Author's Note: Hello again, hope the weather where you are is as gorgeous as the weather we're getting in my part of the world. Happy fall y'all.

I switched some things up and talk about those in the second author's note. If you read the original, you might want to check that out. If you did not, don't worry about it.

I hope you enjoy and review this update.

Chapter 15

Original Word Count: Not as many

Revision Word Count: More because I do what I want

"There are forty thousand of them, yet our scouts can't tell us exactly where they buggering are?"

The march had not been kind to the loyalist forces. Rains, some so savage that Aelor almost believed he was back in the Stormlands, had plagued the army almost from the moment it left King's Landing. After only a few days of the onslaught of water, the wear of thousands of feet and hooves had turned the roads into a muddy mess that nearly swallowed wagons of provisions whole. It seemed like half of his men had come down with either a chill or loose bowels—sometimes both—and everything was damp. Always so bloody damp. Even here, camped in the ruins of Harren the Black's castle where Aelor's ancestors had burned the Iron King and his sons, moisture permeated the air and everything it touched. No matter where he was, outside with the poor levies or here in one of the towers, Aelor couldn't escape the dampness or the residual chill it brought with it.

I'm a Targaryen; we're built for heat and fire, not cold and damnable water.

It hadn't done his mood all that many favors either.

"Baratheon and his forces keep fighting small skirmishes, my Prince," answered the always calm Barristan Selmy, white plate as clean as new fallen snow despite the copious amounts of mud and refuse. Just how his mentor managed to keep everything so polished and presentable Aelor would never know; it took the combined efforts of both the Dragon of Duskendale and Desmond to keep his own looking even remotely respectable. "A few dozen cavalry here, a sudden volley of arrows there; he seems content to keep mostly hidden and harry us as we near."

"It's not the worst of strategies," Randyll Tarly admitted grudgingly. "He can stay relatively in place, leaving all the pains and nuisances of moving an army this size in this weather to take its toll on our own forces."

"We could always do the same," came the quiet voice of Ser Kevan Lannister. "Harrenhal is a ruin, but it's a well-positioned one, and we have thousands of men to provide labor. It would not take long to make it a stout fortification."

Aelor compulsively glanced at Oberyn. He'd developed a habit of doing that whenever Ser Kevan spoke and kicked himself for it every time, knowing it made it that much harder on the already prickly Oberyn to hold his temper. Aelor had heard more than one rant from the Prince of Dorne about the Lannister presence on this march, and imagined he would hear many more, though Oberyn did a good job of keeping his silence on the matter during war councils.

It was a loud silence, but a silence nonetheless.

Kevan, for his part, had done an admirable job of not provoking the Dornishman any further. The brother to Tywin had been overshadowed by his elder brother all his life, but he had proven both intelligent enough to avoid reminders of the Sack and capable enough to keep what remained of his fellow Westlanders in line. It had been nearly as difficult as the march itself; the bad blood between the Lannister men and Aelor's own veterans, men who had been enemies slaughtering one another mere weeks ago, had threatened to boil over early in the march, but the firm reprimands issued by both Ser Kevan and Aelor had stemmed the potential tide of violence.

Kevan had also sent orders to the remaining lords and men in the Westerlands, warning them not to raise the levies Lord Tywin had forsaken in the name of speed. While several royalist lords had wished the King to raise those men to bolster their own forces, Rhaegar and Aelor had both decided to push onwards without them. They'd left Baratheon and his friends mostly unmolested for much too long, and the time it would take for the West to finish raising men was time they didn't have.

"No," said the King, seated at the head of the table the war council was seated around, the thrum of rain on the ruined castle overhead a constant background to their deliberations. "We need to end this war soon, before Robert finds more support. The Ironborn are of yet uncommitted, and while the Free Cities don't usually involve themselves in Westerosi disputes, their mercenaries certainly might."

Aelor grunted from the other end of the table. "The longer he lives the more legitimacy he has in the eyes of others." Aelor glanced at his brother. "The longer he defies the Targaryen dynasty the stronger he looks, while we seem the weaker."

"Baratheon likely knows it, and has a preferred field of battle selected," said Tarly. "He's leading us into it, skirmishing and raiding to keep his exact numbers hidden while simultaneously letting our men suffer in this rain. Eventually we'll find him where he's always been, ready for us."

"I don't like the idea of playing to our enemy's advantage," Jon Connington said. "I know he has time we don't, but I am leaning towards Ser Kevan's suggestion. Dig in, make him come to us, then kill him."

"He still has to fight us, remember," pointed out Oberyn, having been remarkably quiet up to that point. Ellaria was once again seated on his lap, keeping the still bitter Prince of Dorne calm. Aelor had grown more and more thankful for her since the beginning of the march; Oberyn hadn't spoke of killing Rhaegar more than four or five times since they'd left King's Landing, a much lower number than Aelor had expected. Part of that was likely his outrage at the Lannister presence, but Aelor took victories where he could. "However weak you may look by not quelling his rebellion, the point remains that you have a nearly equal number of men in the field. Baratheon can prance around and call himself Emperor of the World if he wishes, but no one will call him king while a Targaryen still lives."

"Prince Oberyn has a valid point," agreed Ser Kevan, in a bit of a risky move that again had Aelor glancing at the Prince of Dorne. Oberyn wrinkled his nose but didn't shrug off the support. "Your Grace has the provisions of the Reach at your disposal. While I'm sure we all want this war to end swiftly, Baratheon cannot stay afield as long as we can. He will have to march and meet us eventually."

"There are no dragons this time," Oberyn added. "Harrenhal has an infinite amount of water, stocked larders and clear lines of sight."

Aelor eyed him. "I assumed you would favor the aggressive approach."

Oberyn shifted, patting his paramour's arm. "I prefer victory above all else." He glared at Rhaegar. "Particularly where my sister and her children are at stake."

The Dragon of Duskendale shrugged, then looked to his brother. "Valid points all, brother."

Rhaegar was peering at the map in that Rhaegar way of his, as if he was looking into it instead of simply at it. Aelor had seen that type of look from his brother before, many times in their childhood and even more frequently as they'd grown into men. Seeing it now, here, closed an icy fist around his middle. Before Aelor could speak again the king shook his head. "There is risk in waiting, albeit mostly political ones."

Aelor answered, an edge to his tone. "It is war. There is risk in everything, both political and very, very physical."

"True enough. Yet I feel there is more to waiting than we could dream."

There was no exaggerated inflection when Rhaegar said 'dream', but Aelor understood what his brother was trying to say clearly enough. Anger filled his middle, and nearly escaped out his mouth in a tirade. I've had enough of these prophecies, Rhaegar. I don't deny there is something to your visions, but you place too much stock in them. I won't lose this war because you had a dream.

Rhaegar must have known his brother was going to disagree because he had continued speaking, not giving Aelor the chance. "We must be aggressive, my lords. I understand the tactical advantage in drawing the rebels to Harrenhal, if it could be done, but I feel it best to take this war to Baratheon and end him. This is the course we will plot." The King looked from one set of eyes to another, willing them to voice their disagreement. He avoided Oberyn and Aelor's because they bloody well would.

The lords sat back, but no one said a word, not even the two princes.

Ser Myles Mooton, former squire of Rhaegar and recent addition to the war council, looked to the king. "He's not in Mooton lands, nor is he near our border with Darry or in the Saltpans. I'd like to remind the king and council that the men of House Ryger have had no word from their castellan in some time. It could be that Baratheon has taken their seat of Willow Wood and resides there still."

Aelor, fighting to keep his anger at his brother in check, gestured towards the map in the center of the table. "I wager he's taken the castle, though he wouldn't stay there long—most likely he stripped it of resources and continued south. He either took House Ryger captive or put them to the sword." Aelor met Mooton's eyes. "I'd mention that to your brother, as well as the Darrys and Goodbrooks. They've chosen the crown over their liege, and while they'll be rewarded for that loyalty in time, the danger to them in the present is very real."

Rhaegar nodded. "Inform your families to evacuate to King's Landing until this is sorted out. I will write the Queen and ask her to see to their comfort personally."

Prince Oberyn was stroking Ellaria's side, the upstroke of his hand lifting her decidedly Dornish garment enough to reveal an expanse of her coppery side. Aelor found it unusually distracting considering the possibilities that had been opened between himself and Elia. "The Trident." The other lords turned to look at the Dornishman, the king raising an eyebrow. "A river is a natural defense. Baratheon will want us to be forced to cross it, where his own men can slaughter us as we wade out of the water."

"That makes sense, Your Grace," Barristan agreed. "The Trident only has a handful of crossings at any point along its three forks or its main body. They more than likely wish to dig in on one of them, making us cross under fire from archers and fight up the opposite bank."

Rhaegar shook his head. "I never knew him well, but Baratheon never struck me as patient."

"He's not," said Connington, a man who—as a vassal of the Stormlord, albeit it one in rebellion—would know his personality relatively well, even if he had spent most of the last years with Rhaegar. "He's hot tempered and a man of action, not waiting."

"Arryn and Stark are tempering him," King Rhaegar approved with a nod. "Baratheon would have assaulted King's Landing with all of our army inside if it weren't for those two keeping him levelheaded."

Aelor didn't quite believe that. Baratheons were notoriously temperamental, it was true, but Robert had never struck him as outright foolish.

"Harroway is unlikely, the Crossing even less so." Tarly, always focused on the task at hand, was studying the map of Westeros spread across the table. "We are too close to one and too far from the other."

Aelor had stood, walking behind his fellow members of the war council even as he kept his eyes glued on the pieces of parchments. "While we aren't sure exactly where, Baratheon is close, though I agree that he isn't likely at Harroway. If he went through Willow Wood as we suspect, the natural line of march from there gets him to here." Aelor pointed to where the hills and valleys of the northern Riverlands flattened into the plains around the Trident and its tributaries. "We've had skirmishes in both directions from this central point, but also here and here." He pointed to a few other locations farther out of his targeted area. "I'm assuming those are to throw us off. Ser Myles, where in this area would be best for a wagon to cross?"

The Riverman peered at the map for a moment, then pointed to a nondescript spot on the map east of where the three forks of the Trident merged. It was within a day's ride of Harroway and half a day of Darry, and much closer than Aelor was anticipating. "Here. There is a wide, slow-moving ford that is used primarily by smallfolk. It doesn't have a name that I'm aware of. It's a smooth transition up either bank to open fields. It's so wide that it's consistently shallow; only flat-bottomed barges can slip through for the river trade, and even those have trouble if too-heavily laden. A man can walk across it with little difficulty if he doesn't mind getting wet."

Tarly grunted. "That's not far. We'd agreed that Baratheon couldn't have made it this close with no word."

"We were wrong," the king said quietly. Aelor looked at his brother, finding that Rhaegar had gone very still as he stared at the spot Myles Mooton had indicated. "Describe the ford to me again, Myles."

Ser Myles had been with Rhaegar long enough that he didn't question the odd request, explaining in more detail the approaches from both banks as best he could remember them. Lord Tarly sent a runner for Lord Winston Darry, who controlled the lands within, presumably to verify the condition and positioning.

Aelor narrowed his eyes as he watched his brother's own go glassy as Mooton spoke.

Rhaegar nodded when Ser Myles finished. "That is where we will find them, my lords."

Aelor cocked his head, hating how confident Rhaegar sounded. He's seen something. I hate it when he sees something, even if it sometimes works out favorably. "It is a possibility, yes, but we do not know for sure. I will lead a scouting force in strength to investigate."

Rhaegar shrugged, eyes never leaving that spot as his eyes went glassy. "Go ahead, but I will lead the whole army shortly behind you. Go, my lords. Prepare for the march. Baratheon will soon fall, and the ford will flow as red as rubies."

The door to the chamber had barely closed behind Lord Tarly before Aelor rounded on Rhaegar. "What did you see."

The king sighed, an increasingly common reaction of late whenever he and Aelor were alone since Aelor tended to fill those moments with angry diatribe. If he would stop being an idiot, I would stop calling him one. "Enough to know Baratheon and the others are arrayed on the north bank of the ford."

"You don't know anything, Rhaegar. You dreamed some things and are telling yourself they are true."

Rhaegar looked up at him. "I saw King's Landing aflame. I saw Elia dead amidst the smoke, along with mother and Viserys and my children. And you, Aelor, cleaved nearly in two. I saw all of that and rode like all Seven of the Hells to try and prevent it."

Aelor wasn't deterred. "You saw wrong. Our brother and mother were gone before you reached the keep and could have changed anything, as were Elia and your children."

"You weren't gone, Aelor. You were dying in Aegon's nursery, knocked senseless with your face a bloody mess."

Aelor ground his teeth. "I have thanked you for that."

That seemed to anger Rhaegar more than anything else had over the last few weeks. "I do not need thanks, Aelor. I did not save you for thanks, I saved you because you are my brother. And a dream, the same thing you hate me for following, is what let me be in place to do it." Rhaegar slammed his fist into the table, a truly rare outburst from the usually reserved man. "Our family has had dragon dreams since long before me, Aelor. They are what allowed us and our allies to escape the Doom when no other Valyrian houses did. They are a blessing. Why can you not see that?"

Aelor slammed his own fist down on the other end of the poor table, a much less rare outburst on his part. "Because I am seeing what else it's making you do! You abandoned a good woman for half a girl. You abandoned your children. They wouldn't have been in danger—I wouldn't have been in that bloody nursery to begin with—if you hadn't had a dream about Lyanna Stark and a future Visenya." Aelor slammed his other fist down to join the first. "And all of that aside, I am seeing what it's going to make you do next. Harrenhal is the obvious tactical move. We stay here, we fortify, we wait, we make the man trying to usurp our crown come take it. We do not knowingly march into a trap that might get us all killed!"

Rhaegar took a deep breath, his normal composure returning like a man donning a mask. "I saw that ford. I have seen that ford, many times in my life, for nearly as long as I can remember. Gentle banks, slow water, wide fields on either side. I can recall it as well as I can my own face, though I have never crossed it in all my life. It was sunny and beautiful, a peaceful place, though the water would sometimes turn red." Rhaegar shook his head, lost in memory. "That old dream changed, about the same time I started dreaming a new one of Visneya. A stag lay dead in its shallows, with a white dragon feasting on its corpse." Rhaegar glanced pointedly down at Aelor's black doublet, where two dragons of white warred. "I don't know the details, Aelor. Perhaps parts will not play out exactly that way, I grant you that possibility. But I know, beyond doubt, that if we meet them in that ford we will be victorious."

Aelor gave himself a moment to calm down, letting all that wrap around him, but his anger did not dissipate much. "That is all well and good, Rhaegar. I believe that you believe that. But you are asking me to lead men into the teeth of an enemy. You have killed, brother, I know this, both in the Kingswood and the Sack. But you have not warred. I have. I have led lines against lines and charged the enemy with lance and sword. I've not always done it well, but even the mistakes I've made have given me enough experience to know it would be utter foolishness to charge into our opponent's selected battlefield. He will wait for us on the other bank, we will attack, and we will be forced to cross a river under fire. Though it is not deep it will still slow us down, and the silt and loose rock at the bottom may ensnare some of our men and horses. It's asking for trouble, and we have enough of that without looking for more."

Rhaegar straightened. "I am not asking you to do this, Aelor. I will do it myself."

His anger flared again. "I told you it was foolishness."

"And I told you I will lead it myself, so your thoughts on it make no difference." Rhaegar stood and turned to the window, looking out at the rain soaking the ruined castle of Harrnehal. "It is not your decision, Aelor. It is mine, and I have made it. You will not dissuade me, and willing or not, we both know you will not be left behind. Strategic error, foolishness, call it whatever you please. It is the course we must follow, and follow it we will."

Aelor stared at his brother's back. He is as irrational as father. We cannot survive another Mad King, not now.

The prince's feet moved of their own accord, silently taking him around the long table and towards the turned back of his brother. His hand, also moving without his permission, gripped the emerald hilt of the dagger, silently unsheathing it halfway. A voice whispered in Aelor's head, telling him how bloody easy it would be. So easy to walk over to the king, slit his throat, and end the foolishness before even more harm could be done. He'd killed so many times before—he was good at it, he enjoyed it.

Aelor could blame the death on a rebel assassin, dig in and force them to fight him here, then annihilate them. Thousands would be saved by doing it. It would be for the best, for Elia and Aegon and the Seven Kingdoms as a whole. They could not have another insane Targaryen on the throne, even if this one didn't seem so at first glance. Madness was madness, be it obvious like the paranoia of his father or subtle like the near-holy fervor of his brother.

Or deadly, like my own bloodlust.

Aelor slammed the dagger back into its sheath loudly, coming back to his senses in a flash. Rhaegar turned at the noise, but Aelor offered no explanation, turning and storming out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him, knocking the table ajar and several chairs to the ground in his haste.

His brother called after him. My brother. The man I nearly killed.

Aelor did not stop, leaving the confused king in his wake.

The prince slowed his breakneck pace as he climbed down the stairs, pain and shame wracking his insides. He'd nearly done that, cut the throat of the man he owed much to, including his loyalty and his very life. His oldest friend, whatever their current disagreements. It'd sprung into his mind so easily, making him believe it was the best course with not one extra thought behind it. And, most painfully of all, it likely was.

He stepped out of the tower and into the driving rain, striding into the center of the courtyard before stopping. Aelor turned his face to let the droplets batter his face, glaring at the grey and black overhead. He heard the concerned questions of Sers Willas and Alester buzzing at him like flies, the men having been waiting for him as his guard at the tower's base and then scrambled after him when he'd burst out the door and into the mud. Aelor ignored them without even a glance, glaring overhead, fists clenched at his sides.

There is a second Mad King on the throne, and I'm as powerless against this one as I was the first.

Aelor Targaryen had never been more ashamed of himself in his life.

A/N: Alright, so the lead up to the Battle of the Trident (chapters 15-18) was some of my weakest writing in the original. Lots of stuff was subpar, some was too detailed, other things got forgotten, etc. If I'm being honest, I hated parts of those chapters so much that I couldn't bring myself to re-read them more than once or twice in the last few years.

So we've done and are doing some changes. Chapter 15 (this one) combined the original 15-16. There will be some further things taken out of the original 17 and 18, and others added. My goal is still to make the Battle of the Trident be Chapter 19 in this rewrite (like it was in the original), but it may be split into Chapters 18 AND 19 depending on how well things flow together. We're playing it a bit loosey goosey but the end result should be better for it.

Stay tuned kiddos. I'm excited about some future changes. Thanks for all the support!