Daenerys Targaryen

Qarth, 301AC

White. Everywhere she looked she saw nothing but white.

From the ground, to in front of her, to her sides, behind her, and even the bloody sky.

White. White. White. And even more white.

Yet it was soft, making a crunching noise with every movement she made as confusion ran through her mind. They were in Qarth, a city right beside the Bone Mountains which separated western Essos to eastern Essos. An area that was notoriously hot and one of many reasons it was not uncommon for people to walk around with lots of skin on show that elsewhere would get them in serious trouble. She reached down to see what it was, picking up a handful of the soft material and watching it slowly begin to melt against the heat of her body and leave her fingers feeling numb. For a second, a grin so large came onto her face it could've split her face in two but this was soon replaced as she realised something.

Where was everyone?

Heartbeat quickening as she looked all around but she couldn't see a blasted thing as now snow was falling so heavy her vision was obscured. Landing on her ears, exposed shoulders, tip of her nose. The novelty of seeing something that had only been described to her by Sansa a few days prior wearing off quickly as she realised just how damned cold it was here. Something her pale lilac dress which exposed an entire breast did nothing to ward off.

"Rhaenys?! Sansa?! Mychelah?! Shiera?! Jorah?!"

Numerous names she had called from the Dothraki that had followed her to Qarth, to the few people she had gotten to know in Qarth like Xaro Xhoan Daxos and Xander Erranox despite the latter leaving a sour taste on her tongue as he had refused to give her ships to sail for Westeros to take back her family's throne. Īlvon Āegenkon Dēmalion issa. Words Viserys had always spoken to her when they were little. The Iron Throne is ours. By now, Dany was frantically calling more names of anyone she could think of but again there was no answer. Huffing loudly and beginning to walk. How long she had walked she could not say, but it was hard. It was so difficult to move the snow was that thick. Having to lift her knees so high they almost touched her breasts to take another step as it was now almost of a height as such. Mayhaps to Sansa such a thing was normal as she had grown up in the North, but she had not, and she misliked it greatly.

Then she felt something land on her. Not a snowflake as she's gotten used to that sensation within a few minutes. Turning to see what it was on her shoulder as alarm ran through her. No, it couldn't be. Fingers reaching up to touch the thick liquid and sniffing it quickly. The scent of iron invading her nostrils and cursing silently to herself for doing that. Blood. It was raining blood. Thick droplets now falling and Dany's eyebrows creased in the centre as it wasn't just red. Mixed with black it was, each droplet falling on the snow until a pattern emerged. One she had never seen before nor was it one that roused anything within her. Almost looking like a spiral, with fifteen points emerging from the centre yet it did not mesh with the snow. It simply lay atop it like nothing would disrupt the soft material surrounding her legs. Then a second pattern emerged, this time another spiral but with six points. The top three twisting left and the bottom three twisting also to the left like it was an unfinished circle. This one felt vaguely familiar and it hit her like a swarm of mosquitos as she took a few steps back.

It looked like their sigil. House Targaryen's sigil. But it couldn't be, could it?

Yet the spikes never once changed. They did not change shape, they did not thicken, and no more spikes were formed from the blood that was still steadily dripping from the sky. Now it was thickening up again, taking deep breaths and holding it so she wouldn't risk accidentally swallowing any of it as she breathed. Just as fast as it had appeared though, it was gone. Body now covered in thick blood coloured both black and red and dripping from her onto the soft snow. Walking over a few feet and picking up patches of snow to melt it and wiping as much of it off as she could. Once she was as clean as she could get, she walked again but not for long before another snowstorm came. Covering the patterns and the large patch the blood had left until it was completely buried from sight and all she could see was white.

Red and white. White and red.

The only two colours she could see apart from the lilac of her dress and the colour of her own skin. Yet walk she did. For what felt like forever until the snow began to get thinner until her feet weren't fully submerged and didn't need to lift her knees so ridiculously high anymore. The crunching noise amplifying the thinner it got until it was gone far from her, sand being what she was walking on now which was something not uncommon to her a she had lived in many coastal cities in Essos alongside small towns close to cities . Reaching down to grab some and watching it fall through the parting of her fingers and the warmth that came with it which was very much appreciated now she was not in the snow anymore. Turning to look at it one more time before stepping back a few times as now all she could see was sand. Where had the snow gone? What was happening to her? Taking even more steps back before feeling something behind her and falling over whatever it was. Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths trying to work out what in all the hells was going on right now. Once her harsh breaths calmed down she opened her eyes to see what it was she had tripped over before a scream that bordered on a screech left her.

A woman. A young woman. Of an age with herself if she had to guess or perhaps a year or two either side. Skin as pale as the snow and lips tinted blue to confirm she was indeed dead. Daenerys standing up to look down at her. A dress coloured blue which was ripped up to just below her breasts to expose her belly which was rather large. Yet it was cut open, like someone had taken a knife and dug it deep within.

"Promise me."

The voice was soft, and somehow she knew it was solely in her head. Who was this woman? Hair black in colour and spreading everywhere around her lifeless body, her eyes were closed so she could not guess from her eye colour. Why had her dress been cut up the way it had? Why was there an incision so large across her belly?

"Promise me."

Promise what? Dany wanted to scream in panic. But then she saw something in the woman's palm. Walking over to look at it closely and seeing a single blue petal of what must've been a flower at one point but the rest of it had turned black in death alongside whoever she saw. A sound so familiar to her now surrounding as she snapped her head up to see eight men on horseback. Rising against one another but not one of them wore sigils. A sword piercing through one of their throats which was a sight not unusual to her from spending so much time with the Dothraki. Before she had wed Drogo such a sight would've caused her to run crying. But she was blood of the dragon, and a dragon did not cower to those lower than a dragon. The man falling and realising now skin was peeling off of him which momentarily caused her gut to twist before swallowing down her disgust at such a sight.

On she walked once more. No longer shivering and instead wishing for some rain as it was blisteringly hot now. At least the sand was easier to walk on than the snow, so that was something at least she mused to herself. Wondering where she was, and why no one was with her. There only was two explanations but only one made sense to her. One was she had been taken and dumped here. The second being this was all just a dream. Dreamers were not uncommon in their family. Granted, there had only been a handful, but they had existed. If it weren't for her ancestor Daenys having one, her family would've all died in the Doom alongside every other Dragonlord. Something she was eternally grateful for. A large building up ahead now and without thinking ran for the entrance and sighing loudly as the shade provided the coolness she desperately needed. Now if only she could find some water but that was something she could make do without for the time being as she wasn't too thirsty yet.

It was a single room, but something caught her attention quickly. Dragons. Seven of them. Granted, babes they were but dragons all the same. One was in a shadowed area, one was lying on top of a pile of gold, one under what could only be ice even though she herself had never seen ice before, one out in the open on a patch of grass, but it was the last three that caught her attention. One lying atop a castle sculpture but the other two were together, in a corner as horrors surrounded them. Daenerys blinked and soon what she had saw was gone. No dragons surrounding her and she was also now no longer in the building given the grass beneath her feet. She was atop a mountain now, looking down at a massive field below her. Sounds she had never been exposed to entering her ears as she tried to find out what it was. An answer to her question coming soon as a massive wave came from the west and flooding everything beneath it, and to the east a fire so large burning everything in its wake. Both rushing towards one another before clashing in a surge as she was thrown from her feet and falling down the mountain. Desperately trying to grab something to stop her in her descent but there was nothing for her to grab.

And then she was in a building again. A different one than before. With dozens of people surrounding a large flame and not taking their gazes off of it as if they were in a trance. All with beards so large they made the ones the Dothraki sometimes sported look like a child attempting to grow their first lick of body hair. From the way they were dressed she knew where they had come from as realisation dawned on her.

The Bearded Priests of Norvos.

A sect so secretive their purpose was never known, nor was their beliefs. Viserys had said they had ran from the Freehold after disagreeing with the ways of their ancestors and instead settled in an area of ruins that would eventually become the Free City of Norvos. The flame dancing yet still their gazes never broke. Dany walking over to see what it was they were staring at but all she saw was fire, nothing else. Until something moved within the flame, from the shape of what it was that moved she knew what it was. A snake. This was all she needed as she turned and ran towards a door she hoped was an exit from whatever it was she was experiencing currently. It had to be a dream, a vivid dream. There was no other explanation. The last thing she saw was someone seated beside a river and plucking scales off a fish she knew- trout. This followed by a lion being pinned down as its skin was being peeled off as it writhed in agony.

Dany awoke with a start.

Her breathing was frantic as she reached over for the glass of water that was always placed beside her bed in the manse she was staying in whilst she was in Qarth. Not even sipping at it like she usually did but downing it in a single gulp and savouring the feeling of her throat not being dry anymore. Her forehead was damp with sweat as she steadily got up and made to ring the bell which servants knew was her saying she wished to bathe. People coming and going with buckets and soon three others came in. Not much time had passed since they had appeared on the shore, a few weeks, yet in those few weeks they had gotten to know one another.

Granted, it took a while for her to trust Sansa. How many years had she heard people say the Stark's of Winterfell had risen in rebellion for no reason at all? Having been brought up believing all the rebel House's had risen without clause and one day they would face a fate worse than death for removing her House from the power that was rightfully theirs. Yet this wasn't the case, for they did have reason to rise again her father. Viserys always said their father was noble and a great King, but everyone else painted a sinister picture. Her father had burned Sansa's grandfather alive and had her uncle strangle himself trying to free his father from his own fate. And it was a gruesome fate.

"It's the middle of the afternoon, enjoy your sleep?"

Shiera japed her way, that still making her mind whir in circles. The name Shiera Seastar had disappeared decades ago and everyone assumed she had died but she stood here. Looking no older than five and twenty yet in reality being more than a century old. They'd all asked her how this could be, but she remained tight lipped other than saying a single word. Blood. Mayhaps one day she would receive an answer. Viserion flapping his wings in joy as Shiera opened the cage for the cream and gold dragon to climb up her arm to perch on her shoulder as she scratched his head. It would take years for him to grow, but it was clear to anyone the pair had already bonded as rider and mount.

"A dream."

This caused Shiera to turn to her to analyse her face but this was replaced with shock as she realised she didn't mean a simple dream. Sansa and Rhaenys were confused still as the older woman made her way towards her and demanding she speak on what her dream was about. And she spoke. On it all as somehow she remembered every section of it like it was more a memory than a dream. Once she had finished, Rhaenys' caramel coloured skin had gone a smidge grey but Sansa had her hand covering her mouth.

"Promise me. Those were the last words my aunt spoke to my father."

Understanding dawned then on who the dead woman was, feeling her guts twisting into knots as she ran to a bucket and wretched the little that was in her stomach out. Lyanna Stark. Jaeron's mother. She'd heard from Sansa and Rhaenys she'd died in birthing bed and realising just how she had died. Jaeron had to be cut out of her. Something that was only done if the babe was not going to come out naturally without both babe and mother dying horribly.

"Seven dragons?"

"Seven, dear niece."

What was this about? Wiping the bile from her mouth and rinsing in a small fountain in her room to rid her of the taste.

"We know there's seven dragons. Rhaenys has an egg, Jaeron has two, you have three, Aegon has one. That amounts to seven- "

"If there are seven dragons Sansa, there are seven riders. But to our knowledge there are only six with blood of the dragon. The one in the shadow is myself, the one in gold is Aegon, the one in the open can only be Jaeron, and the one on the ice has to be Aemon- "

"Torghen did say Lyrax took to Aemon well but he's more than a century old- "

"As am I, little wolf."

That shut Sansa up as she nodded in acceptance to losing the word battle. Two dragons in horror, one dragon on a castle.

"Daenerys and I have to be the two surrounded by horrors- "

Shiera gasped in realisation as she stood up and beckoning them to follow her. Pointing to a tower at the opposite side of the city as shivers wracked along her spine.

"We will find out who the dragon on the castle is, but whatever happened never go there, do you hear me? Don't even go near the House of the Undying. The Warlock's are not people to tread carefully with."

Jaeron Targaryen

Dragonstone, 301AC

How long he was going to remain in Dragonstone, he could not say with certainty. A few days at least but probably no longer than ten. A familiar eagle coming into his line of vision as he asked Elissa if their army had joined as of yet to which he got an answer with the eagle shaking its head no. But it wouldn't be long until they did meet up, and then the ships would be sailing from Dragonstone and Driftmark that had survived to blockade the Blackwater to prevent anyone escaping via the open sea and flee to Essos or even Sothoryos. The day was becoming ever clearer and soon the capital would be his. House Targaryen would have the Iron Throne again.

Not even two years ago Jaeron did not know the truth of his birth, and now he was preparing to take Kings Landing. There were times where he had to stop and pinch himself hard as if it were all an elaborate dream he would wake up from but every time he did he was reminded this was indeed his life. Two days had passed since Ser Davos Seaworth had been taken away and every day he had asked Elissa the same question but this morning there had been a piece of parchment in the animals talons which simply said they would be arriving at Rosby by the end of the current week. Breathing slowly as his heartbeat quickened as now it wasn't something that would happen eventually, it was something that was going to be happening in a few weeks maximum.

The war had been going on for what felt like forever but in reality wasn't even quite a year yet. And there was no saying the war would end when they took the capital. Not until they were all dead. Tywin, Cersei, Joffrey, and Stannis. One of which was in this very castle and he had yet to gain the courage to speak to the man. They were blood, and he had agreed that Brienne would be the one to kill him. Did that make him a kinslayer? Kinslayers were reviled by all gods there was but Stannis had killed Renly by some vile form of magic and that had a punishment of death.

Margaery had been a distraction. A great distraction, he would not deny such a thing. But a distraction nonetheless. With the ending of the war looming just on the horizon it meant he would be heading into wedding planning soon. Jaeron had never thought he would marry, having carried a bastard name for much of his life and not wishing to sully a woman by having her have such a dishonour as being wed to a bastard. Except he wasn't a bastard, he was the King, and the King needs a Queen. At least he could see himself being happy with her, which was saying something considering they barely knew one another.

Which was why the days he had already spent in Dragonstone he had spent as much time as he could with his betrothed. Trying to figure out who she really was and not who she said she was. He wasn't stupid, he knew she wasn't being wholly truthful with him but not many people were wholly truthful in the south which they currently were. Looking for any cues which would reveal the cracks behind her perfect image for he was not going to be stuck with someone for the rest of his life when he did not know her for who she really was. He'd also spent time with Willas whose company he did enjoy too.

Yet time was closing in on him, and he had unfinished business to finalise before he joined his army once more to prepare for the inevitable attack. Firstly, he had asked for a decent meal to be taken to the room he had made his solar within the castle and asked for someone to fetch Ser Davos when the food had been finished. A name he did not know and a House he had never heard of before either. Meaning it was a relatively new House and that meant the man was a subject of his. He had roughly an hour as he spent combing through the various books in the room and crinkling his eyebrows at the strange symbols within them. They almost looked like runes but neither were ones he recognised. One looking like a spiral with fifteen points, one almost like a trident but instead of spikes on the tips were straight lines, one being diamond in shape, and another of three circled within one another with what appeared to be a spear going through all. He must've gotten lost for longer than anticipated as soon a servant was knocking on the door and soon a few trays of food had been brought inside. A man being escorted in not long after.

"Ser Davos, please, take a seat and help yourself."

The Knight eyed him strangely but did as he was asked. Jaeron helping himself too which seemingly calmed the older man as he now knew he assumed poison. That wasn't how he worked, he was a Targaryen but he was of the North, and in the North a man looks the person they are killing in the eye before striking the blow.

"I won't kill you, Ser Davos. I was raised in the North and I have way more honour than to use something as poison to take out my enemies."

"I am your enemy?"

"Whilst you are supporting someone in open rebellion, aye. However, I do not know you and I do not know what Lord Stannis has been telling people regarding mine own claim. For that reason, I will reserve judgement."

Clearly he liked such a response as a tiny smirk came onto his face as he bit into a chicken leg dripping in honey and gravy, the skin so crispy he could hear it from the opposite side of the table.

"I wish to know my subjects well, Ser. For I cannot be a King if I do not- "

"I do not recognise you being King, for I swore to Stannis. I will not break my oath to him."

He quirked an eyebrow up inquisitively yet did not take offense to such a statement. Being glad the man wasn't afraid to be honest with him for it reminded him of home. So much so he could almost feel the way his skin would feel like it were burning from the snow hitting against any exposed areas.

"And I do not recognise Lord Stannis as King, however I do recognise he is an heir to the throne. That and the fact we share blood with one another, and there is nothing more reviled than a kinslayer."

He watched to see if he would take the bait. Whilst they all knew Stannis had been the one to kill Renly, they didn't have proof he had done so. But either the man in front of him did not take the bait or the bait had completely missed him for he replied with surprise.

"How are you and Stannis blood?"

Of course, the folly of a couple of generations between the two being all that was needed for their blood link to be forgotten. Or mayhaps people didn't care so much about slaying ones kin and instead hid behind their righteousness.

"Lord Stannis' grandmother and my great-grandparents were brother and sister, Ser Davos. King Aegon the Unlikely had five children. Prince Duncan, Prince Jaehaerys, Princess Shaera, Prince Daeron, and Princess Rhaelle. Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Shaera abandoned their duty and wed one another as per House Targaryen's custom and Princess Rhaelle wed Lord Ormund Baratheon. This making my grandparents King Aerys and Queen Rhaella first cousins to Lord Steffon Baratheon. Which in turn makes Lord Stannis cousin removed to my father and my aunt in Essos. Granted, our blood link is weak but I was raised in the North and the North remembers. Lord Stannis is my cousin, and I am not ashamed to say such a thing openly for it is truth."

"Yet you are fighting against your own blood for the Iron Throne?"

"Aye, for the Iron Throne was made for House Targaryen by House Targaryen. Not for House Baratheon. My claim is higher than Stannis' because of my name, my links, my father being Crowned Prince, and not to mention I am the first dragon rider in more than a century. The Iron Throne is mine by rights and mine it will be. The less time the lions are seated upon it, the better."

He didn't say the words aloud, but deep down he was glad the attack by Stannis on Kings Landing failed. For if it did he would have to attack his own blood and that would cause irreputable damage to his claim. Many Targaryen's had killed their own blood, and that was something he had to change. For so long his House had a reputation that wasn't liked and it was a big ask for him to change such a thing.

"You may not recognise me as King, Ser Davos, and I respect your honesty. However, I am King and I will sit the Iron Throne. Even if Stannis refuses to bend the knee to me."

By now, their meal was finished as he signalled an ending to their meeting. The older man nodding his head in acceptance which was hopefully the start of something. His cousin clearly saw something in this man and he was going to find out what it was he saw in him. Perhaps he would be useful to have by his side in the future. But there were more pressing matters to hand as servants took the trays of food away so he had a clear desk for when his cousin arrived. He'd been putting it off for a while now and he could not do so any longer. He had to speak to Stannis. This, he was not looking forward to, even slightly. Thinking over what he was going to say. Not much time was given as soon two guards walked in with Stannis in between them, eyes such a bright shade of blue for a moment they struck fear within him from the last time he had seen eyes of said shade, eyes filled with hatred and with a stiffness he expected from everything he had heard about the man.

"I hope you have been treated well cousin."

"Well enough."

His face was hard, but it was an expression he was not unused to as many people in the North wore similar expressions. The North was a harsh Kingdom to live in and the people were not afraid to show such a thing.

"I am aware you are a man of few words so I will cut straight to it. We are here to discuss your surrender, cousin."

"I will not surrender."

The response was expected, so there was no reaction from him. He'd already promised Brienne she would be granted leave to avenge Renly and it was something he was going to stick to, but men were loyal to Stannis. If he killed Stannis now without getting some of that loyalty behind him he would be creating even more enemies.

"The Iron Throne is mine by rights- "

"As it is mine, my Lord. Out of everyone fighting over the damned thing we both have the strongest claim. Both from blood and by precedent. I will not deny that you are an heir just as I am an heir. There is something to consider though which changes a lot. Your older brother claimed the throne through blood and conquest. However, the conquest was based on a lie that spiralled out of control which in turn means the rebellion was based on a lie. In many cases this is considered null and void as a result. By extension of such a thing this legitimises mine own claim as higher of us both and you would be the rebel. House Baratheon and House Targaryen have not been on good terms for a couple of decades and for very good reason, I will not deny such. My grandfather deserved to be deposed. I would wish for our House's to be on good terms again for we are blood a couple of times over. After all, was your ancestor Orys not the Conqueror's bastard half-brother?"

"It is rumoured to be so."

Jaeron nodded. There was no proof of the claim but rumours remain for a long time and that was one which remained for a very long time.

"I recognise your claim, just as you recognise mine, cousin."

The last word was almost spat out, like it pained him to speak such words. But it was true, they were cousins, there was no denying such a thing. A part of him wondered what King Aegon the Unlikely would think of them right now. Their shared ancestor who had died screaming in agony alongside Ser Duncan the Tall and many other family members when the tragedy of Summerhall occurred. His own grandmother had given birth to his father on the grass after being freed by the Knight in question as the castle burned down. Two great-grandchildren at war with one another. The last time family went to war with one another for his House had devastating consequences. He was not going to stoop to the same low.

"But Robert fought for what he believed in. He rebelled because he wanted Lyanna Stark back for himself."

"Pity my mother was not someone to take being a pretty ornament lightly."

The corner of Stannis' lip turned up for a fraction of a second in amusement but it was gone as quick as it had come.

"Nay, you Northerner's are a stubborn lot."

"As are you Baratheon's."

There was no reaction from the older man, now Jaeron realising any barb he threw his way would just bounce off the steel that covered his entire body. Honesty and blunt was clearly the way to go.

"You killed your brother."

"Aye."

For a second, surprise blossomed in his gut at the free admission.

"With dark magic?"

"Aye."

If he got another 'aye' as an answer he may just lose it. He was used to speaking bluntly and to the point but this was taking that to another level.

"Why?"

"Because he was in open rebellion. In order to win a rebellion all those who rebelled must be put to the sword."

And then he realised. Stannis was angry at him, angry at Robert, and angry at most people. At him because he was betrothed to the daughter of the man who had lay siege to and starved Storm's End for months. At Robert for not coming to the rescue himself, for pardoning those who had fought against the rebels. At Renly for throwing away the fact he had been there for him when he was a boy who was given their ancestral Seat instead of his own and had then tried to usurp him. It was there for a moment, but there nonetheless. A shred of pity blossoming deep within his gut.

"Renly was your brother- "

"My brother indeed, but not a loved brother. Do you want to know how often he rubbed it in my face that Storm's End was his and not mine? Do you want to know how often he pranced around in all the finery one could buy when he was old enough to remember having nothing thanks to that fat oaf? Renly was drunk on power and being at the top, he believed friendship would give him the Iron Throne, and it backfired on him. For there are friends, and then there are those who say they are friends. Friends don't win thrones, loyalty does."

The last portion struck a nerve within him but for a differing reason. For he had been someone who found that out the hard way with Torghen. He'd considered the man a good friend as had Howland and Arthur, yet he had taken his sister and fled somewhere unknown. Jaeron was losing hope on finding her by now, for every attempt to locate her led to another dead end. The words had not been spoken aloud yet, but everyone knew. Sansa was not in Westeros anymore, she had to be in Essos. Was she in one of the Free Cities? Yi-Ti? Qarth? Leng? Asshai? But he had sworn he would try his best to find her, and he was not going to break that vow.

"He was still your blood, cursed is the kinslayer."

"If people were cursed by the Gods for being kinslayers there would be much less House's than there is. You can dance around me all you like but I will not bend the knee to you."

Jaeron nodded, accepting the words. He'd not expected much so the fact Stannis was even willing to accept their claims almost equally was more than he'd hoped. Stannis getting up to leave before he spoke.

"I will be taking the capital soon, cousin. I want you to know you are a dead man. I will not have people who slay one another's own blood in positions."

"Will you do it yourself?"

No, he would not. For Stannis had not wronged him, and therefore it would not be right for him to pass the sentence himself.

"Nay, I have promised Lady Brienne of Tarth the honour. She was in the tent as was my aunt when that shadow I'm assuming your Red Priestess was sent killed your brother."

For a few moments, there was no words spoken. But after what felt like an eternity, a single nod of acceptance. Respect now blossoming within for a man who accepted his fate without question was a noble man. Or at least, in Northern custom.

"As for your wife, she will face no repercussions. However, if she is to wed again she must do so with a man I trust. I will name Shireen as Lady of Storm's End. Babes are not to be blamed for the sins of their parents. I will ensure Lady Brienne promises to do the deed quickly."

And then Stannis left the room flanked by the same two guards. The feeling within him one he knew nought what it was or what to do with such a thing. Another two days passed since this and the entire time he was asking Elissa for more updates. The latest one confirming they were a little more than a days ride away from Rosby. Nerves bubbling up as the day was drawing ever closer. Before he left though, there was one more person he had to speak to. Asking a few servants where Shireen remained within the castle and creasing his eyebrows when they said Sea Dragon Tower. Why was she kept alone in a tower? That was a question for another time as he made his way up there, having to take his time on the narrow and winding stairs the higher he climbed. How high he climbed, he could not say, but he knew he had reached his destination when he heard soft singing from behind a door.

"The rain is dry, and the snow falls up. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

This was followed by jingling bells from a man he had spent little with but it was more than enough time. Patchface, the fool of Dragonstone. Brought here by Lord Steffon from Essos for being a great jester, being able to speak four different tongues, and having a lovely voice. If this was what Lord Steffon considered a lovely voice Jaeron did not want to know what he thought was a bad voice. Being rescued from the sea and was never the same again. The fool singing back in that same annoying voice.

"The shadows come to dance, my Lord, dance my Lord, dance my Lord. The shadows come to stay, my Lord, stay my Lord, stay my Lord."

Followed by the bells from the antlers attached to the bucket he wore as a hat creating an even more annoying noise.

"The shadows come to dance, my love. The shadows come to stay."

Patchface let out a yelp of excitement at the end of the song and banged his bucket with something he could not see. But this was stopped when he knocked on the wooden door. Shireen opening the door and having to force his shock from appearing. Of course, he knew she'd had greyscale as a baby but had somehow found a cure, but the scars were plentiful. Covering nearing half of her face and much of her neck. Knowing the disease had spread likely down her body too.

"Patchface, please leave for now."

The fool jangled his bells a little more, the red and green squares tattooed on his face being as clear as a summers day, knocked a wooden spoon on his bucket before leaving the room singing as he done so.

"The shadows come to stay, my Lord, stay my Lord, stay my Lord."

It seemed to go on forever until the sound had disappeared fully from view.

"May we speak, Princess?"

She smiled a little and allowed him inside. Eyeing the room she called her own. It wasn't a large room by any means, but it was clear it was someone of nobility's. Seeing a book on the bed opened and with what appeared to be a glass sculpture preventing the young girl from losing her place.

"Are you my cousin?"

"I am, aye. If you would so wish it, you can call me Jaeron."

"And you can call me Shireen."

Her openness initially confused him before realisation washed over him. Margaery, it had to be.

"What are you reading?"

A large smile came onto her face as she ran over to the bed to grab the book, turning it so he could see the title. A Dance of the Dragons, a True Telling by Grand Maester Munkun.

"Reading on our ancestors?"

"It's fascinating, and we can learn a lot from past mistakes of our ancestors. Granted, it's likely the book is inaccurate but interesting all the same."

She gestured for him to sit down which he done so without question, something about her kind expression was impossible to deny. Especially her openness.

"A troubling time for both of our House's for sure."

"Indeed."

He eyed the portion she was on, seeing it was over the escape of King Aegon II from Kings Landing to Dragonstone where he had remained low and making everyone believe he had died of his injuries.

"The story of Rhaenyra Targaryen fighting her half-brother Aegon for control of the Seven Kingdom's. Both of them thought they belonged on the Iron Throne. When people started declaring for one of them or the other, their fight divided the Kingdom's in two. Brothers fought brothers, dragons fought dragons, and by the time it was over thousands were dead. It was a disaster for the Targaryen's as well, they never truly recovered."

Putting it that way made him realise the current political climate was much the same. But instead of two Targaryen's fighting against one another; it was a Baratheon, a Targaryen, and a Lannister bastard. The Kingdom's split into three and not two, and many thousands were already dead by all three's hands. He'd long gotten used to knowing his hands were stained with blood of innocents, but as Arthur said, there is no such thing as a war without mass murder. It was a fact, and nothing would change such a fact.

"They should've called it the fall of the dragons and not the dance of the dragons."

"But dance sounds prettier than fall. I think it's poetic."

It did, there was no denying such. War was not a pretty thing; it was a dreadful thing but a necessary thing in many cases.

"If you had to choose between Rhaenyra and Aegon, who would you have chosen?"

Jaeron knew his answer, but he had the benefit of hindsight. Had he lived in the same time frame he would've followed who his ancestor had sworn for. Plus black was always his colour as Robb and Theon liked to say when they were still boys in Winterfell before all this shit started happening.

"I wouldn't have chosen either. It was all the choosing sides that made everything so horrible."

"But unfortunately sometimes a person has to choose."

"No. They don't."

His head tilted at her words, but Shireen spoke no more on them. Looking out the window over the sea and having to admit it was a nice view. Rhaegon flying over the water and watching her eyes light up at seeing his mount.

"Would you like to meet him?"

Her lips immediately broke out in a massive smile before running from the room, cursing silently to himself as he ran after her until they were on the beach. Shireen jumping on the spot in excitement.

"Stay close to me, Rhaegon isn't very open to new people."

She nodded frantically, still bouncing on her feet. Her joy radiating around the two of them as he whistled to catch his dragon's attention. For a minute or so, Rhaegon ignored the command but he knew why this was as his maw snapped down on what appeared to be a swordfish before flying over and landing right in front of him. Leaning in to his touch and purring lowly.

"He's beautiful."

"Aye, he is. Give me your hand."

She obliged as he slowly brought it towards the silver dragon, sniffing curiously at her fingertips before huffing and pulling away. Jaeron reaching out to stop him doing so as he continued to sniff. His dragons needed to know who was a friend and who was a foe. Leaning in for barely a moment before taking off into the sky. Turning to look at Shireen and seeing her eyes were filled with tears of happiness. They remained on the beach until the sun began to set before heading back up to the castle. The next day, he was leaving to meet the army as they prepared to finally take Kings Landing.