"Even in the depths of grief, know that you are not alone."
The new arrangement for the Red Mountains of Dorne, once you took the time to look at a map, was a beautiful thing. Economically, the dominance of House Yronwood was easy to predict. With control over both the Prince's Pass and the Boneway, they held the two most viable overland routes into Dorne, as well as one of the few viable ports.
Since the southern coast of Dorne was dominated by whirlpools, that left only the northern and eastern coasts for sea-based trade. And since the eastern coast was tragically close to the Stepstones and the pirates that called them home, making it less than appealing to merchant vessels, mine especially, that left the northern approach.
And since naval navigation usually followed the coast… well, safe to say the King Yronwood was about to cut into a more serious portion of Martell trade than previously anticipated. Mayhaps I could even negotiate a free trade agreement of sorts with the man? Lower customs taxes and duties would cripple the non-Yronwood Dornish economy.
Thoughts for later. For now, I had to get home. And on my way there, I got to appreciate another beauty of my plan: how Dorne would be fractured. Yronwood independence, even without the former Fowler lands, meant that a certain Dornish lord suddenly found himself surrounded by enemies on all sides.
House Wyl had never been so exposed. Split from the rest of Dorne, what could they do? To the north the Stormlands, to the west the Red Mountains and then the Reach, to the south the lands of House Yronwood, they were surrounded. It would be child's play to rush in and dismantle it. Or even just to destabilize what. After all, what was inflicting a quick succession crisis after they aided and abetted the murder of our brother?
Heat rose in our throat as we bellowed a challenge for the world to hear. After all, who could challenge us up here? Who would contest our supremacy of the skies? Who dared contest the greatest dragon in the skies of Dorne?
An answer reached our ears, and the heat vanished as quickly as morning dew. We dropped from the sky, fell until we were only a few lengths from the rocky ground and leveled out. Skimming just ever so slightly above untamed fields of grass and wildflowers that sprang from the rugged slopes of the Red Mountains, we raced along as our mind tried to catch up to the actions we had carried out without thinking.
Dragons in Dorne.
Who could it be?
I did not recognize the roar, but the echo of the mountains twisted the sound too much for that to mean anything.
Not Dreamfyre or Silverwing, they were still in King's Landing. Not the Black Dread, he was confined to his lair. Vermithor or Caraxes, then? They had accompanied us all those weeks ago to defeat the Martell. But even with how the mountains twisted the roar, it sounded… not right.
Who else could it-
Vhagar.
The great bronze beast of the Conqueror's elder sister.
The second-greatest beast to soar the skies of Westeros, of the entire world.
Our murdered brother's mount.
No, no no no, that was madness. Why would she be here? Why would she have forsaken her home of Dragonstone in favor of some glorified hills in Dorne? There were no pleasantly hot volcanoes here to heat her scales, no people that were wise enough to not fight over the odd stolen sheep or seven.
Our initial burst of madness proved further foolish as the roar came again- soon followed by yet another roar. Two dragons, then. Twice the danger, twice the risk, twice the possibility of having our wings slashed our throat torn our spine shattered our-
No.
No.
No.
We forced that mad tumble of thoughts to come to a halt.
We would be fine.
Our kin loved us.
They would not hurt us.
We rose into the skies again, roaring challenges as though we had not briefly reverted to a terrified hatchling, as a gently smoldering castle came into view. All around it stood rings of tents a golden yellow, the stag of House Baratheon flapping proudly alongside the dragon of House Targaryen. Thin plumes of smoke rose to the heavens, joining the greater pillar of smoke from the castle itself.
Father's men were here.
This time, as the answers came, far closer, we did not flinch from them.
No, we flew towards them, even as our body screamed at us to run, to flee, to save ourselves from a fight stacked against us-
As we slammed into the ground in the courtyard of the castle, the traitorous thoughts fled. Around us, two smaller, but still threatening, dragons looked more than a little on edge. Both were red, but the slightly larger was darker than the other, the color of drying blood rather than the proud scarlet and pink of the smaller.
Through what had no doubt once been a gatehouse, but now was little more than a half-melted pile of rubble surrounding a hole in the wall, a cluster of figures streamed in. Guards, men-at-arms, knights, those were expected. There was an army camped just outside the walls, after all. It was the figures accompanying them that was unexpected.
Aemon and Alyssa.
The chains fell away, and I dropped to the hard-packed ground, just as my siblings reached my side. Clad in steel plate and mail respectively, it was easy to guess they were here for war. It was both sobering and reassuring, in a way. Reassuring, because it showed that I had not been alone in avenging Baelon. Sobering, because they had been fighting to avenge Baelon while I had been busy with my scheming.
It was enough to make a man sick with shame.
"Vaegon?" Aemon asked. Though his face bore confusion, his stride did not pause or falter or break as he drew closer and closer.
I did not even have time to answer before he drew me into a bone-crushing embrace, black steel plates sent clattering from the impact. At least, it would have been, were I a weak and untrained fop of a noble. Instead, I wrapped him in an embrace that matched the might of his own.
"Thank the gods," he whispered, his grip on me tightening. "Thank the gods you still live."
"Aye." It might not have been the most eloquent response, but it felt right. At least this brother of mine lived. For that, the Seven had my thanks. For a few moments, we held the embrace before breaking it off. At this close of a distance, it was impossible not to notice the tears forming in his eyes. And really, who could blame him? The man who lost one brother was reunited with the one who had disappeared for a month.
We separated further, and I turned to greet my sister.
"Alyssa…" I approached my sister, ready to embrace her as fiercely as Aemon, when I noticed her deformity. It was new, no doubt about it. The slight bulge of the stomach would have been hard to miss under normal circumstances. When clad in reflective mail, darkened though it was?
My now-widowed sister's pregnancy was impossible not to notice.
Any words that I might have spoken died in my mouth. Without a further word, I wrapped her in a gentle embrace. She was not so gentle, not so restrained, her embrace threatening to crush my ribs.
For nearly a minute I held her, felt her crushing embrace slowly weaken, until I released her.
"What are you doing here?" I asked softly, giving her a quick once-over. She seemed in fine health physically, though the eyes were red and skin blotchy from weeks of mourning. Once again, shame began to pool in my stomach. I had abandoned my family for the sake of vengeance, had pursued politics when my family grieved, and for what? An incomplete buffer state?
Gods be good, what kind of brother was I to abandon my family when they needed me most?
"Justice," she answered resolutely, her voice thick with barely restrained anger. "Showing these beasts what happens when you murder a Targaryen." As she spoke, her tone grew more aggressive until she all but hissing the final words. Behind her, Meleys' own deeper hiss echoed her own words.
Justice. Looking around the burned-out husk of a castle, I could already tell what brand of justice it was. The kind fueled by rage and grief, the same twisted justice I had meted out to House Dayne. Although, this castle looked to be in far better shape than I had left Starfall.
It brought me hope, in a way. It brought me hope to see that even in the depths of grief my family could act with something resembling restraint. But really, that just meant I fell short. By then, I should have been used to it, but it did little to keep the shame from growing in me.
"We are following Father's instructions for the war," Aemon corrected gently, putting a restraining hand on our sister's shoulder. She did not appear to notice. "Come. We can discuss it in the main tent. Alyssa, will you join us?"
"Pass." My sister shrugged off our brother's hand, striding off towards her mount. "No doubt Vaeg attracted some attention. Best one of us keeps an eye on things from the skies."
"Alyssa," I called out, my sister already halfway in her saddle. Still, she craned her neck to look at me as I drew my sword halfway from its scabbard. It was a poor fit for the blade, the weapon's design far more primitive than contemporary greatswords, but it held the blade.
My sister's eyes widened at the sight of Dawn. After all, what noble worth their salt in the Seven Kingdoms did not know of the Swords of the Morning and their fabled blade? There was only one way a non-Dayne such as myself might have gotten their hands on such a fine weapon. And as much as I might have regretted the extent of my actions the day I claimed it, I knew my sister could use the sentiment.
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