Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

BALERION

The gods had seen what would come and found they did not like it. 

Tessarion had called the council. A bold thing for her to do. To think that someone who was once mortal could command and sway the gods. 

For the first time, the council met above Westeros. Their old council above what had once been Valyria had finally been abandoned. Balerion wondered as he entered between Caraxes and Meraxes if the others felt the significance of it.

This new council room looked sparser than the old one. Rather than statues of their duties, they were given chairs with representations carved into the arms and backs.

“This is good work, Vermithor.” Balerion said. He did not just mean the bones and skulls but also the fact that the chair was set higher than the others. When he sat down, he could put his hands on the table like all the others. It made a nice change from the previous chamber where his small frame meant his chin had barely cleared the table.

Vermithor gave a small, grateful smile. Balerion hoped rather than believed that most of the others would appreciate his work too. Indeed, Syrax gave him warm words of gratitude, Gaelithox praised him for giving him the most splendid of the seats and even Tessarion gave him a nod of approval. Among all the others, however, Balerion’s hopes were dashed. The others just took their seats without even a look of appreciation at Vermithor. Jewel-clad Vhagar even gave her own sword and shield-adorned throne a look of disgust before sitting down.

When all were seated, Tessarion stood, flaunting her nine-foot stature, to show them how the threads of fate would weave into the unpleasant tapestry. It was an impressive undertaking, showing how the threads would weave together over two centuries.

“But, why did you look so far into the future?” Arrax asked, “It is not often your way to weave so much at once.”

“It was my doing.” Gaelithox spoke up from his resplendent red throne, “I had a feeling Tessarion was holding back with her powers so I wanted to see how far she was capable of seeing.”

“I might have known it.” Balerion said in a voice that came out louder than he intended. Caraxes caught his eye and smirked. Meraxes’ fists clenched. Vermax and Syrax too looked annoyed. The former was a surprise to see. Normally, Vermax and Gaelithox got on well. Gaelithox, as ever, looked unrepentant.

Tessarion, however, betrayed no emotion. An easy thing to accomplish with her face concealed with a pale grey veil. She only said, “It is a fortunate thing that he did. If he had not, I would not have known how gravely things would end until it was too late to stop it.”

When she showed them how the line of their favoured family ended, the gods did something they had not done for centuries - agree unanimously on a course of action.

“When one does not like the end,” Tessarion said, “it makes sense to go back to where it all started and to an event that is close at hand: the death of one dragonrider by another’s hand. One that the killer had not intended or truly wanted in his heart but one that would bring about the end of the dragons and the deaths of thousands.”

She pulled a small knife from within her veil. She put it to the long tapestry and slashed across it until all but a sliver remained. From his position, Balerion noticed Vermax slipping out of his seat to pick up the fallen piece. He could not think what Vermax would want with it. All he knew is that it would not likely be good.

Tessarion plucked the end of a blue thread and whispered the name of Lucerys Velaryon. From there, it was only a question of how it would be done.

“Another dragon should be sent with Lucerys.” Tyraxes said from her place at Arrax’s right hand, “A whisper in Daemon’s ear could urge him to accompany the boy. We know that Caraxes’ namesake would be enough to topple Aemond’s dragon.”

Tessarion tested this with a red thread in the tapestry. Then, she shook her head.

“Daemon would likely die in the attempt and, even if he did kill Aemond too, war would still be declared. Perhaps, it would be all the more bloody when Rhaenyra discovered her beloved husband’s death.”

Many ideas were suggested but only one possible solution passed Tessarion’s test.

“Lucerys must live. He must endure the attack and survive it. Balerion, you must do this. You must refuse him entry to your domain.”

Balerion stared, amazed at the suggestion. Even more amazed was he at everyone looking at him, expecting him to agree. He, however, could not see how this could be done.
“I have never refused a soul into my domain. To do so would deal catastrophic damage to it. The longer a soul remains untethered, the more torment it endures.” 

Balerion remembered the consequences well and all because of a greedy Valyrian lord freeholder who wanted to cheat death. Over time, pieces of the person they were fell away away, leaving behind only the most primal and powerful of emotions. The citizens of the Freehold had been tormented for years by angry, wailing ghouls until Balerion got free from that cage.

“Even if the soul could be reunited with the body, the person’s mind would be damaged beyond repair. Likely, they would be barely able to walk or clean up after themselves, let alone fly to war. It is a fate I would not wish on the boy. Nor on anyone.” He shook his head.

Tessarion sat in thought. She seemed, for the first time in a generation, to be unable to see what could be done. Then, Tyraxes spoke up, “Can you not replace the parts of the soul lost with others?”

Balerion reeled back, “Mother, such a thing would rip apart other souls. I cannot abide that.”

“I mean, with the souls of the dead. Those that have lost parts already and could provide their remaining parts to his. Surely, you can find enough in the underworld who would be willing.”

Balerion remembered now why he found Tyraxes unnerving. She was the goddess of reason and peace. Both often came at terrible prices.

“I will not force any soul to risk tearing themselves apart to keep one person alive.”

“Then, don’t force them. Let only those who are willing give part of themselves.”

“In any case, there is no guarantee that it will keep Lucerys’ soul whole. We may find that some of the dead souls become part of him and change him too much.”

“That may work to our advantage.” Tyraxes pressed, “His mother doesn’t just need her son back. She needs someone capable to serve her in her campaign.”

“She does.” Tessarion confirmed, “Daemon is capable but rash and unpredictable. Corlys is a great commander but he is weighed down by tragedy to take risks. I see that, if you can find a soul proved to be a strong leader, then Lucerys will do great things with his help.”

She showed them the threads.

“Then, it is settled.” Arrax spoke at last, “My children shall ensure this is done.”

Balerion yearned to object. His father, however, gave him a look that told him he would brook no further objections.

“If it pleases you, my King,” Tessarion said, inclining her head, “I should like to take Syrax and ensure Aemond Targaryen follows a different path too. Though ensuring Lucerys’ survival will do much, diverting Aemond away from blood and destruction will all but assure our success.”

“A prudent suggestion.” Arrax nodded, “Shrykos, you should attend them. They will need your assistance in guiding him towards a new beginning.”

The elder goddess slowly unfurled herself from her chair, letting her snake tail dangle over one of the arms. Balerion wondered if she had even been awake for most of the meeting. Even when the fate of their favourite family hung in the balance, Shrykos could never be hurried.

“Very well. Give me time and I will have a plan ready for Tessarion and Syrax.”

#

Tessarion had given him assurances that the plan would work but it still felt like a violation of the most fundamental of laws. Balerion reassured himself as he entered the underworld that it would only be once. If all went well, this would be the last time they would need to take such a gamble.

There was one problem he only realised once he arrived. The underworld had no need for great gathering places nor for any way to contact all souls at once. The souls wandered and rested wherever they wished. They had no need for the affairs of gods or men. It was what made the underworld a place of rest.

“Brother,” Balerion looked up at Caraxes, “I have no idea how I can tell the souls what is happening and ask for their help.”

Caraxes gave a laugh, “Never fear. I’ll call some helpers.”

He swirled out of my realm for a while. When he returned, he carried a great sack on his back. One that could have fit an entire carthorse inside and could only be carried by someone of Caraxes’ great bulk.

“Brother, why does it twitch like that?”

Indeed, the sack wriggled as if the cloth were water in a pot. In answer, Caraxes simply undid the clasps and opened it a little. Balerion looked inside and stared in astonishment at the many eyes and beaks.

“Seagulls?”

“Some Andal sailors believe gulls to be the souls of sailors lost at sea.” Caraxes explained, “It seems to be the most appropriate way to get the message out. Don’t worry, just tell them what the message is and they’ll fly to the furthest edges of your realm to deliver it.”

Balerion had his doubts. Nothing living did well in the underworld. Still, he had no better ideas and he could not rely on his brother to be so helpful a second time. Like his sea, Caraxes could be unpredictable. Amenable one moment and raging the next. Balerion had always been the calmer and more constant of the three siblings.

So, Balerion addressed the birds, “Lucerys Velaryon is condemned to die and his death will set off a civil war that will begin the destruction of House Targaryen. He must not pass to this realm. He must live. To do this, we need enough souls to hold his soul together long enough for his body to heal. Know that your souls may be torn and some of your soul may be connected to Lucerys’ after he survives his injuries. This will be painful. This may last as long as he lives. Know that you do this to save the Targaryen line and to save your world from the Darkness in the North. If you will help us, come to the gates by the rising of the next moon.”

At a nod from Balerion, Caraxes opened the bag. The seagulls flew free.

“I hope this works.” Caraxes grumbled, “Those souls had better be grateful for the efforts I’ve gone to.”

Balerion said nothing. Caraxes was at the edge of one of his moods and it was never wise to test him.

They waited at the great gates that only opened one way. Balerion felt the cry of recently deceased souls calling for rest beyond the doors but he made himself stand still. It would only be for a few hours. Still, he knew he would have to fly twice as fast to catch up with all of them in time.

After an hour’s wait, the first soul arrived. In life, they had called him Breakbones. He still held his redoubtable appearance even in death.

“I will help Lucerys.” Harwin said with a bow.

Next came a woman with a kind face that had not yet lost its wistful look.

“I shall do whatever it takes to help my daughter and grandson.” Aemma said.

Behind her was the newly arrived Viserys, the ravages of his illness shaken off but looking shaken to the core by the knowledge of what his death would bring.

Lyonel Strong arrived next. Then, Joffrey Lonmouth and Laena Velaryon, their will set. Vaemond Velaryon was a surprise appearance at first but Balerion had seen how death could strip away ambition and lend clarity.

All very willing and good candidates, Balerion thought. He accepted them all but he knew that none of them were the strong leader they needed. Some of them had led houses, garrisons, armies and even realms but none had the strength they so needed.

Until a pair drifted up to the gates, arm in arm. The man was tall with a braid that fell down to his waist and the woman was small but her face was strong. They wore no crowns but they still bore a royal presence.

“We have worked hard to see the realm and our family prosper.” Jaehaerys said, “I will not stand by and see my efforts come to ruin. With your permission, my lord, and if it is possible, I would like to bestow an additional gift on my great-grandson.”

Balerion could not have asked for better.

Chapter Text

SYRAX

For Lucerys, it was over the moment Vhagar’s jaws closed. The boy barely had time to register what had happened before his life ended. Vhagar’s teeth rent through his body like knives through paper. In a second, he and his dragon fell in pieces. The moment Vhagar flew away, Meraxes went to work. She would do as much as she could in the sky before he fell to the sea and became Caraxes’ responsibility.

While their cousins worked, Tessarion and Syrax took seats on Vhagar’s back as she turned back towards King’s Landing. Shrykos settled behind them, complaining at how uncomfortable the craggy scales were. They watched the young one-eyed prince sitting in the saddle, frozen in fear and shock at what had just happened. Syrax almost wanted to move to sit on the saddle behind him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Shrykos, at last, looked interested.

“I can sense the moment of change coming.” She informed them, “He stands on the threshold of what he would become. It will take but a few days of his grandsire to fill his ear with poison flavoured like reason and for the prince’s own pain to drive him towards thinking that Lucerys deserved his death. That all of his kind deserved to die at his hand.”

Syrax could not believe it. Not after she had seen Aemond look so upset at Lucerys’ death, “But, you can prevent this change, can you not?”

Shrykos turned a languid, slit-pupilled eye on her, “It will take an effort. The change pulls on me like an eager hound on a leash but I will be master of it.”

Syrax sensed rather than saw Tessarion’s impatience.

Aemond’s dragon lowered herself below the clouds. The city of King’s Landing emerged below, already drenched in rain. 

Shrykos gave an annoyed groan and threw her arms over her head. The scales of her tail turned black with displeasure. Invisible to mortals, they may be, but they still felt the cold of the storm winds and rain. Especially when they were as scantily clad as Shrykos was. Syrax undid the shawl from around her waist and held it out to the elder goddess. Shrykos took it without a word of thanks and wrapped it around her head. 

“This is Meraxes’ doing, no doubt. A parting gift to Aemond, I fancy, but she clearly had no consideration for any of us.”

Syrax nodded politely as Shrykos continued to complain under her breath about the rain and all the effort she had to go to for all this. Syrax felt her mother’s irritation rising. She knew her mother would not have taken Shrykos if she had the choice. Tessarion would never be so foolish as to make her views known but Syrax knew that she thought very little of the idle elder goddess.

They followed the dragon as she flew over the city and alighted in a field left empty for the purpose.

“Come along. I can’t stand this weather any longer.” Shrykos descended a little way off from the dragon and came to land near a tavern with a wide awning. Shrykos at once huddled by a burning brazier. Tessarion brushed the rain off her veil with a mere sweep of her hand and waited for Shrykos to recover herself.

At last, Shrykos became warm enough to be herself. She turned to them, adopting a regal aspect that did not quite reach Tyraxes’ powerful presence, “Now, I can close the path of blood and destruction and open another but I shall need your assistance in doing it. You, my cousin, Syrax, shall use your gift at the feast tonight. Mind you are not too forceful in it. This is to be a long road.”

“Do not fear that.” Syrax said, almost hiding in her yellow samite veil, “This is a duty I like not.”

Syrax much preferred her other aspects of wine, ecstasy and celebrations. They made men happy. She disliked the gift she had to bestow on Aemond. Madness only brought them and their fellows misery.

“I knew you would find this duty displeasing, daughter.” Tessarion put a hand on Syrax’s shoulder, “Yet, know that this pain will lead the prince onto a better path. Think of it as the labour pains before a joyful birth.”

Though her voice was kind, Syrax could only sense her mother’s growing anticipation. Fate could be cruel. So could Tessarion.

Syrax felt nothing but cold dread but, like her mother, she must offer no insolence and do her duty.

“What shall I do?”

AEMOND

The throne room had been set up for a feast. Long tables were brought in, just-finished banners with gold dragons hung from the walls and every type of food and every guest available at short notice was there. To someone just arriving, it would look as if a great victory had been won. Then, they would look at the faces of the princes and princesses and notice something was not right. 

They wouldn’t know that, however, if they looked at the king. Aegon was already three cups in and had been making ludicrous toasts for the last half hour in an effort to get everyone as drunk and merry as he was. Aemond knew that was his way of being kind. 

For his part, Aemond kept his lips closed at every toast and kept all the words he yearned to say locked in his mind.

A rather bedraggled Ser Tyland arrived just as Aegon stood to make his fourth toast, “So sorry I’m late, Your Grace. My carriage got stuck in the mud while I was coming back from, ah, business in the city.”

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the hall. The thunder came so loud it rattled the windows and made everyone jump. Aegon sloshed some of his wine on his food but, when the shock had worn off, he laughed.

“You can blame Aemond for that, Ser Tyland. He seems to have brought the weather of the stormlands back with him as well as their support.”

Indeed, Aemond thought, it felt like the storm from Shipbreaker Bay had followed him all the way back to King’s Landing.

Almost as if the gods themselves are angry.

Aemond pushed away that thought. He needed to keep his composure at any cost tonight. He could not let anything slip.

“But, we’re not here to blame Aemond for anything. We’re here to celebrate him. Here’s to my victorious brother! And, here’s to Lucerys Velaryon, who really is the Lord of the Tides now. Enthroned in the sea for good!”

Aegon roared with laughter at his own joke. The other courtiers joined in but the smiles didn’t reach their eyes. Aemond made himself laugh along with them for they must not suspect what he really felt.

His mother, Helaena and Daeron did not join in. Alicent looked like she was resisting the urge to slap Aegon. Daeron looked too stunned at what the feast was for to speak. Not a surprise as he’d only landed in King’s Landing an hour ago. Helaena just stared down at her plate, mumbling about dancing dragons. 

Aegon, however, was too invested in a full cup of wine to notice who laughed and who didn’t.

“You’ve made a good start, brother.” He slurred once the cup was dry, “May all our battles with the blacks end so well. Wench! Give me another!”

He reached his cup back to the nearest maid and sat back. In doing so, he revealed someone standing over Aegon, glowering with one eye.

Aemond started up from his chair, dropping his goblet to the floor.

“What’s the matter?” Daeron asked, “Are you alright, Aemond?”

Aemond only stared at the newcomer. He could not help it. Luke stood among them with a large chunk taken out of his head and his arm missing. Almost as if a giant beast had bitten them away.

But, this cannot be. It cannot…no one else is reacting. It must only be my weak fancy.

Aemond shook himself and turned to Daeron with an effort, “Apologies, brother. I…I thought I might have left Vhagar’s chains unclasped but…I remember the dragonkeepers doing it now.”

“Yes, it’s a nightmare when you forget to do that.” Aegon nodded, almost toppling forward into his drink-sodden plate as he did so, “And - oh, for fuck’s sake, Aemond, that’s perfectly good wine you spilled everywhere! What a waste!”

Aemond sank back into his seat. More than a few others had turned around to look at him curiously.

Gods, I must have looked mad.

But, he was not mad. He would not fall into madness. Whatever that spectre was, he would not triumph over Aemond.

I must not look at it nor even acknowledge it. It’ll leave soon. Then, I can focus on getting through this wretched feast.

But, Luke didn’t leave. He stood at Aegon’s side as Aegon called for mummers to re-enact the death of Lucerys. Luke still wore the same black riding clothes and red cloak as he wore at Storm’s End. Now, however, a different red spread over him, issuing in ribbons from the great rends in his flesh.

Stop looking at him!

Aemond focussed on his grandsire sitting near the king instead. Otto seemed to be chewing his tongue along with the carrots. He probably wanted to say a lot more to Aemond than he already had.

Then, Luke’s hand reached over Otto’s shoulder and smeared blood in a thick line across his neck. Otto continued glowering at Aemond, unaware that he now looked like his throat had been slit.

Aemond looked away just in time to see Lucerys approach his mother.

“Don’t!”

Alicent looked around, puzzled, “Don’t what, Aemond?”

Aemond thought quickly, “Don’t, uh, touch the venison. I think His Grace would like the last piece.”

“He would, indeed, brother. It seems killing bastards puts you in a good mood. Not to worry, there’s plenty more where that came from. You know what Rhaenyra’s like!” Aegon leaned over to take the last piece of venison and Aemond breathed easy.

That lasted only a fraction of a second. Lucerys approached Alicent undeterred. He wiped his bloody hand all over her face, leaving her with an appearance like she was running a high fever.

Aegon was next. As he ate his venison, Lucerys dragged his fingers from his lips to his chin. The blood gave the appearance of Aegon’s food bleeding down his chin.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop looking!

Aemond bent down to focus on his own food. He forced down every scrap, even though all of it tasted like candlewax to him.

It’s in your head. He berated himself, It isn’t really here. Lucerys is dead and lies in the waters of Shipbreaker Bay. He cannot come back.

“Aemond, are you feeling alright?” Daeron asked, brushing a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, “You’ve gone rather pale.”

“I’m fine.”

Aemond looked up without thinking and started. Blood trails rose up Daeron’s face like flames. Lucerys stood behind him, dripping blood into Daeron’s wine.

“You have gone pale. Would you like me to ask the maester to fetch you something?”

“No need to bother him with that.”

At that moment, the childrens’ nursemaid came up to Helaena, who hadn’t touched a thing on her plate.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but the children won’t go to bed. They heard there was some kind of party going on - ”

“Well, then, bring them down!” Aegon called, “The more, the merrier! Never mind if it’s past their bedtime. This is an important celebration.”

Lucerys turned to look at Aemond as the nursemaid left and re-entered with Jaehaera, Jaehaerys and Maelor. The intact side of Lucerys’ mouth quirked up in a parody of his mischievous grin.

“No.” Aemond muttered, “No, don’t go near them. They’re innocent.”

“What was that, Aemond?”

“Nothing, Daeron. Don’t fuss over me, for pity’s sake!”

Aemond forced wine down his throat, keeping his eye on the bottom of his goblet. If he could just distract himself, maybe -

“Uncle Aemond!” A small hand tugged at his arm. Aemond looked down - and dropped the goblet again. A line of blood had been painted across Jaehaerys’ neck, just like Otto’s. The little boy started at the noise. Jaehaera froze in fright. Her white dress was as spattered with blood as if she had been pierced many times.

“Oh, fucking hell! Aemond, if you can’t handle wine properly, I won’t let you have any!” Aegon groaned, “And, before you start, Mother, remember that I’m King so I can say whatever I like in front of my children.”

Helaena stood and hurried the children out of the hall. She wouldn’t meet Aemond’s eye. As the nursemaid turned, he saw Maelor in her arms. The infant was as utterly covered in Lucerys’ blood as if he had taken a bath in it.

Lucerys hovered near Helaena’s side. Aemond watched as the ghost reached into his wound and dipped the tips of his fingers in the red and pink gore. He flicked them at Helaena like a child splashing a friend while bathing. Like Jaehaera, Helaena’s dress became spattered with small spots, one ending up on her neck. Aemond could have sworn he heard Helaena give a small, resigned sigh.

As Aemond turned back to his plate, he saw bright red on white. Before he could stop himself, he looked to the kingsguard standing near the high table. Luke had painted them with blood too. Ser Arryk had a diagonal line from his shoulder, down his chest and almost all the way to his side. Ser Rickard had more bloody lines, looking almost like he had been torn to pieces then put back together. Luke had reserved his worst, however, for Ser Criston Cole. He too had a line across his throat and three large stains on his chest. His cloak had turned almost red with blood. So much of it covered the knight’s arms that he looked like he had immersed himself elbow-deep in it. In that moment, Cole did not so much resemble a knight as a butcher.

You have got to stop this. Just excuse yourself and go before you make even more of a spectacle.

“Ah, here we are!” Aegon crowed as three men entered the hall, “I heard you’re good at making up plays on the spot. We’d like to see you re-enact the death of Luke Strong, the Bastard of Driftmark. Aemond, remind me. How did it go?”

“You must forgive me, Your Grace. I find myself indisposed.”

“Nonsense! You’ll stay here and tell these fine gentlemen what happened. They’ve come all the way from Fisherman’s Square to be here. You can’t turn them back now.”

Aemond turned to the men. He just had to get through this. Just get through some mummers making a fool of themselves on stage and then he could go to bed.

“The story’s short enough, gentlemen. I got to Lord Borros first, Luke Strong came in to beg Lord Borros to back his mother, I chased him out of the hall and I chased him down in the skies.”

“And, then, turned him and his dragon into crab feed!” Aegon finished off, “Luke didn’t stand a chance, did he, brother?”

“No. Not a chance. Vhagar is five times the size of Arrax.”

It took all of one bite for Vhagar to rip Arrax to pieces. Aemond had never heard a dragon squeal like Arrax had. He hoped he never would again.

“I think we might have some dragon puppets in here, Your Grace.”

“Excellent! Surely, you’ll stay for this, brother.”

A puppet version of Vhagar emerged from the mummer’s bag. It looked a little battered but still bore a good likeness. Lucerys approached the mummers to look down into the bag.

“Now, I don’t think we have a white dragon but we can make do. Let’s see what we can use for Arrax.” The mummer started searching.

Lucerys reached down into the bag and pulled out Arrax’s severed head. It whimpered and dripped blood all the way as Lucerys approached Aemond.

Don’t look at it. Look anywhere but at it.

It was no good. All his eye could focus on for more than a second was Lucerys. The ghost held out the dragon’s head so Arrax was almost nose-to-nose with Aemond. Then, he dropped the dragonhead on his plate, filling it with blood and viscera.

“Wait, what’s that? Oh, that’s perfect! Aemond, what do you think of this?”

Aemond tried to look around the ghost. He tried to look at the pig puppet held up by the mummer. The ghost, however, had lost patience. 

A pressure built in Aemond’s head like he was in deep water. The stench of blood grew to choking levels. The meat on the platters took on pearly scales and the banners from the ceiling looked more like severed dragon wings with pale reddish membranes. He couldn’t hear what Aegon was trying to say. All he could hear were words not spoken but appearing in his head like he’d read them from a book.

'Look at me. LOOK AT ME.’

At last, Aemond looked round. Lucerys stood opposite, leaning over Arrax’s head. Again, he raised an arm to dig into the viscera of his bite. This time, he pulled out something white and round from his head.

‘As payment for yours, uncle. Like you said. Go on. Make a gift of it to your mother. She’ll love it.’

For a minute, all was still. Aemond could only look between Lucerys’ mangled face and the astonishingly intact brown eye on his palm. Lucerys smiled like a child proud of their painting.

Then, the smile dropped. Lucerys opened his mouth much wider than any of the living could and screamed.

The scream was not human but a cross between a slaughtered pig and a dying dragon. It filled Aemond’s ears. It filled all his thoughts. He couldn’t remember what he was doing before. All that he could do was scramble out of his seat and sprint for the door, knocking over figures he had no time to recognise.

Pain like needles rammed through his mind. Stars popped before his eye, rendering him almost blind. His stomach felt ready to burst out of him. He spotted an open window in front of him. He reached it and flung his head out just in time. The entirety of what he’d eaten that night came up with much more alacrity than it went down. Still, the scream echoed all around him. Even when he covered his ears, it did not abate.

At last, both vomit and screaming came to an end. A dull ringing filled his ears. The stars faded from his vision, leaving nothing but a blurry haze. Aemond’s legs gave way and he slumped against the cold windowsill. Only then did he notice that his hair was soaked again. Of course, it was still raining. How he not noticed until that moment?

That was the last thing he thought before darkness closed in on him.

“…Aemond? Aemond!”

Aemond opened his eye. It took him a moment to recognise the worried face hovering over him. It was Daeron, his face clean of blood but white with shock. Aemond then realised he was lying prone on the cold stone floor and that he had no idea how he got there.

“I knew you weren’t well. The maester’s on his way - ”

“No. No,” Aemond pushed himself up on shaking arms. On a sudden inspiration, he said, “there was a, a stomach malady going around the guards at Storm’s End. I must have…must have caught it from them. Please, Daeron, do not stand so close to me. I don’t want you catching it. There’s nothing to do but…let it run its course. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Oh. Oh, well, that’s unfortunate. You should at least let the maester help you back to your chambers. I’ll pass on your apologies to His Grace.”

In the distance, Aemond heard Aegon’s voice, “Honestly, why do I bother doing anything nice for him?”

On summoning Maester Orwyle, Daeron would not be swayed. So, Aemond had to suffer Orwyle’s constant suggestions of settling his stomach all the way back to his room. He never felt so glad to be able to shut the door of his room.

That feeling of relief only lasted a moment. With a flare of panic, he stared around the room. Nothing there. Nothing hiding in the shadows. Nothing waiting to scream and torment him with blood.

What is the matter with me? He buried his face in his hands, Is this the Targaryen madness? Why now of all times? And why take the shape of Luke Strong’s ghost?

And, why did you have to pay attention to it? You knew it wasn’t real. Why couldn’t you just ignore it? Can’t you even sit through a stupid feast without fucking up? First, you fuck up a mission to avoid war and now this.

Otto had asked how he could have been so blind. He had spent fifteen minutes berating Aemond on how he had started the war rather than stopping it. He would have gone on longer if Aegon hadn’t stopped him by congratulating Aemond on his ‘victory’ and calling for a feast.

Aemond had endured both condemnation and praise in silence. He could have pleaded for mercy. He could have told them that he didn’t mean it. That Vhagar had stopped obeying his commands and ripped Arrax apart as he screamed for her to stop.

But, he knew from Aegon’s experiences that begging got you nowhere with Otto Hightower. It would only invite more scorn. He could almost hear what Otto would say.

What was the point of you claiming the largest dragon if you can’t control it? That eye was lost for nothing. Now, you will get that beast of yours under control or I will have you sent to the Wall with all the other useless detritus of the city.

Otto’s reprimands hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought they’d be, anyway. It was nothing worse than what he had been telling himself all the way back from Storm’s End.

Aemond was not blind nor was he stupid. He could see very well where Lucerys’ death would take them. Rhaenyra would bay for blood in repayment for Lucerys’ murder. War would break out. The Kingdoms would burn and all his family were in more danger than when he left to treat with Lord Borros.

And, it seemed, Lucerys would be there to watch it all. He would never truly leave Aemond now. Not while he could still hear Arrax’s scream ringing in his ears.

And, it did not matter whether he meant it or not. Dead was dead. War was war. Saying that he wished with all his heart that he could undo it would not make it so. Like an eye, an apology and words like ‘it-was-an-accident’ would not bring the dead back.

When he was young and just recovering from the loss of his eye, he had sometimes wondered why Luke never even tried to apologise. Now, he felt he knew why. 

How feeble the word ‘sorry’ was. How utterly insufficient. It was an insult, not a peace offering.

Aemond staggered to his bed, throwing off his clothes with little regard on where they landed. He climbed into bed, pulled the covers over him and buried his face in his pillow. Only then, when he was concealed and muffled, did he allow himself to sob.

SYRAX

It took Aemond a long time to fall asleep. He kept jumping at small noises, expecting to see Syrax’s image of Lucerys. Syrax had needed all the urging of Tessarion and a few lazy threats from Shrykos to keep the image of Lucerys in Aemond’s eye. Tessarion had whispered ideas all through the feast, taking inspiration from the discarded future they wished to avoid.

When at last he had fallen asleep, Tessarion stepped forward, “I can take over. I can show him visions of his family’s death. I shall show him the cost of his arrogance.”

“Not yet, mother.” Syrax held Tessarion back, “Haven’t we put him through enough already?”

“Indeed, I think so.” Shrykos said, settling herself on a chair near the fire, “You should not haunt his waking hours and his dreams within one journey around the sun. We want him to bend, not break, after all.”

“If I may,” They all looked up. To Syrax’s delight, she saw Vermax sitting on the windowsill, “I would like to suggest showing Aemond the past rather than the future. Let him see how all this came to be so he can see the present with a clearer eye.”

Syrax agreed with her father at once. Tessarion had to pause to think of an objection but could think of none. Shyrkos, for her part, looked irritated at Vermax’s presence but gave a haughty sigh like she was doing him a great favour, “Very well. I was considering the idea myself but you beat me to suggesting it.”

“How fortunate it is that I arrived when I did. Who knows how long things might have been delayed if we waited for you?”

Shrykos’ nostrils flared. Syrax edged nervously towards her mother. Would this be the day Shrykos finally snapped at Vermax?

Then, Shrykos turned back to the fire in a huff. She had decided against a fight but she would not forget this, that was certain.

Vermax hopped off the windowsill and approached Aemond, “And, I think you should know that Lucerys will get the same visions. I just thought it would be best for both of them to see the situation for what it is. And see their mothers for who they really are. Balerion has given me permission to do something else too.”

Syrax stared as he drew a blue flower from his robe, “The death poppy?”

Shrykos whirled around, all enmity forgotten.

“Indeed. I’ve been saving the last of it for a special occasion. Visions of the past are all well and good but voices speaking directly from the grave are so much more powerful.”

Vermax’s grin widened, showing just how pleased he was at his own cleverness, “In a week’s time, I will attempt the ritual. I know just the soul I want to call on first but I will not be able to do it alone. Dear wife, perhaps, you could help me when the time comes?”

Tessarion paused and consulted her weaving. A small yellow thread appeared within the work as her fingers skittered over it. She observed the change it made in the pattern then nodded, “It will serve us well. Call upon me whenever you are ready. And, my dear husband, I have some information you might find interesting. As we journeyed to the council and flew around the Riverlands, I felt eyes on the threads of fate. Eyes that were not mine and hands readying themselves to twist their small part of the tapestry. If you find these eyes and hands, you’ll find an opportunity as golden as the use of the poppy.”

Vermax’s smile grew wide, “You are so thoughtful, dear wife.”

Tessarion held out her hand and allowed Vermax to press a long kiss to it.

At this, Shrykos truly became ruffled. She uncoiled her tail from under her and lifted herself from the chair, “I must leave you now. I must…attend to the rest of the family. They must not be allowed to travel too far on a bloody path either. Make sure you do not become too distracted by Vermax, Tessarion. Aemond is not to leave King’s Landing until I deem him ready.”

“You need not fear my diligence.” Tessarion said, inclining her head in a semi-sardonic way, “Nor my daughter’s power. You saw what terror the screaming ghost provoked in him.”

 Syrax waited until Shrykos had slithered out of the room. Then, she turned to her parents.

“Mother,” Syrax said in a pleading tone, “you are more than capable of weaving the threads of fate to keep him here. Broken riding chains, a small crisis within the Keep or even a training injury would be sufficient. The image of Lucerys need only be used as a last resort.”

“Indeed.” Tessarion conceded. She reached down and rearranged some of the threads. Syrax relaxed a little. The guilt gnawing at her eased somewhat. She moved around the room to sit at Aemond’s side.

Please, let Mother’s meddling with fate be enough. Please let me not be forced to torment him again.

Chapter Text

BALERION

As soon as Aemond’s dragon flew away, Meraxes sprang into action. Balerion saw her arms work with alacrity to bring the pieces of Lucerys back together. She was likely trying to outdo her twin in this. He would never let her live it down if she missed any part of the boy.

Lucerys’ soul, whole and confused, drifted toward him. Balerion itched to take him in his arms and lead him into peace. With an effort, he resisted. He stood firm at the gate to his realm. The souls reached out their hands and caught Lucerys before he passed the threshold.

Lucerys’ eyes widened, “What’s happening? Where’s Arrax?”

“Fear not.” Balerion said, “Arrax is now at peace.”

Lucerys started and looked around. At last, he looked down and spotted Balerion’s small form. He looked even more confused. That made the fracturing of his soul worse. He could already see icy blue cracks forming around his face. Aemma rushed forth and held his face like a grandmother would. The cracks did not widen but it would not be so for long.

“I am Balerion, god of the underworld.” Balerion said, “You are dead but I will make sure it is not your time to pass into the next world yet.”

Lucerys looked befuddled but a little less afraid, “But…you’re just a child.”

Balerion nodded. The question was a good sign. It meant he was not losing his perceptions yet, “I look like a child, yes. It may seem strange but one is never too old or too young to die and, whether one is old or young, death always comes too soon to those who love them.”

Lucerys’ lip trembled, “Am I truly dead? Did Vhagar kill me?”

Harwin held Lucerys’ shoulder, preventing it from drifting off.

“You are dead now but you will not be so for long. These souls and I hold you back from my realm until my brother and sister put the pieces of your body back together.”
Lucerys still looked upset. Once again, Balerion realised too late how little tact he had used. Why did he have to mention body parts?

“Where’s Arrax? Why aren’t you holding him back?”

The first part of his soul disappeared from the pain. Aemma gave forth part of hers with no hesitation and bore the tear in her soul with surprising fortitude. 

“Arrax is gone and will be at peace with his forebears in the underworld.”

Still, Lucerys’ soul fractured, “It’s my fault. I couldn’t stop Arrax. I should have done more to stop him. Mother will think Aemond did it on purpose. She’ll start a war over me!”

More hands reached forth. Even Vaemond, though unwilling at first, did his part. Only Jaehaerys’ strong hands kept the boy’s head together as he wept for his lost dragon.

“Perhaps, you would like my help?”

Balerion looked up and saw Vermax leaning against the gate, wide mouth curved upwards in amusement.

“Looks like your tendency for bluntness got you in trouble again.”

Balerion knew he would have to pay for this. He knew he would owe Vermax for it but what choice did he have?

He nodded and Vermax stepped forward, “Dear boy, if it’s any consolation, Aemond feels like he’s ruined everything too. He doesn’t want war either. All he wanted was to protect his family, just like you. Would you like to see how he’s taking it?”

Vermax unwound the golden ribbons around his wrists and made them into a hoop. A wave of his hand and Aemond’s face appeared. Regret and dread hung heavy on Aemond. His eye shone with unshed tears and, as Lucerys watched, he dropped his face into his hands.

Lucerys calmed a little. His fracturing slowed down as he became distracted by the scene.

“He knows the consequences of your death, sweet boy. His family know the consequences too. Those of them with a brain, anyway. Do you want to see what his grandsire does?”

The image changed to Alicent’s solar. Otto advanced on Aemond and, quick as a snake bite, slapped Aemond across the face, “You only lost one eye! How could you be so blind?”

Alicent’s white face appeared, clasping her hands before her chest, “Mother have mercy on us all.”

Helaena, Tessarion’s chosen dreamer, appeared, muttering to herself, “Torn throat, torn hopes, torn flesh, torn wings, which one to choose. Which one…to lose?”

“How does my mother react?” Lucerys asked.

A good sign, Balerion thought. If he remembered his family, his mind still held together.

“As any mother would.” Vermax said, dismissing the vision and bringing the ribbons back to his arms, “Your brothers swore revenge but it was Daemon who sought it in the end. He, ah, well, perhaps, you shouldn’t know what he does. It’s not pretty and it ensures war is inevitable.”

Lucerys’ lip wobbled again. A crack across it appeared as he said, “So, I really have ruined everything.”

“Not if we can help it, sweet boy. You have to just hold yourself together with the help of these good people. I think…ah, I think Meraxes is nearly done with you anyway. Just a little longer, Lucerys.”

Lucerys looked down at himself and, to Balerion’s horror, noticed the cracks for the first time. He gave a gasp and clutched at himself, “What’s happening to me?”

“Don’t worry, Lucerys.” Harwin assured him, “We won’t let you lose yourself. Even if we have to give you a bit of ourselves to do it.”

“A bit of…what?”

“They volunteered themselves to keep you together, sweet boy.” Vermax said, holding out his arms around the host of souls, “They all came together to save you from death. Doesn’t that show how special you are, Lucerys Velaryon? That even the gods and the dead are willing to bend the rules to keep you from death?”

Lucerys stared around. Then, far from being pleased, he looked upset, “I’m causing them pain. I can feel it. I can’t do this. You should pick someone else. I can’t stop a war. I can’t even bring a message.”

There were some things, it seemed, that not even Vermax’s silver tongue could overcome.

“We come of our own free will, my descendant.” Jaehaerys said, sternly, “We suffer this pain willingly.”

“If anything, it reminds us what it’s like to be alive again.” Jaehaerys’ second son and Lucerys’ great-grandfather, Baelon, called from the back, “You’re doing us a favour.”

“We do not just give you a part of our soul.” Alysanne said, “We give you our strength. You will go back into the world taking the best of all of us with you.”

That gave Lucerys pause, “I failed as myself.” He said, slowly, “I can’t do anything as myself. I might as well take all these strengths from you. But, if I do, will I be strong enough to stop a war?”

“You may be strong enough to win a war.” Jaehaerys said, “There’s no avoiding it now. With our help, your mother will take the throne and destruction of House Targaryen will be averted.”

Just as Lucerys looked confused, Vermax gave a little start, “Ah, looks like Meraxes is finished. And, she’s done a damned good job of it too. Let’s see…yes, your body’s ready to take you back.”

Lucerys suddenly looked rather grief-stricken. He turned to looked at Harwin and Viserys. No words passed between them but even Balerion could feel the strong emotions shared between them.

They descended towards the sea. Lucerys’ re-entered his  body with surprising ease. Or, perhaps, it was because so many hands prevented his soul from escaping.

The body needed protecting too. Meraxes had put the pieces back together but long bloody wounds still remained where they joined together. Even when they healed, he would still look like what he was - a body torn to pieces and stuck back together like a mended vase.

Then, Balerion realised that Meraxes hadn’t quite managed to find everything. The little finger on his left hand and half of his right ear was missing. Balerion had little knowledge of how a human body worked beyond what would make it stop working. He could not tell whether or not it would affect his hearing or ability to hold a weapon.

Caraxes appeared at Balerion’s side. He didn’t seem too bothered about noticing imperfections, thankfully. He focused on bringing a large ball of water around Lucerys’ body to protect it from the worst of the waves.

“I’ll take it from here.” Caraxes said, suddenly serious, “Looks like he took a bit from your world despite your efforts.” He pointed at Lucerys’ eyes. Balerion barely had a moment to register their new colour before Caraxes added, “You’d better get those souls back before one of them slips out.”

Balerion turned and reopened the doors to let the wounded but elated souls back into the underworld. He only hoped that the rest of his realm would ease their suffering. The loss of part of themselves would be felt as long as Lucerys lived. Balerion could only hope they would regain their lost parts on Lucerys’ natural death. If they were lost forever, their pain would be unending.

“Did I see Vermax with you?” Meraxes asked, slipping through the door as it closed.

“He came to help with keeping Lucerys’ soul together. He was a good help too.”

“Oh, brother dear.” Meraxes sighed, “You know what he’s like. He thinks you owe him now and you never know what he considers fair payment.”

Vermax had to remember the value of every single item in every single country. One never knew, therefore, what he would consider a fair price on that day. Or, that was his excuse, at least.

Sure enough, Vermax slithered in. Balerion was sure he had shut the gate properly yet there Vermax stood, shaking seawater off his robe.

“Well, Caraxes has done his job. Lucerys has been picked up by a ship bound for White Harbor.”

“White Harbor?” Caraxes repeated, “Isn’t Gulltown closer to Shipbreaker Bay?”

“As the raven flies, yes. But, it seems there were no ships going to Gulltown in that vicinity. Not one with a good maester on board anyway and the boy certainly needs one. There’s only so much healing we should do. Having Lucerys come out of the water too unharmed would seems suspicious, after all.

“And, just to make sure he is identified as himself, Caraxes also had Lucerys’ body attached to his dragon’s saddle. No need to put Lucerys through trying to prove to his family that he is who he says he is. One look at the saddle and they’ll know it.”

Vermax, no doubt, had come up with all of that. Balerion could see it from the grin on his face. Though Caraxes was wily, he did not usually think so far ahead or so broadly. So, now, Caraxes owed Vermax a debt. Balerion had the strong suspicion that Vermax was going to collect a lot of debts over this war.

“Now then, Balerion, I’m sure that, since I helped you keep Lucerys’ soul somewhat intact, I’m sure you won’t mind me imparting a little wisdom on the boy while he is unconscious.”

“What wisdom?”

“Why, only all that has happened before and all that will happen without our intervention. The boy deserves to know exactly what led to his death and to know what will happen if he should fail.”

Balerion recoiled, “That would devastate him.”

“His soul’s back in his body. We don’t have to be so careful with dealing with him now. And, don’t worry so much. I won’t overwhelm the poor boy. I’ll just give him plenty to think about. It might help him make better decisions too. Oh, and Balerion, I’ve just had another thought.”

Not a good one, I’m sure.

“Since Lucerys took some part of the dead with him, perhaps, some of the dead would like to assist me. Tessarion and Syrax will do their work on Aemond but I feel he may need some more direct counsel.”

Balerion glowered up at him, “I will not allow another soul to risk breaking apart.”

“Of course, by no means.” Vermax reached into his robe and drew out a blue flower that Balerion thought long gone in the Doom, “What I’m suggesting is a revival of some of the old rituals. It won’t be as grand or solemn, of course. I’ll have to do it myself in the privacy of Aemond’s chambers but I’m sure it’ll be enough to open a small window between worlds and allow the dead to speak in Aemond’s dreams.”

Balerion considered it. He remembered the grandeur of the ceremonies and the steep prices paid to the priests for the right to speak with the dead. None of it had been strictly needed. Balerion simply wanted to ensure as little contact was made with the dead as possible. The dead had to be kept safe and the living sane.

“You must promise that no soul will be called on more than once and that they be allowed to refuse to speak.”

“Both are reasonable requests. It shall be done. Perhaps, it may be wise to collect a few more birds to spread the word. One never likes to be called upon unannounced when they are trying to rest.”

Vermax slipped away as mysteriously as he had come and Balerion was left with Meraxes shaking her head.

“I’d better get back to the living world and keep an eye on him. He’s dangerous when left unchecked.”

Balerion privately hoped that Meraxes would remember to keep an eye on Vermax’s wife and daughter too. Vermax’s mischief-making was bad enough but what Tessarion could do and talk Syrax into doing would wreak much more chaos.

Chapter Text

AEMOND

One the third night after Storm’s End, Aemond didn’t want to sleep. The night after Storm’s End, he had dreamed of his younger mother and Rhaenyra acting as close as sisters. It had been strange to see indeed.

The next night, however, had been full of nightmares. He saw the pieces of Arrax fall into the sea. Then, he saw Vermax crash into another sea amid a fierce battle and Jacaerys sink beneath the waves with no less than half a dozen quarrels in his back.

Aemond had witnessed all this not as if he was there but as if he were a spectator, floating above the carnage like a ghost.

The true horror of the night, however, was yet to come. In an eyeblink, Aemond was above the Dragonpit. He watched with mounting horror as a swarm of smallfolk stormed into the pit and, in a mad rage, slew all the dragons within. He saw Dreamfyre break her chains and he cheered. He thought the tide had turned - then he saw her crash into the ceiling and bring down the roof on the mob and herself.

He looked away. He could not bear to watch more dragons die - and he saw Syrax twisting in the air. He thought it a response to the stones thrown at her from below. Then, he saw it was not Rhaenyra on her back but Joffrey. He realised this a second before Syrax gave one last twist and the boy slipped out of the saddle. Syrax flew on, sparing not a glance at Joffrey plummeting to his death. She plunged into the smallfolk and let loose her wrath upon them with tooth and claw.

Without thinking, Aemond urged her on, “Kill them! Kill them all!”

And, she killed many indeed but, just the same as the others, the sheer numbers of the mob were too great. Aemond gave a cry of horror as, with a long, drawn out groan, she fell to the ground, spewing blood rather than flames.

Aemond woke in a cold sweat, shaking from head to foot. He scrambled from his bed in only his nightshirt and raced to the first window that overlooked the Dragonpit.

There it stood, intact and imposing. It looked impregnable from a distance. It seemed impossible that a mob of mere smallfolk could even consider storming it.

Aemond leaned against the wall, trying to calm himself.

It was but a dream. Only a dream.

Aemond slunk back to his chamber, hoping no one had seen him.

Both nightmare and strange dream had one thing in common - they fixed in Aemond’s mind. The details did not slip away with time. In fact, they came back full force when triggered by the right thing. When Daeron called for a meeting with the head dragonkeper, Aemond remembered watching that keeper fall beneath a giant man’s axe. When his mother asked if Rhaenyra had sent any response to their peace offer, Aemond remembered them reading together in the godswood as girls and Rhaenyra tearing out a history book page to help Alicent remember the story of Princess Nymeria.

No, ‘remembered’ was not the right word. They were but dreams, he told himself, and worth nothing.

“Are you alright, Aemond?” Daeron asked as the head dragonkeeper left, “You’re looking pale again.”

“Don’t fuss, Daeron!” Aemond snapped, “Or, I’ll start to think you’re more fit to be the children’s nursemaid than a soldier!” He glowered around at everyone staring at his outburst, “Well? Are you all going to do anything about this rebellion or do I have to mount Vhagar, fly to Dragonstone and burn the old whore and all her whelps into ash myself?”

He didn’t mean a word of it. In fact, he hated every word that came out of him and wanted to apologise at once. However, it stopped everyone looking at him with concern and Aemond counted that a victory. 

A very short lived one, at that, as his mother slammed her hand on the table and shouted, “One more word about killing any more of Rhaenyra’s children and I will have you sent to the Wall, son of mine or not!”

Aemond made himself stay. He would not make more of a scene by storming out. So, he sat in silence, trying to put his dreams out of his mind by focusing on the reports, suggestions and lists of which houses had declared for Aegon. If only those lists were longer.

When that was done, he trained with Cole until his legs felt like jelly. When Cole finally made him leave the training grounds after the third near miss, Aemond asked for new reports from their scouts and poured over them in his grandsire’s chambers. If Otto minded Aemond being there, he didn’t say.

When Otto at last told him to go to bed, Aemond only did so after being supplied with maps of the riverlands. In his chamber, with as many candles as would last him through the night, he tried to see where Daemon would strike.

Harrenhal would be taken first. That was a given. But, how would Lord Tully react? Would he support Aegon or Rhaenyra? If only Lord Tully had a daughter. Then, Daeron could offer himself in marriage in return for his support.

And, if the blacks then tried to gain the support of the Tullys while Daeron was still there, then, like Lucerys…

Aemond gave himself a sharp slap to the face.

You’re supposed to keep your mind off such things!

He tried to refocus on Riverrun. 

Harrenhal first…where will he strike…if Lord Tully backs the blacks…

His eye grew heavy and his thoughts became sluggish. He tried hitting himself again to stay alert.

If Lord Tully backs us…and we gain the support of the Brackens…or the Blackwoods…got to make a choice between them…can’t have both…

The next thing Aemond knew, he stood in the middle of a crowded courtyard. He looked around at the ruined walls and the five crumbling towers reaching high into the clouds. He had never seen it before but he knew what it must be at once. The sight of the House Strong banners only confirmed it.

Harrenhal.

Aemond looked around the dozens of people around him. Though they ranged from young, old, poor and rich, they all had one thing in common. They were looking at a point near the centre of the courtyard with horror. Aemond moved through them like a ghost towards the back. Perhaps, he would see what was going on from the top of a flight of stairs set against the wall.

As he reached the wall, he spotted someone not looking towards the centre. A dark haired woman at the back was busy pulling back her long hair. Such a style made it look shorter when one looked at her full in the face. More striking was the fact that she also looked right at him.

“You don’t belong here.” She muttered low enough so only Aemond could hear. Her voice was almost as low as a man’s, “What are you doing in my dream?”

Aemond frowned. In that moment, he realised what this scene was, “I’m not in your dream. You’re in mine. How is it that you can see me when no others can?”

“I have no idea. We should discuss this later. I need to make preparations.” She dabbed a damp cloth over her face and hair. It took the worst of the grime off but made her look like she had run through the rain. When she lifted the cloth away, Aemond thought he saw the water in the fabric shimmer a faint pink.

Then, Aemond heard a familiar voice. He looked round and hurried up a small flight of stairs to see better. Sure enough, he saw himself standing in the middle of the courtyard, wearing black armour and holding a naked sword.

“We come today to decide the guilt of Ser Simon Strong. He stands accused of treason against the lawful King of the Seven Kingdoms. He allowed this castle to be taken by the traitor, Daemon Targaryen, and he did so without so much as an arrow fired at his dragon. If he did not collude with the traitor, he as good as did so. This trial by combat will prove whether the allegation is true or false. Bring forth the accused.”

Two guards came forth. To Aemond’s horror, an old man stumbled between them. A rotund, white haired and weeping man who looked as old as the Crone. So old he could not so much as lift the sword thrust into his hand to shoulder height.

“May the Gods favour the true man.” The other Aemond said.

The other Aemond did not waste time on pretending to fight. He simply batted the old man’s sword aside and, on the counter-stroke, he sliced through the old man’s chest. Then, he ran the old man through with one swift stab. Ser Simon tried to cry out but only a gurgle escaped him.

It was no fair trial. No god would ever favour this. Aemond could only stand there, shaking his head in horror as the other Aemond turned back to the crowd, “The gods have made their will known. Ser Simon was a traitor and, as the Lord of Harrenhal disappeared when King’s Landing was taken, so is he. The House of Strong is a nest of traitors and I will burn it out.” He turned to the soldiers, “Have Ser Simon’s remains fed to Vhagar with the other offal. Then, round up every member of House Strong and bring them within my sword’s reach. Every member of House Strong, I say. Even the Strong bastards.”

A pig-faced soldier nodded and marched to the crowd. A small boy screamed and tried to run into the throng. The soldier’s big meaty hand reached in and pulled the squirming dark-haired boy out like a fish from a barrel. He dragged the boy towards Aemond.

“Ser Simon’s grandson, my Prince.”

The terrified child could be no more than six years old. No older than little Jaehaerys.

“No!” Aemond screamed, “Stop! You can’t do this - ”

But the other Aemond could do it. And, he could do it with as little hesitation as he had done with old Ser Simon. The boy’s body fell before Aemond had reached the bottom of the stairs.

The whole crowd panicked and ran for any possible escape. They tried to push past the guards. They pleaded that they were only servants, that they were innocent and that there was no hope of winning a battle against Caraxes. Nothing made the soldiers budge an inch.

Again and again, the soldier picked out someone from the crowd. He told the other Aemond what relation they were to House Strong and, in a moment, they would be dead.

Aemond ran to the other Aemond. By the time he reached him, the pile of bodies had reached near a foot high.

“Stop! Stop this at once! You don’t need to do this!”

He tried to grab the other Aemond’s sword. His hand passed right through as if he were a ghost.

A woman no older than Alicent and with the same long wavy hair was dragged forth next, weeping and gasping out prayers for mercy. 

“Wife of Ser Simon’s youngest son.” Pigface said.

“She isn’t of Strong blood!” Aemond protested, “You don’t - ”

The other Aemond did not so much as blink. He raised his sword and struck off the woman’s head. As soon as her body was dragged to the pile, the other Aemond seemed to forget her. He simply turned to the next member of House Strong with an impersonal gaze as if he was just signing papers.

Not just indifference, Aemond realised. The other Aemond’s eye was dead. He had no pity. No honour, no remorse and no emotion of any kind. It might as well have been made of glass for all the life there was in it.

That frightened Aemond more than anything. More than the sight of the other Aemond laughing or delighting in the bloodshed. The sight of himself as a heartless, emotionless monster scared him more than any battle or death.

Am I capable of becoming that thing?

Then, the woman who could see Aemond was brought forward.

“A bastard daughter. No one’s sure who her mother or father is.” Pigface said.

The other Aemond’s sword rose. The woman looked the other Aemond directly in the face. She did not beg or cry or even speak. She just looked at him with all the bravery she could muster that almost but not quite masked her terror.

And the other Aemond’s sword stopped in midair.

He tried to bring it down again. His sword stopped again.

Aemond looked from the other Aemond to the woman. He noticed her cheeks seemed to shine with an odd pink light. Then, he realised why the other Aemond hesitated. From his point of view, she looked very like Luke. She even wore the same look of tremulous defiance Luke had worn when Aemond had challenged him at Storm’s End.

The other Aemond tried a third time to take her head but the sword seemed to stick in mid air. Frustration and anger entered his face. It was the first emotion he’d shown all through the proceedings.

“Not her.” The other Aemond said, “Take her to my quarters.”

If the soldiers were confused by the other Aemond, they were too well-trained to show it. They turned and led the woman away towards one of the towers.

The woman turned to Aemond as she passed, “Come on. It doesn’t get any better from here. I’m the only Strong he spares.”

Aemond felt only too glad to turn away. Especially when he heard the cries of another child being brought forth. He followed the woman into the nearest crumbling tower and up a set of tightly spiraling stairs. At last, the guards opened a heavy door and shoved her inside. Aemond slipped in after her just as the guards slammed and locked the door with a dull thunk.

The room looked sparse. Almost like a monk’s cell. The only way he knew it was occupied was the sight of a letter unfurled on the table. Even as high as they were, Aemond could hear the faint screams of the condemned from below.

The woman sat on the bed as comfortable as if it were hers and faced him, “I suppose you would prefer conversation with me over listening to the executions. I know I could do with the distraction. I’m Alys Rivers, the bastard of Lord Lyonel. Or, so I’ve been told.”

“What did you do?” Aemond asked, “I saw you put something on your face before you were caught.”

“A bit of magic.” Alys said, “To make him see what he needed to see. That’s the only way I survive the slaughter.” She said it with total surety as if she had indeed tried every other way.

“Are you a witch, then?”

“Yes.” Again, there was no hesitation or doubt in her words, “And, this dream is a result of my spells. I use my dreams to see what will come and to deduce what I need to do to survive. A bastard daughter like me needs all the help she can get to survive in this world. Which begs the question of how you got into this. I don’t recall inviting you when I performed the ritual.”

“I’m afraid I cannot say.” Aemond said, “I know of no magic.” 

A particularly loud scream from below sent ice down his spine.

“Don’t look.” Alys said as Aemond took a step towards the window, “That’s the wife of Ser Simon’s oldest son. The Prince just killed her infant daughter. The crush had already killed the child but the Prince wanted to make sure.”

“How can you sit here?” Aemond demanded, “If you are a witch, can you not perform a spell to stop him?”

Alys betrayed no anger. She only closed her eyes for a moment as if composing herself, “I have tried in other dreams like this. Every attempt failed and ended in my death. There is no saving the people below but I intend to survive.”

A different woman’s wail came from outside.

“He is killing all of her children in front of her. Only then will he kill her.” Alys said, voice as flat as a worn stone.

“You say,” Aemond asked, voice shaking, “that this dream is what will happen?”

“Indeed.”

Aemond shook his head, “I…how could I become that monster?”

“He did it because King’s Landing was taken by Rhaenyra. Right from under his nose too and all because of a trick played on him by Daemon. Or, so the histories will say.” Alys leaned forward a little, “I got to know him a little better, though. He did it because he wants to feel something.”

Aemond stared at her, “Feel something? What do you mean?”

“After Storm’s End, he wanted to feel nothing. Feeling became…too much for him. He worked hard at it and he succeeded. He managed to lock away all his emotions but he did it a little too well. Now, he can’t feel anything even if he wants to. He is looking for anything that makes him feel something - happiness, anger, sadness, he would even be grateful to feel crushing guilt at this point.”

“Is that what you did?” Aemond asked, “Make him feel something?”

“Yes.” Alys seemed to read something in his face, “Not in that way. He doesn’t rape me when he’s finished.” 

Aemond felt more relief that he would admit. At least, he wouldn’t lose that part of himself.

“In fact, he tries to kill me again. Several times. It takes about a week for him to realise he can’t and that I can be useful to him. But, I wonder,” She gave him a searching look, “will it all happen now? I don’t usually have company in these dreams. I wonder if this means things will be different now.”

A raven fluttered onto the windowsill and gave a loud caw.

“That’s unusual too.” Alys said.

The raven turned its eye on her. Aemond noticed thin gold bands around its black legs. It opened its beak and said in a deep, languid voice, “You are a sharp one, aren’t you? Very few can see their fate. Even fewer have the power to try multiple paths until you find the right one. No wonder my wife is interested in you.”

By her look of astonishment, Alys had just as little idea what was going on as Aemond did.

“As for you,” The raven turned to Aemond, “I do hope you’re paying attention. Emotion is so often underrated. A poor master but an invaluable servant. They may give you trouble but, without them, you’ll find yourself falling apart like an abandoned manse.”

Another scream came from below and then silence. Long and terrible silence.

“I assume that’s not what you aspire to be? Now then,” He turned back to Alys, “I thank you for giving us space in your visions but I think he’s seen all that will benefit him. We’ll be on our way now.”

Before Aemond could think of something to say, the raven fluttered from the windowsill and landed on his shoulder. A moment later, he opened his eye and found himself slumped over his writing desk.

He sat up and looked to the window. It could not be more than a few minutes after dawn.

Then, he looked back at the desk and groaned. He’d upset the ink well when he’d fallen asleep and black blotches covered the Riverlands map, rendering all his work useless.

A loud raven’s cackle from outside. Aemond darted to the window - but saw only empty sky.

#

Otto often wore a scowl when he came to dinner these days. When he arrived at dinner a week after Aemond’s return from Storm’s End, he looked downright furious. Just as he had when he brought the news to the morning’s small council meeting. 

Daemon had taken Harrenhal. Ser Simon had rendered up the castle without a fight the moment Caraxes landed on the tallest tower. The only good thing about that meeting was watching Lord Larys’ face fall for a moment as he heard of his great-uncle’s cowardice.

Aemond had remained silent, trying to push back memories of his blood-soaked self cutting down Ser Simon in the courtyard. He had almost feigned a bad stomach and foregone the dinner that night. He did indeed feel sicker as the day wore on. Harrenhal had been taken, rendered up without a fight. Whispers that Ser Simon may had colluded with Daemon slithered around the Keep. He felt as if a door had closed behind him. There was no way but forward towards a terrible fate…

Don’t be stupid. He rebuked himself, You are no dreamer and you will not give anyone a reason to think you are weak or insane.

So, he went to dinner and pretended he didn’t feel the thickening tension in the room. Alicent would not allow anyone to talk about the latest developments around Rhaenyra’s rebellion at dinner. That, she said, was a time when the family should be allowed to gather in peace.

Aemond sometimes wondered if she did it because she wanted some small respite from all the bad news. 

Otto took his place next to Alicent and at the right hand of the King. Aegon stared into his wine goblet, brooding over the loss of Harrenhal. Or, more likely, the fact that a shipment of his favourite vintage had been stopped in the Velaryon blockade. Helaena picked at her food, her lips pressed together as if sewn shut with invisible threads.

While Daeron had been present, he had tried to make conversation. Now, he had flown to Lord Ormund’s aid and that small measure of lightness he brought with him faded. All Aemond had to occupy himself was memories of the nightmares dogging him through the week. He had dreamed of Storm’s End again that night. In that dream, he had tried forcing Vhagar to dive after Lucerys but the clouds always swallowed him up. He could never reach him in time. He couldn’t even pull Vhagar up in time and the pair of them had crashed into Shipbreaker Bay, forcing Aemond awake in a cold sweat.

“Your Grace,” Alicent turned away towards Aegon as the meat course was cleared away, “have you and Aemond ridden your dragons together? I believe the smallfolk would be delighted to see your magnificent beasts in the sky and know that their king is ready to protect the city.”

Aemond had to be a little impressed. His mother could hide a barb even in the most innocent of words. Even if they weren’t meant for him, Aemond still felt their sting and heard what Alicent really wanted to say.

Keep a watch on the skies. Show anyone watching the city that we are well-defended.

“I shall fly around the walls of the city after dinner, mother.” Aemond said, “Perhaps, it may be best if His Grace waited until the morrow to fly. Sunfyre’s scales show to best advantage in the midday sun rather than at sunset.”

And, Aegon’s far too drunk to fly tonight.

Alicent didn’t so much as look at Aemond. She only turned back to her dinner as if no one had spoken. Aemond looked back down at his plate, willing his face to remain placid.
Apart from her rebuke at the small council, she hadn’t said a word to him since Storm’s End.

Mother will come around. He told himself, She has never been angry with me for long.

But she hasn’t been angry at me for a week before.

What does it matter anyway? Why should I care so much how she feels?

Do not think such thoughts. Even if you are a kinslayer, you will not commit the sin of scorning your parents. You’re not Aegon so stop thinking like him.

A long protracted silence followed. By the way he cleared his throat, Aemond could feel Otto building up to something, “Queen Dowager, if rebellion is not to be spoken of over dinner, perhaps, you would allow me to at least discuss what shall be done about the vacant position of Master of Coin.”

Aegon looked up, “Has something happened to Lord Beesbury?”

Aemond felt like rolling his eye. How had Aegon failed to notice Lord Beesbury’s absence in every small council meeting since his coronation? Aemond had noticed. Ser Tyland had quietly taken over his position as Master of Coin but no other reference had been made to it within the small council’s discussions. Aemond could guess the reason for his absence by that silence alone.

Otto turned to Aegon and said with a rather closed look on his face, “The Lord Beesbury did not accept His Grace’s ascension. He is now in a black cell, reconsidering his loyalties.”

Alicent reached for her wine but misjudged the distance and nearly tipped it over. She just caught it in time before it spilled and took a rather deep breath before drinking.

All this had happened in less than a second.

Aemond returned to his meal, pretending he had noticed nothing. So, Lord Beesbury’s fate was just what he had suspected. Lord Larys must be at work on Lord Beesbury as they spoke. Only the Clubfoot could make his mother so unsettled.

Just as Aemond moved to drag Aegon out of his chair, a page knocked at the door.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. The dragonkeepers have sent word that they have found a fault in Vhagar’s saddle. It’ll take three weeks to repair.”

Otto bristled, “And, is there no spare?”

The page quailed and shook his head, “Not one big enough for Vhagar.”

Aemond frowned, unsure what to think. On the surface, he felt annoyed and disappointed at being unable to regain some of his mother’s favour. Deeper down, however, he felt a small measure of relief.

He scolded himself for it, You are not some scared child, running from figments of his imagination. You cannot be a dragonrider afraid of his own dragon so go out there now and show Vhagar you are still her master.

After dinner, Aemond called for a carriage to take him to the field outside the city where she’d made her home. He had hoped to be alone as the carriage door began its progress through the city.

Those hopes were dashed when Aemond looked around from his glance through the grilled windows and found Lucerys sitting opposite him.

This time, Lucerys held a small bundle in the crook of his remaining arm. It had once been white but blood soaked through all but the edges.

‘Do you want to meet your niece, Aemond?’

The ghost adjusted the bundle and a small, bloody arm flopped out.

‘She came too early. The news of Viserys’ death and Aegon’s coronation hit Mother so badly that she miscarried my little sister. The last time Mother held her was when she wrapped her little body, ready for the pyre. Mother did it with her own hands, bloody from the birth. But, little Visenya’s not alone. I’m here for her now. I’ll look after her. Come, look at her. She’s beautiful.’

The arm twitched. Not like a baby’s arm should but in a sharp, joint-cracking motion like the legs of a dying insect.

Aemond did not want to look. He did not want to give the ghost the satisfaction but he knew what would happen if he didn’t. He knew he had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide once Ser Willis riding behind him suspected something was amiss. Already, Lucerys’ grin had started to slip.

So, Aemond stood up and crossed the carriage. He looked down. Within the bundle of bloodied blankets lay a scaly-skinned babe covered in blood. When she twitched her arm again, he saw a hole in her chest where her heart should have been. Her eyes opened and they had a dragon’s golden colour and ferocity. She glowered at Aemond, as if cursing him personally for her fate.

Then, he heard the driver call, “Whoa!” and the carriage came to a halt. In a blink, Lucerys and Visenya were gone. Aemond could only slump into one of the seats and wipe away the cold sweat before the carriage door opened.

He found Vhagar snoring in the field when he arrived. The dying light of the day threw her craggy scales into sharper relief. For a moment, he thought she looked bigger than before. Too big and powerful for someone such as him. For a moment, he feared she would ignore him or, worse, snap at him like he was any other stranger. That something had happened when Arrax burned her face to sever the bond between them and make her disobedient. 

Then, she raised her head when he approached, eyes focussed on him just as always.

“Dohaeris, Vhagar.”

The evening went well. She stood and sat when told to. She even held off eating a goat until Aemond gave her the command. She did everything Aemond told her to. As the light faded, Aemond felt a little better.

“Good girl.” He patted her neck. She lowered her head to the ground, letting him sit with his back to her. Her flesh beneath him felt as warm as a lit fire at his back. Vhagar watched him with a drowsy eye. All felt normal. 

He might have fallen asleep then and there if an unwelcome thought hadn’t intruded.

This felt too normal. If Vhagar was so obedient now, why hadn’t she obeyed him over Shipbreaker Bay? He had given all the right commands. Why, of all moments, had she chosen that one to disobey him?

Vhagar gave a soft growl and moved her head so her chin touched his boot. Did she feel his thoughts? Was she saying sorry?

Before Aemond could continue this train of thought, another page rushed up to him, red and breathless. Vhagar snarled at the intruder.

“Lykiri, Vhagar.” Aemond sprang up and hurried to put himself between the page and the dragon, “What is it?”

“You’re wanted back at the Keep, my Prince. His Grace fell from his dragon’s saddle and sprained his wrist.”

I knew he was too drunk to fly. What was he thinking?

Once again, he had to wonder at his father’s decision to name him King. He knew his mother would not lie. If she said he had named Aegon King, that was good enough for him. He just had to wonder if his father had been completely lucid when he did so.

Those thoughts do you no good now. A voice like his mother said in his head, Aegon is King and your duty is to him now, as it was to your father before you. So, stop wasting your time on unprofitable thoughts and do your duty.

#

SYRAX

Tessarion and Syrax watched Aegon moaning over his wrist as the maester tended to him. His mother flew into his chambers, demanding an explanation.

“You were the one who said I should fly over the city!” Aegon whined, “And, you keep saying I shouldn’t shirk my kingly duties! There’s no pleasing you, is there?”

Tessarion admired her weaving, “That turned out better than I had hoped.”

Syrax turned to her mother, confused, “Mother, did you not know this would happen?”

To her relief, Tessarion did not seem affronted, “Even I do not know exactly how the threads of fate will run until they are woven together, my girl. All artisans will tell you that their creations never quite turn out as they envisioned them. So it is with fate. One may arrange the threads in a pattern you think would look well but, until they are woven, you cannot know for sure. Especially now that I am starting afresh.”

Syrax had a question but did not feel brave enough to ask it.

Tessarion, however, seemed to feel what she wanted to know, “I have good hope that this fate will be kinder to our favoured family. I have ever better hopes now that you and your father are assisting me.”

A rustle of feathers came from above. Vermax in his raven form fluttered onto the battlements next to them.

“All is ready, Vermax.” Tessarion assured him, “No one will go near Aemond’s chambers for the whole night. His protector ate something rotten and will not be able to watch his door tonight. No other replacement will be found at short notice.”

Vermax shook off his raven form and grinned, “Excellent, my dear.”

“The ritual will be safe, will it not?” Syrax asked with no small tremour in his voice.

“Not to worry, Syrax.” Vermax grinned wider, “I know what I’m doing and Tessarion will be on hand if something goes wrong. Come, let us begin. I think I see Aemond turning in for the night.”

Chapter Text

JACAERYS

Jacaerys started awake and clapped a hand to his ear in pain. His finger came away bloody. When he looked around, he spotted a small brown mouse jumping from the bed and to the window. Before he could throw back the thick furs and catch it, it jumped like a cat from floor to window and disappeared through a gap in the shutters.

Jace hastened across the room and stared through the window. The mouse had vanished and there was nowhere it could have gone but down a fall of at least thirty feet onto the hard, frosty ground.

Even the mice are more hardy in the North.

Jace pulled the shutters closed against the cold morning air. Dawn had broken and his ear smarted too much for him to go back to sleep. He would just have to start the day early. He pulled on a robe and wondered if he should go and see how Vermax fared.

When he opened the door, he found he wasn’t alone. Cregan had woken too and had just stepped into the corridor.

“Jace. What’s the matter? What happened to your ear?”

“The same thing that happened to you.” Jace pointed up to Cregan’s bleeding ear, “Was it a mouse as well?”

Cregan’s eyes widened, “Yes. Gods, what a strange thing.”

They were both interrupted from speculating further when the maester arrived.

“I have received word from White Harbor, my Prince, my Lord. It’s in regards to your brother, Lucerys Velaryon.”

Jace leaned forward, “What is it? What’s happened?”

“They claim that he was found in the waters off Shipbreaker Bay. Badly wounded and, ah, still attached to a piece of his dragon.”

The maester handed him the letter to read himself. Cregan wrapped an arm around Jace. Jace felt grateful of that arm, as sturdy and strong as a weirwood branch. Without it, he might have crumbled to the ground. 

“But, who did this?” Jace managed to get out, “Who could have killed Arrax? And how?”

“The sailors cannot say for sure but Lord Manderly has heard from traders coming from the Stormlands that Lord Borros has proclaimed for Aegon.”

Cregan’s hand tightened. Jace clenched his teeth, “Lord Borros spurned his oath? And let the greens attack my brother? This will not go unanswered! Lord Cregan,” He turned to Cregan - and nearly lost his nerve when he saw the worry on Cregan’s face, “I am sorry but I must go to White Harbor at once. My place is at my brother’s side.”

Cregan’s eyes softened, “So, it is. Maester, I would have you send word to the Queen and the King Consort that the Crown Prince will make for White Harbor.”

The maester nodded and left. Jace realised at once the real reason Cregan had given him the errand - just to get him out of the room and leave them alone.

Cregan pulled Jace into a hug, “If you need to cry, do it here.”

Jace felt tears prickle but not for fear of Luke. Tears came only out of relief that he had such strong arms to keep him up.

“What am I going to do without you holding me up, Cregan? I - I thought this could all be sorted out once the greens realised the Kingdoms would not support them. Gods, it sounds so naive now I say it out loud. How could I think this would be some jolly adventure? Luke could have died!”

“I’ll be in Winterfell if you need me. I am only sorry I cannot go south with you but a Stark has to remain at Winterfell. I’ll send Lord Dustin to lead our forces. Just send word where they are needed and my northmen will ride to your aid.”

Jace looked up into Cregan’s grey eyes. The man was a storm within but pure discipline without. He knew just by looking that Cregan felt the same fury at Luke’s attack that Jace did.

No more words were needed. The pair of them could read each others’ eyes. Jace leaned forward and they kissed. Jace hoped with all his heart that it would not be the last kiss he had before he had to leave.

#

For the second time in as many months, Jacaerys landed within the New Castle’s walls. Lord Desmond Manderly, to his credit, did not waste much time on greetings. He only led Jace inside in the castle, talking all the way.

“We might not have believed it was him if he wasn’t still attached to his dragon’s saddle. I’m afraid the sailor’s weren’t able to save the dragon’s flesh. It turned putrid too quickly. They did save the saddle, though, and some of the scales.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch full of delicate pearly scales too big to be from a fish. They reached the castle. Once the large bleached wood doors were closed, Lord Manderly called for the saddle to be brought forth. 

It could not be anything but a dragon saddle. Nor could it be anything but Arrax’s saddle. Dark stains dotted the leather and the girth had almost torn apart but Jace knew it at once. It had been a name day present he had given Lucerys the previous year.

“Arrax.” Jace breathed. Then, he pulled himself together and asked Lord Manderly, “What happened? Did any of the sailors say they saw anything in the sky? Have you received any further news since sending the raven to me?”

“Not yet and all the sailors could find was the torso of the dragon.” Lord Manderly said, sadly, “They found it and the prince floating in the sea. They said it looked like it had been ripped apart by something big and, well, he said Vhagar’s name a few times in his sleep.”

Vhagar. Damn it. I should have known the greens would try to win Lord Borros to their side before trying the Vale and the North. The Vale and the North were safer bets for us. The Stormlands was the less certain prospect. Of course, the greens would take advantage of that. I should have told Mother to send me instead. 

“It’s a miracle that Lucerys himself survived.” Lord Manderly shook his head in disbelief, “He was in a bad way when he was picked up and there were a few nights when it looked like he would slip away or so I’m told. Good thing they had an experienced maester on board. He managed to save the Prince’s life but, well, I must warn you. Your brother is changed…but, I’m sure you want to see for yourself. No point me going on and you standing there in suspense.”

Lord Manderly took Jace straight to a room near the top of one of the towers. In happier days, the room would have been reserved for honoured guests. The room, though airy with large windows, looked much smaller with the three maesters and many assistants and maids crowding around the bed. There, dwarfed by the pillows and furs and pallid face almost completed masked by bandages, lay Luke.

Jace rushed to his side and took his hand, throat constricting with emotion. Then, he gasped and looked down, “His finger!”

“Yes, my Prince. And part of his ear too but, other than that, there’s nothing he won’t recover from. Deep cuts that needed a lot of stitches, broken ribs, a broken collarbone, a broken arm and a broken leg. Like I said, very lucky considering what happened.”

Luke stirred and his fingers jerked.

“Luke?” Jace leaned closer, “Luke, it’s me. It’s Jace.”

“Jace…” Luke turned toward him and struggled to open his eyes.

“Has the maester informed the Queen?” Jace asked. Then, trying to act as much of a Crown Prince as he could, he continued, “She will need to be informed of what happened at once. The Usurper must not be allowed to attack the Queen’s heirs without severe punishment.”

“No.” The small, raspy voice made Jace whirl around, “No…Jace…make sure…Jaehaerys doesn’t die…tell Daemon…to stop Blood and Cheese…”

“Blood and cheese? What do you mean? Luke, open your eyes.”

At last, Luke managed it. What he saw made Jace start back. Luke didn’t look back at him with his familiar brown eyes but with an icy blue Jace had only seen in the North among the cleanest of ice ridges.

Jace almost thought the sailors had made a mistake. That it had been a lookalike of his brother - but where would the saddle come from if that were so?

“Blood and Cheese…” It was still Luke’s voice without a doubt, “…Daemon’s going to send them to…to kill one of Aegon’s children…you have to stop him or…or all of us will die.”

He fixed Jace with an intense stare. Those new icy eyes gave it an even greater power than before.

Jace looked around and spotted a maid collecting some bloodied bandages, “Have the maester bring me ink and paper. I need to send a message to my stepfather at once.”

“Jace…”

“Yes, Luke?”

“Father…Father lives.”

“What? Luke, what are you saying?”

“He lives…in hiding…Mother and Daemon…they staged his death…and fooled us all.”

#

Daemon’s response did not come in the form of a raven. It came in the form of Caraxes flying to White Harbour and landing outside the New Castle’s walls as he wouldn’t fit in the courtyard.

Jace hurried out to great him but also to stop him killing someone. He had that look in his face that Jace recognised as murderous.

“Is it true?” Daemon asked before Lord Desmond could say a greeting, “Is it Lucerys? How can you be sure?”

Even when he was shown the saddle and scales, Daemon was not placated. 

“I promise you, Lord Desmond, that, if this is some kind of trick, you will know what it is to anger a dragon.”

It was only when he entered Luke’s room and saw him propped up in bed did he relax a little. It didn’t last. The moment Luke turned and Daemon saw those eyes, Jace saw his stepfather grow tense again.

“You look like Lucerys, to be sure.” Daemon said, voice low and dangerous, “We received word that Lucerys had died at Shipbreaker Bay. His dragon was ripped apart by Vhagar as Lucerys tried to leave.”

Luke swallowed hard and his eyes shone with tears at the mention of Arrax. Jace never believed so much at that moment that this was his brother.

“We received word from Lord Borros that parts of Arrax had washed up on the shores around Storm’s End. We did not find Lucerys’ body but anyone would know that survival after an attack such as that and a fall from thousands of feet in the air is impossible. So, tell me, how do you claim to have survived?”

Luke hesitated. He looked just like he did as a child when the maester asked him a question he wasn’t sure how to answer.

“It was…I saw Balerion. The Valyrian god. And, the ghosts. So many ghosts.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow. Neither he nor Jace had been expecting that.

“How did Balerion appear to you?”

“As…as a child.”

Jace was completely bewildered. Daemon, however, lost all doubt. He leaned forward with rapt interest and asked, “Did he say why he appeared as such?”

“He said it was because no one is too old or young to die.”

Daemon nodded. Then, he turned to Lord Desmond, who lingered at the door and looked as confused as Jacaerys felt.

“How many people know Luke is here?”

“Oh, as few as possible, My - Your Grace.” Lord Manderly answered, looking glad the conversation had turned to sensible topics, “Only the sailors, my maester and my most trusted servants. I didn’t want the Usurper to get wind of the Prince’s plight and send Vhagar to finish him off.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Pay them all for their silence and swear them all to secrecy. You may go.”

If Lord Manderly was offended by the sudden dismissal, he didn’t show it. He simply hurried away. Once his footsteps had faded, Daemon turned back to Luke, “What happened?”

So, Luke told the tale. Jace clenched his teeth in fury when he told of how he had landed at Storm’s End only to find Vhagar and Aemond already there. Daemon gripped Dark Sister when Luke told them of the disrespect Lord Borros had given him.

But, both were not as furious as when Luke told them of the chase over Shipbreaker Bay and of Vhagar ripping Arrax apart.

“Coward.” Daemon snarled, “Arrax didn’t stand a chance and he knew it.”

“He didn’t mean it.” Luke insisted, “And, Arrax was the one who attacked first. He was just so frightened that he shot flame into Vhagar’s face. And…and he didn’t listen to me when I told him to stop.” He lowered his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Daemon repeated, “You don’t need to apologise. It’s Aemond who’ll be sorry, you can be sure of that.”

“No!” Luke gasped, “Daemon, please, you can’t send Blood and Cheese after Helaena’s children.”

“And, how do you know about that?”

Luke again looked unsure how to put it into words, “When I was unconscious…I saw things. I saw Mother when she was young and when the Queen was her best friend. And, I saw what would happen after my death. Daemon, if you send assassins, it’ll set things in motion that’ll kill all of us and our dragons. There won’t be anyone left afterwards but young Aegon, Viserys and Jaehaera.”

A profound pause followed. Jace had to wonder if the milk of the poppy had given his brother strange visions. He couldn’t imagine the bitter Queen Alicent and his mother ever being friends. Daemon leaned forward, “Gods can offer great insight but some of them are tricksters and can give you false visions. There’s one way I can think of that’ll make sure that what you saw is the truth. Tell me something from the past. Something from before you were born.”

Luke thought for a moment. Then, he looked up and said, “When you smashed the Triarchy, you came back to King’s Landing wearing a driftwood crown. You held the Crabfeeder’s sword when you entered the throne room and the first thing you said to King Viserys was ‘add it to the chair’.”

Jace could easily see Daemon doing that.

“Your hair was shorter too.” Luke added as an afterthought.

This seemed to satisfy Daemon. All the furrows on his brow vanished. He poured Luke some water and took a seat beside him, “Tell me all of what you saw. We need to know where the greens will strike next.”

Luke talked as long as he could before he grew tired and Jace suggested they should leave him to rest. The pair ate a private dinner of shellfish and nasty-looking but nice-tasting sea greens in an adjoining room. There, Jace finally got up the courage to ask, “Do you believe him? About Balerion and the visions?”

“I certainly do. I did the moment he said Balerion appeared to him as a child. Your maesters won’t have taught you this but there are texts on Dragonstone that state Balerion’s cults did depict him as a child. And for the same reason Luke gave - to remind the worshipers that you’re never too young to die. Some of those cults took that literally and, ah, sacrificed children in their rituals.”

Jace thought he could guess why the maesters didn’t want to teach this to young children. He could only imagine what Aegon might have done with that knowledge in their youth.

Chapter Text

AEMOND

Three weeks went by and Aemond felt he could take no more. He had received word that the repairs to Vhagar’s saddle would be finished tomorrow. He had not seen the ghost for three days. He had to see Luke now or the wait would be for nothing.

Perhaps, it would be in his old rooms. So, he retraced decades-old steps toward Rhaenyra’s old quarters. That part of the Keep had been shut up by Alicent a year after Rhaenyra had left for the last time. When Rhaenyra had returned for Ser Vaemond’s petition, she and her family had been given smaller accommodation elsewhere. Not even the servants went to the old rooms now. The clear inch of dust on the floor, the grimy windows and the rats’ nests in the dark corners were evidence of that.

Even in daylight, the place felt haunted. It felt like the perfect place for a ghost to make his home.

“Come on. Come on, bastard. I know you’re here somewhere. You and your beast of a little sister.”

Aemond had not known a full night’s rest since Storm’s End. If it wasn’t nightmares of failing to stop Lucerys’ death in every possible way, it was strange visions of the past and horrifying visions of the future. He had seen battles fought, towns burn and dragons die.

And, if it wasn’t nightmares, it was visitations from Lucerys’ ghost. He used to come every other day. Now, it had been three days since Aemond last saw him and it drove him to distraction.

Only when he went through the dusty, long-neglected halls and reached the door did he remember that he hadn’t asked his mother for the key.

It didn’t matter. The door had rotted so much that Aemond only needed to kick it twice to force it open. He glowered around the bare, cobweb-festooned room. It looked smaller than he remembered it. Yet, still he could pick out where Lucerys had kept his toys and where his and Jacaerys’ bed had been. The marks on the wall showing the brothers’ height over the years hadn’t been cleaned from the walls. Lucerys’ marks ended at age eight. They barely reached to Aemond’s elbow.

Aemond forced his way into the adjoining bath chamber. Still, the only sign of life were the rats scurrying along the walls.

You’re trying to make me let my guard down. You think you’ll take me by surprise. Not a chance. I’ll find you first.

Aemond pulled a small flask from his pocket and took a gulp. He ignored the disgusting taste and let the potion sharpen his senses. He turned - and stumbled on a broken floorboard. He cursed it loudly and glared at the darkest corner.

Come on, don’t you find that funny? Me, defeated by a broken floorboard? Isn’t that funnier than giving me a pig to ride?

Lucerys didn’t keep himself to dark corners usually. He would appear anywhere. He would appear in the carriage on his way to Vhagar’s field. He would appear in the hallways of the Red Keep, often appearing around corners to make Aemond jump. He even once appeared in Aemond’s bath, relaxing in a tub-full of blood that reached all the way to his throat.

Appearances from the ghost always turned Aemond’s stomach. Yet, after a while, he had noticed a pattern: if he saw the ghost during the day, he would sleep without nightmares. So, he spent long hours seeking the ghost out. He would take strange visions of his mother and Rhaenyra’s supposed past over those horrible sights any day.

 
Aemond took to wandering the halls of the Red Keep until the ghost made an appearance or he was forced by his mother or grandsire to admit defeat and go to bed.

But, no more. Aemond would not allow the nightmares to win. Maester Orwyle had brewed him a concoction to keep him awake through the night. Watchman’s Friend, he called it. It tasted like earth and rotten grass but the effect was like lightning powering his mind and body past all fatigue.

Aemond could work on possible battle plans to retake Harrenhal for a night and a day. He could train with the Kingsguard until both Cole and Ser Willis protested weariness and he had only the training dummies to fight. He could even walk several times around the Red Keep without tiring.

But, the ghost still hadn’t appeared. The lightning in Aemond’s mind now had thunder in the background. 

You’re here somewhere. He thought as he stalked away from Rhaenyra’s old rooms, Come on, bastard. Come out, wherever you are. You wouldn’t let me go as easily as that. You truly are craven after all. Do you really think you can frighten me into submission?

A voice came from his blind spot, “My Prince?”

“What the fuck do you want, Ser Rickard?!”

The Kingsguard jumped back at the ferocity of the response, “I…I was merely wondering if you would like to turn in for the night.”

“If I wanted to turn in, I already would have! Get out of my sight! That’s not too hard for you, is it? Even a child can get out of the sight of a one-eyed man!”

Ser Rickard backed off as if Aemond had breathed fire. Only after Aemond had put several corridors between him and Ser Rickard did he regret his sharp words. Perhaps, his boiling temper was a side effect of the Watchman’s Friend.

All the more reason to find the ghost and get it over with.

Finally, Aemond ended up in the godswood. The sun had set and the Keep began to quieten down for the night. Aemond heard the faint sound of a child’s cry. He whirled around, expecting to see baby Visenya crawling out from somewhere. The ghost baby didn’t limit herself to crawling on the floors during her infrequent visits. Aemond had once woken to the sight of her crawling on the ceiling above him, dripping blood on his bedsheets.

But, no monstrous baby appeared. Instead, he heard the faint sound of laughter coming from the other side of the godswood.

Taunting me now, are you?

He approached the large weirwood, searching for the two ghosts, but saw nothing. Nothing but the carved face that seemed to wear a disapproving look.

Aemond couldn’t blame it. He knew what fate awaited it. He would be disappointed too if he had been the only weirwood tree who survived the cull of all the others in the south only to be burned in dragonfire when Rhaenyra took the castle. Aemond had watched as she and Daemon tricked Aemond and Cole into going to Harrenhal so they could take King’s Landing. He had watched as Rhaenyra made Syrax burn the tree. Then, she had taken an old folded book page from her pocket and thrown it into the flames before flying off.

Aemond looked around the weirwood tree. Could Lucerys be hiding among the roots, waiting to take Aemond by surprise? The place too felt haunted enough as it was. When he searched, he found all the places from his strange visions.

There was the spot Rhaenyra had laid her head on Alicent’s lap and tried to pretend she wasn’t frightened for her mother’s sake. And, there was the spot Rhaenyra tried to hide from Aegon’s name-day hunt. And, there was the secluded spot in the corner where Alicent had confessed to Rhaenyra that she had few friends. And, there - there was the spindly tree Lord Larys had slithered around as he informed Alicent of Rhaenyra’s moon tea.

The very thought of Lord Larys sent Aemond into another blind rage. Earlier that day, the Clubfoot had told Aemond he ought not to involve himself so much in the small council’s discussions on the war. He had said, “I’m sure your efforts would be better spent planning your upcoming wedding, my Prince. It would do much to distract from the unpleasantness surrounding your visit to Storm’s End” 

It was lucky for Larys that Alicent had asked him about possible stealth attacks on Harrenhal at that moment. If she hadn’t, Aemond might have jumped over the table and struck the wretched man.

Now, Aemond drew his dagger and hacked at the tree’s skinny trunk. With his free hand, he wrenched the flowers from the branches. Bright green leaves and blood red petals showered around him. In five blows, the trunk severed and the whole thing toppled to the grass. Aemond stood above it, panting and victorious.

There you go, you twisted, misbegotten wretch. Not thriving so much now, is it?

If only it were Lord Larys. That would make him feel so much better. 

Maybe, he would go and pay him a visit. He would remind the Lord Confessor of his place and what happened to people who thought they could tell princes what to do.
But where would Lord Larys be at this time of night? He didn’t want to interrupt whatever Larys did in the black cells. He had done that once. He’d never make that mistake again. If he was in the small council chamber or visiting his mother’s solar again, Aemond would have to wait to strike. No good would come of there being too many witnesses. Would he wait outside the doors and grab him? Or simply wait in his chambers and set up an ambush? What if he decided to hire a whore or whatever he did at night -

“Aemond.”

Helaena’s voice’s broke through his plotting and made him wheel round. She stood by the door, looking at him with an unreadable expression. In a moment of chilling clarity, Aemond realised what he’d done and how foolish he must have looked to anyone watching. To her credit, Helaena didn’t ask him about the destroyed tree.

Instead, she said, “I’m to bring you to Aegon’s chambers. Aegon wants to talk to you about your strange behaviour for the last few days and tell you to stop taking Watchman’s Friend…but I wasn’t supposed to tell you that before Aegon did.” She lowered her eyes but did not blush.

Aemond frowned but didn’t lash out this time. His irritability had been doused and more sane thoughts took their place.

“Very well. Lead on, my Queen.”

Helaena pursed her lips at the word ‘queen’ but said nothing. She led Aemond to what had been their father’s chambers but were now Aegon’s. 

Viserys’ model of Old Valyria had been put into storage a week ago. Aegon had commanded it after he knocked over three of the buildings while going to bed drunk. Aemond felt its absence in the room like the hole where his left eye had been.

Aegon stood by the fire, arms folded and trying to look kingly. Aemond noticed with a pang of annoyance that his mother and grandsire stood near the window. 

Aemond fought to keep his face neutral as he bowed, “Your Grace. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did. I wanted to see you because you’ve been acting too strange for my liking. You’ve been more twat-ish to everyone lately and, when you’re not biting people’s head off, you’ve been wandering around the place like a ghost, muttering to yourself.” 

That made Aemond look up, Fuck, what did I say out loud?

“Don’t give me that look. I saw you myself just half an hour ago, telling someone to come out or some kind of shit like that. And, Ser Rickard just told me that he saw you attacking a bush in the godswood for no good reason. Is that one of its leaves in your hair? And, look there! Your eye’s twitching.” 

Fucking seven hells.

“Maester Orwyle told me you’ve been drinking a lot of Watchman’s Friend lately. I never I would have occasion to say this to you but…I think you’ve had enough. Orwyle tells me that drinking too much can affect a person’s mind. No idea why you’d even drink that dogshit in the first place but I order you to stop. It’s making you act mad and I want no mad people around me at a time like this.”

But, drunk people are completely acceptable? Aemond only just managed to stop himself saying that out loud. Even then, it was only because he met Helaena’s eye before her gaze drifted off into the distance. Aemond swallowed all the pride in him and said, “Understood, Your Grace.”

“Good.” Aegon brightened at Aemond’s easy acquiescence, “Then, my next order to you, Aemond, is to get an early night. Orwyle told me that you should be fine after a good night’s rest so that’s what I’m giving you. Go on. Beddy-byes!”

Aemond had to clench his hands behind his back to stop him wrapping them around Aegon’s throat. Only Helaena’s muttering about dancing dragons made him remember where he was and that his family were watching. He turned and stalked out of the room to his chambers. He felt half-tempted to go back to the godswood and finish off that tree to vent his frustration. Or, to carry through his designs on Lord Larys. Then, he spotted Ser Rickard lingering nearby and he decided against it.

#

That night had the strangest and most terrible nightmare yet.

He hadn’t known he was dreaming at all. He thought he was going through a whole normal day of council meetings and training with Cole. In the evening, his mother suggested flying around the city since Aegon’s wrist had healed. Vhagar’s saddle had been fixed so Aemond felt obliged to go with him. It had all been so normal. He had seen Aegon off and then mounted Vhagar.

Then, as they climbed into the air, Vhagar let out an angry roar. The sky went from orange to red. Vhagar turned in the air and nothing Aemond could or say could make her stop chasing Sunfyre down. Sunfyre squealed and tried to fly up into the clouds. Aegon screamed in terror. Aemond tugged at Vhagar’s reins and begged her to obey him.

And, then, her jaws closed around Sunfyre’s body. With one bite and careless toss of her head, Vhagar rent Sunfyre into pieces. Vhagar saw Aegon tossed from the saddle and tumble towards the city. Just like Joffrey had from Syrax. 

“Go! Dive!” Aemond screamed, reaching towards Aegon even though he had no hope of grabbing him.

Vhagar ignored him. Instead, she lowered her head and bathed the city in flames. Both Aegon, Sunfyre and the Grand Sept were consumed in fire. The air filled with screams and smoke.

Then, Vhagar turned towards the Red Keep, opened her mouth and bathed the whole Keep in flames. The towers glowed like candles. Molten stone rolled down the red walls like tears. Burning bodies fell from the windows. One wore a golden dress. Her pale hair burned like a comet’s tail.

“Helaena!”

Vhagar gave a roar and swiped the Tower of the Hand with her claws. Even above the crash of falling stone, Aemond heard the thin cry of a woman.

“Mother!”

Only then did he start awake, hands outstretched and tears on his face. Ser Willis didn’t knock on his door to ask if he was alright. He had learned better by then. Like Aemond, he pretended nothing had happened. He did his best not to flinch as the day’s small council meeting played out just as it had in his dream. Right down to Aegon’s absence at the council.

By dinner, Aemond felt like little Maelor’s devil-in-a-box: so tightly wound that it would take but a small touch to make him explode. All the day had been so similar to his dream that he sometimes doubted whether he was awake and whether this was some kind of terrible punishment to relive the last day of his life again and again.

Aegon finally made an appearance when Otto complained about the fish growing cold. Aegon made the same excuse. He whined when his mother made a barbed comment about attending to his royal duties. He threw the water jug across the room when his mother tried to replace the wine jug with it just as he had in Aemond’s dream.

It all felt like a mummer’s farce played for a second night running. And, not a very entertaining one at that.

The rather lacklustre fish course came. Aemond opened his mouth to make conversation. Anything would be better than what his mother had to say next.

Then, Helaena turned to him, eyes blazing, and snapped, “Which one to choose? Which one to lose?”

Aemond’s words died on his tongue. Helaena went back to her meal like she hadn’t spoken. An awkward silence descended on the table. Then, Alicent cleared her throat and said, “I hear your wrist has healed well, Your Grace. Perhaps, it is well enough to fly around the city this evening.”

Aemond stayed silent. If he didn’t speak, his mother would ignore him as she had done for the whole moon’s turn.

“Fine.” Aegon grumbled, “But, I’m not going without Vhagar in the air too. I don’t want to be on my own in the air if the black dragons come.”

“A good idea.” Otto nodded, “I believe Vhagar’s saddle is now fixed, Aemond?”

“Yes, grandsire.” Aemond managed out. He felt like the gods were mocking him. Like that locked door pushed at his back and the floor behind him was falling away, forcing him forward.

#

Aemond left Aegon at the Dragonpit as promised. When Aemond arrived at Vhagar’s field, Aemond had to clasp his hands to stop them shaking.

This is not a dream. We will not attack each other. Not even in play. I just need to go once around the city and then go back to the Keep. I could manage it at two and ten so there’s nothing stopping me now.

Nothing, that was, except for the ghost standing at Vhagar’s side. Aemond turned to mount Vhagar from the other side, fighting to keep his expression flat. He approached Vhagar’s nets - and Lucerys appeared before him. He stood between him and the nets, dripping water and blood onto the grass. All colour had left his face. It made the blood and exposed flesh from the missing half of his head all the more gruesome.

‘What if it happens again?’

Aemond closed his eye and stepped forward, feeling for Vhagar’s nets. Perhaps, if he couldn’t see the ghost, he could ignore it. The pressing around his skull started again. His fingers found one of Vhagar’s nets.

Then, a cold, slimy hand snapped around his wrist. Aemond opened his eye. Luke stood less than a foot away.

The hand gripped him in a strength that Luke had never been capable of in life. More akin to the strength of Cole or the other Kingsguard. Aemond tried to pull away but the hand trapped him.

‘I asked you a question, uncle.’

“Let go of me!” Aemond hissed.

The choking stench of blood rose around him. As did the stench of rotting flesh tinged with the sea. Luke raised himself as high as he would go on his tiptoes. He still didn’t reach Aemond’s eye level.

His remaining eye rolled from Vhagar to Aemond. Then, it rolled back in his head, showing nothing but pearly white. Luke opened his mouth and screamed. Once again, the scream filled Aemond’s whole head. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing. He simply had to get away.

The hand sprang open and Aemond fled.

When the screaming faded, he found himself back in the carriage, hands over his ears and panting like he’d run across the whole city.

“My Prince?” Ser Willis stood at the entrance, looking both concerned and baffled, “…are you well?”

Fuck.

“I - I find myself indisposed. Send word to His Grace to complete his flyover without me. I will return to the Keep. And, Fell, I do not want any word about my health reaching my mother. She has enough on her mind at present.”

Ser Willis looked doubtful for a moment. Then, he remembered his place and nodded.

Aemond slipped quietly back into the Red Keep and went straight to the maester’s quarters. He could not carry on like this. Watchman’s Friend had only held off his affliction, not treated it. He had to find some cure.

But, how to ask for it? Maester Orwyle reported all to Alicent and to Aegon if asked. If Aemond so much as came to Orwyle for relief from a headcold, his mother would be in his chambers within the hour, demanding to know if it was serious. If Alicent knew he suffered from visions and nightmares, who knew how badly she would react?

One part of him almost wished for it. Even her pity over an illness would be better than this wall of ice she put between them since his return from Storm’s End.

Another, stronger part demanded that he keep it secret. He did not need the whole court thinking he was mad.

So, when he came to Maester Orwyle, he only stated he had trouble sleeping. 

Dreamwine in hand, he slipped through side doors and through lesser-travelled corridors to his chambers. He kept his ears open and his foot light. That turned out to be a good decision. As he came close to his chambers, he heard his mother and grandsire’s voices. 

“…may have a point.” Otto said, “It is time we made a bold statement.”

“No!” Alicence snapped, “I will not have such a monstrous deed besmirching our good name. Do you have any idea how much damage Aemond has done already?”

“You said it yourself. Rhaenyra will never bend the knee and nor will Daemon. It’s time you stopped telling yourself that this can be solved through any way other than fire and blood. Aemond will fly out and he will recapture Harrenhal. If the death of Daemon fails to sway Rhaenyra, then we bring the full force of our dragons against hers.”

Aemond’s blood ran cold.

“Rhaenyra has over twice as many dragons as we do and Caraxes will not fall without a fight. If Aemond were to die in the attempt, we lose our greatest weapon. Besides, Rhaenyra has made no move against us yet. It cannot look as if we are the sole aggressors. The King will send another envoy to Dragonstone. We will make some kind of reparation to Rhaenyra. A peace offering. I don’t know what we can offer but we must make some effort to make amends. The King does not want war.”

“And, what gives you the authority to say that?” Otto dropped his voice. If Aemond hadn’t been so close, he would have missed it, “So far, the King has said nothing about his wants unless it’s about wine or whores. He misses two small council meetings out of three because of his overindulgences. So, tell me, daughter, how do you know what the King wants? Is it the same way you always knew what your late husband wanted even when his thoughts were lost in milk of the poppy?”

“You always seemed to know what my husband wanted in the same fashion or have you forgotten that?” Alicent spat back, “It seems that you know a King’s mind just as well as I do. You are in no position to look down on me of anything. Especially not when most of the King’s wine and whores are procured by your men!”

Aemond felt rooted to the spot. He had thought this was the case. Deep down, in the same place he had hidden his most unkind thoughts about his father, he had known his mother and grandsire acted on their own accord rather than on his father’s wishes. That they had taken advantage of his sickness. Perhaps, even given him too much milk of the poppy than needed to keep him docile. Yet, he never imagined his grandsire and mother would admit it so plainly, even in private.

Or that they would employ the same sort of strategy with Aegon.

The argument continued without any further resolution well after they walked out of his earshot. Aemond waited for a moment longer and then hurried straight to his chambers, every nerve tingling.

What could he do? Should he confront his grandsire and his mother? No, that would give away that he had overheard them and they would ask why he was back so early.
Should he do anything? Should he let Otto ply Aegon with drink and whores? Aegon had little to say in the small council meetings and what he did say wasn’t worth listening to. Would it be better to leave him to his indulgences and let an experienced Hand guide the realm?

Is this what I hunted Aegon through King’s Landing for? Is this what the grandeur of the coronation and the pretty words of the High Septon were for? Is this what I became a kinslayer for? To give us another King incapable of getting out of bed and to let Otto push us into war? This is not what Mother wants and is not what the Kingdom needs, I know it.

After ten minutes, Aemond still couldn’t think of a solution. He decided to see if the dreamwine would work. If it did, perhaps, his head would be clearer in the morning.

Chapter Text

AEMOND

Aemond took a dose of the dreamwine and lay down. When he closed his eye, the next thing he saw was the Tower of the Hand. He stood at the foot of the staircase leading towards Alicent’s quarters. Even before he saw the ghost, he felt something was wrong.

Luke’s ghost stood at the door, hand on the handle. Aemond did not want him to open the door. He did not want to see what was beyond. He wanted to turn and run back down the stairs.

You will see it, uncle. Luke said in his mind, You have no choice.

He opened the door and Aemond felt himself pushed through it by an irresistible force at his back.

His mother sat bound and helpless. Heleana knelt, hands clasped together in supplication, pleading with two rough looking men.

“Kill me instead!” She cried, “I am the Queen. If Daemon wishes to hurt my brother, killing me would cause him more grief. Or, take my boys hostage. Only, let them both live!”

“A wife’s not a son.” The bigger man said, “Has to be a boy.”

Aemond then saw little Jaehaerys held tight in the man’s meaty hand. The other, smaller man held Maelor with one arm. Both held daggers to the boy’s throats.

Aemond lunged at them. He tried to pull his nephews away but, as always, his hands passed right through them.

He only gave up when Helaena lowered her head and chose Maelor to die.

Aemond looked round, desperate for any sign of a guard. In doing so, he spotted Jaehaera, standing frozen as a doe a little way from her mother.

Aemond reached out, “Jaehaera, do not watch this!”

Then, Helaena let out a soul-shattered scream. Aemond looked round - and saw Jaehaerys’ tiny headless body slump to the floor. Maelor was dropped like a sack to the floor, where he landed in the pool of blood and he began to wail.

“No.” Aemond shook his head, his legs going to water, “No, that wasn’t - Helaena didn’t choose - how could they?”

Luke’s ghost appeared at the door as Helaena cradled her dead son to her chest, howling like a tortured animal.

The invisible hand shoved Aemond’s back again and stumbled through the door. He emerged standing in the Red Keep’s courtyard, devoid of servants but full of guards and banners bearing Rhaenya’s quartered banner. 

The first person he saw was Rhaenyra herself. She stood on the front door steps in full armour, his father’s crown on her head. She looked the part of a queen…but Aemond sensed some unease about her. She clasped her hands too tight and her eyes darted to the shadows every so often. Before Rhaenyra stood an ominous-looking block of wood. It stood unstained with blood but Aemond suspected it would not be so for long.

Aemond sensed movement in his blindside. He looked round - and saw his mother in golden chains. Aemond took a step back. Would the ghost force him to watch his mother’s execution? No, he may be forced into the scene but he would not watch it.

He turned around - and saw Daemon dragging his grandsire by the scruff of his neck. Alicent began to wail and beg for Rhaenyra’s mercy. Rhaenyra offered her one cold look but nothing more.

It happened with little ceremony. Aemond felt surprised at that. He thought Daemon, at least, would want to gloat and lay every perceived slight at Otto’s feet before the end. Instead, Daemon shoved Otto to his knees, thrust his head onto the block and raised Dark Sister.

Aemond did not watch his head fall. He only watched his mother. Guards had forced her to face forward. Aemond knew when Otto died by the way her face froze and her pleas died. Then, Daemon decided to take the head and fling it at Alicent’s feet.

So, that was why he didn’t gloat, Aemond thought.

Alicent’s face lost all colour and she slumped down in a dead faint. Aemond hurried to her side - and found his way blocked by Luke’s ghost.

Perhaps, you are wondering where the rest of Alicent’s family are at this moment. Only Helaena was taken when King’s Landing fell. The rest were spirited away or were already on the battlefield. Otto stayed behind to cover the escape of his kin. Only one of Otto’s grandchildren and only one great-grandchild would return to the Keep after they left. The death of Jaehaerys was monstrous but it was at least quick. Maelor was not so lucky. 

Aemond felt the push at his back.

“No.” Aemond tried to resist, “No, I will not look!”

But, again, he was forced to step into another scene. He plunged out of the courtyard and into a field by a stone bridge. A mob of smallfolk had gathered, muttering about a prize for a false knight and a runaway prince. He saw Ser Rickard riding down a road, clutching a small bundle to his chest. 

Ser Rickard saw the mob gathered around the bridge too late. They had already spotted him coming and one of their number had recognised him by the time he halted his horse.

Ser Rickard tried to fend them off with his sword but all the men were possessed of a frenzy. The one who recognised him seized his horse. The cloth around the bundle fell down and Maelor emerged from it, howling in panic.

Hands reached for him. Too many hands and all pulling in different directions. His little shoulder dislocated and Maelor wailed for his mother.

Aemond didn’t try to halt them this time. He just turned away, blocking his ears against the child’s terrible screams. He screamed curses at the mob but none of them heard him.

When he looked up, he saw Luke standing on the bridge. Again, Aemond felt a push at his back and he lurched forward into the river.

He was in Helaena’s room within the Red Keep. The sky told him it was late evening. He heard movement and saw Helaena sitting on a plain wooden stool. This, however, was not the Helaena he knew. She wore only a simple, plain gown with sleeves extending far over her hands that looked like it had been worn for weeks. Her face was gaunt. Her hair hung loose in dirty strings. Her eyes looked blank.

The room itself was the same room but so altered. It took him a moment to realise why. Everything breakable had been removed, even the glass from the frames housing Helaena’s embroidered insect collection. Helaena had intended to replace all her real insects with embroidered ones when Alicent had finally prevailed on her to get rid them before her marriage. However, it looked as if no new ones had been added since Aemond had seen her in the waking world. There was no sign of any embroidery materials to make new ones with. In fact, the room held few of Helaena’s personal effects and none of the children’s. No candles were lit even though night was falling. Ropes lay around the bed as if ready to bind someone to it.

It did not look like a royal chamber. It looked like a lunatic’s cell.

He fixed his eyes on the door. Would it be two rough-faced murderers, a mob or Rhaenyra this time?

No one came. He turned when Helaena stood. She fiddled with her sleeves and that was what made Aemond realise that the ends were sewn shut. Or, they had been. Helaena worked out a loose thread on her right hand and used it to free her right hand.

She reached behind the headboard of her bed and drew out something long and thin. At first, Aemond thought it was a dagger. Then, he saw it was a long thin piece of metal. He thought he vaguely recognised it as part of a toy ship given to Jaehaerys for his sixth nameday.

Helaena walked past him, ignoring his demands to know what she was doing. As he passed, he heard her muttering, “Torn throat, torn hopes, torn flesh, torn wings. Dragons rise, dragons fall. Queen betrayed, King betrayed. All torn to pieces.” She went on and on without pause, eyes unseeing but fingers working at the windowlatch.

She managed to get the thin metal under the latch and, with a bit of working, got it open. She pulled both windows open. Then, she stepped onto the windowsill.

“Stop!” Aemond screamed. He tried to reach for her but all he could do was watch as she  fell forward. She made no cry. She only continued her ramblings until she fell out of earshot.

And, onto the spikes of the Holdfast moat.

Aemond choked on his cries. Red poppy-like blooms emerged all over her dress. Screams of women swelled below.

He felt a push at his back.

“No.” He gasped, “No, show me no more!”

He buried his face in the windowsill. The ghost could produce these sights but he couldn’t make Aemond look.

Screams of women turned into screams of men. Aemond couldn’t help but look up. Fleeing soldiers flowed all around him. He couldn’t make out any sigils or banners. Tents, banners and men burned around him. A blue-grey dragon flew overhead, bathing the camp in fire. Roars of other dragons shook the air.

 
Then, Aemond saw a burning tent with gold trim. A royal tent. The ghost stood at its smoking mouth, pointing within. The cries of the faceless soldiers around him faded. All he heard was faint, strained cries for help. Aemond ran inside. He knew he would loathe what he saw but not seeing might prove worse.

He could barely see a foot in front of him. Yet, he found Daeron. His little brother was half-dressed in his armour and on his knees. He tried screaming again for help but smoke choked his voice. All he could do was cough hard enough to rattle his whole body.

“Come on!” Aemond screamed. He still tried to help Daeron and, again, his hands fell through him. Then, he heard tent poles cracking. He tried to fling himself over Daeron’s body as the burning main support pole came crashing down towards him.

Then, in a blink, he lay in the Red Keep courtyard. The front doors opened and a man carried on a chair emerged. For a moment, Aemond thought it was his father and wondered why he wore the Conquerer’s crown. Then, he saw the thicker hair on one side of the man’s face, the red burn scars on the other and how much more weight that man had on him than Viserys.

The ghost followed the man down the stairs towards a litter with rich green and gold curtains. Luke pointed a black-tipped finger at the man’s face. Aemond stood, dumbfounded, until the man came close and he saw his father’s dagger at his belt.

“Aegon?!”

It was only through the eyes that he recognised his older brother. He wore his usual sulky expression but Aemond thought he saw more weariness in it. Less like someone who wished he’d never got out of bed that day and more like someone who just wanted to sleep forever.

A servant passed him a flagon of Arbor Red and closed the curtains. At an invisible push, Aemond passed through the closed curtains and found himself crowded into the litter with Aegon.

Aegon wasted no time in bringing the flagon to his lips. After one long gulp, he began muttering to himself, “Abdicate…after all I’ve…no, kill her…”

Then, a new red came to his lips. The dark red of blood. Perhaps, Aemond had exhausted his ability to feel horror. He felt only weary resignation as his brother died so quietly that not even the litter bearers noticed.

“Poisoned wine.” Aemond breathed as his brother’s head lolled onto his chest, “Whoever killed you had a sense of humour, brother.”

Luke’s ghost appeared at Aegon’s side and pulled aside one of the litter curtains. Aemond fell through - and found himself back in Helaena’s quarters.

Once again, it had changed. Before, there had been a few traces of his sister. Now, there was nothing left at all. Now, there was nothing but formal black and red heraldry. Fit for a queen, yes, but not a specific one. There was nothing that couldn’t have come out of a storybook where the characters had no name, only ‘the Queen’.

At first, he thought the room was empty. Then, on the floor before the bed, he saw Jaehaera. Her eyes were as blank as her mother’s had been. She sat on the floor, looking at her toys as if she couldn’t remember what they were for.

And, she only looked a little older than the previous vision. Only ten years, at most.

The door opened. A man with a white beard and a starved dog’s eyes opened the door. He turned to the Kingsguard beside him, “Go on,” was all he said. 

The Kingsguard took a swig from a wineskin and entered the room. Aemond didn’t recognise him but he saw some similarities to the old man in the Kingsguard’s jawline and hungry eyes. His son, perhaps. He meant nothing good, that was for certain. That hungry look in his eyes made Aemond stand between him and Jaehaera. 

It did no good, of course. The man walked through him and took Jaehaera up by the waist. Jaehaera’s eyes widened but she didn’t cry out. She froze, just as always when something frightened her.

The old man turned away. By the smirk, Aemond thought it more to give himself deniability than any genuine regret. The younger man carried Jaehaera to the window like she were a chamberpot to be emptied. Aemond tried to block him again. The young Kingsguard simply tossed the little girl through Aemond and out of the window. Jaehaera didn’t scream. She didn’t even make a sound. She just stared up at the sky as she fell, wondering what she should do even as she fell on the spikes. Then, she began to scream. High, heart-piercing screams of agony that reached all the way to the window.

“This is too cruel!” Aemond cried after the retreating Kingsguard, “You sick fucks! She was just a girl!”

She was also a Queen. Luke’s ghost stood where Jaehaera had sat, The Lord did it in the hopes that Jaehaera’s widowed husband would marry his daughter once Jaehaera was dead.

“Husband? What is this? She is but a child. How could she marry?”

The question is more who else could she marry. By that point, there was no one left.

“No one?” Aemond repeated, the words ringing around his head.

No one…but one.

Luke strode to the door, trailing seawater and tiny crabs in his wake. The force compelled Aemond to follow, even as he begged again to see no more. Who else could be left? He had witnessed his entire family’s destruction. What further horror could he be forced to watch?

He entered a darkened room. The quiet felt stifled like a strict library. Snow spattered the windows and the panes rattled under fierce winds outside. There was a large bed where a small figure lay almost swallowed by furs. Aemond approached. He would be made to look anyway. He might as well get it over with now. 

What he saw made him feel like he had been stabbed in the chest.

“Mother.”

Like Jaehaera, she did not look much aged. Only a little grey flecked her temples. A livid flush coloured her face and her brow shone with sweat. Her breathing came fast and shallow as if she were running from something.

Two figures moved carefully around Alicent’s bed. In the moonlight filtering through the high window, Aemond could make out a maid and a septa. The maid replaced the damp cloth on Alicent’s face with a fresh one picked out of a bucket full of ice. Aemond noticed both wore thick scarves over their faces as if to ward against a bad smell.

“Not long now.” The septa muttered, “She’ll be at peace soon.”

“Shouldn’t we let the King know?” The maid asked, her round brown eyes full of sorrow, “Someone ought to be here to say goodbye.”

“Who can we summon?” The septa said, a little sharpness in her voice tempered by deep weariness, “Who else does she have left?”

Aemond looked around. Sure enough, no one stood at her bedside. No children, no brothers, no grandchildren.

There was no one left.

“Poor thing.” The maid shook her head, “Just goes to show, having a crown and being the Queen doesn’t give you a happy life.”

“She has known much sorrow.” The septa nodded sagely.

“Feels like the gods were especially cruel to her, if you don’t mind me saying, septa.”

“Speak your mind, child. The gods are not so feeble as to be unable to withstand a little criticism.”

“Well, way I see it, all she wanted was for her children to be safe. She always said that Aegon had to take the crown or his sister would take his and his siblings’ heads. She thought she was keeping them safe but she’s ended up outliving them all.”

“We cannot know the will of the gods.” The septa said, without changing her countenance.

“I know it makes sense for her to think that.” The maid went on, “Her sons would always be a threat to Rhaenyra but, still…” She bit her lip and glanced at Alicent but Alicent showed no sigh of hearing her, “…strikes me that there were better ways to deal with it. The sons could have gone to the Citadel or joined the Faith like old King Jaehaerys’ spare children did. Could have even made one of them Kingsguard if a space opened up and, well…I don’t want to speak ill of the dead but at least one of them deserved to be sent to the Wall.”

Aemond knew at once which one she meant.

All the while, Alicent gasped for breath, “My…sons…” Alicent at last forced out, “I want…to see…my sons…and…my sweet…girl…”

Aemond couldn’t take it. He tried to take her hand, “Mother. Mother, I’m here.”

The septa and the maid made no move to call for someone at the door. They only looked on sadly as Alicent went on, “…and…Rhaenyra…we will read…in the godswood…like we always did…my dearest friend…”

Is there truly no one? Aemond thought, Not even a friend? 

His mother used to be surrounded by lords and ladies. All those people who traveled in a pack with her to the sept every seventh-day. All those who would stop his mother in the corridor to thank her for ruling the realm so wisely while the King was ill. Where were they now?

“She’s never mentioned her royal husband.” The maid said, “She’s talked about her father, her mother and even old king Jaehaerys. Never King Viserys, though.”

The septa only nodded.

“Well, you can see why in a way.” The maid went on, emboldened by the lack of challenge, “Their reunion isn’t one I envy her after all that’s happened.” She paused and then asked, “Do you think King Viserys truly wished for Aegon to be king? Some say the Queen made the whole thing up to put her son on the throne.”

Aemond bristled.

The septa took a while to answer, “None of us can know what Viserys thought in his last days. One thing is for certain…” She heaved a deep sigh, “He would not have wanted any of the strife that came after.”

The septa and the maid only looked on sadly as Alicent’s breath became more laboured. Her death was not a peaceful fading. It looked like her very body fought a war with itself. Every breath sounded agonised yet she pulled it in anyway. At last, she seemed to grow too tired even to breathe. As awful as it was, Aemond made himself stay at her side and watch as her last breath rattled out.

The figure on the bed was no longer his mother. It was a body, an empty shell. Aemond dropped his head onto the bedclothes and wept into his arms.

He felt the ghost near him. He raised his heavy head and glared at it, “What greater misery is there? What else can you show me?”

Don’t you want to know why all this woe befell your family?

The ghost crossed the room and put his hand on the door. Aemond, as ever, could not stop himself following. The ghost opened the chamber door and torchlight and voices spilled through. With a jolt, Aemond recognised one of them as his mother. He looked back to the bed, watching the maid pull a sheet over his mother’s body. He looked back to the crack in the door and there was his mother. She wore a dressing gown over her nightdress and her face was streaked with tears. Beside her was his grandsire, alive again but white with fury.

“Did they say who sent them?”

“They did not give a name,” Alicent said, voice shaking with suppressed sobs, “but there can be no doubt they came from Daemon. They said they were debt collectors and that they needed to take a son to square things.”

Otto closed his eyes for a moment as if enduring a painful operation.

“I beg you, say nothing of that to Aemond or His Grace. We must present this as an unprovoked attack on an innocent child. I want this to spur Aemond into action. I do not Jaehaerys’ death to haunt him.”

At that moment, Aemond realised what he meant. He looked back to Luke’s ghost, who gave a slight nod.

He had known it on some level from the start. Why else would the men be so insistent on killing a son if not to avenge another son’s death? Aemond just hadn’t wanted to face the terrible truth. Now, all illusion shattered and Aemond’s legs collapsed beneath him, “No…no…I did this. This is all…my fault.”

The ghost remained at his side as Aemond’s sobs came thick and fast.

“You delight…in torturing me…do you not?” Aemond burst out at last, “Does this…satisfy you? Are you happy, seeing me in agony? Is this your revenge, Lucerys?”

Luke just looked back at him, face blank as the corpse he was.

There is one more thing to see. Do you want to know your own death?

Aemond choked on a sob. He had not thought of that. Where was he while every member of his family died?

“You will not be content until I do.” Aemond pulled himself up, “Lead on.”

Luke closed the door for a moment then opened it again. This time, Aemond found himself in a wood. No, not just any wood. He spotted the red leaves among the pines and sentinels. This place indeed fitted the name of godswood. Trees stretched out around the weirwood for at least twenty feet. A miniature forest in its own right.

Beyond the trees stood a high wall. Enormous, melted towers stretched towards the evening sky.

Harrenhal again. Aemond thought, a hollow feeling growing in his stomach. What horror would his other self wreak this time?

He looked around and found he was not alone. Daemon walked out from the trees. His face looked as lifeless as a statue. His eyes, that had once flashed with fury or mirth, now looked as hollow as Harrenhal’s towers.

Daemon draw Dark Sister and approached the weirwood. Aemond caught sight of thirteen tally marks carved into the trunk, all bleeding red sap. Daemon had almost carved a fourteenth when a familiar deep roar came from above.

Daemon retreated from the tree and Aemond followed. Soon, they came upon Caraxes, sitting by the shores of the God’s Eye. Aemond looked up and saw Vhagar descending. Daemon made no move to mount his dragon. Nor did the other version of Aemond command Vhagar to bathe him in flames. Vhagar landed close by and the other Aemond dismounted. Only then did Aemond see he was not alone.

Alys Rivers climbed down behind him. She was a little clumsy in doing it owing to her swollen belly. Aemond swallowed hard at the sight.

The dragons looked excited to see each other. Caraxes and Vhagar touched noses and made light trilling noises such as Aemond had never heard before.

Daemon and the other Aemond’s words were solemn. Not sneering, not defiant and not even that hostile. The other Aemond had Daemon’s hollow look. They both looked as if they had seen enough and just wanted it all done.

They both watched their dragons reuniting as friends.

“They remember happier times.” Daemon said, “When Laena rode Vhagar.”

“It almost seems…unfair to make them fight.” The other Aemond said, “We could have a duel with swords here and now and have it done with.”

Daemon shook his head, “Whichever dragon loses their rider will quickly gain another. And, they may be less restrained and loyal to their kind than either of us. Would you be happy going to the grave knowing that Vhagar may get a rider cut from the same cloth as Ulf White and Hugh the Hammer?”

The other Aemond nodded, conceding Daemon’s point. The other Aemond kissed Alys with the fierceness of a hungry dragon. Then, she moved away and met Aemond’s eye.
“Oh. Hello, again. Now, that’s interesting. I wonder how you got into my dream a second time.”

“I think you’ll find this is my dream.” Aemond said, feeling more sure now that it was indeed a dream.

“Well, never mind. Come on. We’ll get the best view from the tallest tower.”

She moved rather quick for someone so heavily pregnant. She led him through the open castle gates and into the tallest tower. Not a single soul met them on the way. Not a single guard stood on duty and not a single maid rushed about the place.

Alys scampered up the stairs like an unencumbered girl a third of her age. When they reached the top at last, she took a position at an intact part of the battlements. Aemond stood beside her and watched the two dragons take to the air.

Caraxes rose the quicker of the two. Clouds soon swallowed him and Vhagar followed.

The clouds turned bright orange with dragonflame. The air shook with angry roars. Shadows of grappling dragons flashed in and out of sight. They emerged at last, locked together with Caraxes’ jaws around Vhagar’s throat and Vhagar’s teeth and claws tearing Caraxes’ wing and belly.

Then, Aemond saw Daemon jump. He leapt from Caraxes’ back and onto Vhagar’s. The other Aemond’s helmet went flying and Dark Sister plunged into the other Aemond’s eye until the point emerged from the back of his head.

A moment later, both dragons and riders plunged into the God’s Eye. The gout of water sent up rose as high as the tallest tower.

Then, the water settled and all went quiet. Except for the bubbling of the lake as it turned black with dragon blood.

“Well,” Alys turned her back on the lake and pulled herself up to sit on the battlements, “that’s that then. Not a bad way for you two to go, all things being one.”

A cold, emotionless part of Aemond had to agree. A death in a battle so legendary in scale was as much as he could have hoped for. It certainly seemed better that dying of poison or from a burning tent. Yet, he could not feel it so. That hollowness from both of those men darkened the whole thing. He might have imagined it but he thought that his other self had not fought back against Daemon. Almost as if his other self welcomed death.

“When does this happen?” He asked, “Is it before or after Aegon’s death?”

Alys gave him a curious look, “It is the same day as your sister died. Perhaps, even the same hour. Have you see your brother and sister’s death?”

“I did.” Aemond nodded, pushing away more tears, “I saw all my family die.”

“Oh.” Alys’ face softened, “I’m sorry.” She truly looked like she meant it.

Aemond thought of all he’d seen. He had seen his family die, yes, but he had no sense of when it all happened. Hardly any of them had looked older than they were now. Would it all happen at once? Or over a few years?

Another more important question arose, “Who won the Iron Throne? I saw both Rhaenyra and Aegon wearing crowns in the Red Keep.”

“It depends what you mean by ‘winning’. In terms of who outlived the other, Aegon. In terms of whose bloodline sat the throne after them, Rhaenyra. And Daemon, I suppose.”

“Oh. Which son?”

“Both, eventually.”

“And, what do you intend to do now?”

“Me? I’ve tried a few possibilities but I’m going to try something different this time around.” She leaned back and surveyed Harrenhal spread out below her, “The last Lord Strong will die soon enough, which makes me the last of the bloodline. So, I will claim this castle as mine and see where that takes me.”

Aemond could see why his other self came to like her. She did not lack for ambition but there lay a subtle pragmatism under her words. He could almost see her thoughts working over plans to claim the castle as hers.

“And, is that child…mine?”

“Hmm. Not sure. I was with Ser Criston around that time too. However, I think having your son would benefit me more so I’ll call it yours. Yes, it’s a son. Even if it has none of your features, it will not matter. Strong features have a history of overwhelming Targaryen ones, don’t they? Maybe, I’ll claim you married me and this child is the true heir to the Iron Throne. But, maybe, that would be going too far.”

Aemond wanted to ask something else. Something he feared to know the answer to but had to ask anyway, “These things we have both seen…are they what will come to be or what only might come to be?”

Alys considered it, “If you had asked me that while waking and before King Viserys’ death, I might have said it will be. But…something feels different. I haven’t heard of Blood and Cheese - that’s what the two men called themselves - killing little Jaehaerys yet. I assume that hasn’t happened? I would have thought Daemon would have made a move by now. Either my calculation of the day is wrong or something’s changed.” She heard something and looked around, “Oh, is he with you?”

Aemond looked up and saw Luke’s ghost at the head of the stairs.

“So, this is your dream, then.” Alys said, “Well, I beg your pardon for intruding.”

“Not at all. Your company’s been…much more pleasant that his.”

Alys gave him a searching look. Then, she seemed to make a decision, “Well, let me show you a way to escape a dream you don’t like. Always works for me. Come on.”

She pulled up her legs and stood atop the battlements. Aemond hesitated. Then, the ghost took a step toward him and he hurried onto the battlements with her.

“Ready?” She asked before facing the open air without fear, “One, two, three!”

They jumped. The boiling lake rushed up towards him. His heart raced and he opened his mouth to cry out -

- and he jolted awake. He found himself in his own chambers, sunlight beginning to peep through the curtains. He sat up, limbs sluggish and head foggy.

He had slept through the night, yes, but at what cost? Without the dreamwine, he felt sure he would have woken after the death of Jaehaerys and spared himself the other horrors.

Thinking of his little nephew’s headless body propelled him out of bed. He only gave himself time to throw on a dressing gown before leaving. He ignored Ser Willis’ concerned calls and went straight to the nursery.

The curtains were still drawn. All three children were still asleep. The nurse gave him a little curtsy and had the courtesy not to ask why he was there. Aemond went to Jaehaerys, then Maelor and then Jaehaera in turn. He imprinted the image of their safe, whole and contented faces in his mind. If he could fix them in his mind, perhaps, the image of them scared, in agony and in pieces would be dispelled.

Then, he saw the little toy ship atop a chest of toys. Its metal sail glinted in the morning light and cold fear drenched Aemond again.

The door opened again and Helaena appeared with her new maid carrying in her sewing. As the maid lit the candles, Helaena crossed to the window, acting as if Aemond wasn’t there. Aemond jumped up. He almost reached out to pull her back - and then remembered himself.

“Red in the sky.” Helaena murmured, “Red like fire and blood.”

Aemond could never be sure if she was present when she was like this, “Sister,” He said, quietly, “do the children go around the Keep with guards? You should make sure they’re guarded at all times. Even if you’re going to see Mother. You never know…you never know when…”

“Aemond?”

The voice behind him made him jump. There, in the doorway, was his mother, already dressed and looking at his rather dishevelled self with concern.

“What brings you here?”

“I - it’s nothing, mother.”

As unfriendly as it was, Aemond spent as long as he dared looking into his mother’s face. He tried to replace her healthy if strained face with the sickly, delirious one in his mind. 

The moment he walked away from Helaena’s room, however, they all crowded back into his head. Stronger than dreams and much more persistent than memories. It almost felt as if what he had seen that night was reality and the waking world was a strange otherworld full of ghosts that had not accepted their deaths.

With that in mind, he turned his steps towards the King’s chambers. Cole stood watch at the door.

“Is the King awake?”

“Not yet, my Prince. I, ah, believe he may have overindulged himself again and may not be fit to attend the small council meeting.”

Cole’s words brought back what Aemond had heard the night before.

“Fit or not, he must be seen to attend the war meetings.”

He entered the King’s room over Cole’s protests. Sure enough, Aegon still lay abed, his hair looking like a silvery rat’s nest poking from the covers.

“Come, brother. Rhaenyra will not wait for your sore head to heal and I am getting sick of grandsire filling your place at the small council table.”

Aegon did not move as Aemond crossed the room. Nor did he stir when Aemond pulled back the covers. Aemond took hold his arm to shake him - and the flesh felt cold and clammy. His breathing came in irregular gasps and the tips of his fingers were tinged blue.

“Cole! Fetch the maesters at once!”

#

Half an hour later, Aemond stood by the window of his mother’s solar. Alicent sat, breath still shaky after a fit of sobbing. Helaena sat in a chair by the fire, dry-eyed and huddled over her needlework. Otto stood with his back to everyone, staring at the fire.

No one had spoken for fifteen minutes. No one could think of a thing to say. All they could do was wait until Maester Orwyle returned.

At last, as the bells struck the hour, the door opened. Aemond and Alicent started to their feet as Maester Orwyle entered.

“It is not as bad as we feared.” Orwyle said, “It is likely the after-effects of excessive overindulgence. The symptoms are not concerning in themselves but he must be monitored for the next few days in case more emerge. I have asked my apprentice to watch him and ensure he drinks only water until we are sure he is safe.”
Alicent put a hand to her chest and gave a sob of relief. Helaena nodded and went back to her needlework. Otto turned around. He had regained his composure and some colour in his face since he had first entered the room. 

He had shouted at everyone then, demanding to know how this could have happened. When he spoke now, his voice was steady, “If this were to happen again, could we expect as easy a recovery?”

“I fear not, my Lord Hand. His Grace risks damage to the liver or the heart if he were to overindulge again. Perhaps, even failure of either organ, which would be, ah, fatal.”

Alicent sobbed again. Aemond moved forward to put a hand on her shoulder. Otto simply stood in thought for a moment. Aemond could almost see him fitting pieces together in his mind.

“We thank you for your rapid treatment, Grand Maester. I am sure His Grace will give you his thanks once he is fit.”

He’ll be furious that he can’t drink for a few days, more likely. Aemond thought.

Orwyle took his leave and Alicent sank back into a chair. If Aemond hoped to receive any kind of gratitude from his grandsire for raising the alarm, he was disappointed. Otto simply turned back to the fire and sighed.

Aemond broke the silence at last, “We must take care that the servants are not so enthusiastic in obeying the King’s commands for wine again.”

“They will be notified.” Otto said without turning round, “But, for now, we should give Aegon the best chance of recovery. We should not risk over-stretching him by allowing him to attend council meetings too soon. I can continue to act on his behalf as Hand as long as necessary. There is no reason that we should allow this…setback to destabilise us. And, should Aegon find a way to circumvent the new restrictions, I can do so again. Perhaps, with you as his next brother serving as another who speaks for the King.

“Of course,” Otto turned to Aemond to give a piercing look, “that depends on whether you are capable. I heard you took ill last night and could not mount Vhagar.”

“An unfortunate stomach complaint.” Aemond said without missing a beat, “It has passed now.”

“You seem to have become rather prone to them of late. Maester Orwyle informs me you have had trouble sleeping too. Perhaps, once His Grace recovers, I can arrange for you to have a more thorough examination.”

“I have it in hand, grandsire. The Grand Maester has prescribed dreamwine and it worked well last night. There is nothing for you to worry about.”

Otto regarded him for an agonisingly long moment. At last, he turned to the door, “Good. I also heard that you mentioned to Helaena that she and her children should have more guards. I agree. The safety of the King’s heir is paramount, especially in times when the King is indisposed.”

Aemond only nodded. Otto left soon after, leaving Aemond with a mounting sense of horror.

Alicent put a hand on his wrist, making him look down and face her. By the look on her face, she had just realised what he had.

Perhaps, Otto had not set out to allow Aegon to drink to deadly levels. He had seemed genuinely horrified when he had heard of Aegon’s illness. But something had happened between then and now. After time to think, Otto had come to a terrible conclusion.

Otto did not need Aegon to be capable of sitting on the Iron Throne. Nor did he even need Aegon to stay alive. Not while Aegon had sons and brothers to replace him were he to die of overindulgence. Aemond realised he had been wrong to say to Cole that he was next in line to the throne. Of course, it would be little Jaehaerys who assumed the throne next - and Otto would likely name himself as regent until Jaehaerys came of age. Aemond may be named as another regent but he saw now that he could not take that for granted.

Perhaps, it did not even matter to Otto which of them sat the throne. Just so long as they kept Rhaenyra away from it and Otto close to it, the Hand would be happy.

I am done with seeing my family die. I will not let it happen outside dreams.

“I am an early riser, Mother.” Aemond said, fighting to keep a steady tone, “I can check on Aegon in the morning and raise the maesters again if needed. I can also make time in the evenings to make sure Aegon does not overindulge again.”

He may not have minded the idea of Aegon disappearing before his coronation. Now, after his dreams and after Storm’s End, he did not want him dead.

“I am an early riser too.” Alicent said, her voice and touch on his wrist soft, “And, now that I am the Dowager Queen, I have more time in the evenings. Perhaps, I should be the one to check on him tonight and tomorrow morning. You can do so tomorrow night and the morning after.”

With that, the wall of ice between them melted. Aemond could never say things went back to the way they were between him and his mother but things markedly improved after that.

#

SYRAX

Syrax watched Alicent and Aemond reconcile. A small comfort for him and Syrax felt glad of it after the torment he had endured last night. She turned to her mother who sat in the corner, working on her weaving from the corner of the room.

“Was that necessary, mother?”

Tessarion did not look up, “I saw an opportunity and seized it. Shrykos may be worried about breaking him but I see he’s made of sterner stuff than she gives him credit. How fortunate it was that Vermax salvaged my previous tapestry. It is proving most useful.”

“But, mother, you promised that you would not haunt his dreams if you gave him a vision in the same day.”

“I hardly think it counts when he’s been trying to evade sleep for so long. He had noticed our strategy and, so, we must change it. I can’t let him think he can gain an advantage over me.”

“Mother,” Syrax knelt before her and put a hand on her mother’s wrist, “he isn’t your enemy. We are trying to guide him, not destroy him.”

Tessarion left off her weaving for a while and turned to her daughter, “Is it not proper that the student should have a healthy fear of the teacher?”

“But, it is proper that the student should respect the teacher or they will rebel at the first opportunity and discard everything they have learned.” 

“Then, what do you propose, daughter?”

Syrax summoned up her courage. Her mother, though her eyes were invisible, could still make her feel pinned with her gaze, “Your idea to show Aemond an image of baby Visenya will give credibility to the ghostly visions we give him. Why stop there? Why not show him visions of the other dead? Why not show them not as tormentors but as guides? Frightening him with dreadful visions is one thing but showing him the true horrors under the Red Keep’s veneer of respectability will shock and appal on a greater level.”

Tessarion kept her pinned for a while longer. Then, she reached into her basket and pulled out a handful of fluffy unformed fibres. She examined them closely, pulling them apart to look for any kind of potential within them.

“I believe that may…lead us somewhere. A good idea, my daughter. I think I can see a few of the dead that would serve us well. I can certainly see some things Aemond will find…unpleasant to witness in the future.” She gestured at her weaving, “They were but undertones before but, if I bring them to the front, it will serve the tapestry of fate well.”

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

It would take a Luke a month to be ready to leave for Dragonstone, so the maester told them. His ribs, collarbone and arm healed well but Luke still couldn’t walk far without his knee swelling and the whole leg seizing up if he stayed standing too long. The maester believed the cartilage around the broken bones in his knee had been damaged.

“Most recover after a few months,” The maester added, looking warily at Daemon’s slowly growing anger, “A brace may help along with light exercise.”

All the while he was there, Daemon had questioned Lucerys on all he had seen in his visions. Luke soon became weary of repeating which dragon was sent where and what battles were fought when. When Daemon had to fly back to Harrenhal to command their forces, he almost felt relieved.

Every night, Luke had dreamed of the past or the future. He had told Daemon as much as he needed to hear but there were things he still wanted to keep to himself. Like the sight of Aemma dying on the childbed and his mother’s own seduction of Ser Criston.

No wonder he hates her now. Luke thought and hated himself for thinking it about his own mother, It’s still no excuse to behave as he did.

As far as he could tell, the war had not yet started. Daemon said that ravens still flew back and forth around the realm but no blood had been shed. The greens seemed content to just keep an eye on his mother, waiting for her to make the next move. That, at least, was something to be glad for. He had time to make up for his mistake.

“Daemon,” Luke had asked after a particularly thorough conversation about taking King’s Landing, “when you’ve fought in the War of the Stepstones, did you ever come across an opponent bigger than you? What do you do to win when you’re outmatched?”

Daemon paused in his note-making to think, “If you can’t beat them by force, then beating them by stealth or by wit is a good choice. Why?” He gave Luke a probing look, “Do you intend to try battling Vhagar again?”

“That wasn’t a battle.” Luke pointed out, “And, I meant in general. The greens have the larger armies and the larger dragon. So, what wit and stealth can we use to beat them?”
Daemon nodded, “A fair question. When we get back to Dragonstone, you can ask Lord Corlys. He once knew an Essosi admiral who often went into battle against the Leng while severely outnumbered and yet always won without losing a ship. Perhaps, he will have picked up some of his tricks.”

Luke felt Daemon had a more useful answer but he was keeping it to himself. Luke tried asking Lord Desmond for advice during a visit. All the Lord of White Harbor said was that it was never a good idea to attack an enemy bigger than you, “Just get yourself somewhere safe and wait for it to lose interest. Best to run and live so you can grow your power and face them on a more powerful footing.”

Luke knew that the threat of the greens and of Vhagar certainly would not pass. They would not find tens of thousands of men nor would any of the dragons grow larger than Vhagar overnight either. They could not afford to hide and wait. Not while Otto and his ilk would find any means to destroy them and rid his line of any threat to their power.

While Lord Desmond himself offered no good advice, someone in the New Castle finally did. Three weeks after he woke in White Harbor, a knock came to Luke’s door. He had been doing the knee exercises recommended by the maester at the time and he hurried to throw on a robe as a young woman as plump as the other Manderlys but with a rather sharp chin.

“Good afternoon, Prince Lucerys. My name is Eve. I am the cousin of Lord Desmond.” She rather reminded Luke of his grandmother, Rhaenys. She had the same kind of regal bearing and gave off the impression that she knew more than she was letting on, “My father has asked me to keep you company. It must be lonely in this tower while the Crown Prince and King Regent make war.”

Luke had a feeling that she was lying about her father suggesting that she go to him though he didn’t know why.

“I hear from him that you’re asking how to defeat an enemy bigger than you. Can I guess that you mean to find some way to beat Vhagar and the greens?”
Luke only nodded.

“Here.” She produced a folding chevasse board, “This is how my brothers used to play with me.”

She set out the pieces as usual. And, then, she took away a quarter of her own pieces.

“They told me that all the men did it this way to practice their strategy skills. I only found out later that they did it to make sure they won every time. So, that’s when I started to play properly. Here, I’ll show you.”

They played. Luke had all the advantage - but he still lost.

“How did you do that?”

“Making the most of the pieces I’ve been given. It’s not a skill most princes have honed, I’ll wager, but every lady learns it. Along with the fact that, what you can’t beat by force, you have to beat by trickery. Did you notice how I baited you into moving your piece too early? Let’s try again. This time, you’ll have fewer pieces. See if you can trick me.”

#

Luke didn’t manage to win a single game against Lady Eve. He had come close a few times but she always seemed to have another trick up her sleeve. At last, evening came and Lady Eve had to pack up and depart before the guards noticed her absence from her chambers.

Luke eased himself back into bed and tried to will the lingering pain in his knee away. He turned to the window to watch the last remnants of daylight fade. Clouds drifted across the sky in small collections.

He at first thought a hawk had flown past the setting sun. Then, he realised it was the wrong shape. And, that it only seemed so small because it was so far away.

Luke sat up in bed and stared. He knew it was a dragon. He tried to stand - but his leg seized up and he collapsed back down again. In that time, the cry had gone up from the watchmen.

“Dragon! Dragon, from the east!”

Luke stared out of the window again. It certainly was not Vhagar. It was too small for that. It could be Sunfyre - but, no, what little colour he saw was not gold. Was it blue? Was it Tessarion?

Either way, it was bigger than Vermax. 

The greens must have found out about Luke’s survival. They must have known Caraxes had gone. They must have realised they now had the chance to kill both him and Jacaerys in one fell swoop.

The dragon called out - and Luke’s heart nearly stopped. He knew that call. He had not heard it since he had last left Driftmark. Not since the funeral of his father when they had to leave Seasmoke mourning on the sands.

He heard an answering chirruping call and saw Vermax rise above the castle. He flew up to Seasmoke. Luke could not see or hear anything but, a few minutes later, Vermax turned back. He could just see Jace waving to the guards. He could hear what Jace called but, once the guards did, they lowered their weapons.

Seasmoke and Vermax flew off to land in the courtyard out of Luke’s sight. Luke sat back in bed, taking in what he had seen. He had known of the deception but, to see his father returning still felt like too much to take in.

What could he say? How could he greet a father he thought dead for ten years?

Would Laenor even recognise him? Would he even like the person Luke had become? Would he only stay long enough to be sure that Luke would recover before flying back to Essos, never to be seen again?

Hope and dread warred like angry cats in his mind. They kept fighting up to the moment Jace knocked on the door.

“You were right!” He gasped out, face alight with glee, “Father lives! He’s come back to help us!”

Luke forced himself to look up at his father. Laenor seemed smaller than he remembered. His head was shaved bare, his face looked thin and his eyes looked harder. Yet, when they looked on Luke, they overflowed with tears, “Oh, Luke! Daemon told me you were still alive but I didn’t want to believe it until…until…” He crossed the room in two strides and swept Luke into a hug. Luke hugged him back then caught sight of Jace hanging back. When Laenor wasn’t looking, the joy faded. He too looked like several emotions warred within him.

Laenor would have to do a lot of explaining to the pair of them, Luke realised, and a lot of apologising.

#

BALERION

Outside, a blackbird flew around the New Castle’s walls. It alighted once on a bedroom window where a woman lay dying of childbed fever. When her life came to an end, the blackbird hopped off the sill and looked sideways at a mouse scurrying near the wall.

Balerion shook off his blackbird shape and sat in the shadow of the sacks leaning against the house, “Mother, I must know, why did you call Laenor back?”

The mouse stood up on its hind legs and regarded him for a moment. Then, Tyraxes shook off her mouse shape and resumed her queenly form, “It’s become clear that the family needs a strategic mind. Lucerys is trying to think of ways to defeat the much greater force presented by Vhagar but he will need more than a bored lady given to winning rigged games to teach him the way to win.”

Balerion opened his mouth but Tyraxes raised a finger, “I have considered all the possibilities. This will not have as great an effect on Daemon’s children as feared. Rhaenyra can simply refer to the Conqueror’s two marriages. It will take some convincing to bring the Lords around and to convince them she is not another Maegor but it could be done.”

“I was wondering,” Balerion said, “if you have considered the emotional impact on Jacaerys and Lucerys. They have lived ten years believing their father to be dead.”

“If anything,” Another voice came from above. Where a raven had sat now sat Vermax, legs dangling from the roof, “it will shape Lucerys’ mind to the better. It is better he loses his notion that his mother is perfect and always makes the right choices now than when she loses a great battle. A good move, my Queen.”

Tyraxes didn’t look like she appreciated receiving a compliment from him but said nothing.

“And, not to worry, Balerion. I take emotional impact into consideration. Why, it’s that consideration that made me intercept this.” Vermax produced a small scroll from his tunic, “The letter from Rhaenyra informing Jacaerys of Lucerys’ ‘death’. Just imagine how much more emotional turmoil he would have endured had he believed Lucerys dead at first?”

He took the scroll and tore it in two with a proud smirk on his face.

“Aren’t you glad I take such things into account so you do not need to concern yourself with them, my Queen?”

Tyraxes glowered at him, “Name your price now, Vermax. I do not like being in anyone’s debt.”

“Very well.” Vermax said and Balerion could tell by his face that he had been looking forward to this, “I’ve just seen Vhagar lingering about near Arrax’s abode.”

It should not be enough to repay the debt. Balerion thought Arrax had tired of Vhagar and had cast the goddess aside. He had thought that Tyraxes had decided Vhagar was too much for her as a lover and had dismissed her too. Tyraxes looked like she was doing her best not to show how much this information meant to her but Balerion could see his mother’s eyes flashing.

“I am sure Vhagar only meant to offer counsel to her King.” Tyraxes said, her voice tight, “She knows her place.”

“Of course.” Vermax said, grin widening, “And, you’ll want to hear that counsel too, I am sure. What is important to your husband is important to you.”

“Naturally.” Tyraxes assumed her mouse form and scurried away.

Balerion gave Vermax a disapproving look, “Must you toy with our Queen at a time like this?”

“Better she know now and get the strife out of the way. With any luck, they’ll finally come to an accord and admit that they should all unite as three. I, for one, am getting sick of Vhagar toying with the both of them. She should take them both as Visenya took her sister and brother. Now, that was a smart one when it came to affairs of the heart. A shame her son turned out like the way he did.”

#

LUCERYS

With a brace around his knee and a cane to assist in walking, Luke left the New Castle. He rode on the back of Seasmoke as soon as night fell on the twenty-seventh day he had spent at White Harbor.

Before they left the walls of the castle, Laenor pulled something from his bag, “Better not take any chances of being spotted. Here, wear this until we’re clear of the city.”
He handed Luke a red mask with a delicate ridge of horns on the forehead.

“I picked it up in Braavos.” Laenor explained, “I never ended up using it so you might as well keep it if you want it. Suppose you could call it one little way of making up for leaving you.”

Luke had forgotten how awkward his father could be sometimes. It made him smile as he put the mask on.

They flew all night and spent the day at the Eyrie as Lady Jeyne’s guests. It was hard to tell whether the appearance of Luke or Laenor surprised her more. It was then that Luke learned that no one but their closest allies knew Luke still lived.

“Father and Daemon decided to keep everyone else thinking you’re dead.” Jace said when he visited Luke before turning in, “At least, until you’ve recovered. We don’t want Aemond to come and finish you off.”

“I told you, it was an accident.” Luke said for what felt like the hundredth time, “And, it was my fault really.”

“No, it wasn’t. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been chasing you.” Jace pointed out, “If he’d just let you go, Arrax wouldn’t have been driven to fight back.”

Luke tried his best to hide the pain brought on by Arrax’s name. It felt wrong to be flying on Seasmoke on his way out of White Harbor. Many times, he turned to look around, half-expecting Arrax to fly out of the clouds, chirruping in outrage at being left behind. Flying on Seasmoke’s back had only driven it home even more that he was dragonless. A little further from the gods and a little closer to men. Like Rhaena, like his grandsire, Viserys, and, for a time, like Aemond.

He did not know how any of them endured it. Even thinking of Arrax brought a sharp pain like needles being driven into his heart. When they had landed at the Vale and Arrax still hadn’t appeared, Luke’s heart felt ten times heavier. All of these were foolish thoughts, he knew, but it didn’t stop the hope clinging to life.

“I’m sorry.” Jace mumbled and pulled Luke into a hug, “I’m so sorry about what happened to Arrax. If you need to cry, do it now.”

“You’ve changed.” Luke muttered. The Jace he knew would never give him permission to cry. He would only tell him to suck it up and take it like a man.

“The North did me good.” Jace replied, “Lord Cregan - he taught me so much. He taught me that we need to stick to each other and we need to be able to share our weaknesses as well as our strengths. The lone wolf dies, the pack survives, that’s what he always said.”

Luke felt the weight behind those words. He felt a strong affection for Lord Cregan and the North behind them. He wondered…but he decided it was the wrong time to ask.
“I don’t know how I’m going to face Mother.”

“What do you mean?” Jace asked, pulling back to look him in the face, “She’s not going to care about losing the Stormlands. Lord Borros is going to regret his choice. It’s not your fault that he’s a turncloak and a fool.”

“I meant…” Luke dithered. Perhaps, he ought not to say it. The Jace from before their journey would have told him their mother had their reasons or that he would take it up with Daemon. But, this was a different Jace. Perhaps, he might react differently, “…Mother lied to us. She said that Father was dead. She could have told us that he was still alive in Essos after his funeral or in the last ten years but she didn’t.”

Jace’s face went sour, “I’m more angry at Father than I am at Mother for that. He abandoned us to go roaming around Essos to his heart’s content. He’s the one who should have let us know he wasn’t dead. Don’t you remember how upset you were that night?”

Luke nodded. He remembered it well, “I thought it was a punishment from the gods for taking Aemond’s eye. Aemond did say our father died screaming in flames, after all. It almost felt like a prophecy.”

Jace growled, “That son of a…well, he’ll pay for what he did to you and Arrax, I swear it.”

“Jace,” Luke gave him a severe look. Before, Jace’s angry look in return would have made him quail and backtrack but something in him made him stand his ground, “I hold no hatred for Aemond. Truly, I don’t. Besides, this is not the time for pursuing grudges. Daemon did that after I died and it led our mother into a dark place. Do you know what Daemon was planning to do?”

“No. What?” Jace knew Daemon well enough that it was nothing good but Luke suspected he would still be in for a shock.

“Daemon was going to order the deaths of one of Helaena’s children in revenge for losing me.” Luke shook his head, bile rising, “And, he would order the men to make Helaena choose which one to lose before killing the one she didn’t pick.” 

Jace went white as a Stark banner.

“I know. I’d never want that. Not even if Aemond tortured me to death for a moon’s turn.”

“Maybe…maybe, Mother didn’t know.”

“She did know.” Luke said, “That’s the worst thing. She knew and said that it was a - a fair exchange.”

Jace looked like he’d been stabbed in the heart, “Mother said that?”

“She seemed so - different in my visions. Like my death changed her into something inhuman. I don’t like it. I don’t want her to become like that.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Jace said, “You’re alive so we know that won’t happen.”

Luke didn’t feel so sure. A lingering twist of doubt stayed in him.

“But, how do we know she won’t ever become that? Jace, war is coming and it’s likely that one or more of us is going to die. Hells, I died a moon’s turn ago. It’s only because of the gods that I didn’t stay dead and I don’t think that gift will be offered again to me or any of you. How can we fight to put Mother on the throne, knowing what our deaths will do to her if things go wrong?”

Jace frowned and looked down in thought, “I don’t know. We’ll just have to stay alive and…I don’t know. When we get back, we’ll talk to Baela and Rhaena.”

Again, this was not how the Jace of before would react. Luke had been expecting a proclamation that they simply wouldn’t die and a refusal to face any other outcome. He hadn’t expected this more thoughtful response but he appreciated it all the same.

At that moment, Laenor appeared at the door, “Are you two still up? Well, I’m not surprised you can’t sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be quite a day for all of us.” He crossed the room and wrapped an arm around each of them, “To tell you the truth, I’m terrified of the moment we arrive in Dragonstone. I have no idea how I’m going to explain my flight to Mother.”

Luke could sympathise. For as long as he could remember, he had found Rhaenys terrifying.

“It was hard enough explaining it to you two.” He gave them both a squeeze, “I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t forgive me now. Or, if you never forgive me. You deserve more than what I have been.”

Luke remembered those words spoken to Rhaenyra in one of his visions. He remembered the plan that came from that conversation. He did not quite know how he felt towards Laenor at that moment but he knew he did not want to lose him again. Nor did he want his reappearance to cause any rift at Dragonstone.

“You should be honest with Grandmother.” Luke said, “About everything. Including the arrangement you made with Mother before you were married.”

Jace looked at him, confused. Laenor’s eyes widened for a moment and then he nodded, “Daemon did warn me about how much you know. Yes. That’s a good idea. I owe Mother the truth and we can’t stand united if we’re not honest with each other.”

#

They landed on Dragonstone at dawn on the second day after another full night of flying. Meleys had returned too. Both Rhaenys and Rhaenyra waited at the foot of the Dragonmount to welcome a son that they had thought dead.

Rhaenyra ran to them first. Luke’s feet had barely touched the ground before he was swept into a desperate embrace.

“Oh, Luke! Luke! Thank all the gods!” Rhaenyra burst into sobs and buried her face into his hair.

Rhaenys did not burst into tears nor break into a run. She strode to Laenor with the same unreadable expression she wore during Ser Vaemond’s petition. Laenor winced under her eye and even Luke felt a measure of second-hand terror.

“Hello, Mother. Sorry, I, uh…I should have told you. I just thought it would be more convincing if you and Father didn’t know…and you wouldn’t get in trouble if we were caught…”

Rhaenys kept Laenor pinned with her gaze until he ran out of words. Only then did she grab his jerkin and pull him into a hug. She didn’t let him go until Rhaenyra finally let Luke go and they made their way back into the castle.

Rhaenyra listened to Luke’s story about Balerion but she did not seem to care as much as Daemon. She just seemed happy to have him back. Just as Corlys just seemed happy to have Laenor back.

“My heir has returned and his heir has been saved from a terrible fate. Truly, the gods are smiling on House Velaryon today!”

Luke only felt another twist of guilt. Laenor had been alive this whole time so Ser Vaemond truly had died for nothing. Again, he felt a little flare of something deep inside him that was not a part of him. It must be a part of Ser Vaemond, Luke thought. Was he angry or was he remorseful? It was so faint that he couldn’t tell.

“What are the greens doing?” Luke asked, “Have they gathered any more allies?”

“Not as far as we know.” Rhaenyra said, “But, don’t worry. We won’t let the greens near you again.”

That was the answer to most of his questions about the coming war. The greens seemed content with the allies they had at present. Or, at least, they did not feel the need to strike at Rhaenyra again. It was said that Vhagar had not left King’s Landing since her return from Storm’s End. Daeron and Tessarion had visited the city briefly but had flown off to lend aid to the Hightower army. Aegon seemed to be making the most of his kingly duties by hiring the most expensive whores and buying the most expensive wines. Alicent and Otto, once again, seemed to be fulfilling the role of regents whenever he overindulged.

But, they would strike again. The war of ravens had been extended but it would not last. When Luke saw Ser Erryk, he remembered the duel between him and his brother. That had come when Blood and Cheese had killed Aegon’s son. If Erryk lived, that must mean that Daemon had kept his word so far.

But, still, the very thought of Blood and Cheese left his stomach twisting. How long would Daemon hold off on striking the greens?

At last, after half an hour of Luke sitting up in bed and questioning his mother, a knock came to Luke’s chamber door and Ser Steffan told Rhaenyra there was urgent word from Harrenhal.

“Can it not wait for a few more moments? No, I suppose not. I’m sorry, Luke. I’ll come and see you again tonight. Just get some rest, sweet boy. You must be tired after your journey and you need to rest your leg.”

“Hold on. I’ll come with you.” Luke tried to sit up and reach for his boots.

“No, no, no need for you to strain yourself.” Rhaenyra gently pushed him back towards his bed, “I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”

She gave him a smile that looked like it took every effort not to crack apart. Then, she turned around and followed Ser Steffan out of the room. Jace, Baela and Rhaena stayed with Luke.

“Say, do you want to hear some of the poems Rhaena wrote when we thought you were dead?” Baela said, a wicked glint in her eye, “They’re so tragic.”

“Stop it!” Rhaena grabbed the papers that appeared in her sister’s hand and sat on them to stop Baela getting to them. It didn’t stop Baela trying, however.

This went on for a good fifteen minutes with Jace laughing at their struggle. Luke, however, had his mind in the small council chamber. Was it be trouble in the Riverlands? Or had Vhagar finally made a move?

He tried to ask about it at dinner. All he got was a smile from his mother and the news of, “The Brackens gave Daemon some trouble but it was nothing our allies in the riverlands could not handle.”

“He’s working to bring some troops or some dragons to meet the Lannister and Hightower hosts.” Laenor said, “Your information has given us a good head start on the greens.”
“We hope to be in King’s Landing soon.” Rhaenyra said, “And, then, we can have a tourney. Perhaps, we can order those mummers you enjoyed so much on your last name day.” She gave him a warm smile that felt just a touch too forced.

“Will Daemon need assistance in dealing with the Hightower army?” Jace asked, “I’ve played the part of an envoy but I am ready to start defending my mother’s rights with Vermax.”

“No, I think not.” Rhaenyra said, “Luke’s information has told us that Dragonstone isn’t as secure as we would like to think it is. You will be needed here to defend your brothers and stepsisters. Luke, have you had enough to eat? I can ask the cooks to make up some stewed pears.”

Baela frowned. She had sensed what Luke started to suspect. She tried a request herself, “Perhaps, Grandmother would appreciate some assistance in patrolling the Gullet. She can’t be everywhere at once and Moondancer is big enough to fly.”

Rhaenys’ face was unreadable. Rhaenyra’s reaction was immediate, “Meleys is more than sufficient but I thank you for the offer, Baela. Luke, would you like another blanket over your legs? Heat will help it heal.”

Rhaenyra kept asking him if he wanted anything. She kept looking at him with that too-warm smile. Every time he tried to ask about the war, she talked about it as if it were something distant that didn’t concern them. Rather like how the ladies at Aegon second nameday hunt had talked about the War in the Stepstones.

Rhaenyra stayed close to him as the evening went on. Baela and Jace each tried to suggest something to help with the war effort but, both times, Rhaenyra batted their suggestions away. Luke had things to say. He had so many ideas but, if Jace and Baela wouldn’t be heard, he knew he wouldn’t.

At last, Lucerys could take it no more. He claimed to be tired and Rhaenyra hurried him up to bed. When many kisses and many tight hugs, she bade him goodnight.

Twenty minutes later, a knock came at the door. Luke sat up at once and limped to the door to let Jace, Baela and Rhaena in.

“I can’t believe it!” Baela cried once the door had closed, “It looks like she won’t let any of us take part in the war.” 

“You can understand why.” Rhaena pointed out, “When she thought Luke had died…” She shook her head, “…it destroyed her.”

“But, we have dragons, for Seven’s sake!” Baela said, “She can’t let our dragons sit on their backsides all through the war.”

“Not all of us have dragons.” Rhaena said and her eyes flicked to Luke. With a great swoop of his stomach, Luke remembered why. He had almost forgotten he wasn’t a dragonrider anymore and the reality crushed him anew.

Baela’s cheeks flushed, “Sorry, Luke.”

“That’s alright.” Luke said, trying to convince himself more than her.

“She might get better now that Luke’s back.” Jace said, “The greens won’t stay idle forever. She’ll need us in the air.”

Us. Luke thought, But, not me.

“You can see why she doesn’t want to risk losing anyone else,” Rhaena said, “even without Luke’s visions of the future telling her that almost everyone would have died if Luke hadn’t returned.”

“Were they really visions?” Baela asked, leaning forward, “What was it like?”

“Very, uh, disorientating. Like being inside a mummer’s play.”

“Did the gods tell you what we should do?” Jace leaned forward too.

“No. They just showed me what would happen if I died. I suppose they want me to find my own way. But…” Luke worried at his lip.

“But, what?” Rhaena’s voice turned gentle in her own special way that could have shattered Valyrian steel.

“But, I have no idea what to do!” Once started, his words tumbled over each other, “I’ve told Mother and Daemon everything but I don’t know what I can do without a dragon. I’m completely cack-handed with a sword and I can’t even make myself heard at dinner when I want someone to pass the gravy. How am I supposed to take part at a small council?”
Luke had thought that holding parts of his ancestors in his soul might make him stronger. But, it seemed that he still had too much of himself in him.

Rhaena thought for a moment, “Could you try asking the gods?”

“How can I ask them? I don’t even know who to pray to.”

“Maybe, Balerion again. If he’s willing to bring you back from the dead, he might be willing to help you again.”

Luke thought for a moment, “It wasn’t just Balerion. Another god was there. He didn’t tell me his name but he had gold ribbons around his arms.”

“I’ll check the library. There might be some old texts on the gods.”

They might have all gone to the library together but then Ser Steffan came in and caught them, “The Queen has asked me to make sure Prince Lucerys gets his rest. I’m sorry but you all need to go to bed.”

So, Jace, Baela and Rhaena had to leave Luke alone in his room. After a long while of staring at the ceiling, he sank into dreams and watched another vision of the younger Aemond claiming Vhagar on Driftmark.

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

Little Aegon and Viserys visited Luke the next morning. They climbed over his bed as he was eating breakfast and Viserys tried to steal some of his orange slices.

Just as Lucerys pushed his little hands away, Aegon got to what he really came for.

“Look, Luke! Arrax!”

Luke looked up. For the space of a heartbeat, he thought Aegon had seen Arrax flying home. Then, he realised that Aegon held a painting. The silver-white paint almost blended with the paper and the red frills were so long that they looked like Arrax had too many horns. Still, Luke’s heart gave a wrench as if he looked at a true court painting.

“That’s lovely, Aegon. Thank you.”

Luke never knew how hard it could be to fake a smile until that moment.

“You boys!” The boys’ nursemaid hurried inside, “Come along now, young princes. Your brother needs to get his rest and Aegon needs to start the day’s lessons. I’m so sorry, Prince Lucerys.”

“It’s alright.” Luke said, taking Aegon’s picture and giving him the best smile he could muster. His youngest brothers deserved their innocence. They deserved to have nothing more to complain about than their lessons.

Aegon smiled back and waved as the nursemaid led them away. As soon as they were gone, Luke put the picture face down on his bedside table, letting it rest on top of Laenor’s red mask.

When would he finally convince himself that Arrax wasn’t coming back?

Why did the gods just save me? Why didn’t they save Arrax? It wasn’t his fault. He was just scared. He didn’t mean to provoke Vhagar. What good can I do without him? At least, Arrax could have been claimed by another rider and gone on to defend Mother’s claim. What good is an injured, dragonless rider who can’t even hold things in his left hand properly?

He lay, tears trickling down the sides of his face, for he knew not how long. In the end, he heard footsteps in the hallway. Thinking it might be his mother, Luke straightened and wiped his face. He picked up the picture to put it away somewhere he couldn’t see it.

When he lifted it away, it stuck to the mask for a moment. The paint had been wet, Luke realised too late. The mask now bore a silvery blotch on the mask’s cheek.

The silver against the red made something flare in Luke. Not quite grief over Arrax. Something a little softer than that. He put his hand to the painting again and dotted another spot of silver on the mask as a test.

Then, he called to his guard, “Could you ask Aegon to come and to bring his paints with him once his lessons are finished?”

#

Daemon arrived back at Dragonstone later that day. He claimed it was to present Rhaenyra with news of their victory over the Brackens personally. Luke, however, noticed his stepfather’s gaze drifting towards him. He didn’t know whether it was concern or lingering doubt of his identity. Either way, trying to talk to him about what to do next got him just as far as it did with his mother.

“All is going well so far. No need to risk our dragons if we don’t need to. We’ll set a trap and tempt the green dragons into a rash move.”

No more details were forthcoming than that.

“How are you going to do it?” Luke asked.

“I’ve got a few ideas. I’ll discuss them with Laenor later.”

Luke opened his mouth but he lost his nerve.

“Prince Jacaerys.” Daemon said into the silence, “You and Baela ought to patrol the skies around Dragonstone. We need to keep our eyes open for any unfamiliar ships. If Otto tries to send Ser Arryk or one of the dragons to take us by surprise, I don’t want them to have an easy time of it.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” Rhaenyra said, “Vermax and Moondancer would be no match for any of the green dragons.”

“I’m not saying they should attack any dragons.” Daemon argued, “I’m saying they should give us advanced warning. Especially if there’s a dragon attack. That one-eyed cunt’s already killed one of our dragons. If he comes for another kill, we need to be ready.”

Tensions fizzed in the air between them, setting Luke’s teeth on edge. He had sensed Daemon’s dislike of his mother’s tactics from the moment Rhaenyra had been crowned. That chafing under his yoke seemed only to have grown.

“Leave us.”

Luke had no choice but obey his mother’s command. But, then, as he reached the door, he realised that he did have one other choice. He lowered himself behind the door and pressed his good ear to the gap between door and wall. Jace spotted him and stared wide-eyed. He looked ready to object but then Rhaena knelt down to join him. Soon, Jace and Baela joined them and all of them could hear the conversation.

“…do not want to lose another child.”

“Your children are willing and able to defend themselves. They can’t hide behind us forever.”

“But, this future Luke saw - it shows that they can’t defend themselves. Their dragons are too small and their riders too inexperienced. Do you want to see Luke’s visions become a reality?”

“I do not know how true those visions are. I only know that those who do not fight with dragons can still die by them. If they don’t fight for us, their absence will be noted by our enemy and they’ll be emboldened to strike harder. We might as well send them away to safety in Essos if you’re not going to let them be useful here.”

“No, no, we both know that won’t work either. If the Triarchy captures them and kills their dragons, it will be the end of us. I can barely look at Luke without remembering what it was like to think he was gone. If that happened to any of the others, I don’t know how I could face it.”

Luke felt as if he’d been run through with a spear. By the looks on their faces, Jace, Baela and Rhaena felt the same.

Rhaenyra and Daemon’s argument went on and on in this vein, neither one saying anything to break the stalemate. At last, Luke’s leg began to seize up and he made his way back to his rooms.

“Say, Luke,” Rhaena said before Baela had the chance to go on another rant, “I’ve found some materials on the Valyrian gods from the library. I think I know who the god with the golden ribbons is.” She gave Jace a smile, “It’s Vermax, the god of trade, language and…I can’t remember the rest. I also found a few bits and pieces on prayer. It looks like the Valyrans prayed to icons of their gods like we do to the Seven but these icons were sometimes kept in the home to pray to privately.” 

“Icons?” Luke repeated, “You mean, painted pictures?”

“They were pictures of the gods themselves but also their animal aspects. Each of them had one which they could turn into at will. It says that Balerion’s animal aspect is a blackbird.” 

“What, not a dragon?” Jace asked.

“They can turn into dragons too,” Rhaena nodded, “but they also have animal aspects. Maester Gerardys thinks it’s because dragons are conspicuous, even in Old Valyria. They had smaller animal aspects so they can go among mortals undetected. Hold on.”

She left for a moment and returned with a piece of driftwood, “I did my best with it.” She said, not looking at any of them. Painted on the driftwood was a blackbird facing the right and standing on slightly too long legs.

“Thank you, Rhaena.”

Luke accepted the second well-meant painting he had received that day with a more convincing smile than before.

When they all went to bed, Luke faced the painting. He tried to pray to it for answers - but only ended up feeling foolish. No, his instinct told him this wasn’t the way to do it. Instead, he looked out the window, spotting the shape of one of the wild dragons flying in and out of the clouds.

There was only one way to get Daemon to include them. They had to be crucial to winning the war. He knew how he could do it for himself but that would mean Rhaena would be left on the sidelines again. What could he do to allow them to all fly together?

#

That night, Luke dreamed of septs and then of Aemond again. He saw his uncle at Laena’s funeral. Jace and his younger self had gone to bed. Aegon had been dragged up the stairs by his grandfather, mumbling in a drunken stupor. Aemond had picked his moment well. He had waited for everyone to look the other way or to be too tired to pay too much attention.

He had also been brave. A boy of eleven years, approaching the largest dragon in the world without a single dragonkeeper to step between him and Vhagar if things went wrong.

It was a shame that the loss of his eye had followed soon after. If it had been Alicent or Viserys who met him after he landed, there may have been celebration rather than strife. If it had been anyone but Luke, Jace, Baela and Rhaena, Aemond may still have his eye.

Luke wondered as the hour of the nightingale wore on if he could do as Aemond did. Could he have the courage to walk alone into a dragon’s lair and claim it?

He had to claim another dragon, that was plain. It was the only way Daemon would include him in the fight and his mother would no longer see him as helpless. A voice from within his soul had whispered to him that he could do it. It had never been done before but, then again, a woman ruling in her own right had never been done in Westeros before. Someone had to be the first.

Luke rose from his bed. A few of the stretches Maester Geradys suggested were needed to get his legs going but he was still up and dressed within half an hour. He had to do it now, while everyone was asleep and unable to stop him.

Luke picked up his cane and slipped out of his room. He knew the castle well. Well enough to know when the watch shift changed and when the guards would be at their most tired and inattentive. He also knew which places were unguarded or which guards could turn a blind eye. He had used that to his advantage when sneaking out to see Arrax before.

His breath hitched at the thought. Arrax’s little bolthole in the dragonmount would be empty. He would walk into the dragonmount and come out - not as Arrax’s rider anymore.

It was foolish, he knew. Even now, a part of him still hoped Arrax would appear over the horizon. Perhaps, with his wing crooked or a leg missing but alive.

Luke halted at the mouth of the caves. He could turn back now. He could go back to bed and still tell himself he was Arrax’s rider. He could be another dragonless Targaryen like Rhaena was and like Aemond once was. He could find some other way to be useful to his mother.

But, Luke despised it. Rhaena did too though she was too reserved to ever say so. So too had Aemond.

If you want to help Mother, you can only do it with a dragon. Leave Arrax behind and go to your new mount.

So, he took a deep breath, lit a small lantern and entered the cave. He resisted the urge to go to Arrax’s bolthole and ventured further, much further than he had ever been allowed to go.

At last, from the darkness, an archway emerged. An archway Luke had never seen before but someone else knew it well. They knew who lay beyond it too. They didn't speak to Luke in words, only in thoughts that were not his own.

He slowed his pace, squared his shoulders and began to sing, “Drakari pykiros…”

It was the tune of an old Valyrian song but the words were those of King Jaehaerys.

He ascended to a stone dais and slowly laid down his lantern. Halfway through the song, he heard movement. Then, a huge blast of orange flame emerged from the darkness, bathing the walls and the ceiling.

The great bronze dragon drew closer. A great scar split its scales from top lip to snout. It sniffed Luke, eyes blazing with anger at the intrusion of his cave. He could see why the dragon was called the Bronze Fury once.

Then, slowly, the dragon’s eyes softened. It smelled something familiar in Luke. Or, perhaps, had seen his old rider in Luke’s eyes.

Hello, old friend. Luke heard the voice within him, faint as an echo and impossible to determine the origin.

Vermithor nudged Luke’s chest. He gave one last sniff that nearly blew Luke’s hair into his face. Then, he gave a soft growl and dropped onto his belly to allow Luke to find somewhere to climb onto his back.

Luke paused before he moved. Behind Vermithor, he saw a silvery shape shift and another pair of eyes glimmering in the lamplight.

“‘Vermithor,’” He said, voice barely above a whisper, “‘there is another on this island who needs a dragon and it would be a shame to leave Silverwing alone.’”

#

RHAENYRA

Ser Harrold’s pounding on the door jerked Rhaenyra out of an uneasy sleep. She was so slow in waking that she didn’t pick up what Daemon and Ser Harrold spoke of. She only came to full wakefulness as Daemon staggered out of bed, “Stay where you are. I’ll mount Caraxes and face them!”

Rhaenyra knew what he meant at once and would have none of it. She rushed to her children’s rooms, ignoring the lingering pain in her abdomen. The midwives claimed all was healing well but it would be a long while before the traces of Visenya left her. 

All around her, the guards stumbled over themselves to get to battle stations. She reached Jace’s room first, “Jace! Take Luke and go to the painted table. Tell Ser Erryk to guard you both with his life!”

Jace was already running to Luke’s room before Rhaenyra had finished speaking. She hurried to catch up with him. Baela joined them just as Jace reached Luke’s door. He bashed it twice with his fist and flung it open.

“Luke, we need to - ”

“What?” Rhaenyra rushed to the door and realised with a cold rush of horror what had struck Jace dumb. The bed stood empty. Luke was nowhere to be seen.

“His boots and cane are missing.” Jace said, sensing his mother’s growing panic, “Maybe, he’s already up.”

But, when they reached the chamber of the painted table, they found everyone but Luke already there. Rhaenyra frantically asked Laenor, Rhaena, Joffrey and even Aegon and Viserys if they had seen him but all shook their heads.

“We haven’t see him since last night.” Rhaena confirmed, worrying her lip.

“Did he say anything before he went to bed? About going somewhere?” Jace asked.

“No, nothing.” Rhaena said.

“Should I mount Tyraxes and look for him from the sky?” Joffrey asked.

“No. No! Absolutely not. There’s an enemy dragon above us and you’ll be caught for sure.”

“What’s that about an enemy dragon?”

Corlys and Rhaenys had arrived. Rhaenys went straight to Rhaenyra to see if she was alright. Rhaenyra felt touched by this concern but also a little puzzled. Rhaenys had never shown her this level of warmth before. Yet, since Laenor had returned, the Queen Who Never Was had softened towards Rhaenyra and her sons.

“The guards sighted a large dragon circling the dragonmount with a paler dragon behind it.” Rhaenyra told them, “They are not sure if it is Vhagar and Dreamfyre but it seems the mostly likely - ”

Just then, the door opened. The moment she saw Daemon, Rhaenyra ran to him, “Daemon, Luke’s gone! No one’s seen him since last night and - what are you smiling about?”

For, Daemon was grinning ear to ear, “Bring everyone. They have to see this.”

“See this? Daemon, there are two enemy dragons - ”

“They’re not enemy dragons. Just come on!”

He beckoned them as animatedly as a child eager to start their nameday celebrations. So, they followed him out of the castle and towards the dragonmount. The day had grown brighter since the first alarm and, now, they could see the colour of the dragons’ scales.

The larger had bronze scales with great tan wings and many spikes around its face. The other was bright silvery with long horns like Syrax.

“Vermithor!” Corlys gasped.

“And Silverwing.” Rhaenys pointed upwards, “But look! Someone is riding Vermithor!”

Sure enough, as the great dragon turned, they saw someone riding without a saddle and clinging to his spines for dear life.

“Alright! Bring them down!” Daemon called up to the dragons.

Vermithor changed course and swooped down to land at the foot of the mountain. Rhaenyra had only ever seen Vermithor in the dark of his cave. Seeing just how great his bulk in daylight was awed her almost into silence.

Almost. For, the person she saw on his back brought her words back.

“Lucerys!”

Luke gave them all a shy, embarrassed smile. Just like the one he had given his mother after his first flight on Arrax, “Uh, could someone give me a hand coming down? My leg seized up while we were flying and I lost my cane about five minutes ago.”

Jace and Baela jolted out of their daze first and went to help Luke down.

“How…how did you do it?” Rhaena breathed.

“A good question.” Rhaenys nodded, “To my knowledge, no rider has ever claimed a second dragon after the death of the first one.”

Luke only gave another embarrassed smile, “Another gift from the gods. Well, from the dead, really.”

“Well, it’s a very generous one indeed!” Laenor laughed with both delight and leftover fright.

“You’re lucky not to have fallen to your death!” Rhaenyra gasped, “You should have at least waited until we had a saddle fitted! And, you should have had dragonkeepers and one of us come with you too!”

“You wouldn’t have let me go. And, it - it was something I had to do alone.” A sadness appeared in Luke’s face. Rhaenyra softened.

“Oh, Luke,” She stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, “I’m so glad you can fly again.”

Daemon turned to them, his grin growing.

“Isn’t this splendid? Vermithor is the second largest dragon living. With him on our side, we have a dragon that can match Vhagar.”

“Luke is not going into battle.” Rhaenyra protested, “Not yet. We are not even certain if we really must go to war.”

“War will happen, mother.” Luke said, “It doesn’t matter if we are certain or not.” He looked over Baela’s shoulder to Rhaena, “And, we need every trustworthy dragonrider we can get. Rhaena, come here.”

It took everyone a moment to realise what Luke was going to attempt. Rhaena’s eyes widened. She looked up at Silverwing, who stood behind Vermithor and regarded them all with curious eyes.

Rhaena flicked back some of her hair, straightened her back and strode towards Luke. Daemon looked between Luke and the dragons. He had offered to take Rhaena to claim one of the dragons when she first arrived on Dragonstone but she had been so adamant to have only a dragon hatched from an egg just as her sister had.

In that moment, Rhaena seemed to decide to abandon her old resolve. She allowed Luke to lead her to Silverwing. All it took was for Rhaena to call ‘dohaeris’ and Silverwing reached down to nudge her palm.

“Now, you are most definitely not going for a flight until I have a saddle made!” Rhaenyra called.

When Rhaena turned back to them, shaking but grinning, Daemon pulled her into a tight hug, “I knew you could do it, my girl.”

Baela hugged her next, “Sister, I am so jealous of your dragon.”

Rhaenyra wondered just how long Rhaena had waited for her sister to say that.

“Well, I think this calls for a celebration breakfast.” Laenor said.

“And, maybe, we can discuss having a proper plan for an actual dragon attack.” Corlys put in, “We were all over the place this morning. We can’t have a repeat of that if a real enemy dragon attacks.”

Rhaenyra had to admit he was right. She looked back at her sluggish and disordered reaction with total embarrassment. She needed to do better as a queen, “Quite right, Lord Corlys. We all hope it will not come to that but we should still discuss our invasion plan over breakfast.” 

Maybe, Daemon’s idea of Vermax and Moondancer patrolling the skies has merit after all.

“Once we have broken our fast,” Luke said, “there is something else we need to do. With your leave, Your Grace, Jace and I need to marry Baela and Rhaena at once.”

That made Rhaenyra stop dead, “Why? Is…is there any chance of…?”

“No!” Luke flushed, “No, absolutely not. It’s just that it’s not certain that either of us will survive this war. If one of us dies married, our wives will have a claim to the Throne and to Driftmark.”

Rhaenyra considered this. She saw the wisdom in it and she nodded, “Very well. I’ll let the septon know. It will be good to give Dragonstone something to celebrate in this dark time.”

As the jubilant party returned to the castle, Rhaenys moved to walk alongside Rhaenyra, “Your Grace. May I have a moment of your time before breakfast?”

“But, of course.”

Rhaenyra chose the chamber of the painted table for her conference. For all that she was a crowned queen, Rhaenyra still found the prospect of a talk with the Queen Who Never Was a little unnerving.

Rhaenys turned to her and Rhaenyra saw that some of her usual ice had melted.

“I feel I owe you an apology. I believed for over twenty years that you had cuckolded my son and that Laenor was simply too tender-hearted to condemn you for it. But, Laenor has told me that you both made an arrangement before your marriage and that you both ‘dined as you saw fit’ with the other’s blessing. Although I wish you had found a ‘dining partner’ who greater resembled Laenor, I see that you did Laenor a great kindness. Indeed, I cannot think of a single woman in all the realm who would have shown my son as much kindness as you have.”

Rhaenyra smiled, feeling a heat rise up her neck, “Your son is a good man. He deserves nothing less.”

Rhaenys gave her a small smile before she went on, “I have wasted years shunning your sons and refusing to see them as anything other than cuckoos in the nest. That ends now. I commit myself fully to aiding you ascend the Iron Throne and to protecting the rights of Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey.”

#

LUCERYS

From the moment he had touched the ground after his first ride with Vermithor, Luke felt renewed. By the evening, he could walk without a cane and lead Rhaena away from the sept as his wife unaided. The wedding feast had been meagre by Targaryen standards but no one seemed to mind. Neither couple had a bedding as agreed by all. Their official reason was that they felt embarrassed by it.

The true reason, however, was one the four kept between themselves, as they had done for the better part of two years. All four had admitted that they not only saw each other as nothing but siblings but that they did not prefer the opposite sex at all. Rhaena had been the only semi-exception as she said she had no preference between men or women. They all agreed to keep the others’ secrets and, when their marriages came, never to force their spouses into beddings they did not want. Though all of them still felt lost and confused as to why the gods made them that way, that agreement made the future a little less frightening.

By the next day, he and Rhaena’s dragons had new saddles.

“That’s quick.” Jace commented, “It normally takes me weeks to get a new saddle fitted for Vermax.”

“I think Daemon already had them in the making.” Luke said, “He knew Vermithor and Silverwing would be needed at some point. He wasn’t wrong either.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s you two riding them.” Baela said, “Not those two traitors. Say, Jace, shall we try this?” She pointed at the paper before them, showing a diagram of a rather complicated dragon flying manouvre.

“Maybe, we should try one of the easier ones.” Rhaena said, carefully, “I’m just getting used to riding a dragon and we can’t be any good to the Queen if we break our legs.”

Indeed, that manoeuvre looked very dangerous. Baela apparently got the idea from Luke’s story of Daemon jumping from Caraxes to Vhagar. It seemed she wanted to know if a rider could do it and live rather than die in the act.

“Yes, let’s leave that for another time.” Luke nodded. He didn’t much fancy trying something like that so soon after regaining the use of his legs.

The four mounted their dragons that afternoon and started practicing. The whole world felt open to Luke again. As he flew over the dragonmount with Vermax and Moondancer on his tail, he felt more like himself. Even more than himself. Vermithor remembered all the old commands. He acted even before Luke got to the end of the word ‘dracarys’. He seemed to enjoy having a rider just as much as Luke enjoyed having a dragon.

“Oh, no! Sorry!”

A call from behind made him whirl around. He saw the remains of smoke dissipating in the air near Vermax’s tail. Rhaena had her hands pressed to her mouth and Jace was about to call back to her. Then, Vermax gave a roar and wheeled around towards Silverwing.

“No! Vermax, daor!”

Images of storms, fire and Vhagar’s jaws flashed before Luke. He ordered Vermithor to turn. The dragon wheeled around. Luke saw Vermax’s jaws snapping towards Silverwing’s neck. Panic spiked through Luke’s heart. As if he too felt it, Vermithor gave a roar three times as loud as Vermax’s. The smaller dragon faltered and turned its eyes from Silverwing. Rhaena wheeled Silverwing away from Vermax and flew with Moondancer to the other side of the Dragonmount.

Vermithor then led Vermax in a play chase for another few minutes to distract him. When it looked like Vermax had calmed, Luke called to Jace to land.

They were soon joined by Baela and Rhaena who had landed a cautious distance away.

“I’m sorry!” Rhaena cried, “I didn’t know her fire would reach that far.”

“It’s fine.” Jace, white in the face, shook his head, “Rhaena, believe me, Vermax has never done that before. He’s always done as he’s told.”

“That’s just what happened as Storm’s End, isn’t it?” Rhaena said to Luke.

“So, that can happen to any dragon?” Baela looked back to Moondancer, clenching her fists but out of worry more than anger.

“We need to train our dragons not to do that.” Luke said. Then, his confidence ran out, “Only…I don’t know how.”

“Did I hear fighting earlier?” Daemon appeared over the ridge, face flushed from running, “Is everyone alright?”

“We’re all fine. Father, do you know how to stop a dragon attacking?”

Daemon frowned at Baela’s question, “That’s not normally something we have to worry about.”

“I mean, stop a dragon attacking a dragon we don’t want them to attack.”

Daemon looked at all four of them. Luke could see the wheels turning in his head and realise what they must be talking about.

“I think the head dragonkeeper might be able to give you better advice on that. I’ll fetch him.”

“Daemon,” Luke called as Daemon started turning away, “I’ve seen you summon Caraxes without speaking. How do you do it?”

Daemon turned back and gave Luke a curious look. So did Jace, Baela and Rhaena.

“I…I just think it might be useful.” Luke said, face heating up, “If we can command our dragons without speaking, our enemy won’t know what we’re planning.”

Daemon gifted him a smile, “That would be useful indeed but I’m afraid it doesn’t happen overnight. You’re going to have to practice for months and time isn’t a luxury we have at the moment.”

#

“I still think we should try ordering dragons with our minds.” Baela said as they gathered in Luke’s room after dinner. 

“Only because you want Moondancer to come and back you up when you get in fights with the squires.” Rhaena said, snickering.

“Maybe, we can just work on hand signals to each other first.” Jace said, “That would be easier to master and just as useful. Like Luke said, our enemy won’t know what we’re planning if they can’t hear us.”

They had made some progress with stopping their dragons attacking each other if their flames got too close. The head dragonkeeper had offered some good advice regarding the application of whips and reins. It worked for Vermax and Moondancer but Luke had a bad feeling it wouldn’t work for Silverwing and Vermithor who were strong enough to overcome tugs on the reins. 

He thought Daemon had the same notion. Why else would he lead them to dinner with concern lingering in his eyes? Perhaps, he worried that the same would happen with Caraxes.

It had been easy for them all to think that Arrax’s death had been a fault in Aemond’s control, Luke realised. Now, there was no doubt that any one of their dragons could slip out of their control and attack a friend as easily as a foe.

He longed to say something comforting but he didn’t know what he could say beyond empty words.

Then, a loud chirp came from the window. Everyone looked up and they saw a blackbird sitting on the windowsill. A blackbird that looked ordinary apart from the bright blue rim around its eye.

It looked at them all for a moment. Then, it flew from the windowsill and down into the courtyard. Luke stared after it as it swooped down and alighted atop the sept.

The four looked at each other with incredulous faces.

“You don’t think - ”

“Well, what else could it be?”

“Do you think we should - ?”

“Yes.”

So, the four of them made their way to the sept, not sure what to think or what to say. The blackbird waited for them in the doorway. Luke thought it might be barred from entry. Then, it turned and fluttered inside. They found it sitting atop one of the statue of the Stranger. It felt like a confirmation of what Luke suspected.

“Balerion.” Luke inclined his head to the bird.

The bird observed him for a moment. Then, it jerked its beak down before the statue. Almost like a septon telling Luke to sit quietly during the sermon.

Luke stepped forward, pulled one of the cushions from its box and dealt before the statue. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands as if he prayed to the Stranger.

Almost as soon as he was settled, he heard what sounded like a rushing of large wings. He opened his eyes. Darkness swirled lazily around the statue like smoke. As the streams flowed, the statue changed. It lost its animal-like form, shrank down and lost its black and red colours. When the darkness faded, Luke saw the familiar figure of a solemn, silver-haired child with a dark streak in his hair and eyes made of solid bright blue as if he, like Aemond, had jewels set in their place. Yet, they were very much alive. Despite the lack of pupils, Luke felt their gaze turn on him, “I am pleased that you have claimed Jaehaerys’ gift, young one. You have even made a gift of Alysanne’s dragon to your betrothed. That was a good thing to do.

“No need to speak to me. I will know what you mean to ask. You want to know what you should do next. I say that you should focus not on controlling the dangerous whims of your dragons but those of your stepfather and your mother. Yes, your mother. You saw what she was capable of when pushed too far. Your brothers and cousins give good advice and you should heed them but only you will be able to persuade her and Daemon. They will listen to you now. There are things that must said to them. Things you have been thinking but had not the courage to say. Find that courage now. It will not be pleasant for Daemon and Rhaenyra to hear what you want to say but they have to be said.

“I do not wish for your mother to fall into a dark path either. Believe me, I do not relish taking the souls of children. They don’t understand the finality of their death nor can they understand why their parents can’t come with them.” His mouth became even more downcast as he said it, “Ensure Helaena’s children are safe and you will earn my favour.

“You may speak to me again through the Stranger’s altar. I may not always answer but I am always listening and may be able to provide counsel when I can. The Seven do not seem to mind our presence here. The others may offer advice too but a word of warning. If Vermax offers you a favour, ask the price first.”

The blackness reappeared and swept Balerion away like a fallen flag beneath the ocean. In a few moments, Luke looked upon the Stranger’s statue, looking just as it had before.

“Did you hear anything?” Baela asked.

“Or see anything?” Jace stepped forward to help Luke up, “You looked like you were looking at something.”

“I did. Balerion wants me to make sure Helaena’s children are safe. She wants me to make sure Daemon doesn’t hurt them.”

The other three looked taken aback. They looked at each other, confused. It was clear they had no idea how to proceed with such a thing.

Luke took a deep breath, pushed down his own uncertainty and said, “I think I know a way we can persuade him but...let me practice it with you first.”

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

It took all evening and most of the next day to finalise their plan of attack. At dinner that day, Luke would make his case. Luke walked to the dining hall, cloth bundle in his hands, with Jace, Baela and Rhaena sticking close like guards. As they entered, Rhaena gave his wrist an affectionate squeeze, “You can do this.”

“We’re right behind you.” Jace murmured.

“Don’t hold back.” Baela urged.

Rhaenyra, Daemon, Rhaenys and Corlys were already there. Laenor arrived a second after them with Joffrey, “Sorry. We were training and lost track of time.”

Rhaenyra smiled indulgently and then turned back to Luke with the same look, “What’s that in the bundle, sweet boy?”

“Something I want to talk to you about after dinner.”

Rhaenyra looked intrigued but didn’t push further. Daemon’s eyes lingered on the silvery cloth for a while but he seemed too happy for them all to be breaking bread together to question it.

Everyone ate dinner comfortably or, at least, outwardly so. Luke felt his stomach might jump out of him with nerves.

You need to do it. He kept saying to himself, No one else can do this.

Once the food had been cleared away, Rhaenyra put down her goblet and leaned forward, “Now then, what’s the surprise?”

“I’ll show you in a moment. First,” Luke took a deep breath, “I want to talk to you and Daemon. About what he planned to do to Helaena’s children.”

“It’s been canceled.” Daemon said at once, “I got a message to King’s Landing in time. Mysaria’s not happy about it but she called them off.”

“It’s not that. It’s the fact that you planned it in the first place.”

He looked Daemon right in the eye, hoping to convey more strength than he felt.

“It’s the fact that you thought that killing a six-year-old or two-year-old is something I would ever want done in my name.”

Daemon frowned slightly, “Aemond killed you. We couldn’t let that go unpunished. Worse things have been done in war.”

“So, you should have gone after him directly, if you had to kill someone at all. And just because worse things happen in wars doesn’t mean it has to happen in this one. What would the deaths of one of Aegon’s children have achieved to help us in this war? How would that help to put Mother on the throne?”

“It would have made you look just as bad as them.” Rhaena said.

“Worse, really.” Luke nodded, “I may not have taken part in fighting but I was still an envoy. I was taking a part in the conflict. Aemond had some provocation. Yes, provocation, Mother. Not much but enough to excuse him in the eyes of the greens. Jaehaerys and Maelor have done nothing to help the greens or hurt us. They are innocent children whose only crime was to be sired by a usurper. What defence do we have for killing them? All their deaths would have done is stain Mother’s good name, galvanise the greens and attract more support to Aegon’s side. If the lords of the realm had the choice, who would be seen siding with someone who murders boys not old enough to ride a dragon?”

Rhaenyra looked down, face flushed. Daemon still kept Luke’s gaze, though he breathed heavily with anger.

To an outsider, Luke mused, it would look like they were the children caught misbehaving and he was the disciplining parent.

“This will come to war, there’s no avoiding that now.” Luke went on, “But, this is a war to put Mother in her rightful place. This is not a war to settle old grudges. I want you both to promise right here and now that, if I or any of us die again, you won’t seek revenge unless it’s on the battlefield.”

“Or, until the war’s won and Mother is secure on the throne.” Jace said.

“And, what if we can’t promise that?” Daemon asked, his eyes fiery.

Without hesitation, Luke said, “Then, I won’t fly for you.”

“And, I won’t either.” Rhaena said at once.

“Neither will I.” Jace rejoined.

“Nor I.” Baela finished.

Daemon punched the table, jolting every plate and cup, “You would betray your Queen over your principles? Principles mean nothing in war. The so-called rules of honour only help our enemies.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong, Daemon. We don’t fight by the rules to help our enemies. We fight by the rules to help ourselves. The rules mean that, if we survive this war, we can live with ourselves afterwards.” Luke turned to Rhaenyra, who still had not looked up, “We will recognise you as Queen and we will even go to battle with horses and swords if it comes to it but we will not fly our dragons until you promise that you will not lower yourself to the level of petty vengeance.”

A chair scraped across the floor. Luke looked around and watched in delighted surprise as Rhaenys swept around the table to join him, “Until you give that promise, I will not fly either. I told my husband to join with you because you showed restraint. You were doing all you could to avoid war. I do not want to see you throw that away. No, not even if every single one of your children dies in front of you.”

Daemon glared at Lord Corlys. The Lord of the Tides returned an icy stare that gave no ground. He rounded on Laenor who flinched but, after a steadying breath, stood up, “Sorry, Rhaenyra. I’m going to have to side with Luke on this. I see you as the rightful Queen but, if taking the Iron Throne comes at the cost of murdering children in front of their mother’s eyes, it’s not worth it.”

The only person left at Rhaenyra’s side of the table was Joffrey, who looked like didn’t know who to start shouting at. Daemon’s face twisted in rage, “And, what would you have us do? Send a stern written warning? Anything less than a son for a son makes us look weak! How can we expect the people of Westeros to see your mother as a strong queen if they do not learn to fear her wrath?”

Luke pushed down the urge to raise his voice and remembered something Rhaena had said earlier, “Daemon, both Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel were feared. The difference between them is that Aegon was loved and feared while Maegor was hated and feared. Kill an innocent child and the kingdom will have no choice but to hate Mother.

“Besides, refusing to take revenge makes us look strong, not weak. It shows the realm that the greens may be to content to offend the gods in every way but we are not. My death is a golden opportunity for you. I’m a martyr to your cause. By not retaliating in kind, you show that Mother is and always was the wronged party in this conflict.”

Daemon opened his mouth again but Rhaenyra put a hand on his arm, “That’s enough.” She raised her head and Luke felt a stab of guilt at the sight of tears pouring down her face, “Luke’s right. Whether it be Jaehaerys or Maelor, their murder would be a terrible thing. The loss of a child…it is beyond describing and I do not wish it on Helaena. And, now that I have had time to think, I realise it will be Helaena who feels it most, not Aegon.”

Daemon snorted and gave an reluctant nod, “I doubt he remembers their names half the time.”

Rhaenyra wiped her face and took a steadying breath, “On the memory of my father and on the life of Syrax, I swear I will not commit nor will I condone any act of violence against Jaehaerys, Jaehaera or Maelor.”

She gave Daemon a commanding look. He glowered back for a moment but, a second later, he realised he was beaten, “Very well. On the memory of my brother and on the life of Caraxes, I swear the same.”

Luke relaxed. His fingers tingled and his head felt a little light as if he’d gone through a gruelling training session.

“But, you said that your death is a golden opportunity.” Rhaenyra said, “You say it as if you want everyone to still think you’re dead.”

“I do.” Luke nodded and reached for the bundle, “While I am dead, the greens are tarnished with the killing of kin and an envoy. That can be a powerful weapon to use against them when gathering allies.”

He unwrapped the bundle to reveal the mask. The paint had dried and the white had a pearly sheen just like Arrax’s scales, “I still want to ride Vermithor for you, Mother, but I won’t fly as myself. Most people have heard of mystery knights.” He pulled the mask over his face, “I intend to be a mystery dragonrider.”

Daemon forgot his anger for the moment and instead gave Luke an appraising look.

“And, how does doing that get Rhaenyra closer to the Iron Throne?”

Luke thought for a moment for a point he hadn’t already made. Then, he saw it. Daemon and Rhaenyra wouldn’t like it but, then again, they hadn’t liked much of what he’d said so far. Why not keep going?

“It doesn’t just let you use my death as a rallying cry to our allies and a damnation of our enemies. I’m a mystery and a blank page. Mother is the rightful ruler and you the rightful consort but you both come with, ah, history. History that some lords of the realm don’t find palatable.”

Daemon scowled but Laenor jumped in, “He’s only being honest.”

“Yes.” Rhaenys nodded, “You might not like it but it’s a truth you need to hear.”

“With this mask, I don’t have any history. I can be whatever I need to be. I can be…a symbol. An ideal. Something higher than a prince or a House. Something…incorruptible.”

A thoughtful silence followed.

“So, if you’re not going to be yourself,” Lord Corlys asked, “who will you be?”

Luke blushed beneath the mask, “I, uh, haven’t thought of an alias yet.”

Possible names flew around. Baela suggested ‘the White Death’. Jace put forward ‘Arrax’s Revenge’. Even Daemon got involved, putting forward ‘the Stranger’s Son’.

Then, Corlys said, “Why not Lord Velaryon?”

That gave Luke pause, “Isn’t that your title?”

“It’s one of my titles. I’m also the Lord of the Tides, the Sea Snake and just Lord Corlys. More than enough titles for one person. Rhaenyra mentioned that you worried you couldn’t take on my title so this is your chance to try it and see how it suits you.”

Rhaenys gave Corlys a glowing look, “I never thought I would be so glad to hear you give up a title.”

“And, Luke deserves it. After his performance tonight, I couldn’t be prouder to call him my son’s heir. Nor have I ever so sure that he will be formidable on the battlefield.”

Rhaenyra started, “Now, let’s wait a moment. Luke hasn’t trained with a sword at all since he returned.”

“I don’t mean in combat, Rhaenyra. In confronting you about your plans for Helaena’s children, Luke did everything a good commander should. Before the battle, he collected trustworthy allies, he chose where the battle should be fought, he came to the field well prepared and he waited for the right moment to strike. When he did, he stayed calm while his opponent lost their composure, he stood firm against all opposition and his performance inspired neutral forces to join him.” He nodded to Laenor and Rhaenys, “In the face of all that, his opponent had no choice but concede and he showed magnanimity in victory.” He leaned back, “Now, if that doesn’t show the makings of a legendary commander, I don’t know what does.”

#

Luke left the dinner table triumphant but h knew he couldn’t rest easy just yet. He stayed up until the small hours discussing what to say at the next small council meeting with Jace, Baela, Rhaena and even Laenor who dropped in an hour after dinner. 

That morning, after breaking his fast, Luke took a long time picking the right clothes. He went through every blue and silver item of clothing he had until Laenor poked his head around the door to check he was ready.

“Here.” He handed him a short silver-grey cape, “You can borrow this. See how it looks…yes, that looks right. You’ll need something to cover your hair in case the hood falls down…ah, here we are. And, better go for the black breeches. You don’t want to be wearing white in a battle…Perfect. Now, for the finishing touch.”

He pulled out a small pot from his pocket. When he opened it, Luke saw it was full of red paint.

“I thought of this as I was breaking my fast.” Laenor said, “Mother doesn’t mind you borrowing it. Let me see how it looks painted around your eyes. Hold still.”

He pulled out a small brush and Luke let him paint a swathe over his eyes.

“Alright. Now, put the mask on…yes, I thought that would work!”

Laenor brought a mirror to Luke’s face. Laenor had been right. The blood-red paint around his eyes matched the horns and made his bright blue eyes even more prominent.

Laenor clapped him on the shoulder with a proud grin, “I think Lord Velaryon is ready for war.”

He went with him to the council meeting and had Ser Steffan announce them as, “Ser Laenor of House Velaryon and Lord Velaryon.”

Heads turned and a murmur of appreciation went through the room.

“Very striking.” Corlys nodded.

Luke nodded in gratitude to his grandfather and then turned to his mother who looked torn between pride and tears.

“Thank you for giving me an audience, Your Grace.” Luke said. He found that wearing the mask made his voice steadier and stronger, “On behalf of my brothers and cousins, I would like to present some suggestions for how we may proceed if you are willing to hear them.”

Rhaenyra nodded, “By all means, Lu - ah, Lord Velaryon.”

“As I’ve found out the hard way, Vhagar is the biggest threat to our side, especially to the riders with smaller dragons. I propose that, when we fly out, no dragon flies alone. We fly in teams of at least two and a larger dragon must always accompany a smaller one.”

Daemon frowned, “That will reduce the range of our riders considerably.”

“Yes.” Luke conceded, “But, the range of the greens’ riders is small too. I doubt Dreamfyre and Helaena will take part in the fighting so, in truth, they only have three dragons prepared to go out battle. Large as Vhagar is, she can’t be everywhere at once.” 

“Our greatest asset at the moment is our dragons.” Laenor added, “They may be powerful but they can’t be easily replaced if lost. So, we can’t afford to be careless with them if we don’t have to be.”

“I agree.” Rhaenyra said, “It shall be done from now on.”

Luke had one victory. Now, for the harder battles.

“We have the confirmed support of two of the seven kingdoms and possibly the support of a third but we need more. With the Stormlands and the Westerlands out, I propose we look further afield, to places that do not seem likely to support us at first glance.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head to one side, “Do you mean the Reach?”

Luke nodded, “And Dorne.”

That caused a stir. Lord Celtigar protested, “The Hightowers are the Tyrells’ bannermen. They will not turn against them.”

“And Dorne is an old ally of the Triarchy.” Corlys added, “They won’t support anyone connected with Daemon.”

“Well then,” Laenor replied with a small smile, “we don’t involve Daemon in the negotiations.”

Daemon pulled a sour face but said nothing.

“And, we put the second lesson we learned from Shipbreaker Bay into action - we don’t go to prospective allies with empty hands. Your Grace, Jace and Joffrey are spoken for so we need to find someone from House Velaryon who is willing to put himself forth in a marriage pact with the heir to the Dornish throne, Aliandra Martell.”

Daemon snorted, “They’ll never send soldiers to fight for a Targaryen. Not even the greens. Why bother with them?”

“If we can’t negotiate for soldiers, we can at least negotiate a promise not to take action against us. Either in support of the greens…or the Triarchy. I have reason to believe,” He gave Rhaenyra a significant look, “that Otto will request aid from the Triarchy to break the blockade on King’s Landing. Take away the Triarchy’s richest backer and they will be powerless to help Otto.”

“Besides,” Jace said, “this alliance could pave the way for Dorne joining the Seven Kingdoms within a few generations. The Queen who started Westeros on the path to unification will be remembered well in the histories.”

Some faces on the council still looked unsure. Yet, about half looked convinced.

“There is no harm in asking, I suppose.” Rhaenyra said, “Though, I hope that’s not your only idea regarding the possible return of the Triarchy.”

“I think I have a few ideas on that.” Daemon put in, "I say we just cut the heads off the beast and have done with it. I can get in contact with some assassins who will deliver us the heads of their admirals before the next moon's turn."

"Or, to save money," Laenor added, "we can kill one of their admirals, make it look like one of the others did it and then let the Triarchy tear itself apart. From what I heard in Essos, the alliance has become rather fractured of late. It wouldn't take much to shatter it."

Daemon smirked, "I think I like the sound of that."

“So do I. I think we should send out spies to decide the best target.” Luke said, “As for the Tyrells, I have similar reason to believe that they will not be, ah, enthusiastic in their support of the greens as we first thought and I propose a similar arrangement. Send the offer of a marriage pact to the Lord of Highgarden in return for their allegiance.”

“But, with who?” Rhaenyra asked, “Rhaena and Baela are both married. What maiden can we put forth? And, what man can we put forth for Aliandra?”

Luke turned to Corlys, “Malentine and Rhogar Velaryon are unmarried, I think. And your nephew, Ser Daeron Velaryon, has a young daughter who is a similar age to Lord Lyonel, does he not? Daenaera, is it?”

Corlys’ eyes widened, “But, she is also the granddaughter of Ser Vaemond. Just as Malentine and Rhogar are Vaemond’s cousins. You will need a miracle to convince Vaemond’s kin to back the wife of his killer.”

Daemon crossed his arms in annoyance, “Do you have something to say about my past deeds ruining your plans? If so, say it plain and to my face.”

Luke ignored him. Baela stepped forward, “Rhaena and I will treat with Ser Daeron, Malentine and Rhogar and, if you would be happy to come with us, grandsire, your presence may sway him too.”

Corlys huffed, “I hope you don’t mean coming with you on dragonback. I do better on the sea than in the skies.”

“And, you can offer Ser Daeron and, indeed, Prince Qoren something greater than marriage pacts.” Luke paused to summon his courage, “The Driftwood Throne.”

Corlys started, “Are you suggesting I disinherit your father? And disinherit you?”

“By no means.” Laenor said, “I suggest that you drop a hint that you might. You served on the small council of Viserys for many years. I’m sure you know how to appear to promise something without actually promising anything. Suggest that you are not sure who to leave Driftmark to upon your death because my abandonment of our family for ten years is enough to make you seriously consider disowning me.” 

“And,” Luke continued, “since I am dead and it is not certain that any of your childrens’ lines will survive the war, you’ve decided to wait to name the next Lord of the Tides. That you will bestow the title on whoever you deem…worthy of it.”

Corlys spent a moment in thought before responding, “I see the ruse but Prince Qoren and Ser Daeron will not appreciate it once it’s discovered.”

“We can find a way to make it up to them once Mother is safely on the throne. Besides,” Luke added, “there’s no guarantee I will survive this war. I died once. I could easily do it again. You may well end up choosing Malentine or Ser Daeron in the end.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon winced. Corlys clearly didn’t like that idea but he was too good a commander to not see the wisdom of keeping his options open, “Very well. I will go with my granddaughters to treat with Ser Daeron. If he agrees to this, we can proceed with the Tyrells.”

Not a complete victory, Luke thought, but I’ve made gains.

“My next proposal is that we move to capture Helaena and her children.”

That didn’t cause nearly as much of a stir as his previous suggestion. Luke had unopposed silence to explain himself.

“We hold them hostage at Dragonstone. For the time being, at least. We will need to consider moving them and my younger brothers somewhere out of the greens’ reach but, for now, we take them to Dragonstone and call that our retribution for my death. I think Helaena will be happier here than in the Red Keep too. She has never been an active supporter of her husband or her mother. In fact, I have reason to believe she wept when she was crowned queen. If anything, she is their hostage and we will be her rescuers.”

Daemon thought and then nodded, “I may be able to use the men I had arranged for my original plan to accomplish this. It will be a tricky feat to capture all four of them but I think they can do it.”

“And, we can use Caraxes and Vermithor to transport them to Dragonstone.” Luke agreed, happy to find that Daemon wasn’t going to disagree with everything he suggested on principle.

“Dragons are not made for stealth and secrecy.” Rhaenyra worried.

“But, they are made for speed.” Daemon said, “Which we will certainly need in order to be clear of King’s Landing when the alarm is raised.”

“Having their queen and their crown prince in our power will give the greens pause before they act against us.” Luke said, “That brings me to my final proposal and the greatest lesson we need to learn from past failures. What would you ladies and gentlemen say was the main reason that Aegon was able to usurp the throne?”

Voices flew around the room. Everything was put forth from ‘the lords will not accept a woman on the throne’ to ‘the Hightowers are scheming cunts’.

“You’re all wrong.” Luke said after it died down, “The reason Aegon managed to steal the crown was because we didn’t know what was happening in King’s Landing. We are safe here at Dragonstone but we are also isolated. King’s Landing could burn to the ground tomorrow and we wouldn’t know until the smoke drifted over the sea. If it wasn’t for Princess Rhaenys escaping on Meleys, we wouldn’t know about Aegon’s coronation until Otto landed on our shore and we would be in a much worse position than we are in now.”

Murmurs of consternation swept around the group. Then, they turned into begrudging agreement.

“If we had kept eyes and ears on the Red Keep, we might have got wind of Otto’s plot before Viserys died and put a stop to it. As it is, we’ve wasted a lot of time that we can’t afford to lose. Especially since it might take a year for the forces of the North and the Vale to come where they’re needed. Capturing Helaena will buy us time to make up ground but we need a steady and reliable source of information to learn their plans and to find out how else we can weaken the greens.”

Daemon nodded, “I think I know just the person who could provide that but I must warn you - she won’t do it for free.”

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

The next night, Mysaria swept into the chamber of the painted table, pushing down the hood of her simple black cloak. Luke had opted to go without his mask for the meeting and left it on the table at his side. He felt it likely that she would find out his identity anyway and that being open about it might earn him some favour with her.

The moment she laid eyes on him, her closed face opened a little in comprehension, “Ah. Now, I see why Daemon changed his mind about the green queen’s children.”

“I trust you will keep this a secret.” Daemon said, “No whispering this in Otto’s ear.”

“But, of course. I have learned that the Hightowers are not worth my time. Let us see if you are a better prospect.”

Luke folded his hands before him, “We are willing to offer you the position of mistress of whispers on the small council. We need someone with your extensive network of spies in King’s Landing to send us regular updates on what is going on in the city and in the Red Keep. I know you won’t give us exclusive use of your informants for free but we have funds and I am willing to offer you something else on top of a generous amount of gold.”

“And, what would that be?”

“Ser Erryk told me that Ser Otto promised to look into closing down the pits where children are made to fight but he has not delivered on it. I want to make you a better offer. I’m not just going to have them closed down but I’ll have them closed now.”

Mysaria raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow, “A bold offer but how do you plan on achieving this under the nose of the goldcloaks?”

“I’m not going to do it under their noses. These pits are an obscenity, only allowed to thrive because the goldcloaks take bribes and because good people look the other way. They need to be forced to look upon it so the pits’ closure needs to be a spectacle. It should also to be done while Aegon is there.” 

Daemon leaned forward with a wicked grin, “Oh, I like where this is going.”

“Daemon tells me you’re looking for a way to get back at the greens for burning your home and Ser Erryk told me that Aegon is a frequent customer of the pits. Will exposing his patronage at the pits and wreaking a public punishment on him and the other patrons be enough?”

Mysaria gifted him a smile, “That would do nicely. Perhaps, better than Daemon’s previous plan but you still don’t say how you plan to do it.”

“Daemon still has friends in the city watch and in the darker corners of Flea Bottom. He knows they’ll be willing to help.” 

“I think I know of who you speak but they will not be enough for your purpose. You will need a lot more people and a secret way to communicate with them.”

“Yes, you’re right. We do need someone to put me in touch with them. If you would be willing to put me in contact with those friends and with anyone who would like a chance to hurt Aegon, I would be grateful.”

“You don’t expect me to do that for free or quickly, I hope. Neither can be done.”

“I don’t. What price would you consider fair for your help in organising this?”

“The blockade has effectively closed off all sea trade but you would not know it looking at the tables of the rich. As so often happens, it is the smallfolk who are suffering from your war. They cannot afford to pay the higher prices and starvation spreads like a disease. I want food supplies smuggled into King’s Landing and given to those suffering the most.”

Luke nodded. He turned to Corlys, who looked more than a little uncomfortable at Mysaria’s words, “Can this be done?”

Corlys straightened, “Yes, I think that would be possible. I know a few reformed smugglers who would be happy to help.”

“Good. Then, they should be mobilised as soon as possible. Starving people can’t wait.”

Mysaria gifted Luke with a small smile, “I would advise that you make sure the people of King’s Landing know who is feeding them. It would help greatly with your Queen’s cause and with your plan of humiliating Aegon. Starving men would do much for enough bread to feed their families, even commit treason. You see that this can be a mutually beneficial arrangement?”

“I do. Now, the other business I want to talk to you about is your rival in the trade of secrets, Larys Strong…”

#

HELAENA

As with so many other things, Helaena knew it would happen. She just did not know it would be today. She had first seen this in a dream on Driftmark the night Aemond’s eye had been lost. She had no idea then that she saw her own children with knives at their throats.

When she realised the truth, she thought she would have more time to hold her boys and kiss them goodnight. She thought that she could think of something that would save all her children.

But, time had run out. Blood and Cheese stood in her mother’s chambers, holding blades to her son’s throats and demanding that she choose which one should die that night.

Her visions had mercifully spared her the sight of her boy’s death. She would not be so lucky now.

She lowered her face, tears splashing onto her lap, “Maelor.”

She could not lose Jaehaerys. Jaehaera was a shadow of herself without her twin. With luck, all of them would be too young to understand what she had done. It would all be over soon anyway.

“You hear that, little boy?” Cheese, the hollows in his cheeks made more gaunt in the candlelight, “Your mama wants you dead.”

Helaena waited for the blow, the blood and the screams.

And, they didn’t come.

“This is the part where I would have taken this little one’s head.” Blood rumbled.

Helaena looked up. Both her boys were in one piece. Scared out of their wits but unharmed.

“The White Worm told us to slay the one you didn’t pick.” Blood gave Alicent a broken-toothed leer, “Lady Misery doesn’t appreciate being double-crossed.”

“Good for you that the Black Queen doesn’t want that, see?” Cheese said with a sneer, “You lot might think nothing of kinslaying but Queen Rhaenyra never would sink that low.” He leered at Alicent too, “You tell your sons that, Your Grace.”

Helaena felt as if the world had been turned on its head. Her visions had come true in ways she didn’t expect before but they had never failed to happen.

“Lord Velaryon never would neither.” Blood added.

The two men stood aside. In the doorway, there appeared a young man all in blue and silver with a pearl white mask over his face. Helaena felt something she had rarely felt before - utterly baffled. She had never seen this man in her visions before, let alone with these ‘debt collectors’.

The newcomer took in the room as one would when stepping into a royal banquet hall. He turned to Jaehaerys, whose sobs had turned to quavering snivels. The stranger stretched out a silver-gloved hand and laid it gently on the boy’s head.

Jaehaerys sniffed hard and looked up into the man’s face. Whatever he saw in those bright blue eyes, he found it comforting. He rubbed his running nose and became quiet. The stranger turned to Maelor and did the same. Maelor still looked scared but stared with quiet fascination at the mask.

Then, the stranger looked down at the dead guards. He turned back to Blood and Cheese. Helaena could not see the look in his eyes but his posture expressed annoyance.

“Had to be done.” Blood grunted.

“Think of it this way.” Cheese reasoned, “Once His Disgrace finds out about this, he’s gonna want heads to roll for it. Those guards wouldn’t have lived another day either way.”

The stranger didn’t look pleased but his shoulders gave a little slump of resignation like he admitted Cheese had a point. Still, he crouched at the side of each guard and closed their eyes with two fingers.

Perhaps, he is a kind man. A little flutter of hope emerged in Helaena’s heart.

He at last turned to Helaena and bowed to her as a lord should to a queen. He held out a hand with a small note between his fingers.

Helaena took it and unfurled it:

Hello, aunt. I am Lucerys. I came back from the dead and I will make sure all of you stay alive.

She looked back up at the man. His eyes may be blue rather than brown but the look in them at that moment, shy with a little hint of mischief, was all Luke. He pressed a finger to the mask’s lips to stop her saying his name and held out his hands to help her up.

Once she was standing, Luke turned to Alicent.

Alicent stopped thrashing as he took a step towards her. She stared up at him with the same ferocity and terror that she’d shown when Meleys approached them. Luke stared back at her for a moment. Then, with another lordly bow, he placed a letter with a silver seal on her bed.

He turned, caught Blood and Cheese’s eye and pointed to the door.

“Good idea.” Blood said.

“Aye.” Cheese nodded, “Time we were gone. You take him and follow us, nice and quiet like.” He pushed Maelor back into Helaena’s arms. Maelor clung to her like a baby monkey.

Blood let Jaehaerys go and he ran to Helaena’s side, burying his face in her skirt.

“Come on, now.” Helaena said softly, “We have to go.”

Jaehaera had stood frozen ever since the men jumped from the corners of the room. The little girl stared up at Helaena and then at Luke in confusion, looking for instructions. Then, Luke gave the little girl his lowest bow yet, extending his hand to her.

Helaena gave Jaehaera a little nod which convinced the girl to take his hand. With both her boys in hand and without a backward glance, Helaena followed Blood and Cheese to the door. Alicent thrashed in her bonds, screaming at her through her gag.

Luke brought up the rear with Jaehaera. Just as Blood closed the doors, he gave the panicking Alicent a little farewell wave.

#

AEMOND

“…and that was the last I saw any of them!”

Alicent dissolved into sobs, clutching Aemond’s arms for support. 

It had taken hours for the alarm to be raised. At last, a passing guard had heard Alicent bashing the floor with the bedpost (which was all she could do while bound) and gone in to check.

Aemond had found out first. Another nightmare involving the storming of the dragonpit meant he was already awake, listening to the wind and rain battering his window, when Ser Arryk ran past his door.

“What’s the rush?” Ser Willis had asked from his post at Aemond’s door, “Has something happened?”

“Yes!” Ser Arryk gasped, “The Queen…and the children…no time. I have to wake His Grace.”

Aemond flung on a robe and yanked the door open. He didn’t wait for Ser Arryk to tell him where to go. He already started running to the Tower of the Hand, Ser Willis trailing behind. Terror welled with every step. By the time he reached the top of the last staircase, he almost couldn’t go on. He could not bear to see Helaena cradling Jaehaerys’ headless corpse, screaming like her whole being had shattered.

But, no screams filled the air. He only heard the voice of Cole commanding guards to search the Keep and inform the City Watch to sweep the city.

Feeling wrong-footed, he hurried into the corridor. Cole stood at the door and reached for his sword at the sight of movement.

“My Prince!” He relaxed at the sight of him, “Thank goodness you’re alright. Go on in. The Queen needs you.”

Aemond hurried into the room and only found a distraught Alicent sobbing into her bedsheets, her lady-in-waiting huddled in a corner and the bodies of two guards covered by their cloaks. Alicent let out a wail at the sight of him and launched into the tale.

By the time she had finished, Aemond felt even more like the world had tilted off-balance.

“What was in the letter?”

Alicent only pushed it into his hands for him to read.

To the dowager Queen Alicent, wife to the late Viserys, the First of his Name, greetings.

You do not know me but I know you. I know you have often said that you yearned for a time when honour and decency would prevail. I am happy to say that that time has arrived. I have interceded on behalf of your daughter and her children and have persuaded King Consort Daemon against his original plans for them.

I can assure you that all will be safe on Dragonstone for the time being and that Queen Rhaenyra considers the debt incurred by Prince Aemond settled for the moment. However, should the Queen be given provocation by means of an attack on her allies or on her home, I cannot guarantee that I will be able to save them a second time.

Consider their safety and consider the safety of your sons should you and your father continue on the dangerous path you tread. Queen Rhaenyra is still willing to forgive them all and take them back into her heart (even the Prince Aemond) as there is no one more accursed than a kinslayer.

I am your humble servant,

Lord Velaryon

It was both better and worse than Aemond’s nightmare. Helaena and her children were alive - but Rhaenyra and this Lord Velaryon had only spared them to shame him.

Cole gave a shout, “Who goes - oh! Your Grace, Lord Hand, my apologies. The Prince Aemond is already here - ”

The door banged open. Otto’s eyes looked ready to shoot lightning. Aegon, by contrast, looked half-asleep and had to be held up by Ser Arryk.

“How could this have been allowed to happen?” Otto snarled at Cole, “How could it have taken until the hour of ghosts for the guards to even notice anything was amiss?!”

“Where were you, Grandsire?” Aemond countered, “Your chambers are just above. If you had been here, Mother would have had aid sooner.”

Otto flushed, “I was in the small council chamber, going over scout reports lately arrived from the riverlands.”

Aegon didn’t seem to notice. He just looked up through his scruffy hair and mumbled, “Wha’s happened…? Wha’s going on? Wha’ever it is, Jace did it.”

Aemond relayed what Alicent had told him. By that time, Aegon had fully woken and finally realised what was happening.

“Let’s see the letter.” Otto held out his hand. Aemond handed it over and let him read aloud.

Aegon turned to Aemond, his face twisting with hatred, “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t killed Lucerys, Helaena would still be here! Just couldn’t let that eye business go, could you?”

Aemond had to bite his tongue as Alicent rebuked Aegon.

How swift you are to change your tone, Aemond thought, Only two moons ago, you threw me a feast and told me I had made a good start.

“Before we start apportioning blame,” Otto said, “I want to know what those men meant by the White Worm being double-crossed. I have been nothing but cordial to the White Worm. Whatever it is, someone must have done something to offend her around the time of His Grace’s coronation. That was when she stopped responding to me.” He looked around the room and at all their faces. Then, his eyes settled on Alicent. Whatever he saw in her face, it filled him with a cold fury, “What did you do?”

“I did not wish to be spied on!” Alicent burst out, “You may be content to fill the Red Keep with prying eyes but I am not!”

“And, in rooting them out, you have made a powerful enemy.” Otto said, slowly and quietly but with a voice full of venom, “You have cost us our Queen and the princes. Do you see where your meddling gets us now? Do you not think it more prudent to allow me to make important decisions on the King’s behalf rather than attempt to make plans beyond your capability?”

“If I had but been informed of your plans from the start and been allowed to voice my own opinion - ”

“Grandsire.” Aemond said before the argument could escalate further, “We ought to focus on finding Lord Velaryon. This White Worm may want nothing to do with us but we still have Lord Larys.”

He hated that fact. He hated how a look of discomfort crossed his mother’s face at the name. It got Aemond what he wanted, however. Otto dropped the subject and instead asked Alicent in a calmer voice, “What did this Lord Velaryon look like? You didn’t see his face but, by his stature, do you think him young or old?”

Alicent wiped furious tears from her eyes and pulled herself together, “Young, I think. It was certainly not Lord Corlys.”

“I wonder if he even knows someone has stolen his title. And, you saw this Lord Velaryon’s eyes, did you not?”

“Yes. Yes, they were…bright blue. The way he looked at me…” Alicent shuddered, “…as if I was an insect to him.”

“And, he never spoke?”

“Not a word.”

“And, what did the mask look like?”

“It was pearl white with small red horns.”

Aemond could not stop himself flinching.

“What is it?” Otto asked, “Is that significant?”

“Those were Arrax’s colours.”

“Ah,” Otto nodded, “I see. This Lord Velaryon means to shame us and make us look weak but this will not go unanswered. Ser Arryk, rouse the small council and bring them for an urgent meeting. Ser Criston, ready a contingent of soldiers and Kingsguard. We make for Dragonstone on the morrow.”

“I’ll go on Sunfyre.” Aegon said.

“No. We must appear only as envoys to them. Any outward hostility may be fatal to your Queen.”

The small council had certainly not been pleased to be woken at the hour of ghosts. As Aemond waited by the door for them all to arrive, Aemond heard Ser Tyland’s grumbling voice coming from around the corner, “Gods spare me, what’s happened now? Has the King died again - Ow! Wylde! What was that for? It was only a joke and there’s no one here!”

“There’s always someone listening, you dozy fool!” Lord Jasper snapped, “Be grateful it wasn’t Cole who heard you say that! He’ll have your tongue or worse! Don’t forget what happened to Lord Beesbury. Do you want that to happen to you?”

“No! But, he knows we’re loyal. He’d never - ”

“Of course, he would, you idiot! Why are you always so dull-witted first thing in the morning?”

“My wits would be fine if I wasn’t woken in the small hours every other night.”

Aemond slipped into the chamber just as they turned the corner. His mind had snagged on something they’d said: Don’t forget what happened to Lord Beesbury. As far as he knew, Lord Beesbury rotted in a black cell for refusing to swear allegiance to Aegon. He had no reason to doubt that before now. 

Yet, there was something in Lord Jasper’s half-panicked tone that suggested a worse fate.

Aemond had no chance of questioning anyone about it. The moment everyone sat down, the meeting turned straight to Helaena’s capture and Lord Velaryon.

“We must find out how they got in.” Lord Jasper said, “And, who let them in. They can’t have entered without help from the inside!”

“Perhaps, it was one of the lords who hesitated when swearing their oaths to His Grace.” Ser Tyland pointed out, “Perhaps, Lord Rosby or Lord Stokeworth. They may have only pretended to swear an oath to His Grace then secretly conspired with Rhaenyra.”

“I am sure Lord Larys will be able to draw confessions out of them if that is the case.”

Larys only inclined his head to Otto in acknowledgment.

About an hour into the meeting, Ser Rickard appeared at the door with news from the goldcloaks.

“Guards on the Dragon Gate saw two men matching the description leaving the city a few hours ago with a large cart.”

Helaena and the children must have been hidden in it. Aemond thought.

“They can’t have gone far.” Otto said, “And, this weather is not fit for sailing in. If we are fortunate, perhaps, they have not yet set off and we may catch them yet.”

“I’ve already sent men out.” Ser Rickard confirmed. Then, he gave a hard swallow and said, “But, my Lord Hand, some of the goldcloaks on the city walls say they saw two dragons flying out to sea before the storm hit.”

“Dragons? Which ones?”

“They’re certain one of them was Caraxes but, as for the other, no one can say for sure. They only say that it was larger than Caraxes by some way. A few of them thought it was Vhagar at first. What the witnesses can say for certain is that both dragons had more than one rider.”

The small council all looked at each other, bewildered. Aemond certainly didn’t know what to make of it.

Syrax and Meleys are both smaller than Caraxes so it can’t be them. But, what other large dragons do the blacks have? Did someone claim one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone? If so, which one? And who?

Unless…but surely not…

Otto shook himself from his confusion first, “Then, it may well be that the Queen and the children have been taken to Dragonstone on dragonback. Ser Rickard, continue leading your search of the ports outside the city, just in case. When you are done, you will accompany me and Ser Criston to Dragonstone to parlay with Rhaenyra.”

No better solution manifested itself so the council broke up soon after that. Aemond’s mind was completely taken up with wondering about the other dragon and its rider. So much so that he forgot about asking after Lord Beesbury until he re-entered his chambers but not so much that he didn’t hear Otto say as everyone else left.

“Ser Arryk, a word in private if you please.”

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

They landed back on Dragonstone at the hour of the nightingale. Helaena and the children had been welcomed by Rhaenyra, Jace, Baela and Rhaena at the foot of the dragonmount. Once Luke had removed his mask, Helaena smiled as bright as the sun.

They could not stay talking for long, however. Jaehaerys became irritable and Maelor started falling asleep on his feet. Baela and Rhaena took Helaena and the children up to her new chambers and, the next day, they let the four sleep late.

During a meeting over their next move in the Riverlands, they heard Vermax give two sharp calls from outside - the recently agreed signal for a ship approaching.

Rhaenyra gathered her dragonriders and met Jace in the courtyard with Vermax. Without preamble, he stated what he’d seen, “A small galley with a green dragon flag and a flag of parlay.”

“Oh, good!” Daemon said. He had sent word to the Velaryon blockade ships to allow through any ship flying a flag of parlay and with Otto aboard, “Shall I take Caraxes and burn his ship when it comes into harbour?”

“Certainly not.” Rhaenyra said, “We are maintaining the moral high ground, if you recall, and I’m sure you don’t want to rob yourself of the opportunity to laugh in Otto’s face, do you? I thought not. Jace, are any dragons accompanying him?”

“None that I could see.”

“Very well. Jace, Princess Rhaenys, take to the skies and keep watch. If you see any foul play, then, you can burn them to ash. Everyone else, with me. Let us see if Otto has a better offer than the last one.”

Daemon looked ready to object at being made to stay on the ground but he seemed to decide against it. The gates opened and the party moved down the bridge.

Dragonstone’s mists had dissipated for the moment. Luke could see just how many knights marched up to meet them.

Rhaena took Luke’s wrist and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Luke took a deep breath.

They can’t see your face. To them, you are not Lucerys, the nervous prince he doesn’t think he can do anything. You are Lord Velaryon. Lord Velaryon isn’t scared of Hightower knights. He thinks they’re all traitors and not worth his time.

The more he thought it, the more Luke found the strength to straighten his back, hold his head up and keep his steps even. With a clearer mind, he could count the knights and notice more than their numbers.

Ten knights, not counting Ser Criston Cole and Ser Rickard Thorne. Two Kingsguard. Last time, there was only one. I wonder why Ser Arryk isn’t here this time. Otto looks nervous. And Jace is right; there’s no dragon with them.

Last time, Otto had walked ahead of his knights, confident and easy in his victory over Rhaenyra. Now, he kept in step with the Kingsguard, not daring to put a toe ahead as if Cole and Thorne held a great invisible shield between them.

The skies stood empty above them. No sign of Tessarion, Sunfyre or Vhagar. Lucerys looked up and behind them just in case but there was not a single unfriendly dragon to be seen. 

Strange.

Lucerys felt not nearly as nervous about this as he was annoyed. To their knowledge, their innocent sister and her children had been kidnapped. Was that not enough to bring them out to seek revenge?

And, surely, Otto hasn’t forgotten that things didn’t go well for him the last two times he came without dragon support. When is he going to learn?

The two parties met at the centre of the bridge, just as they had before.

“I come on behalf of King Aegon.” Otto said, his voice strong but not as steady as usual, “I come to beg the return of his wife, Queen Helaena, along with his children and to inform you that, if they are not returned within a moon’s turn, Vhagar will wreak the same fate on Dragonstone as befell Harrenhal.”

“Empty threat.” Daemon sneered, “You know that Helaena and the children would burn along with the rest of us if he did. But, speaking of which, why isn’t Vhagar here now? I would have thought the Prince Aemond would have at least come along to try and scare us. He is so fond of settling a score, after all.”

Otto’s mouth twitched. Lucerys couldn’t tell if it was with irritation or guilt.

“We know full well why you have done this but Helaena and her children are innocent.”

“As was my son.” Rhaenyra stepped forward, “He swore to me on the Seven Pointed Star that he would not take part in any fighting. He kept to his oath faithfully and he was torn asunder by your grandson’s dragon for it.”

Otto painted his face with fake sorrow, “I am sorry for your loss, Princess, but, if you are so determined to wage war, you must be prepared to endure this loss and many more.”

“I am Queen, Ser Otto.” Then, a smile crept over Rhaenyra’s face, “I am surprised I have to remind you so often. Was it not your idea to make me heir in the first place?”

Luke had been the one to tell her that when describing his visions. Daemon had forgotten about it until then and had laughed himself silly at the memory of that small council meeting.

Otto did not laugh or even smile. A dull flush crept up his face.

“It was the best option we had at the time. We did not know then that the king would have sons.”

Daemon snickered, “And, you’re trying to tell me that a drunken cunt and a mad kinslayer are better options than Rhaenyra? She, who my brother chose as his heir and not once in over twenty years stated to be anything but. And, don’t insult us by claiming Viserys changed his mind on his deathbed. If he did mention your grandson, it’s more likely because he was lost in poppy dreams.”

Otto scowled, “We’re getting away from the matter at hand. Will you hand over Helaena and the children now or will you risk the wrath of my other grandson?”

Rhaenyra returned a cold look and then replied, “If you are truly sorry for the loss of Lucerys, then you will not object to an exchange. My sweet sister, Helaena, for my brother, Aemond.”

“And, what will you do with Aemond if I agree?”

“He will be made to answer for what he has done. That’s all you need to know.”

“You can keep Vhagar.” Daemon added with a smirk.

Otto’s frown deepened. His eye wandered over the party and lighted on Laenor. He took a step back with a start, “Is that Ser Laenor among you?”

“It is.” Laenor said, “I have returned from hiding to avenge my innocent son.”

“From hiding? You are believed to be dead. Your own mother attested to it.”

“I deceived all my kin, Lord Hand. I fled Westeros in secret but I cannot continue to hide across the Narrow Sea while my family is attacked and stained with the name of treachery for attempting to claim what is rightfully theirs!”

He spat the last words with incredible venom.

“And, Seasmoke is with you, I take it?” Otto said, the usual calculating look appearing. Lucerys could almost see him weighing the loss of Arrax against the reclaiming of Seasmoke.

Then, his eye caught Lucerys.

“And, I take it that masked mummer behind you is the one who kidnapped my granddaughter and her children. The one who calls himself Lord Velaryon?”

Daemon glanced back, “Ah, how rude of us. Allow me to introduce my daughter’s new husband, Lord Velaryon.”

Lucerys fixed his gaze on Otto, who scowled and turned back to Daemon, “And Lord Corlys allowed his title and granddaughter to be given to a stranger?”

“Lord Corlys says he has enough titles. He can afford to let Rhaena’s husband borrow one.”

“Does he not have another name?” Otto demanded, “And, can he not speak for himself?”

“He prefers to let his dragon do the talking.”

“Dragon?” For the first time, Otto looked thrown.

Lucerys fixed the image of Otto in his mind. He thought of how much he hated the man, how much he had torn his family apart in the name of ambition.

Vermithor answered. Lucerys slowly lifted a hand and gestured to his left. On cue, he heard the sound of Vermithor’s claws working their way up the cliff to perch in full view.

“Vermithor.” Ser Rickard breathed. A ripple went through the knights. Lucerys could spot both confusion and fear among them.

“My husband is, no doubt, sorry that Prince Aemond did not choose to come today.” Rhaena spoke up. Her voice quavered a little as all eyes turned to her. Lucerys found her hand and squeezed it, “For he wished to look into the eye of the man who killed my betrothed before he has a chance to try his mount’s strength against Vhagar.”

Otto glared at her, “You agreed to marry a nameless stranger on the promise of revenge?”

“Not just revenge, Ser Otto.” Rhaena’s voice grew stronger with every word, “Lord Velaryon promised me two things in exchange for my hand: revenge for Lucerys' death and a dragon of my own.”

More crashing came from the cliffs and Silverwing’s call rang like a bell through the air.

“By my count,” Daemon said, “that brings our force up to nine dragons. More than one for each of the kingdoms. You may have the largest dragon but, as Lord Velaryon said, even the biggest of the dragons can’t be everywhere in the realm at once. Nor can they face an assault from all sides from multiple dragons.”

Lucerys had the mental image of Vhagar chasing the black dragons around the kingdoms like a dog fruitlessly chasing its tail. He could see Otto saw something similar in his mind’s eye too.

“That is your offer?” He turned back to Rhaenyra, “Helaena and her children’s safe return in exchange for Aemond?”

“And in exchange for Aegon giving up the crown and acknowledging me as the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, of course. But, I don’t think I said anything about the children.” Rhaenyra said, “Jaehaera can be my ward’s cupbearer and Jaehaerys can be Lord Velaryon’s cupbearer. In time, Maelor can be his squire.”

“It would be a privilege for them.” Daemon grinned, reveling in Otto’s cloaked horror, “And, they would be quite safe. Lord Velaryon is a much more kind man than I.”

“And, what right does this Lord Velaryon have to claim royal children as his servants?” Otto replied, a little edge of anger appearing at last, “He is no prince. He is not even a true Lord. I will have an answer. Who is he?”

“He’s a lucky find.” Laenor answered, “I met him in my travels around Essos. When he heard what happened to Lucerys, he begged me to take him to Westeros to aid the true queen.”

#

AEMOND

“…and I got no more answer than that.”

Confusion rippled around the small council chamber.

“Well,” Ser Tyland said with a small laugh, “he knows the way to a woman’s heart, that’s for sure. A dragon and vengeance, who can ask for more?”

“And, Rhaena didn’t waste much time mourning Lucerys, did she?” Aegon chortled.

“But, what is being done to free Helaena?” Alicent asked, her lip trembling, “We can’t even think about an assault on Dragonstone now. Not even Vhagar can stand against six adult dragons! And, a siege won’t work. They’ll just burn any ships that get close.”

“Not to worry, I didn’t waste time thinking of what we can’t do but on what we can do.” Otto said. Aemond realised in that moment where Alicent got her knack for inserting barbs in the most innocent of words, “I have put in motion a plan to infiltrate the castle and free the Queen and the children. I have also asked my agent to investigate Lord Velaryon too and uncover his true identity. If all goes well, he’ll bring this masked mummer back alive to stand trial. As for the rest of them…my agent will be quick and clean.”

Aegon’s mouth flicked up, “I’ll look forward to hearing from him, then. You have to give Lord Velaryon credit, though. He’s got balls if he thinks he can take on Vhagar. Vermithor is smaller than Vhagar, is he not?”

“No dragon in the world can match Vhagar, Your Grace.”

“But, did you see Helaena?” Alicent pressed, “Did they bring her out?”

“They did not. The Princess gave her word that they would be safe so long as they are not given any further, ah, provocation. She even said she was glad to have them at Dragonstone as it meant the cradle would have some use.”

“Cradle?” Alicent repeated, “What do you mean, the cradle will have some use? Surely, she has delivered her child by now.”

Otto swallowed hard, voice betraying a tiny hint of guilt, “I understand the news of the King’s coronation brought a premature labour and she lost the babe.”

Alicent gave a small sob, hand flying to her mouth just too late to muffle it. Even Aegon’s face fell as he breathed, “Oh, shit.” 

A dreadful silence fell over the small council chamber for a few moments.

“Of course, Daemon lays the blame on us. He says we owe them a son and a daughter now.”

Aemond felt as if a dagger was being twisted in his stomach. He glanced around, almost expecting the ghost of Rhaenyra’s girl to start crawling up the walls again.

For, it was a ghost. That was a certainty now. He could not pretend she and Luke were products of a weak mind. He truly was haunted.

He pushed his terror down and adopted a scornful tone, “A pity the whore didn’t die in childbirth. That would have saved time.” He ignored his mother’s horrified look and his own rising nausea at his words. Instead, he turned to Cole, “What did you think of him, Cole?”

“He does not cut an imposing figure. Without his dragon, a fight with him would be little challenge.”

A chill went down Aemond’s spine. He had to bite back the anger at such a choice of words.

He let the small council continue their discussion of what to do next. All the while, Aemond’s mind raced. A mystery dragonrider was unheard of. An absurdity. To ride a dragon was such a gift. How could a man not wish the whole world to know he had claimed such a prestigious mount at Vermithor?

And, what was Lucerys to him that he would swear to avenge the youth’s death?

A question from Alicent broke his musing, “What did they say they would do to Aemond if we traded him for Helaena?”

“They did not say. Daemon did say that we could keep Vhagar, however, which implies that, whatever they do to him, they would keep him alive.”

When Alicent looked puzzled, Aemond elaborated, “While I live, Vhagar will not accept another rider. Imprison me alive and Vhagar will be rendered useless.”

He almost had to admire the cruel elegance of it. It was more than he expected from Daemon and Rhaenyra.

Unless, it wasn’t their idea. No, this is more likely a scheme of this Lord Velaryon.

“Well, they can’t have him then.” Aegon snapped.

“But, Aegon - Your Grace, what of your wife? Your children?”

Aegon just shrugged, “We all have to make unpleasant sacrifices in war, as Grandsire keeps saying. If anything happens, I can always do what Father did and marry again. Good thing I have two sons from Helaena. Means there’s no chance of the realm getting confused about the succession again, doesn’t it?”

Aemond clenched his fists to stop himself taking Aegon’s skull and crushing it between his palms.

“So,” Aegon clapped his hands and gave them an over-bright smile, “in short, the blacks lost a dragon but they’ve gained three bigger ones. They’ve taken my Queen and my heirs hostage and Lord Borros has fucked off with his men to deal with a Vulture King. Well, Aemond, I hope Lady Floris is pretty because I can’t see what else we’ve gained out of your trip to Storm’s End.”

Aemond gripped his thighs so hard that he almost raised bruises. It was the only thing he could do to stop himself leaping across the table to throttle Aegon.

#

LUCERYS

Once Otto had disappeared behind the bridge gates, Daemon clapped Luke on the shoulder, “That couldn’t have gone better.”

The mood among them was jubilant as they reached the castle gates. Daemon crowed about the look on Otto’s face when Vermithor showed himself. Rhaena couldn’t stop smiling. Luke felt like he could fly without the need for a dragon.

His eyes fell upon Ser Erryk standing about ten feet away in the courtyard. Their eyes met - and Ser Erryk jumped in shock.

Luke thought he must not have been paying attention to where he was going at first. Then, Ser Erryk’s face went from shock to confusion.

Luke tugged at Daemon’s sleeve, “Daemon! That’s not Ser Erryk!”

Daemon looked round and saw what Luke meant at once. Ser Arryk whirled about and tried to make for a side door just as Daemon shouted, “Seize him!”

#

An hour later, they were all gathered around the painted table, all glee gone. Daemon had just returned from the dungeon after questioning Ser Arryk.

“Apparently, he was sent to kill Rhaenyra and bring Lord Velaryon unmasked and alive back to King’s Landing for a public execution.” Daemon said, face grim, “We can’t him live for that.”

Ser Erryk’s face fell, “Then, I’ll do it. I’ll give him a clean and honourable death.”

“More than he deserves,” Daemon scoffed, “but that is your right.”

Luke remembered one of the visions. In it, Ser Erryk had caught Ser Arryk in the corridors of Dragonstone. The pair had fought and ended up giving each other fatal wounds. Just another moment of both sides wounding the other without any gain.

“Please don’t make Helaena face any consequences for this.” Baela said, reading her father’s face.

“She’s our hostage. If we do not wreak some punishment on her, we will be seen as weak.” Daemon said though he looked like he would rather cut his own fingers off than do it, “The greens would not hesitate in our position.”

Another possibility occurred to Lucerys from somewhere deep in his soul. Somewhere that only another’s soul resided.

“Wait. We do not need Ser Arryk’s death. Nor do we even need to make it public that he has been caught. If we do, Otto will try something else and we may not be able to catch the next spy he sends.” Luke turned to Ser Erryk, “How similar is your handwriting to Ser Arryk’s?”

Ser Erryk blinked in confusion for a moment, “Our hands are similar but I would not say identical.”

Luke nodded, “Would it be similar enough to fool Otto?”

“Ahh.” Daemon nodded with a growing grin, “I see it now. We’re going to use this to feed Otto false information.”

“Yes. We send a letter telling Otto that Arryk has killed Erryk and taken his place in Dragonstone. Then, we stall Otto for as long as we can with news that he is trying to get close enough to find out who I am but his attempts keep failing.”

“And keep Otto from suspecting anything by feeding him false tipoffs about where we intend to send our men and dragons.” Daemon nodded, “That is brilliant, indeed. I’d better go and tell Arryk that we’ve decided he can keep his head for now and Helaena can keep her fingers. He’ll be delighted.”

Once Daemon was out of the room, Ser Erryk gave him a smile, “Thank you, my Prince. Arryk is a fool but he is still my brother.”

Baela beamed and Rhaenyra gave Luke a grateful smile too, “Once this is done, Ser Arryk will have the opportunity to go to the Wall. Now, Luke, I have just received something that you should hear.” She picked up a small scroll, “The Lady of Storm’s End has sent us word that they’ve found Arrax’s head.”

Luke felt like a hand had clenched about his throat. Rhaena, Jace and Baela moved closer, ready to reach out and support him.

“She has invited us to come and collect his skull to preserve in the halls of Dragonstone in keeping with our traditions.”

Baela frowned, “This feels like a trap.”

“It does.” Jace agreed, “I say we tell her to hold it until you are on the throne, Your Grace. The Baratheons have already proved that Storm’s End is not safe for us to enter.”

Something in Luke rebelled at that. It was not just that he could not bear the idea of Arrax’s skull left to be forgotten in an empty chamber within Storm’s End. It was that something in him urged him towards the place.

“I…I think I need to pray at the sept before we make a decision.”

Rhaenyra looked confused. Jace, Baela and Rhaena, however, nodded. Jace told Rhaenyra, “He should go now, Your Grace. The gods will tell him how to proceed. Continue without us.”

Before any other protest could be made, the four made their way to the sept. Luke almost made his way to the Stranger. Then, a voice came from the other end of the sept.

“The lion speaks with the maiden’s mouth.”

Luke turned. Helaena knelt at the foot of the Crone’s statue, her eyes slightly glazed. Then, she blinked and smiled, “Hello, Luke. Did the meeting with Grandsire go well?”

“Fine. What was that you said about a lion and a maiden?”

Helaena went pink then lowered her eyes, “Oh. That’s nothing. Don’t pay attention to it.” She turned back to the Crone, hiding her face behind her hair.

Then, Luke remembered her muttering about a beast beneath the boards at Viserys’ last feast.

A beast beneath the boards…Grandmother said she burst through the floor on Meleys when she escaped during Aegon’s coronation.

Luke crossed the room to kneel next to her, “Does that happen often?”

Helaena went a deeper pink, “I can’t help it. It just…happens. I see things but I can’t put them into words. I just sound…mad and I can’t make people understand. Sometimes, even I don’t understand.”

“What exactly did you see?” Baela knelt at Helaena’s other side, “Maybe, we can help make sense of it.”

Helaena turned to stare at her, “You don’t think I’m mad?”

“Luke’s had visions too and they’ve been helpful. Maybe, yours are of the same sort.”

Baela gave her an encouraging smile. Helaena looked down but not out of shame this time. If Luke had to describe her face, it would be ‘almost too happy for words’.

“I saw a lion…sitting at the foot of the Maiden’s statue…but I can’t remember all of it. It slips away so quickly like a dream.”

“Here.” Baela drew out a roll of paper from her shoulderbag, “Keep this with you. Next time you have one of those visions, write it down so you don’t forget.”

Helaena took the papers as though they were made of gold, “Thank you, Lady Baela. This is the first time anyone’s talked to me about this. Mostly, they just pretend I don’t have them. They think I do for attention.”

Baela smiled and glanced away, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed at the praise. Luke caught Rhaena and Jace’s eye and they shared a secret smile.

They stood up and moved quietly off to leave Baela and Helaena alone.

The lion at the foot of the Maiden’s statue…if Helaena is having dragon dreams, perhaps, it’s a message from the gods.

Luke approached the Maiden’s statue and knelt to pray. He heard a rushing sound and, when he opened his eyes, a tall, imposing woman with a long fur headdress, a proud face and red eyes like burning rubies stood in the Maiden’s place.

“Greetings, mortal. You stand before the goddess of love and fertility, Meleys.”

Luke had thought her terrifying aspect reminded him somewhat of Rhaenys.

“You are right to fear me. My gifts are some of the strongest forces in the world. It is a reflection of the Andals’ folly that they associate love with a helpless maiden. How it galls me that this is the image I must use to speak to you. 

“Hear me now for I have a task for you. At Storm’s End, a marriage pact was made between Prince Aemond and Lady Floris. There was no love between them then and there is even less now. Lady Floris wishes to escape her marriage but she cannot do it alone. I cannot abide a union where there is no true love or even fond feeling. Go to Storm’s End and help her pursue her true love. 

“Do this and you will have my favour. That is not a small thing. Do not think me only capable of influencing romantic love. I can sway bonds of friendship and family, loyalty to one’s country and one’s leader and how you love yourself. Earn my favour and I will ensure you are loved and respected by all.”

With that, she vanished and the Maiden’s statue resumed its form. Its face looked so sweet, demure and unlike Meleys. Luke stood and, once he had told the others, went back to the chamber of the painted table.

“I think Lord Velaryon should go.”

They all turned to him, astonished.

“After what happened last time?” Laenor protested.

“Aemond won’t be there. And, I won’t go alone.”

“I’ll go with you.” Rhaena said, “Even if Aemond does turn up, he’ll think twice before fighting Vermithor and Silverwing.”

“And Meleys.” Rhaenys put in, “I shall go as well. I would like to have a few words with my kinsman about the way he treated you.”

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

Only blue sky and a light breeze waited for them as the three dragons landed in the empty courtyard of Storm’s End early the next morning. It was a tight squeeze but they managed to get all three dragons in one place. The group of guards before the door that had been unfazed at Arrax now looked ready to shake out of their boots with terror.

“I am Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen.” Rhaenys declared, bringing up the front with Luke and Rhaena on either side, “I come with my granddaughter, Lady Rhaena, and her husband, Lord Velaryon, to collect the skull of my grandson’s dragon.”

The guards looked at Luke with bewilderment. Then, they remembered their duty and turned on their heels to escort them into the hall.

They entered the main hall. It looked so different with bright sunlight streaming through the high windows. The harsh grey stone walls could never make the place look comfortable but, at least, it looked less like a trap.

Lady Elenda sat in her husband’s chair. Her daughters stood around her as if ready to throw themselves in front of her if Rhaenys charged. Other scattered servants and nobility stood around the hall, watching them all with wary and curious eyes.

It doesn’t look like news of Helaena’s capture has spread yet. Luke thought.

“Good morrow to you, Lady Elenda.” Rhaenys said with supreme dignity, “I had hoped to see your lord husband. I have a few things to say to him about his conduct towards my late grandson.”

Luke remembered in that moment why he’d grown up scared of Rhaenys.

Lady Elenda swallowed, “I am afraid Lord Borros has been called away to the Red Mountains. A new Vulture King threatens our borders.”

So, Luke thought, the stormlanders won’t be fighting with the green forces for a while. Interesting.

Lady Elenda realised her slip a second too. To cover her blushes, she called to the guards at her side, “Captain, give Princess Rhaenys the skull of Arrax.”

The dark-bearded captain nodded and picked up a large chest sitting beside Lady Elenda. He carried it to Rhaenys and held it out. Luke clenched his fists beneath his cloak. He could only watch as Rhaenys undid the latch and opened it.

Arrax’s skull sat in a bed of crushed red velvet. It looked barely bigger than a horse’s head. Luke didn’t remember Arrax’s head being so small.

Rhaenys perhaps sensed Luke’s welling grief. She closed the chest and looked up at the guard, “I suppose there is no further news in the search for Lucerys’ body?”

“No, Princess.” The captain shook his head, his eyes full of sadness, “I’ve told all the fishermen in these waters to keep an eye out.”

“We grieve that his loss happened so close to Storm’s End,” Lady Elenda said with a slight shake in her voice, “but my Lord husband is innocent of this. He would have never let the Prince Aemond go so quickly if he had known what he intended and we will do all we can to recover the Prince’s body, Princess.”

“Thank you, my Lady. Very kind.” The ice in Rhaenys’ voice could have frozen the whole of Shipbreaker Bay, “Now, if you would like to aid me, Captain, I shall attach this to Meleys’ saddle.”

“Once that is done,” One of Elenda’s daughters spoke up, “perhaps, you and your companions would like some refreshment before you leave.”

“We would be happy to rest after our journey. Thank you, Lady - ”

“Floris, Princess. I am Lady Floris.”

Floris. Then, Luke remembered her face, She is Aemond’s betrothed.

They moved into a smaller room filled with chairs and couches covered in rather moth-eaten furs. Lady Elenda ordered wine and cakes to be brought. The tallest Baratheon daughter, who introduced herself as Cassandra, called for some music.

Rhaenys sat beside Elenda, who looked rather uncomfortable with this arrangement. Luke took a place near Floris. He could sense she had something she desperately wanted to say. Her fingers twisted on her seven-pointed star pendant and she kept looking between them as if wondering who would be the sympathetic ear.

“I must confess.” Elenda said as the wine came, “I was puzzled when the herald said ‘Lord Velaryon’. I expected to see your husband, Princess Rhaenys.”

Rhaenys gave her a nod, “An easy mistake to make. My husband has allowed Lord Velaryon to borrow the title for the time being.”

“He is my new husband.” Rhaena said, taking Luke’s hand. The four Baratheon girls eyes went straight to her in fascination, “Upon our marriage, he promised me two things: a dragon and revenge for my first betrothed. You can see he already fulfilled half of the deal.”

All the ladies stared in astonishment.

“But, who are you?” The smallest daughter, Maris, asked, “Why are you wearing that mask?”

“My good-grandson is not one for conversation, Lady Maris. Now, Lady Elenda, I was wondering if you could give me a full account of what happened when Luke arrived. We know Lord Borros spurned my good-daughter’s request but we know little else.”

Lady Elenda stumbled through the story, quailing under Rhaenys’ eye. As she did so, Floris edged up to Luke. The other three sisters carefully moved around them until Floris, Luke and Rhaena were blocked from Lady Elenda’s view.

“Forgive my forwardness, Lord Velaryon, but are you going to kill Prince Aemond?”

Luke didn’t nod or shake his head. If he was honest with himself, he was not quite sure what he would do when faced with Aemond.

“We will do whatever is necessary to put my stepmother on the throne.” Rhaena said, “Vhagar is the usurper’s greatest weapon so I am afraid that it may come to that. I know he is your betrothed and I am sorry but, if we have no other option, it must be done.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me.” Floris fiddled with her pendant again, “You would do me a good turn if you were to kill him.”

Luke put his head to one side, giving her a questioning look.

“I thought he was different from the other highborn men. Most only notice my beauty. He noticed my devotion to the Seven and he said his royal mother was pious too so she would like me. I thought he would make a good husband as he was so considerate of her. But, I was wrong. He has committed the most grievous sin against the gods a man can commit and I cannot damn my soul by marrying a kinslayer. No, I would rather hang myself on my wedding day than insult the gods that way.”

Her chest heaved with emotion. She took a deep steadying breath and went on.

“That’s why I asked Mother to summon you. I need to find a way to break this engagement. I told my father that I wish the engagement to be dissolved but he won’t do it. He claimed that the pact made and that he would be seen as an oathbreaker if he broke it off.”

“As if he wasn’t already an oathbreaker for turning against Rhaenyra.” Maris put in, “He’s just scared of Vhagar.”

“Please,” Floris looked at Luke with teary, imploring eyes, “can you help me?”

Luke looked at Rhaena. Rhaena looked troubled for a moment. They had been expecting her to ask them for help to marry someone else but it didn’t seem like she had another man in mind. 

Then, Rhaena solved the problem, “I don’t think we can persuade your father to break off the marriage pact but…but, we can make sure it isn’t fulfilled. You say you’re pious. How would you feel about taking septa’s vows?”

Floris’ face lit up, “Oh, that is what I had hoped to do from girlhood. I thought that, since I am a fourth daughter, it would be proper for me to join the Faith but my father thought my beauty was too good to waste.” She added the last part rather bitterly.

So, that’s Floris’ true love. Luke thought.

“But, how can we get her away from Storm’s End?” Cassandra asked, “Mother won’t give her leave. Not for this. She’s too scared of Vhagar to dare defying Aegon. And, all the knights and guards in Storm’s End are loyal to Father. They won’t help.”

Luke pointed to the window, where Silverwing could be seen watching a flock of seagulls.

Rhaena nodded, “Yes, you’re right. Knights and guards can’t stop a dragon. It’s just a matter of finding a way to get you onto Silverwing without being stopped.”

At that point, Lady Elenda stood up and excused herself to go to the privy. Rhaena seized the opportunity to call to Rhaenys, “Come, grandmother. The cakes here are excellent.”

When Rhaenys approached, Rhaena quickly relayed what they’d been told.

Rhaenys gave Floris an appraising look that made the girl shrink with nerves, “You are aware that, in doing this, my granddaughter and good-grandson are risking the fury of your father and, indeed, of your betrothed?”

“It seems to me you already have it.” Maris piped up, “Prince Aemond already hates you all on principle and Father has no love for the black queen anyway.”

One corner of Rhaenys’ mouth curved up into an appreciative smile, “That is so. Well, if both of you,” She looked to Luke and Rhaena, “are willing to take the consequences, then, I shall help any way I can. Lady Floris, I advise that you go to a motherhouse outside the Stormlands. Any motherhouse within your father’s lands will likely send you back rather than risk his ire. I believe there is a motherhouse in Gulltown that would do nicely.”

They just managed to solidify their plans before Lady Elenda re-entered the room with a guard, “Princess Rhaenys, here is Robert of my household guard. He was on duty on the battlements when Princes Aemond and Lucerys fought.”

“I confess, I did not see much, Princess.” Robert said, rubbing the back of his neck, “The storm was so bad. I saw Prince Aemond leave first but I thought I saw that great beast of his making a circle over the castle. Like he was waiting for Prince Lucerys to take off so he could catch him. The little dragon seemed to know it too. He was spooked something fierce by the time Prince Lucerys left.”

Was that why Arrax was so agitated? Luke thought with a pang of guilt, He knew Vhagar was waiting for him.

“After that, all I saw was flames in the clouds, the roaring of dragons and little else. I did see the Prince Lucerys land earlier that day, though.” He added, as if sensing Rhaenys’ displeasure, “He saw the big dragon in the other courtyard as he was coming towards the door. He must have known Prince Aemond was there and he went in anyway. He was a…brave lad, Princess.”

Rhaenys nodded gravely, “And, a true one. A shame he will not grow old.”

Right on cue, Maris gave a loud wail, “It’s all my fault!” She cried, fists pressed to her dry eyes, “I taunted Prince Aemond about letting Prince Lucerys go without fighting him!”

“There, there, sister,” Floris put her hands on her sister’s shoulders, “he probably would have gone after him anyway. You know their history. Come along. Let’s go to the sept and pray together.”

“When that’s done,” Rhaena put in, “perhaps, Lady Maris would like a ride around Storm’s End on my dragon. I find a dragon ride always cheers me up.”

Lady Elenda blanched, “I don’t know if that’s - ”

“It will be perfectly safe.” Rhaenys assured her. “Rhaena must do a sweep of the skies overhead before we leave anyway. Just to make sure that no dangers lie in wait for us. You understand, of course?”

Floris led Maris away. Maris kept up her act until she was out of earshot. Luke knew that they would be hurrying to Floris’ room to pack her things and leave a note for her mother, explaining what she had done.

Rhaena took her leave and left the room with the words, “If I’m not back in half an hour, follow me on dragonback.”

“And, don’t forget to use the privy before you mount your dragon.” Rhaenys added as she left. She gave Lady Elenda a smile, “It’s a lesson I’ve learned over my years of dragonriding. If my granddaughter is lucky enough to reach my age, it will be as vital to remember a trip to the privy before mounting as it is to remember to fasten your riding chains before taking off.”

Luke suddenly realised where Laenor got his sense of humour from.

Behind him, Luke heard the three guards mutter, “I thought them dragonriders just sat backwards on the saddle, undid their breaches and let it fly.”

“Ladies can’t do that, you idiot."

"I always thought they had a special kind of underclothes.”

“Why did the gods saddle me with you two blockheads?”

Half an hour passed. Right on the minute, Maris returned. She had remembered to change into new clothes and had done a good job of making her hair look blown about. She gave Rhaenys and Luke a watery smile, “That ride did do me well. My thanks to your granddaughter, Princess.”

Rhaenys bestowed a small smile on her and, at that, she and Luke took their leave.

They left Storm’s End with Lady Baratheon and the guards still none the wiser. As far as they knew, Floris still prayed in the sept.

In truth, the hooded figure in the sept of Storm’s End was a cloak Maris had propped on sticks. The two sisters had swapped dresses and cloaks behind the maiden’s statue half an hour before. Floris had pretended to walk towards the other side of the castle but, in truth, had slipped through the privy window, which was situated in a recess that the guards couldn’t see into. Rhaena had met her there and hurried her onto Silverwing. Clearly, none of the guards had questioned why they hadn’t returned by the time Luke and Rhaenys left.

As Luke flew into the cloudless sky, he wondered how long it would be before anyone suspected something. It would certainly be long after they left.

#

AEMOND

The small council would be a good thing, Aemond decided. By the time it was done, Aegon would be bored stupid and would go straight to the nearest bottle. By the looks of the way he lounged across his chair, Aegon was already a few bottles down. With any luck, he might faint or vomit, ending the meeting early. It would leave him with plenty of time to discuss the news he had received that morning in private with Otto.

Grand Maester Orwyle entered among the others. Aemond didn’t suspect anything until he went to Otto’s side and handed him a letter.

“Urgent raven, from Storm’s End.”

Aemond felt like he had toppled out of the window. Rushing filled his ears as his grandsire broke the seal. There was nothing he could do. Telling him not to open it would be as fruitless in distracting him from it as trying to fly without a dragon.

Aemond could only school his face and wait for the Hand to read it.

Otto’s face went from stony to stormy as fast as a punch to the eye, “Lord Velaryon will answer for this insult!” He snarled.

Aegon popped upright from his slouch, “Did you say Lord Velaryon? What’s he done now? Put Storm’s End to the torch?”

“No.” Otto turned to Aemond, “This concerns your betrothed.”

Aemond would have rather jumped down Vhagar’s throat than have him say it out loud. The small council all looked to the Hand with interest. Alicent locked her fingers in an iron grip. Aegon grinned like a half-rotted corpse, “Ooh, do tell! Did they catch her with the kitchen boy? Or - ooh! With Lord Velaryon? Is he sick of Rhaena already? Does it say if he wears the mask during the act?”

Aemond at least had to make an attempt at averting this humilation, “Perhaps, this is a topic best left for a private conference, my Lord Hand. I’m sure you have many more pressing matters to deal with.”

“No.” Otto said in a voice like a boulder to the head, “This is a very pressing matter.” 

“Yes, Aemond, we’re all ears now!” Aegon crowed, “Go on, Grand - ah, Lord Hand. Your King demands you tell us all.”

“Lady Elenda Baratheon has sent me word that Lord Velaryon visited along with his lady wife and the Princess Rhaenys on the pretext of collecting Arrax’s skull and asking for word on Lucerys’ body.”

Aemond swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat and the ice in his blood.

“The Lady Rhaena left the meeting early and Lady Elenda found out too late that the Lady Floris was with her. It seems Rhaena has spirited Floris away to a motherhouse in the Vale and Floris states that, if the engagement with Prince Aemond is not broken off within a moon’s turn or if she is forced to marry him in any way, she will take septa’s vows.”

There was a brief pause.

Then, Aegon threw his head back and whooped with laughter, “Oh, that’s even better! Oh…oh, brother, I knew you scare all the ladies off…but I’ve never heard of one swearing off men for life after meeting you!”

Aemond reached into his mind for his sword drills: forward, right diagonal, left diagonal, shoulder height, wide circle, elbow height…If he could keep his mind on them, he could keep it off throwing Aegon out the window.

He registered through his repetitions that this might be the first time in Westeros’ history where the King laughed and the Small Council didn’t join in.

“This isn’t funny, Ae - Your Grace.” Alicent at last cut across Aegon’s laughter, “This is an outrage. This is an insult to your brother.”

“Indeed.” Otto slid his disapproving eye from Aegon to Aemond, “Though, it seems you already had knowledge of this.”

“I did.” Aemond turned his voice to stone like his grandsire’s, “I received word from my former betrothed half an hour ago and I was hoping to discuss this with you more privately.”

Orwyle had the decency to look abashed. Otto, however, only looked even more darkly at him, “What does she say?”

“Much the same.” Aemond said. If Otto was determined to draw the whole story out of him, he would have to fight for it.

“Did she say…did she say ‘Lord Velaryon has massive balls and you will never compare’?” Aegon chimed in.

…switch stance, right with long edge, left with short edge…

“Does the letter say which motherhouse she resides in?” Larys slithered into the conversation, “Most likely, it is the one in Gulltown. Perhaps, I could arrange for her to be quietly brought back to Storm’s End or, perhaps, directly to King’s Landing to ensure the marriage pact - ”

“You will do nothing of the sort.” Aemond snapped, “Lady Floris has made her opinion of me quite clear and you may accuse me of many things, Lord Confessor, but forcing a woman against her will is not one of them.”

“Then, perhaps, we can renegotiate the pact.” Lord Jasper suggested, “Lord Borros has three other daughters. One of them will surely be more biddable.”

“I doubt it.” Aemond said, “Lady Floris informs me that all of her sisters were involved in her escape. It is clear that they share Floris’ opinion of me and are willing to try any hare-brained scheme to avoid me. Lords, the solution is right in front of you. Lord Borros has shown himself unwilling to fulfill his part of our bargain therefore I see no need to fulfill mine. Let the engagement be broken off with no bad feeling on either side.”

Aegon snorted, “Wet fish.”

“We will not.” Otto stated, “We cannot give Lord Velaryon the satisfaction and we cannot insult House Baratheon by relinquishing the pact so easily. Lady Elenda has asked me to help with her unruly daughter and we must act!”

‘Unruly’. Aemond thought, One word I never thought would describe Lady Floris.

“Perhaps, we can use this to our advantage.” Ser Tyland put in, “Lord Borros will be furious when he finds out about this. This may be the thing we need to pull him away from his pointless skirmishes with the Vulture King and bring him where he and his banners are needed.”

Otto nodded, “A good point. Grand Maester, arrange for a raven to be sent to Lord Borros to inform him of the situation.”

“But, what did Floris say?” Aegon broke across the talk, “Come on, Aemond, that’s what we all want to know!”

…add the footwork, hold firm, left foot forward…

“I don’t hear anyone else clamouring for it.” Aemond said.

“Well, the King clamours for it! Come on, bring us the letter and read it aloud. Your King demands it!”

Aemond felt the eyes of the Small Council on him. Not mocking but, Gods forbid, pitying. They could all see this for the mockery it was and, yet, none would dare defy the King’s word.

Aemond reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter. Just as when he had to have his ruined left eye removed, it would be better to do it and get it done quickly. If not now, Aegon would contrive some way to steal the letter from Aemond and, if not here, it would be read to the laughing whore he hired for the night.

So, steeling himself for worse to come, Aemond read the letter aloud:

“To the Prince Aemond, brother to the usurper King,

 The Lords of the realm have shown me that oaths can grow stale and that pacts can be dissolved on a whim. Our pact has gone sour already.

You told me that you picked me over my sisters because I am devout and I would best please your mother. Therefore, it cannot surprise you how utterly abhorrent I find your actions over Shipbreaker Bay. I will not submit myself to marriage with one so cursed and hateful in the eyes of the gods as a kinslayer, no matter what shame it brings to my house.

My mother will not break the engagement despite my protests. She stated that it is not for love of your usurper brother but for fear of what your dragon may wreak upon Storm’s End. However, honourable Lord Velaryon, his good-hearted wife and my kind sisters have no such terror of you and have assisted me in leaving Storm’s End. I will send word to my father to have our betrothal dissolved and can only hope that he will be reasonable. If not, I have made arrangements to abjure all marriage and live a quiet septa’s life. If all else fails, I can still end my own life rather than have you bound to me. My resolve is set and you will find me more unmoving in my oaths than my father.

As for you, may the father judge you justly and may you have fortune in finding another Lord willing to give his daughter’s hand to a traitor and a kinslayer.

I am your humble servant (and nothing more than that),

The Lady Floris Baratheon.”

Aemond stowed the letter back in his pocket, eye fixed on the table.

“Well!” Aegon burst out, “What a stone-cold bitch! Shame she ran off. I think you two would have got on like a manse on fire! But, seriously,” Aegon pulled back his laughter with an effort, “is that really why you picked Floris? Because she’d get on with Mother?”

“Yes.” Aemond said with no emotion.

Aegon slumped back and groaned, “Aemond, you stupid twat! Mother’s not the one marrying a Baratheon bitch. You are. You should have picked the one you wanted. Not everyone has the luxury of choosing a bride, you know!”

“That letter is treason.” Alicent buried her hands in her hair, “Lord Velaryon has filled her head with treason and willfulness. She must be made to see reason.”

“If she can be reasoned with, it cannot be done with me as the prize.” Aemond said, “Send Daeron in my place. Lady Floris will have no objection to him, I am sure.”

“I’m afraid that may not be possible.” Lord Larys said, “I know no one wants to say it so it falls to me. The Lady Floris has a point on one count.”

A slight pause followed. “And, what is that?” Otto asked, voice like an axe ready to fall.

“That, though Prince Aemond is no traitor to the rightful King and the death of Prince Lucerys was an unfortunate consequence of war,” Bile rose in Aemond’s throat at the mention of Luke’s name, “no one can deny the taint of kinslaying is upon him. If the Baratheon girls cannot be made to see reason, we may find most other Lords to be…hesitant to offer their daughter’s hands to him. As they may to any brothers of kinslayers.”

The words felt like a knife under Aemond’s ribs. To live under the shadow of kinslaying was bad enough. To see it stretch over his innocent brother was tenfold as terrible.
“It is clear that something must be done.” Maester Orwyle spoke up, “To rid Prince Aemond of this ‘taint’ and clear our cause of any - ”

“What do you have in mind?” Otto cut across him, already looking sick of the man’s voice.

“Perhaps, a pilgrimage to Oldtown. Prince Aemond could go to the Starry Sept and the High Septon could pardon him in the sight of all.”

Aemond could see it in his mind’s eye. Himself, perhaps wearing a hair shirt, prostrate before a fat fool in a crystal crown, begging pardon for his terrible sin. The High Septon would speak the words put in his mouth by Otto and Aemond would be expected to go to battle with no guilt in him.

Aemond knew better. He knew that a farce in Oldtown would not chase away the black guilt rotting in his heart. He would go to battle as haunted as ever and only have an extra humiliation to show for it. Likely, Aegon would find some reason to witness the farce at Oldtown, seated somewhere comfortable with a bag of pork rinds in hand.

“Why should I have to prostrate myself to the gods to beg pardon for the death of a whoreson traitor?” Aemond snapped, putting more venom into his voice than he felt.

“We don’t have the time for pilgrimages anyway.” Ser Tyland added, “Lord Velaryon is probably making his next move as we speak and so too will the blacks. Vhagar is needed on the battlefield.”

“Vhagar is needed to protect King’s Landing, my Lord.” Aemond replied, “While she stands sentinel, the blacks will not think of taking the capital. Besides, as Lord Tyland said, this act of Lord Velaryon’s will likely move Lord Borros to take the field with his banners. So, there is little need to send our greatest weapon to resolve a small dispute or to risk a reprisal against Queen Helaena and the children.”

Alicent’s face lost what little colour it had at the reminder. The other lords, too, looked uncomfortable that they hadn’t thought of that before.

Aemond pushed himself up before Otto could venture his opinion, “My Lords, I believe the matter is settled and I am not needed further. I’ll to my training.”

He left the chamber, doing his best not to run. Aegon didn’t call after him, thank the Gods, and Aemond could walk to the training grounds in peace.

Aemond knew what he ought to feel: outraged, insulted and ready to raise a challenge to Lord Velaryon.

None of these things went through him as he picked up a sword and went through his drills. All he could feel was relief.

Not one of the Baratheon girls stirred anything in him. His cold mind had led him to pick Lady Floris. It told him that his mother’d had her fill of wilful women from Rhaenyra and a fellow lady of faith would bring her comfort. His own heart had remained quiet during the choosing.

Now, it felt glad. A septa’s life would suit Lady Floris to a hair and Aemond no longer had to concern himself about what embarrassments Aegon would wreak at his wedding. The both of them were free once more.

As the training hourglass ran down to its last grains, his mother entered the courtyard.

“Aemond, a word, please.”

She was upset. Aemond could read it in her voice even without tears.

“Mother. Is the meeting over?”

“Yes. It’s been decided that Maester Orwyle will call Lord Borros to King’s Landing to discuss the matter further.”

“And, the marriage pact?”

“That can be left for another day.”

So, the Lords could still force Floris and Aemond to wed.

“But, Aemond, I would not have phrased it as the King did but he is right. You ought to have chosen a bride for yourself alone. I have sacrificed much of my happiness to see you and your siblings safe and content. I do not want you to do the same for me.”

With that, she left him with all the things she did not say about her own marriage hanging in the air.

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

Fair weather had held around Dragonstone after Luke’s return from Storm’s End. If any dragon decided to attack, they would see it coming in plenty of time to mount a defence. Yet, none came. No ship, messenger or raven arrived with an answer to Lady Floris’ flight.

It felt surreal. He felt that there ought to be some repercussions for what he had done beyond the reports of Lady Elenda sending a request for help from King’s Landing. Yet, days then weeks passed and Luke saw neither scale nor wing of Vhagar. 

The news had reached them a moon’s turn after Lady Floris’ flight that she had taken vows in the Motherhouse of Maris. With the Baratheon marriage pact now nonviable, Aemond would indeed have to look elsewhere. But, where? Luke could not think of a single other house that Aemond could marry into that would provide enough support and overlook his ‘kinslaying’.

Unless, possibly, one counted Dorne and Princess Aliandra.

Let’s just hope our plans for Dorne work.

The Velaryon negotiations did not turn out to be as smooth as Luke had hoped. Corlys had warned him as much but it still surprised him. The betrothal of Lord Lyonel to Lady Daenaera, by comparison, had gone rather smoothly. The pact between Dorne and Driftmark, however, proved to be a stormier sea to navigate. 

Many times, it looked like their plans might founder. If it wasn’t debates over who exactly would marry Princess Aliandra, it was Prince Qoren demanding part of the Stepstones into the bargain. In the latter case, Luke felt very grateful that Daemon had been busy rallying their forces in the Riverlands at the time that was mentioned. He might have had a fit of apoplexy on the spot.

As it was, Corlys had to concede they had to give up some part of the Stepstones. Just how much was still under debate. Daemon just had to sit in Harrenhal and seethe.

“That’s just how political negotiations are, lad.” Corlys reassured him after telling him about the upteenth round of talks between Prince Qoren and Ser Daemion, who had lately put himself forth as the candidate for Princess Aliandra’s hand, “Believe me, this isn’t the most fraught one I’ve had to deal with so don’t be disheartened. Remember, Ser Daemion is Vaemond’s son. The fact that he even put himself forth is a good sign. Even if this all falls apart, we will still have a united House Velaryon at the end of it.”

Luke felt a little heartened at that. Indeed, Ser Daemion putting himself forward had been a nice surprise after both Malentine and Rhogar had become impatient and pulled out of the negotiations. Having Ser Daeron, Vaemond’s first son, agree to his daughter’s marriage pact had felt like a great achievement. Having Vaemond’s second son join them felt like almost too much luck.

“I think it helps that the greens haven’t made any overtures to them or to the Dornish.” Corlys said when Luke said as much, “I think Daeron and Daemion feel snubbed. I wonder, though, are the greens really ignoring them?”

He gave Luke a searching look. Luke tried to keep his face blank but, without the mask, he couldn’t quite manage it. 

Corlys smiled, “Is it your doing or is it, ah, divine intervention?”

Luke smiled back, “A bit of both, I think. And a bit of green council infighting as well.”

“Well, in any case, during our last meeting, they said they were very curious about you. They wonder what it is about you that made me give you my title. Prince Qoren and Princess Aliandra have intimated as much too. I think it may be a good idea for you to attend the next round of talks and bring Vermithor with you. The past tells us that negotiations go a lot smoother with a dragon present and I don’t think any of them would try to capture you during the talks. Not if I’m there and I bring a big enough guard contingent. Here, lad, the maester said you could borrow this. I think this will make talking among uncertain allies easier.”

Lord Corlys handed him what looked like a wooden case about the size of a large book. When he opened it, Luke found a sheaf of papers bound together and attached to the bottom. A stick of charcoal attached to a piece of string lay beside it.

“And, there’s room for charcoal refills there.” Corlys pointed to a compartment at the side, “Just write what you want to say and I’ll read it out to the others.”

#

“So, how did the talks go?” Baela asked before Luke’s feet hit the ground, “Any sign of Prince Qoren giving way? Did Vermithor scare him into backing down?”

“According to Grandsire, yes, but I don't see it personally.” Luke sighed, “Prince Qoren and Princess Aliandra don’t scare easily. All Prince Qoren did was joke that I was there to steal another man’s betrothed.”

“And, what did you say to that?” Jace asked.

“I said I only steal the betrothed of my enemies.”

The three laughed at that. Luke decided not to tell them how he had almost decided not to hand that response to Corlys. He didn’t tell them how terrified he had been of offending someone, no matter how many times Corlys and Rhaenys assured him on the way to Bloodstone that a bit of posturing was expected and even appreciated.

The others pushed him for more details on the talk but there was little more to tell. After all the nerves plaguing him on his way to Bloodstone, Luke ended up taking very little part in the talks. All Luke ended up doing was sit still in his place and try not to show his exasperation at Prince Qoren’s relentless pushing for more control of the Stepstones.

 
Prince Qoren had spoken mostly with Corlys and Rhaenys after that initial jibe. Princess Aliandra had sometimes asked for Luke’s opinion on a matter but Luke always said he agreed with Corlys’ views. Ser Daeron and Ser Daemion had kept glancing at him throughout. They tried to demand answers from Corlys and Rhaenys after the talks were done for the day but they stuck to the rehearsed story: that Laenor had met ‘Lord Velaryon’ during his travels in Essos and he had come to aid the rightful queen. His bloodline was not important but there was no doubt that it was of Old Valyria.

“And, his dragon ought to be enough to prove it.” Corlys had concluded.

Strangely enough, neither Ser Daeron nor Ser Daemion could come up with a counterargument for that.

“You didn’t get any trouble from green supporters on the way there and back, did you?” Rhaena asked.

Luke knew what she meant. He’d received word of Lord Elenda ordering a huge contingent of scorpion bolts to Storm’s End. Her intention was to have them shoot down any black dragon that came close.

“No. I went via Tarth and they left me alone. No scorpions, no crossbows and no green dragons flying around.” Luke paused and then asked, “Do you find it a bit odd that the green dragons aren’t trying to attack us? Did you hear anything about what Aemond’s doing now?”

“The White Worm said Vhagar hasn’t even left King’s Landing since they returned from Storm’s End.” Rhaena said, offhandly, “Maybe, they’re keeping Aemond in reserve until he’s needed for a real fight.”

“Or, they don’t trust him not to ruin another peace mission. I certainly wouldn’t after what happened last time.” Baela said. She looked to the horizon as if hoping to see Vhagar flying out of the sunset.

Rhaena read her sister’s face, “Are you still upset about Vhagar?”

“You should have at least had the chance to claim her.” Baela replied, “He should have given you that much courtesy instead of stealing onto Vhagar’s back like a thief in the night. Why aren’t you still upset?”

“I’ve had time to nurse my hurt and I’ve realised dragons can’t be stolen. Vhagar chose Aemond and, besides, I don’t think Vhagar would have accepted me even if I got there first. If anything, Aemond spared me being humiliated when Vhagar rejected me for not being a proper dragon rider.”

Rhaena lowered her eyes. Baela pulled Rhaena into a one-armed hug, “Don’t say that. Of course, you’re good enough for Vhagar.”

Rhaena gave her sister a ‘don’t-try-to-hookwink-me’ look. Though Jace and Luke gave their own words of encouragement, a small, impartial part of Luke couldn’t completely agree with Baela. That same part told him that Rhaena still lagged behind the rest of them when it came to flying.

It’s not her fault. He told that part, She’s only just become a dragonrider and she’s getting better every day.

The laughter of children reached their ears. Baela looked up and was the first to spot Helaena and her children approaching.

“We were watching you three fly from the window.” Helaena said to Baela, Jace and Rhaena, going a little pink as Baela approached, “The children wanted a better look at the dragons.” 

“They were amazing!” Jaehaerys broke in, looking like he would burst if he didn’t say something, “When the green ones flew around the big silver one - ”

“Yes, Jaehaerys found it very exciting.” Helaena laughed.

“I wish I could do that.” Jaehaera mumbled, her eyes on the ground.

A little impulse that was not his own told Luke to attempt to put the shy girl at her ease. Later, he would guess it was Queen Alysanne and that she may have seen a bit of Daella in Jaehaera. 

Luke crouched down to Jaehaera’s level and asked, “Do you have a dragon? What’s their name?”

“Morghul. She’s still in King’s Landing.”

“Ah. I’m sorry we couldn’t get Morghul out of King’s Landing with you.” Luke said. He meant it too.

“Maybe, you could try sneaking into the city again and letting them out.” Baela said, “That’ll scare the greens, no doubt, and we could let Dreamfyre escape too.”

“Don’t worry yourself about that.” Helaena said, though her face betrayed her true feelings about being parted from Dreamfyre, “Lord Velaryon has better things to concern himself with.”

“Oh!” Baela gasped, “I just remembered. I saw one of those fire beetles you talked about near Moondancer’s cave. It might still be there if we hurry.”

Without missing a beat, Rhaena stepped forward, “We can watch the children while you go beetle watching.”

Helaena’s face lit up. In a moment, she followed Baela into the Dragonmount, telling Baela all about how the beetle could produce a constant light from its abdomen. Rhaena, Jace and Luke shared a smile before Jaehaerys broke in, “How did you get your dragon to fly in a loop? I want to do that!”

At that moment, Ser Steffan hurried up to them, “Excuse me, my Princes, my Lady. A shipment of crates from the White Worm has arrived.”

Luke’s mood lifted just like Helaena’s had at the mention of the fire beetle.

“Sorry, everyone. This is something I’ve been waiting a long time for.”

He hurried after Ser Steffan. When he arrived, he found the sight of servants carrying in crate after crate into the Chamber of the Painted Table. When they at last finished, the boxes were stacked two deep and reached almost the length of one wall. Rhaenyra, Corlys and half the black council looked on with amused confusion.

“Those boxes look a little small to be a shipment of arms.” Corlys pointed out, “If it’s not weapons, what’s in them that makes you look so excited?”

One of the guards levered off one of the lids and Luke showed them.

“Papers?” Rhaenyra said, “Is this all…papers?”

Lord Celtigar approached and picked the first one off the top of the file. The paper had yellowed with age and had a small wine stain at the top, “It’s all jibberish. I can’t read a word of this.” 

A small brown girl wearing a dress that had once between white before age and Flea Bottom spoiled it peeled away from the wall, “The White Worm has just broken the code. That was the reason for the delay.”

She held out a bundle of newer-looking paper. Each one contained a neatly-drawn table, showing symbols and words alongside each other.

Maester Gerardys sighed, “Alright, I give in. What is this, Lord Velaryon?”

“It’s information.” Luke said, his smile widening. Already, he could pick out a few words from the page in Lord Celtigar’s hand, “It’s everything we need to make sure we know everything there is to know about the greens.”

Rhaenyra looked at each box in wonderment, “Where did you find all of it?”

Luke only gave her a knowing smile. When Rhaenyra gave up on an answer, she looked again to the dozens of boxes. 

“There’s an awful lot of paper to get through. If all of it is in code, it’s going to take weeks to decipher it all.” She looked to the girl, “Are there any copies of the code? If this information is as valuable as Lord Velaryon believes, we need to have this all decoded as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Your Grace, and the information was well-organised when we found it.” The White Worm’s second (for that was what she was) told Rhaenyra, “We’ve kept the organisation system in place when we prepared it for transport. That one,” She pointed to the open one which Luke realised had a small gold hand painted on the side, “is full of information on Otto Hightower.”

That got Corlys interested at once, “Say, do you think it might be a good idea to pass some of these on to Daemon? It’ll give him something to smile about after parting with the Stepstones.”

Luke agreed. 

“And, the greens have no idea we hold all this information?” Lord Celtigar asked, smile widening.

“They have no idea.” Luke confirmed. Then, he turned to the White Worm’s second, “Which one holds information on Prince Aemond?”

The White Worm’s second walked past crates painted with a spider, the shape of a naked woman, a green seven-pointed star (which appeared on several crates) and ten black dots until she came to a small crate, barely the size of a thick book, with a sapphire-blue eye on the side.

“There wasn’t very much. The Prince Aemond knows how to keep his secrets better than most.”

Luke nodded, “Then, what you have gathered is all the more valuable. You have my thanks and so does the White Worm.” 

“Indeed.” Rhaenyra put in, “Now, which one of them has Helaena’s information? I think she has a right to decode her own papers rather than having someone else learn her secrets.”

Once the reward to Mysaria was handed over, Luke brought Aemond’s box up to his chambers. There, he set the small pile of pages out before him and began to decode.
He was about half-done when Rhaena knocked on his door, “Can I join you?”

Luke nodded. Rhaena took a seat on the opposite side of his table and pulled out her own bundle of papers.

“What’s that?”

Rhaena hastened to cover the papers with her hand, “Oh, nothing. Just a little fancy of mine.”

“Is it poetry?”

“No, it’s a play. It’s…it’s nothing. Just something I do to take my mind off things.”

Luke nodded. If Baela had been in the room, she might have tried to steal it and read it in a loud voice. Luke, however, felt content to leave her to it. He resumed his work on the decoding.

When he reached the last page, Rhaena spoke up again.

“I’m sorry I’m not a very good dragonrider.”

Luke looked up, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re better than you were the first time by miles. Keep improving at that rate and, by the time we’re ready to move on the greens, you’ll be better than Baela.”

Rhaena smiled but her face made it clear she didn’t believe him.

Luke was about to return to his work when he caught sight of the title of her work: ‘The Tale of Lord Velaryon’.

“Are you writing about Lord Velaryon?”

Rhaena’s cheeks flushed and she hurried to conceal it, “It’s…it’s just a plan. I’ve only done a few scenes and I can’t think of an ending. It’s a big mess, honestly.”

“Such is life.” Luke nodded, affecting the gravity of an arch-maester proclaiming a great discovery. Rhaena caught his eye and the pair of them laughed.

An idea struck Luke then, “You know, I think it might be a good idea to have a play about Lord Velaryon. After all, Queen Rhaenys paid mummers and singers to spread praise about the Conqueror all around Westeros. That might have done more to make the Kingdoms accept him than his dragons and armies put together. And, y’know, most people know their history through plays more than they do through history books.”

Rhaena shook her head, blushing deeper, “I can’t do that! My writing’s hopeless.”

“Then, maybe, we can commission the singers on Dragonstone to give you a hand and ask the mummers to finish your play. If the White Worm can get copies of it onto the mainland, well, who knows what good it might to for Mother’s cause?”

Rhaena needed a lot more persuading but, in the end, she agreed with a glowing smile on her face.

Chapter Text

AEMOND

The sky over King’s Landing remained gloomy for weeks after Lady Elenda’s plea for help. A thick mist lingered over Blackwater Bay. If one of the blacks’ dragons decided to attack King’s Landing, they would only have a minute’s warning. Even if they had, Aemond would be of no use.

Again and again, he tried to mount Vhagar and, every time, the ghost of Lucerys stopped him. The ghost had formed a blockade almost as complete as the Velaryon one on the city.

So, Aemond started volunteering for everything but patrolling the skies. Everything from dragging whores out of the King’s bed to assisting the goldcloaks in rounding up fools who drank toasts to ‘Queen Rhaenyra’ in the depths of Flea Bottom.

Anything that would stop Otto and Alicent from becoming suspicious.

Aemond’s nights were still broken by nightmares and strange visions. If it wasn’t Luke’s ghost, the past or the future, it was the sight of himself sitting vigil at his father’s bedside in the early hours. Always alone and always before his mother rose for the day.

The gods know what I was thinking. Aemond thought, They know I have sinned. That I am an unfilial wretch.

Ser Willis had be sworn to tell everyone the dreamwine was working and had kept his mouth shut thus far. Orwyle’s dreamwine always ended up thrown out of the window before Aemond turned in. Aemond felt tempted to seek out a discreet maester in King’s Landing for another flask of Watchman’s Friend but decided against it. The effects were too obvious and his family would recognise them at once. 

Unfortunately, the effects of not using Watchman’s Friend were becoming obvious too.

“You have terrible shadows under your eye, Aemond.” Alicent told him when he came to tell her Aegon was well that morning, “I will ask Maester Orwyle to give you something stronger. We must all keep our wits about us - oh, for the love of the Mother!” Her fingers failed to grip her powder pot and it slipped face-down onto the floor. Pale powder scattered everywhere, staining the stone white.

Aemond ducked to fetch it as Alicent called for a maid to clear the spilled powder and bring a new compact. The new lady-in-waiting hurried to clean the specks of powder off Alicent’s dress. In that moment, they both had their attention elsewhere. Aemond placed the almost empty pot on the desk. He had been about to move away when he noticed something.

The powder staining his hand, though looking pale white in its pot, looked almost indistinguishable from his skin colour if only a light coat were applied.

Without thinking too deeply, he stowed it in his jacket. Only when he returned to his chambers did he give himself the luxury of waging a private battle with himself.

I stole from my own mother! The gods would - 

She wasn’t going to use it so it’s not stealing. This is just…eliminating waste.

But, I can’t use it. It’s make-up. What would everyone say if they knew - ?

But, if I don’t do something to cover up signs I’m not sleeping soon, Mother will find out I’m not taking the dreamwine. She’ll force me to take it.

So, with the image of the Kingsguard holding him down while the maester forced medicines down his throat, Aemond applied some powder under his eye.

Sure enough, it covered up the shadows well. In fact, when he applied a little more on his face, it also covered up his slightly unhealthy pallor nicely. So, he stowed the powder pot at the back of a drawer. When it ran out, he could always ‘accidentally’ knock over another of Alicent’s powder pots and claim the remains. Or, perhaps, he could simply tell a servant that someone had knocked it over and he wanted to bring her some more. Neither technically involved stealing and Alicent would never know.

Aegon had not had another bad turn since his previous scare and Aemond had managed to make him attend most small council meetings. All Aegon did was make japes and tasteless jokes for the most part but, at least, he was present.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep and the city felt like a taut bowstring. Any moment now, the arrow would be let loose. No one quite knew how or where it would strike but it would fly at some point. 

Lord Larys had already made his move. He had left the Keep soon after Lady Floris’ flight and claimed that he needed to ‘arrange contingency plans should the worst happen’. Then, came the news that he had decided it would be easier to find rebels while based within the city rather than above it. Alicent agreed at once to pay for a small house with thick walls near Cobbler’s Square. In return, he sent regular reports to Otto about the movements of small rebel groups meeting the city. 

It seemed to Aemond that Lord Larys did not trust the security of the Red Keep and he wasn’t the only one. Ser Tyland, too, had bought a manse in the city and had been quietly moving his personal effects out of the Keep. Aemond had heard a rumour that he’d been asking around the docks for captains who could take him away at a moment’s notice. Lord Jasper was sanguine to everyone’s face but Aemond heard whispers of him hiring sellswords to guard his door at night as he did not trust the Keep’s guards.

At last, four weeks after the news of Lady Floris’ flight, Aegon couldn’t take the tension anymore. He slumped back in his small council chair and groaned, “Sweet Maiden’s tits, why is killing Rhaenyra taking so long? Lord Hand, you said Ser Arryk wouldn’t fail us. It looks awfully like he’s failing us.”

“Ser Arryk is being prudent.” Otto said, smoothing over his momentary flash of irritation, “He has replaced his brother and no one is any the wiser. He has decided to maintain his position and send us information on Rhaenyra’s movements until the time is right to dispose of her. It is a wise choice and will leave us in a better position for disposing of the rest of her forces once she and her sons are dealt with.”

Alicent looked as sick as Aemond felt. When she spoke, there was a note of desperation in her voice, “Is there no way to order Ser Arryk to simply capture one of them and use them as leverage for Rhaenyra’s surrender? Taking Jacaerys would be a good way to do it.”

Otto sent a sharp glare that made something bone-deep in Aemond quail in second-hand fear, “It is too late to change our plan now, Dowager Queen. To send such an order would risk compromising Ser Arryk’s position and I am sure you do not want his blood on your conscience.”

Alicent swallowed hard, looking as if she was fighting tears. 

“What of Lord Velaryon?” Aemond asked, “Does he have any information concerning him?”

Otto turned to Aemond with a more controlled expression, “Nothing as of yet. We know that he and his lady wife are working on flight practice most days. It seems they are having some trouble with Vermithor and Silverwing.”

“Ha! Dragon too big for him, is it? Serves him right!”

Aegon’s words echoed in Aemond’s head, Dragon too big for him, is it…

“And Helaena?” Alicent asked, her voice still trembling.

Before Otto could answer, a trembling page hurried in with a report, “A message from Storm’s End, Your Grace.”

Otto took the scroll before Aegon could lift a hand and opened it. He read it through and his face turned stormy.

“Is there word from Lord Borros?” Lord Wylde asked, “Is he coming?”

“It’s word from Lady Elenda. Lord Borros is bringing a portion of his army to King’s Landing but it could take up to a moon for them to arrive. The main news Lady Elenda sends, however, is less welcome. Some of the stormlands houses have chosen to rebel against House Baretheon and the Crown. House Swann has declared for Rhaenyra and so has the Evenstar of Tarth. In fact, Lord Bryndemere has ordered a blockade on sea travel around Storm’s End.”

The whole table sucked in a breath. Aegon groaned, “I swear to the fucking gods that I am going to make the word ‘blockade’ illegal. I’m so fucking sick of hearing it!”

“It has not been as effective as the Velaryon one on the city but it is enough to give Lady Elenda concerns. She begs for aid and we must give it this time.” 

Aemond saw where this was going and thought fast.

“Prince Aemond, you must mount Vhagar and burn the Tarth ships - ”

“And, what would happen to the city if I do? As His Grace pointed out, the Red Keep is currently under siege from merchants suffering because of the Velaryon blockade. The fear of Vhagar may be the only thing keeping them civil at present. If she leaves, we risk a full blown riot in the city which may be just the opportunity our enemies are waiting for.”

Otto scoffed, “The situation is not nearly as drastic as you make it out.”

“Well, I will not risk it. If you excuse me, I recall I have to deal with some of those merchants.”

#

Dealing with the merchants had been tedious but not as time-consuming as he’d hoped. Mostly because he had lost his temper at the lot of them and screamed at them to get out of the Red Keep before he ran them through with his sword.

Aemond stalked toward the library. Perhaps, he could hide in there for a while until he’d regained his composure enough to face his grandsire. Ser Willis lingered a little too close to his elbow. Aemond thought he could read what he was thinking.

“If you have something to say, Ser Willis, say it or be gone.”

“I…I know it’s not my place to pass comment on these things but I think you could have handled that better - my Prince, what is it?”

Aemond had stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the hallway. There, at the end of the corridor, stood Luke in a pool of blood and seawater. Once Aemond stopped, he pointed to the left hand corridor, ‘Follow me, uncle. I’ve got something to show you.’

Aemond swallowed hard and managed to keep his voice steady, “I’ve just remembered, Ser Willis. I need to ask Maester Orwyle for another bottle of dreamwine before going to the library. In the meantime, would you mind fetching me the list of all the merchants who wished to see the King? I’ll see if any of them might be willing for another conference tomorrow when I’m in a better temper.”

“…my Prince, are you sure - ”

“Go, Ser Willis. Now.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Ser Willis left. Now, Aemond stood alone with the ghost.  Luke grinned at Aemond, his lips cracking and peeling away in places. He pointed to the left again, in the direction of the Tower of the Hand, ‘Come on. It’ll all be over if we don’t hurry.’

The ghost appeared at every turn, pointing the way like a goldcloak directing cart traffic. He did not know what the ghost wanted. Luke did not seem inclined to tell him. He only grinned like Aegon did when anticipating a cruel jape at Aemond’s expense.

When they reached an empty corridor, Aemond felt he could risk speaking. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “What is it you want, Lucerys? Where do you lead me?”

Luke put a half-rotted finger to his lips. Then, he moved toward a new tapestry depicting an image of the Maiden surrounded by doves. For a moment, Aemond worried he would step through the wall. But, instead, Luke moved the tapestry aside and pushed the blank stone beyond.

To Aemond’s amazement, the wall moved. It swung inwards to reveal darkness beyond. Luke beckoned with a finger and slipped inside. 

Maegor’s secret passages. I thought they were a myth.

Aemond hesitated for a moment. Following a ghost into a secret passage felt like the height of foolishness. Who knew if he would come back? Would Luke lure him into a place where no one would hear his screams? If he emerged alive, would he be a gibbering lunatic by the time Luke was done?

Luke’s face appeared again at the opening. A threat appeared in Luke’s remaining eye and Aemond decided to step inside.

If I’m going to be killed here, I may as well go in sane and not with a mind full of screams.

The passage turned out not to be completely dark. Small windows were set in the wall a little way above their heads, letting in some sunlight. Aemond saw Luke’s damp, thinning hair ahead of him and he stepped onto the first of what looked like a long flight of stairs. 

They must be inside the outer walls of the Tower of the Hand, Aemond theorised. The stairs were a loose spiral set close to the inner wall. The outer wall was red brick and the inner was the more familiar grey stone of the Red Keep’s interior. Blankets of thick cobwebs made it almost impossible to see the stairs above and the long drop in the gap between stairs and wall. A hand rail had been added for safety but the spots of rust and loose bolts didn’t give Aemond much confidence.

If I were to fall, I may never be found. How many have fallen from these stairs and lie at the bottom of the Tower of the Hand still?

Aemond almost looked down to look for any bodies. Then, for the sake of his sanity, he stopped himself.

They passed the first row of a small windows, their sills full of old bird’s nests. Aemond was just about to demand an answer from the ghost again when Luke halted. He stood on a wide platform in the middle of the staircase and put his remaining ear to the wall. After listening for a moment, he turned and gestured to Aemond to join him, a finger pressed to his lips. Like children listening to their parents’ talking, Aemond lowered himself to the ground and put an ear to the wall.

At once, he heard Otto speaking, “…must abandon this fancy of yours that Rhaenyra can be brought to heel. She and all who follow her are traitors and will be treated as such. You must abandon these naive notions and think of your children, not her.”

“I do nothing but think of my children!” Alicent’s angry voice answered, tinged with tears and ever so slightly slurred, “How dare you even imply otherwise?”

“I expected to see you supporting my plan to dispose of Rhaenyra. Even if you still harbour some kernel of fond feeling for the Rogue Princess, I expected to see at least an attempt at a united front from you.”

“And I expected you not to undermine me at every turn. Have you forgotten who I am?”

“I know full well who you were, my daughter, but we have a new Queen now and we must put all our efforts into punishing her kidnappers. Unless you are suggesting, like your son, that Helaena means nothing to you now.”

A loud bang sounded. Aemond guessed Alicent had slammed her hand on the table, “How dare you question my determination to save my children? You are only the King’s chief advisor! I am his mother and I will always come before you! Don’t forget it was I who brought you back to court and it will be I who sends you away again if I wish it!”

Alicent’s breath caught. Aemond could almost see her clap her hand to her mouth. 

“It was you who brought me back to court?” Otto asked. 

Another tense silence followed. Aemond leaned further into the wall, trying to catch  any other sound.

At last, Otto sucked in a breath. When he spoke, his voice dripped with the same shock and menace as when he had realised Alicent had offended the White Worm, “What have you done?”

“I…I did not order it.” All power had fled Alicent’s voice. Now, it shook with sobs, “I did not tell Lord Larys to do it.”

Otto breathed hard through his nostrils, “So, the rumours are true. It was Lord Larys. His own brother and father…am I surrounded by kinslayers?”

“I only said that I felt your absence. That you would not hesitate to tell the King the truth of Ser Harwin’s transgressions and that, without you, there is no one to take my side.” Alicent took several harsh breaths before lashing out in desperate fury, “But, now, I see that there is no one in the whole world who takes my side! Not even my own family!”

Smack!
Aemond flinched. He reached out and put his hand to the wall. If the wall in the corridor could be a door, why not this one? Why should he not burst in and take his grandsire’s hand?

Then, Luke clamped a hand on his wrist. When Aemond looked up, he shook his head and gestured with his head to keep listening.

“You impossible fool! What possessed you to speak like that in front of Lord Larys? How could you have given that man such power over you? Do you have any idea how it would look if he were to reveal any of this?”

“I know! I know!” Alicent sobbed, “I wanted to tell the King what he had done but I couldn’t. I know that no one would believe me. Just like no one believes that Viserys named Aegon his heir. Everyone is convinced that I am a conniving whore who spread her legs to a grieving king just for a chance to be a queen!”

For a moment, it seemed Alicent would give herself over to sobbing. Then, with a great heaving breath, her voice filled with fury.

“And, it is all because of you! You told me to go to the King before his wife’s ashes were cold! Wearing my dead mother’s dress, no less! You might as well have sent me naked and perfumed like a Street of Silk courtesan!”

“You have had too much wine. You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“I know full well what I am saying. I see things perfectly clear now. You never cared about the realm. All you cared about is putting your own blood on the Iron Throne and putting yourself next to him where you could drop your poison in his ear like you did to me!”

“All I have done is for the safety of the realm - ”

“The realm de-stablised the moment Aegon was crowned. If you truly cared about the stability of the realm, you would have told Viserys to marry Lady Laena. You would have supported any son she had and would have allowed me to marry someone else! Someone I’d chosen for myself. Someone who would have kept me and my children out of these deadly power games.”

“Keep your voice down, you silly girl! No one can even suspect that you wanted to marry anyone but the King!”

“Because you never let me even think about what I wanted. I was a silly girl when you sent me to the King. I was just a child. Don’t you feel any shame at sending your own daughter to wed a man of your years and forcing her to bear child after child only to make them pawns in your power games too? I’m your daughter! Your only daughter! And, you sold me! Sold me to buy the Throne!”

Otto didn’t answer. For a moment, Aemond thought he might show contrition.

Then, he sighed, “You really are too drunk to talk sense. I think I see where Aegon gets it now. We will speak again on the morrow. I hope you will have regained some of your senses by then. Until then, I advise you do not leave these chambers. We don’t need anyone else seeing you this way.”

Aemond heard his grandsire leave the room with quick steps and close the door behind him. Alicent took three sharp steps towards the wall. For a moment, Aemond thought he was about to be discovered. Then, she gave a loud grunt of effort which was followed by something fragile shattering. Alicent remained in the room, alternately panting like an angry bear and sobbing like a child.

Aemond moved away from the wall, thoughts trapped under the weight of all he had heard. Lucerys moved away too. He didn’t look at all sad or surprised. In fact, he only gave Aemond that wicked grin and stood up. Aemond looked around - and had to clap both hands over his mouth to stop himself screaming.

Two figures waited on the other side of the platform. Scraps of white nightshirts clung to their bodies and that was all Aemond could distinguish of their appearances. For burns covered every inch, rendering them red and black husks of men.

Luke stood up, his smile turning warm and happy. The larger burned men smiled too. Or, at least, it seemed that way by the movement of the blackened jaw. He held out his arms and Luke ran into them. The burned man held Luke like a father would his son.

The three turned away from Aemond and stepped through the rail as if it were not there. Then, without any hesitation, the three stepped into thin air and fell out of sight. Without thinking, Aemond scrambled to the edge and looked over.

But, he saw nothing. Not a single cobweb in the thick blanket below had been disturbed.

Of course not. They’re ghosts. A fall can’t harm them.

Aemond traipsed down the staircase alone but with enough on his mind to fill the whole keep. He had known his parents’ marriage was not the most affectionate. Yet, he never allowed himself to think it a bad one. 

He had also known his mother had much unhappiness in her life and even admired her for how stoically she bore it. He had always thought, however, that it was simply the strain of ruling on behalf of his sickly father and the added trouble Rhaenyra gave her. He had never even considered that his mother might not have chosen his father and that it was the marriage itself that caused her unhappiness. 

When Ser Willis rushed up to him outside the library, Aemond barely heard his questions. All he could say in response was, “It is nothing, Ser.” He found a secluded nook and sank down into a chair, staring into space.

It was not the revelation of Lord Larys’ murder of his father and brother that weighed on him the most. It was not even the revelation that his mother had been planted before his father as part of Otto’s schemes or that his mother may not have wanted the marriage.

The heaviest fact was that Aemond had already been shown this. His strange visions, coming in place of nightmares, had told him all of this.

Like the ghost of Lucerys, it seemed, all of it was genuine.

#

As if Lucerys had opened some door between worlds, more ghosts appeared in the Red Keep. All only visible to Aemond and always appearing when something serious was happening.

These ghosts, Aemond found, were better company than Lucerys. They never spoke to him anyway. They simply looked (if they still had eyes) and beckoned him to follow.

The ghosts of Lord Caswell and Lady Fell (still with nooses around their necks) had led him to overhear Otto sending envoys to Dorne. 

“Tell no one and let no one speak else to Prince Qoren.”

Then, they led him to overhear Alicent sending a message to Lord Larys (Aemond’s flesh crawled at the very mention of him) to follow Otto’s envoys and make sure her own envoys reached Dorne first ‘by any means necessary’.

So, Mother and Grandsire really are starting to work against each other. And Grandsire did have everyone who didn’t bend the knee executed. He lied when he said they were imprisoned. 

Then, in an unkind and unguarded moment, Aemond also thought, All that talk of putting forth a united front as a family and they’re the ones at each other’s throats like Brackens and Blackwoods. All those times Grandsire and Mother told me was to not retaliate to Aegon’s cruel japes in public because Rhaenyra would exploit any discord between us. If I had known that this how Mother and Grandsire really behaved, I would have pushed Aegon out of his chamber window during one of his daily perversions.

He found it hard to push away that thought and all the other unkind thoughts that followed.

The week after that, Ser Joffrey Lonmouth led him to the stables. His face may be nothing but an featureless, bloody mess but Aemond recognised his fine clothes from Rhaenyra’s betrothal feast. Aemond also felt the loathing directed at Cole when the ghost pointed towards the stables.

There, Aemond found Cole kicking a small dark-haired boy of no more than eleven years in the face. Other servants retreated as far as they could, hiding their face in horror. A robust woman with a red face wailed that the boy hadn’t meant it and that he would never do it again.

“Cole!” Aemond called, voice cutting across the noise, “What in the name of the Seven are you doing?”

Cole started back, leaving the boy groaning on the stone and straw, “This whelp made a joke about your brother, the King. I was teaching him some respect.”

“Surely, boxing his ears would have been a sufficient lesson, Cole, not smashing his face into a pulp.”

The boy’s face was covered in blood. For a moment, Aemond thought his face had been caved in like Ser Joffrey’s. Then, his streaming eyes opened and he slowly straightened. His limbs moved clumsily. His first attempt at running ended with him falling on his face and wailing all the harder. Most likely, Cole had given him a concussion.

“I will not suffer anyone to speak ill of His Grace, no matter if they be boys or men. Or women.” He sent a glower in the way of the boy’s mother, “I wonder where he might have heard such vile things.” He took a step towards the women, who stumbled back in terror.

“Cole!” Aemond snapped, making his voice sharp as a slap, “Does the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard have nothing better to do than beat little boys and washerwomen? Do you not need to find replacements for Ser Erryk, Ser Harrold, Ser Steffan and Ser Lorent? And, perhaps, an acting Kingsguard in place of Ser Arryk? Perhaps, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard needs to be reminded that his main duty is to guard the King!”

Cole at last had the decency to look ashamed. Even if it was an angry kind of shame that rather resembled the shame of a child who had no regrets despite their parents’ reprimands.

“Get back to your duties at once and leave disciplining the servants to the castellan. This sort of behaviour is beneath you, Lord Commander.”

“As my Prince wishes.” With that, Cole turned and stalked off.

Aemond didn’t meet any of the servants’ eyes but whirled around and walked away too. His mind still burned with anger too much to trust himself around anyone.

Is this the man who taught me to fight and taught me only to fight with grown men? Is this the man who taught me that only a little breach of the rules of chivalry was permissible when there was no other option or if the other man offers dishonorable conduct first? Is this the man who taught me to watch and wait for the right moment rather than lashing out in anger?

#

Aemond didn’t want to think the worst of everyone. He tried to think Alicent, Otto and Cole were just under a lot of pressure. He tried to tell himself that they were just having a bad day or that things would settle down once Rhaenyra had been dealt with.

The ghosts would not allow him the luxury of such thoughts. They kept appearing and kept showing him more arguments between Alicent and Otto and more outbursts from Cole aimed at the servants, guards and even at the young daughter of a visiting noble.

More and more, Aemond noticed the small council meetings shifting from a discussion of many wise voices to just two sharp voices fighting a silent war for the King’s ear. The other small council members would sit in silence, weighing up which one had the upper hand that day before speaking in their favour. Anyone who got it wrong would, depending on who had the advantage, either receive a snappish, “The Crown thanks you for your opinion,” from Otto or Cole moving to stand behind them. Both had the effect of silencing the dissenter at once.

Aemond stopped speaking at small council meetings. He had tried to arbitrate a few times and make better suggestions such as prioritising re-taking the rest of the Riverlands before Harrenhal. Every time, his ideas were dismissed and Aegon would listen to either his mother’s or his grandsire’s argument instead.

Does Aegon know about this silent war? Aemond thought as Aegon decided, without any clear reason, to take Otto’s side one day. Sometimes, it seemed to Aemond that Aegon liked to set them against each other like tourney knights.

The worst of Aegon, however, came when Queen Aemma appeared.

Still in her bloody shift, she led him to Aegon’s chambers that night. The ghost pushed the door open an inch and gestured for Aemond to put his eye to the door. There, he found an apple-cheeked maid setting some wine on Aegon’s table.

As soon as the maid turned away to walk to the door, a nasty look appeared in Aegon’s eye. He sneaked up on her, hands raised, and pounced. He clapped one hand over her mouth to muffle her screams and tugged her skirts up with the other.

The ghost gave Aemond a little shove on the shoulder, clearly telling him to do something. Aemond tapped the door and entered, making Aegon stop dead. It was all Aemond could do to not to burst out in an outraged tirade in that moment. Instead, he drew back his temper and said evenly.

“I wish to speak with you alone, brother.”

Aegon’s hold loosened and that was all the maid needed. She squirmed out of his grip like a cat and disappeared through the door.

“Damn it, Aemond. What’s so important that you have to barge into my chambers like this?” 

Aemond thought quickly and said, “I wondered if you noticed how Mother and Grandsire seem to be at odds with each other lately. I am concerned that this might be preventing better ideas coming forth.”

Aegon pulled a face, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Of course, he doesn’t notice. Why did I credit him with that much intelligence?

Then, Aegon gave him a mocking grin, “Oh, I know what this is about. You’re pissed off that I didn’t take your advice, aren’t you? Well, I’m sorry but I’m not going to take my army anywhere until Lord Borros gets here. Grandsire knows more about these things than either of us do so there’s no point in either of us trying to weigh in. Our job is to sit there, look pretty and make sure we don’t lose our dragons or our cocks.” 

Aemond scowled, “Are you telling me you have a sickness that might affect your cock? I warned you that might happen if you kept sleeping with every whore in the city.”

Aegon gave him a strange look. Then, his face split into a grin and he burst out laughing, “Oh! Oh, Aemond, Aemond, Aemond. I can’t believe you’re still so innocent. Look, if we lose our cocks or our dragons, we stop being important to Mother and Grandsire. Simple as that. Everything else is just pointless to them so you should loosen up. Have some fun.” 

Aegon poured out a cup of wine and held it out to Aemond. Aemond only responded with a look of deadly anger.

“Fine. Go and take that sour face elsewhere. Send that maid back in on your way out.”

The maid had long vanished and so had Aemma. 

Aemond said nothing more about that incident. Not to Aegon and not even to their mother. Even now, that instinct to protect her from the worst of Aegon’s excesses kicked in.

Aemond had told himself and others that he cared nothing for what Aegon did. His business was his own and, from his thirteenth nameday, Aemond vowed never to get involved in it.

But, drinking and whoring was one thing. Jumping on unsuspecting maids was quite another.

Gods, if he does this to the maids, what will he do within Flea Bottom? Or…what did he do to Helaena? I knew Aegon was never kind to her but…but what if it was worse than she told me? How much has Helaena kept from me?

At least, she’s not here now.

Aemond shook himself. He mustn’t think such treacherous thoughts about his sister and queen.

Not even if they are true…

Aemond vowed to simply watch his brother more closely and only take action if he did it again. After that night, however, the word seemed to have spread among the maids. Aemond noticed how they made themselves small in Aegon’s presence. How they would do their best not to turn their back to him, even when he was in company. How some of the younger and prettier ones would only would go in pairs to his chambers. More and more often, Aemond noticed they had stuck pins into their cuffs. Less than a week later, he found out why. 

As Aemond and Alicent sat down for dinner, Aegon ran howling into the room, clutching his hand.

“I’ve been attacked!” He declared, “Attacked by my own maid!”

Alicent rushed to his side, “Call the maesters! Ser Criston, have your men apprehend the maid! Your Grace, what did she look like? What did she do?”

Aegon reluctantly pulled back his hand - and revealed only a tiny pinprick on the back of his hand.

“I was just minding my own business!” Aegon claimed, “Just getting ready for dinner and then this maid just stabs me in the hand!”

Alicent’s face went blank. The sort of blank that told Aemond a storm brewed beneath it.

“Ser Criston, have the girl who was with His Grace brought to me. Gently. And, Aemond, tell the maester not to come.”

Aemond had been about to make for the maester’s chambers. Then, Aemma’s ghost reappeared to stop him. She gestured to the door and had Aemond listen in to the conversation.

Alicent’s voice, like her face, was ominously blank, “Were you minding your own business? Or, were you trying to have some of your ‘harmless fun’ with her?”

Those words ‘harmless fun’ felt full of dark meaning. A look of anger from Aemma confirmed Aemond’s suspicions.

Aegon didn’t answer. His silence felt like proof enough. At last, he whined, “It was just a joke, mother! She didn’t need to stab me! And, she twisted my wrist too and it hurt! Just did it like this…see? I thought she’d broken it!”

Alicent took a while to respond. Then, at last, she said, “I will question that maid to find out where she learned that technique. Until then, I will have only boys and men attend you from now on. No, don’t try to overrule me. I have given you enough chances to reform your ways but you have gone too far and we can’t afford any more of your ‘harmless fun’ now you wear the crown. If anyone asks, I shall say you cannot abide the sight of girls who remind you of your lost wife.”

“But, mother! I promise I won’t do it again. Really, I won’t this time!”

Aemma prodded Aemond in the shoulder and pointed to the end of the corridor. Aemond spotted the shadow of Cole returning. Following Aemma’s pointing finger, he hid himself behind a bust of Queen Visenya. Cole hurried into the dining hall and Aemond hastened back to the door to listen to his report.

“The maid has vanished, Your Grace. She was taken away in a vintner’s cart. And, Your Grace, it seems that vile rumours about the King’s conduct towards the maids has spread throughout the Red Keep. The vintner’s assistant taught the maids some small defence techniques to use against His Grace if he…if they think he is trying to assault them.”

“Traitors!” Aegon wailed, “Cole, go out there and bring me that vinter’s head! And his assistant - and bring all the wine in their shop! I claim it all as compensation.”

Alicent ran a hand through her hair in frustration, “We’re going to have to replace every maid in the Keep! And pay them double to keep them quiet. Alexis,” He turned to her new lady-in-waiting, “tell my father to prepare a full purse of gold for each of them and don’t tell him what it’s for. If he asks, say we suspect a spy among them and we’re setting a trap.”

Aemond had heard enough. He left and did not return again for dinner when Cole called for him. He had utterly lost his appetite. He just slumped in the chair by the fire, head in hands.

Mother knew. This has been ‘carrying on’ for years and she knew. She knew and she did not do enough to stop it. She only stopped word from spreading. She did not even stop Aegon from doing it. If Cole knew, he didn’t make an attempt to stop it either.

And, neither did I. Grandsire is right. I only lost one eye. How could I be so blind?

What am I to do to fix all of this?

What if I went to Dorne myself and treated with Prince Qoren on behalf of Aegon? I could offer up myself as a husband for Princess Aliandra in exchange for support.

Aemond straightened. He would have donned his riding gear and flown off then and there - if he hadn’t looked at the mirror hanging on the wall by his writing desk.

His reflection sat in the chair, arms crossed and with a derisive look on its face. Then, it spoke with his own voice, “Do you really think you can win Dorne to Aegon’s side? After what happened last time you went on a ‘peace mission’?”

Aemond slowly stood. The reflection didn’t move. It continued to sneer as it went on.

“What do you think the Dornish will make of a dragon flown by a Targaryen prince into their lands, uninvited and with uncertain intentions? You’ll likely end up starting another war just for that. And, even if they let you enter, what can you really offer them in return? A marriage to a second son and an infamous kinslayer at that? Floris was right: no lord wants a kinslayer for a good-son. And, what if you ran into another enemy envoy? What if Vhagar decided to kill them too? The blacks would be inflamed even further and it would be Helaena who suffers.” The reflection rolled its eye in exasperation, “By the gods, it’s no wonder Mother and Grandsire didn’t want you involved in negotiations."

The reflection gave him a malicious smile, the like of which Aemond remembered giving Luke during Ser Vaemond’s petition.

“Do you want to know a secret? Mother’s scared of you and Grandsire’s wishing you’d left Vhagar well alone that night. And, who can blame him? Just what have you really done since you claimed her? You improved your skills, yes, but what good did that really achieve other than to inflate your pride? What’s the point of knowing history and philosophy if you don’t have a clue of what was going on under your nose? What good have you really achieved in your whole life?”

“Stop it.” Aemond breathed. He tried to turn away but the reflection went on.

“You could have stopped the argument at Driftmark at any time. You could have stopped Mother exposing herself to ridicule by attacking Rhaenyra with a word. But, you did neither until it was too late. Then, Mother trusted you with a mission to avoid war and you repaid her trust by starting one. Mother and Rhaenyra were on the road to reconciling at your father’s last feast but you ruined it all with one word. You’re just not capable of being any good to anyone. No matter how hard you try to help Mother, Grandsire and everyone else, you always make things worse for them.” 

“Shut up. You’re not real.”

Aemond had no idea what the thing in his mirror was. Was it true madness? Or was it the ghost of Luke, playing a trick on him? Or a demon from one of the seven hells, come to start his eternal torment early?

The reflection smirked. Aemond thought it must be the same one he wore at the feast before he said the word ‘strong’, “I may not be real but you know I’m right. Perhaps, it’s a good thing you haven’t noticed the worst of our family until now. If you’d tried to intervene, you probably would have made it worse. As usual. Honestly, Rhaenyra doesn’t need to do a thing to claim the throne. She can just sit back and let you destroy everything you touch.”

“SHUT UP!”

Aemond seized the mirror and hurled it across the room. With an enormous crash, the thing exploded into a hundred tiny shards.

“My Prince!” Ser Willis burst into the room, sword half-drawn, “Are you alright? What happened?”

Ringing silence filled the room. Aemond’s rage vanished like a snuffed candle flame, leaving him panting and slightly dazed. What could he say? How could he justify throwing a mirror across the room when, clearly, no one else had heard his reflection taunting him?

“I’ll…have someone clear up the mess, shall I?” Ser Willis said at last, “Please, don’t go near it until it’s cleared. You might cut yourself.”

He edged to the door, leaving Aemond to sink into a chair and bury his face in his hands once more.

#

VERMAX

Vermax knew Tessarion was up to something. He had known the moment he had seen Syrax experimenting in the Red Keep’s wine cellar.

“Are you giving yourself a reward, my dear? You did good work with your ‘ghosts’ and your defence lessons.”

Syrax gave an embarrassed smile, “I’m doing some experiments. Mother told me some lords in the Keep mix the wine with a mixture of nut oil and citrus juice. I wanted to see what that did to the flavour.”

“And, what does it do?” Vermax asked.

Syrax tasted the wine mixture and pulled a face, “Nothing very good. Maybe, I got the nut wrong. I assumed walnut oil but, maybe, I was wrong. I should check.”

“Yes, you should. I’ll go and check on Aemond.”

Oh, Tessarion. What are you doing while Syrax’s back is turned?

He reached Aemond’s room just as he screamed and smashed his mirror. He found Tessarion sitting on Aemond’s bed, re-corking a bottle half-full of sparkling white liquid.

“I knew it.” He sighed, “You only ever give Syrax advice on wine when you want her distracted. I only wish I’d seen it. I haven’t seen you use the Full Reflection spell in centuries.”

Tessarion only stowed the bottle in her gown and said, “Yes, it is a shame you missed it. His reflection gave him no quarter.”

Vermax shook his head as a serving boy cleared the shards away, “Why is it that reflections never have anything nice to say?”

Chapter Text

AEGON

Aegon had been enjoying himself. He’d muscled his way into a prime position at the fighting pit’s ringside and forced the pit owner to part with his best bottle of Arbor gold, free of payment. It turned out Ser Rickard was better than Ser Erryk at scaring the wits out of the old prick. 

The girl with the burned wrists had been dispatched in the last round. She had been the one he had been most concerned about. Now, his fighter boy had nothing standing in the way of a victory and of a full purse of gold.

Aegon felt he deserved this. He deserved some good luck. He had been on the throne for five months and nearly all of it had been spent nervously watching Dragonstone for Rhaenyra’s next move. Ser Arryk had reported that Rhaenyra didn’t intend to make any further advances until the Northmen arrived in the Riverlands. That could take another six months. Plenty of time for Otto to pull together their forces into an unstoppable army and for Aegon to actually enjoy being King for a moment.

He’d had precious little opportunity for that in the Keep. His mother and Aemond seemed bound and determined to stop him have any real fun. They dragged whores from his bed, robbed him of his wine and insisted on making him attend all those boring fucking small council meetings where everyone said the same fucking thing every fucking time.

Aemond, in particular, had been killing all his fun. Every time Aegon got away from his male attendants and tracked down a maid to play with, Aemond always seemed to be there. Always entering the room just as Aegon was about to pounce and always ruining his element of surprise.

He would get no amusement in the Red Keep, that was plain. So, at last, he made Ser Rickard accompany him to the city (with cloaks hiding their faces) and made his way to the fighting pit. 

Aegon felt that this would be a good night.

Right up until an axe cleaved through the pit owner’s head.

A towering beast of a man thrust the body into the fighting pit and bellowed into the sudden silence, “This cursed place is now closed for good!” 

He stepped into the meagre light. A white mask with stubby red horns covered his face and a short grey cape with a raised hood stretched over his broad shoulders.

“By order of Lord Velaryon!”

Aegon leapt to his feet. Ser Rickard seized him by the shoulders and turned towards the door. Before them, they found a scene of utter pandemonium. The entire audience had turned and fled towards the tiny exit in a seething mass. They had more to fear, however, than the crush.

White faces with red horns popped in and out of sight in the mass of panicking people. Daggers, axes, clubs and fists rained down on all sides. People sank under the feet of the stampede or toppled back and into the fighting pit. The fighting children had disappeared, leaving only a fading sound of crying beneath the louder screams from the grown men and women.

“Almost there, Your Grace. Just keep your head down and - ”

Ser Rickard gave a low grunt of pain and his hand slipped from Aegon’s shoulders. Almost at once, they were replaced by eight other hands. They lifted Aegon right off the floor, each person gripping a limb, and carried him over the heads of the crowd to the doors.

“Make way for the king, everybody!”

For a few moments, Aegon thought he would be saved. He thought some good people had recognised him and were whisking him off to safety. And, then, they got outside and he saw the masks on the people carrying him.

“Out of the way!” The leader jeered at the staring and panicking masses, “His Majesty has an appointment to keep!”

“Let me go!” Aegon screamed, trying to writhe out of their grip, “I’m the King! I’ll have your heads if you hurt a hair on mine!”

None of them so much as paused. They carried him into the main square beyond. Several man-sized stakes had been driven through the cobblestones and multiple people were being chained to them, screaming and flailing against the masked men. Those chained to the poles were subjected to punches, kicks and even, in one case, flogging with a horse whip. A human wall of other men and women in masks stood in a circle about them, catching anyone making a run for it and flinging them back into the waiting arms of their masked men. 

Aegon’s captors chained him to a stake right in the middle. In front of him, about three feet away, lay a small coffin strewn with little white flowers. An odd thing to have in the middle of a riot and something that drew Aegon’s eye for a few crucial moments.

In those moments, he didn’t hear the first part of what the emaciated man with one hand shouted until he came close to his ear, “…and look who’s the favourite customer of these dens of depravity? Our new young King! Our own King would see your little children fight for his amusement while he takes his lascivious pleasure with any unfortunate maid that strays upon his path. See! See, this woman knows his vices well and has suffered most grievously for them!”

A masked face emerged from the crowd. She wore the same grey cloak and hood as the others but her dress underneath suggested she worked the Street of Silk. Her eyes burned beneath the mask as she approached him. 

“I won’t ask if you remember me.” She said, fire blazing in every word, “I know you’ve got a short memory.”

She punched him hard in the stomach, making him curl up his legs in pain.

“You won’t remember me like you won’t remember the promise you made me! That, if I stopped struggling and let you take your sick pleasure with me, you wouldn’t do the same to my sister! But, you forgot, didn’t you? A moon’s turn later, you did it to her!”

She aimed two twin blows at Aegon’s cock. They landed with horrible, agonising accuracy.

“She was a sweet girl! She couldn’t take it! Do you know what she did the day your mother sent her away from the Red Keep? She threw herself into the Blackwater with your mother’s purse of gold in her pocket!”

Blows rained down with every other word she spoke. Aegon only tried to curl up as much as he could to avoid the worst of it, whimpering and moaning in pain.

“I’ve got it right here.” The woman forced Aegon’s legs down and stuffed a fat, full purse into his pocket, “And, I’ve still got the one she gave me. Untouched!” She stuffed another one into his other pocket, “I would rather sell myself on the Street of Silk than rely on her charity! And, you tell your mother from me that I don’t need her gold! I don’t need her sympathy! And, I don’t need any of her false! Fucking! Piety!”

“And, see, friends!” The one-handed lunatic continued, “See how the word of the Seven has been corrupted in the mouth of the false worshiper, who wears the seven-pointed star but can hold none of its light in their heart! Our so-called pious dowager queen not only conceals her son’s sins but forces his victims to stain their souls by drinking moon tea, killing the evidence of our King’s crimes!”

The woman reached into her belt and pulled out a small hammer.

“Please…” Aegon blubbered, “I…I won’t have you hanged. I’ll let you go free if you…”

The woman reached up and grabbed Aegon’s hand, “See, if you had just had your way with me, I only would have broken the one. But, since you took the both of us, I’m going to break both!”

The hammer swung down. Aegon heard a muffled crack right before the white-hot bolt of pain shot through his thumb. He howled like an animal but the woman showed no mercy. She reached for his other hand and, a moment later, she smashed that thumb too.

“And, it wasn’t just me who found out how much gold a maid’s innocence is worth to the queen.” The woman put away the hammer and drew out a short cudgel, “There was the girl whose moon tea didn’t take! She miscarried the babe so bad that she can’t have any more children! There was the girl who can only find comfort in milk of the poppy! There was the girl who was thrown out of her home because everyone knows what a maid leaving the Red Keep with a purse of gold and no explanation means by now! They thought she’d led you on and they didn’t give her a chance to explain that all she’d done was turn her back on you for just a moment!”

With every statement, the cudgel came down on Aegon’s arms, legs, stomach and wherever else she could land a hit.

It went on and on until a high whistle sounded through the noise.

“GOLDCLOAKS! SCATTER!”

Like a mass of rats, everyone in a silver cloak ran in all different directions. The woman dropped the cudgel and ran. Aegon tried to track her with his eyes but she was soon swallowed up by the sea of silver cloaks. Something white fell near his feet. When the crowd thinned and he looked down, he saw several abandoned Lord Velaryon masks lying in the muck.

He also saw that the coffin had been tipped over. A child-sized arm hung out. One with a rather distinctive burn scar on the wrist.

The fighting girl. The one killed in the last round. It was the last thing Aegon thought before Ser Luthor’s voice boomed over the noise.

“What in seven hells is the meaning of this? Who - what the -? Your Grace?! Ser Rickard? What happened here? Ser Tom! Help His Grace! We need to get him back to the Red Keep.”
Aegon began to wish he was still being beaten. Whatever the whore could unleash on him, it would be nothing compared to what his mother would do to him when she found out.

#

AEMOND

The night the long-awaited strike from Rhaenyra finally came, Aemond had been lying awake, fighting a battle of wills with his reflection.

“What made you think Luke was laughing at you at the feast? What made you think he remembered a jape played on you ten years ago and not even one of Aegon’s better japes at that?’ Aemond’s reflection sat up in bed and gave him a look of pure contempt, ‘What made you think he was even thinking about you at all? Didn’t it occur to you that, even if he had, he might have had good intentions? He might have wanted to start a conversation with you that would have led to his apology and reconciliation a few years down the line. But, now, you’ll never know.’

Aemond lay in bed, staring at the canopy. He could get out of bed and cover the new mirror up but he was not going to give it the satisfaction. Whether it was ghost or madness, he would endure it until it tired and fell silent.

The reflection, however, proved persistent.

‘Just think of what could have been if you stayed quiet. They might not have left. Rhaenyra might have been crowned Queen and you and your family would have been kept as safe, comfortable hostages to keep Mother and Grandsire on their best behaviour.’

“She wouldn’t have kept us alive forever.” Aemond muttered despite himself.

The reflection considered this and then gave a half nod as if conceding Aemond had a point, ‘True. Grandsire or one of his cronies would have tried something foolish and then Rhaenyra will realise that, so long as you’re alive, you’ll be a threat. She won’t like it but she’ll know it. Of course, your deaths will never be traced to Rhaenyra or Daemon. Who wants a kinslayer near the throne, after all?’

Aemond felt the same relish in the word ‘kinslayer’ that he himself has used in the word ‘strong’ at the feast.

‘Aegon would be easy. Daemon would just give him a full purse and fine clothes, send him out for a night’s debauch without the burden of guards and let Flea Bottom take care of the problem. If Aegon’s lucky, he’d have his throat slit for that purse and his fine clothes. If he’s not, he’ll be bundled off on a boat to Lys and sold to a pillowhouse.

‘You and Daeron would be more of a challenge but, whatever Daemon decides on, everyone who saw it will swear it was a horrible accident. That you both had no one but yourselves to blame for what happened. Even if they do suspect Daemon and Rhaenyra's involvement, they won't face any consequences. Everyone will say it was all Otto's fault for throwing Rhaenyra's mercy back in her face. One thing’s for sure, Daeron will die quickly. Your suffering will be as prolonged as Daemon can make it.

‘As for Helaena, well, I’m sure she’d be spared and married off to one of Rhaenyra’s supporters once Aegon was taken care of. She’d likely outlive all of us and be happier for our absence. Aegon always called her an idiot but she’s wiser than all her brothers put together. Especially wiser than you. After all, she has the sense to sit quietly and not make a bad situation worse simply out of wounded pride.’

Aemond could take no more provocation. He arose and flung a cloak over the mirror. The thing fell silent at once like a tame bird in a covered cage.

Aemond turned back to bed. As he did so, he saw Lyman Beesbury standing at his chamber door. For a moment, Aemond thought the man had renounced his loyalty to Rhaenyra and been reinstated as Master of Coin. He had been about to ask what Lord Beesbury thought he was doing in Aemond’s chamber at this hour. Then, the moon emerged from a cloud, lighting up the marble ball jammed deep in the side of Lord Beesbury’s head. 

Aemond froze, words dying on his tongue. 

Blood trickles spidered from the marble ball in Lord Beesbury’s head but very few flowed downwards. In fact, most of them trickled sideways, against the natural flow.

Like he died face down.

Then, Aemond recognised the marble ball. It was the same type used by small council members. In fact, it was the same ball used by the master of coin.

As the pieces became clearer in Aemond’s mind, Lord Beesbury beckoned with a finger. He turned and walked through Aemond’s chamber door as if it were a soap bubble.

Am I to be haunted by every dead man in the Red Keep?

Aemond’s current strange companion led him to a high part of the Red Keep where he could look out and see King’s Landing’s lights below. Nothing seemed amiss that night. From his distance, the noise of the city sounded no better or worse than usual.

Aemond looked back to Lord Beesbury. All the old master of coin did was smile and point down to the main courtyard doors.

A moment passed. Then, the doors opened and Aemond gaped as Ser Luthor half-carried a limp Aegon inside. Aemond hurried at once to wake his mother, grandsire and Ser Criston. He didn’t notice when Lord Beesbury vanished. Nor did he much care. 

Once they all crowded in Aegon’s chambers, Aemond lingered by the fire as Maester Orwyle tended to Aegon.

“Both thumbs are broken.” The maester informed the room, “And, the king has been beaten severely.”

Ser Criston rounded on Ser Rickard, who stood at the door with his arm in a sling, “And, how was this allowed to happen?”

The room stood very still once the story had been related by a shaking Ser Rickard.

Alicent quaked. Aemond wasn’t sure if it was from anger or horror. Otto glared down at Aegon as if he had never seen anything so disgusting in his life. 

Aemond, for his part, felt unwillingly impressed both with how low Aegon was willing to sink and with the punishment Lord Velaryon had meted out.

Cole was incandescent, “You swore an oath to protect your king! I ask again: how could you allow this to happen?”

“I am very sorry, Lord Commander.”

“Sorry is not enough! No, give me your cloak and make your preparations for the Wall.”

“Ser Rickard will not be sent to the Wall.” Alicent cut in, “Aegon should not have been there in the first place. Ser Rickard cannot be held responsible for being set upon by such a mob. Nor should he be punished for Aegon’s decision to go into a dangerous place for the sake of entertainment. If you can call it that. Believe me, I will be having words with Ser Luthor on the morrow to find out why such an obscenity has been allowed to take place in this city.”

“How long have you been going to these fighting pits?” Otto said, his face promising a vicious storm later, “Do you know when they started?”

“I…I don’t know…” Aegon said, still a little dazed, “…a goldcloak told me about them, I can’t remember his name…it was years ago…”

Alicent pressed her lips together in fury, “So, the goldcloaks knew about this. You knew about this and, rather than bringing it to the attention of your father or your grandsire,” She paused for a moment to flood as much fury into her words as possible, “you chose to indulge yourself! To plumb the very depths of obscenity and cruelty and to bring the greatest shame on your whole family!”

Aegon could only gulp and wobble his lip in response, “I - I was the one who was beaten. Why aren’t you angry at Lord Velaryon’s men? Why do you never defend me?”

Aemond thought of Alicent standing between Aegon and a dragon and turned back to the fire in disgust, Mother ought to have let Meleys burn him.

Maester Orwyle raised Aegon’s doublet to examine the bruises to his chest. A fat purse of gold fell out of one of the pockets, making a heavy clunk.

“Oh, yes.” Aegon said. Aemond looked round in time to see a rather cruel look appear on Aegon’s face, “That’s for you, mother.”

And, he told them all of what the whore and the one-armed man said. He then made Orwyle produce the second purse of gold from his other pocket. At the sight of the purses, Alicent went from furious to shaking again. This time, with barely suppressed tears. She picked the purses up, weighing them in her hands.

“Milly.” She said, at last, “Her name was Milly. Her sister’s name was Emily.” 

“I doubt she’s going by that name now.” Otto said, “Women of the night tend to change their names on joining the profession. Still, I’ll tell the goldcloaks to raid the whorehouses.”

Alicent ignored him and turned back to Aegon, “Did you really make a promise not to touch Emily? A promise that you broke after one moon’s turn?”

Aegon cringed, “I forgot! They all look the same anyway!”

Aemond suppressed the urge to slam Aegon’s head against the wall. The gods were cruel indeed. To make such a worm as that heir to the Seven Kingdoms felt like a sick joke.

“So, it is true then, Alicent.” Otto said, “That you simply sent away all the maids Aegon, ah, toyed with and did not think to bring up his behaviour with me.”

Alicent’s face crumpled, “You wouldn’t understand what those girls went through. You would accuse them of inviting Aegon’s attention and have them thrown out in public disgrace. This was the kindest thing I could do for them.”

“It doesn’t look like Milly agrees. Nor do many of the others. As she said, everyone now knows what a maid sent away with a purse of gold means so your efforts at hushing this up have been for naught.”

Alicent threw her hands in the air, “What else could I have done for them?”

Aemond had to bite his tongue. He could think of plenty of things that could have been done. Most involved violence against Aegon.

“Wait. What is that?” Otto put his hand into one of the purses and pulled out what looked like a small folded piece of paper. When he turned it over, Aemond saw a silvery seal imprinted with a horned mask sigil.

Exactly the same seal as the letter Lord Velaryon had presented to Alicent.

Otto broke the seal and read aloud, “To Ser Otto Hightower, the former Hand of King Viserys, may the Father judge him justly, greetings. I understand that you made a deal with the White Worm to close the child fighting pits in Flea Bottom in exchange for the hiding place of Prince Aegon. While the White Worm was quick to fulfill their part of the deal, you have been slow in fulfilling yours. Do not think I blame you. I understand you are very busy and have many pressing demands on your time. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to do it for you. 

“However, it is with deepest regret that I inform you that the White Worm does not wish to do further business with you. They have noticed your slow progress and your daughter’s attempt on their life and livelihood. Neither of which can be forgiven. I wish you luck in finding another with such as the White Worm but I fear your family’s growing reputation for breaking promises may prevent it. 

“I am, ser, your sworn foe, Lord Velaryon. 

“P.S. Please convey my gratitude to the Dowager Queen for recently sending away so many maids. Their gold and their eagerness to strike against you has been of great use to me.”

“What’s that?” Aegon turned to Otto, looking newly furious and ignoring how Alicent gasped in horror at the postscript, “That’s the price you paid for my hiding place? What the fuck?!”

“I didn’t know you were involved.” Otto snarled, “If I had, I would have shut them down quickly and quietly. What I need to know now,” Otto turned to Ser Rickard, who had been trying to blend into the wall up until then, “is how many people witnessed it. I need to know how many tongues will be wagging about His Grace’s presence at the fighting pits and repeating Milly said.”

Ser Rickard bit his lip, “I saw the crowd when I came round. It was…a lot of people. Some of them had even climbed to the rooftops to watch. And, uh, throw things. When the goldcloaks arrived, everyone ran off. In every way. The goldcloaks managed to grab a few of the masked men but most of them…they just threw away their masks and disappeared into the crowd.”

Alicent dropped her head into her hands. Otto closed his eyes as if bracing himself for the headsman’s sword to fall. Cole looked ready to snap the first neck that came within reach. 

Into that dismayed silence, Aemond chose to speak, “You have to admire all the work Lord Velaryon put into this.”

All eyes snapped to him.

“Lord Velaryon not only knew the fighting pits existed but he knew the King went there and when he would be there. He also knew of all the maids he violated and where to find one bold enough to wreak revenge in a way that will make unable to hold a sword or a dragon’s reins for several weeks. Or even a wine cup, for that matter.”

“Bastard!” Aegon shouted from the bed.

Aemond ignored him and went on, “He also arranged - and I am only guessing at this point - to cause some kind of distraction to ensure the goldcloaks would be nowhere near the place. Or, at least, that they would arrive too late to prevent His Grace coming to harm. And all without our spies suspecting a thing.”

Otto’s look changed from stormy to unwilling agreement, “On that alone, you make a good point. I will certainly be asking Ser Luthor why they arrived so late and I will question Lord Larys on why he received no warning of this.”

“Perhaps, Ser Rickard would like to pass your questions on and to assist Ser Luthor in tracking down the rest of the masked men.” Aemond suggested.

Otto agreed and Ser Rickard hurried from the room like his cloak was on fire.

Otto and Cole made plans. Alicent worried at her fingernails with her teeth. Aegon lay quiet on the bed, seemingly trying to pretend he wasn’t there.

Aemond turned back to the fire and kept to his own thoughts.

If there’s a better way to defame Aegon and weaken his grip on the city, I can’t think of it.

Well played, Lord Velaryon.

#

ESSIE

While King’s Landing reeled, two small ships with black sails each made their way across Blackwater Bay and turned north. They passed the Velaryon blockade with no trouble. None of the sailors on the great warships made a move to fire when they saw the white, red-horned masks worn by the helmsmen.

They sailed through the night and for four more days. Once they were away from the blockade, they joined a small fleet surrounded by small but strong warships. Above their heads, dragons flew. Every evening, two flew inland and another pair took their place as sentinels. Whenever the winds ceased, the dragons would fly low and the gusts from their wings gave the ships a boost of speed. Whenever the biggest dragon gave them a wind, the ships would fly across the water for at least a few hundred yards.

When the lights of a city appeared in the distance on the fourth night, a crewman called down to the people huddled in the cabin below. Two women stepped out onto the deck, swaying a little with the boat’s motion. One clutched a small boy of three years to her chest and looked up fearfully. Now, all four dragons flew above their heads in formation. The two small dragons flew in the middle while the larger dragons stayed on either side. The other woman, darker-skinned and bolder-faced, stepped forward to the prow as if she would leap off and onto the shores if she could.

“Is this Gulltown?” Essie asked Sylvenna.

“Aye. I wonder if he’ll touch down to meet us in person.” Sylvenna wandered aloud, eyes scanning the port.

The warships remained at anchor at the mouth of the harbour. The four other ships entered the port and slid into a large warehouse dock away from the main thoroughfare. The dragons followed them and swooped around to land outside the harbour. Only then did Essie realise there were not four dragons with them but six. A dark-scaled, shire-horse-sized dragon with gold ridges and horns sat on the deck of the largest ship half-covered by an oilcloth tent. Then, as they neared the dock, another dragon poked its pale blue head out, looking around warily before edging closer to the bigger one. Even more shocking was the sight of so many guards waiting for them around the dimly-lit warehouse. Each wore a sigil of a white falcon flying over a crescent moon.

That’s the Arryn sigil. At least, I think so. Mother’s mercy, what have we sailed into?

A man and a woman arrived as they disembarked. They were both fine folk by the look of them. The lady wore a thick red cloak against the cold that Essie could perhaps buy with a month’s wages but only if she got a good deal. Her hair was braided in the Velaryon fashion and piled high atop her head like a crown in its own right.

As for the man, she knew his mask, though it was finer than the masks worn by the men in the pit. The horns were thinner and stood in a ridge atop the mask. The mask was not just white but shining like a pearl.

“That’s him!” Sylvenna grasped Essie’s arm with excitement, “That’s the real one!”

Essie staggered down the gangplank with Sylvanna’s arm around her. The lady stepped forward, “Miss Essie, Miss Sand, we welcome you and your son to Gulltown. I am Lady Rhaena and this is my husband, Lord Velaryon.”

Gaemon stirred in her arms and looked up and around. It took him a few seconds to realise they were no longer on the sea. Then, he saw Lord Velaryon.

He gave a gasp and buried himself in her mother’s dress.

“Sorry, milord.” Essie said, trying for the voice with softer edges she usually used when addressing nobles, “He’s a little shy.” Always best to be soft with nobles she didn’t know. You never knew just by looking which ones would turn out brutal.

“And, your men weren’t exactly gentle when they got him out of the fighting pit.” Sylvanna said with much less attention to her manners.

Lord Velaryon took no offence. On the contrary, he gave a small apologetic bow to Sylvanna. Rhaena spoke for him, “My apologies, Miss Sand. I fear that, in their haste, my husband’s men forgot that they were dealing with frightened children.” 

Lord Velaryon approached Essie and Gaemon. Essie resisted the urge to step back. Gaemon tried to burrow himself further into her chest.

Then, he raised a hand to Gaemon. Essie felt sure he was going to grab him and drag him away.

Held in his fingers, however, was a small sugared biscuit. He held it up to Gaemon, waiting patiently for the boy to look around.

“Go on.” Essie muttered to the boy. She knew too well how easily favour could be snatched away. She didn’t want to lose whatever good Sylvanna thought they’d get over this.
At last, Gaemon looked around. Lord Velaryon met his eye. Those strange, vivid blue eyes seemed to smile at the child. Gaemon took the biscuit with both hands and nibbled. Once the sugar hit his tongue, the boy’s face lit up.

Lord Velaryon gestured them away from the dock like a lord gesturing his guests into their solar.

“Come, Lady Jeyne is expecting you at the Eyrie. You will find it a safe place for the both of you and Gaemon. I’m sure little Aegon and Viserys will love to have a playfellow closer to their age. Ah, here they are now.”

The guards parted and allowed another set of fine folk through. A young man with a thin gold circlet sitting amidst his brown hair stepped forward. Behind him was a young woman with the same face as Rhaena but with shorter hair in corkscrew curls and a wilder look in her eye. Each of them carried a small boy with the same silver hair as Gaemon in their arms. Bringing up the rear was a smaller dark-haired boy of around ten years. In his hand was a set of chains. At first, Essie though he led two horses. Then, she saw how the guards backed off and realised that it was the two smaller dragons from the ship walking behind him.

Mother have mercy, are those things coming with us?

Essie held Gaemon a little tighter to her chest but kept her fear masked otherwise.

“I hope the dragons behaved themselves on the ship.” Rhaena said to the smaller dark-haired boy, “Did you remember Viserys’ egg? Good. Are Phoebe, Lyssa and Bethany here?”

Joffrey nodded. He passed the reins of the dragons to the short-haired lady and reached out a hand. Another bony hand appeared from the shadows. A golden-haired lady clearly in the same profession as Essie emerged from among the guards. By the fake pearls with chipped paint around her neck, Essie guessed she’d lately been employed at the Blue Pearl. Their profession turned out not to be their only similarity. She clutched a small pale-haired child in her arms too. A girl, Essie judged, and not much older than Gaemon. 

Behind her was a young woman with a scarf over her hair who only looked a little older than Prince Jacaerys. Essie could tell she was not of her profession but she looked poor enough to be considering it. Her grey dress was patched, tattered and looked particularly worn at the knees. Her face looked familiar but Essie couldn’t think of where she’d seen it.

Lord Velaryon and Rhaena turned to greet them, “Miss Phoebe, Miss Waters, we welcome you and little Lyssa to Gulltown. I am Lady Rhaena and this is my husband, Lord Velaryon. I apologise for the haste with which we took you from your places of employment but we felt speed was of the essence.”

Poor Phoebe looked more uncomfortable at so much courtesy shown to her. She buried her face in her daughter’s thin blanket and mumbled, “I’m only a poor whore, milady. I never even meant to be that. I was a maid in the Red Keep and then the Prince Aegon…he cornered me. The Prince didn’t give me anything special but Lyssa.”

“That would be enough to earn his grandsire’s ire.” Rhaena said, “With his grandson’s greatest shame exposed, we fear that he would move to eliminate all other things that might further shame Aegon, no matter how slightly.” She looked significantly at baby Lyssa and then back at Gaemon.

A chill went down Essie’s spine at the realisation. Of course, Otto Hightower would try to get rid of all royal bastards if the fancy took him. He’d probably round them up, claiming he wanted to help them and then have them killed at the dinner table like the builders of the Red Keep.

Phoebe seemed to realise that too. She blinked away her tears, held Lyssa a little tighter and looked up with a new steel in her eye.

“I’d do anything to keep Lyssa safe. If you want me to join the masked men, I will.”

“If that’s what you want, we can arrange that. For now, all we ask is that you, Lyssa and Bethany accompany Princes Jaehaerys and Maelor and Princess Jaehaera to the North. Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela will escort you to Winterfell and Lord Stark will make sure no harm comes to you once you’re there.”

A smile flitted over the face of Jacaerys - for that was who Essie guessed him to be. It faded in a moment but Essie read it clearly.

So, princes and lords can be like me too. Who’d have thought?

“Just remember to not let your children play outside unattended.” The other lady - Baela, if Essie guessed right - added in a jesting tone, “Vhagar’s too big to land in courtyards now but you never know who might drop in, uninvited.”

“Beg pardon, miladies,” The other woman, Bethany, asked. Her voice didn’t shake but she kept her eyes on the ground, “but why am I here? Prince Aegon never went near me. He never goes near a sept if he could help it.” Her hand loosened on her scarf. It fell a few inches to reveal her brown hair. No, not brown. The brown was only dye. The roots were pale blonde.

Then, Essie remembered where she’d seen her. She was the girl who scrubbed the floors at the Grand Sept. Once, she took a bit of work at the House of Kisses. They had needed additional help to clean up the results of a messy brawl. The girl hadn’t done a good job with dying her hair then either but, she scrubbed up the place well.
Baela opened her mouth but then seemed to decide not to answer. Instead, Rhaena replied, “You were given to the Grand Sept at birth, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Bethany said, now looking a little affronted and upset, “Ma couldn’t afford to keep me. My pa wanted nothing to do with me. It happens. Sept’s the best place for someone like me.”

The words had the tenor of something beaten into her over the years. Like the way the last madam would beat the idea into her employees that the House of Kisses treated them better than most whorehouses.

“We don’t mean to upset you, Bethany. In fact, we’re very happy to meet you.”

Bethany looked up for the first time, eyes blazing with anger, “Don’t mock me, milady.”

“No mocking, Bethany. I only say it because we believe you are our half-sister.”

Bethany’s eyes widened like she’d been told the earth was the sky.

“I think that’s why the septas wanted your hair colour concealed. Its natural colour gives you away. I won’t ask you to forgive Father for abandoning you. That’s too much to undo in a day. We only hope to undo some small part of it by taking you to the North and out of harm’s way.”

Bethany looked around. She looked as if she expected them all to start laughing in her face. When no one did and when Rhaena stepped forth, hands tentatively held out, she softened, “Ma was from the North originally. It’d be a bit like going home.”

With that, Rhaena embraced her. Bethany returned it awkwardly.

Carriages rolled up outside the warehouse and the party prepared themselves to leave. Bethany, Phoebe and Lyssa were led onto Essie’s boat along with three other silver-haired children and many crossbow men. 

Sylvenna and Essie were ushered toward a huge carriage by a cheerful red-headed lady who introduced herself as Lady Jessamyn Redfort. The dragons were concealed in a large covered wagon. Essie dearly hoped the cooked meat stowed inside would be enough to keep them calm. The canvas covers wouldn’t be enough to hold them if they wanted to take flight.

The carriage was big enough to house two large horses within. Inside, small lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating every inch of the well-decorated and soft-cushioned interior. Essie felt nervous of touching anything. It all felt too fancy for her.

Sylvenna had no such fear, however. Soon, they were seated facing away from the horses while the Princes Aegon, Viserys and Joffrey sat opposite them. Lady Jessamyn sat between them. Aegon and Viserys were still a little wary of them but Joffrey launched into speech the minute the door was closed, “I’m going to protect all of you. With Tyraxes and Stormcloud, none of the greens will dare come near us.”

“I wish Jaehaera, Jaehaerys and Maelor could come.” Prince Aegon mumbled.

“Not to worry, young Prince.” Lady Jessamyn reassured them, “They’ll all be safe in the North. No dragon has ever conquered it, you know. Not even Balerion.”

And, so, Gaemon, Essie and Sylvanna rode into a better future than they had before.

Chapter Text

AEMOND

The next morning’s small council meeting was not called early. Otto did not want to give the appearance that there was any cause for concern. The presence of Ser Gwayne, tired and shaken, and the absence of Aegon was the only concession.

The moment the councillors appeared, however, Aemond could see they already knew. The moment the doors closed, Ser Tyland said, “I hope His Grace is recovering well from last night’s ordeal.”

Otto’s eyes blazed with fury, “And who told you that there was any ordeal last night?”

Ser Tyland flinched and his eye flicked to Maester Orwyle.

“I thought I told you that nothing spoken of last night was to leave His Grace’s chambers! And, where is Lord Larys?” He directed the last question to the whole room.

“It seems Lord Larys has decided not to risk making his way through the streets until the riot has subsided.” Maester Orwyle hurried to say, “He has, however, sent us a list of potential suspects he had his eye on. He sends his apologies for not making his move sooner but he feels confident that Ser Gwayne will do everything necessary to apprehend them.” He leaned over the table and handed a list to Ser Gwayne, “He only asks that, once they are captured, they are to be brought to his manse. He wishes to question them there as the, uh, equipment necessary to make them confess their crimes cannot be easily moved to the Red Keep.”

Alicent’s mouth worked as if resisting the urge to be sick. Otto merely sighed, “It will have to do for now. What of the rest of the city? Have there been any more incidents such as the one that involved the King?”

Ser Gwayne ran a hand through his hair, “It would be easier to say where there hasn’t been an incident. It feels like the whole city went mad last night. Wherever you turned, there was a silvercloak shouting ‘by order of Lord Velaryon’. That’s what the smallfolk have started calling them: the silvercloaks.”

“That name gives them too much dignity.” Otto snarled, “What has this mob done?”

“They’ve caused absolute chaos all over the city. When the King was attacked, we were dealing with a mob of them rounding up some former criminals and mutilating them.”

“Mutilating them?” Otto clenched his fists, “I see Daemon’s hand in that. Probably reminding us what things used to be like when he was Commander.”

“You say ‘former criminals’.” Aemond put in before he could think better of it, “What kind of criminals were they?”

“Oh, all kinds. But, they were all punished before.”

“Not with mutilations?”

“No. They were punished with fines and hard labour. Apart from the ones that, ah, well, it turned out that, in a few cases, the criminals hadn’t faced any punishment. The goldcloaks had been, ah, bribed. And, those goldcloaks have dismissed, of course!”

“Do you have a point to make with this line of inquiry?” Otto asked Aemond, impatiently.

“Yes, Lord Hand.” Aemond turned to his grandsire with no small amount of irritation, “I believe that there is something is common between the mutilations and the fighting pit raid. In both cases, the goldcloaks either looked the other way or the punishment was, in the minds of some,” He turned to Ser Gwayne, “insufficient. Lord Velaryon is not just causing chaos. He is making a point about our law enforcement.”

Lord Jasper huffed, “The nerve of him!”

“What else have his men done?” Otto asked Ser Gwayne.

“They’ve broke into manses, raided supply wagons, looted shops, started fires and attacked several of the goldcloaks. Even ones off duty in a whorehouse.”

“How many arrests have been made?”

“Not many. Fifteen, maybe. That one-handed old lunatic was one of them but we haven’t been able to track down the whore yet. The masks make it hard to catch them. The minute our goldcloaks arrive, they run, throw off the mask the minute they’re out of sight and disappear into the crowd.”

“That is nowhere near sufficient!” Otto snarled, “I want anyone in possession of one of those masks sent to the black cells as traitors. Once Lord Larys has returned, I will have him pry the names of their co-conspirators out of them and I will have them all made an example of!”

“What we also need to ask Lord Larys,” Lord Jasper said, “is why he didn’t receive any warning of this attack before now. An assault of this size must have taken months and many men to plan.”

“An excellent point.” Otto nodded. He shot an accusing glance at Alicent as if she was responsible for Larys’ failure.

Alicent countered it with, “I would also have to call Ser Arryk’s competence as a spy into question too. I can’t imagine this was kept under wraps within the walls of Dragonstone.”

Otto looked a little thrown for a moment but only a moment, “I have anticipated this line of questioning. I have all of his reports here. I have searched and searched but can find no hint of this. Either Lord Velaryon is more secretive than we anticipated or the blacks suspect Ser Arryk. We will need to discuss a plan of retrieving Ser Arryk before he is discovered.”

Otto laid a stack of papers out onto the table. From his position behind Otto, Cole frowned. He took a step closer to read the papers. A moment later, his eyes widened and he said, “Lord Hand, forgive the interruption but that’s not Ser Arryk’s hand. That’s Ser Erryk’s.”

Colour drained from Otto’s face, “That can’t be. How can you be certain?”

“The ‘o’s are Ser Erryk’s. See here? Ser Arryk always puts a line through his ‘o’s. Ser Erryk doesn’t.”

All the papers were spread out over the table and Cole confirmed that every one of them had been written by Ser Erryk. The terrible truth lay before them like a corpse on the table.

“So, this means…” Ser Tyland looked almost too scared to say it but not too scared to realise how the balance of power had shifted from Otto to Alicent in that moment, “…everything we’ve received from Dragonstone is exactly what Rhaenyra wanted us to think she’s doing?”

“And, Ser Arryk ended up in a dragon’s belly, no doubt.” Lord Jasper growled, “Gods above, how did no one suspect this was happening until now? Rhaenyra has played us all like a lute!”

A knock at the door made them look round. Three guards entered, laden with many small wooden boxes, each about the size of a large book.

“These just arrived for the small council, milords. And, for His Grace and his family.” The head guard said, “We were told to deliver them with the utmost expediency.”

Otto frowned, “What’s in them?”

“I don’t know, Lord Hand. We only know it’s of utmost important to the realm that you receive them now.”

“And, who told you that?” Otto snapped, temper fraying.

“A goldcloak, ser. Claimed to be acting on behalf of Ser Gwayne.”

Ser Gwayne took a turn frowning, “I certainly don’t know anything about this, Father.”

Otto motioned to Cole and Orwyle, “Investigate them. They may be a trap. Look for any sign of poison in the contents. Everyone else, leave the room at once.”

The guards hurried out before they did, leaving Cole and Orwyle alone. Aemond, despite Otto’s protests, couldn’t help keeping the door ajar and peering through the gap.
The pair laid the boxes out on the table, reading out the name written on the top as they did. Sure enough, each one was addressed to either a council member, a member of the royal family or a member of the Kingsguard. There was even a box for Daeron, Ser Arryk and Lord Beesbury among them.

As if summoned by his name, the ghost of Lord Beesbury appeared in the small council chamber. He hovered behind Cole, watching him with a look that communicated only pure hatred.

Orwyle sniffed the gaps in the wood. He reached into his bag and poured something clear and sharp-smelling over the lid but nothing happened. Cole drew his sword and stuck it into the box in a few places.

“Just in case it’s some venomous beast waiting to attack us.” He said to Orwyle when the man gave him a curious look.

At last, they could do nothing more. Cole undid the clasp of his box. An eager grin spread over Lord Beesbury’s bloody face like a child about to witness a magic trick. Indeed, Cole’s face transformed in a second from wary to outraged.

“What in the name of the Seven - bring those guards in here at once!”

Aemond whirled round - only to find the three guards had vanished. Cole charged out of the room like a wild bull, sword drawn and shouting for more guards. It soon became clear that the three guards had left the moment everyone looked away then split up, each going in a different direction. No one knew their faces or their names.

“Spies and infiltrators!” Cole roared at the trembling guards, “Hunt them down and bring me their heads or it’ll be you whose heads roll!”

“Fuck me. I’m going to behead every fucking man who shouts near me this early in the morning.”

Aemond looked round and saw a sloppily dressed and heavily bruised Aegon approaching them.

“What is in those boxes?” Otto asked Cole, keeping his voice quiet but deadly.

“Oh,” Aegon said, seeming not to notice how murderous his grandsire looked, “you got one of those too? I was just coming to ask about that. Because, if this is some kind of joke, it’s not very funny. Freddie, show them what turned up on my bedside table this morning.”

A servant standing behind Aegon stepped forward. In his hands was an identical box with the words ‘For Aegon Targaryen’ written on the front. The servant undid the clasp and pulled back the lid.

The contents stunned everyone into silence. Everyone, except Cole.

Cole seized the poor boy by the scruff of his neck and slammed him against the wall, “Where did that box come from? Did you bring it to His Grace? DO YOU NOT KNOW THAT ANYONE IN POSSESSION OF THOSE MASKS IS TO BE LOCKED IN A BLACK CELL?”

“And, I’m going to have your tongue if you don’t stop shouting this instant, Ser Criston!” Aegon snapped, clutching his head with a bandaged hand, “The box was there before Freddie arrived. I don’t know who put it there.”

Alicent swayed like she stood on a storm-tossed ship. Cole at once dropped the servant and hurried to lend her his arm to steady herself, “Seven save us…how were they able to get so close to His Grace? They could have smothered him in his sleep!”

Aemond’s eye returned to the dropped box. Its contents had spilled out over the floor. He looked back to the small council chamber. Lord Beesbury still stood before the table. He lifted a hand and gestured at all the boxes with that same gleeful smile. Knowing what he would find, Aemond returned to the room and started opening all the boxes. One by one, the same thing appeared. 

“Bugger…me.” Aegon breathed as he entered the room. One by one, everyone else re-entered, each staring in horror at what the boxes contained.

Every single one held a white paper mask with red horns lying on a pile of grey cloth.

Otto reached onto the one addressed to him and pulled it out with the same caution one would give to handling an angry scorpion. Sure enough, the grey cloth turned out to be a short cloak with a hood attached to the mask with small hooks.

Then, Aegon giggled. When everyone turned to him, he grinned and asked Cole, “Does that mean we all have to go to the black cells now?”

Alicent sucked in a deep, furious breath. Aegon just kept on laughing like a madman. Aemond, however, realised just what Lord Velaryon meant by it.

“If we are not the only ones to receive a delivery like this,” Aemond said, speaking slowly to allow his thoughts to form, “then, it will be very hard to distinguish the real rebels from the innocent.”

“Mother have mercy on us!” Ser Gwayne groaned, almost looking ready to cry, “If they’ve sent masks to everyone in the city, then - ”

“They haven’t.” Otto snapped, face white as if facing his worst nightmare, “They can’t have. We would have known something was - ”

Then, a loud, window-rattling roar interrupted them.

Aemond rushed to the window, muttering, “No, no, no!”

Surely, they would not be so mad as to attack Vhagar?

Another, much louder roar shook the very walls of the keep. Aemond flung open the window and stared toward the King’s Gate. To Aemond’s mounting horror, he saw Vhagar’s large shape rising in the distance, blasting the ground with fire.

“Ha, ha!” Lord Jasper laughed, “Looks like Vhagar’s making an example of the silvercloaks!”

“You fool!” Aemond screamed, “Vhagar’s flame spreads wide and does not know friend from foe! If I don’t calm her down now, she’ll set the whole city ablaze!”

Panic seized the whole room. Alicent rushed to the door and caught the nearest servant, “Have a carriage made ready! Ser Willis, accompany Prince Aemond to his dragon!”

Aemond, however, had already pelted out of the room. He tore through the Red Keep at top speed, leaving Ser Willis far behind. He would have likely run all the way to the King’s Gate if Ser Luthor hadn’t met in the courtyard.

“I was…just about…to ask for you.” He panted, “Vhagar’s going mad.”

“I know.” Aemond called, “Oh, where is a horse? You!” He collared a serving boy, “Fetch me a horse. Any horse!”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea, my prince. The way the city is at the moment, any prince riding out without protection runs the risk of being attacked or worse.”

Ser Willis burst through the doors, red-faced and almost too out of breath to speak, “A carriage…is being…made ready…”

“Good. I’ll escort it myself and have my best men here to help.”

The wait felt agonising. Every minute, Vhagar roared again and orange bloomed in the distance. In his mind’s eye, Aemond saw a pile of burning corpses, both goldcloak and silvercloak alike, and flames slowly advancing towards the city.

At last, the carriage arrived and Aemond and Ser Rickard dove inside.

Ser Luthor had been right. Once the carriage had cleared the Red Keep, it came under attack. Thumps from thrown stones and who knew what else started on all sides. Angry voices rose all around.

“Child killers!”

“Rapers!”

“Kinslayers!”

Ever since he was a child, Aemond had wanted to be big and imposing. Now, he wanted nothing more than to shrink into insignificance.

He felt dearly glad that Cole was not with him. If he were here, he would have cut a bloody path through the rioters and likely inflamed them to even greater rebellion. For his part, Ser Willis just looked through the grated windows, shaking his head in disbelief and muttering, “Whole city’s gone mad.”

Then came the worst moment.

“By order of Lord Velaryon!”

The biggest thump of them all came from the front of the carriage, making Aemond and Ser Willis start. Several smaller thumps and scrapes followed, like fists trying to break their way through. The carriage came to a halt.

“Get off the carriage!” Ser Luthor roared, “Surrender yourself and you might have a quick death!”

“DEATH TO THE KINSLAYER!”

A small dent appeared in the carriage roof. Ser Willis reached for his sword and moved to the door.

“No.” Aemond reached out to stop him, “Let Ser Luthor handle it.”

And, handle it, Ser Luthor did. He gave a small grunt of effort and the thumps stopped, “Take him away! Drive on.”

Aemond thought that was the end of it. Then, a cry of alarm came from the side of the carriage.

“What is he - ?”

The carriage jolted and Aemond heard a sickening crunch of bones.

The confirmation came almost at once from a goldcloak outside, “Dead!” 

Ser Luthor cursed, “Gods damn it! The bloody fool!”

Aemond looked out of the back window. Through the grate, he saw a small group of goldcloaks gathered around a body. What had been the man’s head was only a bloody mess of skull fragments and crushed brains.

Ser Willis groaned, “Oh, Smith on a skiff.” 

Aemond looked around and saw the carriage now a third occupant. The ghostly Lucerys looked at him from the seat across the carriage with his one eye full of reproach.

Blood spread onto the cushions around him. Luke’s skin had lost all human colour and had turned a mottled blue-grey. A crab slid out from between two exposed ribs and dipped a claw to pluck out a choice piece of flesh.

The sounds around Aemond faded.

‘You could have stopped it. You could have gone outside and dealt with him yourself. One punch to the back of the head and he would have been out cold, not lying in the street without a head.’

Aemond dug his fingernails into his legs to distract himself and kept repeating in his head, Do not be sick. Do. Not. Be. Sick.

At last, they reached the King’s Gate. Aemond blinked and the ghost was gone. His insides felt like they’d been turned inside out but he had remained still. He had overcome it without making a scene and he had a good chance of a quiet night’s sleep tonight.

“Hold there.” A voice came from outside, “Better not go any further. That dragon’ll turn anything that gets close to ash.”

“Not if I’m here.” Aemond burst out of the door, “Where is she?”

The goldcloak at the gate started, “Prince Aemond! Right this way. If you get up on the walls, you’ll be able to see her.”

And, she’ll be able to see me.

Aemond hurried up the stairs leading to the top of the walls. Only then, at that most inconvenient time, did he realise that he had no idea how he would bring Vhagar down.

What if she didn’t listen to him again? What if she started attacking the city?

Then, everyone would know he couldn’t control his dragon. Everyone would know he was not worthy of Vhagar and could not defend them against the blacks.

He yearned to turn back but he forced himself on. He had little hope of succeeding but everyone else around him had none. 

Once on top of the walls, he saw her rearing above the tree line. Fires burned all around her. Screams rang through the air in between her roars. Screams of men, women and even children. As he watched, the great dragon unleashed a stream of fire on the ground large enough to swallow a whole garrison of soldiers.

Aemond stretched out a hand and screamed, “Dohaeris! Vhagar, dohaeris! Lykiri! Lykiri!”

‘You can’t do it.’ Lucerys’ ghost said, ‘Vhagar’s going to burn the whole city down and everyone will know it’s your fault.’

Vhagar let out another roar and turned away from Aemond to blast the ground again. Aemond screamed Valyrian commands until his throat burned. The air around him shook with the screams of the people below.

Bile rose higher in his throat. He gripped the parapet hard to keep himself standing.

“Daor! Daor, Vhagar!”

He shut his mouth. He couldn’t go on. If he opened his mouth again, he would be sick. He ducked down, trying to pull himself together and stop his vision swimming. He just needed a minute. Just a minute to remind himself how to breathe.

Then, something nudged the top of his head. He looked up and saw Vhagar’s head mere inches from his. Her mouth stank of smoke and her scales felt hot on his scalp.
Aemond swallowed hard, laid a shaking hand on her muzzle and gasped out, “Lykiri. Vhagar.”

Vhagar let out a low growl. Her nostrils whistled as she sniffed him. Then, she retracted her head a little and gave him a little knock with the edge of her nose. Light as it was, it still made Aemond stumble. From her, this was a sign of affection. A sign that she had calmed. Aemond could breathe again.

Pulling his cloak around his body to conceal his shaking legs, Aemond left the walls. Vhagar followed him with her eyes.

“I need to know what happened here.” He told Ser Willis and the goldcloaks, “And I need to see how much damage was done for myself.”

“You don’t need to do that, my Prince.” Ser Willis said, “You ought to get back to the Red Keep now Vhagar’s not a threat.”

Yes, he should. Aemond knew this would do him no good. He knew how much he tempted fate and insanity by going to see the worst of it. 

Nevertheless, he shook off Ser Willis’s protests and followed the lead goldcloak towards the tourney grounds.

A small army of dragonkeepers scurried around the burning patches of grass, calling for Vhagar to move back towards the open tourney grounds. Aemond had to estimate that more than an acre had been destroyed by Vhagar. Trees were burned down to featureless trunks. Piles of rubble lay where once buildings stood. The rope barrier around the field where people sometimes stood to gawk at Vhagar at a safe distance had been reduced to ash.

Then, the smell of burning flesh hit his nose. Like meat, metal, open wounds and sulphur invading his nose and every other sense.

He had no chance to stop himself. He gagged once, his legs gave out from under him and he vomited up all his breakfast into the grass.

It was at that moment that Lord Borros and his captains arrived at King’s Landing.

“What in the seven bloody hells is going on here?” He burst out as he rode up to them, “We heard dragons roaring from miles off. We thought the city was under attack.”

“In a manner of speaking, it is.” Aemond gasped out before one last throatful of bile forced its way up. Only then, at last, did he get a hold of himself.

Ser Willis took hold of Aemond’s shoulder, “We are going back now, my Prince. The goldcloaks and dragonkeepers can handle this and we can tell Lord Borros what’s going on when we’re in the Red Keep.”

Ser Rickard helped him up. His face and those of the goldcloaks around him showed nothing but concern…and pity. Aemond felt scorched by it.

“Wait.” He snarled, “I want to know how the silvercloaks got close enough to aggravate Vhagar. I want to know who was on duty this morning. I want him stripped of his gold cloak and his eyes. Clearly, he doesn’t need them if he’s not using them!”

The goldcloak captain flinched at his ferocity, “I’m afraid all of the guards and dragonkeepers on duty were killed in the effort to calm Vhagar down.”

“How lucky for them. She’s a good deal more merciful than me. The silvercloaks all met the same fate, I take it.”

“Uh, most of them did. Some of them bolted. I’ve sent the two of my men after them.”

At that moment, two goldcloaks came rushing up to them, utterly out of breath, “We followed them…they were heading…back to the city…they discarded their cloaks and masks near…the fishmarket…near those barrels full of masks…we lost them…”

“Damn it!” The captain cursed, “Take a dozen men and search the fishmarket. Detain anyone with fresh burns or with soot on their clothes.”

Aemond spotted the grey cloak in the soldier’s hand, “Let me see it.” He held out his hand and accepted the mask and cloak. Both were exactly the same as the ones sent to the small council. The cloak was nothing special. A plain grey thing made of wool that might be bought in any market. The mask was a simple thing too made of white paper or as close to white as the maker could get. Two stunted red horns sat on the brow, painted roughly and likely in a hurry.

The mouth had no expression. Yet, as he looked at it, Aemond thought he saw the hint of a smirk.

Look around you, Aemond. Look at what I can do.

Aemond and Ser Willis returned to the Red Keep with Lord Borros accompanying them. More rocks and insults were thrown at the carriage all the way. Aemond spent the whole journey staring at the mask in his lap while Lord Borros shouted abuse at the mob through the window.

When Aemond entered the small council chambers, it was to Aegon in the middle of shouting at Otto, “Well, what’s the point of you then?”

“Prince Aemond, Your Grace.” Ser Willis announced, “He comes with Lord Borros of House Baratheon.”

Otto smoothed over his angry face and hastened to greet them, “Lord Borros, we are indeed glad of your coming. You have come at a time when we are in great need of reinforcement.”

“I’ll say you do.” Lord Borros snapped, “We’ve spent the whole journey to the Red Keep harangued by an angry mob and Ser Willis tells me one of them even tried to get into the carriage earlier today.”

“Fuck me dead.” Aegon groaned, “These people are bloody lunatics! Please tell me Vhagar got some of them.”

“Some but not all. They did their usual vanishing act when chased. And, Grandsire, they can and they did make a mask for everyone in the city.” Aemond dropped the mask and cloak on the table before Otto, who looked ready to be sick too, “We should have the tradesmen of the city questioned and find out who is ordering these materials in bulk. What were you talking about when we arrived?”

Otto tried to explain but Aegon got there first, “He said he could get the Triarchy to send us some ships to get rid of the Velaryon fleet but, guess what? They’re not coming and the Iron Islands are ignoring us so, now, we don’t have any sea power to speak of!”

“That is not quite true, Your Grace.” Ser Tyland put in, “The Lannister fleet is making all haste to ready themselves to deal with the Velaryons.”

“Oh, alright, then. We have a small sea power that’s on the other side of the fucking country!”

Aemond turned to Otto, “Did the Triarchy say why they would not come?”

“Not directly.” Otto picked up a set of letters, “However, my sources tell me that that Dorne has withdrawn its financial support and one of their lead admirals, Sharako Lohar, has been murdered. Other leaders of the Triarchy suspect an assassin sent by Myr and, now, the whole Triarchy is tearing itself apart.”

Aemond’s eye drifted back to the mask on the table.

Was this your work, Lord Velaryon? This all works far too well in the blacks’ favour.

“That might by why the black bitch was going to Dorne.” Lord Borros put in. When everyone looked puzzled, he scowled, “Did you not receive my letter? Lord Dondarrion sent me word that Syrax and Meleys were seen flying towards Dorne a few weeks ago. And, Lord Corlys’ flagship was seen sailing around the Stepstones at the same time as Dornish ships. I had a warning sent to King’s Landing the moment I heard.”

The pieces started to form a picture in Aemond’s mind. Then, something he’d almost forgotten occurred to him.

“Grandsire, was any attempt made to treat with Dorne?”

Otto rewarded him with a cold, suspicious look, “An attempt was made. However, it seems my envoy was waylaid by an unknown assailant. We have not heard from him since.”

“Sounds like they were lost in the desert sands.” Borros muttered, “Or do you think the black bitch sent someone to lie in wait for them?”

Otto nodded, “That is a possibility.”

Something in the way he said it told Aemond he did not believe it. In fact, he felt sure his grandsire knew exactly what had ruined their attempts to treat with Dorne but would not say it in front of the lords.

An image bloomed in Aemond’s mind. His grandsire’s envoy must have run into his mother’s envoy. A fight must have broken out over who would treat with Prince Qoren. Either both of them died in the fight or they managed to get lost in the deadly sands while trying to outrun each other.

Either way, the private battle between Alicent and Otto meant no envoy came to Dorne before Rhaenyra arrived. Any hope of Dornish help was lost.

Aemond felt sorely tempted to grab his grandsire’s head and bash it against the table. 

I wonder if this is how Father felt about Mother and Rhaenyra. Gods, how did he manage to keep patience with both of them?

A servant entered then with a letter, “Just arrived from Highgarden, Your Grace.”

“Ah.” Otto relaxed a little, “’Tis likely a confirmation of support from the Tyrells. At last.”

Once he read the letter, however, his grim face spoke of very different contents.

“What is it? Who’s it from?” Aegon demanded.

“It is from my kinsman, Garmund Hightower. He serves as a page at Highgarden. He informs me that Rhaenyra has arranged a marriage pact between Lord Lyonel Tyrell and Lady Daenaera Velaryon. In return, the Tyrells have pledged their loyalty to Rhaenyra.”

The whole room stood blinking as if they had all been punched in the face. Aemond broke out of it first.

“But, Daenaera is the granddaughter of Ser Vaemond. How were her parents persuaded to back the wife of his killer?”

“Must be this cursed Lord Velaryon’s doing.” Lord Borros grumbled, “We’ve all seen that he makes men mad.”

“Indeed.” Otto nodded, “Lord Velaryon and his wife brought Daenaera to Highgarden on dragonback and stayed as honoured guests. The Tyrells held feasts, a tourney and even a masked ball in their honour.”

“And, why did Garmund not send us a raven until now?” Aemond asked.

“He claims that he has been confined to his chambers and forbidden from sending any ravens. He only managed to send this one by stealth.” 

“So, that’s five hostages their side have!” Lord Borros spat, “And, what do we have? It seems that only the Stormlands and the Westerlands are on our side and you are no closer to catching Lord Velaryon or getting rid of the black bitch.”

“We have Vhagar.” Otto argued, “And, we have the greater armies.”

“Yes, and the armies Lord Ormund Hightower leads are now stuck behind enemy lines.”

“I have sent my youngest grandson on his dragon to offer support to Ser Ormund. Once they break out of the Reach and join your forces, we will have an unparalleled force on the ground.”

“Always ‘we will’ and ‘once this happens’.” Aegon sneered, “It’s always ‘we’ll be unbeatable once everything’s ready’ but it’s never ready, is it, Grandsire? What have your preparations really achieved, hm? One dead dragonrider, allies that desert us, promises that come to nothing and months of time wasted by a fake spy. Meanwhile, I’ve been beaten, humiliated and had my wife, my children and my brother’s betrothed stolen. All while I patiently waited for you to get everything ready and actually rule the fucking Kingdom for me like you're supposed to.”

Aegon stood up, staggering a little. He approached Otto and, with a clumsy two-fingered grab, ripped the Hand pin from his grandsire’s lapel, “I think it might be time for someone else to weigh in on this.”

Just as Otto opened his mouth to argue, Ser Willis announced, “Her Grace, the Dowager Queen Alicent, and Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

One look at them told Aemond something dreadful had happened. Alicent’s face looked white as salt and her nails dripped blood. Cole too had blood on his white cloak, gauntlets and breastplate, though Aemond doubted that it was his own.

“I told you going to the Grand Sept was a bad idea, Mother.” Aegon said without a trace of sympathy. Then, he leaned towards Aemond and said in a whisper that all could hear, “Septon Eustace summoned her to make a confession and pray to the Mother for forgiveness for making the maids drink moon tea. I know! Out of everything else that’s happened, that is what the Faith’s upset about!”

“What happened?” Otto asked with a bit more gentleness.

“We were set on by a mob of silvercloaks.” Cole said, “Vile insults were thrown at Her Grace. I had to cut a path through them to get to the Grand Sept.”

“Prince Aemond experienced something similar.” Ser Willis said, “One tried to get into the carriage to attack him. He was crushed under the wheels for it.”

“Good idea, Aemond!” Aegon crowed, “Next time they try to harass us in a carriage, we’ll tell the coachmen to crack the whip and run them down.”

Alicent turned a horrified look on Aemond. The words ‘it was an accident’ came to Aemond’s lips but he stopped himself. It would sound so weak and Lord Borros didn’t need more of a reason to think he’d backed the wrong side. 

Instead, Aemond asked, “How many dead?”

“I don’t know.” Alicent shook her head, her voice wobbling, “At least seven.”

“They are all traitors and deserve traitors’ deaths.” Cole said without an ounce of remorse, “No, they deserved worse for the things they said about Her Grace.”

“What?” Aemond fixed his mother with a glare, “What did they say?”

Alicent drew in a deep breath, “They called me the mother of monsters.”

Everyone gasped in horror. Aegon’s jaw dropped. Otto snarled, “How dare they?!”

Aemond slammed a fist into the table, punching clean through the fragile mask, “I propose a crackdown on these silvercloaks. I say that anyone caught wearing one of these masks should be killed on sight.”

Alicent put a hand to her mouth, “Aemond, please, that’ll only make things worse.”

A calm part of Aemond knew she was right but he was in no mood for calm, “Lord Velaryon intended to send a message, mother. We’ll send one back spelled out with the heads of his followers. You should have the headsman kill all of the prisoners we already have.”

“That would not be wise.” Otto held up a hand, betraying the first hint of fright in his face.

Good. I’d take fear over pity anyday.

“These men are mad enough to throw themselves under carriage wheels and walk into dragonflame. Torture will do nothing but waste Lord Larys’ time. Let us take their heads now and we can have them on spikes for all of King’s Landing to see within the hour.”

A red cloak between Lord Wylde and Ser Tyland caught his eye. He tried to look away but the ghost was too quick. It appeared at Alicent’s side, turning her green dress black with blood. Luke clutched a bloody dagger, aiming it at Aemond’s remaining eye, and bore a look of fury on his ruined face.

His opened its mouth so wide that the scant cheek flesh ripped and his jaw touched its chest. Blood gushed between its teeth, along with wriggling worm-like fish. 

Aemond knew he only had a few seconds, “Well, if you are not man enough to do, I will!”

He bolted from the room just as the ghost began to scream. The inhuman, dragon-like scream swallowed all other sound. He did not hear what his mother, grandsire or brother called after him, if they called at all. Aemond did not care. He only ran and ran until he reached Balerion’s shrine.

Just as before, the scream followed him. It went on and on from within his mind. Covering his ears did nothing. He only could only collapse to his knees on the ground, clutching his hair in one hand and shielding his remaining eye with the other.

The run had left him out of breath. Invisible iron bands constricted his chest. Was his heart about to burst? His vision blurred and warped as if he looked through a fish’s eye. The skull of the ancient dragon glared down at him with derision.

You? A Targaryen? A dragon rider? What a joke. How low the Conqueror’s line has fallen.

Aemond did not know how long he stayed there, trying to fight off faintness. At last, the ghost’s scream stopped, leaving a loud ringing in his ears. It took him a few minutes longer for the tightness in his chest to loosen. When he could at last breathe, he lifted himself from the floor. As carefully as if his legs were new made, he eased himself back up onto his feet.

He rearranged his hair and turned to the door. Just as he left the shrine, Cole approached, “Ah, my Prince. There you are. I was hoping to catch you before you reached the dungeons.”

“Do not fret, Ser.” Aemond replied steadily, “I have thought on it and realised the folly of my previous judgment. I have not touched a hair on the prisoners’ heads, though they may wish that I had taken their heads once they are sent to Lord Larys.”

“Indeed.” Cole smiled with relief. At that moment, Aemond noticed the pin on his front.

“Ah. I see congratulations are in order, Lord Hand.”

Cole nodded, “Thank you, my Prince. Your royal brother chose me as Ser Otto’s replacement soon after you left the room and my first act as Hand will be to teach Lord Velaryon the price of treason. As His Grace said, we are done writing letters. It’s time we pay the blacks back and give them a nasty shock.”

It soon became clear that Cole intended to take the great host amassed around King’s Landing and ride north to Duskendale. They would catch the black stronghold by surprise, sack the city and place the traitor lord’s head on a spike.

And Vhagar was needed to do it. Both Aemond and Aegon would ride out on their dragons with the host.

There was nothing to be done to avoid it. Aemond could not use angry merchants or even last night’s riot as an excuse. If Vhagar’s presence couldn’t stop a riot in the city, her absence would make little difference.

The only small mercy was that it took a lot longer than Cole claimed to get all the army ready. Even with the waiting army at King’s Landing ready to go, getting the Stormlands’ army up to speed and answering all of Lord Borros’ quibbles with their battle plans took much longer than it should.

It did not help matters that Lord Velaryon’s men kept striking at their camps outside the city. They destroyed maps, let ravens out of their cages, stole food wagons and even tricked the ostler into selling a group of fine cavalry horses to a Volantine trader. A trader that had already set sail for home by the time anyone realised what had happened. 

Their worst trick was the night everyone thought they were ready to leave on the morrow. A large meal had been cooked for the superior officers to celebrate. They only found out too late that the silvercloaks had sneaked into the cook’s tent and added a nasty potion to the gravy. Every man who ate it spent the next night and day confined to their privies, suffering from the most horrendous diarrhoea. Those men included Cole, who had visited to speak with the commanders and improve morale among the men.
The only person whose morale improved at that was Aegon. He would not stop joking about white cloaks turning brown all day.

By the time the day to leave King’s Landing finally arrived, Aemond felt his nerves were pulled tight as bowstrings. His heart sank when he saw Lucerys’ ghost standing at Vhagar’s side. The ghost fixed him with a sharp glare. Then, his mangled face softened. He gave a deep bow and stepped aside to let Aemond climb up the nets.

At he settled in the saddle, Luke’s face seemed to say, ‘you’re only flying because I let you, don’t forget that’.

Chapter Text

AEGON

With a last thrust, Aegon came. The whore gave a squeal and the pair of them slumped on the forest floor, painting.

“Oh…oh, my!” The whore, hands covering her leaf-tattooed breasts in fake modesty, moaned, “Oh, my father will be so displeased when he finds out that I lay with a mortal man.”

“I’m no mere mortal man, my sweet.” Aegon groaned, “I am a king. What better man could your father ask for to take his daughter’s maidenhead?”

“Oh. Oh, well. I’m sure he’d be happy with that. He may make you his heir if you please him.”

“And, how do I please him?”

“Ooh, by pleasing me.”

The whore was no maiden, nor was she daughter of the King of the Woodlands. She put on a good enough act for the stage, though, and had given Aegon a good chase through the woods around the camp like she was a wood spirit caught by a mortal.

Damn, it was good to know he could still have a good fuck even with his hands bound in bandages. Being dragged along to battle to allow Otto to ‘restore calm in the city’ might not be so bad after all.

Aegon had just been about to start ‘pleasing her’ again when something white caught his eye. He looked up, thinking it might be her skimpy dress caught on a branch. When he did, he realised it was Aemond, standing five feet away in his nightshirt.

“Aemond! Do you mind? Honestly, can’t a king seduce a woodland princess in peace these days?”

Aemond didn’t respond.

“Ugh. Look, brother, it’s standard practice for soldiers to have some fun before a battle. You should go and try it. There are plenty of woodland princesses to go around.”

Again, Aemond didn’t reply. He didn’t even look round. Instead, his eye remained focused on a tree before him.

Aegon was used to Aemond ignoring him. This, however, felt different. He didn’t know at first what it was about Aemond’s face that made him feel that way. At last, he recognised the expression.

Fear.

“Aemond? Hey, Aemond!”

“I…I do not know…” Aemond said to the tree, his voice quiet and meek, “…I do not know where he lies…The waters rise…I’ll search, I promise. I’ll make this right…” He started backing away, hands up, as if the tree advanced on him with a sword, “…just don’t flood the Kingdoms. The blood…there’s so much blood. How can that be? He was so small…”

“What the fuck?”

“Your Grace,” The whore said, some of her native King’s Landing accent coming back, “I don’t think he’s awake.”

“What?”

“I know a girl who walks in her sleep. She acts just like that - eyes open, talking strangely, not listening to anyone talking to them.”

“Well, fuck.” Aegon looked over his shoulder, “Ser Criston. Could you deal with him?”

Ser Criston appeared from his discreet position behind a large pine and approached Aemond. Sure enough, when he waved a hand before Aemond’s eye, Aemond still didn’t so much as blink.

Aegon was just about to get back to seducing his woodland princess when Aemond gave a small scream. Aemond whirled about, holding his arm up to his face, and cried, “Keep your fire away from me! Lady Laena…I didn’t steal anything…” With that, he wandered away from the camp, arms drifting up as wading into waist-deep water, “Flames beneath the water…how many pieces make a dragon?”

“What the actual fuck?” Aegon looked down at the whore, “Do sleepwalkers normally do that?”

“Aye. They do and say the strangest things when they’re asleep. This girl I mentioned, she once cut a hole in the drapes with a paring knife while she was sleepwalking. Said she did it to let the cows in.”

Ser Criston glanced back at Aegon, an apprehensive look on his face, “Should I wake him, Your Grace? Only, I heard somewhere that waking sleepwalkers can be fatal.”

“Well, that’s gibberish too.” The whore answered, “Waking them’s fine for their health. It’s just not very pleasant for them to wake up in a strange place. Most of them find their own way back to their beds if you leave them. You just have to make sure they don’t walk in front of a cart or into a river.”

“Ah, good point. Right, Ser Criston, keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“I’m needed here to keep an eye on you, Your Grace.”

“It’s alright. I’ve got this woodland princess to keep an eye on me.”

“Yes, don’t you worry, ser.” The whore said, slipping back into character, “I can call all the beasts in the woods to defend us.”

“You heard the princess, Ser Criston. Off you go.”

Ser Criston looked like he wanted to protest but Aegon turned away from him and got back to seductions. Things were just going well and he was ready for the second round. Then, Aemond’s voice broke his concentration with a cry of, “Ser Vaemond! I didn’t know! Keep your head away from me!”

Aegon’s cock went soft, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

To the whore’s credit, she kept her character, “Perhaps, my King would like to carry me off to this tent. You never know when my father might come upon us.”

“Yes. Great idea.”

The whore obligingly hopped onto his shoulder and put her arms around his waist so he didn’t have to grip her. Only then did he realise that she was a lot heavier than she looked and that the last time he had done any kind of training was three years ago.

Fuck you, Aemond. Only you could ruin the mood in your sleep.

#

SYRAX

Ten minutes later, Aegon lay snoring in his bed. Anyone watching would have seen the whore drop her act, slip out of bed and pick up her dress. They would never suspect her of anything but a professional whore. They wouldn’t think that the leather necklace around her neck was anything but a rather rustic-looking accessory.

Syrax could not do much in this borrowed form. The transformation from god to human had been total and she could access very little of her powers. Still, slipping one of her mother’s sleeping potions in Aegon’s wine did the trick just fine. She had done as much as she felt she could to blend into the camp but there was only so much of Aegon’s attention she could handle.

She left the royal tent and headed out of the camp to where she had left Aemond and Ser Criston. Just as she entered the woods, she heard footsteps behind her.

She whirled round and saw a wide-mouth squire in a black leather jerkin approaching. Or, rather, staggering towards her.

“Would you…mind terribly…if you sobered me up? I think…I think I had too much for this…for this body.”

Syrax sighed with both affection and annoyance. She made one check for prying eyes before slipping off the necklace and returning to her goddess self. She took hold of Vermax’s head in both hands and closed her eyes.

After five long seconds which left Syrax with a terrible headache behind the eyes, most of the alcohol had been drawn out of Vermax. He slumped against the tree and spat the bad taste out of his mouth.

That particular power had been a hard slog to learn but it certainly was useful.

“Ah. Thank you kindly, dear daughter." Vermax shrugged off his jerkin and returned to his god form, “Was it the drink or did I see Aemond in his nightshirt pass by here not too long ago?”

“You did. I’m going to go and bring him back to his tent. He’s getting a little far from the camp.”

“I’ll come with you. Was sleepwalking Tessarion’s idea?”

“Yes. I think she wants to sow doubt in Aemond among his men. I don’t know for what end but I know I cannot do this again. I will find some other way to do it other than tormenting him with nightmares.”

They came across Aemond begging Queen Alyssa to give him more time. Ser Criston lingered close by, looking both confused and distraught that he could do nothing while Aemond cowered on the forest floor from the ghosts of House Velaryon.

Syrax laid her hands on Aemond’s shoulders and directed the dream elsewhere. Aemond fell silent and rose from the ground. Without saying a word, he walked back towards the camp. Ser Criston breathed a sigh of relief and followed behind. They reached the camp a few moments later. Syrax knew what her mother would say but she could not stand the thought of him walking into the middle of the camp in this state. Instead, she had him return the same way he left - crawling under the back portion of the tent out of sight of Ser Willis before returning to bed.

Ser Criston moved around the tent where an oblivious Ser Willis still stood guard, “Ser Willis, did you lose something?”

“Must be unnerving for him, I suppose.” Vermax said as Ser Criston told Ser Willis what happened, “Kingsguard are supposed to defend princes, after all, but how can you defend a prince from their own mind? Come on. Let’s go and get some drinks with the soldiers.”

Syrax fixed him with a pointed look.

“Now, now, I’m only doing it to collect information. Perhaps, you can help by strengthening their cups and weakening mine.”

#

AEMOND

Aemond had no idea why Aegon wanted to break his fast with him. Just as he had no idea why he woke with mud all over his feet and nightshirt. Or why Ser Willis wouldn’t answer him when he asked if anything had happened but had asked Aemond so sincerely if he felt well that morning.

He had no idea but he had a bad feeling.

“Good morning, Aemond.” Aegon said from the table, “Did you sleep well?”

Aemond noticed that Aegon had at least achieved his lifelong dream: to have a wine goblet literally attached to his hand.

“Well enough.” That night, he had dreamed of the ghosts of House Velaryon demanding that Luke’s body be found. Thinking of Laena’s burned face and Vaemond’s head clutched in his hand still made Aemond’s blood go cold.

“You don’t remember anything? Or, if you went anywhere?”

Aemond frowned, “Please be plain, Your Grace.”

“Alright. When were you going to tell us you sleepwalk?”

“I - what? I don’t sleepwalk.”

Cole looked round from his post at the tent entrance, his expression searching.

“Yes, you do. There I was, having a grand time with a camp follower and you come barging in, muttering about floods and dragons and I don’t know what.”

Aemond could only sit stunned for a moment before schooling his face, “My apologies, Your Grace. That’s the first time that’s happened.”

How much did Aegon hear? Does he suspect anything?

“Well, I hope you found whatever it was you were searching for because I didn’t. You ruined a perfectly good night of whoring.”

“My deepest apologies. I’ll tell Ser Willis to keep me in my tent tomorrow night. I hope I can rely on your discretion about my episode.”

Aemond knew full well that he couldn’t. He would just have to hope everyone else in the camp would be too scared of him to dare mentioning it to his face.

That day, they marched from Rosby to Stokeworth. With the forces from the castle, their host had swelled to around five thousand. Aemond looked out over the troops and knew he ought to feel emboldened. The blacks had nowhere near this many men, after all.

What he felt, however, was trepidation. He didn’t like having to move so slow to pick up soldiers. He wanted to fly ahead. He wanted to ease the feeling that something bad was on the horizon.

In the end, that something came not in the form of a dragon taking them by surprise. It took the form of a herald flanked by two guards carrying Rhaenyra’s standard and a flag of parlay.

“The King Consort, Daemon Targaryen, and Lord Velaryon request a parlay with the Princes Aegon and Aemond.” The herald said, his voice going a little high with nerves.

“You speak to the King.” Cole snapped, “Give him his proper title and respect.”

The herald looked almost ready to do it. Lord Borros, however, jumped from his chair, “Lord Velaryon’s here?”

“He is close.” The herald nodded, nearly tipping his overlarge helmet from his head, “He and the King Consort await your arrival beyond this ridge.”

“Well, then, let’s not keep them waiting.” Aegon called from the tent, “Come on, Aemond. Time to let Lord Velaryon know exactly how fucked he is!”

Aemond shared none of Aegon’s confidence. The fool had not realised what he had. If Daemon and Lord Velaryon were here, they must anticipate an attack. And, they must know that Aegon had gone with them. Their advantage of surprise had been lost. 

By the look he and Cole shared, Aemond saw Cole knew it too. 

Neither chose to voice it to Aegon just yet. Not with Lord Borros so close. In any case, Aegon’s attention was completely taken up with the squire tying his horse’s reins around his gloved hands. The gloves combined with the bandages made Aegon’s hands look twice their usual size.

They followed the herald and the guard to the top of the ridge. Beyond was a small dip in the land followed by another, smaller ridge. Atop that stood half a dozen guards on horseback with Daemon in the middle, astride a black horse.

“Finally roused yourself, I see.” Daemon sneered, “And you didn’t have time for a bath. I can smell last night’s wine from here.”

“Watch your tongue or I’ll tear it out!” Cole snapped, “You speak to the rightful King!”

“He has about as much right to be King as you do to be Kingsguard - none at all. I don’t know what the Queen saw in you the day she selected you.”

“Where’s Lord Velaryon?” Aegon demanded, “We’ve come out here to see him, not you, and it’s very rude of him not to show his face as promised.”

A low roar came from the clouds. A huge bronze form descended from the sky and landed on the ridge with such force that the ground shook beneath their frightened horses. Vermithor glared down at them, vicious face surrounded by bronze spines. Sitting in the saddle was a man in Velaryon blue and a silver cloak. Silver cloth covered his neck and head and his face was covered by a shining white mask decorated with a ridge of red horns.

The red stood out against the blue, silver and white. Both the horns and the paint around Lord Velaryon’s bright blue eyes.

Lord Velaryon gave a small apologetic gesture to Daemon, who replied with, “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything important.”

Aegon gave a nervous laugh, “Some people just have to make an entrance, don’t they? But, don’t think we’re impressed. My brother’s dragon’s still bigger than yours!”

Lord Velaryon only deigned to give Aegon a moment’s glance. Then, his eyes fixed on Aemond.

Daemon spoke, “Lord Velaryon, you’ve already met Ser Crispen the Prick. Allow me to introduce the Prince Aegon the Usurper, Lord Borros the Turncloak and Prince Aemond the Kinslayer.”

Lord Borros bristled, “I’ll shove those slanders right up your arse, Rogue Prince.” He turned to look up at Lord Velaryon, “So, you’re the one who threw my house into uproar.”

“And, flung King’s Landing into chaos.” Cole added, “What have you to say for yourself?”

Lord Velaryon said nothing. Again, he only glanced at Lord Borros and Cole for a moment. Then, with cool contempt, he looked away and back to Aemond.

He raised a hand to his eye and mimed removing an eyepatch. The message was clear. Aemond couldn’t remember the last time he’d been commanded so directly by someone who wasn’t a maester. He wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or amused.

“You are a bold one, indeed.” Aemond commented, “Why should I show my eye when you won’t show your face?”

Lord Velaryon gestured to both his eyes and then to himself. Again, Daemon translated, “He prefers people to look him in the eye when they speak to him. A mask doesn’t prevent him giving them the same courtesy.”

Aemond considered that for a moment. Then, he thought, Why not? I am not the mood for matching wits with a mute this morning.

He pulled off his eyepatch, showing Lord Velaryon the sapphire underneath.

The moment lengthened. The tension solidified. Not even Aemond felt sure what was passing between them. Only that Lord Velaryon’s eyes seemed to pierce right through him. Right into the very heart of him.

The spell was only broken when Daemon gave a scoff, “Not bad but I think that would look better on a chain around Rhaena’s neck.”

Lord Velaryon looked away at last and back to Daemon. He pointed at Aemond a few times in a way Aemond couldn’t read but Daemon could.

“Ah, yes, thanks for reminding me. Lord Velaryon would like to apologise for the assault on Vhagar. Those men acted of their own accord and not on his orders. I did warn you.” He said to Lord Velaryon, “It’s hard to control a riot once it gets going.”

“I did think the attack lacked your touch, Lord Velaryon.” Aemond said to Lord Velaryon. If he had ordered it, Aemond thought, it may well have succeeded.

Aemond was rewarded with a softer look in Lord Velaryon’s eyes than before.

“But, while we’re on the subject of chaos in King’s Landing,” Daemon went on, “I rather think the Usurper brought it on himself with his depraved ways. And, his mother has the nerve to call herself pious after covering them up this long. You Hightowers truly have no shame.”

“He is Targaryen!” Cole snapped, “A true-born son of a King. What right have you to talk of shame, Rogue Prince?”

“At least, I have never had to force a woman to warm my bed. They all came to me quite willingly. Let me tell you this, Prince Aegon, if you were a son of mine and I’d heard you’d forced yourself on a servant, I would have sent you to the Wall on the first offense. And, if you weren’t a son of mine, I would have gelded you first.”

Aegon exploded, “You can’t talk to me like that! I’m a King!”

Daemon sneered, “You haven’t shown an ounce of kingly presence so far. You know, now that I think about it, why didn’t Alicent send you to the Wall? It’s not as if you were her only option. Either of your brothers would have served Otto’s purpose and likely would have usurped more capably.”

Aemond fought to keep his face blank.

Vermithor gave a soft growl. Daemon looked up to Lord Velaryon who gave a little pointing gesture that, again, Aemond could not read but Daemon could.

“Ah, yes, you’re right, Lord Velaryon. I’ve answered my own question. They wanted you as King because you’re an incapable wastrel and, on some level, you know it. That’s why you’ll do whatever Mother, Grandsire or your Lord Commander tells you to do.”

Aegon had gone so red that he resembled a blond tomato. He rounded on Lord Velaryon, “Well - well, at least, I can speak for myself!”

Lord Velaryon’s eyes flicked to Cole for a moment and then he tilted his head in a way that said, ‘are you sure?’

Aemond had to fight a laugh. Aegon went beyond red and towards purple.

“And, my title is mine by right! I didn’t steal it from anyone!”

Again, Lord Velaryon tilted his head in a mocking way that seemed to say, ‘oh, really?’

Aegon let out an aggravated little scream behind his teeth, “YOU WON’T BE LAUGHING WHEN VHAGAR RIPS YOU AND YOUR DRAGON TO PIECES LIKE SHE DID TO LUCERYS!”

All suppressed mirth shot out of Aemond. He saw fire in Daemon’s eye. Before he could spit a threat, Aemond spoke up, “This is getting us nowhere. Are we here to parlay or to throw insults like drunkards at a tavern?”

Daemon gave a derisive snort, “Never thought you would be the voice of reason. The terms are these. You take your host and go back to King’s Landing now where you’ll stay until we’re ready to deal with you. Any further progress into the Crownlands will be answered in fire and blood.”

Aegon snorted, “You and what army? I heard you only have a few hundred men. We have five thousand. Why don’t you take your host and piss off back to Dragonstone before we burn you all to ash?”

Daemon only smirked, “Well, Lord Velaryon, they can’t say they weren’t warned or that we weren’t willing to be reasonable. We shall take our leave then and hope to see you on the battlefield.”

Daemon and his guards turned their horses away. Lord Velaryon lingered until they’d disappeared over the ridge. He met Aemond’s eye for another lingering moment and gave a dignified nod. At a tap on the dragon’s side, Vermithor took off and flew back into the clouds.

Aegon whirled around to face Aemond, “Why didn’t you think of coming on your dragon? And, what do you think you were playing at, taking your eyepatch off because he told you to? He doesn’t command you. I do. And I command you to put it back on. That thing’s unnerving!”

The gods really are playing a sick joke. To think I have to take orders from a man who tried to match wits with a mute and lost.

“I should have known.” Cole grumbled, “They only wanted to mock us. It’s not in Daemon’s nature to parlay like men of honour.”

“Smug bastards, the both of them.” Lord Borros growled.

“By the way,” Aemond said, “I noticed that Lord Velaryon has a brace on his knee and I think he might be missing the little finger on his left hand too. He never bent that finger even when he bent the rest of them.”

“A brace and a missing finger, you say? Well, that’s something.” Cole gave a small smile, “I’ll send word to Lord Larys when we get back.” For Lord Borros’ benefit, he said, “Our Lord Confessor is trying to find out Lord Velaryon’s identity. A detail like that will narrow down his search significantly.”

“Good.” Lord Borros nodded, “Do you have any promising leads? My men think he’s likely a bastard son of Lord Corlys. You know what sailors are like: a wife in every port.”

Aemond privately thought that to be doubtful. Rhaenys would probably have Meleys burn all of Corlys’ ships at anchor if she got wind of him doing such a thing.

“We have considered that possibility.” Cole said, “Some of our men think he might be a grandson of Princess Saera. You know, the daughter of King Jaehaerys who ran off to become a whore?” 

Lord Borros snorted, “The apple didn’t fall very far from the tree if that’s the case. Wouldn’t be surprised if he learned his lack of respect for his betters from her. Any other possibilities?”

“We’re also sending enquiries to the Vale to see if Daemon fathered any bastards during his marriage to the Lady Rhea Royce. The idea he came from Essos might be a lie to mislead us.”

“Ah, yes.” Lord Borros said, “We all know what Daemon thought of Lady Rhea. Probably sought out every bed in the Vale but hers.”

“He’s a bastard of some kind, that’s in no doubt. All legitimate Velaryons and Targaryens are accounted for.”

“What about the allegedly legitimate Velaryons?” Aegon asked with a laugh. Cole and Lord Borros joined in. Aemond felt forced to do so as well.

“Yes, those two are accounted for as well.”

“Well, when you find out who he is, let me know. I want to pay his home a visit and, if any young maids live there, I’d like to lock them up in a motherhouse! See how he likes having the women of his house stolen from him while his back’s turned!”

Aemond didn’t respond as Lord Borros went on about Floris’ flight and all the ways he would pay Lord Velaryon back for it. Finally, Lord Borros went to receive a report from one of his captains and Aemond faced Aegon, “Your Grace, we must rethink our strategy. We have lost the element of surprise and I have no doubt that Lord Velaryon will have a trap waiting for us.”

“Then, let’s walk into it.” Aegon snapped, “What can he do? We’ve got five thousand men and the largest dragon. Not even he’s clever enough to think his way around five thousand men and a big fuck-off dragon.”

“Meraxes was brought down by a single bolt, Your Grace.” Aemond pointed out, “All Lord Velaryon needs is a lucky shot and we lose you and Sunfyre.”

“Are you saying you can’t fight him?” Aegon fixed Aemond with a venomous glare that promised the lowest of blows, “Because, if you are, you might as well go back to Shipbreaker Bay and call on Luke’s ghost to give your eye back because that ‘fair exchange’ clearly wasn’t worth it!”

Aemond stood frozen in shock and fury. He ought not to be shocked at how low Aegon would strike. Yet, he still felt it like a knife under his ribs.

“Your Grace, this is unseemly and unreasonable.” Cole put in, “Prince Aemond makes a good point. We should at least send out scouts to find out what they might be planning.”
Aegon turned his glower on Cole, “Alright, I’ll have scouts sent out…if you let me have another bottle of wine for today.”

So began a round of the most tiresome negotiations Aemond had sat through yet. In the end, Cole had to give in on all points. Aegon had his bottle of wine and scouts were sent out ahead of the army before the army was back on the move.

#

The next night, they made camp on the edge of the wood. Just beyond it lay Duskendale. Aemond suggested that Aegon should fly over the town on Sunfyre to see if the blacks were there but Cole decided against it, “As you said, my Prince, all it would take was one bolt to bring Sunfyre down. It isn’t worth the risk of sending His Grace out alone and I’m afraid Vhagar is a little too conspicuous. If they are there, they’ll know we intend to attack Duskendale for sure.”

More likely, Cole doesn’t trust Aegon not to land in Duskendale and ensconce himself in the most expensive pleasure house for the night. Aemond thought.

“Would they not suspect that we intend to attack Duskendale in any case?” Aemond pointed out.

“No, my Prince. I’ve already put a scheme in place to ensure we have the element of surprise.” When Aemond raised an eyebrow, he went on, “I’ve ordered a few soldiers to get close to the Rosby Road and talk where travelers can hear them about our intentions to attack Rook’s Rest by sea. Word will surely reach Duskendale before we do so we will take Lord Darklyn and his knights completely unprepared.”

“How will they think we will attack them by sea?” Aemond asked, “All our ships are trapped in King’s Landing by the Velaryon blockade.”

“And, why were we not informed of this until now?” Aegon snapped.

“You should not dirty your hands in darkling schemes, Your Grace. And, the fewer people who know the truth, the safer the secret will be.”

Aemond scowled. He understood why he didn’t tell Aegon. Aegon would likely tell all during a drunken haze where anyone could overhear him. Aemond had thought that Cole would at least trusted him with the secret, though.

Cole perhaps sensed his annoyance, “I meant no offence, my Prince. I only wish to play Lord Velaryon at his own game. It’s working too.” He smiled, “The scouts have come back with good news. The blacks have moved their force on to Rook’s Rest to make their stand. If all goes well - and I have no doubt it will - we’ll have sacked Duskendale and be ready to march on Rook’s Rest by this time tomorrow. I’ve summoned the commanders for one last meeting in a quarter of an hour to make final preparations. I have some other plans to trick Lord Velaryon in the works and we would welcome your counsel.”

Cole left. Aemond lingered, looking down at the map of the city.

It should be the work of less than a day to sack the city. Yet, the thought still made Aemond’s stomach clench. 

The taking of Rosby and Stokeworth had been a matter of watching the head of the household bend the knee. There would be nothing like that here. Aemond had seen this already in some of his dreams. The sack of Duskendale had merely been a fleeting image compared to the Battle at Rook’s Rest. It had been brief but bloody. The images of men killed and women dragged into dark alleys while the dragons flew above it all made his hands shake.

He pulled them under the table but he knew it was too late. Aegon had noticed. He had his cupbearer pick up the wine bottle and move his chair to sit beside Aemond.

To his surprise, Aegon said in a somewhat sober voice, “Battle nerves starting to kick in, are they?”

Aemond said nothing. He just kept staring at the map before them.

“I admit, I’m shaking a bit myself. Either that or it’s the effects of not having any proper wine for a while. I get shaky if I go too long without a drink and fucking Ser Criston only gave me watered-down wine after the parley! Fucking arsehole. Whose stupid idea was it to make him Hand?”

Aemond bit his tongue to stop himself saying ‘yours’.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Daemon said.” Aegon grumbled, “I mean, he’s right, of course, but it still hurts.” He turned to his cupbearer, “Boy, pour me another cup. And one for my brother. Here, Aemond. That’ll take the edge off and help you sleep, no trouble.” He pushed it towards Aemond with a bandaged hand.

In ordinary circumstances, Aemond would have sneered and call him a sot for solving all his problems with drink. Now, he considered it with all seriousness.

“Does it work?”

Aegon nodded, “Every time. If it can get me through having both thumbs broken, it’ll get us through anything. Just don’t let Ser Criston see you drink it. I had to get Ser Rickard to sneak this one out of the cart before Ser Criston could water it down.”

“You brought an entire wine cart? Just for yourself?”

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t come prepared, did you? It’s the one with the red cover with four guards around it at all times.”

Aemond had hoped, given the heavy guard presence, it had been some powerful secret weapon of war.

“Ser Criston told me that he needs a sober king on the battlefield. So, he’s locked up all the wine and he counts the bottles every day. But,” Aegon gave him a conspiratorial smirk, “I’ve outsmarted him. Do you want to know my secret?”

Aemond leaned closer,

“He never bothers to check they’ve still got wine in them. So, when I empty a bottle, I refill it with piss, put the cork back in and sneak it back into the cart. I’ve been doing it whenever I could get a chance since we left King’s Landing and he hasn’t noticed a thing.”

Aemond had to wonder how good of a king Aegon would be if he put as much effort into ruling as he did covering up his drinking.

“Now, don’t you tell anyone, Aemond. You wouldn’t want to get me in trouble, would you?”

Aemond picked up the wine glass as his brother drained his glass and pulled on his coat.

Well, I’ve tried everything else.

#

AEGON

“Duskendale will be no trouble.” Ser Criston said as he stood over the map and surveyed the commanders around the war table, “Their walls may be high but they will be nothing to Vhagar.”

As if responding her name, Aegon heard a low growl in the distance from the great beast. He wished they had set up the table closer to the dragons. He felt powerful with Sunfyre near and staring down these older, well-muscled and serious men. Sunfyre made him feel less like a boy dressing up like his father. Or like a boy sent away from home for causing too much trouble.

But, Cole had insisted on having the table in the middle of the camp where every green soldier could see them and where no brave black spy could listen in.

“Should we not at least have some ladders or a battering ram at the ready?” One of the smaller, younger captains asked, “Just in case?”

“No need to waste time with that just now.” Cole said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand, “We’ll only have to carry them all the way to Rook’s Rest.”

Aegon turned to make a jape with Aemond to cover up his nerves - only to realise Aemond wasn’t there.

“Hey, where’s Aemond got to?”

The men looked all around but there was no sign of Aemond anywhere near the table.

Then, Aegon noticed something more worrying, “Where’s the wine gone? Boy! Fetch me another bottle at once!”

CRASH!

Everyone whirled about in time to see a rack of spears tumble to the ground. On top of the rack sprawled Aemond.

“My Prince!” Ser Criston rushed to his side, “Are you hurt? I’ll call the maester!”

Aemond raised his head, “Did - did I fall over?”

The slur in his voice made Ser Criston stare at him in astonishment, “You…might have, my Prince.”

Aemond dropped his head again and a strange sound came out of his mouth. It took Aegon a few seconds to realise what was happening. 

Aemond was giggling.

Lord Borros, the commanders and Ser Criston stared as if Aemond had turned into a slug. Aegon, however, realised that this might be the best night of his life. He approached his brother and spotted the wine bottle lying near Aemond’s hand.

He turned it over with his foot and found it empty.

“Brother dear,” Aegon asked, voice full of sweetness, “are you drunk?”

“No.” Aemond gave exactly the kind of unconvincing ‘no’ a child standing next to an empty plate would give if asked whether they ate all the lemon cakes.

“Did you drink all of this wine?”

“Shh!” Aemond clumsily waved a hand, “Don’t tell Ser Criston!”

Aegon grinned and turned to Ser Criston, who knelt less than a foot away from Aemond, “Well, your exact words were ‘sober King’. You never said anything about sober princes.” 

“I didn’t think it needed saying.” Ser Criston looked down at the giggling Aemond with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

Aegon turned to the newly returned cupbearer, “On second thoughts, hold the wine. I want to remember every second of this night.”

“I’ll, uh, get him to bed, Your Grace. Come on, my Prince. Up, you get.” He hauled Aemond up by his arm. 

Lord Borros probably thought he talked quietly. However, Aegon heard every word of what he muttered to a captain, “I thought it was just the older one who was a sot. Is the Red Keep kept like a tavern these days?”

Before Aegon could turn and snap at Lord Borros, Aemond looked up again, “Aegon! Hey, Aegon, I want to tell you a secret.”

“Ooh, alright.”

“Come here, come here!” Aemond whispered, beckoning until his lips were right next to Aegon’s ear. Aemond took a deep breath - and shouted at the top of his lungs, “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!”

Aegon recoiled, “Aemond, what the fuck - ?”

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” Aemond threw his head back and laughed loud and crazed, “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE AND NONE OF THIS WILL MATTER BECAUSE WE’LL ALL BE DEAD!”

“That’s quite enough, my Prince!” Ser Criston tugged him forward and away from the curious stares of the surrounding soldiers. Aegon followed both out of amusement and out of curiosity as to what his drunken brother would do next.

“Hey. Hey, Aegon. Do you want to know how you die? Poisoned wine! Isn’t that just fucking perfect for you?”

“Oh, really?” Aegon laughed awkwardly, “I’d better get a good food taster then. And, how does Cole die?”

“Arrows.” Aemond said with the same certainty as before, “Lots of arrows.”

“Right. Ser Criston, watch out for archers tomorrow.”

Aemond went on, “And, Daeron dies from a burning tent falling on him. And, Grandsire has his head chopped off by Daemon, along with all the small council. Oh, no, wait, Ser Tyland just gets tortured and gelded. And, Helaena dies on the Holdfast’s moat spikes. And - and I die with Dark Sister thrust through my eye. And, mother - mother dies of a fever after we’re all gone. There’s…there’s no one left but her. Oh, look!” He pointed at a little enclosure of pigs waiting to be slaughtered and laughed almost to the point of hysteria, “The Pink Dread! That’s - that’s actually quite funny.”

“Oh. Good.” ‘The Pink Dread’ rang a faint bell but Aegon couldn’t remember where from, “But, what about the children?”

Right after he said it, Aegon wished he hadn’t. Aemond’s face crumpled, all mirth falling away, “The children - oh, Gods. Oh, Gods!” He pressed his hands to his face and burst into tears as if he had just come across their dead bodies.

They had thankfully reached the mouth of Aemond’s tent at that point and Ser Criston handed him over to Ser Willis, “Keep him quiet and call a maester if he becomes ill.”

“And, make sure he doesn’t wander off.” Aegon added, remembering the previous night.

Ser Criston and Aegon turned back toward the war table. Aegon realised too late just how many soldiers had witnessed that. So many faces stared at the tent Aemond had disappeared into as if it contained an escaped wild animal.

“Back to your posts, all of you!” Ser Criston commanded, “And, don’t let me catch you gossiping about this! You’re soldiers, not fishwives!”

“Fuck.” Aegon muttered as the soldiers hurried back to their business, “Aemond’s no fun even when he’s drunk.”

Then, he heard Lord Borros’ shout from afar, “What in seven hells is in this wine? It tastes like piss!”

Aegon groaned and dropped his head into his hand, “Oh, shit.”

#

VERMAX

Many in the camp, after enjoying the spectacle of Aemond, now turned their attention to Lord Borros demanding to know what kind of camp Aegon thought he was running. That included Vermax in his squire disguise, sniggering to himself from between the tents. Swapping the bottles had been simple but so effective. Ser Criston would no doubt demand an examination of all the bottles and, soon, Aegon’s trick would be exposed.

Another clever plot, Vermax, you old dog. You’ve earned a reward. He uncorked a pilfered bottle of one of the better vintages and took a swig.

In the shadows, Syrax in her whore disguise sighed in dismay. Vermax approached, reaching into his pocket for the stash of papers.

“Do you want to know something, my dear? Cole received some scout reports from Duskendale earlier today. Do you want to know if they really were from the scouts or not?”

Syrax didn’t seem to hear him. Her attention had been claimed wholly by the cup of wine in her hand, “I really hoped I had the formula right this time.”

Vermax smiled to himself. Thousands of years and she still hadn’t given up on finding the perfect wine formula. One that would bring delight in the drinker and leave them with no hangover the next morning.

“Perhaps, if I tried crushing the berries instead of chopping them…”

Vermax could tell her to give up the search but he knew she never would. At least, her latest creation had given Aemond something to smile about for a time.

#

LUKE

In a private room in the heart of the Dun Fort, Daemon, Luke and Lord Darklyn stood around a table. Daemon moved the large host of green pieces toward the city. The black pieces remained stubbornly on the side.

“We’ve just received word from Lord Staunton.” Lord Darklyn told them with a despondent look, “There’s no way his forces will arrive from Rook’s Rest in less than two days. There’s still no hope of any relief from the Riverlands?”

“I’m afraid not. The greens set an ambush near Sow’s Horn to slow them down. The greens were all killed in the fight but, now, the Riverlands forces won’t arrive until the day after tomorrow at best.”

“Well, thank the gods they’re all dead now. Let us hope they have a clear road from now on. Without them, we only have a hundred and twenty-five defending the city…to their five thousand. My King Consort, are you sure it would not be wiser to retreat to Rook’s Rest? If we can’t hold out until help arrives - ”

“Lord Velaryon has sent men ahead to slow down the green army as much as possible. Besides, if we are fortunate, we won’t need help.” Daemon said, “Their host is large but we noticed one major deficiency - no siege engines. It seems they’re relying on their dragons to break the city’s defences.”

“I can’t think of anything better for the task than a dragon.” Lord Darklyn said, voice shaking, “How do you intend to keep the dragons off the city?”

“Lord Velaryon has a plan.”

Luke nodded. He took up the dragon-shaped pieces and moved them around the board. Once he had demonstrated what he intended to do, he hoped to find Lord Darklyn reassured. However, the Lord still looked worried.

“I am putting my whole city in your hands. If the plan should fail, Duskendale will become the next Harrenhal.”

Luke ducked his eyes down to his paper, hoping his eyes didn’t betray his own fear, ‘I know I am asking you to trust me with your lives and the lives of your people. If it should fail, I take full responsibility and will make all reasonable recompense to you.’

“Lord Velaryon has my full confidence, Lord Darklyn. He will not fail you. Oh, one more thing, Lord Velaryon, I would advise putting our contingent of scorpions and crossbow men on the hill here. And to the north and to the west here. Whatever happens, the green dragons will get a nasty surprise when they try to fly away from the city. Don’t worry, Lord Darklyn. So long as they are well hidden, they will be safe and as useful as if they were on Duskendale’s walls. Before they move out, let me have a word with the men. I want to make sure they know what our dragons look like from below. I don’t want our dragons shot down by friendly fire.”

Lord Darklyn left after that, muttering that he needed the privy. Luke might have thought nothing of it if he hadn’t done so three times in that hour.

Daemon sidled around the table and lowered his voice so the guards couldn’t hear, “I’d bet my dragon that there was no green ambush.”

When Luke gave him a questioning look, he said.

“They’re holding back on purpose to see what we do and if we’re worth their support. I’ve seen it before. They’ll have someone watching the battlefield and, depending on how it goes, they’ll either signal their army to charge at the right moment to save us or sound the retreat to avoid a massacre. Either way, we need to prove that we’re worth their support.”

In the silence, Luke heard what Daemon meant to say. 

Or, no armies will march for us at all.

Luke wrote with a shaking hand, ‘And, we will prove it so. Helaena’s last dream foretold we would have victory here and we have no reason not to doubt her dreams so far.’

Daemon gave him a small smile, “Of course, we’ll have victory. And, then, I’ll shove their faithlessness up their arses.”

Chapter Text

AEMOND

Aemond woke to a head that felt like it had been blasted by Vhagar’s flames.

What on earth…? What happened last night?

He tried to remember but came up blank. He opened his eye, “Oh, seven hells, someone put those damned lights out!”

“That’s daylight, my Prince.”

Quiet as Cole’s voice was, it still set off another stabbing pain in Aemond’s head. Aemond closed his eye again. He tried to sit up but his arms felt as weak as overcooked leeks and he collapsed back down again.

“Here, my Prince. This usually helps your brother.”

“With what?”

“Hangovers, my Prince. You did drink quite a lot last night.”

“Oh. Oh…” Snippets began to come back to him. The moment he remembered them, he wished he hadn’t.

Cole helped him up and pressed a goblet to his lips.

“Now, I must warn you, this is absolutely disgusting but try to swallow it.”

Aemond very nearly did spit the thick liquid out all over the bedsheets when it hit his tongue. When he managed to force it down, he gasped, “What’s in this? Pickled fish?”

“Among other things.”

Aemond did regain a little strength in his limbs and a little clarity in his mind. He could get himself out of bed and keep his breakfast down. He didn’t feel at all hungry but he made himself eat just to get the pickled fish taste out of his mouth.

Maybe, Cole put it in as a punishment. He thought. Cole did not look at all happy with him but he held his tongue and even fetched Aemond his sword once Aemond had been helped into his armour by Ser Willis.

The moment he left the tent, he knew they were late. The sun was too high in the sky.

Oh, Gods, did I delay the charge?

Then, as they approached Aegon’s tent, Aemond started at the sight of a set of makeshift gallows at the centre of the camp. No less than a dozen men in white, red-horned masks dangled from it.

“Lord Velaryon’s men.” Cole told him with no small amount of relish, “They tried to set Sunfyre loose among other mischief. They wanted to keep us here for another day or more but we stopped their little game.”

Aegon was much less tactful than Cole about the previous night. When he spotted his brother entering his tent, he gave a cheer much too loud for Aemond’s still-sore head.

“There he is, the incorrigible sot! Honestly, I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

…forward, right diagonal, left diagonal…

“Your Grace,” Cole put in, “perhaps, your brother would benefit from us going over our plan of attack.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Right, Aemond, if you hadn’t been carousing to your heart’s content - ”

…shoulder height, wide circle, elbow height…

“ - you’d know that we’ll reach Duskendale in two hours. We’ll mount our dragons once the city is in sight. Then, we sack it and take Lord Gunthor’s head. He’ll pay for his traitor uncle’s decision to side with our sister. We’ll take his men and make for Rook’s Rest to face Daemon and Lord Velaryon. We’ll be so great a host that Staunton’s men will fall at their knees at the sight of us and Caraxes and Vermithor will fall under Vhagar’s might. Sunfyre probably won’t need to do a thing.”

In my visions, Caraxes alone was enough to take Vhagar down. Even with Sunfyre’s help, Vhagar’s strength won’t be enough to defeat both Caraxes and Vermithor.

“Your Grace,” Aemond had to at least try to make the suggestion, though he didn’t know what he’d say if Aegon asked why he made it, “do you not think it might be prudent to request the aid of Daeron and Tessarion before moving forward?” 

Aegon gave a derisive snort, “Why? You’re not scared of the big black dragons, are you?”

“Certainly not. I only sat it…because, though Vhagar is stronger than Caraxes or Vermithor, she can only realistically fight one of them at a time, not both. While she is occupied with fighting one, the other will be free to attack you.”

For the first time since they set out from King’s Landing, Aegon looked uneasy. So did Cole and Ser Willis.

Aegon cleared his throat and adopted a strained confidence, “We’ll send a raven when we take Duskendale. It’s too late to wait for him now. Honestly, Aemond, you might have mentioned this earlier.”

“I apologise, Your Grace. I’ve…only just thought of it. When we take Duskendale and Rook’s Rest, what then?”

“Well, then, it’ll be only a question of time before we take Harrenhal back.” Aegon said with more confidence than before but without the same certainty as he’d held before Aemond’s question.

The face of Alys Rivers haunted Aemond, along with the image of himself cutting down every Strong child in Harrenhal’s courtyard. As he mounted his horse, he said to himself, I do not have to kill all of them. I shall just take them prisoner. I will not become that bloodsoaked wretch.

By the time Duskendale came into view, half the afternoon had gone. As planned, Aemond and Aegon mounted their dragons once Cole spotted the southern wall of Duskendale. Only a moment after they had taken to the air, Aemond realised that they had been expected. The gates were shut, the port was clear of ships and no one trod the road leading to the gate. He only saw the line of soldiers atop the city walls.

Then, the air filled with a hair-raising whistle.

Aemond looked up just in time to see Caraxes descending towards them. Behind him came Vermithor and he wasn’t alone. On either side flew two smaller green dragons.

Vermax and Moondancer.

Aemond recognised them a moment before Caraxes’ jaws snapped at Sunfyre. Aegon gave a squeal and pulled Sunfyre to the side. With shaking hands, Aemond pulled Vhagar up to meet Vermithor but Vermax got to Vhagar first. His iron-grey claws tore a cut the size of Aemond’s palm into her side.

Small as it was, it made Vhagar snarl in indignation. She turned to snap after him but Vermax was already gone. In that moment, Vermithor struck. His fire scorched the side of Vhagar’s face, leaving red glowing marks on Vhagar’s scales on the place where Arrax’s flame had barely left a soot stain.

Vhagar roared with fury and pursued him. Aemond needed to do little to direct her toward the bronze dragon. In fact, he felt like little more than a spectator while she battled.
He heard a rumble of thunder. He looked up. The clouds hung low but it merely looked overcast. There was no sign of a storm.

Damn it. I can’t let my madness overcome me now.

Then, Vhagar gave a scream and whirled to her head to the right. Aemond looked round. He saw another small cut on Vhagar’s back leg and Moondancer shooting away towards Sunfyre.

Aemond shook himself. He gripped the reins and tried to pull Vhagar back towards Vermithor.

She did not respond. She put on a burst of speed towards the smaller green dragon. Moondancer was smaller than Arrax. Barely big enough to carry her rider. Vhagar could swallow her whole - 

Aemond felt as if Lucerys’ ghost sat on his chest. He could barely breathe. He could only watch as the gap between Vhagar and Moondancer grew smaller.

And, then, Vermithor’s teeth sank into Vhagar’s tail. Vhagar whirled around again and started chasing the bronze dragon again, shooting flames in mad fury.

Aemond found space to breathe. He took hold of the reins. He needed to stop letting this overcome him. He rode the largest dragon. Aegon would never let him live it down if he went to pieces in battle.

A gold flash appeared at the corner of his eye.

Speaking of which…

He looked up and saw Sunfyre being chased by Caraxes. Moondancer rushed Sunfyre from the side and inflicted another small cut.

Another howl came from Vhagar. This time, Aemond saw Vermax flying upside down beneath Vhagar for a moment before he turned right-side-up and shot off. Flecks of black blood fell as Vhagar tried to chase him.

This dance went on and on. Vhagar never had more than a minute to focus on one target, let alone catch them. The smaller dragons flew between Sunfyre and Vhagar, taking it in turns to inflict a slash or a bite. The larger dragons kept Aemond and Aegon from retaliating or burning the buildings below.

Aemond had no idea how the army on the ground fared. Things happened too fast in the sky to spare a grain of attention. They had been lucky to only receive small wounds so far. All it would take was for Vermithor to bite Vhagar’s neck while distracted by Vermax or Moondancer and they would fall.

At the tenth cut, Vermithor managed to bite Vhagar’s leg. Aemond tried swinging his sword to dissuade him from biting further but all it did was bounce off Vermithor’s snout. Lord Velaryon met Aemond’s eye and he could have sworn that the look in Lord Velaryon’s eye said ‘are you serious?’.

Vermithor let go and Vhagar pursued. Vermithor flew in a wide arc, taking Aemond over the deserted port. He spotted a garrison of soldiers but saw no sign of any civilians.

So, they managed to evacuate before we arrived. They must have expected us days in advance.

He saw Vermithor straight ahead of him. Now was his chance. It would only be a matter of seconds before a smaller dragon struck and he would lose his chance at a clear shot.

“Dracarys!”

At the last moment, Vermithor swung to the left. Ahead of him, Aemond saw Caraxes swinging to the right, flying away at top speed like Vermithor. In a moment, both were out of the line of fire. Vhagar’s fire billowed out before him. It seemed to grow hotter as it shot forth, glowing bright yellow at the centre of the fireball - and then Aemond heard a high dragon’s scream.

Something smoking shot over Aemond. He looked up - and saw something to make his heart stop. Sunfyre’s snout had gone from golden to angry red and raw pink. Flames still burned all the way up to his horns. One eye had been scorched shut. Aegon turned in his saddle, screaming at Aemond in outrage.

Aemond looked forward. Vermithor and Caraxes flew unharmed, making a wide arc to turn towards Vhagar and Sunfyre again. Above, wheeling as if unable to decide their next target, was Moondancer and Vermax.

Aemond realised what must have happened with a sickening jolt. Vermithor and Caraxes had tricked Vhagar and Sunfyre into flying towards each other. Aemond and Aegon must have given the order to shoot flames at the same time. Vhagar’s fire had overwhelmed Sunfyre’s flames and enveloped the smaller and softer-scaled dragon.

Aemond heard Aegon scream behind him again. Aemond looked around - just in time to see Sunfyre’s teeth sink into Vhagar’s back.

“DAOR! SUNFYRE, STOP! STOP, YOU IDIOT!”

Neither Aegon’s words nor whip could stop the golden dragon. He latched onto Vhagar with teeth and claws, ripping into her flesh like he wanted to burrow into her innards.

Vhagar gave her greatest howl yet. She tried to turn and blast him with flames but her head couldn’t turn far enough. All she did was scorch her own wing. Aemond tried to slash his sword at Sunfyre to scare him off but that only made the smaller dragon angrier.

Vhagar swerved, bucked, dove and even tried scraping the dragon off against the Dun Fort’s wall but nothing dislodged Sunfyre. All the while, Aegon screamed threats and pleas to both Sunfyre and Aemond. Boiling black blood spurted in every direction.

Aemond directed Vhagar up towards the sky. One of Sunfyre’s back claws came loose. Aegon clung to the saddle for dear life. He had lost his helmet a while back and his hair blew off his red, teary face.

They could end up killing enough other. Aemond realised, Vhagar will kill Sunfyre in retaliation if she can but the wound he gave her is great. She may not survive it.

He tried weaving side to side. Sunfyre’s front claw lost grip. Still, the beast bit down, raking green scales away with the remaining claws.

Aemond turned Vhagar to the left. He had to turn his head further to compensate for his blind spot. That meant he got a full view of Vermithor flying towards them, claws outstretched. One claw wrapped around Sunfyre’s back behind Aegon’s saddle and plucked the golden dragon away as easily as one might pluck a daisy from a field.

Sunfyre wriggled out of Vermithor’s grasp and flapped away from the bigger dragon. Vermithor started chasing Sunfyre, whose squeal of terror was only matched by Aegon’s.

Aemond stared around. Where were the other dragons?

He turned Vhagar to the south. What he saw made his heart stop.

The field beyond Duskendale burned for what looked like miles. A wide ring of flame reached from the south wall, leaving a small space of open ground before the city. And, that open ground shrank as he watched. Caraxes whirled into view through the smoke, bathing the ground with fire as Daemon whooped.

Aemond spurred Vhagar forward. It was only as he approached that he heard the screams. The cacophony sounded like a tourney crowd cheering a victory at first. The longer he listened, however, the more he could hear the terror.

Caraxes and Vermax poured flame onto the soldiers below. The ground had turned black, grey and red with smoke, ash and a carpet of blackened bodies. The sea beyond had turned white with roiling foam. Aemond at first thought that the dragonfire had boiled the sea. Then, he realised that the black dots and frothing of the water came from a swarm of desperate men drowning in an attempt to escape burning.

Even as Vhagar shot flames toward Caraxes, Aemond knew it was too late. Through the screaming of the burning and drowning, Aemond heard horns sounding the retreat.
As comprehension dawned, Vhagar howled and turned towards her tail. All Aemond saw was Moondancer whirling away and another bite on Vhagar’s tail.

Vhagar tried to pursue. Aemond saw Vermithor advancing toward him with Sunfyre ahead. Aemond pulled Vhagar to the side to avoid another flame collision. As Sunfyre passed him, Aemond called, “COVER THE RETREAT! I’LL DEAL WITH THEM MYSELF!”

He had no idea if Aegon heard him. It might just have been his natural cowardice spurring him on. Nevertheless, Sunfyre shot away. Rather than follow him, Vermithor instead turned back towards Vhagar.

Now, all four dragons fell upon Vhagar, whirling about her like oversized gnats. Vhagar didn’t know where to turn. Whenever she tried to attack one dragon, another one would take a swipe. Blinded by pain and fury, she shot a half-circle of fire around herself. That held off the dragons long enough for Aemond to fly to the west, taking them away from the retreating army.

He had not got far beyond the city walls, however, before Caraxes inflicted a savage bite to Vhagar’s neck wattle.

On and on, Vhagar endured their blows. At least five fell every minute with Vhagar never getting a clear opportunity to counter-attack before the next strike came. She managed to scrape Caraxes’ side and inflict a tear in Vermax’s wing but nothing more. All the while, the great gaping wound on her back spurted black blood in long ribbons behind them.

Vhagar breathed another veil of flame and tried flying through the gap. The fire, however, did not spread as wide as before. She couldn’t turn as quick either and Aemond realised she was losing height minute by minute.

Aemond looked around at Vhagar’s wounds. Only the one on her back looked deep enough to be dangerous. All the others were shallow - but they were numerous. It seemed half her flesh was torn with small cuts and bites. Alone, they were nothing but, combined…

Not for the first time that day, Aemond realised the blacks’ intentions too late. They had never been trying to land a killing blow. They had instead aimed to land as many small blows as possible until the accumulated blood loss incapacitated her. Not even Vhagar could endure this indefinitely.

Aemond looked to the south and saw Sunfyre as a mere gold speck in the distance. He just had to hope that he had found Cole and what remained of the army.

He did not know how long Vhagar could stay in the air. He only knew that he had to get her away from the blacks’ dragons.

“Come on, Vhagar. Dracarys!”

Vhagar took a deep breath and blasted another gap. He pulled her up. If he could get above the clouds, he could lose them in the overcast skies.

The black dragonriders had other ideas. They drew in closer, sensing Vhagar’s weakness. Caraxes shot flames at Aemond’s blind side. Over the wind whipping around him, he heard Daemon call, “Are you craven as well as a traitor, kinslayer?”

Aemond whirled to face him. He paid dearly for rising to the bait. A shooting pain went through his right foot. He looked down in time to see Moondancer rushing past. Baela waved her whip over her head like a sword, “That’s for stealing Vhagar!” She screamed.

Vermax came forth next, “That’s for Luke!” The blunt end of Jacaerys’ whip collided with Aemond’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. Then, as Vermax flew away, it rose up and smacked him in the left eye socket. His helmet flew off and he felt two of his riding chains detach from the saddle, along with a bolt of pain through the old scar.

All he saw through the stars popping in his vision was Caraxes advancing and Dark Sister clutched in Daemon’s hand.

“That’s for Visenya!” Daemon’s arm came down and the worst pain of all shot through Aemond’s left leg. More white stars popped, almost blinding him. 

So, he felt rather than saw Vhagar’s wings stop beating. In a second that felt like an hour, her body lost momentum. Vhagar tilted to the side and fell. The ground rushed up beneath them, all fire and burning bodies.

“Soves! Vhagar, come on! SOVES!”

Aemond could see the mass grave he would fall into. He could see himself buried under Vhagar’s bulk, perhaps not found for weeks.

Just moments before they hit the ground, Vhagar broke out of her daze. With an almighty pounding of wings, she righted herself and took to the air. Aemond clung to the saddle with shaking hands as she ascended toward the clouds.

At last, the sky opened out. Aemond opened his eye and looked around. Clouds surrounded him and obscured the ground below him.

Is this how Lucerys felt in his last moments? The unwelcome thought pierced him like an arrow, How fitting a revenge it would be for a dragon to burst out of the clouds and finish us both.

Beneath him, Vhagar gave a low, extended groan. Flying so high had taken so much strength out of her. Perhaps, she would have enough to fly back to King’s Landing but not for another round of fighting.

If he could hide in the larger cloud formations, then, maybe - 

Then, he heard it. A sound almost swallowed up by Vhagar’s groans. 

A second pair of wing beats coming from above.

Aemond made himself turn and look up. Vermithor soared with total serenity, Lord Velaryon looking down at him over his dragon’s shoulder.

A choked sob forced its way out of Aemond. All it would take was a short dive and a well-placed bite to the throat or wing to send Vhagar and Aemond tumbling to the ground like the pieces of Arrax.

Or would Vermithor call the others and have them rip Vhagar apart in mid-air?

Vhagar turned her head, sighting Vermithor above her. She opened her mouth and tried to blast the other dragon with flame but she couldn’t manage it. She couldn’t even get her head high enough. Only a weary and pained half-roar came out.

The old cry of his childhood swelled in Aemond’s mind. 

It’s not fair!

He rode the largest dragon. He had spent more hours training his body and his mind than both his brothers put together. He had endured years of ridicule capped with the loss of an eye and emerged as a man fearsome enough to challenge the Rogue Prince.

And, all that to be humiliated and struck down by a man without face, name or voice.

And, I never said goodbye to Helaena nor said a proper goodbye to Mother.

At last, Lord Velaryon made a move. He stretched out a hand - and pointed twice to his right.

Aemond didn’t understand.

Vermithor dipped down. Aemond flinched back but Vermithor didn’t strike. Instead, Lord Velaryon halted his dragon and flew level with Vhagar. Lord Velaryon pointed to the right again, this time more insistent.

Aemond still didn’t move. Not until he heard a faint unearthly whistling from below.

Caraxes.

He steered Vhagar to the right without looking and flew right into a high column of cloud. The freezing rain within slapped him hard, breaking the veil of terror. Once back in sunlight, his thoughts and senses ground back into action.

The first thing he felt was a burning pain in his leg, “Fuck!”

He looked down. Dark Sister had gone through his armour and one of his riding chains like scissors through silk. A deep red gash glared back at him, oozing enough blood to soak all the way to his hip.

He cursed again. He unbuckled his belt to use as a tourniquet. His shaking fingers fumbled the knot three times before he secured it at last. He reached back to tear some of his cloak for a bandage - and found Lord Velaryon on his blind side. Aemond started so violently that only his last unbroken riding chain stopped him slipping out of the saddle.

But, Vermithor didn’t strike. Lord Velaryon didn’t urge his dragon to attack. He just looked Aemond in the eye and gave him a nod.

Aemond could only stare in shock.

Lord Velaryon pointed to Aemond then jabbed his finger towards the ground.

Is he…telling me to land?

Lord Velaryon made an open-handed gesture to Aemond’s leg and to Vhagar’s gaping wound. Then, he jabbed his finger at the ground again more insistently.

Aemond considered it. He felt very tempted to direct Vhagar to an empty field and surrender. At least, there would a chance that Vhagar would be seen to quickly.

Then, he heard the distant whistle of Caraxes behind him.

Lord Velaryon might be inclined to show mercy but Daemon certainly won’t be.

Aemond met Lord Velaryon’s eye and shook his head.

He expected Lord Velaryon to go on the attack. Perhaps, he would try to force Vhagar down to the ground.

The other dragonrider, however, seemed to be doing some quick thinking. He looked down at the thinning cloud cover below more than once.

Vhagar turned her head slightly towards Vermithor with a soft rumbling growl. Vermithor gave an answering growl and then both dragons turned forward once more. An unspoken agreement seemed to have formed between the beasts.

I don’t attack you, you don’t attack me.

Aemond and Lord Velaryon met eyes again and Lord Velaryon seemed to make a decision. With another nod, he turned to face forward and kept Vermithor flying alongside Vhagar.

“What are you doing?” Aemond muttered, his words lost in the wind, “What are you waiting for?”

Lord Velaryon didn’t answer in any way. He seemed content to fly at Vhagar’s side, watching with patient eyes as Aemond had to concede to the worsening pain and minister to his injured leg. Occasionally, Lord Velaryon turned to look around and down into the wispy cloud cover, as if checking for anyone coming up from below.

Not once, however, did he make a move to attack. Neither did Aemond think of forcing the struggling Vhagar on the offensive.

Golden evening sunlight poured over them. The clouds around them turned orange, blue and purple. It almost looked as if they flew through flowering fields. Aemond couldn’t be sure how long they flew in this strange truce. Only their dragon’s wingbeats and the whistling wind broke the silence. If Aemond’s leg didn’t hurt so fiercely, he might have found it peaceful.

The clouds went from wispy to sparse. The gaps between them expanded with every wing beat. Lord Velaryon leaned forward to look down at the ground. Then, he looked up and caught Aemond’s eye. He gestured at his eyes and pointed down a few times. Aemond looked down too and saw green, unburnt land beneath him. Just visible beneath Vhagar, a thin pale strip split the shifting green.

A road.

He looked back up. Lord Velaryon pointed straight ahead and then raised his hand to give Aemond a wave. He pulled Vermithor away to the left and, quiet as an owl, the bronze dragon swooped away.

Aemond watched them disappear, not knowing what in seven hells to think.

Was Lord Velaryon truly here? Or, are my injuries giving me delusions?

Vhagar gave a more protracted moan. Her ragged wings stopped beating for a few moments and they dropped below the clouds.

Aemond took in his surroundings. There was no sign of burned or fleeing troops below. When he looked back, he saw only a column of swirling smoke in the distance. Shapes slithered in and out of sight in the air, bathing the ground in flame.

That’s Duskendale. He registered. He turned back to face forward. Far away, he could see a small castle.

That’s Rosby.And, beyond that, there’s King’s Landing on the horizon. So, the road beneath me is the Rosby Road. If I follow it, I will be in King’s Landing in less than an hour…if Vhagar can stay in the air that long.

If anything, this knowledge made him even less sure what to make of Lord Velaryon’s actions.

No archers or scorpions below. No dragons nearby. None of the other black dragons seem to even know I’m here. They would be on me in a moment if they did.

Did he…did Lord Velaryon spare me on purpose? Did he escort me away from the others…and out of danger?

His confused pondering only came to a halt when a voice pierced his thoughts.

“Aemond! Aemond!”

He looked round and saw Sunfyre flapping clumsily behind, weaving to avoid the black trails of Vhagar’s blood. Aemond then realised Sunfyre wasn’t just wobbling in the air to avoid the blood. His wings bore at least half a dozen crossbow quarrels and scorpion bolts.

“Thank the fucking gods!” Aegon directed Sunfyre to Aemond’s right hand side, keeping out of Vhagar’s line of sight, and called, “Ser Criston said we need to get back to King’s Landing. We need to warn the others in case those black fuckers advance on the city!”

Blackness encroached at the corner of Aemond’s vision. He ordered it back to its source. He nodded at Aegon and focused on staying awake over answering his questions. 

I just need to stay awake until we get to King’s Landing. Come on, Vhagar.

Chapter Text

AEMOND

The hour’s flight back to King’s Landing seemed to take an age. With every minute, Vhagar lost height and her head drooped lower. By the time the shape of the Red Keep emerged on the horizon, they were low enough to make out individual trees. By then, Vhagar had grown too tired to use her wings and she could only glide for the last ten miles.

“Come on, Vhagar.” Aemond muttered over and over again like a prayer, “Just a little further.”

Sunfyre peeled away toward the Dragonpit. When Aemond chanced a look, he saw Sunfyre did not so much land as crumple to the ground outside.

Vhagar’s head hung so low that her neck wattle stood in danger of scraping rooftops. He wheeled her around the Hill of Rhaenys but the bigger Visenya’s Hill would present the greater challenge to avoid.

Vhagar dropped to fifty feet. Aemond could make out people staring up at the dragon before rushing for cover away from the trails of boiling blood.

“Come on, Vhagar. You can make it. You can…make it…”

Aemond’s head swam. What little he’d had for lunch felt ready to make a return. The darkness in his vision gained ground. Only about half the vision in his eye remained. Vhagar gave a long bullfrog-like groan. With what seemed to be the last of her strength, she beat her wings once.

They rose above twenty-five feet, taking them over the buildings on the Muddy Way.

The rushing wind faded in and out of focus. The King’s Gate loomed ahead. Vhagar moved slightly to the side to avoid the gate and take them over the wall. As they did, Aemond felt a slight shudder under him. Vhagar’s claws must have scraped the top of the wall off but he didn’t dare look round. He needed to focus more on keeping his eye open.

Vhagar went into her last glide. Her claws lopped the tops off the trees around the tourney grounds as she reached for the ground with her wing-claws.

It was not quite a landing and not quite a crash. Vhagar stumbled forward with the clumsiness of a newborn foal. The momentum of the flight took her almost to the very edge of the field until, at last, her body thudded down and she finally came to rest on the field.

Vhagar lay half on her side, breath coming in loud wheezing gasps. Aemond slid down her side and landed in a heap. His injured leg gave out from under him and the new surge of pain made him see stars again.

He heard voices from far away. The darkness had almost overtaken him. Still, he reached out until his hand found burning scales.

“We made it…Vhagar…thank you…thank you…”

Then, darkness swallowed him, leaving only the thin, faint sound of a woman screaming.

#

It took him a long time to journey out of that darkness and he had to endure many strange and horrible sights on the way.

He saw himself riding Vhagar in full armour with a livid, crazed look on his face. He saw himself unleashing fire on the armies - no, not armies. Aemond realised to his horror that they were smallfolk. He saw himself burn men, women and children, roaring in rage like a beast without sense. The monster-Aemond paid no heed to Aemond’s screams to stop and, in the end, Aemond had to turn away, hands over his ears.

Sometimes, he dreamed of making Vhagar dive after the fragments of Arrax above Shipbreaker Bay. No matter how hard he pushed her, she never caught up. He tried jumping from her back and into the raging waves. He reached for Luke’s fingers but he always sank out of Aemond’s reach.

Then, Luke turned into Lord Velaryon. The mask’s white mouth opened with a wide, fanged grin. The mouth opened and flames gushed forth, consuming Aemond in an instant.
He saw the same sights he had seen in his previous dreams. Helaena lay impaled on the moat’s spikes, spared a painful death only by a luckily placed spike to the neck.  Daeron’s tent collapsed in flames on top of him. Aegon sat in the litter, unable to even scream or utter a curse as poison squeezed the life out of him. Aemond saw Dark Sister aimed at his eye as Caraxes brutalised Vhagar beneath him.

All the while, Lord Velaryon’s masked face wove in and out of his visions. Sometimes, forming from a cloud and, sometimes, forming from the face of another for a moment.

When Aemond at last emerged from nightmares, it was to angry voices.

“…exactly did you allow Vhagar…such a condition?”

“You can’t talk to me…the King. You can’t…”

“Vhagar…” Aemond’s voice came out thin and hoarse, “…Vhagar…is she…?”

“Aemond!” He felt bony hands grip his face, “Aemond, open your…”

He recognised it as last as his mother’s voice. He tried to focus on her pleading. What was she telling him to do so desperately?

“…your eye. Open your eye and look at me!”

Like the rest of his body, his eyelid felt as heavy as lead. Only after a great effort could he open his eye and make sense of the shapes around him.

He was in his chambers, propped up in a seated position by a mound of pillows at his back. The air in the room felt hot despite the open window. Sweat beaded Aemond’s brow. A cool cloth was pressed to it in the next eyeblink by Alicent, sitting white-faced and tear-streaked at his bedside. Otto stood by the fireside, looking ten years older than last Aemond had seen him. Aegon sat in a chair, bandage around his head and a nearly empty wine jug on the table beside him.

One of them had to know. One of them had to answer.

“Is Vhagar…? Is she dead?”

Alicent gave a sob that made Aemond’s heart shrink. Then, she gave him a watery smile, “Your obsession with that beast will forever be beyond me. The dragonkeepers believe she will live. She has sustained more than half a hundred wounds but only the one on her back gave them cause for concern. They say she will need to stay out of the air for at least four months and not fight again for six.”

Aemond relaxed back into the pillows and looked up at the ceiling. Little light filtered through the curtains. By the look of it, it was near sundown.

“How long…has it been…?”

“Four days.” Alicent reached to the bedside table and poured a goblet of water, “You had a fever from an infection and it has only just broken. Here.” 

She put the goblet to his lips. The water cooled his parched throat and banished the clawing darkness trying to pull him back into unconsciousness. By the lingering sickly sweet taste in his mouth, he guessed milk of the poppy had been used before now. No wonder his dreams had been so strange.

“What else…did the maester say…about my wounds?”

“That you must remain abed for at least three weeks more until the wound on your leg is healed. And, even then, you must not strain yourself. You have two broken ribs, a fractured collarbone and two broken toes. So, no training for two months, at least, and you won’t be fit for battle until at least another moon’s turn after that.”

“The Maester said,” Aegon slurred, “that it must have been Dark Sister that did that to your leg. And - and, if Daemon had been any closer, he - he might have taken your leg off.”

“I’m sure that was his intention.” Aemond said, memories filtering back through the fog as well as a good deal of pain. A gasp slipped through his teeth.

Otto joined Alicent at Aemond’s bedside, “Not so much milk of the poppy this time, Alicent. Aemond, I appreciate you have only just awoken but His Grace has been so far unable to give me a full accounting of what happened at Duskendale and we have yet to receive a report from Ser Criston. Perhaps, you could assist him.”

So, Aemond began at the parley outside Stokeworth. Perhaps, the lingering milk of the poppy had weakened his restraint because he didn’t hesitate to say, “He raised one interesting point, Mother. He said that Aegon ought to have been sent to the Wall the first time he forced himself on a serving girl. I wonder, why didn’t you do it?”

He looked from his shocked mother to his scowling grandsire.

Alicent began, “Aegon was the heir to the throne - ”

“But, he was not your only option, as Daemon pointed out.”

“But, the shame of it would stain all of us.”

“And, it would have worn off or, at least, lessened by the time of our father’s death. It would have also been much less for having been dealt with promptly rather than being allowed to fester, multiply and be used by our enemies against us as it has.”

Alicent only shook her head, breathing heavily. Otto wore a rather closed expression.

Maybe, it really didn’t occur to them until now. Aemond thought, Hindsight really does lend clear vision.

“Hey, just whose side are you on?” Aegon blurted out, his cup tipping out of the straps around Aegon’s hand and slopping wine on the floor, “You think you could do better, do you, kinslayer?”

Otto drew himself up, “These treasonous words will not be repeated outside this room. Now, get to the point. What happened at Duskendale? How did Vhagar come to receive such terrible injuries?”

Sorry, Aegon. You shouldn’t have called me kinslayer.

“It was Sunfyre.”

Aegon’s face went slack. Alicent rounded on him at once, “What in the name of the Seven did you do?”

“It wasn’t me!” Aegon whined, “You always think it’s my fault! Vhagar blasted Sunfyre first! It’s not my fault Aemond has shit aim!”

Aemond bristled, “They tricked our dragons into firing at each other. While Vhagar was preoccupied in trying to shake Sunfyre off…the four black dragons turned the battlefield outside the city into a second Field of Fire.”

Otto looked from Aemond to Aegon with a look between deadly fury and icy terror on his face, “How many dead?”

“I cannot say.” Aemond said.

“A lot.” Aegon breathed.

Otto took in a deep breath and faced Aegon. Something bone-deep in Aemond quailed in second-hand terror, “And, what is the point of us having dragons if their riders cannot control them? What was the point of allowing you to claim a dragon if it deprives us of our best weapon at the very outbreak of war? Why did you not tell Sunfyre to stop?”

Aegon spluttered and stammered excuses. That same bone-deep instinct to shrink back and beg for any kind of mercy from Otto’s punishments still lay within Aegon, it seemed. It was as familiar to Aemond as the feeling of relief that it was Aegon being reprimanded and not him. 

And, that he’d not told anyone about losing control of Vhagar at Storm’s End.

Alicent gripped Aemond’s arm and tried to feed him milk of the poppy again.

“No. No, I will be fine.” Aemond said, trying to keep his voice even as his chest burned like hot coals blazed within. He would not go back into poppy dreams. Seven only knew what further terrors awaited him there.

Alicent pressed her lips together but set down the cup. 

“By the way, Mother, do you have any idea what Rhaenyra might have named her daughter had she been born alive? Would it have been Visenya?”

Aemond regretted his words at once. Tears threatened to overflow Alicent’s eyes, “Yes. Yes, I think so. She wanted her little sister to be named so if she ever had one.”

Thank the gods Mother picked Helaena’s name, then. I can’t think of a name that would have suited her less.

“Why do you ask a thing like that?”

“Because, when Daemon slashed my leg, he said ‘this is for Visenya’.”

Just then, another bolt of pain flashed over the left side of Aemond’s face. Aemond put his hand to his scar, missing his mother’s reaction to his words. The flesh around it felt as tender as it had a week after he lost the eye. He felt around the scratched and bruised eye socket - and found it empty.

“Where did - ” Only then did Aemond remember than Alicent didn’t know about the sapphire yet. Aemond looked around for a box where it might have been kept but found nothing around his bed.

Aegon looked up and saw him with his eye to his face, “That sapphire’s gone.” He informed Aemond, “Must have fallen out during the battle.”

Then, Aemond remembered. The moment Jacaerys had hit him in the face, he had not only felt pain but also something dislodging. Aemond could barely suppress his groan. It probably lay under a mound of bodies. Perhaps, it would never be found. He knew it was ridiculous to feel so upset about it. He could easily buy a replacement from the jewelers in King’s Landing. Yet, he still felt the loss like the death of a favourite hound.

Aemond looked to the window. The sun had almost set over King’s Landing. The blue in the sky had darkened and only a few red tinges like a dying fire remained.

A shape flew across the sky. Aemond frowned. Was it a dragon? Or was it a poppy dream edging its way into his mind?

“Daeron is back.” Alicent said, “I called him back from the Reach. Sunfyre’s wounds will keep him grounded for a moon’s turn, if not more - ” 

“And he’ll be scarred for fucking life!” Aegon wailed, spilling even more wine on the floor, “He’ll bear the scars from Vhagar’s burns for life, that’s what they said!”

Alicent continued like he hadn’t spoken, “ - and we need a dragon to guard King’s Landing. Especially…now.”

“That was not wise.” Aemond said without thinking, “Lord Ormund now has no dragon protection and, with Ser Criston’s forces crushed, the blacks will turn towards him next. Perhaps, they always intended so. Daemon did tell us to go back to King’s Landing until he was ready to deal with us. That implies he doesn’t consider King’s Landing the priority.”

“You are in the right, Aemond.” Otto put in, “I tried to tell your mother as such but she insisted on calling back your brother and his dragon.” He turned a bitter glare at Alicent, “And, now, none of our dragons are of any use to us.”

A servant's knock at the door interrupted Alicent’s retort, “Ser Criston has returned and has requested an urgent audience.”

“Send him here.” Aemond said, “I want to hear his report.”

Alicent shook her head, “You ought to rest, Aemond.”

“I won’t move from this bed if the Maester orders it, Mother, but I will not be idle either.”

“Alright, send him here.” Aegon said, “Might as well.”

A few minutes later, a sweaty and ashen-faced Cole appeared at the door. Once he’d bowed to Aegon, his attention went straight to Aemond, “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you alive, my Prince. I feared Vhagar would not survive the flight back to King’s Landing.”

“I find your survival to be the more miraculous, Cole, considering you were in the field rather than above it.”

A shadow crossed Cole’s face, “I had to jump through a wall of fire to get away, my Prince. I only escaped burning by soaking my cloak in the sea beforehand. Others who could do so survived as well.”

“And, how many dead?” Aemond said, “Come. Let us have the worst of it now.”

Cole took a breath, “All told, we lost around fifteen hundred men on the field. Either by dragonfire or by drowning in an attempt to escape it.”

Aemond couldn’t decide which fate was worse.

“Four sellsword companies have been wiped out and - ” He paused like a man about to jump from a tower, “ - eight have broken their contract with us and fled.”

Alicent and Otto made cries of outrage.

“That is understandable.” Aemond mused, “You cannot pay a man enough to enter a field of fire.” Or fight on the losing side.

“Why did we hear nothing of this until your arrival?”

“I apologise, Ser Otto. I wanted to send a report as soon as I arrived at Stokeworth but we found all the ravens had been stolen after we left and the messenger we sent with a report must have betrayed us.”

“Sounds like Lord Velaryon sent a few of his men to infiltrate the castle after we left.”

“I am inclined to agree, my Prince. It’s just the sort of underhanded tricks he plays.” Cole spat, “Had it been a fair and honourable fight at Duskendale, you and His Grace would have destroyed all four of their dragons and we would have sacked Duskendale by nightfall.”

“I thought you always said a fair fight is the last thing we should expect in true battle.”

That shut Cole up.

And, yet, The thought entered Aemond’s mind unbidden, someone did show honour in battle.

Or, is my memory playing tricks on me?

“Tell me what you saw of the fight above Duskendale, Ser Criston. I confess, my injuries have made my details of the battle itself a little unclear.”

So, Cole told the tale. Aemond nodded through it. His mother gasped and choked back sobs when Sunfyre attacked Vhagar.

“I gained higher ground and watched Vermithor strike Sunfyre. I think he meant to slay Sunfyre while he was distracted but he only succeeded in knocking Sunfyre off. The King went to cover the army’s retreat and Vhagar remained behind. You fought bravely, my Prince, but not even Vhagar could withstand an onslaught from all four of the dragons.  One of the sellswords told me that the previous Yi Ti dynasty employed an execution method similar to that. Its name in the common tongue is ‘death by a thousand cuts’. It’s something they reserve for bigger and stronger criminals. They call it a lesson in humility because even the strongest of the victims die long before they actually reach a thousand cuts.” Cole spat the last part out like it was poison.

That is a good way to describe it. Aemond thought without emotion.

“When I saw Vhagar fall from the sky, I was sure that all was lost.”

Alicent whimpered and covered her face. Cole hastened to continue.

“But, you managed to pull her up in time and fly into the clouds. Vermithor gave chase and then Caraxes but you gave the slip. About ten minutes later, Vermithor and Caraxes returned to the fray and one of our men spotted Vhagar emerge, following the Rosby road.”

“I thought for a minute that Vermithor had caught you.” Aegon broke in, “I was looking for you on Sunfyre. I thought I saw two big dragon shapes in the clouds, getting close to each other. I was sure I saw bronze scales too. I was going to go and help. No, really, I was! But, then, those black fuckers on the hill shot Sunfyre’s wing full of bolts.”

“It must have just been a cloud formation and a trick of the light.” Aemond said, “Vermithor never managed to catch me. You say that the blacks had a contingent of crossbows and scorpions?”

“Yes. On top of a hill. They must have sneaked around our men and hidden there to shoot down any retreating dragons. Suppose they didn’t see you.”

Aemond now recalled hearing Caraxes’ call just after Lord Velaryon pointed towards a cloud bank. From his vantage point, Lord Velaryon must have seen Caraxes approaching.

And, Aegon was probably wrong and probably lying too. The cloud cover had been thinner as he flew away from Duskendale and, if Aegon had been around the hills south of the city, he would have had a clear view of Vermithor. 

More likely, he decided to hang back because he was scared of taking on Vermithor.

But, if Aegon had spotted Vermithor’s shape through the thicker clouds, then, surely, the crossbow men on the ground would have seen it through the thinner clouds. And, Lord Velaryon must have known they were lying in wait for any wounded enemy dragon to fly overhead.

Unless…they saw a friendly dragon too close to the enemy and didn’t want to risk shooting it. 

So, he did not only spare me. He saved me from Daemon and from being shot down by scorpions. Why?

A bolt of pain went through his side at that point and he couldn’t stop himself crying out. Alicent leapt to his side at once, “You must have some milk of the poppy, Aemond. Ser Criston, we can continue this in the small council chamber.”

As darkness tugged him down into poppy dreams, Aemond thought, I owe my life to an enemy. I ride the largest dragon and have trained the hardest of all my brothers only to survive a battle thanks to an enemy’s mercy. No one must know. They will think me even weaker than if they knew I lost control of Vhagar.

#

LUCERYS

Lord Gunthor Darklyn looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh, faint or just stare in amazement at his almost intact town.

“I - I feel I owe you an apology, Lord Velaryon. I am - so - sorry that I doubted you! My word, a host of five thousand strong and the largest dragon in the world turned back by a mere hundred or so knights and four smaller dragons with only ten men on our side killed? The singers will have a field day with this!”

“I certainly hope they do.” Daemon nodded, “And, to that end, the first thing I need to do is to send a raven to my daughter, Rhaena, to tell her of all that happened here. She prefers to fight this war with songs and mummers to ensure Lord Velaryon’s name is known in every corner of the realm.”

Lord Darklyn agreed, proclaiming again and again that songs would be sung about this day.

“Now, with your leave, Lord Darklyn,” Daemon said when Gunthor took a breath, “I would like to pay our prisoners a visit and I’m sure Lord Velaryon would like to accompany me.”

Luke didn’t know what Daemon meant until he was led down the spiral staircase into the castle dungeons. Every cell contained a captain, lord or knight. In the far cell, having his extensive, nasty-looking burns tended to by their army maester, was Lord Borros.

Daemon turned to Luke with a grin, “You see?”

The last time Luke had seen him, he had been seated at the head of his great hall, glowering at Luke like he had tracked dragon dung all over the floor. Now, he glared at Luke with ten times that hatred but, wearing only a pair of breeches and a lot of bandages, he looked not nearly so frightening. If anything, he looked rather laughable.

“You bastard son of a Essosi whore! Don’t think your little trick has proved anything! The black bitch will never sit the throne!”

“Mind who you call a bitch.” Daemon laid a hand on Dark Sister, “I beheaded a man in the throne room for insulting my wife and I didn’t give him the courtesy of a warning. Consider yourself lucky that I’m in a good mood.”

“You wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me! You wouldn’t dare declare open war on the stormlands by harming me!”

“I think that ship has already sailed, thanks to my daughter and her husband.” Daemon smirked, “How does Floris find being a novice?”

“If you think you can use my wilful daughter against me, you’re dead wrong.” Borros’ deepening scowl told Luke he was lying.

“And, I think this day has proved we can handle being at war with Storm’s End so I would watch your tongue if I were you, Lord Borros, or I might decide to take it. And everything sitting above it.”

#

All the way to the victory feast that evening, Luke had never felt so grateful to be wearing a mask and to be allowed silence. Especially when Daemon said after two goblets of wine, “A damned shame we didn’t find Vhagar. Bringing her down would have made the day complete!”

Luke’s head felt too full of doubt and worry even to touch the food sent to his room for private consumption afterwards.

Had he done the right thing? 

It felt right at the time - but Daemon certainly would not agree and he had more experience with war. 

Had he doomed them? Would Vhagar only come back stronger? Would Aemond think he had shown weakness and scorn the kindness shown to him?

Then again, Aemond always remembered a debt. Lucerys knew that well enough.

A rap at the door broke through his thoughts, “Can we come in?”

At Luke’s single knock on the table, Jace and Baela entered. They looked a little flushed in the face but carried full goblets of wine and full plates of food.

“Didn’t think we were going to let the hero of the hour eat alone, did you?” Jace said, nearly spilling wine onto his lap.

“Not a chance.” Baela agreed, “Besides, Lord Darklyn’s getting rather tedious. If he wants a song sung about the day so badly, he ought to write it himself.”

The pair of them pulled up chairs on either side of Luke. Only when they set down their plates did they finally look him in the face.

“Luke, what is it? We won! Why so down?”

“Are you thinking about the dead?” Baela asked, her face softening, “I know how you feel. All that screaming…none of the history books ever mention that when they talk about battles.”

Jace too became solemn and set down his fork, “Or how burning bodies smell.”

“It’s not that.” Luke said, “There’s something I have to tell you and you have to promise not to tell Daemon. When Vhagar flew up into the clouds - ”

He told them the whole story from the moment he broke through and spotted Vhagar trailing blood behind her like black ribbons and barely staying aloft. He told them of how he rose above the larger dragon, intending to deliver the killing blow from above, but he could not bring himself to give Vermithor the order. 

Then, he had seen the shape of Caraxes in the clouds below. He had thought of hanging back and letting Daemon finish the job - but found he couldn’t bring himself to do that either. Without thinking, he had pointed Aemond towards cloud cover, allowing Vhagar to disappear just as Caraxes emerged. He had pointed Daemon the wrong way, tried to persuade Aemond to surrender and then followed Vhagar to make sure she would make it over the line of scorpion and crossbow men set around the city.

“You let him go?” Jace spluttered, “Luke, he killed Arrax! He killed you! How could you not finish him?!”

“It…it just felt wrong. Vhagar was too badly injured to hurt me and Aemond looked - he looked so scared. I just couldn’t do it.”

Aemond had looked younger in his terror. It was the first since he lost his eye that Aemond had looked his age. Luke realised how easy it was to forget that he and Aemond were only five years apart.

“You had no problem burning the archers and soldiers on the ground! Or with attacking Vhagar in the air.”

“That’s different.”

It was one thing to burn people shooting at him on the ground, when they were so small that he couldn’t make out their faces. It was one thing to duel with a dragon that could destroy him in one bite if he was careless.

It was another to be close enough to see the horror in the victim’s face and to strike down one that was unable to fight back. When Luke had seen Aemond riding through the clouds, he had not seen a dangerous enemy. He had seen a terrified young man just trying to get home. Just as Luke had been when flying away from Storm’s End.

And, what sort of person would he be if he only talked about acting with honour when he didn’t do it himself?

“But, you could have been shot by our own men!” Jace protested, “And, in any case, Daemon is surely going to find out about this from them and there’ll be seven hells to pay!”

“No, they won’t.” Luke gestured to the papers smouldering in the fireplace, “I asked for all the crossbow men to send their reports to me. Daemon won’t hear a word about this from them.”

“Was it the gods’ will?” Baela asked, “Or one of the dead telling you to do it?”

Luke could have said ‘yes’. Baela seemed to want him to. It would be easy to shift the blame onto someone Baela and Jace couldn’t question.

But, it wasn’t the truth. He had felt no flare of emotion that wasn’t his and heard no voice of a god in his ear. All he heard was what his own heart told him.

“No. It was all my decision. I take full responsibility for it.”

“But you could have ended this war right then and there!” Jace argued, flinging his hands out in exasperation, “Without Vhagar, the greens don’t stand a chance and they know it!”

“King’s Landing can’t be taken by dragons.” Luke stated, “This has already been agreed. And, by the look of her injuries, Vhagar’s going to be grounded for a long time. That’ll give us the time we need to win this war in ways other than battles.”

“I think Luke did the right thing.” Baela said before Jace could retort, “Helaena would be devastated if Aemond was killed and Aemond owes Luke his life now. It’s a debt that might come in handy in future.”

Jace gave a soft growl, “Let’s just hope he’s as good at paying debts as he is at demanding them. And you’d better hope Daemon never finds out what you did from anyone or it’ll be you who won’t be flying for a long time. If you’re lucky.”

“Say, what’s that in the bag?” Baela pointed to the small pouch on Luke’s bedside table. Luke considered and then decided they could be trusted. He reached inside and pulled out a round sapphire with a large, wide crack down the centre.

Jace gasped, “Is that - ?”

“It is. I saw it pop out when you hit him. I tried to catch it but I missed. It must have hit the city walls hard when it landed.”

Baela gave a disbelieving laugh, “That’s two eyes we’ve taken from him now.”

Luke only winced in response.

“What are you going to do with it?” Jace asked, “You could follow Daemon’s advice. Put it on a chain and send it to Rhaena.”

“Yes, do!” Baela nodded, eagerly, “She’ll love it.”

Luke did not share her certainty about that but he wasn’t sure what else to do with it. When he went to bed, listening to the sounds of celebrating downstairs, he kept taking it out to look at it and think about what would be the right thing to do.

Chapter Text

LUCERYS

The next day, the people of Duskendale, who had been on their way to Rook’s Rest in hopes of finding shelter, returned. A swift messenger had managed to reach them, it seemed, and they returned with looks of wonder and relief on their faces. The belated armies from Rook’s Rest and the Riverlands arrived in due time too, all gaping in wonder at how undamaged the city was.

When Luke, Baela and Jace emerged from the castle to see to feeding the dragons, the people gathered in the streets to cheer them on their way. All their names were shouted but the name ‘Lord Velaryon’ was the most common.

“I can see what you mean now.” Baela whispered, “Keep this up and you really will become a legend.”

Luke only waved to the cheering crowds, not sure what else to do or what to make of the idea of truly being a legend.

The goatherd gave them a sizable number of goats with a smile. Only after he left did Luke notice a problem. The number would be enough for four small dragons but not for two small and two large ones. So, Luke and Jace went to the paddock to ask for more. Before Jace hailed the goatherd, Luke heard him talking with what looked like his son, “…be a hard year…”

Luke held out a hand to silence Jace and moved behind a building to listen to the man.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful to Lord Velaryon for saving us and all. I’m sure we’d be in a much worse position if Vhagar had burned the place down and the city had been sacked. But, lad, the fact is that those dragons eat up a lot of our meat.”

“But they pay us, da. They pay us better than most traders.”

“Aye, but money’s not much good if you can’t find anyone to sell you anything. Remember Uncle Bill’s troubles with getting fresh oilcloth while the war in the Stepstones was going on? It’ll be the same here, mark my words. It’ll be weeks before trading ships come back - and there’s no guarantee they ever will - and the prices will likely be double what we usually pay. I’ll have to see if any of the goatherds around Rook’s Rest are willing to trade now before things get really hard and they start charging us an arm and a leg.”

Luke remembered what Mysaria had said about blockades only affecting the poorest. Suddenly, he felt terrible for enjoying a victory feast the night before. How much food had they wasted? How much could have gone to the smallfolk who’d trusted him with their lives and livelihoods? How much would be left by the time they departed? If trade did not resume, how long would it take for Duskendale to starve?

The thoughts stuck with him as the goatherd led more goats to the dragons. The goatherd was perfectly friendly and courteous to their faces but Luke could see worry in his eyes. It didn’t go away even when Jace offered to pay him extra for his trouble.

An idea flared in Luke’s mind. By the time they’d finished feeding the dragons, he felt confident in telling Jace.

Jace looked taken aback when he did, “What? But, we don’t even know what they need. And, we have no idea when the greens are going to strike again.”

“I think we beat them back pretty soundly. We can afford to turn our attention to this. But, you’re right. We don’t know what they need. In fact, I don’t know anything about these things. Go and get Baela. I’d like her opinion on it and she might know who we can ask about this.”

#

Lord Darklyn had been jovial when Luke requested his audience. When the castellan had produced the lists and accounts of what and how much Duskendale usually traded, however, a grim pall descended over him.

“Yes, I see times will be hard.” Lord Darklyn conceded, “Perhaps, I can levy a temporary tax on our lands.”

The vision of higher taxes feeding a riot in King’s Landing flashed before Luke’s eyes. He vehemently shook his head and wrote, ‘The smallfolk will not be able to afford it. They will be in straitened circumstance as it is. A tax will only make it worse.’

“What is the most necessary provision in Duskendale?” Jace asked, “What provision is the most likely to be made scarce by this war.”

The castellan thought for a moment.

“Grain, I believe. Wheat, mostly. We rely on traders to bring the grain to make bread. Oh, and fruit too. We rely on orchards near the Kingsroad but, what with the green army close to the capital, we can’t rely on them now.”

“Where are your biggest grain traders?”

“The Vale. I know they are on our side but I predict that, if the greens seek to weaken us, they will attack our trade routes. Traders may be more reluctant to come this way anyway now they know green forces are about.”

‘So, we need to transport the grain by means other than roads.’

“By ship, you mean? It will take a while to find sailors willing to take on the extra work.”

‘I mean, by dragon.’

Both Lord Darklyn and the castellan stared at his words. They looked just as Jace and Baela had done when Luke had first suggested it. Now, however, they stood firm by him as Lord Darklyn stammered.

“You mean…would that be…are you thinking of putting Vermithor forward as a pack mule?”

‘You have trusted me and your people with your safety, Lord Darklyn. It would be the greatest unkindness to repay that trust with hardship and starvation.’

#

Daemon finally emerged from the war table in his chambers and found them as the castle maester sent ravens to the Vale traders.

“Is there a good reason why you’re all taking an interest in how a town is fed?”

“Lord Velaryon wants to ensure the smallfolk don’t suffer in spite of our victory.” Jace informed him.

“That’s all well and good but using Vermithor or any of the other dragons as a pack mule goes a little too far. They’re needed on the front line, not to carry apples.”

Luke turned to fully face him. If he hadn’t been wearing his mask, he might have snapped at Daemon. Once he’d taken a breath, he decided instead to beckon Daemon away to a private discussion in another room.

Once they were alone, he removed his mask and glared up at Daemon, “We must not ignore the smallfolk, Daemon. Whatever we offer them, they will return tenfold. Offer them kindness and appreciation and they will return it. Offer them scorn and they will make us pay for it.”

“They’re in no position to scorn us. They ought to be grateful that we saved their city and leave it at that. What can they do to show their scorn, anyway? They won’t dare do anything while we have our dragons.”

“I have reason to believe that smallfolk in great numbers and with enough fury can kill a dragon. Even many dragons and even dragons as large as Syrax.”

Daemon’s scowl faded.

“My strategy worked in battle, Daemon. You need to trust me that my strategy for after battles will work too.”

Luke could see Daemon working it over in his mind. At last, he relented, “You have the right idea. It is easy to take the smallfolk for granted. But, you must not allow this to take up too much of Vermithor’s time. When you’re done here, I expect you at the war table. We need to discuss our next move.”

Luke arrived at the war table as early as he could. This time, a map of the whole country lay before them. Daemon had little black squares representing their forces and larger black blocks representing the dragons. The greens were displayed the same. One thing was obvious from the start.

“We’ve dealt with over a thousand of the green forces here at Duskendale but the greens still outnumber our armies at least ten to one. We need to think of different ways of dispatching them. Mysaria has just informed me that Vhagar and Sunfyre still live too.” He said it in a bitter voice but Luke’s heart gave a leap.

“Two out of three dragons are down but not for long. Tessarion patrols King’s Landing on Alicent’s orders. I say we take this opportunity to make an assault on the Hightower army while they have no air defences. We should also send dragons to the Stormlands in readiness. The rest of Lord Borros’ army may try and rejoin what remains of their forces when they’re done with the Vulture King.”

“Where are Cole’s forces now?” Baela asked, “Shouldn’t we send forces to finish them off?”

“Still gathered at Stokeworth.” Daemon said, “They suffer daily losses just fine without us. Mostly from desertions and sellswords breaking their contracts but it’s still a sizable host. As far as I can tell, they’re not going anywhere. It seems Alicent doesn’t want that army to go far from the capital.”

“That won’t last.” Luke pointed out, “If we hold off on advancing on them, the green council will force the army to aid their other allies. With any luck, they’ll split up their forces and make them easier to deal with.”

“Have you had word from your silvercloaks?” Jace asked, “Where do they think they’ll send the army first?”

“The greens all agree that a portion of their forces should be sent to aid their allies but they can’t decide where. At the moment, it’s looking more likely that the Hightower army will be sent support. They don’t think the Lannister army is under threat and the green council doesn’t want to risk drawing their king into the Baratheons’ war with the Vulture King.”

Daemon laughed, “They should be worried. They’re already losing one war. They can’t afford to be seen losing another. And speaking of the Lannister army, Jacaerys, you said you received word from Lord Piper?”

“I did.” Jace gave Daemon a broad smile, “Everything’s ready. We just need to make sure the Lannister army goes the way we want them to.”

“I think my men can arrange that.” Luke said, “I’ve received word that the sleeper cells have arrived in the Westerlands.”

“Excellent. I’ll send word to Rhaenyra. I think this is one you should get involved in too since you know the plan so well already and because you acquitted yourself so well in the last battle.”

Jace positively glowed with pride, “It would be an honour.”

“Before you go,” Luke said, suddenly remembering, “I need to ask: what made you and Baela think of hitting Aemond with your whips? I ask because I think learning how to attack while on dragonback would be useful. We can’t let our dragons do all the fighting, after all.”

“It just occurred to me in the moment.” Baela shrugged, “Jace copied me.”

“You’re going to need a very long whip if you want to hit someone while riding on Vermithor.” Jace pointed out.

“I wasn’t thinking of a whip. Maybe…something like a lance. But,” Luke looked down, blushing, “you know what I’m like with weapons.”

“The master of arms here will only be too happy to advise you and give you a private place to train, I’m sure.” Daemon put in, “And, you never know. Perhaps, the gods will give you more skill than you had before. It’s worth practicing anyway. Now, if the greens are planning on sending men to the Reach, we must move to cut off Lord Ormund’s army now. Now we have the Tyrells on our side, we can allow them to deal with their upstart vassals while they’re pinned down. Rather poetic if you think about it.”

“I won’t tell Lady Tyrell you said that.” Luke muttered.

“There’s one problem.” Jace put in. He gestured at the black forces, “As the King Consort says, our forces are still small. We have gained some support from undeclared houses and some have turned from the greens to support us but it’s still not enough to deal with a whole Hightower host. It’s certainly not enough to divide our forces to deal with multiple threats. Yes, we can send dragons but we risk causing too much damage to the Reach and risk our dragons getting hurt.”

“Yes,” Luke said, “Lady Tyrell specifically said that she would back us only on the condition that the Reach burns as little as possible.”

Lady Tyrell’s exact words had been, “The Reach has already had its fill of Fields of Fire. We have no wish for more.”

Daemon snorted, “How are we supposed to use our dragons without their fire and without risking injury to them? It sounds like one of those impossible riddles.”

At that moment, Baela cleared her throat in a theatrical way, “I’m not good with riddles but I know Rhaena is and I think we can both come up with a way that lets her take part too. Do you remember that moment in the battle when Caraxes took up some broken stones from the walls and dropped on the soldiers? Well…”

#

AEMOND

When Aemond woke next, he found himself alone. It took his sluggish thoughts about half an hour to finally remember everything and to realise it must be the next day. The angle of the sunlight shining through his window said as much.

He turned to the door and called Ser Willis into the room. 

“What time is it? What’s happening now?”

“Mid-morning, My Prince. I believe His Grace, the Hand and the others are at a war council.”

“Then, I shall go to them.” Aemond tried to push himself out of bed. Only then, when pain blazed over his chest, did he remember his injuries.

“That would not be wise in your state, My Prince.”

“Then, get me a chair.” Aemond snapped, the pain making him both irritable and less cautious with his words, “Father’s old one should do.”

Ser Willis didn’t look happy about it but he sent a servant to fetch the chair. Then, to Aemond’s supreme annoyance, he called for another to help Aemond dress.

“I am not a babe in arms, Fell! I can dress myself!”

Again, his injuries thwarted him. He couldn’t so much as lift an arm to pull a sleeve over it without his chest burning. He couldn’t even move his injured leg without feeling like it might snap in two.

“You ought to take something for the pain, my Prince.” Ser Willis suggested.

“If Father could walk to the Iron Throne without milk of the poppy, then I can fucking well go to a small council without it! Now, where the fuck are the servants? There should be someone by now!”

It took another ten minutes for a servant to come. It took even longer for the chair to arrive. By the time Aemond was ready, he had a new appreciation of how Lady Laena must have felt when Vhagar bathed her in flame.

“My Prince, please - ”

“Oh, very well! Just to stop you nagging me!”

Even then, Aemond only took a few drops of milk of the poppy. It only took the edge off the pain but Aemond would not take more. He would not have his mind clouded at the meeting. He had to be present in every sense. He had to do something to quell the shame festering at his core both at losing the battle and at only surviving because an enemy felt sorry for him.

It seemed that the war council had been tipped off about Aemond’s plan. He had barely reached the final staircase to the council chambers when Alicent rushed around the corner. The black mourning veil she still hadn’t disposed of flew behind her like a smoke trail.

“Aemond! You cannot attend small council meetings in your condition! And, Ser Willis, you know that full well. Why are you permitting this? Take the Prince back to his chambers at once!”

“No, Mother.” Aemond said stonily, “I will go.”

“You will not. Ser Willis, gentlemen, the Queen commands you to return to the Prince to his bed at once.”

Aemond turned in almost a full circle to glower at them all, “The Prince commands you take him to the small council chamber and disregard the Dowager Queen’s command.”

Aemond realised what a low blow this was even as he said it. Ser Willis and the servants looked at each other, each willing someone else to make the decision for them.

“Aemond,” Alicent said, taking his hand and speaking softly, “no one blames you for what happened at Duskendale.”

That’s a lie. Aemond could see it written in the deepened lines around her face. Alicent could clearly see his disbelief written on his face too. She glared at the servants to make them move out of earshot and then whispered.

“Ser Criston told me you tried to stop Aegon moving on Duskendale. He bears responsibility for this misfortune. There is nothing for you to atone for.”

“I will not lie idle, Mother. If Aegon sits on the council, we will need a sharper mind to balance out his dull wits.”

“Aemond! Not so loud. Aegon could have your tongue for that. Come, I cannot bear to see you like this. I will have the maesters bring you something for the pain - ”

“I am not my father!” Aemond snapped, slamming his fists into the chair’s arms, “I will not be sent to bed, poppy-addled and in ignorance!”

Alicent looked as if Aemond had stabbed her through the heart. Then, a moment later, she seemed to swallow her hurt and adopted a flat, statue-like expression.

The anger-induced fog in Aemond’s mind cleared as soon as it had come. He opened his mouth to say sorry but Alicent cut over him, “Yes, you are not. I see you are quite fit to go to meetings. I will tell the maester not to bother you with any medicine for the pain until you return to bed. I think I will go to my solar now.”

Before Aemond could say anything more, she stalked away and out of sight. Aemond and the others stood in awkward silence for a moment. Neither Ser Willis nor the servants could meet Aemond’s eye. Aemond shifted in his chair in discomfort. 

That small movement sent a great burst of pain through Aemond’s leg. Aemond’s vision went white. A cry ripped out of him. The next thing he knew when his vision cleared was Ser Willis holding open the door to his chambers.

“No…I need to…”

“You need to rest, my Prince.” Ser Willis said, still not meeting his eye, “I’ve sent someone to sit in on the meeting and tell you what happened.”

“Here, Aemond. You must take this.” Alicent appeared before him once again. It seemed she hadn’t gone far. In her hands was the milk of the poppy bottle.

“No…I’ve already…”

“Don’t be silly. Ser Willis, hold his head. Aemond, don’t struggle. This is for your own good.”

Aemond couldn’t stop the milk of the poppy slipping down his throat. When he woke next, night had fallen. He wasn’t alone. Someone sat at his blind left hand side. In his youth, he used to challenge himself to guess who stood in his blind spot. Even without speaking, everyone had their little tells. Their footsteps were usually a good clue. As was the sound of their clothing when they moved. Even their breathing could give them away.

At that moment, the uneven breathing and frequent gulping accompanied by the sound of liquid poured into a cup made it clear.

“Hello, Aegon.”

Aegon choked on his mouthful of drink, “What the - how the fuck did you know it was me?”

“Must have been your kingly presence.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. Milk of the poppy really is making you say weird shit.”

Aemond cautiously turned his head to face Aegon. Aegon sat by Aemond’s bedside with a cup tied to one hand and a half-empty bottle fastened to the other. No pain flared up but Aemond’s thoughts still came slow, “What do you mean, weird shit?”

“All sorts. Mostly about Lord Velaryon. You kept on asking why he did it.” Aegon spat bitterly on the floor, “Fucking Lord Velaryon.”

Aemond’s thoughts went from a crawl to a sprint. How much had he said? Had he given away his secret? How could he ask without confessing it? 

He tried to read Aegon’s face. Aegon looked deep in his cups and sullen but not suspicious or mocking. That confirmed it. Aegon would never miss a chance to laugh at him for needing an enemy’s help to survive.

“Oh. Well, if you wouldn’t mind keeping what I said quiet - ”

“Don’t worry about that, brother. By this time tomorrow, I won’t remember anything about today. With any luck, I’ll forget this whole week.”

He drained his cup. Aemond then realised what that sharp smell around him was.

“Your Grace, you smell like you tried to drown yourself in a brandy barrel.”

“And who’s to say I didn’t?” Aegon refilled his cup with all the focus and care a maester would give to stitching up a wound, “Fuck, I wish we were the other way around. Wish it was you going to small council meetings and me lying in bed all day.”

Aemond very nearly said, And, I wish you had my injuries too. Instead, he glowered at Aegon until he got the message.

“Alright, bad taste. But, really, I don’t know why you’re desperate go to those meetings. You’re not missing anything. We’re just watching our support drain away like…like this brandy. Ser Willis! Have someone bring me more brandy and send Cole to the black cells if he tries to stop you!”

Only then did Aemond see what had been staring him in the face, “Your Grace, why are you here? Not that your concern isn’t touching but you are ill-suited to be a maester’s assistant.”

Aegon surfaced from his cup and huffed, “You’ll get no argument from me on that. Mother told me to be here. I’ve got - got to show everyone in court that I stand by you or some - some shit like that.”

Aemond really did feel touched by that. Especially when he remembered what he had said to his mother.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot. She told me to tell you that - fuck, what was it? Oh, yes - that you can go to small council meetings but only if the maesters say you can. If they don’t - uh, fuck, what did she say? - if they don’t say you’re fit, you - you have to stay here and Maester Orwyle’s assistant will bring you the notes from the meeting to look over after - aft-er-wards.”

Even through the poppy haze, Aemond could see it was the best offer he was going to get, “Very well.”

“And, I - I, as your King, command you - not to do any stupid shit until you’re better.” Aegon leaned forward, nearly falling out of his chair in the process, and gave him as serious a look as he could through his brandy haze, “I mean it, Aemond. You need to get better. If you don’t…I’ll never forgive you.”

With that, Aegon turned his attention back to draining his cup and didn’t say another word. Aemond fixed his eye back on the bed canopy. He still lay awake long after Aegon’s head dropped on his chest and he began snoring like a cow. Aemond didn’t move until he finally had to concede to the encroaching pain in his ribs and help himself to milk of the poppy.

#

The whole Red Keep felt dismal in the days after the defeat. Once Aemond could leave his rooms and attend small council meetings, the gloom engulfed him like smoke. It forcibly reminded him of the stifled atmosphere at Laena’s funeral. 

The nobles kept to their chambers if they could help it. Those few he did run into in the corridors avoided his eye and either stood in nervous silence until he passed or tried to subtly edge away from him as if he were infectious. The members of the small council didn’t dare look him in the eye either. Only Cole and his family would speak to him now. Even then, they only did so if he spoke first.

They all blame me for the defeat. They don’t dare say it to my face but they all think it. Even Mother.

The Red Keep itself became quieter and dirtier by the day. A slowly encroaching invasion of spiders worked its way around the halls, making webs in every corner of every room. Aemond thought with a pang of Helaena and how delighted she would be at so many crawling pests around the place. Cole and Alicent would say nothing about the state of the Keep itself during the small council meetings. That meant Aemond had to rely on overheard conversations between Ser Willis and Ser Rickard when they thought he was asleep.

Servants didn’t bother to give notice but simply disappeared in the night through postern gates. Lord and ladies went to ‘visit merchants’ in the city and never came back. When their chambers were checked, they found their money, their jewels and whatever clothes they could carry or wear without attracting suspicion from the castle guards were gone. The gate guards confirmed later that they had indeed fled the city. As had at least a tenth of the city’s people thus far.

The final straw came a week after the defeat when Maester Orwyle fled the Keep. It was only noticed when he didn’t turn up at the small council the next morning and it drove Cole into a rage.

He decreed that all exits to the Red Keep should be locked and guarded and only those with express written permission from him were allowed to leave with no exceptions. Aegon had protested most angrily at this, “How’s a King supposed to have a well-deserved break at a brothel if he has to ask his Hand’s permission every time?”

“Have you forgotten the last time you had a ‘well-deserved break’ in the city?” Aemond bit back with more venom than intended.

“A good point, my Prince.” Cole said, “I’m still getting reports of Lord Velaryon’s men attacking goldcloaks and causing havoc in the city. They’re becoming bolder and we can’t risk Your Grace being captured or worse.”

“Besides,” Aemond added, “if we don’t stop people fleeing the city, there won’t be any whores for you to enjoy your ‘well-deserved breaks’ with.”

“Oh, fuck. Right, Cole, do whatever you have to then. If the girls at the Blue Pearl start talking about leaving, say I’ll pay them double the usual to stay.”

#

The day after the ban on leaving the Keep, a captain arrived from Stokeworth. Aemond had been fully prepared for another list of desertions and sellswords breaking their contracts. Instead, what he had to say seized his attention at once.

“We’ve received some rather curious reports concerning Lord Velaryon.”

“Is he still at Duskendale?”

“Yes. It seems he is also learning the way of the lance but that is not the curious thing.” 

“You mean, he doesn’t know how to fight already?” Aegon snorted, “I knew it. He’s useless without his dragon.”

Useless without his dragon…The words echoed in Aemond’s mind.

The captain cleared his throat, “Early in the morning about a week ago, he and Prince Jacaerys departed north. They returned that evening and with, well, crates of food.”

Everyone looked confused.

“For who?”

“Well, uh, for the smallfolk. It seems there were some concerns about disrupted trade routes and Lord Velaryon volunteered his dragon to transport wheat and apples to Duskendale to stop the smallfolk from starving. There’s talk that he’ll do the same for Rook’s Rest and for other smaller villages as well.”

Cole scoffed, “How arrogant he is. He feels so secure in his position that he can waste his dragon on acts of charity. What is being done to retake Duskendale?”

Aemond did not think it was arrogance but he couldn’t think of what else it could be. He thought again of Lord Velaryon escorting him to safety. Could it simply be his way? Or was there something more calculated about it?

He is trying to sway the smallfolk to Rhaenyra, that much is plain. Was he trying to do the same to me? Was he trying to make me feel that I owe him a favour in return? He will be disappointed if so. I will not suffer pity from anyone, much less from a foe.

“There’s another curious report we’ve received from Duskendale.” The same captain said, “The Lady Rhaena has joined her sister and the pair of them are flying to and from the Vale with large boulders plucked from the mountains. No one in Duskendale seems to know what they are for but they were piled almost as high as the city walls when the report was made.”

“Likely, stone to rebuild the walls. His Grace managed to do some damage, I think.” Cole said without looking up.

“With all due respect, Lord Hand, I think not. There is too much stone for that. And, they’re adding stones fallen from the walls to the pile.”

“Then, perhaps, they are planning ahead for our counterattacks. Or, perhaps, they intend to drop them on our armies from above. Now, for the second time, what is being done to retake Duskendale?”

Aemond dearly wanted to intercede and ask further. At that moment, however, his ribs flared up again and he had to put all his effort into suppressing any sound of pain. He told himself that he would ask later but the pain never got any better all through the meeting. Then, the next topic of discussion completely drove it from his head.

“We ought to build up another host and wait until the dragons have gone from the city.” Otto said from a chair further down the table than usual, “We strike when their guard is down and we punish them for their presumption. We will turn Lord Velaryon’s victory to ash before his eyes.”

“We cannot afford to waste our forces on a revenge attack.” Alicent argued, “Especially not while the black dragons are abroad, ready to wreak havoc anywhere within the Kingdoms. We ought to have our forces here to reinforce the city’s defences and send some of them into the Reach to aid the Hightower forces.”

“And, the Lannister forces. Once they are out of the Westerlands, they will need support to make it through enemy territory.” Ser Tyland put in.

“And the Baratheon forces in the Stormlands could do with reinforcements.” Lord Jasper added, “The sooner they deal with the Vulture King, the sooner they can aid the King.”

The only answer to those statements were cold glares sent their way until Ser Tyland and Lord Jasper shrivelled in their seats.

Things didn’t improve from that point. Cole made a few efforts to speak in Alicent’s favour but Otto shot them down. When he did it for a third time, Cole slammed his fist into the table.

“Ser Otto, may I remind you who is Hand of the King at present?”

“I remember well, Lord Hand,” Otto replied, barely keeping his voice below a shout, “I am merely pointing out that it is important that the Hand of the King should remain impartial. We cannot have a Hand who is merely a mouthpiece for a dowager queen. Neither can we have a Hand that allows His Grace and his armies to be so ignominiously defeated. Your Grace, I move for Cole to be replaced as Hand immediately. He may keep his position as Lord Commander but I fear he is not fit to hold both offices at once.”

Cole sprang to his feet, fists clenched. Ser Joffrey’s smashed face and the ghost of Lord Beesbury with shards of marble in his face flashed before Aemond. Aemond slammed down his goblet to get their attention and said, “And, how many battles have you won, grandsire?”

He might have gone on but, then, his ribs gave a flare of pain in protest to his sudden movement and he couldn’t suppress a gasp of pain this time. Alicent called for him to be carried back to his chambers at once. Aemond could do nothing but rasp out weak protests.

The fire in his chest forced him to stay in bed for the rest of the day. He resisted as much milk of the poppy as he could. He even threw a lit candle at the maester’s assistant’s face, who dodged just in time. At last, the maester’s assistant managed to force enough down him to keep him lost in poppy dreams until nightfall.

When he next emerged from nightmares, Aemond also heard someone on his right hand side. Someone shuffling papers around and mumbling something under his breath. He couldn’t catch what they were saying nor could he recognise his voice through the poppy fog. At last, he gave up and turned his head.

“Hello, Daeron.”

“Sorry!” Daeron gasped, nearly dropping the maps in his hand, “Did I wake you?” 

“No but I would have been very grateful if you had.”

“Poppy dreams giving you trouble? I heard some maesters in the Citadel are looking for ways to mitigate that but there’s nothing forthcoming yet, I’m afraid. I’ll not bother you for long. I just wanted to say goodbye now since I’m leaving early this morning and want to get an early night before that.”

“You’re leaving? To go where?”

“Yes. We received word of trouble in the Westerlands after you left the council chamber. Lord Velaryon’s men have Hornvale under siege. A whole band of them have surrounded the castle, stopping all supplies, and Lady Brax can’t hold out for long with the supplies they have.”

So, Ser Tyland got the upper hand. That’s a surprise. 

“There’s an army of silvercloaks in the Westerlands?” Aemond asked, “How did that happen?”

“They must have crossed over from the riverlands. Hornvale’s on top of a mountain so it’s easy to cut supplies off. We’re just not sure about numbers. The report said that anyone who tried to go down the mountain never came back again. We think they got captured in the town below and Lord Velaryon’s men are forcing the merchants in the town to stop supplying the castle. So, I’m being sent to help the Lannister army clear them out.”

“Do they need the whole army to that?” Aemond frowned.

“I think Lord Jason wants to set an example and show the silvercloaks what happens when they intrude in the Westerlands. Not to mention, he realised that there’s a better route to the Riverlands anyway. If we go via the southern tributary of the Red Fork, it avoids Riverrun and gives us a shorter road to Harrenhal.”

“I see. Well, I wish you more luck in your battles than I had, then.”

Daeron gave him a soft look, “And don’t you strain yourself, brother. You’re no use to anyone if you're damaged permanently.”

No use to anyone if you're damaged permanently. Those words went deep. Deeper than Aemond would ever admit to. 

He only smiled and clasped Daeron’s hand in farewell. He almost told him to watch out for burning tents but stopped himself in time.

Chapter Text

ORMUND

His men lay restless. Ormund, himself, could not find sleep. He had hoped to be able to reach the cover of some trees before nightfall. He knew just how exposed they were in the open. He and his captains had debated for near half an hour about whether they should camp atop the hill or not. Atop the hill, they had the high ground if an army came on them but they were prime targets for dragons. Below it, they would be easy prey for an army and likely would be easily targeted by dragons anyway even if it did conceal their position a little.

Ormund decided to take a walk around the camp. Perhaps, if he had time, he would walk up the hill and look out at the Shield Islands sitting in the mouth of the Mander.

That proved wise. He caught four men trying to desert by dressing as camp followers and had them bound in a cage. They would be hanged on the morrow, still wearing their ridiculous disguises.

He did not blame them in a way. He understood why the news from Duskendale and their slow progress through the suddenly hostile lands of the Reach would make them wish for a quick exit, one way or another.

Well, that is just what they will get. Ormund thought as he paused outside a tent to listen to the hushed words within. He thought he could hear something that might be the word ‘Velaryon’. If he got wind of any more treachery -

“…marry him? Not a chance.”

“Come off it. She only agreed to marry you because you were going off to war and that septon was definitely drunk.”

Ormund stepped away, a small smile on his face. He turned towards another row of tents. The horses belonging to the higher ranking cavalry grazed in a makeshift paddock. A squire stood by the gate, refilling the water trough.

Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash!

Ormund leapt back. The tent closest to him collapsed in on itself. It would have fallen on him if he had not hurried away. The horses screamed in terror and bolted in all directions. He scrambled to his feet, dodging the forest of hooves, and stared around.

The squire lay dead, a large chunk taken out of the top of his head. The fence holding the horses had been smashed and two tents lay in a pile of squirming, shapeless cloth.

The culprits were not hard to find. Four boulders, each bigger than a man’s head and one with a large smear of the squire’s blood on its side, lay in deep craters in the ground. Two lay near the dead squire and two among the ruined tents.

The first cavalry captain stared in amazement, “But, where could they have come from? There’s nowhere around here that’ll serve to set up a trebuchet.”

“These rocks did not from a trebuchet in any case, captain. Look. A clear even crater. Anything from a trebuchet would have made a furrow in the ground and show us the direction it had come from.”

“But, milord, they would mean these rocks fell out of the sky.” The nervous captain looked up as if expecting a rain of boulders.

“It’s the reasonable explanation.” Ormund nodded, “How, I cannot say. Unless…”

The answer lay before Ormund but it seemed too outlandish to believe it. If it were so, why were they not being bathed in fire at this very moment? He looked up at the sky but only saw innocent stars. He returned to his tent, giving orders to his men to watch the skies.

He had just been about to turn in for the night. Ormund told himself that more evidence may appear on the morrow. Then, somewhere in the distant blackness, Ormund heard more screams. He flung on a robe and dispatched another captain to find out what was the matter.

The other captain returned five minutes later with grave news. Sure enough, more rocks had appeared from the sky. Two had struck sentries. One had struck the blacksmith’s tent, destroying many of his tools. Just as before, the craters were clean. The only way they could have struck the army was from above.

Cavalry horses and the blacksmith. Two important things for an army. This is a calculated attack for certain. He looked closer at the boulders. When he brought a torch close, he saw plaster sticking to one side, And, these rocks look like they may have been part of a wall.

Ormund did not try to sleep again. The brief peace of the night had truly been broken. He waited near a brazier, watching the skies and waiting. The guards kept their eyes at the sky. The men hurried from tent to tent as if fearful of claws grabbing them from thin air if they lingered too long. A few even ran with shields held over their heads, regardless of how foolish they looked.

Then, a third set of screams rose from the other side of the camp. This time, Ormund saw fire in the distance.

“Dragons!”

He and the guards raced to the fire. Once again, however, they found only a scene of destruction. A large bonfire had been shattered by another rock and the fire had spread to the surrounding tents. Yet, the skies were clear. The arrows flew up and back down without hitting anything.

Lord Ormund did not have to wait long for the fourth attack. By the time they arrived at the source of the next round of screaming, they found only broken wood, crushed bodies and panicking birds where the raven coop had been.

The next attack, however, took a full hour to arrive. A full hour in which the men stared up at the sky, shields held over their heads. Ormund tried to order some buckets of water in case of fire but the captains advised not. They were too far from the river as it was and the squires would likely get lost in the dark trying to find it.

Lost…or taken by whatever flew above them.

No one wanted to move too far away from the camp, it seemed. Ormund himself found his feet turning back to his tent after only a few minutes of patrolling the camp. He considered going to the top of the hill to look for the dragons but stopped himself. It felt like the same as waving a flag and calling to be grabbed up by claws or teeth.

At last, when Ormund began to grow more irritated than afraid, screams rose forth. Ormund sprang to his feet, calling for his guards, But, it won’t do any good. He knew that even before he left his tent. Sure enough, the soldiers ten tents away stood with bows aimed high but not a single arrow had been loosed.

“We got a good look at it, though.” A wide-mouthed squire insisted, “It was green with pale horns and it wasn't very big.”

Ormund thought for a moment, going over the dragons listed in Otto’s letters, “Moondancer. The Lady Baela’s dragon. What did it drop this time?”

The squire stood aside and pointed to the ground. It was a small thing. It didn’t even look dangerous. It merely looked like a package wrapped in sackcloth that a careless messenger had dropped.

Ormund had a guard unwrap it. Once the sackcloth fell away, Ormund frowned in confusion. All that lay in the centre was an ordinary shovel with its head broken off. Then, he saw the note wrapped around the handle. The guard noticed it too. He pulled it free and Ormund almost cried out in horror when the guard chose to read it aloud.

“Greetings from Duskendale. We used this to bury your dead. There are just so many that we keep breaking our tools.”

Ormund made a mental note to have the man demoted to privy scrubbing duty for that. For now, he kept his stoic expression even as terrified whispers swept through the men.
At last, he turned to his other, more sensible guard and said, “Burn that letter. And the shovel.”

A total of eleven attacks struck that night. Moondancer was spotted twice more but another, bigger dragon had also been sighted. By the description of silver scales and her size, Ormund guessed it was Silverwing.

That makes sense. Of course, Rhaena would be working with her sister.

Men were crushed under stones and uprooted trees. Ormund even heard that a guard had been carried off screaming while his friend turned his back for just a moment. True or not, no one ever saw that man again. Nor did anyone find half the cavalry horses that fled in the first attack. Two more shovels were dropped with the same note. Every time, the dragon appeared from the total darkness above and vanished back into the gloom before anyone could so much as pick up a bow. Like ghouls in the night, the men muttered. By the time dawn came, they had a name for them: the Night Ghouls.

Only when the light of day came did an exhausted Ormund find the real damage caused by the dragons. A huge barricade of uprooted trees and broken stone stood in the road next to the camp. The very road Ormund had intended to use to move east. All around the camp in a rough circle, a deep furrow had been carved into the ground. Roughly cut and sharpened wooden stakes stood in the furrow like a defensive line. Only, this line was clearly designed to keep them in for the duration of the day as the men removed it and the commanders tried to think of another route.

Ormund just stood at the edge of the camp, too exhausted and shocked to think. He couldn’t even find it in him to react much when men clearing the trench cried out and screamed that a smaller stake hidden among the others had pierced their feet.

They can’t have done this alone. He slowly realised, Lord Velaryon’s men are abroad and they used the dragons as a distraction. Perhaps, they’re already among us.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Ormund but I have a suggestion to make.”

Ormund looked up and saw a pale-bearded man with sharp eyes standing beside him. How does he keep sneaking up on me?

“Not at all, Ser Unwin. Speak your mind.”

“Since we have lost the ravens, we will likely need someone on foot but not a knight. Someone who can pass among the smallfolk. Rather like Lord Velaryon’s men, you would say.”

Ormund looked Ser Unwin fully in the face.

Surely not…but, could he be one of Lord Velaryon’s men?

But, no, I can’t go flinging accusations around. Not unless I have proof.

“Do you have someone in mind?”

“Indeed. I have a natural half-brother who wishes to prove himself. Our father intends to give him his knighthood if he performs well in battle but, perhaps, he may be better suited to more subtle work. I’m sorry to say he hasn’t inherited many of our features and looks more like a blacksmith’s apprentice. I can arrange for him to ride out to King’s Landing alone and, if he reaches the capital, he should be able to bring us aid in the form of Prince Daeron.”

Ormund considered it.

There’s no denying that we need dragon support.

But, I don’t like the idea of sending a man out alone.

Then again, I can always send other men after him. Perhaps, I'll send out riders a few days apart in case one fails. The message must reach King's Landing, no matter what.

“Very well. Make your brother ready. Ah, what’s his name?”

“Mervyn, my Lord. Mervyn Flowers.”

Chapter Text

DAERON

By the time Daeron had set off for Hornvale from Lord Jason’s camp, he feared he was too late. Lord Jason insisted on keeping him for a welcome feast that evening so he didn’t manage to fly out until the following day.

To his relief, however, he found Lord Jason’s confidence in Lady Brax’s perseverance was well-founded. The gold dragon banners still flew over the battlements. Daeron had been told that Hornvale was the Westerlands’ version of the Eyrie. It sat atop a mountain with smaller sharp jagged peaks and sheer rock faces to deter anyone scaling it. The maesters said the mountain was nowhere near as tall as any of the Mountains of the Moon nor was the pass so treacherous as the High Road but, to Daeron, it still looked impregnable.

Yet, Lord Velaryon’s men didn’t need to invade it. Daeron saw their barricade on the pass leading down to the village. Without the pass, the household would starve, its best feature becoming its weakness. 

Daeron wheeled Tessarion around to see how well the barricade was defended. When he came close, however, he saw only a large stack of old wagons. He landed Tessarion behind them but, still, no one emerged to attack. Daeron frowned. Could they be hiding among the wagons or in the brush around the path? He called out a challenge, “Come and face me, silvercloaks!”

He got no answer from the barricade. He did, however, get an answer from behind him, “Hello, there! Are you Prince Daeron?”

Daeron turned and saw a little knot of guards from House Brax’s garrison coming towards them. The man in the front had a rather plain face but his shining one-horned helmet distinguished him as a captain. His face shone with delight at the sight of Tessarion.

“You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes, my Prince. The minute your dragon appeared on the horizon, the silvercloaks up and fled. Just scrambled down the mountain like rats back to their hole. The castle is ours again. We just need to get that thing out of the way so we can resupply the keep. Ah, perhaps, you would like to do the honours, my Prince?”

Daeron turned back to the barricade. The wagons were old and the rotten wood had been dried out in the sun. It would take the work of a minute to reduce it to ash, “This feels like a trap.” He said to Tessarion, “It can’t be this easy.”

Tessarion gave a low grunt that seemed like agreement.

“Well, in truth, my Prince, we could have seen off these silvercloaks on our own if they’d hit us at any other time,” The guard captain said, “But, there’s a bad coughing sickness going around the castle. Milady is still in bed with it and so’s half the garrison. I’ve only just got over it myself so you’d better not get too close to me. The bad air might still be lingering. Those damned silvercloaks must have heard about it and decided that was a good time to cut us off.”

“Is it anything serious?” Daeron asked, “I could have our maesters sent up to help once I clear this barricade.”

“That’s very kind of you, my Prince, but we’ll manage. If we can just get to the maesters in the town and resupply our food stores, we should be able to get back on our feet. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk anyone catching it and bringing it back to Lord Lannister’s army. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Alright then but we’re only a raven away if you need further help.” Daeron turned back to the barricade, “Soves, Tessarion…alright, that’s high enough. Stand back, men! Dracarys!”

From ten feet in the air, Tessarion bathed the wagons in flames. The men below cheered her on, throwing fists into the air and chanting Tessarion’s name. Once the fire had fizzled out, they went as a merry band down to the town. Daeron circled a few times to make sure they made it and then flew back to report to Lord Jason.

“Well, that’s a good bit of luck. Looks like we can carry straight on to the Red Fork.” Lord Jason said and then, with a laugh, added, “Looks like Lord Velaryon’s men fold like the paper they wear on their faces.”

Daeron politely laughed along with him.

“Perhaps, we ought to send a few men to Hornvale just to make sure the silvercloaks are chased out.” The young Lord Emrick Tarbeck said, “You know how sneaky they are. They could just be hiding, waiting for us to leave before seizing the castle again. Just like the Dornish did in the First War.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Daeron said, “Lord Jason, who would you trust to look in on the town without attracting too much attention? I don’t think it’s a good idea to let Lord Velaryon’s men know that we’re suspicious.”

“Ah, yes, that’s wise.” Lord Jason nodded, “I’ll find some men who can play as dirty as the silvercloaks do but, ah, best if they just send back their findings by raven. Just in case this sickness is in the town.”

Lord Lester Reyne agreed, “That captain’s right. Sickness is the last thing an army on the march needs.”

Daeron, Lord Jason and the commanders only had to wait a day for news. As they sat down to a hearty meal of roast boar coated with juniper berry sauce, the army maester arrived with a message.

“Lord Velaryon’s men have left the town and retreated west to the Red Fork’s headwaters.”

“Might they try to poison the river at its source?” Lord Jason asked, “Seems like the sort of backhanded thing they’d do.”

“They can’t do that without hurting their allies or a good number of smallfolk.” Lord Lester pointed out, “Unless the Riverlands have been stocking up fresh water all this time, which I doubt.”

“Me too.” Daeron added, “This doesn’t feel like something Lord Velaryon would do.”

From all he had seen of Lord Velaryon, he knew the man preferred precision attacks. The siege at Hornvale was a good example of that. Poisoning the river just felt too crude for him.

“The men could be acting of their own accord, though.” Lord Jason pointed out, “If you spread your people out this thin, there’s no way you can keep an eye on them all. Either, we need to deal with them before we move on, that’s for certain. Tell our men to follow them and kill them. I won’t move our army an inch until I see their heads on spikes!”

#

It took two days but their men got results. The men around them acted cheerful but Daeron could sense a edge of tension beneath it. The way the men looked to the trees every few moments betrayed their fears of attack from Lord Velaryon’s men. Daeron, too, kept his sword close at night in case men came to drag him away like they did to Helaena.

As Daeron and Lord Jason were breaking their fast on cold leftover rabbit, Lord Lester called them from their tent, “Here you are, my Lord, silvercloak heads on spikes as promised!”

Sure enough, two guards stood with pikes in their hands, each with a white-masked head on the top.

“Very good, very good!” Lord Jason said with a broad smile, “Why don’t we send them over to Hornvale? They’ll serve an excellent warning to any other silvercloak thinking of taking the castle. I’m sure Lady Brax will love them.”

Daeron tried to smile back but only felt faintly sick. The rotting smell from the heads made his bile rise.

You have to get used to it. This is war. You can’t show any faintness.

So, the camp broke up and they made their merry way south towards the Red Fork. The Westermen, it was decided, would enter the Riverlands as one large army. Once they’d taken a castle (likely, Pinkmaiden) and established a base of operations, they would split up and deal with the black forces all over the Riverlands. 

Daeron felt better as the day went on and Tessarion made lazy circles over the column of Westerlands forces. It felt like a good beginning. Still, he could not shake the feeling that this all felt too easy. After all the trouble Aegon and Aemond had, things ought not to be going so well for him.

“What do you think?” Daeron asked Tessarion, “Are you worried too? Do you think Lord Velaryon might have something bigger planned?”

Tessarion gave a little noncommittal chirp.

“Hmm. Maybe, Aegon and Aemond were just unlucky and Cole was too inexperienced as a leader. Ah, but don’t tell them I said so, will you?”

The day passed without incident. The sun rose and set. By early evening, they had crossed the border into the Riverlands. Daeron kept watch over the army from the skies all day, eating strips of dried meat and fruit and drinking flasks of barley water from his saddle bags to keep himself going. 

The army ran into a little bit of trouble when they came to a steep slope. Some of the supply wagons slipped and went tumbling towards the men. Daeron had to order Tessarion down to pick them off the slope before they squashed scores of men.

Apart from that slip-up, however, Daeron thought all proceeded well. An hour before sunset, he saw the men spreading out at the base of the slope. Not a bad place to make camp, Daeron thought. Lord Jason had picked a spot close to a small patch of woodland.  The green tents picked by Lord Lester looked like wide trees from above. In the dim light, they blended into the landscape rather well.

So, hopefully, any black dragons won’t see us from above and, when the army splits up, we can use those trees as cover. Good.

Daeron looked down and saw Lord Jason waving a green-tinted lantern up at him. Daeron’s heart sank. It was the agreed signal to indicate something was amiss.

“I’ll say there’s something amiss!” Lord Jason burst out as Daeron climbed from the saddle and asked, “We can’t find the bloody Red Fork! It’s like the thing just picked itself up and left!”

“I’ll fly overhead and try to find it.” Daeron suggested, “We still have an hour or two of daylight.”

A few moments later, he ascended high into the deepening blue sky. The scattered yellow and orange clouds might give Tessarion some camouflage. As long as she stayed out of range and kept quiet, the blacks might think her belly scales to be part of a copper-coloured cloud.

Above the clouds, Daeron could see the skies for at least five miles all around him. He certainly saw no movement and no sign of a sleeping dragon anywhere. As the light faded, he flew a little further afield. He spotted what looked like a camp to the north. He saw small smoke tendrils that could either be cooking fires or the breath of a dragon.

Do not take any unnecessary risks. Alicent had ordered him, Do not start a fight with the black dragons if you can help it.

He flew away and continued his search for the Red Fork. To the south, he found more small smoke tendrils.

Could it just be scouting parties? The blacks aren’t numerous enough to risk splitting their forces that many times.

Unless, they knew we were coming this way and they’re planning an ambush.

He spotted a split in the trees near their camp - but could see no river.

“Maybe, if we can find Pinkmaiden, we can get our bearings. What do you think, Tessarion?…Yes, I think so too.”

He turned her so the sun shone at their backs. They didn’t have to fly east for very long before he spotted the many turrets of Pinkmaiden Castle.

“That didn’t take long - oh, what’s that?”

Below, Daeron at last spotted it. Shining in the dying light of day was the Red Fork flowing towards Pinkmaiden. Or, rather, it was not flowing. Daeron took a risk and landed Tessarion in an empty field nearby. He hurried to the river and found what looked like a huge thick dam separating the water at the east and the bone-dry riverbend to the west.

“What in the name of - why did they make a dam here? And, where’s the rest of the river?”

He crept along the dry riverbed. When he turned a bend, he got his answer.

“My word! Tessarion, look at this!”

He hurried up the riverbed, dodging around waterweeds, and stood under a large green oilcloth stretched across the river like a tent. He scrambled back up to the riverside and inspected it from above. Atop the riverbed had been piled ferns, tree branches and even grass dug out of the earth. All had been cleverly arranged to look so lifelike. Even the pegs holding the oilcloth in place had been disguised as bushes or under grass. From above and even from ten foot away, it would just look like part of the field.

Daeron had to laugh. So did Lord Jason when Daeron flew back and pulled up the oilcloth by their camp.

“They hid the Red Fork?! Whatever next? Are they going to cover up their castles and make them look like hills?”

“What were they trying to do, get our soldiers lost and dying of thirst?” Lord Emrick asked, laughing along with them.

“I think so.” Daeron said, “There are camps on either side. If we strayed too far, we would have run right into them.”

“Well, best thing to do is go straight through them then.”

“Are you sure about that, Lord Emrick?” Lord Jason asked, “We can split our armies up, dispatch all of them under cover of darkness and have them all back by morning.”

“My Lord, forgive me but it’s folly to send men to swing their swords about in unfamiliar lands after nightfall. They’d more likely strike trees or our own men than black soldiers.” Lord Lester pointed out, “They weren’t too numerous as far as you could see, Prince Daeron? No, well, if they’re just scouting parties, they’re probably just waiting to see which way we intend to advance. And, we should definitely wait for our own scouts to return before making any decisions.”

“Oh!” Lord Jason gasped, “I’ve just had an idea. Why don’t we use the silvercloaks’ disguise against them? Is the riverbed deep enough for a man to walk under? Well, why don’t we sneak our men under the oilcloth? We can get all the way to Pinkmaiden without a single black soldier knowing!”

“Brilliant!” Lord Emrick grinned, “We still have an hour or so of light. We can make a good start if we pack everything up quick. Leave a man behind to let the scouts know where we've gone.”

“Then, let’s going then. Prince Daeron, perhaps you can fly in another direction until night falls to make it look like we’re going another way. And, of course, let us know if you see a black dragon bearing down on us. I shall feel all the safer, knowing we’ve got keen eyes in the sky too.”

“I thank you, Lord Jason. Though, I don’t think you’ll reach Pinkhaven before we lose the light. I may have good eyes but even I can’t see in the dark. There’s a good field about a league downriver that’s surrounded by trees where we can make camp. That should do the trick.”

So, Daeron mounted Tessarion again. The green tents were packed away. The men strapped on armour. Weapons were handed out to everyone. Lord Jason commanded his troops in a lowered voice to make for the dried riverbed. Several oilcloth panels were pulled away to form an entrance and the men stepped inside the riverbed-turned-tunnel.

Daeron flew on ahead. He made a similar gap in the oilcloth outside the field he picked for the camp and then took flight on Tessarion again. All looked well. Westermen flowed into the riverbed. Lord Jason flashed the all-clear yellow lantern at him from the entrance. Daeron turned Tessarion to the south. He intended to act as if the army were moving toward Stoney Sept.

Then, a roar split the air. Daeron pulled Tessarion’s reins up without thinking. Behind them, he spotted two shapes rising into the air atop the high ridge above, one much larger than the other.

Then, a plume of flame spurted forth from one of the dragons. Daeron pulled back on the reins - before he realised the jet of flame had been pointed down towards the ground.

Daeron pulled Tessarion up into the gathering clouds. Tessarion cleared the top of the ridge and swooped above them, silent as a bat.

Daeron dared to fly a little lower. He saw a small but significant host of men at the top of the ridge. What caught his eye, however, was the dragons. 

In the fading light, he could just make out their colours. The smaller one was green with orange horn ridges and with a black-clad rider.

Vermax.

From above, Daeron heard Jacaerys laughing. So was the rider of the larger golden dragon.

Rhaenyra.

A command to dive upon Syrax hovered on the tip of Daeron’s tongue. Then, he remembered his mother promising him not to fight any of the black dragons. Indeed, it would be a suicide attack anyway. He might be able to take on Vermax but not Syrax.

Daeron looked around, considering a dive on the men. If he angled Tessarion right, he might be able to knock a good number of them off the ridge. Then, he saw the river. The dragons had burned away the oilcloths and revealed a swollen basin at the top of the ridge.

A basin held back by another dam. 

What are they…wait…oh no, what a fool I am! The Pinkmaiden dam was downriver. This dam is upriver.

Then, before Daeron turn Tessarion back, he saw Syrax dip low and lash her tail into the ground. With one devastating blow, the dam broke.

Daeron could only watch as a giant wall of grey water crashed down the slope. The power of it swept the oilcloth covers away and it barreled down towards the Westerlands army with the force of a thousand Dothraki screamers.