spent his youth butchering cats? Tommen and Myrcella were sweet natured, it’s true, but they were not his heirs. And now he, a once proud, powerful warrior, was dying a fat, drunken whor*monger who’d been killed while making an ass of himself, trying to hunt.

If anything, I left the realm worse than I found it. Even if I did rid the world of the Targaryens.

For all the good it did. It hadn’t stopped the nightmares.

In his dreams, he killed Rhaegar every damn night, but it was never enough. He could drive his war hammer into Rhaegar’s heart a thousand times and it would not soothe the aching, the longing, in his own. It would not bring his beloved Lyanna back to life. It would not chase the eternal grief from Ned’s eyes. Eyes that were once alight with youthful exuberance as they grew up together in the Vale.

I avenged her. I avenged her father and her brother. And yet ultimately I fought for nothing. It didn’t bring her back. It hasn’t even brought me comfort now, on my death bed. Grief that milk of the poppy could not swallow wrapped its tendrils around Robert’s heart, squeezing painfully, as it often did.

He would gladly trade the seventeen years he spent as King if only he could turn back the hands of time. He would protect Lyanna before Rhaegar could abscond with her. Or he would have rescued her in time. He would have warned Brandon and Rickard Stark to stay away from King’s Landing…

If I had half so much gold as I do wishes and regrets. I’d leave Joffrey an overflowing treasury.

At least he would not regret for much longer, not now as his vision grew hazy and black. Soon, it would all leave him. The grief and the sorrow would not follow him into death. But as the last whispers of consciousness faded from his dying mind, a single thought lingered on:

I’d trade everything to go back…

Chapter One

Robert

“My Lord!” the voice snapped Robert out of the blackness.

“CAN’T A MAN DIE IN PEACE!” he bellowed…then paused, blinking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. They echoed through the room, bounding off the damp walls, which had never happened in his royal bedchamber.

Where…He blinked again, looking around the room. Not his bedchamber. Somehow he was back in Storm’s End. Back in the Throne Room at Storm’s End, sitting in the throne. Free of pain, free of the haze of wine or milk of the poppy. He felt healthier than he had in years.

Am I dead? Is this my afterlife? He pinched his arm (an arm that was much slenderer and more muscular than he’d been in years) and grunted at the pain. Not dead…or wait…maybe that just tells me I’m not sleeping?

“Seven Hells…” he grumbled, until a cough caught his attention.

“My Lord, I’m sorry to disturb you…” a robed maester said hesitantly.

I’m not your lord, I’m your king! Robert scowled. He had no idea how he got to Storm’s End; the maesters must have saved him while he was high on milk of the poppy. But it didn’t matter. He was alive! He needed to get back to the Red Keep.

I have another chance! I have another chance to be a better king. To be the father that Joffrey needs, to groom him into a good future ruler before it’s too late. To maybe take Renly’s advice and set aside Cersei to marry Margaery Tyrell…

“Where is Renly?” Robert asked the maester. “If I’m here, surely he’s here too.”

The maester frowned. “Renly, my lord?”

Robert growled impatiently. “Yes, yes, Renly. Where is he? I need to speak with him.”

“My Lord…I’m deeply sorry. I’m unfamiliar with anyone by that name.”

Robert bared his teeth. Renly is the lord of this castle, you stupid twat…But before Robert could say that, a realization dawned on him.

The maester standing in front of him was not Maester Jurne, the one the Citadel assigned to attend to Renly. Nor was he an apprentice; he was getting old and he wore a lengthy chain. But as far as Robert knew, Jurne was healthy. Even if he wasn’t, surely the Citadel couldn’t have sent a replacement for him this quickly.

“Has Maester Jurne taken ill?” Robert asked confusedly, his speech slow.

The maester looked even more confused than Robert felt. “Maester Jurne?” he repeated. “I am not familiar with a Maester Jurne, my lord.”

Seven Hells…Was this man a maester at all? Unfamiliar with Renly Baratheon and Maester Jurne, despite being in Storm’s End?

“Lord Borros, are you feeling well?” the maester asked him worriedly. “You did just have a dizzy spell…”

“Borros?” he repeated.

Borros? Robert’s jaw dropped, and he stared at the Maester with wide eyes. The only Borros born into House Baratheon was my ancestor. No one else in our family was ever named Borros after his death almost 170 years ago. During the Dance of Dragons.

“Lord Borros, might I get you a cup of water?” the maester asked timidly. “There is a bit of a sickness going around the village, perhaps my lord is tired? I can examine you later, but our lookouts have just spotted Prince Aemond Targaryen, and…”

Targaryen, he snarled, making the maester flinch back away from him. Even though his confusion, the very name made his blood boil. But the Targaryens were dead, save for that banished Viserys had his whor* sister. Neither one of them should be on the way to Storm’s End. The only Targaryen Robert had willingly allowed to live after his rebellion was the shriveled maester from the Wall.

“What is Maester Aemon doing this far south!”

The maester stepped in close, examining his face and eyes for signs of fever. “I don’t believe Prince Aemond has chosen to join the maesters, my lord…” he said slowly, clearly questioning his sanity. “I can’t imagine he’d be willing to leave Vhagar behind.”

Aemond, not Aemon. But that was not the name that had Robert’s breath hitching in his throat. Vhagar. The monstrous she-dragon from Aegon’s Conquest. She had died during the Dance of Dragons, along with…

“Aemond.” Robert blinked, swallowing as bits of history began to return to him. “Aemond…One-Eye?” He was Prince Regent until he died in the Battle over the God’s Eye…

The maester, clearly relieved that Robert was cognizant again, nodded, but he did give him a chastising glance. “I do not believe he likes being called that, Lord Borros.”

You think I’m Borros Baratheon…you tell me Aemond One-Eye and Vhagar are on their way here…

Robert’s gaze flickered across Storm’s End’s throne room, and he realized that the maester was not the only one he didn’t recognize. These would be lords and ladies from the Stormlands, some of them his personal bannermen, and yet he didn’t remember a single one of them.

Swallowing, Robert asked him fearfully, “What year is this?”

“129 AC, my lord.”

No…that’s…that’s impossible…It was impossible that Robert was alive at all. The wounds inflicted by the boar were fatal; he knew that without question. But to be in Storm’s End, 170 years ago…

He must have died. He must be dead and this was his afterlife. One of the Seven Hells. Forced to live under the reign of the Targaryens. Punishment for not saving Lyanna…or for the hundred ways he mistreated Cersei over the years…or perhaps for not executing Tywin after what he had done to Rhaegar’s innocent children…

A Hell where I am lord of my beloved childhood home? No, that couldn’t be. If this were one of the Seven Hells, surely he’d be bound helpless to some wall while Rhaegar laughed and tortured him with dragonfire…

Sadly, Robert did not have time to muse.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to meet with him, my lord, even if you aren’t feeling well. If King Viserys sent his son here on dragonback, then it must be a matter of some urgency.”

I know why he’s coming, Robert realized immediately, his overwhelmed mind latching onto the memory. He knew this particular history well. He was never a scholar, but he loved all the histories of the great wars of the Seven Kingdoms. And there had been no war half so memorable as the Dance of Dragons. He’d read the books more than once in his youth. His sweet niece, Shireen, was enamored with the tales, regaling him with facts whenever she would accompany Stannis on his visits from Dragonstone.

In 129 AC, Aemond had flown to Storm’s End to secure Borros Baratheon’s loyalty to his brother, the freshly-crowned King Aegon II. And Lord Borros had agreed, in exchange for a marriage pact with one of his daughters. But it hadn’t mattered. King Aegon II managed to kill Rhaenyra, but his sons predeceased him and he died young with no heirs. House Targaryen continued through Rhaenyra’s line.

Straight down to the Mad King. To Rhaegar.

During the Rebellion, Robert occasionally wondered what might have happened if Aegon II prevailed. He was only half-Targaryen; his mother was a Hightower. The Hightowers went on to be a wealthy and prosperous family after the war, a well-respected bloodline. Margaery Tyrell herself was part Hightower. Surely the Targaryen madness that polluted Rhaenyra’s bloodline would have been less prevalent with Aegon’s.

Robert stiffened, sitting up a bit straighter in his throne. Aegon II ultimately lost the war…Robert realized. But that was because of mistakes he made. Mistakes that he could not have foreseen. But far better than foresight…is hindsight.

If there was a chance Robert hadn’t gone mad…if there was some slim chance that this was real and he had not been condemned to the Seven Hells…What if Robert could warn Aegon somehow? Stop him from making those mistakes? Give him a powerful advantage that Rhaenyra would not have?

Were the gods giving him a second chance? Not a chance to fix his own mistakes, but a chance to prevent the mistakes from ever happening in the first place?

If the royal line continues through Aegon II…then Rhaegar is never born. Brandon and Rickard never die. Ned does not have to live the rest of his life grieving most of his loved ones. Lyanna…Lyanna is never abducted. She never dies. Tens of thousands of people had died in the Dance of Dragons. Could Robert mitigate some of that damage?

If he could, it would come at a terrible price.

I would never be born, he realized. Robert himself was a distant descendant of Rhaenyra and Daemon. But other bloodlines of major Houses might not be affected all that much, if at all.

If Cregan Stark still ultimately marries his wife Lynara, if other Northern Houses and the right members of House Blackwood still survive, the Stark bloodline might be unaffected.

Perhaps Lyanna, the fierce beauty that she was, would go on to live a long and happy life. Surely she would still marry well. Have children. Her line continuing…

The thought of his beloved Lyanna marrying another man while he himself would never exist was near unbearable, but if it meant she would get to live? If it meant she could have children one day, a part of her living on after her death?

It’s worth it, he knew without question. She’s worth it. Even now, I love her so deeply I can scarcely bear it. I was willing to die for her back then. What was my life, my legacy, worth without her anyway?

And so Robert rose from the throne, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

“When Prince Aemond arrives…”

No sooner had he spoken than one of Storm’s End’s guards walked into the throne room.

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen!” he proclaimed.

As soon as he was announced, Aemond walked in, silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. True to his moniker, he only had one eye, an eyepatch covering his missing eye and massive scar. The sight of him, admittedly, rankled Robert. Aemond looked every bit the Targaryen prince he was, and the sight of a Targaryen triggered Robert’s rage.

Swallow it, he commanded himself. This is for Ned. For Lyanna.

“Prince Aemond,” Robert greeted warmly, forcing himself to remember his courtly decorum lessons. He’d been a crass king and hadn’t used them in many years. “You honor my family with your presence.”

Aemond returned his greeting with a polite nod, his expression grim. “Lord Borros, I wish I came bearing happier news.” He handed a piece of rolled parchment to one of the guards so he could bring it to Borros. “My father, King Viserys, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Roynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, passed away peacefully in his sleep.”

Robert forced himself to look grim. Not a hard task, not when he knew what was to come. He accepted the letter from the guard and unfurled it, reading the first line.

“And your brother, King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, has taken his rightful place on the Iron Throne?”

The throne room went silent, incredulous gazes fixed on him, and Robert cursed himself, realizing his blunder immediately. Lord Borros couldn’t read.

Oh well, no way to unring a warning bell.

Fortunately, Aemond didn’t question it. He needed Robert’s (or rather, Borros’s) assistance, and so he would try his best to charm him.

“Yes, my lord,” he confirmed. “And as you will see, I have come with an offer…”

“To marry one of my daughters in exchange for my assistance, should it be required,” Robert confirmed, skimming the letter.

Right, he had four daughters. The Four Storms. Robert looked to his right and saw four young teenaged girls watching him respectfully. f*ck…what were their names? One was…Calina? Cassandra? f*ck it, he could find out later.

Robert folded the letter and handed it to the maester so he could read it as well. This won’t change history at all. Aemond never married any of them anyway.

“My prince, I would be honored to allow you to choose whichever one of my daughters strikes your fancy, but it is unnecessary.”

Aemond frowned, a deep furrow collecting between his brows, and Robert realized his mistake. He thinks I’m refusing him.

“Aegon Targaryen is the firstborn son of King Viserys, and therefore he is the rightful King of Westeros,” Robert declared. “My fealty need not be bought. I will set sail for King’s Landing on the morrow so that I might swear obeisance to him in person.”

Aemond’s frown eased, and he blinked at Robert confusedly. “You will become his willing vassal?” Aemond confirmed. “Without a marriage pact?”

“The only thing I want in exchange is the honor of serving as an advisor on your brother’s council,” Robert said.

His advisor and his savior, Robert thought with a smile. The only thing I was ever good at was being a warrior. Being a commander.

“While I would be honored to have you as a son-in-law, my prince, it would be best if your brother arranges a more strategic match for you. Perhaps one with a House that is less eager to support His Grace’s claim over your half-sister’s,” Robert finished.

Aemond’s eye flashed in determination, and he gave Robert a fierce nod before smiling warmly. “It pleases me to know that my brother has such leal lords at his service. Yes, Lord Borros. If you come to King’s Landing on the morrow, I promise you a seat on my brother’s council as an advisor.”

And in exchange, I will give your brother and his progeny the Seven Kingdoms.

More memories of the war flittered through his brain. Right now, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was either in or headed towards the Vale to secure Lady Jeyne Arryn’s support. There was nothing Robert could do about that; Rhaenyra had Arryn blood. But after Jace left the Vale, he would head North to secure House Manderly, the Sistermen, and most importantly, Cregan Stark.

Cregan’s father Rickon Stark had sworn an oath to Rhaenyra, but that oath was not generational. Cregan only sided with Rhaenyra because he built a friendship with Jace and swore a new oath to him.

If we can stop that from happening…But he would have to move fast. There was little time.

“My prince,” Robert said. “The most important thing to do to ensure your brother’s ascension is peaceful is to get similar pledges from all the other great Lords before your half-sister has a chance to get to them. It is a long flight, but might I recommend your next flight be to White Harbor? Or better still, Winterfell? The North has a large army, and winter is coming. Should it come to war, you’ll want the northerners on your side. They know how to fight in the cold and snow far better than any southern army.”

“Winterfell…” Aemond repeated. “A wonderful idea, my Lord. I was going to return to King’s Landing to give the King your response, but if you are going yourself, he will have his answer.”

Excellent, Robert smiled and nodded. If I can keep Cregan Stark out of the war, or better yet, get him to side with the Greens, then Rhaenyra doesn’t have a chance. The Butcher’s Ball will never happen, Cregan’s army will not assist the Tully’s and the Arryn’s in fighting Aegon’s men, and Aegon himself will not be poisoned. A vitally important piece of the puzzle.

But before Robert could begin patting himself on the back…

“Another dragon rider, my lord!” a knight called out from the door. “I believe it is the dragon Arrax!”

f*ck…

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Robert

He’s only a child…Robert thought sadly as he studied Lucerys. The boy was around his son’s age, but Lucerys was far braver, standing firm even though he was clearly scared.

You won’t be brave for long, boy. Not when Vhagar comes for you…

If Robert allowed it, that was.

While Lucerys delivered Rhaenyra’s message (and while Aemond glared daggers at him), Robert’s mind swam. He could save Lucerys. He could forbid Aemond from chasing him down, or at least delay Aemond long enough to give Luke a chance to escape. He could save this innocent boy’s life. He was so young…

But I need to think like a battle commander, not a man with a bleeding heart, he knew, chest squeezing.

Passion was vital to a war, but not if it overpowered his common sense. Misplaced mercy could derail the most powerful of armies. Robert had been forced to harden his heart during the Rebellion, when many died under his leadership. Otherwise he never would have won the war.

I must put my sympathies aside and look at this like a warrior, Robert thought sadly, and so he took a few seconds to review everything he knew about the Dance to follow.

If Lucerys lived, the Blacks would have another dragon. The Sowing of the Seeds would likely still happen. The Blacks already had far more dragons than the Greens to begin with; another one might be the difference between victory and defeat. Worse, Rhaenyra, no longer suffering from grief, might be a more active participant in the war.

Saving Lucerys might prevent Blood and Cheese…but frankly, that was a very big ‘might’. Robert had read many tales of the legendary Rogue Prince, and he might have tried something equally sad*stic anyway. Robert had other ways of preventing Blood and Cheese, thus ensuring Aegon II’s succession. Saving Luke might also make Aemond angry with “Borros”, less likely to trust his advice. It might even make him question Robert’s loyalty.

A spark went off in his brain. A spark that, to his disgust, sounded an awful lot like a suggestion Cersei might make. If Luke dies and I handle it exactly the right way, I might be able to work it to the Green’s advantage.

Robert took no joy in his decision. In fact, it made his guts clench, churning like writhing snakes in his belly. But unfortunately, Lucerys would have to die, exactly has he had in the original timeline. Otherwise, it would make it far harder for Robert to help Aegon win the war.

I’m not killing him, Robert told himself. He was supposed to die anyway. I’m just not saving him.

“Go home, Pup,” Robert said, shaking his head in disgust. Disgust with himself, not Lucerys. “Your mother’s claim to the throne was forfeit the day King Aegon was born. Doubly forfeit when she gave birth to three obvious bastards.”

Hypocrite, he mocked himself. How many bastards did you have? Twenty? That you know of? In all fairness, he never tried to pass them off as trueborn. As much as he hated Cersei, his trueborn children with her were his heirs.

Lucerys sneered at him. “I shall take your answer to my mother. The Queen,” he spat at Robert before turning to leave.

You’re never going to see your mother again, Robert thought, his heart aching.

Still, Robert forced himself to remain hard as a stone through what happened next. Through Aemond asking for permission to hunt Luke down. Through the silver-haired prince running out of the castle to mount his own dragon. Through the roars that echoed through the skies above Storm’s End.

It had to be this way. It had to be this way…

Robert rose from the throne and bid the maester to follow him, speaking again only once he knew they had privacy.

“I will need you to write two letters,” Robert advised him. “One you will send to Prince Jacaerys in the Vale, one to Princess Rhaenyra. In both, you will express your sincerest condolences and explain to them that Prince Lucerys has passed…”

The maester gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. “My Lord, you don’t know that Vhagar…”

“Oh, spare me!” Robert grunted. “Vhagar is five times the size of Arrax, and you heard her roaring as well as I did! The boy’s as good as dead.”

But unlike Borros, Robert knew exactly how to best utilize that death.

He ordered his servants to pack his things and load them onto a docked ship, where he would set sail tomorrow morning for King’s Landing as soon as the storm had calmed. His men (whatever their names were) would retrieve Lucerys’s body tomorrow morning when it washed up on the shore, and it would be prepared with respect by the Silent Sisters, sent to Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. This way, she could have a proper funeral for him.

At least I can give her that, he consoled himself, though it was little comfort. In the original timeline, she didn’t get to give him a proper farewell, and Borros did not treat the boy’s remains with respect.

Jace, upon learning about his brother’s death, would likely return to Dragonstone for the funeral and to comfort his mother rather than going North right away. That would give Robert a bigger window to help the Greens get to the Northerners first.

Was it a cruel, heartless, manipulative move that would make Robert’s father-in-law proud? Yes. He was exploiting a mother and brother’s grief for war advantage, and he hated it. But if he did this right, it would not matter. Robert would cease to exist, and from his sacrifice, Lyanna would live, Ned would have his family intact, and Robert could possibly save tens of thousands of lives.

Luke’s life and Rhaenyra’s grief is not worth more than the lives of tens of thousands of smallfolk, Robert reasoned. Nonetheless, I won’t be sleeping tonight.

But that was all well and good, because he didn’t have time to sleep. He would need to spend the night with a map, sheets of paper, and a quill, writing down everything he knew about the Dance of Dragons. And coming up with the best possible strategy to ensure Aegon’s victory.

Aemond

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

The word echoed through Aemond’s mind, and he managed to turn just in time to vomit into the sky rather than onto Vhagar’s back.

Is that what they will call me? he thought, salty tears streaming down his face and mingling with the rainwater, acidic vomit burning the back of his throat. Aemond One-Eye? Aemond the Kinslayer? Is that to be my legacy?

It was an accident. I only wanted justice…

Six years ago on Driftmark, he’d been so certain that his father was going to give him that justice. Viserys was the King and Aemond was his secondborn son. Surely his father loved him. Surely his father would be horrified and demand that Luke be punished for slicing out his eye. That all of them would be punished for attacking him four on one after he claimed Vhagar. His father couldn’t give his eye back, but he could make Luke regret taking it…

Aemond would never forget how devastated, how powerless, he felt when Viserys made it abundantly clear that he didn’t give a sh*t about Aemond’s eye. That he was far angrier about Aemond calling Jace a name than he was about Aemond being mutilated for life.

Jace tormented me for years, father. You never cared about that. Why is it harmless fun for him to mock and humiliate me but not for me to insult him even once?

In one night, he both lost his eye and learned that his father didn’t love him. Aemond had carried the pain in his heart ever since, long after he wiped the tears from his remaining eye. Crying about it would do no good. Instead, he let himself dream about how he would get justice for himself one day. Himself and his mother, who fought so valiantly to avenge him, even when no one took her side.

Now that Aegon’s finally king…now that we’re the ones in power…I thought I finally had my chance…

And he had. Lord Borros hadn’t denied him that right. All Aemond wanted was an eye from Lucerys, to make them even after Luke took an eye from him. f*ck, Aemond might have been satisfied simply by making Lucerys sh*t himself, realizing the godlike power of Aemond and Vhagar. He didn’t want him dead.

Below him, Vhagar gave a sad roar as King’s Landing came into view, and Aemond reached down to give her a reassuring pat on the scales.

It’s not your fault, Vhagar, he assured her mentally, focusing his thoughts on how much he loved her. Arrax attacked you. You were only trying to protect me. You remembered how he hurt me six years ago. You knew he was our enemy…

After rinsing out his mouth a few times, Aemond drew a deep breath, closed his eye, and let the wind wash over his face. Let it wash away the tears, the horrifying image of Luke’s face when he realized he was about to die. Let it wash away the last traces of Aemond’s innocence.

I will not become a monster, he vowed, but Luke’s life will not be the last that I must take, and I need to accept that. We offered Rhaenyra fair terms. We were willing to counteroffer and negotiate with her. She refused. She never sent peace terms of her own. She began calling her banners rather than trying to enter peace talks. She chose to declare war rather than bend the knee. As Aegon said, what happens next is on her head.

Come what may, Aemond would serve as Aegon’s dragon knight. He would defend his family. No matter the cost.

And right now, part of that cost meant facing his mother.

He took his time landing Vhagar by the cliffs near King’s Landing so she could fly off to the cave she’d claimed as her nest. He climbed down more slowly than he usually would, removing several itchy dead scales from her flank on his way down, to which Vhagar let out an appreciative grumble. He lingered near her face, rubbing her affectionately and kissing her on the nose, reassuring her once again that he loved her and wasn’t angry with her.

But then Vhagar’s belly let out a rumble of hunger, and he knew it was time to let her go so she could hunt one of the whales that swam off the coast. Letting her be too hungry for too long was dangerous.

Don’t be a coward, he commanded himself, drawing himself to his full height and walking into the castle with a confident stride, even as his belly was churning with fear so intense he would have vomited again if there was anything left in his stomach. Fear that only sharpened when it took him awhile to find his family.

Twenty minutes later, he managed to track them down in the King’s private quarters, Aegon, Alicent, and Otto. They were arguing, and Aemond heard Sunfyre’s name come up. Perhaps his brother was making another argument about how he should tour the kingdoms to allow the people to gaze upon their new King.

Fortunately, Helaena was absent; his sweet sister didn’t need to fret about the consequences of what Aemond had just done.

“Aemond!” Alicent said as he walked in, her face brightening hopefully, forgetting whatever argument she was having with Aegon. But then her brow furrowed, worry clouding her eyes. “You’ve returned from Storm’s End so soon?”

Maybe there’s a way for me to soften the blow…

“Yes, mother, I have,” he declared, smiling softly. “Lord Borros agreed to fight for us. Quite loyally, I might add. He will set sail for King’s Landing tomorrow morning to bend the knee in person. He even said a marriage pact was unnecessary.”

Otto frowned, folding his arms. “You made it clear to him that we may be asking him to risk his men’s lives if it comes to war? For this, he wants no reward?”

“Not entirely,” Aemond conceded. “He wants to serve as an advisor to Aegon…”

Otto rolled his eyes while Alicent massaged her temples. “Lord Borros is an idiot,” she lamented. “He can’t even read!”

“Actually, mother, I think that was merely a cruel rumor,” Aemond corrected. “When I handed him our offer letter, he read it himself with no difficulty.”

“Hmm,” she conceded, sighing. “Even so, to have him as an advisor…”

“It’s of no consequence, Alicent,” Otto assured her, patting her affectionately on the shoulder. “Having him as an advisor does not mean we need to take his advice. We just need to listen politely while he makes it.” Brightening, he added, “And this means Aemond is free to forge a marriage pact with another House.”

Aegon snickered, flashing Aemond a smirk. “Relieved, brother? I heard the Four Storms weren’t much to look at.”

Aegon…Aemond sighed. True, he hadn’t been particularly looking forward to marrying one of Borros’s daughters, but they had Valyrian blood, and he’d be doing his duty to his House by forging a strong alliance. Whether or not they were attractive was of no consequence. “Will you act like an adult?” Aemond scoffed. “You’re a king!”

But Aegon only laughed. Idiot.

“Grandfather,” Aemond said, ignoring his brother. “Lord Borros actually had a similar idea of me marrying someone else to forge an alliance. He also strongly urged me to make my way North as quickly as possible.”

Otto nodded. “In due time,” he agreed. “I’m preparing letters to send to the Great Houses. Now that you are free to marry, I will have to weigh our options. I believe House Tully has an eligible young maiden…”

While he mused, Alicent studied Aemond’s face, her frown growing deeper and deeper until she stopped Otto by grabbing his sleeve.

“Aemond,” she said slowly. “This is excellent news. You’ve accomplished a great feat at no cost. Why don’t you look happier?”

f*ck.

He was silent for a second too long, and now all three of them were studying him, immediately suspicious.

“Aemond?” Otto pushed.

f*ck.

“Aemond, if there’s a problem with Lord Borros…”

“No,” he said slowly. “No, the problem isn’t with Lord Borros.”

Don’t be a coward, he commanded himself.

And so he swallowed his reluctance, straightened his spine, and told them the entire story, professionally and matter-of-factly, even as the look of horror on Alicent’s face grew stronger and stronger by the second.

“You only lost one eye!” Otto snarled, turning away from him and pacing the room. “How could you be so blind! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“Grandfather…”

“You’ve DESTROYED any chance we had of resolving this through negotiation!” he screamed, a string of spit escaping his mouth. “You’ve exposed us to retribution! You might have created SYMPATHIZERS for Rhaenyra! You might have cost us alliances!”

It was an accident…It was an accident…I would never intentionally hurt our faction…

But as much as his grandfather’s screaming hurt, it was nothing compared to Alicent.

SLAP! The cracking sound echoed through Aegon’s chamber, leaving Aemond’s cheek stinging and his eyes watering…and not solely from the pain.

“I gave birth to a kinslayer,” she whispered, sneering at him in disgust, tears collecting in her own eyes.

It took every ounce of self-control Aemond possessed not to burst into tears. It was an accident…please…it was an accident.

And then the screaming started, Alicent’s face turning red with rage.

“YOU’VE KILLED US ALL!” she bellowed, drawing back her hand to slap him again. “YOU’VE KILLED US ALL!”

But before the slap could connect with his face…

“Enough!” Aegon commanded, grabbing Aemond by the arm and tugging him backwards away from Alicent’s slap. Aemond blinked as Aegon stepped in front of him, becoming his shield. “Enough, mother. This is a good thing.”

“A good thing?” she cried. “A good thing!!! Lucerys is DEAD! Rhaenyra is going to be…”

“Furious,” Aegon finished. “Grieving. Despairing. Fearing the safety of her remaining children.”

Shouting wordlessly, Alicent drew back her hand to slap Aegon…

And Aegon seized her by the wrist before it could connect.

Aemond and Otto watched silently as Aegon gripped their mother’s wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make Alicent wince in pain. Aegon didn’t say a single word, but his eyes, sharp and cold, fired a thousand retorts at their mother.

You will never raise a hand to me again.

I will not suffer one more second of your abuse.

I’m not afraid of you anymore.

I am your King.

Aegon said none of that. Said nothing at all. But nonetheless, Alicent heard it. Every drop of rage faded from her face, and she began to sob, drawing back from Aegon and dropping into one of the silk-upholstered chairs.

“I offered my sister peace,” Aegon said, his voice deep and commanding. Sounding like…well, like a King. “I offered her Dragonstone, wealth, and privilege. I offered her children prestigious and prosperous futures. I was willing to negotiate. She refused. And now, thanks to Aemond, she knows she cannot declare war on me with impunity. With Lucerys’s death, she fully understands what she risks if she continues. If she wants to protect her remaining children, she will sue for peace. And we’ve weakened their military strength; they’re down a dragon.”

“The princess will not see it that way…your grace,” Otto said slowly, his face grim. “And neither will Daemon.”

Aegon’s eyes flashed. “If they do attack us, they do it from a place of anger and hurt, not from logic. Angry and hurt people make stupid choices. They make mistakes. Mistakes we can exploit. Perhaps enough to take the rest of them out of the war.”

Fixing one last glare at Alicent, Aegon stepped back and clapped his hand against Aemond’s shoulder. “My brother is a loyal dragon warrior, and we will celebrate this first victory with a feast in his honor.”

“Aegon…” their mother said weakly.

“And you will never refer to him as a kinslayer again. Lucerys Strong was not our kin. He is the bastard son of a traitor who is actively recruiting armies to harm us.”

Aemond’s heart swelled, the warm glow of his big brother’s protection washing over him. Aegon’s defending me, he thought. Defending me in a way our father never did. Perhaps because he’s genuinely pleased…but perhaps because he loves me.

“Thank you, brother,” Aemond whispered, smiling as Aegon patted him lovingly on the cheek.

“Leave me with him,” Aegon commanded to Otto and Alicent. “Aemond and I have much to discuss.”

A tearful Alicent needed no further prompting, fleeing the room with one last glare at Aemond, but Otto hesitated, glancing at Aegon worriedly, but ultimately, he obeyed, nodding politely and wishing him farewell with a soft, “Your grace.”

Aegon waited until they left and the door closed behind them before he sighed, clapping Aemond on the shoulder again. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Hurts?” he asked, though of courses, it did. His mother had never spoken to him that way. Had never looked at him that way. Aemond still had to dig his nails into the flesh of his hand to fight back the tears. But surely Aegon couldn’t see that…

“It used to hurt me too, when she looked at me like that,” Aegon said, guiding Aemond to sit on the couch while he poured both of them a cup of wine. His brother stared at the flowing Arbor Red, his gaze far away. “You think of me as a drunken wastrel,” he said, and Aemond didn’t correct him. “But I wonder if you’re old enough to remember that I wasn’t always that way.”

Aemond frowned as he accepted the cup of wine from Aegon, taking a small sip. He was like that before I claimed Vhagar…and I know he started drinking before his thirteenth nameday…

“Once upon a time, I was you, brother,” Aegon said sadly. “I tried so hard to be the perfect prince. I took all my lessons seriously. I memorized the histories. I dressed and behaved exactly as she wanted me to. She even let me be council cupbearer for a while after Rhaenyra outgrew the role. Back when I was eight. You were only five…”

Perhaps that’s why I don’t remember, Aemond thought, frowning. “I don’t understand…”

“It didn’t happen all at once,” Aegon continued. “It was a gradual thing. I would accidentally say the wrong year when reciting one of the histories, and she would slap me. I’d mistakenly use the fish fork during the meat course, and she would slap me. Even when I was perfect, it was never perfect enough, and she would slap me…” Wincing, he added, “Once, while I was cupbearer, I tripped and spilled a glass of wine on one of the lords, and….” He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that Aemond knew he was fighting back tears of his own.

“I never knew that,” Aemond whispered.

“I never told anyone,” Aegon admitted. “Eventually, I realized that nothing I ever did would be good enough to please her, so I just stopped trying. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how much it hurts when it’s still fresh.”

“She’s…” Aemond swallowed, taking a drink of his wine to wet his mouth. “She’s scared, Aegon. She’s been living in a constant state of terror for years, and she’s made mistakes…”

“I understand that now,” Aegon agreed, sighing as he sipped his wine. “I understand that if Rhaenyra took the throne, you, me, and Daeron all would have had ‘tragic accidents’ within the first year of her reign. Daemon certainly would have done it, even if Rhaenyra hadn’t. But even if she was acting out of fear, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

On that, we can agree, brother.

“I hate that I hurt her,” Aemond admitted. “Made her fear even worse. Mother was hoping your ascension would be bloodless. That neither our side nor Rhaenyra’s would lose people that we love. But now that little fantasy is over.”

“Bloodless,” Aegon muttered. “That was never going to happen.” He reached over and gently traced the edges of Aemond’s scar, before tugging off his patch so he could see it properly. “They shed first blood years ago. And they did it without a hint of remorse. No apology. No empathy for a mutilated child. No attempt at making amends. Rhaenyra even tried to have you tortured afterwards. How could mother think she would ever agree to a bloodless ascension?”

Butterflies danced in Aemond’s belly as Aegon stroked his face, all the care and worry of a loving big brother. Where were you years ago? he thought sadly.

“I’m glad that you are taking the war seriously, brother,” Aemond said, leaning into Aegon’s touch, even if it made his brother chuckle. “The only way we’re going go prevail is if we fight together.”

“Hmm,” Aegon agreed, fingers wandering from Aemond’s face and into his hair, gently scritching his nails against his scalp.

Oh, that feels wonderful…he thought, letting his eye flutter closed as he enjoyed the touch. Something he never would have done six years ago. But after Aemond lost his eye, he and Aegon came to something of a truce. His brother stopped bullying him, and sometimes, Aegon even tried to be nice. He would take Sunfyre up into the sky so that the two of them could fly their dragons together.

Aegon’s attempt to bring Aemond to a brothel when he was thirteen was a remarkable failure, but Aemond didn’t fault him for it because he knew it was well-intended. Aeg didn’t even tease him when he couldn’t work up the courage to touch or even talk to anyone. He just brought him back home and said they’d try again later, after…

After I had a few lessons.

As if hearing his thoughts, Aegon shifted, and Aemond’s eye snapped open as his brother climbed into his lap, stroking his face with both hands before slowly bringing their lips closer together.

Aemond didn’t hesitate, leaning forward to meet Aegon’s kiss.

Just another lesson, he told himself, closing his eye and focusing on the techniques Aegon taught him. The right pressure to use. How to work his tongue. How to hold Aegon by the hips, digging in his fingers. Just another lesson. Nothing more.

He’d had his first kissing lesson the night they left the brothel. It was nothing, really, Warm and chaste, Aegon’s lips softer than silk as they pressed against his. First kisses could be intimidating, Aegon had explained. It was best that Aemond practiced so that he would know what he was doing when he met a girl he really liked.

When Aemond was sixteen, Aegon decided it was time to actually teach him how to kiss, rather than just letting him get used to the feeling. The closeness. And Aemond had been an eager student.

I want to be able to please my future wife, he thought, holding Aegon tightly while he kissed him. I want to be a master kisser before I wed her…

Over the last two years, Aegon began giving him lessons in many things. How to kiss the neck and other erogenous zones to incite desire. How to be a courteous recipient while having his co*ck sucked (they took turns practicing that skill…it was only fair that he helped Aegon practice too). And most recently…

“I have oil here with me, brother,” Aegon gasped, breaking his kiss. “And I think you need another demonstration before I allow you to practice on me again.”

Aemond’s co*ck throbbed at the thought, hard and aching in his trousers, pressed right up against Aegon’s ass. Who knew there were so many different ways to f*ck someone? Rough. Tender. Aggressive. Sweet. Romantic. Passionate. Playful. Dominating. Aegon was teaching him all of them, both demonstrating them on him and letting Aemond practice. f*cking his brother wasn’t quite the same as it would be to eventually lie with a woman, but it was close enough. His body was warm and tight, the feeling so divine it left Aemond gasping for breath. He needed as much ‘practice’ and as many ‘demonstrations’ as possible, so he would be able to memorize the hundred different ways he could please his future wife.

And so Aemond gave no objection as Aegon tugged off Aemond’s shirt, and then his own. It used to make Aemond proud that he was more muscular than his elder brother, his torso and arms all well-cut muscles and hard ridges, but over the last two years, he’d come to appreciate Aegon’s form as well. The satin feel of his skin. How soft he was when Aemond held him. Even the tiny little bit of doughiness around his middle. Aegon wasn’t fat, not even close. In clothing, he looked almost slender. But the doughiness was there, and Aemond loved it. It made Aegon warmer and softer to cuddle…

A cuddling lesson, of course. Women liked to cuddle. Aemond needed to practice the right way to do it.

“My brave warrior,” Aegon praised, leaning in to kiss him again. “My dragon knight. You will enjoy this lesson.”

Aemond whined as Aegon slid out of his lap, but it was short lived. His brother grabbed him by the hand and lead him behind the privacy screen to his bed, urging him to lie down and make himself comfortable against the pillows.

“All you need do is watch and learn, sweet brother,” Aegon coaxed as he reached for the fastenings of his trousers, pulling them down to reveal his hard co*ck. “Let me teach you, and we will practice what you’ve learned later.”

Yes…teach me…I want to learn…

Aegon pressed a kiss against his neck, exactly in the spot that Aemond loved the most, and he could not help moaning at the feeling. Aegon chuckled, the vibrations shaking Aemond’s chest, and his brother decided to take his sweet time, kissing and sucking on Aemond’s neck until he panted, rutting his hips up against his brother’s naked torso, gasping at the slide of his co*ck against Aegon’s skin.

“Patience,” Aegon scolded him, nipping his ear sharply. “You follow my lead, little brother. You don’t want me to punish you again.”

Yes, I do…But Aemond shook his head. He was not meant to enjoy being punished, no matter how good it felt when Aegon bound his hands and feet, then rubbed his co*ck until he was almost ready to cum before stopping. Again and again and again, no matter how much Aemond apologized and begged for release.

Since it was his first and only time being punished, Aegon took pity on him and let him cum after only a half-hour. But the pity came with a dark warning. Next time, it would be a full hour. And if it happened a third time, it would be another full hour…and he wouldn’t be allowed to cum at all.

He himself had once ‘punished’ Aegon a similar way, and the beautiful way Aegon begged and moaned…

Lessons. Only lessons.

“Good boy,” Aegon praised him, rewarding him with a trail of kisses down his chest…and then his belly…

“Aegon…” he moaned as his brother took his co*ck in his mouth, trying so hard to remember his lessons on how to be a good recipient. Stroking his hair is fine; he likes it. No thrusting until he taps my hip to tell me it’s ok.

Aegon didn’t tap him, but Aemond felt not one whisper of disappointment. Not when Aegon reached for the oil bottle and slicked up his fingers, pressing one of them inside Aemond while he sucked his co*ck, relaxing him and distracting him from the strange foreign feeling of being invaded. A feeling that was always short-lived; it faded the minute Aegon crooked his fingers and pressed against that wonderful spot deep inside Aemond that made sparks of pleasure explode behind his eyes.

Women had a similar spot, or so Aegon had promised. Aemond would have to take him at his word. Though why the gods saw fit to give both women and men a spot inside of them that felt good when they got f*cked, Aemond would never understand.

Not that I would f*ck any man but Aegon, Aemond reasoned as he gasped, Aegon rubbing that spot with two fingers instead of one. It doesn’t count as f*cking when it’s a lesson. No more than my lessons with the sword count as combat experience.

At least that’s what he told himself when Aegon coated his own co*ck with oil, then gently pressed it inside of Aemond.

Once he was fully inside, massaging Aemond’s legs soothingly until his body relaxed and accommodated the new stretch, Aegon told him, “I’m showing you a new position today. You’re going to love it.”

I know I will.

Grabbing hold of Aemond’s legs, Aegon pushed them up until Aemond’s knees were practically touching his chin, moving slowly and massaging the muscle along the way so he wouldn’t cramp.

“Hold your ankles…yes, just like that,” he praised when Aemond grabbed them, leaving himself more exposed then he’d ever been. His cheeks flushed pink, and he looked away, until Aegon gently grabbed him by the chin and made him watch again.

“This position is great for when you wed,” Aegon explained, making eye contact the entire time as he began to thrust. “Because with a girl, it leaves her wide open so you can rub her cl*t while you f*ck her. Less of a perk for men, but…” He smiled, reaching his oily hand down to stroke Aemond’s co*ck. “I can still f*ck and please you at the same time.”

“Ah!” Aemond cried out, throwing his head back as Aegon’s co*ck brushed against that spot. The dual sensations of Aegon’s co*ck filling him and his slick, firm grip engulfing him had Aemond whimpering, unsure if he wanted to thrust forward into Aegon’s hand or back against his co*ck.

A lesson Aemond had not yet mastered was stamina, and today would not be the day he succeeded. Every thrust of Aegon’s co*ck, every stroke of his hand, drove Aemond deeper and deeper into madness. Aegon brushed his thumb along the slit of his weeping co*ck, and Aemond cried out so loud that he might have feared being overheard…if any part of him was still sane enough to give a sh*t.

“Ah! St…stamin…stamina lesson can, AH! wait…” Aegon assured him, grunting as his thrusts came deeper and faster. “Cum when, AH! when you…need…”

“f*ck!” Aemond cried out, thrusting back harder and driving Aegon’s co*ck in deeper. One more stroke. Two…five, and Aemond was screaming, white hot cum coating Aegon’s hand as the pleasure coursed through his veins. He never had a chance to be embarrassed at his lack of stamina, not when Aegon released his co*ck to grab hold of his hips, thrusting madly thrice more before coming himself with a gasp, his fingernails digging into Aemond’s flesh.

Don’t pull out just yet…Aemond hoped. It feels so good when you stay inside of me through the aftershocks…Yet another lesson Aemond would one day utilize.

To his delight, Aegon did linger inside until his panting slowed and his co*ck grew soft, just long enough for the last of Aemond’s aftershocks to fade. On shaky legs, his brother retrieved a few wet cloths, came back to quickly clean them both up, then slipped into the bed next to him, pulling him into his arms for their cuddling lesson. He even draped his leg over Aemond’s hip and scritched his fingers through his hair again.

“You’re getting good at this,” Aegon praised, kissing him sweetly on the forehead. “Soon, you’ll be the best lover in the Seven Kingdoms.”

The tiniest flicker of fear gripped Aemond’s heart, but Aegon was quick to reassure him, “After a few more months of lessons, of course. And even after you’ve mastered the art, it’s always a good idea to train…just to maintain your skill level, of course.”

“Of course,” Aemond agreed, ducking his head and snuggling in closer against Aegon’s chest. He let himself savor the closeness for a few minutes more before asking, “Surely, that’s why you practice with me? For Helaena’s sake?”

Aegon stiffened, and even though he didn’t pull away from the cuddle, the moment of closeness was over.

f*ck.

“Brother, I…”

“No, it’s alright,” Aegon assured him with a heavy sigh. “I’m trying, Aem…”

“I know.”

“Really, I am…”

“I know,” Aemond promised, stroking his hair.

Aegon sighed again, bringing a hand up to rub his temple. “It was so much easier back when she was just my sister. I hate that they forced me to marry her, and I know she hates it that they forced her to marry me.”

And you’ve taken out that resentment by completely ignoring her and leaving her all alone most days…

“She’s not like most women, Aem. When we were first married, I truly tried to get her to enjoy being with me, but she HATES me. She never let me touch her. She acts like I’m this vile monster every time I try. Even kissing. I couldn’t even hold her hand. She really wanted children, so she let me join her in bed a few times so I could get her pregnant, but she clearly hated every second of it, no matter what I tried. I had to get drunk just to force myself to do it.”

Aemond couldn’t argue there. Helaena didn’t like to be touched. Even with himself and Alicent, who only touched her in a loving, platonic way, like hugs, Helaena couldn’t stand it, shaking them off and flinching. Which might have been fine…if she had any partner but Aegon. In the past six years, Aemond had learned that nearly all of Aegon’s affection was expressed via touch, platonic or…not platonic. Rejecting his touch, to Aegon, meant rejecting his affection.

“That doesn’t mean she hates you, Aeg,” Aemond reasoned. “She’s very sweet, and she’s very affectionate. Just not physically.”

“Perhaps…” he agreed, gaze dropping. “I do care for her, you know. When Jace danced with her, I wanted to strangle him with his own intestines. I wouldn’t have felt that way if I didn’t care. And I felt bad after what she said about me…you know, during her toast.”

Aemond knew. The day Aegon was crowned, he’d given Helaena a gift as a thank you, both for being his Queen and the mother of his children. And to Helaena’s delight (and Alicent’s horror) it was a jewel-encrusted broach shaped like a spider. When he gave it to her, Aegon quietly made the promise to try to be a better husband and father, like his new Queen deserved.

“Why not try spending some time with her in the gardens?” Aemond suggested. “Now that Luke is…” Aemond’s throat constricted. “We might not have much peace time left. Best we take advantage of it.”

“The gardens…” Aegon agreed, nodding his head slowly. “Perhaps tomorrow before Lord Borros gets here. Winter will be here soon, but some of the flowers are still blooming.”

“She’ll love it,” Aemond encouraged. “And so will the children. You should spend some time with them anyway, especially Jaehaerys. He’s your heir.”

“My heir,” Aegon agreed, a smile spreading across his face. “The seventh king of the Seven Kingdoms. Born of my bloodline.”

“And perhaps he might like some more siblings?” Aemond proposed. “He has Jaehara and Maelor, but the more you have, Aeg, the better. Future dragon riders to build our empire.”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I said I was going to be a better husband and father. I’m not sure that includes joining Helaena in bed again. Neither one of us enjoyed it, and we already have three.”

We shall see, Aemond thought silently as Aegon pulled away from him to grab their clothes. Surely there’s some middle ground to be found. There’s no better way to ensure the success of your reign than by shoring up your succession.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra

I don’t want you to go to Harrenhal…Rhaenyra thought sadly as she watched Daemon donning his armor, admiring her husband’s body. Even now, she felt a girlish flutter in her belly as she gazed upon him, no different from the way she felt when she was fourteen. Back when Daemon would regale her with stories of his adventures. Oh, how she worshipped him then! Her strong, powerful Rogue Prince, a Targaryen dragon knight for the legends.

Much had changed since then. She left her childhood behind. Shared her bed with a few other lovers (one of whom she genuinely loved). Bore three children. Spent a great many years alone, fending off attacks from her once-friend. But with Daemon, nothing had changed, not even after six years of marriage. He was still her safety and her comfort. Her home.

Whatever disagreements they’d had over how to proceed, she wanted Daemon by her side now, during her darkest of days. Her body hurt fiercely. Her heart pained her more still, grieving both her father and her only daughter, her Visenya, born a month before her time, gone before she could draw a single breath.

Rhaenyra didn’t want to be in council meetings, planning a war while Daemon rallied her loyalists. She wanted to be curled up in bed with a steaming mug of tea, her husband’s arms wrapped around her while she rested her head on his chest. She wanted to mourn and shed her tears.

The Greens stole that from me as well, Rhaenyra thought bitterly, running her hands along her now-empty belly, still grieving that she no longer felt Visenya’s little kicks. I should be relaxing in my royal suite at the Red Keep while I finish my pregnancy, a newly-crowned queen. But they stole my birthright. They stole my privilege of mourning my father. They stole my daughter…surely she would have been born on time, perfectly healthy, had it not been for them. And now they’ve even stolen the comfort I would have received from Daemon.

All so her undeserving brother, a lazy, drunken whor*monger, could have a throne that he didn’t even want.

Daemon strapped on the last of his armor, then looked up at Rhaenyra, his expression softening when he saw her face.

“If you want a chance at resolving this peacefully, I have to go,” he said, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Unless you’d prefer doing it my way, having all their heads mounted on spikes within the fortnight…”

“No,” she said, though she knew Daemon didn’t believe her. Her Rogue Prince knew her too well for that.

What she wanted was to execute Otto Hightower. Surely, he had been the puppeteer behind all of this, the vulture perched atop her father’s throne for so many years. She wanted to strip Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron of their titles and their dragons, banishing back to Oldtown with the rest of their Hightower kin. And Alicent…

For Alicent, Rhaenyra wasn’t certain. Even now, Rhaenyra still dearly loved her once friend, but she also despised the stepmother who’d made her life a living hell for ten long years. But there was no way to spare her friend and execute her stepmother. So Rhaenyra was at a loss as to what she wanted.

However, she was no longer a princess. She was a Queen. A Queen who had no wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone. A Queen who wanted to spare as many innocent lives as possible. And so she would not be getting what she wanted. She needed to offer peace terms to the Greens.

As for what those peace terms would be? She and her Council had yet to decide what would be fair, reasonable, or even possible.

Daemon co*cked his head as he studied her. “I still what you truly want is fair. Fairer than my suggestion. We allow all of them to leave and go back to Oldtown unharmed. By ship. After leaving their dragons behind.”

She shook her head. “They would never take it, Daemon. We need to offer them tangible terms.”

And how much she had to give them would depend entirely on how much support she could reasonably rely on.

If she had a fair amount of support and it looked likely she would win a war? She would go with Bartimos Celtigar’s suggestion: A quiet country estate in the Crownlands for them to share. If it looked like she wouldn’t, she would go with Corlys’s suggestion: letting them have Dragonstone, exactly as they had offered to her.

As for their dragons…again, it would depend on the amount of support she could rely on.

“Then I need to go,” he said, leaning in to press a sweet kiss against her lips, until a tapping on their bedchamber door made him pull away with a scowl.

“I told everyone we were not to be disturbed!” he spat, charging towards the door like an angry dragon, yanking it open to glower at the servant. “WHAT?”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra started to rebuke him, until she saw the servant’s eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks still wet with tears. “Jenny, what is it?” Rhaenyra said, pushing forward and elbowing Daemon out of the way. “What’s happened?”

“Y-Your Grace,” she choked, more tears flowing as she held up a rolled letter with a shaky hand. “A m-m-messenger has just arrived from Storm’s End by sh-sh-ship.”

A messenger? But Luke should be at Storm’s End now. Why would he send back a messenger rather than returning by dragon? But as she went to take the letter from Massie, the servant’s hand tightened.

“Your Grace, the messenger…” she said. “He delivered…he delivered…”

“Delivered what?” Daemon snapped, grabbing Massie by the shoulders and shaking her. “Delivered what?”

“The body…”

********

Rhaenyra thought she understood grief.

She’d watched her mother grieve her unborn children. She herself grieved Aemma and her newborn brother, Baelon. She grieved her father growing distant with her after Aemma’s death. She grieved the loss of Alicent’s friendship. She grieved for Harwin. She still grieved Viserys, and Visenya.

And yet until the moment she saw Lucerys’s body delivered to Dragonstone’s throne room, wrapped up in the linens of the Silent Sisters, she had no idea what grief truly was.

Her boy. Her wonderful, sweet, funny, kindhearted boy…her secondborn son…Dead.

She collapsed to the stone floor, grabbing her hair and screaming like a wounded animal as Daemon ordered everyone out of the room and held her. As she punched her hands bloody against the floor. As she clawed her face and screamed, screamed, screamed her throat raw.

He’s gone… Tears streamed from her eyes, and she sobbed so hard she couldn’t draw breath. He’s gone…

Daemon picked her up and carried her to their bedchamber, holding her and wrapping her in blankets, but it made not a damn bit of difference. Not until the maester came in with a vial and Daemon forced her to drink it. She had no idea what it was, nor did she care, even as the edges of her vision faded to black and she collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she woke up a full twelve hours later, a warm hand gripped hers tightly. A hand not calloused enough to be Daemon’s.

Who…

She struggled with her heavy eyelids for only a moment, cracking them open to see Jace sitting by her bedside, his eyes red and swollen, handsome face streaked with tears.

“Mother…” he said weakly, his voice cracking, sounding far younger than he truly was. “Luke…”

No… She sat up in bed, grabbing hold of him and pulling him close, crying into his shoulder and letting him cry into hers.

“I found out by raven…” Jace sobbed. “I was in the Vale, and Lord Borros sent a raven to me…”

“Borros?” Daemon asked him sharply, and Rhaenyra looked up to see her husband standing in the corner of the room, arms folded. “How did Borros Baratheon know you were in the Vale?”

Jace pulled away from Rhaenyra, wiping the tears from his eyes as he answered. “I don’t know…spies maybe?”

Daemon shook his head. “There’s no way spies could trade ravens that quickly.”

“It doesn’t matter, Daemon!” Rhaenyra said weakly, rubbing the tears from her own eyes. “Luke is dead…”

“It matters because we need to know how he died,” Daemon said, stepping in closer. “Sending a letter to the Vale makes no sense.”

Rhaenyra hadn’t read Borros’s letter herself, too distraught by the sight of her son’s body. Even now, she only half-listened as Daemon told her what they said.

Both letters were very similar. Borros explained that as soon as Lucerys arrived, he refused his request, but he had offered to allow Luke to spend the night. Luke declined, not wanting to spend a night under the same roof as Aemond, and he elected to fly back to Dragonstone. The powerful storm overwhelmed tiny Arrax, and both he and Luke crashed into the sea. His body washed up on the shores early the next morning.

“I examined his preserved body,” Daemon explained. “Or what was left of it, anyway. And it’s impossible to tell whether or not the damage was caused by the rocks on Shipbreaker Bay…”

Rhaenyra went stiff. “You touched his body?” she said, her voice hollow. “The Silent Sisters wrapped him!” They treated him with respect…

“Because Borros’s story doesn’t make sense!” Daemon snapped, picking up the letter and dropping it on Rhaenyra’s lap as he turned to Jace. “You got back here hours after we got the news. That means Borros sent a raven to you at the same time he sent his ship messenger to us to deliver the body.”

The body…Rhaenyra choked.

“But you would have only been at the Eyrie for a few hours at that point. Even if Borros has spies in the Eyrie, which in and of itself is suspicious, that’s not enough time for them to tell him. The only way Borros could have known you were in the Eyrie that quickly is if he has spies here, on Dragonstone, who alerted him before you left.”

Spies? Had one of Rhaenyra’s inner circle betrayed her? But who? And why? Rhaenyra didn’t know what unsettled her more, the idea that she’d been betrayed, or the fact that it didn’t surprise her. Not after the Greens usurped my throne.

“And that same person would have alerted Borros that Luke was coming to Storm’s End,” Daemon finished dramatically.

Jace furrowed his brow, still rubbing at his swollen eyes. “So Borros knew that Luke would be there…but Daemon, I don’t understand. Why does it matter? Arrax was a very young dragon, and…”

“And Luke was a fearful flier,” Daemon said. “If Luke was offered guest right, I’m inclined to believe he would have stayed. So either Borros is lying about offering him guest right, or Aemond threatened him…” Eyes flashing, he added, “Or he was murdered.”

Murdered…Rhaenyra’s hand flew up to cover her face. Murdered? Her baby boy? An innocent fourteen-year-old who arrived only as a messenger?

No, surely not. It couldn’t be…But now that the words were out of Daemon’s mouth, the nagging possibility would never leave Rhaenyra at peace. She had to know. She had to know the entire story about what happened.

I need to know why he’s not here anymore…

“Jace,” Daemon said. “I don’t suppose you were in the Vale long enough to ensure Lady Jeyne’s support?”

He shook his head. “I left the minute I got the raven. She told me she’d be willing to negotiate with me after…” He swallowed. “After I came home…for the funeral…”

“Good,” Daemon said. “That will give you some time then.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to find whoever is selling our secrets,” Daemon said, sitting down on the edge of Rhaenyra’s bed and grabbing her hand. “We have to assume the Greens know everything that we’ve discussed in our Council meetings.”

Jace’s eyes widened. “Then that means…”

“That means I need to leave for Harrenhal now,” Daemon said, grabbing his helm. “We only just make the plans, so the Greens wouldn’t have had the chance to set up a trap for me yet. Jace, take two weeks before you return to the Vale. Investigate. See what you can uncover. Read every letter that leaves the rookery.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra stopped him, gripping his sleeve. “Leave for Harrenhal tomorrow.”

“Rhaenyra…”

“Today,” she finished, talking over him. “You and I will fly to Storm’s End. To talk to Lord Borros, or to interview the villagers, or to…or to search the coast. I need to know…” She swallowed. “I need to know what happened to my son.”

Robert

King’s Landing looked different. The Great Sept of Baelor had not yet been built (and with luck, never would be). The Dragonpit was still imposing and magnificent, rather than a crumbling relic. But the Red Keep? That was the same. Or at least, it was the same as it was before Robert took over and removed every scrap of dragon heraldry.

I’ll have to bear the dragon sigils, he reasoned as his carriage took him past the Red Keep’s gates. As I have to bear what I’m about to do.

He just had to remember that he was not helping the Targaryens; he was changing the course of history. He was doing it for Lyanna. For Ned. For every life the Mad King destroyed. A Mad King who would never be born if Aegon II’s line prevailed, his Targaryen blood tempered by the blood of House Hightower.

And so when he arrived at the entrance and he was formally announced and granted permission to enter, Robert walked into the throne room with his head held high, gaze fixed on the Iron Throne and the silver-haired young man sitting upon it, wearing the Valyrian steel crown of Aegon the Conqueror.

For Lyanna, he thought. For Ned.

His love for them gave him the strength to do what he swore he would never do, sink to one knee, kneeling before a Targaryen king.

“I, Borros of House Baratheon,” Robert started, “swear fealty to King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, rightful king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

As the throne room watched, Robert completed his oath, then accepted Aegon’s command to rise.

“You honor both me and my House, Lord Borros,” Aegon said, nodding respectfully. “And it pleases me that House Baratheon continues to keep the faith with House Targaryen. As it has for over a hundred years…”

As it always would have done, if your sister’s great-whatever grandson wasn’t a madman who fathered a rapist.

“As my brother promised,” Aegon continued. “I offer you a seat on my Small Council as a trusted advisor.”

Robert bowed his head. “And as I promised, Your Grace, the might of the Stormlands is behind you. Come what may.”

Or perhaps it won’t. Not if I can prevent it…

***********

Preventing the war, however, would only work if he could get Aegon to listen to him. And later that evening, he was not off to a good start.

Robert had always loved a good feast. He’d certainly thrown plenty during his tenure as King. But while this feast did feature many of Robert’s favorite foods (and a few that he hadn’t seen before; likely having fallen out of style in the coming 170 years), Robert couldn’t enjoy any of them.

Perhaps that’s for the best, he thought self-deprecatingly. Borros’s body was not as powerful as Robert’s had been in his prime (back when his strength was damn near godlike), but he was still a powerfully built man, muscular and strong. Robert didn’t want to destroy Borros’s body the way he had destroyed his own, with wine and gluttony.

It will be easy. I have a war to distract me.

Unlike in the original timeline, Daemon and Rhaenyra did not yet know that it was Aemond who killed Lucerys. Robert told them it was an accident, and because he treated the body with respect and gave Rhaenyra his sincerest condolences, she did not yet have evidence that he was lying. Regardless, if they found out the Greens were celebrating Lucerys’s death, it wouldn’t matter who killed him. They would still be blind with rage.

Daemon would still send Blood and Cheese.

Robert’s attempt to get Aegon to cancel the feast had failed. He’d tried making the argument that Aegon should save a celebration feast until after his first victory on the battlefield. He tried (delicately) suggesting that the rest of the kingdom may think it in poor taste to celebrate the death of his own nephew. He even tried pointing out that he tried to cover up the death by framing it as a tragic accident caused by the storm; celebrating it might undo his work.

To Robert’s surprise, both Otto and Alicent Hightower enthusiastically took his side, advising Aegon to listen to his newest council member. But unfortunately, the young king dug his heels in.

“It’s not about celebrating Luke’s death,” Aegon explained. “It’s about showing that I support my brother.”

As a small victory, Aegon did relent and agreed to adjust his welcome speech. Instead, he announced they were celebrating Aemond’s victory in bringing the Stormlands under the reign of the rightful monarch. And, at Robert’s urging, he even added a somber toast to Lucerys:

“While I maintain that Lucerys was no true Targaryen, I am sorry to hear that his mother’s treason lead to his death,” Aegon announced. “It was my wish that my half-sister and her family would peacefully bend the knee and accept my succession so that we might move forward as a united House. And they still have that option! Even now, I am still amenable to peace! My offer to Princess Rhaenyra still stands, and if I am fortunate, Lucerys will be the first, last, and only one to die.”

At that, Aegon raised his cup and encouraged everyone in attendance to drink to Lucerys.

Good, Robert nodded as he sipped his own wine. At least that went better than it did in the original timeline.

“Well done, Lord Borros,” a voice whispered from over his shoulder, and he turned to see Otto Hightower taking the seat next to him.

Robert nodded respectfully. “My Lord Hand.”

Robert would be relying on Otto quite heavily in the coming months, utilizing assessments that Stannis, Jon Arryn, and Littlefinger had made throughout the years. Otto had been far from the perfect wartime hand. His approach had been too cautious, acting too slowly. But Otto had been an excellent politician. Without him, the Greens would not have had the Triarchy’s support.

If I can urge Otto to take a slightly more aggressive approach, there’s a chance Aegon won’t get impatient and replace him…and that could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

“The King’s speech was perfect,” Otto praised coolly. “Respectful to Lucerys, but at the same time, supportive of Aemond, because he transferred the blame to Rhaenyra. You have my gratitude for helping him write it…” Otto’s gaze flickered over his shoulder, then he lowered his voice. “And for ensuring that the princess knows her son’s death was an unfortunate accident. Caused by the storm.”

“Hmm,” Robert grunted, nodding. “Helps too, that you told him to add that his sister can still turn back at any time and accept peace. Makes her look doubly bad for not accepting while the King is being gracious. Did she ever send terms of her own?”

Robert already knew the answer. She hadn’t. Stannis, her greatest critic, had lambasted her for it whenever the topic came up:

“One of the many ways she fired an arrow into her own foot,” Stannis would say. “Aegon offered tangible peace terms; she never did. The best she did was promise not to kill her brother if he knelt and begged her forgiveness. That’s not how you avoid a war. That’s what you do if you want a war! Aegon II never even wanted the throne! If she actually offered him something, he might have taken it. One of the thousand reasons she would have been a sh*t queen.”

“No, she never did,” Otto confirmed. “Not that I expected her to. Not after she married Daemon. The Princess never had a keen political mind to begin with, and now with Daemon whispering in her ear?” Otto shivered. “I’m astonished they haven’t tried to attack us with Dragonfire yet. If they knew Vhagar was out of the city, they might have.”

Robert smiled. Thank you for the perfect lead-in…

“But Vhagar isn’t the only dragon on our side,” Robert said. “We still have three other adults, do we not?”

Otto hesitated. “Tessarion will be here soon; she’s guarding the host arriving from Oldtown. But as of right now, aside from Vhagar, we can only reasonably rely on Sunfyre.”

Robert frowned. “But doesn’t the Queen have a dragon as well? The mother dragon…what’s her name?”

“Dreamfyre,” Otto confirmed, shaking his head. “But Queen Helaena is no dragon knight. Dreamfyre remains in the Dragonpit.”

Where she would remain all throughout the war, because Helaena was traumatized by Blood and Cheese. But if Robert could stop that from happening…

“But the Blacks don’t need to know that,” Robert conceded. “Perhaps if the King and Queen would be seen patrolling the city, it might serve as a deterrent. Dreamfyre was Queen Rhaena’s dragon, so she’s over a hundred years old, isn’t she? She’s got to be massive…”

Otto considered it thoughtfully. “Queen Helaena does talk about wanting to take Dreamfyre for more flights…” he mumbled. “And I suppose if she’s just circling the city a few times as a deterrent…”

“Or, Gods forbid, if the Rogue Prince really is as unhinged as you claim, my Lord Hand, perhaps having Dreamfyre nearby could serve as an escape route to get the Queen and her children to safety,” Robert added.

And there it was: a dart of fear in Otto’s eye. Robert had him.

“That…is an excellent point, Lord Borros,” Otto conceded. “Vhagar is too large for the Pit, so she nests near the cliffs…perhaps it would be best to keep all of the dragons there until this matter is settled. So they’re more easily accessible.”

Robert gave a grim nod, but inside, he was cheering. Dreamfyre was the Greens’ second biggest dragon. The fact that she hadn’t been utilized in the war was an appalling waste of resources. It would be hard to get Otto and Alicent to agree to let her do much, but Robert could work more on that later. For now, having Helaena circle the city every so often as a deterrent would be better than nothing.

And keeping Dreamfyre out of the dragon pit might save Prince Maelor’s life if Robert failed and King’s Landing still fell.

But a vitally important thing Robert had to do was prevent Blood and Cheese. If he could spare Helaena from that trauma, she would never sink into her despair, unable to fight in the war.

Otto smiled. “You may have a keener political mind than I was led to believe, Lord Borros.”

Whatever gets you to listen to me. Because it’s about to get worse. Far worse…

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra

Syrax’s mournful cry echoed through Shipbreaker Bay, a heartbreaking sound that had fresh tears prickling in Rhaenyra’s eyes.

Did dragons grieve their children as humans did? After all, Rhaenyra was not the only one to lose a son. Arrax had hatched from one of Syrax’s eggs, yet another bond she had shared with Lucerys. Or did her beloved Syrax simply sense her own grief, sharing it through their bond?

I’m sorry, Syrax, Rhaenyra thought despondently as she rubbed her dragon’s yellow scales. I wish I could heal your grief, just as I wish I could heal my own.

But alas, her and Daemon’s trip to Shipbreaker Bay had not brought her even one step closer.

She wanted to do the investigation herself. Lucerys was her son and she could not bear to let anyone but Daemon help her. And so for the past three days, they had been conducting interviews with everyone from Storm’s End’s castellan (who met with them only after they agreed to an official parlay) to pole fisherman on the beach. And to her dismay, just about everyone had a different story.

No one within the castle told a different version than the one given to her by Lord Borros in his letter, but that meant little. Lord Borros might have commanded them to follow his lead.

Half the villagers had been unable to see anything because of the storm. The other half were split; some of them swearing they saw Vhagar and Arrax in the sky at the same time, the other half swearing that Vhagar had remained at he castle while Arrax flew away.

Some of Shipbreaker Bay’s fishermen (who’d been docked to weather the storm) swore they saw Arrax crashing into one of the Bay’s rock formations. Others swore that it was simply impossible to tell.

One vagrant swore up and down that he saw Vhagar chase after Arrax and attack him…but that man’s credibility was highly suspect because he reeked of rum, and when Daemon asked him for his own name, it took him more than a minute to remember what it was.

Worse, Daemon received a raven from one of his spies in King’s Landing, and they learned that Aegon had thrown a feast to celebrate the new union with Borros. Her usually-despicable younger brother had actually delivered a respectful toast in honor of Lucerys. As though he was genuinely unhappy that their succession conflict had resulted in bloodshed.

Perhaps the Greens truly do want this to end peacefully, as Otto said…

“I don’t know what to think, Daemon,” she had lamented to him while they reconvened privately before mounting their dragons to return to Dragonstone. “Did Aemond kill Lucerys, or did he crash into a rock formation?” She brought a shaky hand up to brush back a few loose strands of hair that escaped her braid. “It was so dark and so stormy…I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth of it. The Green’s attitude suggests that Aemond is innocent…”

“Innocent,” Daemon spat, fire blazing in his purple eyes. “Innocent of being a kinslayer? Maybe. Maybe not. But not a single godsdamn f*cking one of them is innocent. Lucerys’s blood is on their hands.”

“We don’t know that…”

“We do know it!” he snapped, teeth bared. “They stole your throne! Your birthright! Lucerys never would have been in that f*cking storm in the first place if not for the f*cking Greens! He would be in the Red Keep, or on Driftmark learning from Corlys. It makes not a damn bit of difference if Aemond killed him or not; they’re the reason he’s dead!”

She said nothing, her hands wrapping protectively around her belly. A belly that had not yet healed after Visenya’s death.

Two babies, she mourned, biting back a fresh wave of tears. Two of my babies that would be here with me, in my arms right now, if my brother had not stolen my throne…

“And they will answer for it,” Daemon finished darkly, a look of pure, undisguised hatred in his eyes. “Deliberate or not, it makes no difference. They will answer for it, and they will learn what it is to lose a child.”

She shook her head. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice cracking. “I want to see Jace. I want to see what he’s uncovered and find out if there really is a spy in our midst. I want to continue as we’ve been: assembling our support. If we strike back at them, Daemon, we destroy any chance we have of peace…and make ourselves look like monsters in the process.”

She thought the matter settled as she turned from Daemon to get back onto Syrax and make the flight home to Dragonstone. She thought Daemon would make his way to Harrenhal, as they planned, and he would continue planning the war as they had discussed.

It never crossed her mind that her husband, her dragon knight, the man who bent the knee to her and called her Queen, would disobey her.

Aemond

Helaena’s cry of pure joy pierced through the sky as she and Dreamfyre flew in perfect formation with Aegon and Sunfyre, the wind whipping through her silver hair, her eyes bright. The sight of his beloved sister so happy brought a smile to Aemond’s face as he flew in formation behind his King and Queen, their watchful protector as they circled their city.

This was a brilliant idea that Lord Borros had…Aemond thought, laughing as Helaena let out another whoop of joy. The three of them had been flying together for the last three days, and he couldn’t remember the last time he saw Helaena enjoying herself this much.

She was a far better flyer than Aemond remembered. Dreamfyre was massive, about half Vhagar’s size, but Helaena only needed to use light taps with the whip to direct her, the mother dragon sensitive to Helaena’s commands, as if they flew every day instead of once in a blue moon.

Though of course, Aegon bested both Helaena and himself as a flier. He carried no whip at all, no reins, and seldom gave Sunfyre verbal commands. And yet the beautiful golden dragon seemed to know exactly what Aegon wanted him to do. As if he were somehow able to obey Aegon’s thoughts.

Surely not, Aemond dismissed as his brother brought Sunfyre into a descent, heading for the edge of the cliffs by the Keep, where their guards were waiting to take them back to the castle. Sunfyre is already the most beautiful dragon who ever lived.

As if they practiced, Aegon landed first, then Helaena in her rightful position by his side, then Aemond and Vhagar, taking their place behind. And, to Aemond’s delight, as soon as Aegon dismounted his own dragon, he hesitated only a moment before making his way to Dreamfyre’s flank so he could help Helaena as well, offering a hand and gripping her waist supportively as she climbed down.

The sight made Aemond smile. Aegon needed to be reminded to do it on their first group flight, but yesterday and today, he did it without being told. It was the perfect compromise, and Aemond prided himself for thinking of it. Aegon got to express his affection via touch, the way he liked, but the touch was for a valid reason that benefitted Helaena, and so she wasn’t adverse to it.

“You’re an excellent flier,” Aegon complimented her, a bit awkwardly. “And the, um, the new flying suit looks lovely on you.”

Painfully awkward as it was, the compliment made her smile.

“Thank you,” she said, gently touching the edges of her new flying outfit. “And thank you for ordering it made for me.”

Helaena hadn’t flown in years, not since before she got pregnant with Maelor, and her old flying clothes were ill-fitting, tailored for a much younger woman, not the beautiful Queen she’d grown into. Alicent had ordered new ones made for her in a lovely shade of emerald green, but Aemond saw the look of disappointment on Helaena’s face in time to give Aegon a warning.

When Aegon prompted her, she timidly admitted that she would prefer ones in sky blue and silver, the same color as Dreamfyre’s scales. And, in keeping with his promise to be a better husband, Aegon ordered the seamstress to follow Helaena’s preference instead. A wise decision. Helaena loved the new clothes, and the color was absolutely beautiful on her.

But just when Aegon was about to say something else, Helaena’s eyes grew wide with delight, she dropped into a crouch, then stood back up…with the biggest, hairiest spider Aemond had ever seen resting in her palm.

He gave his brother credit. Aegon flinched back in disgust, and Aemond almost had to give him a nudge to remind him of their earlier conversation.

Remember, Aegon? This is her way of trying to connect with you. She’s trying to share something that she loves with you. You don’t have to touch the insects if they disgust you, but indulge her. It’ll make her happy and show her you care.

Clearly, Aegon did remember their conversation, because he swallowed whatever it was he originally intended to say.

“It’s…fascinating?” he complimented, brow still furrowed as he watched the creature crawl up Helaena’s arm.

“Not venomous,” she promised. “They eat those horrid little flies that like to get in through the windows. I can make a nice home for him on the windowsill. He’ll eat like a spider king!”

Aegon’s brow eased. “Oh…” he said, sounding more genuine this time. “I suppose I do hate those little flies…”

“I’d like to get more for the children’s rooms. Those flies distress Jaehaera,” Helaena added, gently stroking the spider’s back, her shoulders drooping.

“Helaena?” Aemond probed, stepping forward. “Sister, what is it?”

“I’ve been having…” She blushed, averting her eyes. “Dreams…”

Thankfully, Aegon did not roll his eyes, as Aemond warned him not to. He spent far more time with their sister than Aegon did, and sometimes, Helaena had the most uncanny way of knowing what was about to happen. The problem was that the way she communicated her Dreams was often a bit hard for anyone but her to decipher.

Hard as they were to decipher, she was seldom outright wrong. And Aemond oft wondered if Helaena might truly be a Dragon Dreamer, as others in their family had been before.

“Dreams?” Aegon asked instead, and she nodded.

“About the children,” she confirmed, a flash of fear in her pretty eyes. “Since the coronation, but they’ve been growing stronger and stronger, and last night…” She choked back a sob, and Aemond had to stop himself from rushing forward to embrace her, remembering that she wouldn’t like it, even if they weren’t in public.

“Helaena,” Aegon said gently. “You’re a mother, and we’re on the cusp of war. It’s perfectly normal to be fearful of our children’s safety.”

Especially with what happened to Lucerys. His nephew’s terrified face flashed before Aemond’s eye. But Helaena’s children aren’t dragon riders yet. They’re scarcely more than babies…

But then again, Aemond was only ten when Rhaenyra tried to have him tortured.

Perhaps her fears are valid.

Whether Aegon agreed or not, Aemond didn’t know, but his brother clearly didn’t like the look on his Queen’s face, because he asked her softly, “What do you think might make you feel safer? More guards around the children?”

She hesitated, and for a moment, her gaze looked far away, but then she slowly nodded. “I believe I would like to have a Kingsguard with me at all times, not merely household guards,” she said.”

Aegon nodded. “Very well. Every time you’re out of Maegor’s Holdfast, a Kingsguard shall accompany you and the children,” he agreed.

Her eyes brightened, and just the faintest touch of worry faded from her brow. “Thank you, brother. And…” She looked thoughtful for another moment. “And I believe…it’s important that we heed Lord Borros’s advice for as long as he’s in the castle.”

Aegon laughed indulgently. “Because he was the one who persuaded Mother and Grandfather to let you go flying every day?”

She laughed back. “Perhaps,” she agreed. “I do love flying, and I’m grateful to him for it.”

So was Aemond. His brother oft lamented that he and Helaena had nothing in common…but he missed the most obvious thing that they did have in common. They both loved nothing more than to fly their dragons. It wasn’t Helaena’s fault she was seldom allowed to because Alicent feared them. Thanks to Borros’s suggestion, Aegon and Helaena were getting along much better these past few days.

And with luck, flying together more and more often will continue bringing them closer and closer together, Aemond hoped. Perhaps enough for me to become an uncle yet again. I know Helaena mentioned that five children would be the perfect number.

“But…I believe it may be more than that, brother,” Helaena finished. “The Dream is unclear, but I know in my bones we need to listen to Lord Borros. That we need to trust him.”

“Well, if he keeps giving us more excellent advice, I will happily take it,” Aegon agreed, and when Helaena smiled at him brilliantly again, Aegon’s face lit up, and he even offered Helaena his arm to escort her back to the castle.

Another brilliant compromise, Aemond thought approvingly as Helaena hesitated only a second, then accepted his proffered arm. You’re letting the touch be on her terms. She’s much less anxious about it when she’s the one initiating the touch.

Maybe from now on, when he and Aegon had their ‘lessons’ together, Aemond would not be the only one benefitting from the ‘practice’…

“And sister…” Aegon said as they walked. “I know this is all new for you. It’s new for me too. But try to remember that you are the Queen.” He gently touched the edge of her blue riding clothes. “If you wish to wear blue, then wear blue. If you want to fly on Dreamfyre a hundred times a day, then go flying a hundred times a day. I love our mother, and her advice is valuable, but she no longer has any authority over you in matters of preference.”

Helaena blinked at Aegon, nibbling her lip fearfully, but after a moment, her face relaxed, and she continued walking with a straighter spine.

“You’re right, brother,” she agreed. “I suppose I am still adjusting.”

We all are. But you’re doing it brilliantly, Helaena. With all of us working together, the Blacks don’t stand a chance.

Robert

“Godsdamn f*cking White Worm!” Robert spat, huffing as he took a swig of his water, wishing it was wine instead. But wine was for celebrating or relaxing in times of peace. For times of war, he needed his mind clear.

Despite Robert’s best efforts, he had not managed to hunt down the White Worm, who would eventually become Rhaenyra’s Master of Whisperers in the original timeline. The woman responsible for both Blood and Cheese AND The Brothel Queens (assuming there was any truth to that rumor). Not only that, but the f*cking sad*st had mentally tortured both Rhaenyra and Helaena, resulting in Helaena’s death and Rhaenyra’s growing paranoia. Finding and killing her before Daemon could reach out and order the assassination was the best way to prevent a great deal of misery she would later inflict, but f*ck it all, Robert couldn’t for the life of him find her.

I’ll just have to hope that warning Otto to seal off all the passageways in the Tower of the Hand will be enough, Robert groused. I don’t know what day they’re supposed to come, so I can’t exactly lie in wait for them myself.

He had, however, made tremendous progress with the City Watch. During the Fall of King’s Landing, a major defect on the Green’s side had been that most of the City Watch was still loyal to Daemon. Robert had pretended to “realize” this during their last council meeting, and it immediately prompted both Otto and Gwayne Hightower to start combing through the City Watch ranks, removing Daemon’s loyalists and training new recruits to replace them.

At least I’ve planned for the worst, he thought. Rhaenyra might not be brave enough to take the city if she knows Dreamfyre is patrolling. Even if she does, Helaena can easily get herself and her children to Dreamfyre to escape because she’s no longer in the Dragon Pit. And the City Watch will be fighting against Rhaenyra, not for her, which might be enough to compensate for her dragon advantage. Dragons could help her take the city, but it won’t help her to hold it.

And now that the worst was planned for, it was time to focus all his attention on keeping the worst from happening…

A soft tapping on the door snapped Robert out of his pondering, and he called for whoever it was to come in, remembering in the nick of time to rise to his feet.

I’m not a King anymore, and most people in this castle outrank me, he reminded himself.

Otto Hightower walked into the room carrying a letter, and Borros nodded to him respectfully. “My Lord Hand.”

Otto nodded back, gesturing for Robert to sit before pulling a letter from his pocket. “Your advice proves fruitful once again, Lord Borros,” Otto announced with a smile. “His Grace was considering offering the title of Master of Ships to Dalton Greyjoy, but after your impassioned argument about how the Greyjoys are nothing more than backstabbing pirates and rapists and raiders…” Otto shivered.

They still are, even in my era, Robert remembered grimly. Theon Greyjoy was still a ward of Ned’s.

“But I admit, I never considered offering the post to Lord Manderly instead,” Otto admitted. “But it’s perfect. The Manderly’s are a powerful influential House in the North. And now that Lord Desmond has agreed to accept the post…and to betroth his youngest daughter to Prince Maelor, we stand a greater chance of recruiting more Northern Houses to our cause.”

Otto skimmed through the note. “They even agreed to speak with the Sistermen on our behalf. Between them, the Arbor, and my ongoing negotiations with the Triarchy, we might just be able to stand a chance if it comes to a naval battle with the Velaryons.”

It will come to a naval battle with the Velaryons, Robert thought grimly, remembering the stories of the Battle of the Gullet. The Blacks officially won, but it had cost them dearly, and the Greens had ultimately lost the Triarchy’s support because they didn’t have the resources to keep fighting. But now, if the Manderlys, the Sistermen, and the Arbor (who did nothing but sit on their fat, lazy asses during the original timeline) joined the fray, it might be a more decisive Green victory.

If I can figure out what to do about their dragons…

“That is excellent news, my Lord Hand,” Robert agreed, then hesitantly added, “But of course, the most important Northern House to recruit will be House Stark…”

Otto’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “Indeed,” he agreed grimly. “If we can get Cregan Stark to bend the knee, then all other Northern Houses might follow. But I’m hesitant to make a marriage pact for Princess Jaehaera, even though Cregan Stark does have an eligible son…”

“No,” Robert agreed. I’m taking no chances of f*cking with the Stark bloodline. “Princess Jaehaera is to be a dragon rider,” he said instead. “You need her wedded to a House that will more firmly be on your side for years to come…”

And here is my opportunity…

“Might I suggest House Tyrell, my Lord Hand?” he said innocently. “If I recall, the young Lord Tyrell is only a babe and his mother has yet to make a marriage pact for him.”

In the original timeline, House Tyrell’s neutrality had lead to the Reach being divided between the Greens and the Blacks. But if House Tyrell was offered a marriage pact to a future dragonrider…

Otto crossed his legs, frowning. “I did assume House Tyrell would join us without prompting,” he mused. “My House and theirs has traded marriages for a great many years…”

f*ck.

“All the more reason Lord Lyonel would make a good husband for Princess Jaehaera,” he pushed. “And as loathe as I am to say it, my Lord Hand, we cannot rely solely on past good blood. House Caswell already tried to side with Princess Rhaenyra, did they not?”

“Hmm…” Otto agreed, looking hesitant. “I shall…discuss the matter with the King…Tyrell assistance would be invaluable, and it is best to have guaranteed support. And I do suppose I’d much rather have Princess Jaehaera in Highgarden than Winterfell.”

One less f*cking thing to worry about. But as for how Robert was going to get Winterfell on their side?

That he had yet to figure out. Stark honor was a thing of legend….

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Aegon

The crown didn’t fit properly.

Unsurprising, he supposed. It had been made for a different man. A conqueror. The wielder of the mighty Blackfyre. A taller man…or perhaps a more muscular, imposing man, like King Maegor. But on him, he just looked like a little boy playing dress-up in the king’s closet, not like a king himself.

I am a king. They cheered for me. They kneel to me…

The crown shifted forward, nearly touching his brow.

“I want my own crown,” Aegon said aloud, eyes fixed on the mirror rather than where Aemond was dozing in his bed, wrapped up in the fur blanket with a happy, sated smile on his face.

“Your own crown?” Aemond mumbled sleepily.

“Yes, my own crown.” He studied his reflection, the shape of his face, and wondered which style would suit him best. An intricate filigree perhaps. Gold studded with a few emeralds. A proper crown for the Green King with the golden dragon.

Maybe it would help him to feel like less of an imposter.

They cheered for me. They kneel to me…

Awake now, Aemond sat up in bed, fur still draped around his hips. “Brother, the crown you wear is the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Valyrian steel. The ultimate symbol of legitimacy.”

Atop the head of a fraud.

“It doesn’t fit,” he said tersely instead.

Unfortunately, his younger brother, ever the more perceptive of the two of them, knew the matter was not so simple. Not bothering to dress, Aemond got out of bed and slipped in behind him as he stared into the mirror, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“This crown means so much to our family,” Aemond said. “So much to all of Westeros. Far more than its monetary value.”

Yeah, yeah, I don’t need a history lesson.

Nuzzling him sweetly, Aemond continued. “The Conqueror was not born to be a king, brother, did you know that? He was born to be Lord of Dragonstone. Just another unremarkable name in our family line.”

Everyone knows that.

“Nor was he the eldest,” Aemond said. “His sister, Visenya, was the oldest of the dragon trio. But it mattered not that he was the second born, and it mattered not that he was not born to be a king. He knew in his blood and in his bones that he was meant to be the king. He fought for the seven kingdoms. He won the seven kingdoms. And that crown is a symbol of his victory. His determination.”

Aegon said nothing, blinking at himself in the mirror, letting Aemond’s words sink in. A crown is not a sentient thing, brother. It doesn’t know whether or not I’ve earned it…

Technically committing treason, Aemond gently lifted the crown and re-positioned it on Aegon’s head, a little higher and further back, showing more of his face. It wouldn’t stay in this position for long, but Aegon couldn’t deny it looked much better this way.

“You’ll need to wear it while the war is ongoing,” Aemond said gently. “But once the war is won, once you are undisputed King of the Seven Kingdoms and all the lords kneel to you, then you can make your own crown if you wish. But I hope you’ll keep it, Aeg. It looks glorious on you.”

Gently reaching down, Aemond grabbed first Aegon’s right hand, then his left, slowly flipping them over to reveal smooth, unmarred skin.

“There’s a legend about the throne, you know,” Aemond said. “That it cuts unworthy leaders. The Conqueror himself was cut one time when he lost his nerve about Dorne. Aenys, the useless halfwit, was cut regularly. Maegor was fine for a while, but he was killed by the throne after his ruthlessness devolved into pure evil. Heaven knows our worthless father was sliced to ribbons. But Jaehaerys? He was never cut once in the decades upon decades he sat on the throne. Nor was Alysanne on the handful of occasions she sat it for him. Nor was Aemon, their original heir, nor our grandsire Baelon, the few times he sat the throne as Hand. Nor has our mother or grandfather ever been cut when they sat the throne on our father’s behalf.”

Kissing Aegon’s cheek again, Aemond added, “And it’s never once cut you, Aeg. If you didn’t belong there, if you weren’t worthy of it, it would have.”

Aegon hated to admit his brother’s fairytales of sentient thrones and crowns was affecting him…but damned if his chest didn’t feel just the faintest bit lighter.

“Father didn’t believe I was worthy…”

Aemond snorted. “And what did Father know about worthiness?” he challenged.

Nothing, Aegon silently agreed. And we don’t owe him a damn thing. A terrible thing to think about his own father, but Viserys had been a terrible father.

Long before Driftmark, Aegon knew his father didn’t love him. He’d chased his affections for years, but Viserys wanted little to do with him…never gave him one fraction of the love that he lavished on Jace and Luke so willingly. Aegon wasn’t even certain his father knew the names of the grandchildren he and Helaena had given him. They weren’t descended from Rhaenyra, his golden child, and so they didn’t matter.

Turning slightly in Aemond’s arms, he gazed upon his brother’s face, trailing his finger along the exposed scar. That night may as well have been seared into his mind with a branding iron, so fearful and distressed that he’d been fighting back tears of his own. He liked to tease Aemond back then, but that was still his little brother. Face sliced open. Crippled for life. Viserys made it readily apparent that he didn’t give a sh*t. Rhaenyra’s sons being called a cruel name was the greater offense to him than his own son being mutilated.

f*ck Viserys. He’s lucky I didn’t piss on his f*cking corpse.

“I told you once that I trained myself not to care…” Aegon admitted. “About Mother’s disappointment…or about Father’s apathy. But if I’m being honest, little brother…”

Aemond stroked the side of his face. “You always wanted your birthright?”

“Not even that…I always wanted Father to tell me that he believed I deserved it. That he had faith that I would be a good king…” He balled his fists, drawing a deep breath. “This isn’t Dorne, Aemond. Father broke over eight-thousand years of Westerosi tradition to name her heir over me, and he never explained why.”

“No, he never said why,” Aemond agreed. “And it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. He was a sh*tty father, he was a sh*tty king, and he was a weak man. f*ck him, and f*ck what he believed.”

“f*ck him, and f*ck what he believed…” Aegon repeated quietly. Then he squared his shoulders and said more confidently, “f*ck him, and f*ck what he believed!”

I will be a good king. I will be a great king. I will settle this damn crisis with Rhaenyra, and I will enjoy a long and happy reign.

And I’m going to be a better father than Viserys ever was…

Aegon turned to study his own reflection one last time, then stuck out his jaw stubbornly.

“No two people have the same head shape,” he reasoned. “I’ll add some hidden fur to the interior, or perhaps a removable spacer. Then it will fit me perfectly.”

And perhaps once I earn it, like the Conqueror did, I will never fret about it not fitting properly again.

“An excellent idea,” Aemond agreed, stepping back to admire him with a smile…a smile that triggered one of Aegon’s own.

“Before I add anything…” he said, removing the crown from his head and stepping in closer to Aemond. “Let’s see how it looks on you.”

Aemond blinked at him, jaw slightly agape, but he gave no protest as Aegon stood on his tiptoes and placed the crown atop his head.

Of course it looks perfect, Aegon thought a bit grumpily.

For a moment, Aemond stood, staring at himself in the mirror, and Aegon knew that Aemond saw it too. The crown looked like it had been crafted for his little brother. Like it belonged on his head rather than Aegon’s.

You should have been the elder. You would have made an amazing king.

Perhaps…perhaps Aegon would name Aemond as his Hand after Otto eventually passed on or needed to retire. Then they could rule together.

Shaking his head, Aemond seemed to snap out of his little fantasy, and now he looked affronted. “Aegon, this is sacrilege. I’m naked. The crown is your symbol of authority and power, not some prop to use in a round of dress up!” But before Aemond could reach up to remove it, Aegon stopped him, giving him a sultry smirk.

“You know, brother…” he said, sinking to his knees and trailing his hands along Aemond’s muscular stomach, making his brother’s breath hitch. Playfully, he planted a kiss along Aemond’s pubic bone, a scant few inches away from his already-hardening co*ck. “I don’t think you’ve had a chance to practice being a courteous recipient while standing. An inexcusable oversight in your lessons. One I surely must correct…”

Aegon ran his tongue along the underside of Aemond’s co*ck, a long, slow lick that ended in him lapping at the sensitive head. Aemond’s gasp, followed by one of his adorable whimpers, had Aegon’s own co*ck twitching in his trousers.

“After all,” he reasoned, “Tomorrow you fly for Riverrun. Perhaps to meet your future bride. It may be some time before we get another chance to…train.”

Aegon muffled his chuckle. ‘Lessons.’ He’s adorable.

His self-righteous little brother had a strong appetite for sex, and he loved nothing more than having Aegon suck his co*ck. He loved getting f*cked by Aegon, and he loved f*cking Aegon in return. He loved being tied up in silken cords, his pleasure drawn out for hours with the help of some illicit toys Aegon had purchased years back. He loved to cuddle afterwards, and he smiled so beautifully when Aegon told him that he loved him. But the only way he could get his uptight little brother to relax and enjoy it was to refer to their lovemaking sessions as ‘lessons’.

Whatever Aegon needed to call them, he was happy to do it. Ever since he and Aemond began their ‘lessons’, Aegon had been going to the Street of Silk less and less…and now it had been a long time since he’d gone at all. The way Aemond looked at him, eye shining with love and affection, had slowly chased away the need to go hunting for temporary love from some stranger in a filthy brothel.

“A w-wise idea indeed, y-AH! Your grace…” Aemond panted as Aegon licked his co*ck again.

Good. Now let me hear your pretty voice while you enjoy it. And don’t you dare take off that crown.

What a sight they must be, a king on his knees, sucking his brother’s co*ck. Aegon massaged his balls, occasionally lapping at them with his tongue, stroking Aemond with his hand. Aemond, his eager student, panted and cried out for him beautifully, hand grabbing a fistful of Aegon’s silken hair, holding tight but not yanking.

For the next ten minutes, you’re the king, Aegon thought, swallowing Aemond’s co*ck deeply and humming, enjoying the way it made his brother gasp and shiver. So take advantage while I’m offering.

He relaxed his throat, grabbed Aemond by the hips, and tugged him forward, looking up at him and wordlessly giving permission.

Aemond’s brow furrowed, and almost timidly, he gave an experimental thrust forward, moaning as he f*cked into Aegon’s throat.

That’s it, Aegon silently encouraged, holding his hips and encouraging him to do it again. You’ll love it.

Aegon sometimes allowed Aemond to thrust into his mouth while he sucked him off, but now he encouraged him to be rough. Encouraged him to grip his hair too hard, almost painfully. It took him a minute to find his nerve, but with a few reassuring taps to his thigh, Aemond began to move in earnest. Snapping his hips forward, he gripped Aegon’s hair to hold him steady while he f*cked his throat. And all the while, Aegon scratched his nails down Aemond’s thighs, a painful edge that made his brother’s moans just a bit more feral.

“Aeg…ah! f*ck…soon…” he gasped in warning, just like Aegon had taught him.

Aemond’s balls grew tight, and this thighs began to tremble, and so Aegon pulled back ever so slightly, sucking and swallowing until Aemond let out a strangled cry, cumming forcefully with his hands tangled in Aegon’s hair.

Thank god I learned how to get it down my throat quickly, Aegon thought, trying not to gag as he grabbed his cup of wine to wash it down. He misliked the bitter, salty taste, and it was only a strong affection for his brother that made him swallow, knowing that it gave him a sexy little thrill.

Though not half as sexy as when Aemond joined him on the ground, pulling him in close and kissing him while he unfastened Aegon’s trousers in turn, taking him in hand and stroking him.

Such a good student. That was one of our first lessons. Always reciprocate…But Aegon put it out of his mind when Aemond kissed him, swallowing his moans while he stroked. Long after it was done, Aemond kissed him. Even when they eventually decided it was time to get up off the floor and get back into Aegon’s bed, snuggling once again beneath the warm, soft fur.

“New lesson,” Aegon mumbled into Aemond’s shoulder, kissing his warm flesh. “Being a good bedmate. Your future bride will expect you to stay the night with her in her bed, keeping her warm. And so you will practice here, with me, tonight.”

Aemond didn’t argue, merely wrapped his arms around Aegon more tightly. There were no secret passageways in Maegor’s Holdfast, so Aemond would not be able to slip out before the maids arrived, but Aegon’s royal apartments did have a spare bedroom. Aemond would simply pretend he spent the night there instead.

Aegon smiled as he drifted off into a happy, sated sleep, Aemond warmth lulling him. The crown may look far better on you for now, little brother, but I swear I will prove myself worthy, both of it and the throne. There is nothing that matters more to me than our family, and I will do anything to protect all of you.

Neither one of them realized at that very moment, their family was minutes away from horror. For in one hour, frantic Kingsguards would pound on Aegon’s door, terrifying him with the news that the castle had been invaded and the Queen had been attacked.

Rhaenyra

He looks so much like Harwin, Rhaenyra thought sadly as Jace loomed over the desk in his room, frantically making notes on a sheet of paper and trying to commit them to memory before he, inevitably, had to throw them in the fire to keep them from being discovered.

Jace was so brave. Fearless, just like Harwin was. Or perhaps his relentless determination was a way for him to distract himself from his grief over Luke’s death. Mother and son had mourned him together, Rhaenyra sharing her guilt while Jace shared his regret.

“I was trying to toughen him up,” Jace had confessed, weeping in her arms. “He was so afraid of Aemond after they overpowered us at dinner. I wanted to help him be a better warrior so he didn’t have to be afraid ever again. But I was mean to him when we were sparring. The last time we ever spoke alone, just the two of us, I was shouting at him…”

It wasn’t your fault, son. It was mine. That shouldn’t have been the last time you saw your brother, because I never should have sent him to Storm’s End in the first place. She gripped her heart. I was trying to do for him what my father never did for me. Make him feel included. Make him feel like an adult. I never should have let him go…

And now he was gone.

But she forced herself to take a deep breath and square her shoulders. I am a Queen, and I may be at the cusp of a war. I do not have the luxury of laying in bed all day grieving. There will be time for that later. For now, I must ensure the safety of the rest of my family.

A week had passed since Daemon left for Harrenhal, leaving Jace and Rhaenyra to coordinate with their Council on Dragonstone, but it was proving difficult. Daemon’s accusation that Borros Baratheon had spies in their midst had been weighing heavily on Rhaenyra’s mind, and she was fearful of coordinating any war efforts when she was not certain she could trust the people with whom she was coordinating.

But treading water is no longer an option either…

“Jace,” she called to him, snapping his attention away from his writings. “Son, I know you’ve been working tirelessly to try to find the spy, but it’s time for us to push forward.”

Jace winced, his beautiful brown eyes pinched with pain. “Mother, we can’t,” he said, his voice cracking. “This spy…they might be the reason that Luke is dead! What if we make more plans and they fall right into the Green’s hands too? What if…”

“What if we do nothing at all and the Greens gain the upper hand while we are sitting on ours?” Rhaenyra countered, stepping further into his room and running her hand through his hair. “Daemon has taken Harrenhal, and he is trying to gather swords for us in the Riverlands, but we both know that won’t be enough. If we want any chance of resolving this conflict before it evolves into all-out war, we need to secure the loyalty of the Vale and the North. And the only way we’re going to do that is if you return to the Vale to continue your negotiations with Lady Jeyne, then head North, as we originally planned.”

Jace shook his head. “We have time for me to spend a few more days investigating!” he insisted. “Corlys and Rhaenys have sealed the Gullet…”

“Which will inconvenience the Greens, absolutely,” she agreed. “But it will not cripple them. They are still able to receive shipments of supplies from the Reach and from the Crownlands Houses they’ve managed to sway. Remaining stagnant is not an option, not anymore.”

Jace gripped the edge of his desk. “If I go, I leave you and the rest of my siblings alone here with a potential traitor…”

“And tomorrow, I may have my throat slit in my bed by an assassin,” she reasoned. “We are well protected by our sworn guards, Jace. You will return to the Vale tomorrow morning. That is an order from your Queen.”

Jace hesitated only a moment before sighing, his shoulders slumping. “Yes mother.”

And as for this traitor? Rhaenyra decided. I will find him myself. And until I do, I must be careful to only share information with those I know for certain I can trust.

Robert

So, the f*cking sack of sh*t Daemon has taken Harrenhal, just like in the original timeline, Robert gruffed, setting down the message he received from Larys Strong. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

On one hand, Daemon taking Harrenhal made it easier to plan for what was coming next. Civil war was about to break out in the Riverlands. But that civil war would take time, and Daemon had only just taken the castle. Robert still had plenty of time to keep the Blacks from securing the kingdom. Grover Tully had, fortunately, been amenable to receiving Aemond to discuss the possibility of a marriage pact, and Aemond would leave for Riverrun on the morrow.

But Robert had counseled Aemond that Grover was not the one he actually needed to impress:

“Grover Tully is a very old man, and from what I’ve heard, he’s getting sickly,” Robert had warned Aemond when he spoke to him earlier that day. “He is still Lord of Riverrun, but it is his son, Elmo, is the one you will need to impress. He is effectively leading their forces now.”

In the original timeline, Elmo had disobeyed his father and stayed out of the war until Grover died, after which he declared for Rhaenyra. But if Aemond could sway Elmo, then it would change the entire course of the war. Many of the subsequent battles could be won or avoided entirely.

And that’s even if I don’t manage to convince Winterfell to side with us…Robert mused. He was still trying to find a balance on that one. Cregan Stark could not remain neutral. If he stayed in the North, he would never meet Alysanne Blackwood, and he needed to marry her in order for the Stark bloodline to be unaffected. But if Cregan sided with Rhaenyra, he might die before the war ended, which would be equally disastrous.

The only solution is to get him on our side and make sure the Northern forces stay out of combat as much as possible…

A tapping on his door snapped him out of his musings, and a guard stuck his head in the door.

“Pardon my interruption, Lord Borros, but the most curious of things has just happened, and you told me to report any irregularities,” he said.

Robert waved his hand. “Get on with it,” he said gruffly, irritated as he took a swig of his water.

“Well, my Lord, you requested that your household guard coordinate with the castle guard to keep watch on the sealed passageways. Ben, the man we had overseeing the tower of the Hand, was supposed to report for changing of the guard ten minutes ago, but he’s vanished…”

f*ck! Robert roared, leaping up from his desk. Blood and Cheese! Blood and Cheese! I didn’t prevent it! It’s happening tonight!

He had to stop it! He had to stop it! Aegon and Helaena couldn’t lose their son! Helaena could not be forced to endure that hell! It would destroy everything, sending Aegon into a black rage and Helaena into a dark spiral. Dreamfyre would be taken out of the war. Otto Hightower would be sacked as Hand. And…

No! This can’t happen!

Without hesitation, Robert rushed to the wall, where he had mounted a Warhammer, grabbed it, pushed past his guard, and sprinted for the Tower of the Hand.

Borros Baratheon did not have the body Robert once had, back when he had the strength and raw power of a young god. Nor was he half so well-conditioned as Robert had been. But he was still a Baratheon, well-muscled and twice as strong as the average man. His body was unspoiled by gluttony and not yet weakened by age. A powerful warrior. A lethal warrior.

And once Robert held the Warhammer in his hand, he knew Borros’s body would more than suffice.

“FOLLOW ME!” he commanded, bellowing out the command with the same gusto he had during the Rebellion, charging towards the Tower of the Hand as fast as his legs would carry him.

Let me get there in time! he prayed to whatever gods could hear him. You sent me back for a reason! You wanted me to change what was for a reason! Please let me get there in time, or all may be lost…

Perhaps it was the gods themselves that gave swiftness to Robert’s feet. Perhaps it was just his own raw determination. Whatever it was, he reached the tower of the hand faster than he ever dreamed possible…

And found the dead bodies of Dowager Queen Alicent’s household guards strewn in the hall outside of her chambers.

“NO!” he roared, drawing back his foot and kicking the door, splintering it to kindling before he charged inside and…

Oh, thank the gods!

Dowager Queen Alicent was bound hand and foot in ropes, a gag in her mouth, while two knife-wielding men screamed at a tearful Helaena. Helaena’s Kingsguard lay dead on the floor, but he had not died without a fight. The larger assassin, Blood, seemed to be bleeding from a gash in his ribcage, while the smaller one, Cheese, had been stabbed through the shoulder.

He delayed them long enough for me to get here! Robert realized. And his death shall not be in vain!

Blood and Cheese wheeled on Robert, raising their knives threateningly, and Helaena used the opportunity to lunge forward, snatching her children out of reach of the two assassins and leaping protectively in front of them.

It was all the opening Robert needed. For although Blood and Cheese both charged at him with their knives, what threat was a knife against a Warhammer?

With every ounce of strength in his body, Robert drew back the hammer, let out a fierce battle cry, and slammed the weapon into the side of Blood’s head, crushing it like a fresh summer melon and painting the stone floor with his brains.

Blood pumping, the sight of his friend’s death did not deter Cheese, and he continued his charge, knife raised and poised to slash at Robert’s face. But Cheese was a commoner, untrained in the art of battle, and Robert evaded him easily, muscle memory from years of training kicking in and allowing him to step back in time. But just as he drew back his weapon to crush Cheese’s skull, he checked himself.

We need to interrogate one of them so the Greens know it was Daemon…

And so Robert swung lower instead, slamming his Warhammer into Cheese’s hip and shattering his pelvis, sending him crashing to the floor, screaming in agony.

You think that hurts? Robert scoffed, spitting on the screaming would-be assassin. Wait until you see what King Aegon is going to do to you after he gets you in the torture chamber. You just tried to kill a f*cking six-year-old boy!

Helaena’s screams echoed through the chamber, and Robert looked over to see her huddled on the ground, hysterically crying as she gripped all three of her children so tightly that the younger one, Maelor, yelped and tried to fidget out of her grip. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, however, clung to their mother just as fiercely as she clung to them, their faces red and strewn with snot and tears. From the trauma of what almost happened to them, or from the trauma of seeing Blood’s brains knocked clean out of his head, Robert didn’t know.

But they’re alive, he thought, breathing a sigh of relief. They’re all alive. They’ll heal. I saved their lives.

He heard his guards (the useless twats finally arrived) clamoring in behind him, and he barked, “Fetch the servants to tend to the Queen and Queen Mother…” Then with a sneer, he added, “And get someone in here to get rid of…” He gestured towards the bloody mess on the floor. “This.”

Aemond

Thank the gods this isn’t my first time seeing blood and brains smeared on the castle floor, Aemond thought as he forced back the urge to retch. The meaty, coppery smell of blood and the foul scent of sh*t was turning his stomach, even after the bodies of the assassin and dead Kingsguard were whisked out of the room. But he couldn’t afford to be seen as having a delicate stomach. Not when his sister needed him to be strong for her.

Walking past the sitting area, Aemond entered the bedchamber, where Helaena and Alicent were huddled together on the bed, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera clutching them tightly while they cried. Maelor, however, was wrapped in Aegon’s arms as his brother paced back and forth in front of the hearth, simultaneously furious and rubbing his son’s back, whispering to him soothingly.

Aemond rushed first to Helaena (shaken, but mercifully unharmed), then to Alicent, who happily accepted his embrace, shedding her tears into his shoulder. Her delicate wrists were rubbed raw from the ropes, and a red mark stretched along her cheeks from the gag, but otherwise, she was unharmed.

They’re safe, Aemond let out a shuddering exhale as he hugged his mother tightly. They’re all safe. No one is hurt.

Aegon, however, was not half so relieved. His brother was more furious than Aemond had ever seen him, pacing back and forth faster with a manic glint in his eye, even as he continued to whisper soothingly to his crying son.

“They went after my children!” Aegon spat, snarling like an angry dragon but stopping himself before the sound could distress Maelor. Lowering his voice, he added, “They went after my wife! My mother! They tried to kill almost my entire family!”

Alicent choked on a sob. “I knew this would happen…” she mourned gripping Aemond tighter. “Lucerys…”

But just as Aemond’s belly began to twist, Aegon shook his head.

“No, mother,” he corrected. “Lucerys was a dragon rider killed during a budding war, and they don’t even know that we were responsible. This is not the same thing. We did not send assassins to slaughter women and children! To rip babes out of their mother’s arms! This…” He squeezed Maelor tighter, kissing him on the cheek. “This is an act of pure evil, and it will not stand!”

No, it won’t, Aemond silently agreed, looking over at Helaena’s tear-streaked face, her lower lip still trembling, unwilling to let go of Jaehaera. Of all the people in all the world to hurt, they went after her. They went after Helaena.

Sweet Helaena, who saw the beauty in everything, even the foulest of spiders. Who had the kindest, gentlest heart of anyone Aemond had ever met. A bit quirky and eccentric, yes, but happy and blithe.

Westeros is not worthy of someone as pure and wonderful as her, Aemond thought, balling his fists as he ground his teeth. And she was the first one they tried to destroy.

If even sweet Helaena was not safe from the Blacks’ cruelty, than no one was.

None of us will ever be safe again until they are vanquished. Until I burn every last f*cking one of them…

But to his surprise, Helaena reached over and gently grabbed his sleeve.

“No,” she whispered to him softly. “You mustn’t wander down that path, Aemond. Yes, you and Vhagar will need to fight, but you mustn’t let the dragon inside consume you. It will burn you alive, body and soul, until there is nothing left…” She met his gaze, her blue-purple eyes still swimming with tears. “And I still need my brother. I still need you just the way you are now.”

Her tears were like knives in his heart, and he gently brought her hand up to his lips to kiss. “I won’t do anything to make you cry,” he swore.

She seemed to believe him, because she relaxed, her grip on Jaehaera slackening just a bit.

Looking past Aemond, she called, “Husband?”

Aemond expected him to snap at her, and when Aegon looked up, still furious, it seemed he was about to do exactly that…but at the last second, he checked himself, speaking gently. “What do you need, Helaena? Do you want me to call for the maester to bring you essence of nightshade to help you sleep?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps later, but for right now, Lord Borros needs to speak with you.”

Aegon snorted. “He can wait…”

“He saved all of our lives, Aegon,” Helaena corrected. “My Kingsguard injured the assassins, but if not for Lord Borros, we would all be dead.”

Her Kingsguard, Aemond thought, blinking in realization. Helaena knew she would need one. If she didn’t have him, Lord Borros wouldn’t have made it in time.

He long suspected his sister might be a Dreamer, but now he was almost certain it was true. She had saved them. She had saved their mother, her children, and herself.

“Aegon…” Helaena said softly. “I’m more certain now than I was before that we need to trust Lord Borros. I can’t explain it, but…” She locked eyes with Aegon and said softly in High Valyrian, “I know.”

Aegon hesitated for only a moment, then slowly nodded, passing Maelor back to Alicent and straightening, beckoning Aemond to join him as the left the bedchamber and made his way outside the apartment, where Lord Borros was waiting for them.

The Baratheon lord seemed eerily calm for a man who had just bludgeoned the brains right out of an assassin’s head, sitting with a bucket of water and a vial of oil while he cleaned his hammer. Though of course, once he saw Aegon, he set the weapon down, stood, and bowed his head respectfully.

“Your grace,” he greeted. “Are the Queens faring well? And the little princes and princess?”

“They are distressed, but they will be fine,” Aegon assured him. “And you have my gratitude, Lord Borros. More than merely my gratitude. Your loyalty is a blessing that I can never repay. If not for you, I would have lost almost my entire family tonight.”

Borros nodded solemnly. “I feared the Blacks might attempt something like this, your grace. That’s why I ordered my guards to be extra vigilant for any anomalies. Legends of the Rogue Prince have existed long before your birth. A vile monster with no soul, they say. Even if Prince Lucerys had lived, he might have attempted something like this…” Scowling, Borros added, “Even if Princess Rhaenyra had been the one to ascend the throne, he might have attempted something like this. Less overt, of course. Making it look like an accident.”

Aegon’s fist balled, but he nodded. “Daemon and Caraxes are at Harrenhal. Aemond and I shall mount Sunfyre and Vhagar at once to fly for Dragonstone, and…”

Borros’s eyes flashed, and Aemond caught a hint of fear.

Odd…But if he wanted to hurt us, all he had to do was let Daemon’s assassins succeed. And Helaena did tell us to trust him…

“Your grace, that is probably the first thing the Rogue Prince would expect,” Borros warned gravely. “For all we know, he has a trap prepared. It does not serve to avenge what happened here tonight if you risk your life to do it.”

Aegon growled, rage flashing in his eyes…but then he forced himself to swallow it, taking a deep breath and asking, “So what would you have me do then? Doing nothing after my wife and children were attacked will make me look weak.”

Borros shook his head. “You will not be doing nothing. You will be continuing to gather your swords. You will be preparing to march on Duskendale and force their surrender, exactly as you planned. Your brother,” he nodded at Aemond, “will secure an alliance with Riverrun, and hopefully Winterfell soon after. It will make you look smart, your grace. It will make you look strategic. It will make you look patient. And after you’ve crushed your enemy beneath your heel, you can unleash your fury and take whatever justice you see fit. No one will dare even think of you as weak after that.”

Aegon stood tense for just a moment longer, then slowly exhaled. “Crush my enemy beneath my heel,” he said softly, chuffing. “I do suppose I like the sound of that. An opportunity I won’t get if you are right and they have a trap waiting for us.”

Borros nodded encouragingly. “Few things are more satisfying than obliterating those who have wronged the ones you love…from what I hear.”

I don’t doubt it, Aemond thought, folding his arms. Helaena doesn’t want me to give in to my inner dragon, but surely she would not fault me for collecting Daemon’s head. Not after what he tried to do to her.

Aegon nodded. “You are wiser than I was lead to believe, Lord Borros,” he admitted. Then, with an almost teasing smile, he added, “Perhaps you might make for the best Hand during this time of war.”

Borros smiled, but he shook his head. “Your grandsire may be one of the smartest men in all the realm, your grace. And a far better politician than I can ever be…” Almost comically, he looked down at his bloody Warhammer. “As you can likely tell, I have a bit of a temper…”

Aegon laughed, “Well, you do have Targaryen blood, after all.”

After a few more pleasantries (and a few offers of rewards that Borros respectfully declined), Aegon bid Borros goodnight, saying that he wanted to check in on his wife and children again before retiring. But just as Aemond was about to follow him, Borros reached forward, gently grabbing Aemond by the arm.

“My prince…” Borros said softly. “As you are aware, your uncle is at Harrenhal.”

Aemond nodded curtly, trying not to yank his arm back out of Borros’s grasp. Presumptuous of him to touch me…but I suppose he did just save my sister and my mother.

“My prince…I know I am not the only one of us with a temper,” Borros said softly. “Do not let yours cloud your good judgement. There will be a time to reclaim Harrenhal from your uncle, but it will not be tomorrow. Stick to our plan. Go to Riverrun, gain their loyalty, and then return home so that we might make our plans for Winterfell. Leave Harrenhal be.”

Aemond stiffened. He hadn’t even considered that he would be a stone’s throw from Harrenhal on his venture to Riverrun. But now that he thought of it…

Vhagar is more powerful than Caraxes. I can kill Daemon before the war begins.

But…But what if Helaena truly was a Dragon Dreamer? She told me to trust Lord Borros…

“When the time comes,” Aemond said, his voice low and lethal. “I will be the one to kill Daemon.”

A bold statement to make without permission from his king, but he knew Aegon would not deny him.

Borros nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “If you’re patient and bide your time, my prince, you may even get to shove his own sword right through his eye.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Robert

And now everything has changed, Robert thought the next morning as he joined the procession to see Aemond off, on his way to Riverrun to potentially meet with his bride.

Hopefully, this Tully lass is a beauty, he mused.

The rage in Aemond’s eye last night had unnerved Robert, and he spent the evening absentmindedly polishing his Warhammer long after it was clean and gleaming. Sleep had eluded him. Not merely because of the exhilaration of claiming a life with his own bare hands (an exhilaration he had not felt since the days of the Rebellion), but because he was remembering all the stories he read about Aemond One-Eye. The Terror of the Trident. Maesters were unable to calculate the number of smallfolk that died in Vhagar’s flames, but estimates ranged from under nine hundred to over nine thousand.

Something else I hope to prevent, if I can. It was possible he already had.

In the original timeline, Aemond had surely gone half-mad. Losing Prince Jaehaerys and watching his beloved sister suffer had been a blow. Falling for Daemon’s trick and leaving King’s Landing unguarded, vulnerable to the Blacks, had been another blow. Undoubtedly, he had heard the rumor of the Brothel Queens, yet another devastating blow (who wouldn’t be driven half to madness at the thought of his mother and sister being raped for days on end?). And then, when he was already in that vulnerable state, he had met Alys Rivers, a woman fabled to be a sorceress. Gods only know what magic she might have cast on him.

And because Aemond succumbed to his madness and became a monster, Daemon was able to kill him and take Vhagar out of the war.

But Robert could prevent it. He knew he could. Just like he prevented Blood and Cheese.

Keeping Prince Jaehaerys alive might have stopped him from taking that first dark step. Now, I must keep Aemond and Vhagar away from Harrenhal, just as I must ensure Aegon and Sunfyre are not critically wounded at Rook’s Rest. If I can keep Aemond from wandering down that dark path, I might be able to save thousands of innocent lives while ensuring the Green’s victory…

“I fear for my brother’s well-being too,” a soft voice said behind him, snapping him out of his musings.

He turned to see Queen Helaena standing behind him. A small group of guards waited at her back, and she carried the young Princess Jaehaera in her arms. The sight of the two of them together, relaxed and even happy, sent an unpleasant pang through Robert’s heart.

Two gentle, kindhearted queens, Robert thought sadly. All Dance historians agreed they were pure, innocent, and undeserving of their cruel fates. Both mother and daughter had shared the exact same death: slow and painful exsanguination impaled on the blades at Maegor’s Holdfast. Helaena by suicide, Jaehaera by murder.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

“Aemond has always had a bit of a temper,” Helaena continued. “And I fear that temper may lead him astray should this war take a dark turn.”

It still may, he thought grimly.

“And for a time, I believed it would,” she said. “Until you arrived.”

Robert nodded respectfully. “Your family are the rightful monarchs, your grace,” he continued. “Anything I can do to be of service. To ensure the true King remains on the throne.”

She co*cked her head ever so slightly, her blue-purple eyes unreadable. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it, Lord Borros?” she asked.

Yes, it was, but he would have to play dumb. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, your grace.”

She stared at him quietly, blinking slowly. “Before you arrived, the Dreams were darker,” she said. “Dreams of death and destruction. Of Fire and Blood that would leave our family burned to ashes.”

Dreams? He tensed, realizing immediately that Helaena wasn’t talking about her sleep. There had been a few odd rumors that the Queen had Dragon Dreams, glimpses of events not yet come to pass. Robert had always dismissed them as nonsense…but that was before he woke up in his ancestor’s body.

Could it be…

“When you arrived, Lord Borros, they began to change,” she added. “The dark Dreams still linger, but now there are bright ones as well. Beautiful Dreams. Dreams of dragon wings painting the skies for centuries to come…” She bit her lip. “And I no longer know which ones will come to fruition.”

Dragon wings painting the skies for centuries to come, Robert thought a bit dreamily. Nearly all the dragons died during the Dance. If Robert saved the Greens, would he also save the dragons? It could be a nightmare…or it could prevent many future wars that the Targaryens did not have the power to stop without them.

“There is something special about you, Lord Borros,” Helaena declared. “Something that I cannot put to words…something that my Dreams cannot even help me to see. But there is something special about you.”

She smiled, kissing Jaehaera on the forehead. “And not only do my children owe you their lives, but possibly the rest of my family as well. A debt I can never repay.”

Robert could not bring himself to deny that her words were true. Not when she was looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes. Nearly as innocent as her daughter’s.

“The only repayment I need, my Queen,” he said, “is for you to raise your children to be half as wonderful as yourself. And to teach them to do the same with their own children.”

Through your bloodline, Rhaegar will never be born. Nor will his father, the Mad King. Not only will my beloved Lyanna live a long and happy life, but Westeros will be a more beautiful place for it.

Helaena smiled, nodding, but just as she was about to turn away and rejoin the procession walking back to the castle, a knowing twinkle shone in her eyes.

“His grace will need to fly Sunfyre into battle,” she said confidently. “He will need to lead his army on dragonback to raise their spirits. Otherwise, Rook’s Rest will become a dangerous stronghold for Rhaenyra.”

A Dream? Robert wondered, going stiff. f*ck…

If Aegon and Sunfyre joined Aemond and Vhagar at Rook’s Rest, he was going to be horrifically burned and out of commission for most of the war. Sunfyre would never be the same, and eventually he would die in battle with Moondancer. The Greens already had fewer dragons than the Blacks; they couldn’t afford to lose Sunfyre.

“But…” Helaena said, smiling far too serenely for a woman who certainly had a Dream of her husband being burned half to death. “Just because he needs to fly, that doesn’t mean he needs to fight.”

He frowned. But if he holds back and lets Aemond fight alone, Meleys may well be able to kill Vhagar, and that loss would be devastating.

“You’re a smart man, Lord Borros,” Helaena said. “Surely you can see the obvious solution.”

He tried not to snort, remembering it would be rude to do so in front of a Queen. The obvious solution would be to kill Meleys before she can get there, but…but…

She must have seen the realization dawn in his eyes, because Helaena smiled brightly, nodded her head respectfully, and turned to head back to the castle with her daughter in her arms.

Robert’s mind whirled, flipping through the history book in his mind.

Meleys…he thought. Rook’s Rest was not a battle taking place over a single day. It was under siege for some time before Lord Darklyn sent his raven to Rhaenyra to ask for help. Jace and Joffrey wanted to go, but Rhaenyra held them back, and Rhaenys went instead on the lethal Meleys. She arrived, falling into the trap Aegon and Aemond laid for her, ultimately wounding Aegon and damn near killing Sunfyre. But where was Meleys before that?

He growled, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. The Gullet…Yes! She was patrolling the Gullet, guarding Corlys’s ships!

But f*ck, that answered nothing! How the hell was he supposed to kill Meleys while she was patrolling the Gullet? How the f*ck was he supposed to kill a dragon at all?

More than that, there was the kinslaying element. Robert had no idea how he managed to end up in the past at all, but surely it was by work of the gods. Kinslaying was despised by the gods more than any other act, and Rhaenys had Baratheon blood. Was there a way to kill Meleys without killing her rider?

I best figure it out quickly, Robert thought darkly. Because Corlys’s blockade on the Gullet was making Aegon angry and soon, Criston Cole would be leading the march to Duskendale.

Though fortunately, he will not be doing so as Hand of the King. Robert would do everything in his power to ensure that Otto wore that pin until the bitter end of the Dance.

Aemond

Three Days Later

“This is amazing!” Abby cried, expanding her arms as they soared through the sky, wind whipping through her auburn hair. Fortunately, Aemond had ensured she was securely fastened to Vhagar’s saddle with both chains and a harness; otherwise she would have fallen off before they made it out of the Riverlands.

“I never want to ride another horse again!”

Aemond chuckled, remembering the first time he rode Vhagar himself. The thrill of horseback riding was a thing of the past for him.

Abby gently rubbed her hand between Aemond’s shoulder blades. “Will our children really get their own dragons one day?” she asked excitedly.

“Indeed,” he promised. “My sister is the rider of Dreamfyre. She regularly produces fresh clutches. Helaena declared all of my children would be given cradle eggs.”

Helaena had made that promise to him years ago, shortly after she claimed Dreamfyre. All the eggs Dreamfyre produced while she was still unclaimed were Viserys’s property, but all eggs produced afterwards were Helaena’s. She had promised him an egg from Dreamfyre’s next clutch, but he claimed Vhagar before Dreamfyre could produce one. So instead, his sweet sister had promised that Aemond’s children would never endure the same childhood that he had. No matter how many children he sired, they would all be given eggs.

He had used that promise as a bargaining chip with House Tully. A bargaining chip that put them over the edge in granting Aegon their support.

As Lord Borros predicted, Elmo Tully’s reception had been frosty, despite a sickly Grover being pleased to receive him. And so, heeding Borros’s advice, it was Elmo that Aemond devoted most of his time to impressing during his three-day stay at Riverrun. Aemond sparred with the Tully soldiers in their training yard, learned how to fish from their docks, and hunted with Elmo and his brothers in the woods. During the hunt, he finally managed to get Elmo to relax enough to tell him why he was reluctant to bend the knee to Aegon.

“I’m ashamed to say it’s fear, my prince,” Elmo confessed as they rode side by side on the trail. “Not fear of your uncle, the Rogue Prince, but fear of what might be said about my family. Our words are ‘Family, Duty, Honor’. My father bent the knee to Rhaenyra more than twenty years ago and swore an oath. I will make a hypocrite out of my House if I betray that oath and ask other Riverlands Houses to do the same.”

Aemond swallowed his anger, remembering his lessons from his mother and grandfather. Charm and logic in perfect balance. Breathing fire at a future Lord Paramount could cost them the war.

“My Lord,” he challenged gently. “Surely you remember that oath was made before King Aegon was born.”

Elmo hesitated. “Well…yes…”

“The entire reason my father asked the Lords of Westeros to swear that oath was because he had no male heir and he knew it was unprecedented to name a female heir,” Aemond explained. “If Rhaenyra were a man, such an oath never would have been necessary. It would be understood that a firstborn son would be heir without question.” He looked at Elmo, quirking an eyebrow. “Surely it did not escape your notice that my father did not ask any of the Lords to renew their oaths after my brother’s birth?”

Elmo’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.

It’s not enough. I need more.

“Furthermore, my Lord, honor is a thing exchanged between honorable men,” he continued. “My uncle is no man of honor.”

Elmo raised his eyebrows a bit, a universal gesture of ‘Well, you’re not wrong…’

“And Princess Rhaenyra, I’m ashamed to say, has disgraced our family three times over,” he continued. “Birthing three bastard sons of Harwin Strong was an act of treason.”

Now, Elmo stiffened, and Aemond saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I heard the rumors,” he mumbled. “They…truly are bastards?”

Aemond nodded. “You need only look at them to see it, my Lord. Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey all have brown hair, brown eyes, and features that are clearly that of the First Men. Rhaenyra and Laenor both have silver hair, purple eyes, and Valyrian features. I’ve met Harwin Strong; they all look like younger versions of him.”

Another flicker of doubt, stronger this time.

And now I go in for the kill.

“The honor of House Tully is beyond reproach, my Lord,” Aemond assured him. “But there is no honor in pledging loyalty to a traitor and an adulteress. Not for the sake of an oath that was made BEFORE there was a firstborn son available to serve as heir.

Elmo set his jaw, remaining silent as they walked nearly a quarter mile further before softly asking, “Is it true that you offered peace terms to her, but she offered no such terms back to you?”

“It is,” Aemond confirmed. “We have no desire to go to war with our half-sister. We offered to allow her to keep Dragonstone to pass on to her son, bastard or no. We offered places of honor in our court to her other children. We offered to allow her to keep her titles, her wealth, her dragons, and all the privileges due a princess. She didn’t even deign to reply. She certainly made no counteroffer to us. She immediately started calling her banners to war.” Snorting, Aemond gently touched his eyepatch. “I suppose they never were ones to take the civilized approach. But we have no desire to kill our own kin…”

Except Lucerys, but that was an accident! And Borros covered it up, so no one knows it was my fault.

“Even after she sent assassins to murder my sister and her children, we will still allow her to sue for peace.”

His jaw gaped. “Sent assassins to murder the Queen? And her children?”

That prompted a full discussion of the assassination attempt, Aemond’s words sending Elmo’s eyes blazing as he ground his teeth. Kinslaying is the greatest taboo in all of Westeros, and to attempt to do it to children who were scarcely more than babes…

“The Septon will bless your betrothal to my sister, Abby,” Elmo declared as they headed back to Riverrun. “And you will wed her after this conflict is settled. I have your word that any children she bears for you will be given a dragon egg upon their birth?”

Aemond nodded. “They shall all share their cradles with eggs,” he vowed.

And in exchange, Elmo bowed his head. “Then I shall honor my father’s wishes. I shall start calling our banners and command them to ignore Daemon’s attempts to summon them to Harrenhal. They will follow my command, not his. The Riverlands are yours, my Prince. And your brother’s. The King.”

Abby Tully was now accompanying him back to King’s Landing for safekeeping during the war, and to spend some time getting to know her future husband’s family.

He would not deny that Abby was a beautiful woman. Skin pure and white as ivory, save for an adorable dusting of freckles along her cheekbones. Stunning auburn hair that hung to her waist in gentle ringlets. Eyes green as emeralds. As beautiful as any non-Valyrian woman could possibly be…

And Aemond felt not one lick of attraction for her.

Marriage is not about love or desire, it is about duty, he reminded himself as the Crownlands came into view. I know I can perform my duty with her when it comes time for her to bear my children. And I know I can develop a respectful relationship with her. She has a likeable enough personality. It will be fine.

Better still, because Abby was not an heiress in her own right, she and Aemond would live out their lives at the Red Keep, with him serving as a dragon rider to his King.

It will be fine. My life won’t change much now that I am betrothed. Everything will be fine…

Aegon

Jaehaerys looked over at Aegon excitedly as the dragon keepers quadruple checked the saddle. “I truly get to fly?” he asked, forgetting his princely dignity and hopping on the spot. “I truly get to fly, father? Just like you and Sunfyre?”

He knew it wasn’t kingly, but he laughed at his son’s exuberance. “Not exactly like Sunfyre and I. Not yet,” he corrected. “Remember what we discussed? No more than a few feet off the ground, and not outside the eighth of a mile loop that the guards have marked for you. You need to build up your strength in the saddle before you can go further, and Shrykos needs to build up the strength in her wings before she can carry you.”

But nonetheless, today would be a historic moment: the day the future Seventh King of the Seven Kingdoms flew on his dragon the first time. The day Jaehaerys and Jaehaera became the youngest dragon riders in their family’s history at only six years old.

His mother and grandfather tried to talk him out of it, urging him to wait until the twins were older, and until three days ago, he was prepared to listen. But that was before the would-be assassins styling themselves Blood and Cheese slipped into the castle.

I nearly lost all three of them that night, he thought, his chest constricting painfully as he looked at his son’s exuberance. And I still may. The war has yet to truly begin, and I don’t know how ugly it might get.

As badly as he wished he could say that he guaranteed his children would survive, he couldn’t. He would fight to his death to protect them, but he couldn’t guarantee anyone’s safety. But he could do this. He could ensure that his children got to savor these remaining days of safety.

And so he personally helped to lift both Jaehaera and Jaehaerys into the saddles of the waiting young dragons Shrykos and Morghul, fastened their safety chains, reviewed the commands with his twins one last time, and then gave his permission for them to start their low, short flights.

They’re doing it! He cheered once the children were airborne. They’re doing it! They’re truly doing it!

Admittedly, it was a clumsy first flight. The twins were nervous giving the commands, and Shrykos and Morghul were anxious about ensuring the safety of their young passengers. But it was a flight! And after he gave permission for them to do a second lap, he saw that they were already starting to improve as they got the hang of it.

“They were born to fly,” Helaena said, smiling as she stepped next to him with Maelor in her arms. Their youngest did not have a dragon yet, but Aegon was hopeful about his egg. It was warm, and every so often, Aegon could swear he saw it twitching.

“They were,” he agreed, smiling back at her.

“It makes me feel a bit better,” she said, gaze dropping. “About her going to Highgarden.”

Aegon reached over to rub her shoulder as reassurance, but he stopped himself, remembering that touch was not the best way to do it.

“She’ll love it there,” he offered instead. “From what I hear, it’s beautiful. Roses everywhere. Plenty of young girls her age to be her playmates…” He nodded towards Morghul. “And now a dragon to look over her on her journey.”

Lord Borros’s advice had proved fruitful once again. The Tyrells accepted their proposal, and Jaehaera was betrothed to the babe Lord Lyonel Tyrell. She would one day be the Lady of Highgarden, and the Tyrells had sworn fealty to Aegon, vowing to fight for him in the war. Jaehaera would soon be sent to her new home for the duration of the conflict to ensure her safety.

“I know she will be safe,” Helaena agreed a bit tearfully. “Much safer than she would be if she remained in King’s Landing. And as a benefit, we will be seeing Daeron very soon.”

The thought of his youngest sibling made Aegon smile. I haven’t seen Daeron in years.

“A relief for me,” Helaena continued. “Until very recently, I…knew that I would never see our youngest brother again.”

Aegon tensed. One of her Dreams?

“But now, I am certain he will. With the Tyrells supporting us, other Houses in the Reach will support us as well. I believe there will be a brief conflict, but Daeron’s host from Oldtown will arrive to King’s Landing quickly.”

But before that, you feared we would never see Daeron again? He wasn’t certain how to respond to that. He was still uncertain he believed Helaena was a Dreamer, but the fact that she harbored this fear for quite some time and never shared it with him was saddening.

“Another excellent benefit of the betrothal,” Aegon encouraged. “Our daughter will be safe and happy in Highgarden. I know it.”

Helaena nodded. “I know it as well. But I will miss her.”

“You can visit her, Helaena,” he promised. “Highgarden is not a far flight; you can fly Dreamfyre out for a visit any time you wish.”

She nodded slowly. “I can…But I am hoping I will need to reduce the amount of time I spent flying.”

Aegon frowned. But you love flying.

She waited until the twins landed their dragons and were safely unchained by the dragon keepers before finishing. “I would like another child.”

He stiffened. I know you want five…and I know it is my duty as your husband and your King to give you as many as you wish…

Even so, the thought made his belly twist with dread.

In his twenty-two years of life, Aegon had bedded well over a hundred women and a handful of men (though admittedly, not after he started regularly bedding Aemond). He loved sex, of all varieties, with all sorts of partners…except with Helaena.

Helaena was beautiful, and Aegon did care for her, but she hated joining him in their marriage bed. She hated being caressed or kissed, and she’d flinch away from his touch if he held her for too long. The entire time he was ‘doing his duty’, she was stiff and tense, obviously forcing herself to lie still for the sake of bearing his children. And he hated it. Sex for him was about pleasure and the ego-boosting thrill he got from satisfying his partner. About feeling welcomed. Feeling desired. Feeling wanted. And with Aemond, it was an act of love and affection as well. With Helaena…well, Aegon had to get drunk to force himself to do it.

I suppose I can endure it. She got pregnant with Maelor quickly. We only needed to try…three times? No, it was four.

“As you wish,” he agreed, smiling as the twins smiled and waved at them before their nursemaids escorted them back to the castle. “Perhaps a little sister for Jaehaera? We do already have two boys.”

“Perhaps…” She looked over her shoulder to ensure the dragon keepers were out of earshot, gestured for one of the nursemaids to take Maelor, and then continued speaking in High Valyrian.

“I know it is your wish for me to…” She blushed. “To…enjoy the conception. And it is difficult for you when I don’t.”

He bristled and almost, almost rebuked her for implying he could not do his duty and sire more children, but he stopped himself.

She’s reaching out to me, he reminded himself. This was what I wanted. More normal conversations with her. I have to do my part. And I do want her to be happy.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “The entire reason that ‘conception’ feels the way it does is to drive us to procreate, after all. It’s supposed to be…enjoyable. And if it’s not…”

Then I’m not doing it right, and I feel like a monster for touching you when I know you don’t like it.

She smiled at him sweetly, more perceptive then he thought she was, and she reached over to gently stroke his arm.

“It wasn’t all bad, Aegon,” she assured him. “The problem is not with you. You may not remember because you were deep in your cups, but the last time we were together before Maelor’s birth…well, it did feel quite nice towards the end.”

I don’t know if that’s much of a compliment.

“I think…perhaps…” She blushed darker now, her face nearly magenta. “Perhaps…it would…help the process…if…um…”

He raised an eyebrow, meeting her gaze directly. “If there’s something you wish for me to do to make the conception more enjoyable for you, Helaena, I will gladly do it.”

And you don’t need to be ashamed to ask. Gods know I have no shame.

It took her a moment (and a few false starts) to work up the nerve to say it, and even then, she couldn’t look him in the eye, but eventually she managed to half whisper:

“Perhaps…it would help the process if…if you were…to, um…‘start’ the act with…with someone else, and then…um…‘complete’ the act with me.”

It was not at all what he was expecting, and he stared at her, half shocked, half amused. She was so embarrassed her face was redder than a fresh summer tomato, and…well, it was adorable.

She wants me to f*ck someone else until I’m nearly ready to cum, then finish inside of her instead, he realized. Amusing that his sister had not simply advised him to take himself in hand for awhile first, but perhaps she wasn’t aware that men often did such things.

A few months ago, he would have gladly accepted her offer, but that was before he was crowned. Before he made the commitment to be a better husband and father. Humiliating her that way would not make him a good husband.

“Helaena, the reason ‘conception’ is unpleasant for me is because you’re not comfortable or enjoying it,” he clarified. “I very much doubt you’d be anything close to comfortable if you had to be in the room while I ‘started the act’ with a stranger, and I know for certain that you’d be uncomfortable letting me ‘finish the act’ with you while that stranger was still in the room.”

She started to nod, but then he saw a spark in her eyes, and in an instant, their gazes met, and he knew they shared the same thought.

What if it wasn’t a stranger?

Almost as though it were timed by the gods themselves, a loud roar pierced through the sky above King’s Landing, alerting them that Vhagar had returned home.

Rhaenyra

“NO!” Lord Bar Emmon cried as Ser Erryck Cargyll hauled him out of Dragonstone’s throne room. “No! My Queen! Please! I swear, I had nothing to do with it! I would NEVER betray your secrets! I am loyal! I am loyal!!”

No, you are not, she thought, watching him coldly as Ser Erryck dragged him kicking and screaming to the dungeons. You sold my secrets to Borros Baratheon. You may have gotten my son killed. Even if Luke’s death was an accident, I cannot trust you.

Rhaenys watched with a stoney expression as Lord Bar Emmon was removed. Perhaps from weariness. She had spent the last three days patrolling Corlys’s ships at the Gullet and had not yet slept. She would be returning to the skies the day after tomorrow.

Corlys was not half so stone-faced as his wife. He stood, arms folded across his chest as he watched the spectacle. Only once he was out of the room did Corlys speak to her softly in High Valyrian.

“My Queen…are we certain he was guilty?”

She was. Before he left for the Vale, Jace had been interrogating the entire council (including lesser lords), and had made various charts and diagrams for her to follow.

When she, Daemon, and her council had made their plans to send Jace to the Vale and Luke to Storm’s End, only twenty Lords and Knights had been in the room. There had been servants floating in and out, but Jace had already removed their names from consideration because they couldn’t read or write, meaning it would be highly unlikely they would have been able to get a message to Lord Borros without involving another person.

Of the remaining twenty, Jace had sorted the list by order of who would benefit most greatly from having Rhaenyra as Queen, cross-referencing that list with the list of Lords who stood to lose the most if Aegon remained King.

That only left five names, a much more manageable number. From that shorter list, only one had been to the rookery in time to send a raven to Storm’s End. Lord Bar Emmon.

Obvious, really, she thought. He was one of the only council members who tried to get me to counter Aegon’s initial offer to ask for more. Meaning he wanted me to bend the knee.

“Sharp Point has long been loyal to your house, Your Grace,” Corlys said hesitantly. “Might we at least…consider having a trial for him…”

“There is no need, and there is no time,” she dismissed. “There is no one else it could possibly be, and someone sold my secrets.”

And if he is responsible for the death of my son, I need to know. I need to know how Lucerys died. I need to know if it was an accident or if it was deliberate.

But for now, she needed to focus on her council.

“I have received no word from Daemon,” she said, looking at the table and gesturing towards Harrenhal. “I know he has claimed the castle, but we have not received any word on which Riverlands Houses he has managed to recruit.”

Corlys looked towards the hall for half a second longer, a worried look in his eyes, but he blinked it away, setting his gaze towards the table as well.

“Daemon only took Harrenhal a few days ago, your grace,” Corlys said. “Even with Caraxes, it will take him time to gather your swords. He should return to Dragonstone soon to check in. But in the meantime…”

He gestured his hands towards Duskendale and Rook’s Rest. “Your bannermen are gathering their swords, and they are a mere stone’s throw from King’s Landing. Prince Jacaerys has entered into negotiations with Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale, and she has over ten thousand fighting men to offer.”

She stared at the map. We control the Gullet, she thought. If we can bring in Lady Jeyne’s soldiers by sea, and House Darklyn and House Staunton can assist us in surrounding King’s Landing by land, we may be able to completely cut off their supply lines before any of their allies from the Reach or from the Westerlands can reach them. Surely some Houses in the Reach will prove loyal to me, even with their connections to House Hightower…

“My Queen!” Maester Gerardys cried, running into the throne room with a furled letter in his hand. “A message on the orders of your brother.”

My half-brother, she silently corrected, gesturing for Gerardys to read the letter. My traitor half-brother who stole my throne…and who may or may not be complicit in the death of my son.

But as the maester began to read…

Princess Rhaenyra,

It is my desire that this mounting dispute between your faction and mine ends before it erupts into full-blown war. If you insist on war, my loyal soldiers will fight to the last warrior. They fight for their true king, and for my heirs. But it is my duty as king to first exhaust all avenues of peace. Even after what you tried to do to my family.

Under interrogation, your assassin revealed the truth: that he was hired by Daemon to kill my heirs. That he was commanded by Daemon to rip innocent children from their mother’s arms and butcher them in front of her. Your actions sicken me, but by the mercy of the gods, no harm came to them. For the sake of the well-being of the realm, I am willing to leave justice in the hands of the gods as well.

My offer to you still stands, and I urge you to take it. You do not understand the horror that comes with war. The agony and despair of the innocent that will follow on the heels of Fire and Blood. For their sake, sister, accept my offer and bend the knee. Enjoy a life of wealth, luxury, and privilege with your remaining children. We need never see each other again afterwards.

But if you refuse, I will show you no mercy. And you will suffer the consequences a hundred-fold for what you tried to do to my children.

King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

The throne room was silent as a tomb, and she felt the eyes of each and every person from servant to Lord staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief. Her own eyes were wide, jaw clenched as she absorbed what Gerardys had read.

Daemon sent assassins after Aegon’s children?

She had commanded him not to act. He had betrayed her. He had attempted kinslaying, and now her entire council would believe she was complicit in the attempt as well.

No…I never wanted this! I am no kinslayer! I don’t even know what happened to Luke. Even if I was going to act, I would send assassins after him, not his children. They are scarcely more than babes…

It was as though a once-beloved dog had suddenly turned feral, biting the face of the owner it happily played with only the day before.

I knew Daemon had a dark side. With mine own eyes, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen his violence. The dragon lurking within. But this…this was something else entirely. Sending assassins to rip a babe from its mother’s arms was just…evil.

And now the world would think that same evil lurked within her.

But she couldn’t declare her own innocence without denouncing Daemon as a traitor and a would-be kinslayer. Without Daemon, she might as well not even try to fight her brother. Though revulsion coiled in her gut at the thought of what he’d tried to do, the thought of not having Daemon by her side made her chest tighten.

Beside her, she felt Corlys shifting. “Far more rational than I believed him capable of,” he mused, taking the letter from Gerardys to re-read it. “I can’t imagine that I’d react half so rationally if assassins were sent to kill my children. Perhaps Ser Otto wrote it for him?”

“Whoever wrote it, my Lord, Aegon was the one who signed it,” Gerardys said. “I recognize his signature.”

From behind Corlys, Rhaenys shifted. “I don’t believe Aegon wrote it,” she reasoned. “He’s twenty-two years old, a pampered prince who believes himself untouchable. He has a dragon’s temper, and he was born in a time of peace with no concept of what war is really like. He would still see war as an opportunity for glory.” Rhaenys tapped the letter in Corlys’s hands. “This was written by a battle veteran. Someone who knows firsthand how ugly war is and wants to avoid it.”

Corlys nodded slowly. “I agree, but…does Aegon have a battle veteran on his council?”

“Ser Criston Cole,” Rhaenyra said. “He’s seen combat in the Stormlands.”

But that letter doesn’t sound like Criston at all…

“Whoever it was, they have a point, your grace,” Corlys agreed. “We have yet to attempt to offer peace terms to your half-brother. I understand that you wish to understand our strengths and weaknesses before we do, or perhaps to even get them into a stranglehold, but perhaps if we at least make an initial offer, a low offer, it shows your brother that we are amenable to peace as well. With this letter, Aegon will come across to the realm as the more rational of the two of you. The one who wants to keep the peace. If we do not make an attempt as well, it will make us look like the villains.”

“And you were the one who was usurped,” Rhaenys encouraged. “You were the one who was robbed. They are the ones who started his conflict and perhaps killed your son. It will not serve to have your half-brother pretend to be the calm, rational, peace-keeping victim.”

“As he is pretending to be a king,” a voice from the back of the hall called.

No, it will not serve, Rhaenyra silently agreed.

“Send an initial offer,” she commanded to her maester. “I will allow them to surrender their dragons and return to Oldtown unharmed, if they bend the knee.”

The maester hesitated. “The likelihood that they will accept…”

“I do not expect my brother to accept,” she agreed. “I would be shocked if he did. But it gives us a starting point for negotiations. They can ask for more if they wish, and I will consider it. And I can always make a better offer later once we finish assessing our strengths.”

But for now, I need to get to Syrax, she thought, dismissing her council and retreating to her chambers to change into her riding clothes. It is a long flight to Harrenhal, and I wish to get there before dark. Daemon will explain why in the Seven Hells he disobeyed me…and potentially cost us allies if word gets out that we attempted kinslaying.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra

Harrenhal was hideous.

Harwin had told her stories about it once upon a time. Back when they often shared a bed. Stories told of how he spent hours exploring its halls as a child. It didn’t have half so many secret passageways as the Red Keep, but it was far larger; the largest in all of Westeros.

And now it was theirs, Caraxes circling around the towers and singing a squeaky love song to Syrax as she approached.

Even our dragons are in love, she thought sadly as she stared at her husband’s blood-red dragon.

I adore you, Caraxes, just like I adore your rider, but right now, I despise him. And she was uncertain whether or not that would change. As much as she loved Daemon, it sickened her on a primal level that he had sent assassins into a nursery.

To Rhaenyra’s surprise, when she landed, the only people there to greet her were a handful of servants and a few stray Lords wearing the sigils of House Darry and House Roote. The nobility of House Strong, presumably, were confined to their rooms. No hint of the great host of Riverlands Houses that Daemon had planned to gather, using Harrenhal as their rallying point.

He has not been here long, she reasoned. He hasn’t had much time to gather swords yet. It can take weeks to mobilize to march…

Daemon greeted her as a consort would greet a Queen, rather than the way a man might greet his wife, but the second they were away from prying eyes and ensconced in his suite of rooms, he moved in to wrap his arms around her…

And she slapped him across the face.

“How could you!” she cried, while Daemon recoiled, stung both physically and mentally. “Aegon’s eldest children are SIX! His youngest is TWO! You sent assassins to slaughter three children, one of which is still a BABE!”

Daemon’s eyes flashed, and for a second, she thought she saw a flash of regret.

“They killed all three?” he said darkly, his voice cracking. “That is NOT what I ordered. I told Mysaria to only kill his eldest, his heir, and to leave the rest of them untouched…”

She slapped him again.

“JAEHAERYS IS SIX YEARS OLD!” she screamed, her face turning blood red. “SIX YEARS OLD! MY NEPHEW! YOUR GREAT NEPHEW!”

“Is?” he asked. “Not was? They survived?”

“They all survived,” she confirmed. “Otherwise, we would be in an all-out war long before we were ready because you decided to unleash your fury on a SIX-YEAR-OLD!”

And she slapped him again.

Daemon bared his teeth as his cheek began to pinken from her strikes. “Yes, six years old,” he agreed, his voice scarcely above a growl. “Legally a child. Just like Lucerys was legally a child. That didn’t save his life.”

Luke…Her son’s name tore through her like a sword through her chest, and for a moment, her knees trembled. But just as quickly as it came, her grief burst into a spark of rage.

You do not get to weaponize my son’s death to win an argument.

“Luke would be alive if the Greens never usurped my throne,” Rhaenyra agreed. “But we do not know if they are directly responsible for his death, and Aegon’s behavior suggests that they believe it was a tragic accident. Even if you are right and they killed him deliberately, then that would justify killing AEMOND, or Aegon himself. It does not justify trying to kill an innocent child who likely doesn’t even know that there IS a war brewing. That is not who we are, Daemon. That is not who I am. I am not a monster.”

Daemon folded his arms, waiting calmly for her to finish speaking. Too calmly. Frighteningly calmly. As was the way he remained silent for several long seconds after she was done.

“No, we are not monsters,” he agreed. “We are dragons.”

“Daemon…”

Gesturing broadly at the castle around them, he challenged, “When Aegon the Conqueror burned this castle with Balerion the Dread, turning the inside into an oven, do you think it was only soldiers who were cooked alive?” He snorted. “No. There were innocents inside as well. Women and children. Should Aegon have avoided burning Harrenhal simply to spare them?”

She felt the sudden, violent urge to vomit, or at the very least go back outside. I’m standing in a massive stone coffin…

“Or when Queen Rhaenys died and the Conqueror and Visenya burned the castles of Dorne,” Daemon continued. “Do you think they precisely targeted only the person who fired the Scorpion bolt at Meraxes? NO!” he shouted. “Because that is not how warfare works, Rhaenyra. The Greens deserve to suffer for what they did, and the death of one innocent child does not even begin to tip the scales. Not for the years of torment Alicent inflicted on you. Not for killing our unborn daughter. Not for killing Luke. Not for starting a war and forcing us to fight for what should have been handed to you peacefully. Hundreds, or f*ck, maybe THOUSANDS of people are going to die because of the f*cking GREENS! Likely dozens of them will be innocent children. And you want me to weep with remorse for trying to assassinate a single f*cking child that neither one of us even knew?”

She felt herself beginning to shake, but she forced her spine to steel. I am a Queen. I am the blood of the dragon. If I cower before my own consort, I do not deserve the Iron Throne.

“If it comes to combat, then I have no qualms about burning Green soldiers,” she said regally, her chin held high. “And if it becomes necessary to forcibly siege a town or a village, I can accept that collateral damage will happen. But where you are wrong, Daemon, is that Aegon the Conqueror was only as ruthless as he needed to be. He did not go out of his way to intentionally slaughter children for no militant advantage other than inflicting pain on their families.”

Stepping in closer to Daemon, she looked him dead in the eye. “And it might serve you well to remember that you also contributed the war that may or may not follow. Before your assassination attempt, there was a chance we might have resolved this conflict without active warfare. We might have been able to convince the Greens that we could be trusted, and we may have been able to get them to agree to a surrender settlement. But by doing this, you have validated their fears and proven that we can’t be trusted. Our negotiating power has dwindled because you have destroyed my credibility. Getting them to surrender now will be infinitely more difficult.”

Daemon said nothing, but she recognized that flash in his eyes, a silent acknowledgement that she had made a valid point…and yet it didn’t matter.

Because despite what he claims, he wants this war. And Rhaenyra simply had no idea what to do with that. She saw him differently now, both as her husband and her Master of War…but she had no idea what to do with those new feelings.

So I will set them aside for now.

“We act with honor and integrity, Daemon,” she said commandingly. “We negotiate with honor and integrity, and if necessary, we fight with honor and integrity. Fire and Blood does not preclude honor.”

Daemon eyed her quietly…and to her dismay, she caught the faintest hint of his disappointment. But whatever he was about to say, he held it in, her husband yielding to her Master of War.

“Honor and integrity might cost you the throne, Rhaenyra,” he said ominously. “Did you notice a disturbing lack of supporters outside this castle?”

She had, but she folded her arms and frowned, waiting for him to continue.

“I very nearly recruited the Blackwoods to our cause,” he explained. “I thought I had. They told me they were merely waiting for Elmo Tully to confirm their neutrality or their allegiance to us, despite what Grover wants. But I received a raven from them just this morning, declaring that they will not be marching for Harrenhal. What does that tell you?”

She blinked at him, then swallowed. “The Greens got to the Tullys…”

“And the Tullys are Lords Paramount of the Riverlands. Beloved Lords Paramount in the Riverlands. If the Tullys are supporting the Greens, then so will damn near everyone else here. The Darrys and the Rootes are the only Houses who agreed to support us regardless of what the Tullys want. I intend to fly to the Twins to speak with House Frey, but the odds of them defying their liege lord…” He turned from her, leaning over his desk and punching his fist against the wood. “And even if they do, our only real chance of victory here in the Riverlands is to use the dragons.”

The dragons. She didn’t want to use them. Not if she didn’t have to. They had more than the Greens, it was true. Even after the death of Arrax. But most of their dragons were small, and her own Syrax had never been to battle. The only dragons she knew would fare well in combat were Caraxes and Meleys.

But if Aemond were to fight on Vhagar…

“We are fighting no battles yet, Daemon,” she said. “Merely gathering swords for now. There is still a chance we may be able to negotiate a peace deal with Aegon before it comes to bloodshed.”

She didn’t need Daemon to turn and glare at her to know how naïve she sounded.

Two Weeks Later

Robert

It’s all going according to plan, Lyanna, Robert thought as he stared into the fire, smiling sadly. And it’s your brother I have to thank for it.

Robert would have loved nothing more than a cup of ale as he stared into the fire. Not wine; that was for when he wanted to get drunk and forget. Ale was different. Ale was shared with friends while laughing and telling stories over a hearty supper. Ale was the drink of happiness. Of camaraderie. And right now, Robert wished he could share a horn of it with Ned.

Remember when we were young men, growing up in the Vale? Robert thought, smiling as he watched the logs in his hearth crack and pop. We sparred together. We studied together. We hunted together. You were closer to my heart than my own brothers ever were. Closer than Jon Arryn, as much as I loved him.

And one of the ways they strengthened that bond was the long nights they would stay awake exchanging stories in front of the fire.

Robert told Ned stories of Storm’s End, and how House Baratheon came to be, after his ancestor Orys Baratheon claimed the Stormland for Aegon the Conqueror. But most of the stories were shared by Ned. He had thousands of them, as House Stark’s bloodline stretched back thousands of years to the time of the First Men. Ned’s stories ranged from legends of the Others to historical accountings of the building of the Wall.

Robert remembered damn near every story that Ned shared with him, remembering the way his friend’s eyes lit up when he recounted them. It made him less homesick while he was missing Winterfell.

And it is those stories you shared with me that may save thousands of innocent lives, Robert thought with a smile. You’d like that, Ned. Over a century from now, when you’re born, you’ll never know that it was you who saved Westeros. But you will have.

Ned’s stories helped Robert in two ways. The first was the most obvious. Prince Aemond was flying to Winterfell as they spoke, after House Manderly encouraged Cregan Stark to receive him and hear his petition. Robert had prepared him thoroughly before he left (though he needed to pull quite a few creative excuses out of his ass to explain how he knew so much about Northern culture). Aemond didn’t seem to truly believe the excuses, but he didn’t call Robert out on them, promising to take his tips under advisem*nt.

Hopefully, the tips he shared with Aemond would be enough to secure House Stark’s loyalty.

Cregan Stark is still just a pup. He’s not Old Man Winter yet. But hopefully, his core honor code is still there.

But Ned’s most valuable story would not be benefitting Aemond. It would be benefitting Aegon.

It was one of the few stories Ned told him more than twice. The story of Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt.

Perhaps Ned felt defensive about that story. Some Northerners saw it as a blight on the Stark family tree. But Robert didn’t fault Torrhen at all for kneeling to the Conqueror. The man had three dragons, for f*ck’s sake. Was he supposed to serve his men up to be spit-roasted?

Nonetheless, Ned was defensive about it. Enough so that he told Robert all the plans Torrhen had considered when he still planned to attempt to defeat the Conqueror.

Most specifically, the plans of Torrhen’s bastard half-brother, Brandon Snow.

Torrhen had stopped Brandon from putting his plans into action, surrendering instead, but nonetheless, it had been a good plan. A feasible plan. Still feasible, even today…

The Gullet

Hopefully, this will be my last day at sea, the fisherman thought as he stretched, his old bones creaking in protest.

At fifty-three, he was too old to spend day in and day out on the sea anymore. He wanted to rest and enjoy whatever years he had left on the shore. But a life of leisure required money, and the fisherman had never been able to earn more than what he needed to fill his belly for a few more nights.

Not anymore, he thought with a smile. Not now that Borros Baratheon has paid me a ten-percent deposit on the small mountain of gold he promised me. Enough for me to live comfortably until my death.

The fisherman had earned it, him and his sons both. They had spent the last two weeks observing the Velaryon fleet as they blockaded the Gullet. The Velaryons stopped merchant vessels from approaching or leaving the port, but they didn’t bother with fisherman in small rowboats, and so he and his sons had been left unbothered. In exactly the right position to spy. Not on the Velaryons themselves, but on the dragon circling overhead.

Meleys, the Red Queen, they called her. She was a fearsome beast who had frightened off more than a few merchant vessels who attempted to cross the Velaryon blockade, sending them running with their tails between their legs. But the fisherman was not there to marvel at Meleys. He was there to observe her. Her patterns. And after two weeks, he had them memorized.

Dragons, being lizards, didn’t need to eat as often as other animals, but because Meleys spent hours a day flying, nonstop, she needed to eat every day. Because she spent little time on the land, she needed to hunt for her meals from the sea. And as luck would have it, her favorite meal was freshly caught shark. The larger the better.

Which was why his small fishing boat, and his sons’, were packed with as many barrels of chum as they could carry, which they would dump along the area where Meleys liked to do her hunting.

The bloody chum would draw in hundreds of sharks, eager to sate their hunger with a taste of fresh blood. But little did they know that blood and fish parts was not all they would be dining on.

“Dinnertime, sharkies,” the fisherman called in his warbly voice.

And soon after, dinnertime for Meleys as well.

Jace

“You’ll be safe here,” Jace assured Rhaena as she got settled into her suite of rooms at the Eyrie. “And Joffrey will be here soon. Mother isn’t ready to let him leave Dragonstone yet. Not…” He snapped his jaw shut as he felt his throat tremble, not wanting Rhaena to hear him sob.

Not so soon after we lost Luke.

“But he’ll be here soon,” Jace continued, pushing past it. “Part of our deal with Lady Jeyne is that she wants a dragon rider here. He’ll be along in a few weeks.”

Rhaena nodded slowly as she sat down on her settee, raking her fingers through her hair. “I just wish it was Baela,” she confessed softly. “Her and Moondancer. But they can’t keep both of us in the same castle, because…”

Because if the Greens attacked, they could get to both of you. And that would be devastating for our faction. Enough to cost us the Velaryon’s support.

Rhaena bit her lip, shoulders shaking. “I hate this,” she lamented. “I HATE this! This isn’t right! It isn’t fair. Viserys promised the throne to Rhaenyra. The Lords of Westeros swore to her. She was named Princess of Dragonstone. SHE was the heir! The Greens had no right to steal her crown; the realm should be united against them. Why do we have to fight at all?”

“Because she had the audacity to be born a woman,” Jace said darkly, sitting down next to her. “And I had the audacity to be born with brown hair.”

They never discussed it, how he was so painfully obviously the bastard son of Harwin Strong rather than the trueborn son of Laenor Velaryon. A self-loathing so dark and deep he seldom talked about it with anyone, even Luke.

Rhaena gently touched his shoulder. “Jace,” she whispered. “You would be an amazing King one day.”

He didn’t answer.

“Truly,” she encouraged. “It was you who persuaded Lady Jeyne to help us, and it will be you who persuades House Manderly and the Sistermen when you fly north. You are a dragon rider, and most importantly, you have a good heart without being weak. And you are all of those wonderful things because that’s who your mother raised you to be. It makes no difference who your father was. If Rhaenyra had been married to Harwin, no one would have batted an eye at the thought of you being her heir. You’re the same person, marriage or no marriage.”

I want you to be right…

“Plus, you will have decades to learn how to rule before your time comes,” she assured him. “You will learn from your mother, after she takes back what is rightfully hers.”

And after all the usurpers are either dead or rotting at the wall.

The truth was that Jace was afraid. Just yesterday, he had spoken to his mother when he returned to Dragonstone to pick up Rhaena, and it was all but confirmed that they had all but lost the Riverlands. The Westerlands and the Stormlands had already pledged for Aegon. They had no prayer of winning the Reach, not when House Hightower had such a heavy influence. So far, they had only the Vale, House Velaryon, and the handful of Crownlands Houses that remained loyal.

Even with superior dragon power, that was not going to be enough. Not unless they won the North. Not unless he won the North. If not, Rhaenyra would have no choice but to bend the knee, and shortly after, Jace knew in his heart that they would all be dead.

And that drunken, usurping traitor will have the honor of House Targaryen, of the Royal Line, passing through him.

It couldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen.

“I’ll stay here tonight to ensure you’ve settled in,” he told her. “And then I fly for White Harbor on the morrow. Winterfell shortly after.”

The Starks may be our only hope.

Aemond

“Gods be good…” Aemond marveled from Vhagar’s back as he looked across the horizon, where Winterfell awaited him.

He knew it was the second largest castle in all of Westeros, second only to Harrenhal, and the sight of it robbed his breath from his lungs, even after growing up in the Red Keep. Tower after gray stone tower surrounded by a massive retaining wall. The interior was more a small town than it was a single dwelling, and Aemond easily could have landed Vhagar in the courtyard like a horse without disturbing a single building.

Of course, that would be rude, and so he landed her outside the walls instead, dismounting and giving her permission to hunt the herd of moose they had passed awhile back. “Cregan Stark sent a raven giving his word to grant me guest right,” Aemond assured her in High Valyrian. “He won’t go back on his word. That’s not the Stark way.”

Aemond had already known that, even before Lord Borros repeated it. Along with a small list of other Northern customs that he shared with Aemond to help make his stay more productive.

As for how Borros knew those customs without ever having set foot that far North? Aemond had no idea, and he did not believe the excuses Borros gave him about his multiple exchanges with sailors from White Harbor. Sailors liked to talk about ale and wenches, not about ancient Northern honor codes.

Perhaps Borros had spies in the North. Perhaps he made secret trips there. Perhaps he had a Northern mistress that he kept secret from his wife. Whatever the reason, Aemond decided to trust his information…largely because Helaena urged him to.

“You must trust him, brother,” she told him. “Especially on a mission this important.”

Though of course, remembering Helaena right now made Aemond’s cheeks flame red.

I may be seeing her naked soon, he thought, flushing deeper. Or…or she may be seeing me naked? I don’t know how Aegon is planning for the evening to unfold. And him telling me that we’ll ‘play it by ear’ does not ease my anxiety at all.

But Aemond wanted to do his duty, and he wanted to help his siblings. It was important for Aegon to have as many children as possible to secure his succession, and conception was difficult for him and Helaena. She didn’t like to be touched, and his ego could not handle his partner’s dissatisfaction.

I’m better and relaxing Helaena than anyone in our family, and I want her to be relaxed, comfortable, and feel safe during the act, he thought. And I don’t want Aegon to be reluctant to do his duty, because it may take them many attempts over many months to get her pregnant.

And if helping his siblings meant that he would need to be in their marriage bed with them? Well, then he would simply have to swallow his embarrassment and endure it.

If he were being honest, it wouldn’t be so much a matter of ‘enduring’ it. His lessons with Aegon were enjoyable, and Aemond loved Helaena deeply. And if he were being TRULY honest, he could admit that he’d been jealous of Aegon more than once, imagining himself in Helaena’s bed. Now, he would get to be with both of them in some capacity.

And the first time we try will be when I get home from Winterfell, because that is when the Maester told Helaena that it would be a good time to start trying…

But for now, thoughts of carnality would have to wait, because he had to focus on securing Northern support before any Blacks arrived to try to lay claim to the North.

Three Days Later

Rhaenys

“What do you mean she isn’t eating?” Rhaenys said frantically in High Valyrian as she followed the Keepers to the dragon mount. “You fed her as I instructed?”

“Yes, Princess,” the head Keeper answered her respectfully. “Exactly as you commanded. A small herd of goats. Still living because she likes them fresh. But she wouldn’t rouse to eat them. Even when we slaughtered one first so she could smell its blood. She just lowered her head and went back to sleep.”

That isn’t like her, Rhaenys thought, half-running to the dragonmount’s cave where Meleys was nesting. She has a ravenous appetite, and goat is her favorite meal.

Her beloved dragon began acting strangely two days ago. Normally the fastest dragon in the world, Meleys was flying sluggishly. And despite being fairly young, she was getting tired quickly, wanting more and more breaks on the small rocky islands to rest. Fearing she was pushing her too hard, Rhaenys brought her back to Dragonstone for a few days to rest. But rather than getting better, Meleys seemed to only be getting worse.

When she arrived at the cave, Rhaenys’s heart froze, muscles going tense and rigid as she stared at the once proud and fearsome Red Queen. Meleys was flopped over on her side, her breathing labored. Once bright and vibrant, her green eyes were clouded and dull. She did not lift her head to greet Rhaenys when she came into the cave, as she always did. She didn’t move at all, as if unaware that Rhaenys was even there.

But what struck Rhaenys the hardest was not how Meleys looked. It was how she smelled.

Dragons, unfortunately, had a strong odor. An unpleasant odor of thick smoke and eggs. It was part of the reason why dragon riders had specific clothes worn only for riding; that stink was impossible to get out of fabric. So Rhaenys was not expecting Meleys to smell like a rose garden.

But she was not expecting this.

The stench had Rhaenys gagging, grabbing her nose and desperately forcing back the urge to vomit. The cave did not stink of dragon. It stunk of decay. It stunk of a bloated, rotting corpse. It stunk of death.

“Meleys!” Rhaenys cried, running to her dragon’s side and kneeling before her to look into her dull eyes.

The smell is coming from her mouth, Rhaenys thought, grabbing her face in horror. She smells like she’s rotting from the inside out!

“Meleys!” she cried, calling to her dragon, shaking her face, doing everything she could to rouse her. “Meleys! Wake up!” Wheeling on the Keepers, she ordered, “She’s sick! She needs medicine!”

But even before the Keeper responded, Rhaenys new it was useless. No medicine existed for dragons, because no dragon in the history of Westeros (or Old Valyria, to her knowledge) had ever gotten sick. Like many Targaryens, they were immune to illness.

Then why is this happening?

For hours, Rhaenys stayed by her dragon’s side, trying to soothe her, trying to anger her, trying to plead with her, trying everything she could think to do, but the rancid stench only grew worse and worse, Meleys’s breathing growing more and more labored.

Until at last, the once proud, fearsome Red Queen breathed no more. As the last beat of her dragon’s heart faded away, Rhaenys felt a small piece of her own wither and die in her chest.

No, she cried silently. No!

She allowed herself an hour to weep, to let her tears flow freely as she screamed and grieved for her beloved friend. We’ve been together since I was thirteen! Before I wed Corlys. Before I had my children…

And she was dead. And it was more than Rhaenys thought she could bear.

Eventually, Rhaenys forced herself to stand, wiping the tears from her eyes. There would be time to mourn later. For now, she needed to act.

“Burn her body,” she instructed the Keepers as she left the cave, making her way back to Dragonstone’s castle. “Do not allow crows or any other scavengers to feast on it.”

With every step she took, Rhaenys’s fire returned. Her determination. Meleys was gone, but Rhaenys was still the blood of the dragon, and she could not allow herself to crumble. Especially now.

When she arrived in the throne room, she ignored her husband, charging straight to Rhaenyra, too angry and upset to greet her the way a princess should greet her Queen.

“Lord Bar Emmon was innocent,” Rhaenys said. “You killed the wrong man.”

Rhaenyra blinked at her, dumbfounded at first, then angry. “How could you possibly…”

“The traitor is still here on Dragonstone,” she declared. “And they have found a way past the Keepers. My dragon is dead.”

Rhaenyra stiffened, her blue-purple eyes slowly widening. “Meleys is…”

“Dead,” Rhaenys confirmed. “Poisoned. And it must have happened here on Dragonstone, because all of her other meals were caught in the wild.”

Rhaenyra brought her hand up to cover her mouth, muffling her words. “Arrax first…now Meleys…”

Rhaenyra did not need to say it.

The Greens have four rideable dragons. Now, we have only six, and most of ours are too young and small to fight, ridden by inexperienced riders. They have Vhagar…

Unless something changed, and fast, they were all dead.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Daeron

“Is it me, or does the air stink of sh*t?” Ormund asked as they stared at the blurry outline of the Red Keep in the distance.

Daeron chuckled. “No, cousin, your nose does not deceive you. I smell it too.” But foul as it was, the stench made him smile. He was nearly home.

The march from Oldtown had not been an easy one. Rather than the simple trek they expected, they had very nearly not made it past Honeywine. But they had, claiming a victory against Houses Tarly and Beesbury, and the rest of the trek had mercifully been smooth after the Tyrell forces joined up with them to escort them the rest of the way to the capital. He even saw his little niece Jaehaera on the way, her host escorting her and her young dragon Morghul to Highgarden.

Ormund smiled at Daeron, clapping him on the shoulder. “You left this city a child. You return a knight, Ser Daeron the Daring.”

Ser Daeron the Daring. It still didn’t seem to fit. He knew he had earned it, him and Tessarion both, but rather than feeling like a badge of honor, it chafed at him, like new, ill-fitting clothes.

Perhaps because he still heard their screams in his nightmares. Screams of Black soldiers as they burned alive in cobalt flames. Soldiers from House Beesbury and Tarly, two Houses he thought for certain would ally with the Hightowers after such a long history of good blood…

Sensing his gloom, Ormund patted his back again. “War is never easy, Daeron, and I’m sorry you needed to do what you did. But it’s for the best that we blooded you early. There will be more fighting to come. Ser Criston Cole has already led his men to reclaim the Crownland Houses in service to the false queen, but there will be more fighting. Your brother will need you.”

My brother. The King, Daeron thought as he looked up to where Tessarion was flying protectively over their massive host.

I should be returning to King’s Landing for a celebration, not a war. Aegon is father’s eldest son. The throne is his birthright. Instead, he was returning to bring Fire and Blood to his faction’s enemies.

“I hate them,” Daeron confessed. “Rhaenyra. Daemon. All of them. How many people am I going to have to burn because Rhaenyra decided to challenge Aegon to steal his rightful crown? In every other House in every other f*cking one of the Kingdoms, it would be understood without question that the eldest son is the heir. If she had just bent the damn knee and taken our offer, no one would need to die. Aegon would…”

Well, the truth was that Aegon probably would have f*cked off and drank wine somewhere while his council did the actual ruling, but Daeron didn’t want to say that.

“Aegon could have ruled over another fifty years of peace and prosperity,” he settled on instead. “I don’t want to kill anyone else. I shouldn’t need to kill anyone else. And neither should Aemond; he’s going to need to fight too. I hate them! I f*cking hate them for making me do this!”

Ormund grabbed him by the shoulders, wheeled him around, and met his gaze fiercely.

“Good,” he half-growled. “Remember that. Remember that hate, and show them no mercy on the battlefield. Because I know your uncle, and he sure as f*ck is not going to be showing any for you. Not after what he tried to do to Aegon’s children.”

Sending assassins after babes…Daeron balled his fist, while above them, Tessarion let out a fearsome roar.

Shaking him, Ormund added, “We have four adult dragons. We have a damn near united Reach now that Princess Jaehaera has been betrothed to House Tyrell. We have the Stormlands, the Westerlands, and now most of the Riverlands thanks to your brother Aemond. We have everything we need to bring them to their knees, and we will.”

I hope you’re right, he thought. Because if you’re not, this war could drag out for years, and all of Westeros may be littered with burned corpses to feed the crows. Just like Honeywine…

Robert

“A pity you have no more of the poison,” Otto mused as he poured a cup of water, handing it to Robert before pouring a cup for himself.

The Hand hadn’t even asked before pouring water instead of wine. Robert had not avoided the drink completely since waking up in Borros’s body, but he limited it to a cup or two with meals, never touching the stuff before discussing anything of militant importance. It was hard enough keeping up the Borros playact sober; drunk, he was bound to make a mistake.

“Indeed,” Robert agreed. “But perhaps we should be grateful it’s rare. The plant can only grow in the Shadowlands Beyond Asshai, and the amount we needed to kill Meleys used up their entire stock.”

A lie. It had been a conventional poison from a plant that was uncommon but not truly rare. But Robert would take that secret to his grave. He had spread the lie about the poison’s origins (careful not to take responsibility for the act himself), hoping that the common man would believe that only a rare poison from a magical land could kill a dragon.

“Agreed,” Otto agreed, sitting across from Robert at the table in his quarters. “If the poison were more easily accessible, the Blacks might replicate your trick. Or worse, if it became public knowledge, Aegon might win the war with his sister only to face a rebellion six months later, his dragons assassinated.”

Which is why no one but me can ever know that it was not a mysterious, ‘magical’ poison from a magical land.

“While I do wish the poison had been used on Caraxes, I can’t deny that you’ve yet again given us a tremendous advantage,” Otto said, smirking. “My grandson was getting restless and agitated with the Velaryon blockade, but now without Meleys guarding it, the Triarchy is willing to put our plan into action faster. Especially with the Arbor and House Manderly communicating with them to coordinate their efforts.”

Another wasted opportunity in the original timeline. The Arbor had sworn fealty to Aegon early in the war, and they had a powerful navy, and yet they did nothing but sit on their asses while Aegon desperately needed naval support. Now (after some urging to either sh*t or get off the pot), they were willing to send their ships.

“We’ll take Caraxes out of the equation in due course, my Lord Hand,” Robert assured him.

As for how I’m going to do that? I have no earthly idea. In the original timeline, getting rid of Caraxes had cost them Vhagar, and that simply was not an option. Vhagar and Aemond would both need to live, at the very least until the fighting was over and Aegon’s reign was secure. She was their most valuable asset, and unlike in the original timeline, Robert intended to use her to her fullest potential.

Otto nodded, his eyes glazed over as he stared into the fire. “Daemon is our greatest enemy, even more so than Rhaenyra herself,” he admitted. “I believe she might have been willing to negotiate if not for him. Instead, the only ‘offer’ we got from Rhaenyra was one step down from a threat.”

Abandon your dragons and go back to Oldtown, and I promise not to kill you. Robert snorted. She might as well have spit directly in Aegon’s face. And after all the work Robert had done convincing Aegon to make a diplomatic offer in the first place.

But at least I’ve mitigated the worst of the damage, Robert thought. Without the loss of his son, Aegon had not devolved into senseless fury. Meleys’s death and their growing list of allies made Aegon feel like progress was being made, and so he had not dismissed Otto as his Hand. Criston Cole was marching for Duskendale as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, not as Hand of the King, and Aemond should be returning from Winterfell any day now.

But for how much longer will I be able to rely on my advantage of hindsight, he wondered. For now, surely things had already changed greatly.

I have a few more tricks left up my sleeve, but soon enough, we will be in completely uncharted territory. Then, I will have to rely on my warfare experience to see me through.

But fortunately, for Robert and for the Greens, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was a damn good military leader.

Jace

“It’s alright, Vermax,” Jace soothed in High Valyrian, stroking his beloved dragon’s wing. “Be calm. The injury is…” f*ck, what’s the word for small? Gods damn it, his High Valyrian was absolute sh*t.

Not that it mattered much. His words had the desired effect of soothing Vermax’s pained grunts as Jace broke the arrow and gently removed it. Though the anxiety in Jace’s gut would not be soothed, his intestines clenching.

House Manderly turned him away without even receiving his message as an envoy, their ships proudly displaying Aegon’s Sunfyre banner. The sight of it nearly triggered a blood rage in Jace, and it took every ounce of self-restraint he had not to start burning every ship in White Harbor.

The Sistermen had been even worse. Technically, the Three Sisters were part of the Vale, so Jace had been hopeful that they would follow Lady Jeyne in supporting the Blacks, but when Jace and Vermax flew in too close, they’d been met with a volley of arrows. They’d dodged most of them, but one had struck Vermax’s wing, piercing the membrane. It was a minor injury, no worse than a splinter for a human, but the implication was heart-wrenching.

House Manderly and the Sistermen are supporting Aegon. Just like most of the Riverlands. Just like the Westerlands, and the Stormlands, and the Reach…What chance did Rhaenyra have of winning the war now, especially with Meleys dead? Her throne, her birthright, her place in the Targaryen dynasty would be stolen, and Jace’s as well. And his f*cking c*nt of an uncle was going to live happily ever after, enjoying his stolen boon.

I must win over the Starks, he said, checking Vermax’s wing one last time before getting back into the saddle. I must. Otherwise, what few allies we have will be slaughtered by the thousands…

Aemond

I’m going to vomit, Aemond feared as he plunged his hands into the stinking carcass. I’m going to vomit. I’m going to vomit. I’m going to vomit…

Miraculously, he held it in as he continued removing the elk’s entrails.

Aemond had been on hunts before, both in the Crownlands and the Riverlands, and the wealthy nobles merely enjoyed the thrill of the hunt while leaving the dirty work for the servants. But the North was different. Here, no servants accompanied them, and the nobles were expected to do all the work of butchering the animal themselves. Aemond was responsible for cleaning it, while Cregan Stark skinned it, and then some of the other men would butcher it into manageable pieces and prepare it for transport back to Winterfell.

As foul as the task was, he silently thanked Lord Borros again for warning him that he might have to do it. Doing it without complaint had very clearly been another step towards earning Cregan’s respect.

“You’re a good shot for a man with one eye,” Cregan praised as he peeled back the elk’s hide, exposing the red flesh beneath.

Aemond nodded grimly. “I trained thrice as hard to compensate for it. Not only with the sword, but with the bow and my knives as well. It’s awkward, and you have to learn to aim in a completely different way, but sadly, we live in a brutal world and I could not risk being at such a grave disadvantage.”

“A brutal world indeed,” Cregan agreed, slipping his knife further to free another few inches of hide. “I’m learning that more and more with every passing year.”

Cregan’s reception had been frosty when Aemond first arrived at Winterfell. He was fresh off his own succession crisis, where his uncle tried to take Winterfell from him, and he was skeptical of both the Greens and the Blacks, but Aemond liked to think he was slowly but surely winning the young Lord’s trust.

“And about to become far more brutal,” Aemond said, remembering Borros’s advice to be direct and upfront rather than charming. “War is looming, Lord Stark. We did everything we could to avoid it. We attempted numerous times to sue for peace, even after Rhaenyra’s assassination attempt. But it’s become undeniable that our sister will not settle for anything less than my brother’s throne.”

Cregan hesitated. “A throne that was promised to her…”

“Before my brother was born,” Aemond corrected as he pulled out the elk’s liver, cut free the arteries and veins, then handed it to one of the other hunters to wrap. “Before Aegon’s birth, Rhaenyra was indeed the rightful heir in accordance with inheritance law. Daughters come before uncles. It is that way in the North as well, is it not?”

Cregan grunted his agreement. “Even so, it was your father’s duty to communicate any change in his wishes. Which he didn’t do.”

Don’t argue with his honor, Borros’s words echoed through Aemond’s mind. Appeal to it. But remember, no fancy sh*t. That will make them lose respect for you.

“I agree it’s a nuanced issue. We can debate inheritance custom vs law for hours, and we may never come to a consensus,” Aemond conceded. “But at the end of the day, what matters most is what’s best for Westeros.”

Cregan smiled appeasingly as he moved onto the Elk’s legs, a much harder area to skin. “And you believe that to be your brother?”

“I know that to be my brother,” Aemond corrected, reaching into the cavity once again to scrape away some squishy gunk that he didn’t even want to identify. “For the entirety of my father’s reign, it was my grandfather, Otto Hightower, who did most of the actual work of maintaining decades of peace and prosperity that my great-grandfather established. And it is Otto Hightower that has groomed Aegon to rule, and who is helping him to rule now. Whereas Rhaenyra’s most influential councilor is Daemon.”

To Aemond’s relief, Cregan flinched. “I’ve heard disturbing stories of the Rogue Prince,” he muttered. “I suppose I would hate to think we were trading decades of peace and prosperity for…well…him.”

Yes! But Aemond masked his excitement, nodding grimly. “Not only that, but we already have secured the loyalty of much of the realm,” Aemond continued. “If you lend us the support of the North as well, then we may be able to force Rhaenyra into a surrender and minimize the bloodshed.”

Remembering another tip from Borros, he added, “It is the smallfolk who will suffer the most if this conflict continues. It is our duty, the duty of all the Lords of Westeros, to put their needs first.”

Aemond’s words hit Cregan exactly where he wanted them to, if the grim expression in the young lord’s eyes was any indication.

“And if the North supports her, there’s a greater chance of army after army ripping each other apart, drawing this out for years,” Cregan finished. “What’s best for the realm vs. what honor demands,” he mused, then looked thoughtful. “Though admittedly, what honor demands is a bit murky at the moment, what with the succession law a debatable matter.”

Yes, Aemond cheered for himself. He’d been worried, coming here with no marriage pact to offer. Cregan had only a son, and Jaehaera had already been betrothed to Highgarden. Alicent pitched the idea of betrothing Jaehaerys to a future daughter of Cregan’s, but curiously, Borros adamantly argued against it. Aemond wasn’t certain what Borros’s argument would have been, because Aegon voiced his own opinion first.

“My Queen and I are attempting to conceive another child, and we are hopeful that the gods will bless us with another daughter,” he said. “It is my hope that we might betroth her to Jaehaerys. We do not want to risk diluting the Valyrian blood of the next generation of House Targaryen. Not when Rhaenyra already has the advantage over us there.”

And so the matter was dropped, and Aemond had come with a much less grandiose offer of a renegotiated tax agreement instead. Still better than arriving empty-handed, but even he knew it was a rather dull gift.

Dull or interesting, it seems I might have convinced him anyway…

But of course, Aemond had begun to celebrate prematurely.

“Dragon!” one of the lookouts cried.

f*ck! Aemond leapt to his feet, eye scouring the sky. The dragon could not be one of theirs; Helaena and Aegon circled King’s Landing daily to discourage any attacks while Vhagar was away from the capital. Daeron would still be in the Reach. It must be a Black dragon.

“Vermax,” Aemond said darkly, looking up at the sky to see him circling in for a landing. But mercifully, he was not the only one who knew the smaller dragon was approaching. A thunderous roar from about a hundred yards off told him that Vhagar had caught their enemy’s scent and was on her way.

Hurry, Vhagar, he urged her silently, disliking how helpless he felt without her by his side. I’d put nothing past him.

Perhaps it was the roar of the approaching Vhagar. Perhaps it was the fact that Aemond was standing directly next to Cregan. Whatever it was, Jacaerys did nothing but glare at Aemond threateningly for several long seconds before dismounting, feet thudding against the ground before he strode confidently forward, towards Cregan.

“Lord Stark,” Jace greeted him formally, still glaring murderously at Aemond.

The feeling is mutual, bastard, Aemond thought, keeping his face cool and impassive.

His hatred of Jace did not run as deeply as it had for Luke, but Aemond despised him nonetheless. This was the man who had tried to stab him to death over an insult. The man who had attacked him four against one. The man who had bullied him during his youth…and yes, Aegon had bullied him too, but they had come to a truce, and his brother had been nothing but loving with him these past several years.

And now you are here to help your mother steal my brother’s throne.

Aemond forced himself to remain silent while Jace delivered Rhaenyra’s message. Forced himself to behave like the perfect, dignified prince while his enemy was speaking. But he could not hold back his satisfied smirk when Vhagar landed in their clearing, roaring threateningly at Vermax. The smaller dragon, to his credit, tried to roar back, but it was like a kitten trying to intimidate a tigress.

My girl is an almost-two-hundred-year-old war dragon. If Vermax tries anything, he’s dead. But Aemond could not be the one who struck first. Not when the Starks placed such a high value on honor. Not when Cregan’s loyalty was not yet secured.

But when Jace called Aegon a usurper, Aemond could no longer hold his tongue.

“My brother is no usurper,” Aemond said darkly. “My brother is the eldest son of King Viserys Targaryen.”

Jace glowered. “And my mother is the eldest child,” he countered.

“Which might mean something, if this were Dorne,” Aemond responded, almost subconsciously stepping into a battle stance. “But everywhere else, Aegon has the stronger claim, and to date, four of the Kingdoms have agreed. The only Kingdom to side with your mother is the Vale.” He snorted. “A Kingdom that would not have pledged loyalty but for their blood tie to Rhaenyra.”

Jace balled his fists. “Having an army of traitors at your back does not make you right, Aemond.”

“And wearing the Velaryon name does not make you trueborn, Lord Strong,” he spat back.

Jace’s face burned a deep maroon, rage sparking in his eyes exactly as it had the last time Aemond had seen him. And exactly like last time, Jace charged towards him, raising a fist…

Until Cregan Stark blocked his way.

“I will not tolerate violence on my lands,” he roared, scowling. “Not during a parlay. Lower your fists and step back, Prince Jacaerys, or otherwise get back on your dragon and return to Dragonstone.”

Ha!

But before Aemond could feel too smug about it, Cregan turned and fixed him with a sharp glare as well.

“Prince Aemond,” he said. “I have done you the courtesy of hearing your petition. I must now do the same for Prince Jacaerys. As you yourself have stated, the most important factor is what is best for Westeros. I must consider both sides before making my decision.”

f*ck…f*ck. He’d been hoping that Cregan would agree outright, without hearing the Blacks’ petition. If Jace got a chance to sell his version of events, Cregan may decide that honor prevailed over reason.

I can’t let that happen…But what could he do? If he disobeyed Cregan’s order, that would all but assure that they would lose Northern support.

f*ck…

“Of course, Lord Stark,” Aemond said woodenly.

“My lord,” one of the other hunters addressed Cregan. “We can finish with the elk, if you wish to take Prince Jacaerys back to the castle.”

If you think I’m sticking my hands back in a dead animal when Cregan isn’t here to be impressed by my commitment to teamwork…But he gave no argument when Cregan accepted the offer and went to mount his horse while Jace mounted Vermax. However, as soon as they were out of earshot, the hunter grabbed Aemond by the elbow.

“My prince,” he whispered secretively. “Most of those among us know that your brother is the rightful king, and I believe that in his heart, Lord Stark knows it as well. But if you wish for the North to be loyal to the Crown, you must show him that the Crown is in turn loyal to the North. Your offer to renegotiate taxes will help the Northern economy, but I fear a stronger display of loyalty might be required.”

Easier said than done. Aemond was a member of the royal family, but he did not have the ability to negotiate on Aegon’s behalf. Not beyond what his brother had already offered.

“Any suggestions,” he asked, half sarcastic, half hopeful.

But to his surprise, the hunter nodded, smiling darkly.

“As it just so happens, my prince, we’ve been struggling with a nomadic group of wildlings that made it past the wall. A vile band of rapists and raiders. Lord Stark ordered them executed, and we’ve been trying unsuccessfully to track them…but we do not have the advantage of being able to search from the sky…”

Jace

It was well into the evening before Jace sat down with Cregan in his study to discuss his mother’s proposal. The Northern Lord insisted he be fed, watered, and given the opportunity to settle into his guest suite before they spoke. Aemond never returned to the castle for supper, not that Jace objected. He had no desire to ever lay eyes on Aemond again…not unless his head was on a spike outside of the Red Keep. f*cker.

“Lord Stark,” Jace urged him, “my words are true. Despite what the Greens claim, my grandfather never intended for Aegon to be his successor. He always steadfastly upheld my mother’s claim. When I was six years old, he lifted me into his lap while he sat on the Iron Throne, and he promised that one day, it would be mine. He always, always, intended for the future of House Targaryen to run through her. Through the blood of his first wife, Aemma Arryn. Aegon was only meant to be a prince, like so many other second sons throughout the realm.”

“But Aegon is not a second son,” Cregan argued. “He is the first son. Hence the succession conundrum.”

Jace opened his mouth to argue, but Cregan held up a hand.

“Prince Jacaerys, I’ll be blunt. Your uncle said it best. What’s most important is not the minutiae of the law; it’s what’s best for Westeros.”

Jace frowned slightly but didn’t comment. I always heard the Starks were all about honor…but honor is a complex thing, I suppose.

“And with some of the things I’ve heard, I’m not so certain that your mother is what’s best for Westeros,” he continued. “I’ve heard Aegon made several attempts to open peace negotiations, but your mother moved straight into calling her banners. When she finally did make a peace offer, it was two steps shy of a threat. And then there was the attempted kinslaying. Kinslaying of very young children at that.”

Jace forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath, soothing himself before he spoke.

They dare, DARE, call us kinslayers? He couldn’t mention his mother’s stillbirth; he had no proof that was the Greens’ fault, even though it clearly was. But he’d be damned if he let his brother go forgotten.

“We never wanted any of this,” he said. “We never wanted a war. We never wanted to hurt anyone, let alone our own blood. We are not kinslayers, and we are not child murderers. The only kinslayer and child murderer in our family is Aemond, for what he did to my brother Lucerys!”

Cregan looked at him skeptically. “Aemond told me that Lucerys crashed into the rock formations in Shipbreaker Bay. That he was an inexperienced rider flying on a very young and small dragon during a violent storm. Lord Borros Baratheon backs his claim. Unless, of course, you have proof to the contrary? Aside from the fact that Lucerys and Aemond were in the same place at the same time?”

f*ck. “If I had proof, Lord Stark, Aemond would be dead right now.”

The way Cregan’s eyes narrowed told Jace immediately that he f*cked up.

“When Rhaenyra attempted to kill Aegon’s children, his response was to make another attempt at peace for the good of the realm,” Cregan reminded him slowly. “When one of Rhaenyra’s children died, her response was to attempt to rip three babes from their mother’s arms, and then slaughter them. Even though she had no proof that the Greens were responsible.”

Cregan leaned back in his chair. “That, coupled with your mother’s refusal to enter peace negotiations? Why should I believe that your faction is what is best for Westeros?”

No…this isn’t right…that’s not how it happened…

“Lord Stark, my mother did plan to offer the Greens peace terms,” he insisted. “She is not bloodthirsty. But we had no idea how much support we would realistically have. My mother was not calling her banners; she was trying to get a head count. Then, once we knew our strengths and weaknesses, we could offer terms. Making an offer without knowing would have been premature. And her initial offer was not a threat. It was just a starting point; she fully expected them to counteroffer.”

Cregan still looked skeptical, and so Jace leaned in closer.

“Lord Stark, please, we are not the villains of this tale,” he pleaded. “My mother was promised the throne, and if the Greens had let her ascend peacefully, we would have treated them with dignity and respect. All of this has happened because they coveted something that was not rightfully theirs to take.”

Cregan cracked one of his knuckles. “Dignity and respect?” he challenged. “Like when Aemond lost his eye, and rather than apologizing or expressing concern, Rhaenyra demanded that he be tortured? A twelve-year-old boy? Her own brother? Whose face was still sliced open?”

Jace flinched. You weren’t there…

Tensions had been high that night. Rhaenyra was fighting all by herself to defend him and Luke. She knew fully well that Viserys would never agree to it; she was just trying to scare Aemond into talking and Alicent into backing off. But none of that would convince Cregan. Not when the Greens had done such a good job of distorting the facts in their favor.

“Yes, Lord Stark, dignity and respect,” Jace repeated. “Even now, despite their claims, we are still open to peace negotiations. True peace negotiations. The only thing she is unwilling to do is give up the throne that was promised to her solely because Aegon has a co*ck and she doesn’t.”

For a long time, Cregan said nothing, looking away from Jace to stare into the fire wordlessly. The air between them was tense and thick, but Jace was fearful to break it, less the unreadable expression on Cregan’s face turn sour.

“The hour is late,” Cregan finally said. “And I am contemplating a decision that will lead to the deaths of hundreds, or even thousands of men, regardless of who I support. I need a night to sleep on it, and I need to speak to my advisors. You and Prince Aemond are both here as my guests, and your rooms are on the opposite ends of the castle compound. I trust you can keep from fighting?”

f*ck. But it was better than an outright refusal…or so he thought.

No sooner did Cregan open the door than a messenger approached the study, bearing a burlap sack that stunk of charred meat.

The messenger bowed respectfully. “Lord Stark, Prince Aemond did not wish to risk a disturbance by coming to you himself, but he asked me to bring this to you,” he said, extending the sack. “A gift.”

Cregan frowned. “What is it?” he asked, opening the sack…then frowning deeper. “Or I suppose I should ask who is it?”

Cregan opened the sack wide enough for Jace to see the severed head inside. A severed head covered in blackened flesh and reeking of dragon smoke.

The messenger nodded again. “Yes, Lord Stark. I asked the same thing. Apparently, Prince Aemond was informed about our problem with the band of wildling raiders, and he took it upon himself to resolve the matter for us.”

Cregan blinked incredulously, looking into the sack again. “The wildling raiders…the ones we’ve linked to more than three dozen deaths just this season? Gods only know how many rapes and raids…”

“The very same, Lord Stark,” the messenger confirmed. “Aemond found them swiftly on Vhagar. And once he did, they were no match for her flames.”

f*cking hell, Jace bit back his growl of anger. Now the North was going to see that evil f*cking c*nt as some sort of hero. We didn’t even know about the raiders! We could have done the exact same thing!

But they hadn’t, and the look on Cregan’s face as he studied the charred head told Jace that his chances of winning the North were slipping through his fingers like water through a sieve.

I pray House Stark will do the right thing, Jace thought. But I must prepare for them to side with Aegon.

But as bleak as it looked, all hope was not lost.

Aegon the Conqueror had less than we have now when he claimed the Seven Kingdoms, Jace told himself as he wished Cregan goodnight and retired to his suite. Less…and more. He didn’t win the kingdoms with armies; he won them with dragons.

They had more than the Greens. And while it was true that the Greens’ dragons were larger and more battle tested than all but Caraxes, all hope was not lost.

I must pitch my last idea to mother when I get back to Dragonstone tomorrow, Jace decided. We must find riders for Vermithor, Silverwing, and the wild dragons…

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra

“Absolutely not,” she declared as she scurried through the room, checking every nook and cranny for possible access ports to secret passageways. She’d lived at Dragonstone for years, and Daemon had lived here in his youth before Viserys was crowned, and she once believed that, together, they knew every secret passageway in the castle (there were far fewer than in the Red Keep). But now, after the death of Meleys, she was not so certain.

There is a traitor in my midst, she knew. A dangerous one. One capable of sneaking past the Keepers, poisoning a dragon, and living to tell the tale. But damned if she could figure out who it was.

She’d discovered Lord Bar Emmon’s innocence too late; he had died under interrogation. Tortured for information he did not possess, and the guilt made Rhaenyra physically ill. The thought of doing it again, condemning another innocent man, was more than she could bear. But the thought of ignoring the traitor altogether was more terrifying still. He had already killed one dragon; what was stopping him from killing the rest? Or her? Or her children?

And so here she was, practically on her hands and knees examining her own living quarters for cracks in the floor that may indicate a hidden door. Even when Daemon grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back to the sitting area.

“Rhaenyra, we’re running out of options, and rapidly,” he told her. “I’m flying back to Harrenhal on the morrow, because without Caraxes and I, the Darrys and the Rootes cannot hold it. House Frey has agreed to join us, but they cannot march south because we do not yet know if the Northerners will side Green or Black. If they side Green, we need to keep the Freys near the Neck to slow the Stark army until we can meet them with dragonfire. I cannot remain here on Dragonstone, and I cannot leave Harrenhal long enough to fight in every battle on my own. We need more dragon riders.”

But at what cost?

“Dragons are the only way we are going to win this war, mother,” Jace agreed, scowling and balling his fists. “Cregan Stark would not give me an answer. He said he needed to consult with the other Northern Houses and receive their council before making a decision, but I saw the look on his face after Aemond killed the Wildlings. Even if he does side with us, I don’t see him fighting with a great deal of gusto.”

“And we have precious little support elsewhere,” Daemon added dramatically, scowling as he stared at the small map.

She knew he wanted to have this discussion in front of the painted table, but that room was too open. Too exposed. She could not avoid using it when meeting with her entire Council, but this discussion was far too sensitive. She only allowed Daemon, Jace, and a near-silent Corlys and Rhaenys to join her. She could not be certain that anyone else would keep her secrets.

Frustrated, Daemon pointed at various parts of the small map. “The Westerlands and Stormlands are completely Green. What little support we did have in the Reach has either fallen at Honeywine or been frightened into submission by the Tyrells. We have exactly three Houses in the Riverlands, and none of them are large enough to do any significant damage to your brother’s loyalists. And we have exactly three Houses in the Crownlands. True, two of them are House Darklyn and House Staunton, but even so, we simply do not have the manpower to compete with Aegon. Even with the Vale.”

Rhaenyra let her eyes wander over the map, her heart sinking with every little dot of green ink.

I remember the Lords of so many of those castles, she thought sadly, her mind wandering back to the day her father named her heir.

How fearful she had been, dressed in the most regal attire she’d ever donned. The weight of the chain she wore made her shoulders ache, but it was necessary that she wear it, for it bore a sigil from each of the great Houses in the Seven Kingdoms. The Seven Kingdoms that were promised to her. A promise that her father sealed by making all the Lords kneel to her and swear an oath of fealty.

Until she died, she would never forget how that felt. The power, yes, but more than that was the sense of worth. By naming her heir, Viserys confirmed that he did value her. He did love her, her and her mother both. And he swore he would never supplant her as heir, no matter how many sons Alicent bore him.

But it seems the Lords of Westeros made no such promise, she thought. And now that she looked back, the sweet haze of her memory began to lift. Had those Lords looked bitter and angry when they were forced to kneel to a woman? Had they done so only under threat of death? Were they relieved when Aegon was born, secretly toasting in celebration of the birth of a silver-haired son to take the throne?

All along I feared this might happen, but I told myself that it never would. She swallowed. I told myself that the people would accept me as their Queen. That they wouldn’t prefer my brother’s rule simply because he has a co*ck…

But now it seemed she was wrong. The realm did not want her. It wanted Aegon.

“Jace, Daemon,” she said, shaking her head. “Listen to yourselves. Is it worth going to war so I can be queen of a realm that does not want me on the throne? When our only chance of victory is to allow strangers, dragon seeds, to claim dragons?”

The room fell silent, and she felt everyone’s eyes on her, until Corlys finally, hesitantly, spoke.

“You are considering accepting your brother’s peace terms, your grace?” he asked softly. “Or perhaps counter offering for more?”

Jace snorted at his grandfather. “More?” he challenged. “If we bend the knee now, they only ‘more’ they’re going to give us is a swift death.”

“The Greens would not risk…”

“They are usurpers,” he cut him off. “Their word is worthless. They may honor it for a day, or a few years, but not forever. How long until Aegon decides that he wants his son Jaehaerys to be named Prince of Dragonstone? How long until he declares Joffrey and I as bastards and has us sent to the Wall?” A flash of pain danced across his eyes. “They don’t see us as people, grandfather. How long before he can easily rationalize our deaths?”

“How long before they kill the rest of the dragons they cannot control?” Rhaenys added softly, making Rhaenyra wince.

Rhaenys tried to mask it, tried to focus on the war effort, but the cold hard truth was that there was little for her to do on the Council anymore. When Meleys died, she took a piece of her rider into the grave with her. Rhaenys could no longer protect the Velaryon fleet. She had no combat experience of her own. All she could truly contribute was a bit of political advice she’d picked up over the years. That, and serving as a mother figure to Baela.

“Then we will secure their loyalty the way all great Houses do. With a marriage pact,” Corlys said. “His son, Jaehaerys, is still unbetrothed, and with the death of Prince Lucerys, so is Rhaena…”

The thought made Rhaenyra ill. Rhaena was more than ten years older than the six-year-old prince.

“No,” Daemon said gruffly, his voice dark.

Undeterred, Corlys leaned forward in his seat. “It’s a viable solution, Daemon,” Corlys insisted. “You would eventually get your blood on the throne, as would we. And it would help secure our safety by re-strengthening the family tie.”

Almost absentmindedly, Rhaenyra’s hands wandered to her belly, the empty feeling still foreign. If my daughter had lived, would Corlys be suggesting marrying her to Jaehaerys? Or does he only want his own blood on the throne?

The Sea Snake was certainly hedging his bets carefully. Jace and Baela were betrothed, so if Rhaenyra won the war, Corlys would eventually get his blood on the throne. But if Rhaena was betrothed to Jaehaerys, then he would eventually get his blood on the throne that way instead…

“There will be no betrothal,” Daemon said louder, glaring at Corlys. “I am Rhaena’s father, and it is for me to decide. And I will NEVER mix my blood with the blood of Otto Hightower!”

“Enough!” Rhaenyra snapped at both of them, though it lacked any vigor. “We are not surrendering today…but it is time to send them a sweetened offer of peace.”

Daemon snorted. “You expect them to surrender when they clearly have the upper hand?”

“No,” she admitted. “But it buys us time.” She pointed at the map herself. “We will send word to Lady Jeyne in the Vale to begin mobilizing her soldiers. When they are ready, Lord Corlys, you will pick them up in Gulltown. We will then march them to our rallying point in Harrenhal whilst we wait for the North to make its decision. Once that is done, we can negotiate from a position of greater strength.”

“And if they still refuse?” Jace pushed. “Even with the knights of the Vale, we cannot win as we currently are, mother. Not when Caraxes, Vermax, and Syrax are the only dragons we can feasibly use against them. Moondancer is too small, and Joffrey and Aegon are too young to ride into combat. They have four rideable dragons, and one of them is Vhagar.”

“We either recruit the dragon seeds and tame the wild dragons,” Daemon continued. “Or we take our chances and likely get slaughtered.”

Or we surrender, Rhaenyra added silently.

“We will do what we can do for now,” she decided. “And we will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

But for now, she had to prepare an envoy to deliver her new terms to her brother.

Daeron

I like being an uncle, Daeron thought with a smile as he flipped Maelor upside down, delighting the toddler and making him giggle. Yet another wonderful part of coming home.

When he first walked into the throne room with Ormund, he had to follow decorum standards, behaving like a prince. The newly knighted Daeron the Daring. He had knelt to his brother, called him King, and swore his loyalty. However, once they left the throne room and were in the family’s private living quarters instead, everything changed. His family embraced him, smothering him with hugs and kisses and claps on the back, welcoming him home. Aegon even had a welcome-home feast for him just last night, plying everyone with food and wine. True, the wine was harder to get these days because of the blockade, but they had other methods to bring in imports, even if it took longer.

This morning, however, was much less fun when the messenger from Rhaenyra arrived, bearing an offer that was better than her last but still an insult.

“Guardians of the Realm?” Aegon had snorted, wadding up the paper and throwing it into the hearth. “We get our own lavish castle…right on the Dornish border. A safeguard against insurgents. She is undoubtedly hoping that the insurgents will kill us in our sleep. Rancid bitch.” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “I suppose she oh-so-graciously offered to allow us to keep our dragons this time.”

There was no way Rhaenyra truly believed we’d accept such an offer, Daeron mused. Aegon is King, and four Kingdoms have already declared for him. It would be like expecting him to trade a golden dragon and receive a single copper in return.

Not only that, but the Greens would never be safe. Not only from the Dornish, but from the Blacks. If they bent the knee, they sacrificed their current allies, and without them, they would have no protection of Rhaenyra decided to go back on her word and have them all killed.

No, Daeron thought, tickling Maelor’s belly and making him laugh some more. This is where we belong. In our family’s home, rulers of the realm. Rhaenyra’s damn lucky Aegon is offering to let her keep Dragonstone. It rightfully belongs to Jaehaerys when he comes of age.

“I’m so glad you got to meet him,” Alicent said with a smile as she watched Daeron play with Maelor. “Aemond is planning to take him to White Harbor soon, for safekeeping. He is betrothed now, to Lord Desmond’s daughter, and after…”

She bit her lip, rubbing at her wrists, as if trying to soothe a phantom ache.

“After the attack, we no longer feel safe keeping your brother’s heirs under the same roof,” she finished, tears welling in her brown eyes. “Lord Borros’s idea, to ensure that Aegon’s line will continue even if we’re attacked again. He’ll be safe in White Harbor until this nightmare has ended.”

Daeron balled his fist. Yet another reason Rhaenyra deserved nothing, not even Dragonstone. She sent assassins after babes. After Helaena. After Alicent.

“Even Helaena may need to leave soon,” Alicent lamented. “She and Aegon desire more heirs. If he gets her with child, we may need to move her as well, so that each of Aegon’s children are in a different castle. Your grandfather has not suggested it to the council yet, but he is entertaining the idea of moving her to Oldtown.”

Because the Blacks have already proven they plan to target her.

As much as Daeron loved Oldtown, the thought of his gentle sister needing to flee the city to protect her own life and the life of her soon-to-be child made him snarl.

“f*cking cowards,” Daeron said, wincing when he realized he’d sworn in front of his nephew. “For all their claims about being the Blood of the Dragon, they’re a pack of cowards. None but a coward would make targets of women and children.”

Alicent’s shoulders slumped, and she rubbed at her wrists again. “I fear many more women and children will become victims, and they will not be lucky enough to have Borros Baratheon come to their rescue. If Rhaenyra does not bend the knee…”

Then the innocent will suffer.

To some degree, he’d been lucky at Honeywine. He had no desire to kill anyone, but he could stomach it when it was enemy soldiers. But the thought of innocents becoming collateral damage…

“If Rhaenyra does not bend the knee, then she needs to…” He remembered Maelor and checked himself. “D-I-E. There is no third option. Not one that would keep our loved ones safe.”

The thought made Alicent cringe, but she nodded grimly. “Your grandfather proposed that immediately after your father passed, but I talked him out of it. I prayed Rhaenyra might see reason. That she might act in favor of the good of the realm. The good of our family.” Rubbing her wrists again, she shook her head. “But I was wrong.”

You were not wrong. You were thinking from a place of logic and reason. But you cannot leverage logic and reason in the face of a thirst for power.

“Then let us hope this ends in Duskendale,” Daeron said hopefully. “When Ser Criston defeats the Darklyns and Rhaenyra sees her allies falling, it might just be the push she needs to come to her senses.”

He hoped it, but he doubted it. And so for now, he would focus on enjoying the peace while it lasted. Before the Hightower army needed to march again, with Daeron and Tessarion at its helm, to bring Fire and Blood to Aegon’s enemies.

Aemond

I am here to do my duty. There’s no sin in it. It is not about desire. I’m here to do my duty. Aegon needs more heirs. He needs to strengthen his line. I am helping my King and my Queen. There is no sin in it. This isn’t lewd. It’s a duty…It’s a service to the realm…

“Will you relax?” Aegon chuckled as he sat down next to Aemond on the settee, rubbing his shoulders through his silken shirt. “You’re so tense.”

He was more than tense; his muscles were hard and rigid as if they were carved of stone. And he was trembling from head to toe.

Aegon, on the other hand, was completely at ease: shirt unfastened, exposing his chest, shoes off, crown set aside, hair mused, a cup of wine in his hand, and most infuriatingly, an amused smile on his face.

How can you be so f*cking calm?

Aegon had promised no one knew about their ‘lessons’, and it was a secret Aemond had planned to take to his grave. But any minute now, Helaena would arrive to join Aegon in his bedchamber. She knew Aemond would be here, so surely she must at least suspect that he and Aegon had been intimate in the past. Even if she would keep their secret to preserve her own dignity, she would know the truth.

And that was only the tip of his iceberg of worry.

“You…” Aemond swallowed. “You still will not tell me what exactly we are to do?” he asked nervously.

Aegon rolled his eyes, then leaned in to kiss Aemond on the lips, soft and warm and sweet, until he eventually relaxed the smallest bit.

“Sweet little brother, I do not have an itinerary planned,” he said gently. “I’ve been with several partners at once before, and it’s impossible to plan everything in advance. We will have to simply see where the mood takes us. There are only two rules. One, by the end of the night, I must spill my seed inside of Helaena, because that is what it will take to get her pregnant. Two, you must not spill your seed inside of her, because if you do, we will not know if the resulting child is mine or yours. Otherwise, I am content with whatever happens. Quite literally, whatever happens.” After a moment of consideration, he shrugged. “And Helaena’s participation in the act is her choice as well. With me or with you. I have no objections.”

That doesn’t help at all…

Logically, he knew Aegon was right. Sometimes, their own ‘lessons’ deviated from what they originally intended because the mood struck. That in and of itself had been one of the lessons. But a plan would make Aemond feel less anxious. Less fearful…

Although his fear greatly lessened when Aegon set down his wine, climbed into Aemond’s lap, and kissed him full on the lips. He tasted sweet, like the Arbor red he favored, and his tongue coaxed Aemond’s own to come and play. Aegon kissed with a mastery Aemond could only pray he’d achieve one day, and once Aemond was completely relaxed, Aegon grabbed his hair, broke their kiss, and gave him a scolding nip on the earlobe.

“You’re about to f*ck a king, and perhaps a queen,” Aegon purred, squeezing Aemond’s earlobe between his teeth again. “And you will love it. You are going to cum. Several times, if I have my way. So relax and stop your fretting.”

It was hard to argue when Aegon started kissing his neck, sucking on the spot that never failed to make him whimper.

“f*ck,” he groaned, surrendering and preparing to let Aegon do whatever he pleased…

Until a soft knock at the door snapped him out of his delightful haze.

“Bedchamber,” Aegon said, smirking as he kissed him one last time. “Just to keep the guard from seeing you as he escorts her in.”

It was hard to feel nervous when his co*ck was still hard from Aegon’s ministrations, but Aemond’s belly flopped anyway, even as he obeyed, walking to the bedchamber a bit stiffly, his co*ck pressed against his belly.

This is a duty. I am helping my King and my Queen. It is a service to the realm. There is no sin in it…

It didn’t settle his nerves as he got into the bedchamber and sat down on the edge of Aegon’s bed, unsure if he should remove his clothing or not. He instead settled for loosening the front of his shirt, like Aegon, displaying the sculpted muscles of his chest.

He was grateful for his choice when Aegon entered a few moments later, escorting in Helaena and shutting the door behind her. She was covered from chin to toe in a lovely silken robe, a night dress beneath it, and she looked at Aemond shyly, the sight of his exposed chest making her blush.

“Brother,” she greeted softly.

In a heartbeat, Aemond’s nervousness faded, Helaena’s anxiety triggering a deep instinct to protect, and he smiled at her reassuringly, the confident Targaryen Dragon Prince once again.

“Helaena,” he said, his voice warm and confident. “Thank you for letting me be here, sister. I love both of you, and I’m glad I can help.”

She managed to offer him a shy smile in return, her face still pink.

Aegon chuckled softly, rolling his eyes but thankfully not commenting on Aemond’s newfound confidence. Instead, he guided Helaena over to a comfortable armchair he’d set up for her near the hearth.

“The choice is yours, Helaena,” Aegon offered. “If you wish to remain in the room while Aemond and I… ‘prepare’, you may. If you’d feel more comfortable waiting outside in the living area, you may do that as well; we will call you when I am ready. Or…” He offered her a flirty smile, but once he saw that it made her blush even more, he took a step back. “Or…whatever else you want,” he said instead, more calmly.

He's learning, Aemond thought appraisingly. He himself, of course, had never flirted with her, but Aemond knew her well enough to know what her romantic needs would be. Helaena cannot be pushed or flirted with, not beyond gentle acts of romance. She needs to do things on her own terms, when she’s ready and feels safe, and not a moment before.

And so her brothers would show her that sex was not something to fear. That it was pleasurable.

Helaena studied them curiously, then turned to look at the door, considering her options. Finally, she bit her lip and sat down in the armchair, perched at the end of the cushion, as if prepared to bolt from the room if what she saw made her too uncomfortable.

The thought made Aemond frown. No, I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. I want her to feel safe.

And so he decided to start slow.

Knowing he had blanket permission to do what he wanted (and knowing that his brother would stop him if he didn’t like it), Aemond got up from the bed, crossed the room, and gently wrapped one arm around Aegon’s waist, bringing his other hand up to brush back his hair before cupping his cheek. Staring deep into his brother’s eyes, Aemond smiled at the spark of warmth he found there. Desire…and more wonderfully, affection.

Slow and sweet, he urged him silently, hoping Aegon would understand. Let me lead. I want to show her how wonderful it can be. How wonderful you can be when you actually want to be.

Aegon understood, relaxing in his arms and giving the tiniest nod of consent, before Aemond leaned in and kissed him. Slowly at first, chastely, enjoying his brother’s warm lips against his own, enjoying the tiny butterflies that always danced in his belly. Aegon hummed happily, a soft vibration echoing through his chest as he looped his arms around Aemond’s neck, pulling him in closer and urging him to deepen the kiss.

A request Aemond was happy to honor, parting his lips and slipping his tongue into Aegon’s mouth.

So many times they had undressed each other (or undressed themselves, playfully stripping for each other’s amusem*nt), but today, Aemond was in no hurry. Remembering their lesson on sensuality, Aemond gently stroked his hands down Aegon’s chest, lightly massaging the muscles and tracing his fingers along the few remaining buttons holding his shirt in place, wordlessly asking permission to unfasten them. Permission Aegon granted without breaking their kiss, humming contentedly.

He moved slowly, telegraphing each move as he unfastened the buttons, then slowly, gracefully, pushed Aegon’s shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Aegon copied him, removing Aemond’s shirt with equal finesse and letting his fingers dance tantalizingly along the skin he revealed, smiling when the touch made Aemond shiver.

Hazarding a glance, Aemond peeked his eye open just a bit, and to his relief, Helaena no longer looked like she was ready to run for the door. Her cheeks were still pink, but she no longer looked frightened or anxious, and she allowed herself to recline back into the armchair.

Good. Good, she’s not upset. We’ll keep moving slow, just like this.

Not wanting to be completely naked just yet, Aemond broke the kiss when Aegon started reaching for his pants, and instead bent down to pick Aegon up. His brother, his King, gave a small huff of indication at being picked up and carried gently like a princess, but his eyes betrayed him. They sparkled, and Aegon wriggled ever-so-slightly with delight.

He likes it. A good lesson to remember.

Carrying him like a knight from a maiden’s fantasy, Aemond brought him to the bed and laid him down gently, resting his head against the pillows and making sure Helaena could see clearly from where she was sitting. She could. Her chair allowed her an unimpeded view of both her brother’s bodies, and she would be able to see everything.

And judging by the expression on her face (curiosity and undivided attention), she was not protesting the sight.

Keep showing her how wonderful it is, he told himself.

After making sure Aegon was comfortable, Aemond took his sweet time kissing his way down the column of Aegon’s throat, down to his chest and his belly. He knew every favorite spot. Every place Aegon liked him to kiss, to suck, or to nibble, and Aemond made sure to pay attention to each and every one. When he swirled his tongue around Aegon’s nipple, gently squeezing it between his teeth, his brother arched up beneath him, softly panting, “Aem…”

He made the mistake of glancing over at Helaena again before he unfastened Aegon’s pants. While his sister still seemed fine (blushing but not looking away), it distracted him, and Aegon took advantage to flip Aemond over onto his back.

But I wasn’t done making you feel good…But the look in Aegon’s eyes stopped his protest before he could voice it.

No, he’s right. He’s the one who’s going to be with her soon. She has to see that he can be gentle too.

He let his eye flutter closed, and he nearly forgot Helaena was even there, arching up into every kiss Aegon placed against his chest, crying out breathy moans as Aegon sucked a hickey onto his belly, just above the waistband of his pants.

A breathy moan he heard echoed from across the room, where Helaena still sat, watching.

He knew his brother heard it as well, but Aegon didn’t stop, unfastening Aemond’s pants and pulling them down just enough to free his hard co*ck before wrapping his mouth around it, taking him deep into his throat with no teasing.

Oh f*ck…How do I be a good recipient again? No thrusting without permission…what else?

Perhaps they hadn’t practiced enough, because all rational thought fled his brain when Aegon began sucking, bringing his free hand up to massage his balls.

“Ah!” he panted, fighting to keep his hips still. “Aegon…Ah!”

He could hear his own voice, his own moans, echoing in his ears as Aegon pleasured him. I sound like a whor*, the stray thought passed his mind, but he didn’t care, surrendering and savoring the feeling.

Aemond’s eye was closed as the pleasure overwhelmed him, but Aegon still had one eye peeked open as he worked, just enough to see his wife, his queen, from his peripheral vision. Aemond’s enthusiasm aroused him, every sound going straight to his co*ck…and it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

Helaena shifted in her chair, but not with awkwardness or discomfort. Her gaze trailed between the look of utter bliss on Aemond’s face and the sight of Aegon’s mouth wrapped around his co*ck, and she wore an expression he’d never seen her wear before. Pupils wide. Flush more than blushing. Lower lip trembling ever so slightly as her breathing grew heavy. But most telling of all, she shifted again, crossing one leg over the other…and whimpering slightly at the feeling.

She’s aroused, Aegon thought, a small surge of pride swelling in his chest. An accomplishment he’d never achieved before. He didn’t know if it was him arousing her, or Aemond, but he found he didn’t care. She can have both of us if that’s what pleases her. I love them both, after all…

Beneath him, Aemond writhed, no longer able to resist the urge to thrust up into the warm, wet mouth engulfing him. “Aeg…please…”

His brother answered by releasing his balls to grab hold of his hips, relaxing his throat and urging him to thrust forward.

And Aemond didn’t hesitate to obey.

There was no teasing, no lessons or practice tips to help him improve his stamina. Aegon’s only goal was to make him feel good, and f*ck, did Aemond ever feel good. He felt his balls begin to tighten, and he gasped, managing to give a strangled warning before his bliss overtook him. Pleasure surged through Aemond’s veins while he cried out, thrashing his head against the pillow, and though it all, Aegon sucked, swallowing every trace of his cum.

Just like they practiced.

Body trembling, he allowed himself a moment to breathe, to savor each wonderful aftershock as it tore through him, pleasure buzzing through his mind, but before he could even sit up to reach for Aegon in turn, his brother was sweetly threading his fingers through his hair, stroking him lovingly and kissing him on the forehead.

“Relax,” Aegon urged him. “Enjoy it.”

“Hmmm.”

He’d nearly forgotten Helaena was even there until he heard Aegon speaking again.

“One of the few drawbacks to being a man,” Aegon mused as he leaned in to kiss Aemond’s neck, making him shiver. “We don’t get to cum more than once. Not even for dragons like us. It takes at least fifteen minutes before we’re ready to play again. But women?”

Aemond cracked open his eye just in time to see his brother giving Helaena a suggestive smirk, even as he leaned down to kiss Aemond’s neck again.

“Women can cum as many times as they want, with no break in between,” he purred.

If Aegon’s tone made her uncomfortable, the only indication was her brief averted gaze. But it only lasted less than a second before she met his eyes again.

“I…see…” she whispered.

Aegon gently tapped Aemond on the flank, and even without rehearsal, he recognized the cue.

He wants to approach her. He wants to bring her over to the bed, but he needs me to make her feel safe. A task he was happy to do. Even with his limited experience, Aemond recognized her interest.

Aegon wants her to enjoy this, and so do I. The best way is to make her feel comfortable, and the best person to do that is me.

And so with a happy hum, Aemond slowly sat up in the bed, carefully telegraphing his movements as he walked over to her, gently extending his arm and wordlessly letting her know it was her choice whether or not to take it.

She only hesitated for a second before curiosity overpowered whatever nervousness she had left, her expression relaxed. Excited even.

Aemond’s heart swelled as he studied her beautiful face. How many years had he loved her? Long before he had any physical desires. She had always been so…good. Kind. Happy with so little. Almost to pure and wonderful to even exist in this world. Someone he would give his life to protect.

And I would, sweet sister. I’m not merely fighting so that Aegon can keep the throne that is rightfully his. I am fighting so that his children, your children, can one day inherit it after him.

Love and the lingering need to cuddle after his climax overtook him, and he slowly, gently wrapped an arm around her waist, carefully studying her eyes to make sure she was not frightened, and then kissed her. The brush of her silken robe against his sensitive flesh reminded him that he was very much naked, but he felt no shame. Her lips were warm and wonderful, her cheeks softer than satin against his own. He kissed her slowly at first, with only the barest hint of pressure until he felt her relax completely. And even then, he left the choice up to her, parting their lips and teaching her how to deepen the kiss…but letting her decide if she was ready to do it.

And she did, tentatively touching his face with her soft hands while she let her tongue play with his.

Even at this, you are absolutely perfect…he thought as the kiss tapered off and she looked up at him shyly. So perfect.

“Ah, I see,” Aegon said, and only then did Aemond remember that he was still there. His elder brother stepped in close and stroked a hand up and down Aemond’s back. Then, moving slowly and gently, he did the same with Helaena, pausing until she relaxed enough to accept his touch.

“I was moving too fast,” he said. “Those times we were together. It wasn’t a matter of skill. I was moving faster than you were ready for me to move.”

Helaena dropped her gaze, but Aegon shook his head.

“It’s not a bad thing, sister. Everyone has their quirks when it comes to passion.”

Aemond felt Aegon giving him an appraising look, and he co*cked his head, wondering what he meant by that, but Aegon only chuckled, shaking his head.

“No matter,” he assured her. “I know what to do now.”

Aemond felt his belly twist, and he felt more than a hint of fear. If he knows what he needs to do…perhaps he has no further use for me…

A fear that proved unfounded when Aegon leaned in and kissed him on the lips. His kiss was firmer, more confident than Helaena’s, but no less wonderful. Aemond’s fear vanished, and closed his eye, surrendering to it for several long seconds.

He whimpered softly when Aegon pulled back, but his breath hitched when he watched Aegon kiss Helaena in turn. Copying Aemond, he moved slowly, as though he were afraid of breaking something fragile and precious, until she relaxed enough for him to hold her.

Aemond had worried he might be jealous (of Aegon or Helaena, he wasn’t sure), but to his surprise, he found no trace of envy or possessiveness.

They’re both mine, he thought. And I belong to both of them. There’s no reason for envy.

In his lovely haze, it didn’t occur to him that he was wandering down a dangerous path, falling in love with both of them rather than merely loving them. He didn’t care that he risked heartbreak when daylight returned and Helaena went back to being Aegon’s wife and he her husband. He didn’t dare let his thoughts linger on the fact that tonight might be the only night he shared with her and the last night he shared with him.

For tonight, for this one, glorious moment, he had everything he wanted in the world. And he was happy.

Aegon broke the kiss with Helaena, then turned to Aemond again, kissing him on the cheek, before grabbing both of his siblings’ hands and leading them to the bed. To Aemond’s surprise, after only a moment of hesitation, Helaena boldly undid the silken cord on her robe, then removed the garment, letting it fall to the floor and leaving her clad only in her night dress. Silk as well, the fabric was sheerer, clinging to the curves of her body like a pale blue second skin. Aemond could see her navel. The outline of her breasts. The firm buds of her nipples.

f*ck…she’s so beautiful. Like a Valyrian goddess.

“I…” she said softly, eyes dropping and cheeks flushing pink. “I…enjoyed…watching…” She swallowed, unable to continue, but mercifully, Aegon understood. He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed but did not pull her further in.

“Then continue watching,” he encouraged, smiling before he kissed Aemond. Unlike Helaena, he did pull him further into the bed, playfully wrestling him onto his back, but this time, Aemond was prepared for him. Clearly the better warrior between the two of them, Aemond had no difficulty flipping Aegon onto his back and straddling his hips, pinning him to the mattress.

Perhaps I cannot f*ck you just yet, he thought, massaging his hands up and down Aegon’s chest before grabbing the vial of oil they strategically placed on the nightstand. But fortunately, I do not need to.

Helaena’s breath hitched as she watched Aemond part Aegon’s legs, coating his fingers in oil before pressing one of them inside him. But Aegon merely closed his eyes, thrusting back against Aemond’s finger and silently urging him to put in another one. And when Aemond obeyed, slipping in a second finger and grazing that spot deep inside of him, Aegon arched his back, moaning loudly.

“That…” Helaena whispered, as if afraid she’d interrupt. “That feels….good?” Her eyes were wide with arousal again, shifting as she tried to find a more comfortable position.

“Hmmm,” Aegon purred in agreement. “It feels amazing.”

He gestured for Aemond to keep going, and he obeyed, f*cking Aegon with his fingers, even as he flopped his head to the side to look at Helaena while he spoke.

“For men as well as, ah!, women, sister,” he said breathily. “We have a, ah!, spot inside of us designed for pleasure. W-ah!-which is why I tried using m-ah! ah!-my fingers with you.” He trailed off, groaning loudly as Aemond added a third finger, filling him.

Helaena watched silently, breathing labored as she hesitantly rested her hand on her thigh, rubbing the muscle.

“I…I have such a spot as well?” she whispered, rubbing her thigh a bit harder.

“Hmm,” Aegon agreed, smiling and thrusting back against Aemond’s fingers, his co*ck twitching and leaking precum. “With girls though, it’s tricky. Sometimes it only feels good if you’re aroused.”

She nodded. “Oh.”

Eye flashing with desire, Aegon raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I can show you.”

She couldn’t even bring herself to answer, not out loud anyway. It took her nearly a minute and a good bit more blushing just to nod, inclining her head so timidly it was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Signaling for Aemond to stop, Aegon encouraged Helaena to get into the bed, helping her get comfortable against the pillows before touching the hem of her nightdress.

“I won’t take it all the way off unless you want me to,” he promised. “I’m just going to push it up some.”

Another tiny nod, and then she closed her eyes, drawing a breath as Aegon pushed the hem up around her belly, and Aemond felt his own co*ck twitching back to life.

He and I have never ‘practiced’ with an actual woman in the room before…

Women’s bodies were so different, but unlike Aemond, Aegon was well practiced, knowing exactly where to slide his fingers, rubbing them against her cl*t while she let out the softest whimper.

“You have a spot inside as well, but for women, this is the part that feels the best,” he said throatily as he worked, smirking as Helaena whimpered again. “And it feels best when you’re already nice and wet, like you are now.”

Aegon was masterful with his fingers, and soon enough, Helaena let out another whimper and rubbed herself back against him, silently asking him to move faster, to use more pressure, but her own request embarrassed her, and soon her cheeks began to redden…

Don’t feel embarrassed, sister. It’s supposed to feel good. Wordlessly, Aemond inched over to her and gently stroked her face while Aegon worked. She managed to peek at him nervously, and he let his guard down, hiding nothing from her. Letting her see how much the sight of her pleasure excited him, just as much as the sight of his had excited her. She saw…and she relaxed, cheeks fading from red to ivory again. Aemond could not resist leaning down to kiss her chastely before retreating, slipping in behind Aegon and rubbing his back and shoulders while he continued.

He watched as Aegon slipped two fingers inside of her, crooking them and using the heel of his hand to continue rubbing her cl*t, and soon Helaena was gasping. Two thrusts, maybe three, and she bit her lip, moaning as she came. But Aegon didn’t stop, even as her gasps faded and her breathing slowed.

“If you think that felt good…” Aegon purred, pushing her legs a bit wider apart and settling between them, darting his tongue to lap at her cl*t…and smirking when she let out a shout of pleasure.

Aemond watched for as long as he could bear it. Just as Aegon said, women needed no break in between climaxes, and as Aegon ate her, she came again…and again…and again… Every cry, every moan of pleasure, went straight to Aemond’s co*ck, and soon it was hard and leaking against his belly, more aroused than he’d ever been in his life.

He said I could do as I wished…But would relieving his ache disrupt his siblings too much? Helaena’s eyes were closed, so lost in pleasure she may have forgotten her own name, and Aemond didn’t want to distract Aegon and make him stop…

But if I do not risk it, I may go mad.

And so he grabbed more oil, lubricated his fingers again, and pressed one of them back inside of Aegon. To his relief, his brother not only continued pleasing Helaena but thrust back against Aemond’s fingers as well. The feeling of his brother’ hot, tight entrance around his fingers was too much for him to bear, and so he withdrew, grabbing more oil to slick up his co*ck before positioning himself behind Aegon, grabbing his hips, and sliding inside.

f*ck…He moaned.

He wouldn’t last long, he knew. Aegon’s ass was too hot, too tight, and the sight of Aegon working his tongue between Helaena’s legs was far too arousing. But he gave his brother as much pleasure as he could, thrusting at just the right angle and slipping his hand around to massage Aegon’s co*ck and balls.

But short-lived as though it was, when Aemond’s climax came, he felt it with his entire body, crying out as pleasure flooded every synapse, cumming so hard his balls ached. His nerves tingled, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, and he kept thrusting well through the aftershocks, well until his overstimulated co*ck began to soften and he was forced to withdraw.

But when he tried to continue rubbing Aegon’s co*ck, to bring him to climax as well, Aegon pulled back from Helaena and stopped him with a tiny head jerk.

“Hellie…” Aegon gasped. “I’m really f*cking c-close. Are you ready?”

She didn’t answer, too far gone to formulate words, but when Aegon aligned himself with her entrance, she thrust back against him, urging him inside.

Far too aroused for far too long, it didn’t take Aegon more than a few seconds once he got inside of her, but a few seconds and a few good hard thrusts was all she needed to cum yet again, her thighs squeezing Aegon’s hips.

How does it feel? Aemond wondered. Is she tight, like Aegon gets when I bring him to bliss?

Whether it was the tightness or the eroticism of seeing her enjoy it, Aegon came as well, hands gripping her thighs to ground himself as his eyes squeezed shut, body jerking as aftershock after aftershock raked his frame.

It was the most erotic thing Aemond had ever seen, and if he hadn’t just finished twice in rapid succession, he would already be getting hard again.

Instead, when Aegon withdrew and collapsed into the bed next to Helaena, sated and happy, Aemond’s desire was not for pleasure but for closeness. A driving need to solidify the bond he knew they’d just forged. A bond not easily broken.

I understand now, why Aegon the Conqueror took two wives. He loved both, just as I love both of them. We’re one now, he knew, as surely as he knew his own name. The dragon with three heads. We belong together…

Too exhausted to think philosophically, Aegon quickly grabbed a few wet hand towels for cleanup, then slipped into bed behind Aegon, spooning him tentatively and fearing, just for a moment, that he would be rebuffed. But happily, he wasn’t. Aegon actually encouraged him to snuggle in closer, and then gently wrapped his own arm around Helaena’s waist, spooning her as Aemond spooned him. And through her post-org*smic haze, she happily accepted the touch, savoring the closeness just as much as Aemond did.

Sleeping there, in Aegon and Helaena’s marriage bed, was a risky idea that could lead to scandal were they caught, but Aemond didn’t care. Nothing shy of an angry wild dragon would be enough to chase him away, and he pressed a soft kiss to Aegon’s shoulder before letting himself begin to drift. His last realization was that Helaena, almost absentmindedly, had rolled over to hug Aegon back, her arm wrapping around him and lovingly brushing against Aemond’s flank as well.

If only we could stay here forever…

Robert

“Duskendale has fallen!” Otto cried triumphantly, his voice echoing through the Small Council chamber. A chamber that was annoyingly only half-full. Ormund Hightower had arrived with the Hightower army (something that had not happened in the original timeline, reassuring Robert that his plan was working), so he and Daeron were present, but Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond were all conspicuously missing.

I have balls judging him, I suppose, Robert thought. How many small council meetings had he himself attended over his reign? Very few.

Robert had been an excellent warrior, an excellent conqueror, but he’d been a piss-poor King, wanting little to do with actually ruling the kingdom he’d fought tooth and nail to win. Aegon, mercifully, was a bit more involved than Robert was, but he grew very bored very quickly with political discussions.

This, however, was not a political discussion but a military discussion. Aegon was always actively involved in the progression of the war and wanted to be kept apprised of all occurrences.

“Shall we send for a messenger to retrieve our King,” Robert suggested. “He was enraged when he received Princess Rhaenyra’s newest offer of terms. The news of Ser Criston’s victory might bring him some joy.”

Alicent shook her head, leaning forward. “We shall inform his grace of our victory first thing tomorrow morning. Tonight, he and the Queen have cautioned me that they were…” She looked down, scowling disapprovingly. “Not to be disturbed…”

Ah, they’re f*cking. Good for them.

Robert himself had not remained celibate since awakening in Borros’s body. He didn’t feel safe enough going to the Street of Silk (not with Mysaria still on the loose), but he had found himself a pretty mistress with huge tit* amongst the Red Keep’s maids, reasonably confident that bedding her would not negatively impact the timeline. He didn’t bed her as often as he would have liked, but he needed to keep his mind sharp and focused on the war.

Borros had a wife, but Robert had left her behind to care for their daughters and serve as regent of Storm’s End, coordinating with the castellan. Partly because Borros’s closest family would likely notice that something was wrong with the family patriarch (it took him longer than he cared to admit to memorize all of Borros’s daughters), and partly because Elenda Baratheon was Robert’s great-whatever-grandmother. If she’d been brought to King’s Landing, Robert would have been expected to f*ck her at some point, and as wild as his tastes were, he drew the line at incest (he wasn’t Valyrian enough for that).

Fortunately, Elenda had written to him to let him know that everything was well at Storm’s End, and that she was pregnant (thankfully done by Borros before Robert took over). The child would be a boy, Robert knew. Borros’s only son, a boy Elenda would eventually name Royce, despite Borros’s wishes for the child to be named Aegon.

Eh, there are already plenty of Aegons. Might as well let her have what she wants, he decided. The last thing he needed was another wife to argue with. Not after finally getting away from Cersei.

You dug your own grave with that one, he reminded himself.

During her youth, Cersei Lannister may well have been the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, but she was cold, cruel, and at times he felt it might have been safer to stick his co*ck in a beehive. But that was his own fault. She wasn’t that way when he first married her. She wasn’t that way for several years.

Things might have been different if I were a better husband, he deprecated himself. Grieving Lyanna and still bloodthirsty even after Rhaegar’s death, Robert had been a horrible husband. He had married a proud and beautiful lioness, and yet he shamed her at every turn. f*cking other women openly. Being selfish in bed without caring about her pleasure. Acting like a drunken ass more oft then not…

Of course she turned into a bitter harpy.

What might it have been like if he had made Cersei into his teammate, his ruling partner, rather than his enemy? He didn’t love her, never could have, but they could have been a strong political couple. She was smart, viciously so, and had inherited her father’s ruthlessness. He’d need to keep her in check when that ruthlessness got out of hand, but she still could have made for a strong ally.

A regret I can perhaps rectify with Aegon and Helaena, he mused. He was now certain that Helaena possessed the gift of Dragon Dreams. She could be more valuable to Aegon than the dragons themselves.

“With Duskendale secured, the next step is to secure Rook’s Rest,” Robert said, leaning forward. “Once they’re dealt with, Princess Rhaenyra will have no remaining support in the Crownlands. Even if she does manage to ferry in the Knights of the Vale, they will have to slough their way through army after army after army, with no relief or aid in sight. Not with Meleys dead. Caraxes can’t be in multiple places at once, and the rest of their dragons are too small to be a credible threat.”

Otto nodded. “And with Vhagar on our side…”

Oh no, we cannot risk Vhagar fighting Caraxes. Not by herself. Not without at least one other dragon there to watch Aemond’s blindside and compensate for Vhagar’s lack of speed.

“Indeed, my Lord Hand,” Robert agreed. “After the Princess’s most recent insult of an offer, I believe the time has come for us to show our strength, and Rook’s Rest might be the perfect opportunity.”

Ormund Hightower leaned forward. “You’re talking about using dragonfire?” he clarified. “I saw it myself in Honeywine. Half a world away from the Princess Rhaenyra. Using it at Rook’s Rest, closer to home, would undoubtedly have a far greater impact. Those who would take up arms in defense of the false queen will learn how the crown means to deal with traitors.”

“And it would show the Princess that we do not bluff,” Robert added. “We’ve extended her fair terms multiple times. Those fair terms are still on the table, and we will happily entertain counteroffers if she sends them. But empty threats will not serve, and they will give her no motivation to move her ass.”

Otto quirked an eyebrow at the crassness, but he nodded in agreement. “While of course we do not wish to use dragonfire if we can reasonably avoid it, a controlled show of strength is needed.”

“And a controlled sense of unity as well,” Robert agreed. “Vhagar should not be the only dragon who goes to aid Ser Criston.”

When I fought in the Rebellion, I was on the battlefield right along with them. It’s part of the reason they were so loyal to me. Aegon’s men must see the same. With Meleys dead, it is safe. Sunfyre is a tough son of a bitch.

Aegon would fly into battle atop the beautiful golden dragon, and with luck, the world would behold his glory…with none of the tragedy that befell him in the original timeline.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra

“Jacaerys, for the last time, NO!” Rhaenyra screamed at her eldest son, wincing at her own loud tone as she listened for the sound of any retreating feet.

Please don’t let anyone have overheard me…

Once upon a time, Rhaenyra’s servants were allowed to come and go whenever they needed to. She was even friendly with some of them, chatting with them when they came in to do their work. It was no longer a luxury she could afford. Now, servants were only permitted in her royal suite when she was absent, to prevent them from overhearing anything they shouldn’t. If she needed a servant’s help while she was in the suite, she would open her door and ask one of her guards to fetch one for her.

She hated having to hunt down a servant whenever she needed something. Almost as much as she hated needing a food taster to check all of her meals before she ate, lest the spy (who she still had not managed to track down) poisoned her the same way he poisoned Meleys.

But right now, she had far more urgent matters to worry about. Like preventing her firstborn son and heir from getting himself killed.

“Mother, you HAVE to let me go!” Jace said. “We’ve lost Duskendale! Criston Cole sacked the city and beheaded Lord Darklyn. Rook’s Rest is next! If the Greens take Rook’s Rest, we’re all but finished. When Lady Jeyne’s soldiers finish their march to Gulltown, we won’t be able to ferry them to Rook’s Rest so they can march to Harrenhal. We have no other Houses in the Crownlands. We can’t take King’s Landing in a sea battle; not with Vhagar and Dreamfyre guarding the city. We NEED to keep Rook’s Rest safe!”

“And we will. But you will NOT be flying into combat yourself.”

“Mother…”

“NO!” she shouted, wincing again. “Our spies have reported that Criston Cole brought scorpions with him for his march. Archers. Vermax is too young. His scales aren’t hard enough to be resistant to arrows yet. He was already struck by an arrow once. They can shoot you out of the sky.”

“Or I can burn Cole’s army before it gets to Rook’s Rest,” he countered, snarling. “Or…maybe I can take Baela and Moondancer with me? Or you can accompany me on Syrax. Or…”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently.

I am not losing another son…The thought of her beautiful Jace, shot out of the sky by a scorpion bolt, fighting in her war…It was more than she could bear.

“Mother, you cannot do NOTHING!” He balled his fist, slamming it against the wall. “Daemon cannot leave Harrenhal. The Tullys and their vassals are marching, and they have scorpions and archers too. They’re trying to reclaim Harrenhal for the Greens, and he needs to stay there and fight them off. If Daemon leaves to come and deal with this problem, the Tullys will kill the Darrys and the Rootes. Unless you allow me to recruit the dragon seeds…”

“I am not allowing the dragon seeds to claim dragons, Jace!” she said. “Dragons are House Targaryen’s source of power. They are what makes us special. If I allow peasants off the streets to try their hands at claiming them, then it weakens our House!”

“THEN YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO!” he screamed. “Me, or you, or Baela! Or all three of us! Rook’s Rest needs aid.”

“We don’t even know that yet,” she countered. “The Stauntons are our strongest ally in the Crownlands. They have their own army. Their own navy. Criston Cole does not march with the Hightower Army; he marches only with Houses Rosby and Stokeworth. The Stauntons can overpower them.”

“At what cost!”

“I will not AID them at the cost of my son!” she cried, turning away from him and staring out the window, hand running absentmindedly over her belly.

This war has cost me two children. I cannot bear to risk a third.

“If the Stauntons send word to us that they cannot fend Cole off by themselves, then I will personally fly to Harrenhal and hold it while Daemon defends Rook’s Rest,” she declared. “You, Baela, and the rest of your siblings will remain here on Dragonstone, where you are safe.”

“Mother…”

“No ‘Mother’,” she said sternly. “That is an order from your Queen.”

An order she would come to regret? Perhaps. Perhaps she was being too much like her father. Too cautious. But so be it. She would sacrifice the throne altogether before she accepted the death of another child.

She waited until Jace left, snarling in disgust, before she rushed over to her writing desk, pulling out the letter she had concealed. She had not sent it yet, not without talking to Daemon and her council, but she believed she had finally come up with an offer that Aegon could not refuse.

He will be Lord Paramount of the Crownlands, she thought, cringing as she read her own writing. Every other Kingdom has a Lord Paramount; the Crownlands should as well. It’s not a devastating concession. Not truly.

A flawed offer, she knew. The Crownlands had no Lord Paramount because they were meant to be the Crown’s standing army. Giving them over to Aegon could all but guarantee more rebellions down the line…but she saw no other way to stop this war now before there was more bloodshed. Not without surrendering outright and bending the knee to her brother.

Although even in that, I might soon have no choice…

Not unless the Stauntons could hold Rook’s Rest.

Aemond

“I will pray for your safe return, my prince,” Abby said, nodding to him respectfully as he bid the rest of his family farewell.

She looked lovely this morning. Since coming to King’s Landing, she had taken to wearing various shades of green as a show of support, and today was no exception. The impending winter had kissed the air with the faintest touch of crispness. Not enough for a coat, but enough for her to wear a long-sleeved velvet gown trimmed with gold. Emerald green that perfectly matched her eyes and complimented her auburn hair.

Abby Tully had adapted well to King’s Landing and to being Aemond’s betrothed. She was quickly making friends amongst the other noble ladies, including both Alicent and Helaena. Understandable. Abby was a delight. Aemond enjoyed her company, and the two of them had numerous conversations about their planned wedding and mutually agreed to wanting at least three children. He was fond of her, and in time, he could easily see her becoming a dear friend.

But I will never love her. Not romantically. My heart is no longer mine to give.

Last night had been his fourth night in bed with Aegon and Helaena. He still had his “lessons” with just Aegon, but Helaena was in the midst of her prime fertility window and so she had been joining them at night.

Last night, after a few whispered encouragement and neck kisses from Aegon, Aemond had made love to Helaena for the first time, and the memory lingered sweetly in his mind long after he drifted off to sleep. Being with her was so different from being with his brother that he could not say which he preferred. With Aegon, he could be as rough or as playful as he wished, whereas Helaena needed a gentler, sweeter touch that he was happy to give because he knew it made her happy. Aegon was more dominant, and sometimes the two of them would wrestle for the top position, but Helaena was more submissive, bringing out Aemond’s need to protect. Even their bodies felt different, though equally wonderful in their different ways.

I enjoy being with both of them…and mercifully, there is no need to choose.

He feared he would not be able to keep from finishing inside of her; holding her in his arms felt far too perfect, too beautiful. But luckily, Aegon knew he might get overwhelmed his first time with a woman, and so he’d been there to help, gently pressing his thumb behind Aemond’s balls and stopping his climax before it could crest. He was not disappointed for long, though. Aegon finished him off by mouth before he could so much as grumble.

But better than the sex itself was the way he got to fall asleep and wake up in both of their arms. He’d never slept better in his entire life than when he did when he was holding one of them, or when one of them was holding him. When he could breathe in the wonderful scent of Helaena’s hair soap while Aegon’s foot was hooked around his calf. When he could place sleepy kisses against Aegon’s shoulder while Helaena rested her dainty hand on his bicep.

He was in love. Truly, madly, and deeply, and he was happier than he ever thought possible in this wretched world where they lived.

It only broke his heart that he could never be legally part of their marriage. One day, he would have to wed Abby and honor her as his lawful wife.

The Conqueror may have taken two spouses, but they were both women. Helaena cannot take a second husband, and Aegon cannot wed a man.

And so Aemond smiled and returned Abby’s polite nod. “And I shall pray that I return to you swiftly,” he said formally.

Otto clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly. “I expect we’ll be seeing you within a few days,” he said. “Do you remember our plan?”

He did. He and Aegon had spent the better part of the last evening reviewing the plan with the council. Ser Criston was either at Rook’s Rest now or would be there shortly to begin the siege. He and Aegon would arrive together on dragonback. Aegon, atop the beautiful Sunfyre, would inspire wonder and awe amongst his followers. Meanwhile Aemond and Vhagar would strike fear into the hearts of their enemies.

“If you can take the castle bloodlessly, do it,” Lord Borros had encouraged them. “We want to show them that you are different from your bloodthirsty uncle. That you have the realm’s best interest at heart. However, if they refuse…”

Then they will be met with Fire and Blood.

The only fly in the ointment had been Borros’s insistence that they return home to King’s Landing after Rook’s Rest was taken.

“If Aegon and I continue on to Harrenhal, we can reclaim it from Daemon before the Tullys and the rest of the Riverlanders need to fight,” Aemond had argued.

Of course, the real reason was much more personal. The horror of what nearly happened to his mother, sister, and the children still tormented Aemond in his sleep. Though the assassination attempt had been foiled, it still burned Aemond that Daemon had gotten away with no retribution.

“Aye,” Borros had agreed. “You could, my prince. But Caraxes will not die easily, and we do not know if they mean to lay a trap for you. No, my prince. The safest way, for you and our King, is to let the Blacks slowly bleed out, then cut off their heads when they’re at their weakest.”

It infuriated Aemond that Borros was right. Vhagar was the most powerful dragon in the world, but the numerous scars on her body (medals from her battles won) confirmed she was not invincible. There was no question in his mind that she could defeat Caraxes, but Caraxes would not die quietly. He would leave new scars, and Vhagar might need weeks or even months to recover. They simply could not afford to lose their greatest asset.

And so Aemond and Aegon would be returning home to King’s Landing as soon as Rook’s Rest was secure and the Stauntons either bent the knee or lost their heads.

And speaking of his brother…

The clanging of armor rang out over the cliffs as Aegon left the castle with Helaena and their children by his side, the little family surrounded by Kingsguard. Not that they needed it; not with Sunfyre and Vhagar waiting by the cliffs, well rested, well fed, and ready for the fight. Sunfyre looked up happily as Aegon approached, letting out a roar of welcome for his beloved rider.

Never in your life have you looked more like a King, Aemond marveled as Aegon approached, bowing respectfully along with everyone else in attendance.

His brother’s armor was dark grey, near black, but the armorer had adored it with flecks of gold leaf cut to look like dragon scales, a near perfect replica of an emerald-eyed Sunfyre emblazoned across Aegon’s chest. But most impressive of all was his crown. It would fit him perfectly now; Aegon had affixed it to the helm he would wear into battle.

A warrior king, just like your namesake.

Aemond’s own armor was less grandiose. Less grandiose by design. He’d been planning to wear armor adored with gold and gemstones, just like his brother, but a conversation with Borros had changed his mind.

“The greatest of warriors do not wear armor that is gleaming or pristine, my prince,” Borros had told him sagely. “No, the armor that is most apt to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies is armor that looks like it’s been battle-tested.”

Aemond had taken Borros’s advice to heart. He still adorned his chest plate with a sizable golden dragon sigil, exactly matching Aegon’s banners, but the rest of the armor was black and unremarkable. Unremarkable…save for the various dings and scratches that Aemond had meticulously put into its surface with a small hammer and an old knife. Not enough to damage the armor or make it less functional, but enough to make it look like others had tried to kill him…and failed.

Lord Borros was right; the armor looked fearsome.

And it’s not as though I won’t be wearing any gemstones, Aemond thought. He had left his eyepatch behind, his glistening blue sapphire eye on full display.

Aegon smiled as he reached Aemond’s side, returning his bow with a formal nod. “Brother,” he said regally. “Are you prepared?”

“Indeed,” Aemond agreed. “Prepared to make House Staunton regret the day they swore fealty to the pretender.”

Aegon accepted a few more farewells from the council, from their mother, and from a worried-looking Daeron.

“Aeg-Your grace,” Daeron said, quickly correcting himself. “Are you certain Tessarion and I cannot join you? If the Blacks try something, three dragons are better than two.”

Aemond glanced out over the bay, where Tessarion was flying over the water. The cobalt dragon was beautiful, and she’d grown substantially in Daeron’s time at Oldtown, but she was still a relatively small dragon. Barely larger than Arrax had been. Aemond would strongly prefer she stayed out of combat unless there was no other option.

“I’m certain, brother,” Aegon confirmed. “Sunfyre and I will not be here to defend the city, and neither will Vhagar, so that task will fall to you. Yes, now that we have the Hightower army here, it is much less likely the Blacks will try to move in with the Velaryon fleet, but I still want you and Tessarion to patrol the skies at least once or twice a day as a deterrent…”

Aegon peeked over his shoulder at Helaena. “You as well, my Queen. If anything does happen, I do not want you to fight. I want you to take the children and flee. But with Dreamfyre’s massive size, she will help Tessarion in serving as a deterrent.”

Turning back to Daeron, he finished somberly, “And I need you to remain here for another reason as well. The cold and unfortunate truth is that we are at war, and I must prepare for all contingencies. If anything should happen to Aemond and I at Rook’s Rest, then it will be up to you, Prince Daeron the Daring, to serve as Prince Regent until my son Jaehaerys is of age.”

Aemond saw his own thoughts echoed on the horrified expression on Daeron’s face. The thought of their brother and the beautiful Sunfyre falling from the sky…

No, Aemond thought, pushing back the writhing fear in his belly. No, that will not happen. I will not allow that to happen. He is my brother. He is my King. I love him, and I will protect him while we are in the sky.

Even if it means my life.

Equally worried, Helaena stepped forward, meeting first Aegon’s eyes, then Aemond’s, before straightening her shoulders and wearing an expression of regal grace.

“As Queen, I command both of you to return home safely,” she said, without the slightest hitch of fear in her voice, though Aemond could see flashes of worry in her eyes.

Of course, she had no authority to command Aegon to do anything. Not when he was the crowned monarch. Nonetheless, he smiled.

“As you wish.”

I’ll keep him safe for you, Helaena, Aemond vowed. I’ll keep both of us safe for you. Especially now, when there might be a new babe in your belly.

It grieved him that they were in public. He’d kissed Helaena this morning when the three of them had woken, a private farewell, but he would love to kiss her again now. Her and Aegon both, before they flew off into battle. But she was not his, and neither was Aegon.

And so, with one last round of well-wishes, they turned and made their way to their dragons, climbing into the saddles and taking off into the skies.

Jace

If she will not grant me permission, then I shall instead beg for forgiveness, Jace thought as he ran outside, cloak pulled up to hide his riding clothes, the letter from Lord Staunton’s raven hot in his pocket.

Criston Cole had arrived at Rook’s Rest. The Stauntons themselves were hidden safely behind their castle walls, but they had precious little time. Cole’s army had seized all available food and livestock and set their ships afire. They could hold out for a short time, but not for very long. Not with Cole bringing in the trebuchets and other siege weapons. If something wasn’t done, and fast, Rook’s Rest would fall, just like Duskendale.

They could not risk it. They were already losing the war, and he did not trust his mother to fly to Harrenhal and act as a stand-in for Daemon while he returned to deal with Cole’s army.

And it isn’t Daemon’s responsibility to fight this war alone, Jace thought resolutely as he made his way towards where Vermax waited for him. I am the crown prince. Future King. If I will not fight for my realm, how can I expect any of them to fight for me?

He’d almost made it to his dragon when a tiny voice stopped him.

“Jace, wait!” Joffrey called, his footsteps pattering closer.

f*ck. “Go back inside,” he commanded, but Joffrey ignored him, running closer until he reached Jace’s side, grabbing his arm to make him stop.

“You didn’t give mother the raven,” Joffrey accused, his voice low as he looked up at Vermax. “And now you are sneaking off to your dragon?”

f*cking hell. “This doesn’t concern you. Go back inside, Joffrey,” he ordered, his voice gruff, but his brother ignored him, yanking on his arm harder.

“I want to help!”

No. “I’m just taking Vermax out for a flight, and…”

“You’re lying!” Joffrey insisted, his voice squeaking, even as Jace shushed him. “You’re going somewhere to help with the war. I want to help!”

“You’re ten years old; you’re too young. This doesn’t concern you. Go back inside, and…”

“No!” he insisted, stamping his foot. “I am NOT too young! I’m a dragon rider, just like you! Tyraxes is bigger than a warhorse, and I know the commands to make him breathe fire.”

“You’re not…”

“I WANT TO COME TOO!” he demanded, and Jace wheeled around to clamp a hand over his brother’s mouth…only to yelp and recoil when Joffrey bit him, fire blazing in his brown eyes.

“Stop treating me like an imbecile just because I’m ten!” he demanded. “No one will let me go to the council meetings, but I know what’s happening! The Greens stole mother’s throne! It should be her on the Iron Throne, just like our grandfather wanted. And now they’re killing her supporters, just like they killed Luke!”

The mention of Luke’s name constricted Jace’s throat. With the war, he had still not had a chance to properly process his grief. To mourn for the brother he had loved so fiercely. And so it burned at the back of his throat like a vile acid.

Joffrey had the luxury of not hiding his own grief, not stopping the tears of sadness and rage that streamed down his cheeks.

“They killed Luke,” he repeated. “Even if we can’t prove it, we know they did it! We know Aemond killed him because Luke cut out his eye. They’re EVIL!”

Of course the Greens killed him, even if they didn’t. Luke never would have gone to Storm’s End in the first place if Aegon hadn’t stolen Rhaenyra’s throne.

“I have a dragon who’s old enough to help,” Joffrey continued through his tears. “I want to help mama…mother!” he corrected himself. “I want to help us win!”

Jace hesitated, staring at his little brother’s face. At the fury and sorrow that he found there. He was so young, but it was true he was a good flier. And Jace understood all to well what it felt like to be so sick with grief and rage that he had to act. After all, he himself was committing treason to do it. Could he truly fault his brother for wanting the same thing?

Luke got killed on a simple envoy mission to Storm’s End. This is an active battle. But…if he stays out of range of arrow fire the entire time…seeing two dragons scouring the sky might be enough to force Criston Cole to surrender bloodlessly.

And so Jace sighed. “Only if you swear to do EXACTLY what I tell you to do.”

Aegon

“DRACARYS!” he cried, marveling, as he always did, at the sight of Sunfyre’s golden flames as they engulfed the castle below him.

At least, he did marvel…until he heard the screams. Then he felt sick.

These are my enemies, he told himself. They bent the knee to Rhaenyra. They fight for Rhaenyra. They would help Rhaenyra slaughter me and my entire family without a flicker of hesitation or remorse. I cannot have any for them.

And yet he knew every scream would haunt him in his sleep. Because it was real now. All this time, he said he’d be willing to go to war if that’s what it took to protect his family. But until the first screams of a dying man reached his ears, he had no concept of what ‘war’ truly meant.

So be it, he told himself, forcing his queasy stomach to settle. I will protect my family, and protecting my family means stabilizing my reign.

Criston’s plan was simple: use the dragons as siege weapons along with the trebuchets and catapults to force the Staunton’s hand. That is why it was Sunfyre breathing fire upon the castle, rather than Vhagar (who was waiting, concealed by the treeline). Sunfyre was more than a hundred years younger than Vhagar and far smaller. His flames were hot enough to burn anyone in the courtyard, anyone to close to the windows, and to make the surrounding stone worryingly hot. But those deep within the castle would survive and be safe.

Vhagar, however, was as large as Balerion was when he burned Harrenhal. She could easily turn the entire smaller castle into an oven and roast everyone within alive.

So she would only be used if the Stauntons still refused to wave the white flag, leaving Aegon no choice but to order their deaths.

And it was looking like he might be forced to do exactly that. Though he soared above the castle, he saw no attempts to raise a white flag.

He set his jaw, considered giving Aemond the signal…and then cried, “Dracarys!” again, hoping that if he terrorized them for a few minutes longer, they would bend the knee.

Don’t make us kill you. Don’t make us end your entire line. That is not how I want my reign to start. That is not how I want the history books to remember me. At the very least, I want them to remember that I was fair and gave them every opportunity to save their lives before I claimed them.

One of their trebuchet’s boulders struck hard against the castle wall, creating a faultline in the stone, and Aegon did not hesitate to aim another blast of dragonfire towards it, making it grow as large clumps of stone clambered towards the ground.

What are they waiting for? he wondered. They can’t possibly think they’re going to hold us off? Even without Vhagar, they can’t…they can’t…

The roar of a dragon echoed over the sea. A roar that did not belong to Vhagar.

And another unfamiliar roar echoed it a half second later.

f*ck…

He whipped his head a round to see the silhouette of two dragons flying in from over the water. The first he recognized immediately as Vermax, all too familiar with his shape after seeing him so often in his youth. The other was far smaller, and Aegon thought it might be Moondancer at first (the dragon of Jace’s fiancé Baela) until it got close enough for him to recognize it. Tyraxes. Joffrey’s dragon.

And they were both flying straight for him.

f*ck. f*ck. f*ck!

Instinct took over and he ripped off his glove, placing his hand directly against the scales of Sunfyre’s neck.

Be nimble, my friend, he thought. They’re both coming at us, and we can’t fight two on one unless we’re careful. Even if they are smaller.

For although Aegon dismissed it every time his siblings questioned him, it was true that his bond with Sunfyre was something that he could not put into words. He almost never needed to use commands (verbal or physical) because somehow, his beloved dragon always seemed to know exactly what he wanted.

He would have to trust that bond now. Sunfyre would need his guidance.

Leave it to the f*cking Strong cowards to attack two against one, just like Jace and the others attacked Aemond four against one all those years ago on Driftmark.

But it was not two against one. Aemond was waiting for Aegon’s signal. Waiting and watching. Surely he would have seen the enemy dragons by now…

And he had. Vermax breathed a stream of fire directly at Aegon, which he scarcely managed to evade by guiding Sunfyre into a dive. But Aegon still managed to savor the look of terror on Jace’s face when Vhagar’s deafening roar echoed through the skies.

Ha! I think he might have actually pissed himself!

“RETREAT!” Jace called to Joffrey in the common tongue, yanking on Vermax’s reins and trying turn him away.

Joffrey may retreat, Aegon decided. He is a child, so I will spare his life. But not yours. You are an adult, old enough to know what you are doing. You attacked me. You fight for Rhaenyra. You need to die.

And without him giving a single command, verbal or physical, Sunfyre understood, roaring threateningly and twisting beneath Aegon to chase after Jace as he fled…

“f*ck!” Aegon barely managed to pivot Sunfyre out of the way in time as Tyraxes breathed fire at him, the flames harmlessly catching the dragon’s belly. Thankfully, the young and inexperienced rider could not match Aegon’s synchronization with Sunfyre, and so the follow-up blast of flame missed by a mile.

Run away, bastard! I’m trying to let you live!

A dark shadow blocked out the sun, sending the ground below them into darkness as Vhagar arrived by Sunfyre’s side. The great old beast was massive, but she was the veteran of a hundred battles and knew exactly how to move. And the sight of Vermax and Tyraxes attacking her ally made her angry.

Even retreating, Aemond identified Vermax as the greater threat, and Vhagar seemed to wholeheartedly agree, pursuing the smaller dragon and unleashing a godlike burst of fire that Jace managed to evade by the skin of his teeth, his cloak catching fire from the radiant heat, forcing Jace to shed it with a yelp.

“Run away, bastard,” Aegon called to Joffrey in High Valyrian. “Run home to your mother, while I still allow it!”

But Joffrey either didn’t understand him or didn’t care, because with a fearsome battle cry, he guided Tyraxes towards Sunfyre again, letting out another burst of fire and ordering Tyraxes to lash out at Sunfyre with his claws. Sunfyre dodged easily, dancing nimbly out of the way, but he could practically taste his dragon’s rage. A perfect mirror for his own.

f*ck you, you stupid little sh*t! You’re forcing my hand! His nephew was only ten, a child, but Joffrey was not attacking him with a toy sword. He was attacking him and his dragon with a deadly beast of war. Aegon did not want to wear the name kinslayer, and he did not want a child’s blood on his hands, but if it was a choice between killing Joffrey or letting Joffrey kill him…

His children’s faces flashed before his eyes. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera. Maelor. Perhaps a fourth still unborn. He made a vow to be a better father to them. A promise to fly with all three of them once they were old enough to do more than training laps. A vow he would never be able to keep if his own mercy got him killed today. He wanted to watch them grow up. He wanted to groom Jaehaerys into a future King, like Viserys should have done for him.

And what of Helaena? I’ve only just started honoring my promise to make her happy. Aemond was right about her all along. She was very sweet and affectionate; she was just very selective about the times when she did or did not like to be touched. Happily, just like him, one of those times where she loved being held was after they “did their duty” as husband and wife.

I don’t want to leave her widowed. I want to see her again. I want to be the husband I should have been all these years.

And what of Aemond? he thought, his heart aching painfully as he glanced towards where his brother pursued Jace and Vermax. If Aemond had to watch him die because he was too stubborn and weak to do what needed to be done, it would break him.

He couldn’t do that to him. He couldn’t do that to any of his loved ones. He had to fight for them.

Sensing his resolve, Sunfyre pivoted out of the way of yet another blast of dragonfire, twisted around to Tyraxes’ flank, and sank his teeth into his wing bone, snapping it like a twig with an audible *crack*!

The look of horror on Joffrey’s face would haunt Aegon until his death. His brown eyes widened, crying out wordlessly like a terrified child…because he was a terrified child. But there was nothing he could do as Tyraxes screamed in pain and plummeted for the earth below.

Dive, Aegon urged Sunfyre. See if you can catch him! We can keep him as a hostage!

“JOFFREY!” Jace cried out, clearly having the same idea as Aegon, trying to dive after Joffrey too, but in his moment of blind panic, he left his flank exposed, and Vhagar raked him with her claws.

Vermax cried out in pain, but he managed to dodge before her claws could do more than superficial damage, slicing through his scales and spilling his blood, but not piercing deeper into the muscles or organs.

All for nothing. Neither Jace nor Aegon could dive faster than Joffrey could fall, and the young dragon and his rider hit the ground at breakneck speed, the young boy crushed beneath his dragon’s weight.

f*cking hell…

Jace screamed. A raw, guttural cry of grief, his voice echoing through the sky as his dragon roared beneath him. He turned on Aegon, face contorted into a demon’s mask of rage, crying out,
“DRACARYS!”

He missed badly, of course. The injured and grieving Vermax aimed his fire a good three feet away from Aegon, easily dodged. Sunfyre aimed a retaliatory strike against Vermax’s injured flank, and while the beast managed to dodge, the movement sent another gush of blood dribbling towards the earth below.

He’s too injured to continue. We’ve got him! Aegon thought as Vhagar loomed above them, hesitating. He knew exactly why. Vermax and Sunfyre were too close, and she did not want to risk hurting her ally.

Nonetheless, her presence alone made Jace scream another wordless cry of rage, grab Vermax’s reins, then direct him away from Aegon, urging him to fly away as fast as his wings would carry him while Aegon gave chase.

He almost got him a few times. Even managed to set Jace’s shirt afire, forcing him to shed it like he had his discarded cloak. But Vermax was smaller and faster than Sunfyre, and his terror gave swiftness to his wings.

Aegon considered pursuing him, some dark, cruel voice telling him he had the chance to kill Jace here and now before he could ever threaten him again…but he stopped himself. The gap between them was growing larger and larger by the minute, and old, slow Vhagar was lagging behind. If Jace got him alone without Vhagar there to support him, the match could easily result in both of their deaths.

“After you’ve crushed your enemy beneath your heel, you can unleash your fury and take whatever justice you see fit.” Borros Baratheon’s words echoed through his mind.

He’s right. And mother and grandfather are right. The need for Fire and Blood must not overpower reason. I cannot be reckless. I am a King. A father. I have to fight strategically. And so with a snarl, he relented, letting Jace run away while he guided Sunfyre back to Rook’s Rest.

I’ve stained my hands with the blood of a child because of this f*cking war, he thought, his hands tightening into fists. For a war that I should not have to fight. I am Viserys’s eldest son. I am the rightful King. I would have let all of them live out their lives happily on Dragonstone. I shouldn’t have to do this. I shouldn’t have to be here.

But he did. And raging about it would solve nothing.

“LORD STAUNTON!” Aegon screamed as he flew over the castle. “YOU HAVE EXHAUSTED THE LAST OF MY PATIENCE AND MERCY! YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES TO RAISE THE WHITE FLAG AND BEND THE KNEE, OR ROOK’S REST SHALL BECOME THE NEXT HARRENHAL!”

It did not take three minutes. Within less than one, a white flag was waving from the tallest window. Five minutes later, Lord Staunton was frog-marched from his own castle by his own men and forced onto his knees in front of Criston Cole. Aegon and Aemond waited to land Sunfyre and Vhagar until the last of Staunton’s men left the protective walls of the castle, threw down their weapons, and bent the knee, begging Aegon not to burn them.

All but Lord Staunton himself. He refused to call Aegon king, even to save his own life. Just as well. Aegon was not going to spare it anyway. Not after his defiance caused this mess in the first place.

Instead, Aegon directed his question towards Staunton’s eldest son.

“Bend the knee,” he told him, “and I will allow you, your mother, and your siblings to live and continue ruling Rook’s Rest as loyal vassals to the crown. Or refuse, and House Staunton ends here and now.”

Mercifully, the boy (nearly a man grown) bent the knee and uttered a fearful, “Your grace,” before swearing a proper oath of obeisance.

Aegon prayed he would honor that oath. It would not be easy for a son to keep such a promise. Not with what was to come next.

Aegon nodded for Criston to drag Lord Staunton before Sunfyre, dropping the terrified Lord on his ass while he stared up in horror at the golden beast.

“Dracarys.”

Robert

“Your grace?” Robert said, approaching Helaena as she sat by the cliffs next to Dreamfyre, absently stroking her dragon’s nose. “Are you hurt?”

A foolish question. If she had been, one of her guards surely would have whisked her off to see the maester. But she answered him anyway, shaking her head sadly as she stared out over the cliffs. She gestured for him to approach, and he did so tentatively. Robert was not a shy man with women, but it was different with Helaena, and not just because she was a queen. Perhaps it was because she seemed so fragile. Perhaps it was because he knew what happened to her in the original timeline, but something about her triggered his instinct to protect.

Which is exactly why I need to talk to her today.

“A dark cloud looms over the horizon,” Helaena said softly as Robert reached her side, keeping a respectful distance away from her while Dreamfyre eyed him. “A raging tempest birthing a sea of blood and death.”

The horizon was clear with perfect skies, so she must not have been speaking literally. A prophecy?

He tensed. “Rook’s Rest…”

She shook her head sadly. “My brothers are unharmed and will return to us shortly,” she assured him. “It is not for them that I grieve. My nephew Joffrey and his dragon fell from the sky mere moments ago.”

f*cking hell. Isn’t he ten years old?

“Joffrey,” he said softly. “Rhaenyra’s youngest son with Harwin Strong.”

The name made Robert frown. When Cersei picked their eldest son’s name, she told him she was naming him after King Joffrey Lannister, one of the rulers of Casterly Rock before the Conquest. He hadn’t minded the name, so he hadn’t protested. But after spending time in the past, he wondered if it was wise for their son to share a name with an infamous bastard, even if it was purely by coincidence.

Helaena nodded. “It was awful, but my husband had no choice. If he hadn’t done it, he might have died himself, and…” She bit her lip. “I don’t want him to die.”

Robert’s heart ached for her. She actually loves him. That was a rare thing in Westeros.

“Joffrey’s death was necessary, as horrid as it was,” she continued. “But it matters not that Aegon had no choice and only did so to save his own life. The Blacks…” Helaena shivered, and Dreamfyre nuzzled her lovingly, as if trying to warm the Queen with the heat from her own scales.

“And it’s going to get ugly now?” Robert said.

“Yes,” Helaena admitted. “But ugly for whom, I cannot say. Before you came to advise us, Lord Borros, the future was bleak, but clear. Now…now it’s all muddled, and I’m not certain which path will be the one to unfold. But one thing is certain beyond question: it will be streaked with blood.”

“Wars always are,” Robert said sagely. “I don’t mean to distress you, my Queen, but wars are ugly and brutal by their very nature. And even the victors must live with the scars. Scars that the years, and wine, and f*cking a hundred whor*s will not erase.”

Helaena’s brow furrowed, but she did not comment.

“The important thing is to make sure we keep as many of our people alive as possible,” he finished.

“I need all of my people alive,” Helaena countered. “I cannot bear to lose a single one of them.”

Robert hesitated, trying to think of a delicate way to word it…but f*ck it all, he was not a delicate man. Best he could do was not be crass.

“I will do my best for you, my queen, but the other side is angry and has dragons of their own.”

His gaze flickered to Dreamfyre. Such a large and powerful war asset. Completely unutilized in the original timeline. Such a waste. Such a f*cking waste.

“You’re stronger than you think, my Queen,” Robert said. “I saw it myself today when you were seeing your brothers off. There’s a dragon in you as well. You just need to swap out that delicate skin of yours for a set of scales.”

Helaena froze, then looked over at Dreamfyre, stroking her hands along her nose and feeling the scales beneath her fingers. With Dreamfyre’s age, her scales would be harder and more durable than steel armor.

“I don’t know if I can do that…”

“Can you do it to keep your loved ones safe?” he challenged. “You said it yourself, you cannot bear to lose them.”

She was quiet for a long time, staring out over the water and petting her dragon, her eyes unreadable.

“My uncle sent assassins to murder my babes, and there was nothing I could do,” she finally said. “I would have done anything to save them. To save all of them. Anything.”

Robert nodded grimly. I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of the war, but if it comes to that, you may well be the difference between victory and defeat, sweet girl.

“Lord Borros?” she said, smiling and quirking a knowing eyebrow at him. “How is it you know so much of war?”

He was prepared for this question. Borros Baratheon had no militant experience and would be ignorant of war. “By reading, my queen,” he answered simply. “I’ve read all the histories of the great battles, including war plans.”

Fortunately, everyone here has accepted that the rumor that Borros Baratheon is illiterate was just a rumor.

“Hmm,” Helaena said, laughing slightly. “You seem far wiser than someone who learned the art of war from a book, my lord.”

f*ck.

She shook her head, still smiling, and when she looked up at him, her blue-purple eyes were sparkling with mirth.

“I understand that you cannot tell me,” she said. “There are many secrets I need to keep to myself as well. I do not ask because I do not trust you; I merely ask because I am curious.”

It was still too great a risk. He simply could not take the chance of losing his place as one of Aegon’s advisors. Not if Helaena was right and things were about to get bad.

Fortunately, she seemed to understand.

“Will you tell me one day?” she asked. “When the war is settled, perhaps?”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. “When the war is over, your grace.”

When the war is over, it won’t much matter what happens to me. So long as Ned and Lyanna have the chance to grow up and live happy lives, free from the tyranny of the Mad King and Rhaegar.

And…he added silently, so long as Helaena can live out the rest of her life in peace and happiness. She deserves nothing less.

Daemon

So much loss…he thought as he watched his wife twisting her hair into braids, her expression hard and unyielding as the stone of their castle.

So much the f*cking Greens had taken from them today. Not even counting what they had stolen since the war began…f*ck, long before that, even.

They had taken Rook’s Rest. Even if Daemon went with Caraxes now to take it back, it would be useless. Their castle was damaged, their fleet destroyed, and Criston Cole’s army had sacked the city and taken nearly all of their food. The Stauntons no longer had the resources to help them. They wouldn’t have the resources to feed themselves come winter, unless they honored their promise to Aegon and received shipments of food from the Reach.

Not that we can trust them anyway. Not when they bent the knee to the enemy to save their own lives. Faithless friends are worthless.

But far more devastating was the loss of Joffrey Velaryon. A brave ten year old child who only wanted to help his mother win back the throne that was stolen from her.

He would have grown into a brave and fierce dragon prince one day, Daemon lamented. A true Targaryen, brown hair be damned. But now, because of the f*cking Greens, he will never grow up at all.

Daemon was not a man who wept. He was a man who screamed, and raged, and beat his fists bloody against the castle walls. But f*ck, was he close to weeping now.

He was like my son too. I was the only father he had. Laenor and Harwin stopped being part of his life when he was still a babe.

And now he and Tyraxes were both dead, the young prince’s broken body on its way back to Dragonstone via the only boat that Criston Cole had not destroyed from the Staunton fleet.

With his death, the Blacks were down yet another dragon rider, and Driftmark’s succession was in crisis because Corlys no longer had a clear heir.

But worse of all was the way Rhaenyra had taken the news when Jacaerys returned to Dragonstone, half-naked with fresh burn wounds covering his arm from shoulder to wrist. He’d screamed in agony as the maester cleaned and wrapped it, but not half so hard as he cried when he told them what happened to Luke.

If you had waited just a few hours, Jace, I could have joined you. I was coming home to check in with the council. Rhaenyra could have guarded Harrenhal, and you and I could have gone to Rook’s Rest. Then, the Greens would be the ones mourning two dead sons and a substantial blow to their forces.

But while Daemon had lost his temper and flown into a rage, Rhaenyra’s reaction was far more frightening.

Luke’s death had broken her, but with Joffrey’s, she had not shed a single tear. Instead, it was as if the news had killed her completely. Every trace of warmth…every trace of life had gone out in her eyes. Daemon had no idea who was sitting in front of Rhaenyra’s mirror, austerely twisting her hair into warrior braids reminiscent of Queen Visenya, but it was not the woman he loved. It was not the mischievous, sassy, fiery dragoness he’d fallen in love with.

This woman might have ice running through her veins, rather than fire.

I pray this is temporary, he thought. And that the Greens have not destroyed you. I pray with time, you will come back to me. Maybe not exactly as you were, but alive once again.

“Jace will be disinherited once the Iron Throne is mine,” Rhaenyra said coldly as she finished her braid, grabbing a pin to tie it in place. “He may inherit Driftmark after Corlys’s death, but not the Iron Throne. Our son, Aegon, will be my heir.”

Daemon flinched. Disinheriting Jace would destroy him.

“You might give him a chance to redeem himself…”

“No,” she interrupted, tone uninflected. “Jace defied me. He flew into a dangerous battle, and he took his ten-year-old brother with him. Both of them should have been at home, safe. Instead, I have lost yet another son.”

Daemon sighed, running a bloody hand through his hair. “He was only trying to help, Rhaenyra. We are losing this war.”

Because you were being far too cautious. If you had been more aggressive in your moves, perhaps he would not have felt the need to go behind your back and make a dangerous choice.

Though he would not deny that it pleased him to see she was no longer being timid.

Rhaenyra had prepared an absurd peace offering to Aegon (giving him the Crownlands and naming him Lord Paramount), but rather than sending it, she had thrown it into the fire, sending her envoy with a new message instead.

“My brother has sought to rob me of my birthright, and yet still I offered him lands and titles of his own,” she said for the maester to write. “He rejected my every offer, and so now he will receive nothing. If my half-brother surrenders, he will be the only one to die. I will allow the men of his family and his male supporters to be sent to the wall, and I will allow the women to join the Faith as silent sisters. If he refuses, I will have their heads on spikes. Including their children.”

An open declaration of war, Daemon thought, smiling grimly. There was no chance for peace or surrender now. The Greens would never accept it, and so they would fight to the death. Giving him the pleasure of watching all of them die.

“Jace will not need to prove himself,” Rhaenyra said, fixing her hair pin and standing to face Daemon. “Because I will not need him as a dragon rider. I have authorized Corlys to start recruiting dragon seeds. We need more dragons if we are going to win this war.”

Daemon’s smile grew. All the strongest dragons live here on Dragonstone.

“And moreover,” she continued. “My half-brother directly murdered one of my children. A boy of ten. I shall have one of his children’s lives in exchange. I care not which.”

He blinked. “When I sent assassins to claim the life of one of his children, you struck me and called me a monster,” he reminded her.

“That was before,” she said. “Luke’s death may or may not have been an accident, but Joffrey’s death was deliberate murder before the eyes of thousands of witnesses. And he tried to kill Jace as well. Would have killed Jace if he hadn’t fled. He is actively trying to kill my children; his own deserve no consideration. He deserves to feel one small fraction of the pain he has inflicted on me.”

Daemon nodded slowly. “Any particular way you want it done?”

“No,” she said, turning from him to leave the room. “No need for the death to be unnecessarily painful. But I want it done within a fortnight. They do not deserve one more moment of peace and happiness. Not when I will certainly never have another one.”

You will, he silently promised. When we finish winning your throne back from the usurper.

But in the meantime? Daemon might not recognize this new stranger who had taken residence in Rhaenyra’s body, donning her crown and striding purposefully out of her room to join her council at the painted table. But he could grow to love her.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Dragonstone is beautiful, Nettles thought as she gazed out over the island’s landscape, smelling the smoke from the dragonmount as it mingled with the salty air of the sea.

She didn’t think it would be any different from Driftmark, where she’d grown up the poor daughter of a whor*, but her first glance at the castle told her she was wrong. Something deep within her stirred as she gazed upon the intricate Valyrian architecture. The faintest whisper of home.

Don’t get caught up in a flight of fancy, girl, she chided herself. It will never be your home. Not truly.

But fantasies were all that had sustained her through her childhood. Fantasy that beneath her ragged clothes and protruding ribcage flowed the blood of Old Valyria. The blood of the dragon. That one day, perhaps, her life might actually mean something.

And today might very well be the day her wildest dream came true.

Like many others, Nettles had just gotten off the small ship from Driftmark, recruited because of her mother’s claims that she had Valyrian blood from her father. She was one of several score, and the odds that she may be able to claim a dragon were infinitesimal. The thought of her claiming a dragon and flying off to valiantly serve her Queen was a fantasy. But f*ck, it was a beautiful fantasy. As was the Lordship (Ladyship, in her case) that Corlys Velaryon promised to anyone who could claim a dragon and serve in the war.

Nettles was willing to risk becoming a meal for a dragon to take her chance.

Perhaps I can gentle it, same way I did the dog, she mused.

Her beloved dog (a hideous gray and white mongrel she’d named Fleabag) had been near vicious when Nettles first met him. Freshly grieving her mother, a lonely Nettles had taken pity on the poor thing and threw him a few food scraps. The next day, when he came back, she did the same. And again. And again. And again. Fleabag grew braver and braver, coming in close enough to politely take the food from Nettles’ hand. Eventually, she was allowed to touch him. Within the month, Fleabag was sleeping at the door to her home, and they were well on the way to becoming the best of friends.

If it worked for a vicious dog, will it work for a dragon?

Lost in her musings, she didn’t realize she’d wandered a bit away from the other dragonseeds flooding the harbor of Dragonstone’s village. Not until she heard the sound of a throat being cleared behind her.

“Excuse me?” a male voice asked, one that she did not recognize. “Lady Nettles?”

Lady? She barked a laugh as she turned around. “I’m no…”

For the briefest second, she thought he’d punched her, his closed fist slamming into her abdomen and knocking the wind from her lungs. It wasn’t until he drew back his hand and she saw the flash of silver that she realized she was wrong. Dead wrong.

Even before she felt the warm gush of fresh blood soaking her shirt.

No…But she couldn’t even open her mouth to scream before the stranger drew back his hand again, plunging the knife deeper into her gut.

No one saw Nettles fall to the ground before it was too late and her attacker fled, discarding his cloak and disappearing into the crowd of dragonseeds, his silver hair and purple eyes blending in seamlessly.

I’m sorry, girl, he thought, pointedly not looking towards where her body had fallen. He heard that a stab to the liver would kill quickly, and he hoped it was true. He didn’t want her to suffer any more than she needed to. I didn’t want her dead. But this is the only way. My only chance for a better future. My only chance for revenge.

When the Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen, was young and full of vigor, he’d f*cked his way through the Street of Silk each night, earning the moniker of ‘Lord Fleabottom’ and making many friends amongst the smallfolk. But not everyone on the Street of Silk remembered Daemon so fondly, especially not a young whor* named Jaylene, who was only fifteen years old when Daemon claimed her maidenhood.

Jaylene had been infatuated with the handsome prince, allowing herself to fantasize about being his favorite. Fantasies that were short lived. For although Jaylene had Valyrian blood, she was a plain-featured girl. Unremarkable. Her only value to Daemon had been her virginity, and once he’d taken that, he had no further interest in her. Jaylene had never been allowed near Daemon’s inner circle again, let alone the prince himself. Their one night together left the young girl with a broken heart…and a babe in her belly.

That was twenty-eight years ago, and that babe was now a man: a dragonseed with long silver hair and eyes the color of heather. Jaylene had named him Aethan, the only piece of his Valyrian heritage that she could give to him. A lookalike for the father he despised. The father who left him to be raised half-starving in poverty, the child of a whor* that Daemon undoubtedly had long-since forgotten.

The mere thought had Aethan balling his fists. I am no different than his other children, he thought bitterly. But while they live in luxury, enjoying grandiose adventures as dragonriders, I grew up in a rat-infested hovel with an empty belly, whilst my mother had no choice but to sell her body to feed us.

It wasn’t right. Daemon had the means to take care of Aethan and Jaylene. A few coins, pocket change for him, would have changed their entire lives.

And now the f*cking hypocrite is leading the realm into war so Rhaenyra and her bastards can inherit the Iron Throne, he thought, breathing deeply as he seethed. But he wouldn’t provide for his own bastard.

But that was all going to change. Aethan would have his revenge, and Daemon Targaryen would pay for one small fraction of the pain he inflicted. And it was all thanks to Borros Baratheon.

Lord Baratheon’s men found him in a Fleabottom pub. They’d been looking for Lady Mysaria, no doubt, as King Aegon had placed a king’s bounty on her head after discovering she’d had a hand in the assassination attempt on his children. But when they saw him nursing the watered-down piss that passed for Fleabottom ale, their eyes lit up, rushing to his side and asking if he was a dragonseed. Aethan was all to happy to share his tale (and his fondest wish that Daemon spend eternity slow-roasting on a spit in the hottest of the Seven Hells), and Lord Baratheon’s soldiers practically beamed with delight.

The next thing Aethan knew, he was being whisked off to the Red Keep.

While he waited to meet Lord Borros, he was given a bath, a hot meal, and a fresh set of clothes that were far softer and higher quality than the roughspun rags he always wore. Even a cup of real ale, the first he’d ever had in his life. By the time Borros entered the room to meet with him, Aethan would have happily agreed to anything the Baratheon lord asked of him.

But Borros asked nothing of him. Instead, he offered Aethan more than he ever dared dream.

“I’m not sure when, but soon, Princess Rhaenyra is going to be looking for dragonseeds to claim the wild and unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone,” Borros explained. “Potentially six, though I doubt anyone would survive an attempt to claim the Cannibal. But any additional dragons on our enemy’s side could be catastrophic for our war efforts.”

Leaning forward, Borros added, “So, we need to do what we can to level the playing field. Tell me, boy. If I gave you the chance to claim one of those wild dragons and take revenge on your festering c*nt of a father, would you take it?”

He gaped at Borros slack-jawed, his mind unwilling to allow himself to hope.

A dragon? My own dragon? My own dragon AND the chance to pay my father back for the pain he inflicted on my mother and I? To keep him and his hypocritical whor* wife from inheriting the Iron Throne and instilling her bastards as heirs?

He would give his life for either prize.

“Yes,” he agreed.

They went into logistics from there. Aethan would be smuggled to Driftmark on a small fishing vessel (just small enough to sneak past the Velaryon fleet) to await the pronouncement that they were recruiting. Borros gave him enough money to stay at a reasonably comfortable inn while he waited, and he promised him more if he successfully claimed the dragon.

“There’s gonna be some acting involved,” Borros warned him. “A few cover stories for you to memorize…”

Nothing that Aethan couldn’t handle. Not when the prizes were aplenty.

“Now, pay attention carefully, boy. Because if you do exactly as I say, you may be able to claim the dragon Sheepstealer…”

Aegon

“They’ll be fine, Helaena,” Aegon promised her sadly as they watched Vhagar grow smaller and smaller as she disappeared from their view. But his assurances did nothing to slow her tears. Nor did they do anything to quell his own anger.

You are one of the few people in this war who is truly innocent, he thought, looking at his queen. At yet it is you who faces the most danger from the Blacks. You and our children.

Just over a week had passed since Joffrey’s death. Days ago, Daeron and Tessarion had flown Maelor to the safety of White Harbor, where he would remain until the war was settled and it was safe for him to return home. He did not go alone; his new hatchling (a periwinkle dragon who Helaena had named Skyracer) had gone with him. The Manderly’s promised to allow the hatchling to share Maelor’s bed as an extra layer of comfort and protection while their little prince was away from home.

And just now, Aemond had flown Jaehaerys to the safety of Casterly Rock to be looked after by Lady Johanna Lannister. Little Shrykos had flown with them. A long flight for the young dragon, but Aemond assured them she could easily hold on to Vhagar’s flank as a passenger whenever she needed to rest her wings.

“Casterly Rock may be the safest castle in Westeros,” Aegon reminded Helaena. “Remember the histories? During the Conquest, Queen Visenya was grateful that the Lannisters went to war with them rather than holing up in their castle, because she believed that Casterly Rock could withstand an assault by their dragons. That was why Queen Rhaena hid there during the reign of Maegor; she believed it was the safest place for her and her children.”

Helaena sniffed, but her flow of tears did not slow.

“Casterly Rock is the safest place in the realm for our son, your heir,” she agreed, shoulders shaking. “But I want him here. I want all of my babes here, with me. Not scattered across Westeros because we must keep them safe from Rhaenyra!”

She sobbed harder, and Aegon wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around her shoulders to console her, but he forced himself to stop, remembering Aemond’s warning.

“She hates to be touched when she’s distressed. The touch overwhelms her, and it only distresses her further. The best thing to do is let her talk and comfort her verbally.”

And so that was what Aegon would do.

“When this is over,” Aegon assured her. “We will throw a grand party to celebrate our children’s homecoming. Even Jaehaera. She will marry into House Tyrell, it’s true, but she will return here to live with us until she is of age. We will fly together as a family every day, and we will raise Jaehaerys to be a good future King.”

But we must make sure he lives to adulthood, he thought grimly.

He was grateful he had at least gotten to fly with Jaehaerys once before they had to send him away. He was still too young and Shrykos too small to fly very far or long, but he and Helaena had taken him on a quick loop around King’s Landing, flying on either side of him to make sure he was safe the entire time. After Rook’s Rest, Aegon had to accept the very real possibility that he might not survive this war. And if he did meet his death, he wanted to do it with as few regrets as possible.

At least this way, if I should die, Jaehaerys will have one memory of flying with me.

But hopefully, it would not be their only flight together. With the conquest of Rook’s Rest, Rhaenyra’s chances of winning the war were crumbling beneath her feet. Mercifully, their allies did not fault him for killing Joffrey, even with the taboo of kinslaying. Joffrey had attacked him first, and Aegon had offered him mercy. It was not Aegon’s fault he hadn’t accepted it.

But whether the rest of the realm understood or not, the Blacks were out for blood.

Aegon’s blood boiled when he remembered Rhaenyra’s most recent letter:

Bend the knee and beg my forgiveness, and you shall be the only one who pays with his life for your treason. I shall allow all male Greens to abandon their titles, dragons, and wealth, and serve out their days on the Wall as men of the Night’s Watch. All female Greens shall be allowed to live out their lives as Silent Sisters in service to the Faith. Refuse, and I will have your heads on spikes. Yours, and your children both.

Negotiations are officially over, Aegon thought as he gave the letter to his maester to copy for the history books. She’s no longer interested in the possibility of peace.

“I will make you safe again, Helaena,” Aegon promised. “I swear it. You and our children both.” Tentatively, he reached over and touched her belly, wondering if perhaps their fourth child was already on her way. “What they tried to do to you, to our babes, will not stand.”

Nodding her head sadly, Helaena brought her hand to rest atop Aegon’s as it lingered on her belly, gently tracing his fingers wit her own.

“That is one possible outcome,” she agreed softly.

One possible outcome?

“But in the meantime, we need to finish shoring up our succession,” she said. “It will improve the morale of the Kingdoms if the Crown Prince is betrothed to his future Queen. Not only that, but he will need as many loyal siblings as possible to ensure he never faces a war himself.” She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. “Sadly, I am not yet pregnant.”

Aegon smiled encouragingly. “We don’t know that yet. You haven’t bled since our last attempt…” But Helaena shook her head.

“It did not happen this month,” she said with certainty. A certainty Aegon was slowly learning to trust. “My blood will be upon me soon. I will carry another child, but not this month. I am not certain when.”

Damn. He truly hoped she would be. Not because he was in any rush to stop trying. Quite the opposite. This was the first time he’d enjoyed trying.

He would never admit it, but he was sad because he was excited of the thought of welcoming a new child to the world.

He loved Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor deeply. He’d give his life for any one of them. But all three had been born of duty. What he had shared this month with Helaena and Aemond was far beyond duty. Far beyond pleasure, even. For the first time in his twenty-three years of life, he knew what it felt like to have something pure, and perfect, and absolutely wonderful. Pure happiness and contentment, if only for a few hours at a stretch.

All the sweeter now that Aemond has finally stopped referring to our one-on-one time together as ‘lessons’. Those sessions were too intense and rough for Helaena to join, but they were acts of love in their own way as well.

But Aegon was at his happiest when all three of them were together. And he loved the thought of a child being born from that union.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Helaena offered him a tentative smile, speaking in High Valyrian in case they were overheard.

“I will admit…I am pleased…that we get to keep trying,” she confessed.

Aegon smiled back, lacing his fingers with hers. “Whether we are ‘trying’ or not, my Queen, we can be together as often as it pleases you. We are married.” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “All three of us. The arrangement with Aemond does not need to end when you become pregnant.”

It never needs to end. He only wished he could take Aemond as a second spouse, like the conqueror did before him. But although he was King of the Seven Kingdoms, his power was not without limit. Even their dragons would not shield them from the wrath of the public if he decided to practice polygamy. Marrying a man would unite the entire realm against him.

So be it, but he is part of our marriage in our hearts if not by law.

Helaena’s smile grew, eyes shining with warmth and with love that made Aegon’s heart swell.

“The three of us belong together,” she agreed, echoing his thoughts. “With a little chuckle, she added, “It would be as though the child has three parents.”

Yes…we would all be their parents. Because the union would not have happened without all three of us.

“Perhaps Aemond should be the father of our next child,” he said, the words falling from his lips before he could even consider them.

What? What did I just say?

His eyes widened in shock at his own words. Why? Why would I suggest that? That’s a horrible idea. The child would be a bastard. I’d be putting Helaena in a horrible position, asking her to carry a child for another man.

Helaena stared at him wide-eyed, just as shocked as he was. But now that the words were out, he could not take them back.

But most shockingly of all, despite the hundred reasons why it was a horrible idea…he did not want to take them back.

“Aemond will spend his life in the Red Keep, and he can spend every night sharing our bed if he wishes, but he will have no choice but to marry Abby Tully,” Aegon continued, the thoughts falling into place as he spoke.

Helaena nodded gravely, not saying a word.

“I don’t want him to feel like he’s an outsider. The three of us do belong together,” he continued. And I could not love him any more deeply if he was my spouse. “If he is the father of one of our children, we solidify the bond between the three of us. Far more powerfully than we would even with wedding vows.”

Helaena was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly again. “No one would ever be able to tell. Aemond has Valyrian features, just like us. And if Aemond fathered our next child,” she said, “and that child was a daughter….we would marry her to Jaehaerys.”

And our grandchild, the next King after Jaehaerys, would be mine, Helaena’s, and Aemond’s.

Yes. Yes, that was exactly what Aegon wanted. And suddenly, he was no longer disappointed that he had not gotten Helaena pregnant. Instead, the child would be conceived next month, or perhaps the month after. Still a child born with three parents. Still a child conceived of love. But the child would be Aemond’s by blood.

Now all that was left was for Aemond to agree. Their brother was far more invested in the rules than he was. Duty and honor and decency and all that. But he knew that Aemond loved them too. He felt it every time Aemond snuggled in close with them after a round of lovemaking. He deserved to father a future Queen. To have the future of House Targaryen run through him as well, even if it must remain a secret.

“He will spend the night at Casterly Rock, then return to King’s Landing on the morrow,” Helaena said, stepping forward to kiss Aegon lovingly on the cheek. “And then we shall speak to him.”

Jace

“My prince,” Maester Gerardys insisted, a bit exasperated. “You must let me treat it. It’s becoming infected.”

But Jace just swatted his hand away when he reached for him, a decision he immediately regretted when it aggravated the burns on his arm. But though it ached fiercely, he didn’t cry out. In fact, he relished the pain. In a way, it took away some of the ache piercing through his heart.

I deserve to suffer.

There was certainly suffering aplenty. Slowly-healing burn wounds covered Jace’s arm from shoulder to wrist. Gerardys told him he was lucky. The burns were superficial. They hurt, and they’d leave ugly scars, but they weren’t deep enough to cause muscle damage or reduced functionality. Jace allowed Gerardys treat his burns, slathering them heavily with a healing paste, but he would not let the maester touch the cut on his face.

The cut had not come from the Battle of Rook’s Rest. It came hours later, when he returned home to Dragonstone covered in burns. When he confessed to his mother what happened.

When she slapped him so hard across the face that her ring sliced open his cheek. His only punishment for getting his little brother killed.

I deserve worse. Far worse, he thought, studying the angry red cut in the mirror. I deserve to have it rot and fester, slices of my face falling away, just like Grandfather’s.

But aside from the slap, Jace had been spared his parents’ wrath. Daemon saved his rage for the Greens, ranting and raving about everything he was going to do to them once they took King’s Landing. All bluster, he hoped. He didn’t particularly mind the gruesome torture that Daemon had in mind for the male greens (including castrating Aegon and suffocating him with his own co*ck), but it turned Jace’s stomach when Daemon suggested forcing Helaena and Alicent to be imprisoned in a brothel, ‘Until each of them has a bastard son of their very own’.

What sickened him even more was that Rhaenyra hadn’t scolded him for the suggestion.

The Greens deserve to die for usurping mother’s throne. They deserve to die for Luke, because I will go to my grave believing that Aemond killed him. And in a way, it is their fault Joffrey died as well. If they hadn’t usurped Mother’s throne, Joffrey never would have been at Rook’s Rest…

But it made no difference. No matter what Jace told himself about the Greens, he knew the cold hard truth. Joffrey’s blood was on his hands.

I never should have gone. I never should have taken him with me. He was ten years old, what in the Seven Hells was I thinking?

Tears flowed down his cheeks, the saltiness stinging his cut, but the pain was not enough to drown out the sound of Joffrey screaming as he and Tyraxes fell from the sky, plummeting for the earth below.

I killed him! He gripped his hair as he sobbed, screaming like a wounded animal while Gerardys and the servants fled, giving him privacy to cry alone. I killed him. I killed him. I killed my baby brother.

Aegon was willing to let him live…Daemon was on his way back to Dragonstone and would have gone to Rook’s Rest himself…I should have obeyed mother… A thousand possible ways Joffrey’s life could have been spared. All for nothing now.

He didn’t know how long he stayed curled up in his bed, sobbing, but he was interrupted by firm knock on the door.

Daemon let himself in without being invited, closing the door behind him and carefully listening for any potential spies before striding over to Jace and looking at his tear-streaked face in disgust.

“Sobbing about it won’t bring him back to life,” Daemon said coldly.

“f*ck off,” Jace grunted, though it lacked any vigor.

“Nothing will bring him back to life,” Daemon amended. “Because Aegon killed him. Just like the Greens killed Luke, either directly or indirectly. Nothing you do will ever bring them back, and crying about it serves no purpose. The only way to make this right is through avenging them.”

Jace nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes and forcing down gulps of air. “The Greens need to die…”

“Oh no, they don’t get a nice quick death,” Daemon said, fire blazing in his eyes like an angry dragon. “They deserve to suffer, as we’ve suffered. Then they deserve to die.”

Jace hesitated. The right people deserve to suffer, he silently amended. Having Aegon, Aemond, Otto, and many of the others tortured before death was fair, after all the harm they’d caused. But Jace didn’t want Helaena to suffer. And he prayed his mother would not follow through on her threat to behead their children.

Daemon clapped Jace twice on the uninjured shoulder. “The dragonseeds have assembled,” he said. “I want you to escort them to the Dragonmount while they make their attempts to claim them. You can oversee the whole thing, and you can start teaching them how to fly afterwards. Rhaenys will assist you.”

Me? Jace blinked at him, but Daemon only rolled his eyes.

“You want a chance to redeem yourself, yes?” he asked. “Actually help us win this f*cking war?”

“Of course I do, but…”

“Then do as I said,” Daemon turned from him, walking slowly towards the door. “I need to get back to Harrenhal. Even flying back and forth every other day is too much. The Tully army is getting closer and closer, we have to find an alternate way to ferry in Lady Jeyne’s support from the Vale, and I have…other matters to attend to,” he finished sinisterly.

Jace could not help but shiver at his tone. “You’re…” He swallowed. “You’ve…you’ve found a way to get to their children?”

Mother ordered one of them be killed immediately as payment for Joffrey. Even before she beheads all the rest of them after the war is won.

“Sadly, no,” he said disappointedly. “I have few spies left in King’s Landing, but word on the rumor mill is that all three of Aegon’s children have been evacuated from the city. We have no idea where they might be. We’ll get to them eventually, but it won’t be before your mother’s deadline of a fortnight. So I had to come up with a substitute revenge. Not as painful as losing one of the little ones, but…” He smirked dangerously. “It’ll hurt.”

Jace didn’t dare ask for clarification.

“Dragonseeds. Now,” Daemon repeated as he left, closing the door behind him.

Gwayne

The city looks good in Green, Gwayne thought as his gaze swept across the street.

Much of the Hightower army was set up in camps just outside the city gates (well fed and comfortable), but the higher-ranking soldiers were given lodgings in the castle, and many of the soldiers liked to peruse the streets, partaking in the pubs and the brothels when it wasn’t their turn on watch. Green banners hung from hundreds of windows as the city welcomed them with open arms, especially the local business owners, whose pockets were growing fat with the extra silver.

Of course, the city was not as well-supplied as Gwayne would like it to be. The Reach, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands were united in favor of Aegon, so it was easy to get shipments of basic essentials by land, but because of the Velaryon blockade, they could not get imports or luxury items from sea travel. The pubs no longer served wine. The Arbor could still send it to Oldtown, and then have it brought to King’s Landing by wagon, but transporting wine barrels that way was cumbersome. What little the city managed to get was routed directly to the castle.

Nonetheless, the city did not lack for alcohol. Without easily accessible wine, ale dominated the pubs, flowing freely into horns and tankards.

We’ll have our wine and luxury items back soon, Gwayne thought with a smile. Father confirmed that the Triarchy has set sail for the Gullet. Without a dragon to protect them, the Velaryon fleet will be splintered under the combined weight of the Triarchy, the Manderlys, the Sistermen, and the Arbor. And whatever dragon Father sends to join the fray, of course.

But in the meantime, Gwayne and his City Watch would ensure that the soldiers and the King’s Landing residents were getting along harmoniously. An easy task, and he knew his men were relishing the lingering days of peace. Any day now, King’s Landing might be attacked, and the City Watch would need to aid the Hightower army in defending it.

Gwayne’s patrol carried on into the night, checking in with his men as they kept the peace. A slow night. Everyone seemed to be carousing and having fun. Aside from a single pickpocket they’d apprehended, there was no crime for the City Watch to stop.

I almost wish there was, Gwayne thought as he yawned, turning his back so his men wouldn’t see. Our country is at war. I want to do something to contribute.

Little did Gwayne know, his wish was about to be granted. Had he known, he never would have made it.

The next street on his patrol was a quiet one. A residential neighborhood with no merchant shops or stalls. The late hour left the street barren, all citizens either tucked away in bed or out on a busier street carousing. Almost not worth patrolling at all, and as Lord Commander of the Watch, he very nearly made the decision to skip it altogether, but it wasn’t as though his attentions were needed elsewhere. So with a sigh, he continued, his gaze sweeping the street for any sign of wrongdoing as he headed for the next corner.

A next corner he would never reach. Before he was halfway down the road, the thunder of running footsteps would sound behind him. And seconds later, the cobbled street below his boots would be stained a vivid crimson…

Robert

“My network has managed to find a few more of the White Worm’s people,” Larys said as he, Robert, and Otto sat in Otto’s office in the Tower of the Hand. Larys was Aegon’s Master of Whisperers, but he preferred not to reveal the secrets he uncovered during Small Council meetings. Perhaps a power move, perhaps keeping sensitive information need-to-know because he wasn’t certain who he could trust.

Either way, Robert was wary of him, taking every nugget of information with a grain of salt. History books knew little of Larys Strong. There had been rumors that he was a spy, and even a few rumors that he’d been the one to poison Aegon in the original timeline.

In fairness, by the end of the original Dance, Aegon had lost two sons, two brothers, his wife, his grandfather, his dragon, a host of other relatives, and he was badly crippled and in horrible pain. Giving in to his despair, he’d become bloodthirsty, unwilling to surrender even after it was painfully obvious that the Greens no longer had the means to fight off the advancing Stark army. Poisoning him at that point was an act of kindness.

But that’s not going to happen now, Robert vowed. Not while I’m here. Not while I can change it.

So while Robert was wary, he had not yet dismissed Larys as a potential source of valuable information.

“Have we gotten anything useful from them?” Robert asked, but Larys shook his head.

“The White Worm is a crafty one, my Lord,” Larys said with a sigh, a glint of aggravation in his eye. Frustration that he had not yet managed to outwit her. “I’m dismantling her web strand by strand, and she has far less power and influence in King’s Landing than she once did, but it will take time before she is no longer a threat.”

Otto’s lip curled. “This White Worm is the reason my daughter, granddaughter, and great-grandchildren were attacked and nearly killed,” he snarled. “Daemon’s minion.”

“And catching her is my top priority, my Lord Hand,” Larys assured him, nodding politely at Robert. “Made simpler, by the fact that Lord Borros has loaned me men from his personal guard.”

Whatever it takes to rid King’s Landing of that disease, Robert thought grimly, gritting his teeth as he remembered all the harm Mysaria caused in the original timeline. If the rumor mill from back then is to be believed, she is also responsible for the Brothel Queens.

Robert prayed the rumor was false, even though now he was changing the course of history. The thought of sweet, gentle Helaena being imprisoned in a brothel…

That will not happen. He ground his teeth so hard they ached. I will die before I allow that to happen.

Mysaria had to die. There was no way around it.

“There’s another lead I plan on pursuing, and…”

They were interrupted by a thundering knock, and before Otto could give permission, the door flew open and a guard walked in, his eyes so wide with horror that Robert grabbed for the dagger on his hip.

“What in the Seven Hells…”

“My Lord Hand,” the guard said, his face white as he spoke to Otto. “There’s been an attack…”

Five Minutes Later

Seven f*cking Hells…

The sheet covering Gwayne Hightower’s body was stained with blood, but it blocked the worst of the carnage. It didn’t matter; Robert could smell it. He knew the scent of death very well: the stink of sh*t, blood, and the barest onset of decay. He’d smelled it more times than he could remember during the Rebellion. Smelled it on himself after he was attacked by the boar. And now the stench saturated the chamber where Gwayne Hightower’s body rested on a table, awaiting the Silent Sisters.

Otto took one look at the covered corpse, and his knees buckled, letting out a strangled cry that he swallowed. Gripping Robert’s sleeve for support, Otto’s body swayed, and he swallowed another scream, releasing nothing more than a soft squeak.

That’s your son on the table, Robert thought, cringing as he grabbed Otto’s elbow to offer him more support. You don’t have to hold it in. You don’t have to look composed. Not a single f*cking soul would judge you for falling apart.

On shaky legs, Otto tried to walk towards the table, hand extended as though he meant to pull the sheet from Gwayne’s face, but Robert stopped him, gripping his arm and tugging him backwards.

“Otto…”

“That’s my son,” Otto said softly, trying weakly to pull his arm out of Robert’s grip.

“I know, Otto,” he said sympathetically, gripping him harder to pull him back. “But…”

“That’s my son, Borros,” Otto said again, just as soft, trying to rip his arm away. “Let me go.”

“Otto, you don’t…”

“THAT’S MY SON!” Otto bellowed, making Robert jump as he flailed. “THAT’S MY SON! LET ME f*ckING GO! I NEED TO SEE HIM!”

“OTTO!” Robert screamed back, grabbing Otto by the shoulders and shaking him. “You WILL see him, but not yet. Let the Silent Sisters…”

“f*ck THE SILENT SISTERS!” Otto screamed, fighting harder, but he was no match for the far-stronger Baratheon lord. “I NEED TO SEE HIM! I NEED TO SEE MY SON!”

“No, you don’t!” Robert shook him harder. “Otto, if you see him now, you’ll never get that image out of your head! That’s not the way you should remember him!”

No father should ever see his son sliced open, covered in gaping wounds and his own sh*t.

Otto let out a wordless cry, continuing to fight but more feebly.

“Otto, listen to me,” Robert said. “I swear to you, I’ll make sure the Silent Sisters let you see him before they wrap him, but you have to let them do their work first. You have to let them make him decent and presentable. Not only for the sake of his dignity, but for the sake of your memories. If you see him now, that memory will haunt you every time you remember him.”

The dam burst, and tears streamed down Otto’s face, dignity long forgotten as he burst into sobs, gripping Robert like a drowning man to a life rope. His knees gave out completely, leaving Robert to half-hold him so he would not collapse to the chamber floor.

“That’s my son…” he said weakly between sobs.

“I know, Otto,” Robert said. “And I’m so f*cking sorry…”

He was never any good with comforting men through their pain. Even during the Rebellion, Ned or Jon Arryn were always the ones who truly comforted their soldiers through their losses. They always seemed to know exactly what to say. All Robert could do was support Otto physically, anchoring him while he cried and keeping him from falling to the floor in grief. But fortunately, he was not alone in comforting Otto for long. Within minutes, the rest of the Greens arrived at the chamber except Aemond, who had not yet returned from Casterly Rock.

With his loved ones there to share his grief, Otto released Robert and reached for Alicent instead, pulling her in close as he let his tears mingle with her own. But he seemed to trust Robert’s word that they should not look at the body. He did not try to get close to Gwayne again, nor did he let his daughter. Daeron and Ormund reached them quickly, rubbing Otto’s back while consoling Alicent. The young prince had tears in his eyes as well, undoubtedly closer with Gwayne then the rest of his siblings, having grown up in Oldtown.

Aegon’s eyes, however, were dry as he gazed across the room at his uncle’s covered body. Dry…and blazing with undisguised rage.

“The Silent Sisters are on their way, Your Grace,” Robert said to Aegon, though he wasn’t certain the King heard him or even cared. His face grew red, teeth bared, the dragon inside of him ready to breathe fire.

“How did this happen?” he said. Wheeling on his guards, he repeated, screaming, “HOW THE f*ck DID THIS HAPPEN IN MY CITY? With the entire Hightower Army outside of our f*cking gates!”

“The White Worm, Your Grace,” Robert explained through gritted teeth. “She still had a few assassins in her employ. The men of the City Watch caught them, and they’re being interrogated as we speak. Apparently, they were watching your uncle for several days to learn his patrol patterns, striking when they knew he’d be alone.” Swallowing, he added, “We’re hoping they have enough information that we can use to finally find her.”

His explanation did nothing to quell Aegon’s anger, and he turned from Robert, pacing the room and snarling like an angry beast. It was only when Helaena reached his side, stroking his arm while tears streamed down her pretty face, that he cooled. But even then, only by a few degrees.

“No more,” Aegon said, hands shaking as he balled into fists. “First they try to kill my wife, my children, and my mother. Now they succeed in killing my uncle! They are not trying to win a succession war; there was no POINT to this! Killing Gwayne gives them no militant advantage. They are trying to inflict as much pain as they possibly can!”

Robert didn’t answer, lowering his head respectfully. Killing the Lord Commander of the City Watch was not the same type of senseless violence as Blood and Cheese; Gwayne would have been a combatant if it came to fighting. But Robert agreed that it was unnecessary. Killing him now, when King’s Landing was not actively under attack, wouldn’t hurt the Greens militarily. They could easily replace him with another Lord Commander. The Blacks had done it to hurt them emotionally.

And they succeeded, Robert thought as he watched them cry. Otto has lost a son, Alicent a brother, the children an uncle, and Ormund a cousin.

“I will hurt Daemon for this,” Aegon seethed. “I will hurt them all for this. I want them alive, so I may take justice myself.”

“And you will have it, Your Grace,” Robert promised him. “When you win the war. But you mustn’t do anything rash.”

Aegon’s eyes pierced him. “I mustn’t do anything rash?” he repeated incredulously.

Robert nodded. “With the way things are going now, you are going to win this war, Your Grace. And if you hold the course, you will have your justice and your victory. But if you lash out in anger, you risk making a costly mistake.”

Aegon started to shake his head, but Robert stepped forward as close as the Kingsguard would allow.

“You are the blood of the dragon, Your Grace,” Robert said. “And I know your fires are burning hot. But vengeance is a dish best served cold. When you can maximize their pain whilst minimizing the risk to yourself and those you love.”

“Aegon,” Helaena urged, gripping his sleeve and tugging on it until he looked at her. “Brother. Husband. Please. You must listen to Lord Borros. He’s right.” She sniffed. “I can’t bear to lose anyone else. Please…”

Aegon hesitated, her tears dousing some of the flames burning in his eyes. Then, his gaze flickered to where the rest of his family was still crying, lost in their grief, and he knew Helaena’s words were echoing in the young King’s ears.

“My grandfather needs time to mourn his son, so he is relieved of his duties until he feels he is ready to resume them,” Aegon finally said regally, a King once again. “In the interim, Lord Borros, you are acting Hand of the King.”

Robert nodded grimly, though internally he cursed. I pray Otto will not see this as a slight. I need him to trust me. I’ll just have to make it crystal clear that I have no intention of stealing the position permanently.

“I am honored that I can help your family through this difficult time, Your Grace. I will gladly serve until your grandfather is ready to resume. There is no better Hand in the Seven Kingdoms than Otto Hightower,” Robert said.

Aegon folded his arms. “I will follow your advice to think strategically, Lord Borros, but we need to increase our efforts. We have the advantage, so let us press it to win the war once and for all. I want the Blacks dead before they can spill another drop of our blood.”

Robert nodded, then accepted the King’s dismissal so he could spend time with his family.

Fortunately, I should be able to follow that order rather easily, Robert thought. After all, the Triarchy will be in position soon...

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Rhaenys

“I will not be sent back to Driftmark!” Baela insisted, ferocity shining in her violet eyes. Ferocity she inherited from her father…and from her mother. A ferocity that made Rhaenys’s chest ache with bittersweet pride.

Part of your mother is still alive in you, she thought sadly. Laena lived on in Rhaena as well, but it was a different side of her. Her kind, sweet, nurturing side. Baela had inherited her strength, the blood of the dragon. The same blood that allowed her to hatch Moondancer, who was currently glaring at Rhaenys, nearly as outraged as her rider.

Settle down, young dragon, Rhaenys thought. This is for your own good.

“Baela, not only is it what’s best for you, but you will also be aiding the war effort.”

Baela shook her head in disgust, but Rhaenys gripped her hand, urging her to listen.

“With the death of Gwayne Hightower, we have to assume that the Greens will retaliate. Stormcloud is too young to ride, so Dragonstone is only protected by Vermax, Syrax, and Moondancer. Vhagar alone might well be capable of killing all three by herself. But they will not go looking for you on Driftmark. Not only that, but a third of the Velaryon fleet still remains there, on standby to trade off with the ships blockading the Gullet. It is unwise to leave those ships unguarded.”

A weak explanation, and Baela very clearly saw through it, but before she could open her mouth, Rhaenys stepped forward, gently stroking her face.

“Baela,” she said softly. “With the death of Lucerys and Joffrey, and Jacaerys as heir to the Iron Throne, I am going to push for you to inherit Driftmark.”

Baela blinked, some of the anger fading from her eyes, though she did not yet speak.

The way it always should have been. You are Corlys’s eldest remaining trueborn descendant. Lucerys never should have been Driftmark’s heir.

“We need to keep you safe,” Rhaenys finished. “You and your sister. And you need to help protect the lands and vessels you will one day rule as Lady of the Tides.”

Baela bit her lip, more of her anger fading with each word Rhaenys spoke, but still, she shook her head.

“Grandmother…might I at least patrol the Gullet? As you did with Meleys?”

Rhaenys stomach twisted at the thought. Without her and Meleys, Corlys could no longer fly back and forth from Dragonstone to the Gullet, but they’d received word that Triarchy scouting ships were spotted in the area. Undoubtedly, they were planning something. And the Triarchy had experience fighting dragons at sea. Meleys was the fastest dragon in the world and Rhaenys the most seasoned rider. But Baela was still a young girl, and Moondancer was smaller than even Tyraxes had been. They’d be taken out of the sky by arrows.

“Absolutely not,” Rhaenys said definitively. Gesturing over her shoulder, where a large crowd of dragonseeds gathered, she added, “With luck, we shall have new dragonriders to patrol the Gullet before the end of the day.”

Dragonriders who are far less dear to me.

And so begrudgingly, Baela accepted one last hug and a kiss on the forehead from Rhaenys, then climbed into Moondancer’s saddle and commanded her dragon to fly.

I shall see you soon, Granddaughter, when we are safe once again.

But for now, she had to resume helping Jace organize the dragonseeds into groups and coach them on how to make their attempts.

“Now, is it in ANY WAY unclear that NO ONE is to approach the Cannibal?” Jace said angrily, eyes scanning the crowd for any trace of defiance. Fortunately, Rhaenys didn’t see any.

“Good,” Jace said, sighing in disgust. “Because we cannot afford to lose more dragonseeds on a fool’s errand.”

He’s not wrong.

The Cannibal, the fearsome black beast, was undoubtedly the most tempting of all the unclaimed dragons, and so it was of no surprise that nearly twenty dragonseeds coveted him. And so yesterday, those twenty men attempted to bond with him.

And today, all twenty are half-digested in his belly. Not a single man had returned to tell the tale.

“Best not waste time trying to claim any of the wild dragons,” Rhaenys added. “Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke have all accepted riders in the past. They will be the most likely to accept a new rider. So when we go to the dragonmount, we will group the rest of you into three categories, and you will…”

One dragonseed, a man with long silver hair and purple eyes who looked nearly pure Valyrian, politely raised his hand.

“Princess,” he said respectfully once given permission to speak. “With your permission, I would like to attempt to claim the dragon Sheepstealer.”

Sheepstealer? Rhaenys looked over her shoulder to where a handful of dragonkeepers were waiting in attendance. A few of them shrugged.

“What is your name?” she asked him, co*cking her head as she studied him. One of Daemon’s seeds, perhaps? He looks very much like my cousin.

“Aethan, Princess.”

“Aethan,” Rhaenys repeated, reminding herself to ask Daemon about him later. “Sheepstealer is indeed a large beast, but he is not a particularly fearsome dragon. He earned his name by preying on tame livestock. I’m not certain how well he’d fare against Tessarion, let alone Vhagar. And it would take considerable time to teach him battle commands; he’s spent his life wild.”

“And that’s assuming you can tame him at all,” Jace added. “The reason we want to focus on Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke is because they were all hand-raised by humans from when they were first hatched. Surely, you would not attempt to ride a wild horse ahead of one who’d been born and raised to carry riders?”

“Yes, my prince, that’s true,” Aethan agreed. But then curiously, he gestured towards the crowd. “But my odds of claiming Vermithor, Silverwing, or Seasmoke are very small, given the number of contenders. I may be the only one fool enough to attempt to claim Sheepstealer.”

Which does not at all reduce the risk of him burning you alive and feasting on your corpse.

But she wasn’t his mother, and most of the dragonseeds would very likely die anyway, even with Vermithor or Silverwing. Rhaenys supposed it was on his own head. “Very well, then. Good fortune to you, Aethan. You may use whatever resources on the island that you need to use in order to make your attempt.”

Bowing politely, Aethan withdrew from the crowd, taking off in a half-jog toward the far side of the dragonmount, where Sheepstealer was known to nest.

I’ll likely never see that man again.

So she put him out of her mind and instead focused on dividing the remaining dragonseeds into three groups, initially planning on guiding the group headed towards Seasmoke’s lair. She knew Seasmoke well, and since Meleys’s death, she had gone to visit him a few times, keeping a respectful distance. Meleys was not a brood dragon. She only produced two clutches in her life, and only one egg from each had hatched. The first had been Seasmoke.

The memory made her smile. She had tucked the pale gray egg into Laenor’s cradle when he was only a babe, and when the egg hatched, her little boy had squealed in delight, laughing and clapping his tiny hands to greet his new friend. Together, Rhaenys and Meleys had watched their sons grow until they could fly with them as a family. Laena eventually joined them years later, when she claimed Vhagar, and those years she’d spent dragonriding with her children were more precious to Rhaenys than all the gold on Driftmark.

But now Laenor was dead, Laena was dead, her beloved Meleys was dead, and Rhaenys was left behind with a heart riddled with holes.

She thought it might be cathartic to see Seasmoke carry on with a new rider, a small piece of both Meleys and Laenor living on to see the Targaryen dynasty into the future. But then Rhaenys took a closer look at the group of dragonseeds who wanted to try their luck with Seasmoke.

And the sight of them made her blood boil. For among them was Addam of Hull.

I forgave Corlys for those sins years ago, she reminded herself. He loves me. He always loved me. But he was away from me for years at a time, and men have urges.

She did not fault Corlys for providing for Addam and his brother, Alyn. They were his blood, after all. Of course Corlys didn’t want them to grow up in poverty. And Corlys was always respectful, ensuring that the boys grew up far from High Tide and that Rhaenys never needed to interact with them.

But she would not watch as one of Corlys’s bastards attempted to claim the dragon that she had gifted to Laenor.

“I will lead the dragonseeds who want to claim Vermithor and Silverwing,” Rhaenys said to Jace. “You may lead the group to Seasmoke.”

Fortunately, her alleged grandson (yet another bastard not born of her bloodline) knew better than to argue.

Aemond

“I don’t think we’ll need to call the maester,” Aegon said, examining Aemond’s knuckles as he cleaned them and applied a few dollops of healing paste. He kept a box of healing supplies in his chamber, an old habit from when he used to sneak out of the Red Keep at night and come home with cuts and scrapes. Now, he used them to take care of Aemond as they sat on the edge of his bed. “It doesn’t look like you broke anything.”

Fixing him with a stern glare, Aegon added, “If you need to vent your fury, brother, then do it in the training yard on a man of straw. I do not want to see you with a broken hand or an infection from a cut.”

He nodded, and Aegon’s expression softened, kissing his hand lovingly before wrapping it with a clean bandage, even though it was barely bleeding after he slammed his fist against the castle’s stone wall.

Aegon’s right. I can’t risk doing that again. I need my hands to fight.

“I thought everything would be fine if we evacuated the children,” Aemond said softly. “They’re safely tucked away where the Blacks cannot get to them, and the rest of us are warriors and dragonriders except for mother. I thought we’d be safe.”

But we’re not. Gwayne is dead. Slaughtered like a pig. Bled to death in the street.

Aemond didn’t know Gwayne well enough to actually love him, not beyond the loyalty of the blood tie, but his death hurt nonetheless. It hurt to see his mother and sister weeping when he came back to King’s Landing after seeing Jaehaerys safely to Casterly Rock. It hurt that Otto was hidden away in his chambers, so desperate to preserve his dignified appearance that he dared not let others see him grieve. It hurt to see Daeron fighting not to cry; he’d been closer with Gwayne than any of them, but he was trying to be a brave and strong young prince.

It hurt to see the unreadable expression in Aegon’s eyes, his brother not yet ready to open up to him.

“I offered to have a cremation ceremony,” Aegon said, his voice hollow. “I could burn him with Sunfyre, or Daeron with Tessarion, but grandfather wants him interred in the family crypt at Oldtown.”

Aemond nodded. “That’s only right. He belongs with our Hightower ancestors…No, he belongs here. At the Red Keep. Alive, so that he might marry, have children of his own one day, and help us celebrate when we win the war.”

Aegon let out a strangled grunt, his eyes drifting away from Aemond’s. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered. “Gwayne isn’t supposed to be dead. Mother, Helaena, and the children were not supposed to be attacked and nearly killed by assassins. I was supposed to take the throne to protect our family. But…f*ck!”

He threw the leftover bandages to the floor and gripped his hair, silver strands spilling between his fingers.

“If I can’t protect our family, what the f*ck am I doing on the throne?”

Slipping in close, Aemond circled his hands around Aegon’s wrists, tugging them gently from his head.

“You are, Aeg,” he promised him. “Without you on that throne, we’d all be dead already. We would have survived a week, maybe two, after Rhaenyra’s ascension, but no more. Gwayne is dead, but the rest of us are still alive.” He pulled one of Aegon’s hands to his mouth and kissed it. “There can be no guarantees. Not during a war. Not against such a lethal enemy. But because of you, we have a fighting chance at a future.”

Aegon shook his hands free, then surged forward, locking his arms around Aemond’s chest and hugging him fiercely. Aemond hugged him back, squeezing him tightly. Too tightly. Letting himself release some of his frustration in his brother’s arms.

I’m afraid too, Aegon, he admitted silently. I don’t want to lose anyone else. I can’t lose anyone else.

Aegon held him for a few moments longer, then pulled away, straightening.

“Gwayne Hightower will return to Oldtown by ship,” he declared. “The most beautiful ship in our fleet.”

“But our ships can’t leave Blackwater Bay because…” He stiffened. “We’re ready to attack the Velaryon blockade.”

“We are ready to destroy the Velaryon blockade,” Aegon amended, eyes glinting with rage. “My kingdom will have wine, fine silks, and other imports traded with the Free Cities once again. Sea commerce will resume. My people will travel safely by ship whenever it pleases them. Rhaenyra and Corlys Velaryon will not dictate any part of how I rule Westeros. And Gods damn them all, I will send my uncle’s body back to Oldtown with the respect due a highborn knight.

Because you are a dragon king, Aemond thought, grinning with pride before he leaned in to press his lips against his brother’s. A kiss Aegon fiercely returned, nipping Aemond’s lip sharply before grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back on the mattress, straddling his hips.

It was for the best that Helaena decided not to join them; the passion that followed would have frightened her. Bitemarks and angry red scratches. Bruises shaped like hand and fingerprints. Wrestling and twisting of arms that was just shy of painful. Aemond was the victor, pinning Aegon to the mattress after they’d torn the clothes from each other’s body, panting with the effort. The primal thrill of victory, of domination, sang through his chest like a dragon’s roar, but before he could reach for the vial of oil to claim his prize, he stopped himself.

He needs to win, he knew. His King needed the victory and the confidence boost that came with it. And so when Aegon grabbed his thigh, nails stritching tantalizingly against his soft flesh, Aemond was prepared to ‘lose’ and let Aegon pin him down in turn, but his brother surprised him, looking up at him with wide, almost fearful eyes.

“f*ck me,” he whispered his plea. And Aemond’s heart ached.

No. He doesn’t need to win. He wanted to be overpowered. He needs someone to take care of him while he takes care of the rest of the realm.

And so Aemond reached for the oil again, this time not hesitating.

When it was done, they lay face to face, arms and legs intertangled as they held each other. Aegon gently kissed the scratches and love bites he left on Aemond’s shoulder, and Aemond lightly rubbed the soon-to-be bruises that would blossom on Aegon’s arms and thighs, hoping they would not darken too deeply.

“I love you,” Aegon said, unabashed as he gazed into Aemond’s eye.

“And I love you,” Aemond answered, pulling him in impossibly closer. “As my brother, my king, and…”

The last word escaped him. As his lover? It didn’t quite seem to fit. He couldn’t say husband, because it was never (could never) be true.

But even without the words, Aegon understood the meaning behind them, kissing him again.

Behind them, the door creaked, and Aemond’s heart leapt into his throat, but before he could work himself into panic, Aegon laughed, soothing him by stroking his hair. “It’s just Helaena,” he assured him. “She said she’d come to join us.”

Relief had him melting back into the mattress, and when his sister slipped into the bed behind Aegon, clad in her silk night dress, he welcomed her by leaning forward and kissing her sweetly on the cheek. But even as he kissed her, his brow furrowed.

She said she would not be joining us because her moon blood will be coming in the next day or so and she is having some mild pain…

“I ‘knew’ this was the right time for me to come,” she explained, reaching over to rub Aemond’s forearm.

Right time? But Aegon seemed to know exactly what she was talking about, because he smiled, happiness chasing away some of the pain in his eyes.

What…

“As you know, Aem, Helaena isn’t pregnant yet,” Aegon said. “She will be soon, but not today. So we’ll need to keep trying.”

Aemond nodded, holding back his smile. He wanted them to have a new child, of course, but the fact that it hadn’t happened yet meant that he would have at least a few more nights like this.

As if reading his mind, Aegon added, “The three of us belong together, Aemond. This doesn’t need to end when we eventually do conceive a child.”

But it will need to end one day, a dark little voice whispered into his ear before he could even fully absorb the joy that followed Aegon’s words. Because they are wed to each other, and one day you will be wed to Abby Tully.

Aemond tried to hide it, first by fighting back the sorrow…then by closing his eye and drawing a deep breath when it threatened to overcome him. It didn’t matter; they saw it anyway, quickly soothing him with soft caresses and whispered words of love.

“This…” He drew another deep breath. “This is the cost of war. The cost of our family’s safety. We need the Riverlands on our side. And to get the Riverlands on our side, we need a marriage pact. I must marry Abby.” He drew another shaky breath. “It is a good match. She is a beautiful woman with impeccable bloodlines, and…”

And I don’t want to marry her. I want to stay right here, where I am now, with the people I love. With the people who love me.

“You must marry Abby,” Aegon agreed. “But your marriage does not mean the end, Aemond.”

He bit his lip, shaking his head before forcing himself to say, “Abby deserves a faithful husband.” He could no longer lie to himself and say that he was having ‘lessons’ with his brother. It had nothing to do with learning the art of pleasure. He was here because he wanted to be. A sin he could, perhaps, justify while he was unwed, but not after.

Aegon’s brow furrowed, but he dismissed whatever it was he was about to say, kissing Aemond chastely instead. “We can discuss it further later. At the very least, I can delay the marriage. The Tullys understand that the union will not happen until after the war is won, and even then, it’s reasonable to wait a few months to stabilize the realm before planning a lavish royal wedding.”

And I will savor every beautiful delayed day.

“But whether you choose to join us in the bedchamber or not, Aemond,” Helaena said, “you are part of our union. One third of the three-headed dragon. Law or no law.”

I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry…They need to see me as a warrior…

“And that is why…” She paused, gently stroking Aegon’s arm, silently asking if he was the one who wanted to continue, and he nodded.

“And that is why we believe it is a blessing in disguise that Helaena did not get pregnant this month,” Aegon continued. “Because we want you to be the father of our next child.”

…What?

A thousand emotions and errant thoughts soared through his brain while he lay on the mattress, frozen in shock, and all he could do was gape at his siblings, his eye wide.

“Any child born of this union would belong to all three of us,” Aegon explained. “And by having you sire him or her, hopefully a girl, the three of us will be bound by both love and by blood.”

“If it is a girl, we will wed her to Jaehaerys. Any future grandchildren would be all three of ours,” Helaena added.

And one of those grandchildren would inherit the throne…

“So no matter what you decide about your future with Abby,” she finished, “a part of you will always be tied to us.”

He lost his battle not to cry, and a single warm tear slid down his cheek.

Yes. Yes, he wanted that. Deep within his very soul, he wanted that. A beautiful dream…but a beautiful dream that would never work.

“The child would be a bastard,” he whispered.

Aegon snorted. “And who would know?” He pointedly tugged on Aemond’s silver hair. “Rhaenyra was an idiot when she had children with Harwin Strong. But the three of us all have the same features. Unless you think the babe would be born with a tiny sapphire eye, no one will be able to tell that I did not father her.”

“The Gods would know.”

Helaena looked at him thoughtfully. “The Gods did not curse our line when Aegon the Conqueror married two women,” she said. “Nor do they curse any of the Northern children who are wed in ceremonies overseen by the Old Gods, even though the union was not blessed by a septon.”

“Still…”

“The resulting child would not be an heir in her own right,” Aegon explained further. “Jaehaerys will be King after me, and everything that is mine will one day be his. So once again, it’s not like with Rhaenyra’s bastards, where they are taking away an inheritance from who it rightfully belongs to. And unlike with Rhaenyra’s bastards, it’s not an act of treason because I’m giving my full blessing in advance.” Smirking playfully, Aegon added, “If it would make you feel better, I could command it. I obviously won’t make you if you don’t want to, but if you’re following a King’s command, then it’s neither treason nor morally wrong in any way. You are sworn to me, after all.”

King’s command or no, the child would be a bastard…or…would it?

Aemond’s brow furrowed. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were all bastards because Viserys had never legitimized them. Rhaenyra had successfully hoodwinked him. But he could have legitimized them. Kings did have the Gods-given power to offer legitimization.

Aemond swallowed. “Will you swear to me that you’ll legitimize him or her after their born?” he asked.

He nodded. “To prevent any pesky gossip, I’ll do it privately, of course. With just the three of us and the Gods as witnesses. But yes, I will legitimize the babe and grant them the name Targaryen.”

Then there is no reason to say no. He was not yet married to Abby, so he would not be betraying any wedding vows. He had his king’s permission, so he would not be committing treason. The babe would be legitimized after birth, so he would not be siring a bastard. Jaehaerys was still heir, so there was no disruption to the sanctity of the succession.

There was no reason to say no…and he wanted it so f*cking badly. He wanted to be tied to Aegon and Helaena forever…for long after his death, if his daughter married Jaehaerys. Tied together through all the future generations of House Targaryen.

And so he allowed another tear to slide down his face. This time, a tear of pure joy.

“Yes.”

Aethan

It’s nothing to worry about, Aethan told himself as Sheepstealer accepted the three ewes he had brought him, devouring them without looking the slightest bit grateful. He certainly didn’t look inclined to allow Aethan to touch him, let alone bond with him.

Lord Borros warned me this would take time, he assured himself. He said it might take days or even weeks for him to get used to me. He’ll accept me eventually…I hope…

It didn’t matter if it took weeks. So be it. He would have a dragon. His own dragon. A dream greater than anything he dared hope for.

Deciding to allow Sheepstealer to get used to his presence, Aethan sat down on a rock a respectful distance away while the great dragon lapped away the last traces of blood from the ewes. Massive as he was, he was slender, his brown scales glistening in the sun, and Aethan imagined he’d be lithe and agile in the air.

Perhaps lithe and agile enough to ensure his victory over the Blood Wyrm, Aethan thought, allowing himself to steal away into the world of fantasy with a scornful smile on his face. Sheepstealer was larger than Caraxes. If he surpassed him in size and matched him in agility, then it was only a matter of time before Caraxes fell from the sky…hopefully with a terrified Daemon strapped to his back.

And with luck, he will fall straight into the Seven Hells.

It did not occur to Aethan that losing himself in grandiose fantasies was a very, very foolish thing to do in front of a dragon. Had he been paying attention, he would have noticed that the dark shadow blocking out the sun was not the result of a cloud. And he would have noticed Sheepstealer looking up to the skies with an expression of pure terror. But Aethan didn’t notice anything amiss, not until Sheepstealer spread his wings and took off into the skies with a cry of panic, his speed and agility giving him just the edge he needed to escape in the nick of time.

What…

Aethan’s eyes quadrupled in size as a massive wall of black scales fell to the earth, the ground trembling beneath the dragon’s feet as he landed directly in the spot that Sheepstealer just abandoned, breathing in the scent of the dead ewes’ blood.

Balerion? was Aethan’s first, idiotic thought as he looked at the great black beast. Like all smallfolk, he’d heard stories of the Black Dread, the great dragon who brought the Seven Kingdoms to heel. The beast with a wingspan so wide it would cast entire towns into shadow when the Conqueror flew overtop them. The beast before Aethan was certainly capable of the feat. He was larger than Sheepstealer…

But smaller than Vhagar, Aethan thought, frowning. He’d seen Vhagar a handful of times when Prince Aemond would fly her around the city. Balerion could not possibly be smaller than Vhagar…

And Balerion did not have emerald green eyes, which Aethan saw with crystal clarity when the beast wheeled on him, glaring.

Oh no…this isn’t Balerion. Balerion is dead. This is The Cannibal. He must have been drawn by the scent of sheep blood.

But there were no sheep left to feast on. Nor dragons, not now that Sheepstealer escaped. There was only one meal left to be had. A meal that could not easily escape.

I’m going to die, he realized. He’d brought nothing to defend himself. Not a whip. Not a Keeper’s staff. Not that it would matter if he did. Neither would deter this monster.

But as Aethan stared into the brilliant green eyes of certain death, it was not fear that gripped him. Nor, oddly, was it bravery.

No, the last emotion Aethan would ever experience would be rage. Pure, unbridled, impotent rage. And hatred.

f*ck the Gods, Aethan thought, lips curling back into a snarl as he stared at The Cannibal’s opening maw. At his teeth, long and sharp as swords. f*ck the f*cking Gods straight to the Seven f*cking Hells!

How dare they? How f*ckING dare they! How f*cking dare they condemn him to twenty-eight years of suffering in poverty while his c*nt of a father lived in luxury. How dare they give him the dream of a future as a dragon rider. How dare they dangle the promise of vengeance in front of him, allowing him to reach for it, to feel its essence against his fingertips, before cruelly snatching it away.

They are not Gods, they are demons. None but demons could be so f*cking cruel.

And now Aethan would die, reduced to meat in The Cannibal’s stomach. Never to celebrate Daemon’s downfall. The bastard son of a whor* that the world would forget as soon as he was dead.

His vision burned red, rational thought fleeing him as he opened his mouth and screamed. Screamed. Screamed until his voice went hoarse and the marrow in his bones boiled. As though the dragon within Aethan was ready to breathe fire in its death throes.

So blind was he with rage and hate that he did not see The Cannibal close his mouth, co*cking his head and studying him through narrowed green eyes.

The Cannibal was used to screaming. His meals often screamed before he fed on them. But those were the primal screams of terrified prey, often accompanied by the scent of urine as they soiled themselves. Man and beast alike. Even the dragons he feasted on stunk of fear, even as they bravely fought back. But this…this was something new. There was no scent of fear. No scent of bravery, determination to fight back. No scent of urine or sh*t. This new scent of rage and hatred was meaty as it passed through his nostrils. A raw, black fury that told him this tiny creature’s dying wish was a fearsome curse of smite against those who wronged him, man and god alike.

And The Cannibal liked the way it smelled. So much that he drew in closer to breathe it in more deeply, the tip of his snout mere inches away from the human’s chest as he inhaled.

A beautiful scent indeed.

Aethan’s voice went hoarse and his lungs ran out of air, but although the scream faded, the scent of his poisonous rage still lingered heavily in the air, still beating from his heart and flooding his every vein.

Pleased, The Cannibal growled deep in his chest, shaking the earth beneath him with the vibrations. Growled…or perhaps purred.

The tiny creature frowned, blinking up at him in confusion, clearly wondering why he was not yet dead. Then, with a half-shrug, he reached out with his hand and rested it against the scales of The Cannibal’s nose. Even as a beast, The Cannibal understood the gesture: If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well do what no one before me has ever done before. Still, there was no stink of fear; the human had accepted his fate.

But now, as the bare flesh of his hand rested against The Cannibal’s scales, the dragon was not certain he wanted to deliver that fate. Because with the contact, he could not merely smell the human’s rage and hatred, he could feel it rushing through his own veins. Beating in his own heart.

And he liked it.

Slowly, context attached itself to each burning emotion, and glimpses of visions danced through The Cannibal’s mind. The years of suffering. The years of starving, his belly aching with a hunger he could not sate. One vision The Cannibal recognized immediately: Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm and his rider, one of the humans from the great stone castle. This human wanted Caraxes and his rider dead…and he wanted the rider to suffer. He wanted everyone who wronged him to suffer.

And with each passing second, The Cannibal craved that too.

Nearly a minute passed, and the tiniest flicker of hope danced alongside the rage, the lightest touch of sweetness.

Will you help me? The question unmistakable, even to a dragon.

Never in his nearly three hundred years of life had The Cannibal taken a rider. He was wild. He was free. He did not want to be bound to the will of an unworthy human.

But…humans lived very short lives, and this man had already lived much of his. The Cannibal would not be bound to him for long before he was free again. And a bond meant he could taste more of that addictive rage that he was already growing to crave…and maybe the exalted joy that would come with satisfying that rage.

A few years of being bound…would be worth it.

Yes.

Robert

“Everyone is in position!” Daeron said, his eyes bright and a scowl of fierce determination on his young face as he entered the Small Council chamber, nodding respectfully to his brother. He still wore his riding clothes. Tessarion, the youngest and smallest of the four main dragons, was the least likely to be detected by the Velaryon fleet, and so it was Daeron who had been sent to communicate with the captains of the Triarchy fleet, the Arbor fleet, the Manderly fleet, and the Sistermen fleet,

“They’re ready to begin the attack against the Velaryons, Your Grace,” Daeron said. “As soon as we give them the signal.”

The “signal”, as the council agreed, would be Daeron and Tessarion returning to the skies in two days’ time to give the Green ships aerial support.

Aemond leaned forward in his chair. “Lord Borros,” he said. “I still think it might be a good idea for Vhagar and I to join Daeron and Tessarion as they aid our armada in taking down the Velaryon fleet.”

They don’t need you, Robert thought, drumming his fingers along the table. In the original timeline, the Triarchy had technically lost the Battle of the Gullet, but it was a ‘loss’ that devastated the Velaryon fleet and left them damn near destitute. House Velaryon never had that same level of power again. By Robert’s time, they were no more or less powerful than any other House.

This time around, the Triarchy would not be fighting alone but with three other fleets and a dragon.

But of course, Robert couldn’t reveal the basis for his argument, so he would need to word it just right.

“My prince, I still believe the Velaryon blockade might be a tactic to provoke you into attacking,” he said. “I fear they might be waiting for a sea battle to break out so they can swoop in with Caraxes, Vermax, Syrax, and Moondancer. Even with our scorpions in place, and with Sunfyre and Dreamfyre guarding the city, I don’t like those odds. We need Vhagar here.”

Aemond scowled, but there was no hiding the flash of fear in his eye, especially when Daeron agreed.

“A distraction like that sounds like the kind of underhanded sh*t Daemon would pull,” he said. “We can’t risk him attacking the capital while we’re vulnerable.”

Aegon, quiet up until now, nodded slowly. “You’re right, Lord Borros,” he said. “It’s like you suggested before; we need to destroy them little by little until we bleed them dry. We need to use Vhagar strategically to ensure we will still have her at full strength for our final strike against them, when they’re at their weakest…” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table. “And we are still planning that final strike?”

Robert nodded. He still had too many pokers in the fire to know how exactly the plan would play out. To his dismay, he had not yet heard anything from the Northerners, not beyond a raven from Cregan Stark saying that the Northern Lords were gathering at Winterfell for a conclave and they would have their answer ‘soon’.

I need Cregan to march south, he thought. If he doesn’t meet Alysanne Blackwood, I might have destroyed the Stark line that would lead to Ned and Lyanna’s birth, and I simply can’t have that.

The Blackwoods, like most Riverlands Houses, had sided Green, so Cregan had to side Green as well. And for that, Robert needed more time.

“Each step is important, your grace,” Robert said. “Once we break the Velaryon blockade, we can assess our strengths and finalize the next stage of our plan.”

“And that will happen in two days’ time?” he confirmed.

“And that will happen in two days’ time,” Robert agreed. “The maesters predict the weather will be sunny and clear. This way, if the Blacks send their own dragons into the fray, Tessarion can easily escape.”

“Or fight,” Daeron suggested grimly, causing Aegon to fix him with a glare.

“Or escape,” Aegon corrected. “Our armada is equipped with scorpions, archers, and grappling hooks to handle Black dragons. I do not want you in the air when they start using them; we’re taking no chances of them hitting you by mistake. And I certainly don’t want Tessarion fighting against larger and stronger dragons. You and Tessarion will assist the Triarchy only if there are no Black dragons in the sky.”

Daeron opened his mouth to complain, but Aegon cut him off with an abrupt, “That is not a suggestion, it is an order from your King.”

Daeron’s scowl was damn near hot enough to boil water, but he closed his mouth, finally taking a seat at the table.

Young and full of vigor, like I once was, Robert thought fondly. I remember how that feels. That itch to get out there and get my own hands dirty. To fight for what I believe in. Boy just wants to protect his family.

“I imagine you’ll get your chance to burn plenty of Velaryon ships, my prince,” Robert added. “They don’t know when we’re planning to strike, and they don’t have Meleys on standby anymore. It will take time for their reinforcements to even realize they’re in danger. The battle may well be half-over by then.”

It seemed to appease him; Daeron’s scowl lessened and his posture relaxed.

“Now,” Aegon said. “As for the matter of Harrenhal, we…”

The door to the chamber flew open, and a wild-eyed guard rushed in, causing everyone at the table to leap to my feet.

“My King!” he cried. “Enemy dragon!”

f*ck!!!

Twenty Minutes Later

Robert’s heart was finally starting to slow to its regular pace. As the adrenaline faded from his bloodstream, rage slowly slithered in to take its place.

f*cking idiot can’t follow a single f*cking order! He swallowed his snarl as he stood at the base of the Iron Throne, his place as interim Hand of the King.

The ‘f*cking idiot’ in question, Aethan, was currently on his knees before the Throne, head bowed respectfully, waiting for Aegon’s permission to speak.

He wasn’t supposed to come back here yet; he was supposed to stay on Dragonstone and serve as a spy in Rhaenyra’s army, Robert thought, swallowing another growl. And he was supposed to claim Sheepstealer, not the f*cking Cannibal. How the f*ck did he claim the f*cking Cannibal anyway?

Fortunately, Aethan remembered Robert’s tips for not getting himself killed when he arrived at King’s Landing. He landed the Cannibal far enough away from the Red Keep to avoid putting the Green dragons on their guard, and he allowed the City Watch to bring him to the Red Keep before the King. More important, he behaved with respect, referring to Aegon as ‘Your Grace’.

“So,” Aegon said as he sat on the throne. He cast a regal image: the Conqueror’s crown on his head, the Conqueror’s sword in his hand, and the Conqueror’s dagger on his hip. “I imagine you have quite the story to tell.”

Aethan nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I do…”

To Robert’s relief, Aethan stuck very closely to the story they had rehearsed. Robert incorporated as much of the truth as possible (that Aethan was a dragon seed who grew up in King’s Landing), but he added a few falsified details about how and when he ended up on Driftmark.

“But I wasn’t on Driftmark long enough to forget that the rightful monarch is King Viserys’s firstborn son, Your Grace,” Aethan finished. “And so when I heard the Princess Rhaenyra was recruiting dragon seeds to try to attack the Crown, I knew I had to do something. I had to ensure the playing field was as level as possible. You now command both the largest and second largest dragon in the world, Your Grace. The Cannibal and I are at your service.”

Aegon studied him quietly for a few long moments. “You risked your life to claim a dangerous dragon to serve the Crown?” he questioned skeptically.

Fortunately, Robert had prepped him for this question, because Aethan nodded sheepishly. “I would like to say my intentions were purely noble, Your Grace, but if I’m being honest, I always dreamed of being a dragon rider. Ever since I was a boy. But I do wish to serve the crown.”

“Hmm,” Aegon agreed. “Tell me, Aethan, what did my sister offer to these potential dragon riders to ensure their loyalty after the dragons were claimed?”

“A lordship, Your Grace,” Aethan answered honestly.

Aegon quirked an eyebrow. “And yet you turned that down when I have offered you no reward as of yet?”

Yet another question Robert prepped him for, and to his delight, Aethan knew how to sell it.

“Your Grace, I am not an educated man, but I have survived long enough in Fleabottom to know how the world works,” he said. “Princess Rhaenyra is not the rightful Queen, and she doesn’t have the support she needs to win this war. She could promise me a hundred lordships and it wouldn’t have swayed me. She’s not going to be able to deliver anything because she isn’t going to win.”

Aegon gave a little half-smile. “True enough,” he conceded. “Very well, Aethan. As you said, you are a man who has needed to fight for his survival, so I expect you’ll understand that we need to proceed with caution until we are certain that we can trust you.”

Aethan nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“And I would be remiss if I did not offer incentives of my own,” Aegon continued. “Loyalty will always be rewarded in my Kingdom, especially when it is so powerful it drives you to claim a dragon and offer to fight for my faction. You claim you are my Uncle Daemon’s bastard?”

Robert had advised Aethan to be honest about it. It’s not like Aethan could deny it; his resemblance to Daemon was far too strong.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Aethan said, scowling. “His bastard son that he left to starve.”

Robert gritted his teeth. He had bastards of his own, and to his shame, he had to admit he did not know who all of them were. But the ones he did know were not left to starve. Most of them (like his beloved Mya) were born into families who provided for them. When he first learned he fathered a bastard on one of Baelish’s whor*s, he’d been angry. He thought whor*s (particularly Baelish’s) had enough sense to have a ready supply of moon tea. But once he calmed down, he planned to ensure the girl, Barra, and her mother would have a small home in a safe part of the city. A plan he never had the chance to enact before he died. He could not fathom knowing he had a bastard and choosing to leave it to starve.

Aegon snorted. “You need not convince me that my uncle is an evil man, Aethan,” he said drily. “And I do not hold you responsible for his sins. However, this could work out to both of our benefits. You will help me defeat the Black faction, and in exchange, I will legitimize you as Aethan Targaryen.” He chuckled to himself. “A reward for you and an insult to my uncle all in one. The son he cast aside will both help destroy him and carry on the Targaryen name.”

Robert’s eyebrows raised. Legitimization was a prize that Kings seldom offered to bastards. Even Robert himself had never offered to legitimize Ned’s bastard, Jon.

Though I suppose I would have if Jon did what Aethan’s offering to do, he conceded. But Robert needed to be careful. The odds of Daemon’s bastard leading to a Mad King situation was unlikely, but not impossible. Best mitigate the risk before it could blossom.

Stepping forward, Robert offered softly, “If I may, Your Grace?” When Aegon nodded, giving him permission to speak, Robert added, “If Aethan does help our faction win this war, it seems only fair that in addition to wearing the Targaryen name, he be given a suitable bride. I would be happy to offer up my daughter, Cassandra. I would be able to offer a sizable manse and some land in the Stormlands as a dowry, and it would be an honor to marry her to a Targaryen.”

Robert saw a flash of gratitude in Aegon’s eyes, and he knew the young King thought that Robert was doing him a favor. Several favors. Of course Aethan would want his own lands once he had the Targaryen name. A bride worthy of his new station as well. With Robert’s offer, Aegon would not have to be the one to supply them. And he had corrected the oversight of Aegon not making the offer on his own (legitimization was a great prize, but it wouldn’t put a roof over Aethan’s head or put porridge in his bowl).

“An excellent proposal, Lord Borros,” Aegon agreed. And happily, Aethan’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.

A win for everyone involved, Robert patted himself on the back. He found a spouse for one of Borros’s daughters (no risk involved; Cassandra married into obscurity in the original timeline). Any children Aethan fathered on Cassandra would not be highborn enough to marry into the royal bloodline, so no risk of Daemon’s blood getting too close to the throne. And Aethan would get to live out his life in wealth and comfort, a landowner with a beautiful highborn bride. And Aegon would not have to spend a single copper of the crown’s wealth in exchange for getting a valuable dragonrider added to their faction.

Aegon gestured for Aethan to rise, and he did so, keeping his head bowed respectfully.

“Now, Aethan, as I said, we will need to proceed with caution for the time being, especially with a powerful dragon like The Cannibal. Fortunately, I have the perfect way for you to prove your loyalty to the Crown. Your very first assignment as a dragonrider in my service.”

Robert flinched. They hadn’t discussed anything of the sort. Aegon must have only just pulled it out of his ass, and Robert had no idea if it was a good idea or a horrible idea. Gods f*cking damnit, I better start preparing for contingencies in case this blows up in his face…

“My first assignment, your grace?” Aethan asked.

“Indeed.” Aegon pointedly looked around the room. “We will need to discuss it in private. Sensitive information and all. But it will prove to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can trust you.” With an evil smirk, he added, “And I even have a special tool to aid you in your efforts…”

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Daemon

“Our sons,” Rhaenyra said, ice in both her voice and her eyes, “are staying with me.”

Daemon forced himself to hold back both his sigh and his eyeroll. It was an effort; he had no talent for hiding his emotions, and he was beyond frustrated. But it needed to be done, both for the sake of winning the argument and for his wife’s happiness.

“Your reluctance is understandable, Nyra,” he said softly. They were alone; no need to use titles or formalities. “Three children lost in less than a quarter year.”

Including the daughter we never got to meet. Our little Visenya…But he swallowed the lump in his throat before it could form. I have all my life to grieve after we take back the Red Keep from the Hightowers. Now, I must be a dragon.

“I am not thinking with my heart, Daemon,” she spat.

Yes, you are. No matter how you try to harden it. Blood of the dragon though you may be, your love for your children dominates all else. And he knew without question that she would happily trade her crown, her very life, for one more day with either one of her sons.

“I am thinking of my succession,” she continued. “I have not changed my mind about removing Jace as heir after I take my throne. Aegon will succeed me. Possibly Viserys if this war levies another tragedy against our family.”

“And Pentos is the safest place for them to weather the storm,” Daemon argued. “I have connections in Pentos, and we have the wealth to ensure they are treated with the respect due to royal princes.”

“They are staying by my side.”

“It’s not safe for them here!” he insisted. “Lady Jeyne’s soldiers are ready for transport, but after losing Rook’s Rest...”

He pointed at the map in their chambers, snarling once again at how small it was. We should be able to discuss this in front of Aegon’s painted table, but we CAN’T until we find the f*cking spy!

“We’ve agreed to conquer Maidenpool to replace it, now that we have the dragon seeds. It is the least protected port, and it gives us a clear path to Harrenhal,” Rhaenyra reminded him. “It is a short boat ride from Gulltown to Maidenpool, and it a week’s march at most from Maidenpool to Harrenhal.”

A week is optimistic. But Daemon didn’t push it. There were more pressing matters.

“The problem is we can’t take Maidenpool yet. Jace and Rhaenys will need days to get Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White up to par. It will take less than a week before the Tullys surround Harrenhal, joined by Cole’s army and the Lannister army. I have another day, maybe two, before I have to cease my visits to Dragonstone altogether. If Caraxes and I leave Harrenhal unprotected, even briefly, we will lose it.”

Jace and I will likely have to trade off shifts to keep Harrenhal guarded; I cannot do it all myself, and we cannot risk Rhaenyra.

He raked his hand through his hair before slamming his fist against the table. Their hold on Harrenhal was so tenuous that he’d had no choice but to send word to House Frey to abandon the Neck and come to his aid instead.

I pray it’s not a mistake. We still don’t know how the Northerners will side. If they side Green and the Freys are with me at Harrenhal, there will be no one to bottleneck them.

But he had no other choice. If Harrenhal was lost, the war would soon follow.

“I understand that you cannot come and go freely any longer, Daemon,” she said drily.

“And do you also understand that we only have two trained dragons here on Dragonstone now that Baela’s been sent back to Driftmark?” he challenged. “The Seeds are not ready. And even once they ARE trained, we will need Vermithor and Silverwing to aide us in combat, and we will need Seasmoke to defend the blockade. Our sons are not safe here. You are barely safe here.”

Rhaenyra’s stony expression didn’t change, but nor did she counterargue.

“The Greens may be evil, treasonous c*nts, but they’re smart evil, treasonous c*nts,” Daemon continued. “They knew we’d be coming for their children after what they did to Joffrey, so they evacuated them from the city. We need to do the same for our sons, and the best way to do that is to send them to Pentos. The Greens will never look for them there.”

He scanned his wife’s eyes, desperately searching for some small spark of life. Fear. Anger. Rage. f*ck, he even would have relished her arguing with him if it brought back the fire that he knew lived within his beautiful dragon queen. But all he found was ice.

It’s too soon after Joffrey’s death, he told himself. She can’t handle any more pain, so she’s cut herself off from everything.

But some part of the woman he loved was still in there. Otherwise, Rhaenyra would not be arguing against sending Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. She would not be fearful of letting them out of her sight.

Finally, she sighed. “Aegon only,” she agreed. “Viserys does not yet have a dragon to keep him safe. He will stay here, on Dragonstone. It is more practical to keep them separated anyway.”

And he’s your youngest babe, and it would break your heart to be without him.

“We will send him by ship,” she continued. “He will need to pass the Velaryon blockade; a few of their warships can see him safely across the Narrow Sea.”

Daemon nodded, drawing himself to his full height before turning for the door. “I’ll put him on the ship myself before I return to Harrenhal. He should be able to rendezvous with the Velaryon fleet tomorrow morning.”

But just as he was leaving, she stopped him, rising to her feet.

“And Daemon?” she said. “Do not think I have forgotten that you promised me one of Aegon’s children would die.”

“All of Aegon’s children will die,” he corrected. “Because he refused to bend the knee. But in the interim, I assure you they are suffering from the death of Gwayne Hightower.”

He didn’t bother holding back his smirk. This is the price of your treason, Otto. Your son would be alive if not for your greed.

Finally, her blue-purple eyes flashed, but not with a spark of flame. With the cold steel of a dagger.

“Otto is suffering the loss of a child. Alicent lost a brother, yes, and her children lost an uncle. But that is insufficient,” she said darkly. “This war could take us months or even years to win. Meanwhile, Aegon’s children are protected and happy in a castle somewhere. Frolicking about. And their parents get the peace of mind of knowing that they are safe. Aegon has forced me to suffer through the pain of losing three children. He does not deserve that luxury. He deserves to suffer, as I have suffered because of him.”

He balled his fist, lip curling. f*cking Greens. How DARE they do this to us? To her. My brother allowed them to rise higher than they had any business rising, but it wasn’t enough. They were not content being princes or dragon riders. They want to use their watered-down Valyrian blood to steal what is rightfully ours, killing her children in the process. Fat, bloodthirsty leeches, just like their grandfather. Just like I always knew they would be.

“I would give you all three of their severed heads, if only I knew where to look,” he said. “But I don’t, Rhaenyra. And we lack the resources to scour the realm for Aegon’s babes. I need to win you your throne, Nyra. Then I can deliver you justice. Once your reign is secure, I will hunt them to the four corners of the world if that’s what it takes. Your brother’s line, Otto’s line, will end.”

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Then let us hope it does not take too long,” she said. “Each moment of happiness Aegon experiences is twenty moments more than he deserves.”

It will be worth it, Daemon smiled to himself as he left Rhaenyra’s room to get their son so he could put him on a ship to the safety of Pentos. Because we can keep Aegon alive for months or even years before you grant him the sweet mercy of death. I’ll let you torture him yourself.

Robert

I suppose Aegon’s plan is sound, he thought as he watched Aethan kneel to the King one last time before turning to where The Cannibal was waiting for him. None of the other dragons would go anywhere near the hideous black beast, his face a mess of scars from years of killing and eating his own species. Yet Aethan did seem to have some sort of control over him. The Cannibal was not actively trying to hunt Vhagar, Tessarion, Dreamfyre, or Sunfyre.

Aethan had only been a resident of the Red Keep for a single evening, but so much had changed. He no longer resembled the filthy, rag-clad street rat that Robert’s men had plucked out of a Fleabottom pub. Robert had cleaned him up before sending him to Driftmark, but it was nothing compared to what Aegon had done.

You’re a dragon rider in my service. I need you to look like a Targaryen, Aegon had explained to Aethan last night.

And so today, that was exactly what Aethan looked like. The seamstress didn’t have time to tailor his clothes perfectly, but the leather dragon-riding outfit fit him well. Green-trimmed, with an embroidered Targaryen dragon sigil across his chest in golden thread. Aegon had even given him a cape with an ornate metal chain to hold it in place (simple steel; Aegon didn’t trust him with gold or gemstones yet).

Aegon had even assigned Aethan a servant to attend to his needs while he was in the castle, and that servant had twisted Aethan’s long silver hair into intricate Targaryen war braids. Complete with his purple eyes, and Aethan looked every-bit the descendant of Aegon the Conqueror that he was.

A grateful descendant of Aegon the Conqueror. Aethan had thanked Aegon endlessly for the new clothes, the servant, and his new room at the Red Keep (even though it was a single room and not a suite). Last night at dinner, when the servants brought out an array of food that (to Robert) seemed like a normal supper, Aethan’s jaw dropped when he realized he was allowed to eat as much as it pleased him to eat.

Because he’s never experienced that before, Robert thought sadly, shuffling a bit awkwardly when he remembered all the grand feasts that he himself had taken for granted over the years. Were people in my kingdom starving, too, whilst I stuffed my face until I was too f*cking fat to fit into my armor? Until I was fatter than the pig that killed me?

But no sense in dwelling on the past…er…future.

“That was a brilliant idea, your grace,” Robert praised Aegon as Aethan took off over Blackwater Bay. “Some risk, of course, but calculated risk.”

But that’s how war works. You risk getting your people killed with every plan you make.

“Indeed,” Aegon said, turning and walking back to the castle while his Kingsguard surrounded them. “And if this Aethan is successful, then I’ll know I can trust him. If not?” He grimaced. “If not, then I will accept it as a cost of war.”

And we have bigger concerns. The Northern conclave was meeting sometime this week. Robert had one last opportunity to influence Cregan Stark to make the right decision and support the Greens. Otherwise, Robert had no idea how he was going to arrange for Cregan to meet and marry Alysanne Blackwood.

But fortunately, I might have a way. It’s a long shot. It’s absurd. And I risk being labeled as mad if Cregan tells Aegon about it. But it’s a risk I must take. For Ned. For Lyanna.

And so he had a raven to send.

Baela

The night is so dark with no moon, Baela thought, gazing up at the sky. Even the stars were hard to see without the moon’s light, barely tiny twinkles in the sky. The darkness made it impossible to appreciate Driftmark’s beauty. She could not even see the collection of ships that waited just off the coast, on standby for Corlys’s orders. Not a single one of them, even though she knew a third of the Velaryon fleet was out there.

Yet, as dark as it was, she had no desire to go inside the castle. Not yet. Not when the sand was cool and wonderful beneath her palms, relieving some of the heat of her leather dragon-riding outfit. Not when the driftwood fire on the beach burned a lovely orange, flames ignited by Moondancer, who rested sleepily by her side.

And not when Alyn of Hull was sitting next to her, drinking rum out of a flask before passing it back to Baela so she could take another sip.

So much sweeter than wine…And she was not merely thinking of the rum. Alyn’s shirt was unfastened, his chest half-displayed. A muscular chest, earned from years as a sailor. As Corlys’s bastard, Alyn could not wear the Velaryon name, but saltwater flowed through his veins.

And he was beautiful.

Surely Jace would forgive me for one indiscretion, Baela thought, giggling as the rum went to her head. And why not? Men had indiscretions all the time, even good men, or Alyn would not be sitting here right now. Jace’s own mother had birthed three bastards for her lover.

I won’t do that to Jace. I’ll be a good Queen for him. All of my children will be his. But it’s an arranged political marriage. That should not stop me from sating my desires, so long as I drink moon tea afterwards.

Overhead, Seasmoke let out a happy cry, making Alyn laugh.

He may just be feeling amorous tonight as well. We have much to celebrate…

“I can’t believe Seasmoke chose him,” Alyn said incredulously as he looked up at the sky, though of course, they could not see the dragon. If not for the glow of the fire, they would not be able to see an inch in front of their own faces.

“I wish I could have been there to see it…” Baela thought a bit bitterly, but Alyn didn’t seem to notice.

“I as well,” Alyn agreed. “As children, he and I would often see Seasmoke flying overhead carrying our half-brother, Ser Laenor. I was always more interested in sailing myself, but Addam was fascinated by the dragon, eyes lighting up with childish wonder. My brother was born to fly, but I thought he never would, because…” He shrugged. “Well, you understand, Lady Baela.”

She did. And she was grateful that Addam had brought Seasmoke here to celebrate with Alyn before flying him out to join the Velaryon fleet patrolling the Gullet tomorrow. She only wished she and Moondancer were going with him.

I should be going with him, she thought bitterly. We are fighting a war so that Rhaenyra can claim her rightful throne. Why should I be prevented from aiding the war effort? I will be a Queen one day as well. A dragon queen.

But for today, joyflying with Addam had eased some of the sting. He had a natural talent for dragon riding, and with time and practice, she believed he would be a valuable asset to the Blacks.

Him and Alyn both.

As if he heard her thoughts, some of the glimmer faded from Alyn’s eyes.

“My father…” he started softly, taking a deep breath. “He’s been good to us, he has. He fed us. He clothed us. He educated us. He always made sure we had a roof over our heads. And he allowed me to apprentice on several of his vessels, letting me learn how to sail. I have a good life, and I’m grateful for it. But…”

He smiled up at the sky when Seasmoke let out another cry…a whoop of joy from Addam following shortly after. He stopped whatever it was he was going to say, shaking his head.

“Allowing me to help maintain the cavalry is an honor I never expected Lord Corlys to give me,” Alyn said. “And I will make him proud. Even if I am not his proper son.”

Baela knew she should not feel any sense of connection with Alyn. She knew her grandmother despised him. But she could not stop her pang of sympathy.

You are his son, just as Jace is Rhaenyra’s son. A Velaryon.

A Velaryon she very well may be sneaking off behind the dunes with, after a few more sips of the rum. But just as she lifted the flask, Seasmoke’s cry pierced through the night. No, not a cry, a scream. A bloodcurdling scream that stopped the flask halfway to Baela’s lips. A scream that had Moondancer lifting her head and scrambling to her feet, eyes scouring the blackened sky.

Smile gone, Alyn leapt to his feet, looking frantically across the horizon.

“Addam?” he called loudly, cupping his hands over his mouth to magnify the sound. “Addam?”

Sobering quickly, Baela leapt to her feet to join him, inching closer to Moondancer. “Addam?” she called. “Addam?”

But it was not Addam that answered their call. It was Seasmoke.

Or rather…part of Seasmoke.

Baela screamed, leaping backwards as the dragon’s head plummeted to the earth at breakneck speed, coming into view only as it entered the glow of the firelight, barely giving Baela and Alyn time to leap out of the way before it collided with them. A far louder *thump* followed seconds later, shaking the earth beneath their feet. And though the night was far too dark for Baela to see the source, she knew it could only be one thing.

Seasmoke’s headless body.

“ADDAM!!!!!” Alyn cried frantically, eyes roving over the severed head. A severed head with puncture wounds just beneath the jaw. Puncture wounds Baela recognized all too well; she saw them on the livestock that Moondancer fed on.

Dragon teeth.

Vhagar? Baela gasped in fear as she inched closer Moondancer, who was now screaming with outrage as she eyed the severed head. Who but Vhagar could be large enough to decapitate a dragon Seasmoke’s size that quickly?

But it was not Vhagar. Baela got her answer not ten seconds later when a burst of flame illuminated the night sky. A burst of emerald green flame.

Baela’s jaw dropped as she gaped at the fire in horror. No…

Only one dragon had emerald green flame. The Keepers talked about him often, remarking that his emerald flames matched his emerald eyes.

The Cannibal…He’s here. He must have been hunting Seasmoke…

But Baela did not have time to dwell. Not when she was proven wrong mere seconds later. For The Cannibal did not stop to feast on Seasmoke’s corpse, and the emerald fire was not aimed at Baela and Alyn.

The standing Velaryon fleet was no longer invisible to Baela. Not now that the first ship was ablaze.

The Cannibal doesn’t attack ships. He’s a predator, but he leaves humans alone…

A second ship caught fire. Then a third. Then ten. Soon, as Baela stood frozen, near half the docked ships were ablaze. Horrible, piercing screams of men in their death throes echoed through the night as The Cannibal breathed fire along the docks, incinerating waiting sailors who tried in vain to flee.

Alyn snapped out of it first, years of instincts as a sailor overpowering his shock and horror.

“MEN AT ARMS!” he cried, running towards the docks while Baela snapped out of her own stupor, chasing after him while Moondancer chased after her. “ENEMY DRAGON! TO YOUR SCORPIONS! TO YOUR BOWS! TO YOUR GRAPPLING HOOKS!”

“WHERE THE f*ck IS IT?” one of the archers screamed back, arrow knocked and pulled back to his chin while he frantically scoured the sky, eyes bloodshot with terror.

“It’s…” Baela’s eyes widened, and she realized she had no answer. The Cannibal’s pitch-black scales blended in seamlessly with the night sky. Bursts of emerald flame illuminated him, but only for a fleeting few seconds as he burned yet another ship. It was pointless to aim where the flame had been. For despite his massive size, The Cannibal did not lack for speed or agility.

f*cking hell!

Scorpion bolts flew through the air. Archer arrows peppered the sky. Ships tried, in vain, to launch grappling hooks in the desperate hope to snag one of his wings. All for nothing. With every passing second more ships burst into emerald flame, and still The Cannibal remained effectively invisible.

No, she thought, spine straightening as she snarled in anger. You will NOT burn our men! You will NOT burn our ships! Not while a Targaryen dragon rider still lives and breathes on this island. I am the blood of Old Valyria! The blood of the Rogue Prince. The blood of the Sea Snake. The blood of the Queen Who Never Was. And I will answer your call with Fire and Blood!

“This is useless!” Baela screamed, spinning and running for Moondancer’s side, gripping hold of her saddle. “There is no moon; they can’t see him in the dark! They’ll never kill him from the ground!”

Alyn wheeled on her, eyes manic. “Baela, have you gone mad? WE CAN’T SEE IT! Moondancer is too small!”

“Too small to kill The Cannibal,” she agreed. “But not too small to kill his rider! The Cannibal isn’t doing this on his own! Moondancer is far faster and nimbler than he is! I can burn the rider right off his back!”

“BAELA, GET THE f*ck OFF THE DRAGON!” Alyn surged forward, grabbing at her frantically, but it was too late. Moondancer spread her wings, taking off into the air as Baela tried and failed to fasten the chains while still holding on.

I’ll have to fly without them. Father never chains himself to the saddle.

“BAELA!” Alyn screamed from the ground, but realizing it was fruitless, he ran to join his fellow sailors on the docks, crying out for them to stop shooting their arrows, lest they hit her by mistake.

Aethan

The Velaryon ships were afire, dots of flame decorating the sea. Mere dots, for after each assault Aethan rained down upon them, he directed the Cannibal high into the night sky, out of range of their scorpions and archers. Scorpions and archers who couldn’t see The Cannibal anyway. But Aethan could see them. Fire illuminated them as they scrambled across the beach and the docks like terrified ants.

They are not innocent dockworkers, he told himself. They are not innocent sailors. They are enemy warriors. They proudly serve Corlys Velaryon. They proudly fly Rhaenyra’s banners. They proudly serve my father. Maybe some of them served him directly in the Stepstones. And every single one of them would kill me without hesitation in service to their Queen.

Aethan would set the entire realm afire before he saw that hypocritical whor* take the Iron Throne, her own bastards as her heirs. Daemon as her Prince Consort.

No, father. You will not put her bastards in the line of succession after you left your own to rot in Fleabottom.

Beneath him, The Cannibal roared, Aethan’s own rage fueling the dragon’s fury, and they dove down to deliver another stream of fire on the few ships that remained.

Two dozen more ships to burn, and then…

Beneath him, The Cannibal went rigid, and rather than continuing on to the remaining ships, he pulled back upwards into the sky, into the cover of darkness. But before Aethan could even furrow his brow in confusion, a realization popped into his head. A realization that was not his own.

Prey.

Baela

Come on, you big ugly monster. One more burst of flame and I’ll find you! Stop hiding like a f*cking craven and come out to face me!

She had no idea who this new rider was. She knew from Addam that Vermithor and Silverwing had been claimed, and one fool had attempted to claim Sheepstealer, never to return, but he’d been very clear that no one managed to claim the Cannibal. The beast had eaten everyone who tried. So who the f*ck was he?

Brave enough to claim a wild dragon who may be older than Balerion, she scoffed, but too craven to strike during the day? You need the cover of darkness to feel safe?

But Baela did not know that it was not fear that drove the Cannibal to use the cover of darkness; it was experience. Centuries of experience hunting and killing prey too lethal for any other creature in the world to hunt. Experience that taught The Cannibal that the best way to ensure a feast with few injuries was by ambush. Experience that taught him exactly how to stay downwind of his prey, so that he could easily smell them but they could not smell him. Experience that taught him to listen to the sound of their beating wings to pinpoint their exact location, even if he couldn’t see them.

Experience that a little girl and her baby dragon could not possibly hope to counter.

Baela saw The Cannibal at the last possible split-second, the glow from the burning ships reflecting off his glimmering fangs. Fangs so close she could smell his fetid breath as he opened his maw to snap Moondancer in half.

She had not a second to spare. Not a second to guide Moondancer to evade, her dragon’s reflexes slower than her own. And her own life would surely be forfeit if not for her shock and terror, causing her to leap backwards out of her saddle, plummeting for the water below.

Baela screamed, but instinct took over as she fell. How many times had she, Jace, and Luke gone cliff-diving during their youth at Dragonstone? Never from this high up, it’s true, but she knew how to dive without hurting herself. Body positioned perfectly, hands coming up in a point over her head. She pierced the water’s surface painlessly, panicking for only a moment as her leather riding clothes grew heavy. But she quickly shook off her boots and shed her coat before they could drag her down. Her head broke the surface, and she filled her lungs with grateful gulps of air…

Just in time for a rush of hot, salty, coppery blood to rain from the sky, coating her face and eyes. Not the blood of a human. The blood of her beloved Moondancer as the young dragon’s bones crunched between The Cannibal’s teeth.

“NOOO!!!!!”

Aethan

Every last reserve ship was either actively burning or sinking beneath the waves. Every last dockworker and sailor was either dead or had fled for their lives, running as fast as their legs would carry them for the safety of High Tide, even though they would not normally be permitted to enter the castle.

Perfect, Aethan smiled in satisfaction. Now it’s time for phase two.

King Aegon’s instructions to Aethan had been clear as glass, and Aethan intended to honor them.

I am sending you with twenty loyal Hightower soldiers, hand-picked by my cousin Ormund, Aegon had explained. With The Cannibal’s size, surely he is large enough to carry that many, so long as you fly slowly.

The extra weight had not been a problem. The Cannibal refused a saddle, but he was willing to accept rope netting, similar to what Vhagar wore in addition to her saddle. The rope netting made it easier for Aethan to climb up, and it also allowed the Hightower soldiers to attach themselves (somewhat) safely for the flight. No one had fallen off, anyway.

Under the cover of darkness, The Cannibal had deposited the soldiers to lay in wait outside of High Tide before he proceeded to attack Seasmoke and the smaller dragon, burning the fleet as they went. The soldiers awaited Aethan’s signal before making their next move.

When we break the Velaryon blockade, the Triarchy and the others will undoubtedly sack Driftmark, Aegon had explained. Spicetown, Hull, High Tide itself, surely they will rob Driftmark of all its riches. And I guarantee none of those riches will make their way back to the Iron Throne. I don’t care if they take the spices, silks, and other wares; they can keep them as war prizes. But the Velaryon fortune is far too great a war prize for me to allow them to take. I know they’re not going to just give it to me, and if I demand it after they take it, I risk making enemies out of allies.

Aethan had nodded slowly. You want me and your soldiers to pre-emptively sack Driftmark to collect the gold before the Triarchy can swoop in and take it.

Just the gold, Aegon agreed, then thoughtfully added, And if they happen to have any ships left behind to defend the island, burn them. We don’t want the coming sea battle to be any harder than it needs to be. And one more thing…

But that ‘one more thing’ would have to wait for phase three. The Cannibal soared over the castle, and Aethan gave his ‘signal’ to the Hightower soldiers.

Like everyone else, Aethan knew the legend of Harrenhal. How Aegon the Conqueror and the mighty Balerion the Dread had burned the castle from above, turning the stone into an oven and cooking those within alive. That was over a hundred years ago, and the Cannibal was close in size to what Balerion had been back then. And High Tide was smaller than Harrenhal.

“DRACARYS!” Aethan cried, and The Cannibal obeyed, bathing High Tide in emerald flame.

He would not need to turn High Tide into an oven. As they predicted, many soldiers, guards, and servants from within would try to escape, driving them out of High Tide’s doors…and onto the waiting swords of the Hightower soldiers. The Hightowers were outnumbered, it was true, but the guards escaping High Tide were terrified, some of them actively on fire, and they were coming out in waves rather than all at once. The Hightowers, on the other hand, were focused, battle ready…and apparently furious.

“FOR GWAYNE!!!!” he heard several of them screaming, even from the air.

Who in the Seven Hells is Gwayne? Aethan wondered, then shrugged, deciding to ask later. Circling the Cannibal back around, he breathed another wave of fire upon the helpless castle.

The stone itself did not burn, but the wooden bits disintegrated almost instantly, laying waste to roofs and melting the glass windows. Deep within the castle, fires burned from the radiant heat, setting tables and artworks and tapestries ablaze. Corlys Velaryon’s prized treasures from his voyages to Essos lay charred and blackened.

And at the very heart of the great hall, the Driftwood Throne itself incinerated, the ancestral seat of House Velaryon reduced to ashes in a matter of seconds.

Aethan waited until he was certain no more guards were trying to escape, then nodded in satisfaction, guiding The Cannibal to land in front of the smoldering castle before dismounting to join the Hightower soldiers.

Per instructions from Ormund, the Hightowers had killed the soldiers, sailors, and the guards, their bloodied corpses strewn along the ground, but the terrified servants and distant Velaryon cousins were left unharmed, bound in ropes and chains. There weren’t half so many people (dead or alive) as Aethan expected, and he suspected many had burned to death inside of the castle.

Pity, he thought as he studied their captives. Pity they had to suffer the consequences of their High Lord’s treason. But I cannot let my pity drown me. I still have work to do, and it’s time for phase three. I wonder which one of them I should…

Behind him, The Cannibal roared, and Aethan whipped his head around, looking to see what had caught his dragon’s attention.

Baela

He’s alive, she thought gratefully as Alyn hauled her out of the sea, half supporting her weight as he stood waist-deep in water. Thank the gods he’s alive…

For her sake as well as his. She was a good swimmer, but fighting her way through choppy water while wearing leather had exhausted her, and her muscles screamed with fatigue. She’d shed most of her clothing to reduce the weight, and she was clad only in her small clothes, which did little to preserve her modesty as she was soaking wet and they were white. But better immodest than drowned.

“Baela, I know you’re exhausted, but we need to run,” he said, urging her to move faster.

Run? I’m not sure I can walk…

“Baela…” He swallowed, his voice cracking, as if he were fighting back tears…or perhaps hysteria. “Baela, they burned everything. The ships. The docks. Everyone. Even the castle. Everyone is dead or dying. Our only chance is to get to Spicetown; they haven’t attacked that side of the island yet. We need to run, or we’ll be…

“AH!” Baela screamed as the ground shook beneath her feet, sending her toppling. She would have fallen if not for Alyn’s arm around her waist.

Earthquake?

No. For seconds later came the roar of an angry dragon and the sound of five armor-clad soldiers as they charged forward, swords drawn, surrounding Alyn and Baela. With the glow of The Cannibal’s numerous fires, Baela could see them as clear as glass.

f*ck.

Aethan

“Baela Targaryen,” Aethan said as he studied her.

She was the blood of the dragon, for certain. Even now, surrounded by enemy soldiers and facing The Cannibal, she was trying to fight back. She’d grabbed a dagger from the man beside her, brandishing it while the man brandished his sword.

“And you are…” Aethan asked.

“Alyn of Hull,” the man spat. “Bastard son to Corlys Velaryon. And you are all traitors to our Queen and to the realm!”

“We are loyal soldiers of King Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!” one of the Hightowers retorted fiercely.

Corlys Velaryon’s bastard? Aethan thought, remembering his condensed history lesson with Borros Baratheon. This could be useful.

But Baela was his true focus. She didn’t look like him, meaning she favored her mother more than Daemon, but she was still Daemon’s daughter. Daemon’s beloved trueborn daughter, born to his wife Laena Velaryon.

“Sister,” Aethan greeted Baela coldly.

Baela’s glare wavered as she blinked at him. “Sister?”

“Hmm,” Aethan agreed. “You are my younger half-sister. We share a father, you see.”

His revelation shocked Baela enough to distract her while a Hightower knight knocked the blade from her hand and grabbed her arms, yanking them behind her back. Alyn roared, raising his sword, but he was swiftly overpowered as well, sword falling to the sand while his own arms were bound.

Satisfied, Aethan smirked, stepping closer to Baela as she thrashed, snarling and spitting at her captors. Prepared to die like a dragon.

Aethan pointedly studied her, pretending to be pondering deeply, until she snapped, “Staring at my tit*, you perverted f*cker?”

“I don’t give a sh*t about your tit*,” he snorted. “I’m trying to see what’s so special about you.”

“The f*ck do you mean?” she spat.

“I mean…” He stepped forward, grabbing her painfully by the hair and forcing her to meet his gaze. “What the f*ck is so special about you? The daughter he kept. The daughter he loved, and raised, and cared for? I’m just as much his blood as you are.”

She snorted, laughing. “Allow me to guess: your mother was a whor*?” She laughed harder. “Mine wasn’t.”

Don’t you dare talk about my mother. She loved me so fiercely that she endured a living hell at the hands of her ‘customers’ just to raise me. She never abandoned me. She was there for me until the day she died. A sickness picked up from one of her ‘customers’.

“If your mother was so much better than mine,” Aethan growled, “then why is it I managed to claim the Cannibal, whereas your puny little hatchling was barely enough to serve as a snack?”

She spat at him, missing, and then hurling vile epithets at him. He had to give her credit, she was creative. After growing up in Fleabottom, he thought he’d already heard the worst filth imaginable.

Let her talk, he thought, reaching into his knapsack. Time to move on to phase three.

He’d been confused at first when Aegon handed him this hammer. It was nothing special. A bit large perhaps, but just a plain steel tool.

Your father took this as a war prize from Craghas Drahar when he won his war in the Stepstones, Aegon explained. The Crabfeeder, they called him. Drahar had a very…unique way of killing his victims. Daemon wanted my father to add the hammer to the Iron Throne, with the other swords of House Targaryen’s vanquished enemies, but he put it in the vault instead. One more family relic.

Then, Aegon smiled. But I think we can put it to better use.

He pushed the hammer into Aethan’s hands, and then gave him careful instructions.

Baela must have heard the stories of the hammer, because she recognized it immediately, thrashing all the harder, a wild look of panic in her purple eyes. Alyn too must have heard them. Unsurprising, given he was Corlys’s bastard. But rather than thrashing to get away, he was thrashing to put himself between Baela and Aethan.

“Do it to me!” he screamed. “Let her go! Let me take her place!”

Aethan arched an eyebrow at him. Is he in love with her?

It didn’t matter. Aethan shook his head. He had not expected Baela to be here. But since she was, she was far too tempting a target. And Aegon told Aethan he could pick whomever he wanted.

“Unfortunately, while Corlys Velaryon would likely be disheartened to see you die, my father surely would not give a sh*t.”

But he would give a sh*t about Baela.

Gesturing to the Hightower soldiers, he ordered, “Take him and keep him with the others.”

Alyn fought the whole way, but it made no difference. He was soon out of earshot, powerless to help Baela, who never stopped the string of curses that would be her last words.

“f*ck you!” she cried. “f*ck you, and f*ck your drunken, usurper, c*nt of a King!”

It is because of my King’s mercy that you’re not going to suffer.

In one swift motion, Aethan raised the hammer above his head and slammed it down against the back of Baela’s skull, killing her instantly and without pain. Aegon had ordered him to grant this mercy to whomever he chose (there’s no need for actual torture), but Aethan would have granted it anyway. Rage and hatred had not yet polluted his soul enough to make him that cruel. Not for anyone but Daemon himself.

But it doesn’t matter whether or not I actually am that cruel. It matters that Daemon thinks I’m that cruel.

Baela was very much dead and beyond pain when Aethan hammered nails into her lifeless hands, pinning her to a makeshift post he embedded in the sand, doing his best to make it look real. The tide would be coming in soon…and as luck would have it, he spotted several large crabs washing in with the waves. Not wanting to disturb their meal, he carefully set the hammer down next to Baela’s corpse, left in plain view for the next person who came to this beach.

Walking away from his handiwork, Aethan patted the Cannibal on the nose lovingly.

“Enjoy Seasmoke’s corpse, my friend,” he told him silently, hoping his dragon would understand the nonverbal command. “And enjoy the corpses of any dead sailors you find. They’re your prey, after all. We have to wait for the castle to cool before we can search for to the treasure vault.”

And every single piece of gold they recovered would make its way back to Aegon. Aethan didn’t need to steal any. His new clothes, his new room, his new servant, and his new access to as much food as he wanted assured him that his new King would take care of his physical needs. One day, Aethan would have his own lands, his own manse, and a beautiful Baratheon bride, worthy of his station once he bore the name Targaryen.

And Aegon is giving me the chance for revenge, Aethan smiled. That is far more valuable to me than any mountain of gold.

Robert

They’re having an all-out parade in the streets, Robert thought, shaking his head as he watched from the Small Council chamber’s window, mid-morning sun warming King’s Landing.

The Cannibal did a victory lap around the city while his rider rode on horseback to the castle, twenty Hightower soldiers flanking him. Behind them were two wagons. One bearing several large crates, the other bearing the severed heads of two dragons.

Aegon, meanwhile, sat in his chair, an indiscernible expression on his face.

“I didn’t send him there to kill dragons,” Aegon said.

“I know,” Robert agreed.

“I didn’t even know there were dragons on Driftmark last night,” the King continued. “I assumed they were all on Dragonstone.”

So did I. If I knew they split them, I would have suggested attacking Dragonstone before they could do the Sowing of the Seeds. We could have killed Rhaenyra while Daemon was away at Harrenhal.

“I doubt the Cannibal managed to kill Vermithor and Silverwing. Not without sustaining critical injuries himself. Those two dragons work as a team. Plus, their heads would be too large to parade.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Robert agreed.

One of them must be Seasmoke, Robert thought. The dragon of Addam of Hull. But who is the other one? It was hard to tell from such a distance. The second skull was small. Vermax, maybe? Or Stormcloud?

“Either way,” Robert continued, “the Blacks have lost two valuable war assets, and possibly a loved one. Gwayne Hightower was avenged, and you did it in a practical way that helps our faction.”

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He did have a few moments of brilliance during the original timeline. The capability was always there.

“Yes, my uncle is avenged…but I should have instructed them not to make a spectacle of it,” Aegon sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want a celebration. We should celebrate every war victory. But it’s too soon. Word will get out quickly. We aren’t ready for the Velaryons to be alerted.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Robert agreed. “But I don’t think it matters much. Prince Daeron left at first light to join the Triarchy. If he’s not already there, he will be at any second.”

The Battle of the Gullet will begin at any moment, and now we know that Driftmark will have little to no reinforcements at the ready.

Aegon sighed again, standing up. “They’ll be at the castle gates soon,” he said. “I best be in the throne room and ready to receive them.”

Robert nodded encouragingly, striding over to join him. “This is a victory, Your Grace,” he reminded him.

Aegon shook his head. “It will be a victory when my brother Daeron is home, unharmed. And until he is, I will simply have to live with the knot in my stomach, worrying that I might have gotten him killed if Daemon is alerted prematurely.”

He must have realized that he said too much, because Aegon steeled his expression, fixing Robert with a regal glare. “That was undignified of me, Lord Borros. My personal fretting over my brother is not your concern.”

“You may be King, Your Grace, but you are still human,” Robert said, smiling at him warmly. “A human who has endured a great deal during a time when you should have been celebrating the start of your reign.”

I understand the burdens of the crown all too well. You’re doing a far better job of bearing it than I did. I spent the start of my reign grieving the woman I love whilst beginning the process of drinking and whoring myself into an early grave to numb the pain.

“Human…” Aegon said with a soft laugh, turning from Robert and making his way out of the chamber to head for the throne room. “Yes, I am human. But I can’t afford to let anyone else know that.”

Aegon

“Baela?” Aegon asked as he stared down at Aethan, his newest dragon rider, as he knelt before the throne. “Baela was on Driftmark, and she was your choice?”

I thought she was on Dragonstone. He wanted to use the Crabfeeder’s execution method (or rather, a more humane illusion of it) to rub salt in old wounds for Corlys and Daemon. He expected Aethan to use it on an enemy sailor or guard. But he NEVER thought Baela would be the target.

Aethan nodded proudly. “Yes, your grace,” he said. “Gwayne Hightower is avenged. Daemon killed Otto Hightower’s son, and now we have taken one of Daemon’s daughters.”

And perhaps Daemon will share some of the same pain he inflicted on my family, Aegon thought grimly. Otto had yet to re-emerge from his private chamber, not ready to see anyone. Alicent cried every day for her lost brother. Holes in their hearts that would never heal, not fully. I know I would never heal if I lost a brother or a son.

Aegon had no tears to shed for Baela herself. He’d despised her ever since she’d been part of the four-against-one assault that left Aemond missing an eye. One of the first to get physically violent. But more importantly, she was a dragon rider in Rhaenyra’s service. The rider of Moondancer. She could have gone on to kill many of Aegon’s loyalists if she lived.

My only annoyance is that she would have been more valuable as a hostage than as revenge. I should have specified that any valuable targets…

But to his surprise, Aethan continued, as if reading his mind.

“Furthermore, your grace, we did as you instructed. We left the servants and staff restrained, but alive, so they could serve as witnesses to what happened. All except one. Corlys Velaryon’s bastard son Alyn of Hull. We brought him back with us as a hostage. Corlys Velaryon has no trueborn children left. He has only one trueborn grandchild: the lady Rhaena. Bastard or no, I thought his sole remaining male descendant might hold some value to him.”

True. Jace is a bastard. Corlys might want his blood to live on…

“And best of all…” Aethan beamed brightly, looking over his shoulder just as a team of servants and guards began lifting crates off the cart, presenting them before the Iron Throne and lifting the lids.

And even though it was unkingly, Aegon gasped.

Gods be good…

Each of the crates was absolutely overflowing with gold. Five…f*ck, maybe six times the amount of gold that was in the treasury before Tyland Lannister divided it up, hiding it for safekeeping.

“It was safe in the Sea Snake’s treasure vault, your grace,” Aethan explained. “Protected from fire damage. We took every single piece of gold the Velaryons had. As you instructed, we left any surviving treasures and trinkets behind, taking only the gold. But the gold alone…” Aethan grinned. “The Sea Snake is no longer the wealthiest man in Westeros, your grace. That title now belongs to you. The cost of his treason to the Crown and his service to the false Queen.”

This is more than enough gold to fund ten wars.

Unbidden, he heard his mother’s voice echoing in his ears. Her reminders that a monarch must always consider the wellbeing of their people.

We can start making plans for improving the country after the war is over. Improvements on Alysanne’s clean water system. Better roads. Farming. Maybe a better sewage system so the city stops stinking of sh*t… And he would not be spending the crown’s money to do it.

And maybe, if I spend this money to benefit my people, they will remember me as a good king after my death.

Aegon made the decision not to send the gold away to Oldtown, or Lannisport, or the Iron Bank, like the rest of the Crown’s wealth had been. This was all Corlys’s gold. If, by chance, Rhaenyra managed to claim the city somehow, surely Corlys would want it all back. If she refused to give it to him, she would cost herself his support, and maybe the support of the rest of her vassals as well, because they would see her as stealing from her own people.

So Aegon ordered the gold taken to the treasury, and he ordered Tyland Lannister to oversee counting it and ensuring proper funding for the war and all other castle activities. But before they could take it away, Aegon surprised the court by getting up off the throne, walking over to one of the crates, and taking out a few handfuls of golden dragons.

One by one, he passed a small stack of them to each Hightower soldier that participated in the Burning of High Tide, enough to live a life of reasonable comfort without ever having to work another day, if they so choose. When he got to Aethan, handing him his stack of gold, the dragon seed’s eyes grew wider then saucers, his hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped it.

“Your Grace…” Aethan whispered in awe.

“You’ll never be poor again, Aethan,” Aegon vowed to him. “You are a dragon rider in my service, and you will be treated with all the respect due to any Targaryen dragon lord. Once the war is won, you will wear the Targaryen name as well. And…” With a smile, he took a few more pieces of gold from one of the chests. “I think we need to make you some jewelry and adornments befitting your station.”

Tears welled in Aethan’s eyes, and his whole body began to shake as he laughed. “Your Grace…you gave me more than I could have ever asked for when you gave me the chance to take vengeance against my father.”

Because I understand. My life was not the nightmare that yours was, but I understand. My father hated me too. Even before I became a drunken disappointment. I know how much it hurts. I can’t imagine living in poverty on top of having him hate me. You deserve revenge, and Daemon deserves to die.

There are MANY reasons why Daemon deserves to die.

“I’ll arrange for you to have a larger suite of rooms,” Aegon said, stepping back. “I suggest you rest and recover from your long night. For today, we finally break the Velaryon blockade, and I want you and The Cannibal rested and ready in case the Blacks retaliate.”

I’d send you to the Gullet now, but you’re far too exhausted, and you’d be a liability more than an asset.

Aegon would have to have faith in his brother, Daeron. And he did have faith in Daeron, both to succeed and to obey his King’s commands.

But having faith did not mean he would not worry.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Daeron

I pray Aegon’s new dragon rider succeeded, Daeron thought as he scanned the horizon, swallowing a lump of fear in his throat. Because we cannot afford to fend off reinforcements from Driftmark.

At Daeron’s back sailed ships from the Triarchy and the Arbor lead by Admiral Sharako Lohar, their banners waving proudly in the breeze, combined with Aegon’s golden Sunfyre banner. Descending from the North sailed ships from House Manderly and the Sistermen, their sailors fierce and ready with arrows they would set aflame before loosing. Four formidable naval fleets lead by a team of experienced sailors…

And combined, they were only slightly larger than the Velaryon fleet. Not nearly the advantage that Daeron was hoping for.

The Velaryons had seen them coming and pulled out of their blockade formation, splitting in half to fight the enemies from the north and south. Massive war galleys caught the wind in their sails, sailing full speed ahead towards the Triarchy ships and letting out fierce battle cries that Daeron could hear from Tessarion’s back.

But they don’t have a dragon, Daeron thought, straightening his spine as he guided the Blue Queen towards the first war galley. There was not a cloud marring the clear sunny day, and not a trace of another dragon in the sky.

And nothing to save them from Daeron’s fury.

“DRACARYS!” he cried, bathing the first ship in cobalt flames as cries of agony erupted from the deck.

Several ships had deadly scorpions affixed to both bow and stern, but the clunky, heavy weapons were clearly intended to combat Vhagar and Dreamfyre, who were large, slow, and could not easily pivot out of the way. Tessarion was young, small, nimble, and Daeron flew her in asymmetric patterns that made it impossible for the scorpions to aim properly. No bolt flew close enough to offer even the threat of damage.

The arrows did. Each ship had archers on deck. Fast, adaptable archers capable of shooting gulls from the sky. Some arrows Daeron evaded, some he burned, but the volleys kept coming with every ship he incinerated.

Mercifully, the Green armada had archers and scorpions of their own, and so the Velaryon’s focus was split between sea and sky. One arrow managed to find its way to Daeron, catching him in the shoulder blade, but his armor did its work in shielding him from the worst of it. Blood trickled from the wound and soaked the fabric beneath, but the arrowhead had not gone deep enough to cause any truly worrisome damage. Certainly not enough to stop him from fighting.

You’ll have to put one through my eye to stop me from fighting, he snarled, commanding Tessarion to pivot out of the way of the next volley. I fight for my family! My King! For my Uncle Gwayne!

Gwayne…the name was a knife through Daeron’s heart, and he let out a scream that was both a fearsome battle roar and a cry of grief as he set another ship ablaze: the largest of the Velaryon’s war galleys.

Daeron had been so young when he was sent to ward at Oldtown, and it was several years before Gwayne returned to King’s Landing to bolster the Green’s presence at court. It was Gwayne who helped Daeron practice with the sword in between his lessons with his Master-at-Arms. Gwayne who took Daeron on tours through the city. Gwayne, amongst all his other Hightower kin, who helped Daeron to feel happy and at home in a strange city, despite his longing for his mother and siblings. Daeron had loved him deeply.

And they killed him. I knew I might lose him in combat, but they killed him for NO f*ckING REASON! Solely to cause us pain.

They had succeeded…and now it would be paid back a hundred-fold.

“DRACARYS!!”

Ship after ship after ship burned, either by dragonfire or by flaming arrows. Cogs from both sides vanished beneath the waves, plummeting to the ocean floor below. Smoke polluted the air along with the screams of dying sailors. But from the sky, Daeron could see that it was the Velaryon ships that were sinking or retreating at a faster rate.

He flew after the ones that retreated, dousing them in cobalt flames, taking no chances of them making it back to Driftmark to return with reinforcements.

He might not have bothered had he known that the Velaryons already sent ravens to Driftmark as soon as they saw the Green armada on the horizon. Not that it mattered. There was no one on Driftmark to receive the ravens except for helpless servants, still bound in ropes and chains. Them…and the corpses of those that Aethan and his crew had left behind.

Nor did he know that relief was indeed on the way for the Velaryons…but it would not be coming from Driftmark.

Daemon

“f*cking hell,” Daemon muttered as he removed another arrow from Caraxes’ wing, inspecting the damage while his dragon hissed.

His Blood Wyrm was no young dragon; an arrow would not pierce his hard scales. But the volley of arrows had come from Crispin f*cking Cole’s men. Between Cole, the Tullys, and the Lannisters, Harrenhal would be surrounded in a day or two, and so Daemon had attempted a pre-emptive strike, flying Caraxes to meet Cole’s men before they could reach the castle.

In the end, it proved both bold and foolish to attack an army without soldiers of his own. Daemon managed to inflict heavy casualties. Hundreds of Cole’s men had burned in Caraxes’ flames, and he’d destroyed at least two of their siege weapons. But it had come at a price he could not afford to pay. Apparently, the f*cking Greens had taught Cole the best ways to incapacitate a dragon Caraxes’ size.

At his age, he was still young enough to evade scorpion bolts, but old enough for his scales to have hardened into steel-like armor. The perfect war dragon…had the Green’s not aimed their arrows directly for his sensitive wing membranes. One or two would not have caused any noteworthy damage, but dozens of them had struck home, leaving Daemon no choice but to abandon the attack and return to Harrenhal. The injuries weren’t crippling, but it troubled Daemon that Cole’s men knew just what to do.

f*cking Green idiots, he cursed silently as he freed another arrow, grimacing at the collection of holes. The dragons are House Targaryen’s greatest asset. Telling Cole’s men how to best incapacitate them is folly.

All I can do is pray the Greens were not fool enough to share that same information with the Tullys and the Lannisters, Daemon mused as he broke off another arrow shaft so he could easily tug out the head, rubbing Caraxes’ torn wing consolingly. If they did, and Harrenhal is surrounded, they may pierce his wings with so many arrows that he cannot fly.

He needed Jace and Vermax. Daemon needed another experienced dragon rider to aide him in defending Harrenhal, or they were going to lose it and possibly Caraxes as well. Vermax had been injured by Vhagar’s claws, but it was a superficial injury that was already scabbed over. It wouldn’t impede him from fighting. Hugh and Ulf weren’t experienced enough, and even if they were, Daemon needed them to focus on taking Maidenpool so the Velaryons could ferry in reinforcements from the Vale.

We need more soldiers. Desperately. The Freys are on their way, but they alone will not be enough…

“My Prince!” one of the Darry soldiers called to him, running with a letter in his hand. “A raven just arrived from King’s Landing! From the White Worm!”

Daemon nodded, reaching for it and praying that it would be something useful. Even Mysaria’s power was dwindling. After she helped Daemon with the failed assassination attempt on Jaehaerys, Aegon had offered a king’s bounty on her head, and many in her network had been caught, tortured, and killed. He imagined it would have gotten worse after Gwayne Hightower’s death.

She’s heavily invested in seeing us win. She knows she will not survive long in the city if we lose. There are only so many crevices she can hide in before Aegon’s men catch her.

Daemon took the letter, broke the seal, and quickly read it, his eyes freezing on the page.

Victory parade…

Two dead dragons…

Cannibal…

One was Seasmoke. The other, I could not identify. Its head was green with a white crest…

Every muscle in Daemon’s body snapped rigid, a cold sweat soaking his shirt as he went numb.

Green with a white crest…

Green with a white crest…

Green with a white crest…

The dragon’s crest wasn’t white. It was pearl, but it would look white from a distance.

Moondancer. Seasmoke was at Driftmark…and so was Moondancer…and Baela…

No, surely Mysaria was either mistaken or outright lying. Or possibly this raven had not come from her at all. It was absurd. It was impossible that someone had managed to claim the Cannibal; he killed and ate all the dragon seeds that tried, and they were told not to approach him.

But we have a spy on Dragonstone. A spy who might know…

No. This raven had come from a Green who was impersonating Mysaria. They knew what Moondancer looked like. They were trying to get Daemon to fly to King’s Landing in a fit of rage, and…

And regardless, he would not be able to breathe again until he knew his daughter was safe.

“It’s a short flight to Driftmark, and we have at least a day before enemy soldiers are close enough to be a threat,” Daemon said to the soldier as he tugged out the final arrow, then climbed onto Caraxes. “I can be there and back in a few hours, and I’ll return with Prince Jacaerys and Vermax.”

Rhaenys can finish teaching Hugh and Ulf. Even with Meleys dead, she is the most seasoned rider amongst us.

After so many years of being bound as dragon and rider, Caraxes needed no commands, sensing Daemon’s fear and roaring as he took off into the sky, flying as fast as his painful wings would carry him straight for Driftmark.

But as he grew closer, he realized his daughter would have to wait. For off in the distance, he saw massive plumes of smoke rising into the air from where he knew the Velaryon blockade was at its thickest…

Daeron

“YES!” he cried triumphantly as yet another Velaryon war galley burst into cobalt flames.

Win or lose, it no longer matters, he thought, grinning broadly. After hours at battle, nearly half the Velaryon ships were burning or sinking. Yes, their side had taken casualties as well, but not half so many. Not with the aerial support from Daeron and Tessarion.

I don’t know how many reserve ships are left on Driftmark, but unless the cavalry is massive, they don’t have enough ships for a full blockade anymore. And more are sinking by the minute.

Smiling proudly, Daeron spied another small group of Velaryon ships trying to turn and flee the fray, and he did not hesitate to chase after them. He bathed three of them in fire and was about to shout “Dracarys” again to burn the fourth…until a tiny, squeaky roar sounded from the deck.

What?

“Umbās!” he commanded, telling Tessarion to wait before she burned the final ship. And a second later, he was grateful that he did, because a dark gray hatchling emerged from a hold below the deck, taking off into the air with a screaming, silver-haired child clinging to his neck for dear life.

Stormcloud…Daeron realized immediately, stiffening like a hound scenting a rabbit. That must be Rhaenyra’s son, Aegon. She must have thought…

Well, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference what she thought. Because Stormcloud was clearly far too young to carry a rider, sluggish and slow with the weight of the boy who was not even sitting properly on his back.

My brother commanded me not to battle enemy dragons…but this hardly counts as a battle.

“Angōs!” he commanded. Attack! Tessarion obeyed immediately, swooping into a dive with her bronze claws raised.

Stormcloud’s feeble efforts to escape were in vain. He could barely stay airborne as it was. Tessarion caught up to him within seconds, lashing out with her claws and slashing open his throat while he breathed fire wildly, too terrified and inexperienced to aim properly. Blood poured from the smoking wound, staining the sea below it a vivid crimson, and the young dragon let out a sickening gurgle, body jerking as he plummeted towards the sea.

Daeron was not proud of it, but for a moment, he considered letting young Aegon plummet into the sea with him. The young boy would surely drown.

Let him, a dark voice inside of Daeron commanded. Let him, and let Daemon learn what it feels like to lose a son. Let him learn the pain that he subjected my grandfather to. Avenge Gwayne…

But then the young boy let out a terrified cry, and Daeron blinked, guilt replacing his fury.

He’s only a child, like Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor are only children. This war is not his fault. If I let him die, I’m no better than Daemon.

And so in the nick of time, he reached over, grabbed Aegon by the back of his shirt, and hauled the screaming, crying boy onto Tessarion’s back, quickly securing him with a rope while Stormcloud fell, vanishing beneath the waves.

“Hold still!” Daeron commanded him as he knotted the rope more tightly. “Unless you wish to slip off and fall into the sea. I’m not going to kill you; I’m taking you as a hostage.”

It did nothing to slow the young boy’s tears, nor did it do anything to stop the scent of piss that followed seconds later. A scent that only served to double Daeron’s guilt for considering allowing him to die.

f*cking hell… But he would not be harmed in King’s Landing. He was far too valuable.

But just as Daeron commanded Tessarion to turn back to the fray, prepared to ignite a few more ships before flying back to the capital, a far larger roar sounded over the horizon. A roar that Tessarion answered bravely, although Daeron could feel her tremble beneath him with fear.

Turning in the saddle, he saw the vague red outline of a massive dragon. A massive dragon that had clearly spotted Tessarion as well, flying towards her and letting out a high-pitched, squeaky roar.

Caraxes.

Daeron snarled, lips curled over bared teeth as his blood boiled in his veins.

Daemon.

You killed Gwayne.

You tried to kill my mother! My sister! Her babes.

You serve Rhaenyra! You fly her most powerful dragon!

And there was nothing Daeron wanted more than to turn Tessarion around and meet his uncle in the air. To kill the hideous Blood Wyrm and his rider, even if Daeron himself went down in flaming glory alongside him. It would be worth it to rid the world of both of those monsters. It might win the war for the Greens.

But just as Daeron grabbed hold of the reigns to do exactly that, Aegon caught sight of Daemon and Caraxes as well.

“FATHER!” the boy screamed with every puff of air in his lungs, thrashing to sit up. “FATHER! HELP! HELP ME!”

And judging from Caraxes’ answering roar, Daemon had heard him.

Aegon’s cry snapped Daeron out of his blood rage, and his King’s words echoed in his ears. “You and Tessarion will assist the Triarchy only if there are no Black dragons in the sky. That is not a suggestion, it is an order from your King.”

His King had given him an order, and he would never forgive Daeron if he disobeyed and got himself killed, losing a valuable hostage in the process.

But…Daeron smirked. I could still work this to my advantage.

“I HAVE YOUR SON!” Daeron taunted across the distance in High Valyrian. “IF YOU WANT HIM, YOU’LL NEED TO KILL ME!”

Caraxes roared, redoubling his speed as he charged towards Daeron, but it was no use. Caraxes was not an old dragon, but he could not match Tessarion’s speed or nimbleness, even with the weight of a passenger. Daeron could have outpaced his uncle easily, but he commanded Tessarion to fly slightly slower than her top speed. Just enough to keep out of range of an attack from Caraxes, but not so fast that the Blood Wyrm would fall too far behind.

Chase me, uncle, Daeron silently coaxed, grinning broadly. Chase me all the way back to King’s Landing. Where Vhagar is circling the city. Where Dreamfyre is circling the city. Maybe Sunfyre as well. Where scorpions decorate the castle. Do you like those odds, uncle? Three or four against one? When one of them is Vhagar?

Daemon chased him for several miles, until the outline of King’s Landing came into view over the horizon.

Come on, uncle. We’re nearly there. I have your son. Vhagar is waiting for you…

But although the Rogue Prince was brave and reckless, sadly, he was neither an imbecile nor suicidal. He very obviously understood Daeron was trying to lure him into a trap. He knew he would never survive an attack on King’s Landing alone, and he certainly would not be able to save his son.

Daemon’s scream of rage echoed across Blackwater Bay, as did Caraxes’ roar, but the Rogue Prince relented, turning his dragon around and undoubtedly heading back to the sea battle still raging off in the distance. Daeron knew without question that he planned to vent his fury upon Triarchy sailors.

f*ck… Daeron winced. He wished he could turn around and return to the fray, but doing so would be both idiotic and against his King’s command. All he could do was hope that the Triarchy had caught enough of a glimpse of Caraxes to either retreat or be prepared for him. Otherwise, the Green armada would now be the ones at a crippling disadvantage.

But it doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. We’ve broken the blockade. They don’t have the ships to maintain it against another assault. And I have a war hostage who may be more valuable than even that…

Alicent

I do not care if I am judged for not wearing black, Alicent thought as her green gown swished around her heels. The color had become her armor in a way, worn proudly in a show of loyalty to her House. Her symbol of power and authority as she left behind the little girl she once was, evolving into the Queen…Queen Mother, now.

In the wake of Gwayne’s death, social custom dictated she wear black for a period of time, but she was grateful to leave the morbid gown behind in her chambers. Her brother’s death still pained her heart and soul, but the heavy black fabric only exacerbated her grief, providing none of the strength that the vivid emerald awarded her.

She needed that strength now, as she climbed the steps to the Tower of the Hand, where she had spent her youth before wedding Viserys.

I need more than merely the strength of fabric. I need my father. We all need him.

But Otto had not emerged from his room in days, nor did he answer when she knocked and announced her presence.

I know he needs to grieve. And I am going to allow him to grieve. But not alone. Not anymore.

And so even though Otto had not granted her permission, she grabbed the door handle and let herself in.

The smell hit her like a slap in the face as soon as the door was open. The stench of a musty room mingling with the unplesant aroma of unwashed body. It took every bit of decorum she possessed not to start gagging…and that was even before she looked over to where Otto sat, staring blankly out the window.

Otto also did not wear black mourning clothes, but unlike her, he was not dressed like a member of the royal family. He wore stained nightclothes that clearly had not been changed in days. His hair (usually meticulous) was lank and greasy, and his cheeks were sunken. More worryingly still, he did not even look up to greet her as she walked into his chamber and threw the windows open to tempt in a fresh breeze.

“Father,” she said, her voice softly deprecating. “This is not healthy, and it is not what Gwayne would want.”

Otto scarcely moved a muscle, his face devoid of all expression. “He doesn’t want anything anymore. He’s dead.”

The cold reminder sent tears pricking at her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could form.

“But you know as well as I do that this is not what he would want,” she corrected. “Gwayne loved you. And me. And my children. He loved our entire family. He was proud to wear the Hightower green. He was ready to fight for his family. Give his life if that was it took. He would not want us to sink into despair while the war rages.”

Finally, Otto blinked, but when he looked at her, the grief Alicent found there nearly broke her.

Her father’s eyes were always so keenly intelligent. Always on alert for potential threats, contemplating ways to mitigate them. Always cataloging every little detail for potential use later. It was always as though she could see the cogs in his mind turning. Otto Hightower had possibly the most brilliant mind in the Seven Kingdoms.

But not today. Today, his eyes looked only hollow.

“I gambled, Alicent,” he confessed. “A calculated gamble, it’s true, but a gamble. I believed if I laid the groundwork in exactly the right way, all of us could be happy. My children in positions of high esteem. Yours as royalty. My grandson a king, and my great-grandson after him. I thought I could give us an ending worthy of a fairytale…and my gamble cost Gwayne his life…” His voice cracked, last words fading away as he squeezed his eyes shut.

She forced herself to suppress whatever anger she felt at her father for arranging her marriage to Viserys. Whatever anger she felt for his relentless advancement of Aegon as heir. It would not serve to rub salt into raw wounds. Not when it would change nothing.

Especially when he was not wrong, she thought, rubbing at her long-healed wrists and remembering how the rope chafed when she tried desperately to free herself from Rhaenyra’s assassins. Her faction has proven they have no qualms about murdering babes. Aegon was in danger from the moment he took his first breath.

“It is too late to take back the gamble, Father,” she reminded him. “The past is in the past. But today, now, you have three grandsons who need your wisdom and guidance as they navigate a war. Three grandsons, and our cousins, and…”

Otto shook his head. “Let Borros Baratheon handle it,” he sighed, exasperated. “Gods only know where he got it, but the man has a mind for warfare that I cannot match. We are winning this war only because of him.”

“And for that, I have advised Aegon to name him Master of War,” Alicent agreed. “But Hand of the King is far more than that. Lord Borros himself admits he has little aptitude for politics or for the day-to-day ruling of the realm. We may be fighting a war, but Westeros still needs its rulers, and Aegon is not ready to do it without your help.”

Because until very recently, to her chagrin, Aegon had no interest in his birthright and thus had little knowledge of the minutiae of it. Little knowledge of politics or logistics, despite his earnestness to learn when he was a young child. He’d lost that enthusiasm before his tenth nameday. Perhaps in her own fear, she had pushed him too hard. She knew for certain that Viserys’s neglect had broken his spirit. He spent his adolescence drinking, indulging himself, and spending countless hours on the back of his dragon, flying for the sheer joy of it.

Mercifully, as of late, that had begun to change, and for the first time in a decade, she was truly starting to believe that her son might have the makings of a good king. But he was far behind on his lessons, and he needed a competent Hand to show him the way.

“You’d be just as good a Hand to him as I would be,” Otto sighed. “I ruled the realm for the last six years of Viserys’s reign. You were effectively my Hand.”

“Yes, Aegon needs me as well. As his mother. As his advisor. But he needs you as his Hand.”

For a moment, she saw a spark of something in his eyes. A flash that was gone before she could put it to words. But he didn’t answer her. All he could do was sigh yet again.

I shall have to keep trying.

“It is too late to save Gwayne, Father,” she said, her brother’s name catching in her throat and making her voice crack. “But it is not too late for you to save the rest of us. It is not too late for you to act in the best interest of the realm. Especially not now that the Velaryon fortune is ours to use. Imagine all the good we could do for our people! Everyone from here to the Wall. Tyland Lannister is an excellent Master of Coin, but he is no more than an accountant. We need you to help us decide where that gold is best utilized.”

Otto had not yet been told that the mission to retrieve the Velaryon fortune was a success, and the mention of the gold sent another spark igniting in his eyes…or rather, she thought it was the mention of the gold.”

“Wall…” Otto muttered. Another spark, and his spine straightened. “The Wall! The Wall! That’s it!”

Flying to his feet, Otto ran for the door, yanked it open, and called for a servant to bring him a raven.

“And Borros Baratheon! Send him in here at ONCE! I don’t care if you need to yank him off his chamber pot!”

“Father!” Alicent chided, jaw dropping at his crassness, though she did not object to his burst of energy. “What in the name of the Gods…”

“I know how to get the Northerners on our side!” he cried happily.

Alicent’s eyes widened, but before she could say a word, a second servant ran into the room just as the first servant fled to retrieve Lord Borros.

“Queen Mother Alicent,” he greeted her respectfully, bowing to her and Otto in turn. “My Lord Hand. Prince Daeron has just been spotted flying over the city…”

Robert

Thank the gods I didn’t send that raven last night, Robert mused as the black bird took flight, making its long journey to Winterfell. He meant to, but it had taken him time to get the wording right. And then with Daeron leaving this morning and Aethan returning shortly after his departure, Robert had not yet gotten to sending it.

Now, the bird bore a message from Otto Hightower that the maester had copied for the history books…and an elongated message from Robert that the history books would hopefully never see, if Cregan had the sense to burn it.

But for now, there are more pressing matters to attend to.

The raven was not the only winged creature circling the sky. All five Green dragons patrolled the city, flying in carefully coordinated patterns.

Aegon, Aemond, and a freshly patched-up Daeron all wore their armor. Aethan did not yet have a full set (though Aegon had commissioned one for him), and so for the time being he wore mismatched pieces that fit him well enough. The other Green dragons seemed to be keeping a wary eye on the Cannibal, but under the circ*mstances, they tolerated his presence.

Queen Helaena wore no armor, and neither did the terrified, ashen-faced Queen Mother Alicent, who needed to be helped into Dreamfyre’s saddle alongside her daughter. Helaena would not be participating in any combat that may or may not happen. She and Dreamfyre were circling the city as deterrents only. If any actual fighting broke out, Aegon had ordered Helaena to fly herself and their mother to the safety of Highgarden with Princess Jaehaera.

As for whether or not that fighting would actually break out? Well, that could go either way, what with their new ‘guest’.

When Daeron arrived with Aegon the Younger (Aegon III as Robert had known him in the original timeline) in tow, the King did not have time to make a proper decision on what to do with him. Not when Daemon could be arriving at any moment with Caraxes and the rest of the Black dragons to rescue the boy. They had to ready themselves for battle, and so for the time being, Aegon III was locked in the nursery under the supervision of Robert’s personal guards, cared for by Prince Jaehaerys’s old nursemaids.

They’d be fools to attack the city now, Robert thought as he scanned the sky outside the castle, his war hammer heavy in his hand, armor gleaming in the sun streaming in through the window. It’s five dragons against five dragons, and two of ours are Vhagar and the Cannibal. Regardless of which side wins, the victor would suffer heavy losses. Even if the Blacks were the last ones standing, they have no armies within range, and I cleared out the last of Daemon’s supporters from the City Watch. It’s tactically stupid…

Though to be fair, the Blacks had made some incredibly tactically stupid moves in the original timeline, so Robert could not bank on them thinking intelligently. And so Robert, along with the rest of the castle guard, stood armed and at the ready in case the worst happened.

No matter what happens, those f*ckers are not taking this castle with me alive, Robert thought, gripping his war hammer. I’ll split their skulls open before I let the ancestors of Rhaegar Targaryen take the Iron Throne. I will die a warrior’s death. It was a far better way to go than death by pig.

Fortunately, it seemed Robert would not by dying that day, by pig or by dragon. As day faded into night and the sky grew black, Helaena and Dreamfyre made their way back to the castle, landing by the cliffs outside, and the rest of the Green dragons quickly followed suit.

She must have ‘seen’ that it was safe…he mused as he ran out of the castle towards the cliffs to greet the Green dragon riders.

“I wanted to wait until I was certain,” Helaena announced to Robert and her brothers as they gathered, speaking lowly. Understanding her reluctance, Robert waved the guards away to minimize the chance of them being overheard.

Last thing we need is some close-minded sh*t thinking she’s a witch.

Aegon nodded gratefully before turning back to his wife. “And now you’re certain?”

She nodded confidently. “They will not be attacking the city tonight.”

Aemond folded his arms across his chest. “We’ll just have to pray that you’ll get forewarning if that changes.”

But we don’t know how infallible her gift may or may not be, Robert thought grimly. So we’ll have to take other preventative measures to ensure they do not attack.

“We must draft a message to send to the Blacks at once, Your Grace,” Robert said. “A message promising that we will treat the boy gently so long as they cooperate.”

There was a flash of anger in Aegon’s eyes, and for a moment, Robert’s heart grew sick. No…surely not. Gwayne Hightower has already been avenged several times over. The boy is roughly the same age as Aegon’s own son…

But Robert knew better than anyone that war did not spare innocent babes. Rhaegar Targaryen’s children had been even younger when their corpses were laid at Robert’s feet. Yet another Aegon and his sister Rhaenys.

Ned had been angrier than Robert had ever seen him, denouncing it as the vilest of murders. But Robert had swallowed his own horror. He needed Tywin Lannister’s support, and he needed to take a firm stance against Rhaegar’s line. Keeping his face impassive, he coldly declared, “That’s war” and referred to the babes as ‘Dragonspawn’.

The truth was that the sight of their tiny bodies had robbed him of sleep for many years to come.

It’s one thing to kill for practical reasons. Or an unavoidable death in combat, like Joffrey. But this boy is far more valuable as a hostage. Killing him is an act of senseless cruelty.

Rhaenyra’s son may grow up to try to press his own claim for the throne, but if the Greens won the war, there were other ways Robert could negate that threat.

But before Robert could say a word to the King, Helaena beat him to it, reaching over and gently grabbing Aegon’s forearm, looking up at him with eyes filled with worry.

“Husband,” she reminded him. “He’s as innocent as our own babes.”

For a moment, for a brief, horrifying moment, Robert thought that Aegon was going to shake off her hand. Memories of what happened in the original timeline swam through Robert’s brain. Memories of how vengeful and bloodthirsty Aegon II had become…

But to Robert’s relief, the spark of anger faded from Aegon’s eyes just as quickly as it arrived. The blood of House Hightower balancing the blood of the dragon.

“Our allies and the rest of the realm are watching,” he said wisely. “Watching and judging what kind of King I shall be. I shall not start my reign by butchering children needlessly. I will not prove myself a second Maegor.”

He brushed Helaena’s cheek reassuringly. “We’ll keep him comfortable, as is befitting his station. No harm will come to the boy.”

Helaena smiled beautifully, rising up on her toes to kiss him sweetly on the cheek, and Robert could not hold back his own smile.

In the original timeline, he delivered fire and blood ruthlessly. The only reason he did not kill Aegon III was because he needed him to deter the remaining Black armies from attacking.

But the Aegon II of the original timeline was a different man. A man who had lost his son to Daemon’s assassins and descended into a black fury fueled by vengeance and strongwine. A man driven mad by the loss of damn near everyone he loved. A man in horrific pain, unable to walk. A man who was never given the chance to grow into a good king because he was fighting a war that was so badly mismanaged.

How different it could have been…No, how different it would be. Because Robert was going to ensure that he got that chance to grow into the king he wanted to be.

“Let us draft the message to my sister, Lord Borros,” Aegon declared.

Robert smiled proudly. “Let us ask your grandfather to assist us, Your Grace,” he countered happily. “The Hand is ready to resume his duties.”

Daemon

Parents aren’t supposed to have favorite children. At least not that they admit, even to themselves. But Daemon had never been one to abide by the rules, and he was no different as a father.

It started when the girls were young. He loved Rhaena, he did. But Baela was the best of both himself and Laena. It was no surprise that her egg had hatched whereas her sister’s had not. Baela came into this world swinging her fists, and she’d only grown fierier with every year that passed. She was fearless. A true Fire and Blood Targaryen. The proud descendant of Old Valyria.

For a moment, he was back in their manse at Pentos. Baela was no more than a little girl, smiling and beaming brightly as she learned High Valyrian while sitting on his knee. While they read the histories together as father and daughter. While he dreamed of the day they’d fly together. Dreamt of the beautiful future she would have in the Free Cities, free of the restrictive nightmare she’d endure growing up in Westeros.

We should have stayed in Pentos. I never should have come home after Laena died. I knew it. I knew I never should have come back here.

If he had stayed in Pentos, he might be looking at his daughter’s beautiful, smiling face right now. Not what was left of her face after the crabs had eaten most of it off her skull. After they had dug the eyes from her skull and exposed her cheekbones to the elements.

Behind him, Corlys screamed the wordless animal bellow of primal grief and horror, but Daemon’s own body was frozen as he stared at Baela’s face. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe…

Until yet another crab tried to scurry up Baela’s chest to dine on what was left of her flesh, triggering his own primal instinct to protect his young. Snarling like an angry dragon, Daemon drew his dagger, slapped the crab away from Baela, then stabbed it as it fell to the sand. Stabbed it once. Twice. Thrice. Again and again and again until all that remained was twitching cartilage, and Daemon collapsed, exhausted and panting into the sand.

It was then he saw the hammer. The hammer. The hammer that had taunted him for years. The hammer he’d be able to pick from an array of hundreds.

Drahar, Daemon thought, reaching out to wrap his hand around the handle.

Three years Daemon had fought in the Stepstones. Three years of enduring injury after injury. Three years of growing filthier by the day, smelling more and more rancid. Three years of his bone-deep need to prove himself as a fierce Dragon Prince. Three years of wanting Drahar’s head on a spike more than he wanted air to breathe, all the while the Crabfeeder evaded him every time.

Splitting Drahar in half with Dark Sister and claiming his hammer had been the most satisfying moment of Daemon’s life, before or after. Delivering the hammer to Viserys had been Daemon’s greatest victory…

And now that same hammer had been used to condemn Daemon’s most beloved child to a slow, horrifying, painful death, just as Drahar had done to Velaryon soldiers all those years ago. Stealing Daemon’s greatest victory and transforming it into his greatest defeat, as if the Crabfeeder was taunting him one last time. As if Drahar had gotten the last laugh while he burned in the Seven Hells.

But Drahar was long dead. And the only one who could have gotten ahold of the hammer was the usurper.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Daemon hurled the hammer into the sea.

She suffered for hours before being granted the sweet relief of death. She suffered while they nailed her hands to the post. While the crabs…His fearless, wonderful little girl would have died terrified. Screaming. And the f*cking Greens hadn’t even given her the dignity of allowing her to remain clothed. They’d stripped her down to her small clothes, easy for the crabs to shred their way through and access more of her flesh.

A dragon rider. The daughter of the legendary Rogue Prince. Granddaughter of the Sea Snake. And none of it was enough to save her.

No more than I could save my eldest son when Daeron stole him. Aegon was as good as dead now. The Greens would surely kill him, if they hadn’t already. All Daemon could do was pray that he got a cleaner death than his sister.

Pray…and avenge him.

“Very well,” Daemon said in a strangled voice as he rose to his feet, fire burning his chest and searing the heart within to a blackened charcoal. “Very well. It seems Aegon has chosen the execution method for his own children.”

Behind him, Corlys stopped screaming, but Daemon did not know whether or not he heard him. Nor did he care.

“Once the war is won,” he continued. “Once the Greens are within our grasp, we will ensure they feel Baela’s pain tenfold. I will bind Aegon in chains and make him watch while I stake all three of his children to the dungeon floor. He will watch as the castle rats devour them while they still live and breathe. Then his wife. His mother. His grandfather. His two c*nt brothers. Only then will he have my permission to fill the bellies of the rats himself.”

But rather than growling his enthusiastic approval, Corlys whipped up his head and glared at Daemon, lips curled back in rage.

“Bluster,” Corlys spat his accusation. “We’ve lost.”

We will have lost when I am dead, and not one minute before.

“WE’VE LOST!” Corlys roared, leaping to his feet. “We started this war! We fought, and we LOST!”

WE started this war? “THE GREENS STOLE THE THRONE!” Daemon roared back. “STOLE THE THRONE FROM MY BROTHER’S RIGHTFUL HEIR! From your good daughter! The throne that will one day be your grandson’s…”

“JACAERYS IS NOT MY GRANDSON!” he bellowed, spitting a wad of phlegm into the sand, as though Jace’s name tasted foul on his tongue. “He is a bastard born to Harwin Strong!”

Daemon grimaced, gritting his teeth, but he could not bring himself to lie to Corlys now. He didn’t give a sh*t about maintaining the lie or appearances anymore…f*ck, he didn’t give a sh*t about the throne itself anymore. It could burn in dragonfire for all he cared, along with the rest of the kingdom. So long as he watched the Greens die first.

“Jacaerys is not mine,” Corlys repeated. “And we have lost the war.”

“We have lost a battle,” Daemon corrected.

The Greens had not won bloodlessly. After Daeron escaped with Aegon, Daemon had returned to find the Triarchy and Arbor ships retreating. He chased after them and burned a fair few before he was forced to relent, the endless volleys of arrows too much for Caraxes to endure with no naval support of his own.

“House Velaryon has lost the war, Daemon,” Corlys’s shoulders deflated as he sighed. “While you chased after the Triarchy, House Manderly and the Sistermen took advantage of our absence to sack Spicetown. Everything of any potential value was stolen; silks, spices, other wares.”

“A costly loss, but House Velaryon does not lack for gold…”

Whatever was left of Corlys’s sanity snapped, and he began to laugh, an unnerving sound that made Daemon flinch.

“Gold?” Corlys laughed. “Gold? GOLD?”

He pointed to Baela’s corpse, then gestured broadly to High Tide’s burned harbor. To the smoldering castle.

“This was done last night, Daemon. You think they left my gold behind? They stole it when they burned my castle and slaughtered my men. After today, only a quarter of my ships remain, and I have no money to pay sailors to pilot them for me!”

You kept nothing in the Iron Bank? No…no, of course he hadn’t. Corlys would never trust his gold to the Braavosi after what happened with Laena all those years ago.

“Before I threw my lot in with Rhaenyra, I had the largest fleet in the world!” Corlys laughed harder. “I was the wealthiest man in all of Westeros! My wife’s dragon guarded my castle. And now my fleet is burned, my castle is burned, the Driftwood throne is burned, Meleys is dead, and my trueborn granddaughter fills the bellies of the crabs!”

Harder and harder Corlys laughed until his laughter morphed into screams once again. Screams and epithets hurled at the sky. Cursing Rhaenyra. Cursing Daemon. Cursing the gods themselves.

He’s useless until he calms down, Daemon thought coldly as he turned from the manic Sea Snake and made his way towards the scorched castle, where recently-freed servants were sharing the tale of what transpired last night. But not half so useless as he alleges. The Greens have broken our blockade, yes, but all that wins them is the ability to trade internationally again.

A quarter of the Velaryon fleet is more than enough to ferry Lady Jeyne’s soldiers from Gulltown to Maidenpool. And it is still larger than the royal navy in Blackwater Bay. If we can burn Aegon’s naval allies, Corlys’s remaining ships will be enough to help us take King’s Landing by sea.

But for now, he needed to interrogate the servants who had survived the Burning of High Tide.

“Which one of them did it?” Daemon asked, grabbing a servant by the front of his shirt. “Which Green? Which of their dragons?”

Mysaria had claimed the Cannibal was circling King’s Landing, but surely…

The servant began to cry. “I could not see the beast, my prince,” he protested. “The night was so black. I could only see its green fire…”

Green fire. So it was the Cannibal.

f*ck, Daemon swore. That complicated things. The Cannibal was smaller than Vhagar but not substantially, and he had far more battle experience. Even Caraxes feared the Cannibal, though like most predators, the beast tended to prefer prey that would put up less of a fight.

“Did you see his rider?” Daemon asked, though he knew it was likely useless. It had to have been one of the dragon seeds who turned cloak and was offered a better deal by Aegon.

But to his astonishment…

“Yes, my prince,” the servant confirmed. “Some of the other servants thought it was you.”

“Me?” He narrowed his eyes, and the servant nodded.

“My prince, I have served on High Tide since you were a young man. The Cannibal’s rider looked so much like you that for a moment, even I was fooled. But he was nearly thirty years your junior…”

Could he be one of my dragon seeds? Daemon blinked. It wasn’t impossible. Daemon had no idea how many women (and occasionally men) he’d taken to bed in his youth.

“Did he say his name?”

“He didn’t, my prince, but I heard one of the Hightower soldiers refer to him as Aethan…”

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Jace

“I have not dismissed you, Daemon,” Rhaenyra snarled as Jace’s stepfather turned from her, heading for the main door to lead him out of Dragonstone’s castle.

“Whether you have dismissed me or not, it changes nothing,” he called over his shoulder, pace not slowing. “If I do not return to Harrenhal immediately, the war is lost.”

“I am your QUEEN!” she said icily, charging after him with her Queensguard clanging along behind her.

“You shall be Queen of the Seven Hells if I do not stop the Tullys from taking Harrenhal!” he spat, yanking open the door and beckoning Jace to follow him.

For a moment, Jace feared his legs would not obey, rooted to the spot as he desperately tried to force his mind to absorb the implications of what Daemon had told them.

Luke is dead. Joffrey is dead. Aegon is a hostage. And now Baela is dead too…

Baela. His cousin. His friend…

He’d never been in love with her, not truly. But he did love her. After her mother died, she was warded on Driftmark, but it was a short flight, and she visited often. Together, all of them had taken the journey from childhood into adolescence, and he had many fond memories of their adventures. A happy, peaceful, wonderful childhood, so unlike the one that he’d known in King’s Landing. Romance or no romance, he was happy at the prospect of marrying Baela.

And now she was dead. Not merely dead, but…

Jace had to bring a hand to his mouth to force back another rush of nausea before he could vomit. Crabs…they fed her to the crabs…alive…

But although horror dominated his mind, the grief and sadness over her loss was indiscernible, blended seamlessly into the grief that already drowned him from losing Joffrey and Luke.

I’m failing her even in this. She deserves to be grieved independently, he thought weakly. Grieved for who she was. Not just as one more wonderful person who was stolen from me.

At least she had her grandmother to award her that. Rhaenys had fled the Great Hall the instant Daemon delivered the news, refusing all attempts at consolation, even as Corlys chased after her. Jace could not begin to imagine the thoughts circulating her mind. Baela and Rhaena were all she had left of her own children.

As for Daemon…if Jace thought he’d been lost to madness before, it was nothing compared to now. The things he threatened to do to the Greens…And not just the threats themselves, but the horrifying smile on his face when he said them…

But I refuse to believe that Little Aegon is dead, Jace thought. They made sure we knew that Baela was dead. They would have done the same with Aegon if they killed him. And the fact that they haven’t killed him yet means they might just be hoping for an ending more peaceful than total annihilation.

There had to be something Jace could do to get his brother back. But what? He’d offered to take Aegon’s place and serve as a hostage instead, but everyone refused. They needed Vermax.

The shouting continued, and Jace forced himself to finally walk, chasing after his parents as they left the Great Hall and began to descend Dragonstone’s steps.

“SEVEN HELLS WITH HARRENHAL!” Rhaenyra screamed at Daemon’s back. “They have our son! OUR SON! You read the raven same as me; he’s alive!”

“Lies,” Daemon spat, not turning to look at her. “They know we actually love our family, unlike them, and so they’re trying another trick to try to lure us into a trap. That f*cking c*nt from Oldtown damn near succeeded.”

Daeron. Jace frowned. This had been coordinated far too well; it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. They had known exactly when Baela and Addam would be on Driftmark. Exactly when Aegon’s ship would be passing through the blockade on its way to Pentos.

It has to be the spy…

“With what they did to Baela, they are not going to spare our son. She was far more valuable a hostage; the Greens could have used her as leverage to force the Velaryons to withdraw from the war. Instead, they killed her, burned the fleet and sacked High Tide. They mean to exterminate us. Exterminate the true Targaryen line and supplant it with the spawn of House Hightower!”

“He’s our son!” Rhaenyra reached out and grabbed him by the arm, halting his progress. “And I will not accept that he is dead until I see his body.”

“Accept it or do not, it is of no relevance,” Daemon said, ripping his arm out of her grasp. “If you are correct, then we will rescue him when we take King’s Landing. If I am correct, then we need to focus our efforts on saving our living son and my living daughter.”

Jace tried not to flinch when his own name was excluded. Surely he only meant that I would be helping him to do the saving, which is why I need not be saved…

“Jace,” Daemon called curtly. “With me to Harrenhal. Now. Rhaenys can…”

He stopped himself, cursing, then spoke again in High Valyrian…which to his shame, Jace could not properly decipher. But he got the overall idea. Even in High Valyrian, Daemon did not want to verbalize their plans, for fear of the spy.

Unless the Greens had learned the art of sorcery, their spy was masterful. Not only had the Greens uncovered carefully guarded secrets, but they uncovered them almost immediately, what with how quickly they acted.

There are only two possibilities, Jace thought. Dragonstone has secret passageways that we have not yet been able to find, or the Velaryons betrayed us, and then in turn got betrayed by the Greens…

Jace could not envision the latter. Rhaenys could have easily killed the lot of them by now were she secretly a Green. So it must be the former.

Then the only way to escape this spy is…

“Mother,” Jace declared, squaring his shoulders when she wheeled on him and glared, her expression so angry it bordered on hatred.

I may never have her forgiveness for getting Joffrey killed, but that will not stop me from protecting her. From protecting all that remains of my family.

“You must pack a satchel with what you need most,” he said. “And then you and Viserys must leave Dragonstone.”

She blinked at him, her gaze not softening. “Have you gone mad?” she whispered. “Dragonstone is…”

“No longer safe,” Jace finished for her. “The Greens have the Cannibal, Vhagar, Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, and Tessarion. Seasmoke is dead. Moondancer is dead. Stormcloud is dead. Caraxes is leaving for Harrenhal, and now I must join him.”

“We have…”

“I do not trust Hugh and Ulf enough to leave your protection to them,” Jace continued. “They are rude and crass, and I have no way to discern if they are honorable men. Even I did trust them, they cannot stay here at all times because we need them to take Maidenpool. And even then, Vermithor and Silverwing are no match for The Cannibal and Vhagar combined.”

Jace was trying very diligently not to let his thoughts wander to The Cannibal.

“Your only reliable protection is Syrax,” Jace finished. “And what with their spy, the Greens will know it. It’s not safe for you and Viserys to stay here a moment longer.

Fleeing was not in Rhaenyra’s nature, and Jace could see traces of her old self re-emerging in the form of indignity…but undoubtedly, she remembered it was not merely her own safety that was in peril.

Her gaze flashed to Daemon, and he nodded. “So long a you and Syrax remain available as a last resort,” he agreed.

Rhaenyra paused for several long seconds, then sighed reluctantly. “I will leave within the hour,” she agreed. “I will fly for…”

“Don’t speak it,” Jace interrupted. “Let us know when you get there. To a trusted place, with no spies to overhear.”

She nodded, and without another word, made her way back into the castle to collect the belongings she needed for the escape.

But although Daemon had agreed with the plan, Jace could tell he was seething. It was as though he could read his stepfather’s thoughts; every one of them was etched on his face.

The Greens are killing us hand over fist.

The stole mother’s throne and twisted the minds of the lords who swore to her.

Otto Hightower’s grandson sits the throne.

They have forced us to abandon our ancestral seat. And now it will be infinitely harder to plan our counterattack.

But there was no room left in Jace’s heart for rage or indignity. Only a desperate, aching need to prevent more pain. To keep from losing anyone else he loved. Nothing else mattered anymore. Not even the throne. Victory was not worth the price they had already paid. It certainly would not be worth the cost of even one more drop of blood spilt.

Surrender, however, was no longer an option. Jace had seen Aegon’s letter, the same as the rest of them:

Your son has not been mistreated and is being kept in accordance with his station. I have no desire to see that change. For the sake of my people, I will still allow you to sue for peace, but if you will not, then understand that another murder like that of Gwayne Hightower will not go unanswered.

Allowing us to sue for peace could mean anything, Jace thought. He no longer guarantees our safety.

We must win. We must. Or more like than not, we will all share Baela’s fate…

Rhaenys

He’s controlling Vermithor much better today than yesterday, Rhaenys thought, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched Hugh Hammer circling the rock formations around Dragonstone. A small consolation, but one she clung to for dear life.

The handful of small consolations she had were the only things keeping her from walking straight into the ocean and allowing the waves to take her.

In the decades I have lived, I have seen the death of near everyone who has ever been dear to me, including my own children. And now Baela…

She choked a sob, shaking off Corlys’s hand when he came in behind her to try to console her.

I raised her, just as I raised her mother. My Laena was still alive in her. She had her mother’s spirit. Her fire. And now she’s…

Her knees gave out, and it was only Corlys’s arms that kept her from collapsing into the sand.

“I could have burned them!” she lamented. “Killed them all when I had the chance!”

And now, without her dragon, she could not even take justice. She would gladly have flown to King’s Landing to claim their charred corpses as recompense, even at the cost of her own life.

But Daemon still has his dragon…

As if reading her mind, Corlys shook his head. “Enough, Rhaenys,” he said softly. “I have borne all the consequences of my avarice that I can bear.”

She stiffened, shaking his arms off of her so she could rise to her feet. “You mean to let this stand?” she whispered lethally. “She is your granddaughter!”

“Aye, she was,” Corlys agreed. “And in one day, I lost her, 3/4ths of our ships, the Driftwood throne, and damn near everything I spent my life cultivating. I mean to conserve what little we have left.”

“Rhaena is safe, in the Vale…”

“Safe for how long, Rhaenys?” He sighed. “The Greens have five adult dragons, and amongst them is the Cannibal. How long until they attack the Eyrie for not bending the knee? How long until they kill Rhaena or abduct her?”

“Corlys…”

“We’ve lost, Rhaenys,” he insisted. Gesturing to Vermithor, he shook his head. “Vermithor and Silverwing or no, we have lost. If we bow out of the war and Rhaenyra wins, Rhaena is safe, because Daemon would never allow his daughter to be harmed.”

She scoffed. “If we bow out, Lady Jeyne’s soldiers will remain in the Vale. Daemon will have no reinforcements at Harrenhal. Rhaenyra will lose the war, and the Greens will execute us as traitors.”

“Not if we make a deal with the Greens.”

“The Greens can’t be reasoned with!” she snapped, but even as the words escaped her, she knew it was her anger talking.

The Greens have done nothing but try to reason with us since this began. How many attempts had Aegon made at peace negotiations?

So instead, she said, “Of course they desire peace. They stole the throne, and now they want us to peacefully let them have it.”

Corlys sighed again. “Rhaenys, you cannot possibly believe Rhaenyra still has a chance at victory.”

“I don’t give a sh*t if she ends up on the Iron Throne or not,” she spat bitterly, surprising even herself with the crassness. “I don’t give a sh*t if Maegor himself rises from the Seven Hells and claims it. All that matters to me is that the Greens pay for what they did to Baela.”

He flinched, stepping back away from her. “And what of Rhaena?”

Rhaenys set her jaw, then jerked her head towards where Silverwing was flying out to meet Vermithor.

“Tomorrow, you will take what is left of our ships, retrieve Lady Jeyne’s soldiers, and ferry them to help Ulf the White claim Maidenpool,” she said. “One dragon will suffice. I am sending Vermithor to the Eyrie to guard Rhaena. Daemon won’t dare say a word against it. Not if we threaten to withhold our support.”

“It’s not just Rhaena, they have…” He stopped himself, eyes flashing guiltily as he looked away from her.

It didn’t matter. Drawing back her hand, she slapped him across the face.

“They have Alyn of Hull?” she whispered lethally. “Your bastard son?”

Corlys swallowed, not saying a word, even when Rhaenys slapped him again.

“You would sacrifice your chance to avenge your granddaughter for the safety of your bastard?” she sobbed. “I wanted you to name Baela your heir years ago, but you named Rhaenyra’s bastard instead. Do the descendants I’ve given to you mean nothing?”

“They mean everything to me!” he said. “And if I believed there was a chance to avenge Baela, I would take it, but there isn’t. I will lose Rhaena, I will lose Alyn the way I lost his brother, I will lose what’s left of my ships, and I will lose you as well!”

A soft crunching of sand echoed behind them, followed by, “We don’t expect you to take the risk for no reward, Grandfather.”

They turned to see Jace standing before them, wearing a somber expression.

“I lost her too,” he whispered. “She was supposed to be my wife. I loved her.”

We may not be fighting this war if your mother had children by Laenor rather than by Harwin Strong. But she swallowed those words. Jace’s bastardy was not his fault.

“But it’s not about avenging Baela. It’s not even about the throne. It’s about preserving what we have left,” Jace insisted.

“And we cannot do that if we continue this farce of a war,” Corlys said defeatedly, but Jace shook his head.

“Mother and Daemon will never bend the knee,” Jace said somberly. “Not after the Greens killed so many of their children. And I will not abandon my mother. There are many in the realm who would still fight for their Queen. We have a chance, but we need to change our strategy, lest they keep picking us off one-by-one.”

“Jacaerys…” Corlys sighed, but Jace ignored him.

“In exchange for your continued aid,” Jace said, “Her Grace agrees to legitimize Alyn of Hull once we rescue him from Green custody. You may name him the next Lord of Driftmark, and we will marry him to Rhaena.”

Rhaenys gnashed her teeth. Corlys’s bastard inheriting Driftmark? But what choice was left? Rhaenys loved Rhaena deeply, but she was not fit to be Lady of the Tides. She was dragonless, knew nothing about sailing, and lacked her sister’s strength. She could never command a fleet of ships. However, she could manage Driftmark itself while her husband managed the fleet. Though it pained her to admit it, Alyn of Hull was a capable sailor.

And I suppose Driftmark would still pass through my bloodline. But what mattered most is that it might be enough to convince Corlys to remain a participant in the war.

“You are asking me to gamble…”

“With what you will lose anyway,” Jace countered. “You’ve seen how the Greens have treated myself and my brothers over the mere suspicion that we may be illegitimate.”

Rhaenys smothered the urge to roll her eyes. Whom exactly do you think you’re deceiving, Jace?

“Surely you don’t believe they will agree to legitimize Alyn. Not after you’ve gone to battle against them. Even if they spare you, Driftmark will not pass through your line. He will likely choose to take Driftmark away from House Velaryon altogether and give it to his own loyalists.”

They proved to be exactly the words Corlys needed to hear. Eyes flashing, Rhaenys saw a glimmer of the fearsome Sea Snake pierce through her husband’s cloud of grief.

“If I treat with them…”

“You have nothing they want, Grandfather,” Jace reminded him. “A fourth of your fleet is valuable to us, but Aegon already has four fleets of ships in the area, and he has the Lannister fleet on reserve as well. He’s already stolen your wealth. You have no value to him. But you do have value to us. And once we win and reclaim your gold from the Greens, we can start helping you rebuild your fleet so that your son has something of substance to inherit.”

Another flash appeared in Corlys’s eyes.

You must agree, husband. Our cause is lost without you…

“I will…” He gritted his teeth, drawing a deep, hissing breath. “I will ready what is left of my men. But for transportation purposes only. I will not be engaging in any further battles. I will not risk what is left of my ships.”

Jace sighed in relief. “Transportation is all we need,” he agreed. “I’ll send word to Gulltown today.”

And I will tell Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer to prepare to fly for the Vale, Rhaenys thought, her jaw set in determination.

The Next Day

Cregan

Winterfell’s hall overflowed with men and with ale. Fortunately, on this day, it overflowed with meat as well, thanks to a successful hunt the day before. The elk meant Cregan’s bannermen could all eat well today. Yet another blessing. It was difficult enough to feed the assembled men-at-arms outside of Winterfell’s gates, all of whom were waiting for the Lords to make their decision. The North had a poor harvest, and feeding thousands of soldiers was forcing Cregan to dip into Winterfell’s limited food supply.

A factor that had already been discussed at their conclave.

The Reach and Riverlands had bountiful harvests this autumn, Lord Bolton had pointed out. Far more than they need. The Greens have promised to feed us while we are south of the Neck, which will leave more food available for our people here. Furthermore, they have offered to allow us to take several wagonloads of grain back with us when we return.

True.

Not if the Greens don’t win the war, Lord Dustin had countered. If they lose and we’ve backed them, the Blacks will rightfully deem us traitors to the realm and ensure we never see a crumb.

Also true.

So you want us to support a faction who would leave us to starve, and possibly burn us as well, solely out of spite?

And on and on it went as issues in support of each side were debated. Until, of course, the raven arrived from King’s Landing, and Cregan read Otto Hightower’s letter aloud to his bannermen, starting the debate anew:

In his wisdom, our King has recommitted to correcting past errors, however well-intentioned those errors may have been.

His Grace’s great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne, is responsible for a great many wonderful advancements, of which House Targaryen takes pride. However, in her well-intentioned effort to aid the Night’s Watch…

That part of Otto Hightower’s letter had the entire hall tomb-silent, each and every bannerman hanging on Cregan’s words.

Eighty years ago, Queen Alysanne had convinced her husband that the Night’s Watch needed more land for farming and taxation, and the King had agreed, ordering Brandon's Gift, a stretch of land ranging twenty-five leagues south of the wall, to be doubled, taking the land away from Northern Lords who rightfully owned it. The “official” story stated that the lovable Queen charmed Alaric Stark into agreeing to the New Gift. The true story was that the Starks tried everything in their power to resist what they considered to be a theft from their bannermen, but to no avail. For what power did they have to fight against the Targaryen dragons?

But now…

Whether the Lords of Winter choose to lend their support to the Crown or not, this error will be rectified. Not only was the land wrongfully taken, but the Night’s Watch is too thinly stretched to properly maintain it or protect it from Wildling invasions.

His Grace has ordered an evaluation to determine how much of that land truly is critical for the Watch’s farming needs. Any land that is not deemed of critical importance will be returned to the Northern Lords from which it was taken. Any land that is deemed of critical importance will remain in the possession of the Night’s Watch, but the House from which it was taken will be compensated from the Crown’s own coffers. Any land that solely benefits the Night’s Watch with taxation income will be returned as well, as it is the duty of the Crown to provide the Night’s Watch with the coin needed to fund its operations.

We also pledge to you the support of our dragon riders in ridding the North of any Wildling invaders who have taken advantage of the Watch’s inability to maintain The New Gift. Once again, this support will be given regardless of whether or not the North supports the Crown in ending the rebellion of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. We would not presume to bribe you by giving back something that never should have been taken in the first place.

While bribery may not have been Otto’s intention, it had the same effect. The instant Cregan’s bannermen (particularly the northernmost Houses) heard that they might be getting some of their historic land back, the hall erupted in a cacophony of voices.

It was Lord Glover who seemed to sum up their opinions the most eloquently: “I don’t give a single wet sh*t WHAT silver-haired inbred sits their royal ass on some metal chair a thousand leagues away! I want my family’s land back, and I’ll fight for whoever gives it to me!”

A sentiment most of the northern-most lords were happy to echo.

The Lords from the more southern part of the Kingdom, however…

“And how do we know that King Viserys’s named heir would not offer us the same if we asked?” Lord Dustin said gruffly. “You would have us abandon our oaths without giving her a chance to match their offer?”

Umber snorted. “Why should we bother asking the Blacks when we already have a promise in hand from the Greens?”

Dustin balled his fists. “Perhaps it has escaped your memory, but more than twenty-years ago, I myself bent the knee to the then-Princess Rhaenyra. I swore an oath to her and her father. An oath I was never asked to retract!”

“Because it when you swore that oath, King Viserys didn’t have a male heir,” Bolton reminded him. “It goes without saying that when he did have one, his firstborn son would be his heir!”

And on and on it went, another cycle of arguments starting anew.

Oaths vs. Implications.

Tradition vs. Orders.

And the one that gave Cregan the greatest pause of all: Honor vs. Practicality.

“We’re not violating our duty to honor by supporting the Greens,” Lord Ryswell argued. “Because what is honorable is unclear.”

More unclear than you know, Lord Ryswell.

Because the Lord of the Rills, like all of Cregan’s bannermen, had not seen the second message the raven had carried. One that Cregan had read silently whilst his men were arguing amongst themselves, then discreetly threw into the hearth before anyone could inquire about it.

A letter that Borros Baratheon had no business writing.

Lord Stark,

His Grace the King intends to keep his promises to the North. The revised tax agreement, the food from the Reach, the reclaimed land from the New Gift…and yet you and I both know that none of it will be worth a warm bucket of piss in the long term.

I know the truth, Lord Stark. I know the reason why there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I know the reason why the Old Kings of Winter are so revered in the North. I know the reason why your bannermen will follow whatever you tell them, whether they agree with your ruling or not.

I know the reason why your ancestor, Bran the Builder, designed the Wall.

At that point, Cregan’s hands started shaking. No Southerner could possibly know that…Cregan wasn’t even sure he believed it himself, all the stories his wetnurse told him about what lurked beyond the Wall. The Others…

And Lord Stark, I know that the Wall shields the realm from more than mere Wildlings.

f*ck…How? Borros would have needed to be told the stories by someone of Northern Blood, which was unlikely because even many Northern Lords saw them as no more than ghost stories.

Rest assured, Lord Stark, between the Greens and the Blacks, it is the Greens who have more stake in honoring their promise to protect Westeros. The Greens are the blood of Old Valyria, but through our Queen Mother, King Aegon also has Westerosi roots going back thousands of years. And it will be the Greens who stand with the North should the Wall ever fail.

There was only one explanation. Viserys must have known about the promise that Aegon the Conqueror made to Torrhen Stark in exchange for his submission. The pact that one day, Fire and Ice would unite to save the realm from the threat beyond the Wall.

A pact that Aegon II, through Borros Baratheon, now promised to honor.

As the Lords of the North argued, Cregan’s mind swam. For thousands of years, the Stark name has been synonymous with honor, and so Cregan must behave with honor as well. But was it honorable to keep his father’s oath when doing so could potentially cost his bannermen the right to reclaim land that had been taken from them?

When doing so could cost his men the food and tax agreement that Aegon had promised?

When doing so could lead to thousands of innocent lives lost? The Greens were winning the war; that was undeniable. If the North sided with them, it would make the victory more decisive. But if they sided with the Blacks, even if they won, far more soldiers and smallfolk would die.

Was it honorable to (if the stories were true) cost future Northerners Targaryen support if the Wall ever fell? Cregan wasn’t certain he believed in the Others, but if there was the slightest chance that they were truly real…

Do I even know if Viserys wanted Rhaenyra to remain heir after Aegon was born? Cregan thought, folding his arms. He never asked for the Lords to renew their oaths to her after Aegon was born. And the fact that Aegon knows about the pact between Torrhen and the Conqueror indicates that Viserys might have passed the knowledge to his son. It’s entirely possible that Lord Bolton is right. That Viserys thought it went without saying that his firstborn son would succeed him.

Taking a deep breath, Cregan raised his hands, calling for silence in his hall.

“Honor…in this case…is too murky to discern,” Cregan reluctantly admitted. “We can remain in this hall until three winters come and go, and we may never determine the truth of who is the ‘rightful’ heir. And so we must do what is best for our people. And what is best for our people…is to fight for the Greens.”

Another chorus of voices erupted, some praising Cregan’s decision, the odd few grumbling in dissent, but as Borros Baratheon predicted, none of them outright refused.

“All of you have brought your fighting men here to Winterfell,” Cregan said. “Tell them what has been decided here today. For tomorrow, we march south.”

One Day Later

Robert

“Maidenpool has fallen, your grace,” Robert snarled in disgust as he read the raven from Lord Moonton aloud to the Small Council.

And after everything we did to wrest his support away from the Blacks.

“We received warnings from both Moonton and the Manderlys,” Robert continued. “Corlys Velaryon used what few ships he had left to ferry the Knights of the Vale to Maidenpool. The Manderlys tried to intercept, but they only had a handful of ships within shouting distance, and the Velaryons were guarded by the dragon, Silverwing. The Manderlys had no choice but to retreat, and Maidenpool had no choice but to surrender.”

At least the Manderlys and Sistermen have blockaded the Bay of Crabs. The Velaryon fleet is trapped. We can easily pick them off… But that would have to wait until after the Knights of the Vale were dealt with.

Aegon balled his fists, eyes flashing angrily, but surprisingly, his brother Aemond sat up straight in his chair, smirking.

“They mean to march the Knights of the Vale to Harrenhal to rendevouz with our uncle,” Aemond said. “This is excellent. We know exactly where their reinforcements are and where they’re going.”

“And that they’re guarded by a dragon,” Aegon added darkly.

“One dragon,” Aemond corrected. “Silverwing. Lord Moonton made no mention of Vermithor in his letter. Likely because the Blacks do not have enough dragons to spare.”

Aethan, granted a seat at the council by his status as a dragonrider, tentatively raised a hand, as if unsure if it was permissible for him to speak until Aegon gave him a nod.

“Your Grace,” he said. “I agree with the Prince. I heard much about Silverwing and Vermithor while I was on Dragonstone with the other seeds. Those dragons are mates. They work as a team. If the Blacks have separated them because they don’t have enough dragons to spare both, then both Silverwing AND Vermithor are going to be on uneven footing…um…wing-ing?”

Aegon raised a hand to stop him before he could make it worse. “I understand, Aethan,” he assured him. “As old and large as Vermithor is, the Bronze Fury has only seen combat once. Silverwing has never fought at all. Jaehaerys and Alysanne used them for transportation and intimidation. Inexperienced dragons with inexperienced riders who are uncomfortable being apart from each other.”

“Which will make Silverwing easy prey for Vhagar or the Cannibal…or both, if you send both of us,” Aemond agreed.

Robert ground his teeth, pondering his words. He hated the thought of sending dragons to kill Vermithor or Silverwing. In the original timeline, both Hugh and Ulf had turned cloak on the Blacks, and Robert had hopes that they might do the same now. Especially since the Greens’ position was much stronger than it was in the original timeline. But he obviously couldn’t say that.

He let his eyes linger on Aethan. It had only been a few days, but Aegon was honoring his promise to treat the dragonseed with the respect due a Targaryen dragon rider. He was polished, richly dressed, and looked like he’d grown up a castle noble. Ulf might remember him from the Sowing. He might remember that he looked like a normal commoner the last time they met.

“If I may, your grace?” Robert said, waiting for Aegon to nod. “I believe it is reasonably safe to send both Aethan and Prince Aemond on missions for the crown, but only Aethan should go to Maidenpool.”

When Aemond frowned, Robert quickly explained before the Prince could protest.

“Ulf the White is not a true Black loyalist. He has no loyalty towards Princess Rhaenyra…” he paused, nodding at Aethan, “or animosity towards us. There’s no reason to think that he can’t be swayed.”

Aethan’s eyebrows raised. “You want me to try to sway him to our side?” he asked.

Fortunately, Aegon seemed to like the idea as well, giving a half-smile. “You said it best, Aethan. Ulf the White is not going to get the lordship my half-sister promised him if she loses. Surely, he’s smart enough to see that he’s on the losing side. And if you try to sway him and fail…” He shrugged. “No harm done. The Cannibal is strong enough to annihilate Silverwing by herself.”

The idea made Aethan smile, a dangerous flash in his eyes, and he nodded with determination. “I will not fail you, Your Grace,” he swore. “I will either return to King’s Landing with a powerful war asset, or I will return with Silverwing’s skull.”

Aemond’s frown had deepened into a scowl, and it wasn’t hard for Robert to discern why.

He went down a very dark path in the original timeline, but the motivation was always to fight and win for his faction. He’s already done a great deal for us, but it must feel like he’s sitting on his hands, despite being the rider of our greatest war asset.

Luckily, Robert had a plan for him.

“One last thing, Aethan,” Robert said. “While stopping the Knights of the Vale is of critical importance, you must not venture too close to Harrenhal.”

“But if I can…”

“No, Lord Borros is right,” Aegon cut him off. “We will lay siege to Harrenhal. My uncle and his band of traitors will fall. But we will do it when every piece of the chessboard is properly in place. When we’ve weakened them sufficiently to crush them with our full strength.”

Aethan seemed to like the sound of that, because he nodded submissively and obediently said, “Your grace.”

“And as for that full strength, your grace,” Otto said, getting up to gesture to the map. “The Northerners are on the march…”

Thank the Gods. Robert did not know if it was Otto’s land offer or his own letter that swayed Cregan, and in truth, it didn’t matter. The fact that the Greens had Northern support was the only important thing. But some small, sentimental part of Robert hoped that his letter helped.

Once again, it’s you and your stories that may have saved the realm, Ned, Robert thought with a smile. All those tales you yourself believed were nonsense…and f*ck, they might be nonsense. But they might have helped sway the North to our side. And if I succeed, then your stories may just have helped me save your father, brother, and sister.

“…but it is a long journey and will require time. They have over twenty-thousand men and are requesting dragon support,” Otto finished, snapping Robert out of his musings.

Aegon opened his mouth, as if to answer, but then stopped himself, looking at Robert and quirking an eyebrow, silently asking his input.

The time has come for us to put our war assets to best use.

“The end goal,” Robert said, gesturing to the map and waving his hand above Harrenhal, “is to surround them and box them in here. The Riverlanders, the Lannisters, and Criston Cole’s men are on standby, half a day’s march from the castle. Once Silverwing and the Knights of the Vale are dealt with, we can move Cole’s men forward to box them in from the east. We’ll split the Hightower army, leaving half here to defend the city just in case, and the other half will block the Blacks from the south of Harrenhal. Then, the Northern army will be in place to block them from the North.”

“Trapped like the rats that they are,” Aegon said, smiling.

Robert nodded. “And so, your grace, now is the time to start moving the dragons. Silverwing will be dealt with tomorrow. For better or for worse, I cannot predict, but she will be dealt with. That will leave the Blacks with Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, and Vermithor. Daemon and Jacaerys cannot risk abandoning Harrenhal while we’re surrounding it; their only allies would be destroyed. So as long as we keep both Sunfyre and Dreamfyre in King’s Landing to defend it, the city will be safe.”

Aegon’s eye twitched at the mention of Dreamfyre, and Robert didn’t blame him. He didn’t like the thought of Helaena defending the city either. But she was the rider of a very large and very powerful dragon. If the city was attacked, not utilizing her simply wasn’t an option.

“Dreamfyre will patrol the city as a deterrent only,” Aegon countered darkly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

For now, Robert decided not to push. “I can’t envision an attack on the city anyway, your grace,” Robert conceded. “Not when they have no soldiers anywhere in the vicinity. Especially when we will have our allies fortifying our guard over Blackwater Bay.”

“Hmm,” Aegon agreed, turning his attention back to the map. “Daeron, you will accompany the half of the Hightower army that we send north to Harrenhal,” he said.

Daeron nodded with determination. His victory over the Gullet had helped, but the young prince was still restless. Still determined to avenge his uncle. Eager to get back into battle.

“Your kin will not fail you, your grace,” Ormund promised him. “All of our men are ready to fight for our King and avenge Gwayne.”

Aegon nodded gratefully, smiling before looking at his other brother. “Aemond, you and Vhagar will fly North to escort Cregan Stark’s army. The Northerners are going to be the largest portion of our army, and thus the most likely to be attacked. We need our most experienced war dragon guarding them.”

Exactly what I would have chosen, Robert smiled gruffly. He’s thinking strategically.

“And Aethan,” Aegon said to his newest rider. “Silverwing is your primary objective. Once she’s dealt with, I want you to fly west and protect the Westerland and Riverlander armies. If you are successful in swaying Ulf the White, then you may assign him to guard Criston Cole’s men as they surround Harrenhal from the east. If you are unsuccessful, then we will wait until we are ready to make our final strike, and I will fly to guard them with Sunfyre.”

The denials were almost immediate: Alicent, Otto, Ormund, Aemond, and Daeron all began talking at once, but Aegon stopped them with a firm glare, rising to his feet.

“Regardless of whether we secure Silverwing’s support or not, I will be participating in the attack on Harrenhal when we are ready to make it.”

Robert understood. Better than anyone in the room, he understood. You intend to win your war with your dragon, just as I won mine with my war hammer. And so when he opened his mouth, he only meant to voice his support, but Aegon shook his head before he could speak. Undoubtedly thinking Robet was going to try to talk him out of it.

“I understand the risks,” Aegon said. “Just as I understood them when I flew to Rook’s Rest. But if I am not willing to fight for my throne and my kingdom, then I don’t deserve either. I have two sons; my succession is secured. I need to do my part in ensuring I have a kingdom to leave to them.”

Robert smiled, a strange feeling of pride welling in his chest as he looked at the young king. Good for you, boy. Even in the original timeline, Aegon II had never lacked for courage or grit.

“Your grace,” Otto urged. “You’ve already fought. You defended Rook’s Rest from Vermax and Tyraxes, and…”

“And the war is not yet won, grandfather,” Aegon said decisively. “This is not up for debate. I have made my decision.”

The room fell silent, no one willing to argue with their King’s ruling, even if they didn’t agree, until Robert finally broke it, his voice booming across the chamber.

“On the morrow, then!” he agreed, but before everyone could rise to their feet, he added. “Aethan, Prince Aemond, one last thing. Well, two last things.”

Two last things that just might push us over the edge to victory…

Aemond

Bring out the damned dessert course, Aemond silently urged the servant. I want to get this over with so I can…

But he stopped the thought, chastising himself. Tomorrow morning, he was mounting Vhagar and flying off to war, this time, not returning until Harrenhal was reclaimed. Even if that meant he would be away for weeks…or permanently, if he died in combat.

Abby looked up at him, a smile on her lovely face as she daintily took a sip of wine from her cup. His betrothed deserved his full and undivided attention on this, his last night in the castle before going to war. She deserved better than a future husband who wanted to rush through the meal so he could enjoy a true farewell, sharing a bed with his brother and sister. She deserved a loving mate. It was his duty, and…

“So, dare I ask his name?” Abby asked him softly, catching him off guard.

“I’m…sorry?” he asked, but Abby only laughed.

“The boy who seems to occupy your thoughts,” she said.

Aemond frowned. “The boy who…”

But Abby shook her head, laughing again. “No need to pretend, my prince,” she said. “It’s written all over your face. You wish to spend your last night before war with the boy who has lain claim to your heart. Or perhaps it’s a girl. Either way, I know you have a lover.”

Aemond’s muscles snapped, frozen in place as a dart of fear crept down his spine. He couldn’t even open his mouth to deny it, and Abby nodded, taking it as agreement.

“Yes, I thought so,” she said. “At least it’s out in the open now. It was getting a bit silly, and it would have gotten awkward as the years rolled on.”

Finally finding his voice, Aemond shook his head vigorously. “Abby, I…”

“Be at peace, Aemond,” she encouraged. “I’m not angry. I’m not even surprised. It was obvious that you had no romantic interest in me. And I saw a lover’s kiss on your neck the other day, despite your attempts to hide it beneath your collar.”

Godsdamnit, Aegon…

He still could have denied it, played it off as a bruise he’d gotten in the training yard, but Abby was speaking again before he could find his words.

“It’s more common than you might believe, my prince,” she said kindly. “Mine own cousin, Eleanor, is wed to a man who prefers the company of other men. I began to suspect it when you showed no physical interest in me. So formal. So respectful.”

“I…I…”

Aemond didn’t think he truly preferred the company of men. Aegon was the only one to whom he was drawn. Not only that, but he was also attracted to Helaena.

But saying that would make it worse, he fretted. The best thing to do is deny it altogether.

“Aemond, I’m not naïve,” she said. “I know how the world works. You are not marrying me because you love me. How could you possibly love me? We were betrothed before we were properly introduced. It is a mutually beneficial political exchange. The Crown needs the support of the Riverlands, and my brother knows that one day, I will bear children for you. Dragon riders with Tully blood, who may marry into the royal bloodline. Quite the boon for my House.”

Aemond swallowed weakly. “Love…develops over time…” But Abby stopped him with a gentle glower.

“Sometimes political marriages result in true love,” she conceded. “They are rare, and they cannot be expected. My grandmother warned me of that when I was a little girl.”

But it is my duty to love you…

“And love can come in many different forms,” she continued. “My grandmother did indeed love my grandfather, but she never loved him romantically. They were partners. Very close friends. Family. And when he died, she grieved for him, as she would grieve for any member of her family. But throughout their entire marriage, he kept a mistress.” She looked thoughtful. “Many Westerosi men keep mistresses or visit brothels. It’s rare to find one who doesn’t.”

“Well, you have found one,” Aemond insisted, his voice finally coming stronger. “I intend to honor you as my wife, and once the vows are said…”

I will never lie with Aegon or Helaena again. But he couldn’t force himself to say them. The words tore at his heart, making his entire body tremble.

It is only the physical love I am sacrificing…the will both still love me deeply, and I will love them…just not physically…

“The vows we will recite,” Abby continued, “bind us together as partners and as family. But I don’t expect you to never enjoy physical pleasure again.”

It’s not right. It’s adultery.

Sensing his anxiety, she reached over to rub his arm consolingly. “It is merely my wish to tell you that I will not begrudge you an indulgence,” she said. “Regardless of what you decide, you will provide for me and treat me with respect, correct?”

“Of course, but…”

“You will defend me if I should ever need it? Both physically and my honor?”

“Yes, but…”

“And you are capable of lying with me often enough to provide me with children?” she continued. “Children who will be given dragon eggs, as promised?”

“Yes, I want my children to fly, but…”

“Then you will have done your duty as a husband,” she assured him. “I like the life I am building here in King’s Landing. I like my growing social group, and I like my soon-to-be sister and mother-in-law. And I am hopeful that you and I will grow to be close friends. As your wife, I will honor you by keeping your confidences, by always taking your side, and working in tandem with you to parent our children. We’re going to be family, Aemond. That is both stronger and far more important to me than any silly notion of romance.”

But…

“And in a way, it’s a relief. Many wives are forced to submit to their husbands…desires, whether it is their wish to do so or not, because duty demands it. If you sate your desires elsewhere, then I receive all the benefits of a marriage and none of the costs.”

Aemond eased back into his chair, blinking at her silently as the servants finally brought in the dessert course. Lemon tartlets that made Abby’s eyes light up with delight as she picked up her fork.

This isn’t at all what I intended when I agreed to marry her, he thought.

Aemond was never the romantic type. He knew he would have to marry politically, but he always thought that he would grow to have a loving relationship with the woman that he would one day marry.

But…

But he knew in his heart that he would never have any romantic affections for anyone but Aegon and Helaena. And she was right in that love could take multiple forms.

Love or no love, it's adultery.

Aemond sighed, reaching up to rub at his temple.

Chuckling sweetly, she waited until the servants left before saying again, “The choice is yours, my prince. It won’t pain me, I assure you. Neither one of us will get hurt if we have realistic expectations. And now I know where we stand before we are wed.”

You can’t possibly know where we stand. Even I don’t know where we stand.

“Now eat your lemon tart,” Abby said, “then go kiss the man you love for luck.”

Aemond sat frozen for several long seconds…then slowly picked up his fork to obey.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Aethan

I once swore I’d never enter such a horrible place, Aethan thought, struggling to keep his face impassive as he walked through the brothel. The sights, sounds, smells that polluted the air turned his stomach and made him simultaneously want to vomit and slam his fist against the wall, but he grit his teeth, forcing himself to do neither.

It was not the sex that repulsed him. Aethan was far from pure. Over the course of his lifetime, three women had shared his bed. But those women were friends who had lain with him by choice. A mutual exchange of pleasure to distract them from the dreadful life they led in Fleabottom.

These women, however, were not here by choice, and many were clearly only pretending to enjoy the degrading acts they were performing. They were here to scrape together a small handful of coins so they may feed themselves tonight. Some of them, more like than not, had little ones to feed as well.

Just like my mother. The thought of his kind, gentle mother in a place like this…Well, Aethan nearly lost his battle not to vomit.

f*ck you, Daemon, Aethan snarled wordlessly. f*ck you for leaving her in this hell after she gave birth to your child.

But Aethan could not surrender to his rage. He would save that for later. For tonight, he had a job to do.

He chose the young whor* very carefully from the available pool. The one he picked was a lovely young ginger, still new enough to have a lingering trace of fear in her eyes. However, she was not entirely new to the skin trade. Her scanty clothing revealed a belly with the faintest traces of silvery stretch marks.

She’s had a child, Aethan thought, his heart aching for her.

And so it was to her that Aethan extended his hand, asking for her to join him in a private room. Yet once they were alone and she started to disrobe, he grabbed her hand to stop her.

“What’s your name,” he asked her kindly.

Stunned, she blinked at him. “Brionne…” she said softly. “But good sir, I…”

“You needn’t worry, Brionne,” he assured her, reaching into his pocket to pull out a silver stag, far higher a price than what this particular establishment commanded. “I still intend to pay you, but I am not here for your body. I am here for information. And I am willing to pay another ten silver stags. Later tonight, of course. Away from here, so your brothelkeep will not see that you have it.”

Her eyes lit up, sparkling with wonder. Ten silver stags was likely more money than she had seen in her entire life.

“Information about what, good sir?” she asked.

“It’s not information I wish to buy,” he clarified. “It’s information I wish to sell.”

Aemond

“She gave you permission?” Aegon asked, eyebrows raised amusedly as he reclined on the settee in his chambers. “Well then, the matter is settled. You’ll spend your nights here with us.”

Aemond moaned sadly. “It’s not that simple, Aegon,” he said. “Nothing would bring me greater joy than to spend each night here, with you and with Helaena. But that is very clearly not what Abby had in mind. She intends for me to live with her, as part of her household, and occasionally slip away to…” He blushed. “Sate my hungers…” he muttered.

Aegon snorted. “And what does it matter if you grow hungry one night a week or seven?” he asked. “She has no romantic interest in you either.”

“But she wants it to be a mutually respectful marriage where we will be friends, parent our children together, and operate as a partnership. Slipping away every night to join you here would not make me her partner. I’d be using her as a disguise and a broodmare, and she deserves better than that. Especially with her being so understanding as to offer to allow me some degree of freedom.”

Aegon opened his mouth, closed it again, and then let his shoulders slump. “Yes, yes…I know you’re right.” He perked up hopefully. “But occasionally?” he asked. “You have permission. Surely it would not be grossly disrespectful to her to slip away occasionally.”

Aemond started to shake his head…then hesitated. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

He wanted to. Desperately. It would be a compromise. A small taste of the life he truly wanted. Slipping away from his suite with Abby a few nights a month would hardly even be noticeable, since royals did not share bedchambers with their spouses anyway.

But would even that dereliction be a failure to honor Abby as his wife?

“I don’t know, Aegon,” he repeated. “I want to…but I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a decision I can make in a single evening.”

Mercifully, Aegon did not push. Instead, he got up from the settee, walked over to Aemond, and wrapped his arms lovingly around his waist, pulling him in for a kiss. Warm and sweet, his brother’s kiss chased away all traces of anxiety. All traces of nervous anticipation about his mission tomorrow before he flew North to meet up with Cregan Stark’s army. All traces of anger or fear about the war that raged on outside of their city.

Right now, at this moment, he was in his brother’s arms. Safe. Happy. Loved. And everything was as it should be in the world.

Tomorrow, I will do my part in fighting for our family’s future. I am ready to fight. I want to fight. But for tonight, this is where I belong.

A few wonderful seconds longer, and Aegon broke their kiss, rubbing his nose sweetly against Aemond’s. “Helaena’s on her way,” he explained. “The maester predicts another week or so before she is at her most fertile, but…” He smiled, rubbing Aemond’s nose again. “You are leaving tomorrow. And we wish to give you a proper send-off.”

Aemond smiled and allowed Aegon to take him by the hand and lead him into the bedchamber, safely out of view when the door opened and Helaena arrived, escorted by her guards. She followed them in a few seconds later, looking so beautiful it sent a rush of butterflies fluttering through Aemond’s stomach.

The new robe set had been a gift from Aegon. Beneath the heavy, modest outer layer, the sleep gown itself was sleeveless, pure white, and hugged her shapely curves as it flowed gracefully down to her feet. She wore no braids or barrettes, and her long, silver hair fell to her waist in loose curls. Most wonderfully of all, she smiled happily while Aegon closed the door behind her, no trace of fear or shyness. She trusted them fully now.

“I do not wish for you to leave tomorrow,” she said, though her smile did not dim. In fact, her eyes sparkled playfully. “But…Well, you shall see.”

I shall? he wondered. It couldn’t be anything frightening or grim, not when she smiled so brightly. In fact, she even giggled, her laughter music to his ears.

Even amongst Valyrians, she well may be the most beautiful woman Westeros has ever seen…Admittedly, he may have been biased, because he knew the beautiful heart that beat within her as well.

And one day soon, she may be carrying his child. The next Queen after her.

Aemond did not hesitate to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, one she sweetly returned by kissing him softly on the lips before turning to grant Aegon one as well.

Aegon kissed her back, then gestured to the edge of the bed. “When you’re ready,” he encouraged, smiling as she nodded and went to sit in her usual spot. For although the act no longer frightened her and she trusted her brothers to move at her pace, she needed to be fully relaxed and aroused before she was ready to move on to more touching. And the best way to ensure that she was relaxed and aroused was for him and Aegon to get started first.

Though to his delight, when he seized Aegon by the waist and playfully tossed him into the bed, straddling his waist and leaning down to kiss him, he felt Helaena’s hand gently stroking his shoulder blade.

She’s growing more confident, he thought happily, bringing up a hand to rub her hip in turn.

Unfortunately, it gave Aegon the leverage he needed to hook his leg around Aemond’s waist and flip them, so now he was on his back instead. He fake-grumbled, making Aegon laugh, but it was hard to complain when his brother stripped off his own shirt, then Aemond’s, leaning down to press feather-soft kisses against his skin.

Hmmm, feels nice, he thought when Aegon sucked on one of his favorite spots, just between his neck and his shoulder. And he is my king…

And so Aemond let his eye flutter closed, allowing his brother to do as he wished.

Their ‘lessons’ together taught Aegon exactly what Aemond liked, and Aegon revisited each of his favorite spots, lavishing sucking kisses and scraping bites along his hipbones. His shoulders. Even his nipples, swirling his tongue around them before gently biting each in turn. And at one time, Aemond might have held back his moans out of shame, but no longer. Now, he allowed his voice to be heard as he panted, arching up into Aegon’s touch. Clearly, his brother did not find it shameful, not when his clothed co*ck was harder than steel, pressed against Aemond’s own.

I wonder…

It was not a position they’d ever done this in before, but Aemond felt emboldened, grabbing Aegon by his hips and tugging him forward. His brother let out a small puff of surprise, but he didn’t resist, not until he sat higher up on Aemond’s chest, one knee on either side of his face. Nor did he resist when Aemond unlaced his trousers, freeing his co*ck and giving it a long, slow lick.

“f*ck…” Aegon moaned.

Oh yes, Aemond thought, smirking as he licked his co*ck again. I like this position.

And apparently, Aegon did as well.

Flat on his back, head reclined against the pillows, Aemond allowed himself to relax as he brought Aegon’s co*ck onto his mouth, swirling his tongue along the head and sensitive underside, just as Aegon taught him. And when his brother moaned bucking his hips forward and effectively f*cking his throat, the new position spared him from choking or gagging. His hands free, he massaged up and down Aegon’s thighs before reaching back to palm his ass, squeezing each cheek in his hand and making his brother moan louder.

Take what pleasure you will from me, my king, Aemond encouraged, doing his best to suck while Aegon continued to thrust. You are beautiful like this.

It was of no surprise that Aegon quickly reached his end, tugging on Aemond’s hair to give him a warning before he came. But Aemond didn’t pull back, cupping Aegon’s ass and anchoring him in place as he swallowed.

Just a bit of salt. The taste doesn’t bother me as it once might have.

While Aegon panted, resting his hands on the headboard as the last waves of pleasure coursed through him, Aemond opened his eye to look at Helaena, pleased to see that she had enjoyed the performance. Pupils wide. A light flush across her face and collarbone. Her breathing just a bit labored.

I wonder…she is growing more confident…Usually, they took care of her far more gently, allowing her to rest on her back, comfortable against the pillows while they took turns giving her pleasure. But if she was growing more comfortable…

Aemond reached over and stroked her thigh, enjoying the way she leaned into his touch. “Would you like to take his place?” he offered, smiling at her in what he hoped was a sultry way.

And he was glad he did. For although she blushed, chin tucking, he saw the answer in her eyes. Yes. And Aegon very clearly saw it too.

Grinning, Aegon recovered, eased off of Aemond, and then kissed her, whispering a promise in her ear of how good it would feel. He waited until she nodded, then helped her ease into his former position, with one of her silken smooth legs on either side of Aemond’s face.

And Aemond’s chest swelled with pride when her soft moans of pleasure began the second he slipped his tongue between her warm, slick folds.

Once again, he marveled at the difference between a woman’s body and a man’s. Pleasing her, swirling and flickering his tongue, was far easier, especially on his back where his neck would not be strained. Her taste was far more pleasant, a sweet nectar that he’d grown to crave. And when she came, crying out as her core throbbed beneath his tongue, Aemond knew he did not need to stop, continuing to work his tongue to bring her to pleasure once again.

But best of all, his new position allowed him an excellent view as Aegon helped to satisfy her as well.

He’d started slowly, kissing her lips, then her neck, but now he gently removed her sleep gown, freeing her breasts and exposing them to Aemond’s view. Usually shy, she preferred to keep them covered, but now she gave no protest, shivering with delight as Aegon cupped them in his hands, gently squeezing and lapping his tongue along her nipples.

She’s beautiful…and f*ck, he’s beautiful too…

After her second climax, Aemond was prepared to continue, but Aegon stopped him by gently tapping him on the shoulder. He obeyed, watching as Aegon kissed her neck again.

“Would you like to try staying on top?” Aegon whispered to her as he continued to massage her breasts. “Riding him is a different experience altogether. It puts the power in your hands, and it lets him far deeper inside.”

The thought had Aemond’s already-hard co*ck twitching against his belly…twitching harder still when she nodded in agreement, far too lost in bliss to feel shy or nervous any longer.

Aegon showed her how to position herself, whispering erotic instructions as she slowly lowered herself onto his co*ck, and Aemond threw back his head, moaning at the feeling. But he remembered his lessons from the times Aegon had ridden him.

Offer extra support by holding her hips. Not too tight; give her room to move. But the support will make her feel sturdier and let her ride you more easily.

As always, Aegon was right.

She started slowly, wet and tight from two climaxes, unsure of how to hit the exact angle, even with Aegon guiding her. Then, when she found it, her eyes snapped open, hands resting against Aemond’s chest for support as she panted.

Pleasure coursed through Aemond’s veins as he watched, immediately grateful for every lesson on longevity. His view was unimpeded as she rode him slowly at first, then faster, driving his co*ck against the spot deep within her that made her moan. The curve of her hips against his hands overwhelmed him, and like with Aegon, he reached back to cup her ass, helping drive her down deeper still. And f*ck, she was so wet…so tight against his co*ck…

Thankfully, Aegon saw that he was about to cum and helped him, gently pressing his thumb against the base of Aemond’s balls to keep him from climaxing too quickly.

Good…good…yes, her first…

Mercifully, it did not take long. Oversensitive from two climaxes, the dual feelings of Aemond’s co*ck inside of her and Aegon’s lips on her neck quickly sent her over the edge yet again, making her cry out as she grew so tight it made Aemond moan as well. Only then did Aegon let him cum, allowing him to release inside of her for the first time, his vision clouding as he thrust his hips upward.

They took a moment to recover, panting, Aemond growing soft inside of her, but he quickly noticed that Aegon had taken himself in hand, the sight of their lovemaking arousing him again. Gently swatting his hand away, Aemond took over the task himself, wanting Aegon to join them in their bliss. It didn’t take long, a few strokes at most, and then all three of them detangled themselves, collapsing into a sweaty, sticky mess before Aegon quickly grabbed the wet cloths that he had waiting on the nightstand, taking care of all three of them so they could sleep comfortably, then kissing each of them in turn.

Could tonight have possibly been the night? Aemond wondered as he pulled Helaena into his arms, Aegon spooning him from behind. The night where the three of us created our future child?

Perhaps. Or perhaps it would not happen until Aemond returned to King’s Landing, after the war was won and the realm was safe. But it would happen. He knew it in his heart.

I have no idea what I will decide after I marry Abby, he thought, eye closing as he began to drift off into a contented sleep. But come what may, I will always have this. I will always have this memory. All the memories of the three of us together. As we should be…

Aethan

The night had been long and sleepless. He’d needed to meet with more than a dozen people, and pinkness had begun coloring the night sky, but at last, his efforts had borne fruit. A small pouch of silver sat in front of him, and Aethan did not hesitate to grab it, stuffing it into his pocket while Mysaria penned a letter as quickly as she could write.

“Another pouch on the morrow when your information proves accurate,” Mysaria promised him, blowing on the letter to dry the ink. “I will admit, this was not what I expected of the King’s newest dragon rider.”

Aethan snorted. “You think I’d be loyal to whichever c*nt wants to call himself king?” He laughed. “You and I know better than that. Their power is naught but an illusion. A ruse to keep people like us in the gutter where we belong. What do I care if the Greens and the Blacks tear themselves apart? Certainly not enough to risk my life to be part of their little blood feud. Not more than I needed to be.”

He patted the silver in his pocket. “What matters to me is that I get to take my dragon across the Narrow Sea, buy myself a manse with the profits I have earned, and live a long and happy life as a wealthy man. And if that means selling the secrets that Aegon was fool enough to share with me in the first place?” Aethan shrugged. “That’s on his head.”

“A head that will soon be on a spike outside of the Red Keep,” Mysaria said, smirking in grim satisfaction as she rolled the letter, opened up her raven’s cage, then affixed it securely. “What you have just told me has saved the Rogue Prince’s life. The King’s Firefly has killed all of my other informants in the castle.”

Aethan waited patiently until Mysaria released the bird into the sky, still dark enough to disguise his feathers from any lookouts who might be on the watch. Only once he knew it was too late for the White Worm to order the bird killed with an arrow did he speak again.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me,” he mused softly as he balled his fist, concentrating as hard as he could, praying it would be enough.

“I remember you,” she assured him calmly. “It was hard to miss the parading of the dragon heads. I never did learn the identity of the tiny green one.”

“A wild dragon from Dragonstone,” he lied. “But I don’t mean from the parade. I meant from before.”

She frowned, quirking an eyebrow. “Before?”

Aethan laughed darkly. “I suppose I’m not surprised; we never officially met, after all.” He gestured towards his clothing, elegant finery worthy of a Targaryen dragon rider. “And what a difference a bath and new clothes can make. Until very recently, I was filthy, wearing rags and fleas. More than half-starved as well.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can tell you are a dragon seed. You look a great deal like the Rogue Prince himself.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Perhaps if you do not remember me, you remember my mother? Jaylene?”

Her eyes lit up, and she offered him a sympathetic smile. “Jaylene. Yes, I remember her. You are her son from her night with Daemon. That explains why you hate the nobles. The son of a whor* who died because of the appalling conditions House Targaryen allowed to exist within their own city.”

He forced his face to remain impassive. “Oh?” he asked calmly. “Is that what you remember?”

Mysaria realized her mistake immediately. Or perhaps she saw the flash of rage in his eyes, because she screamed for her guards, but Aethan was too fast, quickly punching her in the face, and then running to bar the door, granting himself a few extra seconds.

“Do you remember that your beloved Rogue Prince demanded a maiden to deflower, and so you found her for him? Made a whor* of an innocent fifteen-year-old girl because she had Valyrian blood and you knew Daemon would enjoy that?”

“GUARDS!” she screamed, recovering from the punch and scrambling to her feet. But it was no use. The barred door would not easily splinter.

“Do you remember serving her to him? Do you remember how she fell in love with him, but his interest in her did not extend beyond a single night? Do you remember calling her unworthy the next day, when she asked to see him again? To you remember that you were the madame that employed her, barely paying her enough so that she could eat?”

Snarling with rage, Aethan drew back his fist and slammed it into her nose yet again.

“Do you remember that the whor*s in your employ used to call you ‘Lady Misery’?”

“The royals and their lusts!” Mysaria spat a wad of bloody phlegm. “All royals. All nobles since before the days of the Conqueror. All of them use and discard pretty whor*s. I treated mine far better than most brothelkeeps. If not at my establishment, Daemon would have found his pure maidens at another.”

Aethan nodded grimly. “You’re right. I cannot avenge every whor* my father hurt. Not yet. But I can avenge my mother.”

The door splintered just as Aethan drew a knife from his hip and plunged it into Mysaria’s stomach, aiming for her gut, not her liver as he had with Nettles. She did not deserve a quick death. Not after all the misery she had brought into the lives of those around her. Not after she chose to serve the Blacks. Not after she chose to remain loyal to Daemon.

“Oh,” he said to her as the guards began ripping away chunks of the door to get inside. “And you did not save the Rogue Prince.”

When Daemon received Mysaria’s letter, he would believe that Vhagar and Tessarion were on their way to Harrenhal to kill him on the morrow. He would undoubtedly ensure that Harrenhal was well defended and ready for the attack.

An attack that would never come.

Aethan tried to leave through the window…only to find it barred, offering him no escape as the guards finally got into the room, drawing their weapons. But fortunately, he didn’t need it. Not when a dragon’s roar pierced the through the early dawn outside, making the men jump.

As they had planned, the Cannibal had remembered his signal, tracking Aethan’s rage and feasting upon it as he circled the sky above Mysaria’s hideout.

“Gentlemen,” Aethan said. “That’s my dragon. You have all seen him circling the city. You know his size. You know what he can do. If I am killed or abducted, he will reduce the streets of King’s Landing to ashes, starting with this building.”

A bluff. He was not certain he could accomplish such a feat from the ground, even if the Cannibal could track him. But what mattered was that it was a convincing bluff.

He pointed to where Mysaria screamed in agony on the floor.

“That wound is lethal. There is no way for you to save her. Are you loyal enough to burn to death to avenge her?” he asked calmly. “Or would you prefer that I collect her head and be on my way? You can steal what wealth remains in this house and vanish into the streets. No one will ever come looking for you. It’s her that we wanted.”

Above them, the Cannibal roared again, and not a single man hesitated, turning on the spot and running back out of the room. One dropped a thin, crude sword in his haste to make his escape. Longer than Aethan’s dagger, it would be perfect for the task that lay ahead.

Grabbing it, he loomed over Mysaria, and with a few hacking motions, severed her head from her neck.

And so dies my father’s last ally in King’s Landing.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Robert

So begins the end, Robert thought wistfully, watching from the window as his plans simultaneously went into motion.

He watched as Aemond politely bid farewell to Abby Tully, kissing her hand like the gallant prince he was. Robert silently praised himself for helping to orchestrate the match. In the original timeline, Aemond had become entangled with Alys Rivers, a woman at least twice his age. No shame in that (Robert had bedded a great number of women older than himself during his youth), but the stories hinted there might be something off about their relationship. Perhaps witchcraft. Perhaps his madness drove him down his dark path that made him crave a maternal figure. Either way, it was bizarre.

But now he is set to marry a beautiful woman who is both his own age and of noble birth, Robert thought, nodding in satisfaction. It shall be an excellent match.

Fully armored, Aemond knelt before his King and Queen and uttered something that Robert couldn’t hear, then rose to his feet again when Aegon gave the order. Even from the window, Robert could see the look of fierce determination on his face, the exposed scar and sapphire eye adding an extra touch of ferocity.

Go off and collect your pound of flesh, Robert silently encouraged. But this time, you’ll do it strategically. As a prince, not as the Terror of the Trident.

Aemond would be heading north to guard Cregan Stark’s army, but he would be taking a detour on his way there, which is why when he climbed into Vhagar’s saddle, two dozen Hightower soldiers climbed up behind him, attaching themselves safely to her rope netting.

After Aemond bid his farewell, it was Daeron’s turn. Clad in his armor once again, he and Ormund Hightower knelt before Aegon and Helaena as well, uttering what had to be promises not to fail their King. Aegon gave them permission to rise, and they turned from him, with Daeron making his way to Tessarion and Ormund making his way to where half of the Hightower army was assembled and ready to march.

I’m glad he lived, Robert thought as he watched Ormund leave. In the original timeline, Ormund was a capable leader, and if not for his untimely death, Prince Daeron’s host might have arrived at King’s Landing in time to overthrow Rhaenyra, which would have left the Greens with three adult dragons to guard the city until Aegon returned from Dragonstone, ultimately winning them the war.

But Ormund had died, and the duty of leadership had fallen to that blundering fool, Hobert. Thankfully, Robert had ensured that Hobert would not be f*cking anything up this time around. He had requested that Hobert be left at home, pacifying him with a letter:

Oldtown’s safety is of the utmost importance to us, Lord Hobert, Robert had written, rolling his eyes. And so our King understands completely why you must remain behind to defend it now that Ormund and so many Hightower soldiers are coming to our aid.

Hobert would have an easy time defending it; Robert couldn’t fathom a situation where the Blacks would attack it. Hobert would spend the war sitting on his worthless ass, out of everyone’s way.

Or maybe he won’t be worthless, Robert mused. Maybe that whole mess with the Tarly girl can be avoided now, what with Ormund alive and Hobert in Oldtown.

But as important as Aemond and Daeron were, Aethan may be the most important of the three dragon riders taking to the skies today.

His armor was ready, and it had been worth the cost. Unremarkable and black as pitch, it perfectly matched The Cannibal’s scales, rendering Aethan almost invisible on his back. Up close, though, one could see the small Targaryen dragon sigil on his chest, outlined in solid gold. Aegon had even given the armorer three emeralds to use for the dragon’s eyes. The gold and emeralds marked Aethan as one of the Greens for the world to see.

Hopefully, he will draw strength from it, Robert thought. We’re effectively sending him to fight an army by himself.

As Robert watched Aethan kneel before Aegon, a clacking sound echoed through the hall behind him, and he turned in time to see Larys Strong striding towards him, cane in hand.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Larys said as he came to join Robert in the widow, gesturing towards Aethan with his chin. “From the gutter to the skies.”

“Indeed,” Robert agreed, watching as Aethan turned and made his way towards The Cannibal. “A stroke of luck on our part.”

“Luck indeed,” Larys mused, watching in silence for a few seconds longer. “We have him to thank for the Velaryon fortune that rests in the King’s vaults…and for the White Worm’s head that decorates a spike outside the Keep.”

“Don’t be modest, Lord Strong. It was your careful planning that got us her head,” Robert reminded him. “And it was your network that helped us identify the brothel that would best lead to the chain reaction of getting Aethan in a room with the White Worm.”

And now Daemon thinks we’re going after him at Harrenhal…which hopefully, should keep him there while we get the pieces into place.

“Aye,” Larys agreed. “But the plan depended on Aethan himself. Mysaria would not trust that any other in the King’s inner circle might be willing to betray him.”

“Hmm,” Robert grunted. “Well, it was a team effort.”

Larys smiled, though it didn’t reach his beady eyes. “Yes, a team effort,” he agreed. “Aethan even shared the glory when he returned to the Keep with her head in a sack, giving me credit for my network.”

You collected a sizable purse as well, Robert thought. Aegon split the bounty between you and Aethan, not that you needed it.

Of course, Aethan hadn’t complained. After spending his life with so little, the new wealth he was being given was still overwhelming to him. Even if Aegon never gave him another penny, he was a wealthy man now.

“Though I do find it a bit curious…” Larys said innocently. Far too innocently. Robert recognized that tone immediately. It was the same faux-innocence Cersei always used when she was trying to veil a threat or vicious insult.

And it set Robert’s teeth on edge.

“It’s so uncanny that Aethan was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time,” Larys said. “For the safety of the King, I had my network investigate his past, and I received some conflicting reports. Some witnesses seem to believe Aethan was here in King’s Landing even after the Velaryon blockade was enacted, whereas in his version of events, he arrived there before.”

f*cking hell, Robert silently cursed. He would need to word this carefully. Larys was Aegon’s Master of Whisperers, and according to the stories, he was damned good at it. At least as good as Robert’s own Master of Whisperers had been.

“Guess that’s why your reports are conflicting,” Robert agreed. “How could he have gotten to Driftmark afterwards? No ships were able to sail in or out of Blackwater Bay.”

Larys nodded slowly. “How indeed?”

“Surely you are not suggesting the boy is secretly a Black?” Robert said dryly. “The Hightowers were there with him when he burned Driftmark and stole the Velaryon fortune. He burned a third of their fleet, which was Rhaenyra’s greatest war asset aside from the dragons. No Black spy would ever take it that far.”

Larys laughed, a sound every bit as fake as his innocence. “Of course not, Lord Borros. Aethan’s loyalty is beyond question. I merely find it curious.”

Go be f*cking curious somewhere else.

“Could you imagine if the stray reports were correct?” Larys said incredulously. “That would mean that Aethan arrived on Driftmark weeks or even days before the Princess Rhaenyra started recruiting dragon seeds. Exactly the right place at exactly the right time.”

He looked at Robert innocently. “Almost as if someone knew the Sowing was going to happen and arranged for him to be there.”

Robert balled his fist. If I were to throw him out of this window, I could easily convince everyone that he had an unfortunate trip and fell before I could save him.

Instead, Robert narrowed his eyes in faux confusion. “How in the Seven Hells could anyone predict Princess Rhaenyra would be stupid enough to give dragons to smallfolk?” he asked incredulously.

He had him. The tiniest crack appeared in Larys’s polished façade. Just long enough for Robert to catch a flicker of doubt and confusion.

But this could be bad. If Larys had started uncovering loose threads, he might just start to tug at them.

And what’s he going to discover? He couldn’t possibly know the truth, and even if he did, who could he possibly tell without being branded as a madman?

Nonetheless, Robert would need to keep a watch on him. He still had no idea whether or not Larys was truly loyal to Aegon, and if he was asking inconvenient questions, the reward of keeping him around might not outweigh the risks.

Killing him might be safest for everyone…But if Robert went around lopping the head off every snake in King’s Landing, soon Aegon would have no one to rule.

“Curiosities aside, Lord Strong,” Robert said, “the important thing is that we win the war to ensure our King’s long and prosperous reign. And so far, Aethan has given us no reason to mistrust him.”

“Hmm,” Larys agreed. “I suppose you’re right on that, Lord Borros. We shall have to keep a watch on him to ensure that continues.”

And I shall have to keep a watch on you.

But for now, he watched as three dragons took off into the air. From the window, he could see Aegon’s face. Cool and impassive; a King amongst his subjects. But he suspected Aegon’s true heart mirrored Helaena’s. The Queen was dressed regally in an elegant gown of powder blue trimmed with white. She wore her consort’s circlet as well, something she seldom did. But her regality could not hide the worry in her eyes. Two of her beloved brothers were flying off to war. A war where they would likely encounter other dragons.

A war where many will die, Robert thought grimly. But he had given the Greens a strong chance at victory, all the while being reasonably sure that he had not prevented any of his loved ones from being born.

I will still ensure Cregan meets Black Aly. And while I cannot be certain, I do not believe I prevented Jon Arryn, from being born, either. I do not believe Lady Jeyne would risk the life of his forebearer by sending him to Maidenpool. She was fond of him.

Perhaps he had affected the Lannister line. Aegon had no need for the Lannister fleet, and with the Riverlanders support, the Lannisters were able to leave some of their army behind in Lannisport to keep it safe. It was unlikely that Dalton Greyjoy would attack, as he had in the original timeline. So perhaps, perhaps, he had the unplanned bonus of altering the Lannister lineage enough to prevent Cersei’s birth.

Oh, who the f*ck am I kidding? Robert snorted. Knowing Cersei, she’d find a way to be born just to spite me.

Rhaenyra

Your tears will dry in time, Rhaena, Rhaenyra thought as she watched her stepdaughter fall to her knees, arms wrapped around her chest as she sobbed inconsolably, even as her handmaidens flocked to her side.

“Baela…” she sobbed mournfully, tears streaming down her face.

Rhaenyra did her duty as a stepmother and a Queen. She went to Rhaena’s side, rubbed her back, and offered her kind words as consolation, swearing that Baela would be avenged, though the words gave Rhaena little comfort.

And Rhaenyra could not bring herself to care.

Have I grown into such a monster? she wondered, some small echo of the girl she once was crying out in outrage. But whether or not it made her a monster, it was the truth.

My unborn daughter is dead, killed while she still slumbered in my womb because of what the Greens did to me. Lucerys is dead, his last moments fraught with terror. Joffrey was murdered, a ten-year-old boy who fell from the sky when all he wanted was to bravely fight to defend his mother. And now my sweet little Aegon, scarcely more than a babe, is in my brother’s clutches. Gods only know what they are doing to him…if he still lives.

There was not even the slightest scrap of room in her heart to feel empathy for Rhaena’s pain. And so she left her to be comforted by her handmaidens while she followed her cousin, Jeyne Arryn, into her study to meet with her privately.

“I did not expect you to honor your pledge to protect the Eyrie with dragon support to quite this extent, cousin,” Jeyne remarked as she looked out the window to where Syrax and Vermithor flew.

Syrax did not like the Bronze Fury, and she refused to fly in tandem with him while he circled the mountains. Instead, she was attempting to hunt a small flock of mountain goats, but to Rhaenyra’s aggravation, her dragon was struggling and had only managed to catch one so far.

I’ve overfed her, she lamented as she scowled. Syrax never hunted, and she had grown more than a bit lazy. Even flying here to the Vale, her beautiful dragon was much more sluggish than she had been twenty years ago.

She’s not even forty years old yet. She’s still a young dragon. If she is growing sluggish already, it is because I have allowed her to become soft.

No more. Syrax was the dragon of the Queen. She would be fierce, fearless, and svelte. She would hunt for her own meals. She would be formidable in the sky.

And perhaps any future enemies will rightfully tremble, rather than attacking the few loved ones that remain to me.

“How troubling to have a spy on Dragonstone in the middle of a war,” Jeyne said, shivering. “You should have come here weeks ago, cousin. I’ve had my share of struggles holding power over the Vale, but not to the extent that my secrets would be sold to my enemies. You are welcome to remain here until Prince Daemon has made Harrenhal safe to use as your base of operations.”

Rhaenyra smiled at her regally. A forced expression that she hoped was not readily apparent. “It warms my heart that there are so many in the Seven Kingdoms still loyal to me,” she said. “With the Knights of the Vale at our side, we will secure our hold over the Riverlands and force the Tullys to bend the knee. Then, once the North finally remembers their honor and joins us, we shall band together and reclaim the throne that my brother has stolen from me.

Jeyne reached over to give Rhaenyra’s hand a supportive squeeze. “It will be a battle for much of your life,” she warned. “Forcing the men around you to accept a woman’s rule. But it can be done. Once they fear you.”

The Greens are not going to fear me; they are going to die. Root and stem. And hopefully, once their heads were mounted on spikes outside the Red Keep, it would deter any would be rebels from rising up against her in the future.

Yet another reason Aegon’s children need to die.

Despite Daemon’s wishes, she was not going to allow them to be tortured. The elder Greens would feel the pains of the Seven Hells, but not the children. It was unnecessary. Making examples of them would be sufficient without gratuitous pain. No one would ever dare attack her and her family again if they knew their children would pay the price of their treason.

Though, of course, that was only the official explanation that she was going to give to justify the act.

“That’s what it all comes down to,” Rhaenyra mused softly as she watched Syrax fly. “That I’m a woman. They believe my lack of a co*ck somehow renders me incapable of ruling. Were I a man, I never would have been usurped.”

Jeyne nodded. “An absurd system,” she agreed. “I never understood it. What difference does a co*ck make? And yet somehow, men think that having one entitles them to rule.”

She snorted. “My brother is entitled to nothing. He is worth no more than any other second son in Westeros. He was born solely to be my spare in case some ill fate befell me. Yet despite being entitled to nothing, he would have lived a life of wealth and comfort…with a dragon. All of them have dragons and wealth and luxury. But it was not enough. Because I am a woman and he is a man, he chose to help himself to what is rightfully mine.”

And the happiness that is rightfully mine as well, she thought as she glowered. Married with three beautiful, healthy children. He has never known a day of grief or pain in his life, despite the mountain he has bestowed upon me.

But he would. When his own children were beheaded whilst he was forced to watch. When his stolen throne was ripped away from him. When his allies were burned. When he had nothing left but pain and misery, then he would at last understand the agony he had inflicted upon her.

All to sate his greed and his envy.

“A few men tried to do the same to me, claiming I was too soft to rule,” Jeyne mused with an evil smile. “I wonder if they have retracted their views. I have not been to the sky cells for quite some time.”

The thought of Aegon shivering and terrified in a sky cell pleased her…until a shout from a lookout snapped her out of her fantasy.

“ENEMY DRAGON!”

Aemond

The Bronze Fury, Aemond thought, gritting his teeth as Vermithor came into view, roaring at Vhagar. He was not supposed to be here. There’s nothing here for him to guard…

And then he saw it: a yellow dragon fleeing from the mountains, heading for the safety of the Eyrie.

Syrax. Rhaenyra was here, at the Eyrie. She must have fled Dragonstone, knowing that her fat, lazy dragon was not enough to guard the island.

I can end the war, he thought, jaw set in determination as he gripped Vhagar’s reins. Here and now, I can end the war. I can set the castle afire. I can kill Rhaenyra and save my family. Whatever support the Blacks have at Harrenhal, they will not fight for the sake of putting Jace on the Iron Throne.

And all that stood in his way was Vermithor.

Silently, he cursed that he had brought Hightower soldiers with him. He knew Borros was right to insist that he bring them. There was no point in claiming the Eyrie if he left no one behind to hold it. But now they were excess weight, and Vhagar was already likely to be slower than Vermithor.

But there’s nothing that can be done about it. I don’t have time to deposit them somewhere, and if I do, Vermithor will only burn them. We fight as we are.

And so with a fearsome war cry, Aemond bellowed at the top of his lungs “Angōs!”

She is the veteran of a hundred battles, Aemond thought as Vhagar roared, her fury blazing in Aemond’s own chest as she targeted their enemy. Vermithor is the veteran of but one. I have to guide her and trust in her experience.

Rhaenyra

Impossible, Rhaenyra stared at the sky, wide-eyed, as Vhagar grew larger and larger over the horizon. How…

She had come here to be safe from the spy. How could the Greens have known she was here so soon after her arrival?

Hugh Hammer? No…the spy began his work before the seeds were sown.

It can’t be Lady Jeyne. She has sent the knights of the Vale to fight for me. Or were they fighting for her? Were the knights on their way to ambush Daemon? No…no, she would have killed me by now, or taken me hostage.

The Velaryons…It had to be the Velaryons. It was Rhaenys who had sent Vermithor here to guard the Eyrie…

A theory that crumbled beneath her feet when Vhagar reached Vermithor, evading his flames and lashing out with her talons to slash a tear into one of his wings.

Rhaenyra watched, transfixed in awe as the two great beasts roared and breathed their fire. Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world. Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, smaller than Vhagar but still a monstrous behemoth. It was as if the gods themselves had waged war upon one another.

And Vhagar was winning.

Vermithor earned his moniker, fierce and fearless in his assaults, even landing a bite to Vhagar’s tail that drew blood before he was forced to release her, lest his rider be burned. But Vhagar…she was something else entirely. A master of her colossal size, Vhagar’s movements were clipped and efficient, not expelling a single drop of energy on unnecessary flairs or embellishment. Defense and offense in perfect harmony. Whereas Vermithor…

Why is he leaving his flank unguarded? Rhaenyra stared in horror as another long, bloody slash appeared amongst Vermithor’s bronze scales. Why didn’t he dodge? He…Oh no…

Separating Vermithor and Silverwing had been a mistake. A potentially lethal mistake. Vermithor had not guarded his own flank because he was accustomed to having Silverwing there to guard it for him, serving as his defense while he served as her offense. An unbeatable team…that was damn near useless when the team was splintered.

Vermithor cannot win without her… When Vhagar snapped at him yet again, her aim was true, catching the edge of his wing and snapping it off in her jaws. Only the tip, not enough to send him plummeting for the mountains below, but enough to cause him to jerk in the air, his flight pattern slow and off-kilter as he struggled to stay airborne.

He’s going to die… And Hugh Hammer knew it.

“YIELD!” the common tongue command echoed through the sky as he desperately guided his dragon away from Vhagar. “Obūljarion!”

The High Valyrian word was badly butchered, but Rhaenyra recognized it still. Surrender.

Coward, she cursed him. Coward. Coward. You f*cking coward! This was the cost of the dragon. To fight and die for your Queen!

Hugh Hammer guided Vermithor away from the Eyrie into the mountains, and Aemond followed after him. To kill him or accept his surrender, Rhaenyra didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

Lady Jeyne turned to Rhaenyra, eyes wide with panic.

“Mount Syrax, my Queen, and flee,” she commanded, gesturing to where Syrax landed in the courtyard, fearfully looking up to where Vermithor and Vhagar fled. “He will return.”

She swallowed, nodding. “Viserys…”

Lady Jeyne shook her head, grabbing Rhaenyra by the elbow and guiding her to Syrax. “He is in the nursery on the other side of the castle. Even my swiftest guard would never make it there and back in time.”

Rhaenyra planted her feet, yanking her arm out of Jeyne’s grip. “I will not abandon my son!” she cried. “I will leave with him or not at all!”

“Then you will both die, my Queen!” Jeyne snarled, grabbed Rhaenyra again and forcing her forward with a strength she did not imagine her cousin possessed. “If he catches you here, he will have no cause to spare either one of you. He shall kill you and your son both. If you dally, he shall catch you in the sky and kill you both.”

A stab of pain pierced Rhaenyra’s heart. They do not hesitate to send children falling from the sky…

“But if you flee, now, you may be able to escape him,” Jeyne insisted. “Syrax is smaller; she may be swift enough to get you to safety before he returns.”

“My son…”

“We will defend him until the last man falls,” Jeyne swore. “If we fail, your brother will more like than not take him as a hostage. If you are alive, he has motivation to spare his life as well.”

Even as Jeyne’s words rang true in her ears, Rhaenyra shook her head, tears flowing down her cheeks. “My son…” she cried weakly.

“The best way to save his life is to save your own,” Jeyne said grimly. “To live to fight another day. To live to avenge the sons who have already been taken from you.”

Not caring that it was unqueenly, Rhaenyra burst into sobs and made one last effort to rip herself from Jeyne’s grip and tear through the castle, screaming madly for her son, but Jeyne did not release her, dragging her outside to where Syrax awaited her.

“Go!” Jeyne cried. “Go! Flee! Now! He’s coming back!”

And so he was. Vhagar’s massive silhouette appeared once again over the mountaintops, roaring victoriously. Fierce and reasonably uninjured.

My son…

But Jeyne was right. Rhaenyra could not retrieve him. If she lingered, Aemond would burn the entire castle to roast her and her son alive within its walls. But if she fled, if she survived, Aemond would have motivation to spare Viserys’s life.

And so she climbed onto Syrax’s back, screaming like a wounded animal as her dragon took to the sky, flying as fast as she could fly away from the approaching war dragon. For a brief, fanciful moment, Rhaenyra entertained the thought of turning to fight.

Syrax is younger, smaller, and faster…Or was she? Even now, afraid for her life, she felt her dragon’s sluggish movements beneath her.

Is this the cost of my complacency? I overfed her and prioritized her comfort and luxury over allowing her to be a dragon. And now she cannot fight. I am not certain if she can even escape.

But she did. Sluggish though she may be, Syrax was still fast enough to evade the war dragon who was more than three times her size and weight. Aemond didn’t even try to follow, allowing Rhaenyra to escape while he circled back around to the Eyrie, where Viserys innocently played in the castle nursery.

I will save him, Rhaenyra vowed as she cried. I will win this war. I will save him. And I will have Aemond tortured to death for daring to take him hostage.

But for now, she needed to seek refuge. Where she would seek refuge, she had no clue. She could not return to Dragonstone. Even without the spy, they would know to look for her there. She could not go to Driftmark. It still smoldered from the Cannibal’s flame. Harrenhal was surrounded by enemies. She had no allies to the North, to the West, or in the South.

I must journey to Harrenhal, she thought. Lunacy, for a Queen to take refuge in a castle that was about to be attacked, but she had no choice. I have nowhere else to go and nothing but the clothes on my back. Everything else needed to be left behind.

Everything else had been stolen by the Greens.

Aemond

I believe she remembers this, Aemond thought, internally smiling, even while he wore an expression of ferocity. But he could not resist giving Vhagar’s neck a loving pat as she roared victoriously in the Eyrie’s courtyard. Just like she once had with Queen Visenya.

Of course, Visenya had taken the castle bloodlessly. Aemond was not so fortunate.

Vhagar had no choice but to burn the archers, the scorpions, and the men-at-arms that waited in the courtyard. Lady Jeyne Arryn simply did not have enough men to guard the Eyrie from a dragon, and so she had no choice but to raise the white flag after the scorpions burned and her men-at-arms were dead, lest everyone in the castle be burned alive. Only then did Aemond land Vhagar in the courtyard and allow the Hightower soldiers to dismount, quickly setting to work apprehending the nobles and guards, killing any who resisted.

Dismounting himself, Aemond rested his hand on his sword and strode forward to where Lady Jeyne waited, her hands and feet bound in shackles.

“Vermithor is not returning to save you,” he said icily, his sapphire eye unnerving those around him, who could not bear to look at his face. “He is licking his wounds in the mountains. The dragon seed, Hugh Hammer, bent the knee in exchange for his own life, and he has sworn to fight for Aegon in exchange for wealth and his own keep.”

An easy sell. He knows Rhaenyra is losing. And fortunately, we are flush with gold with which to pay him, and there are several abandoned keeps along Crackclaw Point that we can give to him at no cost. He’s not like to live long anyway. A strong man, indeed, but he reeked of strongwine. He will drink himself into an early grave. Aemond didn’t like it, but war required concessions, and Vermithor was a valuable asset.

“Silverwing is not coming to save you. Caraxes and Vermax cannot be spared to come and save you. Your Queen,” he said, smirking, “is a coward, and has abandoned you to save her own life.”

“Our Queen,” Lady Jeyne said haughtily, her head held high, “lives to fight another day. She lives to reclaim the realm from the usurper.”

Usurper my ass, Aemond narrowed his eye.

“King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne from the day he was born,” Aemond said, not only to Lady Jeyne, but to all in the Vale who would hear. It seemed many lords had congregated in the Eyrie to serve as advisors during the war. “He has done nothing but try to make peace with our sister, despite her declaration of war against him. An offer of peace that still stands to this day.”

Aemond let his eye scan across the Lords in attendance, wearing their own shackles. He recognized their sigils: Corbray, Templeton, Waynwood…and House Royce of Runestone.

“It puzzles me to see you here, Lord Royce,” Aemond said, striding forward to meet him face to face.

He squared his shoulders defiantly. “House Royce has long kept the faith with House Arryn,” he said proudly. “And we remember.”

His house words.

“Indeed,” Aemond said. “And do you also remember, Lord Royce, that it was my Uncle Daemon who murdered Lady Rhea?”

Royce’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

“After he disgraced her for years, of course,” Aemond continued. “Openly bedding whor*s and any other woman who would have him. Hurling vile insults at her. She, who committed no sin against him. Is that the man you wish to kneel to as my sister’s Prince Consort?”

Lady Jeyne snorted, stepping forward. “I know what you attempt, my prince,” she sneered. “And you will find no traitors in this castle. Only loyal vassals to Queen Rhaenyra.”

She is no queen, he thought, gritting his teeth and hoping it would not show. She has done nothing to prove herself worthy of the Iron Throne. Aegon has already fought to defend his people. She fled to save herself.

“Hmm,” Aemond said instead. “Well, that is most unfortunate.”

Turning from her, Aemond addressed the Lords again, pacing slowly back and forth so that they all might see him.

“In his benevolence, and in the interest of peace, my brother, the King, is offering a blanket pardon to any Lord who bends the knee, renounces the false queen, and swears to send no further knights or soldiers to her aid. You will keep your lands and your titles. You will not bear the name ‘traitor’, and you will face no punishment for falling victim to my sister’s lies.”

Pausing for effect, Aemond looked at every one of their faces.

“Or you may refuse and die a leal lord in Rhaenyra’s service,” he finished softly.

Knowing full well what his answer would be, Aemond made a point to start with Lady Jeyne. Sure enough, she spat at his feet, lifted her chin defiantly, and declared, “Long live the Queen.”

Aemond nodded slowly, for this is what he expected. “So be it,” he agreed. “My brother has not yet decreed what is to become of the Eyrie. Should he choose to allow House Arryn to retain it, who do you name as your successor?”

Finally, he caught the first flicker of fear in her eyes. She quickly smothered it, but her voice nonetheless cracked when she declared, “My cousin, Ser Joffrey Arryn.”

“Ser Joffrey Arryn,” Aemond agreed. “Mayhaps he will have more sense.”

He considered taking her head himself…but he stopped.

No brave man will fear death by decapitation, he reasoned. And I need them to fear me. To fear my House.

And so he seized Lady Jeyne round the middle, threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and then carried her across the courtyard, dropping her at Vhagar’s feet. Her flame attack would engulf the entire courtyard, which mercifully, Vhagar understood, keeping her fires inside her chest and lunging at Jeyne with her fangs instead. It was a quick and painless death, over before the Lady of the Vale could so much as cry out. Quick and painless…but horrifying, nonetheless. And within seconds, the Lords of the Vale began to scream.

Bravery and dignity forgotten, many fell to their knees, screaming, crying, begging to not fill Vhagar’s belly along with Lady Jeyne. Aemond suspected Lord Redfort even pissed himself, though to his credit, he did protectively shield the eyes of his daughter, who had been Lady Jeyne’s friend. Lord Royce did not scream or cry or beg, but when he met Aemond’s gaze, his decision was clear.

He is not going to die such a frightful death for the sake of the woman who married Lady Rhea’s killer.

Sure enough, Lord Royce bent the knee as well, declaring softly, “Long live the King.”

Only one man refused to kneel, but he was the last man Aemond needed to kill before his conquest of the Eyrie was complete. Every living soul remaining within the Eyrie’s walls declared him their Prince and Aegon their King.

Well, not quite everyone.

“My Prince,” Royce declared. “It is my duty to inform you that Lady Rhaena Targaryen is currently a guest in this castle.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “As is the young prince, Viserys Targaryen. It is your right, of course, to take them both as hostages…”

Aethan

Well, this isn’t quite what I expected, Aethan thought, shifting to get more comfortable while he waited, keeping a firm grip on The Cannibal’s rope netting.

Silverwing and the Vale army had been easy to find. The Cannibal knew they were hunting, and he understood that the prey they sought was far more dangerous than the smaller dragons he usually preyed upon. Silverwing near surpassed Dreamfyre in size, and she would not fall easily should it come to a fight. Aethan would need to trust The Cannibal’s instincts to hunt her.

Even if it meant he didn’t fully understand what in the Seven Hells his dragon was doing.

But to The Cannibal, the solution was obvious. Hunting skills he’d learned as a hatchling. Hunting skills Silverwing had never mastered, fed her every meal by Keepers.

Stay downwind always. By doing this, The Cannibal had easily picked up the scent of dragon, metal, and thousands of humans reeking of sweat and body odor. And yet from her upwind position, Silverwing would not be able to smell him.

Stay out of sight. Easier done at night, when the cloak of blackness masked his scales from view. But today, he had no choice but to hunt during the day. Nonetheless, staying out of view was paramount. And so he got close enough to smell her, but not close enough to see her. Not yet.

Find out where they are going. A tricky step that usually required trial and error guesswork, but not today. Today, his rider could predict Silverwing’s path, for he knew her ultimate destination, and the humans she guarded needed to walk along a road that stretched beneath them.

Get ahead of them. Get into position. Wait. Easily done, for the terrain was rocky, and The Cannibal’s pitch-black body blended in seamlessly with the large formations. All too easy to find a spot to lie in wait for Silverwing to pass overhead and the humans to come into range.

It would be a long wait, yes. But patience was even more vital to the hunt then strength and ferocity. Especially when hunting such lethal prey. No meat was sweeter than dragonflesh, and The Cannibal had killed more hatchlings and smaller dragons than he could count, even fighting nesting mothers for their eggs. But Silverwing was no small dragon, and hunting her offered the threat of injury or death. A choice he would not have made if left to his own devices.

But he was glad his rider had emboldened him. The idea of sinking his fangs into her neck pleased him, fantasizing of plucking her from the sky like a ripe grape from the vine. For to be the greatest of predators, he must kill the most lethal of prey.

Even now, The Cannibal could sense the fury that lurked just beneath the surface of his rider’s heart. The humans they hunted had angered Aethan somehow, and for that, they needed to die. Screaming.

And The Cannibal would take pleasure in watching them burn.

But for now, they waited, Aethan absentmindedly plucking a few dead scales from The Cannibal’s back, alleviating an itch he could not normally satisfy on his own.

Aethan sensed he was supposed to stay quiet while they waited. Not wanting to distract The Cannibal, he forced himself not to speak, even to pass the time. Instead, he let his mind wander, gazing out over the miles of trees and fields that separated them from Harrenhal.

It is not a far flight, he mused. Aegon had given him his orders, and he knew he must not approach Harrenhal on his own, but…who could stop him? Who could stop him from flying to the ruined castle? The Cannibal was more powerful than Caraxes. Aethan could kill him today. Within hours, he could watch the Blood Wyrm fall from the sky with a screaming Daemon on his back. Within hours, Aethan could avenge his mother. Avenge years of suffering.

But at what cost?

The thought gave him pause. Aethan knew nothing of the law or the concept of a ‘rightful’ heir. Law or no law, he believed that Aegon would make for the better King. Even if he ignored his hatred of Rhaenyra’s hypocrisy for trying to put bastards in the line of succession, he believed Aegon would be the better King.

Just the other day, after the war planning session was over, the Council meeting became more mundane, and Aegon began listing ideas of what could be done with the Velaryon gold. Each idea would benefit the people of King’s Landing and beyond. Many of those ideas were clearly put into his head by his mother. Whereas Rhaenyra was trained by her father, a poor leader who allowed Fleabottom to descend into squalor in the first place.

Aegon should have a chance at a proper reign.

Aethan was snapped out of his musings by the Cannibal stirring ever so slightly beneath him, muscles coiled and ready to strike. Seconds later came the thundering of metal footsteps. And the roar of a dragon.

Remember, she’s a war asset. We’re going to try to sway her to our side if we can…

A chance that never came.

Faster than an arrow from a bow, The Cannibal launched himself from his hiding spot and into the sky, colliding with Silverwing in the air at breakneck speed, sending her reeling in a barrel roll…

And knocking the rider clean off her back.

f*cking hell, why wasn’t he chained to the saddle?

Not that it made a damn bit of difference. Ulf the White fell, screaming at the top of his lungs as he plummeted for the rocky earth below. The Cannibal was too large to dive fast enough to save him, and Silverwing didn’t even bother to try. The sound of her cracking rib bones rang, and she roared with pain and outrage, firing a flame attack that missed Aethan by inches.

I suppose Ulf the White will not serve the Greens after all…

Clearly terrified and in pain, Silverwing was not trying to fight The Cannibal so much as escape him, and she breathed stream after stream after stream of fire…all of which missed, instead striking the Knights of the Vale beneath them. For without a rider to guide her, Silverwing no longer protected them as her own men.

The Cannibal lunged at her again, missing a fatal strike with his fangs but slamming his massive body into hers again, further crippling her already-broken ribs and making her scream. A terrible, haunting sound that made Aethan wince. And when Silverwing pulled away to protect her throat, he knew they had won. Every beat of her wings was agonizing, and she pulled away to land, knowing that she could no longer stay airborne while in so much pain.

Aethan hesitated as The Cannibal started to follow. Should he kill her or let her live? He had no animosity towards the beautiful dragon. She was no use to the Blacks now, even if they found another rider for her. With broken ribs, it would be weeks or even months until she could serve as a war dragon again. Dragons were a rare resource, especially a massive one like Silverwing. It would be a waste to kill her when she was already incapacitated. She would heal one day, and some future Targaryen could claim her.

And so Aethan made his decision.

Let her go, Aethan urged, stroking The Cannibal’s scales. You’ve won. Our true enemy is Caraxes. If you injure yourself killing her, you risk faring worse against him.

The Cannibal grumbled, and Aethan sensed his displeasure of letting a meal go to waste. But he was very pleased over his clear victory, and he obeyed…much more happily when Aethan wordlessly reminded him that he would soon be dining on the charred corpses of dead knights.

I wish I could tell my King I recruited another dragon rider to serve his faction, Aethan thought. But I can tell him that his enemies now have one less…and soon less soldiers as well.

Gritting his teeth in determination, Aethan guided The Cannibal back around to where the Knights of the Vale gathered on the ground, archers readying their arrows while a few others tried to ready the scorpions that they brought with them.

The scorpions are the greatest threat, Aethan warned The Cannibal. Burn those first, before they can finish loading the bolts.

Without hesitation, his dragon obeyed, raining a sea of emerald fire down upon the siege weapons below.

Screams and billowing smoke polluted the air, but Aethan suppressed any sympathy he might have had for the Knights of the Vale as he directed The Cannibal to burn row after row after row of men. Beneath him, men ran for their bows to pepper the sky with arrows. For the cover of the rocks that offered no protection from the flames. For their lives, some falling to their knees and begging pleas that Aethan could not hear from the air. But no white flags were raised. Only more volleys of arrows that The Cannibal evaded.

They will not surrender because they fight for their Queen out of loyalty. They want to see Rhaenyra on the throne with Daemon by her side.

The thought of Daemon standing at the base of the Iron Throne, a look of smug superiority on his face as he claimed the title Prince Consort, burned away what remained of Aethan’s sympathy.

“DRACARYS!” he screamed, raining green fire down upon a collection of archers.

Alas, unlike Driftmark, it was not a simple matter, like spearing penned cattle. Without the cover of darkness, the archers could see him. The arrows broke uselessly against The Cannibal’s scales, and he evaded a great many altogether…

But it only took one lucky shot.

“AHHH!” Aethan screamed as an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder, a half-inch from piercing his lung. His armor did its duty and slowed it, but it pierced him nonetheless, and it hurt unlike anything he’d ever experienced. “f*ckING BLACK TRAITORS! DRACARYS! DRACARYS!”

The Cannibal needed no encouragement. His rider was hurt. His rider was hurt, whilst under his protection. Hurt by an insignificant, writhing insect of a human throwing sticks. Aethan’s pain intertwined with The Cannibal’s outrage, man and beast breathing their fire together, rendering the entire field a raging inferno. Hell itself bathed in green flame. The Knights may have surrendered at some point, but Aethan neither saw nor would he have cared. Rational thought was lost until the last man died screaming and The Cannibal landed to feast upon his spoils.

And for just a moment, Aethan savored the feeling, laughing a dark laugh and smiling manically. Targaryens are closer to gods than to men. And like a god, my enemies have felt my wrath…

But the rush of power did not last longer than that one moment.

Once he landed, still mounted on dragonback, Aethan surveyed the fallout of The Cannibal’s rage. He smelled the charred flesh. He saw their bodies, a veritable sea of bone and the blackened corpses of men who died screaming. It was only then that the full implication of what he had done settled into his heart.

And it didn’t make him feel powerful. Not at all. It made him feel sick.

How many? he thought, swallowing as he gazed upon the field. Thousands at least. Thousands of knights and soldiers burned in dragonfire. Human beings, just like himself, who only wanted to fight for their Queen. Who had died terrified.

We did not start this war, he reminded himself, trying to steel his nerves. We did not want this war. We still do not want this war. Aegon wanted a peaceful ascension, and he tried time after time to negotiate terms and offer surrender. They would not take it. We had no choice. If I hadn’t burned them, they would have gone on to kill Ser Criston’s men. Or the Tullys. Or the Lannisters. They would have aided my father.

All true. None made the hideous cost of war any easier to bear.

The war can end today, now, if I fly to Harrenhal and kill Daemon, he thought, a spark of his anger returning. No more soldiers need die. Just him. This wound will not keep me from flying…

But as Aethan reached up to break off the shaft of the arrow, his fingers brushed against the gold Targaryen dragon on his chest. A golden dragon with emerald eyes.

The gold and emeralds had been gifts from Aegon, worth a small fortune, all to show the world that Aethan was a Green. That he was valued by the King. That he was one of them.

If he flew to Harrenhal now, he may well succeed in killing Daemon, but at what cost? The cost of his dragon? Aethan had only known The Cannibal for a short while, but the thought of his death still pained him.

The cost of Aegon or his brothers? The people who had been naught but good to him? The Greens would only have Vhagar, Sunfyre, and Tessarion left. They might be injured by arrows or killed by one of the remaining Black dragons.

The cost of Green soldiers in combat? Without the Cannibal, the Black dragons would have an easier time turning Green soldiers into a field of charred ash and bone, just like this one.

The cost of his own life?

When Aethan ventured to Dragonstone, his own life held precious little value to him. A starving street rat who would die without anyone knowing or caring that he lived. But he was no longer that same man. He was wealthy. He’d been promised a beautiful highborn bride and a keep of his own. He had a dragon. History books would remember his name for centuries to come.

A name that would be followed by the Targaryen surname. He risked sacrificing all of that if he chased blindly after Daemon.

If I do it Borros Baratheon’s way, he thought, Daemon will still die, and the risk to me is far less. The risk to my faction is far less.

And so with one last brush of his fingers against the golden dragon on his chest, Aethan settled in to wait for The Cannibal to finish feasting. Once he’d sated his hunger, Aethan would fly west to guard the Riverland and Westerland armies, as his king had commanded. Hopefully, one of them would have a maester to patch up his injury.

I must be at full strength when we make our final move against Harrenhal.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Robert

Gods, I f*cking hate this part of ruling, Robert though as the meeting drolled on. A mundane council meeting, not a war-planning session, and Robert struggled to keep his mind on the here and now.

I was never any good at this sh*t, he thought, for once accepting a cup of wine rather than water. Crops and coins and laws. Jon Arryn, Renly, Varys, Little Finger, even Stannis. They were the ones who actually governed the damn realm after I won it.

Aegon, however…

“The accounting of the Velaryon gold is complete, Lord Tyland?” Aegon confirmed with his Master of Coin.

Even in the past, I’m surrounded by f*cking Lannisters. But at least Tyland was more bearable than his brother’s descendants would one day be. Proud and arrogant, of course, but he was smart, an excellent politician, and he lacked the viciousness of Cersei or her father.

“Yes, your grace,” Tyland confirmed, rattling off a number that made a few council members gasp. “My recommendation is to pay the remaining costs of war out of the Velaryon gold, as well as for the survey and reimbursem*nts that we promised to the North. After those costs are covered…” The following number was smaller than the first, but still a staggering amount. More than Robert had when he took the Red Keep and seized the Mad King’s treasury.

Before I pissed it all away on feasts and tourneys…

“Quite the relief,” Alicent said. “Most of the Crown’s gold is safe and away from the city, but we’ve already spent a good bit funding this war. Our people should not have to bear further cost.”

“Hmm,” Robert agreed. “The Blacks chose to reject our every offer of peace. Seems only fair that the gold to pay for the war comes out of their ally’s pocket.”

“Indeed, funding the war from the Velaryon gold is an unexpected windfall,” Aegon said, glancing at Otto (once again well-polished and wearing his Hand of the King pin). “However, I want to ensure that ample gold remains to fund every project on that list we assembled at our last meeting. I’m expecting the realm to fight for me. After it is done, I need to show them that it was worth the battle. Beyond merely keeping the throne out of Daemon’s clutches.”

Sparing the realm from Daemon and Rhaenyra’s sh*tty leadership is enough of a mark on the world.

Robert remembered that part of his history lessons very well (and once again, he was grateful that Stannis never shut his damn trap about the Dance). In the six months she sat the throne, Rhaenyra executed people in droves and taxed the city into starvation while herself living in luxury. It was on her watch that the dragon pit was broken into and the dragons within slaughtered. She ended up having to sell her crown to flee her own city because she couldn’t hold it.

But that won’t happen this time around, Robert thought with a touch of pride. Because the city is doing fine under Aegon’s leadership. And it’s about to get even better.

“Nearly all of our plans are easily affordable,” Otto confirmed. “Even after funding the war and honoring our promise to the North, there is sufficient gold remaining to cover nearly all of the list.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Nearly?” Though Robert noticed that Aegon softened his tone with his grandfather. Otto had finally been able to send Gwayne’s body back to Oldtown via ship, which gave him some peace. Throwing himself into his duties as Hand had helped even further, restoring some of the spark to his eyes. But Otto was still grieving, and he would be for quite some time.

Otto absently tracing his fingers along the edge of the paper in front of him. “The only item that may pose a challenge and require us to dip into the crown’s own funds is your idea for an improved sewage system, your grace. It is quite…ambitious.”

“I disagree,” Aegon said, leaning back in his chair. “You grew up in Oldtown, Grandfather.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you, Ser Tyland?” Aegon continued. “Lannisport.”

“Yes, your grace,” Tyland confirmed.

Aegon nodded. “Lannisport and Oldtown are both major port cities, just like King’s Landing. Oldtown, in fact, is both larger and older. So tell me: Do Oldtown and Lannisport reek of sh*t?”

The council hesitated before Otto reluctantly admitted, “No, your grace, they do not.”

Maester Orwyle helpfully supplied, “Oldtown smells quite pleasant. Like perfume.”

“Precisely,” Aegon agreed. “If it can be done there, it can be done here. This is the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. The King’s city. It should be a city of splendor, not a city of sh*t.”

Good fortune to you with that, Robert thought. It still stank of sh*t when I ruled it.

“Whomever is responsible for maintaining the waste disposal system in Oldtown, I want them brought to King’s Landing to construct a similar system for our people here. That is our first priority.”

Tyland hesitated. “My King…the cost…”

“Near all our plans are being paid with the Velaryon gold,” Aegon interrupted. “About half of the sewage system will be paid by the Velaryon gold as well. Yes, the remaining cost must come from the crown’s coffers, but I am confident there will be no objections to a sweeter-smelling city. That money would have been spent on the war anyway.”

It was not a suggestion; it was an order from a King, and none at the council table dared question it.

“The first of many improvements we need to make in our city,” Aegon continued, gesturing at the paper in Otto’s hand. “Now that I am King, I can say it without fear of being scolded, but when I was a prince, I spent many a night away from the castle…”

Judging by the way Alicent narrowed her eyes, Aegon did still have to fear being scolded, but at least she was far more likely to do it later. And of course, there could be no discipline involved.

“…and much of the city is a slum,” Aegon finished.

At this, Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, leaned forward. “Your grace, if you intend to take a firmer stance on crime…”

But Aegon raised a hand to stop him. “King’s Landing is not rife with slums because it lacks for laws,” he corrected. “Again, we must look to other similar cities for examples, and similar slums do not exist in Lannisport, Oldtown, or White Harbor. The problem stems from poverty.”

No one contradicted him.

“A problem you intend to remedy, your grace?” Tyland asked.

“A problem that will be remedied naturally by all the projects we plan to undertake,” Aegon agreed. Smiling at Otto, he gave him an encouraging nod, and the Hand began reciting items from the list that he himself had helped assemble.

“For the improved sewage system, we will need people to build it, and those people will need to be paid,” Otto started. “We also mean to make improvements and additions to the major roads in Westeros. Again, we will need workers and guards to ensure their safety. We have hundreds of acres of farmland that is not being utilized; we will need workers to put it to use. Crops, or wool, or cattle to raise for meat and for leather that we can trade internationally.”

All valid goals. Valid…and expensive. But before any could voice an objection, Aegon raised a hand for order again.

Curiously, before speaking, he locked eyes with Helaena, who had silently been observing the meeting. Clearly, the King and Queen had some sort of private conversation about it, because she smiled at him beautifully and gave him an encouraging nod.

I knew it, Robert thought sadly as he watched them. Helaena would have been a beloved queen had the Blacks not robbed her of her light in the original timeline.

But not anymore, Robert thought proudly. Because I saved her.

Aegon seemed to draw strength from her light as well. Her smile had him sitting up just the tiniest bit straighter, some of the worry lines fading from his young face.

“I know these undertakings are ambitious,” Aegon agreed. “More than ambitious. And it may take decades to see them through to fruition. But I do not intend for this war to be my only mark on the Targaryen dynasty.” He paused, and Robert saw a flash of pain in his eyes that he quickly masked. “I mean to prove that I am not merely the rightful heir but the best. I will prove right each of my supporters and prove wrong all who doubted me.”

Including your own father. Robert hid his wince…and not merely for Aegon’s benefit.

I was no better a father to my own son. Yes, I named my eldest boy my heir, but I spent so little time with Joffrey, he lamented. All I wanted to do was spend my days getting drunk, eating, f*cking whor*s, and watching tourneys. I could have spent some of that time with my son. Teaching him how to fight. Getting him out of his mother’s clutches and teaching him to be a halfway decent man. Teaching him how to rule…

Though in fairness, how was Robert supposed to teach him that? He’d never ruled Westeros himself. Not really.

“My great-grandfather consolidated the realm,” Aegon continued. “My father maintained that stability. But stability has festered into stagnation, and the time has come to move forward and make advancements. My reign will be one of prosperity.”

And you’ll be damn good at it, Robert thought, not a shadow of a doubt in his mind. Because you’ve got the right people to help you do it.

But before the council could move on to the next topic (a zoning and agriculture lesson for the new farmland, gods spare them), a knock sounded on the chamber door.

“Your grace,” the guard announced. “Dragon returning! It’s Vhagar.”

Aemond

“A celebration breakfast tomorrow, if not a proper feast,” Aegon wheedled, locking his arm around Aemond’s waist and kissing him on the shoulder while the three of them cuddled in bed, enjoying the wonderful post-coital afterglow. They had precious little time; only a few short hours. Aemond would be leaving again at first light to escort Cregan Stark’s men the rest of the way to the Riverlands.

Aemond chuckled. “Aegon, I need to make use of every minute of daylight available to me. I won’t have time for a celebration breakfast. I will need to eat during the flight.”

Aegon pouted. “We received word from Lord Jason Lannister that Aethan killed the Knights of the Vale, took Silverwing out of the war, and arrived to protect their armies. You have conquered the Eyrie, forced their submission, and recruited Vermithor to our cause. He now protects Criston Cole’s men. We must celebrate this great victory.”

Aemond shook his head, but he beamed, as he had done for the past hour whilst his brother praised him. “We shall host a grand celebration after the war is won,” Aemond countered. “This,” he said, lovingly stroking first Aegon’s hip and then Helaena’s shoulder, “is all the celebration I need for sieging the Eyrie.”

And making hostages of Rhaena and Viserys.

That hadn’t been easy. Viserys had been distressed when he realized his mother was no longer with him in the Eyrie, but he was a very young child and easily soothed. Aemond told him he was taking him on a dragon ride to go and see his brother, and Viserys stopped crying, going along willingly. The two boys shared the nursery now, were cared for by Jaehaerys and Jaehaera’s nursemaid, and had access to the twins’ toys. Helaena even ensured that the boys had a few sweets.

Rhaena, on the other hand, was not faring so well.

Unfortunately, she knew exactly how her sister died. Worse, she’d had scarcely any time to absorb and recover from the information. And so when Aemond went to collect her as a hostage as well, she attacked him with a knife that she kept strapped to her ankle. She had no combat experience and he evaded the strike easily, but things had gotten progressively worse from there. Refusing to accept that Aemond had no intention of harming her, she’d fought tooth and claw. Literally tooth and claw, biting and scratching and kicking and screaming until Aemond restrained her in ropes.

When he made it back to the Red Keep and Aegon had greeted them, she proved that she was not always a proper lady, hurling insults and curses at the Greens. She must have learned them from her father, because Aemond had not a clue what half of them meant and needed to ask a guard.

Still, Aegon had initially given her a room befitting her station, including a pair of servants to attend to her. Initially. He had to revoke the privilege after she climbed out her window, snagged her dress on the metalwork, fell, and broke two of her ribs.

“You have worn out my patience,” Aegon had warned her after the maester bound and stabilized her ribs. “You will be taken to The Traitor’s Walk and given a tower cell. Should you cause any further disturbances, you will be moved to a black cell. Have I made myself clear?”

Aemond shivered at the thought of a black cell. The tower cells, where Rhaena and Alyn of Hull were currently being held, were reasonably comfortable. Clean, well-maintained, and featuring barred windows to let in fresh air. Prisoners inside were well fed and watered. The black cells, however, were the foulest and most fearsome in the Keep, one step above the torture chamber.

Fortunately, Rhaena knew that, and the threat served to make her more compliant.

“I should have let her spend just one night there,” Aegon grumbled, reaching up to trace the scar on Aemond’s eye. “Just one night, as punishment for what she and her sister helped Jace and Luke do to you.”

Aemond wouldn’t lie; he’d allowed his mind to wander into the realm of vengeance many times over the years, when his face pained him and he mourned his lost eye. But now, despite having one of his attackers in his grasp and at his mercy, he shook his head.

“She has already lost her sister, her betrothed, and soon her father as well,” Aemond countered grimly. “And it is us that hold the Red Keep. Justice has been served several times over.”

Aegon nodded, kissing him softly again while Helaena brushed her fingers through his hair.

“She will soon lose Alyn as well,” Helaena said. “Even if they were not close, he is her kin.” She hesitated before adding, “I suppose there’s no way for us to spare him?”

Aegon shook his head. “I’m sorry, sister, there isn’t. The reason for taking hostages is to ensure the other side behaves. Corlys not only didn’t behave, but he ferried the Knights of the Vale to Maidenpool. If I do nothing, it defeats the purpose of keeping hostages.”

The news still dulled some of the shine from Helaena’s eyes, and Aemond could not resist taking her side.

“Perhaps there’s a middle ground?” Aemond suggested. “Take an ear or a few fingers instead of his life. We can send them to the Sea Snake and assure him that if he does not surrender to the Manderlys, then he will soon receive Alyn’s head.”

Helaena brightened at the suggestion, and Aemond knew that Aegon saw it too, because his brother hesitated.

“I suppose it may spare the lives of the Manderly and Sistermen sailors who would have to fight the Velaryons,” he mused. “And we can execute him if Corlys refuses that final offer of mercy.”

“And we can keep the Velaryon ships rather than losing them to the sea,” Aemond added. “Divide them four ways between the Manderlys, the Sistermen, the Arbor, and the royal navy. The Triarchy got the Stepstones out of the deal; they need no further payment.”

Aegon pondered for a few seconds longer…then sighed. “Very well,” he agreed. “On the morrow, he shall lose one of his hands. I’ll even take whichever one is not his dominant hand. Afterwards, I will have him cared for by the maester to ensure he recovers. But if the Sea Snake does not accept this last chance, then Alyn has to die, and I will order the Sistermen and the Manderlys to kill Corlys and his remaining men.”

Grim as it sounded, the news made Helaena smile, and she reached over to lovingly rub Aegon’s hand before smiling at Aemond and doing the same for him.

“And on the morrow, you will meet with Cregan Stark once again,” she said. But then her hand froze and she frowned. “Him…and…” Her frown deepened.

He and Aegon exchanged a glance, and they both sat up in bed, pulling back and giving her space, waiting while her eyes went vacant, seeing something that only she could see.

“Helaena?” Aemond coaxed gently after a few moments, snapping her back to the present, but she shook her head.

“I can’t be certain,” she admitted. “It’s hard to see. I can’t recognize the surroundings from the glimmer I got. I know beyond a doubt that you must fly North at first light. It’s imperative that you must. But…”

Aegon reached over, but he stopped himself before touching her. She would not be receptive of it so soon after a Dream. Instead, he spoke soothingly. “But?”

“But…” She swallowed, eyes welling with tears. “I see fire. And death.”

Daemon

The Greens claim yet another victory.

Daemon said not a word as he threw Mysaria’s letter into the fire. Her last letter. Surely she was either dead or rotting in the dungeon. Either way, he would never see her again, and he had no other source of information within the city walls.

Just as well. I wouldn’t be able to trust it anyway.

Not only had the Greens won, they made a fool of him. Expecting an attack, Daemon had donned his armor, forced Jace to don his, and the two of them had spent the entire day patrolling Harrenhal protectively, keeping the castle within their sights at all times and recalling all scouts for their own safety.

All for nothing. The Greens had not attacked Harrenhal. They attacked the cavalry. And because of the misinformation, Daemon and Jace never even knew the Knights of the Vale were in danger.

I could have saved them if I did my normal patrols. I might have been close enough to see the smoke…

“The matter is closed then,” Jace said, eyes lifeless and dull as he sank into a wooden chair in his suite at Harrenhal. His mother looked no better. Rhaenyra would not look at either of them. She had not moved from her position in the window, staring out over the God’s Eye.

Normally grandiose, the castle was dark, cold, and eerily quiet. They did not have enough servants to maintain it. Larys Strong was a sly man and kept precious little gold in the castle itself (only enough to pay for the castle’s basic monthly operations). The Blacks had gold of their own, of course (Rhaenyra had taken most of the treasury when she left Dragonstone), but not enough. Without the Velaryon fortune, their gold reserves would run dry rapidly. They simply could not afford to pay the number of servants it would require to keep Harrenhal fully staffed.

“What matter?” Daemon asked, rubbing his temples as he studied the map in front of him. Not that he needed it.

“The war,” Jace said. “There are no options left to us. We must sue for peace.”

Daemon didn’t bother responding. Didn’t even bother getting angry. Nor did Rhaenyra. She didn’t move a single inch, as if she hadn’t heard Jace speak.

“It’s over, Daemon,” Jace said, looking up at him while he gripped the edge of the table, as if trying to draw strength from the wood. “We’ve lost.”

“We have three dragons and an army,” Daemon corrected. “A larger army than the Conqueror had when he took the Seven Kingdoms. We’ve lost nothing. Not yet.”

Bluster even he no longer believed. Not truly. Nor did he care. Victory, defeat, it was all the same, so long as the Greens suffered first.

Jace closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and gripped the wood harder.

“Daemon,” he near growled. “Luke is dead. Joffrey is dead. Baela is dead. Rhaena, Aegon, and Viserys are prisoners. The Eyrie has fallen. The Velaryon fleet has fallen, and what little remains of it is trapped in the Bay of Crabs. Nearly the entire Kingdom has bent the knee to Aegon and fights in his service. We know from House Frey that Cregan Stark’s men have made it past the Neck and will soon be at the Twins. Which means they have likely come to fight for the Greens too.”

Balling his fist, Jace slammed it down on the table so hard the ‘thud’ echoed through the room.

“And, as mother just told us, we have lost the reinforcements we expected from the Knights of the Vale. Along with Vermithor and Silverwing.”

On top of everything else she’s suffered, she had to bear witness to a killing field. A killing field strewn with the corpses of allies that we desperately needed. No wonder Rhaenyra had not said a word.

When Rhaenyra fled the Eyrie and made her way to Harrenhal, tormented by the guilt of having to leave their son behind, she caught the scent of charred bodies in the air. Following it, she found what she could only describe as a sea of death. Thousands of knights and soldiers burned, little patches of emerald green fire still glowing. Silverwing, miraculously, had survived, but she was badly injured and would need weeks to heal before she could fly.

Weeks that the Blacks did not have.

“The Greens have five adult dragons,” Jace finished dramatically. “Two adolescents. And perhaps they have Vermithor as well, if Aemond accepted Hugh Hammer’s surrender and let him live.”

I’ve faced more lethal odds before. Daemon’s mind drifted back to the Stepstones, when he was surrounded by the Crab Feeder’s army and facing certain death.

I did not surrender then. I shall not surrender now.

“Daemon,” Jace said. “Mother. Let us end this. Let us sue for peace. Surely, Aegon would choose to accept our surrender rather than continuing a battle where he will lose hundreds or thousands of his men and put his own dragons at risk. Let us spare the lives of those who are loyal to us. Let us save our remaining dragons. Let us negotiate for the safe return of my brothers and Rhaena.”

Jace’s words gripped Daemon’s windpipe like a fist of iron.

Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon. The Greens had all three of his remaining children. The mere thought of it had Daemon’s knees buckling.

He’s killed them. They’re either dead or as good as dead.

And part of Daemon wanted nothing more than to follow them into the next life. Perhaps he would. But first, he needed to avenge their deaths. To make the Greens suffer for taking them away from him.

For taking everything away from him.

“So you would have us kneel?” he said drily instead. “Get on our knees and beg Aegon to spare our lives? Beg him to return our children to us? Plead for his mercy?”

Jace hesitated for a long time, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s either that or we die, and thousands of people die along with us, including my brothers and Rhaena.”

“I will burn the entire world to ash and bone before I get on my knees before Otto Hightower and beg him for mercy,” Daemon spat, lips curling back at the very idea. “I will endure the pain of each and every one of the Seven Hells before I beg the man who ordered my DAUGHTER FED ALIVE TO THE f*ckING CRABS!”

“Aegon is not a Hightower,” Jace corrected. “He is a Targaryen. Your brother’s son. The blood of Old Valyria. A dragon rider. There is no shame in surrendering to another Targaryen.”

“Half Targaryen,” Daemon spat. “Though I suppose I understand your inability to discern. You’re less Valyrian than he is.”

His words made Jace’s eyes flare with anger, but Daemon didn’t stop. “Surrendering and begging for mercy must be a Strong trait.”

Jace moved faster than Daemon could have imagined, flying across the room and drawing back his fist, but Daemon caught it before it could inflict any damage. “Save that fire for our enemies,” he scolded.

“I’m not certain who my enemies are at the moment,” Jace sneered.

“Enough,” Rhaenyra said coldly, finally turning away from the window. Once the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros, she did not look remotely lovely anymore. Her pale skin was no longer ivory but an ashy gray. Heavy bags lingered under her eyes, still red-rimmed from crying, and her cheeks had grown sunken from her lack of proper eating since the war began.

But despite it all, a spark of fire still blazed in her eyes.

They haven’t broken her yet, Daemon thought proudly. My fierce dragon queen. You will rejoice and heal once I reclaim all that was stolen from you.

“We shan’t surrender to the Greens,” she said, her voice steady and even.

Jace groaned, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “Mother, the Throne is not worth it,” he said. “The Targaryen dynasty isn’t worth it. Not when we’ve lost everything that was ever important to us.”

“It is no longer a matter of the Throne or the Targaryen dynasty,” she corrected. “We are the Blood of the Dragon. We will not kneel to them and kiss their feet after they have stolen and slaughtered our children. After they burned loyal men who were willing to fight and die for us. After they have stolen the realm. We shall live as conquerors, or we shall die as dragons.” Glowering fiercely, she added, “And win or lose, we shall have our revenge.”

And there’s the woman I married. Daemon smiled at her proudly.

Jace, however, cringed.

“Regardless of the cost?” he asked softly. “The cost of our people? The cost of our dragons? Of our family? Me included?”

She shook her head. “Jace, we were dead the day Aegon crowned himself. My error was not going on the offensive earlier in the war. Perhaps Aegon would allow us to live long enough to humiliate us with our surrender, but none of us would live to old age. Aegon could not risk dissention in his new reign. Not when he’s already proven himself all too willing to kill children.”

And if we should fail? Die trying? So be it.

“You are sentencing us to DEATH!” Jace roared, slamming his fist upon the table once more. “Death! For the sake of vengeance, rather than living with what remains.”

Daemon snorted. “I will sleep soundly in the Seven Hells so long as Otto and his rancid progeny follow me into the grave,” he said darkly. “So long as I wrought death and destruction upon House Hightower.”

I would gladly trade my life to get a hold of just one of them. Do to them what they did to Baela. Or worse.

“Well, I will not!” Jace snapped, pushing past Daemon to point at the map. “They’re surrounding us with their armies. Their dragons will soon follow, and our men will be slaughtered.”

“Which is why we can no longer rely on conventional warfare,” Daemon countered.

“We…”

“The Greens think they have won some great victory,” Daemon spat. “Deceiving me to keep me here at Harrenhal while they slaughtered our cavalry. Pinning us down so we have the option to stay or allow our men to be slaughtered. And if we rely on conventional warfare, they shall triumph.”

Jace narrowed his eyes. “And what ‘unconventional warfare’ methods remain to us, Daemon,” he challenged. “All of our allies are here. We cannot move them anywhere else.”

“We can’t move them anywhere else,” Daemon agreed. “But dragons can fly.”

And war, regrettably, comes with sacrifices.

Forrest Frey

“The Twins,” Forrest declared, punching his fist against the table, “are amongst the strongest castles in all of Westeros, and my family has held it for over five hundred years. The other Houses might sneer at us, call us toll collectors, but the Twins have never been taken by force. And they will not be taken by force today!”

No matter how many thousand Northerners were congregating just outside their walls, readying their archers and warriors.

“Lord Forrest,” his master-at-arms said worriedly. “Lady Sabitha has lead most of our warriors south to aid Prince Daemon. We don’t have enough men to hold the Starks indefinitely.”

And I should be there with her, he thought bitterly. But Prince Daemon had ordered him to stay at the Twins for exactly this reason: in case the Northerners proved to be Green loyalists.

“If the Northerners cross and make their way into the Riverlands, our men are dead, along with everyone who supports the rightful Queen,” Forrest countered. “The cost matters not. We fight! They will NOT cross!”

If Forrest had been thinking more strategically, he might have noticed that the Northerners did not have any siege weapons with them, a bizarre choice for an army planning to take a castle by force.

A bizarre choice that came into perfect clarity mere seconds later, when the roar of a dragon pierced the sky.

“f*cking hell!” Forrest snarled, gesturing to his master-at-arms. “Ready the damn scorpions!”

It was done, as he commanded, and they Freys managed to get off five scorpion bolts before Vhagar reduced the wooden weapons (and their wielders) to ash. One bolt managed to strike the ancient beast, but it succeeded in no more than adding another scar to Vhagar’s body, a glancing strike that spilled a small river of boiling hot blood from her back.

It only served to make Vhagar angrier.

It was then that Forrest, reluctantly, agreed to grant safe passage to an envoy from House Stark.

“If you cooperate, Lord Frey,” they envoy announced, “then neither you nor anyone within the castle walls will be harmed…for the time being, anyway. The Targaryens will deal with the matter of your surrender later. But for now…”

“For now, you expect me to allow you and your army to cross,” Forrest spat bitterly.

The envoy met his gaze dead on, unflinching.

“It is that, Lord Frey, or Prince Aemond unleashes dragon fire upon the Twins and burns everyone alive,” he said. “And then we shall cross anyway.”

The words ‘f*ck off, we’ll take our chances’ burned at the back of his throat like acrid bile…but Forrest forced himself to swallow them. For within this castle was the entirety of his family that was unable to join Lady Sabitha in going to war. Including his infant son and heir.

Live or die, there is nothing we can do to keep them from venturing south. I cannot doom the whole of House Frey to die in dragon fire.

And so Forrest commanded that the Northerners be allowed to pass, grateful that he had managed to send one last raven to Harrenhal before it was too late.

Rhaenyra

Near the entire realm has become my enemy, she thought as she flew Syrax, keeping a constant watch to her left and to her right, lest she be waylaid, even as Daemon and Caraxes guarded her from behind.

A risky flight. The Cannibal guarded the Lannisters and the Tullys from the west, a deadly foe that Rhaenyra could not pray to outrun or outfight. Vermithor had been weakened by his fight with Vhagar, but he was still capable of flight, and he guarded Criston Cole’s men, who were moving to surround Harrenhal from the East. From House Frey, they knew that Aemond had joined up with Cregan Stark’s men, guarding them from the North, and their own scouts had spotted Daeron and Tessarion guarding the Hightower men approaching from the South.

Perhaps they will not attack us two against one, but against a monster like the Cannibal... A risk Rhaenyra had no choice but to take. Daemon needed her and Syrax to help him, not Jace and Vermax.

We cannot trust Jace on this mission. Not after he was ready to bend the knee to Aegon. And so she and Daemon had left him behind to defend Harrenhal.

This would be her first time flying Syrax into battle. A battle she was happy to wage. She had no other way to win this war, or to inflict upon the Greens some small fragment of the pain they had inflicted upon her.

Fortunately, their caution paid off, and they were able to evade the Green dragons.

The temptation to fly to the Red Keep was near unbearable, and fantasies ran wild through her head. Fantasies of swooping in like a heroine to save her children and burn her enemies alive. Fantasies she managed to quash. Perhaps together, Syrax and Caraxes could overpower Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, but the likelihood that she and Daemon would both survive was infinitesimal.

We stick to the plan, she cautioned herself, and we kill my brother when it’s time. Fortunately, the plan brought her much satisfaction.

Even before the High Tower at Oldtown came into view.

As Daemon predicted, the city lookouts spotted them almost immediately, and nearly a dozen ravens peppered the sky, undoubtedly on the way to King’s Landing. Rhaenyra could have stopped them easily with a burst of dragonfire, but instead, she let them fly, smirking as they fled the city as fast as their dark wings would carry them.

By mutual agreement, they avoided the Citadel. Burning the knowledge within its stone walls would serve no good and would only make it harder on their descendants if they were to win. But the rest of the city would have no such immunity. Including the High Tower itself.

The tallest structure in the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaenyra thought as she stared at the green flame. And the seat of a family of treasonous vipers.

“Dracarys!”

Robert

“Aegon, stop!” Helaena cried as she chased after her husband, skirts tugged up so she would not step on them as she ran. “Wait!”

Listen to her, you f*cking idiot. You’re going to get yourself killed.

“You saw the letter!” Aegon called to her over his shoulder, hastening his pace as he got outside, heading to the cliffs where his dragon waited for him. “They’re attacking Oldtown!”

“I know!” she sobbed, her voice cracking as she finally managed to catch up to him, grabbing his arm and yanking so hard that the Kingsguard glared at her in warning. “But you can’t!”

“Your grace,” Robert shouted, catching up to the couple. “Your queen is right. They’re doing this on purpose to bait you.”

“It’s a TRAP, Aegon!” Helaena pleaded, tugging him harder. “They let the ravens fly on purpose.”

For the first time since opening the letter, Aegon hesitated, his brow furrowing. “But…”

“Aegon, I…” She bit her lip, looking over her shoulder pointedly at the Kingsguard.

She can’t speak plainly in front of them, Robert balled his fist, wishing he could send them away.

“Husband, think,” she said instead. “It’s only logical that they planned this. They mean to lie in wait to see if you come alone or with another dragon. If you come alone, Syrax and Caraxes will attack you two against one. If you don’t go alone and bring Tessarion, The Cannibal, or any of our other dragons with you, then they will target whatever portion of our army that dragon was guarding.”

Seven f*cking Hells. Of course Daemon would pull an underhanded trick. Robert cursed himself for not bracing for it. In the original timeline, Daemon had done a similar ruse in Harrenhal to lure Aemond away from the city.

I focused too heavily on Daemon’s original plan and didn’t consider that his deviousness would still remain. A mistake he would have to rectify, but not by allowing Aegon to fly to Oldtown.

“She’s right, your grace,” Robert said. “We’ve squeezed them to the point of desperation, and in their desperation, they’re making a desperate last resort and hoping that we’ll take the bait. They know there’s no conventional way for them to win this war, so they’re hoping a dirty trick will give them an advantage.”

Aegon wheeled on him, glaring, far more willing to unleash his anger on Robert than he was on Helaena.

“This is not a dirty trick,” he spat. “They are burning Oldtown with dragonfire.”

Robert grimaced. “I know.”

“I cannot do nothing!” he said. “Oldtown is the city ruled by my kin, but even without the blood tie, I cannot let it burn. I am not merely the King; I am the protector of the realm. If the other Houses of the realm learn that I wasn’t willing to risk myself to save MY OWN family’s House, why would they trust me to protect theirs?”

“I am not asking you to be a coward, your grace,” Robert argued. “I am asking you to be smart. We have the advantage of knowing there is a trap. We need to press that advantage.”

Aegon snorted. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“I can tell you exactly how,” Robert said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

You’re in over your head, Daemon, Robert thought darkly. Your antics and ruthlessness may have shock value in this era, but I spent well over a decade married to Cersei Lannister and as son-in-law to her father Tywin. I know what true ruthlessness looks like. And how to replicate it.