Jaeron Targaryen

King's Landing, 301 AC

Once again, the sun was beating down on him. Yet unlike the last time, this time it was pleasant. Looking around to see where he was and surprisingly recognising the corridor. One that was located on the second level of Maegor's Holdfast, the level below from where he had taken up residence himself. How many times had he walked through said corridor? A dozen times? A few dozen times? A hundred times?

But that was where the familiarity ended as he took in more of what was surrounding him.

Where was the tapestry of the white stag directly in front of the window overlooking the outer courtyard? Where were the gold prongs that held the torches? Where was the statue that he knew in the centre of the courtyard and was visible from most windows in Maegor's? Walking over to the window to look down into the courtyard and frowning more. What was happening here? People walking around, people he did not recognise yet clearly they were here for something. People of golden skin, people of fair skin, people of skin so dark they could only have come from the Summer Isles or beyond. Clothing that was not the fashion of Kings Landing- or Westeros now he thought on it.

He could taste salt in the air too. Not an uncommon thing considering the Red Keep was at the mouth of the Blackwater. Yet it was stronger than it usually was. Only then did he notice there was not a guard, and he knew Arthur would not leave him without a guard. Whilst as of right now he only had two Kingsguard's since Ser Brynden had yet to reappear after the Lannister's had attacked Robb's party leaving Riverrun.

"Open your eyes, young dragon."

That voice was familiar. Stopping and pausing his breathing as he waited on something. Once again, there was nothing, nor was there anyone nearby. Continuing to look around before spotting a raven perched on one of the windows. As if sensing his gaze, its head turned to directly look his way. Ravens were smart birds, that was common knowledge. It was why they were used to carry letters all around Westeros. Easy to train, easy to manage, and easy to shoot down to prevent information getting out. Its gaze did not move, two beady black eyes staring into his own purple eyes and neither daring to back down even if it seemed stupid.

No, this was no ordinary raven. Whether it was because he too was a warg or that he had spent so much time with Howland and Jojen whilst in Greywater Watch, he knew this was a raven in body only. Someone was the raven. But who? He blinked for a second and a loud squawk came from the raven before it flew right by him.

"Open your eyes, young dragon."

Open them for what? Jaeron wanted to yell towards it, for he knew now it was whoever was in the raven's voice he was hearing. It couldn't be anything or anyone else for there was no one else within the corridor. Turning a corner to the right wing of Maegor's Holdfast to see vines climbing up the wall which was always there. Yet once again, it was different. Instead of vines alone though there was roses. Blue roses. Reaching out to touch one of them yet the second his fingers made contact the petals turned as black as the night sky before turning to dust and falling to the ground. Pausing in alarm as he heard footsteps. Straightening and waiting for who it was that was about to come into view before frowning in confusion.

Who was this?

A woman with dark skin yet not as dark as those he had seen in the courtyard. Black hair falling to the centre of her waist and wearing a gown of a burnt orange. She looked familiar, but how? He was positively sure he had never seen this woman before so how could he recognise someone he'd never met? He long knew that this wasn't actually happening and he was dreaming but that didn't explain how the raven saw him and how whoever was in it was speaking to him.

Dreams are fickly, sometimes they come true and sometimes they did not. Words that popped into his head after not hearing them in how long? A shadow outside catching his attention as he walked to the window to overlook the mouth of the Blackwater and his eyes widened. Rhaegon and Lyrax were there, but it wasn't just the two of them. Five others, all of varying sizes with the smallest being burgundy and purple and next largest being black and red. All looking different from one another in either colouring or the shapes of their heads or the way their horns twisted and turned.

Seven dragons.

Roaming the sky in a way that had not been seen since Morning had died. Having to stop and watch in complete fascination before he heard footsteps coming closer and someone standing beside him. Wondering who it was because when he tried to twist his head there seemed to be an unnatural stiffness in his neck. The woman in the orange dress standing to his left and looking out too. One of the dragons letting out a stream of flame which for a moment scared him before realising it was not enough to cause harm. They were playing with one another. Much like Grey Wind and Ghost did which terrified most because they were not small and their bites did appear vicious to those who had not seen them before.

Taking in the colourings of all before one in particular appeared from behind the clouds and frowning. The colouring seemed familiar, but where from? As white as fresh snow, two different shades of orange (one being so bright it looked like the fruit, and one being a soft orange like a sunset), with swirls of bronze. Its head shaped long, thin, and horns pointed backwards on its head. Clearly a different breed to his own two and wondering where it had come from. It hit him like a brick where he recognised it from, another dream. One long before, not long before he had taken the capital itself. Walking away from the window and catching a glimpse of silver to his right but he did not take in the face of who it was, noticing the woman remained behind also. Walking through a door which he knew led to the largest room within Maegor's yet when he walked in, it wasn't.

Confusion whirred in his mind as he took in the tall pillars each intricately carved, walking closer to see what was there and frowning at the Valyrian glyphs. He couldn't read them, but he did recognise them. Recalling how Aemon had told him that a single dot between a set of glyphs was separating words and two dots stacked on top of one another was separate sentences. Trailing his eyes up towards the top of the pillars to see a roof so intricately carved it was a wonder that anyone could do such a thing. The stone being pale in colour but what the material was he could not say. Each pillar atop marble squares and in between each marble square a carpet of a deep red.

It was wonderous, and Jaeron wanted to know what this place was. He didn't recognise it, yet it didn't seem to be a Valyrian building as the few surviving tomes confirmed the Valyrian's of old often built with pure marble or black stone which this clearly was not. Hand reaching out to timidly touch one of the pillars and feeling just how smooth the material was. In the centre of the room was what appeared to be a large circular altar. Build deeper into the ground with around a dozen steps to the bottom and seated areas around it. An iron brazier of some kind in the centre atop a pile of coals which were burning away. Numerous people entering then but none of them seemed to see him, taking seats close to the brazier and noticing they were leaving an equal amount of space between one another.

It was perfect. Too perfect looking. Deliberate.

"Open your mind, young dragon."

Frantically, he looked around to see if he could spot that blasted bird and he did not long after. Perched on one of the windows with its beady black eyes staring directly down at him once more. Gaze never shifting and eventually turning away himself to try and figure out what this place was. There were many people, more than a dozen easily. Noticing then that many had silver-gold hair and one with silver-white hair which was apparently uncommon with those of the blood of Valyria. Something was itching in his mind now, knowing he should be putting the pieces together of whatever he was seeing currently but it just wasn't clicking together. The iron brazier was opened and he saw seven dragon eggs seated within and eyes widening on two in particular. No, it couldn't be, could it? But it was. He'd seen those eggs, held those eggs, hatched those eggs!

"Summerhall."

The word came out so quiet it was barely a whisper. Breathing beginning to quicken as he eyed everyone seated there and knowing what was about to happen, yet not being able to do anything. A single girl he noticed now was heavily pregnant and beside a young man who at best looked only two or three years her senior. Jaeron knew who they were and he gulped loudly. His grandparents, and the babe in Princess Rhaella's belly was his own father who would be born in a few short hours. A man so tall in Kingsguard armour he could only be one person- Ser Duncan the Tall. Stood behind a man wearing a simple golden band on his head to signify this was King Aegon V- Aemon's younger brother. Shards of dragonglass came out as a torch was lowered to the coals to grow the flames coming from the coals until the brazier was almost completely alight yet the eggs remained untouched. Eyeing the others and seeing one of purple and burgundy, alongside one white and orange. The other three being a sickly green, a mustard yellow with black spots, and brown. That explained two of the other dragons he had seen outside Maegor's.

A series of nervous eyes glanced around one another before all nodded in acceptance of what was being done. The dragonglass shards being raised as were their palms before a single deep slice into them was carried out and blood began to spill. Hands reaching out to let it drop onto the flames which grew hotter and larger. Yet not enough to cause the whole building to go up in flames. As of right now it was controlled. Too controlled. So how did this building go up in flames? What in seven hells happened here? Looking around to see there were other people within on landings looking down on the centre of the building where the ritual was being carried out. Servants, a few people he did not recognise but he recognised the sigils they were wearing. Then he noticed someone, a Maester. No, a Grand Maester given the robes he was wearing to signify the slight difference in title. Only remembering then that the same year this happened a new Grand Maester was appointed. The very same Grand Maester who's head he had taken not long before. Another Maester was there too and the two looked to one another for a split second before leaving. Chanting began then, only a couple of words he could pick out but that wasn't what was on his mind currently. Turning and following the direction the Maester's left.

Jaeron found a set of stairs not long after and he ran up to the second flight and followed the general direction they had gone in. It was difficult to do so though because there was a good minute of disparity between him getting to the same level they were on as them leaving. Trying his best to keep his breathing quiet and listening carefully in on everything that was occurring. Thinking back on the faces of who was there and with a start realising the eldest two of the women had to be Aegon's sisters. One of which whose granddaughter had sworn bloody vengeance against Stannis if he got his timings right on everything. He couldn't recall whether it was Daella or Rhae who had birthed Lord Selwyn but that was not what was on his mind currently. What was, was finding the damned Maester's.

As if by some miracle he did find them. On another balcony directly above the braziers as he stared down to see those seated around it appeared to be in a trance-like state. Remembering the state he had been in when his eggs were hatching and wondering if it was similar. Not that he could ask any of them, for they were all dead now. There was no one alive who had witnessed the tragedy yet he was about to witness it in a sequence of dreams. The other Maester that he did not recognise had a small block of wood. No larger than a fingertip, and it was dripping in a thick green substance. Opening his mouth to shout but it was too late for the block was thrown down the centre column before the two Maester's ran down a set of stairs just as the screaming began. His feet following them and realising the stairs came outside and almost growling as it became apparent that what had happened at Summerhall was no accident. It was deliberate, a sabotage. If Pycelle was still alive he would've trialled him for far more than he had done. The world deserved to know of the plot. Watching in horrified fascination as the large castle was quickly engulfed in bright green flame and only a handful made it out alive. Counting those that had been around the brazier and realising four had perished in the inferno.

Aemon had never mentioned his sisters had been two of the casualties. Not that Jaeron could blame his uncle for it must've been painful that the only siblings he had truly loved and was fond of had died such agonising deaths. Footsteps breaking the silence as someone set Princess Rhaella down on the ground as her labours began as the castle burned in the background with the screams of those still trapped within echoed with the wind. Turning his head to see a man equally as old as Aemon was, hair so long it almost reached his hips, and eyes bright red. Only one person was said to have eyes that colour other than the Red Priests and a chill went up his spine.

This was Brynden Rivers. The bastard son of Aegon IV and Lady Melissa Blackwood. The man Aemon had taken the black with after he had slain his half-nephew under a branch of peace between the Blackfyre line and the main Targaryen line. Turning towards the castle which was now beginning to collapse with the flames as Rhaella screamed in agony as his father came into the world only a few short metres away from where he was stood.

"The four deaths of those of the blood of Old Valyria breathed life into eggs long turned to stone. Had such a thing not happened, the eggs would've remained that, stone. They never would've hatched."

"Are you saying what happened here was necessary?"

"Everything that happens is necessary in the long game, young dragon."

When he awoke he could not say, nor could he say how long he remained in the bed staring up at the ceiling at what he had just seen and what it possibly meant. Only breaking out of everything when he felt Margaery turn under the covers and her hair tickling the side of his cheek as she snored softly to confirm she was in a deep sleep. It was still dark out confirming it was relatively early in the morning still but he knew he was not getting back to sleep. Breathing deeply and pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes until he was seeing stars. Was it true? What he had seen? If so, how had he seen it? Images flashing through his mind, the orange flames mixed with green flames that were anything but natural. There were rumours that wildfire had been used to try and hatch the eggs but no one ever talked about what happened afterwards so it remained just rumours.

Until now anyway, and there would never be justice for it had been so long ago. The words spoken at the end making him feel a guilt so deep it almost hurt. A part of him wanted to scream that it wasn't possible, yet deep down Jaeron knew. Gods, if they hadn't died the way they had, the eggs would've remained just cold stone. That one moment of magic had breathed life back into the hatchlings within the eggs, and the same thing had happened when they had hatched. Two people had died in Winterfell that night, and two dragons had come forth that same night.

"Only death can pay for life."

He'd heard it spoken a handful of times, yet he knew now that it wasn't just words. It was truth. For there to be life, there had to be death. For a time they could be running in conjunction, but in the end one would triumph and it was coming for everyone. Both physically and literally. Everyone would die one day, and as each day passed they were growing stronger beyond the Wall. Head snapping as he felt Margaery stretch and yawn loudly before opening her eyes to stare his way. A tiny smile on his face but she saw right through it and quirked an eyebrow up his way.

"Bad dreams, nothing to worry about."

She wasn't pleased by the response, but she also didn't press him on it. Neither remained in the bed for long before getting up for the day. A day they had both been dreading but it was one that needed to happen. It had been a week since they had wed now, and it was still a strange thought to him considering for much of his life he'd believed he never would marry. Dressing in fine clothing as was expected with the title of King. In a few short hours they would be heading for a wheelhouse which would take them to a large clearing within the Kingswood where he would be meeting his brother face to face for the first time. A brother who was also pressing his claim and knowing that no matter what things were not going to be wholly amicable. It was decided that Margaery, Arthur, and Aemon were coming with him. Many were against such a thing, but it needed to happen. The sooner it happens, the more of a chance there is of striking an agreement of some form.

They made their way towards the dining hall where a large platter was already there for them all to pick at. Eyes immediately landing on Bran speaking to Meera and only remembering then he'd agreed with Howland to betroth the two to one another. Whether they knew yet he could not say but if they did, from the way they seemed to be leaning in slightly towards the other it wasn't that bad of a match. Other than the age difference between the two that is. Meera would be turning eighteen soon whereas Bran had only just turned eleven. No marriage would be coming for quite a few more years which should hopefully allow them to grow closer and mayhaps even for love of some form to grow between the two. He wished for that with his family, and a part of him also hoped the same would happen with his own marriage now.

"The Lord's of the Vale are set to arrive by the end of the moon."

Jaeron turned towards Arthur and nodded a little. The plan was for them to travel to the Kingswood and should things go well to travel back no more than a few days later which would give them a few days to prepare for the arrival of the Lord's of the Vale. Now that Lysa Arryn was dead they weren't being held by an oath to their liege to remain out of the fighting anymore. Whether they would fight for him though was unknown though. If things did go well though then a full attack would be planned on the Westerland's. The Lannister's would pay as would all of their lackeys. And he would get Robb back. Whilst he was at it he may just head straight for Pyke and put an end to the stupid rebellion the Greyjoy's had started up again and would take great joy in removing Theon's head himself.

"How much longer will you be remaining?"

Rickon asked, Shaggydog growling a little from beside him but was calmed when he placed his hand on the wolfs head. Ghost also baring his teeth towards his littermate yet once again not making even the tiniest noise. His brothers would be remaining for the Lord's of the Vale arriving before heading back for Winterfell. He hadn't spoken the words publicly but he was planning on speaking to some of the Lord's and see if they had any children or grandchildren of a similar age to Rickon. Hating that he was bartering away his siblings like they were coin to be spent, but he needed allies. Nothing would be set in stone without Robb's approval though, they deserved that much. He wasn't alone in such a thing either, for Margaery was working to get favourable matches for her cousins too for similar reasons.

This was followed by a long council meeting where everything was discussed fully and all the possibilities of what this meeting that was due to happen could fruit. With luck it would be good fruit, but it was impossible to tell. The few who had met or knew people who knew Arianne Martell confirmed she was set to inherit and Jaeron wondered if she knew of her fathers passing or her brothers ascension yet. The Dornish were angry over such a thing, for she was older, and they followed Rhoynar succession and not Andal succession laws. If she wasn't aware, it may just be the piece of information he could dangle in front of his brother and his goodsister to get them to bend for him. It would not be the first time an older brother stood down in favour of a younger sibling, and the more time that went on the more something became apparent. For a long time he'd wanted nothing to do with the Iron Throne or the title, but that had changed.

Jaeron wanted to be King. He wanted to be the one on the Iron Throne.

It wasn't a nice realisation and it wasn't nice when he thought back on it to when his mindset to such a thing had changed. Had it been before he had successfully taken the city? Had it been during? Had it been after? Not that he had much time to think on it as they all made their way to the outer courtyard where an ornate wheelhouse was waiting for them all. He would've preferred to fly, but intimidation was not a tactic that would go over well. Not that it would matter for he knew that his dragons would follow, they always remained close enough to him in case anything did happen. Especially now that Lyrax had bonded with Aemon. His uncle was seated to his left and his wife to his right, both clasping his hands tightly as they slowly made their way out of the city towards the Kingswood.

Sansa Stark

Lys, 301 AC

The eastern port of Lys was finally in sight after being on the ship for weeks on end. Wishing that if it were possible to snap her fingers and they already arrive she would do so in a heartbeat. From this journey and from the journey to Qarth, Sansa had come to the realisation she despised sailing. The way the vessel swayed in the waves, the long distances between places, the constant checking of supplies, and with the very real possibility of being stranded or worse constantly on her mind. At least she wasn't alone with such a thing considering Rhaenys rarely showed her face above deck.

Daenerys had found it amusing, even joking that it was incredibly ironic that the one with the most Rhoynar blood was the one most opposed to open water considering her ancestors literally worshipped the Rhoyne. It wouldn't be long now, and even if it was only going to be for a few days before they set sail again it was better than the constant swaying. Shiera was stood at the prowl as was Mychelah, the older of the two pointing out what had stood when she was young and what had changed. Even now, it was strange knowing the woman was more than a century old. She was secretive on the magic that was performed for her to appear as young as she did which said to Sansa that it was not good magic. Blood was involved some way and at one point such a thing would've made her feel queasy.

Yet now, not so much.

Her ancestors had participated in blood magic too. Many people of the North refused to speak about it because it wasn't something performed anymore, but it had happened. The North may not speak about it but the North remembers. Her ancestors had carried out executions so brutal even the old practise of the Bolton's seemed like a game a child would play. Where a spine would be broken (and sometimes removed piece by piece), followed by the ribs being displaced, before the victims lungs were pulled out and pinned to look like wings. Bloodied eagles they were called, and only ever carried out for the most heinous of acts. It was rumoured Lord Cregan Stark had been the last person to carry out the brutal act but if he had it had been done with very few witnesses or possibly none at all. Hearing footsteps behind her and turning to see Rhaenys who let out a sigh of relief at seeing the city island she had lived on for many years.

"I'll be glad to get off this fucking ship."

"You'll be back on it by weeks end, Rhae."

The older shot her a glare but it didn't last for long before she scoffed in annoyance but not at Sansa. They were going to remain here for just long enough to rest and to hear from Mychelah's many agents. Or her lykans as she called them. She'd asked about the term only to be reminded that word for quiet in High Valyrian was lyka. The name literally meant quiet ones. Not exactly subtle but clearly it worked considering she had managed to raise Rhaenys as her daughter for so long and the truth of her survival had never once gotten out. A soft tapping was heard not long after as Rhaenys bent down to allow Morghul to climb onto her arm. The hatchling as snappish as ever but she had come to tolerate Sansa and Mychelah which was better than nothing. Daenerys' dragons were flying overhead too and playfully biting at each others tails and taking turns diving on top of each other from the clouds.

It was still a strange thing to see, even if it was a common sight for her now. Before they had met Daenerys, she'd only ever seen Jaeron's eggs and the occasional depiction in the many scrolls and books she was taught from by Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane. One of which was no longer alive, executed by Joffrey and her head placed atop a spike beside her fathers. Even now remembering being forced to step onto that plank and look up at them had her wanting to scream. Not in fright, but in rage. Wondering what might have happened had the Hound not stopped her from pushing Joffrey that day on to the spiked moat of Maegor's Holdfast.

He wouldn't be the first nor would he be the last ruler to meat the grisly end. If he was still alive, she wanted to be the one to do it. Or at the very least get a good hit at him. Her mother would be aghast and her father would look down on her were he still alive, but she wasn't a little girl with her head in the clouds anymore. No more did she believe in the songs and stories of gallant Knights and damsels in distress being rescued by a kind man. She didn't doubt there were kind men, she'd grown up around many in Winterfell, but now she knew that underneath kindness could be a vicious streak. Joffrey had hid his well from her but two people did see right through it and she'd ignored them. One of which now sat the Iron Throne and according to Rhaenys her sister was somewhere in the Riverlands.

The fact that Rhaenys could warg was astonishing. It was an ability those with blood of the First Men carried. Whilst the older did have blood of such through her ancestor Queen Betha (who'd been the aunt of Lady Melantha who was Sansa's own ancestor), but it was heavily diluted. Shiera had theorised the ability was similar to the Valyrian's ability to bond with dragons and Mychelah theorised it was just completely random. She couldn't hone in on the skill though considering no one on the ship could do it but perhaps when they did finally reach Westeros again she could reach out to someone in the North to teach her more. It was a useful skill to have, one Sansa wishes she could have.

Except, she did have it. Not that she ever said anything about it aloud for even now it still pained her what had happened to Lady. What she had done to allow such a thing to happen. She should've protected her pack. She was a wolf, and wolves always protect their own no matter what they were up against. Yet at the time, she had been a silly little girl besotted with her golden Prince and trying to become a lion. She wasn't a lion, she never would be a lion. Only a handful of times did she dream she was her wolf or wake up with her mouth tasting of blood from a fresh kill, but she couldn't ignore it as much as she tried to do so.

The port was even closer now, beginning to weave amongst the other ships that were there and what felt like only a few minutes later the walkway was lowered so they could walk off. Immediately feeling her legs desperate to wobble from the switch of sea legs to land legs yet she managed to keep her balance somewhat. Daenerys didn't though, noticing she had to grip Shiera's arm to stop from falling. Dragons flying above them causing the people that were in the harbour to stop and take in who it was that had just arrived and many eyes widening. Mychelah speaking the Lysene dialect of Low Valyrian which she didn't understand before confirming a wheelhouse would be readied within the hour to take them to her manse.

"It's been a long time since I was last in Lys."

Daenerys spoke, looking around with her eyebrows frowning likely in memory of something. Morghul was currently clasped onto Rhaenys' back which given the Dornish woman's slight grimace she was clearly trying to hide it was painful as they walked away from the harbour itself. It was hot, nowhere near as hot as Qarth was, but the breeze was cooling and she welcomed it massively. As much as Sansa had come to love heat, she did miss snow. She missed playing in it, the soft crunch of walking across freshly lain snow, making figures, and throwing it at her siblings. It almost always ended up with herself and Arya hitting the boys- being one of the only things she had in common with her sister when they were younger.

She knew better now, and when they were reunited perhaps they could actually bond as sisters. Cringing as she recalled a time where she had asked if Arya too was a bastard because of how different they were. Her mother had been furious with the question, her father even more so. Never would she say aloud that it was Jeyne who had first made the jape and she had simply asked out of curiosity. They were not waiting for long before two horses came down a hill with a wheelhouse behind them large enough for them all to fit comfortably within.

It was a long ride, considering Mychelah's manse was on the west of the city island. Travelling through large crowds where many people had bright silver hair much alike Daenerys', eye colours of varying shades of purple from lilac to indigo to the colour of winterberries. A fruit she loved but one that didn't grow outside of the North. Knowing that when she inevitably did go home she would be either asking one of the cooks to make some winterberry tarts or would go to Wintertown to get a pastry filled with the sweet treat. She'd always had a sweet tooth, something she shared with Jaeron now she thought on it considering he was very fond of Volantene nut pastries.

Gods, she missed her family. So much. Not for much longer though, for they would be back in Westeros soon. How much had changed was yet to be seen but when they arrived at the manse Mychelah could gather her lykans and get the information together. The wheelhouse coming to a sudden stop which snapped Sansa out of her thoughts as they all exited and her eyes widened as she took in the sheer size of the manse. Spanning at least three floors and directly on the coast overlooking the Narrow Sea and where the Arm of Dorne had supposedly stood before the Children of the Forest had flooded it if the stories were true. White stone walls much alike Kings Landing yet no pungent scent of shit lingering in the air. The inside was equally as impressive as outside but keep her face still she did. A feast already awaiting them as servants scrambled and what she assumed were some of Mychelah's lykans handing over numerous scrolls of parchment.

Once they'd had their fill, each little scroll was unravelled and read before being placed on the large table. The timeline of events being worked out and being genuinely surprised by one of the latest developments. Robb was married? Jaeron was getting married? For all she knew in the time it had taken for the information to reach Lys it had already happened. Aegon too had married his cousin and Rhaenys muttered under her breath about how stupid of a match that was and that it had Prince Doran's machinations all over it. The Dornish woman was not subtle in her distaste of her older uncle and what he wished for. Mychelah taking another piece of parchment and reading it before pausing. Eyes blinking a few times and licking her lips. From the way Daenerys turned to her, it became clear she wasn't alone in thinking that was a strange thing of the woman to do. By now, they'd all gone quiet, waiting on her to tell what was written on that small piece of parchment before Shiera got annoyed with her stalling and snatched it from hands to read herself. She too paused and instead of staring directly at it like Mychelah had done, she gulped and turned towards Sansa with an expression she knew well. Taking a few deep breaths before nodding softly that she was prepared to hear what was on there.

"Robb has been captured by the Lannister's. Your great uncle Brynden is missing but likely making his way back to Jaeron. Sansa, your mother- "

She trailed off and she didn't need to say anything else. Feeling like someone had just punched her in the chest at the news. Punched her so hard her breath was knocked from her lungs. Closing her eyes as she desperately tried to recall the way her mothers arms felt wrapped around her, or the way her laugh sounded, or the way her voice sounded either angry or pleased. How long her hair was that she shared with her or the way her fingers felt as she braided her hair in southern fashions for her when she was little. Feeling a hand on her shoulder and opening her eyes for a second to see Rhaenys' pained expression for she knew what she was feeling. Daenerys did too to an extent except the largest difference being she had no memory of her mother. She'd been hours old when she had been shipped off with her brother ahead of Stannis' fleet arriving to take Dragonstone.

If she wasn't set in her reasoning for seeing Joffrey hurt for what he had caused for her family beforehand, she certainly was now.

For a week they remained at the manse. Collecting as much information as they could of the current political climate and deciding where it was best to land. Finally agreeing they would head for Duskendale which as of right now was firmly under Jaeron's control considering he had fought a battle in the town and won. This time heading for the western port which was only a few miles away from Mychelah's manse as they boarded the same ship which had sailed from the other port a couple of days after they had landed and beginning to make the final portion of the journey. It would not be long until they were finally home.

Aegon Targaryen

The Rainwood, 301 AC

He was nervous.

Very nervous.

Yet would he speak such a thing aloud? Nay, he would not. Arianne wasn't stupid, she'd saw right through him but much to his happiness she didn't say it aloud. Currently they were camped at the northernmost portion of the Rainwood which spanned as far south as Mistwood and covered much of Cape Wrath. A days ride west from Storm's End as word began to reach them of how angry the Storm Lord's were over what he had done. He could stay, but he didn't want to be another Daeron I being slain in his sleep by the people he had tried to conquer. He'd taken the castle alongside Griffin's Roost. A decent area of the Stormland's to take whilst they waited on the Dornish troops coming up the Bone Way so they could start taking Cape Wrath whilst those marching up the Prince's Pass would act as a buffer to prevent other armies from getting to them.

That had been the plan, that had always been the plan. Never once had it changed, and now Aegon wanted to scream at his younger self for not taking into account he could not use the same tactics when the political climate was changing as quickly as it was. Now, he was despised in the Stormland's and he may have just given his brother more troops out of spite of himself. It angered him because he was the older sibling, he was the heir, he was the one next in line for the throne.

Yet his wife made a good point, as did Torghen. As much as he wanted to scream it from the tallest tower of Harrenhal his brother had done nothing wrong. He had not known he existed, and if what Torghen spoke was true if he had known from the beginning he would've supported his own claim. Alas, he had waited in the shadows until his brother had almost fully secured Westeros and was seated on the Iron Throne to come forward. He had been the one to mess up, and now he had only two options.

Fight his brother for the throne that by rights was his and further plunge Westeros into war or bend to his brother and support his wife in her ruling of Dorne.

He knew what Arianne wanted, she wasn't quiet on her hatred of the idea of being the Queen of the Seven Kingdom's. She was brought up to be the ruler of Dorne, that was what she wanted, and nothing was going to change her mind. If there was one thing that was true about Arianne Martell, it was that she was incredibly stubborn in her wants. It was something he needed to think on, and he needed to do so hard. Vēzos was attempting to climb on his shoulders but due to the dragons size now it wasn't happening. White and orange dragon snorting in annoyance before opting to fly above their heads as they rode out of the Rainwood.

The safest course of action would technically be going directly up the Kingsroad to Bronzegate and then ahead to where they were meeting. The meeting place being agreed where the Roseroad and the Kingsroad met one another which according to Lord Jon was a large open clearing. That way if things did go wrong they had the Blackwater to the east, the Roseroad to the west, and if all else failed they could fall back south again. It was far from ideal but given how quickly this had been arranged and why it had been arranged it was the best they could do.

How did the Golden Company find out? He'd been so careful around them and those that did know the truth were also. Clearly someone had betrayed him but he had no idea who and there was no one left he could ask. Where Harry Strickland had disappeared to was unknown too which bothered him more than he cared to admit. None of their fleet had disappeared which meant they were still on Westeros and now every time there was a somewhat shaded or hidden area Aegon was terrified a force of the Golden Company would ride straight at him. They prided themselves on the fact they had never broken a contract, yet how could they break a contract that hadn't been lawful in the first place as it was based on a lie?

For two days they rode across soggy ground through rain and hail and sleet. None of it pleasant but it was just another day in the Stormland's. Jon and Rolly were coming with him. He'd wanted to take Torghen but he had made a very good point that if anyone would have their head removed from their shoulders by his brother it would be him. Even if he'd taken Sansa on Aegon's orders, he had still done it, and he had sworn he would bring the Celtigar's to Jaeron's side but instead had used them as his base to prepare the invasion for Aegon coming back to Westeros.

Yet they weren't alone, the man gagged and tied up behind Ser Rolly. It was a token, something to help alleviate the tension that would undoubtedly burst the moment they met. It might not even help, but it was better than nothing. Ever since they'd captured Ser Kevan in Pentos the man had never spoken a word to them. No amount of sharp questioning got him to give up any secrets he was hiding. As much as he despised it, he respected it. The man was loyal to his family, it just so happened the family were rotten to the damned bone.

On the third day they finally reached the southernmost part of the Kingswood where they travelled east again to join the Kingsroad now they were far from Bronzegate and Felwood. There were no other Keeps or Holdfasts for the remainder of the journey so they could do so with little to no issues. Unless someone else had a trick they were going to open for them all to fall into. No, he was not going to think like that. Vēzos had disappeared from sight now, clearly opting to fly just above the trees but he knew he was nearby because he could feel through the bond.

Three more days it took for them to arrive at their destination. Seeing a few tents already set up in the clearing right before they entered and frowning in confusion at the very old man on a makeshift bench beside an open flame. That wasn't a smart move, everyone knew it was a stupid idea to have an open flame in a potentially hostile environment. A deafening roar took him by surprise as his horse reared up, having to squeeze his legs tight to the mounts sides to stop from falling as a large shadow covered them in darkness. The beast- no, the dragon- that flew overhead the clearing was such a bright shade of silver with horns and spikes around its head much alike the frilled lizards of the deserts in Essos and Dorne. Vēzos dropping from the trees and flapping his wings in terror as he reached out to let him perch on his arm which wasn't the most comfortable given he was much heavier now than he had been as a fresh hatchling. The three who had come with him gulping aloud as they stared at him and he could see they were thinking the same thing he was.

There was no way to come out on top of this. His brother clearly had the upper hand. Whilst Vēzos likely would grow to be the same size as the one that had flown overheard by then the silver beast would be even larger. There was no beating that. Closing his eyes and sighing deeply before giving the order to enter the clearing. Looking around for the very person he had come to meet but he was not there. Seeing a man in Kingsguard armour and Aegon knew immediately that it was Ser Arthur from the hilt on the sword at his hip. One of the tents opening as two people walked out and instantly his eyes landed on eyes of an identical shade as his own. Gods, Torghen didn't lie. Other than their hair colours and the fact his brothers face was long like the Stark's, they did look scarily similar. Their eyes were the same shade and shape, their lips were the same, their noses were the same, their cheekbones rested on their face the same. Slowly dismounting as did Arianne, Jon, and Rolly and walking into the clearing after tying off their mounts. Walking forward as he spoke a single word.

"Valonqar." (Little brother)

It was there for barely a second but Jaeron's lips quirked upwards before straightening once more.

"Lekia." (Older brother)