King's Landing - Year 188 AC Eight years before the First Blackfyre Rebellion...
"Daeron!" The powerful voice of the now-designated Prince Aemond Blackfyre echoed through the corridors of the Red Keep. Always with his jovial yet threatening appearance, he wore the maroon doublet with the black dragon embroidered, honoring his new house. He was no longer a bastard—"Daeron!"
"His Majesty is occupied," growled a royal knight at the door of the king's chamber, emphasizing the title. It was no surprise that the Black Dragon addressed his brother so informally, but no member of the court liked it.
"I want to see my brother, and you will not stop me," Aemond asserted, gripping the hilt of his sword, Blackfyre, trying to calm himself though he felt his blood boil inside.
"I assure you, I will stop you if it means following the king's orders," said the knight, a likely second son of some noble house. "I don't care what your title is."
"Let him through, ser," came Daeron's serene voice from inside the room.
An arrogant smile spread across Blackfyre's well-shaven and handsome face as he received a look of hatred from the knight. In seconds, Aemond entered his half-brother's chamber. Books and scrolls were scattered everywhere; the shelves were overflowing, and the candles were as large as elephant legs. Daeron had read as many books as Aemond had wielded weapons.
"What is it, brother?" inquired the king calmly, seated at the end of a long table covered with letters and scrolls.
"You sold Daenerys to Dorne!" Aemond shouted once the door was closed, though it could be heard in the darkest corners of Flea Bottom. The shouts of Aemond Blackfyre must have been the closest thing the Red Keep had to dragon roars in a long time. "You sold our sister!"
"Excuse me?" Daeron's composure allowed him to respond to such behavior with nothing more than a frown and a confused look.
"I told you not to do it, the entire council told you not to do it, and still you're marrying her off to a dirty Dornishman," he spat, looking at his brother as a predator looks at its prey before leaping for the throat.
"First and foremost, you will speak respectfully of the Dornish, starting with the fact that your queen comes from Dorne and the man you speak of is her brother," Daeron began, slowly rising to Aemond's level, though that was nearly impossible for him. "Secondly, I remind you that I am the king and do not need anyone's approval to marry my sister. And thirdly, thanks to this marriage, the annexation of Dorne to the Iron Throne has been successfully concluded."
"That annexation could have been carried out in many other ways! You didn't have to involve Daenerys!"
"Those other ways have been attempted over the past hundred years and have failed, Aemond, just like everything else Father tried to fix," the king replied with a rare note of irritation in his voice. "The marriage was the only way. After all, Daenerys had to marry sooner or later."
"Daenerys deserved to marry someone better," Aemond said through clenched teeth, suppressing his impulse to strike his brother at the very least. "You could have married her yourself, made her queen, or had your son do it. No man deserves Daenerys, but our family comes close..."
"Our family or you, Aemond?" Daeron asked, provoking a tense silence in the room.
"Say what you will, think what you want, but accept that you used all of us to fix the mistakes that neither you nor Father could resolve. At least he didn't sell his own blood to foreigners like a coward," Aemond growled, gripping his hands tightly to avoid resorting to violence.
"You are an ungrateful bastard, and I am your king!" Daeron's voice had darkened, but not even the most fearsome creatures and myths of Asshai would be able to intimidate the Black Dragon at that moment. "This afternoon, you will return to your castle and will not set foot in the capital again until Daenerys is in Sunspear as the new princess of Dorne."
"Let me tell you something, Daeron," Aemond said slowly, though without showing any threatening demeanor. "This decision will mark a turning point in your reign."
With that, the prince turned on his heel and left the room with a scowl and a stony expression. The court members and servants who crossed his path tried to avoid him as quickly as possible, knowing what a Targaryen could be like with that look in his eyes.
"Aegor, get ready; we are heading to Tyrosh," was all he said to his other brother when he found him in the training field. In the distance, he saw his sister Daenerys playing in the stands with her son, Aegon Blackfyre, just four days old.
Oh, my beautiful Dany, the flames of envy and jealousy have burned what little was left of our love, but by the Seven, I am sure that in another life, they will unite us and protect us under their holy mantle. Here I bid farewell, Aemond, ready to love you in another body, another soul, another being.
Meereen - Present
Meereen was as large as Astapor and Yunkai combined. Like its sister cities, it was made entirely of cobblestones, but while Astapor's were red and Yunkai's were yellow, Meereen's were multicolored. The walls were higher than Yunkai's and in better condition, with many bastions and large defensive towers at every corner. Behind them, the Great Pyramid loomed gigantically against the sky, a monstrous structure two hundred and fifty meters tall, with a monumental bronze harpy at its summit.
"What are they doing?" Daenerys asked Aemond as they saw the city gates being opened.
"They are sending their hero," Daario Naharis answered for him, receiving a disapproving glance from the platinum-haired woman, but the Tyroshi returned the smile.
The hero of Meereen was protected by armor made of copper and jet scales. The steed was a white horse with defenses of pink and white stripes, matching the silk cloak that fell from the hero's shoulders. The spear he carried was five meters long, with pink and white spirals on the shaft.
Daenerys's bloodriders were itching to go fight the hero, as much as Herrath and Rylon, but the queen refused, saying that the man would soon leave and stop being a nuisance.
"Let that fool continue parading and shouting until his horse goes lame. He does us no harm," said Ser Jorah, standing beside the khaleesi.
They had arrived no more than two days earlier. Their camp was set up a few leagues from the city. The Great Masters of Meereen had retreated before their advance from Yunkai, harvesting everything they could and burning what they couldn't. Along their path, they found only burned fields and poisoned wells. Worst of all, every mile of the coastal road from Yunkai to Meereen had seen a living slave child impaled, with their entrails spread and an arm always pointing towards the city. It had been ordered to remove the children before Dany saw them, but she issued a counter-order as soon as she found out.
"I want to see them," she said at the time. "I will see each and every one of them, count them, look at their faces... And remember them."
Aemond, upon arriving at Meereen, had counted one hundred sixty-three, and he hoped Daenerys had not done so, as judging by her face upon seeing them, she would show no mercy to those who had placed them there.
However, what kept them occupied at that moment was the hero of Meereen, dismounting his horse with arrogance while shouting words in a language neither Aemond nor Dany could understand. They watched his actions in confusion until disgust overtook them, as the man began to undo his trousers, pulled out his member, and directed a stream of urine towards them.
"What is he saying?" Aemond asked Missandei. The platinum-haired man had already begun to tire of the situation.
"He says we are an army of men without manhood," she began to translate, somewhat embarrassed. "He says the queen is not a woman but a man who... hides his cock in his ass."
"Such creativity," the Black Dragon murmured.
"That creativity is making us look weak," she added. "I can't address the people of Meereen with him shouting like that."
"I'll cut out his tongue if that's what you want, Mother of Dragons," said Grey Worm, standing before his Unsullied, but Dany refused to lose the commander of her army.
"Your Majesty, I have won more battles than any other living man..." Ser Barristan began to say, but just like with the eunuch, Daenerys said no.
The same happened with Ser Jorah, Rakharo, Aggo, and Jhogo. And then, when Daario Naharis was about to be the next to offer, Aemond rolled his eyes and walked up to one of the Unsullied, taking his spear with complete freedom, which the soldier did not refuse.
"What are you doing?" the khaleesi asked in confusion, watching as he walked to the front.
"I just declared myself our champion," he replied disinterestedly. He walked several meters away from his army and, with narrowed eyes, focused on his rival, who had just remounted his horse.
"You're not even wearing armor," she questioned, walking quickly alongside him.
"I don't need it," he said, slowly resting the lance against his body as he unsheathed Blackfyre from his belt. He wouldn't fight with it this time.
"Don't you want a horse?"
"Why would I?"
"Aemond, if you die…"
"I won't die," he declared seriously, handing her Blackfyre so she could hold it during the combat.
If Aemond died in this battle, Daenerys would lose one of the most important parts of her forces; she could not afford to lose the company. However, at the moment he handed her his sword, she saw not only bravery in those deep purple eyes but also composure and confidence. By giving her his sword, he was signaling that he trusted her, so she had to trust him.
"Don't die," she whispered in High Valyrian before turning and returning to her advisors.
"Don't worry, Khaleesi," Rylon said with a wry smile, "No man has been born who can defeat him."
The steed tossed its head impatiently and kicked up dust with its hooves. Its rider pointed to the sky with his lance, causing cheers and shouts from the city, while Aemond was being yelled at with all sorts of insults and taunts, which he ignored, rubbing sand in the palms of his hands to prevent the lance from slipping due to sweat.
He stood firm in front of his opponent, holding his weapon with his right hand. He wore nothing more than a black doublet with silver trim, his chest open due to the unbearable heat. He was tall, muscular, and broad-shouldered, yes, but compared to the rider and his horse, he appeared slight.
The hooves of the white steed kicked up dust from the ground. Oznak, as the hero was called, galloped towards Aemond, with his striped cloak fluttering in the wind. All of Meereen seemed to be cheering him on; in contrast, the cheers of the besiegers seemed few and subdued; the Unsullied, lined up in ranks, remained silent, their faces like carved stone.
The platinum-haired began to trot towards the steed. Daenerys's heart pounded louder and louder, unable to comprehend the madness of allowing him to fight under these conditions.
"We should have given him armor," she said nervously to Ser Jorah, but the knight didn't respond, as he was as focused on the fight as she was.
The hero's lance was aimed directly at the dragon emblazoned on Aemond's chest, but Aemond didn't even seem to deviate from his path. In fact, he increased his speed, his eyes locked on those of his opponent.
One, two, three strides. Aemond stretched his legs as far as he could in those decisive steps and skillfully directed the gleaming cobra point towards his adversary. His arm made a whip-like motion, and with incredible speed, the lance whizzed through the air like an arrow shot from a bow.
So fast was it that it covered the remaining meters in mere seconds, not allowing the hero of Meereen in his red and white armor to even see it. It impaled his chest with such violence that it felt as though someone was pulling him off his mount from behind.
Suddenly, there was silence on the ramparts of Meereen. It was the turn of Dany's people to cheer and applaud. The Meereenese watched in horror as their champion fell to the ground with a lance impaled in his abdomen, while Aemond dodged the blinded horse that continued to gallop towards him. And when he finally managed to calm the steed, he turned to see the faces of astonishment on Daenerys's knights.
"It must have been more than thirty meters," Ser Barristan murmured.
Blackfyre walked over to the dying man and withdrew the lance from his body, only to then drive it into his neck to end his suffering. Of course, he then cleaned the tip with the cloak that had fluttered in the wind minutes earlier.
"He's showing off," Herrath said with amusement as everyone watched him walk back to them.
"Look at the hero of Meereen," Daario said with laughter.
The Dothraki howled and shouted, and a clamor rose from the Unsullied who clashed their lances and shields. The mercenaries, accustomed to this type of combat, simply beat their armor to make a thunderous noise. The platinum-haired man arrived with a victorious look and returned the lance to the Unsullied, who continued in rhythm with their companions.
"I fear I won't die without fighting for the Iron Throne, Khaleesi," Aemond said to Daenerys when he reached her side, taking his sword back and strapping it to his belt.
That night, everyone returned to the camp. They were gathered in the queen's pavilion with the commanders of the Council, planning the siege of the city. Daenerys was sitting with her dragons among cushions, while the other men gathered around a small walnut wood table that Aemond had placed there for convenience.
"I've examined the walls facing the land and found no weak points," Ser Jorah Mormont pointed out. "With some time, we could dig a tunnel, but what would we eat in the meantime? We're running out of provisions."
"No weak points in the land-facing walls?" Dany asked. Meereen was on a sand and stone outcrop where the slow, swampy flow of the Skahazadhan emptied into the Bay of Slaves. The northern wall of the city rose along the river, and the western wall along the bay. "Does that mean we'll have to attack from the river or the sea?"
"With your three ships, we wouldn't have a quarter of the men we need to take the city," Aemond replied, leaning on the table with his arms crossed. "The company is using all the wood we have left for assault weapons, but I doubt they can finish a battering ram. The slave traders have burned all the trees for twenty leagues around."
"Don't you have elephants?" Daario asked, smiling at Aemond and Grey Worm. "Send all the elephants and the Unsullied with axes to break down the gate. After all, they could withstand the hot oil."
"We'd waste men for nothing. They wouldn't hold up," Ser Jon intervened.
"There's only one way in," Aemond continued, capturing everyone's attention. "The sewers."
"The sewers?" Dany asked. "What do you mean?"
"Years ago, I met a noble from Westeros, a second son from a great Northern house," he recalled. "He became a mercenary and was paid to free a group of slaves, and he did it through the sewers," he turned to the map of Meereen and began pointing out locations. "He said there are large brick sewers that empty into the Skahazadhan with the city's waste. A few could enter through there."
"Even so, it would be easier to get out than to get in," Ser Jorah didn't seem convinced. "Are you saying these sewers lead to the river? That means the entrances would be right beneath the walls."
"It's all we have for now," the platinum-haired man continued. "We have no idea what's down there or what's inside the city. Few men would dare to enter."
Aggo, Jhogo, and Grey Worm all began speaking at once, but Dany raised a hand to request silence.
"Those sewers don't seem promising," she said with disappointment in her voice. They were in a difficult situation and had to make even tougher decisions. Aemond understood her. "I need to think about this. Return to your tasks."
The captains bowed and left her with the maidens and dragons, though Aemond decided to stay, especially because Viserion had lazily fluttered over to the table to earn a scratch from the platinum-haired man.
"He likes you a lot," Dany said with exhaustion in her voice. When they were alone, or with Irri and Jhiqui, they usually spoke in High Valyrian.
"And I like him," he replied, stroking the dragon's scaly white head.
"If only they were already adults," she commented as Drogon settled on her lap. "It would be as simple as riding them, flying over those walls, and melting that harpy."
"You'll do that when we reach Westeros. Then they will be big enough."
"I fear they won't be big enough."
"The dragons of your family stopped being enormous when they began to confine them in Dragonpit," Aemond informed her. He remembered reading that detail in one of the many books of his childhood. "Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes were so colossal because they were raised in Valyrian culture, in freedom, with magic. You must set them free, and only then will they grow enough."
"You know a lot about them," the platinum-haired woman noted, scratching one of Rhaegal's horns while Drogon settled down to sleep next to her leg.
"As a child, I was obsessed with them. My dream was always to go to Valyria and find a dragon as big as Balerion," he spoke as Viserion began to climb up his arm, causing a slight pain with its claws. "Then I put aside my dreams and started training for combat, which I am grateful for, because otherwise, I would have died today."
"You should have told me you were much better than him," Daenerys protested, still offended by the nerves he had given her.
"Dany, I told you to trust me; that should have been enough."
Dany, that nickname her brother had called her so many times. Viserys was the only person with the confidence to call her that; in fact, from the memories he brought to mind, she would never have allowed anyone else to call her that. But the way Aemond did it was different. He had done it just to avoid sounding too serious, to ask her to trust him. If someone like Daario, Ser Jorah, or Jhiqui had called her by her nickname, she would have quickly become upset, but not with Aemond.
"I trust you, which is why I'm thinking about whom to send into the sewers of Meereen."
Aemond smiled.
"Rylon will refuse at first, but he would actually love to infiltrate the largest city in the Bay of Slaves," he asked Viserion to get off his shoulder, and although the dragon initially seemed to ignore him, it jumped and tried to glide towards his siblings.
"I also plan to turn the ships into battering rams and tortoises," the queen saw how the other's eyes widened with astonishment at hearing her idea, which filled her with pride. "Rylon will have to convince the slaves to rebel."
"And while they do that, you want to attack from the front, right?" he asked, leaning his weight on the central table.
"That's right. They will be focused on the siege, so they will never think the slaves would attack them from the back."
Aemond remained silent for a few minutes. He was analyzing the strategy and had to admit it was much more astute than what he would have thought. His men alone could handle the city, only they had not had a way to enter it before.
"It's brilliant," he admitted, not taking his eyes off the ground as if he saw the battlefield there. "I will order the ships to be brought to shore. If we have the help of the freedmen, we can do it in less than a week."
And so they did. Rylon went into the sewers with Grey Worm, who managed to convince the queen, and another member of the company. Hours later, the battering rams and tortoises were brought to the gates of Meereen with an army of twenty thousand men behind them, with Aemond at the front, followed by Ser Jorah, Ser Jon, Daario, and Herrath.
The platinum-haired man, dressed in similar armor, went back and forth across the half-league that separated him from Daenerys. He informed her of what was happening, reviewed the strategy, and returned to the front. Until the third time he did it, he asked to go with him, after all, it was his army too. Ser Barristan opposed at first, but the desires of kings had more authority than their scoldings. Thus, the khaleesi was now at the front as well. However, when the battering rams brought down the gates, she stayed behind the frenzied army led by Aemond that charged at full speed into the heart of Meereen.
Daenerys literally heard the city fall half a league away when the defiant shouts of the defenders turned into screams of fear. At that moment, her dragons began to roar and fill the sky with flames. She knew instantly that the slaves had rebelled. When it was over, the Targaryen entered the city. The Unsullied and mercenaries had looted everything, leaving a trail of bodies and blood that had to be cleared away for her horse to pass freely.
She rode through burned buildings and broken windows, down cobbled streets whose drains were clogged with swollen and stiff corpses. Slaves with bloodstained hands cheered her as she passed and called her "Mother."
When she reached the plaza in front of the Great Pyramid, she saw Aemond sitting on the steps of the structure. He had removed his helmet and was cleaning the blade of his sword with complete calm. In front of him were the Meereenese, on their knees with desperation in their faces, awaiting any judgment from the Black Dragon, which would not come until Daenerys arrived.
"I want their leaders," she said to them once she arrived with her horse. "Hand them over and the others will be forgiven."
The Great Masters, who no longer seemed so great, exchanged looks between the two platinum-haired figures, equally terrified of them.
"How many?" asked an old woman through sobs. "How many do we have to hand over to have our lives spared?"
"One hundred sixty-three," was the answer.
Aemond had them impaled on wooden posts around the plaza, each one pointing at the next. Of course, he would not leave them there forever; he would wait until they died of all possible causes, and when the last Great Master was dead, he would order them to be taken down and given to their families. For Daenerys, it was hard to watch, but she had to endure it for the sake of those children.
A grand feast was held at the Great Pyramid that night in honor of the dragon kings. It was the last city, and they had taken it as easily as the others. Finally, they could enjoy some peace before setting sail for Westeros.
