Uprising

by litwater44

Haunted by the mystery of his mother which Ned refuses to reveal, Jon leaves for the Free Cities to forge a path undaunted by the shadow of his parentage. Becoming a Legendary warrior renowned across the realm was expected – But Jon could never have foreseen that his true destiny lay in the ancient ruins of Valyria, where a fierce black dragon still breathes its flame.

25. The Blood's Eye

Arthur: chapter has been edit

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Jon

"Steady," Jon warned for what had to be the fourth time. Though Cannibal paid him no mind, snarling angrily as his father ambled upwards, mindful of the sharp scales and dangling ropes that hung from the dragon's sinewy frame.

Jon watched with no small amount of apprehension as Cannibal, twisting and turning his long neck, glowered at the king climbing onto his back.

"He is wroth beyond sense," Jon noted with a grimace. "He wasn't this swift to anger when Rhaenys rode him. No doubt he was hunting when he heard my call. I must be mindful lest he makes a meal of us."

Rhaegar seemed undeterred by the dragon's loathing. The king's face was set in a grim sort of determination. He had the same expression when he finally reached the top of the satchel. Though, his eyes widened slightly at the wealth of armour, swords, and books that were carefully stashed in sacks and tied against Cannibal's spiky scales.

Jon let him admire the sight for a moment and said, "We shall fly for a little while, then make camp. I fear we interrupted his hunt, and it won't do us good to have a ravenous dragon."

"Yet more blood on my hands," thought Jon, recalling the fury of the Cannibal.

Rhaegar nodded. "As you wish, son."

Your son. The mere sound of those words filled him with dread. Yet the king said them without care as if he were remarking on the state of the weather. It was anything but that. Not knowing how to reply, Jon turned around and tied the rope around his waist. He heard the king catch on and do the same.

"How long will it take to reach Casterly Rock?" Rhaegar's words drifted forward.

He looked at Rhaegar and smiled. "We shall be as swift as the wind,' he said. "Now hold tight it would do little good should a Targaryen king fall off a dragon after so long,"

Jon was last to climb up, seating himself in front, reins clutched firmly in hand; then suddenly, Cannibal unfurled his mighty wings, each beat like the deeps of a hurricane upon the Summer Sea; then with a great cry of Sōvēs Cannibal lanced himself skyward. Jon heard a strangled cry from Rhaegar. He peered behind him to see his father clinging to the dragon's spikes for dear life, eyes shut in terror, silver hair flapping wildly in the wind. It was a far cry from the old tales of the ruby dragon who knew no fear.

"Less a dragon and more a mouse, it seems", chortled Jon, revelling in the feeling of the calm summer wind whipping through his hair.

Rhaegar opened his eyes and blinked at the smile on Jon's face. Slowly a small smile appeared on his face as well. Jon's laughter died in his throat, and he swiftly turned around, not wishing to meet his father's gaze.

As Cannibal cut through the skies at high flying speeds, Jon let himself be lost in the beauty of the lands. Though Cannibal was a creature of savagery and might, it filled him with joy to be among the clouds. For a moment, he wondered if his ancestors felt much the same, to be lord of the skies, far removed from the petty squabbling of the lords and the cruelty of the game, far removed from his wayward family as well.

Through their bond, Jon could feel the exhilaration of Cannibal as well the need to roam far and discover things long thought lost, to conquer, to rule. The old dragon swooped low, doing all manner of acrobatics, no doubt wishing to frighten their guest. Jon had hoped to restrain his friend, but the old beast cared little for his commands and spat out several flaming rings only to dive through them. Jon grimaced as he heard his father cry out in terror again, and for a moment, he wished they had taken horses, but nought could be done now save pray to the Old and New that the King would survive this journey.

(Journey to the Westerlands upon the shores of the Red Fork)

It was a long journey as morning passed, into the slow dusk, and soon the sun had laid down its burden, and the moon rose high; at last they came to the edge the Riverlands and came upon the Red Fork. Its steep slopes were verdant and dotted by many small streams, and far below they spotted the shapes of many homes. The glen was rich, and many had dwelt here for unnumbered years.

Cannibal swooped low and landed beside the river with a great thud churning up mud and stone. When at last came to a halt, the dragon bent his neck, allowing them to amble off.

"We shall make camp here for tonight," said Jon.

"Would it not be wise to go a little further?" said Rhaegar. "We are on the borders of the Westerlands, and I hoped to deal with the Old Lion before he gathers his strength."

Cannibal must have heard the king and growled angrily, shooting a cloud of soot into Rhaegar's face.

Jon grimaced. "Aye, we might press on though I doubt Cannibal shall thank us for denying him prey for so long,"

"You are right," sputtered Rhaegar wiping his face clean," Let us rest for a while, if we can."

They camped beside a bend in the Red Fork; the din of babbling waters lapping over stones rose from the river. Birds were chirping, and the land seemed peaceful, save for the distant bellow of Cannibal, who had gone off to hunt a ways up the river.

They lit a small fire under the gnarled roots of a soldier pine, that hung over a shallow pit: judging by the tattered banner that lay there, it seemed that the Rygers had quarried stone here. Jon sat upon a rotten stump, running an oiled cloth along the length of his blade. For some time, they sat in silence save for the occasional hoot of an owl or the splashing of fish, yet he could feel his father's gaze upon him, though Jon didn't know if he should speak with the man, the father who so desperately wished to know him.

He bore the king no ill will, far from it. The king was a stranger as Jon was to him, nought binding them save the love Rhaegar had bore his mother, a love that had brought misery to many.

"My life was bought with the blood of sons and fathers unmourned," thought Jon, stowing the cloth in his satchel. "And I fear I shall bring about the deaths of many more ere my tale ends."

"Tywin Lannister yearned for a Valyrian blade for years," said Rhaegar. "Ever he sought to obtain one from a house less fortunate, yet they always refused him, and here you sit with such arms to outfit the Kingsguard."

"I've some forty blades and other weapons," answered Jon, resting the blade on his knee. "Though I left much behind when I fled Valyria spells and tomes that should not never again see the light of day."

Rhaegar frowned. "I suspect you know more than you say, my son," he said. "Have you truly learned the sorcery of our forebears, then?"

"Aye, I've knowledge of the Stormsingers and the ancient tongues which they used, though I shall speak nought of them. Our kin, for all their nobility, were cruel beyond reckoning," said Jon grimly. "Those spells are altogether evil. Their strength, Rhaegar, is too great for anyone to wield at will, save only those who possess the strength of will to wield them. But for them it holds an even deadlier peril. For the very desire to use them may corrupt the heart. I dare not tell of them further, so let us speak of something else."

Yet as he uttered the words, they seemed but ash in his mouth, for he had used the dark sorceries of Valyria to save a woman who called his mother a whore; even now, he felt the call of the candles, the promise of power unrivalled he had to but relinquish himself to fire and blood.

"Yet you've no qualms about taming a beast such as Cannibal," said Rhaegar.

Jon scowled at him. "I had little choice," he said. "Either to seize power offered to me or perish alongside Tyrion in that hellish peninsula. Yet I ask you not to think so little of me! I saved your life, and I'd wager if given such power, you'd do the same."

Rhaegar bowed his head to hide his tears. "I wouldn't have come to the aid of a man who steals children from their mother's corpse," he said. "You may think little of me for such cruelty, yet I will not lie to you, my son. I loathe Eddard Stark, for he kept you from me, and I doubt I shall ever forgive such a slight."

Jon glowered at the young king and spoke in a clear cold voice. "I do not presume to judge my uncle. I've many reasons for the paths I have trod though not all are for noble ends.

For a long while, Rhaegar sat silent, gazing at him from across the fire, fey he seemed as the shadows of the flame cast a glow upon him. Then at last he spoke. "I will not begrudge you such things, Jon, but I love you as any father might," he said. "Still, the thought that you might suffer such hurts from these evil omens fills me with dread, so what reasons do you have to dabble in such sorceries?"

"My reasons are my own," answered Jon, "And that is all I shall say on the matter."

Rhaegar frowned; his countenance marred by the melancholy that had plagued him since his youth. "You are Maegor Targaryen," he said. "A true son of Valyria, you are a prince worthier than most,"

"My name is Jon," he answered.

"You are my son," said Rhaegar, hopefully.

Rhaegar saw the grimace on his face, and for a moment, he thought to weep, yet he knew it would do little good.

"Does it trouble you when I call you, my son?" Rhaegar asked at last, hoping to speak lightly, but his voice sufficed with sadness. "You are my son, mine and Lyanna's."

Jon can hear the disappointment in his voice. He felt a pang of guilt. He moved his jaw a bit and rested his hands on the pommel. "Eddard Stark is the only father I have ever known," Jon admitted.

"He took you from your home! He took you from me and thought to hide his treachery, forcing you to live as a bastard," said Rhaegar, and he seemed to wilt as if a weight of years of sorrow lay on him.

"Lord Stark welcomed me into his halls and taught me the meaning of honour, and though he might have paraded me as a bastard before the eyes of the Kingdoms, in truth, he saved my life," said Jon gazing at Rhaegar. "If I had come south as you hoped, I daresay I would not have seen my third nameday for an accidental dose of poison or scorpions in my bed."

"Did Lord Stark ever tell you what happened at the Tower of Joy?" snarled Rhaegar. "What happened to your mother's corpse?"

Jon fell silent for a moment, violet eyes peering at him from across the fire, his own eyes begging, imploring him to see reason.

"I've him since I was a babe swaddled; he will have good reason to do what he did," he said. "I shall let him defend himself when the time comes, and only then will I pass judgement."

Yet the doubt of what he might do weighed on him; if Lord Stark revealed his reasons to be nought but selfishness, would he deny Rhaegar his justice. They spoke no more after that as Jon busied himself with the cleaning of his armour and blade, yet he could glimpse the sorrow in the young king's eyes and truly pitied him.

Jaime

Jaime was in the company of monsters, and he was one of tavern was a ruckus of shouting and hooting and the scrapping of wooden chairs. The Lannister party rode hard for days upon days off the roads until their thighs were chuffed raw from their saddles. Yet they couldn't afford to be captured. It was only when his horse was near death that he allowed them to stop at a small tavern, but this was a mistake.

There was another loud shout, followed by the sound of glasses shattering. Next to him, Addam and Kevan frowned disapprovingly as Gregor Clegane forcibly fondled some poor servant girl while his men hooped and cheered for their barbarous lord, some going so far as to squeeze the girl's bosom.

"Fucking animals, the lot of them. Yet none had besmirched their honour as he had! No! None here had forsaken the vows of the Kingsguard or strangled an innocent boy with his own chains. They would when ordered, no doubt, but they haven't." thought Jaime bitterly.

Jaime thrummed his fingers on the table as he witnessed the cruelty of his father's men; he had always known of course, yet it felt as poison in his heart now. The girls were terrified as they were groped and touched by drunken oafs who would beat them if they refused. Yet his mind was drawn back to Edric, how he thrashed, how he begged, the look of anguish in his blue eyes as he was murdered for the machinations of his cruel brother. The boy was scared as well. He couldn't fight back likewise.

He rose to his feet, chair clattering to the ground and ale slopping on the floor; there was a long silence as the men turned to him, their eyes glassy from drink, wondering if he would perhaps join them.

"You will leave these women to conduct their business in peace!" snarled Jaime. "You are fucking Westermen, not Ironborn, now leave them be!"

The men grumbled and returned to their tables in good order, all save for Gregor, who scowled at him and forced the girl into his lap.

"And why should I do that, whelp?" growled Gregor, drunkenly palming the girl's bosom. "This fair whore has the privilege of serving me. I shall have my gold's worth."

Jaime rose to his feet, his sword hissing from his scabbard in a flash of gold. That caught the beast's attention.

"You will leave her be, Gregor; I will not tell you again," said Jaime.

Truly he hoped Gregor would be foolish enough to challenge him; his blood ran hot, and he was yearning to fight, truly he was a monster and what better than to slay another monster to rid himself of this guilt that bubbled like bile in his gut, yet it was not to be.

The Mountain scowled furiously and tossed the servant girl away from him. The poor girl flew through the air and landed with a thud and a crunch; she had unmistakably broken her nose. After a grimace, she looked up at him somewhat thankfully.

Jaime gave her a cold smirk. "Be careful next time, girl. There won't be another dashing Kingslayer to save the day. The next time…you might be in for a little rape."

The girl's look turned horrified, and she gapped up at him. Good. Everyone should look at me for what I have done.

With the business concluded, Jaime sat back down. Addam and Kevan looked at him warily.

"Have you taken leave of your fuckin sense, boy!" cried Kevan. "Gregor could've killed you in one stroke,"

"I could've killed him as easily as well," said Jaime, and soughed as if some old hurts stirred within him. "But let us speak no more of Gregor. I don't think it wise to go presently to Casterly Rock. The King's solemn second brat, he is a dragon rider if that has not escaped your notice. And it many would assume that we should flee to the comfort of my father's skirts, and while the Rock is redoubtable, I do not wish to test the strength of her walls against a dragon."

The two looked at him in silence, and exchanged meaning glances among themselves.

"Where will we go then?" asked Addam, taking a draught of his wine.

"We must go east," said Jaime quickly. "Our enemies have us fenced in. And no place shall be safe for us so long as that dragon is about. Essos is far larger. We may hide there until Father finds some way to placate the King." And I want to find Tyrion. His fingers clenched. He knows his br- would not go to Casterly Rock unless madness had taken him. So his only hope is to find the dwarf on the road.

"We have a debt to pay."

Rhaenys

There was still a measure of panic long after the Cannibal had departed. She was still abed when she was wakened by screams of the Lords and smallfolk. When she spotted the dragon looming just outside the open window, her legs were pools of mud in the bed, her eyes were entranced by the black beast as it soared about. Her heart thundering in her ears as they beheld death. She heard the cries and the pounding of countless feet as men at arms girded themselves for battle. Many thought that Jon had shown his true colours and they would perish as old Hoare did turned to kindling for the whims of a Dragonlord, yet when Cannibal sped away Westwards, she let out her breath and cursed herself for being so frightened.

"Jon told me that he and father would be leaving soon, and still I cowered like a frightened girl." thought Rhaenys. "Well, it is a beast of war who is famed for devouring dragons. I surely can be excused for that."

She felt slothful; she had stayed awake well past the hour of the bat until courage or perhaps foolishness had convinced her to confront Jon. That quarrel was wearying beyond hope. The cruelty of Jon's words were a bitter poison to swallow, yet she could offer no defence, no banalities, for she knew he spoke truly. His voice biting as cold iron, the love in his gaze replaced with loathing, she hoped they could speak when he returned, and maybe such cruelties could be forgotten.

"I acted the fool to worried what my mother might think," Rhaenys huffed, laying her head down. "I almost lost him for that. But I will not let my mother's feelings poison him against me."

"I shall love him as only a dragon can" Rhaenys muttered. "Even if my slattern of a cousin wishes to take him from me."

Thinking of her cousin made filled her with disgust. In Dorne, to love freely was expected, even among the High Lords. Though, Rhaenys never had a fondness for sharing like her cousins do, indeed, such things revolted her, especially after her father sought to take a second wife. She loved her cousin as dearly as one might, but that slattern seemed unyielding in her pursuit of Jon.

"Why can't she see that he is mine and mine alone?" thought Rhaenys angrily. "She lusts for him and his dragon. But she doesn't love him. Jon merely sees a pretty face he doesn't know she is but a snake seeking her next meal. But I will show him that he is mine, and I am his. If Arianne wishes to fight, then we shall fight, but she will learn that the dragon does now bow before lesser women."

"It smells of him," thought Rhaenys, bringing the sheets close. They smelt of soldier pine, tobacco and soot; she wrapped them around herself and soon drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, she felt better than she hoped. However, when she rose from the bed and stilled, uncertain. Jon was gone, and she was reluctant to spend time with her mother or brother, less so her cousins; it seemed foolish to say, but she was without purpose.

She swiftly dressed and left his chambers, followed closely by Barristan and headed toward her room, wondering what she might do until Jon returned.

"I can work on the spear with Obara," Rhaenys mused; it was a sound plan and would let her focus her ire on something fruitful.

When she entered her chambers, she spied Mya in the corner, fast asleep in one of her armchairs. Rhaenys had told her not to linger here, yet the Baratheon stubbornness undoubtedly won out. Not wishing to disturb her friend Rhaenys walked to her bed as swiftly as she might, but her hopes were dashed when Mya stirred.

Mya's eyes opened groggily. "Rhaenys?"

"I told you I didn't need your service for the night." Rhaenys tried to sound firm but knew her voice fell flat. "You didn't need to sleep in the chair."

Mya laughed. "I didn't but I hoped to hear some good news regarding you and your husband to be."

"Progress," Rhaenys simply said, drawing a single eyebrow from Mya.

"I'm going to assume that's good," Mya deadpanned before she stood up. "What do you want to wear today?" She stared at her expectedly.

"For what?" said Rhaneys bewildered.

"Have you forgotten so soon? Aegon announced that the tourney will start today," said Mya, rummaging through her wardrobe, endeavouring to find a respectable gown.

Rhaenys frowned. "Seven Hells, I hoped Aegon might forget all about it. But it seems my brother is determined to show his foolishness. Yet, I will not let it be said that the Princess shirks from her duties; damn, I shall have to sit next to my cousins."

"You will be prancing amongst the lords and knights. So please, be presentable for once," Mya jested.

"A dragon does not prance, Mya," Rhaenys chortled. "I am the Princess, so they will have no choice but to like what I wear."

Mya laughed. "You won't be crowned the queen of love and beauty with that attitude Princess."

"Good, I care not for a pretty garland of flowers," said Rhaenys. "Besides, the one I wish to crown isn't here, so it matters little."

Aegon

How shameful a splendid affair can become so unappealing with the denial of something greater.

The tourney was to be held on the shores of the God's Eye; indeed, such was the grandness that the field seemed a riot of colour and noise. The air was filled with the pleasant smells of strong spirits, roasted meat and horse. Aegon himself sat in the royal dais away from the rabble with the Kingsguard surrounding them. His mother sat to his right, Oberyn to his left, Rhaenys the next seat after, and then his cousins, and then Rhaella, and finally, the farthest from him, Daenerys.

Aegon was seething, yet it wouldn't do good to act the fool, so he stewed in his rage, casting glances at his wayward wife. Margaery was seated with her family a great distance from the royal box. Innumerable times, the Tyrells sent him sullen glances, yet none were so evil as Margaery and her eldest brothers, but he cared little he was the prince, and all should heed his words. Eventually, he saw Margaery whisper something to her grandmother, and the Tyrells rose and departed the field, no doubt retiring for the day.

"Margaery avoids me as I am some pockmarked whore as if we don't have to be together on the ride back to Kingslanding." thought Aegon. "Insipid, spiteful whore it seems the cells did little to soothe her hostilities."

The waters brushing the shore, the beam of the sun above, the dim

cheers of the mob, the glory of it all – and Aegon still couldn't find it in himself to enjoy it.

"Sarella had been enamoured by the bow since she could pluck the string. Her talent with it is undeniable," remarked Elia, glancing at him cheerily.

Aegon frowned; his mother had seemed distant of late, regarding him with subtle scorn ever since his refusal to be entangled in her many plots. He bore her no ill will, but to be cast aside so easily wounded him deeply.

"She is no different than father," thought Aegon gloomily. "Her love but a prize she dangles in exchange for damnation,"

Aegon glanced down at the field. There were few who possessed any skill for archery, but as the day grew long, Sarella kept pace with the proud knights and lords of the South, with each arrow striking dead centre.

"Sarella is a splendid archer, though I fear she will not win," thought Aegon.

Aegon was drawn from his thoughts as the crowd cheered for Jalabhar Xho, the famed prince of the Summer Isle though he suspected they were more enamoured of his exotic appearance than his mastery of the bow.

After the prince same Bryden Tully, then Balon Swann, and lastly a commoner by the name of Anguy; he was a ruddy haired youth clad in fine leathers and carrying a great bow of yew near as tall as a man.

The boy stepped forth and set an arrow to the string; though it was a challenging shot even with his bow, he aimed high and loosened three shafts in succession, each found its mark with the last splitting the first two.

The crowd cheered heartily for the boy, none more so than the Dornish, who thumped their hands on the bannister; some even broke out into song led by Lord Yronwood; he even spied purses of gold being traded as many hurried to place their wager.

"Sarella is doing splendidly; you must be proud, Oberyn," said Elia.

"Yes, she is, though Theon Greyjoy is skilled as well," said Oberyn eyeing the Greyjoy with keen interest.

Aegon gave a swift glance towards the Greyjoy. Theon indeed held himself well. The confidence the Greyjoy oozed was clearer than the blue skies overhead. His arrows never strayed near outside the bullseye. The way Theon arrogantly puffed up his chest with every successful attempt almost made Aegon gag.

"It seems the whoreson has grown bold indeed," thought Aegon. "Still, it does him good to prance about with the trophy I gave him,"

The news of his quarrel with the Krakenspawn had spread like wildfire. Lords like Lyn Corbay openly sneered whenever the Greyjoy walked past. Arianne and Oberyn and the Sand Snakes simply laughed while Rhaenys and his mother and Rhaella admonished him quite thoroughly. But, most cruel was Daenerys, whose eyes held nought but contempt.

"They may think me foolish, but I am the Prince, and I must be daring in all matters," thought Aegon bitterly. "To think that scum would speak to me as if he were my equal! It is only by the grace of my ancestors that his sheep shagging ancestors hold those Islands; I refuse to allow him to return to those isles. The squids cannot be trusted again. Let him be a Lord without a seat; if only I might claim that dragon, I could force those savages to kneel."

"You are not enjoying yourself?" said Elia.

"How can I?" said Aegon bitterly, his anger rising above weariness and misery. "Father leaves with his dearest son to quell the rebellion while I am to remain here as a beggar hoping for but a scrap of honour!"

Saying the words aloud felt less a cruel jest that his father would so carelessly cast him aside again for that horrid bastard, he was but a savage in the trappings of nobility; why could they not see Jon was unworthy of such love? Why must his family turn their backs upon him?

"I can't always explain the reasons behind your father's actions – there are few who can," said Elia wearily. "But the only thing you can do is to do what he has asked you. Show him that you are a worthy heir and have no need to be cast aside."

He frowned; the mere thought of being supplanted as prince filled him with rage, yet there too was fear in his heart, fear of what might befall them should Jon take the crown.

Aegon turned his head to regard his mother. "Do you truly believe he intends to pass me over for…him?"

The words were like bile in his throat, and for a long moment, his mother said nothing as he saw tears on that once proud face, more unbearable than rage.

"History repeats itself, egg," snarled Elia, her face stern as stone. "First, he started a war on her behalf. Then hoped to cast me aside for a whore with a pretty face. Won't he do the same for a son with a dragon?"

There was a dim roar from the stands. Though it was nough for his heart hammering in his ears, would he truly be cast aside for want of a dragon? Surely not, yet the fear festered in Aegon's heart and for a moment, he thought he might faint.

Oberyn had been growing more and more impatient and angry as the conversation wore on. These last words were more than he could bear, and he placed a comforting hand on Aegon's shoulder.

"The man is a fool, Aegon; he'd rather a dragon be the jewel of the crown. I would call it good sense were it not so cruelly offered," he said. "But you are my nephew and my blood, and no harm shall come to you while House Martell remains strong. Working with Darkstar is unsavoury, but it is better it unsavoury and king than honourable and dead!"

Aegon closed his eyes and grimaced, but said nothing. They all stared at him in silence, save Elia, who turned away. But Oberyn's face was stern as stone. "Speak, nephew!" he said.

Aegon looked at them, and his bright eyes flashed. "Should it come to if J- not that bastard chooses to rebel, I shall slay him myself."

Aegon heard a snicker of disbelief from his uncle and a disgruntled sigh from his mother. The prince let his gaze wander until his eyes met those of Robb Stark. The wolf runt was scowling at him from across the tourney grounds. His glimmering blue eyes burned keenly with spite, defiance and insolence; the fool loathed him.

Aegon cared not for the opinion of so lowly a lord, yet as their eyes met, he felt a hot wrath blaze well up in his heart. This dog thought to vie with a dragon, to best him with but a glance; yes, Robb Stark would learn that one does not challenge a dragon and walk away unscathed.

"Perhaps it is time I remind this fool why the wolf bows before the ?" thought Aegon.

Robb

His face was grim, and he felt a cold fury well in his heart. The prince's eyes were sufficed with loathing and scorn in equal measure.

"He has the gall to speak ill of Jon and assault Theon and treats me as nought but a beggar unworthy of his attention. He is a haughty brat too prideful to learn, too hateful to prosper," thought Robb. "But the damned fool will no doubt participate in the joust. That is where I will put his pretty face in the dirt, remind him that the wolves shall not suffer a blow unanswered."

He was pulled from his musings as Theon trounced Sarella Sand, earning a chorus of dismayed groans from the Dornish section. Sarella stood there dumbstruck. Her mouth flapped like a fish. Then she cast down her proud eyes, and for a moment, Robb thought she might weep, yet the girl seemed to have some measure of honour as she congratulated Theon before walking over to the Dornish stands. But alas, his friend was not so gracious, mocking the girl for all that might hear him.

"It seems the Kraken has bowed the sun and broken the spear," cried Theon, "Perhaps the sand snakes are better suited to the kitchens."

Robb knew such slights were meant for the prince, and it seems Theon's words had done as intended, as Aegon seemed keen to kill the Greyjoy as was only held back by his mother, who regarded Theon with malice. Robb privately approved any attempt to slight Aegon's honour, though he wished Theon could've tempered it the slightest bit towards the bastard girl.

Robb was sitting in a box with his siblings and his wife Alys at his side. Arya and Bran argued back and forth over who they thought was going to win; such bickering often ended with Arya calling Bran a fool and his brother furiously denying it. Rickon only shouted just so he could be heard. Sansa sat by her friend Jeyne Pool and was more reserved, though her wonder could be seen in her blue eyes. Catelyn had excused herself with important business. But as the throng of competitors thinned, Robb still saw no sight of his mother.

He was growing worried, wondering what might have happened to her, and then he saw her drawing nearer, Edmure at her side. Catelyn smiled at them, but his mother's eyes were cold and hard. Robb knew there something was amiss. His siblings only gave their mother a respectable nod before returning their full attention to the archery. Edmure sat beside Rickon and busied himself with amusing the boy, while his mother looked as if she had greeted the stranger.

"What is wrong, Mother?" asked Robb rising from his seat.

His mother frowned and embraced him. "Remain calm," she whispered. "You must keep a clear head, do not speak out of turn, and only ask what is needed no more."

"What?" asked Robb in bewilderment. "Mother, what is happening?"

Catelyn only shook her head. She only vaguely pointed. Robb followed the finger and frowned at what he saw.

That was how Robb found himself being escorted by Garlan Tyrell back to the castle grounds and soon through the very castle itself. The halls of Harrenhal were wholly deserted, with most attending the tourney. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed as they walked among the aged galleries of Hoare's folly. Though, Robb felt ill at ease by the heavy frown on Garlan's face. He still bore the bruises and scars of Aegon's tender mercies. For a moment, he thought to ask the man where they were going, then thought better of it; he'd heard many tales of Garlans prowess with a blade and did not wish to see if such rumours were true.

Garlan led him deeper and deeper into Harrenhal; judging by the dust, it seemed no one had set foot here in centuries. They walked down twisting stairs and passed over a couple of vaulted halls before they came upon a singular door. Without preamble, Garlan opened the door and bid him enter; for a moment, Robb thought he should flee, but he could not.

The door closed softly behind him.

He was welcomed into a large chamber with high windows of silvered glass and a floor of white stone; at the centre of the chamber sat a large stone table; there sat Willas Tyrell, and beside him was his eldest sister. They eyed him for a moment before smiling.

"Well met, Robb Stark, now, if you, please have a seat…." said Willas as he motioned to the seat opposite himself and his sister.

"Well, met to you as well, my Lord," said Robb remembering his courtesies. "Though I must ask why you have summoned me? Would it not be better to speak at the feast tonight?"

Willas looked at him, cradling the walking stick he had at his side. "We have called you here for House Stark has ever been known as a house of honour and good sense,"

"Lies," thought Robb grimly. "We have bought our peace with lies and tarnished our honour beyond hope of reprieve,"

"I thank you for coming, lord Stark, we have much to discuss, and it is better if done away from prying eyes," seconded Margaery, her eyes sparkling evilly.

"So it's treason then," thought Robb, his heart welling with dread.

Willas frowned. "House Tyrell has ever sought to uphold the ideals of chivalry. Indeed, were it not for our ancestors, such nobleness would have never taken root. And though many see us as nought but upjumped stewards, we have done our best to uphold the peace of the realm. Alas, it has not escaped our notice that House Targaryen seems…quite unstable."

"Aye, it's treason then." thought Robb with a grimace.

Margaery saw the frown on his face. "We do not plan to usurp the Targaryens from power, my lord. We are merely conversing with the other Lords in attendance regarding the state of the realm and the safeness of our houses."

"You've talked to other lords, then?" asked Robb.

Willas nodded. "We've talked to Jon Arryn, Edmure Tully, and your lovely mother. It is unfortunate Renly Baratheon has taken leave – we would have been glad to speak with him regarding an alliance."

"Aye, the lord that has taken leave to go to his castle to raise his banners against the Targaryens." thought Robb.

"You would be delighted to speak with the Old Lion as well then?" Robb tested.

Margaery smiled brightly. "Of course, my lord. Westeros is at its strongest when all seven kingdoms are in the fold. Why war when animosity can be settled with words?"

"You are to be wed to the Crown Prince. You are part of House Targaryen and the future queen. Why not bring such issues to the King when he returns?" Robb asked.

Margaery raised a hand to her lip where the bruise lay. "Do I dare say I am part of House Targaryen when my own husband shuns me and places my brothers and me in the dark cells where the evil spirits whisper? Harrenhal is cursed, my lord. We are fortunate nothing terrible has happened aside from."

"There are other events that happened here which concern me," Willas continued. "The open squabbles the royal family has. Joffrey and Cersei Targaryen's death at the hands of Viserys Targaryen, such cruelties might have befallen us had good sense not prevailed, worse still, the death of that poor Baratheon boy at the hands of Jaime Lannister. My lord father and lady grandmother will no doubt be wrathful when they get word."

"Aegon's ordering the capture of Tyrion Lannister, for what reasons we can only guess," added Margaery. "The concern with my brother Lor-"

"Your brother thought it good sense to kidnap a Princess from under the King's very nose," Robb reminded her.

"Oh yes, a very problematic situation. Though, Loras claims the princess insulted and threatened my person. What would a loving brother do in that situation?"

Willas pondered his words for a moment, then spoke again: And lastly, the reveal of jo- White Wolf actually being the King's long lost second son, more pressing however, is him being the first dragon rider since the day of Rhaena Targaryen! But such secrets being unveiled has caused all manner of troubles. The Northermen and Dornish are at each other's throats, it is no secret of the hatred the Aegon harbours for your cousin, and now Tywin and Renly are raising their banners; I'm afraid that the peace promised to us shall not last."

He considered their words for a moment; they spoke no falsehoods. "It has been nought but sixteen years, and it seems we shall have another war of dragons." he thought. "Is this what my father foresaw? Is this why he thought to hide Jon from the king?"

Robb brought himself back to the present. "And what do you intend to do?"

Their faces went blank. "Nothing for the present," said Willas. "We are loyal subjects of the crown. We shall not act against the interest of the crown, for they are similar to our own. Nevertheless, we desire to keep the lord of the realm abreast of such plots."

"And should the dragons prove themselves undeserving to lead us?" Robb pressed.

Willas wore a rueful smile. "Well, Robb Stark, I think it is a matter of when rather than if. And House Tyrell will do as we always did as loyal supporters of House Targaryen – grow strong."

"Trying to get a proper answer from these lackwits is like trying to tell the Freys apart." thought Robb angrily.

"What shall befall Jon then?" asked Robb.

Robb didn't miss how Margaery smiled at the mention of him or how the siblings exchanged meaningful glances.

Margaery paused and looked at him cheerily. "What is…Jon like? Forgive me; I do not know him well as I would like and have only heard tales of his deeds in Essos."

Robb knew it was best to speak the truth, so he did. "Jon is a fine man. He was raised alongside me. I don't know another man who is more determined to bring justice to those who need it. The king may call him my cousin, but to me, he will always be my brother."

They looked pleased. "Well then, we are certain your cousin and his

dragon will uphold the peace Aegon the Conqueror sought for when he sailed for Westeros. Thank you for your time, my lord."

When Robb left the room, Garlan Tyrell was still standing in the corridor. The man went rigid at the sight of him. He opened his mouth as if he wished to say something but then quickly slammed it shut. Garlan turned on his heel and stormed away.

Arianne

"Hmmm, I forgot how prickly my cousin gets when someone plays with her toys." thought Arianne.

Arianne, Nymeria, and Tyene sat with Rhaenys in the royal box, watching as the melee unfolded below. A commoner from the Dornish Marches by the name of Anguy bested Theon Greyjoy in the final rounds of the archery and won ten thousand golden dragons. The boy had gone as red as his hair as his countrymen hooted and cheered for his victory. But, unfortunately, the Greyjoy was not so courteous as he threw down his bow and departed the field, no doubt to bury his troubles in whores and drink.

Arianne smiled proudly as she saw her countrymen celebrating. "Good Let the realm see the Dornish are the grandest among them."

Sarella had joined them soon after, though very sullen. Tyene tried to rouse her spirits, but their cousin seemed melancholy beyond reason. Eventually, Arianne embraced her, laying a soft kiss upon her brow.

"Don't be disheartened, cousin; you've made us very proud today," said Arianne, with the rest of them nodding at her words. Yet it seems their words did little to soothe her pride as Sarella frowned and bowed her head.

They watched Obara take part in the melee; it seemed that the men did not wish to face her, whether because she was a woman or merely the shame of losing to one she could not say. Arianne heard words of encouragement come from Elia and the other Dornish, but no cheers were so loud as her uncle Oberyn as he thumped the bannister and sang the praises of his daughter.

It was supposed to be a good day for their family. Though Rhaenys refused to look or talk to Arianne. When she did, her responses were harsh. Her cousin was treating her as if she were a beggar selling buttons at the door, and it was infuriating.

Tyene gasped in delight as Obara knocked another man to the ground with her spear. "Our dear sister is relentless. It's as if Mother Rhoyne herself has stepped forth!"

"Obara is spirited though bravery can only take one so far," Nymeria said cheerily. She caressed the whip at her side. "She is fortunate I didn't join this farce as well."

"No, you are lucky you didn't join this farce," Rhaenys jested. "If you had joined, I would have had no choice but to join as well."

Arianne scoffed. "As if Aegon would allow his sister to participate in this farce."

Rhaenys paid her no mind and instead turned to Tyene. "How are your daggers coming along?"

Tyene laughed. "Oh, dear cousin, what daggers?"

Arianne was becoming furious. "Rhaenys, how is your spear coming along?" she asked pointedly; still, her cousin ignored her.

"Rhaenys, I didn't think you heard me," said Arianne angrily.

"Nymeria, mayhaps if I get the time tomorrow, you can show me the whip." Rhaenys continued, ignoring her once again. "I admit, I used to think they were useless. But now I see the vision. You can use the whip to silence vexing slatterns who seem to prattle on endlessly when they think someone is listening."

With that, Rhaenys glared at Arianne evilly and turned away. There was a discomfiting quietness. They all stared. Even Sarella glanced between them in shock.

Arianne smiled, though in truth, she was furious. "She thinks she can treat me with such scorn?! Oh, I shall enjoy this."

"I think I know of a far better method for shortening one's breath. It's the sword for me. I know that personally." said Arianne lustily.

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, looking at her dismissively.

Arianne grinned viciously. "Especially one that is attached to a certain dragon rider. Oh, it was a lovely affair. I'd call it less a sword and more a lance tis a wonder I could even talk the day after." Let her ignore that. It isn't true, not yet, at least. All I've done was give him a hand job, but what is the purpose of telling her that?"

Rhaenys regarded her disinterestedly but gave no answer, yet her eyes burned hot with fury.

"I have her undivided attention now, huh?" Triumph flowed through her whole being. Smirking, Arianne turned her attention back to the melee below. "Alas, my dear Rhaenys, you are a foolish girl thinking to compete with me. We might've shared him and lived happily. However, now you will never get a chance because he is too obsessed with m-"

"I care for him, Arianne; he isn't a mere toy whose heart you might play with," said Rhaenys angrily.

"You love him?! That's what you meant to say?!" sneered Arianne. "Oh, my foolish cousin, you must let go of this witless fantasy that Jon will be enticed by love. This is not a fairy tale. He will search for a pretty face and one that will spread her legs. And he seems wholly enamoured with me as of late a pity for you. I intend to bring a dragon into the fold for Dorne; the fact that you think he will be loyal to you and you alone are laughable."

"Maybe I have been too harsh. She is young and very much infatuated with the thought of a dragon prince sweeping off her feet. I can't shame my cousin for that." thought Arianne pityingly.

When Arianne turned around to offer her sincerest apologies, she was met by a hard punch; the blow sent her reeling in her seat. Her vision swam, stars danced before her eyes, and the shouts of her family seemed far off.

She fell backwards, but a hand roughly grabbed her hair and pulled it back, and Rhaenys punched her hard again, and she tasted blood; she tried to stand up, but Rhaenys was sitting on her chest, her amethyst eyes glittering with rage.

Rhaenys forward and growled in her ear. "You don't care about my feelings or me. It's always been about you. You are notmy cousin,"

The pain in her cheek gave way to outrage. Arianne threw her cousin off and slapped her hard. Soon the two of them were brawling in the royal box. Though, Rhaenys was taller and broader, Arianne was shorter and thicker. Arianne kicked Rhaenys hard in the face. One tug on the other hair provoked a squeal from Rhaenys. A fist quickly shoved itself into Arianne's abdomen in retaliation. The air was knocked out of her lungs. Arianne took a step back, holding her stomach gingerly.

By then, the rest of their family had come to break up their brawl. Tyene, Sarella, Elia, and Daenerys kept the struggling Rhaenys from slapping her again, while Nymeria, Oberyn and even Aegon did their best to restrain her. Rhaella stood there watching the scene, her eyes filled with dismay.

"Let go of me!" Arianne screamed. "The little whore struck me first!"

"And I'll do it again, you miserable slattern!" answered Rhaenys.

"Calm yourself, Arianne, please!" pleaded Nymeria.

"Foolish girl, foolish girl," Oberyn was muttering.

Aegon's face was pure fury. "Have both of you lost your fucking minds?! he cried. "Brawling like brigands in front of the lords!"

Arianne eventually stopped struggling against their hold and composed herself before looking around.

The very heart of the melee stopped itself. Dozens of combatants had ceased fighting to stare up at the royal dais in astonishment. A half dozen men were standing there with their swords resting at their sides. There were men sprawled in the dirt, their visors open so they could see more clearly. In the stands, a murmur of astonishment ran through the lords., their eyes were innumerable and pitiless, the whispers wide and far and accusing; they halted the whole tourney. Obara took off her helm in concern. The Kingsguard was here, hands on their scabbards and glancing between them in confusion and pity.

"The princesses of the realm just embarrassed themselves in front of almost all the lords in Westeros," Arianne thought with sickening dread. Across from her, Rhaenys tried in vain to break free from her captors, caring little for the spectacle they had caused.

"What is wrong with you two?" Elia demanded. She looked genuinely disappointed. "We are family! We don't fight our own."

She looked between them. "Now, what is this squabble about?"

Neither of them said a word. Arianne stared at Rhaenys, still breathing angrily. She can feel a welt forming on her cheek where Rhaenys had struck her.

"She acts like as squabbling child! She wishes to start a fight for a man who prefers my company to hers?" thought Arianne.

Aegon turned back to the crowd and the participants in the yard below, his violet eyes glinting in malice. "Well? Continue on!" The prince's words carried. Slowly, his words made a stir, and the combatants returned to exchanging blows. The lords in the stands averted their eyes, but Arianne could see many of them were glancing at them both with pity and concern.

"Fine then – don't tell me. No excuse you could offer is worth such a mess. We are Martells; we do not quarrel amongst ourselves." Elia shook her head and turned to Rhaenys. "I'm disappointed in you, daughter. I thought I taught you better than to lash out in anger. This is not how your father expects you to carry yourself as the princess of the crown. You shame our family with such foolishness."

There were still vestiges of bitterness in Rhaenys's dark eyes, but she seemed to deflate a little at her words. Unhurriedly her breathing seemed to calm. She avoided looking at Arianne.

"I am sorry, Mother. I acted unbefitting our house and will accept whatever punishment you deem worthy of such foolishness," said Rhaenys, casting down her proud eyes.

Arianne smirked. "That's right. Get put in a corner with your thumb in your mouth. Serves you right for unjustly hitting me."

Elia nodded, and her eyes softened a little. Her eyes turned hard again when she turned to look at Arianne. "As for you young lady, you are to be held accountable as well. Your fath-"

Arianne broke her off. "My queen, I have defended myself against her unwanted aggression. I am not to blame here." She frowned. "Why is she talking to me as if I wished for this to happen? I'd no inkling my cousin would act a fool over a boy."

Elia's voice turned sharp. "It takes two for blows to be exchanged. You are a princess as well. You know well the troubles our family faces, and yet your brawl like whores!"

"I am the princess of Dorne. Blood or no, I shall not have blows against me go unanswered," thought Arianne hotly. Oberyn's look of warning silenced any retort she might have, and she merely nodded.

"I believe a stroll through the wood will calm such raging hearts – no?" Oberyn asked Elia. His sister glanced at him. An unsaid message lay between them.

"What are they up to?" Arianne thought mistrustfully.

Elia hesitated for a brief second. "Yes, a nice walk will do. I spied some lovely trees along the road that I am told bring good luck."

Aegon considered that for a brief moment. "A score of men can escort you." he said at last, "Ser Ba-"

"We would bring Arthur," Elia quickly intervened. If the Bold took offence, he didn't show it. "We had a mind to bring Ashara as well."

The queen looked at Arthur and asked, "Wouldn't you like to have a moment with your sister?"

"…I would, your grace", Arthur admitted.

Elia smiled, though it was tinged with something Arianne couldn't place.

"Excellent," exclaimed Elia, crossing her legs, and sitting back in comfort.

Aegon stared at his mother and uncle suspiciously. His heart was uneasy, and for some queer reason, a feeling of dread came over him, but he paid it no mind and whirled around and sat back in his seat.

Jon

It was through Cannibal's eyes that Jon scoured the lands below as they rode through the clouds. The dragon's senses were far keener than his own. He was the mightiest beast since the days of the Black Dread, and he knew it well. He was master of the very winds, with each beat of his wings thundering as a summer storm. There were once many who might've challenged him, but that was so very long ago when he was but a hatchling himself. No, he is a king unrivalled. Even high above, he could smell the trees, and the earth, yet sweetest to him was the smell of fear.

The loathsome creatures who fled the mere rumination of his coming filled him with ravenous hunger. Nothing inspirits him more than prey with the good sense to run. They can be swift, but none may escape his wrath.

Though his bonded brother forbids him from giving the chase. There was little point if defying his bonded brother. There shall be time to chase down those foolish creatures when his bonded is gone. Until then, he will search for the prey with the golden hair. His bonded brother wanted him, and so did he. If his bonded brother desired a prey to die, the prey would die.

It is a game.

He likes games.

The prey will run.

The prey will hide.

The prey will take shelter in wood and stones.

It will all end in flames.

Nothing can stand against the king in the sky.

But the longer he flew to where the sun did not rise, he saw no sight of the gold prey. He snarled. How dare the prey HIDE? He wished to bathe the land in flames and draw them out from their hiding places, but he felt the will of his brother denying him such happiness.

Now he was just being reminded why he didn't like this land.

There was no challenge to be had here, no great battles to be won; this land had made his bonded brother weak! In the ruins of the lords of old, he and his bonded brother were conquerors. Now his brother is but a pale imitation of the dragon he knew him to be.

Rage and frustration burned within him. Green energy exploded from him before his roar then. The roar shook the very earth, But the golden prey did not come out.

Jon lurched in the saddle; he felt as a beast ravenous and wrothful, and it took him a moment to master his thoughts.

"There is no sight of the Lannister and his party anywhere," thought Jon angrily. "He must have realized it is foolish to head straight for Casterly Rock. For all we know, he might be halfway to Yi-Ti by now. Damn!"

They were drawing nearer to Casterly Rock if the map Rhaegar had given him was correct; the king knew much about the Westerlands since he had ridden there many years ago for a tourney, soon the marshy rivers and glens gave way to lush meadows and stony hollows. If Jon guessed rightly, it would just be another day's push, and they would be on Casterly Rock soon enough.

"Tywin has no doubt fortified the Rock as best he was able," Jon thought. "But if our fortune is good, the Old Lion shall glimpse Cannibal and know to defy us will mean the death of his house... I hope he shall see sense."

At day's end they came to camp beside a stream that had wandered down from the north to lose itself in the stagnant fen, and they walked along its banks while the light lasted. It was near dusk when at last they halted and made their camp under the eves of some withered oaks by the shores of the stream. To the west there loomed against the dusky sky the hills of Golden Tooth.

While the king was busying himself with the maps, Jon kindled a fire with oak and brush, and drew water for cooking.

"I see smoke rising just north of here," Rhaegar said softly, his long fingers tracing the path along the river road. "A couple leagues at most. We are near Sherrer, I suspect. We will pass the Golden Tooth very soon."

"We will reach Casterly Rock by the next day," said Jon. "Though, I suspect the Kingslayer shall not be there to greet us."

"I am of the same mind." Rhaegar peered at him. "Though I must ask, what do you think should be done regarding Jaime?"

"Execute him," said Jon grimly. "You have no choice. He shamed the very brothers he swore to serve and murdered a young boy to conceal his crimes. He then escaped his imprisonment and slew a dozen men loyal to House Targaryen in the struggle." Jon paused and looked at Rhaegar thoughtfully.

"Most cruel of all, he broke his vows and slew the late king as if he were a thief in the night," he said in a whisper. "He murdered your father."

Rhaegar sighed and paused a moment before he spoke again. "What if I told you that he saved the city by killing my father," he said. "What if he broke his vows for the sake of those he loved?"

Jon blinked. That is interesting.

"Jaime told me of my father's plot; the old fool had the Pyromancers set caches of wildfyre under the thoroughfares of the city," said Rhaegar. "On the day I marched to Kingslanding to remove him from the Iron Throne, my father ordered the caches of wildfire to be lit. He knew I intended to depose him, and it drove him mad with hate, had Jaime not betrayed him, I would be king of nought but charred bones and cooked meat."

"He is lying," Jon said with horror. "He wishes to appear blameless in your eyes, to weave whatever lies might save his own neck."

Rhaegar said nought in answer; his violet eyes sufficed with grief.

"You believe him?" Jon blinked. "Why?"

"I just do," Rhaegar said shortly.

"If he tells the truth, then the Lannister saved the whole of Kingslanding, but we cannot let him live." said Jon, "My mind hasn't changed! One good deed shall never make up for a lifetime of cruelty, the Lion must die, or we shall all come to regret it!"

That was the end of the conversation. Rhaegar busied himself with roasting some meat. Jon took the time to delve into his thoughts. Soon, his mind drifted apart from his body.

His sharp ears twitched as he prowled through the sprawling towers of wood and cloth. Humans pressed against each other over their fires and made a ruckus of sounds. They stepped back in fear and moved out of the way when they caught sight of him.

He is big as a horse but swift as shadows. He was worthy of such praise. He used to be the runt of the litter – now he is the largest. His pack welcomed him after his long absence. But he prefers to be alone. He is better alone. The lone wolf grows strong.

But he cannot be apart from his human half. His other half desired for him to watch and protect when he was gone with the flying death. So, he did as he was bid.

When he passed by another tower of cloth and wood, voices drifted out the front. Two shadows in there moved. "It is risky. They are too powerful. The Starks are too protected with Snow having a dragon."

Another voice drifted out, though calmer and more collected. "The dragon can't be everywhere at once. And I disagree with the Starks being too protected. I say they are more vulnerable than ever. They have exposed themselves as traitors to the realm with the kidnapping of the King's son. They have enemies in every corner."

"And this one enemy…are you sure he can be trusted?"

"Why not? His daughter and grandchild are dead, and both of his sons are on the run. He is desperate. His reputation and his house's legacy are at stake. And their sigil is most dangerous when they are backed in the corner…."

The first shadow moved his head to the front of the entrance.

He bounded away before he was caught.

His ears led him to a louder place, where a wave of humans sat in towers of wood. Bright sticks of death clashed and clashed. It is louder than he preferred, but he will do what his human half ordered. In the chaos, even a large creature like him went unnoticed.

It was even clearer when a commotion brewed in the tallest wooden tower. He sniffed and tilted his head to use his senses. His keen ears allowed him to hear all that was said.

"I care for him. You just want to use him."

"You love him?! That's what you meant to say?!" "Wake up from that foolish dream that he, the dragon lord, will be seduced by 'love'. He will search for a pretty face and one that will spread her legs. He seemed quite enamoured with what I had to offer. That is how I intend to bring a dragon into the fold for Dorne. But, of course, I want to use him. The dragon makes him the greatest power in the world. The fact that you think he will be loyal to you, and you alone are laughable."

He watched as the two women fought. Very soon, they were separated by their pack, and it was over.

Jon's focus gradually returned. When his eyes opened, he saw Rhaegar was asleep. The moon wheeled overhead, blanketing the land in a silver shadow.

"Rhaenys and Arianne…They were fighting over me…." thought Jon sourly.

Ghost heard every word they uttered, and so did Jon.

"Arianne wanted me to lie with her so she could have a dragon in Dorne." thought Jon. "Though Rhaenys…she said she cared for me. She vexes me like no other, but I care for her, and she cares for me. When I saw her last, she wished to make amends; perhaps we can?"

More troubling were the two men he heard plotting against house Stark, he did not know them, but he could swear he'd heard that voice before, but he did not know rightly were.

It was then Jon heard the pattering of feet and a twig snap. He sprang to his feet, and Rhaegar swiftly followed, grasping the hilt of his sword as he peered into the gloom. Soon enough, men clad in mail and leather began to emerge from the trees holding torches aloft, hefting spears and swords, axes and spiked clubs.

"I see half a dozen of them. Their chainmail is rusty and worn, and their steel is notched and poorly kept. These are brigands." thought Jon.

He met Rhaegar's eyes and saw fear, and Jon knew he was more concerned about Jon's wellbeing than his own.

"The love of a father that I don't even know," thought Jon. "It is strange for you to be so concerned about a stranger, even if I am your son."

Jon kept his face still as he eyed the brigands' approach. He saw their eyes widen when they caught sight of Rhaegar.

"That's the king!" One of them exclaimed.

"What is he doing all the way here?" said another. "I thought he was at Harrenhal?"

The leader of the motley band stepped forward; he was a stinking hulk of a man with a jagged scar running across his face. He wore a frayed tabard of studded leather and carried an old woodsman's axe.

"Everyone will remember big oh' cock as the one to kill a Targaryen king!" he barked. "I will be more famous than the Kingslayer ever was!"

"In the name of your king, stand down," Rhaegar warned him, brandishing his sword.

"This was always the danger. To forsake protection for secrecy," thought Jon grimly. "The damned lizard! Where is he when he's needed?"

Jon called to his dragon, but he was some leagues away hunting, and he knew Cannibal wouldn't come as swiftly as he liked.

"No matter, they shall be dead before Cannibal can come," thought Jon.

When Jon drew his sword, they gasped. Their eyes were wide in amazement as the blade glittered in the gloaming, dark and deadly.

"By the seven, that's Valyrian steel!"

"I will claim that shit for myself!"

"Kill them!"

Jon startled them by lunging forward to meet their charge. The brigand stabbed a knife towards him, and he turned the blow aside before stabbing his blade upwards into the chest of the man driving his sword down and out, staining the ground with guts and blood. He heard Rhaegar clash with one of them, and not a moment later, the brigand howled in pain, clutching his bloodied stump.

Rhaegar face grew livid, and his eyes burned with wrath. "There will be no mercy for those who seek to harm my son!" he cried. "I shall slay you all, and your corpses shall be left for the crows!"

Another brigand charge spear raised, ready to skewer him, but Jon caught the shaft with his mailed fist and smashed it aside, then hacked at the man's leg, severing it clean through. Another thrust at him, but Jon ducked beneath the blow and drove his sword into the man's belly. He twisted the blade and wrenched it free, then hewed the man's head from his shoulders.

There was a ringing like bells as they clashed. Jon saw Rhaegar charging to meet two of them at once. For some reason, the sight made his heart quicken. He made haste.

The two brigands howled like madmen as they rushed to meet him. Before they got on him, Jon skewered the one on the left. The man stumbled and fell forward, his cry of pain drowned out by the blood bubbling in his throat. He was moving forward this time to meet the blow of a rusted axe, he felt it clang from his blade as he parried. He turned the blow aside and thrust, shifting the sword to one hand, all his weight and swiftness behind the point of the blade; it struck true, piercing the place where the leather and iron lashed. The blade bit deeply, and hot blood washed over his gauntlets; even as the axe fell from the man's grip, he cursed him before falling backwards dead.

Suddenly fearful, he glanced around to see his father. Rhaegar was there, at his side, his armour splattered with blood, and he exhaled in relief. The king was moving with a practised grace the three brigands couldn't hope to match. Soon three more lay dead, and it seemed the others were losing heart.

"Is the man Robert Baratheon faced on the Trident?" wondered Jon, marvelling at the skill of the ruby dragon.

The brigand on the ground hurried to his feet. Jon swiped at his midsection. The man's form was poor, but he managed to block it. Jon parried a sloppy stab and gave a backhanded blow to the man's cheek. The man roared in a fury. Jon saw a strike coming at his side and dashed away. Knowing the man overreached in his anger, Jon appeared at the man's rear. Unfortunately, the man was too slow to react, Jon had the opportunity to just stand there.

The brigand peered over his shoulder with horror. "H-how a-are you so f-fa-"

The Valyrian sword plunged into the man's back. Jon can feel bones and intestines twisting and moving out of place. The sword emerged red on the other side. The man gave one last croaking cry. Jon jerked his sword free from the dying corpse, and the man crumpled like a puppet absent strings.

"Rhaegar!" he cried.

"Son!" came the shout from behind him.

They both stopped on the spot to avoid bumping into each other. Jon and Rhaegar stood there. Rhaegar had smears of blood on his face and in his silver hair. Is the blood his? Unbidden, Jon's eyes searched the king's form for any harm done. He saw Rhaegar do the same. He is ok. A breath blew passed Jon's lips.

"Excellent swordsmanship, Your Grace," Jon said grimly.

Rhaegar returned the exact same smile. "You fight well. I think Arthur would relish the chance to cross swords with you."

Jon looked at the dead bodies around them. "They are thieves and brigands; no doubt they relied on numbers to frighten poor fools into giving them what they wanted, but in the end, they were poor warriors and now corpses."

"This is not new to you," said Rhaegar grimly.

Jon gave a regretful smile. "You must have heard the stories of the White Wolf of Essos, Your Grace. Death follows wherever I go."

Aegon

In his pavilion, Aegon gazed at the standing mirror as Barristan finished tightening the last of his straps. He wore a suit of black plate with the thrice-headed dragon of House Targaryen adorned in rubies on the breastplate; the armour was a near perfect replica of the one his father wore when he slew Robert Baratheon on the Trident.

I am not the same, Aegon thought. The prince staring back at him in the mirror is not the prince he recognized. He has the same silver hair, sharp cheekbones and chiselled jawline. The Valyrian purple eyes burned as bright as ever – although they were not as joyful as they had been. Rather, they were hollow and worn by grief. Aegon was being torn asunder by the ambitions of his family. I am crumbling, Aegon realized with a start.

My position is being threatened by my wayward brother. Father prefers him to me. As my mother said, this can be another Lyanna Stark happening. This time he will get rid of his first-born son for his second.

A sneer surfaced on his lips. Aegon watched it transform his face. I can't let Maegor win. He will not replace me...

Barristan did the last strap and slapped his shoulder with approval. "You look dashing, my prince. I daresay you look exactly like your father. The joust is yours for the taking."

Yes. This is why I chose this armour. They will all look at me and see Rhaegar's true son. I have the hair. I have the armour. Things he does not have. All I need to do is to beat all competitions and win this damn thing. Then, the lords will see me as their only prince.

I know what Mother and Uncle Oberyn have planned…I don't like it. They are taking what is most precious away from Arthur and giving it to scum that is barely considered a damn Dayne. There is a reason both Arthur and Ashara despise him.

But there is something they are not telling me. How can Darkstar be a threat to a Dragonlord? What if…I just let it play out. They said Arthur would not be harmed…Do I truly believe that?

Suddenly it is not Aegon he sees in the mirror. Instead, it is Jon – Maegor.

Jon wore the solemn expression he always has, his purple eyes always judging Aegon. Aegon watched in horror as a slow, wicked grin split Jon's face.

"You are scared of me," Jon said.

Aegon scowled. "I am not scared of you, Maegor."

Jon laughed cruelly. "I think you are little dragon. Why else try so hard to look like our father?"

"I am the rightful Prince!" cried Aegon. "You are nought but the spawn of my father's whore"

"You?! You don't even believe that. That's why you are stuck talking to a mirror." Jon wiped a fake tear off the corner of his eye. "The prince that can't even get his cock wet with his wife?"

Hot anger ran through Aegon. "Watch yourself. She's a bitch."

"And you are not? The woman you claimed to love doesn't even think you deserve the Iron Throne." Jon grinned meanly. "You can see she is starting to prefer another prince. How can I get the admiration from three of the most beautiful bitches in the world, and you can't even get it from someone that despises you now?"

"No, she doesn't!" Aegon shouted. "She loves the heir to the throne, not the monster prince."

"No, she loves the dragon lord. The lords out there do too. They don't want to see you – they want to see me. I was the commander of the Golden Company. I am the slayer of Khal Drogo. I killed the last Blackfyre and took their Valyrian sword. I went to Valyria and came back alive. I have a dragon. I am the true prince of the realm. Your useless – what have you done?" Jon's purple eyes shone with malice. "Father is spending more time with me and shunning you because he noticed this one thing…."

"…I am better than you."

Aegon screamed in rage and agony and lunged forward. Jon was still smirking that evil smirk when Aegon's fist slammed against the mirror. Fissures ran down the glass like water streaks. Pieces of glass fell to the ground. Some were on his fist, drawing blood.

"My prince – what are you doing!" Barristan said in alarm, turning Aegon around to inspect his hand. The knight glanced between the broken mirror and Aegon. There is an uncertain gleam in his blue eyes.

He thinks I am crazy. He thinks I am mad like my grandfather. I don't need that shit. I need to stop my brother.

Aegon ripped his bleeding hand free. He went over to his stool. On there, a helmet lay, pure black and worked in the fashion of a snarling dragon. "I am going to win this joust. I am better than my brother." He wrenched the helm off and placed it on his head. He started for the flap of the tent.

"Better than your brother…." Barristan said in confusion before he shook his head rapidly. "At least get bandages for your hand - my prince!" He hurried to catch up to Aegon.

"The dragon does not fear blood – they embrace it. Know our words."

However, Aegon winced as he pulled the shards out of his knuckles. Blood seeped down his arm. He pushed through the flaps of his tent and spotted a nearby squire. "Clean the mess in there," he barked. The young boy flinched in fear and hurried to do as he ordered.

As he marched to the tourney grounds, with fire in his heart and with something to prove, he felt like a dragon.

Darkstar

"I grow tired of this pointless waiting," Twilight growled next to him. "When do we kill?" Human and dragon crouched behind a line of trees and bushes with a clear sight of the twisting path before them.

Gerold didn't deign to look at the twitching dragon. "Stop your wailing. They will come soon enough."

"You have used the same phrase of speaking for roughly two hundred forty minutes."

"That is four hours," Gerold responded absentmindedly.

Twilight hissed angrily. "Well, it seems you haven't lost your ability to count."

"I am well aware, dragon I-"

"You have given me a foolish name – you might as well use it, human."

Gerold stopped his train of thought to glare at the dragon. "Are all dragons as insufferable as you?"

"Only their bonded brothers would know – if they create the blood link as I have done with you. Many of my kind didn't think it necessary to create one."

Gerold wondered if Jon Snow had the same link with Cannibal.

"And you so happened to think it necessary to do so with me." Gerold narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"You need guidance," Twilight said bluntly. "You are wicked with no small amount of ambition – but you are not strong."

Gerold snapped his head back. "I'm not strong?" He echoed the words with disbelief.

"You are weak," the dragon confirmed. "You cower in the face of strength and only strike when you are in the better position. I had to create direct communication so you can have an advantage."

...…Preposterous!

Gerold swallowed the lump that was suddenly in his throat. "You don't know me," he seethed.

Gerold can see the amusement of the purple dragon. "I think I do. And I am right. You cower behind these trees even now."

Gerold fumed. "We are posted behind these trees because we have a trap in play. Cunning is not weakness."

"Oh yes – the politics you humans play with," Twilight responded sarcastically. "Pathetic."

"This politicking will kill my insolent cousin and claim this sword you think is the key to world domination." Gerold faced the path. A second later, he turned back to the dragon again. "You know what - You are a very snarky serpent," Gerold couldn't help but comment. The Valyrians never recorded how their dragons thought. Or the so-called Gemstone Emperors.

"I am very wise."

Dragons are very spiteful creatures, Gerold inwardly concluded. Malicious and rude. He turned his eyes back to the path.

Just then, a cry rang out, followed by the clash of steel and the beating of hooves. Birds flew from their nests with a distressed cry.

"The wait is almost over," Gerold whispered. His heart started to beat.

"Finally," Twilight hissed.

The sounds of fighting continued on – surrounded by horses whickering and dying men – until a scream pierced the air. "ARTHUR!"

Gerold smirked. My dear cousin Ashara, how loud you can scream. It is all part of the plan.

The sound of hooves hitting the earth grew louder until a rider appeared on the path, face hidden by a helm. Ashara Dayne struggled in his grasp, fierce eyes wild with fright and screaming at the top of her lungs. Gerold watched with a wide smile until they rode out of view.

"Entertaining," Twilight hissed.

There came another sound of hooves. At that, Gerold drew his sword and crouched closer to the path. He can hear the excited air blowing out of Twilight's snout. Gerold's heartbeat sounded like drums in his ears.

Another rider emerged on the path but alone. His features were twisted in determination. The horse drew closer, closer…

Closer…closer. ...closer…closer

And there!

Gerold plunged out into the path, his sword flashing low. The horse cried in agony as the sword bit into its knee and collapsed. The rider flew out of the saddle and collided with the ground in a heap of dirt and dust. There was a painful grunt.

The horse was crying on the ground. Then, with a sneer, Gerold put a slash across its throat to put it out of its misery. Your time is over. My time is now.

Arthur pushed himself to his feet, face and cloak stained with dirt. His purple eyes flashed when he saw Darkstar. "…Gerold? What are y – this is all your doing!"

"It is." Gerold pointed his sword at his cousin, a dangerous smile crossing his face. "I am here to kill you and to claim what is rightfully mine – Dawn."

Arthur stared at him unflinchingly. "You will die for endangering the safety of the queen and princess. There will be no more Dawns for you after today."

Ah, but it is your own queen that sends you to your death.

"You have always been a rabid dog, Gerold." Arthur pulled Dawn from the sheath on his back with a hiss. Without permission, Gerold's breath caught in his chest at the sight of the milky-white great sword. "Kin slaying is cursed in the eyes of the gods. But the world will be good without the curse of you – and there is no one present to witness this deed." Arthur's face tightened in anger. "You will pay for daring to harm Ashara!"

"Make me pay then," Gerold mocked. He slid into his form.

Arthur said no words. With a two-handed grip, the Sword of the Morning advanced on his cousin. With a snarl, Gerold launched the first strike. Arthur parried the blow aside in a ring of steel. Gerold felt Arthur's shoulder barge into him. He was sent sprawling down to the dirt. Gerold scrambled back just as the edge of Dawn plunged into the spot where he just lay. The ground split apart at the impact.

In just one clash, he sent me off my feet, Darkstar thought in surprise…and a little bit of fear.

"I can see the look on your face." Arthur casually forced Dawn out of the dirt. The sun above gave the great sword an otherworldly white gleam so bright it put his snowy white armour to shame. Arthur gave Gerold a steely gaze. "You crumble into a ball at the slightest disadvantage. You are a coward. Where is your bravery in the face of death?"

You are not my death. There is no escape. Gerold picked himself back up. A growl emerged from his throat as he circled around his cousin. Arthur didn't bother to do the same. The sword of the morning stayed right where he was.

Gerold glared at his back. "You think to mock me!" He swung at Arthur's rear. With a pivot, Arthur met his blow and locked blades in a test of strength. Gerold glared into Arthur's violet eyes with his own violet eyes. With a grunt, he pushed against Arthur's blade. Arthur slid back and then pushed back with more ferocity. Gerold felt his arms buckling and his feet sliding back. He is so strong he cursed. His legs burned with the effort to keep his feet under him. The sword lock took them off the twisting path and into the deep of the woods. When his back collided with a tree, Arthur gave a heavy diagonal slice towards his head. Gerold barely managed to dodge to the side. The blow was strong and strikingly fast. The face of the tree was cut clean off. Gerold panted for breath as a few strands of his hair floated to the ground, black and white. It was that close. Gerold glared at his cousin resentfully.

Arthur watched the hair fall too. "Put down your sword. I will give you a clean death. You are no match for me, cousin."

Gerold breathed deeply to calm his anger and his nerves. I am a match for him. He is taunting me into a mistake. I can't strike him in anger. I learned that lesson from that bastard Jon.

Gerold gave Arthur a daring smile. "Is that all you've got? Dawn will be mine sooner than you can blink if this is all you have to offer."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He stalked forward with Dawn in both hands.

Gerold knew better than to allow the blow to reach him. His sword flashed to parry Dawn to the side. Gerold feigned to the left, and then his strike went to the midsection. Arthur saw through that and blocked each blow expertly. With a growl, Gerold swiped low. Arthur simply backstepped and moved on him again. The blades met with a clang and another clang. The pommel of Dawn crashed into his face and made him falter. Arthur pushed him back with a flurry of heavy attacks Gerold had trouble defending. Each blow threatened to take his head off. Dawn was an unnatural sword, light as a feather but sharp as a Valyrian sword. Gerold gritted his teeth. He can feel his palms begin to sweat. Gerold ducked under a blow and threw barrages of his own - High, low, middle, diagonal, horizontal, vertical.

It wasn't nearly as effective as Arthur's and stopped short. Arthur parried the second blow so hard that Gerold's sword arm vibrated. Arthur's first blow pushed Gerold's sword to the left so far that Gerold almost fell over. The second almost tore his sword out of his grip altogether. The third sent him back with a loud clang that made his hands shake. Gerold shouted as he fell into a nearby stream that twisted into far into the unknown. His armour was immediately soaked. I am going to die, he realized. He started trembling.

With his white cloak swirling behind him, Arthur followed him to the stream and offered him no quarter. Splash, splash, splash, the water made as The Sword of The Morning moved to finish him off. Gerold was forced to defend himself the best he could. Arthur's next strike bit through his chainmail and pierced his shoulder. Gerold howled in pain. Arthur cut through his defence like it was parchment. Another set of blows scratched deeper and deeper into his chest plate. Finally, a high cut slashed through his gorget and tore it off immediately. Their swords sparked and made a screech as Arthur pushed his sword to the side. Arthur's lobstered hand smashed against his face. Gerold fell down with another loud splash. He groaned in despair. His face was wet from the water and his own tears.

His eyes were clouded by his tears. I am going to die. Gerold sobbed.

Still, on his arse, Gerold raised his sword to block Arthur's overhead blow. There was a loud clang as Gerold's sword split apart. The sparks broke his heart. The ringing resonated throughout the woods. The top piece splattered into the water and carried down the stream. Gerold stared at his broken sword through teary disbelieving eyes. This can't be it. I am Darkstar. He didn't have long to reflect – as Arthur drove his armoured knee into his face.

The impact sent his head into the water, ringing. His right eye instantly swelled up and shut. Dawn came down again to cut at his shoulder plate. The metal and chainmail crunched under the blow with no resistance. Gerold screamed in agony as their arm was severed. Blood poured out through the gaps. His arm lay there in the water, useless.

Gerold used his other arm to hold up a plea. "Please – mercy! Mercy! I had enough!" His words came out, a high shriek in between his sobs. Snot ran down his nose.

"Only death will be enough for you," Arthur answered. He gripped Dawn tightly in both hands. He looked ready to deliver the killing blow at a moment's notice.

"No! You can't!" Gerold wailed. "I have a dragon! I have a dragon!"

Yes, I do! Twilight will come and roast your ass ALIVE!

Gerold had made the mistake of challenging Arthur alone. But his dragon will be here to bail him out. Unfortunately, Dawn can't stop dragon fire.

Arthur stared down at him with disgust. "Have you truly lost your mind? Only the king's son has a dragon."

"Twilight! Twilight! Twilight!" Gerold was bellowing.

"Enough of this." Arthur raised Dawn high.

A screech rang through the trees. Arthur halted and swung about quickly to look for the source. Gerold sagged with relief. I am saved.

Gerold smiled through his tears as Twilight soared into view with another screech. His purple scales and spikes radiated amethyst under the yellow sun. "Hells – it is a dragon!" Arthur cursed loudly, using Dawn to track the dragon's flight pattern in the air.

"Yes, it is!" Gerold laughed hysterically. "It is my bloody dragon! I am the sword of the morning now!" He laughed until his stomach hurt. Arthur ignored him in preference to keep his eyes on the flying creature instead.

However, Gerold's laughter faded as Twilight – instead of attacking Arthur – perched on a nearby tree branch. Arthur and Gerold stared at the dragon in surprise. The dragon did not move.

Dread slithered into his bones. "Twilight…what are you doing? Attack him!" Gerold cried, puzzled and a little afraid.

Twilight stared at him blankly. Time stretched where the dragon did not move a muscle in his wings. A whimper escaped Gerold's lips.

"Attack him, Gods dammit! ATTACK HIM!" Gerold voice rose to a shriek.

Twilight didn't even twitch.

Tears returned in Gerold's eyes with force. Why is he not listening – he is my dragon! Trembles shook his whole body. He can feel his death approaching. It is terrifying. He soiled himself. A sob racked him.

"I suppose this is not your dragon after all," Arthur said cautiously, lowering Dawn. "Obviously, the creature does not care what happens to you – so I shall finish what I started."

"No. No. No. No." Gerold tried to scramble back as Arthur marched for him. His severed arm crippled him, and his back splashed into the water. "Cousin, mercy. Mercy, cousin. MERCY! PLEASE!" His throat was raw from the shouting.

Arthur stared at him with no remorse in his violet eyes. "You've always sought a way to eliminate me to steal Dawn. I will let you have it."

Dawn flashed towards him.

The sword slid carved into his chest plate like silk and sank deep into his chest. Dawn sunk through his insides and spine and emerged on the other side – drilling the milky sword through the water and into the ground. Warm blood quickly spread through the water. Gerold croaked, his open mouth pouring out blood. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe. All the while this happened, Arthur met his dying eyes unflinchingly. Arthur did not move his eyes away as he twisted and turned Dawn.

Gerold's vision blurred. I am dying. Everything hurt. His cousin is ripping his lifeblood out with his milky-white great sword because he is better. Gerold lay dying because he is the lesser. All of his life he tried his hardest to ignite a light in his cousin's shadow. He did unspeakable things, all just so he can create his own name. But it only separated him from the rest of his people and made him despised. All he did was for nought – the killings, the rapes, the tortures, all he did was for nought.

I am a failure… Gerold thought of Arianne and her sweet body and her sweet eyes. Never again will he get the chance to prove himself worthy of her. The last time he saw her, she shunned him. She will forever remember him as a dead fool she discarded for an actual dragon lord.

…I am nothing.

Twilight's serpent-like voice drifted over him as his vision darkened, "…As I have said…weak."

Aegon

Sweat stung his eyes underneath his dragon helm. He didn't mind it. He embraced it. It kept him focused. I cannot afford to lose, especially not to him. The beating of his heart was louder than the cheers of the crowd. Aegon tried to drown out the outside noise the best he could. There is nothing but his arm and his lance. His horse whickered beneath him – a white stallion with a flowing white mane.

This is the final bout. Aegon fought his hardest to be here.

Robb Stark sat on his on horse on the other side of the tilt. The Stark wore a plain grey suit of armour. His face was obscured by his closed helm, but his auburn locks peaked under the bottom.

Aegon glared at his opponent through the slit of his helm. I will not lose to this pup. I will embarrass him in front of his fucking family, and he will get the prime opportunity to explain to Maegor how the real prince knocked his ass to the dirt!

Aegon clenched his shield arm. Maegor, this will be a message to you.

The horn blew.

Aegon kicked into his spurs. Dirt and grass were thrown up from the hooves. The faces in the crowd blurred as Aegon raced down the tilt. Robb's form approached rapidly. Aegon narrowed his eyes. He leaned forward in his saddle. As he could see, he was close enough to see the blue of Robb's eyes. Aegon aimed his lance toward his chest. His lance shattered on Robb's shield, and Robb's lance shattered on his as well.

Aegon hurried to the other side of the tilt. He threw down his broken lance and caught a new one from a squire. He raced down the tilt once again. This time when they met, Aegon's lance was more accurate – shattering on his arm. The crowd gasped as Robb staggered in his seat. Glee rushed through Aegon's system.

Aegon smirked. This is not what you want little pup.

The next clash resulted in the same way. Robb's lance merely grazed off Aegon's shield while Aegon's lances inched closer and closer to the centre. The one after that, Robb leaned so far to his left that Aegon thought he and the horse would crumble. This isn't even remotely challenging. Aegon had no clue how Robb managed to get this far.

This is what happens to those who challenge the dragon! So Aegon thought as he crashed his latest lance on Robb's shield. The protection flew into splinters. Robb was forced to throw it away and get another one. As Aegon grabbed another lance, he thought, this will be his last. This one will be the one to knock down his insolence, Aegon vowed.

But, when the next clash came, Robb suddenly shifted, so fast and so unexpected Aegon had no defence for the lance shattering on his chest. The blow knocked him and the wind out of him.

The crowd gasped yet again, but for the wrong reasons.

Aegon was halfway out of his seat, grabbing the hinds of his horse so tightly the animal cried. His helmet banged on the wooden rail of the tilt repeatedly until it came flying loose. When he reached the tilt, he managed to propel himself upright in his saddle. Blood ran down Aegon's nose.

There were claps of admiration for his effort.

You little fucking shit! He has been pretending to be horrible to catch me off, guard! The fucker nearly did too! No more playing around!

There was no time in recovering his helm as Robb Stark raced down the tilt, capitalizing on Aegon's sudden vulnerability. Now the tide shifted. The clashes leaned in Robb's favour. The Stark showed more accuracy he hasn't displayed the whole match. Aegon found himself sliding off his saddle more often than not. Aegon can sense the confidence radiating off Robb. In their latest bout – when Robb crashed another lance against his breastplate – Aegon could see his blue eyes sparkling. It made him seethe.

I am better than you," a voice said in his head.

Aegon's eyes widened. His head started shaking. His lousy hand tightened around his lance, smearing blood over the handle. Rage vibrated throughout his body. You are not better than me! You are not better than me! Aegon gritted his teeth so hard it might as well have shattered.

As they neared for what Aegon knew was their final bout, Aegon screamed at the top of his lungs, "YOU ARE NOT BETTER THAN ME!" Robb looked startled but still aimed his lance steadily at Aegon's chest. Aegon snarled like a mad dog as he did the same.

Lances shattered. Both of them.

Aegon felt the world turn upside down before his back smacked the earth. Suddenly he was looking at the blue sky. Everything was dizzy.

Did…Did…did I lo-"

"AND THE WINNER OF THE JOUST – CROWN PRINCE AEGON TARGARYEN!"

Aegon blinked as everything erupted into cheers and shouts. He was still trying to put everything into focus. How did I win when I am on the ground…Aegon lifted his head far enough to see Robb Stark was on the ground as well. The Stark, however, was screaming in pain and holding his arm. Aegon smiled at the sight. Finally, you have gotten what you wished for.

"ROBB!"

The Starks and Tully's rushed down from the stands. Alys got there first, and she and Catelyn gripped Robb tightly while the rest stood staring down at him with worry etched on their faces. The Direwolves surrounded them protectively. The Grey one snapped at Aegon menacingly. Wolves are sore losers.

The cheers dimmed slowly as the crowd sensed something wrong.

Scowling, Aegon shakingly rose to his feet. "Robb Stark – quit playing dead. You are stealing my moment."

They all glared at him. The Direwolves growled.

"I-I th-hink his arm is b-broken," Alys stuttered.

"Good," Aegon responded. "He couldn't hang with the men…" he gestured toward the whimpering Robb. "And got hurt for it." He smiled when their faces twitched with grief.

Aegon can feel the hate in their gazes. Edmure Tully scowled and took a threatening step forward, but The black fish held him back with one arm. Though, the older man eyed Aegon with disdain as well.

Arya jumped to her feet, fury written on her long face. "Fuck off, you loathsome whoreson, you a just a sad, spiteful little fucker jealous of Jon!"

"Arya – don't," Sansa muttered warningly.

Aegon took it in stride. He gave a special grin reserved for Arya. "Better than being a cripple. Excuse me – I have a beauty to crown."

He turned his back on them to decline any further responses.

The crowd was deadly silent as Aegon climbed back on his horse. The announcer gave him a new lance with the crown roses on the tip. All eyes were on him as he probed his horse into a gallop. No one said a word when he passed Margaery without a glance. No one said a word when Aegon stopped before the royal box. The Sand Snakes eyed him amusingly. Rhaella shook her head at him and mouthed 'no'. Daenerys stared at him, face unreadable.

The crown of roses landed softly on Daenerys's lap. And still, the air was deathly quiet.

"Why is it so quiet?" Aegon wondered. I won. Where are the cheers and celebrations? This is my victory."

"I declare Daenerys Targaryen as my queen of love and beauty," Aegon announced, and not a sound responded back. Aegon kept his eyes on Daenerys. I did this for you. I am the prince you love.

Daenerys stared back at him coldly. The crown on her lap remained untouched. Time stretched uncomfortably. Aegon can feel his face twist and the corner of his eyes wetting. "Fine!" He snapped. "I don't give a frig about you anyway. Damn, the roses. And damn you!"

Daenerys only turned her face away.

The air shifted. Mutters rose up like rats. A tide of voices rose. Aegon scrunched his eyebrows in confusion as the noises grew louder. There were shouts.

"DRAGON!" came the loudest shout of all.

Aegon and many others turned their eyes to the air. But their eyes gradually glued on to the party advancing into the field. Horses rumbled to a spot right before Aegon. Rhaenys and Arianne looked stunned. Oberyn and Elia looked happy and victorious. Arthur Dayne looked wary. The knight got off his horse.

Aegon got eyes only for Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur bowed his head. "My prince – my future king, may I present the newest addition to House Targaryen."

Big as a hound, the purple scaley creature leapt from Arthur's shoulders to fly in circles above Aegon's head. The prince stared at it, too amazed to speak words. Then, with a screech, the dragon landed on his shoulder. Aegon looked deeply into its purple slit eyes. It is mine. It accepts me, Aegon realized in a heartbeat. Arms shaking – and not from his exhaustion – Aegon took the dragon into his arms and lifted him above his head. The purple dragon looked at everyone and spread its wings.

Its screech and Aegon's maniac laugh were the only sound in the silence.