Harrenhal ― Kingspyre Tower…

Prince Aemond stood before the mirror in the lord's bedchamber, his expression reflecting deep contemplation. As he continued to stare at his reflection, a sense of bitterness washed over him. His frown deepened as he examined the healed wound along the seventh intercostal space of his ribcage, a scar that permanently marred him. Tracing the black, vein-like patterns left by the manticore venom, a reminder of the fierce battle with his nephew, Prince Jaehaerys, that had taken him out of commission for so long. The memory of the fight replayed in his mind: the clash of swords, the exchange of words, and the searing pain as the blade coated with poison pierced his flesh. Aemond had underestimated Jaehaerys and paid the price for it. He saw not just the physical scars of battle but the mental ones as well. The fact that his own nephew had bested him after years of their duels ending in a stalemate gnawed at him. He felt humiliated.

« Greed, vanity, pride, corruption, revenge… and the sole desire to seize power. That… is why you lost, Aemond. This fight… is over. »

By all accounts, the manticore venom that coated one of Jaehaerys's concealed wrist blades should have killed him. However, he survived. The healing process had been long and arduous, with healers tending to his wound day and night, applying poultices and potions to purge the poison from his body and promote healing. But it was due to the magic of Alys Rivers, the alleged witch queen and sorceress. She had miraculously nursed Aemond back to health.

But gratitude was the furthest from his mind right now.

"They will all pay for this," Aemond was seething with anger, the news of the Stormlands' and Westerlands' respective surrender to the Blacks fueling his fury. Borros Baratheon was slain at the hands of Kermit Tully at the Second Battle of the Kingsroad, House Lannister's submission to Aemma Targaryen, Criston Cole killed by King Aeonar, and the devastating blow to the Caltrops with their central leadership being captured - it was a lot to take in. With almost no standing army left and no more allies to call upon, gossip was beginning to spread that the war was more than likely to be declared over within the fortnight. Yet the painful reminder that he was tricked into attacking Harrenhal and left the Caltrops vulnerable was still fresh. "My brother, my uncle, my nephews… all who sided with them will burn for this humiliation."

"Y-Your Grace," one of the few remaining soldiers piped up, "with enemies coming in from the north, south, east, and west, we no longer have the means or numbers to challenge the Young Dragon's armies. Perhaps… we should sue for peace?"

"The Young Dragon has already made his intentions explicitly clear. There will be no peace until his vengeance is satiated. Although I do regret that business with Daeron after losing my temper that day, Aeonar was waiting for the excuse he needed to get rid of me." Aemond stood up, putting on his trenchcoat. "I'll not give him that satisfaction. So no, any foolishly idealistic hopes for peace aren't going to happen anytime soon. The longer we wait, the more chance he will prevail. Take what strength we have and send out a scouting party."

"But Your Grace… if we do that, we have any more men left to man the garrison―"

"Send. Out. A fucking scouting party and report back by first light. Or my dragon will be the least of your worries."

The soldier's hesitance was palpable, his reluctance almost overshadowed by Aemond's frenzied insistence on dispatching a scouting party. The notion of searching for potential attackers approaching Harrenhal from the northern banks of the Gods Eye seemed futile, especially with Vhagar stationed to defend the area against threats from various directions. One might speculate whether this was a strategic maneuver to uncover an alternative escape route—perhaps a desperate bid to flee across the Narrow Sea and embrace a life of perpetual exile. However, such a tactic appeared inconsistent with Aemond's character. His desire to express his frustrations was evident. Yet, he remained preoccupied with the notion of Aeonar, Jaehaerys, and Daemon as worthy opponents, each of whom had their sights set on him: Aeonar had dispatched Lykirī Mēre assassins, Daemon had also sent his own assassins, and Jaehaerys had engaged him in combat on two occasions, first at Rook's Rest and then at Harrenhal. Aemond found a particular amusement in this situation; it possessed an almost romantic quality for him, serving as an unexpected form of flattery. Despite the soldier's hesitance, Aemond's determination to uncover any potential threats remained unwavering, his mind consumed by the need to stay one step ahead of his enemies. Sensing the gravity of the situation, the soldier reluctantly acquiesced to Aemond's demands, knowing that the consequences of ignoring his orders could be dire. And so, the scouting party was dispatched, their mission clear: to search for any signs of impending danger and report back to Aemond with haste. As they set out on their mission, the soldier couldn't shake the unease lingering in the air, a foreboding sense of impending conflict that seemed to hang over Harrenhal like a dark cloud.

"My brother, my nephew, my uncle; they're all challenges I welcome… if they dare face me in battle again." This time, I won't lose again. No, my Alys has already made certain of that. I'll have Vhagar burn them all alive.

"Pity. Though you might get your chance sooner than you'd think," Alys commented, grinding herbs and concocting potions, her belly swollen with child. "Black Harren felled the grove of weirwood trees that grew on these lands. Heart trees, imbued with the spirits of those who lived long before he came. It's said their whispers can still be heard sometimes."

"A superstitious rabble."

"Yet that rabble also saved your life, wouldn't you think?"

Aemond bit his lip, the memory of the excruciating pain from the manticore venom still vivid in his mind. He didn't like being confronted with the reminder of that near-death experience, but the penetrating gaze in Alys's eyes hinted that she was aware of far more than he had disclosed about the incident. "What else do you know?" he inquired.

"My, my. Is Aemond Targaryen asking for my help?" Alys teased.

"Counsel," Aemond firmly corrected her.

Alys casually wiped her hands, removing the lingering traces of excess fluids from brewing her mysterious and powerful potions. With one hand on her swollen belly, Alys slowly made her way toward Aemond. "The bed you sleep on? The one you… fuck me on? It's made from such a heart tree. Tell me you have not experienced anything… of note?"

Aemond didn't respond.

"There is power in this place. The heart trees gave me my gifts, including extracting the poison from your body. There are older things in this world than you or I, or living memory. The Old Gods' magic - infused with such trees, left unspoiled - grant me things many in the world of man consider to be… unnatural." Standing next to a nearby blazing hearth, Alys extended her hand and wove a delicate pattern in the air. As she did so, the fiery embers from the hearth responded to her command, swirling and dancing around her palm in a mesmerizing display of control and power. "You see, Valyrian dragonlords aren't the only ones who receive visions and prophecies. Greenseers such as the Children of the Forest are entwined with such ancient magic. Beyond the art of healing, the Old Gods bless me with seeing things. Visions, if you'd like. Storm clouds, pools of water, and flames… is normally how I see them." Mesmerized by the swirling flames dancing above her outstretched palms, Alys pressed on. "They're as predictable as the tides. The deaths of his sons compel Aeonar Targaryen to go on the hunt for those responsible. Two of them have been slain already at the hands of young Jaehaerys, but―"

"He will come for me," Aemond stated. "Yes, I already know that. What's your point, Alys?"

"The point is… he is already here."

Aemond's interest was piqued, his gaze fixed intently on Alys as she unveiled her startling insights. The air around them crackled with tension, and the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the stone walls of the dimly lit chamber. Could it be possible that his elder half-brother, King Aeonar Targaryen—known throughout the land by many names: the Young Dragon, the Deceiver, Heir to the Flames, and King of Dragons—had already made his way into the Riverlands? The thought sent a shiver of excitement up and down Aemond's spine. If that were the case, why had there been no word from anyone? The lack of reports on dragon sightings was unsettling, especially as dusk approached, casting long shadows over the landscape and deepening the foreboding that hung in the air.

Yet, amidst this uncertainty, a surge of exhilaration coursed through Aemond's veins, igniting a fire within him that he could scarcely contain. Ever since he was a boy, Aemond had been captivated by tales of Aeonar's skills on the battlefield during the War for the Stepstones. The stories spoke of a young man wielding two swords at once, moving to close the gap with a grace that belied his strength, cutting through enemy lines like a scythe through wheat. His skills as an exceptional archer were equally mesmerizing. It was said that he could strike a target from hundreds of yards away, each arrow finding its mark as if guided by the hand of fate itself, even amidst the chaos of war. He was celebrated in his youth as a brilliant strategist and tactician with a mind as sharp as the blades he wielded, manipulating the battlefield to his advantage and turning the tides of war with a mere flick of his wrist or a well-timed command. He commanded a network of spies that stretched across the realm like a web, feeding him information that kept him several steps ahead of his enemies. Riding one of the fastest dragons known to man to strike swiftly and retreat before anyone could have a chance to react, Aeonar had been a living legend in his own right many years ago, a figure whose exploits were recounted in hushed tones around flickering campfires and the grand halls of lords. His reputation as a cold-blooded, ruthless, and cunning spymaster willing to make sacrifices and take risks that others would shy away from only added to the allure. The thought of facing off against perhaps one of the most dangerous Targaryens in a clash of titans filled Aemond with anticipation, a thrill that excited him. He could almost hear the clash of steel and the roar of dragons in the distance, a symphony of chaos that called to him like a siren's song.

But Aemond was confident in his abilities, and he believed that with Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world and the last remaining from the era of Aegon's Conquest, at his side, he had a chance in any encounter with Aeonar.

« A warrior wouldn't say otherwise if he didn't have the skill nor the confidence to back it up. The same goes for me. So, I trained hard with the sword and bow every day, evaluated my strengths and weaknesses, pushed myself to go beyond my limits, and rid myself of any flaws I once had in the past to ensure I wouldn't lose to Daemon again. Should the foolish malcontents wish to attack me, they're more than welcome to. Right now, I'm next in line for the throne – the only one fit to rule this land. But if there is a challenger who can defeat me, I will gladly hand over the reins. »

"It is unavoidable," Alys remarked. "He will come to you, and then you will go before him."

Aemond gave a slight smirk. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time; perhaps he, too, suspected Aeonar felt the same way. "Then it's a challenge, one I'm glad to oblige. I'll see my brother," he responded. "Though I doubt, given his deteriorating sanity, the king's madness will be his undoing. I will fly out to meet him when the time is ripe. Show me more of your visions, Alys."

Alys twirled her hands with elegance, expertly manipulating the flames that flickered before Aemond. The fire danced and swirled, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the dimly lit chamber. Aemond's lone eye was locked on the glowing embers, his heart racing as Alys's magic unveiled visions of an approaching conflict; the air crackled with tension as the flames morphed into vivid images, revealing a fierce battle above the Gods Eye. The once serene waters of the lake churned violently beneath the tumultuous sky, dark clouds swirling ominously as if the heavens themselves were aware of the impending doom. Two of Westeros's largest dragons—Vhagar and Vaelor—locked in a bitter fight to the death. Aemond watched the visions burn into his mind: dragons soar and dive, their roars echoing like thunder across the landscape, each determined to kill the other and emerge victorious as the reigning alpha.

"Beautiful."

The Riverlands ― South of the Gods Eye…

Positioned in a remote and secluded location several leagues away from Harrenhal, Aeonar was fully immersed in preparing for what could potentially be the most daunting challenge of his life: facing off against Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons. The air was thick with tension, and the forest around him seemed to hold its breath as if aware of the monumental challenge before him. As the oldest and largest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms, Vhagar was a legendary creature, the last remaining dragon from the days of Aegon's Conquest whose roar was capable of shaking the very foundations of Storm's End and whose flames were so hot that it could melt a knight's armor and cook him inside. Taking her down seemed almost insurmountable, a challenge requiring skill and bravery, a cunning strategy, and perhaps a stroke of luck to outsmart the beast and her rider.

Burn them all! Burn them, burn them…! I'm going to burn them all.

Determined to maintain the element of surprise, Aeonar had taken refuge downwind in the thickest forest he could find, a place where the shadows danced and the trees whispered secrets of old. Here, he felt a sense of isolation that unnerved him. The dense canopy above filtered the fading sunlight into a soft, mottled glow, creating a serene and foreboding atmosphere. His focus was fixed on the arrows he was painstakingly crafting, each a testament to his resolve. The arrows were not just ordinary projectiles; they were extensions of his will, each carefully fashioned from the finest wood he could find, their tips sharpened to a lethal point. Despite already having brought along two quivers filled with 30 arrows each—totaling 60 in all—the Young Dragon knew that more would be necessary for the upcoming fight with Aemond and Vhagar. As he worked, Aeonar envisioned the traps he had set throughout the forest, each designed to ensnare those who dared to pursue him. Those unfortunate enough to stumble into his carefully laid snares would soon face a grim and unexpected fate. He had designed them precisely, using the natural landscape to his advantage. Pitfalls concealed beneath layers of leaves, snares that would ensnare the unwary, and even a few surprises that would unleash a torrent of sharpened stakes. Each trap was a calculated risk to level the playing field against a creature that could incinerate him with a single breath.

Burn them! Burn them! Burn them! I'll kill you all…

With his Valyrian steel dagger in hand, Aeonar meticulously crafted the carving of the last arrow for his collection. The air was thick with the scent of wood shavings and the faint metallic tang of the dagger's blade. Each stroke of the dagger was deliberate, a testament to his skill and focus. Each arrow he had made was a testament to his craftsmanship and weapons innovation. Still, this particular arrow was special, imbued with purpose and intent for a specific target. With the finest metal obtained from the skilled blacksmiths, the Young Dragon carefully affixed the armor-piercing arrowhead atop the rough-hewn wood of the shaft, ensuring it was firmly secured. He took his time, ensuring its stability and deadly precision, knowing that the success of his mission hinged on this very moment. The arrowhead shimmered with an otherworldly sheen, its sharp edges reflecting the light like a predator's gaze. The arrow needed to be perfect, capable of piercing through the layers of protection that had kept many at bay. With the arrowhead secured, Aeonar meticulously adjusted the fletching, ensuring that the feathers were aligned just so, allowing for a smooth flight through the air, guided by the winds of fate.

"Yes. Yes, you'll do quite nicely."

The next step was quite tricky because of the potential danger involved. Aeonar retrieved a unique powder from Yi Ti from his bag and carefully poured it into a small parchment roll, handling it with great caution as if it were a fragile artifact rather than a component of destruction. This YiTish powder, initially meant for ceremonial and festival activities in the far east of the known world, had been repurposed by Aeonar into an explosive mixture. Sweat trickled down his brow as he carefully tied it to his specialized arrow until it was good and tight. As he affixed the paper to his specialized arrow, beads of sweat trickled down his face.

"*Grrrrr!*" Vaelor looked down at his rider, his snout picking up the faint scent of the foreign substance. Although the Swiftrunner was a dragon, he was smart enough to understand the potential hazard if the mixture was poorly handled.

"Shhh! Lyka, Valor. Gimin skorīon iksan. (Quiet, Vaelor. I know what I'm doing.)"

"*Guuuuu…!*"

After pouring the necessary amount of the volatile substance, Aeonar took great care to seal the container securely, ensuring it was airtight so no trace of its contents could escape. He then encased the carefully folded paper within a vial that held wildfire. With deliberate precision, he bound this vial to his specially designed arrow, a weapon that was as much a work of art as it was a tool of destruction. Aeonar ensured that the vial was tightly bound to the arrow shaft, leaving only a slender piece of string hanging free, a critical component of his plan. As he inspected his draconic gauntlets, Aeonar snapped his fingers. The razor-sharp metallic blades on each fingertip clashed together, producing a sharp grinding sound until a spark was produced. Aeonar's face twisted into a sinister grin.

"Hahahaha! Ooh, you'll lose more than just an eye, boy."

If Aeonar's interpretation of the reports from his son Jaehaerys were correct, a simple spark generated from the blades' friction in a swift downward motion would set off a chain reaction. According to his calculations, Aeonar deduced that this spark would ignite the fuse he had carefully prepared, which would, in turn, trigger the volatile mixture of YiTish powder and wildfire encased within the paper. Whatever the specialized arrow would hit, the target would explode.

However, his crafted mixture was meant for something much bigger than a man.

With a last-minute inspection of his equipment, Aeonar confirmed his preparedness. His arrow was poised, and his target was within his line of sight. Clad in the legendary Valyrian steel armor of his ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, with layers of dragon-scale leather crafted from the hides of Sunfyre and Meleys underneath the armor itself, all covered by the Lykirī Mēre's grandmaster robes, Aeonar readied his YiTish bow, Blackfyre, and the specially crafted arrow for his task.

"*RRAAAAAAAAAH!*"

Vaelor raised his head, picking up the sound of Vhagar's roar from a distance. "*Grrrrrrrr!*" he snarled, showing his sharp teeth in a menacing display. The Swiftrunner had grown restless from waiting in the Riverlands' wilderness. He longed wanted to fight. But before the dragon could vocalize his frustration, his crimson eyes picked up the subtle movement of his rider's raised arm.

"Umbās, Valor. (Wait, Vaelor.)" Aeonar commanded firmly. "Sīr daor. (Not yet.)" You'll get your chance soon enough, my friend. Just wait until nightfall. Then you'll have the advantage.

"*Grrrrrrr!*" Vaelor grumbled softly under his breath, baring his teeth as he crouched low to the forest floor. Keeping himself as close to the ground as possible, he made sure that he stayed downwind so his scent wouldn't give him away to Vhagar. The Swiftrunner conceded that if he were detected, he would lose the crucial element of surprise. Growling quietly, Vaelor bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on his next target. He would use the dense foliage and the cloak of night to blend seamlessly into the surroundings, ensuring that he remained hidden until the very last moment before springing an ambush.

Taking a few steps near the forest's edge, Aeonar pulled out the spyglass from his robes and adjusted the crystal for a closer look beyond the Gods Eye. It was getting dark, but he could see subtle movement. One, two, three, four… Eight. "Huh. A scouting party. No doubt Aemond intends to try to flush me out into the open." Brandishing the Valyrian steel dagger with an intricate dragon-shaped hilt in one hand, Aeonar smirked as he flicked the razor-sharp carbon steel blades on the fingers of his exquisitely crafted draconic gauntlet. The flickering light danced off the polished surfaces, accentuating the ominous glint in his eyes. "But no matter. Until then, I suppose I'll have some fun. Mwahahahaha!"


Chapter End


Author's Note: Well, everyone. This is officially the last filler arc. Now, the next chapter will be the Battle Above the Gods Eye. Aeonar Targaryen vs. Aemond Targaryen, Vaelor vs. Vhagar. Think about each combatant's strengths and weaknesses; who do you think will win? I'll let you decide. Until then, get ready for the Battle Above the Gods Eye!

randomdude24: Battle of the Gods Eye, here we go. Both Aeonar and Aemond are dangerous in their own way. Aeonar is a skilled fighter, dragonrider, and spymaster. He has been tested in combat before Aemond was even born and has the skill to back it up, however the madness has dulled his edge leading to poor decision making and recklessnesses. Aemond is skilled with a blade, rides the largest dragon with plenty of experience to defend him, he has the intelligence to make him deadly. However Aemond greatest weakness is his overconfident and believes with Vhagar no one can best him, yet his poor decision making has lead to the near loss of the war for his family.

Not sure who can win, Aeonar has a slight advantage since he is planning something to take down Vhagar. Aemond on the otherhand is hoping with Vhagar and Alys he has all he needs to win and establish his name and legacy.

Questions,

As we get closer to the end, will this dance of dragons set a succesions law in regards to any Targaryen showing signs of madness?

―Can't spoil anything; we're not at that point yet plus I'm still weighing possibilities

Will Beatrice bloodline to the iron throne die out? Like how Alicent bloodline died out in the books?

―Can't spoil anything

Beatrice has been dead for a while, what excatly will history say about her? What legacy will she leave behind?

―Exactly as any power hungry schemer would-be usurper would be remembered as

rj7677304: Hurry up
With that next chapter bro this is to good

―Patience, grasshoper, you'll get the Battle Above the Gods Eye soon.

C.E.W: The showdown between Aeonar Targaryen on Vaelor and Aemond Targaryen on Vhagar has finally arrived. The fight between Vaelor and Vhagar will decide who the ultimate dragon really is, as they've been fighting for dominance over the dragons since the start of the war. The ultimate tide of the civil war will decided there as well.

Aeonar Targaryen is determined to eliminate Aemond ever since Daeron died. Aeonar has spent his entire life, training to be a dragonrider and a warrior. He has fought in battle, and has masterminded many victories. He rides Vaelor, fastest dragon and large enough to rival Vhagar. Problem is, Aeonar's madness might hinder his skills and his desire for vengeance may blind him.

Aemond Targaryen is a skilled warrior and dragon rider, not quite as deadly and experienced as Aeonar but enough. Aemond rides Vhagar, the oldest living, largest and most experienced dragon who has seen battle since Aegon's Conquest. Aemond however has demonstrated his weakness with overconfidence and arrogance.

Daemon Targaryen is due to arrive on Caraxes, the question is when?

Questions:

How far are Daemon and Caraxes from Harrenhal?

―Quite a distance

Has Cregan Stark left Winterfell with his army?

―They're approaching the Twins

Has there been any sighting of a Third Vulture King like in the books?

―Not yet

Are the Blacks in King's Landing aware of the confrontation about to take place between Aeonar and Aemond?

―Not yet, but they're about to

Will Aeonar and Aemond have a talk before their fight?

―Can't spoil until the next chapter

Dante 101: How much does Protagonist Centered Morality apply to this fic?

What kind of a villain is Aenoar now? What is his plan after the God's Eye?

―I think the overall theme was meant to be a tragic hero, someone with a flaw who is doomed to fail in search of a dream despite their best efforts and good intentions theorized by ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle.

rogerlopez99: So the last filler chapter is here and it was great seeing both pov of Aemond and Aeonar and how they are prepare for there battle I wonder what Alys would do during the fight and what does Aeonar have in store

Question
1 So what is your thoughts with the new episodes of HOTD

―VERMITHOR'S HUGE!

2 what your thought with Alys River

―She still remains a mystery to me

3 I saw a question about how the events of your story affect the au of game of thrones, does House Targaryen still lose to Robert Baratheon during the war

―House Targaryen holds on to what remains of their dragons for a little longer, but each member and the Seven Kingdoms become more aware of the Targaryen madness and what causes them

TruthOnlyReader: Aeonar vs Aemond... I think Aeonar is better prepared than Aemond but he gets an advantage somehow and Aeonar struggle then Daemon comes out of no where to help him. 2 v 1.