Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lord Lyman Beesbury was old.

The songs always said that as a man ages, he trades away his strength for wisdom. Lyman did not feel like he gained any wisdom as he grew old, but he did feel the gods sap his strength. When he was young, he could run up the spiraling steps of his home of Honeyholt three at a time and reach the top of the tower without needing to catch a breath. The stairs to the queen’s chamber in the Red Keep were four times shorter, though Lyman found himself needing to stop every three steps to breathe. His legs ached, and he had to lean on his two stewards to lessen the pain in his burning hip. 

“Lord Beesbury,” Robert said,”You should let either me or Will take your place at the queen’s chamber. Just tell us what to say.” Robert was a black-haired grey-eyed boy of twenty years, eager and efficient. But he was not to do the duty that Lord Lyman had been charged.

“Her Grace Queen Alicent would never call the Small Council to the king’s chambers at the hour of the wolf if it were a minor matter,” Lyman answered,”I must attend the council myself.” 

“Listen to Lord Beesbury, my lord Robert,” Lord Larys Strong’s gravelly voice emerged behind them on the staircase,”I have a feeling that tonight is a very important night.” 

Lyman heard behind him the distinctive steps of Lord Larys’s clubfoot. “Forgive me, Lord Strong,” Lyman said,”I cannot turn back to greet you.”

“It is nothing, Lord Beesbury,” Lord Larys replied,”I know how terrible it must be to be old.”

“There is much to gain in being old,” Lyman said,”One has a memory longer than any, and wise men say that men who know the past know everything.”

“One must know the past of course,” Lord Larys said,”but sometimes we must also take into account the present.”

“That is not for me,” Lyman shook his head, pondering Lord Larys’s words.

They emerged from the staircase to the hall outside King Viserys’s chambers, which the king shared with Queen Alicent. He wondered again why Queen Alicent had called the Small Council. The king’s sickness had not been worsening as Grand Maester Orwyle reported, and the king was three decades younger than Lyman. Yet there was a cold feeling in the back of Lyman’s heart, that the worse had come for the king. Lyman looked out the window, and it was a new moon. Darkness lay upon King’s Landing. It was the first time Lyman had seen the hall without servants, and Lyman’s heart grew colder.

“Lord Beesbury. Lord Strong.” Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of King Viserys’s Kingsguard, greeted Lyman and Lord Larys at the top of the steps. Watching the door to the entrances to the hall were Ser Criston’s fellow Kingsguard, Ser Rickard Thorne and Ser Arryk Cargyll. Ser Rickard guarded the left, and Ser Arryk the right. Ser Criston guarded the door to the king’s chamber. All three of the Kingsguard had their hands on their hilts, their white cloaks coated in shadow.

“Ser Criston, what has Her Grace summoned us here for?” Lyman asked.

“Inside, my lords,” Ser Criston opened the door to the king’s chamber,”But Lord Beesbury. Your stewards must remain outside.”

“I need them to help me walk,” Lyman answered, and after a brief moment, Ser Criston nodded. 

Lyman and Lord Larys walked inside the chamber, and Lyman heard Ser Criston closing the door behind them. The old lord squinted, and saw beneath the firelight most of the Small Council gathered about King Viserys’s ornate table where the king would address the matters of the realm before his illness. Queen Alicent stood at the center of the council, her hand on a piece of white parchment on which was the king’s seal and scribbled black ink. To the queen’s left was her father Ser Otto Hightower the Hand of the King, and on Ser Otto’s left was Ser Tyland Lannister the Master of Ships, his golden hair shining in the firelight. On the queen’s right was Grand Maester Orwyle, one hand stroking his brown mustache as another fingered the necklaces of chains he wore, and to the right of the grand maester was the Ironrod, Lord Jasper Wylde who was the Master of Laws.

Behind the Small Council was the king’s bed, and Lyman’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the king resting there in peace. He was not sleeping, for Queen Alicent would have not called the council if the king fared well. Lyman’s worst fear had been realized, for he knew why Queen Alicent had called the council. 

King Viserys Targaryen had given up his ghost, and by rights his Iron Throne should go to the king’s eldest daughter and his chosen heir Princess Rhaenyra. But Lyman knew Queen Alicent’s plots in court with her dogs known as the Greens, attempting to supplant the rightful heir with Queen Alicent’s eldest son Aegon. Now that King Viserys was dead, Queen Alicent wanted to raise her son Aegon to the Iron Throne and sought the approval of the Small Council. Lyman had sworn an oath to defend the rights of Rhaenyra, and he was not to submit to the machinations of usurpers. Yet Lyman knew that with or without his approval, the Small Council would raise Aegon to kingship this night. All Lyman could do was to warn Princess Rhaenyra of her brother’s treason.

“Lord Strong,” Lyman said, and heard Lord Larys’s clubfoot change pace. The Master of Whisperers knew, and Lyman’s heart settled. The old lord would do his best to convince the council to hold to their duty, but he did not bear the illusion that they would listen. All he hoped was that Lord Larys’s birds could reach Dragonstone, tell Princess Rhaenyra of the treason, and have her claim her rightful place as queen before war can be joined.

“Lord Beesbury,” Queen Alicent greeted,”Lord Strong. We are glad that my lords can join us. My lords are the last ones that need be here.” The queen wore a gown of green silk and golden Myrish lace, and her smile twinkled in the torchlight. If Lyman did not know better, he would have thought the queen beautiful. But her heart was as black as her raven-black hair. 

“My apologies for being late, Your Grace,” Lyman said,”I am old and slow. Lord Larys was good enough to help me up the stairs.”

“It is all well, Lord Beesbury,” Ser Otto said,”Time waiting for men of wisdom is not time wasted.”

“What has Your Grace called us here for?” Lord Jasper said.

“I shall not mince words or offer empty courtesies,” Queen Alicent answered,”My husband the king is dead, may the Seven rest his soul.”

There were no gasps in answer. Every man in the Small Council was a man of sense, and knew what the queen’s invitation entailed. Now, we have only to see how many in the Small Council are men of wisdom, Lyman thought.

“Septon Eustace should be summoned to perform the last rites and pray for the king’s soul,” Grand Maester Orwyle droned at once,”A raven must needs be sent to Dragonstone at once to inform Princess Rhaenyra of her father’s passing. Mayhaps Her Grace the queen would care to write the message, so as to soften these sad tidings with some words of condolence? The bells are always rung to announce the death of a king, someone should see to that, and of course we must begin to make our preparations for Queen Rhaenyra’s coronation…”

“All this must needs wait,” Ser Otto cut Orwyle off,”until the question of succession is settled. His Grace has given me the honour of being his Hand, and has granted me authority to speak with his voice. I shall see to our preparations until such time as our new king is crowned.”

“Until our new queen is crowned,” Lyman said, and soon found both the cold eyes of the queen and the Hand upon him.

“King,” insisted Queen Alicent,”The Iron Throne by rights must pass to His Grace’s eldest trueborn son.” “Here is my husband’s will,” Queen Alicent pointed at the piece of parchment in his hands, then turned to Ser Otto,”Father. May you read it to the Small Council?”

“My body is failing me,” Ser Otto read off the letter,”and I fear that I am not long for this world. What becomes of the Iron Throne after my death is my most pressing concern. I have thought long and hard of whom I would name as my successor and it has come to my senses that Daeron is too young, Aemond too brash, and Rhaenyra all too vile, and that not even to speak of her dalliance with Harwin Strong that make her sons bastard-born. I had realized that the only man worthy of the Iron Throne is my eldest son Aegon, a good boy with a stout heart. My son Aegon has shown me the wisdom of the Old King when he named Prince Baelon over his granddaughter Rhaenys, that it must be a man who sits the Iron Throne. Thus is my will, that the Iron Throne should pass to my eldest son Aegon.” “Signed and sealed,” Ser Otto lifted his eyes from the paper,”King Viserys of the House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

“Would my lord give me the letter?” Lord Jasper asked, and Ser Otto obliged. As Lord Jasper’s eyes scanned over the letter, his brows rose in suspicion,”This is not His Grace’s writing.”

“My lords should all know that in His Grace’s sickness,” Ser Otto answered evenly,”he could hardly leave his bed, much less pick up a pen and draft a letter. He spoke the words and I recorded them down. His Grace himself sealed the letter with his seal.”

“Would my lord give me the letter?” Grand Maester Orwyle asked, and Lord Jasper gave him the parchment. The grand maester’s eyes scanned the parchment, and he nodded,”I am familiar with the way in which His Grace speaks, having drafted many of his decrees. The words on this will are without a doubt His Grace’s very own.”

“Very well,” Queen Alicent took the letter from the grand maester,”This is my husband’s will, and it is the duty of the Small Council to perform it.”

“I shall stand by His Grace’s will,” Ser Otto said,”I shall not fail His Grace’s trust in me.”

“Have my lords taken leave of your wisdom?” Lyman strode slowly to the table, placing his wrinkled hands beneath the firelight,”Princess Rhaenyra is older than her brothers, and the late king had always looked to her as his successor. I do not believe that His Grace would change his mind in a night. I have served His Grace leally for most of his reign, as I had served the Old King, and I know the minds of kings.”

“My lord’s words fall against you,” Lord Jasper said,”My lord should know that King Viserys was frivolous and loved feasts, and his mind changed as the moon turned. I should count it fortunate that His Grace’s mind landed on Prince Aegon as his last act. My lord speaks of the Old King, and the Old King himself had set aside the claims of his eldest granddaughter Princess Rhaenys for that of his son Prince Baelon and thereafter Prince Baelon’s son King Viserys.”

“Frivolity was the mind of the king, Lord Jasper,” Lyman said,”but if there had been any place where the king’s mind had landed, it is the oath he had hundreds of lords and landed knights swear in the hundredth and fifth year After the Conquest. We swore solemn oaths to do obeisance to Princess Rhaenyra and defend her rights as the heir to the Iron Throne.”

“It has been twenty-four years,” Ser Tyland spoke for the first time,”I myself swore no such oath. I was a child at the time.”

“And a child you remain,” Lyman said,”if you persist in this children’s folly.”

“Lord Beesbury,” Lord Jasper said again,”You have not answered me about the Old King’s choice to put the claims of Prince Baelon before Princess Rhaenys in the ninety-second year After the Conquest, nor did you answer about the choice of the realm to vote King Viserys over Princess Rhaenys’s son Ser Laenor in the Great Council. Aegon the Conqueror himself was not the oldest of his siblings. That was Visenya, but Aegon inherited Dragonstone, sat the Iron Throne, and Visenya was only his queen consort. The truth, Lord Beesbury, is that the realm holds to the hallowed Andal tradition where the rights of a trueborn son always come before the rights of a mere daughter. Please do not fight the realm, Lord Beesbury.”

“King Viserys himself spoke in his will of the ills of his eldest daughter that make her unfit for rule,” Ser Otto said,”and that is not even to speak of Rhaenyra’s husband Prince Daemon. We all know that one’s nature. Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us, a king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was. My own head will be the first cut off, I do not doubt, but your queen, my daughter, will soon follow.”

“Nor will they spare my children,” Queen Alicent said,”Aegon and his brothers are the king’s trueborn sons, with a better claim to the throne than her brood of bastards. Daemon will find some pretext to put them all to death. Even Helaena and her little ones. One of these Strongs put out Aemond’s eye, never forget. He was a boy, aye, but the boy is the father to the man, and bastards are monstrous by nature. Please, Lord Beesbury, think of what monsters my lord shall place on the Iron Throne should my lord hold to that oath sworn when Rhaenyra and her demons had not yet revealed their vile nature.”

“Should the princess reign, Lord Beesbury,” Ser Criston’s voice rang unexpectedly behind Lyman. He did not know that Ser Criston had followed them into the chamber. “It shall be the princess’s bastard son Jacaerys Strong that reigns after her,” Ser Criston said,”Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne. We all know of Rhaenyra’s wanton ways and the infamies of Prince Daemon. They will turn the Red Keep into a brothel. No man’s daughter will be safe, nor any man’s wife. Even the boys… we know what Laenor was.”

The chamber became quiet after Ser Criston’s words, and all the eyes were waiting for Lyman’s answer. “Laenor was a good man,” Lyman said,”who fathered good sons. The rumours of the princess’s dalliances with Harwin Strong are naught but rumours, repeated by fools and traitors. I counsel all my lords to see sense, for if you do this, it must surely lead to war. The princess will not meekly stand by. She has dragons, and many more friends than this whole sorry council can hope to make. Men of honor, who will not forget the vows they swore to her and her father. I am an old man, but not so old that I will sit here meekly whilst the likes of you plot to steal her crown.” Lyman was breathing heavily as he finished, but he felt young and bold again. He rose without the aid of his stewards and turned to walk to the door.

Lyman did not make it halfway there before he felt a hand seize the back of his collar. He felt himself pulled backwards, his strength failing him as his old bones could not hope to match his captor’s strength. He saw the flash of a white cloak, and the cold eyes of the Small Council grew farther and farther away. Lyman realized at last that he was being pulled towards the open balcony. 

He found the eyes of Lord Larys, and the Clubfoot nodded. Lyman closed his eyes, giving up his struggles as his limbs hung limp beside him. The princess shall know, and she shall take back her rightful crown from the traitors. When Lyman met her father in the Seven Heavens, he would be proud to tell him that the old lord had done his duty. The fall was long, and Lyman felt the whole city of King’s Landing swim about him. His eyes jerked open to a spike blossoming from his chest, and it was cold.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys had heard the bells too many times.

She was four the first time she heard the bells. Her uncle Valerion, a sickly babe after a sickly birth, had died not a year after he crawled from the womb of Rhaenys’s grandmother. Her grandfather had ordered the bells rung whilst her grandmother wept.

The second time Rhaenys heard the bells, she was eight. A raven had arrived from the Eyrie, its dark wings bearing dark words. Her aunt Daella had died bearing Lord Rodrik Arryn a daughter. Her grandmother wept again, and her grandfather had the bells rung again.

Then, Rhaenys was ten, and she heard the bells once again. That time, it had been twin bells ringing one after the other. First, her aunt Alyssa had died of the sickness following childbirth. Then, the child she had died birthing, a boy named Aegon, had joined his mother half a year after.

The bells never rang to glad tidings. Only to death and tears. Rhaenys remembered that morning as she mounted Meleys for their daily flight, when Ser Ryam Redwyne summoned her to her grandfather’s chamber. Her grandfather said nothing to her, only gave her a letter with the seal of the Evenstar of Tarth.

“I wanted you to know first,” her grandmother had said as she wept,”Aemon was our precious boy, but he was your father.”

Rhaenys had looked up, her own tears choking her words. They had clouded her judgment as well, and she only managed,”I am heir now, right?”

Her grandfather had looked to her with narrowed eyes,”Your father is dead, Rhaenys, and the first thing you think of is the Iron Throne.” He had turned then to Uncle Baelon, asking him to ride to Tarth and avenge Rhaenys’s father. When Uncle Baelon returned, her grandfather had named him Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.

The day after, Rhaenys had departed King’s Landing, the bells tolling for her father ringing after her and timely following her into her dreams. She was glad, however, that on Driftmark with her husband the bells remained silent for many a year. Until they rang again.

They rang one after the other. First, Rhaenys’s daughter had succumbed to that accursed birthing sickness a day after birthing Prince Daemon’s son. Then, her son had been murdered by one of those male lovers Rhaenys had always warned Laenor to be wary of. When the bells tolled for her son, Rhaenys had no longer found any tears. She had saddled Meleys to scour the Fourteen Seas for the knight that had murdered Laenor, but Prince Daemon promised her that he would give her Qarl Correy’s head. True to his promise, Prince Daemon had delivered her the murderer’s head not three days after, and Rhaenys had fed the head to her dragon.

That had been the last time Rhaenys heard the bells, and their haunting melodies had faded to a distant memory. This morning, she was again saddling Meleys for their daily ride around Driftmark. The red dragon was becoming sluggish as of late, telling Rhaenys to touch down after only two laps around the isle. Rhaenys had been asking the dragon what had come upon her when she heard the bells. 

When Rhaenys arrived at her husband’s solar, he found that he had already summoned his captains and was giving commands for the Velaryon fleet to raise anchor and sail for Dragonstone. Her husband Lord Corlys Velaryon was an old man, with his skin weathered and wrinkled by countless years of sea salt. His hair was the silver white of the dragonlords the Velaryons boasted descent from, and his voice showed nothing of his age. His voice boomed with the piercing force of one who has brought to heel the howls of storm winds.

“Cor,” Rhaenys strode to him when all the captains had left his solar,”Why are the bells ringing?”

Her husband looked at her with a dreadful darkness in his eyes that she had seen only twice before, when they were told their children were dead,”The king is dead.”

To her surprise, Rhaenys found a pearl of a tear streaming down her face. Though Viserys was an usurper, he was a kind man, jovial and the victor of both the love of lords and commons. In his reign, there had been a long peace, a feat not even Rhaenys’s grandfather the Old King could boast of. Rhaenys had made her peace with Viserys the moment he named his daughter Rhaenyra his heir.

“Rhaenyra is queen,” Rhaenys said,”I did not expect Queen Alicent to be true to her duty, and send a raven to Dragonstone telling the princess of the king’s death.” The last Rhaenys heard of Queen Alicent and her Greens, they were urging Viserys to name Alicent’s son Aegon as the next king.

“Queen Alicent did not send a raven to Dragonstone,” her husband said,”nor was she true to the queen. Last night was the night King Viserys died, and before his corpse was cold, Viserys’s queen gathered the Small Council and had them name Aegon as the heir to the Iron Throne.”

“But someone slipped word to Princess Rhaenyra,” Rhaenys said.

“Aye,” her husband answered,”Jace wrote from Dragonstone. Last night, Maester Gerardys had received a raven from King’s Landing. The maester did not know who sent it, only that the letter told that the king was dead and that the queen planned to crown her son as the new king. Jace has called the banners, summoning us to Dragonstone.”

“Jace?” Rhaenys asked,”Why is it not his mother the queen?”

“I do not know,” her husband said,”We must sail to Dragonstone and answer his call.”

“Then we have no time to waste,” Rhaenys said,”At this moment, Alicent and her Greens are doubtless rallying their banners to usurp Queen Rhaenyra’s rights. It is a day’s sail from Driftmark to Dragonstone. I can get us there in a tenth that time.”

“No,” her husband shook his head,”I am not getting on your dragon again.”

“Each second we tarry here is another second you give the Hightowers to usurp your grandson’s rights,” Rhaenys said,”Jace cannot act in anything lest he has the agreement of the Sea Snake. Ride with me to Dragonstone. Your fleet can follow us.”

Her husband understood her, and nodded. He summoned Maester Codry to his hall and informed him that any ravens who arrive at Dragonstone must be set aside for only the lord’s eyes, that Spicetown’s trade tolls must begin to close, and the smallfolk must begin to gather their harvest. He also summoned his nephew Ser Daemon Velaryon and named him castellan of Driftmark in his absence. 

Meleys had already been saddled by Rhaenys for her morning ride, and Rhaenys thanked the Seven for that. The red dragon would snarl with smoke issuing from her nostrils if any stranger came close, but Meleys had been used to Rhaenys’s husband. It was only her husband who was not used to Meleys.

Rhaenys helped her husband up first to sit at the back of the saddle, fastening the chains to his belt. Then, she climbed to the front of the saddle, fastening her own chains and feeling her husband’s arms wrap around her. She took hold of the reins with one hand, whipped the dragon with the other, and Meleys soared into the sky. 

When the isle was only a pinprick behind them with the only sight in miles being the sea that was the same blue as the cloudless sky, she felt her husband’s grip upon her waist loosen a little.

“Rhae,” her husband said, his sailor’s voice unperturbed by the howling winds,”I wonder, do you ever regret marrying me?”

“Sometimes,” Rhaenys said,”When you refuse to ride with me on my dragon.” 

“You could have been queen,” her husband said,”if you married Viserys. The Hightowers would never have had such a high place at court, and this whole debacle between the Blacks and the Greens would never have existed.”

She pulled on her reins, and Meleys froze in midair, her wings beating as she hovered. Rhaenys turned back to face her husband, feeling the chains that bound her to her dragon pull on her. “I married the man I wanted to,” Rhaenys said,”who gave me the seas and the endless skies. That is more than Viserys could ever give me in the scheming court of the Red Keep.” She turned away and bade Meleys fly again,”I married a man whose son’s rights I defended and whose grandson’s rights I shall defend again.” 

Her husband was silent the remainder of the journey, and soon the black smoking towers of Dragonstone came into view. As Rhaenys soared above the walls, she saw that the battlements were manned and the crossbows of the garrison pointed at them. They did not loose their bolts, however, and Meleys soared above them without incident. Rhaenys landed her dragon in the great yard of Dragonstone, a wide space of black rock surrounded by statues of stone dragons.

Luke and Joff were there to welcome them with a company twenty strong of the Dragonstone garrison and a white cloak, Ser Erryk Cargyll of the Kingsguard. Luke’s hand was nuzzling the snout of his dragon Arrax, whose white scales shone in the dawn light. Joff’s hand was stroking the wing of his dragon Tyraxes, a beautiful creature with scales of emerald green. As Rhaenys tethered Meleys to a stone statue and unchained herself from her dragon, Luke and Joff strode forward to greet her. She dismounted and embraced both of the boys, pecking them both on the cheek. “Grandmother,” Luke bowed his head when he pulled away. “Grandmother,” Joff echoed as he did the same as his elder brother.

Rhaenys turned then to help her husband who was untangling himself from the chains and helped him dismount. “Grandfather,” Luke greeted him, and Joff did the same. Her husband nodded to both of them.

“We received the raven from Jace,” Rhaenys said,”What happened to your mother?”

“When the letter arrived telling of the Green treason," Luke said,”our mother ripped the letter to shreds and raged in her chamber, calling down the wrath of the gods on her half-brothers and their mother Queen Alicent. She went into labour prematurely, and she is still birthing the child and screaming in the towers. Jace has taken command in her absence, and called the banners.”

“Father is already here,” Joff said,”as is Lord Celtigar from Claw Isle. Truthfully, we only need grandfather to begin planning our next course.”

“Jace has called a council,” Luke said,”He is only waiting for grandfather for it to begin.”

“Very well,” her husband said,”Lead the way.”

“Apologies for the garrison’s bows, grandmother,” Joff said to Rhaenys,”When we saw the dragon in the horizon, we feared at first that it was the usurper’s dragons coming to attack Dragonstone. Then, before Father could go mount Caraxes, the scouts glimpsed that the dragon’s scales were crimson. It was fortunate it was you, grandmother.”

“If it had been the enemy,” Rhaenys said,”They would have sent all of their dragons, knowing that we had six dragons of our own even now. If the usurper ever attempts to attack Dragonstone, it shall be after Daeron arrives at King’s Landing and brings the usurper’s dragons to four. But whilst Daeron flies, we shall be preparing as well.”

The Kingsguard at the Chamber of the Painted Table, Ser Lorent Marbrand, admitted them when he saw the princes.

Jace stood at the head of the Painted Table, staring down at the map of Westeros. He looked down from the north, one of his hands resting upon the Shivering Sea whilst the other on the Lands of Always Winter. At Jace’s sides Prince Daemon and Lord Bartimos Celtigar. Ser Humfrey Lark, the master-of-arms of Dragonstone, was also there, as was Hugh Waters who was master-of-horse. Besides them, there was a fool huddling in the corner of the chamber, Rhaenyra’s favourite whom she had named Mushroom. Rhaenys’s gaze seemed to mysteriously be drawn to him. 

“A prince’s sigh, a prince’s eye, a prince’s wanton lie,” Mushroom sang,”And a dance I see, a dance there be, blue and white and green, and after we have peace.”

Joff’s voice drew Rhaenys away from the spell of the fool,”Grandmother.”

Rhaenys turned to see her eldest grandson, a brown-haired boy who was taller than her by a head. He had a flat nose and an easy grin, and his arms were thick with his hands calloused from the countless days of handling his sea-blue dragon Vermax. 

“Grandfather,” Jace turned away from Rhaenys and addressed her husband,”You are all we need. Shall we begin?”

“Lead on, my prince,” her husband said as he strode to the Painted Table. His hands rested on the Narrow Sea. Rhaenys stood beside him, and Luke and Joff walked to the other side of the table.

“What is our strength here on Dragonstone, Father?” Joff asked.

“Thirty knights,” Prince Daemon answered,”A hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms. Sufficient to hold a fortress of Dragonstone’s strength. As an instrument of conquest, however, our army leaves something to be desired.”

“The five hundred swords of Claw Isle shall be at the queen’s service, Prince Jacaerys,” Lord Bartimos Celtigar said,”and I have no doubt that Bar Emmon, Staunton, Darklyn, Darke, and Crabb shall all answer to my prince’s call.”

“You shall have my fleet,” Rhaenys’s husband said,”The Velaryon fleet is more than one hundred and fifty ships strong, crewed by three thousand veteran sailors. And my prince has me, still clinging to life like a drowning sailor clinging to the wreckage of a sunken ship. Mayhaps the Seven have preserved me for this one last fight.”

“Even if the Crownlands declare for us,” Jace said,”my uncle still has the advantage. All our hosts combined cannot match the power the Hightowers alone could field. If the Small Council has joined with Queen Alicent in her treason, then we cannot count on the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, the Wyldes of the Rain House, the Strongs of Harrenhal, and the Beesburys of Honeyholt.”

“Aegon has legitimacy,” Ser Humfrey said,”He sits on the Iron Throne and lives in the Red Keep. He most like wears the Conqueror’s crown and wields the Conqueror’s sword which had remained in King’s Landing. And he is male, which in the eyes of many in the realm makes him the rightful king.”

“Beware your tongue, Lark,” Prince Daemon said,”You have sworn an oath to your rightful queen.”

“He is right, Prince Daemon,” Rhaenys said,”The queen’s advantages are few. Older lords might yet recall the oaths they had sworn when she was made Princess of Dragonstone and named grandfather’s heir, but if even old Beesbury had sworn to Aegon, that does not bode well for the loyalties of the younger lords. There had been a time when the queen was well loved by highborn and commons alike, when they had cheered her as the Realm’s Delight. Many a young lord and noble knight had sought her favour then…but I do not know how many would still fight for her, now that she was a woman wed, her body aged and thickened by five childbirths and now a sixth.”

Jace looked at her, and he did not seem to find an answer. Rhaenys knew that he was still a boy even as he tried to not act like it, and required her counsel.

“Your mother must not rely on the lords of the realm,” Rhaenys said,”She must look to her own house. My husband’s fleet shall give her superiority at sea and his Velaryon treasury all the gold that the queen may require. Prince Daemon had been tried and tempered in the Stepstones, having more experience at warfare than any of our foes combined. And the queen has dragons.”

“As does Aegon,” Prince Daemon said.

“We have more,” Rhaenys said,”and ours are larger and stronger, but for Vhagar. Dragons thrive best here on Dragonstone. The usurper Aegon has Sunfyre, Aemond One-Eye has Queen Visenya’s Vhagar, Helaena has Queen Rhaena’s Dreamfyre, and Daeron has Tessarion. That makes four dragons of fighting size. The usurper’s twins have dragons, but they are no more than hatchlings.” “Against that,” Rhaenys looked to Prince Daemon,”we have your Caraxes, and the queen’s Syrax. My three grandsons are all dragonriders. And we have my own Meleys. We may soon find our strength joined by more. There are six more dragons who make their lairs in the smoky caverns of the Dragonmont, three of which had proven to accept riders. Find riders to master Silverwing, Vermithor, and Seasmoke, and we will have nine dragons against Aegon’s four. Mount and fly their wild kin, and we will number twelve, even without Lady Baela’s Moondancer and Prince Aegon’s Stormcloud. That is how we shall win this war.”

“Aye,” Lord Celtigar said,”Knights and armies, many though the usurper has, cannot stand against fire and blood. We must follow Princess Rhaenys’s course, and fly against King’s Landing at once to reduce the city to ash and bone.”

“And how will that serve us, my lord?” Rhaenys’s husband was the one to object,”We want to rule the city, not burn it to the ground.”

“It will never come to that,” Celtigar insisted,”The usurper will have no choice but to oppose us with his own dragons. Our nine must surely overwhelm his four, and in the end, the usurper shall be dead before the city would see war.”

“I do not suggest to rain fire and blood down upon King’s Landing,” Rhaenys said,”The usurper has only taken hold for a night, his hosts unready and his heart wary. It is no easy task to take a crown that is not your right. Strike this very moment, and his flimsy resolve shall shatter. There may be no need for a fight at all, as we shall only need to fly our dragons over King’s Landing and accept the usurper’s surrender.”

“I may be tempted to do so, Princess Rhaenys,” Prince Daemon said,”if you would do for me one thing. Search this castle and find three riders for Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke in a night, and we shall ride at once for King’s Landing.”

“I cannot find them in a night,” Rhaenys said.

“So it shall be five against four, for we do not have your three riders, and my wife shall not be strong enough after childbirth to mount her dragon within the moon. My wife has entrusted me with her sons, and I shall not throw them against the usurper. In the Stepstones, my enemies learned to run and hide when they saw Caraxes’s wings or heard his roar… but they had no dragons of their own. It is no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer. But dragons can kill dragons, and have. Any maester who has ever studied the history of Valyria can tell you that. I will not throw our dragons against the usurper’s unless I have no other choice. There are other ways to use them, better ways.”

“What do you suggest, Prince Daemon?” Rhaenys’s husband asked.

“As of now, we have the advantage of time,” Prince Daemon said,”The usurpers have kept King Viserys’s death a secret, ignorant that we know of his passing. Two can play this game, and we shall keep the queen’s coronation in secret as well, leading the usurpers to believe that they have time and shall thus delay their acts. All the while, our ravens fly to win the lords of the realm to the queen.” 

“We must fight this war with words before we go to battle,” Prince Daemon said,”The lords of the great houses hold the key to victory, and their bannerman and vassals would follow where they lead. Casterly Rock has doubtless already declared for the usurper through Ser Tyland, and mewling Tyrell’s mother would align Highgarden with the Hightowers, but the rest of the realm’s great lords have yet to declare.”

“Storm’s End will stand with us,” Rhaenys said,”I am of the Baratheon blood on my mother’s side, and uncle Boremund was always the staunchest of friends. My cousin Borros shall be as true as his father.”

“The Maid of the Vale will bring the Eyrie to our side,” Prince Daemon said,”else her own rights shall be questioned. Only with the Greyjoys could the usurper hope to surpass House Velaryon’s strength at sea, and the usurper would doubtless seek their loyalty. But Lord Dalton loves blood and battle, and the Westerlands is ripe for plunder. He might easily be persuaded to support the queen.”

Rhaenys’s husband grimaced when Prince Daemon mentioned the Greyjoys, but said nothing.

“The North is too remote to be of much import in the fight,” Prince Daemon judged,”By the time the Starks gathered their banners and marched south, the war might well be over. Which leaves only the riverlords that are ruled only in name by House Tully of Riverrun. We have friends in the Riverlands, though not all of them dare show their colors yet. We need a place where they can gather, a toehold on the mainland large enough to house a sizable host, and strong enough to hold against whatever forces the usurper can send against us.” He pointed at the map carved upon the Painted Table, at a castle above the God’s Eye,”Here. Harrenhal.”

“Shall my prince lead the assault on Harrenhal?” her husband asked.

“I shall,” Prince Daemon answered,”riding Caraxes. The Velaryon fleet should close off the Gullet, blocking all shipping entering or leaving Blackwater Bay, whilst Princess Rhaenys and her dragon fly overhead to keep their foes from attacking their ships. We do not have the strength to take King’s Landing by storm, no more than our foes could hope to capture Dragonstone. But Aegon is a green boy, and green boys are easily provoked. Mayhaps we can goad him into a rash attack. If he does not, though, ravens shall still fly forth to Riverrun, the Eyrie, Pyke, and Storm’s End, to gain the allegiance of their lords.”

“We should bear those messages,” Jace spoke up at last,”Dragons will win the lords over quicker than ravens.”

“Aye,” Luke said,”Jace and I are men, or near enough to make no matter. Our uncle calls us Strongs, but when the lords see us on dragonback they will know that for a lie. Only Targaryens ride dragons.”

“They are Velaryons,” Rhaenys heard her husband mutter, and she elbowed him, but she knew that he was smiling and proud.

“I can join my brothers as well,” Joff said,”I can mount Tyraxes, and bear one of the messages.”

“Joff, you are eleven,” Jace said.

“I first rode Caraxes when I was eleven,” Prince Daemon said.

“Very well, Joff,” Jace said,”but if you are to ride with us, you shall come with me. I intend to fly first to the Eyrie to win Lady Jeyne Arryn, then to White Harbour and Lord Desmond Manderly, and lastly to Winterfell to meet with Lord Cregan Stark. Joff, you are to accompany me to the Eyrie, but no farther.” Rhaenys detected an edge in Jace’s voice, and knew that he meant to leave Joff at the Eyrie, out of the way of the war.

“And what of me, Jace?” Luke asked.

“You shall take the shorter, safer route,” Jace said,”Fly to Storm’s End, where Lord Borros Baratheon shall give you a warm welcome.”

Chapter Text

Aemond pretended the dummy was the Strong.

He imagined how he would like to kill little Luke Strong, that arrogant, strutting bastard who had cut out Aemond’s eye and then ran screaming behind his mother’s skirts. The Strong’s eyes should have been taken out by Aemond’s father, but his father had listened to the Strong’s lies as he wept and pouted. Luke Strong had kept both of his eyes.

“But I shall have better,” Aemond cut his sword in the dummy’s chest ,”I shall have his life.” Luke Strong and his bastard brothers were traitors now, sons of a traitor princess. 

As Aemond pulled his sword out and buried it in the dummy’s stomach, he imagined riding Vhagar with Aegon’s Sunfyre and Hel’s Dreamfyre at his sides, burning Dragonstone to ashes like the Conqueror had done to Harrenhal. He smiled as he imagined the stones melting on Luke Strong’s sneering face.

It would be even better if Luke Strong chose to face Aemond in the air, where Vhagar’s great claws shall rip Strong’s little dragon to shreds and throw the rider into the sea. Aemond closed his eyes as he pulled his sword out of the dummy again and cut across its chest, imagining that he was cutting across Strong’s body as they rode against each other above the sea winds. 

He pulled his sword back, ready to deliver the final blow to Strong’s throat, when something hard bounced off the side of his helm. He did not see what hit him, for the hard object had come from his blind side. His head stung and burned as he fell shaking on the ground, clutching at the sapphire eye that had replaced his real one. The false eye hurt the most.

“Oops, sorry,” he heard his sister’s laughing voice somewhere in the distance.

“Ow,” Aemond said as he rose nursing his head. He took his helm off, but the sting still remained,”Hel, you hit me.”

“That was not me,” Hel’s face became clear in Aemond’s view,”That was Jaehaerys.”

Aemond put on his glare and looked beneath Hel’s skirts, and there he was, the little monster. Jaehaerys, the heir to the Iron Throne. And Aemond’s nephew who had only six years. Aemond gave up wearing his glare when the boy put on his innocent face, and smiled at his nephew’s antics.

“What was that, Jay?” Aemond said, his fingers brushing the brown splotches that had remained on his helm,”I do not think it was a rock. A rock would not leave this.”

His eyes looked upward, following Jaehaerys’s hand where it lay under the bottom of the boy’s dragon Shrykos.

Aemond put his hand to his head, then remembered what the hand had touched, “Hel, can you get some water please?” 

“Of course, my dear brother,” Hel said as she rushed off, laughing as she pulled up her skirts.

It was fortunate that Aemond’s sister had left his nephew all to him. Aemond strode slowly up to his nephew where the boy curled up with Shrykos, and the one-eyed prince did his best to put on his angry face. The boy must learn that he was not to mess with Prince Aemond of the House Targaryen.

“Umm, Uncle Aem,” Jaehaerys said as Aemond drew closer, his shadow towering over the boy,”Umm, leave, or I will have Shrykos burn you.”

Aemond tried his best to contain his laughter, but the boy’s frightened face and his dragon’s equally surprised expression was too much. He was about to let it out when another voice rang through the yard.

“Prince Aemond,” Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard said, and Aemond turned to face the old man with a greying beard and wrinkles next to his eyes.

“Ser Willis,” Aemond answered.

“If Your Grace is done with tormenting little princes,” Ser Willis said,”His Grace King Aegon has summoned you to a war council.” 

Aemond looked behind him, where Ser Rickard Thorne stood in the corner of the yard, keeping watch over Jaehaerys. He turned back to the Kingsguard,”Very well, Ser Willis. Lead the way.”

There was a pungent smell in Maegor’s Holdfast once one entered the halls. It was the rotting body of Aemond’s father, revealing in the king’s death the rot that had pooled within the king in his life. Aemond wished that a piece of this scent would remain in the Red Keep forever, and remind all the kings that came after of the horrible king who had decided to put the likes of Rhaenyra and Luke Strong in front of his trueborn sons. 

Though Aemond also heard that the king had a change of heart before he died. That in his last moments, he repented of his errors and named Aegon the heir to the Iron Throne. It was still a long way before Aemond would forgive his father, but mayhaps his father had thought to redeem himself as he drew his final breath. 

That would depend, Aemond decided, on whether his father’s last will would make for Aegon to take the Iron Throne. Aemond remembered yestermorn as the dreadful sun rose after the king’s death in the night. He picked through the armoury for plate and mail, ready to ride upon Vhagar against the city should they rise for Rhaenyra. Yet the Small Council had been true. The one false man, that old Beesbury, had been thrown in the black cells where he shall never see again the light of day. 

“Is Aegon king?” he had asked Ser Willis Fell, ready to kill him should he say that he was Rhaenyra’s man,”or must we kneel and kiss the old whore’s cunny?”

“Aegon is king by the king’s last will,” Ser Willis said,”Late King Viserys, in his last moments on his deathbed, denounced his daughter and named Aegon his successor to the Iron Throne.”

“Then all is well,’ Aemond had sheathed his sword,”Leave me, and come back when Aegon orders me to ride for Dragonstone and bring him Rhaenyra’s head.”

“Do you know where King Aegon is?” Ser Willis had then asked Aemond,”We have been looking through the night for him.”

“Do I look like I know where that whoremonger is?” Aemond asked, glaring at him,”Probably shaming my sister this very moment in the Street of Silk. Look there. Come back to me when Aegon orders me to ride for Dragonstone.”

“Your mother the queen has summoned my prince,” Ser Willis had said. 

Aemond had glared at him,”Come back to me when Aegon orders me to ride for Dragonstone.”

That had been the last time Ser Willis had appeared to Aemond, so mayhaps this time Aegon had truly summoned Aemond for them to ride for Dragonstone.

The Tower of the Hand was hot with the last and fiercest scorches of summer, so of course that was where Ser Otto Hightower, who was a Reach lord of the warm Oldtown, decided to hold the Small Council meetings. Aemond knew to take off his armour before entering the chamber, both out of courtesy and to not boil within that heat.

“Lord Beesbury was right about one matter,” Ser Otto said,”Rhaenyra shall not sit meekly whilst the Iron Throne passes to King Aegon. She shall attempt to usurp it with dragons.”

“Dragons,” Aegon said softly, his mouth agape.

“Yes, my dear,” Aemond’s mother Queen Alicent stroked Aegon’s sweating face,”Your vile sister shall attempt to usurp your rightful place.”

“Mother,” Prince Aemond greeted.

Queen Alicent turned to Aemond and glared,”Aemond. How nice of you to join us.”

“We have at this moment three dragons of fighting strength,” Lord Jasper answered Ser Otto as if he had not noticed Aemond,”King Aegon’s Sunfyre, Prince Aemond’s Vhagar, and Queen Helaena’s Dreamfyre. Rhaenyra, even now, has twice that number. She has her own Syrax, Prince Daemon’s Caraxes, Princess Rhaenys’s Meleys, Prince Jacaerys’s Vermax, Prince Lucerys’s Arrax, and Prince Joffrey’s Tyraxes.” 

“Do not call Rhaenyra’s bastards princes, my lord,” Queen Alicent said,”Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards born of her wanton coupling with Harwin Strong.”

“They still have their mother’s blood, daughter,” Ser Otto said to Queen Alicent,”The blood of the dragon, and they ride dragons. They still make Rhaenyra’s strength double ours. Rhaenyra’s strength could even triple ours if she finds riders for the riderless beasts on Dragonstone.”

“We must write to Lord Ormund Hightower in Oldtown,” Ser Tyland said,”and have him send Prince Daeron to us. With Prince Daeron and his dragon Tessarion, we may stand a chance.”

“It shall not suffice,” Ser Otto said,”They still far outnumber us.” He turned to Grand Maester Orwyle,”Write my nephew Ormund anyway, for another dragon is still better than none. But tell Lord Ormund to raise the levies of Oldtown and march with them as well to King’s Landing.”

“Calling your banners shall mean war,” Ser Tyland said,”Is my Lord Hand certain about this? If we shall do this, there is no coming back.”

“No,” Ser Otto said,”We shall raise the levies of Oldtown and of true men across the realm to show Rhaenyra that her cause is hopeless, that there is no hope in treason and that the wisest choice is to swear fealty to Aegon. We have time, time so long as the king’s death is not known. Time to inform the lords of the realm of the true king before Rhaenyra.”

“The ones who spoke for King Viserys at the Great Council are certain to be King Aegon’s men,” Lord Jasper said,”They are not the ones we should worry of. The ones we should address are the ones who spoke for Ser Laenor at the Great Council. Those who had favoured the female line at the council would most like favour one again.”

“Aye,” Ser Tyland agreed,”First amongst them is the Sea Snake. Lord Corlys’s fleet is practically the whole of the Royal Fleet, and he shall most certainly declare for Rhaenyra. I do not see any point in a Master of Ships when the crown has no navy to boast of.”

“Which is why you are Master of Coin now, Ser Tyland,” Ser Otto said, then turned again to Grand Maester Orwyle,”But besides the Sea Snake, which lords had voted for Ser Laenor in the Great Council.”

Orwyle consulted his records for a moment, then spoke:“Bar Emmon, Massey, Celtigar, Crabb. The Evenstar of Tarth.”

“Minor lords,” Ser Otto said,”that follow wherever the wind blows. Their words shall mean nothing. Which of the great lords voted for Ser Laenor?”

“Lord Boremund Baratheon,” the Grand Maester said,”and Lord Benjen Stark. Stark’s bannermen Roderick Dustin and Desmond Manderly had also supported the wolf lord.”

“Neither can House Arryn be relied upon,” Lord Jasper said,”Lady Jeyne Arryn rules the Eyrie, and her own rights might be called into question should Princess Rhaenyra be put aside.”

“Arryn is far away,” Ser Otto said,”and her knights are naught if we block the Bloody Gate. Lord Grover Tully had spoken for King Viserys at the Great Council and shall declare for King Aegon. Tully’s Riverland men shall bottle up the Vale knights in the Mountains of the Moon. Stark is even further away, and by the time his men join, the war is like to be over.” “The greatest danger, my lords,” Ser Otto said,”is Storm’s End, for House Baratheon had always been staunch in support of the claims of Princess Rhaenys and her children. Lord Boremund’s son Borros is Lord of Storm’s End now, and he is a fierce man who commands the fear of his bannermen. The lesser storm lords would surely follow wherever he led."

“Then we must see that he leads them to our king,” Queen Alicent declared. She turned at last to Aemond,”Ser Willis, bring my second son forward.”

Aemond shook off Ser Willis’s hand and strode before the Small Council. He knew that they despised him, but he did not care. He had Vhagar, and dragons did not care for the whims of lesser men.

“My prince must ride upon Vhagar to Storm’s End,” Ser Otto said to Aemond,”and win Lord Baratheon to our cause. Your purpose is to win the hand of one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters. Any of the four will do. Woo her and wed her, and Lord Borros will deliver the Stormlands for your brother. Fail…”

“I will not fail,” Aemond blustered,”Aegon will have Storm’s End, and I will have this girl.”

And when I am done with her, Aemond swore, I shall ride for Dragonstone, and feed Luke Strong to Vhagar. An eye for an eye.

Chapter Text

To Luke, Storm’s End was strange.

The castle was magnificent, there was no doubt to that. Brandon the Builder had done his work well, and the ancient magic of the sea nymph that was the First Storm’s Lord’s wife enchanted the grey stones to shine silver in the moonlight. Maris told Luke that the walls shielded all who stayed beneath its roof from evil spirits. “The Conqueror should have chosen Storm’s End as his seat,” Maris had japed,”There are a hundred thousand ghosts in the realm that call his name. Instead, he gave this magic keep to his bastard brother.” Yet the halls were high and cold, and Luke’s steps echoed as he walked through them. Arrax did not like the castle, and he roared his displeasure every hour. Twice, Luke wished to give in to his fear and flee, but Jace’s words bade him stay.

The present Storm Lord was courteous as well, giving him the warm welcome Jace promised and treating him with all the honours due a prince. It had seemed at first to Luke that his grandmother was right, and Lord Borros was true to Luke's mother. Lord Borros had welcomed Luke with songs and feasts, speaking oft of his gratefulness that a Targaryen princeling sought his humble hall. Yet when Luke had given Lord Borros Jace’s letter asking him to swear his swords to their mother, Lord Borros had put it aside and instead held feasts and hunts and jousts. “I must first honour the prince beneath my roof,” Lord Borros said,”Matters of the realm can wait.” Luke did not know what he meant by his strange words.

Luke found Lord Borros’s daughters strangest of all. There were four of them, and each of them had taken turns at Luke’s side during all the revels. The oldest, Cassandra, had sat by Luke’s side in the feast Lord Borros held in welcome of Luke. The second, Maris, had ridden beside Luke during the hunt, and those were the most discomforting hours of his life as he listened to her snarky remarks. The third, Ellyn Baratheon, had sat beside him as Lord Borros held a tourney of Stormland knights, and she was the best of the bunch, shy but kind-hearted. Luke wished Ellyn would sit by him again at the second feast, but instead it was her fourth sister Floris. Floris was all too pretty for Luke, with shining black hair and high tender cheekbones, making Luke self-conscious whenever he chewed.

It had been a day since Luke arrived at Storm’s End, and he thought to broach the subject of fealty to his mother again with Lord Borros. “Lord Baratheon,” Luke said to Lord Borros as the second feast had begun to wane,”I am very grateful for my lord’s honours, but feasting was not the cause that drove me to ride to Storm’s End. Your maester has told my lord the contents of my elder brother’s letter, asking my lord to swear the Stormlander swords to my mother, the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms. I wish to know my lord’s answer so that I may bring it back to my mother.”

“Aye,” Lord Borros said, smiling,”Princess Rhaenys is kin to me and mine-my great-aunt Lady Jocelyn was married to her father, and I loved both of them, Seven rest their souls. And your mother Rhaenyra is the fierce Princess Rhaenys come again. I have four daughters, and I love them. I know that daughters are a precious thing, and Storm’s End shall pass to Cassandra. Why should the Iron Throne be any different? Aegon’s cause is lost, he would see that when he learns that he had lost Storm’s End. I would tell him myself…bow down to his sister, it’s for the best. My girls would fight with each other sometimes, the way girls do, but I saw to it they always made peace afterward…”

“My lord has decided thus to swear to the true queen,” Luke became impatient with Lord Borros’s ramblings,”If that is my lord’s answer, then call the Stormlander banners, and I shall bring word of my lord’s loyalty to my mother.”

“Aye,” Lord Borros looked up to Luke and smiled,”But before my prince leaves, I must first inquire about one matter.”

“What is it, my lord?” Luke asked, already rising from his table.

“Sit down, my prince,” Lord Borros said, and when Luke did, Lord Borros continued: “My prince sits beside my lovely Floris, and I fathom that all my prince has had a taste of all four of my daughters during my prince's stay.”

“Aye,” Luke said, a finger of cold twisting in his heart as he dreaded what Lord Borros would ask.

“Pick one to be your wife,” Lord Borros said,”and Storm’s End shall be your mother’s. Choose any one you like. Cass is oldest, she’ll be first to flower, but Floris is prettier. And if it’s a clever wife you want, there’s Maris.”

Luke blushed,”My lord, I am not free to marry. I am betrothed to my cousin Rhaena.”

“Does your mother think that the Stormlander swords shall come without a price?” Lord Borros asked.

“It is my lord’s duty…” Luke began.

“My duty… bah,” Lord Borros cut Luke off, his voice growing suddenly cold,”I thought as much. Go home, pup, and tell the bitch of your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not a dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Luke had risen as well, his own fury rising within him. Jace sent him here as an envoy, but sometimes an envoy must also be a warrior,”Send me back, Lord Baratheon, and I shall return. But I shall not return to feast beneath your roof. I shall return with dragons, and teach Storm’s End the fate of traitors.”

Lord Borros took a step back, his eyes betraying surprise, and Floris reached up and tugged Luke’s sleeve,”Please, my father did not mean what he said.” Luke shook the Baratheon maid off.

"Then leave, Luke Strong," the Stormlander lord said as his eyes soon grew cold again, and he turned to look at Luke's hand which lay on his hilt,"Keep in mind that you took my bread and salt as you walked in the door. You cannot lay a finger on me beneath my roof without you and your whore of a mother becoming forever cursed by all the gods.”

Luke was about to draw his sword, the Seven be damned, when Arrax roared. A semblance of sense began to return to Luke’s mind, and he bit his lip until it bled. No, he thought. He would not shame Jace and his mother in Storm’s End.

“My lord Baratheon,” a knight with copper hair and a surcoat of twin griffins came into the feasting hall and knelt,”There is another dragon on the horizon.”

“Whose dragon, Ser Steffon?” Lord Borros asked.

“Queen Visenya’s Vhagar,” Ser Steffon answered, his face red as his hair. 

“Aemond,” Luke snarled, his accursed uncle who had shamed Luke and his brothers all those times. It was fortunate that Jace had sent Luke here to Storm’s End where he would meet his uncle. Luke would prove himself a knight, and slay the one-eyed monster.

Soon, another knight with a surcoat of twin swans burst into the hall, his face red as Ser Steffon’s,”The dragon has landed in the yard. Its rider Prince Aemond demands that my Lord Baratheon come out and greet him. He comes as an envoy from his brother Aegon, whom he says is now king.”

“Prince Lucerys,” Lord Borros said as he saw Luke’s hand curl on his hilt,”Not here. He came as an envoy. I want no blood shed beneath my roof.” Lord Borros turned then to the swan knight,”Ser Byron, Prince Aemond came to me as a guest in my castle. Offer him bread and salt, but tell him that he must come to me in my hall. He has to remember that I am Lord of Storm’s End.”

“There’s a chance there, Luke,” Maris’s voice appeared seemingly out of the darkness,”You’ve insulted my father, but Prince Aemond has as well. Play carefully, and you may sway my father back from the Greens.”

“Get away from me, stag,” Luke snarled.

At the same moment, Lord Borros yelled for his four daughters to come before him. Luke saw Maris glance back at him once and give him a mocking snort.

“Lord Baratheon,” Luke heard Aemond’s shrill mocking voice,”I saw a dragon out there in the yard. Which of the Strongs came to win you to the whore?”

When Aemond entered the hall, his one eye fell on Luke. Aemond went to draw his sword, and Luke’s hand tightened on his hilt. A booming shout from Lord Borros, like a sudden crack of thunder, stopped them both,”My princes shall not fight whilst my princes stay beneath my roof.”

Lord Borros turned then to Aemond,”Why has my prince come to my humble hall?”

Aemond glanced at the remnants of the feast around him,”Has my lord already declared for the Whore of Dragonstone?”

“That may depend,” Lord Borros said, then echoed his first question:”Why has my prince come to my humble hall?”

“Lord Baratheon,” Aemond said,”King Viserys is dead, and in his last will, he appointed his eldest son Prince Aegon as the heir to the Iron Throne. I have come on the new king’s behalf to ask for my lord’s loyalty to the true king.”

“Lies,” Luke shouted,”King Viserys always declared my mother as his rightful heir. The will is a forgery written by the vile Hightowers.”

“Seal your tongue, Prince Lucerys,” Lord Borros said,”until you are asked to speak.”

“Yes, seal your tongue, little Luke Strong,” Aemond mocked.

Luke put a hand on his sword,”One more word, uncle, and I’ll take your other eye.”

“Hold, Strong, that reminds me,” Aemond said, tearing off the eye patch he wore on his false eye to show the gleaming sapphire beneath,”You have a knife, just as you did then. Put out your eye, and I will let you leave Storm’s End alive. One will serve. I would not blind you.”

“I shall have no blood spilt beneath my roof,” Lord Borros growled again, his eyes on both of them, then turned back to Aemond,”and I have your answer, my prince.”

“Is my lord a true man?” Aemond asked,”Or shall my lord kiss the old whore’s cunny?”

“If I do as your brother bids,” Lord Borros said,”which one of my daughters will you marry, boy?” He gestured at the four girls standing before him,”Pick one.”

Prince Aemond looked at all of them, then pointed at Floris, the prettiest of the four,”Her.”

“It is as simple as that,” Lord Borros said, then turned to Luke again,”Go home, Prince Lucerys, and tell your whore of a mother that Storm’s End has risen for its true king.”

Luke wanted to draw his sword, then saw that all Lord Borros’s knights had their hands on their hilts. Each of Lord Baratheon’s daughters was glaring at him, and Aemond was sneering. Luke walked towards the door.

“Wait,” Aemond called,”You still have not given me your eye.” Luke ignored him and continued to walk to the yard where Arrax rested.

“You flee a craven and a traitor,” Aemond called behind him,”I will have your eye or your life, Strong.” Luke ignored him again, and kept walking, promising himself that one day he shall see himself avenged on Aemond Targaryen.

“What is my prince Aemond doing standing there?” Luke heard Maris behind him speak to Aemond,”Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” Her tones were as sweet as honey,”I am so glad you chose my sister. I want a husband with all his parts.”

“Strong,” Luke heard Aemond’s thunderous steps behind him, and Luke began to run. Luke sucked in a breath when he arrived outside in the yard. At one side was Arrax with his white scales, and on the other was Vhagar, five times Arrax’s size. It was clear skies above, good weather for flying, and Luke prayed that with luck, Arrax would be able to outdistance Vhagar even if Aemond gave chase. Luke heard Aemond thunder down the steps behind him, and ran to Arrax, mounting the dragon. Yet when Luke untethered Arrax from the pillar the dragon had been tied to, he looked up to see that Aemond had already mounted Vhagar, and the larger dragon’s own tethers were loose.

“Luke,” Aemond’s voice rang through the windless yard,”Fly away with your eye, and it is Vhagar you shall face. Leave your eye here, and perhaps Vhagar shall enjoy the scent of your blood and stay.”

Luke looked down at his white dragon that he had reared by his own hand since the dragon hatched from an egg as pale as ivory. Then, he looked up again at Vhagar, Queen Visenya’s mount which had burned countless armies and would rip both Luke and Arrax to shreds. There was no hope for escape, now that Aemond was on his dragon. 

Luke climbed down from Arrax and drew his dirk, watching Aemond’s smile widen. Luke looked away, drawing his knife across his left eye. At once, Luke collapsed and dropped his knife, clutching at the burning that erupted in the side of his face. He heard Aemond’s laughter in the far distance. Luke reached up, his vision in his other eye blurred, and he felt for Arrax. He found Arrax’s wing, and climbed onto the dragon. Luke could not find the chains, until he felt the chains clasp on his belt and heard Ellyn’s whisper: “Go, before Aemond changes his mind.” Luke urged Arrax up, hearing a crash as the girl rolled off the dragon’s wing. Anything to get away from Aemond and his terrible beast.

Luke did not know where he flew, but he did not hear the sound of wings behind him.

Chapter Text

The knife’s cut burned in Tyland’s palm.

The cut itself had long since healed, only an angry red line wrapped beneath layers of bandages of Orwyle’s poultices, but even the slightest prickle awoke in Tyland that oath he should not have sworn. 

Lord Larys Strong had proposed to Ser Otto the night of King Viserys’s death that the Small Council must swear a blood oath to Aegon,”to bind us all together, brothers unto death.” Lord Larys had drawn his dirk and cut his palm, as had Ser Otto, Grand Maester Orwyle after them, and then Ironrod and Ser Criston Cole. Tyland was the last to bear the knife after Lord Beesbury’s stewards had done the same when they watched the defenestration of their lord. Tyland did not want to swear. He never wanted to bet on a horse until the victor was clear, and Rhaenyra could very well emerge out of the skies in the morning claiming her rights. 

Yet the Hightowers had hold of the Red Keep and the Kingsguard, and Lord Beesbury lay pierced by the dry moat’s spikes as a clear sign to all in the Red Keep of what shall come to those who disavow the will of the Hand and the Queen. Tyland had bit his tongue, and cut the knife into his palm. He allowed the blood to pool before he clasped hands with the rest of the council, echoing the words of the others,”Brothers unto death.”

It shall not matter, Tyland turned his hand over, and he could not see the wound. No one in the Red Keep knew of the blood oath save the Small Council and the queen, who spoke of it to no one, and Tyland had done his best to steer clear of Ser Otto’s arrests. He gave Ser Otto the gold the Hand needed to pay his swords, but it was Hightower men who went about the Red Keep seizing Rhaenyra’s loyalists. Tyland sent his Lannister men to guard the crown’s treasury, well out of way of the fights. Should Rhaenyra emerge triumphant, Tyland shall only need to bend the knee and give to her the gold of the treasury. He shall emerge with a high place in Rhaenyra’s court just as much as he had in Aegon’s.

I am not the child, Lord Beesbury, Tyland hoped the old man would see Tyland now, A child keeps stubborn to his own side, whilst a wise man can play both.

“Only one of eight seats are taken,” Ser Otto said, and Tyland looked down into the Dragonpit. 

The Hand was right. From where Tyland stood, he could see all the Dragonpit allayed below, a great sand pit decorated by shining knights, silks and satin, and rows upon rows of Aegon’s banner of the red dragon. From above, the Small Council, mere inches beneath the great dome, could glimpse all that transpired below whilst those who sat in the pit would not see them in the shadows. 

It was clear that Ser Otto’s eyes were more pressed to those who sat in the great stands surrounding the ceremony below. When the Hand had judged that Aemond had reached Storm’s End and their ravens had reached Riverrun, Casterly Rock, and Oldtown, the Hand had decided at last that King Viserys’s death could be declared and Aegon crowned as the new king.

The prince had long whined like a child for his coronation. “Am I a king or no?” Aegon had demanded of his mother Queen Alicent,”If I am king, then crown me.” Queen Alicent had dallied with her son in her sweet woman’s words, promising that the Hand would be ready soon. Aegon again made Tyland doubt if it was worth serving the Greens. They had the meek Aegon, the violent Aemond, and Helaena was too consumed with her children to care of much else. The only prince worth any while was Daeron, but he was far away in Oldtown and the war was like to be over before he arrived.

Three times Tyland had thought to write a secret letter to Dragonstone, to declare his loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra and her strong sons who were much more worthwhile than the Green princes. Yet, in the end, he decided against it. If anything both the Blacks and the Greens hated more than usurpers, then it was turncloaks. He had to wait to see who would emerge the victor before he would hedge his bets. 

“My lord Hand should remember that the Dragonpit can sit eighty thousand,” Lord Jasper said to Ser Otto,”even if one of eight seats is full, it shall still be ten thousand who come to cheer the king. Remember that King’s Landing only boasts of a population of two hundred thousand. To have ten come at such a short notice is already a feat.”

“It is not enough,” Ser Otto shook his head,”My lords should remember that there are merchants and travellers who are amongst the smallfolk in the Dragonpit. I will not have them bringing word to the realm that the king’s coronation was made to quiet cheers and empty seats.”

“I may have a solution, my Lord Hand,” Lord Jasper said,”As of present, there is naught convincing the smallfolk to attend the coronation save their wish to see a dragon. So let us make it so that there is good in coming to cheer the king.”

Ser Otto turned to his Master of Laws,”Continue, my lord.”

“Have your heralds and the City Watch declare that the king’s coronation shall be accompanied by a feast for all the true men who attend,” Lord Jasper said,”An incentive, for the smallfolk shall not refuse bread won at no price, particularly the savages in Flea Bottom who shall cheer the most raucous.”

Ser Otto was nodding,”and where may we get all this bread, Lord Wylde?”

Tyland answered for Lord Jasper, judging that this would not tie himself to the golden dragon whilst still winning himself Aegon’s favour,”There is no time to have the castle’s cooks prepare a feast, so send out the City Watch and leal Hightower men to the Street of Silver and buy up the merchant’s hoards. I can assure that the crown’s treasury shall prepare the gold needed.”

“Very well,” Ser Otto said,”Inform the crown’s treasury that a hundred thousand stags must be set aside. The City Watch shall come to retrieve them.”

“Aye, my Lord Hand,” Tyland said, then turned to one of the stewards Lord Beesbury had left him,”Will. Take ten of my guards, and ride for the crown’s treasury. Inform Ser Tyrion Reyne that the Master of Coin commands that a hundred thousand stags must be set aside. The City Watch shall come to retrieve them.”

“The City Watch,” Ser Otto then turned to Lord Jasper,”falls under your purview as Master of Laws. Command Ser Luthor to send heralds proclaiming the feast at the king’s coronation. Furthermore, command Ser Gwayne to send three thousand men first to the treasury to take the stags, and then to the Street of Silver and secure one hundred thousand bushels of bread. Make certain that the Watch pays for whatever they take, and any who take from a merchant’s wharf without due compensation shall be subject to capital punishment beneath the king’s law. The same punishment shall be for those who steal even a single stag from the gold they have been entrusted. I shall not have the king’s men be said to be thieves. Have the watchmen know that before they take the stags from the treasury.”

“My Lord Hand,” Lord Jasper asked,”Is it wise to take three thousand from the City Watch? That shall greatly reduce the guards at the Dragonpit should Rhaenyra’s Blacks attempt any treason.”

“There shall be more damage done if the bread does not reach the Dragonpit,” Ser Otto then turned to one of his knights, Ser Theodore Roxton,”Ser Theodore, ride with ten men to the Red Keep and command my heralds to join the City Watch in proclaiming the king’s feast. In addition, pick out three thousand of my Hightower men. They shall ride to the Street of Silver to aid the City Watch in transporting the wagons of bread. As you depart the Dragonpit, tell the guards that any new man who enters shall be handed the banner of a Targaryen dragon.”

“Aye, my Lord Hand,” Ser Theodore said simply, then set off with his men.

“My lord Hand,” Lord Jasper said,”If we must make a feast, then we must delay the coronation. There must be some entertainment to amuse the spectators lest they depart.”

“Give them dragons,” Tyland japed,”Have Queen Helaena fly Dreamfyre around the Dragonpit.”

Yet Ser Otto seemed to be nodding, and turned to his captain of guards, Ser Laith Honeys,”Send word down to the sand pit, and inform Ser Criston, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Septon Eustace that the order must change. The Prince of Dragonstone and the Queen Consort must be crowned first before the king. They already have their crowns below, so it should not be much issue.”

If Tyland did not know, he would not have noticed that the Dragonpit below had shifted who must be crowned first. It was now first Prince Jaehaerys who walked down the aisle of knights with Ser Rickard Thorne and Ser Willis Fell at his sides. The aisle drew their swords to salute Prince Jaehaerys, and the crowd cheered. 

At the head of the aisle, Prince Jaehaerys stepped first before Septon Eustace, who anointed him with the seven oils and proclaimed the blessing of the Seven. Then, the prince came before Grand Maester Orwyle, who told the prince of all the duties of the Prince of Dragonstone. To each duty, Orwyle asked the prince if he would perform it to the best of his ability, and to each, the prince would answer,”I will.” Tyland knew that those in the stands would not hear, but he also knew that the smallfolk did not come to watch the grand maester drone on about a prince’s duties.

Last of all, the prince came before Ser Criston, who placed the simple silver crown of the Prince of Dragonstone upon Prince Jaehaerys’s brow and bade him rise as Prince Jaehaerys, Prince of Dragonstone and the one true heir to the Iron Throne. From there, a raucous cheer rose from the smallfolk in the stands. The Dragonkeepers led out the prince’s dragon Shrykos, and the prince mounted his dragon. The prince only flew a small glide above the sands of the Dragonpit, all that the little dragon was capable of, but the cheers of the smallfolk only grew louder. Tyland began to notice that the spaces between the stands were starting to fill.

After the prince was crowned, it was the turn of the queen consort. Even as Queen Helaena walked down the aisle in a radiant gown of green and gold lace, Ser Arryk Cargyll and the new white cloak Ser Gyles Belgrave guarding her sides. The stands were already cheering as she walked. It was not swords that were raised in the queen’s aisle, but a host of queen’s ladies who shone also in gowns of silk, satin, and Myrish lace. A wind had begun to blow, and some of the Dragonpit’s sand had begun to blow upon the ladies’ dresses, but it did little to dim the cheers that only grew louder. 

Septon Eustace was waiting at the end to anoint Queen Helaena with the seven oils, and Orwyle there as well to ask the queen if she would be true to the duties of a queen consort. However, it was not Ser Criston who crowned her, but Queen Alicent, placing a crown upon Queen Helaena’s head. The crown was Queen Alicent’s own crown, the crown that had once belonged to the Conqueror’s Queen Rhaenys, given back by the Dornish at the peace of the First Dornish War. It was carved of onyx in the elegant shape of a dragon’s wings, ruby, amethysts, and a dozen other gemstones set in the places where the claws should have been. When Queen Alicent placed her crown on Queen Helaena’s head, the mother then knelt and bowed her head. Though Tyland could not hear her, he knew that Queen Alicent was bid to say,”My queen.” All in the Dragonpit knelt, and soon the stands quieted as the smallfolk knelt to their queen. 

The stands erupted again with cheers as the Dragonkeepers brought Queen Helaena’s Dreamfyre out of the caves. The queen mounted Queen Rhaena’s beast and flew three great circles about the stands, the smallfolk rising to try and touch the edge of Dreamfyre’s wings as she passed by. The cheers that erupted were twice that cheering Prince Jaehaerys, and many now waved the dragon banners of Aegon. Queen Helaena could take her dragon to the skies, stopped by the giant dome that encased the Dragonpit, and the queen eventually set Dreamfyre down again onto the sands.

“Ser Tyland,” Tyland heard Ser Otto say.

“What shall my Lord Hand have need of?” Ser Tyland turned to face Ser Otto.

“Before the king is crowned,” Ser Otto said,”there is a matter we must first settle between us. I know the sort you Lannisters are. Your counsel never comes without a price. What do you want?”

“I myself only want for King Aegon to win victory over his sister,” Ser Tyland said, then laughed as Ser Otto’s eyes narrowed,”As to my brother Lord Jason, I say he has higher ambitions. He wants a dragon prince for one of his daughters.”

“Which one?” Ser Otto said.

Jaehaerys and Maelor are too young, Tyland knew, and would not please his brother who wanted a wedding soon. The realm all knew what Aemond was, and Tyland knew his brother was glad that the Baratheons would have to deal with the one-eyed madman. Jason would be pleased that it left the best of the princes for him, the gentlest and the cleverest.

“Prince Daeron,” Tyland said. 

“Done,” Ser Otto said,”For which of Lord Jason’s daughters?”

“Cerelle or Tyshara should be of marriageable age soon,” Tyland said,”Prince Daeron can have his pick of either.”

“Is there anything else?” Ser Otto asked.

“One matter,” Tyland said,”My brother wants the betrothal to be kept secret until the war is done.” 

“Ah,” Ser Otto said,”So Lord Lannister does not wish to draw Rhaenyra’s ire on himself. I shall consent to it. You Lannisters are wise, and the king needs wise men at his side.”

“The king shall have my brother’s deepest gratitude,” Tyland said. In truth, Jason would be content with the prince and call his banners, secret betrothal or not. It was Tyland who wanted to wait for Aemond’s return from Storm’s End. 

If Aemond returned with Lord Baratheon’s loyalty without incident, it shall be safe for Tyland to openly tie himself to the Iron Throne. With Storm’s End and Casterly Rock both arrayed against Rhaenyra, there is still a chance for a peaceful resolution. If Aemond did not, then Tyland would not be the one to declare the betrothal to all the realm and drag himself into the dregs of war. If Aemond fails to gain the loyalty of Lord Borros, or, gods forbid, Aemond flies to Dragonstone and murders any one of Rhaenyra’s kin.  

His will set, Tyland turned down again into the Dragonpit, which was rising in a great roar as Aegon finally emerged from the caves for his coronation. The swords that greeted Prince Jaehaerys were doubled, each row of swordsmen drawing their blades as Aegon passed, guarded by the two newest members of his Kingsguard, the tall brutish Ser Lamont Honeys and Ser Gaston Flowers. They were both men formerly of Ser Otto’s household guard, placed by the Hand at Aegon’s side to inform on the king. 

When the king reached the end of the aisle, the cheers had swelled so much that Lord Jasper began to fear that the dome would collapse. Tyland thought to himself that it would not be so bad an idea. He did not know which fool had designed a dome for the Dragonpit, but he knew that one should not seal dragons in the caves when they were born to fly. 

Aegon knelt before Septon Eustace, kneeling before the gods, and Eustace anointed him with the same seven oils that he had touched to the Prince of Dragonstone and the Queen Consort, proclaiming the same blessings of the Seven. The Grand Maester came forward, and if there had been little chance of hearing Orwyle’s words before amidst the hubbub of the Dragonpit, there was none now that the cheers filled the raging stands. Tyland knew that Ser Otto was pleased that their scheme with the feast had seen its fruits, for the stewards reported that half the stands were full and the dragon banners they waved made it seem that the other half were also full.

When the Grand Maester finished his speech, he withdrew, and Ser Criston came forward, lifting a crown over the prince’s head. It was the Conqueror’s crown, a band of iron set with red rubies, and Ser Criston placed it on Aegon’s brow. Then, another knight came forward with a sheathed sword in a scabbard of dark brass and hammered iron, giving it to Ser Criston. Ser Criston withdrew and knelt, raising the sword above his head. The Grand Maester and the Septon knelt after Ser Criston, as did Queen Alicent, Queen Helaena, Prince Jaehaerys, Princess Jaehaera, and Prince Maelor. All the hundreds of lords, knights, and ladies upon the sands bent their knees to the king, and with them silence fell as the smallfolk in the stands did the same. Aegon rose, crowned a king, and drew forth the Conqueror’s blade from the scabbard in Ser Criston’s hands, the dark smoking Valyrian steel blade shimmering in the sun as Aegon raised Blackfyre to the skies.

“We should bend our knees,” Ser Otto said.

“No one shall see us up here,” Lord Jasper said.

“Does that make King Aegon any less our king?” Lord Larys said, the first one to kneel. Ser Otto and Lord Jasper followed, and their small enclave at the top of the Dragonpit did the same. The stone was hard beneath Tyland’s knee.

“Long live the king,” Ser Otto said, and the voices of their enclave joined that of the ones below,”Long live the king. Long live the king.”

Chapter Text

Rhaena’s eggs would not hatch.

She crouched for hours before the burning hearth where the eggs rested, as the old maids of Dragonstone said that the fires would give life to the eggs. The hearth in Rhaena’s room was where Queen Rhaenys hatched her dragon Meraxes if the tales be true. Rhaena prayed to the Seven, for Septa Morose said that the Maid favoured the pure and the Mother favoured the kind. Yet the hard shells on the eggs stayed intact, and the heat licked Rhaena’s face when she got too close.

Syrax’s last clutch was beautiful, three chubby eggs that Rhaena had to cradle in two hands. 

The first egg was as black as night, dotted with shimmering stars. She imagined that the dragon that would emerge from the egg would be as fierce as the Black Dread but also beautiful, that the realm would look and wonder as to a star on a moonless night. She would name that dragon Starlight.

The second egg was as pink as the dawn, dotted with the black specks that were the last remnants of the night’s darkness. The dragon that would emerge from that egg would be as lovely as a new day when the sun rose on its pink scales. She would name that dragon Morning.

The last egg was as blue as the midday sky. Not the deep sea-blue of Jace’s Vermax or Daeron’s Tessarion, but the light blue of the daylight heavens, with shimmers of white that were the clouds. The dragon that would emerge from the last egg would be as magnificent as the midday sun shining upon endless green fields. She would name that dragon Glory.

That is, if the eggs would hatch, Rhaena stared as the fires shimmered and danced about the silent ovals that held dragons within. There would be no Starlight or Morning or Glory for Rhaena if the eggs remained still as stone.

Rhaena had asked her father, her cousins, even her grandmother when she came to visit, when her eggs would hatch, but they had all bade her wait. Rhaena knew that they did not care, because they already had enough dragons. Rhaenyra had one, Father had one, Grandmother had one, all three of her Velaryon cousins rode dragons, and even her sister Baela had the pale green Moondancer. They did not need Rhaena’s dragon.

“The princess spare,” Rhaena’s remembered Mushroom’s jape at her at one feast. Luke, who had sat beside her, had laughed in mirth, and Rhaena remembered Mushroom’s words which seemed to echo ever true. She was the princess spare of Dragonstone, the one no one cared about unless some accident befell the true princess. Every eye was on Baela, the true princess who rides a dragon, who shall be queen when Jace is king.

Why Baela, who only had her place because she crawled from their mother’s womb a few seconds before Rhaena did? Rhaena was certain that it was those few ambitious seconds that strained their mother so much that she could never bear another child. When she bore their father another son, that killed her. No, Baela killed her. If Baela had not wanted so badly to crawl first, tame a dragon, and be queen, both of them would still have a mother.

She is the one with the dragon, Rhaena wrenched herself away from the hearth and looked outside, at Moondancer tethered in Daenys’s Yard. Baela had already ridden the dragon for a fourth time the day before the king died, and all that while Father had accompanied her on Caraxes. All the while leaving Rhaena to the company of Septa Morose and her handmaids. Rhaena was glad that Moondancer was still too small for Baela, and her sister had to touch down after limping a brief flight from the castle to the Dragonmont. Yet there was naught for Rhaena to do until Starlight or Morning or Glory hatched.

When she least wished it, a knock rang on her chamber door. She knew the heavy-handed knock that was the sign of Septa Morose. 

“I am done with my lessons, Septa,” Rhaena answered,”I wish for some time alone.”

“Your father has summoned you, young lady,” Septa Morose said.

This time, Rhaena did open the door,”Is it Her Grace the queen?” Rhaena would never call that woman mother. Her true mother, before Father married again, had been killed by Baela. 

“It is not my place to say, my princess,” Septa Morose said. She was not an old woman, but she looked old. If she had been beautiful once, she did not show it beneath her lilac linen wimple and stern features. At her sides were Rhaena’s two handmaids, Laena Celtigar and Ceryse Cafferen. Celtigar was a little thing with pointed eyes and a thin chin. Cafferen was as tall and plump as a haystack, with pouty lips and a long nose. To round out the retinue was the short Ser Harrold Darke who was Rhaena’s sworn sword, and two aged men-at-arms who had been at Dragonstone since the Old King, whom Rhaena only called Greybeard and Whitebeard. There it is, Rhaena sighed, The sad retinue of the princess spare.

Rhaena could hear the screams as she ascended the steps of Sea Dragon Tower. Shrill torturous echoes bounced about the tight stone walls and threatened to make them ever tighter. Rhaena was no stranger to the screams, for sometimes the winds carried the voice to the Stone Drum where Rhaena’s chambers lay. She was only surprised that it had gone on for so long, since Ceryse had said that Rhaenyra had given birth to her daughter in the morning. The daughter emerged a twisted little monster, with a hole in her chest and a stubby, scaled tail. Mayhaps that was why Rhaenyra was still screaming. 

“My princess,” Ser Humfrey Lark greeted Rhaena at the top of the steps, behind him standing twenty of the Dragonstone garrison.

“Where is my father?” Rhaena asked.

“Inside, my princess,” Ser Humfrey answered. When Rhaena made to enter, Ser Humfrey stopped her: “Your father has bid my princess wait outside.”

“Is Baela in there with Father?” Rhaena asked.

“She is your father’s cupbearer,” Ser Humfrey answered.

I know, Rhaena thought. Far from seeing justice for killing their mother, Baela had received a reward from Father. All because Baela could ride a dragon. Rhaena swore that she would also ride a dragon to match her sister.

The door slammed open, Rhaena’s father storming outside with Baela and his two guards Caswan and Lapel close at his heels. Baela saw Rhaena and smiled, though Rhaena knew that it was false, a show for all the guardsmen. Her monkey Egg perched atop her shoulder, baring his fangs to reveal Baela’s true intent. She only had pity for Rhaena, the poor little princess spare with no dragon.

Behind her father, Rhaena could hear Rhaenyra’s harsh screams that she could scarce make out. She thought mayhaps that Rhaenyra was screaming: “Traitor.”

Ser Humfrey stepped up to Rhaena’s father and bowed,”Prince Daemon. How fares the queen?”

“Her Grace is still not cured of the birthing sickness,” Rhaena’s father said,”Send for Gerardys, and under no circumstances can the queen leave her chambers. The Kingsguard shall not give you trouble, for they know to listen to my commands rather than the queen’s madness.” “Also,” he commanded,”Send a man to Daenys’s Yard, and I want Hugh Waters to attend me at the Painted Table and give me a report of how Syrax fares without her mistress.” Then, he turned to Rhaena,”Daughter. I have no further need of you. My apologies for the summons, but it was when I thought Her Grace not mad.”

“Father,” Rhaena shook her head, knowing that she must not let this opportunity slip,”It was Septa Morose who delivered your summons. If the Seven have arranged for my arrival, then your duty today shall still require my presence.”

“Very well,” her father waved his hand,”Join me and Baela at the Painted Table, but you are not to speak unless asked. Understood?”

Rhaena nodded, for she did not have much to speak anyway.

“Sis,” Baela walked up to her, Egg watching, and Rhaena could not slip away.

“Sister,” Rhaena returned her greeting,”What happened in the queen’s chamber?”

“Her Grace threw a vase at Father,” Baela answered,”This one had been a gift from the Sealord of Braavos. It was a beautiful thing, Yi Ti jade inscribed with swirling gold patterns and glittering sapphires. As it shattered, its pieces looked like any other rock.”

“Why?” Rhaena asked, confused.

“Why?” Baela echoed, raising her brows,”Father went to the queen’s chamber, hopeful that she had healed since her stillbirth, wishing to discuss with her the coronation. Instead, the queen accused him of sending our dear cousins into the fires and dangers of the realm without consulting her, their mother.”

“They are not going to war,” Rhaena said,”They are to act as Her Grace’s envoys.”

“Father told her that,” Baela snorted,”but she demanded why he did not have her sons swear on a Seven-Pointed Star to just act as envoys. As if that would stop me from breaking Cousin Aemond’s nose if I met him at Storm’s End or the Eyrie.”

“Was she raging at Father?” Rhaena asked.

“Worse,” Baela answered,”Her Grace then accused Father of sending away all three of her sons with Uncle Laenor so that they would die and our brother Aegon would inherit the Iron Throne. That was when Her Grace started screaming, calling Father a traitor equaling the Hightowers. I feared for a moment that the queen meant to set her Kingsguard on us, but then I remembered that all three of them were Father’s men.”

“When shall Her Grace be crowned, then?” Rhaena asked.

Baela laughed,”At this rate, we are most like to crown Jace before her.”

“Quiet, daughters,” their father said,”Listen at the Painted Table, and you may speak thereafter.”

“Syrax is… temperamental,” Hugh said, standing at the Painted Table, his thick blacksmith’s hands resting on the Gullet and Shipbreaker Bay.

“As mad as her mistress, you mean,” Rhaena’s father said,”You need not pretty your words with me, Waters. Just tell me if you can control her.”

“The dragon is wild,” Hugh answered,”It eats twice as more as it had before King Viserys’s death, and terrifies Moondancer and Stormcloud. Only my prince’s dragon can keep Syrax in check from ravaging the castle.”

“I did not ask about whether Caraxes can control Syrax,” Daemon said,”I asked whether you could control Syrax. You have blood of the dragon in you, flowing from one of Lord Aenar’s many dragonseeds. I intend to ride Caraxes to Harrenhal, and I want assurances that the queen shall not burn Dragonstone down in her madness the moment I leave.”

“I cannot, my prince,” Hugh said, his voice hard as a hammer,”The dragon roars every hour in the direction of King’s Landing, timely breathing streams of fire around her. It is all we could do to get the food to her, and the castle has already lost a cook and three serving girls that way.”

“Prince Daemon,” Lord Bartimos Celtigar said,”Her Grace’s loyalists are gathering all across the Crownlands, the Sea Snake’s fleet ferrying them to Rook’s Rest. As of now, Staunton’s castle hosts a force five thousand strong, of Massey of Stonedance, Bar Emmon of Sharp Point, the Crabbs of both Dyre Den and Brownhollow, the Blounts of the Barren, the Darklyns and Darkes of Duskendale, and five hundred of my own Claw Isle men. They shall be ready within two nights, and only wait for my prince and Caraxes to begin the assault on Harrenhal. We cannot delay any longer for the sake of the queen. Take Her Grace with us if she cannot be left here alone, and name a loyal man as castellan of Dragonstone.”

“A loyal man,” Rhaena’s father looked at Lord Bartimos,”I should take it that my lord means yourself.”

Lord Bartimos knelt,”I am honoured that my prince thinks me a loyal man, and I shall not fail your trust. My second son Meryn can take command of the Claw Isle men at Rook’s Rest in my place.”

“You?” Baela laughed,”Father, you would do well not to leave me in his custody.” She swept around to face Celtigar,”I shall put my full weight behind my lord’s proposal if my lord would do for me one thing. Face me and Moondancer in battle.”

“That is no fair fight,” Lord Bartimos said,”What honour is there in facing me, a feeble lord with no dragon?”

“A feeble lord with no dragon,” Baela echoed mockingly, Egg leaping onto the Painted Table and snarling,”My lord said it yourself. You have no dragon. What shall my lord do when Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Dreamfyre descend upon Dragonstone? No doubt surrender all the royal household to them for a keep and a pretty penny.”

“Prince Daemon,” Lord Bartimos said, ignoring Baela,”There is no time to waste. You must march this very moment for Harrenhal, and take the whole royal household with you if you do not trust the fortress of Dragonstone to its castellan. Every loyal man in the Seven Kingdoms would be honoured to receive the royal house. Whilst the queen lies in sickness, name yourself the Hand of the Queen, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm, so that my prince may have the authorities to act in all that is necessary to preserve her reign.”

Rhaena could not read her father’s expression, but she knew that he was on the verge of conceding to Lord Bartimos. He knew to listen to reason rather than Baela’s rash impulses. “My prince,” Rhaena heard the voice of her father’s guard Caswan at the door as the guard knocked his three taps,”Maester Gerardys requests an audience.”

“Daughters,” Rhaena’s father said,”Before I have Maester Gerardys enter, would you venture a guess as to what he has come to tell me?”

Was Gerardys Father’s creature? Rhaena wondered. She was certain that all the men that made any matter on Dragonstone were her father’s men, so she answered her father in an instant: “He comes to say that Her Grace is still not cured, and that my prince should claim the regency.”

Her father shook his head, and Baela then answered: “He comes to tell Father that Rhaenyra is not as mad, and comes to plead with Father to set her free. The maester is Her Grace’s creature.” 

“That is correct,” their father answered,“Send him in.” “How fares Her Grace?” he asked Gerardys when the maester entered with his chain swaying heavily about.

“The queen is quiet,” Gerardys said,”Her mind has calmed of the madness of childbirth. My prince should take pity on her, for she felt in three days her father’s death, a usurper take her crown, and the stillbirth of her child, a mother’s greatest fear. Yet Her Grace’s strength is indomitable, and she has endured. Tried a little at times, but she has endured. It is my counsel to my prince that she be let out of her chamber to assume her duties.”

Their father said naught in answer, his eyes watching the Painted Table as the pieces stood silent upon them. “Prince Daemon,” Caswan burst from the door, a worried expression on the young man-at-arms’s beardless face and mouse-like eyes,”The sentries reported a dragon emerging from the south.”

“What colour is the dragon?” Rhaena’s father asked. The answer he received was white. “Baela,” he then said,”Go with Waters to Ser Humfrey, and prepare a welcoming party for the prince. He has returned a hero.” Rhaena’s father did not even look at Rhaena, even though Luke was her betrothed. Not that Rhaena wanted to greet that strutting fool who cared naught about her. “Rhaena,” her father’s voice said,”You shall accompany me as we greet your betrothed.”

Rhaena, escorted by her feeble retinue, stepped out onto the stones of Daenys’s Yard, the stone dragon statues staring at her with their marble eyes. There were no pupils in those eyes. Syrax was huffing at the other side of the yard, but her father’s blood-red dragon kept it in check. Ser Humfrey had sent Ser Durran Bar Emmon with thirty men as a welcoming party for Luke. It was Rhaena’s father who stood at the head of the party, Baela at one side and Hugh Waters on the other, watching the skies for Luke’s dragon. Rhaena spied Baela timely glancing sideways towards Moondancer, and Rhaena bit her lip. Rhaena would have been a better princess than her sister, not so easily swayed from her duty by a dragon.

It was when Arrax drew closer that Rhaena noticed that something was amiss. From the dragon’s flight, it seemed that it did not have a rider. Her heart lay at rest when she saw that Luke was huddled about the dragon’s neck. Yet her heart bubbled again as the dragon drew closer. Luke’s arms did not hug the dragon’s neck, instead hanging limp at Arrax’s sides. The white dragon roared, and Syrax, Moondancer, and Stormcloud looked up to give an answer. Far up the Dragonmont in the caves, all the dragons roared to greet their kin.

Arrax soared above Daenys’s yard, not landing. Rhaena’s father looked back, and Rhaena followed his head to where Arrax flew. It seemed that Arrax was riding towards the cave upon the Dragonmont where Meleys had laid Arrax’s egg alongside that of Vermax and Tessarion fifteen years ago. 

“Luke’s not in control of his dragon,” Rhaena’s father shouted,”Send for Maester Gerardys,” he shouted at one of the men-at-arms,”He is to meet me at the Red Roost.” “Baela,” he commanded,”Ride Moondancer to the Dragonmont, and see what happened to Luke.”

“Follow me on Caraxes,” Baela said, but their father shook his head.

“Caraxes shall spook Arrax,” their father said, then waved his hand,”Do not tarry, daughter.” Baela nodded, running to Moondancer and mounting her in one swift stroke. She tied the chains on the saddle to her belt, untethered the dragon from one of the pillars, and with three whips urged Moondancer into the sky. Rhaena could watch as her sister roared, her heart dropping ever lower. She could only follow her father, walking upon the castle’s cobbles whilst their father’s eyes followed Baela through the skies.

The Red Roost was full of bones and a reeking stench, for Meleys had not lived in the cave since Princess Rhaenys had claimed her, and only returned to lay her clutches of eggs. There were no less than fifty men standing outside the cave when Rhaena arrived with her father and Maester Gerardys, pushing aside the others to approach the cave’s opening. 

“Father,” Baela was there, watching and stroking Egg,”Luke is in there, but Arrax would not let anyone close to him. Not even Moondancer.”

“Go back to the castle, Baela,” Rhaena’s father answered, then glimpsed Baela’s dragon not far away roosting on a ledge,”Take Moondancer for another ride, and if you need help, seek Hugh.” Whilst they spoke, Rhaena stepped forward, approaching Meleys’s cave. The smooth rocks, polished by dragonflame, shone as red as Meleys’s scales whenever the sun rose. Or set, Rhaena thought, eyeing the sun begin to dip below the western sky.

There, she found Arrax, snarling as smoke blew from the dragon’s nostrils. As Rhaena stepped forward a step, she imagined that the dragon began to quiet. She stepped forward again, sure that in this she would surpass her sister. Whilst Baela fled, the singers would say, the princess spare tamed the dragon.

“Get back, Rhaena,” her father shouted, and she felt Ser Harrold’s thick arms pull her aside. “Let me go,” Rhaena tried to struggle out of Ser Harrold’s grip, but his hands were firm. “Get my daughter back,” she heard her father shout as he cracked his whip, and Arrax snarled again but retreated into the cave. As her father cracked the whip again and again, Arrax backed away step by step, until the dragon’s wings unfolded to reveal a boy sprawled beneath. Her father gestured for Gerardys to come forward as he cracked his whip, his eyes never leaving that of Arrax. Gerardys rushed forward, and when he returned, Rhaena saw Luke cradled in the maester’s large arms. Dried blood that ran from one of Luke’s eyes. 

Aemond, Rhaena thought, The usurper sent him to Storm’s End. An eye for an eye. Rhaena did not pity her betrothed. Luke should have known what had been his due when he cut out the prince’s eye. So long as Luke kept his life, Rhaena was even a bit amused by Aemond’s idea of justice.

“Gerardys,” her father yelled from inside the cave,”Get Luke to a bed in Sea Dragon Tower, and make certain that he survives.”

“Yes, my prince,” Gerardys said as he lifted Luke whilst Rhaena’s father stared down Arrax, timely cracking his whip. When both the maester and Luke were beyond the cave’s entrance, her father stepped back step by step, making certain that he did not break his glance with Arrax. When at last her father retreated from the cave and heard the dragon’s roar inside, he assigned ten men as the keepers of the Red Roost should Arrax not ride forth to hunt, slaughtering a lamb for every one of Arrax’s meals.

Rhaena did not speak to her father as they returned, and he did not speak to her. She was certain that he knew that he had shamed Rhaena in front of Dragonstone, but he did not care. He only cared of Baela, not the princess spare. “Prince Daemon,” Lord Bartimos’s silver hair and lilac eyes greeted them when they returned to the castle, and Rhaena hoped a last vain hope that Lord Bartimos would present a chance for her,”When shall my prince ride for Rook’s Rest? I shall follow on the Red Crab.” 

“You may sail forth on the Red Crab to Rook’s Rest,” Rhaena’s father commanded,”and there, command Princess Rhaenys that she is to have command of the host that marches for Harrenhal.”

“What of my prince?” Celtigar asked.

“I shall not leave here alone a mad woman and a one-eyed prince,” Rhaena’s father said,”Caraxes shall patrol the seas and guard Lord Corlys’s blockade of King’s Landing as Princess Rhaenys had done, and at the same time my dragon and I shall guard Dragonstone from the usurpers.”

He saw the wheels behind Lord Bartimos’s eyes turn, and soon the lord was nodding his head,”Very well, my prince, but I do not have the authority to command Princess Rhaenys.”

“Tell her that my lord is Hand of the Queen,” her father said,”as appointed by Prince Daemon of the House Targaryen, Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Rhaena knew that her father made Lord Bartimos Hand to be more than a messenger. Lord Bartimos would be there at Harrenhal to watch Princess Rhaenys, and make certain that the Queen Who Never Was did not emerge a queen. But Rhaena did not care of that.

“What of me?” Rhaena asked her father,”May I accompany Lord Bartimos to Rook’s Rest?”

“War is no place for little girls,” her father said as he turned away.

Chapter Text

Helaena did not know how to ask Aemond to not tell the king about the war.

The king knew about Rhaenyra’s treasons, certainly, and that she would not stand by meekly, but the Small Council had assured him that his sister would not slay her kin for a crown. "Peace can be made before war is joined," Ser Tyland had assured the king. Yet ravens came from the north, letters of defiance from Houses Darklyn, Crabb, and Staunton, as well as Lord Larys’s birds reporting to the Small Council of a host gathering at Lord Elbert Staunton’s seat at Rook’s Rest, a red dragon sighted oft flying above. Grand Maester Orwyle and his assistants held control over the ravenrys, and at this moment Ser Otto had been able to prevent word of Rhaenyra’s war from reaching the king.

“Rhaenyra knows,” Lord Jasper said at a Small Council meeting,”and she is playing the same game as us. Gathering her banners in secret in the hopes that she may take us unawares and appear with such overwhelming strength that we are compelled to accept her peace. The host at Rook’s Rest is no doubt Prince Daemon’s work, the prince knowing which castle would best serve to strangle us. If he moves south, he could assault King’s Landing itself. If he moves west, he may conquer Harrenhal and control the crossroads of the Seven Kingdoms.”

When Ser Tyland reported that no trade galleys ventured into the port of the King’s Landing two nights after Helaena’s father’s death, it became harder to keep the truth from the king. The Small Council knew at once that the absence of trade galleys was the Sea Snake’s blockade, and decreed in the king’s name that no galley was to leave King’s Landing’s port, “for concern of the traitor fleet”. Helaena thought it was as much the work of the king for not knowing as the Small Council. Every man in the city knew of the traitors, except Helaena’s husband who drowned in wine and whores after he was crowned. If only he would attend one of his councils. Yet he remained in his endless feasts in Maegor’s Holdfast, oblivious to the affairs of the realm. He sent Helaena to listen for him, but she was not about to tell him.

They might have been able to keep the truth from the king forever, if Aemond had not dispatched a missive from Storm’s End telling of victory. But in the letter, Storm’s End’s maester also wrote that Lucerys Velaryon had been present at Storm’s End. Even though Lucerys scurried back to Dragonstone the moment he glimpsed Vhagar, it was still solid proof that Rhaenyra had begun the war. The Small Council only told the king that Aemond had won the swords of Storm’s End and not of Lucerys Velaryon, but the king then said that he would welcome Aemond with a great feast. “The true blood of the dragon,” Aegon said with a wine goblet in his hand,”My brother has made a good beginning.” The Small Council knew that Aemond would tell his brother at the feast, so they urged the king that the time of grief after King Viserys’s passing was not the time for feasts. But the king was adamant, even putting aside his wine and whores to oversee the preparations. Helaena was silently grateful for her brother. Aemond was the only one who could provoke even a semblance of sense in Aegon.

Unable to convince the king, Ser Otto turned his eyes to Helaena, wishing that Aemond would not tell the king of Lucerys. None of them dared speak with Aemond, so they turned to Helaena, regaling her with praise and pleading for her to sway Aemond from telling the king the truth. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were disturbed by the constant presence of the stern bearded councilors and their hulking guards. Maelor threw one of his toy knights at Ser Tyland when he would not leave even as Helaena told him three times. At last, Helaena agreed only to get the Small Council away from her children, for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were eyeing Shrykos and Morghul more and more each time the councilors came. 

Helaena wondered what she might say to Aemond to have him conceal the truth, and she was still thinking as Aemond and Vhagar appeared overhead. Her thoughts slowed as she felt the whirlwind of Vhagar’s wings beating to slow the dragon’s descent. The Red Keep’s walls were high, and only the sentries on the castle gates could see dragons on the horizon before they emerged above the atrium. Helaena never heard the message of the sentries, and she hugged Maelor and Jaehaera to her dress. Jaehaerys, however, stepped forward, wanting to be the first to greet his favourite uncle. Ser Rickard was only a step behind his Prince of Dragonstone. 

Several Dragonkeepers took Vhagar’s tethers whilst Aemond undid his chains and leapt from the saddle. Helaena’s brother was smiling, and Helaena smiled back. Scarce had Aemond climbed down did Jaehaerys run forward and hug his uncle’s legs. Helaena noted that the top of Jaehaerys’s head had already reached Aemond’s elbow. That was all she noticed before Aemond lifted her son into his arms. For a moment, Helaena wondered about another world where she was married to Aemond instead of Aegon, and wondered if it may be better. She banished those thoughts in an instant, thoughts unbecoming of a lady and a queen.

“Be careful, brother,” Helaena said as Aemond stepped towards her,”Jay will soon tower over you.” 

“Fat chance of that,” Aemond set Jaehaerys down and Helaena let Jaehaera and Maelor run to their brother. She hugged Aemond, and her brother kissed her on both cheeks,”It’s good to see you, sister.”

“Have you brought me anything from Storm’s End?” Helaena asked.

“I have brought something not just for you,” Aemond said,”I have brought something for the king and all the realm. I have brought victory.” He drew back,”Storm’s End is Aegon’s. The traitor Luke Strong was there, but when he saw Vhagar, he scurried away like the craven he was.”

“Victory,” Helaena agreed,”and Aegon has prepared a feast in your honour. But…brother, if Aegon asks you in the feast, tell him of winning Lord Borros’s banners, but do not tell him of Lucerys.”

“Why?” Aemond demanded, his voice like a bolt of lightning.

Why? Aemond’s words rang in Helaena’s ears. She never wondered why the Small Council did not want the king to know of Rhaenyra’s war. They said so, and Helaena followed without a doubt in her mind. Why? The Small Council told the king that their work was good and no secret leaked to Dragonstone, so mayhaps they wanted to hide their incompetence that Rhaenyra knew as soon as the morning after Helaena’s father’s death. No, Helaena’s heart fell into dread. When Aegon drowned in wine and whores, he gave all authority of the realm to his grandfather Ser Otto. Their grandfather did not want to lose that.

“Hel,” Aemond’s voice rang as he gently shook her,”Hel. If it is your wish that I do not tell Aegon about Luke Strong, then I shall not tell him.”

“No,” Helaena bit her lip,”Tell the king.”

Aegon hosted his brother Aemond in the Hall of the Summer Queen, a spacious hall open to the sky above and surrounded by carved pillars and a sea of red stones. As Aemond entered with Helaena on his arm, the princes and princess behind them, the lords and knights in the hall rose to greet them with each table they passed. 

“To the Spring Prince come again,” Lord Bywater said as he raised his cup. 

“May the Warrior smile upon my prince’s prowess,” a merchant with a lean face said. 

“My prince has lost one eye,” Ser Otto toasted Aemond as he passed,”but sees clearer than all the rest of us.”

Aegon descended from his raised dais at the head of the hall to greet his brother, Ser Criston Cole and Ser Gyles Belgrave behind him with their hands on their hilts. “Come, my brother,” Aegon pulled at Aemond with one hand, his winecup in his other hand,”All this feast is for you. The seat beside mine is yours.”

“You have my thanks, brother,” Aemond said,”This victory is yours as well as mine. Storm’s End has sworn its swords to your banner, and Luke Strong scurried back to his whore mother when he saw Vhagar.”

Helaena saw Ser Otto rise in an instant, his face red, but was soon pulled down by Ser Tyland. “Lu…Luke,” Aegon said, freezing as the colour drained from his face.

“Yes, Luke Strong,” Aemond said,”He was there to win Lord Borros to our sister who had become a traitor. Did Maester Galladon’s letter not tell you of how the dog ran back to the bitch? It must have lost itself in the winds, and a storm was following me as I rode back to King’s Landing. I did not tarry at Storm’s End for this very reason, to bring you the tidings myself if the raven was lost.”

For a moment, all Helaena heard in the hall was silence. Then, the silence was broken by the sound of Aegon’s golden wineglass striking the floor. “War is no time for a feast,” Aegon said, then turned to Ser Otto, saying icily:“My lord Hand, call the Small Council in your tower.”

“We cannot let this feast go to waste, Your Grace,” Helaena said,”We must still honour our brother’s victory. I can entertain our brother in the feast whilst Your Grace hosts the Small Council meeting.”

Aegon turned to her, silent a moment, then said: I think not.” He then turned to the high table,”Mother, host our brother and my children in the feast.” “My queen,” he turned to her, his purple eyes cold,”You shall accompany me to the council.”

“Why was I not told that my sister has risen in treason?” Aegon demanded of the Small Council. 

For a long moment, none answered, until Lord Jasper raised his voice: “We were uncertain, and it was our greatest fear to falsely declare war. We had unconfirmed reports from the Crownlands of a host gathering at Rook’s Rest. There were also sightings of Meleys above the castle, but Your Grace knows how the smallfolk like to invent tales of dragons. It was only when Prince Aemond reported of Lucerys at Storm’s End that we became sure of your sister’s treason. We were planning to tell Your Grace as soon as the feast ended, but we did not wish to spoil the joy of Prince Aemond’s return.”

Helaena expected the king to rage, but his eyes were white and sober. She remembered that her husband had drunk less as he prepared for Aemond’s return. “Never mind that,” Aegon said,”We know now that my sister Rhaenyra has risen in treason. It is clear that the realm is at war. What shall we do of it?”

Ser Criston stepped forward from behind Aegon, and pointed at the map in the  Tower of the Hand,”I had advised this course as soon as we suspected Rhaenyra’s treason. Remove the dragon’s head, and the body shall fall.” He pointed at an isle in the Narrow Sea,”Attack Dragonstone with Your Grace’s dragons, capture Rhaenyra, and the war is over.”

“A simple course,” Aegon was nodding,”but bold and victorious. It is what my namesake Aegon the Conqueror would have done.” 

“No, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland hissed,”We had told Ser Criston enough times that his course was folly. Rhaenyra has six dragons even then, perhaps more now if she is wise and calls for dragonriders to tame the wild ones. And even in the littlest chance that Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Dreamfyre overpower Rhaenyra’s dragons, our armies shall not reach Dragonstone. The Sea Snake has closed the seas to us. Our dragons shall fly above Dragonstone, perhaps burning the island citadel, whilst Rhaenyra and her stooges disappear into the wilderness like Dornishmen.” “Instead of that folly, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland turned to Aegon,”Continue that course Your Grace has already followed and has seen fruit. All Your Grace need do is to show the Princess that her cause is hopeless, that the realm stands with Your Grace as per King Viserys’s will. She shall be compelled to accept our peace. Storm’s End has already declared. Your Grace has only need to continue, and the war shall end before it even begins.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Ser Otto said,”Do not abandon the progress made already towards peace.” 

“It was our folly to not tell Your Grace of Rhaenyra’s warmongering,” Lord Jasper said,”but do not ruin the realm by refusing our wisdom.”

“I have taught Your Grace since you were a child,” Grand Maester Orwyle said,”and in the histories, the most able ways to resolve a crisis were that of the Conciliator. Without bloodshed.”

Aegon listened to each of his councilors, it was only when their words hang spoken in the air when Helaena heard her husband speak: “Very well, my lords. But from what I have heard, only Storm’s End has risen for us. We need more lords if we are to force a peace.”

“My nephew Ormund has answered our raven,” Ser Otto said,”He has rallied Oldtown’s banners and marches now to King’s Landing upon the roseroad. With Ormund is Your Grace’s brother Prince Daeron with his dragon, Tessarion the Blue Queen.”

“My brother Lord Jason would soon follow to rise for Your Grace,” Ser Tyland said,”with all the swords of the Westerlands and gold of Casterly Rock. To seal the alliance, my brother asks that Prince Daeron wed one of his daughters, either Cerelle or Tyshara.”

“Write to Lord Jason that I consent to my brother’s marriage,” Aegon said.

Ser Tyland nodded, then continued: “The Tyrells of Highgarden shall soon align as well with the crown. Lord Lyonel Tyrell is a babe, and his mother would most like align House Tyrell with her mighty bannermen House Hightower and Lord Ormund’s Oldtown host. Tyrell’s mother only lacks several assurances from us-one raven from Your Grace, followed by several wagons. The wagons shall contain gold and jewels, and a valuable charge. Princess Jaehaera, who shall be betrothed to Lord Lyonel Tyrell. The one thing all mothers of boys lords want is for their son’s rule to be secure. We can give her that.”

“I consent to writing your letter,” Aegon’s face darkened,”and I even allow for my lord to send gold and jewels from the treasury to Highgarden, but Jaehaera shall not wed the rose boy.” Aegon turned to Helaena,”She is meant for Jaehaerys. The blood of the dragon must remain pure.” Helaena agreed with her husband, but his words had offended most of the council. Our mother is not of the blood of the dragon, and Helaena saw that her grandfather bristled at the slight. Ser Tyland and Lord Jasper’s faces fell, and Grand Maester Orwyle tried to hide away. Only Lord Larys remained smiling, but the spymaster always smiled.

“I have Jaehaerys and Maelor with me, Your Grace,” Helaena said,”Jaehaera can leave us. We cannot send the Tyrells gold upfront, for they are proud lords and prickly at being bribed. The gold shall come at the guise of my daughter’s dowry.”

She did not expect her husband to listen, for he never did before as he whored his way across the city, but his eyes were sober. He put his fist down with a resounding crash on Ser Otto's oaken table. “Very well, Ser Tyland,” Aegon said,”I consent to my daughter’s betrothal.”

“Your Grace is wise,” Ser Tyland said,”We must now look to the rest of the great lords. Lord Grover has not answered from the Riverlands, and no raven has flown from Lord Dalton and the Iron Islands. The North and the Vale-”

“Shall not matter, Ser Tyland,” Aegon said,”With the Stormlands, the Reach, and the Westerlands declaring for my banner, near two hundred thousand swords shall ride for me, and the rest of the realm shall fall into line.”

Chapter Text

Joff had never ridden so far in his life.

The winds whistled past his ears as Tyraxes soared in the endless blue. Cold and rushing, the winds wakened an urge in Joff to stay there forever. His heart raced. He was flying.

He wanted to put his arms out and soar like his dragon, but he remembered Jace’s words when Jace untethered Tyraxes in Daenys’s Yard. “Remember, Joff,” Jace said,”I will only take you to the Vale if you do three things for me. At all times, you must keep Tyraxes’s saddle chained to your belt, you must keep both hands on the reins, and you must obey every one of my commands, even if I tell you to flee and abandon me. If you have a problem with any of those conditions, I will leave you here on Dragonstone.” Joff had agreed, though he knew that he would never abandon Jace, even if Jace told him to.

They flew off Dragonstone’s cliffs two days ago, and have been flying ever since. Ser Humfrey had supplied the dragons with three days’ worth of provisions, the customary supplies for a journey on dragonback. Jace’s Vermax was larger and faster, and sometimes he would have to curl back for Joff to catch up. Joff swore that one day Tyraxes would be as fierce as even Vhagar and the Black Dread, and no dragon shall match Joff’s.

Jace had them spend the night in the skies, not trusting any of the Vale lords until they reached the Eyrie. Joff offered to keep watch, but Jace bade him sleep. Jace spent the entire night awake to keep watch over both of them as Joff slept in Tyraxes’s saddle. Joff had been excited, pretending that he was one of the ancient heroes who slept in their saddles as they rode to war. He stayed awake half the night, talking to Jace about Ser Owen of the Rainwood and Symeon Star-Eyes and the Winter King, until Jace commanded him to sleep. 

“Did you dream last night, Joff?” Jace had asked Joff when he woke, the winds battering both of them as their dragons soared forward. Joff noticed that there were dim circles beneath Jace’s eyes, but Joff knew that they were marks of war. Jace must be proud of them. 

“I did,” Joff answered,”I dreamt that I was standing in the Red Keep. You sat the Iron Throne, and all the traitors were chained at our feet. That is a good omen, right? That is what shall come true.”

“It’s a good omen,” Jace agreed,”but it shall only come true if you do well today.”

“Are we arriving at the Eyrie?” Joff asked, smiling.

Jace nodded,”In several hours, we shall see the Eyrie above the mountains. You should first see the seven slender white towers on top of a snow-white peak that the Valemen call the Heaven’s Hand, and we shall fly towards the shortest and widest of them wherein is the Eyrie’s High Hall. Lady Jeyne Arryn is wont to come and greet us, as we are two dragons at her door.” “When she greets us,” Jace’s voice thickened,”I will be the one who will land on the castle and act the envoy to speak with her. You are to remain in the air on Tyraxes. If there is anything amiss, I shall wave my hand and you shall flee at once to Dragonstone. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Joff said, then frowned,”What do you mean, if anything is amiss? Is Lady Jeyne going to attack you? If she does, I’m going to burn the Eyrie to the ground.”

“Do not speak like that,” Jace snapped, then bowed his head,”Lady Jeyne is like to welcome us, but the hearts of men change as the wind blows.” He looked up at Joff,”I will not ride with you to the Eyrie unless you agree with me on this. If Lady Jeyne attacks me, you are to abandon me and ride at once for Dragonstone. It is most like that Lady Jeyne would capture me for the usurper, at which case you must ride for Father and Mother and return with them to rescue me.”

Joff nodded,”If anything is amiss, I shall ride for Dragonstone to tell Father and Mother and come back to rescue you.”

“I shall depend on it,” Jace said, then reached into his satchel,”I think it is time for us to break our fast.”

They bade Vermax and Tyraxes hover in the air as they ate salted jerky and dry biscuits, taking two swigs from their canteens of water. Then, they were off again towards the Eyrie, flying above the snow-coloured peaks.

Staying here is not so bad, Joff thought now as he soared above the Mountains of the Moon, watching holdfasts emerge and disappear as dots below. The fires on the mountain beacons were no more than small yellow pricks of light. He knew why the dragonlords were kings of the world.

The Eyrie emerged in sight, at first like any holdfast, a pinprick on the ground. Then, Joff glimpsed those seven white towers looking like a giant’s fingers in the distance as they reached up from the mountain the Valemen called the Heaven’s Hand. 

“Remember,” Jace shouted as he urged Vermax ahead, and Joff followed him on Tyraxes. Joff imagined that Jace would urge Vermax into the clouds, and Joff would follow there. They would soar until the Eyrie’s towers lay large below, and they could see men scrambling on the battlements like ants. He saw in his mind Jace yelling: “Now,” and dove from the clouds. Joff would follow his brother, coming out over the Eyrie as the lady and her retinue came out of the castle to kneel and swear their swords to Jace and their mother. 

“Remember,” Jace yelled at him, and Joff jolted his eyes open,”Come slow to the castle. Don’t let them think we’re to attack them, else they’d loose arrows at us. Remember to keep back whilst I descend to the High Hall.” 

Joff obeyed Jace’s command, and he followed Jace as they approached the Eyrie slowly, watching as men gathered on the battlements beneath the banner of the falcon and moon. Jace had them circle the castle one time beyond the range of arrows to tell the Eyrie of their presence, and then flew towards the short and wide tower that Jace had called the High Hall. Jace landed outside the huge bronze doors, maneuvering Vermax to settle beneath a stone statue of a winged knight. Joff did as he was bid and remained in the air with Tyraxes, hugging to his green dragon’s black crest as he watched Jace wait below. Jace was staring up at the great stone statue’s stern face when the bronze doors to the High Hall opened. 

Exiting first was a host of twenty bronze-armoured knights, each with wings on his helm, ten lining each side of the courtyard as they held their steel swords to the skies. Then came twenty more warriors of steel-armour, their swords also bare, marching forward and forming a crescent moon. Last of all emerged the falcon-and-moon banner of the Arryns of the Eyrie, beneath which marched a slender woman with long blond hair and shining blue eyes. She had two tall handmaids at her side and a giant guard behind her who bore her banner.

The slender woman approached Jace, and Joff saw that she only came up to Jace’s chest. “My apologies, my prince,” she said,”You did not send word of your coming, and I did not have time to arrange a more stately welcome.”

“It is all well, Lady Jeyne,” Jace said,”I cannot ask any more than what my lady has kindly given.”

“Yet my prince came here to ask for more,” Lady Jeyne said,”You have come to ask for the Vale’s banners, have you not?”

“I have not come to ask from you, my lady,” Jace said,”I have come to give you a gift.”

“And what may that be?” Lady Jeyne asked.

“Your rights,” Jace answered.

Lady Jeyne laughed,”My rights are not yours to give.”

“Then who has given you your rights?” Jace said,”I would say your father, but such gifts are being presently disputed across the realm, where daughters are being stripped of the rights they inherited from their father.”

“Particularly upon the Iron Throne,” Lady Jeyne said,”where I heard the daughter was stripped of her rights by the son.”

“If such usurpation can happen upon the seat that rules the Seven Kingdoms,” Jace said,”who shall stand against such usurpations in the kingdoms beneath the Iron Throne?”

“I know of usurpers,” Lady Jeyne said,”Thrice have mine own kin sought to replace me. My cousin Ser Arnold is wont to say that women are too soft to rule. I have him in one of my sky cells, if you would like to ask him. My knights defeated him, but I have other cousins, and I cannot defeat them all. The Vale shall not rest under my finger until a daughter’s rights are no longer questioned. I do not think it shall ever come to that, but it shall be very sweet to have a woman sit the Iron Throne.”

Jace nodded,”Beneath my usurper uncle, every lady across the realm will have their rights questioned by their male kin. But my mother shall shield all your rights.”

“Your mother,” Lady Jeyne’s smile wilted,”I hear that she has wed Prince Daemon. A quaint choice, and not one I would make. Was it not Prince Daemon who abandoned the Vale’s Lady Rhea for a King’s Landing whore?”

“I cannot make apologies for Father,” Jace said,”but I can promise that House Royce shall be compensated duly for his damages.”

“Father?” Lady Jeyne said,”You call the rogue prince Father?”

“A son cannot choose his father,” Jace said,”Only make do with whom he has.”

Lady Jeyne did not smile, but her frown died,”Your Prince Daemon used his first wife most cruelly, it is true…but notwithstanding your mother’s poor taste in consorts, she remains our rightful queen, and mine own blood besides, an Arryn on her mother’s side. In this world of men, we women must band together. The Vale and its knights shall stand with her… if Her Grace will grant me one request.” 

“What might that be?” Jace asked.

“Dragons,” Lady Jeyne answered,”I have no fear of armies. Many and more have broken themselves against my Bloody Gate, and the Eyrie is known to be impregnable. But you have descended on us from the sky, as Queen Visenya once did during the Conquest, and I was powerless to halt you. I mislike feeling powerless. Send me dragonriders.”

Jace turned and beckoned for Joff to ride forth, and Joff saw that Jace was smiling. As Joff landed Tyraxes in the courtyard to the gasps of the crowd, Jace ran over. Joff waved him away, undoing his own chains and sliding down from his saddle.

“I have your dragonrider with me, Lady Jeyne,” Jace said, as he brought Joff forward,”This is my brother Joffrey, who shall remain at the Eyrie with his dragon Tyraxes to stand guard over the Vale.”

“Joffrey?” Lady Jeyne said, turning to Joff,”My prince has the same name as my cousin.” She turned to the large knight that carried her banner,”Raise your visor, cousin.” As the knight raised his visor to reveal a lean hawk-like face, Lady Jeyne turned back to Joff,”This is Ser Joffrey Arryn, my Knight of the Gate. He should be standing vigil over the Bloody Gate as of now, but with all the tidings in King’s Landing, I thought it best to recall him. I need true men at my side.”

“And I shall be true to my lady,” Joff said,”so long as I serve beneath your roof.”

“One more thing, my prince, before I kneel to you,” Lady Jeyne said to Jace whilst smiling a wicked smile,”It is a rare occasion when the Vale has the honour to host a dragon prince. It should come that the Lady of the Vale wishes for the welcome to be suitably…lovely.” “No Arryn ruler has ever had a taste of a dragon prince,” Lady Jeyne said,”but I should like to. Either of you princes would do. Pleasure me to my climax with your tongue, and I shall swear the Vale’s swords to you.”

Joff felt blood rush to his face, and he looked to Jace. He was surprised to find that Jace’s face remained as still as the stone winged knight. “Shall I do it here?” Jace asked,”or shall my lady prefer your chamber?”

Lady Jeyne laughed,”Never mind, my princes. It was a cruel jape, and I hope my princes shall forgive me. I more prefer the company of Jess and Alayne. I would not have my prince kneel to me. It is my duty to kneel to you. The swords of the Vale shall be yours from this day until my last day.” And with her words she raised her dress and knelt, followed closely by her maids and all her warriors upon the High Hall’s courtyard. They were kneeling to Jace, and Joff felt discomforted being the only one standing. He backed away from his brother, and bent the knee. 

“Arise,” Jace’s voice echoed in Joff’s ears,”May the gods bless you, true to the one true queen.” As Joff rose, he felt the winds whistle again past his ears, the cold winds on top of the mountain.

“Would my prince stay for a feast?” Lady Jeyne asked,”Prince Joffrey should know his new home.”

“If my lady offers us bread and salt,” Jace said,”I shall be happy to oblige.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Lady Jeyne waved her hand, and two serving girls emerged from the crescent moon of knights carrying two steel trays. The one with brown hair went before Jace, kneeling as Jace took a bite off the bread and put it back, granting the rest to the maid. The other maid, the one with blond hair, knelt before Joff. Joff felt all the eyes of the yard upon him as he took a bite off the bread. It was good, and soon Joff soon found that he stuffed it all in his mouth. It was then when he remembered that it was custom to take only one bite and grant the rest to the servant that presents the bread and salt. 

It was to show the generosity of the guest to the castle, for salt was an expensive commodity. He looked before him, and the serving girl was frowning. Joff looked away, but the same frown was on Lady Jeyne’s face. Jace was looking at him with his gaze of disapproval.

“Could my lady show my brother the castle?” Jace said, and Joff breathed when every eye was on Jace again.

“It shall be my pleasure,” Lady Jeyne said.

Lady Jeyne was showing them the high balcony of the Maiden’s Tower when Joff dared to speak with Jace again. The lady had given the two of them time alone atop the highest tower of the Vale, feeling the winds blow onto their face as the the mountains loomed in mist below. Even the castle seemed small from the tall balcony.

“I’m sorry,” Joff said,”It was my first time acting an envoy, and I did not think.” 

Jace was silent for a long time, but then he answered: “It’s alright, Joff. There’s no lasting damage done. Just remember. The first time I met a great lord, it was our great-granduncle Lord Boremund a year before he gave up his ghost. Grandmother was there with me, but I swear that I wet my trousers as I met my great-granduncle in all his glory. He was a very large man.”  Jace laughed,”Grandmother excused the smell by saying that Meleys had recently laid an egg.” He then turned to Joff,”Live a few more years, visit a few more castles, and you’ll become used to it as I have.”

“Used to it,” Joff laughed,”Were you truly going to pleasure Lady Jeyne when she asked it of you?”

“Oh, that,” Jace said, his smile dying,”Joff, you need to learn to read between the lady’s words.” “Remember that when she asked me that,” Jace said,”she had already agreed to swear her swords to our mother. We made good on her condition to give her a dragonrider.”

“Aye,” Joff said,”So her words were just a jape, not mattering at all.”

“Most would think it a jape,” Jace said,”as they think that they had already won their victory and let their guard down. But the blood of the dragon is ever vigilant, the blood that flows through you and I.” 

“What did she want?” Joff asked.

“When the lady declares for Mother,” Jace said,”she does not just declare for her. She declares also for me, Mother’s heir who shall sit the Iron Throne after her. She wants to test me, but she must wait for Mother’s cause to be behind us. Absent of Mother, she can look to see whether I would still bend to the Vale. Quite a vulgar test, but such is the test that young boys will never see.” 

“She knelt to you,” Joff said,”Not mother.”

Jace turned and walked away, his sea-blue cloak swirling after him. Joff could only follow.

Chapter Text

“Any word from Riverrun?” Tyland asked.

Grand Maester Orwyle shook his head,”The ravenry has still not heard from Lord Grover.”

“If he has been silent for so long,” Ser Otto said,”We must assume the worst, that he has declared for Princess Rhaenyra and is rousing his banners for the traitor.”

“I do not think Lord Grover can rouse his banners for anyone,” Lord Larys said, his voice soft and mournful,”My birds in the Trident report that old Lord Grover is presently bedridden with a terrible fever in Riverrun, not long for this world. I would be surprised if he can even gather the strength to answer a raven.”

“If Lord Grover is incapacitated, the Riverlands shall fall under the stewardship of his heir,” Lord Jasper said,”Lord Grover’s grandson Ser Elmo Tully. What do we know of him? Can we sway him to our side?”

Ser Otto shook his head,”I know of Ser Elmo, and he is fast friends with Lord Samwell Blackwood and Lord Forrest Frey. Lord Samwell’s sire spoke for Ser Laenor at the Great Council before turning his vote in the last day for King Viserys. And my lords all know the tale of Forrest Frey.”

“Fool Lord Frey,” Ser Criston laughed,”The boy who once begged for Princess Rhaenyra’s hand when she was still their Realm’s Delight. A pity that he did not know that the whore would have given him her maidenhood if he pressed on. The boy is doubtless still smitten with the whore even as she grows old and fat.”

“Lord Forrest Frey is a powerful man and a puissant knight,” Lord Jasper said,”Most, if not all the holdfasts along the Blue and Green Forks heed his call, for their merchants require Lord Frey’s bridge across the Trident to make their trade. If he remains loyal to Rhaenyra…”

“Then Ser Elmo is like to give his loyalty to the traitor princess the moment his grandfather gives up his ghost,” Ser Otto said,”If that be true, then Ser Elmo is already gathering Riverland banners, readying himself to declare for the traitors.”

“House Tully cannot be relied upon,” Tyland said,”so we shall need find another house to champion His Grace’s cause in the Riverlands. For any chance for peace, all the south need bow beneath King Aegon. If Rhaenyra sees even the slightest chance of victory, then war shall be joined.” “The house must be rich and have many friends,” Tyland said,”Its castle must occupy a strategic place within the Riverlands where His Grace’s armies can gather.” “Most importantly,” Tyland smiled at Lord Larys,”The house must be able to call upon many levies and knights of its own. It must be strong.”

“Harrenhal,” Lord Larys did not return Tyland’s smile,”I never really much liked the castle. Too large, and full of ghosts. I shall gladly offer it to the king if His Grace can find a use for it.”

“Ser Tyland’s course is wise,” Ser Otto said,”Harrenhal and House Strong shall be the place where His Grace’s true men in the Riverlands shall gather.” “Lord Larys,” Ser Otto turned to the spymaster,”Could my lord write a raven to the castellan? I would have asked Orwyle to write the letter or done it myself, but I feel that the words shall come easier from kin.”

“I shall, my Lord Hand,” Lord Larys said,”and my lord shall find that my uncle Ser Simon is a true man of His Grace.”

“We must be quick about it,” Tyland said,”Lord Larys’s birds have already reported that Rhaenyra’s forces have gathered at Rook’s Rest beneath Princess Rhaenys and her dragon. It will be their folly to assault King’s Landing, so it would be wise to presume that the host of Rook’s Rest seeks to march west for Harrenhal. The Conqueror has proven that Harren’s castle cannot stand against dragonfire.”

“Is it possible that we can lay a trap for Princess Rhaenys?” Ser Criston asked,”Lure her force into Harrenhal, even her red dragon, and then spring the trap and ambush her with Sunfyre and Vhagar. Two dragons shall surely overpower one.”

“You would leave King’s Landing undefended from Dragonstone,” Ser Otto said,”where most of Rhaenyra’s dragons still roost. There is a reason why Rhaenyra’s most capable commander, her husband Daemon and his dragon Caraxes, have remained on Dragonstone. That is because Harrenhal is only a diversion. The true attack shall come here, in King’s Landing, from across Blackwater Bay as Prince Daemon commands the skies and the Sea Snake the waters. Even now, King’s Landing is not as impregnable as Ser Tyland would like to think. We have three of the greatest dragons in King’s Landing, that is true, but Rhaenyra has more. The only reason that she has not yet attacked is because she does not have the support in the realm to hold the Seven Kingdoms. We must keep it at that.”

“Aye,” Tyland said,”My Lord Hand may well be right that Harrenhal is only a diversion, and Ser Simon Strong will have the time to gather the Riverland banners in support of His Grace the king. With the Riverlands secured, the Starks of the North and the Arryns of the Vale cannot act even if they support Princess Rhaenyra, for the Riverlanders shall bar Moat Cailin and the Bloody Gate.” “The only concern I have,” Tyland said,”is the seas. The Sea Snake rules the waves with the Velaryon fleet, and the North and the Vale could still send forces on Velaryon ferries to aid Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Lord Dalton Greyjoy has still not answered our raven,” Grand Maester Orwyle said,”I have every reason to believe that the Iron Fleet shall be the king’s, though, for we have offered him the position of the king’s Master of Ships.”

“It irritates me,” Ser Criston said,”That empty seat.”

“I propose we still wait for Lord Dalton’s answer,” Lord Jasper said,”and the position of Master of Ships shall remain open for him in the meanwhile. But until such time as he answers our raven, we must turn to other solutions for our fleet.”

“There are many trading galleys which have been stranded in King’s Landing during the Sea Snake’s blockade,” Ser Criston said,”Commission them for the king, fill them with criminals from the black cells and beggars from Flea Bottom, and they shall at least block the Blackwater for a time.”

“I do not think it shall do,” Tyland said,”We must compensate the merchants lest we sully the king’s name and perhaps provoke rebellion, and the gold in the treasury is not meant for that. The quarter of the treasury I left in King’s Landing is for use in gifting lords and paying the king’s hosts, for those purposes and those purposes only. If we turn them to any other purpose, like buying ships of uncertain value, we shall soon find our treasury bled dry.”

“If there were more use for the crown’s gold in King’s Landing,” Ser Criston said,”why did my lord leave only a quarter in King’s Landing? Why? Why did my lord send a quarter to the Iron Bank, a quarter to Oldtown, and a quarter to Casterly Rock?”

Tyland bit his tongue to keep his face from turning red, and answered calmly: “In a time of war, gold must be split for safekeeping. If King’s Landing falls, we still have three-quarters of the treasury. All in the hands of true men, who shall continue the fight.”

“I heard that my lord Tyland did not wish to go to war,” Ser Criston said.

“Ser Criston,” Lord Jasper said,”We can buy the ships, but not with gold. The crown’s popularity is high with the coronation and the feast, and with popularity comes trust. We can offer the merchants parchment signed and sealed by the king and Small Council, our written word promising that their ships shall be compensated for as soon as the war is over and the crown has freedom again of its finances. When the war is over, they shall only need arrive at the treasury to trade in their parchments for their compensation.” 

“Grand Maester, do you have that?” Ser Otto said, turning to Grand Maester Orwyle who was making a record of the meeting. The Grand Maester nodded whilst scribbling his quill on his third piece of parchment.

“Lord Jasper is wise,” Tyland said,”though trade galleys, in the end, shall be no match for the Sea Snake’s warships. We must have a war fleet of our own.”

“That we shall have,” Ser Otto said,”I have received glad tidings from the east. Prince Daemon has made many enemies whilst he warred in the Stepstones, one of which is the Kingdom of the Three Daughters across the Narrow Sea. I have written to the Triarchy, and they have agreed to an alliance. Admiral Sharako Lohar of Lys commands a fleet ninety ships strong that shall set sail in several days from Tyrosh and join their strength to ours.” “Joined with Lord Dalton’s Iron Fleet, the Lannister fleet of Lannisport, the Redwyne fleet from the Reach, and our own new galleys in King’s Landing,” Ser Otto said,”we shall match and perhaps surpass the Sea Snake’s two hundred ships.”

“Could we perhaps have even more?” Lord Jasper said,”The Dornish-”

“What of the Dornish?” Ser Otto demanded.

“Lord Larys has told us of this new Vulture King rising from the marches,” Lord Jasper said,”no doubt at the behest of Prince Qoren Martell. Lord Borros Baratheon may have declared for the crown, but his raven told us that he is gathering his banners at Griffin’s Roost, farther away from King’s Landing than Storm’s End. It is most like that he seeks to subdue the Vulture King before he can march north. Left unchecked, the Dornish could whittle away a large part of our strength.”

“What do you propose to do?” Tyland said,”The Dornishmen hate us, and it is best to let them be. They shall trouble our foes as much as they trouble us, for black or green, a dragon is still a dragon. And dragons burned every one of their castles a century ago.”

“A century ago,” Lord Jasper said,”and men forget. No living man remembers those days when Dorne saw dragons.”

“What does my lord propose we deal with the Dornishmen?” Ser Otto asked.

“The same deal we offered Lord Borros Baratheon, Lord Jason Lannister, and Lord Lyonel Tyrell,” Lord Jasper said,”A dragon. Prince Qoren’s eldest child is a daughter, Princess Aliandra, and she is still unwed. Have her wed Prince Jaehaerys, and Dorne shall be His Grace’s. Furthermore, beneath Dornish law, the eldest child inherits regardless of sex, so Princess Aliandra shall inherit Dorne. If she weds Prince Jaehaerys, she shall bring Dorne into the fold. We shall do what the Conqueror never did.”

“I will not have a dragon prince wed a desert harlot,” Ser Otto said angrily, glaring at Lord Jasper. His glare died in an instant as his eyes turned in its lid,”Forgive me, Lord Jasper. Prince Jaehaerys has only six years, and Princess Aliandra has already flowered at fourteen. She will not wait until Prince Jaehaerys comes of age to satisfy her desires, and it shall be too much of a scandal for the royal house. Besides, we fight right now for the ancient laws of the Andals, the rights of a trueborn son above that of a mere daughter. We cannot have Dornish law poison the kingdom.”

Tyland knew, though, the truth of Ser Otto’s outburst. The Hand wanted Prince Jaehaerys to wed a Hightower, so that when Prince Jaehaerys became king, a Hightower would be queen again. Tyland knew also to not speak of that matter.

“Without the Dornish,” Tyland tried to bring the subject away,”our fleets will fight the Sea Snake to a standstill. Even with the strength of the Dornish, the Sea Snake’s sailors are tested mariners which our men cannot hope to match. We cannot wager on ships alone.”

“Mayhaps we need not fight a single battle on the sea,” Ser Criston said,”Does my lords remember Ser Vaemond Velaryon?”

“Aye,” Lord Jasper said,”a Velaryon knight who had spoken of Rhaenyra’s children as Strong bastards, and he was beheaded by Prince Daemon with his five younger cousins having their tongues removed.” 

“Only the Sea Snake holds true to the traitor princess,” Ser Criston said,”Three of the five mute cousins are still alive, and all five have brothers, goodbrothers, and sons. All the rest of House Velaryon, like Ser Vaemond, know Rhaenyra’s sons as the Strong bastards that they are. We only need act upon that. Lord Larys can send birds to Driftmark and the Velaryon fleet telling the Velaryons that should they murder the Sea Snake, they shall be confirmed as the new Master of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides, to inherit all of the Sea Snake’s lands, titles, and incomes. They shall inherit his fleet as well, which they shall bring to us.”

“Ser Criston,” Lord Jasper said, his voice rough,”You would condone kinslaying.”

“If my choice was between king and kin,” Ser Criston said,”I would choose my king.”

“Ser Criston,” Ser Otto said,”You are a Kingsguard, and the oath of the white cloak is paramount for you. But the rest of us are beholden to the vows of the Seven Who Are One, that those who slay kin would be cursed until their last days and all their works shall end in ruin. If we condone kinslaying, we win a stone isle and a few hundred chunks of oak, whilst we lose everything else.”

“You cannot enter,” Ser Laith Honeys’s thick voice rang through the door of the Tower of the Hand, and Tyland turned with the Small Council to face the thin oaken door. “You are not apart of the Small Council.”

“I am now,” a steely voice answered, and Tyland sucked in a breath as the door slammed open. Prince Aemond took his boot off the door and strode into the Small Council chamber in the Tower of the Hand. The prince was not wearing his eyepatch, and his sapphire eye gleamed in the lamplight. Ser Laith stood behind him, his face purple with rage as he gripped his hilt. Ser Otto shook his head at Ser Laith, and the Honeys knight backed away and slammed the door behind Prince Aemond.

“My prince,” Ser Otto said,”You are not welcome here. Please leave of your own accord before I must have my guards remove you.”

“I thought members of the Small Council were welcome at Small Council meetings,” Prince Aemond laughed. He pointed at the empty chair of the Master of Ships,”I think that is my seat.”

“That is the seat of the Master of Ships,” Lord Jasper said,”The seat of Lord Dalton Greyjoy.”

“Is Greyjoy here?” Prince Aemond looked around,”I do not see him.” He strode to the seat of the Master of Ships and sat down,”This is my seat.” 

“Only the king has the authority to appoint councilors to the Small Council,” Ser Otto said,”Have my prince been appointed the position of Master of Ships by King Aegon?”

“No,” Prince Aemond said,”I have been appointed the Master of Ships by the queen.”

“Which queen?” Ser Otto asked. Tyland knew what the Hand meant. If it was his daughter Queen Alicent, then Ser Otto would accept Prince Aemond’s appointment. Grudgingly, for a certainty, but Ser Otto would never oppose his daughter.

“Her Grace Queen Helaena,” Prince Aemond said, then looked at the gaping expressions of the councilors,”If any of my good lords have a problem with that, you may take it up with the queen.” “Or,” Prince Aemond set Vhagar’s whip onto the table,”you can take it up with me. I think I shall enjoy that even more.”

Ser Otto huffed, and sat in his seat. 

“I hear you were discussing Driftmark,” Prince Aemond said,”And here is what I propose to do with the traitor Velaryons. House Velaryon is the chief instigator of the whore’s rebellion, and the house must know that traitors will have a traitor’s due. House Velaryon shall be stripped of Driftmark, their titles, and all their lands and incomes. Corlys Velaryon shall be put to death, all the men of the house given the choice of the Wall or the axe, and all the women of the house enlisted in the Faith.”

“And who shall have Driftmark in the place of the Velaryons?” Lord Jasper asked.

“Me,” Prince Aemond laughed again as his sapphire eye glittered,”I brought His Grace the Stormlands. I shall need a fitting reward.”

Chapter Text

Luke dreamt a forgotten dream.

The cinders crackled in Driftmark’s skies as the scent of salt filled the sleeping halls. Luke rose from his bed to find Jace and Joff standing before him. Jace’s brown eyes were as cold as ice, and Joff stank of dragon droppings. The putrid scent mixed with the wretched salt, and the statues of the room began to spin.

“This is early,” Luke said, his words quiet.

“Aemond attacked Joff,” Jace stuck out the hilt of a wooden sword towards Luke,”He must pay.”

Luke tooked the sword, and the dragon statues roared and came to life, filling his heart with fire as smoke danced across an open sky. The sky was the colour of blood, and the sky was a golden shimmer in that river of red. Until a grey shadow descended from the sky, and Luke gripped his wooden sword as a roar tore the sky asunder. Luke took one hand off his sword and checked his belt for the steel dirk there. It was there, and he put his hand back on his sword.

The grey dragon landed with a great roar, but Luke knew that he must not have fear. Aemond must pay. His sniveling uncle was off his dragon, his boots ringing on the stones of High Tide like thunder. And Luke ran forward, screaming. 

Aemond wrenched Luke’s sword away, and lifted his fist. When it fell on Luke’s nose, he saw the blood flow below in a sea of red. Yet all he felt in his nose was a numb emptiness. All he heard was a numb emptiness, as Luke tried to crawl away.

The crack of the wooden sword on Jace’s head pierced that emptiness, and soon after Luke heard Aemond’s laugh: “I thought the Strongs would possess more strength.” Jace flew at Aemond, but Aemond only laughed as he caught Jace’s arm and threw him on the ground. His punches rose and fell. Rose and fell. Rose and fell. And Luke drew his dirk, and ran forward, screaming again.

He knew what to do. He remembered. He slashed at Aemond’s face. Yet when the knife touched Aemond’s right eye, Luke felt as though a blade cut bloody across his own. Aemond screamed, and his voice was not alone.

Luke woke with a scream in his mouth, but he never let it out. There was darkness before him, and he lay on soft feathers. When he wrenched open the lids of his eyes, he saw that half the world was missing. He was confused. His vision was blurry and his mind in a thick fog, and he thought there were twinkles of light in the distance. He reached a finger towards the light, and he heard a whisper: “Luke. You’re awake. Be gentle with yourself. Everything is alright.” It was the sweet voice of Gerardys, the voice of home.

It seemed an eternity that Luke waited for the lost half of the world to restore itself, to become awash with light. The clouds in his head dimmed only a little, and the lost world did not return. “Clouds,” Luke whispered,”I can’t see.”

“Milk of the poppy,” Gerardys’s gentle whisper sounded in Luke’s ear,”For the pain.”

Luke waited another eternity until the clouds dimmed some more, and he at last found a little strength in his hands. He began to lift his left hand, the hand at the side where the world was missing. Luke felt a sharp pain, and then another’s hand put Luke’s down gently but firmly. 

“You must rest, Luke,” Gerardys’s soft whisper sounded again,”Your mother will be here soon.” Luke nodded. He did not want to feel that pain again. Mother will make things better. He no longer heard Gerardys, so he assumed the maester had gone to get Mother. So Mother was not waiting at Luke’s bedside, like she always did at Jace’s and Joff’s when they fell ill.

“Luke,” Luke’s nurse’s familiar voice filled the emptiness Gerardys left. Luke breathed, and he closed his eyes. Her voice was cracked, but it was warm to Luke’s ears. “Do you want to hear a story, Luke?” his nurse asked. 

Luke’s head bobbed ever the tiniest of nods.

“Do you want to hear again the story of Harlor Hoare?” his nurse said,”The tale of the King Who Returned.”

Luke nodded again. 

“Very well,” his nurse said,”It was a time long ago, in the lands of the Ironborn far out the Sunset Sea.”

Luke smiled as he heard that story again. It was a happy story, and he loved happy stories. Jace had hated those, but Jace was Jace and he was far away.

“Harlor Hoare was the only son of the King of the Iron Islands,” his nurse said,”A great mariner and a daring adventurer who sailed the great galley Winter’s Queen, but he had one problem. He was not a loyal son, and that was where disaster struck for him. When his father the king caught a chill one night walking across one of the bridges of their island holdfast, he did not remain by his father’s side but instead sailed the Winter’s Queen into the Summer Sea.”

Luke liked this Harlor Hoare. He sounded like Grandfather, who had made nine great voyages to Yi Ti and back. Grandfather would show Luke the riches he gained from his journeys all piled in Driftmark’s treasury. “One day, Luke, this shall all be yours,” Grandfather had said.

“And it was on Harlor’s ill-fated journey that tragedy struck,” his nurse said,”His father was old, and this chill was too much for him. Whilst Harlor sailed the Summer Sea to the Summer Isles, his father gave up his ghost in his bed and the oldest of Harlor’s uncles called a kingsmoot before Harlor returned.”

The usurper, Luke remembered. That was the darkest part of the story.

“When the Ironborn were still kings,” his nurse said,”they chose them from a kingsmoot, a gathering of the foremost captains of the Iron Islands. Each captain had a vote, but in the end it was who would shout the loudest at the gathering. Harlor’s oldest uncle called the kingsmoot, and since Harlor was absent, it was his oldest uncle who was shouted king. Yet his uncle feared the eldest son who had the rights to the throne, and he laid a trap for Harlor’s return. When Harlor returned from the Summer Sea, his uncle clapped him in chains and threw him in the dungeons of their holdfast.”

“Why didn’t his uncle kill him?” Jace had asked when Luke and his brothers heard the story the first time, “He’s leaving alive a threat to his crown.”  

Kinslaying, Luke knew, a crime worse than treason.

“Yet all was not lost for Harlor,” Luke’s nurse continued,”One night, one of Harlor’s other uncles, a loyal one, snuck into the dungeons and freed Harlor from his chains. They then fled on the loyal uncle’s longships. When the new king heard of his nephew’s escape, he sent out his own fleet to chase them. He blocked off the seas from the north, the east, and the south, of the Iron Islands. The west, the king judged, was endless seas where no man had ever returned from, and there was no hope for his nephew there. Seeing three directions blocked, Harlor and his loyal uncle had no choice but to sail west. For seven days and six nights they traveled west into the empty Sunset Sea. Their stores ran low, and it seemed that they would starve upon the landless waters. Then, on the seventh night, one of the sailors spotted a light on the horizon.”

Luke breathed, his heart beginning to race. His nurse was approaching his favourite part of the story.

“Harlor commanded his ships to steer for the light,” his nurse said,”which burned even as the sun rose behind them. He soon found a lonely isle in the midst of the endless seas, and his crew cheered at their salvation. When Harlor and his loyal uncle made landfall, they were greeted by a kingdom of ragged men. Yet they spoke the tongue of Harlor. Their distant fathers were Ironborn just like Harlor, and they had been stranded on the isle several hundred years ago. They had been lost in the Sunset Sea until they saw a light, and followed it to the isle.”

It was the Lonely Light, Luke had searched long in the maps for the isle, until he had spotted it in the Sunset Sea. He would like to fly there some day when Arrax was older and tougher. But there was no light there anymore.

“When the leader of the isle heard of Harlor’s plight, he bent the knee there on the beach they called the Withering Shore,” Luke’s nurse said,”Harlor took the leader’s daughter to wife, and his loyal uncle crowned him on the isle’s Withering Shore. Harlor remained there for many a year, building his ships and training his sailors to one day return home and take back his crown. Yet there was one problem in the way.”

He was lost, Luke remembered, He could not find his way back to the Iron Islands.

“The winds are uncertain in the Sunset Sea,” Luke’s nurse said,”and Harlor knew that if he lost sight of the isle and the light, he would lose his fleet in the endless blue of the oceans. He laboured three years to find a solution, but he could not. Then, one night, his wife suggested to him to ascend the rocky outcrop on the shore of the isle and find the light that guided so many to its shores. The light was very bright, and any who came close were blinded, but Harlor had no other choice. So one night, beneath a rare moonless and starless sky as the heavens were full of clouds, he ascended the outcrop with three layers of cloth around his eyes which were squeezed shut. Before he went, he uttered a prayer to the Drowned God. That god did not answer, and he uttered another prayer to a god he had known in his travels: the Seven Who Are One. The Father answered by sending a fierce storm that blanketed the cliffs in rain and darkness, and in the rain Harlor journeyed for the light. Seven times he saw the light shimmer and thought to turn back, but seven times he steeled his heart and endured. When he at last stood upon the outcrop where the light lay, he looked down, and through his blindfolds and closed eyes he saw a ball glowing white. He picked up the light, and the blindfolds fell from his eyes. The light had accepted him, and he could open his eyes without being blinded. He raised the light to the sky, and saw that he could now light the seas back to the Iron Islands. So, he set off with his great fleet to reclaim his throne, a ball of burning fire in his hand…”

The chamber exploded in light, and Luke’s eyes jolted open. Half the world was still missing, but Luke’s right eye turned to the world that was still there. The door to the chamber was open, sunlight spilling from beyond. In the doorway was Father with a smile in his eyes, and Cousin Baela trailed behind him with her monkey Egg on her shoulder. Gerardys appeared in the doorway behind them, the old maester telling Father something. Father waved his hand and frowned, and the maester retreated.

Father came forward, his steps ringing in Luke’s ears as he came to Luke’s bedside and sat. Baela followed him, and Gerardys stood behind them with one hand fingering his chain. Egg jumped on Luke, and Luke could not help but laugh as the monkey rubbed his face.

“You are awake, Luke,” Father said,”That is well.”

“Where is Mother?” Luke asked,”I want to see her.”

“Your mother is still recovering from her labour,” Father said.

“Can I see my new sister then?” Luke asked. He knew the babe would be a girl, since Mother already had five boys. 

“Prince Daemon,” Gerardys said,”Mayhaps it is wise to n-”

Father cut Gerardys off with a wave, and spoke: “The babe did not survive.’

Oh. Luke closed his eyes and bit his lip. Only one side of his cheek was wet.

“Aemond made a clumsy job of it,” Luke heard Gerardys whisper to Father,”and Prince Lucerys’s eye was still in its socket when he returned to Dragonstone. Yet the pupil had become infected, and I had to cut it out. The wound has been cauterized, though, and the prince will live. He will never see again in his left eye, but he will live.”

“Luke,” Father’s voice pierced the gloom, and Luke opened his eyes again. No, eye. “What do you remember, Luke?” Father asked, his voice laced with ice.

“A red cave,” Luke searched his head,”I was undoing my chains, and I fell. Arrax stood above me, and there was a green dragon.”

“That was Moondancer,” Baela said, then sighed: “Arrax wouldn’t let us near you.”

“What do you remember, earlier?” Father asked.

“I was flying, and it was blue all around me,” Luke said,”There was a girl’s whisper, and she fell from the dragon.” 

Baela winced, but Father’s eyes did not change,”Tell me what you remember about Aemond taking your eye.”

“That,” Luke whispered,”That. Lord Borros was hosting a feast, and Aemond arrived at Storm’s End. He saw me, and demanded an eye for an eye. I saw… Vhagar, and I cut my eye out.”

“You cut your own eye out?” Father rose from Luke’s bed, a sneer on his face,”Like a craven? If you had died fighting Aemond in a duel, I would have avenged you. Instead, your mother’s cause is now the laughingstock of the Seven Kingdoms, made by the prince who fled.” He turned and stormed out of the room. 

“The prince who fled,” Baela snarled, and Egg jumped up onto Baela’s shoulder by kicking Luke’s face. “Serves you right for throwing that girl from your dragon,” she turned and followed her father before Luke could open his mouth. The door shut with a boom behind her.

“You must rest, Luke,” Gerardys said,”Forget their words. Let your wounds heal first.”

“Where’s Mother, truly?” Luke asked.

Gerardys only shook his head. Luke turned his eye to the closed door and let his gaze remain there.

“Would you like me to tell you the rest of the story?” Luke’s nurse asked.

“Please,” Luke said, but his heart was on the door. 

“Harlor returned to the Iron Islands with a ball of burning fire in his hand,” Luke’s nurse continued,”The light lit all the dark seas before him, and he knew the way home. Harlor landed on the westernmost isle seven days and six nights after he set sail. On the seventh day, the lords of that isle woke to find that the sun rose in the west. The king had returned. Any defiant army or lord were blinded by the light in Harlor’s hand, for their banners fell and their swords dropped out of their hand. Isle and isle Harlor reclaimed with the light of the west in his hand, until he reached the last holdout, his old home which had become the seat of his oldest uncle. His oldest uncle had long since died then, and it was his grandson who wore the crown. When Harlor’s nephew saw the sun rising in the west ahead of the thousand ships that Harlor had won, Harlor’s nephew too struck his banners like all his lords and yielded the castle. Harlor stepped back into his old home, an old man but a king - crowned his rightful crown, sons captaining his fleets, and grandsons at his knee. When he at last stood upon the walls of his home and looked to the west across the sea, he threw back his hand and hurled the ball of burning fire into the sea. The light sailed through the sky like a falling star, until it disappeared beneath the dark waves.”

“Dragons,” Luke said. 

“What did my prince say?” Gerardys asked.

“Dragons,” Luke said,”That is what the ball of burning fire is like. The light brought Harlor his crown, just like the dragons brought my fathers theirs. But my fathers knew not to throw away their power like that fool Hoare.”

“Truly, Luke?” his nurse asked,”I thought Harlor Hoare was your favourite hero.”

“He was, and still is,” Luke said,”but stories are only stories. Jace was right.”

“No,” Gerardys said,”Stories are life, which heal where maesters cannot.” Luke did not answer, his eyes watching the door. It was another eternity before it opened to a flash of blinding light. He looked at the doorway, and there was the shadow of a girl and a short knight. 

“Rhaena,” Luke greeted,”Ser Harrold.”

There was no answer as his betrothed came into sight. Rhaena was dressed in a silken sky-blue dress patterned with black lace, which scratched as it dragged on the floor. When Luke looked up to meet Rhaena’s face, he saw that her lips were curled whilst her violet eyes were high and cold. He turned away, but Rhaena appeared above him, her icy gaze looking down as she sat at Luke’s bedside. He saw only the shadow of Ser Harrold behind Rhaena, and it looked like a giant against the lamplight.

“Prince Lucerys,” Rhaena said, smiling,”Are you well?”

“I am,” Luke said, frightened by Rhaena. Her eyes were not smiling. “Why did you come here?” he asked.

“Father sent me to care for my prince.,” Rhaena said,”We are to be married, are we not?”

“Where is Mother?” Luke asked.

Rhaena’s smile remained on her face,”We are here to talk about you, Prince Lucerys. I heard from Baela that you threw a girl from your dragon above Shipbreaker Bay. You quite annoyed my sister.”

“No,” Luke felt blood rush to his face,”It wasn’t above Shipbreaker Bay. One of the Baratheon girls helped me into the saddle after…after the eye. As Arrax took off, she rolled off the wing. Please, tell Baela that.”

“I will,” Rhaena said,”though I think it shall do nothing for Baela. She told me how glad she was to wed the future king, not the prince who fled. Did you know that we received a raven from the Eyrie? Jace has won the Vale’s banners. Compared to you…”

“Where is Mother?” Luke demanded.

“Your mother?” Rhaena laughed, then leaned in and whispered: “Let me tell you a secret, Prince Lucerys. Your mother is imprisoned in her own castle, though quite at peace in Sea Dragon Tower. Our great and benevolent father says that she is mad with the birthing sickness, and it just so happens that he becomes Prince Regent and rules her kingdom.” She retreated, a smile still plastered on her face,”Prince Lucerys, are you well?” When Luke did not answer, she stroked his cheek,”Take care.” She then rose from her seat and strode out of the chamber with her guard, her dress scratching the ground behind her.

Luke rose from his bed, Gerardys’s large arms pressing Luke down in an instant. “You must rest, my prince, until you have the strength to rise,” Gerardys pleaded.

“Let me go, maester,” Luke said,”That is a command from your prince.” The maester let go, and Luke struggled to his feet. His head fell into clouds again as his feet touched the ground, and he leaned sideways. 

Gerardys caught Luke as he fell. “Let me help you, my prince,” Gerardys said, and Luke nodded. Leaning on the large maester, he made his way to the door as the chamber spun around him. The fires were dancing on the candles. The door was locked, but the maester knocked. There was the click of a key, and two guards opened the heavy oaken door from outside. When his eye calmed in the sunlight, Luke saw that the two guards were both Father’s men, the sellsword Caswan and the hedge knight Ser Robert Quince. Their hands were set on their sword hilts.

“What business does the prince have, Gerardys?” Caswan asked,”Prince Daemon has decreed that he must rest.”

“I want to see Mother,” Luke said.

“Your mother is unwell at the moment,” Caswan answered,”You shall be able to see her when she is better.”

“At least let me see my dragon Arrax,” Luke said.

Caswan slid his sword slightly from its hilt, and Luke caught the gleam of sunlight shining on steel,”My prince must rest.”

Chapter Text

“You have done your duty well,” Helaena said to Wat the Whistler,”I have not seen a rat in any of my quarters since you were named Lord Catcher of the Red Keep.”

“I am pleased that Yer Grace thinks so,” Wat the Whistler said. The ratcatcher was slightly built, with a mane of bleached golden hair and rusty brown eyes that shone beneath thick brows. “It is my dearest wish to serve the king,” Wat said,”There are many who would condemn us ratcatchers as filthy savages crawling in the Red Keep’s tunnels, but we are the ones who keep ‘em from croaking.”

“Truly?” Helaena asked,”How so?”

“Would Yer Grace eat or drink from food or wine spoiled by rats?” Wat answered,”As much as Ser Otto’s quartermaster would love to boast that ‘is granary is safe from any intruder, what can he do to the intruders that’re invisible to man’s eye and scamper only in the shadows? And yer Grand Maester Orwyle held to a belief that might well be true, that it was rats that caused the Shivers during the reign of the Old King, sneaking into the Red Keep with death on their paws even as the gates were barred.”

“You are saying that Princess Daenerys died because of rats,” Helaena said.

“Aye,” Wat answered,”When we looked through the princess’s old room, Fire-Eyes spotted a tiny hole in the hall behind one o’ of the legs o’ the princess’s ol’ bed.”

“That chamber had been given over to the servants for decades,” Helaena said,”Good Queen Alysanne could not bear any more of her children sleeping in the chamber where her first child died, but she would never let a warm chamber go to waste. Lord Wat, you have saved many lives by finding the hole.” 

“There are many more o’ the holes in Maegor’s Holdfast,” Wat said,”but we could not get to them, for common-born ratcatchers were not to be allowed in royal chambers. We cannot do our duty beneath the old laws of King Viserys, and we hope that your husband may be better.”

“Is that why you have come seeking an audience with me, Lord Wat?” Helaena asked.

“I wish to do my duty to His Grace,” Wat answered.

Helaena thought for a moment, then answered: “Very well. I shall bring the matter up with my husband.”

“You have the thanks of every humble catcher in this castle,” Wat said, but he did not beg his leave. He waited as he knelt there before Helaena, and she knew what his silence asked for. The true reason for which he is here.

“Wait a moment, Lord Wat,” Helaena said,”I have one more matter to settle with you.” 

“I am at yer service, Yer Grace,” Wat answered.

Helaena waved her hand, and eight servants appeared bearing two chests carved of cedar, four lifting each one. “It has come to my knowledge,” Helaena said,”that the salary Ser Otto’s quartermaster gives to the Catchers of the Red Keep is all too meagre. I shall speak with the king and Ser Otto about it, and in the meanwhile, a fitting gift shall need be made to reward your services.” Helaena waved her hand, and the two servants lifted the lids of the wooden chests to reveal the shining gleam of silver within. “In those two chests are a thousand silver stags,” Helaena said,”There are a hundred Catchers in the Red Keep. Each of them should receive ten for their loyal services. I hope it is a worthy gift.”

“It is, Yer Grace,” Wat answered, his eyes widening,”I do not know how to thank Yer Grace.”

“Thank me by doing your duty to the realm as you had already done,” Helaena said.

“Aye,” Wat answered,”Meself was always at the prow of our quests to rid the Red Keep of its infestations. We shall do our duty, for our queen.”

“Not for me,” Helaena said for the walls that were listening,”For the king.”

“Aye,” Wat said,”and the boys will be loyal to who gave them what they have.”

There, Helaena knew. There was one more matter she had to seek before she gave Wat his leave. “I wonder,” Helaena asked,”Why do they call you Wat the Whistler?”

“Because my whistles can mimic the mating call of any rat,” Wat answered,”and draw them in Net’s traps.”

“Curious,” Helaena said,”Are there any other quaint abilities amongst the Red Keep’s Catchers?”

“Well, Fire-eyes can spot a rat in a pitch-black room,” Wat said,”but the rest are all clever tricks. Cheese knows the Red Keep better than the shape of his own cock, pardon me, and Net can craft anything, even a stick, into a deadly trap for those little pests.”

“I am glad that there are such capable men in His Grace’s service,” Helaena said,”Deserving of every boon I could think to give.”

“I am glad that I am,” Wat said,”May I beg my leave?”

“I grant it,” she turned to her Kingsguard,”Ser Arryk. When Lord Wat and the servants depart, accompany him to make certain that the silver reaches the Catchers, protecting it from any thief in the shadows.” Including Wat.

“But Your Grace,” Ser Arryk said,”You would not have any Kingsguard on you.”

“I have Renfred,” Helaena looked at the other knight who stood in the room, a tall man with six seashells on his surcoat,”and besides, it is soon evening and my visit to Mother. I will have the three Kingsguard my husband gave to my children.” 

Ser Arryk nodded, and departed the chamber with the Lord Catcher.

Evening came as she watched the sun set through the windows of her chamber. Her husband had still not returned, and she was not surprised. He had not returned to his bed for over a moon. She wondered which was the lady who kept Aegon company this night, whether it was a merchant’s daughter or a lowborn whore. He kept three Kingsguard with him, and it was the three loyal to him. Ser Gyles, Ser Lamont, and Ser Gaston had been instructed by Ser Otto to never question Aegon’s acts. Helaena was only glad that she had secured the Kingsguard true to the vows of a knight for her children. 

Lord Commander Criston had once objected to Aegon’s dalliances, and Aegon had never again let the Lord Commander on his nightly tirades. Helaena was glad that Ser Criston’s sword would instead guarded Jaehaerys, the future king which Ser Criston would serve much better than his father. Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne were both good men, and Helaena trusted them with Jaehaera and Maelor. Fell saw Jaehaera as his daughter, and Thorne treated Maelor like his own babe son. 

As the sun began to dip behind the western horizon, the red door to her chamber opened with a shadow rushing through. Jaehaerys flung himself at Helaena, and swift on Jaehaerys’s heels was the Lord Commander himself with sweat on his brow. 

“Mother,” Jaehaerys said,”Can I take Shrykos today?”

“Not today, Jay,” Helaena said,”You know how much dragons frighten your grandmother.”

Jaehaera and Maelor soon arrived with their Kingsguard on their tails, and Helaena bade the Kingsguard escort them to the Tower of the Hand where Queen Alicent made her present chambers. Ser Criston and Renfred marched ahead of them, their pearlescent cloaks coated in the shadows that began to sprout as night came, whilst Ser Willis and Ser Rickard brought up the rear. 

When Helaena was about to cross the drawbridge from Maegor’s Holdfast to the outer Red Keep, Ser Criston turned with a shadow on his face. Helaena knew in an instant to dread his coming words.

“This is as far as we can take Your Grace and the children,” Ser Criston said,”The king has commanded that this night, all Kingsguard are not to pass the confines of Maegor’s Holdfast.”

“Ser Criston,” Helaena answered,”Your three white cloaks are needed about the sides of my children. My husband will understand, for you have always escorted us to the Tower of the Hand every night.”

“But not this night, I am afraid,” Ser Criston said,”The Kingsguard obey the king, first and foremost. If he commands that we remain in Maegor’s Holdfast, we must remain in Maegor’s Holdfast.”

“Then who shall protect my children as they tread in the outer reaches of the Red Keep?” Helaena asked.

“Here is my counsel, Your Grace,” Ser Criston said,”Forgo tonight’s visit to Queen Alicent. Without the Kingsguard at your sides, the Red Keep is a very dangerous place. Scoundrels, murderers, thieves, and all the filth of the earth the Stranger has not taken lurk in the darkest corners of the castle, and you will not be safe alone.”

“Mother,” Jaehaerys tugged at Helaena’s cloak,”Are we going now?”

“I cannot,” Helaena answered Ser Criston,”My children want to see their grandmother. The white cloaks are not the only guards in the Red Keep. Dispatch some of your guards to escort us, and we shall be safe.”

“Aye,” Ser Criston stepped back,”If that is what Your Grace wishes.”

The guards Ser Criston sent Helaena were not fond of. Though all ten of the men draped themselves in Targaryen surcoats and swore their spears at Helaena’s feet, but Helaena knew none of them and hugged her children close to her dress. She was all too glad to arrive at the Tower of the Hand, where she bade the guards Ser Criston sent her to wait outside. Helaena only trusted Renfred to enter Queen Alicent’s chamber with her. 

The children played upon the red brick floor of the Tower of the Hand whilst Queen Alicent’s bedmaid poured wine for Helaena and her mother. Helaena’s mother was beautiful even as she aged, with a smooth serene face and not even one grey hair in her brown locks. It was only in her mother’s blue eyes where Helaena saw her mother age. They were fading, the colour growing duller by the year.

“The days are growing shorter,” Helaena said to her mother,”A moon ago, the sun set after we left your chamber. Now, it dipped beneath the western sky before I even left my own. It seems that winter is coming.”

“The white raven has not arrived from the Citadel yet,” Queen Alicent said,”I say that we still have a few more years.”

“I pray that in those few years, the war will be done,” Helaena said,”The realm must be at peace to face the winter.”

“Have no fear of that, daughter,” Queen Alicent smiled,”The days of traitors are always numbered, and Rhaenyra shall fall in the end. Such is the will of the gods who punish the wicked.”

“The traitors will fall,” Helaena said,”Aye, but what shall we do of them after the war. Princess Rhaenyra has children. Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey Strong are bastards born of high treason and must be put down, what of Aegon and Viserys? They are silver-haired and purple-eyed, clear to be blood of the dragon through and through.” “Much like my children,” Helaena looked the direction of Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor playing a game on the stone floor,”but with the misfortune of being born on the wrong side.”

“Curious little things, are they not?” Queen Alicent said, then called: “Jaehaerys, come here.” Helaena’s eldest son came over his game where he impersonated a dragon, and sat on Queen Alicent’s lap. The older queen kissed his cheek, but Jaehaerys responded by trying to squirm out of her grip and return to his game. Eventually, Queen Alicent let him go, and she turned to face Helaena again. “Your little boy is stout and strong,” she said,”Much like your husband was when he was a boy. I remember the day he crawled from my womb with a proud fire in his eyes, and I knew that he was fated to be a great king.”   

“He is a great king,” Helaena said, but a horrid husband.

“Unlike his brother Aemond,” Queen Alicent’s voice grew cold,”who crawled from my womb lean and sickly. A wilted boy, who grew into a wilted man.” Queen Alicent leaned close to Helaena, her blue eyes shimmering with an eerie light: “What madness possessed you, daughter, to name Aemond to the Small Council?”

“He is the hero of the city after he brought Aegon Storm’s End,” Helaena answered,”It is a popular choice.”

“It is a foolish choice,” her mother snarled,”Aemond is a wretch, all who have seen him know that to be undeniably true. He barged into the Tower of the Hand and threatened your grandfather the Hand of the King in the eyes of all the Small Council, and that is not to even speak of all his mad words that your grandfather had spent the council rebuking in the stead of the war.” “Take him off the council, daughter,” Queen Alicent said,”That is the wisest course for all of us.”

“No,” Helaena shook her head,”Aemond is my brother, and he shall receive what he deserves.” She leaned in close to her mother, who retreated with a frown on her face. “Mother, have you stewed so much in your hatred of Aemond that you forget that he is one of House Targaryen?” Helaena said,”He rides a dragon, and he is your son. Even the whore Rhaenyra knew to love her children.”

“Do not speak to me of Rhaenyra,” her mother answered icily,”I tire of pretending to love Aemond in front of that whore.” “A true son would listen,” Queen Alicent sneered,”and Aegon does. I know all of your little game, daughter - in a day you pushed Aemond into the Small Council and bought the loyalties of the ratcatchers. I had hoped that you, daughter, would recognize the warning as the Kingsguard departed your side as you left Maegor’s Holdfast. You shall never win, for your husband the king stands with me on this. Let me give you some sage counsel, daughter. Never fight the king. Do as he wills. To begin, remove Aemond from the Small Council.”

“If you want Aemond gone,” Helaena said,”Remove him yourself, or have my husband do so. I thought these matters would fall to your father, the Hand who speaks with the king’s voice, or the king himself.” When her mother did not answer, Helaena knew the truth. “Oh,” she said,”Ser Otto cannot, and my husband will not. If both of them do not take the matter of the Small Council into their hands, then I will. Aemond will stay.”

“Careful, daughter,” Queen Alicent said,”Two dragons are nothing against the realm.”

“Children,” Helaena called and rose to her feet,”We are leaving. Come and bid your grandmother good night.”

“Remember this, Helaena,” Queen Alicent said,”I am the queen, and you are my daughter.”

“Whom you made a queen,” Helaena answered.

Chapter Text

“Our mother’s banner is quartered,” Joff said to Lady Jeyne,”Two quarters the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, a third the seahorse of our father’s House Velaryon, and the fourth the winged falcon of House Arryn.”

“Truly?” Lady Jeyne asked,”It is an honour to fly upon a queen’s banner.”

“Our mother remembers her mother fondly,” Jace said,”our grandmother Queen Aemma Arryn, who was our grandfather King Viserys’s first and wisest wife. I never had the fortune to meet her, but our mother always told us stories of how lovely and kind she was.”

“I never knew Aunt Aemma,” Lady Jeyne said,”She married your grandfather and sailed to King’s Landing the year before I was born. In the Vale, we were proud to have an Arryn as a queen, but she never visited. Not even for the funeral of my father Lord Jason and brothers when they were murdered by mountain savages.”

“I cannot fault my grandmother for that,” Jace said,”That year was the year our grandmother bore our mother, and Queen Aemma was bedridden for several moons after. Though it will never make up for her absence, I offer my condolences and only wish that my lady does not blame our grandmother.”

“It is nothing,” Lady Jeyne smiled,”I doubt Aunt Elys would have wanted Aunt Aemma there anyways. Aunt Elys was a nasty woman, who always hated her youngest sister. Said she was dragonspawn. I was always glad Aunt Amanda’s husband Lord Yorbert Royce was my Regent in the stead of Aunt Elys.” She leaned in to Jace,”The greatest condolence Queen Aemma can offer me is her daughter seated on the Iron Throne.” She then leaned back and turned to Joff,”My prince, in which way are the four quarters arranged on your mother’s banner?”

Jace nodded to him, and Joff was thankful that Jace had at least left this to him. “The Targaryen dragons are displayed in the upper left and lower right quarters. The Velaryon seahorse rests in the lower left quarter, and the Arryn falcon-and-moon in the upper right.”

“I daresay it is quite a fitting place,” Lady Jeyne said,”The falcon always wishes to fly.” She thought for a moment, then raised her goblet to the both of them,”When the feast concludes tonight, you shall meet my steward Mellus Castellan and instruct him in a drawing of the exact design of the sigil. The seamstresses of the Eyrie need begin weaving the banners of the queen to ride into battle. I shall also have to command Maester Barrabas to send ravens to every castle in the Vale informing them of the banners that must be weaved to accompany the knights as they ride.”

“When shall the Vale’s knights be ready to ride?” Jace asked,”We thank the Seven that my lady had the foresight to gather the Vale lords at Eyrie, but thousands of knights are another matter.”

“It shall take a fortnight to weave the banners,” Lady Jeyne answered,”Another moon to gather twenty thousand swords at the Bloody Gate. I would say that in two moons, my cousin Ser Joffrey Arryn will lead the Vale knights to sally forth from the Gate in aid of Her Grace’s war.” 

“Can we forgo the banners?” Joff asked,”The usurper is like to make his own anyway. If we fly the red dragon of the Conqueror to war, the lords of the realm shall know that our mother’s armies are that of the rightful queen.”

“We cannot risk our banners being the same,” Jace answered,”else we would not know who is who in battle, and slay as much of our own men as we do the enemy. One always pays for haste in blood. 

“One always pays for haste in blood,” Jace had said to Joff when he lingered for four days in the Eyrie. Vermax needed rest to prepare for the long ride north to Winterfell, but the more important cause was that Jace wanted to instruct Lady Jeyne in all the preparations for war.

“It seems wise, though, to fly the Conqueror’s banner,” Lady Jeyne said.

“We cannot fly the banners of Aegon the Dragon,” Jace said,”Those who see his banner will see the usurper who was named for Aegon, wears Aegon’s crown, and wields Aegon’s sword. The realm must see that they are fighting for our mother.”

Joff’s face went red, then muttered beneath his breath,”I’m sorry.”

“It is nothing,” Lady Jeyne laughed,”I wish I had an elder brother like Prince Jacaerys, but both Denys and Harrold died when I was three. I also do not think either was fond of teaching girls.” “But belay that,” she looked at both Jace and Joff,”It is revels we should see this one last feast before the Vale rises in war.” 

Lady Jeyne rose to her feet and signaled for her herald to blow his great golden horn. A mighty blast trembled the air as the High Hall fell into silence. The words faded on the singer’s lips as his hand stilled on his harp. A lord who wore a cloak of three ravens waved away the mass of knights that had gathered at his table. Another lord with a black star woven on his surcoat slammed his flagon on a table as he called for the men in the High Hall to heed Lady Jeyne. The lord who sat beneath a banner of green vipers spat out a mouthful of wine that his servants soon wiped away.

“On the morrow,” Lady Jeyne announced,”Prince Jacaerys will ride forth on his dragon Vermax to Winterfell, where he shall meet Lord Cregan Stark and win the North to the rightful queen. In the south, Prince Jacaerys’s brother Prince Lucerys has won the loyalty of Lord Borros Baratheon and the Stormlander swords, whilst ravens fly to Riverrun, Highgarden, Casterly Rock, and Pyke, whose lords shall rise as I have for King Viserys’s chosen heir. The realm stands for its true queen, and the war shall be over ere winter comes.” She looked over at Jace, who heeded her gaze and rose to his feet.

“When I ride forth to Winterfell,” Jace said,”I take comfort in the fact that I am not alone. That even as my treacherous uncle Aegon sits the Iron Throne, wears the Conqueror’s crown, and wields the Conqueror’s sword, the realm sees him for the usurper he is. The realm does not forget the vows they swore to my mother, and stand with me beneath the banners of their true queen. Yet even as Winterfell, Storm’s End, and a hundred other castles in the Seven Kingdoms declare for my mother, the Eyrie shall remain the first and greatest of them. Aegon the Conqueror conquered his kingdoms with a thousand men. With twenty times more of the true-hearted knights of the Vale, the usurper shall soon be naught but dust and ashes.” “To victory,” Jace lifted his goblet to the skies in a toast.

“To victory,” Lady Jeyne followed Jace as her own goblet rose.

“TO VICTORY,” the hall echoed, and in the din of shouts Joff could hear his own shrill voice,”To victory.”

“Would my lady join me in a dance?” Jace asked Lady Jeyne once the echoes of the voices died. Jace held out his hand.

“It shall be my pleasure, my prince,” Lady Jeyne answered, and took Jace’s hand, letting him lead her down to the empty floor of the hall. The singer began to strike up a mellow tune on his harp, its rings trilling across the air. 

“Prince Joffrey,” a whisper rang at Joff’s side, and he turned to see Lady Jessamyn Redfort, whom Lady Jeyne had seated at his side during the feast. Joff knew what duty bid him to do. “Would you care for a dance, Lady Jessamyn?” Joff asked whilst he held out his hand.

“Of course, my prince,” Lady Jessamyn smiled and took his hand with her own. Her hand was soft and cold, and Joff held it lightly as he led her down the steps to the floor of the High Hall. 

Lady Jessamyn was a woman grown, but Joff was already as tall as she was. It was no trouble twirling with her upon the dance floor, as he watched Jace struggle with Lady Jeyne who was a head shorter than him. But Jace found a way. Jace always found a way. The room spun in a stream of blue and white as the floor filled around them.

“The singers always said that the Targaryens are like gods,” Lady Jessamyn said,”I never expected princes to look so alike us common men.”

“What does my lady mean by that?” Joff said, feeling a chill begin to stir in his spine.

“We are not fighting for gods that play with mortal lives,” Lady Jessamyn smiled,”but for ones amongst us, princes who care.”

But Joff suspected what her words truly meant. That he and Jace’s looks were that of a commoner. Of Harwin Strong. Joff exchanged pleasantries with Lady Jessamyn for the rest of the song as Jace would have done. When the harpist played his last quiet note, Joff thanked her for the dance and left. Jace was finished also with Lady Jeyne, so Joff strode there and asked Lady Jeyne to a dance. Soon, the singer struck up another song, and Joff spun with Lady Jeyne on the dance floor.

“Did Jess displease my prince?” Lady Jeyne asked,”You have a sour look about your face.”

“What have you heard in the Vale about my mother and Harwin Strong?” Joff asked.

“Rumours,” Lady Jeyne answered,”and rumours are most like to be false. Repeated by the usurper Aegon’s sycophants, which makes it all the more like to be lies crafted with the purpose of delegitimizing my prince's claim and sullying your mother's name.”

“Are there any such sycophants in the Vale?” Joff asked,”If I am to stay in the Eyrie, I need to know which men to avoid.”

“Lords Hunter, Egen, and Lynderly have all spoken of the rumours in this High Hall,” Lady Jeyne answered,”But my prince should chiefly keep clear of Lord Robar Royce, who had urged me ever since he arrived from Runestone to declare for your uncle. Lord Robar resents your Prince Daemon for all the ills he did to Lord Robar’s aunt Lady Rhea. Though I assure my prince that beneath my roof when you have taken my bread and salt, Lord Robar shall do no harm to you.”

“My lady has my thanks,” Joff knew where to go now,”I need not worry of that.”

“The Eyrie is glad to serve its prince,” Lady Jeyne said, though Joff saw that she had a glint of suspicion in her eye. It remained there all the way until the song ended, when Joff bowed and thanked her for the dance.

Joff searched the hundred banners that lined the blue-veined marble walls of the High Hall until he found the black iron studs of Runestone draped before the fifth pillar from the open gates. Beneath the banner, he saw a tall lord attended by five servants. The lord was wearing a suit of shining bronze armour engraved with runes, and beside him was seated a girl who looked to be of fourteen years. Before Joff stepped in front of the table that hosted the Royces, he looked back to Jace who was dancing with a woman in a green dress of Myrish lace. Jace locked eyes with Joff, and nodded. Joff took the final steps to stand before Lord Robar.

“What pleasure do I owe a prince of the realm?” Lord Robar said.

“I was wondering whether my lord’s lovely daughter would grant me a dance,” Joff said.

Lord Royce’s eyes were hard as stone as they turned to his daughter,”What do you say to the prince, darling?”

“It shall be my pleasure, Prince Joffrey,” the Royce maid rose from her seat and curtsied.

“What is your name?” Joff asked her as they faced each other on the dance floor.

“Arya,” the Royce maid said.

“Truly?” Joff said,”I have never heard that name before.”

“It is a First Man name,” Lady Arya replied,”and we Royces are of the old blood. I am curious, though, of my prince’s name. Joffrey does not sound Valyrian.”

“I was named for my father Ser Laenor Velaryon’s most trusted friend and companion,” Joff said,”Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, who was a Westerosi.”

“He was a fair and valiant knight,” Lady Arya answered,”It is a fitting honour to bear his name.”

“A Westerosi name,” Joff spun her around,”and I heard that your father said I look Westerosi to match in kind. Is that true?”

“Certainly not,” Lady Arya tensed as she answered,”Those are clear lies, spread by men loyal to the usurper.”

The inside of Joff’s mouth was burning with her lie, and the fire inside threatened to spill forth. What would Jace do? Joff looked over Lady Arya’s shoulder at his tall brother, and knew that Jace would know to swallow the fire.

“A lie, to be sure,” Joff said,”It was an unfortunate accident, really. I always took pride that my brother and I both took after our grandmother. Princess Rhaenys is said to have been a lustrous beauty in her youth, with dark hair that ran down to her waist.”

“Does Princess Rhaenys still have that hair?” Lady Arya asked.

“No,” Joff answered,”It is silver with age. She looks like a Targaryen now, though in her heart she always was.” Joff spun her to face the gates that opened to the skies,”A heart of fire and blood. Who else but Targaryens can tame dragons? Dragons see who you truly are.” He stopped so that Lady Arya’s eyes were sealed on the open gate,”One of the dragons in the yard is mine.”

“The green one, right,” Lady Arya said,”I saw you riding it.”

“He is mine,” Joff said,”His name is Tyraxes.”

“Could you show me?” Lady Arya asked,”I always wanted to see a dragon up close, but Lady Jeyne’s guards would let none tread into the yard.”

Joff was taken aback, but he soon calmed his face. Like Jace. “I would love to,” Joff answered. He grasped her hand and pushed his way through the throng of the crowd. Eyes followed him as he passed, but they all soon turned back to Jace. Joff knew that one day, they would look to Joff too.

The great bronze gates of the High Hall were open to the cool night air, a gentle breeze guarding the pass between the warmth of the hall and the coolness of the autumn night. Lady Arya’s hand was stiff as he pulled her out the gates. His own hand was stiff as well, the silver of his rings growing cold on his fingers as the winds blew. The gate of the High Hall was only several hundred steps from the courtyard where he and Jace tethered Tyraxes and Vermax, and Joff could already hear their roars rise above the whistling winds. He saw at the entrance of the courtyard the glint of starlight shining upon silver armour, the mark of the ring of knights set at every entrance to the courtyard. Jace had asked Lady Jeyne to arrange those knights there to prevent the folk of the castle from wandering into a dragon’s den. 

There were five knights that stood guard at the entrance with an arch of a white painted moon, and they bowed their heads as Joff drew close. “My prince,” the youngest amongst them said. He was a man with arched brows, a shaven chin, and three ravens on his surcoat. The scabbard he held at his waist was especially beautiful, glinting of hammered brass and coated in patterned leather that were inlaid with rubies. 

“May I enter?” Joff asked,”I wish to see my dragon.”

“My prince may enter,” the knight of three ravens said,”But not the lady. That is Lady Jeyne’s command, confirmed by your elder brother.”

“Don’t be an arse, Ser Corwyn,” an older guard said,”Let the prince have his fun with the lady.”

“I promise on my honour as a prince that no harm shall come to Lady Arya,” Joff said,”I am the blood of the dragon, and dragons obey my will.”

Ser Corwyn stood there for a moment, until at last he relented and stepped aside. Joff strode into the courtyard, his hand still plastered to the stiff hand of Lady Arya. The music of dragons was quiet in the courtyard, as Joff saw Vermax sleeping beneath the great statue of the winged knight, his great blue wings folded over his head as he timely issued a satisfied roar. Tyraxes was restless, though, and paced the length of the courtyard to the ends of his chains. The starlight shone on his emerald scales which glittered eerily bright.

“The green one is yours, right?” Lady Arya whispered in Joff’s ear.

“Aye,” Joff answered,”Tyraxes.”

It was then when Tyraxes saw Joff, and let out a happy greeting. Then, its eyes turned to Lady Arya, and its snout twisted in a snarl.

“Tyraxes does not like strangers,” Joff said.

“Does that make him dangerous?” Lady Arya asked.

“If you came alone, aye,” Joff answered,”but you came with me, and my scent is on you. But do not let him sense fear, else he would think you a stranger.” He turned back to her,”If you want to leave now, say the word.”

Lady Arya shook her head,”I want to see a dragon.”

“Like I said,” Joff said,”Tyraxes does not like strangers. You should have asked my brother to show you a dragon. Vermax is much more pliable.” “But…,” Joff looked at Lady Arya and met her eyes,”I am glad that you asked me.” “Keep your hand with mine at all times,” Joff said,”and step only when I step. That way, Tyraxes will know that you are with me.”

Lady Arya nodded, and Joff turned back to his dragon. Tyraxes had tried to come to Joff, and had reached the end of his chain. Joff stepped forward, knowing that Lady Arya followed close behind. Step by step, they approached the dragon, and Joff began to feel the warm gusts that issued from Tyraxes’s snout. Joff snuck a glance at Vermax, and saw that the dragon was still sleeping. He turned back to Tyraxes, and smiled when he saw that he could glimpse Tyraxes’s pupils that shone molten gold. He took one step closer, echoed by Lady Arya’s shuffling feet.

“Tyraxes,” Joff raised up his hand as he drew close, and felt the green dragon nestle his scaly snout into it as he had done a hundred times before. Joff rubbed Tyraxes’s snout, and the dragon let out a contented roar. Joff turned to Lady Arya,”Would you like to touch him?”

Lady Arya nodded, her mouth agape but no words issuing forth. Her eyes were fixed on Tyraxes’s shimmering scales that rose and fell in the night as the starlight slid and bent.

“Remember,” Joff said,”Raise your hand, and Tyraxes will smell my scent on you. But do not shake, else he would smell fear and think that you are a stranger.”

Lady Arya nodded again, and Joff took his hand off Tyraxes’s snout. She raised her right hand slowly up, her skin a pearlescent white beneath the shining stars. Her hand drew closer to Tyraxes’s snout and her eyes found the dragon’s molten slits. The dragon grumbled, and her hand began to shake. Tyraxes snarled.

“Back,” Joff shouted, but the dragon had already lunged forward, a ringing ripping the air as the dragon’s chain snapped taut. Joff heard a scream, and as his glance fell beside him, his heart filled with dread. There, sprawled upon the floor, Lady Arya’s mouth wrenched open in piercing screeches as she cradled the bloody stump where her right hand had been. Joff stepped between her and the dragon, facing Tyraxes’s snarling snout, but he did not know what to do. Tyraxes had never snarled at Joff before.

Joff heard steps behind him, and he turned to find the five guards at the door rushing into the courtyard. Ser Corwyn’s eyes were agape as his hand tightened on his scabbard.

“One of you,” Ser Corwyn shouted,”Fetch Maester Barrabas.” All four of his older companions began to run. Ser Corwyn’s eyes followed his companions until they disappeared, but he turned to the dragon. He drew his sword, a dark grey blade rippled with smoke that Joff was certain was Valyrian steel. 

“No,” Joff shouted, but Ser Corwyn stepped forward. The screams behind Joff had faded, and Joff dreaded what that would mean. He heard the stirring of wings as Vermax roused from his sleep. Joff could only get down and cover his ears before the blue dragon raised his head and shuddered the skies with a violent shriek.

Chapter Text

Alicent took a sip from her goblet, and spat it out.

It was cold water, bitter and scathing. The freezing touch lingered on Alicent’s tongue as she glanced within her goblet. She had assumed that it was a light yellow, that Aegon had his maid pour Alicent a strain of Arbor gold. Her son, after all, had his goblet filled from the same flagon. She peered closer inside her goblet, and saw that the drink was clear, the yellow being that of the golden goblet shining through.

“Water?” Alicent asked, her tongue still burning from the bitterness,”Would you treat your mother like some common peasant?” She looked back at the cold water within the goblet,”My son, the Blackwater Rush is full of the filthy leavings of King’s Landing. You are to grow sick if you drink it.”

“The water is from the cisterns and wells that Good Queen Alysanne had the Old King build,” Aegon said.

“And those cisterns and wells are full of the same filth,” Alicent snapped, reaching over and pulling Aegon’s cup from his grasp. “My son,” Alicent stroked Aegon’s cheek,”Any man, whether noble or beggar, can seek for water from Alysanne’s Wells. What is to say that there are those amongst them who are the catspaws of the traitor Daemon, who received commands from Lord Flea Bottom to poison a well that the king frequents. And there are tales of sicknesses in the wells.”

“The shitting sickness, and worse,” Aegon snickered as he snatched his goblet back,”I have heard my lot of them, and I am not shitting yet.”

“Better to trust the wines of the Red Keep,” Alicent said,”which are guarded by your grandfather’s true men.”

“Would Mother have me send for wine instead?” Aegon asked. 

“That would be wise,” Alicent said,”Archmaester Frosts, who teaches the silver link at the Citadel, proposes that wine is a fire that burns through disease. Much like the furnace of dragonflame and the blood of the dragon. Whereas sicknesses thrives in water as fish do in the sea.”

“Joy,” Aegon beckoned his maid,”Go forth to the royal stores, and bring forth a flagon of the finest honeyed wine of Lannisport. It is for my mother, Her Grace the queen.”

The maid curtsied, a lean girl of sixteen years with mousy brown hair, a hooked nose, and a sweet smile that touched her blue eyes. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said as she fled swiftly from the chamber.

Alicent turned back to Aegon, and her heart leapt when she saw him curling his hand again around the goblet that contained cold water. “My son,” Alicent said,”Do not play games with me.”

“War is no time for games,” Aegon said,”During my visits to the city, I oft find that a glass of cold water clears my head after anxious activity. Better than wine, at least.”

“If it is your wish, Aegon,” Alicent slowly nodded,”But has one of Kingsguard tasted it first?”

Aegon nodded,”Ser Gaston had a pint of the water an hour ago when the servants brought the flagon. If there is any poison, it should have acted by now.” 

Alicent breathed. There were loyal men about Aegon’s side, at the very least. The men who wore white cloaks had worried Alicent of late. Only Ser Criston of the seven who served her husband could she say to trust. The first Cargyll, Marbrand, and Darklyn had joined in Rhaenyra’s treason, and Alicent’s father had stripped them of their white cloaks. The second Cargyll stood still in the ranks of the Kingsguard, and Alicent was uncertain if he would sway the way of his brother. Fell and Thorne were both Helaena’s creatures, even more dangerous than those loyal to Rhaenyra, as Rhaenyra’s white cloaks did not stand close to the king. Alicent’s father knew just as she did to forge a Kingsguard who would serve the king, and Alicent had recommended Belgrave, Honeys, and Flowers as worthy choices to replace the three who had followed Rhaenyra’s foolish path.

Belgrave stood behind the king, his face in the shadows as one hand stroked his wisp of a beard and the other held his sword’s sheath. Honeys stood at the king’s right, the candlelight illuminating his golden hair as his face turned to watch the door to the chamber. Alicent could see Flowers’s eyes, a piercing black as the knight stood upon the left of Aegon with his white cloak resting stagnant in the cool and windless chamber.

“It is hot here,” Aegon took a sip from his goblet of cold water,”Mother, let us keep it brief. Why are you here in these early hours of morning?”

“Aegon,” Alicent answered, her mouth dry,”I know that other matters have occupied your time during the recent Small Councils, but I trust that your grandfather has informed you of the happenings.”

“Ser Otto has,” Aegon said,”He has dispatched Grand Maester Orwyle to inform me that the ravenry has received tidings from the Vale.”

Alicent nodded,”The bastards Jacaerys and Joffrey Strong have descended a fortnight ago on the Eyrie upon their dragons Vermax and Tyraxes. Lady Jeyne Arryn had welcomed them, and swore the Knights of the Vale for the traitor princess.”

“Orwyle told me that much,” Aegon said,”What has he hidden from his king?”

“The raven was written from Runestone,” Alicent answered,”by the hand of Ser Gunthor Royce at great risk to his person, for his liege lady had declared for the traitors.”

“Even in a sea of treason, he is true,” Aegon said,”When the war is over, the Royces of Runestone shall be well compensated for their loyalty.”

“They have already paid dearly,” Alicent said,”When Ser Gunthor’s brother Lord Robar spoke against the two bastards at the Eyrie, the bastard Joffrey had his dragon tear off the hand of Lord Robar’s daughter and threatened to burn her if Lord Robar did not seal his tongue. At her vassal’s suffering, Lady Jeyne did naught but stand by and watch. It has only served to harden Lord Robar’s anger.” 

“The bastard’s wanton act of cruelty has further sullied the usurper’s foul name in the eyes of the realm,” Aegon said,”That is why my half-sister will lose. We stand for what is right and honourable, and the realm knows that for its true king.’

“That is not the end of the letter,” Alicent said,“After the bastards swindled the loyalty of the Lady Jeyne, Ser Gunthor reports that Lord Robar saw the both of them ride north upon their dragons. There is only one place worth riding to further north. Winterfell. Lord Larys’s birds confirm Ser Gunthor’s tale, as they have sighted two dragons touch down first at Sisterton and then at White Harbour, on the path to the heart of the North.” Alicent looked Aegon in his calm lilac eyes,”Your grandfather’s fear has been realized. The Vale and the North will declare for your traitor of a half-sister, and it is the strength Rhaenyra needs to declare war.’

“What does Ser Otto mean to do about it?” Aegon asked, his eyes hardening.

“That shall depend on you, my son,” Alicent said,”For before the scrapes of faraway lands can be addressed, infections of the heart must be first cured. And there is a ghastly infection in the heart of Your Grace’s realm.”

“It is Helaena and Aemond, is it not?” Aegon gave a bitter laugh,”I have done as much to Helaena short of setting her aside. We have not shared a bed for a moon, and the Kingsguard are commanded to remain in Maegor’s Holdfast, confining my wife to these quarters save for her nightly visits to the Tower of the Hand.” “What more can I do, Mother?” Aegon asked,”Would you have me be Maegor the Cruel, and kill her to take another wife?”

“Let us not speak of Helaena, my son,” Alicent bit her lip,”She has no means of reaching Dreamfyre in the Dragonpit, and is not so much a danger as your brother. Vhagar is tethered in the yard of the Red Keep, and in minutes Aemond could be upon her back torching the castle. He has already begun making his moves towards power. Aemond has barged into a Small Council uninvited, forced your grandfather to name him Master of Ships, and has demanded Driftmark. How much longer before he sets his eyes on the Iron Throne?”

“What would you have me do, Mother?” Aegon laughed again,”Have my guards seize Aemond in the middle of the night, and whip him naked through the streets?”

“He near did the same to you, my son,” Alicent answered,”Or does Your Grace not remember?”

“I cannot forget,” Aegon answered. 

”Two years ago,” Alicent said,”during one of your visits to the people of the city, Aemond barged into your chamber and dragged you from my bed. It was only the intervention of Ser Arryk that prevented Aemond from parading you naked through the streets. Before that day, I still harboured a faint hope to love your brother, but that day he proved the wretch he had always been.’

“Mother,” Aegon’s eyes sharpened,”Do you know where my bed was that day? Where my chamber was? Upon the Street of Silk, in an establishment called the Blue Pearl. A brothel. That day Aemond dragged me from my bed was the day Maelor was born. It was fortunate that Ser Arryk was there, and I attended the birth of my son dressed.”

Aegon’s voice rang with a knock on the chamber door, and the guard announced that Aegon’s maid had returned. The brown-haired girl swept into the chamber with a heavy flagon weighing down her arms. 

“Joy,” Aegon said,”Pour my mother a glass of wine.” He took away the cup of water and brought forth an empty one, chiseled of brass and inlaid with emeralds, dragonglass, and amethysts. 

The maid nodded and tipped the flagon over the empty goblet, a thin trickle of dull yellow streaming forth. Alicent glanced at the swirling wine, knowing that there were many poisons that Prince Daemon knew which no eye could see, so Alicent lifted the goblet to the maid. “I grant you a taste, girl,” Alicent said.

“Her name is Joy, Mother,” Aegon said.

“Joy,” Alicent said.

“It is an honour, Your Grace,” the maid exclaimed as she received the goblet and drank a sip. She swiftly gave the cup back, and Alicent smiled. Alicent set the goblet on the table, knowing that there was still a whiles to wait ere the wine be safe to drink. She turned back to Aegon.

“Whatever Aemond’s reasons that day of Maelor’s birth,” Alicent said,”He attacked a prince.”

“He is also a prince,” Aegon said.

“You were the heir to the Iron Throne,” Alicent snarled,”Prince or pauper, to strike the future king is tantamount to high treason and a sentence of death or the Wall. Your father was merciful to spare Aemond. Mayhaps too merciful.”

“Mother,” Aegon said,”He is my brother, and brothers fight.”

“That was no childhood squabble,” Alicent said,”That was a humiliation meant to strip you of your rights. That was only the edge of Aemond’s ambitions which has revealed its wretched self in this war. No sensible man wants war with your elder sister. Not me, not your grandfather, nor any of the Small Council. We would have had peace if not for Aemond. Only Aemond wants war, harbouring his boyhood resentment to Luke Velaryon.” “When this war is over,” Alicent leaned in close to Aegon,”you and Rhaenyra shall both be dead. And who shall laugh at the very end, seated upon the Iron Throne?”

“What would you have me do?” Aegon asked, staring at his cup of water,”Get him drunk, and have my Kingsguard throw him in the black cells. What shall I do with him then? He is my brother. I cannot put him to death, and I will not send him to the Wall, which is forever.”

“Send him away on some years of exile,” Alicent said,”Away from court to not interfere with our peace with Rhaenyra. Once the peace is settled and your reign is secure, you may welcome Aemond back for all I care.”

“And have Aemond be another Maegor?” Aegon laughed bitterly,”Mother, you should not forget that he rides Vhagar. Should I order him into exile, and at best he would emerge vengeful after the years to take Jaehaerys’s throne. At worst, he would laugh in my face and burn the Red Keep to the ground. Vhagar is four times Sunfyre’s size, just as Balerion was to Quicksilver.”

“Aemond must thus be separated from his dragon,” Alicent said,”lest he attempt a treason like Maegor.”

“I raised Sunfyre from when he was but a yellow hatchling,” Aegon said,”I know of the love a rider bears his dragon, and a dragon their rider. Dragons are not like hounds. There is ancient magic in their bonds with their masters. To separate a dragon from its rider would be as cruel as all Maegor’s evils. I will not have it.”

“Mercy is a sweet thing, Aegon,” Alicent said,”but it killed King Aenys. You must not allow mercy to blind you from doing what is right.”

“Mother,” Aegon said,”There must be another way.”

Alicent bit her tongue, knowing that she could not sway Aegon this way. “Then at the very least, do not allow Aemond to demand Driftmark,” Alicent said,”for a castle is only the gate for greater ambitions.”

“How shall I do that?” Aegon asked.

“Aemond is Helaena’s creature, and the two largest dragons still ridden are theirs,” Alicent said,”You must match their strength. You must make Daeron yours.” She waited, preparing her next words. 

“I sense that is not all, Mother,” Aegon said.

“Make a peace with Rhaenyra, have her dragons support your reign,” Alicent said,”and Aemond is nothing.”

“How?” Aegon’s question Alicent had expected.

“You are not the one to start this war, nor is Rhaenyra,” Alicent said,”It was all the machinations of Aemond and the traitor Prince Daemon. So long as those two poisons are removed, there is naught standing between a peace.”

“It is a throne my half-sister wants,” Aegon said.

“And that you can give to her,” Alicent said,”Aemond is Helaena’s creature, and to remove him, your shrew of a queen must also be put aside. You could then offer to marry Rhaenyra should she name Prince Daemon a traitor and their marriage void in the eyes of gods and men. You would sit the Iron Throne together, and Rhaenyra is not so much a fool as to refuse a throne that could be gained without a war.”

“Just one matter, Mother,” Aegon said,”If I am to marry Rhaenyra, who would inherit the Iron Throne after me. Jaehaerys, or Jacaerys?”

“That is a matter of future days,” Alicent said,”My king should look to the present first, and an end to this war before too much blood is shed.” She looked Aegon in the eyes,”Will you save your realm?”

Aegon took a swig of water, and there was fire in his eyes,”I will.”

Chapter Text

The winds howled outside the Widow’s Tower, wailing like ghosts in Rhaenys’s ears.

The smallfolk of Harrenhal believed that the wails were the deathly cries of burned men as the castle blazed in the Conqueror’s fire. Phantoms who lingered, haunting the stones to curse any man who dared set foot in their tomb. 

The only ghost I know is Queen Rhaena. Rhaenys had made her quarters in the tower that had been named for that widow. A Queen Who Never Was, just like Rhaenys. When Rhaenys slept, she felt close to that queen who had lay swaddled at the Conqueror’s breast, wife of one king and the slayer of another, who had rode a dragon as beautiful as a maiden’s dream. Dreamfyre, who shimmered blue and silver in the sun like a wish on a pleasant night.

But at the end of her life, when the Old King was all that was great and glorious in the realm, Queen Rhaena had retreated to the Widow’s Tower of Harrenhal, where she died, forgotten and alone. Would the same be for me? Rhaenys oft wondered as she paced the stones of the chamber that had once been the widow queen’s. The wailing winds had to be the whispers of Queen Rhaena, telling Rhaenys something she could not understand.  

Harrenhal had come easily. No battle had barred Rhaenys’s march from Rook’s Rest to Harrenhal. The one threatening holdfast in the way was Antlers, and Lord Merrett Buckwell yielded as soon as he glimpsed Meleys. Once Rhaenys flew Meleys again over Harrenhal, the castellan Ser Simon Strong did not wish to become another Harren and surrendered the castle without a battle. The only casualties in Celtigar’s host were a hundred who had caught the pox and had to be left at Antlers. 

Celtigar made his quarters in the tallest Kingspyre Tower alongside Staunton, Darklyn, Darke, Crabb, Buckwell, and half a dozen other lords from the Crownlands, but Rhaenys preferred the Widow’s Tower. Queen Rhaena had built a roost for dragons above her quarters, and Meleys required a roost. Any command Kingspyre wished to issue would first have to go across the bridge to the Widow’s Tower, and pass by Rhaenys’s ears. The wails of the dead she could forget, but the wails of the living she must hear. 

Voices rang not only within Harrenhal’s walls, but men across the Riverlands heard of Rhaenys’s victory at Harrenhal and the dragon that flew above the castle, coming to swear their loyalty like a rising tide. 

The Mootons had leered at Rhaenys’s host as it marched towards Harrenhal, but Lord Walys rushed to declare his loyalty as soon as the castle fell. Soon following was Lord Luthor Roote of Harroway, bringing wagons upon wagons of grain and arms to supply Rhaenys’s host alongside his host of two thousand. “For Viserys’s little girl,” the old lord had said when Rhaenys welcomed him at the castle gates.

Ser Larence Darry brought with him a thousand riders and twice as many levies summoned from the harvest fields. Harrenhal received ravens from the north that Lord Forrest Frey and Lord Jorah Mallister were marching down the Blue Fork to swear for the queen, and from the south-west that Lord Tristan Vance and Lord Petyr Piper were marching down the Red Fork to do the same.

But Rhaenys’s concern was Riverrun, but Lord Grover had not answered any of the ravens Celtigar sent to the castle. The banners above Riverrun were that of a red dragon, but that did not mean anything. Yet Harrenhal did receive a raven from Raventree, and Lord Samwell Blackwood swore his loyalty. Harrenhal received no such raven from the Brackens of the Stone Hedge, and Celtigar’s scouts reported of a battle at a mill near Riverrun where Blackwoods ambushed the Brackens and slew the other host to a man. Raventree’s raven soon followed declaring a victory over the usurpers, though the writer was Lord Benjicot, his father Lord Samwell having been slain in the battle. 

Rhaenys flew seven journeys above the Riverlands, and it was not once when she considered flying to Riverrun and subduing the castle. Yet Celtigar received ravens telling that the hosts from the north and the west were true, and Rhaenys spotted their trails of smoke. Celtigar urged her to wait so that an army could occupy Riverrun once the castle surrendered, and wrote ravens to Lord Forrest, Lord Tristan, and Lord Benjicot, arranging for the uniting of their hosts at the Stone Hedge, where Meleys would greet them. From there, they would march to Riverrun to root Lord Grover out of his hole. 

Tully was not so much Rhaenys’s worry as the dwindling provisions serving a host that was little dented by war. More or less five thousand had marched with Rhaenys from the Crownlands, and the number would soon swell by five times. Celtigar reported oft to Rhaenys that their supplies, even with those supplemented by the Riverlords, could not last the twenty-five thousand strong host for even a moon. The Riverlord wagons were slow to return, and Meleys’s fire would not give them speed. Corlys had already sent barges across the sea to acquire many more provisions from the Free Cities, but the journey would take more than a moon. Both Rhaenys and Celtigar knew that if more feed could not be found, they would have to cull the mouths that needed feed. Celtigar has already written to Dragonstone about a possible march against King’s Landing, but the queen had yet to reply.

The queen’s choice of Celtigar as Hand was a strange one, but Rhaenys knew the wisdom in that. The veriest candidate for the Handship would have certainly been Corlys, but Rhaenys knew that the queen needed Rhaenys’s husband as the lord admiral and Master of Ships to command the blockade. Prince Daemon was worthy as a commander, but lacked the temperament for the other duties of the Hand. Jace would have made a fine Hand if he had not been too young. The only choices would be between Rhaenyra’s lords, and House Celtigar was Valyrian in blood, as close to kin to the Targaryens as any. And Celtigar had proved well in the duties of the Hand as a commander, knowing to listen to Rhaenys. 

Not one of their host from the Crownlands fell in battle. Meleys flew in first in any possible battle to cow the enemy. The only one who did not surrender by then was a fool Strong boy who fortified himself in the village of Sweetgrass. Rhaenys flew Meleys once over the village, and the Strong boy and all his men were ashes, feeding the rivers and hills. Celtigar was no fool boy wishing for glory, and his host knew to never charge into battles that were already won. 

A knock sounded on the chamber door, and waved a hand for her maid to answer it. “My princess,” Lady Lyra Strong said as she returned,”The Hand of the Queen requests an audience.”

“Send him in,” Rhaenys waved away the girl, a freckled maid of fourteen with black hair and blue eyes. The Strongs had surrendered aptly, so Rhaenys had treated them gently. All the Strongs were held in tower cells in Kingspyre Tower in the stead of the dungeons beneath the Widow’s Tower which held traitors less swift to surrender. Rhaenys had even taken one of the Strong girls as her handmaid, giving her both the honours of a handmaid to a princess and a hostage.

The door opened, and Rhaenys’s two guards lifted their spears to allow Celtigar passage. Celtigar was accompanied by his own guards with red crabs on their surcoat, Harrenhal’s maester whose name was Meller, and Lord Allard Darklyn, a sour-faced lord whose mousy green eyes spoke of his merchant fathers who ruled the port town of Duskendale. 

“Lord Bartimos,” Rhaenys greeted.

“Princess Rhaenys,” Celtigar answered, his head falling in a small bow. The firelight in the chamber glinted on the interlinked golden hands of his necklace, and the ghost of Queen Rhaena whispered again.

“What does my Lord Hand seek?” Rhaenys asked.

“My princess knows that we have won many great victories in the Riverlands,” Celtigar said,”but the war is far from done. Riverrun still stands uncertain, and without House Tully and the Lord Paramount of the Trident, our position in the Riverlands is uncertain.”

“The same troubles press at my mind,” Rhaenys said,”But as soon as the queen’s hosts join at the Stone Hedge, I shall ride Meleys to Riverrun to win his surrender one way or another.”

“There is hope that Riverrun will come the gentle way,” Lord Bartimos said, then nodded at Maester Meller. The maester was a young man with golden hair and a thick nose, though he bumbled in his grey cloak as he walked forward. He presented forth a letter from within the thick pockets of his cloak,”The ravenry of Harrenhal has received a missive from Riverrun.”

“From Lord Grover?” Rhaenys asked as she took the letter. Maester Meller shook his head. Rhaenys saw that the seal of a leaping trout was already broken. Celtigar had read over the letter before he gave it to her. She unfolded the parchment as her eyes flew over the spider-like words of Ser Elmo Tully.

“So Lord Grover is a traitor who wishes to declare for the usurper,” Rhaenys was not surprised. The old wretch had spoken against her son at the Great Council.

“And bedridden,” Lord Bartimos said,”Not long for this world. Once he gives up his ghost, the Riverlands shall pass to Ser Elmo, who has given his word as a true queen’s man.”

“So I need not fly my dragon over Riverrun,” Rhaenys folded up the letter,”We only need wait a short while for Lord Grover’s passing, and Ser Elmo would bring Riverrun to us. Even if Ser Elmo proves false, I can always fly Meleys then over his castle to convince him otherwise.”

“Those are glad tidings, my princess,” Celtigar said,”Our last great fear has been alleviated, and all that remains is to join all our hosts in our Riverlands.” He beckoned for Maester Meller to reveal another batch of letters from his pockets,”Lord Blackwood’s bastard uncle Robb Rivers has besieged the Stone Hedge. Lords Frey and Mallister are crossing the Merman’s Ford at the very moment, three days’ march from the siege. Lords Vance and Piper are approaching as well from south-west, four days away.”

“Very well,” Rhaenys said,”I shall prepare Meleys, and we shall be there to greet the queen’s true host.”

“Though the presence of Meleys is enough to effect Lord Humfrey Bracken’s surrender,” Celtigar said,”a dragon cannot protect from daggers in the dark. And the men my princess would meet may speak of loyalty in front of a dragon’s mouth, but could turn as soon as the dragon is sleeping. If my princess is to be amongst them, you should not be alone. There should be at least a host of a thousand about you. It would serve a double purpose. Firstly, to guard my princess at the times when Meleys cannot. Secondly, to show the glory of the queen’s men, to declare that the queen’s cause is the will of the realm, not just one woman with a dragon.”

“I trust that my Lord Hand has already a man in mind to lead such a mission,” Rhaenys looked beside Celtigar at Lord Darklyn.

“I rose at the first of Prince Jacaerys’s calls,” Lord Darklyn knelt,”There is no truer man to the queen than I, and I shall serve my princess lealy in any command, and lay down my life if need be.”

“If you lay down your life,” Rhaenys laughed,”who is there to be my guard?” “Arise,” she commanded, then turned to Celtigar,”He is fit for such a command. Make the proper arrangements for a march four days hence. Once Riverrun falls, the fortune of the Seven shall favour us as we march to reclaim King’s Landing from the usurper.”

“As you will, my princess,” Celtigar said. He turned to go, but Maester Meller leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Celtigar turned back,”One matter has escaped my mind, Princess Rhaenys. Ser Simon Strong has requested an audience. He has decided to bend the knee.” 

“He is late enough,” Rhaenys stood,”These Strongs are a stubborn lot. We should have questioned them sharply, or perhaps heatedly, and they would have given us an answer far sooner.”

“I hope my princess remembers my counsel,” Celtigar said,”Fear can only turn a man for a time, but honour will win them forever. Honour is the queen’s cause, is it not?”

“Belay that,” Rhaenys waved her hand,”Bring me to the castellan.”

“Princess Rhaenys,” Ser Simon greeted as Rhaenys entered his tower cell. He was standing, though there was a wooden chair not two steps away. Ser Simon was an old man, but as tall as Rhaenys, with a stony face from which sprouted a pair of grey whiskers. His hand lay at his side where his sword would have been, but instead it curled about a cloak boasting the tricolors of House Strong.

“Ser Simon,” Rhaenys’s voice echoed in the empty cell,”You are wise to choose the path of duty.”

“Aye,” Ser Simon said,”The Lord Hand has informed me that my princess is soon riding forth to subdue the last of Prince Aegon’s men in the Riverlands.”

“The usurper Aegon,” Rhaenys said,”and my good Ser is correct. When the Riverlands fall, the crossroads of the Seven Kingdoms will become the road of the true queen. Her forces shall move unimpeded across the realm, whilst the usurper’s traitors are barred in their castles until I and Prince Daemon smoke them out one by one. The victor of the war shall soon be clear.”

Ser Simon nodded,”Each of the seven times my princess rode forth, I had wished to request your audience. One of the Seven had each in turn clouded my mind and sealed my tongue. But now it numbers eight, and there are no gods left to hold me back.”

“It is never too late to make the choice of wisdom,” Rhaenys stepped forward,”Bend the knee before me, Ser Simon, and you will have bent the knee before the true queen.” She heard the clink of chains to her side as Celtigar fingered his necklace.

“I wish to do so, my princess,” Ser Simon raised his head, his face bathing in the light of the lone torch,”I wish to bare my truest heart before you.” There are strange voices in the castle that I trust my princess has heard,” Ser Simon said,”I gather that my princess would want to know the source of them.”

“Ghosts,” Rhaenys said,”Of Harren and his traitor kin, who can do little but pester the living.”

“They are not just of Harren the Black,” Ser Simon said,”Every house that had taken Harrenhal since the Conquest has joined the ghosts. House Qoherys was murdered by Harren the Red. All of House Harroway burned beneath Maegor and his whore. The last lord of House Towers died a beggar’s death in a castle too vast for him. Though he knew the comforts of a queen as he passed in the cold. That much the ghosts of Harrenhal have in common.” 

“My princess,” Celtigar said, his chains clattering,”There is a matter outside you need attend to.”

“That can wait,” Rhaenys waved her hand, her gaze fixed on Ser Simon,”What ghosts do you speak of?”

“I trust my princess had heard of the tragedy that had befallen my house nine years ago,” Ser Simon said.

“My condolences, Ser Simon,” Rhaenys said,”Lord Lyonel Strong was a true man and an able Hand of the King. King Viserys always spoke of him with honour.”

“Did he?” Ser Simon laughed bitterly,”Honour never served well as a shield. My nephew Lyonel realized that as he was burning in the fires of his own castle. I scoured Harrenhal and all its surrounding lands to find the perpetrators of that arson, but I found that the criminals were beyond my power. Like the Seven above, their names were gods that held me back.”

“Who murdered Lord Lyonel?” Rhaenys asked.

“You truly do not know,” Ser Simon lifted his brow,”I thought he would have told you. When my guards searched the castle, we found a cook who had been near a pile of hay the day the fires consumed my nephew. He did not know anything of import, but he did lead us to a merchant at Whitewalls who had given him the gold. We questioned the merchant sharply for a fortnight, at which end he divulged the names of his two chief hirers.” “Viserys Targaryen,” Ser Simon smiled,”and Corlys Velaryon.”

It was only when Rhaenys’s knuckle throbbed that she realized that she had struck Ser Simon onto the stone floor. “Lies,” she spat.

“My great-nephew Harwin also perished in the fire,” Ser Simon spat out,”He was the only man the great Sea Snake would ever stoop so low as to murder. I would do the same to the man who cuckolded my son.”

“Let me deal with him,” Celtigar said, but his words blew by Rhaenys’s head. She struck the Strong again, and again he sprawled onto the castle floor. 

“Speak one more lie,” Rhaenys said,”and it is your head.”

“A hundred died in the fire,” Ser Simon snarled,”A serving girl with a babe on her breast. A squire three days away from earning his spurs. The father of the future king. But they do not matter to your kingly cousin and noble husband, do they, so long as the tales of bastardy are burned out. They did not understand that fire only adds to fire.”

Rhaenys wrenched herself away, her fingers white on her sheath. “Throw Strong into the dungeons beneath the Widow’s Tower,” Rhaenys commanded Celtigar,”and let him speak his lies to the wall.” Celtigar nodded, his chain’s shingle echoing his steps.

“Do you hear the ghosts, Princess Rhaenys?” Ser Simon called,”They’re calling, calling for you.”

Rhaenys turned, and as sudden as a firestorm, her skin felt sheared. “Your voice shall join them,” she said, almost whispering. She then turned to Celtigar,”Bring Strong to the top of the Widow’s Tower, to Meleys’s roost. My dragon shall enjoy her next meal.”

Chapter Text

Aemond was not the first in the Small Council chamber.

Ser Criston stood already next to the carved cedar table, his white enameled plate glimmering in the hundred fires that burned overhead in golden chandeliers. He was alone, and his hand was on his sword as it had always been. 

“My prince,” Ser Criston turned to face Aemond, tendrils of purple velvet curtains flowing behind him at the back of the chamber.

The door fell shut behind Aemond, its echoes ringing throughout the night air. There were no steps to be heard, but Aemond knew that there were shadows around him. When Luke Strong took Aemond’s eye, Strong had given Aemond a gift in turn. His sapphire saw the shadows where an eye would have been blind. It was two hours before dawn in the dead of night. 

The dead of night, when most lords were still sleeping pleasant in their beds. Aegon was certain to be still frolicking with his whores. Aemond looked about him, and listened again to what the sapphire said. It told him to look behind the curtains, and Aemond noticed that the folds flowed though there was no sound of wind. Aemond should have known that his brother would never have called the emergency council, why this council was not in the Tower of the Hand but in Maegor’s Holdfast. None of the Small Councilors were here, and neither was the king. Only Ser Criston with his hand on his sword, his white cloak glistening.

“My prince,” Ser Criston said again, his voice echoing across the silent chamber.

Aemond turned away, counting how many men he brought. Two spears of the Red Keep with red dragons on their cloaks, and Aemond alone was worth five. If only his men would serve as shields as Aemond rushed outside to mount Vhagar… “Not enough,” Ser Criston said,”Must my prince remember that all the Red Keep’s men obey my command. Your two guards will sink their tips into your throat should I so wish it, and even if you flee this chamber, rank upon rank of the Red Keep’s guards shall assail you until you fall. The king’s mother took great care to ensure that you could not reach Vhagar. But belay all that, if my prince would only listen to me.”

“Ser Criston,” Aemond said, drawing close to the table as she felt the warm lamplight crest his skin,”What is the subject of tonight’s Small Council?”

“Peace,” Ser Criston answered curtly.

“Peace?” Aemond asked, turning his sapphire eye to the side and his true eye to Ser Criston,”I would say that there is no gentle peace.”

“There could be,” Ser Criston said,”if Your Grace would only listen.”

“Listen to what?” Aemond laughed,”Will you make the show of rolling out the parchment, reading the king’s decree of my execution? Of course, it will be my dear grandfather’s words and signature. My brother is too busy whoremongering to deal with such trifling matters.”

“Will you listen to me, Your Grace?” Golden flickers danced in Ser Criston’s eyes.

 “Very well,” Aemond answered,”Speak your poison.”

“The king’s mother has wished for your arrest,” Ser Criston said,”But not the king.”

“Then why bring me here?” Aemond snorted. And why are there knives behind the curtain?

“The Red Keep is filled with Hightower men not under my command,” Ser Criston answered,”It is not safe any place else.”

Aemond turned his sapphire back to Ser Criston’s face, listening to what the gem said. Only one thing would prove his honesty. “Tell me, white knight,” Aemond said,”Where is Helaena?”

“The king journeyed to her chamber to escort her here himself,” Ser Criston answered,”Even Hightower men know not to strike their king.”

Aemond did not let go of his hilt, and the candles flickered as the curtains flew. An eternity passed before two white cloaks threw the doors open. Neither of the white cloaks were Hightower lickspittles, Aemond seeing Fell’s weathered face and Thorne’s full beard. In walked Aegon, a pale glow on his face as the Conqueror’s crown sat on his brow and Blackfyre lay at his belt. At his side was Helaena, whose eyes seemed as vexed as Aemond’s as she held onto their brother’s arm. Her three children were not with her, and Aemond asked where they were with a glance. Her nod told him that they were safe in their chambers, guarded by Shrykos and Morghul.

A procession of Red Keep guards wearing the three-headed wyrm entered after Aegon, lining each side of the chamber with their steel shimmering in the firelight. It was after them where Aemond saw the incredulous and repugnant faces of the Small Council members.

Ser Otto was the first to dare to enter the chamber, followed closely by Aemond’s mother and Lord Jasper. Eustace and Orwyle entered hesitantly after, with Lord Larys and Ser Tyland being the last.

Aegon sat himself at the head of the table, and turned to his council,”What has come to this kingdom that most of the king’s councilors arrive at the council after the king? No wonder we are embroiled in war. It seems that I can only trust my Lord Commander and my brother, the only ones of you to arrive before me?”

The king turned to Aemond and gave him a smile, but Aemond did not return it. He wondered what game Aegon was playing.

Aegon’s smile did not die,”All I have been hearing from the council is that you are unfit for this council. But I see that you are one of only two who are fit. Aemond, what do you think I should do with the rest of them?”

“Aegon,” Aemond turned to see his mother glare at the king,”Your councilors have done their utmost to help you keep your throne. Fighting amongst ourselves is not the subject of today’s council.”

“Ah, it is peace we are trying to forge today,” Aegon said,”so that my half-sister will know who is king.” “Ser Otto,” he said,”Tell me now what you told the council.”

“Harrenhal has fallen,” Ser Otto’s face was red and growing redder,”Princess Rhaenys led the true attack, not Prince Daemon. We had hoped to use Harrenhal as our rallying point, but she has made it theirs. Most of the Riverlands is now black. Blackwood has raised Rhaenyra’s quartered banners above Raventree Hall, and Frey and Mallister are marching down the Blue Fork for the traitors. Orwyle has received ravens from loyal lords, that Mooton, Piper, Roote, Darry, and Vance have joined Princess Rhaenys at Harrenhal.”

“But there are loyal lords, still, are there not?” Aegon asked.

“Bracken has declared for us,” Lord Jasper answered,”but he was ambushed by Blackwood raiders and his host slain to a man. Ser Amos Bracken, however, was able to slay Lord Samwell Blackwood before he himself fell.”

“That is a bit of good news,” Aegon said,”I hear that the Blackwoods are now lorded by a boy, Lord Samwell’s young son Benjicot, and a boy cannot lead. His levies would be given over to his regents, who may not hold to my half-sister.”

“Even if they were loyal,” Lord Larys said,”they would not do so in a sea of quartered banners that is now the Riverlands, where to declare oneself loyal is to invite death. My birds tell me that Frey and Mallister has lined the Blue Fork with heads of loyal men mounted on spikes. And Princess Rhaenys has fed my great-uncle Simon to her dragon. Men fear your half-sister.”

“Which is why they will be eager to come to me,” Aegon said,”I swear to you, Lord Strong, that Ser Simon shall be avenged and all the crimes of the traitors shall be judged in the eyes of gods and men.” He turned then to Ser Tyland,  who was trying to hide behind Orwyle’s wide cloak,”Ser Tyland, I hear that the Riverlands are not the only one of my lands in turmoil.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland bowed his head,”The grand maester has received a letter from my brother Lord Jason, and the ironmen have betrayed us. We offered Lord Dalton Greyjoy the place of Master of Ships, but we received no answer. Then, Lord Roland Westerling and Lord Theo Kenning began to report of massive ironmen raids on their shores, far too large in scale to be some common reaving band, and Faircastle fell within half a fortnight. Lord Dalton has declared for the traitors.”

“So my queen was right to name my brother to the council,” Aegon said,”So we need not waste precious days waiting for a kraken who would never come.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland answered.

“So it is with these string of defeats,” Aegon said,”that we must find peace with my half-sister. I would not accept peace if I were her, when victory is in sight.”

“War has spelled no good for Rhaenyra either,” Orwyle said,”Sister should not war against brother. Send me to her, and I will convince her of the merit of an amicable accord.”

“An amicable accord, Grand Maester?” Aegon said,”No doubt that would be to give away my crown, and serve your black master? Mayhaps I should throw you into the black cells with your black friends.”

“Aegon, the Grand Maester is loyal to his vows, and to his king,” their mother said,”The best way to strengthen your rule is a peace without bloodshed.”

“Very well,” Aegon said after a long moment,”Grand Maester. We shall send you to my half-sister, and tell her that I will give her this peace. We will confirm her possession of Dragonstone, and allow the castle to pass to her son Jacaerys after her death. I will take her son Aegon as my squire and her son Viserys as my cupbearer. Full royal pardons will be granted to all who conspired treasonously against their true king, with the exception of Driftmark’s lord and lady. And for all these boons, I only require that my half-sister and her husband acknowledge me as her true king and make obeisance before the Iron Throne.” He turned aside to Helaena,”Does my queen think these terms are wise?”

Aemond knew Aegon was surely playing some game, and Aemond tried to tell Helaena that with a glance. Yet Helaena seemed to have not seen it, and smiled at their brother. “The terms are wise and just, Your Grace,” she said,”Though it will be difficult for Grand Maester Orwyle to make a peace alone. Ser Arryk should join as his escort, a Kingsguard there to make certain that all does run smoothly.”

 “It is unwise for the Kingsguard to leave the royal family,” Aemond’s mother said,”particularly Ser Arryk, who is charged with the protection of my daughter the queen. My brother Ser Gwayne, captain of the City Watch, shall serve enough as an escort for the grand maester.”

“Helaena,” Aegon said,”Our mother is right. Ser Arryk is needed here for your protection. Ser Gwayne shall do well to aid the grand maester in the peace.”

Aemond knew at last what game Aegon was playing. His sapphire roared in his ears that the peace Aegon spoke of was not the peace Orwyle was to truly make, else he would not have barred Helaena’s man from it. Aemond wanted to tell her, and he looked back, at the purple curtains which were still flowing.

“Wait, Helaena,” Aemond said as he turned to the curtains,”Look here.” He marched there in three booming steps and ripped the folds apart.

There was nothing there, only a silent night breeze.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, Jace,” Joff said for the seventh time that night.

Jace did not answer, as the winds whistled through Vermax and Tyraxes’s wings. The night was growing colder as they flew further north, yet Jace’s cloak flew behind him as he stared ahead, his hands stiff on his reins.

“Can you answer me just once?” Joff shouted.

Jace turned, his brown eyes stony as they gleamed beneath the moon,”I heard you the first six times. What do you want me to say? If you want my forgiveness, then I will give it. You are my brother, and I have already forgiven you.”

“That is not what I want,” Joff shouted,”I want to know how to fix it.”

“You can fix it by staying quiet when we touch at Sisterton, White Harbour, and Winterfell, lest I tell you to speak,” Jace answered,”You shall never leave my sight until we return to Dragonstone.”

“But you must sleep, Jace,” Joff called,”You haven’t slept ever since we left Dragonstone.”

“So we must be quick in the North,” Jace answered,”A dragon must never long linger.” He turned his head away, and Joff could see Jace’s hands tighten on his reins. Vermax screeched, and flew faster. Joff did the same, and Tyraxes matched Vermax’s speed again.

“I had to show them that we were dragons,” Joff shouted,”else there would have been traitors.”

Jace turned slowly, his eyes furious,”Maegor wanted to show the Seven Kingdoms that he had a dragon, and the Seven Kingdoms rose up against him. Ours is not the power to rub in their face. They see the dragon. They do not need to see fire.”

“I only meant for her to see the dragon,” Joff said,”I never knew Tyraxes…”

“What we meant does not matter,” Jace screamed,”What matters is what they see, and they saw fire. They saw another Maegor, burning those who did not obey. It was fortune that I was able to convince Lady Jeyne to not turn her blades from our cause the moment we found that poor girl bleeding in the courtyard. But make no mistake, word is going to reach the usurper, and he will use this whole bloody episode as evidence that Mother is Maegor come again.”

“I’m sorry, Jace,” Joff whispered, though he knew Jace could not hear it through the winds. He berated himself, for he knew that Jace did not want apologies. “What will this bode for our other visits to the north?” Joff asked.

“I do not know,” Jace’s eyes were no longer furious but sad,”Word is bound to reach them. How they make of it would depend on how well they remember Mother. Lord Davos Borrell and Lord Desmond Manderly would remember the vow they swore to my mother. But it was Lord Cregan Stark’s father who swore that vow, and I do not know if Lord Cregan remembers.”

“You should sleep, Jace,” Joff called,”Your mind will be all the better for it.”

“And leave a boy to watch?” Jace turned away,”One day, you will learn to kill that boy and become a man, but it is not this ride.”

They lighted at Sisterton in the morning. As the Bite curled in great white waves beneath them and a fog blinded their sight, they saw the lighthouse that shone at the port town. Lord Davos Borrell made a hasty welcome for them into his holdfast and gave them bread and salt and a feast. Come the noon, Lord Aeron Sunderland of the Three Sisters returned with his whaling party at the port, and both lords made obeisance before Jace and swore themselves to Mother. Neither Sunderland nor Borrell seemed to know yet of what transpired at the Eyrie, but Joff did not speak as Jace bid.

Jace had them ride as soon as Sunderland promised the sails of the Three Sisters to join Grandfather’s fleet in the blockade of King’s Landing, and they arrived in the evening at White Harbour. The orange sun was dying in the west, and horns blew as great galleons sailed into the port below and wagons bustled in the market just outside the city. A shimmer almost blinded Joff, and he looked to see a great golden statue of a merman looming over the market square.

Joff saw beneath them men the size of ants looking and pointing at the dragons who soared above. Jace banked his dragon to a stout stone keep which rose above the sprawling city, and Joff followed him. Joff saw bows arrayed on the keep’s walls which flew the blue and green merman of House Manderly, though they were not drawn. The archers’ eyes followed the shadows of Vermax and Tyraxes as they passed over the banners.

A single great yard lay in the massive stone keep of the Manderlys, just outside a marble sept whose glass seven-starred window glowed golden in the evening sun. Tall oak trees lined the passages through the yard, though their branches were bare as the floor lay coated in red and orange. There was a space of stone tiles which was large enough for Vermax and Tyraxes to land, but again Jace had them hover.

Lines of knights and nobles emerged from the sept flying the merman. At their head was a short man with a graying beard, coated in a white fur cloak and doublet of grey and green. Joff supposed he was Lord Desmond Manderly. It was only then when Jace touched down in the yard, but he told Joff to remain in the air. Jace dismounted and stepped before the lord, the winds deafening their voices in Joff’s ear. He could see Lord Desmond and his procession kneel to Jace, and Jace gesturing for them to rise. Joff then saw servants bring Jace bread and salt. Jace ate, and gestured at Joff to come down.

“Prince Joffrey,” Lord Desmond emerged in front of Joff with a bright smile after Joff dismounted,”I am honoured that my prince has decided to grace my humble hall. White Harbour is yours.”

Joff glanced at Jace, and he nodded. “The honour is all mine, my lord,” Joff said,”White Harbour is beautiful.”

“The Old King had said the same when His Grace visited our city on Vermithor,” Lord Desmond said,”how much his daughter Princess Viserra would love it. My great-grandsire would have treated Princess Viserra well.” He waved for his servants to bring up the trays he offered to Jace ,”May I offer my prince bread and salt?”

Joff took a piece of bread and dipped it in the salt. He took one bite, and split it into two. He gave one half to the maid who brought the bread and the other half to the maid who brought the salt with a note of thanks.

“Would my princes join me in the Merman’s Court?” Lord Desmond asked,”White Harbour will hold a feast in your honour.”

Joff looked at Jace, whose eyes stared at the sept’s seven-starred window.

“There is a sept here,” Jace said to Lord Desmond,”I thought the North held to the Old Gods.”

Joff wondered why Jace would ask that. He knew that White Harbour was the only place in the North who worshipped the Seven. Oh. Joff realized the answer. It was a point of pride for the Manderlys that they were the only place in the North to worship the Seven.

“Most of the North worship the Old Gods,” Lord Desmond answered Jace,”and have a godswood in their castles. But we Manderlys are of southern blood, and we hold to the New Gods, the only bastion of the Faith of the Seven Who Are One in the North.”

Jace nodded,”Would my lord permit that I pray in your sept before we feast?”

“It will be an honour for the Sept of the Snow to host a prince,” Lord Desmond turned to his procession, and called forth a bald septon in a brown cloak.

“Holy brother,” Jace said to the septon,”I beg the blessing of the Seven Who Are One.”

“The Seven Who Are One shall be pleased to receive my prince in their house,” the septon answered.

Though the autumn chill blew outside, the sept was stifling with its thousand fires. The heat made Joff think that he was back at Dragonstone. Yet there was no smell of sulfur or smoke in the Sept of the Snow, but the sweet scent of incense that wafted through a room of white.

The septon’s words echoed through the marble hall, seeming to drag the heat on forever. But Joff would bear it, knowing that it was some form of penance. Joff was the last to rise from his seat when the septon concluded his prayer: “And wondrous Stranger, wanderer of far places, the outcast and the forsaken, guide the fallen, guide the hated, guide the forgotten to their places in the new world.”

I am the one who needs a guide, Joff knew. Jace lit a candle to the Mother and the Warrior, but Joff passed the first Six. He stopped before the altar that lay below a hooded skull, the altar of the Stranger, and lit the first candle. Guide me.

No one spoke to Joff as they entered the Merman’s Court. The hall was decorated with creatures of the sea, and Joff felt that an otter was staring at him. Lord Desmond had prepared for Jace a seat of honour at his side at the head of the hall, beneath the bronze statue of a trident lined with pearls. Joff sat at Jace’s other side, outside the shadow of the trident.

Manderly’s daughters served them, with their green hair and sea-blue satin dresses. It was clear whom they favoured. They graced Jace with smiles and asked him about the South. They smiled also at Joff, but he knew that their hands were stiff. They never asked Joff anything.

“Our mother is grateful for my lord’s loyalty,” Jace said to Lord Desmond as the feast drew to a close,”I would like to ask when would my lord’s levies be ready to march, and my lord’s fleet ready to join Lord Corlys’s blockade of the usurper.”

Lord Desmond thought for a moment, then answered: “Gathering the supplies and calling the men would require the better part of a year. Do not mistake me for lack of commitment, my prince. White Harbour is not unsympathetic to your mother’s plight. Mine own forebears were despoiled of their birthright when our enemies drove us into exile on these cold northern shores. When the Old King visited us so long ago, he spoke of the wrong that had been done to us and promised to make redress. In pledge of that, His Grace offered the hand of his daughter Princess Viserra to my great-grandsire, that our two houses might be made as one, but the girl died and the promise was forgotten.”

“These wrongs must be made right,” Jace said,”Our mother would want to mend the Old King’s forgotten promise, and pledge a dragon to receive the hand of one of your lovely daughters.”

Lord Desmond smiled,”I would be greatly honoured if one of my house would wed a dragon as fine as my prince. Have any of my daughters caught my prince’s eye?”

Jace smiled,”If I could, I would choose one of my lord’s daughters, but I am bound by oath to wed my cousin Baela.”

“Very well,” Lord Desmond said,”then what of your brother Prince Lucerys? I heard that he was a fierce lad.”

“He is betrothed to our cousin Rhaena,” Jace answered.

“Certainly,” Lord Desmond’s smile did not fade,”I knew that my humble blood would not be worthy of the blood of Ser Laenor, so I need not ask about Prince Joffrey. He is most certainly promised.” His voice faded into the din of the feast, but Joff knew the truth of why Lord Desmond wished to skip over him.

“I can offer my brother Aegon,” Jace said,”He has nine years, and he is sweet and gentle. He will treat your daughter well, and during the war, he will be in the Eyrie with his dragon Stormcloud, able to fly to White Harbour should the usurper attack.”

“Nine years, did my prince say?” Lord Desmond laughed,”That is the same age as my youngest Wylla. The gods truly smile upon us.” He reached out to one of the green-haired girls,”Come, Wylla.” She walked before Lord Desmond, who clasped her hand. “What do you say, Wylla?” Lord Desmond asked,”To this match with Prince Aegon?’

“I would be pleased to marry the prince, Father,” the girl answered.

“Then it is done,” Lord Desmond laughed again. He called for a steward, who drew up the marriage contract and to which the lord and Jace both affixed their signatures.

“When they both have fourteen years and wed,” Jace said,”the war will be over. Our mother will be pleased to host their wedding in the sept of King’s Landing.”

Chapter Text

“What do you think you saw there?” Helaena demanded of Aemond,”Do you think Mother would loose knives on her own children?”

“The Mother you know is not the Mother I know,” Aemond said,”You and Aegon were always her favourites, priding yourselves on her dotage. But the second son never had the luxury of that.”

Mother no longer looks upon me like that, Helaena thought, but she knew that was not what Aemond wanted to hear. “Even if it is so,” Helaena said,”You ride Vhagar. Mother would be a fool to anger you when war still rages with Rhaenyra.”

“I do not know what Mother and Aegon are plotting,” Aemond said,”But they are plotting something. They forbid Ser Arryk from joining the peace mission for fear that he would spoil their scheme. I say that the peace Aegon made up at the Small Council was never his true peace. My sapphire told me of it.”

“Your sapphire,” Helaena bit the inside of her lip,”I thought that when you took Luke Strong’s eye, it would heal you. But it seemed that the wound he made of you could never be healed.” Aemond had been too kind to only take the Strong’s eye.

“I have conquered Strong,” Aemond snapped,”He is nothing now. All he has done has only awakened my eye.”

“Awakened what?” Helaena snapped,”Awakened you grasping at straws, at things that not there. Like those knives you spoke of. There was nothing behind the curtains, and Mother has done nothing since.”

Aemond drew back, then stared at her,”What did Aegon tell you when he visited you.”

“What he said a thousand times before,” Helaena remembered,”He said that he had made a mistake treating me, and wanted to make amends. He made that vow a thousand times, and broke it a thousand times. So his words were nothing but wind.”

“So he lies, again and again,” Aemond said,”Why do you find it so fanciful that he would at last act on the treatment he gave to you and me for years.”

“We have two dragons,” Helaena said,”He needs us.”

“That is right,” Aemond smiled,“We have two dragons, Hel. We can burn the Red Keep. We can burn your horrible husband and all the traitor Hightowers in the city, and ride over to Dragonstone and do the same to Rhaenyra. And then I will be king, you will be queen, and Jaehaerys will rule after us.”

Helaena stepped back, her ears not believing what Aemond had just said. She stepped forward until she was at close as possible to Aemond, and whispered: “Do not speak of that ever again. Pray that Aegon never heard it. I will not tell, but never speak of that madness ever again.” She drew back and smiled, “Our brother Daeron has won a great victory in the Reach, and our king and brother has been kind enough to put on a play for us. We should honour our brother by joining.”

“We honour the wrong brother,” Aemond muttered.

The first scene the mummers made was within the Hightower of Oldtown, with brilliant torches and a painted wall of white stone draped with many tapestries. Helaena had seen the Hightower once or twice when she was a girl, and she always found the plain white walls forbidding. It was no wonder that it raised her mother to be so bitter.

“In the stones that great men hewed,” the fat mummer declared above the stage in his boisterous voice,”a heart that beats just and true.” “The oldest house where honour soared,” the fat man declared as the curtains began to part,”takes gallant stand with valiant sword.”

The curtains parted to reveal a lord in a white velvet doublet and a grey patterned cloak. At his side was an ornate sword that gleamed with jewels. Behind him a servant carried the banner of House Hightower, a white tower wreathed with flame. The mummer who played the knight was a handsome man with raven-black hair, a lean face, and a long aquiline nose. Helaena thought he did not look like her uncle Ormund. 

“On my seat in Oldtown’s walls,” the mummer who played Ormund declared in his loud, ringing voice,”I see a raven, and a call.” He turned to another mummer who emerged behind him in a deep grey cloak with a chain of many metals about his neck. “Tell me now, o wise man,” the mummer Ormund declared,”To what tune does this raven dance?”

“My lord Ormund,” the mummer maester said,”The old king is dead.”

“Woe to the realm if this be true,” the mummer Ormund lowered his head,”To his grave I must go, to mourn and rue.”

“That is not the only dark tale the dark wings speak,” the mummer maester said,”If the king is dead, then who shall be king?”

“Young prince Aegon, good and stout,” the mummer Ormund declared,”The chosen heir, with no doubt.”

“King Aegon is crowned,” the mummer maester said, his voice quivering,”but his elder sister Princess Rhaenyra has risen in treason to usurp her brother’s rights. She and the rogue prince have gathered a great host to kill her brothers.”

Another lord entered the scene, this one played by an ugly mummer with an unkempt beard and beady grey eyes. A servant carried a banner of longships behind the lord. Helaena knew that it was Lord Wyman Grimm, one of the traitor lords who had refused Ormund’s call to arms. The mummer Grimm turned to the crowd and smiled a smile with yellow teeth.

“Prince Daemon has paid, and I swear my teeth,” the mummer Grimm said to himself while giggling,”Honour is nothing but a fee.” He laughed as he turned to the mummer Ormund and held his head high. “An oath we swore to the princess sweet,” the mummer Grimm declared,”Make her queen, and an oath we keep.” The crowd could hear the jingling in the mummer Grimm’s cloak.

The mummer Ormund strode forward and pulled aside the mummer Grimm’s cloak, and from inside tumbled a flood of gold coins. The mummer Grimm was soon on his knees, trying to push as much as he could back into his cloak. The mummer Ormund kicked his hand aside, and drew his sword. It was a blunt wooden block painted silver, but it shone as the real Vigilance shone in the firelight.

“Cheaply bought, your honour is done,” the mummer Ormund declared,”The realm shall have evil lest justice is won.” He cut his sword down as trumpets began to blare. The mummer Grimm retreated his head, there was a squelching sound, and a wooden head carved in the likeness of Grimm was thrown up from downstage. The mummer Ormund raised Grimm’s head high in the sky. “Traitors rise in greed and gall,” the mummer Ormund declared,”but sin shall end in ruin and fall.” He turned again to the mummer maester, tossing the head behind the stage. “Call the banners, and let bells ring,” the mummer Ormund declared,”and the south shall rise for its one true king.”

The mummer maester retreated behind the stage, and another mummer in a patterned white cloak with a glass crown strode forward. He was supposed to be the High Septon, who had come forth from the Starry Sept to bless Ormund’s journey. The mummer Ormund knelt before the mummer High Septon. “Go forth,” the mummer High Septon said as he touched Ormund’s brow,”with the blessings of the Seven Who Are One, for your cause is righteous and your sword is sure.”

The curtains then closed to thunderous applause. “How long is it until the battle?” Jaehaera asked in Helaena’s lap. Jaehaera’s dragon Morghul curled its violet wings beside them, snarling and hissing.

“Be patient, little one,” Aegon said beside them,”Good things must wait.”

“In the land of green and gold,” the fat mummer declared again,”as a river blue ran swift and cold. In no fear of traitor’s ghosts, banners flew of a king’s true host.”

The curtains opened to reveal a painting of the great blue river and the green-gold fields beside the shore. Helaena admitted that the mummers had done a splendid job of it, even though she had only seen the Honeywine once from the sky.

Several mummers appeared onstage waving silk banners upon which was emblazoned the Hightower crowned with flames and Aegon’s new banner, the three-headed Targaryen dragon weaved in gold in the stead of red. Uncle Ormund wrote that since they were at war, distinctions must be made from the other side’s red dragon banners. “And what is more fitting,” Uncle Ormund wrote,”to champion His Grace’s cause than his own Sunfyre?” The Small Council had agreed, and soon the seamstresses of King’s Landing were working day and night to weave Aegon’s new banner of a gold dragon. Uncle Ormund’s host were already fitted with the golden dragon.

The banners circled the stage once, then gathered together. They waited there a moment, then parted to reveal three knights. The foremost Helaena recognized as the mummer Ormund, though now he wore shining silver armour. His ornate sword still hung at his side, though now his hand gripped its hilt. One of the knights behind the mummer Ormund wore a surcoat of gold rings, and the other knight wore a surcoat full of red ants. They walked the length of the stage, the banners following them, until they disappeared at the other end. 

“Yet darkness lay on the hearts of men,” the fat man declared again, his voice booming as mandolins and lutes trilled,”as traitors rose from the reeds and fens.” The music reached a crescendo as new banners began to rise onto the stage. The black rose of Costayne. The beehives of Beesbury. The huntsman of Tarly. There were several more traitor houses who rose in the Reach, but these were the main three. Uncle Ormund wrote that when he was passing the mouth of the Honeywine, his host was ambushed by several thousand traitors.

Soon, the false lords themselves stepped onto the stage, coming to a stop beneath their respective banners. Lord Owen Costayne was a sneering man with a grey mustache and a hooked nose. Ser Alan Beesbury was a thin youth with narrow brows and a cunning smirk. Lord Alan Tarly was the tallest and fattest of them, his face scrunched up like a pig as he gripped his sword Heartsbane. 

“To Rhaenyra we had sworn a vow,” the three declared in unison,”and to her cause our swords will bow.”

“My oath compels I give my life,” Costayne declared, then bent and whispered: “and the whore offers to be my wife.”

“To her I shall fight until the last,” Beesbury declared, then bent and whispered: “if she gives what my grandsire had.”

“Her war Heartsbane will have won,” Tarly boomed, then bent his head and said in a deeper voice: “and she will give me three strong sons.”

After Tarly finished, all three of the traitor lords departed the stage with their banners. The mummer Ormund and his host of banners emerged again, and the drums began to sound as they marched. When they reached the middle of the stage, the traitor banners emerged suddenly from downstage and the drums dropped to a sudden halt. Then, there was a scream, the banners rushed at each other, and the drums boomed again.

“We are ambushed, woe is our fight,” said the knight beside Ormund, the one with the gold chain on his surcoat. He drew his sword, the silver paint shining beneath the firelight,”yet for the true king, we shall die.” He yelled and there was applause, but soon the number of the king’s banners of white towers and gold dragons began to diminish in comparison to the numbers of traitor banners. 

The mummer Ormund crawled from the fray, his face stained with dirt as his white cloak was ripped in several places. “Seven above, I beg and pray,” he dropped his sword and raised his arms to the sky,”For the righteous to win this day.” Behind him, another banner of the white tower fell, this one beneath the huntsman. The music lulled to a halt once again. 

“The cause of the righteous is never done,” the fat man narrated, and the trumpets began to sound,”and in this darkest hour, a dragon comes.” 

As the trumpets roared, the traitor banners began to catch fire, and soon the men beneath them began to run. Ormund’s knight with a gold ring caught the traitor Costayne as he ran, striking him with one cut from his blade. “Here I lie, dead in the dust,” Costayne said as he lay on the ground,”without a taste of that fair husk.” 

Soon, more banners began to appear on the stage, driving away the burning ones of the traitors. The new ones were those of true men to Aegon, a golden tree, a golden centaur, and three castles. Rowan and Caswell and Peake, who had joined the Battle on the Honeywine to turn the tide. The last traitor lords, the two Alans, found themselves pressed by king’s men on all sides, and laid down their swords. “Forgive our greed, our sin, our folly,” Lord Alan Tarly begged as he knelt,”For now do we see the true king’s glory.” Ormund, though battered and bruised, went to both Alans and raised them to their feet. “Whither he was, foe or friend,” Ormund declared,”is in the end, true dragon men.”

The trumpets blared as the banners of true men came to the forefront, particularly the allies who had arrived at the darkest hour to save Ormund’s host. Lord Thaddeus Rowan stepped beneath the banner of the golden tree, and he was a balding man with a kind face. The bastard Ser Tom Flowers stepped beneath the banner of the golden centaur, and he was a freckled youth with large ears and fiery red hair. Lord Unwin Peake stepped beneath the banner of the three towers, and he was a hard, stern man, with proud eyes and a thick black beard that had begun to grey.

“Old may I be, but still I remember,” Rowan said,”that I spoke for a king that eve of winter.”

“Baseborn my blood, lust and lecherous,” Flowers said, and Helaena covered the ears of Jaehaera and Maelor,”but I shall prove my heart not treacherous.”

“When we heard of the true king’s call,” Peake said,”Only duty echoed in our humble halls.”

“I cannot say how much I thank,” the mummer Ormund said to all of the lords,”the leal lords who saved us upon the banks.”

“It is not us you must thank for this aid in war,” Rowan answered,”but the prince above who burns and soars.”

The drums began to roll again as the trumpets blared, and the candles on the stage were snuffed out. A chandelier atop the stage was lit. That mummer was playing Daeron. He wore a silver-haired wig and shining black armour, and deep blue eyes shone beneath the lone fire. Helaena thought that he looked enough like Daeron to pass for the show. With one hand on his hilt, he leapt down from atop the stage onto the darkness of the stage itself.

As the candles began to come on again, Helaena glimpsed the mummer Daeron marching across the silent crowd to the mummer Ormund, and at the end of the journey, he knelt. The mummer Ormund drew his gleaming sword. “King Viserys was kind, to give his prince,” the mummer Ormund declared,”to grace my halls of mead and mince.

You were always Oldtown’s light,

To win the true the bitter fight.

On you rode, high as you soared,

To return with fire and true lords.

And when it seemed our cause was done,

the true prince came, and the battle was won.

“No truer title shall you take to wearing,” he finished by tapping the mummer Daeron on both shoulders with the flat of his blade,”than the title I grant, Ser Daeron the Daring.”

“My lord is kind to say so to this son,” the mummer Daeron said, with a voice that sounded as soft as Daeron’s,”but the victory belongs to Tessarion.” And as his words rang in the air, the curtains closed, and a thunderous applause broke out across the hall. Helaena clapped, but she wished that her brother’s great victory had not been relegated to a mere mummer’s show.

“Is it true about Uncle Daeron?” Jaehaera asked Helaena.

“It is, sweetling,” Helaena said,”Your uncle was the bravest man in the Reach, a hero that will live forever in the stories of the realm. Prince Daeron the Daring.”

“Daeron the Daring,” Aegon agreed.

Helaena knew Daeron was always humble, that the words the mummer spoke was like to have been spoken by Daeron when he accepted Ormund’s knighthood. Yet it was clear that the victory was Daeron’s as much as it was Tessarion’s. Though the dragon played a large part in the battle, Ormund admitted in his letter that it was in truth the relieving Reach host that won the Honeywine with little loss from the Oldtown host. That was the host of the loyal lords of the Reach: Rowan, Caswell, Peake, and a dozen other lords that were not mentioned in the play. The reason Daeron was not with the Oldtown host at the time of the ambush was because Ormund had dispatched Daeron to the Peake castle of Dunstonbury where the loyal Reach host gathered. It may have been the dragon that carried Daeron there, but it was the prince who won the lords.

With a flash of light, the curtains opened for a last time to reveal the mummers arrayed in a line. “The Daring Prince,” a thin bearded man declared at the head of the line,”is brought to Your Graces and my lords by the King’s Men, who keep true to our words: Leal and Loyal.” He raised his hand towards the line of mummers,”Here are the fine fellows who brought Your Graces and my lords The Daring Prince.”

The crowd knew to clap at every man who came forward and bowed.

“Lord Boisterous, who plays the Voice on High.” 

“Jack the Bold, who plays the steadfast and just Lord Ormund Hightower.”

“Nailed Nate, who plays Maester Harlor of the Hightower.”

“Majesty Lyn, who plays the commoner High Septon.” 

“Sumner, who plays the greedy Lord Grimm.”

“Marq, who plays bold Ser Jon Roxton.”

“Pellas, who plays loyal Lord Marq Ambrose.”

“Mellos, who plays the lecherous Lord Owen Costayne.”

“Simon and Sigon, our favourite brothers, who play the Two Alans, noble men fallen to darkness, but in the end saw the light.”

“We have our three heroes of the battle, Lord Thaddeus Rowan played by Pate, Ser Tom Flowers played by Harper, and Lord Unwin Peake played by Russell.” 

“And last but certain not to be least, we have our beloved Aethan, who plays the Daring Prince himself, Prince Daeron of House Targaryen, who rides the Blue Queen Tessarion.”

“Are you forgetting somebody?” Lord Boisterous said as the applause faded for Aethan. 

“I have certainly not,” the thin bearded man said.

“You are too humble,” Lord Boisterous said, then raised the bearded man’s arm and announced in his booming voice,”The greatest honour goes to the one who wrote the play, Willem of Shallowstream.” The applause that erupted there was loud enough to breach the heavens, and when it was done, the curtains for the last time into darkness.

The servants lit the candles, and soon the hall was awash again in light. Helaena heard a chair rattle, and she looked beside, seeing her husband rise to his feet. The rubies on the Conqueror’s crown glittered on his brow as Aegon stood beneath the firelight, the dark misty hilt of Blackfyre lapped at his belt. Helaena rose as the hall stood in answer to the king.

“A toast to victory,” Aegon declared,”To my hero brother, Daeron the Daring, who vanquished the traitors upon the Honeywine. Our brother has won our first victory.”

“A toast to Daeron the Daring,” Helaena said, and the hall echoed. Both Shrykos and Morghul screeched their assent.

“My brother Aemond brought me the Stormlands,” Aegon said, gesturing at Aemond who was sulking beside Helaena. Aemond did not rise to toast his brother. Aegon continued as if he had not noticed,”And now my other brother Daeron has brought me the Reach. If the Conqueror had such brothers, the world would have been his.”

Aemond snorted, and Helaena glared at him for making such a shame of himself.

“But my uncle Ormund was wrong,” Aegon declared,”A knighthood is not the greatest honour Daeron the Daring shall win. A hero like my brother deserves far more than to be called merely a Ser. He shall be called lord.” “It has been my will and the will of the Small Council,” Aegon raised his goblet,”that the traitor Corlys Velaryon and all the false House Velaryon be stripped of Driftmark and its surrounding lands and incomes. And now the isle has found its new lord. My brother, Ser Daeron the Daring, who shall now put on also the title of Master of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.”

There was a crash, and Helaena looked to see Aemond pushing himself to his feet. Helaena grabbed his arm, but Aemond shook her off. Aemond pointed at Aegon, his mouth opening as if to form a curse. He thought better of it, storming down from the high table. No one dared stop him, and his thunderous steps left the hall in silence.

Helaena remembered the words Aemond said before the play. She turned to Aegon,“Is Vhagar under guard?”

“Yes,” Aegon answered, his eyes flashing as he realized what his brother was doing,”But the guards will never disobey Aemond.”

Helaena turned sharply to Ser Criston and Ser Arryk behind her. “Prepare me and His Grace horses for the Dragonpit,” she ordered. She turned to Aegon,”We need our dragons.”

Chapter Text

Rhaena’s father heard Orwyle in a stony silence.

Prince Daemon waited until the maester finished speaking about the usurper’s peace, then gestured for Baela to fill the maester’s cup from a jade flagon. When the cup was full to the brim, Prince Daemon smiled: “All that talk must dry out your tongue. Drink, my good maester.”

Orwyle lifted his cup, his chains clattering upon his neck. His eyes darted to and fro Rhaena’s father, then put the cup down,“You have my thanks, my prince, but I have no thirst.”

“Why not?” Prince Daemon laughed,”I am not going to poison you. If I wanted to, I would do so before you took Dragonstone’s bread and salt. Do you not trust me?”

“It is this war that has broken our trust,” Orwyle answered, his eyes hardening,”But there is a path to mend it, a path to pardon and the absolution of the Seven if my prince would support our peace.”

Prince Daemon stood from his seat at the head of the Painted Table, and strode across the length of the room until he reached Orwyle. Rhaena saw the gold-cloaked knight standing behind the maester take a step back. Prince Daemon grasped the maester’s chain and fingered it,“For all your twitterings, maester, it seems that all you speak of is to grovel before my nephew. Tell me, do you remember my brother?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Orwyle said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then tell me,” Prince Daemon said, his other hand running along Caraxes’s whip,”Who did he name his heir and successor?”

 Orwyle’s face was draining of its colour,“Princess Rhaenyra.”

“Wrong,” Prince Daemon snarled,“My brother had the lords swear an oath to my lovely wife, that is true, but my brother truly meant the Iron Throne for his daughter’s husband and king. Me.” He sneered as he curled his fist around the chain and dragged Orwyle to his feet,“I did not choose you to be my Grand Maester.”

“The Citadel names the Grand Maester,” Orwyle protested weakly.

“And it seems they have poor taste,” Prince Daemon threw Orwyle back into his seat,“Take his chain off. It offends me to see it on him.” Two of Dragonstone’s knights, Ser Alfred Broome and Ser Robert Quince, strode forward and tore the chain off the maester’s neck, handing it to Prince Daemon. Rhaena’s father tossed it to Maester Gerardys,“Do with it as you will, maester.”

“I am honoured, Your Grace,” Gerardys bowed.

Prince Daemon turned back to Orwyle,“Scurry back and tell the usurper,” Prince Daemon said,“that he and his whole wretched house will come to Dragonstone and make obeisance before the one true king. Else, the only peace he shall know is his head and the heads of all the traitors lining the spikes of King’s Landing whilst Caraxes feeds on their entrails. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Orwyle answered.

“Very well,” Prince Daemon said,“I believe that is all you shall need of me. Go your merry way.”

“I have one more request,” Orwyle said,“I wish to see Her Grace.”

“My wife is still ill of the birthing sickness,” Prince Daemon answered,“She cannot receive any guests.”

“Your Grace,” Gerardys said,“I am unable to open the clasp of these chains. Might Maester Orwyle show me how?”

“Show him, Orwyle,” Prince Daemon snarled. Gerardys approached Orwyle, his grey cloak slithering across the black stones, and held out the chain to Orwyle. Gerardys unclasped it, then gave several links to the other maester. “I did not forge these metals,” Gerardys said,“I am not worthy of them.” The other maester nodded, and stuffed them in his pockets as Gerardys backed away.

“Then you are dismissed, green men,” Prince Daemon waved his hand. The maester stood and left, but Prince Daemon grabbed the arm of the knight behind the maester. “You are not worthy of my gold cloak, Hightower,” Prince Daemon snarled before he let the Hightower go, escorted away by Ser Alfred and a procession of Dragonstone guards. Rhaena’s father looked around at the chamber which was still full,“So the usurpers are gone. What are you waiting here for? Return to your duties.” The men hurriedly bowed and exited the room, so that all that were left was Prince Daemon and his daughters.

Their father walked to the balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay and gestured for the two of them to join him. Rhaena smelled the stinging scent of the salt spray as she stepped near the parapet, wishing that one of the stone dragon statues would come alive and perch on her arm. Instead, her father’s long arm curled about her and dragged her close to him.

“So it seems that honest Maester Gerardys might not be so honest after all,” Prince Daemon said,”I offered him the place as my Grand Maester, yet he was keen to plot with those green pigs.”

“I was watching Gerardys, Father,” Baela said,”I saw what you saw, that he was stuffing a slip into one of the links he gave back to Orwyle.”

“He thought he hid himself well,” their father said,“But a true dragon sees.”

Am I not a true dragon, then? Rhaena wondered. But that was not what her father wanted to hear. “So how should the maester be punished, then?” she instead asked.

“That is a good question,” their father answered,“Rhaena, how do you think our good maester should be punished? He is guilty of conspiracy with the enemy.”

“Seize him immediately before his treason could grow,” Rhaena knew this was the moment to prove herself,“and feed him to your dragon, so that all will know the due of treason.”

“That might work,” their father said, and turned,“What do you think, Baela?”

“Do not seize him just yet,” Baela answered,“Have men follow him to find out the specifics of his deal with the greens and whoever else in Dragonstone is part of his conspiracy. Then, bring the fire to burn out all the weeds.”

“You shall make a fine queen,” their father kissed Baela on the cheek, and she giggled. Rhaena stiffened against the arm that he held around her.

Lapel returned soon after, reporting to their father that Orwyle and Gerardys had met secretly in the stables before Orwyle set sail. There, Orwyle had told Gerardys of the true green peace. The peace blamed the war upon the treasons of Aegon’s wife and her wicked brother as well as Rhaena’s father, who Orwyle accused of turning the blacks against the greens. Orwyle offered to Rhaenyra that they remove those poisons, and open the path to peace sealed with a marriage between Aegon and Rhaenyra so that both would sit the Iron Throne. Gerardys was on his way to tell the queen when Lapel’s men seized him and threw him into the dungeons beneath Dragonstone.

“Leave us,” Rhaena’s father said to her when Lapel finished his report,“I shall deal with this matter myself.” Yet Rhaena saw that Baela stayed, for their father had named Baela his cupbearer. And princess and future queen.

Rhaena watched her dragon eggs sit in the fires as the orange sky turned black outside. She said her evening prayers, those same mellow words pleading with the Mother to bless her with the birth of a dragon. Yet all the eggs remained stone, as tendrils of flame curled around it.

In her heart, she knew that the eggs would never hatch. And even if they did, she would gain a hatchling, and Moondancer was fully grown. She would always be behind her sister. Baela will be queen, and I still the princess spare. Rhaena was done with waiting.

“Ser Harrold,” Rhaena called as she rose from her bed, and her sworn sword entered,”Take me to Sea Dragon Tower.”

Ser Steffon stood guard outside of Rhaenyra’s chambers that night, and he could not refuse Rhaena’s request to see the queen. Rhaena was the Prince Regent’s daughter, after all.

Rhaena’s first thought when she saw Rhaenyra again was that the queen was frightening. Prince Daemon had for so long said that Rhaenyra was ill that Rhaena had believed it, and she expected a feeble wisp of a woman. Yet Rhaenyra’s face was a bloody hale as her violet eyes smiled.

“Rhaena,” Rhaenyra said,“I have not seen you for a long time.” She was sitting at a table, and gestured at a chair opposite her. Rhaena stepped to the chair and sat.

“How is Luke?” Rhaenyra said,“I heard from Maester Gerardys that the traitor Aemond hurt him badly.”

“He was healing well the last I saw him,” Rhaena pursed her lips. She did not want to talk about her betrothed. If anything, I am here to be rid of him.

“That is good,” Rhaenyra said,“Then what of Jace or Joff? Have you heard anything about them?”

Rhaena shook her head.

“Do you at least know where they rode?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Jace said that he was going to the Eyrie, then to Sisterton, White Harbour, and Winterfell,” Rhaena answered,“Joff went with him.”

“Jace was wise,” Rhaenyra said,“They are all good men, and will remember their vows.” She gave a little laugh,“I think you have heard enough about my sons, and you did not come here to hear about them. What warranted this visit?”

“I worried about your birthing sickness that has lasted so long,” Rhaena said,“and I want to help you cure it.” There it is, she knew. There was no looking back now.

“Oh,” Rhaenyra’s smile faded for a moment, then returned,“It is a dreadful illness. I suppose that a little company would help.” She reached out and brought a board onto the table,“Might I interest you in a game of cyvasse?”

Rhaena did not know what Rhaenyra meant, and she agreed without a second thought. They played for half an hour with no mention of what Rhaena said about curing her birthing sickness, until Rhaenyra made a move that exposed a heavy horse, a trebuchet, and a dragon to one of Rhaena’s pieces.

“A knight,” Rhaenyra pointed at the heavy horse. “A castle,” she pointed at the trebuchet. “Or a dragon,” she pointed at the dragon,“What would you like to take?”

Rhaena realized what choice Rhaenyra was laying before her. Rhaenyra did not trust Rhaena was willing to help, lest Rhaena named her price. Her eyes passed over those three pieces, and found the king. Her piece could not reach the king, but she moved there anyways.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra gave a little nod, then rose,“You have won.” She rose, and smiled again, “I would like to see you play Jace, as he was always wiser than me.”

Rhaena bit the inside of her lip, trying to contain her laughter. She would wed the king, and was rid of Luke. Mayhaps Baela would wed Luke now.

“You should be going now,” Rhaenyra said,“since it is getting late.” Rhaena rose, and Rhaenyra took her hands into her own,“I am glad you came to see me.”

Rhaena hoped that she would receive a secret note from Rhaenyra, something that showed Rhaena how to help and win her king. Yet she felt only the queen’s cold hands.

Chapter Text

The wind was sour on Aemond’s lips.

He thought that it would be pleasant to be free of the stuffy corridors and putrid tongues of the Red Keep. It was been a moon since he had mounted Vhagar, though it had seemed a life, and he thought he would be himself again when he rode a dragon. Yet the winds were cold, the memories colder, as Aemond tightened his hands on the dragon’s reins and King’s Landing blurred below.

It would be so pleasant to see Aegon’s bloated face turn to terror as fire descended upon his palace. To see those pouty lips which had given Aemond’s due to his brother open in a scream. To have this whole stinking city which had cheered his brother know that there is a deadlier dragon that they should bow to. He wanted to. His sapphire eye told him to. Yet he did not.

Three times he lifted the reins to prepare Vhagar to dive, and three times he had the savory taste that he could end the city. He wished to hold onto that pleasure, and so he remained in the sky as his reins dropped. He would fly around King’s Landing with that echo in his thoughts, but with every wind he would remember more of Aegon’s smile as he toasted, and at the end of the cycle he lifted the reins and wished all would burn again.

The winds trapped him in that wheel, and he did not want to let go. It was better than enduring the endless insults of mortals who knew little of true dragons. At least when a dragon flew, Aemond knew that he was free, and mortals were put in their rightful places.

Vhagar screeched, and Aemond lifted his eyes from the city into the thin clouds. He heard two echoing screams behind him, and he looked back. Upon the Hill of Rhaenys where the Dragonpit lay, Aemond saw two sets of wings take to the sky one after the other. The first one was gold. Sunfyre. My dear brother and king. The second one was a shimmering sky blue. That was Hel, he knew, but she had spurned him and joined with his brother.

Aemond knew that they were coming to kill him, to stop the fire that he was doomed to unleash. He welcomed them. He welcomed the fight that Luke Strong never gave him, that he could never get from Mother and her arrogant father.

Yet when the gold and blue dragons approached, they stayed just out of range of dragonbreath. Aemond could already see the glittering crowns on the heads of Aegon and Helaena, and wished that they would come closer. Dreamfyre snarled at Aemond, and he knew that dragon wanted a battle. Yet its rider refused to heed her dragon’s call. Aemond could see Aegon’s black armour glitter as Aegon stared at him, but the king was too craven to fight his battle.

Vhagar was two times Dreamfyre’s size, certainly, and four times Sunfyre’s, but they had two dragons and Aemond had one. Why would they not fight? Aemond was growing tired of them, and he turned Vhagar away. If they did not want a fight, there was no joy in fighting them.

Aemond flew Vhagar around the city one more time, but Dreamfyre and Sunfyre only hovered above Aegon’s High Hill. The winds were only growing more sour as Aemond flew around the city, and Aemond was soon despising the air. He looked down, and saw a bright-coloured street in the Hill of Rhaenys. Aemond lifted his reins and leaned on his saddle, and Vhagar knew where to go. The dragon spiraled down onto that bright-coloured street, as Aemond through half-closed eyes thought he saw the gold and blue dragons approach. He paid them no more mind.

Vhagar landed on a red house with a roof barely large enough for the dragon’s claws, sending ceiling tiles spilling to the street below as men and women fled. Aemond undid his chains, his fingers slipping on the metal five times, until the final clasp broke and Aemond rolled down Vhagar’s wing onto the street.

His face fell in mud, and he thought that his nose must be broken. When he lifted his face with a bloody taste in his mouth, he wished that he had kept his face in the mud. A putrid scent wafted through the street air, mixed with the choking aroma of perfume. The street had emptied, though faces were beginning to reemerge in the shadows, staring at Aemond.

The faces drew back into the shadows as Vhagar roared, and Aemond saw his giant wing slither up as the dragon raised its wings and took flight. He saw the gold and blue dragons hover above, and Aemond wondered if they would breathe flame down on him. He had planned to do it on them, so it would be no wonder if they would do the same. Yet he heard the howls of wind as their wings flapped, and there was no hint of flame.

The mud itched Aemond after waiting a long moment for the flame that never came, and he stood. As he rose, the stink lessened as the scent of perfume grew stronger. He looked around for the source of the perfume and found it coming from an open door in the building opposite the one Vhagar landed on. Songs and laughter could be heard inside, as if they did notice that a dragon had landed outside. Silks of all colours hung from the windows as the wooden plaque above the entrance read The Blue Pearl and bore a carving of a pearl in a seashell.

One of the whorehouses Aegon was known to frequent, Aemond laughed, I wonder what fortunes he found in these places, if they made him king.

He stepped inside the door and the choking perfume, but it was better than the air outside which was always sour. The room inside the entrance was empty, though Aemond could hear the laughter beyond. A matron swept before him in an instant, with a wide smile and a face that was beginning to wrinkle around her eyes. She wore a gown of red satin dampered in jewels and golden thread.

“Your Grace,” she curtsied,“Your arrival was unexpected, but we are ready to serve. You shall most certainly find this place to your liking. The king himself spoke highly of our establishment.”

What fortune did he find in this place? Aemond looked around the empty room as the woman’s words swam in his ears. “Here, Your Grace,” his eyes found the woman directing him to a door. He followed.

The matron showed him to a selection of whores and told him to pick. Aemond picked a golden-haired one with a round face. He thought she looked like Helaena. They were given a room with a green silk bed and walls draped with red curtains. A dim light shone through the curtain the covered the open window, and Aemond could scarce hear the street below. There was a flagon of wine on the table, though he did not have the strength to pour himself a cup.

Aemond watched the whore undress as he sat on the bed. His eyes were drawn to her small red lips, which smiled just like Helaena. Too much like Helaena. When she sought to seat herself in Aemond’s lap, he felt himself jerk away. “Your Grace?” she seemed to say, but all Aemond saw was Helaena snarling as she told Aemond that Aegon had gone to another whorehouse. “Go away, please,” Aemond whispered. He closed his eyes and held his head,“Go away.” He heard the door open and close, and he felt his head hit the silken pillow as he gave himself to darkness.

He woke to a shaking of his shoulder,“Aemond. Aemond.” He opened his eyes to see a tall figure in black armour, until his eyes cleared to make out Aegon’s wide violet eyes that shone beneath the rubies of his crown. Aemond looked around for the Kingsguard, but none were there.

“Did you enjoy yourself here?” Aegon asked.

“Not as well as you did,” Aemond said.

Aegon pursed his lips, then spoke: “I paid for the girl, and the roof of the other brothel Vhagar destroyed. If you wanted to come here, you could have spoken to me.”

“You need not have paid for the girl,” Aemond said,“I did not touch her.”

“Why not?” Aegon asked.

“I am not like you,” Aemond snarled, then looked up at Aegon’s crown,“Your crown would have looked better on me.”

Aegon’s eyes darkened as he brought forth a chair and sat beside Aemond’s bed. “Aemond,” he leaned in close,“I can allow you to speak like this when we are alone, but never speak like this again in front of others. Not in front of Helaena, not in front of Grandfather, and Seven forbid, never in front of Mother.”

“Why do you not worry when I speak of taking your crown?” Aemond said.

Aegon bit his lip,“If Daeron spoke like that, I would worry, because I know that Daeron acts all that he speaks. But I know that you never have the will to act the way you speak unless you are pressed to the edge. Mother wanted to press you to the edge.”

“Mayhaps she was right to do so,” Aemond said,“I could have killed you. Why not plant those knives in the curtains of the Small Council chamber and throw my body into the spikes? Why not burn me with Sunfyre when I dropped from Vhagar and my dragon flew away? Why not strangle me right now as I lay helpless on my deathbed?” Aemond laughed,“I know what peace you sent to Rhaenyra. You want to kill me and Helaena so you could marry the whore. You have the chance right now to kill me still. Why not make your peace?”

“Because you are my brother,” Aegon said, his voice soft,“and Rhaenyra is only my half-sister. If it must come to a fight, then it must be us against them.” He held out his hand to Aemond,“Are you my brother?”

Aemond took his hand, feeling that it was warm.

Aegon smiled, and tightened his grip on Aemond’s hand,“We will end this war.”

Chapter Text

Winterfell was warmer than Joff had thought.

The sun shone high in the sky as they flew north from White Harbour, but the winds had only grown colder. Lord Desmond had given them furs that had stifled them in White Harbour’s cool breezes, but now Joff saw the wisdom of the lord. They would be frozen dragons if not for those sheepskin cloaks. Joff had scarce lost sight of White Harbour’s walls when he saw snowflakes drifting down on his cloak, and the land below turned from brown to white.

Tyraxes did not like the cold, whimpering his displeasure each time the wings flapped. His breath formed a white mist in front of Joff which was the only bit of warmth as Joff passed through. Vermax was silent, but Joff saw Jace run his gloved hand down Vermax’s neck each time a north wind whistled past Vermax’s wings. Joff knew that the dragon was shaking in silence, and even Jace did not know what to do.

There were black bags beneath Jace’s eyes when they left White Harbour, and Joff knew that Jace needed to sleep. Joff slept in White Harbour’s hall, but Jace had watched him the whole night. Jace no longer insisted on staying awake all the way back to Dragonstone, but he insisted on not sleeping until they had won the swords of the North. He saw Jace’s eyes close countless times on his dragon, then rise sharply up and slap his hand with his whip.

The sight of the giant castle in the distance gave Jace more spirit, as his hands tightened on the reins as Vermax roared. A fog rose around the castle, and the air was growing warmer. Joff felt the blood in his face again, a burning sting on his cheeks. His hands had seemed frozen on Tyraxes’s neck, but they burned now as he began to feel again Tyraxes’s fire beneath his scales. The dragon had stopped shaking.

White banners bearing a running grey wolf rose from the walls of Winterfell’s keep. Fires flickered in the tall towers as white specks dotted the grey stones. The drawbridge beneath the east gate was open as a caravan rolled into the keep from a sprawling town where a hundred lights shone. Black specks of men bustled about the town as wagons arrived from all directions.

Jace had the two of them do the same that they had done in White Harbour and Sisterton. They hovered above the keep until wolf banners began to emerge from within, and then landed in the courtyard of Winterfell. “The godswood is larger,” Joff considered asking Jace,“Why not land there?” But Joff already knew the answer, and sealed his lips. The godswood was sacred to the northmen, and they wanted no dragons there.

Lord Cregan Stark was as tall as Jace and his eyes just as stern, though there was great brown beard that covered his face whilst Jace had none. He and his company bent the knee to Jace and gave the both of them bread and salt, then invited them into their halls. It was then when Vermax began to roar and snap at the horses, and Jace had to go calm him. Tyraxes had curled up beneath the roof of a hall and went to sleep, where Joff tethered him to one of the great stone pillars.

“Your brother’s dragon does not like Winterfell,” Lord Cregan said to Joff ,“Is it the cold?”

“I do not know,” Joff answered,“Winterfell is warmer than all the places around it.”

Lord Cregan invited them into the Great Hall, a cavernous grey space on whose walls hung the white and grey banners of the Starks. The hall was empty except the high table on which dishes were set. Lord Cregan took his place at the great seat beside the table carved of smooth stone, setting his hands on the arms of the chair. Joff looked closer at the arms, and saw that they were carved wolf heads. The lord gestured for them to sit,“When evening comes, I shall host a feast in my prince’s honour. But for now, you must be tired and hungry from your long journey.”

“You have our thanks, Lord Stark,” Jace sat, and he took a bite out of a piece of bread. His eyelids began to drop again, and Joff knew that this time Jace would not claim victory. He curled his hand into a fist, but that did not stop his head from rolling onto his shoulder, the breadpiece dropping from his hand onto the floor. Joff rushed to Jace’s side, and he could Jace’s quiet breaths, making white mist in the air.

Lord Cregan sprang to his feet, his knee thudding on the bottom of the table and sending dishes clattering. “Is the prince alright?” he snapped.

Joff looked up,“It was not your bread, my lord. My brother just needed sleep.”

The colour began to return to Lord Cregan’s face as he breathed,“Thank the gods.” He turned to his servants,“Prepare Prince Jacaerys a chamber in the Guest Hall and set him there.” He turned then to his guards,“Morton. Roose. Stand guard outside the prince’s chambers at all times, and let no one enter. You may only leave your post when I send someone to relieve you.” Three of Lord Cregan’s servants lifted Jace from his seat and out one of the doors, the two guards following them.

“I beg your forgiveness, Lord Stark,” Joff said,“My brother did rest enough in our ride north. He shall soon be well to treat with you.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Lord Cregan said,“but I do not think to wait until Prince Jacaerys wakes. I feel that my prince’s matter is urgent. Sit, and speak to me of why my prince has seen fit to come so far north to my frozen halls.”

Joff sat in the seat beside Lord Cregan, and took a bite out of a piece of bread. It tasted of salt, and he bit his lip as he chewed. He remembered Jace’s warning, to not speak until Jace told him to. Yet Jace was asleep, and he would not want Joff to delay their mother. Joff looked at Lord Cregan,“Does my lord remember the vow your father swore to my mother?”

“I was not there when my father swore,” Lord Cregan answered,“But he told me and bade me remember. The Starks swore to defend the rights of your mother Princess Rhaenyra as the one true heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Aye,” Joff said,“and Grandfather has now passed into the hands of the Stranger. The Iron Throne is my mother’s by rights, but her brother Aegon has usurped her crown and claims to be king in King’s Landing. We call upon all true men of the realm to rise for the vow they swore to defend my mother’s rights against the usurper.”

“So it is war in the south,” Lord Cregan said,“And my prince wants me to call my banners for your mother.”

“It is not war yet,” Joff said,“If enough banners rise to support my mother, the usurper will back down.”

“He will not back down,” Lord Cregan said,“Once a man has a taste of a throne, he will never spit it out.” He looked at the white banners which lined the shadowed walls,“Unless there are dragons on the other side, but I hear that this Aegon has dragons of his own.”

“If it comes to war,” Joff said, the word harsh on his lips,“Would my lord rise for my mother?”

“After the feast tonight,” Lord Cregan said,“my prince should come with me to see my uncle Bennard in the dungeons.”

“What of him?” Joff asked.

“My father Lord Rickon died when I was still a boy,” Lord Cregan said,“unfit to take the reins of the North. So my uncle took up the regency, to guide me until I reached the age of maturity. He sat on the throne I sit now, giving commands to the North. But he became too comfortable in this seat, and when I became sixteen, he would not return it to me.”

“How is he in your dungeons?” Joff asked.

“My mother was a Glover,” Lord Cregan said,“and her brother was Lord of Deepwood Motte. My father was not Lord Ross Glover’s only goodbrother, and he had other goodbrothers in Dustin of Barrowton and Norrey of the mountain clans. When Mother told her brother that my rights were stolen, they gathered a host and marched on Winterfell. Still, my uncle would not relent, until they broke down the gates and Robb Norrey seated me on this smooth cold seat.” Lord Cregan’s smile died,“I believe you are wondering why my uncle did not kill me when the gates broke. Bennard was not a kinslayer. And I in turn was not a kinslayer. Bennard and his sons stay now in the First Keep, in warm fires and any company they may wish.”

“I thought they were in a dungeon,” Joff said.

“They are. It is just a gilded dungeon,” Lord Cregan said, his brown eyes hardening,“I will answer your mother’s request honestly, Prince Joffrey, as any northman would. You would find here many men willing to march into the south, for winter is coming. I trust you have seen the many wagons coming into the winter town. They are folk from the fields, fleeing the cold and starvation to winter in the wooden halls outside Winterfell. But even so, many of them will not last the winter. Many of our fighting men will want to march, to save a cloak or a meal for their women and children. I can send those willing south, for your lords to lead, but I cannot call my banners for a war to slay kin.”

Joff bit his lip, wishing that Jace were here. “You have my thanks, Lord Stark, for your men,” Joff managed,“My mother will be duly grateful.”

A grey-cloaked maester behind Lord Cregan leaned forward and whispered in the lord’s ear. The lord nodded, then turned to Joff again.

“Do you know of the Night’s Watch, my prince?” Lord Cregan said.   

Joff nodded,“The order of brothers who dedicate their lives to the Wall, guarding the south against the wildlings.”

“Every hundred years,” Lord Cregan said,“the wildlings mass under a King-Beyond-The-Wall to invade the south. The last such king was the Bard a hundred years ago, but now they are massing under a new king. The king has declared that he wants peace, but there is only path for the wildlings, and it is only a matter of time before they attack the Wall. Thanks to Good Queen Alysanne, the Watch’s castles have been rebuilt and filled with brothers, but I still fear it is not enough. The only sure guarantee of victory is a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Joff asked, bewildered.

“Will my prince inherit anything in the south?” Lord Cregan asked.

Jace will inherit the Iron Throne, Joff thought, and Luke will receive Driftmark, but there is nothing for me. “No,” Joff answered.

“Is there a lady you are due to marry?” Lord Cregan asked.

Joff shook his head.

“You are a younger son, Prince Joffrey,” Lord Cregan said,“and there is little that the south can offer to younger sons. But there is another path, a path of honour. The Night’s Watch, which does not distinguish between lord or peasant, elder or younger. Though you will take no wife, hold no lands, and win no glory, you will be honoured so long as you are worthy in defending the realms of men.”

Joff breathed, that white mist spreading again before him like snow. He had made a mess of the south and shamed his mother. But if he took Lord Cregan’s offer, Jace could show that Joff’s actions were punished, and redeem Mother in the eyes of the realm. The Stranger had answered Joff’s prayers. He had given Joff penance, a way to make things right.

“My dragon is still needed for the war,” Joff said,“but after my mother is on her throne, I shall join the brothers of the Night’s Watch. I shall be glad to see my lord again as I journey north.”

“You need not journey north to see me,” Lord Cregan smiled,“I will meet my prince in the south, as my banners join yours to smash the traitors.”

Chapter Text

Helaena heard Aegon’s booming steps behind her, but she did not look back.

“Is Maelor ill?” she heard Aegon ask. She saw him pull up a chair at Maelor’s bedside, where her son was sleeping in peace. The green dragon egg on Maelor’s pillow seemed to shimmer as her husband approached.

Helaena wondered why Aegon suddenly cared,“Maelor was showing signs during the play, and Maester Cadmus had to carry him to his bed when we chased after Aemond. The maester said it was only a chill and not a severe one, with no need of potions or poultices. Only rest, and Maelor should be better in three days’ time.”

“I spoke with Aemond,” Aegon said.

“In The Blue Pearl,” Helaena answered,“Did you ask him if he enjoyed your whorehouse?”

“He was only sleeping there,” Aegon said,“He never touched a girl.”

“Do you truly believe him?” Helaena laughed,“I should have known that he was like you from the beginning.”

“I believe him,” Aegon said, and Helaena’s smile died as she met Aegon’s eyes,“Our brother is not like me. There is anger and bitterness, that is true, but in the end, he would not succumb to it.”

Helaena’s smile died. “I pray you are right,” Helaena said, then whispered,“Do you think he should be kept away from Vhagar?”

“No,” Aegon said,“He is a dragon, and I need him. He is my brother, and I know that he will not betray me.” He looked down at Maelor sleeping,“And he will most certainly not betray my children. He knows that Rhaenyra is the true enemy.”

“Where is he now?” Helaena asked.

“I had my Kingsguard carry him to the apartment beside mine in Maegor’s Holdfast,” Aegon said,“Two of Ser Criston’s guards stand outside his door.”

Helaena nodded, as a moment passed and the light shone on Aegon’s plump face. “I am grateful that Your Grace told me about Aemond,” Helaena said at long last,“but now I need some time alone with my son.”

“He is our son, Helaena,” Aegon said,“His illness worries me every bit that it worries you.”

Helaena eyed him, biting her lip,“Is this another one of those speeches, where you promise to start caring about your house, only to turn your back on your vow the very next day?”

“The last time I spoke it to you,” Aegon said,“it was the truth, for I am king now, and you are my queen. I want no more war between us, especially when our half-sister plots to usurp our rights.”

Helaena turned back to Maelor, hearing the fires flicker on the candles. Maelor’s egg was glowing under the firelight, pale orange lines running along the scales on the shell.

“I have a favour to ask of you, Helaena,” Aegon said.

“What is it?” Helaena’s voice was hoarse.

“I wish to make a progress of the city defenses,” Aegon said,“To inspect the gates, the towers, and the walls. But chiefly, I mean to inspect the soldiers who man them. I do not know how to speak with them. You do.”

“Maelor is sick,” Helaena reached over to smooth her son’s hair, and her hand brushed Maelor’s egg by accident. She drew her hand back sharply, seeing red spots where her finger touched the egg. Maelor’s egg was as hot as a live coal.

“Are you alright?” Aegon asked, and Helaena nodded. “Very well,” Aegon said,“I shall make my progress alone. Make certain that Maelor gets well.”

“Wait,” Helaena said. She turned to Ser Rickard,“Stay here, and guard my son. You may only admit Maester Cadmus, not anyone else. Not any other maester, not any other nurse.” Ser Rickard nodded. She turned then to Ser Arryk,“Follow me as I accompany the king.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ser Arryk put a hand on his hilt.

A company of King’s Landing guards was waiting for Aegon outside. Helaena saw that Ser Criston was at the head of them, his white cloak swirling in the dawn breeze.

“Ser Criston is supposed to guard Jaehaerys,” Helaena said to Aegon,“Why is he here?”

“I have returned him to my service,” Aegon said,“Ser Gyles now serves as the Prince of Dragonstone’s sworn sword. Though I would say that Jaehaerys has a much more fearsome guard in Shrykos. The dragon will be large enough to fly when the year is done.”

“Jaehaerys will not be large enough to fly,” Helaena said,“I hope Your Grace knows that.”

“I know,” Aegon said,“but he will be king after me. He will have to learn to fly sooner than most.”

The knight Ser Otto had appointed to the Iron Gate for the last moon, Ser Leo Mullendore with butterflies on his cloak, gave them a warm welcome. He guided them beneath the banners of the golden dragon which lined the walls, the steel poles that bore the banners sparkling in the morning sun.

Helaena saw, though, that the red stones that built the gate were crumbling as rust had begun to pile on the steel spikes that lined the battlements. The carved iron shield atop the gate was missing a quarter.

“The City Watch of the Iron Gate are in good order,” Ser Leo told the king as he walked him along an assembly of gold cloaks,“Their spears are trained and ready, and above all they are loyal to the one true king.”

“Truly?”  Aegon asked, then beckoned for the knight to follow him,“Tell me about how the soldiers are salaried.” The knight followed Aegon, Ser Criston, and half the guard out the chamber, leaving Helaena free.

“Take out that boy over there,” Helaena whispered to Ser Arryk,“I wish to speak with him.”

Ser Arryk strode over to the back of assembly and pulled out the boy from the midst of gold cloaks. His compatriots laughed as the Ser Arryk wrenched the boy in front of Helaena. He was beginning to grow a beard, and his green eyes shone under matted black hair. “Come, walk with me,” Helaena beckoned, and the boy followed her onto the tower walls.

Ser Arryk had disarmed the boy of his spear, but Helaena still kept a sword’s distance between her and the boy. Ser Arryk stood behind her as well, his eyes watching the boy’s hand as they walked along the battlements. The boy did not have the look of an assassin, but it never hurt to be wary. 

A cold north wind blew Helaena’s hair into her face, and she tucked a wayward strand behind her head. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Jyck, Your Grace,” the boy answered whilst bowing his head,“of Eel Alley.”

“Eel Alley,” Helaena remembered,“The Red Keep speaks very highly of the taverns there.”

“I never lived in them, Your Grace,” Jyck answered,“I could never afford to.”

“But I believe you could now,” Helaena said,“You have made yourself an honourable living keeping the king’s peace.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Jyck answered.

“How many stags were you paid last fortnight?” Helaena asked.

“Eight,” Jyck answered, though there was an edge in his voice.

They were to be paid fifteen, Helaena knew, and she believed the boy knew too but would not say. Somewhere along the line, there was a problem. She would need to look further.

“You have my gratitude for you work in serving the king,” Helaena bade Ser Arryk gave the boy several stags and sent him away.

The next two guardsmen she found said the same of their salaries. The fourth one, a greybeard from Flea Bottom, at last told her that the stags they were paid were cut in half two fortnights ago. When King Viserys died. She began to realize what was transpiring.

“Ser Leo tells me that his men are hostile to him,” Aegon confided in Helaena when he returned,“but I think he bears the guilt for that. Grandfather appointed a corrupt pig to command the Iron Gate. He has been stealing from the soldiers, and he would most like sell the gate to Rhaenyra if she pays well enough.”

Helaena glanced behind them, and saw that the King’s Landing guards were well out of earshot, and there were no gold cloaks nearby. Only Ser Criston and Ser Arryk stood behind them. “I do not think so,” Helaena said,“Ser Leo has been in command for only one fortnight, but this has started before him. Besides, his incomes from Uplands and Grandfather far exceed anything he could steal from the wages of the City Watch.”

“So who is stealing from the Watch?” Aegon asked.

“The gold from the treasury does not just pass through Ser Leo to reach the common watchmen,” Helaena,“They pass through the serjeants as well. Those serjeants have not been appointed by Grandfather. They were appointed during a time in Father’s reign when the gold cloaks were stripped down and rebuilt: the days when the command of the gold cloaks belonged to Prince Daemon.”

Aegon stepped to the edge of the battlements and gripped the parapet,“Tell me more.”

“If Ser Leo has told you that the Watch is hostile to him,” Helaena said,“He is most probably right. Prince Daemon’s serjeants were strangling the City Watch, but the watchmen would not blame it on the serjeants who have led them for years and whom the watchmen trust. They would blame the stranger appointed as their new commander by Grandfather. And so Prince Daemon has achieved his goal, to have the watchmen hate the men of the king.”

Aegon turned back, his eyes filled with fury,“How shall we answer such treason?”

“Not with blood,” Helaena said,“Their work has taken root, and when your attack makes the serjeants join the traitors, their men will follow. Mutiny would be the least of your concerns then. These men have steel, and if they are turned loose on the city, they will set it aflame.”

“Your Graces,” Ser Criston said,“May I speak?”

“You may,” Aegon waved his hand.

“Your Graces must sway those serjeants who are uncertain of their loyalty even as they act for Prince Daemon,” Ser Criston said,“It is not easy to be a two-faced man, to worry every moment of being found out and dying a dreadful death. Show them that you are willing to give them that dreadful death should they remain traitors. There are lords in the black cells who had joined Rhaenyra’s treason. Bring them out, and give them one last chance to swear to the one true king. Those still unrepentant will learn of the price of treason, an example to the realm.”      

Aegon was nodding, and Helaena grabbed his arm. She glared at Ser Criston, then turned back to Aegon,“You can bring the lords of the black cells, but make certain that what you offer is your mercy. Many of the lords will accept it. Fell and Buckler’s sons have already joined Lord Borros in the Stormlands, and Caswell’s bastard has joined Uncle Ormund in the Reach. They at least will go their house’s way, and Rosby, Stokeworth, and Butterwell are grasses which sway where the wind blows. The promise of mercy would sway the serjeants surer than any sword.”

Aegon pursed his lips, and Helaena could not read him. “Let us return to the Red Keep,” Aegon said after a long moment,“I will visit the Dragon Gate on the morrow.”

A messenger approached them in the middle of the wall, his breaths heavy as he came out of his run and knelt to Aegon.

“What is it?” Aegon demanded.

“It’s Prince Maelor,” the messenger answered.

“What?” Helaena rushed to the messenger and pulled him to his feet,“What happened to Maelor?”

“Your Grace should see for yourself,” the messenger answered, and Helaena saw that he had a smile on his face.

They heard it before they reached Maelor’s chamber, a piercing screech which shattered the heavens. She knew what it was, having heard it from the chambers of first Jaehaerys and then Jaehaera. Seven Heavens, she prayed that she was right.

The door to Maelor’s chamber was open, and Helaena saw all her children there. Jaehaera sat in the chair Aegon had sat on, Morghul eating a piece of meat off her knee. Jaehaerys was sitting at his brother’s bedside, Shrykos curling underneath his hand.

On the bed, Maelor bore no hint of the chill, as his cheeks burned bright red. There was no longer an egg beside him. His hand ran along the scales of an emerald hatchling whose wings were gold. 

Chapter Text

“You should not have done it,” Joff heard Jace say.

Joff had expected a thunderous lecture from his brother, that Joff forgot his duty to their mother and forsook his house for a place Jace had only ever called “the cold”. Instead, Jace looked pallid on his bed, his eyes sunken and his voice quiet. He did not have the energy for a lecture.

“It would make things right,” Joff said,“You could show to the realm that my crimes were punished, and the lords should not see me when they look upon our mother.”

“You still should not have done it,” Jace repeated, then sighed,“But what is done is done. Especially if that was the deal Lord Cregan cut us. I have no power to change it.”

“What is it with you today, Jace?” Joff asked.

“Nothing,” Jace said,“I am just tired.”

“You had almost half a fortnight of rest,” Joff said,“whilst I had to bear Lord Cregan’s hunts, duels, and endless feasts. You should be better by now. You are to be the future king.”

“I hear that you swore an oath of brotherhood with Lord Cregan,” Jace said,“Sealed in both your blood.”

“Lord Cregan said I was like the little brother he lost,” Joff said, and leaned in to Jace,“But I am first and foremost your little brother. And I want to know, what happened to you?”

Jace bit his lip, and began to turn in his bed. Joff grabbed his arm and wrenched him back around.

“Please let me help you, Jace,” Joff said,“Tell me what is wrong.”

“I broke my oath to Baela,” Jace muttered.

“What?” Joff asked.

“I broke my oath to Baela,” Jace looked up and met Joff’s eyes.

“How?” Joff could not believe he was hearing this from Jace.

“After I fell asleep in the Great Hall, I had a dream,” Jace said,“I was standing knee-deep in the snows, and I was closing Vermax’s eyes as he breathed his last. All about me were corpses. Mother was dead. Luke was dead. Aegon was dead. You were dead.”

“Dreams are fiction lest we make them true,” Joff said,“That is what you always told me. I am still here, well and alive, am I not?”

“Aye,” Jace nodded,“But when I woke, I wakened in the arms of a woman. Is this fiction? I had prayed that it was.”

“What woman?” Joff asked. His brother was not the whoring sort.

“She said that she was Lord Cregan’s sister,” Jace said,“His bastard sister, named Sara Snow.”

“Did you stain her honour?” Joff asked, his voice quiet.

“I do not remember,” Jace said,“But Lord Cregan said so. He burst into my chamber, his eyes full of death as he denounced me for breaking guest right. He told me that his sister was with child. Then, he offered me a choice. Wed his sister and save her honour, or lose his banners.”

“What did you choose?” Joff asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I wed her before a heart tree,” Jace said,“and Lord Cregan had us seal the union beneath its branches. In the snows.”

“When was this?” Joff should have remembered.

“Three nights ago,” Jace said,“You were sleeping.”

Joff curled his hand into a fist and gritted his teeth. He breathed,“What is done is done, Jace. What we need to do now is look to our mother’s war and win it for her. We need you to ride a dragon and lead our hosts, not languish on this bed.”

Jace nodded, though he was unmoving.

“Is there anything else Lord Cregan demanded?” Joff said.

“He wants me to take Sara south when the war is done,” Jace said,“and send our firstborn daughter north, to wed his son.”

“Very well,” Joff said,“You can deal with him when the time comes. But for now, we need him, and we have our uncle to fill our hands. I have already arranged with Lord Cregan that we leave on the morrow. I expect you to be ready then.”

Jace nodded, and then began to rise from his bed. Joff helped him to his feet, and Jace put his lips near Joff’s ear. “I’m sorry, brother,” he whispered.

The next morning dawned with a blinding yellow light searing the sky. “A good omen for our war,” Lord Cregan said as he sent Joff and Jace off in the courtyard. Vermax and Tyraxes were already saddled, and both roared. Joff knew they were eager to leave the northern cold.

A girl stepped forward from behind Lord Cregan. She was as thin as a spear and had a long face, but Joff could admit that she was pretty. Her brown hair framed pale cheeks which shone beneath her glowing grey eyes. She stepped in front of Jace, her hand on her stomach. “Win the war for us, husband,” she said as she stood on her toes and kissed Jace on the lips.

“I will, my lady,” Jace said, but as Sara Snow stepped away, Joff could see that his brother’s eyes were cold.

“I thank you for your hospitality, my lord,” Joff said to Lord Cregan,“Fare thee well.”

“Fare thee well, my princes,” Lord Cregan declared,“May the Old Gods and the New smile upon your journey.” Neither Jace nor Joff looked back as their dragons ascended into the clouds.

Lord Desmond received them again at White Harbour, though this time Joff made certain that when they stayed for the night, Jace slept. Joff asked Lord Desmond about his preparations, and the lord gave him a tour through the docks.

“Twenty warships will be fully crewed and supplied within the moon, my prince,” Lord Desmond said to Joff,“and I will dispatch them to join Lord Corlys’s blockade under the command of my second son Torrhen. My eldest son Medrick will follow with thirty more ships a moon after.”

The old lord introduced Joff to his second son, a burly man with thick brows and beady eyes. He was clad in a velvet doublet lined with golden and silver threads, and wore a silver necklace forged in the shape of a merman. “My sister is due to wed your brother,” Torrhen said as he greeted Joff,“I suppose that makes us brothers.”

“I would be glad to call you brother, my lord,” Joff answered.

The levies were slower to be called in. “Even as my prince has Lord Cregan’s loyalty,” Lord Desmond said,“He will wait until the men, including my own, finish gathering their harvests and march the long road to Winterfell where they will gather. They will not be ready until the next year.”

At the Sept of the Snows, Joff lit a candle to the Stranger again in thanks, but that was not only candle he lit. He lit a candle to the hammer of the Smith and the lamp of the Crone. He was to make things right, and he prayed for the wisdom to do so.

Joff offered to return the furs Lord Desmond had lent them when they journeyed north, but the old lord had refused. He escorted them all the way to the golden merman statue outside the city to bid them farewell, and this time, Joff thought the smile reached his eyes.

Lady Jeyne was colder when she received them again, but she still gave them bread and salt and comfortable lodgings. “I thank you for your hospitality,” Joff said to her,“I do not deserve it after what I last did here, and I had not yet apologized. Though it will not bring back the girl’s hand, I want to say to her that I am sorry.”

“She and her father have already returned to Runestone,” Lady Jeyne answered,“But I share in the guilt. When Jess told you about those unsavory rumours, I meant for her to warn you to steer clear of those in the Vale who believe them. You were to stay here during the war, after all. I should have known that her words would trigger hostility.”

“What is done is done, my lady,” Joff said,“and we must look forward. I hear Aegon is to take my place in the Vale. He is a good and gentle boy. Better than me.”

“We would take good care of him,” Lady Jeyne nodded.

“I trust my lady will, but my mother sent you a dragon for a reason,” Joff said,“How goes the preparations for war?”

“My cousin Joffrey is amassing Vale knights at the Bloody Gate,” Lady Jeyne answered,“Within two moons, ten thousand knights will descend on the Riverlands bearing the quartered banners of the queen. They shall join with Princess Rhaenys at Harrenhal and be poised to march on King’s Landing.”

“You have our thanks, my lady,” Joff said. When Lady Jeyne left their chamber, Joff turned to Jace, rubbing his shoulder to get him to wake. Jace jumped out of his bed, startling Joff so much that he almost tripped over. “It is you, Joff,” Jace said,“You are alive.”

“I am, Jace,” Joff said,“What is it?”

“I had that dream again,” Jace said, his voice becoming quiet,“It has been with me ever since that night at Winterfell. I had it when we flew to White Harbour, when we were in the mermen halls, when we flew here, and just now before you woke me. I was knee-deep in the snow, and you were dead. But tonight I heard children begin to laugh, and you came back to life again.”

“That is right, Jace,” Joff said,“I am alive.”

“I suppose so,” Jace said,“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“On the morrow,” Joff said,“We are to begin our two-day flight back to Dragonstone. But I do not think we should return to Dragonstone.”

“Why not?” Jace asked.

“If we return,” Joff said,“Mother would assuredly confine us to our chambers, worrying that we would kill ourselves. We could then do nothing for the war against the usurper whilst others do what we should have done. So we cannot return to Dragonstone.”

“Alright,” Jace agreed. Joff was bewildered, as he had expected a fight out of Jace. “Where should we go, then?” Jace asked.

“Driftmark,” Joff said,“That is where Grandfather has set up command to direct the blockade of Blackwater Bay. If we want to join the war, then we must join him there.”

“Very well,” Jace said, his voice still quiet.

Joff could take it no longer. He shook Jace,“What is up with you, Jace? Wake yourself, and tell me what I am doing wrong. You are to be the next king.”

Jace pushed Joff’s hand away, and his voice was louder but still sounded far away,“You are doing nothing wrong, Joff. We will ride to Driftmark.”

“Good night, Jace,” Joff gritted his teeth, turning himself away onto his own bed.

The two nights above the Mountains of the Moon were calm and cold, and they only began to feel a warm wind when they saw the dark waters of Blackwater Bay loom before them in a moonlit night with the skies free of stars. Tyraxes roared, the sound disappearing into the empty skies.

They landed in the salt-scented courtyard of High Tide, the castellan Ser Daemon Velaryon welcoming them into their grandfather’s great halls carved of pale stone. Ser Daemon dispatched a swift messenger galley to the Sea Snake, their grandfather’s flagship which patrolled the waters near Driftmark.

In a chamber draped with silks from Yi Ti, jewels from Asshai, and scented with the incense of Ibbenese oil, Joff saw the great white sail of the Sea Snake approach the isle.

Their grandfather heard Joff out in a great stone silence which frightened him. It had never frightened Jace before, but this time he did not speak.

At last, when Joff had finished, Grandfather spoke: “So you boys wish to join the war.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” Joff said,“Our dragons will be of very much use to aid Father to protect your blockade. Father is, in the end, one dragon, and should the usurper attack with all three of his, Father would need help.”

“Prince Daemon is a warrior,” Grandfather answered,“He has fought a war more savage than this conflict has ever been, and knows how to survive one. But you both are boys, green and unready. I supported you when you rode north, but there you were meant to be emissaries, not soldiers. If it were up to me, I will not allow you to join the war.”

Joff looked to Jace, who shrugged. “Grandfather is right,” Jace said,“We are too young to fight.”

“Do not think to trick me with that obedience, Prince Jacaerys,” Grandfather said,“and ride off on your dragon to join the war. My men are watching Vermax and Tyraxes, and both of you will stay here whilst I dispatch a raven to Dragonstone and ask your mother what to do with the two of you.” He smiled,“It may be that she wants you to join the war, in which I will allow you to join me here on Driftmark.”

“But she will not allow us,” Joff said.

“If that is her wish,” Grandfather answered,“I will send you both home.”

Chapter Text

“So we have another dragon,” Alicent said to her father.

“I would be pleased if they would stop spawning,” Ser Otto said,“Your children are enough trouble as it is.”

“Aegon will make a good king,” Alicent said,“Stronger than his father.”

“And wiser than his mother, I must hope,” Ser Otto said,“Have you been blind to what your good son has been doing of late?”

“He is doing the duties of a king,” Alicent said,“Making a progress of the city’s defenses, and inspiring the men.”

“He has called a council of the Iron Throne to deal judgment to the traitor lords in the black cells,” Ser Otto said,“Without consulting me, his Hand. He has forgotten that it is Hightower men who guard those cells.”

“Aegon is a king,” Alicent said,“His will does not need to be checked by any man. He is wise to call up the traitors from the black cells and offer them a choice between the true king and the sword. We would have had to deal with those traitors anyway.”

“I should not have allowed your son the merriment of that one night,” Ser Otto said,“where he ordered us around like dogs. He has forgotten himself, forgotten that he is still not learned in the ways of kingship and needs guidance.”

“If anything, he proved that he could be a king that night,” Alicent said,“Only a true king could look and act like a dragon, and blind Aemond and Helaena from our true peace.”

 “That peace,” Ser Otto spat,”I had not objected to it yet for hopes that you would come to your own senses, but I have never seen a greater folly than this peace you proposed to Aegon.  Have you forgotten that Aemond and Helaena ride two dragons? You have cut off Aegon’s two hands. If I were Rhaenyra, why would I share power with Aegon when I can fly across the Narrow Sea with six dragons and take the crown for my own?”

“Aegon’s hands had already been cut off before Orwyle set sail,” Alicent snarled,“It is only a matter of time before Aemond would have usurped Aegon’s crown. If you feared Prince Daemon coming unto the Iron Throne, I promise you that Aemond is worse. I know him. I am his mother.”

“You do not act like his mother,” Ser Otto said,“Perhaps if you did, he would not be the man he is today.”

“You know nothing of being a mother,” Alicent said.

Her father sealed his lips, knowing not to risk Alicent’s last card, that of her own mother. Truthfully, her father had made her doubt the merit of this peace, but she could not show that to him.   

“The arrow has been loosed,” Alicent said,“and we cannot take the peace back, so we must watch the arrow and see where it lands. And I was not as careless as you thought, Father. There is a reason our men did not arrest Aemond and Helaena that night. It was to provide Rhaenyra with a semblance of our unity so as to make her consider the peace. You know Prince Daemon. He is a two-time widower, and Rhaenyra does not love him any more than we do. It was a marriage made for his dragon, and we can offer a better one.”

Ser Otto curled his hand into a fist,“Very well, but your son has yet to prove himself the better dragon. He looks to make himself a worse one with this debacle of the Iron Throne council. Aegon has not sat even one seat of judgment during his father’s reign, and now he seeks to judge traitors.”

“That was the work of the black council,” Alicent said,“Plotting to turn Rhaenyra into a queen. But King Viserys turned his heart to his rightful heir in the last days of his reign, and raised Aegon to be a true king.”

“You need not spew those lies with me, Alicent,” her father said,“We both know the mettle of your son. Be honest with me, so we can keep him on his seat.”

Alicent looked about the chamber. Even though it might be empty, they are always ears in the Red Keep.

“Ear or no ear, it makes no matter,” Ser Otto said,“Even if there is anyone listening, you can always say that they lie. And in this city, the word of the Dowager Queen is supreme.”

“Aegon will be sitting on the Iron Throne,” Alicent said,“whilst the prisoners will be brought forth at its feet. The prisoners will be hard of hearing after days in the black cells, and it is unfitting for a king to descend the throne to suit them. All the judgment will thus be done at the Iron Throne’s feet by the Hand who speaks with the king’s voice.”

“That is good, daughter,” Ser Otto said,“And I trust that you will be there with Aegon on top of the Iron Throne, standing at his side.”

“I will,” Alicent gritted her teeth.

“Then make certain he listens to what I say,” Ser Otto said,“and perhaps in several years, he will be fit to make his own councils.” He ran his hand along a quill on his table and looked at the empty parchment beneath him,“Now, what was the king’s reason for holding this council?”

“To celebrate the birth of Prince Maelor’s dragon,” Alicent said,“He is moved to mercy, giving the traitors in the black cells a chance to redeem themselves of their crimes and swear to the true king.”

“Very well,” Ser Otto dipped his quill in black ink and began writing on his parchment,“You may go now, Your Grace. That is all I shall need of you.”

Alicent rose with a huff, her green gown scratching on the chair. Ser Laith Honeys held the door for her, and she exited with a muttered curse.

She found her brother waiting in her chamber. Gwayne stood near the closed velvet curtain, which dimmed the evening sunlight that shone on his mousy brown hair. He wringed his hands as he paced before the curtain, his gold cloak scratching on the carpet. Alicent thought the gold cloak looked hideous on him.

“Alys,” his narrow brown eyes rose to meet hers. They were her father’s eyes,“You’re back.”

Alicent walked to her table and poured two drinks. She offered one to Gwayne, but he waved it away. “Has Orwyle returned?” she asked while sipping the sweet Arbour gold.

Gwayne shook his head,“It is too late in the day for the whole royal mission to enter the gates, so Orwyle is staying the night in an inn outside the city. But I thought you wanted a report on our mission to Dragonstone immediately after we return.”

“Who let you in through the gate?” Alicent asked.

“A lowborn City Watch serjeant with a harelip,” Gwayne answered,“I am certain he did not recognize me. I put away my cloak and surcoat and passed for a guard of a merchant caravan.”

Alicent nodded,“What was Rhaenyra’s answer to our peace?”

“We never met her,” Gwayne answered,“Prince Daemon received us, saying that the queen was ill with the birthing sickness after her daughter died stillborn.”

Alicent was in truth grateful that the peace had not gone through,“So we have one less dragon. That is good. I presume, though, that your mission went unaccomplished?”

“No,” Gwayne shook his head in a hurry,“Though we were unable to deliver the peace terms to Rhaenyra herself, her maester Gerardys arranged for a secret meeting with Orwyle in the Dragonstone stables. There, Orwyle was able to deliver the terms to Maester Gerardys, who promised to relay them to Rhaenyra.”

Seven Hells, Alicent took another swig of her wine, the taste bitter on her tongue as her eyes fell to the carpet. She turned back to Gwayne,“Have you told Father about this?”

“No,” Gwayne shook his head again,“You told me to come to you first.”

Alicent looked in Gwayne’s eyes, and saw that his words were the truth. He had all his father’s looks, and none of his cunning. Good, she could still salvage this. “You said that Prince Daemon received you, and not the queen.”

“Aye, Alys,” Gwayne answered.

“And the maester went behind Prince Daemon’s back to receive our peace?” Alicent asked.

Gwayne’s eyes began to wander, and even he realized what was transpiring on Dragonstone,“Rhaenyra is not of one heart with Prince Daemon.” He nodded as he turned back to Alicent,“Of course that was it. We heard from Ser Robert Quince that Lucerys Strong had been confined to his chambers to heal. I think that is not a willing confinement.”

“If Rhaenyra has already split with her husband,” Alicent said,“We need not make our peace with her. Dragonstone is weak. Princess Rhaenys is in Harrenhal, and two of the Strongs are in the North. The third Strong and Rhaenyra are confined to their bed, which means that the only dragon of fighting size on Dragonstone is Caraxes. We only need to ride the king’s dragons across Blackwater Bay and destroy the traitors. All the traitors.”

“I do not think that will work, Alys,” Gwayne said.

“You are too careful, Gwayne,” Alicent answered. Too craven. “Sure strokes will win wars nine times out of ten.”

“I do not mean that I fear Caraxes,” Gwayne said, wringing his hands again,“It is that Dragonstone is not weak. Prince Daemon is not the only rider.”

“Lady Baela’s Moondancer and Prince Aegon’s Stormcloud are too young to be any worth to Prince Daemon,” Alicent said.

“I do not mean them,” Gwayne took a step towards Alicent,“There are rumours that Jacaerys and Joffrey Strong have returned to Driftmark under the cover of the night and are hiding there. But they are not the most dangerous dragons. All throughout our visit, we were seeing dragons soaring above the Dragonmont. Even from the towers of Dragonstone, we could hear screams brought downwind from the mountain.”

“Wild dragons,” Alicent said.

“Not anymore,” Gwayne said,“When we arrived at Dragonstone, a woman at the docks told us that Prince Daemon had sent out a call for dragonriders to tame those wild dragons, and her two sons had gone to answer the call. By the time we departed Dragonstone, at least two dragons had already been tamed.”

“Which two dragons?” Alicent demanded.

“The Old King’s Vermithor,” Gwayne answered,“and the Good Queen’s Silverwing. We saw them in the courtyard with their riders. They had been tamed by two Dragonstone guards who claimed to be bastard descendants of House Targaryen.” He drew so close to her that she could smell his breath,“But that is just what we saw. Mayhaps all six of those wild dragons have been tamed, and your peace is our only hope.”

Chapter Text

“I swear on the Seven,” Rhaena said to her father as a dragon roared outside,“that a game of cyvasse was all I played with the queen.”

“Is that true?” Prince Daemon turned to Ser Steffon,“Is that all my daughter did in Sea Dragon Tower?”

“It is, Prince Regent,” Ser Steffon answered,“Your daughter is quite a wise hand at the game. She beat the queen before the moon even rose.”

“Ser Robert,” Prince Daemon called,“Did my daughter go to see her betrothed last night?”

“No,” the burly guardsman answered,“Though the prince was pacing about his chamber all last night, demanding of me and Caswan to see his mother. I wonder if it might be prudent to give him his wish for one moment. Such wandering would hurt him more than a journey to Sea Dragon Tower.”

“I shall deal with him later,” Prince Daemon said,“For now, there is the matter of my daughter.” He turned then to the steward Devan who had been Gerardys’s assistant,“Did my daughter come to you last night to release any ravens?”

The steward took two tiny steps forward and shook his head,“N-No, Prince Regent. M-my prince can check the ravens. There is the same number there was last night.”

Prince Daemon looked unconvinced. He turned to Ser Emeric Sunglass, a knight with seven gold stars carved on his breastplate,“Your men were patrolling the walls last night. Were there any ravens that flew from the ravenry?”

“A raven’s wing is the same black as the night sky,” Ser Emeric answered,“and if there was, we would not have seen it.”

Prince Daemon turned back to the steward, and the steward took two steps back. Rhaena began to feel a chill crawl down the tip of her back, even as she knew that she did nothing last night. Then, Rhaena saw her father laugh,“My apologies. It is most like to be an old man’s fear. I will go count the ravens this morning, and Devan, make certain that all requests to send ravens must go through me.”

“Aye, Prince Regent,” the steward said, and hurried out the chamber when Prince Daemon waved his hand.

“Ser Robert,” Prince Daemon said,“Return to your duties. Prince Lucerys is still ill, so make certain that no one disturbs his rest.”

“Aye, Prince Regent,” the guardsman knelt and left the room.

Prince Daemon turned to Rhaena,“I am sorry, daughter, but these days after my brother’s death are troubling times. I worry how visitors would harm the health of my wife. But I hear that she was getting haler after your visit.”

Rhaena nodded, not knowing what her father wanted to hear.

Her father nodded, smiling,“That is good, and I have no doubt that you had helped heal her. I trust that she shall be well enough for the victory feast in three days’ time.”

“A victory feast?” Rhaena asked.

“Aye,” her father answered,“Princess Rhaenys has won the war’s first battles in the Riverlands. Lord Dalton Greyjoy has all but declared for Her Grace as he raids the traitor Westerland coasts. We have received ravens from the Eyrie and Winterfell, and Prince Jacaerys and Joffrey have swayed the Vale and the North in support of the queen. Such victories warrant a celebration, don’t you think?”

“Who will be attending?” Rhaena asked.

“The queen will invite Princess Rhaenys and her husband,” Prince Daemon said,“The victorious princes Jacaerys and Joffrey, who had returned to Driftmark a fortnight ago, shall also be toasted. I trust that Her Grace and Prince Lucerys will be well enough to greet them at the feast. Ser Alfred has reported to me last night that all the welcome is in order.”

“It shall be splendid,” Rhaena said, though her father’s wry smile made the chill in her spine even colder.

“That it shall be,” her father agreed,“but a feast is not all the splendor we shall show the queen.”

“What else?” Rhaena asked.

 “Before dear Prince Jacaerys flew for the north,” her father answered,“he confided in me a plan and asked if it was feasible. There were wild dragons in the Dragonmont, and any of them could match the usurper’s beasts. ‘If we could find men to tame those beasts,’ Prince Jacaerys had said,‘the war will be won.’ I believe he was right.”

“Did you have men try and mount those dragons?” Rhaena was in disbelief.

“The men tried,” Prince Daemon answered,“I did not force them. I only put out a call, and allowed them in the Dragonmont. Many tried, claiming to be bastards of dragonlords, but only four succeeded. The master-of-arms Ser Humfrey Lark gave his life trying to mount Vermithor, but Hard Hugh Waters, our master-of-horse, had more luck. I believe you would be amused to know that our fool Mushroom tried to mount Silverwing, but we had a burning dwarf in answer.”

“Is Mushroom dead?” Rhaena asked. She berated herself for hoping that he was.

“No,” Prince Daemon asked,“The dwarf has far too much fortune for that. He dipped himself in the pool outside Silverwing’s cave. Others were not so fortunate. It was one of the men-at-arms, Ulf Waters, who tamed Silverwing.”

“Who were the other two riders?” Rhaena asked.

“A bastard boy from the docks claimed Seasmoke,” Prince Daemon said,“I believe her mother said she was the bastard son of Ser Laenor. But we all know what Ser Laenor was like. If anything, I think he’s the Sea Snake’s own spawn. The last rider was a girl. I believe she dragged a sheep before Sheepstealer every night to slowly warm the dragon to her. Clever.”

I should have been the one to do that, Rhaena thought. “Why was I not told about this?” She had heard dragons flying and roaring above the Dragonmont all last fortnight, but that was what they had always done. Rhaena would not have needed to watch her own egg in the fire if she knew she could tame a dragon.

“Perhaps you were too busy begging the queen to marry you to Jace,” Prince Daemon said.

He knows, the chill seemed to be eating away at Rhaena’s spine. She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out.

“Why?” her father asked,“What Rhaenyra could give you I could give you a hundredfold. I will tell you now, our dear Prince Jacaerys will not be king. He is a good and clever boy, that is true, but I will not allow a Strong to sit the Iron Throne.”

“But Baela was to marry him,” Rhaena managed. She looked around, and for the first time, she did not see Baela at her father’s side.

“Her brother Aegon is of much purer blood,” Prince Daemon said,“and will make a much better husband.”

“That victory feast is not truly a feast,” Rhaena said.

“It is, of a sort,” her father said,“A feast for maggots and a feast for crows. There are still men grumpy that they did not have the chance to tame a dragon, those men who could not find Grey Ghost or were too craven to face the Cannibal. I can give them four more chances.”

“Baela spoke against it,” Rhaena said,“That is why she is not here.”

“You are a clever girl,” her father said,“Let us see if you are cleverer. Will you speak against it?”

Rhaena looked into her father’s eyes, and she shook her head. She was the clever girl.

“I am glad that one of my daughters sees wisdom,” her father smiled,“I told you, what Rhaenyra can offer you I can offer you a hundredfold. Baela spurned Aegon, but what say you?”

“I will marry him,” Rhaena said.

“You shall make a fine queen,” her father kissed her on the cheek, but his lips were cold. He drew away and looked her in the eyes,“I have one more favour to ask of you.”

“What is it, father?” she asked, her lips stiff.

“You have Rhaenyra’s trust,” her father said,“Ask her to write two letters to Driftmark and Harrenhal, summoning her sons, Lord Corlys, and Princess Rhaenys for the feast.”

Rhaena could only nod. Her throat was empty.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were unreadable as she heard Rhaena’s plea,“A feast, when only half the realm is ours. I will only have a feast when the usurper himself comes begging on his knees for my mercy.”

“It is Father’s will,” Rhaena said,“He wants to inspire the troops for further victories.”

“Your Father’s will,” Rhaenyra said, her voice quiet as her eyes glimmered,“What does he want me to do?”

“To write letters of invitation to your sons, Lord Corlys, and Princess Rhaenys,” Rhaena said,“It is my hope that they will help cure your illness.”

Rhaenyra watched her for a moment. “It would please me if we had another game of cyvasse,” Rhaenyra said at long last,“I trust that you would still take my king.”

“No,” Rhaena snapped before she could think about it,“I don’t want it.” I don’t want any of it. “My apologies,” she said,“Please, Your Grace, keep your heart on the letter. It is very important. Remember that it is Father’s will.”

Rhaenyra studied Rhaena for a long moment, then gestured for Ser Lorent Marbrand, who was her Queensguard that day,“Bring me quill and parchment.”

There was a dark place in the ravenry where no one thought to look. Baela had showed Rhaena that place when they were girls, and Rhaena hid there as she read the letters. Her father had already read them, and told her that they were ready to be sent on the ravens. Rhaenyra had written nothing that would alert her father. Her father was right. The queen had trusted Rhaena.

A little face dangled before her, and Rhaena almost screamed. Then, she saw that it was her sister’s monkey Egg, his tail hanging from the ceiling as he held out to Rhaena a quill dipped in ink.

As Rhaena watched Daven release the ravens into the west, all she could think of were those hasty bleeding words she had scribbled at the end of each letter. Do not come.

Chapter Text

Tyland stood at the feet of the Iron Throne.

A thousand swords lay a foot to his left, each one threatening to drop its sharp edge into his skull. Even as he tried not to look at it, he could feel the cold of their blades which seemed to reach out and pierce his heart. He did not know how a king could bear to sit on that throne of spikes. The Targaryens were mad, and perhaps that was why they could stand before dragons and feel no fear. Yet Tyland had no want of dragons, nor that of thrones. He was content to stand at the Iron Throne’s feet, and he would still look down.

“Lord Aron Butterwell,” the king’s herald announced, a young boy with golden hair like Tyland but a voice far louder. Two of the Red Keep guards escorted Butterwell into the throne room. The chains clattered on the lord’s feet as he walked past nobles and knights who gave him empty stares. The guards forced Butterwell to his knees before the Iron Throne, and Lord Jasper stepped forward.

“Lord Aron of House Butterwell,” Lord Jasper unfurled a scroll and pronounced,“You stand charged of high treason by the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, of which the punishment is execution of the offender by the King’s Justice, the stripping of a quarter of the offender’s lands and titles to be granted to loyal men, and a summary fine of a thousand golden dragons.”   

“But to celebrate the birth of his son’s dragon,” Ser Otto declared,“The king has seen fit to offer his mercy. On one condition: that my lord Butterwell renounce the traitor Rhaenyra and swear an oath of obeisance to the one true king.”

Butterwell raised his head, his hair matted and his face thin and haggard,“Forgive me, Your Grace. I shall swear.”

Tyland heard a sharp clatter, and looked up onto the Iron Throne. Aegon rose, his black armour clattering against the iron swords. Yet Queen Alicent, who stood by Aegon’s side atop the throne, whispered in Aegon’s ear, and he seemed to scrunch his lips as he sat back down.

“Repeat after me,” Ser Otto said to Butterwell,“I renounce the traitor Rhaenyra and her false claim to the Iron Throne, and I offer my services to King Aegon. I will shield his back and keep his counsel and give my life for his if need be. I swear it by the Seven Who Are One.”

“I renounce the traitor Rhaenyra and her false claim to the Iron Throne,” Butterwell said,“and I offer my services to King Aegon. I will shield his back and keep his counsel and give my life for his if need be. I swear it by the Seven Who Are One.”

“And King Aegon vows,” Ser Otto said,“that you shall always have a place by his hearth, and meat and mead at his table. And he pledges to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. He swears it by the Seven Who Are One.”

The guards escorted Butterwell out the side door, but Tyland’s eyes were on the king upon the Iron Throne. His face was still, but Tyland could see it turn from red to purple as his fist curled about the hilt of an Iron Throne sword. He would be fortunate if he did not cut himself. Tyland heard the young prince’s dragon Shrykos roar. Only the young prince and princess of the royal house attended court today. Queen Helaena was with Prince Maelor as they nursed Prince Maelor’s newborn dragon, and Prince Aemond has not been seen ever since the king found him in a brothel. Tyland was glad for Prince Aemond’s absence, for one angry dragon was better than two.

Ser Otto had arranged for the lords who had accepted fealty in the dungeons to come first, and the lords that came after Butterwell swore to Aegon as silence reigned atop the Iron Throne. Lord Kyle Buckler, Lord Garlan Caswell, and Lady Shireen Fell all bent their knees and swore to be Aegon’s true men. Rosby and Stokeworth hesitated before swearing to the king, but they said the words that they were bid when they glimpsed the glistening axe of the King’s Justice.

“Lord Lorent Hayford,” the herald declared. As Hayford was brought forth, he spat at the men he passed, and Tyland saw a lord whose sigil was a silver spoon wipe away at the spittle and spit a curse back. Hayford would not go to his knees before Ser Otto.

“The only treason I see here is you, traitor,” Hayford sneered at Ser Otto when Lord Jasper pronounced his crime. He spat in Ser Otto’s face, and the old lord stepped back as he wiped away at the spittle.

 “Let me speak to the usurper,” Hayford snarled,“not the Hightower dog he hides behind.”

Tyland saw Aegon rise again, but Ser Otto put up another hand,“There is no need to descend the throne for the likes of traitors, Your Grace.” Queen Alicent set Aegon down again.

“Ser Graven,” Ser Otto called, and the King’s Justice stepped forward. He was a large man hailing from the Stormlands, and had served for a decade beneath King Viserys.

The guards dragged Hayford outside into the Red Keep’s yard, and the King’s Justice followed. The throne room saw the axe rise and fall and a flash of blood. A guard returned, holding Hayford’s head by the hair and showing it to the throne room, before he gave it to servants who would dip it in tar and mount it on one of the Red Keep’s spikes.

Hayford was a good man, Tyland knew, but too stubborn. Men like him and old lord Lyman could only end with a tarred head and a name tied with treason. Those who do not ride dragons should not fight in a dragon’s war.

The prisoners that the guards then escorted up, Merryweather and Harte, were men of the same mettle as Hayford, good men who did not know how to dance with dragons, and their heads joined Hayford’s on Aegon’s spikes. Landed knights and the lord’s servants and retainers were then called up. Most chose to swear to the king, but three were too loyal to Rhaenyra and the King’s Justice took their heads.

Septon Eustace closed the day,“We are blessed by the wise judgment of King Aegon of the House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. May the light of the Seven guide us in these days of treason and despair. The day is done.”

The Seven Kingsguard drew their swords, and cheered,“Long live the king. Long live the king.” The throne room echoed their chant, and Tyland opened his lips to do the same: “Long live the king.” The words came out loud, but Tyland could not hear it. He instead looked atop the Iron Throne, where he saw Aegon rise a third time with no pleasure on his face, setting his mother’s hand off his shoulder as he descended the steps with his black armour ringing against the swords.

Aegon walked straight to Tyland,“My lord. Would you join me in Maegor’s Holdfast? I have need of your wisdom.”

“I am at Your Grace’s service,” Tyland answered.

“Orwyle is not yet back from his mission, so his assistant Cadmus manages the ravens at the moment,” Aegon confided to Tyland in an empty apartment in Maegor’s Holdfast. A tapestry of a black-haired lord wedding a silver-haired lady decorated the wall behind Aegon, and the curtains of the apartment were golden. Ser Criston and Ser Arryk stood behind the king with their eyes on Tyland and their hands on their hilts.

“Has Maester Cadmus received any ravens of note?” Tyland asked.

“Yes,” Aegon answered,“Two, in fact. Three days ago, Cadmus received a raven from Casterly Rock.”

“What did my brother say?” Tyland asked.

“That he swears his fealty to me as his one true king,” Aegon said,“to be sealed by the marriage of his eldest daughter Cerelle to my brother Daeron.”

“I promised that my brother would be true,” Tyland said.

“And he was,” Aegon said,“But his was not the only letter which arrived. We received another letter this morning from Lady Alayne Ashford, mother of Lord Lyonel Tyrell, and she has promised me the hundred thousand swords of the Reach, to be sealed with the marriage of Lord Lyonel to my daughter Jaehaera.”

It was her lords who rose for Aegon that in truth that swayed Lady Alayne, Tyland knew, Rowan and Caswell and Peake,  but a betrothal sped matters along. “These are glad tidings, Your Grace,” Tyland said.

“Aye,” Aegon answered,“and they are your work. You have my gratitude, Ser Tyland. If there is anything you wish that is within my power, speak it now, and I shall grant it.”

Tyland considered what to say. He wanted nothing more than he had, but the king needed to have what he wanted. The king needed to have power over him to trust that he was loyal.

“I sent a quarter of the Crown’s gold to Casterly Rock,” Tyland said,“Could a portion remain there after the war?”

“How large of a portion?” Aegon asked.

“Would a tenth be agreeable to Your Grace?” Tyland asked.

“Done,” Aegon said. He smiled,“The betrothals are only half the work, Ser Tyland. There are still the weddings. Ser Otto will bring up the matter at the next Small Council, but I want to prepare the matter beforehands. Daeron rides a dragon and will be invaluable to the war, so his wedding will be put off until the war’s end. So the council will discuss my daughter. She and Lord Lyonel are both too young, but I plan to send Jaehaera with Ser Willis to Highgarden. Lady Alayne will be expecting a dowry to come with Jaehaera. I want to know, Ser Tyland, how much can the Crown afford?”

“I assure Your Grace that the Crown’s treasury can withstand any such expense,” Tyland said,“but I do not think they need be touched. By law, Your Grace would receive a fine from the houses of each of the executed lords. Merryweather’s Longtable is too far, but Your Grace could confiscate gold from Harte and Hayford’s holdfasts near King’s Landing to be your daughter’s dowry.”

“I may have killed the lords,” Aegon said,“But I still need their sons to fight for me. I plan to annul the other punishments of their father’s treason as an act of mercy, so you cannot use their gold.”

“Then the treasury shall provide,” Ser Tyland said,“We serve the king’s wishes, after all.”

“Are you certain you serve only the king?” Aegon said.

“I am,” Tyland said,“I swear on my honour and the Seven Above.”

Aegon nodded as he stood. He stepped aside, pointing at the black-haired man in the tapestry behind him,“Do you know who this lord is?”

Tyland looked more closely,“That scene is the Golden Wedding. The man is Lord Rogar Baratheon.”

“Who married Queen Alyssa, King Jaehaerys’s mother,” Aegon said,“Lord Rogar was Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm. Some even say King Jaehaerys called him Father.” “But he was not a dragon,” Aegon looked at Tyland,“and when he tried to overthrow Jaehaerys, he was overthrown.” Aegon smile remained on his face as he walked to the door. “He had a happy end, though,” Aegon turned back before he departed the chamber,“for in the end, he swore to the dragon.”   

But all Tyland heard boomed in the king’s steps: Remember who you should be loyal to.

Chapter Text

“Where is Maester Gerardys?” Luke demanded as Rhaena entered his chamber.

“He is in the dungeons,” Rhaena answered, her hand holding a silver cup as her bright violet eyes gazed at him. Luke knew the malice behind those eyes.

“Your father’s work, right?” Luke laughed,“He has not found it savory enough to imprison queens and princes, so now he must turn to maesters.”

Caswan stepped in through the door, one hand pulling Rhaena behind her whilst his other hand tightened on his hilt.

“There is no need, Caswan,” Rhaena took the sellsword’s hand off her,“It is just Luke’s eye which is frustrating him. He will not hurt me. Besides, I have Ser Harrold with me.”

“As you will, my princess,” Caswan nodded, then stepped back outside the door.

He will not hurt me, Luke thought, I will make you see the truth of that. But his gaze fell on Ser Harrold, who stood behind Rhaena with a sword and stern blue eyes. He swallowed the words on his tongue.

“Maester Gerardys was plotting with the green traitors,” Rhaena said,“and faces execution. Father does not want to stain the coming feast with blood, so the maester’s execution shall happen after.”

“What feast?” Luke asked.

“A victory feast,” Rhaena answered,“to celebrate the victories of Princess Rhaenys, Prince Jacaerys, and Prince Joffrey against the traitors. They and Lord Corlys are invited, and Father will be expecting you and the queen to attend.”

Why? Luke’s head spun, and his empty socket ached. He had long thought about why Prince Daemon’s guard had dared to draw steel against a prince. The guard would never do so if he would be let out. The guard would never do so if his mother would be let out. Luke knew the one reason why the prince would let him attend the feast.

His heart dropped, as the fire went out of him.

“Kill me now, then,” Luke said to Rhaena after a long moment,“Have your knight draw his sword right now and cut my throat. I do not want to see my brothers knowing only that they will die. Tell your father that you were right. My eye was torturing me, and you put me out of my misery.”

“You will not die today, Luke,” Rhaena answered.

“Why not?” Luke laughed again,“You make it obvious that you hate me and this whole damned betrothal. Your father has surely promised you a much better match. My brother Aegon, perhaps. He will be the next Prince of Dragonstone when we three Velaryons are dead. Why not rid yourself of me right now, if that is what you intend in the end.”

Rhaena stepped close to him, her eyes seeming to brim with tears. Luke knew that it was all false. “That is not what I intend,” she said as a tear began to roll down her cheek. A crash made Luke step back, and he saw that Rhaena had dropped her cup. He heard almost instantly swords singing from their sheaths. Blood sprayed beyond the door, and two bodies fell down. “That is not what I intend,” Rhaena echoed,“Go, Luke.”

Her words did not bring Luke out of his daze, and he felt Ser Harrold’s arm pull on him. As he exited the chamber, he saw the bodies were those of Caswan and Ser Robert Quince, two old men-at-arms cleaning their swords on the fallen men’s cloaks. He at last understood what Rhaena did.

“Rhaena,” he looked back,“Thank you.”

“Go,” Rhaena said,“And please remember, Luke. It was just our father. Me and Baela had no part in it.”

Luke nodded, and felt Ser Harrold pulling his arm again. “We need to free my mother as well,” Luke said.

“She is under too heavy a guard,” Ser Harrold answered,“Besides, your father did not intend to kill your mother at the feast. He still needs her claim.” The knight left Luke at the bend in the corridor,“I must escort Lady Rhaena back to her chambers. Her father must not know that it was her. I trust you know the way to the Dragonmont and your dragon. Ride to Driftmark. Your brothers are there.”

“I will,” Luke answered,“My mother will remember your service, Ser Harrold.”

“Get out first,” Ser Harrold snarled, then turned away and disappeared around the bend.

Luke knew the way, knew the shadows where he and his brothers had hid from the servants when they snuck out at night to fly. Three times he ran across guards, and each time he knew the shadows where they never looked. He was halfway to the stables to mount a horse for the Dragonmont when the bells rang.

The bells echoed through the stone halls, and all Luke thought was that the castle knew that he was missing. His heart beat faster, and his breaths were so quick that he thought that someone must have heard him. Both his heart and breath stopped when he watched, outside the window, a blood-red dragon rise from the yard to fly to the Dragonmont. Prince Daemon knew where Luke was going.

He bit his lip, and sat down with the wall at his back. The hard stone cut into him, but he ignored the pain. He watched the skies, wishing that his eye would see the blood-red dragon fly back. It never did. His head fell and he was about to close his eye when he saw light yellow scales ripple in the yard below.

Mother’s dragon, he thought, There was no one riding Syrax. He launched himself to his feet, and ran down the path down to Daenys’s Yard. He knew that way even better than he knew the way to the stables.

The yard was empty but for several dragons, those wild dragons which had been tamed. Luke knew that none of them would accept him. Both Vermithor and Silverwing folded their wings against him, and Seasmoke bared his fangs. Only Syrax, and he had ridden her before, of a sort. Mother told him that when he was a babe, she cradled him in her arms and took him into the skies on her dragon. He did not remember that ride, but he hoped that Syrax did.

Luke turned to Syrax, the golden dragon snarling as she met his eyes. He reached out a hand to touch her snout, and she roared in his face. Luke gritted his teeth and did not shake. The roar died, and the dragon stilled until Luke touched her snout.

“Loose,” Luke heard behind him, and his heart froze as an arrow whizzed past his head and planted itself in Syrax’s scales. The dragon roared, and Luke looked back. His breath caught in his throat as he saw a line of archers arrayed on a balcony overlooking the yard with their bows drawn at him.

“The rest of you. Loose,” the shout came from Lapel, who stood at the head of the arches. None of the remaining archers let go, and Luke could see that their hands were shaking.

“Loose, I command you,” Lapel shouted again.

This time, an old men-at-arms lowered his bow and turned to Lapel. “I am sorry, my captain,” the man-at-arms threw down his bow,“I will not attack the prince.”

Lapel drew his dagger and plunged it into the men-at-arms’s stomach. Luke’s blood thawed, and he ran to hide behind Syrax’s wing. “Loose,” he heard again, and this time a shower of arrows thudded against Syrax’s scales. He heard the dragon roar, and there was a flash of red.

A long moment passed without another hail of arrows, and Luke dared to peek above Syrax’s wings. The grey stones of the balcony were black. All the archers were gone, as was Lapel. “Thank you,” Luke said to Syrax,“Let us ride.”

“Do not be so hasty, my prince,” Luke heard.

Luke looked up to see a man walking forth from behind Vermithor’s bronze wing. The man was as tall as Luke with his chest twice as thick. Luke knew him,“Hugh.”

“My prince,” Hugh said,“I see here that you have grown tired of your own dragon. Mayhaps Arrax was too small for you.”

Luke watched as another man emerged from behind Silverwing’s wing, a thin man with matted white hair and a wry smirk. He said nothing, nodding to Luke.

A boy Jace’s age rose from behind Seasmoke’s wing. He did not look like Jace, though, having a sharp nose and smooth silver hair. “Brother,” the boy greeted. Luke stepped away from him.

Luke’s heart dropped again. He remembered that the three dragons were here because they were tamed.

“Hugh,” Luke turned to the giant man, trying to not see the hammer in his fingers,“You were my mother’s master-of-horse.”

“I was,” Hugh said,“but the steeds your mother had me learn to handle were much more fierce. It was all worth it in the end, for the Seven have seen to bless me with the Old King’s beast.” He smiled as he looked to Vermithor.

“Then you should remember my mother,” Luke said,“and fight for her against Prince Daemon who has betrayed her. Let me go.”

“The problem, my prince,” Hugh said,“is that Prince Daemon has offered us three knighthoods and lordships should we follow him. “To me here he has offered Rosby.” “To Ulf there,” Hugh pointed at the man in front of Silverwing,“He has offered Stokeworth.” “And to Addam there,” Hugh pointed at the boy standing before Seasmoke,“He has offered Driftmark. Did you know that Addam is your brother, a bastard son of the late Ser Laenor?”

Luke did not care if the boy was his brother. Bastards were treacherous by nature.

His heart began to beat faster. Perhaps he could use that. “I can offer you better,” Luke said.

“Then tell us,” Hugh said,“We’re listening.”

“I can offer you Storm’s End, Hugh,” Luke said, then turned,“Ulf, I can offer you Oldtown.” He turned lastly to his supposed brother.

“I am content with Driftmark, brother,” the boy said,“You need not offer me more to remain loyal to my own house.”

“Will you stay true to the queen?” Luke turned back to Hugh.

Hugh’s smile died as he turned to Ulf, and Ulf nodded. The master-of-horse turned back to Luke,“We accept your offer, Your Grace.” He looked at his dragon,“It seems that we have overstayed our welcome at Dragonstone. Would Your Grace allow us to ride with you?”

“Certainly,” Luke said, his mind spinning as he realized what he had just offered to these bastards. He could not take it back, for they had dragons and were riding with him to Driftmark. He held onto the fact that they would support Mother against Prince Daemon, though Luke did not know if that was a worthy price.

Luke turned back to Syrax, untethering her from the statue of Lord Aenar and mounting her with three quick jumps. The dragon shook for a brief moment beneath him, and she settled at last under her rider. He clenched his legs, and readied her to fly.

“Remember your chains,” Luke heard, and he looked up to see that boy Addam, who was sitting atop Seasmoke, chained to his saddle. Luke nodded to him, thankful, and fastened the chains on Syrax’s saddle to his own belt.

He leaned down onto Syrax’s neck and clenched his legs. The dragon shot up into the skies, the chains catching as Luke jerked back. He almost let go of his reins as Syrax thrashed, but in the end he clenched his fists and brought himself back to Syrax’s neck as she climbed into the clouds above Dragonstone. He breathed, and heard the sound of wings behind him.

Chapter Text

Alicent watched Sunfyre soar in the sky.

Sunlight dappled the dragon’s golden scales, shining through its pale pink wings. It lapped the towers above the Gate of the Gods, Septon Eustace having proclaiming the dragon the Seven’s blessing. Alicent was inclined to believe him, for it was Aegon who rode the dragon.

She could still Aegon, a black speck on the golden dragon. He had chosen to send off his daughter on dragonback.

Alicent looked down upon the Gate of the Gods, watching as her granddaughter’s procession organized beneath the open gates. A hundred knights and a Kingsguard would accompany Princess Jaehaera, with two times as many men-at-arms. The last years of King Viserys’s reign had been peaceful years, but the road to Highgarden was a long road.

She looked to the princess’s wheelhouse, a magnificent carriage made of oak and redwood, covered by green and gold curtains which shimmered in the sun. The wheelhouse was pulled by eight picked horses from the royal stables. All eight horses were still, the driver’s reins slackened.

“Make way for the Princess,” a herald declared as bugles began to sound. Alicent looked back to the cobbles which had been cleared for the princess’s departure. Her father had sent out word to the city, and the smallfolk had gathered to see what there was at the Gate of the Gods. Gold cloaks held back a tide of smallfolk who were inching forward to get a glimpse of the dragon.

The herald and several knights passed before a smaller red carriage drawn by two horses came down the road. On one side of the carriage was Ser Willis Fell who bore the banner of a golden dragon, and on the other, a Reach knight with a red apple on his surcoat who bore a banner stitched with the golden rose of Highgarden. Jaehaerys followed soon after, holding the leash of Morghul who soared in the air. Behind him was a procession of green-cloaked riders, but Alicent could see at the very end the gold cloaks who brought up the rear.

The royal house was waiting at the gate. Helaena stood with Maelor at her knee, his young green dragon hiding under Shrykos’s wings as the older dragon gazed at his master. Aemond was not to be seen, and that was good. The foremost knights rode apart as the red carriage stopped in front of the royal house.

Ser Arryk, who had stood behind Helaena, stepped forward, and lifted the veil that covered the carriage. As Jaehaera stepped out in a black gown and waved at the crowd, the green-cloaked knights drew their swords, and the smallfolk cheered.

Jaehaerys dismounted and stepped forward, handing his sister the leash to Morghul. The prince seemed to be saying something to his sister, but Alicent could not hear in the clamour of the cheers. His sister nodded, and untied the leash to Morghul. The dragon soared into the sky as the cheers rose once again, and came back down to rest at Jaehaera’s side.

Jaehaera then approached Helaena and Maelor. Her mother embraced her, and so did her brother who wrapped his arms around his sister’s leg. Jaehaera laughed as she untangled herself from Maelor, and waved to them with a smile on her face as she turned to the wheelhouse where Ser Willis and the red apple knight were waiting.

Both Ser Willis and the red apple knight dismounted, stepped onto the wheelhouse, and lifted the curtains to reveal a lavish interior with a fine-crafted table full of silver goblets and a bed with silken sheets. All around the wheelhouse was dappled in green, from the carpets to the curtains. Jaehaera took Ser Willis’s offered hand, and the white-cloaked knight lifted her onto the steps. The princess looked back and waved, and the crowd’s cheers surged one last time. She turned back to enter the wheelhouse, and Ser Willis and the red apple knight dropped the green and gold curtains. Only then did the cheers begin to die.

“The princess is popular with the smallfolk,” Alicent said to her father.

“It is only because they are not starving,” her father answered,“Wagons upon wagons of bread are arriving from the Reach and the Stormlands to demonstrate their loyalty to the new king, and it has pushed the price of bread even lower than the days of King Viserys. But mark my words, if the price of bread had risen, today would have been a riot.”

Alicent looked back at the procession which was beginning to depart. Ser Willis and the red apple knight had mounted their steeds again to escort the wheelhouse, and Morghul soared to escort his mistress from above. A host of bugles blew, and the lead riders began to leave the Gate of the Gods. When all the lead riders had spurred their steeds, the driver of the wheelhouse cracked his whip, and the eight horses began to pull the wheelhouse in following. Ser Willis and the red apple knight rode alongside the wheelhouse as it passed beneath the Gate of the Gods, though Morghul soared above the gate. The smaller dragon was soon joined by Sunfyre on above, following the wheelhouse onto the roseroad towards Highgarden.

Wagons followed the wheelhouse, over one hundred of them bearing the princess’s dowry. The air was soon filled with the whinnying of horses as they sought to pull the gold. Alicent watched as the last of the riders followed the wagons to depart the Gate of the Gods, seeing the golden dragon fly both on the road and in the sky.

“We must hold a Small Council,” she heard her father say.

“So soon after my granddaughter’s departure?” Alicent asked. She sighed, knowing what her father had planned.

“The realm cannot wait for anyone,” Ser Otto said as he walked away to mount his horse. He beckoned for the herald and whispered something in his ear, and commanded Ser Laith Honeys to blow the horn.

“Make way,” the herald declared again,“The royal party will return to the Red Keep.”

“Where is the One-Eyed Prince?” the smallfolk yelled,“Let us see him.” Alicent knew they were speaking of Aemond, but she had no power to give him to them. The gold cloaks will keep them at bay.

Alicent found Helaena’s carriage and entered. Her daughter was surprised to see her, but she moved aside to make space for her mother.

“Grandmother,” Maelor sprang forward and embraced Alicent. Alicent smiled as she hugged back and kissed him on the cheek.

“Do you hear the smallfolk?” Helaena asked,“I believe they are saying something about Aemond. Is that correct, Mother, or is the One-Eyed Prince some other man?”

“It is Aemond,” Alicent answered,“and it is a travesty that he could not come to greet the citizens who are calling for him. I wonder, when will he be well?”

“It is hard to say,” Helaena answered,“These illnesses of the heart are hard to cure, especially if they came from within.” “Mother,” Helaena leaned close to Alicent. “What brings you here?”

“I was wondering,” Alicent ignored the barbs in Helaena’s words,“whether Jaehaerys could join us as we hold a Small Council, as I believe he has nothing to fill his afternoon. He is to be the next king, and attending a council would be a valuable lesson.”

“I see no reason not to let him attend, Mother,” Helaena said, and Alicent wondered if her daughter was truthful.

Helaena did call Jaehaerys over to follow Alicent into the Tower of the Hand, though she forbid him from taking Shrykos.

“You would set the council on fire,” Helaena responded to her son’s protests,“No one there knows how to handle dragons.”

“I am certain we could manage,” Alicent forced a smile through gritted teeth, but Helaena would not relent.

“Ser Tyland,” Ser Otto declared once the Small Council was assembled,“Remind me, how much did we pay the Tyrells?”

“Ten thousand golden dragons,” Ser Tyland answered.

“And two live ones,” Ser Criston said,“I would say it is a worthy price for the Reach’s loyalty.”

“I agree with Ser Criston,” Lord Jasper said,“Ser Luthor has reported to me that the City Watch are registering unending wagons from the Reach and the Stormlands. I trust that is because of Princess Jaehaera’s betrothal to Lord Lyonel and Prince Aemond’s betrothal to Lady Floris. The price of bread is at an all-time low.”

“And the price of lords is at an all-time high,” Ser Otto said,“Ser Tyland. How many more of these dowries can we afford?”

“Five, perhaps six,” Tyland said,“The treasury is not bottomless.”

“I do not think we need five or six,” Ser Criston said,“Only the Riverlands out of the great lords have not yet declared, and most of his vassals are already black stooges. We have the Westerlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands. The whore has the Vale, the North, and the Iron Islands.” He looked at Ser Tyland, and snickered,“I thought my lord’s plan was to overwhelm the whore with the loyalty of true lords.”

Alicent turned to Ser Criston,“We should not dwell on past errors, which everyone will make, but how to move forward for the king.”

“In terms of great lords,” Lord Jasper said,“We are not at an advantage.” He turned back to Ser Otto,“If my lord would rethink Dorne…”

Ser Otto put up his hand,“That discussion is done. Prince Jaehaerys will not marry a Martell. Though my lord Jasper does raise a fair point which I want to address in this council. We need to think about the Prince of Dragonstone’s marriage.”

“What is Great-Grandfather speaking of?” Jaehaerys asked Alicent as he sat in her lap,“He said my name.”

“He is talking about who will be your queen, now that Jaehaera is gone,” Alicent whispered in Jaehaerys’s ear, and Jaehaerys nodded. He was grumpy with his mother, but at least not with Alicent.

“If Dorne does not suit my Lord Hand,” Lord Jasper said,“then perhaps a Stormland maiden would. Lord Borros has three other daughters that he could offer the young prince, but I daresay they are all too old. I, though, have five daughters at Rain House who are of an age with Jaehaerys, all of them well-learned to mother a kingdom.”

“How much of a dowry are you willing to offer the Crown, Lord Jasper?” Ser Otto asked.

“Five hundred dragons, at most,” Lord Jasper answered,“Rain House does not boast of rich lands. But I swear on the Seven Who Are One that any of my daughters would make a good queen.”

“A good queen is not enough,” Ser Otto answered,“We spent ten thousand on Princess Jaehaera. We cannot pull back only five hundred.” His eyes fell on the council,“Are there any other suggestions?”

Orwyle cleared his throat, as he had been bid by Alicent and her father before the council. “I believe the Hightower has a sufficient treasury to offer a dowry worthy of the Crown,” Orwyle said,“Lord Ormund has a clever and beautiful maiden daughter, Lady Bethany, who is also of matching age with Prince Jaehaerys. I propose a betrothal between Prince Jaehaerys and Lady Bethany. She will make a splendid queen, and her dowry will replace our losses.”

“Let us first ask the prince whether this betrothal is suitable,” Ser Otto said

Alicent turned to Jaehaerys in her lap,“What do you think of this new queen your great-grandsire found for you?” Alicent asked.

“Is she like Jaehaera?” Jaehaerys asked back, and Alicent nodded.

“Then I will marry her,” Jaehaerys answered.

“What does the council think of this proposal?” Ser Otto said.

“I have no objection,” Lord Jasper nodded to Ser Otto. Lord Jasper understood.

“I do,” Ser Criston said, and Alicent turned to him with a glare.

Ser Otto’s eyes were not warmer,“What is your objection, Lord Commander?”

“Our princes and princesses are opportunities, Lord Hand,” Ser Criston said,“Opportunities to tie the crown to houses which would otherwise not be our own. We are already tied with House Hightower through the Dowager Queen’s marriage to late King Viserys, and we have no need to win their support. We would be better suited to offer the prince’s hand to a house which has not declared for King Aegon at the moment, so as to win their loyalty.”

Those were not Ser Criston’s words, Alicent knew of the white knight who loved only honour and glory, Those were Helaena’s.

“Let us put it to a vote, then, Ser Criston,” Ser Otto said,“Who votes in favour?”

Three hands went up: Ser Otto, Orwyle, and Lord Jasper.

“I abstain,” Lord Larys said.

“As do I,” Ser Tyland said as well.

“Then it is three to one,” Ser Otto said,“We have a majority in favour of the betrothal of Prince Jaehaerys to Lady Bethany.” He turned to Septon Eustace,“Draw up a proclaimation to be read at the Iron Throne council that I will call for the morrow.”

“Your Grace,” Alicent heard Ser Laith Honeys greet someone outside, his warning that one of her children were coming. She held her breath and braced for Helaena or Aemond. When the doors opened and a figure in a black armour still coated in dust and a ruby crown, she breathed. It was Aegon.

“What proclaimation?” Aegon asked,“I leave for a brief moment to send my daughter on her way, and my lords are holding a Small Council without my knowledge?”

“Your Grace,” Ser Tyland greeted,“We were discussing possible marriages for your son Jaehaerys, so that a dowry may recoup our losses to Jaehaera.”

“Your Grace,” Ser Otto said,“You have just returned from your journey, and must surely need rest.”

“The journey is nothing,” Aegon waved his hand,“My son’s marriage is more important. He is to be the next king, after all. What possible brides have you proposed for my son?”

“We agreed,” Ser Otto said, his fist clenched,“that the Prince of Dragonstone will marry Lady Bethany Hightower. She shall bring with her a dowry that is sufficient enough to cover the expenses of Jaehaera.”

“Very well,” Aegon nodded, then turned to the rest of the council,“Are there any other suggestions?”

“I wish to offer one,” Ser Tyland said, and Alicent’s glare went to him,“My brother Jason’s eldest daughter Cerelle will wed Prince Daeron, but he has another daughter, Tyshara, who is of an age with Prince Jaehaerys. With each lioness will come Sunfyre’s weight of gold for the Crown. A Lannister always pays his debts.”

“I think that settles it,” Aegon said,“We all know which is the better deal.”

Chapter Text

“What happened on Dragonstone, Grandfather?” Joff asked as he lifted his eyes from his mother’s letter.

Do not come. Those last three words scrawled at the bottom of the parchment burned into Joff’s mind, and he saw them even as he lifted his eyes. Those words were not his mother’s writing. Someone else had added it with extreme haste as they sent the raven, and the letters bled into each other.

“Your mother was well the last I heard from Dragonstone,” Grandfather sat still on his stone throne, his hands curling about the armrests carved in the likeness of corals. He stared out the window into the seas where gulls were soaring through the empty skies, and Joff knew that Grandfather did not believe the words he spoke.

“Let me see the letter again,” Jace said. Joff handed his brother the letter, and saw that his brother’s eyes were sharp and his cheeks hale. He looked alive for the first time since they left Winterfell. Joff gave him the white parchment, and Jace’s brown eyes searched the letter.

“The letter itself is Mother’s writing all right, all except those last words,” Jace said,“So Mother appears to summon us back to Dragonstone for a victory feast, and someone wants us not to go. Whoever that someone is can tell us the nature of this letter.” He looked up at Joff, his eyes stern,“I think you know who looks over all the ravens before Mother sends them.”

“Maester Gerardys,” Joff realized.

“And Maester Gerardys has warned us not to go to Mother’s feast,” Jace nodded,“Gerardys is a loyal man who served Mother for many years, so we can rule out troublemaking on his part. It is Mother’s feast itself that the source of the trouble.”

Joff turned back to Grandfather again,“What did you last hear from Dragonstone?”

“That your mother was ill with birthing fever but recovering,” Grandfather broke his daze and turned to them,“and during her remaining days of sickness, her husband Prince Daemon is taking charge of her affairs. That is why he had my wife Princess Rhaenys lead the attack on Harrenhal in his place.”

 “Grandmother left before my mother was well,” Jace said, his voice quiet,“Please tell me Luke returned before Grandmother left.”

Grandfather looked at Jace for a long moment. “I understand what you are getting at,” Grandfather said at long last,“but I do not think Luke would matter. I told you that Aemond cut out Luke’s eye at Storm’s End, and he was bedridden until now.”

“It is not your fault, Grandfather,” Jace said,“It is mine. I forgot that Father was once named the Rogue Prince. I should not have sent all our dragons away when Mother was not yet well. We left him a chance, and he took it.”

“What are you saying, Jace?” Joff asked.

“I am saying,” Jace turned to him,“that Father is keeping Mother confined on the pretenses of her illness so that he can rule. But he can never truly do so whilst Mother’s supporters are still abroad.” “So this letter,” he tore the parchment from Joff’s fingers,“is an invitation for all Mother’s supporters to return to Dragonstone so that he may imprison them.”

“This is a very serious accusation,” Grandfather pointed to the sea,“The greens are only on the other shore of Blackwater Bay. Prince Daemon was a fool when he was a boy, that is true, but he is not so much a fool to fight amongst ourselves whilst the true enemy is so close.”

“Then how do you explain this?” Jace lifted up the parchment,“If Prince Daemon is ruling Dragonstone, this letter for certain came from him. And Gerardys, Mother’s true man, warned us against his invitation.” He put the parchment down again,“I would wager that Princess Rhaenys would receive a similar letter in Harrenhal.”

“Why?” Joff asked.

“He has invited you, me, and Grandfather,” Jace turned to Joff,“What are all of us?”

“Velaryons,” Joff realized.

“Father will not imprison us whilst leaving Princess Rhaenys with an army and a dragon,” Jace said,“She’s a Velaryon just like us, and Father wants to catch all our house in one net.”

“I still do not think so,” Joff said,“What use would we have to Father if we are imprisoned? He needs us to fight the usurper.”

“That is a fair point,” Jace said, then turned back to Grandfather,“Did you say earlier this fortnight that Prince Daemon followed my idea to send out a call for dragonriders.”

“Aye,” Grandfather was beginning to nod.

“Oh,” Joff realized,“Prince Daemon does not need us, as he has his own dragons.”

“I judged Father wrong,” Jace said,“He does not mean to imprison us. He means to kill us.”

“The castellan told me something,” Grandfather said,“When the green peace party returned to King’s Landing, they told him that Prince Daemon was plotting against the queen. I dismissed it as the enemy’s attempt to sow discord amongst our own, but looking at this…”

“Dragons,” Joff heard from down the hall, and he looked down the throne to see Ser Daemon running towards them with two Velaryon guards. He knelt before Grandfather,“My lord. The sentries have glimpsed dragons on the horizon.”

“East or south?” Grandfather asked.

“East, from Dragonstone, my lord,” Ser Daemon answered.

Grandfather sprang from his seat and seized Jace’s arm,“It seems Prince Daemon has discovered the maester’s little trick. Take Joffrey and fly west to your grandmother. I will lead my ships to hold them off as long as I can.”

Jace nodded, and Grandfather sped off with Ser Daemon. Jace grabbed Joff’s arm,“We need to go to our dragons.”

“We can fight them,” Joff said.

“Vermax and Tyraxes together could not match Caraxes alone,” Jace said,“and Father has other dragons. Our dragons are small, but quick. They will outpace the others. Now hurry.”

They ran out into the courtyard whilst the bells tolled and warhorns blew on High Tide’s walls. Joff could glimpse flapping wings growing larger in the distance as he untethered Tyraxes and mounted him. Yet something was strange about the lead dragon. He thought it was the sun, but two wingbeats closer, he saw that the dragon was a pale yellow.

“Jace,” Joff yelled.

“Chain yourself up,” Jace yelled back.

“The lead dragon is yellow,” Joff yelled,“It is Syrax, Mother’s dragon.”

“Chain yourself up,” Jace yelled again,“Father could have had someone else ride Mother’s dragon.”

“If it is Mother,” Joff screamed,“Grandfather would be firing upon her.” He did not wait for Jace’s answer, and urged Tyraxes to raise him into the air. The chains jingled as they lay untied beneath him. Tyraxes’s flight was smooth, and Joff did not need them. He heard wings behind him, and knew that Jace was following him.

The yellow dragon drew closer and closer, the sunlight radiating off its scales. That was when Joff saw that the rider was not his mother. It was his brother.

Joff drew on his reins, and Tyraxes hovered in the air. “It’s Luke,” Joff yelled at Jace when Vermax drew level with him,“Don’t burn him.”

“Wait a moment,” Jace yelled as he pulled Vermax level with Joff,“Father could using Luke to lure us into a trap. That is why Father gave Luke Syrax. He is struggling to stay on even with his saddle, and is of no help to us but as bait. Grandfather is preparing ballista and chain shot. We cannot be in his way.”

“Caraxes is not there,” Joff yelled.

“Neither would Vermax if I were attacking,” Jace said, and Joff only just noticed that Jace’s eyes were looking up into the clouds. “Get out,” Jace yelled,“before Father drops.”

But Joff knew Luke, knew that his brother would never cooperate even at swordpoint. He had Tyraxes soar forward even as Jace yelled for him not to. He could already recognize all the dragons. Besides Mother’s Syrax ridden by Luke, there were Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke. Joff rode into the range of Vermithor’s dragonbreath, and he was right. Vermithor did not burn.

“Joff, Jace,” Joff heard Luke’s yell,“Don’t burn us. We come in peace.”

Joff drew on his reins as he turned around to watch Jace draw level with him again.

“Is this a trap?” Joff asked.

Jace could only shake his head,“You were right, Joff. I was too rash to judge.”

They escorted Luke’s four dragons back to High Tide so that Grandfather’s fleet would not fire upon them. The six dragons took up almost all the space in the courtyard, their hissing filling the air. Joff dismounted Tyraxes and ran to Syrax where the gold dragon shook Luke off.

As Luke pulled himself to his feet, Joff saw what exactly Aemond did to him in Storm’s End. His whole left eye was gone, what was left an empty white socket. There was a scar behind his eye where Joff figured Aemond’s knife had trailed.

“Joff,” Luke smiled as he leaped down from the stirrups as Syrax snarled. Joff returned his smile as he ran forward and wrapped himself around his brother. He smelled of sweat and smoke, but Joff ignored the smell as he buried himself deeper into his brother’s cloak.

It was an eternity before they pulled back. Luke’s smile dimmed a little as he looked up, and Joff followed his gaze to see Jace standing before them.

“Did you think I was leading you into a trap?” Luke asked.

“I could not discard the possibility,” Jace answered,“After all, Father had betrayed us. Forgive me.”

“I do not bear a grudge, Jace,” Luke laughed,“After all, it was your caution that kept Joff alive in the north.”

Jace nodded, then looked up,“What happened to your eye, Luke?”

“Aemond was there at Storm’s End,” Luke laugh died as he looked down,“And forced me to cut it out.”

Jace stepped forward and grabbed Luke’s shoulders, lowering his head to meet Luke’s,“We will make him pay, brother, as we did when he hurt Joff.” He raised his head, and Luke did as well. “It is good to see you again, brother,” Jace smiled.

“It is good to see you again,” Luke returned his smile, and wrapped Jace into an embrace. Joff ran to them and wrapped his arms around both of them, feeling their warmth heat his cold skin. He could hear at first three heartbeats, but over time they seemed to join and beat as one.

A roar woke Joff from his brothers’ cloaks. He looked up to see a bronze dragon rear and screech into the skies.

“That is Vermithor,” Luke said,“The Old King’s steed.”

“I know,” Joff said, but his eyes were upon the rider who climbed down from the dragon.

“Master Hugh,” Jace greeted as he approached the giant of a man who set a hammer on its head beside him.

“Your Grace,” Hugh bent his knee,“I had not forgotten that it is your mother that I had sworn an oath to, and pledge myself and Vermithor in Your Grace’s service.”

“My mother is very grateful for your loyalty,” Jace said as he raised Hugh to his feet,“And you shall be duly rewarded.”

Jace turned then to the man who climbed down the white dragon which Joff recognized as Queen Alysanne’s Silverwing. “I know you,” Jace said,“You were my mother’s men-at-arms at Dragonstone, Ulf.”

“Aye,” Ulf answered as he bent the knee,“And the gods have seen fit to bless my humble work with the Good Queen’s steed. I hope I can be as good as Silverwing’s former rider.”

“The gods are clear-eyed,” Jace said as he raised Ulf to his feet,“They will only bless a good man loyal to his true queen with Queen Alysanne’s dragon, and you shall receive a good man’s due.”

Jace approached the boy who climbed down from the grey Seasmoke last, as the boy dropped to his knees in a hurry after a glance from Hugh.

“Jace,” Luke said,“This boy says that he is our bastard brother, but I have cause to disbelieve him. He looks nothing like us.”

He looks like a Targaryen, Joff thought as he noticed the boy’s silver hair and aquiline nose. However, there were many like their uncles who looked like Targaryens but were no true dragons. And there were others like his brothers, who looked little like the statues of dragonlords but were true in their hearts.

“On which side did he claim to be a bastard?” Jace asked, his voice cold, and Joff saw the boy shake.

“Our father’s side,” Luke answered, and the ice thawed a little in Jace’s eyes.

“Who is your mother?” Jace asked.

“Her name is Marilda,” the boy answered,“though folk call her the Mouse. She was a shipwright’s daughter.”

“How did she meet Ser Laenor?” Jace asked.

The boy shook his head,“I-I don’t mean to offend Your Grace.”

“You will not offend me if you speak the truth,” Jace said,“I give you my word of honour as the Prince of Dragonstone that naught that you say will draw my ire.”

“Lord Velaryon would oft visit the market towns beneath High Tide,” the boy said,“and in Hull, my mother caught his eye as he was inspecting the ships. He would then return regularly to Hull to see my mother, and when she was sixteen, she bore me. Two years later, she bore my brother Alyn.”

“Is this true?” Jace turned to Grandfather, who had returned from the Sea Snake and was watching them beneath the pillars of the courtyard.

“Yes, yes, the boy speaks true,” Grandfather was nodding,“Laenor did… make trips to the villages that were much too regular. I heard that a voracious maiden in Hull caught his eye, and bore him two children.”

“Very well,” Jace turned back to the boy,“What is your name?”

“Addam,” the boy answered.

“Addam,” Jace lifted the boy to his feet,“Seasmoke was once our father’s steed, and he shall be glad that it has passed to a man who is loyal to the true queen. I shall be glad to call you brother.”

“I thank you, Your Grace,” the boy lowered his head.

“I think you already know Luke,” Jace said, then pointed to Joff,“But here is Joff, another one of your brothers.”

“My prince Joffrey,” the boy nodded to him.

“Brother,” Joff nodded back.

“Your Grace,” Grandfather said to Jace,“I believe we may need to discuss Dragonstone. Prince Daemon will not take kindly to four missing dragons. He may be riding to Driftmark as we speak.”

“He will not be riding to Driftmark,” Jace said,“for we are riding to Dragonstone.”

“When?” Luke asked.

“The most sensible choice would be to wait for Princess Rhaenys,” Jace said,“but that is what Prince Daemon would think that we would do. So we must strike now, when he is not expecting it and his dragons are tethered in his yard.” He turned to Hugh,“What is Prince Daemon’s strength on Dragonstone?”

“He has his own Caraxes,” Hugh answered,“He is beginning to teach Lady Baela and Prince Aegon how to ride Moondancer and Stormcloud, but those dragons are little and the riders green. There is an unknown, though, in the Dragonmont. A commoner girl, Nettles, tamed Sheepstealer. If she was with us Daenys’s Yard, I have faith that we would have been able to sway her, but she chose to stay with her dragon which preferred its cave. Sheepstealer is a dangerous dragon, as large as Vermithor.”

“Then we must make ready to battle four dragons,” Jace said,“Sheepstealer is a wild dragon, and this girl will have a difficult time getting it to leave its roost. So we must stay clear of the Dragonmont. Lady Baela and Prince Aegon ride too small of dragons to be a threat, and I do not think they know exactly what their father is doing. You can afford to be merciful to them.” He then spun around to meet the eye of everyone in the courtyard,“But you cannot be merciful to Prince Daemon. He and Caraxes know battle, and any mistake would mean death. We will only engage him together, five dragons against one. Is that clear?”

“Five?” Luke demanded,“Surely you mean six.”

“You and Syrax will not accompany us,” Joff said,“It was a miracle that Syrax did not shake you off, and the gods will not grant us miracles twice. It is also no telling if our attack will succeed, and at least one Velaryon must survive. If you hear of our failure, do not take the dragon. One of Grandfather’s ships will escort you to the mainland.”

Luke’s lips scrunched up, but he made no answer. A long moment passed, until he nodded and stormed off into the hall. Jace turned to Grandfather,“I shall need you to prepare a force to storm Dragonstone. Once Caraxes has fallen, your ships should immediately seize the docks and land forces to storm the island citadel. Rescuing my mother is the first priority.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Grandfather said, and he seemed to smile.

“Good,” Jace said,“Then go arrange the fleet.” After Grandfather departed for the docks, Jace turned to the dragonriders,“Let us fly.”

“Let me go into the clouds and drop on Father,” Joff offered before they lifted into the skies.

“If it were against the usurper,” Jace said to Luke,“I would have dragons waiting in the sun, but it was Prince Daemon who taught me that. I will not separate us.”

There were not four dragons that greeted them above Dragonstone’s sky. One lone dragon appeared before them, and it was not Caraxes. Joff recognized the pale green scales which flickered like emeralds. Moondancer.

“Ready yourselves,” Jace yelled at their line of dragons,“Try not to burn the rider.”

The dragon did not rush towards them, but slowly descended in circles towards a patch of yellow fields far away from the island citadel and the Dragonmont. Jace had them keep an eye on the clouds and the citadel as they descended towards the little green dragon. Caraxes neither rose out of the sun nor out of the castle.

When Joff turned back to Moondancer, he saw that the dragon had come to a rest on the yellow fields. Her rider had also abandoned her dragon, and was walking towards Jace’s dragons with her hands raised.

“It’s a peace offering,” Joff yelled to Jace.

“Wait until she gets out of range of Moondancer’s dragonbreath,” Jace yelled back.

When she walked out of the place where Moondancer’s flame could reach, Jace turned to Joff,“We will keep watching the skies. You go down and treat with her.”

Joff spiraled Tyraxes into a descent, landing before his cousin. Tyraxes raised a mound a dust which made sent both Joff and his cousin into a fit of coughing.

When the dust at last settled, Joff saw that Baela looked disheveled. Her silver hair was unbraided, falling behind her head like a massive waterfall. Spots of mud on her face dimmed the twinkle that Joff always found in her purple eyes. She was wearing only a red nightgown which was all but brown with stains.

“Don’t burn me, Prince Joffrey,” Baela’s voice was still as loud as Joff remembered,“I come to surrender Dragonstone.”

“Where’s your father?” Joff asked.

“Dead, most probably,” Baela answered.

What? Joff curled his hand around his rein,“What happened on Dragonstone, cousin?”

“When the four dragons left Dragonstone,” Baela answered,“Father returned to the castle in a fury. I don’t know much that came after, but I do know that Ser Alfred mutinied and seized my father. The guards outside my door were talking about it was not worth it to follow my father when he did not have dragons. They were saying that Ser Alfred planned to give my father’s head as a gift for the Prince of Dragonstone. I feared they were going to take me as well, so I fled. I climbed out the window of my chamber and ran atop the roofs to the stables where Moondancer was. I flew to you.”

“Were you part of your father’s plot?” Joff asked, flinching as his voice came out with the ice that only Jace had.

Baela flinched as well, and she bit her lip,“I was, but I tried to stop him when I found out what he was actually trying to do.”

“Did you come to tell Jace that?” Joff asked.

“No,” Baela’s voice became hard,“I came to tell him that Rhaena, Aegon, and Viserys are innocent. They did not know anything about Father’s plot, and I fear that the mutineers are going to kill them all the same. I came to ask Jace to take Dragonstone, and prevent the mutineers from murdering my siblings.”

Chapter Text

“You look sick,” Helaena said to Aemond as he lay in his bed.

Her brother’s face was milky pale, the sapphire in his eye glowing with a strange light. He was even thinner than before, the skin hanging off his bones. Aegon had been generous, and given his brother a chamber that could match his own. Curtains woven of golden silk and red Myrish lace covered the balcony, and the featherbed was lined with a tiger’s fur.

Aemond had thrown his cotton blanket on the floor, his face lying in the shadows of the satin draperies. He was staring up at the ceiling when Helaena entered, turning in his bed to greet her with stony eyes. Helaena picked up his blanket and tossed him it. He did not catch it, his eyes never leaving her.

“Have you come to kill me, Helaena?” he asked.

“Why would you ask me that?” Helaena was expecting something sharp from Aemond, but not that.

“I thought Aegon came to kill me when he visited,” Aemond answered,“but he did not. The gods would not spare me twice, so you must be coming to kill me.”

“Are you saying that I am the same as Aegon?” Helaena asked.

“I may be confined to this chamber,” Aemond laughed,“but I am not deaf. When Cadmus comes every noon to look over me, I have him answer my questions. He proved most eager to do so. You and Aegon are the perfect king and queen, are you not? Gathering together at Maelor’s bed, your love turning to magic that hatched a dragon. A dutiful mother, kissing Jaehaera goodbye as the caring father escorts his daughter for half a hundred leagues. It is altogether a lovely image.”

“You should have been in it,” Helaena said,“Jaehaera was asking where her favourite Uncle Aem was.”

“Spare me the comfort,” Aemond snickered,“I do not think she sees me as her favourite uncle anymore. I have not spoken over five words to her in over a moon.”

“I told my children that it was your duty as Master of Ships,” Helaena said,“and the brother of a king who is fighting a war.” She grabbed a chair and pulled up to Aemond’s side,“They think you the hero who won the Stormlands.”

“What did you say to them?” Aemond asked,“That I was a hero because I forced a boy to cut out his own eye?”

“I told them the story that any one of the smallfolk know,” Helaena said,“The story of the One-Eyed Prince, who knew that the traitors sought to starve the realm and flew at once to secure the city’s bread. He met the traitor prince who wanted Lord Borros to starve the city, and sent the Strong scurrying home with his tail between his legs. The One-Eyed Prince was the reason there was bread in King’s Landing even as Princess Rhaenys cut out the northern Kingsroad and the Goldroad.”

“You need not flatter me, Hel,” Aemond said,“Cadmus told me that wagons up the roseroad were carrying bread as well.”

“Aye, but only one batch has arrived,” Helaena said,“It has only been half a fortnight since Lady Alayne had declared her son’s banners for us. As opposed to the hundred batches which arrived from the Stormlands, it is clear which is more important.”

“Very well,” Aemond said, as his voice remained stony,“I am glad you did that for me, Hel. You have my love, if that is what you want.”

“I want you to know who is more important,” Helaena said,“You have a wife waiting for you in Storm’s End, a promise you made to Lord Borros to win his banners. I heard Lady Floris is a lovely girl.”

“So you have truly chosen Aegon,” Aemond said,“I thought that would never happen.”

“It is not a matter of choice,” Helaena said,“It is a matter of duty. Aegon is the king, I am the queen, and we have a war to fight. We cannot squabble within our own house.”

“It is a matter of duty,” Aemond laughed again,“You are right, Helaena. Let me go the Stormlands and wed this girl, and all of us will be happy.”

Aemond was not convinced, Helaena knew. “You speak of being confined here,” Helaena said,“but Aegon did not command the guards to keep you in this chamber. So the only one who is confining yourself here is you.”

“You are right,” Aemond said,“I have naught to do outside. When I wed the Baratheon girl, I shall give her good little sons and daughters. But until then, I am content to stay in my bed.”

“You are wrong, brother,” Helaena said,“There are matters outside which require your attention. Have you ever wondered where Vhagar went after you abandoned your dragon?”

“I presume back to the Dragonpit,” Aemond said,“She knows the way.”

“Your dragon flew out of the King’s Landing,” Helaena said,“At first, we feared that Vhagar meant to fly to Dragonstone and join the traitor queen, but we soon found that the dragon was content to roam the countryside. And a dragon’s roaming means snatching up livestock, burning homesteads, and terrorizing the smallfolk in every field within twenty leagues of King’s Landing. We also need Vhagar should our half-sister ever threaten King’s Landing.”

“You want me to tame him,” Aemond said.

“Who else could?” Helaena answered,“Jaehaerys volunteered, but he is a foolish boy. I forbade it, telling him that he already had Shrykos.”

“The One-Eyed Prince,” Aemond chuckled,“the famous dragonriding hero without a dragon. That would be a cruel jape.”

“Would you tame Vhagar?” Helaena asked.

Aemond bit his lip, and Helaena began to hear the wind blowing on the curtains. “Have the stables prepare my grey horse,” Aemond said after a long moment,“I have not ridden Smoke in so long that I fear he is dead already. I will ride on the morrow morning.”

“I will have servants attend to your horse and organize your escort,” Helaena said,“Vhagar was last sighted two miles up the Blackwater Rush, feasting on the livestock of Lord Antony Turnstable of the Foggy Ford. The lord has sent us three ravens already.”

“I will make certain that the fourth pair of wings will be Vhagar,” Aemond climbed out of his bed.

“Is there anything else you need?” Helaena asked.

“Yes, Hel,” Aemond smiled,“I need a meal.”

“I trust Aemond is well,” Aegon greeted Helaena in his chamber. Ser Criston was helping Aegon out of his armour, raising her brother’s black breastplate over his head. Beneath, he was wearing a white tunic inlaid with golden silk threaded in the likeness of a curling dragon.

“You should have a squire to help you with your armour,” Helaena said,“The Kingsguard are bid to guard the king.”

“And trust a boy whose allegiance I do not know in my close counsels?” Aegon asked,“I thought you were the one of wisdom.”

“Then pick a boy whose father is known to be loyal,” Helaena said,“I hear Bywater, Trant, and Cresten all have sons of squiring age. Trant’s second son is an especially good archer, and I think you would like him. He is currently squiring for Ser Lazarus Selmy, but I think Selmy would be eager to give his squire to the king. Any one of them are loyal lords.”

“If they are already loyal,” Aegon said as he took off his steel boots and switched on leather ones that Ser Criston brought him,“What use is there in honouring them?”

“There is a difference, Aegon,” Helaena said,“Between men who will not stab you in the back and men who will die for you in a war.’

“Which kind of man do you think Aemond is?” Aegon walked to the cedar table and poured them two glasses of water. He handed one to Helaena, and she took a sip.

“He has agreed to hunt his dragon,’ Helaena said,“and agreed to wed his bride.”

“So he is the second kind,” Aegon said as he took a sip from his own cup,“I told you, Helaena, that we can trust our brother. Here’s your proof.”

If anything, Aemond is still somewhere in between. “You do not know him as I do,” Helaena said,“His mood shifts as the moon turns. Anyone who has a prick of sense knows that the words he speaks do not come from his heart. You know by looking at his sapphire eye, and today it was gleaming bright.”

“That is a good omen,” Aegon said,“If there is anything which would drown our cause, it is a loss of heart. I am glad to see that fire still burns within our brother.”

That fire can burn us just as much as it could burn Rhaenyra. “I am glad, also,” Helaena did not wish to dwell on Aemond,“How fared the Small Council meeting?”

“Grandfather tried to marry Jaehaerys to a Hightower,” Aegon said, turning to Helaena with sharp eyes,“Why was Jaehaerys at the council?”

“Mother wanted him there,” Helaena said,“and there was no good cause to refuse what she claimed was a good lesson for the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“You should have been bolder,” Aegon said,“It took a dragon’s arrival to make Grandfather think better of his plots. In the future, Helaena, one of us at least needs to be present for every council big or small. We were almost caught off guard this time, and there should not be a next.”

“Grandfather has good cause to discuss Jaehaerys’s betrothal now that Jaehaera is to wed a Tyrell,” Helaena said,“I hope that you had good cause when you overturned him.”

“Jaehaerys will wed a Lannister, just like Daeron,” Aegon said,“Tyland Lannister is a craven who sways where the wind blows, and the furnace wind always comes from a dragon.”

Do not speak so openly of this. Helaena stepped close to Aegon, her words almost a whisper,“Tyland may be a craven, but who is to judge the mettle of his brother Lord Jason? We should not flee the grasp of one house only to fall into the trap of another. Especially not the Lannisters, who are as fickle as the gold beneath their rock.”

“That gold the Lannisters has promised us as dowries,” Aegon said,“and Sunfyre shall hold them to their promise.”

“They are not like to abandon their investment,” Helaena whispered,“but…”

Aegon cut her off with a wave of his hand.“We have more important matters than the Lannisters to deal with,” Aegon said,“It was an icy council after the fiasco of our son’s betrothal, until Lord Strong’s report turned our heads away from Jaehaerys.”

“It is our half-sister,” Helaena knew at once.

“Rhaenyra is gathering her strength on Dragonstone,” Aegon nodded,“Jacaerys and Joffrey have returned from Driftmark, and Lord Strong’s agents in the Riverlands report that Princess Rhaenys has departed Harrenhal towards the east. Our half-sister is taking again to the skies on Syrax, as is Prince Daemon’s Caraxes. Lord Strong tells us that even Stormcloud and Moondancer are flying with riders.”

“So we are back at the beginning of the war,” Helaena said,“and we have not gained the advantage of kingdoms. Half swore to us, aye, but the other half followed our half-sister.”

“We are not at the beginning of the war,” Aegon said,“The balance has shifted in favour of Rhaenyra. There have been rumours that Rhaenyra has sent out a call for riders of the wild dragons on Dragonstone, the smallfolk naming it the Sowing. Lord Strong confirmed those rumours, informing the council that Rhaenyra has four more dragons at her disposal. And these are no hatchlings like Maelor’s. Vermithor and Sheepstealer are almost as large as Vhagar. Silverwing and Seasmoke have never seen war, but they are grown and accustomed to riders, and could be turned to war in an instant should their riders wish so.”

“Rhaenyra is gathering her strength on Dragonstone,” Helaena muttered,“which could only mean that she is…”

“Preparing an attack on King’s Landing,” Aegon slung off his sword and gave it to Ser Criston,“A battle we would assuredly lose.”

Chapter Text

The salt was bitter on Luke's lips.

He tightened his grip on the cold railing of Grandfather's flagship, the chill seeping into his flesh. The Sea Snake rose and fell in the great autumn waves, swells which always made Joff's stomach turn but did not bother Luke. Grandfather had taken him on his ships too many times when he was a boy to be afraid of the sea. "A true Velaryon," Grandfather had always boasted,"Worthy of inheriting my empire."

The deck creaked under Luke's feet, and he bit his lip. He wished there was nothing beneath him, and he was flying to Dragonstone like Jace and Joff.

He looked up at the sky, beyond the dozen green sails which bore the Velaryon seahorse and the men shouting from the crow's nest, and wondered if his brothers were soaring in the clouds. It was most like that they were, hunting down any remnants of Prince Daemon's treason.

"I rode Syrax once," Luke complained to Grandfather after Jace left,"I can ride her again." Luke was certain that it had been fear of the golden dragon which had moved the three betrayers to join them, not empty promises which could blow away like the wind. Mayhaps if he had the larger dragon at Storm's End, Aemond would not have dared threaten him. And I would not have lost half the world.

Yet Syrax remained tethered in the yard of High Tide, Grandfather having his men unsaddle her and gorge her on freshly slaughtered cattle and sheep. Even when he received Jace's missive from Dragonstone that the isle had surrendered and Prince Daemon in chains, Grandfather and Jace were of one mind to forbid Luke from flying to Dragonstone. "You shall join me on the Sea Snake," Grandfather said,"It is a longer journey, but safer."

Luke listened to Grandfather, berating himself for wishing to ride Syrax again. Remember that she is Mother's dragon, he told himself, and mine is Arrax, who is closer to me even more than my brothers. He told himself a thousand times that it was not the size of the dragon that made him lose an eye. Yet the whisper still rose in him that he could have faced Aemond like a brave knight should Luke have only ridden a larger dragon.

He had only seen Grandfather thrice since High Tide when the captain appeared in the mess hall to feast with the crew. The rest of the time, Grandfather disappeared into the maze-like cabins of the ship to plan the course of his fleet. Grandfather had not entrusted any command to Luke, not even that of the poop deck. He had been given freedom of the ship, but there were always two burly Velaryon guards behind him to make certain that he did not fall into the sea. Not that it would have mattered. There were no records of dragons drowning. The sails of the smaller ships blocked the hypnotizing horizon where the blue of the sky blended with the blue of the sea. He could only stare down at the ship's massive broadside where the sea churned far away, as a hundred oars lay stiff and unmoving. Luke grew numb to the howling of the wind through the sails.

Mortin, the taller of the two guards with a red beard, timely advised Luke to go belowdecks, but Luke did so only during his meals and a short sleep during the night. He did not want to go through the bustling deck more times than he needed to. Luke would rather wait in the open air than in the cramped dampness of his small cabin. The day between Driftmark and Dragonstone felt like a century, and he laughed as his eyes found the ashen shore of Dragonstone amongst the shouts of the crew.

It was not long before Luke was approached by Master Horac Blunt, a thickset man with big black eyes who was the oarmaster of the Sea Snake. With him were two sailors called Peak and Jyck. Luke knew Peak by his jutting chin and Jyck by the long golden hair he tucked behind his ears. Grandfather had made Luke know every one of the crew, and he could say the name of any of the hundred faces on the deck at a glance.

Blunt and his two sailors knelt before Luke, their knees making thick clonks on the wooden floor.

"Arise, Master Blunt," Luke said,"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Only the oarmaster rose,"Captain Corlys asks that my prince go belowdecks, and change into your court clothes."

Luke looked down on the brown wool coat Grandfather had given him, which was stained with brine. He had arrived at High Tide in only a thin flaxen shirt and trousers with naught on his feet, but Syrax had warmed him. Even in a woolen coat, he was cold on the deck of the Sea Snake.

"I hope you have something warmer," Luke said,"Who is holding court, Jace or Mother?"

"The Prince of Dragonstone is holding judgment," Master Blunt said.

"Very well," Luke said,"Jace shall have his bright court." A spray of water splashed on his coat, and the cold made him realize what he had to do. He had been holding onto hope of seeing Arrax in the Dragonmont before going into the castle. Mayhaps a ride on my own dragon would banish me of that accursed wish. But it seemed that it would not be, and Luke followed the oarmaster.

Jace held court in the Great Hall of the Stone Drum, a great cavern carved of black stone which had been melted into shape by the dragons of Luke's fathers. The hall had been carved in the likeness of a dragon on its belly, the great red doors leading into the hall that dragon's gaping maw. The red doors were wide open with five Targaryen guardsmen holding each, and a thousand torches lit the cavern inside the dragon.

"Hail, Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon," the herald declared as horns blazed, and the knights and lords assembled in the hall gave a cheer, all the echoes booming in the Stone Drum like the battlecry of Lord Orys Baratheon's army.

"Hail, Lord Corlys of House Velaryon," the herald declared again,"Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Lord Admiral of the Royal Fleet, Master of Ships, and Captain of the Sea Snake." The horns blew and the men cheered again.

It was then when Luke looked to the end of the hall beneath a great Targaryen banner draped across the wall. There, on a pedestal, sat Mother on a throne of black stone with a golden crown on her head, though she was too far away for Luke to read her face. His heart began to beat faster. He wished that he could run to her, but knew it was not proper. Luke looked instead at who surrounded Mother.

At her sides were three Kingsguard and a tall knight wearing the red-and-black armour of House Targaryen's guardsmen. All their hands were set on their hilts. Also standing beside the queen was Gerardys and two of his stewards, the burly maester suffering now a stoop. The last man at the queen's side was the thin Septon of Dragonstone, Grimwald, whose brown cloak hung loose about his shoulders.

At the first step down from the throne stood Jace and Joff. Jace wore the silver crown of the Prince of Dragonstone on his brow, and his eyes met Luke's for an instant across the wide hall. Luke broke the gaze, and saw that Joff's mouth seemed to have risen into a smile, but Luke could not be sure from a distance.

Luke was confused to see that Aegon and Viserys were standing on the second step down from the throne, clad in black doublets. Mayhaps they had naught to do with their father's treason. But Luke worried when he saw that Rhaena was not there. The two boys seemed to be trying to shrink behind the knights who stood on the third step.

The third step was last step of the pedestal, and upon it stood nine of Rhaenyra's thirteen sworn swords. Luke supposed that the other four had joined in Prince Daemon's treason. The seven golden stars carved into the breastplate of Ser Emeric Sunglass was not there, nor was the surcoat of a red tower which always coated Ser Adrian Redfort. Luke also did not see the four-coloured cloak that covered Ser Loreth Lansdale, and the familiar hawk-shaped helm of Ser Harmon of the Reeds.

The other nine could also have been part of the treason, Luke thought, turning only when the dragons blew the way of the Prince of Dragonstone. But if they were, Jace would not allow them here. Perhaps they only feared being devoured by Caraxes. Luke did not remember seeing Caraxes in Daenys's Yard, only Stormcloud and Moondancer whose mouths were clamped shut by irons and were bound by thick chains to hardy pillars which even Meleys's dragonfire could not melt.

One of the betrayers also stood with those nine, that tall thin man named Ulf. All ten who stood on the third step drew their swords in a song of steel which greeted Luke and Grandfather, and the herald continued.

"Captain Morton of House Brimstone," the herald declared,"Shield of Spicetown, Vice Admiral of the Royal Fleet, and Captain of the Spicetown Girl."

As the herald announced the captains of the Royal Fleet, Luke walked down the path lining the centre of the Stone Drum by a long purple carpet decorated with sigils, passing knights and ladies who fell into silence as he passed by. Grandfather followed him with five Velaryon guards.

Mother's face began to be clearer when Luke drew closer. His heart began to settle down as he saw Mother's face was not what he had feared. He dreaded that Prince Daemon was starving her, and her cheeks would be thin and haggard. But they were plump and red, her silver hair neat and bright in a hairpin of a jade dragon. Her lips broke into a smile as Luke arrived and her purple eyes brightened, rising from her throne.

"Your Grace," Luke heard Grandfather say and the soft touch as Grandfather bent his knee. However, Luke's eyes were for his mother who was stepping down the pedestal, and he soon found the sworn swords parted and himself buried in his mother's embrace.

"All three of my sons are home," Mother whispered in Luke's ear as she raised him to his feet.

"Aye," was all Luke could manage before tears streamed from his eye down one of his cheeks.

Mother pushed him back after a long moment, her lips scrunching as she studied Luke's face. "I know about your eye," she said.

"Aemond…" Luke began.

"I know you cut it out," Mother said before pulling him into another embrace,"But you are alive, and that is what matters."

Luke bit his lip, and this time his one eye remained open as tears fell out. He wanted to stay with Mother forever, but she broke it off again. Then, Luke remembered his duty. He retreated two steps and knelt,"Your Grace."

Mother's eyes dimmed, and she climbed back to her throne, watching as the captains filed in behind Luke and Grandfather and knelt. "Arise, my lords," Mother's voice came at long last, having returned to the stony one of a queen,"Dragonstone is yours."

Luke rose, and climbed up three steps of the pedestal to stand beside Jace and Joff. Grandfather and his own retinue retreated to their places in the lords closest to the pedestal. The captains of the Royal Fleet assumed their places with a scuffle of scratching cloaks and heavy steps.

Before silence fell upon the hall, Luke turned to Jace: "Where is Rhaena? She was not part of her father's treason, and helped me escape."

"I know," Jace answered,"Mother told me that Rhaena was the one who wrote on Prince Daemon's letter, warning us even before you did. You should feel fortunate that your betrothed did not wish to kill her future husband. She is attending to Baela's bed in Sea Dragon Tower. Flying on Moondancer to surrender Dragonstone is taxing. I would say that is well. The girls are old enough to understand what is happening here, and I wish to spare them the sight."

"And Aegon and Viserys…" Luke began to say, but Jace glanced at him sharply. The rest of the words Luke swallowed, are not old enough? Luke caught a fleeting glance from Aegon's deep purple eyes before they darted away, and Luke was certain that Aegon knew.

"When will the trials begin?" Luke asked instead.

"We are still waiting on Grandmother," Jace said,"She had flown here immediately after she received her letter, but found that Dragonstone had already surrendered to us. Grandmother returned to Harrenhal to put the Riverland affairs in order, telling me that she must return before the trials."

It was an hour before Grandmother arrived, Luke hearing the great crash of Meleys in the yard after the sentry reported of red wings on the horizon. The red doors opened as Grandmother marched into the hall in full black armour with her sword slung at her belt. Her white hair was done up behind her in a braid, but loose strands were flying in her face from the wind outside.

"Princess Rhaenys of House Velaryon," the herald declared after she had marched in, her wet boots soaking the carpet with mud. The herald paused, but soon remembered his duty and continued,"Lady of Driftmark and Warden of the Riverlands."

There were no cheers greeting her, the crowd uneasy that she had stepped in before she was announced. Silence fell as she passed, but whispers rose after she left them behind. She walked to the end of the hall and knelt before the pedestal,"Your Grace."

"Arise, Princess Rhaenys," Mother's voice arose from behind Luke, and Grandmother rose. "Dragonstone is yours," Mother said, and Grandmother nodded. Her stern face then broke into a smile as she turned and walked to Grandfather, wrapping him in an embrace and kissing him on the cheek. Then, she left him as she walked up the steps of the pedestal to stand beside Aegon and Viserys on the second step.

Jace moved at last, turning back to the knight in Targaryen plate. "Ser Alfred," Jace commanded,"Let us begin."

The knight drew from his belt a smooth white horn whose mouth was ringed by emeralds and bronze runes. He put it to his lips and blew one long blast, and a dozen horns answered in the hall. Their thunder beat the Stone Drum again and again, even as the red doors lay open to the skies. When the storm at last abated, a host of thirty guards appeared at the red doors led by Hugh wielding his great hammer. The spears of the guards glinted in the hall's firelight as they all surrounded one ragged man fettered at both wrist and ankles. His hair was a tousled mess, a pale white matted with brown specks of dried blood and falling over his forehead to cover the cuts on his face. He wore only a thin white tunic which was stained by crimson lashmarks festering underneath, and slumped limp on the two burly guards who dragged him across the floor, a trail of red in their wake. Luke almost thought it was another man, until the herald yelled in his shrill voice.

"The traitor. Prince Daemon of House Targaryen."

Luke thought that Jace would delay judging the man who had been their father, sentencing some guardsman or serving woman who had followed Prince Daemon. But it seemed that Jace went straight for the head of the snake.

"Did you order that be done to Father?" Joff whispered.

"A traitor must have a traitor's due," Jace answered.

Hugh and the guardsman dragged Prince Daemon to the feet of the pedestal, forcing him to his knees. Yet once they backed away, the prince struggled to his feet, and Luke could see a sneer beneath his matted hair.

"You were not given permission to stand," Jace said.

"Kneel," the sworn swords boomed, and the guards closed in to push Prince Daemon to his knees again, a splatter of blood falling upon the stones before the pedestal. Luke heard a shuffle behind him, and saw one of the stewards hand Gerardys a scroll, who huffed forward and gave it to Jace. When Gerardys drew close, Luke saw that there were black circles under his eyes and his face was stretched, but his cheeks were still red.

Jace unfurled the scroll and read,"Prince Daemon, you stand accused of imprisoning your queen, her chosen representatives, and conspiring to usurp her throne and murder her rightful heirs and loyal bannermen. This amounts to high treason and conspiracy against the realm. Do you deny these charges?"

The prince looked up, his hair falling back to reveal the sneer still upon his face. "Whatever my answer," Prince Daemon laughed,"my end will be the same." His smile died,"I name you craven, my prince, to hide behind this show trial. Kill me, and dare to forever bear the name kinslayer. That is what makes a king."

Jace's face changed no colour, but his lips drooped into a frown. Luke heard a booming step as Hugh stepped forward and punched a mailed fist into Prince Daemon's stomach. "That's for slandering the Prince of Dragonstone."

"There is no need for that, Hugh," Jace said,"Get him up to his knees."

"Hiding behind a brute," Prince Daemon's smile did not fade as he rose to his feet himself, and Jace stopped Hugh from landing another blow. Prince Daemon nodded,"You should do well to hear my advice. Instead of bringing me here to be executed in front of all the eyes of Dragonstone, you should have poisoned me in my cell or had that mutineer Broome cut off my head to give to you as a gift. Or some valiant vigilante in the castle took matters into their own hands. Against the will of the Prince of Dragonstone, of course, who respected the sanctity of the bonds of blood."

"Seven have mercy on our souls," Septon Grimwald said.

A violent flush appeared on Jace's face, but no words came out of his lips. The last time Luke had seen Jace's face red was when he fell off Vermax while trying to ride him for the first time. That time, it had also been under the eyes of Prince Daemon, who taught Jace how to ride a dragon. Silence grew as orange light glimmered on the frozen silver dragon upon Jace's crown.

"Your Grace," it was Grandmother who spoke after a long moment,"Might I have a word?"

"Granted," Jace said, and the relief in his voice was what Luke had not heard in a long time.

"Prince Daemon is accused of high treason," Grandmother said,"but my prince Jacaerys should remember that we are still at war. The usurper in King's Landing rallies armies to steal Her Grace Rhaenyra's rightful crown. Even if Prince Daemon has proven treacherous, his life is still our most valuable asset against the false king. He cannot be trusted to ride a dragon, that is true, but he was the Prince of the City, and still has key friends in King's Landing who would abandon us if Prince Daemon is dead. I trust that my prince Jacaerys knows how important those friends will be soon. It is not to say that we forgive Prince Daemon's treason, only postpone judgment until a more opportune time."

"No, Jace," Luke blurted, and a glance from Grandmother could not silence him,"Let him live, and he will have another chance at treason. Cut off the threat at its roots." He looked back to Mother,"Your Grace, the traitor must be put to death."

"Seven have mercy on your soul, my prince," Septon Grimwald said,"The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of all the gods."

"It is the Prince of Dragonstone's choice, Luke," Mother answered,"He is the judge."

Jace was silent for a long moment, staring at Prince Daemon whose smile had finally faded.

"What is your judgment, my prince?" Hugh asked.

"Get him back to his cell," Jace said at last,"Bind his wounds and give him food and water. Post ten guards at his door, night and day, and only one guard is to be relieved at a time. Check the cell beforehand for any tunnels, and make certain that the windows are barred and the iron is strong."

Prince Daemon said nothing as the guards pulled him around, his eyes turning back to watch Luke in a strange light. Then, Prince Daemon turned back, and a trail of blood followed him back out the door. When the prisoner departed, a steward who appeared during the trial approached and whispered something in the ear of Ser Glendon Goode, one of the sworn swords. He turned and ascended two steps to Jace, whispering in his ear. Jace nodded, and Ser Glendon stepped back down to the aisle.

"Court is adjourned," Jace turned back and said to Ser Alfred,"The other trials shall occur at a later date." The knight took out his horn again and blew two long blasts. Whispers began to arise from the crowd below as the lords and ladies began to file down the aisles. Luke and the royal house filed between Mother's sworn swords and a host of Targaryen guards. Ser Lorent stood at the forefront of the process, Ser Erryk at the back, their white cloaks sweeping across the black stone joining the men before them. Ser Steffon and Ser Alfred stood on both sides of Mother.

"Why?" Luke asked Jace,"What is it that you need the traitor alive?"

"Wait until we reach Mother's solar," Jace answered without turning his head.

Only the Kingsguard were permitted in Mother's solar for those who were not tied to House Targaryen. But there were few and far of even those who were dragons. Ser Erryk escorted Aegon and Viserys to their chambers, and Grandfather returned to the docks to inspect the Royal Fleet.

Mother sat on a chair of carved cedar with her crown drooping onto her forehead. Princess Rhaenys stood opposite her, pushing her chair away as her hand leaned on the stone table full of yellow parchment and dim chandeliers. Jace stood at the table's head, his eyes looking at the western horizon across Blackwater Bay. Luke and Joff were the only others there aside from the two Kingsguard behind them, and Joff was pacing across the room.

"Tell them, Jace," Joff said,"Tell them what you told me and Grandmother."

Luke looked to Jace, whose eyes returned to the horizon. The fires were dancing in his brown pupils as his finger tapped the hard stone.

"Luke," Jace turned,"I have plans for the others guilty of conspiracy in the dungeons. For the serving women who were charged to poison our meals and bewitch our guards, it is quite unfortunate. They will have the choice between penance in the Faith or the rope. But as to the knights and petty lords held in our dungeons, there will have a chance to prove their loyalty in the coming battle."

"Battle?" Luke echoed.

"King's Landing," Grandmother said.

"We are still recovering from our own squabbles," Mother said.

"Which is what the usurper shall think," Grandmother said,"but our position is stronger than what appears."

"Prince Daemon did us a favour when he summoned dragonriders," Jace said,"I would have done the same once I returned from the north. Ser Glendon told me that our brother Addam returned from the Dragonmont just now, and he has convinced the girl Nettles to join our cause. She rides the last dragon we need. Even with Vhagar, the usurper cannot match us. We should thank Prince Daemon. Because of him, the war will end sooner."

Chapter Text

“We should accept the peace,” Alicent said,“We are not like to receive a better offer.”

Silence greeted her as Alicent looked around the Small Council table. Ser Jasper and Orwyle’s cheeks were stiff, and her father’s smooth face was furrowed as his eyes darted across the sheet of white parchment. Even Ser Tyland could not maintain the illusion of comfort in being Aegon’s dog, and his golden hair began to become more tousled as his brows creased. She did not see Lord Strong, but silence would be no great change for him.

Only Helaena’s face saw no change of expression. Her violet eyes were hard and cold as she stared at the parchment in Ser Otto’s hands. She had sent for Aegon as soon as Orwyle brandished the letter from the ravenry, and the king soon arrived in the Council Chamber escorted by Ser Criston.

“Read us Jacaerys Strong’s letter again,” Helaena said,“The king should hear it. Strong’s terms sound generous, but there may be much that we have missed.”

Ser Otto handed the parchment to Orwyle, who began again in his gravelly voice: “Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon offers a peace in the name of his mother Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen. He offers obeisance to King Aegon should the king renounce all claims that he, Prince Lucerys, and Prince Joffrey, are bastards of Ser Harwin Strong but are indeed trueborn sons of Princess Rhaenyra and her first husband Ser Laenor of House Velaryon.”

“Those are not all the terms,” Helaena said,“Continue.”

“Furthermore,” Orwyle said,“Prince Lucerys’s claim as heir to Driftmark will be protected by the Crown. Princess Rhaenyra will be granted Dragonstone as her seat with Prince Jacaerys confirmed as her heir. He begs forgiveness of the Crown and wishes to end the war before any further slaughter can ensue.”

“Is that a blanket pardon he wishes from me?” Aegon asked.

“I do not know,” Orwyle said,“The prince made no mention of pardons.”

“Did the prince ever style himself the Prince of Dragonstone?” Aegon asked.

“No…” Orwyle said,“but he did wish to be named heir to Dragonstone. Perhaps the wish of treason still lingers.”

“You need not perhaps, Orwyle,” Aegon said,“I will give him that title.” Aegon turned to the table,“Prince Jacaerys’s terms are generous, and we will not have a second chance at such a favourable peace. Answer Prince Jacaerys that I shall agree to grant my half-sister Dragonstone and rescind Prince Daeron’s claim to Driftmark. I can even give Prince Jacaerys a blanket pardon out of my mercy, even though he was a fool to not ask for one.”

“But the claims of bastardy,” Ser Jasper said,“Prince Jacaerys shall not make peace lest Your Grace renounce that he and his brothers are bastards, elsewise they will not have inheritance of Dragonstone or Driftmark.”

“I will not renounce the truth,” Aegon said,“but I am the king, and I can legitimize bastards. Write that I will do so in the cases of Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys.”

“Your Grace is wise,” Alicent said,“At last, Your Grace has secured the Iron Throne.” She was relieved that someone on the other side of Blackwater Bay saw sense, and she need not resort to that other peace. Aegon seemed to be drifting farther and farther away in the last moon, but she knew in the end that he was of one heart with her. He wanted peace.

“If I may speak, Your Grace,” Lord Strong appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“You may, my lord,” Aegon said.

“Prince Jacaerys’s terms are generous,” Lord Strong plucked the parchment from Orwyle,“because they are a lie.” He gently set the letter on the table and tapped it,“Look here. There is nothing that would make a peace last. No betrothals, no exchange of hostages, and most importantly no requests for pardon. His Grace is wise to note that Prince Jacaerys would be a fool to ask for a peace without pardon. Prince Jacaerys is no fool.”

There was more sting than a slap on the face, and Alicent felt her cheeks redden. She could not deny the reason in Lord Strong's words, though, as these were traitors, and prone to trickery. This has the Sea Snake written all over it, Alicent knew, Very well. She had offered the Sea Snake mercy, even pleaded that Aegon accept Jacaerys’s peace. Aegon was right to give Driftmark to Daeron. Now, the traitor lord and all his traitor house should find a traitor’s fate.

“Lord Strong speaks what I have suspected,” Alicent’s father said as he looked around the table,“and what other men of wisdom have also suspected. This peace is a ruse of sorts. I fear that it is what we discussed the last time we met.”

“Your fears are not unfounded, my Lord Hand,” Lord Strong said,“I have received more detailed tidings from my sources in Dragonstone and the other lands sworn to Rhaenyra. Lord Bartimos Celtigar is marching south from Harrenhal leading a host twenty-eight thousand strong, newly augmented by the forces of the Freys and Mallisters after the Stone Hedge fell to the traitors.”

“Are there no loyal lords left in the Riverlands?” Lord Jasper asked.

“Only those closest to Lord Jason,” Lord Strong said,“But most are petty lords, the largest of which is a cousin of Lord Tristan Vance who holds Atranta, but Lord Tristan himself has sworn to the traitors. Most of the Riverlands are cowed by Meleys.”

“Any word from Lord Grover?” Lord Jasper asked.

“Lord Grover is deathly ill,” Lord Strong said,“and his grandson and heir Ser Elmo has taken charge of Riverrun. He frequents with Frey and Mallister, and has even hosted in his halls Lord Benjicot Blackwood and men who had fought for Rhaenyra.”

“We must operate under the assumption that the Tullys have joined the traitors,” Ser Criston said,“and they have sealed their doom. If Lord Celtigar is marching south, then the Riverlands themselves are empty.” “Ser Tyland,” Ser Criston said,“Your brother should march down from his hills this instant and reclaim the Riverlands for the king.”

“My brother is rallying the Westerlands for that very course,” Ser Tyland said,“A host twenty thousand strong under Ser Hunter Banefort and Ser Raynald Westerling have marshaled at Banefort, which will soon march down the Tumblestone. Another twenty thousand have marshaled south at the Golden Tooth under the command of Lord Humfrey Lefford, Ser Adrian Tarbeck, and my brother himself, ready to march down the River Road. Even with many Westermen garrisoning his western coasts from the Ironborn, my brother will amass enough to take the Riverlands.”

“There will be resistance, of course,” Lord Strong said,“I have confirmed reports that Lord Bartimos has dispatched the Pipers and the Vances to garrison their west.”

“Lord Strong tells me they boast at most five thousand,” Ser Tyland said,“not a major concern. We will snatch the traitorous Tullys between the two claws of a golden lion.

“Glad tidings may that be,” Alicent’s father said,“That will not help us when the strength of Harrenhal marches south.”

“The strength of the Riverlands is not all that will accompany Lord Bartimos as he marches south,” Lord Strong said,“The Vale Knights have amassed at the Bloody Gate under the command of Lady Jeyne’s cousin and Ser Corwyn Corbray. Five thousand heavy horse with thrice times the amount of levies and attendants, poised to join Lord Bartimos as he marches south.”

“Have we word of Lord Borros?” Lord Jasper asked,“Last I heard, he was fending off some Dornishmen.”

“A new Vulture King,” Lord Strong said,“and he is there still.”

“No doubt those Dornishmen are in the employ of the Whore of Dragonstone,” Ser Criston said,“I would not put it past Martell to kiss the whore in order to sow chaos in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Send a raven to Baratheon nonetheless,” Aegon’s voice pierced through the din,“Tell him that he must march north in an instant, or I will make good the promise the Old King made Lord Rogar.”

Alicent turned to Aegon, and saw that her son’s face had grown purple from the soft pink it had been when he arrived. The rubies glinted on his black crown, and his hand was set upon Blackfyre.

“Your Grace,” Helaena said,“Perhaps we should not use those very words.” She turned to Orwyle,“Prepare a letter telling Lord Borros that Aemond should like to wed his bride, and needs his attendance.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Orwyle answered.

Aegon’s face did not change its shade,“My lords. I think you have failed to recognize what would truly be our downfall. You look north and south, and fail to see the danger right in front of your eyes.”

“We had discussed Dragonstone, Your Grace,” Alicent’s father sighed,“and we recognize its dangers.”

“You have come up with no solutions,” Aegon snapped,“What I was left with last council was sure defeat as you promised that you would deliberate. Well, what is the result of your deliberation?”

There is a result, Alicent knew. Father had been weighing potential strategies before the letter from Jacaerys arrived. But Alicent also knew that her father would never speak it in the face of Aegon’s anger. Her son was brave, but sometimes bravery was not the way forward.

“We have received letters from the Triarchy,” Alicent’s father said evenly, trying to ease Aegon with other gladder tidings,“The thirty-three of their ruling council has come to a decision favouring our cause, and their fleet has set sail under command of Admiral Sharako Lohar of Lys. Ninety great warships swearing to the golden dragon shall be in the Gullet in a moon.”

“We do not have a moon, Grandfather,” Aegon slammed his hand on the table, and pointed his finger out the window towards Blackwater Bay,“My half-sister is right there, with ten dragons.”

Alicent froze in place, and the Small Council was silent until Helaena put on a hand on Aegon’s arm,“Your Grace, calm yourself. Everyone here is trying to find a way to defeat Rhaenyra.”

Aegon’s eyes was still hard as he turned to her,“My queen. Do you have an idea as to how we can defeat Rhaenyra?”

“I believe Grandfather has a way,” Helaena turned to Alicent’s father.

So she knows what we discussed, Alicent was not surprised. Sometimes, Alicent wished that Aegon had a bit of his sister’s cunning.

“In King’s Landing,” Ser Otto said,“We are at a great disadvantage. We are beset by enemies from both sea and land, Lord Corlys’s fleet strangling us while only a small buffer of Crownland lords lie between us and Rhaenyra’s strength. And our location is made all the more perilous in that we are only a days’ flight from Dragonstone, and Rhaenyra may strike at any moment. King’s Landing is no longer a fit seat for a king. The wisest course would be to retreat from this city into the safety of the wide Reach, where neither Rhaenyra’s men nor her dragons can hope to reach.”

Aegon’s face was frozen, his lilac eyes unreadable. At least he is not raging, Alicent knew. That meant that her son was at least considering the course.

“You would have me be named a craven like Aenys,” Aegon said,“To die a penniless death in some foreign hold. Not even Maegor abandoned King’s Landing, even when all the realm rose against him.”

“And Maegor died,” Ser Otto said,“Murdered by his own men, no less. Need I remind Your Grace that Prince Daemon has many in the city who worship his name in the same breath as the Warrior?”

“You would have me give up the Iron Throne to Rhaenyra,” Aegon snarled,“The Seven Kingdoms see a king because he sits the Iron Throne. What would they think if he abandons that seat to his half-sister? I might as well crown her myself.”

 “The Iron Throne will be retaken,” Ser Otto said, his voice hard,“That, I promise Your Grace, if Your Grace would only listen.”

“What is the harm in letting Rhaenyra try the seat, Your Grace?” Alicent said,“She will only cut herself, and the realm shall see whom is the true king.”

Aegon seemed to stir at her words, but his eyes were still sharp as he stared at Alicent’s father,“Tell me how you will win back my kingdom.” 

“I cannot tell Your Grace here,” Ser Otto said,“I trust each member of the Small Council, but there may be ears within the walls.”

“If I do not know how my kingdom can be retaken,” Aegon was adamant,“You shall have a king who will take his stand in King’s Landing, however many dragons he faces.”

Alicent opened her mouth to speak, but found no words. Father will know how to convince him, but Ser Otto was silent when Alicent glanced at him. The rest of the Small Council became cravens again, and each one seemed to shrink in his seat.

“Aegon,” it was Helaena who spoke at last,“You can make a valiant last stand, but there are those who do not ride Sunfyre or wield the Conqueror’s sword. Your children should have had no part in this war from the very beginning. Jaehaera is safe, but your two heirs are still in danger. If anything, send Jaehaerys and Maelor away when battle comes to King’s Landing. I will stay with you and Aemond on Dreamfyre, for you shall need all the dragons you can have.”

“Helaena,” Aegon said,“If it comes to a dance above King’s Landing, you will die. Me and Aemond can face our deaths with sword in hand, but our children need you.”

“I will be powerless to protect them if you and Aemond die,” Helaena said,“A lone dragon does not bode well against ten.”

“So all in all,” Aegon huffed,“you are telling me the only way forward is to abandon King’s Landing.”

“You will live to retake your throne,” Helaena said,“rather than die defending it.” She pointed at Ser Otto,“Trust our grandfather. He has a plan.”

Aegon locked eyes with Ser Otto for a long moment, then nodded. “Tell me how we shall retreat.”

Ser Otto had Orwyle bring out a map, and Alicent’s father unfurled it with his thick hands. “Rhaenyra shall be expecting us to retreat down the roseroad,” he pointed at the road from King’s Landing to Highgarden,“so we cannot take that path.” “Instead,” his hand traced another route,“We shall travel west on the Goldroad until we reach the Pearl Mountains, where we will turn south-west and pass through the Poacher’s Pass to Tumbleton. There, we shall sail down the Mander to Bitterbridge, Longtable, Cider Hall, and then Highgarden.”

“Are we all going on this journey?” Helaena asked,“Rhaenyra can just follow the river and find us. We cannot even hide amongst the barges, for we have three dragons.”

Only two, Alicent knew, but they were not to know that part yet. “Four,” Ser Otto said,“We have reached tidings that my nephew Lord Ormund’s host has passed Bitterbridge half a fortnight ago and are marching for Tumbleton. Scarce two days after the Tyrells swore to the king, Lord Benjamen Footly of Tumbleton sent his own raven of fealty. You shall meet Lord Ormund and Prince Daeron at Tumbleton, and they will deal with any chasers. We hope that Rhaenyra will send chasers.”

“There will be another host, right?” Aegon asked. He was beginning to understand, Alicent smiled.

“Aye,” Ser Otto answered,“The host moving southwest will only be that of the royal refugees. They will include Prince Jaehaerys, Prince Maelor, and my daughter. Ser Jasper, Ser Tyland, and Grand Maester Orwyle shall also accompany this host with several score leal lords and their retinues and levies. But seven thousand picked men shall join Ser Criston and I as we march south down the Kingsroad and join Lord Borros in the Stormlands. We will dispatch ravens to Storm’s End, Crow’s Nest, and all of the marcher holdfasts where he may be staying. But if he remains resilient, there will be a summons that he cannot ignore.”

The preparations for the retreat took the better part of a day, until the afternoon sun was burning through the autumn chill and sweat was glistening on Alicent’s hand. She rubbed it away with her sleeve, and her sleeve began to itch. Alicent glanced at Helaena, who was speaking with Ser Tyland about possible wage increases for the men during the march.

“Father,” Alicent said,“Could you tell me again what day are we to depart?”

“Whenever Prince Aemond returns,” Ser Otto sighed as he turned back to his parchment which stewards timely brought him and delivered away.

“Your Grace,” Alicent said to Helaena,“Do you know when my son would return with Vhagar?”

Helaena turned to Alicent with a sharp look in her eyes,“Aemond left two days ago. He promised that he would take at most three days, so he should return on the morrow.”

“We will be able to leave as soon as he returns,” Alicent smiled,“Though without Your Grace, we would not be able to leave at all.”

Helaena glanced at Aegon, who was poring over war maps with Ser Criston and Ser Arryk. Alicent knew to nod and turn away. Helaena wanted her to wait for Aegon to depart.

It was only when night arrived when Aegon at last left his war table with Ser Criston and adjourned to his bed. Aside Alicent, Helaena, and Ser Arryk, only Ser Otto and his sworn sword Ser Laith remained in the chamber.

“You should have spared me the flattery, Mother,” Helaena said,“I did not convince Aegon for you.” She glanced at Ser Otto,“Or Grandfather. His Grace needed a way out in which he did not seem a craven, and I gave it to him. I gave him what you never could and never would. He wants to be a king, a great king like his namesake the Conqueror, not some boy behind his mother’s skirts. And what a king truly fears is being choked of his power, like you have since that day you decided to seat him on the Iron Throne. Twenty-three years at the side of House Targaryen, and you still do not know how to dance with dragons.”

“We have a war before us,” Alicent said,“and we know who the true enemy is. I only ask for a moment of peace in our own house.”

“You closed that door a long time ago,” Helaena turned away.

Chapter Text

“You were a fool,” Rhaenys spat in Prince Daemon’s face.

The prince did not try to raise his fettered hands to wipe the spittle off. “Aye, I was,” he answered,“but you were even more of a fool for saving me.”

This was a mistake visiting him, Rhaenys slapped him across the face, and one of the cuts on his skin began to ooze blood again. “I am sorry,” Prince Daemon said,“I should have asked in more courteous tones. Why did you speak on my behalf, Princess Rhaenys?”

“Laenor,” Rhaenys snarled,“You brought me his killer’s head. I told you that day that I owed you my life. And now that debt is repaid. We are even now, my prince. I owe you nothing.”

“If this is your manner of repaying your debt,” Daemon said,“You are doing a poor job of it. You are just prolonging my suffering. This cell is cold, and these fetters colder. Our sweet prince Jace did not trouble to even give me hay to cushion my stone bed. And you saw the eyes of all the guards out there. Each of them wants to murder me and give my head to the Prince of Dragonstone, whether to flatter my wife or to gain a hefty bag of gold. I think it is most like both.”

“How would you like me to repay the debt?” Rhaenys asked.

“Get me out of these chains,” Prince Daemon said,“and tell me where Caraxes is. I shall do the rest.”

“If you think I am more loyal to you than to my grandson,” Princess Rhaenys laughed,“You are sorely mistaken, my prince.”

“That begs the question, does it not?” Prince Daemon said,“Why are you loyal to the Prince of Dragonstone? It is not just that he is your grandson. I am your goodson. By blood I am closer.”

“He is a clever and kind boy,” Rhaenys said,“and he will make a good king one day.”

“I know all about his cleverness, not so much about his kindness,” Prince Daemon said,“I taught him how to use a sword, how to ride a dragon, and how to kill a man. In two of these he is already better than me, and he will soon exceed me in the third. Believe me if you will, but I was fond of our sweet prince.”

“Yet not fond enough to keep you from plotting to kill him,” Rhaenys said.

“Jace reminded me of my brother when he was young. Prince Viserys was a most promising prince, and everyone at court swore that he would bring the realm into an eternal spring. Seven Hells, he rode Balerion the Black Dread. What surer sign can there be of the Conqueror come again, who will bring a new dawn to House Targaryen?”

“Viserys was a good king,” Rhaenys said,“He brought the realm decades of peace and plenty.”

“Only because of the men working in the shadows to keep him on his seat,” Prince Daemon chortled,“Your husband, Otto Hightower, and most importantly his brother who loved him. How many assassination plots would have found him had I not reformed the gold cloaks to be loyal only to the king? Would he have roused his fat body to tame another dragon and fight the Triarchy had I not snubbed their expansion in the crib? How many lords in the realm wanted you and your son to ascend the Iron Throne instead of my brother, until I reached out to your husband and arranged for Laenor to marry Her Grace whilst I married your daughter? Viserys gave me Dark Sister, and I always thought the sword a fitting gift. It was always said that Aegon sat the Iron Throne but Visenya ruled the realm. I ruled the realm for my brother.”

“Did that give you the right to usurp his daughter?” Rhaenys said.

For the first time, Prince Daemon did not have a quick answer on his lips. “That is curious, isn’t it?” he answered after a long time,“If you told me that Aegon the Usurper was riding here with his dragon to burn down Dragonstone, I would mount Caraxes and defend Her Grace as well as her Velaryon children without a second thought. But give me Dragonstone alone, and you would find what Visenya would have done if the Conqueror had given her a chance.”

“Even if you wanted only to usurp the queen,” Rhaenys said,“why would you want to kill her children?”

“One road leads to another,” Prince Daemon answered,“and once you are on the path to hell, you cannot turn back. And so I went from the Prince Regent of Dragonstone to a murderer who wanted dead a boy he was fond of. And that man wanted to justify his murderous intent by believing that the boy was a bastard, and that his own son was the only one worthy of the Iron Throne.”

“Would you like me to tell your story to Jace?” Rhaenys scoffed.

“You can tell him all you wish,” Prince Daemon said,“You can tell him that I repented and want to kiss his feet for forgiveness, or that I cursed him as the bastard of Harwin Strong, it will make no matter. His mind is set. There is no turning back for me.” “If you want to do something for me,” he smiled,“Go to Luke and tell him this. I commend him for what he did at Storm’s End. We second sons always have to sacrifice more than the first.”

“You asked the wrong dragon,” Rhaenys said. She turned and left before she could hear another of Prince Daemon’s words.

“My princess,” one of Gerardys’s stewards were waiting for her outside, a freckled boy with a fair mop of hair,“If you are not indisposed, Prince Jacaerys begs your presence at the Chamber of the Painted Table.”

“Tell the Prince of Dragonstone that I shall be there shortly,” Rhaenys said. Jace gave her scarce a free moment. When first she returned to Dragonstone with the letter’s words burning in her head, she had found Jace awaiting her in the sky on Vermax. He touched down without a word, and instructed her in Daenys’s Yard amongst the eyes of the new dragonriders that he planned a march on King’s Landing. Rhaenys was to return to Harrenhal and arrange the Riverland levies. She asked to see the queen, and Jace granted them one brief meeting before he saw Rhaenys off.

Celtigar had been most eager to arrange the march. His face had gone white when he heard of Prince Daemon’s treason. He doubtless believed that he would be condemned in association, as Her Grace had told Rhaenys that it had been Prince Daemon who had given Celtigar the Handship.

“I swear on Claw Isle that I knew naught of Prince Daemon’s treason,” Celtigar fell to his knees before Rhaenys,“I only wished to serve Her Grace lealy as her Hand.”

“We know that you are loyal,” Rhaenys said,“and the Prince of Dragonstone is of a wish to let you keep your Handship if you continue to prove capable.”

“Prince Jacaerys will not be disappointed,” Celtigar assured her, and he set out in an instant to plan the march.

“Is there anything amiss amongst our new men?” Rhaenys asked. She remembered Frey, Vance, Mallister, Blackwood, and Piper gathering at the Stone Hedge, surrounding the castle and preparing dead cows to throw in there with trebuchets. The dead cows rotted on the arms of the trebuchets, for Rhaenys flew Meleys over the Stone Hedge and the castle had surrendered aptly. She remembered landing before the assembly of the Riverland lords with Darklyn’s men at her heels.

The old Piper was the first one to bend his knee. “I remember the oath I swore the Realm’s Delight,” he said,“I swore her my sword. I’m older now, but not so old that I’ve forgotten the words I said, and it happens I still have the sword.”

“Nor do we young ones forget,” Lord Forrest Frey was the next to bend his knee. Fool Lord Frey, Rhaenys observed with a smile playing at her lips, remembering how the stuttering boy had tried to ask for Her Grace’s hand. He was not so stuttering now,“Her Grace spurned me once, that is true, but I will not have it said that a Frey broke his oath because of a boy’s fantasy.”

Vance and Mallister said the words after, and the Blackwood boy was shy but courteous, but the warrior Rhaenys remembered most was the woman who knelt beside the Blackwood boy, a silent lady with stern eyes and hair as black as the night with a yew bow slung across her shoulder. “Lord Benjicot’s aunt Lady Alysanne,” Darklyn later told Rhaenys,“It is said that she was the one who shot dead Ser Amos Bracken after he slew Lord Samwell Blackwood.”

But that was not why Rhaenys remembered her. Looking at Alysanne Blackwood was like looking in a mirror, and Rhaenys saw herself thirty years ago. She barely saw Blackwood as they marched back to Harrenhal with Lord Humfrey Bracken in shackles and the winter stores of the Stone Hedge rolling behind them. It was not two days after she returned to the castle that Prince Daemon’s letter arrived.

“Bracken’s stores would keep the host at Harrenhal afloat for five moons,” Celtigar said when arranging the march,“and we could have afforded to wait. It would have been ideal for Lord Grover to give up his ghost and pass Riverrun to Ser Elmo before we marched, Ser Elmo making certain that the Riverlands are Her Grace’s, but the prince’s wishes are more urgent. Besides, Ser Elmo is in truth the Lord of Riverrun already.”

Before Rhaenys departed for Dragonstone, she had Celtigar arrange a feast for the host in Harrenhal. Celtigar had kept it modest, for Rhaenys wanted no drunken Riverlanders when war was upon them. It meant a doubling of the usual ration for the common levy, wine and meat for the serjeants and captains, and a feast for the lords in the solar of Celtigar’s chamber in Kingspyre Tower, which was as large as the Stone Drum in Dragonstone.

“Before we pass into that trial of swords,” Rhaenys had given the toast,“I want all here to remember that every man in Harrenhal, whether he sits at this table, who sings of valour in the yards, or stands sentry on the walls, is a man of a true heart. It was these men who brought the Conqueror the Seven Kingdoms, it was these men who slew Maegor for the Old King, and it will be these men who will win Queen Rhaenyra’s war.” She raised her cup in the air,“I salute you, heroes of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Down with the Usurper,” Ser Larence Darry threw his dagger onto the table and stood. He raised his cup to Rhaenys,“I will be proud to name you captain, my princess.”

Darry’s words had scarce fell ere Lord Luthor Roote rose. “Hail to Prince Aemon’s daughter,” Lord Luthor Roote shouted,“The blood of the Conqueror and Orys One-Hand flows in her.” He raised his cup to Rhaenys,“Down with the Usurper.”

And a trickle soon became a tide, lords rising from their seats and raising their goblets to her. “We would be glad to fight for you, Princess Rhaenys,” Lord Walys Mooton shouted,“To die for you if need be.” He jabbed his dagger into the table so fierce that splinters began to fly in the air, and his voice soon joined the others,“Down with the Usurper. Down with the Usurper. DOWN WITH THE USURPER.”

Rhaenys remembered Celtigar’s wary eyes set upon her that night. The memory still sent chills down her spine, how she had wished they had gone that one extra step in Kingspyre Tower, and name the Queen Who Never Was queen.

Harrenhal’s stones were trembling when a shrill voice cut through the din. “Let us not forget who we are fighting for,” Rhaenys heard the voice of Alysanne Blackwood for the first time. Alysanne Blackwood’s arm was set on her nephew’s shoulders, whose lips were only half-open in the midst of shouting men. Rhaenys met Alysanne Blackwood’s eyes, and Blackwood opened her lips: “We are fighting for Her Grace Rhaenyra. For Viserys’s little girl.” It was like Rhaenys was berating herself. She set flight for Dragonstone right after the feast.

A war council had gathered at the Chamber of the Painted Table. Jace stood at the table’s head, his silver crown upon his brow. The lords and knights still in Dragonstone stood around the great stone map of Westeros. “A careful approach is wisest,” Lord Lambert Whitewater was arranging figures on the map,“Dragons may conquer a city, but they cannot hope to hold it.  Lord Celtigar has informed us that he has reached Brindlewood, halfway between Harrenhal and King’s Landing, awaiting the Vale Knights which have just ridden from the Bloody Gate. We should wait for them to reach Rosby and secure its surrender, a days’ march from King’s Landing. They can then support us when our dragons strike.”

“Lord Whitewater speaks wisely,” Ser Glendon Goode said,“ Even if Prince Daemon’s agents agree to follow us, spies are not men who can hold a city of five hundred thousand. And the Watch is doubtless in the employ of the Usurper if he has seized King’s Landing so soon after King Viserys’s death. We need our own men to hold the city.”

“Are you two cravens?” Hugh snorted,“You give the traitors time to flee when they hear o’ the red crab’s march and our dragons. A sure strike, my prince, shall destroy the traitors ere they can run.”

Jace made no answer to any of them, his eyes darting to and fro upon the stone map. He would timely glance at the north, though Rhaenys knew not the cause. It was only when Luke whispered in his ear that his eyes rose to meet Rhaenys as she entered. “Grandmother,” Jace greeted curtly. He then turned to the war council,“I thank my lords for your wise counsel. I shall think on all you have said. You are dismissed.”

Clamour filled the chamber, as lords muttered farewells and their leather boots scratched on the stone floor. Luke and Joff remained, standing on either side of Jace, as did the bastard dragonseeds who stood around the Painted Table. Hugh smiled at Princess Rhaenys, whilst Ulf tapped his finger on the table. It was the first time Rhaenys saw Nettles, the thin girl said to have tamed the giant Sheepstealer. There were scratches and blisters upon her chocolate-brown hands while she smelled of an odd mix of perfume and smoke, but her voice was light as she spoke with the white-haired bastard who named himself Rhaenys’s grandson.

Addam looked like Laenor, that was beyond doubt, with his handsome face framed by a curtain of shining silver hair. Jace said that Addam would put to rest those false rumours that Laenor did not love women, but it was still foolish of her son to betray the queen. Laenor is dead and gone now, Rhaenys told herself, It is no use chastising him. If Rhaenyra had no qualms about this bastard, why should Rhaenys?

“Where is Her Grace?” Rhaenys asked Jace. Rhaenys glimpsed Ser Lorent Marbrand standing guard at the door with Ser Alfred Broome and two other guardsmen, so she assumed that the queen was here.

“Visiting Baela,” Jace said,“Have no worries, Grandmother. Mother is safe. Ser Steffon and Ser Erryk are with her.”

“You should visit Baela,” Rhaenys said,“whilst Luke or I can handle your duties as the Prince of Dragonstone. I do not think you would like a sour wife.”

Jace flinched, and Joff looked at him.

“What is it, Jace?” Rhaenys said.

“Baela is no longer my betrothed,” Jace said, his voice quiet.

“Is it because of her father?” Rhaenys asked,“I hear that you are planning to send Aegon to the Eyrie and Viserys to White Harbour. Your grandfather also told me that you have asked him to take Rhaena to Driftmark. Wise, Jace, to keep your enemy’s children under guard by your loyal men? Is spurning Baela your next punishment?”

“Aegon and Viserys will be safe in the north,” Jace said,“and Rhaena should know her land before she becomes Lady of Driftmark. Baela is another matter. We do not have time now to discuss it. I will tell you after we capture King’s Landing.”

It is these dragonseeds, Rhaenys knew the truth of the matter. Jace did not trust them with those tidings.

“Has Prince Daemon agreed to lend us his friends in King’s Landing?” Jace asked.

Rhaenys had forgotten that had been the reason that she was there. The words froze on her tongue, and she only managed to shake her head.

“Very well,” Jace said,“I shall approach him myself then.”

“Luke should go with you,” Rhaenys said.

“I do not think it wise,” Jace looked at her with a curious look in his eyes,“Luke had advocated for Prince Daemon’s execution.”

“It is not safe for you alone, Jace,” Joff said,“Not only should Luke go with you, I will as well.”

“My word is final on this, Joff,” Jace said, and Joff fell quiet.

“My prince,” Ulf said, his voice silky,“If I may speak about the march from Harrenhal.”

“You may,” Jace answered as his eyes flew back to the Painted Table.

“There are no dragons protecting Lord Celtigar’s host,” Ulf said,“The Usurper did not dare strike Harrenhal out of a fear of Meleys, but Meleys is no longer there. He need only fly north and our armies will be ablaze. I volunteer myself and Silverwing to escort the host south.”

“The northern host is unprotected, because it is bait,” Rhaenys answered for Jace,“If the Usurper rides north, he will leave King’s Landing empty, and our conquest will be all the more easier.”

“You did not tell me,” Luke turned to Jace,“That is twenty thousand men you are throwing to the fires. Twenty thousand dragon men.”

“Only such a bait could lure dragons,” Jace said,“The host has marched, and I have no power to take them back.” Rhaenys agreed with him. It was war.

“This ruse and that ruse will blow up in your face, Jace,” Luke snapped,“Like your letter to King’s Landing. Have you ever considered what would happen should the Usurper accept your peace? The Prince of Dragonstone would be breaking his word of honour.”

“You were the one urging me to slay my uncle and be named kinslayer,” Jace said.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Luke said,“And the right thing here is to keep your word to the realm. The Usurper must be laughing at the trap you set for yourself.”

“If the Usurper tries to close the trap on me,” Jace said,“he will find himself strangled. He himself would renounce the claims that we three are bastards of Harwin Strong, and he will find it troublesome to change his word later. Westeros will not like a liar on the Iron Throne.” He waved Luke away when he tried to protest further,“We gather here not to discuss that letter. All the able dragonriders in Dragonstone have gathered in this hall, and dragons shall be the brunt of our assault.”

“Mother is not here,” Joff noted.

“Mother is queen,” Jace answered,“She cannot risk herself in the attack. When the city is taken, she shall join us on Syrax to sit the Iron Throne.” He turned to Joff,“Nor shall you join us, brother. I entrust Dragonstone to you in Her Grace’s absence.”

“You need Tyraxes,” Joff said.

“This is a command, Prince Joffrey,” Jace snapped, then his voice softened,“You are the only one I would trust with Dragonstone. Will you accept it?”

Rhaenys saw that Joff’s face was scrunched up, but he did not turn away. “I will,” Joff muttered.

Jace nodded, and his fingers traced the banners gathered at Brindlewood which bore the quartered banners of the queen and the red crab of Celtigar,“Lord Whitewater is right, Hugh. We must be patient. If the Usurper does not take the bait, then we wait until Lord Celtigar reaches Rosby. Once his raven reaches Dragonstone, we take wing at once to join him and take Rosby the dragon way. Then, we shall descend on King’s Landing from the north with Riverland banners beneath the seven dragons in the skies.”

“Lord Corlys shall also approach King’s Landing from the sea,” Rhaenys said,“His fleet has recently been strengthened by fresh ships from Gulltown, the Fingers, and White Harbour. His men shall sail up the Blackwater Rush and assault the southern gates whilst Lord Celtigar and the dragons close in from the north.”

“How many dragons will we be facing?” the boy Addam said.

“Three dragons of fighting size are in King’s Landing,” Jace said,“but Gerardys tells me that there are reports that Prince Daeron has reached Tumbleton with Tessarion. We must make ready for four.” His hand hovered above King’s Landing,“They will surely know of our coming when the host from Harrenhal approaches, and the Usurper’s dragons will be patrolling the skies. But we shall be falling from the sun, and he will not know. Kill Vhagar first. She will be the grey dragon. Once Vhagar is dead, the rest will come easy.”

“We shall smash the Usurper,” Hugh thumped his fist on the Painted Table, shaking the pieces.

“Seven against four,” Luke said,“That was scarce better than the beginning of the war. What happened to you, Jace? You were never so reckless before.”

“Your brother is not reckless,” Rhaenys said,“He is bold. We shall never win this war should we cower behind the black walls of Dragonstone.”

“Once the dragons are dead,” Jace continued without a glance at Luke,“and our forces have secured the city, we shall land. King’s Landing must see and fear Mother’s dragons. Sheepstealer and Arrax will land upon Visenya’s Hill above the Marble Sept. You should know the sept by its white pillars. Vermithor and Silverwing will light upon the Hill of Rhaenys at the entrance of the Dragonpit. Seasmoke shall patrol the skies, watching for any remnant of the Usurper’s forces.”

“And us, my prince?” Rhaenys asked.

“Meleys and Vermax shall set upon the Red Keep on Aegon’s High Hill,” Jace knocked down the piece of the golden dragon in King’s Landing,“and claim the Iron Throne.”

Chapter Text

Tyland’s horse clattered across the cobbles of King’s Landing.

Clip, Clop, he tried to use those clatters to block out every other sound. He tried not to hear the shouts of angry men all around the street, and the sharp scratches as the gold cloaks of the City Watch scuffled with flesh. But he could not unhear the words,“Cravens. Cravens. Cravens.”  The smallfolk were fearful of their departure, that the king left them to Rhaenyra.

The gratitude Aegon had received for his bread vanished in a night when rumours spread through the streets that the king was abandoning them. Come the morning, when the king’s party sought to leave King’s Landing by the Lion Gate, the streets were packed with bodies which slowed the processions to a crawl. Even as Ser Gwayne and Ser Luthor’s gold cloaks strode forward to disperse the crowds, the going was slow. Too slow.

While we wait, Tyland’s palms were slick with sweat, Rhaenyra will be riding. Seven forbid what happens should she capture him. His plans went out the window the day Aegon pulled him before the tapestry of Lord Rogar. Every man knew that Tyland was the architect of the twin marriages of the golden dragon to the Lannisters. And Rhaenyra will pay no heed to my offered gold when she hears that I was Aegon’s best man.

“Let me deal with them,” Tyland remembered Prince Aemond advising the king about the crowds,“I will ride Vhagar over them once, and I promise you that the streets will be clear.”

Tyland hoped that the king would agree, but Queen Helaena waved Prince Aemond’s proposal away. “We are returning to this city, brother,” the queen said,“We will not leave like bandits.” And the king shook his head. Yet the queen was a hypocrite behind her false smiles, for it was she who suggested that dragons carry the royal heirs away from the city first. “In case Rhaenyra appears during our lengthy retreat,” the queen said.

The king assented, and Sunfyre and Dreamfyre had flown away into the west. There, the advance party was already encamped upon the Goldroad under the command of the Kingsguard knight Ser Gaston Flowers. The queen took Maelor and his little dragon on Dreamfyre’s back, and Jaehaerys sat behind the king on Sunfyre with Shrykos soaring beside them. Vhagar remained in the skies to keep watch over the city, but it was only one dragon. If Rhaenyra’s beasts appeared on the horizon, Vhagar would be more like to burn Tyland on the streets than save him. He willed that the gold cloaks push away the small folk faster.

“False king,” Tyland heard a man roar, and then a piece of shit landed on Tyland’s red steed. He flinched, and the horse reared into a stop. The song of steel answered the man’s roar, and he heard the gruff voice of the gold cloaks, “Who shouted? Who threw?” For the first time, silence fell around Tyland. He knew that both the shouter and the thrower had melted into the crowds. The gold cloaks had no hope finding them, and they were only slowing the procession.

“Keep going,” Tyland ordered,“We have no time to waste.” The two gold cloaks who drew their swords sheathed them, and the procession proceeded its slow crawl forward.

Five more times did shit hit Tyland’s horse, but none of the men were as courageous as the first to shout that Aegon was a false king. The sixth time, there was no shit, but a man bellowing. “Hail to the Prince of Dragonstone.”

So and so it went on, the gold cloaks drawing their swords only to find that the offending man had melted into the city. Their voices melted also in Tyland’s ears. “The Prince of the City.” “The Realm’s Delight.” The cry Tyland most oft hard was “Aegon the Usurper.”

The last time a man shouted Aegon the Usurper, he was not quick enough to escape the gold cloaks. He was brought before Tyland and the knight accompanying him. “Ser Tyland,” the gold cloak said as he wrenched the offending man to his knees before them,“What is your judgment?”

The knight beside Tyland was a fair-haired boy by the name of Ser Byron Commer. He bore a coil of rope upon his surcoat and wore a thin sneer. “This man is guilty of treason,” Ser Byron said,“You heard what he shouted.”

Tyland looked to the skies. They were empty now, but Tyland knew that they might not be as soon as he blinked his eyes. He knew that the eyes of the city were upon him, and that a riot would ensure should this man die. Then, it was no longer a matter of slow passage but whether Tyland would live to escape these streets.

“You heard him wrong, Ser Byron,” Tyland said,“He was saying Aegon the Unconquered, uncowed by the strength of the traitors.” Tyland bent over to find the kneeling man’s blue eyes in his haggard hair-strewn face,“That is what you said, is it not?”

The man’s eyes darted at the sharp spears in the hands of the gold cloaks, and returned to Tyland. “Aye, that is what me said, m’lord,” the man blinked.

“Very well,” Tyland said to the gold cloaks,“You heard him. Let him go.”

As soon as the gold cloaks released the man, he scrambled between the gaps of two gold cloaks to reach the crowd. He disappeared in an instant.

“Captain Mors,” Tyland commanded, and the gold cloak captain came forward.

Tyland remembered what the king commanded about the gold cloaks. “They serve us,” Aegon had said,“but their serjeants are loyal to Prince Daemon, and they have withheld payment, making the men resent us. If we take them with us, they shall doubtless betray us.”

“And what does Your Grace propose we do with them?” Ser Criston had asked,“If Your Grace wishes it, my men can storm all of the barracks, arrest the serjeants, and put the rest to the sword.”

“We still need the Watch to keep the peace whilst we withdraw,” Aegon answered,“The smallfolk will be furious at our retreat, and the Watch will have worries that prevent them from turning even if Rhaenyra descends from the skies. The Watch commanders - Ser Gwayne, Ser Luthor, and our knights - shall withdraw with us into the Reach, but I will leave the rest to my half-sister. Prince Daemon’s scheme may bite her back. The turncloak serjeants grew fat on the gold they embezzled, and they will find that sweet habits die hard even if my half-sister commands them to stop. And so the hate the watchmen bear me they will turn to Rhaenyra.”

When the City Watch commanders were summoned, all agreed to withdraw except Ser Luthor. “His Grace will need a man inside King’s Landing,” Ser Luthor said to the Small Council,“It is a dangerous duty, but one I must ask for as token of my loyalty to the king.”

“Ser Tyland,” Captain Mors brought Tyland to the present, bowing his head.

“That smallfolk man is right,” Tyland said,“Have the men chant ‘Aegon the Unconquered’ all the way until we reach the Lion Gate. It shall drown out any treasonous talk.” And prevent the delays of gold cloaks searching for traitors.

Captain Mors nodded, and the shouts of the gold cloaks echoed in Tyland’s ears, drowning out the clatter of his horse’s hooves and the scuffle of gold cloaks pushing the smallfolk away. He looked to the skies, and only Vhagar soared.

Tyland was the second of the Small Council to reach the Lion Gate after Lord Strong. When the Small Council saw the streets crowded in the morning, Ser Otto had each of the councilors ride along a different street. “If one road is blocked,” Ser Otto said,“His Grace shall still have his other councilors. Wait at the Lion Gate until noon, and leave immediately, even if you have to abandon some of your companions.”

Easy for him to say, Tyland had thought, but knew better than to give it voice. Ser Otto and Ser Criston would not join the other councilors at the Lion Gate. They were marching south to the Stormlands, and so they and their men were departing through the River Gate. Their path through the crowded cobbles was much shorter.

Tyland was grateful that he was not the one to be abandoned. The sun was only halfway up the sky when he arrived at the Lion Gate.

When noon came, none of the Councillors need be abandoned. Queen Alicent and Orwyle arrived scarce an hour after Tyland reached the gate. Septon Eustace’s short form followed on a donkey with three tall knights behind him. Lord Jasper was the last to arrive, complaining about lawless men and traitors. Tyland brought his horse beside Lord Jasper, amused at the lord’s mouth which was still cursing the lawless smallfolk.

“Did Lord Ironrod do his duty?” Tyland could not resist japing.

“Seven heads line the spikes upon the Street of the Sisters,” Lord Jasper snarled,“Then, the lowborn scum rioted, and killed twenty gold cloaks before they were subdued. Two knights had their skulls caved in, dragged off their coursers. One almost dragged me off, but for Ser Tanton here.”

A knight in a horsehair plume nodded to Tyland,“For each of ours, three of their fell. It was a bloody business.”

“The law must be bloody sometimes,” Lord Jasper said. He huffed and looked towards Tyland,“My lord Lannister. I believe I am the last one. Are you waiting for your gold before we depart?”

“You need not slander Ser Tyland,” Queen Alicent lifted the curtain of her wheelhouse, gesturing to Ser Gyles Belgrave who rode at her side,“Sound the horn. We are leaving King’s Landing.”

Uhhhhhhoooooo. The Kingsguard sounded the horn, and others answered along the procession. The foremost riders of the procession began to leave. It was almost an hour before Tyland and the other Councilors rode under the roaring maw of the Lion Gate. He remembered entering through those gates ten years ago, in the company of hundreds of crimson-cloaked knights beneath the banners of a gold lion. The gate then had looked larger as banners streamed beneath it, but now Tyland saw that the gate was truthfully little. The cave entrance to Casterly Rock was cramped, but the Lion Gate was two times smaller. The path to hell is like a tunnel that narrows, he remembered Septon Eustace once preach, It is easy to go in, but hard to come out. Tyland wondered if Cerelle and Tyshara would find the gate of King’s Landing large.

The camp upon the Goldroad had been two days in the making, and Tyland saw the smoke of their cookfires from two leagues out. Ravens and other birds made a wide swath of the skies above the camp, and the only wings above the camp were the gold ones of Aegon’s dragon.

Ser Gaston Flowers opened the east gates of the camp, and he rode out to greet the Small Council. Flowers’s helm gleamed on his head as he wore a thick woolen tunic all in white. A white fur pelt coated his shoulders above a silver clasp from which hung his Kingsguard cloak, and at his belt was a heavy longsword. His clothes and beard were coated with dust.

The wheelhouse came to a screeching halt before the gates, and Ser Gyles helped Queen Alicent down the tall oaken steps. Ser Gaston knelt before the queen and kissed her hand. “Are Her Grace Helaena and the princes safe?” Queen Alicent asked.

“They stay within the king’s pavilion, ringed and ringed by loyal men of the Crown,” Ser Gaston said,“Three of my brothers have orders to never leave their sides. Above all, Dreamfyre is guarding the pavilion night and day, and the princes have their own dragons. Her Grace Helaena would take no chances.”

“Her Grace is wise,” Queen Alicent said,“With the king and Prince Aemond watching for enemies in the sky, it might very well be that Rhaenyra has a hired blade lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike at the king’s children.”

“If there is such as hired blade,” Ser Gaston said,“Rest assured that we will find them.” Tyland heard Ser Jasper snort at the knight’s boastful tone. “If anything,” Tyland heard the lord mutter,“it will be Ser Rickard or Ser Arryk who will find the assassin, and you will claim all the glory.”

Tyland was not so fool enough to voice any amusement aloud, even as Queen Alicent did not seem to take notice of Ser Jasper’s comment. “House Targaryen is safe in the hands of such capable knights,” Queen Alicent said to Ser Gaston,“Has the king decided as to when we will march?”

“The king will return in an hour,” Ser Gaston answered,“as will Prince Aemond. We will decide then. In the meantime, Queen Helaena extends her invitation to Your Grace and the Small Council to lunch with her in the king’s pavilion.”

“Her Grace is too kind,” Queen Alicent said,“We shall join her.” She turned, and Ser Gyles helped her back up the steps of the wheelhouse. Ser Gaston mounted his horse and waved, and the procession parted to open a path into the gates.

Tyland had no time for such pleasantries as luncheon, but formalities must be maintained. House Targaryen must still remain a royal house even as they flee for the hills. Dozens of banners passed Tyland by as the knights beneath him saluted the party of Queen Alicent. “Hail to the King,” Tyland heard a young Bywater knight in a coat of blue and white shout. His cry was soon taken up by the other knights. A ring of wagons surrounded the centre of the camp, and looming above them the great blue shadow of Dreamfyre. She stalked around the wagons, her molten eyes darting to and fro. Once, Tyland thought that they were staring at him, and he froze. But his horse kept on riding, and the dragon’s gaze wandered away.

Queen Helaena greeted her mother at the steps of the king’s pavilion, a mighty black tent embroidered with a golden dragon and tipped with tall silver spears, twenty guards standing at every entrance. Tyland saw that the queen was in her riding leathers and a short tunic. An iron-tipped whip was strapped to a belt at her waist. The two queens embraced briefly before entrance and kissed each other on the cheeks. Tyland looked at Queen Helaena’s sides, and the princes were not with her.

Nor were the princes inside the pavilion. When Tyland saw that there was no hint of the Kingsguard in the king’s pavilion, he began to realize the truth. The great black pavilion was much too conspicuous, and any of Rhaenyra’s dragons would know exactly where to burn. So the queen had her children whisked off to safer havens, where Rhaenyra would have no idea where they were. But it still chilled Tyland. Are we the ones then to be the sacrificial lambs?

It was a blessing that they were not, for there was no feast inside the pavilion. Queen Helaena led them out a side door into a smaller, less conspicuous camp, and there they lunched modestly.

Still, Tyland’s lips were stiff as he lunched, the lamb leg’s meat being much stringier than he had ever tasted before. The tent was boiling, even as Queen Helaena’s smooth face smiled and exchanged words with her mother. Each wind from outside made Tyland’s eyes dart towards the exit, though he could not see the skies. He cocked his ears instead to hear the roar of Rhaenyra’s dragons, hoping that there would be time to scramble out of the pavilion when he heard it.

When Tyland at last did hear the roar, he spilled his wine cup standing up. He was about to run when Axell Trant burst into the hall. Trant was a boy, one of Aegon’s squires. The king had taken three new squires before he departed the city. The second squire was Bywater’s son Jason, and the third was Cresten’s son Gawen. Tyland could tell that none of them were fond of Sunfyre, but they accepted the king’s offer with smiles on their faces. “King Aegon has returned,” Trant knelt,“His Grace requests your company outside the pavilion.” Tyland breathed when Queen Helaena nodded.

King Aegon was standing in front of Sunfyre, his arms raised as his squires changed his armour. Gawen Cresten was fitting a new breastplate on, the old one abandoned at his feet. “That strap goes under the arm, not over,” Aegon boomed, slapping the squire who went sprawling. Cresten rose, the cheek where Aegon hit crimson red. The boy said nothing as he put the srap under the arm.

Sunfyre was still saddled, so it appeared that the king still planned to ride. The king watched as two soldiers fed a live ram to the golden dragon. Tyland looked up, and Vhagar was now patrolling the skies above the heads of the camp.

“Your Grace,” Helaena said when the squires finished armouring Aegon, and the king looked back. He dismissed his squires with a wave, then strode forward to embrace Queen Helaena and kiss her on the cheek. He then did the same with his mother. “Are we to march now?” Queen Alicent asked.

“Aye,” Aegon nodded,“All our parties have left the Lion Gate, and Ser Otto’s force is well on their way towards the Kingswood.”

“Very well,” Helaena turned to Ser Arryk,“Have it be known that the king has commanded us to break camp.”

“Aye, Your Grace,’ the knight nodded, and began to send forth messengers.

“Am I to relieve Aemond?” Helaena asked.

The king nodded, and the queen strode off with her attendants. Four soldiers prepared several batches of slaughtered sheep. Scarce a moment later, the blue dragon rose to the skies. Dreamfyre danced briefly with Vhagar above, until the grey dragon descended. Vhagar landed before Tyland, who closed his eyes as the dragon threw up a mountain of dust.

When Tyland opened his eyes, he saw that the grey dragon was beginning to fight Sunfyre for the ram the littler dragon was eating, until Aemond shouted and cracked his whip. Vhagar turned, and Aemond gestured for the slaughtered sheep to be thrown before the dragon. Satisfied that his dragon was feasting, Aemond turned away and joined his brother. Queen Alicent made to greet Prince Aemond, but the prince backed away. There was silence, until the king broke it.

“I hope your dragon eats fast,” the king said,“We are breaking camp.”

“Much too late,” Aemond said,“If I were Rhaenyra, this camp would already be ash. Be grateful that the whore is also a fool.”

“We are retreating, not fleeing,” Aegon said,“We will return, and King’s Landing must see that we left the place in order. I will not have my crown besmirched with a craven’s name.”

“You need not worry, brother,” Aemond laughed,“Have you not heard the name the men have been singing in the streets of the city. Aegon the Unconquered.”

“That is not a name I would have wanted,” Aegon said,“I am the Conqueror’s heir, not his undoer.”

“The singers will make it more pleasant,” Aemond looked at Vhagar, who was spitting up the bones of the last sheep she devoured,“There, Vhagar is done.”

“Aemond and I will scout ahead,” Aegon said to his mother,“When the camp marches, follow the road, and if the road ends, follow Dreamfyre.” He strode to Sunfyre and mounted the dragon. Aemond did the same with Vhagar. With two thunderclaps, the two dragons rose into the skies, and flew off into the west.

Chapter Text

You should thank me for saving your life, Rhaena thought as she watched Baela sleep.

Rhaena hoped that Baela would give her a better thanks than the one Luke gave her. She remembered the clattered knocks on the door, and her betrothed emerging with a furrowed brows and a red face. He stayed at the door, not even wanting to come close to her.

“I want to thank you for saving me,” Luke’s words came out quick and loud, and Rhaena had to put a finger to her lips, pointing at Baela.

Luke glanced at Baela, hesitated for a moment, and began to turn away. “Jace had arrested your three guardsmen when he captured the castle,” Luke said quickly before he departed,“I asked him to free them, and they are outside, awaiting your pleasure.” He left before Rhaena could answer, leaving her to ponder his words.

Are you awaiting my pleasure, sister? Rhaena wondered as she watched Baela’s sleeping face. Those words echoed throughout her mind as she tried to find the right words to say to her sister when she woke. Baela would not be wanting comfort. Father was bound to die one day, even as Jace said that he would not kill Father. Princes always did that whilst they hid daggers behind their back.

You saw it before me, Rhaena thought as she stroked a strand of Baela’s silver hair, Father was a fool. Or did Rhaena see it before her sister, when she wandered to Rhaenyra’s chambers to ask to wed the future king?

“I knew then that Father had sought to usurp the queen,” Rhaena whispered beneath her breath to Baela,“but it was all a game still. It never occurred to me that we might die in this game. Until Father told me of the feast. If he could kill Jace and Luke and Joff, why wouldn’t Rhaenyra kill us?”

What will become of us now? Rhaena wondered to her sister, You and me and Aegon and Viserys. That was truly the question. Jace said that he was sending them away to be safe during the war. Rhaena knew it was exile, but sometimes she wondered if Jace was still hiding his true face. Our ships caught in a storm outside of Dragonstone. A horrible tragedy. It would be so simple to explain it away. “Did I truly save your life?” Rhaena whispered. Baela did not stir, and Rhaena had to be content with twirling a strand of Baela’s hair around her finger.

Rhaena looked out the window, and spotted Moondancer chained in the courtyard. She had not brought her own dragon eggs into Baela’s chamber, and Rhaena wondered if she should be grateful that her eggs never hatched. Jace need not fear her. It was Aegon and Baela who could threaten him, and Viserys was also a son who could steal Jace’s crown. Jace has no need to kill the princess spare. The thought wakened a bitter taste in Rhaena’s mouth. What is it with me? Rhaena wondered, Do I want to die?

“All my life,” Rhaena whispered to Baela,“I had wished to be you. To be lavished by Father with attention, to ride a dragon like Moondancer through the skies, to wed Jace and be queen of all the realm one day. What would you think of me if I told you that I still wanted it, even after all that we have been through? All those years watching my dragon eggs remain stone in the hearth, scheming and plotting all the ways that I wanted to kill you, to usurp you and be queen, to ride Moondancer or to tame a beast in the Dragonmont like those bastards did. I never believed the whispers until Father told me, because why should they, lowborn scum, ride the beasts of House Targaryen while a trueborn daughter had to settle for a stone?”

She was breathing heavily by the end. Baela stirred in her sleep and turned to the side, but did not wake. Baela’s monkey Egg was eating a fruit in the corner of the chamber, and it never even turned its head. Rhaena calmed herself and looked at Baela’s sleeping face. “I came too far to go back,” she muttered,“I have to do justice to all those schemes and plots. I loved you once, sister.” And then she knew that she could not speak to Baela when she woke, and Rhaena rose to leave.

Ser Harrold and Rhaena’s old guardsmen were waiting in the hall alongside Jace’s Velaryon men who escorted Rhaena to Baela’s chamber. Luke fulfilled his promise, at least, Rhaena thought, though Jace’s men still stood scarce a few paces away.

Would they have heard me? Rhaena wondered, then dismissed the notion in an instant. She had whispered so quietly that she doubted if Baela would have heard if she was awake, never mind anyone listening through the walls.

“My lady,”Ser Harrold knelt and kissed her hand,“Where might you wish to go?”

“My chamber,” Rhaena said,“I must rest.”

When she turned the last corner to the hall leading to her chamber, Rhaena saw Ser Lorent Marbrand standing at the door. She prayed that it was not Jace who waiting for her, and she could not bear to meet Luke. Joff, then. Rhaena breathed a little at the prospect. Joff was kinder than his elder brother and gentler than his second.

The white cloak swirled around Marbrand’s feet as he knocked twice on the door and then marched towards Rhaena, greeting her with a curt nod. “My lady,” Marbrand said,“Her Grace Queen Rhaenyra requests your company.”

“Her Grace is too kind to come all the way here,” Rhaena said, then realized that she did not hide her surprise well in courtesies. She breathed, and made her heart calm,“Her Grace could have commanded me to attend her in her solar, and I would have come just as eagerly.”

“Her Grace knows that the last two days have been tiring for my lady,” Ser Lorent Marbrand said as he strode back to the door and opened it.

The queen was seated on one of Rhaena’s velvet cushions, drinking from a silver goblet. Rhaena’s handmaids were attending to the queen, Cafferen braiding the queen’s hair whilst Celtigar held a tray in her hands. When Rhaenyra saw Rhaena, she put the goblet down on the tray and gestured. Celtigar and Cafferen curtsied and then strode out of the chamber past Rhaena.

Rhaena did not realize that she was frozen until the queen beckoned. “Come,” the queen waved. As Rhaena stepped across the threshold, Rhaenyra put her hand back,“Your guards may wait outside.” Rhaena waved her guards away, and Ser Lorent closed the door behind her.

The queen beckoned for Rhaena to come closer, and Rhaena shuffled forward slowly until she was two steps from the queen. “Your Grace,” Rhaena curtsied.

“Sit,” the queen said, gesturing to another velvet cushion beside her, and Rhaena gingerly took a seat.

“How is your sister?” Queen Rhaenyra asked,“Has she awoken yet?”

“She is still asleep, Your Grace,” Rhaena answered,“but Maester Gerardys said that she is well. The maester said that after a taxing time, a long sleep is the best healer.”

“The Grand Maester,” Rhaenyra said,“Keep that in mind. We are no common lords.”

“Yes, the Grand Maester, Your Grace,” Rhaena said,“He is the best in the realm, and I have faith in his silver link.”

Rhaenyra studied Rhaena for a moment, staring into Rhaena’s eyes until she could no longer stand the violet gaze. Finally, the queen broke the silence,“The person most needing the Grand Maester’s healing is you, Rhaena.”

Rhaena did not know how to answer, so Rhaenyra continued.

“I heard Luke visited, to thank you,” Rhaenyra said,“and my son did it in the worst way possible. He stuttered, barely got his words out, and left before you even knew what was happening. Hardly the gratitude due to someone who has saved your life.” Rhaenyra smiled,“I suppose I have to offer my thanks, Rhaena. Without you, my sons would be dead.”

“It pleased me to be of service to Your Grace,” Rhaena managed.

“It is very good to have those who are loyal when treason plagues us so,” Rhaenyra said,“Ser Alfred claims to be one of them, and spun me a tale of how he did not know of my husband’s treason, and when he did, he gathered men to rise for his true queen. But I have very much cause to doubt him. Tell me, Rhaena, what truly happened here on Dragonstone whilst I was confined in Sea Dragon Tower?”

Rhaena bit her lip, and looked back into Rhaenyra’s violet eyes. They were not cold like Jace’s, but they had the same sharp glint. “He knew, Your Grace,” Rhaena said,“just like every man on Dragonstone. They knew that you were being imprisoned in your chamber, and Luke as well, but they did nothing because Prince Daemon rode Caraxes. But when they heard the Prince of Dragonstone had returned to Driftmark and Luke escaped with three of the dragonseeds, they knew who had more dragons and turned.” The words spilled out of her mouth, and she dreaded Rhaenyra’s next question. Did you know? But Rhaenyra did not ask it.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra nodded, and Rhaena could not read her eyes,“It seems that I should not trust the words that come out the lips of my guardsmen. There is another matter I must know the truth of. Luke told me only so much of the treason before his escape, and I do not trust Ser Alfred’s accounts of what came after. Tell me, Rhaena, what happened after you let Luke go?”

I fled back to my chamber and wept, Rhaena thought, fearing that Father would burst open the doors and seize me. She feared that Father would hang her guardsmen and make her watch, and then bring her to the headsman’s block. But Rhaenyra would not want to hear of her fears.

“Prince Daemon called me down to Daenys’s Yard, Your Grace,” Rhaena said,“Aegon and Viserys were already there. Stormcloud, Moondancer, and Caraxes were saddled. Prince Daemon told me that he meant to take us beyond the Narrow Sea, where he had friends in Pentos. Ser Alfred came and informed Prince Daemon that Baela was unforthcoming and asked to see him, and Prince Daemon went into the castle. He never came out again. When a knight emerged saying that Prince Daemon asked for Aegon, Lapel was suspicious. When Caraxes and Moondancer flew away, Lapel realized what had happened and told Aegon to mount Stormcloud. But then Ser Alfred’s men in the yard drew their swords, and outnumbered Lapel’s men three-to-one. They took Aegon before he could reach his dragon, and the rest closed around me and Viserys. Stormcloud burned some of them, but they had Aegon and the dragon would not burn his master. They slew Lapel, most of his men, and hanged the prisoners they took. I was relieved that I did not take my guards with me, for Ser Alfred’s men hanged those who guarded Aegon and Viserys.” 

“So your father decided to flee,” Rhaenyra’s voice was curious,“ Ser Alfred told me Prince Daemon was amassing an army to invade Driftmark and kill my sons. That is what I would have expected of him. But it makes no matter. A craven traitor is still a traitor. I am curious where Caraxes went. We have not found my husband’s dragon, and the fisherfolk say that they have sighted Caraxes taking roost in the Dragonmont alongside Grey Ghost and the Cannibal.” She smiled at Rhaena,“But the true question is this. Are you a traitor, my dear Rhaena?”

“I…” Rhaena found herself at a loss for words. 

“Never mind,” Rhaenyra laughed,“I trust your loyalty without a doubt. Remember when you came to me, and moved the cyvasse piece to take my king. I had the measure of you that moment. I knew then what you would put at the end of your father’s letter, and you would free Luke.”

“How?” was all Rhaena could manage.

“Because I gave you the power to decide,” Rhaenyra said,“and that was what you always wanted. That was what your father took away from you, even as he promised to wed you to the future king. You knew that only beneath my reign would you truly have power.”

“I do not want power,” Rhaena felt a cold chill crawl down her spine,“I only wanted to end the strife within our house.”

“And be content with your exile on Driftmark?” Rhaenyra sniggered,“and not even as its lady. I trust you know that your betrothed will no longer be lord. Our dear Luke promised the land to my husband’s bastard.” Her voice dropped low,“Jace wanted to contain knowledge of those offers so as not to rally Tyrell and Baratheon against us, but Hugh and Ulf were boasting of it, and the castle would know before long anyway.” Rhaenyra’s eyes grew sharp as they burrowed into Rhaena,“Tell me, do you truly want to go to Driftmark, and suffer Addam Waters’ glances? Bastards are lecherous and treacherous by nature.”

Rhaena bit her lip, wondering what game Rhaenyra was playing. After a long time, Rhaena gave up and answered,“No.”

“Very well,” Rhaenyra said quietly,“I shall tell you some tidings that you do not know. Our dear Jace is not as wise as he thinks he is. He has the power of a king and the mind of a boy, and does not know that he dances upon the strings of that Stark. He gave Aegon to the mermen, and promised Joff to the Night’s Watch. Every man of sense knows that the mermen and the black cloaks are stooges of the Starks, but Jace gave the North two dragons anyway. Jace broke his betrothal with Baela, and wishes to wed some northern bastard. I will give the throne to the Usurper before I allow that. The Starks will bring a host of northmen to plague the courts if one of their own is queen.  We can give the northmen gold to play with in their wastes, but Seven help the realm if we allow them to rule.”

“You mean to wed the prince to someone else,” Rhaena whispered.

“While he still listens to wiser men who can guide him in the right path,” Rhaenyra whispered,“I need someone by his side to convince of wisdoms he does not want to hear. Someone who can have him to be careful of the words whispered in his ear, be wary of the lords he favours, and deal justly with those he wants stripped of power. These are duties that a mother could never accomplish. I need someone who could rule at his side, as Alysanne did with Jaehaerys.”

Oh, Rhaena knew, and her mind raced as she stuttered, fearing that she would say a word that would make the queen change her mind.

“You know that we are flying soon for King’s Landing,” Rhaenyra said,“I would have held Jace back even if he would not wish to listen to me, but Lord Corlys tells me that the Usurper has fled King’s Landing with all his dragons. With the dragonseeds, victory is all but assured in the city. But we must think of what comes next.”

“Ruling the Seven Kingdoms,” Rhaena said.

“Ruling the Seven Kingdoms,” Rhaenyra nodded,“and I would like you to come with me to King’s Landing.”

Chapter Text

The walls of Tumbleton seemed smaller the last time Alicent was here.

Yet the last time I was here, I was a maiden, she thought, following my father who wanted to wed me to a king. Small wonder that the world had seemed so small then, when she was promised everything. But now, she was a woman aging, fleeing a castle and a war she made. Her grandchildren had to endure the pains of a forced march through paths that were never meant for even grown men.

Their escort had trailed off the Goldroad half a fortnight ago, and made their long journey through the stiff Pearl Mountains. The singers sang they were beautiful and glimmered white in the morning sunlight. It was the fantasy land where Charboy Robb and his Lady Tallis lived out the last of their days. It was also evident that the singers never passed through the mountains themselves.

The paths were treacherous to say the least, and they had to abandon the wheelhouse after the first mile. For two miles they proceeded on horseback as the earth heaved and fell below them, and they began to climb upon the side of a mountain where a dark valley loomed not fifty steps to the side. A few daring squires had stepped to the edge and kicked rocks into the emptiness, and none of them could hear them land. That was until one of the squires pushed a boy he hated off the edge. The king’s men hanged the murderer, and no one ever set foot near the edge again.

But after two miles, it became too treacherous even to ride. Even Alicent and the king’s council had to dismount and lead their horses like the common soldiers. The wider wagons had to be abandoned whilst their contents were packed onto narrower cousins. Gold was the first priority, then food, and so they left behind their clothes, their blankets, spare weapons, and anything else that could be thrown away into the valleys. The nights were cold without the blankets, and she heard many a tale of soldiers who threw the pieces of gold they had been paid with into the valley, praying to the Seven to give them clothes. She and the king’s council had furs to warm them, and she knew how the soldiers were looking at them.

The true problem in the first few days of their march was that no one knew who was in command of this retreat. “We should stop calling it a retreat,” Ser Jasper said to her on the third day,“It is clear we are fleeing. Might as well say so, and we will run all the faster.” But Alicent knew that they could not run any faster without a true command.

Helaena was more often than not absent, riding Dreamfyre over the clouds to scout for any of Rhaenyra’s dragons. Alicent thought that she was even sleeping sometimes in the saddle. The princes were too young, and Helaena had ordered them hidden anyway to protect from threats both without and within. Alicent did not even know where the dragons of the young princes were, except that they were in one of the wagons where soldiers routinely brought slaughtered sheep.

Ser Jasper, for all his complaints, would not take command, Gwayne was with Father, and Ser Tyland was a craven. And Aegon and Aemond are not here, Alicent bit her lip when she thought of them. Damn Father and all his schemes.

She was one of the only ones who knew the truth of their “scouting” to the west. “Sunfyre and Vhagar will fly off until Your Graces cannot see the camp,” she remembered the fires flickering on Father’s face as he relayed the plan to Aegon and Aemond,“Ascend into the clouds, and then ride south until you reach the Red Mountains. Find Lord Borros, and command him with your dragons to march and meet me and Ser Criston in the Rainwood. Rhaenyra will believe that the true threat, the four dragons, lay in the southwest, and she will give chase to our armies to put an end to Aegon’s claim.”

“The whore will hear of dragons in the Stormlands,” Ser Criston continued,“but she will dismiss them as the rumours of peasants. And whilst she sends her dragons to chase after the king, our own host will creep north under the cover of the Rainwood and then the kingswood. She will believe that it is a common army, enough to destroy with Syrax, until our dragons take her by surprise.” He threw a dagger onto the table,“And put an end to her claim.”

“Are you certain of this ruse?” Helaena had asked,“If she does not send all her dragons into the west, if she does not choose to stay in King’s Landing and leaves it an empty prize? So many things may go wrong.”

“If she does not send all her dragons into the west,” Ser Otto said,“She will not claim victory against our four dragons. You know Rhaenyra’s pride, and the Iron Throne is too sweet of a symbol to abandon.”

“Your plan hinges on Baratheon, Grandfather,” Helaena said,“I did not oppose you at the Small Council, for I saw the wisdom in retreat. But I do not want to rely upon lords who may have lost heart when they saw Rhaenyra with more dragons and their own king abandoning the Iron Throne.”

“Baratheon will never turn, Hel,” Aemond said,“He cut off that path at Storm’s End. It is Tyrell you should worry of. You are fleeing into his jaws with one dragon.”

“Two,” Helaena said,“You forget Daeron.” She then turned to Ser Otto,“Very well, Grandfather.”

Alicent had never spoken that night, nor did Aegon. However, when Alicent looked at her eldest son, she saw that his eyes were shining bright in the firelight. She knew that he was glad to at last see battle. Alicent bit her lip, swallowing the words that bade Aegon not to go risk himself in war.

Neither Aegon or Aemond were here to command. The choices left to Alicent were precious few. She could not take command herself, for it will surely give offense to Helaena. And Helaena was most dangerous now, with her dragon. And of the knights with them, the only candidates were the men whom Father trusted enough to give white cloaks and name unto the Kingsguard. But Gyles Belgrave was a dullard, Lamont Honeys a brute. Alicent knew she had to act quickly before Helaena planted her own man. Ser Gaston was not the one Alicent would have wanted to command their retreat, as he was scarce seen along the column and the soldiers neither loved nor feared him, but he was the best man.

Alicent had ears in Ser Gaston’s council, and they reported to her of whispers of mutiny amongst some Merryweather soldiers. Lord Merryweather himself and a knight named Ser Raymond Spring volunteered to catch the traitors, but Ser Gaston initially dismissed them. So Alicent had her ears inform Ser Gaston that the fires of mutiny must be put out before they spread. Ser Gaston was loyal, as least, and obeyed. A dozen would-be mutineers hanged the next day along the path of their march. As Alicent passed their bloated corpses, she wondered how many soldiers still whispered mutiny silent in their hearts.

Where are Lord Strong and his birds when you need him? Alicent remembered how the spymaster had disappeared two days into their march. Lord Strong left a letter stating that he was returning to King’s Landing to command Aegon’s spies and undermine traitor rule, but Alicent believed more and more with each passing day that Lord Strong had fled. Mayhaps the lord was already on a wine-laden ship bound for the Free Cities. He would be brought to justice, Alicent assured herself. Any ship bound to the Free Cities would be waylaid by the Triarchy’s fleet, and they were still Aegon’s men.

It was during a misty morning when Alicent at last emerged from the Pearl Mountains to find a wide yellow plain below her. The white raven had not yet come, but the land was already beginning to turn. Several leagues away were a road which led to Tumbleton, but Dreamfyre above led them through the tall yellow grasses along a different path to the town. “We could have taken the road,” Ser Jasper complained,“and naught will happen. We have not seen even a glimpse of Rhaenyra’s dragons.”

“It is better to not see a glimpse and be safe,” Ser Tyland said,“than see a glimpse whilst exposed. Ser Gaston was wise to lead us through the mountains and the fields.”

Three leagues out from Tumbleton, Alicent began to glimpse another dragon she knew in the skies. Daeron, Alicent’s heart leapt as she saw the sun glint off Tessarion’s blue scales. But she only truly breathed when she saw Tumbleton’s gates at last arising from the horizon. They were large enough to swallow her whole, and she was glad for it. The castle would shield her. She realized how much of a fool she was as a girl, pretending the castle was tiny at her feet. Why stand at the top of the world, Alicent wondered, when you can be burned by dragons?

Most of Tumbleton was a market, a thin wooden palisade erected around countless hovels, merchants’ stalls, and market squares. Yet now, it had none of the sounds of bustling trade, with ravens flying above the camps. The war has reached them, Alicent knew, and the merchants were wise enough to take their trade elsewhere. Tumbleton’s gates were wide open, with only two guards standing sentry. They barely turned as the royal procession walked through.

The royal procession walked through a deserted market town. Here and there were signs of life as lone merchants yelled about fresh fish and sweet apples. Some of the soldiers detached from the column to buy refreshments, but most followed the procession through the lonely town. All they passed, whether inns or septs or two-storied shops, were barred up with wooden boards. A tall statue of the Warrior with his seven-starred sword loomed above an empty market square, his helm stained with the droppings of birds.

A small keep with eight towers stood at the centre of the town, a shallow moat around it lined with spikes. The keep was the only place where there was activity. Banners of the Footly caltrops dotted the battlements as hundreds of spears and crossbows glinted in the sunlight. When the advance party of the royal procession approached, the drawbridge lowered across the moat and a small procession came out to greet them.

Lord Benjamen Footly was a tall man with thick shoulders, wearing a black surcoat dotted with white caltrops. His wife Lady Sharis emerged with him, a beautiful woman with golden hair and a bright smile. Behind them was Tumbleton’s maester, a line of knights, retainers, stewards, serving women, and common folk who hid within the castle.

But Alicent’s eyes were drawn to the skies, where Tessarion began to descend in wide circles. As the dragon did its last circle, Alicent began to see the silver hair of its rider, and she smiled. Tessarion landed beside Footly’s procession without raising even a grain of dust, the blue dragon giving a satisfied growl as the copper scales along its crest stretched and glinted in the sun.

Daeron unchained himself from his saddle and climbed down from his dragon.  He spoke to Tessarion in Valyrian as he stroked it gently with his palm. Daeron then turned and greeted Lord Footly, and followed the lord as he strode forward.

The knights before Alicent parted to allow Lord Benjamen to approach Alicent’s horse. She dismounted, and offered her hand to the lord. The lord knelt and kissed it. “Your Grace,” Lord Benjamen said,“Tumbleton is yours.”

“Arise, my lord,” Alicent said.

“Our prayers have been always with Your Grace when we heard that Your Grace was walking across the Pearl Mountains,” Lady Sharis then stepped in front of Alicent and curtsied,“The gods are good, and our prayers were answered.”

“Good men will always find their prayers answered,” Alicent returned the lady’s smile. Lady Sharis retreated, and Alicent then turned to Daeron. Alicent saw how much her son had grown since the last time she saw him three years ago. He was taller than her now, and stubble had begun to appear on his cheek. But his face was still the face of the boy she remembered, with his sharp cheekbones, thin nose, and his eyes which were a deep blue instead of purple. His smile was thin and wan, and he lowered his head shyly. “Mother,” he greeted,“It is good to see you again.”

He looked more like Aemond than Aegon, Alicent noticed, but she brushed that aside. Alicent stepped forward and wrapped Daeron in an embrace, and kissed him on his cheek. She pulled away and looked up at him,“You have grown.”

“You should thank Uncle Ormund,” Daeron said,“He has been feeding me well.”

“I would hope so,” Alicent said,“else I would have his skin.” She looked beyond Daeron,“Where is your uncle? I have not seen his army either.”

Daeron’s smile faded,“We marched only as far as Bitterbridge when we received Grandfather’s raven telling us that Rhaenyra sought to attack King’s Landing. Uncle Ormund ordered a forced march at once, but the Reach is vast, and he feared that we would not reach you in time. I had always slowed my dragon to follow the host’s march. When we received your raven, Uncle Ormund commanded me to ride full speed forward to assist you in any way I could whilst he followed. When I reached Tumbleton, Lord Footly told me that you were coming.”

“Your uncle was wise,” Alicent said.

“Where are Aegon and Aemond?” Daeron asked,“I wanted to see my brothers again, and the missive said that they were coming.”

“Your Graces,” Lord Benjamen said,“Here is not a fit place for conversation. I promise that my warm comforting halls will be better suited.”

Alicent understood what Lord Benjamen meant, and smiled at him,“Certainly, my lord.” Lord Benjamen beckoned for his servants to bring forth bread and salt, and Alicent took it. Daeron had already eaten of it when he arrived at Tumbleton, so he broke off pieces for Ser Tyland, Ser Jasper, Orwyle, and Septon Eustace. All of the Small Council thanked the prince.

Lord Benjamen’s hall was indeed warm, and the lord feasted them on stewed venison dipped in butter, rolls of bread decked in lettuce and tomatoes, and pickled herring from the Mander. There was raucous laughter outside, as Lord Benjamen feasted even the soldiers. “You should especially try our apples,” Lady Sharis said to Alicent,“The kind the peasants sell in the markets are plagued by rot and worms, but we raise ours in our clean orchards.”

The apple was indeed delicious, and Ser Jasper even ate three. Even Ser Tyland broke his composure to rip into the venison. The only one who did not gorge himself besides Alicent was Daeron, who sat to the left of Lord Benjamen whilst Alicent sat to his right.

“Do you know when Her Grace Helaena would come down and join us?” Lord Benjamen asked.

“We discussed it in the air,” Daeron said,“and she said that she could not risk Rhaenyra’s dragons coming upon us whilst we are unaware. I would have taken her place as the scout, if not for the fact that first I wished to speak with Mother.”

“Very well,” Lord Benjamen said,“I pray that Her Grace does not exhaust herself.”

Lady Sharis nudged Alicent’s elbow, and whispered in her ear,“Your courteous son does not want to say it and disrupt my husband’s feast, but he wishes very terribly to speak with you right now.”

Alicent nodded, and turned to Lord Benjamen,“My lord.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Benjamen turned.

“It has been so long since I saw my son,” Alicent said,“Might we speak privily?”

“Certainly,” Lord Benjamen waved his hand to summon a servant,“Lead Queen Alicent and Prince Daeron to the chambers I have prepared as royal apartments. Make certain that they shall have anything they need that is within my power.”

“What is it you want with me, Daeron?” Alicent asked in one of the lavish chambers Lord Benjamen prepared for them.

“I heard Uncle Ormund tell me that Aegon stripped the Velaryons of Driftmark to grant it to me,” Daeron said,“I want Aegon to know that I do not want it.”

“Why?” Alicent demanded,“It was a reward for your stunning victory over the traitors at the Honeywine.”

“A tainted reward,” Daeron said,“Uncle Ormund had me educated by the most learned men in Oldtown, the archmaesters of the Citadel. And Archmaester Berris, who teaches history, taught me that the goal of war has always been to make a peace. ‘The kings who lose sight of that goal,’ the Archmaester said,‘soon cease to be kings’. The Velaryons are the chief pillars of Rhaenyra’s strength, and if we are to make a peace, it will be through them. How are we to do that if we strip away their lands and lordship?”

“It is one thing to learn, Daeron,” Alicent said,“and another to rule. You and your maesters can sit around a table debating for years on some forgotten war and think you come to some insight. But when you truly rule, you find that everything is different. The Velaryons arose in treason, and if they are not punished, others would find it in them to usurp the dragon. And what of your peace then, Daeron?”

Daeron hesitated for a moment, then spoke again,“Do you know how I won that victory at the Honeywine, Mother?”

“Your dragon,” Alicent said,“That is all the realm need know.”

“I might have with Tessarion alone,” Daeron said,“but the battle would have been far bloodier, and Uncle Ormund’s host so wounded that we would not yet have made it past Highgarden yet. But on the eve of the battle, I heard of a large host gathering at Dunstonbury. My uncle sent me to scout, and he may have told you that I descended amongst them and won them to the king’s banner by my inspiring words, but truthfully I watched only from afar as they marched to join my uncle, and I joined only when the was already won. That day I learned that dragons are not enough to win a war, and that I must…”

“Bow to the whims of lowly men?” Alicent sniggered.

“Win the hearts of loyal men,” Daeron said,“and their swords will come in turn. They would not die for a cause if they see that their heads could easily be separated. But spare the Velaryons, and the lords will see Aegon a merciful king, with a rule that they feel safe in. I know the hearts of these lords who joined us at the Honeywine. Lord Thaddeus Rowan is loyal and honourable to a fault. Ser Tom Flowers wants to prove himself to his father and be legitimized one day. Lord Unwin Peake has ambitions to one day be Hand of the King. None of them will feel well beneath a tyrant.”

“Are you naming your brother a tyrant?” Alicent asked, her voice cold.

“I am trying to get him to not be a tyrant,” Daeron pleaded,“Why cannot you see, Mother?”

“I see very clearly, Daeron,” Alicent said,“You are too young to know the ways of the realm. There is still much for you to learn.”

Daeron opened his mouth, then closed it. “I beg my leave, Mother,” he said instead.

Alicent nodded, and Daeron departed the chamber. But he remembered his courtesies, and he set the door gently behind him.

When he sees Driftmark, Alicent thought, he will be grateful. She strode to her bed and lay on the sheets without undressing, the tiredness of the journey catching up to her. She was about to doze off when she heard a dragon screech.

Alicent stood up in an instant and slammed the door open, lifting her skirts to run outside onto the balcony. The night was descending around them, and she expected to see the sky lit afire as Rhaenyra’s dragons descended. But the sky was cloudless and silent, and there was only one dragon to be seen. Alicent’s eyes fluttered down to the yard, and she saw that Dreamfyre was descending. Alicent turned from the balcony and had guards escort her down into the yard.

Dreamfyre was feasting on a live bull when Alicent descended. She was already unsaddled, and Helaena was nowhere to be seen. That is until Alicent spotted Daeron, Orwyle, and Tumbleton’s maester kneeling before a stretcher, Ser Tyland and Ser Jasper standing behind them. Lord Benjamen and a host of Footly men stood guard around the courtyard. Alicent strode to Daeron and knelt beside him, and looked down on the stretcher to see Helaena’s sleeping face. Heavy bags bulged under her eyes whilst her lips lay cracked. Helaena’s silver hair lay tousled about her face, and Daeron had removed her crown.

“She fell unconscious whilst on her dragon,” Orwyle turned to Alicent,“We have finished examining her, Your Grace, and there is no injury besides exhaustion and dehydration. Still that is very severe. She should be put to bed at once, and it may take half a fortnight of great care before she recovers.”

“I shall see to that at once,” Lord Benjamen stepped forward and waved to his men.

As Lord Benjamen’s men lifted Helaena up, Daeron leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Helaena’s cheek. “Sister,” he said,“I shall take it from here.”

Chapter Text

Luke and Arrax landed on the Hill of Visenya.

He lighted upon one of the slender towers of the Marble Sept, hearing Arrax’s claws scratch the white stone as the dragon screeched to a halt. He stopped beside two statues of the Seven, one of the Father holding judgment with his balanced scales and another of the Crone raising her lamp high into the sky.

Beneath him was a stained glass window inlaid with a seven-starred crystal. A rainbow of lights spewed forth from the crystal as the sun shone upon it. It blinded Luke, and he looked away. Luke saw shadows through another of the windows as Mother’s men combed through the sept for traitors.

He turned to the tallest and thickest tower of the Marble Sept, which was supported by a hundred pillars. Only there was enough room to be the roost of the giant Sheepstealer. That dragon was almost the size of Vermithor, and the girl upon Sheepstealer’s back seemed like an ant upon a mountain.

“How did you tame him?” Luke remembered Jace asking the girl Nettles before they set flight for King’s Landing. Nettles was shy, but she told Jace the story.

“I heard that he liked sheep,” Nettles told Jace,“So I took a sheep out to him every night so he did not need to fly out onto the pastures to feed. I avoided him the first few nights I brought him food. Then I began to show my face when I brought sheep, and he began to associate my face with the sheep. It was a long time before he let me ride him, though.”

“If her tale can be believed, my prince,” Hugh said to Luke outside her hearing,“one must wonder how she got the sheep. One every day, and she not a lordling.”

Luke knew that it did not matter to Jace how she got the sheep. It only mattered that she was able to tame a dragon for him.

A crack jolted Luke away from his memory, and he turned to see Sheepstealer’s tail whip away a statue of the Maiden, the broken stones falling to the streets below. The streets were empty but for Mother’s banners, the smallfolk huddled in their homes when Mother’s dragons appeared above King’s Landing.

Luke looked across the horizon, and saw Vermithor and Silverwing land upon the Dragonpit on the Hill of Rhaenys, two giant forms of bronze and silver wandering above the grey stones. Jace and Grandmother circled the Aegon’s High Hill three times before Mother’s men entered the Red Keep and the dragons landed in the keep’s outer ward. Seasmoke patrolled in the skies. There was still no sign of the Usurper’s dragons.

Mother is watching from above, Luke knew as he looked into the clouds for signs of the yellow dragon. Jace had wanted Mother to remain on Dragonstone until King’s Landing was secure, but Mother brushed him aside. “I cannot bear that two of my sons fight whilst I only watch,” she said in full hearing of the court.

“We cannot hold back on dragons,” the Sea Snake spoke for Mother, and Jace had to concede. Still, Mother agreed to Jace privily that she would stay behind as the battle ensued.

It had been morning when their eight dragons flew above King’s Landing and Grandfather’s fleet sailed forth below. Luke watched from the clouds as only seven ships sailed out King’s Landings docks to give battle to Grandfather, and none of them were war galleys. Grandfather’s ships loosed quarrels, arrows, and ballistae from afar, destroying enemy sails in instants. Then, the Velaryon fleet came upon each enemy from two sides with harpoons and boarding parties, and swiftly commandeered each ship. No dragons were needed.

As Grandfather battled and hundreds of his sails billowed into the harbour, Jace had the dragons watch the skies of King’s Landing below. There was no sign of dragons, and that was strange. Luke knew that Vhagar’s great grey wings could not hide. The foe could not be above them either, for it was only empty blue sky. Jace had Addam and Luke descend and make a round check of the city, for they had the swiftest mounts, and still there were no signs of enemy dragons. It was at last when they reported no men beneath the gold dragon banners upon the battlements when Jace realized the truth, that the Usurper had abandoned the city.

Jace commanded Addam to continue his patrols, and did not let the other six dragons land until Lord Celtigar’s force emerged from the north. There was no siege to be spoken of. No trenches had been dug, no caltrops placed to deter Lord Celtigar’s men. Not even the gold cloaks put up a stand when Lord Celtigar stormed the walls at a hundred places with ladders and siege towers. Jace had Luke inform Lord Celtigar that the city was empty, and the lord split his men into three. Lord Frey commanded one third to occupy the Hill of Rhaenys. Lord Piper had another third to occupy the Hill of Visenya. Lord Celtigar himself led the final force to take the Red Keep and Aegon’s High Hill. The dragons watched from above if the Usurper’s men were hiding in the hovels, but all three hills were taken easily. At the harbour, harpoons fell as mariners from Grandfather’s fleet stormed the docks and secured any ships which still lay at anchor. Half of his ships unloaded men who stormed the River Gate. There was resistance there, but brief and swiftly overcome. Grandfather’s men joined Lord Celtigar as they took Aegon’s High Hill. The other half of the fleet remained out at sea, patrolling for enemy vessels.

There should have been more of us, Luke looked at Mother’s banners flying above every inch of King’s Landing. The Vale had promised their aid, but their knights had been slow to join Lord Celtigar. Jace received missives from Ser Joffrey Arryn that the Vale Knights had been delayed at Maidenpool. Ser Joffrey spoke of an outlaw lord in the Riverlands who was harrying Lord Celtigar’s supply trains, and committed the knights to rooting out the outlaws before they marched south. Yet Jace could not wait for them for the assault on King’s Landing. Dragonstone dispatched orders to Rosby for Lord Celtigar to march, and the dragons flew to claim the city.

Men raised Piper’s banners on the Hill of Visenya beneath the quartered banner of Mother. There were not many of Piper’s dancing maiden, as Lord Celtigar had dispatched Lord Piper’s eldest son Ser Lewys and the flower of the Piper host to guard the Riverlands from the west. Nor were the Vance banners in King’s Landing, as Lord Tristan Vance joined Ser Lewys.

Luke descended with Nettles from the Marble Sept. A host of Mother’s men gathered below, and Luke guided his dragon down onto the wide cobbled street, knowing that Sheepstealer was right behind him. It was Mallister and Mooton men who greeted them with cheers. “Prince Lucerys,” they cheered,“Lady Nettles. Arrax. The Sheepstealer. Hail to the True Queen. Hail to the True Queen. HAIL TO THE TRUE QUEEN.”

Lord Walys Mooton and Lord Jorah Mallister emerged at the forefront of their men, kneeling before Luke. “Prince Lucerys,” Lord Jorah shouted,“The Hill of Visenya is secure. We have not found anyone in the Marble Sept, and the City Watch sentry post fell with little blood. Patrols are running the Street of Steel and the River Row, and there is no sign of enemies there.”

“You have done well, my lords,” Luke shouted,“but the Usurper’s men may still be hiding in any small hovel. Do not take your guard off the patrols.”

“Do not worry, my prince,” Lord Walys said.

Luke had Arrax rise as Mooton and Mallister men swarmed below. He felt the winds from Sheapstealer’s giant wings buffeting him from behind, and turned his eye to the Red Keep where Vermax and Meleys had settled in the great outer yard. He saw also on the Hill of Rhaenys that Vermithor and Silverwing took wing to follow him. The dragons on the hills were a show of strength, Luke knew, and the smallfolk had seen them. Afterwards, Jace commanded the dragonriders be gathered at the Red Keep.

The outer yard was full to the brim with Mother’s men, but many dispersed when Luke sought to land. The yard had only room enough for one more dragon, and the other three riders settled in the streets outside. Luke tethered Arrax beside Meleys, a cloud of red dust rising into the air as Meleys whirled her wings. Nettles entered through the open Main Gate, then Ulf, and lastly Hugh as Vermithor gave a roar into the skies. Luke saw a host of men lining the pillars at the sides of the courtyard, bearing the quartered banners of Mother. A host of men surrounded Lord Elbert Staunton at the head of the yard.

“Who has the command here?” Luke strode over to Lord Staunton and demanded.

“I do, my prince.” Lord Staunton knelt, and the men in the courtyard followed.

“Where is Lord Celtigar?” Luke asked.

“In the throne room with Prince Jacaerys, my prince,” Lord Staunton answered,“He has delegated command of the pacification to me. Is it Prince Jacaerys that my prince seeks? If so, I can offer my prince an escort to the throne room. The Red Keep is not yet safe.”

“No need, my lord,” Luke waved his hand,“Return to your duties.” As he walked to the open doors which led into the Inner Keep, he watched the yard.

“Lord Frey has encountered resistance upon the Hill of Rhaenys, Lord Staunton,” Lord Darklyn reported,“Not the Usurper, but some looters who decided to raid a shop. He has put them down, and asks what might be done with the survivors.”

“Hang them in as public a square Frey can find,” Lord Staunton said,“and leave their corpses up there for three days whilst the crows feed on their entrails. That should discourage further looting.”

“It shall be done, Lord Staunton,” Darklyn said as he began to issue a messenger.

“We have a report on the assault on the City Watch West Barracks, Lord Staunton,” Lord Blackwood reported,“Lord Roote’s men have secured it with twenty lost. Most of the Watch surrendered when their captains laid down their spears, and the remaining pockets of resistance have been quenched. The prisoners have been disarmed and await your judgment.”

“Have them held in the holding cells,” Lord Staunton said,“but give them bread and water three times a day, and promise that in three days, the queen shall offer them pardon should they agree to fight for her.”

“Aye, Lord Hand,” Lord Blackwood answered, and he rushed to order a messenger.

“Ser Merrick Sunglass,” Lord Staunton then turned to a knight with seven gold stars on his surcoat, and beckoned for stewards to give the knight two letters,“We need to keep the peace in the city, and we have disarmed the men who do so. It is foolish to arm them, so the peace must be left to Riverland patrols. Most of these men were farmers, ill-suited to city life and even worse suited to city peace. We must make it easier. Have this message delivered to Lords Frey and Piper that martial law shall be proclaimed for three days. Curfew will be announced when the bells ring once, and ends when the bells ring twice. For the safety of the people. Any gatherings of more than three outside during the day shall be dispersed and any man outside during curfew shall be settled in the nearest home.”

“It will be done, Lord Staunton,” the messenger answered. He called forth several riders, one bearing the surcoat of a red crab, another black wings, a third a ghost tree, and a fourth a blue swordfish. The knights strode out of the yard, and Luke saw them mount their horses and disperse.

It was then when Lord Blackwood returned. “Lord Staunton,” Lord Blackwood said,“Some of the Nayland men on the Hill of Rhaenys robbed a sept of its riches and raped the septas within there. Lord Forrest Frey has held them captive, but they are not his levies, and asks what we would do with them.”

“Cut off the hands of the robbers and geld the rapists,” Lord Staunton said,“and have it be proclaimed to the rest of our army that King’s Landing is the queen’s city, and they are still subject to the queen’s law. And tell Lord Frey that he has the authority to judge any man who flies the quartered banner of the queen.”

Luke did not realize that he was frozen watching Lord Staunton. “My prince,” Ulf whispered in Luke’s ear,“We have tarried too long here. We should join the Prince of Dragonstone.”

They found Jace accompanied by a hundred men in the large throne room, looking up upon the Iron Throne. Lord Celtigar stood at Jace’s side. A slanting ray of sunlight came in through one of the tall windows and lit a line of the twisted iron swords. The light seemed to writhe upon the iron as Luke walked, and the room was silent but for the footsteps of the dragonriders.

The purple carpet which led to the Iron Throne was stained with blood, and corpses from men wearing green and golden cloaks had been pulled to the side. Jace’s hand curled upon the hilt of his sword as he stood at the feet of the throne, and his blue cloak was stained dark. There was a strange light in his eyes as he stared up. That light frightened Luke, as that light began to shine in Jace’s eyes since he returned from the north. Jace’s silver crown began to glint so bright in the sunlight that it looked almost gold.

“Is the city secure?” Jace asked without turning.

“Aye, m’prince.” Hugh slammed his massive warhammer onto the ground in one resounding blow,“but it’s a mummer’s fart to that seat over there.”

“A mummer’s fart?” Jace turned sharply,“Do you know what a mummer is? A mummer’s breath is the wind. A mummer’s sweat is the rivers and sea. A mummer’s words are kings and queens and knights and ladies and all the strife between them. A mummer is how the world dreams, and a mummer’s fart is what left of that dream when is mummer is gone.”

“A mummer’s fart is that,” Jace pointed his free hand at the Iron Throne,“The realm. The Seven Kingdoms united as one. King Aegon the Conqueror was history’s greatest mummer. Or the greatest farter, if Hugh can be believed.”

A silence stretched across the throne room as Jace’s words echoed off the brick walls. “It’s a monstrous fart, m’prince,” Hugh said, breaking the silence,“No doubt it’s warm as well, as farts are. A comfortable seat, if m’prince would take it.”

There was a sharp draw of breath from Ulf, and Luke saw his brother’s muscles writhe beneath his face. Jace lowered his pointed hand, his other hand curled even fiercer upon his sword, and he turned to face the Iron Throne. But then Luke saw that Jace was not looking upon the throne itself, but upon the map of Westeros that hung behind it. And Jace was looking at the very north. “I am taking too long with this war,” Jace muttered, in a voice Luke could barely hear.

“Be quick about it, m’prince,” Hugh sniggered,“If you do not take it, well… I believe we all remember that prophecy that when the hammer falls on a dragon, a king is born.” He lifted his warhammer, and Luke’s hand went to his hilt. Jace’s men began to draw their swords.

“Halt,” Jace shouted, and everyone stopped in their tracks, even Hugh.

Hugh laughed. However, Luke detected the note of fear in his voice. “Can m’prince not take a jape?”

“Be glad that I believe you, Hugh,” Jace stared at Hugh,“If any of us sit upon that chair, we will be dead come sunrise. I shall forget what you shall have said here today.”

The light from the stained glass windows fell upon Hugh’s face, which had begun to pale. That best be a jape, else he will have me to answer for. Yet Luke looked in Jace’s eyes, and there were more important matters for his brother. “Where is Grandmother?” Luke asked Jace.

“Leading men to secure Maegor’s Holdfast,” Jace answered,“The Usurper had left men there, and Grandmother could not use Meleys without burning half the city down. The Usurper’s men are not many, but it does not take many to hold the walls.”

“You were waiting for us,” Luke said,“What do you want?”

Jace pointed up at the map,“The Usurper has fled, and I wonder where he has gone. The most likely path is south-west, fleeing to the den of his mother.”

“Aye,” Ulf said,“and let us catch them whilst they are still in a disorderly retreat. Else we would let them fortify themselves in the Reach, and soon we will find that the little dragons have grown too large to kill.”

“My warhammer hungers for battle,” Hugh said,“to bring justice to the queen’s enemies.”

“I agree with them, Jace,” Luke said,“We hoped to end the war at King’s Landing, and we have not. Anything could happen if we let this war drag out. We must destroy the Usurper now.”

“What do you think, Nettles?” Jace asked,“I want to hear from all my dragonriders.”

“In my youth,” Nettles said quietly, her voice echoing through the throne room,“Some of the children on the Dragonmont tried to steal dragon eggs by first luring the dragon out of its den.”

Luke bit his lip, and understood at once. Perhaps it was the Usurper’s plan to have them chase, to flush out the dragon from its den. He turned to Jace, knowing that his brother was clever enough to realize the same.

“How many succeeded?” Jace asked Nettles.

“None,” Nettles said,“If the dragon had an egg to guard, it would never leave its den.”

Then the strange light was again in Jace’s eyes, and Luke feared again that his brother was being robbed of his senses. Jace slowly nodded to Nettles,“I will think on all you have said.”

When Grandmother returned with a hundred men behind her, her cloak was ripped in a dozen spaces and her white hair was matted with blood. “There were thirty men in Maegor’s Holdfast,” Grandmother said,"We thought there were three hundred, by the way they fought. But the keep is now secure, Prince Jacaerys. We may raise the red banner for the queen.”

Jace sent a runner to the tallest tower to unfurl the red banner, which would tell Mother that it was safe in the Red Keep. He then called for the rest to join him outside in welcome. Luke mounted Arrax and Grandmother Meleys, flying them onto the towers to make room for Syrax. The lords and knights in the yard scrambled to gather behind Jace. Luke looked unto the highest tower of the Red Keep as two men brought forth a thick red banner and unfurled it. There was no design except crimson silk, which billowed in the wind.

Luke looked higher into the clouds, and saw a yellow speck appear. Syrax came into view, her wide yellow wings shining in the noon sun. She flew in wide circles until she at last came to a landing in the Red Keep’s outer yard. Luke could spot the grey Seasmoke, a pinprick on the horizon as Addam patrolled the skies.

Mother had put away the silken gowns she had worn for raiment of war. Her armour was black steel, coated by a black cloak with a crimson three-headed dragon sown upon it.  Metal clinked as she undid the chains that bound her to the saddle and she dismounted from Syrax. A whip and a sword were belted at her side, and she raised her arms up to lift off her full helm, her silver hair streaming out.

“All kneel for Her Grace,” Lord Celtigar announced,“Queen Rhaenyra of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

As Mother stepped forward, Jace fell to his knee, Lord Celtigar and Lord Staunton close behind, the dragonseeds, and soon after Luke saw all the men behind them falling like a tide. Stone clunked as their poleyns scraped the Red Keep’s bricks.

“Arise,” Mother said.

“Your Grace,” Jace said,“King’s Landing is yours.”

“Thanks to the noble lords who were loyal to King Viserys’s chosen heir,” Mother said,“ The Usurper shall soon fall, and this horrible war will be over.”

“Hail to the Queen,” Lord Blackwood began to shout, and his cheer was soon taken up by others. “Hail to the Queen. Hail to the Queen. HAIL TO THE QUEEN.”

It was evening when Mother held court in the throne room. The servants had switched the bloodstained carpet anew, and lines of lords, stewards, and knights attended the sides of the aisle. Even Grandfather was here, departing his fleet.. Jace and Lord Celtigar stood at the feet of the Iron Throne.

Mother entered through the grand oak-and-bronze doors, escorted by her three Queensguard and her sworn swords. Luke’s mouth fell open when he saw who else accompanied Mother. Rhaena walked behind the queen, a thin black cloak trimmed with white fur wrapped around her shoulders as rubies and sapphires glimmered in her hair. Her glance fell on Luke for a brief moment. Then, Rhaena averted her eyes.

“Why is Rhaena here?” Luke asked Grandfather, who stood at his side.

“Her Grace wanted your betrothed in King’s Landing for this occasion,” Grandfather answered,“She charged me to bring her on one of my ships. That ship was swift and well to the rear, Luke. She was quite safe during the battle.”

That was not the answer Luke wanted, but Grandfather’s eyes told Luke that he should ask no further questions. Luke looked back onto the hall, as Mother approached the Iron Throne. When Mother was at the feet of the throne, Jace stepped forward and knelt. He had changed out of his armour into a clean cloak and doublet, and his silver crown shone bright on his brow.

“I swear on the Old Gods and the New,” Jace said,“that my sword shall defend my rightful queen, from this day until my last day.”

“Arise,” Mother said, and Jace arose. One of the stewards stepped forward from the shadows, bringing forth a red cushion upon which sat the jeweled crown which had decorated the brow of first the Old King and then King Viserys. Jace picked up the crown from the cushion and Mother knelt. “All kneel for Her Grace,” the herald screeched, and the throne room knelt.

Jace placed the crown on Mother’s brow, then quickly stepped aside and knelt again as Mother rose and began her way up the Iron Throne.

As Mother ascended the Iron Throne, silence fell upon the crowd. The only sound was the clatter of Mother’s boots on the iron as she ascended. Up and up, and the climb seemed to be eternal as Luke stared at the ground before him. Then at last the steps stopped, and Luke heard his mother sit at last upon the iron seat. “Arise,” she said again, and the throne burst into a roar. The Queensguard drew their swords, and following them was Luke and a hundred others in the hall. “Long live the queen,” they chanted. “Long live the queen. LONG LIVE THE QUEEN”. Luke watched as Mother looked down, her hand curling upon one of the hilts of the melted swords.

When all fell silent, Mother began to speak atop the Iron Throne. “The Usurper has fled,” Mother boomed,“and proven that he is no true king, only a traitor, a liar, and an oathbreaker propped up by the treasonous House Hightower. Those of you who are loyal will remember that my father, may the Seven rest his soul, named me his one and only successor. Let all true men declare their loyalty.”

“Lord Bartimos of the House Celtigar,” the herald called,“Lord of Claw Isle and the Hand of the Queen.” Lord Celtigar quickly strode forward from the foot of the throne, turned, and knelt. He drew his sword and laid it at his feet. “I lay my sword at the feet of my true queen,” Lord Celtigar said,“and swear myself to be forever loyal. I will shield your back, defend your lands, rule with your law, and keep your peace. I pledge the cream crop of my harvests in seasons of richness and plenty, and the cream crop of my levies in times of treason and invasion. I will give my life for yours if need be. This oath binds me, and my sons, and my son’s sons and all who bear the title Lord Celtigar after me and rule upon the lands my queen has so graciously given my House. May the Old Gods and the New hear my words and prove their truth.”

“And I swear,” Mother said,“that so long as I or my heirs rule, the Seven Kingdoms shall shield your lands, the Seven Kingdoms shall aid you in famine, and you shall always find justice at the foot of the Iron Throne. You will always have a place at my hearth and meat and mead at my table. This I swear to you and all your heirs after you.” Mother lowered her head,“Lord Celtigar. You have done the Crown an especial service. Though it was Princess Rhaenys who took Harrenhal, it was you who held it and brought the Riverlands into the fold.”

“It pleases me to be of service to the Crown,” Lord Celtigar said.

“And it pleases me to have a man who has proved his worth as Hand of the Queen,” Mother said,“Traitors may whisper in my ears that you were plotting with Prince Daemon to overthrow me, but I know the truth of it. You are a true man, who gave his sword to a true cause.” Mother waved her hand and another steward came forward with the necklace of golden hands that Luke had seen Celtigar wear before. Except this time it was fashioned anew, inlaid with amethysts and pearls whilst a yellow dragon was carved in the gold at the very front beside the very first hand. Syrax looked frozen and majestic in gold. Jace took the necklace from its rest and Lord Celtigar bent his head for Jace to drape it around his neck.

After Lord Celtigar backed away, the herald announced Grandfather, who swore his oath and begged leave to return to command his ships. Mother granted it, and Grandfather walked away with his sea-blue cloak sweeping behind him.

Next were the Crownland lords. “You were one of the first to declare for me,” Mother said to Lord Staunton when he renewed his fealty,“and marshaled all the riches of Rook’s Rest in aid of my cause. I have faith in my lord’s ability to marshal all the riches of the realm as readily as you marshaled your own. It will please me to have my lord as my lord treasurer and Master of Coin, with a seat and voice on my Small Council.’

“It shall be my honour, Your Grace,” Lord Staunton answered,“I swear on the Old Gods and the New that I shall be your leal servant from this day until my last day.” The queen waved, and a steward brought forth the gold clasp of the Master of Coin, which Jace pinned on Lord Staunton’s cloak. The steward brought forth also, the great copper key to the royal treasury, which Jace gave to Lord Staunton. When Lord Staunton arose at the queen’s command, he stepped forward to join Jace and Lord Celtigar at the foot of the Iron Throne.

When Lord Darklyn bent the knee, the queen condemned House Rosby of high treason and stripped away four villages and a mill to give to House Darklyn. Two other mills she stripped away from Rosby to give to Lord Darke, who could not stop muttering his thanks.

Nor were the Riverlords exempt from reward when they renewed their fealties. Mother gave Blackwood twelve of the fifteen villages he demanded from Bracken’s lands. Despite Lord Tristan’s absence, Mother gave the Vances rich grazing pastures that presently belonged to House Goodbrook, who swore for the Usurper. But Mother was no fool, and she had Lord Blackwood promise to wed one of Lord Humfrey Bracken’s sisters, and Lord Tristan’s son Ser Hugo was to wed one of Lord Goodbrook’s daughters.

Most of the other lords wanted gold. Mallister, Mooton, and Roote asked courteously for the means buy food when winter was coming, others more bluntly for coin, and the queen promised each a thousand dragons. Lord Lambert Whitewater had captured the royal treasury in the Red Keep but found it empty, the traitors having stolen away all the gold. Mother gave each lord a hundred from the reserves of their host and written contracts signed and sealed by the queen to ask for the rest when the war was done.

It was neither lands nor gold that were any issue, Luke knew. All would be good once Mother won the war. It was ambitions greater than lands or gold that worry Mother.

Lord Frey formed a great part of the Riverland host, and when he bent the knee, Mother offered him any boon in her power for his service. “Your Grace will doubtless remember when I asked for your hand,” Lord Frey said, and the Riverlords began to snicker. “Have no fear of that as my wish, Your Grace,” Lord Frey said amidst more laughter,“I am a man wed. But I have a sweet maiden daughter, and you have sons who are unwed. I hear Prince Joffrey is not promised, and neither is Prince Viserys. I will be honoured to wed my daughter to any one of them, and I swear on the Seven Who Are One that she will make as good a wife to them as can be.”

Mother was silent for a long moment, looking first at Jace and then at Grandmother. Jace’s face was still, but Princess Rhaenys gave a silent nod. Mother opened her lips. “Prince Joffrey has sworn to take the black,” she said,“but I believe Prince Viserys and your daughter will make a suitable match.”

“You have the Crossing’s undying gratitude, Your Grace,” Lord Frey said,“if I may call you sister.”

“I would be glad to call you brother, Lord Frey,” Mother said, though Luke could not read her face.

The elderly Lord Petyr Piper was the last to kneel and swear his fealty, walking slowly to the foot of the throne and laying down his sword.

“So many in this realm have forgotten the oaths they swore to me,” Mother said,“and it makes me all the more grateful that my lord kept to your oath.”

“King Viserys called me his friend,” Lord Piper said,“And the word of a king lingers long in an old man’s memory.”

“How may I reward your services that are so dear to the Crown?” Mother asked.

“I ask for nothing,” Lord Piper said,“Only for Your Grace to win the war and be seated on your rightful throne.”

“I hope then that my lord will help me win the war,” Mother said,“The realm needs more men who hold to their oaths. If you are willing, Lord Piper, I would name you my justiciar and Master of Laws, with a seat and voice on my Small Council.”

“I would be honoured to serve, Your Grace,” Lord Piper answered. The queen waved, and another steward brought forth a cushion bearing the iron clasp of the Master of Laws and the stiff iron ornamental axe. Jace fastened the clasp to Lord Piper’s cloak and handed him the axe. Lord Piper backed away with another round of thanks.

“I have seen that we have a shortage of Queensguard knights,” Mother said,“Ser Steffon Darklyn, would you step forward?”

Ser Steffon stepped forward and turned to face the queen. He swept his white cloak aside and knelt,“I am yours to command, Your Grace.”

“You have done me a great service, Ser Steffon,” Mother said,“When the Usurper declared his treason, you were within King’s Landing, yet you did not turn your cloak like so many others. Instead, you escaped the Usurper’s clutches, and delivered to me my father’s crown. No man could better serve as the Lord Commander of my Queensguard, as the captain of my guard and a voice on my Small Council.”

“I only did my duty,” Ser Steffon said,“and if this be my duty now, I will not refuse it. I am honoured to serve, Your Grace.”

“I feel lacking in protection,” Mother said,“There are only three swords who bear the white cloak here today. I charge you to fill the other places at this moment.”

“It will be done, Your Grace,” Ser Steffon said and rose. He turned to the crowd.

“Ser Theodore Roote, step forward,” he shouted, and one of the Riverland knights stepped forward. “Ser Theodore,” Ser Steffon boomed,“Would you be willing to swear your sword to the Queensguard, to shield her back and give your life for her if need be. Would you be willing to take no wife, father no children, wear no titles, and swear away all glory but loyalty to the queen?”

“I will be honoured to do so,” Ser Theodore said. Then he knelt, and swore his oath to the queen. Ser Steffon then beckoned forward a steward who bore a tray bearing a white cloak. The Lord Commander unclasped Ser Theodore’s former red cloak and clasped the white cloak to his shoulders. “I shall be glad to call you brother,” Ser Steffon said.

“Ser Larence Darry, step forward,” Ser Steffon called next, and another Riverlander stepped forward to claim a white cloak.

The next was a knight Luke had only seen once or twice before on Driftmark, a thickset young knight called Ser Lyonel Bentley who eagerly swore to the queen.

After pinning the cloak on Ser Lyonel, Ser Steffon called the last name,“Ser Harrold Darke, step forward.”

Rhaena’s guardsman, Luke thought, and glanced at his cousin and betrothed. He could not read her face as she watched her guardsman step forward to swear his oath to Mother and receive his white cloak from Ser Steffon’s hands.

“The time of reward is sweet,” Mother said,“but the war is not yet done. We must plan our course ahead to defeat the Usurper once and for all.”

“Mother,” Jace turned upon the throne when the last Queensguard was named and Mother prepared to adjourn,“Have you forgotten the promises to our dragonriders?”

“They would be done in due time, my prince,” Mother said,“Now we must look upon the war.”

Jace wrenched his head away, and Luke saw the strange light in his eyes again. Then, Jace stepped forward, turned, and knelt before the throne.

“Your Grace,” he boomed.

“I should like to hear your counsel, my prince,” Mother said.

“You are right when you say we must end the Usurper,” Jace said,“and I know how to do so. The Usurper thinks himself safe at the moment, that we would languish in our victory here at King’s Landing. But he is wrong, and we will pursue his treason when he least expects it. Give me leave to bring an army and our seven dragons to chase the Usurper, and I will bring him back to you in chains.”

Chapter Text

Aemond and his brother arrived at the Red Mountains at sunrise.

The sun was half-dipped below the eastern horizon, and it was orange and bloody. The last hint of black sky had already begun to set in the west, as the red fingers of the rising sun reached out to grasp the skies. The sun was hoping to pull itself up, Aemond knew, and it would win. The sun would crush the darkness, just as Aegon would crush Rhaenyra. There was already enough light to see the Red Mountains.

Helaena would have called the mountains beautiful in the sunrise, the red light turning gold on the mountainside. But Aemond knew the dangers in that. The gold shimmers off the mountains would have blinded any dragonrider, and an archer or scorpion could easily shoot the dragon while the rider could not see. Perhaps that was how Queen Rhaenys died in Dorne. Aemond thought as he brought Vhagar higher.

If it was not sunrise, the mountains would have returned to a bleak red, and no man could hide from dragonflame there. There were no trees or meadows except at the lower slopes, and any army hoping to command the height would be easy pickings for a dragon.

Even though it was dawn, Aemond spotted Lord Borros’s camp easily. There were no vultures overhead like everywhere else in the mountains, and grey smoke was rising from cookfires into the skies. As the camp came into view below, it was stark even against the shining gold of the mountain. A fool, Aemond thought, Dornishmen could ambush this camp as easily as Vhagar could eat a man.

Aegon flew ahead on Sunfyre, his dragon blending into the side of the mountains. Still, Aemond could see his outline, and could take him if they were fighting. Sunfyre was no match for Vhagar.

Aemond remembered Aegon’s instructions the day before, as they prepared to enter the Red Mountains. “We are to spiral above the Baratheon camp,” Aegon said,“They will see us, and prepare a welcoming party. We will land our dragons before Lord Borros as a show of strength.”

And so they spiraled above the Baratheon camp, watching as the camp burst into frenzy. Men were running to and fro, saddling horses and grabbing banners. They were preparing for battle, Aemond realized, and laughed. This motley of a host could not hope to stand against a true dragon. He counted the banners as he waited. There was the stag, of course, accompanied by griffins, swans, haystacks, turtles, lightning bolts, and about twenty others. They were flying the king’s golden dragon as well, so that was good to see.

The host slowly assembled in a field outside their camp. Sometime in the morning the wind stopped, so the banners hung limp. It did not matter anyway, for they were small lords who did not matter. Only the stag lord, and Aemond saw him at the forefront of his host with his helm of antlers, accompanied by twenty knights.

Lord Borros and his small retinue rode forward to greet the king. A helmed knight wearing a surcoat of dancing griffins bore his banner, even though the cloth hung limp. After a distance from his host, the lord dismounted and took off his massive antlered helm.

The sun had risen into the sky, and the earth no longer blinded Aemond. He could burn this Stormland host with ease should he wish it. He looked to Aegon, wondering what his brother wished. Aegon stared at the burgeoning host, and Aemond rode over.

“Glad to see your army?” Aemond shouted over the wind.

“Lord Borros is lacking,” Aegon answered,“Only six thousand here. Storm’s End should raise twenty thousand at the very least.”

“Shall I teach him a lesson?” Aemond shouted. Aegon said nothing, and Aemond laughed. He was not certain his brother heard it over the wind. “You are the king, Aegon,” Aemond shouted again,“Your command is iron, and this lord has displeased you.” Without his brother’s answer, Aemond put Vhagar into a dive, hearing Sunfyre close behind him. His brother followed him anyway.

Aemond landed Vhagar in front of the storm lord, raising a mountain of dust which settled on the knights and coated their armour. Almost the destriers reared and shied away, and one even threw a knight off its saddle. Aemond laughed. Yet Lord Borros seemed unfazed, standing still as his black hair flew behind his head.

Aegon landed behind Aemond, Sunfyre’s claws scratching the stones. Aemond swiftly undid the chains at his belt and vaulted off the dragon, the eyepatch slipping off his sapphire eye. He did not care. Best let them see the sapphire, and fear him.

Aemond stepped forward to where Lord Borros stood, and Aegon joined him, his crown gleaming on his brow. The retinue of Stormland knights dismounted after Lord Borros, and they all knelt. Even the one who fell from his horse, and Aemond saw that he bore the banner of a black bird. “Your Grace,” Lord Borros faced Aegon,“We had not thought to find you here.” The storm lord looked as though he never saw Aemond standing right before him. Aemond gritted his teeth.

“We had also not thought to find you here, my lord Baratheon,” Aemond snarled,“I recall my lord swore an oath to my brother the king. My lord promised to call your banners and join the war, yet I have not seen them in King’s Landing.”

“I am fighting Your Grace’s wars, my prince,” Lord Borros said,“This new Vulture King from Dorne seeks to raid Your Grace’s lands, and could infest both the Reach and Stormlands if left unchecked. I led a swift campaign to put down this Vulture King, and he is now in chains for your pleasure.”

“This motley of a camp put down the Vulture King?” Aemond laughed,“I could spot your camp from the clouds, a prime target for a Dornish ambush.”

“The men were celebrating, my prince,” Lord Borros said,“The battle is done.”

“That should not explain your lax camp,” Aemond said,“You promised His Grace that Stormlanders were the most feared and disciplined soldiers in the Seven Kingdoms.” “These men,” Aemond swept an arm at the Stormland host,“are not even fit to clean a pigsty.”

Lord Borros bristled, and Aemond dared him to rise up and strike him. Vhagar was waiting. Aemond welcomed a fight, after spending so long on the run. He would prove to the realm that the retreat was not because he was craven.

 “My lord Borros has rallied your banners,” Aemond sneered, watching the lord’s eyes stiffen,“but I only see six thousand here. Where are my brother’s swords?"

“Preparing in the Stormlands,” Lord Borros raised his head, his voice soft. However, Aemond saw that his blue eyes were stiff,“Forging arms and armour, gathering levies, and sequestering supplies for the baggage trains. It is no swift feat to prepare for a war. Only six thousand were ready at a moment’s notice, which I took to vanquish the Vulture King and secure the kingdom’s flank. When I return north, the host shall be prepared to march for King’s Landing.”

“I apologize for my brother,” Aegon said as he put a stiff hand on Aemond’s shoulder. Aemond tried to shake him off, but Aegon’s grip was hard. “My lord Borros has rallied your banners,” Aegon said,“and built me a mighty host. My lord has smote my enemies who dared raid the king’s lands. You have my gratitude.”

“It is I who am grateful for Your Grace’s presence in my humble camp,” Lord Borros bowed his head,“This is not the place for such discussions. Would Your Grace join us in my pavilion?”

Aemond did not trust any of these Stormland knights. Better to remain in the skies. “I shall,” Aegon nodded, and Aemond bristled. Aemond stared at all the knights behind Lord Borros, watching for any treason. Only the one with a white swan on his surcoat dared to meet Aemond’s eye, and Aemond marked him down. The swan knight may be an enemy.

“Vhagar is watching,” Aemond told Lord Borros during their journey back to the camp, warning him against any treason.

Lord Borros’s pavilion was simple, a large yellow tent wherein was a war table, a section for his bedchamber, and several empty chandeliers lining the sides. Aemond’s mouth was still sour from Baratheon’s bread and salt when he entered the camp. He wondered if Lord Borros’s girl would be as simple as his pavilion. That would be no fun to wed.

The Stormland knights who had ridden out with Lord Borros gathered about the table. Lord Borros granted the place of honour at the table’s head to Aegon, and Aemond stood at Aegon’s right whilst Lord Borros stood at his left.

“Our host split into five to root the Vulture King out of his den,” Lord Borros pointed at the map of the Red Mountains on the war table. He was explaining his campaign to Aegon. “Ser Clifford Swann sounded horns outside the Vulture King’s hovel, and had him scurrying away. Ser Evin Dondarrion blocked the Hunter’s Pass and Ser Matthew Estermont blocked the Shepherd’s Way, leaving only one route for the vulture through the river valley. Lord Royce Caron’s men were set up atop both sides of the valley, raining down volleys of arrows and rocks, and most of the Vulture King’s host fell there. Ser Steffon Connington was waiting with our swords at the valley’s end to slay the survivors. It was an easy battle, only twenty-two of ours lost whilst we slew over two hundred. We lost more to sickness and heat on the march. This Vulture King is no more.”

“I hear you captured this Vulture King,” Aegon said,“I should like to see which man dares to call himself by my title.”

“Bring forth the Vulture,” Lord Borros commanded two gaurds, and soon after the Vulture King was brought into the pavilion shackled at both wrist and ankle. His cloak was red with dust, torn and spattered with blood. A wound oozed blood and pus from his left side. An ugly scar appeared on his right cheek which had been cut by a sword. Yet when the matted black hair fell away from the man’s eyes, Aemond saw that it was a boy, no older than sixteen. “One of the younger Wyls,” Lord Borros said,“A boy who wanted to play at war.”

Aegon strode forward to the boy and stared at him. “Have him kneel,” Aegon commanded, and the guards wrenched the boy to his knees. “You stand before King Aegon of the House Targaryen,” Aegon said,“the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

“Mercy, Your Grace,” the boy bent his head, and a guard smacked across the face. The boy looked up, his lip oozing blood,“I heard the king was merciful.” This time, it was Aegon who struck him, a mailed fist in his face.

“You should learn to be more respectful,” Aegon said,“Do not speak unless you are spoken to.” He then bent down and wrenched the boy’s face up,“Tell me, when did you decide to call yourself a king?”

“I never called myself a king,” the boy answered,“Just some rumours you’re your Grace heard. Your Grace is wise enough to know they are false. We harmed no one either. Just took some gold from villages. I can return them, Your Grace, yes  I can. I can tell you where they are…”

Aegon second blow caught him about the eye, flaying away a part of his skin.

“I will suffer no more kings,” Aegon said, then turned to the guards,“Have him hanged from the gatehouse. Slowly. When he is dead, leave his body for the vultures. Let the Dornishmen see the truth of their Vulture King.”

“Wise, Your Grace,” Lord Borros said,“The boy is lying when he said he harmed no one. The survivors of the places he burned say different. This boy is weaker than the other Vulture Kings, but no less savage. All the old women and men were put to the sword, even boys, whilst young women were taken. Some they keep in their mountains to serve their pleasure.  This boy has a fondness for fair-headed maidens. Other maidens the vultures turn over to slave merchants to be sold across the sea.”

The guards dragged the screaming boy from the pavilion, and Aegon strode back to the head of the table.

“Who captured him?” Aegon demanded,“I wish to give this man a rich reward.”

“I had the honour of capturing the Vulture King, Your Grace,” Ser Steffon Connington said,“but it was Lord Baratheon’s plan which truly won us victory.”

“My good Ser shall receive a hundred dragons nevertheless,” Aegon said,“and any boon you ask once we return to King’s Landing.”

“Does Your Grace ask us to march to King’s Landing?” Ser Evin Dondarrion said the knight wearing the lightning bolt surcoat.

At last someone broaches the subject, Aemond had been biting his lip as he endured Lord Borros’s speech, and Aemond was about to burst.

“I do not ask you,” Aegon answered Dondarrion,“ I command you. The traitors have taken the city. My Hand and the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard are marching south. There is six thousand here, and with your other levies you will number more than twenty thousand. Then, you will march north, and meet our host in the kingswood. Our host will number more than thirty thousand then, and we march to take back the capital.”

“How was the capital lost?” Ser Clifford Swann asked, his voice soft. Aemond knew that this swan knight would be a problem.

“Do as you are bid, knig…” Aemond began, then Aegon interrupted him.

“My half-sister gambled all her strength on taking the city,” Aegon said,“and we thought to avoid battle when her strength is at its peak. My queen and my children have taken refuge in Oldtown, far from the war. The traitor must need take the whole of the Reach to win the war, and she will spread her dragons thin across that frontier. All the while she thinks herself safe in King’s Landing.” He put one of the pieces in King’s Landing. “But she will be dissuaded of that when we march north and put an end to her reign.” Aegon knocked the piece in King’s Landing down.

“A march north with thirty thousand men is going to be loud,” Ser Steffon Connington said,“Rhaenyra would assuredly know of our coming, and she will call her dragons back. We only have two dragons whilst she has seven.”

“More,” Aegon said,“She has gathered dragonriders for the wild dragons on Dragonstone, and she numbers now eleven.”

“Vhagar is a fierce dragon, we all know,” Ser Clifford said,“and we Stormlanders are fearless. But the odds are not in our favour.”

A traitor. Aemond reached for his hilt, but Aegon spoke first.

“Our cause is the right cause,” Aegon said,“and that is why we shall win.”

Silence greeted Aegon’s pronouncement. Aemond glared around the table, daring anyone to challenge the king. He saw frightened faces, and sullen faces, and all of them treasonous. The swan knight was drumming his fingers on the table. Maybe I will start with him, Aemond figured. Burn one, and the rest would listen.

“Have my lords heard the tale of Ser Owen of the Rainwood?” Lord Borros broke the silence.

“The robber knight?” Ser Steffon asked.

“Exactly,” Lord Borros said,“He lurked in the Rainwood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. The smallfolk think of him as a hero, but he is truthfully only a gloried bandit. But we are not speaking of what the smallfolk think of him. Do any of my lords know how he avoided pursuit by the lord of his land?”

“He melted into the forest,” Ser Clifford began to nod,“He commanded a host three hundred strong, but the lord could never find him because his host always split up, and the tracks of a few are easier to hide than the tracks of many.”

“Ser Clifford knows,” Lord Borros said,“We must not keep one host thirty thousand strong, but many smaller ones. We will melt away into the Rainwood and then the Kingswood, our tracks hidden to the enemy. Even if one of our hosts is spotted by a foe’s dragon and destroyed, we still have many more. Of the six thousand here are freeriders, mounted men-at-arms, and knights mostly. All of us will be swift. Each lord or knight at this table shall take their men back to their holdfasts, and raise their levies to march north separately.” “We will meet at Frosthollow on the fifth day of the seventh moon,” Lord Borros pointed at a small holdfast on the northern edge of the kingswood,“and march on King’s Landing the day after. When the traitors know of our coming, it shall be too late for them. The traitors will be celebrating the day of the Seven on the seventh day, and their guard will be down. On that night we will strike.”

“The problem will be the king’s host that is marching south,” Ser Clifford said,“Rhaenyra would doubtless have spies tailing them, and they would know when that host would turn north again.”

“I will lead my thousand riders to join them,” Lord Borros said,“Let Rhaenyra think we are marching eleven thousand men north, not thirty.” He then turned to Aegon and Aemond,“Would Your Grace and my prince assent to joining our march? It will not be easy for the dragons. They cannot fly; we must keep them hidden in the forest. And both Your Grace and my prince shall need ride on horses. A pitiful mount compared to dragons, but such measures are needed in war.”

“You cannot hide Vhagar in a forest,” Aemond said. When Rhaenyra swoops down on the army, I would rather not be on horseback.

“Nor Sunfyre either,” Aegon said,“My dragon will wish to fly. And he is golden besides, whilst the forest is green. ”

“Very well,” Lord Borros said,“We shall be lighting at Storm’s End before we journey north, and my humble hall shall be glad to host a prince and a king. How long does it take to fly from Storm’s End to King’s Landing?”

“Two days,” Aemond answered.

“Then Your Graces should set flight two days before we attack, on the fifth day of the seventh moon,” Lord Borros said. “During your stay,” the lord looked at Aemond with stiff eyes,“I should like Prince Aemond to wed my daughter.”

Chapter Text

“Prince Daemon always called her Mysaria,” Rhaena said as she poured a drink for the queen.

“Lady Misery is more fitting,” Lord Petyr Piper said, beckoning for Rhaena to fill his goblet,“Sometimes the smallfolk come up with apt names. This woman has been causing us misery ever since we set foot into the city. Last night four patrols were found stabbed in alleyways, and the night before a shop of a loyal merchant was raided. Poor man, hanged from a lamppost as his wife and daughters were raped and murdered in the shop. And the night before, a watchpost was attacked and two gold cloaks slain. The painting in blood on the walls of all these incidents leave no mystery as to the perpetrator. The Lady fights the Tyrant. I could go on.”

“What have you been expecting?” sneered Lord Celtigar,“You hold Prince Daemon captive. His whore is not going to welcome us with songs and cheers.”

The fires flickered about the Small Council table as Celtigar’s words settled. “How can a whore cause us so much trouble?” Ser Steffon broke the silence.

“In Prince Daemon’s youth,” the Sea Snake said,“he was known as the Prince of the City. He was Commander of the City Watch of King’s Landing, the most capable they had ever known. The prince was known to frequent alleys, brothels, and gambling pits, and knew all the decrepitness of the capital from the rich Street of Silver to the poorest slum of Flea Bottom. No doubt his ring of agents is still active in the city, and this Mysaria has access to them.”

“A deal, I say,” Celtigar said evenly,“Make a deal with Prince Daemon. Have him command his agents to stop troubling our city.”

“Do you think us fools, my Lord Hand?” the Sea Snake bristled,“Both my wife and Prince Jacaerys spoke to the Prince, and there was no deal we could strike. What could we offer him but his freedom, and that we cannot give because of his crimes. We cannot torture or kill him, for that would only inflame the tensions.” The Sea Snake rose and pointed to the map of King’s Landing on the table. “There has been a burning of a ship at the Seaking Harbor,” he pointed at dock beside the southern wall,“and I will double the watch along the battlements of the River Gate and the Iron Gate with my mariners, which will command a wider view of the docks.”

“Nor shall the city itself be vulnerable any longer,” Piper said,“The City Watch defected to us with four thousand men, but that is not enough. I have commanded that the Watch numbers be doubled and the patrols tripled. Martial law will need to be reinstated. We will recruit from the people of King’s Landing, so the smallfolk will feel safe with their new protectors.”

“How are you certain the City Watch will remain loyal?” Lord Elbert Staunton asked. Rhaenyra had named Staunton Master of Coin. Yet Rhaena knew that the treasury was empty, and the position was just to appoint one of Rhaenyra’s loyalists on the Small Council. Staunton was a fool also, and thought that his voice meant something. “They were once loyal to the Usurper,” Staunton said,“and I do not like this watchman you wish to be captain: Ser Luthor Largent. He may look honest and fierce with his white beard, but who may vouch for what lies within?”

“That is why we are recruiting more from the city,” Piper said,“If one captain proves disloyal, then his head would decorate a spike and we will bestow the City Watch on the next in line. We will have no shortage of captains, I assure you.”

“New recruits will be raw and undisciplined,” Staunton said,“and will make more trouble than they solve. Besides, where would get the gold to pay all these extra recruits? If my lord does not know, the Usurper ransacked the royal treasury and left us not a penny.”

“Lord Staunton,” Celtigar said,“These problems will all be solved if Her Grace would impose the Traitor’s Tax…”

“Begone with the Traitor’s Tax,” Staunton interrupted,“We are liberators, not pillagers.”

Celtigar was adamant in having the queen push his Traitor’s Tax. House Velaryon bore the brunt of the queen’s expenses all throughout the beginning of the war, but even Driftmark’s coffers were bleeding dry with the remaining gold rationed to maintain the Royal Fleet for two more years. Or so the Sea Snake said, but Rhaenyra did not dare question the master of her fleet.

Facing the lack of gold to pay the lords that Rhaenyra rewarded, Celtigar suggested a solution to impose a tax upon every man in the city they deemed a traitor. ‘There should be very many,” Celtigar said,“if the Usurper took the city on a whim. We only need find them, and their gold shall swell our coffers.” He had not found much support the first time he suggested it, but Rhaena did not know if the Small Council would deny him again. The coffers of the queen were dire.

“It is true that we need gold to swell the City Watch,” Piper said, and it was clear that he had taken Celtigar’s side.

“There are only four heads rotting on the battlements,” Ser Steffon also joined Celtigar,“Doubtless there are still traitors.”

The Sea Snake was silent, and that was affirmation enough.

“Lord Staunton,” the queen spoke for the first time that evening,“Let Lord Celtigar speak.”

“The Traitor’s Tax,” Lord Celtigar said, his eyes stiff as iron,“Those who supported the Usurper must make sacrifices to repent of their disloyalty to the queen. From each traitor we will demand a hundred silver stags. That should suffice, and is a merciful price. Else they should lose their head. In addition, the city shall pay recompense for their guilt in the Usurper’s rise. Wine and ale taxes will be doubled, port fees tripled. Each innkeep shall pay a silver stag for every bed they keep. Property taxes, whether mansion or house or hovel, with proportions to be determined. The city will do its part serve the queen. With this gold, Your Grace, we can pay your lords and have leftover coin for Lord Piper’s Watch.”

“How would you propose to find these traitors?” the Sea Snake snorted,“Lord Celtigar, if you do not recall, Her Grace has not yet found a man worthy of being her Master of Whisperers.”

“The people will give us the names,” Celtigar said,“Promise that a tenth of the tax would go to each informant, and soon Her Grace shall find her halls brimming with loyal men revealing the truth of traitors.”

She shall soon find her hall brimming with greedy men, Rhaena knew, giving up the name of some personal enemy. But she knew that it was not her place to speak at the Small Council, and she stood silent beside the queen with her hand gripping the flagon of wine.

“You were the man who whispered mercy in my wife’s ear, Lord Hand,” the Sea Snake asked Celtigar,“Where is that man now?”

“Lords can recognize the errors of their ways and be forgiven,” Celtigar said,“It is the gift of the blue blood. The smallfolk are a different sort, almost beasts. They must be put down with a strong hand.”

“You would provoke the city’s ire, Lord Hand,” Staunton said, turning to Rhaenyra. He looked as though there were poison in the walls,“Besides, Your Grace, it is not the part of the Hand to issue taxes. It is my role as Master of Coin. And I must tell Your Grace that should this tax be imposed, greedy men will give up the names of innocents, and the whole city will name you a tyrant and a plunderer. You will be proving Lady Miserys’s words, and she would be the least of our worries then. Show mercy. Show the city that Your Grace could bring it prosperity, that Your…”

“That I should reward the men who spat on my claim and cheered my usurping half-brother,” Rhaenyra snapped. “That I would smile at the smallfolk who sing Aemond One-Eye’s name, the man who forced my second son and your prince to cut out his eye. Remember that the Usurper killed my daughter, my sweet Visenya who died the night she was born. I know what he would do should he take Dragonstone, a massacre of the whole castle before he burns it to ash. I am already merciful enough to offer the Usurper’s men freedom. But they must pay.”

Rhaena gaped at the queen, the flagon forgotten in Rhaena’s arms. She had never before seen the purple fire which glimmered now in the queen’s eyes. It is done, Rhaena thought, It is folly, but it is done.  She spied Staunton draw back his hand and finger his collar, his eyes fearful.

“My stewards shall see to the tax,” Celtigar answered, then turned to Lord Piper,“Would I have the City Watch’s support?”

“You will, Lord Hand,” Piper answered,“but the Watch itself is not enough. The Watch must be aided by the Crownland and Riverland lords. Lord Hand, which of the lords is fit for this duty?”

“Use the Blackwood boy, that one they name Bloody Ben,” Celtigar said,“He is young and eager to serve. Lords Crabb and Mooton shall also suffice. They command fierce men, and their lords are not afraid to soil their cloaks. Command other lords as you see fit, but best avoid Mallister and Frey. Those two are too honourable to do this task well. They will do it if they received the queen’s command, but they will make a botch of a job.”

“Aye, Lord Hand,” Piper nodded.

The discussion went on deep into the night, Rhaena filling up flagon after flagon of wine for the Small Council until Rhaenyra was satisfied. “We are done here today,” she said,“Unless my lords have anything else to offer, the Small Council is adjourned.”

“Your Grace,” Staunton pleaded,“I was with Princess Rhaenys after she fed Simon Strong to her dragon. Harrenhal fell into uproar for a fortnight, and it was I who could bring it to peace.”

“Do not presume to slander my wife, Lord Staunton,” the Sea Snake said, ice in his voice.

“I will forgive my lord your error,” Celtigar said,“but it was I who made the peace.”

“Put aside this tax for now, Your Grace,” Staunton paid the Sea Snake and Celtigar no mind,“I preserved order as we conquered the city. Give me three days to deal with Lady Misery, and I promise Your Grace that King’s Landing will see peace.”

Rhaenyra paid him no mind, and repeated “Anything else to offer?” When no one answered, she waved her hand,“You are dismissed.” Staunton left the table first, and Rhaena tensed at his clenched lips. Celtigar then bowed to the queen and strode from the chamber with his two stewards. Piper followed Celtigar closely, two of Piper’s servants striding quickly forward to help the old lord.

“I am not that old,” Piper said as he shook the servants off. The chamber emptied but for a few. Ser Steffon remained to guard the queen, and Rhaena had to stay because she was the queen’s handmaiden and cupbearer. The Sea Snake was the only one to remain unbidden.

“What does my lord wish to say to me that the others should not hear?” the queen asked a long moment after the other councilors departed.

The Sea Snake scowled at Rhaena,“Prince Daemon’s daughter is still here, Your Grace.”

“She saved Luke, goodfather,” Rhaenyra said,“What you wish to say to me you may say to her.”

“I am Your Grace’s most loyal man, and I must be honest,” the Sea Snake said,“This tax was folly.”

“Yet my lord spoke in support of it,” Rhaenyra said.

“Your Grace spoke for it, and I cannot challenge your decree,” the Sea Snake said,“and it may even be wisdom if things were different. In these times of tumult, when Prince Daemon’s whore is running amok in the city, the smallfolk look to the Iron Throne. There should be either love or fear they see there. Nothing in between.”

“I make the traitors fear me,” Rhaenyra said,“They whisper behind my back that my hands bleed after I sit the Iron Throne, that I am unworthy of the Conqueror’s seat. Let them repeat those tales when their friends give them up to the rightful queen.”

“Not enough, Your Grace,” the Sea Snake said,“They will see heads rotting on spikes and that will leave a fearful taste in their mouths. But then they will see that there is only one dragon in the Red Keep, and their father’s rusted spear or hammered plow is waiting to be used, and there will be hope to rally against you. If there were eight dragons soaring above King’s Landing, that hope would be ashes, but there are not. Why did Your Grace agree to send Jace away?”

Rhaena remembered how the queen had sat silent on the Iron Throne for a long time after Jace asked to ride for the Reach. Then, she gave her assent. “Bring me the Usurper in chains,” the queen declared atop the Iron Throne, and Jace rose with fire leeching into his brown eyes. He strode from the hall with his dragonriders as soon as court was adjourned, and they were gone before the day was done.

Was it so that the queen would rule the kingdom in the stead of the prince?  Rhaena wondered. That could explain why Rhaenyra had staffed the Small Council with her loyal men. Staunton had been one of the first to raise his banners for her, even though he had little knowledge of coin. Piper was an old loyal man Rhaenyra had known since her girlhood, a man who would never betray her. The Sea Snake was the pillar of her reign, and Ser Steffon was the most loyal of the Queensguard.

Is that what I must do as queen? Rhaena wondered. She knew that Ser Harrold would never betray her, not like some of those Kingsguard knights who turned on Maegor. She did not trust the Sea Snake, though. He was old and snarky and held hidden plans behind his eyes. But the Sea Snake was one of the only ones who spoke sense. Him, and Lord Staunton, but Lord Staunton dared to openly oppose the queen. Rhaena did not want a man like Staunton.

“Does my lord think that I wished to send Jace off to war?” Rhaenyra’s voice tore Rhaena away from her thoughts,“He is my son, and I have no greater wish than to keep both him and Luke by my side, safe and protected. But he is beyond my power, and if I denied him, he would have ridden anyway. Jace wants to put an end to this war as swift as possible, and who am I to deny him that? If I shamed him in front of the whole court and hid him away, who would follow him when he eventually becomes king?”

“I am not speaking of calling Prince Jacaerys back because it is unsafe, Your Grace,” the Sea Snake said,“War is treacherous, but your son has seven dragons about him and a sizable host on the ground following his flight as you commanded. Darke and Massey and Mellowfield are all loyal men who will hold the holdfasts the dragons take along the way to serve as apt supply stations. But the absence of dragons has left King’s Landing vulnerable. Your councilors cannot even seem to keep the city under control.”

“My councilors are loyal men,” Rhaenyra said.

“Loyalty does not equate to aptitude, Your Grace,” the Sea Snake said,“Lord Staunton knows as much about coin as I do about the Others. Though Lord Celtigar can make up for some of it, it is not near enough. He knows how to impose taxes, I will give him that, but so does every brute who demands a protection fee. I do not trust his stewards either, never ever revealing to us what they write. Your Grace should have brought Gerardys.”

“King’s Landing is not yet safe,” Rhaenyra said,“and Joff requires assistance in ruling Dragonstone.” She put a hand on the Sea Snake’s arm,“Worry not, goodfather. I have faith in our men. If they do not prove worthy in time, we can always find better.”

“I cannot free myself from worry, Your Grace,” the Sea Snake bristled,“Even if the city does not rise in rebellion, I hear that the Usurper’s forces are massing for an attack on King’s Landing. Ser Otto and Ser Criston have fled south with the flower of King’s Landing’s garrison, and they will meet soon with Lord Borros Baratheon’s force who has marched north from his campaign in the Dornish marches. There are rumours that they are in the kingswood at the moment.”

“They shall not be a threat, Lord Corlys,” Ser Steffon said,“The Storm Lord has no dragons. And even if he chances to pass by Syrax’s flame, Her Grace still has my sword.”

“I do not doubt your courage, Ser, against the stags,” the Sea Snake said,“but are you certain there are no dragons?” The Sea Snake turned back to Rhaenyra,“My patrols to the south have reported of fires in the kingswood. We fear that the Usurper’s dragons are marching with Lord Borros’s host.”

“The last reliable sighting of the Usurper’s dragons was a fortnight ago, the beasts accompanying his retreat southwest,” Ser Steffon said,“The Usurper is not fool enough to split his dragons and attack us. There have been sightings of dragons at the God’s Eye, Highgarden, Casterly Rock, the Red Mountains, even rumours of dragons hiding in the tunnels of the Dragonpit to ambush us. Words are wind, and most are like to be old wives’ tales. A cookfire could start a forest fire just as easily as dragonflame.”

“Still,” the Sea Snake said,“It does not hurt to be cautious. Call Jace back.”

Rhaenyra sighed,“Very well, Lord Corlys. I will send a raven to Grassy Vale, which was the last holdfast they captured. I have given Jace enough time for his mission. He will obey my summons.” “And I will set up a watch on the kingsroad,” Rhaenyra tapped a place on the map scarce thirty leagues south of King’s Landing,“The Haldings of Frosthollow have sent a raven swearing loyalty to me, but their lord is fast friends with Lord Borros, who is the Usurper’s hound. I will not have the Usurper’s eyes so close. On the morrow, I will command Lord Jorah Mallister to march on Frosthollow with a thousand swords, securing the holdfast’s loyalty and setting up a watch on the south.”

“Your Grace is wise,” the Sea Snake breathed, and he was about to speak something else when the bells began to toll. One time, a long mournful sound which echoed through the night. “I plead with Your Grace,” the Sea Snake said after the bell stopped ringing,“At least forgo this tax until Jace returns. Besides, there are rumours that the Usurper has brought a quarter of his treasury south to Storm’s End. If that is true, we can gain our gold there.”

“We cannot go chasing rumours, goodfather,” Rhaenyra said,“Syrax and our host is needed to hold King’s Landing from Lady Misery and other would-be traitors. Should we march south, we may return to find that the Usurper has seated himself on the Iron Throne again.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” the Sea Snake bowed his head,“It is an hour past the hour of the wolf. I must need return to my fleet and prepare the patrols for the morrow. If I may beg my leave, Your Grace.”

“You may, goodfather,” the queen held out her hand for the Sea Snake. The old lord knelt to kiss it, then swept away. Rhaena noticed that Rhaenyra never answered the Sea Snake about the tax. That meant she was thinking about the Sea Snake’s advice. She wondered if Rhaenyra was thinking about Staunton’s offer too.

Rhaena helped prepare the queen for bed. Rhaenyra slept in King Viserys’s old quarters in Maegor’s Holdfast. Jace’s men had found the chamber abandoned and smelling of rot, waking a cloud of dust from the half-closed shutters. The Usurper did not sleep where his father died, Rhaena observed.

The queen had ordered the chamber cleaned. The cedar table was replaced by the queen’s own oaken one from Dragonstone. At the side of the table facing the bed was grafted the image of Queen Visenya raising the three-headed dragon banner on the bare cleft of dirt that would become Visenya’s Hill. Behind the queen was Vhagar who raised her snout in a frozen roar at a wooden sky. On the other side were Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes soaring above the Field of Fire. On the left was Aegon kneeling as the High Septon crowned him Lord of the Seven Kingdoms in the Starry Sept, and on the right was Orys Baratheon slaying Argilac the Arrogant during the Last Storm.  At the corner of each table was carved a dragon in dragonglass with eyes of ruby. When Rhaena first glimpsed the table, she had bitten her lip. It had been one of Father’s gifts to Rhaenyra.

The bed was replaced as well. “I will not sleep where my father died,” Rhaenyra had ordered the bed taken out into the yard and burned, and another from the traitor queen Helaena’s chambers took its place. There was no longer mildew on the walls, and the dust had been swept away. The chamber now smelled of incense and perfume, and there was no sign of the old dead king.

Rhaena and the queen’s other handmaids dressed her in her nightgown, a thin shift woven of black and red silk. The queen then sent the others away, the plump Darklyn girl with rosy cheeks, the black-eyed Laena Crabb, and the soft-spoken Emphyria Roote. Rhaena was alone with the queen in her chamber save for Ser Steffon Darklyn and Ser Theodore Roote who stood at the door. Ser Erryk and Ser Larence were standing outside, Rhaena knew, and the rest of the Queensguard commanded the sentries in the castle. The Red Keep was dark at night, but she was as safe as she could be.

“Rhaena,” the queen said, her eyes closed as she lay back on her bedrest,“Lord Piper has presented me with a dilemma. The City Watch had been commanded by Ser Luthor Largent in the Usurper’s hour. Ser Luthor defected to us, and I have granted him and the surrendering Watch a full royal pardon, even ennobling him for his loyalty. But Ser Luthor worked closely with the Usurper’s uncle before said uncle fled. Lord Piper says I should let Ser Luthor retain the command, believing him noble of heart and sworn to an oath to fealty.”

“House Hightower once swore an oath to defend your rights, Your Grace,” Rhaena said,“but they rose in treason all the same.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra nodded,“and Lord Staunton wants to put one of our lords as captain. He named Frey, Brune, Cox, and a dozen other lords who had not just sworn their fealty to me but brought their swords to aid my cause.”

“Lord Staunton has many friends, Your Grace,” Rhaena said,“Perhaps too many.”

“We shall deal with that later, Rhaena,” Rhaenyra sighed,“As of now, Lord Staunton is satisfied with being Master of Coin. Perhaps later, he will wish to leverage his friendships to rise higher, but the matter of the City Watch is more urgent as of now.”

“There is already violence because we look like conquerors, Your Grace,” Rhaena said,“Putting one of our men as the head of the watchmen will not help our image. Even if the lord Lord Staunton proposed is capable, he will fail to keep the peace.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra nodded again, her eyes closed. She did not speak beyond that, and Rhaena realized that she was bidden to speak. The way the queen dismissed the other suggestions, it seemed as though she had already made up her mind. The queen was just testing Rhaena to see if she knew.

“There are better candidates, Your Grace,” Rhaena said,“One of the lowborn captains of the City Watch. Ser Landon, Ser Ander, or Ser Garth will all serve well. They will show the smallfolk that the City Watch is a watch for the people. Or lords or knights from one of Your Grace’s sworn minor houses could join the common ranks of the Watch, those whose pride is not so prickly as to refuse to be watchmen. We can then raise them high, and eventually replace the lowborn captains who might be disloyal. Our new men would rise through the ranks of the Watch, so there will be no whispers that they are foreign conquerors.”

“I will think on what you have said, Rhaena,” the queen opened her eyes and smiled,“but you had best get some sleep now.” “Ser Steffon,” Rhaenyra called,“Have two guards escort Lady Rhaena to her chamber.” The queen then turned back to Rhaena,“Sweet dreams.”

Chapter Text

Alicent’s cousin’s massive and lavish pavilion spoke of his arrogance.

Near five metres tall and supported by dozens of great redwood pillars, Cousin Ormund’s pavilion dwarfed any of the tents his soldiers or even his lords could raise up. The sides of the tent glimmered with shining white hide lit up by the bright noon sun behind it. Despite the sunlight, Ormund had his pavilion lined with seven rows of golden chandeliers and braziers, whose fires burned away the autumn winds. At the end of each row of fires was a marble statue of the Seven. Each of the gods wore robes of spun silver that contained etched rubies and amethysts.

Alicent knew her cousin was never a man for prayers. But he was a man to show that he held the riches of the gods.

Ormund dressed in an intricately woven tunic instead of armour, relaxing on a cushion of velvet and furs. Carved on his tunic in golden threads were blossoming flowers intertwined with swords. His breastplate and shield had been hung two dozen steps away, and four squires stood guard there.

Vigilance was the only piece of war that Ormund wore, House Hightower’s heraldic Valyrian steel sword obvious at his belt. The silver jet-encrusted sword sheath glimmered time and again as Ormund shifted on his cushion, and Alicent was certain that he was trying to show her that he had Vigilance.

“My assurances once again, Your Grace,” Ormund said,“Your Grace has no worry of traitors whilst in my host.”

Alicent almost sneered at that.

Ormund commanded a host over fifty thousand, raising a camp that stretched out for near five leagues. At night, the torches from the soldiers were almost as bright as day. The roar of drums, the sounds of swords, and the flicker of banners was enough to drown the autumn winds, and the river’s edge lined with thousands of sparring men from dawn till dusk. The Reach boasted the flower of the realm’s armies.

But Alicent did not feel any safer within his camp. Ormund was supposed to send the royal host southwest and turn northeast with Daeron to stop the chasers, but Ormund was adamant to escort the royal host back the roseroad from whence he came. “The road is not safe,” Ormund insisted,“Many traitor remnants remain in the Reach after our victory at the Honeywine, and Your Graces need an army as a shield. Yet the shield Alicent wanted was an army that would draw the traitors away. Surrounding Alicent, Ormund’s five-league camp would draw the traitor dragons and serve more as a shroud. Ormund brushed away any of Alicent’s objections to follow Father’s plan. And with Helaena bedridden, Dreamfyre away on hunts, and Daeron under Ormund’s thumb, there was little Alicent could do but follow the fool.

Her only solace was that Tessarion was soaring above the camp. But the one blue beast was not enough when the might of Rhaenyra’s dragons was flying their way.

Alicent’s heart was racing, but she could not antagonize a man with fifty thousand swords under his command. She brought herself back from her memories and looked at Ormund. Try until I get him to see sense. “I do not doubt the safety of this camp, cousin,” Alicent said,“It is just that Prince Daeron is valiant and brave. He won us victory on the Honeywine, and surely he shall win us more if he marches against the traitors in King’s Landing.” At least that way, Daeron could draw the pursuers away.

“Prince Daeron may be valiant,” Ormund answered,“but he knows that valiance is tempered with wisdom. Offering oneself up like a lamb can only result in noble sacrifice. Best to retreat, and wait until King’s Landing is recaptured and chaos erupts in Rhaenyra’s ranks. I have it all considered.”

Before King’s Landing is recaptured, Rhaenyra may have burned us all to ash. “What did you bring him to war for,” Alicent asked,“if not to let my son win his glory?”

“Your Grace entrusted me with the prince’s education,” Ormund said,“I remembered my duty very well. So I had the archmaesters of the Citadel, the most learned men in the realm I knew, to teach the prince. Archmaester Berris, Archmaester Young, Archmaester Lymer, Archmaester Vaegon.”

“The grey dragon’s still alive,” Alicent said. The grey dragon was the name her brother Gwayne gave Vaegon Targaryen, King Jaehaerys’s son who took up the chain of a maester. It was more about Vaegon’s hair than his cloth, as Vaegon always looked thrice his age.

“Closer to seventy years than sixty,” Ormund replied,“But still as stern and sullen as ever. But the point is, I did all I could to teach Daeron from the books of the Citadel. He can tell you the history of the Rhoynish Wars, and why the Valyrians won. He could do the sums of Oldtown as good as my steward, and I was of half a mind to have him manage the markets of the city. He is as able a prince as you could ever have. But there is only so much one can learn inside a warm chamber with a quill in hand.”

“Prince Daeron must know war,” Ormund’s fingers drummed the table,“He saw the Honeywine stain red as the blood from the battle ran into the river. He saw men crumbling into ash before him underneath Tessarion’s flame. He saw the savagery of his own men looting the corpses of the enemy and cutting the throats of captives, parading bloody heads beside the golden dragon banner. Many men knight their squires for some frivolity in a tourney, but I waited until Daeron saw true war before I knighted him as Ser Daeron the Daring. He must know first the price of knighthood, the price of war.”

“Prince Daeron learned in the war that the realm is not forged by swords or dragons,” Ormund continued,“The prince was my emissary to Dunstonbury and Starpike, to Goldengrove and Highgarden, so that he would know the vassals and make them his friends. Tessarion was of great aid in that, but a dragon could only go so far in winning a heart.”

With each of Ormund’s words, Alicent suspicions began to rise as she began to feel a cold feeling pressing into her stomach. Ormund’s use of Daeron as emissary to make friends of the Reach lords smelled like a crude attempt at a faction. So crude that Alicent wondered if it was really a faction, for she believed Ormund to be smarter. But most lords are fools. It was a faction, and a faction supporting Prince Daeron to unknown ends was dangerous when Rhaenyra was still at rebellion. Maybe that was why he insisted on escorting us, Alicent figured, to keep the royal house as hostages when he eventually acts against Aegon.

Ormund had much to profit from Daeron sitting upon the Iron Throne. He was but an afterthought in House Hightower. Whilst her father and herself gloried in the favour of King Viserys, the Lord of the Hightower was struck aside. No doubt that was why Ormund kept Vigilance so close to his side, as if to remind Alicent that it was Ormund Hightower who was head of the house. Alicent smiled to Ormund, masking her heart that was drumming against her chest.

It was near an hour later when Ormund’s herald announced the arrival of Prince Daeron.

“Have the prince enter,” Ormund waved his hand.

Ushering my son in, Alicent noticed, like a sheep to his shepherd. It made sense. If Daeron sat the Iron Throne, Ormund would rule the Seven Kingdoms. That was most probably why Ormund did not worry about the chasers. He most like struck a deal already with Rhaenyra to make an alliance against Aegon. Alicent had always thought that the threat came from Aemond and Helaena, but Aegon showed Alicent that he could rein them in. And the barbs from Aemond and Helaena were nothing to Alicent if she and her one-eyed brother were Aegon’s. The true threat was never from Aemond, but from the brother far away. That might have been why Daeron denied Driftmark. What use is one isle when Seven Kingdoms was within your grasp?

Alicent tapped her fingers beneath the table, wondering who was still loyal to Aegon. Baratheon was loyal, but not many others. If Ormund was traitor, then the Tyrells could not be counted on. Arryn, Stark, Tully, and Greyjoy were Rhaenyra’s. Alicent began to realize that Aegon’s sweetening of the Lannisters was a good thing. A Lannister always pays his debts, and in the end, the Lannisters would stand true. But the key ones were Aemond and Helaena, who rode dragons and whom Aegon must keep at his side. For my one iron-hearted son to keep his iron seat.

Daeron arrived with a bright smile, two armoured men trailing behind him. Alicent recognized the first man, the high cold eyes of Lord Unwin Peake glinting behind thick blond-bearded cheeks. Lord Peake never wore a smile even when he brought Alicent gifts as a girl, and he did not wear a smile now. The other man Alicent did not recognize; little more than a boy with sullen eyes, dark hair, and light brown stubble coating his cheeks. His fingers stroked the silver hem of his empty scabbard. Ormund introduced Lord Peake, and the stranger as Ser Tom Flowers, newly knighted after he captured Horn Hill with Daeron. The Bastard of Bitterbridge, Alicent noted.

“The prince’s left and right arms,” Ormund finished his introductions. Lord Peake’s face remained composed, which confused Alicent. He would not like being called a mere boy’s arm. Alicent remembered a feast at Oldtown when she was younger, when Father had pointed out Lord Peake, who had been sitting beside the red and green apple Fossoway lords. “Owen is the red apple,” Father had pointed them out to Alicent,“and Lyonel is the green apple. Both are hard to chew. But Lord Unwin is the hardest of them all. He thinks himself only beneath the king.” And then she remembered that Ormund was plotting for Daeron to be king, and it made sense.

“Lord Ormund”, Daeron greeted,“Mother,” and had Flowers lay out a map of the Reach. Daeron and his companions began to explain a plan. “Seven dragons are coming upon us from King’s Landing,” Daeron said,“and it appears they are storming through the Reach. A host on the ground followed the dragons to capture the holdfasts, led by the traitors Lymond Darke, Gormon Massey, Tristifer Mellowfield, and Loreth Lansdale.” Alicent glanced at Ormund, whose face was calm, his brow unknitted. He knew that these chasers were no threat to him.

“The best strategy,” Lord Peake explained,“is to leave no large army to be completely destroyed by the dragons in one Field of Fire. Instead, there would be three hundred smaller hosts, each bearing the golden dragon of His Grace and living off the fertile lands. They will scatter throughout the Reach, harassing the hosts of Rhaenyra, appearing at the rear of her dragons, and presenting themselves as decoys of His Grace. The traitors will have no choice but to pursue, and it will take a while to find and destroy one. Even if one is burnt, there will still be hundreds more to distract the dragons. And three hundred hosts will distract the dragons for a long time. Time enough for the royal house to seek safe refuge in Highgarden or Oldtown. Time enough for His Grace and Prince Aemond to end the war in King’s Landing

“I hope it would not come to the three hundred brave,” Daeron declared,“I will also ride forth and appear before the traitors on Tessarion. They will catch a glimpse of my dragon before we disappear into the clouds and reappear on the edge of their horizon. None can match the speed of the Blue Queen, and I will lead the traitors on a merry chase around the Mander. That way no blood is shed.” “But Lord Peake insisted that I must rest at times,” Daeron bit his lip,“so our hosts are there to keep the traitors’ attention.”

“It is the truth of war,” Lord Peake said,“but there is no need to pity those who give their lives. Noble sacrifice is the dream of every knight and every boy who wishes to become a knight.” “Your Grace,” he turned to Alicent,“It must worry a woman’s heart to have her son join in battle, but I assure you that His Grace will have the greatest protection.” He then beckoned for Ser Tom Flowers.

“The prince cannot stay in one place for long lest the traitors find him,” Ser Tom Flowers said, his voice quiet,“My sis- half-sister at Bitterbridge will host the prince for his first landing, then throughout our loyal holdfasts. He will spend one night in Longtable, another in Goldengrove, one in Ashford, and others. Never in one place for the traitors to find and burn.”

“A wise plan,” Ormund said,“You have my full support.” And with Ormund’s affirmation, Alicent knew that it was part of Ormund’s plot. It would be difficult to have fifty thousand men turn traitor; their comrades would give them courage to stand true. But sending them to Rhaenyra piece by piece; each group would see a band of a hundred or so men facing a dragon, and it did not take a craven to turn a cloak.

It seemed that Daeron is in on the plot, Alicent noted, and Peake and Flowers are conspirators too. She would need to make note of the traitors.

After the three departed the pavilion, Ormund turned back to Alicent. “It takes quite a prince,” Ormund laughed,“to command the loyalty of the haughty and proud Lord Peake.”

Alicent grimaced at Ormund showing off how much support his usurper had. Ormund’s smile died as he spotted her grimace. She quickly composed herself. “Why does the prince bring such baseborn stock to soil our presence?” she lied about the cause of her grimace.

“Prince Daeron was insistent on keeping the bastard at his side,” Ormund said,“There is a certain wisdom to it. The bastard has as much strength as Peake, Graceford, Roxton, and Rowan, and those five hosts are second only to my own. So the prince must play careful with the bastard, and take more care to make him loyal. The bastard follows the prince like a dog, deathly loyal to the one prince who showed him favour after so many spurned him. And deathly loyal swords are a great asset in this camp of many men, for many men may turn into many colours in a night.”

One of these colours is your own, no doubt, Alicent thought, A man that could in a night flash blue in the stead of gold.

Chapter Text

“The Reach smells of a trap,” Rhaenys said to the war council,“I have been saying this since we marched from King’s Landing.”

Jace turned towards her with a slight crease on his brown brow. The tousled brown hair on his head glimmered in the dim glow of Grassy Vale’s torches. Jace began to tap the ruby ring on his second finger on the war table. Rhaenys spotted the black spots beneath his eyes that grew ever more pronounced since they flew from King’s Landing. Jace never slept until after the moon was bright in the sky, and he woke before the smell of the cookfires began to waft up to the keep towers. The other eyes huddled around the table turned to Rhaenys as well. The dragonseeds all glowered at her, taking their cue from Jace. Lord Tristifer Mellowfield, Ser Loreth Lansdale, and the motley other knights and lords who formed Jace’s command also turned to Rhaenys. Jace had only taken his most loyal men into the Reach, sycophants who wore the same masks Jace wore.

Sycophants may be the men he wanted, Rhaenys thought, but they were not the men he needed. Rhaenys trusted Jace to command, but even the wisest could stumble. No man on the march dared speak against the Prince’s wishes save for Rhaenys, Luke, and sometimes Hugh Waters. But most of the words of Waters were some empty japes that Jace could brush off. Luke was the only ally Rhaenys had when speaking against the Prince of Dragonstone, and this night, Rhaenys was alone as Luke was with Arrax in the stables. But Rhaenys had to speak.

Lord Tristifer had in his fingers the ravens from their scouts, which reported sightings of  several hundred small enemy hosts scattering across the Reach. Each of the hosts flew the golden dragon, and none of the hosts exceeded five hundred in number. The Reach lords resorted to the tactics of bandits and Dornishmen - harassing Jace’s supplies and cutting off reinforcements from King’s Landing. Deep in the Reach’s territory at Grassy Vale, the five thousand that formed Jace’s host had to live off the Reach lands. With the winter stores of the Lord Meadows, it was enough to feed Jace’s army for two years, so food was not the problem.

The problem was that Rhaenys knew that the small armies were bait. But what kind of bait was it? The Usurper would not wish to bait seven dragons unto his four, so Rhaenys thought more and more that the baits were a distraction. There were other reports of a blue dragon soaring in the clouds not forty leagues west of Grassy Vale. But never that of a golden one or the great grey one.

“The campaign in the Reach was too easy,” Rhaenys faced Jace,“The Footly lord yielded Tumbleton without a fight, even though he had hosted the Usurper’s household a moon before.” The only battle they saw in Tumbleton was when seven of Massey’s men began sacking a bakery before Jace landed Vermax beside the building. The dragon’s roar was enough to cow most from their robbery, except one drunken boy who flung a spear at Jace. Vermax stopped the spear with a wing, and the boy was taken and hanged. Hugh offered to burn the rest of the robbers with Vermithor, but Jace forbid him. “For your crime,” Jace had proclaimed to the robbers,“the law bids me take your hands. But handless men cannot fight for me, so I will take a debt instead. Cut me one enemy head with each hand you were meant to lose, and I will count the debt paid.”

“Lord Loras Varner of King’s Hollow and Lord Robar Meadows of Grassy Vale were as quick to surrender as Footly,” Rhaenys continued,“We may think that it was our dragons, but these lords gave us their gold, winter stores, and levies to us, when they could have fled to the Usurper in Highgarden or Oldtown with their valuables and left empty shells for the queen to conquer. The Usurper may be a fool, but Otto and Alicent Hightower certainly are not. They would not abandon their treasures to us unless it was for a reason. I believe that reason is to make us greedy for the loot of the Reach, drawing us deeper and deeper into the enemy’s land. My prince, ever since I left King’s Landing, I had the worry that we were leaving the capital too empty.”

Jace waited until Rhaenys finished, then stopped tapping his ruby ring on the table. He sighed as the creases on his sunken face creased and smoothed again.

“Princess Rhaenys,” it was Lord Tristifer Mellowfield who spoke,“You may have noticed that our march is strange. The Prince does not directly chase the Usurper southwest on our dragons, but marches with our armies, present at every castle we conquer. The Prince of Dragonstone must be seen. He must be seen helping open the granaries to the smallfolk of the castle for the coming winter. He must be seen walking the battlements through the winter cold with his soldiers as the Conqueror and King Jaehaerys once did. He must feast the lords and promise each of them advancement in Her Grace’s court, tailored to their ambitions and needs.”

“Lord Tristifer,” Rhaenys said,“Wise those endeavours may be, they should be left for after the war.”

“Prince Lucerys once asked the Prince of Dragonstone that very question,” Lord Lambert Whitewater said,“and the Prince’s answer was one of greatest foresight. The Reach is the Usurper’s stronghold, the home and bastion of his mother’s power. If we try to take the Usurper directly, thousands of loyal men with hundreds of holdfasts will arise to defend him. He can avoid us in open battle, live off his vassal’s lands, and stretch the bloody war out for years. But this way, the Prince of Dragonstone can erode his support, for lords ultimately love themselves more than a pretender. And when the men of the Reach hear that the queen upon the Iron Throne gives them a life greater than that of an exiled usurper, the Usurper will find no place in the Reach. He must needs attack us to win back the hearts of his men. And that battle he shall lose. The war will be done swiftly, once and for all. Varner and Meadows, Ernest and Footly, every one of these lords offered the entirety of their lands because the Prince of Dragonstone’s strategy is working. The Reach is beginning to turn to the queen from their hearts.”

“Fire and sword can win a battle, but it is feasts and songs that can win a kingdom,” Ulf said, his voice courteous.

“Will a song send the Usurper to his knees?” Hugh scoffed,“I say we don’t waste any time worrying where the Usurper is or winning his minions. Fly southwest, and burn Highgarden to the ground. The Usurper would doubtless come rescue the city, and we may vanquish him and his traitor siblings there.”

Rhaenys bit her lips as she glared at Hugh,“Do you know how many smallfolk live in Highgarden?”

“We have been through half a hundred battles, my princess,” Hugh shrugged,“You’ve seen dead men all ‘round those battles. They’re all smallfolk. Don’t look like it, in charred mail and bloody faces, but they’re pure and innocent once you dig ‘em to the core. But that didn’t matter when you saw the golden dragon on their banners, and you killed them just as every other man here did. Pretend that Highgarden is full of golden dragons and Simon Strongs, and it’ll come easy.”

“Do not presume to mock Princess Rhaenys,” Jace at last said, his voice stern but very tired. Hugh’s lips sealed, and he stared at Highgarden on the map.

The rest of the war meeting continued as the council planned the march and assault on Bitterbridge. “The dragons would compel the surrender,” Jace moved the pieces on the map,“Ser Podrick Massey would lead the five hundred vanguard that will secure the inner keep and elderly Lord Caswell of Bitterbridge. Lord Tristifer Mellowfield, Lord Gormon Massey, Lord Lymond Darke, and Ser Roan Storm will each lead an army to claim one of the four walls of the castle. Ser Loreth Lansdale will have command of the rearguard and the supply train that sails alongside the host.”

It was past the hour of the wolf when the war council concluded. “Grandmother,” Jace said,“Would you remain with me?” Rhaenys stayed, wondering what game Jace was playing at.

“It was not my wish to rebuke you in front of the council,” Jace began,“It was the will of the council to move forward by my plan.”

“I did not think I had to teach you this, my prince,” Rhaenys answered,“Your council is full of lickspittles seeking to please the Prince of Dragonstone. Look at history, and you will see the fate of kings who sought the pleasure of laughter and feasts, hearing only sweet words that praise one’s wisdom and victories. Arthur Gardener died an ironman’s thrall, Harren the Black burned in the Conqueror’s fire, and King Aenys passed on a broken kingdom that made an evil king and doomed his son. Lies are the sweetest to hear, and you are hearing them left and right, dooming the war. Look at your council. Lord Whitewater and Lord Tristifer, Ulf Waters and Ser Loreth. None of them are honest men, seeking only to curry favour with the Prince of Dragonstone and the future king.”

“Your words are noted, my princess,” Jace’s eyes turned in their lids,“but I had you remain for a different purpose. We must make the wisest preparations for the battle.”

Jace clapped his hands, and two of his squires walked up to Rhaenys, carrying between their arms something long and slender wrapped in yellow cloth. Rhaenys knew at once that it was a sword. Jace unwrapped the cloth, revealing the black scabbard with an embroidered silver dragon curling along its length. The eyes of the silver dragon were red rubies, as was the crimson jewel on the crossguard.

“Dark Sister,” Rhaenys whispered as Jace drew the sword, watching the smoking grey steel ripple in the torchlight.

“The blade had been taken off Prince Daemon when he rebelled,” Jace held the hilt out to Rhaenys,“Blackfyre will be taken off the Usurper, but as of now, we only have Dark Sister. The sword should be wielded by House Targaryen’s worthiest warrior.”

Rhaenys took the hilt, watching the black steel warp to silver to white to dark grey to black again as she twisted the steel pommel between her fingers. “If you think you can bribe my lips sealed with a sword, my prince,” Rhaenys turned back to Jace and sheathed it in the scabbard,“you are mistaken. I plead with you, my prince, do not see me as an enemy, to be bribed and appeased with gold and promises. The only thing I want is for your mother to sit the Iron Throne as is her right. You tried to hide from me the fact that Addam Waters was to receive Driftmark, but I know. It makes no matter, though, so long as his dragon is the queen’s. There are other lands that Luke can possess. I am not telling you that all praise is vile, and that you should seek out those who curse your name. I only plead that you make it so that your vassals think it best for their futures to tell you the truth, whether it pleases or pains your ear. You can set an example by listening to me. Look into this Usurper’s plot, which I suspect is a trap of sorts. Promise me, my prince.”

Jace’s face was unreadable. “I will, my princess,” he finally said.

Rhaenys knelt,“My prince is wise.” Then, she rose and took the sword from the arms of the squires. “My thanks for your gift, my prince,” she said,“I beg my leave.”

“I grant it,” Jace smiled, but Rhaenys was uncertain whether it reached his eyes.