A/N: If you haven't checked out the last chapter on the Battle of Duskendale, please do so before you continue! It is very important.

Chapter 16

Part 1: King's Landing

Two Weeks Later

The bells tolled lightly in the background of people's minds, heralding King Rhaegel's victory over the pretender Queen Shaena Targaryen. The King beamed as he stood on the steps of the Red Keep, Tyrell soldiers marching through four men, wearing all different kinds of dress – Shaena allies, her closest confidantes, and biggest partners.

Lord Brandon Stark was shackled, the only of the four. His grey eyes were fierce and he threw shoulders at the soldiers that had bound him. Dressed in northern attire, he had been the holdout, demanding that they negotiate on even terms against Rhaegel. But the other three had demurred, knowing they couldn't hold out for long while their own regions had demanded peace.

The second was Lord Mallister – the second eldest of them. Haggard and angry as well, he glared down the King that he had maimed back at Stony Sept. The only Riverlander, he represented his fragmented region in the peace talks. With Ayla Tully gone to the West, Mallister had tried to bring together the Blackwoods and Brackens, who now demanded the loyalty of nearly half of the Riverlands each. But he had agreed to end the war to help his region from being scorched to the ground.

The third and fourth were related – Lord Arryn, and his son Rowan, walking side by side with their heads up. They had joined the war late, and were assuming that favorable terms would be offered to the Vale in exchange for them bending the knee to the Crown. While the Riverlands was spent, the Vale still had many men left, just like the North. They could be used to fight, whereas the Northerners were just wanting to go home.

The doors of the Red Keep opened with a loud screeching sound as the metal grated upon the stone floor. Mallister winced and walked with the other three, their eyes searching warily for where Rhaegel was standing. They were paraded through the Keep towards the throne room, where Rhaegel was seated upon the Iron Throne.

He wore a regal set of attire, black and red intertwining at every loop and facet of his clothing. His crown was sat atop his pale blonde locks, and his eyes were watching them sharply from his place upon it. To his left was his wife, the Lady Lyra of House Tyrell, and to his right, his hand, the Queen's brother. Lyra was very pregnant by then, the pale green dress hanging off of her stomach.

"Lords Mallister, Arryn, and Stark." Rhaegel stood up, and it wasn't missed upon them that he did so with some difficulty. He had taken hits during the fight with Shaena, and the wound from the arrow that Mallister shot hadn't exactly healed yet. "You are charged with treason, fighting for the pretender Shaena Targaryen over the true King Rhaegel Targaryen. The normal penalty for treason is death."

Lord Arryn tensed and gripped his son's arm tightly. If it had been up to him, he would've sent Rowan home days ago, but he insisted upon staying until the battle was over. A true Arryn, through and through. Stark was unabashed as he watched Rhaegel, sizing him up. If it came to it, and he demanded a trial by combat, Rhaegel would have to suffer the sting of naming one of his Kingsguard to defend himself rather than to do it himself.

"However, not all of you must die today." Rhaegel was acting like it was theatre, walking down the steps of the throne towards them and addressing his court. "The King and Crown are merciful entities. We are not going to go around murdering every person that stood against us. There would be no lords left in the Riverlands, North or Vale."

"What will you do with them?" Lord Tyrell asked from his place at the side of the throne. "Lord Stark and Lord Arryn contributed much of the war effort. Lady Tully is not here to answer for her own region, either."

Rhaegel's face flickered with anger at his Hand speaking up. It became clear to the lords that the Tyrell had little power over him, and he would make whatever decision he felt necessary without the input of his Hand. "First, Lord Stark." His voice was crisp and he stepped closer to him. "Your wife was the pretender Queen. And you were the King Consort. I have heard that you had a son together, who is being shipped up the Neck as we speak. Is that true?"

Stark's jaw set and he gave a nod, gaze flickering over Rhaegel with hate. He had known little Daemon for not a long amount of time, but he was his own flesh and blood. If he had anything to say about it, he would continue the war if Rhaegel intended on his death. His knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists at his side.

"I offer you leniency." Rhaegel said, standing face to face with him. Pale grey eyes looked at purple. "Little Daemon will be allowed to live. But here, before the eyes of the court, the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Reach – you will forsake his Targaryen ancestry, and end his claim to the throne."

Brandon Stark wasn't surprised by that, but he was surprised that he was going to allow him to live in the first place. Even if he disinherited him, if Daemon grew older and changed his mind, he could still rally some support. "I agree….my King." He added after some time.

Rhaegel smirked and clapped him on the shoulder. "And you will forsake him as a Stark. He will live his life as Daemon Snow. He can live in Winterfell, eat with your trueborn children, but he will not grow up to own Winterfell in his own right."

Brandon swallowed but nodded again. A life as a bastard was a hard one, but easier than a life on the run as a young child.

King Rhaegel then turned to the two Arryns. "Unfortunately, one of you must die for the treacheries of the Vale. The Riverlands and the North – yes, I knew they would be against me. But the Vale shoved the knife in our back. And for that…" Neither father nor son had time to respond before Rhaegel's quick fingers slid a knife from his scabbard and jammed it into the Lord's back.

The older man slumped to his knees, coughing blood up onto the floor. Rowan bent down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hate in his eyes as he glared up at Rhaegel. It only took half a minute before the Eyrie passed from one to the other.

"Will you bend the knee, Lord Rowan Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale, and Warden of the East?" Rhaegel asked, his tone clipped. "There are many men that would like to have your position."

Rowan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He gave a simple nod and bent his knee. Rhaegel then turned to the harrowed Lord Mallister, touching his cheek with his hand.

"Old and weary, this is the champion that the Riverlands offers?" Rhaegel chuckled and stepped back. "Where is Lady Ayla? Why is she not here to answer for Riverrun?"

"She went North." Lord Mallister lied easily, glancing at Rhaegel. "To hide out the remaining part of the war. On Shaena's orders."

Rhaegel just gave him half a smile. Unfortunately for the man, he didn't buy it. The violet eyes glanced at Mallister up and down. "You are older, feeble. You have no doubt taken many scars in battle. And given many in return." Rhaegel had his knife out, poking a hole in Mallister's attire. "One, I believe…that is right here." He began to dig the knife into his shoulder where he had shot Rhaegel days before.

He bit his lip hard, blood beginning to run from his mouth as he refused to give in or make a noise. Stark watched in horror as the knife went to the hilt, and still no sound echoed from the lungs of the Riverman. The Lord of Seagard had a thin strip of blood running down his jaw and neck, but he didn't act as though it were there at all.

"A pity." Rhaegel said. "But you are unnecessary." He shoved the dagger into his heart, and Mallister hit the ground, dead before he hit the stone.

"A new era." Rhaegel stepped back to address the entire court. "A new dawn! An era without war, or extra blood. I welcome the Riverlands, Vale and North back into the fold. To those that still resist: fire and blood are in your future." He strode from the room, and after a few minutes, they could hear the screaming of a dragon.

Part 2: Oldtown

The massive galley lulled in the harbor, Ronard Cantrill watching as the bright orange sails flew in the wind. Prince Dorin pressed a coin into his hand, and smiled. "You will wait here for the new Queen. Once you have her and have told her of our cause, you will bring her to Sunspear, for the gift bestowed upon her by the Dornish."

Cantrill snorted and put his arms over his chest. He hadn't imagined getting this involved when he had set sail for Oldtown, but here he was, in the thick of it once more. "A gift? What is it – you?" He couldn't hide the mocking tone, knowing that the princes and lords only ever wanted a bride, and for Prince Dorin, there was none better than a Queen.

"As much as I would dearly like it to be that way, no." Dorin gave a kind smile, putting his hand on the mighty hull of the Martell ship. He tapped it lightly to hear the nice wooden sound that came out of it. "There is a dragon in Dorne. Goldfyre – it was meant for King Aerys, but now that he has forsaken the claim, he will not be riding it. He only ever rode it once…the dragon seems relatively docile and may take to the Princess Naerys."

Ronard was surprised, and bent down to run some water through his hands. He had expected demands of a marriage in order for Dorne to be brought back into the fold. Would they simply help her get the throne and bend to it for nothing other than that?

"What's the price, then?" Ronard asked. "I know why she is going there now, but surely you will not offer Dornish joining the Seven Kingdoms for nothing in return."

"I will not." Dorin replied, knowing that was a suicide mission. His fellow lords and ladies would never have it, even if he would give the order. Even what he had in mind was risky. "Naerys will agree to a marriage between her eldest son and one of my daughters. A secondary match between my eldest child, whether it be the future Princess or Prince of Dorne, with one of her children as well."

"Ah." Ronard replied. "So, it is about marriage – only twenty or thirty years down the line. If we win."

"If we win." Dorin echoed, and clapped him on the shoulder. "You will lead her while she is in the Reach, to Oldtown. Crown her here, in the Starry Sept by the High Septon himself. If you can get him to do it, that is. But for now, I must take my leave."

Ronard could do nothing but watch as the brightly-colored Dornishman retreated back to the ship that would take him home. He wondered what it felt like. He had a home in King's Landing, sure, but he had always been one to travel. He doubted Prince Dorin had much left home before the war began, and had been parked in Oldtown for some time. Now, the war was coming, and he was going home for a short time before the dawn came.

He gave a hearty wave to the man, before he turned back to the city he was now supposed to help administrate. He walked back towards the small pavilion that had been set up in the city's center. Now, the banners of Houses Hightower, Martell, and Targaryen flew above it, and he couldn't help but wonder if the little rebellion they were about to stage was going to work.

He stepped inside the tent, and saw the Hightower boy sitting in one of the chairs. He had drafted a letter to the High Septon, who was currently refusing to meet with any of the occupiers of Oldtown. Ronard himself had gone there twice in the last week, and had been turned away at the door when they saw that Prince Dorin had sent him.

"Have you heard back?" Ronard asked and sat down heavily in a chair beside him.

"I've sent three ravens, and no response." Leyton sighed and ran his hands through his dark brown hair. "I'm a Hightower! Surely, they know I mean no harm. I am the rightful lord of this city, and he refuses me entrance to the Starry Sept."

Ronard knew that if the Dornish heard that, they would be prickly and not want him involved in any further discussions. But the Reachman was a good person to have at the table, even if it was somewhat reluctantly. He sat back in his chair and tapped the side of it nervously. "Maybe when our Queen arrives, she can persuade him differently."

Just as he was finishing his sentence, they heard the city's bells begin to toll. Quiet at first, then louder. At first it was a rhythmic pattern, but soon it was simply as fast as they could. Ronard was confused, glancing at Leyton.

The boy rushed to the tent flaps and hurried outside. Color drained from his face before Ronard even had a chance to get there. In the distance, they could see a great beast flying towards them. A small wisp of a person was on the back, a sword heaved into the air. The coloring of purple and cream only confirmed their fears.

"There are no dragonriders left." Ronard said, trying to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. "He has no one to fear. Get inside." He grabbed the boy by the collar, and they ran at a breakneck pace through the streets, trying to find a house with a door open.

Screams were beginning to echo through Oldtown, with Dornishmen, former Hightower soldiers, and smallfolk alike carrying huge bows, marching through the streets with them. At last, Ronard put his foot in a door and kicked it open. It was empty – likely whoever had been living there was killed when the Dornish first invaded.

"Why is he here?" Leyton asked, as they got down into the bottom floor of the residence.

"Why wouldn't he?" Ronard replied dryly. "Oldtown, along with Sunspear, are the last symbols of resistance."

"What do we do?" Leyton asked, wondering if there was anything they could do.

"Wait out the firestorm." Ronard was sad to say it, but he knew it was true. He heard more screaming, and the sounds of rubble hitting the ground. It wasn't close yet, but he knew it would get worse. "And pray for those we've lost."

Part 3: Brightwater Keep

Naerys had been dressed in black for the past ten days, since she had first heard of her sister's death. The never-ending feeling of guilt and self-loathing continued as she thought of what she could've done if she had stood beside her. She had been selfish – not wanting to choose a side that could have turned out bad in the end. But instead of helping her sister, who would've been a better Queen than Rhaegel, she ended up dooming her to her fate. Cut up near Storm's End, having died trying to protect their brother. And Aerys – she hadn't heard a thing since that day either.

"It'll be okay." Maris put her hand on her back as she steered her towards a table that the two ladies could sit at together. "The country will rebound."

"And I will not." Naerys slung back. She was beginning to tire of Maris' incessant planning and scheming. She just wanted to be left alone. She missed her sister, and didn't want to dishonor her by immediately plotting for the throne that she never wanted.

"You will, in time. It's just like with my brother." Maris sat down with her and poured herself a goblet of wine. "He's an idiot. I love him, but he's an idiot. I couldn't trust him to run a war. Your brother is a bit similar to him in that regard. Not…beneath the sheets or anything, but he could make you happy."

The words were like a slap to the face. Naerys stood up abruptly. "I'm not marrying your brother." She felt used, and…dirty somehow. She turned to go.

"Of course, you aren't." Maris replied. "If you want to be Queen, marrying a Florent isn't the way to do it."

Naerys turned, glancing back at her. She had never wanted the throne. Aerys had – and he was tortured and sent from place to place. Shaena had – and she was dead. Rhaegel had – and he was a maniac. Viserys had – and he was cruel. Viserra had – and she was dead.

The good ones died, she could see the pattern. The bad ones won. She liked to think she was a good one. Or at least, a better one than most. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "And if I do want to?"

"The obvious choice lies in the north." Maris sipped her wine and looked at her. "Not the North with a capital N, but just north of here. Leonidas Lannister is unwed. I know you do not wish to do so, but with the Lannister army, we could march on Highgarden from north and south. Knocking the Tyrells out, waving the Florent banners over it, will mark a significant defeat for the King. By that time, we will have unified Dorne, the West, and the Reach against him. He has no love in the Riverlands – and Lady Ayla will pledge to our cause. His only true backer lies in Storm's End. And by the looks of it, Mairin Baratheon doesn't have much reason to stay loyal either."

Naerys frowned as she turned and walked away from the lady. Marrying Lord Lannister? What would Godric think of me? She knew as a Queen she had to make hard decisions, but she had already given herself to him. You're a Queen now. Or…you could be. If you're going to be Queen, you will need to make difficult decisions. And one may be to accept this now, whereas you wouldn't before.

She walked outside, the cool breeze of night sweeping across her face. The black dress swirled around her, and she had to hold onto it to attempt to keep it down. She sighed heavily and walked along the pathway of the flowers on each side. It was too late when she noticed there was another already on it.

Lord Alenore was ahead of her, giving her a faint smile. He had a handsome enough face, with soft eyes. He didn't hardly seem like he could be related to Maris in the way that he acted. "Good evening, princess." He gave a little bow of his head.

"Good evening, Lord Alenore." Despite his friendly appearance, Naerys had enough of Florents for the day. She tried to go past him, but he simply got into a walk beside her.

"I apologize if I'm boring you, princess." Alenore said out of the blue, walking beside her anyway. "But it seems I am unwanted in my own keep." He gave her a hint of a smile at that.

"Really?" Naerys asked and instinctively reached for his arm as a cold wind blew through her. Alenore was warm, and seemingly much kinder than his sister.

"I'm the idiot." He gave her a wry grin as they walked towards the bay, rubbing her arm to give a little bit more warmth. "The puppet that she can control when you win."

Naerys was surprised that he used such blatant language – and seemed to accept it. She gently kissed his cheek – an action that surprised herself. She felt bad for him, being treated by his own sister in such a manner. "Then what do you think I should do, Lord Alenore?" She asked, wondering what his advice would be.

"You're going to be Queen." He shrugged and sat down on the edge with her. "It makes the most sense to marry into Casterly Rock."

"So, you wouldn't ask for my hand?" She teased lightly, thinking that he was handsome enough, the pointed ears with the unruly brown hair and a strong appearance. The feeling of guilt again settled in as she thought of Godric – who was still rotting in Casterly Rock because of her. She shouldn't be playing with the Florent man in such a way. Her ears burned as she turned away.

"As flattering as it would be, no." He chuckled a little in return. "I'm going to be your ally no matter what happens."

Naerys played with her dress lightly as she thought about it. "I'll do it." She said finally, glancing over at him. "I'll be the Queen they want me to be."

"No." He gently brushed a lock of her silvery hair out of her way. "Be the Queen you want to be."

A/N: I apologize for the delay! It's been over 3 weeks :( I was just on vacation, and had a lot of trouble getting this chapter from being unruly.

Thank you all for staying with me and reviewing, I truly appreciate it.