Hey guys! Let me first apologise for the long wait – my last deadline is in 3 weeks, and then I've finished my degree so updates will be slow until then. Enjoy this lengthy chapter though! (nearly 4,000 words) There's also a casting call at the bottom.

Visenya Targaryen – Dragonstone, The Crownlands

I walked into the long hallway, my eyes darting around, searching for Viserys. The storm raged outside as thunder rumbled and lightning crackled, splitting the clouds apart. All the dogs on the isle howled at the rain from the tempest that crashed against the rocks.

Inside the long hall, illuminated by faint and early sunlight, I found him. He was completely bare, staring up at the tapestry behind the throne. It was only now, when I looked at his body, that I saw the injuries. The clawed marks across his shoulders, the seared skin on his left arm, a chunk of skin and bone missing from his collar.

"Viserys?" I walked down across the throne room, pulling off my cloak and wrapping it around his shoulders. "I've been looking for you anywhere. I've half the houseguard searching the entire keep-"

"I just wanted to see it again…" Viserys looked to me, eyes large like when he told mother my antics were his idea. Mother could never stay angry with him.

I looked up to the tapestry of our family. Our father sat in the stone throne, as mother stood next to him, one hand on his shoulder, and the other around Laena. Laena… the tapestry was made before that maid burned the bed with Laena in it… She used to be pretty. With violet eyes and waves of silver-gold hair winding down to the small of her back. I'd almost forgotten how soft and pale her skin used to be… she couldn't have been older than fourteen there.

I stood beside Laena, already half a head taller than she was. I was barely a woman, but my body had already begun to grow more than Laena's. My own hair was closer to mother's; a pale gold tone.

On the other side of father, stood Draegor, who was dressed in his dragon armour, clutching Blackfyre. His hair was shorter, and his violet eyes blazed brightly, full of confidence and energy. He had always been so quick to act. I always admired that. It may have been foolish of him, but it was courageous none-the-less.

Beside Draegor was Viserys. His hair was shorter, his face was rounder, and he was nowhere near as tall or muscular as he was now, but it was still distinctly him. The sharp chin and high cheekbones, Viserys hadn't changed as much as he liked to think. In his hands, he clutched the hilt of Dark Sister, a blade that was then still too big for him, that the hilt stood beside his face.

And behind the throne, somewhat obscured, but still the closest to our father, was Aeron. The tapestry was made to commemorate his legitimization. His hair was cropped short, like father's, his dark and deep violet eyes stared with all the noble and virtuous likeness of a true Targaryen. It was strange to think that I loved him once. More than any other Targaryen, save our father. He was a Bastard before this tapestry – a Stone from the Vale. But he had seemed to be gracious and never presumed to be one of us.

I could still remember when Aeron arrived in the Crownlands. For weeks, Draegor was wary of him, as was Laena (doubtless, because of our mother's warnings), but I never felt threatened by him. He felt like an outsider to his own kin. I suppose that, at the heart of it, I felt sorry for him.

What a fool I was.

"Why did father love him so?" Viserys pondered aloud.

"I suppose because he grew up without riches." I stated. "By the time he was royalty, he was only six-and-ten. He always appreciated it more. He never expected it."

"Neither did I."

"You're not a typical king, brother." I countered. Viserys moved to sit down in the throne, my cloak still wrapped around him. His hand crept out of the cloak and began to pick at the stone handle.

"It still sounds so strange." Viserys muttered, "So foreign."

I nodded, my eyes still fixed on the tapestry. "We're the only two left…" I turned to Viserys, "the last true Targaryens."

"Laena betrayed us." Viserys growled. I paused: how do I begin to ask him about it? About what he witnessed?

"Viserys… in Storm's End… how much can you remember?"

Viserys' eyes drifted away to the windows, watching the fading storm, "Bits. Flashes… I remember Aeron and his dragon. The Stark girl… Haylise…" Viserys' eyes screwed shut. As if there was some pain inside him that would not rest.

"She's your wife. It's only natural for you to mourn her."

Viserys nodded. "It's strange. With all that's happened… we never really learnt what it meant to be married."

I recalled Viserys' long pining looks at Ashriel Tyrell, Laena's favoured handmaiden. She returned these glances, but I doubt Viserys noticed. Viserys the Bold… it seemed he could be just as blind as Draegor. As soon as I thought about our late brother, my throat caught. I wished I had known him more. Back when he was himself – before that wretched fight…

"I heard some of the men refer to you as Queen." Viserys stated suddenly. I hadn't even thought about how he would feel about this. With all the treachery that had befallen our family… we needed to trust each other.

"Viserys, I thought you were dead…"

"You did the right thing. This war cannot end with me." Viserys' fist began to clench as we turned to walk to the war room. "We need to plan our assault on King's Landing."

"Viserys, I told you-"

"I will not stand meekly by and allow Aeron to destroy our kingdoms!"

"We need to be smart about this. Aeron knows you – he's prepared for an attack…"

"He killed Haylise, Visenya! My wife! He has our sister, he killed our brother, he has-" Viserys caught himself as he bit his lip, walking to the table and resting a hand on the wooden isle of Dragonstone. "We need allies."

I nodded. "Corlys Velaryon has brought the fleet from Driftmark. We could attack from the Blackwater…"

"It's not enough. We need to attack King's Landing on all fronts. The Stormlands are gone," Viserys grabbed the wooden antlers off the table and threw them on the floor, "which means we have the Velaryon fleet and a smattering of Stormlanders."

"And a dragon." I reminded him.

"Against Helyax and Daenys." Viserys flicked his tongue across his teeth, his brow furrowed.

"Corlys said I should seek marriage. Perhaps with Markas Stark."

"The Starks won't help us," Viserys shook his head. "They're embroiled with their own war. They'll never follow a Southern King into battle…"

"Bennard Stark did."

"And he was ostracized for the remainder of his life. The Northmen are too stubborn-"

"We don't need them to follow us. We just need to unleash them on Aeron. The North is the biggest kingdom…"

"And the poorest." Viserys pointed towards the Vale. "Aeron may be a Targaryen by law, but he was a Stone. He came from the Fingers. No doubt the Arryns will support his claim."

"Not necessarily," I moved around, holding the wooden falcons in the Vale, "Aeron's claim lies solely on the lie of you being a traitor. Not all support his claim – to some, he is still considered a bastard. You are Rhaegon's last trueborn son. The Arryns pride themselves on honour; if they knew Aeron was a kinslayer, they'd never follow him." I pointed across the table to the Riverlands, "Our ancestor Aegon supported the Tully's in reclaiming their land from House Hoare. They'll answer the call."

"And the others?" Viserys flickered his eyes across the rest of the table.

"Delyth is married to Aeron. From what I saw, she'd never turn on him."

"And Lucian Lannister has been appointed his Hand. The Westerlands and the Reach will never turn from his side. Not to mention the Crownlands and the Royal Army…"

"The Rivermen will bolster our infantry. The Knights of the Vale will be our cavalry. And if we can convince the Northmen to fight with us-"

"No, they're not a priority." Viserys shook his head once more. "The Riverlands and the Vale are united. If we're to attack King's Landing we'll need their armies. Call Sunfyre and ride for Riverrun. I'll set sail for the Eyrie."

The door knocked, and in entered Corlys.

"Your Grace… Viserys…" Corlys immediately dropped onto a knee, "Forgive me, Your Grace, I didn't know you were…" Corlys' eyes stayed fixed on the ground, as Viserys pulled the cloak tighter around his naked body. I cleared my throat.

"Lord Velaryon?"

"A… a raven has come for you, Your Grace." He handed me a small ravenscroll. I began to unroll it, flickering my eyes across the scrawled threats. My face must have betrayed me, as I tried to remain strong. Only Viserys could see through this.

"It's from him. Isn't it?" I nodded. "What does it say?"

"He's just trying to intimidate-"

"Read it."

I took a breath, trying to make sure my voice would stay firm as I read the scroll aloud.

To my Traitorous Whore Sister,

Your Sister stands against you. Bend the knee, or I will take your head, Whore.

I will raze your home to the ground as I did to the Oathbreakers and Conspirators Baratheon and Stark. I will rip open your feeble pet as I did it's twin, Moonfyre. Your Kinslayer of a Brother lies at the bottom of the sea with her.

Yield Dragonstone, Whore, or I will take your head. Bend the knee, Whore, or my Kingsguard will take turns with you as they did your Whore of a Mother. I will let you live in Exile.

Aeron Targaryen, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals and the First Men and Protector of the Realm.

Viserys' hand balled into a fist that rested upon the table as he looked up at me. "He thinks he's killed you." I informed him.

"Then he's sorely mistaken…" Viserys growled. "I'll show him otherwise-"

"Viserys, now is not the time for boldness. He thinks you've fallen – we can use this to our advantage."

"Speak sense."

"He thinks I'm the only threat. If I can persuade the Rivermen to join us…"

"He'll focus his attack on you." Corlys finished my thought. "Your Grace, if you go to the Vale, he'll be too blinded by Visenya to pay attention to anything else."

Viserys opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a screech. No, not a screech – a deafening roar. Like a storm had arrived that would've shaken the very island we stood upon. Viserys and I turned to see what great monsterous beast had arrived, and saw a sight. Something I hadn't given any thought to…

The large, old dragon ripped through the clouds. Bright scarlet scales shining like rubies, glistening in the emerging sun, his horns and spikes gold and speckled. The fearsome beast my brother had named 'the Firebolt' had swept down to land on the island, letting out another colossal rumble.

"Broxagon…" I muttered with a smile.

Julian – Street of Steel, King's Landing, The Crownlands

I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist before hammering the steel again. Embers sparked and flew from the hammer, and I heard that hiss as I dunked the blade in the water. I pulled the blade out with my tongs, examining the dark steel. It was a fine blade, and would match well with Ser Kiran Hightower's dagger. I walked over to grab the rag from the knife to polish it, only to find the dagger had disappeared from the counter. I looked down, trying to find the hilt I'd carved into his banner's tower, or the flame-shaped garnet I'd set in the pommel. Yet, I found no trace of it.

"Roto," I called up the stairs, "drag your arse out of bed, or Riler'll give you a clout 'round the ear!" There was no response, "Riler! I can't find Ser Kiran's dagger!" I called again, waiting to hear if him groan from his slumber and fall to his feet. Yet, the only sounds came from the blacksmith's hammering in the shops next to us, and the hiss of the forge. "For fuck's sake…" I dropped my tongs onto the anvil and walked to the door, looking around for one of the kids.

I found one boy – a dark-haired runt covered in muck. Skinny and long-haired. "Boy, what's your name?"

"Mor'in."

"Mortin?" I glanced around the street , "Mind the shop for a minute and I'll give you a bowl of brown."

The boy leapt to his feet, "yesser, many thanksser!" I couldn't help but grin as I watched the boy bound into the store, looking at the blades.

"Oi, just look, you hear? Don't touch nothing."

"Yesser."

I pointed him to the stool behind the counter and walked up the stairs, ready to drag Roto from his bed. However, as I opened the door, I found his sheets stripped back. "Fucking typical…" I muttered, shaking my head – he must've been with Lysaline once again. Still, he always tended to be back by now – though he was irresponsible, he wasn't stupid – he knew we relied upon the forge, and this was usually the busiest time for us.

I muttered darkly to myself and walked back down the stairs, wiping my mired hands on my apron as I moved to the back of the shop, opening the pot of brown and ladling a bowl for Mortin. Strange – a lot of the bread was gone. Probably Riler again. He usually ate more if he knew he would be out for the entire day; said it saved him some coins. I took half of the remaining bread and walked back to the boy, setting it down in front of him before walking back to find him some water.

"How old are you Mortin?" I asked him.

"Nine, ser."

"Orphan?"

"Yesser."

I dawdled my way to the doorway, looking around boredly. Usually I had too little time to smith with all the custom we had. Today, however, I'd only had one patron. I ran a finger through my beard before turning back to Mortin. "It's quiet today."

"Yesser," Mortin said between slurping the brown and chewing the bread, "everyone's at the Great Sept of Baeor…"

"Baelor." I corrected him.

"Yesser. The King an' Queen's there today!"

"Bully for them." I scratched my eyebrow.

And that's where it struck me.

Perhaps I was being stupid. Too swept up in a daydream. Roto wasn't that stupid – I was just imaging the worst nightmare possible. But there's a feeling in the back of your head, a sense of dread, when you try to tell yourself a lie but you know in your water that the worst has happened.

The dagger was gone. Roto was gone. He'd slept here last night and had breakfast. And Aeron Targaryen and Delyth Tyrell were at the Great Sept of Baelor now.

"Mind the shop!" I shouted at Mortin, stripping off my apron and running down the Street of Steel.

Delyth Tyrell – The Great Sept of Baelor, King's Landing, The Crownlands

We exited the Great Sept of Baelor. We hadn't been here since our wedding, but Aeron insisted on having the High Septon make an offering to the Mother to bless our child. I hoped it would be a boy – Maester Sterlan said that, from the way I was carrying, it was to be a girl. Kings often grew upset at having girls, but Aeron's eyes swirled with joy as he began talking about what to name our daughter. Aeron's favourite so far was Aeyla; a name that my own mother had suggested. After all, she would be a Targaryen – she would need a name for a dragon.

I still held out hope for a son. I liked the name Rhaelor, after Aeron's father. When I suggested this to Aeron, asking whether he would prefer a son, he simply stated that he just wanted a healthy child with me.

We left the Sept, stepping into the sunlight and watching the crowds cheer for us. They'd never have cheered like this for Draegor, or for Viserys now they knew him for treason. Only my sweet Dragon, the noble King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Beside us, stood Ser Mikal Drake, whose red hair slipped out from underneath his steel helm. He kept one hand on the hilt of his longsword, and the other hanging beside his axe. He scared me, with his unnatural eyes and that awfully grotesque scar beneath his helm, but my husband had assured me he was a loyal man that he trusted with his life. And if my husband trusted him, I did too.

Besides, Ser Mikal had never wronged me. He was a silent storm, ready to unleash against any foes who wished us harm.

"Aeron?" I asked him, waving to the crowds.

"Yes, my Rose?"

"If we have a son, I want to name him Rhaelor." Aeron turned to me, his brow furrowed. "After your father." I explained.

"Thank you, Delyth." He smiled, interlocking his fingers in mine.

"Would you prefer a son? To our daughter, I mean?"

Aeron chuckled and wrapped his arm around my waist, "I just want our child to be healthy and happy with me and you." Aeron's other hand cupped my cheek gently as he pressed his lips against me. My legs started to fold from the feeling of his arms around me once more. In that moment, I felt as though nothing could touch us. Not the vile rumours about Aeron, not the oathbreaker Viserys, not the whore Theadosia Bolton… no one.

And then screams struck across the streets. Beside Aeron, Ser Howland Swann fell to the ground, clasping his side, where the hilt of a knife protruded. Ser Mikal swept in front of us, drawing his sword and his axe as he ordered Aeron and I back to the Great Sept.

Numbers of people began to run towards us. Twenty men and women, all shouting and screaming as others began to flee. Aeron moved back with me, shouting for guards. I screamed and yelped, pointing at the figure behind him. A golden-haired boy armed with a short sword. Aeron gripped the hilt of his ancestral sword, drawing it and rushing forwards towards the man.

I wanted him to stay. I didn't want him to go near any of those awful rats. But he was my Dragon. If he hadn't have gone, maybe he wouldn't have been the man I loved. Aeron moved back and forth, batting away the sword of the man and swiping at his legs. But my gaze was pulled away from him.

A man began to advance on me. He held a small blade, the scarlet garnet catching the sunlight as he approached me: muddy brown hair and a sharp, pointed face. His face… so full of hate, anger. Like he was not a man at all. He was so full of rage.

He ran towards me, knife raised, and before I could close my eyes and scream, he stumbled and fell to the floor, the handle of an axe buried in his shoulder. Ser Mikal sprinted up the steps, slicing through one of the assassin's blades and grabbing him by the throat. He was like the Warrior incarnated in the fire of war. He plunged his sword deep into a woman before snapping the man's neck.

Ser Mikal grabbed the hair of Aeron's attacker, pulling back his head as Aeron swiped his blade across his neck. Blood spurted out, and Ser Mikal dropped the man to the floor. The remaining Kingsguard formed a line around Aeron and I, batting their swords at the traitors as the City Watch began to arrive.

And then a screech shook the sky. I looked up to see the purple she-beast plummet down from the sky, splintering the cobbled stones with her tail cutting through a rooftop like a knife through butter. Aeron's mount, Daenys. She shrieked and breathed a jet of fire amongst the dead and dying, standing in front of the Kingsguard. Ser Mikal made his way to my attacker, who still writhed on the ground.

"No," Aeron, my dragon, ordered Ser Mikal, wiping the blood from his face as he walked around to me, "Delyth, are you okay?"

"I think so… Ser Mikal saved me."

Ser Mikal just grunted and nodded at me. Aeron turned to him, "Lord Commander… you've proven yourself the most loyal Knight in the Seven Kingdoms."

Ser Mikal grunted again. "What about this one?" Ser Mikal rested a foot on his axe, making the would-be-assassin scream.

"Have his wounds tended to, and lock him in the cells. Interrogate him personally as to who was involved in this. And then Daenys may devour him. No," Aeron grabbed Ser Mikal's shoulder, "I have a better idea." Aeron turned to me, "Each and every man, high-born or low, guilty or innocent, deserves a trial. Including rats like this." Ser Mikal tore off a part of the man's shirt, offering it to Aeron, who took it to wipe down Blackfyre before bending down to pick up the bejewelled knife. "What's your name, assassin?"

"Rot in each of the seven 'ells-" His words turned to screams as Aeron gripped the axe, twisting it in the man's back.

"Your name."

"Roto."

"Son of…?"

"My father's not-" Aeron began to twist the axe again, and Roto screamed until he fell silent, his eyes flickering shut.

"Ser Mikal, escort him to the City Watch. He's not to die!" Aeron walked over to me, his blood-stained hand cupping my face, "Not yet."

So guys, I need some Tully's and Arryn's. Also, if someone wants to try and make Aeron's mother, Lady Baelish, they're welcome to do so. I also plan on there being at least two Arryn daughters (mainly because I said that in aCoB), but I obviously need at least one son too.

So, someone wanted to create this character, but they've taken a bit too long, so I'm opening it back up to anyone – the Dornishman. A character that I suspect will be a fan favourite… please PM me about making this character!

Anyway, I don't know when I'll be writing the next chapter. I mean, I finish my degree in 3 weeks so, I'll probably be uploading it sometime before then… I hope so, anyway. Please leave a review, send in a character… you know the drill. The next chapter is back in Braavos (But also features Riverrun), and is aptly named 'The Smiling Reaper'.

R.

p.s. Sorry if this seems a little sub-par. In hindsight, I could build it up a bit, but I kinda want to give you guys something to read and hold you over until the next update. I'll try and post again within the week. Only 4 more chapters left!