Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

Daemon

"Our sons," Rhaenyra said, ice in both her voice and her eyes, "are staying with me."

Daemon forced himself to hold back both his sigh and his eyeroll. It was an effort; he had no talent for hiding his emotions, and he was beyond frustrated. But it needed to be done, both for the sake of winning the argument and for his wife's happiness.

"Your reluctance is understandable, Nyra," he said softly. They were alone; no need to use titles or formalities. "Three children lost in less than a quarter year."

Including the daughter we never got to meet. Our little Visenya…But he swallowed the lump in his throat before it could form. I have all my life to grieve after we take back the Red Keep from the Hightowers. Now, I must be a dragon.

"I am not thinking with my heart, Daemon," she spat.

Yes, you are. No matter how you try to harden it. Blood of the dragon though you may be, your love for your children dominates all else. And he knew without question that she would happily trade her crown, her very life, for one more day with either one of her sons.

"I am thinking of my succession," she continued. "I have not changed my mind about removing Jace as heir after I take my throne. Aegon will succeed me. Possibly Viserys if this war levies another tragedy against our family."

"And Pentos is the safest place for them to weather the storm," Daemon argued. "I have connections in Pentos, and we have the wealth to ensure they are treated with the respect due to royal princes."

"They are staying by my side."

"It's not safe for them here!" he insisted. "Lady Jeyne's soldiers are ready for transport, but after losing Rook's Rest..."

He pointed at the map in their chambers, snarling once again at how small it was. We should be able to discuss this in front of Aegon's painted table, but we CAN'T until we find the fucking spy!

"We've agreed to conquer Maidenpool to replace it, now that we have the dragon seeds. It is the least protected port, and it gives us a clear path to Harrenhal," Rhaenyra reminded him. "It is a short boat ride from Gulltown to Maidenpool, and it a week's march at most from Maidenpool to Harrenhal."

A week is optimistic. But Daemon didn't push it. There were more pressing matters.

"The problem is we can't take Maidenpool yet. Jace and Rhaenys will need days to get Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White up to par. It will take less than a week before the Tullys surround Harrenhal, joined by Cole's army and the Lannister army. I have another day, maybe two, before I have to cease my visits to Dragonstone altogether. If Caraxes and I leave Harrenhal unprotected, even briefly, we will lose it."

Jace and I will likely have to trade off shifts to keep Harrenhal guarded; I cannot do it all myself, and we cannot risk Rhaenyra.

He raked his hand through his hair before slamming his fist against the table. Their hold on Harrenhal was so tenuous that he'd had no choice but to send word to House Frey to abandon the Neck and come to his aid instead.

I pray it's not a mistake. We still don't know how the Northerners will side. If they side Green and the Freys are with me at Harrenhal, there will be no one to bottleneck them.

But he had no other choice. If Harrenhal was lost, the war would soon follow.

"I understand that you cannot come and go freely any longer, Daemon," she said drily.

"And do you also understand that we only have two trained dragons here on Dragonstone now that Baela's been sent back to Driftmark?" he challenged. "The Seeds are not ready. And even once they ARE trained, we will need Vermithor and Silverwing to aide us in combat, and we will need Seasmoke to defend the blockade. Our sons are not safe here. You are barely safe here."

Rhaenyra's stony expression didn't change, but nor did she counterargue.

"The Greens may be evil, treasonous cunts, but they're smart evil, treasonous cunts," Daemon continued. "They knew we'd be coming for their children after what they did to Joffrey, so they evacuated them from the city. We need to do the same for our sons, and the best way to do that is to send them to Pentos. The Greens will never look for them there."

He scanned his wife's eyes, desperately searching for some small spark of life. Fear. Anger. Rage. Fuck, he even would have relished her arguing with him if it brought back the fire that he knew lived within his beautiful dragon queen. But all he found was ice.

It's too soon after Joffrey's death, he told himself. She can't handle any more pain, so she's cut herself off from everything.

But some part of the woman he loved was still in there. Otherwise, Rhaenyra would not be arguing against sending Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. She would not be fearful of letting them out of her sight.

Finally, she sighed. "Aegon only," she agreed. "Viserys does not yet have a dragon to keep him safe. He will stay here, on Dragonstone. It is more practical to keep them separated anyway."

And he's your youngest babe, and it would break your heart to be without him.

"We will send him by ship," she continued. "He will need to pass the Velaryon blockade; a few of their warships can see him safely across the Narrow Sea."

Daemon nodded, drawing himself to his full height before turning for the door. "I'll put him on the ship myself before I return to Harrenhal. He should be able to rendezvous with the Velaryon fleet tomorrow morning."

But just as he was leaving, she stopped him, rising to her feet.

"And Daemon?" she said. "Do not think I have forgotten that you promised me one of Aegon's children would die."

"All of Aegon's children will die," he corrected. "Because he refused to bend the knee. But in the interim, I assure you they are suffering from the death of Gwayne Hightower."

He didn't bother holding back his smirk. This is the price of your treason, Otto. Your son would be alive if not for your greed.

Finally, her blue-purple eyes flashed, but not with a spark of flame. With the cold steel of a dagger.

"Otto is suffering the loss of a child. Alicent lost a brother, yes, and her children lost an uncle. But that is insufficient," she said darkly. "This war could take us months or even years to win. Meanwhile, Aegon's children are protected and happy in a castle somewhere. Frolicking about. And their parents get the peace of mind of knowing that they are safe. Aegon has forced me to suffer through the pain of losing three children. He does not deserve that luxury. He deserves to suffer, as I have suffered because of him."

He balled his fist, lip curling. Fucking Greens. How DARE they do this to us? To her. My brother allowed them to rise higher than they had any business rising, but it wasn't enough. They were not content being princes or dragon riders. They want to use their watered-down Valyrian blood to steal what is rightfully ours, killing her children in the process. Fat, bloodthirsty leeches, just like their grandfather. Just like I always knew they would be.

"I would give you all three of their severed heads, if only I knew where to look," he said. "But I don't, Rhaenyra. And we lack the resources to scour the realm for Aegon's babes. I need to win you your throne, Nyra. Then I can deliver you justice. Once your reign is secure, I will hunt them to the four corners of the world if that's what it takes. Your brother's line, Otto's line, will end."

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"Then let us hope it does not take too long," she said. "Each moment of happiness Aegon experiences is twenty moments more than he deserves."

It will be worth it, Daemon smiled to himself as he left Rhaenyra's room to get their son so he could put him on a ship to the safety of Pentos. Because we can keep Aegon alive for months or even years before you grant him the sweet mercy of death. I'll let you torture him yourself.

Robert

I suppose Aegon's plan is sound, he thought as he watched Aethan kneel to the King one last time before turning to where The Cannibal was waiting for him. None of the other dragons would go anywhere near the hideous black beast, his face a mess of scars from years of killing and eating his own species. Yet Aethan did seem to have some sort of control over him. The Cannibal was not actively trying to hunt Vhagar, Tessarion, Dreamfyre, or Sunfyre.

Aethan had only been a resident of the Red Keep for a single evening, but so much had changed. He no longer resembled the filthy, rag-clad street rat that Robert's men had plucked out of a Fleabottom pub. Robert had cleaned him up before sending him to Driftmark, but it was nothing compared to what Aegon had done.

You're a dragon rider in my service. I need you to look like a Targaryen, Aegon had explained to Aethan last night.

And so today, that was exactly what Aethan looked like. The seamstress didn't have time to tailor his clothes perfectly, but the leather dragon-riding outfit fit him well. Green-trimmed, with an embroidered Targaryen dragon sigil across his chest in golden thread. Aegon had even given him a cape with an ornate metal chain to hold it in place (simple steel; Aegon didn't trust him with gold or gemstones yet).

Aegon had even assigned Aethan a servant to attend to his needs while he was in the castle, and that servant had twisted Aethan's long silver hair into intricate Targaryen war braids. Complete with his purple eyes, and Aethan looked every-bit the descendant of Aegon the Conqueror that he was.

A grateful descendant of Aegon the Conqueror. Aethan had thanked Aegon endlessly for the new clothes, the servant, and his new room at the Red Keep (even though it was a single room and not a suite). Last night at dinner, when the servants brought out an array of food that (to Robert) seemed like a normal supper, Aethan's jaw dropped when he realized he was allowed to eat as much as it pleased him to eat.

Because he's never experienced that before, Robert thought sadly, shuffling a bit awkwardly when he remembered all the grand feasts that he himself had taken for granted over the years. Were people in my kingdom starving, too, whilst I stuffed my face until I was too fucking fat to fit into my armor? Until I was fatter than the pig that killed me?

But no sense in dwelling on the past…er…future.  

"That was a brilliant idea, your grace," Robert praised Aegon as Aethan took off over Blackwater Bay. "Some risk, of course, but calculated risk."

But that's how war works. You risk getting your people killed with every plan you make.

"Indeed," Aegon said, turning and walking back to the castle while his Kingsguard surrounded them. "And if this Aethan is successful, then I'll know I can trust him. If not?" He grimaced. "If not, then I will accept it as a cost of war." 

And we have bigger concerns. The Northern conclave was meeting sometime this week. Robert had one last opportunity to influence Cregan Stark to make the right decision and support the Greens. Otherwise, Robert had no idea how he was going to arrange for Cregan to meet and marry Alysanne Blackwood.

But fortunately, I might have a way. It's a long shot. It's absurd. And I risk being labeled as mad if Cregan tells Aegon about it. But it's a risk I must take. For Ned. For Lyanna.

And so he had a raven to send.

Baela

The night is so dark with no moon, Baela thought, gazing up at the sky. Even the stars were hard to see without the moon's light, barely tiny twinkles in the sky. The darkness made it impossible to appreciate Driftmark's beauty. She could not even see the collection of ships that waited just off the coast, on standby for Corlys's orders. Not a single one of them, even though she knew a third of the Velaryon fleet was out there.

Yet, as dark as it was, she had no desire to go inside the castle. Not yet. Not when the sand was cool and wonderful beneath her palms, relieving some of the heat of her leather dragon-riding outfit. Not when the driftwood fire on the beach burned a lovely orange, flames ignited by Moondancer, who rested sleepily by her side.

And not when Alyn of Hull was sitting next to her, drinking rum out of a flask before passing it back to Baela so she could take another sip.

So much sweeter than wine…And she was not merely thinking of the rum. Alyn's shirt was unfastened, his chest half-displayed. A muscular chest, earned from years as a sailor. As Corlys's bastard, Alyn could not wear the Velaryon name, but saltwater flowed through his veins.

And he was beautiful.

Surely Jace would forgive me for one indiscretion, Baela thought, giggling as the rum went to her head. And why not? Men had indiscretions all the time, even good men, or Alyn would not be sitting here right now. Jace's own mother had birthed three bastards for her lover.

I won't do that to Jace. I'll be a good Queen for him. All of my children will be his. But it's an arranged political marriage. That should not stop me from sating my desires, so long as I drink moon tea afterwards.

Overhead, Seasmoke let out a happy cry, making Alyn laugh.

He may just be feeling amorous tonight as well. We have much to celebrate…

"I can't believe Seasmoke chose him," Alyn said incredulously as he looked up at the sky, though of course, they could not see the dragon. If not for the glow of the fire, they would not be able to see an inch in front of their own faces.

"I wish I could have been there to see it…" Baela thought a bit bitterly, but Alyn didn't seem to notice.

"I as well," Alyn agreed. "As children, he and I would often see Seasmoke flying overhead carrying our half-brother, Ser Laenor. I was always more interested in sailing myself, but Addam was fascinated by the dragon, eyes lighting up with childish wonder. My brother was born to fly, but I thought he never would, because…" He shrugged. "Well, you understand, Lady Baela."

She did. And she was grateful that Addam had brought Seasmoke here to celebrate with Alyn before flying him out to join the Velaryon fleet patrolling the Gullet tomorrow. She only wished she and Moondancer were going with him.

I should be going with him, she thought bitterly. We are fighting a war so that Rhaenyra can claim her rightful throne. Why should I be prevented from aiding the war effort? I will be a Queen one day as well. A dragon queen.

But for today, joyflying with Addam had eased some of the sting. He had a natural talent for dragon riding, and with time and practice, she believed he would be a valuable asset to the Blacks.

Him and Alyn both.

As if he heard her thoughts, some of the glimmer faded from Alyn's eyes.

"My father…" he started softly, taking a deep breath. "He's been good to us, he has. He fed us. He clothed us. He educated us. He always made sure we had a roof over our heads. And he allowed me to apprentice on several of his vessels, letting me learn how to sail. I have a good life, and I'm grateful for it. But…"

He smiled up at the sky when Seasmoke let out another cry…a whoop of joy from Addam following shortly after. He stopped whatever it was he was going to say, shaking his head.

"Allowing me to help maintain the cavalry is an honor I never expected Lord Corlys to give me," Alyn said. "And I will make him proud. Even if I am not his proper son."

Baela knew she should not feel any sense of connection with Alyn. She knew her grandmother despised him. But she could not stop her pang of sympathy.

You are his son, just as Jace is Rhaenyra's son. A Velaryon.

A Velaryon she very well may be sneaking off behind the dunes with, after a few more sips of the rum. But just as she lifted the flask, Seasmoke's cry pierced through the night. No, not a cry, a scream. A bloodcurdling scream that stopped the flask halfway to Baela's lips. A scream that had Moondancer lifting her head and scrambling to her feet, eyes scouring the blackened sky.

Smile gone, Alyn leapt to his feet, looking frantically across the horizon.

"Addam?" he called loudly, cupping his hands over his mouth to magnify the sound. "Addam?"

Sobering quickly, Baela leapt to her feet to join him, inching closer to Moondancer. "Addam?" she called. "Addam?"

But it was not Addam that answered their call. It was Seasmoke.

Or rather…part of Seasmoke.

Baela screamed, leaping backwards as the dragon's head plummeted to the earth at breakneck speed, coming into view only as it entered the glow of the firelight, barely giving Baela and Alyn time to leap out of the way before it collided with them. A far louder *thump* followed seconds later, shaking the earth beneath their feet. And though the night was far too dark for Baela to see the source, she knew it could only be one thing.

Seasmoke's headless body.

"ADDAM!!!!!" Alyn cried frantically, eyes roving over the severed head. A severed head with puncture wounds just beneath the jaw. Puncture wounds Baela recognized all too well; she saw them on the livestock that Moondancer fed on.

Dragon teeth.

Vhagar? Baela gasped in fear as she inched closer Moondancer, who was now screaming with outrage as she eyed the severed head. Who but Vhagar could be large enough to decapitate a dragon Seasmoke's size that quickly?

But it was not Vhagar. Baela got her answer not ten seconds later when a burst of flame illuminated the night sky. A burst of emerald green flame.

Baela's jaw dropped as she gaped at the fire in horror. No…

Only one dragon had emerald green flame. The Keepers talked about him often, remarking that his emerald flames matched his emerald eyes.

The Cannibal…He's here. He must have been hunting Seasmoke…

But Baela did not have time to dwell. Not when she was proven wrong mere seconds later. For The Cannibal did not stop to feast on Seasmoke's corpse, and the emerald fire was not aimed at Baela and Alyn.

The standing Velaryon fleet was no longer invisible to Baela. Not now that the first ship was ablaze.

The Cannibal doesn't attack ships. He's a predator, but he leaves humans alone…

A second ship caught fire. Then a third. Then ten. Soon, as Baela stood frozen, near half the docked ships were ablaze. Horrible, piercing screams of men in their death throes echoed through the night as The Cannibal breathed fire along the docks, incinerating waiting sailors who tried in vain to flee.

Alyn snapped out of it first, years of instincts as a sailor overpowering his shock and horror.

"MEN AT ARMS!" he cried, running towards the docks while Baela snapped out of her own stupor, chasing after him while Moondancer chased after her. "ENEMY DRAGON! TO YOUR SCORPIONS! TO YOUR BOWS! TO YOUR GRAPPLING HOOKS!"

"WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?" one of the archers screamed back, arrow knocked and pulled back to his chin while he frantically scoured the sky, eyes bloodshot with terror.

"It's…" Baela's eyes widened, and she realized she had no answer. The Cannibal's pitch-black scales blended in seamlessly with the night sky. Bursts of emerald flame illuminated him, but only for a fleeting few seconds as he burned yet another ship. It was pointless to aim where the flame had been. For despite his massive size, The Cannibal did not lack for speed or agility.

Fucking hell!

Scorpion bolts flew through the air. Archer arrows peppered the sky. Ships tried, in vain, to launch grappling hooks in the desperate hope to snag one of his wings. All for nothing. With every passing second more ships burst into emerald flame, and still The Cannibal remained effectively invisible.

No, she thought, spine straightening as she snarled in anger. You will NOT burn our men! You will NOT burn our ships! Not while a Targaryen dragon rider still lives and breathes on this island. I am the blood of Old Valyria! The blood of the Rogue Prince. The blood of the Sea Snake. The blood of the Queen Who Never Was. And I will answer your call with Fire and Blood!

"This is useless!" Baela screamed, spinning and running for Moondancer's side, gripping hold of her saddle. "There is no moon; they can't see him in the dark! They'll never kill him from the ground!"

Alyn wheeled on her, eyes manic. "Baela, have you gone mad? WE CAN'T SEE IT! Moondancer is too small!"

"Too small to kill The Cannibal," she agreed. "But not too small to kill his rider! The Cannibal isn't doing this on his own! Moondancer is far faster and nimbler than he is! I can burn the rider right off his back!"

"BAELA, GET THE FUCK OFF THE DRAGON!" Alyn surged forward, grabbing at her frantically, but it was too late. Moondancer spread her wings, taking off into the air as Baela tried and failed to fasten the chains while still holding on.

I'll have to fly without them. Father never chains himself to the saddle.

"BAELA!" Alyn screamed from the ground, but realizing it was fruitless, he ran to join his fellow sailors on the docks, crying out for them to stop shooting their arrows, lest they hit her by mistake. 

Aethan

The Velaryon ships were afire, dots of flame decorating the sea. Mere dots, for after each assault Aethan rained down upon them, he directed the Cannibal high into the night sky, out of range of their scorpions and archers. Scorpions and archers who couldn't see The Cannibal anyway. But Aethan could see them. Fire illuminated them as they scrambled across the beach and the docks like terrified ants.

They are not innocent dockworkers, he told himself. They are not innocent sailors. They are enemy warriors. They proudly serve Corlys Velaryon. They proudly fly Rhaenyra's banners. They proudly serve my father. Maybe some of them served him directly in the Stepstones. And every single one of them would kill me without hesitation in service to their Queen. 

Aethan would set the entire realm afire before he saw that hypocritical whore take the Iron Throne, her own bastards as her heirs. Daemon as her Prince Consort.

No, father. You will not put her bastards in the line of succession after you left your own to rot in Fleabottom.

Beneath him, The Cannibal roared, Aethan's own rage fueling the dragon's fury, and they dove down to deliver another stream of fire on the few ships that remained.

Two dozen more ships to burn, and then…

Beneath him, The Cannibal went rigid, and rather than continuing on to the remaining ships, he pulled back upwards into the sky, into the cover of darkness. But before Aethan could even furrow his brow in confusion, a realization popped into his head. A realization that was not his own.

Prey.

Baela

Come on, you big ugly monster. One more burst of flame and I'll find you! Stop hiding like a fucking craven and come out to face me!

She had no idea who this new rider was. She knew from Addam that Vermithor and Silverwing had been claimed, and one fool had attempted to claim Sheepstealer, never to return, but he'd been very clear that no one managed to claim the Cannibal. The beast had eaten everyone who tried. So who the fuck was he?

Brave enough to claim a wild dragon who may be older than Balerion, she scoffed, but too craven to strike during the day? You need the cover of darkness to feel safe?

But Baela did not know that it was not fear that drove the Cannibal to use the cover of darkness; it was experience. Centuries of experience hunting and killing prey too lethal for any other creature in the world to hunt. Experience that taught The Cannibal that the best way to ensure a feast with few injuries was by ambush. Experience that taught him exactly how to stay downwind of his prey, so that he could easily smell them but they could not smell him. Experience that taught him to listen to the sound of their beating wings to pinpoint their exact location, even if he couldn't see them.

Experience that a little girl and her baby dragon could not possibly hope to counter.

Baela saw The Cannibal at the last possible split-second, the glow from the burning ships reflecting off his glimmering fangs. Fangs so close she could smell his fetid breath as he opened his maw to snap Moondancer in half.

She had not a second to spare. Not a second to guide Moondancer to evade, her dragon's reflexes slower than her own. And her own life would surely be forfeit if not for her shock and terror, causing her to leap backwards out of her saddle, plummeting for the water below.

Baela screamed, but instinct took over as she fell. How many times had she, Jace, and Luke gone cliff-diving during their youth at Dragonstone? Never from this high up, it's true, but she knew how to dive without hurting herself. Body positioned perfectly, hands coming up in a point over her head. She pierced the water's surface painlessly, panicking for only a moment as her leather riding clothes grew heavy. But she quickly shook off her boots and shed her coat before they could drag her down. Her head broke the surface, and she filled her lungs with grateful gulps of air…

Just in time for a rush of hot, salty, coppery blood to rain from the sky, coating her face and eyes. Not the blood of a human. The blood of her beloved Moondancer as the young dragon's bones crunched between The Cannibal's teeth.

"NOOO!!!!!"

Aethan

Every last reserve ship was either actively burning or sinking beneath the waves. Every last dockworker and sailor was either dead or had fled for their lives, running as fast as their legs would carry them for the safety of High Tide, even though they would not normally be permitted to enter the castle.

Perfect, Aethan smiled in satisfaction. Now it's time for phase two.

King Aegon's instructions to Aethan had been clear as glass, and Aethan intended to honor them.

I am sending you with twenty loyal Hightower soldiers, hand-picked by my cousin Ormund, Aegon had explained. With The Cannibal's size, surely he is large enough to carry that many, so long as you fly slowly.

The extra weight had not been a problem. The Cannibal refused a saddle, but he was willing to accept rope netting, similar to what Vhagar wore in addition to her saddle. The rope netting made it easier for Aethan to climb up, and it also allowed the Hightower soldiers to attach themselves (somewhat) safely for the flight. No one had fallen off, anyway.

Under the cover of darkness, The Cannibal had deposited the soldiers to lay in wait outside of High Tide before he proceeded to attack Seasmoke and the smaller dragon, burning the fleet as they went. The soldiers awaited Aethan's signal before making their next move.

When we break the Velaryon blockade, the Triarchy and the others will undoubtedly sack Driftmark, Aegon had explained. Spicetown, Hull, High Tide itself, surely they will rob Driftmark of all its riches. And I guarantee none of those riches will make their way back to the Iron Throne. I don't care if they take the spices, silks, and other wares; they can keep them as war prizes. But the Velaryon fortune is far too great a war prize for me to allow them to take. I know they're not going to just give it to me, and if I demand it after they take it, I risk making enemies out of allies.

Aethan had nodded slowly. You want me and your soldiers to pre-emptively sack Driftmark to collect the gold before the Triarchy can swoop in and take it.

Just the gold, Aegon agreed, then thoughtfully added, And if they happen to have any ships left behind to defend the island, burn them. We don't want the coming sea battle to be any harder than it needs to be. And one more thing…

But that 'one more thing' would have to wait for phase three. The Cannibal soared over the castle, and Aethan gave his 'signal' to the Hightower soldiers.

Like everyone else, Aethan knew the legend of Harrenhal. How Aegon the Conqueror and the mighty Balerion the Dread had burned the castle from above, turning the stone into an oven and cooking those within alive. That was over a hundred years ago, and the Cannibal was close in size to what Balerion had been back then. And High Tide was smaller than Harrenhal.

"DRACARYS!" Aethan cried, and The Cannibal obeyed, bathing High Tide in emerald flame.

He would not need to turn High Tide into an oven. As they predicted, many soldiers, guards, and servants from within would try to escape, driving them out of High Tide's doors…and onto the waiting swords of the Hightower soldiers. The Hightowers were outnumbered, it was true, but the guards escaping High Tide were terrified, some of them actively on fire, and they were coming out in waves rather than all at once. The Hightowers, on the other hand, were focused, battle ready…and apparently furious.

"FOR GWAYNE!!!!" he heard several of them screaming, even from the air.

Who in the Seven Hells is Gwayne? Aethan wondered, then shrugged, deciding to ask later. Circling the Cannibal back around, he breathed another wave of fire upon the helpless castle.

The stone itself did not burn, but the wooden bits disintegrated almost instantly, laying waste to roofs and melting the glass windows. Deep within the castle, fires burned from the radiant heat, setting tables and artworks and tapestries ablaze. Corlys Velaryon's prized treasures from his voyages to Essos lay charred and blackened.

And at the very heart of the great hall, the Driftwood Throne itself incinerated, the ancestral seat of House Velaryon reduced to ashes in a matter of seconds.

Aethan waited until he was certain no more guards were trying to escape, then nodded in satisfaction, guiding The Cannibal to land in front of the smoldering castle before dismounting to join the Hightower soldiers.

Per instructions from Ormund, the Hightowers had killed the soldiers, sailors, and the guards, their bloodied corpses strewn along the ground, but the terrified servants and distant Velaryon cousins were left unharmed, bound in ropes and chains. There weren't half so many people (dead or alive) as Aethan expected, and he suspected many had burned to death inside of the castle.

Pity, he thought as he studied their captives. Pity they had to suffer the consequences of their High Lord's treason. But I cannot let my pity drown me. I still have work to do, and it's time for phase three. I wonder which one of them I should…

Behind him, The Cannibal roared, and Aethan whipped his head around, looking to see what had caught his dragon's attention.

Baela

He's alive, she thought gratefully as Alyn hauled her out of the sea, half supporting her weight as he stood waist-deep in water. Thank the gods he's alive…

For her sake as well as his. She was a good swimmer, but fighting her way through choppy water while wearing leather had exhausted her, and her muscles screamed with fatigue. She'd shed most of her clothing to reduce the weight, and she was clad only in her small clothes, which did little to preserve her modesty as she was soaking wet and they were white. But better immodest than drowned.

"Baela, I know you're exhausted, but we need to run," he said, urging her to move faster.

Run? I'm not sure I can walk…

"Baela…" He swallowed, his voice cracking, as if he were fighting back tears…or perhaps hysteria. "Baela, they burned everything. The ships. The docks. Everyone. Even the castle. Everyone is dead or dying. Our only chance is to get to Spicetown; they haven't attacked that side of the island yet. We need to run, or we'll be…

"AH!" Baela screamed as the ground shook beneath her feet, sending her toppling. She would have fallen if not for Alyn's arm around her waist.

Earthquake?

No. For seconds later came the roar of an angry dragon and the sound of five armor-clad soldiers as they charged forward, swords drawn, surrounding Alyn and Baela. With the glow of The Cannibal's numerous fires, Baela could see them as clear as glass.

Fuck.

Aethan

"Baela Targaryen," Aethan said as he studied her.

She was the blood of the dragon, for certain. Even now, surrounded by enemy soldiers and facing The Cannibal, she was trying to fight back. She'd grabbed a dagger from the man beside her, brandishing it while the man brandished his sword.

"And you are…" Aethan asked.

"Alyn of Hull," the man spat. "Bastard son to Corlys Velaryon. And you are all traitors to our Queen and to the realm!"

"We are loyal soldiers of King Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" one of the Hightowers retorted fiercely. 

 Corlys Velaryon's bastard? Aethan thought, remembering his condensed history lesson with Borros Baratheon. This could be useful.

But Baela was his true focus. She didn't look like him, meaning she favored her mother more than Daemon, but she was still Daemon's daughter. Daemon's beloved trueborn daughter, born to his wife Laena Velaryon.

"Sister," Aethan greeted Baela coldly.

Baela's glare wavered as she blinked at him. "Sister?"

"Hmm," Aethan agreed. "You are my younger half-sister. We share a father, you see."

His revelation shocked Baela enough to distract her while a Hightower knight knocked the blade from her hand and grabbed her arms, yanking them behind her back. Alyn roared, raising his sword, but he was swiftly overpowered as well, sword falling to the sand while his own arms were bound.

Satisfied, Aethan smirked, stepping closer to Baela as she thrashed, snarling and spitting at her captors. Prepared to die like a dragon.

Aethan pointedly studied her, pretending to be pondering deeply, until she snapped, "Staring at my tits, you perverted fucker?"

"I don't give a shit about your tits," he snorted. "I'm trying to see what's so special about you."

"The fuck do you mean?" she spat.

"I mean…" He stepped forward, grabbing her painfully by the hair and forcing her to meet his gaze. "What the fuck is so special about you? The daughter he kept. The daughter he loved, and raised, and cared for? I'm just as much his blood as you are."

She snorted, laughing. "Allow me to guess: your mother was a whore?" She laughed harder. "Mine wasn't."

Don't you dare talk about my mother. She loved me so fiercely that she endured a living hell at the hands of her 'customers' just to raise me. She never abandoned me. She was there for me until the day she died. A sickness picked up from one of her 'customers'.

"If your mother was so much better than mine," Aethan growled, "then why is it I managed to claim the Cannibal, whereas your puny little hatchling was barely enough to serve as a snack?"

She spat at him, missing, and then hurling vile epithets at him. He had to give her credit, she was creative. After growing up in Fleabottom, he thought he'd already heard the worst filth imaginable.

Let her talk, he thought, reaching into his knapsack. Time to move on to phase three.

He'd been confused at first when Aegon handed him this hammer. It was nothing special. A bit large perhaps, but just a plain steel tool.

Your father took this as a war prize from Craghas Drahar when he won his war in the Stepstones, Aegon explained. The Crabfeeder, they called him. Drahar had a very…unique way of killing his victims. Daemon wanted my father to add the hammer to the Iron Throne, with the other swords of House Targaryen's vanquished enemies, but he put it in the vault instead. One more family relic.

Then, Aegon smiled. But I think we can put it to better use.

He pushed the hammer into Aethan's hands, and then gave him careful instructions.

Baela must have heard the stories of the hammer, because she recognized it immediately, thrashing all the harder, a wild look of panic in her purple eyes. Alyn too must have heard them. Unsurprising, given he was Corlys's bastard. But rather than thrashing to get away, he was thrashing to put himself between Baela and Aethan.

"Do it to me!" he screamed. "Let her go! Let me take her place!"

Aethan arched an eyebrow at him. Is he in love with her?

It didn't matter. Aethan shook his head. He had not expected Baela to be here. But since she was, she was far too tempting a target. And Aegon told Aethan he could pick whomever he wanted.

"Unfortunately, while Corlys Velaryon would likely be disheartened to see you die, my father surely would not give a shit."

But he would give a shit about Baela.

Gesturing to the Hightower soldiers, he ordered, "Take him and keep him with the others."

Alyn fought the whole way, but it made no difference. He was soon out of earshot, powerless to help Baela, who never stopped the string of curses that would be her last words.

"Fuck you!" she cried. "Fuck you, and fuck your drunken, usurper, CUNT of a King!"

It is because of my King's mercy that you're not going to suffer.

In one swift motion, Aethan raised the hammer above his head and slammed it down against the back of Baela's skull, killing her instantly and without pain. Aegon had ordered him to grant this mercy to whomever he chose (there's no need for actual torture), but Aethan would have granted it anyway. Rage and hatred had not yet polluted his soul enough to make him that cruel. Not for anyone but Daemon himself.

But it doesn't matter whether or not I actually am that cruel. It matters that Daemon thinks I'm that cruel.

Baela was very much dead and beyond pain when Aethan hammered nails into her lifeless hands, pinning her to a makeshift post he embedded in the sand, doing his best to make it look real. The tide would be coming in soon…and as luck would have it, he spotted several large crabs washing in with the waves. Not wanting to disturb their meal, he carefully set the hammer down next to Baela's corpse, left in plain view for the next person who came to this beach.

Walking away from his handiwork, Aethan patted the Cannibal on the nose lovingly.

"Enjoy Seasmoke's corpse, my friend," he told him silently, hoping his dragon would understand the nonverbal command. "And enjoy the corpses of any dead sailors you find. They're your prey, after all. We have to wait for the castle to cool before we can search for to the treasure vault."

And every single piece of gold they recovered would make its way back to Aegon. Aethan didn't need to steal any. His new clothes, his new room, his new servant, and his new access to as much food as he wanted assured him that his new King would take care of his physical needs. One day, Aethan would have his own lands, his own manse, and a beautiful Baratheon bride, worthy of his station once he bore the name Targaryen.

And Aegon is giving me the chance for revenge, Aethan smiled. That is far more valuable to me than any mountain of gold.

Robert

They're having an all-out parade in the streets, Robert thought, shaking his head as he watched from the Small Council chamber's window, mid-morning sun warming King's Landing.

The Cannibal did a victory lap around the city while his rider rode on horseback to the castle, twenty Hightower soldiers flanking him. Behind them were two wagons. One bearing several large crates, the other bearing the severed heads of two dragons.

Aegon, meanwhile, sat in his chair, an indiscernible expression on his face.

"I didn't send him there to kill dragons," Aegon said.

"I know," Robert agreed.

"I didn't even know there were dragons on Driftmark last night," the King continued. "I assumed they were all on Dragonstone."

So did I. If I knew they split them, I would have suggested attacking Dragonstone before they could do the Sowing of the Seeds. We could have killed Rhaenyra while Daemon was away at Harrenhal.

"I doubt the Cannibal managed to kill Vermithor and Silverwing. Not without sustaining critical injuries himself. Those two dragons work as a team. Plus, their heads would be too large to parade."

"Indeed, Your Grace," Robert agreed.

One of them must be Seasmoke, Robert thought. The dragon of Addam of Hull. But who is the other one? It was hard to tell from such a distance. The second skull was small. Vermax, maybe? Or Stormcloud?

"Either way," Robert continued, "the Blacks have lost two valuable war assets, and possibly a loved one. Gwayne Hightower was avenged, and you did it in a practical way that helps our faction."

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He did have a few moments of brilliance during the original timeline. The capability was always there.

"Yes, my uncle is avenged…but I should have instructed them not to make a spectacle of it," Aegon sighed. "It's not that I don't want a celebration. We should celebrate every war victory. But it's too soon. Word will get out quickly. We aren't ready for the Velaryons to be alerted."

"Aye, Your Grace," Robert agreed. "But I don't think it matters much. Prince Daeron left at first light to join the Triarchy. If he's not already there, he will be at any second."

The Battle of the Gullet will begin at any moment, and now we know that Driftmark will have little to no reinforcements at the ready.

Aegon sighed again, standing up. "They'll be at the castle gates soon," he said. "I best be in the throne room and ready to receive them."

Robert nodded encouragingly, striding over to join him. "This is a victory, Your Grace," he reminded him.

Aegon shook his head. "It will be a victory when my brother Daeron is home, unharmed. And until he is, I will simply have to live with the knot in my stomach, worrying that I might have gotten him killed if Daemon is alerted prematurely."

He must have realized that he said too much, because Aegon steeled his expression, fixing Robert with a regal glare. "That was undignified of me, Lord Borros. My personal fretting over my brother is not your concern."

"You may be King, Your Grace, but you are still human," Robert said, smiling at him warmly. "A human who has endured a great deal during a time when you should have been celebrating the start of your reign."

I understand the burdens of the crown all too well. You're doing a far better job of bearing it than I did. I spent the start of my reign grieving the woman I love whilst beginning the process of drinking and whoring myself into an early grave to numb the pain.  

"Human…" Aegon said with a soft laugh, turning from Robert and making his way out of the chamber to head for the throne room. "Yes, I am human. But I can't afford to let anyone else know that."

Aegon

"Baela?" Aegon asked as he stared down at Aethan, his newest dragon rider, as he knelt before the throne. "Baela was on Driftmark, and she was your choice?"

I thought she was on Dragonstone.  He wanted to use the Crabfeeder's execution method (or rather, a more humane illusion of it) to rub salt in old wounds for Corlys and Daemon. He expected Aethan to use it on an enemy sailor or guard. But he NEVER thought Baela would be the target.

Aethan nodded proudly. "Yes, your grace," he said. "Gwayne Hightower is avenged. Daemon killed Otto Hightower's son, and now we have taken one of Daemon's daughters."

And perhaps Daemon will share some of the same pain he inflicted on my family, Aegon thought grimly. Otto had yet to re-emerge from his private chamber, not ready to see anyone. Alicent cried every day for her lost brother. Holes in their hearts that would never heal, not fully. I know I would never heal if I lost a brother or a son.

Aegon had no tears to shed for Baela herself. He'd despised her ever since she'd been part of the four-against-one assault that left Aemond missing an eye. One of the first to get physically violent. But more importantly, she was a dragon rider in Rhaenyra's service. The rider of Moondancer. She could have gone on to kill many of Aegon's loyalists if she lived. 

My only annoyance is that she would have been more valuable as a hostage than as revenge. I should have specified that any valuable targets…

But to his surprise, Aethan continued, as if reading his mind.

"Furthermore, your grace, we did as you instructed. We left the servants and staff restrained, but alive, so they could serve as witnesses to what happened. All except one. Corlys Velaryon's bastard son Alyn of Hull. We brought him back with us as a hostage. Corlys Velaryon has no trueborn children left. He has only one trueborn grandchild: the lady Rhaena. Bastard or no, I thought his sole remaining male descendant might hold some value to him."

True. Jace is a bastard. Corlys might want his blood to live on…

"And best of all…" Aethan beamed brightly, looking over his shoulder just as a team of servants and guards began lifting crates off the cart, presenting them before the Iron Throne and lifting the lids.

And even though it was unkingly, Aegon gasped.

Gods be good…

Each of the crates was absolutely overflowing with gold. Five…fuck, maybe six times the amount of gold that was in the treasury before Tyland Lannister divided it up, hiding it for safekeeping.

"It was safe in the Sea Snake's treasure vault, your grace," Aethan explained. "Protected from fire damage. We took every single piece of gold the Velaryons had. As you instructed, we left any surviving treasures and trinkets behind, taking only the gold. But the gold alone…" Aethan grinned. "The Sea Snake is no longer the wealthiest man in Westeros, your grace. That title now belongs to you. The cost of his treason to the Crown and his service to the false Queen."

This is more than enough gold to fund ten wars.

Unbidden, he heard his mother's voice echoing in his ears. Her reminders that a monarch must always consider the wellbeing of their people.

We can start making plans for improving the country after the war is over. Improvements on Alysanne's clean water system. Better roads. Farming. Maybe a better sewage system so the city stops stinking of shit… And he would not be spending the crown's money to do it.

And maybe, if I spend this money to benefit my people, they will remember me as a good king after my death.

Aegon made the decision not to send the gold away to Oldtown, or Lannisport, or the Iron Bank, like the rest of the Crown's wealth had been. This was all Corlys's gold. If, by chance, Rhaenyra managed to claim the city somehow, surely Corlys would want it all back. If she refused to give it to him, she would cost herself his support, and maybe the support of the rest of her vassals as well, because they would see her as stealing from her own people.

So Aegon ordered the gold taken to the treasury, and he ordered Tyland Lannister to oversee counting it and ensuring proper funding for the war and all other castle activities. But before they could take it away, Aegon surprised the court by getting up off the throne, walking over to one of the crates, and taking out a few handfuls of golden dragons.

One by one, he passed a small stack of them to each Hightower soldier that participated in the Burning of High Tide, enough to live a life of reasonable comfort without ever having to work another day, if they so choose. When he got to Aethan, handing him his stack of gold, the dragon seed's eyes grew wider then saucers, his hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped it.

"Your Grace…" Aethan whispered in awe.

"You'll never be poor again, Aethan," Aegon vowed to him. "You are a dragon rider in my service, and you will be treated with all the respect due to any Targaryen dragon lord. Once the war is won, you will wear the Targaryen name as well. And…" With a smile, he took a few more pieces of gold from one of the chests. "I think we need to make you some jewelry and adornments befitting your station."

Tears welled in Aethan's eyes, and his whole body began to shake as he laughed. "Your Grace…you gave me more than I could have ever asked for when you gave me the chance to take vengeance against my father."

Because I understand. My life was not the nightmare that yours was, but I understand. My father hated me too. Even before I became a drunken disappointment. I know how much it hurts. I can't imagine living in poverty on top of having him hate me. You deserve revenge, and Daemon deserves to die.

There are MANY reasons why Daemon deserves to die.

"I'll arrange for you to have a larger suite of rooms," Aegon said, stepping back. "I suggest you rest and recover from your long night. For today, we finally break the Velaryon blockade, and I want you and The Cannibal rested and ready in case the Blacks retaliate."

I'd send you to the Gullet now, but you're far too exhausted, and you'd be a liability more than an asset.

Aegon would have to have faith in his brother, Daeron. And he did have faith in Daeron, both to succeed and to obey his King's commands.

But having faith did not mean he would not worry.