Thanks to Oberon Sexton and Ink of Many Shades for reviewing. You keep me inspired.

In the Shadow of the Throne

Fury of the Dance

The shadows of twilight were creeping upon them. The wind carried into the hall the smell of the cooking meals that would soon be served. Rhaenyra looked up, listening at something that only she could hear. She had an open book on her lap and stared at it resolutely but Viserys had noticed that she hadn't turned a page for a very long time. During the day, she was her usual imperious self, busy and commanding but it seemed to Viserys that as soon as the sky started darkening, she would start listening to some voices no one else could hear.

"Do you think they have reached Great Sword already?" Aegon asked him, his eyes shining with excitement. "The dragons are so fast. They must have. They might have won already!"

Viserys grinned. "Yes. And Ikarras is the fiercest dragon alive. Everyone says so. He'll kill Vhagar in no time at all!"

"Hush, children," the old maester at-arms Ser Edwar scolded them. "Her Grace wouldn't want to hear such talks."

"No one does," Viserys complained. Not that there were so many warriors left at Harrenhall, anyway – every man able to fight had left with his older brothers. Now, it was only his lady mother and her attendants here, and some other ladies. Lots of other ladies. They didn't understand. They only prayed and whispered, and were scared of war. Viserys knew their army would crush his uncle's and restore his mother to her throne but they seemed to doubt it, always afraid that they might become widows soon. And several of them had sons at the battlefield, as well. Servants and retainers had become infected with the highborn's unease.

In all, their life was quite a hushed one. Maesters, septons, training in the yard, sitting in the great hall – that was the two princes' routine. Harrenhall was big but there were only as many times as they could roam through its halls. And they weren't allowed to explore the ruins – it was considered too dangerous. They weren't allowed to leave the walls for a ride – that had been proclaimed even more dangerous. As a result, they had become almost as restless as their mother.

A huge shadow fell over the hearth. Some dogs that had been dozing around howled in distress.

Before the boys could understand what was going on, a few women had already rushed for the embrasures. Rhaenyra's book fell on the carpet and she rose slowly. She had paled visibly, stricken by a new fear. "It's too early," one of the ladies cried.

The door opened and the castellan of Harrenhall came in and bowed. "We won!" he blurted then, completely forgotten about his dignity. His face was beaming. "We won at Great Sword, my lady! The first men came back with the dragons and they say…"

Rhaenyra laughed and her face lit up. Viserys had forgotten how beautiful his mother could be when she smiled. The women crowded around the castellan, excited and anxious, asking about their husbands. He raised his hands and defended himself by this general assault claiming that he knew nothing – he had come to tell the Queen the news of the victory as soon as he had been told himself.

Rhaenyra laughed again and came to her sons, spun them around, hugged them impulsively. "Finally!" she cried out. "The usurper now knows that I am not to be trifled with. He'll be cursing the day his mother wed my lord father, I swear it!"

The dragon shadow had moved from the hearth. Rhaenyra left the hall in a hurry, headed for the huge bailey where more knights and men-at-arms were arriving on dragonback. Viserys liked it better when dragons were used for fighting but he had to admit that they did make good… wheelhouses.

By now, everyone at Harrenhall seemed to have heard. Everyone was running to the bailey. Everyone was laughing and talking excitedly. The twilight was chased away by tens of torches that bathed the arriving dragons in light, giving their various colours deeper hues.

"That's Ikarras!" Viserys cried exuberantly. Aegon nodded enthusiastically.

Next to them, Ser Edwar murmured, "Tarsol is flying very insecurely."

"Maybe he's been wounded!" Viserys suggested, looking at the great white beast with renewed interest. He had never seen a dragon with a battle wound.

"Shut up!" Rhaenyra snapped. She looked as if she might slap him, so Viserys stepped aside, prudently. She lost any interest in him, though, her eyes following intently the unsteady dragon. Slowly, Viserys realized that Tarsol might fall down on them and crush them under his weight.

"Everyone in!" Rhaenyra ordered and no one was slow to obey. The laughter and anticipation all around had died all of a sudden. "You too," she told her sons and they obediently stepped away.

"Come on," Aegon said. "Mother said…"

"She isn't looking at us," Viserys whispered back. Their mother stood with her back at them, no doubt convinced that she would be obeyed. "I want to see what's wrong with Tarsol."

"Come on!" his brother insisted. Viserys only huddled behind a marble column. Aegon shrugged and entered the castle, joining the hundreds of people who watched from every door and window.

Rhaenyra stood alone, very small in the enormous bailey, her chin lifted proudly. The world shook when the dragon fell from the sky in a storm of dust. An old tower couldn't take the pressure and crumbled. Everyone cried out as one.

Viserys shook his head to clear his view and saw his mother striding ahead, threading carefully away from the fire breath of the writhing dragon. "How on earth are we going to move him?" someone cried, aghast.

Rhaenyra stepped through the cloud. "Baelon!" she cried out and it was then that Viserys was finally aware of what his mother must have known all along: in this moment, his eldest brother might be lying crushed under the weight of his own dragon. He stepped forward.

"No!" someone cried from above. Ikarras was now circling down. Aemon immediately turned his eyes back to the bailey, looking for a safe place to land. "Viserys, step back!"

With a new shudder of the earth, the second dragon landed. Ser Edwar and a few of the more daring ladies came forward hesitantly. Viserys walked behind Lady Lannister, hoping that his mother and brother wouldn't see him.

But it seemed he was the last thing in their minds right now. Aemon dismounted with his usual ease but his companions were slower. Then they started lowering a limp body that had been secured with ropes. In the torchlight, Viserys saw the familiar shining of silvery-gold hair, spattered with red. The violet eyes, though, were closed. The breastplate had been removed and the boy could see that the chest was covered with caked blood, too, softened by a constant fresh flow.

"Get the maesters!" Rhaenyra snapped and leaned over the body they had left on the stones, a good deal away from the reach of the dragons'breath. Not a sigh, not a tear. Her hands pressed to her throat, as if she wanted to stifle a scream, she went to her knees, her eyes never moving from her son's closed ones. Very slowly, her hand went to his cheek.

Now that she was away from the dragons, her people started thronging once again, talking in low voices. Were they looking at a living man, or a dead one? Aemon knelt on his brother's other side, not daring to look his mother in the eye. Viserys came to them, not bothering to hide any more.

Baelon slowly raised his eyelids, recognized his mother, tried to smile. "Won," Viserys heard him murmur. It was the faintest intake of breath, a mere sigh.

"I know," Rhaenyra said. "You did well."

"He did," Aemon confirmed. "He and Tarsol took down Vhagar and Aemond on their own. They are both dead," he went on and reached for his brother's hand but it was so thorn and bleeding that he reconsidered and just sat there helplessly.

A ripple went through the crowd. Vhagar had been old, for sure, but she had been a legendary dragon, Queen Visenya's own mount. And a youngling as Tarsol had killed her? It was hard to believe.

"Now, that's a good start," Rhaenyra said. Her voice was steady, yet there was something strange about her eyes. Some… shine. Behind them, one of the dragons swished a tail and someone screamed when the door of a nearby building rattled.

"Maybe you'll kill Uncle Aegon next!" Viserys said enthusiastically and his mother looked at him as if she had forgotten that he was here. But then, she nodded.

"He's right," she told Baelon. "Now you should heed the maesters if you want to finish your great start."

Baelon looked as if he might have tried to smile – or wince in pain. Blood came rushing from the split in his skull, from his eyes, from his mouth, blood everywhere. Viserys jumped back, drenched in sweat all of a sudden. Rhaenyra screamed – a howl that had nothing human to it, a howl Viserys hadn't known that humans could even make, a howl that echoed all over the ruins of Harrenhall. The dragons howled back. Four maesters came running and two servants hoisted Baelon on a stretcher. Aemon stopped the last one in the line, a maester whose name Viserys didn't know.

"You take care of Tarsol," he said.

The round middle-aged man stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the young prince. "My… my lord… " he stammered. "Surely you understand that your brother…"

"My brother has three other maesters to attend him," Aemon snapped. "You're going to the dragon now."

Rhaenyra who was walking beside the stretcher looked back. "Do what my son says," she called over her shoulder in a voice that brooked no argument.

Obviously terrified, the maester started inching toward the terrified beast, as dangerous in his agony as he was in his prime. The crowd started whispering. As young as he was, Viserys knew that they could never understand. How could Baelon ever recover fully if he lost Tarsol?

From the dragonpit that Rhaenyra had ordered to dig as soon as she had married Lord Strong, Syrax roared.

Viserys trudged behind the small procession. They were almost at the door when the servants suddenly lowered the stretcher to the ground. The maesters leaned over it, rose a moment later, shook their heads. Rhaenyra tore at her hair and screamed again.

Tarsol gave a mighty roar and started rising. The crowd scattered, screaming.

A flame came out of the white dragon's mouth and he fell back on his belly, panting. His head hit the stones, crushing them in pieces.

He died like the young knight who had ridden him.