Like Ripples in Water - A_Strange_Twist_of_Fate (2024)

Chapter 1: The Green Queen

Chapter Text

Helaena I

“—the Eyrie itself is impregnable. Unless, of course, we are descended upon from the sky.” It was a dark-haired woman who spoke. She was a slim woman with a long neck turned towards Rhaena, her pale face displeased.

Rhaena’s face was recognizable to Helaena despite the years, her eyes downcast. “She sent two.”

“Still wet from the egg,” the dark-haired woman scoffed, “I have hunting hounds that are more fearsome.”

Rhaena looked up, lip curling, but she was gone. White haired babes played on a carpet, and a brown-haired boy played by their side. Nursemaids sat by them, their faces blurred to Helaena unlike the babes. She vaguely recognized them as her nephews. She’d seen them not too long ago, although only briefly at the dinner that had been held before father had died.

An old trunk sat open; three eggs housed within as it shut with a snap. Dragonkeepers ushers two small dragons into room barren of all furniture, save for some rocks set to resemble a cave. Outside, clouds gathered, and the sky was an endless thing, the sun golden and grand.

Helaena dreamed of dragons dancing in the sky, flashes of gold, green, and red as they moved. She dreamed of falling from a window. Helaena dreamed of a doll falling from a window, hands pushing her, and a grave that went untended. She dreamed of eggshells, broken, around an empty dragonpit, its walls cracked and ruined, of halls that echoed with cries and screams. Helaena dreamed of Jaehaerys again, playing in her room, of Jaehaera at his side. Of Aegon coming to take Jaehaerys, of him sitting in his burned bed. She dreamed that she acted this time, and that it was she who died, not Jaehaerys. She dreamed that Aegon came and it was he who died, not Jaehaerys. She dreamed of herself smashing the head of a rat with her heel, she dreamed of her son with his head on again, smiling at her.

She dreamed that something had changed, but she woke, and nothing had changed. Her son was dead, her daughter forgotten, her husband injured, and Aemond was circling the throne like a shark that had smelt blood in the water and had come to finish the wounded sailor off.

Helaena dreamed of many things, and they call came true, yet she felt powerless to change them all. She wanted, deep in her heart, to make alterations. Would it be so hard? It would be like making a cut to her dress…. adding a stitch here, taking one away.

She had seen her son’s death, yes, but then it had happened….and it had been a knife to the heart. It had hurt so much more than Helaena had ever expected it to, having seen it before, having seen the way the path was paved long before they walked it.

Helaena had expected the blow…yet it had still been an agony to take.

Why could she not change it? What was the point of seeing if Helaena was unable to do? Was she not a dragonrider, too? Was she not…was she not queen, even if the word felt unfamiliar in her mind, felt weird on her tongue?

Helaena rose from her bed, running a hand through her hair. It would need a braid. She liked flying with her hair braided, so that it did not disturb her, but she did not want to wake the others. She did not want them to come to her, so she braided it as best as she could, and though it was not as neat as it normally was when her ladies did it for her, it still lay against her back comfortably.

She dressed as quickly as she could, too, although the sky was dark enough that it was hard to see. Helaena did not like riding leathers, but she liked to wear loose trousers under her skirts. Mother insisted, lest she accidentally be indecent, and it did help against chaffing. Dreamfyre’s scales were so very hard. The added layers also helped keep her warm, and the cold was the only thing about flying Helaena did not like.

Not that Helaena thought she’d feel the cold now. Her heart was pumping warmly in her chest, her skin felt flushed, and all she could think about was flying – of acting. Helaena felt it as surely as she breathed, the rush, the desire, the ache to leave. Nothing would stop her. Nothing.

The halls were quiet as she walked them, although not as quiet as…that day. Guards stood watch, turned to her as she walked by them but she turned them away. She had needed them once, but not now.

Everyday Helaena walked these hallways, she expected her son to appear. To turn a corner, atop his father’s shoulders, smiling and laughing. And every day Helaena was disappointed to find it was never to be.

Jaehaera was asleep in her bed when Helaena slipped in. There were guards at her door now, and in her rooms, but Helaena paid them no mind as she moved to stand at the foot of her daughter’s bed. Jaehaera was awake, eyes wide in the darkness of the early morning – or late night, she could not tell which -- and Helaena bent down to kiss her forehead.

“Awake, little one?” Helaena asked, quietly, moving a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Can’t sleep. Rats. What if the come again?” Jaehaera whispered, staring up at her, hugging her doll tightly to herself.

Helaena’s heart stirred. She kissed her daughter again, lingering, and then stood. “You may sleep, child. I will get rid of the rats. And the dragons. You will be safe now.”

Helaena passed Aemond’s chambers as she moved on, her eyes lingering on the door, yet she had no words for him.

She moved on. Aegon was gone to the world, still on his poppy, and Helaena would not begrudge him that, but she could not speak to him now. There was no one else in the world she had time to see now, and those she had time for were not in the world.

Not that he’d wished to speak with her before…he’d turned her away. Helaena had feared he would blame her…it still stung, when she’d prepared all morning to speak with him, to jab at the fresh wound with words and to allow him to see it all. They shared a missing piece, but Aegon had not seemed to care for her. Not that he ever really had, but for this…

Helaena kept walking, trying to keep as quiet as she could. Finally, she signaled for a passing servant to come to her and ordered for a carriage to be made ready. To the dragonpit.

Dreamfyre welcomed her when she arrived. Helaena went to her without fuss, ignoring the murmuring of the dragonkeepers as they confusedly came to her. It was an odd time for her to come, Helaena knew. Too early or too late, one of the two. Some of the Dragonkeeper’s slept in the Dragonpit, some of them outside in dormitories, so the fact that she had woken some of them did not tell her the time.

Not that Helaena cared. It was the smell of freedom to her. Her legs practically ached to rise off the ground, her heart thumped almost painfully in her chest, and she was ready to soar.

Dreamfyre was warm under her touch, moving in to great her, to nuzzle her massive face against Helaena’s body. She leaned into her dragon, breathing her in deeply – many thought the smell unpleasant, but not Helaena.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said, slipping into Valyrian. “My sky. We have work to do. You and I.”

Helaena turned to the group of dragonkeepers that came to her, keeping their distance for Dreamfyre tolerated them but did not like them.

“Ready my saddle, I will be leaving very shortly,” Helaena said. “And attach the luggage coffers to my saddle. I will be returning with cargo.”

“My Queen, it is very early…” one of the dragonkeepers started, hesitantly.

It was early, then. The sunrise would be lovely to see. Helaena shook her head, leaning her body into Dreamfyre more. “It is. I do not care. Get them ready. Ensure that the cargo is securely situated. I would not want them to fall.”

-

-

Rhaena I

They arrived at the Vale more quickly than Rhaena had anticipated they would, and yet slower than she had hoped for. That Rhaena had dreaded coming, where she was little more than an added nursemaid to her brother’s retinue, where she was forgotten and made to go back to her mother’s place of death, made the travel all the more miserable.

Her only pride lay in the fact that whilst the guards and ladies balked at the height of the road to the Vale, Rhaena had not.

It was little consolation.

Now, she sat before Lady Jeyne, meant to deliver the letter and the words of Queen Rhaenyra…and to take the disdain from Lady Jeyne. If Rhaena but had a dragon…Lady Jeyne would not have been so disappointed with her. But then again, Rhaena most likely would not have been sent away, either.

The sky was endless, the ground so far below Rhaena didn’t even have hope of seeing it. Lady Jeyne Arryn spoke behind her, and while Rhaena was truly listening it was so hard to not focus on the sight. This was what Baela saw when she flew, was it not? The height, the drop, the clouds rolling alongside her. It was truly beautiful. All the world, below them, all the sky in front of them, it was as if no part of the world was untouchable.

She could almost touch them, the clouds, taste them mayhaps….

“Are you listening?” Lady Jeyne sounded chiding, and she turned to face her.

Lady Jeyne stood behind Rhaena; hands clasped as she stared. She looked impatient, and irritation flared in Rhaena. Why was it she that was to face this, when it was not, she who had sent the baby dragons? Rhaena wanted to be back with the others, wanted to be something, do something. She wished her stepmother had sent more, although she felt a pang of guilt at the desire.

More than anything Rhaena wished she could be that someone more, the dragon to protect the Vale. She would do it, if she could.

Instead, she was sent to watch the babes and the eggs.

“The Eyrie itself is impregnatable,” Lady Jeyne started; voice tempered, “Unless, of course, we are descended upon from the sky.”

Rhaena swallowed, moving forward with her head high. “You promised the Queen Rhaenyra 15,000 swords –”

“—In return for protection. A dragon,” Lady Jeyne cut in, tightly.

Rhaena smiled back, her smile forced. Even she could feel it, she imagined Lady Jeyne could see it. “Then she has exceeded your terms. She sent two.”

“Both wet from the egg,” Lady Jeyne said, a little laugh at the end of her words. She scoffed and looked back. “I have hunting hounds that are more –”

“My lady!” a guard burst from the door, frantically. “My lady, a dragon approaches!”

Rhaena froze, heart pounding in her chest. Was it her father? He was nearby. Was it Baela, come to aid her? She wanted it to be them, desperately, but the cold feeling clenching in her belly said otherwise.

“Who?” Lady Jeyne said, sharply, moving to stand.

“I do not know!” the guard said, breathing heavily. “It-it is blue! Blue and silver, but it did not come with the others.”

Dreamfyre. Rhaena did not need to wrack her brain to know that. Dreamfyre. She knew the coloring of all the dragons just as she knew their names. Rhaena had only went over them fully in her head her entire life, categorizing them, breaking them down in her mind, wondering what made other’s worthy and her not.

“Is that the kinslayer’s dragon?” Lady Jeyne turned to Rhaena for an answer. “Or is it another of your kin?” Her tone was almost pleading, but it would not bend so far.

“No…no it is Princess Helaena’s dragon. Dreamfyre,” Rhaena said, numbly.

“The Greens, then,” Lady Jeyne said, heavily, breathing slowly through her nose. She turned sharply to Rhaena, her expression tight and angry. “Well. Mine two dragons will make quick work of her, will they not?”

“I-I,” Rhaena started, feeling as if her heart would plumet out of her stomach as her mind went blank.

Helaena was here, now? How? Why? Rhaena had only just arrived. She’d barely been given a few hours to bathe and change from her riding clothes to treat with the Lady Jeyne. How was it that word had spread to them so quickly? Joffrey and Tyraxes would do nothing against them…and neither would Aegon and Stormcloud. Viserys had but an egg. Rhaena bit her lip and tasted warm copper.

There was even less she could do. Her mind raced as she tried to think of something, but everything flew from her grasp at once, leaving her floundering, only the rush of her blood through her ears and her heart echoing in her head.

“No, they shall not, shall they?” Lady Jeyne said, this time with less sharpness and with more resignation.

Lady Jeyne turned towards the door, hands clenching her skirts as she lifted her head up. “Well. There is nothing to be done but to greet them. Send word to Queen Rhaenyra….whatever aid that might bring us, it must be done now. I fear already it is too late, regardless.”

“At once, my lady,” The man bowed and then scurried out.

“Halt.” Lady Jeyne called and the man came to an abrupt halt, staggering.

Lady Jeyne contemplated for a mere moment, yet it felt like an eternity. “Do not send the raven right away. I fear with the luck we have been granted, the dragon on our doorstep will take it, and with it, our only chance to send for aid. Send it covertly…as soon as the queen leaves, have one of the men scale down and sent it by way of boat. Ensure they are discrete, as caution is our only sword and shield at the moment.”

Lady Jeyne did not look back at Rhaena as she left. Did she follow, did she stay? There was nowhere to go but out the window, and Rhaena could not do that. She felt trapped, felt her heart race with fear and hated the helpless feeling that choked her.

Rhaena followed, her heart a drum in her chest. Her hands trembled and she tried to make them stop by grasping her skirts, but it only helped a little. Dreamfyre was in the courtyard, her neck following the movements of the terrified guards as she opened her mouth, fire threatening to spill out. For their part, the guards remained vigil, even if the terror was stark on their armored faces.

Helaena sat atop her, head held high, eyes watching sharply below her. Behind her were two large leather trunks, the type that father and Queen Rhaenyra used to carry luggage on a long journey, and behind that, a good deal of space away, as another saddle.

“You will put down your arms, or you will lose them to fire,” Helaena called out, sternly, staring down at them with empty eyes and a hard voice.

Many of the men dropped their arms, although some turned to Lady Jeyne as she came in. She sighed, hands clenching at her dress.

“Drop them,” Lady Jeyne commanded. “Princess Helaena…we did not expect you.”

“Queen,” Helaena corrected. “I know. Where are the others? The babes, the boy, the dragons, the eggs? Bring them to me. Now.”

“There are no others,” Rhaena said, moving in front of Lady Jeyne, proud that her voice did not falter even if her hands shook, “It is just me.”

“Lies,” Helaena said. “Bring them to me, or I will burn the castle in its entirety.”

“You would not,” Rhaena said, desperately, trying to reconcile the image of the weird girl at her mother’s funeral who played with the crickets in the dirt with this empty eyed, hard voiced woman.

Helaena’s head turned to her, eyes piercing into Rhaena’s.

“Have you not heard what you have done to my son? My heir? How his…how his little head was cut, from his little body? I witnessed it. I witnessed it, cousin,” Helaena said, rising up on her dragon almost as if she meant to stand. “Do not presume to tell me what I will do. The boys will be brought out, or all will burn. You may choose, but you will choose now. I have not the patience to wait.”

Lady Jeyne’s jaw clenched. “What do you intend to do with them?”

“No!” Rhaena cried out, turning from Helaena to Jeyne. “No, you cannot allow her to kill them! I won’t allow it!”

Lady Jeyne would not look to her, instead her gaze held the eyes of Helaena. “There is little you can do, child.”

“I do not intend to kill the children now. I will not kill you, either, should you come quietly,” Helaena said, coolly.

Lady Jeyne nodded sharply and motioned towards one of her guards. “Bring them.”

“No, this…no, we won’t go!” Rhaena argued, desperation clawing up her throat, her stomach churning. Hot tears prickled at her eyes.

Helpless Rhaena, with nothing but words. If only she’d been like her father, her sister…her grandsire, all powerful, all people of strength.

“It is not a request,” Helaena said. “You may choose fire, should you like, or the open air of the Vale, but you will not stay here.”

Rhaena watched as her brothers were brought forth. She scratched at her hands, feeling her nails bite though the flesh as they came forward, as Helaena looked down upon them like predator awaiting its meal. Joffrey came quietly at first, but then he saw her tears and began to cry himself, struggling futilely against the arms of the guards. Tyraxes reared up on his legs as he was walked in, his leash in the hand of a guard, but with a command from Helaena, Dreamfyre took him in one bite leaving nothing but half of a leather leash and a trembling guard.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt them!” Rhaena cried out, as Joffrey stopped struggling and screamed. Stormcloud struggled, but he was small, about the size of a small dog, and Dreamfyre crushed him easily with her foot.

“I said I would not hurt the babes; I said nothing about their dragons,” Helaena said. “The eggs, bring them first. And bring rope.”

She tied them to her saddle, securing them so that the trunk sat behind her, supporting her back. Rhaena moved to Joffrey as he wept, no longer struggling but limp and crying. She smoothed his hair, kissed his forehead, and murmured that it would be alright, they would be fine, he just had to listen now.

“No, no, no,” Joffrey wept, tears and snot mingling down his face. He seemed to find his strength, for her started to struggle again, flailing about like a fish in a net. “Tyraxes! Come back! Come back! Give him back!”

“I will not,” Helaena said. She jerked her head towards Rhaena and Joffrey. “Tie them up as well, and then you will put them in the cages.”

“NO, NO, NO!” Joffrey screamed, thrashing, his fist colliding with Rhaena’s cheek.

Rhaena winced back, the tears nearly spilling down her own face as she tried to soothe him more.

“You must listen, Joffrey!” Rhaena yelled, her voice rising about his screams. “Joffrey, if you want to see Tyraxes and your mother again, you must listen and be good!”

Joffrey’s nursemaids stepped forward, tears running down their faces. They hugged Joffrey as he ignored Rhaena, murmuring words in his hears as he smoothed down his hair. His cries quieted down as the two spoke to him, his trembling did not.

“Please, princess, they are but children,” Rhaena begged, standing between them and Helaena. “Just take me.”

“Mine own son was but a child, too,” Helaena said. “And it is Queen. Do not make me take your tongue. Queen. Remember it.”

“…Yes,” Rhaena said, reluctantly.

There was no sympathy on her face as Joffrey was hauled up to the trunk, the guards trembling as they were made to act. They moved back, quickly, as if burned as soon as the trunk was shut and tied tightly. Cowards, Rhaena wanted to spit, but her own limbs trembled so, and she didn’t fight in anything but words. Weak words, her mind supplied. Her father would have been fearless, as would Baela.

As would mother. If mother had only...none of this would be happening. None.

But they had all left her….and allowed Rhaena to be defenseless.

Rhaena could hear the muffled weeping through the trunks, but Helaena remained unmoved as stone. One of the nursemaid’s hand followed, outstretched as if to try to grasp at Joffrey again although she made no move to do so.

“You,” Helaena said, motioning towards Lady Jeyne with a single hand, “search the girl. And do it well.”

She made no threat, but it hung in the air anyway.

Lady Jeyne came to her, stiffly. Her hands patted Rhaena down with force Rhaena did not expect, and Lady Jeyne’s face stone cold as she did so. Rhaena breathed shakily at the feeling, wincing as if the hands touching her were knives instead. It felt as if they were.

Lady Jeyne pulled out the dagger Baela had gifted Rhaena, a sleek, Valyrian steel blade with handle made to look like dragon scale, black and red. At Helaena’s command, a guard stepped forward to take it and then passed it to Helaena. She took the broach off Rhaena’s dress, a handful of gold and silver, and a letter Rhaena was meant to give the Prince of Pentos.

Helaena took it all.

There was little else in Rhaena’s pockets. It was all in her trunk, still in the room that was meant to be her’s. Rhaena had little time but to bathe…she did not understand. Everything felt as if it was happening in a bad dream, and Rhaena prayed she’d wake soon and find it had all been just that.

Lady Jeyne looked at her as it was over, her resignation stark on her pale face, and Rhaena tried to muster up anger at the woman who did as she was told…and found that her mind wandered back to their conversation not too long ago.

“Then she has exceeded your terms. She sent two.”

What a foolish thing to say. Rhaena had known it, even when she’d spoken it, but she could hardly speak against her queen. Now there were none but the eggs.

Rhaena held her head up high, even as he hands trembled, as she moved forward. Rhaena was a dragon, a Targaryen, she told herself. She must be brave.

The ladies that had accompanied Rhaena and the boys wept as she moved back, some falling to their knees before them all and weeping into their skirts.

Aegon and Viserys were crying as well, as they were loaded into their trunks like cargo take from merchant ships by pirates. One of them, Elya Broome, surged up, so suddenly Dreamfyre reared back and Helaena had to soothe her.

“Wait, wait!” Elya called, voice trembling as hard as her hands and legs. “The babes, it will be cold! You said you would not hurt them!”

Helaena eyed her, eyes narrowed, and then nodded, stiffly. “…bring forth something to keep the babes warm. Sheepskin, if possible. Something to protect against the moisture. Be quick, I will not wait long,” she ordered.

Elya did not wait for other instructions. She darted away, and Rhaena waited those painful moments for her to return. Rhaena’s mind was urging her to run even as her heart frantically beat faster at the thought. If Rhaena ran she would be abandoning her brother’s, she would only burn, not get away. She knew it. There was nowhere to go. Yet her mind whispered it anyway, insisting, urgently. Run, run, run…Rhaena stayed solid as a statue, and ignored the voice.

Finally, Elya returned with the boys’ surcoats. She dressed them quickly, and when they were back in the trunks, she tucked them in carefully as tears dripped down her face.

Finally Elya came to Rhaena next, taking off her own cloak to pass it to her, wrapping it about her shoulders so that it was comfortably snug. It was treated with beeswax, to prevent the moisture of the air from sticking to it, to prevent rain from infiltrating it. Elya’s voice shook. “To keep you warm, my lady.”

There was cushioning on the bottom of the trunks, Rhaena had seen, and a blanket was secured over them, tucked into the corners and held under the ropes so they would not fly about. How thoughtful, Rhaena thought, spitefully, for all of them. They were tied securely, the cage doors tied too to ensure they would not open, and Rhaena was left not in a cage but tied to an extra saddle behind the cages. The ropes were tight, and her hands were securely bound to the saddle so that she could not even wiggle her fingers.

Rhaena did not like how open her back felt to it all.

“You leave me free, then?” Rhaena said, doubtfully.

She had nothing to use but her own hands, and even those were tied, yet it would take at least a few days to fly back. Helaena had to stop at some point, for rest or food, and if only Rhaena could act then. If she wiggled, if Rhaena struggled…

“You are not free. You will be thousands of feet up in the air, and the only thing keeping you from plummeting to your death – from the boys plummeting to theirs – is me. Your behavior is imperative to keep your life, and a fair trade, I’d wager. Considering mine own son had no bargain to be made,” Helaena said, not looking back. “Do keep that in mind.”

Chapter 2: To Mold the Future, to Mourn the Past

Chapter Text

Helaena II

King’s Landing was a welcome sight. It was a day and a half flight with no stopping and flying for so long with so little reprieve had made Helaena’s body ache although she did not regret it.

Helaena had not wanted to stop on the way to the Vale, feeling it was imperative to fly there immediately, but had ultimately decided she had to. To travel both ways without allowing Dreamfyre to rest or eat was pushing the bounds of what her dragon could do. Helaena realized even she needed sleep and food, although at the time she little felt the need. Her mind had been oddly clear despite the distance, and it focused on one thing: her children. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

One was lost forever, a wound that would never heal, the other was hale and living – but was not guaranteed to remain that way.

Helaena had ultimately stopped for half a day to allow Dreamfyre to hunt and rest when they’d come close to the mountains of the Vale. Her dragon caught a few sheep and goat as they passed, and then slept when she’d eaten her fill in a cave. Helaena had eaten cheese, dried and salted fish, and had drunk deeply from a wineskin, all gifts from the dragonkeepers when she’d made it clear that she had set to return in some days’ time.

It tasted like nothing in her mouth. Instead of satisfying the pangs of hunger, it sat in her stomach like a rock, and the half a day they’d wasted made her anxious. Yet Helaena did not know if they could make the journey both ways without stopping at least once. It was easier this way, when she did not have enemies to watch out for.

Still, despite knowing she should have slept Helaena was unable to get more than a few hours of disturbed sleep. The dreams would not let her. She dreamed of wooden soldiers marching on a muddy and bloody field. She dreamed of ships wrecking, of deep waters and drowning figures, of burning tents and burning wooden soldiers, she dreamed of open windows and empty halls. Helaena dreamed of a sea made of tears, and ocean made out of grief, and two dolls that stood before the throne, in black and green, clasping hands as monsters loomed above them.

Sleep brought her no relief.

There were no rest breaks on the way back to King’s Landing. She worried of Rhaena more than the others, as they others were but babes and a child. Rhaena was not, and she was the daughter of Daemon. Helaena did not know what to expect from her and she did not intend to leave an opening. It helped that hunger and sleep never really called to her. Her heart raced, soared above her in the clouds, and her body did not protest the long flight as she raced back home.

The children had long stopped weeping as she came into view of the city. There had been cries of hunger that faded and came as they woke from their sleep, and yet Helaena could not bring it in her to care. Her mind was consumed with the need to return as quickly as she could, and it made everything else miniscule to her. Her daughter was waiting. Her son was, too, wherever he now lay, waiting for his mother to finally act.

This was for the others, too. For Helaena herself, to not have to live in fear. As was it for Aegon. For mother. For Ser Cole, and for Daeron, and even for Aemond, who would not appreciate it, and who Helaena did not know how she felt about.

She touched down near the dragonpit as dragon keepers came to greet her — dragonkeepers and mother, who was beside herself with anger. It was not Ser Cole who stood at her side, but Helaena’s uncle — Ser Gwayne, whose eyes turned to her prisoners without prompt and then widened in shock at what he saw.

“Where have you been Helaena? I was so worried about you!” Mother chastised as Helaena dismounted, her hands fluttering helplessly about as if she wanted to help Helaena down.

Mother’s face was streaked with tears, her face puffy. Yet Helaena could not bring herself to feel shame or guilt.

“Sister, I do not think that to be the greatest concern here,” Ser Gwayne said, tugging at mothers sleeve and pointing at Dreamfyre.

Mother’s face went slack as her eyes finally moved past Helaena.

“I have done what is needed,” Helaena said, gravely. She jerked herself heads towards the dragonkeepers. “Bring them down, carefully, and see to it that they do not move about too much. We will need to ensure their guards are adequate. Bring Dreamfyre some food as well, she must be hungry by now, and then let her be to rest.”

“Them? Is there more than the girl?” Ser Gwayne asked, eyes glued to Dreamfyre’s back.

“Yes. There are the three youngest – Joffrey and the one’s my sister had by Daemon,” Helaena said.

Ser Gwayne looked impressed, and almost gleeful at the news as mother’s expression turned from anger to uncertainty.

“I’ll bring some men by, some men I trust,” Ser Gwayne said, jerking as if about to leave and pausing. “You will...watch? To ensure they don’t leave?”

He said it hesitatingly as if he didn’t know who to say it to. Helaena nodded sharply.

“I brought them here,” She said, as she felt it explained everything.

“By the seven, you did. I’ll be back quicker than you…well, quickly. Quickly,” Ser Gwayne said, with renewed energy as he moved past them and away from the pit.

Mother moved in, cupping Helaena’s face and Helaena allowed it. Her mothers large brown eyes were full of worry and unshed tears.

“I feared the worst, when you were gone. Then Jaehaera said you’d gone to rid the keep of rats and dragons, and your dragon was gone…I cannot lose another.”

“Aegon is not gone,” Helaena said, sharply. At her mother’s wounded look, her voice softened. “I am not gone, either. But I cannot lose another either…I will do anything to keep her safe, mother. This had to be done.”

“How did you find them, even?” Mother said, her eyes darting to the boys as they were removed from the trunks to Rhaena who was being carefully removed from where she’d been tied down.

Tears dripped down Rhaena’s face, and she shivered, droplets about her two cloaks and dress. The boys roused from their sleep and their cries began to wake as they did. Joffrey was the loudest amongst them. He cried, begging to be released, for his mother, for his dragon but Helaena shook her head and told the dragonkeepers to leave him be.

“He will tire himself out eventually,” Helaena told them, then turned back to her mother. “I knew.”

Mother looked confused, but as Ser Gwayne returned with men, she allowed it to rest.He came back with at least twenty men in thick, studied green armor under silver armor embossed with the Hightower sigil. They moved about at his command, securing the boys and separating Rhaena from them.

The rope was replaced around Rhaena’s wrists, tied tightly so that her hands were secured behind her back. The cloaks were removed to better tie her arms. It looked uncomfortable, with her arms pressed tightly to her back, one atop the other, her hands squeezed in on themselves so her fingers did not move.

“You’ve done splendidly, my Queen,” Ser Gwayne said, jogging back to Helaena’s side. “I’ll see to it that we do not fumble this grand opportunity.”

Helaena nodded, stiffly. He was her uncle…yet she knew him so little. Still, he was mothers brother and would not turn on her. That she knew. She had to trust it, at least. Daemon did little to give her trust in uncles, but her mother’s brother had to be different.

“Bring me one of the boys. The youngest. He will ride with me,” Helaena said.

“Do you think it wise?” Mother questioned, but her brother had left to do as bided.

“I do. Let Daemon’s daughter be separated from them as well,” Helaena commanded, ignoring Rhaena’s protests and cries. “They must not be allowed to conspire.”

“They are children…” Mother said, voice soft and trailing off, worrying at her hands.

Helaena gave her a sharp look. “They are the enemy. We must not allow the softness in our hearts to be our downfall. Separate them.”

She took the youngest babe. It was painful to look at him, not because he looked especially like her son, but because she recalled holding a different silver-haired babe before. Jaehaerys so liked being held. It had been overwhelming at first, when Helaena had been unused to the touch of her child. Aegon eventually loved to carry him.

He had not been permitted to carry their son to his funeral pyre. Nor had Helaena, really, as he’d been paraded about instead.

The baby in her arms began to cry as he woke and saw her face, and she gently rocked him.

“Are you hungry?” Helaena asked, softening her voice, and the babe cried, nodding his head. “I will get you some food, and a blanket now, and a warm bed to lay in. With toys.”

Toys always made Jaehaerys stop crying, the few times he cried. Had cried. Helaena did not want to be cruel, even if she had to harden hear heart against softness. She had to find the medium, whatever that might be.

Carriages awaited them. Mother climbed in with Helaena, although Helaena ordered Ser Gwayne to ride with Rhaena. “I mistrust her. I put in your hands that she is watched. Remember: she is Daemon’s daughter.”

She gave him the dagger that had been taken from Rhaena, and he nodded, putting it away on his person. “I will do as you command, my Queen.”

Mother helped her into the carriage, as Helaena carried the babe. Mother looked uncertain, peeking out of the carriage at the others as they rode.

“How did…I do not understand how you knew.” Mother said, moving away from the windows, the curtains falling down to block out the light.

Exhaustion began to seep into Helaena, now that it was all over, as did the hunger. The babe in her arms cried, but softly, sucking on his thumb as they rode. Honey, cheese, and fruit would be readily available, and she’d call for a wetnurse just in case. Helaena did not know which the boy ate, now.

“I knew,” Helaena said, simply. “I woke one day, and I saw it clearly. Rhaena speaking to Lady Jeyne, the boys playing in the room. The eggs.”

“You…dreamed it?” Mother said, doubtfully.

“Yes,” Helaena said.

Mother looked confused, staring at her with misted eyes, her mouth opening and closing as if she lost the words to say. “I do not…why did you leave, so suddenly? With no warning?”

“I love you, mother. I forgive you. For everything, I forgive you,” Helaena said, unable to help the little sharpness that came to her words, despite the way it made the boy cry a little louder. “But I cannot be you. I cannot simply wait for others to act and hope that mercy will prevail. I cannot watch my children suffer. I will not be you. That is why I left.”

Mother’s lips quivered, and she looked away. They rode in silence that was only broken by the soft crying of the boy. When they arrived, finally, at home, Helaena ordered the servants waiting for them to bring food and a wetnurse to her rooms immediately, and the guards to bring the babes to her room, and Rhaena and Joffrey to another. She did not wait for a reply as she hefted the babe up on her arms more and made her way to her chambers.

Aemond’s face was a most unwelcome sight at her door, yet one that did not surprise her. Helaena stared at him as he stepped towards her, the anger clear on his face.

“You did not have permission to go, sister,” he told her, chiding.

Helaena had dreamed of dragonfire, of red, gold, and green intertwining into swirls of pattern that were indistinguishable. She dreamed of a red queen, her crown chipped, falling to a green knight. She dreamed of a green king, half pawn, falling not to a red queen, but to a green knight. She dreamed of a green knight in a crown that had obviously not been made for him. Most clearly, she’d dreamed of Aemond, moving towards the throne, sitting atop it, wearing Aegon’s crown, Aegon’s armor, and wielding Aegon’s sword.

She had dreamed of smoke and fire so strongly she had tasted it – and felt its burn. When she’d woken, her husband had been burned so badly they did not know if he would yet live. It was sewn into her tapestries, somewhere. The burned king.

She did not want to look at her tapestries ever again.

“I did not ask,” Helaena said.

Aemond gave her an exasperated look, his body held stiffly before her, hands behind his back as if she was supposed to bow to him.

“That is the problem,” Aemond said, frowning.

“Was it worth it?” Helaena asked him abruptly, head titled, “was it worth it, I wonder? Does the throne sit comfortably under you? Is it all you dreamed of?”

Her brother stared at her, the words dying as they never left his lips. His stiff body became stiffer, and Helaena stared down at him hard.

“What have you done, brother, that I must beg your leave? What are you, that the Queen must get your pardon? Do not forget your station. You are regent to the King, you are not the King, and you are not my husband,” Helaena said, forcefully. “I have done what is necessary, and what you should have. I have won us this war. I will not be chided for it, not by you of all people.”

Helaena moved past him without another word, closing the doors behind her. Moments after, servants came with trays of fruit, with cheese and dried and salted meat, with stew still warm from the pot. She told her servants to ensure Rhaena and Joffrey were brought food, too, as the thought flickered past her. A nursemaid came with the food, but the babe was not interested in her, and instead he ate cheese in fistfuls, the nursemaid had to step in to slowly feed him so that he did not waste half of it in his haste.

The other babe was brought to them and he, too, ate frantically. More bowls were brought for the stew, and Helaena ate two bowls of it herself before she felt satiated. The suddenness of her hunger was startling. All these days, she’d been fine, but as she sat in her chambers a wave of hunger and exhaustion swept over her.

As the babes ate, and were fed, Helaena took out what had been taken from Rhaena. There was little time to sleep now, and she hoped it would rouse her a bit. She read the note carefully, then re-read it. It was a note to the Prince of Pentos, who was to be given wardship of Prince Joffrey, Prince Aegon, and Prince Viserys until Queen Rhaenyra took rightful claim of her throne.

Pentos was allied to the Blacks, then, as the Triarchy was to them. There was something there that could be used, Helaena thought.

Mother eventually came back to her chambers as she read it for the third time, accompanied by Ser Cole, the King’s Hand, her grandfather’s replacement, and Aemond yet again. Grand Maester Orwyle came and set about inspecting the babes.

“You will not take them from me,” Helaena told them, as they came about her like vultures, setting the letter down beside her. “It was not you who acted; it was me. I will be the ones to command their fates. Not you.”

“You must be reasonable --,” Ser Cole started, but Helaena shook her head and held up her hand to silence him.

“I am reasonable, it is you who squawk about, uncertain in your actions, hurting those around you instead of doing as you must, as is your duty. You bite at your own tail and then blame my half-sister, and much is to be blamed on her, but not all of it,” Helaena said, raising her shoulders up to sit straight despite the way it made her feel. “The boys are my hostages, Rhaena is my hostage. Should you want one…go out and get one. You will not claim this from me, too.”

She turned towards Maester Orwyle. “Letters will need to be sent to mine half-sister. She is to be informed that her sons are with me, and that she can bend the knee, or she can lose her children.”

“As soon as the Council has spoken on the issue, it will be done, Your Grace,” the Grand Maester said.

“You will kill them?” Mother demanded, sharply.

“If I must, but that is not the only way to lose them,” Helaena said, picking up the letter and gently waving it. “She was to send them to foster in Pentos. Mayhaps they will foster elsewhere, and she will never find out where that is. With the Triarchy, even, we might make an exchange. Mayhaps they will be sent to Asshai, or to Yi Ti. Mayhaps their names will be changed and given to another.”

“Mayhaps they will be fed to Vhagar,” Aemond muttered.

“We might consider someone else, your Grace, the Triarchy are our allies and yet to give the boys might not be in our best interest,” Grand Maester Orwyle said.

Helaena ignored her brother, nodding curly the maester instead. “Mayhaps they will be killed, if necessary, then. Or sent elsewhere. Let her decide which fate is best, by her action or inaction. Either way, they will be lost to her if she does not bend the knee to Aegon, her rightful king.”

Helaena stared at Aemond as she said this, and he held her gaze for a moment before stiffly jerking his head away, his jaw clenched.

“It must be said more gently, more diplomatically –,” Mother started, but Helaena made a noise and cut her off.

“It must not. Have your letters down any good, mother? Have they swayed her mind, made her see reason? Because my son is in the grave, and whilst the blame lies with Aemond for his actions, I do not see your letters doing much to raise him or to have shieled him in the first place,” Helaena said, impatiently, her frustration seeping into her words. “I have forgiven much. But do not think I will not go to the council with what I know if you seek to undermine me. The Maester will write the letter, mother, not you. You need to do what is best for this family: nothing.”

Aemond tensed at her words, eye narrowed.

“They have done something!” Mother protested, blurting it out as she clenched her hands at her side. “Rhaenyra came to see me! Clearly my words have hit their mark.”

“When exactly was this?” Aemond asked, tightly, turning to mother as his voice sharpened and mother faltered, looking around with panic.

“It was…not to long ago, she came to me about Jaehaerys…it was not she who commanded it....this was the black work of Daemon I fear…Rhaenyra sought peace, I turned her away…” mother said, her voice panicked, her word trailing away as fresh tears gathered.

Helaena was sick of her tears, though, and could not muster the forgiveness for this.

“It was her, mother. Daemon is her husband, her consort, her vassal. Either she told him to do the deed or was unable to control him. But it was her. She cannot lay the blame for her son on Aegon and I and then pretend as if her hands are clean when Jaehaerys lies dead,” Helaena said, coolly.

“And you did nothing?” Ser Cole said, aghast, turning on her with wide eyes. They narrowed. “You…accuse me of my loyalty wavering, and you speak to the false queen and do not alert anyone?”

“I-I could not, it was pointless –,”

“If we had their queen, we could have – had Rhaenyra been caught there is –,” Aemond started, his voice tight, trailing off as he seemed to struggle for words. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eye closed. “This is why you were not chosen. You are not suited for the work that needs to be done, for the path that you have paved, need I remind you. It was you who told us the dangers of our sister, all our lives! She will be our ruin, our destruction, we challenge her without regard to want or desire because we live! And you allow her to sneak in and out without regard…do you care so little for us, that our lives are below that of our sister?”

Aemond exploded at the end, breathing heavily, and jerking his hand away when mother tried to take it. Mother looked wounded at that.

“Of course I care, Aemond. All I have done has been in service to you, to my children, to the family,” mother said, tearfully, angrily.

“All you have done has been in service to our half-sister. She will be a fine queen, will she?” Helaena said, loudly.

Her mother flinched. Aemond gave his sister an approving look, but Helaena ignored it.

“You were correct about one thing, mother. You were misbelieved, but you were correct. We have always lived in danger of our sister, always in the shadow of her headsman. We knew since she took his eye. Yet you still thought she could be a good queen,” Helaena said, softly, “you told her as much, at dinner. You were wrong.”

“No, no! I love you, I could not see you injured, or worse…you do not understand what this does to me, you do not understand,” Mother wept, hand coming to cup her face.

“I understand,” Helaena said, softly, watching her mother with hard eyes. “Mother, I understand. I understand that I cannot understand, for I would never turn to another if it endangered my daughter. I would never praise the woman that took my son’s eye.”

Mother was speechless, her weeping endless, like eternal rain. Aemond caught Helaena’s eye, his expression stiff and angry, but also…. grateful, mayhaps, but then he looked away.

“This letter…the Grand Maester will write it. But we must ensure Rhaenyra will not doubt us,” Aemond started, his back and shoulders stiff, his hands held behind his body. “Send locks of the boys hair. The elder one is old enough to write, or make Daemon’s spawn write words, that they might know we are serious. And we need to send word to Daemon in Harrenhal, that he might stop whatever game he is playing. He lacks wit for much, but I do not think he’d so easily turn away from his daughter.”

“On that front I doubt. Daemon will shed any blood to get what he wants. He is a danger, and clearly Rhaenyra makes for a poor lead. She cannot control him,” Ser Cole said.

Aemond looked to Ser Cole, irritation coloring his face – and yet doubt, Helaena could see.

“How close is Daeron? He must come at once, since we are down a dragonrider. Our half-sister yet has four to our two.” Helaena added, and Aemond’s jaw clenched.

“He is close…when you left, we sent word to him, I feared the worst…” mother trailed off, voice hollow.

Helaena nodded, stiffly. “Good. We need to ensure that we are well prepared at all times.”

“The dragons should be moved from the pit; they are too far away should something happen,” Grand Maester Orwyle said, gravely, and Helaena nodded.

“Vhagar will stay. The city will not be taken,” Aemond said, voice hoarse. He seemed to think a moment, and then added. “…They will be yours, sister.”

He said it with great reluctance, but at least he said it, Helaena thought.

Ser Cole looked between mother and Helaena, and then seemed to slowly nod. Mother said nothing but looked devastated. Helaena wished she had it in her to comfort her mother, wished they had that closeness they once had.

But Jaehaerys was gone, and her mother still fought for the pretender, for the murderer of Helaena’s son, and forgiveness did not mean forgetting.

“When she bends the knee –,” Aemond started.

“Will she? What cares she of her children, she has already put them in danger by begetting bastards? She is a traitor, and Daemon is a blood-thirsty fool,” Ser Cole said, harshly, silencing when Helaena glared at him.

“She has defended them as well as she could, despite positioning the sword above their heads herself. She will not lose them. I will give you Daemon, but mine half-sister is merely stupid, not cruel enough to throw way her own children,” Aemond said, gruffly, as if the words tasted like poison. “When she bends the knee, it will need to be to someone. Aegon is injured –”

“It will be to Aegon. He is the King,” Helaena cut in, leaving no room for argument. “He will need to be prepped for it. Do what need be done, Maester,” Helaena ordered Grand Master Orwyle.

“I will do that, your Grace, yet I must insist…much is being said, and there is much yet to do. Let us call the Small Council, that we might all know. It is better to not leave the others in the dark, lest we step on each other’s toes,” Grand Maester Orwyle said, standing up. “The children are well, simply hungry and tired. Let us call the Council now, to decide.”

Helaena thought on it for a moment. She was tired and her body ached, yet she could not rest. Not now. There was still much to do.

“Yes, let us,” She rose, her eyes challenging them to tell her to stay.

None did. Helaena walked with them to the Small Council watching as they all gathered. Eyes turned to her in surprise as she sat next to Aemond.

“Your Grace, you have returned. And seek to honor us with your presence,” Lord Jasper said, dryly.

“I have, and I do,” Helaena said, holding his gaze, “do you have something to say on the matter, my lord? Or shall we begin? Time is ticking, and we must act, I will remind you.”

“It may be best if you stepped aside,” Lord Jasper said, bluntly.

“Is there…a reason for such an early meeting? For the presence of Queen Helaena…Is the king…” Lord Tyland trailed off, slowly, looking to Aemond.

“Helaena has…returned with hostages. They are her hostages,” Aemond said, hand clenching the ball he’d placed on the table. “She will stay.”

“Hostages?” Lord Jasper repeated, dumbly, and turned his gaze to Helaena. His expression was guarded, his voiced dripping with doubt. “Which ones?”

“Princes Viserys, Prince Aegon, Prince Joffrey, and the Lady Rhaena,” Mother said, swallowing. “Princess Rhaenyra’s three youngest, and her stepdaughter.”

“She has returned…with hostages,” Lord Larys replied, leaning in, a glint in his eyes, “my Queen, I did not expect this of you. How…did you ever manage?”

“With a dragon,” Helaena said, simply.

Lord Larys’ eyebrows raised, but he did not dispute her. He merely seemed to look at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “…I see, it is quite convincing, I’m sure. A dragon that is.”

“She was,” Helaena replied.

“Now that we have gotten up to speed on the issue, we must decide on the next step,” Grand Maester Orwyle interrupted, and Helaena’s eyes turned towards him, “the Queen seeks to send word to Princess Rhaenyra, that she may know our terms. She can bend the knee or lose her children. Prince Aemond suggests that we send this word with a lock of hair, and word from the Lady Rhaena or Prince Joffrey, that she might not doubt us, and to Prince Daemon in the Riverlands.”

“No, I think Daemon does not need to know,” Lord Larys said, eyes narrowing in thought. “If he is to know, he will surely come for us. We risk much.”

“The man knows not temperance,” Ser Cole muttered, and Helaena had to stop herself from looking at him. “But he may yet allow them to simply die, too.”

“That may be. Prince Daemon is…difficult to understand. He does so like doing whatever is unexpected of him,” Lord Larys mused.

“What do you suggest, then?” Lord Jasper asked, leaning in. “He will hear eventually, and if we do not send word, we have no way of knowing when.”

Lord Larys smiled, and it was a thing that made Helaena tense. “I suggest that Daemon be dealt with, now, and that he simply not hear anything at all.”

“Can you do such a thing?” Aemond said, sharply, eye narrowed. “Why has it not been done yet, then?”

Lord Jasper snorted, eyes turning to Lord Larys. “Yes, that is the question, is it not? We lost a Kingsguard because of our inability to act with prudence….do not tell me you have been hiding something, Strong.”

“I have hidden nothing. It is difficult, my Prince. My connections in Harrenhal are…faulty, lacking, now that mine kin have turned from me. Already, the spies I have are few, and they are amongst enemies -- and a dragon is quite convincing, when it is in one’s face. The only upper hand we have at this point is surprise, and that cannot be used more than once. If we promise to send aid and pardon after the dead is done, I may be able to muster their courage. Especially if we rally to them, when all is said and done, to ensure they know they will be protected,” Lord Larys said.

“That seems quite like an excuse to me,” Helaena said, bluntly, frowning at him.

“Does it not?” Lord Jasper agreed.

“I cannot fault the reasoning. The Prince Daemon…is quite a frightening figure. To take him on in battle is foolish, and to poison him…well. They would have to be accurate and skillful. Surprise is a useful ally – once,” Grand Maester Orwyle said, slowly. “How quickly can it be done?”

“Assuming there are any with the skill,” Ser Tyland said. “I do fear poison to be the way to go, outside Vhagar. Prince Daemon will not be taken out by sword.”

“That does depend…mine bastard sister is quite adept at poisons and potions. More so than the rest of them, yet she might require more...something I cannot give her, especially as her mislike of me runs quite deep,” Lord Larys said, slowly.

“Speak plainly. What does she want?” Helaena demanded.

“Does any of your family like you?” Aemond said, amusedly. He was ignored.

“Mine sister is a bastard. I would not put it forward, normally, as her mislike is mutual, yet she can be valuable in such a task. Give her the name Strong, have the King legitimize her, and she may do it for us,” Lord Larys said, eyes on her.

“May?” Aemond demanded. “You would legitimize your bastard half-sister?”

“If it will get us what we need, yes,” Lord Larys said, tapping his fingers against his cane. “I will aid the King in whatever way I can.”

“I cannot imagine the offer will be rebuffed,” Lord Jasper said, “it is a hefty gift.”

“Yet Lord Strong says she ‘may’ aid us. That is quite the gift for a mayhaps,” Aemond rebuffed.

“Will,” Lord Larys corrected, “and if we promise safety to her kin, for she is fond of them. I can think of no greater enticement to get her to come to our side. She will not endanger herself for my sake. But for this? And her bastard kin…well, she will.”

“Her kin, not yours?” Ser Cole asked.

Lord Larys’ head titled and his smile was oddly benign. “We do not share all the same kin, you see. It is the nature of bastards. I will not demand a gentle end for mine uncle, for he is a traitor. Nor for his sons, for they seek to undermine us and to steal mine own throne. But she will want to see mercy for her bastard kin.”

“She will get it, along with the legitimization, should she kill Daemon. I am sure Aegon will pay such a price for the head of our son’s killer,” Helaena said.

He’d hung all of the Rat Catchers to avenge Jaehaerys, had sent his kingsguard to kinslay to avenge their son. Helaena felt that Aegon would agree this if it meant Daemon’s death.

Aemond nodded, reluctantly. “It is…an agreeable price for the head of mine uncle, and an end to their greatest strength.”

“We speak of kinslaying,” Mother put forth, feebly, her eyes on the table.

“We do not. I will not be killing him, nor will Aemond nor Daeron,” Helaena argued. “This sister of Lord Larys –,” she looked to him.

“Bastard half-sister, Alys Rivers,” Lord Larys offered, head titled, smile still on his lips.

“—Alys Rivers will do so,” Helaena said, nodding.

“We are at war, mother. This will not end with hugs and joyful tears of apology. If we want to avoid bloodshed and our own coffins, Daemon must die. Even you cannot deny that,” Aemond said, firmly. “I do not like that you have kept this from us…but if we have but one chance, mayhaps it is for the best.”

Mother looked frustrated, grasping her hands in front of her. “There are still Guest’s Rights. We cannot trample the laws so…so casually, so freely,” She insisted.

Lord Jasper frowned, looking as if he’d eaten something sour. “Yes, there is, is there not? Scoundrel and traitor or not, I should not like to trample over the laws of the gods.”

Larys looked unbothered. “On that there is no concern. I imagine you well recall the fire some years ago that took mine brother and father. It took more than those two lives, it took a portion of the livable castle as well, including the rooms that Alys slept in. They have remained unrepaired since, and as Alys is little welcome amongst the Strongs, and mostly amongst the natural born of the lot. She has taken to sleeping in the woods. She does not live, exactly, in Harrenhal anymore. She merely works there. All our maesters seem to mislike the place, and so Alys is the closest thing Harrenhal has to one.”

“That seems a bit…tricky,” Lord Jasper said, slowly eyes narrowed.

“Alys is also not family, or not considered as such, and was less a tenant of the castle and more of a…presence that mine father and uncle feared turning away. It was she who invited herself,” Larys said.

“And you did not turn her away?” Helaena asked.

“No, I saw no reason to. She serves her purpose, and knows the place well,” Lord Larys said. “I have never welcomed her, but I have never ordered her to leave.”

“It does not count then,” Aemond said, eye narrowed in thought. “She is a bastard, she is not a tenant of the castle, she does not sleep under its roof, and she was never welcomed by the lord or castellan. She is not kin to Daemon nor a true Strong. Yes. It will do.”

Mother didn’t look assuaged, but she seemed less bothered at the idea of Daemon dying than she had at Helaena’s hostages ‘being lost’, or the idea of violating the god’s laws. Still, she said nothing, looking around at the other’s.

“Will she not be...punished? Your Uncle has taken command. If he mislikes her already…,” Mother said, trailing off.

“If there is one thing Alys River is, it is cunning. She will be fine,” Lord Larys said.

“Do it,” Aemond commanded. “Give the command to this sister of yours, she is to make it quick.”

“I will do as you command, Your Grace,” Lord Larys said. “Daemon will be dead in mere days; on that you may count on.”

“Good,” Helaena said. “Should we send a letter to Rhaenyra before, or after?”

“Before,” Mother said, looking up, her face still crestfallen.

“After,” Aemond instructed. “Let her know she has no allies in the world, when we are done, but the one son and the other kin she seeks to usurp.”

“Let us allow the girl to sit and wallow in the unknown, and then I will come to her with news of her father’s death,” Lord Larys said. “I need not even bring proof. That the Queen has been able to track her so instantaneously…it will sow doubt. Combined with an explicit threat to one of the boys, and I believe she will write what we desire.”

“Do it,” Aemond said, impatiently, waving his hand. “I need not hear all your details. You will get it done.”

The Small Council left soon after, Helaena moving towards her daughter’s and husband’s rooms so that she could speak to him before she moved to sleep. Exhaustion was seeping into her very bones, and yet she felt it was not time yet to sleep. She went to her children’s rooms first, stepping in quietly.

The room felt so empty. Jaehaerys’ bed had been removed entirely, and in its spot lay a rocking chair. It looked to Helaena like an open wound in the chambers, and it made her heart bleed to look at it. Yet she forced herself to look at it.

Jaehaera slept this time. Helaena did not want to wake her, so she merely watched the rise and fall of her chest for a moment, swallowing the feelings of discomfort that stuck to her heart like grasping thorns, stabbing at her with every breath. She felt oddly cold, and the more tired she became, the colder she became.

Aegon. Helaena wanted to see him before she went to sleep. She had dreaded seeing him in such a state…and yet she did not feel as if she could keep herself away any longer. Only, when she stepped out of her daughter’s chambers, Aemond was waiting for her. He stared down at her, hard, as if he expected something.

Helaena stared back at him, saying nothing, but refusing to look away. Would he burn her, she wondered, like he’d burned Aegon? She did not know. Would he burn her daughter? He had already been the cause of her son’s death, that he acted without thinking of the consequences…a wooden dragon, lost in the wind, broken sails on a storming sea, tears that filled an ocean. Helaena had sewn her son’s burial shroud before his death, had worked on it lovingly for months.

She was just to blame as Aemond was, because she had not acted. Helaena had sewn her son’s burial shroud instead of acting, and that would haunt her for the rest of her days. Helaena wished it had not been so. That she had allowed it to be…Helaena hated herself for it, hated that it took for so much for her to act.

Helaena hated Aemond almost as much, for his hand in her son’s death. She hated him more for his role in hurting Aegon. She hated that he seemed to not care at all, that he was able to walk around unwounded by this grievous deed.

“Where are you headed to?” Aemond eventually asked her, as they stared at one another in silence.

“I go to see my husband,” Helaena said, lifting her skirts a bit and moving past him.

Aemond moved in front of her, staring her down still, and Helaena refused to look away.

“…I will accompany you.”

“You will not,” Helaena said. “Aegon is tired, and in pain. He needs not multiple visitors.”

“Yet you will go?”

“I am his wife, so yes, my pace is by his side,” Helaena said, stubbornly.

“And I am his brother,” Aemond said, just as stubbornly.

Helaena gave her brother a hard look. “Yes, you are,” she said, slowly meaningfully.

Aemond gave her an exasperated look, but neither relented for a long moment of silence before Aemond finally said, frustrated. “I need to speak with you.”

“Fine. But you will make it quick. I wish to see Aegon,” then she wished to sleep, but she felt it best to leave it at that.

Helaena did not think Aegon would be delighted to see Aemond, so she could not have him follow. This would be the better option, even if she wished for it to not happen. She followed Aemond into her own chambers. They were near Aegon’s, anyway. He closed the door behind him, after opening it for her, and Helaena wondered once again if he’d meant to hurt her. There was once a time she never would have thought such a thing…but it occurred to her now that she did not know the depths to which his ambition ran.

Once, Helaena felt closer to Aemond than she had Aegon, despite having married the later. But that had seemed to wither and die in the past. And Helaena did not feel the need to let her mourning or previous feelings rot as her mother allowed herself to for her past friendship.

“What did you mean, earlier?” Aemond demanded of her as soon as the door closed.

She considered pretending as if she did not know. But Helaena knew what he meant without prompt. She had thought of his actions nonstop.

“I meant did burning Aegon make you feel good? Was the throne worth the cost of attempting to slay your brother, your king?” Helaena said, head titled.

Sword gleamed in sunlight, the half green pawn-knight fell from the golden sun, burning as it did. The Green Knight circled a throne, a crown in one hand, sword in another. Fire burned and tickled her nose, as did sharp cries in blue skies did her ears.

Aemond stared at her, stiffly, hand moving as if to grasp something and then he froze. “….You do not know of what you speak. I have known you to be simple, sister, but this is excessive.”

“…Daemon sent them to kill me, but I was out,” Helaena recited. There was music, soft, in the distance, as if from another room. Milk was poured, perfume so strong it made her clench her fists. “You were with me.” She lowered her voice, to match the woman’s pitch.

Aemond’s eyebrow furrowed, jaw clenching. He stared at her in disbelief.

“Tis I, the younger brother, who studies history,” Helaena said, tightly, nearly hissing out the last word and the next, “and philosophy. Tis I who trains with a sword. Who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be. What was it, brother? What should you be?”

“Daenys the Dreamer…” Aemond said, lips forming words that did not sound, his face changing from stony and angry to disbelief.

“I am Helaena,” she said, “Queen Helaena, and you….I do not know who you are any longer, Aemond. But I do not trust you. And I do not like you. Stay away from my husband., away from my daughter, and away from me.”

She swept past him, head held high, and moved on to her husbands rooms. The Grand Maester was already there, tending to him. Aegon’s eyes came to her, unsteadily, as she stepped closer.

He was a ruinous thing. Half of his body was burned and blistered, and his pale face was puffy with thick, purple bruises under his eyes. He was missing a huge chunk of hair, his scalp now blistered. The rest of his body was puffy, too, as if Helaena could poke him and expect to see his flesh remain pressed in. What had Aemond done? Green and red and gold and smoke, a smoking pyre, a poisoned cup, a window and a girl, a sword through an eye. It all swirled in her head, like paint mixing with water, and she wished that it would come undone that she might see it easier.

Helaena would sew no funeral shroud for her husband, not now, she knew that as much. Felt its certainty, and even if she hadn’t, she would have made it be.

Yet he was a piteous thing to look at.

“…I have come,” Helaena said, moving to sit next to Aegon, staring at his hand and wondering if she was to take it.

He had one good hand, one hand burnt. Was she meant to take it? They had never held hands before, expect for the few times they’d danced. It was not often, and more so when Aegon had been in his cups long enough to find humor, but not long enough to find resentment.

Aegon groaned in response, even his voice ruinous. Helaena licked her lips, aware that the Grand Maester had sent out the others and was the only one to remain.

“I am sorry I have not come sooner,” Helaena said. “I have been…angry.”

“…m---m—me?” Aegon managed to groan out, eyes clenching in pain.

“No,” Helaena assured, quickly, “at me. At Aemond. I did not…I should have done something. I did not. It felt so…unreal to me, as if I was watching a dream I had seen a thousand times and knew the ending to already. Like fighting against a storm. But I should have fought the storm, and lost, better than to not act at all… I thought…you were angry as well…you turned from me. I needed you. I thought you needed me, too…and then you turned. I did not think you wanted me. I thought you hated me.”

He struggled a bit, as if trying to move. Helaena took his hand, wincing as he groaned although he did not try to move it away.

“N-no, n-no, not…not…,” He struggled to speak, his voice raspy, his breath coming out shaky. Tears trickled down his one good eye. “Not—angry—at—you. Me. I-failed.”

He had to force the words out. Helaena bit her lip and did not fight the tears this time.

“Maybe its us both. We both failed. But we cannot fail anymore,” Helaena said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead. “I will not fail you or Jaehaera again, Aegon. Husband. I am here. Here I will remain.”

The Grand Maester gave him more milk of the poppy, and Aegon slept after that, holding her hand still. Helaena stared down at him, memorizing the burns and the blisters, the red and the white, and absently spoke to Grand Master Orwyle. She considered her own chambers and thought them suddenly too far from here.

She could have another bed put in; Helaena contemplated. Aegon needed space for his body to heal, yet she did not want to go far. For today, she would sleep in her room, as she needed rest desperately. But on the morrow…she would have to see how quickly it could be moved.

“Send in Ser Cole, will you? I desire to speak to him,” Helaena said.

Ser Cole came to her immediately, and the Grand Maester bowed out gracefully when Helaena requested, closing the door softly. Helaena waited a moment for him to truly leave. Ser Cole could not stand to look at Aegon, Helaena could tell, and the silence did not seem to comfort him.

She did not care.

“You are to be his sworn shield,” Helaena said, without looking at him in return.

“Your Grace, I am…,” Ser Cole started, a struggle in his voice that Helaena could almost see.

She turned to him and found his eyes on the floor. “I know. But you will change. Aemond cannot be trusted. You know this. I know this. Aegon was no accident. He was no casualty of the Red Queen. You will guard your true king.”

It was not a question. Ser Cole looked to her, not shocked this time, but with eyes that almost bled regret.

“My husband needs a sword and shield, as do I, as does our daughter. You will guard Aegon, as you have been sworn to do with your life. My mother will find another. You will not visit her chambers. You will not steal away to her in the night. You will guard your king and give up your life for his.”

Ser Cole’s vows were meant to guard Aemond, too, and the incident with Rhaenyra all those years ago highlighted that fault in Helaena’s choice. Yet she felt as if no other could match her brother. She had to trust that Ser Cole’s guilt would force him to side with his king, even if it disgraced him in the end.

Helaena hoped it would never come to such a thing. Not for the honor of Ser Cole, but the life of her husband.

“…I will, Your Grace,” Ser Cole said, slowly, looking away.

Helaena stared at him hard. “I do not doubt it. Whatever mercy has been granted to you is not without cost, Ser. And I can only forgive so much. Which is why you will resign your position as Hand, and offer it to mine uncle, that you might better guard your charge.”

Ser Cole looked at her, mouth opening as if to speak, and his eyes caught sight of Aegon’s face. He was sleeping now, but he looked half-dead, his mouth open and his face so puffy it was almost unrecognizable. His leg was raised, the thing so broken they feared he would not run again. That they feared walking would now be a chore.

Aegon’s agony was bared to the world, as was his misery.

Ser Cole stare at the ruin of Aegon and then closed his eyes.

“It will be done.”

Chapter 3: Passing Judgement

Chapter Text

Alys I

The raven came as Alys hawked out in the woods by herself in the early hours of the afternoon. She felt…excited, like thunder crackling in the air before a storm, and could not place why. The sky was blue, and clear of storm, and the red dragon did not stir from his spot on the ground to even rain fire.

Something was coming, though, and it called so to her. In the clouds Alys saw sigils, saw flags, in the God’s Eye Lake and puddles she saw crowns and scepters, in the wind she tasted change.

It made her blood sing.

Alys could smell the reek of Larys on the raven, through her bird as she soared through the air on her wings and took pleasure in savaging the thing as it tried to escape. Alys slipped out of Sorrow, one of her owls, with ease releasing her wings with some disappointment as she slipped back into her own skin. The rest of her council of owls were scattered about in the wind, although she could feel the tendrils of them like wispy smoke connected to a candle.

Sorrow brought her the raven, still in her beak, and the raven had a thing in its own beak. A letter. Alys took it, moving out of the shade of the trees and into the sun that she could see the words better.

Her eyebrows furrowed the more she read it. Larys had always been cruel, his words pointed and sharp, picking at every piece of skin he could get to without mercy. Yet, never before had he taunted her with an offer to see her legitimized…only that she was a bastard and he was not, despite his crippled foot. Only that his father had thought Larys had been cursed by means of sorcery, mishappen by will of a witch, and not by fate itself. Only that she was not a tenant of Harrenhal, but an unwanted intrusion into the stone itself, buried like a parasite.

The letter came with the seal of approval, even, from the king himself. The three youngest of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, traitor to the throne, had been captured, as had Lady Rhaena Targaryen, and they would end the war – all that was left to ensure the unconditional surrender of the false queen was the death of her false king husband. For his death, Alys would be offered the king’s letter, granting her a title of ‘Lady’ and her father’s family name, pardons for her natural kin…and the return of her rooms, in whole condition.

The prince’s life for her own…for her name, for her title, for the pardon of her kin…it was more than tempting. Alys had been oddly fond of the prince as she got to know him, yet, her life for his…there was no question about it.

Alys crumbled up the paper and promptly swallowed it whole, wincing, as it sliced at her throat as it went down. The wax seal of the king’s approval was gummy, yet she cared not. She did not need to reply, and Alys knew her half-brother well enough to know he did not expect a response.

Her actions would speak for themself.

Alys held out her arm, allowing Sorrow to fly free again and she soared into the sky as Alys slipped back into the owl’s feathers, marveling at the wind beneath her wings, at the sun shining down on her. She moved between her council of owls, between Misfortune and Fate, who never strayed far from one another, to Hoare, who always flew as close to the sun as she could, to Towers, who flew low, looking for mice, always.

Freedom tasted so sweet, as always, all the cares of the world bellow her as nothing tethered her to them but the body she could vaguely feel.

On ravens wings, she flew away from Harrenhal. She stood, high above the world, in the sky, she lay in the trunk of a tree, watching. Larys came within view, twisted, deformed, for she had no eyes in the trunk of the tree and humans were oddly shaped, all of them, when she gazed at them from these non-eyes.

But she saw anyway.

Three boys stood with him, one dark of hair, two white of hair. The were in the arms of guards in green leather and silver armor. Time was nothing to her as the boys played in front of the tree, with wooden blocks and wooden horses, but it ticked away anyway.

The world bled away, and Alys returned to herself, returned to Sorrow and her council of owls, about the world, free as could be. Alys hawked for mayhaps an hour or so before she sent her owls back to their home tree. A dead newt weighed heavily in her pocket; a prize she would not have normally looked for. It was very…blunt. Almost vulgarly so. She returned to her working chambers in the castle, finding flowers, herbs, and weeds scattered about the mess of a table. She sniffed each piece as she picked them up, setting them in one pile or another with ease until she had quite the pile on one side.

The largest mortar and pestle would have to do, for Alys needed much in her mixture. She set to work grinding the flowers up, stem and all, until she had a thick, greenish mixture in her stone bowl. Foxglove and lily, yew and azalea all were meticulously ground to a fine powder, stem and flower and leaf and all.

Alys added honey, for taste, belladonna and morning glory for fun, the King’s trumpet for color, and some water to mix it all up. She ground it about her mortar, her arm aching with the effort. The rough-skin newt was hardest to grind, for she ground it in bones and all, yet it was vital. It’s blood turned the thing red and Alys mixed in some red wine to thin it all out.

It felt…off though. Her heart told her it needed more. Daffodil bulbs and stem and were ground in a clean mortar, as were thick, juicy rosemary peas. They were added to the mix as Alys walked about her rooms, as if dancing to herself, a song on the tip of her tongue that she had heard in a dream, once, but did not fully know. She brought it up to her nose to sniff, smiling at the smell, at the bitter twinge, and the sweet that chased the bitter. Alys added several drops of her own blood, and then tasted the thing.

It was bitter, it was sweet, it was slimy, and it was perfect.

The lords and ladies of the Riverlands had left, already, their sharp and refusal to bend the knee having made their point. Dragon or no, the lords of the Riverlands would not bend the knee. Alys had never applauded the nobility so, nor found herself quite on their side.

Decency. It was such a silly word, for they wielded it like shields when action was taken against them, yet tossed, forgotten, when those smaller than them were the one’s to feel to prick and draw of blood and more.

It was an odd feeling. Not quite as unsettling as finding herself on the side of her half-brother, and yet similar. A cousin feeling, mayhaps.

It mattered little, though. Prince Daemon brooded in his rooms, in his cups. His mother had brought him no comfort, as neither did his young, dead wife and her words. Or his younger, living wife and her’s.

Mayhaps Alys could bring him some comfort, peace in a cup.

Alys stopped by the kitchens, first, as the light died all around her, the sun fading into the ground, as if finding its grave. She whispered to her kin, here and there, a touch, a look. It would not be safe in the halls of Harrenhal this night.

They should seek refuge, away, whilst the storm blew and the castle raged.

She watched as the left, fleeing in the night, as the sun and the moon danced their dance, and as Alys made her way to the chambers of the Prince Consort.

-

-

Daemon I

He had not expected the Brackens to be so eager to die. It had been admirable.

To a degree.

He had thought the Riverlanders nothing but cowardly fodder, sheep shivering in their sheepskin as they waited for the wolves to descend on them. Daemon thought they would have been more than eager to bow to a dragon.

Afterall, they were sheep and Daemon a dragon, yet he offered them salvation instead of slaughter.

He’d been so very wrong.

The Blackwood c*nt had been wholly unable to make them see reason with words, and he’d been wholly unable to take orders, too. Daemon could not have had been clearer that it was the Blackwood’s own banners they were meant to wave as they desecrated the Riverlands.

The boy would have to die, of course. Daemon almost regretted it. It was nice to have a fool would who call Daemon ‘King’ without the stubborn, apathetic defiance of Ser Simon Strong or the easy, willful defiance of Alys Rivers. Neither seemed to respect Daemon much. He hated it. But the Blackwood boy…well, he would reap what he sowed.

Mayhaps Daemon could turn this place around. The construction on the castle was underway. The Brackens had knelt.

But mayhaps he could not, Daemon thought, even though he did not wish to say it out loud. This place was hell. It had to be, and Daemon was slithering through its seven halls as the devils and demons played with him alike, as the witch played with his mind, as the castle taunted him. Daemon could not let it best him, yet he found that the castle was not the only thing that was cracking.

The foolish c*nts…they would not bow to a tyrant, did they think Aegon so much kinder? The boy with his cups and his whor*s, Daemon should have killed him when he’d had the chance. Aemond One Eye was even more a monster than his brother, and it was he who sat the throne now. Daemon’s throne.

If these fools thought they were choosing goodness by doing nothing, Daemon’s only regret as that he would not be able to see their faces when Aemond burned them.

All these years, Daemon had stayed his hand, because his brother yet lived, and he could not act when Viserys was around…yet mayhaps he’d been too gentle. Too kind.

He certainly had been with Rhaenyra, who took his throne, his brother, and seemed to give him nothing but grief and despair as she lorded it over him.

“The Song of Ice and Fire. The conqueror’s Dream. Viserys shared it with me when he named me heir.”

Daemon had never hated her so much in that moment. He had been Viserys’ heir long before Rhaenyra had drawn breath. Daemon had been the heir of Viserys since the moment of their birth, since their childhood, Daemon had always meant to follow Viserys. Always. That Viserys had had a girl-child meant nothing. He failed to have a son, and Daemon had always seen that as the sign that it was – that Daemon himself was Viserys’ heir.

It was meant to be Daemon, not Rhaenyra, not that c*nt Aegon. Her place was at his side, as his consort, not lording above him as his ruler.

That Viserys had sought to desperately replace him had been Viserys’ own downfall, unfortunately. If only his brother had seen reason.

But Daemon had been the heir. He had been. The world knew it, the lords feared it, and it was true.

Yet Viserys had never truly seen him as an heir, as his successor, as his equal, even when the world feared it…he had never shared the stupid song.

Daemon fought tirelessly in pursuit of his family and their goals, and he was always…left in the dust, a dog to be humored when its teeth were needed, and a dog to be put down when they were feared. They wanted him to bite their foes and yet balked when Daemon came back with bloodied teeth.

Nothing he did was suitable, nothing he did was praised. Rhaenyra had not the heart for action, yet pretended to be the Queen, and Daemon acted for her, did what was necessary and what she could never do –

“You are pathetic.”

---and received nothing but scorn for it. Did he seek her end, or was she his?

He paced the length of his damned room, the water dripping from the ceiling nearly driving him to madness alone. It sounded like Laena, screaming, as Baela was brought into the world. It sounded like her weeping, late in the night, when Daemon refused returning to the place they had fled, knowing he was not welcome, knowing he could not stand to live at Driftmark as her…as her toy, if that, not even tolerated and wholly unwelcome.

Unwilling and unable to return crawling to his brother, who never sought his leave for anything, who married the c*nt of a Hightower without so much of a warning and yet who denied his annulment and shielded Rhaenyra from him…as if Daemon was the problem! As if Daemon was not the sword and shield of his house, as his kin were too cowardly to do anything!

Young Laena’s face followed him everywhere, as did her words that echoed in his ears. “Have you looked after our girls?”

The echoes of the screams sounded in his ears, the scream of women he’d heard as he’d chopped wood, and he found that they sounded like his daughters, like dragons roaring in the distance.

He paced, and paced, drinking from his cups as he thought of what to do. Outside, wind and rain howled and raged, slamming almost as if forcefully into the castle, to tear it down. He had not recalled it storming earlier, and the sound made him shiver.

This castle could turn even a simple storm into something else, and Daemon hated it.

Let it all crumble, Daemon thought, finishing his drink. It was already ruined. Nothing could fix it; they might as well tear it all down…or burn it all down. This place was truly cursed.

“You’ll wear a hole, in the floor, should you walk like that,” Alys odd voice came from the open doorway, and Daemon turned to her, scowling.

First, the Riverland lords thought they could wake a king, and now this bastard? Still, he eyed her with curiosity, and the odd cup she held, the muddied red and green swirling liquid in it. Her first potion had seen that he slept…and more. He had walked as if sleeping, as the world bled away and Laena returned to him, as the noises in the castle turned sinister and dark. There were times he did not recall waking and walking at all, and yet he’d find himself away from his bed.

It was maddening. She was maddening.

It was oddly intoxicating.

“I’ll wear a damn hole should I please,” Daemon said, his voice only slightly slurring.

“Well, then all your hard work will be for naught, won’t it?” Alys said, amusem*nt in her voice. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and she had on a thick cloak tied tightly about her, the wax on it glinting in the candlelight. “I was returning to mine home when I heard your pacing. You’ll wake the castle, should you keep it up like this.”

“Your damned lord woke me, let him wake. The c*nt,” Daemon scowled, throwing his empty cup at the wall and watching it shatter and the red wine – had it not been empty? —flowing down the wall like blood.

“He is not my lord,” Alys said, laughing. “And it was not him I spoke of.”

“What is he, then?” Daemon demanded, turning to her, watching as she almost swayed in the candlelight. Or was it him? Yet, she seemed to grow taller and taller as he looked at her, her eyes all the more green – hauntingly green, like wildfire on a field.

“He is a pretender,” Alys said, stepping forward. “I’d think you’d know such things, my Prince.”

“Do not presume, wench,” Daemon snapped, nearly striking her but finding something holding him back.

Was it him, or her? He did not know. He gave her such grace, and yet…

“I presume nothing. I only repeat what I hear. And I hear much, and more,” Alys said.

“Do you now?” Daemon said scornfully. “You do not do it well, then.”

“Have you? Or have you used me as a tool to grasp at your stollen inheritance,” Alys quoted back at him, quirking a brow.

Fire danced on her pale face, and her hair turned white, her eyes purple. Rhaenyra stared at him. Viserys stared at him. Laena stared at him. Her face swirled about like a damned moving painting, and when Daemon looked at her, he saw no one and everyone.

“Where did you hear that?” Daemon demanded, whispering.

“The wind. It tells me everything, she is a dear old friend of mine,” Alys said. “Well, will you sleep? Or will you send the dead to their burning graves tomorrow without it? You are not pleasant on good days, but the lack of sleep does not suit you.”

“No, it does not, does it?” Daemon said, scornfully, yet she seemed unbothered.

“Well?” Alys prompted.

“You think you know what I will do tomorrow, do you?” Daemon said, amused now himself, turning away from her.

He thought of Rhaena and Baela, of Viserys and Aegon. His sons and his daughters. Would Baela turn from him now, he wondered? Would his sons? Would Rhaena? He should see them…should turn from this damned war and let Rhaenyra fight it herself, without his aid, or the aid of his daughters. Or their dragons.

Let her see how clean her hands were when her beaten dog was nowhere to be seen.

“Do you have other plans, then? When there are so many graves yet undug, so much firewood left unsplit?” Alys asked.

Something caught his eye in the corner. Laena, in her nightclothes, soaked with blood. She was holding her stomach, staring at him, tears in her eyes. His mother, her own clothing soaked, her eyes full of warmth and love. Aemma, tears glistening on her face like diamonds, Viserys, his health restored, his body whole, his eyes sad.

“—well, do you want it or not? I cannot stay here all night. I need to return home to my children at some point,” Alys said, impatiently.

“You have children?” Daemon said, blinking, turning back to her.

He had to return to his children, did he not? He should. They waited for him, Daemon thought. Mayhaps, they needed him more than Rhaenyra did.

“Did I not tell you, I am not a woman, but a barn owl cursed to walk the world as a woman?” Alys teased. “Well, my chicks and my eggs are back at my tree, and they call for me in the night.”

“You have brought me more poison, to cloud my eyes,” Daemon said, jerking his hand towards the cup.

“Mayhaps. Or mayhaps I have brought you answers for questions you were too afraid to ask. Mayhaps I have brought you something to aid in your search for sleep,” Alys challenged. “Have you not remained, despite it all? You clearly seek something…and Harrenhal is quite good at responding, should you listen.”

“It speaks but lies,” Daemon countered, turning away to the window.

Rain misted on his face from the window, thunder cracked like the walls of a castle about to collapse. Outside the rain poured like daggers. Even the trees bent to the whim and will of the wind. Whenever this storm had begun to rage, it did so forcefully.

“Harrenhal does not lie,” Alys said. “We who walk its halls might, but not Harrenhal. Never her. She is old, and her wisdom is oft beyond our understanding, but it is there.”

“Harrenhal is a woman, is she?” Daemon scoffed, turning to her.

“She is life and death in one, she is the beginning, she is the end,” Alys said, “of course she is.”

Daemon took the cup, watching the red swirl. He should not drink it, he knew. The potion that he’d drank earlier had f*cked with his head. This was no better. He truly did not know why he’d taken it the first time, other than he’d felt compelled, stirred to action, had watched the blood drip down Alys’ lips and had wanted it. Wanted her.

But he wondered what he’d see. Daemon wondered what Harrenhal would peel back this time, and how it would ruin him, and how it would…free him, almost, as if removing chain after chain. Beheading Rhaenyra had filled something in him, soothed an ache, and also ruined him, horrified him.

How it could be he felt both, Daemon did not know. But it had all been true. f*cking Rhaenyra had not been the solution Daemon had thought it would be, and even when she bore him their sons she was still in his way.

No….freed was not the right word. That was much too generous a word for this cursed, cruel place. Yet it was something adjacent to it, mayhaps.

He’d seen his mother’s face for the first time outside a painting.

Daemon had done more…but…he’d seen it.

He motioned towards Alys. “Well? Am I to drink alone?”

Alys moved forward and drank deeply from the cup, and then passed it to him, her eyebrows raised in challenge. Of course Daemon had to answer, and he swallowed the rest of it, wincing at the sickly-sweet, bitter taste, like sticky honey, that was chased after with a bitter tinge that coated his tongue.

“Gods, can you not make something pleasant tasting?” Daemon coughed.

“I fear I cannot. I am not a pleasant person,” Alys said.

“So you are a person now, not a barn owl?” Daemon slurred, laughing.

He looked at Alys. Her face swirled in on itself, the colors of her dress and body melting away so that she was in all white, as if drawn on parchment. She moved, and shattered, like glass on a wall, and a boot kicked Daemon’s stomach and he stared up at the ceiling as Viserys loomed over him, kicking him again and again.

“My daughter. Won’t you even deny it?” Viserys told him, scowling down. “Ruined! Do you wonder why I have never left the crown with you, the realm? I cannot even leave mine daughter without your bloody hands ruining her!”

He thundered at the end and then his face fell and his eye slipped out of its socket and as Daemon watched he turned to dust, slowly, screaming as his flesh soughed off and blood dripped down his body. Aegon stood before him, his body burned so black Daemon would not have known who he was had it not been for the Conqueror’s crown on his pitifully small, ruined head.

“—never chosen, you know. He never chose me, either, yet you sought to align with your replacement. It is funny, is it not? Always grasping, never chosen. Yet it is I who sit the throne, the son who never wanted it. What irony! What bliss! How pathetic you are,” Aegon laughed and laughed and laughed, fading away.

“I needed you, brother,” Viserys wept, standing before the boy of Aemma, who was pale and cold on the bed. Her face changed, and Rhaenyra stared back at him with eyes that wept blood. “We should have never met. You have ruined me, Uncle. Ruined me.”

Daemon staggered to his knees, grasping the wooden poles of his bed, looking up, frantically. His stomach heaved, rolled in on itself, and the world went dark around the edges of his eyes. He felt a chill creeping in his body even as he lost feeling in his extremities.

“You will die in this place,” Alys told him, staring at him as he stood under the tree, the dark about them like a cloak, like arms around him, too tight.

“Peace be unto you, on these times,” Alys told him, now, standing in front of him, her eyes glowing like emeralds in the dark of the room. “I did warn ye, but alas, not all listen.”

“You poisoned me. c*nt,” Daemon slurred, staggering back to his feet, his hands finding his sword. His hands stung as he took it, but when he thrusted it at Alys she laughed, the silver of Dark Sister going through her stomach like butter.

Wet blossomed at his stomach, and when Daemon looked down, he saw that this silver was through his stomach, that the blade handle stuck out, touching the softness of Alys belly as she pressed the blade further into him with it.

Chapter 4: Dark Wings, Dark Words

Chapter Text

Rhaena II

Helaena had ridden for a full day and most of another without stop. She had been like some demon bat from the hells, with no need for food, rest, water or relief.

Any hope Rhaena had of breaking free in the night, or during a rest, had been dashed. All of their pleas, be it the boys or her own, for hunger and for relief had been ignored. Hunger had gnawed at her belly, overriding the fear, at some point and sleep was not a relief for she woke in a start, so high above the clouds that it made her heartbeat like a drum.

Helaena had, apparently, neither sympathy nor bodily need. Rhaena hated her for it. She refused to think of her as ‘queen’ or ‘princess’ as it was the only defiance she could wield, even if it was…weak. It still felt like something.

There was no relief to be found in King’s Landing, however, when Rhaena had landed on shaky legs, made to stay still as she was bound, as her brothers and stepbrother were taken from her. Rhaena almost wished to be back in the skies, despite the discomfort, for it meant that they would not be in the enemies castle. In what should have been Queen Rhaenyra’s home.

Would Baela have been taken, Rhaena wondered as she watched the boys be taken into separate carriages, as a man in green armor congratulated the monster that had taken them. No, she’d decided. Baela would have fought. And won. Moondancer was smaller than Dreamfyre, yet fierce and quick, as was Baela, where Helaena and her mount her slow and simple.

Rhaena’s rooms were small, with no window to look out of but plenty of guards to keep her company. All wearing Hightower green. Three women came to watch her as she relieved herself, or showered, or dressed, their eyes like hawks. Rhaena felt almost giddy that they felt she needed so many women to watch her. She felt shame that they did not truly need it.

Rhaena was no fighter. Baela could use a crossbow and had secretly been learning to wield a sword by watching the other’s. Baela had told Rhaena as much, when they’d reunited. Rhaena had been excited to share her studies with her sister, of her learning how to care for Driftmark, for one day she’d be its lady as her husband was its lord. Just as her sister would one day be Queen of the seven kingdoms.

If it had been Baela…well, Baela would not have been captured in the first place. Rhaena felt certain of that. That Rhaena could not be more like her…it was frustrating. But no matter how she wished it, it was not to be.

Still. They feared Rhaena enough that the Greens left her with so many guards. Yet she was incapable of doing anything, even comforting her brothers. They’d been taken. Rhaena had not seem them once since they’d arrived to the Red Keep all those days ago. None had come to question her. It was as if they thought her little more than a trophy, with nothing important to say.

Not that she would have spoken, but still. Rhaena’s words seemed to have little value to anyone.

Any question she made of their whereabouts was met with silence. They spoke little to her, Rhaena’s captors. It was both a blessing as much as it was a curse. It was not as if the words of the Greens would help. They were liars, usurpers, kinslayers and their word suspect. Rhaena could never take comfort from the Greens. They had kidnapped her in the vilest of ways, and most importantly, they had made her appear weak and foolish.

Her task had been simple, and yet as much as she had not wanted to fulfill it Rhaena knew she had the ability to. But she hadn’t…

Rhaena had failed Queen Rhaenyra. The shame stung.

The days passed like torture, each hour a day in itself, each day a month. The King was anguished, laying in his bed. Rhaena knew that much. She had known it before she’d left. Her grandmother had died taking out the false king. Rhaena also knew his dragon was most likely dead at this point, based off the injuries she’d heard.

It was a pity in that Sunfyre was the most beautiful dragon recorded. Sunfyre the Golden, still young. He’d deserved better than Aegon the Pretender.

Yet his death would be as much a boon as Aegon’s death would be. So she hoped Sunfyre would die, and Rhaena hoped Aegon would follow him. She hoped all his blood-soaked followers would follow him.

Wishing death on her enemies was the extent to which she could act, and so Rhaena prayed. She prayed to the old and the blue, and to the old gods and the new. Her days consisted of being watched, of wallowing, praying, eating, bathing, and sleeping.

When they finally sent someone other than the servants and the guards, it was a man with a crippled foot. He’d come in with guards of his own, hulking things in the red, green, and white of the Strongs. It made Rhaena clench her fists so, that these were the so-called blood kin of her betrothed. Well. As far as she was concerned, that rumor was put to rest with the betrayal of Larys Strong.

If he had been uncle to Lucerys…how could he turn on them so? Rhaena had heard the lies, the blasphemy spread, meant to take Driftmark from her and her betrothed’s hands, to undermine the Queen. Make it seem as if she was an oath breaker and a traitor to the realm and unfit to rule. The rumors had followed even to Dragonstone, where it was said with scorn, as it should have been elsewhere.

It had always bothered Luke, even when Rhaena made it clear she knew it to be a lie, and him to be her cousin. When they ruled together, people would see how worthy he was, Rhaena had always said. He was as equal parts sea as he was sky, and as was she, and they would prove it. Together. Driftmark would grow under their care as it had for their grandfather, because they were trueborn and they were worthy.

Rhaena knew it, believed it truly.

She knew that her betrothed had appreciated it. Luke might have had a dragon, but the rumors followed him and Rhaena could understand his frustration. The daughter of Laena and Daemon, without a dragon of her own. Baela had the dragon, and she had the temperament of their parents – the fire of Daemon Targaryen, the bold adventure of Laena Velaryon. Rhaena was always disappearing into the background, unimportant, forgotten in their wake.

She had understood Luke’s feelings. Especially over such vile rumors. Rhaena had felt all the closer to her betrothed for it – Luke was kind, and funny, and chivalrous and he listened to her. When all of the world saw her as nothing more than a failed dragonrider, Lucerys had made Rhaena feel special. She had looked forward to their marriage, to them proving all of the lickspittles wrong.

Now it was never to be. Aemond One-Eyed had stollen Lucerys from her, as he had her mother’s dragon. He truly ruined everything. Now his sister delivered another blow, and Rhaena did not know if they could withstand it.

“You look well, then, child,” Larys Strong told her, coming to a stop so that there was much distance between them.

Good. She did not want this crippled ruin of a man near her. Rhaena raised her chin and glared at him, silent, and he chuckled.

“You do have your father’s fire about you. It may be difficult for your husband, I fear. Yet you know how to behave, which is a good mark,” Larys mused.

Cold fear washed over Rhaena and her heart clenched. “…my betrothed has been slain.”

“Oh, yes, Lucerys Waters has been slain,” Larys said, gently, almost as if to comfort her.

“It is Velaryon,” Rhaena snapped.

“It was, for a short time. History will not remember it so,” Larys smiled. “Yet, that is not important. When the dust has cleared, and the King sits uncontested, it will be up to you and your sister to mend the relations your kin have broken, I am afraid. It is so tiring a thing to have to clean up after one’s family, and yet there is no escaping it.”

Harrenhal had declared for Queen Rhaenyra, despite their cowardly, traitorous lord’s declaring for Aegon. How they must have felt, knowing that Larys Clubfoot was out there, ruining their name, besmirching their honor, Rhaena did not know. It was almost as bad as Ser Vaemond Velaryon attempting to take Driftmark from Rhaena and Lucerys, and yet at least he had the decency to die. Larys ridiculed them all by living.

If only Ser Harwin had lived…he was just. Honorable. He would have put his brother in his place, where he belonged. If only her uncle, Laenor, had lived, too. He would have silenced the rumors of his trueborn son’s parentage.

“They will come for me,” Rhaena said desperately, trying to cling to whatever sliver of hope she could. The end was not there, yet.

“Yes, they will, and they will surrender. Or they will see you dead,” Larys said. “It is a threat your father might have accepted, had he lived, but fortunately your stepmother is all the gentler of the two usurpers. With her own son’s lives, at least. I imagine she would be glad to see you alone fed to the dragons if it meant saving her would-be crown.”

There was so much said that Rhaena did not know what to respond to fist, did not know what to take in first. Her father was…

She stood, frantically, and stepped away from the man – the liar! – even as the guards stepped forward. Larys motioned and they stopped, and Rhaena’s heart palpitated in her chest.

“Do you misbelief me, child?” Larys said, softly, almost gently, looking at her with eyes that Rhaena could have believed held sympathy – had this man not been a monstrous liar.

His honeyed words and soft looks were but lies. The honey to trick the fly to the trap, the poison in the cheese to trick the rat, but Rhaena was neither. She was dragon, she was the sea, and would not be cowed by the pets of the usurper.

“You are a liar. And a traitor. My father lives, and neither he nor my Queen would see me dead,” Rhaena hissed, proud her tears did not spill, proud her voice did not waver.

Larys laughed, tapping his cane on the ground. “So many have said. And yet…yet we managed to sneak into your hidden hole so soon after you fled Dragonstone. Yet we have managed to take you and the princes. Yet here you are. We are capable of much, child. Do you truly find it so…unbelievable that we have sent for Prince Daemon in the night, and found him? He is a great warrior…he is also a man. And men do need sleep, and nourishment, and baths.”

“It is unbelievable because it is false,” Rhaena hissed, although her heart sank even further – a feat she did not know was possible.

That Helaena had been able to find her…she’d ruminated on that all this time, as Helaena had flown like a demon bat from the hells with no need for bodily functions and had come up with not a single answer. They’d taken horses and boats, not dragon, and were not visible from the skies. There may have been spies, but…would that have been quick enough? Helaena came just after Rhaena had gotten into her rooms, had been welcomed.

It just made no sense. It was as if Helaena had been waiting for them. But how? The only person that came to Rhaena’s mind was Maester Gerardys…the Maesters were in the pockets of the Hightowers, yet the Queen trusted him so much.

But betrayal could only come from someone who trusted.

If the Greens had managed that…was it so unbelievable that they killed Daemon, in the stronghold of Harrenhal? Mayhaps all the Strongs were greens, and their declaration for the Blacks had been but a ruse. Mayhaps they were not like Ser Harwin at all, but like Larys Clubfoot. Deceitful, dishonest, and born of the deepest pit of the seventh layer of the hells.

No, no! She could not believe that. Her father was alive…and would come for them. For her. Rhaena knew it. Queen Rhaenyra would never turn her back on Rhaena, either. She clenched her eyes. She knew it…she had to.

Larys’ stupid eyes were like needles on Rhaena’s skin and she wanted to slap him, force him to leave her. Instead, she looked away.

He hummed, and the sound made her skin crawl, she hated him so. “I do not think you misbelieve.”

“I do,” Rhaena insisted, forcefully.

He looked neither pleased nor displeased with her words, and Rhaena hated it. Could she not have just this one thing, this one victory? Instead, the door opened and a guard in armor came in, a babe in his arms.

“Viserys!” Rhaena cried, moving towards him, but the guards on her sides and back yanked her backwards. Her neck stung as it whipped back.

“You should take his face in; it may very well be the last you will see it,” Larys said, calmly.

“Helaena said she would not hurt them!” Yet she’d lied about the dragons…or had sidestepped it. She was a snake, a spider, Rhaena decided, it was why she liked them so.

“She may have, yet I never did,” Larys said. “Young Prince Jaehaerys was quite young, too, and taken so cruelly...”

Helaena had mentioned him as well. Rhaena was sick of hearing about him.

“I do not care!” Rhaena seethed, her tears spilling out. Viserys saw her and began to cry, too, reaching out to his half-sister but the guard remained as unmoved as Helaena had been.

“You should care. But, alas, if we all did as we should this war would not have been waged. He will be given away, and when the dust settles, and the war is over, you may very never well see him. He will live out his days not with an honored position, as we offered your father, but as insurance your false queen will not rise again. Or I will kill him. As your father wished. It all really depends on you, now, doesn’t it?”

“He did not wish that!” Rhaena argued.

“Oh, but he did, child. He informed your stepmother and Lord Hand Otto that he would rather feed his children to his dragon than surrender. I imagine he’d rather see Prince Viserys dead. But the choice is not up to him. It is up to you,” Larys Strong said, his words heavy.

Rhaena stared at Viserys, his chubby, pale cheeks red with tears, snot dripping down his nose. She wanted to hug him, soothe him. She wanted to chuck him out the window, that Queen Rhaenyra had put him on Rhaena at all, that Rhaena had not been good enough for anything but a nanny and a proverbial nursemaid. She hated herself for it, but Rhaena could not help but feel some anger towards him, mixed in with the love and devotion, no matter how deep she tried to bury it.

Viserys was her brother. He was her burden. Baela would never have been made to watch over the little ones, as if that was all she could offer. But of course Rhaena would be made to. Viserys was sweet tempered, sweet faced. He had no dragon, unlike Aegon, whose dragon had hatched in his crib. Just like Rhaena, Viserys was weak, powerless. Rhaena looked at her half-brother and saw herself, and yet that was not always a good thing.

Baela did not even stand up for Rhaena…she had watched Rhaena leave, offering nothing but words of missing her and a dagger – but it was not as if Rhaena could do anything now, standing up for Viserys. It was all futile, no matter how much she tugged and tried.

“You lie. Father would never say such a thing,” Rhaena argued, embarrassed when her voice came out as a sob.

Larys merely stared at her, patiently, and Rhaena glared back without looking away this time.

“…how is it up to me?” Rhaena finally asked, cautiously.

“You will declare for King Aegon. You will write to your false queen and beg her to bend the knee. You will let her know of what happened. And you will ensure your word is believable. Or Viserys will die. In the manner of Prince Jaehaerys, he will die.”

Rhaena wanted to scream, bash her head against the wall, gnash her teeth. She wanted to declare to Larys that she did not believe him. She wished she had her dagger so that she could stick it through his neck, because she was certain he had no heart. Her father lived! Rhaena knew it. Prince Daemon Targaryen would not be taken out by cravens and weak fools.

But it did not matter. Viserys…Rhaena could not allow him to die. Would her father hate her so, for giving in? Would he be proud of her for keeping her brother alive? Rhaena did not know. Desperation clawed at both answers.

But it did not matter. Larys Strong looked a monster to her, with his foot, that the god’s cursed him with for a reason and Rhaena believed his soul black enough to kill a child. With the sick look of gentleness about his cruel face. Rhaena knew it to be false, as was everything else about him.

Instead, her chin quivering, she turned her eyes back to Viserys who was making grasping motions at her and babbling.

He was so small. Viserys’ egg had not hatched, not as Aegon the Younger’s had, and Rhaena had felt closer to him for it. Her favorite of her brother’s, although she could not say it out loud. Maybe her favorite of all her siblings. Viserys waved about his toy dragon as if he was trying to make it breath fire. It made the tears flow from Rhaena’s eyes all the stronger.

Even Viserys tried to protect Rhaena, and she could do nothing back. Nothing but this.

“I will write it,” Rhaena said, feeling exhausted as the fight left her body. She hung her head, and let the tears drip without fighting it anymore. “Bring me the parchment. I will write it.”

She would not be able to face her father when he returned…nor Queen Rhaenyra, but Rhaena had to do it.

“Good then. It would be a terrible shame. If you’d forced my hand,” Larys said and motioned towards one of the men.

He came forth, producing parchment, pen, and ink. Rhaena took them, not looking at the man, the stone in her stomach so thick she almost felt full of it.

“I will be back in an hour’s time. Do ensure you have it done correctly; I shall not want to revisit this unfortunate conversation.”

-

-

Mysaria I

The letter came late in the afternoon, when evening was soon to come knocking on their door. It was a bad omen, Mysaria thought. Dark skies, bad words, yet she could not simply leave the letter for morning and potentially allow vital information to wait for them.

She’d skimmed the letter by the docks, with the light of the dying sun and the half-burnt torches of her spy next to her, her heart sinking as she’d read it until Mysaria had reminded herself that words lied on paper as well as on lips.

The princes and Lady Rhaena had been taken. By Queen Helaena, the letter said. Not princess. It was the first sign that Mysaria did not like. To call Princess Helaena this title was treason, and the Arryn were kin to Queen Rhaenyra. If that was not enough to keep them loyal, as it had not with the Baratheons, Lady Jeyne feared her rule would collapse should her cousin’s queenship be denied. Combined, these reasons shackled Lady Jeyne to Queen Rhaenyra, even if the lady of the Vale hated King Consort Daemon.

It was why Queen Rhaenyra had felt so assured in sending the two baby dragons to defend the Vale in place of the dragon Lady Jeyne had requested. Lady Jeyne could not spurn her, and the Vale was unlikely to be truly targeted, not as Harrenhal was.

Yet this letter, supposedly from the Lady Arryn, so treasonously called Princess Helaena ‘Queen’.

The second sign that the thing was not correct was that the signet ring had not been fully pressed in, and the hawk had but one and a half wings in blue and silver wax.

Yet…it did not mean it was not true. Mysaria herself had been before a dragon, and she knew the fear they could bestow upon one. Even though Caraxes would have obeyed Daemon, Mysaria knew very well what proximity to a dragon did to one. A trembling hand could easily make a mistake. But so could a deceitful one.

The third sign was that Lady Jeyne had sent the letter by way of boat, and not raven, although that could have been a sign of its truthfulness. If the Lady Jeyne sent boat, it had to be because she felt that the skies were neither safe nor secure. Yet…it could also mean that someone thought to trick Mysaria into thinking that the Lady Jeyne feared the skies, in the same way that a shakingly applied seal could mean fear or deception.

It was hard to parse, especially just looking at the words. Mysaria was not unused to trickery, on her end and others, and so she knew she overthought it. She went one way, and then the other, never fully certain.

But this was…devastating news. It could spell their end, if it was accurate, for Queen Rhaenyra would never risk her babes and Mysaria did not wish to see the end of another child at her proverbial sword. Daemon, mayhaps, would have. Mysaria did not doubt there was little Daemon would sacrifice. But his Queen was merciful where he was not, she was thoughtful where he was not.

Mysaria pocketed the letter and instructed her spy to send someone out to the Vale at once – and to King’s Landing. She wanted eyes on the scene. That she had not sent eyes with the boys had been an oversight. They were not meant to be there for long, and Mysaria had eyes in Pentos already. As well as in Lys, Myr, and Yi-Ti even. She had not felt it necessary to send them to the Vale, when there was work to do here.

She had been foolish.

Mysaria rushed to the Queen’s chambers and found her alone save for her Queensguard, Ser Steffon Darklyn. Queen Rhaenyra rose when she saw Mysaria, and Mysaria produced the letter from her pocket as she moved to meet her at her desk. Books were poured around her, but Mysaria paid them no attention.

“It is supposedly from the Vale, saying that your sons and stepdaughter have been kidnapped by your half-sister,” Mysaria said, as the letter was taken from her.

The Queen’s expression turned from curiosity to horror as she nearly ripped the letter apart, reading it with quick eyes.

“What? Lady Jeyne has allowed this?” The Queen said, sharply, and then her voice rose as desperation ate at it. “We must do something now.”

She looked to Mysaria for answers. Mysaria clasped her hands in front of her, head bowed.

“We…must consider that it could be a lie, meant to break you as much as we must consider that it is true. It is odd, for the princess to have come so quickly. Out party went by way of boat and foot, not by dragon. A ship that bore merchant sails, as you know, and we sent others too. Whist it is possible for spies to have seen them the reaction time was quick. Too quick. They also sent the Queen, so soon after the King’s injury, which is odd. Yet, she named the boys as well, which is concerning. Did a spy see them, and seek to use this to weaken your heart, or were they truthfully taken? We cannot know by this alone. War is won not just with deeds, but with words, and if they managed to make you surrender…well. I need not say more.”

“Yes, it could be lies,” Queen Rhaenyra murmured, eyes moving back to the letter. “The seal, it is not all the way on.”

“And we did not have word of the Princess Helaena leaving King’s Landing. Not from any of mine men, or Daemon’s.,” Mysaria added. “There was word of her returning one morning, having not been seen leaving, but it had been assumed she’d flown early in the morning. Reportedly, she flies often. Not of late, as her…well, it need not be said. This was thought to be the first time she’d flown after hiding herself away for days, having been said to have been depressed at the return of her husband. If she had gone to the Vale, I feel it may have been known. At least it is most likely. Security had tightened now, with the ratcatchers replaced with cats. The Gold Cloaks are kept at a distance, since the young prince’s death, replaced with Hightower men. There are few eyes in the Red Keep now.”

Again, Mysaria went back and forth on the issue. Yet…to send out the false queen after the false king had been injured…it would have been an odd choice. Why not Prince Aemond and Vhagar, or young Prince Daeron and Tessarion? The latter’s dragon as young, but still able to be flown, to breath fire.

Queen Rhaenyra nodded; eyes wide as they darted around. She seemed to calm some, although her face seemed to harden, to set, in a way that made Mysaria uncertain. It was a face she had seen before.

“She calls mine half-sister queen, too, or her maester does. Or this imposter who seeks to impersonate her does,” Queen Rhaenyra murmured. “Mayhaps it is the maester, attempting to sow discord. You know they flock to the Hightowers so, like carrion to meat. Maester Gerardys is the only one we can trust.”

“It could be by fearful hand, or deceitful hand. Until we have confirmation, we must not act hastily. If it is true, they will not be killed immediately, as that would be foolish. They will send us a letter demanding our surrender. That they have not done so is suspect. Mayhaps they seek to rouse us into false action now. But we must be certain of the accuracy. It is why I have sent men of my own to see the truth of this statement. They will be quick, and they will be honest.”

It would also be more difficult to get into the Red Keep, but Mysaria was confident that her men would find answers. Especially those who were still amongst the Goldcloaks.

“No,” Queen Rhaenyra shook her head, moving towards her clothing with quick steps. “No, they are too slow. I have already been to King’s Landing, in and out without being caught. It is quicker for me to go there than for me to go the Vale and I must see for myself. If they are there, I can take them as well.”

“The Queen Dowager already knows you can come in. The Red Keep has been strengthened because of the attack earlier, and the Sept has more guards as well. It is doubtful that avenue will be open to us. To do so once is foolish, and yet unexpected. To do so twice is folly. I have sent men to both the Vale and King’s Landing to confirm this. It is wise to wait for them that we may confirm their words with the demands that will not doubt be written by the usurpers.” Mysaria said.

“I will go,” Queen Rhaenyra said, stressing the words as if Mysaria did not know how urgent her need was. “Your idea of fraud was brilliant last time. And as you said, no one will pay attention to a woman not in finery.”

“Fraud does not work when it is applied over and over again, in the same manner. A lie twice told is twice as weak,” Mysaria said, firmly. “If you go this route, you are giving yourself to them. You must keep in mind that this may be a rouse to make you act foolishly, in a rush to defend your sons. Mayhaps they wait for you to try to sneak in again, and your sons are safe in the Vale as we speak. It is what I would do.”

Queen Rhaenyra stared at her, frustrated, and then nodded, looking away. Mysaria thought mayhaps she had seen reason, and that her men would be allowed to work, but the Queens still moved to her wardrobe, where she began to pull out clothing. Riding clothing. Dread seeped into Mysaria’s stomach.

“You do not intend to –”

“I must act!” Queen Rhaenyra said, urgently, without looking back. She pulled on riding leathers and thick, waxed wool. “If King’s Landing is closed to me, than the Vale is but a day, mayhaps a day and a half, by flight. I will be quicker still than your men.”

“My men will act with the utmost haste, and if that is not enough, one of the other’s may go – Prince Jacaerys or Lady Baela. We cannot risk your capture or injury.”

Queen Rhaenyra gave her an impatient look that seeped with anger. She laughed, bitterly, standing up as she tied her cape on with sturdy hands. “Of course I cannot act. I must lounge about as I have received news of my children’s kidnapping! Potential…potential. I must wait for other’s to act, for I can never!”

“If you are taken, or slain, or injured –” Mysaria started.

“I will not be,” Queen Rhaenyra interrupted, stubbornly.

Mysaria had to resist the urge to sigh, or to clench her fists, or anything else that would give away her irritation. She must be a calm pool, she told herself, the surface beautiful and undisrupted, yet no one would know what went underneath its waves. As beautiful as the sea, as dangerous as the sea, and as secretive as it.

She licked her lips, then spoke slowly. “You are the symbol of this campaign, of our legitimacy. If you are captured or slain, we lose much. Whatever advantage we have had dies with every dragonrider, yet to lose the queen….it would be much, your Grace.”

“Aegon is near death, and yet the greens live on!” Queen Rhaenyra argued.

“He is near death because he fought,” Mysaria said. “He may have felt the need to, as they have so few dragons, but had he not he would have lived.”

“Yet he fought! And I doubt he faced push-back from his council! None would turn Daemon away, should he desire to seek out battle, and yet I am spurned,” Queen Rhaenyra said, angrily. “And despite his injures, the greens fight on. You have not disputed that.”

“If they did not challenge him, they are foolish. And yes, they live on. I do not dispute that. They have put Aemond in the throne. If you fall, my Queen, your son takes your place, he will be unable to have your support beyond that of the grave. We have seen how much the word of King Viserys means now,” Mysaria said, gravely. “He needs your aid. Already he seeks to tread a path most concerning, of total war. The council needs your words of peace. Or all will be lost.”

Queen Rhaenyra scowled at her. “You push.”

“I speak truth. I have served you well, have I not? I can promise my men will be quick. They know the urgency of this. We cannot afford to spread too thin. We cannot afford to lose you. I have sent my ladies to the R ed Keep, I have sent my trusted spies to the Vale. I will find the truth for you,” Mysaria said.

“They may learn the truth, but men on boats and horses will never beat the queen in the air,” Queen Rhaenyra said, stubbornly. She was quickly braiding her hair back a sloppy braid, and then tying it up to her scalp. “I will go.”

Her tone was final, her face severe. Mysaria wanted to argue with her. The plan to get into King’s Landing had been stupid on its own, and it had taken a lot of work to ensure she had not been caught. Surprise had been their greatest weapon at the time.

Surprise would not work now. What if she was seen, what is she was expected? What if the Queen fell?

Mysaria had faith in the Queen, and Mysaria trusted that she would do all she could for the realm in a way she did not think the Greens would do. Yet this was too much. To send Prince Jacaerys would be quicker than a raven or man but would not put the Queen in the line of fire. It was still dangerous, but considerably less so.

Even the previous plan had not been as foolish a this one, even if it had been foolish. Mysaria did not know what speaking to the Dowager Queen would or could accomplish, even if she appreciated the attempt to stop the war. Yet she knew this was not a war that could be ended by the words of the Dowager Queen alone. It had not been started on her word alone and would not end on it. It was an insidious campaign that had been launched the moment Prince Aegon had been birthed, by a slew of men who no doubt would turn away the Dowager Queen as a traitor for speaking against it. As if the false King Aegon would simply put down his crown down after the murder of his son to kneel to his half-sister, who he thought to hold the blame.

To risk capture again…and for something Mysaria could accomplish with skill…no, it was foolish.

“You risk much,” Mysaria warned, her temper still in check, yet her mind wandering to other avenues. “This is dangerous.”

“War is dangerous, Mysaria. Aegon himself risk life and limb to win his throne whilst being a pretender, and I have done nothing. Nothing. I will not have it be said that I sat back and allowed other’s to bleed to keep my dress pristine, and I will not stand back and allow other’s to investigate this…..this atrocity. This crime. They are my boys, my blood. I will look,” Queen Rhaenyra insisted. “You will keep this from the Council. Both of you. I will not have them wag their tongues behind my back. Stay here, Ser, I do not need an escort. I need the other’s to think I remain.”

“As you command,” Ser Steffon said, grimly.

“They will know when the sun surfaces, your Grace. I cannot barricade the door against the castle,” Mysaria insisted.

“No, but you can refrain from running to them in the night,” Queen Rhaenyra argued. “Tell them what that I will return quickly and leave it at that. The Vale is but a day and a half flight from here. I will truly not be gone long.”

“The letter, at least. Lord Corlys’ granddaughter –”

“No,” Queen Rhaenyra said, shaking her head. “As you said, it might be lies. Until it is confirmed…I will not hear of it again and will not have rumors spread. Especially from Lord Corlys, who doubts me already. I’ll not give him something to conspire against me with, especially as I make my leave. I imagine Lord Broome would snatch up any opportunity, or Lord Celtigar if given this letter.”

“…as you command, your Grace,” Mysaria said, with reluctance, as the Queen whipped around and quickly walked to the door.

Mysaria looked towards the knight as the door closed. He looked troubled, his body stiff and uncertain in the dim light of the room.

“Who is to relieve you?” Mysaria asked.

“Ser Glendon, my lady,” Ser Steffon said, uncertainly. “He will have to be told, methinks, or else he will alert the other’s that her Grace is missing.”

“Tell him that he is not needed, and that my men have been commanded to watch her doors for her,” Mysaria ordered. “It will be the only way for us to keep our word to her. I relieve you of duty now.”

She had no authority to do so, and yet he accepted her words, relief in his eyes.

“They will know, soon enough. We cannot hide Syrax and her Grace’s absence forever,” Ser Steffon said, wearily. “As you said, when the sun rises…” he trailed off.

“No, we cannot,” Mysaria sighed. She sat heavily on one of the chair’s, thinking. “Yet we will not have to tell them anything now. When they see…well, she has done this before. I fear little needs to be said.”

The Queen had taken the letter, crumbled in her pocket. If only she had left it, Mysaria could point it out. She would not need to speak at all and would be able to keep to her word whilst informing the council.

Mysaria did not look forward to it all. She already had a headache from the screaming that would come, from the questions, from the accusations. She was a wench, elevated about her station for no cause, a whor*, not fit to advise the queen. That Mysaria would be unable to direct them to the queen’s whereabouts…it would not ease things.

They would ruminate over this as much as they ruminated over the Queen’s second departure – the council. Mysaria wondered if they’d send for Daemon without her leave.

Either way, they would not speak kindly of this, she knew.

But there was little to be done about it. Mysaria hated that feeling, the powerlessness of it all. Were these words correct? Were they lies, meant to misdirect? She would find out sooner than she had originally anticipated….assuming the Queen did not come across another rogue dragon rider about. Assuming the one-eyed did not become the queenslayer on top of the kinslayer. Mysaria’s only relief was that the only dragon Green dragon not in King’s Landing, accounted for, was Tessarion, who had been seen heading towards King’s Landing and would arrive shortly, it was thought.

She stared out at the sky, at the stars that were just becoming visible, and Mysaria waited.

Chapter 5: Blook Stained Ink

Chapter Text

Helaena III

Lord Larys had sent his word to Harrenhal, and Helaena waited for action to be taken. It was an uncomfortable thing to do, waiting, but something she was not unused to. He obtained the letter from Lady Rhaena in the meanwhile had cut locks from all the hair of the hostages, small things that would be attached when the letters were sent. He had even taken one of the rings from Lady Rhaena’s finger to mark the paper with wax. It was a custom thing, a dragon made of kelp and seaweed on a silver and ruby ring that had once belonged to the Lady Laena.

Helaena felt as if their proof was irrefutable.

All they needed was a letter of confirmation that the deed had been done, and they would send the letters to Rhaenyra.

The blockade held, and people grew restless in the streets. Aemond grew restless on his stollen throne, speaking to the Small Council with neither Helaena nor mother, and she would have challenged him…yet as the days went on, Aegon grew stronger, and Helaena felt it better to be by his side. Walking was a tedious thing for him, full of tears and despair, and she felt her place was by her husband as he toiled for her and their daughter.

Their grandfather was to be sent for again, to take his position as Hand. Helaena was upset that her attempt to replace Ser Criston with her uncle had failed, although it mattered little when the desired effects till stood – Ser Cole was not so distracted from his duties protecting Aegon.

Daeron had returned, and Tessarion made a third dragon that could now protect the city. Out of everything this made Helaena most joyous. It had been years since she’d seen her younger brother. She wished things would be better, for the joyous occasion of Daeron returning home, but at least he was home.

The second-best news of the lot was that Sunfyre yet lived. He suffered, yet he lived, unable to be moved from Rook’s Rest and unable to fly himself. He remained stagnant. The dragonkeepers did not know how he managed it for he was as injured as Aegon, yet it was as if something tethered him still to this world. He was seldom spotted as he’d managed to drag himself into the woods, and had found caves to dwell in, yet he lived still and the news brought joy to Aegon’s face that not even the pain could dull.

They did not think he would ever fly again. Just as they did not think Aegon would ever run again.

While Helaena’s suggestion of making Ser Gwayne Hand of the King went nowhere, he was flattered by her chose. Instead of going the Small Council, her uncle took to Jaehaera’s side, her sworn sword now, and Helaena felt the better for it. With her sleeping in Aegon’s quarters, sharing a bed by his side, Ser Cole could serve them both. Helaena would have chosen Daeron as her own sword, and yet now he flew about the city…a reminder to all about the coiled dragons in King’s Landing. He was needed there. Small as his dragon was, he was a deterrent still – and he was more loyal than Aemond.

Mother had been wounded, that Ser Cole had strayed…yet she had said nothing, only bowing her head when Helaena told her that one of their kin that arrived with Grandfather would serve as her new sword and shield.

Things improved, and so the waiting was not so excruciating, although not all things were improving. Aemond stalked about, as if he’d been the one insulted and injured. His attitudes continued to aggravate Helaena, and the Gold Cloaks still worked the city although the halls of the Red Keep had been replaced with her uncle’s men.

Lord Larys came to speak to Aegon, although Helaena had not been privy to their words. Only that Aegon seemed to be calmed by them and Aemond aggravated. Mother was despondent, haunting the halls like a ghost. She and Ser Cole seemed to have some sort of argument brewing, for they seldom spoke, but as far as Helaena was concerned that was for the better. They need not continue their dalliances.

Aegon even seemed more interested in their daughter, although Jaehaera did not come into their joint room for now as they did not want her to see her father in such a state – Aegon especially. They were worried his condition would frighten her. But Helaena made sure to spend time with her daughter, sitting in Jaehaera’s room as she was read to, watching her play, putting her down for her nap. Helaena brushed her hair in the morning, and in the eve kissed her before sleep. There were times, heart pounding, she had to race to see Jaehaera’s face, to ensure she was well, yet the sight of her daughter always lifted her spirits.

Jaehaera’s face was a stark reminder of why Helaena did this all…of why she’d forced herself out of her protective shell to act. Sometimes it was difficult to look upon her daughter, whose face mimicked that of her son’s so closely. But it was a pain that Helaena would never turn away from. She wanted to always remember how Jaehaerys had looked, his sweet smile. It was why she’d brought several of the painters from King’s Landing up to paint him, so that she might hang his likeness about and always remember her little boy.

Grand Maester Orwyle had begun to wean Aegon off the milk of the poppy, slowly, attempting to use an odd ointment one of his students had crafted in its stead that Aegon might have his wits about him, that Rhaenyra could bend the knee to him and not to Aemond. It was mixed in with the Dragonkeeper’s burn ointment, and smeared generously twice a day on his wounds after the dressing was changed.

It was not as potent, and it left him wincing and groaning, and yet it returned his wits to him. They left the milk of the poppy for the late hours of the night, when sleep alluded him, or during an especially painful bandaging. Slowly, but surely, as the days passed did Aegon regain the ability to speak with more ease, the ability to sit up and hold a conversation, even if it was a short one, for he tired easily.

Helaena had never been close to her husband, even when he was but her brother. But she found that this drew them together in ways she had never anticipated. Aegon looked to her in the morning, and at night, and she helped change his bandages. It was rotten work. His skin blackened and pealing, white, dead, and oozing as it stuck to her and him and the maesters. He was like a snake, shedding his skin. Aegon wept so as it was pulled, even with the milk of the poppy given to him to drink, and yet he did not tell them to stop. He endured it all as best he could, and Helaena comforted him as best she could.

It really was very disgusting to look at. The wounds. Yet never before had he looked to her with such trusting eyes as when she rubbed the strange ointment on him, him wincing with her, Helaena’s hands tingling. Never before had he thanked her. Yet he did now. He had not even come to see her when she’d given birth, but had come, drunk, nights after to see the babes. Helaena had never been angry at him for that, they were husband and wife in but name, she had not expected differently…but she felt closer to him, through all of it.

Yet when he’d asked about how she’d gotten the hostages in the first place, Helaena found she was reluctant to talk.

“You…you left, then?” Aegon asked her, after the bandages had been changed, and the Grand Maester slipped away.

“I did,” Helaena said, nodding. She sat next to him still, and he was sitting up more than the last days.

“Why did you not stop to speak to me?” He sounded wounded, the words coming out slowly, but Helaena did not think it was the pain that did it.

Helaena licked her lips. “…You were gone from me, and I had not the time. I had to act.”

“I was here,” Aegon said, not angrily, but softly, his voice still thick and slow, like honey being poured out of a jar.

“...You were,” Helaena said.

Aegon looked at her, eyes not angry or demanding, yet tired and sad. Helaena squeezed his hand. “I should have spoken to you.”

“Yes,” Aegon agreed, “but I should have spoken to you, too. I did not.” He paused, leaning back in his bed, his breathing hard. He continued to speak, slowly, with his eyes closed. “But you have succeeded. I had never expected…and I thought Arryk’s plan brilliant.”

He opened his eyes and smiled at Helaena, and she smiled back, opening her mouth to speak when a knock sounded at the door. Lord Larys came in, a letter in his hand, and nodded his head in greeting as his leg did not permit a full bow.

“Lord Larys?” Helaena asked, standing. “Has news come, then?”

“Yes. And No. Caraxes makes his way to Dragonstone. I believe he should be there sometime today, if the sightings are correct. He was too far away to see if he yet has a rider…yet I suspect he does not. If I know mine bastard blood well, her raven will arrive within a day or two with her own confirmation of the deed.”

“Good,” Aegon said, a smile twisting his lips. his eyes shone with something like gratitude and grim satisfaction. “May the rat rot in the seven hells.”

Helaena smiled, too, despite the thumping of her heart. Had the Rivers girl done it? She did not know. Had she warned Daemon in the night, and he fled back? Had he discovered the plot, killed her and fled?

But why would he return to Dragonstone and not assault them directly? Vhagar was large…but Daemon was brash, and they had three of his blood children, and one of his stepsons. Helaena knew her uncle was prone to acting without thinking.

Yet…he was brash, not wholly without a head or wit. Going to Dragonstone would allow them to group up, would give the blacks four dragons to their three. Helaena clenched her teeth under her smile. Curses be to Aemond, that they did not have a fourth. They had started with less dragons then their kin, and Aemond had still sought to make it fewer still.

Did he think his ambition was a proper replacement for Sunfyre and Aegon in the sky? It might have been large enough to replace Sunfyre, yet it lacked the strength necessary to do anything but attack his own brother.

Vhagar was large enough for multiple, but she was only one creature. Would Aemond be able to be pulled in many directions?

…Or would he turn on her midflight, that he might silence her? Or Daeron? Helaena thought he suspected something was afoul, although she did not know for sure. Helaena seldom saw Daeron as he’d set himself to work defending the city, and wished she had more time for the brother she never really got to know. But he was stalwart at his station, determined to ensure they remained safe. When he did not patrol the skies he patrolled the ground with the Hightower guards, moving through the City Watch to pick out the snakes.

What Helaena did know was that there was tension between Daeron and Aemond. That much Helaena had been able to parse. Tense words, tense looks. Mayhaps it was that Aemond sat their brother’s throne too eagerly. Daeron was eager for Aegon to return to it, and he’d made it very obvious with his words and deeds, even coming to kneel before Aegon at his sick bed when he’d arrived early in the morning. He had not even been asked, but had come on his own to bend the knee.

Helaena could not help but worry, though. She wanted to be glad at this news, as if Daemon was dead….it was a debt, paid, a sword removed from their necks.

But if he returned and warned Rhaenyra, though, he and Aemond could surely end them all…but she did not want to ruin Aegon’s mood, not when his smiles came so seldom and cost him so much. They came more oft now, yet they were a precious thing indeed.

“Yes, may he rot in the seven hells,” Larys confirmed, head bowed. “We will need the body, eventually. Alys keeps Dark Sister safe, yet, and I imagine your brother should want it…”

His voice trailed off, eyes turning to Aegon as if to say something, but Helaena spoke.

“He will not have it,” she said, frowning. “It is not for him.”

Aemond thought himself Visenya, reborn. But that did not mean that he would become her. Helaena looked to Aegon, and she could see the stark fear in his eyes – fear and anger. She squeezed his hand. Aemond had always been the better fighter out of her brother’s….yet he could not have it. Would not.

“Can it be moved aside, hidden?” Helaena asked, turning back to Larys.

He did not seem surprised at her words, but instead he appraised her. “Much and more has been lost at Harrenhal. It can be so. Mayhaps…mayhaps it will be seen as if some foolish catspaw has come in the night, to steal from his cooled corpse. Although I’ll warn that sometimes things lost at Harrenhal do not return.”

She cared not for a sword, nor for what it meant to the family, but Helaena would not see it fall to Aemond.

Yet…she looked to Aegon for his words.

“Make it so,” Aegon said, licking his lips, looking up at Helaena. “Lose it.”

“As you command.” Lord Larys said. “The ointments…they work, then, for your pain Your Grace?”

“Yes…yes…,” Aegon said, slowly, as if tasting the words. They were coming harder now, and he looked visibly tired. They’d spoken too long. “Not as w-well, but…it will be a sweet sight I witness. I must..I must,” he paused, eyes closing for a long moment. “I must have my wits.”

“Yes, you must,” Larys said, head tilting.

“The ointment…may..benefit you,” Aegon said, eyes opening. “Y-your. Foot. Try.”

He struggled so at the end. Helaena smoothed out his hair and he closed his eyes, leaning back.

“I will be sure to do so, your Grace. It seems between it and time, soon enough, you will take your seat back.”

Aegon swallowed, thickly, and squeezed Helaena’s hand tightly, eyes still closed.

“Until then, I must go inform the council of this news,” Lord Larys said, tapping his cane on the ground.

“…G-go with them.” Aegon told Helaena, removing his hand from her hands, his voice slurring a bit as sleep took hold of him. “Speak for me.”

Helaena did not need to be convinced. She kissed Aegon before she left, and then followed Lord Larys out of the rooms, catching the eye of Ser Rickard Throne as she passed, vigil at her and Aegon’s door. Ser Cole walked with them, tensely, and then spoke soon before they arrived.

“I had to…I could not..” Ser Cole started.

Helaena paused outside the doors, turning to him. “It is your duty as Lord Commander to come. I know,” Helaena said, not unkindly. “You do not need to explain it to me. You will return when we are done. I know this.”

Ser Cole looked relieved, nodding tightly. They came into the room, and Aemond frowned at her as Helaena sat down in her mother’s old chair.

“Sister. I did not expect you,” Aemond drawled, leaning back in his seat and eyeing her.

“His Grace, Aegon, does not feel well enough to sit the council, but has asked his Queenly wife to speak for him instead,” Lord Larys smiled, leaning his chin on his cane.

Helaena nodded, tightly, holding her brother’s gaze. He looked displeased but did not push it further.

“Caraxes has been spotted,” Ser Tyland started, leaning in, his shoulders wound and his expression grave. “We do not know if this is a good sign or not.”

“I can tell you it is a good one, for it means he has returned to his home now that he lacks a rider,” Lord Larys said, confidently.

“Or it means your bastard sister has done what bastards are well known for: betrayal. That she has warned Daemon, and he has come to collect his usurper c*nt of a wife, his lackwit daughter, and that bastard Jace to meet us on the morrow,” Aemond said, tightly.

“I fear that the prince’s concerns are not without merit,” Ser Tyland said, gravely.

“Lord Larys has given his word, and I do not intend to question him. He has been ever leal to my husband,” Helaena said, softly, pointedly. “He has been an asset to us despite the strain it must cause, to know his kin wrong him so.”

She, too, questioned this bastard, and yet there was no point in saying it aloud…and Helaena did not want to agree with Aemond. There was a tense silence that broke as Lord Larys tapped his cane to the ground.

“Your trust is not misplaced, my Queen, and I will guard it well,” Lord Larys said. “Mark my words, in a day or two’s time Alys River’s letter will come bearing good news.”

“Dark wings, dark words,” Ser Tyland said, not with malice, but with worry. “…We will give it this time. Even if Daemon lives, we have the advantage, and supposedly Princess Rhaenyra was spotted flying to the Vale, which gives us yet more time.”

“Yes, it appears Lady Jeyne has sent word to her. It will aid us, ultimately, for her to hear this from many sources,” Lord Jasper said. “Ideally we will send a letter to great her for her return.”

“Yes, which is why we must prepare our demands for the princess now. There is more to be prepared as well, but our terms for her must be decided now,” Ser Tyland said.

“Of course. It would be unwise to lose our advantage, when we lack the numbers already.” Helaena said. “I will write the letter to Rhaenyra myself this time, after our terms have been decided.”

“You will?” Aemond demanded, frowning.

Helaena nodded. She had considered it, all these days, and had decided that she wanted to write to her sister, the false queen.

“She may call herself Queen Regnant, yet her word has been below that of Daemon all this time. It was his word that commanded the death of mine son. It was his words that sent the Blackwoods upon the Brackens like mindless savages. We know this, do we not?”

“Long have we feared that if Rhaenyra took the throne, that she would be but a puppet to her husband,” Ser Cole agreed.

Helaena found his eye and smiled at him. “Yes, and he has. She is but a puppet queen…a queen consort. I will send the letter to her. Queen consort to Queen consort.”

“Yet you speak for Aegon, is he now below you?” Aemond said, spitefully.

“I speak for mine husband, as mother spoke for father, during his illness, brother. You heard the rumors as well as I did, that the Hightowers ruled the kingdom, that mother grasped…yet we know better. And so should you, now. I do not override Aegon, I aid him, in his hour of need, when he has been so savagely attacked. When he returns to health, I will gladly bend the knee, and heed his words, as his wife, his sister, and his vassal. As will us all, I am certain,” Helaena said, looking around. “I have no desire to usurp mine brother and husband.”

“The king has also asked for her to speak in his name,” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “It is his wish. She does as the king commands.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Even Aemond, who looked cornered, agreed through clenched teeth.

“Well, mayhaps not as his wife, yet yes, you are correct. We will heed the one and rightful king, King Aegon,” Lord Jasper said, impatiently. “As is obvious.”

“It may be prudent for this to be a joint effort, however,” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “We must gauge what type of response we want from the princess. We need her to be panicked, in which Prince Aemond’s previous actions with Prince Lucerys will aid us. She will know that we speak the truth, and that there is no jest in the threat. Yet we must be tempered. We cannot send out a letter that does nothing but speak harsh words. We need to offer her terms, need to ensure she knows that there is an avenue of peace should she walk to correct path.”

“I can…see the importance of that,” Helaena admitted, although she did not like the idea of working with Aemond on the issue.

“Peace was lost long ago,” Aemond scoffed. “Two hands and one quill will not make a letter.”

“Two minds and one hand will, though. I will write it, as it is dictated and decided,” Grand Maester Orwyle said.

“Peace is yet possible. It is thanks to the Queen’s efforts,” Ser Tyland mused. “I did not think it possible either, and yet…I truly think that it is.”

Helaena mused on his words. Peace terms. It was an odd phrase, one that she did not disagree with. Killing Rhaenyra and her children would not bring back Jaehaerys, and she was loath to murder her own kin – or see them murdered --- if it was not necessary. In light of Aemond’s actions, she feared going down such a dark path. She would take her pleasure, and her justice, when her half-sister’s false crown was removed from her head and she was made to kneel.

Her uncle Daemon was the only one that she knew had to die. He would never accept peace. She could never sleep soundly with him alive, and neither could Jaehaera nor Aegon. Nor any of her brothers or Hightower kin, really. Helaena would not mourn him, but she would not take pleasure in his demise other than the relief of the freedom it brought her. His death would remove the headsman’s axe from over her head – or rather, the open dragon’s maw from her face.

“The question is what place that will be. Queen Alicent might have some insight on the manner of how to coach these terms,” Grand Maester Orwyle said.

“And Aegon should hear them, too,” Helaena insisted, a sliver of doubt at mother’s involvement blooming in her.

“So you seek to add a third and fourth hand?” Aemond said, impatiently. “Mother has no place at this council. And Aegon is incapacitated.”

“Queen Alicent has held a seat on this council for decades, and she has known the princess since their youth. It would be unwise to disregard how she might appeal to Princess Rhaenyra, especially considering the weight of her letters. She has not the heart to rule, but on this matter, she has the heart. And King Aegon is much recovered. It will be time before he can make an appearance in public, although we should get him to sit the throne for Rhaenyra to kneel. For now, he is quite capable of speaking in small bursts,” Grand Maester Orwyle said.

Mother had been upset that she had not been chosen regent. Helaena knew as much, as she had been distant when she’d spoken of Aemond taking the regency. She came to Aegon and Helaena’s rooms on occasion, although it was not often. She seemed to not know what to say to them, with Aegon awake and Helaena knowing of her…talks with the traitor. Mother visited Jaehaera’s room more, and Helaena knew that her mother liked her grandmother’s visits.

It made for an awkward time. Helaena had come running to her mother’s chambers for safety, and wished she could feel that again, that her mother was safe. Helaena did not hate her, she just…doubted her. It seemed worse somehow.

But the words of the maester rang true. Rhaenyra had come. It had been stupid, but she’d come. They needed that sway mother had with the traitor.

“She’s also proven her loyalties divided,” Aemond said.

“Which can also not be ignored. She has a feminine heart, and it is too soft,” Lord Jasper pushed.

“Yes. Divided loyalties are quite the issue,” Ser Cole said, evenly, and Aemond looked at him sharply. “Yet it cannot be ignored that she has…sway with our enemy.”

“Not on this she does not. We cannot allow her generous terms, not at this point, not with the advantage that we have. We know she will push for more than mercy,” Aemond argued.

“And we will not offer her generous terms. Her hands are soaked in the blood of mine son,” Helaena said. She looked at Aemond straight on. “As yours are with her’s. We will offer her terms that allow her sons to live, and her to live. We will offer mercy, not generous terms. We need not make a graveyard of King’s Landing, brother.”

The title kinslayer had been tossed around, mostly behind the back of Aemond. Helaena knew none so bold to call him that to his face although he knew that he now bore the weight of it. He did not seem pleased at the reminder, although he did not dispute it.

As far as Helaena was concerned her son’s blood was also on Aemond’s hands…and now so was her husband’s and she had not forgotten it. Helaena had not originally been angry at him, certain his actions had some reason behind them, but Aemond had not even come to see her after it. Or Jaehaera. And then he’d gone and injured Aegon.

She could not stop thinking on it, nor on the fact that Helaena simply did not know what to do with him.

“What offers do we seek?” Lord Jasper asked.

Helaena truly did wish for her mother’s advice. She ached for some resolve to end this, she ached for some vengeance, she ached for peace. She ached for simpler times.

“I will speak with my husband, the king. I do believe that his words on this should be heard. His health is improving slowly, and while he cannot hold court, he can begin to make decisions as such again.”

“I speak for him,” Aemond said.

“His Grace’s health is improving, even if slowly. Whilst holding court is too much, with decisions like this that will require time and consideration, he is capable,” Grand Maester Orwyle said.

“And we are just to believe what you say he wants?” Aemond challenged.

“Grand Maester Orwyle will accompany me, as he is always in such negotiations. As should Lord Jasper, for his expertise on the law, and mother for her expertise on our half-sister,” Helaena said.

“I find no reason for fault,” Lord Jasper said. “We will come back with the king’s words, then.”

“Then we may work on the letter, after we have spoken on the issue again,” Helaena told Aemond.

He seemed displeased with being left out, Helaena could tell, but did not argue. The prince regent was not needed when the King could act on his own.

Ideally, Aegon would heal quickly. Helaena did not know what would be done with Aemond then, but she needed Aegon to heal quickly.

Aegon was awake when they arrived. It did not surprise Helaena. His sleep was punctuated with periods of wakefulness, which was why they gave him milk of the poppy more at night. Mother was called for, and she came quietly.

“Helaena?” Aegon asked, quietly, sitting up a bit more in his seat.

“We need to discuss the terms of surrender we will offer to Rhaenyra before we are able to write the letter,” Helaena explained, turning to look at mother. “We wished to hear both of your thoughts on the matter.”

Mother looked surprised, licking her lips and clutching her hands before her. “…You do?”

“We do. You know much on the Princess Rhaenyra. Although these will not be generous terms,” Lord Jasper said. “That you must know. She is in no place to negotiate, as she was before, when he offered her much too generous terms for her surrender.”

“I know,” Mother said, looking down. “Yet…we are above senseless violence, I would presume.”

“We are,” Helaena said, and mother looked to her gratefully. Helaena looked to Aegon, and he looked uncertain. “We have won, husband. It has just not been declared. I do believe it is best we put this behind us, sooner rather than later, and focus on our family. Our true family. We cannot continue picking at each other like vultures picking at a carcass, and when she bends the knee Rhaenyra will be irrelevant, her power lost, her children scattered.”

Aegon nodded, slowly, eyes briefly closing. “…yes. I want this to be over.”

They sat around him. Helaena held his hand. It was easier the more she did it. That Aegon did not begrudge Helaena removing it when she needed the space helped.

“We must start with the obvious. Rhaenyra will submit and kneel before King Aegon on the throne. It will be difficult, but I believe that we can have the King carried up to the throne sometime before court is called forth. It will be good for the Realm to see him healing, too,” Lord Jasper said.

“The dragons,” Helaena started. There was a beast beneath the boards, red and giant. There was a beast beneath the boards. Why had it made sense to her and no one else? “They cannot be allowed near.”

“No, they cannot. The princess and her traitors must come by way of boat. To ensure that there is no chance of rebellion, when desperation claws and the dawning hours of their submission awaits,” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “It will add another two to five days, depending on favorable wind, yet that is two to five days of added recovery for his Grace. We might also give her the grace of a week to respond by way of her arrival before we act.”

“It’s a bit generous in terms of time, but it is not unreasonably so,” Lord Jasper mused.

Aegon nodded, squeezing Helaena’s hand. “I will have the strength to sit that day. I will…gather it. I must. I will sit.”

Helaena squeezed his hand back.

“We must offer pardons to the children. They knew not their treachery,” Mother said, tentatively. “I know it is…I know that they have wronged us. Jaehaerys is a wound that will never heal. But if we give them no hope of living they will have no reason to kneel. If death is inevitable, why would Rhaenyra submit? She must know this is the only way to save them.”

“...she gave me not the chance, when mine son was as innocent as her’s. More so, even,” Aegon said, bitterly. He closed his eyes, breathing hard, tears gathered at his eyes.

Mother flinched, and Helaena bit her lip.

“But…they cannot stay with her,” Aegon said, turning his head and looking at Helaena. “It would not…not be fair. She cannot keep them.”

“No, your Grace. Separating them would keep her in line as it is and prevent rebellion in the future. We need not add it in, but we might have her remarry a leal lord of ours, too, to further keep her in check,” Lord Jasper said. As for her children, she may write them letters, which is a kindness you are not permitted.”

“Who will she marry?” Mother asked.

“Certainly not Lord Greyjoy, if that was your assumption,” Lord Jasper said, amusedly, and mother glared at him. “We will decide later, as I said, it need not be part of the negotiations. But she will marry a leal lord of ours, or she will join a sept.”

“Where will the children go to?” Mother asked.

“There are four children, total. Prince Jacaerys –” Grand Maester Orwyle started.

“Jacaerys Waters,” Aegon snapped.

“I presume that is a condition you wish for, the officially declare them bastards?” Lord Jasper asked. “The younger boys have been made in the marital bed, but the elder two have not. That much is clear to anyone with eyes.”

“Yes. I..want it,” Aegon said.

“Then it shall be, although we need not add that to the list,” Lord Jasper said. “The elder is a dragon rider. He must be sent to the wall. There is no other way about it. He is too dangerous, bastard or not, to be allowed to slink about. I have heard he and Lord Stark made merry at well anyway. The younger of the Waters boy…well, that issue has been taken care of. Mayhaps he should like to like to see his bastard kin. When Lord Larys rips the rot from his castle, he may be sent there.”

“Will he not find kinship there, amongst them?” Grand Maester Orwyle asked, doubtfully.

“I doubt it. He is a bastard elevated about his station without merit. Why should they see him as anything but what he is?” Lord Jasper said.

“Yes…they might feel kinship, that he is one of them who almost took what they all desire,” Mother said, tentatively. “Lord Larys castle is quite large…but it may be prudent to look elsewhere.”

“Storm’s End. Prince Aemond’s betrothed is there, and Lord Borros has been stalwart and leal,” Lord Jasper offered.

“Casterly Rock is quite protected, by the way it is embedded in the rock. Our kin in the Hightower will also take the job with the utmost loyalty.” Mother said.

“If only we had allies in the North. Mayhaps he should like to see the snow and the ice, whilst his brother wallows at the Wall,” Lord Jasper said, amusedly.

“The Boltons have not declared for anyone,” Grand Maester said. “Not officially. They simply did not repudiate the word of their liege lord. None of the Northerns have officially declared beyond that of the Starks, and that was after Jacaerys Waters went to speak with him. I have heard rumors that he has promised the Starks a Targaryen princess as a bride for his efforts, although it is now but rumor. The very same rumors state he has bedded a Stark bastard and promised to wed her. I doubt them much.”

“Well, he won’t be getting one,” Lord Jasper scoffed. “Not declaring means they have declared for the Princess. That besides, I would not wish to send even my enemies to them. You know the stories as well as I do. They do not need a Targaryen or Waters skin to join the Starks, although we may yet give them Lord Stark and allow the uncle to take the throne of Winterfell.”

“No, we cannot. To align with Ser Bennard Stark is to show our approval for his treachery,” Mother said. “If Lord Cregan can be made to see reason, he should stay as lord after he kneels and pays his mulct.”

“And if he cannot be made to see?” Lord Jasper challenged. “Shall we just forgive him?”

“Lord Stark has a son, and he has Karstark kin that are not traitors to his rule,” Mother challenged back. “We must not forget them, or we risk unnecessarily challenging our own cause. Bennard Stark sought to undermine his nephew and usurp his spot. We cannot reward that.”

“The boy. We will go with the boy,” Aegon said. “And send a regent, if necessary. Aemond. Send him North.”

He seemed almost as if he wished Lord Cregan to refuse to kneel. Helaena could see why without it being said. If Aemond was sent North he would be wholly out of the way.

“Alright. Yet this has little to do with the princess,” Lord Jasper said. “I doubt she cares for the lords that have followed her when her children are on the one’s being threatened.”

“Her sons will be sent…,” Aegon started, then paused, eyes closed,” as we have said…already.”

“Storm’s End, the Hightower, and Casterly Rock?” Helaena prompted.

“No,” Aegon said. “Harrenhal. Not Storm’s End. It is…too close. Too close.”

“You wish to send them to the castle of Lord Larys?” Mother said, hesitantly.

“Yes,” Aegon said, firmly. “It is my will.”

“It is as good as any other castle. Once the rot is removed,” Lord Jasper agreed. “I’m sure Lord Larys will keep a firm eye on the boy.”

“She is not to…she is no queen. She is no princess,” Aegon said, slowly. “Mine half-sister. Lady. She is a lady.”

“You wish to strip her of her title?” Mother asked.

Aegon stared at their mother and she swallowed and nodded. “…It is not without reason or merit. We should offer her some sort of reprieve. An allowance to see the children once every few years.”

“Why?” Lord Jasper asked. “It’s not like she would have seen them if they all died. Well, unless the Seven Hells allows visitations.”

“Because we do not need to be cruel. There needs to be a slim offer of hope over the horizon,” Alicent insisted. “As I have stated, if the outcome is so bleak that refusing to submit is better, than she will refuse. But if we can offer her something better, even just a little, than she will take it. In death, she will lose her children totally, with this, she does not lose them so entirely.”

“She does…not deserve…it,” Aegon said. “Jaehaerys…Jaehaerys.”

He repeated their son’s name, eyes clenched, voice faltering.

“It is not about deserve!” Alicent argued, voice rising. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, her voice lowering as she continued to speak. “It is not about deserving. It is about…it is about settling this. Allowing her to see her sons, save for the one sent to the wall, every three or five or seven years is not erasing that they are disinherited, her stripped of her title, or that you are king. It is establishing mercy for our enemies, and that we will not be a crown that needlessly delivers blow after blow when we have taken the reins for good. How can you expect your enemies to fall to their knees to you, if they know mercy is not a word you know?”

Aegon glanced at Helaena. She was tempted to say no. She would never see Jaehaerys, not even if she went to where he had been burned or interred. She would never hold him.

But mother was not incorrect. The blows did not need to fall year after year.

“Seven,” Helaena said. “Every seven years, for a fortnight.”

“A week,” Aegon corrected. “Only…”

His voice trailed off, thick with exhaustion.

“We should allow her to see them, one last time before they depart,” Mother said.

“…yes,” Aegon said. “Once.”

“We are almost done, Your Grace. And her men, her false council?” Lord Jasper asked.

“To the wall, or to the Stranger, whichever they decide, would be the best decision,” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “Those who declared for the Blacks can pay their mulct, send hostages, and kneel before Aegon. Those who refuse can choose the wall or the headsman.”

“And those who were neutral?” Mother asked. “The Tyrells called for no one. What of those who abandon her cause? The Riverlanders have much cause to abandon her with the razing of the Brackens, who were forced to kneel after such devastation. They were leal to us, until they were forced otherwise. We cannot punish that, when they have been punished so already.”

“Neutral…pay…and kneel. Abandon…we will see. Forced…we…will..see,” Aegon said, tiredly. “They have…seen how wrong…” He trailed off, wincing and closing his eyes.

“It is a considerably mercy for the neutral and the traitors to the traitors,” Lord Jasper said, frowning. “But I suppose there is something to be said in reconciling the realm after the war is over.”

“Mercy,” Aegon said. “We will…give some. Not all. Reason.”

“Within reason,” Mother said, softly.

“Yes,” Aegon said, eyes closed.

They left him to rest afterwards. Helaena was not looking forward to writing the letter with Aemond’s help, but she knew it needed to be done today.

Still…she felt as if she was on sturdier ground. They would have to decide what to do with Aemond, presuming Lord Cregan saw reason and kneeled…but Helaena was starting to feel as if this war was just at its end. A large threat loomed after it, but Rhaenyra would soon not be a problem.

Grand Maester, mother, and Aemond spent a considerable amount of time dictating the terms in letter form. They were to send it by raven, or ravens, as there were a few letters but sending them by raven would be quicker. Still, they attempted to be succinct. Mother cringed when Aemond was too harsh, too bold, and yet they needed some of his sharpness.

When all was said and done, Aemond waited for her outside of her chambers again, walking in without waiting for approval.

“It is not just mine hand that caused the downfall of your son, sister,” Aemond told her, without prompt, head held high. “You might be…as Daenys was. But Daenys saved her family. You watched and waited. Do not put at my feet what you could have prevented.”

He did not wait for an answer, and Helaena watched him leave with a sinking feeling in her stomach as guilt and shame crushed away at her.

He was not wrong. Helaena hated him for it, as she hated herself, but he was not wrong.

But never again would she watch and wait.

Helaena spent the afternoon with her daughter, watching her play as Helaena finished her work of a golden dragon on dark blue beetled scales as a background. Aegon slept the majority of the day, and Helaena went to check on him. She bounced between them, her daughter and her husband.

When Lord Larys came knocking, late at night, Helaena allowed him in, even though she had put her daughter to bed and was ready to change into her night clothes and retire for the evening.

Lord Larys held up the letter with almost gleeful eyes. It was open. Helaena took it, moving towards candlelight to see it all the better.

Alys Rivers had killed Daemon. The letter was written in an oddly colored ink…a rusty, reddish brown that had clearly been written over time and time again. Helaena could see where the quill had sliced through the paper, where the parchment had been scratched through almost. The letter came with a lock of silvered hair, a small thing of it, tied with black threads that appeared to have been pulled from clothing…and the imprint of a ring on red wax.

“He is dead,” Lord Larys said. “I will send the ravens to Dragonstone right away. Whatever nasty surprise the pretender will find in the Vale will not be made better when she returns to her stollen castle.”

Chapter 6: A Distant Horizon

Chapter Text

Mysaria II

Caraxes returned with no Daemon just the day before. Mysaria had not missed him, yet his absence was a blow that they could not withstand.

Queen Rhaenyra’s departure had angered more than startled the Small Council. Prince Jacaerys in particular stalked the halls, as if anticipating his mother’s arrival any moment. At times, Lord Corlys could be seen with the symbol of the Hand – and at times he was seen without it. Lady Baela seemed to quarrel with him more when he was seen without it.

The lords seemed anxious, and angry, and no longer made attempts to hide their doubt of the Queen. Even Mysaria could not suppress the worry any longer.

Mysaria’s plan to send food through the blockade for the Smallfolk had been put forth as an idea to gain advantage in King’s Landing but the Small Council had not been interested in using it and Mysaria did not push. Without Queen Rhaenyra, she had not the power to push. Without the Queen, she was but a shadow in the room.

Without the Queen, the Small Council had been angry. Without Daemon, his dragon returned without him…they were distressed.

Mysaria could not stand it, and yet she could understand it. Queen Rhaenyra lacked the will for total war as the other’s wished. Mysaria had admired her for it. Yet…the running around, leaving them without leadership was grating at the trust she had in the woman. Lord Corlys had been made Hand, and yet without knowing where the Queen had gone, they knew little what to do. He also took the role with reluctance and that did not establish trust and relief.

Then, of course, Daemon’s dragon appeared so soon after Queen Rhaenyra had left…without the King Consort, and it was not a good omen. Everything was unraveling, and they could but watch.

That did not even account for the several ravens that had arrived mere hours ago…with news of Greens holding Lady Rhaena and the younger princes, and of the death of Prince Daemon, his ring embossed in the parchment itself as proof. Lady Rhaena had written in her own hand and had used her own ring as well to seal her letter. Mysaria had been able to keep the news to herself, keeping to the words of her Queen, knowing that if she spung this without her it would be a disaster…yet it did not sit well with her. She could not sit on this information long, Mysaria knew.

It was difficult to doubt now. If this was trickery…it was well beyond what Mysaria could manage, it was almost an illusion. If it was truth, it spelled their demise.

So when Queen Rhaenyra arrived back on Syrax, late in the midday sun, distraught and visibly worn out, Mysaria had not the patience to interfere as Prince Jacaerys came forth, wroth and chiding.

“You left. Again,” Prince Jacaerys did not sound kind. He stared down at his mother, seemingly not noticing the puffy red eyes and the tightness of her shoulders.

“This is not the time, Jace,” The Queen said. “We need to call the Council.”

“It is never the time, is it?” Prince Jacaerys asked, bitterly.

“Has it been confirmed, then?” Mysaria interrupted.

Prince Jacaerys shot her a withering look that Mysaria ignored.

“Yes. They have been taken,” Queen Rhaenyra said, holding her head up as she made her way towards the Small Council’s room. “Let us…get this over with.”

“What do you mean?” Prince Jacaerys demanded, his anger seeming to wash out as nervousness took hold of his voice.

“I will tell you when the Council gathers,” Queen Rhaenyra said, not looking back.

“I’ll grab Baela –”

“No,” Queen Rhaenyra cut him off, pausing with her back still towards him, “no. Just come with.”

“She deserves to know,” Prince Jacaerys argued.

“We have not the time. Come, or go, but I will not be waiting,” Queen Rhaenyra said.

Prince Jacaerys gave his mother a frustrated look as he moved to walk with her. Mysaria followed, the letter burning in her pocket. The demands of the Greens were oddly…merciful. And yet they demanded total surrender.

What worried Mysaria the most was that they had laid out the terms for her council…to take the black or to take death. Yet…Mysaria could not take the black. She did not know if the Silent Sisters or the Septa would be an alternative for her, but Mysaria also could not stand to hold out hope for a maybe. She also lacked the desire to join the sept, even if it was better than death.

But would they be offered to her? Mysaria doubted it. Especially since she had helped to kill Prince Jaehaerys. Mysaria doubted this mercy would be bestowed upon her. She was no noble to be offered peace agreements.

She followed, her mind churning. She had to leave, which was obvious, but the how was what Mysaria needed to establish. Getting into King’s Landing on boat was one thing, but that was the last place she wanted to go. Pentos was close, but that was also a problem. It was even shorter by dragon back, and would they come for her? She had almost fled to Myr…yet that would have been with the aid of Queen Rhaenyra, or rather, the ships of Lord Corlys Velaryon.

As of now, Mysaria did not have that aid.

They were quick to gather in the painted room. The council had waited with bated breath, impatiently, for the Queen’s return. Queen Rhaenyra wore her crown, having stopped by her chambers to change into something new and fresh, and yet it seemed to hang heavy on her head as she stared at them. There was tension already, so thick Mysaria could have pulled out her dagger to slice through it…yet she kept that in her sleeves, certain that she would need it at some point.

“So you have returned. And here we thought you had fled for good,” Lord Alfred said, slowly, his eyes borrowing holes into the Queen’s head.

“Be careful, she does not like to be challenged. She might…react harshly,” Lord Bartimos said, caustically. “Regardless of how well deserved the challenge is.”

“Shut up. Just…shut the hell up,” Queen Rhaenyra said quietly, and her words were met with stunned silence.

“I will not be silenced. First you act as if we hold no sway on your council, disregarding our every word whilst you flout about. Do you realize you have duties? It does not seem to be the case. You seem to think this a game, and our lives little but currency spent to win that game,” Lord Alfred sneered.

“Be careful how your tongue and who you think to lash out with it,” Prince Jacaerys threatened.

“I will not watch my tongue, boy, when it is our very lives she plays with,” Lord Alfred hissed.

“Now is not the time for petty squabbling!” Queen Rhaenyra shouted, her voice startling the others. “Silence!”

“Silence. Like Prince Daemon is silenced, I wonder?” Lord Alfred challenged. “He is dead, you know. Or you would have known, had you remind where you were supposed to. At your station. I suppose duty and sacrifice are not responsibilities you bear as well as you bear –” He stopped speaking, seemingly biting his tongue as the other lords looked at him sharply.

Queen Rhaenyra swallowed audibly, her eyes widening.

“Daemon is dead,” Queen Rhaenyra repeated, hollowly. Her jaw set, and she shook her head. “I cannot believe it. But it is…unimportant now –"

Prince Jace slammed his fists into the table, startling the Queen so that she jerked, her hand coming to her mouth. He breathed deeply, heavily, leaning into his hands so that his head was bowed.

“Unimportant? We needed him,” Jace said, voice quavering with anger. He looked up, and his frustration bled through his eyes as well as his voice. “Daemon was…we needed him. And he is gone. Because you were too proud to send for him! If you had, he’d be here, now, at our side, instead of in a grave!”

“It was not pride that kept me,” Queen Rhaenyra said, looking towards her son as if she had wounded him. “Jacaerys, it was not pride. Daemon is –”

“Daemon does not matter.” Mysaria interjected, before the argument could devolve further. She held up the slew of letters that they’d received from Lady Jeyne and from the Greens. She’d sat on it all morning, and could not sit on it any longer. “Princes Joffrey, Viserys, and Aegon have been taken by the Greens. As has Lady Rhaena. Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale sent word of this. The Queen set out to speak to her face to face, and has confirmed this, as have the Greens confirmed this. The Greens have also confirmed the death of Prince Daemon. They have sent their demands.”

Queen Rhaenyra looked to her angrily, but Mysaria found she had not the patience to care. The Queen…the princed was angry…. and yet so were her lords, and so were the Greens and now Mysaria was stuck in the middle. Or rather, she was stuck on the loosing side.

No. Not even the Princess. The Greens would revoke even that from her. Lady Rhaenyra. It did not quite sound so right in her head, yet Mysaria had not the time to care for such trivialities. The grave had been dug, the tombstone polished, all that remained was to lower the crown into it.

“They have been…taken,” Lord Alfred Broome said, slowly, as if tasting the words. He laughed with disbelief. “Tell me you jest, wench.”

“Are we to believe this?” Lord Bartimos demanded, urgently.

“It must be lies. Why are we just hearing of this now?” Lord Gormon Massey said, stunned.

Mysaria clenched her jaw and nodded. “We thought it lies, at first. It is why the Queen went to the Vale to determine the truth of the matter. It appears to be true. Now Daemon is dead.”

“She speaks the truth, yet she speaks out of turn,” Rhaenyra said, tightly.

Lord Alfred Broome laughed bitterly, his fist banging into the table. “Gods be good, we have lost. All is lost.”

“All is not lost!” Rhaenyra rebutted, angrily. “There is still…we are not meant to lose this war,” she said, stubbornly.

“Do not be daft,” Lord Alfred snorted, his hand running through his damp hair as he let out another laugh. “Gods. Princess. We have lost.”

There was murmuring, low, amongst the lords. Mysaria found their words meant little to her now, as her mind churned with the halls of Dragonstone, and the paths out of it.

“When?” Lord Corlys asked, lowly, hands pressed so firmly against the painted table Mysaria thought they would go through. When his only answer was the buzzing of the other lords, he stood and bellowed. “When!”

His yell carried through the room, echoing. Rhaenyra swallowed thick, staring at him, her gaze faltering as Mysaria put the letters down. Lord Corlys snatched up one, and Jacaerys the other.

“They came to be the day I left, the first letter. I do not know of the others. It must have been days after that,” Queen Rhaenyra said, with reluctance, as Lord Corlys took the letter and read it with shaking hands.

“The letter from the Green’s came but today,” Mysaria added. “I was told not to inform anyone of the suspicions about the hostages.”

“Yet you did so anyway,” Queen Rhaenyra snapped.

“What are the demands?” Maester Gerardys asked.

“Do you not know them, maester?” Lord Alfred sneered.

Maester Gerardys stood, his face grave. “I will not hear your doubts on my loyalty when you’ve questioned the queen this entire time.”

“And yet the Greens have somehow found the princes and Lady Rhaena, when they’d been gone such a short time. It is interesting, is it not? The Hightowers so do control the Citadel,” Lord Alfred accused, also standing.

“Silence!” Lord Corlys bellowed. “What. Are. The. Terms,” he stressed out each word to Mysaria, his eyes intent.

Mysaria spelt them out for them all. They were to take boats to King’s Landing, leaving their dragons on Dragonstone, which would be given to Prince Aemond. The lords of Rhaenyra’s false council would be given the choice of the wall or death. Their houses would be made to pay a hefty mulct, give a hostage, and be allowed to keep their homes – if they did as commanded. Those who refused would be met the Stanger by dragonfire. Rhaenyra and her sons would be allowed to keep their lives if she came to King’s Landing in a week after they’d received the letter. In eight days total, as they allowed, one day for the letter to arrive.

Princess Rhaenyra was to give up her father’s crown and kneel before the Iron Throne, renouncing her claim, her title, and her children, which would be allowed to live, but would be separated from her. Sent to other castles to live out their days, although she would be permitted to see them every seven years. Her younger sons would be made eventually be allowed to choose the wall, the citadel, or the sept, but they would never marry nor produce children.

Prince Jacaerys was to be sent to the wall.

They had but one week to make the choice by arriving to King’s Landing or the choice would be made for them.

The letter had the voice of more than one, Mysaria could tell. There was firmness in some areas, softness in others, and almost cruelty in others. She recognized the speech pattern of Prince Aemond. Prince Jaehaerys’ name was invoked, when they declared that the hostages would be lost to them should they refuse. As was Prince Lucerys’ name invoked, a reminder it seemed. Princess…or Queen Helaena’s voice was another, and if she was not incorrect so was the Dowager Queen’s.

“What of Rhaena? Baela?” Lord Corlys demanded.

“It did not say,” Mysaria said, and Lord Corlys put down Lady Jeyne’s letter and took the other letters from Jacaerys. “The letters were sent by raven and did not embellish. They were succinct. But they demand total obeisance if we wish to keep our lives.”

Several ravens had brought the demands. It would have been comical, yet Mysaria knew why they had sent ravens and not a boat. Speed was of the utmost importance, to get them to surrender before more bloodshed. They’d made it all the easier by marking numbers on the letters.

“What does it matter, the lives of two girls?” Lord Alfred said, slowly, and Lord Corlys glared at him fiercely.

“Say that again, and you’ll lose more than your tongue,” Lord Corlys threatened, lowly.

“You sat on this,” Prince Jacaerys said, in disbelief. The color had drained from his face. “You did not tell us…me….that mine brothers and sister have been taken? Instead you fled into the night with this, leaving us in the dark with not even a light to guide us. And now this…what choice do we have? There is no winning this. There is only death. Death and destruction.”

“I had no choice. I could not take in the words of snakes alone as proof of my son’s abduction!” Rhaenyra argued. “Jacaerys. I have told you the truth of the matter. This is not the way it is meant to be.”

“You have told me…the Song of Ice and Fire you mean?” Prince Jacaerys asked, slowly, staring at his mother as if in disbelief, his words almost begging. “Tell me you did not risk our lives and my brothers for…for a fairy tale.”

“It is the truth, and it is not to be spoken of here,” Rhaenyra said, sharply.

“It is lies, and they have blinded you,” Princes Jacaerys said, voice thick. He looked between his mother and Mysaria in disbelief. “How, even, have they been taken? They have been there not even a moon! Not even…how?”

“What is this Song of Ice and Fire? And how is it pertinent to our defeat?” Maester Gerardys asked, slowly.

“It matters not. It has nothing to do with our defeat. I doubt it is even real,” Prince Jacaerys laughed, hollowly, head in his hands.

“Why?” Lord Corlys demanded, through clenched teeth.

“….why did you hide this, mother?” Prince Jacaerys said, looking up, his forced calm more frightening than his anger.

“I had thought it but words, meant to rile me, lies, meant to break me. And it is not meant to be, I am meant to win, it cannot end this way --,” Queen Rhaenyra started.

Lord Corlys stood and slammed his chair into the ground with such force it broke, the legs flying about, but he did not flinch as the other’s did. “My granddaughter…one of my last kin lies in the hands of the kinslayers, and you said nothing because you thought it a lie? If you thought it a lie to break you, why did you keep it from us!” He bellowed at the end.

“She thought her win was foretold by divine prophecy, that she was meant to sit the throne, and I after her, because that is why Aegon the Dragon took the realm,” Prince Jacaerys said, and when Rhaenyra protested, he shook his head. “No. I will not hide things from the Council as you have, mother, not when more than our lives now hang in the balance. Not when it is the Wall that awaits me, not the throne, unless I wish to soak in the blood of my brother’s and sit the throne on their corpses. Supposedly, Aegon the Dragon had a dream of…something, some force, some threat coming from the North. Lord Cregan spoke of the Wall being built for more than ice and wildlings. It matters not now.”

“Jacaerys!” Rhaenyra yelled.

“Tell me…tell me you have not risked life and limb, the lives of this council and our houses, to run about…because of a dream,” Lord Celtigar said, slowly, eyes closed. “That is why you thought to run away without word, not once, but twice? Why you have sat, indecisive, for so long?

“Oh, but she has. Gods, but she has,” Lord Corlys said, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Mine wife lies dead, her dragon paraded about like a trophy, and it is because of a dream.”

“We did not fight because of a Dream!” Rhaenyra yelled. “You fought for your own standing! You fought for your own power! Do not sit here and place the blame at my feet, as if it was not you who pushed the bounds of all to uplift your name and your house! Had I listened to you, the realm would be torn asunder with blood and fire!”

“Is it not now?” Lord Bartimos muttered.

“It is true. I have done as much,” Lord Corlys said, slowly, his voice measured and heated. “And you have taken me for a fool for it. Well, I suppose we will both reap what we have sown.”

“Me? As if I have chosen this!” Rhaenyra argued, laughing. “Was it not you who pushed your child on the king, that he might put children in her? You would have fought this war regardless. It was never for me. It was always for you. You fought for your station, and now that that station is threatened, you pretend as if you had no choice, as if I forced you, as if you did not gladly push your son on me and your daughter on the king.”

“Yes, I would have fought! Mine family was robbed. Mine wife, and mine son. Yet we also fought because we believed in you. Beyond reason, Rhaenys did, and now Baela does, too. It was her that made me accept your offer, as if it was little more than an attempt to soothe my anger. At every turn, you have proven yourself incapable. Just as your father did,” Lord Corlys said, a challenge in his voice. “All this time…you have shielded yourself behind a prophecy, and refused to see the world for what it is. As I have shielded myself with ambition. Both of us are fools for it. But no longer will I be blinded by it.”

“Lord Corlys, I will not –,” Rhaenyra started, and then flinched when Lord Corlys picked up the Hand’s pin from his jacket and tossed it to the ground, stomping about with such ferocity when he was finished sweat dripped down his brow.

The Queensguard moved to surround him as he acted, but Lord Corlys merely laughed, bitterly. He spat on the ground where the pin lay. “You will not, what, woman? Will not allow me to be angry that you have ruined my house, will not allow me to question you? Whilst you sit about and do nothing, whilst my granddaughter, Rhaenys’ blood, is in danger?”

He looked at Rhaenyra, her chest heaving, his hands clenched. Queen Rhaenyra stared at him in disbelief, tears streaming down her face that she either could not stop or did not bother to.

“You are a plague,” Lord Corlys seethed. “A plague and a pox on my house, and I will not stand for it any longer.”

“Watch your tongue. You speak to your queen!” Jacaerys stood, angrily.

“My queen? She is no queen of mine,” Lord Corlys rebuffed.

“So you turn to the Greens?” Prince Jacaerys demanded, in disbelief, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Lord Corlys scoffed at him, derisively. “Put the sword away, boy, or I will teach you how it is wielded.”

“You will watch your tongue,” Rhaenyra said, tightly, anger washing over her face. “Or I will have it!”

“Like you had mine brother’s tongue? My son’s? My wife’s?” Lord Corlys demanded. “No, no I will not watch mine tongue. And I will not join the Greens. May you both burn. I will do nothing, and wait for this folly to end, and whatever cursed fool to sit the throne that may. It is all I can do, now that we have both dug the grave for my house.”

He stormed from the room, leaving a silence that hung in the air like a slap to the face.

“Are there others who seek the coward’s path?” Rhaenyra demanded of the room, tightly, wiping angrily at her face.

Lord Bartimos Celtigar slowly stood, frowning, and walked out the door without a word. Lord Alfred Broome stood as well, scooting his chair in before he left, and Lord Massey stood with solemn eyes.

“It was folly, to stand between feuding dragons. It was folly. May the Seven grant you mercy. May they grant us mercy,” Lord Massey said, walking out.

The others followed him, until it was but Rhaenyra, Jacaerys, and Mysaria in the room – although the other two did not seem to remember that Mysaria was there.

“You should have told us,” Prince Jacaerys said, the anger gone from his voice as he shakingly sat down. “…What are we to do, that they have…how do we know they will not kill them? How are we to act now, when time is against us as surely as the Greens? We have to surrender. Or they will be killed.”

“Alicent cannot,” Queen Rhaenyra said, certainly. “She would not allow it.”

“Alicent!” Prince Jacaerys scoffed in shock, looking at his mother with disbelief. “f*ck Alicent!”

“Jace—”

Jacaerys took a step back from his mother, and she followed. “No, no! I will not hear it, not any longer! You care more for that…for that c*nt than you care for us! Why did you have us, mother?”

His hand moved from the handle of his sword, which he’d still been clenching, and punched the table before him. “Why did you have us, that you care for the bitch whose drunken son usurped you more than you care for us! Did you have us that you may laugh as we suffer, mother?”

“I love you Jacaerys, I love you more than life itself,” Rhaenyra said, moving forward and cupping her son’s face.

He knocked her hand aside. Mysaria stared, slowly making her way towards the door, trying her best not to breathe too loudly but they cared not for her now.

She was once again a shadow, a fly on the wall, unseen and uncared for, but it worked all the better for her.

“I had to Jace, I had to! And I loved you so, when you came into my arms –“

“You made us bastards! That alone ruined what chance we had for peace, and yet you pushed further! You seek to run to Alicent, ignoring her actions, you seek to defend her, you seek to stop the bloodshed, but when have you? Does Luke’s blood not run free now? Then you leave when my brothers have been taken, with no warning! No note! No words for me! How am I to follow you when you do nothing but run from me! Joffrey, Aegon, Viserys and Rhaena are dangling over the precipice of the dragon’s maw and you still defend her more valiantly than you defend them, or me! You supposedly love us but you set us up for failure! Mother, I cannot trust you. I cannot believe you.”

He sat down, heavily, weeping, and the Queen moved to embrace him as Mysaria slipped from the room. She could hear their voices following her even as they did not, as Mysaria made her way quickly down the halls.

Lord Corlys was in the chambers of Lady Baela, already in a heated argument when Mysaria quietly stepped in.

“You cannot flee the storm, grandfather!” Lady Baela shouted, hands expressed towards the sky, her face as mask of fury that made Mysaria think of Daemon.

It chilled her.

“Your queen certainly seems to think she can flee it whenever the fancy passes her,” Lord Corlys snapped, then he took a deep breath. “This is no storm, Baela. This is madness, bloodshed, and folly. Your sister is taken, and that damned woman –”

Lady Baela slapped him, hard, the sound echoing in the room.

“Your Queen!” Lady Baela furiously.

Lord Corlys caught the hand, slowly turning to face her. He looked down on her, tears in his eyes, and leveraged her hand to jerk her forward, holding both her wrists tightly now so she could not escape.

“She is nothing of the sort.” Lord Corlys said, slowly, squeezing Lady Baela’s hand when she moved to protect. “No. You will listen. Long have I stood behind this folly, thinking it would bring glory and fame to my name. Instead, I have buried both my children and my wife because of it, in pursuit of a throne Rhaenyra does not deserve. Buried my brother because I spurned his warnings and his grievances for her. I sought to make us great, instead I have seen my name and my house become a joke. I will not bury my grandchildren with the rest of my blood and my name. My ambition and her’s has brought me nothing but grief, given me nothing but coffins, and I will give to it no more of my kin.”

“She has done nothing of the sort, and you allow lies to cloud you.” Baela insisted. “And I will not die!”

“You will! You will, if you follow this cursed woman!” Lord Corlys shouted, shaking her. “The Greens have Rhaena, Baela! Your sister! She has been taken! Will you claim her death is honorable as well, that it is a dragonrider’s death, that she went to it gleefully and that you will see your Queen on her throne if it means she must sit the corpse of your sister? Of your brothers? Viserys and Aegon are with her as well, as is Joffrey, and if you think the Greens will not spill their blood you are a damned fool!”

Lady Baela froze, then jerked away from Lord Corlys so suddenly he staggered back. Lady Baela frantically shook her head as she moved away from him until her back hit the pole of her bed and she froze.

“Get out,” Lady Baela demanded, voice low, as she clung to the bed frame, eyes distant.

“No, I will –”

“I do not believe you! She would not hide this from me!” Lady Baela shouted, eyes closed, pointing towards the door. “Leave! Leave, as the coward you are, as the traitor you are! Leave with your life, leave with your tail between your legs, where it ever sits. Leave!”

Lady Baela turned her back, her arms crossing again her chest, and wept. Lord Corlys stared at her for a moment, hand stretched out as if to touch her, then turned away.

His eyes hardened when they saw her, but she held up her finger and motioned for the door. He followed, reluctantly.

“If you seek to make argument –” Lord Corlys hissed.

“We need to leave,” Mysaria interrupted, impatient. “Now, if we are to get away at all.”

Lord Corlys stared at her, hard. There were still tears in his eyes that glinted on his skin in the torchlight, and his shoulders were tense and tight. “…She will not leave. I cannot leave.”

Mysaria nearly growled in frustration. She had not lingered to hear their argument because she had thought it grand. She needed the ships of the Master of Ships if she had hope to get out with her head on her shoulders…of which she very much desired.

“…but my sons. There is hope yet. Are you capable of navigating them out of this?” Lord Corlys demanded, taking her by the shoulders.

Mysaria scowled, brushing his hands off her shoulders tensely. He did not fight her, but his eyes lingered, desperate and hungry – but it was a hunger that Mysaria knew she could work with.

It was the hunger of a father desperate to keep his son’s alive. Had Daemon’s foolish daughter listened, it would be her hope, as well, but Mysaria would not turn it down.

She held her chin up high. “I can. If I am given what I need. We will lay low, hidden, wait for a moonless night, and set sail.”

Lord Corlys’ jaw unclenched, and there seemed to be a weight lifted from his shoulders, although his eyes were still hard, his breathing still loud.

“If you fail me, wench…know that there is nothing in this world that will keep me from you,” Lord Corlys threatened.

“If I fail, you will not need to worry, for I will face a fate worse than death. These dragons are not merciful to their own blood…why would they be so to me?” Lady Mysaria asked.

“There is more. You still have ability to send word to King’s Landing, do you not?” Lord Corlys demanded.

“….what is it that you want?” Mysaria asked, suspiciously.

“I want you to send a letter for me. To the Queen. Begging for mercy towards my granddaughters. I cannot get them out. One is taken…and you saw how the other refuses to leave. She has fire. It is foolish, but by the gods above and below, she is her mother and grandmother. I will take whatever punishment they seek to give me, I renounce Rhaenyra now. House Velaryon will remain neutral, will remove itself from this war entirely. I have made Rhaena my heir, as Baela has refused it, refuted it, and Rhaena has had no hand in the war as of yet. I will beg for mercy for her and her sister.”

“You will need to write this letter quickly.”

“I will. I need time to get the boats set, anyway, and you will need to leave under cover of darkness. It will be hours before the time to leave is ready. I will send you to Braavos. I still yet have allies there. A home, even. It is a small thing, but a home nevertheless. I will send what gold I can with you, but there is more there, waiting.”

“And me, what will I do in Braavos? I know no one. I have not coin to leave it, either,” Mysaria said. “I was seeking to go to Myr.”

She had coin….yet she could not spend it all. That the Greens had burned one of her homes had taken much.

“I will promise you refuge in my home. It is not as grand as Hight Tide…but I have a home in Braavos that I will bequeath to my son’s, and that I will permit you to remain in as long as you live. Should you get them both there safely,” Lord Corlys said.

“You will put it in writing,” Mysaria demanded.

“I will,” Lord Corlys swore, vehemently.

It was as fitting as any other place. Mysaria consented, and Lord Corlys rushed towards his rooms. Mysaria went back to her own rooms, to pack what little mattered – most everything could be replaced. Clothing, books, jewels – all trinkets. There was seldom that she needed, all able to fit in pockets on her person, but she wanted them now. She gathered what gold she had; it was never enough but she could not leave it.

When she was done, her rooms hardly looked touched. If someone came to them, they would hardly believe Mysaria had fled them, with all that she left.

Then Mysaria waited, pacing the length of her rooms, her mind racing. She heard quarreling in every chamber, as well as the weeping, and it made her desire to flee all the stronger. She had sent the few of her spies she could away, and those that could not leave would come with her. When the sun started to set, Mysaria made her way to the rooms of Lord Corlys.

His two sons were there, worriedly, arguing with him about leaving.

“We cannot leave you. We cannot.” It was Addam who spoke, Mysaria believed. He was the one with the thickly braided black hair.

“Do not be foolish, brother. If we stay, we sink with the ship, a ship that is not even ours,” Alyn argued. “Why should we die for a war that was never ours in the first place?”

“Because he is our father!” Addam argued.

“Now he is, but where has he been for all our lives? I’ll not shed blood for a man who claims in after all his trueborn are dead. He was nowhere for us when we suffered, I will not risk the lives of you and mother for him now.”

Lord Corlys looked between his arguing bastard sons with tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat and they both turned to him.

“You will leave, Addam. I do not ask it of you. I demand it of you, as your lord. You will take the Sea Snake and you will leave. There is no hope here,” Lord Corlys begged. “Leave. Leave so that I might know some of my blood was not lost to this damned war.”

Addam looked torn, looking between his brother and Lord Corlys. “I-I…I will stay and fight.”

“You might as well throw yourself into the sea, for all the good it will do. Will you throw rocks at the dragons, or try to punch them? It will not work. Men are not made to fight dragons,” Alyn argued. “We are meant to be on the sea, you and I, let us go to her.”

“There will be no fight. They have Rhaena. If I fight for Rhaenyra, Rhaena is killed by the Greens. If I fight for the Greens, Baela will be killed. By Rhaenyra, or by the Greens, I know not. But they killed…they killed Laenor, my boy. I will not risk it. There is none I can trust now. There will be no fighting. All I can do is wait and hope that my legacy can live on in another,” Lord Corlys said, tiredly. “Go. The wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers…I have not been wise. I cannot flee it now. But you. You still can. Go, my sons. Go.”

Addam looked away, Alyn’s hand clasping him tightly.

“Where will we go? We have little coin,” Alyn asked. “Are we to keep the ship?”

“I will send you with coin and jewels, to my home in Braavos. I will send word that it is to be yours now, as will the ship. Along with the gold it comes with. Be safe. Be well. Live long. Never return,” Lord Corlys said.

He produced the letters for Mysaria and she sent them, sealed, in ravens meant for the crown. She kept the letter with Lord Corlys’ seal, providing his Braavosi home to his bastard sons – allowing tenancy to Mysaria as long as she lived – in her inner most pocket, protected by sealskin and beeswax from rain and seawater alike.

They waited until the sky was dark, the sea as dark as wine as they sailed from the Dragonstone. The moon was hung high in the sky, the stars betrayed them with their light, but there were no dragons to seek them.

Mysaria did not look back. The wind kissed at her skin, at her face, and she sailed forth to a new life, to a new name, to a new everything, and not once did she look back.

Chapter 7: Farewell, Farewell

Chapter Text

Jacaerys I

Everything was ruined.

Three days had passed since his mother had returned and the Greens had sent their dark news, and Jace didn’t know where to turn to – mother was in shambles, locked in her rooms, trying to pretend as if everything was salvageable because her damned prophecy said she was the Prince That Was Promised. Daemon was dead. Luke was dead. Princess Rhaenys was dead. His brothers were taken, Rhaena was taken, Baela was inconsolable and furious at different points, at one point defending mother and at another point attacking her verbally, even as she refused to speak to Lord Corlys.

The Velaryon fleet had broken their blockade, Lord Corlys had sent the majority of his men back to Driftmark, and Mysaria had fled. Along with a good portion of their lords and men at arms. Jace’s idea to utilize the blood of the dragons in the dragonseeds of the nobles had never come to fruition, and now he saw not the point.

What would a thousand dragonriders mean, if he came to the Red Keep and stumbled upon his brother’s bodies? The body of Lady Rhaena?

It would mean nothing. No victory would ever be so hollow as that.

Jace never spoke his idea, instead he buried it as he tried to bury the fear that coursed through him, as he knew what need be done.

Lady Elinda had remained behind, despite her father leaving for King’s Landing to beg for mercy. She remained at mother’s side, not leaving, despite the desperation that hung thick in the air. Lady Elinda brought mother food she did not eat, combed her hair as she let it tangle.

Jace wished his mother would drop the pretense and accept what he’d accepted. Surrender was all that was left to them. Jace could not stand the idea of sacrificing his brother’s to win the throne…and he did not think that even if he did, that he would get it. It was lost to him forever, already a goal that was too far away, that grew farther away when his trueborn brother’s had been born, and yet now it was…it was so out of reach Jace could not even see it. But even then…how could he let them die? Aegon, Viserys…they were his downfall, they were his brothers.

He loved them. He hated them. Jacaerys had to save them.

They had to surrender. There was no choice. It made Jace’s stomach twist and turn, and yet it was all they could do.

Yet mother refused to be spurred to action. She waited, as if the gods themselves would come down and take her to the throne and bestow upon her the crown and the Realm would weep with relief. Aegon had survived Dragonflame, did his mother think the gods would interfere now?

If they were going to, it would have been earlier. Much earlier, Jace thought, and not now. They would not have allowed all of this to come to pass, if they were real, if they wanted his mother to rule so badly.

Jace could not stand it. Where had his mother fled to, and why had she left this…creature in her place? Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen had been willful, he had heard. She shucked duty and did what pleased her, it had been said. She bedded Harwin Strong because she liked him, it was said.

Jace had never seen that, though. What Jace saw was his loving mother, who dotted on him, who upheld him, who loved him. Whose warmth and love guided him, whose strength inspired him.

Who put him in the path of danger, always to be questioned, never able to stand up fully because he always came short. Who gave his Targaryen uncle silver haired trueborn babes – and dragons – and made Jace to stand next to them for the world to compare him. Did she not see what her younger sons were to him?

Mayhaps, it ran in the family…this blindness, Jace thought, bitterly.

He had always known he was a bastard. He had always resented it. Harwin Strong had been kind, gentle…had been stupid and cruel to father Jace and his brothers. As had his mother. Jace wondered if their brief pleasure were worth the price they paid, the whispers, the stares, the dark rumors that nipped at their heels. He wondered if Rhaenyra and Harwin had considered that at all, when they fell into bed, that Jace would grow up spoke to himself in the mirror, gathering arguments to build his legitimacy up in ways his face would always tear down even before his lips parted.

That he’d look at his brothers and feel fear as much as he felt love. Jace’s legitimacy hung on his dragon and on his betrothal to Baela, and if one of them faltered…that was it for him.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Now, Jace was left alone in the world – without Luke, away from Joffrey, and without the mother he knew best. Left with nothing but a shadow of her that clung to a song that was supposedly to be, but had not been sung yet, and words spoken from a dead man as her only shield against the world.

Lord Corlys was the only ally Jace had….and it was not a close one. Not really. He was a sharp tongue audacious snake, yet he was the one who saw what Jace saw.

“We have but days, and it will take time to sail,” Lord Corlys told him, his voice even but Jace could hear the forced calm to it. “I will bind her and take her if I have to.”

“No,” Jace insisted, glaring. “No, you may not touch her.”

“Then she needs to act, Jacaerys. We have little time if we are to save our kin,” Lord Corlys told him, stiffly. He must have read something in Jace’s face, because his eyes softened just a bit – and he clasped Jace on the shoulder, tightly. “I will write you, boy. I will not forget. I am…truly sorry, for my heated words. It is Rhaenyra I have issues, nor you. I will honor Lucerys in my halls. But I will not risk my blood so that she can pretend as if all is well, or as if something will get her the throne. Your brothers lie in danger the longer she dallies.”

Jace looked away. “…I know. Let me…let me speak to her. We can send a word, if need me, begging for more time for travel. They have taken the dragons from us. They must know we need time to travel by boat.”

Lord Corlys’ hand tightened. “I will give you a day. But I will not risk more.”

Jace nodded stiffly, and Lord Corlys removed his hand and left. Jace watched him leave, and wondered what life would have been like had Lord Corlys truly been his grandsire. Lord Corlys would have fought desperately against the world for him, Jace thought. For a moment, Jace pictured this. He imagined he had silver hair, and light brown skin, and that he was the mirror to Laenor, the father he was meant to have. Jace pictured that it was not to Baela he was promised, but Helaena, trying their lines. He pictured himself, tall, proud, on the throne as no one disputed him because he truly did look the image of Laenor Velaryon and thus the Greens and the Blacks could mingle and marry.

He savored the image in his head. But then he let it go. Jace could not dwell on dreams and desires, when the cold reality of the world was before him, and his decision was what kept the headsman from his brother’s heads.

Mother’s room was locked, but Jace did not need to key. He found a back way in, the servant’s way in, and found his mother sitting with her head in her hands at a desk. Papers were strewn about her, some torn up and shredded, other’s with words barely visible because the writing was erratic and messy.

“We cannot delay any longer. We must leave,” Jace told his mother, quietly.

Mother looked up, eyes bloodshot and red, her face puffy and pale. “We cannot. I cannot,” mother said, softly. “I-I have a duty.”

Anger burned so hot it frightened Jace. He had to clench his fists and breath as the heat warmed his skin and face and his heart raced. “Yes, you do have a duty. To your sons, mother.”

“The gods have chosen my, Jace. I cannot gainsay my responsibility, cannot run from it!” Mother burst out, standing abruptly, her voice and eyes oozing desperation that disgusted Jace. “This war has been fought for a reason…and this is not the way it is meant to end. This is not how it will end. I refuse.”

“The gods did not choose you, mother. Viserys did. And he is dead,” Jace snapped. “He is dead and gone and cannot defend you any longer. Nor can I. Nor will I. You may sit here and wallow in your defeat, but I will be setting sail to King’s Landing on the morrow to bend the knee…and unless you wish the corpses of your son’s to be sent to you while you wait for the so-called gods to claim your throne for you, I suggest you do the same.”

Jace turned, ready to storm out, but mother’s hand caught his arm. He did not turn around, even when her hand squeezed his arm, even when he heard her weeping.

“Jace…” mother started, her voice cracking.

“Did you suspect it?” Jace asked, ignoring the cries. He closed his eyes. “Did you suspect, when you took Harwin to bed, that I would look like him? That I would bear his visage, so that the world would know what I am? Did you even care?”

He turned to face her, her hand releasing so that it could still grasp him, and found her staring at him desperately, tears slipping down her face. He wanted to knock her hand away. He wanted to hold it. He wanted her to hold him.

How much longer would Jace be able to see his mother, before he was sent to the Wall forever? He didn’t know. But Jace was a storm of anger and fear that made his insides twist and turn, but when he looked at his mother that storm almost drowned the warmth and the love.

Almost.

“Did you?” Jace repeated, quietly, as silence reigned.

“…I did not think of it,” mother admitted, quietly.

Jace scoffed, tears spilling to his eyes. “You don’t think much of it, do you? You seem to think it was an easy to thing to hide, even as it hounded at our heels. Had I been…trueborn…this could have ended differently. You set me up to fail, mother. No gods will save you now. Viserys will not save you now. If they had chosen you, they would have given me silver hair, made your half-brothers women, or struck them in their cribs or something. They do nothing. Because they care not for you.”

Jace watched her carefully, trying to memorize her face even as he removed his hand from her grasp.

“I love you mother. I will miss you,” Jace told her, tiredly. “But I will not be you, wallowing in dreams and songs, while the world around me rages, full of life to live, full of other’s dying in my name – of my kin. I have lost one brother. I will not lose another. I will go in the morning. I urge you to go, too. It is our only chance to save our family.”

He turned and walked out, the weight on his heart so heavy Jace was surprised it did not burst entirely. Baela was in his rooms when he arrived, eyes full of tears, her shoulder tense.

“You are leaving in the morning, you craven,” Baela accused. “Has grandfather shaken you so, that you cannot see what he is leading you to?”

Jace took her by the shoulders, staring at her face, memorizing every line of it. “There is nowhere else to go, Baela. There is no other option.”

“There is!” Baela argued, shouting, although she moved in closer to him. A sob escaped her mouth, although the fierce expression on her face did not lesson. “We can fight!”

“A good soldier knows when he is bested. A good king knows when he is, too,” Jace told her. He squeezed her shoulders, warmly, and hoped she could feel the love he felt for her flowing towards her. “You would have been both, but time is not kind to us.”

“In another life,” Jace said, quietly.

Baela moved in, hugging him, and Jace hugged her back. She was warm. So very warm, and she wept into his shoulder for some time.

Jace held her and wondered what their children would have looked like. He would have hoped they would favor Baela, with her silver hair and her dark skin, all so beautiful she looked like a painting. Only cruel irony would have made their children take after Jace.

But the world was cruel, was it not?

“I’m staying here tonight,” Baela told him, fiercely, as if he was going to argue.

Jace held her all the tighter. “Thank you.”

Morning came too quickly. Baela was still asleep in his arms, her clothing scattered around the room, so warm and soft against him that Jace dreaded getting up to greet the sun that peaked its head unwelcomingly through his curtains.

Jace kissed her on the top of her head, lingering as she sighed against him, eyes fluttering open.

“We can run away,” Baela told him, as she woke, her eyes fully awake as they opened. “Sail across the sea, go to the Summer Sea, map the world, devour the food and the riches of the world with nothing to stop us.”

“You know we can’t,” Jace told her, burring his nose in her hair. “Gods, but I wish. But we can’t. They depend on us, Baela.”

They sat there in some silence, Jace listening to the sounds of Baela breathing before he finally, reluctantly, got out of bed to dress. Baela watched him, silently, and then rose to dress, too. She wore the Targaryen colors, not the Velaryon ones, Jace noted.

Baela stood by his side as they made their way to the docks, where mother waited for them, her eyes out towards King’s Landing, her hand covering her eyes as the sun began to rise fully. The sky was a warm orange, the egg a yolk rising, the sea took on its hue, glinting with oranges and reds as if it was on fire itself. Lord Corlys stood some distance away, giving loud orders as men in Velaryon colors readied the ship. It was the Lady Laena, Jace noted, not the Sea Snake. Baela ignored her grandfather, even when his eyes turned towards her, instead squeezing Jace’s hand so tightly it ached a little.

“Never have I thought to dread returning home,” Mother told him, softly. She turned to him, and the sun danced in her eyes. “Long had I thought of this moment, and never was it like this.”

She looked more recognizable to Jace, now. Not the madwoman who spouted prophecy and songs, but who had held his hand, who had kissed him, who had raised him. Mother held out her hand, and Jace considered refusing it. Instead, he took and squeezed it tightly, tried to memorize the warmth it radiated.

“Well. I suppose we have no choice,” mother said, tiredly.

Jace closed his eyes, his mother’s hand in his own, Baela’s hand in the other. The air smelled of sea and salt, the sun was warm on his face despite the winter chill. He imagined whatever tentative truce had been brokered here would be broken in days’ time, when the dawn came and realization struck anew. He didn’t care.

He savored this feeling now and dreaded the coming days.

-

-

Aemond I

Aemond had never pictured the war ending as it did. He had pictured it ending in dragonfire, in his victory against the pretender, in Aemond crushing her throat or her dragon or both and emerging from it all, having won the war on the sweat of his brow and the tip of his blade.

It was not to be.

Instead, the pretender’s men came to them to kneel and beg for mercy for their kin. Instead, the blockade broke with no bloodshed, and the lords of the realm quietly watched as Dragonstone came to surrender.

And it had been Helaena who had done it, not Aemond.

Helaena had always been…distant, in her own head, with pursuits not suitable to a woman, yes, yet she was also a woman of chastity and silence, of obedience and responsibility. She was entirely unlike Aegon. Aemond had desired to marry her once, and still partially did. If only mother had betrothed them, he would have done his duty gladly.

Unlike, Aegon, who had to be pushed.

Had Aegon died….Aemond would have taken his throne and his bride. He would have married their son to Helaena’s daughter, even, so that she could not feel wronged when her daughter did not sit the throne. Aemond was not unkind.

Now, when she looked at him, it was with disgust and anger.

And Aemond found it aggravated him.

Who was she, to judge him so? When all that Aemond did was in service to the Realm? When Aemond toiled so, to be perfect, to rise above the other’s so that he could accurately protect them all. Aegon was born, and that was all he had to do. Helena was given to him, the crown was given to him, mother showered him with love and affection, toiling and bleeding to make him king.

Aemond worked to establish him, ground himself into the ground to be the best fighter, buried himself in tomes to sharpen his wit…and it just did not matter. He was the sword and the shield of the greens, and now they treated him like mad dog they did not need. As if he had not been made out of their own need.

As if they did not need him.

But then Helaena had gone and done what none of them had been able to do. She Dreamed. That alone baffled Aemond. It was dragons, not Dreams, that made them kings, yes. But it was a Dreamer that saved them so that they could become kings in the first place. How had this gone unnoticed? How had Aemond, of all people, not noticed?

Why had she not done something earlier? And yet she lay blame on him.

But how had Aemond not noticed?

He understood how Aegon did not. Aegon was an idiot. Mother did not know the stories so well, grandfather dismissed them, father had not cared enough to look at them unless it was to demand their obeisance to Rhaenyra.

But Aemond? How had he missed this? And why had Helaena only now sought to use the tool as it was, an ability that once directed could be invaluable?

Helaena had taken the hostages from the Vale and won the war in one swoop of her dragon, leaving them to simply clean up after with messages that the usurper c*nt had no chance to ignore. It was brilliant. It was simple.

It was infuriating.

What was more infuriating was that Aegon was getting better every day. Soon enough he would be well enough to take Aemond’s spot in the Small Council, and on the Throne, and Aemond doubted he’d be welcome back with open arms.

The thought of being unneeded, set aside, made his teeth clench. Aemond could not stand it. All his years of work…and it was bested by a girl who liked bugs and spiders, who hide her face in embroidery, who had flown but once and scooped up the praise.

Sister or not…Aemond hated it.

He hated the Small Council seemed to weigh her words, at least partially, as if they were not simply the words of a woman. Helaena had been meant to have his children, not to steal his glory. Now the Small Council turned to her, supposedly as she spoke for Aegon, and cared little for what Aemond said, hiding behind the will of the King.

Even Daeron sought to undermine him. Aemond sought to send him away, to do his diligence elsewhere, and Daeron refuted him.

“Aegon has told me to remain, and remain I will,” Daeron told him, impatiently.

That he had a dragon the size of a horse, just barely able to carry his weight, and the boy thought himself a man capable of standing up the Aemond.

It would have made Aemond laugh if it was not so infuriating.

“Someone needs to take Harrenhal and re-establish control of the Riverlands. And to see to it that Daemon’s body is confirmed. There is also the matter of Dark Sister, and as of now we leave her to the scavengers,” Aemond hissed. “I will not give the order again.”

“You can give it a thousand times, brother. I will do as my king commands. You are not my king,” Daeron told him, stubbornly. “My place is here, patrolling the skies until the pretender comes crawling. As is yours. We need to ensure there will be no surprise attack, be it by sky or by ground. The traitors come, and whilst they might come under a white flag, I will not leave and let anyone with false words slip by.”

“That is my place, is it?” Aemond demanded, glaring, but Daeron would not back down.

Instead, he moved in, voice lowering. “I have heard the rumors, Aemond. I would not believe them, but I have heard them. Kinslayer they call you. Do you wish to add deserter to your ever-growing list of titles?”

Aemond nearly smacked the boy. Instead, he stared stiffly down at him. “And who spreads such lies?”

“Everyone,” Daeron said, “I hear it everywhere I go. They say you chased Lucerys through the skies, that you sought him out specifically. That you found his corpse and took his eyes to give to mother, that you gave them to your betrothed. Grandfather says this war could have been avoided, could have been won with words, had you not foolishly throne it away to seek vengeance you would have gotten had you merely waited. He said you will be our ruin if you are allowed to continue acting without thought. I had always assumed Lucerys attacked you, that it had been a fair battle, but I do not know anymore..”

Aemond jerked back, scowling. “He lies, they all lie.”

“Do they?” Daeron challenged, moving back, shaking his head. “It seems not to me.”

“You have been here but days, and you presume to know what has been happening?” Aemond challenged.

Daeron stared at him, hard, and Aemond wished he’d turn his eyes away. “I think the rumors might be correct, brother, and try as I might to ignore them I cannot.”

“Do you care so much for that bastard?” Aemond demanded.

“I care about the act of kinslaying. It has sullied you, and now you seek to disobey your king,” Daeron said, shaking his head. “I will stay. Until his Grace, Aegon, sends me away.”

He turned and left. Aemond wished to follow him, to yank him back, to demand who he thought he was that he could dismiss himself.

Yet Aemond wanted Daeron to leave, so that he did not have to look at their mother’s eyes in his head as they stared at him, as if to challenge his very being.

Aemond turned, swiftly, and made his way back to his chambers. The days passed with little reprieve, but when he took flight on Vhagar to patrol. Mother seemed to shun his presence, Helaena spent all her time with Aegon, aiding him walk, in a way that made Aemond’s blood boil. Ser Cole sent all his time guarding their rooms.

The Small Council went more and more to Aegon, leaving Aemond out of things. They held most of the meetings in his chambers now.

It made Aemond’s blood boil. It made his heart sink.

Even this, the victory, felt hollow as it had nothing to do with him. Aemond had been meant to win this war, to gather allies, to pry the crown from the pretender’s fingers. Instead, grandfather had won them the Triarchy and Aemond had but the farce to claim, that he’d won them. Instead, Helaena won this war, and pried the crown from the pretender’s hands.

Now even Daeron sought to undermine him. Now even Grandfather sought to question him. Mayhaps it was distance that had made them feel safe enough to do so. Mayhaps Aemond had not done enough to cultivate proper, respectful, fear in his men.

He did not know, mayhaps it was both.

But the world Aemond had carefully built was crumbling and he did not know how much longer he could withstand it.

He stood at his window, watching the sunset, watching the colors bleed into the skies, watching the ships as they came to beg and to kneel before his brother. Sleep did not come easily to him that night, and when he rose in the morning Daeron had already taken to the skies to patrol. Aemond ate, alone, in his chambers, as the castle woke around him.

Chapter 8: The Pretender

Chapter Text

Helaena IV

The letter had been sent, and more waiting followed. Rumors of lords fleeing Dragonstone came to them before the lords did, and the lords of Dragonstone came to them before Rhaenyra did. As did a letter from Lord Corlys, denouncing Princess Rhaenyra as a pretender, declaring Lady Rhaena the Velaryon heir as Baela had refuted it, and begging for mercy for the lives of his granddaughters.

Finally, six days after the letters had been sent, Rhaenyra came to them on ship back. She came in the late afternoon. Helaena watched her proceed through the halls of the Red Keep, the children of the pretenders at Helaena’s side. Daeron and Aemond remained close by, out in the skies on their mounts, and the guards in the Red Keep all wore the green armor of the Hightowers.

They would have to replace all the Gold Cloaks eventually. For now, the process was slow, as there were so many, but they could not be trusted. Ser Gwayne had been made Lord Commander of the City Watch and would work on it, Helaena knew. The rot would be rooted out and cleansed, the gold washed away to reveal what it was – black.

Rhaenyra came with only her Queensguard, Jacaerys, Lady Baela, Lord Corlys and some Velaryon sailors on the Lady Laena. There was a brief scuffle of some of the remaining and some of the old Goldcloaks as they’d docked, who sought to free the daughter of Daemon, but Vhagar and Tessarion had been in the sky. They had no hope of winning. The resistance was short.

Rhaenyra and her entourage were taken to the dungeons at once. Rhaenyra’s eyes did not leave her a single moment as she passed, her red rid eyes filled with hate. Jacaerys stared at his brother’s, not Helaena, as he passed, his face red and puffy, yet his head held high. Helaena watched him go, the tense lines of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. She could almost see snowflakes following in his wake, could almost see the carpets dampen, wet, as his foot trailed snow and blood and regret. The rest of the crew of the ship came with them, but Helaena knew not their faces and cared not for their names.

There was a noticeable absence amongst the entourage of her half-sister – her infamous Mistress of Whispers, Lady Mysria. Lord Larys was certain that she’d had something to do with Jaehaerys’ murder, but she was not amongst the people on the Lady Laena.

Lord Larys assured her he’d find where she went, and Helaena hoped it would be soon. Daemon was dead, her half-sister was in their custody and would surrender, and that left only the Lady Mysaria left with the murder of her babe.

Aegon the Babe, Viserys, and Joffrey had wept to see their mother, arms outstretched, and Rhaena had kept her tears held in although her face was a ruin of desperation and misery but Helaena had not cared. It was over. That was all she cared about. There were no bells tolling in her future, no open grave waiting for the corpse. Once she’d knelt and made her obeisances, Rhaenyra would be allowed to see her babes before they were scattered to the Realm for safekeeping.

It would be in the morning, when the sun rose, it had been declared. Helaena waited it with bated breath.

After they’d been sent away, Helaena went to see husband. Aegon was sitting up in his bed, at the edge of it, several pillows mounted against his back for the support when she came in, surrounded by maesters. Several maesters came to help him stand and he took slow, wobbling steps until he came before Helaena. Each step took considerable effort, and although he masked his pain his ruined face was set uncomfortably so as he did.

They did not think the hair on half of his head would grow back. The skin there was sensitive, and he would have to wear something to cushion the crown against it, so that it did not injure him. All Helaena could see when she stared at him, though, was her brother.

“I will not be carried,” Aegon told her, wincing although the smile on his face was warm. “Not to the throne, at least. Mayhaps to the hall, but not to the throne.”

Some of the puffiness of the milk of the poppy had faded, as he drank it less often, and half his face was still bandaged. He would wear the golden mask tomorrow, for kneeling, but not today. Not in the comforts of his chambers. He was still a ruined thing. But he was a ruined thing that was healing. Aegon swallowed, leaning heavily against a wooden cane, grasping tightly at the firefly handle. His steps were stiff and slow, but still he walked.

“I will walk,” Aegon told her, heavily. “I will.”

Helaena smiled at him. “You will.”

“You will walk with me. I want…you stand by my side when she kneels. The pretender,” Aegon told her. “You and Jaehaera.”

Helaena did not argue. She would be glad to be there. She stayed for some time, as Aegon practiced walking. It was not his first time. He did it slowly, a little every day so that he would not tire himself out and because it brought him pain. Every day his steps got stronger; his breath did not leave him so easily. The cane gifted by Lord Larys helped much. It was not an easy thing. But it was coming to.

When he grew tired, and lay down to rest, Helaena went to her daughter who was wide awake in her rooms, sitting by her toys but not playing with them. Jaehaera clutched her favorite doll, a black-haired thing she’d named Beetle, close to her chest. Helaena knelt by her, and Jaehaera stared up at her with worried eyes.

“Rats, rats,” Jaehaera whispered.

Helaena kissed her on the top of her head. “The rats have come to beg obeisance. Their teeth and claws have been taken, leaving but the tail,” Helaena said.

Jaehaera nodded, swallowing, hugging her doll to herself. “Papa?”

“He is feeling better, child. He wishes you to walk with him and I tomorrow, when Rhaenyra kneels,” Helaena said. “He will need our strength.”

“I’ll give it to papa,” Jaehaera said, quietly. “I’ll save it up for him. So will Beetle.”

Helaena kissed her again, lips lingering on her forehead. “So will I.”

She stayed in that room with Jaehaera and her dolls for a little bit of time, watching her play with her toys. Eventually, the maids came in the bath Jaehaera and get her ready for bed. Helaena kissed her yet again, promising to be up early the next morning to dress with her, and then she quietly left.

She greeted Daeron as he came in for the night. Aemond would linger longer, he’d told her, clasping Helaena by the arms warmly and then pausing as if he did not know if he was allowed.

It was uncomfortable, to be touched as such. Helaena did not move, though. There were no tents, there was no fire, there were no lost dragons never to return. There was no lost little wooden soldier, alone in the world. He was home.

Daeron looked at her with mother’s eyes, with large brown eyes from a round face, and Helaena smiled at him.

And it was nice to see him again, to feel his hands on her arms even the touch was different and uncomfortable. Daeron had been so small when he’d left with his dragon egg, waiting for it to hatch. Mother had wept so, to see him go. Helaena had felt an absence she thought would never return, had almost felt as if she was saying goodbye to him forever.

It was nice to be wrong.

“It’s good to have you back,” Helaena told him. “Truly.”

That he’d been back for days did not matter, and he did not mention it.

Daeron grinned. “It’s good to be back, although I’d hoped to return a knight. Where do you head to, sister? I can walk you.”

Helaena shook her head. “You need rest, I think. Ser Fell and Ser Throne will escort me, you need not worry.”

Daeron glanced at the Kingsguard as they followed behind her, and nodded, although reluctantly. “Alright…but I am close, if you need me, Hel.”

“And I will call you if I do,” Helaena promised. “Rest. Tomorrow awaits.”

“You rest as well, sister,” Daeron told her, releasing her and moving away.

The dungeons were chilly, the walk to them long. Winter was upon them, and the fires of the dungeon did little to warm her. Neither did the torches that lined the walls. Helaena met Lord Larys and his guards behind him as she walked to it.

“My Queen, I presume you’ve come to lay out the deal to Lord Corlys?” Lord Larys asked.

“Yes, have you had any luck finding out where Lady Mysaria went to?” Helaena asked.

“Not…quite. I have heard from the lords that she fled to Myr, to Yi Ti, to Braavos, and to Dorne. I am hoping the Lady Rhaenyra will know where her mistress of whispers has fled to, and presuming she has abandoned them, will give her up. Mayhaps even her Hand will know, although he was Hand for a very short time. I have heard he only recently accepted the position.”

Helaena nodded. “I will inquire about it with him,” she said.

If Lord Corlys could tell her, it would spare some time. Helaena did not know if they could spare men to this time to search all of Essos and Dorne, nor did she think it would be realistic to find her. Not unless Helaena was able to see something that pushed her in the right direction, but as of late nothing had come to her.

They walked a little together before they parted. The cells had been kept separate, to avoid conspiring, as little was the likelihood of that happening. She found Lord Corlys in a cell, alone, sitting at a lumpy straw bed. Lady Rhaena followed after Helaena, arms chained, guards on either of her side. The Kingsguard kept close to Helaena, although not so close she felt chafed.

When Lord Corlys saw Lady Rhaena he stood, pressing himself tightly against the cells doors. He seemed to not mind the cold.

“Rhaena!” Lord Corlys said, and Lady Rhaena burst into tears.

“I am sorry, I am so sorry. I don’t know,” Lady Rhaena hiccupped, weeping, “I don’t know how we got caught! I failed you, you and the queen, I am sorry.”

Lord Corlys pressed deeper into the gate. “You didn’t fail, Rhaena, I did. I should have protected you. I should have insisted you went with more than two f*cking infants to guard you. Are you well? Are you injured?”

Lady Rhaena shook her head. “I-I am fine. They have done nothing to me but stick me in a room and leave me to wait.”

“We have no intention of causing injury where it is not needed,” Helaena interrupted, staring.

Torchlight flickered and shadows danced on the walls yet no one but her seemed to see them. A lone snake drifted alone at sea. A girl on a small dragon sailed the skies. A boy stood watch on the wall, disappearing in a snowstorm. A dagger lay on the ground, alone. A weirwood burned. A raven flew in the distance, a set of blue eyes in its mouth. All of it disappeared, turning back to just shadow, and she came back to herself as Lady Rhaena and Lord Corlys stared at her.

“Why have you come, and not your king?” Lord Corlys demanded. There was something like bitter mockery in his tone.

“He has sent me in his stead,” Helaena said, tightly. “And you are in no place to question that. You would do well to look around, my Lord.”

“You are….correct, my apologies, your Grace. What have you come for? I did not expect you,” Lord Corlys voice was tight, strained, but level.

“There are several things that must be discussed before the morrow,” Helaena said. “Starting with where is the Lady Mysaria. She was not amongst you, and she has much to answer for.”

Lord Corlys looked surprised to hear the name, freezing as his hand clenched at the bars of his cell. “You wish to know where the harlot is?”

“I have heard she knows the Red Keep because of her ties with Prince Daemon, and that she helped murder my son. Yes. I desire to know where she is,” Helaena said.

“I…do not know. I did not deal with her. She worked only with the Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, whispered in her ear at all hours. I had assumed she fled back to her old home of Yi Ti, or to Myr where she had originally desired to flee.”

“You did not come on the Sea Snake. Where is it?” Helaena asked.

“It was stollen in the night, as were many of my ships. Many were…not content with the terms offered to us,” Lord Corlys said. “They snuck out in the night, like catspaws and cravens.”

Helaena’s eyes narrowed, and she tried to tell if the Sea Snake was lying, but it was a hard thing for her to gauge. She did not know Lord Corlys well. His eyes moved, periodically, to Lady Rhaena as if to make sure she was still there, and Helaena did not know why he’d lie about the whereabouts of Lady Mysaria when both his granddaughters were now in her hands.

“You will swear to this?” Helaena asked. “That you know not her location? If it is found that you do, whatever offers we make will be considered void. Do you understand this? I will not be lied to.”

Lord Corlys’ jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I understand. I would not lie to you to protect some upstart whor* of Daemon.”

No, Helaena did not think he would. She hoped Lord Larys would have better luck with her half-sister.

“You have come to renounce the Lady Rhaenyra. We received your letter, and your requests. Yet you have not declared for the king. House Velaryon declares neutrality, in your letter,” Helaena said, slowly. “You have abandoned her, but do not officially throw in with King Aegon.”

Lord Corlys grimaced. “That is correct.”

“Why?” Helaena asked.

“I…assumed it would not matter. My allegiance could not be doubted from the start, I could hardly expect to replace the flag I waved and expect it to be so readily accepted,” Lord Corlys said, slowly, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at her.

“That is very well true, is it not? You are in quite the predicament as it is. Your children dead, three of your supposed grandsons bastards, your brother murdered, and only two granddaughters to pass on your direct bloodline, although you have many cousins that can take up your mantle and your throne…I expect it is not what you imagined when you pushed Ser Laenor on mine half-sister all those years ago,” Helaena mused, watching as Lord Corlys’ jaw clenched and twitched. “And now you are meant to go to the Wall or to the headsman for your crimes, and the life of your granddaughters hangs in the balance. One, a traitor who took her dragon to the battlefield and almost murdered mine uncle, and another, who has done nothing but declare for the wrong side. Yet…luck is on your side. We might yet have an alternative for you.”

“Speak it, then. Say the words,” Lord Corlys said, tensely.

Her guards rustled behind her, but Helaena held up her hand and the relaxed.

“You will renounce the elder sons of Lady Rhaenyra – Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey – as bastards. You will do so before the throne. When the lords of the Realm come to kneel and seek obeisance to my husband, you will kneel with them again and pledge loyalty to King Aegon, again, and declare the boys bastards to the Realm, again. The children of Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela will also come to kneel to the throne. House Velaryon will send hostages to House Targaryen. You will pay a heavy mulct. Lady Rhaena will marry mine uncle, Ser Gwayne, when she turns ten-and-six and will remain your heir,” Helaena said. “You will keep your head and will not be made to go to the wall, although as long as you remain Lord of Driftmark you will pay extra fines to Dragonstone. Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena will be allowed to live, and to continue the Velaryon line.”

Lady Rhaena looked worried, watery eyes dancing to Lord Corlys who remained stone-faced.

“But she will marry a Hightower,” Lord Corlys protested. “Do you seek to take mine line, too?”

“Her sons will be granted the name of Velaryon when they ascend the Driftwood throne, as will Lady Rhaena when she takes it by the side of her husband,” Helaena offered. “It was an offer you took in reverse, once upon a time. It is a kindness we need not offer, and yet we do. For now. Should it displease you, the wall is there for you, or the headsman.”

Mother had spoken to Aegon and her about the ladies Baela and Rhaena, especially in light of Lord Corlys letter. It had been decided that this was the best course to take. Long had House Velaryon been an ally to House Targaryen, and they did not wish to see its end because the current lord had been foolish and grasping. Helaena did not think they could walk back from where they were…. but she did not think they needed to erase them, either. Ser Vaemond was dead, and to replace them with one of the cousins of Lord Corlys did not promise that no problems would arise later, anyway.

It would also be easier to keep Lord Corlys in line with these marriages. They thought the Sea Snake would serve them better corralling his family and keeping them in line than he would at the Wall, even if it was not as satisfactory.

“They are not bastards!” Lady Rhaena protested, angrily, attempting to wipe the tears from her face but her arms had been shackled to her waist and it clanked instead as her hand jerked.

Lord Corlys breathed deeply through his mouth and let it out through his nose. “…they are bastards. I will admit this to the Realm. I will admit it a thousand times if I must. The other terms are….agreeable as well.”

Helaena looked towards Lady Rhaena, who seemed as if she wished to denounce this. “Your sister still lives, does she not? You will take the Driftwood throne, as the lady wife of mine uncle, if you stop resisting. Continue, and we will send you both to the Silent Sisters and have another take the Driftwood throne after the death of your grandsire, or better yet, remove it from him entirely now. There are yet Velaryon kin mine uncle can wed. We need not include you at all,” Helaena said. “We offer this, to mend the branches of our family, as best as can be done in these times. Branches you have broken. We do so that you might not be skipped. But we need not be so generous in our terms.”

“What of Baela?” Lady Rhaena asked, after a long moment of silence.

“She will wed Ser Emory Hill. He makes his way with the Lannister’s army. If you desire to take the throne, she will need to wed him – for your sake as well as ours. She will wed Ser Emory when he arrives, and then return to Casterly Rock, and you will stay in the Red Keep until your marriage in two years time,” Helaena said.

Ser Tyland had been the one to put forth Ser Emory, his bastard nephew. Ser Emory was leal, was strong of mind and heart and quite adept with his sword, Ser Tyland said. He would not cow from the anger of Lady Baela, and if she was so keen to marry a bastard, well, there was one for her.

Furthermore, they would have to make Baela the heir to Lord Corlys unless they sought to legitimize, even a little, King Viserys’ desire to name his heir. But if Lady Baela married a bastard…and he remained illegitimate, well, then she was disqualified.

“I-I can’t do that to Baela,” Lady Rhaena said.

“She will not face better prospects,” Helaena said. “If you refuse, she might marry Lord Jasper instead. His latest wife has passed in childbed, and he seeks another. Or mayhaps she will wed mine grandfather. Or mayhaps she will be sent to the Silent Sisters. But she will not be given a better option. This is the only time we give you this option. Furthermore, if you desire Driftmark even in the slightest, this is the marriage that will allow it. Otherwise, as the eldest, it will go to Baela.”

They didn’t truly need permission, but if there was less fighting on the way to the altar, than it would be all the easier. Especially for whoever took Driftmark.

Lady Rhaena looked away; jaw clenched.

“These are the terms we offer. We offer them today, and only today. In the morning the terms will be rewritten, and they will not be so kind.”

Lady Rhaena stared at Helaena, hard, and then her eyes darted to her grandsire. Their eyes seemed to communicate, and Lady Rhaena’s breathing became slower, less erratic. She closed her eyes, tightly.

“I will…consent to this,” Lady Rhaena said. “I will consent to this father’s body is returned to me. I want him to have a proper Targaryen funeral. I want him returned, to lay with his blood. I want to see him. I want to bury him myself.”

Helaena considered it. They had to bring back Prince Daemon, anyway, even if Lady Rhaena was in no place to make demands. “I accept these terms.”

Helaena left after they’d agreed, wondering if Lord Larys managed to get the whereabouts of Lady Misery. She considered speaking to the traitors herself. There was much unsaid, she knew. A lifetime of words never spoken, but Helaena had not the strength. She was tired, and sleep called – and with such a heavy day coming up, she returned to her chambers and allowed the others to hammer in the terms to her half-sister and her bastard.

Helaena dreamed of snowy white fields as far as the eye could stretch, of weeds growing from the cracks of the ice, and snow melting on green fields. She dreamed of a dark-haired boy in a tree, wrapped tightly in it. She dreamed of a knife sticking out of a blue-eyed corpse. She dreamed of the dagger as mother wielded it, running at Rhaenyra to get to Lucerys, and she dreamed of it falling from her grasp and continuing to fall, fall, fall until it stabbed into ice and broke it. The ice shattered, and as it shattered, it melted and greenery sprung up. Spring came, bright and green and so full of life.

Morning could not come quickly enough. Helaena slept little, and she knew Aegon slept little as well. He’d taken milk of the poppy, but only a little of it, and when he’d woken way before dawn he was unable to sleep again.

“Do you think she will do it? Kneel?” Aegon asked Helaena, early in the morning, as the birds began to sing and they had laid next to each other for some odd number of hours in silence.

“She will,” Helaena assured. “She has no choice, my king.”

Aegon turned his head and smiled at her, his eye crinkling as did the bandages covering half of his face. “…my queen,” he murmured, softly.

Helaena rose and had her ladies take her clothing to her daughter’s rooms so that they could dress together. They wore similar dresses, cloth-of-gold, embossed with dragon scale like designs along the torso and arms. On their caps of red and black they wore the Targaryen sigil. They wore emerald jewels – Helaena wore a string of them around her waist and at her neck, two of them in her ears, and several rings of them whilst Jaehaera wore a little necklace with a heavy emerald. She carried her doll, Beetle, with her as well, who was in a splendid cloth-of-gold dress.

Aegon had the crown of Queen Alysanne pulled from the vaults and given to Helaena. It was a slim thing, made of pure gold, set with seven gemstones of the colors of the Seven Who Were One.

Aegon wore the golden dragon on blue beetled scales Helaena had made on his clothing, proudly, as well as gold, green, and black silk. His bandages were fresh and clean on his face and body, and had been painted with gold, green, silver and blue dragon scales. He wore no cape, as it was hard for him to move in. He sat at the edge of his bed as they came in, eyes closed, his burned face visible.

Helaena and Jaehaera had come into his rooms before he had dawned the mask, and Jaehaera recoiled, tears in her eyes when she saw her father for the first time in weeks. Aegon winced, as Helaena knelt down and soothed her daughter’s hair.

“It is papa, he is just hurt,” Helaena whispered, softly.

“P-papa?” Jaehaera asked, slowly.

Jaehaera moved towards him, shyly, looking back to Helaena as if for confirmation. Helaena smiled at her, walking behind her, and Jaehaera stopped to lay a hesitant hand against her father’s knee as he sat at his bed.

“It’s me,” Aegon said, voice rough. He cleared it. “It’s me, Jaehaera.”

“Does your face hurt? It looks bad,” Jaehaera said, quietly.

Aegon snorted a laugh and wiped a tear. “A little, but I feel better every day.”

“Do you want to carry Beetle?” Jaehaera offered, holding up her doll.

Aegon smiled at her, his good hand pushing down the doll into Jaehaera’s arms again. “I will have to ask you hold him for me, daughter. But mayhaps another day. I can use the help.”

He put the mask on, and it seemed heavy and cumbersome, but it covered the reddish burn of his face. Some cotton was placed on his head, to cushion it for his crown, and Ser Cole brought it and place it on his head as he sat.

Aegon was carried just outside the Throne Room, and then placed gently down so that he could walk it’s length to the Iron Throne. Helaena held her daughter’s hand as they walked with him to it, and then sat next to him on the offered chairs. She heard the gasps of those who had not seen his face and was proud that Aegon did not falter.

Lord Corlys was called to the room first. He knelt, heavily, in front of Aegon on both knees. “Your Graces, my King, my Queen. I have come to beg pardon for my crimes. I have been blinded. The sons of Rhaenyra Targaryen are no grandchildren of mine, they are bastards, begotten out of wedlock and unfit to rule, as is Rhaenyra Targaryen. In the name of House Velaryon, I swear obedience and loyalty to House Targaryen and King Aegon, second of his name, and forsake my treachery do them,” Lord Corlys’ voice echoed in the halls.

Aegon moved in his seat, shifting. He leaned in. “I accept your apologies and grant you mercy. Until your mulct is paid, you will stay in the Red Keep, but will be moved from the dungeons, Lord Corlys.”

Rhaenyra came next. She was made to go second because Aegon wanted the announcement of her son’s bastardy to proceed her. Her face was hard when she stepped forward, free of tears, and yet her eyes almost glinted in the light that filtered through the hall. She knelt before Aegon, placing the crown she had carried at his feet as guards came to take it from her and lay it on Aegon’s lap.

Helaena squeezed her hands tightly together, moving them to embrace and lift Jaehaera to her lap when Jaehaera let out a quite gasp and shifted in her seat, and she shyly turned to his in her mother’s shoulder.

“The monster,” Jaehaera whispered, quietly. “Jaehaerys…”

Helaena kissed her forehead. “She is defeated, daughter, she is monster no more,” she whispered.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenyra started, voice tight and yet resigned. “I have come to…seek pardon for my treachery. I have come to renounce my claim, and to uphold the laws of the Realm to King Aegon the Second and his bride.”

“You admit your treachery. You admit your sons are bastards,” Aegon demanded.

There was a long, heavy pause. Rhaenyra stared up at them with spite and desperation. Finally, she spoke, her voice cracking, “I admit it, your Grace.”

“Say it then,” Aegon demanded.

“My sons are bastards…and I am not fit to rule. I am a traitor to the Realm,” Rhaenyra admitted, quietly, her voice echoing in the silent rooms.

“So you have finally admitted. Your treachery is great, as is the blood on your hands,” Aegon said, voice slowing just a little. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “May the gods forgive you, although you will not meet them this day. Neither will your bastards. Nor your trueborn sons. Lady Rhaenyra, you may rise. Traitor to the realm, false queen and pretender, you have no place at court or in this throne room.”

Rhaenyra bowed her head and left. Jacaerys came next, pledging his loyalty to the true king, admitting his bastardly, and Lady Rhaena and Baela came after him. Lady Rhaena said her oaths, her hands in her lap, her voice calm and while not pleasant, soft. Lady Baela spat her’s as if they were poison. Joffrey Waters came last, before the lords of Rhaenyra, his words cut with piercing cries.

Finally, the lords came. There was no lord that refused to kneel. Lord Alfred Broome, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, and Lord Gormon Massey chose the wall, and their heirs stepped forward to kneel to Aegon and Helaena after them. Then came the so-called Queensguard. As Ser Erryk had died dueling his twin, there was but Ser Steffon Darklyn and Ser Lorent Marbrand.

“You have betrayed your oaths to the King,” Aegon started, heavily. He was tired, Helaena could see, although he did not let it stop him. “Yet have served your pretender Queen dutifully. With honor. I find that I need guards for mine wife and daughter. You will be given the chance of swearing loyalty to me, of kneeling and taking an the kingsguard oath anew, or of joining your last truthful king in death. False Queensguard you have been, true Queensguard you can be. Speak,” Aegon demanded.

Ser Lorent Marbrand knelt first. “I so swear to ward the King Aegon and Queen Helaena with all my strength and give my blood for theirs. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. Long may the King Aegon reign. Long may he live. Long may the Queen Helaena live. Long may she live.”

Ser Steffon Darklyn was not so willing. “I swear no oaths to the usurper. I will die with my oath intact.”

“Then you will die,” Aegon said.

Ser Steffon was taken away by the guards. Silence reigned in the Throne Room. Aegon looked out, the crown atop his head, his breathing heavier. Knights came and went, some in chains for the dungeons, to be taken to the wall, some to be taken to the headsman.

Helaena watched them all come and go as Aegon tried to keep his composure. They would not all be seen this day, she knew. There were many traitors, and many more to come. Lord Cregan Stark was supposedly in the Riverlands, marching for them now, although if he heard the news of his loss, Helaena did not know.

Finally, in the afternoon, the preceding was called to an end, to allow for rest and food, to be returned to in a day’s time. Aegon stared out at the gathered crowd, sweat on his brow.

“The traitor has been dealt with. The blockade has ended. It is time for celebrations, and for healing,” Aegon said. “The wealth of Dragonstone is to be used and spread amongst my people, for their suffering. You have endured. We have endured. And now we have won. Let us make merry. I will return what was taken from you. Taken from us.”

That had been unexpected, Helaena thought. Aegon had not thought to warn her of his decision.

Aemond would not be pleased.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, along with thunderous clapping. Helaena winced at the sound of it, and she felt her daughter’s small hands come up to clasp over her ears. Helaena gave Jaehaera a shaky smile, and her daughter returned it.

When they returned to their chambers, Aemond waited for them, leaning heavily against the wall. Daeron sat by their bed, rising when they came in, eyeing Aemond as Ser Cole did.

“The wealth of mine castle is to be spread, is it?” Aemond demanded.

“It is,” Aegon said, breathlessly, and while Helaena could hear the tremor in his voice he refused to budge. “It was Rhaenyra the Pretender’s, once, even if falsely. And it was used to hurt my people. Not anymore. What suffering they have endured will be fixed by the hand that spread it.”

“And what am I to rule over, sh*t and empty coffers?” Aemond argued.

“I never said…that they would be…emptied,” Aegon said, tiredly. Daeron moved closer, as did Ser Cole, and Aemond looked at them angrily. “You will have what remains…and you will build it anew, until mine son takes it.”

“You have no son,” Aemond argued.

“Brother,” Daeron warned, but Aemond ignored him.

“Watch how you speak to your King, my Prince,” Ser Cole warned, stern.

Aemond glared at him, but Daeron moved forward and clasped Aemond on the shoulder before he could speak.

“Aegon is tired, Aemond. You should leave,” Daeron said, moving in front of Aegon and hiding him from Aemond’s gaze. “Besides, we need to rest. Whilst the lords come across the Realm, we must keep watch.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched. “Fine. Sleep well, brother,” he spat, and left.

“You should have warned us, your Grace. It was a bold move,” Ser Cole said, tiredly, running a hand though his hair. “He is already provoked, I fear.”

“The castle is mine…and so is its wealth. It....it is meant to go to my real heir… not to the one that merely holds it to keep it warm,” Aegon argued. He closed his eyes, his hand on the cane shaking. “I…I will not…be cowed.”

“You have done well, brother,” Daeron said, clasping Aegon warmly on his good shoulder, mindful not to be too rough. “I am proud to call you, my king. And you my queen, sister.”

Helaena smiled at Daeron, moving closer to him – she did not touch him this time, but she enjoyed being near him. It had been a long time since they were children, scavenging in the dirt for crickets and worms. Daeron really was a man grown now.

“Thank you, brother,” Helaena said.

“And you, my princess. You behaved most bravely this day,” Daeron told Jaehaera and she smiled, moving a little more away from Helaena’s shoulder, giggling.

“Beetle helped,” Jaehaera said, holding up her doll a bit.

“All the best dolls do,” Daeron said.

They left, taking Jaehaera back to her rooms so that she could rest after such a long and tiring morning. Helaena lingered with her husband, helping him lay back down in his bed, his cane within reach, as Ser Cole moved to guard outside their door.

Lord Larys came to them, to give them grim news – Lady Rhaenyra did not know the whereabouts of her mistress of whispers, although she seemed to think it in Myr or in Lys. Their Master of Whispers would extend his reach to look for her, but for now, he did not have her location.

It dampened Aegon’s mood, as it did Helaena’s, although she did her best to raise her husband’s spirits. Their victory was monumental, even if this was not quite as they’d hoped.

Helaena sat next to Aegon’s bed, working on designs for a new dress, something with horses to remind her of her son when her husband slowly looked to her, his expression meaningful. Helaena lay her work down on her lap and waited for him to speak.

“What will I do with him?” Aegon asked her, as he fully lay down, his leg back in the sling as he found it comfortable, his eyes closed. They had put cushioning on the throne, and yet it had still been a rough day. His hand clenched the bed sheets. “I-I…I cannot…”

“We will be safe. Jaehaera will be safe. You will be safe,” Helaena said, leaning into him, not touching him but close.

She closed her eyes. Jaehaerys. She missed him so much it ached. He had come from her body, a frighting thing at the time that moved in her like a parasite, but that had come with such strong lungs.

It had taken months for Helaena to feel something towards him and Jaehaera. She had told no one that, fearful they would think her a monster. But she came to love them.

“We will. And Aemond…I do not know. Mayhaps grandfather will be able to…,” Helaena trailed off, unable to make herself believe the words even as she said them.

“He is all grandfather wanted. I doubt he will be angry,” Aegon said, spitefully, his words breaking halfway through. “He will…he will fetch Daemon’s body. Vhagar is big enough as is. And he likes to use her, anyway. It is quicker to spread news by dragon. Let him…scour the Realm…root out the traitors…never return.”

Helaena moved the hair from Aegon’s forehead and he opened his eyes blearily to look at her. Rhaenyra was no longer a threat, and neither was Daemon.

And yet they were not truly safe yet.

Aemond was still there.

Aegon closed his eye as Helaena’s fingers brushed his head. “The mask…I hate it.”

“You need not wear it,” Helaena told him.

“Maybe…eventually….when the skin heals more, I will throw it,” Aegon said, tiredly. He seemed to rouse a little and opened his eyes to look at her again.

“You will heal,” Helaena murmured, confidently, brushing his hair from his face.

It did not seem to calm Aegon, though. He squeezed his eye shut. “I cannot…Jaehaera is my heir. I cannot have another. The maesters say….we need to do something. Or he will cause problems.”

The burnt wooden king fell, and the world went cold. Blood soaked into the ground as if being greedily drunk, and a seed that had been planted never grew. Helaena did not know what it meant, but it made her fearful.

“We will protect her,” Helaena said, fiercely. “We will.”

She could not lose Jaehaera, not when the loss of Jaehaerys was an ache she would never recover from, would never forget.

Her brother licked his lips. “Yes. We will,” he said, just as fierce.

They lingered, Helaena continuing her embroidering as her husband rested, and soon midday turned to evening which turned to night and they tucked in for sleep. But Helaena found herself waking constantly, the chill creeping into her bed as if she was sleeping with snow. The sound of her blood rushing in her ears sounded suspiciously like ice cracking, and when she closed her eyes, she saw the glow of icy blue eyes staring at her.

At least she was not the only one. Aegon slept little, waking as oft as she did, and Helaena did not think it was because of the pain. He looked at her occasionally as they lay there awake, their nerves bared for both to see without either having to say anything.

Eventually, as the sun rose and the morning came to greet them, Helaena spoke. Her voice cracked, and she had to clear it once

“I have a favor to ask, brother,” Helaena said, softly.

Aegon’s eye opened again, and he stared at her, already awake and alert. “Ask away, if I can…” he trailed off, whispering too.

“Your dagger…the one mother nearly stabbed Rhaenyra with. Did stab her with. Might I have it?”

He had taken it from Aemond, not too long ago. Had asked Ser Cole to being it to him, for he wanted it back. Now it lay by his bedside, a thing untouched, a trophy returned. A show of might that Aegon was both eager to yield, and fearful to hold.

Aemond still had Blackfyre…and that would have to be remedied at some point. He’d relinquished Aegon’s dagger, but Helaena feared he would not be so quick to relinquish Aegon’s sword.

“It is yours,” Aegon told her, eye closing again. “Take it. It is…yours.”

He drifted off to sleep, slowly, and Helaena stood and picked up the dagger. It glinted in the dying light of the torches, silver gleaming. When Helaena looked at it, she saw blue eyes glaring back, she saw fire burning in fields of snow, she saw bark bleeding red, as if bleeding blood.

She held the dagger and felt as if she was holding ice.

Helaena took the dagger and closed her eyes, clenching the handle in her hands until they ached, and tried to make sense of her dreams. But even though they made no sense, she knew what she had to do.

Chapter 9: The Lady Harrenhal and Her Ghosts Part 1

Chapter Text

Aemond II

Seeing off the bastard Jacaerys Waters on his way to the watch had been a pleasure. Aemond could have done with the excessive tears from his half-sister, Lady Rhaenyra, as she watched her son leave, but the deed had been done. Rhaenyra had shed more tears over her son’s departure than her husband’s demise, it would seem.

Quite honestly, Aemond almost thought his half-sister was unaware of her husband’s death. From what he’d heard, she hardly spoke of him at all. With father gone, it would seem the mourning of Prince Daemon would be left to his daughters. If they had time between mourning their brothers and their own fates, that is.

The issue of his coffers on Dragonstone had not only not been resolved, but feasts had sprung up in the Red Keep and out of it for the past few days since Lady Rhaenyra had knelt. Aemond despised every coin that came out. Seven days of feasts was excessive, even for his idiot of a brother.

He despised that no one saw it as his property more. Even Otto, who had arrived two days prior had merely remarked that there was cause to celebrate. Because of Helaena’s actions, the war had been won with less bloodshed than they’d thought necessary, the blockade had been stopped, and food was once again flowing into the city. The peasantry celebrated with food that they did not earn, from Aemond’s coffer. At least the servants of the Red Keep knew to keep their celebrations out of Aemond’s face. They went quiet when he entered a room, scurried away quietly, as they should.

The city celebrated, Aegon was unsufferable now – Aegon the Enduring, the King That Cared. The c*nt. Aemond could not stand it, but he took some comfort in that neither could Aegon. Not without aid. He remembered the way the maesters had put back his broken leg, the skin torn, the blood seeping out of burned skin, the yellow of the fat and the white of the bone.

Yet Aegon was doing better. He’d even started going to Small Council meetings in the meeting chambers, being carried by the Kingsguard there and back to his chambers. Aemond wasn’t needed anymore, he’d said. As if Aegon could do anything but ruin it all.

Aegon had even taken the dagger, after he’d taken Dragonstone’s coffers, and Aemond could not stand to see him, to look at him, to speak his name enough to storm into his room’s again to demand them back. He’d done so the once…and it had been unpleasant. The more he looked at Aegon, the harder Aemond found it, especially accompanied with all those accusing eyes.

That Aegon seemed to heal was just…rubbing salt into the wound. He was not meant to heal. He was mean to…no, he was just meant to be out of the way, not robbing Aemond of everything he’d sought. That he’d worked for.

Now, Aegon and Otto even sought to send Aemond away from King’s Landing, with the gathered Hightower army to reclaim Harrenhal and whatever remained of the body of Prince Daemon. Then to remain, and to force the surrender of the Winter Wolves as they made their march through the Riverlands, as well as the surrender of Lord Tully. Of course there was his own betrothed who was waiting for him after it all, at Storm’s End. Aemond had negotiated with Lord Borros Baratheon to wed her at the end of the war.

That end just came so much quicker and Aemond had much to do. But to send him away? As if he was not needed?

It was a joke. And like all of Aegon’s jokes, it was in bad taste.

“I am Prince Regent, not some hound to be sent away to gather the lost sheep,” Aemond argued, staring across the table at his grandfather. “Besides, I have the biggest dragon. I am needed here.”

“You are not needed here, Aemond. Lady Rhaenyra has surrendered. Her children are hostages. She is a hostage. Her eldest son has been sent to the wall, and now makes his way there. Her boys have been sent to their new homes, save for Joffrey, whose dragon is dead anyway. The dragons of Dragonstone have been locked up, the treasonous Dragonkeepers dealt with. While it is true the white worm is still lost, the Red Keep is well protected, inside and out. The city does not need you. What we need is to bring the Realm back from the ruin it was under.”

“Daeron is just as capable, as apparently is Helaena,” Aemond argued.

“Daeron’s Tessarion is impressive, yet she is still young, barely capable of being ridden. We seek to send the full force of House Targaryen to make its enemies kneel, to show that the crown is strong again,” Otto pushed back.

“Yet he was capable of guarding the skies?” Aemond interrupted. “And Helaena? She seems to know much, although she seldom acts on it.”

His eye…he vaguely recalled Helaena murmuring about closing an eye forever…how much did she know, and why had she not acted until now? It was infuriating.

“In times of war, when our dragon numbers were already low, yes,” Otto said. “It is no longer the case. As for Helaena, she is the Queen. Whilst her actions have exponentially won us this war, she is needed here, with her husband, as her duty demands of her. The king, you well know is recovering. You, on the other hand…”

Otto trailed off, sipping at his wine and staring at Aemond, who stiffened and glowered. There was a tone in his grandfather’s voice he did not like, that made him tense.

“You have created this very problem, now you seek to run from it?”

“And what problem have I created?” Aemond demanded, fists clenching on the table.

He shifted, tried to appear unbothered, but his body felt tense and coiled.

“You lost only one eye, boy, how are you so blind? This war did not start in its earnest bloodshed until you unjustly slew your nephew. Until then, it was but a war of ravens, one which we could have easily won with words,” Otto said.

“Does my loss mean so little that it can be disregarded as nothing?” Aemond seethed. “Unjust? It was anything but.”

“Your loss gained you a dragon, your loss would have been avenged when your brother sat the throne and Rhaenyra was stripped of the throne she falsely thought her’s,” Otto said.

“And yet the bastard would have sat the Driftwood throne, and you would have given them even Dragonstone for his bastard brother. I’ve heard your offer to them. It was more than generous; it was almost licking at their boots. A bastard Strong gifted Dragonstone and Driftmark, is that meant to be a punishment to him for taking my eye, or me for having it taken?” Aemond asked, jaw clenched.

“We sought peace,” Otto said.

“You sought a falsity. Peace was never an option whilst her bastards held the title prince, not after my eye was taken,” Aemond said, dismissively. “Even you knew that, once, and yet you still bent when mother demanded mercy for the pretender.”

Otto stared at him with open disgust. “Only one eye taken, and yet you are so blind to the whole of it.”

“Enlighten me, then, grandfather, one what I have missed so.”

“There was an avenue of peace, should we have taken it. One that would have served us both well. Lady Rhaenyra had begotten bastards, and sought to seat them on the throne, her oaths to the Realm were broken, and the Realm’s oaths to her could be broken in turn, stale as they were, made before a male heir was born, they were. She had been chosen to prevent Daemon from taking the throne, and she married him, ensuring that her ascension was no longer doing what it was originally proposed to do. Allies were being made. My work, I will remind you, brought the Triarchy to us, even though the fruit did not bloom until you took the seat. My work, with your name to it. And then all of my work, scattered to the wind when you come back to declare Lucerys son of Rhaenyra, dead.”

“Aegon did not disapprove,” Aemond said.

Aegon had celebrated, even, with a feast, despite disapproval from mother and Otto. It had been one of the few times his brother had actually been genuine when he’d celebrated Aemond.

“It was his folly, and yet it was not as foolish as the killing itself.”

“And you think she would have simply accepted it, had we won this war of ravens? And you call me blind,” Aemond accused, leaning in.

“Rhaenyra knew her position lacked in many ways, held but by the oaths of men long dead and a corpse that had once been king. Her only advantage was the dragons, and yet she risked their lives with it. Had we the time to push, to make her see that she could keep some pride and her son’s lives, blood need not have been spilled. You have very well seen that she will bend when her son’s lives hang in the balance, it was no different then.”

“So you admit there would have been no justice, only overindulgence served to sooth her anger over being justly passed,” Aemond sneered.

“You have sullied yourself,” Otto snapped.

“I did what no other had the courage to do,” Aemond argued. “And he was a just a bastard, and a traitor, justly slain as he stalked about attempting to steal my brother’s throne. That it was up to me was simply serendipity. That it was done at all was merely necessary.”

It had been an accident, out of his control. Vhagar had been…bloodthirsty, and Aemond had little control over the manner. Yet, he could not say that. He’d wanted it, even in the depths of his heart.

Justice had been avoided, justice had prevailed – and had taken two pounds of flesh and blood whereas it could have taken one.

Aemond had to believe that. He had little choice in the matter.

Getting a dragon was meant to give him control, not wrest it from him. If it was so easy for him to simply lose everything…when Aegon could damn well speak Common and his prance of a beast would comply with eagerness…Aemond could not even think on it.

“He was an envoy, boy, and your kin besides.” Otto said.

“You sought to slay them in their beds! And yet I am the one shunned for it?” Aemond demanded. “My kin besides…I am the kinslayer, that he lies dead, but he is nothing when my eye is taken, unjustly? Over words spoken to assailants in the night, who sought to rob me of my accomplishments?”

“I sought to slay them quietly in their beds, you killed your nephew for all the world to see. Whatever sympathy you had for your eye is long gone, as is your youth,” Otto said. “The winds changed with this action, and whatever advantage we had before the war started in earnest, lost. Because of you. I would call it incompetence, but that would be a kindness.”

It felt like such hypocrisy Aemond wanted to scream.

“I have done nothing but my duty,” Aemond seethed.

“You have done more, I have heard,” Otto said.

Aemond snorted, although he could feel his heart come to a stop. Did all of the bloody Realm know? “Tongues wag, do they?”

“Oh, but they do. Mayhaps not to your face, but I hear it all around me. The Reach is rife with it,” Grandfather Otto said, patiently, his calm scratching at Aemond’s skin.

“Then speak them, that I might now what I am accused of,” Aemond said, forcing the calm into his voice.

“I have heard rumors that you intend to murder the Rhaenyra’s boys in their cribs, to use their skulls as a goblet. That you celebrate the death of Prince Jaehaerys. That you orchestrated it yourself. That you did the deed yourself, even. It is whispered in taverns, at inns, by smallfolk and by the lords alike. Daemon the Younger, the call you. Heir for a Moon, they call you. Usurper, Aemond the Kinslayer, Aemond the Cursed. They say you will take your niece for wife as her father lay dying because you cling to the throne. The smallfolk have begun to use your name as a curse, were you aware of this? It is quite jarring to hear.”

“They will be silenced,” Aemond demanded. “Lies. All of it….lies.”

“If they are lies, than why are you so set to see them silenced?” Otto mused. “When your father was made to hear the rumors of the Queen Who Never Was, hounded by the title, even, he laughed, and said that tongues may wag. They will not change the succession. It was when he heard the so-called rumors – the truths – of your half-sister that he so desperately fought to hide them, afraid as he was of the truth. Do you fear the truth, boy?”

Aemond glared at him. “Have you forgotten yourself, in your brief reprieve, grandfather?”

Otto stared back at him. “Have you? You are the second son. You are not the king. Yet I see the Council flees from your presence, yet I see you skulking about, like a child who is losing his favorite toy, carrying around the king’s sword as if it was a prize of war. You are not the king, Aemond. You were never meant to be the king. And had you realized this earlier, you would have had an honored spot at the king’s table. Instead, you take after your uncle, sitting where he is unwanted, unneeded. A loose thread, ruining the tapestry.”

Aemond slammed his fist into the table, jaw clenched. “I would have been forgotten, set aside for that empty-headed c*nt who seeks to throw everything away for wine and whor*s.”

“He does seek to throw everything away for wine and whor*s, does he not?” Otto said, the derisive look on his face making Aemond’s blood boil.

“And yet you seek to uphold him,” Aemond said, just as derisive.

“I seek to follow the order of things, as they are meant to be. It has served me well. How stupid of you to throw that away. Do you think Viserys ruled much? How he enjoyed his tourneys, his wine, his tomes. He shunned the Small Council except when he was needed, and at times even then. He allowed the council reign even before his illness took root. He was agreeable to much, unless it dealt with his daughter. I imagine Aegon would have shunned it even more. And who would be there, to guide the Realm? The Hand. I will not live forever, and Aegon needs a strong Hand to guide his foolishness. Do you imagine that will be you, now?”

Aemond stared back, silently.

Otto scoffed, looking away, drinking from his wine again. He put the goblet down with an audible clink, chuckling. “No, it will never be you now. You think yourself so clever, memorizing tomes and old strategies of war, yet you are so blind it makes you stupid, boy. Had it not been for your sister, this war may have been lost. The Blacks had the superior dragon force. It is why we had to work in the shadows, why we had to court the realm, it was only their own folly that fought for us, not you. Had it been on your shoulders alone, we would have lost everything. Even now you flounder, incapable of seeing that, incapable of solid rule that does not require you strike fear in the hearts of even your allies.”

Aemond scowled, staring, unable to find words to speak. “…it is not true,” he finally said, lamely. He stared, hard, at his grandfather and tried to see if there was anything that spoke of his sympathy for Aemond’s loss of an eye – it had not been there years ago, though, he did not know why he felt is absence now. “How is it that you have sympathy for the pretender, and yet I am the one who has none?”

“Your loss was a tragedy, yet much was gained,” Otto said.

“Nothing was gained,” Aemond whispered. “I lied, to sooth mother. I thought you knew that. The dragon was mine by rights of our blood. I lost much, and gained what was always mine whilst that conniving bastard was able to keep everything that was never his. But father never would have seen it that way…he was determined to shield Rhaenyra from the consequences of her actions, as always. I had thought…”

Mother had sought to shield him…. there was a time Aemond could turn to her, trust her, and only her. He didn’t know where that woman had fled to, because the woman he looked at now was not the Alicent Hightower that had taken a knife to Rhaenyra to defend her son and bring justice to him. It was another, and whilst she bore the face of Alicent Hightower…she was not her. Not really.

It made Aemond’s stomach sick, to see the woman who had so fiercely defended him once, and to question if she even loved him anymore.

His grandfather stared at him, hard, and then looked away. Aemond despised the tears that threatened to gather at his eye, the heated prick of it. He blinked them away; at least glad he was no longer being scrutinized.

“You will go to Harrenhal as commanded. There is little you can do to ruin us now, but little does not mean nothing, so do keep in mind that it is not for Rhaenyra you fight, but for your family.”

He was sent back to his chambers, again a child in the face of a scolding. Aemond stared at the city line as soldiers made march for Harrenhal, as the Gold cloaks who had meant to make riot stared back sightlessly from the spikes of the Red Keep, a sign to all. Tessarion flew above, high in the sky, circling the city. For a brief moment, Aemond thought of the flight back from Driftmark, when he’d claimed Vhagar.

He, Aegon, and Helaena had flown over the city when the fever he’d gotten from his injury had died. Aegon had been quicker than them all, on the smallest of dragons between the three. Only Daeron had been missing, although Tessarion had not been large enough to fly at the time. Aemond had thought, one day, of flying with all his siblings over King’s Landing. How grand it would be. All of them, united, against Rhaenyra the Pretender. An unbroken line to defend their rights and their blood.

It was never to be. He did not know how he felt on that.

The servants had already been by to pack Aemond’s things, and they’d most likely already been placed in his luggage coffers at Vhagar’s back. Aemond was loathe to go, as if he was a dog to be commanded.

He was relieved, too, so that he did not have to stare back into the accusing eyes of the Red Keep, listen to the hollow silences, see the backs of people who fled when he came into a room – be it servant, mother, or maester, even.

Aemond lingered in his chambers, watching the world below him spin and churn. His departure meant nothing to them. The fools of King’s Landing had long started to chant the name of Aegon the Enduring as he sprinkled them with coins from Aemond’s coffers. Helaena would not miss him. Mother would not miss him. Daeron would not miss him.

Aegon…

Of course they continued to dismiss his injury – he lived, did he not? He obtained Vhagar, did he not? Forgetting that no other had ever needed to lose an eye to claim a dragon, forgetting the agony Aemond went through, that his injury had gone unpunished all these years. Even by mother, who forgot long enough to cheer Rhaenyra as a good future queen…lies, all of it.

Helaena had noticed, in the end…although she suffered him little now, and Aegon, well. He had always been a prick, and always looked down on Aemond anyway.

A knock sounded at his door, and Aemond turned around, scowling, ready to turn away whoever had come to see him. Mother came in, silently, and slowly walked towards him. She wore not green, but the white and blue of House Florent, the red fox embroidered into her gown’s front. Her hair was tied up and held back with a soft blue cloth and a wreath of twined silver and gold.

“I wanted to see you before you left,” mother told him, stopping before him. Her hand twitched, as if to touch him, but instead she touched the Seven-Pointed Star at her throat. “I hope you will be safe.”

Aemond turned from her, angrily, the sight of her sparking some fire in his chest he could not identify. Was it love or anger, or both? It was hard to separate them when he looked at his mother.

Was she hoping he’d be safe? Aemond doubted it. Maybe she secretly wished for him to be killed in the night, as Daemon had, and that was why they sent him to Harrenhal. A problem, meant to be hidden and gotten rid of in the dark of the night, by slight of hand and trickery.

He would bring food, just in case he suspected anything. They would have to be stupid to try it, but Aemond would be careful.

“I will be fine. It is but cravens and old fools who linger in Harrenhal,” Aemond scowled. “I am surprised you have come to me, and not to Rhaenyra, that you might cry over her marriage announcement.”

Lord Larys would take Lady Rhaenyra Targaryen to bride. Aemond had been surprised, more so that Lady Rhaenyra had stood by Lord Larys at the announcement. She had hardly looked pleased, although she did not denounce it. Not that it would have mattered much.

It made more sense to him when the announcement that Lord Larys would return to fully reclaim Harrenhal and have an heir was announced. That their half-wit half-sister had not attempted to wiggle out of it, to protest could be explained by the fact that Joffrey Waters was to be fostered at Harrenhal. Aemond assumed Rhaenyra had accepted the deal because it allowed her to remain close to one of her children.

It would be ironic if she had a son with her former lover’s brother, too, and put him on the Harrenhal seat whilst her bastard watched from the same castle. That alone made Aemond question why Larys of all people would take her, when she had little value now.

“Please, Aemond, do not be as such,” Mother said, softly, touching his arm.

Aemond did not turn around.

“I will…I will pray for your safe return,” mother said, softly, lingering for a moment before she left.

Aemond left soon after, taking not a carriage to the Dragonpit but a horse. He would arrive at Harrenhal well before the army, despite the fact that some had made their way already, but that mattered little to him. He was meant to linger in the castle until it was firmly under the control of the men his grandfather and Aegon sent, and then to go to the Tully’s after that. The fish were supposedly the glue that held the Riverlanders together. They needed to bend the knee, to know their fault for not aligning with the true king.

No other came to see him off. Aemond expected it…and did not allow his mind to dwell on it.

The trip to Harrenhal was tedious, if only because he was made to go, but there was something joyful about being able to fly without the tension of war on the horizon. Without eyes that followed him, hatefully. Not that Aemond would admit this to anyone. He landed Vhagar in the courtyard and was surprised to find a lone figure waiting for him, a good distance away.

It was a woman with long, black hair tied back in the odd braid of the Riverlands, almost like a fishtail as it came over her shoulder, with piercing, haunting green eyes. She was dressed in thick blue cotton, and played with a ring she held in her hands. The ring slid into her pocket when she saw Aemond fully dismount.

“You’re early,” the woman told him, head titled, haunting green eyes tracking him. She had an odd accent, and a strong voice that carried. “Although the slate is now blank. The rain has cleared it away, and now it is yours to paint.”

He felt a shiver crawl down his back, although he did not know why. He was hardly early, unless she counted for the army behind him, and Aemond did not know why this woman would.

“The castle will surrender, or burn,” Aemond said, disregarding her odd words.

“Again?” the woman asked, laughing, “Mine uncle, Ser Simon Strong, has already sent raven to King’s Landing to declare his loyalty to the king, and to declare that Harrenhal is his.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed. “You are Alys Rivers, then.”

“Alys Strong,” Alys corrected, smiling. She pulled a letter from her pocket, and it bore the king’s seal on it. “As of yesterday. I had assumed I’d been forgotten in the celebrations; it appears my faith was questionable.”

“Strong, then. Where are your traitorous kin?” Aemond demanded.

He’d considered hacking the heads off the lot of them as he’d flown, of seeing their blood drip down the stones as he took the castle for his own. Harrenhal was said to be soaked in blood – and if the rumors were true, supposedly worse. Mayhaps Aemond could make it all the worse. Under Aegon’s name. Let his grandfather see how ruinous Aemond could make things.

He knew that was not the option, though. Otto had sent Ser Bryndon Hightower and Ser Hobert Hightower to march with the approaching army to see to the execution. Larys would be coming behind them, along with Lady Rhaenyra and her son, Joffrey Waters. Most likely after the other lords of the realm were made to bend the knee to Aegon, but they would come.

These Strongs, the traitors, were cretins, all of them, not worth the dirt on his shoe…and yet Aemond could not stand the idea of the fault being levied at his feet for this, too.

Aemond the Cursed, Aemond the Kinslayer. It echoed in his head as well as that damned Pink Dread did. It was all he could see when he looked at himself, and now he seldom liked to look at himself.

It was frustrating enough on its own without more being heaped at him, unfairly.

“They are in the dungeons, those who have not fled already. Ser Simon is waiting in his chambers, several of his sons have fled, but his grandchildren wait,” Alys said. “The Rivers have been holding Harrenhal in the meanwhile.”

“A bold move,” Aemond said, looking around. “Were you given permission, or did you simply see an opportunity and take it?

Eyes peered at him from the castle. Dark eyes that reminded him of his bastard nephews. Rhaenyra had been lucky that Harwin did not call more of his family to the Red Keep in his tenure has Hand, or else her misdeed would have been all the more obvious. Harwin Strong had not fled soon enough as it was.

“Have we not all seen opportunities and simply….reached out our hand to take them?” Alys said, hand reaching out and yanking as if to grasp something in front of her.

“It is beyond your rights,” Aemond said, tightly.

“Is it?” Alys challenged, amused. “All come from the Rivers in this land, all shall return to it. Besides, mine uncle was not fit to rule…why now allow it to pass to someone more fitting? Especially as it was temporary. I carried no delusions that I would usurp my brother, of course. I know the nature of things. I was merely holding it for him while he was…away. Occupied, one might say.”

Aemond felt a shiver crawl down his spine as he looked over the once-bastard woman with a suspicious eye. She seemed unbothered by Vhagar, and Aemond did not know how he felt on that. Despite having but a day to her legitimacy, and still being but a legitimized bastard woman, she spoke boldly, too.

Too boldly. How she’d survived his uncle, Daemon, with such a bold tongue Aemond did not know. He jerked his head towards the castle, hand on this hilt of Blackfyre. “Take me to him. I would have words.”

“Daemon, or Simon?” Alys asked.

“Don’t be daft, wench, Daemon is dead,” Aemond snapped. “I mean to speak to Simon.”

“But the dead are not so quiet here, you will find,” Alys said, and curtsied. “But of course. Allow me to lead the way. Do mind your step, this castle can grasp at times, and is loath to let go.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed as they walked. What an odd thing to say. He wondered if it had something to do with his uncle’s body, if it ‘mysteriously’ disappearing. He would demand to see it next, but if the old man was actually dead than Aemond’s first concern was ensuring the inhabitant of this castle knew they had new lordship.

Ser Simon was an old, fat man with a short, white beard. He sat heavily in his chambers, an open bottle of wine next to his goblet. He wore fine, thick black velvet on top of cloth of gold. When Aemond stepped in, his goblet had been brought to his lips, but Ser Simon lowered it and stood, his eyes weary.

He bowed, deeply. “My prince, you are welcome.”

“Am I? Yet you do not come out to great me, I am made to come to you,” Aemond said, tightly.

“I am no longer the castellan, your…Grace? My prince?” Ser Simon, said, hesitantly. “Alys Rivers runs it in my stead, while I wait for my fate.”

“It appears she did take that liberty, aye,” Aemond said, turning to look at the woman in question.

“Aye, unless you desired that the traitor to run it in my stead? We have discussed this as is,” Alys said, amusedly. “You are here, now. She is yours.”

She is yours. It rang quite nicely in his ear, despite its falsities. This was the castle of Lord Larys, and it fit, ruined as it was. Disastrous to look at as it was.

Aemond looked around. Ser Simon’s rooms were grand, exquisite. Far too much for such a traitor, far grander than some of the castle he’d seen.

“You will move yourself to the dungeons, or I will move you,” Aemond said.

“The dungeons are…. quite uninhabitable, your Grace,” Ser Simon said. “We’ve seldom had use for them.”

“I did not ask, did I?” Aemond sneered. “You will move to them, or you will feed Vhagar.”

Ser Simon looked to him fearfully and nodded. “A-at once, your Grace.”

Aemond watched him leave, taking little with him but the goblet. It would be several days before Ser Brynden and Ser Hobert and their men arrived, and several more days – mayhaps a few moons even -- until Lord Larys and Lady Rhaenyra arrived. Aemond had but to wait for the Hightower army, though, and these rooms were as good as any for him to take.

“Shall I take you to Prince Daemon, now?” Alys’ voice interrupted Aemond’s thoughts.

She waited behind him, hands at her waist, strange eyes watching him still. It irritated Aemond. He was going to demand she take him to Daemon’s body, now it felt less like a demand and more like an offer.

“You said he was words for me, did you not?” Aemond snorted and waved a hand. “Well, I suppose I can do the dead c*nt a favor and hear them.”

“I implied it, more the like,” Alys said, and Aemond glared at her. “I imagine he has much to say. Uncles often do teach their nephews, even if in ways one would not expect. For instance, Simon taught me not to turn traitor.”

Aemond considered pointing out Alys was no nephew, but felt it would be feeding into her asinine commentary. He let it slide. Her impudence was more a crime than her odd behavior to him.

“Take me,” he said, impatiently. “And watch your tongue, wench.”

Alys Strong led the way, speaking of how she’d prepared the body and kept it cool for later transport. Daemon’s body was not in the crypts, as Aemond had assumed they would be, or even in the sept. It was in what Alys called the Tower if Ghosts. If it was a jest, Aemond did not know. The room was chilly, unnervingly so. Wind howled through cracks in the wall, no fire raged.

Aemond jerked at the first sight of the body, at his own face on corpse’s body, but then he blinked and it was Daemon. Heart racing in his chest, Aemond struggled to regain control as he stared at the corpse of his uncle.

Daemon had been dead for some time now, but his corpse was cold to the touch and hardly decomposed at all. If it wasn’t for the ice-cold pallor of his skin, the blue tinge to his lips and skin, and the gaping wound about his chest it almost looked as if Daemon could wake and stand up. The front of his black doublet was discolored, and he had blood still on his hands, wrists, and neck. When Aemond looked closer he could see that Daemon was missing two fingers on his sword hand and that there were deep cuts on both hands.

“How did he die?” Aemond asked, as he leaned over and inspected the body.

There was a smell, but it was of flowers and mint. It was strong, though. It almost tickled at Aemond’s nose. He wrinkled it to try to stop himself from sneezing, but the scene did not get weaker. It became stronger if anything.

“Painfully, I’d wager,” Alys said. When Aemond gave her a look, she smiled, almost demurely. “It was a mix of things. Poison, and he stabbed himself, as you can see. Dark Sister. What a turn it was, for the prince to mix up which end of the sword to wield.”

He turned, slowly, to face Alys. “…he stabbed himself?”

How would Daemon mix up which end to hold? Aemond hated to admit it, but his uncle was a skilled swordsman. And one would have felt Valyrian steel cut through their fingers. It made little sense to him.

“Oh, yes. Right through the stomach. Gripped the sword there with his hands, lost this little thing because of it,” she produced a ring from her pockets and held it out on a flat hand for Aemond to take. He snatched it. “No worries, of course. I placed his fingers back in his pockets, not that he needs them now. Not that I need them, either. I’ve still got all mine,” and she held up her hands and wiggled her fingers.

Aemond ignored her. The symbol on the ring was the Targaryen dragon in silver. Aemond turned the ring over in his palm, inspecting it. There was a little bit of blood still in some of the cervices, but it was his uncle’s, alright.

“And the sword?” Aemond asked, still turning the ring over before he slipped it on his own finger. It fit comfortably.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Alys replied, casually. “Went missing, and I can’t seem to locate it.”

Aemond’s head snapped up, and he breathed loudly through his nose. “You don’t know where Dark Sister is?”

“I have not seen it since Daemon was put to rest,” Alys said.

“How is it that a whole sword can go missing?” Aemond demanded, through gritted teeth.

“Well, I simply turned and it wasn’t there. I haven’t got much need for a sword, have never wielded one, neither. When he died, it was through and through him. I went to fetch the things necessary to clean the body, and for men to carry him here from his rooms. When I returned, it was gone. Haven’t found it since.”

“And you haven’t thought to look for it?” He demanded.

“I’ve looked, of course. But it is not appearing, I’m afraid. I’m thinking one of Ser Simon’s sons stole it, when they fled,” Alys said, shrugging. “Was more concerned about the blood seeping into the floor. Harrenhal is greedy for it, and I didn’t want it to take too much. The nights are long without the blood making it longer.”

When Aemond clenched his fists, Daemon’s ring bit into his hand. His ring, Aemond thought.

“Of course it was him, and not one of the bastards below,” Aemond said.

“They fled, when I told them to, the night Prince Daemon died,” Alys said. “Went to Harrenton, didn’t come back till a few days ago. I didn’t want to risk them, you see. I’d hate to see my kin take the fire for me, when I was the one to make the decision to act.”

His breath hitched without his meaning to, and Aemond bite the inside of his cheek. Was that…did she know? Did every f*cking person in the Realm know, or was it a simple coincidence?

“Of course they did,” Aemond muttered, and then more loudly. “Their things will be checked, you realize? Aegon might have pardoned them for the crimes of the Strongs, but if I find it on them, that pardon will not extend to this theft.”

“Aye,” Alys said, seemingly unbothered. “You won’t find it on them, however.”

“We’ll see about that,” Aemond said, turning to face her fully. “And his things? Where are the rest of them?”

Alys leads him to Daemon’s former rooms. They were close to the courtyard, where Vhagar stood – once Caraxes Aemond assumed. His former room was large, and quite damp. A puddle lay on the floor of the room close to the bed, Daemon’s armor still lay on a chair next it as well. His uncle’s armor was grand, of course, but it was the helmet Aemond cared for most.

The winged helmet of Daemon was made of Valyrian steel, and Aemond intended to take it for his own. The armor wasn’t, but it was still exquisite, and Aemond figured there was no better warrior then he to lay claim to it.

The bedding looked new, and warm, and a fur skin had been laid out on it. A fire raged in the room, warming it. It was almost a relief from the chill of the tower.

There was an obvious spot where blood had pooled. It was a dark stain on the floor, whatever carpet that had been on it long gone, and despite the time that had passed it was stained a deep, dark crimson.

“His things had been put away, they are in the chests, the drawers and the like,” Alys said, hand coming up to motion towards them. “You are welcome to the room, should you want it.”

He was tempted to snap no. There was still blood on the floor, and the ceiling dripped. As if reading his mind, Alys’ head titled.

“All the ceilings drip, my Prince. The castle is old, and not well maintained. It’s also suffered much damage. Prince Daemon was put in this room because it leaks the least. If you return to mine uncle’s former rooms, you’ll find several buckets have been placed there.”

“If this one leaks the least, why did Ser Simon not claim it?” Aemond demanded.

“Because he misliked it,” Alys said. “He liked to sleep close to the sept and the septon. He should have taken the room of the castellan, and yet the Kingspyre tower is where Harren the Black died, and his voice is the loudest there.”

Aemond stared at the room, looking around. It was a room as any other, close to Vhagar so that if she was needed, she would be there. Daemon had thought it was fitting, for some reason, despite the drip and the dank floor and the moisture in the air that almost made him feel as if he was standing close to sea. The blood on the floor might serve to remind Aemond his uncle was dead, too, when all he could see was the face and eyes, ready to open, the lips ready to part and speak.

He could still smell the damned flowers, though. He smelled them so strongly the perfumed taste of them had started to creep down his throat.

“I will take it. If it displeases me, I shall take yours.” Aemond said.

“Oh, and I am bold?” Alys laughed.

“Do not be daft, wench, I would not share it,” Aemond snapped, furiously.

“Yes, well, I sleep in the tree, my prince, I do not think you would like it well.”

“I had assumed that to be a lie,” Aemond said.

“No, it is the truth. I mislike sleeping with my feet on stone. Even when I had rooms, I choose to keep dirt about so that I could ground myself. Some of servants hated me for it, those who did not know the old way at least.” Alys said.

“And what ways are those?” Aemond snorted.

“To connect with the world, that is,” Alys said. “Not to separate oneself from it. But do let me know if you have need of something, my prince. Dinner will be served shortly, and it is better to get into one’s rooms before the moon rises fully.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she is less likely to torment you if she does not take notice of you,” Alys said, and turned to leave.

Chapter 10: Lady Harrenhal and Her Ghosts part 2

Chapter Text

Aemond III

Alys' odd warning was but her being weird, Aemond decided. He went through his uncle’s things, setting aside what he liked best and leaving what he misliked.

Daemon’s things had an odd neatness to them, stacked as they were in the cabinets and bedside tables. Aemond found strongly scented soap, a red thing that smelled of dragon’s blood. He found several rough linen and cinnamon sticks for one’s teeth, and several daggers besides in the bed itself although Dark Sister was nowhere to be found. Daemon brought several items of clothing, and Aemond went through them all to decide what he liked best.

After searching his uncle’s things for some time Aemond threw a blanket over the mirror on the wall. He did not like how it was angled to reflect moonlight or daylight, he told himself, as he did. It had nothing to do with catching glimpses of himself and mistaking them for Daemon. Besides, the mirror had been cracked. While some would claim it was bad luck, Aemond knew it just mean it was worthless to him.

But aside from the clothing and smaller items, Daemon had had little on him. It was almost disappointing. The bed, at least, was comfortable despite the puddle beside it. His clothing was in good condition, as was the armor, which was a boon. Aegon had taken the conqueror’s armor, but Aemond would take Daemon’s.

The servants brought dinner to his room, unwilling as Aemond was to mingle and eat with bastards. He still ordered the servant to taste the food before he was willing to take it and ordered them to wait outside his door for some time. When Aemond felt a sufficient amount of time passed he sent them away and ate the cooled food.

It was mutton, smothered in a brown gravy with mushrooms and barley. It was edible, although not the best thing he’d ever eaten. He washed it down with plenty of blackberry mead, at least.

The chill to the food didn’t bother him, though. Despite the chill in the air, his rooms were warm. Mayhaps even a tad bit to warm, rendering the fur and some of the blankets entirely unnecessary. His food being a tad cold was not unpleasant.

When he had supped, and the light faded, Aemond found himself retiring to bed. There was much to do in the morning, and he desired the strength of mind and body to do it. Still, he placed an extra sword he’d brought with him against the door to ensure he’d have no unwanted visitors.

Aemond awoke to pain that flared at his eye, to agony that struck him so suddenly all he could do was gasp and soundlessly cry out as he clasped at his eye. Wetness seeped through his fingers, the blood and puss spilling down his face and dripping onto his bed sheets. Had his wound reopened? It was an agony that shot through him, scrambling his thoughts, scrambling all his senses.

“Do you sleep well, brother?” Aegon asked. He was burned and blackened, only his purple eyes staring out from a ruined face and his voice giving him away. Even the crown on his head smoldered and smoked, and when he spoke, smoke spilled out of his charred lips. He was holding Dark Sister in his hand, the steel glinting in moonlight. “I don’t.”

“H-how did you get here?” his voice stuttered, and it nearly made him cringe. The agony was unbearable, his eye throbbed so it nearly brought Aemond to tears.

Aegon’s head tilted, blood seeping to the floor with an unbearable dripping sound. “Is that what you really want to ask, brother?”

He sat down at Aemond’s side, burnt and smoldering fingers coming up to tap on the ring Aemond wore. The blankets about him caught fire, burning green and black.

“So you seek to take even Daemon’s things, do you? I suppose it makes sense,” Aegon’s voice lowered, amused, and bloodied teeth flashed from blackened and peeling lips. “They say you are his replacement, anyway. Aemond the Imitator, Aemond, Daemon writ small. If only they knew you to be an attempted Kingslayer, they would not honor you with such a name. But to even that you fail. Tell me, Aemond, is there anything you can succeed at?”

The black and green flames raced up his arms, over his torso to his face, where his skin began to melt and drip fat and blood onto the sheets like water burst from a dam. Aemond could feel the heat and it itched and burned at his skin. Where Aegon had sat smoke and ash billowed, spilling out into Aemond’s bed and almost shooting down his lungs, coating him in a burning substance.

Aemond coughed, shaking, as the ash seemed to choke him, and his brother’s voice rang in his ears. “We know, father. Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

A buzz of voice burst into the room, so loud Aemond had to cover his ears as they rang painfully. He looked around, expecting to see people, expecting to see himself in a tavern or whor*house, but there were no bodies. Only voices. Glasses clinked against one another, rowdy and bawdy voices laughed and yelled drunken melodies. Over it all, though, were loud voices that sounded as if they were coming from men sitting at a table next to Aemond.

“This winter will be cruel as the kinslayer, I’ll tell you what,” a voice called our, gruff and loud above the tinny of voices. “Might need to join the Watch, least they’re not suffering this thrice damned war.”

“You know he didn’t die because even the gods feared him, is what I heard,” once voice laughed.

“Don’t be daft, it’s because they ain’t want him! He’s a disgrace to ‘em!” another yelled, voice slurring. “I think I might,” he hiccupped, loudly. “Leave to, but the c*nts at the wall don’t let you taste no…c*nt! What’s gonna keep me warm up there?”

“You think you’ll get that far? There’s friendly fire as is, you think they won’t aim it at you to feed their dragons when our sheep run out?” Another voice called, laughing. Cheers rang, tankards clanked. “Drink, brothers, this hour might be our last whilst Aemond the Cursed sits the throne!”

He tried to stand, but Aemond’s legs throbbed with agony, and his skin burned so badly that he had to throw back the covers to feel the cool air on his skin. But the air wasn’t cool. It was hot, humid, and it only made his skin burn hotter. Fire danced across his legs and the smell the burning flesh was so revolting Aemond gagged. Blood and yellow puss seeped from them, smothering the flames, soothing the burn, and he felt a dip at the side of the bed.

“Have the indignities of your childhood not yet been sufficiently avenged?” A girl sat at his bedside, hand coming to brush away the ash from his mouth.

Her auburn hair cascaded down her back, and her white samite dress was embroidered with a red dragon made of rubies. Alicent Hightower, mother, Aemond thought. He could see his mother in that face, young as it was - a girl of mayhaps ten-and-five. Her stomach was massive, and she lay one hand against the bulge of it. Her eyes bore into him, piercing to the point he could have sworn they actually did pierce him.

When Aemond looked down, blood seeped from spots on his chest and face where her eyes stared.

“Aemond…my son,” young Alicent said. “You were my favorite. Whilst Aegon shucked duty, you embraced it. And yet…and yet you became this. Cursed by the gods themselves. Where have I failed, that you have become such?”

“I’m –I’m not –,” Aemond started, choking, the ash in this throat burning tears to his eye, the agony of his skin making his mind go numb.

But mother wasn’t listening. She stood, rubbing at her swollen belly, tears slipping down her pale face. As they dripped from her chin, they turned to blood. Rhaenyra stepped forward, taking young Alicent’s hand, and together they walked through the bedroom door without looking back, leaving a squalling babe to lay and writhe on the floor.

Aemond woke to dripping water sounding next to him. When he opened his eye, Daemon’s face stared down at him. Blood dripped from his lips, from the missing fingers at his hand, from Dark Sister as it bore through his stomach. Daemon’s lips were twisted into a smirk, and he stared down with visible amusem*nt.

“Awake, are we? You slept so soundly, I almost felt bad to wake you,” Daemon said, laughing. “Almost.”

His finger stabbed into Aemond’s chest, and Aemond scrambled to sit up, going for Blackfyre which had been placed close to his bed –

But Daemon held that up, the naked blade gleaming in moonlight. Where his blood touched the blade, it sang, high and clear as smoke rose from it. “Looking for this? Blackfyre. Now this is a blade. Yet…would it surprise you to note that I always favored Dark Sister, however? Even if I’d been king, I’d have used Dark Sister. Would have used to take your head clean off.”

“Daemon,” Aemond hissed.

“Nephew,” Daemon grinned. He placed the blade down by Aemond and stepped backwards. “You would do well to wake, nephew. Unless you wish to sleep the day away. Although I assure you…you will not be missed.”

Aemond did not remember opening his eye again but found himself staring at the ceiling. Water dripped from the ceiling to the puddle on the floor, the drip oddly loud in the room. He was warm, hot even, despite the fact that the fire in his rooms had died, and the fact that he’d thrown his blankets to the floor in his sleep. He rubbed at his chest and his hand came away with little droplets of blood from scratch-like wounds.

The sword he’d used to keep the door closed was still there, seemingly unmoved, and everything else likewise seemed to be where it was expected. When Aemond rose he found that light was shining through his blinds, annoyingly bright. It appeared to be somewhere close to midday, he thought, based on how high the sun had risen.

How had he slept so long? It was not like him. He normally rose early to train and to plan for the day. He dressed quickly, picking some of the clothing from his uncle’s wardrobe, in black and red, and then he thought better of it and chose some of his own clothing. A green doublet, with silver buttons. It still felt wrong, but he brushed the feeling away.

A washerwoman came by, dragging a cart of clothing behind her, and she jumped at the sight of him though she gave up direction to the feasting hall easily enough.

Alys sat in front of a bowl of brown stew, alone, with an empty plate next to her and a serving bowl in front of her. She looked as if she waiting. “Good morning, my prince, did you sleep well?”

“What was in my food?” Aemond demanded.

“Food,” Alys replied, without looking up from her bowl, taking a heaping bite.

He slammed his hands onto the table, and her bowl spilled on its sides. She looked up, amused, and Aemond glared at her.

“What. Was. In. My. Food?” He said, slowly, drawing out each word.

Alys tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, keeping his gaze. “You ate the very same thing we all did, my prince. Barley, mutton, and gravy. Did it not agree with you? Poor Tom will be heartbroken, he slaved over it so.”

“You’ve put something in it.”

“I am not the cook, and I can assure you, Fat Tom doesn’t play with his food. He’d consider it the highest of insults that you implied it,” Alys said. “If you have seen something that displeases you, it is the castle herself playing tricks with your mind, not the people. She has passed her judgement on you, the moment you let your foot touch the ground. If it is mutton you mislike….well, there is goat, pig, and on occasion, goose and rabbit. Rat, even, for those who are not picky.”

“I do not imply anything; I outright accuse you. The castle herself, do you take me for a fool?” Aemond demanded.

The damn woman smiled. “I take you for nothing. It is the castle that takes you for anything at all, but I doubt she takes you for a fool.”

“The castle?” Aemond repeated, in disbelief. “You are simple, then.”

Alys didn’t look insulted, though, merely oddly patient. “Yes. The castle. She passes judgement on all who walk her halls. It is the arrogance she seeks out, methinks. It was Harren the Black that cursed this place, with his arrogance, with his ambition, with the blood he spilled. Mayhaps, she sees him in you, or you in him. Time means nothing to stone and tree, after all.”

The mad woman wasn’t bold; she was audacious, and stupidly so. That she spoke such madness was the only thing that protected her, because Aemond didn’t know which to address – her lack of decorum and deportment, or the stupidity of her speech.

“You speak nonsense. Are you out of your mind?”

“Well, many have said as such, and it is quite hard to argue with the masses, is it not? If enough people say it is true, it must be,” Alys said.

Wind rustled, howling against the rocks, and it sounded suspiciously like kinslayer, kingslayer, Aemond the Cursed. Like Aegon, howling, like mother weeping. Vile accusations Rhaenyra’s voice murmured, in his ear, and he felt the ghost of hands on his shoulders, but when he looked down nothing was there.

“The masses are fools,” Aemond stared, hard, at the bowl she was already been eating from.

But the servant from before had eaten his food. Aemond would be taking from the stock he’d brought now. He’d send for more, too, and hunt if he had to.

“There is little need to set aside food for me, I will not be tricked again,” Aemond said, determinedly.

“You and Daemon are so alike, are you not? He, too, dismissed the curse, dismissed the castle and her works. It is not in the wine, the mead, nor the food. It is in the air, the soil, the stone, the wood. The blood, the bone, the moon herself, even, whose light revels all.”

Alys stood, brushing her skirts. “You’ll learn it, I suppose, the way all great men do; by witnessing it.”

The odd winter heat did little to make Aemond hungry, but he snacked on dried nuts and dried meat throughout the day. He considered mayhaps he was warm because a cold was coming on, but other than the ache in his head from the poor sleep, and the warmth itself, he did not feel sick.

Not that it would have mattered. There was much to do. The first thing Aemond did after eating was round up the castles inhabitants in the courtyard, where Vhagar still lay, to demand they empty their pockets. Of course no one was stupid enough to carry it on them, but if someone was stupid enough to take Dark Sister they might have taken something else. Coins, rings and the like. When nothing suspicious came out, Aemond moved to checking their rooms himself.

He spent an entire day searching rooms, rummaging through sh*t with no luck. Maybe when the army arrived, he’d have a task for them --- and they might yet serve to be useful, too. Harrenhal was massive, and one man alone wasn’t going to search it all. In the meanwhile, he was still going to try.

The night came too quickly. He moved from the old rooms of Daemon, and into the Kingspyre tower. It was a towering, lopsided thing up a series of uncomfortably long stairs, but the Kingspyre rooms were massive.

The floor was lined with red, thick carpet, the walls covered in tapestries that told the tale of knights, presumably. c*nts, more likely. A black-haired man burning weirwood in a series caught his eye, as did a series of armored men fighting until only one remained, and a sickly boy beside a silver-haired woman. Harren the Black, the fight for Harrenhal, and young Lord Maegor Towers and Princess Rhaena. They were beautifully done, with thousands upon thousands of stitches to the point that the tapestries almost looked like paintings. Rubies were sewn in for the blood in the fight for Harrenhal, and Princess Rhaena’s hair was made of diamonds.

A massive bed with four pillars sat in the middle of the room, the bedding having been changed at Aemond’s demand. The fur and blankets had been set aside on another blanket, the bed mostly a thick linen. A fire raged fiercely in the firepit, and Aemond still found himself uncomfortably warm despite the wind that howled through the cracks of the walls and brushed at his face.

The room only seemed to get warmer. Halfway through the night he’d had to shuck the linen, leaving them to lie on the floor in a heap. Wind continued to howl through the cracks of the tower, almost like screaming, but only heat seemed to come through. Aemond went, reluctantly, to sleep, his sword within his grasp, the door barred once again.

Sleep was not the be found, though. The longer Aemond lay there, the more awake he felt. Eventually, as the dusk turned to night around him and the moon came out of its hiding spot behind clouds, Aemond found himself eschewing sleep entirely to pace the length of his rooms, his eyes drawn to the tapestries. He dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, the warmth making him drip sweat, as he studied the art.

Aemond stumbled back, nearly tripping over a stool, when the weirwood trees in the tapestry began bleeding red, when the fire embroidered on them, made of black diamonds, began started to smoke. Thick curls of red fire ate away at the center of the tapestry. The men fighting for Harrenhal moved, their blades clashing, rubies splashing to the ground in little plopping sounds as men went down, dead. Little Lord Harren the Black’s head seemed to turn to him, small as it was, and Little Maegor Towers and Princess Rhaena moved in on each other, hands clasped.

“Whose halls do you think you walk, boy?” A voice murmured in his ear, and hand pressed firmly down Aemond shoulder so he was almost forced to kneel. “Dead, and yet it’s mine. You lay claim to nothing but the bones of other’s.”

“Victory, victory!” Another voice called, gleefully, from the tapestry as the lone knight in the fight for Harrenhal held up his sword. He was bleeding rubies profusely from his stomach and leg. “My son, my heir, the throne is ours!”

He fell to a knee, blood spurting more and more from his wounds, leaving his body just a white thing on the ground.

The third tapestry said nothing, alone in the chamber they stood, huddled together. A young boy and a woman grown, they seemed to alone in it, huddled as they were around nothing but furniture and emptiness.

When the pressure let up, Aemond snapped around, but no one was there.

Weeping sounded, fierce and loud, from under the bed. When Aemond bent to peer down the stone was warm, hot even, on his hands. Two bright eyes started at him from under the bed, two eyes as bright as amethysts. Jaehaerys held his head in his hands, the eyes staring at Aemond, weeping blood as did the jagged wound at his neck. “Shhh, shh, they will hear you,” Jaehaerys wept.

A bell tolled, and dragonfire raged. The stone under the bed, and the carpet on top of it, turned bright red as it began to melt, turning black and ashen. Jaehaerys squeezed his eyes shut, gnashing his teeth until they ground together and he swallowed the shards of broken bone.

“Kinslayer,” Lucerys voice sounded behind him. Aemond turned, drawing Blackfyre, but Lucerys was already in pieces. “Kingslayer.”

Half of his body had been ripped off of him, and he was missing his right arm, his right leg, and the right side of his face. An eye hung from the half socket, swiveling down towards the carpet, and he dripped sea water all over the floor. Jaehaerys stood at Lucerys’ side, head still clasped in front of his body like a shield.

“He found me,” Jaehaerys wept up at Lucerys. “I tried to hide.”

“I know,” Lucerys said, softly, looking down and patting Jaehaerys on his shoulder with his only hand. “We all did, but sooner or later…he ruins everything.”

“Lies!” Aemond shouted, but Lucerys did not look at him. “It was you who took my eye, you who ruined it all!

Lucerys laughed, and it was a harsh thing. “No one will remember that, will they? They’ll only recall the kinslayer, who killed an envoy. The kinslayer who started the war in earnest. Everything you touch is ruined, uncle.

“Shut up,” Aemond screamed. “Shut the f*ck up!”

“No!” Lucerys called above the howling wind and the downpour of rain. It poured down his face, dampening his curls, mixing with the blood. Clouds gathered above his head; lightening cracked by his face. Lucerys’ laughter sounded like thunder. “Kinslayer! Kingslayer! Aemond the Cursed, Aemond, Daemon writ –”

Blackfyre thrust through Lucerys’ stomach but he burst apart as if he was made of clouds, leaving only Helaena, weeping, holding the corpse of her son as men around her moved to clean up the blood, to remove the bedding. She stared at Aemond with accusing eyes, and so did the corpse of Jaehaerys, who was held limply in his mother’s arms, his head still clasped in his arms.

Aemond took a step back and turned and found Aegon sitting, face in his hands, a bloodied mace in hand as he stared at bloodied floors. Half his body was burned and smoking now, but still he stared at the bloodied spot. A servant tried to scrub it, but his bucket was filled with blood and all he did was add more. When the servant wiped a bloodied hand across his face and looked up, it was Aemond who stared back, then he bent back and started scrubbing again.

Aemond took another step back but no one looked up. Instead, they all acted as if he wasn’t really there, they all ignored him. Even mother, who was sitting next to Aegon, her hand outstretched but not touching him, her face anguished.

The sound of coughing made Aemond turn around, and he found his father laying in the bed he’d left open, the blankets thrown all around him as he shivered.

“Daemon…” father’s face was burned, and the blisters popped and burst on his face as if boiling. “Daemon…you have come back…”

“It is Aemond, husband,” mother said, soothing father’s forehead with a damp cloth. She looked up, angrily. “Is there nothing for this fever, maester?”

Mother sighed, angrily, hearing something Aemond did not. Her touch was still gentle on Viserys’ brow. “Go to bed, he will not be able to grant your wish now, Aemond. Your dragon will have to wait until he is better.”

“I cannot wait, even Daeron’s egg has now hatched. It’s just me,” Aemond’s own voice spoke back, and when he looked down, he saw himself as a child, the desperation shining from two eyes.

“Well? You ride the biggest dragon in the f*cking world, did it make you any better?” Aegon’s voice asked. He was laying in the bed, where father had been, but mother was not tending to him, she was looking anywhere but where he sat. “You still seem like a grasping c*nt to me.”

Aegon laughed, coughing out smoke and ash out as he did so, then closed his eyes and lay against the bed. “What an idiot. I would have died had Rhaenys been allowed to work, didn’t you see that? Then you swooped in. Can’t even get this right, can you? You can’t even kinslay right. Luke was an accident, and I lived!”

Little Aemond turned to him, purple eyes gleaming with hate. “You’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined everything,” his younger self spat, angrily.

Aemond turned towards the door, slamming it open, not caring that it almost came off its hinges, not caring that the swords he’d put there were gone. But then Aemond stumbled as he took a step. He’d anticipated stairs, but instead he stumbled onto the streets of King’s Landing. Aegon was under him, trying to buck him off, and yelling.

“You could have let me leave! Why! Why did you force me to take the position and then resent me for it!” Aegon shouted, crying, half his face a ruin of burns and blisters, his silver hair falling out in chunks as he melted. The bone in his leg stuck out, broken, and blood wept down it, soaking the trousers. “You could have had my crown, but even my life you seek! Why! I trusted you, I needed you!”

Aemond scrambled to stand up and Aegon slowly melted like candle wax into the floor, leaving nothing but a weakly beating heart. A heel came out, slowly crushing the heart into the ground, the heel grinding it even as the heart melted away, leaving an echo of Aegon’s screams to bounce off the walls of the throne room.

Rhaenyra looked down at him, eyebrow quirked. “Kinslayer, how good to see you. At last, you know your place.”

“My place is at my family’s side,” Aemond hissed.

“It seems to me your place is rather above them, raining fire on them instead,” Rhaenyra laughed, but then she was gone, as if she was never there.

Blackfyre was still gripped in his hands, until it wasn’t. When Aemond looked down his hands were empty…and larger. He touched at his face and felt the nose was different, the cheekbones. Dark Sister was clasped firmly in his hands.

He moved towards a puddle of blood on the ground, from where Vaemond’s boy was still beside, and stared back at Rhaenyra’s face.

“We make quite the team, do you not?” Rhaenyra’s lips moved as she spoke, her voice ringing. Aemond’s hands moved without his permission, grasping Dark Sister and sticking it through Aegon’s chest ad Rhaenyra applauded. “Well done, brother!”

-

-

It was the early afternoon when Aemond woke. Again, half the day, gone. Despite the sleep, he felt exhausted, tired. His body ached and burned, but when Aemond held a hand up to his forehead he found it was not hot. Instead, his skin was cool.

Could he be sick, then? He didn’t know. It would explain the dreams. Fever dreams, incoherent things. But he lacked the warmth, the feel of it. His body ached somewhat, but his sleep had been disturbed. All Aemond had was the god-damned heat. He had eaten his own food, and still these nightmares plagued him.

Mayhaps it was illness, then. When Aemond inquired about a maester, all fingers directed him towards Alys Strong. Their previous maester had fled in terror, and she was all they had remaining. He found her hawking outside. Alys didn’t look behind her as he stepped up, instead her eyes were on the horizon. The sky was a pale blue, the clouds white, and the occasional snowflake feel upon them, although they melted quickly away to nothing.

“Did it work, changing chambers? Or did old Harren hound your steps?” Alys asked him, watching her owl as it dove and picked up a mouse.

Aemond scowled at her. She seemed…fresh, awake. He’d eaten his own food the day before, and had the visions again. Was it the effects of the first meal lingering? Yet he seemed to be the only one suffering.

He didn’t know which option was worse. Something caught in the corner of his eye, and when Aemond looked out to the owl that came for them all he saw was Vhagar’s massive jaw’s clamping shut as Arrax broke apart, falling from the sky in a rain of limbs and organs and steaming blood. It was Sunfyre, dropping from the sky like a stone.

Aemond looked away for a moment, and when he looked back it was a barn owl, beige and brown, dropping an owl at Alys’ feet and then landing on her outstretched hand. The mouse on the floor bore the face of Aegon for a moment, its white fur stained red before it changed back. Alys picked it up.

“I’m ill,” Aemond said.

“I don’t believe you are,” Alys said. “Unless you mean heart-sick, and then yes, I do believe it to be true.”

“Do you never think before you speak, or is that a skill you simply lack?” Aemond demanded.

Heart-sick. What a foolish sentiment.

Alys stood, placing the mouse in the pocket of her dress, and then turned to face him. She wore a different dress this time, dark blues and blacks. When he looked the pattern on the dress long enough, Aemond swore he saw people moving on the lines, soldiers lining up, soldiers falling. She came closed to him, peering at his eyes, at his skin, not touching him but close enough that she easily could. Aemond considered snapping at her, but if she was the closest thing they had to a maester, then she was doing what was expected of her.

Still, he didn’t like it.

“Well?” He demanded, after a long moment of the former bastard staring at him, scrutinizing him.

“You’re not sick. This is about the heat, isn’t it?” Alys asked. “Dragonfire burns hot enough to melt stone, you may ask Harrenhal that, and she’ll answer yes. Supposedly, dragonblood also burns hot,” her smile was knowing, as were her eyes.

Aemond took a step back. “Closest thing to a maester, are you? Yet you seem to know little.”

He made to turn and leave but her voice called back to as he did so. Alys stared at him, the owl on her shoulder this time.

“Do you intend to change rooms again? It won’t do you any good. You should know that running from a predator only makes you prey,” Alys said.

Fire seemed to dance in her eyes, the green of it, like wildfire bursting across an open field. Aemond stared, swallowing, as sweat rolled down his back. By the gods, why was it so warm outside? He doubted her words, that it wasn’t illness, yet there was no sickness to go with the warmth and ache.

“….and you are the predator, are you? Dragons have no predators.”

“Neither do castles, and it is she who I speak of.” Alys said. “You’d best make your peace, or she’ll eat you whole. Same as she did your uncle.”

Aemond took a step forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Is that a threat, bastard?”

“It is a warning, because all life deserves one,” Alys said, intently, eyes following his face and not moving to this sword. “Even if you think it beneath you.”

She turned, without waiting for him to speak. Aemond should have taken her tongue for that or fed her to Vhagar. He knew it. Instead, he turned away and watched as the men continued to put Harrenhal back together. He trained in the yard as best he could, by himself, briefly. Then he’d gone back to searching the rooms for Dark Sister, who continued to be nowhere.

Aemond had skipped breakfast, as late as he’d awoken, and had broken his fast late in the afternoon with some dried meat and fruit he’d brought with him. He drank nothing but wine bottles that had been touched by no one else, that had not been opened. His dinner was a sad affair, dried rabbit meat, dried nuts, and dried fruit in his chambers, alone, with a bottle of unopened blackberry mead to wash it down. Not that it mattered. His appetite continued to shrink.

Mayhaps the new room would change things. This one was the old room of Ser Simon Strong. It was abundant with wine bottles, some opened and drunk, some unopened. There was a musky smell that opening the windows did little to alleviate, although the cold breeze on his face was comforting, soothing, even if it was a short lived comfort.

Aemond stood there, at the open window, for a long time before he turned back to his chambers. The head of someone sitting before the fireplace grabbed Aemond’s attention, and he slowly moved towards the thing, hand on his sword.

Mother sat in front of the fire, nursing a babe at her breast. Was he sleeping? He did not recall laying his head down or closing his eye. She sang softly, rocking, eyes closed. A green dragon babe nipped at her breast, drawing blood, not milk, and when she looked up, she was crying.

Aemond blinked, and she was gone, leaving nothing but an empty chair in front of a dead fireplace. He pinched himself and winced at the sting but found he was still awake. Fury coursed through him, stinging and hot, and he picked up the chair and threw it to the side, watching in satisfaction as it burst against the wall. That satisfaction died when blood seeped down the wall where the chair had hit.

He stormed from the room, grasping at the hilt of his sword, and made for the trees. Supposedly, that was where Alys Strong slept. Both Larys and Alys had said as much, although Aemond had much doubted it. It was dusk when he left, and there was still some light, but Aemond grabbed a torch on his way out to guide him. The moment his foot touched the ground near the Godswood screams and shouting erupted. The air burned so hot Aemond’s nostrils stung with the heat of it. The clanging sound of sword clashing against sword sang, high and true, and the screech of a dragon drowned it all out.

The sky was red as fire, red as blood, the moon a white dot in the sky. Fire rained down on the castle, melting the very stone itself, and Aemond burned as he ran.

“Aemond, help me!” Aegon screamed, Sunfyre’s golden scales glimmering brilliantly in the dusky warmth of the air. Meleys’ jaws were clamped against Sunfyre, tearing his wing as the golden dragon screeched. “Brother!”

Vhagar, and another Aemond atop her, soared into action, taking off Meleys neck clean off her body even as the head remained attached to Sunfyre’s wing. Fire roared in an inferno from Vhagar’s mouth, bathing Princess Rhaenys and the falling body of Meleys as they crashed into the castle below.

Aemond watched it all from down below, but also from atop at the same time, as if he was two people at once, watching his third self. Aegon cheered, even as Sunfyre was made to lower himself to the ground, his wing half ripped off as the head of Meleys slowly peeled off, the steaming blood making the ground smoke.

Away from the fray, although still about the forest, Aegon clasped the Other-Aemond on the shoulder, beaming. “Gods, what would I do without you?”

“Die, methinks,” Other-Aemond laughed. “You idiot, you were not to be here.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Aegon laughed. “I should have left it to you…but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

“Well, it’s not as if I could watch you die,” Other-Aemond said.

Mother and Helaena greeted them as they returned, victorious. Cheers rang as Aemond rode atop Meleys and Aegon a horse, through the streets of King’s Landing, cheers rang out when Aegon made Aemond Hand of the King. Rook’s Rest had been won, Aegon declared to the hall, and Rhaenys the Cruel slain. Another of the pretender’s cruel minions, gone, the deaths of his people avenged. The cheering lingered even as the world came back to him, the woods and all, the darkness seeping in around him, closing in at all angles as Aemond stood there with little more than a torch that had been long snuffed out.

He touched at his breast and found the missing weight of the Hand’s badge weighed heavy. He stared at the sky, where Sunfyre and Vhagar had been, and felt an ache in his chest.

“You’ll catch a cold standing there with your mouth open,” Alys voice called from above, sitting on a wooden platform in the trees.

She truly slept in the trees. That seemed somehow the oddest thing about this all. Aemond’s neck craned as he looked up and found what seemed like a hundred eyes staring back at him, and Alys sitting on a wooden platform nailed to an abnormally tall pine tree.

“And you won’t, up there?” Aemond challenged, when his voice finally returned to him.

“I have blankets, and layers of clothing, more so than some bed clothes, at least.”

Aemond looked down. He had to have gone to bed, then, because he wore little more than a linen nightshirt and trousers. He didn’t remember changing, or getting ready for bed, only eating his supper at his table. The sword he thought he’d been grasping was nowhere to be scene, and instead he’d grasped at a fistful of his nightshirt.

There was some frost on the grass, but Aemond was not cold. He was sweating, he was so hot, and under his skin itched. He felt like he was shedding or should have been. Aemond wanted to peel his skin off, to release the warmth under it.

“What the f*ck is happening to me?” Aemond demanded, almost pleading. “What is hunting me?”

Alys laughed and looked down. Her haunting eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and they were not out of place amongst the owl’s eyes. “You are hunting yourself, my prince. I have heard you lacked mercy, mores the pity for you. You could probably do with some mercy.”

“How is that me?” Aemond jerked his closed fist towards the sky, that had rained fire, towards the cursed castle behind him.

He could see it out of the corner of his eyes as clear as day, but when he turned to face it, he stared at only the quiet, cold forest.

Aemond’s neck ached from craning it too look up at her, and he considered calling her down – instead, he gripped the tree and climbed up. It was a slippery thing, mist clinging to it, and a sticky thing, with something like sap oozing out of wounds he didn’t see. The sap helped, though, for his hands were slick with sweat.

When he finally pulled himself up on the platform Alys sat in, he saw that she had a whole layout up there. The bigger board was big enough for her to lay out fully and not touch the sides, and for Aemond to sit on with some space between them. Hay cushioned the wood, as did furs, piles of it. The thing was built like a little nest. Little shelves had been built above, and one of them houses a trunk. There were plenty of owls nests, some next to Alys’ own bedding, some in it.

“Why, it’s not polite for a man to invite himself into an unwed woman’s bed,” Alys teased.

“Cut the crap,” Aemond said, jerking his chin towards the castle. “And tell me how that’s supposed to be me, haunting myself or hunting, or whatever nonsense you’ve been blathering on about.

Haunting green eyes stared at him, almost glowing in the dark. “You are meant to be dead. You were meant to die, in this halls, to drown in the God’s Eye, never to return.”

Her voice sounded like Helaena for a moment, and her face flickered, turning to Helaena, those eyes full of blame and anger staring at him. Then she was Alys again, green eyes glowing, hair whipping about her face like fire.

“I saw you, come into the halls and never return. I saw you feed the God’s Eye, one corpse to join the many,” Alys pointed with a long, slim finger. Aemond looked over to where she pointed, to the direction of the lake. “Your fate was death. But, alas, your sister dipped her finger into the pie. Or, rather, she dipped her entire fist in it, and now your future has unraveled, and the strings that had tied your nose are now lashing out at you. And you are the one holding the whip here, boy.”

“I don’t believe you,” Aemond hissed, and the owls around him hooted, eyes staring at him.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? You burn her brother-husband, your brother, and she saves your life. It’s enough to make a lady laugh,” Alys said.

“I could have your tongue for that, wench,” Aemond snapped.

But Alys only laughed some more.

“Like I said, you are much like Daemon, are you not? He did not believe what was right in front of him, either, even when it was plainly said,” Alys said. “Did not your Daenys the Dreamer foretell the destruction of Valyria, and save your people?”

She studied Aemond’s face, fiercely, and Aemond swallowed. “…she did. Yet she was –”

“You’ll find the gods care less about marital vows than the mortals do. Much less. Eyes are eyes, no matter which side of the bed they were formed on, or how much coin their owner possesses,” Alys said.

“So you’re a Dreamer,” Aemond said, derisively.

“Greenseer, boy. Our word is older than yours, which is but a wee little hatchling in a very old world. I saw your future as best I could, and I am very good, believe you me,” Alys said, almost gleefully. “But the Queen…she is formidable, is she not? So strong of sight, much more than any other I have met. It is a pity we cannot met in person.”

“You are quite confident in yourself, to compare yourself so to my sister,” Aemond scoffed.

Alys did not look away. “A tree does not need to compare itself to another tree; they both know what they are. The question is…do you know what you are?”

“I am Prince Regent, son of the king,” Aemond said, holding his head up. “I am blood of old Valyria, blood of the dragon. I am the rider of Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world. I am Aemond Targaryen.”

“You are a mistake, a blight on the world, made by a man who wanted sons for the fashion of it, and not because he intended to love you,” Alys said. “He knew you would die, and he did not care. Viserys was not your father, he was your king, and you were not his son, you were a trophy he regretted. You are the son of a woman made to endure you, never to want you, born second and always meant to be second….when you are remembered, of course.”

Her head jerked to the side, check reddening in the dying light as Aemond slapped her. The ring of it reverberated in his ears, as did her answering laugh. When Alys turned back to him, blood seeped from her split lip.

“Does it make you feel better, my prince?” Alys asked. “The truth often leaves is angry….did that make you feel all the better?”

Aemond seethed, staring at the glib amusem*nt in her eyes. “I could have your head for that,” he hissed.

“My head, my tongue, you want so much from me, do you, princeling? You could, but you won’t,” Alys said, with infuriating confidence. “Elsewise, who will show you what you so desperately want to see?”

It was Aemond’s turn to laugh this time, coldly, as he forced himself to keep eye contact. “Oh, and what exactly would I wish to see from an old, used up woman?”

He was amused to see irritation color her face, although it was quick to flee. She leaned back, the red of her cheek swelling, the pattern of his ring showing on her pale skin. Alys didn’t touch her face, though, instead she titled her head in unison with her owls, and her voice almost sounded like them when she spoke.

“Yourself on the throne, of course. What else what it be?”

Aemond left her, the itching feeling increasing, the heat increasing. He could see sweat roll down his arms, could feel it slide down his back.

Yourself on the throne, of course ran through his head in the weird, off-putting voice of the wench. Aemond wanted it so badly it hurt. He wanted anything but to see it, too, and the war raged inside him so that it twisted his stomach and his heart.

Mayhaps heart-stick wasn’t quite as off as he’d originally though, although Aemond would never admit it.

This wench was a once-bastard, a nobody of Harrenhal who history would forget if she was ever to be known in the first place – so why did her words affect him so? Alys Strong, formally Alys Rivers, could never get him anywhere close to the throne, and even say the words out loud were treason.

Aemond wanted it, though. He wanted it all so desperately that it stabbed at him, the pain clear in the damned heat. He wanted everything. The throne, the crown, Helaena – Aemond wanted to win for once, wanted it to be clear and undeniable.

He returned to his rooms and slammed the door shut, barricading it with the dresser that stood off to the side, tipping it over fully so it slammed into the floor and lodged the door shut. Despite the heat, he started a fire at his fireplace and sat down heavily, staring at the fire, wondering what he was supposed to do.

The only thing keeping Aemond in Harrenhal was Otto and Aegon, and quite honestly, he couldn’t care less about that now – about them – if he physically tried. The Hightower army was on its way. They were but days away, but his estimations, Aemond could simply leave and never have to deal with the absolute madness, the audacity, the –

“What was the point, even? Of getting a dragon, of sacrificing your eye, if all you were going to do with it is sulk around as if the world has wronged you?” It was father’s voice.

Aemond felt a shiver run down his back, felt his neck stiffen, and for a moment he felt paralyzed, unable to move, but slowly he turned and found himself staring at his father in the chair next to him.

He was younger than Aemond recalled and fairly healthy, with more hair and a light beard. He wore the Conciliator’s crown on his head and stared at Aemond with disapproval. His hands clutched the arms of the chair, and he had all of his fingers again.

“What?” Aemond asked, quietly, staring back at him.

Viserys’ face twisted, his expression derisive, his eyes dragging up and down Aemond’s body as if he was gauging it – and finding it lacking. “Your king asked you a question, boy, answer it.”

Aemond’s hand went up to his eye without him meaning to, feeling at the eyepatch. He felt sweat on his brow and wiped it away, staring still at his father.

“What was the point?” Aemond echoed, blankly. The sneer only grew on his father’s face. Aemond narrowed his eye, hand coming down to the hilt of his blade. “What was the point in having sons when you were set and determined to ignore the laws of the land to make that walking mistake your heir?”

He leaned back in his seat, watching as his father’s face darkened, as Viserys rose over his chair to loom over his soon. “You will watch your tongue, or I will take it!” He thundered. “I chose her!”

“No, you won’t, you senile, old fool. You’re dead! And your word means nothing now that you’re in the ground!” Aemond shouted, laughing. “All these years --- all these years I’ve had to hold onto lie after bloody lie, that her children are true, that she is the heir, that my exchange was fair. But not anymore!”

Aemond stood, and Viserys seemed to shrink back, seemed to get smaller and smaller. It was now his son who loomed over the former king, and as Viserys shrunk his crown seemed to dissipate and fall apart. Why had Viserys looked so much larger when he was a child, Aemond wondered, when now he seemed nothing but an old, sick fool as he cringed into himself.

“Her children are bastards, and she is a whor*!” Aemond shouted. “And you! You, who held together her lies with the skin of your teeth when you were falling apart, but who allowed her to threaten to torture me when you had the strength to contest it. You are dead! And you cannot protect her anymore! How does it feel to know that you have failed so that the only child you ever loved will be forever punished? Her sons are bastards, and she is a whor*. And the only way she will sit the throne will be in her f*cking dreams!”

He was shouting it now at his father. Aemond knew he was repeating himself, but he found that every time he did a thrill of excitement ran through him – and more than that, a weight seemed to lift off his shoulders. Viserys was now on the floor, shrinking into the carpet, almost melting into it.

“It was never a fair exchange, you lack-wit fool. That I even had to entertain the idea was beneath me, but it was never a choice, was it? How could I expect that little bastard to have to face his actions, when his sweet mother could bed the whole of the world in front of you and you’d not so much as blink? Your illness should have taken both eyes, you seemed to have no use for them,” Aemond spat.

Viserys said nothing, simply melting into the carpet until he was nothing, until he was but an insect that Aemond could grind with his heel.

He stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the spot Viserys had been – that was nothing but a smear of blood on the old carpet. Silence ran in the room, and finally some of the heat under Aemond’s skin left him, leaving him warm but not overheating.

He embraced the silence, fell to his knees, and let the emptiness of the room swallow him. He didn’t know how long he lingered there, staring at the floor. Rain, soft like mist, eventually roused Aemond, as did the distant sound of thunder. The mist actually felt good on his skin, cooling further the warmth that itched and ache under his flesh.

“Do you pity yourself; I wonder?” Lucerys asked him. His body was whole again, not the ruinous thing he had been before. He stood twice, once as the young man he’d been when Aemond killed him, and another version, the boy who had taken his uncle’s eye – they held each other’s hands and stared at Aemond accusingly.

“Do you feel pity for yourself?” Aemond asked, eye closing and head tilting up to feel the rain. It doused the fire on his flesh, although not the fire under it.

It had been pouring that day he’d killed Lucerys Velaryon. It had been difficult for him to see with his one eye, he imagined even Lucerys had trouble seeing, though.

He hadn’t meant to kill his nephew. Aemond had meant to strike fear into his heart, to chase him, to make the boy feel what he’d felt all those nights ago – and what Aemond had been made to suppress to keep the peace of other’s. He had wanted justice, not death.

He should have known better, but Aemond had slipped. Mayhaps if he’d admitted that…but how could he?

“How can I feel anything? I’m dead,” Lucerys said.

“Am I meant to feel sorry for you?” Aemond snorted and stood. He stared down at Lucerys – and found he was smaller than he remembered, too. All his life, these people stood above him, lorded their power above him, and they were so f*cking small, “It is unfortunate your mother was not there, so that you could hide behind her skirts again, the craven that you are.”

“Craven?” Lucerys’ nostrils flared and he glared. He was dripping wet now, the water pouring onto the floor and making puddles. “At least I did not hide behind my brother and his supposed throne, and then burn him to steal it.”

“No, you only sought to steal the throne of your betrothed, and then so graciously allow her to rule as your consort,” Aemond laughed, “now she takes it, and does not need you.”

“You are a kinslayer,” Lucerys accused. “Kingslayer.”

Little Lucerys repeated the phrase, over and over again, eyes closed tight.

“You are a thief and a bastard,” Aemond whispered, stepping forward. “Son of a whor*, and the only reason you were not labeled a kinslayer yourself was pure, gods damned luck. Had the maesters not been quick, not been efficient…well, but you would not have mourned me, would you have? I imagine your mother’s skirt’s and my father’s willful blindness would have shielded you from that. I’d be buried, and you’d have no shame. But I am made to remember you, as if you were anything but a bastard reaping what your mother sowed for you.”

“I would have felt bad,” Lucerys said, defensively.

“You didn’t even feel bad about stealing the Driftwood throne from Baela, you didn’t even feel bad when true Velaryon blood was spilled to keep your secret than anyone with eyes would have seen through. You didn’t even feel bad when your mother demanded I be tortured, or when the maesters sewed my eye close because it was lost. No, you would have gotten away with it, I imagine. As you and your mother got away with everything,” Aemond hissed.

“I didn’t get away with my life,” Lucerys whispered, eyes wide.

“No, you didn’t,” Aemond said. “Mores the pity that your mother could have simply done what the realm expected and dropped out. Your bastardry wouldn’t have mattered then, would it have? Rhaenyra could have f*cked every man in the realm if her heart desired, and let you live on the side, if only she’d been smart.”

“Or you could have kept your temper in check. You could have let me go.”

“Back to Dragonstone, to attempt to curry favor with allies? What do you think that would have culminated in? Why do you think your mother sought allies to negotiate with? Aegon would have always been a threat. I would have always been a threat. Your mother would have killed him, and me, and Daeron to ensure your survival. No. No I could not have just let you leave so that you could come after mine brother’s and I.”

“No, that was your goal, wasn’t it?” Aegon asked.

Aemond snapped around and found Aegon sitting on a chair by the fire, the same way he sat the f*cking throne – his legs thrown over the arm of a chair, his back on the other arm, staring up at the ceiling as if held something of interest. When Aemond looked behind him, Lucerys was gone.

“That was your ultimate goal, was it not? Defend my thrown, defend me, only so that you could burn me. I’d say it’s brilliant but it seems excessively stupid,” Aegon said. “At least Lucerys’ death crippled our enemy. You only crippled me.”

“My goal was to ensure our survival, our victory, a fact that I think you all forget,” Aemond snapped.

Aegon’s head swiveled to him, and he studied his one-eyed brother with amused eyes. “Was it? And how exactly does crippling the king do that? I’m afraid you’ll have to explain the details to me, they just seem to make no goddamn sense.”

“It was supposed to get you out of the way!” Aemond snapped, pacing, glaring at Aegon, whose very face ignited anger in him so hot that it made the sweat return, made him ache. “You are always in the way! Making light of what isn’t, making japes and jokes when there is no room, when our very lives hang in the balance. You always ran away, leaving me to clean the mess, leaving me to be the pillar. When our lives hung in the balance, you left! Left us all! As if our lives mean so little from us, when that c*nt would have stollen from us --,”

“From you?” Aegon interrupted, leaning in his seat and tapped at the crown on his head. “It’s my f*cking crown, you f*cking levereter. Mine!”

“You didn’t want it!” Aemond screamed. “You didn’t want it, I did! I worked for it! For years, I pushed myself, honed my skills because I knew they would be needed! For years I worked to make them look at me, but grandfather, mother, even our f*cking half-sister always looked to you! You! And you! You never so much as glanced at me unless it was to poke, and prod, and jape at my expense, even with those bastard c*nts! And had she left it would have been all our lives on the line, and still, still you did not –,”

Aemond paused, squeezing his eyes. He was burning, his head ached but all he could focus on was that there was so much to say and he didn’t know what to say first. The mist was gone, and it took what little relief it had brought with it.

“You were my brother, not theirs! Why did you side with them? Why? It wasn’t even until you saw that they would toss me aside in a heartbeat that you turned around, and even then, it was only to jap in private, to mock me about when no one was there to watch. And for what reason? I didn’t do anything to you! I did everything for you! For mother, for Helaena, for Daeron, and you never cared. You only cared for those f*cking lickspittles and the whor*s,” Aemond screamed, his voice faltering at the end, his throat aching. What a f*cking child I am, he thought, unable to stop the tears. They were hot in his eyes but felt cool on his skin. “Why? Why, Aegon?”

Aegon stared at him. He’d slowly moved as Aemond had screamed, and his legs were now on the ground, planted firmly and he was leaning in, staring at his brother with wide eyes.

“We could have –,” Aemond started, and coughed, wincing. He closed his eye, “we could have done this together. But how can I trust you? I was never your brother. I was always just the thing you laughed at, and the pawn you moved about the board when you wanted me to jump like a hound, sing like a mummer.”

“You were my brother,” Aegon said, slowly, staring.

“I was your toy, the jape you never tired of,” Aemond spat back.

There was a long moment of silence, where Aemond stared at his brother – or this thing that wore his brother’s face. Finally, Aegon licked his lips and swallowed, his expression of haughty indifference totally wiped from his face.

“I am sorry,” Aegon said.

Aemond stared, eye wide, at the tears that slipped down his brother’s face. Aegon wasn’t an adult anymore. He was a boy again, the boy who had shown him the Pink Dread, the boy who had joked with the Strong boys, the boy who had defended Aemond the only way he could have when Aemond had sat there with one eye gone.

“I am sorry, brother,” Aegon repeated, slowly. He rose and walked towards Aemond, and even though he attempted to step back, away from this vision-creature, Aegon still managed to get to him. “I was wrong.”

“You were wrong,” Aemond whispered, slowly, staring. Aegon’s hands came up to clasp him on the shoulders, and he thought of shrugging them away. Aemond didn’t. Instead, he stood there and felt the warmth of his brother’s hands on his shoulders. “You were –”

“Angry,” Aegon filled in, when his brother’s voice faltered and faded. “I was angry.”

“Jaehaerys –” Aemond started.

“No, not that. You. Always, you, mother’s favorite, you would have been grandfather’s choice, once upon a time,” Aegon said. “You, always you, and what was I? Not the one chosen, the one endured. You knew that. I know you knew that. You never let me forget it, the way you picked everything up, the way you were good at everything, the way mother wished you were first. You were always her favorite. You were always the favorite.”

“Rhaenyra was the favorite, we were all endured,” Aemond argued.

Aegon laughed, squeezing his brother’s shoulders. “We were, were we not? And yet we fought each other, and not her.”

They stared at one another for a moment. The sky lightened, and Aemond could see the light of the sun as it began to trickle into his rooms. How long had he been there, screaming at ghosts? He didn’t know.

No, not ghosts. Aegon still lived. He was in the Red Keep, a ruin of a man, but he was alive, and this thing that bore his face was not Aemond’s brother. But he was something.

Aegon began to fade as the sun shone in. Aemond stared at the disappearing vision, feeling an ache lightened in his chest – and wishing, for a moment, that his brother would not leave.

“I am sorry, Aemond,” Aegon told him, now mostly sunlight and dust. “I am, really.”

“…so am I,” Aemond said, softly, and watched his brother disappear in totality.

As the sun rose, a chill developed in the air, and the itch and burn under his skin began to lessen until Aemond shivered so he had to put on a surcoat.

Alys gave him a knowing look in the morning, as Aemond passed her, but he ignored the wench. She had nothing he wanted, and nothing he would deal with.

When the Hightower army came but two days later, Aemond made for Riverrun, and he did not look back.

Chapter 11: House of the Dragon

Chapter Text

Helaena V

Time flew by so quickly. Aemond and the Hightower army made for Harrenhal two moons ago. It had been a relief to see Aemond go, it was a travesty. Helaena ached for the brother whose silent presence used to sooth her. She ached for her son more, for Jaehaerys now gone, she ached for the husband that would never truly recover, who would always bear the scars forced on him.

Despite his…previous actions, Aemond was doing what he was set to do. He toured the Riverlands, ensuring that any who might raise the banner for Rhaenyra were made to see the error of their ways. His reports were simple, short and to the point.

Which was all well and good, but they still did not know what to do with Aemond, the Rogue Prince who had replaced the replaced Daemon. Two moons, and Helaena and Aegon had spent it thinking and speaking, and two moons did not give them an answer, nor could the council, really. There was much to do as they received letter after letter from him, and it all kept their minds distracted, but the question was not one that could rest.

How did one de-fand the Prince Aemond, the rider of the largest dragon in the world, safely? Without drawing attention to them? To accuse Aemond publicly would be to destabilize what peace they were working towards. It made them look weak, and when they’d just wrested victory away… and it was all based on their ability to get to him whilst he was away from Vhagar. If they could not succeed, or if he thought they were trying to undermine him, what would Aemond do?

To let him live and do nothing was to risk future violence. His ambitions were clear. They were bloody, too.

Neither path was good, neither path was truly safe. Did they kinslay in the night? Did they attempt some other means?

Not acting was not an option. Jaehaera was betrothed to Daeron. It was the only way they’d decided that they could protect their daughter for now. Aegon would stay the king as long as he lived, but he would never be able to have a son. The maesters confirmed it for them, he was too injured, the fire and the fall had done too much. Aemond was now the Prince of Dragonstone and would remain as such unless they could act.

The Great Council of 101 declared males before females, and that was why Princess Rhaenys had been set aside – as had her son, Laenor, in favor of the son of the king and then the grandson. Andal law dictated daughters before brothers. Rhaenyra’s downfall had been that Viserys had gone on to have three sons after her and yet had done nothing to secure her role in a way that would bypass thousands of years of tradition.

They would not make that same mistake, even though Aegon would have no other soon.

For now both Jaehaera and Aemond had a claim based on tradition and precedence. Jaehaera still faced the verdict of the Great Council, but if her claim was wed to Daeron, it would be strengthened. Daeron would serve not as king, but as prince-consort to protect the claim of their daughter.

They hoped this would protect her from Aemond, too. Morghul and Tessarion were small, and would be no real match to Vhagar, and Helaena did not know how much a match Dreamfyre would be-- but she was willing to die to defend her daughter if need be.

She should have died for Jaehaerys. Helaena could see that clearly, now. She’d walked as if in a haze all her life, her dreams so confusing, so unreal, already completed in her mind to a degree – but not anymore. Helaena would grasp life by both hands and strangle it herself if need be to protect her daughter, and would beg for her son’s forgiveness if they were to ever meet again.

That the third of his killer’s still went unfound only fueled Helaena’s desire to protect Jaehaera more and made her think that ridding the Red Keep of all the rat catchers the right decision.

The Small Council met again, after Aemond’s latest letter, and Helaena found herself staring across the table at them – and at mother, who was once again allowed to the meetings, although she seemed more subdued than she had before, even dressing more akin to a sept. Only she wore the bright blue and white of house Florent and seemed to shun the green she favored before.

Aegon had offered her the spot, reluctantly, agreeing that a voice of peace and of the previous peaceful rule would not be remiss. Helaena knew that their mother walked on thin ice, though. She felt mother knew it, too. She did not speak of Lady Rhaenyra to them, had not protest her marriage to Lord Larys, and when she was not with the Small Council, or Jaehaera, she was at the sept.

She seldom spoke to Ser Cole, and who likewise kept the distance between the two of them.

“It must be asked if you still intend to host the tourney after the lords kneel, your Grace. The coffers have not overly suffered, but we feel it may be best to allow it to rest some years. Mayhaps an anniversary of your rule, and to not strain the crown’s gold too much,” Lord Tyland started. “The feasts two moons ago were not quite a strain, as they came from the Dragonstone coffers, but we do not want to push what we can.”

Aegon sighed, heavily, and looked to Ser Tyland with impatience. “Must we have this discussion again?”

“I am afraid so, your Grace,” Ser Tyland said, calmly.

“You have made your point quite staunchly, Lannister. I will hold off on the tourney…for now. But I will have one, eventually. I have not endured all this to not celebrate my own success. My heir will be celebrated, as will my victory.”

Lord Tyland bowed his head and almost seemed relieved as he agreed. For the past two moons, between overseeing the cleaning up the mess of King’s Landing, overseeing the replacement of the Gold Cloaks and replacing them with the Green Cloaks, sending ravens to the lords, sending men to find Mysaria, improving his ability to walk and healing, Aegon also had to suffer the combined efforts of Lord Tyland, Lord Jasper, and grandfather as they attempted to convince Aegon to not hold the tourney he desired.

Aegon had wanted a weeklong tourney to celebrate his success, and his heir, and despite the week of feasting he’d held for the city after his victory had been assured.

Helaena was surprised he’d reluctantly agreed. Aegon had been quite adamant on celebrations and shucking the chill of the war to embrace the warmth of peace – despite the winter chill, of course. He had looked forward to them. Even Helaena had looked forward to them a little.

“That is grand, your Grace. We shall be able to hold a tourney more comfortably at a later time, when we need not worry about traitors,” Ser Tyland said.

“Yes, yes,” Aegon said, impatiently, shifting in his cushioned chair. “Let us get to the point of this meeting: my daughter, my heir, Jaehaera and the lords that are coming to kneel.”

Aemond’s latest letter declared his intent to return to King’s Landing, as he was content with the Riverlands being cleared. Not that he’d been doubted – at least in that regard. But the fact that he was to return soon meant that they had to hammer home the details of Aegon’s heir.

“We will announce this when the lords come to bend the knee, and they will be made to bend the knee to Princess Jaehaera and Prince Daeron as well. As will their current heirs,” Grand Maester Orwyle stated. “We must take measures to ensure that these oaths do not lay forgotten, and that they are refreshed throughout the years.”

“The Baratheons will be the biggest obstacle we face, should Aemond attempt in the future to claim what he thinks of as his. Which is why they cannot be permitted dragons,” Grandfather Otto said. “It would be best if we married them back into Jaehaera’s line eventually, too. Jaehaera’s first born son to one of Aemond’s eventual daughters would be ideal.”

“So we just…reward him?” Aegon demanded.

“No, we ensure that he cannot come at us without coming for his own children or his own grandchildren,” Grandfather Otto said. “And we must tie the claimants lines. Your father did not see the necessity, and we paid for it. We will avoid Lady Rhaenyra’s line, but we must not neglect your brother.”

“Will he accept this?” Mother asked, hesitantly. “To deny his children dragons…”

“He will, as it will not be a choice,” Grandfather Otto said. “Viserys was too lenient with his choices, and while that benefits us, we will not allow it to benefit Aemond. We must take after King Jaehaerys, and not allow every child to have an egg.”

“Was he too lenient?” Aegon asked, almost mockingly. “Even King Jaehaerys allowed Princess Rhaenys a dragon.”

“Which was a mistake, as we can see,” Grandfather said. “The dragons must stick with the Targaryen and the amount must be contained.”

Helaena looked to her grandfather, who was giving Aegon a displeased, although patient, look. Aegon had not been excited to see him return, although he’d only told Helaena that grandfather was displeased with his rule and wished for Viserys back. That Otto seemed to mourn Viserys more than Jaehaerys, even.

Helaena could not imagine it, but she did not doubt her husband. Grandfather had always been patient with her…yet she had been displeased with being made to make a show of her suffering, even if it had been a tool useful to them in the end.

Aegon did not bother with even an attempt to look chastened at their grandfather’s look.

“The oaths. How oft will they be renewed to be daughter, to my heir?” Aegon asked, ignoring what their grandfather had said.

“Often. They will do so now, when they come to kneel, all the lords of the realm and their heirs. They will do so if Aemond is to have a son, and will do so when Princess Jaehaera and Lord Daeron marry, as well as when their first son is born. These oaths will not be allowed to be gainsaid,” Lord Jasper said. “And we will strength them, but codifying the law of succession to ensure that Princess Jaehaera is secure as the only child of the king.”

“That will weaken the claim of Viserys, will it not? And of Jaehaerys before him,” Mother asked.

“It will and it matters not,” Lord Jasper said. “They are dead, there is no other claimant from the blood of Princess Rhaena nor her daughters. Princess Rhaenys is dead, and her granddaughters are traitors, and furthermore, Baela will marry a bastard and Rhaena will be allowed the Velaryon name in addition to marrying your uncle. We will codify Andal law to ensure the line goes through Jaehaera as the only child of the King, and yet uphold a son before a daughter. It has the added benefit of lessoning the claims of Lady Rhaenyra, Princes Aegon and Viserys. The lords will kneel now, and again, and again to ensure this is not forgotten.”

“Between codifying the succession laws, and ensuring that Aemond will not have dragons, Jaehaera will be secure,” Grandfather said.

Aegon nodded, sharply, although there was a relieved look about his face.

“And the boys dragons have been….dealt with,” mother said, slowly, her eyes turning to Helaena, who nodded.

“Yes. I killed them,” Helaena said. “They were small creatures, and Dreamfyre dispatched them easily. They will never claim another. Although the younger boy had but an egg.”

She had felt no remorse for it, either. All Helaena could see when she looked at those dragons was her son’s little body, and her daughter’s scared face.

“Do they have access to other’s? Princess Rhaenys’ mount lived on Driftmark for some time, and I do believe she was still laying eggs,” mother asked.

“Driftmark has been searched and three eggs have been found that are believed to be from Meleys. When the Lady Rhaena returns, they will not be there for her to claim,” Lord Larys said, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Good,” Aegon said, nodding. “The boys…they are too young to be sent away properly, to the wall or citadel, but I will have it ensured they will pose no risk to my heir. I want it ensured that they are prepared for occupations that will keep them out of my daughter’s way. Be it they are married to bastards, or they are sent with their brother, eventually.”

Mother wrung her hands, worriedly, but said nothing. The boys would be permitted to live, and she Helaena did not think the price of being sent to the citadel, sept, or wall was too hefty for that.

“There are many paths we can take to destabilize them, although codifying the law to favor Princess Jaehaera will do much of the heavy lifting,” Lord Jasper said. “It will also legitimize the ladyship of Lady Jeyne Arryn, although she also made to ally with Lady Rhaenyra. What is to be done with her?”

“Lady Jeyne made no such deal under duress, as did the Brackens, she made it because she desired it,” Ser Tyland said. “We legitimize her stations as is by codifying this law, but she also helps legitimize Princess Jaehaera. She should be made to pay her mulct and hostage. Ideally in the form of her heir. Or, rather, in the form of her cousin, as Lady Jeyne has no children, nor husband, and codifying the law lessons her named heir.”

“She could be married, though,” Aegon said, eyeing Ser Tyland. “Are you not unwed as well, Tyland?”

Ser Tyland paused, thoughtfully. “I am unwed, your Grace.”

“Well, there is no time like the present, is there not? She may keep her station…if she weds you. Do you object?”

The Lannister opened his mouth, and closed it, seeming to think. Helaena did not know why he would refuse it. He was unwed, the second son, and whilst he was Master of Coin, if he married Lady Jeyne he could become Warden of the East to his twin brother’s Warden of the West. His son would also be the Warden of the East. It was quite the offer to turn down.

It would also help stabilize Jaehaera’s claim.

“I accept, of course, and yet will find I need some time away from my position here,” Ser Tyland said, slowly, as if to test the words.

“Lady Jeyne will be made to stay here. She may rest assured that whilst she is wed to you, her position is secure. I am sure she will be able to find joy in that, or she is a fool,” Aegon said, waving his good hand dismissively. “There is little need for you to go. I mislike losing my Master of Whispers as if, even if he is to work still from Harrenhal to a degree. There is little need to lose my Master of Coin. Especially as I search for a Master of Ships.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Ser Tyland said, bowing his head.

“There will be many weddings, then. Someone will have to tell the Lady Jeyne she comes not to just kneel to the king, then,” Lord Jasper said, amusedly. “And here I thought you were never to wed, Tyland.”

Ser Tyland let out a little laugh. “Well, mine brother will certainly be pleased, at least.”

Aegon’s face darkened a bit, and he shifted in his seat. “Speaking of brothers…when is he expected to arrive back, exactly?”

He spoke of Aemond, and Helaena knew without the name being spoken.

“Within a few days, your Grace. Everything he has sought to do is done. Harrenhal is taken, the Riverlands are secured, and Lord Cregan marches down to bend the knee. We need not send him to the Westerlands, and with Lord Stark on his way there is little need to subdue the North. The Reach has caused us trouble, especially with Lord Tyrell declaring neutrality, by way of his regent mother, but they were not quite…the mess the Riverlands were.” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “His work had been completed, as of now, although a tour would not be remiss after this.”

“Not Aemond,” Grandfather said. “In time, when Aegon is able, he will, but until then, Helaena or Daeron will make progress. Eventually Jaehaera will make her own. It will be important for her and Daeron to show themselves to the Realm. It must not be Aemond.”

“Of course,” the Grand Maester said.

“There is still the matter of the Brackens, since we are on the topic of the Riverlanders,” Lord Jasper said. “They had bent the knee to Lady Rhaenyra – or had sent word they intended to. But they had not actually done so. Still, sending intent is treason itself.”

“They were forced to, by way of brutality that even the gods would shun. To burn septs,” mother shivered. “We cannot forget that.”

“The law is the law, and that they felt bad about it does not lesson the law,” Lord Jasper argued. “We already have to lessen the punishment of much, we cannot simply allow all to flee justice.”

“It was under duress…the extent to which Daemon allowed the Blackwoods to destroy their home was horrifying,” mother said. She shivered, again, rubbing at her arms despite the thick, pale blue dress she wore and the headdress she’d taken to wearing in the fashion of a septa. “The law must be flexible at times, or it is not justice we serve, but cruelty.”

“When then law is flexible it is not just,” Lord Jasper argued, irritably. “When it bends, it is weak. The law must stay rigid to hold itself up. We bend it too much already and are at risk of it snapping.”

Mother stared him down, seeming to come more to life as she spoke. She seemed to beseech Aegon more than she argued with Lord Jasper, though. “The Brackens declared for our king, and they shed blood for him as well. At the Burning Mill they lost a good number of their men, and they lost much more when they stood their ground against Daemon and Caraxes themselves. We have offered clemency to Lord Corlys because he refuted Rhaenyra at the end, and to get his testimony. His word decrying the sons of Rhaenyra as bastards after so many years of accepting them was necessary unless we wished to look like tyrants. Lady Jeyne to uphold Jaehaera. We do so with reason. We cannot punish the Brackens when their loyalty was only broken when their homes were raided in the night, their septs burned, and their land terrorized by our very banners. They have sullied the very image of House Targaryen by waging war against the gods themselves, and now it us up to us to fix their mess.”

Helaena wondered if her mother would have fought this strongly for her, for her brother’s, against Rhaenyra had the pretender won. Helaena wondered if her mother would have fought for Jaehaerys this strongly. She wondered where this woman was when she declared Lady Rhaenyra would have made a fine queen only moons ago.

This doubt did not lesson the words her mother spoke, but Helaena could not feel a pang of resentment that she appealed so heartily for the Brackens but not for her blood. That resentment could not be placed solely on her mother, Helaena knew, for if she’d fought harder for Jaehaerys…. tried, more, to appeal to Aegon…

But it still stung. Mayhaps, she did not have the right to it, though. Mayhaps, she did. It confused Helaena so, the more she thought on it.

“We cannot offer too much clemency, or we risk appearing weak,” Lord Jasper argued. “Intent is just as much treason as action, when that intent is plainly written and negotiated.”

“But we cannot put everyone to the sword, or appear too harsh in our dealings, or we show to the realm that it is better to die than to submit to the king,” mother argued.

“That is…true, we must make peace with our enemies where we can,” Grandfather Otto said, slowly. “The Brackens were quite leal until the end…and whilst they should have remained leal, the Lady Rhaenyra’s actions must be considered. Her King’s actions must be considered.”

“Out of all of the houses, only the Brackens and House Tully stood by our king with devotion from the start,” Grand Maester Orwyle said.

“I have heard Lord Oscar intended to disregard his lord grandfather’s declaration,” Lord Larys said. “It was but a rumor at the time, but he did treat with Prince Daemon. I have it on good counsel Prince Daemon told him to smother his grandsire in his sleep. It may be that he would not have declared for the Blacks.”

“Unlike the Lady Jeyne, however, Lord Oscar did not write his treason to be later kept and used against him,” Lord Jasper said.

“What a f*cking mess,” Aegon said, rubbed absently at his shoulder.

“Whatever course we might take, we must remember our goal now. The realm has been torn asunder, we must now mend it, not tear it apart more,” mother said.

“It is true. It brings up the old memories of King Maegor the Cruel,” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “House Blackwood has disregarded the assize, seized Bracken land, and then savaged it under the banner of House Targaryen.”

“Maybe she should have made her own f*cking banner,” Aegon muttered, rubbing at his brow. “If I’d known we could just use the f*cking house sigil I would have.”

“Mayhaps its best you did not,” Ser Tyland said with a grimace.

“They should be made to return it, and more,” Helaena said. “They disregard the crown too many times, the Blackwoods. Mayhaps they can be made to pay the Brackens for their crimes.”

She said this to Aegon, who leaned back into his chair and seemed thoughtful.

“My wife is correct. The lords of the Riverlands have not knelt but for House Blackwood, and House Bracken, who were forced to their knees. House Blackwood will pay their mulct – half to us, and half to House Bracken in the form of land and coin to fix their septs. House Bracken will be pardoned for kneeling, but…they will send men to join the Kingsguard and Queensguard. They will not be made to pay mulct. They will be made to renounce Lady Rhaenyra, and to kneel,” Aegon said. “As for House Blackwood…do we know who led the charge?”

“Willem Blackwood, your Grace. He seemed to hold Prince Daemon’s ear for some time, I have gathered,” Lord Larys said.

“Then he will be grateful to join him. I will have the head of Willem Blackwood. Who is the Blackwood lord?”

“Lord Benjicott Blackwood, he is but ten-and-one,” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “It was his father, Lord Samwell Blackwood, who knelt. It was the brother of Lord Samwell that governed for Lord Benjicott, and who treated with Prince Daemon. Willem Blackwood was this brother.”

“He chose his regent poorly, although I suppose he had little choice in the matter,” Aegon said, nose wrinkling. “Still, he must be made to pay. I believe Lord Benjicott will serve the realm better if he is raised in the Red Keep until his majority, and we will send another to hold his court for him in the meanwhile.”

“It will be done,” Lord Jasper said. “Who shall be his regent?”

“My grandsire, Otto, will be. It will take a tough hand to hold the Brackens and the Blackwoods apart. I would have no one else do it,” Aegon said.

“I am needed here, your Grace,” Grandfather Otto said, tightly. “The boy is ten-and-one. His regent will need to serve for at least five years.”

“So I realize, and those five years will be precarious. Who else am I to trust with it? You will do well, I think.”

“Who will serve as Hand while father is gone?” mother asked, frowning. “You yourself have stated that you lack a Master of Ships, and with Lord Larys leaving, a Master of Whispers in the Red Keep itself.”

Lord Larys would have most likely been chosen, had he not been ordered to return to his castle to establish his rule and to begot heirs with the lady wife he’d chosen. He tapped his cane against the floor and Helaena had the feeling he wished to put forth his own name.

“Mine brother, Daeron, will,” Aegon said. “You have served the crown dutifully, grandfather, your expertise on keeping the peace will be needed on Blackwood land. Especially as we seek to lessen it.”

“He is a boy of ten-and-six,” Grandfather said, disapprovingly.

“Prince Aemon was but ten-and-nine when made Lord Justiciar and Master of Law,” Aegon said, smiling. “And Daeron fought well for us in the Reach, against the houses that turned to the pretender. That besides, he will need to learn it eventually. Better he learns it now. That is another lesson we may learn from my dear father and half-sister, is it not?”

“As you command,” Grandfather Otto said, his displeasure almost leaking from his words.

“You will leave with Lord Larys and his new bride,” Aegon continued. “I will have the realm united for this. And you shall wed Rhaenyra before you leave, Lord Larys. I will not have her wiggle out of this. That she agreed in the first place is quite astounding. I hadn’t thought her to have the wisdom for it. we will have it done with soon. She is only permitted to go to Harrenhal with Joffrey Waters if she is wed to you. Lady Jeyne will marry you as well, Tyland. I may not have my tourney, but the weddings will suffice, methinks.”

“My brother will ensure it is a grand affair,” Ser Tyland said, with some amusem*nt.

Lord Larys bowed his head. “Of course. It will be a joint affair, with the Lady Baela, yes? I am sure my betrothed will be excited to wed next to her stepdaughter. And her cousin, Lady Jeyne.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Lord Larys said.

“Well, there is much still to discuss, but I find myself desiring a rest. Let us adjourn at a later time in the afternoon,” Aegon said.

Helaena returned with her husband to their rooms. Jaehaera played on the floor with several of Helaena’s ladies in waiting, stacking wooden blocks as if she was making a castle. Helaena moved to the chairs next to where her daughter sat on the blankets, next to Daeron who smiled at her, as Aegon moved to the cushioned chair close to his bed. Helaena dismissed her ladies, and they left with little fuss, closing the door after them.

“How did grandfather take the news?” Daeron asked them.

“He took it, although he was not well pleased,” Helaena said. “Still, it is true that he will do well to keep the peace.”

Daeron winced at the news, and Aegon half-heartedly waved his hands. “Do not feel bad, brother. You are to marry the Queen; you are to be Prince-Consort one day. Have we not learned from father? It is better to establish you and my daughter in every way we can. And I will do it in every way that I can. Besides, I’m sick of that old f*cking man undermining me and attempting to take the reigns from me.”

“I’m sure he does not mean to,” Daeron protested.

“I’m sure I don’t care, and I’m sure he does,” Aegon argued.

“Grandfather will be fine, as will you,” Helaena said, smiling at her brother before they could continue their argument.

Daeron seldom argued with Aegon, but it was now usually about their grandfather. Aegon had seemed to grow a mislike for him since he’d fired Otto as Hand of the King.

Aegon had not been pleased that he’d been returned to it.

“I’m sure we will be…only I feel bad. He has served for so long, and I have not his experience,” Daeron said. He gripped at his knee but nodded. “But I will do everything I can to protect Jaehaera, you have my word on it, Aegon, Helaena.”

“I know. It’s why I chose you,” Aegon said. He looked at Jaehaera, who was placing her doll on top of the castle. “You are to protect my daughter, my heir. And speaking on the subject…I think on the next meeting, I shall have you both attend.”

-

Aemond arrived three days later. Helaena spent those days with her daughter and brothers, waiting for him to return, dreading it. Daeron began to attend the Small Council meetings as well, and Jaehaera joined occasionally, although she spent more time with her maesters and septas, too, for her lessons.

Helaena tried to Dream, tried to force herself to see what would happen when her brother returned -- but try as she might no dreams came to her.

Then Aemond descended upon the city, in the late afternoon.

Daeron, Ser Gwayne, Ser Cole, and mother went to great him as he arrived at the Red Keep. Helaena considered sending out to meet him but spent the time with Aegon in their chambers instead, attempting to sooth his fears even as her own mounted.

Aegon wanted to demand the return of Blackfyre. Helaena knew as much. Her husband worried about it, late in the night, and about how he’d demand it back from Aemond. He considered doing so in public, when he knelt, so that their brother could not refute them – but then Aegon worried that Aemond would be angry. Her husband already worried about the Dragonstone coffers, saying that the decision had been a sudden thought, a sudden urge and that whilst he did not regret it his heart had still beat fiercely because of it.

His worry over it made Aegon wrothful, though. Why did he have to be fearful of treating his attempted killer as he did? It was not without merit…and yet he worried, nevertheless.

She really didn’t know what she wanted from Aemond. Mayhaps for him to go away, because it was easier than looking at the man who had once been a boy she’d trusted and loved, but who had grown to hurt them so much. Helaena didn’t know if she’d ever be able to fully forgive him or forget what he did. She likewise didn’t know if she’d be able to hate him, truly, and especially not forever.

Despite having been home for some time, Aemond did not seek them out until the sun began to set. Aegon had made him wait a few hours as he went back and forth about if he should allow Aemond to come see them. The hour was late, he said, but he had to see his brother eventually, he’d argue. The dread of seeing him might as well bite as strong as seeing him, Aegon had said.

Helaena did not have to do much but watch as he slouched in his chair, debating with himself until he finally agreed to allow their brother in. Ser Rickard Thorne went to fetch him, despite the late hour, and then stood just outside the door as Ser Cole stood within it.

Aegon made himself stand as the kingsguard moved to get their brother, leaning heavily against his cane, and Helaena did not think he wanted Aemond to be able to look down on him. Not that it would aid him much, as their younger brother had always been taller than them all, but Helaena did not think saying that would help. Their brother came to them quietly, looking oddly changed. His face was the same, and yet he seemed to carry himself without the stiffness of before. Aegon tensed as he came in, and Helaena noticed he did not wear Blackfyre – Aemond carried it in his hands. He carried two swords in his hands, actually.

Dark Sister. He’d found it. Helaena felt her stomach drop.

For a long pause, no one said anything. Finally, Helaena cleared her throat. “How was Harrenhal? I have heard it is cursed.”

“Larys said it passes judgement on those who pass through it,” Aegon said, and then he muttered. “Did it pass judgement?”

“Aye, I can safely say it is cursed,” Aemond said, tensely. “That he wanted it in the first place is something I shall never understand. What is not in ruins is haunted, and the people are hardly any better. Former Lord Simon Strong thought to send the former bastard to greet me while he waited in his chambers.”

Aegon snorted and rubbed at his mouth to hide a twitch of his lips. “Well, Larys said he was a c*nt. He said it in better words, but he meant it all the same.”

“I suppose Lord Larys must be correct on some things, and I suppose our half-sister will find its warm quite comforting,” Aemond said, almost dismissively. “I did not come to talk about Harrenhal, however.”

He gripped at Blackfyre and Dark Sister more firmly, and Ser Cole tensed, but then Aemond turned and handed the two blades to the kingsguard. He turned to Aegon, stiffly.

“They are yours. I’ve come to return them, both of them,” Aemond said, curtly.

Aegon’s head had turned, and he eyed the swords that Ser Cole was awkwardly holding. Helaena might have assumed it to be a ploy, had it not been for the fact that Aemond had no other blade on him.

“I had assumed you want to keep it, as you keep everything that covet,” Aegon said.

It was harsh but seemed to lack heat as he stared at Dark Sister and Blackfyre in confusion.

“You were wrong. I imagine at this point you would be very comfortable with being wrong,” Aemond said, amusedly.

Aegon glared at him. “Me? I’m not the one who failed so spectacularly at murdering his brother that he now bears nothing but a badge of shame,” he snapped.

The room grew icy. Helaena tensed, squeezing her hands until they ached and Aemond’s eye narrowed. Ser Cole moved to intercept him, but Helaena shook her head at him even as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“No, you’re not. You’re simply the fool that sought to abandon his wife, his children, his family to run across the sea to Essos to drink and whor*,” Aemond said, coldly. “What do you imagine would have happened to us, when you fled, thinking only of yourself? That Daeron and I would suddenly become less of a threat? That Jaehaerys –”

“Do not speak his name,” Aegon spat. “It should have been you, not him.”

“Had it been me, brother, we would have lost this f*cking war and then he would have died anyway,” Aemond looked pointedly to Helaena and then back to Aegon as he said this. “Our sister was content before his death to dawdle and do nothing, and you were content to attempt to run, and then when that did not work, to lay with whor*s and lickspittles. It was I who trained, I who fought, I who have been treating this war like an actual war and not a toy battleground for wooden soldiers. You treated it all like a jape before it personally took from you. That I had to lose my eye to even the playing field simply does not matter, does it? Had I died your head would be atop a spike with your son’s, as would mine and Daeron’s and grandfather’s, and I imagine our dear sister and her dear daughter would be made nothing more than broodmares for the pretender’s reign, made to pop our babes to cover for our dear nephew’s obvious bastardry.”

Helaena squeezed her eyes tighter, her hands twitching as she refrained from covering them. Instead, she opened her eyes and saw that despite his harsh words, Aemond’s face was fallen, his anger marred with regret.

Aegon and Aemond stared at each other for a long, silent moment. Finally, Aegon looked away, jaw clenched.

“I did not take it seriously,” Aegon finally said, voice tight. “And neither did you, I think.”

“Of course I did –” Aemond snapped.

“Did you? You always want to be the best, to do the best, always marking those who have supposedly wronged you. Are you certain you did not see this as an opportunity to raise your station, to right the wrongs you think we have marked against you? To make a name for yourself, to make yourself feared?” Aegon asked.

“So you deny them, still.”

Aegon stared at his brother, and Helaena looked worriedly between them. “What did you want from us, Aemond? I f*cking stood by you when you pointed the finger at me, when we both knew it was mother’s words that planted the seed in your head, our heads, not me. When you sought to start a fight at the last meal father lived for, I stood up for you. I brought you into the Small Council when you had no place for it. All I got in return was you, constantly, hovering as you tried to make me the fool, always insisting on showing that you are the superior. What did you expect from us? What is there to deny? Lucerys took your f*cking eye, and Lucerys is in a f*cking ditch –”

“The ocean,” Helaena corrected, murmuring, but her brother did not stop.

“What the f*ck else do you want?” Aegon demanded.

“I wanted --,” Aemond started, angrily. He paused, fists clenched, and froze.

“Do you not even know what you wanted?” Aegon snorted. “Typical.”

Aemond’s jaw twitched. “I wanted someone other than me to say it wasn’t a fair exchange! I wanted someone to protest when I said it! I wanted someone to f*cking care, and not pretend like I am always the problem!” He snapped, breathing hard. “I wanted you to not be such a f*cking c*nt!”

Mother had said Rhaenyra would make for a fine queen, she had forgotten, it would seem. Had Helaena ever remembered? She’d dreamed it was going to happen. Vhagar, claimed, and the eye of a wooden soldier closing forever, leaving nothing but splintered wood and a sapphire in its place. She’d known it was going to happen, although it had felt distant and odd when it finally did happen.

That was how it usually felt. She saw, it happened, but it felt like there was a veil between her and the thing. Not with Jaehaerys, though. It had happened like she saw, but the sharp pain had pierced the veil.

Why had it not been as such with Aemond? Helaena didn’t know. She also did not remember if she’d ever said anything about it to him.

“I’m the f*cking c*nt, am I?” Aegon laughed derisively, tapping his cane loudly against the ground.

“You were, and you still are,” Aemond said, and then with a little more force. “Your grace.”

“And you were always such a wiseacre twat,” Aegon said, although there was a surprising lack of heat to it. “Although you were always the better with the sword, I’ll admit. You f*cking better have been, with all that time you spent on it.”

They stared at each other, silently. Helaena watched them, not quite certain if they’d been arguing or not, although her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“I am sorry,” Helaena said, slowly, staring at her brother. “It was unjust. We never had to pay a price for our dragons. I am sorry you were made to.”

“You knew it was going to happen,” Aemond accused her, voice cracking.

“I…I did,” Helaena said, slowly, looking at her brother.

She saw him as he was that day, small, wide eyed, his eagerness to fly so strong that it almost radiated off him.

“You said nothing, you never said anything. You didn’t even speak to Aegon when I –,” Aemond paused, words trailing off.

Aegon’s eyes turned to her, uncertainly and Helaena flinched.

“I didn’t,” Helaena whispering. “I do not know why. I did not.”

“And you. You were not even supposed to be there, Aegon, and it was for a reason, yet you disregarded all to do as you please. As usual,” Aemond pushed. “I am not the only problem. And I will not be made to be.”

They stared at each other for a long time before Aegon slowly nodded, eyes still on Aemond. “I do not forgive you for this, still. I never will.”

“You don’t need to. I am not asking for it,” Aemond said, fiercely.

“….I may have not taken things seriously, and mayhaps I should have. But I will not forget this. Ever,” Aegon continued, as if his brother had not spoken. His eyes turned to Helaena, and she could see hurt in them.

She flinched but nodded. All these years, and all these dreams, and why had she received them when she did little with them? So much could have been avoided had she tried, but she didn’t until the end.

“Nor shall I,” Aemond said, slowly, taking a step back. “Good night, your Graces.”

They stood there in another long stretch of silence, Helaena not quite knowing what had happened or what it meant. Aegon tapped his cane against the ground and then moved to sit down, and Helaena moved with him.

“What a f*cking c*nt. I hate it when he’s right,” Aegon said. He rubbed tiredly at his face. “I do not understand you. You truly are an enduring mystery, although f*cking Aemond is right up there with you.”

“I am sorry,” Helaena told him – and she meant it, truly, towards both of her brothers. Towards her Jaehaerys as well. “I did…I did not know you tried to leave.”

She hadn’t, truly, although the idea did not sit well with her. It seemed to have been when Jaehaerys still lived. Yet she felt no right in chastising her husband for it. Had that not what she’d done all her life, turning away from visions and refusing to act on them?

Helaena felt as if she could say nothing to him now. Thought, mayhaps, her thoughts had been too harsh towards her other brother…

“Yeah, I did, before they crowned me. Tried to run to Essos. Obviously failed,” Aegon said, running a hand through his hair. He eyed her, and while there was no anger or hate in it, there was disappointment, and it stung. “What a f*cking mess we all are, are we not? You are sorry, I am sorry, that asshole is sorry even though he didn’t f*cking say it…Daeron is even sorry for not being here, though it wasn’t his fault, and don’t get me starting on mother….we’re all f*cking sorry. And we’ll all having to f*cking live with it. But at least we’ll f*cking live, I guess.”

Helaena wondered if she was meant to leave, but Aegon held out his hand for her to take – and she took it, sitting next to him by the fire as the night passed.

“Yes,” Helaena whispered, softly. “We will.”

The next morning Aegon ordered Aemond to come to their room before the Red Keep was to come alive, and he had Ser Gwayne present Dark Sister to him.

“It’s yours, you’re the best out of all of us,” Aegon said, a little bitterly. “And it’s not like I can f*cking use it.”

Aemond eyed it, and Helaena assumed he’d take it – but her surprised them by taking a step back. “No. I don’t want it.”

Aegon stared at the brother as he gave out a little bark of laugher. “Really, you c*nt? I’m trying to give it you. Take it or I’m sending it to the bottom of the f*cking ocean.”

Their brother smirked as he looked him, his previous expression of confusion completely wiped off his face. “Then send it, I’m not taking it,” he said, and then paused and said deliberately slowly, “your grace.”

“Mayhaps…mayhaps Ser Cole can take it, to defend us with?” Helaena asked, eyeing her younger brother.

Why had he not taken it? She did not know.

“No,” Aegon dismissed, “I’ll remain unused until this one decides to stop being difficult.”

“I’m the difficult one?” Aemond demanded, although their was something like amusem*nt in his tone, despite how tense it was.

“Yes, as usual,” Aegon said, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t know why I f*cking bother.”

-

-

Aemond still refused the sword two moons later, although for the life of her Helaena could not figure out why. She’d assumed he’d covet it, want it, would have fought for it.

He’d given it to them and then refused it.

But then again, everything with Aemond seemed odd now. Mayhaps this was not the oddest thing about him, about how he moved in the Red Keep now. Helaena had been made to sit with these uncomfortable feelings for two moons and still could not decipher them.

She wondered if she ever would, or if they’d be more elusive than her dreams.

The lords came, surging into King’s Landing. The Crown lands and Storm Lords came first, as they were the closest, followed quickly by the Rivermen, Valemen, and Lord Cregan and his men. House Manderly was the second Northern house to arrive, as they’d come by ship. The people of the Reach came around the same time as the people of the North did.

Aegon wanted to wait for them all to be here, to mimic what they’d heard of their half-sister’s coronation as heir. He wanted it to be grander than even that, and so did Helaena. That besides, there was still the matter of Lady Jeyne to speak to.

She was not pleased with the marriage announcement but did not refute it --- as had been expected. If she refuted the marriage to Ser Tyland, she risked losing her station.

When, finally, all the lords of the realm were there, they set to work immediately. It took days for all of the lords of the realm to kneel before them, although they were permitted to leave only when every single lord had knelt. Rhaenyra was first amongst them to kneel, her expression angry when she gazed at Jaehaera – and Helaena was glad to see that she would not be permitted to stay. Helaena did not want to have to look upon her half-sister and her hate for the rest of her days. Aemond was also amongst the first to kneel, although Helaena was mayhaps, almost, sad to know that he would be leaving to Storm’s End after all of this to wed.

Still, the lords came and came, all kneeling and swearing, and as they did Jaehaera stood beside her father and uncle, standing as proudly tall as she could although she occasionally looked to their grandmother in the crowd, who held Beetle for her.

Helaena watched on, her heart fit to nearly burst even as it ached with the absence of her son. When, finally, all the lords of the realm had knelt, and the marriages took place in the halls of the Red Keep, the lords left just as they’d come and Helaena was not sad to see them all go. All but one, mayhaps.

That very night she dreamt of the ocean rising to wash away burning fields, she dreamed of a dragon swimming in the ocean like a snake. She dreamt of a beetle, with green, glinting wings flying off into a bright blue sky under a lush and green garden. She dreamt of sapphires growing rich in a field burnt field were saplings grew and of her and her siblings as they’d been as children, united, happy.

Chapter 12: And, Yet, Life Continues

Chapter Text

Aegon

Despite the fact that they’d gone through the trouble of codifying the succession law to protect Jaehaera, his heir, Aegon was glad to hear that his brother’s latest child was another girl. Even with their…understanding, he could not help but feel a flare of a panic whenever Lady Floris Baratheon was with child. That she and Aemond had moved back to the Red Keep so that she could be lady-in-waiting to Helaena did not make it any easier.

That Aemond still refused Dark Sister made it a little easier. The stupid c*nt had refused the peace offering Aegon had made, but it made him still feel as if his brother was making a point. Of course he had to be difficult with it, though.

Still, Aemond had bent the knee, his wife had bent the knee, and he’d made it clear that when his children could, they would, too, but there was always just a little bit of doubt.

Mother would be pleased with this newest grandchild if she could pull herself away from the sept long enough. She spent so much of her time in the sept Aegon was certain she’d request to join it at some point, although it seemed to bring his mother joy. Aegon had considered rejecting the inevitable request at one point, when he was still angry at his mother for forcing him to become king and then rejecting his voice as king outright but found now that he was inclined to say yes.

If she ever asked, that is.

Seven years had passed, and in those seven years so many babes had been born. The Lady Rhaenyra had a second child by Lord Larys on its way any moon now. Even Rhaena had two children by Gwayne, and Baela three by her husband, the oafish Ser Emory Hill.

Laughable or not, it was difficult to not feel…bitterness towards them all, as detested as some of them were, having children when Aegon could not. It was another stone is brother had sought to lay at his funeral pyre, although he had not succeeded.

Aegon had never thought his life would be as such. Things got better as they years went on, although they would never return to what they once had been. He’d learned long ago to come to terms with that. His mother had birthed him to suffer, and he made her suffer. His sister had foreseen it all, and did little until the end, but then she’d toiled to alleviate his suffering. Stood by his side through it all. His grandfather had pushed for Aegon to be king, and then detested him in the end, as Aegon detested him. And Aemond had burned him, and yet now, all these years later, while Aegon and not forgiven him….he felt his hate lessen as Aemond upheld Jaehaera.

Aegon had ignored his daughter until she was the only heir he’d ever have, had almost fled and left his children and wife and family on their own, and Jaehaera still loved him…

So much had been taken, but so much had changed…

And it was not necessarily for the worse, not all of it, at least. Jaehaera was Aegon’s heir, would forever be Aegon’s heir, and he would never dispute that. Would uphold it and defend it and leave her rule to be protected in ways Viserys Targaryen had been too foolish to do for Lady Rhaenyra. He had already called his realm to kneel to his daughter again, five years after his victory. It had come with a grand tourney, and when Ser Cole won, he named Jaehaera Queen of Love and Beauty.

It was fitting.

Not all had been lost. Sunfyre had returned. His wing had been ripped off almost entirely, but he was able to swim. It had taken a full year for Aegon’s dragon to make his way from Rook’s Rest to Dragonstone to King’s Landing but Sunfyre was returned. Aegon would never run again, would never fly atop his mount again. But he would gaze upon his dragon again, feel the warmth of Sunfyre’s breath on his skin, see him live. He would never have a son, but he had a daughter, and Jaehaera was the light of his life.

And it would be enough. It would have to be.

“Father?” Jaehaera called, tentatively peeking into his chambers.

She was dressed in her riding clothing, warm, light blue leather accentuated with golden beetle-like scales down the sides of her trousers and on the arms of her tunic. Her hair was carefully braided up, a bun atop her head that looked almost like a rose, as she preferred it. When she spotted him, Jaehaera warmly came to hug him and Aegon squeezed her back as tightly as he could.

“You are ready, then? Where is Daeron?”

“He’s speaking with Ser Cole,” Jaehaera said, and then she leaned in and whispered. “I think Daeron is more nervous than I am to go on our progress.”

“He has no reason to be,” Aegon snorted. “The realm is at peace, and I can withstand my hand being gone for some time, especially as your mother will fill his spot.”

“I told him as such,” Jaehaera said, grinning. “But you know how he is. I wanted to see you before I go. Shall I bring you back anything from the Reach?”

Aegon smiled down at her. “I have no needs, daughter. I will look forward to your return, but I need nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Jaehaera asked, doubtfully. “Not even wine?”

“You know as well as I do that my Master of Ships has an almost constant shipment of Arbor Gold coming from the Reach,” Aegon laughed. “Lord Redwyne would not have it any other way, as closely as he likes his Arbors and mislikes all else. Did your mother want something?

“She wants some cloth, and a shield bug if I can find it. I will, of course. But I’m going to bring you back something, and you’re going to love it,” Jaehaera told him, stubbornly.

Aegon laughed. “Yes, I do not doubt you, Jaehaera. I never would.”

It took Aegon much longer to walk than it used to, but it was still better than it had been when he’d been injured. He still recalled the days of agony, the weeping as he tried to take step after step but found his body fighting him.

The walk to the carriage to see his daughter off was longer than it once was, but it was much less painful. Helaena kissed their daughter as Jaehaera made to move into the Dragonpit and hugged their brother as well – who very heartily promised to keep their daughter safe on their travels. Aegon stood, leaning heavily against his cane, and watched them depart, waiting until their dragons rose into the sky to turn back to his carriage.

“I think…I should like to go on my own progress, when they return,” Aegon told his wife as she settled in next to him. “The Westerlands, methinks.”

“They have a great variety of insects there, and a Fuzzy Tigger Moth I should like to see in person,” Helaena told him, excitedly. “It is said to have spots like a cow on one set of wings, and like a tiger on the other.”

“Do you not have those?” Aegon asked, puzzled, certain he’d seen something like that. “On your wall of pinned insects?”

He had not liked them at first, especially in his chambers, but they’d made Helaena so happy and after some time Aegon did not even mind them. Although there were many. It could almost be fun, to help his wife set the new ones up.

She was oddly particular about how she liked them placed.

“Yes, but I should like to see them outside if I can,” Helaena told him. “It is very difficult to transport live insects, so I usually get them dead.”

“Well, we have but months until they return, we may start our plans now,” Aegon said, closing his eyes for a moment. He could almost picture it. It was spring, and the Westerlands would be blooming with life and warmth. “Yes, I think we shall go.”