She would never forget the day Jace was born.
Being with child was the most terrifying thing she'd ever done. Far more terrifying than riding on dragonback for the first time. More terrifying than when she, at only fourteen, stood before the Lords of the realm to be named Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne. She spent her entire pregnancy in a constant state of ill-concealed terror. Terror that she would be ripped open, just as her mother had, for the sake of the babe. Terror of the pain she knew was to come. Terror that she would cease to matter, supplanted by her own offspring, should it be a male.
For nine months, she hated the creature growing inside of her. Hated the illness and the aches and soreness of pregnancy. Hated the pain when she went into labor…
And then he was born. And from the moment she held him in her arms for the first time, the entirety of her heart became his. Her boy, with his brown eyes and curly brown hair, earned her scorn and vile rumors whispered behind her back, but it made not a damn bit of difference to her. He was hers. Her son, born of the love she shared with Harwin Strong. For him, she would have leapt from the childbed, wielded a sword, and fought an entire army with her own two hands.
This babe, who had terrorized her from within for nine months, blessed her with near two decades of joy and love too powerful to put into words. And whilst she loved her other sons just as greatly, that same experience never repeated itself. The day where she learned what love truly was.
And now her boy was dead, and his head was mounted on a spike at Harrenhal. Killed at the same castle where his father died.
A castle that once again flew the usurper's golden dragon banners.
We never made up…she thought hollowly. We never made up…I never told him I forgave him…that I loved him…
I thought I'd be numb to any more pain…Was the last thought that echoed through her mind before she started screaming, the numbness that shielded her after Joffrey's death nowhere to be found. A bloodcurdling scream of grief, of rage, all the hurts of these past months erupting from her chest, scorching her throat like lava from the Dragonmount. The primal, raw scream of a mother whose first child was ripped away from her.
And she wanted all the world to burn.
It mattered not that she lacked the rationality to scream 'Dracarys'. Her beautiful dragon understood precisely what she wanted and opened her mouth to bathe flames upon Harrenhal. But all the Greens within were safely ensconced in its walls, and Syrax was too small to rapidly heat it to lethal temperatures. She would need time.
Time she didn't have, because Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, appeared from beyond the castle with a threatening roar. Hugh Hammer upon his back.
Maddened with grief, she nearly directed Syrax to attack the great beast. Raised her whip to do exactly that.
Kill him, she commanded herself. Let the Greens taste my pain…
If it had been Aemond upon Vhagar, she would have done exactly that. Or Daeron upon Tessarion. Or Aegon upon Sunfyre. Even the bastard upon the Cannibal; the Green surely had some affection for him. But Hugh Hammer was nothing but an opportunistic dragonseed. Aegon wouldn't bat an eye at his death. More like than not, he didn't even know his name.
And so with another furious scream, Rhaenyra commanded Syrax to turn and flee instead. She was younger and faster than Vermithor, and she did not believe the Bronze Fury would wander too far from Harrenhal, lest she was a distraction for Daemon and Caraxes.
Soon, she told herself, cracking the whip to coax Syrax to fly faster to return to the Greyjoy ships she was meant to be guarding. Soon I will burn you all.
Once upon a time, she naïvely opined before her council that she had no desire to rule over a realm of ash and bone. She believed the Greens could be reasoned with somehow. Or that if there need be bloodshed, it could be contained.
And long before that, she naïvely believed that they would bend the knee. That her own kin would not steal what was hers after it became apparent that her father had no intention of changing his mind.
No longer. Now, she cared not if she ruled over a near-vacant realm. Those few Houses who supported her would be allowed to thrive, and those who proudly flew Aegon's banners could either kneel and beg her forgiveness or be met with Fire and Blood.
Starting with the villages of Ironman's Bay.
Robert
"NO! PLEASE!"
Iron Born my ass, Robert snorted at the writhing, crying sailor as he brought his hammer down upon his skull.
Blood pounded through Robert's veins as he ran through the battlefield, screaming like a madman. But there was no madness to be found in his strikes. Every blow had a purpose. Crushing one squid's knee before he could throw a dagger at some Tully bastard. Caving in another's ribcage as he drew back his spear arm. Skulls. Spines. Jaws. All cracked beneath Robert's hammer like the fat of a suckling pig spit roasting over a fire.
Robert had not a clue how many he killed. Tens? Scores? Fuck, he'd believe a hundred or more. Borros's body was athletic, stronger than a pair of oxen, and for the first time since Robert had been a young man, a warrior's heart pounded in his chest. The look of terror in the squids' eyes pleased him. The fearsome Demon of the Trident once more, his antlered armor cast a shadow over the battlefield as he charged.
Leaving a trail of death in his wake.
Intoxicating, more so than the sweetest of wines. More than the thrill of fucking the prettiest maid. Primal, and raw, and fucking his! Lifeblood of countless men coated Robert's face, clumping in his beard and dribbling down his neck. The meaty smell of it sparked his bloodlust further still.
And as fortune should have it, there were plenty of Iron Born left to sate it.
The fucking squids had nowhere to run. When House Westerling's lookouts first saw them approaching, Robert had allowed the Iron Born to come ashore. Allowed them to start attacking The Crag, allowed them to get close enough to draw their climbing spikes, before he gave the signal to attack. And not just the Westerling and Tully soldiers that he commanded. He gave the signal to Aemond as well.
When the monstrous Vhagar emerged from her hiding spot behind the dense forest, raining fire upon the Greyjoy ships, there were not enough men left aboard to pepper the sky with arrows or fire the scorpions before she burned them. The fearsome war galleys were no greater threat than a driftwood dingy, and Vhagar incinerated every last one, along with the handful of Iron Born who remained within them.
HA! Robert cheered. If only I had her when Ned and I fought them back in the day!
As for the Iron Born ashore? They faced a greater terror still. The terror of a bloodthirsty Robert Baratheon.
And there was no escape.
Only when the last squid was dead did Robert lower his hammer and remove his helm, the rush of cool air against his blood-streaked skin reminding him how much he'd been sweating.
"Gods be good, man," Elmo Tully said as he approached Robert from behind, half in admiration, half in horror as he clapped Robert on his armored shoulder. "I think you may have killed half of them yourself."
Robert laughed heartily, clapping Elmo back. "Been some time since my hammer's tasted blood."
He smiled as the Westerlings and the Tullys cheered in celebration of their victory. A victory cheer that Vhagar echoed as Aemond brought her in to land, roaring her satisfaction to the sky as the veteran of a hundred battles added another notch to her belt.
"A fine victory," Aemond decreed as he dismounted her and joined Robert and Elmo. "Fifteen Greyjoy ships burned and a thousand men dead. It is as you said, Lord Borros. They do not have infinite resources. Even with the gold they would have stolen from House Farman, this will be a blow to the Red Kraken."
"And most importantly, The Crag is safe," Elmo added, looking over his shoulder and smiling at the unsullied castle, where they would soon enjoy their victory feast. "It was wise to position some of our army here, Lord Borros."
"Hmm," Robert agreed. "Stood to reason they'd attack the Crag. They're a wealthy House, but they don't have the naval power of the Lannisters. Rhaenyra needs gold. She'd get it faster attacking here than in drips and drabs from smaller villages."
"And undoubtedly she is angry with them," Elmo said. "The former Lord Commander Westerling was quite loyal to her. She undoubtedly though the rest of the Westerlings would support her as well."
Fortunately, they're not idiots, like the Stauntons, Robert thought. The Westerlings were a proud bunch. Loyal to the Lannisters. They undoubtedly knew they'd be crushed by both their liege lord and the Crown if they dared support Rhaenyra.
Aemond's smile waned a bit as he looked to the skies. "And yet despite that, my half-sister is not here," he mused. "I wonder if she yet knows Caraxes is dead. Perhaps he was meant to be guarding these ships."
"Hmm," Robert agreed. "Pity she wasn't here. We might have ended the war altogether. Bold as he is, I doubt Dalton Greyjoy would bother to continue the assault without the aid of at least one dragon."
In the original timeline, Dalton had inflicted a great deal of damage with no dragon at all, but that was only because the Western armies were at war and the Greens could not spare a dragon to stop him. Now, the tides had shifted, and the Red Kraken was not half so intimidating.
"Loathe as I am to say it…" Elmo said. "Perhaps it might be for the best to recommend that the King eradicate the Iron Born altogether."
Robert hesitated. Cersei scolded me for not doing that after Ned and I brought them to their knees. But Robert stood by his decision. The Iron Born had kept the faith after he crushed them.
Or did they? After I was dead? Perhaps he had left yet another mess for Joffrey to wade through; a vengeful Greyjoy army and no gold to fight a war.
No, he'll be fine. He has Ned to serve as his regent and Stannis to aide him if it comes to a naval battle. And it didn't matter anyway, because at this point, it was becoming less and less likely that Robert's son would ever be born.
No great tragedy there. He inherited his mother's cruelty.
"I do not presume to know what course of action His Grace might take," Robert said. "But either way, if the squids continue the war much longer, they won't have the resources to be a threat, even if our King does choose to spare them."
"Hmm," Elmo nodded in agreement, then offered Aemond a smile. "Regardless, I am pleased you showed me the way before the war began. I shudder to think that I once wavered on who was the rightful monarch."
In another life, the two of you were not preparing to join your Houses in marriage. You were bitter enemies, and Aemond was burning half the Riverlands to ash.
"Indeed," Aemond agreed. "Abby is a good woman." He paused, his smile becoming less polite and more genuine. "A remarkable woman," he amended. "She's added a touch of brightness to the Red Keep, and I look forward to the day she and I will be joined in marriage."
And look at that! He likes his bride-to-be!
Gesturing to the castle, Robert said, "I don't know about the two of you, but I've worked up quite an appetite. And I've no doubt they'll be ready to feed us soon."
Might as well enjoy the Westerling wealth while it still exists, Robert mused. They lost a good bit of it by my reign.
And as an added touch of celebration, Robert felt a sudden hankering to mark his victory by feasting on wild boar…
Cregan
This woman is going to be the death of me, he thought as he followed behind the armor-clad Blackwood girl.
Black Aly, they called her. Of age, but still a young maiden who would not be eighteen until another turn of the moon. Not a great beauty, it was true, and Cregan thought her unremarkable when he and his men first arrived at Raventree Hall. He'd been prepared not to give her a second glance.
Until it came time to make the battle preparations.
Cregan and Samwell Blackwood got straight to work preparing to defend Ironman's Bay, as commanded by Lord Borros Baratheon, the King's Master of War. Cregan understood why the Blackwoods needed the Northern reinforcements. Not only did they have to be prepared to fend off the Iron Born but they had to keep a watchful eye on Wendish Town, lest the Darry's go back on their word to bend the knee to the King. Cregan even called for an additional two-thousand Northerners to join him, bringing their total contribution to seven thousand men to defend Ironman's Bay.
The Blackwoods were a fierce bunch. Little eleven-year-old Benjicot tried to convince his father Samwell to let him join the fray, but Sam denied him, claiming that he needed his son to carry on the family name should he die in battle.
Alysanne was a different matter.
Cregan expected Aly to join the other Blackwood women and girls in preparing Raventree Hall to take care of any wounded men. He hadn't initially been worried when he saw her donning protective leather and readying a bow; he thought she merely meant to protect the women and the children in case the castle was breached.
But then, to his astonishment, she started walking towards her horse. Prepared to join in the battle itself.
"Lady Blackwood," Cregan had said to her, reaching her as she reached for her horse. "My lady, your talents are of more use here."
She arched a black eyebrow at him. "And what would you know of my talents, Lord Stark?" she challenged.
She folded her arms, glaring at him with dark brown eyes...dark brown eyes that he suddenly realized were very pretty, despite her other plain features. "You think me weak?" she asked. "You have never seen my skills as an archer."
"Strong or weak, my lady, I know the battlefield is no place for a woman," he said. "It turns men savage. Both allies and enemies alike. You're like to be targeted."
A thought that made Cregan's hackles rise. For although he'd like to believe men were honorable by nature, he'd seen too much of the contrary to trust blindly.
But to his surprise, rather than looking horrified at the thought, Aly's eyes flashed, smirking.
"Men have tried to make a 'target' of me before, Lord Stark," she said. "The lucky ones lost their hands. The unlucky ones filled the bellies of the crows."
Cregan seldom smiled, so the sensation almost felt foreign when Aly's words brought one to his lips. He could not help but be amused at the thought of this slender young girl with long black curls making fools of men who saw her as easy prey.
The Blackwoods are the blood of the First Men, he remembers. It stands to reason there would be strength to her.
"Be that as it may…"
"Lord Stark," she interrupted him, eyes twinkling mischievously. "I am sworn to obey my Lord brother, and if he should command me to remain behind at the castle, then I shall obey. However…" she added with a smile. "Samwell learned years ago that it is a fool's errand to command me."
And before Cregan could say another word, she mounted her horse and joined the other Blackwood soldiers getting into position to guard the Bay.
It was true that he had no right to command Aly…and she would more like than not disobey him if he did (a thought that, oddly, made him smile again). However, he made a silent vow to keep watch over her on the battlefield. The thought of any ill-fate befalling the fiery maiden made him feel inexplicably ill.
They spent more than a week patrolling the forests surrounding the Bay. At least twice a day, they would see King Aegon flying above them on Sunfyre as he patrolled, and Aly would look up at the dragon in wonder, marveling at his golden scales.
On Aegon's most recent overpass, the sun had been shining at exactly the right angle, and Sunfyre's golden scales positively glistened. The broad smile and look of awe lit up Aly's entire face, and for a moment, Cregan thought himself mad for ever believing that she wasn't beautiful.
She was also quick to put his fears to bed when a woodland robber thought he could make off with some of their weapons whilst they slumbered in the night. It was Aly that caught him, her slender frame making her faster than any of the men. Caught him and held him, her knee pressed against his spine, keeping him from escaping.
"You fight like a Northerner," Cregan had praised her when he reached her side to help, smiling once again when she smiled proudly and contradicted, "I fight like a Blackwood."
And the blood of the First Men runs through her veins, same as mine…
But now, they were not facing one mere robber. As Borros Baratheon predicted, the Iron Born had come to invade the villages along Ironman's Bay. The Red Kraken himself was not present, but ten ships were. All of them overflowing with sailors, armed and ready for the fight.
And to Cregan's horror, Aly urged her horse into a gallop, joining the first wave of their army waiting to meet the Iron Born on the shore.
Snarling an epithet, Cregan readied his bow and sent a flaming arrow high into the sky, as did several of his men, praying that Aegon would see the signal and would quickly return with Sunfyre. Then, once it was done, Cregan urged his own horse forward, taking off after Aly.
Rhaenyra
Just as we planned, she thought with a smirk as she watched from the skies.
The Red Kraken knew Ironman's Bay better than anyone alive. Knew which villages had the most wealth and thus would make the ripest targets.
And best of all, he knew those targets would be the ones that Aegon's men protected. And thus he sent decoy ships to keep their attentions away from Raventree Hall itself.
With both the Northern and the Blackwood armies drawn away from Raventree, the castle itself would scarcely be defended. Ripe for the picking when Dalton sent his smaller vessels downriver. From there, it was a short journey on foot to the seat of House Blackwood. A castle left vulnerable.
Especially against dragonfire.
You were once a suitor of mine, Lord Blackwood, Rhaenyra thought as she commanded Syrax to breathe her first wave of fire upon Raventree Hall. Your House swore me its allegiance when I was named heir. Even after Aegon was born, you hoped to marry me so that your own blood would inherit the throne. You know I am the rightful Queen. Traitors, the lot of you.
Every breath of fire that rained down upon the castle, every screaming archer who died in Syrax's flames, eased a fraction of the ache in her heart. For Luke. For Joffrey. For Jace. For her daughter who did not live long enough to draw her first breath. For her father. For her throne.
Worst of all, for the fact that she fought alone now.
Jace's death was not merely a devastating blow to her as a mother, but as a Queen, she'd lost a dragon rider. A dragon rider who they desperately needed. A fact she had, thus far, kept to herself. And upon her return from Harrenhal, she learned they had lost Caraxes as well. Learned from Dalton, of all people, because Daemon had absconded, traveling alone to the mainland to cross the country on horseback.
She did not know the circumstances of Caraxes' death, but she knew her husband well enough to know it brought him great agony and shame. Going to Dragonstone alone was not a matter of mere practicality (for she could not leave the Greyjoy ships undefended). Daemon had suffered a defeat and a loss. Claiming a new dragon (and thus reclaiming himself) was something he needed to do alone.
But as much as she understood, she hated that she was left alone to serve as their lone dragon rider, when she could have taken Daemon to Dragonstone within a day.
He left scarcely a week ago, and it might take another week or more to reach Dragonstone, even if he travels by the Goldroad.
But she and Syrax could manage on their own until he returned. Especially now, with Raventree Hall near enough helpless.
Like Queen Visenya before me, she thought as she burned another archer. Vhagar was not always the size she is now. She would have been only fifty or so at the time of the Conquest. Far smaller. And Queen Visenya never shied away from combat.
But Queen Visenya had only ever fought footsoldiers. She had never faced another dragon in the sky. A feat Rhaenyra would have to accomplish, if the roar resonating from the distance was any indication.
Aegon
Hold them off as best you can, Aegon thought as he watched ships from Seagard sail deeper into Ironman's Bay, flying both his flags and their own. Aegon helped them as best he could by quickly burning the few Greyjoy ships armed with scorpions, but he had no choice but to abandon the battle itself.
The Mallisters will fight them by sea, and the Northerners and the Blackwoods will fight them by land. It is already an uneven battle, even before I burned the Greyjoy scorpion ships. Conventional combat. I have to trust that they can win without my help.
Because Sunfyre, his intelligent, loyal friend, had caught the scent of Syrax.
Unable as though he was to put his connection with his dragon to words, Aegon knew without question that Sunfyre had smelled Rhaenyra's beast. Fresh and not far away. If Aegon could get to Rhaenyra now, kill her now, that had to take priority over a single battle.
The Northerners understand; we discussed this possibility when formulating our battle plans. We all agreed that killing the Blacks and their dragons needed to take precedence. They assured me they were prepared to do their share in conventional warfare.
And so Aegon allowed Sunfyre to guide him to the source of Syrax's scent, flying further and further south, until Raventree Hall itself came into view…and a scorpion bolt from the ramparts nearly took him out of the sky.
No, he snarled. That's impossible! They bent the knee! They…Seven Hells…
Iron Born scurried about the castle grounds like rats through a grain silo. The remaining Blackwoods had raised the drawbridge and barred the doors, but their fortifications would not last. Not when the Iron Born came prepared with climbing spikes and battering rams. Some had already managed to scale the outer walls, hence the scorpion bolt.
And the Blackwoods could not even fight back with archers or boiling oil, because Syrax circled the sky above. Thatched roofs burned. Weirwood trees burned. And now the Iron Born seemed to be retreating so she might melt the portcullis as well.
No, Aegon snarled, gripping tightly to Sunfyre's reigns. The war ends today.
Syrax spotted them just as another scorpion bolt missed Aegon, but as dragon approached dragon in the sky, the Iron Born halted all projectiles, lest they injure their own Queen.
Rhaenyra's beast was more formidable and nimbler than he feared, but Sunfyre was younger, svelter, and far faster. She breathed her fire, he evaded. He snapped at her wings and her tail, she forced him to draw back with a burst of flame. He breathed fire of his own, but Syrax twisted, flames catching her belly harmlessly. And on and on it went, dancing through the sky in a lethal pirouette without a single drop of blood spilt. Without a single lick of fire finding something to burn.
She is a better rider than I gave her credit for.
Even when Sunfyre finally managed to rake her with his claws, slicing open her flank, it came at a price. A glancing blast of flame heated Aegon's helm, singing his hair and blistering the flesh of his ear. A minor injury, but one that pained him fiercely, drawing a scream from his lungs and a furious roar from his dragon.
Fucking cunt!
Rage boiled Aegon's blood. Rage for his wife, children, and mother, nearly stolen from him by Daemon's assassins. Rage for Gwayne, butchered in the streets like a pig. Rage for Oldtown and the death of his kin. Rage for House Farman, loyal vassals slaughtered by Daemon and the Iron Born.
And now, rage for House Blackwood. The Iron Born attacked when they knew most of the fighting men would be gone. When they knew that the majority of the people within Raventree Hall would be women and children.
The crown is mine, Aegon snarled wordlessly. The throne is mine. Your only claim to it is father's word…and I do not owe my loyalty to a man who never gave a shit about me or my family.
"Fuck Viserys, and fuck what he believed," Aegon remembered, Aemond's words echoing through his mind. I am the rightful King, and the realm knows it. And I will defend what is mine.
On and on and on they spun through the skies. Syrax taking a chunk out of Sunfyre's tail. Sunfyre burning the leather adornments on Rhaenyra's saddle and scorching the flesh of her legs. Syrax spewing another jet of fire that Sunfyre was a hair too slow to fully dodge, further heating Aegon's helm and searing his ear yet again. The tiniest mistake from either dragon rider was all the other side needed to claim victory…
And mayhaps one of them would have gotten that chance…were it not for the Iron Born.
Aegon would never know why the volley of arrows flew through the sky, striking both Syrax and Sunfyre indiscriminately. One bolt even pierced Aegon's calf, slicing straight through his armor. Sunfyre screamed in pain as three arrows tore though his wing membranes, and Syrax roared in outrage when one pierced her own.
And yet still, Rhaenyra urged her beast to attack him…until yet another bolt embedded itself in the fleshy underside of her arm.
"FUCKING TRAITORS!" she bellowed at the Iron Born below, yanking on Syrax's reigns and guiding her away from the castle.
Chase her, the dragon within him snarled. Kill that rancid bitch and put an end to this rebellion…
But then another volley of arrows followed, yet another striking Sunfyre in the wing membrane, and his beast's pain tore through his mind as acutely as his own.
"You are the blood of the dragon, Your Grace. And I know your fires are burning hot. But vengeance is a dish best served cold. When you can maximize their pain whilst minimizing the risk to yourself and those you love."
Borros Baratheon's words flowed through Aegon's mind unbidden, just as Sunfyre's pain had.
Both Rhaenyra and Syrax are injured, but so is Sunfyre. And I have no idea how severely. If I pursue now, whilst he's injured, I risk his life and my own. And I leave the women and children of House Blackwood to be raped or slaughtered by the Iron Born.
"A ruler must always consider the well-being of his people." His mother's voice joined Borros's, a gentle hand guiding him to the smarter course.
Helaena's face flashed before his mind. Aemond's. His children…
What would they think if I took a foolish risk and threw my life away? Abandoning a loyal vassal House to a brutal fate? All for the chance to kill Rhaenyra…
Chasing her now would not be bravery. It would be idiocy and selfishness.
And that's not the kind of King I want to be.
And so he allowed Rhaenyra to flee, twisting Sunfyre around to rain fire down upon the Iron Born archers.
He made quick work of it, burning every man along the ramparts, outside the castle walls, and even setting fire to some of the surrounding forest to burn the squids who attempted to retreat through the trees. He followed their path and found the river vessels they'd left behind, burning those as well, along with the Iron Born who left to guard them. The few Iron Born who had survived Sunfyre's flames were quickly put to the sword by the few Blackwood soldiers who'd remained safely in the castle…including a pre-pubescent boy who emerged from the castle screaming a fierce battle cry and raising a pike.
She escaped, he thought bitterly as he landed, dismounting carefully to avoid putting weight on his injured calf.
He needn't have worried. For as soon as he dismounted, he was surrounded by Blackwood men who quickly helped him inside the castle, allowing him to lean on them while they summoned the maester.
She escaped, he thought again, blinking as he took in the sight of the people within the great hall. Some cried tears of relief, embracing small children and squeezing them tightly. Some were injured and receiving medical treatment of their own. Some of them looked up at him reverently, as if he were a soldier sent by the gods themselves to protect them.
She escaped, he thought, his chest swelling with a powerful feeling he had not felt since his coronation. But I saved them.