Chapter 48: Rhaena First of her Name

The roar of the seas crashing against the cliffs of Dragonstone were fitting, Visenya thought, gazing at the carved visage of the Painted Table. Alone among those present in the chambers themselves was she, having seen the table unveiled so many years ago. Decades ago. Before even the fateful letter sent by Argilac Durrandon, he had commissioned it, so proud the smile of triumph on his face.

She smiled wanly as well, only for herself. Aegon had treated her and Rhaenys to the most romantic of nights in this chamber… christening the table multiple times. Oh, did Visenya wish for that again, the majesty of an adventure that would reshape the world and earn them everlasting glory.

With the rain that had so suddenly appeared, the low torchlight constantly supplemented by the bright streaks of lightning descending from the heavens, now was not the time for adventure. House Targaryen prepared to again depart from Dragonstone to the mainland… only no glory would be gained from this war.

There was no glory in civil war.

Such anger was evident in the royal couple, a deep, roiling anger in which a dragon properly proclaimed their sorrow to the world. Visenya didn't blame them. She felt it as well, but was too old to cry.

Too many deserved her tears. How much more loss could she see?

Most of the Court was still on the continent, the majority of those in the Dragonpalace itself. Those here… they were the skeleton crew of Dragonstone. Lord Commander Gawen Corbray was the highest-ranking, joined by Lord Daemon Velaryon of Driftmark and his youngest son Ser Victor. Tyanna was there, as was Lord Theomare Manderly almost by providence there on a trade mission. A window to the North, able to carry more information to Rhaenys and Brandon that simply by raven… which could be intercepted. Lord Celtigar was there as well, the gatherings of Blackwater Bay and the original sworn houses to House Targaryen.

All that was missing was a Baratheon. Orys… I wish you were here as well.

"We have finally received a raven from King's Landing," spoke Maegor, beginning the meeting of the impromptu war council. "Two actually, one from Septon Alfyn and the other from Lord Brandon."

"Speak of the latter first, your Grace," asked Lord Theomare. Though a rare follower of the Seven that he was among the Northmen, he inherited his countrymen's distrust of the south. "I'd rather not us waste our time with their lies."

"No, speak of them first," proclaimed Rhaena. "I wish to hear their justifications."

Maegor nodded to Tyanna.

Princess Rhaena,

The gods in their wisdom have proclaimed the monarchy to have lost their mandate to rule Westeros. This is a land chosen by them as a holy refuge of milk and honey for the Faithful, and as such your kind are not welcome here.

Dragonstone is yours, and your kin and allies can possess the North and its icy wastes. But to the rest begone. You are not wanted.

These words are my own, but they are blessed by his Most Holy Majesty, High Septon Hugor of the Holy Dominion of Andalos.

Septon Alfyn of King's Landing.

"Is that all?" Rhaena remarked. "If so, say no more. I am disgusted."

"To make a long story short," spoke Tyanna. "Lord Snow details that the Dragonpalace is under siege. Prince Jaehaerys has assumed titular command, while Ser Marden Karstark is in true command."

Maegor lowered his head, shaking it. "Jaehaerys… he didn't deserve any of this."

"He will rise to the occasion, my son. I believe in his strength and skill," Visenya replied, trying to comfort him.

"It is not just King's Landing," Tyanna added. "All over the South, West, and East the forces of the High Septon are gathering. Several armies, one led by Lord Roxton, one by Damon Morrigen, and one by Tyrion Lannister… and that's at least the ones I know of, for there could be more."

"We must gather the armies," announced Lord Theomare. "I shall travel to White Harbor post haste on my fastest ship, inform Lord and Lady Stark to march south with their banners to Castemere…"

Visenya gritted her teeth, hating herself for what she was about to say… "Lord Reyne's keep will last, my Lord."

"Grandmother, Aegon is there."

"I know, granddaughter, but he can survive a siege… Tyrion Lannister's army matter's more."

A nod from Maegor. "She's right. The main goal is forming our armies to counter the Faith's, and then engaging and crushing them before they can get outside assistance, from the Dornish… or gods forbid Volantis." No one wished the greedy Tigers to join the conflict, eager for plunder and land. "Have ravens sent to the Eyrie, Harrenhal, Highgarden, Storm's End, and Winterfell… while we must coronate a Queen."

"Aye… wait? What?" Rhaena blinked.

"There is no time to waste," Tyanna said, echoing Maegor. "The loyalists must have a symbol to rally behind, and that symbol is you, Rhaena."

"Grandmother." Visenya glanced at Rhaena, who nodded to her. What they had discussed alone prior to this, the consensus they had come to… it was time. At her nod in return, Rhaena turned to Visenya's firstborn. "Prince Maegor."

Maegor's brow rose. "Your Grace?" he asked, formality seeming to come easily to him.

"I cannot do this alone. I may be a royal but a leader of armies I am not."

"You have experience, my Queen…"

"Not as much as you," she insisted, reaching out to touch his hand. It reminded Visenya of her dearest loves - Rhae and Egg, may the gods keep their souls alive forever. It heartened her to see their son and granddaughter carrying on the mantle of the dragonlords. "By the gods themselves, a Queen needs her King. And I need you."

Maegor simply stood, unknowing of what to say. Visenya took the chance to withdraw a crown she had kept upon the island. A simple circlet of Valyrian steel with rubies inlaid along the ring… the crown of his kepa, and Visenya took the utter shock upon his face with a smile. Egg, Rhae, I know you're enjoying this moment. A moment of happiness in the midst of the pain. "Kneel, your Graces." It was only fitting that she be the one to do this - a role unsuited to any septon, even prior to what had happened.

Rhaena fell to one knee first at the head of the painted table, Maegor right after, her powerful son trembling. The strongest of men, but still one that felt hard.

"Rhaena of House Targaryen, do you accept this crown and the solemn responsibility to serve as Queen? To protect and defend your subjects till your dying breath, and carry on the legacy of Old Valyria and the Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros old?"

"Till my dying breath," was her simple response, the same as her kepa many years before.

Taking the circlet from Tyanna, Visenya placed the glittering band of gold upon her head. "I now proclaim Rhaena of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queens of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm! Long may she reign!"

"Long may she reign!" the rest of the council proclaimed.

Rhaena, risen and radiating a regal might about her, took from Visenya the crown of Aegon and approached the still kneeling Maegor. The new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms' lips quivered, a knowing adoration reflected back from them, but her voice didn't waver. "Maegor of House Targaryen, do you accept the crown of your kepa, Aegon, First of his Name, and the solemn responsibility to serve as King? To protect and defend your subjects till your dying breath, and carry on the legacy of Old Valyria and the Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros old?"

"Till my dying breath," came Maegor's reply, firm and powerful.

Circlet in hand, Rhaena dropped it upon the wild cowlicks of his mighty silver hair. Pushing it down and leaving him crowned just as his kepa had before him. "I now proclaim Maegor of House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Long may he reign!"

Visenya's breath caught in her throat, watching her son as he rose to embrace Rhaena. Seeing for a moment her Egg in the flesh. "Long may he reign!" It was her shout that was the loudest.

It was as if all else had simply fallen away. Lady Rhaenys Stark heard nothing, saw nothing but the ravenscroll in her trembling hand. Knees wobbling and threatening to buckle, she collapsed back into the wall, her dress scraping against it. The entreaties of her husband and bannermen present within the Lord's Solar at Winterfell were not even noticed, eyes unable to be torn from the letter itself.

Rhaenys,

I cannot speak of this to you in any other manner but blunt, so please forgive me. Our brother is dead, assassinated in the Sept of Remembrance by the Faith Militant, pious lords, and his own Hand Septon Murmison. Jaehaerys is under siege in the Dragonpalace and the High Septon has declared a new government in Oldtown.

Mourn we should, and mourn we will, but as of now we must fight. Rhaena has been crowned as Queen, and she has crowned me. Ensure the North calls its banners and marches to the Twins. Lord Frey has sworn loyalty and you must combine with his force and wait for our instructions.

I love you, sister, and we will avenge our brother.

Maegor Targaryen, First of His Name.

"Rhaenys… Rhaenys!"

She did not feel embarrassed for embracing Brandon, burying her face in his chest and sobbing. "Aenys is dead."

"I know, my love, I know."

"Lady Stark…" It was Marlon Umber, stepping forward. "I grant you my condolences to the loss of your brother. His Grace was always a friend to the North."

"Aye, a proud friend of all of us!" Ser Erryk Manderly, younger brother of Lord Theomare, concurred, slapping his chest. "His death will be avenged. The North Remembers."

"The North Remembers!" came the shout of the others.

Hearing their devotion to House Stark and her birth house, Rhaenys managed to compose herself. Leaning up to gaze into Brandon's eyes, her beloved wolf steadied her. She kissed him, feeling their love fill her with warmth. A warmth that the dragonfire of her blood heated into a boiling anger. Pulling back, the mourning girl was replaced by an enraged dragon, her violet eyes narrowed and darkened with determination. "War we shall have. The High Septon will not stop at just my kin."

Lord Rogar Bolton, nodding, placed his hand at the hilt of his sword. "We are the First Men, and upon victory they will be united. I for one do not wish to sit here and hope Moat Cailin will stop them. We must march south."

"How? We've never fought in the South since King Torrhen marched… and that ended in him bending the knee." Lord Hornwood was an older man - once a warrior, he had long since run to fat and grown timid with age. His daughter Ellyn bore the strength and vitality of her house, a proper rider that bore lance better than most knights, and she stood next to him.

Brandon, her wonderful Brandon, shook his head. "We will march. We vanquished the wildlings on their home turf, and we shall do so again to the Andals that dare stand against our kin."

"And do not forget, Lord Hornwood, that we possess a dragon," Lord Bolton remarked, insistent on that point. "Never have we been stronger. Out of all those that submitted to House Targaryen, we were the only that lost nothing and gained everything."

"Well put, Lord Rogar," Marlon proclaimed. "House Umber shall march."

"As shall House Manderly."

"Oh, fuck it." Hornwood nodded. "We march as well." Each of the Lords present committed their forces to Brandon and her. Rhaenys soon saw them each swear allegiance and fealty to Rhaena and Maegor in that order… using her as a proxy. The North would march to war.

Lord Reed.

War is here, and we march South to the Twins, but your forces must stay in the swamps of the Neck. You and Moat Cailin are the only safeguards for the North, and as such you must man your defenses and ensure the Neck cannot be traversed should we fail or the Faith steals a march on us.

I am heartened at your last letter. That Alysanne is happy in Greywater Watch brings me joy, while the prospect of her learning of Aenys' death gives me apprehension. Broach it to her carefully, and make sure that her siblings and her uncle and aunt are fighting hard for the Realm to be secure.

Lady Rhaenys Stark

Lady of Winterfell

As her quill finished off the last word, Rhaenys felt a tear fall down her cheek. Alysanne, all alone apart from her dear friend Arya Reed. Such was… enough she supposed, but Rhaenys knew from the death of her kepa that the family needed to be together. Needed to bond and give each other love and comfort.

Could she visit Greywater Watch? No, I cannot let anyone think she is there. A raven trained to go to the keep of House Reed was one thing… a dragon the other.

She would need to say a prayer that Aly would be fine.

A knock on the door made her jump. Quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Enter." Unsurprisingly, she found the fierce beauty of Gelina the Wildling brush in. Her ice-blonde hair fell about her shoulders rather than in the braid Rhaenys now favored, and it fit her wild nature. She was no domesticated animal… more a caged beast that had come to terms with her captivity. "Lady Gelina."

"Again with the 'Lady.'" The woman snorted, but then her face grew sympathetic. "I heard 'bout your brother. I'm sorry."

Rhaenys smiled wanly. "I'm glad you have some feelings beyond hate and amusement."

"I'm a woman of many surprises," Gelina chuckled. "So, when are you gonna go kill the fuckers that did it?"

"You know me so well."

"I know that's what I would've done, and did. Trudged over three different mountains to butcher the cunts that killed my own brother."

She couldn't find anything but respect for Gelina. A diamond in the rough, for sure. "We're marching within the day for Moat Cailin. Then to the Twins."

"Don't know where the fuck those are, but hopin' that I can get my axe wetted with blood after being cooped up in here."

Rhaenys' brow rose. "You wish to come?"

"Sure. I bet that tame Free Folk girl's comin' too. Why not I?"

Ralla was coming - they had no better scouts than the rugged Free Folk led by Maegor's former lover, but she was trusted to be loyal while Gelina was… a wild card. "You'd have to bend the knee to my husband and to my niece, the Queen."

"So you have a woman crowned? Good for ya', but I'm not kneeling."

"Then you cannot come." Rhaenys found it amusing to taunt Gelina, especially the scowl that made her fierce beauty all the more striking. "There is an alternative."

"I'm listening."

"You could agree to be my sworn sword."

Now it was Gelina's turn to raise her brow. "Will I have to kneel."

"Yes, but to obey rather than give fealty - as you would obey the orders of a clan chief."

"We barely obey even our own pappy's orders, Lady Stark," Gelina snorted, only to purse her lips in thought. "If it'll get me closer to fightin' again, then I'll take it." As Rhaenys smiled, glad she could count on another proper warrior to march south with her, the wildling clicked her tongue. "Yer' the only one I would do this for, Lady stark?"

She folded her hands together. "Oh, and why is that?"

Gelina bowed and began to depart, only turning her head to regard her. "Cause yer' the prettiest woman I've ever seen."

Hopefully she didn't see how Rhaenys' eyes widened and a blush adorned her cheeks at the compliment.

"But of course, my Lord. My sword and my oath are yours."

"Truly?" Seated with his feet arrogantly propped up upon the lord's desk in his solar at Storm's End, Lord Rogar Baratheon smiled. His entire demeanor both genuine and a ploy to ensure no one could doubt his authority. "Then why have you not mobilized your banners, Lord Caron?"

Lord Caron, across from him, gulped. He was much older than Rogar, but seemed to recognize that his new Liege Lord after the death of his father and grandfather was one not to cross. Rogar fed on that - a better feeling than even making love to a woman, though it was close. "You realize I am close to the Reach… and they are mobilizing for the other side."

"So you're saying you fear for your keep, which is unprepared to withstand a siege while you're campaigning elsewhere with me?"

He nodded vociferously. "Yes, my Lord. Exactly."

Pursing his lips, Rogar nodded along for several moments before he abruptly stood up, slamming his fist on the desk so hard it almost cracked. "Horseshit!" Reaching across the desk, he grabbed Lord Caron by the straps of his cuirass. "Don't play me for a fool! Lord Tarly and Lord Tyrell have declared their support of the Crown! That covers your fucking arse well enough to protect your keep!"

"My Lord," sputtered the hapless highborn. "It's not as simple as that…"

Magnanimous after making his point, the Lord of Storm's End released him. "Then say."

Gulping, Lord Caron trembled - taking more than a moment to put himself back together. "I… I… I lack confidence in my son's commitment to the Crown."

"Oh?" Rogar wasn't surprised, Allard Caron was so pious he made a Warrior Son look like a Valyrian. That he also had a wife and five mistresses among the smallfolk around Nightsong was all that kept him from joining the order. "And you think he'll kill you?"

"No." From how he shifted his eyes, it was clear Lord Caron was either lying or trying to convince himself. "But I worry of mutinies if I march with him."

"Then kill him."

Lord Caron's eyes widened. "No, he's my son!"

A shrug. "Then I'll kill him, for treason." That had him sputtering again, which Rogar found hilarious. Especially as the roar of a dragon found itself echoing through the cylindrical keep. While it somewhat surprised Rogar, he was collected enough to not show his surprise. Unlike his bannerman, who was close to pissing himself. "Now, I assume King Maegor or Queen Rhaena are here… or perhaps Queen Visenya, for I think that's Vhagar I hear." He went white - Visenya was not one to be merciful. "Shall you inform your son the consequences of treason and then call your banners, or should I have the Dowager Queen handle it?"

Caron shook his head, jowls jostling. "I'll assemble at once, My Lord… I promise!"

"Good, now get out of my sight." He took his seat again, stretching his arms behind him as he sighed in contentment. "Ah, I was born to do this."

"You did well, grandson." Rogar's gaze lazily went to the still form of his grandmother, Lady Argella Baratheon - in every shape the former Princess of the Storm Kingdom. "But you relish this too much."

"How am I supposed to not? This was preordained to me by the gods."

Her brow rose. "Which ones?"

Rogar shrugged. "Either. Old gods or Valyrian ones. I'm not picky."

"Just hope you figure it out for soon, you'll be in the army that faces the Faith. Especially since Queen Visenya is here."

"So that was Vhagar. Good, I still recall the details from when I was in the capital." Truly, Rogar found himself in his element after the tragic deaths of his father and grandfather. The war clouds led to quick oaths of allegiance from his bannermen, as well as the help of his brothers and grandmother to call the banners of Storm's End. That of his bannermen were… more hesitant. Some like Tarth and Selmy answered the call almost instantaneously, while others dragged their heels. None declared for the Faith's Holy Dominion of Andalos or whatever the fuck came out of Hugor Flowers' ass… at least not yet.

Rogar didn't delude himself into thinking his land wouldn't be a battleground. This wasn't the North, completely secure from any of the Faith.

"She'll wish to see you and seek allegiance for Rhaena and Maegor."

Facing his grandmother, Rogar sighed. "A woman inheriting… it doesn't sit right to me, and we all know Maegor is just with the crown on his head cause he stuck his prick in her cunny." Ravens had come constantly from Dragonstone, largely since Storm's End was very critical in the Crown's protection, so Rogar was one of the first briefed on the matter. "Prince Aegon is the rightful heir by Andal law."

Argella seemed to nod. "True… true… except we're fighting the Andals. Fighting the Faith and all Andal law." She smacked him on the head, making Rogar feel a boy of five. He did not like that, but what could he do to his grandmother? "Think, you dolt."

Rogar grumbled, but only said, "Fine."

A knock on the door brought one of his sworn swords. "Mi'Lord, her Grace the Queen Dowager is here."

Argella answered for him. "Bid her entrance, damn you. She's my goodsister and the mother of the King!" The man bowed and departed, while Rogar narrowed his eyes at his grandmother. I am the one in charge here, not you, grandmother.

But if there was any doubt as to who was in charge, it left as Visenya Targaryen entered the solar. Though without her sword, Dark Sister, the age lines and whiter color of her silver-blonde hair didn't distract from her aura. Her red-black battle gown still fit like a glove, her violet eyes fierce and piercing. This woman was still one that would set an entire realm alight if need be. Rogar knew she was worthy of his respect… and a wide berth.

Immediately though, the Dowager Queen greeted his grandmother. "Goodsister," she murmured, kissing her cheek.

A gesture Argella reciprocated. "Your Grace, welcome to our home… I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Indeed." She turned to Rogar. "Nephew."

He bowed. "Your Grace. Storm's End is yours."

"Not mine, my granddaughter's and my son's. I am just a messenger."

"Of course. Must be serious if they were to send you here."

"Indeed it is, and my stay is semi-permanent." She took a seat, smoothening out her dress. "You think you'll march for King's Landing, but you won't."

He blinked. "Your Grace?"

"Gather your banners close enough to the Reach as you can. We will be marching on Oldtown." Never let it say that the dragons weren't bold.

The crunching of boots on the fallen leaf litter registered in Jaehaerys' hearing, but still he refused to turn. Legs crossed below him, he stared up at the face carved in the weirwood mounted in the center of the Dragonpalace Godswood. Simply taking in the screaming mouth, the haunted red eyes.

What does my sister see in you? Why does she find comfort here? A question he faced, the young Prince tormented by what he had seen, what he had endured.

He would have his vengeance. He would deliver fire and blood for his kepa. But still the Weirwood stared back at him, face froze in a haunting scream.

"Your Grace?"

"Lord Snow." The voice was obvious, his kepa's Master of Whisperers. Rhaena's now, I suppose. "Dispatch from my sister?"

"No, not since the last one." He sat next to the Prince. "You have sworn behind your sister and uncle?"

A shrug. "Not much choice now, do I?" Looking at the Master of Whisperers, the old wolf gave nothing away but Jaehaerys read his mind anyway. "If you're worried I wouldn't follow her since she is a woman, you can rest easy. I truly do not care."

"I figured your newfound anger at his Grace, Prince Maegor caused your reticence."

"He saved Alysanne… or helped save her." Jaehaerys hung his head. "How do I think of him, my uncle? He is my uncle and loves me, but…" He loves my muna. "He is a right cunt."

"Most men that seek out battle are right cunts some of the time," Brandon smirked. "I raised your uncle, molded him from a sullen, angry boy into a proud, chivalric warrior and knight. He has his flaws and is human like all of us, but underneath it all is simply a good heart willing to do whatever it takes to protect the ones he loves. Please realize that."

Jaehaerys sighed. "Mayhaps you are right, but I will need to speak with him."

"To do that we must end this seige." Brandon sucked in a breath. "But I do not believe this effort is worth it."

The Prince turned, eyes narrowing. "I was instructed by my sister to hold the castle, and hold it I shall by routing the Faith Militant before reinforcements can arrive." The decision had been a heady one, many harsh words within the council. Grand Maester Gawen still recommended negotiation, but no one other than he favored that. Brandon and half the Kingsguard wished to stay on the defensive and not waste the few thousand household guards they had on a potential sortie out of the gates and into the winding streets of the city, especially given the orders from Rhaena to hold firm and never risk anything.

Ser Marden had led those angling for the others, which included Rhaena's favorite Lady Melony Piper - who had been in the Dragonpalace as the city fell to the Faith Militant. No one knew how many houses had rebelled and joined the Faith, or if a relief army was on its way with siege equipment… or if Morrigen was building siege equipment of his own. The danger was too severe, and they needed to use their advantage and attack.

Jaehaerys, his soul thirsting for vengeance, ordered the sortie over all objections. None could disobey the Prince, with he and Ser Marden personally leading the attack at noon. When it was hottest. When the knights of the Warrior's Sons would be roasting in their plate armor.

"I made my order, Lord Snow," Jaehaerys remarked back. "Do not question it."

"I only mention that her Grace will not be happy if her brother dies in a sortie she did not order."

A nod. "I shall apologize to her when I bring the head of our kepa's murderers to her."

The bastard of Winterfell smirked. "You have guts, I fully admit that, my Prince." There was a pregnant pause. "I was surprised to find you here."

Jaehaerys sighed. "Alysanne finds peace here, but for the life of me I do not understand why. You are of the First Men."

"I am."

"And you worship the Old Gods."

"I do."

"Tell me, what am I doing wrong if I hear nothing?"

A gentle laugh left Brandon Snow, voice gruff from age and a simply tough demeanor. "If you force it, they will never speak to you. As for your sister, I believe it is best to ask her."

Jae lowered his head. "When I see her next, I shall."

At noon, they charged. The plan was simple - Melony Piper, bow in hand, led the archers that flooded the battlements and rained arrows at whatever Faith Militant were gathered at the improvised siege lines. Such a barrage drew more and more but their archers and crossbowmen were suppressed, providing the impetus for the infantry to sally out.

Advancing quick with only minimal organization so as to close the distance, the ragged shield wall slammed into the besiegers with fury. Elite Targaryen men-at-arms and the mostly Northmen contingent of loyalists went at the Faith Militant as if they valued nothing but killing, and it descended into a general melee of carnage and death.

Swinging his sword, Jaehaerys hacked down a Poor Fellow, blade shearing through chainmail with ease. Taking an axe upon his shield, an arrow from the walls drove through the attacker's throat. Opening a gap through the line in which Jaehaerys' eyes widened. "Morrigen!" he shouted, spotting the man that held his kepa's severed head. "Men, with me!" He raced through the gap.

"Protect the Prince!" Big Jon bellowed, and two dozen knights and men-at-arms surged after Jaehaerys, butchering their way through whatever warriors of the Faith were in their way.

Eyes red with fury, Jaehaerys was still slight with youth but roared like a dragon. A spear went at him, but he hacked off the head with his blade, twirling and thrusting into the Poor Fellow's throat. A Warrior's Son came at him, clashing sword to sword before Big Jon barrelled into the man, sending them both sprawling. Two more charged, but Marden Karstark lopped the head off one and engaged the other in a melee, opening up the path to Ser Damon.

The Grand Captain was wearing his decorative armor and helm, covered in crystals. With him was Septon Alfyn, quite pale and close to pissing himself. It invigorated Jaehaerys. "For my kepa!" he cried and charged. A wounded Warrior's Son tried to stop him but Jaehaerys kicked him in the face - hard. It was just him and the two assassins, and he crossed the last feet of distance.

His blade flashed, blood spurting as he cut down Alfyn, who had been rooted to place in fear. Morrigen drew his own sword, just managing to parry Jae's blade. Fury filled him as he hacked and stabbed. A blow swiped just above Morrigen's helm, smashing the crystals and making him give ground. Jaehaerys grinned savagely. His kepa would be avenged…

Suddenly it felt as if his head were shoved back violently. Jae pitched backward, blood spurting while vision in his left side went dark.

And then the pain, a terrible pain. "Your Grace!" It sounded like Ser Marden. "Stretcher!"

"Morrigen! Alfyn!" he shouted in between his screams.

"Hold, hold it…" A snap like a twig, and now Jae was screaming even louder.

An arrow had hit his eye, and the tight pack of a makeshift bandage only made the agony worse. Jaehaerys barely heard the din of battle, barely able to hear anything above his own screams and shouts as he was carried off the field. No! No! I was so close! Only sky and the sun above… until the gatehouse of the Dragonpalace emerged into view from his right eye…

"My Prince!" shouted Brandon Snow, reaching the grimacing and snarling Jaehaerys. The blood was leaking from the improvised bandage, blazing down his cheek as he tried to blink it back furiously. Only one eyelid responded. "Get a maester, now!"

"His head! You have that cunt's head!"

Big Jon Hogg, slamming his chestplate with his fist, grunted. "Aye, I got it."

"Put it on a spike and show it over the gatehouse!" Jaehaerys' mind was spinning, the pain unbearable. "The attack… press the attack!" Jaehaerys shouted. "Where is Ser Marden?! Have him send in the reserves!"

"I'm here, your Grace." Ser Marden, visible through his good eye, reached down to take his hand. "We bloodied them but failed to break through, I'm sorry." A sigh. "The sortie failed."

Sucking in a breath, feeling the full force of the pain as the healers - women trained on Dragonstone - began to tend to him, his fist clenched. "Let it be known," he hissed. "Let me swear before the Old Gods that I shall take a thousand eyes of theirs for this one of mine!" Both Ser Marden and Lord Snow could only look at each other with worry as the healers guided the stretcher bearers towards the holdfast, another volley of arrows leaving the battlements. More men streaming through the gates to safety.