Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

Aemond

I've been her rider for years; why haven't I found a faster way to dismount? Aemond cursed himself as he slowly climbed Vhagar's ropes down to the ground. He's hurt! I need to see how badly!

When he found out by raven that Aegon was injured in battle, burned and struck by an arrow, Aemond feared the worst, that the man he loved would die alone in some strange castle before he could get to him. His only consolation was that the Battle of the Crag was already over and Borros Baratheon thought it was unlikely the Iron Born would try again so quickly, so Aemond was able to fly to Raventree.

I know it's foolish to abandon my patrol in the middle of a war, but I shall never be able to focus until I'm certain he's safe.

Finally, his feet touched the grass, and he took off sprinting towards the entrance to Raventree Hall, barely remembering his manners and politely accepting greetings from the Blackwoods and the Northerners who had just returned from their victory on Ironman's Bay.

I'll listen to your status update later; my brother is hurt!

Fortunately, Lord Samwell Blackwood understood without asking that Aemond needed to see his King immediately, and so he guided him towards the guestroom where Aegon was resting…

Or rather, where he was meant to be resting. Aegon was indeed in bed, his bandaged leg elevated by a small stack of pillows, but rather than resting, he was smiling as he praised a young boy wearing a proud smile.

"Already a fine warrior!" Aegon said. "Killed two Iron Born yourself, at your age, and…"

Both Aegon and the boy turned to look at Aemond when he walked in. The boy leapt to his feet and inclined his head politely towards Aemond. "My prince," he greeted respectfully.

Aegon, on the other hand, brightened beautifully, eyes sparkling, sighing with relief, as if Aemond's mere presence was assurance that everything was going to be alright.

And it will, brother, Aemond silently swore. No one will ever harm you again.

But for now, appearances must be maintained, and so he bowed and said, "It gives me great relief to see you are on the mend, your grace."

"Ben," Samwell said, beckoning towards his son. "Come. It's time for your lessons. I'm sure His Grace would like a few minutes alone with the prince before we discuss the next steps in the war."

Obeying his father immediately, Ben nodded towards Aemond again, and then towards Aegon, then followed Samwell out the door. As soon as it was shut, Aemond quickly barred it, dropping all ceremony as he ran to Aegon's side.

It was only then that Aemond saw that it was not merely Aegon's leg that was bandaged. Affixed to the left side of his head was a large cotton wrap, small droplets of blood staining the fabric a brilliant crimson.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Aegon promised him, seeing the look of horror on Aemond's face. "The maester had to cut off my ear. It was burnt beyond saving, but luckily, not much of the surrounding tissue was burned. He says the scar won't be too bad. It won't even show so long as I wear my hair down."

You lost your ear, Aemond thought, jaw trembling as he sank to his knees by Aegon's bedside. It could so easily have been worse. You could have been…

But Aegon's smile never dimmed. "I certainly hope the Gods haven't decided to make a theme of us Green brothers," he teased. "First your eye, now my ear. We'll have to tell Daeron to keep a close watch on all his parts. Could you imagine of he ended up Daeron One-Ball?"

"This isn't funny, Aegon!" Aemond protested, sitting up and leaning over to brush a lock of hair from his brother's eyes, tucking it behind the only ear he had left. "You could have been killed!"

"But I wasn't," he said, gently taking Aemond's hand and kissing his knuckles. "Losing an ear isn't so bad. I don't really need it, and I can still hear. And hey, now I'll have a moniker that can help differentiate me from the other Aegons in our family."

It didn't matter whether losing an ear was 'so bad' or not. The point was that he was hurt. But Aemond decided not to push, pointedly looking down towards Aegon's bandaged calf instead.

"Just a flesh wound," Aegon assured him. "The arrow went straight through the muscle and came out the other side. Didn't hit bone or anything. It'll take time to heal, but once it does, the maester thinks I'll still be able to walk normally."

Aemond's jaw trembled again, and he gripped Aegon's hand a bit harder. "But it hurts?" he whispered, prompting Aegon to kiss his hand again.

"Not so much anymore," he promised. "They gave me some milk of the poppy. It's more of a dull ache now." He paused, shivering. "Though when the maester cleaned it…that memory will haunt me. And unfortunately, I will need to have it cleaned daily as it heals, which could take months. Otherwise, I might lose my whole leg to an infection, which unlike the ear, I would actually miss."

Squeezing his eyes closed, Aemond nodded, then carefully leaned forward to kiss Aegon on the forehead. "I don't mean to sound negative, Aegon. I'm deeply grateful that you're alive. Between the Iron Born and fighting Syrax…"

Syrax. The name nearly made him snarl. The bitch escaped.

Sensing his rage, Aegon grabbed Aemond by the shirt, pulled him in close, and kissed him on the lips until his anger faded, replaced by the gentle flutter of butterflies in his belly.

"I wanted to wait until you got here before having a full war council with Lords Stark and Blackwood," Aegon said. "But from what I understand…" He smirked. "They won't have the resources to continue fighting us for long. The Mallisters managed to sink or capture all the ships the Red Kraken sent to the bay."

We'd best, Aemond thought. Because King or no King, I'm not allowing you anywhere near active combat again. Even if this war does outlast your leg injury. I'm your knight, Aegon. Your warrior. Any future risks are mine to take.

He kept that to himself as he kissed his brother again, deeper this time, tongue brushing against Aegon's.

I was so afraid, he thought as he gripped him as tightly as he dared. I thought I'd arrive to find you dead…

A fear Aegon mayhaps had shared, because he gripped Aemond just as tightly, moaning softly into the kiss…

Until he suddenly broke away, reassuring him with a quicker, chaster kiss instead.

"If I had my way, brother, I'd have you right now," Aegon whispered in High Valyrian as he brushed their noses together. "Might have to get creative, my leg the way it is, but tis worth the effort. Sadly, they're waiting for us…and I'm not certain how well sound would carry through these walls."

He was right. Of course, he was right. Any scandal now, in the middle of a war, could derail the unity they'd worked so hard to build. It would have to wait until they could be certain they'd have privacy.

Privacy…and a bath. Prissy, yes, but neither he nor Aegon had the opportunity to bathe in quite some time, and they both stunk of dragon and unwashed body.

"Now, help me up," Aegon directed. "We need to meet with Lords Stark and Blackwood to discuss our plans for knocking that bitch and her dragon out of the sky once and for all."

Rhaenyra

"My men aren't idiots," Dalton said drily as one of their healers checked the dressings on Rhaenyra's arm, and it was all she could do to keep from snarling at the pain.

At least I have someone to help me with this injury. Sunfyre's flames had ignited the oiled leather of Syrax's saddle, the fire burning Rhaenyra's leg. Her flesh was bloodied and blistered from calf to halfway up her thigh. The pain was near worse than that of childbirth, but she refused to let the healer treat it. He was not a proper maester, and she did not want him to see her in a state of undress.

"If you men aren't idiots, then they are traitors," Rhaenyra grimaced, gesturing with her chin towards her injured arm. "The arrow came from one of them. As did the arrow in Syrax's wing."

"From what you've told me, they were trying to kill Aegon before he could kill them," Dalton growled back, rubbing his temple. "Like the men we lost for no advantage at the Crag and Ironman's Bay. Even Fair Isle cost us ships, even if we did take more than their value in gold. Ships that we have no time or raw material to rebuild."

"You will be compensated a hundred times over for every loss you've incurred once the throne is mine and Casterly Rock is yours," Rhaenyra said dismissively as her wound was redressed, pulling her leather coat back on.

"And how, pray tell, do you intend to win that throne now?" Dalton snapped. "With our one dragon, our one injured dragon, against their four?"

Six, actually. They also have Dreamfyre and Vermithor. But she kept that to herself.

"Scorpions, grappling hooks, and arrows can snag their dragons from the sky, and…"

"Scorpions, arrows, and grappling hooks require ships and sailors," Dalton interrupted, making Rhaenyra inwardly flinch. Interrupting his Queen was an ill sign. "We lost fifteen ships at the Crag alone, not even counting the vessels we lost to Fair Isle and Ironman's Bay. I'm not Corlys Velaryon; my navy is nowhere near the size of his. And I can't pop out new ones as quick as you pop out bastards."

Rage boiled hotter than the burn to her leg, and Rhaenyra jumped to her feet…but she forced herself to bite her tongue. She could not afford to threaten Dalton, and he knew it. She needed him. But letting such an insult stand would make her look weak.

I want Daemon. Dalton would never dare make such an insult in front of the Rogue Prince. He would protect her honor whilst she kept her hands clean.

But Daemon isn't here.

"My husband," Rhaenyra said, "may well be claiming a new dragon as we speak. And between the two of us…"

"And if I actually see the Prince's new dragon, we can proceed," Dalton interrupted her yet again. "But we don't even know if he made it to Dragonstone. Until the new dragon is in hand, it does not exist."

If? Rhaenyra's fire rapidly cooled, leaving a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. If?

Does that mean he will not proceed if Daemon does not return with a new dragon?

"Surely you do not intend to surrender?" Rhaenyra said drily. "The mighty Red Kraken, kneeling before House Hightower?" She smirked. "Or mayhaps he will make you kneel to Jason Lannister?"

Dalton spat, his glob of phlegm missing Rhaenyra's foot by half an inch. "I'm not kneeling to those golden-haired cunts. But I'm not throwing away my remaining ships on a suicidal fantasy either. No new dragon, no advancement."

No. No, no, no, no…

If House Greyjoy abandoned her, she was nothing more than an outlaw. A rogue dragonrider with no faction. No one to turn to. Nowhere to go. No way to exact revenge except by burning what she could until eventually one of her brothers found her.

No throne. No justice. No vengeance.

She couldn't let that happen. She needed to talk. She needed to think…

"And how," she said slowly, "do you intend to preserve your remaining ships?"

Dalton paused. "They won't…"

"They won't hunt you?" Rhaenyra barked a dry laugh. "Many of their bannerman have lost soldiers to you. House Farman is extinguished because of you. Their dragonriders have been injured because of you. Do you truly believe that my brother will not make another Harrenhal out of Pyke? Do you truly believe he will not burn your ships or put your head on a spike as punishment?" 

Dalton hesitated. The Red Kraken didn't look afraid of the prospect, not truly. But he did look serious. Far more serious than she'd ever seen the quasi-mad man.

"Mutually assured destruction, Lord Greyjoy," she smirked. "We need each other."

For a moment, she thought she'd swayed him. He was a Greyjoy, after all. Surely he could not expect that he could just casually ask Aegon's forgiveness and be granted a full pardon after his crimes. His only way forward was to fight.

But although Dalton knew it, he had not amassed his power by being a fool.

"We're not surrendering," he clarified. "But we are not advancing. Not without more resources by sky or by sea."

Fucking craven…Her hands trembled. This cannot happen…this cannot happen…they killed my children! They killed my children! They cannot simply carry on with the life they stole from me!

Her mind scrambled, desperately grasping at any possibility she could summon. But fortunately, spinning tales with no notice was one of her great talents.

"Ships then," she said. "Until Daemon returns, we will bide our time by taking some of their navy. The Lannisters and the Redwynes are blockading our path south, so we will simply attack the far west side of their blockade and pilfer a few of their ships. They will surrender them if their choices are to yield or to burn, and I can scout ahead to ensure there are no enemy dragons in the area. They cannot possibly cover the entire coast."

Dalton considered it, then shook his head. "I am not," he clarified, "risking my navy further. They will see us coming, and…"

Think, think, think…

"Not if you only give me a single galley," Rhaenyra interrupted. "A single galley to escort me, filled with enough sailors to pilot five or six pilfered ships. Little by little, we can steal back the ones our enemy burned."

She hated that she sounded like she was begging Dalton Greyjoy for a ship. She was Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. The Blood of the Dragon. And the dragon did not beg. But the cold truth was that she was begging, as much as she might despise it.

Finally, Dalton relented with a low sigh.

"One ship."

Daemon

It was a small consolation that he was not completely without friends.

Traveling across Westeros on horseback had not come without trials. Two separate bands of bandits now filled the bellies of the crows. He'd been forced to swallow his pride, abandon his horse, and hide from a team of soldiers that he could not overpower on his own. His second horse had died on him, and he had to walk more than five miles on foot before he happened upon a farm where he could steal a third, along with food to replace his dwindled supply. But at last, he made it, albeit with help.

The Stauntons of Rook's Rest had been forced to bend the knee to the usurper. But allegiances won with fear alone were brittle things. Especially when Aegon's men had burned the former Lord Staunton alive before the eyes of his young son.

It made the Stauntons far more willing to commit this discreet act of treason.

Daemon had spent the night in the castle and was fed and watered. Now, he and a lone sailor traveled by small ship to Dragonstone, and the minute his feet touched the sandy shore, it was as though he could breathe once again.

I'm home.

The sensation lingered, despite that it didn't feel like home anymore.

Dragonstone had not been left unguarded in Rhaenyra's absence. It had been left in the care of a castellan, with a team of guards to protect it, but it seems the Hightowers had killed them. Green banners draped the castle, and Daemon had to hide from the Dragon Keepers who once served him. There was not a friendly face to be seen. No whisper of the life that he and Rhaenyra had built here for over six years.

Does Aegon believe he will bestow this castle upon his spawn? The idea of the Hightowers laying claim to this, House Targaryen's ancestral seat, made him gnash his teeth.

Go on then, Aegon. Bring your spawn out of hiding, so that I might find him.

Daemon had not forgotten his promise to ensure that all three of Aegon's children would suffer the same fate as Baela. He would settle for but one. A drop in the ocean's worth of pain he owed his nephew.

And I will have him. If it costs me my life, I will kill Aegon's son. But I shall have no revenge at all unless I claim another dragon.

On this island, only two dragons served as viable options. The hatchlings in the Dragonmount would not mature in time to be of any use in the war, and an egg would be more useless still. But both Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost could make for formidable mounts.

Sheepstealer, he decided. It must be Sheepstealer.

Grey Ghost was notoriously shy and timid; she would be no match for The Cannibal, Vhagar, or perhaps even Sunfyre. But Sheepstealer was only a bit smaller than The Cannibal. Better yet, Sheepstealer was far younger than The Cannibal or Vhagar. He would be faster. Nimbler, despite his size.

 Sheepstealer will give me a realistic chance to defeat them, Daemon decided as he began circling the mount. Mayhaps the only chance I have left.

Now, all he needed to do was find him.

Helaena

It seems House Velaryon will thrive, with or without Corlys, she thought as she watched her grandfather presiding over the throne room whilst a handful of Velaryon cousins knelt before the Iron Throne, led by Vaemond Velaryon's eldest son Daemion.

They had not come empty handed. As promised, House Velaryon's remaining sailors from Maidenpool had been spared, but only a single ship had been left behind on Driftmark after Corlys surrendered. But that was enough for them to make the short ferry to Dragonstone to lay siege to the castle. The servants and villagers were left unharmed, but the castellan and guards still loyal to Rhaenyra had been brought back to King's Landing in chains.

It pained her to look upon Harrold Westerling, Erryck Cargyll, and Stefan Darklyn. She knew them well, especially Ser Erryck. For years, he had been Aegon's own sworn shield, and she knew it wounded her husband greatly that someone he had trusted had betrayed him. She was uncertain of what would become of the others, but she knew Erryck's fate without question. Aegon, in a fit of rage over the betrayal, had long-since ordered him put to death.

It seemed his twin, Arryck, knew it as well. The loyal Kingsguard stood stoically in the throne room, but it was plain to see he was fighting back tears.

"My Lord Hand," Daemion spoke respectfully. "Thank you for receiving us."

"And thank you," Otto responded, looking pointedly at Rhaenyra's bound Kingsguard. "For your…gift."

Otto politely kept it to himself that it wasn't a gift at all. Aegon had planned a grand reclamation of Dragonstone after the war was won. He, Aemond, Daeron, and even herself and Jaehaerys were meant to fly there on dragonback while the royal navy surrounded the island with ships. He planned to forcibly rip Rhaenyra's supporters from the castle and declare Jaehaerys Prince of Dragonstone and show him around the castle that would be his as soon as he came of age. A great, dramatic show of strength and victory. Aegon had talked about it quite animatedly, claiming it would be an event for the history books.

I suppose that is one small silver lining of Aegon not being here to sit the throne today. He'd have great difficulty hiding his disappointment.

"We hope our offering will begin to rebuild the bridges burned by L-, by Corlys Velaryon," he said, quickly correcting himself before he could refer to Corlys by the title he'd been stripped of.

Otto's eyes hardened. "Burned seems too mild a word, Ser Daemion," he corrected. "Corlys fought fervently on behalf of the traitor Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Daemion submissively bowed his head. "An act of treason, to be certain, my Lord Hand. Undoubtedly born of his desire to see his own blood on the throne after Rhaenyra." Flinching, Daemion amended, "Or rather, who he believed to be his blood. Corlys refused to see reason and never acknowledged that Jacaerys was the bastard son of Harwin Strong."

An acknowledgment that never needed to be made, Helaena thought sadly. Had the Blacks bent the knee, Aegon would have guarded the secret of their nephew's parentage. They could have lived a life of wealth and privilege. Jace would have been Lord of Dragonstone, and Luke would have been Lord of Driftmark. All the suffering and death that both factions had suffered could have been avoided. 

"But my Lord Hand," Daemion continued, "not all of us in House Velaryon agreed with Corlys's decision. Twas not so long ago that mine own father came to this court for that very reason. He knew the truth about those boys, just as he knew that His Grace, King Aegon was the rightful heir."

Daemion's eyes flashed with rage before he masked it. "And for speaking the truth, he was slaughtered by Daemon Targaryen."

Gesturing behind him, Daemion indicated towards the Velaryons who had joined him on his voyage. "None among us has forgiven Daemon for his crime. We followed Rhaenyra out of duty and loyalty to Corlys, not out of love for her or her husband."

Otto sat, silently considering their words, but it was Alicent that spoke up.

"I recall that horrible day all too well, Ser Daemion," she agreed solemnly. "And you have our condolences for the grief you still undoubtedly feel at losing your father to Daemon's senseless act of violence. Even my own husband did not command that Vaemond be killed. Alas, he was too ill to punish Daemon for his actions before he died." 

Daemion inclined his head. "Thank you, your grace. And you have ours as well for your brother, and for Oldtown. We pray that Daemon and Rhaenyra are brought to justice quickly so that this senseless violence may end and we can move forward in peace, under King Aegon's reign."

And so what is left of House Velaryon has bent the knee. But as for what would become of that…well, it was not Helaena's place to decide. Whilst she was Aegon's Queen, her power did not extend to the Iron Throne.

…Or so she thought, until she felt the gentlest of nudges tugging at her attention, as if she were trying to capture a memory that was reluctant to be grasped. A sensation she was all too familiar with. It was the same sensation she had each and every time a Dream was about to come to her.

Helaena drew a deep, quiet breath, closed her eyes, and calmed herself, the best way to allow the Dream to come without the essence of her own fear or anxiety.

At first, she saw only mere flickers. Flickers of Aegon, a withered old man, skin paper-thin and wrought with heavy wrinkles. Before him stood a young girl wearing a Targaryen dragon necklace and a young man wearing a pin of the Velaryon seahorse. Aegon smiled broadly and gave a nod of approval, after which the young girl and her suitor laughed and embraced each other.

Another flicker, and that same young girl was now an old woman, and in front of her was a young girl that Helaena took to be her granddaughter. On the throne sat a King that Helaena could not identify, but he was Aegon's descendant, her descendant, because amongst the other Targaryen heraldry in the throne room was Aegon's green Sunfyre banner, a relic of 'the past'.

The new king smiled proudly at a boy who must be his own son…a son with Targaryen silver hair and purple eyes, a young dragon hatchling sitting on his shoulder. And yet he wore cufflinks in the shape of silver stags, perhaps marking him as having Baratheon blood. With a gesture, the king instructed his son to approach the old woman's granddaughter, and the two were betrothed to be wed.

Another flicker, this time to somewhere far away from the throne room. Somewhere that must be the North, as the land was coated with ice and snow. Five dragons circled the skies, ridden by three silver-haired men and two silver-haired women. More dragons roared in the distance, but Helaena could not see how many there were. Her attentions were focused on the leader of the pack. A silver-haired Targaryen King wearing the Conqueror's crown. He rode a massive golden dragon scarcely smaller than Vhagar.

A dragon with golden scales that sparkled in the moonlight. A dragon that breathed golden fire down upon an army of…an army of…

What are those things?!?

Before she could see properly, the Dream faded, leaving her blinking, dumbfounded, in the throne room while Daemion began to speak again.

"My Lord Hand," he said, "House Velaryon and House Targaryen have roots that extend back hundreds of years. Our families have always been allies. Sister Houses who survived the Doom and thrived in this new world together. I implore that you and His Grace the King do not allow the actions of Corlys Velaryon to destroy that. If you would allow it, I humbly ask that I, the eldest grandchild of Corwyn Velaryon, son of Vaemond Velaryon, be named the new Lord of Driftmark."

Yes, Helaena knew without question. Yes, Daemion needed to be the new Lord of Driftmark. Because his descendant would one day marry one of Aegon's granddaughters. The Targaryen King from her Dream, the King who would one day ride Sunfyre, would have a bit of Daemion's blood.

A King who will lead a pack of dragons and an army of men against…against…

Helaena could not take the chance of her grandfather refusing Daemion's request.

Breaking court decorum, Helaena stepped out of her spot, walked forward, and stood before the Iron Throne, looking up at her grandfather.

"My Lord Hand," she said. "You speak with the King's authority, so the decision is yours to make, but I know my husband very well, and I know what his wishes would be."

A bold statement to make, and one that put Otto in a precarious position. Refusing Helaena's advice could be seen as an insult to her before the court. But she had no choice.

"His Grace plans to build a future of peace and prosperity," she continued. "A future where we can move beyond the pains and injustices of the past." Gesturing to Daemion, she added, "Ser Daemion is no more responsible for his uncle's decisions than we are for our uncle's decisions. I do not believe my husband would wish to see House Velaryon removed from its ancestral seat. Not when Ser Vaemond sided with us long before the war began."

That much was true. Aegon, of all people, would not hold a son responsible for the poor choices of his father, let alone a nephew for the poor decisions of his uncle.

Having the support of the Queen made Daemion's eyes brighten, just a bit more hopeful than before. It would reflect poorly on Otto to side against her now.

A fact Otto knew well, though he masked any thoughts he might have had on the subject.

"The Queen and I…" he said slowly, "…are of one mind."

Daemion struggled to contain his smile as Otto named him Lord of Driftmark, with the promise that he could pass his seat to his son after him.

"But as for how much power House Velaryon will hold?" Otto said. "As for your future relationship with the crown?" His gaze grew stern. "That depends on you, Lord Daemion."

Daemion bowed his head respectfully. "I will prove myself worthy of this chance, my Lord Hand," he swore. "House Velaryon will be a friend to House Targaryen again, as we have for hundreds of years."

You will succeed, Helaena thought happily, smiling as Lord Daemion lead his family to stand in the gallery of the throne room. And one day, your descendant, Vaemond's descendant, will sit the Iron Throne. An honor your uncle will never have.

Her smile faded rapidly when Otto's attention turned to Daemion's 'gift'.

Rhaenyra's household guards were given the opportunity to bend the knee and ask forgiveness, for they had only been doing their duty to guard Rhaenyra's family on Dragonstone. All took the offer save for three men, who were given the choice between death and the Wall. Helaena was grateful when they chose the Wall.

The Kingsguard, however…

"Queen Rhaenyra is the rightful ruler of Westeros," former Lord Commander Westerling stated proudly, chin raised in defiance. "King Viserys named her his heir, and I do not believe he changed his mind. Prince Aegon Targaryen is no more than a usurper. And neither he nor you have the authority to send me to the Wall."

His words left Otto with no choice but to order his immediate execution, which Helaena watched with tears streaming down her face. Unlike Corlys and Rhaenys, she knew Ser Harrold well. He had always been kind to her.

I hate this, she thought, gasping softly as he was beheaded, weeping silent tears. I hate this. This horrible war must end…

Ser Steffan accepted Otto's offer to be sent to the Wall, sparing Helaena from watching yet another execution. But when Erryck was brought before the throne…

"Ser Erryck," Otto said sternly. "Your betrayal has cut His Grace the most deeply. You were his sworn shield, were you not?"

Erryck nodded, and to his credit, he stood respectfully, without flinching or looking away. "Yes, my Lord Hand."

"And yet you betrayed your oath to protect him, stole the crown of King Viserys, and swore loyalty to Rhaenyra," Otto stated. A fact, not a question.

"Yes, my Lord Hand," Erryck agreed, again without flinching.

Perhaps it was his quiet dignity that prompted Otto to ask, "And do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He was quiet for several seconds. Organizing his thoughts, perhaps.

"I could say that I was following the will of King Viserys," he started, "but that would be a lie. The truth of it was that I had no faith that Prince Aegon would make for a good King. I believed him lazy, far too fond of wine, and caring only for his own pleasure. I never…"

At last, Erryck's gazed dropped, shame washing over his face.

"I never imagined he would rise to the occasion," Erryck confessed. "I never imagined he would make such a strong effort to end the conflict diplomatically. I never imagined he would involve himself so heavily in the ruling of Westeros. I never imagined…I never imagined that I would come to regret my decision."

Otto arched an eyebrow. "You regret your decision?"

Erryck nodded solemnly. "I believe Rhaenyra's actions are the result of the grief of losing her children," he defended. "But even so, had I known then what I know now, I never would have left King's Landing."

A statement that did not save his life. Erryck had betrayed his vows. Betrayed his charge. Regret alone did not absolve him of that sin. Especially when he had not returned of his own volition. Especially when Aegon had ordered him executed and was not present to revoke that decision.

However, his regret and admission of guilt was enough to earn him the same clean death that Westerling had received. He would face no imprisonment, no torture, no dismemberment the way Kingsguard of the past had been punished for their failings. It also earned him the right to embrace his brother Arryck one last time and say goodbye to him (though Helaena suspected that Otto had done that for Arryck's benefit more than Erryck's).

And when it was done, Erryck's body was given to the Silent Sisters, and Otto ordered it returned to his family afterwards. His head was not mounted on a spike, the way Ser Harrold's was. Also likely a show of respect to Arryck.

When it was over, Helaena dried her tears and left the throne room, intending to seek out Cassandra and Abby Tully, who were quick becoming dear friends. But before she even fully left the throne room, she felt the gentle tugging at the back of her mind yet again. Another Dream come to warn her.

But as Helaena told her guard she needed a moment to collect herself, found a quiet place in the hall, relaxed, and allowed it to come, she very quickly realized that this was not a powerful vision of hope from the distant future.

It was a vision of death. Death from the very near future.

"No…" she whispered, eyes widening with horror. "No!"

She spun, running back to the throne room, but she stopped herself before she could cross the threshold.

There's nothing mother or grandfather can do. They'll never arrive in time, and nor will a raven.

A raven would not…but a dragon might.

Turning to her guard, she said, "Escort me to Dreamfyre at once."

If I leave now, and if my dragon's wings are swift, I may arrive before it is too late.

She never felt Larys Strong's eyes upon her. Nor did she know that he'd been waiting for exactly this opportunity.