Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

"Jacaerys, for the last time, NO!" Rhaenyra screamed at her eldest son, wincing at her own loud tone as she listened for the sound of any retreating feet.

Please don't let anyone have overheard me…

Once upon a time, Rhaenyra's servants were allowed to come and go whenever they needed to. She was even friendly with some of them, chatting with them when they came in to do their work. It was no longer a luxury she could afford. Now, servants were only permitted in her royal suite when she was absent, to prevent them from overhearing anything they shouldn't. If she needed a servant's help while she was in the suite, she would open her door and ask one of her guards to fetch one for her.

She hated having to hunt down a servant whenever she needed something. Almost as much as she hated needing a food taster to check all of her meals before she ate, lest the spy (who she still had not managed to track down) poisoned her the same way he poisoned Meleys.

But right now, she had far more urgent matters to worry about. Like preventing her firstborn son and heir from getting himself killed.

"Mother, you HAVE to let me go!" Jace said. "We've lost Duskendale! Criston Cole sacked the city and beheaded Lord Darklyn. Rook's Rest is next! If the Greens take Rook's Rest, we're all but finished. When Lady Jeyne's soldiers finish their march to Gulltown, we won't be able to ferry them to Rook's Rest so they can march to Harrenhal. We have no other Houses in the Crownlands. We can't take King's Landing in a sea battle; not with Vhagar and Dreamfyre guarding the city. We NEED to keep Rook's Rest safe!"

"And we will. But you will NOT be flying into combat yourself."

"Mother…"

"NO!" she shouted, wincing again. "Our spies have reported that Criston Cole brought scorpions with him for his march. Archers. Vermax is too young. His scales aren't hard enough to be resistant to arrows yet. He was already struck by an arrow once. They can shoot you out of the sky."

"Or I can burn Cole's army before it gets to Rook's Rest," he countered, snarling. "Or…maybe I can take Baela and Moondancer with me? Or you can accompany me on Syrax. Or…"

"No." She shook her head vehemently.

I am not losing another son…The thought of her beautiful Jace, shot out of the sky by a scorpion bolt, fighting in her war…It was more than she could bear.

"Mother, you cannot do NOTHING!" He balled his fist, slamming it against the wall. "Daemon cannot leave Harrenhal. The Tullys and their vassals are marching, and they have scorpions and archers too. They're trying to reclaim Harrenhal for the Greens, and he needs to stay there and fight them off. If Daemon leaves to come and deal with this problem, the Tullys will kill the Darrys and the Rootes. Unless you allow me to recruit the dragon seeds…"

"I am not allowing the dragon seeds to claim dragons, Jace!" she said. "Dragons are House Targaryen's source of power. They are what makes us special. If I allow peasants off the streets to try their hands at claiming them, then it weakens our House!"

"THEN YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO!" he screamed. "Me, or you, or Baela! Or all three of us! Rook's Rest needs aid."

"We don't even know that yet," she countered. "The Stauntons are our strongest ally in the Crownlands. They have their own army. Their own navy. Criston Cole does not march with the Hightower Army; he marches only with Houses Rosby and Stokeworth. The Stauntons can overpower them."

"At what cost!"

"I will not AID them at the cost of my son!" she cried, turning away from him and staring out the window, hand running absentmindedly over her belly.

This war has cost me two children. I cannot bear to risk a third.

"If the Stauntons send word to us that they cannot fend Cole off by themselves, then I will personally fly to Harrenhal and hold it while Daemon defends Rook's Rest," she declared. "You, Baela, and the rest of your siblings will remain here on Dragonstone, where you are safe."

"Mother…"

"No 'Mother'," she said sternly. "That is an order from your Queen."

An order she would come to regret? Perhaps. Perhaps she was being too much like her father. Too cautious. But so be it. She would sacrifice the throne altogether before she accepted the death of another child. 

She waited until Jace left, snarling in disgust, before she rushed over to her writing desk, pulling out the letter she had concealed. She had not sent it yet, not without talking to Daemon and her council, but she believed she had finally come up with an offer that Aegon could not refuse.

He will be Lord Paramount of the Crownlands, she thought, cringing as she read her own writing. Every other Kingdom has a Lord Paramount; the Crownlands should as well. It's not a devastating concession. Not truly.

A flawed offer, she knew. The Crownlands had no Lord Paramount because they were meant to be the Crown's standing army. Giving them over to Aegon could all but guarantee more rebellions down the line…but she saw no other way to stop this war now before there was more bloodshed. Not without surrendering outright and bending the knee to her brother.

Although even in that, I might soon have no choice…

Not unless the Stauntons could hold Rook's Rest.

Aemond

"I will pray for your safe return, my prince," Abby said, nodding to him respectfully as he bid the rest of his family farewell.

She looked lovely this morning. Since coming to King's Landing, she had taken to wearing various shades of green as a show of support, and today was no exception. The impending winter had kissed the air with the faintest touch of crispness. Not enough for a coat, but enough for her to wear a long-sleeved velvet gown trimmed with gold. Emerald green that perfectly matched her eyes and complimented her auburn hair.

Abby Tully had adapted well to King's Landing and to being Aemond's betrothed. She was quickly making friends amongst the other noble ladies, including both Alicent and Helaena. Understandable. Abby was a delight. Aemond enjoyed her company, and the two of them had numerous conversations about their planned wedding and mutually agreed to wanting at least three children. He was fond of her, and in time, he could easily see her becoming a dear friend.

But I will never love her. Not romantically. My heart is no longer mine to give.

Last night had been his fourth night in bed with Aegon and Helaena. He still had his "lessons" with just Aegon, but Helaena was in the midst of her prime fertility window and so she had been joining them at night.

Last night, after a few whispered encouragement and neck kisses from Aegon, Aemond had made love to Helaena for the first time, and the memory lingered sweetly in his mind long after he drifted off to sleep. Being with her was so different from being with his brother that he could not say which he preferred. With Aegon, he could be as rough or as playful as he wished, whereas Helaena needed a gentler, sweeter touch that he was happy to give because he knew it made her happy. Aegon was more dominant, and sometimes the two of them would wrestle for the top position, but Helaena was more submissive, bringing out Aemond's need to protect. Even their bodies felt different, though equally wonderful in their different ways.

I enjoy being with both of them…and mercifully, there is no need to choose.

He feared he would not be able to keep from finishing inside of her; holding her in his arms felt far too perfect, too beautiful. But luckily, Aegon knew he might get overwhelmed his first time with a woman, and so he'd been there to help, gently pressing his thumb behind Aemond's balls and stopping his climax before it could crest. He was not disappointed for long, though. Aegon finished him off by mouth before he could so much as grumble.

But better than the sex itself was the way he got to fall asleep and wake up in both of their arms. He'd never slept better in his entire life than when he did when he was holding one of them, or when one of them was holding him. When he could breathe in the wonderful scent of Helaena's hair soap while Aegon's foot was hooked around his calf. When he could place sleepy kisses against Aegon's shoulder while Helaena rested her dainty hand on his bicep.

He was in love. Truly, madly, and deeply, and he was happier than he ever thought possible in this wretched world where they lived.

It only broke his heart that he could never be legally part of their marriage. One day, he would have to wed Abby and honor her as his lawful wife.

The Conqueror may have taken two spouses, but they were both women. Helaena cannot take a second husband, and Aegon cannot wed a man.

And so Aemond smiled and returned Abby's polite nod. "And I shall pray that I return to you swiftly," he said formally.

Otto clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly. "I expect we'll be seeing you within a few days," he said. "Do you remember our plan?"

He did. He and Aegon had spent the better part of the last evening reviewing the plan with the council. Ser Criston was either at Rook's Rest now or would be there shortly to begin the siege. He and Aegon would arrive together on dragonback. Aegon, atop the beautiful Sunfyre, would inspire wonder and awe amongst his followers. Meanwhile Aemond and Vhagar would strike fear into the hearts of their enemies.

"If you can take the castle bloodlessly, do it," Lord Borros had encouraged them. "We want to show them that you are different from your bloodthirsty uncle. That you have the realm's best interest at heart. However, if they refuse…"

Then they will be met with Fire and Blood.

The only fly in the ointment had been Borros's insistence that they return home to King's Landing after Rook's Rest was taken.

"If Aegon and I continue on to Harrenhal, we can reclaim it from Daemon before the Tullys and the rest of the Riverlanders need to fight," Aemond had argued.

Of course, the real reason was much more personal. The horror of what nearly happened to his mother, sister, and the children still tormented Aemond in his sleep. Though the assassination attempt had been foiled, it still burned Aemond that Daemon had gotten away with no retribution.

"Aye," Borros had agreed. "You could, my prince. But Caraxes will not die easily, and we do not know if they mean to lay a trap for you. No, my prince. The safest way, for you and our King, is to let the Blacks slowly bleed out, then cut off their heads when they're at their weakest."

It infuriated Aemond that Borros was right. Vhagar was the most powerful dragon in the world, but the numerous scars on her body (medals from her battles won) confirmed she was not invincible. There was no question in his mind that she could defeat Caraxes, but Caraxes would not die quietly. He would leave new scars, and Vhagar might need weeks or even months to recover. They simply could not afford to lose their greatest asset.

And so Aemond and Aegon would be returning home to King's Landing as soon as Rook's Rest was secure and the Stauntons either bent the knee or lost their heads.

And speaking of his brother…

The clanging of armor rang out over the cliffs as Aegon left the castle with Helaena and their children by his side, the little family surrounded by Kingsguard. Not that they needed it; not with Sunfyre and Vhagar waiting by the cliffs, well rested, well fed, and ready for the fight. Sunfyre looked up happily as Aegon approached, letting out a roar of welcome for his beloved rider.

Never in your life have you looked more like a King, Aemond marveled as Aegon approached, bowing respectfully along with everyone else in attendance.

His brother's armor was dark grey, near black, but the armorer had adored it with flecks of gold leaf cut to look like dragon scales, a near perfect replica of an emerald-eyed Sunfyre emblazoned across Aegon's chest. But most impressive of all was his crown. It would fit him perfectly now; Aegon had affixed it to the helm he would wear into battle. 

A warrior king, just like your namesake.

Aemond's own armor was less grandiose. Less grandiose by design. He'd been planning to wear armor adored with gold and gemstones, just like his brother, but a conversation with Borros had changed his mind.

"The greatest of warriors do not wear armor that is gleaming or pristine, my prince," Borros had told him sagely. "No, the armor that is most apt to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies is armor that looks like it's been battle-tested."

Aemond had taken Borros's advice to heart. He still adorned his chest plate with a sizable golden dragon sigil, exactly matching Aegon's banners, but the rest of the armor was black and unremarkable. Unremarkable…save for the various dings and scratches that Aemond had meticulously put into its surface with a small hammer and an old knife. Not enough to damage the armor or make it less functional, but enough to make it look like others had tried to kill him…and failed.

Lord Borros was right; the armor looked fearsome.

And it's not as though I won't be wearing any gemstones, Aemond thought. He had left his eyepatch behind, his glistening blue sapphire eye on full display. 

Aegon smiled as he reached Aemond's side, returning his bow with a formal nod. "Brother," he said regally. "Are you prepared?"

"Indeed," Aemond agreed. "Prepared to make House Staunton regret the day they swore fealty to the pretender."

Aegon accepted a few more farewells from the council, from their mother, and from a worried-looking Daeron.

"Aeg-Your grace," Daeron said, quickly correcting himself. "Are you certain Tessarion and I cannot join you? If the Blacks try something, three dragons are better than two."

Aemond glanced out over the bay, where Tessarion was flying over the water. The cobalt dragon was beautiful, and she'd grown substantially in Daeron's time at Oldtown, but she was still a relatively small dragon. Barely larger than Arrax had been. Aemond would strongly prefer she stayed out of combat unless there was no other option.

"I'm certain, brother," Aegon confirmed. "Sunfyre and I will not be here to defend the city, and neither will Vhagar, so that task will fall to you. Yes, now that we have the Hightower army here, it is much less likely the Blacks will try to move in with the Velaryon fleet, but I still want you and Tessarion to patrol the skies at least once or twice a day as a deterrent…"

Aegon peeked over his shoulder at Helaena. "You as well, my Queen. If anything does happen, I do not want you to fight. I want you to take the children and flee. But with Dreamfyre's massive size, she will help Tessarion in serving as a deterrent."

Turning back to Daeron, he finished somberly, "And I need you to remain here for another reason as well. The cold and unfortunate truth is that we are at war, and I must prepare for all contingencies. If anything should happen to Aemond and I at Rook's Rest, then it will be up to you, Prince Daeron the Daring, to serve as Prince Regent until my son Jaehaerys is of age."

Aemond saw his own thoughts echoed on the horrified expression on Daeron's face. The thought of their brother and the beautiful Sunfyre falling from the sky…

No, Aemond thought, pushing back the writhing fear in his belly. No, that will not happen. I will not allow that to happen. He is my brother. He is my King. I love him, and I will protect him while we are in the sky.

Even if it means my life.  

Equally worried, Helaena stepped forward, meeting first Aegon's eyes, then Aemond's, before straightening her shoulders and wearing an expression of regal grace.

"As Queen, I command both of you to return home safely," she said, without the slightest hitch of fear in her voice, though Aemond could see flashes of worry in her eyes.

Of course, she had no authority to command Aegon to do anything. Not when he was the crowned monarch. Nonetheless, he smiled.

"As you wish."

I'll keep him safe for you, Helaena, Aemond vowed. I'll keep both of us safe for you. Especially now, when there might be a new babe in your belly.

It grieved him that they were in public. He'd kissed Helaena this morning when the three of them had woken, a private farewell, but he would love to kiss her again now. Her and Aegon both, before they flew off into battle. But she was not his, and neither was Aegon.

And so, with one last round of well-wishes, they turned and made their way to their dragons, climbing into the saddles and taking off into the skies.

Jace

If she will not grant me permission, then I shall instead beg for forgiveness, Jace thought as he ran outside, cloak pulled up to hide his riding clothes, the letter from Lord Staunton's raven hot in his pocket.

Criston Cole had arrived at Rook's Rest. The Stauntons themselves were hidden safely behind their castle walls, but they had precious little time. Cole's army had seized all available food and livestock and set their ships afire. They could hold out for a short time, but not for very long. Not with Cole bringing in the trebuchets and other siege weapons. If something wasn't done, and fast, Rook's Rest would fall, just like Duskendale.

They could not risk it. They were already losing the war, and he did not trust his mother to fly to Harrenhal and act as a stand-in for Daemon while he returned to deal with Cole's army.

And it isn't Daemon's responsibility to fight this war alone, Jace thought resolutely as he made his way towards where Vermax waited for him. I am the crown prince. Future King. If I will not fight for my realm, how can I expect any of them to fight for me?

He'd almost made it to his dragon when a tiny voice stopped him.

"Jace, wait!" Joffrey called, his footsteps pattering closer.

Fuck. "Go back inside," he commanded, but Joffrey ignored him, running closer until he reached Jace's side, grabbing his arm to make him stop.

"You didn't give mother the raven," Joffrey accused, his voice low as he looked up at Vermax. "And now you are sneaking off to your dragon?"

Fucking hell. "This doesn't concern you. Go back inside, Joffrey," he ordered, his voice gruff, but his brother ignored him, yanking on his arm harder.

"I want to help!"

No. "I'm just taking Vermax out for a flight, and…"

"You're lying!" Joffrey insisted, his voice squeaking, even as Jace shushed him. "You're going somewhere to help with the war. I want to help!"

"You're ten years old; you're too young. This doesn't concern you. Go back inside, and…"

"No!" he insisted, stamping his foot. "I am NOT too young! I'm a dragon rider, just like you! Tyraxes is bigger than a warhorse, and I know the commands to make him breathe fire."

"You're not…"

"I WANT TO COME TOO!" he demanded, and Jace wheeled around to clamp a hand over his brother's mouth…only to yelp and recoil when Joffrey bit him, fire blazing in his brown eyes.

"Stop treating me like an imbecile just because I'm ten!" he demanded. "No one will let me go to the council meetings, but I know what's happening! The Greens stole mother's throne! It should be her on the Iron Throne, just like our grandfather wanted. And now they're killing her supporters, just like they killed Luke!"

The mention of Luke's name constricted Jace's throat. With the war, he had still not had a chance to properly process his grief. To mourn for the brother he had loved so fiercely. And so it burned at the back of his throat like a vile acid.

Joffrey had the luxury of not hiding his own grief, not stopping the tears of sadness and rage that streamed down his cheeks.

"They killed Luke," he repeated. "Even if we can't prove it, we know they did it! We know Aemond killed him because Luke cut out his eye. They're EVIL!"

Of course the Greens killed him, even if they didn't. Luke never would have gone to Storm's End in the first place if Aegon hadn't stolen Rhaenyra's throne.

"I have a dragon who's old enough to help," Joffrey continued through his tears. "I want to help mama…mother!" he corrected himself. "I want to help us win!"

Jace hesitated, staring at his little brother's face. At the fury and sorrow that he found there. He was so young, but it was true he was a good flier. And Jace understood all to well what it felt like to be so sick with grief and rage that he had to act. After all, he himself was committing treason to do it. Could he truly fault his brother for wanting the same thing?

Luke got killed on a simple envoy mission to Storm's End. This is an active battle. But…if he stays out of range of arrow fire the entire time…seeing two dragons scouring the sky might be enough to force Criston Cole to surrender bloodlessly.

And so Jace sighed. "Only if you swear to do EXACTLY what I tell you to do."

Aegon

"DRACARYS!" he cried, marveling, as he always did, at the sight of Sunfyre's golden flames as they engulfed the castle below him.

At least, he did marvel…until he heard the screams. Then he felt sick.

These are my enemies, he told himself. They bent the knee to Rhaenyra. They fight for Rhaenyra. They would help Rhaenyra slaughter me and my entire family without a flicker of hesitation or remorse. I cannot have any for them.

And yet he knew every scream would haunt him in his sleep. Because it was real now. All this time, he said he'd be willing to go to war if that's what it took to protect his family. But until the first screams of a dying man reached his ears, he had no concept of what 'war' truly meant.

So be it, he told himself, forcing his queasy stomach to settle. I will protect my family, and protecting my family means stabilizing my reign.

Criston's plan was simple: use the dragons as siege weapons along with the trebuchets and catapults to force the Staunton's hand. That is why it was Sunfyre breathing fire upon the castle, rather than Vhagar (who was waiting, concealed by the treeline). Sunfyre was more than a hundred years younger than Vhagar and far smaller. His flames were hot enough to burn anyone in the courtyard, anyone to close to the windows, and to make the surrounding stone worryingly hot. But those deep within the castle would survive and be safe.

Vhagar, however, was as large as Balerion was when he burned Harrenhal. She could easily turn the entire smaller castle into an oven and roast everyone within alive.

So she would only be used if the Stauntons still refused to wave the white flag, leaving Aegon no choice but to order their deaths.

And it was looking like he might be forced to do exactly that. Though he soared above the castle, he saw no attempts to raise a white flag.

He set his jaw, considered giving Aemond the signal…and then cried, "Dracarys!" again, hoping that if he terrorized them for a few minutes longer, they would bend the knee.

Don't make us kill you. Don't make us end your entire line. That is not how I want my reign to start. That is not how I want the history books to remember me. At the very least, I want them to remember that I was fair and gave them every opportunity to save their lives before I claimed them.

One of their trebuchet's boulders struck hard against the castle wall, creating a faultline in the stone, and Aegon did not hesitate to aim another blast of dragonfire towards it, making it grow as large clumps of stone clambered towards the ground.

What are they waiting for? he wondered. They can't possibly think they're going to hold us off? Even without Vhagar, they can't…they can't…

The roar of a dragon echoed over the sea. A roar that did not belong to Vhagar.

And another unfamiliar roar echoed it a half second later.

Fuck…

He whipped his head a round to see the silhouette of two dragons flying in from over the water. The first he recognized immediately as Vermax, all too familiar with his shape after seeing him so often in his youth. The other was far smaller, and Aegon thought it might be Moondancer at first (the dragon of Jace's fiancé Baela) until it got close enough for him to recognize it. Tyraxes. Joffrey's dragon.

And they were both flying straight for him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Instinct took over and he ripped off his glove, placing his hand directly against the scales of Sunfyre's neck.

Be nimble, my friend, he thought. They're both coming at us, and we can't fight two on one unless we're careful. Even if they are smaller.

For although Aegon dismissed it every time his siblings questioned him, it was true that his bond with Sunfyre was something that he could not put into words. He almost never needed to use commands (verbal or physical) because somehow, his beloved dragon always seemed to know exactly what he wanted.

He would have to trust that bond now. Sunfyre would need his guidance.

Leave it to the fucking Strong cowards to attack two against one, just like Jace and the others attacked Aemond four against one all those years ago on Driftmark.

But it was not two against one. Aemond was waiting for Aegon's signal. Waiting and watching. Surely he would have seen the enemy dragons by now…

And he had. Vermax breathed a stream of fire directly at Aegon, which he scarcely managed to evade by guiding Sunfyre into a dive. But Aegon still managed to savor the look of terror on Jace's face when Vhagar's deafening roar echoed through the skies.

Ha! I think he might have actually pissed himself!

"RETREAT!" Jace called to Joffrey in the common tongue, yanking on Vermax's reins and trying turn him away.

Joffrey may retreat, Aegon decided. He is a child, so I will spare his life. But not yours. You are an adult, old enough to know what you are doing. You attacked me. You fight for Rhaenyra. You need to die.

And without him giving a single command, verbal or physical, Sunfyre understood, roaring threateningly and twisting beneath Aegon to chase after Jace as he fled…

"FUCK!" Aegon barely managed to pivot Sunfyre out of the way in time as Tyraxes breathed fire at him, the flames harmlessly catching the dragon's belly. Thankfully, the young and inexperienced rider could not match Aegon's synchronization with Sunfyre, and so the follow-up blast of flame missed by a mile.

Run away, bastard! I'm trying to let you live!

A dark shadow blocked out the sun, sending the ground below them into darkness as Vhagar arrived by Sunfyre's side. The great old beast was massive, but she was the veteran of a hundred battles and knew exactly how to move. And the sight of Vermax and Tyraxes attacking her ally made her angry.

Even retreating, Aemond identified Vermax as the greater threat, and Vhagar seemed to wholeheartedly agree, pursuing the smaller dragon and unleashing a godlike burst of fire that Jace managed to evade by the skin of his teeth, his cloak catching fire from the radiant heat, forcing Jace to shed it with a yelp.

"Run away, bastard," Aegon called to Joffrey in High Valyrian. "Run home to your mother, while I still allow it!"

But Joffrey either didn't understand him or didn't care, because with a fearsome battle cry, he guided Tyraxes towards Sunfyre again, letting out another burst of fire and ordering Tyraxes to lash out at Sunfyre with his claws. Sunfyre dodged easily, dancing nimbly out of the way, but he could practically taste his dragon's rage. A perfect mirror for his own.

Fuck you, you stupid little shit! You're forcing my hand! His nephew was only ten, a child, but Joffrey was not attacking him with a toy sword. He was attacking him and his dragon with a deadly beast of war. Aegon did not want to wear the name kinslayer, and he did not want a child's blood on his hands, but if it was a choice between killing Joffrey or letting Joffrey kill him…

His children's faces flashed before his eyes. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera. Maelor. Perhaps a fourth still unborn. He made a vow to be a better father to them. A promise to fly with all three of them once they were old enough to do more than training laps. A vow he would never be able to keep if his own mercy got him killed today. He wanted to watch them grow up. He wanted to groom Jaehaerys into a future King, like Viserys should have done for him.

And what of Helaena? I've only just started honoring my promise to make her happy. Aemond was right about her all along. She was very sweet and affectionate; she was just very selective about the times when she did or did not like to be touched. Happily, just like him, one of those times where she loved being held was after they "did their duty" as husband and wife.

I don't want to leave her widowed. I want to see her again. I want to be the husband I should have been all these years.  

And what of Aemond? he thought, his heart aching painfully as he glanced towards where his brother pursued Jace and Vermax. If Aemond had to watch him die because he was too stubborn and weak to do what needed to be done, it would break him.

He couldn't do that to him. He couldn't do that to any of his loved ones. He had to fight for them.

Sensing his resolve, Sunfyre pivoted out of the way of yet another blast of dragonfire, twisted around to Tyraxes' flank, and sank his teeth into his wing bone, snapping it like a twig with an audible *crack*!

The look of horror on Joffrey's face would haunt Aegon until his death. His brown eyes widened, crying out wordlessly like a terrified child…because he was a terrified child. But there was nothing he could do as Tyraxes screamed in pain and plummeted for the earth below.

Dive, Aegon urged Sunfyre. See if you can catch him! We can keep him as a hostage!

"JOFFREY!" Jace cried out, clearly having the same idea as Aegon, trying to dive after Joffrey too, but in his moment of blind panic, he left his flank exposed, and Vhagar raked him with her claws.

Vermax cried out in pain, but he managed to dodge before her claws could do more than superficial damage, slicing through his scales and spilling his blood, but not piercing deeper into the muscles or organs.

All for nothing. Neither Jace nor Aegon could dive faster than Joffrey could fall, and the young dragon and his rider hit the ground at breakneck speed, the young boy crushed beneath his dragon's weight.

Fucking hell…

Jace screamed. A raw, guttural cry of grief, his voice echoing through the sky as his dragon roared beneath him. He turned on Aegon, face contorted into a demon's mask of rage, crying out,

"DRACARYS!"

He missed badly, of course. The injured and grieving Vermax aimed his fire a good three feet away from Aegon, easily dodged. Sunfyre aimed a retaliatory strike against Vermax's injured flank, and while the beast managed to dodge, the movement sent another gush of blood dribbling towards the earth below.

He's too injured to continue. We've got him! Aegon thought as Vhagar loomed above them, hesitating. He knew exactly why. Vermax and Sunfyre were too close, and she did not want to risk hurting her ally.

Nonetheless, her presence alone made Jace scream another wordless cry of rage, grab Vermax's reins, then direct him away from Aegon, urging him to fly away as fast as his wings would carry him while Aegon gave chase.

He almost got him a few times. Even managed to set Jace's shirt afire, forcing him to shed it like he had his discarded cloak. But Vermax was smaller and faster than Sunfyre, and his terror gave swiftness to his wings.

Aegon considered pursuing him, some dark, cruel voice telling him he had the chance to kill Jace here and now before he could ever threaten him again…but he stopped himself. The gap between them was growing larger and larger by the minute, and old, slow Vhagar was lagging behind. If Jace got him alone without Vhagar there to support him, the match could easily result in both of their deaths.

"After you've crushed your enemy beneath your heel, you can unleash your fury and take whatever justice you see fit." Borros Baratheon's words echoed through his mind.

He's right. And mother and grandfather are right. The need for Fire and Blood must not overpower reason. I cannot be reckless. I am a King. A father. I have to fight strategically. And so with a snarl, he relented, letting Jace run away while he guided Sunfyre back to Rook's Rest.

I've stained my hands with the blood of a child because of this fucking war, he thought, his hands tightening into fists. For a war that I should not have to fight. I am Viserys's eldest son. I am the rightful King. I would have let all of them live out their lives happily on Dragonstone. I shouldn't have to do this. I shouldn't have to be here.

But he did. And raging about it would solve nothing.

"LORD STAUNTON!" Aegon screamed as he flew over the castle. "YOU HAVE EXHAUSTED THE LAST OF MY PATIENCE AND MERCY! YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES TO RAISE THE WHITE FLAG AND BEND THE KNEE, OR ROOK'S REST SHALL BECOME THE NEXT HARRENHAL!"

It did not take three minutes. Within less than one, a white flag was waving from the tallest window. Five minutes later, Lord Staunton was frog-marched from his own castle by his own men and forced onto his knees in front of Criston Cole. Aegon and Aemond waited to land Sunfyre and Vhagar until the last of Staunton's men left the protective walls of the castle, threw down their weapons, and bent the knee, begging Aegon not to burn them.

All but Lord Staunton himself. He refused to call Aegon king, even to save his own life. Just as well. Aegon was not going to spare it anyway. Not after his defiance caused this mess in the first place.

Instead, Aegon directed his question towards Staunton's eldest son.

"Bend the knee," he told him, "and I will allow you, your mother, and your siblings to live and continue ruling Rook's Rest as loyal vassals to the crown. Or refuse, and House Staunton ends here and now."

Mercifully, the boy (nearly a man grown) bent the knee and uttered a fearful, "Your grace," before swearing a proper oath of obeisance.

Aegon prayed he would honor that oath. It would not be easy for a son to keep such a promise. Not with what was to come next.

Aegon nodded for Criston to drag Lord Staunton before Sunfyre, dropping the terrified Lord on his ass while he stared up in horror at the golden beast.

"Dracarys."

Robert

"Your grace?" Robert said, approaching Helaena as she sat by the cliffs next to Dreamfyre, absently stroking her dragon's nose. "Are you hurt?"

A foolish question. If she had been, one of her guards surely would have whisked her off to see the maester. But she answered him anyway, shaking her head sadly as she stared out over the cliffs. She gestured for him to approach, and he did so tentatively. Robert was not a shy man with women, but it was different with Helaena, and not just because she was a queen. Perhaps it was because she seemed so fragile. Perhaps it was because he knew what happened to her in the original timeline, but something about her triggered his instinct to protect.

Which is exactly why I need to talk to her today.

"A dark cloud looms over the horizon," Helaena said softly as Robert reached her side, keeping a respectful distance away from her while Dreamfyre eyed him. "A raging tempest birthing a sea of blood and death."

The horizon was clear with perfect skies, so she must not have been speaking literally. A prophecy?

He tensed. "Rook's Rest…"

She shook her head sadly. "My brothers are unharmed and will return to us shortly," she assured him. "It is not for them that I grieve. My nephew Joffrey and his dragon fell from the sky mere moments ago."

Fucking hell. Isn't he ten years old?

"Joffrey," he said softly. "Rhaenyra's youngest son with Harwin Strong."

The name made Robert frown. When Cersei picked their eldest son's name, she told him she was naming him after King Joffrey Lannister, one of the rulers of Casterly Rock before the Conquest. He hadn't minded the name, so he hadn't protested. But after spending time in the past, he wondered if it was wise for their son to share a name with an infamous bastard, even if it was purely by coincidence.

Helaena nodded. "It was awful, but my husband had no choice. If he hadn't done it, he might have died himself, and…" She bit her lip. "I don't want him to die."

Robert's heart ached for her. She actually loves him. That was a rare thing in Westeros.

"Joffrey's death was necessary, as horrid as it was," she continued. "But it matters not that Aegon had no choice and only did so to save his own life. The Blacks…" Helaena shivered, and Dreamfyre nuzzled her lovingly, as if trying to warm the Queen with the heat from her own scales.

"And it's going to get ugly now?" Robert said.

"Yes," Helaena admitted. "But ugly for whom, I cannot say. Before you came to advise us, Lord Borros, the future was bleak, but clear. Now…now it's all muddled, and I'm not certain which path will be the one to unfold. But one thing is certain beyond question: it will be streaked with blood."

"Wars always are," Robert said sagely. "I don't mean to distress you, my Queen, but wars are ugly and brutal by their very nature. And even the victors must live with the scars. Scars that the years, and wine, and fucking a hundred whores will not erase."

Helaena's brow furrowed, but she did not comment.

"The important thing is to make sure we keep as many of our people alive as possible," he finished.

"I need all of my people alive," Helaena countered. "I cannot bear to lose a single one of them."

Robert hesitated, trying to think of a delicate way to word it…but fuck it all, he was not a delicate man. Best he could do was not be crass.

"I will do my best for you, my queen, but the other side is angry and has dragons of their own."

His gaze flickered to Dreamfyre. Such a large and powerful war asset. Completely unutilized in the original timeline. Such a waste. Such a fucking waste.

"You're stronger than you think, my Queen," Robert said. "I saw it myself today when you were seeing your brothers off. There's a dragon in you as well. You just need to swap out that delicate skin of yours for a set of scales."

Helaena froze, then looked over at Dreamfyre, stroking her hands along her nose and feeling the scales beneath her fingers. With Dreamfyre's age, her scales would be harder and more durable than steel armor.

"I don't know if I can do that…"

"Can you do it to keep your loved ones safe?" he challenged. "You said it yourself, you cannot bear to lose them."

She was quiet for a long time, staring out over the water and petting her dragon, her eyes unreadable.

"My uncle sent assassins to murder my babes, and there was nothing I could do," she finally said. "I would have done anything to save them. To save all of them. Anything."

Robert nodded grimly. I'll do everything I can to keep you out of the war, but if it comes to that, you may well be the difference between victory and defeat, sweet girl.

"Lord Borros?" she said, smiling and quirking a knowing eyebrow at him. "How is it you know so much of war?"

He was prepared for this question. Borros Baratheon had no militant experience and would be ignorant of war. "By reading, my queen," he answered simply. "I've read all the histories of the great battles, including war plans."

Fortunately, everyone here has accepted that the rumor that Borros Baratheon is illiterate was just a rumor.

"Hmm," Helaena said, laughing slightly. "You seem far wiser than someone who learned the art of war from a book, my lord."

Fuck.

She shook her head, still smiling, and when she looked up at him, her blue-purple eyes were sparkling with mirth.

"I understand that you cannot tell me," she said. "There are many secrets I need to keep to myself as well. I do not ask because I do not trust you; I merely ask because I am curious."

It was still too great a risk. He simply could not take the chance of losing his place as one of Aegon's advisors. Not if Helaena was right and things were about to get bad.

Fortunately, she seemed to understand.

"Will you tell me one day?" she asked. "When the war is settled, perhaps?"

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "When the war is over, your grace."

When the war is over, it won't much matter what happens to me. So long as Ned and Lyanna have the chance to grow up and live happy lives, free from the tyranny of the Mad King and Rhaegar.

And…he added silently, so long as Helaena can live out the rest of her life in peace and happiness. She deserves nothing less.

Daemon

So much loss…he thought as he watched his wife twisting her hair into braids, her expression hard and unyielding as the stone of their castle.

So much the fucking Greens had taken from them today. Not even counting what they had stolen since the war began…fuck, long before that, even.

They had taken Rook's Rest. Even if Daemon went with Caraxes now to take it back, it would be useless. Their castle was damaged, their fleet destroyed, and Criston Cole's army had sacked the city and taken nearly all of their food. The Stauntons no longer had the resources to help them. They wouldn't have the resources to feed themselves come winter, unless they honored their promise to Aegon and received shipments of food from the Reach.

Not that we can trust them anyway. Not when they bent the knee to the enemy to save their own lives. Faithless friends are worthless.

But far more devastating was the loss of Joffrey Velaryon. A brave ten year old child who only wanted to help his mother win back the throne that was stolen from her.

He would have grown into a brave and fierce dragon prince one day, Daemon lamented. A true Targaryen, brown hair be damned. But now, because of the fucking Greens, he will never grow up at all.  

Daemon was not a man who wept. He was a man who screamed, and raged, and beat his fists bloody against the castle walls. But fuck, was he close to weeping now.

He was like my son too. I was the only father he had. Laenor and Harwin stopped being part of his life when he was still a babe.

And now he and Tyraxes were both dead, the young prince's broken body on its way back to Dragonstone via the only boat that Criston Cole had not destroyed from the Staunton fleet.

With his death, the Blacks were down yet another dragon rider, and Driftmark's succession was in crisis because Corlys no longer had a clear heir.

But worse of all was the way Rhaenyra had taken the news when Jacaerys returned to Dragonstone, half-naked with fresh burn wounds covering his arm from shoulder to wrist. He'd screamed in agony as the maester cleaned and wrapped it, but not half so hard as he cried when he told them what happened to Luke.

If you had waited just a few hours, Jace, I could have joined you. I was coming home to check in with the council. Rhaenyra could have guarded Harrenhal, and you and I could have gone to Rook's Rest. Then, the Greens would be the ones mourning two dead sons and a substantial blow to their forces.

But while Daemon had lost his temper and flown into a rage, Rhaenyra's reaction was far more frightening.   

Luke's death had broken her, but with Joffrey's, she had not shed a single tear. Instead, it was as if the news had killed her completely. Every trace of warmth…every trace of life had gone out in her eyes. Daemon had no idea who was sitting in front of Rhaenyra's mirror, austerely twisting her hair into warrior braids reminiscent of Queen Visenya, but it was not the woman he loved. It was not the mischievous, sassy, fiery dragoness he'd fallen in love with.

This woman might have ice running through her veins, rather than fire.

I pray this is temporary, he thought. And that the Greens have not destroyed you. I pray with time, you will come back to me. Maybe not exactly as you were, but alive once again.

"Jace will be disinherited once the Iron Throne is mine," Rhaenyra said coldly as she finished her braid, grabbing a pin to tie it in place. "He may inherit Driftmark after Corlys's death, but not the Iron Throne. Our son, Aegon, will be my heir."

Daemon flinched. Disinheriting Jace would destroy him.

"You might give him a chance to redeem himself…"

"No," she interrupted, tone uninflected. "Jace defied me. He flew into a dangerous battle, and he took his ten-year-old brother with him. Both of them should have been at home, safe. Instead, I have lost yet another son."

Daemon sighed, running a bloody hand through his hair. "He was only trying to help, Rhaenyra. We are losing this war."

Because you were being far too cautious. If you had been more aggressive in your moves, perhaps he would not have felt the need to go behind your back and make a dangerous choice.

Though he would not deny that it pleased him to see she was no longer being timid.

Rhaenyra had prepared an absurd peace offering to Aegon (giving him the Crownlands and naming him Lord Paramount), but rather than sending it, she had thrown it into the fire, sending her envoy with a new message instead.

"My brother has sought to rob me of my birthright, and yet still I offered him lands and titles of his own," she said for the maester to write. "He rejected my every offer, and so now he will receive nothing. If my half-brother surrenders, he will be the only one to die. I will allow the men of his family and his male supporters to be sent to the wall, and I will allow the women to join the Faith as silent sisters. If he refuses, I will have their heads on spikes. Including their children."

An open declaration of war, Daemon thought, smiling grimly. There was no chance for peace or surrender now. The Greens would never accept it, and so they would fight to the death. Giving him the pleasure of watching all of them die.

"Jace will not need to prove himself," Rhaenyra said, fixing her hair pin and standing to face Daemon. "Because I will not need him as a dragon rider. I have authorized Corlys to start recruiting dragon seeds. We need more dragons if we are going to win this war."

Daemon's smile grew. All the strongest dragons live here on Dragonstone.

"And moreover," she continued. "My half-brother directly murdered one of my children. A boy of ten. I shall have one of his children's lives in exchange. I care not which."

He blinked. "When I sent assassins to claim the life of one of his children, you struck me and called me a monster," he reminded her.

"That was before," she said. "Luke's death may or may not have been an accident, but Joffrey's death was deliberate murder before the eyes of thousands of witnesses. And he tried to kill Jace as well. Would have killed Jace if he hadn't fled. He is actively trying to kill my children; his own deserve no consideration. He deserves to feel one small fraction of the pain he has inflicted on me."

Daemon nodded slowly. "Any particular way you want it done?"

"No," she said, turning from him to leave the room. "No need for the death to be unnecessarily painful. But I want it done within a fortnight. They do not deserve one more moment of peace and happiness. Not when I will certainly never have another one."

You will, he silently promised. When we finish winning your throne back from the usurper.

But in the meantime? Daemon might not recognize this new stranger who had taken residence in Rhaenyra's body, donning her crown and striding purposefully out of her room to join her council at the painted table. But he could grow to love her.