Robert
So begins the end, Robert thought wistfully, watching from the window as his plans simultaneously went into motion.
He watched as Aemond politely bid farewell to Abby Tully, kissing her hand like the gallant prince he was. Robert silently praised himself for helping to orchestrate the match. In the original timeline, Aemond had become entangled with Alys Rivers, a woman at least twice his age. No shame in that (Robert had bedded a great number of women older than himself during his youth), but the stories hinted there might be something off about their relationship. Perhaps witchcraft. Perhaps his madness drove him down his dark path that made him crave a maternal figure. Either way, it was bizarre.
But now he is set to marry a beautiful woman who is both his own age and of noble birth, Robert thought, nodding in satisfaction. It shall be an excellent match.
Fully armored, Aemond knelt before his King and Queen and uttered something that Robert couldn't hear, then rose to his feet again when Aegon gave the order. Even from the window, Robert could see the look of fierce determination on his face, the exposed scar and sapphire eye adding an extra touch of ferocity.
Go off and collect your pound of flesh, Robert silently encouraged. But this time, you'll do it strategically. As a prince, not as the Terror of the Trident.
Aemond would be heading north to guard Cregan Stark's army, but he would be taking a detour on his way there, which is why when he climbed into Vhagar's saddle, two dozen Hightower soldiers climbed up behind him, attaching themselves safely to her rope netting.
After Aemond bid his farewell, it was Daeron's turn. Clad in his armor once again, he and Ormund Hightower knelt before Aegon and Helaena as well, uttering what had to be promises not to fail their King. Aegon gave them permission to rise, and they turned from him, with Daeron making his way to Tessarion and Ormund making his way to where half of the Hightower army was assembled and ready to march.
I'm glad he lived, Robert thought as he watched Ormund leave. In the original timeline, Ormund was a capable leader, and if not for his untimely death, Prince Daeron's host might have arrived at King's Landing in time to overthrow Rhaenyra, which would have left the Greens with three adult dragons to guard the city until Aegon returned from Dragonstone, ultimately winning them the war.
But Ormund had died, and the duty of leadership had fallen to that blundering fool, Hobert. Thankfully, Robert had ensured that Hobert would not be fucking anything up this time around. He had requested that Hobert be left at home, pacifying him with a letter:
Oldtown's safety is of the utmost importance to us, Lord Hobert, Robert had written, rolling his eyes. And so our King understands completely why you must remain behind to defend it now that Ormund and so many Hightower soldiers are coming to our aid.
Hobert would have an easy time defending it; Robert couldn't fathom a situation where the Blacks would attack it. Hobert would spend the war sitting on his worthless ass, out of everyone's way.
Or maybe he won't be worthless, Robert mused. Maybe that whole mess with the Tarly girl can be avoided now, what with Ormund alive and Hobert in Oldtown.
But as important as Aemond and Daeron were, Aethan may be the most important of the three dragon riders taking to the skies today.
His armor was ready, and it had been worth the cost. Unremarkable and black as pitch, it perfectly matched The Cannibal's scales, rendering Aethan almost invisible on his back. Up close, though, one could see the small Targaryen dragon sigil on his chest, outlined in solid gold. Aegon had even given the armorer three emeralds to use for the dragon's eyes. The gold and emeralds marked Aethan as one of the Greens for the world to see.
Hopefully, he will draw strength from it, Robert thought. We're effectively sending him to fight an army by himself.
As Robert watched Aethan kneel before Aegon, a clacking sound echoed through the hall behind him, and he turned in time to see Larys Strong striding towards him, cane in hand.
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Larys said as he came to join Robert in the widow, gesturing towards Aethan with his chin. "From the gutter to the skies."
"Indeed," Robert agreed, watching as Aethan turned and made his way towards The Cannibal. "A stroke of luck on our part."
"Luck indeed," Larys mused, watching in silence for a few seconds longer. "We have him to thank for the Velaryon fortune that rests in the King's vaults…and for the White Worm's head that decorates a spike outside the Keep."
"Don't be modest, Lord Strong. It was your careful planning that got us her head," Robert reminded him. "And it was your network that helped us identify the brothel that would best lead to the chain reaction of getting Aethan in a room with the White Worm."
And now Daemon thinks we're going after him at Harrenhal…which hopefully, should keep him there while we get the pieces into place.
"Aye," Larys agreed. "But the plan depended on Aethan himself. Mysaria would not trust that any other in the King's inner circle might be willing to betray him."
"Hmm," Robert grunted. "Well, it was a team effort."
Larys smiled, though it didn't reach his beady eyes. "Yes, a team effort," he agreed. "Aethan even shared the glory when he returned to the Keep with her head in a sack, giving me credit for my network."
You collected a sizable purse as well, Robert thought. Aegon split the bounty between you and Aethan, not that you needed it.
Of course, Aethan hadn't complained. After spending his life with so little, the new wealth he was being given was still overwhelming to him. Even if Aegon never gave him another penny, he was a wealthy man now.
"Though I do find it a bit curious…" Larys said innocently. Far too innocently. Robert recognized that tone immediately. It was the same faux-innocence Cersei always used when she was trying to veil a threat or vicious insult.
And it set Robert's teeth on edge.
"It's so uncanny that Aethan was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time," Larys said. "For the safety of the King, I had my network investigate his past, and I received some conflicting reports. Some witnesses seem to believe Aethan was here in King's Landing even after the Velaryon blockade was enacted, whereas in his version of events, he arrived there before."
Fucking hell, Robert silently cursed. He would need to word this carefully. Larys was Aegon's Master of Whisperers, and according to the stories, he was damned good at it. At least as good as Robert's own Master of Whisperers had been.
"Guess that's why your reports are conflicting," Robert agreed. "How could he have gotten to Driftmark afterwards? No ships were able to sail in or out of Blackwater Bay."
Larys nodded slowly. "How indeed?"
"Surely you are not suggesting the boy is secretly a Black?" Robert said dryly. "The Hightowers were there with him when he burned Driftmark and stole the Velaryon fortune. He burned a third of their fleet, which was Rhaenyra's greatest war asset aside from the dragons. No Black spy would ever take it that far."
Larys laughed, a sound every bit as fake as his innocence. "Of course not, Lord Borros. Aethan's loyalty is beyond question. I merely find it curious."
Go be fucking curious somewhere else.
"Could you imagine if the stray reports were correct?" Larys said incredulously. "That would mean that Aethan arrived on Driftmark weeks or even days before the Princess Rhaenyra started recruiting dragon seeds. Exactly the right place at exactly the right time."
He looked at Robert innocently. "Almost as if someone knew the Sowing was going to happen and arranged for him to be there."
Robert balled his fist. If I were to throw him out of this window, I could easily convince everyone that he had an unfortunate trip and fell before I could save him.
Instead, Robert narrowed his eyes in faux confusion. "How in the Seven Hells could anyone predict Princess Rhaenyra would be stupid enough to give dragons to smallfolk?" he asked incredulously.
He had him. The tiniest crack appeared in Larys's polished façade. Just long enough for Robert to catch a flicker of doubt and confusion.
But this could be bad. If Larys had started uncovering loose threads, he might just start to tug at them.
And what's he going to discover? He couldn't possibly know the truth, and even if he did, who could he possibly tell without being branded as a madman?
Nonetheless, Robert would need to keep a watch on him. He still had no idea whether or not Larys was truly loyal to Aegon, and if he was asking inconvenient questions, the reward of keeping him around might not outweigh the risks.
Killing him might be safest for everyone…But if Robert went around lopping the head off every snake in King's Landing, soon Aegon would have no one to rule.
"Curiosities aside, Lord Strong," Robert said, "the important thing is that we win the war to ensure our King's long and prosperous reign. And so far, Aethan has given us no reason to mistrust him."
"Hmm," Larys agreed. "I suppose you're right on that, Lord Borros. We shall have to keep a watch on him to ensure that continues."
And I shall have to keep a watch on you.
But for now, he watched as three dragons took off into the air. From the window, he could see Aegon's face. Cool and impassive; a King amongst his subjects. But he suspected Aegon's true heart mirrored Helaena's. The Queen was dressed regally in an elegant gown of powder blue trimmed with white. She wore her consort's circlet as well, something she seldom did. But her regality could not hide the worry in her eyes. Two of her beloved brothers were flying off to war. A war where they would likely encounter other dragons.
A war where many will die, Robert thought grimly. But he had given the Greens a strong chance at victory, all the while being reasonably sure that he had not prevented any of his loved ones from being born.
I will still ensure Cregan meets Black Aly. And while I cannot be certain, I do not believe I prevented Jon Arryn, from being born, either. I do not believe Lady Jeyne would risk the life of his forebearer by sending him to Maidenpool. She was fond of him.
Perhaps he had affected the Lannister line. Aegon had no need for the Lannister fleet, and with the Riverlanders support, the Lannisters were able to leave some of their army behind in Lannisport to keep it safe. It was unlikely that Dalton Greyjoy would attack, as he had in the original timeline. So perhaps, perhaps, he had the unplanned bonus of altering the Lannister lineage enough to prevent Cersei's birth.
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? Robert snorted. Knowing Cersei, she'd find a way to be born just to spite me.
Rhaenyra
Your tears will dry in time, Rhaena, Rhaenyra thought as she watched her stepdaughter fall to her knees, arms wrapped around her chest as she sobbed inconsolably, even as her handmaidens flocked to her side.
"Baela…" she sobbed mournfully, tears streaming down her face.
Rhaenyra did her duty as a stepmother and a Queen. She went to Rhaena's side, rubbed her back, and offered her kind words as consolation, swearing that Baela would be avenged, though the words gave Rhaena little comfort.
And Rhaenyra could not bring herself to care.
Have I grown into such a monster? she wondered, some small echo of the girl she once was crying out in outrage. But whether or not it made her a monster, it was the truth.
My unborn daughter is dead, killed while she still slumbered in my womb because of what the Greens did to me. Lucerys is dead, his last moments fraught with terror. Joffrey was murdered, a ten-year-old boy who fell from the sky when all he wanted was to bravely fight to defend his mother. And now my sweet little Aegon, scarcely more than a babe, is in my brother's clutches. Gods only know what they are doing to him…if he still lives.
There was not even the slightest scrap of room in her heart to feel empathy for Rhaena's pain. And so she left her to be comforted by her handmaidens while she followed her cousin, Jeyne Arryn, into her study to meet with her privately.
"I did not expect you to honor your pledge to protect the Eyrie with dragon support to quite this extent, cousin," Jeyne remarked as she looked out the window to where Syrax and Vermithor flew.
Syrax did not like the Bronze Fury, and she refused to fly in tandem with him while he circled the mountains. Instead, she was attempting to hunt a small flock of mountain goats, but to Rhaenyra's aggravation, her dragon was struggling and had only managed to catch one so far.
I've overfed her, she lamented as she scowled. Syrax never hunted, and she had grown more than a bit lazy. Even flying here to the Vale, her beautiful dragon was much more sluggish than she had been twenty years ago.
She's not even forty years old yet. She's still a young dragon. If she is growing sluggish already, it is because I have allowed her to become soft.
No more. Syrax was the dragon of the Queen. She would be fierce, fearless, and svelte. She would hunt for her own meals. She would be formidable in the sky.
And perhaps any future enemies will rightfully tremble, rather than attacking the few loved ones that remain to me.
"How troubling to have a spy on Dragonstone in the middle of a war," Jeyne said, shivering. "You should have come here weeks ago, cousin. I've had my share of struggles holding power over the Vale, but not to the extent that my secrets would be sold to my enemies. You are welcome to remain here until Prince Daemon has made Harrenhal safe to use as your base of operations."
Rhaenyra smiled at her regally. A forced expression that she hoped was not readily apparent. "It warms my heart that there are so many in the Seven Kingdoms still loyal to me," she said. "With the Knights of the Vale at our side, we will secure our hold over the Riverlands and force the Tullys to bend the knee. Then, once the North finally remembers their honor and joins us, we shall band together and reclaim the throne that my brother has stolen from me.
Jeyne reached over to give Rhaenyra's hand a supportive squeeze. "It will be a battle for much of your life," she warned. "Forcing the men around you to accept a woman's rule. But it can be done. Once they fear you."
The Greens are not going to fear me; they are going to die. Root and stem. And hopefully, once their heads were mounted on spikes outside the Red Keep, it would deter any would be rebels from rising up against her in the future.
Yet another reason Aegon's children need to die.
Despite Daemon's wishes, she was not going to allow them to be tortured. The elder Greens would feel the pains of the Seven Hells, but not the children. It was unnecessary. Making examples of them would be sufficient without gratuitous pain. No one would ever dare attack her and her family again if they knew their children would pay the price of their treason.
Though, of course, that was only the official explanation that she was going to give to justify the act.
"That's what it all comes down to," Rhaenyra mused softly as she watched Syrax fly. "That I'm a woman. They believe my lack of a cock somehow renders me incapable of ruling. Were I a man, I never would have been usurped."
Jeyne nodded. "An absurd system," she agreed. "I never understood it. What difference does a cock make? And yet somehow, men think that having one entitles them to rule."
She snorted. "My brother is entitled to nothing. He is worth no more than any other second son in Westeros. He was born solely to be my spare in case some ill fate befell me. Yet despite being entitled to nothing, he would have lived a life of wealth and comfort…with a dragon. All of them have dragons and wealth and luxury. But it was not enough. Because I am a woman and he is a man, he chose to help himself to what is rightfully mine."
And the happiness that is rightfully mine as well, she thought as she glowered. Married with three beautiful, healthy children. He has never known a day of grief or pain in his life, despite the mountain he has bestowed upon me.
But he would. When his own children were beheaded whilst he was forced to watch. When his stolen throne was ripped away from him. When his allies were burned. When he had nothing left but pain and misery, then he would at last understand the agony he had inflicted upon her.
All to sate his greed and his envy.
"A few men tried to do the same to me, claiming I was too soft to rule," Jeyne mused with an evil smile. "I wonder if they have retracted their views. I have not been to the sky cells for quite some time."
The thought of Aegon shivering and terrified in a sky cell pleased her…until a shout from a lookout snapped her out of her fantasy.
"ENEMY DRAGON!"
Aemond
The Bronze Fury, Aemond thought, gritting his teeth as Vermithor came into view, roaring at Vhagar. He was not supposed to be here. There's nothing here for him to guard…
And then he saw it: a yellow dragon fleeing from the mountains, heading for the safety of the Eyrie.
Syrax. Rhaenyra was here, at the Eyrie. She must have fled Dragonstone, knowing that her fat, lazy dragon was not enough to guard the island.
I can end the war, he thought, jaw set in determination as he gripped Vhagar's reins. Here and now, I can end the war. I can set the castle afire. I can kill Rhaenyra and save my family. Whatever support the Blacks have at Harrenhal, they will not fight for the sake of putting Jace on the Iron Throne.
And all that stood in his way was Vermithor.
Silently, he cursed that he had brought Hightower soldiers with him. He knew Borros was right to insist that he bring them. There was no point in claiming the Eyrie if he left no one behind to hold it. But now they were excess weight, and Vhagar was already likely to be slower than Vermithor.
But there's nothing that can be done about it. I don't have time to deposit them somewhere, and if I do, Vermithor will only burn them. We fight as we are.
And so with a fearsome war cry, Aemond bellowed at the top of his lungs "Angōs!"
She is the veteran of a hundred battles, Aemond thought as Vhagar roared, her fury blazing in Aemond's own chest as she targeted their enemy. Vermithor is the veteran of but one. I have to guide her and trust in her experience.
Rhaenyra
Impossible, Rhaenyra stared at the sky, wide-eyed, as Vhagar grew larger and larger over the horizon. How…
She had come here to be safe from the spy. How could the Greens have known she was here so soon after her arrival?
Hugh Hammer? No…the spy began his work before the seeds were sown.
It can't be Lady Jeyne. She has sent the knights of the Vale to fight for me. Or were they fighting for her? Were the knights on their way to ambush Daemon? No…no, she would have killed me by now, or taken me hostage.
The Velaryons…It had to be the Velaryons. It was Rhaenys who had sent Vermithor here to guard the Eyrie…
A theory that crumbled beneath her feet when Vhagar reached Vermithor, evading his flames and lashing out with her talons to slash a tear into one of his wings.
Rhaenyra watched, transfixed in awe as the two great beasts roared and breathed their fire. Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world. Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, smaller than Vhagar but still a monstrous behemoth. It was as if the gods themselves had waged war upon one another.
And Vhagar was winning.
Vermithor earned his moniker, fierce and fearless in his assaults, even landing a bite to Vhagar's tail that drew blood before he was forced to release her, lest his rider be burned. But Vhagar…she was something else entirely. A master of her colossal size, Vhagar's movements were clipped and efficient, not expelling a single drop of energy on unnecessary flairs or embellishment. Defense and offense in perfect harmony. Whereas Vermithor…
Why is he leaving his flank unguarded? Rhaenyra stared in horror as another long, bloody slash appeared amongst Vermithor's bronze scales. Why didn't he dodge? He…Oh no…
Separating Vermithor and Silverwing had been a mistake. A potentially lethal mistake. Vermithor had not guarded his own flank because he was accustomed to having Silverwing there to guard it for him, serving as his defense while he served as her offense. An unbeatable team…that was damn near useless when the team was splintered.
Vermithor cannot win without her… When Vhagar snapped at him yet again, her aim was true, catching the edge of his wing and snapping it off in her jaws. Only the tip, not enough to send him plummeting for the mountains below, but enough to cause him to jerk in the air, his flight pattern slow and off-kilter as he struggled to stay airborne.
He's going to die… And Hugh Hammer knew it.
"YIELD!" the common tongue command echoed through the sky as he desperately guided his dragon away from Vhagar. "Obūljarion!"
The High Valyrian word was badly butchered, but Rhaenyra recognized it still. Surrender.
Coward, she cursed him. Coward. Coward. You fucking coward! This was the cost of the dragon. To fight and die for your Queen!
Hugh Hammer guided Vermithor away from the Eyrie into the mountains, and Aemond followed after him. To kill him or accept his surrender, Rhaenyra didn't know. It didn't matter.
Lady Jeyne turned to Rhaenyra, eyes wide with panic.
"Mount Syrax, my Queen, and flee," she commanded, gesturing to where Syrax landed in the courtyard, fearfully looking up to where Vermithor and Vhagar fled. "He will return."
She swallowed, nodding. "Viserys…"
Lady Jeyne shook her head, grabbing Rhaenyra by the elbow and guiding her to Syrax. "He is in the nursery on the other side of the castle. Even my swiftest guard would never make it there and back in time."
Rhaenyra planted her feet, yanking her arm out of Jeyne's grip. "I will not abandon my son!" she cried. "I will leave with him or not at all!"
"Then you will both die, my Queen!" Jeyne snarled, grabbed Rhaenyra again and forcing her forward with a strength she did not imagine her cousin possessed. "If he catches you here, he will have no cause to spare either one of you. He shall kill you and your son both. If you dally, he shall catch you in the sky and kill you both."
A stab of pain pierced Rhaenyra's heart. They do not hesitate to send children falling from the sky…
"But if you flee, now, you may be able to escape him," Jeyne insisted. "Syrax is smaller; she may be swift enough to get you to safety before he returns."
"My son…"
"We will defend him until the last man falls," Jeyne swore. "If we fail, your brother will more like than not take him as a hostage. If you are alive, he has motivation to spare his life as well."
Even as Jeyne's words rang true in her ears, Rhaenyra shook her head, tears flowing down her cheeks. "My son…" she cried weakly.
"The best way to save his life is to save your own," Jeyne said grimly. "To live to fight another day. To live to avenge the sons who have already been taken from you."
Not caring that it was unqueenly, Rhaenyra burst into sobs and made one last effort to rip herself from Jeyne's grip and tear through the castle, screaming madly for her son, but Jeyne did not release her, dragging her outside to where Syrax awaited her.
"Go!" Jeyne cried. "Go! Flee! Now! He's coming back!"
And so he was. Vhagar's massive silhouette appeared once again over the mountaintops, roaring victoriously. Fierce and reasonably uninjured.
My son…
But Jeyne was right. Rhaenyra could not retrieve him. If she lingered, Aemond would burn the entire castle to roast her and her son alive within its walls. But if she fled, if she survived, Aemond would have motivation to spare Viserys's life.
And so she climbed onto Syrax's back, screaming like a wounded animal as her dragon took to the sky, flying as fast as she could fly away from the approaching war dragon. For a brief, fanciful moment, Rhaenyra entertained the thought of turning to fight.
Syrax is younger, smaller, and faster…Or was she? Even now, afraid for her life, she felt her dragon's sluggish movements beneath her.
Is this the cost of my complacency? I overfed her and prioritized her comfort and luxury over allowing her to be a dragon. And now she cannot fight. I am not certain if she can even escape.
But she did. Sluggish though she may be, Syrax was still fast enough to evade the war dragon who was more than three times her size and weight. Aemond didn't even try to follow, allowing Rhaenyra to escape while he circled back around to the Eyrie, where Viserys innocently played in the castle nursery.
I will save him, Rhaenyra vowed as she cried. I will win this war. I will save him. And I will have Aemond tortured to death for daring to take him hostage.
But for now, she needed to seek refuge. Where she would seek refuge, she had no clue. She could not return to Dragonstone. Even without the spy, they would know to look for her there. She could not go to Driftmark. It still smoldered from the Cannibal's flame. Harrenhal was surrounded by enemies. She had no allies to the North, to the West, or in the South.
I must journey to Harrenhal, she thought. Lunacy, for a Queen to take refuge in a castle that was about to be attacked, but she had no choice. I have nowhere else to go and nothing but the clothes on my back. Everything else needed to be left behind.
Everything else had been stolen by the Greens.
Aemond
I believe she remembers this, Aemond thought, internally smiling, even while he wore an expression of ferocity. But he could not resist giving Vhagar's neck a loving pat as she roared victoriously in the Eyrie's courtyard. Just like she once had with Queen Visenya.
Of course, Visenya had taken the castle bloodlessly. Aemond was not so fortunate.
Vhagar had no choice but to burn the archers, the scorpions, and the men-at-arms that waited in the courtyard. Lady Jeyne Arryn simply did not have enough men to guard the Eyrie from a dragon, and so she had no choice but to raise the white flag after the scorpions burned and her men-at-arms were dead, lest everyone in the castle be burned alive. Only then did Aemond land Vhagar in the courtyard and allow the Hightower soldiers to dismount, quickly setting to work apprehending the nobles and guards, killing any who resisted.
Dismounting himself, Aemond rested his hand on his sword and strode forward to where Lady Jeyne waited, her hands and feet bound in shackles.
"Vermithor is not returning to save you," he said icily, his sapphire eye unnerving those around him, who could not bear to look at his face. "He is licking his wounds in the mountains. The dragon seed, Hugh Hammer, bent the knee in exchange for his own life, and he has sworn to fight for Aegon in exchange for wealth and his own keep."
An easy sell. He knows Rhaenyra is losing. And fortunately, we are flush with gold with which to pay him, and there are several abandoned keeps along Crackclaw Point that we can give to him at no cost. He's not like to live long anyway. A strong man, indeed, but he reeked of strongwine. He will drink himself into an early grave. Aemond didn't like it, but war required concessions, and Vermithor was a valuable asset.
"Silverwing is not coming to save you. Caraxes and Vermax cannot be spared to come and save you. Your Queen," he said, smirking, "is a coward, and has abandoned you to save her own life."
"Our Queen," Lady Jeyne said haughtily, her head held high, "lives to fight another day. She lives to reclaim the realm from the usurper."
Usurper my ass, Aemond narrowed his eye.
"King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne from the day he was born," Aemond said, not only to Lady Jeyne, but to all in the Vale who would hear. It seemed many lords had congregated in the Eyrie to serve as advisors during the war. "He has done nothing but try to make peace with our sister, despite her declaration of war against him. An offer of peace that still stands to this day."
Aemond let his eye scan across the Lords in attendance, wearing their own shackles. He recognized their sigils: Corbray, Templeton, Waynwood…and House Royce of Runestone.
"It puzzles me to see you here, Lord Royce," Aemond said, striding forward to meet him face to face.
He squared his shoulders defiantly. "House Royce has long kept the faith with House Arryn," he said proudly. "And we remember."
His house words.
"Indeed," Aemond said. "And do you also remember, Lord Royce, that it was my Uncle Daemon who murdered Lady Rhea?"
Royce's jaw twitched, but he said nothing.
"After he disgraced her for years, of course," Aemond continued. "Openly bedding whores and any other woman who would have him. Hurling vile insults at her. She, who committed no sin against him. Is that the man you wish to kneel to as my sister's Prince Consort?"
Lady Jeyne snorted, stepping forward. "I know what you attempt, my prince," she sneered. "And you will find no traitors in this castle. Only loyal vassals to Queen Rhaenyra."
She is no queen, he thought, gritting his teeth and hoping it would not show. She has done nothing to prove herself worthy of the Iron Throne. Aegon has already fought to defend his people. She fled to save herself.
"Hmm," Aemond said instead. "Well, that is most unfortunate."
Turning from her, Aemond addressed the Lords again, pacing slowly back and forth so that they all might see him.
"In his benevolence, and in the interest of peace, my brother, the King, is offering a blanket pardon to any Lord who bends the knee, renounces the false queen, and swears to send no further knights or soldiers to her aid. You will keep your lands and your titles. You will not bear the name 'traitor', and you will face no punishment for falling victim to my sister's lies."
Pausing for effect, Aemond looked at every one of their faces.
"Or you may refuse and die a leal lord in Rhaenyra's service," he finished softly.
Knowing full well what his answer would be, Aemond made a point to start with Lady Jeyne. Sure enough, she spat at his feet, lifted her chin defiantly, and declared, "Long live the Queen."
Aemond nodded slowly, for this is what he expected. "So be it," he agreed. "My brother has not yet decreed what is to become of the Eyrie. Should he choose to allow House Arryn to retain it, who do you name as your successor?"
Finally, he caught the first flicker of fear in her eyes. She quickly smothered it, but her voice nonetheless cracked when she declared, "My cousin, Ser Joffrey Arryn."
"Ser Joffrey Arryn," Aemond agreed. "Mayhaps he will have more sense."
He considered taking her head himself…but he stopped.
No brave man will fear death by decapitation, he reasoned. And I need them to fear me. To fear my House.
And so he seized Lady Jeyne round the middle, threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and then carried her across the courtyard, dropping her at Vhagar's feet. Her flame attack would engulf the entire courtyard, which mercifully, Vhagar understood, keeping her fires inside her chest and lunging at Jeyne with her fangs instead. It was a quick and painless death, over before the Lady of the Vale could so much as cry out. Quick and painless…but horrifying, nonetheless. And within seconds, the Lords of the Vale began to scream.
Bravery and dignity forgotten, many fell to their knees, screaming, crying, begging to not fill Vhagar's belly along with Lady Jeyne. Aemond suspected Lord Redfort even pissed himself, though to his credit, he did protectively shield the eyes of his daughter, who had been Lady Jeyne's friend. Lord Royce did not scream or cry or beg, but when he met Aemond's gaze, his decision was clear.
He is not going to die such a frightful death for the sake of the woman who married Lady Rhea's killer.
Sure enough, Lord Royce bent the knee as well, declaring softly, "Long live the King."
Only one man refused to kneel, but he was the last man Aemond needed to kill before his conquest of the Eyrie was complete. Every living soul remaining within the Eyrie's walls declared him their Prince and Aegon their King.
Well, not quite everyone.
"My Prince," Royce declared. "It is my duty to inform you that Lady Rhaena Targaryen is currently a guest in this castle." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "As is the young prince, Viserys Targaryen. It is your right, of course, to take them both as hostages…"
Aethan
Well, this isn't quite what I expected, Aethan thought, shifting to get more comfortable while he waited, keeping a firm grip on The Cannibal's rope netting.
Silverwing and the Vale army had been easy to find. The Cannibal knew they were hunting, and he understood that the prey they sought was far more dangerous than the smaller dragons he usually preyed upon. Silverwing near surpassed Dreamfyre in size, and she would not fall easily should it come to a fight. Aethan would need to trust The Cannibal's instincts to hunt her.
Even if it meant he didn't fully understand what in the Seven Hells his dragon was doing.
But to The Cannibal, the solution was obvious. Hunting skills he'd learned as a hatchling. Hunting skills Silverwing had never mastered, fed her every meal by Keepers.
Stay downwind always. By doing this, The Cannibal had easily picked up the scent of dragon, metal, and thousands of humans reeking of sweat and body odor. And yet from her upwind position, Silverwing would not be able to smell him.
Stay out of sight. Easier done at night, when the cloak of blackness masked his scales from view. But today, he had no choice but to hunt during the day. Nonetheless, staying out of view was paramount. And so he got close enough to smell her, but not close enough to see her. Not yet.
Find out where they are going. A tricky step that usually required trial and error guesswork, but not today. Today, his rider could predict Silverwing's path, for he knew her ultimate destination, and the humans she guarded needed to walk along a road that stretched beneath them.
Get ahead of them. Get into position. Wait. Easily done, for the terrain was rocky, and The Cannibal's pitch-black body blended in seamlessly with the large formations. All too easy to find a spot to lie in wait for Silverwing to pass overhead and the humans to come into range.
It would be a long wait, yes. But patience was even more vital to the hunt then strength and ferocity. Especially when hunting such lethal prey. No meat was sweeter than dragonflesh, and The Cannibal had killed more hatchlings and smaller dragons than he could count, even fighting nesting mothers for their eggs. But Silverwing was no small dragon, and hunting her offered the threat of injury or death. A choice he would not have made if left to his own devices.
But he was glad his rider had emboldened him. The idea of sinking his fangs into her neck pleased him, fantasizing of plucking her from the sky like a ripe grape from the vine. For to be the greatest of predators, he must kill the most lethal of prey.
Even now, The Cannibal could sense the fury that lurked just beneath the surface of his rider's heart. The humans they hunted had angered Aethan somehow, and for that, they needed to die. Screaming.
And The Cannibal would take pleasure in watching them burn.
But for now, they waited, Aethan absentmindedly plucking a few dead scales from The Cannibal's back, alleviating an itch he could not normally satisfy on his own.
Aethan sensed he was supposed to stay quiet while they waited. Not wanting to distract The Cannibal, he forced himself not to speak, even to pass the time. Instead, he let his mind wander, gazing out over the miles of trees and fields that separated them from Harrenhal.
It is not a far flight, he mused. Aegon had given him his orders, and he knew he must not approach Harrenhal on his own, but…who could stop him? Who could stop him from flying to the ruined castle? The Cannibal was more powerful than Caraxes. Aethan could kill him today. Within hours, he could watch the Blood Wyrm fall from the sky with a screaming Daemon on his back. Within hours, Aethan could avenge his mother. Avenge years of suffering.
But at what cost?
The thought gave him pause. Aethan knew nothing of the law or the concept of a 'rightful' heir. Law or no law, he believed that Aegon would make for the better King. Even if he ignored his hatred of Rhaenyra's hypocrisy for trying to put bastards in the line of succession, he believed Aegon would be the better King.
Just the other day, after the war planning session was over, the Council meeting became more mundane, and Aegon began listing ideas of what could be done with the Velaryon gold. Each idea would benefit the people of King's Landing and beyond. Many of those ideas were clearly put into his head by his mother. Whereas Rhaenyra was trained by her father, a poor leader who allowed Fleabottom to descend into squalor in the first place.
Aegon should have a chance at a proper reign.
Aethan was snapped out of his musings by the Cannibal stirring ever so slightly beneath him, muscles coiled and ready to strike. Seconds later came the thundering of metal footsteps. And the roar of a dragon.
Remember, she's a war asset. We're going to try to sway her to our side if we can…
A chance that never came.
Faster than an arrow from a bow, The Cannibal launched himself from his hiding spot and into the sky, colliding with Silverwing in the air at breakneck speed, sending her reeling in a barrel roll…
And knocking the rider clean off her back.
Fucking hell, why wasn't he chained to the saddle?
Not that it made a damn bit of difference. Ulf the White fell, screaming at the top of his lungs as he plummeted for the rocky earth below. The Cannibal was too large to dive fast enough to save him, and Silverwing didn't even bother to try. The sound of her cracking rib bones rang, and she roared with pain and outrage, firing a flame attack that missed Aethan by inches.
I suppose Ulf the White will not serve the Greens after all…
Clearly terrified and in pain, Silverwing was not trying to fight The Cannibal so much as escape him, and she breathed stream after stream after stream of fire…all of which missed, instead striking the Knights of the Vale beneath them. For without a rider to guide her, Silverwing no longer protected them as her own men.
The Cannibal lunged at her again, missing a fatal strike with his fangs but slamming his massive body into hers again, further crippling her already-broken ribs and making her scream. A terrible, haunting sound that made Aethan wince. And when Silverwing pulled away to protect her throat, he knew they had won. Every beat of her wings was agonizing, and she pulled away to land, knowing that she could no longer stay airborne while in so much pain.
Aethan hesitated as The Cannibal started to follow. Should he kill her or let her live? He had no animosity towards the beautiful dragon. She was no use to the Blacks now, even if they found another rider for her. With broken ribs, it would be weeks or even months until she could serve as a war dragon again. Dragons were a rare resource, especially a massive one like Silverwing. It would be a waste to kill her when she was already incapacitated. She would heal one day, and some future Targaryen could claim her.
And so Aethan made his decision.
Let her go, Aethan urged, stroking The Cannibal's scales. You've won. Our true enemy is Caraxes. If you injure yourself killing her, you risk faring worse against him.
The Cannibal grumbled, and Aethan sensed his displeasure of letting a meal go to waste. But he was very pleased over his clear victory, and he obeyed…much more happily when Aethan wordlessly reminded him that he would soon be dining on the charred corpses of dead knights.
I wish I could tell my King I recruited another dragon rider to serve his faction, Aethan thought. But I can tell him that his enemies now have one less…and soon less soldiers as well.
Gritting his teeth in determination, Aethan guided The Cannibal back around to where the Knights of the Vale gathered on the ground, archers readying their arrows while a few others tried to ready the scorpions that they brought with them.
The scorpions are the greatest threat, Aethan warned The Cannibal. Burn those first, before they can finish loading the bolts.
Without hesitation, his dragon obeyed, raining a sea of emerald fire down upon the siege weapons below.
Screams and billowing smoke polluted the air, but Aethan suppressed any sympathy he might have had for the Knights of the Vale as he directed The Cannibal to burn row after row after row of men. Beneath him, men ran for their bows to pepper the sky with arrows. For the cover of the rocks that offered no protection from the flames. For their lives, some falling to their knees and begging pleas that Aethan could not hear from the air. But no white flags were raised. Only more volleys of arrows that The Cannibal evaded.
They will not surrender because they fight for their Queen out of loyalty. They want to see Rhaenyra on the throne with Daemon by her side.
The thought of Daemon standing at the base of the Iron Throne, a look of smug superiority on his face as he claimed the title Prince Consort, burned away what remained of Aethan's sympathy.
"DRACARYS!" he screamed, raining green fire down upon a collection of archers.
Alas, unlike Driftmark, it was not a simple matter, like spearing penned cattle. Without the cover of darkness, the archers could see him. The arrows broke uselessly against The Cannibal's scales, and he evaded a great many altogether…
But it only took one lucky shot.
"AHHH!" Aethan screamed as an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder, a half-inch from piercing his lung. His armor did its duty and slowed it, but it pierced him nonetheless, and it hurt unlike anything he'd ever experienced. "FUCKING BLACK TRAITORS! DRACARYS! DRACARYS!"
The Cannibal needed no encouragement. His rider was hurt. His rider was hurt, whilst under his protection. Hurt by an insignificant, writhing insect of a human throwing sticks. Aethan's pain intertwined with The Cannibal's outrage, man and beast breathing their fire together, rendering the entire field a raging inferno. Hell itself bathed in green flame. The Knights may have surrendered at some point, but Aethan neither saw nor would he have cared. Rational thought was lost until the last man died screaming and The Cannibal landed to feast upon his spoils.
And for just a moment, Aethan savored the feeling, laughing a dark laugh and smiling manically. Targaryens are closer to gods than to men. And like a god, my enemies have felt my wrath…
But the rush of power did not last longer than that one moment.
Once he landed, still mounted on dragonback, Aethan surveyed the fallout of The Cannibal's rage. He smelled the charred flesh. He saw their bodies, a veritable sea of bone and the blackened corpses of men who died screaming. It was only then that the full implication of what he had done settled into his heart.
And it didn't make him feel powerful. Not at all. It made him feel sick.
How many? he thought, swallowing as he gazed upon the field. Thousands at least. Thousands of knights and soldiers burned in dragonfire. Human beings, just like himself, who only wanted to fight for their Queen. Who had died terrified.
We did not start this war, he reminded himself, trying to steel his nerves. We did not want this war. We still do not want this war. Aegon wanted a peaceful ascension, and he tried time after time to negotiate terms and offer surrender. They would not take it. We had no choice. If I hadn't burned them, they would have gone on to kill Ser Criston's men. Or the Tullys. Or the Lannisters. They would have aided my father.
All true. None made the hideous cost of war any easier to bear.
The war can end today, now, if I fly to Harrenhal and kill Daemon, he thought, a spark of his anger returning. No more soldiers need die. Just him. This wound will not keep me from flying…
But as Aethan reached up to break off the shaft of the arrow, his fingers brushed against the gold Targaryen dragon on his chest. A golden dragon with emerald eyes.
The gold and emeralds had been gifts from Aegon, worth a small fortune, all to show the world that Aethan was a Green. That he was valued by the King. That he was one of them.
If he flew to Harrenhal now, he may well succeed in killing Daemon, but at what cost? The cost of his dragon? Aethan had only known The Cannibal for a short while, but the thought of his death still pained him.
The cost of Aegon or his brothers? The people who had been naught but good to him? The Greens would only have Vhagar, Sunfyre, and Tessarion left. They might be injured by arrows or killed by one of the remaining Black dragons.
The cost of Green soldiers in combat? Without the Cannibal, the Black dragons would have an easier time turning Green soldiers into a field of charred ash and bone, just like this one.
The cost of his own life?
When Aethan ventured to Dragonstone, his own life held precious little value to him. A starving street rat who would die without anyone knowing or caring that he lived. But he was no longer that same man. He was wealthy. He'd been promised a beautiful highborn bride and a keep of his own. He had a dragon. History books would remember his name for centuries to come.
A name that would be followed by the Targaryen surname. He risked sacrificing all of that if he chased blindly after Daemon.
If I do it Borros Baratheon's way, he thought, Daemon will still die, and the risk to me is far less. The risk to my faction is far less.
And so with one last brush of his fingers against the golden dragon on his chest, Aethan settled in to wait for The Cannibal to finish feasting. Once he'd sated his hunger, Aethan would fly west to guard the Riverland and Westerland armies, as his king had commanded. Hopefully, one of them would have a maester to patch up his injury.
I must be at full strength when we make our final move against Harrenhal.