- South of Sunspear -
Archonei flew about the summer sea, her massive wings casting long shadows over the golden water, like a ghostly sentinel of ancient power. On the shore, nestled among the rough and hot sands, Baelon Targaryen sat, his feet feeling the gentle brush of the tide. The salt of the sea mist mingled with the taste of betrayal on his lips, as he clutched the reports from the North, their parchments rustling in the evening breeze.
It was a serene beauty, no wonder Aegon wanted it.
His eyes scanned the grim details of the battle at Rook's Rest, the ink barely dry from the raven's beak. The news of Jacaerys' death and the subsequent assassination of his traitorous brother, Aegon, weighed heavily on his soul. These were not just enemies; they were his blood, bound by the shared experiences of childhood and the memory of their father's throne.
A mixture of sorrow and bitterness swirled within him. He had always known that this war would pit brother against brother, but the boy in him couldn't help but mourn the loss of the small moments of their youth—moments before the bitter rivalries and factions turned them into enemies. His heart ached for the time when they were just children playing in the halls of Dragonstone, oblivious to the dark future that awaited them.
A dry chuckle escaped Baelon's lips, a sound filled with the emptiness of dreams shattered by ambition. "All would have been avoided if you named me the heir," he muttered to the whispering waves, his voice a mere echo in the vast expanse of the sea. "Hells, I would have even married Rhaenyra if he still wished his daughter to be the Queen... It's your fault Aegon and Jace are dead... Father."
The memories of their boyhood were now a sour and grim reminder of what could have been. He rose to his feet, the sun's dying light painting the horizon with hues of crimson and gold. It was a poetic end to a day marked by blood and betrayal. He gazed at the dawning sun, a symbol of the harsh realities that awaited him.
It was time to march north, time to see this to the end.
The envoy sent to Tyrosh had proven successful. Fifteen ships, sent from the crown before his father's death, plus ten more from Tyrosh's shipyards were at this moment sailing to the Rainwood. They carried six thousand infantry from the Men-of-Valor, and the Company of the Rose. Another two thousand cavalry from the Second Sons accompanied them, their loyalty bought with promises of gold and favor.
In exchange for paying them, Baelon had promised to lessen taxes for all ships coming and going from Tyrosh and to aid in the Disputed Lands after the war. These negotiations were necessary sacrifices for the power he needed to claim the Iron Throne and end the war that had torn his family apart.
Looking down once more at the raven scroll, Baelon felt a surge of defiance. He tore the parchment into pieces, letting the fragments fall onto the sand like the shattered dreams of his past. With a resolute sigh, he slipped on his boots and whistled for Archonei to return.
It was a long flight to the Prince's Pass, and Prince Qarl had already left a few days ago with the four thousand spears of House Martell. Time was of the essence, and the fate of the Seven Kingdoms hung in the balance. As Archonei descended from the sky, Baelon felt a renewed sense of purpose. The dragon's fierce eyes met his own, and at that moment, Baelon knew that the fire within him burned as brightly as the one within his dragon.
Mounting Archonei, Baelon took one last look at the sea, its waves whispering tales of sorrow and hope. With a fierce command, they soared into the sky, leaving behind the sands of reflection and flying towards a destiny forged in fire and blood.
Back at Sunspear's high tower, Aliandra watched her husband leave on dragonback, heading for the war with the men he married her for.
She would be concerned if not for her healers to say she was finally pregnant, either a Prince or Princess would be born by the year's end. She smiled, bringing her hand to her stomach which had yet to show signs, too early to tell but soon she was to be large as a melon.
"Sister, your courtiers await," Coryanne said beside her betrothed, Florin.
"As they do and will always do, let them wait," she turned back and could no longer see Baelon's she-dragon. She sighed with some disappointment then turned around, "Very well, lead on."
- The Red Keep -
Aemond Targaryen sat back in the King's seat within the Small Council chamber, his hands gripping the arms of the chair with a tension that mirrored the turmoil within him. The chamber buzzed with the voices of his advisors, deep in discussions about the long and bloody week that had passed. Aemond's mind, however, was elsewhere, caught in the whirlwind of anger and betrayal that had consumed him since the murder of his brother and the attempt on his own life.
The hours following Aegon's assassination had driven Aemond into a rage like none he had ever known. He had thrown himself into action, determined to root out the traitor who had dared to strike at his family. When Borros Baratheon arrived with his Stormlands levies, Aemond had scoured the city with ruthless efficiency. He had questioned all two thousand members of the Goldcloaks, leaving no stone unturned in his quest for justice.
His rage had been a terrible and consuming force. In his fury, he had personally killed three hundred men, their blood staining the cobblestones of the city streets. Another four had been hanged, their lifeless bodies fed to his dragon, Vhagar. The sight of the great beast devouring the traitors had been a grim reminder of the price of betrayal. Aemond had then dismissed the remaining Goldcloaks from their duties, their loyalty, and competence called into question by the treachery that had occurred under their watch.
And those lickspittles his brother named to the Kingsguard, he reminded himself to send them to the wall when his mother and sister returned from the great sept.
Despite his relentless efforts, the killer had escaped, taking with them Aegon's head and the iron and ruby crown. The thought of his brother's severed head, now in the hands of their enemies, filled Aemond with a cold, seething anger.
Worse so, with Aegon dead, it is just him, Daeron, and Helaena to contend with his sister's dragons. He threatened to end Larys, questioning and shouting that he was the Master of Whispers and heard nothing from this plot? The fool simply asked for forgiveness but Aemond had none, he only said the fool had one more chance and shall not fail again lest he and his House follow all others who ruled Harrenhal.
That they would resort to such shadowy actions, at least at Rook's Rest he slew Jace within the grounds of battle, it was fair. "Prince Aemond, are you well?"
Aemond didn't respond right at that moment, "No, my brother is dead, my nephews and niece lost their father and Sunfyre is useless in battle when he heals." he got up and sighed, "And this damned blockade is making things worse."
Jasper Wylde cleared his throat, "Perhaps it would be prudent to send the Queen and her children to Storm's End, Lord Borros would offer them protection." hmm, perhaps that is a wise move.
"I will consider it but not Helaena, we may need her to fly Dreamfyre to combat." he sat back down, his eyes training on Tyland, "How goes Lord Lannister and his levies, Lord Tyland?"
Tyland stuttered slightly and removed a raven scroll from his person, "I thought it not prudent to inform you, considering what befell His Grace."
"Say it, Lord Tyland, we await your word," Criston said urging the Master of Ships to continue.
"My brother wrote that he and eight-thousand men are camped and wait your arrival at the Golden Tooth to escort them into the River- " Aemond flew into a rage at the assumption that he be made to do anything for the Lord of Casterly Rock.
"Is Lord Lannister so toothless that he cannot march on his own? Does he fear piss-stained rivermen?"
Tyland sunk into his chair under Aemond's stare, "There is a dragon in the Riverlands, and one not far away if Rhaenyra's second eldest is still in the Vale."
He hated to admit it but his uncle is a threat, a worse threat than Rhaenyra and her little wyrms on Dragonstone. Looking at the map, he remembers the great host of enemies gathering at Harrenhal.
Dismissing most of the counsel, barring Criston he sat down and considered a daring move, speaking to the Hand and both agreeing to the choice.
- The Great Sept -
Alicent clung to her daughter with trembling hands, her heart pounding as they were hurriedly escorted to the Red Keep. Moments ago at the Sept, chaos had erupted.
The trip to the sept had begun peacefully. They intended to offer prayers for Aegon's murderer to be brought to justice and for the war to end. Alicent had also prayed to the Mother to quell her hatred—a bitter hatred aimed at Rhaenyra, once a dear friend, now the Queen of Whores and her sworn enemy. The loss of her son, who never desired to be king, was a heavy burden. He was forced by her, her father, and Criston, each with their own resentments towards Viserys's choice of heir.
"They took his head as if it were nothing, kinslayer, she is a kinslayer," Alicent had spat with venom the night her firstborn was ripped from them. Helaena had been mute ever since, except when they laid Aegon to rest. She had called for her dragon, Dreamfyre, to light Aegon aflame and burn his body to ashes.
The next day, Alicent thought it wise to return to the sept, to pray and offer a candle for her son and Helaena's husband. But it was a fool's idea. As they left the sept, they were accosted by starving citizens, their numbers growing until a hundred angry peasants surrounded them. Some sought food; others were enraged by the mass inquisition into Aegon's assassination, which had led to the disbanding and reorganization of the city watch.
Ser Rickard Thorne, joined by Leon Estermont, Martyn Reyne, and Eddard Waters, tried to escort them to safety. But Eddard drew his sword on one of the smallfolk who had only meant to offer blessings. Alicent couldn't tell, but many of the hecklers seemed to be protecting them from the more violent ones.
In the confusion, Leon severed the hand of a man trying to help Helaena up after she stumbled. The man's screams turned the crowd against them, sparking a full riot. Objects were hurled at Alicent and Helaena, and the Kingsguard was attacked.
Rickard managed to get them safely into the wheelhouse, but Leon wasn't so fortunate. Martyn, when they were well away, recounted the horrors he had witnessed: the rioters pulling Lord Estermont's second son apart.
Aemond and Ser Criston arrived on horseback with a contingent of guards when they reached the Red Keep. "Mother? Sister?" Aemond called, worry etched in his eyes.
After hearing of the events, Martyn and Eddard were stripped of their cloaks and sentenced to the Wall for putting Alicent and Helaena in unnecessary danger, inflaming the smallfolk despite Ser Rickard's efforts to de-escalate the situation.
Once they were safely back in their chambers, Alicent poured a cup of tea for her daughter, hands still shaking. "Here, child, it will quiet the nerves," she said softly. Helaena took the cup without a word, but merely set it down on the table untouched.
"They hate us. They hate me. They hated Aegon," Helaena murmured, her voice cold and distant, still reeling from the shock of the day's events.
Alicent shook her head firmly, trying to reassure her daughter. "No, no, that's not what we saw—"
But Helaena cut her off, her eyes fierce. "You misunderstand, Mother... I don't blame them. A terrible war is being fought, and my husband and his older siblings could stop it, were it not for that damned chair." She took a sip of her tea and locked eyes with her mother. "Uncle Hobert pressured his brother, who then pressured you to seduce Father."
Alicent was stunned, her breath catching in her throat. "How do you know this?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"I know a little. It's all fuzzy, but... A reckoning is coming, and we will either die or thrive from it, if we do not stop fighting." an eerie feeling crept up Alicent's spine then, and for the first time her daughter's words and dream-speak were haunting.
A half moon later, Criston and Aemond departed with four thousand men, bolstered by Borros and twelve thousand stormlanders. They left behind three thousand men and two thousand new Goldcloaks to defend the city.
Alicent argued fiercely for them to stay, but the looming threat of Daemon's descent was undeniable. By the time the Blacks gathered their formidable army and dragons, Vhagar's presence would be inconsequential. Daemon and Caraxes had to be dealt with swiftly, or all would be lost.
As Criston and Aemond rode out, their faces set with grim determination, Alicent watched from the battlements, her heart a tumult of fear in her heart.