Chapter 67: The Dragons Dance Pt 2
There would be no glory here.
During the siege of Harrenhal, each attempt to storm the city being repelled had filled Viserys with pride. He had helped protect his family from the barbaric hordes of the Faith, ready to do to him what they did to his kepa and uncle Brandon. Yet seeing Arrax and Vermax tumble from the skies… Seeing Quicksilver assault Balerion while trying to escape the Black Dread's immense jaws or tongues of fire filled him with no joy. There was no pride at this, no glory.
Viserys would do what was necessary, grimly determined to carry out his task as Prince, but relish it he would not.
Rogar Baratheon could, Gargon Qoherys could. Aegon didn't, and neither would he.
While his thoughts were on him… "Has Lord Rogar called for the reserves to come up?"
He had been given command of the reserve force of Stormlanders - a mix of heavy cavalry and infantry totaling four thousand alongside a thousand Qoherys spearmen that hadn't advanced with Ser Gargon. Assigned as his second was Lord Caron of Nightsong, plenty experienced in command where Viserys wasn't. "He hasn't, but the line in the center is starting to give ground where Tessarion burned it."
The Blue Queen was ever noticeable, and had attacked with her flames the very portion of the point of contact where Lord Rogar had personally led the attack. "He could very well be dead. I think we should reinforce the line. At least with some of our infantry…" Viserys hesitated, looking back at Lord Caron for confirmation.
A nod. "Aye, that would be appropriate. Should I give the order, my Prince?"
"Lord Caron, go…" He was just about to give the order, when the sound of a galloping horse from behind drew his attention. "What the hells…?" Was it a dispatch rider…
"Viserys!" Gods, it wasn't a courier, it was Jeyne! She was dressed in threadbare trousers and a cloak but he'd recognize her beauty anywhere. Said beauty was contorted in terror and panic, practically leaping from the horse as she ran to him. "Viserys, I need to speak with you!"
"Jeyne!" he cried, shock turning to fear at her being there. "Get back to the keep! This is dangerous…"
"No! You have to listen!" she screeched, drawing attention from the knights and men at arms gathered as bodyguards around the Prince. "Please!"
He felt a tug in his heart at her clear worry, but couldn't she see he was worried for her as well. "If a stray arrow or dart hits you… you can't be here. You're not even wearing armor."
She screamed in frustration. "The Lannisters are going to attack you!"
Viserys was about to order someone to escort her back to Harrenhal, but her words stilled him. Made his eyes widen. "What?"
"The Lychesters are traitors, working for the Faith." She pointed frantically to the northwest, the one direction in which the area seemed completely calm in the entire plain before Harrenhal. Both the open ground and the forests several miles off that surrounded it. "Lord Tyrion led an army that's going to ambush you both!"
"Gods, woman…" He knew not how to process this. "I don't know what's causing you to panic…"
But she grabbed him, shaking him fiercely. "If you don't do something about it then all of you will die today!" Her eyes were wild, frenzied with a zealous determination to make him listen. "Listen to me!"
A thought popped in Viserys' mind. Something he hated thinking of and regretted immediately, but it wouldn't go away. His gut started to ache, thinking on it more. "How do you know this, Jeyne?"
Her panic changed. Before she would not hesitate to scream at him, but now she was… quiet. Shifting. Oh, gods, tell me she isn't… "I will be honest with you." Behind Viserys, Lord Caron also was listening. "I am of the Faith… a novice Septa by title, sent by Archsepton Barth."
Viserys wanted to faint, while Caron whistled. "Guards, seize this spy!"
They trotted forwarded and grabbed her, a tear forming in Jeyne's eye. Viserys supposed he should hate her, kill her even, but all that came out was a croak. "Why? Why?" He still hadn't processed this.
"To infiltrate the royal family."
"Were you supposed to… gods, was it all a lie?"
"I was supposed to, but it's not a lie. Not now, and certainly not about the attack." She grew frantic again. "I don't care if you kill me, I deserve it, but please heed my warning! They're coming!"
"Your Grace, Ser Gargon has fallen to the foe." Lord Caron frittered his head between observing the frontline and staring at him. "You need to order us forward to support the line before we buckle!"
She's a traitor, Viserys… she betrayed me, used me for information. Everything in his head and heart told him to spurn her, his rational thoughts and the raw passion of love soured from one who truly never loved him back. Didn't she never love him? Eyeing Jeyne once more, their eyes met… his soul chimed in, boring into hers through their locked gaze.
Why would she lie to you? Why would she approach you if she worked for the Faith?
He closed his eyes.
"Your Grace! Give the order!"
He opened his eyes, gazing once more at the forests to the northwest. Squinting and scanning the far-off treeline for… Was that movement? Viserys couldn't tell, but mayhaps his soul had already convinced his mind and heart to trust it. "Lord Caron, deploy knights in lines on the flank and a shield wall in the center! March to the hilltops two hundred yards northwest."
"Two hundred northwest…" His jaw dropped. "You can't believe this harlot…"
"There's movement to the northwest."
"There's no fucking movement northwest! She's lying to you, we need to…!"
He jabbed his finger towards the forest. "Look at the treeline!" Viserys' voice bellowed, sounding much like a dragon would. "There's fucking movement and you will form a shield wall on those hills!"
"Mi'Lord, we need to move!" called one of the dismounted men-at-arms. "The line is faltering!"
"Your Grace! We must advance!" The cry came from multiple lords, demanding action. "We must…!"
Lord Caron's cry silenced them. He had produced a spyglass, and his face had lost all its color. "Seven fucking hells…"
"You see it, don't you?" Viserys remarked bitterly. "How many?"
"Too many to count… they're advancing in compact columns…" He turned to the others. "We're being attacked on the flank by the Faith!"
Terror began to grip the reserve commanders. "But the scouts…"
"We've been betrayed!" Viserys shouted. "They're gonna try and roll us up, but we won't fucking let them!" He drew his sword, repeating his orders. "Deploy knights in lines on the flank and a shield wall in the center! March to the hilltops two hundred yards northwest!"
This time, the order was hurriedly carried out.
Heading to his horse, Viserys had just about climbed it but turned his head, looking back at Jeyne. "Let her go." The guards unhanded her. "We wouldn't have noticed them until it was too late… why did you warn me?"
Jeyne was silent, eyes closed and her beautiful lips pursed together before she revealed her lovely brown eyes. Offering him a saddened smile. "Because I fell in love with you, Viserys."
His heart clenched. "How can I believe you?"
"You do or you don't…" she shrugged. "But I am telling the truth. I love you."
Viserys didn't reply. Staring at her, a split second later he was kissing her - she kissing him like the most passionate of lovers… which was what they were.
Lingering, he finally pulled back, watching her eyes shift from adoration to worry. Mounting his horse, ready for battle, Viserys knew in that moment that she was telling the truth.
I will return to her. With a shout, the horse was off. "To arms, men! To arms!"
No… No… NO…! Tyrion was not a man prone to panic, and he wasn't panicking… Well, perhaps he was panicking slightly, not enough to distract him or lead him to rash decisions, but inside he did scream and rage at the reality unfolding before him upon the field.
Everything had been going to plan. Their attack was with complete surprise, the treachery of Prince Aegon's scouts working in the favor of the Faith. Both Tyrion and Doggett gave the orders to spread out their columns, elongating the line. This both the infantry and horsemen performed admirably. Again, no one opposed them. The line elongated further, sacrificing speed for strength of formation as they planned to envelop the two armies in a massive jaw and crushing all within…
But suddenly the line of Stormlanders and Qoherys bannermen on the far left of Aegon's line curved outward, facing the Faith. Thousands of horsemen and further thousands of infantry had repositioned themselves, some countercharging while others hunkered down in solid walls of pikes and shields. Had they been discovered?! So too did the Northmen, if a bit slower due to their later notice but this wasn't the spectacular clash of a flanking force against a completely unprepared enemy.
He panicked, but kept his wits about him. "Lannister horse, stay with me," he commanded, fifteen hundred elite knights personally under his command sticking behind in reserve. "All others, full attack! Horse at charge and infantry at double-quick march!" The signaller received the orders and blew the horn, issuing the command across the entire attacking line.
To their right, Doggett had given similar orders for the knights erupted into a charge, joined by the pike blocs of the Poor Fellows. Targaryen archers opened up but it barely held them back, marching inexorably forward. But the heavy cavalry were another story entirely. The mounted knights of the Stormlands, led by a Targaryen banner, crashed into the charging Warrior's Sons and the furthest pike bloc from the center. What had been a furious advance descended into a bloody brawl, everything in the balance.
Cursing, Tyrion turned to his own side. Annoyance turning to glee as he watched the Northmen in his way retreating in the face of the superior Westermen. "You poor fools," he laughed. "Time to finish what I started."
He didn't care. With no one in his way, Tyrion would butcher all the northmen and not stop until Winterfell was turned to ashes.
The horsemen hit the clashing lines of both the North and Aegon's supporters, rolling up the first few hundred men with their lances and maces. Not something Tyrion had planned for but he mentally commended Lord Crakehall for the excellent move. A perfect envelopment from the flank, now his infantry just needed to do the same from the rear.
Further and further did the Northmen retreat, the Westermen infantry and light horse pursuing. The penetration was deep, already reaching near a third behind the main northern line. Already the Lords leading his formations were peeling off to assault the rear of Maegor's banners, the Northmen and Rivermen forced to form a second line back to back with their first to protect themselves.
"Oh, I have you bastards," Tyrion breathed.
Too soon.
A roar broke through the clouds as the dark behemoth of the Black Dread descended. He was being chased by Quicksilver, but that didn't stop the tongue of flame from lancing down and immolating much of his infantry. Didn't destroy the line completely, but the force halted in place, cohesion destroyed alongside the hundreds of men killed instantly.
The fleeing northmen immediately turned around and charged to Tyrion's shock. Had this been planned or were they just this quick on their feet?
And above Balerion arced for another attack, even with Quicksilver hot on his heels. Fuck… "Where are those damned scorpions?!"
His hidden artillery took that moment to announce themselves. Seven bolts sailed out at the same time, shooting towards the Black Dread and Quicksilver. Four missed, while two hit Balerion in the side and Quicksilver in the shoulder. Both dragons screeched, banking away with blood falling towards the ground.
They winged off, but were still aloft. Nevertheless, they gave his men a wide berth. Finally, something going his way.
"Mi'Lord!" Tyrion looked up to see one of his mounted hedge knights galloping towards him. "The Princess Rhaenys… her and her brat were knocked down just about there!" He pointed to a stretch of open ground, and sure enough there were two shapes in the midst of the field - fallen dragons, if only wounded.
And approaching them were at least a hundred northern lancers.
Tyrion's lips curled in a savage smile. "Lance," he ordered his squire, to which one was produced. He held it aloft his head, showcasing the strength in his golden, youthful body. "With me, men!" he called to his knights. "We ride down the dragonwolves!" Their cheer filled him with pride, the best the Westerlands had to offer to secure the highest profile scalp of the war short of the King and Queen.
Mayhaps it was his destiny to end House Stark. A glorious destiny.
Arrax was out of the fight, and so was Vermax. Rhaenys cursed as she stroked the wounded dragon she loved as a child. Quicksilver hadn't crippled them, the one favor Aegon granted his aunt and cousin alongside their lives, but that didn't mean he wouldn't knock them out of threatening him. A double-edged sword, for the arrival of the Faith's Army had added a new equation to the mix.
Of course they would take the bait. They'd be fools not to… we should've scouted, we should've… They'd all assumed the rebel scouts would keep the Westerlands covered, but the pull of the Faith outlasted even House Tully's extinction. Westermen and Reach, the former assaulting the field the dragons had fallen in - undoubtedly to kill them.
But fate had spared her and her son, at least for the moment. A thousand Northern horsemen, House Karstark by their sigil, had arrived led by their warrior Lady. She rallied their banners… and had horses for the two of them. They could fight for the North, just as Rhaenys knew she had to.
The northern horse were not near as heavily armored. Their horses were free of armor, while they themselves wore only some plate, the majority being mail. It made them fast, and much better able to maneuver even on the charge, but against the Westermen heavy knights such was not as useful. Rhaenys heard Aegon order a shift to the flank, a few score on each side working to elongate the line to envelop the Westermen, but it was still too few, the Lannister effort to simply punch through them being something that could still destroy them.
But the Northmen were not to be deterred. They advanced at a full gallop and then a charge without fear. Without even a sound over the roar of the horses' hooves, instead a freezing, icy rage that burned cold at those that had butchered their friends and kin.
These were not illiterate smallfolk. These were the nobility. The highborn sons and wealthy landed or household knights. And in the center was the Lord of Casterly Rock's personal sigil.
There would be no mercy, and no mercy was expected.
Sword in hand, Rhaenys hung back in the second line - ready to kill anyone that blazed past. For a dragonrider it was not the same rush to be mounted atop a steed, but thrilling nonetheless. Feeling every jolt of the ground, bucking up and down, only the feet nestled in the stirrup keeping you from pitching up and away to crash onto the ground. Closer the Westermen drew… and closer… and closer still…
Both frontlines crashed together, lances smashing into horse and armor freely in a massive shearing of metal and splattering of blood, flesh, and hide. Animals screamed, men screamed, whole limbs torn off or broken bodies thrown to the ground. Some were lucky and got their heads ripped off. Horses collided and what seemed a gallant match of horsemen turned into a bloody brawl.
Enough Lannister horse got through for Rhaenys to get to work. Screaming her lungs out in a battlecry, she swung her sword at the dazed lancers, some fresh-faced after a victory with the Northmen they had clashed with. The first suffered from his respite, Rhaenys' blade hacking his head off.
Another dropped his broken lance but was too slow to draw his sword, Rhaenys slashing across his chest. The third did draw a sword and slashed at her, but Rhaenys parried and drove it through his neck, a bloody, painful kill that sprayed her with blood. She spat out the sticky liquid, looking as fierce and savage as the wolf of her adopted house. "Winter is Here!" she screeched, the others picking up on the cry as they hurled themselves and their mounts at the hated foe with wild abandon.
Ahead was the golden banner. The lion himself, the butcherer of her husband. Rhaenys narrowed his eyes, wishing beyond everything that she were on Arrax and could simply roast him alive. This would have to do. With a whistle, she squeezed her legs and guided the horse into a canter, hoping he wouldn't spot her.
Finishing off another northman, unfortunately he did and sent his own stallion into a gallop at her, lance intact and smeared with blood and gore. Galloping herself, the horses passed and his lance hit her first. A glancing blow but one that sent Rhaenys toppling to the ground.
Wind knocked out of her, she coughed and hacked out her lungs, feeling her stomach seizing up in pain. "You call yourself a dragon," she heard, the lion laughing at her. "Pathetic." He had dropped the lance to the ground, drawing his sword. It was Ice of all things. Dismounting, Tyrion towered over her. "I'll be sure to send your head back to Winterfell… on a pike carried before my armies."
She steeled herself for her fate. Brandon, we'll be together soon.
"No!" Eyes shifting, they widened in horror as a dismounted Aegon swung at Tyrion. Saving her life. The swing missed. Ice didn't, thrusting deep into Aegon's chest.
"Aegon!" The life in her son's eyes quickly faded - the Lord of Winterfell having traded his life for hers. A trade she would never have made.
Tyrion laughed. "Both Starks in the span of a minute. The gods bless me."
No sooner had he said those words did a roar boom over the field. Sweeping over the landscape with a gout of fire bursting from her maw, Tessarion reached Tyrion and soon he was covered in flame. His arrogant boasts turning into screams of agony as he flailed about, dropping Ice gods knew where while running, face and upper body ignited. He threw off his armor, but that didn't save his face.
Pushing herself up with her arms, Rhaenys' legs wobbled as she rose to her feet. She took one step forward and then two before her gait firmed. Eyes narrowing, Tyrion's screams were all she allowed herself to hear as the rest of the battle raged around her. Red coating her vision, rage boiling in her blood and throbbing in her head worse than the bruises and cuts burning across her body.
"Help me!" screamed Tyrion, his voice so high and shrill that it was more akin to a terrified woman. "Someone help me!" He thrashed about in pain, trying to clutch his face only to pull away, skin sloughing off from the agony of the burns.
Rhaenys used the screams as a beacon, trudging forward in a half-step, half limp. She looked down, seeing a gash in her left calf visible through her torn dress and trousers weighing her down, but she didn't care. Only the monster that killed her son and husband drew her notice.
It was only when she drew close did she realize she was unarmed. Frowning, she seemed in slow motion as she looked around, time slowing to a crawl. Her mind zeroed in on something. Tyrion's golden armor, searing hot from the flames and jagged from her lance where it had torn through. Rhaenys reached down and pulled hard, tugging off a large, sharp sliver. Heat would've seared off any other hand, but the unburnt held it as if it were a stick.
She towered over Tyrion, the burned, deformed monster finally looking like what he was on the inside. Golden good looks gone and leaving nothing but a charred, blackened skull. Two impossibly white eyes found her. "Please," he croaked. "Don't kill me… please…"
Rage and heat surged through her. "Fire…" She raised the sliver of golden armor as an impromptu dagger. "And blood…"
"Nooo…" He continued to scream through his damaged maw, Rhaenys jabbing the sliver deep into his eye. Raising her foot, she jabbed it, forcing the sliver through the skull with a powerful stomp.
The screams ceased.
Tyrion was dead.
Brandon and Aegon avenged.
Why did it feel so hollow?
Rhaenys collapsed onto the ground, silent as the last clashes were fought around her. The woman ignored for the longest time until a rumbling thump shook the ground. "Muna!" It was Saera. "Are you alright?"
"Gods, Princess." Gelina. "The fight's over. We fucked em'... Princess?" Her gentle hand cupped her chin, drawing her stare towards both Gelina and Saera.
Seeing them both… her resolve broke. Rhaenys started sobbing, even as her lover and daughter embraced her tightly…
"Dracarys!"
At the command, Balerion opened his maw and unleashed a stream of flame upon the flood plains on which Harren the Black had constructed his grand keep. Grass and shrubbery simply disappeared into a vast inferno, while the rows of Westermen and Faith Militant currently advancing at the ranks of Northmen and Stormlanders fighting like dogs to hold the ground from this unexpected assault were engulfed by the blaze. Some screaming, most incinerated within a mere second.
Astride Balerion, affixed in place by the massive saddle, Maegor felt the heat blow back at him. It was searing, hotter than a thousand suns and bathing the son of the Conquerors in the sweet embrace of the flames. He was a dragon, just like his kepa and muna, like his wife and child - the heat was his home, his very blood and flesh. He embraced it as her own, urging Balerion to continue his attack run until his maw was empty.
A roar from above changed everything.
The silver dragon came shooting down from the clouds, its wings folded close to its body in a furious dive. Near whistling from the speed as it crashed into Balerion's hip, making the Black Dread roar from the shock of it all. Quicksilver was far smaller, but he made up for it in sheer frenzy as his talon's sank home, scales cracking and deep gouges spurting boiling blood over the landscape.
Roars turned into shrieks of agony for the Black Dread, feelings of fear and pain that tore into Maegor's mind as well. "Up!" he screamed, fighting through the pain in his mind. "Up!" Balerion writhed violently, beating his massive wings and finally hurling Quicksilver off his back. Again he beat his wings, halting in the air in spite of his bulk and then beginning a steady climb skywards. The ground below growing smaller and smaller with every yard of altitude he gained.
Flapping fast, the dragon lurched higher and higher, but his speed was slowing. 'Brother… I can't hold it much longer…'
"Come on!" Maegor cried. "Hurry brother, hurry!" But it was for naught. While powerful and built to endure long flights, the days of being swift and sleek were behind Balerion. His bulk had become a disadvantage, making him slower and more ponderous. The only creature left alive to have lived in Valyria before the Doom, he had slowed as he aged, wingtips stretching and muscles burning as he tried to meet the challenge. Gods, Quicksilver had been sired off his clutch with Meraxes. Maegor wanted to escape his nephew… his son before the latter could harm Balerion.
Before he could kill Maegor as he was trying.
Maegor would spare his son that indignity. Of being a kinslayer.
He would not kill his own son either.
Shooting past one of the thick, fluffy clouds, Balerion finally reached a halt. Wings resting as he found an air current and glided upon it. Maegor narrowed his eyes in the glint of the sun and looked around. The wind whipped at his hair and beard, making his skin prick and itch. "Son," he murmured. "Where are you?"
A flash of silver drew his attention. Quicksilver shot out of the clouds several hundred yards ahead of Balerion, the swift dragon performing aerial acrobatics that the Black Dread couldn't match. He roared a challenge and Balerion bellowed his defiance in return.
This time they were ready. "Time to end this, brother," he told Balerion. "Do not hurt them."
'I know… I know." Wingbeats keeping him stationary in the air, as soon as Quicksilver got close in the same manner as before, Balerion sprung his trap.
Out swiped his tail, which hit Quicksilver. A glancing blow, but Balerion was massive and it still stunned the smaller dragon. With a roar, he pitched in a dive back to earth. Quicksilver recovered and in spite of the hold Balerion had on him the two of them came came together with the snapping of teeth and raking of claws. Quicksilver's fangs sought out Balerion's neck while the other dug his talons around the other's exposed belly. Crushing but not breaking the scales - Quicksilver had no such compunctions, again gauging out what he could along the black flank and the brittle scales.
Fire shot everywhere.
Burning blood fell like rain.
"You stole my father's legacy from him!" Maegor heard Aegon scream, hanging onto Quicksilver for dear life. He couldn't reply, but the accusation made his heart hurt. How his son hated him.
He blamed Rogar Baratheon and Lucas Harroway - not Aegon or even Alyssa. She was manipulated too.
Which made it all the more tragic that all of this had happened.
The earth bloomed large below them, getting larger and larger while each second passed. This time the tables had turned. Quicksilver was weakening, each attack was growing less intense. Each clash he came off worse and worse. More fatigued. Balerion, on instinct, kept beating his wings further and further. The force nearly making Maegor black out, but the effect undoubtedly hurting his son and dragon worse. The men scrambling on Harrenhal's battlements grew visible. "Halt, brother!"
Roaring, Balerion spread his wings and it was like a sharp tug on a rope halted the entire dive. Balerion groaned in the air while Quicksilver did much the same… it was not enough, and the dragon crashed with a shriek into one of the large battlements. Not far behind, Balerion tried to ascend back into the air but the force of the dive was too much. When he crashed into the wall, the massive bulk of the Black Dread simply collapsed it. Maegor, seeing no choice, leapt from his back - aiming for the part of the wall left undamaged.
Fuck, his joints hurt as he landed with both feet flat on it. His feet gave way and he fell forward, everything in his body aching from the fall. It wasn't near as excruciating as during the trial by seven, but he still rolled over in agony. Balerion hooted in distress, but was shifting. Rising up with a rumble going through the walls. Slowly pushing himself up and rising to his feet. Dust obscured much in front of him, but he could still see a figure approaching.
It was Aegon… he looked more banged up than Maegor did… "Aegon!" he cried, rushing to him.
A sword moved in his direction, but it slipped from the staggering young man's hand. "Uncle…" he said, dazed. Legs buckling and falling into Maegor's arms… "Rhaena… is she…?"
"She's alright, Egg. She's alright."
"She… she wanted you to be King, didn't she…?" He swallowed… "I'm sorry…"
Suddenly, out of nowhere, an arrow slammed into his chest. A crossbow bolt, perhaps, Maegor couldn't tell. "Egg!" Blood coughed out his lungs, but no words came out. A mortal wound. His eyes frittered to the outside. A Lannister force, marching for the walls. "Dracarys!" he all but screamed, Balerion immediately following with a gout of flame. Immolating all that stood before him.
That threatened the dragonriders.
All Maegor could do was close the lids on his fallen son. "I love you, boy," he murmured, allowing the truth to come out. "I love you, my child."
Never would he hear Aegon's reply until they met again in the afterlife.
A small window had provided her the only sanity for hours.
Or was it her greatest curse?
Alyssa didn't think she could ever answer that, even when she was on her deathbed in the future. The agony of not knowing what was going on as the sounds of battle raged around her or the small glimpse of the action outside that… cued her in on her kin hurling themselves at each other. Attacking each other. Killing each other…
Before, she'd just screamed at the gods for why Maegor didn't just give up his crown for the sake of peace.
Now, knowing what she knew, she simply screamed at herself for being so easily manipulated. That she never would've allowed Aegon to go down this path had it not been for…
But did Rogar Baratheon truly convince her to betray her daughter? Or had he just offered the opportunity that she'd been searching after for years, to get back at Maegor? For stealing her daughter… for stealing her own innocence.
If Rhaena was anything like her mother, then she fell for Maegor willingly. The clarity of it all allowed her to see that. It was just so inexplicable, that she had run into Rogar's brothers stupidly mouthing off about plans that Rogar himself had kept so close to the chest… mayhaps Alyssa saw everything clearly for the first time in her life.
And bearing witness to the battle outside just made it all the worse. Alyssa had seen Quicksilver go after Arrax and Vermax, the two dragons of the North vanquished… thank the gods that Alyssa had seen them flap their wings down - they struggled but they were alive. That wouldn't be the case if Balerion got his jaws on Quicksilver and Aegon. Alyssa knew that Maegor would refrain from attacking Aegon… their son…
Oh gods, father against son… Alyssa had spent decades denying it, living in denial, but the truth was the truth. Sister against brother, father against son, she'd instigated this.
That the Faith suddenly emerged and attacked only made the situation worse.
She tore herself away from the window, kneeling before the crackling hearth. She'd forgotten much of the various Valyrian religious rites that her father taught her long ago, but in this moment they came back to her. Alyssa beseeched the gods to spare her children, to spare the realm. To take her instead if it meant mercy to the others.
Sometimes the gods were fickle… and sent mixed signals.
Time had passed, she knew not how much, before the entire keep shook. Roars became utter shrieks of pain that echoed through the walls. The door was thrown open, a Qoherys guardsman peeking inside. "We need to all leave, now!"
"What, why?" Alyssa was elated that she was freed, but otherwise…
"Balerion and Quicksilver have crashed against the walls, the castle might be sacked, you need to leave now!"
Oh gods… "The King?"
"I don't know! Come on!" He pressed a dagger into her hands and yanked her along.
Minutes later she had lost him in the panic. Everyone was running every which ways, Alyssa only able to catch snippets. Aegon Stark dead. Tyrion Lannister dead. The Faith having been rolled up after heavy casualties.
It was the next fact that utterly shattered her. Aegon Targaryen dead - hit by a Lannister crossbow, a lucky shot. She lost all her will, wandering aimlessly, ignored by the panicking others.
Until she heard a voice close by the stables. "Find me a horse, boy!" Rogar. She saw him berating a young stableboy, his armor covered in soot and his left arm burned - not severely, but enough to make the skin red and bleeding.
"Mi'Lord, the keep is on fire, we…"
"Just get me a fucking horse!" Rogar snarled, slapping the boy on the face. He fell to the ground, but quickly scrambled and raced back into the stable. Balerion took that moment to roar, the dragon having mounted the battlements. Gods, even Alyssa in the state she was in flinched, falling behind a decorative hedge. The Lord of Storm's End - her husband - collapsed flat behind the walls of the barn, still standing. "Motherfucker… motherfucker…" Even in the clear pain the burns on his arm were giving him, he looked white as a sheet. "He's not going to have me… no, that cunt is not going to feed me to that monster." Alyssa poked her head up and saw him gritting through the pain, removing his armor and tossing it into a pile of horse dung.
Leaving him just another muscular Baratheon guardsman rather than the Lord Paramount he was. Allowing him to slip out as a common deserter, not worthy of chasing.
Damned if she would let that happen.
Alyssa emerged from behind the hedge, no longer trying to hide herself in any manner. Still, as he cursed and muttered his displeasure at how long the stablehand was taking, Rogar didn't notice till she cleared her throat. He looked up. "Alyssa!"
She smiled sadly at him. "Hello husband." Her eyes raked over his state of ill dress. "I see that you lost."
A shrug. "Faith attacked, turned everything into a mess."
"My son is dead."
"I'm sorry to hear that." He gestured to the stable. "I can find a horse for you. We can flee Maegor's wrath…"
"Maegor didn't kill him, the Faith did… though it was you that organized all of this." She pulled the dagger from the folds of her dress, brandishing it as it glinted in the sun. "Just like you killed your grandfather and father."
Rogar's jaw opened and closed, a hundred different emotions crossing his face until one of annoyed indifference filled it. His facade having crumbled. "Which one told you… fuck it, it doesn't matter. All of them are idiots."
"Your brothers are idiots, I agree." Alyssa took a step forward. "Better to be stupid than evil."
"Evil is subjective, so I disagree." He snorted. "What do you want then? An annulment. I won't give you one."
"Why me, Rogar, why me?"
Rogar laughed. "Besides how beautiful you are?" He openly leered her, and unlike before, it made her stomach churn. There was no comparison with his lecherous stare and Maegor's loving, desiring one. She saw that now. Mayhaps Rogar was right, better to be evil than stupid. "You were so easy to seduce, how you pined over that piece of shit."
"He's a better man than you."
"Hardly… just as cruel, just as strong, but weak with sentimentality. Could've had it all had he embraced his nature… or perhaps he'd have gone too far and destroyed himself - who knows?"
She stepped forward, closing the distance. "I won't let you escape."
"And I won't let you leave me. Seems we're at an impasse."
"Aye, we are." Alyssa charged at him, knife brandished. Rogar shoved it aside and slapped her. Just like the boy she fell to the ground, crying in pain. Rogar was on her. "Get off."
"You're mine, Alyssa. You chose me." He ripped her dress. "And as your husband I won't let you back out of it."
Alyssa smirked. "Better evil than stupid then…" He hadn't noticed she had a second knife in the folds of her dress until it had been buried in his belly. Rogar grunted and rolled off her, only then the pain registering. Blood oozed out of his belly, hands trying to staunch it. Allowed Alyssa to rise to her knees. "For my son, who you sent to be killed." He didn't even get the chance to speak before she plunged the dagger into his neck. Watching the blood spurting out from the mortal wound.
Now, it was truly over.
Falling on her back, Alyssa felt the tears form. Here it was that Maegor found her, sobbing uncontrollably beside Rogar's body, but not at all over him.
When he embraced her, she only cried harder. Not attempting to fight it.