When The Dragonwolf Danced

by Alperez16

A collaborative effort between myself and my good friend, SPh0015. Jon Snow is born much earlier to a different prince of House Targaryen. Raised as Daemon Targaryen's son and betrothed to his cousin, Rhaenyra. How does his presence affect the Dance of Dragons and will he ever make sense of the dreams that hint at who he truly is?

4. The Many Steps to a Throne

The Sea of Dorne 107 AC.

Corlys.

Supplies, in the end, it had come down as much to supplies as it had men to fight or a dragon to lead them. Armies lived or died by their supply chain and try as they might, theirs was one that was stretched thin. There was little of any use to be found on the islands themselves. Some poor vegetation, but it was mainly rocks and more rocks. While the seas at least were bountiful. Although by now their men had dined on so much fish that even the thought of more made them ill. As for their attempts to grow anything on these lands, well the less said about them the better.

No, it was his ships that supplied their food and materials, and each time they sailed was another risk that they undertook. Thankfully Daemon had cleared the islands nearest to the Dornish coast, so other than Bloodstone, there were none they sailed by that their enemies controlled. Not that it meant the sea was safe or that they were free from attack. Pirates still roamed and not just those who'd named the Stepstones their home. Some came from much further afield than that. Sellsails from Volantis and Slaver's Bay. Reavers from the Iron Islands and men hired by the Triarchy all sought to plunder his ships.

They'd now started to move further North to do so and so Corlys had Rhaenys beseech the Crown for more aid. Other than coin and food supplies, however, none was yet forthcoming. As long as it was his ships and his ships only that were attacked, then Viserys and his Goodfather cared not what the pirates did or did not do. Given what he'd heard regarding the upcoming birth, both the King's and his Hand's attention was on their own issues and not anyone else's. Certainly not his or Daemon's.

This journey had however been without incident so far. Mayhap because he led it himself and few were brave enough to challenge the Sea Snake at sea. Still, the closer he got to the islands themselves, the warier Corlys became.

"What word from the other ships?" he asked Daemion, his grandnephew who now acted as his squire.

"They've seen no sign of trouble, my lord," Daemion replied before handing Corlys the Myrish Eye when he requested it.

Looking out on the sea and to the islands in particular, Corlys paid close attention to the coves where ships may lay in wait. The telltale signs would always be there if you knew where to look and no ship could truly hide from Corlys' ever-watchful eye. Today it seemed once again that there were none and it perplexed him a little. When Vaemond was the one who led the convoy it was almost guaranteed that they'd be attacked at some point and yet each time he did so himself, there would be none.

While his pride told him it was out of fear, a different part of his mind told him there was more that he was missing. Handing Daemion back the Myrish Eye, happy enough that they faced no danger, Corlys now made his way to his cabin. Soon enough he was sitting down and drinking some of his finest wine as he looked over the lists and maps laid out on his table. The fighting had been fierce early on in the war but had since calmed somewhat. Those they faced had changed their tactics and now hid like cravens deep in the caves. Some of them had soon found those caves to be little more than tombs as Daemon and the Blood Wyrm had collapsed their entrances. Yet they still had much work for Corlys and Daemon to do before the Stepstones were at peace.

Taking an island, holding it, and then making it secure. Building forts and barracks to accommodate the garrison they would leave behind and then supplying those men with food and other essentials, was time-consuming. As was attacking the convoys of ships and men that the Triarchy sent to reinforce and supply the defenders of this pile of rocks. Laenor had more than once proved himself quite capable of stopping those reinforcements and Corlys was most proud of his son. While nowhere near as effective as Daemon and Caraxes, Seasmoke had done much damage too during this first year or so. His son had listened to Corlys' advice and done all he'd bid him to and more.

"Watch Daemon closely, Laenor. See what he and the Blood Wyrm do and try to match it in your own way."

"My own way, Father?"

"Daemon is unlike any Dragonrider that came before him. Mayhap not even the Conqueror himself is of a match and so I'd not ask you to be as he is."

"But as close as I am able."

"Indeed. Watch and learn and in time, who knows how people will speak of you and Seasmoke."

It had helped greatly that Daemon Targaryen liked little more than showing off. While he'd at first not welcomed Laenor and Seasmoke's presence when he led an attack, over time he'd come to realize the benefits of an extra dragon and dragonrider. Corlys more than once had found himself wondering if Daemon considered what it would be like to have Aemon and Vermithor with him.

Would Daemon have brought his son with him had he been able?

Did Daemon wish for Aemon to be by his side as he brought Fire and Blood to his enemies?

Or was he relieved that Aemon was far from the fighting that they engaged in?

They were questions with no available answers. Or at least none available to him. Corlys and Daemon may have warmed a little to each other during this joint endeavor, but they were still far from friends. Instead, it was among the men of the North that Daemon seemed happiest. Those who'd come at Aemon's behest and whose presence was not only something that both Corlys and Daemon welcomed but something that Daemon felt ever more prideful about. His son had called and these men had answered and Daemon would let none but Aemon take credit for each victory that the Prince's Wolves won at his side.

The knock on the door took him from his contemplations and Corlys bid them enter. His grandnephew bore a tray of food that smelled delectable even from where Corlys sat. Bidding Daemion to place it on the table, Corlys cleared away most of the parchment and maps he'd laid out. He could smell the crab soup as he did so and was unsurprised that his stomach rumbled just a little. Smiling at Daemion as a way of thanks, Corlys moved his head and breathed in the warm steam that rose from the bowl of soup. Its aroma moistened his taste buds long before he took his first spoonful. Unlike the men who made up his army, Corlys still much preferred the fare from the sea. Its bounty had filled his coffers over the years and there was little of its food that he'd not tried and enjoyed.

The crab soup was followed by roasted cod. Then he tasted a delicious lamprey pie and ate some of the cockles and muscles dipped in butter that he was so very fond of. He washed it all down with some peach brandy from Tyrosh and for his dessert, he ate some picked apples. Once he was done, it was to a small nap before he woke and made his way to the deck once more. They'd passed Bloodstone with no issue and were now sailing to Grey Gallows. After supplying the men there, it would be on to Torturers Deep to see Daemon and Laenor once more. Soon they'd be on the attack again and so Corlys once again began to do the sums in his head.

'A moon, two, it wouldn't take much longer than that, surely' Corlys thought hopefully.

Bloodstone would fall and once it did, this war would essentially be done. Then and only then could Corlys look to King's Landing and put his attention to righting the slights given to him and his House. Though what form that was to take, he, for now, knew not.

"Not forgiven nor forgotten, Viserys." Corlys muttered bitterly.

King's Landing 107 AC.

Otto Hightower.

Otto sat at his desk and looked over the reports from the Stepstones. The foolish war was costing them far too much in coin and goodwill and he liked it not. Yet each time that Otto had tried to rein in the amount they sent to Driftmark, the princess or the prince had spoken up to the king and Otto was forced to comply. If it was not for the impending birth of his first grandchild then he'd have let his annoyance with Rhaenyra and Aemon Targaryen boil over by now. Instead, it was with hopeful thoughts of replacing the one and seeing the other gain even less, that Otto spent the happiest portion of his days.

Food, weapons, armor, and other supplies, so far each of the Seven Kingdoms contributed to a war that in truth had little to do with them. A war that earned them nothing but the goodwill and favor of two men who Otto believed felt neither towards them. Otto had prayed and almost beseeched the gods to grant a victory to those defending the accursed islands. At times it had made him joyful to imagine the letter arriving that bore the news of Daemon Targaryen's death. Now, Otto would settle simply for his defeat, and yet that seemed to be just as unobtainable as ending the Rogue Prince's life had thus far proved to be.

Rising to his feet, Otto left the papers strewn atop his desk and made his way from his solar. It was midday, time almost for luncheon, though it was to the sparring yard that his walk soon took him. A small smile then appeared on his face as he spotted Gwayne sparring off in the distance. Though soon enough it was a frown he wore when he looked to see Prince Aemon was there too. Today it was with Ser Criston that Aemon took his lessons from and loathed though Otto was to admit it, the young boy had come on greatly. One day if left unchecked, Aemon Targaryen could be as big a thorn in his side as his father was. Though Otto would wager that no matter what the son did, he'd never outstrip the hatred that Otto bore for Daemon Targaryen.

"A fine sword is he not." Ser Daeron Waters said from behind him and Otto schooled his features before he turned to face the silver-haired bastard knight.

"Indeed. Prince Aemon has come on much this past year, Ser Waters." Otto said, enjoying the momentary frown that was then quickly gone from Ser Daeron's face.

"Would your own son learned as quickly, Lord Hand." Ser Daeron retorted with a chuckle and Otto turned to see Gwayne be disarmed by a young man that he knew not.

"A lucky strike." he spat.

"Indeed, lucky for Gwayne that Rickon held his blow." Ser Daeron laughed more fully now and Otto glared at him angrily.

Moving away from the bastard knight, Otto walked closer to where those who were looking down upon the spars stood. In truth, it was to make sure that his son was unharmed, though he wished to see the man who'd beaten him too. To his dismay, that man had helped Gwayne back to his feet after his son had yielded and had then moved closer to where Ser Criston and Prince Aemon crossed blades. While Otto took some comfort in the blow that caught Prince Aemon across his arm, it was still the man who'd beaten his son that took up most of his attention.

It was only when the spar between the Kingsguard and the prince came to an end that he got the chance to see more of the man and he truly liked him not. Brown of hair and stocky, he looked too rough around the edges to be a man from a noble House. The idea that this man had beaten Gwayne now took on an even more worrying toll on Otto's mind. Watching the man as he brought a mug of water to Prince Aemon and how at ease he and the prince were with each other, Otto found his thoughts going to places he wished they would not.

Was this another of the mongrel strays the young prince had taken into his service?

Another wretch with no name or family to call upon?

Had Prince Daemon sent him to his son for some nefarious reason?

Had Prince Aemon then sent the man to beat Otto's boy on purpose?

Believing that he'd get no answers to any of those questions here today, Otto turned and walked away only to see Ser Steffon Darklyn and the Princess walking towards him. After greeting the princess as politely and respectfully as he'd allow himself to and while trying not to get angered by the little of either she showed him in return, Otto was happy to see Rhaenyra run down to where her cousin stood. Stopping Ser Steffon before he joined the princess, Otto readied to find the answer to the question that would have plagued his mind for the rest of the day.

"That man by Prince Aemon, you know him, Ser Steffon?" Otto asked.

"Rickon Snow, Lord Hand."

"A Northern bastard." he spat before realizing he'd shown too much of his hand. "I worry for the prince around such men, Ser Steffon. Is the man trustworthy at least?" he asked, hoping his feigned concern would be accepted at face value.

"He is. Rickon and the other Young Wolves are good men and true, Lord Hand. I doubt them not."

Though he wished to ask for more information, Otto simply accepted Ser Steffon's words for now. Walking away from the knight, it was to the Master of Whisperers rather than to the queen's chambers that Otto now made his way to. Soon enough Otto was sitting at Ser Gaven's desk and asking the man about these so-called Young Wolves.

"Men from the North sent at Lord Stark's behest, Lord Hand." Ser Gaven said as he looked at him with intrigue.

"For why, Ser Gaven? What need does Prince Aemon have of Northmen by his side?"

"His uncle wished him to learn of the North, Lord Hand. He wished to ensure his nephew was protected by men of the North and his grace felt no reason to deny Lord Stark his request."

"Lord Stark requested such?" Otto asked.

"He did, a few moons past."

"Very well. I simply wished to know who these men who surrounded our prince were. It brings me much relief to know they are good men and true." Otto lied.

"That they are, Lord Hand." Ser Gaven said, though how he looked at Otto as he did so should have worried him more than it did.

After leaving the Master of Whisperers Chambers, it was to the luncheon with his daughter that he'd intended to have that Otto now made his way to. It would not be one he'd attend. As the sound of guards rushing around and the calls for the king were soon heard even by Otto. When Gwayne found him and told him the reason for the furor, Otto forgot about all else for now. He then hurriedly rushed through the Red Keep with all sense of decorum left far behind. It was time. The babe was coming. His grandchild was to be born today.

He and Gwayne were both refused access to the Queen's Chambers and so were left pacing outside them while the sounds that came from inside left Otto far more worried than he wished. They were soon joined in their waiting by more and more people. The Kingsguard, members of the Small Council, and eventually even the princess and the prince. Neither of whom seemed too keen to be here from what Otto could discern from their expressions. As they awaited the news from inside the chambers, Otto found his eyes were drawn more to Prince Aemon than to the door.

Aemon stood a few feet away and was whispering in Princess Rhaenyra's ear. At least once, Otto's brown eyes met Aemon's grey ones and it was he and not the young prince who blinked first. At one point, Otto swore he saw a smirk on the young prince's face and he did catch Princess Rhaenyra laughing at something that Aemon said. Though Otto couldn't be certain it was about him or was simply some unrelated jape.

"Grandmaester, my sister?" Gwayne said and Otto turned to look at Grandmaester Runciter leaving the room. His breath almost caught in his mouth as he did so.

"Is safe and well, young man. Lord Hand, I'm most pleased to inform you that her grace has given birth to a healthy babe and both she and the babe are most well." Runciter said.

"And the babe, Grandmaester? Is it a new prince or princess that we celebrate the birth of?" Otto asked eagerly.

"A prince, Lord Hand," Runciter said, and Otto smiled a true smile before then looking at the prince and princess.

To their credit, they hid their true feelings well and somehow Otto tried not to snarl when Princess Rhaenyra stepped forward.

"We should inform the realm that I have a new brother, do you not think so, Lord Hand?"

"We should, Princess." Otto said as Aemon spoke to someone who quickly ran off down the corridor and out of sight "My prince?" he asked.

"The bells, Lord Hand. To let the realm know the queen has given birth."

"Well said, Prince Aemon." Grandmaester Runciter said proudly before turning to go back into the room he'd just emerged from.

It took some time for Otto to be allowed in to see his new grandson and he had to share the honor with both Prince Aemon and Princess Rhaenyra when the time came. While the king beamed at the princess' words when she named the babe her brother, Aemon spoke to Alicent and told her how happy he was that she and the babe were well. Neither of them sounded truthful to Otto's practiced ear. He did however enjoy it when Alicent named his grandson and Prince Aemon's mask slipped, if just for a moment.

"Aegon, my prince. His grace and I have named him Aegon."

Grey Gallows 107 AC.

Cregan Snow.

This was an accursed place. A place abandoned by the Gods both old and new. Cregan and the Prince's Wolves had faced more than a year of heavy fighting and now half of them were being treated to a moon of rest. Or as much rest as a man can find in a place such as this, Cregan thought to himself. Somewhere on another one of these piles of rocks, men of the North fought the good fight and Cregan wished to be there with them.

Instead, a wound to his shoulder that had threatened to fester had seen him placed on a ship and taken to their fortress. A name that did the wooden motte and bailey fort far more credit than it truly deserved. He'd been here a week, no more, Cregan felt he had recovered and he was more than eager to be back amongst the fighting. For it was only when he was spilling the blood of the scum who had named these islands their home that he thought not about his own.

Standing on the walkway, leaning against the wooden walls, Cregan looked out on the sea and it was he who first caught sight of the ships. Four of them sailed their way and bore dark sails and it took him no time at all to name them as the enemies that they were. Moving to one of the bells that were located on each corner of the walls of the fort, Cregan rang it loudly and then hurried down the stairs to find the commander. Had he a looking glass in his hand or any other way to catch sight of his expression, then he'd have seen the true smile he wore upon his face as he did so.

"SNOW?" Alton Celtigar shouted when he saw him. "What's the meaning of this, Snow?" the commander asked, a little more composed by the time Cregan reached him.

"Ships, Commander. Not ours and bearing black sails."

"You've seen them yourself?" Alton asked and Cregan nodded. "To Arms! To Arms! Archers to their positions!"

Around him, men rushed to and fro in what looked to be practiced chaos. Cregan waited not for his orders and simply hurried to the stables to ready his horse and to lead his men. They'd been expecting a supply convoy to arrive sometime in the next few days, a convoy led by the Sea Snake himself, if the words Alton Celtigar said, were true. These men who now sailed towards them must expect them too, or so Cregan thought.

At the stables, fifty men, half of them among their very best archers, all now readied their horses while Cregan now did the same. They were men from the Crownlands, Stormlands, men of the North, and men from as far afield as Essos. Most had come here for the same reason, glory, renown and to make their fortune. Cregan too wished for all of that. Yet it was not truly the reason that he and the rest of the Prince's Wolves had left the North. They had come to forge a kingdom for a son of the North, they had come for Aemon Targaryen, not for his father or his father's war.

It gave them the strength to do what they must and allowed them to somewhat forget just how far from home they were. At times, it allowed them to care not that they hated this shit pile of rocks too. Times like these, when their blood was up or there were men who needed killing. Bow strapped to his back and with his mace in hand, Cregan looked to the men with him and nodded. Then as one, under the cover of a now moonless night, they rode hard out of the fort and down to the docks.

"You all know your tasks. Bleed them and make them burn. But few of them make it to land." Cregan whispered as they dismounted.

Waiting for a fight was mayhap one of the most boring things in the world. That and the aftermath of one were the times that Cregan hated the most. For one, you worried about when and what was to come your way. While for the other, you worried who among those you knew and named as kin or friend had or would fall. You never worried about your own death, or at least Cregan never did.

'Why should I, if I'm dead then I'm beyond giving a fucking damn'

The wait tonight was a long one and the longer it went on, the more Cregan felt something wasn't right. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, felt a chill run down his spine, and upon seeing that only one ship was headed for the dock, he knew now why that was.

A diversion.

A fucking diversion.

This is not the true point of attack.

"Mychel. You ride and ride fast. Tell the commander that they come from the rear. Three ships worth. You understand me, boy?" Cregan said to the young lad that he'd grabbed.

"I understand, My Lor….Commander."

"Go, go now!" he said as he let go of the boy's tunic which he'd grabbed in his haste to make his point. "Mychel," he called out. "Be wary and look to the trees."

"I will, Commander."

Cregan watched the young lad hurry and mount his horse before he then rode away fast. The lad was one of their very best archers and a better rider than Cregan by far. Yet, he found himself worrying more for Mychel Waters than he did for himself and those with him. A strange feeling considering the lad was some lord's bastard and really shouldn't be with them in this godforsaken place.

'I'll speak to the Rogue Prince when next he arrives, mayhap a place with his son would be more suited to young Mychel.' Cregan thought as he saw the ship draw ever closer.

Other young bastards had already been sent to join Prince Aemon's ranks. They, along with good and true men from the North, the Young Wolves, stood side by side with other men that the Rogue Prince had sent to protect his son. Something that had endeared Daemon Targaryen much to the men of the Prince's Wolves and to their leader, Lord Roderick Dustin.

Cregan again chuckled as he thought about Bloody Roddy. The man was the only one of them with lands and holdings who'd made the trek south to join up with the Rogue Prince. Fiercer than any man that Cregan knew, if Roddy was here now, the man would blow his Warhorn and force the pirates to simply turn around in fear. At least they would if they were cleverer than any of them had proved to be thus far.

"I came for the prince and because my lord willed it of me. 'Sides, my sword is dry and that's a terrible thing for a sword to be."

Shaking his head at the memory of one of the many things that Bloody Roddy had said in the time that he'd known him, Cregan looked to the ship and raised his hand high. The sound of arrows being removed from their quivers and bowstrings being pulled taut now quickly resounded in the quiet of the night. Another hand signal from Cregan and the fires were uncovered and the arrows then lit. Then when he raised and dropped his hand, the sky was alight with flaming arrows.

They would not be enough to set the ship alight, but that wasn't their purpose. So again using his hand to give the signals, along the two sets of archer's lines that he'd had formed up, the archers made ready once more.

Nock.

Aim.

Loose.

The words weren't spoken and yet they may as well have been. On board the ship men scurried to put out the fires while others looked to see where their attackers fired from. To their misfortune, they soon found them. Though they'd not be living long enough to do anything about it. Using the light from the fires they'd started on the ship with their burning arrows, his men now all picked their targets well.

Splashes soon rang out as men who'd been hit by arrows fell dead or dying into the sea. The ship still moved toward the docks themselves, yet the danger was long since passed. At least the danger here was. Still, Cregan stuck to his task and as the ship crashed against the jetty, he then led twenty men to board and take it for true.

A swing of his mace ended a man who tried to take his hand as he climbed aboard the ship. Another took a man who ran at him with a makeshift spear. While two arrows took down two more who'd sought higher ground and readied to attack them from atop the crow's nest. His men took down any remaining survivors with relative ease. Cregan only lost two of them to death's cold embrace and two to injury before the ship was secured. Leaving ten of his best archers on board, it was back to the horses and to offer his aid to his Lord Commander that Cregan now turned his attention to.

"To the fortress!" He shouted as he and the men rode and rode hard.

They arrived to find far more of their men dead than he'd hoped or expected. His warning had come too late and the sneak attack worked far better than he wished for. Yet, they had won, even if victory had come at a great cost. To his relief, Mychel Waters stood still. Bloodied and battered though the lad was, he took no serious injury. Which was more than could be said for Alton Celtigar.

"They almost took it." The Commander coughed, the blood that came from his mouth splattering Cregan and other men there, though none of them blamed him for it. "I…I held it though….Tell my prince I held it…Tell my father I fought…" Alton coughed once more." Tell him I fought well and died better."

"It's been an honor to fight by your side, Lord Commander," Cregan said as he moved his fist to his heart and bowed his head slightly. The other men in the small room all doing likewise.

"I…I…Thank you."

They buried the dead over the next two days. Made their repairs to the fortress and the docks. Cregan sent men out to take the ships and though they lost one ship in the process, they took three of the four. When the Sea Snake arrived a few days later, Cregan was ostensibly in command, and by the time Corlys left, he truly was.

He was gifted one of the ships, while Corlys took the other two with him as part of his and the Rogue Prince's bounty. One each for the Sea Snake and Daemon Targaryen. Though later when he found out that the ship had been named Aemon's Flame, Cregan knew full well who truly owned it. At his request, Mychel Waters now sailed with the Sea Snake and would be heading to Driftmark and King's Landing afterward. The young lad was to join Prince Aemon's service and though he'd argued with him about it, Mychel had accepted Cregan's words in the end.

"By the prince's side, Mychel. You'll find more glory and renown there than you will here. Make your fortune too, I wager. This is no place for good and true men, no place for you. You did yourself proud here, do so when you stand by the prince's side and I'll ask no more of you."

"I thank you, Lord Commander. For the opportunity."

"Waste it not, lad."

As he headed to his quarters and to his bed, Cregan found that he hated this accursed place as much as he ever had and that he looked forward to the day this damn war was at an end.

King's Landing 108 AC.

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Try as she might, it was hard to like her half-brother. Though the babe was not the issue or reason for that. Rhaenyra hated that her father fawned over the babe as much as he did, as she could not remember whether or not he'd done so with her and she feared he may not have. She knew that as she'd grown both her mother and her father had paid her much attention and even now her father still did. But it irked her to see him with Aegon and she, like Aemon, believed it was not just jealousy that was the reason for that.

Still, it was not because of her father that Rhaenyra had as much difficulty as she had in bonding with Aegon. The fault for that lay with Aegon's mother and grandfather. Especially the latter of those two. Rhaenyra, thanks to Aemon's guidance, had paid much attention to Otto Hightower these past couple of years. She'd watched his eyes, as they were the window into the soul and few people could hide the truth that their eyes wished to tell. In doing so, Rhaenyra had seen how he looked at her, at Aemon, how when he lied about something they narrowed ever so slightly. Or so she believed.

Never seeing this more clearly than in the Small Council meetings when talk of either the Stepstones or more than once, the succession, was brought up. Otto thus far had not come right out and asked for Aegon to be named as the heir, at least not in Rhaenyra's presence. Aemon, however, believed that he did so at other times and so he had started to explore the tunnels and hidden passages of the Red Keep in an attempt to find paths to certain rooms or chambers. Something that Rhaenyra was helping him do tonight and enjoying not.

"I'm tired, Aems. Let's go back to our rooms." Rhaenyra pouted.

"A little further, Nyra. I'm certain this one leads to the Tower of the Hand." Aemon said about the dark passageway. Though he'd said that a few nights earlier about another one too, Rhaenyra thought with some annoyance.

"No, I wish to be abed, Aemon," Rhaenyra said, tiredness and irritation winning out over adventure and curiosity yet again.

"I.." Aemon turned to look at her, the torch in his hand illuminating her face and his own as he did so. "I'm sorry, Nyra. You're tired, forgive me."

A small smile was her only reply as Aemon reached out his hand and led her back the way they came. Somehow he then unerringly brought her back to the small door that led into her chambers and within a few moments, she was sitting on her bed. Aemon brushed a strand of her silver hair from where it had fallen over her face and Rhaenyra welcomed the touch of his fingers on her cheek.

"Rest, Nyra. Until the morrow." Aemon said softly and before he'd left to walk out through the door, Rhaenyra was laying down and drifting off to sleep.

Rhaenyra woke early the next morning and so after she had been helped to dress, it was the breaking of her fast where the only company was Alicent and Aegon, that she first started her day. A stifled conversation with her stepmother followed by a poor attempt to seem as if she cared more for Aegon than she did, was then followed by her morning lessons. So it meant it wasn't until it was time for luncheon that she got to see Aemon that day. Finding her cousin in the sparring yard as she often did and enjoying seeing Gwayne Hightower being put on his arse yet again.

"You still haven't forgiven him then?" Rhaenyra asked as she greeted Aemon with a hug.

"He's an arse and deserves forgiveness not," Aemon replied. "Now, my princess, would you do me the honor of joining me atop our dragons upon whom we can leave arses like Gwayne Hightower in the dust where they belong," Aemon said, bowing and acting like a chivalrous knight much to the amusement of both Ser Steffon and Ser Daeron.

"My prince acts the gallant knight and yet he is far from one, is that not so, Ser Daeron? "Rhaenyra said, giggling at Aemon's pout and him mouthing 'Who Me' at her words.

"Prince Aemon can be gallant when it calls for it, my princess. Yet, it's only one lady in court who he allows himself to act that way for."

"And who is this lady, good Ser? Do I need fear that my betrothed has lost his heart to another?" Rhaenyra asked, playing along with a game that she'd come to enjoy very much ever since the first time she and Aemon had played it.

"My princess has not today, nor will she ever have any reason to doubt that she alone ever holds my heart in her palm," Aemon said as Rhaenyra did a mummery of a swoon and raised her hand to her forehead to pretend she was a little dizzy.

"You say such things, my prince." she giggled, Aemon shaking his head and again mouthing 'Who Me' which earned him a true laugh from her as they left the sparring yard and made their way to the Dragonpit.

Their little act had come from a play that they'd been forced to attend. A tale of chivalrous knights and maidens and the reason why Gwayne Hightower now regularly found himself on the end of a beating from one of Aemon's Young Wolves. Even once and far more embarrassingly for the older boy, from Aemon himself. He'd dared to speak of Rhaenyra and Aemon's betrothal and how a princess would know no such chivalry from a bastard prince. In doing so he'd earned Aemon's ire and had it been Rhaenyra who'd heard him, it would have been exile from the court too. For as much as she may take issue with her father over things, he'd not have stood for it had she told him what Gwayne had said about his nephew and daughter.

Aemon, however, wished Gwayne to be exactly where he was. Her cousin's anger was a different thing than Rhaenyra's own. At times it was a frightening thing to behold, though Aemon never frightened her. Rhaenyra knew full well that she was the one person he'd never hurt and that Aemon was the one person who would do all in his power to protect her from harm or slight. She knew too that just like his father, the last place you wanted to be was in Aemon's path or to find yourself on his wrong side.

Taking his arm, they made their way to the carriage, and together with Ser Steffon, Ser Daeron, and a group of guards, they made their way to the Dragonpit. It was still a daily thing for them to fly atop their dragons and look down on the sights below. They'd even flown close to Driftmark and Dragonstone more than once. Though as of yet they'd not landed on either despite their both wishing to do so. When she'd asked Aemon why that was, he'd simply told her that too many eyes looked their way, or he had until Rhaenyra had made him explain more fully.

"While you'd suffer no ill consequence from doing so, I've been denied leave to be anywhere other than here, Nyra. In time, your father will allow me to travel to Dragonstone and further afield, but for now, King's Landing and seeing the islands from atop Vermithor's back are the limits that my chains will stretch."

Rhaenyra understood it not. Aemon had no chains that she could see and so she believed that the true reason was that his father was still fighting his war in the Stepstones. Had her uncle been residing on Dragonstone when they took their flight, then Aemon would have not refused her request to land there. Putting such thoughts aside for now, they reached the Dragonpit and as it always did, Rhaenyra felt her excitement rise at the sight of Syrax and Vermithor. Running from the carriage in a very unprincesslike way, it took her barely a moment to reach her yellow dragon.

"Ao jurnegon hae gevie hae mirre, syrax. Kessa īlon sōvegon hēnkirī istin arlī?" (You look as beautiful as ever, Syrax. Shall we fly together once again?) Her dragon's trills were all the reply she needed and so even before Aemon had reached Vermithor, Rhaenyra was climbing up on Syrax's back.

"You're truly not going to wait are you?" Aemon said, smiling up at her as he began to run to Vermithor.

"I mean to beat you today, Aemon Targaryen. And I'll not allow you to cheat as you normally do." Rhaenyra said challengingly, her own smile as full as Aemon's was as she spoke the word. "Sōvegon."

Two, three, and then a fourth flap of Syrax's wings and they were in the sky. Vermithor taking a few more moments so that Aemon could tie himself to the saddle and then follow them. Through the city, flying low enough to be seen, pointed at, waved to, and even cheered by some. Out into the bay and then high into the sky as Vermithor caught them up. Rhaenyra led the way and Aemon followed, ever gaining ground on them but not enough to catch them up.

Each day that they flew started off the same way with a race and most of them ended much the same too. Once they were over their little competition, Syrax and Vermithor would fly side by side and close enough so both Rhaenyra and Aemon could see each other. They'd fly together then, more a pleasure flight than anything else. Then depending on if either of them had things they needed to attend to, one or the other would bring the flight to an end. Today it was Rhaenyra who did so, as she had a Small Council meeting where she needed to again act as cupbearer.

Later that day.

She was furious. As angered as she had been with her father and even more so with his Hand. Rhaenyra had even been ordered from the meeting, such was how she responded to what she'd heard being discussed. Hurrying through the Red Keep, she waved away the young girls who'd only recently been added to her own small entourage.

Ladies in waiting or to be more precise girls in waiting and Rhaenyra liked most of them not. They were little more than spies for the Hightowers and Aemon had been so proud of her when she'd named them as such before he'd had a chance to. As he was when she told him that before the year was done, most if not all of them would be replaced by the daughters or ladies that Rhaenyra herself would choose.

When she eventually found Aemon, it was to see him acting as squire to Ser Criston. A duty he'd begun to dislike more and more she'd noticed. As he much misliked the knight himself, though Rhaenyra could understand that not. Ser Criston was gallant, handsome too if what the older ladies spoke about him was true. He'd ever been polite and respectful to Rhaenyra when their paths crossed. Yet Aemon, she believed, found him almost on a par with the Hightowers when it came to his disdain.

"Ser Criston, I wish to borrow my cousin for a moment," Rhaenyra said as she slowed her pace and walked more ladylike toward the knight and her cousin.

"My squire is most busy, princess. He's been lax in his duties this morn and has yet to scour my armor as he was tasked to do."

"A moment only, Ser," Rhaenyra said more determinedly.

"You have it, my princess." Ser Criston said, smiling at her warmly and Rhaenyra had no need to look at Aemon to see how he rolled his eyes.

Grabbing Aemon by the arm, Rhaenyra almost dragged him down the corridor and into the first room that she found unoccupied. Shushing him with a finger to his lips when he went to speak, she took a breath and readied herself to tell him what had been decided at the Small Council meeting.

"They're stopping the supplies, Aemon." Rhaenyra began. "Otto, finally got Father to think of the cost more than anything else."

"They cannot…father…" Aemon said shakily.

"I…I tried, Aems, I truly tried to make them see sense. But that snake spoke of cost and that this was a never-ending war and how the realm had needs…gods, I hate the man and his twisted words."

The strangest thing then happened. Aemon got a look on his face of pure resolve and the worry and anger that had just been there seemed to fade away. Then he reached out to her, placed his hands on her shoulder, and leaned forward.

"Thank you, Nyra. For speaking to me of this so swiftly. I…thank you."

Never in a thousand years would she have expected it. She'd never even considered such a thing. Or had she, and then simply dismissed it? The kiss when it came caught her so by surprise that other than feeling Aemon's lips on her own, she would have believed it had not happened. Rhaenyra never even had a chance to react to it, as almost as soon as he'd kissed her, Aemon walked away, and it was not back to his duties with Ser Criston that he walked to.

She wasn't party to the words that were spoken to Otto Hightower that night, nor those spoken to her father. Aemon wasn't there when they ate their nightly meal and he didn't come to her room when she made her way to her bed. Had Rhaenyra not still been in such a daze over the fact that her cousin had kissed her on the lips, then she may have sought him out. As it was, she instead lay in her bed unable to sleep, her fingers touching the lips that Aemon had kissed earlier that day.

As Rhaenyra eventually drifted off to sleep it was with the thought that she'd very much liked being kissed by Aemon and that next time she'd make sure that she was the one who kissed him.

King's Landing 108 AC.

Aemon Targaryen.

Somehow Aemon held his temper in check. The rage, however, built inside him as he walked down the corridor with purpose. Behind him, Ser Daeron had held his tongue and asked not his mood. Not that he needed to as even with how practiced Aemon had become in hiding his true feelings, at this moment in time he wore them plainly for all to see. Where he was walking to, well that had been decided by Rhaenyra's words. For Aemon and the king would have words this night, of that there was no doubt.

So engrossed was he in trying to choose what those words would be, that Aemon, for now at least thought not about the fact he'd actually kissed his cousin. Had he been able to do so, he may have asked himself why that was. Even though a part of him knew that ever since they'd seen that silly play, he'd thought of it more and more. As he had ever since Gwayne Hightower uttered the words that gained him his humiliation and suffering in the yard.

Gwayne may have raised Aemon's ire just by being who he was, though it would have taken much time for any action to be taken against him because of it. When he'd spoken of Rhaenyra and him in such a way and then later when he'd commented even more about Rhaenyra herself, Aemon had seen red. At first, he'd wished to beat the older boy down where he stood, but then Aemon decided that his punishment needed to be far more public. So painful beatdowns in spars by the Young Wolves. Then humiliation, when Gwayne tried to earn some payback by doing the same to Aemon, was what Aemon sentenced Otto Hightower's son to suffer.

"You put too much of a show into beating the boy, my prince." Ser Criston chided. "The object is to win, nothing else."

"I won, did I not," Aemon replied dismissively.

"Yet in a true fight, you'd have lost."

Aemon remembered the words now as he walked to the King's Chambers. Ser Criston had been teaching him a valuable lesson and it was one that Aemon took to heart, even if he made it seem like he did not at the time. He may like the knight not, but he respected his skills. As did those who served Aemon and the other knights of the Kingsguard as well. So when it came to martial matters, Aemon listened to Criston Cole, it was other matters that he simply dismissed when they were uttered from the knight's lips.

"Are you certain about this, my prince?" Ser Daeron asked, his voice little more than a whisper as the sight of the two Kingsguard guarding the King's Chambers now came into view.

"As certain as I am of anything, Ser," Aemon replied, more composed now than he was when Rhaenyra told him what had been decided.

Ser Daeron knew not what Aemon did, not yet at least. Should he learn of it, then Aemon had no doubt that the knight would be just as wroth as Aemon himself was. Yet, for now, Aemon needed calm heads around him so as to not give in to the anger that coursed through his body. Taking a deep breath and breathing it out slowly, another one of Ser Criston's lessons, Aemon moved to the door and to Ser Harrold Westerling and Ser Arryk Cargyll. A little further down the corridor, Aemon could see Ser Arryk's twin, Ser Erryk, standing guard at the Queen's chambers. Yet it was the two knights in front of him that Aemon focussed on.

"I would request a meeting with His Grace, Ser Harrold. Is he abed?" Aemon asked politely, his words far less strained than he feared they may be.

"His Grace asked not to be disturbed, my prince."

"It would be for no more than a few moments only, Ser."

"A moment., my prince." Ser Harrold said before knocking on the door and entering at the king's command.

A few moments later the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard walked back out of the room and held the door open for Aemon to enter. Once he did so, Aemon caught sight of his uncle standing over the model he had so painstakingly assembled. His uncle stood there as rapt in attention as Rhaenyra always said he would be when he looked upon it.

"Forgive me, your grace, for disturbing your peace," Aemon said, again politeness winning out over what he truly wished to begin with.

"There is naught to forgive, nephew. Come, mayhap you can help me with a delicate task."

Though it was the last thing he wished to do, Aemon knew he couldn't refuse and so he moved to the large table where his uncle handed him a small piece of wood and pointed to a spot where he wished it to be placed. Learning forward carefully and fighting back the urge to simply crash his hands down and break the model beneath him, Aemon did as he'd been bid.

"Excellent, most excellent, nephew. I had feared I'd not get it finished this evening and so would find no rest in my bed." his uncle said happily.

"I would have words, your grace. About the Stepstones and my father." Aemon said, wiping the smile off his uncle's face.

"You heard then. My daughter should learn to hold her tongue better." his uncle said with annoyance.

"I heard it not from Rhaenyra, your grace," Aemon said, protecting his cousin as best he could.

"You did not?" his uncle asked, his eyes looking at Aemon searchingly.

"I did not, your grace. I'd not lie about such a thing." Aemon said, lying to his uncle's face and thanking the gods he'd become such a practiced liar while doing so. "I would ask why you've decided to withhold your support, your grace. Why you've decided that now is a good time to allow my father and the men who fight by his side to be cut off from their much-needed aid?"

Platitudes and practiced words, Aemon listened as his uncle spoke not in his own voice but in Otto Hightower's. Other areas of the realm needed coin to be spent on them. Lords had begun to complain and comment that the war was costing them all too much and for little benefit. It was time for his father to stop this folly and return to Dragonstone. Aemon allowed the words to be spoken and looked at his uncle with what he knew would seem to be a thoughtful expression. In truth, he was fighting the urge to grab the collar of his uncle's tunic or pull the dagger from where it lay on Viserys' hip so as to stab him with it.

"While there is merit in such, your grace." Aemon began. "I fear that your lords and counselors miss just how important the Stepstones are," Aemon said, as he was then bid to take a seat so that his uncle could take his own.

"Continue, nephew." his uncle smiled warmly at him and Aemon again wished to strike him in some way.

"Lord Corlys was the first to suffer, your grace. Yet others suffered too under the increased tolls and the unprovoked attacks. Did not Lord Redwyne say as much when last he visited?"

"He did." his uncle said.

"The rights and wrongs of the campaign aside." Aemon started, though he saw no wrongs in what his father and the Sea Snake were doing. "Once it started it must be finished, your grace. Were it to be left undone, then when the Stepstones reverts back to its previous rule, our ships will suffer far more than before."

"Our ships?" his uncle asked curiously.

"Those of Westeros, your grace. Lord Corlys, Lord Redwyne, any that set sail from and to King's Landing. War is expensive." Aemon said and his uncle nodded. "The coin lost in fighting, it must be returned must it not?"

"Indeed it must, nephew."

"Lord Corlys and my father can gain it back in tolls. Though I'm sure they'll charge lesser ones than those they'd faced before the war. Yet the pirates, the Triarchy, they'll seek to use their victory as a way of bleeding Westeros dry, your grace."

"It wouldn't be a victory, nephew. It would be a withdrawal." his uncle said and Aemon somehow managed not to look at him incredulously.

It was hard for him to reconcile at times that his uncle and he shared blood. Certainly that Viserys shared it with his father. They were dragons, anything less than defeating their enemies completely was a defeat. Aemon had learned that even in the sparring yard, let alone from the lessons his father had imparted to him and those he'd read in the many books that the Grandmaester shared with him.

A draw in the sparring yard was a defeat as far as Aemon was concerned. It was why he pushed himself so very hard and while he still got beat, often, the only ones who managed to make him yield were those much older than he was.

"Aegon made his enemies kneel, your grace. He dictated the terms and negotiated only from a position of strength. With the Stepstones still unconquered, we are not yet in such a position."

His uncle looked at him curiously, almost proudly Aemon would say. For the longest time, they spoke not and Aemon almost believed that his words had won the day. Only to find they had very much not.

"You've learned much, nephew, but you are still so very young and there is much more you need to learn I'm afraid. Word has been sent to your father and Lord Corlys, they are to desist from this folly and return by year's end. The war in the Stepstones is over."

Aemon rose to his feet and held his tongue. His uncle looked at him as he did so and it was Viserys who spoke and offered what he believed to be an olive branch.

"Upon your father's return, I'll grant him leave to take you and Rhaenyra to Dragonstone, nephew. I'm sure that Vermithor and Syrax would welcome seeing the island of dragons once again and it's been too long since Rhaenyra and you have seen the home of our forefathers." his uncle smiled.

"I thank you, your grace," Aemon said with a bow of his head, though he thanked his uncle not.

"You do us all proud, nephew. Your mind is keen and it pleases me to see how well you use it. Mayhap in a few years we'll put that mind to use in some way."

"I would like that, your grace."

"Now go, it's long past time for both you and me to be in our beds." his uncle chuckled and somehow, Aemon forced a laugh.

He made it no further than the corridor that led to his own room when Otto Hightower found him. Behind Aemon, Ser Daeron moved his hand closer to his sword as they now stared at the Hand of the King and the four men he had with him. As angered as he was, Aemon felt he could almost take them all down and could certainly drive a dagger into the snake's heart. Had he a dagger on him that was.

"My prince."

"Lord Hand."

The greeting was far from friendly and the words were almost spat out of both their mouths.

"I had heard you sought an audience with the king, my prince. May I inquire what it was about?" Otto asked though it was clear he knew and Aemon, was he feeling petty rather than angry, would have told him not.

"About the folly in the Stepstones," Aemon replied.

"Ah, the princess has been speaking of things she should not, I see," Otto said smarmily.

"You speak of a princess of the blood, Lord Hand. Cast aspersions on my cousin that were the king to hear of, would find you in disfavor." Aemon said, enjoying the narrowing of Otto's eyes. "You do my cousin a grave disservice. Especially when it was not from her that I learned of this."

"It was not?" Otto said, his suspicion clear in his eyes.

"Why? There was no need to. Not when there are loose tongues who wish to crow about such foolish plans."

"Foolish, I think…"

"I'm tired, Lord Hand. My uncle bid me to be abed and he is the king. We are all but servants tasked with carrying out his commands." Aemon said as he moved to walk past Otto and his guards "Though some of us are more lowly servants than others."

Aemon had no need to look back to see the anger on Otto's face. Nor did he need Ser Daeron to speak the words that he did when they reached Aemon's room. Yet the knight spoke them anyway and so Aemon told him what the true reason for his mood was.

"You provoke him too much, my prince."

"That man is a snake, Ser Daeron. A snake who wishes to see my father dead."

"My prince?"

"Otto Hightower's poisoned words have stopped all aid to the Stepstones. My fool of an uncle forgets he's a Dragon and lets a damn Lighthouse Keeper chart the course of the realm."

"Careful, my prince. Your father would preach caution."

"My father is not here to preach, Ser. I'd ask you not to do so in his stead." Aemon snapped back as he walked into his room and closed the door firmly behind him.

Aemon meant not to argue with Ser Daeron so. He knew that the knight was looking out for him as best he could and had his father's trust in doing so. Yet, all he could think of was that his father and those with him, men who served him well and men from the North who'd come at Aemon's behest, all were now in far too much danger. A war without supplies was a war that was lost, no matter the strength you brought to that war or even the presence of dragons.

"Unless…."

The hours passed by and Aemon lay on the bed fully awake and dressed. Aemon waited until the hour of the owl had passed and once it had, he grabbed his dagger and his sword and snuck out of his room. Using the passages that he'd found and navigated over the past few years, he was soon outside the Red Keep and making his way to the Dragonpit. As he walked, Aemon worked out where he would go once he and Vermithor left the city.

It couldn't be to the Stepstones directly as he knew not the direction truly. A vague idea that it lay to the south was not enough to get him there safely. Nor had he the supplies he would need for the journey. Pondering on the dilemma, he soon decided that it would have to be Driftmark or Dragonstone that he went to first. Though Aemon liked it not that he would be heading north to go south.

Hearing some movement in front of him, Aemon forewent his thoughts and hid in a doorway, then once he was certain it was safe, he continued on his way. Soon enough he reached the Dragonpit and as it had always been, it was easy for him to sneak past the Dragon Handlers and the guards. Aemon felt his excitement rise as he neared where Syrax and Vermithor had their lairs. The thoughts of seeing his father again, helping him win his war, and truly being a Dragonlord were enough to force away the other darker thoughts he was having.

Rhaenyra would be wrought with him. His uncle too. Though he cared not so much about what Viserys thought. Hightower would no doubt use it as a way to belittle him or question his motives or even his sanity. Then as it always was with the Hand of the King, it would be to talk of breaking the betrothal between him and Rhaenyra or even replacing his cousin with Otto's grandson. Aemon heard the voice in his head that bid him turn back and yet shouted it down. His father needed him, one more dragon would win the war, and of that, he had no doubt.

"Vermithor," he said happily when he saw the ever-welcoming eyes of his dragon. Though this time they seemed to not be as welcoming as usual. " Īlon sōvegon, Vermithor. Naejot ñuha kepa se naejot jaqiarzir." We fly, Vermithor. To my father and to glory.)

The loud roar of the dragon took Aemon by surprise. As too did the just as loud one from Syrax in the lair next to Vermithor's own. Aemon tried to quieten both dragons down and feared now that he'd be discovered before he got a chance to take to the sky. Yet his words were listened to not by either dragon and soon enough footsteps resounded out behind him. Knowing his attempt to leave, Aemon looked at the Bronze Fury feeling betrayed.

"Skoro syt, Vermithor? Skoro syt nāpāsagon nyke sīr?" (Why Vermithor. Why betray me so?" Aemon asked almost tearfully as he all but collapsed onto the ground beneath him.

A brushing of the dragon's head against him, followed by a searching look deep into Aemon's eyes was the only answer he received.

"Thanks be to Old Gods." Rickon Snow said as he, Ser Daeron, and more men of the Young Wolves arrived and helped Aemon back to his feet.

"You are unhurt, my prince?" Ser Daeron asked worriedly.

"I…"

"Your father would wish this of you not, my prince." Ser Daeron chided before moving to whisper in his ear. "Yet he'd be proud of you and name you your father's son for the effort all the same."

Ser Daeron, Rickon, and others then talked him down from the plan he'd made. Though in truth it was Vermithor's reluctance to take him to his father that had truly done so. Aemon understood it not, or at least not until he was back in the Red Keep and in his bed. The words of Grandmaester Runciter then came to him as he fought against the sleep that he now desperately needed.

"Dragons I believe are smarter than most men, my prince. They know the truth about us and their riders most of all. It is the only way I can explain why they bond with some and not others."

His sleep was a troubled one. The dreams he'd feared would be of his father and Caraxes and their deaths because of his uncle's, Otto Hightower's, and even his own inaction, were not what he found. Instead, he dreamt of something much different. Something strange and that felt like a life both lived and very much not.

The horse rode through the scattered trees, a large white wolf chasing after it along with other horses. Atop its back, the rider was clad in black and had only one thought. One name resounded in his head and drove him forward.

"Arya."

Yet it was not to the owner of that name that he rode so desperately to. Instead, it was to the memory of a brother, a father, to save the one and fight side by side with the other. It was with the thought of sisters, one aloof and one very much not. The rider rode to war. Though it was a war he'd never get to fight and would in the end cost him far more than he ever knew.

The horse was stopped now, resting. Aemon stood on his feet as around him three men spoke words that he knew not. Oaths that he had never sworn nor would ever think to do so. Words that stopped his ride and changed its direction. That would, in the end, doom him and lead him to his death and yet they were words that he listened to.

Through it all, the red eyes of a white wolf looked deep into his own and looked so very much like Vermithor's eyes had looked in the Dragonpit.

The Battle of Bloodstone 108 AC.

Laenor Velaryon.

For more than a year, Daemon had shown himself to be far more cautious than Laenor, his father, or any of their men had believed him to be. They'd taken almost all the islands and yet let Bloodstone remain almost untouched apart from one attack on its docks and fortress by Daemon and the Blood Wyrm right at the beginning of things. Since then, it had been a slow and often ponderous campaign.

Island after island had fallen to them, been garrisoned by them, and then needed to be protected and supplied by them. Laenor understood the plans not and was it not for his father naming them as sound, he may have questioned Daemon Targaryen far more than was wise to do. Instead, he and Seasmoke played their parts and protected their supply ships. Things had changed after the attack on Grey Gallows, however. Daemon felt it a slight, a liberty. So even though Laenor had only truly grown to know the Rogue Prince during this campaign, he knew enough to know that Daemon would never allow such a thing.

Something that was proved true when Laenor, his father, and the other commanders were asked to attend a meeting in Daemon's own barracks at Torturer's Deep. Laenor for once found himself eager to travel to the foreboding half-built keep. Atop Seasmoke and offering his father's ship The Sea Snake his protection, Laenor was not the only one keen to hear what the Rogue Prince had to say. The Men from the North, the Prince's Wolves led by their Commander Bloody Roddy. Sellswords that Daemon had gathered over the years. As well as the second and third sons who'd been amongst the first to join Daemon and his father's campaign. They all now made their way to meet with the Rogue Prince, hoping that the time had come to end this war once and for all.

Bidding Seasmoke to land, Laenor waited at the docks for his father's ship to dock so that they could arrive at Torturer's Deep together. As always, he didn't have to wait long and Laenor looked on proudly as his father showed just how much of a master of the sea he truly was. Not only in beating the other ships to the docks but in having The Sea Snake dock almost effortlessly.

"Father."

"You look well, my son. Come let's see what the prince has in mind for us. With luck it'll be words of battle and not some other nonsense we've all been brought here for." his father said, almost irritably.

"I doubt he'd have asked for the others too if it was not, Father," Laenor replied, earning himself a momentary look of pride from his father in the process.

"No, I doubt he would."

They rode together to the half-built keep and as soon as they arrived at it, his father made his way straight to where they both knew Daemon would be. It was not inside the keep that they found the Rogue Prince, but outside next to his dragon and Laenor would wager it was because they'd just been flying for some reason. Either to make sure all had answered Daemon's summons or on some task that Laenor knew not.

"My prince." his father said by way of greeting.

"Lord Corlys," Daemon said in reply before turning to look at Laenor and greet him by his name.

There had been a time earlier in this war when Daemon did not. Each time Laenor had met with the Rogue Prince, he'd been addressed simply as 'BOY' which had annoyed him greatly. A year of war and of Laenor proving himself atop Seasmoke had earned him the grudging respect of Daemon Targaryen. He was among very few men who had ever done so. Or so his father told him proudly.

"So are we to attack or have I once again got dressed up for nothing?" his father asked and Laenor awaited the answer keenly.

"Read," Daemon said, handing his father a letter, one that clearly angered his father much. Though his father's words confused Laenor for a moment.

"Your son makes a good spy, Daemon."

"That he does and again my brother proves himself naught but a wingless dragon." Daemon sneered, though he spoke warmly a moment later about his son as he was wont to do. "Aemon on the other hand sought to fly and join us.

"He did?" Laenor asked, surprised.

"Would have too had calmer minds not prevailed."

"We could have done with an extra dragon." his father said and Daemon shook his head before replying.

"We'll manage with two."

Later that night they held the meeting that decided their plan of action. Not a single voice was raised in opposition to what the Rogue Prince proposed and Laenor believed that every man there was eager to play their parts. His own would be half mummery and require near-perfect timing. For the dragons would both feign an attack first and then seem to be elsewhere when the true attack came. Laenor simply felt excited for the chance to prove himself once more. To see his father look at him and speak proudly about him. He'd earned the Rogue Prince's respect already during this way, before it ended, he'd earn his father's too.

A week later.

Seasmoke flew in from the east while the Blood Wyrm came from the west. Their targets were the caves and only the caves. Not even the rebuilt docks or the ships there would feel their flames today. For both would end up as the spoils of war if Daemon's plans proved successful. Off just out of sight lay their fleet and the vast majority of their army. Other than token garrisons that were left on the islands they controlled, almost to a man they'd brought them all here.

When night fell tonight, their men led by Daemon himself would land and the Crabfeeder and those who followed him would get a battle they were ill-prepared for. Even if the beginning of that battle would be one that was as much a mummery as the dragon's attack was meant to be. Laenor understood it not, not truly. He knew not why Daemon would risk himself so and not even his father's faith in the plan was enough to make it clear to him.

What he did know was that the king had decided to stop giving them any aid. That either Viserys or more likely that cunt Hightower, as his father named him, had stopped the ships from traveling to Driftmark. He knew too that it was Daemon's son, Prince Aemon, who'd sent word to his father of the king's plans. That the arrival of that letter, as well as the attack on Grey Gallows some moons past, had led to the plan they were now following. Laenor knew too that it was time for him to get his head out of his arse and concentrate on what it was he needed to do.

"Dracarys," he called out as Seasmoke let loose his flames on the poor unsuspecting souls beneath them.

"Dracarys," he called out again as men began to run for the cover of the caves and Laenor looked to see Daemon and the Blood Wyrm were loosing their flames even more truly than he and Seasmoke now loosed their own.

Seasmoke loosed his flames again and again until there was no man in the open for those flames to touch. Then it was to the caves and their entrances. To the wooden defenses that guarded the front of those caves and to whatever men were unlucky enough to not have outrun the dragons' flames that both Seasmoke and the Blood Wyrm were directed to. After an hour or two, mayhap less, Laenor sat proudly on his dragon's back as Seasmoke matched the Blood Wyrm in its ferocity.

Eventually, Daemon gave him the signal and both dragons flew away from the caves and Bloodstone itself. Though they'd not be flying too far and they'd both only begun their night's work. After taking Seasmoke to feed, Laenor bid him to join the Blood Wyrm and they rested together on some rocks that lay no more than a mile from where they're just attacked. Hidden out of sight, he stood by his dragon's side and waited for night to fall and the true attack to begin.

"Ao gōntan sȳrī, Seasmoke, olvie sȳrī. Rest sir, syt īlva mirre iksis daor gaomagon." (You did well, Seasmoke, most well. Rest now, for our work is not done.)

Bloody Roddy.

When his liege lord had asked for volunteers to join the Rogue Prince's campaign, few would have answered and Roderick Dustin would not have been one of them. It was when Lord Rickon said that it was at Prince Aemon's behest, that the men of the North had answered. For Aemon Targaryen was as much a wolf as a dragon and Roderick was not the only man who mourned Lyanna Stark's loss. Nor was he the only man willing to fight for her son.

The Prince's Wolves had been formed. Third and fourth sons, men who sought glory and renown. Some men who just loved to wet their swords in the blood of men who tried to end him. Roderick himself falling into that category. They had answered the prince's call and had earned almost all that Daemon Targaryen had promised them for doing so. Men would leave these islands richer than they arrived. Names had been made and some would rise even higher than they were now or dared to dream they would ever do.

Again though it was the blood that Roderick lived for. As well as it being the spilling of that blood that had earned him the name Bloody Roddy. A name he had accepted with almost glee. He'd won it by taking down five fools who'd thought they'd found an easy prize to take. With sword, knife, and even with teeth, Roderick had sent them back to whichever gods they believed in. So covered in their blood had he been, that when his men arrived they thought Roderick was soon to pass. It still made him chuckle even to this day that they believed it would be on these rocks that he'd meet his end.

"No, not here and not today," he whispered as he, Daemon's men, his own, and others that he was happy enough to fight and die beside, all crept along the rocks and swarmed the docks.

Arrows flew, men on ships fell and those ships were taken as the spoils of war. In less than an hour, they owned the rebuilt docks of Bloodstone and Roderick finally saw why Daemon Targaryen had only burned them once. It brought a smile to his face and reminded him of something he'd said to one of his men right at the beginning of this war.

"I fear no man who walks or rides and only one man who flies."

Daemon had well earned his respect on the battlefield. Both atop his dragon and when he'd fought side by side with the men. The Rogue Prince was aloof, arrogant, cocky, and confident, yet he was a man you'd welcome having by your side in a fight too. A man who cared not of your birth when you stood by his side and would fight to the death rather than leave you stranded.

Roderick now hoped that the son took much after the father, where he'd once prayed that it was only his mother that Prince Aemon took after. Given what Daemon said to them before they'd set off to take this last island, Roderick believed Aemon was well on the way to doing so.

"My son sought to join us. Not even one and ten Namedays old and allowed to leave King's Landing not, and Aemon yet sought to bring Vermithor to bear. Fuck, the Crabfeeder would have shit his britches if he saw my son on the Bronze Fury." Daemon said proudly. "For my son, for all our sons, those we know about, those we do not, and those we may have. Let's send these fuckers into the next world and end this fucking war once and for all!"

Moving across the ground, Daemon no more than ten feet ahead of him, Roderick was more than ready to end this war. They had less than five hundred men with them and a prince who painted as big a target on his chest as he possibly could. All they needed to do was to provoke and then stay alive. One of those things far easier than the other, Roderick would wager. For the men they faced were craven and would rather hide than fight. At least they had shown that to be the case thus far. Tonight, however, they came from the caves in their hundreds and their thousands, they came for blood and blood was what he'd give them.

"For Prince Aemon and the North!" Roderick shouted as the arrows began to fly and off far behind them, the dragons took to the sky once more.

A slash to the chest took the first man down. Roderick head-butted the second and felt the nose not only break but almost collapse back into the man's face. The third man managed to block the blow from Roderick's sword and even somehow sneak inside his guard. Not that it helped him any as his life was ended by Roderick's teeth as they tore into his neck and ripped out his windpipe. Loss of blood or lack of air was what took the man from the world, not that Roderick cared which. He simply spat out what part of the man he had in his mouth and moved away from the spray of blood that almost covered him.

So many arrows flew that even Roderick had no other choice but to seek cover. More of their men dying than had in any other battle during this war and yet it was needed. As much as he hated it and would mourn some of these men later, it was needed. For the Crabfeeder was the most craven of all and tonight he would fall. Though only if they could bring him out to play and offer him a target he couldn't pass up. A target that was right now making his presence most apparent.

"FACE ME!"

"FACE ME YOU CRAVEN!"

"I'M RIGHT HERE, CRAGHAS!"

As arrows fell around him, Daemon Targaryen strolled around the battlefield like a man who knew with certainty that tonight was not his night to die. Even when one struck his shoulder, Daemon simply cut it with Dark Sister and continued to mock and name the Crabfeeder a craven. Men with shields blocked other arrows from hitting the Rogue Prince while Roderick saw some movement at the entrance of one of the caves. There, under the light of a torch, stood the man that Daemon was calling out, and for once, it looked as if the challenge was to be answered.

The sound of the dragons and their flames being loosed down on the army that faced their own. Followed by the arrival of the rest of their forces, put an end to any chance of that. One moment he was there and the next, the Crabfeeder had skulked back into the darkness and safety of the caves.

"Fucking craven." Roderick spat as he then began to cut through more or the men that needed to die. The archers had felt a dragon's flames and now caused him and his men no more worry.

He didn't see it when Daemon ran towards the caves, had he done so, then Roderick would have followed immediately. If he was not engaged in a fight with one man while another sought to arm himself with a Myrish crossbow, then he'd have called for others to do so. Instead, he killed the first man and took down the second with a throw of his knife before then making his way to where the man now lay.

"Only cravens use such weapons." Roderick spat as he stamped down hard and broke the crossbow. "Tell your god that Bloody Roddy sent you to him." a thrust of his sword enough to take the life of the man who'd sought to do so to him.

Stretching his arms, and rotating his shoulders, Roderick even cracked his neck before then looking for more men to fight. There was still much blood to be spilled before this war was over. Though looking around at the carnage that was taking place around him, Roderick was certain that the war would end tonight.

Craghas Draghar (The Crabfeeder)

Of all the times they could have picked, they had picked the worst of them, for him at least. For themselves, they'd just proved they had the good fortune of the Gods. They were not prepared for an attack, certainly not one of this scale, and Craghas cursed himself for falling for the mummery.

Was it desperation that had caused him to do so?

A lust for vengeance and blood?

Or had he simply seen the end of the war and his victory to be at hand?

In the end, it mattered not. The victory was not at hand, or not his victory anyway. As for the end of the war, well that was still to be decided and as long as Craghas still drew breath, it would remain that way. Moving from the front of the cave, leaving his men to their fates, Craghas bid as many as he could to follow him. It would be to other caves and deeper into the hills and mountains that he'd retreat to. An even tougher life that his men and he would be forced to live for quite some time. Yet to live was far better than the alternative.

With one last look behind him and a curse on his lips, Craghas and those with him moved to gather as much as they could carry and then leave this accursed place. All the while, Craghas cursed those weak fools in the Triarchy for their half-hearted support. Had they just given him what he'd asked for, then he'd have brought them Daemon Targaryen's head on a silver platter. Instead, they'd denied him, given him less than a quarter of the men and ships he'd needed, and an attack that he'd so diligently thought out had faltered and been repelled. That was truly the beginning of the end.

'if this was to indeed be the end,' Craghas thought.

Their counterattacks and attempt to retake one of the many islands that they'd lost to the invading forces would have been the path to a glorious victory. He could only hope that it was not instead the road to an ignoble defeat. Moving through the cave, he found himself going over those plans once more and trying to see where they had gone wrong. How the attack on Grey Gallows, had failed, and was it simply the lack of men that had been the reason for it?

'No it was dragons and hubris' a voice said in his head, his own though Craghas sounded much younger to his ears.

It spoke the truth though, it had been as it was since the beginning of this war, the Dragons. From the first attack on Bloodstone where they'd burned the docks, ships, and men alike, to each and every island that they took from their control. Daemon Targaryen had been relentless and had forced Craghas to abandon all thought of facing him in the open and instead to hit and run. To fight and then find solace in the caves while all the while sending as dark a message to Daemon and his men as he could.

'And so the Crabfeeder was truly born'

When he'd first come to these islands at the Triarchy's behest, he'd tied men to stakes and allowed the waters to take them. As was the way of the sea, nothing was wasted and everything was food for something else and so the crabs had come to dine on man flesh. Yet, it had been a happy coincidence and not something that Craghas had set out to do. Not like he had with Daemon's men. With them, he'd nailed them to stakes, cut them, and fed them to the crabs. It had stopped them not.

They came and he was powerless to stop them from taking island after island and forcing his men to retreat or die. Few choose the former and far too many then succumbed to the latter. That was why he'd requested more men from the Triarchy and why he'd then launched an attack he'd not truly wished to. Craghas needed a victory, he needed a symbol to hold up and say, 'We Will Win', instead he was dealt a devastating defeat and had allowed that to guide his hand when deep down he knew that he should not.

Seeing Daemon Targaryen on his feet and not atop his red dragon had been too much of a target for Craghas to resist. Looking out from the front of the cave and seeing how few men he'd brought with him, searching the sky and seeing no sight of the dragons, all of it, had lured Craghas in. instead of accepting that the earlier attack from the dragons was simply a prelude to a much larger one, he'd seen it as something else. Desperation. When in truth, the only one who was desperate was him.

"Issa kesīr, ñuha dārilaros. Se zaldrīzes iksis kesīr. Tōmēpsa vali, dombo." (He is here, my prince. The Dragon is Here. No more than fifty men) one of his men shouted at him and Craghas looked at him intently, trying to see if he lied or was mistaken.

It made no sense. Daemon had more than enough men to swarm the caves. Why come at him with so few? Was it a trap? A ploy to lure him out and stop Craghas from making his escape? Did the Rogue Prince understand that just like with his own death, this war ended with Craghas' death too? Try as he might, he could understand this not, and yet in the end, it mattered not either. Their defeat was inevitable here today. The battle had been lost and while Craghas wished to continue the war, he still needed a victory for that to be viable. He needed the head of Daemon Targaryen and here he was alone but for fifty men, Craghas would never get a better chance of taking that head for himself.

"Māzigon, īlon've jiōraton iā zaldrīzes naejot ossēnagon." (Come, we've got a Dragon to kill.)

Daemon's head would earn him glory. It would win him the full support of the Triarchy and get him the men and ships he needed to retake all that he'd lost here. More than that, it would quench the lust for blood and vengeance that poured out of every inch of Craghas Draghar. The crabs could have the Rogue Prince's rotting corpse, the Crabfeeder would feed on his lifeblood.

"Tonight I dine on dragon meat."

Daemon Targaryen.

A little over a year and a few moons were all it had taken to force them all onto just one of the islands. Careful, prepared, and meticulous, Daemon had been all the things that people believed he could not. He'd needed to be, for the enemies he faced here were unlike any he'd faced before and they used the islands to their advantage. So Daemon had allowed himself to be patient, to bide his time, and after the first few easy victories, he'd taken the Stepstones step by step. One island at a time while always leaving the biggest prize until last.

Corlys continually bid him to take Bloodstone and Daemon ignored him. The Sea Snake may be a fierce warrior at sea but this was long past being a naval battle. This was a war that needed to be fought over every foot of land, every secured keep, and every single island. It was a war where the strengths and weaknesses of the dragons had been shown clearly. A war that had forced Daemon to adapt or accept defeat, and Daemon Targaryen never accepted defeat.

So he'd been cautious, composed, calm, and collected. Taken island after island. Securing each one of them and making sure they were supplied regularly and all the while forcing the Crabfeeder and his army into a smaller and smaller hole. A hole that he'd dug for them the day Corlys had suggested that Daemon look to the Stepstones and seek a crown. Daemon was now so very close to gaining that crown. To winning his son a kingdom that would stand as his wedding gift to his queen.

"Let my fool of a brother dare deny my son then."

As he moved through the caves, carefully and offering himself up as a tempting target, Daemon did so with more anger at his brother than he did for the man he hoped to face. He'd always known that Viserys was weak. A wingless dragon as he'd more and more begun to think of him. Yet, he'd not expected that he was as big a fool as Viserys was starting to prove he was.

Whatever thoughts the Crown may have on this war, it was a war now that could not be lost. They had to win and take these islands for themselves now, or else the Triarchy would make them pay in blood and coin when they ruled over them once more. Only a fool would not see that and Daemon cursed his brother for being that fool. As he did for Viserys still accepting counsel from that cunt Hightower. A man who was still the very same as Daemon had named him all those years ago. Otto was and would always remain a second son who stood to inherit nothing that he didn't seize for himself and what he wished to seize most of all, was the Iron Throne.

"I'll see him dead before his blood ever sits on Aemon's throne."

Hearing the noises ahead of him, Daemon tried to concentrate on the fight he'd soon be engaging in and yet it was, as always, his son that his mind and heart were full of. Aemon had sent him men to help in the taking of the Stepstones, he'd sent him word of his brother's planned betrayal and had even tried to send himself along with the Bronze Fury. Something that brought a half smile to Daemon's face now as he and the men with him moved down yet another passage in this cave's never-ending maze.

"My prince, listen." one of the Northmen said from behind him, Daemon raising his hand so his men all stopped as one.

The sound of men ahead of him was what he'd been waiting on. Hand in the air, Daemon held up two fingers and the Myrish Crossbowmen moved forward. Pointing to where he wished them, Daemon allowed them to get into position and then had the Northmen howl like the wolves they claimed to be.

'Aemon's wolves' he thought as the howls rang out around the cave and echoed off the walls.

The fight was upon them mere seconds later. More than twice or even thrice their number, moved now to ambush them and were hit with a wave of crossbow bolts. Ten of the very best that Myr had to offer and who had once been members of the Second Sons. All now earning their coin from being in Daemon's service and today they'd truly do so. A second wave of bolts fired a few moments later and then the two groups were upon each other.

Dark Sister cut a bloody swathe through any unlucky enough to earn her ire or draw her gaze upon them. The Myrish Crossbowmen fired volley after volley, taking down ten men at a time and then reloading far faster than should be possible. Aemon's Northmen fought with a ferocity that not even Daemon could manage, cutting down the Crabfeeder's men as if they were nothing, and finally, Daemon saw him.

"Crabfeeder!"

Like a craven, the man ran and Daemon chased after him. Caring not if he was being lured into some trap or whether or not anyone was following after him. All Daemon saw was the man in front of him and the death he'd bring to him. Out of the shadows, a spear tip brushed by his helm, and Daemon almost casually ended the life of the man who'd dared to try and take his own. With a single thrust of Dark Sister, the spearman fell to the ground before Daemon then continued on his chase.

Three more men he faced before he caught up with the Crabfeeder. One more came at him from the shadows and two then blocked his path. All three of them soon joined the spearman and Daemon stood unmarked and bloodied only in the blood of his enemies. Across from him was a man more pitiful than he'd expected to find. A Myrish Prince-Admiral, Craghas Drahar, the Crabfeeder.

"Tubī pōnta dine va ao." (Today they dine on you) Daemon said as he moved forward.

Daemon had fought better, faster, and more determined men than Craghas Drahar. Rarely had he fought one more stubborn. Despite the wounds he inflicted with almost every single thrust of Dark Sister's Valyrian steel, Craghas fought back. He fought like a man whose life was on the line and though Daemon had no respect for the man he faced, that he could at least respect.

A slash, a cut across the shoulder, and then a thrust deep into where a normal man's heart may lay, was what it took to end the Crabfeeder and the War for the Stepstones. Daemon looked deep into the eyes of the dying man and watched the light as it went out from them. Holding Craghas up even as he slumped against him, Daemon pulled Dark Sister from the Crabfeeder's chest and with a single swing, took his head from his shoulders.

Feeling the cool breeze against his face when he took off his helm, Daemon moved forward to see where the Crabfeeder was running to. Finding out that it was a path that led down to a small lagoon and off into the mountains. A secret entrance that had either been found or built by those who'd named these caves as their home for the last year or so.

"My prince?" a Northern voice called out from behind him, Daemon bending down to lift up the Crabfeeder's head before walking away from the still bleeding body.

"Our men?"

"No more than ten fell, my prince, only half to not rise again."

"Then we will mourn their loss and celebrate our victory."

By the time he reached the other entrance to the cave, the fighting had stopped for true. Looking out he could see Caraxes and Seasmoke flying over the battlefield and as he stepped out into the light, all eyes turned Daemon's way. Holding the head up high for all to see, Daemon relished hearing the men chant his name.

Later that day, Corlys placed a crown on his head and named him the King of the Stepstones and Narrow Sea. Around him, men cheered and called him king, and yet Daemon knew his crown was but a temporary thing. In time it would belong to another and when that time came, the Stepstones would be a prize worthy even for the hand of a queen. Daemon would see that it was so.

"I did it Lyanna, for our son, I did it," he whispered softly as he vowed to himself that he'd see his son as soon as the Stepstones were secured and put to rights.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Sorry for the delay I can only apologize and say that the next update will be much quicker. Up Next: A tourney is held where two queens show their true colors. Aemon competes in a tourney, grows jealous of a Strong Man, and then sheds much blood. Before the Rogue Prince returns as a king and is reunited with his son.

For those following my other fics, Aemon the Dragonknight and Dragonverse are up next.

Missed reviews:

SidRyuu: Chapter 2: While I agree about Ghost/Aemon, I've not yet decided on it, so for now, it's a no. But just for now.

Bluetea: Chapter 1: My fault entirely and circumstances out of m control, though they've been rectified now, I'm happy to say.

Zero: Chapter 1: Thanks so much for saying so, that really means a lot.

Orthankg: Chapter 2: So glad you enjoyed it.

Chapter 3 reviews.

Daryl Dixon: It's hard to say with Aemond as just because of who his mother is, puts him somewhat at odds with Aemon/Rhaenyra, but we'll see.

Suppes: Hmm, I'm not sure, maybe. But having Blackfyre sort of fits into Aegon's story, so it may end up being Dark Sister instead.

Fireking: So all in all it's only about 1,000 or so more men that Daemon has, in canon, he was given far less, maybe two hundred or so. I do have plans for ships and COTR, later on, so we'll see. With Daemon being cautious it's more because of Aemon, as we'll see later on when Aemon grows and he'll be less so. As for giving up his crown, not going to happen this time. He sees it as Aemon's trump card, as he can name him a king, and use it as a betrothal gift. Aemon/Rhaenyra will be doing just that, a royal precession instead of the look for a husband journey. We'll also see Nyra shedding some of the innocence she still has. The next chapter is a big reason for that.

Venerabledemon: Aemon is simping for Nyra as you say because she actually needs someone to do that for her character arc. She never got it with Daemon, which causes her to be a certain way. As for Nyra and other men, not going to happen. Same with Aemon, they are starting to realize that it's not just the feelings of cousins and friends they have for each other, something we'll see more next chapter. But Nyra will simp for Aemon too if you want to use that word. As for ruthlessness, well, Aemon will very much be so, he's just too young for that to be a thing as of yet. We will see that progression though.

Kuroof: Thanks so very much for saying so, hope you like the new chapter just as much.

Tom: Sorry for the delay, the next chapter will be up more quickly, I promise.

CEW: Very much so, Aemon changes things a little bit, but it won't stop Otto's plotting. We will see more collaboration between the North/Aemon, here is just the beginning of it and Aemon will be traveling North soon too. I have plans with the COTR, and Aemon will try and build up his forces early, he sees what even Daemon doesn't, and so too will Rhaenyra, so they'll begin planning for things much earlier here. Basically, even though in canon everyone sort of knew a Dance was coming, few actually planned for it, and Aemon certainly will.

So far I've no plans to change much with Bennard, as it's a big moment for Cregan and well I have plans with him and Aemon too. Aemon/Nyra will be traveling soon, a royal procession and the North will be part of that journey. One issue in regard to Aemon and we see it here already with Aegon is that he's sort of predisposed not to like Alicent's children, but we'll see if that extends to all of them.

That's a very interesting plan, had I not already planned some other things, I would steal that from you. In the end, though, it's still better if all that happens between 109 to 111, just happens. Now in saying that, Daemon will be seeking to defend the Stepstones more, and once he's been reunited with Aemon, then Aemon will be a part of that defense. As for Dorne, I have some fun plans for that and there will be at least one battle involving the Triarchy and Daemon/Aemon, very soon. So some of what you say is already in the works, if not as extensive as you say, anyway, hope you like where it goes, as it'll be in the chapter after the tourney.

BriSha: Sí, eso es exactamente, Aemon/Nyra contra el mundo, lo veremos ampliado en los próximos capítulos. Daemon/Laena, también será algo diferente aquí.

Princes of Greenwood: As you command.

Rhatch89: Thanks so much, glad you enjoyed it.

Keb: Really glad to hear that.

Dunk: Canon Jon is very observant and so I wanted that with Aemon, as for the trying to fly to the Stepstones, you called it perfectly. I wanted it to be a mirror to Jon at the Wall and to lead into Aemon having the dream of a life he isn't sure he lived or not. But also to have it be stopped, as yes, Otto would certainly use it to try and break the betrothal. In regard to the Daemon/Alicent thing, I've not decided how much of it will come out, but it certainly will be addressed at least in a scene between Alicent/Daemon or Daemon/Otto, so that should be fun.

Celexys: So very glad you liked it, my friend.

Anaraa: The next update will be quicker, I promise.

Willgodrich: So very glad you liked it.

Spymaster: I prefer the book Ages, the aging up of Rhaenyra annoyed me so much. Alicent though was probably around the right age in the show, as she was 18 or so when wed. I do like the show's portrayal of Viserys and so I'm sort of going a bit with that, though his dislike for Daemon is not shared when it comes to Aemon, as you see here.

We'll see Harwin next and find out soon why Aemon dislikes Cole so much. So for Daemon, his own ambitions are swayed by those he has for Aemon. As long as his son gets what he's due, Daemon can forgo his own desires to be king. It's partly guilt over Lyanna's death, though also the fact that he has a son who he's proud of. When added to the fact that Aemon was always to be king after him anyway, it allows for him to accept that he may not be. He's still pissed about it, but more at Viserys than anything else.

Oh and don't worry, both Aemon and Daemon are taking note of Otto's slights.

The biggest issue Otto has is that Alysanne made the betrothal and so it takes a hell of a lot for even Viserys to break it. As for sentencing Aemon to anything, well he has the dragon and so it's damnable hard to force him to do anything at all. Corlys' earlier pov wasn't wrong, there are only so many Dragonriders in Westeros, and Viserys may technically have three of them on his side in Daemon/Aemon/Rhaenyra, but it's very easy to lose all three and then he'd be screwed.

Now in saying that, Otto still wishes to break the betrothal, but he's running out of time and so he may be reckless.

Sento: Sorry for the delay, the next chapter will be quicker.

Xan Merrick; Thanks my friend, glad you liked it.

Goravsilentreader: So glad you liked it.

Niro: It will certainly do that, the delay was somewhat unavoidable, the reason for that delay is, however, not something that should come up again.

SidRyuu: He will incorporate different styles and weapons, but for now he's focussing on one, mastering it before moving on. He also needs his father's training too.