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Chapter Text

It has been a long day…

Prince Aegon Targaryen, eldest son of the King's brother and Hand, Prince Viserys, had a tough day. He wasn't used to that and he was pretty pissed off. "If I didn't know my father and uncle, I'd say they recalled I exist and thrown me into responsibilities at last", he thought. Not like he will ever be close to the throne, so what was the point in that? Aegon was dreaming of only one thing right now. A bed. However, it wasn't simply a furniture he had in mind, rather the person to whom that bed belonged to - Lady Falena Stokeworth, one of the many women of the Red Keep and, accidentally, also his lover. Aegon didn't know why exactly she took an interest in him. He was ten years younger than her and at that time, green as grass when it was coming to these matters.

"That part changed" he told himself with a chuckle.

The prince knew he was looking good. At the age of fifteen, he heard many whispers, some of them from Falena herself, who was well informed of everything that was happening in the female part of the Keep, that the ladies and the servants likewise looked after him and blushed when he passed them on corridors. Yet he didn't care. He already had a woman he needed. As he was closing to her chamber, he started to wonder what surprise is waiting for him this time. Does she want to be gentle, or to go at it like animals? Falena was unpredictable and that was making his young blood red hot. He grabbed a door handle and, with his best smile, entered the chamber.

Only to find there the person he absolutely didn't expect to see. His father. Prince Viserys Targaryen, the second most powerful man in the realm, though many actually believed the part of 'second' was incorrect there, Aegon included, Hand of the King and, as the younger Prince liked to call him - a deadbeat dad.

- Welcome, my son - he said with his usual, calm but cold voice - were you expecting somebody else here?

- What are you doing here, by the Sevens?! - Aegon managed to answer after the first wave of shock.

Viserys shook his head in disappointment. In different circumstances, Aegon would have sworn that his father found the situation extremely amusing. However, while Viserys wasn't as gloomy as uncle Aegon, the King, he grew stern and cold when mother left, dedicating his life to the Targaryen's legacy. And the Prince was sure that whatever the Hand thought of this, it wasn't funny to him.

- That is not the question that should be stated right now. What should be however, my son, is: What are you doing here? Have you lost your way after too much wine, maybe?

Viserys's sharp tongue and dry sense of humour were probably the only things Aegon was glad that he inherited from his father, but at this moment, it only angered him further.

- I don't remember since when I have to report to you what I am doing in my freetime. In half a year I will be sixteen years of age. I am almost a man grown.

He hoped that he could have delayed what was coming a bit further, but there was no chance for that.

- What you do in your freetime is none of my business - said Viserys, slightly raising his tone - what is my business however, is the matter of shaming our House with a bastard that you may put in a lady of a noble house who is ten years your senior. Did you really think I was blind to what you two were doing?

- Falena - Aegon demanded - where is she?

- You'd be wise if you asked the question before you decided to visit her frequently. She is on her way to Harrenhal with her new husband, Lord Lucas Lothston.

Aegon felt the fury in his blood. Lothston? "A skilled knight, but a simple man, barely a noble! And to name him a Lord?" He knew what this meant. Different thing to make love with an unmarried woman, but a wife to one of the most powerful Lords in the Riverland was out of reach for him. Why had his father been denying him all that was pleasant to him for years?!

- You just love to make me miserable, don't you?! Every time I find something interesting, someone who cares for me, you're taking that from me. It has always been like that. Just because mother left you doesn't mean you have to deny your son everything - he exclaimed, half mocking

- Leave your mother out of this and stop tarnishing her memory - Viserys seemed to finally unleashed his fire as well. He wasn't quick to anger, but his rages were a true fire, other than the pitiful torches the King had - You're shaming our House acting this way and you know it.

Aegon laughed, as he knew exactly where this was going.

- Yeah, yeah, it's always about our House. And what about your fucking children?! Stop being a Hand and be a father, for once!

It usually worked, but the look on his father's face told him that he fell for a trap this time. Viserys told him:

- It's the matter of my children I wish to discuss with you, actually. Your antics show that you need something to calm you down. Did you hear about the ways of Old Valyria?

He wasn't sure what his father had in mind, but he'd already hated it when he shook his head. Viserys continued:

- It's the family tradition for a brother to marry a sister when they come of age.

Aegon felt his blood turned into an ice.

- You can't be serious.

- Yet I am, why not? I've already talked with Naerys on that regard. She wasn't the happiest maiden I've seen, I admit it, but she didn't opposed to the idea.

- Because it's fucking Naerys, father! She's unable to say no to anything! I am not. And I'm refusing!

Viserys smiled mockingly.

- What you refuse doesn't matter. The King already knows about it and he gave me his blessing. Since she's only twelve, it will be a betrothal for a few years, but it will happen, son. You need a wife who would embrace your softer side.

"My what? Now he went too far!"

- First of all, you piece of a deadbeat father, I don't need to embrace anything, much less on your command. Second, what I'm even going to do with her? All she's doing is praying or crying. She's not even attractive. Yes she's pretty, but so are the whores in Lyseni pleasure houses. And she's barely bigger than our cousins, who are a decade younger than her. She's flater than Aemon is!

- Half a decade actually, which you would have known if you weren't so focused on yourself. Besides, she's only twelve, she will grow. And praying is better than fucking a woman ten years older than you. I was planning to do that when you're both a bit older, but you proved that you can't be trusted with your cock, so I had to use more drastic methods - Viserys's tone went colder than ice - You'd do wise to be more gentle to your siblings. Just because you're older does not mean you say whatever you want to them.

"Said a man who sired me when he was twelve" thought Aegon. "Nice hypocrishy"

- That is all - his father said - I have matters to attend. Enjoy your freetime that you love so much.

After this, Viserys rose up and went out of the chamber. Aegon stood there for a few minutes.

- FUCK! - he screamed as loudly as he could. Which God tried to mess up with his life so badly?!

Chapter Text

Despite all great parts of having children, being in the last period of the pregnancy was the most annoying. Queen Daenaera of House Velaryon, wife of the King Aegon III Targaryen, knew that very well, as it was her fifth time. She felt heavy and sluggish and was tired all the time, which was preventing her of spending more time with her four kids. And her husband was constantly worried.

- You're sure all is well, my dear? - King Aegon III asked his wife for the hundred time. At least hundred.

Daenaera sighed.

- Yes, my love, I'm sure. I've done it a few times already, I know what to expect. Being tired is a small price to pay - she smiled warmly at him. It was nice to see some emotions in her usually distant and preserving husband.

Still, she sensed that his mind remained stressed. Her labours were as different from one another as she was from the King. Daeron, her firstborn, entered the world as a big child, with a loud scream, but relatively safely. She loved him from the moment she first saw him and named him after her father, who died in a battle when she was a child. Not long after, she became pregnant again. Baelor, named after Lady Baela, who took care of her after she had lost both her parents, although smaller and weaker than his brother, provided more troublesome for her, as the labour took many hours. It was worth it though.

After that, she had to persuade Aegon to come back to her bed for a while, as he didn't intend to harm her. Deep down he also wanted it, but was more concerned for her well-being than her lust for him. Daenaera gave him some time, but finally, her sunny presence prevailed. She quickly became pregnant again, this time praying for a daughter. That child turned out to be much more demanding than her brothers, kicking in her womb more often than Daeron was doing in its position, and exactly as hard as him. The labour itself was pretty short, but violent. There was a lot of blood and Daenaera lost her councioussness immediately after. The sight she saw after waking up rewarded it all, however. Her husband, usually so distant, kept their daughter in his hands, singing quietly in High Valyrian to calm down the child, which seemed to be working.

'Say "Hi" to your mother, Daena' - he said, giving the new-born baby to her.

Daenaera stared at him in disbelief 'You named her already?'

Aegon chuckled, a rare sight indeed - 'It's after the bravest woman I know. You, my Queen'

After that, his visits at evenings once again stopped. Daenaera knew why and was grateful for that, but she needed her husband not only at days, but at nights also. They were more cautious this time, but alas, she found herself to be with child again. Aegon, once again, worried himself deeply. Fourth pregnancy in five years, this was a risk. However, that labour provided to be the easiest of them all. Lady Rhaena, half-sister of the King, helped her much in that period, so when her second daughter, big and chubby, entered the world, both Aegon and Daenaera knew how they should have named here. It seemed to clicked with her personality also, as that new Rhaena was much more quiet and easier to nurse than her older sister, as was the case with the twins of the late Rogue Prince, Aegon's own father.

So it was then, two boys and two girls, one as different from the other as their parents. Daeron was a curious and happy child, at the age of seven demanding to know everything and bombarding everyone on sight with questions, but rather than sitting calmly with the maesters, he was running the hallways with the stuffed dragons when he was younger and the yard with a pony now, as well as taking great interest in his combat lessons. Baelor, on the other hand, preferred slower plays and was more dutiful, but he rarely was questioning anything. He had more of Aegon than of her, but fortunately, the kid was just calm and not calm and sad.

If the Queen's eldest son was lively, her soon to be middle child was a menace. From the moment Daena learnt how to walk, she was doing her best to follow Daeron, to much of the Prince's displeasure. It was to be expected, he was in the age when boys usually think that girls are stupid, but it was a good sight for the future. When her son understood that Baelor would not be able to keep up with him, he started to accept his sister's loud and fiery presence. Daenaera was sure that if the Princess was a boy, she would be a Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of the City reborn. The same wasn't the case for Rhaena. Since she was only three, not much was now to say about her, but she seemed to be closer to Baelor already than the other two. Maybe it was a good thing, the two pairs made for each other. The habit of marrying siblings was a bit weird for Daenaera, but if this would be what her husband and children want in time, she'll have no objections.

And now, three years after that, there was merely a moon and her final child would be born. Aegon said it firmly, and Daenaera agreed with him. She took her time well and was convinced all will be well. She knew what to do and she trusted the old Maester Munkun and his assistants in their skills. A few weeks, and her bunch will receive a new sibling. Daeron expressed it would be fun to have another brother to play with, since Baelor wasn't as active as him, but Daena firmly commanded her mother, who was smirking at that proclamation, that she wants to have another sister.

"Her wish might be granted" the Queen thought "I've got a feeling that this one will be a girl, and different than the previous two as well".

- All will be well, my love - she stated to her husband, who had to go to the Council meeting. She would go with him, but her state didn't allowed her to do as much as she had wished recently.
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All wasn't well.

A few days later, Daenaera found herself in the middle of the labour, but this time, something was wrong. It was too early, and by the expression of the Grand Maester, she knew that the situation was serious. The hours were passing and the child still wasn't there. Aegon, being there with her from the start, asked:

- Maester, what is happening with my wife and the kid? Is it...?

- No, my King - Munkun proclaimed - It's still alive, but somehow, it's not coming to us, no matter how strong are Her Grace's efforts. The Queen may not be able to give birth on her own.

Daenaera grasped:

- What… Can we do, then? I want my child alive! - she exclaimed, crying from both fear and pain.

Munkun answered with a grave tone:

- I could cut open your belly and free the baby from the cord. That doesn't mean it will live for certain. And... Your grace, it almost certainly would kill you.

- You can't do that! Save my wife! - Aegon commanded - Is there nothing else that is possible from here?

- We can continue as we were and hope the Queen has enough strenght to push the child herself. Doing more is beyond the men's capabilities, even the Maester's ones.

Daenaera knew it's not gonna happen. She was drained out of all her power. And as much as she hated herself for this, she opened her mouth again:

- No....

- But, Daenaera… - Aegon started.

She interrupted:

- Our child is more important, my dear. More than me. It's the only way. I can't bring our baby by myself. I used too much strenght already, Aegon! - more was needed to be spoken - Remember what I promised you when we were in bed for the first time. I'll always be with you. No matter what. No matter if I'm dead or alive. Grant me this final wish, my Dragon - she looked deeply into his eyes, her bright blue in his dark violet - I love you, Aegon. Always had and always will have. Remember all the good things that happened since we met, not the bad ones. Remember me...

Then, she turned her head to Munkun:

- Save her. Save my daughter.

Munkun hesitated for the moment, turning his attention into the king. Aegon took his wife's hand in his both and whispered, quietly and on the brink of tears:

- Do as she command, Grand Maester.

Munkun commanded something to his assistants and said:

- Let's get started, then. Stay strong, Your Grace - the Queen wasn't sure whom he was adressing to.

All Daenaera felt later, was pain, worse than everything she had ever endured, the smell of blood and Aegon's hands holding her own. The world started to turn black. The last she was able to hear was Aegon's quiet voice, reminding over and over: "Not again. Not again", as he probably thought about his mother, the other woman that he loved and who was taken out from him too soon. Then, she heard the crying. The cries of her child.

Daenaera Velaryon, beloved wife of King Aegon III and mother of his five children, closed her eyes for the final time.

Chapter Text

It was rare for Viserys Targaryen to summon all three of his children to one chamber. Mostly because he was either busy or absent. He hated that, but it was the reality. The matter he wished to discuss with them, however, was very important.

"Oh, brother" he thought with a sigh "Your presence here would be helpful".

It has been a week since Queen Daenaera lost her live in a labour, giving birth to his brother's third daughter. Luckily, with the tireless work of Grand Maester Munkun, the baby managed to survive and was expected to live after the initial threats. That, though, was not the case with Aegon's mind. He locked himself in his private chambers, speaking to pretty much nobody and eating or doing the bare minimum a human being needs to survive. Viserys was sure that he will be able to break the King's sorrow at last, as he always was. After all, he knew his brother better than anyone. Better than his late wife, even.

However, the same couldn't be transformed to Aegon's offsprings. The children had been always a problem for him, even his own. Especially his own. He had no patience or skill to properly look after them. That's why he needed Aegon, Aemon and Naerys on this particular matter.

The first two enter the chamber was his twelve years old and only daughter. Naerys had started to come into the age when girls are usually starting to sprout, in both appearnce and behaviour. Indeed, some changes were there, but it was still the frail, kind hearted girl Viserys knew for so long. She looked like a mere gust of wind could blown her away. Shortly after, Aemon entered. He shared his good heart with his sister, but in other things, minus the lust, he was a younger version of his elder brother. Or, Viserys corrected himself, the clone of his own brother, the King Aegon III, before it all went to the Seven Hells. Before the Dance.

- Greetings, father - the Prince spoke - what was it that you wished to talk with us?

- A moment, son. We're still waiting for your brother - Viserys answered.

"And speaking of the devil"

His firstborn came into the chamber with his usual, unfriendly look at the face. Since Aegon was seven or maybe eight, this grimace was all that the Hand of the King had seen when they were talking.

- Father - he greeted Viserys coldly, then turned into his younger siblings - Aemon, Naerys. What is this all about?

They both shook their heads to show him that they knew as much as him, which was nothing. Viserys took a deep breath and started to talk:

- As you know, the Queen passed away in her labour last week - he recorded Naerys murmuring a short prayer, as she was always the pious girl - the King, obviously, is devastated. In normal circumstances, I would have waited some days more and tried to calm him down when he came around slightly...

Aegon asked, interrupting him:

- And why exactly these aren't normal circumstances? He's depressed all the time.

- Aegon! - both Naerys and Aemon proclaimed on an attempt to silence him.

Viserys didn't let the harsh words of his son impact his decision. He started again.

- The reason why is that he has a family now. A bunch of little kids who are left alone, since their mother is dead and their father in no condition to spend time with them. Sure, they won't understand it all, but they will know that they are abandoned. You exactly know what happens when the kids their age are… Are left without parents - he finished, knowing the scale of his mistakes. Yet, he didn't let his children to answer - That's why I need you. All of you. I can take care of my brother, but I won't be able to keep an eye of them all.

- So, what exactly you expect us to do? Play a nanny for them? - Aegon shook his head in disbelief.

- One could see it this way, but not exactly - he answered - After all, they aren't that young, apart from the infant. I want you to keep an eye of my brother's kids. I want you to at least try to befriend them. What they need right now is the family and you have the potential to create a true bond with your cousins. That's what I'm asking of you.

A minute of silence followed. To his surprise, it was Naerys who broke it:

- We can try, father - a lot could be said about the Princess, but she had a good heart, willing to help the innocent.

Aemon nodded.

- I'm sure we'll find something in common with them.

Aegon, however, wasn't so certain

- The oldest is seven. What on the Crone am I supposed to do with a seven year-old? And besides, why should I do that after all? To correct your shortcomings?

Viserys expected that and he knew which card he had to play. "Good for everyone involved he would always be only a cousin of the main branch, he'd turn all the Realm into our enemies in minutes if he was the King." Yet, this time he decided to forget it.

- I've already explained why, but since you're so stubborn… I could consider the thing that we discussed earlier non-existent.

That clearly took Aegon by surprise. Naerys asked, with a growing hope at her face:

- You really mean it, father?

It was time for Aemon to turn up in confusion:

- What are you three even talking about?

Before Viserys could have answered, Aegon opened his mouth again:

- Our deadbeat father came to a conclusion that I should be wed to our little sister, Aemon - the eldest son grinded from his teeth - Something about calming me down or other bullshit, I don't know, I wasn't listening. Not that I want to bed a plank.

Naerys grew sad, close to tears and Aemon looked like he wanted to tear Aegon apart limb from limb, so Viserys intervened to prevent a quarrel.

- It did come to my mind, but now it's not the correct time for these matters. As long as I don't have grandchildren in every corner of a Flea Bottom, you keep your affairs silent and forget about highborn ladies with connections - he said, glazing at Aegon - and you promise me to figure out the matters with your cousins, you can forget about the betrothal.

- Fine - the firstborn of his finally said - Everything to dogde THIS. But I'm taking Daeron, he should be old enough to at least understand what I say to him.

"Wait since he'd start asking you about everything" Viserys's mind came with the amusing thought.

- I could start with Baelor, then. I heard he's more composed than his brother - his second son proclaimed.

Naerys spoke, then:

- That leaves me with the girls. I should be able to do than, even if Daena is a little wild...

Viserys finally allowed himself to smile.

- Then, that is settled. You can start now if you wish.

All three of them nodded and left his chamber.

"It is not much, but it could be a start. I won't let my mistakes affect yet another bunch of little ones" he thought. Not again. Never again.

That part, as unlikely as it sounded, was the easier one. "Now, onto the harder", he told himself and went out of the chamber after his kids, but headed into the King's solace.

Chapter Text

Shortly after the talk with their father, two sons and daughter of Larra Rogarre found themselves at the entrance of the chamber when their younger cousins were supposed to be at that time of a day, shortly before the supper. Naerys was holding her copy of "The Seven-Pointed Star" in her arms.

- You want to pray them to death, dear sister? - Aegon mocked, his tone sarcastic as usual.

- It helps me when I pray. To wash away the sadness. Maybe it would be the case with them. What you are preparing, exactly? A stick? - It wasn't usual for her to speak up to anyone, but her brother's comments enraged her. Aegon had a unlit torch in his right hand. She failed to see how that was meant to be useful.

Aemon, carrying nothing in his hands, acted as a rear-gunner this time:

- Both of you need to calm yourselves. We don't want to scare them further.

After saying that, he knocked the door, opened them and entered the chamber, Naerys and Aegon followed. There was a slight problem, however. The room was tidied and had a warm atmosphere around it, but only Baelor and Rhaena were on sight, with Daeron and Daena nowhere to be seen.

- Cousins - the boy said, with his usual serious expression - it's good to see you.

Baelor was a pretty fragile kid, thin and not as tall as her brothers were at his age, but he somehow seemed older than his six years of age nonetheless.

Naerys moved over next to Aemon before saying a thing:

- It's really good to see you, too. However, we had hoped to catch all of you here. Do you maybe have an idea where your siblings could have gone?

Baelor hesitated for a second:

- He said something about going to see the old model of the Seven Kingdoms, done by King Viserys I. He should be there still.

- And your sister?

This time it was Rhaena who spoke up, still having slight problems with longer sentences. At the age of three, she had some childish fat to her posture, but she seemed more healthy than Baelor despite being two times younger.

- She ran away from... from our… Septa. I don't know where.

- I think we should have change the plans here - Aemon proclaimed to his siblings - Aegon, you can go and find Daeron. Naerys, do you think you can take these two from here?

- Sure, but... What about you? - the Princess asked.

Aemon sighed before answering:

- Someone has to find Daena. Again. And I think I might know where she went.

- Godswood? - Aegon asked, this time without mockery in his tone, almost... softly.

- Aye - Aemon nodded - Godswood.

Naerys wasn't sure what was so special about the place of the cult of the Old Gods that Daena might have chosen to hide there, nor why Aegon and Aemon looked like they found a common understanding she wasn't able to recall. Nonetheless, she turned into her brothers.

- You should go, then. I am going to spend some time with our… calmer cousins.

The sons of Viserys left the chambers one after another, with Aemon giving her a warm look. It woke something with her, but something she couldn't yet name. After the door had been closed, she moved over to one of the chairs near the table and summoned the two children.

- Come on, little ones. I'm here for you.

The kids followed, Baelor to the right side of her and little Rhaena on the other. She started speaking.

- How are you feeling recently, my cousins? - a weak start, but she had to begin somewhere. Her usual shyness wasn't exactly helpful in this situation.

Baelor's expression turned sad:

- I miss my mom - he said and Rhaena nodded in agreement - and our father, I haven't seen him for a week. I'm worried. We both wish it came back to... to as we were.

The daughter of Viserys proclaimed:

- You know, I've also lost my mother when I was very young and my father became... distant. Sure, I had Aemon for company, and sometimes Aegon, but we... We had to find something to ease the pain off. And that's why I came to you with this - She put her book on the table.

- A Seven-Pointed Star? - Baelor frowned, not convinced. He could read to some extent, but it was hard for him as the talking was for Rhaena - What is so special about it?

- You must already know the basics of our Faith, do you? About the One-God with seven Faces - the children nodded to her question - What you doesn't have to, since you're so young, that it's not only about prayers. Sometimes praying isn't enough. But, you can sing to express how you feel to the Gods. Do you want to hear one of the songs?

Baelor said:

- Sure. What it will be?

Naerys inhaled. She haven't done that since she was eight. She hoped that she still remember the words. "At least I will bright their moods if I make a fool of myself" After that thought, she started singing. It was an anthem to the Mother, more like a singed prayer, about her love, about her warm, about her always looking for her children, about family and the importance of it and about keeping a good Faith in the Seven. She started to see the kids expression slowly turning slightly happier when she was reaching the end of the song.

- It's... beautiful - Baelor proclaimed.

Rhaena murmured something in agreement and hugged Naerys tightly. The older Princess took her up, with some effort, given her small size, and sat her cousin on her lap. "She's big for a three year old" Naerys comprehended.

- There are more similar anthems. It was only the one, but it was my favorite. It helped me to remember that no matter how I feel, the Mother above is always there to watch over me.

- Do you know more of these? - Baelor asked with hope.

- Sure, although I don't remember everyone. Do you both want to sing with me?

The children screamed in agreement. The boy proclaimed, with unusual happiness in his voice:

- I want to memorise all of the Seven-Pointed Star one day!

Naerys chuckled softly.

- That would be very noble of you, but you must remember one thing. As much as the Faith is important, there is something even greater. Family. They can annoy you sometimes, but in the end, they are the ones that you need to protect first. Keep that in mind and you'll likely come far in your lives.

They both confirmed and although Baelor's mind was clearly taken by something else, Rhaena looked like she understood every word, gazing at her with her big, purple eyes. They both had the similar colour, brighter than her uncle, but darker than father.

- So - Naerys started again - Let's try the first part of the song together, shall we?

- Yes! - this time both the children exclaimed.

Upon hearing that, the daughter of Viserys smiled and opened the book at a different page.

Chapter Text

The Godswood was an unusual place for Prince Aemon to be. While less pious than his sister, he had great respect for the Sevens and was wisiting the sept regularly with her. The Old Gods were something distant for him, a part of stories than nannies used to scare the children and make them go to bed when they behaved bad. Yet, here he was, coming through the grove and towards the smallest of the trees. It was still big, but not as broad and tall as the others. As he approached, a cone was thrown from above and hit him in the head.

- Ouch - he murmured, but with a feeling of triumph. His instinct was right, after all.

Another thing, this time a small pebble, fall into the ground right next to him.

- Go away! - a high, girly voice was heard.

Princess Daena, the five year old girl and, according to septas, a true nightmare of Saera Targaryen or even worse reborn, was sitting at one of the lower branches of the tree, hugging it tightly. Fortunately, her dress, already in a state that would give her caretakers a heart attack, was out of pockets. It looked like her ammunition has depleted, but that didn't necessarily mean she would be an easy case for the Prince, who could not say if the kid was more angry or frightened. Either way, not a fortunate outcome.

- Daena - Aemon try to resonate - I mean no harm to you. You kept everyone worried. Please, get down so I could walk you back to the Keep.

- No! - the child screamed in response, in a very angry tone.

He felt a slight irritation coming over him and quickly dismissed his feelings. "Come on, Aemon. You also were like that in this particular place. Think, what now?" He tried again:

- Can you at least get down from that tree? I want to talk with you - seeing her, tightly holding the branch and with a face paler than usual, told him that her sitting there might be more than just wishing to stay out of the current problems.

- I can't! It's too high, I'm scared!

Just as he feared. As many children before her, the little Princess was able to climb the tree and sit around four metres above the ground. Coming back however, turned out more difficult for her small body. Aemon frowned. He was a big lad, how heavy could a thin five year old be?

- You would have to jump. I will catch you, but you have to jump!

He saw the fear in Daena's dark, violet eyes. However, she seemed to position herself into a jump.

- You promise? - she asked.

- I promise. There is nothing to fear about - he hoped she would be as light as she looked like.

The girl took a deep breath and stepped down from the branch, right into his arms. He grunted, but managed to keep her unharmed. Aemon gently placed his cousin on the ground, knelt to have her face next to his, and asked, as softly as he could:

- What did you even do there, Daena? Half of the servants are already looking for you.

The girl made a face:

- It's always the servants and septas! I hate them! They deny me to play and wander and force to learn stupid things. I ran away because I wanted to see father. I went to his chambers and knocked at the door, but there was no answer, even if I was screaming. What if he's hurt? - her body started to shake, holding back tears - I just wanted to see him. Him and mum. I don't understand what's happening, I... I... - she finally gave up, tears started rolling from her eyes violently - I JUST WANT MY MOTHER BACK!

Aemon hugged the crying kid. The girl was holding him as if he was the only thing that kept her from curling up into a ball and remaining there until she dies from starvation. "What am I supposed to do with her?" he asked himself. Daena's loud weeping slowly turned into more quiet sobbing, but she refused to let him go. Aemon was stroking her curly hair gently, and decided it was time to speak.

- You know - he started - you're not the only child who had run away from lessons and climbed that particular piece of wood.

She finally raised her head, curiosity started to grow in her:

- What do you mean?

- After our mother left, Aegon had been using every chance to flee from our caretakers, to ease off the pain. Sometimes I was joining him. The one time I remember we ran away from them and went here. We climbed that tree you've just sat up and pretended that we were on top of the dragons. After some time, there was time to get down, as we became hungry. Aegon managed to do it quite neatly, but I was smaller than him then. I couldn't have been older than four and had troubles to reach the branches.

- And what happened? - his cousin asked, with the colour starting to come back onto her face.

- I slipped, fell and landed on my butt. Nothing was broken, but my arse was on fire for days!

The Princess chuckled.

- I shouldn't laugh, it's not funny. Sorry - she tried to compose herself, rather unsuccessfully.

Aemon didn't mind it. At least she wasn't crying anymore.

- Don't apologise, it is - he gave her a smirk - although my small butt wouldn't agree at the time. It was like a dragon burning the bottom of my chair when I was sitting.

Daena started to laugh, her sadness finally drying out. His little cousin expressed:

- I wish to have a dragon someday…

"Aren't we all?" Yet, he found an idea how to cheer her up.

- You could have one now. Well, sort of. Come here - he grabbed her and sat her atop of his shoulders. He wasn't yet fully grown, but his size turned out to be enough to hold her with stability. She started to shake again, but this time from the laughter - So, my dragonrider, where are we flying now?

- In front of us! - the Princess proclaimed happily. "Let's just hope she won't fall down from my shoulders out of excitement."

Chapter Text

His best friend, Marq Dondarrion, asked him once what was so unusual in the model that the late King Viserys I once built. For Daeron, it was a place where he could dream. How he would have been the conqueror of all of it. Where he could get to know the lands he will rule over one day better, since all he's ever been to were some minor castles in the Crownlands, not far away from King's Landing.

"And now it would be impossible to get even that" he thought, the pain coming over him once more. With mother gone, his father won't allow his Heir to go anywhere further than the yard of the Red Keep. He blinked a few times, holding back tears. He succeded in that, at least.

He was always closer to his mother than father. A distant figure, a bit awkward, allowing Daeron to play on his own, since his brother Baelor was so boring and polite to the extreme. His sister started to show some promises, but she was two years his junior and she was a girl, so the Crown Prince was left on his own more often than he wanted to admit. His uncle Viserys however, convinced father that it would be wise for a future King to get some friends from childhood. Mother approved and the King finally agreed, which resulted in sending some boys close to Daeron's age to the Capital. He liked them, but for now, he managed to form a true bond with only one - Marq, an eight year old Heir to the Blackhaven, coming from the lands near the Dornish border. And Marq, as funny as he was, couldn't have helped him in this situation. He didn't lose a mother, after all.

Their friendship had one, weird side effect, though. Whenever Daeron was looking upon the model, trying to memorise where all castles and lands were, over time his mind started to come back to the southern part of the continent. Dorne. He often wondered what he'd done in a place of Aegon the Conqueror. When he shared some of his plans with uncle Viserys, he laughed quietly and said:

- I'm sure you're going to be a great commander, one day. For now however, remember that you're only seven. The kingdom cannot be conquered in a single battle, even Dorne.

His contemplation was interrupted by the noise of the old door, which were creaking loudly. He turned around and met someone that he didn't expect to see - his oldest cousin, Aegon. They were never exactly close. How could they be when there was an eight years difference between them. Moreover, Aegon always seemed distant to him and his siblings. Or any part of the family to be fair, even his own brother and sister. Daeron sometimes felt the same, but he at least hoped his younger sister, Daena, would turn out into something more interesting. She was willing to join him on some of his wanderings of the castle, so that was a decent start. Cousin Aegon didn't have that luxury when he was his age, as far as Daeron knew.

After a while of silence, Daeron spoke:

- Cousin. What brings you here?

- I... - Aegon started, visibly not knowing what exactly to say - I was planning to see some secret corridors of the Keep, but to do it alone would be boring. And since my siblings are a good little Princes who'd never do anything improper and all my friends were dismissed recently, I thought you could join me. What do you think about it?

Daeron mused. It was a weird proposal, but at least it might have kept his mind out of... more painful thoughts. He nodded:

- Fine. Should I bring something with me?

- No. Just meet me at the entrance of the down parts of the Keep in fifteen minutes.

And so it was done. Daeron founded himself on the side of his older cousin, who led him with a torch… Somewhere. He didn't tell him yet where they were going, so the Heir to the throne decided it was a time to get some answers.

- Where are we going?

- You mean you've never been there? - Aegon asked in disbelief.

- No. Why?

The older Prince proclaimed, snorting:

- What kind of father the King is if he'd never showed that to his children? His grief must have surely erased some parts of his min.... Ouch! - he hissed when Daeron's foot slammed into his ankle - What was that for?!

The younger boy stared angrily at him:

- You slandered my father. Mother said once that we should protect our kin! - he answered. Why was Aegon so mean to everyone?

His cousin looked at him unfriendly for a moment, but eventually, he laughed.

- I suppose she was right. Besides, nice kick. I almost felt that - he looked at Daeron with some respect, as if he saw him for the first time.

They ventured in silence for another few minutes. It was getting lighter at last, yet his cousin still was keeping the torch. Then, they entered the chamber and all of Daeron's previous thoughts on various matters were erased. Aegon saw that and smirked.

- This, kid, is a room where dragon's skulls are. Or, as I like to call it, a Lizard Chamber.

Daeron was simply amazed. He was sometimes dreaming about having a dragon to his own, but seeing all this, massive skulls was different to any of his wishes. It was a confirmation that his ancestors had indeed, ridden dragons. He wondered why his father'd never showed that to him.

- This one - Aegon started his narration - is Meleys. The fastest dragon that ever flied under the air of Westeros. His first rider was Princess Alyssa, the woman who kept everybody all the way to Duskendale painfully awake with her screams. Later, it became a mount of Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was. A brave cunt she was, I admit. To fight with two other dragonriders is not an easy feat to do. Even if she got herself and her dragon killed, you have to admire her somewhat.

- What's that about the screaming part? - Daeron wondered - was Alyssa hurt?

Aegon laughed:

- Oh, sorry. I forgot you're only seven. You'll get it when you'll become older. Anyway, this weirdly long and small skull belonged to Caraxes, first the mount of Prince Aemon, eldest son of Jaehaerys I and then, to our grandfather, the one and only Daemon Targaryen himself. These two were indeed a match made in heaven. Or hell, one would say. Of of all the pairings that were there in time of the dragons, Caraxes and Daemon had the best chemistry, or at least that is what everyone says.

- Where is Vhagar's head? Wasn't she killed in a battle with Caraxes? - Daeron asked another question. His cousin answered in his usual sarcastic tone:

- To dive for a sword is a one thing, but a skull, especially that big, is another matter. Still at the bottom of the God's Eye, with the Kinslayer's corpse chained to her massive body.

Younger of the Princes wanted to argue more, but he saw another skull, visibly wounded in a place where its right eye once was.

- And what dragon is this? - he pointed.

Aegon frowned at him in surprise:

- That? It's Meraxes. She was slain in Dorne with the wife and sister of the Conqueror atop of her. As far as I remember, a random scorpion user from Hellholt made the shot of his life. Why are you asking?

- I've never heard that story. Can you tell me more about it? - he asked. For some reason, the Dornish part of it interested him the most. What was so special about these sandy lands that they resisted all of the might of the Targaryens in the peak of their power?

- About this and not about Balerion? You're weird, lad. But fine, although we should come back. It's easy to get lost here and I already have some plans to do with you tomorrow and with myself tonight. Meet me at the same place after the morning fast. Do we have a deal?

It sounded fairly, so the son of Aegon III agreed:

- We have, but just start with the story already!

As Aegon began the talking, they started to made their way back to the normal levels of Red Keep and Daeron couldn't wait to hear it all. Or better, to hear all the stories that Aegon could have known.

Chapter Text

Sadness and grief weren't new to King Aegon III. He's been carrying them with him since he saw his mother's death by the hands of his uncle and namesake, or, more precisely, his golden dragon. Or maybe even earlier, when he thought that he lost all his brothers. Nothing was able to dry out that, Aegon was sure. However, with the help of his brother, found a few years after the war, and wife, it was slowly getting better, especially since Daenaera started birthing their children, each as beautiful and healthy as herself.

And now she was gone.

He registered servants speaking about what remained of his family coming back for the funeral, with Baela, Rhaena, their husbands and some of their offsprings asking for a audience with him. He didn't answer to any of that. How could he? How could he do anything since deep down, he knew that it was him, his lust, his inability to control himself, that took his wife from him. It may have been their joint decision to come back into sharing night, yes, but it hurt all the same. "I'm older, I vowed looking after her. I should have known better. She already gave me four children, why I didn't oppose her then, why...?"

Yet, there was one person who hadn't relented so easily when he didn't answer the knocking, pulling him out of his thoughts.

- Brother - he heard Viserys's voice - You know I'm going to stand there until you open that Godsdamn door.

He was speaking the truth. When Viserys decided something should be done, he wasn't prepared to stop until the matter was settled. It seemed like he took the same approach in banging over his door. Aegon sighed and finally allowed his younger sibling to enter.

- Aegon - his brother stated - You look horrible. Have you even slept last nights?

The King groaned, annoyed:

- How can I sleep when every time I close my eyes, I see her face, her pain, her death? Just as I finally managed to clear mother's view out of my nightmares, I got something even worse, because now done by myself! How can I sleep, Viserys? How?

It should have been a scream, but what left his mouth was merely a whisper. He sat on his bed, feeling the tears pouring out of his eyes. It's been years, decades since he last wept, despite all his sadness. This time, it seemed that the death of Daenaera was the catalyst for that reaction. "If this the final blow that would finally break me for good?" He continued:

- The Gods took away from me the woman so full of life and happiness, so warm. And they have spared me, a shell of a man I should have been. It isn't fair. It just isn't fair.

Viserys sat next to him and for a while, he remained silent. Not saying it wasn't Aegon's fault or anything like it. He knew that the King wouldn't listen. Finally, he spoke:

- This world… Is anything but fair - his Hand began, his voice unusually soft. It was a sign of the younger Viserys, before his own wife had left him and fled back to Lys, her birthplace. Aegon realized he didn't hear it for a long time. He felt guilty. Viserys was in the same situation a decade ago, and what he'd done to ease off his pain? He had thrown more responsibilities at him, eventually making his brother the Hand. "Yet" a voice in the King's head resonated "it wasn't the same. Larra was distant from the start and you both expected she will flee eventually. Daenaera was taken from you."

Aegon snapped back to reality as Viserys spoke again:

- I know brother. I know your fear, your ghosts, your grief. They're also mine own, but I know if affects you far more because you were there when it was happening. I don't expect you to just forget it all and start living as we were before it all went to shit. Neither you nor anyone could do that. But it's not me who needs you, brother, at least not more than usual. It's your kids. Every one of them. And you're the only one person strong enough to keep going. Because you have to. For these bunch.

- My... Kids? What's with them? - Aegon asked, concern growing at him

Viserys looked at him with understaning, yet firm glaze.

- They are frightened. They aren't old enough to understand everything that's happening around them, except Daeron and maybe Baelor, but they do get that something is gravely wrong. And their mother is not coming to ease their confusion and sadness. So, it has to be someone else. Their father.

Aegon got his point well. He was aware that he was neglecting his children, feeling especially horrible when he heard little Daena's sobs at the second side of his door. But he didn't have the courage to answer her or his other children questions. 'Where is mum, father?'. 'When she comes back?'. 'Why she's not here?'

He was afraid he could do them more harm than good in his state and this was seen well on his face. "They need me and I'm... lacking", he understood with disdain to himself. Viserys saw that.

- I know it's hard, brother. But I beg you, not as a brother, not as a Hand, but as a father myself. Don't make the same mistakes that I committed. I thought that taking more and more responsibilities could take my thoughts off Larra. It worked, but at what cost? My eldest son dislikes me and that dislike may well turn into hatred one day, deservingly so. The younger two are more quiet, but I see they are not comfortable around me at all. To ease off my grief, I neglected them. I neglected them when they desperately needed affection. And it done the damage that I neither can nor know how to reverse.

- Look at me. Is this the father they should witness? The broken skeleton, barely able to look at them? - Aegon interrupted his brother's monologue. Viserys, however, bit back:

- Yes. If not for them, than do it for her. Do it for Daenaera. You of all people know best that this is what she would have wanted if something ever happened to her.

The eldest son of Daemon sighed and closed his eyes. Again, he saw Daenaera's face, but this time, he could have almost heard her voice, the words she spoke after Baelor was born and she lied sickened in the bed for days, exhausted:

"Promise me, Aegon. Promise me that no matter what's with me, you'll be the one to take care of our children."

He opened his eyes. How could he has been so blind, so focused on himself? He made a promise. It was time to fulfill it. Even if he didn't have a clue how.

- Allright. I'll try. For them. For HER.

Viserys's face finally turned into something of a smile.

- That's what I wanted to hear, truly. And... You can count on me brother, whenever you need, you know that? - he placed his hand on Aegon's shoulders - Besides, I heard that my littlest niece is still unnamed. Do you have something in mind?

- Daenaera told me once that she would like a name that hadn't really come into our dynasty since the Old Valyria days. I was thinking about Elaena, after one of the ancient dragonladies.

- Elaena - Viserys tried to put this on his tong - I like it. Wasn't she some kind of a scholar?

- I think so - Aegon answered.

Viserys left out a small chuckle:

- Well, the Good Queen Alysanne was rumoured to pollute the ancient scrolls with the milk of a wet nurse, that hungry for knowlegde she was. Maybe this will be the case with your daughter, as well?

Aegon formed some kind of a smile and got up.

- It's time then to finally attend to my children. The super is close, tell the servants that today I wish to eat with my kids.

- They are probably spending some time with their cousins now - Viserys told him - But I'll have everything ready, don't you worry.

Aegon, alongside his brother, walked out of his chambers at last. He hoped it was a start of something new.

"For them. For her".

Chapter Text

- Once more - Aegon commanded.

His adversary and sparring partner, ser Terrence Toyne of the Kingsguard, hesitated:

- It's no use anymore, my Prince. You've been too exhausted for a while now. You're just rushing at me without thinking.

- You know, ser, I could always order you to spare with me more - the Prince proclaimed - or maybe you're afraid to take a hit from a squire?

The knight sighed and their duel restarted again. After some exchanges, Aegon found himself with a wooden sword pointing at his throat. Again.

- Aaaaand you're dead, my Prince - the handsome White Cloak said with a smirk.

He felt anger burning within him, but simply asked:

- What is it that I have done wrong this time?

Toyne frowned for a moment:

- You're too fast to swing - he finally said - you see an opening and you charge at me without thinking why it's there. It's true that you have to be quick on a battlefield, but there are knights who can force you into thinking they are vulnerable. And when you miss, you'll likely end up with an iron in your stomach. And trust me, you'll miss most of the times in these cases.

- And you're one of those knights, ser, is that what you try to tell me?

- Sometimes - The Sworn Shield answered - However what I'm trying to say is: you should get some rest. I know why you're here, but it's no good in training so hard that you will be too tired to raise a hand the next day. And melee is tiring, I've been into one or two. Painful as well, but I think you're prepared for that, my Prince.

Yes. The melee. Probably the first one in Kings Landing since the birth tournament of the Crown Prince twelve years ago. This time, there was a different type of gathering: the wedding. It seemed like his father hadn't given up on the abandoned betrothal of him and his sister. He just swapped the brothers. Aegon chuckled quietly, but to be honest, he felt relieved. The threat of unwanted marriage was gone for good, and Aemon would be far more content with Naerys than with any other woman. They've always been close. As for Aegon, the thought of finding a bride wasn't appealing to him. He took more pleasure in the... less noble companionship for the nights than the highborn Ladies. The ones you could find in Flea Bottom, to be precise.

The wedding of his siblings had one, important thing to him. There will be people from all sides of the realm. And when so many lords and knights are at one place, that means one thing. A jousting tourney. And with a jousting tourney as big as this would be, there had to be a melee for squires, as well. Aegon still was one, to his greatest discontent. While he was dangerous with a sword and more than decent with a morning star, the lance wasn't his thing. And since under his uncle there were no wars, the only chance for a squire to get his spurs was jousting, so he was stuck. Unlike Aemon, who had been knighted last year after winning a smaller tourney as a Mystery Knight.

"Another thing to deepen the rift between us" he thought bitterly. He knew he was a good fighter. Aemon, however, was exceptional. The oldest men said they haven't seen anyone that skilled and talented since the Rogue Prince and the Kingmaker themselves. Viserys probably already wondered if he should give him Dark Sister as a wedding gift. "But tomorrow it would change. It has to. It's the best chance I had in years. My frame is better suited to land battles than fighting on a horseback anyway".

So deep in thoughts he was that he didn't hear some footsteps closing behind him. Only when he received a little kick to his ankle, he snapped back to reality.

- Daeron - he grunted, more in laughter than anger - you should think about something else as a greeting.

His twelve year old cousin smirked:

- Maybe, but it's the way we first connected together. It seems right.

- Aren't you too big for that, already? - Aegon replied, but the only reaction was another chuckle.

This was only a half-jape. While still smaller than majority of men, the Crown Prince certainly took his height from his father. While not as bulky as Aegon himself was at his age, he looked stronger than a twelve-year old version of Aemon was. He kept his hair longer than the two brothers, which made his face look a bit delicate, but a look can lie. This boy was as fierce as one could get when he took a training sword to his hand. Despite the age difference, he seemed to really like Aegon and the elder Prince had to admit he also enjoyed his presence. Somehow they got way closer than both of them were with their blood-brothers.

- So, what did you manage to witness? - since many squires signed themselves up into the melee, Aegon asked his cousin to sneak up on some of them and later inform him who was dangerous and what he could have expected. The lad, still too young and too important to enter himself, didn't need a second invitation - he loved watching men fighting, even squires. "Although he would like best to fight tomorrow, but I'm not risking it all just to smuggle him".

Daeron paused for a second, thinking. He then said:

- The Lannister seemed good. Tybalt or Tybolt, I forgot the name, some pompous Westerland cunt. He's nearly as big as you and quicker. He'll enter with an axe. You still plan to bring a morning star with you?

- Aye. I'm more comfortable with it than with a sword, plus this would allow me to pick the bigger shield - The elder Prince answered - something more?

- Watch out for Corbray, then. He dismantled a peasant boy with a morning star, although the guy was barely older than me. Why is he even here? - his cousin asked.

- Hedge knights, or in this case, their squires - Aegon proclaimed - They have little to lose and much to gain, even it they finish with a bone or two broken. It's worth the risk.

Daeron nodded, satisfied by this explanation. He always asked questions, probably a good thing for a future king to get a knowledge on as much as he could. He then added:

- And you should watch out for the squire of a knight with a black falcon, he probably would borrow his shield. I heard he's only fifteen, but as giant as the tallest of men and a strong one, too.

- The bigger they are, the harder they fall - Aegon proclaimed - Trust me. When we go tomorrow into the city as I promised, they will address me as a knight. You can even bring someone if you want.

- Cool - Daeron smiled - I'll ask Marq if he want to come, too.

Aegon nodded, with his mind already on the matter of tomorrow. He could win. No, he said to himself. He must have.

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Aegon took a slash of the sword on his shield and swung his morning star, aiming for the foe's head. The loud clank that followed the hit told his that this one, a small but slick squire he's been dealing with the last two minutes was out of the running for good. He used the time he gained after winning the exchange to look around and see what was happening around him.

A lot, indeed. What was once a group of over fifty squires shrank down to just five. Apart from himself, there were boys wearing the sigils of the Lannisters and the Corbrays, along with the tall frame of the lad with a black falcon. "Daeron judged it perfectly, I admit". Next to him was standing the young squire of Lord Selmy, the boy coming from a minor Stormland House. Aegon took him as his ally at the beginning of the melee, knowing he might not survive alone. It was always like this. Now, however, the alliances were no longer needed. The Prince turned into the remaining foes and asked with a mocking tone:

- Who's next?

To the surprise of no one, the Lannister started circling him, with the other three more interested in fighting against each other than to interrupt in a showdown between the Prince of the Realm and the cousin of the Lord Paramount of the West. Tybolt struck first, but Aegon managed to block his axe with a shield. "He hits hard", Prince thought and immidiately had to tank another hit, this time aimed at his head "And he's pretty quick, too." He shot back with his weapon, but with similar effect. An axe versus the morning star, both shielded and starting to get tired. It was a game of dares now.

- I was surprised when I heard a Prince of the Realm intended to join us - the Lion whispered, in order to get Aegon angrier - But it must be infuriating to still be a squire when your younger brother became a knight, doesn't it?

"Kitty's got claws, does he?"

- Look who's talking, lad. You're two years younger than me, at worst. Where are your spurs? - If the fool tried to anger him up just by mocking him, he would soon need to learn one thing. Aegon was the mockerer all his life. He knew this territory better than anybody, and he fired up another jape - Or perhaps you're here because your golden lineage can't bear the shame? A Lannister with hair so ginger he could well be a Reyne. Tell me, did a whore who is your mommy fell for a bannerman stopping at Lannisport? Or perhaps it was a simple man-at-arms, bored with what your brothel could offer?

That was enough. The boy's face went even redder than his hair and he charged at him with fury. However, these attacks weren't precise. Aegon bounced one hit, blocked the second and answered, hitting Tybolt side with a short swing. When he frozen for a second after receiving the blow, the Prince took his chance. He kicked his opponent in the knee and followed with a vicious overhead slam, aimed for the top of the helmet. The Lannister landed unconsciously on the ground.

- Next time came back with a better insult than this pathetic one - Aegon smirked and raised his head to see who's standing. His former ally was nowhere to be seen, but the other two remained, in a struggle. The peasant squire was much bigger and stronger, but the Corbray youngster much quicker, with his sword dancing up and down, seeking for openings.

"Which one should I help?" One looked like he could endure much, the other, although more tired, with a potential counter-tactic to the weapon of the Prince. "Fuck it", he decided. "I'm not letting some hedge fool claim the prize just because he happened to be a giant."

It was easy to deal with the boy two on one. And so it was, one on one with the Corbray squire.

- Thank you for the help, my Prince. But don't expect me to get soft on you. I want to get these spurs.

Aegon abandoned his usual mocking. This boy looked calmer, as if he had a plan. Trying to get on his nerves would be pointless.

And so it began. They were exchanging blows for what seemed like hours. Everything else went darker, it was only him, his foe, and his sword, moving as fast as a snake. Aegon had the size advantage, however. Soon, his blows began to take a toll on Corbray. The opening finally came when his opponent raised his shield a little too low, his head inviting for a hit. Aegon started to swing, but something, a voice in his head, weirdly similar to ser Terrence's advice of the day before, began to resonate. "He wants you to think this way".

So, instead of going for the head, he went for the torso. Corbray, seeing his gamble failed, desperately tried to block the morning star by his sword. However, the chain managed to flip around the blade, wrapping around it. Aegon knew what to do. He pulled with all the strength he had left and whipped the sword from his foe's hand.

- Yield! - he ordered.

Corbray however, had other plans:

- Never!

He thrown himself to the front, using his shield as a battering ram. That almost took Aegon by surprise, but he managed to survive the first attack and hit the shoulder of his rival, following with a strike to his left leg. It was then when Corbray, kneeling on the ground, finally yielded.

Aegon took a few, deep breaths. It was over. He won. The crowd cheered as he raised his weapon above his head, Daeron and his sister, Daena, raising some shouts as well and Aemon and Naerys sat with smiled expressions on their faces. But the most surprising was Viserys - he shared with his son a look of content and... was it pride? For him? The Prince didn't remember when was the last time his father was proud of him. It confused him so much that only a sharp voice of ser Robin Darklyn, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, took him back into the world.

- Congratulations on your victory, squire. Now, kneel.

It was finally happening. Aegon fell to his knees, hearing the words of the Sevens, and as much as he despised the Faith, he almost could feel tears in his eyes

- In the name of the Warrior, I challenge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I challenge you to be just... - it went on and on for eternity, but the knight finally has finished - Rise, ser Aegon of House Targaryen, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

Aegon rose up and, for the first time in years, he felt truly a whole.

Chapter Text

- He's late. I'm getting bored - he heard his sister's voice.

The two of them were standing at the southern tower of Red Keep, looking at the city beneath them. Yet, it wasn't only a sight that brought them here.

- I'm sure he'll come - Daeron said, more to himself than to anybody else - he promised me that before the melee.

- You saw how wasted he was yesterday - Daena pointed out - He probably still lies in his bed with a hungover so big that the next we'll hear from him would be in a week. At best.

Daeron felt the need to defend his friend:

- You know why Aegon drunk so much, he deserved it. Not every day a man becomes a knight. Besides, what do you know about getting drunk and hungovers? You've never had one.

The look on Daena's face forced him to verify his thinking as she pointed out, smirking:

- And where do you think one of father's personal wines went when it got missing?

- It was you?! - Daeron started to chuckle - how did you even do it?

- I... don't exactly remember - his sister admitted - the next thing I do know is uncle Viserys carrying me to bed, putting me there and grounding me for about a week. He personally instructed the guards to watch my every move, I couldn't even open the window! What he was thinking, that I'll jump down to the yard?!

Not like it was totally unbelievable, but they both shared a laugh. Daeron said, with a fake grudge:

- You could share it with me. It would be less obvious.

Daena's answer was interrupted by the voice of their cousin:

- Sorry for being late - he proclaimed - I had to vomit once or twice to keep my stomach in check.

- See!? - Daena thriumphant gaze stared at Daeron - I knew it!

Aegon seemed unsure what she was doing here:

- Why are you here anyway, cousin? - he asked - we're going into the town. A rather poor and chaotic part of it, to be sure. It's not a place for little girls from the noble Houses, for Princesses even less.

- Oh, bugger yourself, Aegon. I am not that little anymore. I'm coming with you.

Daeron had originally intended to bring one of his friends with them, but as soon as Daena heard about an idea that seemed like an adventure in her mind, she basically refused to leave his room until he promised she could join him and Aegon. He knew that there was no point in arguing over that now.

- Let her go with us. She's more suited for that than Baelor is, anyway.

Aegon smirked:

- Aye, this boy prefers a sept over his own siblings. As if someone pick the most annoying treats of my dear brother and sister and combined them. But that's something new, a Crown Prince finally noticing that having no cock is better than being an overly serious cunt.

Daeron decided to play that game:

- Said a man who's still a bachelor despite being twenty. Tell me, cousin, is it that you prefer swords over shells like ser Laenor did? - He heard one of the servants referring to organs like that and thought it funny. Speaking up to Aegon in his own language made his mood even better.

His cousin didn't take an offence. Instead, he laughed loudly.

- You'll see that there is nothing wrong with my preferences when we get there.

- And what's this "there" where you want to take us? - The younger Prince asked, only to get a smirk from Aegon.

- You'll see. But first, let's bring you two cloaks with hoods. We don't want to get an unneeded attention.

They both nodded. After all, not everyone in the city had a silver-blonde hair, especially not that long and twisted as Daena had. A good thing she preferred pants and shirts over dresses, anyway. No one would be interested in two cloaked kids, the capital was surely already full of those.

After that, Aegon led them through some of the tunnels beneath the Keep. Then, they found themselves in the city center. What struck them instantly was the smell.

- Ewww - Daena murmured, to the laugh of Aegon - It stinks.

- It's how the biggest city in the Realm smells, my dear. You sure you want to go further? It's going to get worse.

Daeron smirked:

- You wouldn't ask that question if you had to endure Septon Addam or Septa Cerelle's lessons.

- Yeah - his sister added - I don't know if they ever took a bath in their lives! How they don't smell themselves is beyond me.

And so they went again. Daeron's nose finally managed to accustom to the sting, but what he noticed was the fact that the people they met became increasingly dirty and generally poor-looking. He bounced Aegon's side with his elbow slightly.

- Where are we anyway?

- This - the son of Viserys said, with some pride to his voice - Is the Flea Bottom. The worst… Or the best district of King's Landing, depends who you'll ask. And we're going to see a friend of mine.

Soon, Aegon and the children bumped into a dark-skin man, probably around his thirtees.

- Marlo! - the Prince shouted with a smile - Come here, you damn bastard!

The two men embraced and the man from the South answered:

- If it's not my favorite Prince. You look like you started the drinking without me, lad.

Aegon japed:

- It's ser lad to you now and before we begin, I wish to watch some men fighting in the dirt. Weren't the competitors scheduled to wrestle today?

- Aye, they were - the man answered - come. We have eight of them tonight. Not the best you could hope for, but we'll do anyway.

They followed Marlo... And went onto a small area where two men, both strong-looking, were struggling one against each other in the mudd. Daeron shifted to Aegon:

- Is this the thing you wished to show us?

It was Marlo who answered, seemingly not aware of who he's talking to:

- You'll see it's more fun than it looks like at first, boy. It's more like a tourney down here than just punching each other's faces.

So Daeron watched and, to his surprise, he was having some fun. Daena likewise, judging on the occasional shouts she made when one of the fighters was landing in a mud. Daeron quickly found a favorite to win, a man of an average height and build, but he quickly dispatched his rivals in both the quarter and the semi finals.

- This one looks like a winner to me. Who is he?

The man from Sothoryos answered:

- You have a good eye, kid. It's Old Jon, the Snake. He's as skilled as he's slick, and a champion of this area. One of them, at least. The other two are not here at the moment.

- Why? - Daena entered the talk - Wouldn't it be better if the best ones fought against each other?

Marlo looked at her with an interest. Daeron's eyes were enough to trick him, as many orphans had the blue color, but the purple, especially that dark, was indeed an unusual sight in a Flea Bottom. Daeron had just wished whatever the man suspected, he could keep to himself. They haven't got Aegon to keep things under control, as he was already drinking with some other folks that the Crown Prince didn't recognise. "Father would get a stroke if he knew where we are".

Their companion answered finally:

- Both yes and no. Sure, it would gather more audience, but it's business for this guys down there. Most of them are fishermen, shipyard workers or merchant guards. They do it to earn more. So the best of them formed an unofficial alliance to drain the most they can.

This raised another question in Daeron's head:

- Are their suppliers really that bad?

- Most of them, yes. It's enough to make a living, but as soon as the folks want to start a family or found themselves with child or some other matters that requires spending more money, they more often end on the streets than not.

Daena frowned:

- That's horrible. Is there nothing that can be done?

Marlo answered, this time with more sadness in his voice:

- If there is a way, no one figured it out yet. It's just natural. Someone is born as high as possible and the other shouldn't even come into this world, yet, in the end, they both ends up in the same spot, a grave somewhere deep down beneath the ground. It is what it is, Your Graces - he laughed quietly, seeing the concern on their faces - don't worry, you're little secrets are safe with me. Any friend of Prince Aegon is my friend, so don't worry.

Speaking of the devil, Aegon decided to finally show up.

- As it's finished, let's go to the Blackwater Bay. There is another competition you may want to see - he seemed a bit loaded already.

They watched the Snake getting better of his final opponent and turned their footsteps, along with their new friend, to the banks of the river, when they've seen some men and a few women staning there. Aegon began to explain:

- There are good coin to win for those who can swim through to the other side. I've done it once or twice, it's not that hard.

Daena asked:

- Can we try, too?

- I'm afraid not - Marlo entered the conversation - You have to be over sixteen years of age, which I clearly see you're not, plus in a good condition. This one is for you, my Prince - he snapped to Aegon, who began to undress.

- Nonsense! - Daeron's cousin proclaimed - I am perfectly sobe.. - his answer was shortened due to a hiccup - sober.

- No, you're just not that wasted yet. But we could deal with that - the older man said, taking Aegon by his shoulders and leading him off the shore, to a tavern nearby. He turned into the younger Princes - We'll be there, near the entrance. You can watch the swimmers or join us if you want.

- Aren't we too young for that? - Daeron wanted to know, but neither of the two men heard his question.

And so they remained, a boy and a girl, watching how the smallfolks begun to jump into the river and swim. Daena broke the brief silence first:

- You know, it's pretty sad that we couldn't go there with them.

- Is it? - he wasn't sure - This stream looks like it's fast. I would rather not get lost in it.

- That's because you're a craven - his sister showed him her tongue. Gods, she was annoying sometimes.

He felt some anger:

- I am not!

She continued to smiling at him in a weird way. Suddenly, it wasn't that easy to get so angry with her, but he couldn't say why exactly he felt this way.

- If not a craven, then a crybaby! Crybaby!

Daeron decided to answer differenlty:

- Do you really wish to get there?

Daena nodded.

- So - he said, standing behind the girl - swim! - the Crown Prince pushed her into the river, with her releasing a shocked shriek - Your wish is granted!

He started to laugh and expected her to do the same, instead, her face turned to the expression she sometimes made when she was a little baby while crying.

Great. He started to feel guilty now.

- Daena, I'm sorry. Please, don't cry. Come, I'll help you to get out.

She swam closer to him, still seemingly close to tears. However, when their hands met, Daena grabbed his right by her both and drew him up violently. He was considerably bigger, so in normal circumstances it wouldn't be enough, but he was so surprised that when he started to resist, it was already too late. He landed next to her, getting wet instantly. His sister hugged him, with her expression returning to the smiling kid she was a minute ago instantly.

- I fooled you! - she screamed, laughing so hard that it basically came down to him on keeping them afloat. What she did was so unladylike, yet so typical for her, that he couldn't help but laugh with her. - I knew you wouldn't resist to help the Lady in Distress!

- That's because I'm an honourable and gallant man - he said, half-japing.

- But it was YOU who put me in that distress!

Daeron smirked again:

- What can I say? I am a grandson of the Rogue Prince, after all. He spent his all life fixing the problems he first caused. Anyway, we should step back to land, even my small clothes are completely wet now.

As they reached the shore, the race was already finished, but Daeron didn't pay much attention to who truly won. He helped Daena to dry herself up to some extent, then did it with himself. That however involved taking off the hood as there was water in it. Which led to their hair being on full sight. And that instantly made them the center of attention.

- Daeron? - Daena started, with some concern in her voice - Where was that tavern again?

Luckily, he remembered the way:

- Just follow me - he answered, hoping that his memory will serve him correctly. It was time to act as a big brother.

Chapter Text

Aemon entered the jousting area and made his way into his mount, a big, white horse named Marble. Next to the animal, his squire for the time of the jousts, Prince Daeron, the Heir to the Iron Throne, was standing, holding Aemon's shield and preparing a bunch of lances. The lad looked unsettled a bit.

- Good day to you, Aemon. Are you ready for the final two matches?

- As ready as I can be, although I wonder if you could say the same - he answered, sending his cousin a smile - It's not that easy to get our fathers both involved in a matters of parenting at the same time, yet you three managed to do it.

Daeron's face went a bit redder.

- Only because Daena was involved! If it was only me, father would tell me something about responsibilities of my position and let me go with some boring chores to do, like copying a short book or something. But since she's his favorite child and a girl and a ten year old to top all of that, they HAD to give us both bigger punishment!

There was some grief in his words. Every father of many offsprings has his most liked, even if he'd never say that, or so Aemon thought. For King Aegon, weirdly, it was Daena. His most demanding daughter of ten. If the Prince had to be honest, no father would take kindly to his two children coming back from the slums, stinking with both the Blackwater and cheep drinks, so he wasn't that surprised they got scolded violently. However, it wasn't the only problem here. Daeron wouldn't care about it if his father showed him as much affection as he did to his younger siblings. Yet, he didn't. The King, along with Aemon's own father, were preparing Daeron for the throne rather well, but every time Aemon caught his uncle speaking with his cousin on any more private things, he was seeing it on his face.

The expression of absolute agony and sorrow. It was his sister, Naerys who figured it out at some point:

"He's too similar to his mother. He wakes Daenaera's memory with merely standing in front of the King."

His sister, no, his betrothed, and soon wife, was right. Yet, Aemon knew he couldn't say that into his cousin's face. He changed the subject:

- Help me with my armor.

Daeron seemed relieved for the change of topic.

- You know - he said, working on the older Targaryen's chestplate - I noticed something weird with your opponent down there. He seemed… Too calm. He may be onto something.

Said opponent was none other than Lord Raynard Mallister of Seagard, the man from the West. He and Aemon were just about to joust in the first of the two semifinals, with ser Aliser Estenson of the Kingsguard, the sole remaining White Cloak in the tourney and ser Rickard Morrigen making the other pair. Since there were so many knights eager to try their strength with the lance, the tourney had to be divided into three parts. This was the last day of it, with the three final matches still to take place.

"After all", Aemon though, "The royal wedding does not happen every year."

His wedding.

It still sounded weird to both him and Naerys. It's not like he didn't approve the match. He knew he could not have a better bride than his sister. However, it wasn't east to switch his mind from protecting his little sibling from all that could harm her to protecting his wife instead. And Aemon knew that she felt the same conflict, caused by her unfading Faith in the Sevens. It wasn't natural, the septons taught. Yet, it was the reality that part of him yearned for years.

"Focus Aemon, now it is not the time for that."

After the initial greetings with Lord Mallister, the two knights began to circle in order to take the required positions. The Lord with a white eagle on a purple-painted shield charged first, the Prince following just moments after. They both managed to land the hit in the others shields, neither affecting any of them and same thing happened in the second round. The testing part was done.

- What do you think? - Aemon asked his squire, partly to encourage him to thinking and partly to confront his view with what he saw.

Daeron frowned for a second:

- He's staying low. He's waiting for you to land the hit first, but I'm not sure why. His horse is quicker to get to speed, he could have used that.

- I've noticed the same. Indeed, he may be planning something.

- Please cousin, win - Daeron said, only half japing - if you fall now, I'll find myself copying the bills from trade for the rest of the moon turn or worse.

The son of Viserys smiled lightly under his helmet. As a part of the deal, Daeron remains his squire as long as he is in the tourney and then gets his punishment along with his sister. The longer Aemon managed to hold on, the bigger was the chance they may get away without one, although knowing their fathers, it sounded unlikely.

The Prince took another lance and prepared to charge again. As he did before, Lord Mallister moved first. This time however, he stood higher and before Aemon struck, he raised his lance to the Prince's head, with a move so quick he could have later said it was by accident. What he didn't anticipate though, was Aemon managing to move his own lance slightly to the center. Then, he felt huge pain in his face as the Mallister's hit landed on his helmet. He barely kept his seat and couldn't see for a few seconds. What he heard however, were the sudden cheers of the crowd and the noise of a falling knight in armor. He came back to Daeron.

- What just happened?

- That prick, Gods damn him, struck you in the face! - The Heir to the throne proclaimed, with anger in his voice - I will personally talk to my father about it. This cannot go unpunished!

- Not that - Aemon interrupted - What's with him?

Daeron started to laugh:

- Easy comes, easy goes, one could say. He was so determined to unhorse you first that he forgot to properly prepare for the blow himself. They are taking him from the field now. You're in the final, cousin. Get some ice for that nose though. I think it's not broken, but your face looks more red than Baelor's when we told him about the half-naked folks swimming in the Blackwater in the Flea Bottom. He looked so embarrassed you could say it was him who stood naked.

Aemon managed a small chuckle, but stopped when he discovered the pain it was bringing. "Yeah, I should go to the maesters, Gods be damned. I just hope Daeron will act as a spotter for the second semi-final. He did that for Aegon before the melee and his observations were good."
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The sun was in its zenith when the time for the final match came. Aemon, still feeling some pain in his face, found out that he's up against ser Rickard Morrigen, who managed to unhorse his opponent in the eight tilt.

- Watch out for him - his squire and cousin warned - Mallister was slick, he is not. He doesn't need to be. He's as fast as you and probably a bit stronger, although ser Aliser worn him down slightly. He's standing high, but it doesn't seem to affect him as it should and his range is quite big.

- Any weaknesses you noticed? - Aemon asked, trying to figure out something

- His matches are long and he's not young. He received many hits to his right side, since hitting his shield proved to be useless, I think - Daeron answered - Anyway, good luck, cousin.

The two knights met each other and it was ser Rickard who spoke first. The man was apparently in his early fourties, but remained a fine jouster. He managed to unhorse two members of the Royal Guard already.

- My Prince, it's an honour to meet you in the final.

- The pleasure is mine, ser - he answered - Congratulations on your achievements these latest days.

- I hope your previous rival didn't manage to land some serious damage - Morrigen said with some concern - that was dishonourable and I intend to joust with you fully-fit.

- You can have no worries, ser. I won't hesitate when the time is right.

- Me neither.

After this, they rode back to the opposite ends of the field, starting to scorch their mounts. The first hit was vicious, stronger than anything Aemon felt, but he answered almost as hard as his foe. As it was the case with the second tilt. And the third. A stalemate, for now.

"Trying to wore him down isn't an option. He will struck me down faster than I can out-endure him" he thought. The rest of Daeron's observations were spot on, though. "I'd have to hit him harder than I've ever did to do something about his high stance."

As they were closing down for the fourth round, Aemon changed the target and aimed for ser Rickard's right shoulder. It wasn't as hard as the perfectly straight hit, but it did its job just nicely. On the fifth time, the knight wasn't as committed to keep his shield in one place. However, it came with a cost. Aemon had to endure two more heavy blows, one to his side as Morrigen went past the shield.

"Now. I need to strike now or it's done in two tilts."

On the sixth try, he rose higher than he usually sat. Therefore, a fraction of a second before ser Rickard's lance landed on his shield with a force that nearly unhorsed him, his own lance managed to sneak above the shield with a black crow on the dark-green background and struck around the Morrigen's collarbone. It was the hardest Aemon had ever hit anyone, harder than he thought it's even possible without losing a balance. "If that won't be enough, I'm already beaten".

It was enough. Ser Rickard fell from his horse and tumbled to the ground.

Aemon immediately went off his mount and helped the knight back to his feet, to earn more applause from the crowd. The older man proclaimed with a hiss of pain.

- Holy Sevens, my Prince. I forgot how it is to land on my head so hard. I am over twice as old as you, yet it was me who got outsmarted.

- You almost had me, good ser - Aemon answered - one more and the score would be different.

- You're too modest and you know it. But forget it anyway. Enjoy your win as I'll enjoy the chance to meet such a fine knight. And a fine man, to say more. I wish you a happy marriage, as well.

Now, only the final part remained. He felt exhausted, yet he mounted Marble, received a floral crown and rode near the Royal Family seats.

- With these, I crown Princess Naerys for the Queen of Love and Beauty - his soon to be wife took the crown and put it on her head with her hands trembling slightly.

- Thank you, my love - she whispered, clearly not accustomed to the feeling of everyone looking at her.

Upon hearing that, the crowd finally exploded.

- Dragonknight! Dragonknight! - they started to scream. "Seems Aegon was right, for once. It feels good to be well-liked".

Chapter Text

They heard a massive roar outside of the chamber. Rhaena, his eight year-old younger sister, frowned.

- What is that, Baelor?

The Prince, a serious boy of eleven, thought for a second.

- Probably the jousting had finished - he said at last - such brutality. And for what? For a minute of pride?

He struggled to understand. War was an existing part of the Sevens, since one of the God's face was the Warrior himself, but Baelor was seeing little of the Warrior's blessing in tourney fighting. Or any fighting, to be fair. His sister nodded:

- I don't understand. Why are they fighting? They are all vassals of Father, aren't they?

His father, his uncle, his brother or the Grand Maester probably would have answered Rhaena with a talk about how it was important to keep an image of the martial kingdom to protect the weak from the harshness of this world, but Baelor still remembered one of cousin Aegon many mocking japes about it. "We're just animals" he said, "and animals kill each other all the time just because that's in their nature. Why should humans be different?" Weirdly, he found this answer to be the closest to the truth.

But Baelor believed they could be different. That's why he took time to dig deep in the teachings of the Sevens, that's why he refused to learn how to fight when they tried to teach him. He didn't resist at almost anything, but on that matter, he was so opposed that his father, the King, finally intervened. Since he himself wasn't much interested in the way of the sword, he allowed his second son to seek his interests elsewhere and Balor was graceful for that.

- Have you managed to memorise all of the Holy Words already? - Rhaena broke the silence, looking at him with an admiration - Such an achievement must be difficult.

- I am working on it - he admitted. Indeed he was and he was getting closer to that objective, but the Crone's parts were hard. It would be easier if it wasn't only Rhaena to help him. Their brother and sister weren't interested and their youngest sibling, albeit not that wild as them, clearly liked to play with Daena more and more as months were passing. There was Naerys for company, yes, but lately, she had much less time for her cousins because of her upcoming wedding. Baelor sighed. That's another matter that spoke against the Holy Words, doctrine of exceptionalism or not.

His contemplation was interrupted by the quick footsteps coming towards the two siblings. Shortly after, they've seen its source. Daena ran into the chamber with a broad smile on her face.

- Aemon won! - she exclaimed, clearly excited. When neither of them rose from their seats, she shook her head, annoyed - Come on, you two. Aren't you happy for our cousin?

- While I am pleased for his happiness, I just can't see the point of hitting another men just for a sport, sister. It shouldn't be like that - Baelor answered. While the Seven-Pointed Star didn't oppose the idea of fighting, it was always meant to be done for something, not just personal glory. Like in the Andal Conquest, for example. That was the case he could approve.

- Gods, you're more boring than a High Septon - Daena whined. Most of their talks looked like this. She clearly adored Daeron to some point, especially recently when he finally started to play with her more, loved spending time with Eaaena and, at least, tolerated Rhaena. But for Baelor, she had little else but mocking. Not that he was especially fond of her, either. It was very hard to progress the Seven's way with someone as annoying as her around.

"Daeron at least leaves me alone when we don't agree onto something", Baelor frowned. Or, more accurately, he used to. Spending time with Aegon, their cousin, and recently with Daena, changed him at some point, too and the pious Prince wasn't sure if he liked this change. He gave his sister an unpleased look:

- And you're getting more and more unchasted day by day.

- Your arse is also unchasted when you make a shit, but I didn't hear you bitching about it - she proclaimed, seemingly proud of the line she probably stole from Aegon, their cousin. If their father was strict about something, it was cursing when his children were present, so there were little places she could have heard it.

- Daena! - Rhaena whimped, with some red colour on her face. It didn't temper the elder Princess in the slightest, though.

- What? It's true. He's more concerned with that stupid book than he is with his body. When was the last time you took a bath, brother? You stink worse than the men in the Flea Bottom!

It would probably escalated on more than that, if it wasn't for a sweet, yet strict voice coming from the corridor.

- That last part reminded me of something. Tell me, Daena, where were you supposed to come right after the tourney ended?

Lady Rhaena Hightower, previously Targaryen, entered the room with a small smile on her face. Despite getting close to her fourtieth nameday and enduring six pregnancies, her figure remained tall and slender, with a fine featured-face to match. Their half-aunt was moving with such elegance that she was still causing many heads to turn after her when she was walking past men, even much younger than her. Baelor had always liked the half-sister of his father, as she had usually managed to find some time for him when she was able to, but he was seeing her rather rarely in the last years.

This time however, her attention focused mostly on the King's middle child. Baelor couldn't help but felt some satisfaction seeing her seemingly lost for words, for once. All she could do was to pull out a face of the most offended innocence, the one father was falling for quite often. The sister of the Prince could be cute and charming when she wanted to. It was happening rather rarely and was mostly reserved for the King, though.

Aunt Rhaena, however, wasn't as gullible as him:

- Away with that look, little dragon. I brought up six daughters, did you forget? And don't even get me to start about who was my twin sister. You're good at this game, but I'm better. I know every trick you might think about of trying here, so better give up already and come with me.

The eldest of the daughters of the King finally understood the cause to be lost. Sighing, he walked slowly towards the woman, putting her hand in Rhaena's fingers.

- Fine. Let's bore myself to death. Can I at least get grounded in the same room as Daeron? It's not like we would jump from the window together or anything - she asked, leaving the chamber with Rhaena. What the wife of Garmund Hightower answered, however, was unclear to Baelor.

- I'm trying to get on well with her - he heard Rhaena's sad voice - but she doesn't let me to get closer.

- It is hard to get into someone when that someone keeps provoking you - he agreed.

His sister nodded, but added afterwards:

- But I still remember cousin Naerys's words. We have to care for our family, even those who annoy us. And speaking of Naerys, I just hope she would be happy with Aemon.

- She will be - Baelor said with some certainity. Cousin Aemon was one of the few of this family who had always respected him and his decisions - If she has to go against the Seven's teachings, at least she will do it with a good man, I'm sure.

Rhaena understood what he meant. The tradition of marrying within the family was strong in their kin, but both of them felt some unease about it. It was one of these 'highly' forbidden things in their Faith they both took so seriously.

- If they ever try to do the same with us… - she started again, only for Baelor to speak up:

- Then, we will oppose it, my Little Septa - he shot immediately. On that much, he was certain.

She laughed sweetly, a rare sight for her:

- That will be done, my dear High Septon.

They both shared a chuckle, forgetting about their woes for a moment.

Chapter Text

Naerys was sitting in front of the mirror, with maids working on her hair and dress. It took a long time already.

- Just a little more, Princess - one of them said - You have to look perfect for such a special day!

The wedding day has come. She couldn't say if she's more terrified or yearning for it. In a few hours, she will become a woman grown, a wife. Even if it still was within a family, that thought seemed… odd. Her expression in front of her was also causing her some concern. As if it wasn't fully her. Since Naerys was a little girl, she had avoided gowns that left more for imaginations than not. That's why she was partly relieved for her small breasts and almost boyish hips, even if the other parts of her felt some jealousy when she was looking at women more… gifted by nature. Since her appearance, beside a face, wasn't as striking as it could be, she wasn't accustomed to dresses like the one she would have to wear today. Still conservative, but not to the level she usually wore, which was slightly unsettling.

- Just make sure it stays in place. I don't need people starring at me more than they will - she instructed before the start of the preparations, but to no effect.

- That's the best part of the wedding! - the older maid proclaimed, giving her a warm smile - I remember my own. It was a small ceremony, but it for sure was the only time I felt all the gazes on me. How wonderful day it has been… - she finished with an absent voice.

- Yes, but your groom wasn't as handsome, my Lady - the younger one said, seemingly with her mind circling around Prince Aemon - he's so… Perfect...

- And noble as well! - proclaimed the other. "This is my husband you are talking about! Or maybe my in a few hours." Naerys felt some heat on her cheeks, which was seen by the older maid.

- That's enough, my dears. Our good Princess doesn't need to hear how you're dreaming about her husband - "Does anyone like it?" the Princess wondered.

Naerys nodded, rolling her eyes in thanks to the woman, as the other girls calmed down.
--------------

Her father was waiting for her, standing in some distance to the Altar. He smiled at her, trying to give her comfort.

- Welcome, my child. You look beautiful today, truly fitting for a bride.

Viserys may not have been the best parent, but she was grateful for his presence and the final choice of her husband. She knew she couldn't find a better man than Aemon and, luckily, her father finally understood that, too.

- Greetings, Father. I'm glad you're here. And... thank you. You know why - she referred to the talk they had five years ago.

- Yes - he nodded in understanding - I know it's not easy for you, but I just want you to know that whatever you see fit to function in this marriage, I'll be there for you. For you both, actually. Now, let us go. Even Aemon's patience has its limits - he chuckled and she smiled in response.

They reached the altar, where her brother and, in a moments, husband was standing, wearing his most formal clothes, with Targaryen colors mixed with the sigils of the Sevens, since he, like her, paid great respect to the Faith. For a few seconds, Naerys found herself unable to make another step, but not because of the fear. 'He is so… Perfect' she recalled an irritating maid's voice. "She wasn't wrong, though".

Behind her, Viserys gave her a little nod, which allowed her to close the remaining distance and stand in front of the groom. She looked deep into his eyes and found exactly was she was looking for. His kindness. His nobleness. His love. And, that part a bit surprising, his lust for her. It was weird, but oddly satisfying to feel wanted this way.

The High Septon, who traveled all the way from Old Town to King's Landing for the wedding, stated, with his vocal voice:

- We gathered here today to witness a union between Prince Aemon and Princess Naerys of House Targaryen. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see you, these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.

Aemon spoke first:

- Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, till the end of my days - he exclaimed, with an usual fire following his words.

Naerys followed:

- Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.

What followed next, was the kiss. It was long, longer than she thought appropriate, but gentle and it felt so good that when they finally broke from one another, she had to resist all her urges to jump into his arms and do it again. She barely registered the change of the cloaks on her arms, as well as the rest of the High Septon's speech.

King Aegon, silent prior to this moment, rose from his seat and proclaimed, with a slight cough:

- Your Holiness. My Lords. My Ladies. All who witnessed this sacred act. Let us begin the feast now, as any wedding without one is not a true wedding. Let's remember this day as a day of joy, pride, and the beginning of something new - he wanted to add more, but coughed again, this time more violently. Naerys's father, seeing that, took the initiative himself and officially invited everyone for the next part of the ceremony, giving his brother the time to recompose himself. If the Princess wasn't so engrossed with her new husband, she would have seen this as odd, but it escaped her notice, as she was sure many things that evening would.
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It was a long feast. King Aegon and most of his children have already retreated to their chambers, as many of the guests with less will to stay until the end of the ceremony. Naerys felt exhausted from the amount of dancing she had to perform and was blushing from all the gifts she received. Her new husband stood with her for the most of the ceremony, however he also had other responsibilities to attend and guests to speak with, as the newlywed should. Naerys understood that. Her father silently watched her from the distance, although no one would have guessed, as he was keeping the conversation with various nobles in the same time. Many of the attendants came here with some matter for the Crown to solve, and since the King apparently wasn't felling great today, it was his Hand who had to make sure everything remains at place. The commanders of the Goldcloacks reported to him, as well. However, he seemed restless and vigilant.

- Can we have a word with you, my dear? - she heard a voice from above her. When she raised her sight, she saw the Dragontwins, Ladies Baela and Rhaena, looking so similar yet so different in their red and black gowns. Both usually used the colours of the Houses they were married into, leaving the Targaryen colouration for some special occasions. Or, when they wanted to make a statement. Naerys suspected both the reasons were true in this case. She smiled politely and answered:

- Of course. Take the seats, please - the twins were almost a head taller than her, so she preferred to speak with them while sitting. It was less... Uncomfortable this way.

Rhaena found a chair next to her and took it, Baela however pushed off some wasted and unconscious knight from his seat to the ground, rather violently. Even that didn't wake him, though. Rhaena smirked:

- You've made another foe for your House to worry about, dear sister. Provided someone from his family was looking, because he's not going to remember.

- He's more comfortable on the ground than on the chair. Besides, it's… Some kind of a tradition for me to make new enemies at weddings and since Daeron and Daena refused me to leave them for the most of it, I need to catch up on the task. Thank Gods Alyn finally took that part from me and started to tell them about his voyages. He won't be freed from the Princelings for hours.

- These two are inseparable recently. In fact, they remind me of a certain pair of kids I knew. An Heir to the Throne and a certain Princess who preferred seeking trouble over playing with dolls. I wonder who that might have been - the younger twin mocked her sister playfully, with Naerys chuckling once or twice also. She heard the stories of Lady Baela's youth many times.

- Ha ha, very funny, we'd almost died of the laughter here - Baela grinded her teeth, but her eyes were laughing, too - So, tell me, child - she switched her focus to the bride - How do you feel about this marriage?

- I'm… I am not sure. It goes against my beliefs. But at the same time… I love Aemon. I love his kindness, I love how he is to me, I want to have the future with him. And I... I think I want him - the Princess confessed, getting slightly more red on the face.

The twins shared a look and Rhaena spoke:

- Then, you're already in a better situation than half of the brides of the Realm. I'm not blind, child, I've seen how you look at him and how he looks at you. It's truly more than the siblings love. Only a few in our society can say they had founded a genuine love in marriage and I think you might have. Don't fight it because someone wrote thousands of years ago what you should feel and what you shouldn't. You're pious and that's admirable, most people these days aren't, not truly, ourselves probably included. But your heart matters more.

- You'll see it fully when you find yourself pregnant with his child - Baela added.

Naerys hesitated upon hearing that:

- I look forward to it, but... I'm afraid I don't have the build for birthing children. I'm… thin, to say the least.

The older twin answered her:

- It's not as hopeless as you think. My height aside, I was also worried my hips were too narrow. And Lady Perfect here - she moved her head upon Rhaena, who nudged her lightly in the shoulder - almost made me tore my ears apart from her concerns when she was pregnant for the first time with her Hightower. 'Oh, Baela, what if it's another miscarriage?' 'What if I end up as mother did?' 'What if something happen?' 'Why is everything so tiring now?' - Baela went on and on - And look at her now. Mother of six daughters and perfectly healthy. More than me, at least.

- That last part is because you refuse to eat healthier and drink less. We're not teenagers anymore - Rhaena snapped back, before turning to Naerys - What we wanted to tell you, little one, is to not be afraid of all of this. You have more strength in you than you see yourself as.

- I... thank you - the daughter of the Hand managed to say, hugging the one and then the other in a rare need of contact - but why?

- You mean why we decided to come to you now? - the younger daughter of the Rough Prince smiled warmly - Well, Viserys is a golden one and he's got an awesome head on those shoulders, but on these matters, you needed some... More aware of the needs of your own sex to push you, let's say. You'd thank us later, you'll see.

"She's probably right" - Naerys thought to herself when the twins moved over to the other part of the room. She saw Aemon coming back towards her and smiled, feeling all her fears and insecurities present since she could remember fading away. "I am indeed a lucky one".

Chapter Text

As good as the wedding day has been, someone had to clean the mess that remained. That someone, as usual, happened to be Prince Viserys, Hand of the King. "As someone said, the Hand eats shit so the King could feast. Even if my brother hates them." It could be worse, however. His son and daughter announced at the end of the feast that they had decided to abandon the bedding celebration. Although Prince Aegon, as few others, was deeply unhappy with that and called them both 'a hopeless case', Viserys didn't mind. They'll do their duty, just not with every drunkard who still was conscious at that point gazing at them and shouting dirty jokes from outside the door. If there was something that he preferred on the Lyseni celebration he was meant to participate in as a child, that something was a lack of the bedding.

During the evening and later the night, the Hand conducted many talks with the Lords of different sides of the Realm, sometimes alone, sometimes with his brother, the King or Prince Daeron, who despite being only twelve, was eager to get to know as many as he could… When he wasn't grounded, of course.

Wherever his son had taken Daeron and Daena last week, putting aside the obvious stink, completely wet and destroyed clothes, as well with way too much drinks for their ages, had one unexpected side effect. The pair started to actively seek for the companion of each other. They were close earlier, but now it was hard to even separate these two. They even asked to be located in the same spot for the punishment! As much as Viserys was embarrassed because of the state Aegon and his cousins came back into the Keep, this could only pay off for the future.

"I can't say the boy did a bad job" he thought, sustaining his eldest son. Even if he was doing that to avoid marriage with Naerys or any marriage at all, he truly attached himself to Daeron, no matter how he hated to admit it. The quest of finding him a bride remained, but he was still only twenty. Prince Daemon, Viserys's own father, was way past thirtieth nameday when he had his first trueborn children, let alone him - another six years later. "It must be done someday, but for now, it is better to leave matters as they are. I have enough headaches without this".

He knew that his other children will deliver him a grandchild at some point. Chaste they were, yes, but being chaste doesn't mean living as a septon. The intimate moments would come, his half-sisters seemed certain on this and Viserys saw no reason not to believe them. He just hoped Naerys's frame will be ready to endure difficulties of a pregnancy when the time comes. Both her great-grandmothers from the Targaryen side, Princess Alyssa and Lady Aemma, died in childbirth, after all.

They was another issue that happened to haunt him. He used his work to delay it as long as he could, but now, with a bit of time to his own, he had to address it finally. He went to the King's solace. As always, the door remained closed.

- Brother, it's me. May I come in?

He waited for the approval and, when it came, entered the chamber. There was Aegon, lying on his bed with his youngest child, Princess Elaena, helping her memorise the sigils of the noble houses of the... Reach, it seemed. Viserys's eyebrows went on his forehead. There were loads of Houses in the most populated part of the Realm and the task was monumental for a five year-old. The child however, was doing pretty decent, or that was what the Hand concluded from her excited screams.

- Let's try this one. House Rowan. What do they have? - his brother asked.

The little Princess rolled to the other side of the bed, thinking for a moment.

- A golden tree on the... silver background - she said, correctly, getting a weak clap from her father.

Viserys decided to give her something more challenging:

- And tell me, dear niece, what sigil is this: two, crossed golden chains on a blue background?

That was more difficult. The House he was referring to way a minor one, standing below the Tyrell's most notable bannermen. To his surprise, the Princess proclaimed:

- Roxton!

- Indeed. You have a good head on those little shoulders - Viserys hailed - As much as I would want to continue, it's time for your high-Valyrian lessons. Do you wish to speak the language of our ancestors?

- Yes! - the kid rose up from the bed.

Aegon gave her a small smile:

- I'm sure you will. Ser Anders - he called one of the two Kingsguards standing at the other side of his door - grant me this wish and escort the Princess to the lecture halls.

- Yes, Your Grace - the older man from the Arbor, serving since the regency of Lord Torrhen Manderly, took Princess Elaena's small hand in his, much bigger one, and led her out of the chamber.

Viserys gave his brother a watchful gaze.

- Looks like your name for her was spot on. That girl is clever.

- I know - Aegon answered - remembering all of these sigils was always a torture for me. And I was two years her senior when I started.

- I was better at that - the Hand recalled - but not nearly as good as her. Whoever gets to marry her in the future would be a lucky man if she remains eating knowledge at this rate.

He chuckled and Aegon wanted to the the same, but instead, started coughing. Similar to what was happening yesterday. Viserys felt a sting of concern. His brother was only thirty five, but he didn't pay almost any attention to his health. He ate and drank just enough to make a living, but not enough to stay healthy and his constant brooding didn't make the matters any easier. Over the years, he was left untouched by sickness rooming in the Seven Kingdoms, partly because of remaining in the Red Keep, but that was a two-edged sword. He didn't have the experience to combat illnesses. And Viserys feared that this time, it's not something that could be shrugged off and forgotten.

- It would be wise to see the Grand Maester with that coughing of yours, you know.

- I'm fine - Aegon tried to dismiss the matter, but Viserys refused to yield this time:

- Brother, even if it is only a brief sickness, you should go to to Alrod - Munkun died a few years prior - And if it's not, well, you're only thirty five. Worse, your son is only twelve. It would be the regency all over again. Yes, he would have me, but it's impossible to both educate the King and rule the Kingdom at the same time. You of all people should know how badly this Realm does not need another regency. One ill-willed man would be enough to cripple all we were building for the last two decades.

- I suppose you're right, but the Small Councill has the men of our choosing now, not some distant Lords, spiteful after the killing and exhausted from the war - Aegon replied, with more decisiveness than usual - with you as the head of them, I trust them in ruling the Kingdom. Daeron would find the same help if his ascension happens quicker than we think.

- There is a matter about the Small Councill that we need to discuss, as well - Viserys started, but Aegon raised his hand.

- No, I won't appoint a Master of Whisperers and my word is final. You know who was the last on this position. Larys Strong. It's too much power for one man to posses, even if it would have helped us greatly - they argued on that for years, but it wasn't that Viserys wanted to bring out. He spoke again:

- It is not this. The Master of Laws expressed his wish to resign from the position on the wedding feast.

- Lord Stokeworth? - Aegon seemed shocked - Why?

- He told me that on a wedding feast. His son died from the wounds caused by the outlaws recently, leaving himself with a seven-year old spare as the new Heir. As you know, he's also widowed and have no living brothers to keep an eye on the boy. He fears for his lands and his remaining offsprings.

The King decided:

- As much as I trust his company, we can't keep him here against his wishes and the good of his house.

- I was thinking the same. There are still many Lords and Knights in the capital, though. Did any of them caught your eye? - Viserys asked.

Aegon slowly nodded:

- Kermit Tully - the Hand approved, nodding. It was a wise choice - From the talks with him and his bannermen, he seems like a wise governor.

- I agree. He may not be the most educated in laws, but he has a good sense of judgement, which would be important in this position, moreover, his Heir is a man grown and his wife fully healthy, so the Riverrun would remain in decent hands. I'll talk with him later.

- Daeron will love it. He spent half the morning after the feast seeking informations about the Stormbreakers, a company that the twin of Lord Kermit leads, ser Oscar was his name, I think - his brother recalled, remembering one of the brief moments he shared with his eldest son apart from the ruling matters.

That matter, apparently, was settled. Viserys tried to come back into the thing that drove him into the King's chambers:

- I urge you, brother, visit the Grand Maester. I need my brother fully in check and the Realm needs you, too. Truly.

- Alright… - Aegon finally agreed - I suppose I could. You're as insufferable as you were when we were little kids and you had found something that was unclear to you. You kept annoying everyone to get an satisfying answer.

Viserys gave his brother a brief laugh:

- And you love me for it!

Chapter Text

Aegon Targaryen, the third of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynars and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, took a deep sight, preparing for the inevitable. The coughing, more and more vicious recently, shook his body. He got used to it over the recent times. "Half a year" he thought. "The Grand Maester had given me half a year".

Viserys's advice to seek a treatment for his illness he caught around his nephew and niece's wedding proved on to be a blessing, as this, indeed, was only a start of something more severe. Consumption it was, Grand Maester Alrod diagnosed, and it was about to get much worse from just the unwell feeling he endured four years ago. All he could do was to implement some medicine, but it could only have slowed down the sickness, not eliminate it fully. This have bought him two years, as the old man proclaimed, but he couldn't extend the King's life any longer. The King accepted that he would be dead shortly before his fourthy nameday.

Knowledge of this fact however, required some drastic actions. His son and Heir, Daeron, turned sixteen recently, and he would be able to take full power when his father's body will give up for good, However, with Baelor unsuited and unwilling to have children on his own, his nephew and namesake, Aegon, still unwed and Aemon having only one daughter due to Naerys's life-threatening struggles in childbirth, the Prince had to get himself a wife and a future queen, old and strong enough to birth him a son to stabilize the succession. As the Hand already suspected, it turned out rather quickly who was on his son's mind when Aegon and Viserys had brought this matter upon him.

- Father! - Princess Daena, despite her long gown, rushed towards him and hugged her father tightly - I'm so glad you came - she whispered to him, clearly on a cloud nine.

Aegon couldn't help himself but to smile back at her:

- How could I miss the wedding day of my son and daughter, dear? I'm weak, but there is enough fire in me for this.

The Princess's candidature for the role of the bride was obvious and as soon as both her and Daeron understood that it was a time for this matter, it was practically impossible to talk them out of the idea. Although Aegon preferred his daughter to remain a maiden up to the moment she would be a woman fully grown, he and his brother sensed that if they had made the two wait longer, they would almost certainly become secretly sleeping with each other long before Daena's sixteenth nameday. Moreover, Aegon couldn't deny the fact that his daughter was not in the same position as his niece, small and frail even now, despite being seven years older.

Daena grew out to be a striking beauty, although not on the 'classic' side, as her mother or Lady Rhaena were around that age. Pretty tall, but not to the Dragontwins extent, her body was lithe and lean, her face pale, but healthy, with a small nose and full lips to match. Her father's eyes of very dark purple would have made her look mysterious, if not for the constant mischief looming in them. What stood out the most however, was her smile. His namesake, at that time a bit or maybe a bit more wasted, probably summed the matter the best 'Not everyone'd fall for your Princess, dear uncle, but there is a certain amount of men, a pretty big queue, trust me, who would go to the Seven Hells and back just to earn a smile or two from her'. What was the most relieving for Aegon was the fact that despite her lean frame, her hips were wide enough to survive a labour, providing no additional setbacks would occure. "Yeah" the voice in his head whispered, "They said the same about Daenaera and look what happened."

Aegon decided to forget that thought today. He came back to the reality and took her by her arm.

- I know you're eager to go there, my dragon, but I'm afraid your father is not in the best condition, so we'll have to keep our pace a bit slower.

- That's no problem - she said, laughing quietly - after all, the bride comes up exactly when the time is right, not too fast and not too late.

- You know - Aegon decided to play an open cards with her - if it was only for me to decide, I'd prefer you two to wait until you are an adult, but... I might not endure that far, child.

His daughter seemed to understand. She was never afraid of truth, not matter how grave it's been.

- I know - she answered - And I would eagerly wait for even more if it was for the exchange of you living. I'll miss you father. Everyone will, but... But I think me the most - she proclaimed, with the unusual seriousness.

- Now it's not the time for that - Aegon told her after a moment of silence, when they made a few more steps - go. Your groom is waiting.

Daena didn't need a repeat, as she almost sprinted to the altar to stand next to Daeron.

His Heir, now sixteen, recently reached similar level of height as his cousins, Aemon and Aegon, while on the posture he was slotting somewhere between them, not as bulky as the latter, but not as lithe as the former. It would probably be the frame of Aegon himself if he cared more about the sword training. Other than that, however, he looked just like a male version of his late mother. He had shoulder-lenght hair, with more pale blonde colour and not nearly as long or twisted as Daena, but his eyes were bright-blue and the exact shape Daenaera once possesed.

And this was the problem. Aegon tried his best with his children, despite all his traumas, and managed to force some of the ruling ways into his at times wild Heir, with the help of Viserys, but when it came down to simply spending time with his son, it was too much. Every look on the boy's face reminded him of her. Her, and the absolute agony he felt looking into these dying blue eyes nine years ago. He feared that deep down his son despised him for that. "And he would be right, that's the worst part".

The High Septon began his speech. This was probably the only part that was longer than everything that they had prepared to Aemon and Naerys. Due to the King's worsening state, it was a more modest ceremony. While a lot was spent on the feast itself, the betrothal was short and not every lord managed to come into the capital, with less knights also. Therefore, the jousting matches concluded in only one day, with some hunts and final preparations not taking much longer. If Aegon had to be honest, he preferred it that way, to much of his council's despair.

His Holiness finally has finished and it was a time for the newly-weds to say the words.

- Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, till the end of my days - Daeron began, Daena quickly responding:

- Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.

Aegon remembered his first kisses with both his little Queens. Given their age, both times the act was more of a formality than tenderness. He also remembered the passionate, yet gentle touch between the children of his brother. This one though, was anything but gentle. The new husband and wife nailed themselves with such fire and intensity that was almost inappropriate for the sacred place that was the King's Landing Sept. It was also the conclusion everybody who knew the Prince or the Princess even briefly suspected, though.

It was Viserys who's role was to invite the guests for the next part:

- Providing my niece and nephew are able to leave the other's arms for a few minutes - he said with a brief laughter, followed by that of the gathered people - I hereby invite all of you, honourable guests, into the feast!
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Aegon felt very tired, but for the sake of his children, he promised himself that he will stay until the end of the ceremony and ignore the threat of tomorrow for once. It had the side effect of not many guests leaving early, as no one wanted to be remembered as the one who retreats before the King himself. There was dancing, eating, drinking, singing in good quantities. The same could be say about the gifts. Despite the short time between the announcement and the wedding itself, Lords and Ladies of the Realm were determined to be remembered by a future ruling pair. All the presents could barely fit in one, big chamber, and there were a few more coming on the ships or horsebacks form the Lords that were unable to reach the capital in time.

At the center of attention were Daeron and Daena, looking like they were enjoying themselves. They managed to talk with majority of the guests present and dance to many songs, giving the perfect impression of how a Prince and a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms should look. Maybe not the perfect one, the King corrected himself. All of this involved drinking a significant amount of wine, but both of them looked, at worst, relatively conscious. He concerned a bit nonetheless, which didn't go unnoticed by his nephews, sitting close to him.

- They'll be fine, Your Grace. I'm sure they remember to stay upright till the end - Aemon tried to cheer him up.

His namesake and Aemon's brother, however, was seeing things differently.

- Of course they won't black out! - Aegon shouted, clearly more drunk than not - first, they want to attend the bedding. Not everyone is as prudent as you, brother. And second, their heads are good enough. The only time I saw them under the table was when they participated in a drinking contest.

- They what? - the younger brother looked at him, confused. Aegon laughed and answered:

- We were making a small competition with some Goldcloacks and minor nobles and Daena challenged Daeron that she could outdrink him. He said that sooner turtles would start coming out of his arse than this happens.

- And who won? - young Elaena entered the chat curiously, not caring about the disapproving look on her father's face.

- I don't know. They both finished cuddling under the table so me and Marq had to carry them both all the way to the keep before anyone got the ideas! After all, the future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms should not be doing such a depravity, right? - her cousin chuckled

Naerys, sitting next to Aemon, looked horrified, as did Baelon and Rhaena. The rest, however… It was more embarrassing than anything, but even Viserys could not held as he smiled lightly:

- I see you keep them in a good company. Goldcloacks, what is next, the smallfolks of the city?

- Well, about that… - Aegon started, but he was interrupted by Marq Dondarrion, the childhood friend of the King's heir, who made his way from Blackhaven, where he came back after becoming a man grown. The Marcherer seemed exactly as wasted as the son of Viserys.

- Your Graces, My Lords… - he started, helping himself by holding a chair tightly - What a splendid ceremony it has been. Now, however, I believe it's a final part of it left to fulfill: The bedding!

Aegon felt the sting of fear as his namesake, as well as the other, encouraged guests started carrying his children upstairs, roaring:

- BEDDING! BEDDING! BEDDING!

The hall slowly became much less polluted. Viserys, however, remained, catching his brother by the shoulder and holding it lightly:

- Stay strong, brother. It's the hardest part of being a parent - letting your children to make their own choices.

They remained in this position for minutes and Aegon contemplated how important it was to have his brother by his side.

- Thank you - he managed to say - for everything. For pushing me through all of this. I don't know how would I survive without you. Just... Stay there for them when I will be no more.

- I will, don't worry about it. Besides, you're not dead yet, so off with that talk for now.

They stopped upon hearing the loud laughter coming towards them. First guests started coming back from the chamber where the young Princes were… busy, it seemed.

- I hope you're not disappointed, my Lords - Viserys told them with a chuckle, receiving a lot of cheerful roars. Among them was Lady Baela, their half-sister.

- Absolutely not! - she screamed, voice more than a bit corrupted from wine - There is a marriage that is certainly being consumated right now. I don't know how long did you make them wait, brother, but they're going at it like wild animals, even if it clear it's their first time!

- They are dragons, that is for sure. They roars like ones at least - Lady Rhaena added, coming downstairs with her husband, starting another wave of laughter - Although I'm not sure which one is louder!

Aegon, surrounded by kin and friends, finally, started to relax. Maybe not everything in his life was so doomed, after all?

"Daenaera" he thought, "You'd be proud of our babies. I am, that's for sure".

Chapter Text

All of the King's closest family gathered in his private chambers, in order to stay in his company in the final moments. Everyone, apart from the three year old Daenerys, daughter of Aemon and Naerys, understood what was happening. Aegon III was dying. From the first moments Daeron saw his father, he seemed to him as unnaturally thin. This, however, would have been a drastic understatement now. All that remained from his body were bones and skin, he barely had the strength now to drink water, as most of the meals were tossed undigested. Even getting up from the bed was difficult for him. It was impossible to function like that and they all knew it. The wedding of Daeron and Daena was probably the last moment the Crown Prince had seen his father in acceptable condition. About a week after, his state suddenly got worse and haven't improved ever since.

- You know - the King started, with his skinny hand in Viserys's ones - the old man was right, after all. He gave me half a year and here I lie, exactly this many months on my deathbed.

- Save your strength, father. You'll need it in your disease - Elaena decided to proclaim, probably referring to something she had read recently. The girl wasn't reading books, she was eating them, and they contained various topics.

Aegon smiled weakly.

- I'm afraid the time for that is long passed, my dragon - he stopped, seeing his youngest daughter close to tears after she heard that - Don't cry. The Stranger comes for everyone. But save the part about of strength. You will need a lot of it in the years to come. Can you promise me that you will stay strong?

Elaena nodded, to much of Aegon's pleasure. Viserys coughed to turn the attention to him and asked his sibling:

- Is there anything that we can do now for you, brother?

- Actually, yes. I... I need to have a chat with my Heir. All of you, please, leave us - the King said, finding some power in his voice.

The family started coming towards the door.

- You too, Daena - Daeron gave his wife a small nudge, as she seemed glued to the floor for a few seconds, with a sad expression on her face. Of course, the fact his hand landed just below her back was a coincidence. Total coincidence.

The Princess understood the gesture and Daeron received a brief smirk from her. Rhaena, who probably saw it, too, turned as red as a tomato. It was expected. His younger sister was a shy girl of twelve who was blushing even when she was seeing any pair hugging for more than two seconds, let alone kissing. "Someone would need to speak with her about it, but... Who?" The Crown Prince wondered.

They finally were left alone. The current King and the future one.

- Father - Daeron started. He wasn't sure what to add next, though. He knew what to do when speaking with the Lords and creating alliances and solutions for his plans after the coronation, but his father? He remained an unsolved mystery for him.

And, too add to a mystery, Aegon started talking:

- My son. My dear boy. I know I wasn't there for you in most cases - the attack of cough interrupted him.

- You've taught me well, father - Daeron thought it was important to state that - You and uncle Viserys.

- Mostly him, I'll admit that. But it's not what I meant. When you're looking at me, what do you really think?

The truth, then? He didn't want to say it, not with his father on his deathbed, but the words came, unwanted, anyway:

- I hardly know you. After mother died, you managed to get closer to Daena, to Elaena, even to Rhaena and Baelor and we both know that even trying to get on with both of them is a task on its own. Yet not me. I've seen it on your face, but I can't understand. Why? What is wrong with me that pains you so much?

Aegon's voice was no louder than a mere whisper:

- Wrong? No... There is nothing wrong - he started coughing again, but this time, Daeron didn't relent. He felt he was getting in inches to, maybe, at last, crush that wall existing between them.

- Then why?

- You're… You are too much like her. In too many cases.

All the pieces in the mind of the Prince finally connected.

'He looks exactly like you, my love' - the earliest of his memories, with his parents looking at him in his cradle. 'I was just as hurried as you' - he recalled Daenaera's voice when he first walked and after some time, called his mother in words for the fist time. He memorised Aegon's rare jape when his son started asking so many questions when he was six - 'One could think you want to outdo your mother with all this curiosity. Trust me. She asked for almost everything when she was your age'. 'And I still do it!', it was her answer. And, Gods, he realised at last. No one knew Daenaera Velaryon better than her husband. No one longed for her as much as the King. These brief memories almost certainly weren't the only things in Daeron was reminding him of mother.

- Is this… truly the case? - he asked, with his throat dry.

His father nodded:

- Yes. I tried, son, I can assure you of that. I was enough in the cases of your siblings, but for you… I was just too weak - did he spot the tears in his father's eyes? - Every look on your face, every word you spoke, every smile you gave… It was like that cursed bedchamber when your little sister was born. I'm sorry son, I truly am. You deserved so much better than this.

Daeron felt… unsettled. He was longing for this for years, to finally spat it on his father's face, to accuse him of leaving him on his own for so long. But knowing what he just received, he just could not have brought the same level of anger he once possessed about the matter.

- You know - Aegon started again before he could respond to any of that - I wasn't like that all my life. Ask Viserys or one of your aunts if you wish to know more, but I was once a normal kid like most of them are. Curious, gullible, a bit more serious than I should be at nine, yet I remember the old times, as we were. Before the Dance. Before it all went to Seven Hells and back. First was Lucerys, a shy, but good boy and brother, no older than Daena is now. Murdered as if he was some criminal by the Kinslayer. Then my dragon, Stormcloud.

- You cried after him? - that was out of character. Daeron knew his father once possessed a dragon, but he refused to talk about him with anyone and had this resentment for all dragons for all of his Heir's life. To think he once loved one of this creatures?

- He saved me, sacrificing himself for this task - his father answered - but he was too small to held both me and Viserys. We all thought my only younger brother was lost, too. If I had more in me, if I did what the older brother should, maybe another death wouldn't have followed. Jace. The Heir to mother's Throne. He would be such a good King. Apart from Viserys, he was the only one from my generation who truly had it in him to rule. Yet, he had fallen, when he was seeking any traces for our lost, little brother. He gave his life for this, because I wasn't able to do my duty. And Joffrey, oh, how he was longing to fly on Tyraxes to a battle. He didn't receive a chance and finished… torn apart by the multitude in King's Landing - he paused, exhausted.

- Father, it's alright - Daeron tried to calm Aegon down - I understand.

- Let me finish, son. I kept it for way too long in me. My father… I don't know the details, I didn't want to hear them. But he avenged Luke, at least. For once in is life he did something entirely against his interests and he perished in the process. And Rhaenyra, my mother, my beloved mum... - the tears were rolling down his cheeks - all of the previous hadn't broken me, but seeing her devoured by this… Golden Beast… Something in me died that day and never truly recovered. War and bloodshed, that's why I am so broken now. Why I have been for the last twenty eight years.

He continued after a brief moment of silence:

- I suspect what is on your mind Daeron, when you'll finally became King. I'm not blind man. But remember this talk. No matter what you'll do... Think about your family. Because one moment they are here and the next, they could be lying in the ground, dead. You may let Viserys now, I know he's waiting behind the door - he finished with a brief smile.

Daeron walked towards the door and opened it, seeing his uncle in the corridor. They sat together upon the King's bed, one on his left and one on his right. Aegon started to relax apparently and went to sleep after a few minutes. However, he was thrashing himself from side to side, murmuring some words, which were impossible to catch. then, he finally screamed:

- Mother! Run!

After this, his face turned completely still, his breath disappeared.

- Is he...? - Daeron started. Part of him refused to realise the truth.

- Yes. My brother may know peace at last - said Viserys, as close to tears as the stoic Hand of the King could be. Then, he straightened himself and looked deep into his nephew's eyes - The King is dead. Long live the King. Tell me, Your Grace, what is it that you want to accomplish during your reign?

"So it begins" the Prince, no, the New King thought. "Convincing him is the hardest part. Everything after would be a piece a cake". He gave back the look and asked:

- Tell me, Lord Hand... What do you think about Dorne?

His uncle's eyes went wider and wider as Daeron explained to him what he wished to do. The real task was starting now.

Chapter Text

The Small Council meetings were nothing new to Prince Viserys, since he's been the Hand of the King for around a decade and there or there-about for almost two. It was new, however, to have a King who actually wishes to participate in the talks himself… Or even wills to appoint the meetings more often than not. As much as Viserys missed his brother, even he had to say this was refreshing.

And, giving what the King had on his mind, he would need that attitude greatly. His nephew was ambitious and brave, that Viserys knew from the start, but there was ambition and there was recklessness. Attempting to conquer Dorne was dangerously close to the latter. Even Aegon the Conqueror and his sister failed on this task, with the younger losing her life at the process, and it happened despite having dragons and a freshly united Realm, with nearly everyone trying to prove themselves before the new King.

However, Daeron's plan was good. Surprisingly good, giving his young age. Yes, there were some holes in it, but none that were an instant doom to the main objective. And hearing the young King explaining all the details to him, Viserys found himself… Not as opposing as he initially thought he would be.

- That's… Very bold - he told his nephew then - However, it is doable if you'd really manage to pull that many strings. We have a coronation to do, but before that, the Small Council will congregate. We have to use this time to fix the holes that are already there and preserve more of those from birthing, as there for sure will be many questions on how you wish to accomplish your goal. And it's better to discuss the matter quickly. With so many Lords on the capital, the plan has to be at least partly formed to present the idea of war to them. They will follow, but not blindly.

- So, will you help me, uncle? - Daeron seemed a bit shocked he didn't have to press further with him.

"After all, he wouldn't resign that easily. If he's so much into the concept, I can fulfill my promise to Aegon by making this plan as swift for his son as possible. As swift as a war can be" Viserys thought bitterly, remembering his own experiences. He answered, though:

- I'll see what I can do and rethink the matter. You should likewise.

And here they were, waiting for the Lords to come to the meeting. Him, Daeron and Daena. Viserys understood why The King insisted on bringing his Queen here despite her sex and age of fourteen. With Daeron in Dorne, she would need all the experience she can get, even if there was him who would speak as the King's voice in his absence. Daena had enough will to not be a pawn in these meetings, but what she lacked, for now, was the knowledge on how to navigate them. So, it was important for her to even sat there, listening and learning. Viserys just hoped she will remain silent for now.

The first to enter the chamber was the Lord Admiral, Alyn Oakenfist. Lord Velaryon turned fourty-four this year and his hair, when he was younger a silver one, started to look more white. His mind however, remained sharp, likewise his eagerness for sailing. There were some whispers that if not for Lord Corlys, his grandfather, or maybe a father, as Laenor Velaryon's preferences were widely acknowledged, it would be Lord Alyn himself being remembered as the greatest Lord of the Tides that had ever lived. Behind him, entered Kermit Tully, the Master of Law, added to the Council only a few years ago. As much as Viserys respected the man for delivering where his predecessors had fallen and raising his banners for Queen Rhaenyra, he couldn't say that he liked the man. He was quick to anger and his legendary tongue remained just as provocative as it was all these years ago. Yet, he was doing his job rather well.

Next, came Grand Maester Alrod. Surprisingly, he was rather young for a Grand Maester, around his fiftees, but it was probably for the good. An old Maester, in a time when a Queen and a Princess were wed and the other two were getting there in a few years, could find himself unable to copy with all the task of his position. Alrod was skilled and determined enough to match the late Maester Munkun's legacy. What was different about him in comparison to the former one, was his passiveness. Viserys couldn't yet tell if it was good or bad. He well remembered Munkun scheming with the Peakes in the Regency days, but a Maester with an actual spine could prove helpful. Alrod... wasn't that man.

The last who came were the Master of Coin, Isembard Arryn, way past his sixty nameday and having some troubles with moving, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard - ser Robin Darklyn, now close to his fiftees, yet still having an impressive presence, as the man was almost six and a half feet in height and pretty heavy as well. "A bunch of old men and a teenage King" Viserys thought. "It won't remain like that for the long time, surely".

The King started the meeting, saying:

- My Lords, thank you all for coming in such early hour. We have some important matters to discuss and I hope we can reach an agreement of all of these.

As everyone suspected, what came first, was the official coronation. Some of the Lords however seemed intrigued why exactly the King insisted on it to be just a modest ceremony, not connected with glamorous, yet expensive period of showing the wealth of the Realm. Lord Isembard summed it best at the end:

- We have a stable income from the trade with the free-cities my Lords, but you know it's unwise to rely fully on them. And I'm fully against lending money for that. I agree with the King - it was to be expected, as he built his own position on dealing with the bankers, a Lyseni ones. The same Viserys's wife came from, as the Hand thought with some bitterness.

The one who remained completely silent during the talk was the usually open-minded Alyn Oakenfist. By looking at his face, the Hand asked himself a question whether he was involved in creating Daeron's plan. It was rather untypical from him to stay quiet.

As the matter of coronation was settled, Daeron spoke once more:

- My Lords. We refer to our Realm as the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, it's not a fully true statement. One of the Sons of Westeros remains on his own, and he's biting the others, without the proper reaction - he referred to the constant raids on the Marcher Lands, Stormlands and a part of Reach that were going on for years, only partly countered during the Realm of King Aegon III - It is time to finally put the end to it.

That sparked whispers around the table. Confirming the Hand's suspicions, Lord Alyn again remained silent. The Grand Maester broke first.

- Your Grace, the raids had been on for hundreds of years. How you wish to accomplish such a mammoth task?

Exactly as Daeron had planned, he then had his turn to say:

- Simply. By conquering all of Dorne. There is nothing we can to to completely stop the constant fighting by just using the negotiations with the Dornishmen, but we can ensure peace when Dorne will be a part of the Realm, as are all the other Kingdoms.

If the previous claim started whispers, this one was like a lighting in the storm. Viserys decided it was the time to put an end to this.

- My Lords. We shouldn't be screaming our lungs like we were some merchants from a harbour. Let His Grace explain his plan, as I am sure he already has one - of course he had, but it was important to maintain an illusion.

- At once - his nephew added - The first plan of Aegon the Conqueror had its perks, but it's impossible to rely on the mountainous tracts leading through the Wyl's lands. We all know how that unfolded to Orys Baratheon and his army. However, that pass is not the only one there. I am in good terms with some of the Marcher Lords and they managed to catch a few of Dornish outlaws and bandits over the years, tired with Prince Marrence rule, eager to show them the hidden paths that an army, even pretty large one, could use to appear on the lowlands beneath the Mountains. I will march with the forces myself, with people from the Stormlands, Crownlands and hopefully some of the Rivermen. The second army, mostly containing the large forces of the Reach under the command of our Lord Paramour of the South, Lord Lyonel Tyrell, will attack from the West, creating a diversion that will took attention of Daynes, Qorgyles, Ullers and the rest of the lords of this side of Dorne.

- This is a good start, Your Grace - ser Darklyn proclaimed - but it might not be enough. West is West, but it's the East where two most powerful houses have their castles, as well as many others. And you cannot bring a huge force through goat tracks, no matter how well-hidden and wide they are.

Daeron, however, had a counterattack:

- That's where the fleet comes in. Lord Admiral, will you explain?

Alyn Velaryon straightened in his seat and took out a map of Dorne. He started:

- We have one, crucial advantage here. We have ships and they don't. Sunspear is unreachable from the sea without a big contingent of infantry, it's true, but if that is the Heart of Dorne, then the Planky Town is its guts. It's a merchant town, with weak defence and a wooden architecture. Burning it will deal a fatal blow to their economy. What is even more important here is the Greenblood. If my fleet can sail up the river, we basically could divide Dorne it two, leaving the West and the East on their own. Our larger numbers would prevail, then. Prince Marrence is no coward, but even he would notice that it's unwinnable from this point.

The Lord Commander nodded, satisfied. Kermit Tully, however, was not.

- These snakes won't be sitting pretty as your ships would dominate the river. Greenblood gets narrow at some point and the Red Dunes and the Gods Grace lie nearby, with true knights and soldiers there. No offence, Lord Alyn, but your sailors are not nearly a match against them.

- We will have mercenaries - Alyn's answer came immediately, instead of getting enraged.

- Oh - the Riverman frowned sarcastically - and who will it be? Some sell-swords who would certainly run for their lives the moment they see foes more serious than the merchants and whores of Planky Town?

- No - it was King Daeron's turn to speak - The Stormbreakers. Isn't your twin brother a commander of it, Lord Tully?

That clearly took the Master of Law by surprise. He answered after a brief moment of silence:

- Well, yes, Your Grace, but Oscar and I... Aren't exactly on the best of terms. You need to understand one thing with him. He is a mercenary commander first and only then, a Westerosi Noble.

- Free Companies are breaking their contracts all the time - Lord Arryn said - and we have money to cover the expense of the act, especially if we keep the coronation modest.

Kermit Tully remained unconvinced.

- Even to cover the contract with Braavos? Oscar and his men get much gold from them.

Viserys remained silent for a long time, because the plan was convincing. Now however, the obstacle was severe and he decided it was time to aid his nephew:

- The gold may not be our turning factor here, my Lord. Dorne is the least populated Kingdom of Westeros. Moreover, some men will die in the war, creating a lot of widows. What is better for a sell-sword to have his own part of land, even small or sandy? I think this could grant us the loyalty of ser Tully and his men, they are mostly Westerosi even now, after almost three decades.

- I have a officer close to ser Oscar, sworn for our cause - Daeron trespassed on the chance his Hand gave him - I'll write to him after the meeting is concluded to present our terms. This should be enough to win them.

The Lords finally started to like the idea. After all, no one in the Realm was fond of the Dornishmen and well alive were the stories of the First Conquest.

- There is only one question, Your Grace. Who will rule the Kingdom in your name with you on the warpath? - The Grand Maester asked the question that was looming over the table for some time.

- My Queen will remain at the Keep, as will my Hand. I expect you to serve them with good advices as you were doing to my father all these years. Lord Alyn and ser Darklyn would go to war, but I think lord Arryn should remain here. Lord Tully, what about you? I have to admit, I am not sure where your place should be - Daeron proclaimed.

Kermit Tully answered swiftly:

- One fish is enough in those damn, sandy dunes. My place is here. I could coordinate the forces from the Riverlands and from the North, as I still have some friends there. They could make a second wave in case something happens.

- It would be easier to do all of that with dragons - said lord Isembard - sadly, there are no more left.

The response came from no other than the King himself:

- You have a dragon you need - he rose from his seat - It stands before you.

Daena's smile was as wide as the Rhoyne river in the widest point and Viserys found out that he also was smiling. He, too, stand up and said:

- I think that's all the matters for today, my Lords. As our King wishes, we should begin the arrangements for the invasion as soon as possible.

"I don't know what the future will bring, but I'm not gonna let this kid die because of poor preparations".

Chapter Text

- King Aegon III, the Dragonbane, is dead, Lord Commander - ser Oscar Tully heard the voice of of one of his captains, ser Jon of the White Harbour. How this man earned his spurs, Oscar didn't have a clue and didn't want to ask further, but he was a decent captain nonetheless. Too slick sometimes, however, that's why the Tully knight had never thought about promoting him higher, despite his obvious skills.

- Aaaaand? - he knew what was it that brought his officer to his chamber, but he didn't want to accelerate the matter, as delicate as it was.

The Commander of the Stormbreakers found himself in the palace of the Sea Lord of Braavos, Ferrego Bruqqo. The Sea Lord was also his current employer and he was paying good. The downside was sitting in one place for many months, as the war on the East with Norvos was reduced to a stalemate long time ago, with either of the sides more afraid to risk it all in one battle than to bargain like fishwives on a sea market. "Well" Oscar, remainded himself, "They are indeed nothing more than the fishwives on the market. Only far more powerful and dangerous than they should have been".

It was uncommon for the Braavosi to fight with other free cities on land and it was visible for anyone more skilled in that regard than a twelve year old squire. That's why they needed mercenaries. Mercenaries like ser Oscar and his men. They were paying well, but a decent sell-sword would be able to earn more by actually fighting and raiding the camps of his foes than by rotting here, like in a golden cage. Yet, the contract was signed and the contracts had these things called clauses. Rather expensive ones if he was to break it, so his company remained in Braavos.

- The new King, Daeron, wishes to hire us onto his new conquest plans - ser Jon continued, not caring about his commander's unwillingness to participate.

- And what is it? Another war on the stepstones? What could we find there that is not here?

- It's not a mere rocks, ser. He writes about a fucking Dorne!

"Dorne? The boy is bold. Or stupid, one wiser than me would say". Yet, he felt something of an excitement.

- Give me that letter, because of course you have one - he knew about his officer's longing for Westeros. Not only his as well, even after three decades most of his men were still from the western continent and at least some of them intended to come back there in the future. As for Oscar, he wasn't sure. Coming back and diving into politics again disguised him, as well as any thoughts of duties for the House, as his brother had been writing in his letters for many, many years. "Where the fuck is that Kermit who was my twin and best friend and when was he replaced by Lord Tully?"

As the knight handed him the letter, he started to read.

'To ser Oscar of House Tully, Lord Commander of the Stormbreakers Company,
From Daeron I of House Targaryen, the First of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynars and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

Lord Commander. Over the years, I have heard many of you and your men and hardly it was mixed with something other than pride. I and my Lords think highly of the Stormbreakers. Moreover, they are close to our hearts as being a mostly Westerosi Company. This is why I am writing to you, since I could not imagine men more suited for what I have planned.

I want to hire you, ser Oscar, and your men, to assist the Royal forces in the conquest of Dorne. I am well aware of your existing contract with Braavos, yet me and my Lords were informed about the fact that there is a clause allowing you to break that deal. We wish to grant you that the Crown will cover the costs of your withdrawing from it. The more details about the contract I wish to sign with you will be discussed when you and your men would set your feet in King's Landing.

However, there is one promise that I wish to make to you right now. As a part of your gratification, these of your men who will manage to survive the war and express the wish to remain in the Realm, would receive parts of lands in Dorne, with their families or as a newly weds to the widows that would surely be many at the end of it. The same offer is made to you, Lord Commander, and your officers, of course with the tracts of lands being bigger the higher is the rank.

We are looking forward for your response. We hope it would be a positive one.

King Daeron I.'

Oscar raised his eyes from the paper, unsettled.

- This… - he began, slowly - Are you sure it was written by the King himself?

Ser Jon nodded eagerly:

- I am sure. It had the correct seal and, if I may, it's not the first letter I received from him - the bastard wasn't even trying to look ashamed.

- You're been scheming that for a long time, did you? - Oscar frowned at him, but his mind already began to wander elsewhere.

That was a good offer. A better one than he hoped. Better than what he had right right now. And a promise for land... Even if Dorne was sandy and generally had the less fertile soils than those in Riverlands or the Reach, it was still a land. Most of his mercenaries, most of mercenaries at all, weren't even dreaming about having the terrain of their own. He also felt that it'd be nice to see home again, after all these years. He had spent more time in Essos than in Westeros. Gods, his nephew and nieces were already grown, he didn't remember when was the last time he saw them. Or did he even saw them, as was the case with the youngest.

- Send a message to the Sea Lord. We have a contract to discuss - he shouted to Jason, his squire, a boy of fifteen, orphan of one of his veterans who died a few years ago and a nameless camp follower.
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Oscar knew breaking the contract wouldn't have been an easy task, therefore, he brought with him his most educated and clever men to the palace's main room. The Sea Lord of Braavos, however, had similar plans. There were at least ten other nobles in the chamber. In the middle of them was Ferrego Bruqqo, the most important man in the city… At least for now. His position, due to the lack of decisiveness in the war and some minor trade failures, was uncertain.

- Ser Oscar - he began - it came to my ear that you want to... Rediscuss the terms of our contract, is that it?

Bruqqo was a fat man, close to his sixtees. Yet, his mind remained sharp. Becoming a Sea Lord while not belonging to one of the most well-positioned families of Braavos was a remarkable achievement. He was dangerous, even now, with his back somewhat uncovered.

- Not exactly, my Lord. I intend to terminate an agreement - he answered, raising a few sighs in the room. Yet, Bruqqo remained calm.

- And what makes you think that you are in position for this, ser? - the Sea Lord asked.

Oscar let one of his men answer that question:

- It is stated that if one of the sides doesn't respect the terms, the other is allowed to activate the termination clause.

- We are paying you, aren't we? - said the tall and thin man next to Lord Ferrego.

Oscar'r right hand, ser Lucas Vypren from the Riverlands and one of his few close friends, stated:

- You are, noble Lords. However, you also promised us spoils. Spoils received on the Norvossi, yet we were mostly directed to fight with rebels on newly occupied lands or to eat dirt where your own forces were unable to fight back properly, if you excuse my honesty. Not to mention the constant missing of our men in your own city. As we know, mercenaries are mercenaries, but we've never had such problems with desertions. It's happening because the men are longing for what was promised to them.

The talk continued for a few minutes, each side counterattacking the other.

- You got an offer from the Westerosi King, is that it? - one of the Nobles finally fell for the unsaid trap that Oscar and his men tried to settle from the start. He smiled in his mind.

- I can't confirm, yet I can't deny. What is true however is that I received an interesting proposal.

Bruqqo was glaring at the Noble who spoke. Yet, he probably realized something. He turned his attention back to the knights.

- It is written that the said withdrawing from the contract would have to pay the other a decent amount of money. Do you have what it takes here?

- That decent amount is directly stated and yes, we have - Oscar grew tired of the hare and hounds. "At least we'd have if Daeron keeps his promise" - My men would have a chat with yours on that matter. You will get your payment, Sea Lord.

- I must also activate the clause saying that a side breaking the deal is forbidden to enter the war that goes against the other's interests in the extent of time the contract was signed, which would be two more years in that case.

- Very well - the Commander answered. It was a weird proclamation. Bruqqo had to suspect where they would go. Why activate this precisely?

"I don't like the look on that old man's face" he thought, but he couldn't do much more.

- With that - the Sea Lord stated - let us conclude the meeting. We thank you and your men for your services. As soon as we get our money, you'll be released, providing the terms we just discussed are completed.

"He plans something". For now, Oscar decided to leave it be. He was already wondering how he could have get five thousands men into a different continent in a quick succession. Better flee from this cursed town when he still had a decent force to command.

Chapter Text

The months that passed between Daeron's bold proclamation and the actual last day before her husband was scheduled to leave the capital city expired sooner than Daena thought possible. Sooner than she wished they'd have. What made the things even harder was that she had spent most of them getting used to her new role. A Queen. Sure, when she married her brother, she knew that it'll happen someday eventually. But knowing it is one thing and embracing the role another. Suddenly she had to give up some of her usual habits, like dressing in some of her brother old shirts and pants, riding completely on her own to the forest nearby King's Landing or sneaking off her chambers at nights for... Various reasons. She was glad she still could join the occasional hunts or practice with her bow, even if she had out-grown it some time ago already and was in a need of a new one.

"I can give part of my freedom, but not all of it", she thought rebelliously upon the matter.

Good thing that Daeron knew his wife well. He tried to make sure she remains happy and Daena was grateful for that, although she'd have wished he could come to her bed more frequently at evenings. His responsibilities were making each meeting more precious than the last. Sometimes it was one time in two days, sometimes in three, sometimes in four. Not bad, to be honest, but she wanted more, as a relatively newly-wed woman should, at least in her mind. "Good thing that when he comes, he's giving me all he's got". That was some relief. She could have ended up with some prude, like… Her other brother, to not seek distantly.

She also had her own chores. Since her mother died almost a decade ago, Daena had no idea how busy could the Queen's life be with all these Ladies on court and now, wives of the Lords preparing to join the royal forces. Every one wanted at least a chat with her. Some, a favour. Others tried to test her to see how far they could went before asking for something. As much as Daena tried to keep her temper under control, after the hundred time it started to become at best tedious, at worst just infuriating. It culminated when the wife of Lord Penrose, a cunning woman around her thirties, tried to take advantage of the Queen's young age and grant some minor villages being given to her husband's domains at the cost of currently absent lord Errol, speaking about some ancient and long gone or false claims to these terrains. She suspected that this was the case and uncle Viserys later confirmed it. It was the time when she finally snapped:

- I must apologise to you, my Lady. As you pointed out, I am nothing but a little girl playing politics. However, i know someone who may be better suited for the task. My uncle, the Hand, should probably be the most interested about hearing from the woman that once proclaimed some nasty things about his late wife, am I right? - she referred to the rumours of some of the Ladies of the Stormlands calling names for Larra of Lys. Her cousin, Aegon, once managed to get one of the daughters of these women completely wasted and probably took her to bed, and in names that the girl proclaimed, was the surname of Lady Penrose.

- I... - the woman's face whitened in shock - I don't know what you imply, Your Grace.

Daena only smiled, giving her one of her mischievous grimances. She enjoyed making that face. No matter who was the receiver, some of the confidence suddenly was getting washed more often than not.

- I'm sure you have no idea, Lady Penrose. Should we consider the matter settled or should I fetch for the Lord Hand and discuss it? - she wasn't making a friend there, but she didn't care. Showing some minor nobles their places also was part of the job, was it not?

She also had to participate in the Small Council's meetings, at least in a good chunks of them, since soon Daeron would be missed. For now, her task was mostly to listen and learn, but it was frustrating to hearing the Old Men arguing with her husband and not being able to fully understand the matter or speaking in his defense. Daena had endured this for around two weeks, but she quickly came into the conclusion that this could not have functioned like this any longer. She despised feeling helpless. So, on the next hunt she participated in, she asked Lady Baela Velaryon, of course also present, if they could meet in her aunt's chamber.

- Alright then, child. I know that look on your face - Baela proclaimed - say what troubles you.

Daena started to explain:

- I'm attending the Council's meetings recently, but I feel out of pace there. They are discussing matters I've never really paid much attention too and it annoys me that I'm like a sitting duck there. And when I don't understand it, I instantly turn off.

- Yeah, the Council can be quite tedious. Do you feel boredom when sitting there? - her aunt asked and she nodded - I don't wonder at it at all. But you didn't come here just to let some steam off, didn't you? What brings you here, then?

- You've been the Lady of Driftmark for a quarter of a century now. More, you had to act as a regent at times when your husband was on his voyages and Driftmark is a harbor, as is King's Landing. Surely you must have know something - Daena tried to suss the situation.

Baela smirked:

- Gods, now you said it like I was some kind of a granny. However, yeah, I can share with you a thing or two. Things especially important for the Lady, if you know what I mean. How to 'accidentally' arrange the meetings of your Ladies in Waiting with potential allies or their Heirs, how to influence the men by letting them think they are in charge or, I don't know, get some vultures off your back effectively… Too fast, eh? - she laughed, looking on Daena's growing confusion - You have a mind beneath that pretty face of yours, but it's untrained yet. I've been like that once. I could teach you, but I have to warn you. You're gonna hate every single damn second of these talks. And knowing you and myself, we'll both get fairly pissed at each other.

- That doesn't matter - the Queen responded - better to curse you off now then get a hit on my... How did you say it? Pretty face later.

They both shared a laugh and the lessons had started.

Baela wasn't lying. Daena despised every minute she had to endure talking with her, but when she came to her next meeting, some puzzles finally started to connect. It was still way less than she had hoped for, but at least some sentences seemed familiar. And it was getting clearer and clearer every time.

Now however, she had something different on her mind. Cousin Aegon decide to organise the final hunt before he would march to the war with the King, as some kind of a farewell to the Kingswood. Aemon already departed, joining the forces of the Reach, as it was important to have someone from the royal family there. The eldest son of Viserys probably hoped Daeron would have come, but his friend still had so much work to do that it seemed impossible. Instead, Daena expressed her wish to ride. She was done for the day anyway.

So, she found herself in her riding leathers, "Finally, a chance to jump out of these dresses". She got to like dressing as a woman more than she did when younger, but it didn't mean she wished to look like a doll all the time. Besides, was there ever a doll with a bow in her hand?

- What do you even plan to shot with that? - her cousin smirked, pointing at the small piece of wood she was holding. He was partly right, Daena received it when she was eleven and it was perfect for her small and weak frame then. Now, though, she kept the bow more as a symbol of memory of his father. Not that Aegon should have known this.

- A certain Prince - she gave him an annoyed grim - if he continues to slander his Queen.

The son of her uncle was holding a spear in his hand, a weapon far more fitting for a hunt, however, the luck wasn't on their side for now. There were no traces of animals nearby and the sun was already setting. It was time to come back into the Keep, as this hunt must have been much shorter than usual due to the scheduled leaving of the army.

- We both know you came with us to avoid more of these wenches's buggering over your head - Aegon responded her - you wouldn't have killed a fox with that arrow, let alone something bigger.

- No, but I could make you a pretty emblem on your forehead, you will not need a sigil when riding to battle!

- Speaking of riding, be sure to hop on the mount when we're back. He's gonna need it.

Daena smiled, understanding the reference. It wasn't the proper talk with cousin Aegon without a sex joke. She went more serious and opened her mouth again:

- Aegon, I know Daeron is capable enough to take care of himself, but... I'm worried. And I'll be less worried knowing you are by his side. Please, keep an eye on him, will you? I want my brother in one piece when he's back.

It was a rare moment of seriousness between the two of them, as Aegon spoke:

- I promise you that I'd take the hit if someone aims at him when it'll be needed. He's my closest friend, after all.

- Thank you, cousin - Daena managed to say in response. She didn't even want to think about the upcoming battles, awaiting for her husband. "Of course that damned fool would be at the front, so he'll need every protection he can get".
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When she came back from the ride, she didn't waste her time to even change the clothes. It was getting late, so she took her time and went onto the King's chamber. At the entrance stood young ser Terrence Toyne of the Kingsguard, one of these that were set to remain in the Keep and watch over the Royal Family.

- the King is inside, Your Grace - he whispered with a smile, knowing what was on her mind, and opened the door. Toyne, at times, was oddly informal for a White Cloak, not that it was a bad thing.

There, Daena found her husband still writing, responding to the letters and giving orders to various Lords of the Realm. She brought a chair from nearby and sat at the other side of the table, not saying anything for now. That, of course, didn't mean she was doing nothing. A loose button here, a seductive look there, a weird positioning on the chair was in play. Finally, Daeron yielded.

- It'd been enough hot already here all day and SOMEONE just had to arrive and rise the temperature even higher - he told her with a small smile.

- Because I know what I want and deep down, you want it too. It's already too late to write more letters. You should get some rest before tomorrow - she proclaimed, looking suggestively on the bed.

It was Daeron's turn to play the game:

- Why something tells me that you have anything but rest on your mind, Daena?

- Because you're a wise young King, my love - she got up and unhooked the rest of the buttons of her shirt, leaving her body partly on sight as she approached Daeron's chair from the side, leaving a small kiss on his neck.

She enjoyed that part of their ritual, the teasing part. "Baelor would have got a stroke if he saw at least a fraction of that" she thought and chuckled a little.

- What is it? - he husband asked, curious

- I just imagined our dear brother seeing us now - she explained - We would had to have a second funeral this year!

Instead of answering, her brother got up suddenly and kissed her with full power by surprise... Although a welcome one as she quickly compose herself to give back the kiss. He took a step or two into the front and Daena founded her back against the wall.

- What would he say now? - Daeron asked when they finally took a brief rest before engaging once again.

- My, my... - she proclaimed without answering - one could think you're already have your mind on advancing, you're rarely this eager. And you once told me that you're gallant!

- But I also told you that I am a grandson of the Rogue Prince. Which means… I'm not that patient, let's say - he finished, helping her taking her clothes off and starting to undressing himself.

She drew him onto the bed, with him eager to follow. Then, he suddenly stopped.

- Remember that joke Aegon used to tell when when he was leaving us in the hall of the tavern in order to fuck some prostitutes?

Daena had to think a little, her mind more busy on looking at his strong form.

- The one about Prince Baelon making his wife's screams be heard all the way to Duskendale?

- Yes, this one. But I recently thought, they were only Princes. We are King and Queen…

They finally reached the bed. This time it was Daeron who jumped on top and pinned her to the mattress. She resisted, but not especially hard, choosing to look deep in his eyes and speaking with the most serious tone she could produce in this situation:

- So, as the Queen of the Realm, I order you to make my screams so loud that I'd wake up the Night Brothers on the Wall.

Daeron laughed.

- As my Queen wishes.

She wasn't sure about the Wall part, but she certainly sore her throat completely that night.

Chapter Text

Their situation, at first decent, started to complicate as Starfall was holding firm. Aemon knew it and it was unsettling him. The army was big enough to survive any attacks from the sole Dornish Lords, but the waiting could provoke them to gather their ranks, creating a force at least as large at they had. Therefore, after two weeks of sieging the castle of House Dayne with non-existing effects, Lord Lyonel Tyrell, the commander of the army and Lord Paramount of the Reach, gathered a council in order to find a good solution. Or any solution, to be precise. As the King's cousin and one of the leaders of the cavalry forces of a great army, Aemon was invited, likewise most of the nobles from the most populated Kingdom.

He had enough time to form an opinion about all of the most important players. After all, they've been marching together for quite some time now. Guided by Lord Tarly's men, the forces started the attack on this side of Dorne from the source of one of the creeks of the Torentine river, managing to outturn House Fowler's forces waiting on the Prince's Pass. This allowed them to reach the mountain fortress of House Blackmont, minor bannermen of the Martells seated in the middle reaches of the Torentine. The castle was small, so Lord Tyrell, convinced by some of his advisors, launched a quick attack, without a long siege. It was their first real battle and the first real battle experience for Prince Aemon.

He could not say he enjoyed the thrill of a battle, but he didn't hesitate either. He was in the group attacking from the North castle wall, which was poorly guarded. After some fighting, they quickly managed to grab the nearby tower and enter the interior of the fortress. Shortly after, the gate has fallen and Lord Tytos Blackmont, locked in the main tower with his family, decided to start the peace talks. In exchange for pledging his loyalty for King Daeron and having to endure a garrison of Reachmen in his castle, his life and titles were spared.

The army continued south and finally reached the castle of House Dayne, the famous Starfall. It was obvious that this will be the task on a completely different level. The Daynes were one of the strongest Houses or Dorne, behind only the Martells and the Yronwoods. It was impossible to completely surround the castle due to its closeness to the sea and any attack would result in heavy casualties. Sitting beneath its walls however, would be an even worse mistake. They've already have been doing that for far too long.

- I am saying that we should attack, damn the loses. We can't leave the Daynes at our back! - Lord Lyman Beesbury, a young man named after his ancestor who was in the position of the Master of Coin for over thirty years long time ago, exclaimed. He was yet to prove himself and therefore, eager to advance.

Not everyone shared his mind, however. Lyonel Hightower, the experienced Lord of Old Town and informally, second in-charge, opposed:

- It would be a bloody work, my dear friend. We can't afford to lose that many men that early in the campaign.

- If we even emerge victorious - ser Manfryd Rowan pointed out - the Daynes are no mere Blackmonts. They have many defenders on these walls and we can only attack from basically one direction - the knight from Goldengrove acted as a Regent-Lord of the House since his older brother was mortally wounded in the previous battle and the next-in-line for a title remained in Reach.

More decisive commander would have already made a decision. A good one, a bad one, no matter, but he would have done something. While Lyonel Tyrell was a good leader in terms of keeping everyone pleasant and well-supplied, his military skills were… Flawed, at best. "Being a good knight doesn't mean being a good general", thought the Prince as he watched the Lord of Highgarden nervously glancing at the map of the Western Dorne. When he finally raised his eyes, there was little of steel in them.

- Does anybody has an idea? Apart from blindly going there without thinking, of course. My Lords?

It was ser Franklyn of House Bulwer, the husband of Lady Myrielle Peake, the current ruler of Starpike, Dustonburry and Whitegrove, who spoke:

- The Daynes are boasting about being as honourable as the Warrior himself. If we can provoke them to act in defense of that honour, maybe we could reach something valuable.

A brief of silence followed. While no one could deny ser Franklyn's martial prowess, he was slow to speak and even slower to think. It was unusual for him to present any thoughts other than 'Go and kill those sandy scum'. Could it… Yes. One look at the face of his wife was enough to tell Aemon who really was behind this idea.

Lady Peake, now around her fourties, succeded her father, Lord Unwin, whose actions burned a deep scar early into King Aegon's regency. There was a point where 'Lady Turnip', as some still called her, was a candidate for Aemon's uncle's hand. When that didn't materialise, the old Lord, at the time of the Dance one of the most active Greens, was left with his daughter, only surviving child, as Heir. 'A fitting end for a man as greedy as him', Viserys once said.

Some thought with his death it would be possible to tear the Peakes domains apart pretty easily. Lady Myrielle however proved to be an effective diplomate and surprisingly good ruler of her lands. Her husband, chosen by her and not her Lord Father, was her sword, but everybody saw in that marriage it was the woman who was in charge, as ser Bulwer rarely thought something that his wife hadn't earlier. It was safer for her to present this through him, as she, as a Lady, wasn't the one commanding in battles.

It was Lord Tarly who finally answered:

- All I could think of is a trial by combat. They might even agree, as any attack from us may leave them seriously crippled at best or decemaited at worst. However, the Daynes skills with the swords are legendary and ser Trystane, the nephew of the current Lord, is one of the finest fighters in all of Westeros, if we believe the tales. Are you the one volunteering for the task, ser?

- Well… - ser Franklyn hesitated, clearly not thinking this was the possible outcome, his wife's glance beginning to darkening.

Aemon rose from his seat.

- I'll do it - he proclaimed, trying to sound as certain as possible.

That took all of them by surprise.

- My Prince, while we admire the courage, we cannot… - Lyonel Hightower started, but the Prince didn't allow him to finish.

- You cannot what, Lord Hightower? - Aemon asked - On the battlefield, I serve under the command of our Supreme Commander, Lord Tyrell. Other than that, my only Senior is my cousin, King Daeron. And he told me to help in this war however I see fit. Last I checked, the Prince was sitting higher than the Lord. This is the only way, we can't leave them behind, we have no time to wait and an assault would leave our army heavily wounded.

Ser Rowan pointed out:

- He will have Valyrian Sword, my Prince, and he knows how to use it - this wasn't exactly true, but according to the legends, the Dawn was just like the ancient Valyrian blades, so the slip was understandable.

- As do I - the Dragonknight, as was his nickname, pulled out his blade from the sheath. Many sights followed the act.

- The Dark Sister against the Sword of the Morning. Fitting - Lady Peake finally entered the discussion herself - My Lords, as much as it pains me to admit, the young Prince is our best hope here.

- I agree - the rugged voice of Lord Fossoway was heard. They weren't the only ones.

All eyes went on Lyonel Tyrell now. After a while, he finally spoke:

- I will send the legation to Lord Dayne. My Prince, for the last time, are you certain?

Aemon returned his gaze:

- Yes.
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On the next day, Aemon Targaryen followed his squire to the small field of even terrain beneath the walls of Starfall. Weirdly, he managed to sleep fairly well the night before. He felt good, but a slight of uncertainty was creeping at the back of his mind. He tried to block that thought. He would need all he's got for this occasion. Lord Tarly was his companion and guide, as he was the one who negotiated with the Daynes.

- What are the conditions? - Aemon asked, too focused for courtesies.

- If you win, my Prince, Lord Dayne will pledge his support to his Grace, the King. He vowed on the Seven and all his ancestors that he and his men would never break that vow. If his nephew beats you, we're abandoning the siege and leaving their land untouched. I don't know which one of the two sickens me more, to be honest. As gallant as they are, they are still a Dornish scum - the Lord proclaimed.

- Better to have this scum on our side than against us, my Lord - answered the Prince - burning all to the ground is not the way to control Dorne.

- I know, lad. Some bias just doesn't go away easily - Tarlys of Horn Hill were the sworn enemies of the Dornish raiders, after all, it was to be expected that the mere thought of cooperating with some of them seemed unnatural for the Reach Lord.

They entered the field in the moment their adversaries showed up. Aemon didn't need to ask who was ser Trystane. The man, like the Prince, was in full armor, a rare sight in Dorne. He was tall, but not taller than him and his frame looked roughly the same. If he had to guess now, Aemon expected a similar fighting style to his own. As the two approached the middle of the field, it was ser Dayne who rose his visor.

- Prince Aemon - he said - when my Lord Uncle told me that it is the member of the Targaryen family who wants to challenge us, I thought it was a joke. Yet here you stand. I have to say I admire that. Your house was lacking the true warriors since the Prince Daemon, let him burn in the darkest of Seven Hells if the Gods are just.

If it was the honour that House Dayne was boasting about, ser Trystane looked like being fully deprived of it. Yet, Aemon held his nerves:

- All I can say is that I wish you a good luck. But you're not be the one coming back with a shield from this field.

- We shall see - Dayne turned around and marched towards his squire. Aemon did the same shortly after.

- Win, Your Grace - the boy sounded similar to young Daeron four years ago in the jousting finals, the memory still alive in the Prince's memory. This however, wasn't the just and honourable ser Morrigen. This was a different type of fighter.

He realised that when they were circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike. Dayne attacked at last, but Aemon parried that swing, as well as the thrust that followed. Nothing really unconventional for now. He replied with his own combination of strikes, a bit quicker than ser Trystane, but the knight managed to block all of them.

"It's like fighting my own shadow", though Aemon when he caught the strong overhead hit on his shield. He countered with a swing at the hips level, but his strike lacked the correct range. This was his main problem. They both were of similar mass and size and both had the weapons from steels that were matching each other. However, his foe's sword was longer and a bit heavier. Dark Sister was originally meant to be a weapon for a woman, according to the tale his father told him when he gave him the blade. 'The ancient Targaryen Lord of Old Valyria gave this, freshly sculpted sword to his wife and sister, who preferred to fight hand-on-hand over the diplomacy. It was like that ever since. The Blackfyre for the Lord, the Dark Sister for the Warrior, the light and the darkness'. It took some serious strength to wield it, but if this was the case, it was explaining why the sword had shorter range and was generally lighter than his sibling and cousins. That Targaryen Lady, whoever it was, would never have the strength to swing the full-weighted blade for a long time.

It made sense, but now, it was a disadvantage for him. Dayne must have realised that, as he tried to keep his distance, using the strong, long-distance covering attacks. However, Aemon had something up his sleeve. To his own disbelief, it was Aegon who was mostly responsible for that.

When they were sparring sometimes, Aemon had much troubles with his brother. More than with most of the Kinsguards, despite being a better fighter than the elder Prince. Once, he asked him:

- I don't get it. It's easier for me to fight with ser Terrence or ser Aliser than with you. Why?

- You mean why I kick your ass despite you being more skilled? - Aegon mocked him, but followed - at the range, you have the advantage. You know that and you try to wore me out. But in short distance? I'm bulkier and it's easier for me to produce more strength when there is no space for a full swing from my form than you from yours. At the end, you end up as being more tired as you have to parry stronger hits. The same goes with the length. When you fight against someone with longer weapon, what do you do?

- I am shortening the distance.

- Yes, but why? - Aegon seemed to be having a lot of fun, being a teacher and not a student for once.

- My weapon is shorter, so it's easier to opearate against the longer one.

- You know how, but you don't know why. Simply: you're turning his advantage to disadvantage. Longer weapon usually means more force in the hit, but when you can't do a full swing, your hits are weaker. The shorter blade hasn't got that problem at low range. Similar to what I've been doing to you.

So, he knew the theory. Now it was the time to implement that in practice. His chance came when he struck his opponent's shield at such force that he had to move back a step or two. Aemon followed him, surpassing the knight's pace and finding himself closer to the Dayne. He started to wrestle him with both his shield and shorter, yet easier to wield sword. Ser Trystane was able to block it, but he didn't have the time to answer back, which started clearly to get on his nerves. Over time, his defense began to get unstable, as he tried to attack on his own, but had troubles to swing his bigger weapon. He tried to move back from the Prince, but Aemon followed him like an angry dog. It wasn't his usual style, but it was working here.

Finally, he spot a loophole between his foe's blade and shield. He aimed for this place, near the chest. As he suspected, Dayne managed to raise his shield in time to block it, but as he dropped it, the spot remained there. He went for it once more, Dayne again raised the shield. This time however, Aemon lowered his strike in the final moment and finally slashed against the armor on the right hip of ser Trystane. It wasn't enough to tear through it completely, but Valyrian steel did its job. Dayne felt that. Both of them started to become tired, but Aemon pressed on, knowing his opponent's stamina will give up first. He landed a few hits on his shield and forced him to block a few others by the sword, dodging the wild counterattack aimed for his head. "Now!" He did a quick step to his left and thrusted, aiming for the place he harassed before.

The already weakened armor gave up under the sheer force of the Dark Sister. It struck deep into the knight's hip. The prince lowered his weapon further down the flesh, causing even more pain. Ser Trystane let loose a scream as his leg suddenly collapsed under him as he landed on his left knee. Aemon moved the sword to his throat.

- Yield!

Dayne had thrown the sword into the ground.

What happened after, were the cheerful roars of the men, even some from Dorne.

"Just like then" Aaemon realised when he heard the screams.

- Dragonknight! Dragonknight!

It looked like he just won a big House to their cause without any man dying.

Chapter Text

The first weeks of their march were… Surprisingly boring, at least that's what Aegon had thought. As they marched out from Blackhaven, the seat of House Dondarrion, their forces have split. One part, containing mostly Stormlanders, went through the route West, flanking the nearby Wyl castle from the right, while the other, including the King and most of the Crownland forces, as well as some Marcher Lords, took the pass to the left of the Boneway. The third part of the army, containing forces from Houses Caron, Selmy and Swann, remained and blocked the Wyl's army in their fortress. It was impossible for them to capture it from the march, but a siege was enough for Daeron's plan. "Let them send ravens", Daeron said when Aegon asked him about leaving the castle unconquered, "they will be expecting more from the Boneway while we'll get on the lowlands, catching them unaware and with pants dropped.

Aegon remained close to his royal cousin, although for some time, he didn't have much to do. The next destination was the seat of House Manwoody, known as Kingsgrave. An ill omen knowing that there indeed was a King marching in the army. With that captured, Daeron and his commanders hoped it would be enough to lure the Yronwoods out of the castle and defeat them in a battle. The plan was complicated, but it could have worked. However, to do that, they needed to sneak through the Manwoody's patrols. That's why it was essential to find these rangers and silence them before their army could be spotted, so the King decided to form patrols of his own, specifically charged with that task. Since Aegon had little to do, he volunteered into one of those.

That's why he was finding himself in the tent of the small camp beneath the mountains, in the middle of the mountainous forest for better hiding. Their party contained around twenty men under the command of ser Erric, the knight in service of Lord Dondarrion. He seemed like clever man, avoiding the potential spotters with experience. However, for now, they hadn't found any Manwoody's men, either.

- Again, boring. Even here - Aegon whined to his companion, Marq Dondarrion.

He wasn't surprised to see that the Heir of Blackhaven volunteered as well, and felt good about the fact that they got into the same unit. Even though Marq, now a freshly appointed as a knight, was more a friend of Daeron than himself, he got closer to the seventeen year old over the years the young lordling had spent in King's Landing. Someone had to be the King's less rational side and both he and Marq fitted into this role just fine, if someone asked the Prince.

- Because the Manwoodies are more careful than the Wyls - the Marcherer hawked upon saying that name - or rather they are a bigger cowards. They don't know we're here, but they suspect something is happening and it may be more than just a raid or two from our side of the mountains. Since they are a minor House, even for the Dornish standards, they'll wait for the move of the greater ones.

Aegon chuckled. A Dondarrion speaking about the minor Houses. Funny, even if the Prince understood the hatred that the Marcherers felt for their neighbours from the South.

- Well, I hope someone would show up at last. More ale? - he asked, taking the half-emptied bottle from the ground. Marq's eyes lightened.

- Why do you even ask if you know the answer?

At Daeron's wedding, they both managed to stay up for the bedding, but neither of them was conscious enough to remember much of it. It especially bothered Marq, who, according to himself, 'Wanted to see what's so special about the girl who started to tear his best friend off from him'. When Aegon commented on that yesterday, his companion had to admit he didn't remember much. Nevertheless, he was a wonderful drinking partner. The bottles had a thing to got empty... Rather quickly when they were drinking together.
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The next day, apart from a small headache that the son of Viserys felt, but nothing too serious, started roughly the same as the previous weeks. They ate something and started to strike the camp, waiting only for the rangers that were sent to partol the surroundings. The three of them returned pretty quickly, once again empty handed, but the fourth one took much more time to arrive. When he did however, he immediately requested to speak with the commander of the unit. Aegon and Marq were invited to the tent, as well as some other companions.

- Ser - the ranger gasped, clearly exhausted - I found them. The Manwoodies are close to us.

That raised the brows of the old ser Erric. He was excited, but he wanted to get all details first:

- How many, where, what they were doing?

- I counted around fifteen, Commander - the asked man proclaimed - around two hours East from there, in the valley next to the small lake. It could be more than that, there were more tents than enough to fit fifteen men. They seemed relaxed, waiting for something.

- That means they do the same as usual. Sending the pickets around the region while remaining in one, difficult to find place. Thank you for your service, soldier. You may now rest - he said and allowed the man to leave. Then, he turned the attention to the rest present in his tent - Fifteen at best, twenty five at worst, from my experience. What do you think? All of you.

Aegon decided to speak first:

- Well, our numbers are roughly the same. If we manage to surprise them, we may do what we've been sent here for. I'm in favour of paying them a visit.

- Don't forget, my Prince - another knight, with a purple lightning on his tunic, warned - We would have to leave some men behind. It wouldn't be twenty of us, more like sixteen or seventeen. I think we should wait.

Marq snorted:

- And risk that they'll find us first, ser? Because I tell you what, they now the terrain better than us. Now we have a chance that we may not have again.

- I agree with the Prince and the young Lord, Commander - it was the voice of the last man sitting in the tent, a Dornish deserter known as Dark Spear - these Manwoodies lands have only a few lakes and only one in the valley. I know where it is and it's gonna be hard to lure them out of there if we'll be spotted. And we would be, eventually. If approached correctly, we should surprise them now. We may not have a chance again.

Ser Erric, visibly pleased, ordered:

- Prepare the men, then. We march in half an hour. Let's kill some Dornish scum - "How original", the Prince thought, "However, that's why he got the job".
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- The ranger wasn't lying. They really are here - Marq whispered to Aegon as they observed the enemy camp from the nearby hill, unseen to those below - And they don't even have that many pickets. These fuckers are too confident for their own good.

Aegon laughed quietly:

- You Stormlanders really hate them, do you?

Marq grunted:

- Thousands of years of constant fight does this to the poor bastards. Besides, I'm not a Stormlander, I am a Marcherer. I think I told you that before.

- You did, but it was during one of our drinking sessions, I think the first one with the Goldcloacks when I took you and Daeron for ale for the first time. I thought you were mumbling from the alcohol, so I wasn't paying attention - he answered and the young man smirked.

- Well, I was dizzy then, but a truth it was nonetheless.

Now the Prince started to Wonder:

- I've always thought it's almost the same. You're all the bannermen of the Baratheons, after all.

- Yes, but also no - his friend explained - We're pledged to the Storm's End, but we have our own ways of doing things. It's like the Velaryons and the Crownlands. Theoretically, they are Crownlanders, but try to them one of them that. They hate being referred as those. We don't, but we like to show our diversity to... I don't know, Penroses, Errols or Estermonts.

That sounded fair, but Aegon didn't bother to answer, as one of their men approached them.

- My Lords… It is time...

- Finally - both of them said as they rose from their places and joined the forces. The attack plan was simple. Ser Errick was to lead them into the shores of the lake on mounts, while the second group, led by the Dark Spear, had a task to use the trees and come as close as they can without being spotted to attack from behind. Sneaky and not exactly honourable, but it was important to not let any man get away from the camp. Aegon and Marq were both in ser Errick's group, along with ten other men. The Dark Spear had four more, plus himself. Eighteen in total.

The mounted riders emerged from the nearby forest and started running towards the camp. Of course, they were spotted by the picket, but it was too late for any of them to do more than warning the rest of the Dornishmen. Shortly after, the first wave caught and disposed them. What was less profitable though, was that the residents of the camp knew now about the danger and hopped their own horses.

Aegon armed with his usual morning star, braced for the impact as he charged right next to ser Errick and others in the first wave. One of the adversaries clearly took him as the target. He directed his horse against him and raised the sword to attack, which Aegon parried by his shield, responding with a swing of his own. Also to no fruition. He wanted to turn his horse around, but he spotted another Dornishman with his back uncovered as he struggled with one of their soldiers.

"After all, why not?" thought the Prince and hit the back of the man with the morning star. Since he didn't have anything more than a chain mall, he released a scream and fell of his horse. After that, Aegon was able to come back to the man he exchanged blows previously, only to find out he was dead already. They were in for a wild encounter, that was for sure.

The next moment, he found himself flying as another raider rammed his mount with his own horse, sending both him and the Prince airborne. Aegon quickly composed himself, ignoring pain in his leg and charged into the man that also managed to got up and took a spear in his hands. The Prince shortened the distance, dodging a desperate thrust and landed the hit on the man's torso and then another on his head. The enemy was dead now.

He took a look around him, as he had a bit of breathing room. The numbers were still fairly even, which meant that either their ranger couldn't count properly or there was more men on the camp on its own. Then, he spotted Marq in a struggle against two fighters, with the third lying on the ground with a big hole in his tunic. However, the young Dondarrion was in trouble. He was parrying wildly the hits from his foes, but he started to getting tired from the constant changes of direction and height, as one was almost a head taller than the other, which required more precision from his friend's side. Aegon rushed into them. One of the man started to turn around and that was when Marq took his chance. He lunged forward and hit him with a slash on the leg, causing the man to fall to the ground. When the situation turned around and it was the two of them against one enemy, he was quickly killed when Aegon's spiked ball went into his head.

It looked like the fighting was done as the Dark Spear approached them.

- My Lord, my Prince. We have taken the camp. The enemies are either wounded, dead or captured - he said.

- That's wonderful - Marq answered - casualties?

The man's face darkened:

- We lost four men and the fifth one is highly likely to bleed out soon. Other than that, some minor wounds.

More than they hoped for, less than they feared. Aegon asked him:

- What are we doing now?

- Well, we can't stay here and now there is too little of us healthy enough to do our job properly. That for sure wasn't the only party of the Manwoodies they have here. There is at least one more of them in the North.

- What with the captured Dornishmen? - Marq wanted to know.

Dark Spear hesitated.

- Ser Errick is not sure. Taking them with us may be unwise, since we have our own harmed that we need to take care of.

Aegon decided to spoke:

- We should interrogate these who may now something, then kill them all. We don't have orders to take hostages.

His two companions seemed shocked at first, but after a second, a sly smiles began to enter at their faces.

- Now you speak like a trueborn Marcherer! - Marq laughed and clapped him on the back.

- I'll make sure that the Commander will get to know about the suggestion, my Prince. It is a good one - the Dark Spear promised and then left, leaving the two youngsters standing in the dust.

"This war suddenly got more interesting after a while" Aegon thought.

Chapter Text

- She really does like you - Naerys pointed out with a smirk as her daughter was squirming on Daena's laps.

Three year old Princes Daenerys tried her best to get the Queen's attention, much to Daena's own humour. Although the baby came after her mother in the terms of shyness when she first started to walk and at the beginning, was a little afraid of the people that weren't her parents, she quickly picked Daena as her favorite 'auntie'. The daughter of late King Aegon III had nothing against that.

- Auntie! Up! - the child begged, giggling.

Well, almost nothing. Carrying the baby on her shoulders wasn't that big of a problem as she originally thought. Daenerys, despite being larger than Naerys was at three according to uncle Viserys, was still a kid of a rather small size. In fact, she reminded Daena about her youngest sister, Elaena, also small, yet lively. No, the issue here was that the little girl took great interest on her hair and always fumbled in the locks so hard that her maid was almost killing herself each time she had to work on that after the matter. It was to be expected, as the child had never saw anyone else with so long and so twisted curls, but when the Queen's presence was expected in public, it wasn't that easy to get sorted out afterwards.

But how could she deny the request? To protect her hair? "I should jump from the cliff if something like that ever happens", she thought as she helped the child positioning herself on a place. She reminded another little one mounting an older cousin all these years ago and that thought brought a smile upon her face.

- You know - Naerys spoke again - she's growing up so fast. I would already have a problem carrying her like that and Aemon is not here for the role.

- Good thing that someone is here to play as a dragon, right, little one? - Daena laughed, speaking to both the mother and the daughter.

Her cousin was looking at her with a mysterious glare.

- What is it? - she wanted to know.

Naerys chuckled:

- Out of all sights, I've never thought I witness Daena Targaryen holding the child atop her and doing it without complains.

- I was a rather… Ouch! - Daenerys pulled part of her hair a bit too strong - Selfish child myself, was I? - she teased, half-true was that.

- Not exactly - the daughter of Viserys quickly tried to apologise and dismiss the potential issue - But a demanding one. I remember the times when we had to seek for you every time your septa started the lessons about family or anything that was uninteresting to you at the time Which was most of the things they tried to force, to be honest.

- I just hope my own kids inherit something of that when the time comes. I just can't see myself as a mother to the children who spend more time in their own room that in the courtyard… Ouch! Little one, it is unwise to tease a dragon you're riding - she addressed the girl sitting on her shoulders with a chuckle - Because it might throw you down. You're coming back to the floor, where we mere mortals live!

Daenerys was angrily protesting against being pulled down onto the ground again. Daena didn't have a problem with the child playing with her curls, but today, the baby clearly took the idea of pulling it into her mind. And maybe getting her down was for the better, as right after that there was a knock on the door. When allowed, one of her maids entered.

- I'm sorry, Your Grace - she apologised, almost as if she was with tears - but Lord Hand request for your presence in the throne room in one hour. He said he has an important matter to bring.

Daena sighed.

- Of course there is always another important matter to attend - Yes, Viserys probably wouldn't have called for her without reason, but Gods it felt annoying at times. Her gaze went upon the maid - Fetch Maris to my chambers and tell her to wait there. I'll be right there.

The girl almost ran out of her skin from the pace she turned around and walk off.

- Am I this frightening? - she asked her cousin, confused.

- You know - she answered - you're rather fierce. And I think I didn't see that girl before, she must be new. She's even younger than yourself, at least looks like that. She probably expected her Queen to be more… distinctive.

- Let her wait until she sees me with bow and in leathers, cursing off the animals on the hunt - Daena japed, but took a note in her memory to try to do something with her handmaiden's shyness. Poor girl looked like she was about to cry from even talking to her - Right. Let's see what my uncle wants.
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As she went into the throne room, slightly refreshed and after some work to her hair done, as Daenerys's hands did much damage, she met her uncle sitting below the Iron Throne. Neither of them felt the need to sit the Metal Chair, as Daeron once called his throne, in the absence of the King. Viserys smiled upon her arrival.

- Niece - he started. He knew how badly she hated the unnecessary formality and, when there was just the two of them, referred to her as he had always done. Daena was grateful for that.

- Uncle - she responded - what is it that was so important that you have to summon me in such an hour, yet not important enough to wake all the members of the Council?

There were four members remaining in the Keep. Viserys himself, the old Lord Isembard, Master of Coin, Lord Kermit, being the Master of Laws and Grand Maester Alrod. The Lord Admiral, Alyn Velaryon, sailed for war and his wife refused to act in his replacement. What a shame. This Council would have needed some of Lady Baela's sharp responses and thoughts. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was also absent, on the road with her husband. The remaining three… She wasn't a great fan of either of them. Lord Arryn clearly thought the Small Council is not a place for the woman, even the Queen, the maester was simply dull and his opinions were nonexistent and she couldn't quite solved a mystery that was Kermit Tully. Dutiful, yet not skilled by the law, which he should be given his position. Smart, yet holding grudges. Especially against his own brother. He didn't even want to speak with him when ser Oscar reached King's Landing. From what she saw, the feeling was mutual. She hoped to see one day what was all the fuss between these two.

Viserys spoke after her response:

- Lord Arryn's health is getting worse recently, Grand Maester would have told me that my path is right and I am not sure bringing Lord Tully on this particular occasion is wise.

Oh? That was getting interesting.

- So, answer me, Uncle - she demanded - What is that? Something in regard to his brother?

- You might have hit the target, my dear. The envoy from Braavos came to King's Landing today and he demanded an audience with the King. When he received a message that the King is not here, he wasn't even slightly shocked. Made some kind of a show of himself, I admit. They want something and I would rather eat my chain than allow some Braavosi buffon roam over my head.

He paused, but continued after that:

- I managed to get him off our back for today, but tomorrow, he would come again and this time, the audience would have to be held, to not offense the Free City. And to do that properly, I need the King's wife to be there and show him that it is not only the Hand he's dealing with.

Daena started to wonder:

- Describe him. Who are we dealing with?

- His name probably won't say you much, but he is called Roberto Mereddo. Twenty-six years of age, he's one of the supporters of the current Sea Lord, Ferrego Bruqqo. He is of noble birth and it's a high one, but there are two or three even more powerful Houses in the city of Braavos. As my sources told me, he's pretty handsome for a slaves descendant.

- That's that. Do you know something about his weaknesses?

Viserys frowned:

- That's what is concerning me. There is surprisingly big amount of those. He's very proud of his city and its history, both that I can use to my own advantage with ease. He's easily tempted and has an opinion of a drunkard. Lastly, he uses his good looks in... unworthy purposes, as he's the habitue of brothels. I heard that he especially likes maidens, the younger the girl is, the better.

- That's… A lot, indeed - Daena admitted - Does the Sea Lord wish to offense us?

The Hand shook his head.

- Not exactly. As much bad as I heard about this man, he's good at cleaning after himself. There are no bastard that my men were able to find, no unusual enemies of him, not counting the typical foes of his House and Principal. In public, his opinion is decent enough to lead a legation.

Daena was confused:

- But you just said you have much and more to use against him.

- I think it is exactly what he's aiming. The Sea Lord, whatever he's up to, knows that he will need to send someone much smarter to outdo me, but this… womanizer is wise enough to gather some informations about the court and the negotiation method I will be using. That's why I need you.

She was seeing where this was going.

- So, my presence is required to... Distract him - she couldn't say if she should feel offended or honoured.

That took Viserys out of guard and Daena had to reconsider her thoughts about her uncle. Maybe he wasn't that into using her as pawn after all.

- That crossed my mind, but I'm not the one who will suggest that. You're my Queen, after all, but firstly, my niece. I promised Aegon that I will look after you and this is not exactly the way how I should be doing that. What I needed here is just your presence to help me memorize as much as we can and prepare for the real negotiator later. Because they'll send one, it's their old tactic.

- Yet, it's a good thought. You said he likes young maidens. I'm not a maiden anymore, but I am indeed young. Second thing, I think I am more than enough to catch his eye, at least only briefly - there was no point in denying that. Her looks could have played into their advantage here. - And if he does, he may become an easier target after some teasing.

Viserys was looking at her now as if he saw her for the first time, which brought some laughter to her.

- Gods, Uncle! I don't plan to seduce him!

- Yet, he could be dangerous. That part of 'cleaning after himself' includes some dirty work. Promise me you will approach this cautiously - he demanded.

Daena answered:

- That I can do. We don't want him to do something stupid, after all. That would be impolite from our side.

They both chuckled and her uncle proclaimed:

- You should get some sleep and process how you want to play this. I will do the same from my side.

- You too, uncle. I know you're used to over-working, but everyone needs rest.

Her mind was already on the upcoming matter as she made her way to her bed. "Oh, this will be so much fun…"

Chapter Text

As an experienced sailor, Alyn Velaryon felt somewhat unease when his task was to bring fire to the merchant city. Such flames could have easily got on his fleet and burn it, too. Not to mention the fact that he grew up in Hull and remembered Spicetown, before it was reduced to the pile of dung during the Battle in the Gullet. That being said, he had a job to do for his King and, to the world, he wasn't known for his hesitation. No, the famous Oakenfist rushes to battle with eagerness and bravery. Not fearing for his live, focused on victory. He sailed further than anybody else from his generation, saw wonders impossible to describe and cemented House Velaryon's place among the greatest of the entire Realm.

As much as he enjoyed that legend, he knew it was an illusion. Now, in the middle of his life, or perhaps slightly above that, he still valued a big, honourable fight, but what was better for him, was an easy victory. "My late cousins would have said that it was because of my bastard blood. Or maybe not said exactly. Their tounges were chopped off by old Viserys I". This thought still was making him chuckling. All the noble roots and what from that? The only good thing that came from his cousins's lives, was Daenaera Velaryon, the Queen of the late King Aegon the Dragonbane. And maybe her father, Daeron. He was a good man, after all, taken too early, like his own brother. In the same time it was him, a younger bastard of the Snake and the Mouse, who carried on the Velaryon's legacy.

Now, he would carry that legacy even further. Or doom it for good, if something won't go according to the plan.

- Father. You're not asleep - he heard the voice of his son and Heir, Corlys. The boy had Baela's chin and eyes, while his nose and frame remained Alyn of himself. That meant the lad was, in short words, middle-sized and rather slim. Yet, the Oakenfist was proud of him, as Corlys was already more skilled with a blade than his father had ever been and started to develop some sailing talents, such importance to the future Lord of the Tides.

- Aye - he admitted - I've never needed much sleep. Not everyone is like you and your mother, you know?

Corlys laughed:

- Watch out for her not hearing that - Lady Baela's temper was as fierce as was her joy when she had the reason to feel it and her family knew that best.

- She already did hear it many times before you were even born, boy.

It had always amazed him how a man, or in this case a woman, could have slept so long. After a quarrel or two, he just learned to not awake her before a certain hour. Worse if she fell asleep cuddled to him. Or maybe better? It was difficult to say. His wife, now acting as a regent of Driftmark, was still a resident of his soft spot, no matter how often he wanted to slap her in the face from anger. Their marriage had been in a constant pendulum between love and hate from the start, they just got older after all those years so neither of these were as fierce as before.

- I'd say it's another reason to quarrel for you two, but I sometimes think you don't need one in the first place. How did you manage to stand each other for so many years in the first place? - it was rather rude, but Corlys was indeed a son of both him and his Lady. What other was to expect? They were anything but polite. Knowing that, Alyn responded with a jape himself:

- One would say you wish about a wife who would always agree with you, saying 'yes, my Lord' upon everything and staying in her chambers for years, is that it?

Corlys refused, getting the allusion:

- I don't think it's the case, father. I just prefer to not get myself into a constant struggle. I've already had enough of it with my sisters.

Alyn wanted to answer, but as soon as he opened his mouth, "Lady Laena" started nodding on the waves. His current ship was named after both his eldest daughter and his wife's mother. It was the tradition, as the old Braavosi gallery, still standing proudly in Hull at berth was named "Lady Baela" and his second favourite ship from his first long travel, sadly lost in a storm, "Lady Marilda".

- I think it's the time to indeed go to bed, as the sea just told us now - he proclaimed. Since Corlys was yet too young to guide a ship on his own, he served under his father on his flagship. He nodded and left his cabin. Alyn got lost in thoughts about tomorrow. He and the commander of the mercenaries agreed upon the plan, but there was a certain risk, as the Martells already knew about the invasion, the Lords of Northern Dorne already were under attack. It would be wise to send someone to Planky Town, but probably even more to move the forces up North. Dorne was lacking a fleet and that was their best hope. "There is nothing we can do over going there and finding out" was the last thought before the Oakenfist managed to fall asleep.
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- Prepare the next round of missiles! - Alyn ordered his men to charge the catapults again.

Their arrival in the biggest city of Dorne turned out to be a total shock for the locals. Yet, there were some Martell forces stationing in the town, under the banners of the Prince's House himself, so at first, Alyn's men didn't see much panic.

That one occurred when the Velaryon ships started to throw a rain of fiery projectiles at the wooden buildings. The Planky Town was burning so hard that some of the men already compared it to the War of the Hundred Candles. This time however, it weren't dragons burning ships, but rather the catapults burning buildings. Alyn should have felt pity for the civilians, but he was much rather focused on avoiding the endless rain of arrows coming towards them from the city's strongpoints. After a while, he spotted part of his fleet coming to the shore and disembarking the Stormbreakers on land. He focused himself on the tower with some ballistas, as one of the missiles managed to tear through the sail of "Lady Laena".

- Aim for that tower! - he roared and his men listened. Two fiery rounds were enough for the building to collapse.

- We should sail for the land, father - his seventeen year-old son shouted to him - we may hit ser Oscar's sellswords if we keep firing the missiles from there!

The lad was right, so Alyn ordered the remaining of his fleet to follow the previous part. They were sailors, not soldiers, but they knew how to fight and would have done so if needed. The landing operation was smooth, as the harbor was already taken by the mercenaries and the constant and ever present fire of the Planky Town made any resistance harder for the Dornishmen. Yet, some of them tried. Alyn spotted a group of men wearing the orange and red colours of House Martell approaching.

- My men! There are snakes coming towards us - he shouted - But I say the only Snake worthy of being called that was my grandfather! These are merely the imposters! Let's get them! For Lord Corlys!

- For Oakenfist! - they roared and rushed towards their enemies.

It was the type of the land fight Alyn liked the most. Chaotic enough to let ruthlessness and courage triumph over the drill. His sailors were thriving in that, as was he. He quickly ended the life of his first adversary, then sliced through the side of the poorly armed spearman, then another one who tried to get himself a kill of the Lord. His next foe proved to be more difficult, but after a few exchanges, Alyn got closer to him, kicked him between his legs and shoved his sword into the other man's body. After that, he tried to find Corlys in the mayhem, but he wasn't able to. Instead, another foe charged at him.

This one was clearly a noble, having a good-looking helmet, although not a full one and an actual armor. It wasn't the true steel, but bashing at that without thinking would quickly get Alyn killed. The man held a spear and looked like someone who can use it. He thrusted it into Alyn's guts, but the Lord of the Tides barely managed to dodge the attack. "Range. I need to close the range". The man had no shield, but neither did Alyn, as he always thought it would do more harm than good on the waters. Which meant now he founded himself in difficult position. Shortening the range was no option with the spear pointed at him, but neither was dodging the hits all the time. The Velaryon wasn't that good of a fighter in an actual duel. He already felt some tiredness due to the immense heat. He wondered how many generations were needed for their foes to get used to that scorching sun.

His issue was solved when one of his sailors sprinted towards the two of them from behind and slashed into the man's neck so hard that he managed to break through the armor. The warrior felt with his helmet coming off his head, which revealed a silver hair.

"Wait, what the fuck?!"

"Silver hair in Dorne?"

He knew some Daynes claimed to have it, but this man was clearly a Martell, everything in him was screaming that it was the case. Alyn had little time to wonder about the matter, as he had to fight yet another foe wielding a spear, but this one proved to be no true challenge, as he was already wounded. He looked to his right and saw the Velaryon's forces running after the fleeing Dornishmen. Instead of joining, he knelt next to the body of a Martell knight.

This had no sense. All the Martells he had met had dark features, no exceptions. This one, while maintaining his tanned complexion, had his hair as silver as, well, him. He was also very young, he couldn't have been more than twenty… Oh, fuck.

The scene emerged in his mind. Princess Aliandra of Dorne, naked and laughing in his arms for the last time they shared a bed before he and his fleet departed, coming back from one of his voyages. He tried to not getting frisky with her again, remembering what a storm it has been the previous time when he came back to his wife, yet he found himself helpless. If there was ever a woman who could get him to feel the same as with Baela, it was Aliandra Martell. After the act, he dispatched the next day and never came back to Sunspear again. He feared what he may do next time as he pretty much moved the memory of that night to the darkest pits of his mind, trying to forget about what they'd done back then. And for years, he accomplished that. But now... It all came back.

It was around twenty years ago. He took a deep look into the man's face and gained a certainty. His nose, the feature that all his children had. The younger brother of Prince Marrence Martell… Was a bastard of Alyn Velaryon. And now he was dead. Too weird to even think about it.

Someone stopped beside him. Disturbed, Alyn raised his eye-sight and met the gaze of ser Oscar Tully, the Lord Commander of the mercenaries.

- Planky Town, or rather what's left of it, belongs to us - the knight proclaimed.

- My son? - "Trueborn son?" he almost added, but stopped himself in time.

Ser Oscar waived his hand somewhere to the right:

- Probably over there, I've seen your son with some of your men charging after the Dornishmen. A brave boy he is, that's for sure.

- And I'm proud of him - Alyn responded swiftly, but in his stomach, he still felt some pain.

The son who he had never knew he had. And now he lost him, just when he found him…

Chapter Text

For most states, having to welcome an emissary from Braavos would cause the... 'honoured' host to throw a lot of money on the celebration that such a noble envoy was even sent to their armpits. For Prince Viserys, the Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, it was rather an unpleasant thought, so he decided to completely abandon it. Westeros was not some slave city, easy to intimidate lavish habits that weren't there, after all. Moreover, despite centuries passing, the Targaryens were still Valyrians and the Braavosi were still their former servants.

Knowing that, Viserys made sure everything was in its place and their guests weren't lacking what they needed. However, he wanted to make a certain statement. He didn't care how rich or powerful was this Merredo or, rather, the man behind him. Here, he was no more than the foreigner with a diplomatic mission and it was of a great importance to show him precisely that. That's why the party's chambers were a typical ones for an envoys and nothing more, to much of Roberto Merredo's displeasure.

The first part, annoying their guest, was done. Now it was the day to get some answers off him. Viserys decided to face the emissary in the throne room, sitting next to the Iron Throne, on the Hand's chair below it. Daena, as the Queen, ruling in her husband absence, would be sitting on the throne, at least for the first minutes. He was planning to then move his guest to the table and continue the talk from there.

He watched as his niece entered the chamber, followed closely by her younger sister, Elaena. A few years ago, some jester referred to his littlest niece as the 'skinny little thing'. As much as it was cruel, there have been some truth to that. The youngest child of Aegon III possessed less beauty than both her elder sisters when they were of her age, and was indeed thin and small. Closing to her tenth birthday, she looked at least a year or two younger. Some traits, though, were there. As her adolescence age was getting closer, she finally started to catch up a bit in height, her face was generally pretty and of course, she had that unique blonde strand of hair atop her pale silver ones. Hopefully, in a few years, all that will emerge into something eye-catching. She will need that as a third daughter. However, what Elaena lacked in appearance, she more than countered in mind. Viserys struggled to remember a child other than her who was able to memorise so much in such a young age. He and Aegon once taught her how to play the Dragonlords and now, the Hand found it very hard to beat her. And he was the master of that game at the time. She had her atlas of the Houses's sigils of all Westeros and already knew most of them by heart. Moreover, she was more than capable of counting the large sums even now, as Lord Arryn sometimes took her with him in his coin studies.

The girl gave her sister a hug, waved to Viserys and left the throne chamber. They were on their own now.

- If Merredo is indeed a womaniser, he stands no chance, my dear niece. - he japed - Even I would have troubles in is place.

He was joking, but that joke wasn't far from truth. Even as Queen, Daena paid little attention to her appearance, doing the bare minimum that was expected of her in that regard. The reason she was getting away with that was just the fact how naturally beautiful she was. It was somewhat similar to what her father was doing, but his reasons couldn't have been more different. With Aegon and Daenaera as parents… Their kids had some of the finest Valyrian features, even Elaena. And when someone actually put some work into that base, as today was the case with Daena, the results were breathtaking.

His niece had her hair, usually streaming loose, done into the latest fashion trends, with some gathered at the back of the head and different parts, located close to the ears, lighlty twisted. The girl put on more makeup than she usually did, although nothing spectacular which would be so typical to the Free Cities. She had chosen the red dress with some black paintings, revealing much about her, yet nothing in the same time. A sensible choice it was. Anything bolder would be seen as scandalous, but this was... Just enough to get an effect. Her eyes were looking at him with some joy, which made him feeling unease. "Aegon had the same shade in them. A shame that he almost never smiled, not even speaking about laughter".

- If I got a slightest reaction from you, uncle, that means we did a good job. Really, you're like a rock in case of showing any emotions! - Daena smirked.

- We? - Who was behind that?

- Well, me, Elaena, one of my handmaidens and Lady Stauton, if you can believe it.

First three were understandable, but... Lady Stauton rarely did anything below drinking the tea and gossiping with her fellow noblewomen. Her husband, ser Olyver, went South with Daeron, representing the House in the name of the Lord, too old to move from the Rook's Rest. That left her waiting here. A Master of Whisperers would be better in getting to know that, but Viserys possesed the information that she and her goodfather weren't on good terms, or rather any terms to be honest. Maybe that's why she tried to get into the Queen's favour so much.

- That is not important for now - the youngest son of Rhaenyra decided to abandon the thought - Our guest will be here in no time.

Just as he finished speaking, the herold proclaimed:

- Master Roberto, from House Merredo of Braavos, Governor of the Sea Master's Registral Office, envoy in service of the Sea Lord, Ferrego Bruqqo! "Of course, the man has some titles. Not that I care about these".

As the Braavosi entered, Viserys dismissed all the servants from the chamber and the game had begun.

- We are greatly honoured to receive such as important guest in our capital. Lord Merredo, take a seat if you wish - he stated, trying to push the envoy into a decision from the get go.

The noble hesitated. By standing, he'd look like a mere petent, but sitting meant doing something that his adversary, as of course Viserys was this exactly, wanted. He choose neither of these options and responded:

- The honour is mine, Lord Hand. However, I expected that there would be only the two of us. If I knew we'd be dignified with a presence of such a beautiful Lady, I wouldn't have been insisting on our meeting taking place yesterday - he lowered his head - Your Grace, I've hard stories about your look, but they are not even close to the truth in describing you.

- You are too kind, noble emissary - Daena answered to the curtesies, thankfully not rolling her eyes upon hearing that - however, I must ask you, who told you that stories? I'm the Queen for such a short time. Surely too short to spread anything to the other side of the Narrow Sea!

"That's good, girl. Don't give him what he wants that fast. Make him thinking about the answers he should be giving and not about what he has to say", Viserys thought.

- This is true, Your Grace - he admitted - I must say however, any news is quick to being received by my principal, a matters of state and a matters of pleasure both. The first had brought me here, the second had me looking forward to fulfilling my duty. Now, I shall make use of Lord Hand's advice and take my place.

He sat close to the table and so did both Viserys and Daena. Technically, the Queen had her rights to remain on the throne, but getting closer to the Braavosi seemed like a better idea at that point. Viserys ordered their cups to be filled with Arbor Gold and started the true negotiations:

- Tell me, noble envoy. What is the reason of your arrival? I must say we weren't expecting it so soon. The Iron Throne - or rather, Viserys himself - Signed the treaty of trade between us with one of your compatriots only two years prior. Is there something that you wish to rediscuss about it?

Merredo's smile remained, but his eyes darkened a bit. Clearly he wasn't the biggest fan of the deal at the first place.

- The treaty is alive and well respected by the Sea Lord. We are content with its current form. It is the different matter that had brought me here - he answered after a while.

His eyes were already fleeing from Viserys's face. Into Daena, who positioned herself in a way that exposed her cleavage a bit more. On that regard, the gown certainly was helping. And doing its job of keeping their guest distracted. She didn't even do anything truly seductive and his eyes were already wandering. Viserys, not wasting the time, asked again, then:

- Is it the Stepstones Pirates, then? I heard they have grown rather stubborn lately - that wasn't the case since Raccalio Ryndoon perished many years ago, but the Hand had to keep the man occupied.

- Hmm? No, my Lord, it's not that, either - he said, not exactly focused on the question - I'm here to discuss your recent hiring of a free company.

"He disclosed himself faster than I thought".

- It is… rather unusual for one state to care about the mercenaries of the other if they are not in war. We have no intention of threatening you, my noble guest, let me assure you. Is that what you're worried about?

- That wouldn't be the case since we had an agreement with the Stormbreakers, forbidding them from taking a contract that goes against us - Merredo proclaimed.

- What's the problem, then? It's always better to have more swords than less in these times, right? We're not throwing them against Braavos, after all - it was Daena's turn to speak.

Merredo had some troubles to concentrate on her face. He was getting visibly impatient.

- Your Grace, I didn't exclaimed it properly. It forbids Oscar Tully to go against the Braavos's interests. Your attack on Dorne is against our interest!

Viserys countered, catching the envoy by surprise:

- I can't see how that is. I get that you're trading with the Prince, but you also do it with us and, if my guess is correct, you'd gain more profit if Dorne was an integral part of the Seven Kingdoms.

- That's not the point, my Lord... - Merredo tried to speak, but Rhaenyra's son didn't allow him:

- Besides, did anyone see the Stormbreakers on the Dornish coastline? It's hard to accuse them of going against the interests of Braavos if they're not even there - ser Oscar and his men were closing into Planky Town at that point, but the emissary couldn't have known that and Viserys took advantage of the fact - You have to present us more, dear envoy. Right now you're accusing the Iron Throne of something that not only is not happening, but also lies on a basis so weak that a scribe of an average talent would be able to dismiss.

His adversary's face got redder:

- You're accusing the Sea Lord of lying! This cannot stand!

Daena took a sip from her chalice and answered the Braavosi:

- What my dear Lord Hand pointed out, noble guest, is that your principal may have send you here basing on the informations that weren't rightfully checked? - she gave him her most convincing smile - I'm sure the Sea Lord didn't mean to act against our Kingdom, that would be crazy to even think about it.

Merredo calmed himself a bit after that quote.

- My apologies, Your Grace, Lord Hand. I've allowed my emotions to speak. I am afraid that I just was given instructions to protect the Sea Lord's interests - "Gods, does he have different line to use?" - He wants no bad blood between our states, but his questions need to be answered.

- And we just did that - Viserys decided to enter again, seeing Daena's smile starting to drop - We hired a company of the sellswords and we're using them as we see fit. It does not go against Braavos, so I can't see where the problem lies.

- I see. I think it's all that I had to say - Merredo abandoned the curtesies this time, understanding that he won't be able do much more on this occasion - Do I have a permission to make my leave?

- Yes, you have - Daena did the honour - I expect you to give our answer to the Sea Lord quickly. Let him not wait for long.

The envoy bowed stiffly and left the room. Viserys allowed himself to sigh.

- Gods, what a lusty pig that man was. I didn't even had to try and all he did was gazing at my breast - Daena said with some disgust.

- I promise you, whoever comes next, it won't be needed, dear niece - he smiled lighlty at her.

- I'm glad to hear that. My husband is allowed to gaze at my... traits. Some Braavosi fool is not - she laughed briefly, before turning more serious - But do you think they'll send another?

Viserys nodded.

- It's more than certain. We can't keep the mystery of where the Stormbreakers are for much longer. It seems like ser Oscar brought on our heads something that we weren't expecting. The next one won't fall for some bared skin or my abilities of getting feeble-minded people angered, as was the case with that idiot. We need a better tactic here.

Looking at Daena's determined dark eyes, he realised that the girl was adapting to the challenges of being the Queen. He'd need all the allies he could have and looked like he had just received another one. "Daeron", he thought, wondering about whether the Young King could be "Don't you dare dying there. The combination of both of you might be exactly what this Realm desperately lacked since Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen closed their eyes for the final time. An actual ruling pair, not the Hand trying to keep everything in check as it was for the last sixty years."

Chapter Text

As Daeron suspected, the New Year had found him on the road with his army. They were approaching the end of the east side of the Dornish Mountains and their presence was already spotted, so the King and his bannermen decided to abandon the sneaky approach at last and choose the main road.

It was not long ago when the Manwoodies pledged their loyalty. The big battle wasn't needed, as Lord Manwoody capitulated when fireballs started falling upon his walls with no signs of help from elsewhere. The attack turned out be a total shock as Daeron's rangers, mostly Dondarrions, managed to get rid of the Dornish spotters and basically turn the Kingsgrave blind. Now, with some garrison staying there to make sure all was under control, they had to prepare for the next, bigger obstacle. Possibly the biggest of this part of the war.

The Yronwoods. Long time Martells's rivals and now their main bannermen, possessing a large army and a good for defence, hilly terrain. Moreover, they had a river on the path of the King's army. Daeron, like Lords Olyver Baratheon and Ronnal Connington, suspected that if the Yronwoods would leave their castle, they will gather on the shore of that river. It was a logical step, as their forces, although big, were still considerably smaller than the Royal Army. "It would be stupid for Lord Gerris to let ourselves circle him on the open field. He has to come to us there."

From what Daeron knew, the war went well. Lord Oakenfist and the Stormbreakers brought fire into Planky Town and sailed up the Greenblood, waiting for the next challenge, coming from either the Vaiths or the Allyrions. The Lord Admiral had more than enough troops to stop that attack. In the same time, Lord Tyrell and the Reach Army managed to capture Blackmont and brought Starfall to their cause, mostly thanks to cousin Aemon's heroics. Daeron was smiling for the rest of the day when he first heard about the duel that the Dragonknight emerged victorious from. Their next logical step was the Sandstone, the home of House Qorgyle. That part of Dorne was especially warm and dry and the people there… The King hoped his cousin would stay safe and the army prevails with no major loses.

His contemplations were halted shortly after, as his other cousin, Aegon, entered his tent. He looked like he just came back from a quick ride.

- Daeron - he greeted his King. Neither him nor Daeron cared about the "Your Grace" part between them, especially if there were only the two of them - I've just came back from the reconnaissance. We about to reach the river in two hours and, as you suspected, they are waiting there.

- Perfect. We'd have to summon the Lords for the council. I want you there by my side.

Aegon gazed up for a moment:

- You look like you did when your plan was to kick me in the ankle when I hadn't look when we were younger. What is it that my little cousin is up to, now?

Daeron laughed.

- You'll see it when the rest gathers. Besides, I'm an inch taller than you now, cousin, so the 'little' part is mostly outdated.

- Half of that at best you cracker, at least if we do not count your growing ego - Aegon conutered, earning a smirk from Daeron, who proclaimed:

- If we take that into consideration, my man, you're greatly above even ser Robin Darklyn - the commander of the Kingsguard was huge and his height sometimes was the subject of jokes.

Aegon grunted, but there was a laughter in his face.

- See you in one hour, then. Probably that would be enough of the time to bring Lord Wylde from the whores and ser Rosby out of the ale mug - Daeron finished. He started to think how he should lead this meeting.
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Two hours later, the young King emerged from his tent and took a good look on the Yronwoods forces on the other shore. The reports weren't lying. The currency was rather slow and the river itself was fairly shallow. Honestly, it was rather unfortunate, as he was sure that their foes threw many obstacles into the river bottom in purpose of making the crossing even harder. The spearmen were waiting on the front, the cavalry on the rear and the archers between them. What they were lacking however, was the horse skirmishers and that Daeron planned to use to his advantage.

The council was surprisingly quick. Lord Baratheon, along with Aegon and most of the Stormlander bannerlords and some of the Crownlanders, suggested attacking offhand, when the enemy is not best prepared and has the sun in front of them. This time however, Lord Ronnel Connington, experienced warrior of the Griffin's Roost, likewise Lord Commander Darklyn and Lord Mooton of Maidenpool, opposed, claiming that a more serious preparations are needed. The plan that Daeron had in his head didn't involve much waiting, though. After he explained it, most of the lords and knights present in the tent agreed to it. "Besides, Baratheon was right. They don't expect an attack from the get go".

The first step was to send the skirmishers up the river to find another ford, which, according to Marq's riders, was lying close nearby. His friend volunteered for the mission and Daeron gave him his permission, but just in case, he sent with him ser Rickard Morrigen, the wise, but fierce man who came close to winning the Jousting Tourney five years ago. Their role was to get close to the Yronwood camp and ravage their morale, avoiding the big fight, but wounding the lightly armoured parts of the army. And in short time, it looked like they had started to do just that.

Now, it was time for the second part of the plan. The one he was the least sure about. The archers under the command of Lord Connington came closer to the shore and started firing at the Dornish spearmen, managing to cause some panic, but not as much as Daeron hoped for. The enemies started answering with their own arrows, but Connington's men were decently protected. Then, after a few salvos, they suddenly retreated to the sides, giving the place for the infantry, commanded by Lord Olyver, who stood tall in his heavy armor, wielding the battle axe. He and his forces started crossing the river. The water was pretty shallow, but it was slow nonetheless due to the wide size of it. The enemy archers were doing their job as well as Daeron's own, changing the target and slowly depleting the Stormlanders. However, at the same time they were forced to leave their adversaries with range weapons alone. That meant Daeron's archers were free to aim and the Dornish spearmen were dying as well. When the two infantries finally met, the real fight began.

- Your Grace - ser Darklyn spoke up after a few seconds - they may not be able to push the spearmen back. We're losing them too fast.

- Give them a moment. I don't want the Stormlanders to crush them, I want them to tie the spearmen up - he answered, waiting.

The King decided that he'll command the heavy cavalry. The most important part of his plan, yet the one that has to be deployed with the most caution. He already spotted the hole they could have gone through, but he needed it to be at least slightly bigger. Then he spotted his chance. His horse skirmishers, before once more being driven away by the Yronwoods, managed to get closer and threw some javelins into the enemy's front line. The brief moment of hesitation followed and Lord Olyver, still alive, ordered his men to push even harder. The Yronwoods ducked back, only a step our two, but it was enough.

Daeron drew out Blackfyre, raised it above him and shouted:

- Knights of Westeros! Today is our day! Follow me, now!

The roar of his men followed and the cavalry departed in the direction of the river. A few horses had fallen, due to the unpleasant surprises left by the enemy in the bottom of the river, but most of them managed to cross it. They were now to the right of the camp.

- We have to find the enemy knights before we can aid Lord Baratheon - Daeron told his companions, already feeling the chills of upcoming battle.

Aegon, riding beside him, pointed out:

- That's gonna be easy. Here they come! - Indeed, from the Yronwood camp emerged a bunch of fully armored men on the warhorses, going slowly, yet getting up to speed gradually. They had no space for a proper charge, but the King knew that his men must press on and narrow that path even more. At the head of them, he spotted a knight holding the Yronwood sigil, the black grating in chains on the golden background. It couldn't be Lord Gerris himself, as the old man was said to be bigger even than ser Darklyn, towering ahead of anybody else. That man was tall, but not that enormous. It could have been ser Andros, the Heir of the House. "A fine swordsman, but beatable" the King thought.

- Then we'll answer! Let them taste what the Westerosi knights are made of! - Daeron shouted and ordered his unit to charge at the enemy.

- You know, if you let them kill you, your wife is gonna rip my balls off! - he heard a shout coming from his cousin, galloping right next to him. To the left was ser Aliser Estenson, one of the Whitecloacks. As the two cavalry groups clashed, Daeron instantly aimed for ser Andros. Blackfyre closed the distance quickly and rammed into the enemy's shield, but the Dornishman managed to keep his seat. His own blade went into the son of Aegon III's shield, but not made much effect either. Daeron barely felt that. He wanted to immediately respond, but ahead of him, another knight emerged, this one with a battle lance, shorter, yet much tougher than the one that was usually used for jousting. He raised his weapon, aiming for the King's head.

He underestimated the fast pace of both Daeron's stallion and Blackfyre. The young King was able to dodge the attack, close the range and make a hit. The Valyrian sword went into his guts, tearing through the armor. The man had fallen from the horse. Another rider, possibly a squire since he wore a lighter armor, tried to surprise Daeron with a quick strike to his right, but the Targaryen parried the attempt and thrusted the blade forward, getting through the chainmail with unnatural ease, typical for the ancient swords from the Freehold. The thrill was already overcoming him like it would do to a madman. There was no time to celebrate, though, as Daeron had to block a hit from his left. It looked like Andros Yronwood found him first, seemingly with the same idea around his mind - to kill the army's commander. "Well, then", the Young Dragon thought, turning his horse around "Let's dance".

They clashed again, this time sword against the sword, as both aimed for the right hand of the enemy. Another twist, this time lower, on the leg, was initiated by the Yronwood knight, but his hit lacked the power to do much damage. Daeron felt that, but again, with not much pain. He responded with a strong swing on his own, but his foe did well enough to take that on his shield. "He's really quick, but tends to leave the sword low". He had to use that knowledge. Luckily, no one interfered in this duel as they approached each other again. This time however, Daeron faked going lower and then quickly raised his blade with a thrust aimed for the throat. The speed of the Blackfyre took ser Yronwood by surprise, as he probably didn't have to deal with Valyrian steel before, and he raised his sword a fraction too late. It was enough. Daeron's hit pierced right through the weaker part of the knight's armor and took his life with no hesitation. Ser Andros grunted and fell onto the ground.

The death of the commander of the cavalry was a turning point in their melee. Some of their foes started running away and the other were an easy prey for the blood thirsted, angered warriors of the King. They quickly made work of them, with him having his own share of victims as well. Daeron felt a hand on his shoulder - Aegon came back to him after a while of fighting on his own. His elder cousin was soaked in blood, but most of it probably wasn't his.

- We managed to break the enemy cavalry, cousin! - Aegon reported the obvious - What a ride it's been!

Daeron returned the smile, also feeling the battle ecstasy. "This is better than coupling!", he realised with some chuckle.

- Gather the men. We have the spearmen to slam into - he didn't let the emotions got better of him.

Again, he took his place at the head of the forces. They've lost some men and a few others were still chasing their enemies, but it should be enough to charge through the poorly armored infantry from behind. He gave an order to advance in the direction of the Dornish camp, where the battle was still happening.

The spearmen had no chance when the knights were finally spotted. Stuck between the heavy cavalry in their back and the pressing infantry of Lord Baratheon in front of them, the outcome could be only one. A massacre. Daeron spent the next minutes thrusting, swinging, slashing or piercing the Dornishmen. Nearly every hit was mortal. His troops, blocked in the river, managed to finally emerge on a shore and catch the remaining Yronwood forces in an deadly encirclement. Yet, little of them fought about surrender and a lot of blood was needed before the final few hundred finally yielded. Some Lords, as well as his cousin, advocated on hanging them all for the effect, but Daeron didn't allow that. He wished to rule here, not burn the land into ashes.
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In the evening, Olyver Baratheon and Ronnel Connington reported him about the casualties. They were significant, but not paralyzing by any means and since someone had to take care of the captured Yronwoods, Daeron decided to open a small camp near the river and fortify it in case anyone would try to recapture the hostages.

- And Lord Yronwood? - he asked, hoping that his Lords will give him some answers about the man

- Looks like he stayed in his castle, Your Grace. You managed to slain his Heir and the highest ranking noble we were able to identify is his master-at-arms, likewise dead as well. Taking his castle wouldn't be a problem now - Baratheon proclaimed. Connington, however, wasn't so certain:

- He might get some aid from the Tolands and Jordaynes. We need to send rangers before we act more aggressively.

That awoken something in the young King. If they were able to trick the Manwoodies, the Wyls and the Blackmonts in the mountains, maybe a similar maneuver was possible here?

- Do we have enough forces to lay a siege on the Yronwoods, keep them there and march East further?

That question surprised both the nobles. Lord Connington slowly nodded:

- If our estimations are true, yes. But we'll have to meet the army from The Tor at some point.

- Not exactly - was his response - Let the men enjoy the victory for today. They earned it. At dawn, we're going to march into the direction of the Scourge River.

His two lords understood the plan and grimed back at him.

- We're gonna catch the Martells with their pants down if this'd work, Your Grace - Lord Olyver promised with a sly look.

Chapter Text

The Reach Army finally found itself in more even terrain after marching for so long in the mountains. With their rears covered by the Daynes, who were honouring the vow pledged after the duel between Prince Aemon Targaryen and ser Trystayne Dayne, it should be easier now, as none of the Houses nearby were nearly as powerful as the Starfall hosts. However, after some days of march Aemon and the Reachmen found themselves again beneath the walls of the hostile fortress, again with no clear idea what to do next.

- Tyrell is a fool, My Prince - Lord Samwyle Tarly spatted on the ground - I should not be saying it like that, as he is my Senior, but his hesitation will get us all killed at this rate.

It was a mild exaggeration, Aemon felt, but there was some truth in that. The Sandstone of House Qorgyle, while definitely not a small castle, wasn't as well fortified nor well protected as was their previous obstacle. The three black scorpions were flying on the top of their main tower, yet it would fall if Lord Lyonel ordered an attack on the walls. However, neither him nor his namesake, Lord Hightower, argued in favour of that. Lord Tarly continued his rant, probably taking the prince's silence for agreement:

- My riders managed to spot the Uller's forces coming for aid of their neighbours. The two most treacherous adversaries in these cursed sands. Having to deal with them combined is not a pleasant task.

- Do they have enough strength to seriously threaten an open battle? - Aemon asked. As far as he knew, they still outnumbered both of the Houses more than two to one, even with some forces that they had to left on the mountains to guard what they've already conquered earlier.

- It is highly unlikely, but they are masters of the guerilla tactic. There is little honour in that, but these scums know the surface well and are not shy from starving their own peasants if it may hurt us, too. However, my men are reporting that the Ullers are still coming towards here. I really wish to be sitting on the Qorgyle's corpses when we'll meet them.

Aemon agreed:

- I wouldn't say it like that, but all this seems… Odd. They can make our lives harder, but not completely shoo us away from the siege. What are they planning to achieve by a frontal attack?

- Trust me, lad, if I knew it, you'd be the first to get an answer. They are onto something and it annoys me that this damn Hightower refuses to share what his riders spotted on the North - it might have even been the truth, as he and the Lord got closer over the march, to a degree when Aemon sometimes was riding with the Tarly's rangers, including some of the Lord's relatives - All I can do is to warn our right flank from possible attack. Luckily, Lady Myrielle and ser Franklyn aren't as gullible as our dear Supreme Commander.

- Take some rest then, Lord Samwyle - the Dragonknight told him - You can't do more than that and worrying about it'd do us more harm than good.

The Lord answered:

- You're probably right, but I have bad feelings about it. Your advice goes for you as well, My Prince.

Aemon didn't oppose. He was tired as well. He found his tent and lied on the bed, or rather the mat with a blanket. The sleep, however, didn't want to come to him. He thought about Naerys, his sister and wife and Daenerys, their daughter. How they have fared without him? The little girl spent all her foregoing life with both her parents with her. He hoped she will remember him when he'll come back. And Naerys, his love... Aemon terribly missed her. Both in spirit and presence. They rarely got… frisky in the last years. The labour of Daenerys turned out to be really difficult for his wife. Luckily, the girl showed up healthy and Naerys managed to recover, but the Grand Maester highly opposed another baby in the short future. So, they waited. For Aemon, it usually was enough, as he didn't have his brother's lust or not even his royal cousin's. But lying here, he discovered that he was missing her touch, so gentle, yet so decisive on these rare moments they shared a bed. Naerys wasn't lacking any fire. She just didn't show it on many occasions.

However, Aemon also thought about his father, cousins and brother as well. With all of them, maybe except Daeron, he had a complicated relationship, but they were his kin nonetheless. In these times, he just wished all of them were safe. Or maybe as safe as one could be at war. Thinking about the people close to him, the sleep finally started to get to him. He rarely remembered his dreams, so it would be no surprise if he gets up with a clear head tomorrow.
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That thought didn't materialise, as he was awoken by the roars of the warhorns. That was unusual. Did the Qorgyles decided to make a night sally? His confusion was erased when one of Lord Tarly's men stormed into his tent.

- My Prince - he gasped, exhausted - Lord Samwyle urges you to join him. It's a matter of the greatest importance!

- Let me take a sword first - Aemon answered upon raising up, took Dark Sister and emerged from the tent behind the man. He was already sleeping in his daily clothes, in case something like this ever happened. He thanked the Sevens for that.

Samwyle Tarly was raging when they reached him.

- Idiots, all of them! - he screamed, about to lose himself completely.

Aemon tried to get some knowledge on the situation, first:

- What is happening, Lord Tarly? Are the Qorgyles attacking?

The answer, however, nearly knocked him down:

- Them, the Ullers from the East and the Fowlers from the North. That was what they were planning to do! And that Hightower fool didn't think it was suspicious when his men found the Skyreach nearly empty! We have no time, Prince. Ser Franklyn is holding his own against the Hellholt fuckers, but we have to get to our left part of the camp. Rowan and Fossoway are half asleep and if we do not act quickly, there will be nothing to save from the Fowler forces.

- Let's go, then - Aemon wasn't dressed in armor, but neither was lord Tarly and his men. There was no time and in that darkness, the element of surprise was more important than protection. He ordered his squire, wandering nearby, to prepare his mount as, with pleasure, found out that the boy have already done that. He then joined the ranks of Lord Samwyle.

As they approached the side of the camp where the most brutal fights was taking place, Aemon quickly realised that the situation was near to grave. Ser Manfryd Rowan was able to gather some men and they were currently holding their ground on the hill, but they were severely outnumbered. The Fossoways's tents were a complete mess, though, with men from both sides screaming, fighting and dying in the dark.

- Where are we going? - the voice of one of the men emerged.

- Where we are needed the most, soldier - Tarly answered, but Aemon pointed out:

- That means everywhere, my Lord.

Lord Samwyle grunted:

- We have to get to ser Rowan first. He is competent enough to make anything of that mess, if he won't be stabbed in the chaos.

So, they charged into the Fowlers circling the Rowans's soldiers. The darkness, which helped the Dornishmen at first, was their main problem now. When the first of them started to turn around, Aemon and the Tarlys were too close to them to even prepare a solid line of spears for defense. They hammered into the Dornish forces with such speed that a big part of their foes were already taken out after a few seconds, since most of them lacked a proper armor to get the better stealth capabilities. The riders made them pay dearly for that. When ser Rowan realised that the fortune was changing, he ordered his men to counterattack, but the low numbers of them meant that they were unable to get closer to the Tarly's aid.

And when the first shock disappeared, their foes started to make use of their long weapons. Aemon was one of the victims of that, as after slaying a dozen men he felt his horse twitching in pain beneath him. A spear occurred from his side and the Prince realised that he has to jump when the mount started to lose its balance. He accepted what was coming and landed heavily on the ground. Luckily, nothing seemed to be broken, but one look on his horse told him that further service is impossible. Now, the tricky part began, as the Dragonknight had to navigate in an almost complete darkness. He was glad that he brought a helmet, as his silver-gold hair would have been a magnet for enemies.

Even with that, he was in danger. Aemon heard something behind him and he blindly swung his blade in a wild amount to parry the upcoming spear. His intuition had been spot on, which took the attacker by surprise and allowed him to repay the aggressor with a move on his own. He dodged the wooden weapon and pierced Dark Sister into the man's belly. Getting rid of him, the Prince noticed another soldier, unprepared for what he had for him. In two swings, it was done. "Little of pride in that, but at least he was in front of me". He felt some hesitation about killing foes from the rear. That didn't mean everyone was as hesitant, as the nearby Rowan soldier slashed the back of his next adversary. Aemon didn't have time to think about it, as there was another one charging at him.

The next minutes, he transformed into a machine. He didn't think about where to strike, he just was doing that. He didn't feel the joy in fighting. Maybe that's why he'd been so good in it. He lost count how many had fallen the victims to Dark Sister. His trance was broken at last when he saw three Dornishmen fighting with Lord Tarly. The man had became Aemon's friend recently and he wasn't going to let him die.

- Tarly! - he tried to shout, but his voice failed him.

He sprinted towards the Lord, who managed to blow down one of the men, but the other avoided his wild lunge and moved to the right of the Lord. This one was wielding a short sword and he made advantage of that. Before the long Valyrian blade, the Heartsbane, of Lord Samwyle was able to swing in defense, the man thrusted viciously and sank his own blade in his side. The other, wielding a spear, quickly followed and did the same with the Lord's chest. If Samwyle had some armor, maybe he would be able to tank at least one of these hits, but now, without one, he was already dead when his body had fallen into the ground. Aemon roared. He felt the anger raising in him. The legendary Dragon's Wrath he thought he wasn't possessing. He lunged at the swordsman, dispatching his head from his body in one, powerful slash, then turned into the spearmen and landed a few hits on him in such a fast pace that the man was unable to even try to counter. After one of them, the Dark Sister finally managed to reach his body, sending him trembling to the ground. Aemon noticed a few more foes in sight and ran towards them. He didn't know how, but he killed all of them.

- My Prince - he then felt two hands on his arms and slowly started to calm down. It was ser Rowan - My Prince, stop. They are running away.

Indeed, it was the case. Although many men of Houses Rowan and Tarly paid the toughest prize for it, they managed to send the Fowlers fleeing. Many of them were lying liveless as well. The two knights spotted a man, wearing the Hightower's sigil, coming towards them.

- Good news, noble knights. The Ullers are withdrawing and the Qorgyle scum fled to their castle when they noticed they cannot break us. The enemy is in no position to attack now.

Ser Manfryd remained calm, but his voice was as cold as ice:

- And tell me, dear emissary, what are our casualties? Because I've lost many good men here, Samwyle Tarly is dead and Lord Fossoway probably is perishing somewhere in their part of the camp. Tell me, was it worth it?

- Well, the Peakes have lost some men, likewise Lords Tyrell and Hightower, but it's nothing as serious as here.

Aemon had to know:

- Tell me, man. Before we mounted, Lord Tarly told me that your rangers knew about the Fowler army being somewhere in the field, but didn't share that knowledge with our left flank. Is it true?

The silence was as telling as the answer itself could have been, as was the red face of the envoy.

- Go - it was the grunting voice of ser Rowan - before I kill you and your arrogant fool of a Lord.

The envoy didn't need him to repeat. Aemon decided it was time to act before even more goes to the Seven Hells:

- Gather your men, ser. They deserve a good rest.

When the knight made his leave, Aemon noticed the battered remains of the Tarly's riders approaching him. One of them, he was probably the new Lord Tarly, as he was very similar to his father, knelt before the Prince. The lad couldn't have been older than fourteen, yet his voice was steady:

- Prince Aemon. I am Matthos Tarly. My father is dead, which means I'm the next in line in the lordship. However, I lack the experience to lead our forces. So, I hereby ask you: Will you fulfill my father's wish and take command of the Hornhill army?

Aemon didn't expect that.

- Your father's wish?

- Yes - another man, older, spoke - Lord Samwyle decided that in case anything happens to him, our swords should belong to you first. We're still the Tyrell's men, but you will be the commander of our forces. Do you accept that offer?

Aemon knew that he was rather inexperienced in the matter of commanding the force, but he was certain that someone had to do that. And he felt that without him, these men would die. Without a voice in the council, the most dangerous task would be applied for them constantly.

- I agree - he proclaimed - But now, you should rest. It has been a long night for us all.

He had a full House underneath him now. He was determined to not fail the late Samwyle Tarly's faith in him.

Chapter Text

Over the last weeks, ser Oscar Tully came into a conclusion that he hates rivers. It was a weird take for a man from the Riverlands and even weirder from the son of the Tullys, so associated with water and rivers since childhood. Yet, it was true. And there was no other river that pissed him off as much as that damned Greenblood. Near the Planky Town, it was deep and broad, allowing them to move safe and steady. but as they sailed up the river, it quickly started to both narrowing and getting more shallow. Oscar knew what that meant and, judging from the look on Alyn Velaryon's face when they spoke, the Lord of the Tides also was less than pleased.

As was the case with their men. He heard the curses of both his mercenaries and Velaryons as they had to hoist up the ships on the more upland parts of the river. Luckily, those hills were short, for now. The narrow path ahead of them, though, was a much bigger issue. Not only it made sailing significantly slower in the time when the speed was vital to succeed, but it also left them more exposed to any attacks from their enemies. Of course, they didn't have the fleet themselves, but the skirmishers already were an annoying part of the journey. And it fell upon his sellswords's shoulders to drive them off.

Oscar found himself in many of those fights, just to leave the swaying deck for a while. As he managed to establish, these men were the surviving defenders from Planky Town and the crew of the Lemonwood, small fortress South of it. Nothing serious, but they could not let them follow the ships without acting. Today, he wasn't a part of any of the patrols and hoped to gather his officers to discuss the supply lines, as well as speak to Lord Velaryon about the ongoing course they aimed for. They were approaching the place when one river becomes two - The Scourge to the North and the Vaith to the South. Of course, there was one, big obstacle - Godsgrace and House Allyrion, guarding the fork.

He tried to think the bigger picture. As far as he knew, King Daeron managed to defeat the Yronwoods, left a siege underneath their castle and moved on. Oscar suspected the next step would be Houses Jordayne and Tolland. Sensible, but unhelpful as the fleet was concerned. Little help was to be expected from the Reachmen, either. They finally were able to snatch the Sandstone, as House Qorgyle's allies failed, but they've lost many soldiers and still had both Hellholt and the dessert in front of them. No help from that front, either.

- Looks like we're on our own - he said to himself. He was rather used to these kind of situations, but it was uncomfortable. Allyrions alone weren't that big of a treat, but there was the looming danger of the other Houses coming from the South. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of his cabin. When he opened, he found ser Jon of White Harbour on the outside. The knight became the commander of his rangers and Oscar knew he wouldn't disturb his rest if the news weren't urgent.

- Speak - he ordered his captain, full of concern.

- We have spotted the Allyrions marching towards us, Lord Commander - ser Jon was rather amused by the prospect of battle - They've just marched from their castle and will be here in a few hours.

As always, this man just wasn't able to say it properly.

- A few? Concretes, man! Give me the number, for Gods sake!

Ser Jon hesitated:

- I think we have four, maybe five hours, ser. My men weren't sure.

Oscar grunted. Why moving now? Lady Allyrion up to this point showed no signs of serious resistance, not even cavalry patrols. Yet, her soldiers were marching towards them. "It's surely some kind of a trap if I've ever seen one". He ordered:

- Send our riders South. If one House finally moved, the other may have followed.

- I think it's overly cautious, my Commander, but I'll do as you say - ser Jon doubted the threat, reckless as always.

He left the cabin and so did Oscar. It was time to speak with the Seahorse Lord.
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The sun started to hide beneath the small hills near the Greenblood when the Allyrion forces emerged. They were mostly mounted, a few thousands of them. A force to be reckon with, but Oscar took faith in his wall of shields. The plan was simple. His mercenaries had to held their own on the shore against the cavalry charge, while lord Alyn's sailors and warriors were prepared with bows, crossbows and javelins to thin their enemies's units as much as possible. Then, their job was to disembark and outflank the stuck knights, closing them in one, big circle. A good plan, Oscar thought, seeing the sailors making the best use of the ranged weapons. A significant amount of charging knights were either slowed or knocked down, so his first line was able to held their ground. They were no pikemen, but their big shields, heavy armor and experience allowed them to tie up the Allyrions in a close melee. That part went well. He remained on the ship this time with a few of his Stormbreakers as reserve in case those fighting under ser Lucas Vypren on the land would need help.

Everything was according to plan, but when he heard screams from the other side of the river, he instantly knew that the Gods had just pissed at their forces. He and Lord Alyn quickly turned there. One of the rangers, seriously wounded and exhausted, shouted to them:

- Enemy at our rear! They will be here in no time!

When he finished speaking, the Dornishmen, indeed, showed up. Another few thousands, probably less than what the Allyrions had, but they were mostly an infantry. And, what Oscar understood in this moment, the Westerosi fleet had no men on this side of the river.

- That was their fucking trap! - Alyn shouted - That's why that bitch had waited so long!

- Aye - the commander of the mercenaries confirmed with a grim tone - We were so focused on the northern side of the river than we failed to notice the Vaiths closing to us! - "Jon, you're a dead man if you survive the battle."

To Lord Velaryon's credit, he didn't lose his head in this heated moment. He ordered his heavier armored ships to start positioning themselves to make the boarding from land trickier, as well as moved some of his archers and crossbowmen to the South.

- Can your reserve slow them down? - he asked. Gods, that man had no clue about fighting on land, didn't he?

- Merely a seven hundreds? - Oscar replied - No chance. I would get themselves killed and those snakes still would get on our ships. We have to wait for them to come here.

Velaryon looked less than pleased upon hearing that, but he nodded:

- So be it. I'll send some of my sailors to aid your sellswords. Our plan has gone to shit anyway.

He was right. Without the aid, the Stormbreakers fighting with the Allyrions were vulnerable for heavy casualties. He couldn't allow that, but there was little he could do to prevent it. Oscar took the sword in hand and waited for the Vaiths to come. He didn't have to wait long, as the front wave of the yellow-wearing spearmen started attacking their fleet. Many were killed or knocked to the water, but even more managed to climb. Likewise on the ship he had his seat on. "Time for the bloody work, then", he thought, parring the first attempt from the enemy. Fighting on a deck was difficult, as he had to manage both his and the ship's moves. Luckily, his foes clearly had no practice in that, either. The Velaryons, however… It was a different story. Little of them could be called a fine fighters, but in these conditions, the Vaiths had no chance. Oscar killed only two men before he noticed that he didn't have any more enemies to fight, as most were lying dead or wounded with minimal losses on their sides.

He allowed himself to look on the shore, where the battle was taking place. "Fuck, it's not looking good". Even with some aid from the Velaryons, their men started to give back the field. Many Allyrions died, but they were pressing on without fear, and the land behind the Stormbreakers had shrunk significantly. Sending more men there was essential, but that would have left them exposed to the Vaiths from the South. He started to feel a bit desperate, like many years ago in Tumbleton. He didn't know why his mind brought back this exactly, but the feeling was the same. The unease and the dependability, then of dragons, now of the courage of his men, fighting and dying with their commander unable to help them.

Then, he heard something in the West, distant at first. It happened again and this time, Oscar knew exactly what it was. The battle cry of the horn.

- More enemies? - Corlys, son of Lord Alyn, asked with resignation. His father however, grinned like a madman.

- That is a signal of the Royal forces! - he shouted - It's Daeron!

"Here? That doesn't make any sense. He should have been marching on the Tor at that point!"

Yet, ser Oscar decided to not think about it. The King or not the King, their enemies were still charging at them. He raised his sword again to fight with another wave of the Dornishmen climbing on the ships. They may have been saved, but there were still many foes to kill if he wished to survive the battle.

Chapter Text

- Out of all your plans, cousin, this one is definitely the most mental - Aegon told his King when he was preparing for the ride ahead of him.

Daeron only chuckled:

- If it wasn't mad, you wouldn't have helped me forcing it on a council at the first place, did you?

- You're the King, man. Forcing things is precisely what kings do.

- Yet, I'd prefer not going against all my vassals. Ask Maegor the Cruel's dusts how it ended with him - Daeron's sarcastic abilities had grown significantly over the years. "Probably I am somewhat behind that", the son of Viserys realised with amusement.

When he first heard about the idea of cutting back to the centre of Dorne to march straight at Sunspear, he was shocked, to say the least. They captured the Kingsgrave and House Wyl had finally surrendered, yes, however the Yronwoods were defeated, but not beaten and there was a danger of their army getting outflanked by the Jordaynes and the Tollands from the North-East part of the Broken Arm. The longer he thought about it, though, the better sounded the plan in his head. After all, wasting even more men in the East would made the upcoming battle with the Prince of Dorne himself risky. Connecting with the fleet and the mercenaries was a sensible choice. Not to mention the absolute terror that they are going to cause when the Martells understand that after Godsgrace, they are their next target. That's why his cousin's concept finally prevailed over the more classic approach. "Not the first time, eh? It seems that the lad took his lessons seriously."

They had to march fast and, to Aegon's relief, it was what they did. Some of the men, under the command of ser Morrigen, started the siege of Yronwood, shooting all the ravens that the old Lord Gerris tried to send in order to warn his allies about the King's forces and the change of their direction. No one tried to stop them on the road, however and after some days of march, they have reached the Scourge, the right creek of the Greenblood. Still, seemingly, unnoticed. It went well. Too, well, probably, and that's why Aegon was summoned to the King's tent yesterday.

- Cousin - the King started, not entering the usual game of japes between them - The lack of the enemies is… Disturbing. I fear the Houses nearby might have went after our fleet, which is going up the Greenblood at that point.

- Do you think that's why we are going through the land without fighting? - Aegon felt that way as well.

Daeron frowned:

- I can't know that for sure, but that is what I'd done in their place. Lord Connington agrees with me and as the grumpy old man he is, his advises are usually wise enough to take that into consideration.

That sounded fair. However, Aegon wasn't prepared for what came next by any means:

- Aegon, I want you to take our cavalry forces and find our fleet. They'll need backup if what I fear is the case.

"Wait, did he mean commanding the unit?"

- You can't be serious… - he started.

- Yes, I can - came the answer from the King - I need the Dondarrions here, as the rangers. I cannot send Connington or Baratheon, they are commanding the infantry. And you gained experience on the road. I can't think of a better candidate for this position.

Aegon opposed, but not so violently. The thought of him commanding was appealing, he had to admit. So, now he found himself standing in front of his cousin, alongside three thousands of men, prepared to ride day and night to find the Velaryon ships. He'd already felt the upcoming corns on his arse, but he didn't care. If that was his task, he will do it. For Daeron.

The King gave them his last, final blessing:

- Ride fast, fight well and don't get yourselves into any ambushes. Our fleet depends on you.

Aegon saluted the King to say goodbye and ordered the men to hop on their horses. Then, they left the camp in a slow pace, gaining the speed over time.
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The journey, again, was surprisingly peaceful. Aegon remembered about sending patrols as they were getting closeer to the Vaith River, the second creek of the Greenblood. On the crossing they were dangerously close to the Red Dunes, castle of the Vaiths, but still, no one attacked them. "This is becoming ridiculous. We are in the middle of the hostile lands and there are no enemies, rangers, guerillas, nothing". He ordered some men to ride to the nearby castle, maybe they will extract something. They should be back now.

Sure enough, he noticed some riders coming from the South. When they approached closer, he discovered the rangers that were sent to find what was going on in the Red Dunes. He gave them a minute or two to calm down both them and the horses, and asked after that:

- Ser Mervyn - that man was the highest in rank of these guys - what do you bring to us?

The knight bowed, before answering. He, as well as most of Aegon's men, was a Crownlander, which meant he had probably more respect for the Royal Family than the ever wild Stormlanders. He was competent, though, despite being too cautious for the Prince's liking.

- As we've already suspected, my Prince - he started with a serious look on his face - The castle is almost empty. We managed to catch a soldier leaving it, probably for a scouting mission. After some… Encouragement, he told us that Lord Vaith marched from the Red Dunes to launch a coordinated attack with the Allyrion cavalry from the North. He took most of his infantry with him, leaving only a few behind.

Aegon started to wonder. He had two options now. Taking the castle would completely break the already shattered connection from the Sunspear to Hellholt. But, as he reminded himself, he had got a cavalry unit. "How can you capture a fortress with only horsemen?". He knew it was possible, the tales of the Dothraki were alive even in Westeros, but he doubted he had enough of the needed knowledge or equipments for that task.

- Fetch the Dark Spear to me. I need to speak with him - he decided. Better to take some informations first.

The Dornish renegade emerged after a short time. Why he volunteered to be the part of that mission, Aegon didn't know, but he welcomed the addition. He might need his abilities.

- Did you call me, my Prince?

- Yes. I need some details on our situation and I hope you could prove some to me - Aegon started. He wasn't sure how to speak with him, but no one ever called the Prince shy, after all - How well orientated you are on this side of Dorne?

The man answered:

- Fairly well, my Prince. I am from Planky Town, but I spent many years coursing the rivers here.

"That is exactly what I need!" the Prince had felt a sting of hope.

- You see, I've just received a report of the Vaith's castle being almost empty. I wondered if we could take it with the force we have here - he noticed the darkening of the renegade's eyes when he heard about the House owning the Red Dunes. Yet, he shook his head:

- As much as it would have pleased me, my Prince, these walls are too tall and we have too little men. Highly unlikely that we would be able to take them by surprise.

Then that was buried. Aegon, however, had another question:

- How long then we are from the shores of the Greenblood? I have more than a slight suspicion that the forces of House Vaith might be there.

Again, the hate in Dark Spear's eyes was clear.

- Three hours, more or less. If they are there, we could attack them and butcher those pigs. The rivers would make the fleeing almost impossible, my Prince.

That was interesting, seeing the usually cold and stoic Dark Spear speaking with such a passion. Now, however, wasn't the time for solving this mystery. Aegon needed his knowledge, not his stories.

- Very well, then - he spoke - You will act as one of our guides. I want to reach the Greenblood before the Sun hides completely - "That'll need a fast pace, but should be doable".

After saying that, he rose from his seat. We was feeling the upcoming battle in his bones.
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It took them barely over two hours to reach the shores and it looked like the rash was well needed. There was a proper battle already emerged on both sides of the river. At North, the mounted riders under the banner on the golden hand in red and black background were fighting with the heavily armed infantry, probably the Stormbreakers. It looked grim from Aegon's perspective. What was more important though, was the fight directly in front of them. The Velaryons and some of the mercenaries were on the ships, desperately trying to best the boarding men from this side of the land.

- It is them! The Vaith scum! - shouted the Dark Spear.

Aegon felt the thrill as he raised the morningstar. Their horses might have been tired, but there was enough in them to charge upon the river. The Vaiths were so focused on getting on the ships that their rear was nearly unprotected. That was the chance.

- Riders! Noble knights and warriors of the Crownlands! - Aegon proclaimed, his voice higher than usual - Today, we ride to battle! For the King! For Daeron! Let's crush these rats with our power!

He rode down the small hill, with his men behind him. The Dark Spear, however, accelerated, overtaking both his commander and his forces. His screams were loud enough to wake a sleeping giant:

- CAMERON VAITH, YOU SON OF A WHORE! SHOW YOURSELF AND FIGHT THE MAN YOU TRIED TO MURDER! AND WHAT FOR?! FOR YOUR DEAR DAUGHTER'S MAIDENHOOD? SHE CAME TO MY BED WILLINGLY! YET IT WAS I WHO GOT ALL THE BLAME! I'LL GET YOUR HEAD FOR THAT!

"Well, I wasn't expecting this" thought Aegon, "Maybe that Lady is still alive? She seems like an… appealing woman if she got the Dark Spear's blood red hot."

The man's screams, as well as the noise they made, were enough to turn some of their foes around. It was way too late to prevent the damage, however. Aegon's knights hammered into the Dornishmen with a force so big that it was barely even a fight. It was a bloodbath. The Dark Spear was right - the river blocked the way of fleeing, which meant that the Vaiths had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. The Prince was still on a horse back as he was killing man after man. He felt unstoppable. He felt great. The bones were crushed under his strikes, the lifeless corpses falling into the ground. He barely felt tiredness, hits he took or pain from the long ride.

After he slammed his weapon on one of his enemies's head, he realised that there was no one left to kill. He dismounted and made his way into the shore, where Lord Alyn Velaryon emerged to greet the member of the royal family. He had his left arm bleeding, but it wasn't looking like anything serious:

- Lord Admiral. I hope our entrance had helped you here.

The man nodded eagerly:

- As if, my Prince. The situation was turning in rather a fucked way before you came. The Allyrions have retreated when they saw a massacre on this side. Ser Oscar won't be happy, though. He lost his second-in-charge today.

That reminded Aegon about one of his most important men. He looked around, seeking for the Dark Spear. "Oh, fuck…"

There he was, with his hands still on the black spear he was famous for, but his throat was sliced, killing him instantly. However, the edge of his weapon was deeply bundled into his adversary's side. Weirdly, that noble looked like he was still alive. This could be only one man.

- Cameron Vaith, is that? - Alyn quickly called for the medics - We may have had a good use of him if he lived, but it's rather unlikely from my perspective.

When the medics started to pull the spear out of the Lord's side, Lord Velaryon again turned his attention back to Aegon and asked him about the plans of the King, to which Aegon responded eagerly. As he finished, the husband of the Prince's half-aunt was grinning slyly.

- That's bold. Very bold. But with Godsgrace weakened, Prince Marrence would have to leave his castle and face us in an open field and earlier than he'd like.

- That is what we hope for, my Lord - Aegon responded - We could finish this war well before the end of the year!

- And thanks to the Dragonreaper, we have the fleet to supply His Grace's army when he reaches us.

The what? The Prince gave the Admiral the most confused look and Lord Alyn answered:

- My men are already calling you that. You've left almost none Vaiths alive, after all.

The Dragonreaper, huh? Aegon had to admit he liked the nickname. If anything, it made him more terryfing at the very least. "Aemon has one, why couldn't have I?"

Chapter Text

Prince Baelor of House Targaryen was never a great admirer of the sept that stood in King's Landing, on the Hill of Rhaenys. While there was no problem in the holiness of the place, he felt it was kind of... Outdated. Not fitting for the needs of such a big city that the capital of Westeros now was. Yet, the building wasn't modernized since the days of King Aenys I. His son, Jaehaerys, with all his monumental projects, had overlooked the needs of the Faith on this matter. His successors likewise, as they had neither no time or no motivation to do that. "If it was up to me, I'd build the Seven the temple that they deserve".

That thought was dangerous, he reminded himself. It sounded dangerously close to becoming the new King. He didn't want to be one. He saw how the responsibility was crushing on his father since Baelor was a little kid, he knew how permanently tired was uncle Viserys, despite him being only a Hand. And now Daeron was the King, which made Baelor… his Heir? Likely. The Prince hoped that his foolish brother would survive in Dorne, especially since he still hadn't got children on his own. "But", another unwanted thought came, "If he did, he made it all by himself".

That was always the source of disagreement between the sons of Aegon III. One was always ambitious, the other preferred to settle on what he had. While Daeron wished to know everything and bombarded everyone with questions on various topics since he was a little child, Baelor rarely asked about anything, wondering and analysing things he already knew or were told to him directly. His brother was determined to become the greatest warrior and ruler that ever lived, at least when he was younger. Baelor's ambition? Progressing as the Seven taught their congregation and making people's lives better this way. Of course, Daeron wasn't focused only on himself. Baelor heard him saying once or twice that when he establish the peace after conquering Dorne, he wants to do something for the smallfolks.

That 'when' was, in fact, a big 'if'. Baelor and his brother weren't on the best terms, but he cared for Daeron and he knew Daeron cared for him. The ongoing war on Dorne, however, was something that the younger son couldn't just put aside as another ambition of the new King. It went against everything he believed in. The men of the Seven killing other men of the Seven. The destruction for common people, the murders and poverty. That's why he came here. That's why he continued finding excuses to flee from the increasingly tensed Red Keep and come to the sept. He prayed there for hours. For the peace, for the end of the bloodshed, for the safe of all that was dear to him. He felt it was righteous to help at least in that way.

- I knew I'd found you here, brother.

The voice was high and melodic. Only one of his sisters could speak that way. He turned around and smiled. There she was. Rhaena, the middle Princess. Or now, probably the elder, as the original eldest was the Queen, but he couldn't have viewed it that way, not yet at least. He felt the wave of uncharacteristic warmth in him, one that was not entirely originating fromsimply seeing his sister. He was able to control that, but this new emotion was less than pleasant.

There was nothing he could do, though. Rhaena was in her thirteenth year of live, yet the adolescence period quickly gotten to her. She had grown significantly, almost to the level of Daena despite being two years younger and that rapid growth made her lose some of her childish plumpness, transforming her figure into being more curved than rounded. Baelor wondered where that had come from. Both of their parents, as well as the rest of the siblings were rather slim, though not to the extent of their late father. Rhaena was an exception, but it was clear that it would be a beautiful exception in a few years. Her face was already very pretty, with big, purple eyes and rounded features. Baelor quickly pushed away all this. No matter her looks, she was still the shy, gentle Rhaena, his precious little sister, the Little Septa. He would rather participate in a fight to the death than tried to shatter that. So, he smiled:

- It's the sept. It... Helps me think. And forget, for a moment.

- I know - his sister told him - I also like to come here. But they rarely allow me. I wish I could come with you more often. The Court is so nasty without you!

Part of him wished for his prayers to remain a solo missions, but the other really wished for that. However, there were two big problems.

- There is little I can do, sister. Both the Queen and the Hand won't allow me. I often hear that I am going here too frequently already, let alone taking you with me - he answered, causing much displeasure on Rhaena's face. She was always more open to him than to anyone else, even their father or cousin Naerys, much more than the rest of the family.

- You speak of them as if they were some distant foreigners! They are our kin, a sister and an uncle.

"Yes, sister that had been mocking me for a decade and uncle who barely had time for his own offsprings, let alone his brother's" he thought, but kept that to himself. Deep down, Rhaena would probably agree, but she seemed to tightly keep the old teaching from Naerys to herself. Therefore she didn't let anyone to speak of their kin in a bad way, which was causing an uncharacteristic anger in her.

"But maybe our cousin could indeed be an answer here…" Naerys was pious. Nearly as pious as them, although the responsibilities of being a woman grown and a mother took her off the Sevens to some degree.

- There might be a way - he started and Rhaena looked at him with hope - if we can convince cousin Naerys to come with us, neither of them would be in position to say anything. Heck, we may even get a bigger escort here in case the times got worse.

- You think the people could attack us? - his sister started to tremble a bit.

- No, but men can never know what the Sevens are preparing for them - he said, gently stroking her hair. He then stopped, understanding that it might have been viewed as inappropriate. He continued - Daenerys is four since the last moon, so it may be a good time to start showing here the ways of the Faith. That should convince our cousin, she'd like to get some help in that regard since Aemon is in the South.

- Can you speak with her? - the Princess would have some problems with that, due to her usual shyness, so Baelor accepted that it would fall down on him. He was sure of his plan, however.

- I will. Now, come with me. We shall pray once more, since you just came to the sept.

The sun went much closer to the ground when they finally left the temple that day.
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In the evening, Baelor was informed by the servants that the Hand of the King ask for his presence in his chamber. Since uncle Viserys was now basically the ruler of the capital, the Prince decided it was best to not keep him waiting. He surely had much and more to do even without Baelor delaying himself. He went to his chambers and knocked on the door.

- Enter - there was a tired voice of his uncle on the other side. Baelor moved the door and walked into the room.

- Helo, uncle. You wished to see me - as he suspected, Viserys's desk was filled with letters, papers and reports that were only partly written or finished. "No wonder he's distant. This man does the work of ten other people without complaining."

The Hand of the King spoke:

- Indeed, there is a... delicate matter that I wish to talk with you. I've learned some lessons and decided to share that with you before doing anything.

- Go with it, uncle. I see you have much to do - Baelor wished to be out of that chamber as fast as possible, as he recognised Viserys started using his official tone.

- You're a man grown now. Sixteen years of age. So, my question is, has any of the court ladies caught you eye, maybe?

It was that, then. He knew that talk would come sooner or later.

- It's marriage, isn't it? No, uncle, I am afraid there was none. And - he added, before Viserys opened his mouth again - Do I really have to marry? My brother is the King, not me and there are three other male descendants of the House alive. You and your sons.

Viserys sighted:

- Baelor, as unpleasant for you as it may sound, since Daena wouldn't birth Daeron a child yet, you are your brother's Heir. I told this once to your father and now I will tell you the same: One rarely ask for the throne. Last time they did, there was a bloodbath in all of Westeros which almost wiped out our dynasty. Yet, someone has to take that responsibility. Daeron is away, fighting in Dorne. Who knows where does that lead him? Yes, I'm still alive, but after me, my heir would be Aegon. And as much as my son's behaviour improved somewhat, he'd make a horrible King. That's cruel, but it's also the true, plus he still refuses every candidate hoping to marry him, which creates another problem of being without an issue. I tried for the last decade to convince him and to no avail. Aemon is next, but Naerys might not survive another labour and it's uncertain if her child could either. It's not as safe as you think, our succession.

What Viserys told him had some sense, but he still would rather not marry. The temptations of the flesh were… Against the purity. His uncle looked upon him and realised:

- I see now. You're thinking about taking the vows, do you?

- I'm - Baelor started, unsure what to say next - I'm not sure yet. I feel like it may be something that I'd find appealing. Good for me. But I hadn't decided yet. Father told me once that I have his support, no matter what I choose.

Viserys's face started to soften:

- And I have no wish to go against my brother's promises. However, I must ask you to hold yourself for a while, for the sake of our Realm. We can make a deal here. As soon as your brother comes back from Dorne and your sister delivers him a healthy child, preferably a son, you would be able to do whatever you like. Until that, I beg you to remain as you were. If Daeron lives, there is indeed no need for you for a marriage and you'll be free to forge your own path. Does this sound fair to you, nephew?

It wasn't exactly what Baelor had hoped for, but he could have worked with that.

- Fair enough, uncle. I agree on your offer. Now, I shall leave, if you let me. There is still time to make another prayer for the war to end - he promised and left the chamber. "This went better than I thought. Maybe Viserys really learned his lessons?"

Chapter Text

- Martells, Santagars, Tolands and what is left of Lady Allyrion's cavalry. A strong force to be sure, Your Grace, but the numbers are still very much on our side - ser Robin Darklyn, Lord Commander of the Whitecloacks reported his King.

- Yes - that was the voice of the ever cautious Lord Ronnel Conningon - but they have chosen the place well. We're too close to the river to make the usage of our infantry advantage and the cavalry numbers are roughly the same. It won't be an east task to wipe them out from here.

Olyver Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, who had none of his bannerman's patience, snorted:

- Gods, Ronnel, if we had listened to you, we would have been still on the stalemate with ser Yronwood, half the country away! If Martell gathered that big of a force, that means he's becoming desperate. He's too smart to risk an open battle if he has alternatives. This shows he has not. We're merely three days from Sunspear, it has to end here and nowhere else!

Daeron concentrated on Lord Swann. The old and noble man was his emissarry to the Prince of Dorne. The young King didn't hesitate from starting the battle, but he wanted first to try his luck in diplomacy. Prince Marrence was said to be a ruler who values that trait more than just the brute power.

- Lord Axel, did the Dornish Prince answered?

- I am afraid he did, Your Grace - the man gave him a small piece of paper, where only three words were written - This was his only message.

'Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken'. Upon reading that, Daeron felt the anger. The Prince must have thought of him as a boy, who was playing war! And after he conquered half on his principality! Was he blind?!

- A battle will be then, my Lords. It's time to make a plan for tomorrow, as the night attack would be too risky - he proclaimed. Fortunately, all of his commanders were already in the tent, so they started without wasting anymore time.

Lord Dondarrion, present with his son and Daeron's good friend, began:

- My men reported that they have a skirmishers this time, but only a small part of them knows how to properly use javelins or other projectiles. It's basically just a lighter cavalry, sent to slow us down.

- Can you make a quick work of them, Lord Dondarrion? - Daeron's asked and the lord eagerly nodded:

- I think so, You Grace. However, I know these scum. They might mount a few spearmen and this is where it becomes tricky. These men understand how to fight, both from the ground and on the horseback.

Ser Paxton Caron from the Nightsong, sent to aid his King by Lord Ambrose, the knight's uncle, when the Wyls finally capitulated, volunteered:

- Send me with his Lordship, Your Grace. My men have similar fighting style and we both know the Dornish's treachery, so we would be ready for whatever they might throw at us.

That seemed like a decent proposal, so Daeron agreed. He turned to lord Baratheon next:

- Lord Olyver, you'll command our center. You did it superbly in the Yronwood's river, so I see no differences here. You'll have the majority of our infantry, mostly Stormlanders and these Dornishmen who changed the sides to ours.

- Gladly, Your Grace. I could place these renegades up front. I hate deserters, no matter what was their reason to defect. Do you have something special in mind? - the dark haired Lord wanted to know.

- In the matter of these men, do as you like. Coming back to the plan, not really. You'll most likely have an advantage in numbers, so press on, but look for the left wing to not run too much in front of it - Daeron spoke next, this time to Lord Connigton - my Lord, yours are the archers. Protect Lord Baratheon's forces at first, then move to the left flank if it's needed.

- Speaking of the left, Your Grace, is it there where would be the rest of our infantry? - ser Rosby, a knight of a mixed reputation, was rarely taking the voice on these councils, but today was the exception.

- Both yes and no - the King answered - I want to leave some in the reserve. Gather the soldiers, let's say from Lords Errol, Fell and Buckler. They will be our backup in case Prince Marrence planned something on our rear. - This was highly unlikely, as the reports told that ser Torol Jordayne, consort of Lady Sylla from the Tor, was still too far back to interfere, but Daeron preferred to have a back up plan in case things got messier than they surely would.

Then, he summoned ser Oscar Tully:

- Lord Commander, I want you and your Stormbreakers, as well as the Crownlands infantry, to create our left flank. You'll be the one in charge of it.

The Tully knight nodded, but had his thing to say:

- It's nothing terrifying in terms of quantity, Your Grace. They will surely attack us when they see how little men I have.

Daeron's grim was a kind of an answer itself.

- I know that - he proclaimed - this is why I'll command all of our heavy cavalry on the right. We will remain silent in the beginning, but as more and more Martell's men would enter the battle, I'm planning to sweep in and attack directly for the Prince. With him captured or defeated, the rest of the army will surely collapse in no time.

That was a bold proclamation, but he was certain of that. The morale of the enemies must have been far from optimal and the main thing increasing it was the presence of their ruler on the field. With him out of the play, there was nothing between Daeron and the heart of Dorne. It'll work. It has to.

- Lord Connington's archers, as well as our skirmishers would aid you, ser. I'm not leaving your men to die.

- Well, that is a relief, Your Grace. I'll hold the strike as long as I'm able to - Oscar Tully promised.

- My King - Lord Amos Buckler, one of the supposed rear guard spoke - what about our camp? In case anything goes wrong, it's almost empty and open for pillagers.

- We will not need a camp. My ships would be our retreat point - Lord Alyn Velaryon decided it was time to enter the consultation.

- Lord Admiral is right. Weakening our troops further when we have ships would be foolish. Any questions? - Daeron thought it was the correct time for that. Already knowing these Lords, he would not leave for at least two more hours.
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The next morning, the Young Dragon found himself at the head of all his forces, giving the speech to the men. They walked with him since the beginning of the campaign. Many died, was seriously wounded and still could get hurt today. He couldn't have expressed how grateful he was to have all of them.

- My men - he started - nobles, knights, soldiers alike. When I decided it was time to finally avenge the failure of the Conqueror, you gathered under me without a word of complain. I am grateful for that. I am grateful for that I can command such a great army. And today, we are finishing the job. Today I stand with you not as a King, but as a General, ready to put my life in your hands. I believe in the victory. I know we'll win. Fight with bravery, fight with courage, fight with dedication! The Warrior would be with us surely if it's the case! Warriors of Westeros! It is the time of our glory! - he raised the Blackfyre over his head and the roars of approval were heard - Commanders of each part of our forces, on your positions! This ends here!

When everything was ready and all the men were in positions, the Marcher skirmishers charged at the Dornish ranks. Rest of the army followed, but much slower, allowing them to do their job. Taking the Dornishmen by surprise was highly unlikely, as their lightly armored riders were already mounted and approaching the Carons and Dondarrions. The rest of the forces started to gather as well. Daeron watched as javelins started flying as well as spears and swords were swinging. It was a fight accelerated by pure, centuries long hatred between the Marcherers and the Dornishmen. They didn't want to win. They want to kill all of their foes. He only hoped Marq remained unhurt. He wasn't ready to lose such a great friend.

As he watched, his forces slowly started reaching the advantage over the Dornish skirmishers. There were simply too little of them. The center and left flank advanced and Daeron was waiting, according to the plan. Something, though, was wrong and even from his place, he could feel that. Caron and Dondarrion managed to best the enemy light cavalry with suspicious ease. "Something is out of place, but I can't exactly name it yet..."

- Riders! Riders Ahead of us! - cousin Aegon, also present on the battlefield, pointed, snapping the King out of his mind.

Daeron understood everything in this particular moment. Prince Marrence had the same idea as the Young Dragon. Why risking a bloody battle if you can reach straight for the King? Especially if that King fights on the front line of his knights. He already was sure that the Prince of Dorne threw almost all of his heavy mounted knights, as well as some missing skirmishers. "Little does he know, I have all my cavalry with me as well."

He turned into the whistle-blower:

- Order the rest of the army to advance. We have the fight to win at our flank, but it doesn't mean that they have to wait.

The next thing he thought about, was his wife. He knew that was not the time for that, but he couldn't help. "Daena, I promise I won't die here". His mother once told him that when she had something difficult to do, she would have thought about those she loved. Maybe something similar was happening to him now. "No matter the reason, now I have to focus on the fight". It wasn't that easy, but he managed to turn his attention back onto the field. The Dornish riders were moving forwards, the lightly armored ones in front, likely as a bait, the heavyweighted knights behind them. Far from ideal, the first wave would be doomed even without such an impact that he would have preferred to save for the latter one, however Daeron had no choice but to order an attack. The main weapon of his men was the momentum and if they have to waste it on the skirmishers, so be it.

As they charged, he noticed some of the lightly armored foes panicking and trying to turn around and flee, realising that they failed to catch the King's knights unawared. "Perfect! Just block the second wave for me!" He wasn't so lucky, but the chaos in the Dornish ranks to some degree occurred anyway. His men stomped on the skirmishers so heavily that they barely even lost their speed. That turned out the most invaluable, as the Dornish knights also reached a formidable velocity. These two masses clashed against each other and the fight had begun. Daeron barely had the time to pick an opponent when a man, holding a shield with an Allyrion's sigil charged at him with a battle lance. The hit was powerful, but the King held his ground and answered with a hard move on his own, hitting the man's helmet with the Blackfyre and unhorsing him with the force of the strike and the momentum. Then, he spotted a sword-wielding Santagar knight and exchanged blows with him, hitting his shield. Another circle, another exchange and this time the man had fallen from the hit near the neck.

Suddenly, his back started to ache, but his armor was enough to block the heat with a saber. Probably it was too light to do much damage. Daeron turned around and saw a short foe, possibly a squire, raising his blade to make another hit. He blocked it with a Blackfyre and answered. The boy was able to keep his seat after two strikes, but the third went above his shield and landed on the throat, ending his life or at the very least, his participation in the fight. That kid was courageous, but his presence here? Daeron had issues with understanding that. "Who, by the Gods, takes the child of thirteen to a heavy cavalry battle?". He had little time to wonder, as he had to defend himself from the Martell's men. He managed to survive a bit longer, but after a while, he was surrounded by three. One of them was unhorsed before Daeron could even blink, as he spotted the tall frame of ser Robin Darklyn riding next to him. He could use that and find the commander of the enemy unit if he can gather some more men. He already saw a bunch of other knights coming towards him and his trusted Swornsword. He prepared himself for a heavy blow that was coming.

This, however, turned out differently. Cousin Aegon, leading maybe a dozen men, slammed into the middle of the opponents with a great force from the side. Many were unhorsed, even more hit severely as his cousin's men rode practically on their heads. Whoever was in charge of that bunch of men, must have been an important figure in Dorne, as the resistance that the knights showed started to decrease. That was the turning point and Daeron understood that well. He gathered a few knights under him and pressed on, with more and more of his men joining when they saw what was happening.

The enemies were quickly dealt with after that point and they started fleeing. Daeron, with seriously tired and significantly decreased cavalry, decided pursuing them is a risk not worthy to take. He wanted to see the battlefield first. What he saw when he finally did that, was more than appealing. Both his center and the left flank were almost in the Dornish camp, which was defended by the shrinkening amount of Prince Marrence's forces, yet the battle was far from over.

- Looks like we have another charge to make, my knights! - he shouted and his men, although exhausted after the fight, joined him without fear.

Daeron led his men close to the river, hoping to find a hole where the Dornish defense would be weaker. Luckily, he managed to do that and his forces found themselves on the right side of the fighting men. He was just about to command a charge, when he spotted something. A bunch of enemies with very noble looks standing on the hill behind the frontline. He knew instantly on what he was staring. The Prince of Dorne and his main commanders. This was the chance to finally end the battle, but Lord Olyver could have used some help in the center as well. He waved to Aegon, who rode towards him:

- What is it, cousin? - he asked, not caring about the title. Nor was Daeron at that point.

- Take most of our knights and attack their center. They should panic from there - Daeron answered, his mind already working on facing the upcoming task.

- And what about you? I thought you'd want to lead the final blow.

Daeron laughed maniacally:

- And I'll do it. Leave a hundred men under my direct command. We have a Prince to capture! - he pointed on the hill and Aegon understood his thinking, also smiling widely.

The moment of truth had come. "The songs about this would be legendary. If I live long enough to hear them, of course".

Chapter Text

It should not be so hot here. The Winter wasn't even properly finished, but it didn't stop the Sun from glazing from the sky and making the heat near the ground almost unbearable. At least that what was Aemon felt as he sat on his horse, waiting for the battle to start. "Maybe that's why Lord Uller is willing to take the risk. Half of our army is already exhausted by just standing here, and they have poisoned the wells we have access to". Of course, they had plenty of water by themselves, but it was hot as well and tasted horribly. Many of the soldiers were drinking as little of it as possible, despite the common sense telling otherwise.

The surroundings of the Hellholt castle were just as unwelcome as its residents. Aemon and the Reach army were currently in the middle of the desert, poorly crowded, dusty and somewhat mountainous, although small when comparing to the mountains in the North, when they had began their march. Sure, there was a river, but Brimstone was famous, or rather infamous, for its sulphur stream, which made it impossible to get water from. At least the Ullers also had those problems and their enemies knew that well. Hellholt had been abandoned when the army approached, so at least another siege wasn't needed. The Dragonknight dreaded having to spend another few weeks under the hostile walls and under the command of an indecisive Lyonel Tyrell. However, to spoil his temporary good mood, Lord Theomore Uller, known as the Brimstoneblooded, engaged in sneaky guerilla tactic. After the battle under the Sandstone, he had loosened most of his forces and, with no more than two thousands, began harassing Lord Tyrell's and his men's forces and supply lines.

To counter that, Aemon, commanding the mobile and well accustomed Tarly knights and warriors, was given the task to hunt down the man. Of course, he wasn't alone. Ser Franklyn Bulwer, husband of Lady Peake, as well as ser Manfryd Rowan of Goldengrove were also sent with their forces to catch the annoying Brimstoneblooded. After combining all they had, it was clear that they outnumbered the Dornish noble in around three to one, even with the casualties both Tarlys and Rowans suffered in the surprise night attack under the castle of House Qorgyle. It of course meant that Lord Theomore would hide when they were all in one spot and try to strike when they split. It was like that for many days.

Aemon and his men managed to kill some of the Ullers, but lost a good part of them in return, likewise ser Franklyn and ser Manfryd's forces. That was a long and difficult, bloody work. In recent days, however, something had finally clicked. The Peakes found one of the guerillas's camp and conquered it by surprise. It was mostly abandoned, but they found something very important. The well with a clear water, one of the few that weren't poisoned by the enemies. It looked like they had finally cornered the Brimstoneblooded, at least to some point, but he still was half a step ahead of them. At least that was the case until yesterday.

A patrol sent by the Rowans came across the currently used camp not far from the main forces of the pursuers. They suffered heavy casualties, but a few men managed to come back and tell both Aemon and ser Manfryd what they saw. The two commanders decided that waiting for ser Franklyn would be pointless, as this was their best chance to strike and finally put down the threat. Moreover, they still outnumbered the enemy. They quickly gathered the men, almost all that they still had and rode after the fleeing Ullers. And now, they have finally caught them in a sandy field. The guerillas of Lord Uller had taken the uphill position, almost like their Lord finally understood that there was no dodging this time. He was outnumbered, but not severely, not even two to one, and his men were better suited for the extreme heat of the day. He could have risked a battle, win it and simply flee East if ser Franklyn would show up the next day.

However, the Dragonknight could tell that something wasn't quite right here and the young Lord Matthos Tarly felt the same.

- What is going on? Why are they not sending the skirmishers? - he asked, the question loomed in air for a few seconds. The boy was young, but he knew the ways of how the Dornishmen fought.

- They probably try to tire us in this heat - answered the master-at-arms of the Goldengrove, acting as ser Rowan's second in charge.

Aemon didn't agree:

- The young Lord might be right, ser. As much as they are used to the temperature, they suffer as well. It'd still would been better for them to send someone. Numbers are on our side, but in terms of skirmishers, they have the slight upper hand. Brimstoneblooded is no fool, he should have know it if he wants to risk a battle.

- Well, my Prince - ser Manfryd entered the discussion - someone would have to do something and if it's not them, then we should. We need to make this quick before our soldiers start to faint from that boiler that is this field...

- With that I can agree - the Prince responded - you on the right, me on the left?

The knight from the Reach answered:

- Aye. Normally the proper center would be needed, but now... There is too little of us to divide the forces even more. Skirmishers up front, knights behind them, final wave of the squires and whatever's left.

Aemon nodded, as this was the sensible choice. He showed Matthos Tarly with a move of his head that he should be coming towards his men, but before he could say more, there was a loud shout from the front of their unit.

- Lords Commanders, you have to see that!

When their provisional war council made their way to the front line, a soldier who just have spoken, the big man of thick-build, pointed at something coming from the Uller camp:

- Ser Manfryd, my Prince, my Lord - he gasped, before adding - It's the Uller cunt himself! He's coming towards us!

- Alone? - Aemon refused to believe. That was very much out of character for the man they chased for so long

Young Lord Tarly responded to the Prince's question, but that answer brought even more confusion among them:

- Almost alone, from what I can see. And... What, by the Mother? They have the banner of peace with them!

- Hold your fire, then - Aemon ordered the men - no matter how vile he is, we will respect the white flag and speak with him.

The Dornish party stopped around fourty, maybe fifty metres in front of their foes. A man holding the flag, too young to be Lord Theomore himself, proclaimed:

- Lord Uller demands a meeting on the neutral grounds, as he brings the message of utmost urgency!

The growls from the larger forces followed his speech.

- Demands?! That fucker is not in position to demand anything! He deserves only the executioner's blade and nothing more! - one of the Tarly knights said, with many nodding in agreement. Ser Manfryd Rowan, however, had other things to worry about:

- It might be a trap. That bastard is a clever one and a man of little honour. If any in the first place.

- That's true, good ser - Aemon tried to resonate - but this brings us a chance to spare our men's lifes. We'd probably win the upcoming battle, but at what cost? Third of us would die. Maybe more? I say we should hear what he has to tell us.

The man from Goldengrove hesitated, but the Prince knew how many warriors he had already lost. Further casualties would be devastating for both him and his Lord.

- Fine - he murmured - me and you. Rest of the commanders stays here in case that sandy scum tries something. And we'll have a proper guard of... twenty men, I'd say.

With that settled, Aemon told one of the soldiers to give their answer. When the terms were settled, he and ser Manfryd picked twenty men to act as guards and came closer to the Dornish party around half of their quantity. In the middle of them was the Brimstoneblooded himself. The man was in his thirties, with tanned, sunburnt skin and many grey sequences in his black hair. He was short, barely reaching the height of Aemon's mouth, but looked strong and there was a lot going on in his dark eyes, quickly wandering upon every one of them.

- Prince Aemon, ser Manfryd - he started, with the voice horsening, probably from both recent lack of water and living on the desert, so hard that it wasn't that easy to even understand him - I'm glad you agreed on meeting here. And I must say, a good thing you don't have the Bull with you. We've already met quite a few times and he... Doesn't like me, for some reason. I wonder why - lord Theomore chuckled without humour.

Rowan proclaimed, barely keeping his temper at bay:

- Spare us this, Lord Uller. What is it that you want to discuss? A surrender?

- Not exactly. To tell you the truth, I originally planned to lure you out of your forces and kill both of you where you stand. Dorne would thank me for that act. You're both too competent and honourable for your own good. However, I've just received a note that made me change my plans.

- What note? - Aemon demanded. It sickened him know that this snake planned to murder him under the banner of truce. We wanted to kill the man exactly where he stood after this proclamation. Something in Lord Uller's behaviour told him that the Brimstoneblooded isn't exactly pleased either, though. He seemed rather angry, actually.

- This note - the Dornishman clapped and one of his men gave him a piece of paper - as you can see, there is a sigil of Prince Marrence there. Read it.

Aemon took the note from him and showed it to ser Rowan. They both read the words of the Prince of Dorne, realisation and joy growing with each word:

'From Prince Marrence Nymeros Martell, Ruler of Dorne and successor of Princess Aliandra.

Honourable Lords and Ladies of our Principality,

A great warrior does not yield when he has a tough battle ahead.

However, an even greater one knows when the fight becomes impossible to win.

As much as I wish to die for my Principality, I much prefer to live in see it prospering.

This is why I made the decision to pledge my loyalty for King Daeron I.

The ceremony will take place in a moon time, counting from the Day of the Father.

All my vassals are obliged to reach Sunspear in that time and not participate in any fighting with the King's forces.

Prince Marrence Nymeros Martell'

Aemon rose his eyesight from the paper back onto lord Uller.

- So, what will you do, my Lord?

The man spatted and likely wanted to say something different, but told them after a pause:

- It sickens each part of my body, but I won't rebel against my senior. I'm taking my men, at least some of them, and ride into Sunspear. None of us would fight with you. I expect the same from your side. That's all I had to say. My Prince - he added, growling, after a pause. Then, he turned around, hopped onto a horse and departed, his guards likewise.

The Prince and the knight looked upon each other, with ser Manfryd breaking the silence first:

- So… It's over? Just like that?

- Just like that, it seems - Aemon answered, nodding - We should head back into the main army's position, they probably received the news before the Ullers and already are on the move.

He should be overjoyed. Finally, the killing ends. Despite that, he felt some concern. Peace was reached, it seemed, but he didn't forgot the fury that the Brimstoneblooded was barely holding back. Dorne was defeated, but not crushed. "And with more men like him, simply defeating them might not be the end."

Chapter Text

"We have a Prince to capture!", Daeron recalled what he had shouted during the Battle of the Golden Sands, as his men started to call the place of the final clash. "Gods, I hope no one would have an urge to write this line specifically. What was I thinking?" However, no matter what he had thought, more important was what he'd done. After picking around a hundred of riders, he led them into the position where the Prince of Dorne was standing. His guards and officers fought back, but there were too few of them to resist for a long time. Weirdly, Prince Marrence hadn't been fleeing from the King's unit. When he realised all hope was lost, he simply… Surrendered. The King was still wondering about this part. For an Unbowed, Unbent and Unbroken he'd done that rather quickly. Of course, the fact that his last big army had just gone to mud in front of him could have something to do with that.

And just like this, Daeron had thriumphed where even the mighty Aegon the Conqueror himself had fallen, where the great Jaehaerys the Counciliator had refused to even try. He conquered Dorne and did that without the help of the dragons. It was hard to not get too prideful after that. After all, he still had to agree the exact terms with the Prince of Dorne. He might have surrendered, but he wasn't destroyed by any means. It was time to test all that his father and uncle tried to implement in him - his speaking and diplomatic abilities. "A shame that I was always better with getting answers from others, not delivering them myself". Yet, it had to be done. Moreover, he knew that this talk would need to be done one on one, with much more experienced adversary in front of him.

- Your Grace? - the head of ser Robin Darklyn, lightly wounded in the battle, emerged - it's Prince Marrence.

- Let him in - answered the King. He had already prepared himself for the long evening.

Prince Marrence had entered. He was a man of thirty year old, with dark hair and complexion typical for the people born in the Southest of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, the concerns of his position had already gotten to him, seemingly. He lost a big part of his locks and the tired look he was constantly giving must have had not that much to do with the invasion. Daeron wondered when was the last time that the Prince was truly relaxed. He was very tall, but wasn't standing as straight as he probably would have wanted, so when the King, not lacking in that regard either, rose to shake hands with him, their eyes were on the similar level.

- Prince Marrence - he started, offering his right hand - I hope my men have treated you well.

Martell shook it with a steady force and answered with a careful tone:

- As well as it could be in this situation - the lack of the title was something that Daeron decided to let it be, at least for now - Still - the man continued - I am your captive.

- I hope it won't remain like that for a longer period. This is why I had you summoned. The sword was pulled out, but it is time to hide it in the sheath - Daeron went to the point quickly, as he had little patience for a game of chess.

The look on the Prince's face told him that Marrence could be convinced:

- That would be indeed fortunate, but I have to ask. On what conditions? Surely you must know that an unconditional capitulation isn't an option.

- And why is that, my Prince? - Daeron already knew the answer, he wasn't that naive, but he wanted his opponent to say it, which he did:

- Firstly, my Lords and Ladies won't allow that. By doing that, you'll start a never-ending guerilla war, with death amount so big that even all of Westeros doesn't have the strength to bear it for years. Or decades, in the worst case. Moreover, it's not something I am in position to decreat. If I do that, they would simply strip me off my title and gave it to my daughter, before taking her away into one of their castles, where she would be held captive until she comes of age, moved from fortress to fortress, used as a pawn in the greater game.

Since Daeron knew the history, he already suspected that. Yet, he was determined to get the most out of the Prince.

- So, let us begin with the obvious: You'll become my vassal and Lord Paramount of the Sand. It was the case with all other Kingdoms in the Past and I have no intention to change that, nor interfere with your laws of succession. Your daughter will come after you as the next Lady Paramount.

- Getting rid of the title 'Prince' could be dangerous - Marrence warned - It is an important part of Dorne's identity.

"And that is the first obstacle". Lord Connington proposed a solution the day before. The King wasn't the biggest admirer of it, but the better one, if it existed, remained uninvented.

- You can keep the title - he answered after a brief silence - but it would be an honorary title. In all except that, you will act like a Lannister or Baratheon, or any other Lord Paramount.

The man clearly wasn't happy, but said:

- I suppose I have little choice here. I accept.

- Moving on to the next part, you will accept the Royal Peace and the most important of our laws. The more common ones, I can leave to your vassals, as is the case with the rest of the Kingdom - he felt the need on emphasizing that part, but the Martell Prince seemed to agree upon that quickly.

- We already have somewhat similar laws, so implementing that should be doable. They'll follow me, even if some likes to be more... independent than the others. What about the trade network?

This was the thing that Daeron had the most trouble with. While he could just transfer his trade deals onto the Planky Town and Sunspear, he knew about the Dornish's existing contracts with the Free States. He decided to pick the solution from the middle ground:

- I can promise you to ease off guards in both the Marchers and the Reach, enabling the trade routes to become more available to your merchants. All would benefit from that. When it comes to the sea trade however, I have my own deals with the Free Cities and those would be respected above the rest.

- I can't see how this may work. We have existing contracts and breaking them would lead into… Difficulties - was the answer of the Prince.

- On the sources of the more distant States, I suppose I could enable them to exist, at least for now - far from what Daeron wished, but acceptable. These deals weren't that big of a threat in the first place - but not with Braavos. I don't want them interfering with Dorne as a whole. They would have to settle for what I currently have with the Sea Lord. Not that they suffer that much.

- They won't like that.

- They rarely like anything that comes from Westeros, Prince Marrence - Daeron snorted. From a first glance, one could have thought that it's getting rather good, but the King felt more could have been done. Sadly, he'd never had the patience to move around the topics for hours. "And we're not even past the beginning…"

Many hours later, Daeron decided it was time to finally make that question:

- On account of the peace treaty, that would be all. However, I think that we could do more than just sign it.

- What do you mean… Your Grace? - since he would have to use it sooner or later, Martell probably thought that game as already lost. None of them was truly happy upon the conditions they agreed upon, but Daeron was more satisfied than what his adversary seemed like.

- I want to propose a marriage pact, in which one of your children would marry one of my kin.

That clearly took the man off guards.

- You don't have children yet, Your Grace - he finally said, stating the obvious - as much as Myriah and Maron are young, the age gap would be... Hard to breach.

- But I do have sisters. The youngest would soon be eleven years old - "I could have said Daenerys. Daena will be furious" he thought instantly, but the amount of time he spent on the chamber had clearly gotten to him and he acted too rush.

- Maron is only eight and he is not my Heir. If I my ask, why not giving your brother the hand of my daughter if you are determined to connect our Houses?

"Baelor wouldn't last a year with such a culture here" Daeron wanted to say, but it wasn't the good answer. So, he told the Prince:

- Three years is not that big of a difference, even if it's usually the other way around. Elaena would have the chance to grow with your son and befriend him. With that, maybe something more will occur after some time. And about my brother… He's still my Heir and I prefer to keep my Heir close in case something happens to me.

- You are ready to... send her here, then?

- Of course, she would not come alone - Daeron tried to save what could have been saved at that point - As we agreed on, some of my soldiers would stay here for a time being. It should be enough for her to settle with her ladies-in-waiting and septa and keep her safe and happy. That is not for debate. I trust you, my Prince, but there are a lot of people in Sunspear. I won't take any chances when it comes to my family. "I trust you as I would trust the viper, but even the vipers must be fed at times."

That wasn't to a Prince's liking, but now, after Daeron first said it, not much could have been done to retreat from it. Moreover, it was a beneficial betrothal and he was sure the man saw it. The hardest part would be convincing his sisters the same way.
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The month that passed after Daeron entered Sunspear for the first time, was quickly lost and today was the moment of the ceremony. A day in which Dorne would officialy become a part of the Seven Kingdoms, completing the Conquest at last. With all the nobles from Dorne, Stormlands, Reach and even some that didn't participate in the war from the further parts of the Realm, Sunspear and the currently repaired Planky Town were crowded to the extreme. And where Lords and Ladies were, there would also be a tone of merchants.

Which had brought Daeron's here, to the market. He was thinking about it for a few days, but just couldn't have left the castle. There was always someone to talk with, a business to attend, a matter about the ceremony to solve. Only today, with everything ready, he managed to find some free time and fulfill his duty as the oldest of the generation. Buying presents to his siblings and niece. Of course, he couldn't have gone as king, but his lack of purple eyes and some hood on the head allowed him to act as a minor Lord from the Crownlands, who came to witness the celebration. He wasn't that stupid to pretend being a merchant, as he had two Dondarrion men that Marq borrowed him when he first heard about the idea of his friend, acting as guards.

He already had a small wooden dragon for little Daenerys, a seven-pointed necklace for Rhaena and a board of Dragonlords for Elaena, as her old one was missing some pawns. Finding a gift for Baelor was harder, but after a while he decided on taking a book about the Andal's history. He probably knew it pretty well already, but it was difficult to find something closely related to the faith in a city that valued religion so little as this one. What was left, was a present for Daena. He wandered on the market for quite some time, but nothing really came to his mind. It slowly started to getting past the hour he should come back and he was getting desperate. And annoyed. Partly because thinking about what his wife might have liked caused thinking of HER. How she faried without him? Was she well? Would she still want him after that much time? Her letters said all was good, but it's one thing to communicate through the paper and completely different to do it in person. "I could use a dragon, if not for a fight, than at least to fly to King's Landing and meet her. It was way too long".

Deep in his thoughts, he found himself in a small shop with a bit of everything on display, mostly from Essos. "Well, maybe I'll find something here. Not that the ceremony can even start without me, either". The owner, a short and fat man of old age, shouted:

- Welcome, my Lord, welcome! Is there anything in particular that you need?

At least his simple disguise was working.

- I'm just looking around - Daeron's gaze was flying around until he spotted something interesting - Very… Peculiar shape of that bow you have.

- Ah, this? - the man seemed to be confused at first - I got it from the Dothraki, my Lord. It's called the reflective bow. They use them from horseback, at least that's what they told me. I used it when I was younger, but have never quite got to it.

A bow to use from a horseback? Daeron's interest started growing more and more. All knew about his wife's desire for both riding and hunting and her old bow, received from their father, started to become too light and too small for her even before Daeron departed.

- Can I try it? - he asked, to much surprise of the man.

- Of course, of course, but... Please aim for the chair down there - the merchant pointed at the old armchair - that thing is stronger than it looks.

- Let's try it, then - the King was no archer, but even he would have no problems in aiming for that big of a target in such short distance. He pulled and released an arrow quickly. It shocked Daeron, to said the least. The amount of force, or rather the small amount of it that he had to use didn't add to the fact how deep the arrow sticked into the armchair.

He turned around for the owner of the shop.

- That was... impressive, even if I'm not the greatest fan of bows.

- Yes, the technology behind it remains a mystery to me, but it seems it allows for the strong force despite not needing as much from the user to draw it out as the typical longbow. Ideal for someone small or young, if you'd ask me.

"Or a woman. Oh, she's gonna love that!"

- I'll take it. How much do you want for it?

- Do you have a younger brother to spoil, my Lord? If I may ask, of course.

Daeron smirked:

- Not exactly.
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- I, Prince Marrence Nymeros of House Martell, hereby vow - the voice of the Prince of Dorne, currently kneeling before Daeron himself, was heard well in all of the great hall of Sunspear - to serve as the Paramount of the Sand for King Daeron of House Targaryen, the first of his name, to fight in his wars, to obey his laws and to serve with my advice if one is needed, from this day, until the last of my and my successors's days.

- Rise, Prince Marrence of House Martell - Daeron answered, helping the man onto his feet, as was directed - I accept your vow and make my own to treat all of the men, women and children of Dorne as if they were my own people. I vow to rule them with honour, justice and kindness. We've already stated the conditions of the unification earlier, so it's no need to remind everybody of it. Let us continue the feast, then!

The moment that all who gathered have been waiting for. The atmosphere of the banquet was, however, mixed. Some of the guest, like both his cousins, a few of Dornish nobles and Daeron's own Lords as well, looked relieved that the war was officially over. Many other, especially from the Marchers and the South-East part of Reach, whispered that the terms are too mild. In the same time many Dornishmen, especially from the Western parts and the mountains, were saying that they were too harsh, especially the part where every noble House of Dorne had to send one hostage into King's Landing.

Daeron's attention however was caught by the look on the faces of three men. One of them was Lord Gerris Yronwood, who looked immensely angered during all of the feast. That anger, however, at least most of it, wasn't pointed into the man who killed his son and Heir, which would be the Young Dragon himself, but rather onto the Martells, especially on Prince Marrence. "Weird. And possibly beneficial to us. Whatever he's up to, I could have used him as the counterweight for the Prince". He had a feeling he would need every advantage he could have claimed. The look on Prince Martell's face was enough to raise Daeron's suspicions. No matter how honourable the man seemed, he was first the Prince and only then the knight. The suspicions became a certainty when he turned his gaze upon the Prince's cousin, ser Leowyn, the same that was wounded by Aegon in the Battle of the Golden Sands. The knight met his sight and Daeron saw in his eyes the absolute hatred and disdain. He didn't even bother to pretend he would behave, looking for a fight since the start of the ceremony. This could not be reduced over time. For this man, this was now personal. And the King had no illusions that he wasn't alone in this way of thinking.

Daeron wondered if he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had thriumphed for now, but a part of him started realising that it might not be the final act of the play. "As Baelor would have said, only the Gods know what brings the future".

Chapter Text

'To my dearest Dragon,

I am in good health and I hope it is the case for you as well.

Words cannot explain how I yearn to meet you again after so long.

Hang on, just a little more. I am coming back. Finally.

Yours,

Daeron'

Daena was harassing the paper as she read the words put there on and on again. A short letter it was, as usual. Daeron rarely wrote longer ones, the brief occasions were mostly about his battles or campaigns as a whole. For his family, and especially for his wife, his letters were terribly short. But... Daena couldn't got mad for that, not really. In each of these the affection was clear. More importantly, they showed that he was alive and in good health. Truth be told, after some time the Queen got more nervous each time she received a longer one. That meant he was either after or before the battle. A short one meant all was in order, or as much as it could have been during the war he was fighting.

- You know, it's surely inapropriate for the Queen to be this eager to greet her husband, at least that's what I heard. Someone might have got some... ideas - her little sister, Elaena, as she at times was doing, tried japing to calm her down. For some reason, she knew exactly when Daena needed it the most.

- Now I should wonder from where do you know what is and what isn't suitable for the Queen, yes? - she snapped back, giving Elaena a playful nod.

Her elbow landed on a small curve that wasn't there before. Elaena, although pretty petite for her eleventh nameday, started to show some signs of adolescent. She remained rather small for a girl her age, but she wasn't frail anymore. Actually, the girl beauty was slowly emerging, nothing too spectacular, but in a few years she may endure the same fate that their third sister, Rhaena, was going through now. A lot of sudden interest. Sure, she wouldn't be the Queen or at least it was highly unlikely, but getting on good terms with a sister of the King himself would be a beneficial idea for basically everyone in the Realm. Daena just hoped her littlest sibling can get on with that better than Rhaena, who's face was getting awfully red the moment any of the suitors did something more than merely greeting her. She usually was spending the next few hours on her knees, asking the Sevens for forgiveness after these conversations. "She spends too much time with Baelor and Naerys, but there isn't much I can do on that regard". The three, or rather fourth of them, if she counted Naerys's daughter, Daenerys, didn't do anything forbidden, yet these ventures for the sept were too frequent, as she was concerned. And done with too little of guards.

She brought her attention back to the reality and teased Elaena once more just to focus on something other than the upcoming ships:

- I just wish for him to come back, you know? Surely it's not that bad to only yearn for my husband to get me on a ride?

The hint was obvious and the youngest of sisters didn't hesitate to exploit it:

- You want to ride with him or ride HIM, Your Grace? - she asked that with a face full of false naivety.

- Oh, what's this? How my sweet, innocent little sister got to know what the sentence she spoke even means? - It was her turn to attack the girl with a joke, as she knew damn well the source.

- I had a wonderful teacher, a room not far off yours and a pair of working ears - Elaena declared with pride. The girl's tongue remained Daena of herself a few years prior to that point.

- Of course you had. Now, away with that talk. If your septa had heard you, she would have made you wash your teeth with soap while kneeling on a bunch of peas. For days. Six, if I remember correctly.

They both shared a chuckle after that. Daena was well aware about the punishments of the septas. Only Gods knew how many times she had to endure them herself. Most of the cases though, it was worth it. She reminded specifically a one time, when she was barely ten. What started as an childish thought to accompany cousin Aegon and Daeron just to avoid some boring lessons, turned into watching half-naked men wrestling in mud and swimming in the Blackwater, landing in that river herself and drinking way too much ale for the first time in a tavern. "Ah, what a good times those were!". It was also the first time when she saw Daeron not only as that funnier of the two brothers of her. Of course, it was way too early for some deeper feelings, but that and the punishment they have to served after their escapade, put them on a path leading to where they were now.

"When you share an unwanted bath in a dirty river and then had to spend two weeks locked in a tower with nothing more than yourselves and the men of the Faith to contact with and coping boring books of the ancient trade sums, you form a bond, it seems." Not that she planned to ever give their children a similar punishment, but... It kind of worked with her and her brother.

"Ah, yes, the kids". That thought didn't leave her at nights. They failed to concive the last time they had shared a bed. Not for the lack of trying, although Daena would have preferred having her husband in her bed every night. While part of her felt sadness about the lack of a child with Daeron, the other wasn't so sure. The Queen could feel she was dangerously young at the time. She saw no reason she could have had a problem with birthing children, but it was possibly for the better doing it at the age of sixteen or seventeen than fourteen, at least that was what her ladies told her.

Well, maybe. This time, she was sure, they will succeed. "I'll tie him up to my bed until my belly gets round if I'd need to".

The first of the ships closed to the shore and the bridge was thrown for the people on the deck to disembark. As they should have, only a part of the men that were destined to come back, appeared. There was cousin Aemon, to Naerys's rare screams of joy and the "Papa!" shouts of little Daenerys, as well as Corlys Velaryon, the Heir of Lord Alyn and some other nobles, but Daena didn't pay much attention to them. She was looking for a certain head with silver-gold hair.

The process repeated with the second ship, but again, Daeron wasn't there. She started to feel somewhat annoyed. "I swear, if he does that on purpose, then I'll…"

- Hey - Elaena smirked to her - at least try not to kill these men with your eyesight. They have just came back from the war. Even I'm becoming scared of you!

- If I really tried to be scary, you'd already be halfway onto the Red Keep, screaming in terror - Daena japed, again feeling some stress leaving her thank to the Princess's comments - Thanks, El. Really.

Then, the third ship took its place and Daena stopped seeing anything else.

There he was, standing on the deck, laughing with Aegon, because of course he would do. Suddenly, their gazes met and he stopped, just staring at her for a moment. She did the same. It was cut off shortly after, as he had to get on land, first letting all the nobles that were with him go before he did that on his own. Of course, the King had to greet every man and woman that emerged on his path, so it took some time for his to finally stand in front of his wife.

Some subtle changes were there, which she already noticed from the first glance. He seemed maybe an inch or one and a half of it taller than before, and with shoulders slightly broader, he had the frame as manly as the eighteen year-old could be. As if war allowed him to got rid of all the softness that remained there, even if there was little of that to begin with. In his eyes was part of the same reserve that she once saw in both father and uncle Viserys. These were eyes that saw men dying, she realised. She tried to say a million things at once, as this moment she imagined in her head many, many times, yet standing there and just looking at him, nothing seemed correct. Daeron, it looked like, also fought with emotions. Yet, it was him who finally broke the silence:

- Daena Targaryen, lost for words. Miracles do exi… - he was interrupted by his wife's hugging him tightly and kissing him so violently that for a moment, Daena thought they'd collapse on the ground. Then, he grabbed her firmly and gave back the kiss. It lasted for seconds, but for her, it could have been minutes. Hours. Days. All the longing, all the feelings, all the things that the one didn't tell the other in letters, connected through them. Daena registered the roars of approval from the spectators, as well as giggles from her family and whispers of displeasure from the more pious parts of the crowd. She didn't care. As long as that moment was happening, she simply didn't care.

They finally broke the kiss, gasping and looking wildly at each other. It was time for her to say something:

- Your Grace - she tried to use her formal tone. The effect was rather unimpressive, as she sounded like a girl of twelve - We are thrilled to have you Back in King's Landing. Feel informed that we've managed to keep the Realm peaceful and prospering in your name.

- That pleases me much and more, my Queen - he stated, getting more official, before sending her the slyest of smiles - What pleases me even more, however, is the sight of my family. Especially my wife. I wanted to wait with that a few hours, but since you greeted me with such a passion, I think it's only righteous to return the favour.

After saying that, Daeron summoned one of the boys, possibly a squire, and whispered:

- Go to my cabin and reach under the bed. You'll find a black box there. Bring it here.

Daena watched the boy sprinting back onto the ship.

- Daeron? - she started, not sure what was going on - What does that even mean?

- It's not that often that I manage to take you by surprise. Just wait a second until he's back. And, of course - he turned his attention to the rest of their kin, standing nearby - I have more for you as well. I just couldn't resist to start from here, will you excuse me?

Aegon and Aemon shared a conspirational look, the former barely holding a laugh. "This is getting really weird. These two taking a part in anything together? Did the Gods themselves spoke to them?"

The boy had finally returned and gave his King the box. It was weirdly shaped and quite long. Daena wondered what could it be, as she figured it out it was some kind of a present for her.

- Here - Daeron gave her the box - for the bravest woman I know. Open it.

The Queen did as he commanded and almost dropped the box when she realised what was hided inside. She was looking on a bow and a stack of arrows. Its shape was very peculiar, nothing like the bows she saw or used before. Yet, it was better than anything she could receive.

- The merchant that sold me this told me that it was designed like that so it could be used from both the ground and the horseback. I thought of you, then.

- I... Thank you! - She hugged him again - Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Was there tears in her cheeks? For once, Daena decided to don't give a single thought about her reputation of the woman of steel will and just allowed them to come, crying upon Daeron's shoulder. She felt whole again.
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It was rather late when Daeron found his wife on the training yard. Daena didn't even had the time or the will to change her dress for something more practical, that eager she was to try her new bow.

- You know, you could at least provide me with some guide how to use that - she snorted at him with fake anger, which he caught well enough:

- At the time, I thought someone so intelligent as you would figure it out in no time. Was I wrong? - he teased her playfully, earning a nod with an elbow.

- Are you calling your Queen stupid? - she shot him a glance.

He laughed.

- Stupid? No, rather… Distracted.

It was her turn to jape:

- With what? Your ugly face? Your victories clearly went to that head of yours. You think too highly of yourself, Your Grace.

- Yet, my ugly face is what is distracting you. Accept it - he leaned for a kiss, which she eagerly gave him. And again. And again.

When they finally stopped, she turned her attention back into the bow:

- I just need to figure out the correct position for it. I spent last years with a bow fit for a little child. This one is for adults and its shape makes it even more difficult. But I will master it, no worries. After that, I could just fill your enemies's arses with the arrows. I'm sure you'd like that.

- Your not exactly wrong - Daeron chuckled - My own Deadly Angel. I like that.

- Are angels even a part of the Sevens? I've never listened at the lessons.

- They have to exist in some beliefs, but I can't remember where I read about that. And to be fair, no angel could be as beautiful as you, my Queen.

That one went through her like an arrow and reached the heart. It was so long since anyone spoke to her like that… "Enough training for today!"

- I recall you saying that my new bow is suited well for the horseback. However, my Balerion - yes, she did named her horse after the greatest of dragons, since the animal was big and black - is very tired from the amount of riding I did in the last days. I'm gonna need a different mount tonight.

That earned her another span of laughter:

- A King in the streets, a mount in the sheets. I can't say if it's a promotion or a degradation.

It was her turn to laugh, as loudly as she could.

- That depends only on how good of the latter you'll be!

Chapter Text

Elaena knew that her eldest brother was onto something from the moment she first spoke with him after his return. Like he had something unpleasant to say to her, but didn't know where to start. That was intriguing her. Yes, she and Daeron were never that close, him being the oldest and her the youngest, but he was anything but undecisive, that was clear. So, what was so hard to explain that he didn't even try at first?

Her eldest brother was some kind of a mystery to her. Seven years and three other children between is a lot of time and obstacles for siblings, and the fact that she was a girl and a frail one, complicated it even more. Of course, five years difference was also significant, but it never felt like that with Daena. For some reason, Elaena managed to act like she was a bit older and her sister as if she was somewhat younger and they quickly formed a strong bond. With Baelor and Rhaena it wasn't that much of a smooth sailing, but at least she knew what to expect from them. From Daeron? Not so much. They only got a bit closer during the final months of their father's life, mostly because he was now Daena's husband. She got to know some of his traits in that time, nonetheless. She always had no troubles in judging people and often was able to do it correctly.

Daeron had a lot of strength in him and he never stepped back from a challenge. No matter if that challenge was outdrinking the Goldcloacks in their barracks, making his wife moan so loud that it was impossible to sleep when one had a chamber close to the royal pair, as the Princess could have told from the personal experience or conquering the entire state, like he just did. That's why she found his hesitation in her matter confusing. To the point that she asked Daena what could be on his mind, but it turned out on that regard her sister knew exactly as little as Elaena herself. She even considered going into his chambers and asking him directly. That thought was finally put to bed when the King decided it was time to speak with his youngest sister, as he one day emerged on her doorstep.

- Elaena. May I come in? - he asked, trying not to sound official.

- Of course, Your Grace, I'll prepare the chair in no time - Elaena made a face after that, reminding herself that there were books and other things she forgot to put down on her armchairs, as she preferred to read in bed rather than next to the table.

- Just Daeron, please. It's not like all the Red Keep is watching. Plus, I can help you with the cleaning. My rooms looked far worse at a time, you know?

Having the aid of the man grown, it indeed went much faster that it usually went when she was on her own. Her new board, a gift from Daeron himself, was among the things he placed on the shelf.

- I hope you like the present - Daeron stated, sounding more like a child than a King.

- Yes, I really do - that was true. Even if she already had Dragonlords on her own, she had lost some pawns over time and it got a bit annoying to replace them with mugs or spoons - now I have so much pawns that I could think on a new variants of the play!

- Is that even possible? - he sounded geniuely curious.

She snorted quietly:

- Well, the rules aren't saying anything against it, so I just need to think abut how to fit everything on one board. Or maybe to connect the two? I don't know, I hadn't decided yet. But... Daeron… It's not the Dragonlords you wish to talk about, right?

Her brother sighted, confirming her suspicions.

- You're too smart for your age, you know that?

- Yeah, someone close to you used to say that. How she once called me? 'An over-early matured brat'? - Daena herself could have been called something similar when she was younger, but over time the sisters and Viserys agreed that this nickname suited Elaena better - Go on, tell me what bothers you.

Another sigh and a... pity in his eyes? Why?

- When I was discussing the terms with a Prince of Dorne, we got to the point when I thought that I'll need something of a... proposal to keep him in check. A very special proposal. Of course, the garrisons, the mercenaries are there and the vows are pledged, but I was tired. So, my mind told me that it would be wise to propose a pact. A marriage pact. First I thought about Baelor, but... You know him.

- He wouldn't last long in Dorne, yes - Elaena answered. She already suspected what Daeron had to say.

He continued, his voice turning more sad again:

- Martell has a son. He's not to inherit Sunspear as the Dornish law in this matter is different to ours and I don't wish to change that, but I thought a marriage would be a safe thing. And... I'm sorry, sister, but I... Offered him your hand and before I realised that I could play that differently, it was too late. You're to depart to Sunspear in a three months time - he finished, clearly uncomfortable.

Elaena expected a wave of emotions coming through her, but it didn't quite happen. An anger was there. Her brother just use her like she was some kind of gemstone. A pity, as well, she would miss King's Landing. A realisation, as well. But nothing so violent that she thought she would feel.

- I guess it had to happen at some point, hadn't it? - she finally whispered. Daeron's eyes went wider.

- You're not... Furious?

- Of course I am! - she raised her voice somewhat - but at the same time, I knew that the time would come sooner or later. I knew that since I was born. You for Daena, Baelor for Rhaena, even if neither of them truly wants it, at least now, and a foreigner for me. I could have some hope when Aemon and Naerys wed, but all they have is another daughter, and even if their next is a boy, I would have to wait too long for him. The Prince's son is… what, eight? Not ideal, but I'm too young for now either, so it's better this way than to marry some fourty year old Lord Paramount whose wife perished in childbirth, stinking with horses and with a belly heavier than all my body.

He smirked to her:

- I see you had all planned already.

- You could say that - she returned a weak smile - being a fifth kid means I have to take what I got.

- You wouldn't be alone there - was the response of her royal brother - You could take anything you wish with you, you could pick your ladies-in-waiting and you'll have Lord Alyn and his Velaryons as your protectors. And it's not like you couldn't visit in the future. Prince Maron is a younger sibling, which gives him and you some freedom to travel to the Keep without a good reason. Anything you ask and I'll be in power to get, you'd have. I promise.

Well, at least he truly cared for her. She still was angry, but it wasn't like she was just a breeder for him to send somewhere far away. And who knows, maybe this Prince wouldn't turn so bad after all?

- What is his name? Do you know how he is? - she asked. If Daeron knew something, she had to knew that as well

Daeron frowned for a moment:

- Maron, I think. At the moment, he looks like a typical Dornish man, but younger. Dark hair and eyes, slim and eager to do various types of activities. I heard he loves swimming. He seems like a nice child, at least when I spoke with him once or twice. His father has some warm in him, it's no reason to think the kid's gonna grow out to be some kind of twisted monster. He didn't know his mother, I'm afraid. She died birthing him.

"As did mine with me..."

- You said he's the younger sibling. How old is the sister?

- Your age. I'm not an expert, but I think you could get on well with each other. You can at least try - Elaena nodded. She could use another friend - And... Promise me you'll write to me in case something was off. Pact there is, yes, but you're more important than some promise set in paper.

She felt some warm in her chest. "He cares. Whatever happens, he cares"

- I will regardless. But, I suppose I can try to settle there.

There was much of gratitude in Daeron's eyes as he got up.

- Come here - she understood and made a few steps towards him.

They hugged, as the siblings should. Elaena wasn't used to that, but it felt… right.

- Thank you - Daeron murmured - for understanding.

- It's not me that you have to convince. You're up for a wild ride and not in the fun way, you know that? - she responded, half-joking.

- Yeah… I know - they both suspected that Daena would be furious.
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A few hours later, Elaena heard what she was both waiting and not waiting for. The yelling from the chambers nearby. They went on for some time before finally getting less loud. Shortly after, there was a knock to her door. Elaena opened without a second wasted. She knew who was there.

- DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT BASTARD DID?! - Daena screamed with fury, not bothering to even close the door, so the younger sister did that herself.

- If you're on about the part where he did offered my hand to Prince Maron Martell, then yes, he was here a few hours ago... - Elaena tried to say more, but the Queen didn't allow her, closing her in a tight embrace. "You both even hug me the similar way".

So, in a weird twist, it was her who cheered up the other:

- Hey, sister. Daena… It's not like it's the end of the world - Gods, one could say it was Daena who had to travel half a continent to marry a man she didn't even know.

- But it feels like that, little sister! You're my dearest, closest companion. You're the one I don't ever want to lose… If something happens to you and I'm not there, I could never look upon myself in the mirror again! To think that you'd be so far away is just horrible.

Elaena felt some wetness on her eyes. Since she never had a mother and since Naerys had birthed her own baby, Daena was the closest one could be to a parent for her. She was more than just a sister. Even longing for a husband who could have died far away from her, she was just like a rock for Elaena, always ready to play with her, speak with her, be there for her.

It was time to repay the favour.

- You're not leaving me. I'm just moving to some other place. And not in three months, Daeron said. We have plenty of time to plan for the future and to spend with each other.

- You're right… - Daena raised her head a bit - I'll make that time the best possible for you. And I'll help you with everything you'd have to prepare.

- Watch out, it sounds almost like neglecting your own husband you so longed to see - she decided it was time for a jape.

Daena only smiled with mischief:

- He would have to endure that. It's not like I plan to not talk to him completely, but he deserves some... silent days for what he did.

They shared a brief laugh, before Daena getting more serious again:

- If anything happens, if you even lose a pile of hair from your head… I don't care about the King's Peace. We will tear Sunspear apart stone after stone to rescue you and I could not care less about the amount of blood it would require, starting with Prince Marrence himself - she promised with a fire in her eyes.

"And you wonder why half the maids are terrified of you?" Elaena wanted to ask, but she held back her tongue. She was sure that both Daeron and Daena would keep their promises, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

- Are you fully certain that it was really what you have witnessed? I have to warn you, if you lie, the consequences would be dire for you - the Hand of the King asked the man standing before him. He likely came from Dorne, but was currently working as one of the spies of the Crown.

- I'd wager my own life on it if I had to, Lord Hand! - came the promise of the spy he was currently talking with. People like this one rarely gambled anything on their skins. Either he was a fabulous actor, or there was some truth to the agent's words.

- Good. Tell me then, once more, all you know, but this time with details. You'd be well rewarded for your efforts.

Placing the agents among the servants of the Prince of Dorne was a risky strategy, one that could have easily led to disputes. Yet, Viserys felt he had to do it. He didn't trust the Dornishmen in the slightest and he knew that Daeron shared at least a part of his concerns. When he was informed about his uncle's plans, he quickly agreed and even proposed using soldiers with more southern appearance from his army, as well as a few camp scums. When paid enough, even these could be useful. "It would be far more effective if we had a real Master of Whisperers, though."

That was true, but it was a position that needed to be considered with the biggest caution possible. Viserys preferred to avoid another Larys Strong, man so cunning and dangerous that even after thirty years, no one knew for certain what his plan really was back then. An ill choice would have put a lot of power in the hands of a monster, capable of destroying the Targaryen dynasty, just after it raised from the knees. His brother had never appointed anyone for the position and for now, it seemed that Aegon's son had no wish to change that.

Which meant that organising a web of contacts, at least a small one, had fallen onto Viserys's hands. He did that with no complains, but he knew he was not the best qualified for the work. His informations were delayed or uncertain as often as they were correct. A true Master of Whisperers would have the time focus entirely on his tasks, but he had the kingdom to think of as well. A good thing that the King was back. While inexperienced in many ways, he did enough to take some of Viserys's work off his shoulders. "More would come with time, if the Gods have mercy. Aegon the Conqueror is remembered for his battles, yet he did much more for the Realm in the time of peace. Let's hope it would be the same case here, the boy has the potential in him."

The Hand focused again on the spy in front of him. As he could tell, he was one of the soldiers from Daeron's army, who, while spying, acted as a guard of the Prince's family in disguise.

- As I told my Lord already, I was among the men guarding the Prince's cousin, ser Leowyn Martell, while he was visiting Planky Town to oversee the rebuild of the city - he began - I wasn't able to get close to him for most of his staying, as he took his more known guards on most of his tours. He spent around a week there.

Leowyn Martell… If Marrence couldn't be well trusted, this man needed to be watched all day and night. Viserys gathered as many details about the Martell family as he was able to and what he had, showed an image of a man hot-tempered, quick to anger and quick to act, yet smart enough to be considered dangerous. He didn't accept the bitter loss on the Golden Sands, where his gambit on the beginning of the battle had fallen. The worst thing was that the only Martell Prince who died in the war, was the younger brother of Marrence, Doran. From what the Hand knew, the twenty year old Prince, cautious and watchful, often acted as the counterbalance for Leowyn. Without him, the knight became probably the closest advisor of his cousin. That could have led to problems, even if the ruler himself was less impulsive than the son of Qyle Martell, who died a few years prior. For some reason, neither of the previous generation of the Martell Princes had a long life.

The spy continued:

- On the final night of our stay, some of the Prince's men got drunk and he had to pick me in place of one of his more trusted guards. We followed him into the most devastated part of the town, where he had the meeting with someone that seemed very important. I've never seen Martell being so kind, almost cringing.

- Do you know who it was? Can you describe him? - Viserys wanted to know.

- I can try, Lord Hand. It was a short and somewhat overweighted foreigner, of that last I'm sure, based on his weird accent. He could have been around Your Lorship's age. He had small, brown eyes and was wearing a hood most time, but it was a windy night and it fell from his head for a second or two. He was completely bald. I didn't hear many details, but... Leowyn was saying something about Braavos and meeting with the man's master when he reaches the city for the next time.

Viserys already knew who was that supposed master, or more accurate he was sure that he was right.

- One more thing. How did you escape?

- I faked an illness on the road, bad enough for the party to leave me behind, as the Prince had to come back to Sunspear with haste. I don't know why, though. Then, I returned to Planky Town, took a ship to Tarth, then another venturing here. I'm certain that no one cared about the matter. Just a humble spearman, deserting from their services.

The Hand wasn't sure about that part, but the man was probably right. When the Martells realised he was missing, he was already too far away to make a search for him, so they likely decided it's not worth the risk. After all, who cared about a lowly guard?

- If that would be all - he said, rising from the seat - go to the chambers of the Master of Coin's assistants and state your cause there. Told them it was I who sent you.

Viserys remembered that bald man. As he suspected, after Roberto Merredo, the Sea Lord had sent another envoy, this time with a real claim. He was much more difficult to manage than the previous one. Sylvio Serenaio, that was his name, proved a big challenge to the Hand, who had to use all of his capabilities to get the Braavosi out of their heads. At least, it was what he thought. He started wondering now if maybe Serenaio backed down too easily from their dispute. However, he was not bald. His trusted servant was. And the description of the spy was almost identical to what Viserys memorised about that particular man. Which could have meant one thing. Serenaio was in Dorne, talking with the Martells. Yet, he and his master must have known that Dorne wasn't an independent political being anymore. All matters should be discussed with their seniors - the Iron Throne. At best, it was trying to make more income behind the King. At worst - the opening of something way more serious. "Daeron needs to be informed about that and better quickly."
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Later that evening, he and his nephew were sitting in Viserys's chamber, discussing the matter.

- Braavos has no rights to even send emissaries to Dorne! - the King angrily proclaimed, after drinking his wine from the goblet.

Viserys nodded, but explained:

- Yes, they don't. However, there is a problem. I didn't inform you about all the details back then, as you were on the war and could do nothing in the matter, but what they are doing here is apparently aiming to suck as much as they can off us. Sadly, they have the claim now, as weak as it is.

- Something about the Stormbreakers advancing by our side in Dorne, wasn't it?

- Indeed. They try to persuade that since they had trading agreements with the Martells before, it goes against their interest. I saw that clause and I tell you what, it is a pure bullshit. An ordinarily skilled scribe would manage to deny that if given time.

Daeron asked another question:

- Then what are they hoping to achieve by violating the peace?

That was were the core of an issue lied.

- You see, for now they are not. Serenaio was not caught in Dorne, that man who was meeting with the Martells was merely his servant, maybe even slave. I'd say it's more than possible. He'd just tell us he got rid of him if we'd capture him and try to do anything. Moreover, earlier it was the case of them getting less from the trade with us that they wanted. Now, with the income from Dorne drastically decreasing, they went from not gaining to losing. And if there is something that Braavos hates more than dragons, that is the lack of money.

- And the Sea Lord? He's not that stupid, is he?

- Unlikely, but he's getting desperate, I am afraid. His position already was rather delicate and now it gets weaker and weaker, as he fails to deliver on our matter and in the war with Norvos. We could have helped the opposing factions if their leaders showed some promises, but most of them are even more unfriendly than Bruqqo - Viserys pointed out.

That led to a bunch of curses from his nephew.

- Gods be damned. So, the foreign country is scheming with my new vassals and we're forced to wait for their move, no one knows where and when it'll happen. Great - he grunted. Viserys saw the grim of the young King. He clearly wasn't in a good mood for the last few days. Understandable, giving both dull part of responsibilities of being the ruler and his current disagreement with his wife. The latter part of it would eventually ease off, but now he gained another thing to bring him down. As the Hand, Viserys decided he cannot allow that.

- With Braavos, you cannot do much, indeed. But when we're speaking about Dorne, we're not so helpless - he stated, carefully observing the King.

Daeron's eyes started filling with hope:

- What do you propose then, uncle?

- I think we both know that the Martells cannot be trusted. Yes, we'll have lord Alyn there, in Sunspear, but he's a foreigner for the people there, as are all of the garrisons that you left in Dorne. They need to operate with caution. Moreover, they're outnumbered. And as smart as Elaena is, she's still only a child. She's not gonna influence the politic in Dorne, at least not for a few years.

Daeron laughed bitterly:

- And you've just remembered me about that again. Not that Daena already doesn't do it fifty times per day…

- You reap what you saw, Your Grace - the Hand half-jested - however, my point here is: You need someone to keep Prince Marrence in check. Someone from Dorne, loyal to our cause.

- The most loyal would be Lord Dayne, I think. After Aemon had beat his champion, he had joined our side and hasn't show anything unworthy since that moment.

"A good candidate, yet not what we are looking for."

- Starfall is too isolated, I'm afraid - Viserys countered - Dayne is powerful, but not that powerful. And he's surrounded by Qorgyles, Fowlers and Ullers. Not our most enthussiastic vassals, to say the least.

- So, it would have to be someone from the central part of Dorne, preferably not far from the Martells themselves? - Daeron seemed to understand - which leads us to…

- Yes. the Yronwoods. The only House that could rival with the Sunspear.

The King frowned briefly:

- I can't imagine Lord Gerris working with us after I slained his Heir myself.

- Yes, but he clearly is not a friend of Prince Marrence as well. They don't trust each other - his Hand proclaimed.

- Hmmmm… You may be right. I remember that man on the celebration feast. He seemed furious, but not upon me, rather upon his Prince.

This might have been their chance, yet Viserys knew that resentment alone is not enough. They would need something more. That's why he started again:

- We have to give them something. Something that would convince Lord Yronwood that we're not joking and we truly wish to have him on our side in case Dorne tries to rebel. His castle is located in an ideal spot for both defense and offense and he has a lot of men able to fight.

- I think his Heir now is a daughter. Seventeen years old or something. She might be the key to that, as we already have her younger brother here, as a hostage - Daeron started to think.

- Do you plan on another marriage pact, nephew? - Viserys tried to sound as serious as possible. It wasn't the correct time for japing.

The King made a wry face:

- That crossed my mind. It would be a good idea, but to who? I'm married, so is Aemon. Baelor would be a suitable candidate, but for now he remains my Heir and if he wasn't so pious, he would have been threatening to kill himself if I so much as start talking about marriages, so not an option, either. There is no clear solution - he said, resigned.

There was, however. The main problem was the man who was that solution. Yet Viserys decided to play that card:

- There is one more member of the Royal Family, Daeron. My eldest son.

The King seemed surprised that Viserys had pointed that out.

- Aegon? I thought he made his wish very clear and you had some sort of deal with him on that matter.

- I had, but these are times when everyone needs to sacrifice something. Aegon already took a Dornish lover recently. He can take a Dornish wife, especially if she's pretty. You know how his mind operates.

- You shouldn't be so tight with him, uncle. He's my good friend, after all - there was fire behind that words. The King didn't want to hear bad things about his cousin and friend, so Viserys tried another tactic:

- Yet, he's twenty-six. It is about time for that. We have to convince him or we won't have that alliance, Lord Gerris won't fall for promises. And Gods only know how much we need it. Besides, I want Aegon to be happy, despite all our differences. He might find some of that in marriage. Moreover, I wouldn't propose it if I didn't think he is ready to keep the Dornishmen under control. His toughness would help him there to not sink. And, Your Grace... I need you to convince him. If not you, then probably no one.

His nephew understood that.

- I'll do what I can, uncle. You're right about one thing. It's not the good way, but it's the only one, I can see that. However, I would need you by my side to pull this out. It won't be an easy conversation. Seven Hells - he gasped - I've already had too much of those this year.

Chapter Text

Aegon Targaryen wasn't the greatest fan of the Red Keep, but there was one room that he desired in particular, which was his bedchamber. Located behind the main chamber he possessed, it allowed him to do his things when also maintaining an illusion that everything was normal. His things of course meant coupling. The noises weren't best heard from the corridor. Especially if the person guilty of making them wasn't as loud as most would be in this situation.

- More, Aegon, give me more! - Lady Cassella Vaith gasped underneath him silently. Always silently. He didn't know why, but even while climaxing, his lover didn't let out any screams. Only these silent moans. Not that it upset him. Not in the slightest. What it did was only making him more curious.

- You'll had to tell me one day why are so quiet. You like it too much to hold your screams, I can assure you of that - he responded with a snort while petting her smooth, pale skin. "How somebody from Dorne could have a skin so light? This makes no sense."

Indeed, the girl was even paler than him, but she had hair darker than a moonless night, as well as her eyes. She looked somewhat like a ghost, especially in a nightgown. A very pretty ghost, if Aegon had to be honest. Her face was enough to caught his interest when he first saw her. Coming from a noble family from Dorne, Lady Vaith acted as a ward under the Crown's protection and, in reality, a hostage to make sure that her family doesn't do anything stupid, like joining the rebellion against Daeron. Aegon, as well as most in the Court, was sure that it'll eventually happen, so these hostages were a decent idea of his cousin.

He liked it even more when he approached Cassella and she shared his desires with no hesitation, telling him that since she's stuck here, she could make the best out of the situation. It was then it turned out that pretty face isn't just for show nor it's her best feature. That body was exceptional and the things she was ready to do... Even he didn't know all of them and that was telling something. Of course the girl wasn't a maiden, but that didn't trouble Aegon. Over the years, he came to a conclusion that maidens are not worth a fuss. Of course, if he ever married, he would have preferred one. "That is a very big if". He had had no desire for that a decade ago nor now.

Since his question wasn't answered, he repeated it and, to his surprise, this time Cassella answered:

- It's because of my... previous experience. I was the only daughter, you know? Many brothers, but only one girl. So, my father had spoiled me and didn't want anything to ever happen to me. But, when you give your child everything she's asking for…

- You leave the door wide open for any man who wishes to take the prize - Aegon finished. Maybe it wasn't the best choice of words, but Cassella didn't seem to care that much. She chuckled.

- One could say that. I was only fourteen and, because of my brothers, viewed it as a mysterious act, full of joy and pleasure. So, when a man started to court me, I fell for the trap of love. Only after I found out it was an affection at best.

He wondered who it was while she continued:

- Of course, my father would be furious if he found out, so at first, my lover took me into his places. A brothel, a friend's house. He showed me all those positions and acts I know now, but he insisted of keeping it quiet so we could have done it more frequently. It turned out to be a good idea, as my chambers were close to these of my mother's and it would be suspicious if the daughter of the noble House suddenly started going out of the castle at nights regularly. She had no idea what was happening until one day, a handmaiden entered without knocking. Before neither of us could do something, she started screaming. That alarmed the guards and everyone found out. I was locked in a tower for two years! And he, my dear Quentyn… It's a miracle he survived. He just carved his way through father's men and fled as fast as a wind could blow. I've never met him afterwards.

That was enough to bring back something from the depths of Aegon's mind, but he struggled to name it yet.

- How was he? - he wanted to know - clearly he had to be special if he gained your attention, my Lady. You have your standards rather high - the Prince finished with a smirk.

- And you fit them, my formidable Dragon - she teased him - Quentyn was nothing like you, yet similar in some ways. He was a rogue, but he could have spoken really nicely to me, he always had his spear with him… Well, two spears if you know what I mean. He always dressed in black and had a really dark complexion, almost as the people in Sothoryos. I think he was one of father's captains, but many soldiers didn't like him. He rarely spoke when unquestioned directly. They even got him a nickname.

"Oh Gods, I remember now!"

- Dark Spear, wasn't it?

- How... How do you know? - she seemed shocked - You know him?

He started to laugh. How could he have forgotten?

- I'm sorry, it's… It's just too twisted to be true - the Prince tried to calm himself down, but the thought was so funny to him for some reason - Yes, I can say I know him. Or knew, rather. I was marching with him most of the war.

- So, he was a renegade - Cassella pointed out - That's good. Dorne had never gave him anything but threats. But you said 'knew'. Why?

- He's dead. I don't know if it pleases you or just the opposite, but he died in a duel with your Lord Father, while sending him to the meeting with the Gods shortly after. I've never seen a spear so deep in someone's body.

What followed then, was a few minutes of silence. His lover than sighted and whispered:

- I'm not feeling it anymore towards him, but he was my first. And as much as I resent my father for our fate, he still was the man who sired me. It's… a bit hard to digest, I am sorry if I ruined the mood.

- It's not your fault, Cass, I was the one who wanted to know - Aegon embraced her softly. He knew when to act which way. She gave him a weak smile in response.

- Thank you. But... I'm not from glass. Do you want to continue?

A tempting proposition, but given her state, he decided that it should be her choice.

- Only if you truly wish for it, darling. You're not a mere bedwarmer to me, you have your own will.

Instead of her answer, there was a loud knock into the door of the front chamber. Cassella nodded her head in that direction.

- You should see what it is. We don't want a replay, do we?

He had no wish to get up, but finally rose up and went to the door. On the other side of it, he found one of the servants.

- What? - he growled, hoping to scare the man away. This tactic had sometimes worked, but, at best, only half of the tries. The servant didn't tremble, which told Aegon who might had sent him in the first place. He then confirmed that suspicions with his next quote:

- I'm sorry, my Prince, but the King and Lord Hand urge for your presence in the Throne Room.

Both Daeron and Viserys? The matter was serious, then. What could it have been? His last affair? No, that's not it. If his father had something openly against Cassella in Aegon's bed, he most likely already would have stormed here himself. Or did anything, the Hand was rather creative when there was a need for that. As much as he tried to figure it out, the answer wasn't emerging. He step back to his solace, kissed his lover in the forehead and said:

- I'm needed in the Chair Chamber. I don't know why, but I best be going. You can stay here if you wish, I'll come back after I'm done with whatever awaits.
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The Iron Throne always seemed stupid to Aegon. Sure, he knew the story behind it. A ruler must never be at peace, or else he'd grow weak and uncautious. Yet, he could at least sit better. "Good thing I'm not coming anywhere near that cursed chair, I prefer my butt not harassed". On it, he found Daeron. His cousin was looking on him with his serious expression, yet the Prince could have seen the shade of the usual mischief in his blue eyes, always present when the two were involved in something. This kid grew out be one of his best friends somehow and Aegon hoped it would stay that way.

This couldn't be said with the other man waiting in the room, though. Father Viserys. The worst was probably buried down, but still there was that not disappearing unease between them. The son felt the constantly judging gaze of his father up to this day, even as a man long grown. He decided to ignore it for now.

- You summoned me, cousin - there were only three of them, so he didn't care about the titles. He moved his head towards Viserys - father.

- Sit, Aegon - Daeron pointed at the Small Council's table and rose up from the throne. He seemed… Tired, much more than he was at war - we have something important to discuss.

As they said, it was Viserys's turn to speak. He started about the Martells's suspicious actions and the need of having the alliances in Dorne besides the Prince, who could not be trusted, especially in relevancy to the Yronwoods. Aegon listened and while he understood the matter well and generally agreed, he failed to see how his role in the King and the Hand's plan could have been.

- I'm sorry, father - he interrupted - But I don't know what I of all people could do. I can go there and try to befriend the Lord, but no offense, he's way older than even you. I don't even know where I could have started.

- I'm not talking about the old Gerris. He, however, has a daughter. A beauty, I heard - he suspended his voice and Aegon finally realised the allusion:

- You can't be serious. YOU. FUCKING. CAN'T. BE SERIOUS, OLD MAN.

The look on his father's face told him that he was, indeed, dead serious:

- Aegon, I know how you view it, but it's the only way it could have worked out for us. You're twenty six now. It's way past the time it usually happens.

- Yes. And you promised me something all these years ago. To me, that promise remains.

- Even if the Realm would suffer as a cost? - Viserys started to get angrier. A good thing, because Aegon now was furious.

- The Realm will suffer regardless of me having a girl in my bed or not. You said I would have a say in that. Well, I have. I refuse! - he shouted in his father's face. He looked on Daeron - Cousin, what he did to you to even consider this proposal?

The King gave a long sight before speaking:

- Uncle, can you leave us for a moment? I'll call for you when we're done. Please.

Viserys must have felt it's not a good time to argue, even if he wanted to. He got up and slowly left the throne room, before giving one, final gaze to both the younger men. When the door had closed, Daeron stood up.

- Aegon… As much as I would wish for it to be false, I can't deny the truth. Uncle said it first, but it wasn't his idea originally. It was mine - he looked so tired while saying that. In his eyes was an understanding, yet Aegon felt betrayed nonetheless.

- So it is you who want to tie me up into a marriage bed? Really, Daeron, I would expect it from everyone, but from you? My friend?

Another sigh, followed by a response:

- It's not something I wish to do to you. Trust me, I've thought about a solution for a long time. Yet, I can't think of any better. And, well, I'm just scared, cousin. Fine. I said that.

Daeron, scared of anything? Even as a little boy, his younger cousin was as fearless as a true dragon could be. He was hesitant, at times, yes, but scared? Aegon didn't remember a single moment of the Young Dragon showing fear. Heck, even on the battlefield he led the charges without showing any signs of concern, to much despair of his generals. What was so different now?

- Why? - it was the only answer he could think of.

- You want to know why? Fine, let's go and count it. First, I had agreed to a marriage pact involving my youngest sister, barely out of her child age, without correctly judging the matter and soon she will depart to the swirl of snakes that is this Godsdamned Sunspear, where she would be on the mercy of the man that schemes behind my back and his cousin, who wants all our heads on a pikes. Speaking of the pact, my wife is now furious with me because of it and refuses to properly speak to me, which makes me deeply unsettled and when I totally should have focused on the state matters, I think only on how to make it up to her. Coming back to the scheming snakes part, they are doing it with the most dangerous and powerful Free City of them all, yet as long as we have the agreements with it, we can do naught but watch, I have tons of businesses I need to look after and even with the help of Viserys, I'm desperately lacking time for everything. All this slowly drives me crazy and there is nothing I can do, about any of it! - he silenced, gasping heavily - And then, there's the Dornish matter. Aegon, I need someone there. Someone that I trust more than anyone. Someone that I can rely on unconditionally. I cannot think of the other person but you.

Fuck, it was so simple a few minutes ago. Only his wounded trust. Now, with Daeron's guts on the outside, he started to wonder how his friend hangs on with all of this, what the Prince hasn't considered to that point. "It turns out I am a selfish cunt, am I not?" Daeron was like a brother to him. No, a brother in everything but name. And at hard times, brothers should aid each other. That he knew without the guidance.

- I want to see her first - he finally answered, and upon seeing Daeron's smile, quickly added - Don't think so highly of you, little brat. It's a hardly a yes.

- Yet it's not a no - his cousin answered, relaxing a bit as well at last - wine?

Chapter Text

- The King wants you to go to King's Landing? Why? - Derianne questioned her father. This didn't make sense for her - He already has Jason there, doesn't he? Why are we needed?

- It's more complicated than that, Deri - Lord Gerris looked deep in his daughter's dark eyes with his own, slightly lighter ones - My presence is 'well appreciated', as the letter says, whatever this means, but they asked specifically for you. Whyis that, I can't think of the reason.

Derianne suspected the worst case scenario.

- All of our House on the dragon's mercy. They might simply wish to end us for good…

Her father denied without a haste:

- Highly unlikely. They wouldn't have gained anything by doing that. If the King wishes for peace, he ought to treat us with respect. We can cause many problems to him.

- Not like that desire for peace saved Andros! - the wound of her brother hurt. Not as badly as when the message about his fate came, but the survivors from the battle saw it fair and square: the Heir of House Yronwood being slain by the Young Dragon himself. Of all people, no one took it as horribly as their mother, the Lady Corina. Since last year, she rarely left her chamber, lost most of her weight and refused to speak even with her other children, barring some short sentences. Derianne knew that her father was as saddened as her, he just was more accustomed to the cruel fate of death. Yet the image of the menace that he was when his children were younger, already fading away due to his age, was shattered for good. Now he looked like an ordinary old man, only taller than most.

"No parent should have buried the child". Her pain was severe, but she didn't even want to think what her mother and father been through since that cursed day. Andros was their eldest, the only child for many years before she finally came to the world after almost a decade of miscarriages, and Jason shortly after her. She sometimes felt jealous about all the attention her older brother had as a child and after that as well, when he started being prepared for the future lordship. Yet, she absolutely wasn't ready to lose him. For many reasons.

One of them was the fact that she was now the Heir of Lord Gerris. And she felt completely unprepared. Of course, she grew used to thinking she would end up as a wife of some Lord or a Lordling. The Yronwoods were powerful enough to marry her off into a firstborn son somewhere or to a widowed Lord. For that she was ready. But not for the ruling itself. She looked upon her father, who was sighing quietly in his armchair. They weren't similar. Derriane often wondered how it could have happened - the tallest man in Dorne and his wife, certainly not short, creating a daughter that was barely five feet and three inches tall. Most of her other features came after the mother, both in appearance and temper.

That wasn't a bad thing, Derianne remembered how strong-willed yet playful lady Corina used to be when she was younger and her daughter only a small child. She was very far from being ugly as well and her daughter followed the pattern in that regard. Deri wasn't lacking suitors, which rather pleased her. After Andros's death the attention raised to such a level that it became too much ever for her, however. It was increasingly harder to find a moment of peace. And when it looked like it finally happened, the letter came.

- So, we have to come to the capital. Are there any details written? - she asked again, and lord Yronwood shook his head:

- Nothing. Only that we shall know the exact reason when we get there, as it's too important to write with the letter. As if we were servants - he spatted.

This smelled like a trap.

- I don't like it, father.

- Neither do I, but there is little we could do, my child - Gerris explained with an annoyed grim - he's our King after all. I can feel in my bones that the tensions in Dorne are rising and I don't put much faith in our Godsdamned Prince nor his foolish cousin. We should go there and see what is it. We need to have all the options in front of us when the right moment emerges.

Derianne looked upon him, concerned:

- You think the war would start again?

- I could bet my own manhood on it, Deri - he said with a dry humour.
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And so it was, as later this month they found themselves in the entrance of the King's Landing. Derianne had to admit, this was nothing like she had seen before. She was in Sunspear and in Planky Town, as well as in Pentos, although only briefly, but none of these came even close to the capital of Westeros. It was just huge. Huge and stinking. While some plan clearly was there, the city looked like a metropoly that grew up into the size no one really prefigured at first. "Those Goldcloaks or whatever they're called better be good in their job or we won't survive an hour here". She already felt the gazes upon her, in many ways hostile. The resentments, both old and new, were there, that was for certain.

Their journey through the Realm was rather smooth. Her father had chosen the land way through the Boneway, but without much stops. The only ones were the Wyls, but neither of them remembered it fondly, the Bronzgate of House Buckler, as it was on the way, and the Wendwater Bridge, the final castle before the Kingswood. Lord Gerris worried about outlaws or bandits, but fortunately there were none on their way. Derianne herself worried more about the residents of the city. King's Landing's multitude proved dangerous more than once in history and to foreigners as well. She struggled to feel otherwise.

- Greetings, my Lord! - there was a resonant voice in front of their party, belonging to the man in white cloak. It must have been one of the Kingsguard - I'm ser Roland of Grey Hills of the Royal Guard of King Daeron I and these men here - he pointed behind himself - are the Goldcloaks, ready to act as your escort to the Red Keep.

- The pleasure's mine, ser Roland - while Lord Gerris probably was only slightly older than the knight, his tone was much more serious - a rather… large group, I must say. Are we expecting troubles?

The whitecloak responded, warmth not leaving his gestures:

- Most likely not, my Lord, but better to preserve sooner than act later. The King wishes for your people to get into Maegor's Holdfast safe and not bothered. It's not that far away, follow my men's lead! - he whistled and a bunch of the city guards rode to the front, forming some kind of a line and started going. They had no choice but to follow.

On the road, the knight tried to politely quiz Derianne's father about both Dorne and their road, while he aimed to get as many informations that he could about the city, the Royal Family and the moods of the Westerosi people about the recent events. She tried to listen, but it was hard to hear all of that, especially in a city so loud as the capital. They spoke fairly quiet, so rather than that, she choose to watch the view that was surrounding her. They went through the richer parts of the town first, then emerged into the less composed ones. Now, they have reached the large square with a few fountains, from which the water was draining. Many of the smallfolk were gathering near them, hoping to catch some of the liquid.

- Nice sight, isn't it? - someone next to her whispered, getting her out of her thoughts - however, I've always favoured the Blackwater Bay area. More to... Drink besides the water, of course. Since the original Queen's Fountains were destroyed during the Dance of the Dragons, these are only the remake. Poorly done, if someone asked me.

It was one of the Goldcloaks that were seconded to guard the main part of their party. A tall and bulky man, but not as huge as Lord Yronwood himself. It was difficult to say more about him, because he had a hood on his head. Derianne felt some annoyance. Foreigner or not, she was a Lady from the noble House. A mere watchman should have known to act better around her. However, something in him told her to hold that annoyance for a second.

- So, tell me. What is your favourite part of the city? - she asked instead.

- If I told you that, my Lady, I'd make an insult. Such a woman should not be informed about the... Activities that are taking place near the Street of Silk.

- You're already making an insult, you know that? - the way that he pronounced the word 'activities' humoured her, as she knew exactly what sorts of activities he had in mind - I may not be the most ladylike or well-educated in such matters, but it's not completely polite to keep your face covered while talking with a noble woman.

He only smirked:

- My mantle is not something that should concern you, but if you insist so much... - he raised the hood momentarly, letting her have a good look on his face, before putting it on again. It was an unusual sight. His eyes were a striking, light violet and his hair of gold and silver. He was very handsome, even if slightly quirked. She suspected it was his usual expression, but felt some warmth in her nonetheless.

- So that's why you're hooded. You look so much as a dragon prince that half of the smallfolks here would cling to you in hope of getting some money, is that it?

- You could say that - he snorted again, before adding - But it's not like I am the only one with the dragon blood here. Some of them were… Less cautious with the other in terms of transfusing their silver genes. Even more on Dragonstone, where even a mere blacksmith could be a distant Targaryen descendant.

"Dragonstone? How could a guard from the capital know such things? Is he really only a Goldcloak?"

- You seem well informed for the guardsman of the city watch… - how he was called? - I didn't get your name.

- Some call me Egg - the mystery kept going on, but before she had a chance to say more, he pointed out - Now there is a sight. The Red Keep from close. Much can be said about Maegor the Cruel, but the man had his style, that's for sure.

Derainne didn't have much time for witnessing, however, as her father already departed for the castle and she had to speed up to not be left behind. For a moment, she forgot about the mysteroius goldcloack.
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The throne room was intimidating, to say the least. Derianne felt so small while standing before the Iron Throne. "Some chair that is. Rather unpleasant to sit, if I see correctly". It seemed that way, as King Daeron was keeping himself in a rather peculiar position. Yet, none sights of annoyance were on his face. It struck the lady how young he was. Barely older than her, if older at all. "Dorne brought to its knees by a teenager? Maybe father is right to not trust the Prince". Really good-looking, but in a bit different way to the watchmen she met earlier, and, weirdly, his eyes were blue, not purple. The rest of the features were there, though. No one could have said it was him who ended Andros's and so many other's lives. Below him, but still on some kind of a platform, were sitting two other people.

One of them was the much older man, probably around his fourties, with serious, but not stern expression. There was much going on his eyes. It could have been none other than prince Viserys, the Hand of the King and one of the most dangerous men in all Westeros, although he preferred to work from the back seat. If Derianne remembered correctly, he remained here during the war, ruling in his nephew's name, as he did for many years of his brother's reign. At least that was what her father told her. Next to him, sat the young woman, around the age of the King or a bit younger, with long, wavy hair and purple eyes so dark that they were almost black. She looked bored, but when their gazes met, the girl sent Derianne a brief smirk. Probably Daeron's wife and sister, Daena. Marrying your own sibling felt unnatural even for Dornish lax standards. "But so were flying on dragons and blood magic and the Valyrians were doing just that for centuries. And besides, if I was the King and my sister looked like this, well…"

- My Lord, my Lady, I would want to officially welcome you in King's Landing - the King's tone was rather typical for a teenager, not hostile, but not exactly warm either - I hope your journey was safe.

Her father answered, not losing cautious:

- Aye, Your Grace. We're departed as soon as we got the letter. There were no difficulties on the road, fortunately. I expected much more outlaws on such a long journey.

- That's very good to hear, Lord Yronwood - Daeron smiled, but under that grim, Derianne spotted some tiredness. Ruling the Kingdom mustn't be the easy task. "Don't pity him. He killed Andros", she reminded herself - Before we continue, I'd like you to meet my dearest wife, Queen Daena, as well as my Lord Hand and uncle, Prince Viserys.

Both of them stood up from their seats and the courtesies were exchanged. Viserys's grip was firm, however if Derianne had to guess, she would have said that his warrior days were behind him. The Queen surprised her more though, giving her something close to a hug and whispering:

- Relax, you're more tense than a bowstring…

It should have comforted her, but there was some steel in the girl's voice. "Not exactly a bunch of people that I'd wish to make enemies of". While she was thinking that, Viserys stated:

- We are sorry that we gave you so little details about why we insisted of getting both of you here, but the risk of it getting in ineligible hands was too large to take it.

- So, if I may ask, Your Graces, why are we here? - Derianne had enough of all the mystery - Is that something we failed to do or...?

It was the King who answered, more amused than angered by her demand:

- Your doings are precisely what the Crown wants from you. Part of it, at least. The other was getting here.

- We invited you here to discuss an important matter - Prince Viserys added - as you probably know, our Kingdom wishes to closen the ties with Dorne. One of the ways could be a marriage pact. Already this was done with the Martells with Princess Elaena - the Queen quirked lightly upon hearing that. Seemingly she didn't like the match - However, there is one more family in Dorne that we want to bring in closer. Yours, noble guests. House Yronwood has the birthright, wealth and strength to be one of the more prominent ones of the entire Realm.

- Precisely. But to preserve that, you'll need a secured succession - Daeron stated and the Dornish Lady had to admit that they managed to avoid mentioning the reason why the succession wasn't that stable at first rather smoothly, at least until now. He continued, turning his attention into her father - In that, we wish to help you. Lord Yronwood, I'm proposing a union between your Heir, Lady Derianne, and my cousin as well as my Hand's eldest son, Prince Aegon Targaryen.

"Wait a second. What?!" It was impossible to hide her confusion and by the look on Lord Gerris's face, he for sure didn't expect that, either. Yet, he was able to speak:

- That is a very generous offer, Your Grace. I have to say we didn't expect it. May I discuss it with my daughter first, before giving an answer? I promise it won't take long.

The permission was granted and she felt being dragged from the throne room by him. She barely had the strengyh to move. Then, he started speaking:

- I understand now. By now they probably realised the same as I did, that the war is likely not over. They want to strengthen their position in case the more rebellious nobles at Sunspear prevail.

- But isn't this favouring us too much? You know the Martells won't look too kind at that. It's like painting the target on our back - Derianne pointed out, coming back to reality a bit.

- The benefits outweight the drawbacks, for us and them likewise. We're still the second most powerful House in Dorne and we're the key to its Eastern part. Plus, if Daeron's wife is… Sixteen, I think? That means his other sister is most likely even younger, so no political figure yet. I don't know much about Prince Aegon, but he, most likely, is to some degree. It's both getting us closer and sending a watchman there without risking he'll get murdered in an instant, as I won't tarnish us with such an act.

It still was hard to believe:

- So, you're think it's a good idea?

Her father looked down on her and spoke, with honesty and concern:

- I would accept it, I won't lie to you. In this race it's safer to bet on the dragon than on the sun. However, it is you who is involved, Deri. I won't do this if it's against your wishes. Speak plainly what do you think.

It was her turn for the truth, then:

- Part of it sickens me, but I remember what happened last time when the dragon army clashed with us. We may not be able to take another invasion. I'll do what is required for us to survive, but I have a condition. I want to meet him first.

A brief laugh from the corridor followed her last sentence.

- I'm afraid you had already done that, my Lady - a familiar voice it has been.

When the speaker closed up the distance between them, Derianne gasped from surprise:

- You're that guard who spoke with me when we were riding through the city! That's means you're… Prince Aegon?

- You were indeed right when saying I should have introduced myself then, but I think I could do it now. My name is Aegon of House Targaryen, Lady Derianne. And I suspect that man is your father, Lord Gerris. The pleasure is all mine - he bowed politely, but she could see his sarcastic smile.

Lord Yronwood looked from one to another, confused:

- Is there something I should have known about?

- Not that much, my Lord. You see, when I first heard about an idea of me getting involved in this scheme, I stated a similar condition as your daughter over here. A very sensible one, I must say - he winked on her and she felt a weird sensation in her stomach. "He has a charm, that's for sure" - However - he continued - men and women at court are rather… Tense, so I figured out I'd get the best impression of what a person Lady Derianne truly is when talking to the mere guard, not a Prince of the blood.

That was an interesting tactic and a rather bold approach, Derianne had to admit. "He's arrogant. Not that it's necessarily a drawback". She decided to play his game:

- And what impression you have now, my Prince? - since he was much taller, raising the head was a bit uncomfortable, but she did not blink when their gazes met. "I'm not a prude who keeps her sight in the floor and blush upon receiving a gaze or two".

Aegon seemed to notice what she wanted to show him.

- A positive one. Very much positive - he didn't look back, either.

Chapter Text

- Look, mum! I can write my name! - Princess Daenerys, seemingly very proud of herself, showed the piece of paper to her mother. In it, below some simple drawings, were a few amounts of signing herself. The last one, albeit slightly lopsided, was written correctly. That didn't happen before.

Naerys smiled happily:

- I'm very proud of you, sweetie. Why don't you come with me to your father and show him? I'm sure he will be as astonished as us.

- Yes! - the child nodded and ran into the door. "She's so bright", the mother thought, glad the previous shyness was going away from her daughter. She's not gonna have a big brother who protects her from the evil in the world, after all. She will need to be able to defend herself on her own. "If the Gods have mercy, maybe she will be the one for giving a protection to the youngser siblings?"

She followed her child to Aemon's simply organised chambers, conviniently located really close to her own, but they didn't find him there. The next destination was the training yard, then, but when the mother and her child approached, there was also no sign of the father nearby. The third possible location could be either the sept or the garden, depending of the mood her husband was in. For the last few days, he was rather gloomy. Knowing Aemon, Naerys led Daenerys and herself to the latter. The girl already started to show some signs of tiredness and the mother hoped that they'll end their journey there. Daenerys grew a bit heavy to be carried in arms for a long time, at least for the daughter of Prince Viserys.

Fortunately, upon reaching the garden, they found a familiar figure there.

- Papa! - Daenerys forgot about her complaints instantly and ran to Aemon - Look!

Aemon took the paper from her and then took her in his arms, which was not a big deal for him.

- What a wise daughter I have - he teased her, letting her rubbed his cheek - Tell me, do you like your current lessons?

The child wondered for a second:

- Septa Alys wants me to declaim the prayers from my mind. It's so hard. And boooooring - she pouted - but I like the writing lessons. And I like to draw.

- It may be boring, but it's necessary, my child - Naerys entered the discussion, not allowing Daenerys to complain even more - However, draw and write as much as you want. There was quite some time since we last had an artist in our family. Maybe you'll get what it takes to become the next.

It was true. Neither of Viserys's offsprings had much talent in that regard and of their cousins, only Rhaena's drawings didn't look like clumsy sticks and rounds, but she wasn't that great to begin with and showed no big interest in the art, anyway. Uncle Aegon once said that his half-brother Lucerys was very talented, but Naerys didn't see his drawings, so it was hard to tell. If Daenerys wants to do it, she was determined to give her the tools. "I need to ask the maids for paper and pencils, and better the coloured ones."

Aemon put their daughter on the ground and she started looking for all the mysteries that the garden might show, getting further and further from their parents. After a while, the girl met another child, her peer - Estella Celtigar, one of her friends. Quickly, the garden was filled with noises of laughing kids, running and chasing each other all over the place.

- She's growing so fast - Aemon took Naerys's hand in his - I still remember her as a baby. How small and silent she was.

- She came from me, so she couldn't have been any different - she laughed briefly, the memories of a hard labour still rent free in her head - but I'm glad our daughter takes after you as well. She doesn't have a luxury that I had - she proclaimed, giving her husband a playful nod.

- Don't be so hard with yourself - Aemon responded - It's not like you were afraid of your own shadow!

Naerys rolled her eyes:

- Well, no, but close. But I had you to protect me. Still have. She doesn't. She would need to stand for herself in the future.

"I have to say it now."

- Aemon… - she started - I thought about it recently… I think it's time for us to try for... For another baby.

The surprise was clear in his eyes, as well as concern:

- Naerys, don't you remember what Maester Alrod said? Every pregnancy from now on is a danger for you.

- Yes, but... - She hated convincing him, even though there was rarely a need. Her husband had a patience of the Mother herself, but he could be really stubborn when it came to her - My love, don't tell me you wouldn't want another daughter to spoil. Or a son to teach how to fight.

He lightly hugged her, then slowly pulled away:

- Listen, I do, I really do, but not in the expense of you. You're the bestblessing that Gods have given me. How could I live knowing that I caused your demise and suffering?

- There is always some risk. It was too big before the war, shortly after the first one, I agree, but now? - Naerys was determined to tell him her thing. She had already confronted the Grand Maester - Alrod told me that I could make it. Daenerys is almost five now. My strength is not that big, but it's regenerated. And I'm in the best age for that. There will be no better time than now. Why don't we try, at least?

- If it's really your wish, then so be it. But I doubt it would be wise now.

This was at least an advance, but it looked like there is another obstacle. "Dear Gods, What my lovely husband got into this time?"

- And why is that, my love? - she asked.

Aemon's face darkened a bit:

- I spoke with Daeron just before you two got here. He's concerned that the comeback to Dorne might be... Necessary.

This was like a hit in the stomach:

- There are so many of our vassals there. Surely you are not that much needed, are you? - she tried to cope with that, just to get some comfort, but Aemon's gaze told her otherwise.

- You know he's not like that. Daeron and father are receiving many letters, from ser Oscar, Lords Velaryon and Tyrell, from the Yronwoods and Santagars, even Aegon is concerned and you know how little he usually cares about these matters. Not to mention the state he's been in recently.

That brought a chuckle on her:

- Aegon Targaryen in love... Well, sort of. Who would have thought?

As weird as it sounded, Aegon and his Dornish bride really clicked, at least in some ways. Neither of them probably was looking forward to the match at the first place, but it turned out that the girl was what their brother liked in women and she got charmed by him as well. After a quick betrothal and wedding, Aegon came back with the Yronwoods to Dorne. His letters weren't frequent, but he seemed to like it there. However, even he noticed the growing tension in the region and that was telling something. Naerys could have only guessed what was he writing to their royal cousin, but it was visible that the King had a lot to worry about.

- He shouldn't have attacked in the first place - she murmured to one in particular, but Aemon heard her:

- Maybe, but we cannot hop back in time to prevent that. Now, we can only hope the hostages are enough of a threat to keep the Prince of Dorne in check. But if not... I know Daeron. He will go there himself. And he's gonna need every sword to protect him. Mine is the best he could get - he was stating a fact, not boasting about his skills. There was no point.

- Maybe Daena could convince him to wait? - she tried again with some hope. The King and his Queen, after a quarrel following Elaena's match to Prince Marrece's son, got much closer again over the last few months, with their relations coming back to somewhat normal. Which meant the exact opposite of what Naerys and Aemon had, yet for them, it was working. Her cousin had the ability to persuade people, especially when said persuaded individual happened to be in love with her. However, Aemon's answer didn't give his wife much hope:

- She won't be happy, but she's not blind, either. Our Queen gets into at least part of the meetings with the Small Council and Daeron doesn't hide the truth from her. She knows that the situation is delicate, even if some details are unknown to her. Moreover, I think we can see how tired the King is. It's not his thing, just sitting on the Throne and waiting for the opponent to strike. He's gonna do it first himself, he was always like this. No one knows that better than Daena. She won't oppose.

"As much as she wants him with her, it pains her more to see him in constant stress" Naerys realised the fact, losing the hope. As foreign as it sounded to her, Daeron thrived in a battle, a fight, generally any environment when he had the challenge in front of him, not hidden in the shadows. The problem was that Daena was the same. She's gonna understand him if he decides to move to Dorne to stop the rebels. Which was greatly against Naerys's wishes.

- So, you'll leave me again? Leave Daenerys? - she asked, from the start knowing deep down that it wasn't fair to accuse him. It must have pained Aemon as much as her.

- I'd rather not. But if the banner is risen again… I'll take the call, Naerys. I'm sorry - there was a pity in his voice.

Too honourable and caring he was for his own good. That's why she loved him so badly. In situations like this, however, Aemon was lacking the selfishness that Aegon had in excess. She wanted nothing more than him to remain by her side, but she knew that making him stay was against all he was.

- Just promise me that when you're back, we'll try again. I'd love more babies for us.

- I promise - Aemon bowed down slightly and their mouths met, with a rare passion.

"It's getting dark. Time to collect Daenerys, but... I need a moment. With him." She thought, embracing her husband.

Chapter Text

- What is the state of Lord Isembard, my dear Grand Maester? - Daeron oppened the current meeting of his Council.

That question wasn't without merit. Their brotherhood had shrunk somewhat recently. Lord Alyn, the Royal Master of Ships, was in Sunspear, acting as both the protector of Princess Elaena and the King's official representative in the capital of the Southern principality. Daeron trusted him completely in both matters, but he'd have needed the Lord of the Tides's advice here as well. The issue with their second absent man, Lord Isembard Arryn, the old Master of Coin, was very much different. Well past his sixtieth nameday, it looked like the last flight of the Gilded Falcon was getting closer and closer and everyone gathered knew it.

Grand Maester's Alrod words only confirmed their suspicions:

- I am afraid our good lord Isembard suffers from the pain in his stomach again. He has no problems with eating while being served a meal, but the... ingredients are coming back to his mouth too often. He also has increasing difficulties with breathing, especially after walking. I can give him the milk of the poppy, but he refuses to sleep that long, telling me that his work can't wait. He's very dedicated.

- We approve that, Grand Maester - Lord Kermit Tully pointed out - but our numbers are already thinner than usual. His position is too important to rely on his decreasing abilities, especially now.

Uncle Viserys agreed with the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands:

- I agree, Your Grace. It may be the time when we should release Lord Arryn from his position of the Master of Coin. However, before we act, we need to select the replacement.

"Great. Another trouble to solve, as if I hadn't already got enough of them in the first place."

- Do you have someone in mind, my Lords?

An awkward silence followed. Not surprisingly. While the current Master of Coin's health was gradually decreasing, his mind remained competent enough for the task. Only in the last few months, when the young King made his way back from Dorne, it became obvious that the old Arryn was slowly losing the touch with the world. Unfortunately, Daeron had no mind to observe which ones of his Lords were getting rich and which weren't. Normally, he'd ask Viserys to make a list, but Gods knew the amount of work he had to fulfill even without that, was already overwhelming. Sadly, that was the case for all of them.

- I see no candidates now. This matter would be postponed into another week, then. I'll try to find someone, but I need help. Uncle, Lord Kermit, Maester Alrod, I'm counting especially on you.

- Is there a criterion that we should follow, Your Grace? - the Maester asked.

- Yes. Seek for the Lords that increased their wealth actively. It doesn't require a good mind to just sit on a trading point and count the money - Viserys intervened before the silence could have lasted longer and Daeron could only nod. "I'd need to educate myself more on these matters. When the peace is secured I will, hopefully, even if it's boring sometimes."

It was now a time to press the most urgent of matters.

- My Lords - the King began - As you may know, the situation in Dorne is far from comfortable nor secured. I received many letters from our loyal vassals that express their deep concern about the growing rebellion in the Western part of it.

- Rebellion? Who would dare to raise when we have the hostages? - The Master of Law found it hard to believe.

- Apparently, none of the higher nobles, my friend - Uncle Viserys again spoke, with some uncertainty - The recent informations show that none of them are openly against us, but some of the fools south of the Reach are secretly gathering men. Very slowly, as they cannot do it openly, but despite having the force to counterattack the rebels, they do nothing against the guerillas in their lands.

Daeron confirmed:

- Precisely. From what we have, it looks like mostly the smalfolks, the low-birth knights and simple spearmen without a liege are joining the rebels. They lack open support, for now, but their numbers are big enough that our forces cannot risk an open battle. Any mistake could prove fatal in this case. It's a barrel of dragonfire we are sitting on right now.

Ser Robin Darklyn, silent up to that point, wanted to know:

- Who do we have there?

- This is the problem, Lord Commander - the stern voice of the Hand of the King was heard - Mostly Stormbreakers, trying to settle in their new farms and lands. Gathering them quickly could be difficult. Also, there are the Tyrells soldiers under Lord Lyonel's master-at-arms in a camp near Starfall, chasing some of these rebels, as well as Hightowers's ships, ready to go up Brimstone if needed.

- Too thin numbers, Lord Hand - Kermit Tully, unfortunately, was right - and way too widely spreaded if some of the Lords'd decided to betray us.

- That's why we would need to aid them. As Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, I expect you to write the letters to your friends and bannerlords, Lord Tully. Preferably these who can mobilise the mobile forces quickly. Heavyweighted knights are the last thing that could work here - this was Daeron's game. He already was planning the nuances of the upcoming campaign - We should also write to Lord Cregan Stark to gather his men. Even if he won't come by himself, the North remembers the vows it once made.

Ser Darklyn spoke again:

- It came to my ear some days ago that you're considering going there yourself, Your Grace. Is this true?

- We have to put this problem off before it becomes a crisis, ser. I'd take the Crownland forces, which are experienced enough after the campaign, and lead the men through Boneway up to Yronwood. The Marcherers would keep the Wyls in check and Lord Gerris Yronwood is our ally now. From there, we can challenge those rebels in coordination with Lord Tyrell and his bannermen.

That was an ambitious plan, but Daeron was sure it could have gone well. His position in Dorne, while unstable, was far more secured than two years ago, when it was more like jumping to the ocean. And he was successful then. After that, the Council continued, but with nothing in particular of a huge importance. The Youing Dragon tried to pay attention, but in his head, he was already planning the next expedition.
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He had never endured problems like this after lovemaking, but here he was, near the end of the wild night, yet sleepless. "Fuck. What is the point of being tired all day when your head is too loaded to sleep afterwards?"

At least his Queen didn't have such an issue. Daena's slow, steady breath was brushing his chest, as she slept clinged to him, her long hair going everywhere. They both were completely naked and he could have felt her body on his. Even in this position, she was breathtaking. How one could grow even more beautiful than that person already was was beyond Daeron, but that was what his eyes were seeing upon looking at his wife.

The days after their quarrel regarding Elaena's betrothal were a torture. To have her so close, yet so cold and distant… He could barely focus on anything else. Luckily, they put that behind them, especially after receiving the first letters from their youngest sister. The love reignited like it was never in doubt, and probably stronger than ever. Yet, there was an unexpected difficulty that Daeron faced. While he still was in awe with his wife and felt himself entirely taken by the moments their shared, he wasn't as... lustful as her. To do that everyday for half a night, it slowly started to tire him. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

Bizzarre it may have sounded, but if he had to chose between fighting in a battle and coupling, he would put on the armor and catch the Blackfyre in his hand every time. Maybe that's why it was so easy for him to remain faithful during the campaign. He simply didn't feel the need, the image of Daena that was rent free in his memory was enough to keep him content. Yet now, when he was looking at a woman lying on his torso, stunningly beautiful and insanely eager, he couldn't find the same flames that were emerging in him during the combat. Over the last few days, he mostly found the strength in him thanks to her lead. Denying the Queen provided to be a difficult task, even here.

He probably must have moved in a weird way, because she raised her head and opened her eyes, looking at the surroundings of the bed.

- Good Morning - she proclaimed - or is it really a morning?

- I couldn't sleep, Daena. I'm sorry if I woke you up.

She didn't seem offended:

- Nothing wrong with that. By the look of the window, we still have some time to us - that daring smile. It was getting increasingly harder to remain focused.

- I'm not sure I'm ready for another round - he responded - You kept him working for a long time earlier.

- My King is denying me, then? - she started teasing, but by the look on his face she probably decided to leave it - Well then, since we're rather unlikely to sleep now, let's just talk.

Despite saying that, Daena changed her position, leaving one elbow on the pillow and leading the other hand under the duvet. Daeron then felt some gentle touches on his tight, not to mention that her breast got somewhat closer to his face. He smirked to her:

- Just talking, isn't it?

- I'm not hearing a complaint, do I? - she answered, not bothered to stop what she was doing.

- With you? Never - it was true. No matter what he thought recently, his body was reacting even before her hand started reaching his manhood, which would happen in the following few minutes for sure.

- You're so tense since you came back. I'm only trying to make you feel better, brother. You don't need to save the world all the time. Here, it's just you and me. If I have to tease you for getting you more comfortable, so be it. I could dance naked before you if this would cheer you up.

- As much as it would be enjoyable, you don't have to - Daeron chuckled - Of course, until it's what you wish…

It was her turn to laugh:

- Not at all, thank you - then, she changed the subject, getting more serious - You want to come back to Dorne, don't you?

He sighed, preparing for the storm that surely was approaching.

- Yes. I can't just sit here and wait for the letters, pretending there's nothing I can do. I need to do something or I'll get crazy. Daena, I'm… I am sorry that I am always busy, that I can't spend more time with you. But I just can't watch my men fighting and dying for me. This situation is getting worse and worse and I have to act, and act now, before it's too late.

To his surprise, there was no screams, no tears, no silent moments. Daena gave him a hug and then a passionate kiss.

- Remember what I told you all these years ago, in that tower? I'd pick you and getting in trouble with you a thousand times over just sitting on the table with someone calmer. I heard that someone once called you an over-ambitiuos lunatic with a micromanaging tendensions that'd eventually drove you crazy. So, I'm a wife to an over-ambitious lunatic with a tendentions to madness. And what is wrong about that? One day, one night with you is worth a decade with anyone else. You have the fire in you that makes me burn with a brightest of flames, and if you need to leave me to restore that fire, so be it.

- It's… unexpected - he managed to say after a while of silence.

- Because I'm full of surprises - she joked, with her hand grabbing his inner part again - Don't get me wrong, that still sickens me and pisses me off, but I even I can see that a ride off that damn city and all the politics will do you well.

- You're probably right - Daeron responded slowly - I'm not made for all these mysteries that follow us. But, I still think I need to make it up to you as a token of my gratitude, for I have such a caring and understanding wife.

"Since I'll get no sleep anyway and she already made me as hot as a fourteen year-old when he catches a glimpse of naked body... To Seven Hells with my problems, I'll fight with them later. She deserves my full attention now."

Daena noticed the shift in his behaviour, the smile of false innocence emerged on her face.

- And just a moment ago you stated that there's no chance - the Queen started to chuckle - Is my King being untrustworthy?

- Isn't it you who told me that dragons are variable, more than anything? - he responded with his own question and turned them both around, emerging on top, answering to his Queen's loud noises of pleasure.

Chapter Text

Daena could have sworn that Daeron came back to her only yesterday, yet it was around half a year in truth. It all came and went too fast. And now, he was leaving, going for a campaign in Dorne to risk his own life. Again. Moreover, she took a role in persuading him that the trip would do him well enough, not exactly what she thought she would be doing. "Bold of me to call this a trip, it's a warfare out there". It was weird, letting her man go, but knowing that it was what he needed. It pained Daena much to see her husband in the state he was for the previous few months. In fact, she did even more teasing than normal just to cheer him up a bit. The effect were… Various, to say the least, but at least it was enough from time to time to bring back his mind from the thousands of thougths that were streaming through his head.

In the weeks that followed Daeron's final decision to ride to Dorne himself, much had changed and not entirely for the better. Lord Isembard Arryn was dismissed from the position of the Master of Coin, but it didn't prolonge his life. The man who was a constant figure in the Red Keep a long time before Daena was even born, died in his bed about a week ago, around the time the replacement for him came. The new member of the King's Small Council turned out to be lord Draymond Reyne, one of the main bannerlords of the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. While their wealth was built on a gold mines as much as their seniors, it was always harder for a minor house to thrive in the same business as the more powerful family, yet under the current Lord, it seemed to be the case. Truth be told, uncle Viserys told her that Lord Lywin Lannister suggested the man himself in order to prevent House Reyne from getting too powerful and keep him out of the Westerlands. While his qualities were yet to be proven, he was almost three decades younger than his predecessor, so at least that position was secured for a long time, as well as some contacts with the Western kindgom, mostly treated with cold neutrality to that point, due to the memories of the Dance. After all, nearly every Lord sworn to the Rock fought for the Green Dragon.

If it was only this matter, Daena would have paid no mind to it, but when it rains, it pours. Braavos sent another angry letter, demanding the King and his Councill to allow their trade with Dorne going as they were before the war. The Queen was present at the meeting when the paper was brought and upon reading it, couldn't have helped herself and proclaimed:

- The Sea Lord's fat arse must be really frozen, because he seems to be in need of dragonfire to burn it as soon as possible!

At least the atmosphere had eased off a bit and Lord Reyne's face was priceless, as he was not accustomed to her outbursts yet. Sadly, that wasn't all. The rebellion in Dorne grew in numbers and it became even more obvious that the bigger intervention was needed. Daeron formed a force of the Crownlanders, Lord Tyrell started gathering his bannermen once again, Lord Cregan Stark promised ten thousands of good men in the beginning of the following year, the Marcherers were ready to attack the Red Mountains if provoked and some of Lord Kermit's vassals, most notably the Blackwoods, began training their forces for combat. All this to crush some peasants, it seemed, but both Daeron and uncle Viserys preferred to send too many men over than too few. A sensible approach, at least it was how the daugher of the Dragonbane saw the matter.

Since Daena had not much to do at that point, she decided to go to the yard and practice with her bow. It was still rather early, so her maids were fairly confused to see her on feet already, moreover, with no help required for preparation. Was it so hard to believe that the Queen was able to do up a few buttons? She thought about waking her ladies in waiting, or at least the two of them that knew what a bow was, but she abandoned that thought. In short time the training yard would be filled with knights and squires, these were the only hours she could go there and focus, not having to answer tons of courtesies.

To her amusement, indeed the field was almost empty, save for a man around his twenties, who was doing nothing in particular. He also seemed to not notice her at first. Even better. Daena prepared herself and began to shoot. Her new weapon still had some mysteries to her, but she was slowly getting on with it. And what a force it had! If this hits a dear, it may seriously wound him, and Gods have mercy upon the more delicate prey. She aimed for the middle of the target, when a polite cough was heard before her, getting her out of her concentration. The arrow went well below the target, only barely reaching the shield. Daena turned around in annoyance, ready to snap on whoever it was. She hated to be spoken to when aiming.

- Good technique, Your Grace, but maybe try to lean its lowest part on your boot. It'll help you to stabilise the grip - it was that man from earlier, with some kind of a green dragon biting his own tail on a tunic. She had to seek her memory for it to find a correct name.

- Marvyn Toland, isn't it? Since when you know the archery so well, ser? - As far as she could have remembered, ser Toland was the youngest of the brothers of the current ruler of the Ghosthill, Lord Gerold. He had to sent someone and it fell upon ser Marvyn. Maybe that was why he had no weapon despite being here. As well as the Dornish nobles were treated, they were hostages. It wasn't exactly wise to leave a knight with a sword without supervising.

The man briefly smirked:

- Can't a knight know how to shoot? But answering to the question, Your Grace, my father was a great admirer of the Dothraki and he bought bows like this one you're holding to all of us. That's when I learned how to use them. Trust me, it'll help.

Daena didn't want to listen to some overly confident foreigner, but since no one was here to correct him, she thought it was worth a try.

- Like this? - she asking, lowering the placing of the bow slighlty, as well as her frame.

- More or less - Toland judged - it's been a while when I last did that, so my advice might be a bit rusty, but I think the position was mostly similar to yours.

Not losing more time, Daena pulled the string and drew the arrow. It went pretty close to the middle of the target, nothing spectacular, but she could say she felt more stable while shooting, as well as the wooden part of the bow wasn't fighting with her that much. She turned around to the knight and opened her mouth to reluctantly grant him the right, but suddenly she felt a strong pain in her belly. A few heartbeats later and she was already on the ground, vomiting all that she ate on breakfast at the morning. "Eating all the lavish meals and adding many drinks of wine and ale to it on Aegon's wedding and nothing, yet puking after the few slices of bread? What, on the Seven Hells, is going on!?"

- Send for... my maids, please - she was able to say to her sudden companion. Maybe coming there without informing anyone wasn't such a good idea?
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- It's not the indigestion, Your Grace - Grand Maester Alrod proclaimed to her, there was unusual warmth in his voice. Daena tolerated the man on most days and felt some gratitude for prolonging her father's life for some time, but despised his lack of personality and humour and she was sure he thought her of nothing more than a foolish girl, too eager to play with the men's activities. She hardly remembered seeing him in such a good mood when she was involved.

- Well - she demanded - What is it, then? My husband is leaving today and I really don't wish to spend the afternoon confined to my bed.

Alrod's gaze remained happy:

- That wouldn't be needed, but I must suggest some caution.

- And why is that? - "One more time he answers me with riddles and I'll have his tongue ripped with my bare hands, no matter my state!"

- You're with child, Your Grace.

First was the disbelief. Then, the shock. After that, the realisation and in the end, the joy. The moment after, however, she reminded herself that the man whose baby was growing in her, in a short time would be getting in serious danger. A new fear took control over her. Not a fear for her husband, she was well accustomed to that, but rather the fear of their child growing without knowing the great man that Daeron was. Without knowing its own father. It was worse than anything she could have imagined.
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The moment came, then. As Daeron and Aemon were looking on the final preparations and getting ready to mount and ride South, Daena found herself in the companionship of Naerys and Daenerys, biding farewell to their husbands. The Queen planned this moment to be as graceful as their encounters rarely were, but the new knowlegde on her condition knocked her out her comfort zone and the effect was, rather, damaging for her image.

- Remember to eat well. And stay away from the unchecked wells - she was throwing at her husband between the kisses they shared - and don't risk reckless battles. And be cautious, as well as...

- I'll be fine, mom - he japed at her, not sharing most of her concerns - Gods, Daena. I appreciate it, really, but I know what to do.

He tried to calm her down by rubbing her cheeks, as well as some gentle touches here and there. She felt her face redder than usual, more due to the fact that she was turning on to be an alarmist today more than anything else, both of them did way worse things already and even some in public. Yet her mental state was embarrassing. "I really hope it would ease off or else I'll get mad way before the labour".

- I'm only trying to help, you idiot! - to moderate the harshness of her statement, she kissed him again, with such a force that she surprised even herself. After the initial moment of hesitation, Daeron joined in and they remained embraced so long that the world could have ended here and there and Daena wouldn't notice. The fact that she finally let go off her man was not due to the fact of propriety, rather because of a certain child's comment:

- Eeeeewwwww - Daenerys stated - Why are you pressing your tounges like that?

The four adults shared a much needed laugh. Naerys told her daughter with amusement:

- I'll tell you when you're get a bit older, sweetie. Let's just leave it on here that our King and Queen like each other very much.

Daena used the moment to get closer to Aemon and exchange a few words with him.

- Take care of my foolish husband, cousin. Someone has to be wise there…

Before he could have answered, Naerys preempted him with a rare joke on her on:

- Rather weird, I was just about to ask your husband for a similar task!

- So, we just have to look for each other, then - Daeron concluded with a smile - Nothing hard. We'll be here in a short time, you'll see - he turned around, ready to start his journey. Daena, however, decided that he must know the truth.

- Daeron, wait! I need to tell you something!

She came towards him again and pressed her lips to his ear, whispering:

- I... I'm pregnant. With our child.

His face turned with disbelief, and after that, with happiness he recently showed only for brief moments.

- Then I have another good reason to put this business behind me fast and make it back in time - he promised, overjoyed.

Chapter Text

The promise of coming back to the Red Keep after a brief campaign was in jeopardy, to put matters in a polite way. If he had to speak honestly, Daeron was sure now that it was impossible.

- We didn't anticipate so much resistance from the commoners, Your Grace - that was what Lord Gerris Yronwood told him when he and the Crownland forces had reached the castle of their new allies.

At that point, he wasn't so sure. The Young Dragon was raised on the stories of the war where the smallfolks had some important roles to fulfill, but almost always as the ones being commanded, not raising weapons on their own. He was sure that someone was behind it back then. He still thought that way, but after months of combat, he had to reconsider some of his other beliefs. These men, even if worked in a coordination with someone more powerful, had their own plans, their own minds. Moreover, they knew the terrain they were operating at, which turned the campaign into a game of hide and seek. A pretty bloody hide and seek. Daeron had a few thousands of the men, as Lord Gerris and his cousin Aegon provided him with the guides and rangers with a good knowledge of the part of the country they currently were in, but it simply wasn't enough.

He was getting angry and he disliked it very much. Being angry meant being more prone to committing mistakes. "Good thing that Aemon and ser Darklyn are here". These two were his main advisors during the campaign, despite preferring different approaches. The Dragonknight opted for dividing their forces into two or three smaller groups and chasing the rebels one by one, dealing with the partisants gradually, as he did with the Brimstoneblooded's guerilla tactics at the end of the previous campaign. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, as well as his sworn brother, ser Terrence Toyne, advised keeping their already small army at one piece and relying on the nearby seated Stormbreakers.

At first, Daeron agreed with the Whitecloaks, but as it quickly turned out, this solution was ineffective. The mercenaries were more interested in settling on their new lands that were given to them after the war and were difficult to command without their first-in-charge, ser Oscar Tully, who was helping Aegon in chasing the rebel groups operating between the Yronwood and the Tor. As his cousin had written him, he was more than certain Lady Jordayne was aiding those men in secret, but since she maintained the perfect image of a loyal vassal, there was little that they could have done. Daeron had the same suspicion in his case, to be precise especially with Lords Uller and Qorgyle, and maybe even with the Fowlers, but his unit rarely reached this far North.

Aemon's strategy was better, but also more risky. While the King decided that splitting the forces was necessary, he made only two groups instead of three. One with him, Aemon and the Kingsguards, the other under the command of ser Rosby, who marched with him the previous time and Lord Darklyn, the nephew of his sworn shield. Both of them were capable enough for the task. The reports concerning their enemies quantity were mostly inconsistent. It most likely wasn't enough of them to risk an open battle, even with the split forces, but Daeron decided not to divide it even more. Not now at least, since the situation was still uncertain.

He wanted to write a letter to King's Landing to inform about the current circumstances, but one of his Dornish rangers entered the tent after being announced. He looked fairly tired.

- What is it, soldier? Report - Daeron judged it was important and the first words of the rider told him he was right.

- Your Grace, we have found the rebels - he gasped, but managed to speak further - about a half day East from here, around a thousand of them. They have just made their way back from the venture, it seems like. Many looked tired, as well as their horses. They were exhausted.

This was the chance he was looking for. Not to end the matters of course, but a thousand of men was a big rebel cell, that was certain. Defeating them would give his army more space to operate without a constant threat, at least for a while. He made a quick decision, then:

- Did you leave men on the road to that camp?

- Yes, Your Grace. One every hour, as you ordered.

- Good - he was glad that this particular instruction was followed - go to the quartermaster and take care of yourself. Ser Terrence! - Daeron raised his voice in order for the knight to hear him from the outside of the tent.

When the Whitecloak peeked to the inside, Daeron told him:

- Bring me your Lord Commander, ser, and fetch someone for Prince Aemon. We have a Dornishmen to deal with. "Finally, the hiding stops, at least for now. We can take them unawared if we play this correctly."
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It started darkening when the cavalry had finally reached the Dornish camp. Since the time was their greatest ally here, the King decided to take around two thousands of the riders with him, leaving the infantry under the command of ser Robin Darklyn, as the most experienced of his officers. With him, Daeron took Aemon and ser Toyne, both eager for a fight at last. Now, he was waiting for his cousin to come back from the final reconnaissance he was sent for. After that, they aimed to attack.

When he made his return with some other men, he proclaimed with satisfaction:

- They are still there, cousin. I'm not sure about a thousand in this darkness, but a fair amount of them at least. However, their guards are pretty weak, nothing that our men can't dispatch. Most of them is already drunk or asleep. They don't expect that we found them.

- Good. Any suspicious sights? Last thing that I want is the second wave of the scum on our back.

Aemon shook his head:

- Our rangers are reporting nothing of that. It looks like these rebels are alone.

- Very well, then. Ser Thorron - he ordered one of his knights, standing nearby - take care of the pickets, you may choose your partners for that. When you're done, send someone here to inform me. Cousin, you'll command our wing, let's say five hundreds of the men. Try to bypass the camp and swoop from behind when you'll hear the noises of the fight, we don't want them to get away so easily. Ser Toyne and the rest of our forces remains with me. There is no point in being sneaky, we have the advantage in numbers. Any questions?

- Yes, I have one - his cousin raised his hand - What to do with the captives?

It took Daeron some time to make a decision:

- Capture them and make sure they won't get away until tomorrow. Then, we'll decide what to do with them. But don't insist on taking too many, we don't have resources to feed a lot of them and I don't wish to slaughter those who surrendered - it was a permission to be a little more bloodthirsty. Aemon probably would not like it, but the soldiers, angered and tired by the constant guerilla tactics done by their enemies, wanted to kill the enemies.

All they could have done now, was to wait until the pickets are dealt with. Luckily, ser Thorron's men turned out to be as competitive as the Young Dragon hoped and after a few dozens of minutes, Daeron found himself on the edge of his forces, going to the direction of the Dornish camp.

- Remember - he told his warriors - We won't be playing very quiet, there is too many of us, but I don't wish you to wake all of them up too early. Until they don't see us, we're approaching as silently as it's possible. No loud screams, no hitting shields with your blades. You know what to do - he took a deep sight - And no cheers now, either, but... Help me send those scum to the meeting with the Gods, if they are so sure that their cause is divined!

A silent noise followed, but nothing that the sleeping Dornishmen could have heard. The King turned around and gave the order to ride to the front. While he wasn't cautious to the extreme, he was determined to get as close as he could without being noticed. It wasn't easy with over a thousand of men, but his rangers did their work - when the camp was set on alarm, he was sure that the surprise was total. Daeron and his men dealt with the first wave of the rebels with no trouble, killing many and wounding even more. Only after that some order was seen in their ranks. When it finally happened, it was surprisingly tidy, thought. These men were trained, even if only briefly. Their commanders allowed him to ride on their less prepared comrades, but they themselves used the time to prepare. In normal conditions, it wouldn't be an easy battle. At least, that was what Daeron would have thought if he didn't have a decisive ace up his sleeve.

Aemon and his riders hammered into the camp from the other side and even these better trained forces lost their confidence, as some of them turned their way to try to slow down the charging Dragonknight. The King decided that he will not be having a better chance to win without losing too many warriors.

- On them! Now! - He spurred his horse and went towards the staggering foes. Ser Terrence followed him immidiately, as well as some of the men. The rest did the same after the moment of hesitation. When Daeron reached the first row, he allowed his instinct took charge of him. The first foe was dealt with quickly, as the King thrusted the Blackfyre into his head before he could have raised his own sword. Another one, likewise, this time Daeron ended his life with a stike from above. He had to move his shield a bit to block a sword of the next one and answered with his own hit, but the man held his ground. At first, at least - the second strike was enough to finish him.

When the first shockwave decreased slightly, the Young Dragon noticed that the attention started to turning on him. "Good thing Toyne is still here, or else it might have turned ugly". Not that he was planning to back down, it was these moments specifically when he felt truly alive. He shouted and returned to the battle, giving swings and stabs all around him. He received a hit or two on his armor, but nothing went deep enough to wound him seriously. After killing a dozen men, he was left standing face to face with someone who looked like the enemy commander. The man pointed to the ground with his sword, possibly hoping for a duel.

"Over my dead body, you've already shown how well all of you can be trusted!" His horse almost rammed the man, who had to jump back… Straight to the longsword of ser Terrence, which dealt with him quickly. His lifeless body had fallen to the ground and after that, the rebels finally started fleeing. Only a few of them managed that, however, with Daeron pressing from the front and Aemon from the right flank. Some were able to flee by the left side, but they were on foot and the Crownlanders mostly mounted. They were quickly caught and not many had the luck of mercy. A miniature bloodbath, the King had to admit. He wasn't pleased with that, but he had little patience for those who opposed his terms, because Gods themselves knew that they were milder than his bannermen thought they should have been in the first place.

- You seem a bit off, ser - he touched ser Terrence's arm, the knight indeed seemed to be a little detached from the everywhere lying corpses and wounded men.

- Yes, Your Grace, because one thing does not give me the peace of the mind - the Whitecloak answered, hesitantly - All our sources told us these are mostly commonborns, with only a few knights among their rank. Moreover, the most popular weapon in Dorne is the spear, because it's cheap and easy to use. Yet, I see mostly swords here. It doesn't make sense, my King. Swords are expensive. I came from a small House, I know how much they cost.

Daeron didn't notice it at first, but when he took a better glance, that was indeed the case. He reached for one of these blades and whistled in admiration.

- That's a great steel. True, not a Valyrian one, but close. These swords, in such a big numbers, should have been worth a fortune.

He stopped thinking about it as Aemon rode towards him.

- The rebels are mostly dealth with, Your Grace - he was more official than Aegon, especially when making reports - the camp is ours.

- Good. Send men to seek for any valuable information they can extract. Casualties?

- Nothing serious, from my side, only a dozen, maybe twenty.

Daeron lost little more. As cruel as it sounded for the men killed, it was a good exchange. He threw a blade to Aemon, who caught it with ease.

- A very, very good sword, rare sight in Dorne when we were here the last time. And there are hundreds of them in this camp. Does it look familiar to you? - He didn't have a clue, but maybe Aemon had. His cousin raised his eye-sight, cursing silently:

- I know that sigil, at least I'm sure I've seen it before. It's a Braavosi blade, Daeron. Somewhat similar to ours, but the differences are possible to spot.

Daeron took a sigh and cursed a few times. Suddenly, it seemed that despite crushing that rebel cell, the war was far from over. "Braavos is really scheming with Dorne, then". His uncle had to be informed on that, as well as the other Crown armies on the field.

Chapter Text

Even for the Dragonknight, the campaign of the year 162 AC started to become tedious at some point. Chasing the rebels, occasional fighting with them, sleeping with a knife under the pillow and Dark Sister right next to the pallet, seeking water that wasn't poisoned or was free from the brimstone, which was a rare occurrence in these lands, repeat hundred times. At least hundred, the Prince had lost count. There were a few successes, of course, like crushing their last enemies in a surprise night attack, but since then, no major battle was fought. Not even the minor one. Only the small units here and there, sabotaging the road and harassing their watchmen, usually running from the royal forces as soon as they were discovered. The unit managed to take a few hostages, but neither of them knew anything valuable. Or maybe they didn't want to tell, even if slightly… encouraged, to say the least. Aemon took no part in that, as he found the tortures disgusting. Voicing against them and eventually putting an end to them, fortunately, wasn't that hard. After gaining nothing really useful King Daeron decided to abandon that method, saying "We can't even wipe our arses with this, not to mention planning anything thanks to their rambling".

However, now it finally looked like the breakthrough they needed. Lord Alan Qorgyle, earlier suspected on secretly aiding the rebels, had marched from Sandstone and took a big rebel cell by surprise, capturing them in a trap and taking many men captive. He sent a raven now, asking for the meeting under his castle. While all of the commanders agreed that the Lord needs to be taken on very cautiously, he was one of their best hopes as well. He could provide useful and that's why Daeron ordered the men to march at Sandstone to closet with the Dornish noble. They set a camp nearby and agreed that the meeting will happen tomorrow. Now, all they could do was to wait.

Again, they had mostly cavalry. Aemon wondered if this wasn't too reckless, after all, there were only two thousands of them, even less now. The infantry under ser Robin Darklyn, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was four days of march behind them. After the gathering, with the expected help of the Qorgyles, they would be able to operate on a wider terrain and maybe, finally, put the rebellion, at least here, to the grave. However, the Dragonknght felt something was off as he struggled to sleep. The knock at the outside of his tent told him, that he wasn't the only one.

- Aemon, are you on feet still? - it was the voice of Daeron. Aemon quickly rose from the ground and let him in.

- Yes, Your Grace. I'm only wondering for tomorrow. It's good Lord Qorgyle finally came back to his senses, but something about him worries me. I can't say what exactly, though - he explained to the King.

- We're all becoming suspicious to the extreme, but maybe you're right. I don't plan to enter his castle, worry not - his cousin tried to cool out Aemon's concerns - only a meeting, preferably fast and we don't have to speak with him for a while. Or maybe ever if everything goes well.

That was a good news. Entering that castle again was the last thing the Dragonknight wished to do. Two years ago, with tons of the soldiers from the Reach, he had still felt unease there. Now, without that big advantage, it would be crazy to risk staying in the Sandstone.

- Aemon, I... - Daeron started again, with a slightly different tone this time - I want to ask you for something. Not as the King, more like… As your cousin. A younger one. I'd normally ask Aegon, but he's miles from here and I think you might help me more with this.

- Well then, go on, I'll try to aid you - this was the side of his cousin that he showed extremely rarely. "Nothing surprising here, he's the son of possibly the most private person in the history Westeros."

Daeron smiled weakly and asked:

- Can you actually… Love somebody, yet not wish for... Frequent coupling?

That actually set Aemon aback. "Well" he reminded himself, "he might be a King, but he's still a nineteen year-old boy to some degree, without a mother for over a decade and without a father now, who was a rather poor source of information in that regard in the first place". Moreover, Daeron probably heard most details from Aegon and the Dragonknight couldn't have found the less suitable example for how it should have been dealt with the couples than the ways of his brother. The Dragonknight, looking upon his cousin's ashamed and slightly flushed face, decided that he, indeed, was able to help him.

- Of course you can, but I have to say, I did not expect such a say from you.

- It's not like I don't wish to do it with Daena - Daeron quickly stated - I like our affairs, I really do. It's just I...

- You do not feel the urge to strip her dress off her each time you see her? - Aemon finished for him, and the King nodded.

- Yeah, that's that. I didn't have this problem at the beginning, nor when we returned, only recently. Yet looking at her… I feel guilty for not wanting to bed her as often as she would have wanted, especially with the fact I left her again, so I tried to let my body take control. It worked, but it's a temporary solution. I don't want to break her heart or get her ideas that I don't want her or anything, but I'm… kind of stuck. I don't exactly know what to do with this issue.

Aemon was no expert in the matters of love either, but he had some expierience to share:

- You know, with Naerys it was a bit different, but we used to sleep with each other often after our wedding. So, she became pregnant shortly after. We knew it's gonna be hard and it luckily turned out good, but everyone told us that another pregnancy might kill her if we were not cautious. Knowing that, our affairs became very occasional. I know it's not gonna be the case with you two, but try to speak with her about it. Me and Naerys had to talk this through a few times, but we eventually reached an… let's say, agreement how we're meant to be operating. And both of us are content.

- It sounds difficult - his cousin managed to say.

- It is, but tell me: do you desire for your wife?

He almost seemed offended:

- Of course I do, Aemon! What sorts of question even is that? She's my love, my... My darling, the... the mother of my child - he finished, way more quiet than before. He sounded like a boy more than like a man now.

"Daena is with child?! And he didn't tell anyone?!" Daeron didn't speak about that. Yet, it proved his point even more.

- That strengthen my point further. Judging by your reaction, you really love her and more importantly, you do care for her. That's even bigger thing here. And I'm sure she feels the same for you, it takes ten minutes of watching your interactions to notice all that.

- That's… nice of you to say - that was the only thing the King managed to tell him.

- So, to wrap things up: What you both feel is way stronger than the occassional quarrels you'd have. You're both too hot tempered to avoid it completely, but on this matter, you're smart enough to work things on. Speak with her when we'll return. Daena would understand, trust me. It's not like you plan to leave her bed cold after all. And - he allowed himself for a jape - the sounds she was making are telling me that even if she's not bedded every day, she won't complaint this much.

They shared a brief laugh.

- And she still can do it louder. The promise of waking up the Night Brothers still stands, we were getting to that! - Daeron's mood finally started to cheer up. He got up from the pillow he was sitting on - Thank you, Aemon. Really. I needed that. Maybe now I'll get some sleep and I wish you the same. We're all going to need it.

Then, he left from the tent. The Dragonknight allowed himself to smile. "So, I'd be an uncle soon. Who would have guessed?"
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On the next day, Daeron, Aemon, ser Terrence and a bunch of the escort were standing in front of the Sandstone gates, keeping their distance, but close enough to be heard. The time of the meeting was on point, but there was no sign of Lord Alan just yet.

- Maybe he saw our numbers and is gathering his own men? - Toyne wondered loudly. Aemon and Daeron exchanged glares. "And why would he need that, we won't attack his castle with our cavalry, especially not with that little men we have now".

Then, instead of answering, the King pointed out to the gate, which started to finally open. When it fell, the party of men, around the same numbers as their own, left from the castle. At the head of them, was the man of fairly old age, yet standing tall and straight still. It must have been Lord Alan Qorgyle. His men were holding a banner of truce - a white flag. Aemon frowned. Some memory in him it awoken, but he couldn't say what exactly it was.

- Your Grace - the deep voice of the Lord was heard - I welcome you in my modest doorsteps.

- Greetings to you, Lord Qorgyle - Daeron responded - We received your letter and came here for the meeting. What is it that you want to discuss with us?

"He's sweating and it's not even that hot, especially for a Southerner."

- If it was for me, my King, I would have say a different thing. I admire your courageness to come back to Dorne - Qorgyle's tone went a bit higher, as if he was nervous - The circumstances, however, had changed.

"He said it almost like Uller had done back then… OH, FUCK!"

- TAKE COVER! - Aemon understood it a fraction too late - IT'S A TRAP!

His shout fell short. Upon hearing the Qorgyle's command, the men standing on the walls reached for bows and drew arrows. By the sounds, at least part of them had reached the bodies. The Dragonknight felt nothing, but it wasn't him that he feared the most for.

Daeron. Why aim for the mere Prince or the White Guard when you have the King himself as a primary target? He didn't make a scream, but when Aemon took a look at him, it was bad. Really bad. One arrow was stuck into his shoulder, the other into the side. Neither of them were mortal, as the armor did its job, but any blow now would be fatal.

- Protect the King! - ser Terrence raised a sword and led what was left from the escort to battle. Aemon wished to join, but he spotted a grave sight behind the clashing men. Lord Qorgyle, that snake, was retreating to his fortress, but from the other side, more men started to emerge. "So much for the crushed rebels being taken captive, it seems". Toyne and his soldiers had no chance, but their sacrifice could be what the King had needed to get away to the camp.

The Dragonknight gave a salute to the dying men, took Daeron's horse in his control and started fleeing, with two additional warriors as the last line of defense.

- We can't leave them! - there was much pain in Daeron's voice, but at least he remained conscious. For now.

- We have to - Aemon hated himself for that, but it was no other way. "Toyne, your death won't be for nothing."

Before they had reached the camp, another group of rebels emerged, as if from thin air. They managed to get rid of them rather quickly, but Daeron was looking really in pain now and they have lost one of the quartet. Not good. Aemon already could have heard the closing chase from behind. "We won't make it, if it stays like this."

'Take care of my foolish husband' - Daena's voice, desperate and begging, came back to his mind, followed by another thought. About the yet to be born baby, yet to come to this world. "It deserves a father, not a dead legend that perished on these sands."

He ordered his mount to stop and took Dark Sister in his hand. Then, he placed it into Daeron's own arm. The King, although wounded and exhausted, understood the gesture in no second:

- You can't! I... forbid it! - he could barely talk now, but Aemon was sure that he'll survive if he would be taken care of.

- Someone has to stop them, cousin. Tell my wife, my child, my father… Tell them I'm sorry - he held back the tears in his eyes, paying the attention to the third man, now holding the bridle of Daeron's horse - Ride fast and get him to safety. And give me your blade. These oathbreakers doesn't deserve to be slain with Dark Sister.

When his wish was granted and his cousin, along with the final guard, galloped to the camp, Aemon dismounted from the horse and ordered it to flee in the desert. Weirdly, he felt no fear. Only a pity, that he would never see his family again. He had no intention to be taken alive. He'd never see how Daenerys is growing, how she becomes a woman, how she marries, whoever that would be chosen to wed her, how she has children on her own. He pitied that he'd never try to sire a son himself to follow his steps, but most of all, he felt sorry for Naerys.

- Don't cry after me, my love. A warrior never asks for his death, but he doesn't flee when the Stranger approaches - he murmured to himself.

A septon told him once that when people die, they can see all their lives in front of their eyes. That wasn't the case here, he seen mostly just Naerys and the moments they have shared over the years. From little children, to uncertain teenagers, through lovers and finally, parents. "Forgive me, Naerys. Forgive me for the choice I made today."

- There he is! Get him!

"Finally!". Aemon rarely lost control over him in a fight. He was composed, stoic, methodic. Always. Yet, he was a dragon and dragon don't go out peacefully.

They burn with the brightest of flames.

It was time to unleash the fury.

They hopped from their horses, maybe thinking it would be safer to approach him on foot. He didn't care. He had a friend to save. He'll survive as long as it is needed. The first man lunged towards him, but his swing was sloppy. Aemon didn't have any problems with parrying that and responding through the man's flesh. Their protection was mostly poor, as they were those rebels that were supposed to get caught by Qorgyle. Which made his task even sweeter. He roared, screaming:

- Who's next?!

Two spearmen decided it would be them, hoping that the coordinated attack would turn too difficult for him. "They have too much faith in them", Aemon thought. He blocked the first hit and dogded the second, giving the man a taste of his blade. When the foe was dealt with, he turned into the second enemy and almost decapitated him with no time to lose. Even without Valyrian Steel, he felt like a Warrior himself. The next man charged at him on his horse, not that it made a big difference. The hit he made was stronger, but Aemon managed to take it on the shield and, in an uncharasteristic display for him, aimed for the horse's legs. Dishonourable it was, but he had more important things to think about. It did its job, as well. The horse lost its balance and fell to the ground, right in the way of the next ones, causing a small pile-up, with screaming men and squealing horses. He killed all the Dornishmen before they could get up.

More spearmen and swordsmen, this time on foot, along with some archers, showed up. "At this point, Daeron is likely in the camp". It was comforting, knowing that his last stand meant something. His cousin was now in a very difficult position, but if someone could have got away from this pit, it was the Young Dragon. He just needed the Dragonknight to do his thing first.

The 'thing' meant killing more traitors.

Aemon didn't even feel tiredness, as he was slaying man after man. Suddenly, something hit him in the arm. An arrow. "Damn archers". He lunged towards them, realising that he needs to take them quickly. And did so, with two of them. They were easy targets. The last one fled. "Not like a Warrior. Like a Stranger". He looked down on his body and saw wounds, cuts and more arrows he ignored at first, stinging happily from his torso. Somehow, the pain was only moderate.

Finally, they have sent a bigger force. Aemon killed the first man with a stab, the other with a hit of the shield to the abdomen and a follow up to the neck with the sword, then made quick work of the third with a swing of the blade, hitting the man in his poorly protected belly. No matter the loses, they just kept coming until he was completely surrounded by them. At last, the inevitable happened. He saw it and moved to dogde, but he did it a fraction too slow. The spear went deep into his stomach, making him gasp. "Yeah, that's probably mortal". Even now, the fury gathered within him for years kept him alive and he managed to slain a few or maybe a dozen men, until someone finally put the spear in his knee, making him fall into the ground. Even that wasn't enough, as the unfortunate swordsman's guts proved out to be the example, after he reached for the Prince's neck.

- Gods, stand back from him. He's like a wild beast! - someone said.

"Yes. Like a dragon" He was dying. He knew that. As they finally left him, the adrenaline and emotions abandoned him at last and it was then when he finally felt all his wounds. He should have been dead long ago, yet he held on long enough to fulfill his mission. Again, he saw Naerys's face, with her usual shy smile and covered in her shawl. It was the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen.

"Naerys… I love you. I should have told you that more frequently."

Aemon Targaryen, son of Viserys Targaryen, the Dragonknight and the wielder of Dark Sister, gave his final breath in this world.

Chapter Text

As a small child, the third in line of the five, Daena had never paid much attention to her mother pregnancies with Rhaena and Elaena. With the former, she was still way too young to understand anything valuable and with the latter, she preferred to spend most of the time around it on fleeing from the septas, playing with ponies and generally being a terror in the frame of a four-five year old child she was back then. Now, heavily pregnant with her own baby, she slowly came to the conclussion that maybe some advice about these things would have been well needed. With Daenaera long dead, Baela on Driftmark and with a decreasing health, Viserys's wife also gone before she was even born, her options were limited, to say the least.

Aunt Rhaena was one of these, but right now, it was impossible for her to reach the capital and even if she did, they have never been that close. Daena still remembered her as that woman who was able to see through all of her mischiefs, no matter how well pulled out they were. All she managed to do was to send some short letters to her. The Lady's responses turned out rather useful, but it was little more that could be done in their situation.

So, with her first pregnancy, and she was convinced that it won't be the last, she mostly had to rely on maids and the court Ladies. One option worse than the other. As moons passed, the first group became over-protective and the second over-reacting. Both of this states were rather annoying. "If it was by them, I'd have to sit in my bed all day". As much as she hated it, she still got to be there for longer than she was used to, not even starting about the sudden strikes of heat, cold, bad humour or whatever her twisted body seemed to see fit each day. "I should have asked my dear, pious siblings to thank the Gods for Naerys".

Her cousin, while a bit limited herself with a five year-old daughter, did her best to ease off the worst of Daena's fears and whims. The Queen vowed in front of the mirror that when it ends, she'll find a way to somehow make it up to her. For now, she didn't figured out how exactly, but no one had even said that Daena Targaryen was not creative.

She stopped wandering in her thoughts when she felt a tiny kick in her belly.

- Yes, yes, little one, your mommy is here for you, nice of you to present yourself - Naerys told her that the kicking could be happening now with more force and more often as the days were passing and Daena didn't have anything against it. As far as she knew, she herself was a rather... Kicking baby. A kid with her temper? Great. With Daeron's? Even better. The two combined? "The world is not ready for this, no matter if it's a boy or a girl". Their firstborn would need that if he or she would sit on the Iron Throne one day.

- Your Grace - one of her maids, Fina, came to her with a sorry expression - as you asked, I'm going to inform you that there is an hour for the petitioners to present their claims. However, I was also obliged to tell you that you should not get yourself tired for the safety of your child.

- Who ordered you to say that? - she suspected that she knew the answer.

- Grand Maester Alrod, Your Grace.

"Of course. Not a single day without his complaints."

- Nonsense. As far as I'm not labouring, sitting on the chair and on the pillow is nothing that I can't endure for a few hours. Help me dress properly, though. And when we're done, you can go to the Grand Maester and tell him that the big, bad Queen once again ignored his wisest advise, how nefariously of her. You can start with the former already, our time is not unlimited.
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A pillow on the Iron Throne would have been too much of a disgrace, not to mention the long walk that one had to endure to sit on top of it, so Daena and uncle Viserys had sat once and thought about a solution for her to remain a part of the court, yet not tiring herself over the top. As much as she boasted about feeling great in public, she was glad for that desk to lean on and that black pillow to sit on. Still a bit higher than the petitioners, she was seated upon the stairs coming to the throne. "Viserys has a mind for everything, it seems. And I could not have been more grateful for him".

The matters of today were mostly the usual cases of some smugglers, beggars, poor nobles trying to remain on the court to earn anything, the Minor Houses quarreling over some disputed lands and flatterers coming with gifts. The final two parts were tedious as the Seven Hells themselves, because it were usually the same people over and over again. Had Daena been more in a strength, she would gladly tell those idiots to shut up and came back the next day with something more important for once. The former ones were a bit better, as their matters usually had some meanings, like the thief who was caught stealing the goods from the market. As it turned out, he was doing that not for himself, but for the teenage daughter of his friend, ill for some time. The girl lost the job in the harbour because of her condition and the young man, probably no older than Daena herself, began bringing them the food to help the family survive.

Normally, it would have been a hand-cut, but upon the circumstances, Daena decided that even if the act was wrong, his motives were noble, so the sentence was moderated into six hits in the back. Still more than what she wished, but the laws were firm on this one. When the punishment was served, the Queen told the man that if the girl is brought to the Red Keep, she would receive the best possible care and hopefully it would be enough for her to fight back with the illness. It was the least she could have done.

The last petitioner turned out to be, weirdly, ser Marvyn Tolland and two other Dornish hostages, from Houses Uller and Blackmont. However, only the first one came closer, followed by a guard who stood next to him in order to keep an eye on the man. Daena wondered what could it have been. The Queen and the knight became a little… Friendlish, if one could have said that, due to her struggles with her new bow. Of course, she had to abandon it long ago due to the pregnancy, yet she noticed that Toland knew much and more about archery and hunting, so they at least had a topic to speak about. Recently, they spoke less, and the Queen had an impression that he was avoiding her. Why, she wasn't able to say, though. He didn't seem a shy one, not in the slightest. "Maybe he hates children, I don't know".

- Ser Marvyn. It's a surprise to see you here. State your matter and the Council would hear it with great respect.

"Hear it, yes, but I'm not sure about the respect part". All of the Lords were here, only the Grand Maester was missing, but none of them payed that much attention to the young knight, maybe except Viserys, who was always watchful. Everyone had enough for today, it seemed. Yet, Daena was curious what he had to say.

- Your Grace, my Lords - he bowed deeply, giving the curtesy to all of them - I came here with the matter of my homeland and the war that has been ongoing there for a while. I would like you to try to speak to the King's mind and draw him out of that madness.

A cold silence followed. Uncle Viserys was the first to respond:

- As much as we want to, good ser, it's evenly upon your countrymen's shoulder as it's on the King's - the Hand's voice was like an ice.

- Moreover, he's currently in the field. He insist on more… Decisive approach - Lord Reyne added, half-mocking the knight.

Toland, however, didn't got angry. Instead, he proclaimed:

- Decisive is a good word, my Lord. Decisive is exactly how we should be. Against this false Council, the mad King and the godless filth that this whore - he pointed on Daena, bringing a lot of gasps in all of the chamber - is carrying!

- I'll show you how decisive my fist would be! - the man guarding him reached for ser Marvyn with anger, but the knight was too quick. His own fist landed upon the face of the watchman and sent him back a step or two. Toland then reached to the man's waist and took the short sword that the guard was carrying, killing him in the next second.

- For Dorne! - he shouted, running towards Daena. It was apparently the signal, as Blackmont and Uller started to make a fuss, fighting with their own guards to make a decent distraction.

Tolland then slain the last soldier standing between him and the Queen, who felt a sting of terror in her body. "Not now, not when I'm with my child!". She desperately threw her hand behind her, hoping that the object she had left there when the desk was put in the location would still be there. Luckily, it was there and when ser Marvyn attacked her with a wild swing, she was able to block his hit with the blade she was now keeping in her hands. The same was done with his second attempt and even she could have told it was clumsy. Toland's eyes widened slightly. Most likely he was expecting an easy kill.

Daena was able to withdraw the hit or two, but she knew well that she was no match for an adult, trained knight, especially not in her current state. The third hit threw the sword from her hands, as she stepped back as soon as she understood what was happening. It was enough to survive the exchange, but she was now standing in front of him empty handed and utterly defenseless.

- Sorry, Daena, but it's nothing personal - he proclaimed and prepared to land hit that would end her life. Before the blade fell down, however, he made a weird noise and collapsed into the ground himself. Behind him was...

- Uncle! - the Queen failed to remember when was the last time she was so happy upon seeing a man that wasn't her Daeron. Viserys sent her a proud smile:

- The Old Lizard still has some viper on his fangs - he told her - Nice blocks, though. I wouldn't have made it in time if not for you keeping him busy. The sword was your idea?

- Yes, I thought it would be suitable to have it as my last resort - she explained, glad that her mind was still on place.

- Good for you to do that. Now we should… - Viserys started speaking, but the present Kingsguard interrupted him:

- Lord Hand! This one is still alive!

Indeed, the Blackmont man, or rather a boy, was breathing, trying to free himself from the captivity. He was more bruised than wounded.

- We probably should question him - Lord Tully, holding his bleeding hand in a weird position, proclaimed - he may prove useful.

Lord Reyne answered with doubts:

- If he even says something. These scums are taught to keep silent when they learn how to speak.

- Give me that knife - Daena ordered the Whitecloack who was keeping the blade near the neck of the boy. When he did that, she stood over the kneeling Blackmont - listen here, you little fuck - the fury rose in her - you just took part in a scheme that aimed to kill both me and my baby, as well as Gods know how many others here. My patience is already finished and so will be your suffering if you tell us everything. If not, well, I heard that Ladies in Dorne love scars. What were you planning to achieve and how many of you were involved?

When the answer didn't come, she looked on her uncle briefly. He nodded, allowing her to fulfill her plan. Before Daena changed her mind, she decided to ignore the growing exhaustion and made a long, red trace on the collarbone of the boy. Then, another on his other arm. Both cuts rather deep into the flesh. He screamed in pain and eyed her with a new emotion. Terror.

- Next one is going lower, if you know what I mean. Speak. NOW!

- We planned to kill as many of the dragons that we could. Toland convinced us! - he almost jumped from his own skin, that fast he spoke - It was four of us.

- Where is the last assassin? - that didn't make sense. Only she and Viserys were here, not to mention the amount of the guards. The throne room simply wasn't a good target, but with four schemers, they'd have much better chance than with three.

The next words filled her with a great fear when she understood what the young Blackmont said:

- In the sept…

"Oh no"

- Baelor, Rhaena, Naerys and Daenerys are there! - Viserys was the fastest to act - No time to waste, all who can, with me, now! To the Hill of Rhaenys, before it's too late!