Harrenhal…
Criston Cole rushed through the castle courtyard as the urgent toll of warning bells echoed through the air. "Ambush! To arms!" he urgently shouted, barking orders and rallying his men and the garrison to arm themselves swiftly. But how could they face an enemy they couldn't see or hear? It was a perplexing challenge, facing an adversary who was a master of stealth, assassination, and espionage. "Damn it, hurry up!" As he rounded the corner, Criston's eyes fell upon one of his soldiers, who had pulled the sturdy rope to raise the alarm when he spotted one of them. Tragically, the Caltrops soldier bore five Valyrian throwing stars embedded in his back and another piercing his skull. It was the unmistakable handiwork of the Lykirī Mēre, Aeonar's covert agents. Assassins!
The courtyard buzzed with activity as soldiers armed themselves and took up defensive positions, ready to face the impending threat. As Criston surveyed the courtyard, he could see the panic and fear in his men's eyes. The night skies were pitch black, and they couldn't see the Lykirī Mēre. Whenever they turned around, startled at the slightest sound, another would get picked off, but he knew they had to stand firm and fight back. As the battle raged on, Criston's mind raced, strategizing and analyzing every move. He knew that they needed to change their tactics if they were to have any chance of defeating these deadly assassins. With a commanding voice, he rallied his troops, urging them to adapt and overcome. They formed smaller groups to cover each other's blind spots and anticipate the enemy's next move. With their vast army of 8,000 troops, the Caltrops were confident in their ability to overpower the Lykirī Mēre with sheer numbers, outnumbering the assassins by a ratio of 10 to 1.
However, the vastness of Harrenhal itself proved to be a double-edged sword. The castle, with its labyrinthine corridors, towering walls, and hidden chambers, provided ample hiding spots for the Lykirī Mēre. They moved swiftly and silently through the shadows, striking from unexpected angles with deadly precision, exploiting every weakness and vulnerability they could find and disappearing just as quickly as they came. Despite their numerical superiority, the Caltrops found themselves constantly on edge, never knowing when or where the next attack would come from. The battle became a deadly dance, with the Caltrops desperately trying to maintain their formation while the Lykirī Mēre sought to disrupt and dismantle it, moving with a coordinated precision that belied their smaller numbers. The clash of steel against steel, the cries of pain and triumph, and the thunderous footsteps of warriors reverberated throughout the fortress.
"Fan out! Find them! Keep your defenses up, and don't separate!" Criston barked orders at his men, his grip tight on his morning star as he displayed signs of tension. His initial strategy of advancing south towards Starpike was disrupted by the Lykirī Mēre's infiltration of Harrenhal, causing a significant setback in the Caltrops' plans. The cover of darkness only further complicated matters, leaving Criston feeling increasingly agitated as he grappled with the realization that the enemy lurked nearby, unseen and waiting to strike.
As the hours turned into what felt like an eternity, exhaustion began to take its toll on both sides. Despite their numerical advantage, the Caltrops found themselves stretched thin, their forces depleted by the relentless onslaught of the Lykirī Mēre. The assassins, too, were not without their losses, their ranks slowly thinning as they pushed themselves to the limits of their physical and mental endurance.
"*Wuuuuuuuurrr!*"
Amidst the turmoil and disorder, Vhagar awoke and unleashed a torrent of dragonflame into the sky, casting a brilliant light over Harrenhal's courtyard. The operatives of Lykirī Mēre swiftly dispersed, realizing that the fiery blaze could potentially reveal their whereabouts due to its intense brightness. The Queen of All Dragons detected the presence of intruders, and her fury was about to be unleashed upon anyone who dared to obstruct her path. While Vhagar soared through the air, scorching everything in her path, Criston noticed the sudden shift in the ancient dragon's demeanor and aggressive actions. As his soldiers scattered, a realization dawned upon him: glancing up at the Kingspyre Tower, Criston comprehended the gravity of the situation that the Lykirī Mēre, despite being few in number, were merely a distraction.
The true threat lay at the top of Harrenhal's tallest tower.
Aemond. "Men! Hold the line! Ten of you, on me! Prince Aemond is in danger!"
––––––––––––––––––––––––––
The duel between Aemond and Jaehaerys escalated, growing more intense with each passing moment. Their movements were fluid and precise, each anticipating the other's next move with uncanny accuracy. Each strike was met with a swift parry, their blades dancing in a deadly symphony. Aemond, with his fiery temperament, attacked with a ferocity that matched the flames of his dragon, Vhagar. His strikes were powerful and aggressive, fueled by a burning desire to prove himself as the superior warrior. With every swing, he aimed to overpower Jaehaerys, to crush him beneath the weight of his ambition. Jaehaerys, on the other hand, fought with a calm and calculated precision. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, as he gracefully evaded Aemond's onslaught. He relied on his agility and reflexes, using them to his advantage like a dragon soaring through the sky.
The clash between the two Targaryens was reminiscent of their previous matches in King's Landing. There, they had sparred countless times, each time ending in a tie. It seemed that fate had brought them together once again, forcing them to settle their differences in a battle that would determine the fate of their family and the Seven Kingdoms. As the duel escalated, the intensity of their attacks increased. Their swords moved faster, their strikes more harder. The air crackled with the energy of their clash as if the very essence of their rivalry had materialized into a tangible force. The ground beneath them trembled with the weight of their power as if it, too, recognized the significance of this moment. Despite their evenly matched skills, it became clear that only one would emerge victorious from this deadly encounter. The outcome of their battle would not only determine the fate of House Targaryen but also shape the future of Westeros. The stakes were high, and the tension in the air was suffocating.
With every swing of their swords, Aemond and Jaehaerys fought for their family's legacy. The clash of their blades symbolized the internal struggle within House Targaryen, a battle between ambition and duty, power and righteousness, ruthlessness and honor. Aemond's eyes burned with a fierce determination, his silver hair flowing behind him as he lunged forward, his blade aimed at Jaehaerys' heart. But Jaehaerys was quick to react, his own sword meeting Aemond's with a swift parry, the force of their clash sending sparks flying into the air. As they continued their deadly dance, the tension between them seemed to thicken. Each strike and counterstrike was executed with precision and skill, their movements fluid and graceful. Aemond's strength and aggression were matched by Jaehaerys' agility and intelligence, creating a mesmerizing display of martial prowess.
Breaking off their attack, the two Targaryens were back to square one.
"Mm. You're pretty good, nephew, but how long can you last?" Aemond taunted. Hearing the alarm bells outside, he knew the Lykirī Mēre had been found. Now, all of Harrenhal was aware of the intrusion. "What do you hope to accomplish now? My men found your assassins. Now, it's only a matter of time before you're all snuffed out like insects."
"Huh. How unfortunate it goes to show how little you still don't understand, Aemond, given how your vendetta had closed your eyes to the inescapable truth long ago. You mistake greatness for confidence," Jaehaerys responded. His eyes never broke contact; his senses were on high alert. With the Lykirī Mēre exposed, time was counting down. He's got to end this fight, and he's got to get out of there as quickly as possible. "Madness and greatness were two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin, and the world holds its breath to see which side it lands on. Intermarriage or incestuous, the result is always the same."
"We do it to keep our Valyrian blood pure. You, of all people, know this. It's been our tradition since Old Valyria."
"I know. But you've yet to weigh the risks. That same curse had gripped countless Targaryens: Aelyx, Baelon, Maegor, father, and now you. Consider this my final lesson… kinslayer."
Visibly outraged at a perceived insult, Aemond charged at Jaehaerys again. Their swords moved in a blur, the sound of steel meeting steel filling the room. Aemond's eye narrowed as he saw an opening, a split-second opportunity to strike. With a powerful thrust, he aimed for Jaehaerys' chest, but the Silver Dragon twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the deadly blow, and retaliated with a lightning-fast counterattack. The clash of their swords seemed to reverberate through the very core of their beings, each strike fueling their determination to emerge victorious. Sweat dripped down their brows, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, but neither showed any signs of relenting. The tension between them escalated with every passing second, their rivalry fueling their every move.
Losing track of their surroundings, both Aemond and Jaehaerys staggered down the staircase, their bodies colliding with each step, emitting grunts and thuds echoing through the air. Their descent was relentless, the force of their collision with each step propelling them further down into the unknown depths of the lower level. The impact of their bodies crashing through the floor shook the very foundation of the castle, causing a thunderous commotion that startled the nearby servants. The sound of splintering wood and crumbling stone echoed through the halls. Finally, they crashed through the floor, descending to the lower level, causing a commotion that startled the nearby servants. In a hurry to avoid the chaos, the servants hastily fled from the adjacent room in a panic.
Aemond and Jaehaerys, their bodies aching from the fall, quickly rose to their feet and wasted no time resuming their battle. The room they found themselves in was dimly lit, with flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was thick with tension as they circled each other, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze. As their blades danced, bits of the room were cut up before taking it to the hallway. They use every trick in the book. As the fight raged on, the room seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as if to trap them in their deadly duel. However, neither showed any signs of backing down.
Fueled by his determination, Aemond unleashed a mighty swing, bringing his sword down with immense force in a devastating overhead slash. The sheer power behind his strike threatened to cleave through anything in its path. However, with a grace that seemed almost supernatural, Jaehaerys deftly maneuvered his own blade, aligning it perfectly along the edge of Aemond's sword. The clash of steel reverberated through the air, creating a symphony of metallic echoes. The force of Aemond's attack was redirected, and Jaehaerys' precise movements altered its lethal trajectory. Undeterred by his failed attempt, Jaehaerys seized the opportunity to retaliate. He swiftly transitioned from defense to offense in one fluid motion, launching an upward strike toward Aemond. The speed and accuracy of his attack were awe-inspiring, as if he had anticipated Aemond's every move. Yet, Aemond mirrored Jaehaerys' defensive maneuver. With unwavering focus, he mirrored his nephew's movements, guiding his own blade along the edge of Jaehaerys' sword. The clash of their weapons again filled the air, their skill and determination evident in every movement.
As the battle raged on, their movements blurred, their swords a symphony of steel. Each strike and parry was executed with precision and finesse. The sound of steel meeting steel filled the air, a symphony of battle that seemed to reverberate. Sparks flew as their swords clashed, the force of their blows sending shockwaves through their bodies. Sweat dripped down their faces. Each strike was met with a counterattack, a never-ending cycle of attack and defense that seemed to have no end. Aemond and Jaehaerys engaged again, their swords slicing through the air with upward and downward strikes. The clash of their blades echoed as they fiercely fought, neither willing to give an inch. They strained against each other's weapons with every ounce of strength, locked in a bitter struggle.
Jaehaerys adjusted his position slightly, disrupting the stalemate and catching Aemond off guard. Although momentarily taken aback, Aemond swiftly regained his balance, and upon spinning around to face his opponent, he was met with the searing sensation of four razor-sharp metal cuts across his face.
"Gah!" Aemond exclaimed. He felt sharp, painful sensations, followed by warmth and moisture trickling down his cheek. Gently tapping his face with his fingers, he discovered that it was his own blood. When he glanced back at Jaehaerys, Aemond immediately recognized that his nephew's draconic gauntlets had caused the injury. The fingertips of the gauntlets were covered in a razor-sharp carbon steel blade; each tip was painted with a vivid red color. It dawned on Aemond that these gauntlets were not merely defensive armor but also offensive weapons. Jaehaerys had drawn first blood. Realizing this, Aemond was furious. "You dare…!" he snarled.
"That's one lesson you never learned, Aemond. Be wary of your blind spots," Jaehaerys stated.
"You wretched cur!"
Aemond and Jaehaerys clashed once again, unleashing a relentless flurry of strikes and slashes. The clash of their swords echoed through the air as their movements intensified with each attack. Locked in a fierce battle, they found themselves at another stalemate, causing them to swiftly spin their blades towards the ground, shattering the deadlock and resetting the confrontation. As the battle raged on, their swords became an extension of themselves. They moved as one, anticipating each other's every move. Aemond's blade whistled through the air, aiming for Jaehaerys' head, but he deflected it with a swift flick of his wrist, guarded by his draconic gauntlet. In response, Jaehaerys launched a series of rapid strikes, forcing Aemond to momentarily back off. But Aemond was not one to back down from a challenge. With a roar, he charged forward, his sword slashing through the air with a deadly precision. Jaehaerys met his attack head-on, their swords colliding with a resounding clang. Sparks flew as their blades clashed, the sheer force of their blows threatening to shatter their weapons. With a sudden burst of energy, Aemond unleashed a flurry of strikes, his sword a blur of motion. But Jaehaerys was ready. He deflected each blow with a dexterity that bordered on the supernatural. They executed strikes, thrusts, and slashes with precision and agility, yet the two Targaryens dodged, blocked, or redirected almost every attack.
Aemond skillfully intercepted Jaehaerys' spinning slash, resulting in yet another deadlock. Nevertheless, the one-eyed Targaryen managed to push his nephew aside momentarily, allowing him to swiftly deliver a slashing blow across the Silver Dragon's thigh.
"Argh!" Jaehaerys exclaimed, backing off slightly while trying to keep his balance and not apply too much pressure on his left leg. Blood seeped through the fabric of his tunic, staining it a dark crimson as he gritted his teeth against the pain. Despite the injury, Jaehaerys refused to show any sign of weakness, his violet eyes blazing as he raised his sword again.
Aemond smirked, his one good eye glittering with malice as he prepared to press his advantage. He lunged forward, his blade flashing in the sunlight as he aimed for Jaehaerys' exposed side. But his nephew was quick to react, parrying the blow with a swift counterattack. The two Targaryens clashed fiercely, their swords ringing out in a deadly dance of steel and blood. Each strike was met with a swift counter, each parry followed by a riposte as they fought with a ferocity born of years of rivalry and resentment.
During the standoff, their swords once again became entangled, and Jaehaerys' left steel vambrace was mixed in; both Aemond and Jaehaerys firmly planted their feet, each standing their ground. Despite feeling a burning sensation in his thigh, Jaehaerys refused to let the pain in his thigh hinder him. He channeled his focus and honed his senses, allowing his instincts to guide his every move. Each blow landed with a resounding impact, sending shockwaves through their bodies and testing their endurance to the limit. Strategically maneuvering his pressed vambrace and sword against Aemond's blade, Jaehaerys slid them in opposing directions while simultaneously pushing back. This resulted in sparks igniting and flying into Aemond's face.
"Gah!" Aemond instinctively closed his one eye as sparks suddenly burst into his face, causing him to stumble.
Jaehaerys executed a forceful push kick, striking Aemond's chest and causing him to stumble backward. He suppressed a quiet grunt as pain seared through his thigh from a previous slash wound. Drawing upon his training in the deadly art of Lykirī Mēre assassination, the Silver Dragon seamlessly merged the traditional Westerosi knight's dance with the ancient martial arts of Old Valyria. Aemond and Jaehaerys clashed swords again, but Aemond retaliated by delivering a powerful kick to Jaehaerys's jaw. In response, Jaehaerys swiftly unleashed a spinning hook kick, connecting with his uncle's face. The impact of the kick spun Aemond around and brought him down to his knees. Jaehaerys attempted to choke him from behind, but Aemond swiftly countered by throwing him over his shoulder, sending Jaehaerys crashing to the ground. However, before Aemond could make any further moves, Jaehaerys landed a kick to his head. The blow was enough to knock Aemond down, but he remained determined and refused to be defeated. Both Targaryens quickly regained their footing, displaying unwavering resolve as they prepared to continue their battle. Neither prince would easily surrender, and they returned to the starting point.
Their swords clashed once more, the sound of metal ringing through the air as they exchanged blows with precision and skill. The duel peaked when Aemond's sword connected with Jaehaerys's right arm, delivering a fierce blow that caused a laceration from his shoulder to the elbow. The force of the strike sent a searing pain through Jaehaerys's body, but he refused to let it deter him. With a surge of adrenaline, Jaehaerys swiftly retaliated. In a split second, his sword sliced through the air, meeting its mark with a powerful slash that started from his uncle's naval and traveled up to his collarbone. The impact was bone-jarring, causing Aemond to stagger backward, his face contorted in pain. Blood spurted from the newly formed wound, staining his clothes and the ground beneath him. Despite the pain coursing through their bodies, neither Aemond nor Jaehaerys showed any signs of surrender. With every drop of blood spilled, their resolve only grew stronger.
As they readied themselves for the next round, the wounds on their bodies became badges of honor, symbols of their unwavering commitment to their cause. The pain they felt was merely a temporary setback, a reminder of the sacrifices they were willing to make in pursuit of their goals. And so, with their wounds still fresh and their spirits unyielding, Aemond and Jaehaerys continued their deadly duel - only one of them would walk away from this fight alive.
Aemond and Jaehaerys resumed their fierce battle, their swords clashing and striking with renewed energy. Their movements were swift and precise as they dodged and deflected each other's blows in a mesmerizing display of skill. The sound of Vhagar's roar echoed through Harrenhal, causing panic to spread throughout the castle. With the dragon's flames raging outside, the infiltration of Lykirī Mēre assassins, and the mobilization of the Caltrops army to eliminate the intruders, the duel between Aemond and Jaehaerys intensified even further. Tension filled the air as the Silver Dragon found himself cornered against the wall. In a moment of perfect synchronization, Jaehaerys and Aemond swung their swords around, their movements almost mirroring each other. Aemond managed to disarm Jaehaerys and thrust his blade forward, but Jaehaerys swiftly dodged the strike by moving his head to the side. The blade grazed his cheek, drawing blood. However, Jaehaerys seized Aemond's wrist as his uncle's sword became stuck between the cracks in the walls. A sudden, audible grunt escaped Aemond's lips as he felt something puncture him.
Aemond paused, momentarily stunned, glancing down to find Jaehaerys had swiftly flicked his left wrist, triggering the hidden mechanism that released a thin blade, piercing him between the ribs. Aemond became aware of what was happening when he noticed his vision blurry; he felt dizzy, his heart racing, and his body weakening. It was as if a thick fog had descended upon his senses, clouding his perception and disorienting him. The world around him seemed to sway and spin, making it difficult to maintain his balance. Poison! "Y-You…!" he choked.
"That was for Daeron, you son of a bitch," Jaehaerys cursed calmly.
"D-Damn you…!"
Aemond's strength waned as the venom coursed through his veins, his vision blurring and his limbs growing heavy. With a final surge of adrenaline, Aemond summoned all his remaining energy and pushed Jaehaerys away, ripping the dagger from his side with a guttural cry. Blood poured from the wound, staining his armor and the floor beneath him. Aemond's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to stay on his feet, his body betraying him. Aemond, his face contorted in pain, raised his sword weakly in a last-ditch effort to defend himself, but Jaehaerys struck with an open-hand palm strike. As he stumbled, Aemond collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving ground. The pain in his side was unbearable. He groaned in audible pain and discomfort.
Jaehaerys observed Aemond suffering from the poison's effects with a mix of pity and lingering contempt. Despite their shared Targaryen blood, forgiveness was out of reach for Jaehaerys. The memory of his youngest brother, Daeron's death, was still raw in his mind, creating an internal conflict between his duty to administer justice and his human need to avenge his brother's murder. The elders were right. If injected into any other part of the body, manticore venom kills its victim slowly… and painfully. "When one becomes blind with mere delusions of grandeur, one strays from the path and betrays the principles of his forebearers," he said calmly. Limping his way to his discarded straight-edged king sword, Jaehaerys picked it back up. "Over 90 years of peace and prosperity, the legacy of grandfather and the Old King… now gone." He glanced over his shoulder. "All because of greed, vanity, pride, corruption, revenge… and the sole desire to seize power. That… is why you lost, Aemond." He stood over him. "This fight… is over."
Aemond's agonized groans persisted as the wound on his body began to ooze pus while the veins in his fingertips gradually darkened to a black hue. Manticore venom, a highly lethal poison, had swiftly made its way through his system, capable of instantly claiming the life of a specified victim once it reached the heart. Jaehaerys, if he had desired, could have aimed directly for the heart instead of piercing between the ribs. Perhaps he intended for Aemond to endure the consequences of his actions a bit longer, to make him painfully suffer for what he did to Daeron? However, the Silver Dragon swiftly dismissed the notion, as he refused to stoop to such levels of cruelty and callousness. If Aemond's demise were inevitable, Jaehaerys would ensure that his suffering would be quick and devoid of pain… even if the act were to brand him a kinslayer—one last act of mercy. The weight of such a burden should be his alone; no one should have that on their consciousness.
Forgive me, father. Mother. Aegon, Viserys, Aemma… and… and forgive me, grandfather. I'm sorry.
With closed eyes, Jaehaerys took a deep breath and lifted his sword above his head, preparing to strike Aemond. However, just as he was about to carry out the execution, the sound of clinking chains and the echo of numerous footsteps reached his ears. His keen sense of hearing detected movement behind him, and in a swift motion, Jaehaerys instinctively ducked, narrowly evading the surprise attack from behind. He swiftly maneuvered around, executing a graceful sideways flip to avoid a second assault. Regaining his balance, Jaehaerys glanced upwards to find Ser Criston Cole and his men standing before him, their swords unsheathed and aimed directly at him.
"Oh, gods!" one of the Caltrops soldiers gasped at the scene.
Criston looked down at Aemond, who remained writhing in agony, then back up to Jaehaerys. "Prince Jaehaerys," he readied his Morningstar. "What have you done?"
Jaehaerys said nothing.
"It's over, boy. The Lykirī Mēre have been completely routed. We found them all. Now, there is no one left. Except for you."
"I know," Jaehaerys answered calmly. "We knew the dangers, but there comes a time when one must stop running from it," Subtly, his left hand stealthily moved towards his back, deftly sliding his fingers into his sack. Slowly withdrawing, he held a hollowed-out bird egg painted pitch black. "I still remember what happened to Lord Beesbury, Ser Criston. No one needed to die that day. Not before my grandfather's body was cold. No one did."
Criston inexplicably remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Jaehaerys. Looking at him, he somewhat saw an aspiration of a younger Aeonar Targaryen, the friend he once knew before their friendship soured and transformed into an intense hatred. In Jaehaerys, Criston saw the Aeonar he befriended so many years ago. It was as if Jaehaerys embodied Aeonar's potential had the Young Dragon not descended into madness and had Queen Aemma Arryn lived. Yet, despite this, Criston couldn't muster any hatred towards Jaehaerys for reasons unknown. Perhaps, deep within his suppressed memories, Criston held onto the belief that things could have taken a different path if he hadn't betrayed his oath to the Kingsguard and engaged in a forbidden affair with Rhaenyra. However, that was a bygone era. Dwelling on the past was futile. The present demanded his attention. "I know, Jay." Instead of calling for Jaehaerys's death, Criston issued a different course of action. "Arrest him," he ordered.
The Caltrops soldiers hurriedly advanced towards Jaehaerys. But he was prepared. Crushing the egg in his palm, Jaehaerys could feel the shell crack beneath his fingers, releasing a potent mixture of crushed glass, spices, ashes, blood, mud, dirt, and sand. The concoction, carefully prepared beforehand, formed a deadly combination that would blind and disorient his pursuers. Patiently, he waited for the soldiers to approach, his senses heightened and his mind focused. The sound of their heavy boots grew louder, their voices filled with anticipation. And then, as they closed in on him, he struck. With a swift and fluid motion, Jaehaerys hurled the mixture into the air, aiming directly at the soldiers' eyes. The cloud of particles hung in the air briefly, shimmering in the dim light, before descending upon the unsuspecting men. The soldiers cried out in pain, their hands instinctively flying to their stinging eyes. Blinded and disoriented, they swung their swords wildly, their strikes becoming desperate and uncoordinated. The corridor filled with chaos as the soldiers stumbled and collided with one another, their cries of confusion mingling with the clashing of steel. Seizing the opportunity, Jaehaerys swiftly darted towards the nearest window and propelled himself out of the window with a powerful leap to make his quick escape.
Criston rushed over, looking over the edge. The Kingspyre Tower was a long way up, taller than the Red Keep's tallest structure. Jumping out the window would mean certain death, an act of suicide…
…However…
"*Guuuuuuuuuurrr!*"
Amidst it all, Alys Rivers maintained a composed demeanor as she observed the group of men assembled in the room. Her gaze shifted downwards to Aemond, who was contorting in agony due to the manticore venom. With a serene grace, the witch queen knelt beside him and gently touched the infected wound. As she closed her eyes, Alys uttered an enchanting incantation, causing a radiant glow to emanate from her palms.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––
As Jaehaerys felt the cool night air brushing past his face, he hoped a certain 'someone' would get here in time. The battle had dragged on longer than anticipated, resulting in the unfortunate demise of the Lykirī Mēre agents who had accompanied him. Consequently, it was deemed too dangerous to remain at Harrenhal. Nevertheless, a sense of unease washed over Jaehaerys when he noticed Vhagar gazing up at him. Just as the Queen of All Dragons prepared to unleash a torrent of dragonflame upon him, Vhagar was taken aback by an unexpected turn of events.
"*Guuuuuuuuuurrr!*"
Sensing the impending threat, Vermithor swiftly appeared on the scene and launched a surprise attack on Vhagar. The Bronze Fury tackled her, causing the Queen of All Dragons to crash into one of the ruined towers of Harrenhal, which collapsed under the impact. As Jaehaerys continued to freefall, Vermithor beat his wings to fly higher quickly and managed to catch his rider just in time. Jaehaerys, holding onto the reins tightly with one hand, dangled over the edge of his dragon as they flew away to avoid any unnecessary confrontation. Although Vhagar may have been caught off guard, the Queen of All Dragons would not stay down for long and would soon recover.
Pulling himself up onto his saddle, Jaehaerys strapped himself in. "Sōvēs, Vērmithari! (Fly, Vermithor!)" With a firm grip on the reins, he urged his elder dragon to fly faster and to put as much distance as possible between them and Vhagar. They needed to create a gap to make it harder for Vhagar to track their scent and follow them. As they flew, Jaehaerys glanced back, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit. He could see the smoke rising from the fallen tower of Harrenhal, a stark reminder of the power of the dragons and the destruction they could unleash. But he also knew they couldn't afford to rest on their laurels. Vhagar would recover; when she did, she would be relentless in her pursuit.
Sensing his rider's unease, Vermithor let out a low growl, warning anyone who dared come near. As Vermithor and Jaehaerys soared through the sky, they could hear Vhagar's enraged roars echoing behind them. Vermithor, understanding his rider's urgency, adjusted his course and dove towards the Crownlands.
Chapter End
Author's Note: With that, part two of the duel between Jaehaerys and Aemond Targaryen has arrived. What did you guys think of the fight scenes? Did you think there would've been areas of improvement? Now, Tumbleton is around the corner.
uNknoWn- Unit: It's a relief that Jaehaerys survived, honestly thought he was going to die but it didn't happen, thank God. I have some doubts about that woman Alys Rivers, she performing some witchcraft stuff on Aemond to probably keep him alive.
Questions:
1. I should've probably asked this way before but still, who would have casted for the Caltrop's members, aside from Aegon Waters, Aemond One Eye and Haleana, wonder who you'd choose to play Beatrice, Unwin, etc..
2. Is Alys Rivers a threat? Because the fact that she's performing some stuff on Aemond is suspicious asf, just hope it's nothing bad.
―To the Caltrops and Blacks, she is considered dangerous
3. Will we see Lucerys and Viserys in the next chapter?
―Yes
4. How much is left of the Lykiri Mere?
―Only a handful - around an estimated 57.
5. Is Vaelor still growing or is he still 310 feet?
―He's still at 310 feet
SerGhost1: First-class -Will Tyland's torture also be known? Are the Lannister daughters and Helaena and child held captive?
―Lannister daughters, no, but Helaena and Jaehaera are in different quarters
Nerokyi: Will Aeonar face Aemond himself?
―No spoilers
C.E.W: Crown Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen managed to get out of Harrenhal alive after all. Wasn't a hundred percent counting on that, but I'm very relieved and glad. Unfortunate that the mission failed, Aemond Targaryen will survive thanks to Alys Rivers that I'm very sure of. With Aemond alive, Vhagar remains on the side of the Caltrops and the war continues. The war has caused much suffering, and more will continue to suffer before it is over.
Aemond will not let his defeat at the hands of Jaehaerys go unanswered, who knows what he will do next. He's already burned much in retaliation of the capture of Caltrop leadership, and surrender of the Westerlands. Aeonar will be forced to personally intervene Vaelor bringing Daemon and Caraxes with him.
Nice showing their duel, pointing the different tactics and perspectives of the two.
The Dance of the Dragons continues to drag on, and King's Landing's people are becoming restless given the madness of Aeonar. There's no telling how long it will be before they riot, perhaps Larys Strong' agents might spread anti-Black propaganda among the people. They might even cause some disasters and put the blame on King Aeonar and the Blacks. They also might use the chaos to sneak into the Red Keep, rescue Caltrop prisoners, and possibly attempt to kill royal family members among others, perhaps Otto Hightower.
Questions:
Are there any Black forces close to Tumbleton to support Prince Viserys and Lucerys in response to the attack by Hugh Hammer and Ulf White?
―The Hightower forces, yes, but they don't know who's attacking Tumbleton. Mostly assuming it's Caltrops remnants.
Where is Jaehaerys headed?
―King's Landing
I take Jaehaerys won't learn about Aemond's survival until he's landed?
―Correct
How fairs the Blacks' campaign in the Stormlands?
―Still facing resistance on the way to Storm's End
randomdude24: Wow, I'll be honest. I really thought you were planning to kill Jay. I'm glad he's alive for now. In the end, Jay won his fight with Aemond and killed him, but something tells me Aemond is not done. Whatever Alys is doing is probably keeping him alive. Regardless, Aemond will not take this loss very well, not that he ever did accept loss gracefully. Guessing he's going to start throwing a tantrum and burn the Riverlands even more.
Questions,
What exactly do the Blacks have planned for Haelana and her daughter? Keep them alive they are threat, but kill them they paint a bad picture.
―Keep them hostages
If Kings Landing is growing more restless due to Aeonar and his descent into madness. Will the riots take place?
―At some point
roggerlopez99: Well this was a unique battle despite Jae poisoning Ameond in the fight and escaping it seems Ameond is not out of the picture yet as Alys Rivers comes in and is saving him, that enchantment is the same one the red priest Thoros use on Beric
Because of this Jay would think that Ameond is dead, this could help the Ameond as he can keep himself hidden and attack since they think he died a slow painful death
1 did you plan for Alys Rivers to be a red priestess
―No, this is something else
2 is Ameond going to pretend to be dead to trick his enemies
―No
3 is anyone going to learn the brutal execution of Beatrice's
―They will