A/N: This is it ladies and gents. We've made it. Its been wonderful reading all of the comments and reactions to the story so far; its nice to know that there are people all over the world invested in this story. After you've read it, let us know what you think! While this is by no means the end of this tale, it is certainly its most climactic moment yet. The Dragons will truly dance in this chapter, and the world will tremble. Without further ado...
Tumbleton
Gaemon
Initially, nothing about the morning seemed out of place. Gaemon had risen from his bed, shaking his weary form awake, before gazing out from the narrow windows of the Lord's chamber at the yard below, watching the servants scurry about fulfilling their first tasks for the day. He felt particularly strong sympathy for a lad who was struggling to carry a full chamberpot out of the castle, holding it gingerly to avoid any spills. That was me, less than a year ago.
Opening the trunk at the base of his bed, he went about donning his riding leathers, preparing himself mentally for another day of searching the lands watered by the Red Fork for any sign of the Kinslayer. Frustratingly, despite riding the oldest and largest of the dragons, Aemond had proven to be an elusive enemy. In this past week or so, he's shown a remarkable degree of restraint. When they had departed, Gaemon and Maegor had been informed that Aemond's was a brash, cruel, and headstrong personality. It seemed the war had calmed him, or at the very least impressed upon him the value of patience. That still does not explain his ability to seemingly know of our movements the moment we make them. Each day, they had ranged further from Pinkmaiden, their searches taking them further and further north. Riverrun's obstinate insistence on neutrality was also proving troublesome, as they were forced to steer clear of Riverrun and its associated lands. For all we know, the Tullys could be hiding Aemond. Sooner or later, they planned on paying Lord Grover Tully a visit, and impressing upon him the value of cooperation.
As he finished dressing for the day, he turned to Maegor, who'd done the same. The fellow seed had finally taken Gaemon's advice the last several nights, asking Pinkmaiden's maester for a dram of milk of the poppy before bed each night to ease him into a calm, dreamless slumber. Since doing so, his dreams had ceased tormenting him, and he was finally beginning to show signs of being well-rested again. They made their way to the chamber's door, and Gaemon simulated an overexaggerated courtier's bow, allowing Maegor to exit the chamber first with the words: "after you, m'lord."
They descended the winding stairs of the tower into the great hall quickly, finding Lord Stanton and his sisters breaking their fast. As they entered the hall, the Piper siblings stood in unison, allowing the seeds to take their seats before they returned to theirs. Melony, or 'Mel' as she insisted Gaemon call her, was in good spirits. As a servant hurried over to offer him a bowl of honeyed porridge and a freshly baked apple tart, she began to speak.
"Gaemon, you won't believe me, but last night I had the most fantastical of dreams. I dreamt that you returned this evening with news that you vanquished the Kinslayer. You presented me with the sapphire he wore in place of his lost eye, insisting that I wear it as a token of your gratitude." She giggled, and Gaemon couldn't help but smile. "It was ever so ghoulish, but I couldn't refuse you, so I began searching for a goldsmith. I was ever so disappointed to wake up!" She paused, grinning. Placing her hand on his, she continued: "I must know, do you think a sapphire would compliment my features? And should I have it set in gold, or silver?"
Gaemon chuckled. Her tenacity is to be respected, even though she herself knows it is a futile endeavor. "I think we ought to pose that question to Aemond, as ultimately he has a bit more at stake in the matter."
Melony pursed her lips. "Aemond is a cruel sort. He'd never be so charitable as to donate a bauble to enhance a woman's beauty."
Gaemon sighed sarcastically. "Truly, his selfishness knows no bounds."
Before their banter could continue, the bells of Pinkmaiden's sept began to clang frantically. A few moments later, an older man, clad in mail and leathers, burst into the hall.
"Dragon m'lord! Approaching from the East. One o' the lads spotted it a few moments ago.
Gaemon felt a cold chill in his stomach. Acting out of instinct, he sprang up from his seat and ran across the hall. We should have never left such an easily exploitable opening in our defenses. All is lost if I cannot reach the Cannibal in time. To his right he saw Maegor sprinting for the doors of the hall. Both of their dragons roosted on the hillside right outside of the castle walls, but given how quickly a dragon flew, they'd likely never reach them in time. As they entered the courtyard, a dragon's screech split the early morning air. He could feel the air in the courtyard buffet him from the beat of the dragon's wings. He turned to face the dragon, intending to die with a curse on his lips, before feeling his fear replaced by confusion. One hundred feet above him, gently flapping its wings to remain aloft, was a pale silver-grey dragon, instead of a monstrous green beast. I should have inquired about the dragon's color. Gaemon began to laugh.
It had not taken long for Seasmoke and it's rider to land outside the castle walls. Both the Grey Ghost and the Cannibal seemed to be ambivalent towards it; while not overtly hostile it was clear that they had not had many interactions with the silver-grey beast previously. The three dragons stared at one another somewhat cautiously as their three riders conversed. Addam Velaryon, clad in his silver and sea-green, greeted them somberly after he had dismounted. He did not take long to get to the point.
"Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer have forsaken the Queen's cause. Instead of defending Tumbleton and its loyal lord, they put it to the torch and allowed the Greens to put it to the sack. Her Grace has ordered me to retrieve the both of you, so that we might bring Fire and Blood to the betrayers before they can properly menace King's Landing."
Gaemon was stunned, and glancing at Maegor, could see that he felt the same. Ulf and Hugh were arseholes, to be sure, but betrayal? Have they gone mad? A chill ran down his spine. So that's what they meant when they spoke with us within the Dragonpit. The more he thought about it, the less surprising their actions were. Would that I had known what they were planning then. I cannot change the past, but I can make sure that this is their last crime. He clenched his fist. He knew what they had to do.
A few moments later, the three seeds found themselves in Pinkmaiden's hall. A table had been moved to the center of the room, and the maester had spread a map of the Seven Kingdoms before them, apologizing that it was "a bit outdated, surveyed in the reign of the Old King."
Assuring the maester it was no trouble, he turned to the map. Tumbleton itself was a few hundred leagues from Pinkmaiden, resting along the headwaters of the Mander. A mere fifty or so leagues from the capital. It took us hours to fly from King's Landing to Pinkmaiden. We must needs depart soon, time will be of the essence.
Clearing his throat, he spoke up. "As we all can see, we will need to depart as soon as possible in order to reach our target within a day's time. The enemy possesses three dragons, two of which are of much greater size and strength than either the Grey Ghost or Seasmoke. We have two advantages: surprise, and our speed. We will need to make good use of both in order to overcome our foes."
Pausing, he worked out the details in his head. "This is what I propose: We will depart immediately, following the Blackwater Rush until we reach the bridge where the Goldroad crosses it. Afterwards, we will turn due south. If we follow this correctly, we ought to be positioning ourselves to arrive over Tumbleton in the early morning hours, perhaps ideally during the hour of the nightingale. When we are close, the Hightower army's campfires will light our approach." He raised his gaze, looking from Addam, to Maegor. Purple and Blue eyes gazed back, hardened with resolve.
"We will bring Fire and Blood to these animals, and give them a chance to reap what they've sown. We shall impress upon them the terror of a dragon's ire." The other two seeds nodded. "The army of the Hightowers is nothing without their dragons. Our attack will force our true enemies to take to the skies, where, luck willing, we will slay them."
Maegor leaned over, studying the map one final time, before meeting his gaze. "I have one favor to ask of you, Gaemon."
Raising an eyebrow, he nodded for him to continue.
"Leave the sot to me."
Gaemon nodded gravely, before smiling a cold, cruel smile. "I'd have expected nothing less."
Turning to Addam, he continued. "Your Seasmoke is a good deal older than Prince Daeron's Tessarion. Do whatever it takes to bring them down. In most circumstances, the Prince would make for an excellent hostage. In light of his recent actions, however, just kill the bastard."
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself for the final foe. "Hugh Hammer flies Vermithor, the Old King's own dragon. The Bronze Fury is easily the second largest living dragon. As the rider of the largest dragon available to us, I will be responsible for bringing the smith's bastard down." Running a hand through his hair, he smiled, willing his apprehension away. "It is time to see just how vicious of a bugger the Cannibal really is."
The other two seeds were silent, but they nodded their agreement to the plan. Turning to Lord Stanton and his sisters, who had stood in silence during the planning, Gaemon addressed them.
"Lord Stanton, while our stay has been sadly been cut short, I want to take the opportunity to thank you for your hospitality. I will make sure that her Grace the Queen is well-informed of the succor you provided. I will always count House Piper amongst my friends."
Lord Stanton smiled, and bowed. Turning to Lady Melony, he took her hand, placing a kiss upon it, before meeting her eyes.
"Lady Mel… I want to thank you for all you have done. You've made me feel truly welcome in your home, and taught me to appreciate the art of dancing. For that, you'll have my eternal gratitude. I hope our paths cross again." With a wink, he added: "besides, I'll still owe you that sapphire."
Smiling, Melony nodded, before planting a kiss on his cheek as quickly as lightning. She is good, he thought with a smile.
Maegor was the next to pay his respects, thanking Lord Stanton and the Lady Catelyn for their impeccable hosting. Planting a kiss on the Lady Catelyn's outstretched hand, he blushed as she returned the favor with a kiss on his cheek. Gaemon resisted the powerful urge to comment on his friend's embarrassment.
Addam thanked the Piper's for sharing their home briefly, and apologized for alarming them earlier. Turning, the three exited into the yard, and squires assisted them in donning their black plate. As the dark steel enveloped him, he was struck by the irony of the situation. The last time the Pipers hosted a claimant, it was the rightful heir Aegon, preparing to fight his uncle for his rights. Now, they are hosts to a second Maegor, fighting against a second Aegon. The gods do love their cruel ironies.
Buckling his sword belt to his waist, he took his dragon whip in hand, exiting the castle along with the others. Pulling his leather bag from around his neck, he withdrew Baela's lock of hair, giving it a kiss for good luck, before returning it safely to around his chest. The other seeds starred inquisitively, and Gaemon could have sworn he saw some sort of reaction in Addam's eyes.
Reaching the dragons, he cracked the whip for good measure, and the Cannibal's massive, coal black form stirred, uncoiling and gazing at him with eyes of wildfire. After the saddle was affixed, he climbed atop his mount, fastening his chains, before cracking the whip once more. The mass of rippling scale and muscle beneath him lurched forward, beating its great leathery wings several times before finally propelling itself aloft. As he gazed beneath him, the walls of Pinkmaiden swarmed with smallfolk, servants, and guards. On the battlements above the gate, Lord Stanton and his sisters grew smaller and smaller, waving goodbye.
They flew throughout the day, and into the night. As the sun fell, cold winds buffeted them. It seems the winds of winter have finally arrived. It proved easy enough to follow the Blackwater Rush as they had planned, and despite his initial concerns, they were able to find the great stone bridge that marked the next leg of their journey. Turning south, they flew over the vast fields of the northern Reach, as of yet largely unspoiled by war. Tiny villages and holdfasts flew by beneath them, their torchlight the only sign of human occupancy. Gaemon began to fear that they might have missed Tumbleton altogether, but as they flew further south, he began to smell smoke in the air. At first he thought he might've been imagining, but the smell grew more and more powerful as time went on. Soon, a sea of campfires became visible on the horizon, and with it, the smell of rotting corpses. Fighting the urge to gag, he steeled himself for the great test to come. As the smell grew stronger and more sickening, a thought crossed his mind: I have not exposed men to a dragon's flaming wroth since the Gullet, but I can think of no host so deserving of it.
As they flew over the sea of campfires, he could see a vast army asleep beneath him, completely unaware of their doom above them. What remained of Tumbleton still smoked beneath him, and in the fields beyond sat the great tents and pavilions of the Lords of the Reach, almost too many to count. Cracking his whip, he urged the Cannibal to roar. His mount did not disappoint. It's roar echoed across the stones of the ruined city and amidst the camps below. Gaemon tensed as the sound poured over him. For the Queen. For Baela. For Prince Jacaerys. For the people of Bitterbridge and Tumbleton. Fire and Blood.
The Cannibal's first great green gout of flame caught a row of tents along the Mander alight, it's heat so intense that those struck virtually evaporated. Several more rows of tents nearby caught alight simply due to their proximity to the blast. The shores of the Mander were soon awash in flames, the green pyres dancing in the night. Further afield, the Grey Ghost and Seasmoke bathed other portions of the camp in hellfire, and it wasn't long before shouts of surprise turned to screams of pain and terror below them. It was akin to the times he had poked an anthill as a child. In mere moments, hundreds of men streamed from their tents, some aflame, running this way and that in sheer panic. Despite the horror of the scene below him, and despite the sickening smells of burning flesh, Gaemon was at peace with his actions. This was long overdue. Again and again he brought the Cannibal swooping across the fields, feeling the intense heat wash over him each time he grew close to the surface, his dragon's flames immolating those beneath them.
The sun began to dawn on a Tumbleton once more awash in flame. The three seeds spared the city for two reasons: firstly, they wished to spare any surviving townspeople the horror of their flames, and secondly, they predicted that the betrayers would be within the city, and wished to draw them out. As he continued to burn the army beneath him, Gaemon gripped his whip tightly. Come on you bastards, you can't have been killed already! Come on, and FACE us! After he had destroyed another portion of the camp, setting some orange tents with three castles upon them alight, he got his answer.
From within the city, a massive roar split the skies, echoed quickly by another. From within Tumbleton's keep, two magnificent beasts took to the air, the morning sun glinting off of their bronze and silver scales. From amidst the fields, another roar sounded, and a young cobalt dragon lifted itself into the sky. Seasmoke and its rider cut a strafing run short, soaring to meet Tessarion. The silver-grey and cobalt dragons began to chase one another, blue and silver blasts of flame lighting up the morning sky. As they wheeled and danced amidst the clouds, Gaemon was taken aback by the beauty of the sight. It is as though they are dancing.
Shaking his head, he turned. Grey Ghost darted from amidst a group of clouds, roaring and sending a blast of roiling white flame at Silverwing. The much larger dragon screamed in protest before flying after its attacker. Good luck, Maegor. The Bronze Fury wheeled about above Tumbleton's citadel, gaining altitude, before turning and flying towards Gaemon and the Cannibal, roaring its challenge. The Cannibal's response was chilling. Instead of roaring a response, it simply hissed. From where he was perched, he could see his mount open its maw, baring its coal black fangs as smoke billowed out between them. It's eyes were more alight than he'd ever seen them. The two dragons crossed the distance between them quickly, and he braced himself for impact. Vermithor roared once more, its great bronze maw opening to release a searing jet of brass flames. The Cannibal rolled in the air, gracefully avoiding the majority of the blast, before twisting its form back as Vermithor gathered its breath for another. It would not get the opportunity, however, as the coal black dragon slammed headlong into the larger beast midair.
Both beasts struggled to remain aloft as they tore at one another, using their legs and wicked talons to try and gain purchase on the other. The sheer force of the impact rattled Gaemon, and were it not for his saddle chains he'd have plummeted to his death hundreds of feet below. From his vantage point, he could not see all that was happening, but he could hear the sounds of claws scraping while great scaled jaws snapped and hissed. Suddenly, Vermithor's great bronze head drew back, revealing that once more its brass flames welled within its maw. Given the proximity, the blast was likely to kill them both. As Vermithor inhaled, Gaemon closed his eyes, preparing himself. The end never came. Instead, he heard the sound of jaws snapping shut and a gurgling, draconic yelp.
Opening his eyes, he saw coal black jaws enclosed around a bronze neck. Vermithor struggled in the vice, its smoking blood pouring from the Cannibal's jaws. It scrabbled desperately with its claws and wings, and Gaemon narrowly avoided being crushed as one wing clawed along his mount's spiked back for purchase. His dragon twisted beneath him violently, its muscled form surging all at once. A ear splitting crack sounded, and Vermithor went still. Its powerful bronze form began to plummet towards the earth, its jaws hanging open limply while dark blood poured from its neck. Perched atop its back, Hugh Hammer cracked his whip about desperately, clearly unwilling to accept what had transpired. The fallen dragon grew more distant with each passing second, until it collided with the earth, sending a great cloud of dust and smoke swirling into the air. The Cannibal beat its wings powerfully, oblivious to its many wounds, as it gazed at its fallen foe. Its roar shattered the heavens.
Maegor
Though the sun was beginning to rise in the east, the camp burned brightly enough below to rival even sunlight in its intensity. Many of the pavilions and tents had become a twisting, churning inferno, burning with a sorcerous green, pearly white, or smoky silver color. It hadn't taken long for their true quarry to climb into the sky on dragonback. As bronze Vermithor and Silverwing took to the air from the ruined town of Tumbleton, a cobalt dragon took to the sky from within the midst of the burning camp.
Good, Maegor thought, I won't suffer any of these dragonriders escaping this fight. As Silverwing and Vermithor flew forth from Tumbleton, Maegor urged Grey Ghost further into the clouds above. As he and the Grey Ghost were enveloped by a cloud, Maegor suddenly saw naught but white, wispy mist. It was as though he were out on the waters off Dragonstone again on some early morn, catching fish. Maegor shivered within his armor. The early winter air was cold, and Maegor had found the air became cooler and thinner the further into the skies one soared.
Just as suddenly as he and the Grey Ghost had entered the cloud, they had broken free of it, and Maegor once again was greeted by the sight of a world awash in flame far below him. He was flying at a height above Silverwing, as he had hoped. Turning the Grey Ghost in the direction of the Sot's dragon, Maegor urged it to dive straight down at the dragon. As it did, the Grey Ghost unleashed a jet of its blisteringly-hot pearl white flame at Silverwing.
Though Ulf and his mount were surprised by Maegor's sudden attack, they were largely able to avoid the flame. To do so, however, Silverwing had to violently jerk to the side as it flew, causing it to shriek loudly in rage. In that moment, Maegor was so close to the other dragon and its rider that he could see Ulf perched atop its back, wearing bits and pieces of his black steel plate. I'd wager that he shambled out of some drunken stupor to take flight.
The Sot was missing much of his armor, including his helm. The instant in which Maegor saw Ulf atop Silverwing seemed to drag on for a lifetime. The other seed's hazel eyes glared hatefully at Maegor, as he raised and cracked his whip about Silverwing's head. The feeling is mutual, you wine-soaked traitor. One of us will be dead before the morning is done, and I certainly don't intend for it to be me.
The Grey Ghost gracefully twisted and turned clear of a blast of flame that Silverwing sent at it, and at Maegor's urging, began to fly away quickly. As Maegor had hoped, Ulf gave furious pursuit atop his own mount, flying further and further away from his fellow dragonriders as they fought their own battles in the sky. Maegor smiled grimly beneath his helm. The best that he could do for Gaemon and Addam was to ensure that they were able to take on their foes without fear of being attacked by another enemy dragon.
Maegor flew in the direction of the Mander, which flowed alongside Tumbleton. Below him, he could see many soldiers of the Hightower army fleeing towards its waters to escape the growing inferno behind them. The fields and grasses that they had encamped in were brittle and dry as winter arrived, and proved excellent kindling to spread the dragonflame rapidly in all directions.
Though the Grey Ghost was capable of flying much faster on such a clear morn, Maegor only allowed him to fly fast enough to stay just out of reach of Silverwing and her flames. Reaching the wide waters of the Mander, Maegor turned the Grey Ghost and flew southwest along them, waiting for Ulf to commit to following his route before he sprang his trap.
"NOW!" Maegor shouted, and the Grey Ghost shot a jet of its pearl-white flame directly into the Mander below it as it flew. The water at the surface boiled instantly, and great white plumes of super-heated mist shot near instantaneously into the air, a miasma that was as suffocating as it was disorienting.
Without hesitation, Maegor urged the Grey Ghost straight up into the air, as fast as the dragon could fly. The jarring sensation of flying straight up at such an intense speed nearly made Maegor vomit, and he had to swallow some bile as it roiled briefly in his throat. Looking down at the large cloud of mist below him and the Grey Ghost, Maegor waited for his opportunity.
Just as he had hoped, Silvering broke free of the cloud at a much lower height, both dragon and rider unsuspecting of Maegor and the Grey Ghost's deception. The moment he spotted them, Maegor urged the Grey Ghost down towards them from directly above, with as much speed as possible. The Ghost descended the distance between itself and Silverwing in hardly more than a heartbeat, its massive razor-sharp claws extended.
For a scant moment, Maegor watched as Ulf the Sot was enveloped by shadow and twisted in his saddle to look up at his doom. It all happened so quickly that the man had no time to react. In one moment he sat atop his dragon, clutching his whip and looking at the dragon bearing down on him as his brittle white hair whipped about in the wind. In the next, he had been crushed beneath the Grey Ghost's claws.
The impact of the Grey Ghost slamming into Silverwing from above sent a jarring strum of pain throughout the entirety of Maegor's body. He felt for a moment as though he were a string on a bard's lute that had just been plucked, as the collision rattled him to his core. Maegor rocked forward violently in his saddle, his saddle chains straining to keep him from being thrown free and plummeting to his death.
Below him, Silverwing let out an ear-piercing shriek of pain and fury as the Grey Ghost's talons sank deep into the meat of her back, tearing savagely at the muscles and tendons that connected Silverwing's wings to the rest of her body. Maegor urged the Grey Ghost back into the air with urgency, cracking his whip desperately. If Silverwing manages to in some way seize Grey Ghost, we will all fall to the earth and die.
Thankfully, the Grey Ghost was able to tear his talons free of Silverwing and fling himself back into the sky as Silverwing continued to plummet downwards. Boiling blood was gushing from the massive rents along her back, but she managed to shakily extend her wings and careen in a controlled spiral to the bank of the Mander below. She crashed and skidded along the ground, before turning her head to the sky and letting forth one final enraged shriek to the heavens. Turning the Grey Ghost back in the direction of the burning camp, Maegor flew towards it with cold and hateful intent. I'm not nearly finished.
Maegor felt a sense of relief when he saw Gaemon still in the air atop Cannibal. He must have won. But where are Hugh and Vermithor? He found his answer moments later, when a glance at the inferno below revealed the broken form of Vermithor sprawled lifelessly amongst the blazing tents and pavilions.
A piercing shriek caught Maegor's attention, and when he turned to look, he saw Tessarion descending haphazardly from the early morning sky, with massive tears along her wings that greatly impeded her movements and hastened her descent. It crashed to the ground on its belly, and dragged itself a short distance before expiring and going still. Addam Velaryon circled above his kill in the sky for several moments, before turning his attention and that of his dragon Seasmoke back to the camp below.
Maegor did the same, turning the Grey Ghost in the direction of a mob of fleeing soldiers making a break from the camp's southern edge. The Grey Ghost cut a burning swathe through them with pearl-white hellfire, and Maegor watched with grim satisfaction as the survivors of his attack desperately scattered in all directions. He felt no pity or remorse as he watched men burn and writhe below him, their distant howls and shrieks almost mingling with the roaring crackle of flame.
Let them have a taste of Hell now, before they languish in it for eternity. The people of Bitterbridge and Tumbleton had been burned, raped, and murdered, with their corpses left to rot in the sun amongst the ruins of what had once been their homes. And we, the Queen's dragonriders, sat doing nothing in King's Landing while her people suffered and died. The army of House Hightower had accrued an evil and blood-soaked debt as they marched to King's Landing, and Maegor was more than willing to make them pay the price.
Flying further south, Maegor began setting tall grasses alight, watching with satisfaction as cold winter winds blew the flames north, in the direction of the camp and fleeing soldiers. It's as though the Gods themselves are making their wroth known. Maegor's fist was clutching the handle of his dragonwip so tightly that it was beginning to cause him pain. He only clutched it tighter, and felt his heart harden. There will be no escape.
Maegor continued to burn the camp below, and any soldiers that were unfortunate enough to catch his attention as they fled. He felt as though his blood was boiling in his veins, and his heart hammered painfully against his ribcage. Maegor's teeth were gritted together so tightly that his breaths came in short, hissing gasps. Burn. Burn and die.
How much senseless suffering and destruction had been caused by these men? How many innocent lives ended in agony on the whims of evil men who thought that they would face no retribution? I am the retribution. The Grey Ghost and I are the Stranger made flesh, and I will send every last one of them to Hell in shrouds of flame.
Maegor had never truly realized the depths of anger and hatred that resided in the darkest corners of his soul. All his life, he had watched people be taken advantage of, from the village he was born in, to the castles he now walked the halls of. He had never understood why some people took such pleasure in inflicting cruelties on others, and over the years of his life such confusion had turned into a burning anger. Maegor had gotten so good at hiding the anger within himself that sometimes he himself forgot that it always remained, a red-hot ember that never extinguished.
Blood of the Dragon, his father Denys had called such anger. Within their village, Silver Denys and his sons had been notorious for their fearsome tempers, with the exception of Maegor. Denys had taken pride in the rage and wroth that his elder sons had occasionally exhibited, claiming that such displays proved that the blood of King Maegor the Cruel flowed strongly in their veins.
Maegor's temperament had never entirely pleased his father. Such a quiet boy, the people of the village would say. When he was a child, before the death of his mother, the cabin boy of a visiting ship had beaten Maegor and stolen a wooden toy that Denys had carved for his nameday. When he had run home to the arms of his mother in tears, Denys had grown wroth with him, shouting that "no descendant of King Maegor gives up without a fight".
In the end, Maegor had made his way back up to the village, sniffling and dreading having to fight the cabin boy again. However, he quickly found out that Gaemon had already hunted down the cabin boy and beaten him bloody, taking back the carved toy. With a grin and a bloody nose, Gaemon had returned the toy to Maegor. Though Maegor was grateful to his friend, he had felt a sudden embarrassment and shame for not being able to win his own fight. More than shame, however, Maegor had felt rage.
It has always been there, Maegor thought as he burned another row of tents. He supposed that he was much like the Dragonmont. Large and outwardly placid, but with a searing fire burning in its heart. And when I am provoked… Maegor realized that his rage was rather like a volcano erupting as well. My fire will burn them all to ash.
It was then that Maegor noticed that white flags were beginning to appear throughout the burning camp. Bloody and soot-stained, any piece of white cloth that could be scrounged was tied to spears, axe hafts, and poles before being flung desperately into the air. They are unconditionally surrendering. They want succor. Maegor's heart and resolve hardened. No. They all must needs burn and die.
However, Maegor could see that both Cannibal and Seasmoke had stopped their burning and began to circle in the sky, clearly planning on ending their attack. Looking down, Maegor could see that the camp was an utter ruin. The flames burned as far as the eye could see, and even as high in the sky as he was, Maegor could see countless charred corpses strewn in the hundreds, if not thousands, below.
It isn't enough, Maegor thought, his vision tinged red in its corners. They spared none, so why should we? He knew that if he continued his burning, Gaemon and Addam would be unable to accept the survivors' surrender. I am the blood of King Maegor, and I will burn all my enemies to ash, as he did. Unbidden, a memory of Septon Bennard slipped out from the edge of his thoughts, struggling to be seen through the haze of hate and rage.
"I HATE them!" Maegor had shouted, referring to the other children in the almshouse. They incessantly called him names, and hit him when he tried to play with them after they had all finished their chores for the day.
"They are young like you Maegor, and many were abandoned here by their parents the moment they were born. They have known naught but grief all their lives, and such pain turns the hearts of many cruel." Bennard responded sympathetically, with a sorrowful expression on his face.
"I know grief too!" Maegor shouted back, feeling hot tears run down his cheeks. He missed his mother every day, and wanted nothing more than to go home and see his brothers and father again. He couldn't bring himself to understand why his father had left him at the almshouse, where he was miserable and had nothing to do but read the books and scraps of parchment that Septon Bennard gave him.
"I know you do, Maegor," Septon Bennard began, placing a kind hand on Maegor's shoulder. "And I also know how easy it is to hate." Bennard smiled gently. "It is harder, however, to be the one to take a step back, or to lower a clenched fist than to strike with it."
Bennard squeezed Maegor's shoulder. "You're strong Maegor, stronger than most people I have known. And you have a kind heart. That is rarer still. Being the better person is one of the hardest things in the world to do, and most are too weak to even try. But you have that strength, Maegor. If you ignore it, then it will go to waste and be lost forever. However, if you cultivate it, you will have a treasure that even Kings will envy, and no-one will be able to take from you as long as you live."
Scrubbing the tears from his cheeks with his arm, Maegor nodded at the Septon. "I'll try, Septon Bennard," he said quietly.
Septon Bennard beamed at him. "That is all that any of us can do."
Maegor took a deep breath, and felt the inferno of hate and rage within him recede. Looking down on the destruction beneath him and the Grey Ghost, he no longer felt any grim satisfaction with what he saw. It's over. The blood debt has been paid. The survivors below him were utterly broken, surrounded by the twisted and charred corpses of their comrades. Even more continued to flee in scattered groups south.
Maegor turned the Grey Ghost to join the Cannibal and Seasmoke in their descent to the ground. Maegor frowned as he looked at the burned remains of Tumbleton. I have in no way forgiven them for their evil. But they have also surrendered. They are no longer mine to judge with dragonflame. They shall face the Queen's judgement now.