Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Sorry guys, I have exams on at the moment and am literally so exhausted I can barely write a paragraph at the time. . So that's why updates are taking a while.

But, here we are with a chapter (admittedly a bit slow but introduces a new character at the end) on the Unworthy's sons. (BTW, Viserys II still died after only two years of ruling, so he was king an extra year, but Aegon IV's reign was over a decade longer, doing a helluvalot of damage to the dragons' reputations and the realm's stability.)

Chapter Eighteen

The Hatchlings of the Unworthy Dragon

King's Landing: February 14th, 187 AC

Daenerys Targaryen (Daughter of Aegon IV):

"Do you, Prince Maron of House Nymeros Martell, take this woman as your wedded wife?" the High Septon asked. "Willst thou honour her, love her, protect her, comfort her and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Maron replied, smiling wildly. It was clear to anybody who looked that he was entranced by his beautiful new bride.

Daenerys herself was not as happy. She had known since Daeron's ascension to the Iron Throne that her love for Daemon was futile, of course, given his birth and his marriage to Rohanne but it still stung to marry somebody else, and one who was a stranger to her and that had been an enemy to her people only a few decades past at that. Her father had promised them both that he would see her become Daemon's second wife, but Daeron had felt no need to hold to that promise and he had too much thoughts on politics to concern himself with his sister's happiness. With her vows, there would be peace between Dorne and the Iron Throne, and any shred of possibility of her being with her half-brother would disappear.

Still, her mother (what she recalled of the woman at least) had been dutiful to her husband in all matters despite her frailty. She had been a woman to be admired in spite of her delicate health, and Daenerys wished to emulate her as much as she could. Because of her recollections of her mother's advice on a Princess' duty, Daenerys was determined to look on the bright side. Prince Maron was a good man, from her interactions with him and from everything that Myriah had told her. He had treated her very respectfully. She thought they would be able to get along, at least, and that was better than many women got in their marriages.

The High Septon turned to look at her. She could feel Daemon's gaze boring into her back, but she did not dare to turn and look back at him. She did not think she would be able to find the strength to speak her vows if she did.

"Do you, Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen, take this man as your wedded husband?" the septon turned to her. "Willst thou obey him and serve him, love him, honour him and keep him, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," she replied softly, forcing herself to hold her chin up high. She was a Princess of House Targaryen, a dragonness who was about to become a Princess of House Martell. She was Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken, and had Fire and Blood in her soul. She would not let her heartache defeat her.

"Please remove the lady's maiden cloak and replace it with your own, Prince Maron," the septon ordered, once Daenerys had made her vow.

Prince Maron did so, and Daenerys felt herself sway slightly when the orange cloak settled around her shoulders. It was made of silk, and quite light, but it seemed to symbolize so many things. Her wedding was the final act save for a few small things and the actual pledge that would complete the unification of Dorne and the Iron Throne.

"Repeat after me together seven times," the High Septon continued. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone and Stranger, I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

They repeated the words, and then it was almost over.

"Now, Prince Maron if you would please kiss the bride and then both of you pledge your love," the septon ordered them.

Her new lord husband leaned down and gently pressed his lips against hers for an instant before he pulled back, squeezing her hand gently. She smiled shyly at him, grateful for his kindness towards her.

Knowing that she was supposed to speak first, Daenerys spoke a second later. "With this kiss I pledge my love and take thee for my lord and husband," she murmured. She had ever been a quiet lady, similar to her late mother. Daenerys felt her heart sting at the knowledge that her mother was not here to guide her in her marriage. The princess gave a silent prayer that her own marriage would turn out better than her parents' had, even if her husband was not the one she had wished and prayed for, as with her mother and Uncle Aemon.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love and take thee for my lady and wife," Maron finished, his own voice far easier for the audience to hear.

"Prince Maron and Princess Daenerys of House Nymeros Martell are now man and wife," the septon announced. "One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be the one who comes between them."

The watching crowd cheered as the septon undid the cord, and when Daenerys looked at Daemon, she shivered slightly at the rage lurking in his eyes.

She loved him, but she knew his temper well. She feared what his anger foretold for the fate of their kingdom.

King's Landing: 1st January, 189 AC

Daeron II "The Good" Targaryen:

"I, Maron, Head of House Martell, Ruling Prince of Dorne, hereby pledge my fealty, and thus that of Dorne itself, to the Iron Throne, in the Light of the Seven-Who-Are-One," Daeron's goodbrother declared. Unlike the last time a Prince of Dorne had sworn his fealty to a King Daeron Targaryen, this time, Maron wore a broad smile as he willingly and happily pledged his country's allegiance to his goodbrother. Daeron himself was beaming in satisfaction and triumph. At long last, Dorne had been properly, and peacefully, brought into the fold. The Conquest was nearly complete.

Diplomacy and marriage had worked where military might and dragons had failed with Dorne. Quietly, though he had yet to speak of it to his advisors, or even his wife, it was Daeron's hope that he could repeat his success with the other hold-out kingdom. The Winterlands were an ever-present problem, and even in 'peace' time, they still clashed on a regular basis at the borders or in the waters linking the Vale and the Three Sisters. There had been more than a few times during the twenty years of his father's reign that things had almost erupted into proper warfare yet again. One time, against Daeron's heavy protests, Aegon IV had gone so far as to order a fleet be built and wooden dragons be built by the pyromancers so as to invade. Thanks to the intervention of the Seven, however, they had been spared a restart to the war with the North when a vicious storm had destroyed the entire fleet and the fake dragons had collapsed in on themselves before they were even half-way through the kingswood. The Starks had retaliated to the attempted invasion by assaulting the Gulltown port and having their Ironborn vassals attack and pillage the coasts of the Westerlands and Reach, but otherwise had let it be, thank the Gods.

It probably helped that Queen Raya had been on her deathbed at the time, and the Winterlands were transitioning from her rule to that of her nephew Beron, otherwise Daeron suspected that their retaliation would have been far more severe.

Thousands of years of failure had proven that military actions would never bring the Winterlands into the fold. Maybe, as with Dorne, marriage and bribery would.

But that was something for later. Right now, Daeron was accepting his goodbrother's pledge of allegiance. After doing so, he lifted his good friend to his feet and the two of them walked out together amidst cheers from Dornish and Midlanders alike.

Together, they walked to the statue of Baelor I, who had, in his short time of ruling, forged a peace with Dorne that had later led to the marriages of Daeron to Myriah and Maron to Daenerys, subsequently resulting in the Ruling Prince willingly and happily bending the knee.

"Your work is done," Daeron and Maron said in unison, as previously agreed, looking up at the statue's face.

They turned to smile and wave at the cheering crowds. Daeron sought out the eyes of his wife, seeing her standing beside his smiling sister, both of them in different stages of pregnancy and his and Myriah's children surrounding them, all glowing with pride at the historical event.

Winterfell: 30th September, 208

Beron Stark XV:

King Beron stared at the letter on his desk as if it were a jar filled with wildfire, liable to explode at any moment. It had not come as a complete surprise, as the greenseers and their spies had all warned him that Daeron the Dornish-Lover was looking into non-militaristic ways of bringing the Winterlands into his domains. Beron was still uncertain as to how to respond without restarting a war they could ill-afford at a time when they were just out of a long winter and were preparing for an outbreak of a deadly epidemic.

Not to mention he was angered at the insult to his honour and that of the Starks. How dare the Southron King insult them by daring to imply he would ever spit on the sacrifices of his people, of his House, by bending the knee and giving up their ancient crown, a crown far more ancient than even Old Valyria itself. Thank the Gods, the man was due to die soon enough, leaving his half-brother and book-obsessed son in charge.

Beron was fond of Brynden Rivers, as much as he was able to be fond of any southron, for the man followed the Gods of his mother (whom Beron deeply regretted suffering the way she had between her capture by the Unworthy Dragon and death), and was Godstouched. He was also, according to their spies, sensible enough to advocate against any attempts, be they military or diplomatic, towards uniting the Winterlands and the rest of their people.

"He jests, surely," his second son and heir, Artos, stated, staring in disbelief at the parchment.

"I do not believe so," Beron murmured, scratching at the side of his chin in deep thought.

Beron had not expected the Crown of Bronze and Iron to fall to him. His aunt, the late Queen Raya XV, had been declared barren early on in her reign, and had thus turned to her (many) nieces and nephews to decide on an heir. Although the succession of the Weirwood Throne was very different from the way the southrons arranged their successions, it was still uncommon for the secondborn child of a tenthborn child (his father being the fifth child of the deceased King Cregan with his third wife, the late Queen Lynara Stark) to ascend to the Headship of the House.

Yet, of all of Cregan Stark's grandchildren it had been Beron who won the Trials, and thus it was Beron who was named as Raya's heir, taken in by her to be raised and tutored under her careful and sharp eye. She had become more of a mother to him than his own had been, due to the time he spent with her. He wondered what Raya would have thought, were she the one to receive such a proposal from the southrons.

He picked up the letter to re-read it a third time. It had taken some time to arrive after being sent, due to his people's habit of shooting down any ravens sent in their direction from the south, and then passing through the hands of many different people to get it to Beron himself.

The Red Keep

King's Landing

The Crownlands

21st August 208

To His Grace King Beron Stark, greetings,

Your Grace, all that I have heard of the people of the Winterlands agrees that you are people who prefer to simply get down to the point, and so I shall respect that and do so without dancing around my desires. I am certain that you are well aware of my desire to have your kingdom be a part of the rest of Westeros in truth instead of simply geographically.

I am sure that you have heard many things in regards to the successful unification of Dorne and the Iron Throne, some nineteen years past now. Any Dornishman will inform you of the improvements to their lives since their kingdom joined with the rest of the Kingdoms. Now, I would exchange that same offer to you and your people.

This is my proposal: Unfortunately, my son and heir Aerys, though married for some time to Aelinor Penrose, has no children as of yet and is unlikely to have any offspring. His own heir is my grandson through my third son Rhaegal, Prince Aelor. Aelor also has a twin sister, Aelora. I propose that Aelora wed your heir, Prince Artos and then your eldest daughter, Princess Berena, would become the wife of Aelor, whom I am given to understand is quite near to her age. I would write an Act of Succession to ensure that Princess Berena's children inherit the Iron Throne.

With the marriages, the Winterlands would come under the dominion of the Iron Throne. You would retain similar rights to those of Dorne. Whilst the Starks would no longer claim the title of 'Kings of Winter', you will still be labelled as Princes and Princesses (or an equivalent ranking title that you are welcome to choose yourself). Your House would also retain its' rule of all of its' current territories, and be the new Wardens of the North. Like Dorne, the Winterlands will have certain rights and privileges in regards to taxes and laws, that we shall negotiate and you will be welcome to maintain your traditions and culture as it currently is.

The only difference to the lives of your people will be that they are subject to the ruler seated on the Iron Throne also instead of just House Stark, and that you will have all of the benefits of being a part of my dominions, such as free trade between all regions and no more wars between our two peoples.

I have heard that the Starks always wish to make what is the best decision for their people. I am sure that you are an intelligent man, able to see the many benefits of your kingdoms joining the rest. I look forward to hearing your response.

Yours sincerely,

Daeron II Targaryen, Head of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

"You do not intend to accept, surely?" Artos demanded, alarmed by the thoughtful expression on his father's face.

Artos was called the 'Implacable' for many reasons. He was also deeply in love with his betrothed, Lysara Karstark, and appalled at the thought of breaking his word in order to wed a burner. The nobles would revolt, and rightfully so.

Beron snapped out of his contemplation, scoffing. "Certainly not," he said curtly. "But I wish to refuse the offer without restarting a war. I worry about this new King-Beyond-the-Wall, Raymun Redbeard, that we are starting to hear tales of from Hardhome, and the greenseers have foreseen a terrible illness that will affect not only our own kingdom but the Six Kingdoms also. We cannot deal with a two-way war.

But I am not Maron Martell. I will not spit on the sacrifices of our people, of everyone who gave their lives to protect and preserve our freedom from the burners, by giving up without a fight what they died to protect."

Artos bowed his head, looking ashamed. "Forgive me, my king and Father," he stated. "I ought not have doubted you."

Beron nodded curtly running his fingers through the midnight-shaded fur of his direwolf, Shadow. "Leave me," the king instructed his heir. "And have Greenseer Blackmyre sent for. I would have her council on what to do next."

He needed to find a way to delay things without restarting the war until the Dornish-Loving Dragon was dead in a few turns of the moon. After that, the matter would likely be left alone, as Aerys, from all reports, was too busy reading to care about ruling, and a Godstouched would be sensible. His greenseeing Chancellor would be better able to advise him on what he should do than any other.

The prince rose, bowed, and left, his own direwolf Frost padding after him.

The Neck: 15th October, 233 AC

Brynden "Bloodraven" Rivers:

Brynden Rivers, more commonly known as Bloodraven, grunted as he hacked a branch out of his way. He had been banished by his great-nephew, the new King Aegon V, for his act of promising his half-brother's son, Aenys Blackfyre, safe passage to present his claim to the Iron Throne. However, when Aenys had arrived, Bloodraven had ordered his arrest and subsequent beheading instead.

Despite the consequences, Brynden could not regret his actions. He had done what needed to be done for the good of the realm, as he had always done.

He could only pray that young Egg (not so young as that, Brynden supposed. He was married with three sons and two daughters already) could do what had to be done. To succeed as king, Aegon would need to do as his maester brother had urged him. He would have to "kill the boy, and let the king emerge". Knowing how idealistic the new king was, Bloodraven had his doubts, and he feared that Aegon's idealism would lead to tragedy. His great-nephew would no doubt be eager to improve the lives of the smallfolk among whom he had spent so much time, yet Bloodraven knew that nobility would not tolerate such reforms, and he worried how Aegon would deal with it. He had never been expected to be king, after all. It was a very unfortunate and unlikely series of events that had led to the crowning of Aegon V.

Perhaps that would be how he was known in the history books: Aegon V, the Unlikely King.

But Brynden was no longer in a position to help Daeron's descendant. And his visions, always strong, were haunting him more than ever.

He had been born to Aegon IV's sixth mistress, Melissa Blackwood, their third child. His mother had been taken captive by Aegon during a skirmish at the Riverwall border, and was devoted to the Gods of the Forest, River and Stone, scorning the Seven worshipped by the enemies of her people. In secret, she had taught her three children to worship her family's gods as well.

It was due to her, that Brynden had understood what he had to do when he was banished. "You are Godstouched, my son," she had told him so long ago. "Albinos are living weirwoods. Your dreams are messages from the Gods themselves. Always follow what they tell you, for the Gods will never lead you astray."

Thanks to those dreams and that advice, Brynden had spent his life successfully defending the realm. He had known where to be to kill Daemon and his twin sons at the Battle of the Redgrass Field in 196, he had spent years ruling the realm and ferreting out treason, learned of and foiled the plot to declare Daemon II Blackfyre as King, and much more besides.

Now, his dreams had guided him north, to the Neck., along with his lover and half-sister, Shiera Seastar Thanks to Shiera's Essosi sorcery, his dreams, and his warging abilities, they had managed (with great difficulty) to evade the tight security of the Riverwall, and made their way to the Neck.

Now, he sensed that they were almost at the end of their journey.

"Brynden Rivers!" a voice, high and clear, cut through his thoughts. Shiera lifted her bow as Brynden raised his sword, preparing to fight, only to falter at the sight of the tiny woman with big blue eyes that seemed to take up half her face who had suddenly appeared before him. It was rare that people managed to do something like that, and it caught him off-guard.

"Who are you?" Shiera demanded suspiciously.

The crannogwoman smiled at them, bowing in Brynden's direction. "I am Alivia Greengood, an apprentice Greenseer. The High Greenseer saw your arrival, Bloodraven, and I was given the honour of being sent to find you.

Come, Gods' Blessed, and Lover of the Gods' Blessed. The High Greenseer awaits you. Any Godstouched is welcome in these lands."

Brynden and Shiera exchanged quick looks, but they had little option. It was clear that the sole reason they had learned of Alivia's presence was because she had deliberately shown herself to them. If there were others in the trees, they would not be able to detect them. They could only follow after Alivia and hope that she was not leading them into a trap.

And at last gain answers to everything they had been dreaming of.