Author's Note: Hello again. The first part is new; hopefully it's a welcome addition to the original. This is also coming in a bit hot off the presses, so let me know if you see any grammatical or spelling errors I missed please.

Thanks again for all the support! I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 26

Original word count: 2,661

Revised word count: 4,503

A killer stood watching the rain, a newborn in his arms.

His mother had gone into labor not long after Aelor's return to the Red Keep. It proved to be a long and difficult one, as many of Rhaella's had. She'd been bedridden since receiving the news of Rhaegar's death, and though maester Gorold had come from Duskendale to temporarily assume the duties of Pycelle—a move made by Ser Manfred, one Aelor applauded—his mother had been delicate of health for a long, long time.

She'd brought a screaming daughter into the world just as the storm engulfed King's Landing, rain and thunder singing harmony with her birthing screams. She had named the silver haired infant Daenerys. Daenerys Stormborn. Though very small despite being carried to term, she seemed otherwise perfectly healthy. Aelor held her now as he looked out the glass of a closed window in his rarely used chambers. Watching the raging rains and lightning above the city. He supposed he shouldn't have opened the storm shutters, but the sight of the gale was a welcome one, for it echoed the tempest inside his own chest.

Rhaella had died an hour ago. Gorold had done the best he could, but something had torn inside the Targaryen matriarch, and Rhaella's will had been broken by a life of misery and the death of her eldest child. His mother had perished, succumbing mere minutes after naming her last child. Dead, just like everyone else was.

The Dragon of Duskendale glanced down at the bundle, so small he could hold most of her in one hand, the rest resting where his arm lay against his ribs. He spoke quietly, the child stirring softly in her sleep at the sound and feel of his voice. "You won't die, little one. No matter the number I must kill, you will live a long life of happiness and plenty. You, Aegon, Rhaenys, Viserys…all of you. You have my word."

The loud boom of thunder echoed off the walls, sealing his vow. The prince looked back to the storm, grief and hate and anguish mixing in his very soul. The sane part of him knew the Lannisters were not to blame for Rhaella's death, but the voice had added it to the list of crimes that demanded their blood. It wasn't logical but Aelor didn't care. He'd lost so many, and he refused to lose more. Gods help me, I'll slaughter half the world to keep those who remain to me safe, starting with House Lannister.

"Can…can I hold her?"

Aelor reeled at the small voice, having been so caught up in his own loss and anger and vengeance that he hadn't sensed the little boy enter. Viserys stood behind him in the dark room, his face a mess of tears, soaking his green nightshirt.

"Vis?" Aelor, mindful of the newborn still sleeping in his arm, knelt in front of the boy. "I thought Gorold was giving you…" A sleep tonic. "I thought you were in bed?"

Viserys had taken the news of their mother's death horrifically, which was to be expected in the best of circumstances. It had been a certainty in these poor ones, so soon after Rhaegar's death. Viserys had been Rhaella's shadow since his birth. Wary of Aerys, their mother had rarely let the boy out of her sight, not even around his older brothers. Not that I tried that hard, Aelor admitted to himself, shame pressing down on him like a great weight.

His brother sniffled, on the verge of tears again though he held them at bay. "I pretended to drink it. It would have made me sleep, and I don't want to sleep right now. I pretended so the maester would leave."

Aelor blinked away the surprise of Viserys' deception, though it had fooled Gorold and himself completely. They'd prepared the younger brother a room in Aelor's own chambers—Vis' were a part of Rhaella's, and the Seven knew he couldn't be there right now—and sent him to them not long after the queen's passing.

"Here, come sit with me."

Aelor rose carefully, then guided his brother to a cushioned chair in the corner of his chambers. Viserys followed easily, a few tears slipping down his cheeks though it was a far cry from the shuddering, screaming sobs he'd had earlier. Ever mindful of Daenerys in his left arm, Aelor settled back into the chair, then pulled Viserys up into his lap. "You must be careful, alright? She's much smaller than you and can't be moved too fast, and you have to be cautious with her head."

For a moment Aelor hesitated. Women died in childbed more frequently than anyone liked to think about, and the prince had heard stories of older children hating their siblings for taking their mother away. Viserys was…well, the boy has his moments. He was young, and he'd never done anything that couldn't be waved off as a child being a child, but Aelor knew he had a mean streak in him.

But there was no anger in the broken little boy right now, staring at Daenerys like she was the sunrise after a long night. Gently, Aelor shifted their sister into Viserys' small arms, helping support her with his own as Viserys held her close. They sat there in silence a long time, one brother staring rapturously at their sister while the other watched him in turn. "I haven't been a good brother to you, Viserys," Aelor said after a time, voice quiet. "I am sorry for my part in that. Things will be different, I promise you."

Viserys began to cry again. "I don't want different. I want mother!" Vis pulled Daenerys close, lowering his silver white head gently to her as he cried. "Daenerys is all I have left of her."

Aelor pulled them both closer, his heart breaking for the little boy he had failed. Aelor gave that pain to the voice, let it convert it from sorrow and guilt to a rich black hatred. Even as he stroked Viserys' back soothingly, holding him until the boy and babe both slept against his side, Aelor watched the storm, one thought on his mind.

I will kill them all.

Aelor's rage was terrifying to behold, but it certainly made things happen quickly.

The Dragon of Duskendale was the obvious choice as Aegon's regent, though in truth Aelor never broached the matter formally. He simply began acting with that authority, and no one was brave or foolish enough to naysay him.

Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, had been crowned the morning after his grandmother's death. There had been no grand ceremony, no feast, and no celebration. A heavy guard of fifty men-at-arms and three Kingsguard knights had escorted a carriage through the windblown streets in a steady rain, the smallfolk they passed watching in relative quiet. Inside that carriage the King of the Seven Kingdoms had slept in the arms of Ashara Dayne, oblivious to what was around him, while his sister squirmed in her uncle Aelor's lap and repeatedly asked if Elia had come back with him.

Aelor had soothed her the best he could, jaw clenched in quiet fury. They'd no sooner returned to the Red Keep than Aelor had gone to work.

The court of Aerys had become a den of snakes and incompetence, and Rhaegar hadn't lived long enough to change very much. Even Elia in her time as regent had not enacted much reform to the court itself, her focus having been doling out justice to those who'd aided in the Sack, as well as the cleanup of Flea Bottom and the care of those who'd once lived there. Aelor set to it at once; he removed all the surviving council members save Varys, as well as half of the household and minor titles in the Red Keep, ridding it of those he viewed as lickspittles and dolts.

Lord Staunton, Master of Laws and never on friendly terms with Aelor, had made the mistake of raising his voice at the prince over the harsh manner in which he'd been set aside. Aelor had struck him, backhanding him halfway across the council chamber. "The manner can get harsher," he'd said, staring down at Staunton as he lay on the floor. "Your poisoned tongue earned you your position in my father's court. Be wary that it doesn't cost you your head in mine."

The remaining lords and knights who had lost titles vacated both the Red Keep and the city of King's Landing soon thereafter.

In their place came men and women of sense and loyalty, many down the Rosby Road from Duskendale. Wylla Lyberr, though still mourning for the husband who'd died at the Trident for Aelor, brought her daughter and a score of servants to the Red Keep. Just as she had fifteen years ago at Duskendale, the iron-willed matron had Aegon's High Hill running smoothly in a matter of days. Ser Blaine Blackrune, formerly Shadowkeeper in Duskendale, became the King's Justice. Old and hoary Ser Borros Buckwell, Lord Donnel's uncle and castellan of the Antlers during the war, passed that duty to a cousin and came to King's Landing to take command of the dungeons and the Black Cells. Even the stablemaster was replaced, Dick the Hunter leaving that role at Duskendale and taking control of the king's horses, dogs, and hawks.

The Small Council came together the same day the old was dismissed, save for two. A Master of Ships was absent, though Aelor claimed to have chosen one already despite not sharing a name. The court also required a new Grandmaester, whom a raven from the Conclave at the Citadel of Oldtown promised would soon be selected. The head of the former Grandmaester, Pycelle, now rested on a spike along the walls of the Red Keep, joining the rotting ones of the men Manfred had disemboweled. The old man's death had been carried out by the grieving Prince Oberyn Martell. One could only suppose it had been agonizingly slow.

The rebellious lord had all publicly sworn allegiance to King Aegon and their armies to Prince Aelor for the upcoming war in the Westerlands. Two of their number had been rewarded with seats on the Council, a gesture intended to start binding the wounds in the realm that the war had torn open. Bronze Yohn Royce of Runestone had been appointed Master of Laws. Both competent and respected, it helped prove that Aelor didn't intend for any bad blood to remain between the once opposing forces.

So too did the appointment of Lord Wyman Manderly, the Lord of White Harbor in the North. Already portly and likely to become much more so, he had been made Master of Coin. The man seemed shrewder and more capable than Barristan the Bold's first impression of him, and he had leapt into the Crown's finances with gusto. House Manderly's devotion to both the Starks and the Faith of the Seven made his appointment both symbolical and prudent.

Barristan himself was standing in for Lord Commander Gerold Hightower on the small council, his sworn brother supposedly with the Stark girl and Ser Oswell in Dorne. Ser Manfred was sleeping in the White Sword Tower in preparation for relieving Ser Arthur Dayne later that night, the Sword of the Morning having himself replaced Prince Lewyn Martell an hour earlier. Ser Jaime Lannister was…well, Barristan wasn't certain what would happen with the youngest of their number, but he could hazard a guess that the boy wouldn't be a Kingsguard much longer.

Though he didn't hurt poor Elia. The queen had been found with writing near her right hand, the parchment the stones of the courtyard and the ink her own blood. "Not Jai" it had said. She'd passed before finishing, but it didn't take superior intellect to know what the queen had used the last of her strength to share.

Not that it will matter to Aelor, Barristan thought with a stab of worry, watching the prince at the head of table as he digested the report from Varys.

Though the Hand of the King clearly held the Master of Whispers partly responsible for the Lannister men's infiltration, the Spider had partially made up for it by placing most of his assets into tracking the movements of the Western bannermen. He'd been able to give the loyalist crucial information concerning who had received ravens, who hadn't, and who was obeying the orders of Tywin within.

Early reports indicated they all were.

"There is nothing he can do, surely he must see that," Bronze Yohn was saying. "We have nearly sixty thousand men outside of the city, with fifteen thousand more finishing the siege of Storm's End. At best Lannister can raise near twenty thousand, and that is a stretch. His retinue, half of his lords and their retinues all either died in this very city or currently serve us."

"Can the loyalty of those still be trusted?" Manderly asked, his chair pushed farther from the table than the others to account for his belly.

"As much as yours can, Lord Treasurer." Varys gestured towards the window of the Small Council Chamber. "Half of the men outside fighting the other half not so long ago."

"My liege lord bent the knee to the Targaryen name and bid me serve them," Manderly shot back. "We Manderlys owe the Starks a debt we cannot hope to repay, and as such I will serve where told until the day I die."

"I believe you, Lord Wyman," Aelor stated calmly, though his eyes were anything but. They had been violet maelstroms of anger since the moment he had learned of Elia's death. "Our war is finished and behind us. I hold knowledge of Lord Stark's sister's whereabouts, and the men who harmed his family so are dead. He is with us, and Lord Royce and his liege Lord are the same. Tully is as well by default, as he is too closely tied to the others to join Tywin on his own." And he is greatly weakened, Barristan added to himself, thinking of the lands Aelor had revoked at the Trident. He personally thought a Riverlord should have been appointed to the council as a placation, but Lord Hoster had drawn the ire of Aelor more than the others and would not soon escape it. Just as I have, and won't.

As if hearing the thought, Aelor glanced at Barristan ever so briefly before returning his gaze to the men surrounding the table. "The men of Lannister blood have all fled, but their soldiers remain behind. They will not forsake us; they can see the truth as clearly as you or me, and they are already with the army that will prove victorious. Only a fool would join Tywin on his sinking ship."

"But the Western Lords have, Prince Aelor. And as for why, it is fear." Lord Varys shrugged, his hands clasped before him in that odd way of his. "Fear is a great motivator of men, and after what happened to the Reynes and Tarbecks, all of the Western lords are too afraid for their houses to dither from Lord Tywin's command."

The Dragon of Duskendale's jaw clenched tighter each time Tywin's name was spoken, so much so that Barristan was certain the molars would crack. The prince looked to the last of their number at the table, who sat grim faced and stern near Barristan. "Lord Tarly, what do you suggest?"

Randyll Tarly didn't hold any of the traditional seats on the Small Council. Instead, Aelor seemed to have created one for him, having repeatedly referred to the Lord of Horn Hill as Master of War. Perhaps in recognition of the times Tarly had taken responsibility when Aelor was otherwise occupied, the prince had officially made Lord Randyl his second-in-command for the upcoming war, in charge of the war itself should Aelor be wounded or killed. It was a prudent move, rewarding the Reach with a spot on the Small Council after their invaluable service against Robert.

Tarly was also born for the role, as adept at tactics as Aelor was at swordplay.

The balding Reachman stood, Heartsbane rattling in its sheath as he leaned over the table to rest his finger on the red flag representing the seat of House Lannister. "According to both the captured letter and Varys' spies, Lannister is rallying troops at Casterly Rock. He knows he is outnumbered, but he also knows he has no choice but to fight on after Queen Elia's death, so fight he shall. The mountains and hills of the Westerlands give them a defensive advantage, one I am sure Lannister will use."

"And your recommendation to counter it?"

"Our army is mustered and ready to move, giving us time Lannister doesn't have. All we need is to gather enough supplies to feed our men, and I already have convoys traveling through the Reach for that purpose." Tarly moved his finger away from Casterly Rock, placing it on King's Landing then moving it as he spoke. "I suggest a two-pronged attack. The main force of forty-five thousand will travel down the Gold Road like so, subduing Deep Den and any other castles necessary along our path. A second force of fifteen thousand will enter the Westerlands here." This time he gestured towards where the Westerlands bordered with the Riverlands west of Riverrun. "The Golden Tooth has a stout defense but will be lagging behind the others; the raven Ser Manfred killed held the message intended for them, and Lord Varys has confirmed they haven't raised their levies. A mounted force could reach them in time to assault before they are fully prepared. Once they break through there, the main force will engage Tywin in the flats surrounding Casterly Rock and Lannisport, allowing the flankers to descend on him from the hills to the northeast."

Bronze Yohn, a decent tactician in his own right, nodded his approval. "It will be similar to the Trident, where your Dornishmen forded farther upriver and came in on our rear."

"Lannister will be caught on two sides, and in the flats his defensive advantage will be gone." Tarly held up a cautioning hand. "There is one setback, however. Lannister is no fool, and once he realizes the battle is lost, he will likely pull most of his forces back into Casterly Rock. Any attack on that castle would be suicide, even if we had six hundred thousand men. It has never been taken before, and for good reason."

"And he is unlikely to be drawn away from there, as it is his true advantage," Barristan agreed. "Even if we don't reach him in time to catch him in the flats, he will only venture far enough to ambush us in the hills of the Westerlands, all the while maintaining a clear line of retreat back to his seat of power."

"Our numerical advantage can be countered." Tarly spoke only to Aelor then. "The sooner we are upon him the better, Prince Aelor."

"It will be like then Stormlands again, my prince," Barristan said. "Try to remove the Lion's claws before they can sink into you."

Aelor stared into the map, eyes unfocused in thought. "Lord Tarly will have command of the main force. I will lead the flankers myself. Lord Royce, Lord Manderly, I will need the assistance of you both in selecting the strongest knights and horsemen from the North and Vale to accompany me; my own best men were wiped out at the ford. Send word to Lord Tully to do the same." Aelor gestured to Storm's End. "I will send Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Cleyton Byrch with a thousand men to lift the siege of Storm's End. Hopefully Stark can talk some sense into Stannis Baratheon, for Renly's sake if nothing else. Once done, Lord Mace will have orders to march to the Westerlands post haste, to reinforce our armies there. Lannister is outnumbered but certainly not beaten, and I will not lose him by being overconfident."

It went unsaid that Stark had other business to conclude afterwards in Dorne, but Barristan suspected most in the room didn't know that. I wonder if the girl has…no, it's too early yet. If Lord Stark moves quickly, they'll be back in King's Landing in time.

"I can have the men ready and the rest of the supply lines sorted in three days' time," Tarly said, eyes on the prince.

Aelor nodded his permission. "Three days it is. By then I'll have my own force selected as well as settled things here in King's Landing."

Lord Tarly turned to the door. "With the prince's permission?" Aelor waved a hand, and the Reachman exited the chamber.

He was still in the doorway when the prince turned to the Lord of Runestone. "Lord Royce, the City Watch is in shambles after Lannisters raid. Your first task is to reorganize and resupply the men, though your options in both will be limited until the Westerlands are taken care of. I've ordered a hundred of the best from Duskendale's City Watch to help hold the line until we sort it out properly." He swallowed. "Queen Elia deemed Captain Kermit an honest and loyal man. Make your own assessment of him, but rare were the times that Elia Martell was wrong."

Lord Royce nodded, rising without needing to be told. "It will be done, Prince Aelor."

The Hand of the King turned to Manderly as Royce left on Tarly's heels. "Lord Qarlton Chelsted, your successor, displeased my father and lost his life for it. That leaves you, Lord Wyman, in a difficult position. No one has a notion of where our finances lie, though I doubt it is any place good. Your first duty is more difficult than even Lord Royce's, though I trust you are up to it. Lord Eddard spoke highly of you, and you may recruit as much assistance as you need."

Lord Manderly nodded and rose, grasping quickly that the meeting was over and this was his dismissal. "I will begin at once, Your Grace." The heavyset man smiled knowingly. "I will consider any debts owed to House Lannister as 'soon to be paid'."

Aelor let a small smile cross his scarred face. "I do believe you will thrive here, Lord Wyman."

Lord Varys had risen with Manderly, perhaps the only one of the three men before him to know why they were being dismissed. "I will continue listening to the songs my little birds sing, Prince Regent. The Westerlands are alive with their music." Both men, portly Northerner and bald eunuch, exited the chamber.

And Barristan found himself alone with the prince.

The knight of the Kingsguard had made no secret of what he had done, informing Aelor the next morning of his actions. The prince had said nothing for several days, though the betrayal in his eyes had torn into Barristan's soul. The fact that Aelor had yet to move, coupled with the tenseness that had seeped into his shoulders, suggested to Barristan Selmy that the prince intended to discuss it now.

Barristan saw no point in letting the silence linger. Perhaps that we get along so well; he and I are much the same. "Go ahead, my prince."

Aelor obliged. "I've thought long on your actions, Ser Barristan. I owe you my life a dozen times over, but that does not change the truth." The prince lowered his head, like a dragon about to bellow fire, "You betrayed me."

Barristan met the violet gaze evenly. "I was under no orders to not speak with Ser Kevan, my prince."

A tight fist slammed down on the table, Aelor's tone sharp. "Don't throw bullshit at me, Barristan. You told Kevan and all his cousins to flee, as if I was going to murder them. I had made no such action."

Barristan did not back down. It never served to do so with the old Aelor, though he felt a twinge of worry that it might prove fatal with this new one. "You hadn't yet, my prince. But just as I won't throw bullshit at you, I ask Your Grace not to throw it at me either."

Aelor shot to his feet with half a roar, bass voice booming. "Who are you to judge the Dragon, Barristan? They killed Elia, murdered her, yet you allowed them to flee justice? You are sworn to House Targaryen, not House fucking Lannister." He raised his hand, his fist tight save for the pointer finger that he thrust towards the Kingsguard. "Or are you a treacherous snake, like fucking Pycelle was?"

Barristan kept his voice calm. "They didn't kill Elia, Aelor; only Tywin did. Ser Kevan fought loyally for you, as did his kinsmen present." He shook his head slightly, knowing Aelor spoke only out anger but hurt by the accusation anyway. "I serve House Targaryen and House Targaryen only, my prince, you know that."

"Do I?" The prince's tone was incredulous, though his volume lowered slightly as he regained a modicum of control. "Two of my brothers are dead, one of blood and one of choice. My household knights and retinue, friends all, are dead. Everyone is dead, Barristan." The prince's voice broke, then cleared, the accusation in his tone subduing even as the words sharpened. "The woman I loved, the very thing that gave me strength in that ford, is dead too. And my father, the one I chose, not the one who sired me, allowed the men who killed her to flee." Aelor shook his head, a broken, strangled laugh accompanying it. "Tell me, what in this life do I truly know anymore?"

Barristan's heart had shattered with each word, though he meekly tried one last time. "Aelor, Ser Kevan…"

"Is a Lannister."

The prince rose to his full height. "You will remain here when we march, to guard King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys alongside Prince Lewyn and Ser Arthur. Only Ser Manfred will accompany me on the campaign."

Barristan felt a wave of concern, not only for the prince's life but for what he might do were Barristan not there to restrain him. "My place is with you, Aelor, as it has been all these years."

The Dragon of Duskendale's voice was as cold as a northern and twice as bitter. "Your place is where the king deems it. Until Aegon turns six and ten, that means it is where I deem it." Aelor began walking towards the door, speaking over his shoulder as he left Barristan behind. "And I deem it the hell away from me."

The prince stopped in the doorway, throwing one last comment over his shoulder. "Do not enter my presence uninvited again, Ser Barristan."

His son walked away, not once looking back.