Dragonstone

"How bad is it?" Maegor asks.

No one answers. The small party on Dragonstone waiting for their return has no smiles on their faces. Seeing their silence, Visenya grits her teeth and flies ahead with Vhagar, pushing to reach the castle as quickly as possible.

The situation was already dire when Visenya crossed the narrow sea to find us, Ceryse thinks, it'll only be worse now.

The journey to Pentos had been full of surprises since they met Tyanna, but Visenya's sudden arrival changed everything. Departing Pentos in a fortnight, Ceryse and Maegor return to Dragonstone, their mood grim, dreading what lies ahead. Visenya's words still echo in their minds.

"There's an attack on King's Landing," she had said. "Aenys... before the rebels reached Aegonfort, he had Alyssa take the children to safety with Quicksilver. They're on Dragonstone now, but Aenys is trapped with no way out."

"Why didn't he leave with his wife and children?" Maegor had cried out, cursing his brother's foolishness. But Visenya's answer had left him speechless.

"He's the king," Visenya said simply. "He believed he had to stay to defend the capital."

Aenys couldn't defend the capital, not even when he had Quicksilver, and definitely not when he was dragonless. Yet his sense of duty had kept him there. It was as foolish as it was noble, but Ceryse couldn't blame him. After all, she and Maegor were the ones who'd started this.

The Faith hadn't calmed after Maegor and Alys left Westeros; it had only grown more furious, believing Ceryse had been forced to accompany them to Pentos. With the High Septon's proclamation, the Faith Militant had risen, determined to end Targaryen rule.

The Faith had turned completely against the Targaryens, previous adoration changed into hatred. Visenya had been right to ask Ceryse to return to Oldtown—Ceryse knows that now—but the past can't be changed. If she can face the High Septon and convince him it's all a misunderstanding, perhaps the worst won't come to pass.

But first, they must retake King's Landing and save Aenys.

Arriving on Dragonstone, they rush to the castle, fearing the worst. Aenys isn't alone in Aegonfort; a group of Dragonstone-born servants, loyal to the Targaryens, should still be there. Some may even be decent fighters. But is it enough?

Inside the castle, they find Alyssa standing on a table, tears falling from her vacant eyes. Visenya, who is just ahead of Maegor and Ceryse, stares at Alyssa blankly, shock written on her face. Vhagar lets out a mournful roar.

No, Ceryse thinks, it can't be.

Urging Balerion to Vhagar's side, Maegor shouts, "How is it? Is Aenys still in King's Landing?"

For a moment, Alyssa just stares at him, her eyes swollen and red. Then she breaks down. "Aenys is dead! Buried in the ruins of Aegonfort!"

"This can't be true," Maegor says desperately. "How did Aegonfort get reduced to ruins? Aenys had loyal men and women. He can still run. He must be out there somewhere."

"The news just came in," Visenya replies, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Aegonfort collapsed under the Warrior's Sons' attack. Aenys and everyone else in the castle were crushed to death. A declaration was sent to us…"

She gestures to a parchment on the table. Ceryse glances at it, her heart sinking with each word.

Your castle is destroyed. Your king is dead. Return Lady Ceryse Hightower to the Faith and do not set foot onto the mainland again, or we will sail to your islands and crush you too.

"No…" Ceryse whispers, gasping for air. "They mean to kill us all unless I return to the Starry Sept. I have to go—"

"You think you can convince them to lay down their swords?" Visenya interrupts sharply, glaring at Ceryse. "No. They won't listen, not after destroying Aegonfort and killing Aenys. These oversized thugs are drunk on power. They need to get a beating."

"But... how?" Ceryse asks, her voice faltering. "We don't have an army. All we have is Dragonstone, Driftmark, and Claw Isle. How can we defeat the Warrior's Sons?"

Visenya clicks her tongue. "The Durrandons—"

"Queen Argella is dead," Alyssa cuts in. "Her successor... I've been sending ravens to King Rogar, but he says he can't help without facing his bannermen's wrath."

"Damn that coward!" Visenya curses. Vhagar growls with her, yet Visenya doesn't say more. She has run out of ideas, Ceryse realises. If the Durrandons— their greatest ally— cannot help, no one can.

They're trapped.

"We have to take them on ourselves. There's no other way," Maegor says suddenly. He turns to Ceryse. "In Westeros, the accused can ask for trial by combat, right?"

"Yes, but…" Ceryse hesitates. "The Warrior's Sons won't fight you when you ride Balerion."

"It's not a problem," Maegor replies. "I'm the one they think is sinful. If I confront them and win, they'll have to lay down their swords. Afterwards, we'll punish them for murdering Aenys."

"But how will you win?" Ceryse asks, a sense of dread rising in her. It's happening again—Maegor has a reckless plan he won't explain.

Once again, Maegor ignores her. "We have no other choice. I'm the only one who can do it. I have to… I have to protect my house. I—" Sighing, he turns to Alyssa abruptly and asks, "Has Aenys named an heir yet? Aegon? Rhaena?"

"No, no… it all happened so suddenly. None of us expect…" Alyssa trails off.

Oh, that's right, Ceryse remembers, the Targaryens don't always have the eldest son inherit. Instead, the current head of the house picks their successor. As the crown has smoothly passed from Aegon to Aenys, it's easy to forget that…

But now Aenys is dead, and he has no named successor.

Maegor grits his teeth. "Jaehaerys and Alysanne are too young. It has to be Rhaena or Aegon. Where are they?"

"In the Westlands… somewhere," Visenya answers, her frown deepening. "Last we heard, they're trapped there. Rhaena has Dreamfyre with her, so they should be safe, but... they haven't returned yet."

Maegor thinks for a long moment. Finally, he says, "Then I'll have to hold the kingship until they return."

"But—!" Alyssa protests immediately.

"I'll return the throne to your children as soon as they're back," Maegor promises. "But we must keep— no, we must recover the throne first. The Warrior's Sons must know I speak for House Targaryen. I can't do that unless I'm the king."

Alyssa regards him warily. "You swear it's temporary?"

Ceryse feels a flare of anger— but she understands Alyssa's fear. Any man in Maegor's position could easily take the throne for himself.

But Maegor isn't like most men. He doesn't lie… at least, not for malicious reasons.

"I swear," Maegor says solemnly.

"Then do as you must," Alyssa sighs. "Good luck in the wars ahead, Your Grace. You'll need it..." her bitter tone turns into sorrow as she grits her teeth. "I'd love to see Aenys' body return to me."

Ceryse winces. Maegor doesn't flinch, but there's pain in his eyes. "I'll see it done to the best of my ability."

He wants Aenys back as much as Alyssa does, Ceryse knows.

But there's no bringing the dead back.

King's Landing

It has begun.

Soon after they have landed, Ceryse, Maegor, and Visenya are surrounded— by the Warrior's Sons, of course, but there are some small folks too, possibly members of the Poor Fellows. Ceryse can't tell.

Whoever they are, they're clearly wary of Balerion and Vhagar. The Targaryens have positioned themselves and their dragons on either side of Ceryse, worried their enemies might try to pull her away and shoot them full of arrows. So far, the strategy works: though outnumbered and encircled, they're allowed to enter the city unharmed.

Ceryse flinches as she looks at Aegon's High Hill and sees only hubris. When she first visited Aegonfort she thought it was small and unassuming, but she would never have expected it to collapse immediately under attack, the castle as fragile as a block of bean curd. The Targaryens have paid for it dearly—Aenys is buried beneath the ruins now. Despite Maegor's promise to Alyssa, Ceryse doubts they'll find his body.

But that's a problem for another time. First, they have to survive the Faith Militant.

"You people murdered your king, my nephew, who is too kind and noble for his own good," Visenya calls out to the knights surrounding them. "Now Westeros has a new king, my son Maegor, whom you accused of being sinful. He comes here with his beloved wife, his lawful queen. Face them and repeat your accusations, if you dare."

Vhagar roars into the sky, issuing the challenge. Moments later, several knights ride down from Rhaenys' Hill. The leader dismounts. "I'm Damon Morrigen, Grand Captain of the Warrior's Sons," he says, barely polite, glaring at Maegor and Visenya. "Leave the lady Ceryse, and I'll let you return to your islands unharmed. But Westeros is no longer yours."

"I won't leave my husband," Ceryse says, standing tall beside Maegor. "Ser Damon, you misunderstand. Maegor is no sinful man. His marriage to Alys wasn't out of lust. It was for her protection."

Her last ditch effort in convincing the Warrior's Sons is met with a sneer. "Did you get corrupted by the Targaryens as well, Lady Ceryse?" Ser Damon asks, shaking his head, "You were a Septa. You know no one can marry while their spouse still lives. No matter his reasons, Maegor Targaryen is sinful in the eyes of the Seven."

"I'm unfamiliar with Westerosi customs," Maegor says through gritted teeth, "but I have heard from Ceryse that an accused can request a trial by combat. You've accused me. I demand that right."

Ser Damon raises an eyebrow."You have that right," he agrees tentatively, "The Gods will grant victory to the man whose cause is just."

"Then we shall fight."

"Not by yourself. None of us will fight you and your dragon. We'll fight in an ancient trial of seven, with seven men on each side. Can you find seven champions to represent you?"

With a shiver, Ceryse realises Damon Morrigen's trap. Maegor doesn't have seven men to represent him, not men trained in arms. But the rules are clear: without seven champions, Maegor will automatically be declared guilty.

Maegor doesn't know about this, of course. He tilts his head slightly, studying Ser Damon from Balerion's back. "I don't see why I need any champion. I can take seven of you by myself, without my dragon."

The crowd erupts in disbelief. Ser Damon signals for silence, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You think you can fight us all alone, Targaryen? With your tiny frame and your little sword?"

Balerion roars, furious. Maegor pats his dragon and draws Blackfyre, holding it high. "I am Maegor Targaryen, King of Westeros. With Blackfyre, I can defeat any foe." He points his sword at his enemies. "When I win, all of you will bend the knee, and justice will be done for those who murdered my brother. Do you accept?"

Ser Damon laughs. "You insult us, Targaryen! The finest of the Warrior's Sons will never refuse this challenge!"

Seven knights are quickly chosen, and the field is cleared. As Ser Damon leads a prayer for his knights, Ceryse turns to Maegor. "You'll need to defeat all of your opponents in a trial of seven," she informs him in a low whisper. "If they yield, you win, but if not, you'll have to kill them. And I doubt they'll yield."

"I understand." Balerion hovers near Ceryse's shoulders as Maegor jumps to his favourite spot with practised ease. "I won't lose," he whispers back in a softer tone than usual, "There's no need to worry."

Ceryse looks at him, his massive violet eyes staring back at her smaller ones. In those eyes, she sees no fear. But that's what worries her. Overconfidence can easily lead to doom.

And it must be overconfidence, isn't it? Maegor, with his short limbs, his non-existent height, and his wobbly head… Maegor isn't made for fighting. If he's with Balerion he might be able to take on the knights, but without his dragon…

This recent development, it's very interesting. Targaryens are never meant to be more than

Ceryse shakes her head. Forget it, forget about Tyanna's words.

What Tyanna has told her isn't important right now. If Maegor fails, House Targaryen dies with him.

"Ceryse?" Maegor questions, frowning. Since he's on her shoulder, her action affects him as well. She immediately freezes but Maegor can sense her unease. "I won't fail," he says more sharply. "Never doubt me, wife."

"I have plenty of reasons to," she mutters. "Your plans don't always work out."

"Only twice. Once with Alys, and once when we went to Pentos." Maegor climbs down from Ceryse's shoulder to her open palm, looking up at her. "I won't miss a third time."

Before she can reply, he jumps down to the field. "Are you done with your prayers, Ser Damon? I'm tired of waiting."

"It's done. The Warrior has surely blessed us." Ser Damon pulls down his helm's visor. "Let's begin."

Balerion roars as Maegor steps into the centre of the field, ready to face his accusers. They try to surround him, but Maegor easily slips out before a circle is formed. Thus the game of catching mice starts.

Ceryse's heart beats heavily in her chest, but to her amazement, Maegor has evaded everything the knights throw at him. A group of rat-catchers probably will have an easier time than the knights: they are trained for human opponents, not enemies one eighth of their size. They scramble above Maegor, their swords and axes miss with every swing.

If they accidentally harm each other and lose the trial this way, Ceryse will have a long, long laugh.

"This won't last long," hovering beside her on Vhagar, Visenya mutters beneath her breath, "They'll catch up to you soon. You need to act, Maegor."

Maegor needs to act— when Ceryse looks back to the field, she realises Visenya is right. The knights are regrouping, adjusting their formation, and cornering Maegor. One knight, abandoning his long sword, moves in to grab Maegor's head—

Then Maegor swings Blackfyre upwards.

Valyrian steel cuts through the knight's gauntlet effortlessly. Fingers, still covered with pieces of metal drops, painting the ground red. The now fingerless knight stumbles back, screaming.

Maegor seizes this chance. Sneaking through stomping feet, he closes into the back of one knight and slashes Blackfyre across the back of his legs. Once again, the sword cuts through armour and flesh and the knight screams. Cursing, he falls backwards. Maegor is prepared for it and he ends the knight's life when he stabs Blackfyre into the fallen man's neck.

The battlefield erupts in shouts and curses. The knights are stunned—none expected Maegor to damage them, much less kill one of them. To the credit of the Warrior's Sons, none of them are cowards; Instead of fleeing, they charge forward, enraged. But Maegor refuses to give them time to recover. He jumps and hacks, Blackfyre swiftly cutting through multiple legs. Once a man falls, ending him is all too easy.

Soon, only two knights remain—Ser Damon and the man who lost his fingers, both men glaring at Maegor with bloodshot eyes. Ser Damon is unharmed, but his silver armour is tarnished by mud and the blood of his comrades.

"You might as well yield, Ser Damon," Maegor calls, "You're the only one left with the ability to fight. And you too, Ser Fingerless."

"I can take you," Damon Morrigen snarls. His companion likewise growls and stomps the ground Maegor stood a second before. Looks like it's not going to end before Maegor kills both of them.

Ceryse watches, wide-eyed, as Damon discards his weapon and grabs two shields from his fallen comrade, holding a shield in each of his hands. What's he planning?

Maegor is busily avoiding being crushed under Ser Fingerless' boots when Ser Damon slams the shields down where he stands. Maegor manages to roll away, but the pursuit continues. The shields can cover more ground than a knight's boots, making it much harder for Maegor to dodge. But he still has Blackfyre—

Wait. Where is Maegor now?

"Maegor!" Visenya shouts as Ser Damon lifts the shields and Maegor is nowhere to be seen— only Blackfyre lies on the ground, lacking its master.

Vhagar growls, distraught, but Balerion only hisses. It's not over yet, Ceryse tells herself, half-praying and half-believing. If Maegor falls, Balerion will react more strongly.

In the field, the two knights seem to be rather confused. They can't find Maegor anywhere— Ceryse watches as Ser Damon flips his shields, checking for blood or remains. Thankfully, the shields are clean. Maegor isn't crushed to death, but where is he then?

The answer comes seconds later when Ser Fingerless gestures towards Ser Damon. "On your head!" he shouts. Indeed, Maegor has climbed onto Damon Morrigen's helmet. But it's still useless, is it not? Ser Damon's head is protected, and without Blackfyre Maegor cannot harm him—

Beside Ceryse, Visenya sneers.

Ceryse looks at her and finds out that one thing is missing.

Dark Sister.

With a victorious laugh, Maegor pulls Dark Sister from its sheath and slashes Ser Damon's throat in a single stroke. Before the knight falls, Maegor leaps from his shoulders to Ser Fingerless' frozen figure and ends his life the same way he ended Ser Damon's.

"All seven champions of the Warrior's Sons are dead," Maegor declares, jumping down to recover Blackfyre. "I'm the undisputed winner! Now bend the knee—"

"MAEGOR!" Ceryse screams, "BEHIND YOU!"

Maegor turns his head just in time to see Ser Fingerless' heavily armoured body fall onto him.

Maegor lives, but he hasn't woken up since the trial of seven.

Ceryse clutches Maegor in her arms as Balerion slumbers on nearby pillows. The dragon is exhausted, having spent hours using his healing flames on Maegor. Balerion's magic keeps Maegor alive, but he must rest.

Twenty-seven days. Almost a month. Will Maegor ever wake? Balerion's and Vhagar's efforts can only prevent things from getting worse. The maesters offer no real help.

Tyanna, Ceryse thinks, Tyanna is our only hope.

It's been difficult to convince Visenya to seek her out, especially since Ceryse couldn't reveal what Tyanna had discovered. With no other options, Visenya finally agreed. She crossed the narrow sea herself, determined to bring the Pentoshi woman to King's Landing as quickly as possible. Ceryse doesn't doubt that Tyanna will come—but will she be able to help?

If Tyanna fails, then…

Ceryse shakes her head. Don't think like that. Maegor will recover. He won the trial, his name cleared in the eyes of the Seven and the Warrior's Sons. King's Landing has been retaken. Once Maegor wakes, everything will be fine—

A polite knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. "Your Grace, your food—"

"I'm not hungry right now," Ceryse replies.

The servant pauses, then says, "But you must eat, Your Grace. You haven't had your meal since yesterday, and barely anything the past week…"

Ceryse blinks. She hadn't realised. Has Maegor's condition affected her so much that she skips meals regularly?

Thinking about it, she hadn't slept last night or the night before. She doesn't dare. With Visenya gone, she's the only one who can care for Maegor…

Are you, though?

It's not true, Ceryse realises. There are others loyal to Maegor in the city—retainers from Dragonstone, like the servant waiting outside. She doesn't have to stay by Maegor's side constantly. She can eat, she can sleep. She doesn't need to hold him all the time like he's her child.

Yet, even now, she can't bring herself to let go.

She looks down at him, realising she's been unconsciously stroking his silver hair. The touch is soothing and comforting. His warmth in her hands reassures her. He's still breathing. He'll hate it if he wakes, though—he'll scold her, demanding that she treats him with more respect.

He deserves respect, of course, after he single-handedly defeated the Warrior's Sons. Maegor can be a deadly warrior. But seeing him so helpless in her arms… it's hard not to feel like he'll slip away if she lets go.

The thought is unbearable. Maegor means so much to her, as her husband…

Or, more accurately, as her family. They're no husband and wife the way her parents were. But after all these years, she's come to care for him, despite the headaches he gave her. She loves him, the way she once loved the stray cat she took in as a child.

The Valyrians, the Targaryens, they are—

…Ultimately, Ceryse must admit that Tyanna is right.

She knows about the Valyrians more than anyone. She can save Maegor…

Ceryse's vision blurs. The room seems to spin.

She feels dizzy, her body too heavy to move. She wants to stand, to lay Maegor back on the pillow, but she's too weak. Is she fainting? The thought to call for help flashes in her mind, but her voice won't come. She can't hear it.

I'm such a fool, she thinks, as she collapses onto the bed.

"Ceryse? Queen Ceryse?" a woman's voice think with accent. A Pentoshi one…

"Tyanna?!" Ceryse jerks up, nearly hitting her head on Tyanna's nose. The black-haired woman quickly pulls back, scowling, but Ceryse doesn't care. "You came! How is Maegor?"

"I've treated him. He should wake soon," Tyanna replies, rubbing her nose. "But you should be more concerned about yourself, Your Grace. It's surprising to find you collapsed too. Queen Visenya is certainly going to have words with you… and think of the fright you gave poor Alys!"

"Alys?" Ceryse turns, noticing the girl standing in the corner. Alys Harroway is dressed in Pentoshi garb, but she looks the same as when Ceryse last saw her. "What are you doing here? We told you to stay in Pentos!"

"Queen Visenya said that Prince— King Maegor fell into a coma. I… I was worried," Alys answers quietly, avoiding Ceryse's gaze. She probably feels responsible for some of this. Still, returning to Westeros where she could be killed…

"I'll take her with me when I leave," Tyanna says. "She's been a good assistant. But I suspect you might need me here for a while."

"…True. Maegor might still need you." Ceryse isn't sure if Maegor will fully recover, or if he'll get hurt again. Better keep Tyanna close.

Ceryse tries to stand, but her legs wobble. Tyanna and Alys rush to support her, helping her into Maegor's room.

As soon as Ceryse enters, Vhagar swoops toward her, releasing a blast of blue fire. The flames give her a jolt of energy, strengthening her. "Thank you, Vhagar… and you, Mother."

Visenya gives her a sharp look. "You shouldn't have overworked yourself… but I appreciate what you've done for my son." She tilts her head toward Maegor. "Go to him. Tyanna says he'll wake any moment."

Ceryse approaches Maegor's bed slowly. He's still there, lying beside Balerion, but his face is creased in a frown, his lips turned down. Is he… in pain?

"Maegor?" Ceryse asks, her voice laced with worry. She reaches for his forehead—

Maegor stirs.

He blinks, his lips trembling.

"Maegor? Do you need to say something?" Ceryse leans closer, bringing her ear to his mouth.

He smiles softly.

"You're warm," he murmurs.