Prologue
The biting chill of salt water against his hand was the first indication that he might not actually be dead. Intense pain proved the second. Everything hurt. Instinctively, he opened his mouth to cry out and instead was rewarded with a sharp stabbing in his torso, choking off his scream into a strangled whimper. He didn't move for a few minutes afterward, letting the dull roar of waves lull his senses until his pain regressed to a deep ache.
He didn't remember his first death being so painful. The brief shock and fear of it had really let him skip over the uncomfortable bits. A few seconds of chest pain and troubled breathing before the sudden brain anoxia metaphorically cut the lights. Probably a massive pulmonary embolism or so he thought. Not that he'd truly been able to hang around and find out.
This, on the other hand, was what he imagined it felt like to be tackled by a knight in full plate wearing nothing but his undergarments. Or having a draft horse stamp on his chest.
The sand underneath him shook from a sudden impact, and he could feel his already abused bones protest at the unexpected rattling. A beat of silence, and then a torrent of humid air washed over his features, assaulting him with the taste of copper and rot.
Two lilac eyes cracked open, and Maelys was greeted by the sight of a maw large enough to swallow a calf. Fresh blood ebbed down razor sharp teeth, and above them, pale orbs larger than Maelys' fists peered down at him. A piercing trill rang out from the wyrm's throat.
"So was my landing as graceful as yours?" the valyrian prince asked. Grey scales rippled as his mount snorted.
Cheeky prick.
"Yeah, well I wouldn't have had to improvise if you hadn't dropped me." This elicited an indignant huff and then a nudge against his battered ribs, leaving him hissing in pain. He'd probably deserved that. Twin gashes ran along Ghostfyre's snout and another crested over the dragon's left foreleg, giving Maelys the impression his companion had only gotten off marginally better.
A shaky hand found purchase along the massive jaw and used the dragon's own momentum to pull himself into a sitting position. The movement made Maelys' head swim, and he took a moment to steady himself before taking in his surroundings.
The sun hung low in the sky, giving the water and beach a sense of tranquility which contrasted sharply with the nearby violence. Black plumes lazily snaked their way up from Duskendale in the distance. Occasionally, the din of the sack would break its way through the sound of crashing waves. Through the smoke, the Dun Fort could be seen looming over the burning town like a specter. Where the setting sun's light might have once given a healthy glow to the grey stone now only served to accentuate the massive scar running down the southern drum tower. The occasional slab still gave way and tumbled down to the growing pile of debris below the crumbling structure. From the precipice, a massive, garnet wing could be seen flitting gently in the evening breeze like a tattered banner. Beyond the shorn wing, Maelys couldn't see any other pieces of the red dragon, much less its impromptu rider.
Good riddance, he thought. The quiet brat had royally fucked up their plans, and now Duskendale was paying for it by resisting what would have been an otherwise efficient and relatively painless assault.
The occasional flash of gold weaving between pillars of smoke was all the confirmation he needed regarding his twin's fate. Each pass above the burning town elicited cheers from the soldiers below. Maelys doubted there was much fighting left to be done at this point not that he could judge Aegon for his victory laps. Men drew courage from a king leading at the front.
Despite her great mass, the prince saw no sign of Vhagar on the horizon, meaning his younger brother had likely pursued those who had tried to flee via horseback. The one-eyed prince's ruthless manner was well known, but there was an efficiency to his methods even his greatest detractors had to admit. Maelys gave a silent prayer of thanks that his wife wasn't present. Helaena would have been horrified by the death and destruction.
The sound of gurgling finally broke Maelys from his trance. A quiet growl emanated from Ghostfyre's chest, and the prince followed his dragon's gaze southward along the coast. There, in a crumpled heap of cloth and limbs lay his cousin.
Ah. He should probably do something about that. She was the reason he was here - unconscious on a beach that was.
With protesting limbs, he rose to his feet, using his mount as a crutch to hobble forward. He could see the uneven chest rise as he got closer. Silver hair, matted with blood and sand. With the same grace as Aegon after a night on the Street of Silk, he sank to the ground next to her. A single eye cracked open accented by bloodshot sclera and found his face, the other a ruined mess. A crimson-tinged, viscous humor still oozed slowly from the wound. His younger brother would probably have found some morbid pleasure in the irony.
The sound of tearing flesh erupted behind him, and Maelys figured his dragon had lost interest in the dying girl and had sought out Moondancer's corpse for a celebratory snack. Ghostfyre preferred the taste of fish to that of most land mammals and probably glutted himself solely on the principle of devouring those who had dared to attack her. Not that his rider's temperament was much different.
Dragging a leg over Baela's supine form, the prince pulled himself into a straddling position. A shaky hiss escaped her lips as his weight settled on her abdomen. He took a moment to examine her, noting the shared cheekbones and jawline between Baela and her father. He could feel her inhale sharply beneath him, and a sick bubbling appeared within the gash below her left collarbone. She wouldn't last long with a compromised chest wall, he noted.
"I suppose in a way I should thank you," the battered prince began. His hand trailed up to her pale neck, feeling her flinch beneath his touch. "Sure, you turned Meleys into an active threat again - a temporary one at that, but in a way you gave some credibility to my own plans."
And truly she had. Otto had forbidden anyone from harming the Queen that Never Was, arguing her eventual support would lend them credibility once Baela and Rhaena were secured as hostages. After springing Meleys from the dragonpit and attacking their host at Duskendale, Rhaenys would never support those responsible for the deaths of her grandchildren. An outcome which, incidentally, gave Maelys the opportunity to dispose of the aged princess upon his return to the capital without much backlash.
He'd also have to send the go ahead to the silent five on Driftmark, but that was a later issue.
"You should have stayed on Dragonstone," he rasped as he began to apply pressure. "Helaena asked us to spare you if we could. To find you loyal lords to wed if you bent the knee." A mangled, trembling hand tried to make its way towards his face. Maelys very carefully grasped it in his left while tightening pressure with his right.
"But you and I both know that you'd never bend after we put Daemon in the ground," he said, visage darkening. Her whole body shook now, fighting against him. A litany of emotions flickered over her features. Rage was easy enough to recognize. As was fear. Her single eye stole a glance towards the ruined keep, and the dragon spattered against it.
He followed her gaze and chuckled without humor. "Maybe Rhaena would have," he conceded as the girl began to convulse beneath him. "But I reckon she's basically paint against the parapets at this point."
Maelys could admire the bookish girl's quiet courage but little else. Fighting against three adult dragons on her first flight? Absolute nonsense. Rhaena probably hadn't meant to outstrip her sister on the trip northward, but lack of Moondancer's support had cost her dearly. Meleys had been a vicious opponent for sure, but she wasn't so swift as Ghostfyre nor nearly so large as Vhagar. With Sunfyre to play bait, it had taken little effort to compromise his opponent's wings from behind long enough for Vhagar to make contact.
As for Baela and Moondancer? Catching up to the fleeing pair had been left to Maelys while his brothers dealt with the sack. A brief exchange, and the poor girl was suddenly riding a headless mount.
It was simply poor luck that a jet of dragonflame had burnt some of Ghostfyre's harness. At least the thing hadn't given out until they had nearly landed lest the prince end up like his dear cousin.
Tearing his focus away from the sack, his violet eyes bore into her single one. Tears flowed freely from it. "To tell you the truth, I don't give a shit who sits on that damned throne," he rasped, now using both hands to aid in his labor, "but your father pursues it like a man possessed, and he thinks my sons are in the way." Blood welled at her lips as the last dregs of life worked their way out of her body.
Maelys leaned into his hold, squeezing with all of his strength now. Baela's remaining eye swelled like an overripe fruit. "I will never allow Daemon fucking Targaryen to threaten them again." And then she broke.