———
This is it. The end of the Dragonseed interludes.
I actually struggled to come up with a fitting rhyme for this verse of the song. Viserra, Aemon, Naerys and Lucerys have next to nothing in common.
-Alice
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Viserra and Aemon,
Dutiful to the end,
Naerys and Lucerys,
Always trying to mend."
-Fifth verse in song 'The Dragonseeds'
115 AC, 1st Moon, 21st day, Red Keep,
The glass candle lit up, glowing with the light that signalled an incoming call.
Lucerys hastened to pick it up, knowing that Rhaenyra did not like to be kept waiting, only to find that it was not from Rhaenyra or one of her subordinates down in the Reach.
There were only two other people still linked in their downsized glass candle network. Visenya and Rhaella, babysitting the kids on Dragonstone were one. Rhaenys out in the Free Cities, playing an intense game of cat-and-mouse with Aerion, was the other.
This particular call was from neither of them.
In fact, the caller wasn't even in Westeros at the moment. Or even the Free Cities. This was coming from East, way further east.
"Who the fuck is calling from Qarth?" Lucerys wondered aloud.
A hologram flickered into being.
The woman on the other side was tall and well-built, in her early to mid twenties, with impressive curves. Her long hair was fashioned into dreadlocks and then further worn as a ponytail. She wore a suit of padded armour, with loads of pockets and belts, dangling with plenty of strange odds and ends that Lucerys didn't recognise.
But he did recognise that dragonbone bow slung on her back, as well as those distinctive purple eyes.
"Yo Luke, I'm back." Daena happily waved.
"Daena?!" Lucerys yelped, looking his sister up and down. "What happened to you?"
"Eh… time passes differently in the Multiverse." His eldest sister remarked, gesturing at her body. "It's been about five years for me, but from the looks of things, you don't seem that much older."
"Uh, yeah. You've only been gone for about a year, to us." Lucerys muttered.
"Hmm. So where's Rhaenyra anyway?" Daena asked. "Cause Bell's back now, and better than ever!"
Oh shit. Lucerys felt the blood drain out of his face as he suddenly realised that Daena most likely had no idea of the war that was currently going on.
"Um, Daena, I don't suppose you know what's happened to Baela and Rhaena, do you?"
"Uh no? Should I be worried? Oh, did they get married or something? Am I an aunt now?"
Lucerys gulped, and took the plunge, telling his sister about the fates which had befallen her younger sisters.
———
115 AC, 1st Moon, 25th day, King's Landing,
When Rhaenyra had returned victorious from the War of Four Directions, she'd returned in triumph at the head of an army, to a grand tickertape parade, complete with thrown flowers, confetti and an airshow.
Daena's own return boasted far less grandeur, not that the crowds seemed to complain, given that they were cheering so loudly the very air seemed to shake with their voices.
Near thirty dragons had circled the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, landing one after the other in the Dragonpit, with Caraxes as the very last. While the prolonged landing had practical reasons, the sight of so many dragons frolicking in the air after their inglorious theft a month past had stirred up something patriotic in the hearts of the public.
As such, by the time Daena and her gang rode out of the Dragonpit, it was to cheering and stomping crowds. Thousands upon thousands turning out to celebrate the returning of House Targaryen's dragons
Rhaenys rode at the front beside Daena, atop a pure white stallion that would have been considered magnificent, had it not been so thoroughly overshadowed by the mounts of Daena and company.
Each of the five rode atop fantastical and wondrous creatures unseen to Westeros, and quite possibly the universe at large.
Jaehaerys Junior sat on the back of a great green lizard the size of three horses, speckled with brightly coloured feathers. These feathers were like a mane to the great lizard, and trailed down from neck to long tail like a crest. It had four limbs, each ending in five-fingered hands that looked disturbingly human.
Gapeth Eelskin rode atop what Lucerys initially assumed was a direwolf, but one without fur. Instead, it featured rough grey skin, almost like an elephant, with bone spurs and plates jutting out from it. A vicious beast, it was clearly salivating for blood, and bore rows upon rows of fangs the size of arms.
Melisandre rode atop a white horse of her own, but one with a mane and tail made of heatless flame, flickering like hair in the wind. Flames similarly flickered around it's hooves. The horse was unnaturally pale, as though it was formed from pure marble instead of flesh, and proportioned like a child's drawing. Too short and slender, yet obviously capable of outspeeding any other horse.
Ezraa's mount was some grand two-legged bird, with long legs and a truly voluminous coat of bright yellow feathers. Only the lower legs were not covered in those all-encompassing feathers, revealing scaly digitigrade three-toed claws, with talons the size of longknives.
Daena's mount was the most unnatural and impressive of the lot, being a bipedal creature resembling some cross between a lizard and a shark. Lucerys had heard stories of the walking lizards of Sotheryos, and he assumed that this particular beast was cousin to them. Large, taller then a man, while it had the body of a walking lizard punctuated by bone-white spikes of ivory, it had a hammerhead shark's head and tail, with great fins on its arms and back.
Bell plodded along behind them, her titanic golem-armour of solid steel too great and heavy for any mount save a dragon.
The seven of them walked down the avenue to raucous cheers, marching down the Street of Sisters and up the main avenue, riding past the main city squares and up Aegon's Hill, where the entire royal court stood ready to greet them.
"Luke." Daena greeted, as she and her companions rode through the Red Keep's great gate, and into the courtyard behind.
"Sister." Lucerys greeted back. "Welcome home, do your mounts need any—"
Lucerys was cut off mid-sentence when three of the creatures vanished in puffs of white smoke, answering the question of how they had been transported onto Westeros. Of the remaining two, Daena and Melisandre produced balls that fired beams of red light, turning the creatures that they hit into more red light and sucking them into the balls.
A heartbeat later and those balls shrunk to the size of marbles, allowing the two mages to put them into their pockets.
"I see not." Lucerys continued, looking somewhat nonplussed.
"Space-time sorcery." Daena shrugged. "Really handy trick. Can summon your mount at any time, and vanish them when not needed."
"Does teleportation not break the laws of magic?"
For crying out loud, Rhaenyra couldn't teleport. Her teleportation trick was really just spatial compression and enhanced speed. And that trick was already beyond the abilities of most mages outside of Daenys.
"Yes. If you're following the Valyrian Theory of Magic." Daena wriggled her palm. "Other theories are less… restrictive in this regard."
"My lady, if you are done talking, we have boons to distribute." Lord Corlys pointedly said, clearing his throat to get the conversation back on track.
There was a murmur of acquiescence, and Daena and her companions stood in a line, awaiting the rewards.
"For the return of House Targaryen's dragons, and the healing of Ser Bell of the Kingsguard, Lady Daena Fyre is hereby pardoned for her crimes against House Strong. Her exile is revoked, and she is welcomed back into the fold as an honoured subject of House Targaryen.
"She and her companions, Jaehaerys of Volantis, Gapeth Eelskin, Melisandre of Asshai and Ezraa of New Ghis, are to be granted lordships and peerages, as well as citizenship in the Seven Kingdoms where appropriate."
Lucerys tuned out most of the conversation in boredom. The gist of the matter was that it was highly unlikely that Daena or her companions would truly settle down in Westeros. They seemed to like the winding road and adventure more than castles and lordships. So Rhaenyra had essentially promised them lordships that they could claim or sell as they wished.
Claims that would be valid for however long was necessary, with the idea that maybe Daena would finally lose the wanderlust, and decide to settle down and whelp a few kids with Jaehaerys Junior. That way, she'd have a place to go and live in, when the time came.
"A lady without lands, castle or subjects." Mushroom cackled, the court jester later called out, as Daena followed Lucerys to a debriefing with Rhaenyra. "All hail the Lady of Nowhere."
Bell had made to follow them to the debriefing, but had stuttered to a halt when Ser Wingood and her mother Alla practically threw themselves into her arms, weeping furiously.
The siblings had both decided to leave the small family to it. Rhaenyra would understand. But unfortunately, Mushroom had seen the departure of Bell as an opportunity to needle Daena for the first time in forever.
Lucerys had honestly expected Daena to throw a knife at the dwarf for that barb, but his sister merely chuckled.
"Bow before me!" She imperiously proclaimed in an overdrmatic manner. "For Castle Nowhere is an impregnable fortress, commanding lands beyond measure and holding wisdom beyond the Citadel's. It commands armies uncountable and of forces immeasurable, and fields weapons so powerful that they cannot be used on this world."
"Oh pardon me." Mushroom bowed sarcastically, looking positively delighted that in addition to all of the strange and fantastical powers she'd picked up from her travels, Daena had also gained a sense of humour. "And where might this grand fortress lie? North or south, east or west?"
"Castle Nowhere is in the world between worlds, accessible only to those whom know its true location. Swirling in nothingness, hidden in plain sight, yet unseen by all." Daena boasted. "It sails the stars, not bound to a single place."
"So it is imaginary." Lucerys deadpanned.
"Eh close enough." Daena shrugged. "I'll take you there one day."
The conversation ended as they had reached their destination. A pair of guardsmen saluted as they opened the double doors leading to the King's personal solar, which Rhaenyra had recently reappropriated as a personal office and war council room.
Daena seemed to shiver as she crossed the threshold, wards subtly laid by Rhaenyra and Daenys somewhat befuddled by the Eldest Dragonseed. But she was an expected guest, and so the wards dimmed, on alert but not outright attempting harm.
A glass candle burned in the middle of the room, projecting holograms of Rhaenyra, Shaeterys, Rhaegar and Daenys.
"Daena, good to see you." Rhaenyra greeted, smiling happily. "I had every faith in your ability to heal Bell."
"Eh no need to thank me. I owe Bell a lot, so it was just the right thing to do." Daena waved away.
"But unfortunately, we have to go down to business."
"Of course." Daena grimly nodded.
"The Greens are on their last legs. All the pieces are in place, and Operation Towerfall is about to reach its finale."
"Operation Towerfall?" Daena asked mockingly. "A bit on the nose, no?"
"Not you too." Rhaenyra huffed. "Anyway, like I was saying, the Legions and I are committed down south, which means we need the remaining Greens to be brought to heel and our back secured."
"The Stormlands, and the sorceress whom crippled our glass candle network." Shaeterys elaborated.
"I can fly the dragon armada over to the Stormlands, get them to reconsider their rebellion." Daena offered.
"Should we not try to negotiate first?" Lucerys tried. "Now that Aunt Rhaenys has returned, I'm sure she can persuade old Lord Boremund to see reason."
"He's still alive?" Daena asked, surprised. "I thought he kicked the bucket a long while ago."
"He's on his last legs." Daenys replied. "Intestinal cancer. The maesters estimate he's got maybe a year left."
"They also think he's gone senile, or is too doped up on the medications for lucidity." Rhaegar grunted. "Either way he's no longer calling the shots on the Stormlands."
"So that leaves who in charge?" Daena frowned, trying to remember. "His daughter-in-law, Lady Elenda Caron? Wasn't she on our side?"
"Shaera may or may not have leaked that I murdered her father Royce Caron a while back." Rhaegar admitted. "So…"
"Yeah, that'll do it." Lucerys muttered. "Think she can be persuaded to let bygones be bygones?"
"If I could do that, I'd already have done so." Rhaenyra sighed. "But I'm afraid we're now past that."
"Why don't we just kill her and Boremund?" Daena bluntly asked. "It seems all our issues ultimately trail back to them. If we can remove them from the equation, the Stormlands will fall apart without strong leadership."
"After my murder of Royce Caron? If most of the lords up and die mysteriously, you know that the Stormlords would blame the whole thing on us." Rhaegar grumbled. "We'd lose a lot of legitimacy."
"Then we change the narrative." Shaeterys suggested. "We cure Lord Boremund of his cancer and make a big show of healing him. Once healed, we will forgive his treason and he will forgive us for the whole Borros affair. A clean slate, with no hard feelings on either side."
"Yes, that can be an added boon we tack on for goodwill during peace negotiations." Rhaenyra nodded. "It will have the added benefit of making Aunt Rhaenys more amenable to mediate."
"That might work." Lucerys frowned. "But what of Lady Elenda? Even if Boremund survives for now, that's just kicking the can down the road until he eventually dies."
"We'll get diminishing returns each time we heal him." Daenys agreed. "The man is old and dying, and there is only so long our magic can string out his life."
"It buys us much-needed time, until we can find a better solution to the Elenda Caron problem." Daena replied. "Like marrying her off to some puppet lord of ours."
"Good enough for me." Rhaenyra nodded decisively. "Daenys, I want Naerys brought up to speed on how to cure cancer. Erik can fly her over to Storm's End on the morrow."
"Send Bell over as well." Shaeterys added. "Best remind the Stormlords that although we are willing to forgive and cure Lord Boremund, such prudence is not pacifism."
The were ripple of murmurs through the room, signalling agreement.
"But what of the sorceress?" Lucerys asked. "We still have no idea who she is or how she compromised the network."
"About that…" Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Daenys and I have spent quite a bit of time running through Shaera's memories, and we've got a confirmed identity."
Another hologram appeared, this time of a young woman with long black hair.
"Alys Rivers. Bastard child of Lord Lyonel Strong." He revealed.
"Our very own Master of Laws." Lucerys gasped.
"I know her." Daena said at the exact same time. "I saw her in a vision in the House of the Undying. She was at Harrenhal."
"Didn't Lord Strong resign in protest over the repudiation of your exile?" Lucerys realised.
"I don't know if he's involved in this little plot, but considering that Shaera was also liaising with his son Larys Strong, I think we have a case against him." Rhaenyra declared. "Daena, I want you and your band to run down and arrest Lord Lyonel Strong. Then I want you to find Larys Strong and Alys Rivers."
"You want them brought in warm, or brought in cold?" Daena asked.
"Lord Lyonel can live. The other two, I want confirmed kills."
———
115 AC, 1st Moon, 25th day, Harrenhal
Daena tore straight through guards like a hot knife through butter, whooping with joy and glee.
"Why did I agree to come along again?!" Lucerys demanded to himself, as he sprinted after his sister, feet pattering across the stones as he tried and failed to keep up with her.
The Eldest Dragonseed wielded her flame sword, skating across the ground like it was a field of ice. She slashed straight through knights and guardsmen like they were little more than straw targets, cleaving through steel arms and armour like they were paper. Her every move was calculated, reflex boosters allowing her to skid down corridors at full speed, lopping of limbs and removing heads with unerring precision. Oftentimes guards would not even realise they died until Daena had shot past them.
As soon as Lucerys' eldest sister had received her orders, she'd taken off with a vengeance. Jaehaerys Junior lead Daena's four companions into arresting Master of Laws Lyonel Strong in the Red Keep, while Daena herself went after his two children.
Sparking open an orange portal, Daena and Lucerys had crossed over two hundred miles in a heartbeat, moving from the Red Keep to Harrenhal in a single step.
And then the slaughter had commenced, Daena ripping through men like a scythe through wheat, slaying any and all whom stood between her and the traitor siblings.
Larys Strong and Alys Rivers had barricaded themselves at the top of the Kingspyre Tower, and filled the halls leading up to them with defences. Cunningly laid traps. Wards that had to be broken. Fanatically loyal troops.
Daena ripped through all of them with nary a pause.
She dodged traps with unerring ease, slipped through wards like they weren't even there. And the troops… well, the slaughter spoke for itself.
Seven Hells, Rhaenyra and Daenys had power enough to level entire city blocks when pissed, and Bell a true juggernaut of the heaviest weight class, but Daena…
If Bell and Daenys were hammers, crushing all that opposed them with impunity, then Daena was the sword.
Swift and precise and utterly deadly.
Eventually, they both reached the final threshold, and Daena slashed the lock with her lightsaber, tendrils of shadow creeping out from her back and sliding into the gaps of the doors and ripping them open.
Claws of darkness rent the doors apart, reducing them to splinters as they were torn right off the walls.
Shadows fading into wisps of smoke and darkness, trailing the Eldest Dragonseed, she stepped into a dark room unnaturally bereft of light.
"A false darkness trick?" Daena mocked, stepping into the middle of the room, silhouetted by the stream of light piercing from the doorway behind her. "Rather pedestrian, no?"
A heartbeat later and she threw a hand up, a blinding ball of light shooting upwards and striking the high ceiling above, banishing the darkness in a flare of illumination.
The room was circular, and completely covered with what Lucerys thought was a massive church organ. Rows upon rows of wooden keyboards. Hundreds if not thousands of brass pipes, all stretching towards the high ceiling.
And there, standing at the altar, several steps above them, stood Larys Strong and Alys Rivers.
"I suppose it is, rather pedestrian that is." Alys easily said, smiling coyly. "But mayhaps you shall find this more interesting."
She pulled a rope, and the great organ came to life. Gears whirring and spinning, a great music was produced, reverberating through the room with so much energy that it felt like the entire world was shaking.
Daena's lightsaber guttered out, the crimson blade vanishing in an instant. The wisps of shadow coiling at her feet vanished, and many of the trinkets she bore on her outfit turned dull and cold.
Lucerys gasped, as he felt the passive reinforcement spells and reflex boosters he wore vanish like smoke.
"What sorcery is this?" He demanded, stretching a hand out to cast, only to find that any spell formula he wove slid through his fingers like sand. Ruined by the music.
"A magical jammer." Daena muttered, reluctantly impressed. "Playing hymns of the Seven, from the sounds of things."
"You've seen this before?"
"Once, in a place called Dunwall." His sister mused, as armed guardsmen emerged all around them, bearing crossbows and swords. "The music prevents magic from being casted. Ruins the spell formulae somehow. Didn't expect to run into a variation here at home."
"Ah the fickleness of magic." Larys Strong tittered. "Tis what they say; men whom trust in spells duels with a glass sword. And your sword, has just shattered."
"Your arrival was unexpected, and your rampage impressive." Alys Rivers replied. "But your luck has run out."
"Even if you kill us both, others will come and avenge us." Lucerys promised. "Your names and crimes are known to us, and Rhaenyra will not rest until you are all brought to justice!"
"There are ways to hide. Ways to change one's face and vanish." Larys Strong dismissed. "We failed today, yes. But we can always try and try again. Sooner or later, House Strong will ascend to the Iron Throne. Not that you will get to see it."
Bang!
The music did not stop, but for some reason, the entire room felt utterly silent in the wake of the bang. Smoke lazily curled up from the barrel of Daena's wand. A thing of polished silver metal, with a free-rotating cylinder and a crossbow's grip and trigger assembly, ending in a long tube of polished metal.
Larys Strong keeled over, a hole in his head. Most of his face reduced to meat and blood from the impact of the shot.
In utter silence, all eyes turned to look at Daena, standing smack-dab in the middle of the anti-magic field, yet holding her silver wand aloft.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Daena whirled around, firing five more shots from the silver wand.
Four armed knights were thrown backwards, massive holes the thickness of Lucerys' thumb in their breastplates and helmets. Alys Rivers fell over in a spray of blood as well.
Calmly, steadily, Daena flicked open her silver wand. Six small cylinders of brass tinkled to the floor, and the Eldest Dragonseed calmly placed new ammunition into the cylinder. Six finger-sized and shaped brass rods went into the wand, and she snapped it back into position, clicking the weapon with a most satisfying sound.
Then she opened fire once more, and knights began to fall.
Six thunderclaps. Six corpses hitting the ground. Reload, rinse and repeat.
Before long, Daena and Lucerys were the only people left alive in the room.
Alys Rivers was still alive, moaning at the blood pooling all around her.
"How? Magic… doesn't work here." She groaned, pushing herself into an upright position.
Lucerys had seen mages regenerate from worse injuries, but it would appear that Alys herself was not immune to her own anti-magic field. The hymns to the Seven shredding her attempts at healing magic, and leaving her to bleed out.
"Here's the trick about anti-magic fields." Daena shrugged, aiming her weapon at Alys' head. "They don't work on guns."
She pulled the trigger. Lucerys was able to confirm two traitors killed.
———
115 AC, 1st Moon, 23rd day, Highgarden
Shaera's body twitched once, then twice. Then, with a rasping gasp, rose back to her feet, eyes completely slate grey.
The curse was halfway bubbling out of Naerys' hand before she caught it, counting backwards in Valyrian in an attempt to calm herself down.
That was not Shaera.
Shaera was now an ornament on Rhaenyra's finger, screaming silently in endless torment.
She was technically still alive, for a body could still function without a soul. Basic functions such as breathing and blood circulation still worked, though all higher brain functions would terminate. It was essentially brain-death, with the body being unable to do anything but slowly die of starvation or dehydration.
But as things happened, in addition to a body without a soul, Rhaenyra had a soul without a body handy.
"Well, this is weird." Rhaegar muttered from Shaera's lips, flexing her fingers and turning her body.
"How is it?" Rhaenyra asked, as Rhaegar got to his feet. "I know that it's not the best vessel, but it's really the only one we had."
"It is… adequate." Rhaegar decided, patting down the body curiously. "I must say, it is disconcerting."
"We can swap, if you like." Daenys offered. "You take my body, I take hers."
"No, no. It's good." Rhaegar sighed, and Naerys almost hexed him outright for that.
It was her voice, her gestures, and her expressions. Yet it was not Shaera.
"Just not looking forward to giving birth." The boy in female flesh lamented.
"I am told that babies make everything better, and all the rigours of motherhood will be worth it in the end." Rhaenyra drolly said.
Rhaegar flipped the Dragonqueen off for that, and everyone all laughed. It was seriously hard to believe that dainty, ladylike Shaera was making such a vulgar gesture.
"Good to have you back, brother." Shaeterys said, slapping Rhaegar on the back.
"I was always present, in Daenys."
"Yeah, well it wasn't the same." Shaeterys muttered, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I didn't know if I was talking to one or both of you at the same time. Now, at least you have your own body."
"The body of a traitor. The body of a murderer." Naerys involuntarily bit out spitefully.
"Shaera is gone. Screaming in eternal torment. But there is still use for her body, specifically her womb." Rhaenyra curtly said. "I know that you hate her, Naerys. But know that she is gone—permanently—and take comfort in that."
Hate?
Oh what a shallow word that was, for what Naerys felt.
What word could even encapsulate a tenth of the sheer and utter loathing that Naerys held towards her older sister? She whom mind-controlled and brainwashed her to heal enemy soldiers, torturing her whenever she disobeyed. She whom willingly murdered so many of her siblings, if she could step atop their corpses to rise. She whom sabotaged and sold out the Blacks at every single opportunity, setting into motions actions that led to the deaths of so so many.
Shaera Tyrell was a blight on the universe, and should be scoured clean from it, with fire if need be. Burned out of existence, immediately, irreparably, with not even ash spared. All trace of her destroyed and exorcised, until there was nothing left of her. Not even a memory or tale.
Every moment that her body lingered, moving with her limbs and speaking with her mouth, was a moment that Naerys was so utterly tempted to unleash cleansing light and destroy the infestation.
———
115 AC, 1st Moon, 26th day, Skies above Stormlands
They spent the five-hour flight in utter silence, interspersed solely by Grey Ghost's wingbeats.
Erik had tried to make conversation at first, but he'd shut up after realising that she'd been utterly disinterested in small talk.
"You've changed, Naerys." Erik had finally said, after spending an hour trying to spark conversation but only receiving surly grunts in response.
Naerys almost laughed mirthlessly at that.
How could she not have changed? Her world had been shattered, torn apart piece by agonizing piece. She had to watch as her three older siblings—The three whom she loved and respected the most. The three whom she was closest to of all her many siblings. The three whom she once looked up to as pillars of strength and inspiration— died pleading for her unworthy life. Were the world just, she would have died alongside them that day, on the gallows in Oldtown.
But they spared her.
Gods but they'd spared her.
Without a dragon, she wasn't even worth killing to them. Just thrown into a cell to rot.
Then came Shaera, her elder sister sauntering up with a twisted smile. A traitor, in bed with the enemies.
Naerys had not thought herself still bearing any heart left to break, but clearly the barrel had no bottom.
She once remembered defending Shaera, begging Rhaenyra to give her older sister yet another chance for redemption.
What an idiot she was.
Shaera was a snake, and more than willing to bite the hand of the person whom fed her. A thousand eternities of torment was too kind a fate for her.
"Naerys is a healer." Shaera had reminded Otto, her voice dripping with betrayal. "She'll be useful on the battlefield."
And with that, she was dragged out of her dank cell, her immortal soul leashed and bound to Shaera's will. Forced to heal the very same soldiers whom had torn her and her siblings from the safety of their lives, dragged them kicking and screaming to the hangman's noose. She could not even refuse to heal them, for Shaera had no qualms unleashing torture or mind control to break Naerys to her will.
Insult to injury was too feeble a term to describe her humiliation.
Yet, despite enduring that harrowing month under Green captivity, Rhaenyra remained indifferent to her suffering. Even as the Legions humiliated the Greens time and time again, Rhaenyra had deemed her unworthy of a rescue mission, casting her aside like a discarded pawn.
Once, she believed in the world's brightness, a realm of kindness, decency, peace, and abundance, populated by valiant men and compassionate women. But the blinders were violently ripped from her eyes, leaving behind a searing pain that scorched her soul. Now, she saw the world for what it truly was—a cold and dark place, desolate and cruel, where the righteous and the wicked blended in a murky haze of chaos. It was a realm where rabid animals existed solely to inflict murder, torment, and suffering upon one another and all those unfortunate enough to be caught in their wake.
The memories of her own naivety churned her stomach. Her idealistic dreams lay shattered, scattered like shards of broken glass, leaving her bleeding and vulnerable.
Gods but her the naive little girl she once was made her sick.
Small wonder Rhaenyra had deemed her expendable. In death, she held more value than in life—a bloody shirt, a rallying symbol for the Dragonqueen to wave and inspire her troops.
"I should hate her for this. Better men have hated others for lesser slights." Naerys muttered to herself, too quietly for Erik to hear. "But the truth is that I cannot. It was a cold calculus, but the results do not lie."
Her healing was what kept the Greens in the fight even after so many bruising losses. What made them take risks and what gave them hope. Bravery came easy, when one knew that even if they were wounded, if they could be brought back to Naerys alive, she could fan even the smallest spark of life back into a roaring blaze.
It was what gave them the confidence to attack Highgarden. Lesser hosts would have surrendered a long time before that, and desperate though they were, they believed—right up to the end—that victory was still possible. The Greens gambled, and might have won, had Rhaenyra not broken the board with her grand ritual.
Rhaenyra willingly let the Hightowers abuse Naerys' healing abilities, keeping more Green soldiers in the fight, all in order to bait the Greens into overcommitting on prepared grounds, setting up a wholesale slaughter for the Dragonqueen.
"Sacrifice a queen. Land a checkmate." Naerys whispered. "It's her favourite trick, after all."
There was something in that, something as admirable as it was horrifying.
Rhaenyra believed in the greater good. Something far beyond herself, beyond the petty concerns which plagued the common and lesser men. It was why she was willing to be so ruthless and brutal, to tread the path of a villain if need be.
Where Naerys would have once wept and proclaimed that by embracing lesser evils for the sake of a greater good, one was inviting the devil into one's own home, her betrayal and imprisonment by Shaera had given her a clarity of perspective.
———
115 AC, 1st Moon, 26th day, Storm's End
Lord Boremund Baratheon was an emancipated corpse of a man. Kept alive solely by the medicines he was bloated with.
Angry red scars crisscrossed his body, remnants of when the Maesters had cut him open to excise the tumours killing him. Pus and putrid rot clung to his wounds, an entrenched infection, despite the best efforts of the healers.
Naerys waved a hand, not even bothering with the prayers. Like the Seven would ever hear her pleas, fickle bastards that they were.
Wounds reknit. Infections faded away and tumours melted away. Lord Boremund's face relaxed as he was healed.
Her healing abilities had been improved tenfold, after Rhaenyra had fed her a sliver of godhood. Where she had to once coax the magic out, delicately calling into her hands, now it sprung into her grasp, rushing out of her like water out of a hose. Eager to enact her will upon the world.
She swept the body thrice, eradicating any and all sicknesses she could find. How many more years had she bought the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands? Two? Three? A dozen? More?
You are giving him years of his life. More to kill us. More to wound us. A voice whispered in Naerys' ear.
Lord Boremund's face suddenly contorted in pain, as the magic pouring out of Naerys turned red and hot.
How long will his gratitude last? He's already risen in rebellion once, and will likely do so again. Men like him never learn.
Naerys withdrew her hand, and cut off the flow of power, but the voices.
Oh the voices.
They did not stop.
Rhaenyra killed his son. He will seek to inflict the same pain onto her. Kill him now, and spare the Realm a second war in five years' time.
"Please, leave us." Naerys called out, the two guards and the Maester in the room looking askance at her.
They might have protested, but Bell raised a threatening eyebrow, and they all filed out obediently. The door slammed shut, and Naerys now stood alone with the sleeping Lord Paramount.
A twist of will, and up went the privacy spells.
"Haegon once told me, that brains are one of the few things that our shared gift can not heal." Naerys mused, slowly walking around the slab of stone Lord Boremund rested upon.
"I saw no reason to doubt my brother. He was older, more skilled, and had used this gift for longer than I."
She reached out, and touched the Stormlord's forehead. Probing strands of magic suffused out of her fingertip.
But…
"How many of your limits are self-imposed?" Rhaenyra the Dragonqueen's voice whispered.
A figment of imagination, yet no less real for it.
"I have seen Daenys and Shaera make sport of a man's mind. Turn order into chaos and madness into reason. They were neither natural nor healers, and if they can do it then so can I."
She took a deep breath.
"Magic obeys rules, but my power does not. And so I rule thus: Brains are not off-limits."
A twist of her will, and it was done. Easier than snapping her fingers, and perhaps that was what made it all the more scary. The line between murder and healing was far thinner than one would have imagined.
She did not go so far today, but Naerys now knew that calamity was well within her reach. Her hands could craft plagues and diseases vile enough to kill everyone on Westeros ten times over, and it would be as easy as shaping clay.
"I used to believe in the power of healing," Naerys' voice echoed with a bitter edge. "I thought my purpose was to mend the broken and bring light to the wounded. But now, I see the futility of my naivety. Healing alone cannot prevent the atrocities that plague this world."
Her eyes burned with a newfound intensity as the memories of her siblings' execution flashed before her.
"They were taken from me, ripped away in a storm of bloodshed and cruelty. And what did my healing hands offer them? Nothing but false hope and empty promises of a better tomorrow."
Naerys clenched her fists, her trembling fingers revealing the rage that coursed through her veins.
"No more. No more will I stand idly by, pretending that my acts of mercy can mend the shattered pieces of a broken world. There is no healing without justice. And justice, it seems, must be wielded with a far deadlier blade."
She'd died that day, alongside Haegon, Maegelle and Daella in Oldtown. Now all that was left of Naerys Fyre was a revenant, haunting this world long past her time.
But this revenant bore a purpose. A burden in which none others could share.
"First; Do no harm. What a childish platitude. What is medicine but poison rationed?" Naerys whispered to herself. "To save the body, sometimes it is necessary to amputate a limb. A tumour excised early can spare so much more suffering."
She paused, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. There was no one save sleeping Lord Boremund in the room with her, and yet it felt as though the world were taking a breath, waiting in anticipation for her next move.
"I have come to realise that healing is not always gentle. It can be harsh, unforgiving, and requires a willingness to confront the darkest corners of our existence. Just as a chirurgeon wields a scalpel to cut away the diseased flesh, so must I wield the gifts I bear to excise the malignancy that infects this world."
Naerys gaze hardened, her eyes filled with a steely resolve.
"The notion of doing good at any cost has become an illusion to me. There are times when light only perpetuates the cycle of suffering. It is in those moments that I must embrace the darkness, wield it with a calculated hand, and ensure that the greater good prevails."
She let out a long rattling breath, raising her bloodstained hands.
"With great power comes great responsibility, and I must exercise restraint on my own powers, lest they run wild and enact a massacre so horrible that even Valyria would blush."
Emerald eyes closed, and opened once more, burning with resolve.
"I shall become as a scalpel, precision and sharpness in a single tool. Healing and death, a delicate duality.
We will heal, under Rhaenyra's reign. The Seven Kingdoms will rise again, stronger and better than ever before. But the infection must not set in. Rot must not be allowed to poison the blood.
Where my siblings are hammers, crushing their foes with brute force, I shall be as a scalpel. Swiftness and precision will be the name of my game.
I shall quietly neuter those whom would impair Westeros' ascent, cutting out the rot, before it can spread. Prevention is better than cure, and I shall be the unseen harbinger of order, reaping the means and lives of those whom would see us crumble and fall.
Never again, will this Realm know civil war. Not on my watch.
This, I, Naerys Fyre, do solemnly swear."
She turned around, and placed her hand back onto Lord Boremund's forehead.
"Wake up, my lord. You have work to do."
The man did so, rising zealously back to his feet.
Lord Boremund stormed out of his deathbed, vitality restored. Under his orders, all Stormlords were to return back to their castles. Their armies would be dispersed and their forces stood down. There would be no more rebellion under him.
There never would be, for Naerys had rebuilt his mind from the ground-up solely to serve at House Targaryen's pleasure. His love for his son, and his hatred of Rhaenyra had been ripped out, root and stem. In their place, a fire now burned. An undying and eternal loyalty to the Iron Throne and House Targaryen in general.
Lady Elenda Caron was next. Stunned by her father-in-law's sudden change in health and behaviour, it was all too easy for Naerys to lure her into a private sitting for a cup of tea.
An hour later, and Lady Elenda was as ardent as Lord Boremund, stridently proclaiming her endless support for the House of the Dragon.
Aunt Rhaenys was baffled by their sudden change in demeanour, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth.
And so knelt the Stormlands, returned to the Black fold at last.
———
115 AC, 2nd Moon, 1st day, Oldtown
Seventeen thousand Legionaries marched in full battle formation, rows upon rows of men clad in matte steel descending on Oldtown.
The Greens had broken at Highgarden, but they weren't out for the count.
With the deaths of essentially every other Green commander, Otto Hightower had wound up in control of the battered remnants of the Hightower-Lannister host. He'd immediately sounded the retreat, ordering his remaining men to pack up what little supplies they still had before marching back to Oldtown.
Of the fifteen thousand men that had survived the desolation, three thousand had died in the Fourth Legion's charge. Another two thousand had broken and ran, scattering in all directions like all the hounds of the Seven Hells were chasing after them.
The Cataphracts had run most of them down, and those that survived found night brought no respite, for the Fifth Legion had come out in force.
Green men ran in terror in the dead of night, hounds and horsemen pursuing them tirelessly.
Legionaries whom had once been Rangers of the Night's Watch had sallied out, bolstered by skinchangers in birds and bloodhounds. They tracked down the fleeing soldiers, slaying many in their exhaustion.
Come dawn, and the grand Hightower host of sixty-thousand men had dwindled to ten-thousand.
A number that continuously dwindled throughout the five days march back to Oldtown, Legion calvary sallying out to bleed the traitors relentlessly. Not letting them get a wink of rest or respite.
It was a delicate balance, keeping far enough away that Otto wouldn't be tempted to stand and fight, but close enough their calvary could brutalise the fleeing Greens.
But now, this long hunt had finally come to an end.
Otto had set a brutally grinding pace, leaving the slow, wounded and infirm behind on the wayside as they force-marched in Oldtown. They'd been forced to butcher their horses for food, halfway through, but the former Hand of the King had not allowed the pace to slacken.
If they slowed, they would die.
But if they could make it back behind the walls of Oldtown and hole up in the Hightower, the Greens might yet eke out a draw, or at least gain a more secure position to bargain terms of surrender from.
Aemon could not help but feel a modicum of pity for the Greens.
Only eight thousand of them left, they were a shadow of their past might and glory. Their leaders were dead, most of their best troops were slaughtered and their calvary gone. They were under-armed and under-equipped, not to mention exhausted and hungry from the forced march. Their morale was nearly nonexistent, with only the promise of safety behind the walls of Oldtown keeping them going.
The walls were constructed of stone, thick, strong and stout. They were forty feet high, and bristling with the best siege engines the Maesters could come up with. Banners and pennants proudly bearing the heraldry of House Hightower flew over the city, a promise of might and influence.
Behind these walls, Oldtown itself had been meticulously planned out and designed by the finest scholars and architects in the Seven Kingdoms. While not an army-breaker like New Ghis, it was still the most defensible city in all of Westeros.
And looming high behind them all, like a giant candle stretching into the sky, was the Hightower. The tallest structure made by men in the Known World, surpassing even the Wall in height.
It had fallen by storm, and been cast down before, but not without ruinous costs. And each and every time, House Hightower would build the structure back up, even taller and stronger than the last time.
"They still hold hope." Rhaenyra had mused, riding near the front of the formation. "Oldtown is a mighty fortress, and they think that it may yet withstand my Legions."
"A pity then, that such hope is false." Aemon quietly said, looking intently at the Hightower, looming high above.
"Pity indeed." Rhaenyra simply said, flicking a wrist and activating a glass candle.
Aemon could not help but take in a breath, as he braced for what was to come.
"Execute Towerfall." The Dragonqueen proclaimed.
"It will be done, your grace." General Lucius Serrett promised.
A heartbeat passed.
Two.
Then explosions of green begun bursting out of the Hightower, the blasts so large and powerful their shockwave whipped the whole of Whispering Sound into a frenzy. Throwing up waves higher than some houses that battered away at the Port of Oldtown.
A cascade of destruction followed, seven hundred feet of human ingenuity crashing down with an earsplitting roar. The skyscraper crumbling to earth in an avalanche of dust and destruction. The sound that followed, as the sundered tower smashed into the sea, felt like the world itself was screeching in agony.
Water was thrown into the air, a massive tide of dust and spray that rose nearly as high as the fallen tower itself, looming over the walls of Oldtown.
A stunned silence was all that followed, as deafening as the Towerfall.
The banners and pennants bearing the House Hightower's namesake was mercilessly struck down. Thrown carelessly off the edge of the battlements. And in their place, fresh banners touched the skies.
The Valyrian numeral one in red, on a background of pure black.
The Valyrian numeral six in red, on a background of pure black.
And the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, looming high above them all.
Operation Towerfall was complete.
Notes:
For those curious, Daena was riding a Garchomp, Jaehaerys a varatactyl (the lizard Obi Wan rides in Revenge of the Sith), Gapeth is riding a caragor from Mordor, Melisandre is riding a Rapidash pokemon, and Ezraa has a chocobo from Final Fantasy.
Like I said, they've been to a lot of places in the Multiverse.
Also, just want to thank my older brother for writing Naerys' monologue. He doesn't really care about fanfics, but he used to write plays back in Drama Club, and was gracious enough to let me plagiarise a few of his scripts for Naerys' segment. What do you think?
Lastly, Operation Towerfall is complete! Yes, the name was meant to be interpreted literally. I was actually surprised that no one thought that the Hightower would come crashing down. Or that no one questioned the whereabouts of the First and Sixth Legion after I revealed that they were missing.