Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

Gods, I fucking hate this part of ruling, Robert though as the meeting drolled on. A mundane council meeting, not a war-planning session, and Robert struggled to keep his mind on the here and now.

I was never any good at this shit, he thought, for once accepting a cup of wine rather than water. Crops and coins and laws. Jon Arryn, Renly, Varys, Little Finger, even Stannis. They were the ones who actually governed the damn realm after I won it.

Aegon, however…

"The accounting of the Velaryon gold is complete, Lord Tyland?" Aegon confirmed with his Master of Coin.

Even in the past, I'm surrounded by fucking Lannisters. But at least Tyland was more bearable than his brother's descendants would one day be. Proud and arrogant, of course, but he was smart, an excellent politician, and he lacked the viciousness of Cersei or her father.

"Yes, your grace," Tyland confirmed, rattling off a number that made a few council members gasp. "My recommendation is to pay the remaining costs of war out of the Velaryon gold, as well as for the survey and reimbursements that we promised to the North. After those costs are covered…" The following number was smaller than the first, but still a staggering amount. More than Robert had when he took the Red Keep and seized the Mad King's treasury.

Before I pissed it all away on feasts and tourneys…

"Quite the relief," Alicent said. "Most of the Crown's gold is safe and away from the city, but we've already spent a good bit funding this war. Our people should not have to bear further cost."

"Hmm," Robert agreed. "The Blacks chose to reject our every offer of peace. Seems only fair that the gold to pay for the war comes out of their ally's pocket."

"Indeed, funding the war from the Velaryon gold is an unexpected windfall," Aegon said, glancing at Otto (once again well-polished and wearing his Hand of the King pin). "However, I want to ensure that ample gold remains to fund every project on that list we assembled at our last meeting. I'm expecting the realm to fight for me. After it is done, I need to show them that it was worth the battle. Beyond merely keeping the throne out of Daemon's clutches."

Sparing the realm from Daemon and Rhaenyra's shitty leadership is enough of a mark on the world.

Robert remembered that part of his history lessons very well (and once again, he was grateful that Stannis never shut his damn trap about the Dance). In the six months she sat the throne, Rhaenyra executed people in droves and taxed the city into starvation while herself living in luxury. It was on her watch that the dragon pit was broken into and the dragons within slaughtered. She ended up having to sell her crown to flee her own city because she couldn't hold it.

But that won't happen this time around, Robert thought with a touch of pride. Because the city is doing fine under Aegon's leadership. And it's about to get even better.

"Nearly all of our plans are easily affordable," Otto confirmed. "Even after funding the war and honoring our promise to the North, there is sufficient gold remaining to cover nearly all of the list."

Aegon raised an eyebrow. "Nearly?" Though Robert noticed that Aegon softened his tone with his grandfather. Otto had finally been able to send Gwayne's body back to Oldtown via ship, which gave him some peace. Throwing himself into his duties as Hand had helped even further, restoring some of the spark to his eyes. But Otto was still grieving, and he would be for quite some time.

 Otto absently tracing his fingers along the edge of the paper in front of him. "The only item that may pose a challenge and require us to dip into the crown's own funds is your idea for an improved sewage system, your grace. It is quite…ambitious."

"I disagree," Aegon said, leaning back in his chair. "You grew up in Oldtown, Grandfather."

"Yes, but…"

"And you, Ser Tyland?" Aegon continued. "Lannisport."

"Yes, your grace," Tyland confirmed.

Aegon nodded. "Lannisport and Oldtown are both major port cities, just like King's Landing. Oldtown, in fact, is both larger and older. So tell me: Do Oldtown and Lannisport reek of shit?"

The council hesitated before Otto reluctantly admitted, "No, your grace, they do not."

Maester Orwyle helpfully supplied, "Oldtown smells quite pleasant. Like perfume."

"Precisely," Aegon agreed. "If it can be done there, it can be done here. This is the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. The King's city. It should be a city of splendor, not a city of shit."

Good fortune to you with that, Robert thought. It still stank of shit when I ruled it.

"Whomever is responsible for maintaining the waste disposal system in Oldtown, I want them brought to King's Landing to construct a similar system for our people here. That is our first priority."

Tyland hesitated. "My King…the cost…"

"Near all our plans are being paid with the Velaryon gold," Aegon interrupted. "About half of the sewage system will be paid by the Velaryon gold as well. Yes, the remaining cost must come from the crown's coffers, but I am confident there will be no objections to a sweeter-smelling city. That money would have been spent on the war anyway."

It was not a suggestion; it was an order from a King, and none at the council table dared question it.

"The first of many improvements we need to make in our city," Aegon continued, gesturing at the paper in Otto's hand. "Now that I am King, I can say it without fear of being scolded, but when I was a prince, I spent many a night away from the castle…"

Judging by the way Alicent narrowed her eyes, Aegon did still have to fear being scolded, but at least she was far more likely to do it later. And of course, there could be no discipline involved.

"…and much of the city is a slum," Aegon finished.

At this, Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, leaned forward. "Your grace, if you intend to take a firmer stance on crime…"

But Aegon raised a hand to stop him. "King's Landing is not rife with slums because it lacks for laws," he corrected. "Again, we must look to other similar cities for examples, and similar slums do not exist in Lannisport, Oldtown, or White Harbor. The problem stems from poverty."

No one contradicted him.

"A problem you intend to remedy, your grace?" Tyland asked.

"A problem that will be remedied naturally by all the projects we plan to undertake," Aegon agreed. Smiling at Otto, he gave him an encouraging nod, and the Hand began reciting items from the list that he himself had helped assemble.

"For the improved sewage system, we will need people to build it, and those people will need to be paid," Otto started. "We also mean to make improvements and additions to the major roads in Westeros. Again, we will need workers and guards to ensure their safety. We have hundreds of acres of farmland that is not being utilized; we will need workers to put it to use. Crops, or wool, or cattle to raise for meat and for leather that we can trade internationally."

All valid goals. Valid…and expensive. But before any could voice an objection, Aegon raised a hand for order again.

Curiously, before speaking, he locked eyes with Helaena, who had silently been observing the meeting. Clearly, the King and Queen had some sort of private conversation about it, because she smiled at him beautifully and gave him an encouraging nod.

I knew it, Robert thought sadly as he watched them. Helaena would have been a beloved queen had the Blacks not robbed her of her light in the original timeline.

But not anymore, Robert thought proudly. Because I saved her.

Aegon seemed to draw strength from her light as well. Her smile had him sitting up just the tiniest bit straighter, some of the worry lines fading from his young face.

"I know these undertakings are ambitious," Aegon agreed. "More than ambitious. And it may take decades to see them through to fruition. But I do not intend for this war to be my only mark on the Targaryen dynasty." He paused, and Robert saw a flash of pain in his eyes that he quickly masked. "I mean to prove that I am not merely the rightful heir but the best. I will prove right each of my supporters and prove wrong all who doubted me."

Including your own father. Robert hid his wince…and not merely for Aegon's benefit.

I was no better a father to my own son. Yes, I named my eldest boy my heir, but I spent so little time with Joffrey, he lamented. All I wanted to do was spend my days getting drunk, eating, fucking whores, and watching tourneys. I could have spent some of that time with my son. Teaching him how to fight. Getting him out of his mother's clutches and teaching him to be a halfway decent man. Teaching him how to rule…

Though in fairness, how was Robert supposed to teach him that? He'd never ruled Westeros himself. Not really.

"My great-grandfather consolidated the realm," Aegon continued. "My father maintained that stability. But stability has festered into stagnation, and the time has come to move forward and make advancements. My reign will be one of prosperity." 

And you'll be damn good at it, Robert thought, not a shadow of a doubt in his mind. Because you've got the right people to help you do it.

But before the council could move on to the next topic (a zoning and agriculture lesson for the new farmland, gods spare them), a knock sounded on the chamber door.

"Your grace," the guard announced. "Dragon returning! It's Vhagar."

Aemond

"A celebration breakfast tomorrow, if not a proper feast," Aegon wheedled, locking his arm around Aemond's waist and kissing him on the shoulder while the three of them cuddled in bed, enjoying the wonderful post-coital afterglow. They had precious little time; only a few short hours. Aemond would be leaving again at first light to escort Cregan Stark's men the rest of the way to the Riverlands. 

Aemond chuckled. "Aegon, I need to make use of every minute of daylight available to me. I won't have time for a celebration breakfast. I will need to eat during the flight."

Aegon pouted. "We received word from Lord Jason Lannister that Aethan killed the Knights of the Vale, took Silverwing out of the war, and arrived to protect their armies. You have conquered the Eyrie, forced their submission, and recruited Vermithor to our cause. He now protects Criston Cole's men. We must celebrate this great victory."

Aemond shook his head, but he beamed, as he had done for the past hour whilst his brother praised him. "We shall host a grand celebration after the war is won," Aemond countered. "This," he said, lovingly stroking first Aegon's hip and then Helaena's shoulder, "is all the celebration I need for sieging the Eyrie."

And making hostages of Rhaena and Viserys.

That hadn't been easy. Viserys had been distressed when he realized his mother was no longer with him in the Eyrie, but he was a very young child and easily soothed. Aemond told him he was taking him on a dragon ride to go and see his brother, and Viserys stopped crying, going along willingly. The two boys shared the nursery now, were cared for by Jaehaerys and Jaehaera's nursemaid, and had access to the twins' toys. Helaena even ensured that the boys had a few sweets.

Rhaena, on the other hand, was not faring so well.

Unfortunately, she knew exactly how her sister died. Worse, she'd had scarcely any time to absorb and recover from the information. And so when Aemond went to collect her as a hostage as well, she attacked him with a knife that she kept strapped to her ankle. She had no combat experience and he evaded the strike easily, but things had gotten progressively worse from there. Refusing to accept that Aemond had no intention of harming her, she'd fought tooth and claw. Literally tooth and claw, biting and scratching and kicking and screaming until Aemond restrained her in ropes.

When he made it back to the Red Keep and Aegon had greeted them, she proved that she was not always a proper lady, hurling insults and curses at the Greens. She must have learned them from her father, because Aemond had not a clue what half of them meant and needed to ask a guard.

Still, Aegon had initially given her a room befitting her station, including a pair of servants to attend to her. Initially. He had to revoke the privilege after she climbed out her window, snagged her dress on the metalwork, fell, and broke two of her ribs.

"You have worn out my patience," Aegon had warned her after the maester bound and stabilized her ribs. "You will be taken to The Traitor's Walk and given a tower cell. Should you cause any further disturbances, you will be moved to a black cell. Have I made myself clear?"

Aemond shivered at the thought of a black cell. The tower cells, where Rhaena and Alyn of Hull were currently being held, were reasonably comfortable. Clean, well-maintained, and featuring barred windows to let in fresh air. Prisoners inside were well fed and watered. The black cells, however, were the foulest and most fearsome in the Keep, one step above the torture chamber.

Fortunately, Rhaena knew that, and the threat served to make her more compliant.

"I should have let her spend just one night there," Aegon grumbled, reaching up to trace the scar on Aemond's eye. "Just one night, as punishment for what she and her sister helped Jace and Luke do to you."

Aemond wouldn't lie; he'd allowed his mind to wander into the realm of vengeance many times over the years, when his face pained him and he mourned his lost eye. But now, despite having one of his attackers in his grasp and at his mercy, he shook his head.

"She has already lost her sister, her betrothed, and soon her father as well," Aemond countered grimly. "And it is us that hold the Red Keep. Justice has been served several times over."

Aegon nodded, kissing him softly again while Helaena brushed her fingers through his hair.

"She will soon lose Alyn as well," Helaena said. "Even if they were not close, he is her kin." She hesitated before adding, "I suppose there's no way for us to spare him?"

Aegon shook his head. "I'm sorry, sister, there isn't. The reason for taking hostages is to ensure the other side behaves. Corlys not only didn't behave, but he ferried the Knights of the Vale to Maidenpool. If I do nothing, it defeats the purpose of keeping hostages."

The news still dulled some of the shine from Helaena's eyes, and Aemond could not resist taking her side.

"Perhaps there's a middle ground?" Aemond suggested. "Take an ear or a few fingers instead of his life. We can send them to the Sea Snake and assure him that if he does not surrender to the Manderlys, then he will soon receive Alyn's head."

Helaena brightened at the suggestion, and Aemond knew that Aegon saw it too, because his brother hesitated.

"I suppose it may spare the lives of the Manderly and Sistermen sailors who would have to fight the Velaryons," he mused. "And we can execute him if Corlys refuses that final offer of mercy."

"And we can keep the Velaryon ships rather than losing them to the sea," Aemond added. "Divide them four ways between the Manderlys, the Sistermen, the Arbor, and the royal navy. The Triarchy got the Stepstones out of the deal; they need no further payment."

Aegon pondered for a few seconds longer…then sighed. "Very well," he agreed. "On the morrow, he shall lose one of his hands. I'll even take whichever one is not his dominant hand. Afterwards, I will have him cared for by the maester to ensure he recovers. But if the Sea Snake does not accept this last chance, then Alyn has to die, and I will order the Sistermen and the Manderlys to kill Corlys and his remaining men."

Grim as it sounded, the news made Helaena smile, and she reached over to lovingly rub Aegon's hand before smiling at Aemond and doing the same for him.

"And on the morrow, you will meet with Cregan Stark once again," she said. But then her hand froze and she frowned. "Him…and…" Her frown deepened.

He and Aegon exchanged a glance, and they both sat up in bed, pulling back and giving her space, waiting while her eyes went vacant, seeing something that only she could see.

"Helaena?" Aemond coaxed gently after a few moments, snapping her back to the present, but she shook her head.

"I can't be certain," she admitted. "It's hard to see. I can't recognize the surroundings from the glimmer I got. I know beyond a doubt that you must fly North at first light. It's imperative that you must. But…"

Aegon reached over, but he stopped himself before touching her. She would not be receptive of it so soon after a Dream. Instead, he spoke soothingly. "But?"

"But…" She swallowed, eyes welling with tears. "I see fire. And death."  

Daemon

The Greens claim yet another victory.

Daemon said not a word as he threw Mysaria's letter into the fire. Her last letter. Surely she was either dead or rotting in the dungeon. Either way, he would never see her again, and he had no other source of information within the city walls.

Just as well. I wouldn't be able to trust it anyway.

Not only had the Greens won, they made a fool of him. Expecting an attack, Daemon had donned his armor, forced Jace to don his, and the two of them had spent the entire day patrolling Harrenhal protectively, keeping the castle within their sights at all times and recalling all scouts for their own safety.

All for nothing. The Greens had not attacked Harrenhal. They attacked the cavalry. And because of the misinformation, Daemon and Jace never even knew the Knights of the Vale were in danger. 

I could have saved them if I did my normal patrols. I might have been close enough to see the smoke…

"The matter is closed then," Jace said, eyes lifeless and dull as he sank into a wooden chair in his suite at Harrenhal. His mother looked no better. Rhaenyra would not look at either of them. She had not moved from her position in the window, staring out over the God's Eye.

Normally grandiose, the castle was dark, cold, and eerily quiet. They did not have enough servants to maintain it. Larys Strong was a sly man and kept precious little gold in the castle itself (only enough to pay for the castle's basic monthly operations). The Blacks had gold of their own, of course (Rhaenyra had taken most of the treasury when she left Dragonstone), but not enough. Without the Velaryon fortune, their gold reserves would run dry rapidly. They simply could not afford to pay the number of servants it would require to keep Harrenhal fully staffed.

"What matter?" Daemon asked, rubbing his temples as he studied the map in front of him. Not that he needed it.

"The war," Jace said. "There are no options left to us. We must sue for peace."

Daemon didn't bother responding. Didn't even bother getting angry. Nor did Rhaenyra. She didn't move a single inch, as if she hadn't heard Jace speak.

"It's over, Daemon," Jace said, looking up at him while he gripped the edge of the table, as if trying to draw strength from the wood. "We've lost."

"We have three dragons and an army," Daemon corrected. "A larger army than the Conqueror had when he took the Seven Kingdoms. We've lost nothing. Not yet."

Bluster even he no longer believed. Not truly. Nor did he care. Victory, defeat, it was all the same, so long as the Greens suffered first.

Jace closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and gripped the wood harder.

"Daemon," he near growled. "Luke is dead. Joffrey is dead. Baela is dead. Rhaena, Aegon, and Viserys are prisoners. The Eyrie has fallen. The Velaryon fleet has fallen, and what little remains of it is trapped in the Bay of Crabs. Nearly the entire Kingdom has bent the knee to Aegon and fights in his service. We know from House Frey that Cregan Stark's men have made it past the Neck and will soon be at the Twins. Which means they have likely come to fight for the Greens too."

Balling his fist, Jace slammed it down on the table so hard the 'thud' echoed through the room.

"And, as mother just told us, we have lost the reinforcements we expected from the Knights of the Vale. Along with Vermithor and Silverwing."

On top of everything else she's suffered, she had to bear witness to a killing field. A killing field strewn with the corpses of allies that we desperately needed. No wonder Rhaenyra had not said a word.

When Rhaenyra fled the Eyrie and made her way to Harrenhal, tormented by the guilt of having to leave their son behind, she caught the scent of charred bodies in the air. Following it, she found what she could only describe as a sea of death. Thousands of knights and soldiers burned, little patches of emerald green fire still glowing. Silverwing, miraculously, had survived, but she was badly injured and would need weeks to heal before she could fly.

Weeks that the Blacks did not have.

"The Greens have five adult dragons," Jace finished dramatically. "Two adolescents. And perhaps they have Vermithor as well, if Aemond accepted Hugh Hammer's surrender and let him live."

I've faced more lethal odds before. Daemon's mind drifted back to the Stepstones, when he was surrounded by the Crab Feeder's army and facing certain death.

I did not surrender then. I shall not surrender now.

"Daemon," Jace said. "Mother. Let us end this. Let us sue for peace. Surely, Aegon would choose to accept our surrender rather than continuing a battle where he will lose hundreds or thousands of his men and put his own dragons at risk. Let us spare the lives of those who are loyal to us. Let us save our remaining dragons. Let us negotiate for the safe return of my brothers and Rhaena."

Jace's words gripped Daemon's windpipe like a fist of iron.

Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon. The Greens had all three of his remaining children. The mere thought of it had Daemon's knees buckling.

He's killed them. They're either dead or as good as dead.

And part of Daemon wanted nothing more than to follow them into the next life. Perhaps he would. But first, he needed to avenge their deaths. To make the Greens suffer for taking them away from him.

For taking everything away from him. 

"So you would have us kneel?" he said drily instead. "Get on our knees and beg Aegon to spare our lives? Beg him to return our children to us? Plead for his mercy?"

Jace hesitated for a long time, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's either that or we die, and thousands of people die along with us, including my brothers and Rhaena."

"I will burn the entire world to ash and bone before I get on my knees before Otto Hightower and beg him for mercy," Daemon spat, lips curling back at the very idea. "I will endure the pain of each and every one of the Seven Hells before I beg the man who ordered my DAUGHTER FED ALIVE TO THE FUCKING CRABS!"

"Aegon is not a Hightower," Jace corrected. "He is a Targaryen. Your brother's son. The blood of Old Valyria. A dragon rider. There is no shame in surrendering to another Targaryen."

"Half Targaryen," Daemon spat. "Though I suppose I understand your inability to discern. You're less Valyrian than he is."

His words made Jace's eyes flare with anger, but Daemon didn't stop. "Surrendering and begging for mercy must be a Strong trait."

Jace moved faster than Daemon could have imagined, flying across the room and drawing back his fist, but Daemon caught it before it could inflict any damage. "Save that fire for our enemies," he scolded.

"I'm not certain who my enemies are at the moment," Jace sneered.

"Enough," Rhaenyra said coldly, finally turning away from the window. Once the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros, she did not look remotely lovely anymore. Her pale skin was no longer ivory but an ashy gray. Heavy bags lingered under her eyes, still red-rimmed from crying, and her cheeks had grown sunken from her lack of proper eating since the war began.

But despite it all, a spark of fire still blazed in her eyes.

They haven't broken her yet, Daemon thought proudly. My fierce dragon queen. You will rejoice and heal once I reclaim all that was stolen from you.

"We shan't surrender to the Greens," she said, her voice steady and even.

Jace groaned, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "Mother, the Throne is not worth it," he said. "The Targaryen dynasty isn't worth it. Not when we've lost everything that was ever important to us."

"It is no longer a matter of the Throne or the Targaryen dynasty," she corrected. "We are the Blood of the Dragon. We will not kneel to them and kiss their feet after they have stolen and slaughtered our children. After they burned loyal men who were willing to fight and die for us. After they have stolen the realm. We shall live as conquerors, or we shall die as dragons." Glowering fiercely, she added, "And win or lose, we shall have our revenge." 

And there's the woman I married. Daemon smiled at her proudly.

Jace, however, cringed.

"Regardless of the cost?" he asked softly. "The cost of our people? The cost of our dragons? Of our family? Me included?"

She shook her head. "Jace, we were dead the day Aegon crowned himself. My error was not going on the offensive earlier in the war. Perhaps Aegon would allow us to live long enough to humiliate us with our surrender, but none of us would live to old age. Aegon could not risk dissention in his new reign. Not when he's already proven himself all too willing to kill children."

And if we should fail? Die trying? So be it.

"You are sentencing us to DEATH!" Jace roared, slamming his fist upon the table once more. "Death! For the sake of vengeance, rather than living with what remains."

Daemon snorted. "I will sleep soundly in the Seven Hells so long as Otto and his rancid progeny follow me into the grave," he said darkly. "So long as I wrought death and destruction upon House Hightower."

I would gladly trade my life to get a hold of just one of them. Do to them what they did to Baela. Or worse.

"Well, I will not!" Jace snapped, pushing past Daemon to point at the map. "They're surrounding us with their armies. Their dragons will soon follow, and our men will be slaughtered."

"Which is why we can no longer rely on conventional warfare," Daemon countered.

"We…"

"The Greens think they have won some great victory," Daemon spat. "Deceiving me to keep me here at Harrenhal while they slaughtered our cavalry. Pinning us down so we have the option to stay or allow our men to be slaughtered. And if we rely on conventional warfare, they shall triumph."

Jace narrowed his eyes. "And what 'unconventional warfare' methods remain to us, Daemon," he challenged. "All of our allies are here. We cannot move them anywhere else."

"We can't move them anywhere else," Daemon agreed. "But dragons can fly."

And war, regrettably, comes with sacrifices.

Forrest Frey

"The Twins," Forrest declared, punching his fist against the table, "are amongst the strongest castles in all of Westeros, and my family has held it for over five hundred years. The other Houses might sneer at us, call us toll collectors, but the Twins have never been taken by force. And they will not be taken by force today!"

No matter how many thousand Northerners were congregating just outside their walls, readying their archers and warriors.

"Lord Forrest," his master-at-arms said worriedly. "Lady Sabitha has lead most of our warriors south to aid Prince Daemon. We don't have enough men to hold the Starks indefinitely."

And I should be there with her, he thought bitterly. But Prince Daemon had ordered him to stay at the Twins for exactly this reason: in case the Northerners proved to be Green loyalists.

"If the Northerners cross and make their way into the Riverlands, our men are dead, along with everyone who supports the rightful Queen," Forrest countered. "The cost matters not. We fight! They will NOT cross!"

If Forrest had been thinking more strategically, he might have noticed that the Northerners did not have any siege weapons with them, a bizarre choice for an army planning to take a castle by force.

A bizarre choice that came into perfect clarity mere seconds later, when the roar of a dragon pierced the sky.

"Fucking hell!" Forrest snarled, gesturing to his master-at-arms. "Ready the damn scorpions!"

It was done, as he commanded, and they Freys managed to get off five scorpion bolts before Vhagar reduced the wooden weapons (and their wielders) to ash. One bolt managed to strike the ancient beast, but it succeeded in no more than adding another scar to Vhagar's body, a glancing strike that spilled a small river of boiling hot blood from her back.

It only served to make Vhagar angrier.

It was then that Forrest, reluctantly, agreed to grant safe passage to an envoy from House Stark.

"If you cooperate, Lord Frey," they envoy announced, "then neither you nor anyone within the castle walls will be harmed…for the time being, anyway. The Targaryens will deal with the matter of your surrender later. But for now…"

"For now, you expect me to allow you and your army to cross," Forrest spat bitterly.

The envoy met his gaze dead on, unflinching.

"It is that, Lord Frey, or Prince Aemond unleashes dragon fire upon the Twins and burns everyone alive," he said. "And then we shall cross anyway."

The words 'Fuck off, we'll take our chances' burned at the back of his throat like acrid bile…but Forrest forced himself to swallow them. For within this castle was the entirety of his family that was unable to join Lady Sabitha in going to war. Including his infant son and heir.

Live or die, there is nothing we can do to keep them from venturing south. I cannot doom the whole of House Frey to die in dragon fire.

And so Forrest commanded that the Northerners be allowed to pass, grateful that he had managed to send one last raven to Harrenhal before it was too late.

Rhaenyra

Near the entire realm has become my enemy, she thought as she flew Syrax, keeping a constant watch to her left and to her right, lest she be waylaid, even as Daemon and Caraxes guarded her from behind.

A risky flight. The Cannibal guarded the Lannisters and the Tullys from the west, a deadly foe that Rhaenyra could not pray to outrun or outfight. Vermithor had been weakened by his fight with Vhagar, but he was still capable of flight, and he guarded Criston Cole's men, who were moving to surround Harrenhal from the East. From House Frey, they knew that Aemond had joined up with Cregan Stark's men, guarding them from the North, and their own scouts had spotted Daeron and Tessarion guarding the Hightower men approaching from the South.

Perhaps they will not attack us two against one, but against a monster like the Cannibal... A risk Rhaenyra had no choice but to take. Daemon needed her and Syrax to help him, not Jace and Vermax.

We cannot trust Jace on this mission. Not after he was ready to bend the knee to Aegon. And so she and Daemon had left him behind to defend Harrenhal.

This would be her first time flying Syrax into battle. A battle she was happy to wage. She had no other way to win this war, or to inflict upon the Greens some small fragment of the pain they had inflicted upon her.

Fortunately, their caution paid off, and they were able to evade the Green dragons.

The temptation to fly to the Red Keep was near unbearable, and fantasies ran wild through her head. Fantasies of swooping in like a heroine to save her children and burn her enemies alive. Fantasies she managed to quash. Perhaps together, Syrax and Caraxes could overpower Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, but the likelihood that she and Daemon would both survive was infinitesimal. 

We stick to the plan, she cautioned herself, and we kill my brother when it's time. Fortunately, the plan brought her much satisfaction.

Even before the High Tower at Oldtown came into view.

As Daemon predicted, the city lookouts spotted them almost immediately, and nearly a dozen ravens peppered the sky, undoubtedly on the way to King's Landing. Rhaenyra could have stopped them easily with a burst of dragonfire, but instead, she let them fly, smirking as they fled the city as fast as their dark wings would carry them.

By mutual agreement, they avoided the Citadel. Burning the knowledge within its stone walls would serve no good and would only make it harder on their descendants if they were to win. But the rest of the city would have no such immunity. Including the High Tower itself.

The tallest structure in the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaenyra thought as she stared at the green flame. And the seat of a family of treasonous vipers.

"Dracarys!"

Robert

"Aegon, stop!" Helaena cried as she chased after her husband, skirts tugged up so she would not step on them as she ran. "Wait!"

Listen to her, you fucking idiot. You're going to get yourself killed.

"You saw the letter!" Aegon called to her over his shoulder, hastening his pace as he got outside, heading to the cliffs where his dragon waited for him. "They're attacking Oldtown!"

"I know!" she sobbed, her voice cracking as she finally managed to catch up to him, grabbing his arm and yanking so hard that the Kingsguard glared at her in warning. "But you can't!"

"Your grace," Robert shouted, catching up to the couple. "Your queen is right. They're doing this on purpose to bait you."

"It's a TRAP, Aegon!" Helaena pleaded, tugging him harder. "They let the ravens fly on purpose."

For the first time since opening the letter, Aegon hesitated, his brow furrowing. "But…"

"Aegon, I…" She bit her lip, looking over her shoulder pointedly at the Kingsguard.

She can't speak plainly in front of them, Robert balled his fist, wishing he could send them away.

"Husband, think," she said instead. "It's only logical that they planned this. They mean to lie in wait to see if you come alone or with another dragon. If you come alone, Syrax and Caraxes will attack you two against one. If you don't go alone and bring Tessarion, The Cannibal, or any of our other dragons with you, then they will target whatever portion of our army that dragon was guarding."

Seven fucking Hells. Of course Daemon would pull an underhanded trick. Robert cursed himself for not bracing for it. In the original timeline, Daemon had done a similar ruse in Harrenhal to lure Aemond away from the city.

I focused too heavily on Daemon's original plan and didn't consider that his deviousness would still remain. A mistake he would have to rectify, but not by allowing Aegon to fly to Oldtown.

"She's right, your grace," Robert said. "We've squeezed them to the point of desperation, and in their desperation, they're making a desperate last resort and hoping that we'll take the bait. They know there's no conventional way for them to win this war, so they're hoping a dirty trick will give them an advantage."

Aegon wheeled on him, glaring, far more willing to unleash his anger on Robert than he was on Helaena.

"This is not a dirty trick," he spat. "They are burning Oldtown with dragonfire."

Robert grimaced. "I know."

"I cannot do nothing!" he said. "Oldtown is the city ruled by my kin, but even without the blood tie, I cannot let it burn. I am not merely the King; I am the protector of the realm. If the other Houses of the realm learn that I wasn't willing to risk myself to save MY OWN family's House, why would they trust me to protect theirs?"

"I am not asking you to be a coward, your grace," Robert argued. "I am asking you to be smart. We have the advantage of knowing there is a trap. We need to press that advantage."

Aegon snorted. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"I can tell you exactly how," Robert said. "But you're not going to like it."

You're in over your head, Daemon, Robert thought darkly. Your antics and ruthlessness may have shock value in this era, but I spent well over a decade married to Cersei Lannister and as son-in-law to her father Tywin. I know what true ruthlessness looks like. And how to replicate it.