Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

"I will not be sent back to Driftmark!" Baela insisted, ferocity shining in her violet eyes. Ferocity she inherited from her father…and from her mother. A ferocity that made Rhaenys's chest ache with bittersweet pride.

Part of your mother is still alive in you, she thought sadly. Laena lived on in Rhaena as well, but it was a different side of her. Her kind, sweet, nurturing side. Baela had inherited her strength, the blood of the dragon. The same blood that allowed her to hatch Moondancer, who was currently glaring at Rhaenys, nearly as outraged as her rider.

Settle down, young dragon, Rhaenys thought. This is for your own good.

"Baela, not only is it what's best for you, but you will also be aiding the war effort."

Baela shook her head in disgust, but Rhaenys gripped her hand, urging her to listen.

"With the death of Gwayne Hightower, we have to assume that the Greens will retaliate. Stormcloud is too young to ride, so Dragonstone is only protected by Vermax, Syrax, and Moondancer. Vhagar alone might well be capable of killing all three by herself. But they will not go looking for you on Driftmark. Not only that, but a third of the Velaryon fleet still remains there, on standby to trade off with the ships blockading the Gullet. It is unwise to leave those ships unguarded."

A weak explanation, and Baela very clearly saw through it, but before she could open her mouth, Rhaenys stepped forward, gently stroking her face.

"Baela," she said softly. "With the death of Lucerys and Joffrey, and Jacaerys as heir to the Iron Throne, I am going to push for you to inherit Driftmark."

Baela blinked, some of the anger fading from her eyes, though she did not yet speak.

The way it always should have been. You are Corlys's eldest remaining trueborn descendant. Lucerys never should have been Driftmark's heir.

"We need to keep you safe," Rhaenys finished. "You and your sister. And you need to help protect the lands and vessels you will one day rule as Lady of the Tides."

Baela bit her lip, more of her anger fading with each word Rhaenys spoke, but still, she shook her head.

"Grandmother…might I at least patrol the Gullet? As you did with Meleys?"

Rhaenys stomach twisted at the thought. Without her and Meleys, Corlys could no longer fly back and forth from Dragonstone to the Gullet, but they'd received word that Triarchy scouting ships were spotted in the area. Undoubtedly, they were planning something. And the Triarchy had experience fighting dragons at sea. Meleys was the fastest dragon in the world and Rhaenys the most seasoned rider. But Baela was still a young girl, and Moondancer was smaller than even Tyraxes had been. They'd be taken out of the sky by arrows.

"Absolutely not," Rhaenys said definitively. Gesturing over her shoulder, where a large crowd of dragonseeds gathered, she added, "With luck, we shall have new dragonriders to patrol the Gullet before the end of the day."

Dragonriders who are far less dear to me.

And so begrudgingly, Baela accepted one last hug and a kiss on the forehead from Rhaenys, then climbed into Moondancer's saddle and commanded her dragon to fly.

I shall see you soon, Granddaughter, when we are safe once again.

But for now, she had to resume helping Jace organize the dragonseeds into groups and coach them on how to make their attempts.

"Now, is it in ANY WAY unclear that NO ONE is to approach the Cannibal?" Jace said angrily, eyes scanning the crowd for any trace of defiance. Fortunately, Rhaenys didn't see any.

"Good," Jace said, sighing in disgust. "Because we cannot afford to lose more dragonseeds on a fool's errand."

He's not wrong.

The Cannibal, the fearsome black beast, was undoubtedly the most tempting of all the unclaimed dragons, and so it was of no surprise that nearly twenty dragonseeds coveted him. And so yesterday, those twenty men attempted to bond with him.

And today, all twenty are half-digested in his belly. Not a single man had returned to tell the tale.

"Best not waste time trying to claim any of the wild dragons," Rhaenys added. "Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke have all accepted riders in the past. They will be the most likely to accept a new rider. So when we go to the dragonmount, we will group the rest of you into three categories, and you will…"

One dragonseed, a man with long silver hair and purple eyes who looked nearly pure Valyrian, politely raised his hand.

"Princess," he said respectfully once given permission to speak. "With your permission, I would like to attempt to claim the dragon Sheepstealer."

Sheepstealer? Rhaenys looked over her shoulder to where a handful of dragonkeepers were waiting in attendance. A few of them shrugged.

"What is your name?" she asked him, cocking her head as she studied him. One of Daemon's seeds, perhaps? He looks very much like my cousin.

"Aethan, Princess."

"Aethan," Rhaenys repeated, reminding herself to ask Daemon about him later. "Sheepstealer is indeed a large beast, but he is not a particularly fearsome dragon. He earned his name by preying on tame livestock. I'm not certain how well he'd fare against Tessarion, let alone Vhagar. And it would take considerable time to teach him battle commands; he's spent his life wild."

"And that's assuming you can tame him at all," Jace added. "The reason we want to focus on Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke is because they were all hand-raised by humans from when they were first hatched. Surely, you would not attempt to ride a wild horse ahead of one who'd been born and raised to carry riders?"

"Yes, my prince, that's true," Aethan agreed. But then curiously, he gestured towards the crowd. "But my odds of claiming Vermithor, Silverwing, or Seasmoke are very small, given the number of contenders. I may be the only one fool enough to attempt to claim Sheepstealer."

Which does not at all reduce the risk of him burning you alive and feasting on your corpse.

But she wasn't his mother, and most of the dragonseeds would very likely die anyway, even with Vermithor or Silverwing. Rhaenys supposed it was on his own head. "Very well, then. Good fortune to you, Aethan. You may use whatever resources on the island that you need to use in order to make your attempt."

 Bowing politely, Aethan withdrew from the crowd, taking off in a half-jog toward the far side of the dragonmount, where Sheepstealer was known to nest.

I'll likely never see that man again.

So she put him out of her mind and instead focused on dividing the remaining dragonseeds into three groups, initially planning on guiding the group headed towards Seasmoke's lair. She knew Seasmoke well, and since Meleys's death, she had gone to visit him a few times, keeping a respectful distance. Meleys was not a brood dragon. She only produced two clutches in her life, and only one egg from each had hatched. The first had been Seasmoke.

The memory made her smile. She had tucked the pale gray egg into Laenor's cradle when he was only a babe, and when the egg hatched, her little boy had squealed in delight, laughing and clapping his tiny hands to greet his new friend. Together, Rhaenys and Meleys had watched their sons grow until they could fly with them as a family. Laena eventually joined them years later, when she claimed Vhagar, and those years she'd spent dragonriding with her children were more precious to Rhaenys than all the gold on Driftmark.

But now Laenor was dead, Laena was dead, her beloved Meleys was dead, and Rhaenys was left behind with a heart riddled with holes.

She thought it might be cathartic to see Seasmoke carry on with a new rider, a small piece of both Meleys and Laenor living on to see the Targaryen dynasty into the future. But then Rhaenys took a closer look at the group of dragonseeds who wanted to try their luck with Seasmoke.

And the sight of them made her blood boil.  For among them was Addam of Hull.

I forgave Corlys for those sins years ago, she reminded herself. He loves me. He always loved me. But he was away from me for years at a time, and men have urges.

She did not fault Corlys for providing for Addam and his brother, Alyn. They were his blood, after all. Of course Corlys didn't want them to grow up in poverty. And Corlys was always respectful, ensuring that the boys grew up far from High Tide and that Rhaenys never needed to interact with them.

But she would not watch as one of Corlys's bastards attempted to claim the dragon that she had gifted to Laenor. 

"I will lead the dragonseeds who want to claim Vermithor and Silverwing," Rhaenys said to Jace. "You may lead the group to Seasmoke."

Fortunately, her alleged grandson (yet another bastard not born of her bloodline) knew better than to argue.

Aemond

"I don't think we'll need to call the maester," Aegon said, examining Aemond's knuckles as he cleaned them and applied a few dollops of healing paste. He kept a box of healing supplies in his chamber, an old habit from when he used to sneak out of the Red Keep at night and come home with cuts and scrapes. Now, he used them to take care of Aemond as they sat on the edge of his bed. "It doesn't look like you broke anything."

Fixing him with a stern glare, Aegon added, "If you need to vent your fury, brother, then do it in the training yard on a man of straw. I do not want to see you with a broken hand or an infection from a cut."

He nodded, and Aegon's expression softened, kissing his hand lovingly before wrapping it with a clean bandage, even though it was barely bleeding after he slammed his fist against the castle's stone wall.

Aegon's right. I can't risk doing that again. I need my hands to fight.

"I thought everything would be fine if we evacuated the children," Aemond said softly. "They're safely tucked away where the Blacks cannot get to them, and the rest of us are warriors and dragonriders except for mother. I thought we'd be safe."

But we're not. Gwayne is dead. Slaughtered like a pig. Bled to death in the street.

Aemond didn't know Gwayne well enough to actually love him, not beyond the loyalty of the blood tie, but his death hurt nonetheless. It hurt to see his mother and sister weeping when he came back to King's Landing after seeing Jaehaerys safely to Casterly Rock. It hurt that Otto was hidden away in his chambers, so desperate to preserve his dignified appearance that he dared not let others see him grieve. It hurt to see Daeron fighting not to cry; he'd been closer with Gwayne than any of them, but he was trying to be a brave and strong young prince.

It hurt to see the unreadable expression in Aegon's eyes, his brother not yet ready to open up to him.

"I offered to have a cremation ceremony," Aegon said, his voice hollow. "I could burn him with Sunfyre, or Daeron with Tessarion, but grandfather wants him interred in the family crypt at Oldtown."

Aemond nodded. "That's only right. He belongs with our Hightower ancestors…No, he belongs here. At the Red Keep. Alive, so that he might marry, have children of his own one day, and help us celebrate when we win the war."

Aegon let out a strangled grunt, his eyes drifting away from Aemond's. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he whispered. "Gwayne isn't supposed to be dead. Mother, Helaena, and the children were not supposed to be attacked and nearly killed by assassins. I was supposed to take the throne to protect our family. But…fuck!"

He threw the leftover bandages to the floor and gripped his hair, silver strands spilling between his fingers.

"If I can't protect our family, what the fuck am I doing on the throne?"

Slipping in close, Aemond circled his hands around Aegon's wrists, tugging them gently from his head.

"You are, Aeg," he promised him. "Without you on that throne, we'd all be dead already. We would have survived a week, maybe two, after Rhaenyra's ascension, but no more. Gwayne is dead, but the rest of us are still alive." He pulled one of Aegon's hands to his mouth and kissed it. "There can be no guarantees. Not during a war. Not against such a lethal enemy. But because of you, we have a fighting chance at a future."

Aegon shook his hands free, then surged forward, locking his arms around Aemond's chest and hugging him fiercely. Aemond hugged him back, squeezing him tightly. Too tightly. Letting himself release some of his frustration in his brother's arms.

I'm afraid too, Aegon, he admitted silently. I don't want to lose anyone else. I can't lose anyone else.

Aegon held him for a few moments longer, then pulled away, straightening.

"Gwayne Hightower will return to Oldtown by ship," he declared. "The most beautiful ship in our fleet."

"But our ships can't leave Blackwater Bay because…" He stiffened. "We're ready to attack the Velaryon blockade."

"We are ready to destroy the Velaryon blockade," Aegon amended, eyes glinting with rage. "My kingdom will have wine, fine silks, and other imports traded with the Free Cities once again. Sea commerce will resume. My people will travel safely by ship whenever it pleases them. Rhaenyra and Corlys Velaryon will not dictate any part of how I rule Westeros. And Gods damn them all, I will send my uncle's body back to Oldtown with the respect due a highborn knight.

Because you are a dragon king, Aemond thought, grinning with pride before he leaned in to press his lips against his brother's. A kiss Aegon fiercely returned, nipping Aemond's lip sharply before grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back on the mattress, straddling his hips.

It was for the best that Helaena decided not to join them; the passion that followed would have frightened her. Bitemarks and angry red scratches. Bruises shaped like hand and fingerprints. Wrestling and twisting of arms that was just shy of painful. Aemond was the victor, pinning Aegon to the mattress after they'd torn the clothes from each other's body, panting with the effort. The primal thrill of victory, of domination, sang through his chest like a dragon's roar, but before he could reach for the vial of oil to claim his prize, he stopped himself.

He needs to win, he knew. His King needed the victory and the confidence boost that came with it. And so when Aegon grabbed his thigh, nails stritching tantalizingly against his soft flesh, Aemond was prepared to 'lose' and let Aegon pin him down in turn, but his brother surprised him, looking up at him with wide, almost fearful eyes.

"Fuck me," he whispered his plea. And Aemond's heart ached.

No. He doesn't need to win. He wanted to be overpowered. He needs someone to take care of him while he takes care of the rest of the realm.

And so Aemond reached for the oil again, this time not hesitating.

When it was done, they lay face to face, arms and legs intertangled as they held each other. Aegon gently kissed the scratches and love bites he left on Aemond's shoulder, and Aemond lightly rubbed the soon-to-be bruises that would blossom on Aegon's arms and thighs, hoping they would not darken too deeply.

"I love you," Aegon said, unabashed as he gazed into Aemond's eye.

"And I love you," Aemond answered, pulling him in impossibly closer. "As my brother, my king, and…"

The last word escaped him. As his lover? It didn't quite seem to fit. He couldn't say husband, because it was never (could never) be true.

But even without the words, Aegon understood the meaning behind them, kissing him again.

Behind them, the door creaked, and Aemond's heart leapt into his throat, but before he could work himself into panic, Aegon laughed, soothing him by stroking his hair. "It's just Helaena," he assured him. "She said she'd come to join us."

Relief had him melting back into the mattress, and when his sister slipped into the bed behind Aegon, clad in her silk night dress, he welcomed her by leaning forward and kissing her sweetly on the cheek. But even as he kissed her, his brow furrowed.

She said she would not be joining us because her moon blood will be coming in the next day or so and she is having some mild pain…

"I 'knew' this was the right time for me to come," she explained, reaching over to rub Aemond's forearm.

Right time? But Aegon seemed to know exactly what she was talking about, because he smiled, happiness chasing away some of the pain in his eyes.

What…

"As you know, Aem, Helaena isn't pregnant yet," Aegon said. "She will be soon, but not today. So we'll need to keep trying."

Aemond nodded, holding back his smile. He wanted them to have a new child, of course, but the fact that it hadn't happened yet meant that he would have at least a few more nights like this.

As if reading his mind, Aegon added, "The three of us belong together, Aemond. This doesn't need to end when we eventually do conceive a child."

But it will need to end one day, a dark little voice whispered into his ear before he could even fully absorb the joy that followed Aegon's words. Because they are wed to each other, and one day you will be wed to Abby Tully.

Aemond tried to hide it, first by fighting back the sorrow…then by closing his eye and drawing a deep breath when it threatened to overcome him. It didn't matter; they saw it anyway, quickly soothing him with soft caresses and whispered words of love.

"This…" He drew another deep breath. "This is the cost of war. The cost of our family's safety. We need the Riverlands on our side. And to get the Riverlands on our side, we need a marriage pact. I must marry Abby." He drew another shaky breath. "It is a good match. She is a beautiful woman with impeccable bloodlines, and…"

And I don't want to marry her. I want to stay right here, where I am now, with the people I love. With the people who love me.

"You must marry Abby," Aegon agreed. "But your marriage does not mean the end, Aemond."

He bit his lip, shaking his head before forcing himself to say, "Abby deserves a faithful husband." He could no longer lie to himself and say that he was having 'lessons' with his brother. It had nothing to do with learning the art of pleasure. He was here because he wanted to be. A sin he could, perhaps, justify while he was unwed, but not after.

Aegon's brow furrowed, but he dismissed whatever it was he was about to say, kissing Aemond chastely instead. "We can discuss it further later. At the very least, I can delay the marriage. The Tullys understand that the union will not happen until after the war is won, and even then, it's reasonable to wait a few months to stabilize the realm before planning a lavish royal wedding."

And I will savor every beautiful delayed day.

"But whether you choose to join us in the bedchamber or not, Aemond," Helaena said, "you are part of our union. One third of the three-headed dragon. Law or no law."

I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry…They need to see me as a warrior…

"And that is why…" She paused, gently stroking Aegon's arm, silently asking if he was the one who wanted to continue, and he nodded.

"And that is why we believe it is a blessing in disguise that Helaena did not get pregnant this month," Aegon continued. "Because we want you to be the father of our next child."

…What?

A thousand emotions and errant thoughts soared through his brain while he lay on the mattress, frozen in shock, and all he could do was gape at his siblings, his eye wide.

"Any child born of this union would belong to all three of us," Aegon explained. "And by having you sire him or her, hopefully a girl, the three of us will be bound by both love and by blood."

"If it is a girl, we will wed her to Jaehaerys. Any future grandchildren would be all three of ours," Helaena added.

And one of those grandchildren would inherit the throne…

"So no matter what you decide about your future with Abby," she finished, "a part of you will always be tied to us."

He lost his battle not to cry, and a single warm tear slid down his cheek.

Yes. Yes, he wanted that. Deep within his very soul, he wanted that. A beautiful dream…but a beautiful dream that would never work.

"The child would be a bastard," he whispered.

Aegon snorted. "And who would know?" He pointedly tugged on Aemond's silver hair. "Rhaenyra was an idiot when she had children with Harwin Strong. But the three of us all have the same features. Unless you think the babe would be born with a tiny sapphire eye, no one will be able to tell that I did not father her."

"The Gods would know."

Helaena looked at him thoughtfully. "The Gods did not curse our line when Aegon the Conqueror married two women," she said. "Nor do they curse any of the Northern children who are wed in ceremonies overseen by the Old Gods, even though the union was not blessed by a septon."

"Still…"

"The resulting child would not be an heir in her own right," Aegon explained further. "Jaehaerys will be King after me, and everything that is mine will one day be his. So once again, it's not like with Rhaenyra's bastards, where they are taking away an inheritance from who it rightfully belongs to. And unlike with Rhaenyra's bastards, it's not an act of treason because I'm giving my full blessing in advance." Smirking playfully, Aegon added, "If it would make you feel better, I could command it. I obviously won't make you if you don't want to, but if you're following a King's command, then it's neither treason nor morally wrong in any way. You are sworn to me, after all."

King's command or no, the child would be a bastard…or…would it?

Aemond's brow furrowed. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were all bastards because Viserys had never legitimized them. Rhaenyra had successfully hoodwinked him. But he could have legitimized them. Kings did have the Gods-given power to offer legitimization.

Aemond swallowed. "Will you swear to me that you'll legitimize him or her after their born?" he asked.

He nodded. "To prevent any pesky gossip, I'll do it privately, of course. With just the three of us and the Gods as witnesses. But yes, I will legitimize the babe and grant them the name Targaryen."

Then there is no reason to say no. He was not yet married to Abby, so he would not be betraying any wedding vows. He had his king's permission, so he would not be committing treason. The babe would be legitimized after birth, so he would not be siring a bastard. Jaehaerys was still heir, so there was no disruption to the sanctity of the succession.

There was no reason to say no…and he wanted it so fucking badly. He wanted to be tied to Aegon and Helaena forever…for long after his death, if his daughter married Jaehaerys. Tied together through all the future generations of House Targaryen.

And so he allowed another tear to slide down his face. This time, a tear of pure joy.

"Yes."

Aethan

It's nothing to worry about, Aethan told himself as Sheepstealer accepted the three ewes he had brought him, devouring them without looking the slightest bit grateful. He certainly didn't look inclined to allow Aethan to touch him, let alone bond with him.

Lord Borros warned me this would take time, he assured himself. He said it might take days or even weeks for him to get used to me. He'll accept me eventually…I hope…

It didn't matter if it took weeks. So be it. He would have a dragon. His own dragon. A dream greater than anything he dared hope for.

Deciding to allow Sheepstealer to get used to his presence, Aethan sat down on a rock a respectful distance away while the great dragon lapped away the last traces of blood from the ewes. Massive as he was, he was slender, his brown scales glistening in the sun, and Aethan imagined he'd be lithe and agile in the air.

Perhaps lithe and agile enough to ensure his victory over the Blood Wyrm, Aethan thought, allowing himself to steal away into the world of fantasy with a scornful smile on his face. Sheepstealer was larger than Caraxes. If he surpassed him in size and matched him in agility, then it was only a matter of time before Caraxes fell from the sky…hopefully with a terrified Daemon strapped to his back.

And with luck, he will fall straight into the Seven Hells.

It did not occur to Aethan that losing himself in grandiose fantasies was a very, very foolish thing to do in front of a dragon. Had he been paying attention, he would have noticed that the dark shadow blocking out the sun was not the result of a cloud. And he would have noticed Sheepstealer looking up to the skies with an expression of pure terror. But Aethan didn't notice anything amiss, not until Sheepstealer spread his wings and took off into the skies with a cry of panic, his speed and agility giving him just the edge he needed to escape in the nick of time.

What…

Aethan's eyes quadrupled in size as a massive wall of black scales fell to the earth, the ground trembling beneath the dragon's feet as he landed directly in the spot that Sheepstealer just abandoned, breathing in the scent of the dead ewes' blood.

Balerion? was Aethan's first, idiotic thought as he looked at the great black beast. Like all smallfolk, he'd heard stories of the Black Dread, the great dragon who brought the Seven Kingdoms to heel. The beast with a wingspan so wide it would cast entire towns into shadow when the Conqueror flew overtop them. The beast before Aethan was certainly capable of the feat. He was larger than Sheepstealer…

But smaller than Vhagar, Aethan thought, frowning. He'd seen Vhagar a handful of times when Prince Aemond would fly her around the city. Balerion could not possibly be smaller than Vhagar…

And Balerion did not have emerald green eyes, which Aethan saw with crystal clarity when the beast wheeled on him, glaring.

Oh no…this isn't Balerion. Balerion is dead. This is The Cannibal. He must have been drawn by the scent of sheep blood.

But there were no sheep left to feast on. Nor dragons, not now that Sheepstealer escaped. There was only one meal left to be had. A meal that could not easily escape.

I'm going to die, he realized. He'd brought nothing to defend himself. Not a whip. Not a Keeper's staff. Not that it would matter if he did. Neither would deter this monster.

But as Aethan stared into the brilliant green eyes of certain death, it was not fear that gripped him. Nor, oddly, was it bravery.

No, the last emotion Aethan would ever experience would be rage. Pure, unbridled, impotent rage. And hatred.

Fuck the Gods, Aethan thought, lips curling back into a snarl as he stared at The Cannibal's opening maw. At his teeth, long and sharp as swords. Fuck the fucking Gods straight to the Seven fucking Hells!

How dare they? How FUCKING dare they! How fucking dare they condemn him to twenty-eight years of suffering in poverty while his cunt of a father lived in luxury. How dare they give him the dream of a future as a dragon rider. How dare they dangle the promise of vengeance in front of him, allowing him to reach for it, to feel its essence against his fingertips, before cruelly snatching it away.

They are not Gods, they are demons. None but demons could be so fucking cruel.

And now Aethan would die, reduced to meat in The Cannibal's stomach. Never to celebrate Daemon's downfall. The bastard son of a whore that the world would forget as soon as he was dead.

His vision burned red, rational thought fleeing him as he opened his mouth and screamed. Screamed. Screamed until his voice went hoarse and the marrow in his bones boiled. As though the dragon within Aethan was ready to breathe fire in its death throes.

So blind was he with rage and hate that he did not see The Cannibal close his mouth, cocking his head and studying him through narrowed green eyes.

The Cannibal was used to screaming. His meals often screamed before he fed on them. But those were the primal screams of terrified prey, often accompanied by the scent of urine as they soiled themselves. Man and beast alike. Even the dragons he feasted on stunk of fear, even as they bravely fought back. But this…this was something new. There was no scent of fear. No scent of bravery, determination to fight back. No scent of urine or shit. This new scent of rage and hatred was meaty as it passed through his nostrils. A raw, black fury that told him this tiny creature's dying wish was a fearsome curse of smite against those who wronged him, man and god alike.

And The Cannibal liked the way it smelled. So much that he drew in closer to breathe it in more deeply, the tip of his snout mere inches away from the human's chest as he inhaled.

A beautiful scent indeed.

Aethan's voice went hoarse and his lungs ran out of air, but although the scream faded, the scent of his poisonous rage still lingered heavily in the air, still beating from his heart and flooding his every vein.

Pleased, The Cannibal growled deep in his chest, shaking the earth beneath him with the vibrations. Growled…or perhaps purred.

The tiny creature frowned, blinking up at him in confusion, clearly wondering why he was not yet dead. Then, with a half-shrug, he reached out with his hand and rested it against the scales of The Cannibal's nose. Even as a beast, The Cannibal understood the gesture: If I'm going to die anyway, I might as well do what no one before me has ever done before. Still, there was no stink of fear; the human had accepted his fate.

But now, as the bare flesh of his hand rested against The Cannibal's scales, the dragon was not certain he wanted to deliver that fate. Because with the contact, he could not merely smell the human's rage and hatred, he could feel it rushing through his own veins. Beating in his own heart.

And he liked it.

Slowly, context attached itself to each burning emotion, and glimpses of visions danced through The Cannibal's mind. The years of suffering. The years of starving, his belly aching with a hunger he could not sate. One vision The Cannibal recognized immediately: Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm and his rider, one of the humans from the great stone castle. This human wanted Caraxes and his rider dead…and he wanted the rider to suffer. He wanted everyone who wronged him to suffer.

And with each passing second, The Cannibal craved that too.

Nearly a minute passed, and the tiniest flicker of hope danced alongside the rage, the lightest touch of sweetness.

Will you help me? The question unmistakable, even to a dragon.

Never in his nearly three hundred years of life had The Cannibal taken a rider. He was wild. He was free. He did not want to be bound to the will of an unworthy human.

But…humans lived very short lives, and this man had already lived much of his. The Cannibal would not be bound to him for long before he was free again. And a bond meant he could taste more of that addictive rage that he was already growing to crave…and maybe the exalted joy that would come with satisfying that rage. 

A few years of being bound…would be worth it.

Yes.

Robert

"Everyone is in position!" Daeron said, his eyes bright and a scowl of fierce determination on his young face as he entered the Small Council chamber, nodding respectfully to his brother. He still wore his riding clothes. Tessarion, the youngest and smallest of the four main dragons, was the least likely to be detected by the Velaryon fleet, and so it was Daeron who had been sent to communicate with the captains of the Triarchy fleet, the Arbor fleet, the Manderly fleet, and the Sistermen fleet,

"They're ready to begin the attack against the Velaryons, Your Grace," Daeron said. "As soon as we give them the signal."

The "signal", as the council agreed, would be Daeron and Tessarion returning to the skies in two days' time to give the Green ships aerial support.

Aemond leaned forward in his chair. "Lord Borros," he said. "I still think it might be a good idea for Vhagar and I to join Daeron and Tessarion as they aid our armada in taking down the Velaryon fleet."

They don't need you, Robert thought, drumming his fingers along the table. In the original timeline, the Triarchy had technically lost the Battle of the Gullet, but it was a 'loss' that devastated the Velaryon fleet and left them damn near destitute. House Velaryon never had that same level of power again. By Robert's time, they were no more or less powerful than any other House.

This time around, the Triarchy would not be fighting alone but with three other fleets and a dragon.

But of course, Robert couldn't reveal the basis for his argument, so he would need to word it just right.

"My prince, I still believe the Velaryon blockade might be a tactic to provoke you into attacking," he said. "I fear they might be waiting for a sea battle to break out so they can swoop in with Caraxes, Vermax, Syrax, and Moondancer. Even with our scorpions in place, and with Sunfyre and Dreamfyre guarding the city, I don't like those odds. We need Vhagar here."

Aemond scowled, but there was no hiding the flash of fear in his eye, especially when Daeron agreed.

"A distraction like that sounds like the kind of underhanded shit Daemon would pull," he said. "We can't risk him attacking the capital while we're vulnerable."

Aegon, quiet up until now, nodded slowly. "You're right, Lord Borros," he said. "It's like you suggested before; we need to destroy them little by little until we bleed them dry. We need to use Vhagar strategically to ensure we will still have her at full strength for our final strike against them, when they're at their weakest…" Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table. "And we are still planning that final strike?"

Robert nodded. He still had too many pokers in the fire to know how exactly the plan would play out. To his dismay, he had not yet heard anything from the Northerners, not beyond a raven from Cregan Stark saying that the Northern Lords were gathering at Winterfell for a conclave and they would have their answer 'soon'.

I need Cregan to march south, he thought. If he doesn't meet Alysanne Blackwood, I might have destroyed the Stark line that would lead to Ned and Lyanna's birth, and I simply can't have that.

The Blackwoods, like most Riverlands Houses, had sided Green, so Cregan had to side Green as well. And for that, Robert needed more time.

"Each step is important, your grace," Robert said. "Once we break the Velaryon blockade, we can assess our strengths and finalize the next stage of our plan."

"And that will happen in two days' time?" he confirmed.

"And that will happen in two days' time," Robert agreed. "The maesters predict the weather will be sunny and clear. This way, if the Blacks send their own dragons into the fray, Tessarion can easily escape."

"Or fight," Daeron suggested grimly, causing Aegon to fix him with a glare.

"Or escape," Aegon corrected. "Our armada is equipped with scorpions, archers, and grappling hooks to handle Black dragons. I do not want you in the air when they start using them; we're taking no chances of them hitting you by mistake. And I certainly don't want Tessarion fighting against larger and stronger dragons. You and Tessarion will assist the Triarchy only if there are no Black dragons in the sky."

Daeron opened his mouth to complain, but Aegon cut him off with an abrupt, "That is not a suggestion, it is an order from your King."

Daeron's scowl was damn near hot enough to boil water, but he closed his mouth, finally taking a seat at the table.

Young and full of vigor, like I once was, Robert thought fondly. I remember how that feels. That itch to get out there and get my own hands dirty. To fight for what I believe in. Boy just wants to protect his family.

"I imagine you'll get your chance to burn plenty of Velaryon ships, my prince," Robert added. "They don't know when we're planning to strike, and they don't have Meleys on standby anymore. It will take time for their reinforcements to even realize they're in danger. The battle may well be half-over by then."

It seemed to appease him; Daeron's scowl lessened and his posture relaxed.

"Now," Aegon said. "As for the matter of Harrenhal, we…"

The door to the chamber flew open, and a wild-eyed guard rushed in, causing everyone at the table to leap to my feet.

"My King!" he cried. "Enemy dragon!"

FUCK!!!

Twenty Minutes Later

Robert's heart was finally starting to slow to its regular pace. As the adrenaline faded from his bloodstream, rage slowly slithered in to take its place.

Fucking idiot can't follow a single fucking order! He swallowed his snarl as he stood at the base of the Iron Throne, his place as interim Hand of the King.

The 'fucking idiot' in question, Aethan, was currently on his knees before the Throne, head bowed respectfully, waiting for Aegon's permission to speak.

He wasn't supposed to come back here yet; he was supposed to stay on Dragonstone and serve as a spy in Rhaenyra's army, Robert thought, swallowing another growl. And he was supposed to claim Sheepstealer, not the fucking Cannibal. How the fuck did he claim the fucking Cannibal anyway?

Fortunately, Aethan remembered Robert's tips for not getting himself killed when he arrived at King's Landing. He landed the Cannibal far enough away from the Red Keep to avoid putting the Green dragons on their guard, and he allowed the City Watch to bring him to the Red Keep before the King. More important, he behaved with respect, referring to Aegon as 'Your Grace'.

"So," Aegon said as he sat on the throne. He cast a regal image: the Conqueror's crown on his head, the Conqueror's sword in his hand, and the Conqueror's dagger on his hip. "I imagine you have quite the story to tell."

Aethan nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. I do…"

To Robert's relief, Aethan stuck very closely to the story they had rehearsed. Robert incorporated as much of the truth as possible (that Aethan was a dragon seed who grew up in King's Landing), but he added a few falsified details about how and when he ended up on Driftmark.

"But I wasn't on Driftmark long enough to forget that the rightful monarch is King Viserys's firstborn son, Your Grace," Aethan finished. "And so when I heard the Princess Rhaenyra was recruiting dragon seeds to try to attack the Crown, I knew I had to do something. I had to ensure the playing field was as level as possible. You now command both the largest and second largest dragon in the world, Your Grace. The Cannibal and I are at your service."

Aegon studied him quietly for a few long moments. "You risked your life to claim a dangerous dragon to serve the Crown?" he questioned skeptically.

Fortunately, Robert had prepped him for this question, because Aethan nodded sheepishly. "I would like to say my intentions were purely noble, Your Grace, but if I'm being honest, I always dreamed of being a dragon rider. Ever since I was a boy. But I do wish to serve the crown."

"Hmm," Aegon agreed. "Tell me, Aethan, what did my sister offer to these potential dragon riders to ensure their loyalty after the dragons were claimed?"

"A lordship, Your Grace," Aethan answered honestly.

Aegon quirked an eyebrow. "And yet you turned that down when I have offered you no reward as of yet?"

Yet another question Robert prepped him for, and to his delight, Aethan knew how to sell it.

"Your Grace, I am not an educated man, but I have survived long enough in Fleabottom to know how the world works," he said. "Princess Rhaenyra is not the rightful Queen, and she doesn't have the support she needs to win this war. She could promise me a hundred lordships and it wouldn't have swayed me. She's not going to be able to deliver anything because she isn't going to win."

Aegon gave a little half-smile. "True enough," he conceded. "Very well, Aethan. As you said, you are a man who has needed to fight for his survival, so I expect you'll understand that we need to proceed with caution until we are certain that we can trust you."

Aethan nodded. "Of course, Your Grace."

"And I would be remiss if I did not offer incentives of my own," Aegon continued. "Loyalty will always be rewarded in my Kingdom, especially when it is so powerful it drives you to claim a dragon and offer to fight for my faction. You claim you are my Uncle Daemon's bastard?"

Robert had advised Aethan to be honest about it. It's not like Aethan could deny it; his resemblance to Daemon was far too strong.

"Yes, Your Grace," Aethan said, scowling. "His bastard son that he left to starve."

Robert gritted his teeth. He had bastards of his own, and to his shame, he had to admit he did not know who all of them were. But the ones he did know were not left to starve. Most of them (like his beloved Mya) were born into families who provided for them. When he first learned he fathered a bastard on one of Baelish's whores, he'd been angry. He thought whores (particularly Baelish's) had enough sense to have a ready supply of moon tea. But once he calmed down, he planned to ensure the girl, Barra, and her mother would have a small home in a safe part of the city. A plan he never had the chance to enact before he died. He could not fathom knowing he had a bastard and choosing to leave it to starve.

Aegon snorted. "You need not convince me that my uncle is an evil man, Aethan," he said drily. "And I do not hold you responsible for his sins. However, this could work out to both of our benefits. You will help me defeat the Black faction, and in exchange, I will legitimize you as Aethan Targaryen." He chuckled to himself. "A reward for you and an insult to my uncle all in one. The son he cast aside will both help destroy him and carry on the Targaryen name."

Robert's eyebrows raised. Legitimization was a prize that Kings seldom offered to bastards. Even Robert himself had never offered to legitimize Ned's bastard, Jon.

Though I suppose I would have if Jon did what Aethan's offering to do, he conceded. But Robert needed to be careful. The odds of Daemon's bastard leading to a Mad King situation was unlikely, but not impossible. Best mitigate the risk before it could blossom.

Stepping forward, Robert offered softly, "If I may, Your Grace?" When Aegon nodded, giving him permission to speak, Robert added, "If Aethan does help our faction win this war, it seems only fair that in addition to wearing the Targaryen name, he be given a suitable bride. I would be happy to offer up my daughter, Cassandra. I would be able to offer a sizable manse and some land in the Stormlands as a dowry, and it would be an honor to marry her to a Targaryen."

Robert saw a flash of gratitude in Aegon's eyes, and he knew the young King thought that Robert was doing him a favor. Several favors. Of course Aethan would want his own lands once he had the Targaryen name. A bride worthy of his new station as well. With Robert's offer, Aegon would not have to be the one to supply them. And he had corrected the oversight of Aegon not making the offer on his own (legitimization was a great prize, but it wouldn't put a roof over Aethan's head or put porridge in his bowl). 

"An excellent proposal, Lord Borros," Aegon agreed. And happily, Aethan's eyes lit up at the suggestion.

A win for everyone involved, Robert patted himself on the back. He found a spouse for one of Borros's daughters (no risk involved; Cassandra married into obscurity in the original timeline). Any children Aethan fathered on Cassandra would not be highborn enough to marry into the royal bloodline, so no risk of Daemon's blood getting too close to the throne. And Aethan would get to live out his life in wealth and comfort, a landowner with a beautiful highborn bride. And Aegon would not have to spend a single copper of the crown's wealth in exchange for getting a valuable dragonrider added to their faction.

Aegon gestured for Aethan to rise, and he did so, keeping his head bowed respectfully.

"Now, Aethan, as I said, we will need to proceed with caution for the time being, especially with a powerful dragon like The Cannibal. Fortunately, I have the perfect way for you to prove your loyalty to the Crown. Your very first assignment as a dragonrider in my service."

Robert flinched. They hadn't discussed anything of the sort. Aegon must have only just pulled it out of his ass, and Robert had no idea if it was a good idea or a horrible idea. Gods fucking damnit, I better start preparing for contingencies in case this blows up in his face…

"My first assignment, your grace?" Aethan asked.

"Indeed." Aegon pointedly looked around the room. "We will need to discuss it in private. Sensitive information and all. But it will prove to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can trust you." With an evil smirk, he added, "And I even have a special tool to aid you in your efforts…"