129 AC
The First Day of The Tenth Moon
Dragonstone
Daeron's POV
The war had ended. Alyssa had burned down the Rogue Prince, and the riverlords had bent the knee. Yet, Jaehaerys deemed it insufficient and unleashed his wrath upon them, reducing the various riverlords to ashes. Caraxes had returned to Dragonstone as well, but the conflict was far from over.
Jaehaerys decided he needed to destroy the Ironborn root and stem, I reflected bitterly. There were times when I wondered if the brother I had grown up with had been replaced by a monster from the seven hells.
Dalton Greyjoy had sent a raven to King's Landing, offering his surrender to my grandfather, the Hand of the King. But grandfather refused, because of Jaehaerys.
My wounds had healed considerably, and I wanted to leave for Casterly Rock, where my wife would soon give birth. The thought of becoming a father scared me, for I wondered what kind of world I was bringing my child into—a world where brother fights sister, where families slay each other.
A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts, and a servant entered, asking me to go to the Chamber of the Painted Table as my brother, the king, had called for me.
I walked towards the chamber, feeling a growing sense of dread. As I entered, I was met by the presence of the Kingsguard and saw my brother seated at the head of the table. Aegon looked better than he did two moons ago. His burns had started to heal, but he was still not at full strength.
"Brother, you called for me," I said as I walked towards him.
"Daeron," he replied in a grim tone.
I sat next to him, noticing a parchment laid out before him.
"The Ironborn have attacked the West," he said.
My thoughts immediately rushed to my wife. I quickly read the parchment, my anger rising with every word. Apparently, grandfather had received a raven from my wife's mother, Lady Johanna Lannister, but he did not disclose it.
"I am leaving, brother," I said, my voice trembling with rage.
"Daeron," Aegon spoke, trying to calm me. "Listen to Jaehaerys."
"I know you are cross with him regarding the fact that he pursued a war against the Ironborn, but listen to him. He is the reason we won against the Blacks," he said.
I nodded my head curtly and stormed out towards the Dragonmont to ride Tessarion.
"Hello, girl," I said in Valyrian, my anger barely contained. "It is time that the both of us put an end to this senseless war."
I brought my head closer to hers, feeling the heat of her breath. The war may have ended, but my anger burned as fiercely as the dragonfire that had ravaged the realm.
The Fifteenth Day of the Tenth Moon
The sky was dark, and Tessarion's scales reflected the flickering light of distant fires as we soared above the chaos below. I had finally reached Casterly Rock, my heart pounding with the urgency of the mission ahead. The situation near the city of Lannisport was dire. Below, close to fifty Ironborn ships battered the city walls, their relentless assault threatening to overwhelm the defenders. The men fighting to protect Lannisport were brave, but I could see they were losing ground as more and more Ironborn ladders reached the battlements.
I had to save Cerelle and the innocent people of Lannisport from the Ironborn.
"Tessarion, Dracarys," I commanded, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. The blue queen, Tessarion, dived down, her wings cutting through the air with lethal grace. Her maw opened, and a torrent of blue fire erupted, engulfing the Ironborn below. The men screamed as they burned, their flesh melting away under the dragon's wrath.
Again and again, we dived, each pass sending more Ironborn to their fiery deaths. The defenders on the walls took heart from our presence, rallying and pushing back against their attackers. In the night sky, the Ironborn ships loosed ballista bolts, their jagged tips aimed for Tessarion. But the darkness worked in our favor, making it hard for the Ironborn to aim. Tessarion was not as large as Vhagar or Vermithor, and while her fire could not fully consume the ships, it was enough to break their ranks and sow chaos.
Just as I was about to command another pass, a roar echoed through the night. I turned in the saddle, my heart leaping as I saw a silver dragon diving down, its flames turning the night into day as it breathed fire upon the Ironborn ships.
"Sister!" I shouted with joy, my voice carrying over the din of battle.
"Daeron, don't tell me you wanted all the glory for yourself," she replied, her smile brilliant and fierce as she guided her dragon into the fray.
Alyssa's dragon, Silverwing, was a magnificent sight, her scales gleaming like molten silver in the firelight. She was larger than Tessarion, and her flames were more intense, more destructive. Together, we rained fire upon the Ironborn, our dragons' roars blending into a symphony of destruction. The ships below burned, their wooden hulls crackling and splitting as the flames consumed them. Ironborn warriors leapt into the sea, their screams cut short as the cold water embraced them, offering no solace from the burning hell above.
As I looked down, I saw ships bearing the sigils of the Redwynes and the Hightowers joining the battle. Their arrival was perfectly timed, their attacks forcing the Ironborn to retreat. The Ironborn ships, now caught between the dragons above and the reinforcements from the sea, were trapped. Flames licked at their decks, and the air was thick with the stench of burning wood and flesh.
The Hightower and Redwyne ships unleashed a barrage of arrows and stones, their projectiles raining down upon the Ironborn with deadly precision. The Ironborn, once so confident in their assault, were now in disarray, their lines broken, their spirits crushed. The defenders of Lannisport took advantage of the chaos, rallying and driving the Ironborn back with renewed vigor.
Tessarion and I circled above, surveying the battlefield. The once mighty fleet of the Ironborn was now a scattered wreck, their ships burning or sinking beneath the waves. Bodies floated in the water, the once blue sea now stained red with blood. The surviving Ironborn were fleeing, their remaining ships breaking away from the fight and making for the open sea.
"Sister, let's finish this," I called to Alyssa
"With pleasure," she replied, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of battle.
Together, we guided our dragons in a final, devastating assault. Tessarion's blue flames and Silverwing's silver fire combined, creating a maelstrom of destruction that engulfed the retreating Ironborn ships. The screams of the dying filled the air, and the sea boiled as the flames touched the water.
When the last of the Ironborn ships had fled or been destroyed, we descended, landing our dragons on the battlements of Lannisport. The defenders cheered, their voices hoarse from battle but filled with gratitude and relief. I dismounted, my legs shaking from exhaustion, and was immediately surrounded by grateful townsfolk and soldiers.
"All hail our savior, Prince Daeron the Daring!" one of the knights proclaimed, and the men shouted in agreement.
The fires still burned in the harbor, casting a flickering light over the city. The battle was over, and Lannisport was safe, but the cost had been high. The Ironborn had been defeated, their ships reduced to smoldering wrecks, their men slain or scattered. The people of Lannisport had suffered, but they had also shown their resilience and courage.
The aftermath of the battle was a scene of both relief and sorrow. The bodies of fallen warriors, both friend and foe, lay scattered across the battlefield. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and blood, a grim reminder of the price paid for victory. Yet, amidst the devastation, there was a sense of triumph. The people of Lannisport had endured a brutal assault and emerged victorious, thanks in no small part to their prince.
As I stood among the ruins, I saw Lady Johanna Lannister, the regent of the Westerlands and my wife's mother, making her way toward me. She was wearing chainmail stained with blood, a testament to her participation in the battle. Her face was a mixture of exhaustion and relief.
"You saved us, my prince," she said, her voice filled with gratitude and admiration.
"It was my duty," I replied, though my heart swelled with pride at her words.
The men around us began to chant my name, "Daeron! Daeron!" Their voices rose in unison, a powerful chorus that echoed through the city. Tessarion, my dragon, gave a loud roar that seemed to shake the very ground, adding to the chorus of praise.
As we made our way towards Casterly Rock, the ancient seat of House Lannister, I could see the people of Lannisport lining the streets. They cheered and called out to me, their savior. Their faces were a mix of joy and sorrow, reflecting the bittersweet nature of our victory. Many had lost loved ones, yet they looked to me with hope and gratitude.
Near the entrance of the Lion's Mouth, the grand gateway to Casterly Rock, I saw my wife, Cerelle. She stood with her hand on her belly, a gesture that spoke volumes. She was with child, and the sight of her standing there, waiting for me, filled my heart with a fierce protectiveness.
"Daeron," she said softly, tears streaming down her face.
I rushed towards her, not caring about the grime and blood that covered me. The smell of smoke and sweat clung to me, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was Cerelle.
"My love, I am back," I said, pulling her into a tight embrace. I kissed her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin against my lips. She placed her hand on my face and kissed me deeply, a kiss that spoke of relief, love, and unspoken promises.
For once, I felt as if I had done something truly meaningful, something that could bring an end to this godforsaken war once and for all. The people continued to chant, their voices growing louder and more fervent. "Prince Daeron the Daring! The Savior Of Lannisport!" They called me their savior, and in that moment, I felt the weight of their hopes and dreams resting on my shoulders.
----
Aemond Pov
Glory and prestige—every knight craved these. The moment the war began, all the lords and knights rushed to earn their spurs and distinguish themselves.
I was the rider of Vhagar, the largest living dragon in the world, but glory had evaded me. Despite securing the Baratheons to our cause, I felt I had done nothing substantial to contribute to our victory.
Jealousy coursed through me as reports of Jaehaerys defeating foe after foe reached us. He was feared by all, but the fear people had of me and my brother were two different things altogether.
I was feared because of Vhagar, whereas he was feared not for his dragon, but for the man he was. I marched to the Reach to kill the riverlords who had joined the Blacks, but all I managed to do was slaughter men who were fleeing.
My sister had gained glory; she would be remembered for her actions. I thought I had lost my chance to prove myself to the world. But then, the Holy Crusade against the Ironborn was announced.
I knew this was the best chance I had to show the world that I existed. That I was to be feared and respected just like my brother.
I looked towards Daeron, who was conversing with Lady Johanna Lannister, and felt the pang of jealousy rising as even Daeron had earned glory.
"Daeron the Daring," they called him.
"Jaehaerys the Silent Fury," they called my other brother while Aegon was the King
While I was just Prince Aemond, the rider of Vhagar. No, I would show the world that I was far more dangerous than my brothers. I refused to be forgotten.
I looked at the gathering of the lords as the war council was called.
The map of the Westerlands was spread on the table, and all the lords stood around it.
"My lords, we have dealt a heavy blow to the Ironborn," Lady Johanna spoke.
"But the threat still remains," she said.
She placed a few iron ships on Fair Isle.
"The majority of the Ironborn forces are here," she said.
"My sources tell me that the false king Dalton Greyjoy is encamped here. Once this force of theirs is defeated, we will have finished this war, and the Iron Islands will be ripe for the taking," she said as a glint of murderous intent crossed her eye.
"Lady Johanna speaks the truth," Daeron spoke.
"We have enough ships and men to take the fight to the Ironborn scum," Daeron said as the lords cheered.
I stood there, yearning for my chance to prove myself, to earn the glory and prestige that had so far eluded me.
We were currently having supper, Daeron was sitting next to his wife while Alyssa sat with me, and Lady Johanna presided at the head of the table.
"Daeron, have you thought about what you would like to name your child?" Alyssa asked, a smile lighting up her face as Daeron's wife gave a slight blush.
"I'm not sure, sister. I guess I never had enough time to think about it," he said, his tone softening.
"What about you, brother? You too are going to become a father," Alyssa asked me, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Cassandra has a long list of names. I read half of it before falling asleep," I said as I drank another cup of wine.
"You are an ass, brother," Alyssa said, playfully pushing me.
The others started laughing, and I couldn't help but give a small smile.
"Aemond, Alyssa, I have something to tell you," Daeron said, his voice suddenly serious as he stared intently at both of us.
"What is it, brother?" Alyssa asked, her curiosity piqued.
"The truth about why we are fighting this war against the Ironborn," he said, and my ears perked up.
"A raven was sent to King's Landing once the Battle of the Honeywine ended. The raven was sent by Dalton Greyjoy," he said, and everyone's eyes widened.
"In the raven, he swore to pledge allegiance to Aegon," he said, as everyone looked confused.
"But Grandfather rejected the offer for clemency," he said.
"Why would the Hand of the King do such a thing?" Cerelle Lannister, my brother's wife, asked aloud.
"Jaehaerys," Daeron said softly, and everyone's eyes widened even more.
"I don't know how, but he wanted this war to happen," he said.
"Daeron, why would Jaehaerys wish to continue this war? You are wrong," Alyssa said, her voice trembling.
"Huh, I am not surprised. He is a bloodthirsty monster after all," Cerelle said, and my eyes widened as Alyssa got up.
"Do not call him that," she said, her voice as cold as ice.
"Should I call him the Kinslayer then?" Cerelle said, getting up and shouting.
"He is not a kinslayer," Alyssa said angrily, and I was reminded of the time when Rhaenyra used to say that her three sons were not bastards.
"That monster sent my father to die," Cerelle spoke, and I saw Alyssa falter.
"You didn't know, did you?" she said.
"He sent a raven stating that he was to march with haste to the riverlands and that a dragon would accompany his host. But that was all a ruse, a ruse so that my father would die. He sent him as a pig to the slaughter, knowing fully well the Rogue Prince would fall on his host," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Ask yourself, how many lives is your brother worth? How many more men, women, and children will he kill until he is satisfied?" she screamed.
"How many sons and daughters are to be orphaned? How many wives widowed? How many until his bloodlust is satisfied?" she said, her voice breaking.
"Cerelle, calm down," Lady Johanna said as she took her daughter away, who broke down, leaving only Alyssa, Daeron, and me.
"She is not wrong about him," Daeron said, as a look of fury washed over Alyssa's face.
"You are going against your brother, Daeron, after everything he has sacrificed for us all?" she said, her voice shaking with emotion.
"Do you think I don't know how much he has sacrificed for us all, Alyssa? I know that what he has done is eating him up from the inside, but he has to be stopped. He is like a beast and sooner than later they have to be put down," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow as he left the table.
"When will you finally realize that Jaehaerys is not the same as before?" he said, his voice echoing in the now silent room.
The tension hung heavy in the air, the revelation about Jaehaerys casting a dark shadow over the room. Alyssa looked torn, her loyalty to her brother clashing with the horrifying truths that had just been revealed. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between love and the brutal reality of the situation.
"Alyssa," I said softly, trying to reach out to her, but she shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes.
"I need time to think, Aemond. This... this is too much," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, before she turned and left the room.
I was left alone, the weight of the revelations pressing down on me. The laughter and camaraderie from moments ago seemed like a distant memory, replaced by a chilling uncertainty about the future. The war against the Ironborn, the glory I sought, everything now seemed tainted by the knowledge of Jaehaerys's dark intentions.
I could not sleep. As I walked outside, I watched the moon dip lower in the sky. "Prince Aemond," I heard a voice and turned to see Lady Johanna approaching.
"You couldn't sleep either," she said, observing me closely.
"Aye, and neither could you," I replied.
"Have you thought about the future?" she asked.
"Speak plainly, my lady. I dislike riddles," I said, my patience wearing thin.
"Your brother Jaehaerys is a threat," she stated bluntly.
I clenched my fists, trying to control my rising anger. "Mind your tongue, my lady," I warned.
"How long do you think he will be content with sitting still? How long until he sets his sights on the Iron Throne?" she pressed, her eyes piercing into mine.
"Jaehaerys would never betray our brother," I said, though the conviction in my voice wavered.
"The brother you knew is long gone," she said coldly. "He has killed off entire houses without any hesitation."
"Ask yourself truthfully whether you believe there is a chance your brother would do something like that. If there is even a flicker of doubt in your heart, then you will know that I am right," she said, her voice soft but firm.
"We have a long day ahead tomorrow, my lady. It is best we sleep," I said, trying to dismiss the conversation.
She nodded and left, but her words lingered in my mind, sowing seeds of doubt. I was left alone with my thoughts, the weight of her accusations pressing heavily on my conscience.
I paced the courtyard, the cool night air doing little to calm my racing mind. Lady Johanna's words echoed in my head, and I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Could it be true? Could Jaehaerys really be a threat to our family? To the realm?
As the first light of dawn began to break, I resolved to watch Jaehaerys more closely. I had to know the truth. For the sake of our family, for the sake of the realm, I needed to be certain.
-----
Jaehaerys POV
Fair Isle lay below me, a silent silhouette under the moonlit sky. From atop Vermithor, my loyal dragon, the island seemed tranquil, almost serene. But I knew better. Near the harbor, the dark shapes of Ironborn longships crowded the waters, their sails emblazoned with the banners of various Ironborn houses. Each sigil represented death, conquest, and terror. The strength of the Ironborn lay in their ships, their mastery of the sea. Without these, they were nothing but men—no better than the smallfolk they terrorized.
I knew Dalton Greyjoy, the feared Red Kraken, was on the isle. His fate was sealed tonight. He would die by fire and blood, a fitting end for the terror of the seas.
"Vermithor," I called out, my voice a harsh whisper in the night. "Time to make the Ironborn realize how fucked they truly are."
With a mighty roar, Vermithor acknowledged my command. His wings folded as he went into a steep dive, the air whistling past us. The Ironborn ships grew larger, their crews unaware of the doom descending upon them. As we neared the harbor, I screamed the ancient command.
"Dracarys!"
Flames erupted from Vermithor's maw, a torrent of fire hotter than the forges of Valyria. The longships were engulfed instantly, wooden decks and sails turning to ash in moments. The screams of the Ironborn filled the air, a cacophony of terror and agony. Men ran ablaze, their flesh charred and blackened. Others leaped into the sea, their cries continuing as the saltwater did nothing to quench the dragonfire that clung to them.
The sight was horrifying, even for me. Men flailing as they burned alive, the stench of cooked flesh rising to meet us. I steeled myself. This was necessary. This was justice.
Once the ships were naught but smoldering wrecks, I directed Vermithor towards Faircastle. The Ironborn had made camp outside its walls, confident in their numbers. They would soon learn the folly of their arrogance.
Vermithor's shadow passed over the encampment, and panic spread like wildfire. Men pointed and screamed, scrambling for weapons and cover. But there was no escape. Vermithor's flames rained down, turning tents into bonfires and men into torches. The air was filled with the scent of burning wood, flesh, and the acrid tang of fear.
I watched as Ironborn warriors, fierce and proud, fell to their knees, their bodies consumed by dragonfire. They were helpless, powerless against the might of a dragon. Some tried to flee, but Vermithor's flames found them. Others stood their ground, preferring to face their end with what little dignity they could muster.
The first light of dawn began to break as I circled Faircastle, surveying the destruction below. The once proud banners of the Ironborn now lay in ashes. The once mighty warriors were reduced to charred corpses, their dreams of conquest extinguished.
As Vermithor and I descended, the eerie silence of the aftermath settled. The only sounds were the crackling of flames and the distant crash of waves against the shore. The ironborn lay scattered, a testament to the might of dragonfire and the cost of defiance.
I dismounted Vermithor and walked among the ruins. Bodies lay strewn about, some burned beyond recognition, others twisted in final, desperate attempts to escape the flames. The ground was slick with blood, the air heavy with the smell of death. This was a scene of utter devastation, the kind only a dragon could wreak.
Atop the castle gate, a figure clad in dark armor adorned with a red kraken stood defiantly. Dalton Greyjoy, the Red Kraken himself, glared down at me with a fury that matched the fire of my dragon, Vermithor. I leaned back against Vermithor's snout, studying my enemy with cold detachment.
"We finally meet," Dalton called out, his voice a bitter growl.
"Surrender, and your men will live," I offered, my tone steely and unwavering.
The Ironborn soldiers glanced nervously between Dalton and me, their fear palpable. They had seen the destruction Vermithor and I had wrought upon their comrades. They knew the futility of resisting.
"Do you wish to be burned alive like the rest of your brethren?" I demanded, my voice echoing across the castlewalls.
Dalton's gaze shifted to his men, seeing their hesitation. He knew their resolve was crumbling. With a sneer, he brought forth a poorly clad man, clearly a prisoner, wearing the colors of House Farman.
"He will not burn the castle while this fucker is present alongside the rest of House Farman," Dalton taunted, pushing the man forward.
"You have lost, Dalton," I declared, my eyes locked onto his. "It matters not whether you open the gates now or in a moon's time. You are a dead man walking."
Dalton's face twisted with rage. "You inbred monster!" he screamed. "You should have been dead for the visions I received told me so!"
I remained unmoved, but his fury soon gave way to something more sinister.
"I know that I could not have won against you," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "That is why I will bring you to the depths as well."
"Go and check my ships that you have burnt," he said, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "Are you not questioning why you haven't seen a man, woman, or child other than the Ironborn?"
A cold dread settled over me as his words sank in. "The men, women, and children were on the very ships you burned," he said, laughing maniacally.
"No, you're lying," I said, my voice trembling as my emotions surged.
Dalton's laughter echoed in my ears as I quickly mounted Vermithor and flew towards the harbor. The sight that greeted me under the rising sun was one of unspeakable horror. The destruction I had wrought was laid bare before me. Burned bodies floated lifelessly in the water, their charred forms a grotesque testament to the devastation. Among them were the small, frail bodies of children, half-burned and lifeless.
My heart pounded as I scanned the beach, desperate for any sign of survivors. Then I saw her—a small girl, barely five years old, coughing weakly as she lay on the sand. I rushed to her side, horrified by the sight. Half of her body was burned, the smell of scorched flesh filling the air. She was still breathing, but only just.
I cradled her in my arms, removing my water skin to offer her a sip. "It hurts, it hurts," she cried, her voice a fragile whisper.
"Mother... Father... Where are they?" she asked, her burnt arm reaching up to touch my face.
"Please... make the pain stop," she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I held her close, my heart breaking for this innocent child caught in the crossfire of my war. "Look at the rising sun," I said softly. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"Yes, it is," she murmured, a faint smile appearing on her lips.
With tears in my eyes, I plunged my dagger into her heart, ending her suffering. Her smile remained, a haunting reminder of the innocence lost in the flames of vengeance.
"Fuck!" I screamed, the weight of my actions crashing down upon me. Tears streamed down my face as I cried, but soon my cries turned to laughter, a bitter, hollow sound. I couldn't distinguish between the two anymore.
---
Alyssa Pov
I looked on from above as close to a hundred ships, carrying nearly thirty thousand men, sailed toward Fair Isle for a defining battle—a battle meant to end the false king, Dalton Greyjoy. I was riding on Silverwing, while Daeron rode on Tessarion. The Isle of Fair Isle became visible as we flew, and we expected to see the Ironborn and their longships. However, the sight before us made my blood run cold.
There were close to fifty longships, burned in various stages, scattered across the shore. The charred remains of the ships created an eerie spectacle, and among them were countless blackened corpses but I saw more women and children than the ironborn. The once-proud fleet of the Ironborn now lay in ruin, the sea breeze carrying the stench of burnt flesh and wood.
As we approached the castle of Fair Isle, the devastation grew even more apparent. The once-strong walls had turned black, and the towers had crumbled. Flames still licked at the rubble, casting a hellish glow on the destruction. The scene reminded me of the cursed ruins of Harrenhal—an image of desolation and death.
Bodies of the Ironborn were strewn about, their lifeless forms twisted in grotesque shapes, their dead bodies floating in the sea. The docked ships bore the faces of nobles who had arrived too late, their expressions a mix of confusion and horror. Instead of a fierce battle, they found only death. It was as if every soul on the island had withered away, leaving nothing but the remnants of a gruesome massacre.
Then, a mighty roar echoed through the air, and I saw the Bronze Fury. From atop it, Jaehaerys descended. His presence commanded attention, and his voice cut through the silence.
"You finally made it," he said, looking at us with a cold expression.
Daeron and I landed our dragons beside him, dismounting to survey the carnage up close. The ground was slick with blood, and the air was thick with the smell of death. Each step we took revealed more horrors—bodies of men, women, and even children, all caught in the inferno that had consumed Fair Isle.
"What happened here?" asked Lady Johanna, who was clad in chainmail, her voice trembling as she surveyed the carnage.
My brother sat on a stone, his face smeared with ash, a grim shadow of his former self. His eyes, once filled with a sense of duty, now gleamed with something darker.
"After the heavy defeat of the Ironborn in the Battle for Lannisport, Dalton Greyjoy was enraged," he began, his voice rough. "In his fury, he lashed out against the smallfolk and slaughtered most of them while the rest were put on the longships ."
Jaehaerys paused, his gaze distant, as if reliving the horrors. "Dalton planned to retreat to the Iron Islands, to put distance between himself and the Hightower and Redwyne fleets. That's when I arrived."
Lady Johanna and Aemond exchanged uneasy glances as Jaehaerys continued, his tone devoid of remorse. "I burned their ships. A few managed to escape, but the false king ran back to Faircastle and threatened to kill Lord Farman and his family if I attacked."
"What happened then? Did Greyjoy kill the Farmans?" Daeron asked, his voice sharp with tension.
"You care about the nobles more than the smallfolk who were in the longships I burned down," he said with a hollow smile.
"Why is the castle destroyed, Jaehaerys? Answer me!" Daeron shouted, his frustration boiling over.
Jaehaerys looked up, a cold smile playing on his lips. "I burned the place down. The castle was just a structure; it can be rebuilt," he said dismissively.
Hearing him, the faces of those present drained of color as the realization set in—Jaehaerys had obliterated an entire noble house.
"You ended an entire noble house, you monster!" Daeron cried out, lunging at Jaehaerys, but he was restrained by those around him.
"Lord Farman was innocent. His children were innocent, and you killed them all," Daeron seethed, fury etched in his features.
"Daeron, calm down," Aemond said, stepping forward, his voice a strained attempt at reason.
Aemond looked at Jaehaerys, disappointment and a flicker of something like fear in his eyes.
"Do not worry brother; House Farman will be remembered for their sacrifice," Jaehaerys said dismissively.
"It is the fault of the Farmans for letting the Ironborn capture their castle. Fucking idiots," he added with a sneer.
It was then I noticed a Valyrian steel sword in Jaehaerys' hand. "I got a Valyrian steel sword from Dalton Greyjoy," he said, raising it aloft.
"Nightfall. Looks better than Lady Forlorn, to be honest," he remarked, as if the previous events were trivial.
"I don't even know what to call you now," Daeron spat out, the lords present bristling with anger, especially the lords of the Westerlands.
"A thank you would be great," Jaehaerys said with a mocking smile. "I effectively ended the war. Only the noble houses of the Iron Islands remain. How would you like to have Harlaw, Daeron?"
"Daeron the Daring, Prince of Harlaw," Jaehaerys said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Daeron just glared daggers at Jaehaerys, his hands clenched into fists.
"Well, go and board your ships," Jaehaerys commanded, turning to the lords.
"It's time to bring fire and blood to the Iron Islands and purify the fuckers," he said coldly, his voice a death knell for the Ironborn.
The lords hesitated, torn between their duty and their horror at Jaehaerys' ruthlessness. Yet, they had no choice but to obey. As they turned to leave, I saw the conflict in their eyes, the struggle to reconcile their loyalty with the atrocities they had witnessed.
As the lords departed, Daeron remained, his eyes never leaving Jaehaerys. "You've become a monster, brother," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jaehaerys shrugged, his expression indifferent. "Monsters are what win wars, Daeron. Remember that."
The Holy Crusade against the Ironborn was led by Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, whose infamy had grown to rival, and some would say surpass, that of King Maegor the Cruel.
After the destruction of House Farman and the majority of the Ironborn fleet, Prince Jaehaerys, alongside his siblings and various lords, invaded the Iron Islands.
There, all noble houses were promised clemency if they bent the knee and laid down their weapons. This offer was accepted by the entire nobility of the Iron Islands. But It was the beginning of the end as Every member of each house, whether small or great, was brought to Nagga's Hill, where they were all burned to death by Prince Jaehaerys.
This was merely the beginning of the Holy Crusade. The thralls were freed, while every Ironborn man was sent to the Wall. The priests of the Drowned God were burnt by Vermithor's flames.
The men and women of the Iron Islands were brought into the faith of the Seven by the septons and septas who had accompanied Prince Jaehaerys.
While this marked the pinnacle of Prince Jaehaerys' power, it was also the beginning of his downfall.
-An Excerpt from "The Silent Fury" written by Archmaester Gyldan