The Empire of The Dragons

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/28403910.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Category: F/M
Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A
Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Relationship: Jon Snow/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Other Relationship
Tags to Be Added, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell,
Cersei Lannister/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
(mentioned), Aegon VI Targaryen/Margaery Tyrell (mentioned), Elia
Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen (mentioned), Robb Stark/Arianne Martell -
Relationship, Daemon Targaryen/Shireen Baratheon (mentioned)
Character: Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark, Elia Martell, Jon Snow, Aegon VI
Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Rhaella Targaryen, Robb Stark,
Catelyn Tully Stark, Arya Stark, Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister,
Tyrion Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Daemon Targaryen, Visenya
Targaryen, Sansa Stark, Eddard Stark, Brandon Stark, Rickard
Karstark, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, Daenerys Targaryen, Benjen Stark,
Aerys II Targaryen, Kevan Lannister, Arianne Martell, Viserys
Targaryen, Haegon Blackfyre
Additional Tags: R Plus L Equals J, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a
Targaryen, Eventual Smut, Character Death, King Jon Snow, Alternate
Universe - Canon Divergence, Aegon VI Targaryen and Jon Snow are
Siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Political Jon Snow, Jon
Snow's Name is Jaehaerys, BAMF Jon Snow, Snarky Jon Snow, Not a
wank fic, POV Jon Snow, POV Ned Stark, POV Viserys Targaryen,
Don't Like Don't Read, long fic, i guess?, No Robert bashing, No Cat
bashing, RLJ haters fuck off
Collections: GOTGoodstories
Stats: Published: 2020-12-29 Updated: 2021-04-02 Chapters: 36/? Words:
68747

The Empire of The Dragons

by EarthshakerIX

Summary

Rhaegar wins...but at a cost. Eighteen years later, facing a foe long thought dead, an enemy
hiding in plain sight and a darkness gathering, his children fight for their lives...

Notes

Ummmm..... so this is my first fanfic and there will be many mistakes. Feel free to point out
plotholes, character inconsistencies, etc. etc.
I kinda chose Jon/Rhaenys cuz there’s very less good fics bout the couple and i find the
idea cool. Sooo... enjoy.

Oh and I’ll be following GRRM’s POV format.

Also...... fuck D&D
 The Silver Prince
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

CHAPTER 1: THE SILVER PRINCE

Rhaegar was covered in blood and gore. The waters of the Trident ran red with blood of man and
horse as the Targaryen loyalists and rebel troops clashed on the northern bank. The rubies of his
night black armour glistened red as he hacked and slashed at rebel soldiers from horseback.

On the southern shore, Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard led the charge against the rebel’s
left flank. He watched as the White Knight cut through the infantry to strike down Alyn Corbray,
who was trying to rally the rebels in formation.

Towards the east, Ser Barristan Selmy was cutting a bloody swathe through the rebel ranks, in an
attempt to regroup with the Targaryen Prince.

Rhaegar, along with his own personal guard, held the Loyalist centre, withstanding charge after
charge of the rebel cavalry.

Beside him, his former squire and now knight Ser Richard Lonmouth, was yelling orders at the
archers.

”NOCK!” “DRAW!” “LOOSE!”

As Rhaegar watched the carnage unfold before him, shouts and screams from the loyalists’ left
flank reached him. Wheeling his horse around, he turned to see the cause of the commotion. And
his heart nearly stopped.

Robert Baratheon had led the rebel cavalry towards the left flank. The man looked like an aurochs
dressed in armour. With his horned helm and stag armour, he pulled off a distinct demonic
appearance.

With an almighty roar of “DRAGONSPAWN!!”, the rebel lord charged his horse at Rhaegar.

Immediately his guard formed up around him, but Baratheon kept on charging, regardless of the
dozen men in front of him.

His spiked war hammer flashed left and right, smashing through man, steel and horse alike. Ser
Richard yelled and charged at Baratheon, sword swinging. The stormlord brought down his war
hammer in a deadly arc, reducing Richard’s shield to splinters. The knight tried to gut him, but his
sword glanced off his armour and then Robert’s hammer crashed into Ser Richard’s skull, handing
him an instant death.

And then it was just Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon.

With another roaring battle cry, Baratheon charged, war hammer swinging. Rhaegar turned his
horse away at the last moment, barely missing the spiked edge of the hammer. He brought his
sword down in his own strike, but Baratheon imposed his shield in between.

Both mounted on black war destriers, they traded blows, with the stormlord slowly reducing the
Dragon Prince’s shield to ruins. When both were getting exhausted, Robert found his opening. The
 spiked hammer smashed into Rhaegar’s shoulder, nearly unhorsing him. He managed to regain his
balance, only to find that he had lost his shield, leaving his chest defenceless. The pain he felt was
nothing compared to the fear inside him as Robert raised his weapon to deliver the fatal blow.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, awaiting his death. But the blow never came. What the fuck is he waiting
for?

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Robert Baratheon had a sword sticking from his neck. As
the giant fell from his horse, a White Cloak trotted up to him.

”My Prince? Are you alright?”

Ser Barristan, Rhaegar realised. He tried to answer. He truly did. But his injured shoulder, the
bruises he received from the battle, the tiring journey north, it all made him near unconscious. He
swayed in his saddle, nearly falling.

”Ser Jonothor!!”

Suddenly two pairs of strong arms were hauling him on the saddle.

”Take His Grace to the maesters at the rear.” He heard the gruff voice of Ser Jon Darry bark at
Barristan.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Barristan nod and Ser Jon rejoin the battle before he felt
himself being carried away from the battle.

If only the ladies of the court could see me now. The handsome Silver Prince being carried like a
babe in swaddling clothes. Lyanna would laugh herself sick.

The sound and noise of battle lessened around. Relief washed over Rhaegar Targaryen and he let
the darkness take him.

Chapter End Notes

Next: Tywin POV

 The Lion of The Rock
Chapter Summary

Tywin makes plans for the winning side

Chapter Notes

I know the chapters are a bit short, but they’ll increase later on. For now there will
only be short chaps. Chill!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tywin Lannister sat in the command tent, the crimson cape fastened to his armour by a lion
brooch. Ser Kevan Lannister sat to his right, while Ser Lyle Crakehall was seated to his left.

The newly knighted Ser Adam Marbrand had been put in charge of the outriders. Right now, the
youth stood in front of Tywin.

”You say that the city gates are closed?”

”Aye, my lord. All scorpions are armed and manned on the city wall by the gold cloaks.”

”Raise the Targaryen banners. Tell the gold cloaks that I am here to help my dear friend Aerys.”

“Will Aerys believe that ruse, brother?” Ser Kevan asked.

Tywin snorted. “Aerys is a madman. Undoubtedly in his mind he believes that every lord will
swear fealty to him just because he is the rightful king.”

”I will see to it that your orders are carried out, Lord Tywin.”

”Good. You’re dismissed.”

Ser Adam bowed and exited the tent.

Tywin inclined his head in a dismissive gesture. The lords bowed and took there leave.

”Not you, Kevan.”

Kevan Lannister had been about to leave. He turned and went to Tywin’s side once more.

“Is Jaime the only Kingsguard at the Red Keep?”

”Prince Rhaegar took Ser Barristan, Ser Jon, and Ser Lewyn with him to the trident. Ser Arthur, Ser
Gerold and Ser Oswell have disappeared without any trace. It does leave Ser Jaime as the only
Kingsguard free.”

”Can a message be sent to him?”

”If someone knew the secret passages, then yes. But only the Spider knows them all.”

”MY LORD!” The booming voice of Ser Lyle filled the tent.

”Yes, ser?”

”Word has come from the trident, my lord. Rhaegar’s forces have won. Ser Barristan himself slew
Robert Baratheon. Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully have surrendered and are now imprisoned. Our
scouts report Ser Barristan is leading the loyalist vanguard towards King’s Landing as we speak.”

”Hmmm. Dismissed.”

Ser Lyle bowed and left.

“What do we do now, brother?” He heard Kevan’s anxious voice say. “We came too late. If House
Lannister is to profit something from this rebellion we will have to give the Targaryens
something.”

”I know that, Kevan.”

Tywin’s mind was racing.

”Prepare the troops. When the city gates open, they are to secure the walls. A contingent will arrest
Aerys and keep the throne clear for Rhaegar. On no account is anyone going to harm Jaime. Is that
understood?”

”Yes, brother.”

”Before you go, send Clegane and Lorch to me.”

Kevan bowed and left.

Lorch came first.

”Lord Tywin? You called for me?”

”Yes. When you enter the capital, take ten men and enter the Red Keep. Your task is to kill
Princess Elia, Prince Aegon, and Princess Rhaenys. Is that clear?”

”But... but my lord, Rhaegar won —“

”You will do as I say or will I find another man for the job?”

“No my lord. You can trust me for the job.”

”Good. Dismissed.”

A few minutes after Lorch left, Clegane came. Tywin spared the hulking giant a cursory glance
before speaking.

”The knight who just left before you. Ser Amory Lorch. Did you get a good look at him?”

”Yes.”

”Follow him. He will go to the Red Keep and try to kill Princess Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys. Let him
enter the royal chambers. And then kill him.”
 ”Kill him?”

”Yes. Make sure Princess Elia sees you killing her would-be murderer. No raping or looting. No
harm should come to the Princess or the royal family. Am I clear?”

”Yes.”

”When they ask what happened, tell them I suspected Lorch of treachery. Tell them I commanded
you to follow him, and when you saw him entering the royal chambers, you decided to protect the
royal family. Understand?”

”Aye.”

”You will likely get a rich reward. Stay focused and get this task done or what I did to House
Reyne will be nothing compared to what I will do to House Clegane.”

”I won’t fail.”

”Go.”

When the tent flap closed, Tywin Lannister prepared to send a raven to Casterly Rock.

Chapter End Notes

Next: Jaime POV

 The Golden Knight
Chapter Summary

Jaime faces a choice.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Ser Jaime Lannister stood beside Aerys Targaryen, First of His Name, in the throne room as Varys
came to make his third report.

The first time was to inform that Lord Tywin was an hour’s ride from King’s Landing, flying the
dragon banner and asking permission to fortify the city. While Aerys was convinced that his ‘old
friend’ had come to his rescue, both Varys and Rossart counseled him to close the gates. Jaime was
relieved. If it came to choice between family or duty, he had no doubt which he would choose. He
also had no doubt about the consequences of that choice.

The second time Varys came was to inform that the loyalist forces had won the Battle of the
Trident. Aerys had been delighted, cackling and laughing before ordering Varys to send a raven
detailing the execution of Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully.

Jaime had excused himself before running to Varys.

”What word of Prince Rhaegar, Lord Varys?”

The eunuch tittered nervously before answering.

”My little birds tell me the gracious Prince took a wound to the shoulder while dueling Robert
Baratheon. It grieves me to say, good ser, that I cannot say more unless my little mice give me
fresh fodder.”

Jaime nodded before making his way back to the King.

This time when Varys came, along with him came Ser Jaremy Rykker, Commander of the City
Watch. Both knelt in front of Aerys.

”Rise, Rise. What word, my good lords?”

So he has chosen to play the charming king today, Jaime thought. Aerys was mad, without a doubt,
but no one could claim that he was boring. At times he could be raving mad, or a gallant knight or
a charming courtier. But whatever mask he put on, the malice within him remained.

He was thrown out of his reverie when Ser Jaremy answered.

“Your Grace, Lord Tywin has sent another envoy. He claims that he is here to reinforce the City
Watch, should the rebels manage to pass Ser Barristan’s border patrols.”

“Your Grace, I must counsel caution. The rebels are leaderless. My little birds tell me that there is
little to no chance of an attack, especially as far south as King’s Landing. Lord Tywin might have
treacherous intentions, Your Grace.”

Aerys threw his head back and laughed. When he laughed, you could see that he was an extremely
handsome man, with his silver white hair and sharp, lined face. His beard swung left and right as
his laughter echoed around the empty throne room. Ser Jaremy shifted uncomfortably, while Varys
wore an expressionless mask.

Finally Aerys’ laughter subsided.

”Lord Varys, you are too gloomy. My precious son Rhaegar has killed those fucking barbarians
and stags, what is there to fear? Does the dragon fear the lion? Does he? DOES HE?”

Ser Jaremy started while Varys looked indifferent. Jaime had to bite back a snort at Ser Jaremy’s
reaction. By now he himself was used to it. To Rykker’s credit though, he recovered quickly.

”Shall we open the gates then, Your Grace?”

”Yes, and send for Tywin. Tell him that he should remember who is master and who is servant.”

”As you command, Your Grace.”

Varys spoke up once more.

”Your Grace, I must caution you once more, this stinks of treachery—“

Aerys cut Varys off.

”Fear not, Spider, I am not a fool. The dragon always has a plan.”

Varys bowed and left.

Jaime felt restless. Aerys got down from the throne and began pacing the room, muttering and
cursing. Jaime himself stood still as stone, a hand kept on the pommel of his longsword.

The sound of feet on stone stirred Jaime. Suddenly the door burst open. Ten Lannister spearmen
appeared, forming a ring around the king. Aerys yelped and stumbled backwards.
“KINGSGUARD!” He yelled.

Jaime hesitated, only for a second. Then he unsheathed his sword and got to work.
The soldiers stood no chance. His longsword slashed left and right, a white shadow acting a
harbringer of death. By the time he finished off the last soldier, Aerys had regained his composure.

“TREACHERY!!” He roared, before barking at Jaime, “Go find Rossart, NOW!”.

Jaime gave a stiff nod, before departing.

When he came back with Rossart, the king had once more resumed his pacing.
“The dog has turned his tail, Rossart. Tywin thinks to betray me! Me, a DRAGON!!”

Rossart bowed but stayed silent.

”The backup plan we discussed. You remember, Rossart?”

”Yes, Your Grace.”

”Good. Ignite the wildfire. Let Tywin see the city reduced to ashes.”
Wildfire?

”It will be done, Your Grace.”

Aerys barked at Jaime.

”You BOY!! Bring me your father’s head.”

Jaime didn’t hear Aerys. What was this about wildfire?

”Your Grace if I may, what about wildfire?”

He had expected Aerys to give a curt refusal. Instead he seemed delighted to explain his ‘master
plan’ to Jaime. When he finished Jaime was horrified. He wants to blow the fucking city to ashes!!

Aerys ordered him once more to kill his father. Jaime ignored him. Instead, he ran out to find
Rossart, desperate to stop the disaster. He came upon him giving orders to the acolytes.

”Ser Jaime? What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. He brought his sword down, cutting Rossart open from shoulder to waist. The
acolytes seemed stunned. Then they turned tail and ran. He was about to pursue when a woman’s
scream echoed from the halls.

Fuck. That’s Elia Martell.

Protect my family, Rhaegar had said.

Jaime cursed and ran towards the sound.

Another scream echoed.

Jaime came upon the room to find Elia cowering in front of Amory Lorch.

”WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN??” He was screaming.

This time Jaime didn’t hesitate. He struck lightning quick, his sword sticking out of Lorch’s gut.
He knelt beside Elia, gently draping an arm around her shoulder.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Elia was sobbing. She barely managed to shake her head. Jaime looked around the room. Wait.
Where are the children?

“Your Grace? Where are the children?”

Elia barely managed to choke out the words.

”Varys said.... he said it wouldn’t be safe for them at the Keep..... he hid them away...at an inn on
Eel Street.”

Jaime felt relief wash over him. The children were safe. Rhaegar’s family was safe.

The sound of footsteps made him turn around. And he nearly barrelled straight into Gregor
Clegane. Jaime had seen Clegane only from a distance, but his reputation was well known
throughout the westerlands. He stood in front of him, clad in silver armour, looking like a
 mammoth. The knight stared at Jaime for a while before finally recognising him.

”Ser Jaime?”

Jaime couldn’t answer. For suddenly, a low rumbling noise came to his ears. Clegane heard it too.
He looked around for the source of the noise. And then Jaime remembered.

Fuck! I let the acolytes go! They’ve ignited the fucking wildfire!!

Jaime tried to run. But it seemed as though his feet had turned to lead. And then everything around
him exploded in a blaze of green.

Far away outside the city walls, Lord Tywin Lannister watched as the Red Keep and the Great Sept
of Baelor exploded in a swirl of smoke and dust.

Chapter End Notes

Next: Jaremy Rykker POV

 The Golden Commander
Chapter Summary

Ser Jaremy faces the aftermath of the Explosion of The Keep

Chapter Notes

Fun fact: This POV character ( Jaremy Rykker) in actual canon chose to join the
Night’s Watch when Tywin sacked King’s Landing. In A Game of Thrones, Rykker is
killed by the wight that resurrected in Castle Black. Jon mention this knight as one of
the best leaders of the Watch.

Ser Jaremy Rykker felt the beginnings of another headache coming. The last two months had been
a nightmare for him and every surviving gold cloak in King’s Landing. He still remembered the
explosion.

One moment he had been taking a report from an officer, the next was a massive rumbling noise
followed by a blast that left his ears ringing. He had been well outside the blast range, but the
hovels and slums along the border of the keep hadn’t been so lucky. Within the Red Keep itself
casualties were estimated to be near 2000, while smallfolk started streaming in the camps set up,
demanding compensation for damaged articles.

When Prince - no King Rhaegar arrived, he had been dreading a severe reprimand for the disaster.
Instead, when the King was informed that Elia Martell and the Prince Aegon and Rhaenys were
supposedly dead, Rhaegar just stared dumfounded at Rykker before waving him away.

His failure wasn’t entirely without payment though. It fell upon him the thankless job of informing
The Lord of Casterly Rock that his son had been killed in the Red Keep Explosion.

When he was ushered inside the command tent, he found the Lannister Lord with his brothers
Kevan and Tygett Lannister.

”Commander.” Lord Tywin gave him a curt nod.

”My lords.”

”Has the King summoned me?”

”Not yet, my lord. I am here for another reason. It grieves me to say, but your son Ser Jaime is
suspected among the casualties in The Red Keep Disaster.”

Tygett Lannister buried his head in his hands, Lord Kevan stumbled backwards before sitting on
the cushions. Lord Tywin himself remained unmoved, staring at Jaremy with an expressionless
face.

The silence stretched on unbearably.

”Is there any proof?” The Lord of The Rock’s voice was flat, emotionless, with not a hint of grief
or sadness.

”The wildfire has burned away any physical bodies, but Ser Jaime’s lion pommel sword was found
at the ruins, half melted but still recognisable.”

Tywin turned away, his gaze thoughtful, before turning to Rykker.

”I thank you, Ser, for informing us of this tragedy. If you will excuse us now, commander, my
brothers and I have matters to discuss.”

Ser Jaremy bowed his head and left.

As he was making his way back to Lord’s Inn, the place where the King had taken up personal
residence, a gold cloak came running.

”My Lord!”

”Yes?”

”Officer Maron just reported in, ser. Says he’s got Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys with him.”

”What?”

“He’s being debriefed at the headquarters, my lord.”

”Give me your horse. I’m going there.”

“Yes, ser.”

What the fuck now?

As he rode into the command centre of the City Watch, he was met by Ser Ronnel.

“They are truly the royal children, my lord. When I heard Maron say whom he was guarding, I
brought Lord Connington in. He has confirmed that it is indeed Princes Aegon and Rhaenys. He
had kept them in a cellar of an inn on Eel Street.”

”What the fuck were they doing on Eel Street?”

”He says Varys commissioned him to guard them.”

“What for?”

”Doesn’t know, ser.”

”COMMANDER!”

Again? What the fuck happened now?

”Yes, officer? What is it?”

”There’s a man outside the city gates claiming to be Ser Arthur Dayne. He has a squalling babe
with him.”
 The Dragon King
Chapter Summary

Rhaegar deals with his chaotic ascension to the Iron Throne.

Chapter Notes

Hope there’s no grammar problems....

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Rhaegar felt as though his life couldn’t get any worse.

He had always imagined his coronation to be a grand event, where thousands would crowd the
Great Sept and the High Septon would proclaim him ‘King of the Seven Kingdoms.’

Instead, his coronation consisted of an official announcement proclaiming King Rhaegar as the
King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector
of the Realm.

The crown of the Aegon I Targaryen had been lost in Dorne, and the crown of Aerys II Targaryen
was melted in the Red Keep explosion. Rhaegar had commissioned the blacksmiths to start forging
a crown of iron and bronze, a fitting crown for a King trying to heal a realm plagued with war.

When Rhaegar heard that Elia had been killed, his first thought was, Shit! What will I say to
Doran? And Oberyn....oh gods.

And then he felt guilty that his first thought was political implications rather than grief for his dead
wife.

Even after hearing about her death, Rhaegar still held hope that his children could survive, but
when Rykker informed him that at the time of the explosion, the children were supposed to have
been in the Keep, he lost it. He had wanted to fling the knight from the top of Aegon’s hill, but
managed to restrain himself. His patience was well rewarded as barely an hour later, Rykker came
back to inform that his children were alive and well.

Rhaegar had never felt more elated as Rhaenys screamed and threw herself at him, hand playing
with his silver locks as she giggled and laughed. Aegon had started crying at the commotion, and
Rhaegar quickly arranged for a wet nurse for him.

But of course something had to dampen the sunshine. When Arthur handed him the squealing babe
in his arms, Rhaegar felt shocked. My Lyanna...dead....and not even for the prophesied Visenya.

Lyanna had been so lively....always laughing, always playful, it was hard to imagine her gone.
When he looked at the boy again, he saw more Lyanna in him than himself.

But that’s hardly a problem. Aegon looks like me, he looks like Lyanna, they’ll complement each
other nicely.

When he handed the boy back to his wet nurse, Arthur spoke up.

”His name?”

Daemon? No. Aemon? In honor of my great grand uncle? Or....Jaehaerys, the only Targaryen
King beloved throughout the realm. Yes.

”Jaehaerys.”

Arthur nodded solemnly.

”A good name. She—“

The Kingsguard was interrupted by the steward.

”Your Grace!” The steward fell in front of him, panting and huffing. When he looked up, Rhaegar
saw that the man had a cut on his neck. He held out a note before promptly collapsing.

Arthur, bemused, took the note and handed it to Rhaegar.

You silver haired fucker. First you dishonor my sister by running away with another woman, now
you tell me she’s dead, along with your mad father, and you sitting as King. How convenient for
you. The steward told me that the King doesn’t bother to talk with common rabblers. If you don’t
bother to talk with ME then I’ll make sure you won’t bother to talk with anyone else in your
damned life. You know where to find me.

Wishing you a very painful death,

Prince.

Arthur grinned when he read the note. “Shall we go?”

Rhaegar didn’t share his amusement.

They departed near eve, wearing a common doublet covered by gray wool cloaks. They found
Oberyn Martell standing at the outskirts of the Keep, staring at the place where the royal chambers
had once been.

”So The Dragon King finally graces me with his presence.”

”I should, considering the fact that that you just threatened my royal person.”

”I did that with good reason. Why? Elia was everything you could have wished for in a wife. She
was kind, smart, passionate...what made you stray? What?”

Rhaegar sighed. “You won’t hear me deny any of Elia’s good traits, I promise you. But the
prophecy clearly says —“

”DAMN your prophecy! Do you even know how much pain you caused her by running away with
that Stark whore?”

”That’s rather hypocritical of you, Oberyn.”

”What I do doesn’t matter. Is the Stark girl with child?”

”The Stark girl is dead.”

Oberyn seemed surprised by that information. His face softened, only to the tiniest degree.

”Dead? How?”

”Childbirth.”

All anger returned in an instant on Oberyn’s face.

”I am going to kill —“

”Aegon will be first in line for the throne, then Jaehaerys, and then Rhaenys. And I will have to
take another wife.”

”I won’t let you dishonor El —“

”Think, Oberyn! How secure do you think my reign would be with infants as my heirs? Without
the support of any major house? The Starks think I raped their daughter, the riverlands believe me
mad, the Vale thinks me a monster, how am I supposed to hold my reign? How, pray?”

Oberyn stayed silent. Finally he spoke up.

”Aegon and Rhaenys will be treatedvwith respect by your new wife.”

”Do you think I’ll let them come to harm?”

”The stark child will be raised separately —“

This time Arthur interrupted Oberyn.

”Which do you think is more likely, Prince? A child treated like a bastard, raised separately from
his siblings revolting against them, or a child raised as equals, who grows up to love his siblings?
Which do you think will help Aegon or Rhaenys more?”

Oberyn held up his hands in surrender.

”Fine. But I will take Aegon as my squire when he is old enough. Do we agree on that?”

”Done.”

Oberyn nodded. “Should any harm come to them...”

Rhaegar inclined his head. “My life is forfeit, I know.”

When they returned to their rooms at the inn, the steward had been replaced by another man.
“Lord Tywin to see you, Your Grace.”

“Show him in.”

A minute later, Tywin Lannister entered Rhaegar’s solar, dressed impeccably in a suit of Lannister
crimson.

”Lord Tywin. My deepest condolences for the loss of your son, Ser Jaime. He was a very
promising young knight.”

”Thank you, Your Grace.”

”Please sit.”

”To what do I owe this visit, my lord?”

”Several matters, Your Grace. Firstly, there are some rumours blaming the explosion on the
Lannister troops....”

”Ah. Rest assured, my lord, the rumours will remain rumours.”

Tywin dipped his head in acknowledgment.

”Second concern is that I was merely curious about Your Grace’s small council.”

”Ah yes. My dear friend Jon Connington will be Hand, Gyles Rosby will be master of coin, Prince
Doran my master of law, and Ser Jaremy Rykker as master of spies.”

“I see.”

Did you think you would be Hand, my lord? I’m smarter than that.

“My third concern is about the reconstruction of the Red Keep and the Great Sept.”

”Ah. Lord Rosby has informed me that the cost for the reconstruction will amount to nearly twelve
million dragons. Currently, the crown treasury has near seven million dragons in store.”

”And where does His Grace think to find the remaining five million?”

”There are so many places, Lord Tywin. The Iron Bank, the Tyrells,” Rhaegar directed his violet
eyes at Tywin’s face,” you.”

“Hmmm. Casterly Rock itself can spare near a million dragons. If I comb the westerlands, and my
holdings in the Reach and The Riverlands, then i can give four million dragons, Your Grace.”

”Why, thank you, my lord.”

”But I have a condition.”

”And what is that, my lord?”

Tywin paused, then spoke, a hint of triumph in his voice.

”That you take my daughter as your bride.”

Rhaegar stared at the lord. The audacity of this man....

 Tywin noticed his incredulousness.

“Both your wives are dead, and you only have infants as your successors. My daughter will bring
you the entire strength of the westerlands, the gold of Casterly Rock and a secure base where you
can operate. Upon that, my daughter is a beautiful maid —“

”And if I refuse?”

Tywin Lannister did not answer. He just stared at Rhaegar, his face daring him to refuse his offer.

Rhaegar sighed. The Lord was right and he had no choice.

“Very well. I accept your offer, Lord Tywin.”

The lord nodded at that before standing.

”But make no mistake, my lord, any child of mine and your daughter will come only after Aegon,
Jaehaerys and Rhaenys in the line of succession.”

For the first time during the meeting, the Lord of Casterly Rock’s eyes glinted with maliciousness.

”We shall see, Your Grace.”

Chapter End Notes

Next there’ll be a time skip.....

Also...Tywin isn’t grieving for Jaime, he’s grieving for the loss of a crucial piece for
furthering the interests of house lannister
 The Dragon Prince
Chapter Summary

Aegon reunites with his brother.....

Chapter Notes

Enter the Targ sibling trio......

See the end of the chapter for more notes

18 Years Later.......

Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen looked up at the newly constructed Dragonfort, where once the
Red Keep had been. It loomed vast and foreboding, looking as though it had been there since the
start of time, rather than the mere six moons since the construction had finished. The three-headed
dragon banner flew from the topmost tower, while arrow slits and battlements graced the massive
walls.

Aegon’s destrier snorted nervously as they made their way up the Street of Steel.

”It makes for quite the imposing picture, doesn’t it?” Oberyn Martell had sauntered up beside
Aegon. The flamboyant, reckless Dornishman was Aegon’s mentor and friend. The Red Viper had
taken him as his squire when he had been twelve. King Rhaegar had decreed that the future ruler of
the Iron Throne should know the realm he meant to rule. One could hardly do that holed up inside
Dragonstone, and so Aegon had spent his squiring days roaming entire Westeros with his uncle,
something Rhaenys had been supremely jealous of.

And while his life had never been boring, he also hadn’t reached the same heights of fame as
Jaehaerys had.

His earliest memories of Jaehaerys were unpleasant. Growing up, they had been arch rivals, always
at each other’s throats, no matter how much Rhaenys tried to patch them up. Surprisingly, it had
been Cersei Lannister who finally converted from rivals to best friends.

For as long as he could remember, Cersei Lannister had been Aegon’s harbinger of doom. She had
nothing but scorn for him and Rhaenys, and her treatment of Jae was even worse. The only people
who she seemed to approve of were her children and her father. It had taken the three siblings
banding together to finally instil some restraint in her.

Visenya Targaryen, Cersei’s firstborn, had inherited the best of the Lannister and Targaryen looks.
With silver hair, green eyes, a perfectly chiselled face, she was a striking beauty at the age of 16.
But what the gods gave her in looks, they denied her in personality. Visenya was Cersei writ small,
vain and cruel, and hated Aegon with all her might. The only person with whom she had a measure
of affection was Rhaenys.
Daemon Targaryen, on the other hand, was a lively lad of twelve, with an insatiable curiosity.
From since he was born, he had taken to following Aegon wherever he went, and had only to look
at him with puppy eyes to get something from Aegon. However, he only had distant memories of
Jae.

Aegon himself hadn’t seen Jaehaerys in six years. They had parted ways when they were twelve,
Aegon to squire for his uncle, Jaehaerys to be fostered in the North. And his deeds in the North and
the Greyjoy rebellion had made him a living legend.

At fifteen, Jae had marched with his uncle Eddard Stark on the wall to repel the wildling invasion.
Jae himself had fought in the Battle of The Haunted Forest, slaying Varamyr Sixskins and Harma
Dogshead, before leading the charge that destroyed the wildling ranks.

When Balon Greyjoy rebelled, his father had sent twenty thousand troops under Jon Connington,
and Eddard Stark had sent five thousand northmen, under the command of Benjen Stark and Arthur
Dayne. When a stray arrow had felled Connington, Arthur Dayne had taken command and
Jaehaerys had repelled the ironborn from the riverlands with his own army, while Paxter Redwyn
attacked the Islands from the south. His brother had been taken captive by Euron Greyjoy in a
reckless raid along the shore. Ser Jaremy himself confirmed that Jae had lost an eye in his
captivity, and he covered the area with a black eyepatch.

He was interrupted in his musings by the appearance of the royal escort. His face broke into a
smile as he jumped down from the horse to embrace Queen Dowager Rhaella Targaryen.

”Look at you, a proper handsome prince! Your betrothed will faint upon seeing you!” Rhaella
smiled as she ruffled her grandson’s hair.

Aegon grinned at her exaggeration. “Surely I don’t look half so stunning as you!” He said,
laughing.

Rhaella returned his smile, before turning away.

”Someone is very eager to meet you, Aegon.”

“Egg!” He heard someone squeal before he was struck by a whirlwind. He wrapped up Daemon in
a hug, before releasing him.

”I heard you were squiring for Ser Barristan, Dems.”

Daemon’s face lit up at the mention if his squiring.

”I am! Ser Barry says that I am a natural with a lance. Would you try a tilt against me?”

Aegon ruffled his hair. “I’d fear for my life.”

He turned to his grandmother. “What word of Jaehaerys, grandmother?”

Rhaella nodded at the mention. “He has sent word that he is an hour’s ride from the capital. The
Warden of The North is also with him.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow at that. Rhaegar Targaryen had summoned his sons and invited near
every major lord to the capital to mark the finishing of Dragonfort’s construction. A party would
be held at the Great Hall, and also Aegon’s betrothal to Maergery Tyrell was also going to be
announced. Aegon hadn’t expected Eddard Stark to accept the invitation, given the bad blood
between his father and the Lord of Winterfell.
As he entered through the raised portcullis of the keep, Aegon took a good look. He had no
memories of the Red Keep, and the Dragonfort was supposed to be an improved version of it’s
predecessor.

”Brother dear!” Aegon turned around to find Rhaenys striding up to him, before enveloping him in
a big hug. Rhaenys was completely Dornish, with olive skin, curling black hair and a slim figure.
Only her indigo eyes marked her Valyrian ancestry.

“Good to see you, Rhae.”

”And you, brother.”

”Did you hear? Lord Eddard is coming with Jae.”

Rhaenys looked unsurprised. “If I had to guess, I’d say Jae convince him. Or perhaps he has some
matter to discuss with father.”

”Perhaps...”

Suddenly Rhaenys’ face darkened. “Do you know what that spiteful Lannister bitch said this
morning?”

”What?”

”When father informed her Jaehaerys was going to arrive today, she asked why she invited a
northern savage to the capital! Imagine her gall!”

“And what did our father dear answer?”

Rhaenys’ face widened into a grin. “I didn’t hear, but her face looked like someone had shoved
their arse up her nose.”

Aegon bit back a snort at the image. When he had been old enough to understand the game Cersei
played, he remembered a particular conversation with Oberyn.

”But uncle, if me, Jae and Rhae are all that stands between the throne and Daemon, then why are
we not dead?”

The Red Viper had grinned at that question. “You’re smart, nephew. You’re not dead because the
day after the bedding ceremony, I paid a visit to the queen.”

”I told her that should you or Rhaenys die, whether suspicious death or natural, my hand just
might slip a bit of The Strangler in her morning tea. After all, accidents happen.”

He and Rhae parted ways at the entrance to the throne room. He found his father at the steps,
reading a report from Ser Jaremy. He looked up at the sound of his footsteps.

”Aegon. You are well?”

”Yes, father. Which lords have come as of yet?”

Rhaegar grimaced. “Stannis Baratheon and Edmure Tully are present, with their personal retinue.
You won’t believe the glowering looks the send at me.”

Aegon smiled. “Well, you did kill Lord Tully’s father and Stannis’ brother.”
”A brother he wasn’t particularly fond of.”

”He won’t consider that, father.”

“No, he won’t.” Rhaegar made a face. “On top of that, Eddard Stark is arriving with your brother.
The man still believes I somehow seduced his sister.”

Aegon grinned. “You do have a way with women, father dear. Cersei, for one.”

”Gods curse the day I wed her. The only good thing that happened of it was a thing named Daemon
Targaryen.”

”Aye.”

The armoured clink of footsteps made them turn around. Resplendent in golden armour, with a
gold cape fastened around his shoulder, Ser Jaremy Rykker, Commander of the City Watch and
Master of Spies, looked the proper warrior. He took a knee befor the King.

”What is it, Ser?”

”The Northern retinue has arrived, Your Grace. My men are currently confirming their identities.”

”Good. Send them to the Dragonfort.”

Ser Jaremy bowed. “It will be done, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar turned to Aegon. “Best get ready to greet your brother, son.”

Aegon felt apprehensive. The northern retinue was making their way up the street, and they were
lined up at the entrance to the Dragonfort. Rhaegar stood at the centre, with Rhaella at his right and
Rhaenys on his left. Aegon stood beside Rhaenys, and Daemon, unsure of what to expect, behind
him.

The head of the retinue could be seen now. At the front rode three men side by side. He recognised
the white cloak of Ser Arthur Dayne, and the solemn, lined face of Lord Eddard. And in their
middle rode Jaehaerys Targaryen, who could have easily passed as a northerner with his looks. He
had inherited the lean and hard face of his uncle, but where Lord Eddard’s face was solemn, Jae’s
face had laugh lines strecthed throughout. His dark brown hair was braided backwards, and his one
stormy gey eye twinkled with amusement. His left eye was covered by an eye patch. That, along
with his dark clothing made him look like a proper pirate.

Behind them rode two girls — one with the Tully red hair and the other looking like a miniature
copy of Jaehaerys. Both of them were bickering loudly with each other as the retinue stopped in
front of the royal family.

Lord Eddard was the first to dismount. He bowed to Father stiffly. “King Rhaegar.”

Aegon saw his father put a forced smile on his face. “Lord Eddard. I am pleased you accepted my
invitation. This will mark the dawn of a new era, where I hope we can work together for a better
future.”
Lord Eddard’s face remained unreadable. “Of course, Your Grace.” He turned and gestured at the
still mounted Jaehaerys. “Your son, Jaehaerys. He has been fostered under great care.”

Only then did Jae dismount, grinning. “Surely you will remember my fostering as more than
‘under great care’, uncle.”

He bowed before the King. “Father.”

Rhaegar stared at his son for a few moments, before stepping forward and hugging him. “Welcome
back, Jaehaerys.”

Jae nodded. “Glad to be back, father.”

His brother turned to Rhaella, who was eyeing him with great disapproval. “Seven hells, Jaehaerys!
All that black clothing, have you joined the Night’s Watch? And your hair...why have you braided
it? Are you a girl? After all this is over, you’ll have a proper haircut, or else you can sleep in the
streets.”

Aegon grinned at that. Jaehaerys looked amused. “No good things to say about me, grandmother?”

”I will, if you give your grandmother a big hug.”

Jaehaerys proceeded to do just that, before turning to look at Rhaenys. “Sister dear, you have aged
soo much.”

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow at that. “What?”

Jae made a dramatic show of looking sorrowful. “Oh, the woes of being stuck in one place...”

Aegon snorted out at that. While he roamed Westeros and Jae went adventuring in the north,
Rhaenys had been stuck in the Red Keep, an extremely touchy point for her. Both he and Jae had
teased her mercilessly, until she snapped at the mere mention of the subject.

Rhaenys’ face looked stormy before she swatted playfully at her brother. “Dummy.”

Jae grinned before seeing Aegon. Smile and warmth all went out of him in a second, replaced by
coolness and...uncertainty?

”Prince Aegon.” Jaehaerys held out his hands in a stiff formal manner.

Aegon was taken aback by his brother’s detached greeting. He had been his usual self with
everyone else, what could warrant such a change of behaviour? He looked around and saw that no
one had missed anything. The atmosphere was near visibly tense.

”Brother. It is good to see you after such a long time.” I’m giving you the olive branch, just take it
Jae. Whatever dispute you and I have can be solved later.... preferably without making a scene.

And Daemon came to the rescue. He had been standing behind Aegon, now he came forward with
a smile on his face. “You look like a Lysene pirate, like those from Maester Pycelle’s lessons, Jae.”

Jaehaerys’ grin returned upon seeing Daemon. “Dem? Goodness, you’ve grown near as tall as
Tyrion! Oh wait..”

Everyone relaxed as both brothers burst out laughing. The Starks had been watching interaction
with amused expressions. Eddard Stark, solemn as ever, gestured at the two girls to come forward.
”Your Grace, these are my daughters, Lady Sansa and Lady Arya.” Aegon bit back a laugh at the
younger girl’s expression on being called a lady. Lady Sansa gave a perfect curtsy, and Rhaella
gave an approving sniff at that. Lady Arya, on the other hand, just glared at her father, before
striding out and holding her hand to Rhaegar.

“My Grace- I mean, Your Grace.”

Jae was looking like it was a completely normal occurence. Rhaegar looked shocked for a moment,
before smiling and shaking her hand. “You remind me of someone I once knew, my lady.”

Arya looked up curiously at that. “Who?”

”Someone. My Lords, a feast is being held at the Great Hall. The steward will show you the way,
if you wish to attend.”

Lord Eddard nodded at that. With the introductions and reunions finished, they entered the
Dragonfort, with Rhaenys and Daemon chatting and laughing with Jaehaerys.

Aegon frowned inwardly. What on earth could be the reason for Jae’s cool greeting? Did frozen
Eddard Stark manage to turn him against me? Or is he holding some unknown grudge against me?

When they entered the Great Hall, the feast was in full swing, the sound of a thousand
conversations washing over Aegon.
He and his sibling were granted the place of honor upon the dias, being seated on the right side of
King Rhaegar.

Aegon felt uncomfortable. The ride south to King’s Landing, Jae’s queer behaviour, everything
began to swirl in his mind. A commotion drew his attention. Cersei was trying to take Daemon
away from Jaehaerys, with her son protesting loudly. Ultimately Cersei won, and she and Meryn
Trant frog marched Dem to his bedroom.

Why would Cersei march Daemon to bed so early? It’s just the hour of the stag...

He excused himself from the dias and walked on to the balcony. King’s Landing stretched out in
front of him, vast and dark.

”I heard you were knighted, brother.”

Aegon turned around to see Jaehaerys walking towards him. This will be interesting....

He answered with a confident smile. “Aye, I was knighted by my uncle.”

Jae’s face darkened at the mention of Oberyn. But he quickly schooled in his expression. “You
have my congratulations.”

Does he hold some grudge against Oberyn? That would explain his apprehension towards me..

“Thank you. I’ve heard rumours of how you lost your eye, brother. Are they true?”

Jaehaerys’ face widened into a grin. He made a show of looking thoughtful. “I was fucking this
wench, when I thrust into her so hard that she bit my eye out.”

Aegon burst out laughing. Only Jaehaerys and his slick sense of humour could come up with a
story like that. He was about to respond when he was interrupted.
 Interrupted by a gut wrenching scream.

Chapter End Notes

Note: The Strangler is a rare poison....

 The Knight of Flowers
Chapter Summary

Loras faces his toughest challenge as Kingsguard.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Ser Loras Tyrell of the Kingsguard felt suprememly uncomfortable. As he watched the feast in full
swing in front of him, the passing glances all the lords and ladies gave him made him uneasy.

He had always enjoyed the fame that came with his skill, but now for some reason, that same fame
began to annoy him to no end.

When he’d been given the white cloak to replace Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Barristan had called a
meeting at the White Sword Tower. He had specifically told Loras that he had to be a ‘white
shadow’, ready to be in action in a moment’s notice. It was hard to be a white shadow when nearly
everyone was gawking at said shadow.

Loras usually guarded young Daemon, or Princess Daenerys. And while he had found some
semblance of an older brother in Ser Oswell Whent, he still terribly missed his family. But soon,
Margaery’s betrothal to Prince Aegon would be announced, and he’d get to talk with his sister after
nearly 2 years.

When he’d been chosen for the Kingsguard, he had been ecstatic. He had hoped to serve besides
legends like Ser Arthur Dayne and Barristan the Bold. Instead, he found that Ser Arthur was in the
North guarding Prince Jaehaerys, while Ser Barristan barely spared him a glance. When Prince
Jaehaerys came back to the capital, he had hoped to talk with Ser Arthur but his shifts guarding the
royal family prevented him. Now, he swore to himself that after the feast was over, he’d find a
chance to chat with the Sword of The Morning.

His charge for this night, Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, fidgeted in the seat in front of him.
Towards his right, the King and Ser Arthur chuckled at some remark by Jaehaerys, while Daemon
and Rhaenys chatted away together, with a disapproving Cersei Lannister at their side.

Where’s Visenya? She loves feasts...odd.

Loras thanked the gods that Princess Daenerys had been left back at Dragonstone. Guarding the
Princess at feasts was a veritable headache for Loras. As much as Queen Rhaella tried to raise her
like a lady, Daenerys nearly always insisted on getting roaring drunk during any feast, and reaching
heights of rudeness to any guests present. He could already imagine the turmoil Daenerys would
have caused by now.

A sudden commotion drew him out of his reverie. He turned to see Cersei wrestling with Daemon
on the table, shouting at him that it was time for bed.

Time for bed? It’s isn’t even the hour of the stag...
He realised Aegon had also been watching the incident with a puzzled expression.

What can you say, prince? A madwoman isn’t known for being reasonable...

After a few minutes, Prince Aegon got up and walked to the balcony. He followed dutifully
behind, keeping a respectful distance. A few moments later, he saw Prince Jaehaerys walk to the
balcony, with Ser Arthur trailing behind him.

His feeling of unease grew. All his instincts were screaming at him, that something was wrong.
Why would Cersei march Daemon to bed so early? It troubled him.

The sound of laughter jarred himself from his reverie. He was about to relax when the loudest
scream he had ever heard washed over him. For a moment, everyone in the hall lay still, stunned,
before everything exploded into chaos.

The entrance to the Great Hall burst open and nearly fifty Lannister soldiers burst through with
blood on their spears. One of them hefted his spear and threw it at King Rhaegar. The spear
punched straight into the King’s gut, and he saw Ser Arthur give a cry of fury before launching at
the spearmen, Dawn swinging.

It seemed as though the Stranger himself had come into the halls. Everywhere around Loras, lords
screamed for mercy and died. He saw Ser Oswell go down with a sword through his back, trying to
protect Princess Rhaenys. Loras looked around to find Aegon frozen in his place, while Jaehaerys
had got to work.

The Black Prince and the Sword of the Morning fought shoulder to shoulder, killing any man
brave enough to come near them. Loras decided they didn’t need his help. In all probability, he’d
just get in the way. Instead, he jumped at the five soldiers trying to corner Rhaenys. The princess,
to her credit,,was holding her own. She had a knife in her hand, ready to slash at the first man to
come at her.

Loras wasted no time. The first man went down before he even realised what happened. The
second, tried to dodge the strike and got a sword in his neck for his trouble. He shoved the Princess
behind his back before facing the remaining troops. They charged together.

Loras remembered Garlan’s advice. Divide and conquer. He dodged the first man’s swipe, kicked
the second man in the groin, before dancing away from the third man’s clumsy strikes. The man
soon left an opening, an Loras swooped in, punching his sword through his gut. He didn’t have
time to withdraw the blade as the first man was already upon him, so he twisted away, came
around to block the strike, only to find Rhaenys had put a dagger in the man’s neck.

He grabbed the Princess’ hand to lead her away from the hall, and he felt a glimmer of hope. Near
all the spearmen who had come were dead or dying. The Crown Prince and Prince Oberyn were
standing near the door, both with spears in their hands, while Ser Arthur and Prince Jaehaerys
finished away the final attackers. Ser Barristan and Ser Lewyn were checking on the King.

And just like that, his hope withered in his heart. The door burst open, and this time near eighty
soldiers burst forward. Prince Oberyn and Prince Aegon, nearest to the door, were cut down in a
swathe of Lannister crimson.

”NO!” He heard someone scream. He didn’t care. The battle was lost. The only thing they could
do now was to get the royal family safe somewhere. Ser Arthur whispered something to Prince
Jaehaerys. He nodded before beckoning at Rhaenys and Loras to come.
 The three of them ran towards the main door, only to find it guarded by Riverland troops. The
moment they saw them, they burst forward, spears and daggers in hand. They had no choice but to
turn tail and run. Loras looked around frantically. All the doors were blocked by Lannister or Tully
troops. The balcony remained the only place untouched by fighting.

”THE BALCONY!” Prince Jaehaerys roared, before running towards the destination. They three
reached the place and turned around to find something shell shocking. He looked on stunned, as
near twenty Lannister spears punched through Ser Arthur’s gut, while Ser Barristan was swept over
by a sea of red and blue. And then all the soldiers in the Great Hall, near a hundred now, turned to
the three survivors of the massacre.

They had no choice. The three of them took a deep breath, then jumped over the balcony.

Chapter End Notes

Toughest chapter to write.....yet.

 The Young Wolf
Chapter Summary

The Lord of Winterfell makes his plans

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Robb Stark had watched as his mother raged and cursed. Sometimes she cursed Edmure,
sometimes she called him her ‘little baby brother.’ The raven had come a fortnight ago. The
moment he read it, he was counselled by Maester Luwin, Theon, and his mother to do the same
thing. Call the banners.

And so he did. And now as Moat Cailin came to sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had
expected the ruin to be under attack by the riverland army. If that had happened, he didn’t know
how he was supposed to explain to his mother that he was fighting her own family.

What had really made him make all haste to the Moat was something known only between him and
Maester Luwin. The scouts had caught two farmers roaming in the forests near the Moat. And
later, those farmers revealed themselves to be Jaehaerys Targaryen and Rhaenys Targaryen. The
scouts had also caught the Blackfish with two hundred men passing through Seagard. According to
him, Ser Brynden had no intention of joining ‘Edmure’s folly’.

All three were now being kept in the Moat. Robb could only hope his scouts had caught the real
Jae and not some mad impostor.

When they passed through the ruined archway, they found Galbart Glover and Domeric Bolton
waiting for them. Robb had ordered Bolton and Glover to send two hundred men each to the Moat
under a capable commander. Bolton had sent his son, while Glover himself came with his two
hundred.

Both Glover and Bolton bowed. “The Blackfish has been requesting an audience with you and
Lady Stark ever since he arrived. Given the Tully’s allegiance, I thought it best to keep him under a
watch.” Glover explained.

Robb nodded. “And the prince and princess?”

Domeric Bolton cleared his throat. “I have recognised Prince Jaehaerys. However, I can’t confirm
the identity of Princess Rhaenys.”

Robb frowned. “If Jae is here, that means his sister must be here too. Have them brought to me
immediately. I’ll speak with the Blackfish later.”

Glover bowed and left. Domeric looked at Robb before asking, “If I may, my lord, Lady Stark?”

”An hour’s ride behind. I came ahead with my men.”

Domeric nodded. “I shall prepare the Lord’s solar for your use then.”
“Thank you, Lord Bolton.”

A few minutes later a servant came to announce that the lord’s solar was ready fro his use. When
Robb entered the room, he found two people waiting for him.

Jaehaerys looked as though he hadn’t eaten for years. He had never had any fat on him, but now he
was literally stick thin, with his clothing barely hanging on to his body. The woman beside him
looked in better condition. She wore simple peasant clothes, but they failed to hide her slim figure
or her sinfully curvaceous body.

At his entrance, Jae looked up and his face split into a smile. Robb rushed forward and hugged his
best friend.

”Jae! What the fuck? The raven said you were killed!” Robb grinned and hugged him again,
before turning to the woman. But she beat him to it.

“Lord Stark, I am Princess Rhaenys, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Robb bowed. “The pleasure is mine, princess.”

Jae gripped his shoulders. “What news, Robb?”

Robb turned to Jae. “You’re asking me? You’re supposed to be dead, but you turn up alive and
then ask me for news? Your turn comes first.”

Jae shrugged nonchalantly. “What of it? Tywin Lannister planned a coup. Lannister soldiers
slaughtered us during the feast. Though how Lannister thinks to get away with this is beyond me.”

Robb frowned. “You didn’t hear? Lysa Arryn has declared for Daemon Targaryen. Shireen
Baratheon has been betrothed to Daemon, so the Stormlands are with him as well. And Tywin has
offered Visenya Targaryen for a betrothal between Garlan Tyrell and her.”

Jae looked incredulous. “Loras Tyrell died because of them, and Tywin has the gall to offer them a
betrothal?”

Robb sighed. He was beginning to appreciate Tywin Lannister’s political genius. “It seems you
haven’t heard any of the latest news. Haegon II Blackfyre, along with the Golden Company and
Varys, has landed in Maidenpool. They have captured the entirety of the Crownlands. In the raven,
Tywin Lannister declared that Varys had planned the massacre of the royal family and that he
arrived just in time to save his own grandchildren.”

Both brother and sister’s faces had paled on the mention of Varys. Now realisation dawned in Jae’s
eyes.

“The fucker outwitted us all.” Jae muttered.

Rhaenys looked confused. “If Varys is supporting a Blackfyre, why on earth would he help us
escape King’s Landing?”

Robb shook his head. “Wait, what? Varys helped you escape the capital?”

Jae nodded. “Aye. We jumped from the balcony of the Great Hall. The fall broke Loras’ legs, and
we had to drag him to a nearby alley. There, three children found us. They were Varys’ ‘little
birds’. They lead us to this tunnel through Flea Bottom, and we came outside the city walls. When
I asked why they were helping us, they replied that Varys told them to.”
Again, Robb felt stunned. Why does the game of thrones have to be this bloody confusing?

Rhaenys still looked confused. “Yes, but why help us? We’re the Balckfyre boy’s enemies!”

Jae smiled. “Somehow Tywin stumbled onto Varys’ little Blackfyre scheme. Instead of informing
our father and getting a rich reward, the Old Lion planned to slaughter our family and put the
blame on Blackfyre. After all, who wouldn’t believe a scheming eunuch possible of such a big
atrocity? If all had gone to plan, we would have been dead, and the Seven Kingdoms would have
united behind Daemon to fight the Blackfyre.”

”Instead, Varys helping us survive creates two more claimants, two more better claimants to the
throne. Which possibility do you think profits Varys more? A united Westeros behind Daemon
facing Blackfyre, or a divided Westeros where one half is backing us and the other backing
Daemon?”

Rhaenys nodded in understanding. “So Tywin had the perfect plan to place his grandson on the
throne, but was spoiled by Varys due to him keeping us alive?”

Jae nodded. “Exactly. We need to send a raven to Highgarden, telling that we are alive and that
the Lannisters killed Loras, not Blackfyre. They’re honour bound to help us then. Instruct them to
remain silent about our survival.”

Robb raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to send a raven to all the houses about your survival?”

Jae shook his head. “Best remain silent for now. Let Tywin and Blackfyre hammer each other.
We’ll swoop upon the victor. For now, our concern is making allies.”

Robb nodded, before asking the question that had been on his mouth for the entire conversation.
“Jae, what of my father? And Arya and Sansa?”

Jae frowned. “If they’re smart, they’ll keep your father and sisters alive as hostages. But I didn’t
see what happened to them, with all the chaos and slaughter going on.”

Robb gulped. “Whatever happens, know that the North stands behind you.”

Jae inclined his head. “Thank you, Robb.”

“And Dorne.”

They both turned to Rhaenys. “What?”

She looked at them, smiling. “I am Doran Martell’s niece. His brother and nephew died fighting
Lannisters. Of course he’ll help us.”

Jae looked unconvinced. “It’ll take more than a raven to make Doran Martell support the son of the
woman who dishonored his sister.”

Rhaenys shrugged. “I’ll go convince him, then.”

Jae looked thoughtfully at her, before nodding. “Yes, best do that. If we have Dorne behind us, the
war is as good as won.”

She smiled. “When will I leave?”

Robb spoke up. “I’ll arrange a passage for you to White Harbour. From there, you can take a ship
to Dorne. Wyman Manderly will never refuse a request from the Starks.”
 Rhaenys bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I must prepare for my journey south.” She left
the room witha devilish smile on her face.

Jae looked amused. He turned to Robb. “You’ll have to address me as Your Grace now, you
know.”

Robb grinned. “Fuck you, Jae.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

Robb shook his head, before turning to Jae. “And what will you do now?”

Jae smiled. He wore the same smile he had when he’d proposed the idea of a cavalry charge
against the wildlings.

”I’m going to play the game of thrones.”

Chapter End Notes

Well, I’m going on a vacation, so I can’t update for the next four days. Pls forgive any
delays...
 The Black Tully
Chapter Summary

The Blackfish is given a chance....

Chapter Notes

Sry for the delay guys..

Ser Brynden Tully was furious. You fool, Edmure, you bloody fucking fool.

He should have seen this coming. Edmure Tully had been the Lord of Riverrun’s only son. And
because of that, Hoster Tully had doted upon the boy, never having the heart to properly scold or
chastise him. It had nearly always been him or Cat or Lysa who reprimanded Edmure, and for that
reason, the young heir to the riverlands had grown especially close to his father. And it had also
left him especially shaken when that same father was executed for treason.

Brynden had yelled and screamed at the King.

”You’re pardoning Eddard Stark AND Jon Arryn and you decree that my brother should be
EXECUTED?”

Rhaegar Targaryen looked up calmly from his chair. “Lord Eddard’s brother and father were
unjustly executed by my lord father. He also had reason to believe that his sister had been
kidnapped by me. Lord Arryn’s heir was killed by mine own sire, as were several knights from the
Vale. But pray, what injustice had been committed to the Riverlands for them to revolt?”

Brynden Tully sat back into his seat. “Nothing, I’ll grant you that. But still, how exactly do you
expect to hold the riverlands with their liege lord to be executed?”

Rhaegar smiled. “Lord Tywin has a host of twenty thousand westermen at the Golden Tooth. Lord
Redwyne is ready to depart with his fleet. At a moment’s notice, he can block the Trident and all
it’s tributaries. Lord Eddard is wed to Catelyn Tully, yes, but he won’t help you. Rebelling against
me is paramount to rebelling against his nephew. I have betrothed Viserys to Ysilla Royce, so even
if Lord Arryn decides to help you, one of the most powerful Vale families will oppose him. How
exactly do YOU hope to sustain a rebellion?”

Brynden stared at the King, for once, he had no answer. Then he decided to swallow his pride, if
that managed to save his brother. “Your Grace, I beg of you, please reconsider your decision
regarding my brother. If nothing else, at least give him the chance to take the black.”

The King shook his head. “The stability of my reign is hanging by a thread. If I let Lord Tully live,
the loyalist houses will be furious. They are already incensed by the pardons granted to Lords
Stark and Arryn. I have no choice in this matter, Ser Brynden.”
Brynden decided to make a last attempt. “So you would have a boy of nine namedays hold the
riverlands in your name?”

Rhaegar Targaryen inclined his head. “No, ser. I would have you be regent for Edmure Tully until
he comes off age.”

Ever since then, Edmure had hated Rhaegar Targaryen with a burning furiousness. But regardless
of his endless talks of vengeance and justice for his father, he had been restrained by Brynden.
Even he had to admit that Rhaegar Targaryen had done a good job of governing the realm.

If Edmure had openly rebelled, Brynden would gladly have commanded his armies. Suicide or not,
it would have been a familiar ground for Brynden Tully. He was no stranger to war, after all. But
what Edmure planned was too much for him.

He knew that the North wouldn’t sit idle. He planned on telling Cat what really transpired at the
event, and then see what she would make of it.

Edmure has thrust a cruel choice upon her. Cat must choose her husband and her children, or her
father’s family.

When he revealed himself at Moat Cailin with his two hundred most loyal men, they had given
him and his men comfortable rooms, yet Brynden didn’t need a steward to tell him that he was
being kept a prisoner.

Good. My gilded imprisonment suggests caution. Whoever is commanding the northern army isn’t
a fool.

He had spent the last two days requesting Galbart Glover to grant an audience with Cat and her
son. Glover had replied with cool courtesy, and nothing more. Brynden shook his head.

Likely he thinks me a spy, come to infiltrate the northern ranks.

The door to his room opened. Brynden looked up, expecting to see Cat or Robb Stark. Instead, with
two guards flanking him, stepped in someone whom he hadn’t thought to see ever again.

He had seen Prince Jaehaerys when he came south during the Ironborn rebellion. That time, he had
felt nothing but disdain for the Targaryen prince. But that had been before he had led the riverland
troops to rout the Ironborn near the Shield Islands. Even now, aside from being a lot thinner, the
Prince didn’t look much different than the young squire of Ser Arthur that he had been three years
ago.

”Prince Jaehaerys?”

The Prince smiled mischievously. “King Jaehaerys, if you don’t mind, ser. And I never expected to
see such a look of astonishment on the face of the great Blackfish.”

Brynden quickly schooled in his features. “Edmure told me that you we—“

”Doubtless he told you that I was dead. And doubtless you also know what really happened in
King’s Landing?”

Brynden bowed his head. “Your Grace, I had no part in what my nephew planned. You must know
that I prefer the battlefield to these unsavory tactics.”

Prince—no, King Jaehaerys frowned. “Aye, I can say that you had no part in what transpired at the
capital. But unfortunately, the Lords of The North are not so convinced about that. They think you
to be a spy, ser.”

Brynden knelt in front of the King. “While I can give no other proof but my words, Your Grace,
the only opinion that matters for me is your own.”

Jaehaerys inclined his head in thought. “So you will serve me then, Ser Brynden?”

The Blackfish lowered his head. “If I had my sword, I would swear it to you, my King. I find no joy
in betraying my nephew, yet mine own betrayal to Edmure is nothing compared to what he did with
Tywin Lannister.”

“You do realise, ser, that I will have to execute your nephew when I take the throne? Provided he
isn’t killed beforehand, that is.”

Brynden gulped down the bile in his throat. He had raised Edmure, after all, and had come to love
him like his own son. Yet, he knew the nephew he loved had died the day he gave consent to the
plan Tywin Lannister presented to him.

”Yes, Your Grace.”

King Jaehaerys smiled. “Rise, ser. Among my lords, you are the one with the most battle
experience. I have need of your counsel now.”

”I am ready to depart sage counsel whenever necessary, Your Grace.”

”What would you say when I tell you that it was Varys who helped me and my sister escape
King’s Landing?”

Brynden felt stunned. “Princ—Princess Rhaenys is alive?”

Jaehaerys nodded. “Yes. She is on her way to Dorne, to secure it as my ally.”

Brynden shook his head. “Your Grace, you say Varys helped you escape?”

”Yes.”

”Then there can only be one reason. He seeks to divide Westeros between Daemon Targaryen and
you.”

Jaehaerys smiled. “That’s what I thought as well. Which is why I have kept silent about my
survival for now. After all, Blackfyre is my enemy for all intents and purposes, and why should I
oblige my enemies?”

Brynden nodded. “So your is plan is to bide your time, Your Grace?”

The King smiled. “Aye, ser. Which is where you come in. Tell me of the situation in the
Riverlands.”

”The Blackwoods are severely against Edmure’s plan. And because of that, the Brackens have
decided to support Edmure. The Mallisters have stayed neutral, but they can be swayed to our side.
The rest, however, are firmly in the grasp of Tywin Lannister.”

”Even the Freys?”

”Even the Freys.” Brynden confirmed.

Jaehaerys remained silent for several moments before he spoke.

”Very well. Choose your smartest, most resourceful soldiers, ser. I want them to go to the
Blackwoods and the Mallisters. Some of them will also go to the Vale. My uncle Viserys is with
Ysilla Royce there, he can tell me about the position in the Vale.”

Brynden smiled. “Near all Vale lords will be yours if you reveal yourself, Your Grace.”

“How so?”

”I know Tywin Lannister. I fought beside him in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. When he was
chosen as Hand, he grasped too much power. His only friend at court was Aerys, and even that
detoriated when the Mad King became truly Mad. Aside from the westerlands, no other lord holds
any love for him, especially the Vale. They will flock to your cause if it means deposing Lord
Lannister.”

Jaehaerys shook his head. “Even so, for now I intend to remain in the shadows. I won’t throw the
dice until the odds are in my favor. I will wait and see what my uncle says about the Vale.”

Brynden frowned. “You trust your uncle, Your Grace?”

The King shook his head. “I trust no one but my cousin and myself. But my uncle Viserys is an
extremely capable man, and besides, from what I remember of him, he used to hero worship my
father. He will be furious to learn that the Lannisters killed his favourite brother.”

Brynden nodded. “I shall see the tasks done, Your Grace. I will personally deliver the message to
your uncle.”

”No.”

Brynden stared. “No, Your Grace?”

The King held out a piece of paper. “No, ser. I have another task in mind for you.”
 The Valyrian Princess
Chapter Summary

Daenerys joins the game....

Chapter Notes

I can’t guarantee my update schedule, but I will post chaps as regularly as I can...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Princess Daenerys Targaryen stared at the scroll in front of her, frowning before handing it back to
Ser Jon Darry of the Kingsguard.

Why on earth would Brynden Blackfish come to Dragonstone?

She had assumed that the Tullys would be preparing to face the Blackfyre Pretender, and a general
with the reputation of the Blackfish would be expected to be at the frontlines, not at the ancient
dragonlord’s holdfast.

Has he come to take charge of Dragonstone’s defence?

For the past fortnight, Dragonstone had been preparing for battle. The Golden Company had
landed in Maidenpool, and soon had seized Duskendale and Rosby. Lord Tywin was preparing his
westermen and riverland troops to meet the Company on the field. Orders had come from Lord
Tywin, the Hand of the King, to fortify the ancient citadel, in case Blackfyre attempted to attack
Dragonstone.

Lord Tywin had sent five hundred men to Dragonstone, of which ten had taken to follow her day
and night along with Ser Jon. They were presumably present there for Dany’s safety, but she knew
that in reality, they were there to ensure she didn’t create any trouble for Daemon.

The ten soldiers had become a massive annoyance for Dany. They prevented her from riding round
the beaches of Dragonstone, or from roaming the markets and stalls outside the keep. They
guarded her room day and night, and even prevented Aurane Waters from entering during the
night. Dany had taken the Velaryon bastard as her lover, and she failed to understand what harm he
could do to her other than licking her cunt dry.

She still remembered her discussion with her brother Rhaegar regarding her marriage prospects. It
had taken a week’s worth of yelling, a smashed ivory table and a pudding thrown at her brother to
drive home the fact that she would marry of her own choice.

During the last instance, Dany had feared she had crossed the line. As the pudding dripped down
Rhaegar’s black doublet, she had dreaded Rhaegar ordering Ser Barristan to throw her in the Black
Cells.
Instead, after a long moment of silence, Rhaegar had given her one of his rare grins.

”You remind me of Lady Lyanna.” He had said, and ever since then, had left her alone concerning
betrothals. Fresh tears welled up in Dany’s eyes at the thought of her dead brother.

I hope the Blackfyre boy rots in the choicest portion of the seven hells.

She looked at the silent knight of the Kingsguard, standing dutifully beside her. “What do you
think, Ser Darry?”

The knight was silent for so long that Dany thought he hadn’t heard her. Then he spoke.

”I’d say to take a look, my princess. He might be the real Blackfish, or an impostor disguised as an
assassin. If so, you have eleven veterans to protect you, whereas he will only be one man.”

Dany teased the knight with mock wonder. “I never would have realised myself to be worth so
much, ser.” She said, her voice playful. The knight didn’t answer.

So grim.. no wonder the man took the white cloak. No maiden would ever want such a grim and
humorless man.

If truth be told, Dany didn’t much like Ser Darry. She had preferred Loras Tyrell guarding her. Not
only did the boy blush very prettily whenever teased by Dany, but he had also grown up to be one
of her friends. She had even considered seducing him, but ultimately decided against it, due to the
rumours of his preferences.

That is another life Blackfyre will have to answer for.

“Ask the steward to send the man in, ser. After all, what is life without a bit of suspense?” Dany
seated herself upon the driftwood throne in the Hall, while Ser Jon bowed and left to give her order
to the steward. Her ten protectors arranged themselves around her, ready for any attempts on her
life.

A few minutes later the steward came, with Ser Darry on his tail. “Ser Brynden Tully, former Lord
Regent of Riverrun. With him, His daughter, Dorea Waters.”

Dany frowned. The Blackfish has a bastard daughter?

Two people walked in, a man in chainmail and a hooded woman. The man had a craggy, lined
face, with a beard that had more salt than pepper. The woman’s face was hidden behind her hood,
but, Dany noted, she had a body that would make any man’s head turn.

“So, you claim to be Ser Brynden Tully?”

The man knelt. “I do, my princess.”

”And do you have proof?”

The man smiled. “I do, Your Grace.” Then he turned to the hooded woman with a nod.

The woman removed her hood. Upon seeing her face, both Dany and Ser Darry gasped out.
Immediately, the ten men surrounding her unsheathed their swords, and rounded on the White
Cloak. Before Darry could even get his sword out of his scabbard, the ten men smashed their
sword hilts on the man’s head. Darry slumped, unconscious, and fell to the ground.

”Enough, boys.” The man claiming to be the Blackfish spoke with a firm, clear voice. The ten men
stopped, and once again assumed their position at the foot in front of the throne.

But Dany barely noticed what happened. Her eyes were fixed upon the now unhooded woman.
Slowly, she got up from the driftwood throne, before bursting out in giddy, breathless laughter. She
ran towards the woman before engulfing her in a furious hug.

Princess Rhaenys, her niece, fellow courtier and best friend, returned her hug with equal
ferociousness. Dany felt tears of joy brimming in her eyes.

“Rhae, oh by the gods, Rhae, is it really you?”

Her niece laughed. “Unless I have a twin sister hidden somewhere Dany, yes, it’s me.”

Dany hugged her again. “By the gods, Rhae, I thought you were dead. What in the name of fuck
happened?”

Rhaenys’ face darkened. “Tywin Lannister is what happened. He is the one responsible for what
happened at the capital. Lannister soldiers attacked us during the feast. And now Daemon sits the
throne. Such a lucky boy.”

Dany felt as if Aegon the Conqueror had come from the grave and slapped her. “Daemon would
never harm Egg, you know that, Rhae. Gods, he was like Egg’s pet puppy, always following him
wherever he went. How can you believe he would do something like that?”

Rhae scowled. “Does it matter? Now Daemon is just a puppet, with Tywin and that lion bitch
pulling the strings.”

Dany shook her head. “No it doesn’t matter. What does is that you’ve miraculously come back
from the dead, and now I have the extreme pleasure of hosting you at Dragonstone.”

She turned to the Blackfish. “Doubtless you want to speak with me privately. Come, I will escort
you both to the solar.”

Rhaenys looked at the slouched form of Jon Darry. “What of Ser Jon?”

The Blackfish’s face was grim. “He saw you, Princess Rhaenys. And we can’t be sure about his
loyalty, Kingsguard or no. He will have to die. The King’s orders were clear. I need to do what
needs be done.”

Despite the sudden sickness in her stomach, Dany’s heart leapt up. “The King? Rhaegar is alive?”

Rhaenys looked at her strangely. “We need to talk privately, Dany.”

Daenerys nodded, for once, she felt dead serious. She lead the Blackfish and her niece to the solar,
while the ten men got to work on Jon Darry’s tragic demise. Even though Dany held no love for
the man, he had been innocent. She wanted to protest, but her curiosity regarding her resurrected
niece was more.

When they reached the solar, Dany dismissed the servants before bidding her two guests to sit.
“Now, tell me what you meant when you said ‘king’, ser.”

Rhaenys studied her face for a few moments before speaking. “Jae is the King now.”

Jae? Jae is alive? What on earth? Next they’ll tell me mother is alive.

Dany felt stunned. When she heard about the supposed death of her nephews, she had grieved. Yet,
 she had been more close to Jae than to Aegon. The Crown Prince had inherited her brother’s
nature, with a melancholy and brooding attitude. Jae had been more to her liking, with his ever
present sarcasm and teasing nature.

Now that nephew is my king? The nephew with whom I dumped sheep shit on Egg’s head?

Dany shook her head. “I—I don’t know what to say, Rhae.”

Rhaenys grinned at her. “Are you sure you didn’t die? I never would have guessed the great
Daenerys Targaryen to be at a loss for words.”

Dany swatted her arm playfully. “Shut up. Now, there must be a reason for you to come all this
way, isn’t there?”

The Blackfish spoke up. “Yes, my princess. King Jaehaerys instructed me to send this note to you.”
The knight drew out a paper from within his mail. “He told me it is meant only for your eyes, my
princess.”

Dany took the note from the Blackfish. But before she could read the note, Rhae spoke up.

”I also need one of Dragonstone’s ships for a discreet journey to Dorne.”

Dany looked up. “Dorne?”

Rhae nodded. “Yes. To secure it as an ally.”

Dany thought for a moment before nodding in response. “I’ll arrange it. Now, let me read what my
dear nephew has written to me.”

The note was rather short.

To my dear aunt,

I wish I could write many words of greeting. But I can’t. Burn this note immediately after you read
it. I have informers throughout the realm. Viserys is already reporting to me, and the riverlands
are on the brink of civil war. The only place where I don’t have a reliable source of information is
the capital. Most lords have confirmed that Lord Tywin has left the capital behind to meet the
Blackfyre boy on the field. Go to King’s Landing, Dany. Write. Write to me about their plans, their
movements. Every single detail. Give your reports to one of your ten guards. They are in the
Blackfish’s employ. Stay safe.

Your beloved nephew,

Jaehaerys Targaryen

Dany felt a smile playing on her lips. “Whatever Jae is, he isn’t a fool.”

She looked up at Rhaenys. “I’m taking my fastest ship to King’s Landing. I don’t think aught
would be amiss if the ship got caught in a storm on it’s journey back. Why, ships disappear in
storms all the time. Imagine my surprise, when the ship lost in a storm turns up in Dorne. With my
niece and a knight with it.”

Chapter End Notes

As much as people like to clamor me bout it, no , there won’t be jon/dany
 The Wolf Pup
Chapter Summary

Benjen completes his mission...

Chapter Notes

Note: In this AU Benjen didn’t join the night’s watch

Benjen Stark turned away from the spray of water coming from the side of the ship. The
Mermaid’s Daughter was a trading galley that had docked at Seagard, the stronghold of the
Mallisters. It had been bound for Lannisport, but a few golden dragons and a dagger at the
captain’s throat had convinced him to dock at the Iron Islands.

He very clearly remembered what his King had asked of him.

”Turn Balon Greyjoy to our side. We need him. Make him feel proud, needed, make him feel as
though he is our saviour. Swallow your pride if needs be, uncle.”

Benjen shook his head. “You were the spearhead that gutted Greyjoy’s rebellion. Lord Balon is an
old man bent on holding grudges. I doubt he would help you, just for the sake of his pride.”

Jae had grinned at him. “You would be surprised by just how soon people throw away pride and
honour into a shithole if they sense profit, uncle.”

He then got up from his chair. “Do your best to convince him, uncle. It would be easy for us if
Lord Balon leads the Ironborn. But if the man refuses our offer, then...well, old men suffer
accidents all the time. With Balon dead, why, Theon would be Lord of Iron Islands.” He smiled at
Benjen. “As it happens, Theon Greyjoy is with us. So lucky, aren’t we?”

He had spent the entire journey south to Seagard thinking what exactly he would say to Lord
Balon. He had even asked Jae. Together, uncle and nephew had spent hour after hour planning
about his meeting with Greyjoy. Benjen was impressed. Jae had grown into a man. The
mischievous boy who had reminded him so much of Lyanna was still there, but a mature and
cunning part had also grown into him.

Both he and Ned had been anxious when they received the news of the boy’s fostering. Ben had
expected a silver haired, purple eyed melancholy boy. Instead, they got a dark haired, grey eyed
boy, with such a sarcarstic and cynical nature that even Ned had laughed at the boy’s statements.

You failed, Rhaegar. You wanted a Visenya? Well, the gods shoved a finger into your arse. Now,
you have a laughing and talking Lyanna reborn, and a reminder of how you destroyed her life.

When they had reached Seagard, Lord Mallister had promptly sworn his lands and lordship to Jae,
and then proceeded to send a raven to Pyke telling them about Benjen’s coming. There had been no
answer. Either the ravens hadn’t reached Pyke at all, or Lord Balon hadn’t bothered to answer. He
had a feeling in his heart he knew which.

The captain emerged from the belowdecks and walked up to Benjen. “We’re nearing Lordsport,
m’lord. We should be there within an hour. And I should like to have the gold m’lord promised
me.”

Benjen smiled. “Do you also remember the sword in your throat I promised if you annoy me too
much?”

The man paled. “But — But we’ve reached Lordsport, m’lord.”

Benjen turned away from him. “By your own words, we are an hour away from the port. You’ll
get your gold when we reach, not before. Now scurry away.” He waved the man off with a flick of
his hand.

It took the better part of three hours before the ship docked at the central port of the Iron Islands.
Benjen looked around. There were no envoys, guards or escorts. Only smallfolk going about their
business.

He jumped down the galley plank, and tossed the captain a fat purse of gold. The man fumbled
with it, before saluting him and turning back to his ship.

Benjen saw an inn at the corner of the port. He was about to go there to ask the innkeep for
directions when he heard someone call him from behind.

”Stark.”

Benjen turned around to see the most hideous face he had ever looked upon. A half part of his face
had been cleaved away, leaving his face nothing but two eyes and a hideously twisted lip.

Benjen’s hand dropped instinctively to his dagger. “Who are you?”

The man looked at him, unimpressed. “I don’t give me name to the likes of you, Stark.”

Benjen frowned. “And what makes you think I’m a Stark?”

The man’s face twisted into a disgusting grin. “You smell of the green lands. That, and the
hundred ravens sent to Pyke about your arrival.”

The man turned away from him and walked towards a rutted cart track. Two donkeys were saddled
near, and the man mounted one. “Best follow quickly, pup. Lord Balon ain’t no servant, to await
your pleasure.”

Benjen hurriedly followed the man, and mounted his donkey. And they set off.

They rode in silence. Benjen wasn’t much inclined for a conversation with the man, and it seemed
the fellow thought the same about Ben. The road twisted and turned, often disappearing amidst
tufts of devilgrass. The ride to Pyke took another three hours, and by the time they reached the
Greyjoy stronghold, it was night. Ben could smell the salt in the air, and the crashing sound of
waves against stone filled his ears.

The man dismounted and led his horse to the closed portcullis. After a lot of shouting, the
portcullis was raised and the man went through. Benjen took a deep breath, then followed.
I failed Lya, I will NOT fail her son.

The thought of turning tail and informing Jae that he had failed to convince Lord Balon was
something that filled him with shame.

They entered the castle through a drawn archway, and then climbed steps after steps. When they
reached the top of the tower, they had to walk through a bridge connecting another tower. Like that
they walked and walked, until Ben thought his legs would fall off.

Finally, they walked into another tower and came upon a door flanked by two guards. The man
nodded at them before turning to Ben. “Stay here, pup.” And then he opened the door and walked
inside.

Ben waited for nearly ten minutes, before the man came out of the door, grinning. “Lord Balon
will see you now, pup. Best say your prayers, you’re not like to survive this.”

Ben walked through the door and entered the room. He found Balon Greyjoy sitting near the
window, looking at the foaming sea beyond.

“Lord Balon.”

Greyjoy turned his head and looked at Ben. His gaunt, flinty eyes were blazing with contempt.
“You are either very brave or very foolish to come here alone, Stark.”

Benjen shrugged. “I’d prefer to be neither, my lord. Both being brave and being foolish hasn’t done
my family much good these past years.”

Balon stared at him. “By rights, you should be rotting in my dungeons. Why are you here?”

”Because King Jaehaerys has need of you.”

Greyjoy smiled. “So, the cub has survived the slaughter. And why, pray, would I help the boy who
cut down my own sons?”

“Jaehaerys didn’t kill your sons.”

”No, but he would have done for them just the same. Right now, I have received an offer from
Tywin Lannister. Commit my fleet against Blackfyre, and I will get gold and fame. The Blackfyre
boy has also made an offer. Commit my fleet to his cause, and I will get gold and fame. What else
would your precious boy king give me, Stark?”

Benjen smiled inwardly. The conversation was going exactly as planned by him and Jae.

”Tell me, my lord, why exactly did you rebel? For the empty vanity of a crown, or to see the return
of the Old Ways?”

Balon Greyjoy stilled. He stared at Benjen, silent. His silence was all the answer Benjen needed.

”Just as I thought. Lord Tywin and Blackfyre can give you gold, glory, fame, but they cannot give
you what you want.”

Greyjoy snorted. “Do you think me a fool? Do you truly expect me to believe that your boy king
will allow us to rape and plunder like the ironborn of the old?”

Ben shook his head. “No. Those days are gone. When the seven kingdoms were divided, you could
have done that. But when Aegon the Conqueror united Westeros, it was impossible for you to do
that.”

Benjen began walking round the room. “But, I know for a fact that it was the dream of every
Greyjoy to restore the ironborn to it’s former glory. Fight for us, and you can have the riverlands.”

That surprised Greyjoy. “The entire riverlands?”

Benjen scoffed. “Of couse not. But the Freys, the Brackens, the Tullys have betrayed their rightful
king. When we win, you can have all their lands, excepting Riverrun.”

Balon raised an eyebrow. “And why should I fight for the boy when the North is ripe for
plucking?”

Benjen shrugged. “What is there in the north? Stones? Snow? Hairy wenches? If you join us, you
get to fight the westerlands, stormlands, riverlands. Fertile regions, all of them. You can plunder
and rape all you like, so long as they are our enemies.”

For a long moment, Balon Greyjoy didn’t answer. But then, he spoke. “Your offer has merit, Stark.
I accept. But know this, I will never grovel at that boy’s feet, like the lickspittles at court. I am
ironborn, we bow to no one.”

”I didn’t ask for your grovelling, I asked for your fleet.”

Greyjoy waved a hand at him. “Follow me.”

They walked into another room. At the centre, there was a table. And on that table, there were
maps of westerlands, riverlands, and the entire Westeros.

Balon walked to the map of the riverlands. “I suppose your boy king wants me to attack the
riverlands?”

Ben shook his head. “No. Why fuck a whore when you can fuck a highborn beauty?”

Greyjoy frowned. “Where else, then?”

Ben walked over to the map of the westerlands. He smiled.

”Casterly Rock.”
 The Dwarf of Casterly Rock
Chapter Summary

Tyrion meets a dragon..

Chapter Notes

Sry for the delay...

Tyrion Lannister patted Daemon on the shoulder. The boy was sobbing, his head in his hands.
Tyrion let the boy cry his fill, before moving forward to crack a joke, anything to make the boy
smile. But before he could do so, a voice interrupted him.

”You shouldn’t be wasting your tears on them, Daemon. They’re dead and gone, nothing can
change that.”

Both uncle and nephew turned to see Queen Dowager Cersei Lannister standing at the doorway.
Wearing a robe of bottle green, with a low plunging neckline, she looked positively stunning.

Tyrion rose from the chair on which he was sitting. “Hark who’s talking, sister. As if you don’t cry
rivers during the night.”

Cersei looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Rhaegar Targaryen could have been a perfect husband,
if he deigned to look up from his scrolls, and the deaths of the Martell woman and the Stark girl.”

Tyrion grinned. “And yet, I remember a certain golden lioness wetting her smallclothes when a
certain silver haired prince entered the room.“

Cersei smiled. “How droll. And you seem to have forgotten that there is no Prince Aegon or Prince
Jaehaerys to hide behind anymore. Who will protest when I have you thrown into the Black
Cells?”

Tyrion made a show of looking shocked. “Why, the good people of King’s Landing will surely
protest against the unlawful arrest of their favourite dashing, handsome, kind and benevolent
dwarf?”

Daemon, sobbing forgotten, had been watching the interaction with a grin. Seeing that, Cersei
rounded upon him. “What is this, Daemon? Is this kingly behaviour? Crying and grinning like a
fool?”

Whatever progress Tyrion had made with Daemon, Cersei destroyed with her tongue. Daemon
looked close to crying once more.

Tyrion scoffed. “And where is it written in stone that kings do not laugh or cry? And why, pray,
did you come here? Other than to reduce your son to tears, that is?”
Cersei stared down at him, contempt shining in her green eyes. “I don’t answer to you, dwarf.”

Tyrion inclined his head. “Actually, you do. The Hand of The King outranks the Queen Dowager.”

Cersei’s nostrils flared. “I am the Queen Regent!”

Tyrion smiled. “Has the small council elected you as regent, then? And has that decision been
approved by the Hand? I don’t think so. Last time I checked, I received no missive declaring so.
How, then, are you styling yourself Queen Regent?”

Cersei looked livid. Still, that expression was nothing compared to the look she had when Lord
Tywin told her that he was leaving Tyrion as acting Hand of The King. He had barely managed to
stop himself from guffawing at her outraged expression. His duties consisted of trying to soothe
suspicious lords and trying to counter his sister’s methods to demean him. With all that, it was a
miracle he managed to find time to talk with his nephew, who had locked himself up due to grief
for his dead siblings.

”Princess Daenerys Targaryen is set to arrive in King’s Landing by ship within the hour.” Cersei’s
voice was flat, all rage gone.

That took Tyrion by surprise. “Daenerys Targaryen? She is supposed to be in Dragonstone.”

Before Cersei could answer, Daemon spoke up, voice laced with hope. “Dany? Dany is coming
here?”

Cersei turned to her son. “Yes. And you will not be there to greet her.”

Daemon pouted. “But I haven’t seen her ages.” He turned to Tyrion, looking for support. “Uncle?”

Tyrion shook his head. “No. It’s about time you start taking your kingly duties seriously. Go out,
talk with the lords, hold court, exchange pleasantries. They need to see you, or they’ll think you
dead too.”

Daemon gave him a betrayed look. For a moment, it seemed as though he would refuse, but then he
nodded, albeit sullenly.

Tyrion turned to Cersei. “I’ll go and greet Princess Daenerys.” He gave her a mock bow, before
leaving her with her son.

When he returned to the Tower of the Hand, he chose five of his household guard to accompany
him to the docks. He also ordered a litter, guessing that Princess Daenerys would prefer going in
the litter than riding through the stinking city.

When they reached the docks, there was no sign of any ship. His father had closed off the port, due
to the Golden Company’s fleet loitering around Blackwater Bay. He wondered what his lord father
was doing now. The raven had come a fortnight ago, saying that the Golden Company had left
Duskendale, marching south to King’s Landing, his father had taken command of the Royal Army,
and marched north to meet Blackfyre on the field.

He was jolted from his idle wonderings when distant shouts reached his ears. As he looked on, a
ship took shape near the horizon.

The Dragon’s Fury had to be the best of Dragonstone’s fleet. Painted gold, and slashed with black
and red, it proudly flew the three headed dragon banner. It’s hull, a roaring dragon’s head, made
for quite the fearsome sight. The gangplank was lowered and ten men in chainmail stepped
forward, clearly acting as guards. Behind them walked out Princess Daenerys Targaryen.

The Princess was a classical Valyrian beauty. With flowing silver hair, violet eyes, full breasts and
wide hips, she would have made any man’s head turn in circles. Tyrion waddled up to her.

”Good day, Princess. I am Tyrion Lannister, acting Hand of The King.”

Daenerys’ amethyst eyes locked on to him, scrutinising him. He suddenly felt self-conscious.
Then, the Princess dropped into a flawless curtsey. “My lord, I am honoured that a man as
esteemed as you would think to bother himself with me. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you.”

Tyrion smiled. “You are indeed one of a kind, princess. It’s not everyday that I find someone
enjoying the company of a dwarf.”

Daenerys smiled at him in response. “Most people are fools, my lord.”

Tyrion bowed. “On that, we agree. Doubtless you are tired from the long journey. Rooms have
been prepared for you in the Dragonfort.” Tyrion looked around. “Where is Ser Jonothor, princess?
He was with you, I was informed.”

The princess shrugged. “You have a vacancy in the Kingsguard, my lord. The Blackfish came to
Dragonstone to take charge of it’s defence. Said he anticipated an attack there. You know the
enmity between Darrys and Tullys. Ser Brynden accused Ser Jon of treachery, gave him a trial and
executed him.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “And you did nothing?”

Daenerys looked at him with an amused expression. “What was I to do? The Blackfish did provide
irrefutable proof. Too much so, in my opinion. I’d say Ser Jon was being framed. But I can hardly
tell that to Ser Brynden.”

Tyrion frowned inwardly. What she said about the feud between the Tullys and the Darrys was
true. Ever since the Stag’s Rebellion, the Darrys had expected to be rewarded with Riverrun, for
staying loyal to the crown. However, Rhaegar had let House Tully remain as Lord Paramount of
the Riverlands, which created an never ending petty quarrel between House Darry and House
Tully.

But if the Blackfish truly did frame Ser Jon....

Tyrion forced a smile on his face. “I’ll look into the matter. Now, princess, your litter awaits.”

Princess Daenerys boarded the litter while Tyrion mounted his pony. On the way back, he looked
down, mind working furiously. Why was Daenerys Targaryen here? He had learned enough from
his father to know that everyone did everything for a reason. What reason did Daenerys have to
come to King’s Landing?

Is it a coincidence that Daenerys came the very day after Lord Tywin left the capital? No. First
rule of the game: you’re not allowed to believe in coincidences.

Why would Daenerys try to avoid Lord Tywin? Unless she was hiding something...his father could
smell out lies like a hound could smell blood.

Tyrion shook his head. I have no evidence that she avoided my father. Even then, can I really
blame her? Tywin Lannister isn’t known for his pleasurable company.
When they reached the Dragonfort, Tyrion requested the honour of escorting the princess to the
keep. She consented, her face an expressionless mask.

Their walk to her rooms was marked in silence.

“How fares my nephew, Lord Tyrion?” Daenerys’ voice broke the silence.

”His Grace is grievously sad of what happened. None more than he wants vengeance for his dead
siblings.”

Something glinted in the princess’ eyes. “I have no doubt. Now, tell me, my lord. To what do I owe
the pleasure of your company? Is it because you have decided to keep an eye on me, or has your
sister ordered you to do so?” Her voice was teasing.

Tyrion laughed. “The former, I’m afraid. And keeping an eye on you is proving to be a very
pleasant task indeed.”

Daenerys’ playful laughter joined his own. “I must say, of all the things that I expected a dwarf to
be, a flawless flirter was not one of them.”

Tyrion grinned. “What can I say, princess. I keep surprising everyone.”

They reached her rooms. The porter came and placed her things while a steward introduced her to
the servants and her accommodations. After the room was ready, she turned to Tyrion. “Will you
join me for a cup of wine, my lord?”

”It will be my pleasure, princess.”

She poured him a cup of Dornish Red, and for herself she poured Arbor Gold. Tyrion moved
forward, schooling his expression into a blank face. “I’m going to be honest, princess. Why are you
here?”

Daenerys’ expression was teasing. “Now, now, if we’re going to play, you’re going to have to
follow the rules too. I ask a question, you give me an answer. You ask me a question, I give you an
answer.”

Tyrion cocked his head. “Very well. You first.”

Daenerys took a sip of wine, before speaking. “What happened to Eddard Stark and his daughters?
I exchanged a few letters with the eldest Stark girl, she was my pen friend. I am curious about her
fate.”

Tyrion shrugged. “We didn’t find their bodies. Every other, we found. Prince Jaehaerys and
Princess Rhaenys’ bodies were too bloody to be identified, but they were the same. Prince Aegon
and Oberyn we found, as also Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan.”

In truth, Eddard Stark and her daughters were being held hostage in Maegor’s Holdfast, but he
wasn’t about to tell that to the princess.

”My next question. Do you think we will be able to defeat the Blackfyre boy?”

Tyrion shrugged once more. “It depends. Blackfyre is a young man. His confidence and boldness
will be more than his wiseness or his caution. If the former, then my father will thrash him. If both
former and latter, then we have a fight up our sleeves.”
Daenerys’ moved to speak again, but Tyrion raised a hand. “Now, it’s my turn, princess. You owe
me two answers.” Tyrion paused took a sip of wine, then spoke. “Why di—“

He was interrupted due to the door banging open. A man in chainmail burst into the room.
“M’lord! The steward said I’d find you here.”

”Yes, you’ve found me. What is it?”

”They’ve captured Storm’s End, m’lord.”

 The Black Dragon
Chapter Summary

Haegon rolls the dice..

Chapter Notes

Bet you didn’t expect this POV..

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Haegon II Blackfyre, Second of His Name, felt his apprehension rise. Everything, he had hinged
everything upon chance. But then again, the fact that his decision stunned most of his generals
bode well for his plan.

They weren’t expecting that. That means the Lannisters won’t expect it too. Good. Never do what
your enemy expects you to do.

Lord Tywin expected him to march on King’s Landing, the seat of power, with all his strength. He
expected Haegon to take advantage of his elephants, something which no cavalry charge could
destroy. Haegon had no doubt that Tywin Lannister had some master plan to counter the Golden
Company’s elephants.

He had barely managed to stop himself from laughing at the sickened expression on Harry
Strickland’s face. Doubtless the Commander of The Golden Company had expected a puppet king,
something to be controlled and guided. At eighteen years of age, Haegon had seen and done more
than Strickland had in his entire life. He had been raised to play the game.

“The Golden Company’s total strength numbers to thirty thousand men, of which ten thousand are
mounted. We also have a hundred war elephants. I will split my force. Fifteen thousand men, of
which five thousand horse and rest infantry, will stay and give battle to Tywin Lannister. The rest
will set sail south with me to capture Storm’s End. We will strike the enemy where they least
expect us to.”

The room was silent. Half the generals looked stunned, the other half just coming to the realisation
that their king was no fool.

As expected, Strickland was the first to protest. “Your-Your Grace, this...this is too much of a risk.
We are throwing all our momentum away for a chance strike?”

Haegon smiled. “I must congratulate you upon your extremely astute observation, my lord. Yes, we
are attacking Storm’s End.”

Strickland seemed to gain courage from somewhere. His voice now was more steady, sure. “Your
Grace, this plan is fraught with dangers. What if a storm comes while our fleet is sailing through
Shipbreaker Bay? What if the garrison sights us? We all know that we have no chance of taking
Storm’s End with all it’s defences prepared.”

Haegon stared at Strickland. “My lord, I am well aware of the risks that come with this plan. Now
—“

Strickland moved to interrupt him. Haegon raised a hand. “You forget yourself, my lord. I am
King and you are my general, you have no right to interrupt me while I am speaking.”

Strickland sat down, abashed. The other generals looked at Haegon, waiting for him to speak.

Haegon got up from his chair, back straight, looking every inch a king. “Our spies tell us that
Lord Tywin has left the capital to give battle to us, upon hearing that we have left Duskendale.
Now, tell me, my lords, do you expect a general of Tywin Lannister’s calibre to not have a plan
regarding our elephants?”

Once more, complete silence regarded his question. Haegon continued.

”I will not expose all my elephants to whatever it is Lannister plans without knowing nothing.
Fifteen of the hundred elephants will remain with the force that is to engage Lord Tywin. Let him
spring whatever trap he has made. Next time, he won’t catch us off guard. Am I clear?”

A torrent of ‘Yes, Your Grace’ greeted Haegon. Satisfied, he nodded and left the tent.

The memory of the command tent still made Haegon anxious. What if his plan truly failed? What
if Shipbreaker Bay lived up to its name? What if the garrison at Storm’s End sighted them?

The splash of oars woke Haegon to his surroundings. Only one lamp glinted at the mast of the
ship, casting a miniscule light. Haegon had ordered only one lamp to be lighted in each ship.
Darkness is our best ally.

Haegon could hear the gentle splash of oars from behind him as the rest of the fleet followed the
flag ship. In the distance, the outline of Storm’s End could be seen if looked closely. Everywhere
else was pitch blank darkness, the time was barely an hour past midnight. The choice to attack
during the night had been unanimous, everyone had agreed that nighttime was the best chance they
had for stealth.

They were nearing the shore now. The high and vast outline of the walls of Storm’s End could be
easily distinguished from the darkness now. Beside him, Haegon’s squire handed him his dragon
helm.

Haegon’s armour was coloured complete crimson, near his chest, drawn with ink black colour,
roared a three headed dragon. A Black Dragon.

Instead of drums signalling the men to dismount, a sudden screech filled the air. It was made by an
Essosi instrument, created in Volantis. Every ship had one. It was the prearranged signal to get off
from the ships.

All around him, the ship came to life. Archers strung their quivers round the shoulders,
infantrymen drew their swords and the spearmen hefted their heavy shields. As soon as the entire
ship jolted upon reaching the ground, the men dismounted and moved. Haegon would have been
with them, but his lords had told him that it was safer to let the first wave attack before joining the
fight.

No one made any sound. The Golden Company’s soldiers were fast, quick, efficient. He could see
the dark outlines of the men of the first wave beginning to near the massive walls of the castle.
And none of the soldiers know they’re being attacked. Excellent.

Haegon waited. He waited and listened, listened for the sound of horns, horns waking up the
sleeping garrison from sleep.

But no such horns sounded. All around him, men surged forward, with only a glint of light in front
of them. And then, there it was. In the distant, deep darkness, suddenly a torch came to life. The
light swung left and right, three times and Haegon heard a great creaking sound. The sign was
clear.

The gates of Storm’s End had been opened.

Haegon mounted his blood bay courser, and then, at the head of the cavalry, rode straight for the
open gates of the castle. Inside, Haegon found no real fight waiting for him. The men who scaled
the walls had taken care of most of the fighting men. When Haegon and his cavalry rode in, several
men were trying to form a resistance. A futile hope, for they were already surrounded. Some of
them dropped down their arms and knelt, but most of them charged. Haegon left his men to their
slaughter and looked around.

All around him, men were throwing down their weapons and surrendering. Aside from the band of
men trying to fight, Haegon didn’t see any resistance. He felt a smile growing on his face.

They had won. He had thrown the dice and waited, and the gamble had paid off. Let’s hope I’ve
given Lord Tywin some sleepless nights. Or even better, fodder for nightmares.

It was nearing dawn when all the work was completed. The prisoners were herded off to the
stables and the outer practise yard. His men joked and jested with each other as they went about
their work. All around him, Haegon heard phrases of ‘A true dragon, this king’ and felt pride swell
within him. His plan had worked.

But he didn’t sit idle and rejoice. He got to work with his men, posting sentries, assigning guard
shifts, drawing out patrol timetables. All in all, it was near midday when he saw Ser Franklyn
Flowers walking up to him, with a toothy grin on his face.

”Yer Grace! The lords and captains have assembled in the courtyard. They be waiting for ya, my
lord.”

Haegon nodded and followed him. The entrance to the courtyard was surrounded with men
wearing golden armour. All of their faces split into smiles upon seeing him. Some bowed, some
knelt, others clapped their hands on his shoulders.

They believe in me now. All their life, they have served a spineless commander and now they’re
fighting for a cause. A true, just cause. The cause to put the descendant of the King Who Should
Have Been on the throne.

At the centre of the courtyard, the main lords and captains had formed a circle. Haegon stepped
into it, then looked around. He spotted Strickland at his back, face expressionless.

”Your Grace, I must congratulate you on your victory. It was a fine plan, none of us ever doubted
it.” Some nameless lord spoke, and immediately a torrent of congratulations followed. Haegon
nodded and smiled patiently, and waited for the clamouring to die down.

Strickland had been silent, voicing no congratulation. “What now, Your Grace?”

Haegon composed himself. “I want the men to disperse in all direction, and secure every castle and
holdfast of the stormlands. Storm’s End will be our base of retreat should any part of the invasion
go wrong. And Varys—where is Lord Varys?”

A whiff of powdery scent filled his nose. Haegon turned around to see the bald, jowly face of
Varys in front of him. The man knelt.

“Rise.”

As soon as Varys rose, the eunuch fixed his eyes upon Haegon. As always, he felt uneasy. The very
presence of Varys made him uneasy. Of all the people under his command, Varys was the one
person he couldn’t understand. Haegon hated not understanding.

”I believe you had need of my services, Your Grace?”

Haegon nodded. “Yes. Engage your little birds. I need to know what happened to the army I left
behind to deal with Lannister.”

He turned to the lords. “We will send ravens to the Reach. Tell them that they have ten days to
swear fealty to me. If they haven’t, we will attack on the eleventh day. That is what we will write
in the raven. What we shall really do is, should they not swear fealty, we will attack on the very
morn of the tenth day. Understood?”

Again, a storm of ‘Ayes’ reached Haegon. Nodding, he dismissed all of them. Then he turned to
Varys. “Lord Varys. A word in private, if you please.”

Without waiting for an answer, Haegon turned and left the courtyard. On the way, he asked the
castle’s maester to show him the way to the solar. When he reached the room, Haegon poured
himself a cup of wine, and waited. Varys came a few minutes later.

”What word of Jaehaerys Targaryen, my lord?”

Varys cocked his head. “It seems as though the prince has decided not to parade around his
survival then.”

Haegon grunted. “Then the prince is bloody smart. He knows why you helped him, and he knows
we’re his enemy. I had been counting on a divided Westeros, but it seems as though I’ll have to
fight a united one.”

Varys tittered. “But, Your Grace, Westeros is already divided. The north is silent, the reach is
silent, Dorne is silent.”

”You think the’ve sworn themselves to Prince Jaehaerys? Even Dorne?”

Varys shrugged. “It could be possible, Your Grace. But my birds have been ominously silent on
this matter.”

Haegon cursed inwardly. Once more, he wished Aegon Targaryen had survived and Jaehaerys
Targaryen had been killed. By all accounts, the Crown Prince had been a dreamy fool like his
father, but Jaehaerys Targaryen was proving to be quite the tough foe.

Instead of rushing out and declaring himself to all the lords of Westeros, the prince had held back
his cards. This suggests a patient mind.

He flicked his hand at Varys. “Very well. Look into the matter, Lord Varys.”
 Varys bowed and was about to exit, when the door burst open. An officer entered the room.

”Your Grace! The maester just received a raven. Casterly Rock and Lannisport has been sacked by
ships flying Greyjoy banners. And a force of twenty thousand northmen have captured Golden
Tooth and Ashenmark.”

Haegon smiled. “It seems, Lord Varys, King Jaehaerys Targaryen has decided to join the game.”

Chapter End Notes

For those who didn’t understand : Haegon basically did what Robb does in AGOT.
One half of his force meets Tywin, the other half captures the stormlands and raids the
reach. I know it was risky, but as Tyrion said, Haegon is young. His plan will have
more boldness and caution.

Edit : Next chapter will take some time, maybe a week? Sorry for the possible delay
 The Lord of The Seven Kingdoms
Chapter Summary

Jae makes a decision..

Chapter Notes

Lots of crucial foreshadowing in this chap...read carefully..

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Darkness. Everywhere around him, Jaehaerys saw complete darkness. But he wasn’t disturbed the
slightest. Darkness is my realm.

And then that darkness erupted into light. The glare left Jae blinded. He saw. He saw.

He saw a jet black dragon with black eyes fight with an equally black dragon, with molten red eyes.
He saw a pack of wolves hunting, hunting and tearing down everything in sight. And then a snake
came out of nowhere and bit one wolf. And then he saw himself, at the top of a mountain, holding
a sword alight with fire, and before his very eyes, the sword melted, molten metal dripping down
his hands as Jae screamed in pain.

Shuddering, Jaehaerys Targaryen lurched and woke up in a tangle of sheets in his bed. His tent was
dark, the fire that had been made long snuffed out.

Leaving his bed, he went to the nearby table and poured himself a cup of wine to calm his nerves.
Closing his eyes, he could still see the two black dragons fighting, the sword melting in Jae’s
hands. He shook his head. They were dreams. Just dreams.

Yet Jaehaerys didn’t know what those dreams meant. He had seen and heard enough at the Wall to
know that there was more truth to grumpkins and snarks than the South cared to admit. Was it so
impossible then, that his dreams could have some meaning?

Once more, Jae wished he knew the fate of Eddard Stark. Uncle Ned would have known what to
do. Uncle Ned would have calmed him, would have listened, would have done something. Yet
Eddard Stark wasn’t here, but Jae was.

As much as I pretend to be the perfect king, it has taken it’s toll on me.

Jaehaerys hadn’t known a full night’s sleep ever since he proclaimed himself king. His days were
spent talking with this lord or that lady, and training with sword and shield. Arthur Dayne had told
him that Jae had the same potential Jaime Lannister had had, but to reach the late Lannister
knight’s skill, he would have to practise day and night. Jae hadn’t seen Ser Jaime in action, given
that he was but a babe when Jaime died, but nonetheless he had taken the comparison as a
complement.
Yet for all his activeness during the day, his nights haunted him. If not the cryptic dreams, then
guilt. Guilt for not feeling guilty.

He would never mourn Oberyn Martell. The man was an embodiment of his stain as a bastard,
even more so than Cersei Lannister. Neither did he find it in his heart to mourn Aegon. Whatever
love or bond he had with his brother died the day he eavesdropped on the fateful conversation
between Prince Oberyn and Aegon.

What broke his heart more was the lack of knowledge he had of the fates of Eddard Stark and his
daughters, and the death of Arthur Dayne. Originally, Jae had thought the Sword of The Morning
hated him. The man never gave a praise, however well Jae fought, didn’t tolerate indiscipline, and
had absolutely no sense of humour, which chafed Jae.

Yet, over the years, they had formed a bond of understanding to the point that each had just to look
at the other to understand what their intentions were. Now, he was missing the knight’s presence as
much as he was missing his uncle. Arthur Dayne had been with him when he thrashed the
wildlings. Arthur Dayne had been with him when he fought on Pyke. It didn’t feel right that Arthur
Dayne shouldn’t be there for Jae’s greatest war.

Outside, the night was dark. Aside from the flickering fires of the camps of his soldiers, there was
no other light. In the dark, Jae found peace.

I may be a charming and confident king to the lords, but I have my own demons to fight.

If he closed his eyes, he could still see Eddard Stark shouting at his daughters to run before being
swept over by a wave of Lannister crimson, he could still see Ser Arthur lying on the floor, his
armour leaking blood as the Lannister men punched their spears into him over and over again.

I couldn’t stop them, no more than I could stop Mother from dying, no more than I managed to
stop Euron from killing Jory.

Even before the war, Jae was still plagued with nightmares about his imprisonment. He had grown
brash, overconfident. In a reckless raid not even a league afar from Pyke, they had been captured
by Euron Greyjoy’s scouting party. And as one by one they killed of the men, the men under his
command, Euron himself had gutted Jory with a sword.

If Greyjoy had ended it there, it would have been better for Jae. Instead, the man took Jory, whom
he cured and Jae back to Pyke. And there, he had cut off Jory’s hands and legs, leaving him
bleeding. Afterwards, he had taken a dragonglass dagger and slashed at Jory’s chests left and right,
not too deep that it would kill him, but enough to make him scream in pain. Jae could still hear Jory
sobbing at Euron to kill him, to end the pain.

Jory was lying dead in a lake of his own blood, the only thing left unscarred was his head. Arms
and legs cut off, chest full of bleeding scars, he made a horrific sight.

They had kept the two of them in a dungeon, with no shafts or doors, just walls. Every day, Euron
would come, and torture Jory while making Jae watch. Some days they were given meals, some
days they were not.

Euron stood at the open door of the dungeon, smiling as he took in the cold body of Jory. Then he
looked at Jae, who had averted his gaze.

Greyjoy possessed a rugged handsomeness, not the polished one of nobles. But the grin that was
forming on his face had nothing handsome.
”Forgive me, Your Grace, I have been remiss in my duties as a host. Surely no host up until now
has ever shown his guests such a horrendous sight. I pity your eyes, Jaehaerys Targaryen.” Euron
drew closer to him. As he got closer, Jae saw that he had a knife in his hands.

“Your eyes saw this horrific sight, Your Grace. I pity you. Which is why, I will cut your eyes off.
Surely you will appreciate losing the very part of your body that saw these terrifying things?”

Jae had tried to escape. He had tried to fight, to resist. Euron had just laughed at him and done the
job. He had still been laughing as he left the cell, Jae holding his bleeding left eye in his hands.
Euron had promised that he would come the next day for the right eye.

He hadn’t. Lord Jason Mallister had feigned an attack on Ten Towers. With all the ironborn troops
on Harlaw, Ser Arthur had attacked Pyke that very day. It fell within one hour. Jae was too
weakened to stand, let alone fight, yet when some riverland troops broke him out, he had lurched
forward, grabbed the nearest weapon, and started killing.

He shook his head, chasing away the recollections of war. Jae had learned only one thing from it
all. Never give in to impatience.

He looked back at his messed up bed. If I go to sleep now, the dreams will come again. Instead, he
went to his desk and got to work.

His strike on the Westerlands had worked wonders. Casterly Rock itself was sacked, but by Jae’s
orders, none of the smallfolk harrased. The few who had raped and killed had been hanged in full
view of the towns. Jae had also discovered that massive amounts of food and supplies had been
hoarded in Golden Tooth and Ashenmark. After consulting with Uncle Benjen and Lady Catelyn,
he had ordered all those supplies to be distributed throughout the westerland smallfolk.

The effect was immediate. Unlike House Stark, there was no love for House Lannister in
westerlands. Only fear and respect. And Jaehaerys had just exterminated the fear factor by striking
the core of Lannister power. All throughout the westerlands, the smallfolk rebelled against the
Lannister loyalist houses. Tywin Lannister had given them nothing but war and grief. Jae had given
them food and supplies. Uncle Benjen and Lady Catelyn’s idea had worked brilliantly.

Jae was winning. His lords noticed it, his soldiers noticed it, he himself noticed it. Everyone in the
riverlands had not forgotten how Jaehaerys Targaryen had cleaned their lands free of ironborn.
Aside from the Brackens and Tullys, nearly all had defected to Jae’s side.

In the Vale, the moment the Lords heard of Jae’s survival, they planned a coup. Lord Yohn Royce
threw Lysa Arryn into a dungeon and assumed regency over Robyn Arryn. He sent a force of ten
thousand Vale men, of which five thousand were mounted. Jae had split the Vale forces into two.
One he set under Robb’s command, to retake Maidenpool and Duskendale from the Blackfyres.
The other, he had summoned to himself, under Viserys’ command.

But even after success after success, Jae never stopped feeling alone. Rhaenys, his constant
companion for the last two months, had left for Dorne and Robb had gone east. Ser Brynden, he
had officially named as his Lord Commander of Kingsguard, but the man was at Dragonstone,
preparing a strike against the capital.

Jae already had his plan clear. He would deal with Lord Tywin first, and then Blackfyre. Haegon’s
attack on Storm’s End had proved that he was no mere pushover, but a competent strategist. No
matter. The more competent he is, the more I will have a challenge.

Lord Tywin had routed the Golden Company at the Battle of Duskendale, but only because the full
force of elephants hadn’t been used. The survivors of the battle had fled back to Maidenpool, and
the Lannister army had besieged the castle. But now, Tywin Lannister faced a dilemma. Give
battle to Jae and leave the Golden Company and Haegon in the south unchecked, or deal with
Blackfyre and leave Jae’s way to King’s Landing clear. Both would result in a severe loss for the
Lannisters.

Shame. Between me and Haegon, we’ve trapped the Lannisters between the hammer and the anvil.
If Blackfyre hadn’t been hellbent on the throne, I would have offered him the position of Hand. I
need men like his calibre around me.

He looked at the papers in front of him. One was a missive declaring Lady Catelyn Tully Stark as
the temporary Lady of Riverrun, while another declared Brandon Stark acting Lord of Winterfell in
place of Robb with Benjen Stark as his regent.

The sound of footsteps made him rise from his chair. Jae looked up to see Ser Patrek Mallister, his
newly appointed Kingsguard, standing at the flap of the tent.

”Your Grace.” Patrek knelt in front of Jaehaerys. With clean black hair, a firm jaw and eyes as dark
as coal, Patrek Mallister could have made any maid swoon. Yet, he forswore all lands and
allegiances to serve under Jae. He had indeed felt touched by the loyalty displayed by the young
man. Yet, once more he wished for the presence of Ser Arthur, or perhaps even Ser Oswell. Men
like them had experience, boldness and caution all rolled into one. Patrek Mallister was a good
enough warrior, but he was also brash and impulsive, eerily reminding Jae of himself before his
captivity.

”Rise, ser. What brings you here this late?”

Ser Patrek’s face looked tense. “A raven came, Your Grace. Lord Tywin has left Duskendale and
marches for Harrenhal.”

Jae jumped forward. “Harrenhal? Damn it!”

Now he realised why Ser Patrek looked so tense. If Lannister managed to reach Harrenhal before
Jae’s army, Tywin Lannister had an impregnable castle where he could comfortably store and rest
his army, while not fearing any attacks from Jae or the Golden Company. Not only that, but it also
gave him control over nearly the entire center of the Riverlands, preventing Jae from marching
south.

Jaehaerys looked at himself. He just wore a simple black shirt and black breeches. No time to dress
fancy. He wrapped himself in a grey cloak, and turned to Ser Patrek. “Go. Assemble the lords,
now. Tell them to meet in the command tent immediately.”

Patrek nodded at him and disappeared. Jae exited his own tent and nearly ran to the command
center. Inside, he found Lady Catelyn already there. When he had announced that the Lady of
Winterfell would be attending the war council, the lords had looked at him as though he’d said he
wanted to fuck their daughters. Catelyn Stark had been the butt end of several snide remarks after
that. Yet, she took it all with good grace and moved on. Jae admired her. She wasn’t too wild like
Arya, neither was she too docile as Sansa. She was both strong and courteous, and gave good
counsel, just as she proved in the Westerlands.

The Lady of Winterfell looked up to see him enter and curtsied. “Your Grace. Ser Patrek told me
of the news. You have summoned a war council.”

Something in her tone made Jaehaerys pause. “You don’t approve?”

Lady Catelyn hesitated. Jae held up his hand. “My lady, you can speak your mind with me. If I
wanted honeyed words, I’d turn to my lords. You have given me honest counsel before. I ask you
do it again.”

Catelyn Stark took a good look at the map decorating the center of the command table, before
speaking. “Your Grace, I have looked at the map, and I find myself understanding the implications
of Lord Tywin’s movements. We should not be wasting our time talking with lords. You could
have given the order to march, and yet held a council on the way.”

Jaehaerys smiled. His mind hadn’t been idle on the way to the tent. He had come up with a
semblance of a plan, and he needed only to speak with a certain person to finalise it. “Perhaps I
want Lord Tywin to reach Harrenhal, my lady.”

Lady Catelyn looked confused. “You want Tywin Lannister to reach Harrenhal?”

Jae looked at the tent flap, which had just opened to reveal Lord Jason and Lord Umber walking in.
“I will explain during the council, my lady.”

One by one, the lords filed in through the tent flap, each kneeling in front of Jae and bowing to
Lady Catelyn. When all were assembled, Lord Umber spoke up. “King Jaehaerys! I learned from
the white knight that Lannister marches for Harrenhal. Why waste time in bloody meetings, when
we should be racing east?”

Jae didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to examine the faces of the other lords. Lord Jason looked
passive, Black Walder in agreement, Lord Blackwood looking uncertain. After a long while, the
silence still stretched on. Then, Jae got up.

He laid a finger on Harrenhal. “My lords, it’s a trap. Lord Tywin wants us to race blindly towards
Harrenhal. I will bet my life that only a ghost force is making for Harrenhal. The true Lannister
army is waiting around Harrenhal, for us. Tywin Lannister wants us to come charging in, scouts
and outriders blind. Then he will surround us and crush us.”

The tent was completely silent. Shock greeted his statement. Then, Lord Blackwood spoke up.
“Are we sure of this, Your Grace?”

Jae nodded. “As sure as sure can be, my lord.”

Black Walder rose from his chair. “Then what now, my King? Do we encircle Lord Tywin and
attack him from the rear?”

Before Jae could answer, Jason Mallister spoke up. “No, my lord of Frey. Harrenhal is surrounded
by forests in all four sides. Lord Tywin’s host will be sheltered by the forest. If we must give battle
to him, the only way to do that is to draw his army out.”

Smart man. Mallister would make a good Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.. Jae shook the
thought out of his mind.

“Lord Mallister is right. To give battle, we must draw Lord Tywin out. Which is why we shall
follow his bait. A small part of our forces shall move for Harrenhal. When Lord Tywin attacks, we
flank and destroy him.”

Lord Blackwood spoke. “We don’t have enough horse to properly flank Lord Tywin, Your Grace.”

Jae cocked his head. “Send a raven to my uncle Viserys. Tell him our plan. He will march with the
Knights of The Vale according to the plan, while my cousin besieges Maidenpool. One way or the
 other, we get to give our greetings to Lord Tywin.”

Chapter End Notes

Can’t say when next chap will be..

 The Warden of The North
Chapter Summary

Ned talks with everyone’s favourite dwarf...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of The North, looked at the room they had kept
him in. It was fabulously furnished. The walls were painted crimson red, with dazzling gold
hangings decorating the room. A carpet of Myrish lace was laid out impeccably on the floor. A
single table, polished perfectly, contained the remnants of his meal. Suckled pig and chicken stew.

Ned had expected his captors to throw him and his daughters into the black cells. Instead, after the
initial fighting and resistance got over, Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard had led him to this
room. Ned never lacked for comforts. He had only to ask and the servants would give him
whatever he wanted, all except a razor. Perhaps they thought he would try to kill himself.

The last he had seen of his daughters gave him sleepless nights. Sansa had vomited her dinner onto
her lap, seeing the slaughter around her, while Arya had been struggling like a wildcat as a snowy
white Kingsguard dragged her out of the hall.

Ned had tried asking after his daughters. No one gave any answer, other than a curt nod from Ser
Arys, telling him that his daughters were safe and sound. But no location. Ned had no idea where
they were being kept.

Since his first day of imprisonment, Ned had his guard changed. A white cloak guarded his door
day and night, but the Kingsguard wasn’t Ser Arys. Once, when the servants opened the door to
bring him his food, Ned had stolen a quick look at his captor’s face. Ser Boros Blount.

Ned’s hands itched to have Ice in them once more. The sword had been ripped from his hands
when the Lannisters overwhelmed him. He had no doubt that he could easily best Boros Blount
with a common dagger, with a Valyrian steel sword, he’d probably slaughter the knight.

Ned went to the bed and sat there. It was covered with crimson sheets. It seemed to Ned that
everything in the damned room was crimson. As though I need any more reminder of House
Lannister.

He looked at the mirror beside the bed. The lack of a razor had led his beard grow into a bush of
tangled hair. Ned was thirty-six, yet the worry lines stretched across his face, and the hollow
sockets that passed as eyes made him look well above fifty.

When not thinking about his daughters, he spent away his time grieving for his nephew. He had
asked Ser Arys about the fate of Jaehaerys Targaryen, and the pitying look that he got in answer
told him everything.

Ned still remembered his apprehension on having to foster his nephew. His friend — no, his
brother Robert Baratheon had died fighting the boy’s father. The boy himself had been the cause
of the war. Yet he himself knew such thoughts were unfair. That was just his bitterness speaking.

Ned had stood at the gates of Winterfell, expecting to see a silver haired, grey eyed prince riding
through the gate wearing the most fabulous of clothes. Instead, a complete lookalike of Lyanna,
with dark brown hair and stormy grey eyes rode alongside the snowy white cloak of Arthur Dayne,
wearing naught but a simple black shirt and breeches over a black cloak.

Even then, he loved black.

In the next few months, Ned had learned that not only did the boy resemble his mother in looks,
but also in personality. With a pitch dark humour and a overtly cynical nature, Jaehaerys had had
Benjen and Robb guffawing into their glasses by the very first day. Even he himself used to smile
at his melodramatic descriptions of the different lords that came to visit Dragonstone.

Eddard had only cried in his life twice. Once, when the news of the deaths of Brandon and Rickard
Stark reached him. Second, when he learned that Lyanna was dead. Now, once more tears
threatened to fall from his eyes at the thought of his nephew dead, with a sword or spear buried in
his neck.

Ned shook his head. No. NO. I must not imagine THAT.

If Jaehaerys was dead, Ned knew that meant Arthur Dayne was dead as well. Must have taken
hundreds of Lannister men to kill two of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. I hope Jae sent them all
down to the hells.

He knew naught of the outside world, aside from the fact that Lannister had told everyone that
Blackfyre had ordered the massacre of the royal family. He also knew that his son had summoned
the banners to Moat Cailin and had stayed there, not answering any calls to swear fealty from the
capital. The only fresh news that Ned knew was that Princess Daenerys Targaryen had arrived at
the capital a moon ago.

The only reason I’m alive is because I’m a hostage against Robb .

Even then, Ned had difficulty coming to terms with the fact that the son he had raised was now
leading the army. By the gods...the lords will devour him like a jackal eating a carcass.

His days were spent staring into the walls, mourning his nephew, or trying to put away anxious
thoughts about his daughters. Sansa will do as she’s told, she’ll be safe enough, but Arya...gods be
good, Arya will give them hell..

The door suddenly banged open. Ser Arys and Ser Boros stepped inside, white cloaks draped
around their shoulders. Ned stared at them. “What is it, sers? Am I to be executed?”

A voice drawled out from somewhere behind the knights. “There are benefits of being small, Lord
Stark, chief of those being unlikable people tend to overlook you. You, on the other hand, could
have used being small a lot when my lord father’s soldiers attacked you. Wouldn’t you agree, my
lord?”

Ned looked down. Poking his face from beside Ser Boros’ waist, like a child hiding behind his
parent, was a grotesquely ugly dwarf. With his mismatched eyes, a massive head, no chest to speak
of, and stunted legs, Tyrion Lannister would have made even the ugliest of the ugliest whores look
away. The man grinned and swaggered in front of the two knights, looking up at Ned.

The Lord of Winterfell shot the dwarf a contemptuous stare. “Lord Lannister.” Ned’s voice was
icy. “I am flattered, my lord.”
Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow. “Flattered? How so?”

“It seems you estimated my martial skills to be the equivalent of two Kingsguard, my lord. As I
said, I am flattered.”

The dwarf smiled at his response. “And here I thought you Northmen could only speak when the
Long Night came once more.”

Ned didn’t reply. He gave Tyrion his most iciest of glares before turning to observe the two
kingsguard in front of him. Ned had learned long ago that while people around you joked, shouted
and argued, if you stayed silent and observed, you’d notice a lot of things most people didn’t tend
to notice.

Ser Boros was bald and had a jowly face, and one could see the dark circles under his eyes. His
white armour seemed to rest uncomfortably on him, and Ned noted that the man had both his hands
behind his back. No hand on the pommel of his swords. The knight doesn’t even have the basic
warrior’s instinct.

Ser Arys Oakheart, on the other hand, made a sharp contrast to the his ageing and amateur brother.
With dark hair and a comely face, Oakheart made a dashing figure in his white armour and cloak.
His hand also didn’t rest on the pommel of his sword, but on the dagger hidden at his side. Smart.
In such a close range, a sword is useless.

Lannister looked amused. “Are you done examining my dashing protectors, Lord Stark? Though
I’ll grant you, I’m not exactly the beautiful maiden in distress either.”

Ned fixed his stare on Tyrion. “Is there a point of this visit?”

The dwarf’s expression turned serious. “Of course, Lord Stark. I don’t visit people randomly, even
those whose company is of great pleasure to me. And rest assured, you will definitely not be
pleasurable company anytime soon.”

Ned didn’t answer. He was itching to strangle the dwarf, and he was sure that one more word from
the man and he might just do the act.

Tyrion gestured at the bed. “Kindly sit, Lord Stark. We have much to discuss.”

Ned sat down on the bed. Tyrion went to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. He turned to
Ned. “Wine, Lord Stark?”

”No.”

”Very well.” Tyrion sat down on the opposite side of the bed, facing Ned. He took a sip of wine
before studying Ned’s face for a moment. “I have news that will have you both jumping in joy and
having you make that disastrously sombre face of yours. So tell me, which one do you want to hear
first?”

Ned thought for a moment. “The one that’ll make my face go ‘disastrously sombre’.”

Tyrion smiled. “You will in all probability be executed within the month.”

Ned stared. The prospect of death had never frightened him. What had frightened him was the way
he would die. And right now, having his head cut off in full view of a jeering crowd didn’t sound
an exactly inviting prospect for him.
 ”Is there a reason?” Ned managed to keep his voice even.

Tyrion grinned. “Funnily enough, the reason for your possible execution will have you jumping
with joy. You see, a man claiming to be Jaehaerys Targaryen had conquered the entire westerlands,
and my father has been caught like a rat in a trap between two opponents, but rest assured, he has a
plan.”

Ned’s face had shot up at the mention of his nephew. “Is he truly who he claims to be?”

Tyrion shrugged. “His movements uptil now has been screaming ‘I am Jae Targaryen’, but it could
be a fraud too. Rest assured, my lord, I am as eager for his survival too. He was also my friend,
don’t forget.”

Ned spat. “A friend you betrayed.”

Tyrion sighed. “I suppose it is no use telling you that I was not privy to my father’s plan?”

Ned studied the dwarf’s face. “No. I won’t believe you. Your father and your sister are your
family. Do you expect me to believe that you would betray family for friend? If yes, then you’re
even worse of a monster than I thought.”

Tyrion’s face hardened. “There is no love lost between me and my family, Lord Stark. The only
person who gave one whit whether I lived or died was Jaime, and he’s dead. People who care for
me don’t tend to live long.” He rose from the bed. “But I’ve warned you. Do not be surprised if
you’re suddenly woken up and dragged to the gates of Dragonfort to be executed.”

Ned rose too. The dwarf waddled to the door on his mismatched legs. Ned made to follow, but Ser
Arys stepped in front of him and he barreled straight into the knight. “Forgive me, ser.”

Ser Arys gave him a curt nod before exiting the room with his brother and the dwarf. Ned went and
sat back down once more on the bed. Then he felt something crumple in his pocket. He reached
and pulled out a piece of paper.

Huh. This wasn’t there before. Where did it come from?

And then the realisation hit Ned.

Arys Oakheart bumped into me. He left me a note!

Ned quickly unfurled the piece of paper. He read the note. By the time he finished, his hand shook.
The note fell from his hands.

Ned went to the table and picked up the dagger Ser Arys had left for him under the table.

Chapter End Notes

So...those who didn’t get it..Arys left Ned a note and a dagger. Why? For what? Keep
thinking...
 The Sun and The Dragon
Chapter Summary

Rhaenys plays negotiator...

Chapter Notes

So, unlike other chapters, this chap takes place simultaneously along the timeline of
chapter 13 : The Black Dragon.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Rhaenys Targaryen took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for what was to come. Beside
her, Arianne gently laid a hand on her shoulder. Rhaenys turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

Arianne Martell was beautiful, beyond a doubt. In fact, she and Rhaenys were often mistaken for
sisters instead of cousins. Both of them had the tanned skin of Dorne, both of them had slim,
curvaceous bodies and both of them had curling black hair falling to their backs. The only
difference was their height and eyes. Arianne was small in stature, half a head shorter than her,
whereas Rhaenys herself was tall, almost as tall as Jaehaerys.

But they had never been close. Rhaenys had spent her entire life at Dragonstone, with the Red
Keep destroyed and the capital being shifted to the island citadel. The few times Arianne Martell
had visited them at Dragonstone, her entire interest had been on Aegon. No doubt she had hoped to
be the future queen. She wasn’t only rejected, but to add salt in the wound, she lost Aegon to a
Tyrell.

I feel bad for you, coz. Must’ve been humiliating.

Rhaenys knew what her uncle would demand in return for Dorne’s allegiance to Jaehaerys. What
she didn’t know was whether she was prepared to come to terms with it.

Much of what she remembered of her childhood were memories of her father. Of her mother she
had little recollections, but she could still vaguely recall a dark haired, olive skinned woman
smiling as she raced around the corridors of the Red Keep, chasing Balerion.

Her mother remained much of an enigma to her. Most people seemed to think her father had set her
aside for two younger, more beautiful women. Yet Rhaenys knew it wasn’t so.

She remembered asking her father about it. He had looked at her with his indigo eyes, so like her
own, and then picked her up and hugged her so tightly that she’d thought her bones would break.
When he released her and spoke, his voice had been quiet, almost a whisper.

”One day, you will feel the weight of the entire world upon you, Rhaenys. Then, you will feel as I
have felt,” he had said, “Then, you will understand the choices I made.”
Ever since her earliest memories, she had accepted that Jae was her brother, and there was nothing
she could do to change it. Her father had said after all, that Jae was part of their family. Rhaenys
trusted her father.

But then she had a veritable headache with Aegon and Jaehaerys. Aegon refused to accept that he
lost his mother to be given a bastard (or so he claimed) brother in return. Not that he had much
memories of her anyway.

As she got older, she had soon realised what a rivalry could mean between Aegon and Jaehaerys.
The Blackfyre Rebellion all over once more...

She still couldn’t remember what exactly made the brothers come together, but soon enough, they
left their prejudice of each other behind. Yet, even then, Aegon and Jae were always on the
opposite sides. Their entire childhood was spent with Jae and Dany playing some prank on her and
Aegon, and the both of them planning revenge on Jae and Dany.

Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Areo Hotah. With a huge figure, broad shoulders,
snow white beard and a pale face, Hotah was the perfect man for Prince Doran’s captain of guards.
Not only skilled with his axe, but his appearance would make any assassin have second thoughts.

”Princess. The Prince will see you now.” Hotah’s voice was a deep, rumbling sound, like the
heralding of an oncoming storm.

Beside her, Arianne sighed. “Come, cousin. It is time for us to meet with my almighty father.”

Hotah led them through the corridors of the Sun Tower, past immaculately carved gargoyles, into
what was obviously the Prince’s solar. The room was not much lavishly decorated, with painted
yellow walls and a few golden hangings. At the centre sitting on his chair, was Prince Doran
Martell.

The years hadn’t been kind to Prince Doran. When Rhaenys had last seen her eldest uncle, he had
still been able to walk, albeit with a stick. Now, it looked as though even getting up from the chair
would be a trial for Doran Martell. His once coal black hair had gone completely white, and the
few hairs that remained on his head had been combed back.

”Neice.”

”Uncle.” Rhaenys curtseyed, then moved forward, and kissed her uncle on the cheeks.

”Sit, Rhaenys. And you, Arianne.” Doran waved his hand at the two chairs in front of him.
Rhaenys sat down on one, while beside her, her cousin followed suit.

Once seated, she looked at her uncle. Not a man to be played around with.....

“I’ll come straight to the point, uncle. I think you know why I’m here.” Rhaenys made her voice
sound firm, yet her mind was already wandering, thinking on how to convince her uncle.

Beside her, Arianne held up her hand. “Wait. You haven’t told us what happened back at King’s
Landing, you haven’t told us how you’re alive when you’re supposed to be dead. If you’d explain,
I’d love to have my curiosity satisfied.”

Before Rhaenys could answer, Prince Doran held up his hands. “I have known for a long time that
Jaehaerys Targaryen is alive and well. What I wasn’t sure of was whether you were alive or not,
dear niece.”
Both Arianne and Rhaenys looked stunned. She hadn’t told her uncle anything about what had
happened, and yet he knew.

Arianne spluttered beside her. “Jaeha—Ja— the bastard is alive?”

Prince Doran gave her a thin smile. “Of course. Why else do you think I have not answered Lord
Tywin’s call to arms against Haegon Blackfyre? While you and your Sand Snakes were shouting
for vengeance and justice, I observed. Like you, the North by rights, should have been at the
frontlines against Blackfyre. Yet, Robb Stark sits and waits at Moat Cailin. The Lords of The North
follow strength. They won’t sit in the sidelines unless they have good cause. Then the riverlands.
Both Lord Mallister and Lord Blackwood were revolting against House Tully, and suddenly, they
are quiet. Balon Greyjoy sacks Casterly Rock, and he is no fool. He knows that Lord Tywin will
destroy House Greyjoy, root and stem, unless he was occupied elsewhere. Everything points to a
centralised leadership. With your appearance, niece, my suspicions have been confirmed.”

Arianne frowned. “But it could have been Aegon, or Rhaenys too.”

Doran shook his head. “No. If it were my nephew, he would have come to Dorne, not the North.
Same for Rhaenys, unless she had someone else with her.” With that, the Prince turned to look at
her.

Rhaenys frowned. “Do you know who was responsible for what happened in King’s Landing,
uncle?”

”I suppose it was Lord Tywin.”

Rhaenys nodded. “Yes. And Jaehaerys is your only —“

Prince Doran held up his hand. “You need not persuade me, Rhaenys. I am prepared to bend the
knee to Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name.”

Another surprise. Rhaenys stared at her uncle. “You will?”

Once more, Prince Doran gave her a smile. “Whatever grudge I have concerns Lyanna Stark, not
her son. Neither Elia, nor I would ever hold a child against his parent’s crimes. That said, what
should I oppose King Jaehaerys for, when I have everything to gain and nothing to lose from
supporting him?”

Rhaenys paused, and took some time to think. No doubt my uncle would immediately drop his
philosophy of not blaming an innocent child if it didn’t suit the interests of Dorne.

“Doubtless you have some conditions, uncle?”

Prince Doran inclined his head. “Definitely. King Jaehaerys must either marry you, or Arianne if
Dorne must support him. For now, a betrothal will suffice. I will leave the choice to His Grace.
Second, after the war is done, King Jaehaerys will withdraw ten percent of the Crown’s share of
Dornish taxes. Third, if His Grace marries my daughter, then Robb Stark must marry you. If he
marries you, then Robb Stark must marry my daughter.”

Arianne shot up from her seat, her face fuming. “What? So this is your plan? To ship me up North,
while Quentyn succeeds you?”

Doran faced her, calmly. “If we are to unite behind King Jaehaerys, then we need more than
distant ties to bind the North and Dorne together. And, keep in mind, this is only if, King Jaehaerys
chooses Rhaenys.”
Rhaenys gulped inwardly. She’d met Robb Stark for the first time at the Moat, and what she had
heard of him from Jae’s letters was not unpleasant. He was attractive, with his red hair and blue
eyes, and the future Warden of The North besides. Women had married far, far worse men.

On the other hand, Jae was.... well, Jae. Rhaenys had never eyed him romantically, and she was
sure he hadn’t done so either. In their childhood, Jaehaerys had dubbed her as his ‘septa’, since she
was near always scolding him. Their bond was purely brother-sister. Yet, Jae was a good offer. He
was handsome, if one liked his ruggedness, and easy to talk with besides. Not only that, but
Rhaenys would also be Queen of The Seven Kingdoms.

I’m thinking as though I’ll get a choice between Jae and Stark. In truth, the identity of my future
husband rests completely on my brother.

She was jolted out of her reverie when her uncle spoke to her. “Rhaenys, I need to have a private
discussion with my daughter. If you will, Hotah will show you to your rooms.”

Rhaenys bowed. “Of course, uncle.” She nodded to Arianne, who looked fit to burst, before
accompanying Hotah outside the room.

As they walked down the corridor, Rhaenys turned to the grizzled captain of guards. “Tell me,
Hotah, where are my bastard cousins?”

Areo Hotah didn’t meet her eyes. “They are, under supervision.”

She frowned at that. Her uncle had imprisoned the Sand Snakes? She knew them well enough to
know that they had been clamouring Prince Doran for vengeance against Blackfyre. But did that
warrant imprisonment?

When they reached her rooms, Hotah bowed and left her alone. Rhaenys pushed open the door, and
entered the room. It was sparsely furnished, but cozy and comfortable. There was one bed at the
corner, and a chair and a table at the centre for her use. At the back end was the barthroom.
Rhaenys ordered a maid to draw up a bath for her. She was sweaty and dust stained from her
travels.

She was just about to undress when she heard a knock upon her door. She quickly fixed the clasp
of her dress, wrapped herself in a cloak, before opening the door.

A servant stood there. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Princess, but Prince Doran wants you in his
solar. There is news.”

Rhaenys nodded and sent the man away. She quickly dressed up appropriately, before leaving for
the solar. When she reached the room, she found the door already open. When she entered, she saw
Prince Doran was with Hotah and a retinue of knights, holding a scroll of paper.

”What news, uncle?”

Prince Doran looked up at her, face unreadable. “His Grace has captured Ashenmark and Golden
Tooth. That happened a fortnight ago. This however,” Doran pointed at another scroll on the table,
“is fresh news.”

“What is it?”

Prince Doran’s voice was flat, emotionless. “The Reach has declared for Haegon II Blackfyre.”
Chapter End Notes

Why tf would the reach fight for Blackfyre? Have I gone crazy? The answer is pretty
easy to guess, actually.
 The Wolf Lord
Chapter Summary

Robb faces a daunting task...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Robb Stark, the acting Warden of The North, looked around at the men assembled inside his
command tent. My command tent.

He still had trouble getting used to the fact that he had been put under command of an army near
fifteen thousand strong. It consisted of five thousand Vale men and nearly ten thousand Northmen.
The pressure was immense for Robb.

He was no stranger to war councils or the bickering of the lords. Both he and Jae had sat with Lord
Eddard in the war council following the attack of the wildlings. Later, he himself had aided Jae
with his plans during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Yet, Robb had always functioned from the sidelines.
To be suddenly put on the spotlight, with lords vying for his favour, was disconcerting to say the
least.

Yet Robb knew that he had to accomplish the task given to him by Jae. Each victory brings us one
step closer to freeing my father...

The official story put out by the Lannisters was that Lord Eddard had been killed by Blackfyre
during their planned massacre, and that Robb and Lady Catelyn were power hungry monsters who
were trying to put an impostor on the Iron Throne. Both he and his mother had despaired at the
news of his Father’s death, until, the raven came from Daenerys.

Robb knew naught of Jae’s aunt other than the rumour that she and Jae had been the terrors of
Dragonstone during the childhood. But Jaehaerys had declared her information valid, and over the
years, he had learned that Jae had a knack of knowing things. In the letter, Daenerys had written
that Lord Eddard was imprisoned in the Dragonfort. She had secured the loyalty of one of the
Kingsguard to Jae, and both she and this unnamed Kingsguard would try and break free Lord
Eddard from his captivity. Of his sisters, she had written nothing, which still nagged at Robb. What
have they done with Arya and Sansa?

“My lord.” The calm, steady voice of Domeric Bolton jolted him out of his thoughts. Robb turned
to look at the northman. Roose Bolton had sent his son in his stead. What the Lord of Dreadfort
meant to do sitting his arse in the North, Robb didn’t know. What he knew was that his son was a
reliable person. Always calm, Domeric Bolton seemed to have lost to the ability to panic. Nothing
troubled him, which was exactly why Robb had given him command of the outriders. He needed a
man able to be calm in the face of trouble in charge of scouts.

”Yes, Lord Bolton?”

Domeric turned to study the other lords at the table before speaking. “My scouts have returned.
They report Duskendale is little over two hours from here. We should be able to start the siege
before nightfall.”

Robb nodded. Jae had commanded him to capture Duskendale from the Golden Company, and he
was going to do just that. He thought for a moment. “And what word of the ships from the White
Harbour, my lord?”

Domeric’s face gave away nothing. “They have already set up the blockade, my lord. Duskendale
will not be getting supplies anytime soon.”

“Good.” Robb turned to the other lords assembled, who were for once, unusually silent. Portly
Nestor Royce was staring at Domeric with distaste, Ser Mychel looked thoughtful, Lord Karstark
had a frown on his face, while Ser Wylis Manderly was looking hopefully at the bowl of peanuts at
the center of the table.

But the most dangerous man in the room looked as though he couldn’t care less for what was
happening. Ser Lyn Corbray lounged in his chair, legs on the table, while he nonchalantly chewed
an apple. Jae had warned him to be wary of the man, but had also told him to make use of him.

“Ser Lyn is dangerous, yes, but he is also a warrior. Put him at frontline, and you will not be
disappointed. Expect him to strategise, and all he will do is sow discord among your lords.”

Robb pondered over Jae’s words for a moment, before turning to Lord Corbray. “Ser Lyn, you are
a warrior of great repute. What do you have to say about our current situation?”

Lyn Corbray turned his eyes on Robb. “Given our current position, and the ruckus caused by our
soldiers, I would assume the Golden Company already knows we’re coming.” He gave a pointed
stare at Domeric. “They have better scouts, after all.”

Bolton didn’t reply. Lyn continued speaking, his tone having a bored finality. “Right now, they
expect us to march slowly, with all our supplies and baggage train. I say we leave our supplies here
with a few men and,” his eyes glinted dangerously, “ —attack.”

Both Ser Mychel and Ser Nestor snorted derisively. Lord Karstark looked as though he wanted to
wipe his arse with Corbray’s face.

It was Ser Nestor who spoke up. “That is suicide, my lord of Corbray. Duskendale’s walls faces the
landward side at right angles. To scale it, we would be subject to arrows and spears from both sides
of the wall.”

Ser Lyn scoffed. “And will that change if we reach there in our own sweet time, old man?”

This time Ser Mychel spoke up. “Nothing will change, my lord, but we have no chance of taking
the castle if we do a force march for the next two hours. The men are tired as it is.”

Ser Wylis nodded along with Ser Mychel. “I agree with Lord Redfort, my lord. At this stage,
more.... cautionary tactics might prevail. Perhaps we can attempt to starve them out?”

Lord Karstark looked incredulously at Wylis. “Cautionary tactics? King Jaehaerys has commanded
us to capture Duskendale as soon as possible. Starving them out doesn’t fit my definition of ‘as
soon as possible’.”

Lord Corbray finished his apple, and threw the core aside. “So you agree with me, Lord Karstark?”

Rickard Karstark glared at Corbray. “No. Your plan is sure to get us all killed. I say we signal the
ships from White Harbour to attack from the sea side. While they’re occupied there, we can attack.
Our chances are much better.”

Ser Mychel shook his head. “Did you not hear me, my lord? The walls meet at right
angles. Anyone can see everything from the far corner. The castle was designed such a way that it
could never be taken by surprise. You would be spotted long before the ships could create a proper
diversion.”

Robb had heard enough. He slammed his fist down on the table. The talk died out slowly, and
every man inside the command tent turned to look at him. Robb pointed his finger at the map. “We
are camped here, three leagues away from Duskendale. I refuse to engage in any aggression until
I’ve studied these walls of Duskendale. Only after I assess the defences will I think on how to
proceed next. Until then, we march as we have.”

He turned to Domeric. “Give out the orders. We march within the half hour. The faster we reach
Duskendale, the better.”

Bolton bowed and left the tent, his strides long and fast. The other lords rose to their feet too. Lord
Karstark looked apprehensive, while Ser Lyn looked disgusted. He gave Robb an insolent look
before sweeping out of the tent.

The others were more courteous. Ser Mychel, Lord Nestor, and Ser Wylis exchanged a few
pleasantries with him before leaving. Once alone, Robb turned to stare at the map. The basic
shreds of a plan was forming in his mind, and he needed to look at the walls to piece it together.

Within the hour, they were marching once more. Robb rode at the front with Lord Karstark, while
Ser Wylis and Ser Nestor rode behind, Robb had put them in charge of the reserve and the baggage
train. Beside him, Rickard Karstark rode in ominous silence. Not much of a talker, this man.

They had been riding for nearly another hour when a man from the reserve rode up to them. He
bowed low, before speaking. “News from the south, my lords.” He handed Robb a scroll of paper.

Robb unfolded it, and read. Beside him, Lord Karstark spoke in his gruff voice. “What news, Lord
Robb?”

Robb sighed. “Not good. Highgarden has allied with Blackfyre. They’ve announced a betrothal
between Lady Margaery and King Haegon.”

Karstark grunted. “The Reach and the Golden Company combined is..... not good.”

Robb handed back the scroll to the man. He reached into his pocket and drew out a gold coin. He
tossed it to the man and dismissed him.

The rest of the journey was masked in complete silence. Robb pondered on the effects of the
newest development, and found himself wishing for an end to the lies and deceit, wishing for a
straight battle.

It was nearing evening when they finally reached Duskendale. The walls were stone, tall, grey and
foreboding. A black dragon banner flew from the top of the ramparts. The gates were already
closed. So Lyn Corbray was right after all. They knew we were coming...

As his men began to set up camp, dig trenches and set pikes Robb ventured closer to the walls. Far
off in the distance, the top masts of the ships from White Harbour could be seen. They had created
a blockade, to prevent any supplies from reaching Duskendale through the sea.

His plan had already been formed. The sight of the castle confirmed it’s validity. He turned back
 and headed towards the command tent.

Inside, he already found the lords waiting for him. At the corner of the tent, Lyn Corbray drawled
out. “So what now, Lord Robb? We’re here, and none of us the better for it.”

Ser Wylis stroked his walrus moustache. “As I said, Lord Robb, patience might benefit us all. King
Jaehaerys did command us to take the castle quickly, but I fear I see no way —“

Lord Karstark rose furiously from his chair. Robb held up his hand before things could escalate.
He spoke in a firm, clear voice. “There is no need for any of that, my lords. I have a plan.”

By the time he finished, even Lyn Corbray was looking at him with a measure of respect in his
eyes.

Chapter End Notes

Soo, I’m not gonna put Baelish in my story. He will only serve to confuse the plot, and
I can really think of no way I can introduce him without changing the plot drastically.
 The Dragonwolf
Chapter Summary

Jae meets his uncle

Chapter Notes

For those who’ve forgotten, Viserys married Ysilla Royce, Yohn Royce’s daughter.

Cold. Jaehaerys felt cold. All around him, men yelled and screamed and died. Towards his back,
the Wall loomed tall, dreary, oblivious to the slaughter going on at its base. Circling around in his
horse, Jae looked around.

Ser Arthur Dayne was nearly a foot away, Dawn glowing in his hands as he hacked and slashed
from horseback. His shield was already reduced to splinters, yet he fought on, any wildling daring
to come close to him meeting an early end to their lives.

Jaehaerys had killed only one man. One man. It had all been his plan. The cavalry charge, the
archers on the Wall, the flaming arrows, it had all been his plan. One would expect him to kill
mountains of wildlings. Yet, he had killed only one.

All he knew was that the wildling had been a man. A man. He had realised, that they were not
savages, not mindless plunderers. They were men, just like him and Robb, just like every other
person South of the Wall.

And as he rode down the man, wheeled around, and then gutted him with his sword, Jae had never
felt so dirty. So impure. The sight of the man’s eyes would haunt him forever, he realised. He had
watched as the nameless wildling’s eyes widened with horror, watched all the emotions play
across them. And as he fell backwards, Jae had fallen into a stupor. He would’ve probably been
killed by then, sitting motionless on his horse as he had been, if not for Ser Arthur. The knight kelt
circling Jae, constantly fighting of attackers determined to kill the Targaryen Prince.

Another yell made Jae stir. He turned to see a man on horseback charge at him, his battle cry lost
in the sound of chaos around him. The wildling’s sword swung in a vicious arc, aimed straight for
his head. Jae raised his sword to parry, but the sound of steel on steel never came. Too late, Jae
realised that the strike had been a feint. The wildling let out a triumphant ‘HA!’, before punching
his sword through his gut.

As his world spiralled into darkness, Jaehaerys Targaryen saw the eyes of the man he had killed,
staring at him with mute accusation...

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, Jaehaerys felt his breathing slow down. It never
happened like that. I killed the second man, then killed a third, a fourth, a fifth..

He shook his head violently, trying to shake out the image. Gods.. I still remember the eyes..
The candle at his bedside burned dimly. By its side, the book he had been reading lay there, the
page where he stopped marked by a slight fold at the edge. Beside it was the scroll Daenerys had
sent to him. The scroll informing him of Lord Eddard’s survival.

Jaehaerys had always been logical. Yet now, he kept the scroll near him always, as though he
could make Lord Eddard appear if he stared at the writing long enough. With a guilty feeling, he
realised that the lack of mention of the Stark sisters didn’t bother him as much as it should have.
He had never been close to any of his cousins other than Robb. Arya had always been a source of
amusement, and she idolised Jae. However, the girl had the tendency to become really annoying.
Her exact opposite, Sansa Stark was the type of lady that had always managed to bore Jae to death.

Outside, the steady patter of rain against the tent reached Jae’s ears. Thunder cracked. A horse
neighed in the distance.

They were camped six leagues from Harrenhal. Jae was waiting to join his forces with the Vale
men under the command of Viserys Targaryen, his uncle. The force that would act as the bait were
ready to depart at a moment’s notice. They would make for Harrenhal immediately after their
Viserys and his Knights of The Vale arrived.

Doubts about his plan threatened to gnaw at his mind. Jae shut them out. He had long since learnt
the lesson that doubting yourself could be fatal.

Refusing to worry about facing Tywin Lannister, Jae’s mind wandered to the other thing that had
been troubling him for the past two days. Rhaenys’ note was short, to the point and he still couldn’t
come to terms with it.

Marriage? I was planning on Margaery Tyrell, but Haegon beat me to it. And now I’m offered two
beautiful women to choose. Seems all my wooing lessons with Uncle Benjen went for naught.

Jae had received another letter two days past from Ser Brynden. The man had gotten Lucerys
Velaryon and Lord Celtigar to Jae’s cause. The Dragonstone fleet was his. And Tywin Lannister
had no idea of it. Or so he hoped. For now, Jaehaerys hadn’t ordered an attack on the capital.

I want the lion to be well and truly caged before striking its head off.

His thoughts were just taking a new direction, when Jae thought he heard the sound of footsteps.
Even above the steady patter of rain, the squelchy sound of boots wading through mid was
unmistakable. Soon enough, a grizzled bear of a man entered his tent. He immediately took a knew
in front of Jae, splattering mud and shit all over the carpet.

”Your Grace.”

Jae cocked his head. “Rise, my lord. What is it?”

Lord Yohn Royce was the head of House Royce, and an able man. Once a formidable tourney
knight, the man still retained his martial visage. With broad shoulders, a flat stomach and a hard
face, he would have looked no older than thirty had it not been for a shock of white hair on his
head. Jaehaerys had put the man in charge of his outriders. No one could replace the experience of
the Blackfish, but Lord Royce had already proved himself an able and decisive general.

Right now, judging from his face, whatever news Lord Royce brought wasn’t dire. “My scouts
have sighted the Vale force, Your Grace. Prince Viserys is leading them.”

Jaehaerys processed the statement for a moment, before speaking. “Did your scouts manage to get
a count of their numbers, my lord?”
Lord Royce shrugged. “My scouts report that they saw Prince Viserys riding at the front with near
thousand men. It seems my goodson has decided to take charge of the vanguard.”

Jaehaerys looked outside the tent, watching the rain splatter against ground, creating pools of mud.
“How far?”

”I estimate another half hour.”

Jae thought for a moment, before turning to Lord Yohn. “Very well. I will greet my uncle myself.
See to it that space is prepared for Viserys’ men to camp. They will be wet and tired when they
arrived.”

Lord Royce bowed. “I shall do as you command, Your Grace.”

Once the Vale lord took his leave, Jae went and dressed himself in a black doublet, lined with
Targaryen red. He fastened his sword around his hip. It was good, castle forged steel, but Jae had
decided not to name it. In battle, there was a good chance you might lose your sword amidst all the
chaos. Naming it would just make the loss feel heavier.

Once he emerged outside, wrapped up completely in a black cloak, he was joined by his
Kingsguard, Ser Patrek Mallister. The riverland knight and Ser Brynden were his only Kingsguard
for now. He was of a mind to name his uncle Benjen to the order after the war, but for now his
uncle was needed to consolidate his power in the North.

The walk to the edge of the camp was marked with Ser Patrek continually slipping in the mud and
cursing, and Jae trying and failing not to laugh in the knight’s attempts to keep his white cloak
clean of brown stains.

Jaehaerys himself never slipped. When he had been thirteen, there had been a summer snow. A
lake near Winterfell had frozen overnight. Next morning, Ser Arthur had dumped him
unceremoniously on the ice, and then had proceeded to hammer him with a blunted tourney sword.
Jae slipped and slipped and slipped. Ser Arthur’s balance itself was perfect, the knight never
wavered, not even for once. Everyday they practised, until Jae stopped slipping.

The lesson had ingrained itself in Jae’s body. He never slipped after that, however slippery and
muddy the ground was. And right now, he was walking jovially while Patrek Mallister trailed
behind him, white cloak nearly brown by now.

Lord Yohn Royce was already present with a Vale retinue to greet Viserys, and when Jae and Ser
Patrek joined them, the Lord of Runestone informed them that Viserys was just another fifteen
minutes away. The wet wait for his uncle passed away slowly, until the distant sound of hooves
reached Jae.

Viserys Targaryen rode at the head of the column. Sporting a silver grey armour and a night black
dragon helm, and a lady’s favour knotted around his elbow, Viserys looked like a knight from the
songs. When his uncle neared them, he took off his helm and flashed a grin at Yohn Royce.

His uncle dismounted, and bowed to Royce. They exchanged a few words before Viserys turned to
Jae, his expression solemn. His uncle was a classical Valyrian, just like Daenerys, with silver hair
and purple eyes.

”Your Grace.”

Jae stared at Viserys. “Uncle.”

The Prince went to one knee, his head bowed. “I, Viserys of House Targaryen, hearby swear to
King Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of His Name, my life, my lands, my honour and my fealty.”

Jaehaerys raised a hand. “Rise, uncle. You could have done this at the tent, you know. Now, you
have your armour all splattered with mud.”

Viserys shrugged. “Someone will clean it, no doubt.”

Jaehaerys beckoned backwards. “We have much to discuss, my dear uncle. Tents have been
prepared for you. But first, we need to talk in my tent.”

Viserys nodded. “Of course. Lead on, nephew.”

Jaehaerys turned to Ser Patrek. “Give the orders. The contingency force rides for Harrenhal within
the hour.”

Ser Patrek gave him a nod, before departing in hurried strides and then promptly slipping in the
mud. A barely restrained curse erupted from the knight’s mouth.

Their walk back to Jae’s tent was marked in silence. Viserys didn’t speak much, it seemed. When
they entered, Jae ordered the servants to start a fire. As soon as the servants got the fire roaring,
Viserys sat himself as close to the fire as he could with a groan.

For a few moments, silence reigned in Jae’s tent. Then...

“I must admit, nephew, I’m impressed.”

Jae turned to his uncle with a raised eyebrow. “Why, thank you uncle.”

Viserys snorted. “When I first saw you, I was disappointed. You looked nothing like a Targaryen.
Dark hair, long face, grey eyes. Definitely not something to be the reason for a long and futile war.
I did harbour a resentment of you. Now, though, you’ve earned my respect.”

Jaehaerys frowned for a moment, before speaking. “That’s good to hear, uncle. But now, back to
the present. You have heard of my plan?”

Viserys nodded. “A sound plan. A bit risky, but we can pull it off. And it’s also pretty ironic. The
attacker getting attcaked.”

Jaehaerys stared at the map layed on the center table. “Will you fight in the battle?”

Viserys shrugged. “I can hold my own in a tourney, but I’d be slaughtered in a battlefield. I’m
more of a someone who commands from the rear.”

“And how fares your marriage, uncle?”

Viserys waved a hand. “Oh, well enough. But from what I’ve gathered from meeting you, nephew,
you’re not one for small talk. Why this question?”

Jae didn’t answer. Instead, he handed his uncle Rhaenys’ note. He watched as Viserys’ face
widened into a grin as he read the letter. “Ah. You’ve got a choice most men would kill for.”

Jaehaerys shrugged. “Beautiful women, yes. But beauty isn’t all that matters to me.”

His uncle raised an eyebrow. “Have you someone else in mind?”

Jae gave out a frustrated sigh, ruffling his hair with his hands. “No, that’s the problem. Whoever I
don’t choose gets to marry my cousin Robb. If I marry Rhaenys, then Robb gets Arianne. And if
the other, then vice versa. I can’t make a decision until my cousin returns.”

Viserys inclined his head. “And who would you chose?”

“Rhaenys.”

Viserys grinned. “Lusting after our sibling, are we now?”

Jae had never blushed in his life. Yet now, he came close to blushing in front of his uncle. “No! I
can trust her. I know her. She’s always been like my personal septa. Arianne Martell, on the other
hand... Well, I have no idea what schemes she will have. And I don’t want a headache at my side
while I’m already fighting a war at the front!”

Viserys schooled his expression into seriousness. “Well, I declare your intentions chaste, nephew.
But enough talk of marriage. How soon do we march?”

Jaehaerys thought for a moment. “I’ll give your men two hours to rest. After that, we march.”

Viserys got up from his chair and nodded. “Very well. I shall need my rest too. If you will excuse
me, nephew?”

Jae nodded his head. But when Viserys was at the flap of his tent, Jae hailed him.

”Uncle.”

Viserys turned towards him. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Jaehaerys steadied himself, before speaking. “A couple of my men will be with you during the
battle. I hope you understand?”

Viserys smiled sadly. “Of course. I am yet to earn your trust.”

Jae shook his head. “No. I’d trust you with my plans. I’d trust you with my operations. I just can’t
trust you with my life.”
 The Dark King
Chapter Summary

Haegon explains his plans to his vassals...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Haegon Blackfyre, Second of His Name, nodded as yet another lord raised his glass for a toast to
the Blackfyre cause. Personally, Haegon found himself missing the days when his vassals were just
the stormlords and the generals of the Golden Company. Yes, there was still feasting, but
everything was simpler back then.

The moment the Reach had sworn itself to him, barely a week had gone by without a feast of
celebration. Haegon had tried to temper the Reach lords, but he might as well have tried asking
them to stop breathing.

All the Lords of The Reach combined could boast nearly a hundred thousand men. Yet, Haegon
would have matched them against his Golden Company any day. There was little to no organisation
in the army of the Reach, and he already had his men drilling day and night, to restore some
semblance of discipline in them.

Beside him, Garlan Tyrell barely managed to restrain a scoff as yet another Reach lord, some
Florent, spewed over exaggerated praises of Haegon. The King had decided that he liked the knight
of Highgarden, who was definitely not a shameless boot-licker like the people surrounding him.

The feast was in full swing around them. Already, several lords were drunkenly groping at the
passing serving girls, while Bryce Carron had struck up a bawdy song with Alester Florent, and
their voices matched as much as snails in a soup.

Haegon turned to looked at Ser Garlan. “So, you are averse to praise of my good deeds, my lord?”

Any lesser lord might have paled at being so bluntly approached by the King, but Garlan Tyrell
never wavered. “I’m as awed by your deeds as any other man, Your Grace, but I’d prefer you have
more good deeds for us lesser beings to praise of.”

Haegon gave Ser Garlan a wry smile. “So, you don’t believe in me, my lord?”

Ser Garlan raised an eyebrow. “Did I ever say that? You have outwitted Tywin Lannister, Your
Grace, but it will take more than this,” he waved a hand around him, “— to defeat Jaehaerys
Targaryen. With all due respect Your Grace, he definitely has more feats to boast of than you.”

Haegon shrugged. “I respect the man, ser. He is clever and smart, and would have probably made a
great king. It’s just that I would make a better one.”

Ser Garlan shook his head. “You have to get there first, Your Grace.”

“So you do doubt my ability to win?”

Ser Garlan looked at him, unflinching. “The Lannisters killed my brother Loras, Your Grace. We
joined you for vengeance,”

No, you joined me to have a shot of your precious rose being queen.

Tyrell continued speaking. “Forgive me for saying this, Your Grace, but Jaehaerys Targaryen has
done much more against Tywin Lannister than you have.”

Haegon smiled. “The war is yet to end, my lord.”

Ser Garlan looked unconvinced. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Regardless, my grandmother wishes to
speak with you tonight, Your Grace. After the feast.”

Haegon nodded. So finally the Queen of Thorns bristles from the rose bush.

“I will be delighted to talk with Lady Olenna, Ser Garlan.”

To be honest, Haegon had been quite surprised that Margaery Tyrell had still been ripe for
plucking by the time he arrived. Jaehaerys Targaryen had proven himself to be a tough foe,
patience, boldness and cunning rolled all into one. If he had been a bit more decisive, then he
would have offered the Tyrells his hand in marriage. Instead, all he had sent to the Reach was a
note about his survival, and the fact that Lannister soldiers had killed Ser Loras Tyrell. But still, he
supposed he should be grateful that the Black Prince hadn’t offered a marriage proposal, or he’d
have the Reach against him. Yes, he would have defeated them regardless, but at severe cost to his
resources and men.

He had nothing to complain of regarding his future betrothed. Pretty, with a shy smile that would
make a man feel like a gallant protector, Margaery Tyrell was a lovely bride, and above all, not a
hindrance to Haegon. He knew well enough that beneath the meek and docile act lay a mind as
cunning as Olenna Tyrell, but so long as she kept her little schemes to herself, he had no cause of
complaint.

The feast progressed slowly, and Haegon found himself looking forward to his nighttime
conversation with the Queen of Thorns. The food was good, but the company so boring that he
wished he could be dicing with his men instead of enduring empty compliments from one lord after
another.

It was long after midnight when the first lord departed. He was roaring drunk, and threw slurred
curses at the men standing guard near the door for no apparent reason. Soon after, one by one, the
lords took their leave. Even then, it was nearly another half hour before Haegon found the hall
empty aside from a few servants and Garlan Tyrell. The lord beckoned backwards at him, and
Haegon rose. He wiped his mouth clean with a cloth before following the Gallant Knight.

Highgarden by itself was a massive splendour of a castle, but Haegon doubted it would last long if
besieged. It’s walls were high, but the towers were designed to look more attractive than to be
defensible. There was no moat or murder holes protecting the gates and the watchtowers were
placed at unadvantageous positions. Inside, the castle was a maze of corridors and halls, yet each
was fabulously decorated with the green and blue and draped with rose banners every metre. It was
through one such corridor that Garlan Tyrell led Haegon through, and finally, ushered him inside a
lavishly decorated room.

The room had a gorgeously carved table at the centre and three chairs set at three sides, and it was
empty.
So, Lady Olenna decides to make me wait. I’ll make her pay for this slight later, methinks.

On the table, a cyvasse board was kept, all the pieces arranged in attack formation.

He sat himself in one chair and turned to speak to Garlan Tyrell, but found that the man had already
left. He frowned and then looked at the cyvasse board. The room had every comfort any room
could think to have, and it made Haegon remember his small but cosy room in Illyrio’s manse. His
life had been better then. Every morn, his day would start with lessons. Haegon read about the
previous Targaryen kings, their lives, their achievements. His favourite had been the Young
Dragon. The man who conquered Dorne without dragons.

The man who did something not even Aegon the Conqueror could do.

It made Haegon wonder. A hundred years from now, when all was left of him would be dust and
bones, would history remember him as a conquering hero who united Westeros? Or would it
remember him as yet another usurper, yet another failed Blackfyre king? Only time will tell...

He was shaken from his reverie by the sound of the door opening. He turned to see Garlan Tyrell
walk in, and behind him followed his famous grandmother.

The Queen of Thorns was so small one could mistake her for a child. Her visage was shrewish, her
face wrinkled, her hair white. On the outside, she looked like an old, tire woman. Yet, her tongue
was anything but old or tired.

“Your Grace.”

Haegon didn’t rise. Instead, he nonchalantly raised his legs on the table, and feigned an air of
utmost confidence. He was no stranger to word games, and he knew that physical appearance
played a very important part.

“Lady Olenna.”

The woman tottered close to her chair. “I am sure you will forgive me for not bending the knee,
Your Grace. These old bones are not the same as it used to be.” She sat down with some help from
her grandson, before looking at Haegon. “Well?”

Haegon feigned confusion. “Well what, my lady?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” snapped Lady Olenna, “— you know very well what I’m talking
about. For the past fortnight, you’ve done nothing but sit and feast with this lord and that lady, and
exchange pretty words with my granddaughter. All the while, Jaehaerys Targaryen wins victory
after victory. So, I ask you once more. What is your plan?”

Haegon smiled. One moment she was all courteous, in the next she had attacked with all artillery.
No doubt she thinks to shock me.

“Have all of you Tyrells so little faith in me?”

Garlan Tyrell sighed. “This isn’t a matter of faith, Your Grace. You must know that we do not have
the full support of all the Lords of The Reach. The Florents see us as usurpers to Highgarden, and
there are several, such as Lord Tarly, who believe we should declare for Jaehaerys Targaryen.
Even the Hightowers, who are tied to us by marriage, are uneasy with this alliance.”

Lady Olenna spoke up, disdain clear in her voice. “And I agree with them. It seems we have gotten
too enraptured with making Margaery queen. Perhaps we should have waited for King Jaehaerys to
 make an offer.”

Haegon leaned forward. “Tell me, my lord and lady, does King Jaehaerys seem like a fool to you?”

Garlan frowned. “Of course not.”

Haegon nodded. “When he hears this news, he will try and sow discord amidst our ranks. Some of
the lords will defect to him. Now, if I move around for battle with all the Lords of The Reach
behind me, I admit these potential traitors into our ranks. King Jaehaerys will recognise that
opportunity. Instead of openly defecting, he will ask these said lords to spy on me.”

Realisation dawned on both Ser Garlan and Lady Olenna’s eyes. Haegon grinned inwardly. It’s not
everyday that you catch the Gallant and the Queen of Thorns off guard.

He continued. “By ‘sitting and feasting’, as you have so eloquently pointed out, not only do I give
those traitors chance to defect openly and exclude them from my council, but I also get time to
consolidate my power here and in the stormlands.”

Garlan Tyrell looked impressed. Lady Olenna, however, wouldn’t accept defeat easily. “You forget
Dorne.”

Haegon shrugged. “It will take King Jaehaerys some time to convince Dorne to support him, if
indeed Doran Martell intends to do so. Trust me, my lord and lady, should the worst happen, I do
have a plan.”

Lady Olenna looked at Haegon, face expressionless. “Trust tends to get you killed, Your Grace.
But still, you’ve proven yourself to be no fool. Say you root out the traitors. What will you do after
that?”

Haegon picked up the elephant piece from the cyvasse board. “Then, my lady, you will learn the
truth of House Blackfye’s words.”

Haegon replaced the elephant piece, with an onyx dragon. “Blood and fire.”

Chapter End Notes

To be honest, two of my fav charcaters in this story is Jae and Haegon. I absolutely
love writing their POVs...
 The Heir to Karhold
Chapter Summary

The bloody conflict of the Siege of Duskendale

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Torrhen Karstark’s muscles were feeling as though they had been squished by a giant.

The last few hours had been a torture for Torrhen. He cursed Robb Stark. His plan was good, yes,
but it was his plan. Robb Stark made up the plan to take Duskendale, and here he was, cramped
and stuffed, while the Wolf Lord lounged in his tent. If he was so interested in taking Duskendale,
he could bloody well take Tor’s place.

He had actually felt honored when his father had told him that he and his brother were invited to sit
with the Lord of Winterfell in the command tent. Little did he and Eddard Karstark know, that they
were the men Lord Robb had chosen for the task.

In the command tent, Robb Stark had heaped praises on Tor and Eddard, saying that they were his
finest warriors. He and his brother had puffed their chests out at the praise, and when the subject at
hand had been broached, they’d felt honored, fucking honored, to be appointed command of the
unit.

Robb Stark poured Torrhen another glass of wine, while Eddard downed his own goblet in one
swig. Their father watched the show, smiling grimly as his sons got drunk.

“Now, to the matter at hand,” Robb Stark’s voice was a ray of sunlight in the cloud forming in
Tor’s head. “As you both know, King Jaehaerys has ordered me to take Duskendale as soon as
possible.”

Beside him, Eddard snorted. “King Jaehaerys has been ordering a lot of things these days.”

For a moment, Tor thought his brother had misspoken. But Lord Robb simply smiled. “I have just
the plan to accomplish what the King has asked me to do.”

“Which is?”

For the first time that night, Stark poured himself a glass of wine. “Tell me, Ed and Tor, do you
know of the siege of Storm’s End?”

Torrhen frowned. “Of course. Everyone does. The Reach laid siege to the castle, and Stannis
Baratheon held the castle up until orders came from the capital.”

Robb nodded. “Do you know how they survived? Limited rations, no water except sea water?”

Eddard shook his head. “Musta ate each other.”

“No. A smuggler braved the blockade of the Redwynes and entered Storm’s End with food and
rations. That is how they survived.”

Torrhen and Eddard stared at each other. This part of the story was unknown to them. Lord Robb
continued speaking. “The situation is much the same as it was then. A nearly impregnable castle, a
naval blockade, a siege on the ground, limited rations and supplies. The men behind the walls will
be worried about their rations.” He gestured at Rickard Karstark.

Lord Karstark came forward. “When they see a boat with black sails, moving past the blockade,
bringing food and supplies, they will welcome it with open arms,” his face split into a grim smile,
“ — unknown to them, they’ll also be welcoming some of our best men.”

Torrhen blinked. “You want to smuggle men inside the castle, disguised as food and supplies?”

Lord Robb grinned. “Yes. And both of you will lead the squad. Your job is to open the gates,” he
pointed at the map of Duskendale on the table, “— the castle has two gates, one on the sea side
and one on the land side. You’ll enter the castle through the sea side. You’ll have to journey all the
way across to the land gate, and then open it. The signal will be six waves of a torch.”

They had been placed under command of twenty men, ten from the North and ten from the Vale.
Torrhen knew all the northmen, and Ser Mychel had given him a briefing of the talents of the ten
Vale men. The boat had twelve wine casks, and four massive boxes supposedly carrying food.

They had decided who would go in the cask and who would go in the boxes. Torrhen had drawn
himself a seat in the wine cask, while his brother Eddard had gotten lucky and drawn the role of
the boatman.

The wine cask was perhaps the worst place Torrhen had ever been in his life. Cramped, the walls
seemed to close around him like the jaws of a wolf. His muscles were begging for release, and
Torrhen longed to draw his sword and kill someone.

The boat swayed gently as it neared the Dun Fort from the sea. Torrhen could see nothing, stuffed
as he was in the cask, but he could still hear. Right now, there was a deathly silence in the air,
except for the gentle splashing sound of his brother working the oars. No one spoke. One wayward
breath could be the end of them all.

Torrhen refused to think about the consequences if they got caught. Actually, there is a pretty good
chance we’ll get caught. This plan isn’t fucking foolproof, it’s an experiment.

He chased those thoughts away, instead focusing on the peaceful days back at Karhold, him
bickering with Eddard and Harrion, laughing along with Alys as different suitors from all of the
North came for her hand in marriage. He did remember the Ryswell boy coming to Karhold, and
boasting that one day, he would win a knighthood. The boy had been so stick thin, that Alys had
named him ‘Ser Weedy’, and Tor and his brothers had taken to calling him that throughout the
boy’s stay at Karhold.

The gentle splashing of water took on a different tone. While earlier, the sound had been normal,
now it seemed to echo. We seem to have entered a cave.

The distant murmur of voices reached his ear. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he
tensed. They were there. Now, they would see if Lord Robb’s plan was good enough for them. He
positioned himself at the top of the cask, ready to spring into action should the worst happen.

Gradually, the voices slowly got more distinct. They were definitely in some sort of cave, for there
were echoes all around. Suddenly, a voice cut through the night air like an arrow.
“STOP!”

The boat continued moving, and for a moment, Tor thought that Eddard would continue rowing,
but slowly, the boat stilled.

“What is your business here?”

Tor heard Eddard’s voice call out. “Good day to you, friends. I’ve brought supplies and rations for
you. Heard that things were bad up there in the castle.”

“Under whose orders?” The speaker’s voice was loud and gruff, and it eerily reminded Torrhen of
his father.

“No one. I am but a simple smuggler looking for profit. That army out there has all the food that
they need. You, on the other hand, don’t.”

The moment Eddard stopped speaking, there was a sound. It was the unmistakable sound of a
crossbow bolt being drawn.

Once more, the gruff voice spoke out. “If you’re a simple smuggler, then I’m the fucking Warrior
reborn. You walk like a highborn, you move like a highborn, you talk like a highborn. So, I’ll ask
again. On whose orders?”

Damn it, Ed. Really should have polished your acting skills.

For the longest moment, silence reigned supreme. Torrhen tensed, his hand trying and failing to
reach his sword in the cramped space. After what seemed like an eternity, Eddard spoke.

“You’re right, I’m no common smuggler. I am Ser Mychel Redfort, Commander of the Vale forces
under Robb Stark. I’m here to defect.”

“And why would you be doing that?”

Once more, there was silence. Torrhen was sure that this time, Ed would require outside help. But
before he could do anything, his brother spoke once more. “My reasons aren’t meant to be spoken
in a cave. Take me to your commander. You have nothing to fear. I am alone, unarmed but for a
dagger. And you have five men.”

Five men? We have twenty. Should be easy enough..

Th tension was so thick in the air, Tor could almost feel it, like a cloak wrapping itself around him.
The suspense was almost too much to bear. Finally, the gruff voice spoke once more.

“All right. You step out of that boat, with your hands where we can see them. And what’s in those
casks and boxes?”

Whatever defect Eddard might have had in his lowborn acting, there was no such thing when he
was acting as a highborn. His voice never wavered. “Food and supplies, just as I said. As a gesture
of good faith.”

The boat began moving once more, swaying gently. There was a sharp tap on Tor’s wine cask. One
tap means get ready..

All of a sudden, the boat’s gentle swaying motion ceased. It lurched forward, and them came to a
complete stop. We’ve hit the land.
And then, he heard Eddard loudly smack his hand on the wooden side of the boat. The signal was
clear. It was time for action.

Torrhen burst forward out of his wine cask. Hours on the boat had made his stance a bit jittery, and
it took him a second longer to free his sword from the scabbard.

The place where they had landed was pitch dark but for the light coming from a lamp straight in
front of Tor. Holding that lamp, looking as though an auroch had popped through the boat, stood a
soldier wearing a faded yellow armour. His face was scruffy, his beard looked as though it had
been washed when the First Men had come to Westeros.

He yelped in surprise upon seeing him. Torrhen lunged forward, sword in hand. The man could do
little but gape as Tor’s sword punched through his chest and back. His mouth was still open as Tor
wrenched the sword out of him, blood flowing freely from his lips.

Around him, the rest of his twenty men were finishing the remaining four men. All of them were
so surprised that not even ine of them managed to put up any resistance. The last man to die had
finally realised what was happening. Just before Borard’s sword punched through him, he had
screamed for mercy. Torrhen felt his gut tightening as he heard the man’s dying wheezes.

Picking up the lamp that had fallen from their dead commander’s hands, Torrhen threw the light all
around to get a good look of where they were.

They were in a dark, narrow channel which opened out into the sea. In the distance, he could see
White Harbour’s naval blockade. Casting the light in the opposite direction, he saw that they were
directly beneath the seaward side of Duskendale’s walls. Barely a meter away from them was a
murder hole with a ladder. Tor assumed that was from where the soldiers had exited the castle.

Borard, a grizzly Northerner with so many scars that you could hardly make out his face, had
cleaned his sword with the dead man’s cape. Ser Vardis, a Vale knight, was inspecting the murder
hole, while his brother and another Vale knight piled up the dead bodies in one corner.

Ser Vardis walked up to Tor, his face emotionless. “I believe the five men were part of the nightly
patrol.”

Torrhen nodded. “Good. No one looks for the night patrol until the morning. By the morning, we
need to ensure none of these bastards remain in the castle.”

Eddard walked up to him, his face cloudy. “So far, so good. Aside from the last man, no one made
a sound. Anyways, if anyone heard his screams, they’d be here by now.”

Torrhen looked around. His twenty men had formed up around the murder hole, waiting for his
orders.

“Form up,” Torrhen spoke in his best commander’s voice, “— we move fast. We strike quick and
hard, and before they know anything, those fuckers up there will be dead.”

His men gave no reaction other than an obligatory nod. Torrhen gestured at the hole. Borard was
the first to climb through, followed by Ser Vardis, who was followed by Torrhen himself. One by
one, they climbed through the murder hole, making not a single sound. When Eddard gave a grunt
while climbing, Tor’s heart nearly stopped.

“Be quiet,” he hissed, “— or do you want to get us killed?”

Once all were through, Tor took a look around. They were in a narrow corridor, with torch bearing
sconces attached to the wall. The passage twisted towards the left, it’s end out of sight.

Torrhen nodded at Mulwin, another Northerner. The man reached inside his chainmail and brought
out a heavily creased mal of Dun Fort.

Torrhen pointed at the map. “All the murder holes on the seaside walls are connected by one
passage. So, we’re in this corridor,” he said, laying his finger on the passage. “So, we follow this
path, and then we take a right turn and then another, and we go up through another murder hole.
That brings us to the winch. One of us will go to the top of the winch, with the torch as the signal,
while the rest of us will take care of the guards. Borard, you’ll go to the top. The wolf howl is the
signal for the ‘gate is open’. A cat’s meow is the signal for ‘abort mission’. Understood?”

Borard nodded his head in confirmation. Ser Vardis looked grimly at Tor. “Should the worst
happen, does our escape route remain the same as we discussed?”

“Yes.”

All of his twenty men nodded their assent, and then they set out. Ten of them traveled sticking to
the left wall, ten of them traveled with their backs to the right. The passage seemed relatively
unused. They encountered no one, until they came to the division where they were supposed to
take a right turn.

From the right side passage, there came the sound of voices. If Torrhen had judged correctly, they
were three men. He beckoned grimly at Mulwin, who crept forward with two dirks in his hand.

Mulwin could hit any target as far away as it can, be it a bear or a fly. His skill was of much use in
narrow corridors, where fighting with a longsword severely limited one’s range.

The first man appeared, laughing and talking to someone behind him. Mulwin flicked his wrist,
and suddenly, there was a dagger embedded in the man’s throat. He went down soundlessly,
toppling backwards. Torrhen heard a yelp, but that was all the second man could get out before he
too had a dirk sticking through his throat. The third man had just enough time to draw his sword
before Borard was upon him. The man made a swipe, which the Northerner easily dodged, before
getting his skull cracked open through Borard’s sword.

Tor gestured at his brother. He and Borard piled up the bodies in a dark corner. Even if someone
notices them, it won’t matter. We’re close to the land gate.

The closer they got to the gate, the more urgent their strides became. Through rest of their journey,
they encountered no one else. Whether by luck, or by timing, only the gods knew.

Soon enough, they reached the murder hole. Torrhen was the first to climb through. As he looked
around, he saw nearly fifteen men sitting guard near the gate. The winch that went to the top of the
gate was unguarded. Five men sat at one corner, apparently dicing. Six of the men sat around a
fire, talking in hushed voices. At the top of the gate, four men sat facing Robb Stark’s army.

As soon as Borard emerged through the murder hole, Tor drew him aside. “There are four men at
the top, Bor. Can you take them all alone, or shall I send some more men with you?”

The withering look he got in return gave him his answer.

All twenty of them were huddled in a dark corner, unnoticed by the men. Torrhen spoke in a
hushed whisper. “We have two objectives. First, open the fucking gate. That, is something we
absolutely do not fail. Whatever happens, that remains our concern. Even if the Maiden dances
naked in front of you, that will remain your concern. Second, Borard goes up, takes care of the men
there, and gives the signal. We hold the gate until the army arrives. We do all this, and they’ll
make fucking songs about us. ‘Torrhen Karstark and his Twenty,’ they’ll say, ‘The Doom of
Duskendale’.”

“You’ve forgotten me,” Eddard grumbled beside him, “ — Stark gave us joint command.”

“Fuck off.”

He gave the rest of his men a nod. They all nodded grimly back, before all of them turned to
Borard. The man unsheathed a second sword, and then gestured at the winch. Tor nodded, and
Borard burst forward in a run, straight for the winch.

“HEY YOU! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” One of the men near the fire had stood
up.

They needed no signal. Nineteen of them came bustling forward, and the men gaped at them, open
mouthed. His brother Eddard was the first to kill. He flung his axe across at the man who had
spoken, and the weapon embedded itself in the middle of the man’s face.

Torrhen ran forward, sword drawn, and two men rose to meet him. With a guttural roar, he crashed
into them, his sword swinging in a furious arc. He dodged the first man’s strike and slammed his
shoulder into him, making the man stumble on the ground. The second man tried to circle behind
him, but one well placed cut had him writhing on the ground, missing a hand.

The first man had recovered on the ground, and was trying to reach his sword when Torrhen
cleaved away half his neck. Turning, he found another man yell and charge at him. He swept aside,
and buried his sword at his side, before quickly wrenching it away and bringing it up to meet the
strike of another man.

All around him, the sound of battle dimmed as his entire focus turned on himself, and himself only.
Torrhen found himself killing on and on and on until he finally raised his sword to strike a man,
only to find that said man was his own brother. Eddard was covered in blood, and there was a gash
at his side.

“Are you all right, brother?” Eddard’s voice was hollow, coming from behind his helm.

Torrhen managed a nod. He took a look around to see that most of the fight was coming to an end.
One man from the Golden Company was dueling with Ser Vardis. Even for a man older than forty,
Ser Vardis moved with such grace and quickness, that it was no contest. Soon enough, the soldier
was lying dead on the ground, and Ser Vardis turned to look at them, panting.

They had lost three of their own men. Mulwyn was dead, a spear sticking through his gut. Two
Vale men lay behind him, their skulls smashed. Torrhen gestured at the rest of the men to open the
gate. Just as he was about to speak to his brother at his side, he was interrupted.

Interrupted by the sound of a horn.

The long note burst through the night sky, echoing in the distance. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell!

There was no pretense of hiding now. Someone, someone had survived and blown the horn, and
now, they would soon be overwhelmed. Their only hope was the army camped outside. Ser Vardis
and one of his Vale Knights ran towards the gate, while Torrhen gestured at his remaining men to
form up.

“Whatever happens, whoever comes, they do not get to close the fucking gate. YOU HEAR ME?!
THEY DO NOT CLOSE THE FUCKING GATE!” Torrhen’s voice carried out, drowning out the
mutterings of the surviving fourteen men. “Don’t fight for the fucking King, and don’t fight for
fucking Robb the Lord, ‘cause he ain’t here now with you! Fight, FIGHT, for your own lives,
because that army outside is our only hope of surviving. FIGHT, AND FIGHT FOR YOUSELF!”
Tor’s voice was so loud that even Eddard jumped at the sound. His men clanged their sword and
shields together in response.

The first of the Golden Company’s men trickled up the murder hole. One of the Vale men shot at
them with arrows. Through all the shouts and screams, the creaking noise of a gate opening
reached Tor’s ears.

Barely a moment later, a wolf’s howl teared through the night.

Yes. The gate is open. Now all we have to do is wait for the army to arrive.

Someone drew up beside him. Tor turned to see Borard, his face and swords bloody, the expression
on his face furious. With a yell, he charged at the Company’s men, closely followed by Torrhen
himself.

Time slowed down to a crawl. There were hundreds of men streaming in now, and only fourteen of
them. Yet, it didn’t matter for Tor. He continued killing, until he heard a scream. The scream was
of a voice he knew well. The voice was of his own brother.

Torrhen turned around like a whip, to see a man in golden armour thrust his sword through
Eddard’s back. At the same time, another man slashed his sword, parting his brother’s head neatly
from his body.

No. Not him. Not Eddard. No. NO. NOO!!

Memories flashed around him. He and Eddard had gotten drunk together, they had shared their
women together, they did everything together. It could not be. Not his little brother.

With a scream of rage, Torrhen flung himself at the men. They stood no chance. Tor truly fought
like a real savage. His sword flashed left and right, cutting through the men’s armour like cheese,
and their dying screams seemed music to his ears.

Afterwards, Tor couldn’t recall the exact details of the fight. All he knew was that he had killed.
Men had attacked him, and he had killed them. Their pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears.

I’ll show them the mercy they showed to Eddard.

Later, he remembered seeing the Stark’s cavalry burst through the gates as they cut a bloody
swathe through the ranks of the Golden Company. Later, he would remember seeing Robb Stark
himself cut through a mass of men to reach the inner holdfast of Duskendale. Later, he would
remember the loud cheering of men as a red dragon banner was mounted from the top of the castle.

But now, all he could see was the severed head of his brother looking up lifelessly at him. A few
yards away, the mangled body of Borard had been piled beside Mulwyn’s. We lost so many good
men today... and my brother.

Tor felt he couldn’t cry. Tears weren’t enough for him. He picked up his brother’s head.

The first rays of dawn were fingering through the clouds when he found Robb Stark at the center
courtyard, his armour covered in blood and gore, his face set in a grim line. When he saw him
approaching, Robb’s mouth fell open.
 “Torrhen?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he laid his brother’s head gently at Robb Stark’s feet.

“Duskendale is yours, my lord.”

Chapter End Notes

This was a VERY tough chapter to write. Hope you enjoyed it.
Next, we’ll get the much awaited Jae v Tywin smackdown bowl.
Also, what do you think should be the name of this war? War of the Three Kings? War
of The Three Dragons? Will welcome any cool name suggestions...
 The Dragon of The Vale
Chapter Summary

Part 1 of the Battle of Harrenhal....

Chapter Notes

So, the end name for the war is ........

The Dance of the Three Dragons

It’s a mixture of TDOTD and War of The Three Dragons. Since it’s basically a free for
all Targ civil war, I thought the name appropriate.

Keep in mind that this chap happens a few hours before the Fall of Duskendale.
Also, I noticed very few comments in the last chapters. What happened? Authors value
comments, both negative (lol I’m kidding) and positive. Would welcome more
comments.

Give a review of the fight scene. Part 1 is told from Viserys POV, so we get a view of
what happens from the rear. Next, we’ll get a Jae POV, where we’ll have some first
hand fighting.

Viserys Targaryen was not used to feeling nervous. Throughout much of his life, he had never
faced any particular challenge that had made him sweat. Not when he lead the Vale forces against
the Ironborn, not when he met his betrothed, not when he learned his father was dead.

But then again, there was a difference between facing Rodrik Greyjoy and facing Tywin Lannister
in battle. The Lion Lord wasn’t known for his battle prowess, but for his skills as a commander.
Much like Viserys himself, Lord Tywin watched from the rear with the reserve, ready to swoop
upon the enemy like a hawk whenever required.

Or so Jaehaerys had said.

Viserys still couldn’t make what to think of his King. At times, Jaehaerys delved into a melancholy
sense that reminded Vis so much of Rhaegar that it hurt. Other times, he could be smart, playful,
charming, whatever that was required or him. But Viserys suspected those were just masks. The
true Jaehaerys Targaryen was known only to those Jae wanted to know.

He had been disappointed when he had first seen Jae and Rhaenys. Both of them had no Valyrian
looks, and weren’t especially noteworthy. Viserys had made up his mind to treat them with
contempt. Rhaenys was no true dragon, however much Rhaegar would say otherwise. Viserys’
own father had said so, and how could he be wrong?

His childish faith on his father had come crashing down when he went to the Vale. There,
whenever anyone mentioned Aerys Targaryen, an obligatory spit and a few curses was bound to
follow. Viserys had spent his first few days crying himself to sleep. Why had his brother sent him
here, to this place where they insulted his father? His father, a true dragon. How dare they insult
him!

It had taken a visit from his mother to set his vision to rights. She had explained why everyone
insulted his father, she had explained why everyone bristled at the mention of Aerys.

“Mourn not the man whom you called father Viserys,” Queen Dowager Rhaella had said, “mourn
the young man I married whom you never got to know.”

Even then, for quite a few years, Viserys had still defended his father and his actions. That had
earned him nothing but scorn, and glowering looks wherever he went. Still, it had given Vis good
practise on putting an expressionless face. He’d had to do so whenever anyone insulted his father.

Mad or no, Aerys was still his father, his blood. He was still the person who’d regaled Vis with
tales of dragons, who’d taught him that no dragon ever bowed to anyone. Who had taught him that
dragons were meant to be above all.

But so far Viserys hadn’t had to jump to his father’s honour’s defence. With an entire war going
on, little mention was made of a King who was dead for eighteen years.

Their entire strength was near fifteen thousand strong. Five thousand were Vale men, men with
whom Viserys had fought and bled. The rest were equal parts northmen and riverlanders, under the
personal command of Jaehaerys.

Far off, nearly half a mile away, the distant walls of Harrenhal loomed like a scaly monstrosity.
The castle was surrounded by forest in all four sides. Towards the south, hidden by the walls of
Harren’s castle, lay the huge lake of God’s Eye, with the Isle of Faces at its centre.

Viserys looked around. His reserve, mostly cavalry, stretched in a line up until the horizon. The
forest surrounded them, and they made very little noise. His men were silent, their faces grim.
They knew they would be going into battle, and they also knew there would be a good chance of
them not coming back.

Towards the east and the west, Viserys knew that his nephew waited with the main infantry and a
few hundred cavalry. They were waiting for their bait to pass right under Harrenhal. They were
waiting for Lord Tywin to fall right into their trap.

From his position, Viserys could see the land all upto the walls of Harrenhal itself. Any moment
now, right under those walls, their bait would come rushing.

Their plan was simple. The moment Lord Tywin would attack, their own forces from the east and
west would flank and overwhelm them. The east force was led by Jaehaerys himself, while the
west force was under the command of Lord Jason Mallister. Bronze Yohn had been given the
charge of harrying Lord Tywin’s center with a hundred men.

They were in the command tent. The lords had just departed, and Jaehaerys was sharpening his
sword with a whetstone, his movements planned and meticulous. Viserys poured himself a glass of
wine from the jug, and took a sip.

“Wouldn’t it be better for you, nephew, if you were to take charge of the reserve?”

Jae looked up from his work, amusement glinting in his stormy grey eyes. “Better for me, perhaps,
but not for my men. In my experience, soldiers fight twice as ferociously if they see their
commander fighting with them.” He stood, gently placing the sword in a stand nearby. “Do you
know what makes the best commander, uncle?”

Viserys thought for a moment. “A cunning mind?”

Jae laughed. “No. The best commander knows his men, AND himself. I, for one, know that I am
much more suited to command from the front than the rear. I know that I can trust Lord Jason to
deploy his troops at the perfect time. I know that Lord Yohn is the perfect man to execute
guerrilla tactics. And I know that you, uncle, can be trusted to engage the reserve wherever it is
required the most. You have an instinct for that.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t seen me in command yet. How, pray, did you form such a
flattering opinion of me?”

His nephew grinned at him. “Seeing isn’t the only way to learn, uncle. That’s why we have books
and ears.”

A distant rumbling sound reached Viserys’ ears. It went on and on and on, with each passing
minute, the sound grew louder.

His horse snorted nervously. Beside him, his second-in-command, Harrion Karstark, frowned.
Unlike most northmen, Harrion Karstark wasn’t a tall, burly man. Rather, he was of middling
height, with a slender, lithe figure and an almost courteous tongue. At least he knows to address me
as ‘Your Grace’. The rest don’t even have that much knowledge.

When he had complained to Jaehaerys that Lord Umber had taken one look at his armour and
called him ‘a pampered shit of a lordling’, his nephew had burst out laughing. “It will take time for
them to accept you, uncle. Your birth or station soesn’t mean anything to the Lords of The North,
you have to earn their respect. Besides, you fight in the reserve, do you not? To them, that’s a sign
of cowardice.”

Viserys had bristled at that. Most of the northmen were barbarians, and they called him a coward?
But he had brushed the insult off. When his nephew informed him that Harrion Karstark would be
part of the group of men that would be there to ensure he didn’t betray them, Viserys nearly had a
headache. He had expected a burly northerner making snarky comments about all his decisions and
generally irritating him. Instead, Harrion Karstark was a calm man who had a logical mind, perfect
for the reserve.

“Is that our bait?” Karstark’s voice broke Viserys’ trance.

“It appears to be so.”

He saw Harrion Karstark tense. Unlike Viserys, Harrion was a warrior through and through. He’d
seen the proof when he watched Karstark thrash the men under his command in the training yard.

By instinct, Viserys turned to take a quick look around. The bait was still far away, nearly half a
mile at the least. Viserys felt the hairs on his skin rise. It all depends on anticipation. If Jae has
guessed correctly, Lannister will come crashing through the forest. If not, if not, if not....

Viserys shook his head. There could be no second guessing himself. Yet, his doubts refused to
leave him. If we lose the battle, we lose all the momentum we so carefully gathered.

The distant rumbling was not so distant now. As Viserys caught a few glimpses of the men
threading through the dense forest, he noticed a red dragon banner being carried by one man.
That’s our bait then. The deer is hanging in front of the lion’s mouth. Let us see if he takes the kill
or not...
The bait consisted of nearly a thousand men. They moved slowly, but steadily towards the looming
walls of Harrenhal. Viserys waited patiently. His nervousness had increased, yet he had enough
experience not to show it in front of his men.

He could feel the blood pumping through his veins. In his agitated state, Viserys began to notice
tiny, irrelevant details. A mockingbird was perched in a nearby tree, it’s face twisted to stare at the
east. A raven cawed, while another flew high up in the sky. Harrion Karstark muttered something
under his breath.

Their vanguard of their bait had emerged through the clearing. It was barely a quarter mile distance
from there to the gates of Harrenhal. Yet, till now, no one had attacked.

Lord Tywin is just waiting, Viserys assured himself, he is just waiting for the entire bait to come
into the clearing.

Little by little, like a trickle of water flowing through a tap, their bait emerged; threading through
the forest and into the clearing.

And still, there was no sign of an attack.

All of a sudden, the distant sound of a horn reached Viserys’ ears. They are not our horns.

And, almost like magic, the forest came to life in front of him. From the vast stretches of trees,
men on horseback with crimson and black Targaryen cloaks fell screaming upon their bait. They
shame our house, wearing those colours.

Viserys found himself grinning like a fool as he watched Lannister troops slaughter their own men.
Then he chastised himself for relaxing. The lion had taken the bait, yes, but the jaws were yet close
around Lord Tywin.

And good men are being killed right in front of me.

Harrion Karstark had ridden off to the front lines, organising each companies into the formations
he and Viserys and Jae had discussed. Each and every part of the battle had been meticulously
planned out by Jaehaerys, and it was upto Viserys to ensure that they went well.

It was painful to watch their own men get killed and do nothing, and as bad as it was for Viserys, it
had to be ten times worse for the foot soldiers. In all probability, some of them had friends and kin
acting as bait.

The minutes stretched on unbearably, so much so that Viserys was tempted to throw their plan to
the winds and charge in himself. Watching helplessly is far worse than fighting a losing battle.

Viserys clenched his teeth as the dying screams of their men reached his ears. Their bait had been
attacked by so many troops that from the top, it looked as though ants were swarming over them. Is
it worth it? The deaths of so many good men, only for the empty vanity of claiming a victory? How
many families have we destroyed today?

It started off as a low rumble. Yet that rumbling became louder and louder, until it was less
rumbling and more clamouring. The sound swelled within their ranks, and at once, all of Viserys’
doubts vanished.

It was the sound of the roars of ten thousand furious men. It was the sound of ten thousand swords
striking ten thousand shields. It was the sound of battle.
All at once, where it was the Lannisters slaughtering, now they were being slaughtered. With three
long blasts of a horn, just like the Lannisters had erupted from the forest, so did their own men.
Their roars and battle cries were so loud that even Viserys could hear them as they crashed through
the enemy lines.

It seemed as though thousands of tiny ants were crawling out from the forest. Some were mounted,
but most fought on foot. From the eastern and western sides of the forest, the stream of soldiers
seemed never ending. Viserys lost count of the number of red dragon and white direwolf banners
flying in the field.

The Lannister men had been taken completely by surprise. Their flanks had been swept away
completely, and only their center remained to mount up some semblance of resistance.

Are you watching this, Lord Tywin? Are you watching your crimson-caped cronies die? Are you
shitting gold right now?

The Lannister center had formed a shield wall in the shape of a circle. Their crimson shields glinted
in the sunlight. They were surrounded on all sides by Jaehaerys’ infantry, but they seemed
undaunted by that.

Sometime during the battle, Harrion Karstark had returned to his side. The whickering of his horse
drew Viserys’ attention to the lithe Northman.

“We should attack now,” said Karstark, “Their centre has formed a strong shield wall, infantry will
have trouble breaching it, Your Grace. If we release the reserve now, we can swoop upon them.
That will wipe out all resistance.”

His plan was sensible, and perhaps the most apt course considering the circumstances. Yet, all of
Viserys’ instincts were screaming at him to be patient, to wait. But to wait for what?

Over the years, Viserys had learned to trust his instincts. Most of the time, they were right when
your mind was wrong. And even now, as his mind was saying ‘fuck patience’, Viserys had never
felt so sure that releasing the reserve now would be disastrous.

“No. We wait,” Viserys spoke in a firm voice. “It’s a trap hidden inside another trap.”

Harrion Karstark looked as though he’d just said the biggest joke in Westeros. “What?”

Viserys pointed at the forest from where the Lannister troops had poured out. “Lord Tywin isn’t
fool enough to attack blindly. He’s an old man, and cautious. I think he kept some of his reserve
behind, just in case there was a trap. And there is a trap.”

He waved his hand around. “I’ll bet my life that Lord Lannister is waiting for us to deploy our
reserve, before sweeping at us from behind. We outnumber him, yes, but that’s still his only
choice.”

Harrion looked unconvinced. “You think all of this. You’re going to put the fate of this battle on
what you think?”

Viserys raised his hand. “Just wait. When Lord Tywin sees the reserve unengaged, he will be
forced to release his own remaining troops. Their centre can’t function without support. Then, we
attack.”

Karstark grumbled. “Forgive me, prince, but this is bullshit. I will deploy our reserve right now,
whether you like it or no.”
Viserys’ rage awakened. “His Grace gave me charge of the reserve, not you. Mind your tongue....
my lord.” Viserys managed to stop himself at the last moment from calling him a barbarian. The
result wouldn’t have been good for him.

And then, just as the tension increased tenfold between him and Karstark, a new wave of
screaming and shouting reached his ears. Just as Viserys had predicted, the last dregs of the
Lannister cavalry had charged through the forest. They were hopelessly outnumbered by Jae’s
forces, yet, they were mounted but the Northmen weren’t.

He gave Harrion Karstark a glare. “Now we release the reserve.”

The northman didn’t bother answering him. Instead, he rode off, shouting commands at the
cavalry. Viserys rode up and down the head of the column, observing the men mounted in front of
him.

“YOU WON’T HEAR ME GIVE YOU A BLOODY SPEECH,” He shouted, “ALL OF YOU
HAVE FOUGHT FOR ME, BLED FOR ME, DIED FOR ME. TODAY, I ASK YOU TO LIVE
FOR ME! CAN YOU DO THAT?” He raised his sword into the air.

Five thousand men raised their swords and screamed back at him.

“CAN YOU DO THAT?!”

The roar that followed sent the raven cawing out of the trees. Turning his horse around, he saw that
the Lannister cavalry had swept of most of their left flank. Lord Jason was rallying their men
around for a shield wall, while the Lannister centre had started to advance. It seems that the lion
won’t go down without a fight.

He raised his sword once more. “CAVALRY! WEDGE FORMATION!!”

His order was repeated down the ranks. The sound of his subordinate officers echoing his
command reached Viserys’ ears.

It took them nearly ten minutes to get into the proper formation. Turning, he nodded soundlessly at
the banner bearer. Unhooking the horn that hung from his hip, the man gave two long blasts on his
horn. The sign to advance.

Viserys locked down the visor of his helm. Then, he watched as his men burst forward into the
thick of the battle.

He watched as his men charged in a wave of steel and fire.

 The Dragon Reborn
Chapter Summary

Battle of Harrenhal part 2

Chapter Notes

Now, I have a very shitty announcement to make. My college is reopening from

Monday (crazy idea, I know, but if there’s one word I’d use to describe my country’s
government, it’s crazy).

Since I’m doing a Bsc course on Physics and Astrophysics, it’s going to be a bit
difficult for me to keep up my updates. I’ll still try an update every two days, but there
might be a few delays from now on. It’s hard to think of political plots when your
mind is filled with the nature of radioactivity and the concentration of hydrogen in
stars.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The Wall loomed in front of Jae, stern and unforgiving. Unforgiving of the slaughter that he himself
had planned. Unforgiving of the slaughter he himself had done.

Gulit weighed on him. They would have done worse to us, he tried to assure himself, but he failed.
All around him, the dead bodies of the wildlings were piled like mountains. The stench of burning
flesh was thick in the air.

It had been his idea. Just one hour before the wildling attack, they had drenched the ground in
front of the Wall with oil. When Rayder attacked with all his force, it had taken only one flaming
arrow, and the screams of the burning men below him would haunt Jaehaerys forever.

After that had been the cavalry charge. So many deaths, both their own and the Free Folk’s, that
Jaehaerys had lost count. When he killed his first man, he had faltered. But after that, what could
be described as a fit had seized him. His killing had been merciless after that.

As he threaded past the countless bodies to reach the gate of Castle Black, he noticed three men
standing at the foot of the tunnel. Lord Eddard Stark had a frown on his face, while Lord
Commander Mormont’s face was expressionless. Arthur Dayne stood with his back to Jae, but his
white cloak was unmistakable.

When Eddard Stark spotted him, relief spanned his features. “Jaehaerys!”

The Lord of Winterfell strode forward, and wrapped his nephew on a hug, and Jaehaerys felt
grateful that at least someone still cared for him. When he was released, he looked up to see his
uncle smiling. “Uncle.”

“Are you well, Jaehaerys? Do you need a maester?”

He was, in fact, cut in several places. But he still shook his head. Ser Arthur was watching him,
and he knew the Kingsguard despised any sign of weakness. He moved forward to the Dayne
knight. “Ser Arthur.”

Arthur Dayne’s face was as cold and hard as the Wall itself. His voice was flat, emotionless. “My
prince. It is good to see you .... alive.”

Jae forced a smile on his face. “It is good to be alive, ser.”

Ser Arthur didn’t answer. Even though they owed their entire victory to Jae, the man never,
NEVER, once praised him, nor even give him so much as an approving nod. He flicked his wrist at
Jae in obvious dismissal, and he, much to his own chagrin, followed the man’s order.

Does he want me dead?

Then the image of the spears punching through Ser Arthur’s gut filled his mind.

Shaking his head, King Jaehaerys, Third of His Name, focused on the slaughter going on in front of
him. The Lannister soldiers had fallen for the bait like ravens over dead bodies.

Watching the killing, it had woken tons of memories inside Jae, namely the helpless slaughter he
and the northmen had made on the wildlings. It chafed him that all he could do was watch and wait
while his soldiers were killed in front of him. From his position in the forest, Jae had a very clear
view of the battle, or rather, the massacre going on. He knew that somewhere over the rise, his
uncle Viserys was watching too.

Jaehaerys was extremely good at reading people. He had a knack for it, and the art of it he had
perfected under the tutelage of Uncle Benjen and Ser Arthur. As the Dayne knight was wont to say,
in a fight, the way you interpret your opponent’s expressions is the difference between life and
death.

His impression of his uncle was positive, though Viserys could be hypocritical sometimes.
Jaehaerys didn’t think he would betray his King. Yet, another one of his lessons from Ser Arthur
was to leave nothing to chance. He couldn’t risk betrayal just because of a positive first impression.
His choice to keep a watch on Viserys was the Rickard Karstark’s son. He knew that Harrion
Karstark’s loyalty was to his father, and as long as Rickard Karstark remained loyal to him, Jae
would never have to question the eldest Karstark’s loyalty.

Around him, the heat seemed unbearable. His armour glinted in the sunlight. The metal was
painted black, and at the center, a three headed dragon reared his head and roared. Jae would have
given anything to be back in an open field. The forest was thick, and allowed very little breeze to
penetrate through. Beside him, Ser Patrek Mallister of his Kingsguard muttered on something
about the discomfort of wearing a helm.

On his left, his second Kingsguard stood as still as stone, looking at the battle with an
expressionless face. Ser Daemon Sand was said to be the best swordsman in Dorne, and Jae itched
to take a spar with him.

Daemon Sand’s assignment to the Kingsguard had been the idea of King Rhaegar, as an
insignificant sign to Dorne that they were welcome at court. When Ser Gerold, who had been
guarding Viserys, died suddenly, Daemon Sand had been sent as his replacement.

“Do you not want a Kingsguard protecting you in battle, uncle?”

Viserys shrugged at him. “I will not fight. And if indeed the fight comes to me, not even a
Kingsguard can stop my death. You, on the other hand, will fight on foot, with only one
Kingsguard protecting you. Better to have another White Cloak.”

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow. “You make me sound like an inexperienced warrior, uncle. I’ll have
you know, I’m a veteran of two wars.”

Viserys grinned at him. “I drove the ironborn from Harrenhal.”

Jaehaerys smiled. “I drove the ironborn from the ENTIRE riverlands.”

“Should you be comparing cocks with your uncle, my King?”

“Do we attack now?” Ser Patrek’s voice drew Jae out from his recollections.

He shook his head. “No. We wait for Lord Tywin to fully commit his strength.”

The forest seemed to close around him. Behind him, his soldiers shuffled on their feet. Some were
sitting on the forest floor, others were perched on different branches, looking like oversized
parakeets. The look on their faces was murderous. Good men were being killed in front of them,
and they were hungry for vengeance.

Jaehaerys himself wrestled with guilt. Right in front of him, thousands of men were being killed.
And for what? So I can claim my crown? Why do I claim the Iron Throne, if not to do right by the
people I am to rule? So many men dead, and all because I took it in my head to sit my bony arse on
the most uncomfortable chair in Westeros.

The moments stretched on and on and on, and with each passing second, Jae found his own
patience wavering. Would that I had a dragon. Then none of this would have happened. Nobody
would have dared to oppose me.

Jaehaerys shook his head once more, making himself focus on the battle raging in front of him.
The Lannister men had cut off nearly every man of their bait. Their spirit and morale was soaring.
And now the time nears to reduce that same morale to ashes.

He had decided to fight in foot. Since the majority of their ambush was infantry, with the real
cavalry with Viserys at the reserve, fighting on a horse would make Jae a sitting duck for the
archers.

Jaehaerys turned to look at the men in front of him. Their line stretched on with no end in sight,
thousands and thousands of men thirsty for blood. He unsheathed his sword from the scabbard and
raised it in the air. “MEN! PREPARE YOURSELVES!”

Those in the front line looked up, hefting their swords and spears. As his order was passed along
the line, Jae saw more and more men stand up with a determined glare etched on their faces.
Within five minutes, so many men were standing that Jae lost sight of the rear.

Jaehaerys had always managed to shock people with the strength of his voice. Both Ser Arthur and
his uncle Eddard had stressed the importance of a general’s voice during battle. If your voice
carried to every soldier, only then would they be able to follow your direction. Now, once more, he
realised just how practical Ser Arthur had been.

He looked at the faces of the soldiers in front of him. Near all of them were Northmen, men who
had fought under Jae’s command. Men who had bled for him. He looked at these faces now, and
they stared back at him with bloodthirsty expressions.
“MEN!” Jae pointed his sword at the direction where the Lannisters were slaughtering their men.
“THE LANNISTERS WHO ARE FIGHTING TODAY WEAR RED CLOAKS. I WANT TO
ENSURE THAT BY THE TIME WE’RE FINISHED WITH THEM, THEIR ARMOURS ARE
ALSO RED. RED WITH BLOOD. WILL YOU DO THAT?” Picking up his shield from the
ground, Jae clanged it with his sword.

“WILL YOU DO THAT?!” His voice must have carried to Dorne.

It started off slowly. One man clashed his sword and shield together. The man beside him followed
suit. Then another imitated him. Then another, then another. The beat rose slowly, each man
picking up his sword or spear and crashing it down on his shield. Within the next minute, Jae’s
ears were filled with the cacophony of a thousand clanging swords clashing without any rhythm.

He raised his hand. The sound stopped. Jae closed his fist, before bringing his hand down with a
humongous yell. All at once, the clanging resumed, but this time in perfect rhythm. Jaehaerys
turned towards the clearing, and the only sound that he heard was that of ten thousand swords
striking ten thousand shields.

He gave his banner bearer a grim nod. The man slowly unhooked the horn hanging from his belt,
and gave three long blasts.

The sound of slaughter had stopped. No doubt the Lannisters were confused now, wondering about
the source of all the clanging noise and horns. Today you’ll die, you fuckers.

All around him, with a guttural roar, his frontline surged forward. Jaehaerys knew that it was better
for him not to be part of the first wave. He would fight with the rest of his men in the second wave.

He felt an innate satisfaction as he watched his men scream and charge at the Lannisters. The Red
Cloaks had flanked their bait on both sides, while their centre swooped in and destroyed their men.
Now, their own flanks were being decimated by Jae’s men. A punch for a punch.

Jaehaerys had trained himself long ago to shut his mind off to the doubts that nearly always
gnawed at one’s mind. Yet, those doubts had remained his everlasting companion for the last few
days. But the roar of his men, and the utter fear and confusion that emanated from the Lannister
ranks dispelled all his doubts. Who can hold any doubts when they’re in my position?

The stakes of this battle was sky high. If they won, their victory against the Lannisters was all but
assured. Jae would still have to deal with Haegon Blackfyre, and admittedly, the Black Dragon had
proved himself to be no mere puppet king. But still, Tywin Lannister going down meant a huge
burden taken off from Jae’s shoulders.

Beside Jae, Ser Patrek gave out a whoop as they watched the entire tide of the battle turn in their
favour. The Lannister soldiers were better disciplined than Jae’s own men, to be sure, but they had
been taken completely by surprise. Not only that, but Jae’s men fought with a ferocity that few
armies could hope to match. Jae watched as their men cut down the entire left flank of the
Lannisters. But the right flank remained unchallenged.

Jae motioned at his banner bearer. “Signal the second charge.” The man bowed, before unhooking
his horn once more. Jae turned to Ser Patrek. “We focus on the right flank. We destroy both of their
flanks, before surrounding them. Then Prince Viserys will attack with the reserve. The battle is
ours then.”

Ser Patrek nodded, and then yelled at the officers to pass Jae’s orders down the line.
“FORM A SPEARHEAD!”

The formation was one Jaehaerys had used countless times before. The men who had fought under
him were well versed in it. It took them less than five minutes to form up around Jae.

Beside him, Ser Daemon shifted. “Your Grace, I beg of you, please reconsider your decision to
fight. This is —“

Jaehaerys waved him off. “We’ve gone too far in to turn back, ser. We fight.”

He glanced at the faces of the men who had formed up for the second wave. No speech was
needed to inspire them. They knew the stakes, they knew the price of victory. Jae raised his sword
at them, and all of them responded back with swords raised, mouths open in each of their individual
yells.

Jae turned, and with a nod to his two Kingsguard, charged.

Unlike the first wave, their own charge was less of a run and more of a jog. Never for once did
their formation waver as they steadily moved towards the right flank.

The Lannister flank, recognising their danger, let loose a flight of arrows.

“SHIELDS, UP!”

Jaehaerys managed to raise his own shield just in time to stop an arrow from punching through his
face. The point embedded itself in the middle of his shield, and Jae felt his shield arm shudder as
another wave of arrows hit him.

Beside him, he heard a man grunt in pain. Somewhere from behind him, an ear shattering scream
broke the air. A man behind Jae hefted his spear and threw it at the Lannister soldiers. It punched
through the a Red Cloak’s face, and his yell of pain reached Jae’s ears.

The Lannisters loosed barrage after barrage of arrows, but none managed to deter Jae’s second
wave. The men seemed to take heart in the fact that their own King was fighting with them on the
frontlines.

Just when Jae thought that his shield arm was going numb from the constant attack from the
arrows, they reached the Lannister right flank. Jae’s men crashed right through them, yelling their
own individual battle cries.

All noise lessened around Jae. He was dimly aware of the fact that he had two white shadows
flanking him continuously, protecting him from any attacks from his sides. Jae himself took care of
the threats at the front.

The first man to die by Jae’s sword was an archer. He had been scrambling for some weapon
appropriate for close range combat, and hadn’t even noticed Jae advancing. His younger self might
have hesitated, might have given the man an opportunity. He himself did no such thing. He
brought down his sword as fast as he could, and blood bubbled from the man’s neck where Jae had
cut him.

After that, it was just killing. Brute, savage, barbaric killing. Jae cut through one man, then
another, then another. The more men he cut down, the more confident he became. His white
shadows trailed him, never once leaving his side as he slaughtered through the Lannister ranks.
There was no mercy in Jae. As so prominently said by Daeron I, you fail as a King the moment you
let mercy reign your heart.
 Soon enough, the right flank was theirs. Sometime during the battle, Jae had lost sight of Ser
Patrek. I hope he is not dead. He was a good fighter, and above all, loyal. Ser Daemon though, was
still at his side, both sword and armour bloody. I do not know about him being the best fighter in
Dorne, but he certainly has substance.

The first of Jae’s infantry had already begun their attempt to breach the shield wall the Lannister
centre had formed. All that was needed now was the reserve. If they swept in, the day was theirs.

Yet, there was no sign of Viserys’ reserve. Has what I feared happened? Has Viserys betrayed
me?

For the next few minutes, it went on in the same manner. Jae’s infantry made probe after probe to
break the shield wall, but the Lannisters held steadfast. Where are you, Viserys?

All of a sudden, a fanfare of horns blew around the entire forest. And then, Jae watched as though
coming out of nowhere, a Lannister cavalry swept down upon Lord Jason Mallister’s infantry.
Damn it. Now we need the reserve more than ever. Attack, uncle. ATTACK.

As if on cue, a new burst of horns erupted. And just above the rise, countless horsemen poured
through, and the Falcon Banner, along with the Dragon Banner was unmistakable. Finally...

Beside him, Ser Daemon let out a sigh of relief. And just as Jae allowed himself to feel elated,
screams reached his ears. His men were screaming, and renewed sounds of battle had emerged
from Jae’s rear. My rear? How did the Lannisters get to my rear? That should be the safest place
from the battle.

Jae turned, and promptly felt his mouth go dry. Oh no...

Nearly two thousand Lannister men, all mounted, were crashing through Jae’s rear, cutting
everyone down in their path. Jae’s infantry hadn’t been expecting an attack at their rear, let alone
an a mounted attack. They stood no chance. Jae watched horrified as the Lannisters smashed
through Jae’s men, getting closer and closer to him.

And it was at that moment that Jaehaerys understood just how much he had underestimated Lord
Tywin Lannister.

Lord Lannister always prepared for both outcomes. He had known that, however small, there was
still a chance that the Harrenhal race would be a trap. And he had prepared accordingly.

Lord Tywin hadn’t held back a small part of his reserve. He had held back near all of his cavalry.
Upon seeing the trap, he had unleashed all of that cavalry on Jae’s footsoldiers. I made a trap, but
walked in unknowing as the lion snaked its tail around me.

Tywin Lannister had sent nearly half his cavalry towards the right flank. They were cutting down
every soldier in their path, and they were getting closer.

Closer to Jaehaerys. Closer to killing him.

Chapter End Notes

Ok. So I know that I said Battle of Harrenhal was going to be two parts, but I found
this chapter getting too long. I dislike too long chapters, so I opted for a part 3. Sorry
for the increased suspense.
 The Knight of The Westerlands
Chapter Summary

The conclusion of the Battle of Harrenhal...

Chapter Notes

Next chap, we’ll get a classic Jae and Tywin conversation...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ser Addam Marbrand frowned at the battle raging in front of them. Barely half an hour ago, the
battle had been completely in their favour. Now, he wasn’t sure who would win. Both sides had
been bloodied so much, he wasn’t even sure winning would matter. The side who won would then
have to face the rested and fresh troops of Haegon Blackfyre.

But if we defeat the Black Prince today, it’ll be a great boost to us. Blackfyre’s only
accomplishment is taking Storm’s End, while Jaehaerys Targaryen is regarded as the most
dangerous general in Westeros.

In front of him, everything was complete chaos. The Targaryen troops had surrounded their center.
Lord Tywin had reasoned that the commander of the reserve, whoever he was, would soon release
the cavalry. Then, their own cavalry would swoop in upon them from the sides.

Addam had expressed his doubts about the plan. Releasing their cavalry wouldn’t provide them
with any numerical advantage, he had pointed out. Lord Tywin had just stared at him, before
dismissing all his generals and asking them to proceed with his orders.

“I would be honoured to lead the charge, my lord.” Addam was already preparing appropriate
plans for the battle.

“No.”

He jerked out of his thoughts, and focused on Lord Tywin, who was looking at him shrewdly. “No,
my lord?”

Lord Tywin waved a hand at the battle raging in front of them. The Targaryen troops were
sweeping upon their left flank, their right unchallenged. “No. Soon enough, their second wave will
attack. Jaehaerys Targaryen is known to fight with his men. He will be in the second wave, or in
the third. When we release our cavalry, I want you to take a force of men to finish him off, ser.”

Ser Addam frowned. “How am I to recognise King Jaehaerys, my lord?”

Lord Tywin didn’t answer. He turned his horse towards the battle, watching silently as the fight
raged on. Their left flank was completely destroyed, and their right could do nothing to support
them. It was a disaster.
Then, another blast of horns bellowed out of the forest. The second wave, Ser Addam realised. As
the men poured out, with shields raised in meticulous formation, the White Cloaks of the
Kingsguard was easily recognised.

Lord Tywin turned to him, his face betraying no emotion. If the Wall was human, then it would
have certainly been Tywin Lannister. “There’s King Jaehaerys for you, ser. Kill him, and let us be
done with this.”

The words still rung in his ears. Kill him and be done with it.

It had been eighteen years since King’s Landing. Eighteen years since the wildfire explosion,
where he lost his friend, and where Lord Tywin lost his son.

Addam sometimes still had trouble believing that Jaime was dead. The Lannister knight had been
the quintessential mixture of arrogance and skill, and Addam had lost count of the times he had
found himself on his arse while sparring with Jaime Lannister. Fat good did his sword fighting
skills do in the Red Keep though. You can’t fight wildfire.

It made him wonder. What would Jaime have done if he were here? His rightful King on one side
of the battle, and his family on the other? Jaime Lannister was hailed throughout the realm as the
perfect example of the Kingsguard, a man who stayed loyal to his King even at the face of death.
The Lion of the Rock, they call him, and what would he have done now?

Now, as the battle raged on in front of him, Addam found himself wishing he could go back
eighteen years, go back to the good old days where his friends were still alive.

Their cavalry had reduced the western part of the Targaryen’s infantry to ruins. The rest of their
horse waded through the right flank, where Jaehaerys Targaryen had managed to mount up a shield
wall. Unlike their own men, the soldiers fighting under the Black Prince were seasoned veterans.
Their cavalry couldn’t even get near them, as their archers picked of their horses one by one
whenever they came too near.

Addam turned to look at the hundred men assembled behind him. They were the dregs of their
cavalry, and they were the men assigned to him to kill Jaehaerys Targaryen.

“MEN!”

His hundred or so men looked up at his shout. Addam pointed his sword at the battle. “The Black
Prince is busy with our main cavalry. We circle around and attack from behind. He’ll be trapped
with us at his behind and our main force at the front. Kill as many men as you can, but your main
focus is killing Jaehaerys Targaryen. Is that understood?”

“YES, SER!”

Addam nodded and mounted his horse. The forest seemed to close around him. He hefted his
sword and shield, closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Warrior, before charging.

Addam Marbrand had never felt more alive than when he burst through the clustered forest, and
into the clear field under the walls of Harrenhal. The wind whistled in his ears as his horse
galloped around the walls of the monstrous black castle. Behind him, the sound of his men’s
horse’s hooves punding on the earth reached him.

Once they were well and truly behind Jaehaerys Targaryen’s shield wall, Addam stopped his horse
and raised his hand, calling for a halt. He turned to take a look around.
There was a fierce skirmish raging on the left flank. Their own cavalry had decimated the
Targaryen infantry there, but the dragon’s reserve had swooped down upon them. Their cavalry
and the reserve’s cavalry were both locked in battle, neither side giving an inch. At the back, the
red dragon banner flew proudly. So, it IS Viserys Targaryen commanding the reserve.

Lord Tywin had promised Addam that he would keep the enemy’s reserve occupied, providing him
with a free killing ground. It seemed the Lord of Casterly Rock had kept good his word. Now it
was time for Addam to finish his part of the deal.

“FORM UP!”

His men obeyed his command implicitly, they knew the stakes. They knew the price of failure.

“CHARGE!”

Once more, Addam kicked his horse forward in a gallop, the metal of his sword gleaming in the
sunlight. The shield wall King Jaehaerys had formed was completely undefended, and aside from a
few men in the rear, they had no inkling what was coming.

When they were only a few metres away, something stirred inside Addam. Something felt wrong to
him. His horse was galloping as fast as it could, and he could hear his men following behind him.
Addam focused his view on the men in front of him. And then he realised what felt wrong to him.

The men in the rear were facing them. As if they were expecting them. Their swords and spears
were nowhere in sight, and they just stood there, almost as if waiting for their death. And then, just
as his cavalry was about to crash into them, they ran.

The enemy’s left flank ran straight for the battle raging on between Viserys Targaryen and Lord
Tywin. The right crested a rise, and went running towards the forest. The main cavalry which had
been attacking them were left just as nonplussed as Ser Addam. One moment they were fighting, in
the next, they ran away.

Then, what had really happened hit Addam. He gritted his teeth together. They had outwitted
Jaehaerys Targaryen the first time, but there was going to be no second time.

You clever, genius, fucking bastard.

Instead of mounting a shield wall and trying to repel Addam’s charge, the Black Prince had
dispersed his men. Not only did most of the Targaryen troops manage to escape, but Jaehaerys had
also destroyed any hope they might have had to trap the Targaryen troops.

The commander of the main cavalry trotted up to Addam. Behind him, his men prepared to pursue
the men who had scampered to the forest. As the commander came closer, Addam recognised the
hulking figure of Ser Lyle Crakehall. The Strongboar had mud and blood spattered all over his
armour, and his helm hid much of his face.

“Ser Addam.”

Addam managed a nod at the knight. “Ser Lyle.”

The Strongboar took off his helm. A bright bruise adorned his face, but other than that, he was
uninjured. “Those fuckers tricked us. We had them in our fist, and they weaseled out of it.”

Addam grimaced. “They did so quite literally, my lord. Lord Tywin won’t be happy.”
Both of them turned to look at the battle at the left flank. Naught had changed since the last time
Addam had seen them. The Lannister cavalry led charge after charge against Viserys Targaryen’s
reserve, and every time, due to having the higher ground, the Targaryen archers threw back the
horsemen.

“I have some fifteen hundred men surviving,” said the Strongboar, “we rejoin the battle now. My
men can be the difference between victory and defeat there.”

Addam nodded. “Yes, my lord. You take your men and flank them. Mine own soldiers will
reinforce Lord Tywin’s center.”

The Strongboar grunted. “Good luck to you, Marbrand.”

“And you, my lord.”

Ser Lyle trotted off, booming orders at his men in his loud voice. Ser Addam turned to his own
men, who hadn’t even been bloodied for a single time in battle.

“We resupply the centre. That’s our weakest point. If Prince Viserys attacks there, they might get a
breach. Go there, and secure the lines.” He flicked his hand. His men nodded and burst out in a
gallop towards their designated position. Addam trailed behind them, unsure of what to think or
feel.

He found Lord Tywin sitting astride his horse just behind the center lines. The Lord of The Rock
had apparently recognised the same weakness as Addam, and had personally taken command of the
center.

As he trotted closer, Lord Tywin turned and placed his green and gold eyes on Addam. “Ser
Addam. Have you accomplished your task?”

Addam bowed his head, feeling like a child who had failed in his studies. “No, my lord. King
Jaehaerys dispersed his troops to the forest. A few joined Prince Viserys.”

Tywin Lannister offered no reprimand for his failure. That was for later, Addam supposed.
“What’s done is done, ser. We need to hold the center for a few more minutes, then I will se—“

A new surge of horns drowned out Lord Tywin’s voice. They were coming from their rear, from
the forest. Addam turned, and found his heart in his throat.

The few hundred men who had managed to escape to the forest had come out once more. Except,
they were not alone. Near thousands more had joined them, and all of them had formed a
formidable shield wall, spears bristling. The three headed dragon flew proudly, accompanied by the
direwolf of the Starks and a banner adorned with a roaring giant. The banner of House Umber..

At the very front was a man so large that he made the Strongboar seem tiny in comparison. Even
from afar, Addam could still hear the faint sound of the man roaring.

Another blast of horns made him turn once more. If Addam’s heart had been in his throat before,
now it was dancing naked in front of him. Viserys Targaryen’s main cavalry had charged at them,
all their strength aimed straight at the weak center of Lord Tywin’s army.

Addam realised what was happening. It was almost poetic. The hammer and the anvil once more,
with Viserys Targaryen as Baelor Breakspear and Jaehaerys as Maekar Targaryen.

Fear and confusion reigned supreme in their ranks. This will be the Battle of The Redgrass Field all
 over again, and we’ll be on the losing side.

If only Haegon Blackfyre was in our places. How the singers would sing of it. Another Blackfyre
usurper, destroyed the same way his ancestor was destroyed...

Ser Addam raised his sword, as the Targaryen cavalry hammered through their ranks.

Chapter End Notes

Well, I think you can guess who won...

Also, how the Targ troops were reinforced next chapter, and who thought up the
almost poetic ‘hammer and the anvil strategy’ will be revealed next chap.

Please let me know in the comments what you think of this chapter...
I’m crying right now, tomorrow is the first day of college for me.
 The Prince
Chapter Summary

Viserys is the audience to a chat between two people...

Chapter Notes

This chap was a BIG bitch to write. I hope you like it. I also hope I manage to covey
Tywin properly...

Prince Viserys of House Targaryen felt exhausted. All the pent up energy of the last few hours had
come out of him like a floodgate. The tension of facing Tywin Lannister had run its course, and
now they were victorious.

In all the chaos of battle, their victory was made possible by one man, a common soldier whose
name history wouldn’t even remember.

Viserys watched the battle raging in front of him. They had the advantage of the high ground, and
they had the advantage of better cavalry, yet the Lannister cavalry yielded not even one inch of
space. Viserys realised that Tywin Lannister was as capable a commander as they said.

Just as he was about to order the archers to let loose another flight of arrows, Harrion Karstark
appeared at his side. “Prince. There’s a man claiming to be from King Jaehaerys’ force. He says
he has an urgent message for you.”

Viserys didn’t reply but for a nod of his head. Harrion Karstark disappeared towards the rear, but
Viserys couldn’t care less. His only concern for now was the cavalry in front of him.

”ARCHERS!” “NOCK!” “DRAW!” “LOOSE!”

Different commanders issued orders as the Lannisters led another charge towards their men.
Viserys was watching the battle intently, looking for any sign of weakness when someone called out
from behind him.

”Your Grace!”

Vis took one last fleeting look at the battle, before turning to the man. He was a common soldier,
blood, shit and grime splattered all over his chainmail. “What is it, soldier?”

The man went to one knee. That was unnecessary, since Viserys was no King, but all the same he
felt pleased. “I come from His Grace King Jaehaerys, prince. Lord Umber has arrived from
Ashemark with five thousand northmen. His Grace will create a shield wall. He wants you to attack
the Lannisters with all your strength.”

The hammer and the anvil, Viserys thought. “If Jon Umber is here, then who holds the
westerlands?”
The soldier shrugged. “I don’t know, m’lor — my prince. My orders were only to deliver His
Grace’s message to you.”

Viserys turned to the battle once more. Their archers had repelled yet another Lannister charge. It
was a sound plan, and it could be accomplished. “Very well. I will prepare my men. Will there be
a signal to charge?”

The man shook his head. “His Grace didn’t say so, my prince. I s’pose when he and m’lord Umber
comes out of the forest, that will be signal enough.”

Viserys thought for a moment. He decided he was in a good mood. “When this is finished,” he
said, “come find me, soldier. I will see to it that you shall have a good reward.”

The man’s face brightened. “My prince is generous.”

Viserys nodded and flicked the man off in dismissal.

Later, when the fighting had ceased and Tywin Lannister captured, Viserys had ordered Harrion
Karstark to find the man who had delivered him the message. Instead of bringing back the man,
Karstark brought back a body. The man’s head had been cleaved away by an axe, and someone had
cut off his arms too.

That hadn’t been the first time Viserys had seen men die, but it still struck him harder than
expected. The man had braved enemy scouts, the Lannister cavalry, and the thick forest to deliver
the message to Viserys, all to get killed in battle. The gods DO have a sick sense of humour.

Jaehaerys’ officers had been tasked with counting their own casualties. Viserys had volunteered to
oversee the task. Outside the walls of Harrenhal, the night was lit with stars as his men slowly
picked up and piled the bodies, to be burned the next day.

One of the officers came walking to Viserys. His face was weary, his chainmail dirty. The man
bowed. “Prince Viserys. We have an approximate count for now.”

Viserys nodded. “And that is?”

“Near four thousand dead for now. I request permission to have a break for me and my men, my
prince.”

Viserys looked at the bodies being piled. “Take a break, officer —?”

The man’s back straightened. “Officer Jarem of the Vale unit.”

“Go take some rest, Officer Jarem. We begin the count next morn.”

The man bowed once more. “Thank you, my prince.”

As he watched the officer’s retreating back, Viserys found himself thinking of Ysilla, back in the
Vale. They had been married for four years now, and their match was one of affection. Viserys
knew he would one day grow to love his lady wife. Currently, their life had been a pleasant one, up
until the war erupted and Jaehaerys’ raven arrived.

The sound of hooves drew Viserys back to the present world. He turned to see another soldier
gallop to him, his face haggard. “Prince Viserys. Officer Jarem said I’d find you here.”

“You’ve found me.”

The man was panting. He took a deep breath, then spoke. “The King has called a war council, Your
Grace. He wants you there.”

Viserys nodded. “Very well. If you would, soldier, I’d borrow your horse.”

The man hesitated for a moment, before a raised eyebrow from Viserys convinced him. Mounting
the horse, Viserys rode towards the monstrously towering walls of Harrenhal.

From the distance, Harrenhal seemed like a miniature town. Behind its walls, the towers of the
castle were situated on rises. Like King’s Landing, the kitchen, the Great Hall and the armoury
were all placed below the rises. From the top of the Kingspyre Tower, one could see the entirety of
Harren’s castle and its surrounding areas for leagues.

The wind was blowing steadily as Viserys rode through the castle gates. The sentries called out a
challenge, and Viserys answered in kind, before he was ushered through.

Dismounting his horse and handing over the reins to the stableboy, Viserys made his way to the
main keep of Harrenhal. Jaehaerys had taken up residence in the Widow’s Tower, and it was there
that he was holding his council.

The climb up the stairs of Widow’s Tower left Viserys panting. Fuck Harren the Black for making
the towers so huge.

He entered the solar to find everyone already present. A table had been laid in the centre and on it
was placed a massive map of Westeros. Jaehaerys stood at the centre, his face impassive. All the
lords assembled looked to be in different states of haggardness. Jason Mallister’s face was hollow,
his son Patrek had died defending the King from the Lannister cavalry.

Bronze Yohn, Viserys’ goodfather, had a gash on his cheek while Tytos Blackwood clutched his
side and grimaced whenever forced to move. The only person who seemed hale in both body and
spirit was Greatjon Umber. As Grandmaester Ebrose so succintly put, the worst ones always live,
thought Viserys.

Upon noticing his arrival, all the lords hastened to their feet, all except Blackwood and Umber.
Blackwood offered a condescending look of apology, his hand still clutching his side, but the
Greatjon had no such courtesy. The moment he saw him, he raised his hand and from the way he
spoke, you’d think he and Viserys were the best of friends.

“Prince Viserys! They’re calling you Baelor Breakspear and him,” he said, pointing towards Jae,
“Maekar Targaryen reborn. Dunno who the fuck they are, but they’re famous, apparently.” He
boomed a laugh, before punching Jaehaerys on the back. “Cheer up, ye gloomy boy! It’s not
everyday you can claim to have defeated Tywin fucking Lannister!”

Even Viserys grimaced at the force of the punch. Jaehaerys didn’t even give a reaction, he
continued staring at the map. Viserys sighed and walked up to his place.

For a few moments, silence reigned supreme. It was Jaehaerys’ voice that broke the silence. “We
have won a victory, my lords, and a victory that the singers will sing and the maesters will write of
for ages.” Jae turned his head to the Greatjon. “But, dwelling on this victory does us no good. We
still have Haegon Blackfyre to deal with. His army is fresh and properly supplied, ours are tired
and bloodied.”

“What word from Duskendale?” Viserys asked.

“My scouts have reported no riders nearby,” replied Lord Royce, “so we can assume Lord Robb
has sent no riders. Neither have we received any ravens. For now, we can only wait, my lords.”

Jaehaerys nodded. “As long as Blackfyre holds Duskendale, he has a foothold in the crownlands.
That castle needs to fall, or we can’t attack King’s Landing.”

“I propose we take our men and help Lord Robb,” said Blackwood, “once Duskendale falls, we
shall be free to march on the capital.”

Mallister shook his head. “That spreads our forces too thin, Lord Blackwood. Your help was
crucial to our victory, Lord Umber,” said Lord Jason, looking cautiously at the Greatjon. “But
leaving the ironborn in charge of the westerlands was... not a good decision.”

The Greatjon left the ironborn in charge of the westerlands? It’s only a matter of time before they
start raping and looting. That’ll undo the entire work Jae did to ensure his popularity in the
westerlands.

He looked at Jaehaerys, expecting a rebuke to be handed to the Greatjon. Instead, the King shook
his head. “Lord Umber had no choice. I will not delude myself thinking that we could have won
this without him.” Jaehaerys stared at Viserys, seemingly having recognised his incredulousness.
“It was a choice. Save the westerlands and let our army go to ruin, or save our army and dangle the
West in front of the ironborn.”

Viserys frowned. “If the ironborn do as they are wont to do, this will destroy all your reputation
there, Your Grace.”

Jaehaerys gave him a thin smile. “I never planned on being popular in the westerlands. But for
what its worth, I will personally execute all rapists and murderers after the war is over.”

Lord Royce cleared his throat. “With your permission, my King, let us move on to more urgent
matters. Haegon Blackfyre is just lounging in the Reach. He has made no move whatsoever in both
armies and allies.”

Viserys spoke what was obvious. “He’s waiting for something.”

Lord Umber snorted. “Then that’s his mistake. You said we have Dorne on our side. Well, I say
they attack Blackfyre from behind and we from the front. We’ll crush them.”

Jaehaerys shook his head. “No. We’ll crush our own army. The Reach is too vast to properly
conquer after one battle, as Bloodraven learned after the Battle of Redgrass Field. Even if we
manage to defeat the freshy rested troops of Blackfyre, we will still have all that territory to
conquer and the stormlands to deal with.”

Lord Mallister spoke. “I counsel patience, Your Grace. If we strike now, we risk our army and,” he
looked around, “this victory will be for nothing.”

Jae nodded. “I concur with you, my lord. The Reach is too divided for all the lords to be united
under Haegon. I will look for potential allies there. That will be our approach to Blackfyre for now.
Thank you for your counsel, my lords. I hereby declare this council closed.”

The lords all nodded and took their leaves. Viserys was going to leave too, but his King stopped
him. “Not you, uncle.”

Jae closed the door before turning to him. “I want to speak with Tywin Lannister. I want you with
me, uncle.”
Viserys raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I just get in the way when two great, cunning minds
converse with each other?”

His nephew grinned at him. “When facing a cornered lion, two dragons are better than one.”

Viserys shrugged. He supposed it would be entertaining to see the Lannister lord humbled. “Fine.
But don’t blame me if I spoil things for you. And I will taunt him, hostage or no. The opportunity
is to juicy.”

Jahaerys smiled. “You’re a prince of the realm, uncle. You do as you please.”

Outside, the steady wind had chilled the castle. Viserys shivered as he and Jae made their way to
the Kingspyre Tower.

Once surrounded, Tywin Lannister had yielded without a fight. The man had pride, but not enough
pride to sentence his men to a vainglorious death. All the lords had unanimously voted for Lord
Tywin to be kept in the darkest cell of Harrenhal. Even Viserys had agreed with them. The
Lannister lord deserved to live in the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But, Jaehaerys had overruled their vote. Lord Tywin was a hostage, he had said, and until King’s
Landing was theirs, no harm must come to him.

So, Lannister had been given the castellan’s chambers under the Kingspyre Tower. Tywin
Lannister being kept hostage in the very place where Harren the Black burned three hundred years
ago. We certainly have a knack of drawing parallels with history...

The guards standing outside the door to the castellan’s chambers immediately went to one knew
upon seeing the King. Although tired, their entire army’s respect for King Jaehaerys had increased
tenfold after the battle. There was nothing called true loyalty, Viserys knew, yet a respected
commander was better than a hated one.

Once inside, they descended the stairs leading to the chambers. At the door, four men stood guard.
One man was laughing at something the other had said, while the remaining two talked quietly
with one another. When they saw who had come, their hurry to bend the knee nearly made Viserys
laugh.

“Your Grace.”

Jaehaerys stared at the door. “How is he?”

The guard shrugged. “Quiet, my King. Till now, the only thing he’s asked for is a cyvasse board. I
told him to fuck off.” Then realising who he had spoken to, the man quickly covered his mouth.
“Begging pardons, Your Gr—“

His nephew waved him off, before pushing through the door and entering. Viserys trailed behind
him.

Tywin Lannister was still in his battle armour. Not a single drop of blood or mud stained his
impeccable armour, and aside from his missing sword, the man looked the same as he had on the
battlefield.

Lannister had been sitting on a chair doing gods knew what when Viserys entered. Upon seeing
them, he stood up.

“King Jaehaerys, Prince Viserys. I was expecting a visit.”

Jaehaerys’ face was unreadable. “No doubt you were.”

Lannister’s face was cold, his voice flat. “Doubtless you are here to humiliate me. I would not have
expected anything else from you, King.”

Viserys frowned. He liked not the tone of Lord Tywin’s voice, with a mocking edge to it. “You’re
one to speak, my lord,” said Vis, “when you lost a battle.”

Lannister placed his gold flecked eyes on Viserys. Suddenly, he felt as though the man was reading
Vis’ entire mind. “Did I, prince? Winning a battle does not win a war.”

Jaehaerys’ face was still unreadable, but his tone certainly did have a sarcastic edge. “I concur,
Lord Tywin. Victory in one battle does not mean the victory of one war. But it is,” he leaned
forward, “definitely better than one defeat.”

Lord Tywin’s voice was so cold, it seemed to imitate the chill outside. “You have defeated me, yes,
but have you defeated anyone else? Have you captured King’s Landing? Has the Reach bowed to
you? Has Dorne?”

Jaehaerys’ face broke into a smile. “You might want to keep yourself informed before asking
questions, my lord.”

Tywin Lannister stared at Jaehaerys intensely, his face still a mask. “I expect you’re here to ask
questions.”

“Finally the cat catches on.”

Then, Jaehaerys reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger. He twirled it with his fingers.
Lannister looked amused. “Is that meant to frighten me?”

The King looked at Lannister. “No, my lord. It’s meant to impose the reality of your situation on
you. I have only one question of you. What have you done with Eddard Stark and his daughters?”

Lannister shrugged. “The last I knew, Lord Eddard was being held in the Dragonfort. His
daughters, were being taken to the stormlands to be held in Storm’s End. I do not know whether
they reached the castle before Haegon Blackfyre took it, or after.”

Fuck. In all probability, Blackfyre’s got a hostage now.

Jaehaerys’ face remained the same, but something akin to anxiousness glinted in his eyes. Lord
Tywin noticed it too. “See, King Jaehaerys. This war is far from won. Dorne will oppose you, as
will the Reach.”

“Dorne is already mine.”

Jaehaerys stood up. “You not only failed to kill me, my lord, you also failed to kill Rhaenys
Targaryen. She has brought Dorne into our fold.” Jae stepped forward. “You see, you took a
gamble. And you failed. You failed to kill a dragon and,” Jaehaerys’ smile was almost cruel, “a
dragon always gets his revenge.”

Tywin Lannister’s face hadn’t changed a bit at the revelation. “Perhaps, Your Grace. Perhaps.”

The Lord of Casterly Rock looked like the castle itself. “But even dragons fall.”
 The Quiet Wolf
Chapter Summary

Lord Eddard finds allies in a pit of vipers...

Chapter Notes

I am soo sorry for the delay. Life and studies got in the way. Like I said, I had college.
Be prepared to receive more and more excuses in the coming days.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Eddard Stark stared at the door of his room, the dagger in his hand. The dagger a Kingsguard had
left behind from him.

He knew naught of Ser Arys Oakheart. The man had fought with his nephew during the Greyjoy
Rebellion, and had been named to the Kingsguard for feats of valour. He recalled Jae vaguely
mentioning the man.

Yet, his mind was yet to make sense of the fact that the Kingsguard had left behind a dagger, a
bloody dagger, for Ned to do only gods knew what. The note left with the dagger was short and
revealed nothing, which gave Ned fresh fodder for sleepless nights.

Two nights hence, be ready with some clothes and the dagger. I will come during midnight. That
had been all the note had said. Ned kept repeating the letters, trying to figure out some ulterior
motive through them.

Is there truly a man with honour in this city of stinking vipers? Or is this another trick from Cersei
Lannister?

Ned knew not what to think. He was not cut out for lies and deception. Jae was the one who could
see through any blatant lie, and his son Robb too, to some extent. But not Ned. Gods help me, but
my strength has always been my forwardness.

Ever since his visit from the Imp, Ned had received no new visitors and no fresh news. Everyday
there loomed the threat of Lannisters swooping in to execute Ned. He knew that Robb and his
nephew were making their moves, and to check them, someone had to make use of the hostages.

It’s not as though I’m extremely valuable as a hostage. They have Arya and Sansa to check the
North. I am but a spare.

His mind ached to see his daughters, his son Robb, off leading armies, his son in all but name
Jaehaerys; who now had to shoulder the burden of a King. He wanted to see Cat again, to hold her
in his arms, to feel her hair tickling his chest once more.

Memories of a past woman, the woman before Catelyn, cuddling beside him filled his mind. Ned
shook his head vehemently, No. Not her. It is of no use to think what could have been.

Ned’s hand went to the dagger hidden behind his shift, making sure it remained there. Since his
room had no window, Ned had no idea what time it was outside. But his last meal had been two
hours before, and so, he judged that his hopeful freedom would be coming soon enough.

The wait stretched on unbearably. Every part of Ned’s body felt tense. He had not seen combat in
three years. The last time he had fought was against the wildlings, and even then, his age had
shown. He no longer had the stamina or the focus he had had when he’d fought with Robert, and
Ned felt ashamed.

A part of Ned had wanted to strangle Ser Barristan when he’d learned who’d killed Robert. The
realm praised the Bold as the slayer of yet another Usurper, and Ned wanted to shout to them that
the ‘Usurper’ had been a good, chivalrous, honourable man.

Ned sighed, and sat himself at the corner of his bed. Robert was dead and gone, dead when he had
been so full of life. Lyanna, playful, defiant Lyanna; Brandon, wild and willful; Rickard Stark,
stern and commanding; all dead, all gone.

All that remains of these people are dust and ashes, and their name.

Ned was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the sound of footsteps outside his door.
Almost. But his old warrior’s instinct won out and he gently slid the dagger from his shift, into his
hand.

Getting up, he walked slowly and quietly towards the door, and shifted to its side. Outside, the
sound of footsteps had receded and there was a conversation going. Ned recognised the voice of
Ser Arys and Ser Boros.

“I need to speak with the prisoner, by order of the Hand.” Ser Arys’ voice was hollow, and Ned
guessed he was wearing a helm.

“I was instructed by the Queen herself not to permit anyone without the permission of herself or
Lord Tywin.”

There was no reply. Ned heard the swishing sound of a dagger being drawn, and a gurgle. He only
hoped it was Blount dying with his throat slit, and not Oakheart.

Ned readied his own dagger. After a couple of heartbeats, the door burst open and a man armoured
fully in white stepped inside. In an instant, Ned’s dagger was at the man’s throat, his eyes scanning
the helm.

”Lord Eddard.”

The man was Ser Arys, yet Ned’s dagger remained in its place. “Why are you helping me, ser? Is
this a trick? Who do you serve?”

Arys Oakheart dropped the dagger he was holding and raised his hand in a gesture of surrender.
“No trick, my lord. I serve none but the true King of Westeros, Jaehaerys Targaryen.”

His grip loosened a bit, but his dagger remained where it was. “Are you acting on his orders?”

The man sighed. “Yes, my lord. We do not have time. If you would, please,” he pointed at the
dagger, “lower your weapon.”
Slowly, methodically, Ned lowered his weapon and stared at Oakheart, or rather, at his helm.
“Take off your helm, ser.”

The knight complied. Ned immediately recognised the comely face of the Reach knight. “Is this to
be an escape from King’s Landing?”

“Yes.”

Ned frowned. “How?”

Arys Oakheart beckoned grimly towards the door. “Please come outside, my lord. You’ll see how
there.”

The knight exited the door, and Ned followed, his curiosity more than his caution. Outside his
door, in a narrow corridor, Ser Boros Blount lay in a pool of blood. Ned looked at Ser Arys with a
raised eyebrow, and the knight shrugged.

The knight walked to the corner of the corridor, and picked up a bundle that Ned hadn’t noticed
before. Oakheart handed the bundle to him. “Inside that, you’ll find armour and the Lannister
clothing. Wear it. And please be quick, my lord.”

Ned felt his brows creasing into a frown once more. “What is the plan, ser? I will not blindly
follow whatever it is you intend to do.”

For a moment, he thought the knight wasn’t going to answer, but at the last moment he spoke.
“Soon enough, I’ll raise the cry that Lord Eddard has escaped from his chambers.”

Ned stared at him. “Say what now?”

The man shuffled impatiently. “Everyone will be looking for Eddard Stark, a burly northman
running loose throughout the Dragonfort. No one will look twice at just another bulky Lannister
soldier trying to find the northern Lord.”

“So I am to behave as a Lannister soldier searching for myself?”

Oakheart nodded. “Exactly. You and I will report to Lord Tyrion and tell him that we are going to
search the docks in case Lord Eddard escaped there. When we reach the docks, we’ll board a ship.
From there, we go to Driftmark.”

“Driftmark? Why Driftmark?”

“Because Lucerys Velaryon has sworn fealty to King Jaehaerys, my lord. Now, kindly be quick
about it.”

Ned quickly shed off his shift and hefted the chainmail. Over it, he slipped on his breastplate and
then covered the crimson cloak over his shoulders. Ser Arys handed him his helm, and he wore it,
and clanged the visor shut.

And then Ned remembered. How could he have forgotten? What kind of a father was he?

“Ser Arys! My daughters...”

Oakheart shook his head. “They were being taken to Storm’s End, last we heard. I’m sorry, my
lord.”

Something caught hold of Ned. “We have to go there.”

Oakheart grabbed him by the arm. “This is a discussion for later, my lord. We need to go, now.”

Ned stared incredulously at the knight. “Discussion for later? They are my DAUGHTERS!”

Oakheart looked ready to punch him. “We’ll discuss where we’ll go once we’re on the ship. But
we have to get there first. There will be no more questions. We move, now.”

Ned recognised defeat, and slumping his shoulders, nodded at Arys. “Lead the way.”

The man shook his head. “No. I think it will be too much of a risk if you meet Lord Tyrion. Wait at
the gates of the Dragonfort for me. Act as though you’re on an urgent mission.”

Ned gulped, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “Fine. How long will you take?”

“Not long.”

As he watched the knight’s retreating back, Ned once more felt the fluttering nervousness of facing
combat. He turned and walked briskly in the direction of the gate.

Act as though you’re on an urgent mission.

Ned directed his full concentration on his body. He didn’t walk too quickly, neither did he walk too
slowly. When he reached the gate, he saw it was deserted. Patrols moved on the walls, but they
were too far away to notice Ned.

Waiting for Arys Oakheart near the gate was ten times worse than waiting for him in Ned’s room.
Every single sound made him jump in surprise, try as he might to control his reactions.

Over him, the sky was dark with nary a star to be seen. The moon was half hidden behind a cloud,
and the city of King’s Landing slumbered.

The sound of footsteps nearly jolted Ned from his armour. Praying to the gods that it was Arys,
Ned found that the gods had gone deaf. Walking to him, with a Lannister crimson cloak, was an
officer.

The man raised his arm and hailed Ned. “Soldier,” he called out, “what are you doing there?”

Ned forced himself to look at the man, praying that the officer wouldn’t ask him to remove his
helm. “Waiting for Ser Arys, ser. The knight told me to wait for him here. He and I are to search
the docks, should the northern scum go there.”

The man scrutinised him for a moment, before nodding. “Aye, best do that. Do you need more
men?”

Ned wanted to vehemently shake his head, but instead he controlled his emotions. He gave a
nonchalant shake of his head. “Don’t think so, ser. It’s only one escapee, and a Kingsguard is worth
ten barbarians.”

The man shrugged. “If you find Eddard Stark and lose him, then on your head be it.”

The officer walked away, shouting at the sentries on the opposite side of the walls to start combing
the Dragonfort for Eddard Stark. Ned was of half a mind to shout ‘I’m here’ when he felt a hand on
his shoulder. Turning, he found Ser Arys beside him.

“Let’s go, my lord.”

The sentry outside called out a challenge, but when he realised he had addressed a White Cloak, his
hurry to apologise was laughable. Once outside, they walked briskly down the Street of Steel.

All the armour shops that bustled with life during the day was as calm as ice during the night. No
clang of metal on metal greeted Ned’s ears. He remembered riding through the same street nearly a
moon ago; Jae joking by his side with Ser Arthur, Arya and Sansa bickering with each other about
how King Rhaegar would greet them.

That felt like ages ago. As he and Ser Arys neared the docks, Ned’s mind turned once more to his
daughters. Sweet Sansa, with her dreams of knights and maidens; wild, untameable Arya, her
dreams of warrior queens and girl knights. As much as he ached to see Robb and Jaehaerys, he
had to rescue his daughters. They were his world.

When they reached the docks, Ned saw that they were nearly empty, except for three ships. He
turned to Ser Arys. “Which one?”

The man pointed at a massive war galley docked at the far corner. “That one. The Dragon’s Fury.
The crew and captain are all ready, and you’ll have a guest as well.”

Ned frowned. “A guest?”

”You’ll see.”

He and the knight trudged through the empty dock towards their designated ship. Soon enough,
bigger search parties would arrive. They would need to be well and truly clear before that.

As they neared the ship, Ned saw that the gangplank was already lowered, and two men were
standing with their arms crossed. When he and Arys reached them, they lifted a finger to their lips,
indicating them to be silent.

One man beckoned at the gangplank. Oakheart went first, followed by Ned himself. Behind him,
he heard the scuffling sound of the two men trailing beside him.

On board, Ned found the captain impatiently pacing the deck. On seeing him and the knight, the
man breathed a sigh of relief, and signalled at his men to prepare the galley.

Arys Oakheart smiled beside Ned. “How does freedom feel, my lord?”

Ned shrugged. “Well enough.”

Oakheart took off his helm, and Ned followed suit, his face loving the cool sea breeze caressing it.
Once the excitement of his escape died down, Ned turned to Ser Arys once more. “We will go to
Storm’s End.”

The knight gave him a weary look. “I beg of you, my lord, not now. Let us stop and refresh at
Driftmark, and then we shall think with cooler heads.”

”How many times must I repeat myself? They are my daughters.”

“And I’m not refuting your claim as their father, my lord. All I say is that rushing there alone might
result in the deaths of both you and your daughters.”

Ned sighed. The man was right. But what irked him was that he could do nothing while his
daughters suffered. It seems I can’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything while Father, Brandon and
Lya died, I couldn’t do anything while my sons fight a war, and I can’t do anything while my
daughters are held prisoner.

The captain walked up to Ned. “Lord Eddard. It is a pleasure to host you aboard my ship.”

Ned gave the man a weary nod. “My quarters?”

”Ah yes, your rooms have been laid out. The cabin boy will show you.”

Following the boy to his room, Ned opened the door. Entering, he found a figure sitting on his bed.

The person was hooded and sitting in a dark corner, so Ned had no idea who he was. Yet, from the
petite curves visible, he could easily guess she was a woman. Feeling disgust wash over him, he
angrily flicked his hand at the woman.

“Go away,” Ned said, “and tell your captain I have no need of whores.”

The woman threw back her hood. “Lord Eddard, of all the things I’ve been called in my life, a
whore is the most entertaining compliment I’ve received.”

The woman had the silver hair and purple eyes of a Targaryen. Her violet eyes glinted with
amusement as she stared at Ned, the corners of her mouth twitching.

”Princess Daenerys?” Ned asked, mortified. “Forgive me, princess, but I had no idea who you
were.”

“Apology accepted, Lord Eddard,” Daenerys said, her voice teasing, “though I mistook you for a
Lannister soldier when you entered. And that, is worse than being called a whore.”

Ned sat down on his bed, staring at the princess. “Undoubtedly.”

The princess looked thoughtfully at him. “You have some questions, my lord.”

”Of course. But I wouldn’t bother you now,” Ned said, “I have already made a fool of myself,
princess.”

Daenerys waved her hand. “You have done nothing of the sort, my lord. And besides, there isn’t
much to do in a ship.”

Ned thought for a moment, before asking. “What news of my nephew and son, princess.”

A smile lit Daenerys’ face. “Jaehaerys has thrashed Lord Tywin in the Battle of Harrenhal. I was
there when they told Cersei. You,” her face was gleeful, “would have gone to heaven, my lord, if
you’d seen her face then.”

Even Ned couldn’t help but smile at that. “And my son?”

Daenerys grinned. “Robb Stark has captured Duskendale and Maidenpool. He controls the
crownlands now. My congratulations, Lord Eddard. You must be a proud father.”

Ned was about to respond when the door banged open and Ser Arys entered. “Princess. Lord
Stark.”

“What is it?”

Ser Arys’ face was grim. “It’s the city, my lord. King’s Landing is under attack.”
Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed it. Next chap will either be a Jae or Haegon one. Yay!
 The Red Dragon
Chapter Summary

Jaehaerys rolls the dice...

Chapter Notes

I can’t make any promises, but I should be updating every two days. Delays might
happen, but rest assured, they won’t be frequent.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Viserys Targaryen looked mutinous. “This is too much of a risk.”

Jaehaerys turned to his uncle, looking calmly at him. “I agree. Yet ‘tis a risk we must take.”

The fire was blazing in his solar as Jaehaerys sat in his chair, while Viserys loomed over him like a
giant bear. He looks like Uncle Ned when he caught Robb and me drunk.

Viserys shook his head. “I’ve always believed you to take calculated risks,” he said, “but Lord
Tywin Lannister isn’t someone to be played around with.”

Jae arched an eyebrow at his uncle. “Why so?”

”The man’s cold and cunning. And he doesn’t play by the rules. That’s why.”

Jaehaerys got up from his chair. “I disagree, uncle.”

He walked up to his table and picked up the sword kept at its side. “Tell me, Viserys, what did you
know of me before meeting me?”

Viserys Targaryen stopped, before a smile spread on his face. “Nothing.”

Jae looked up, frowning. What now? “You hadn’t heard of me before meeting me?”

Viserys grinned. “Of course I’d heard of you. Thing is, two year olds don’t exactly do noteworthy
things to talk about.”

Jae rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about you meeting a baby me. I’m talking about our meeting
before Harrenhal.”

Viserys shrugged. “You were quite famous. Though I’m sure southern Lords wouldn’t have given
two shits about wildlings had not a prince been fighting them.”

Jae nodded. “Exactly. By the time you met me, I had a reputation. In war, reputation is very
important.”
Viserys frowned. “I’m not disputing your statement, nephew, but what does this have to do with
your plan regarding Lord Tywin?”

Jae smiled. “It has everything to do with it.” He gestured at his uncle. “Be seated.”

His uncle complied, and seated himself in Jae’s chair. Jae took a moment to compose his thoughts,
before speaking. “A man like Lord Tywin predicts his opponent’s moves by judging his
reputation.”

Viserys looked lost. “So?”

“And I have a reputation of being a good commander,” said Jae, “and a good tactician.” Noticing
his uncle’s sly smile, he added, “No, I won’t be modest either.”

He continued. “My fight against the wildlings and the ironborn involved using risky tactics.
Creative, but risky. Tywin Lannister judged that I was an impulsive idiot who occasionally had a
few strokes of genius, when I am anything but.”

“And I still don’t understand your point.”

Jae sighed. “My point is, even though I’ve defeated him, Lord Tywin thinks me the same
impulsive idiot. Which means, that when he sees that I’ve grown lax, he’ll see nothing out of the
norm. I’m luring him into a false sense of security.”

Viserys got up from the chair. “What does it matter whether Lord Tywin thinks you an idiot or a
genius? The plan remains risky as ever.”

“And you have a better idea to catch the second most dangerous Lannister alive?”

Viserys looked ready to go on a rant. A pointed stare from Jaehaerys made him reconsider. “This...
please, Your Grace, I beg you to reconsider.”

Jaehaerys gently laid his sword beside the table and turned to his uncle. “It’s a gamble, uncle. A
gamble, just like Harrenhal. A gamble, just like attacking the westerlands. A gamble, just like
sending the Iron Islands an envoy. I seem to enjoy a good fortune.”

Viserys scoffed. “You would bet Tywin Lannister on fortune?”

“Yes.”

“Nephew, you can toss the coin, but what makes you sure,” Viserys’ purple eyes burned with a fire,
“that it will land on your side?”

Jaehaerys flashed him a smile. “I’m as sure as sure can be. I make mine own fortune, uncle.”

Viserys stepped backwards, sighing. “I can’t dissuade you, can I?”

“No.”

“Very well. Your plan will benefit us hugely if it works, but only, and only if it works.”

Jaehaerys nodded at Viserys. “Trust me, uncle.”

Viserys had a determined look on his face. “If we are going to do it, we might as well do it right.
I’ll personally brief the men.”
“Good. Tell them to start their watch now.”

His uncle looked surprised. “You think they might attempt now?”

Jae frowned. “No, but why take the chance?”

Viserys nodded. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace.” He bowed and left through the open door,
his strides long and fast.

Left alone, Jaehaerys turned to his desk and sat. The stack of papers their had thinned, partially
because of his uncle. Viserys had taken up much of the day to day work Jae used to do, leaving
him free to plan and strategise.

His scheme involving Lord Tywin was something that had just popped into his mind suddenly.
After spending the next few hours fine tuning his plan, he had elaborated it to his uncle. Viserys
had been vehemently against it, but Jae’s famous stubbornness stood out, and in the end his uncle
bowed.

Jaehaerys had ended up growing fond of his uncle. Though a prince who was liable to be a tad too
much arrogant sometimes, Viserys Targaryen was an extremely capable general and administrator.
He lacked vision and creativity, but more than made up for it with his capability. Combined with a
reassuring presence, Jaehaerys judged his uncle to be the ideal Hand.

But that’s something for when I sit on the Throne. Now, there’s only the war for me.

Jaehaerys felt restless. Despite what he told his uncle, his plan still carried a huge risk. And if it
fails, I lose Tywin fucking Lannister.

Jae got up from the desk and walked out. Outside, the castle of Harrenhal teemed with life. Men
and soldiers went about their business as Jae walked through the innumerable yards and halls.
Some recognised and bowed, while others gave him nods.

Jaehaerys reached the training yard. He decided that he need to vent his tension on someone. And
he found his ideal target.

Ser Daemon Sand was his only Kingsguard left, with Ser Patrek dead and gone. The Dornishman
remained quiet whenever with Jaehaerys, and Jae remained wary of the man. He had long learned
that trusting Dornish meant trouble for him.

“Ser Daemon.”

The knight had been whetting his sword. He looked up, and upon seeing Jae, went to one knee.
“Your Grace.”

“Rise, ser. Are you amenable for a spar?”

Sand’s face was unreadable. “It would be my honour, Your Grace.”

The Dornish Knight walked to the rack and returned with two blunted swords. His gait was
confident and assured. Does he think he’ll have an easy victory on me?

Jae wasn’t the best fighter in Westeros, neither would he ever be. He lacked the natural talent that
men like Arthur Dayne or Barristan the Bold had possessed. But what he lacked in talent, he made
up in his precision and focus.
Ser Arthur had made sure that Jae’s focus reached heights that made even himself impressed. The
man had always said that skill and talent doesn’t matter in a true battle, your grit, your endurance
and your focus does.

Knights can dance around as much as they want in the yard, Prince Jaehaerys, but a battle isn’t a
dance. It’s a brutal melee, where every man is fighting his own way. That requires another set of
skills. It had been some of the truest words Ser Arthur had ever spoken.

Their spar began with Daemon attacking Jae in a cautious but confident series of moves. Jaehaerys
dodged or blocked whenever required, patiently absorbing all the blows the Dornish knight tried to
land on him.

Jae’s mind was on the lookout for any mistake on Sand’s part, but there was none. The knight’s
form was perfect, his footwork immaculate, his blows measured and with just the right amount of
power.

As they traded blows, Jaehaerys saw the knight’s eyes glaze over to something behind his
shoulder. Just when he was going to utilise the distraction and batter Ser Daemon, he heard a voice
call out.

“Your Grace!”

Turning, Jae found one of Lord Royce’s men hurrying up to him. “Your Grace.”

“Yes, officer?”

“Prince Viserys sent me, my King. He says it’s time.”

So soon? It seems the lion has decided to act early.

Fears plagued Jae’s mind, but in a well practised process, he pushed them away. “Did he succeed?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Jaehaerys didn’t know whether to feel relief or dread. He gestured at Ser Daemon to follow him
before turning towards the Kingspyre Tower.

The walk to Lord Tywin’s prison left Jae’s nerves tingling with anticipation. When they went down
the stairs and reached the door, Ser Daemon gave a shocked gasp.

It indeed was a shocking sight. Lord Tywin’s door was open, and the man himself was lying bound
and gagged, his eyes furious. Five of the guards Jae had posted were on their knees, shivering.
Behind them; with their spears aimed towards the guard’s necks, stood Viserys’ most trusted men.

Jaehaerys took a deep breath, and then composed his body into an air of nonchalance. He walked in
confidently. Upon seeing him, one of the guards let out a strangled cry.

Jae walked up to them, eyeing each of the guards. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”

From the room walked out his uncle, a smile plastered on his face. “Your plan worked like
clockwork, King Jaehaerys. These,” Viserys gestured at the five guards lying on their knees, “are
the traitors.”

Jae nodded to one of Viserys’ men. The man slammed his spear down on one of the guards. The
man gave a choked cry, before whimpering for mercy.
Jae knelt and drew himself face to face to the man. The other four looked on impassively.

“Tell me, soldier, what were you doing here?”

The man didn’t answer, he only whimpered.

“Let me tell you what you were doing. You accepted a bribe from the Lannisters, and conspired
against me to free Lord Tywin. Does loyalty mean so little to you?” Jae’s voice was as cold and
hard as stone.

One of the other guards scoffed. “Loyalty, Yer Grace? We’re smallfolk, not highborn lordlings
playing their game. When winter comes, we’re the one who starve, not you. Lannister offered us
money, food, shelter. You offer us nothing. So fuck off, King, before speaking ‘bout loyalty to us.”

Jaehaerys didn’t bother to answer, to defend himself. The man was part right, but Jae was long past
caring who was right and who was wrong.

He spoke to the whimpering man once more. “Obviously you were acting on someone else’s
orders. Whose?”

The man didn’t answer. The men beside him spat. The guard who had spoken before, looked at Jae
acidly. “We won’t fucking talk, you bastard.”

Jae sighed. “No, you won’t. But if you don’t, then I’ll kill you.”

The man laughed. “You think us fools. Our information is too fucking valuable for you to kill us.”

”Is it?”

In a flash, Jae whipped out his dagger from his cloak and slashed at the man’s throat. The look on
his face as blood gurgled through his throat eerily reminded Jae of the first man he’d killed.

Jaehaerys spoke once more. “Let’s get this fucking straight. I don’t care whether you live or die.
All I want are names. So,” he walked up to another guard, “who ordered you to free Lannister?”

The man was trembling like a leaf, yet he didn’t answer. Loyal to the last, Jae thought, as he slit the
man’s throat. Then he turned to the whimpering man.

”Now, do I get a name?” He twirled the dagger in front of the man, eliciting a sob from him. He
brought the dagger to the man’s neck, gently pressing it.

“Kevan Lannister.”

The man’s voice was almost a whisper, and only Jae managed to hear it. Behind him, he heard
Viserys say, “What?”

Jaehaerys kept his face expressionless. “Hmmm. Care to say that again, soldier?”

The man spoke once more, his voice louder. “Kevan Lannister. He.... he offered us the money, and
he told us when to free m’lord Tywin.”

Jaehaerys twirled his dagger once more, the blood shining. “And where is Kevan Lannister?”

The man took a deep breath, before speaking once more. “I... I don’t know. But he told us to bring
m’lord Tywin to a clearing south of Harrenhal.”
 Jae got up, and gave his uncle a grim look. “You’ll lead us there, soldier. I don’t believe I’ll have to
make any threats, do I?”

The man shook his head, his face scrunched up. Jaehaerys turned and flashed Tywin Lannister a
smile. You see, my lord? Only dragons dance with dragons. Not lions.

Viserys walked up to him. “Your plan worked. If all goes well, we’ll soon have Kevan Lannister
keep his brother company. What a brilliant family reunion.”

Jaehaerys smiled. “You’re right, uncle. Send the men. It’s time for the lion to be hunted.”

Chapter End Notes

Someone was asking after Kevan in the comments. Sorry I couldn’t respond, but
anything I said would’ve been a spoiler.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Also, someone asked me if Jae will wield Dark Sister. Sorry to disappoint, but no.
Ultra cunning dragonlord wielding super sword? That’s waaaay to cliche for me.
 The Dead Man
Chapter Summary

He knows what he wants. He wants vengeance.

Chapter Notes

Ths chapter is short, yes, but VERY, VERY important. It took 4 days cuz every line
had to be checked and edited.

If you can, please ensure you read each line carefully.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Darkness. Deep and black the darkness was, and never before had he felt so much pain, so much
fear. The pit of death was all around him, and he was afraid.

He did not know who he was, he did not know his own name. All he knew was the pain, the anger,
the fear. The fear most of all.

Pitch black darkness surrounded him, pulled at him, whispered at him to come to their embrace.
He resisted. Fear made him resist, pain made him resist. There was something wrong with the
darkness. He knew it.

For what seemed an eternity, he wrestled with the dark, with the demons bent on taking him with
them. He knew not where he was, nor who he was. All he knew was that he had to stay away from
the darkness.

In the distance, he heard hushed voices and someone murmuring. He wanted to shrink away, he
wanted the darkness to go away, and yet it remained, assaulting him, breaking him.

And then the murmuring voice became clearer, it seemed to resonate around him. He still was
afraid, but he clung on to the voice. It was the only thing other than the darkness gnawing at him.

And then the darkness erupted in a blaze of light. Memories assailed him like long lost friends. He
saw his birth, his childhood, his adult life, and then came the worst of all. He saw his own death.

Memories of the feast filled his mind. No, not that, ANYTHING but that.

Men and women screaming, soldiers mercilessly slaughtering innocents, his son, his own son,
killed. The memories of that terrifying night was worse than the darkness. It was worse than
anything.

He had wanted to help people. That was all he had wanted. And yet, that hadn’t been enough for
the lion. The cat had slaughtered his family, and grief washed over him.

He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He wanted it to end, he wanted the
memories gone, he wanted the darkness to come back, he wanted anything but the memories. He
did not want to see his own death.

And then, miraculously, the memories ceased. The darkness returned, but this time it was
comforting. He welcomed the black. It was much, much better than the memories.

But he heard the voice once more. The murmuring voice, calling at him, pulling at him. He tried to
resist, but there was no strength left in him. He spiralled down and down and down...

With a painful gasp, he lurched forward, sitting upright. The ground underneath him felt cold. He
blinked his eyes, and looked around.

He was in a room with no furniture. The curved shape of the moon peeked through a single
window, illuminating the room. His felt his breathing slow down, and slowly, he allowed his body
to relax.

“It will take some time for your body to settle.”

It was the voice. The same voice that had pulled him out of the darkness. He lurched around, and
came face to face with a man kneeling calmly beside him.

The man’s face was scraggly, his beard a nest of tangles. He looked concerned, and his hand was
held up in a placating gesture.

And then his eyes dropped to the clothes the man was wearing. A crimson robe. The colour of
House Lannister.

Pain, rage and grief rushed over him at the same time. He doubled over, his mouth open in a silent
scream.

“Are you alright?”

The man’s voice made him look at the man once more. And again, he saw the crimson robe. This
time, only rage filled his mind. The Lannisters killed my sons, my daughter, my mother. I will rain
hell on them. I will not rest until every man who has ever enjoyed Lannister hospitality is dead.

His body seemed to hum in agreement with his thoughts. He reached out with his hand for the
man’s throat. He found his mark, and put all his strength as he began to choke the life out of the
man.

The man wheezed, and tried in vain to speak. He relished the feel of holding the power of death.
He reveled in the feel of handing out justice. Today I kill the first Lannister.

But something struck him wrong. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, he saw the
man’s robe wasn’t crimson, but blood red. A memory struck him. A memory of reading about Red
Priests, of worshippers of Fire.

He let go of the man, and watched as the man stumbled backwards, clutching his throat. He let the
man catch his breath for a few moments before speaking.

“Who are you?” His voice felt cold, colder than ice itself.

The red-robed man took in two deep breaths, before answering through painful pauses. “Thoros.
Thoros.... of.. Myr.” The man coughed up some blood.
 Distant recollections of a flaming sword and tourneys came to his mind. He nodded at Thoros,
before looking at himself.

He was still wearing the fineries he had worn to the feast. But near his stomach, his doublet was
torn and blood was splattered all over. He touched the skin, and felt nothing.

He turned to Thoros. “Where am I?”

The man was still wheezing. He answered after a few moments, “King’s Landing, Your Grace.”

He felt a smile growing on his face. He was in the perfect place to wreak havoc on the Lannisters. I
will kill those fucking bastards a thousand times.

As he lurched to his feet; for the first time in many years, Rhaegar Targaryen felt energetic.

Chapter End Notes

Soooo, yes. Rhaegar is my version of Lady Stoneheart.

Hope I managed to shock you. Or better yet, kill you.

 The Lioness
Chapter Summary

Cersei recollects and plans...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Cersei Lannister had never felt angrier. Beside her, the abomination who shared the name
Lannister stared at her with his grotesque mismatched eyes, and for once, he was quiet. Cersei felt
thankful. If that creature had been spitting his usual talk, she was quite sure she would have
strangled him.

She had wanted to tear her hair out when Oakheart had informed her that Eddard Stark had
escaped. Bad enough that her father, a proud lion, had been humiliated by the bastard. And now,
had they lost to some savage northman too?

A distant memory seventeen years ago came to her mind. During all those years at the capital, that
memory had been the only thing that made her smile. That, and her children.

Sunlight streamed through Rhaegar Targaryen’s office as Cersei entered the room. Her lord
husband’s face was buried in a pile of papers, his face oddly devoid of expression.

“Your Grace.”

Her husband gave out a visible sigh, before turning and looking up at her. “Yes, my lady?”

Cersei felt her ire grow. Ever since their wedding, Rhaegar had been ever so formal with her. He
certainly did his duty in bed, and he did that duty well. Cersei had spent half the night after the
bedding walking with a limp.

But even then, she never saw her husband smile. She tried time and time again to make him smile,
and yet, she met a wall of formality as cold and large as the Wall itself. She had seen her husband
smile whenever he was with, with... those children. And the bastard.

What her husband saw in the bastard, she knew not. Yet, Rhaegar seemed to cheer and sadden at
the same time whenever he saw the boy.

Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell hold places in his heart that I don’t, thought Cersei.

Rhaegar’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts once more. “My lady, I do believe you wanted to
speak with me?”

Cersei turned to her lord husband. “Yes. I have a complaint about Lady Dayne.”

She saw her husband frown. “Ashara? She is due to meet with me this evening, is she not? What
has she done?”

Cersei had always thought that she had mastered the art of controlling her expressions. It was
something Lord Tywin had told her was very important at the court, and how could she fail, when
her father had told her she HAD to succeed?

Yet, now, her rage must have shown for Rhaegar’s eyebrows shot up upon looking at her face.
Summoning every ounce of control she had, Cersei spoke.

“As the Daynes were the most prominent loyalists during the Rebellion, I thought it appropriate
that the Queen herself should greet Lady Dayne.” Cersei took a deep breath, and spoke once
more. “But when Lady Ashara arrived, she all but spited me in front of the entire court. She
ignored me and my greetings, and she had the gall to mention that I was MERELY A THIRD
WIFE!! How dare she!”

So embroiled was she in her own anger, she hadn’t noticed a light smirk playing on Rhaegar’s lips.
“My lady I—“

Cersei stared at her husband furiously. “I am no mere lady! I am the QUEEN of the Seven
Kingdoms. Pray remember that, Your Grace.”

Any other man would have been furious at being addressed such by his lady wife. But this was
Rhaegar Targaryen. His smirk had widened upon her outburst. “Queen Cersei, I was merely going
to suggest you calm yourself.”

She had controlled her reaction by now. Try as she might, she could not get her husband to smile.
And the ONLY time he smiles is the time she gets humiliated. Cersei did not know whether to curse
the gods or to praise them.

“Are you happy at your lady wife’s humiliation, Your Grace?”

At her furious statement, Rhaegar Targaryen burst out laughing. Cersei stood in front of her
husband, angry, confused, and he laughed in front of her.

“My, Queen Cersei, you truly have the Lannister fire in you.”

”What?”

“I only wanted to say that if you might calm down,” Rhaegar held up his hands in a placating
gesture, “and douse the fire burning in you, I may be able to say something.”

Cersei realised that her voice had risen while speaking. Gods, she hadn’t known just how much
she was angry at the Dornish woman. She quickly put on a demure mask, and looked at her
husband. “Forgive me if I was rude, Your Grace. I was but incensed by Lady Ashara’s behaviour.”

Rhaegar’s smirk remained in its place. “A bit too ‘incensed’, if you don’t mind me saying.” He got
up from the chair and walked towards Cersei. “You have quite the spirit in you, Cersei.”

“I..” Cersei didn’t know how to respond.

“You were ever so ladylike with me. Who would have guessed,” Rhaegar’s smirk was almost
annoying now, “that the Light of The West is in her heart such a wild spirit?”

Cersei felt mollified. She tried to form some words, but failed to come up with anything.

Rhaegar raised his hand in a placating gesture. “There’s no need to be ashamed, Cersei. Learn to
harness that fire,and no one would dare disrespect you. Now, if you would excuse me, I have
something that I want to discuss with the Lord Hand.”
He gave her a light kiss in her lips before walking out of the office. Only a few minutes later did
Cersei realise that it was the first time Rhaegar had called her by name.

Cersei did not know what had gone wrong after that. There had been such high hopes inside her,
when the maester told her she was with child; and even a blind man couldn’t mistake the joy in
Rhaegar’s eyes when he held little Visenya in his arms. And yet, her husband for whatever reason
had distanced himself from her.

She had still spent years believing that perhaps her husband would come to love her one day. And
whenever her hope dwindled, she remembered that day in his office, that sweet warmth between
them that had been so like a normal husband and wife.

And her dream had crumbled down day by day, until she knew that there was no hope for them.
She didn’t hate Rhaegar, hlw could anyone hate him? But neither could she love him. What man
ignores his own lady wife and remains lost in the blood of the past?

Her brothe... that dwarf’s voice drew her out of her reverie. “I think we need to escape, sister of
mine.”

She turned on the dwarf, making sure the abomination saw the fury in her eyes. “Escape? Does a
lion flee with its tail between its legs? Though I suppose you would want to do that. You are no
true Lannister.”

The dwarf’s eyes hardened. “And not being a Lannister is one thing I would be grateful of. Our
name is laughing stock throughout Westeros. There’s an army storming King’s Landing hellbent
on killing Lannisters.”

Cersei whipped her hair around. “And I will die proudly like a true lion.”

The dwarf slammed his hand on the table. It was such an uncharacteristic gesture for the
abomination that it managed to surprise even Cersei.

“I do not care whether you live or die, Cersei, but I do care what happens to my nephew and niece.”
Tyrion’s voice was so hard and cold, it oddly reminded her of Lord Tywin. “Do you want your son
and daughter to die? Do you? Visenya, raped and butchered? Daemon, tortured and killed?”

Cersei reached out and slapped the dwarf. “No one would dare touch my children. They’re worth a
royal ransom.”

The abomination snarled at her. “Do you think ransom and politics is in a soldier’s mind when his
blood is up? Do you think ransom and politics will stop the soldier from taking Visenya’s pretty
cunt?”

An image of a brute soldier raping her gem of a daughter filled Cersei’s mind. Something chilled
within her. What was pride compared to your daughter’s safety? What was honour compared to
your son’s love?

She summoned every inch of courage within her, and straightened her back. “Very well. I will
escape with my children, if only for their sake. Summon back Ser Arys. He is at least a capable
warrior I can trust.”

“Now you see sense. I do believe Ser Arys was last inspecting the docks. In all probability, he’s
caught up in the fighting by now. You’ll have to make do,” the dwarf glanced with distaste at Ser
Meryn standing behind her, “with what we have.”
 Cersei frowned. Ser Meryn was loyal to her, but Ser Arys was a far better warrior. The Reach
knight had been nothing compared to Ser Barristan or Ser Arthur, yet he could’ve easily bested any
common soldier. With Meryn Trant, she had no such assurance. “And what will you do, Tyrion?”

The dwarf shook his head and gave a bitter laugh. “I know not. Stay back and fight, perhaps? That
would have actually been heroic, if I’d looked like our dearly departed brother.”

He should not have mentioned Jaime. Cersei felt a familiar wave of guilt wash over her upon
hearing the name of her long dead twin. Jaime’s death had been a blow to her, but her marriage to
Rhaegar had been much of a consolation. She still occasionally thought of the fun and joy she’d
had with her brother, and she never failed to curse Aerys. Even Lord Tywin had been affected by
Jaime’s death, though no one knew it. Only Cersei noticed it.

She shook away her thoughts and looked down at her valonqar. She would probably never see him
again, and in any other day, she might have been glad for it. Not today. Today, she could only
think of the times Jaime had spent laughing with the dwarf, and the withering look he’d once given
her when she’d chastised him for spending time with him.

“He’s our brother, Cersei, a Lannister as much as you and me. Do you want to shame him, sister
mine, or would you for once actually have a civil conversation with him?”

Tyrion’s mismatched eyes were looking up questioningly at her. She looked at them, before
speaking. “Then I wish you luck.... brother. Perhaps Haegon Blackfyre will be merciful to you.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am yet to hear of Haegon Blackfyre’s merciful
reputation.” He reached out and poured himself a glass of wine. “But here’s to hoping that when
the Black Dragon takes King’s Landing, he’ll be in a merciful mood.”

Cersei gave her brother a slight nod, before sweeping away from the room. Once outside, she
turned to Ser Meryn. “Wake your King and princess, ser. Tell them to get dressed as quickly as
possible. I will wait for them outside the Great Hall.”

Trant bowed and took his leave, his gait shambled and slow. Cersei wanted to shout at him to walk
faster, but it would’ve been of no use.

She hurried to her own chambers, to pack up a few simple clothes. It would not do to roam the
streets of King’s Landing dressed in a lady’s fineries.

Just as she was packing in a simple grey shift, she heard footsteps outside her door. Has Ser Meryn
come so quickly? He must have started to fly when I left him..

“Ser Meryn? Please, being Daem—“

“I’m not Meryn Trant.”

That voice. Cersei felt her blood run cold. It cannot be...

Turning around, she saw a man standing at her doorway. In the dark, his face was hidden but
Cersei easily recognised his silhouette.

The voice spoke once more, the voice she’d thought she’d never hear again. “Greetings, my lady
wife.”

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

I have quite a few things to say.

1) Note that Cersei didn’t have to endure rape or abuse. Rhaegar basically ignored her,
excepting a few precious moments. Cersei isn’t THAT much of a monster she is in
canon, cuz she didn’t go through the same experiences.

2) Cersei’s POV was meant to come off as a bit sympathetic. I hope I managed that.
Cersei haters (which is the entire fandom lol) beware!

3) KL is such a big shitpile of chaos, even Baelish would be proud. You have the
Blackfyres attacking, Cersei attempted escape, her confrontation with a (ahem) man,
Tyrion’s last stand, so much crazy shit going on. I’m feeling proud.
 Not an update
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I hate writing this, but I guess I have to warn you...

For the past few weeks, I had some mild cold and cough. Suddenly, five days past, I went down
with fever. Yesterday morning my fever subsided and by today I’m nearly fit. And then came the
bomb.

I took a saliva test and its result came today morning. I’m infected with the thing whose name we
do not speak. I’m fit (nearly) now, with nothing to do but stare at the wall of my room. Isolation is
bloody boring.

You might say that my chaps should be coming even quicker now, with me having nothing to do
but stare at my laptop. Thing is, when you’re in full isolation, procrastination is an easy slide. I’m
writing the chapter, and suddenly I think of this video, or this meme, and I go searching for it. The
chapter gets forgotten.

Anyways, forgive my rambling. Next chapter should be out by today, or latest by tomorrow night.
But be warned that chapters may be facing unforeseen delays from now.

Yours Truly,

EarthshakerIX

Chapter End Notes

Oh, and any jokes in the comment section are welcome. I’m feeling so gloomy right
now, I don’t think I’ll ever manage to crack a joke or write Tyrion-type snarky
humour.
 The Black King
Chapter Summary

Jae talks with Tywin once more...

Chapter Notes

Sorry for the delay...

Winterfell wasn’t much of a disappointment for Jaehaerys. He had grown up in Dragonstone, and
that place was as dark and dreary as it got. Compared to the island fortress, Winterfell felt like a
warm southern castle.

His cousin Robb and he got along well. The Heir to Winterfell had an easy charm around him, and
Jae found him much more companionable than Aegon had ever been, with all his brother’s
frequent lapses of melancholy. Uncle Benjen had been a pleasant surprise for Jae, and he and
Robb had become his constant companions.

Lady Catelyn Stark was the perfect southron lady, courtesy and strength mixed perfectly. She eerily
reminded Jae of Lady Ashara, the few times the Dayne beauty came to visit him and his siblings at
Dragonstone. Though that wouldn’t have been something to bring up, considering the rumours.

But the one man who completely surprised Jaehaerys was his uncle, Eddard Stark. Jae had grown
up hearing stories about how the barbarian northerners had run over the entire realm, raping and
looting. And they had been led by one man - Lord Stark.

Rhaenys and Daenerys had both teased him mercilessly when they learned he was to be fostered
with a half-demon, half-barbarian demon lord of an uncle; until Jae had reminded them that he
and Egg would be roaming Westeros while they would remain stuck in Dragonstone.

But Eddard Stark was nothing like a demon, or a barbarian. Sure, he walked around draped in furs
and thick coats, but only a madman would strut around in normal clothing in the North.

Further to his surprise, the warmth that had shown on Stark’s face as greeted Jaehaerys was
completely unexpected. Jae hadn’t been expected to be hated, but neither had he expected much by
way of a proper family.

Though the way all warmth drained out of Lord Stark’s face when he greeted Ser Arthur was
almost comical. And the way Dayne himself was glaring at his uncle, Jaehaerys had half expected
them to draw their own legendary swords and start duelling. Only later did he realise that both he
and Ser Arthur would have been slaughtered if the knight had killed the Lord of The North in his
own hearth.

There had been a feast upon his arrival in the North, and Jae noticed a marked difference between
southron and northern feasts. Northerners, for one, lost all cool and courtesy during a feast. It was
more of a race to who could drink themselves to death. Southron feasts, on the other hand, was
basically sitting and smiling as one lord after another mouthed pleasantries at you. Yet, that was
another form of art.

He spent the entire feast chatting with Robb and Uncle Benjen. Sometimes Lord Eddard would ask
him some question about his life on Dragonstone, while Lady Catelyn would politely inquire about
his favourite foods and clothing. Young Arya, a girl of four, seemed to find Jae’s long hair
fascinating. She kept trying to reach his hair from her mother’s lap. Her sister Sansa, on the other
hand, stared at Jae as though he’d fallen from the sky.

Unlike most feasts in the south, Jae was mostly left alone with his family. Funny, he thought, I’ve
already started thinking of them as family.

Eventually the raucousness of the feast got too much for Jae. He excused himself from the feast,
and began walking down the cold yards of Winterfell.

The night air was calm and cool. The wind blew sparsely, and Jae felt strangely peaceful,
something that was impossible to feel while staring at the swirling waters of Dragonstone. He
savoured every moment outside, each breath feeling like he was discovering something new.

Walking, he reached the training yard. It stacked to the brim with swords, all sharpened with a
glistening edge. Jae suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and smacked his head right on
the armour of Ser Arthur.

“Oof!” Jae rubbed his head, looking up at the knight. Ser Arthur offered no apology, just gave him
a withering glare. Jae glared right back, his chin raised in defiance.

“Let us spar, prince.” Ser Arthur’s tone was clipped. Jae wondered what he had done that made
the Dayne knight so hard on him.

“Spar now, ser? My belly is fit to burst with all that food.”

The Dayne knight paid him no mind. He picked up a blunted sword, and handed it to Jae. “Show
me your stance, prince. If it’s perfect, you can do whatever it is you were doing.”

Jaehaerys gave the knight a death glare. “You are a Kingsguard. You do as I say.”

Ser Arthur looked amused. “I do not. I obey only the King, and the King has tasked me with your
protection and martial training. You will do as I say, or you can find yourself another
Kingsguard.”

Jaehaerys got into the stance Ser Oswell had shown him back in Dragonstone. Ser Arthur tutted
his disapproval at that. Jaehaerys looked up.

“This is Oswell’s stance. Oswell’s preferred weapon is a morningstar. It’s designed for its weight
and power. A sword is designed for its length and reach. Your stance is completely wrong.”

Dayne spent the next few minutes berating every step Jae took, and he found his irritation going.
He had done the knight no wrong, and yet the man kept criticising his every move.

“Why do you hate me?”

The words had come out of Jae’s mouth before he could stop himself. Arthur Dayne stopped to
look at him, his face devoid of any expression.
“I do not hate you, prince.”

Jae snorted. “You could’ve fooled me, ser.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Jaehaerys didn’t know what to do or say. The Kingsguard simply
looked at him, his eyes searching.

After some time, Arthur Dayne spoke once more. “You were born in war. You should know the cost
of war.”

”What?”

Arthur Dayne unsheathed Dawn and held it in front of Jae. “This sword has claimed thousands of
lives in the Rebellion. Why? Because your mother caused a war.”

Jae stumbled backwards. Of course he’d heard whispers, whispers of his mother being a whore,
whispers that he was a bastard. Everytime he ran to his father, or to Queen Rhaella. But no one
had ever insulted his mother so blatantly.

“My mother.... my mother loved my father.” Jae said stupidly.

“She did. Or she thought she did. And because of that love, many good men died. Have you heard
of Jaime Lannister? I knighted him myself. A young and shining youth, so adept at swordplay that
in a few years, he’d have probably bested me. Young and full of promise. He had his whole life
ahead of him. Yet all that remains of him now is ashes. Because of the Rebellion.”

Jae frowned. “But everyone knows Jaime Lannister. He’s the Lion Knight, the Kingsguard who
stayed loyal uptil the very end. Didn’t he achieve glory?”

Ser Arthur’s face softened. “What good does glory do when you’re rotting in a grave, prince?”

Jae was silent. He knew not what to say.

“Ser Jaime was only one man. There were several like him, young and glorious, who lost their
lives in Rebellion. Ser Elbert Arryn was a gallant man, a perfect future Lord of The Vale. Brandon
Stark was a wildheaded lord who enjoyed life to its fullest. Elia Martell was a kindhearted and
lovely woman, a loving mother and a loving wife. What remains of these people now, Jaehaerys?”

Jae had never seen it that way. “I.. I’m not at fault for their deaths.”

“No. But at some time in the future, you may be at fault for several more deaths.”

“What?”

“You are like your mother, my prince. You care not for your duties, or for the society. Neither did
she. And because of that, many good men died. I want to ensure, prince, that you do not emulate
your mother.”

King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen lurched forward in his bed, his head throbbing. A cool wind
was blowing through the window, and outside, the night was dark and silent. Harrenhal slumbered.

Jae got off his bed, and gently massaged his head. Memories of Winterfell and Ser Arthur was
something that he’d come to hate. The very mention of Ser Arthur brought the image of the man
dying at the feast in front of his eyes. The helplessness he’d felt as he watched the knight die; as he
watched Eddard Stark get captured, that helplessness haunted him.
How can a man be so helpless? Was there nothing I could do, to prevent what happened at the
feast? Was I truly so useless?

What Ser Arthur had told him about war, he had not forgotten. I am like my mother, he had said,
like a woman who had caused a war. And how well have I liven up to his expectations, haven’t I?
Another war, a war I took part in.

It haunted him to think that there was another war going on, a war even larger than the War of The
Usurper. A war that could’ve been avoided if I didn’t press my claim to the throne.

Was it truly worth it? The deaths of so many men, all so Jaehaerys could sit the Iron Throne?
Thousands of wives and children will be waiting for their husbands and fathers to return, never
knowing that they would never see them again. What matter did it make to them whether a true
king ruled, or an usurper. Jae couldn’t bring back the dead for them.

His thoughts made him ache for the presence of Ser Arthur. The knight had been blunt, brutal and
honest with him; above all, the man had known Jae inside and out, better even than his Uncle Ned.
Arthur Dayne would have told Jae whether he was right or wrong, and Arthur Dayne would’ve
helped him reach the right choice.

But Arthur Dayne is dead. Dead, just like Jaime Lannister, the man he knighted; just like Elia
Martell, the stepmother I never knew; just like Lyanna Stark, the woman who remains a mystery to
me.

He was interrupted from his musings by a knock on his door. “Come in.” Jae called out groggily,
shaking the sleep from his eyes.

Ser Daemon Sand entered, his face wearing his usual emotionless expression. But the
Dornishman’s eyes betrayed his true feeling. The brown eyes were filled with excitement and
success.

“Your Grace.” Sand went to one knee, his head bowed.

“Rise. Was your mission successful?”

“Yes, Your Grace. We got him.”

“Any casualties?”

“No, Your Grace. When they saw that they were outnumbered, they yielded without a fight.”

“And Prince Viserys?”

“The Prince is fine. He is with the prisoners.”

Jaehaerys allowed himself a small moment to savour his victory, before speaking to Daemon once
more. “Is he being kept where I asked?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Jae nodded. “Good. I will speak with them then. Accompany me, ser.”

Their walk to the Kingspyre Tower was in long, hurried strides. They had won, yes, but Jae knew
that there would be no true victory until he sat upon the Iron Throne.

Inside, the door to Lord Tywin’s prison was being guarded by Prince Viserys’ most trusted men.
They knelt when they saw him, and Jae gave them a quick nod before entering the room.

Lord Tywin didn’t look changed, even at the face of utter defeat. He had taken off his armour and
wore a crimson doublet and a belt engraved with rubies. His green and gold eyes glittered with
unknown expressions as they studied Jae.

The man standing beside him had the same gold hair and green eyes as Lord Tywin. But that was
where the similarities ended. Where Lord Tywin was lean and fit, this man was plump. Tywin’s
face was cold and expressionless, this man’s face held a resignation of defeat.

Jaehaerys looked at Tywin Lannister’s new cellmate. “Lord Kevan.”

Kevan Lannister looked up, his face that of a man who knew he had failed. He stared wordlessly at
Jae, his emerald eyes blank.

It was Lord Tywin who spoke. “Your Grace.”

Jaehaerys pulled out a chair and sat. “I must admit, my lord, your plan was sound. It would have
succeeded, if I’d been as much of a fool as your daughter.” Jae looked at Tywin. “Did you truly
think me stupid enough to leave you with guards who could easily be bribed?”

Tywin Lannister stared back at Jae, unflinching. “I had the wrong impression of you, King
Jaehaerys. You have used your reputation and skill well.”

“You,” Jae made sure to keel his face blank, “will be executed once we take the capital, Lord
Tywin. For Lord Kevan, oerhaps there’s a chance to take the black. But he too, in all probability,
will be executed. You’ve lost.”

The Lannister lord shrugged. “Yes. Lesser men would have denied it, but I am not one to deny hard
truths.” Lord Tywin’s green and gold eyes glinted in the firelight. “I did what I could to further my
house’s legacy. I took a gamble, and I lost. But I am man enough to face its consequences.”

“Say what you will, my lord. It doesn’t change the fact that your family name will be spat upon by
this and the next generation.”

Lord Tywin looked at Jae, his face still blank. “Unless? I’m assuming you can do something to
rectify my family’s ill name?”

Jae smiled. “I can. But at a price.”

Kevan Lannister spoke. “What price? You said it yourself, Your Grace. We’ll be executed, so we
have nothing to lose. Why should we pay your price?”

Jaehaerys ignored him. The true man was Lord Tywin, and it was he who decided to pay, not
Kevan. “When I attack King’s Landing, Cersei will fight tooth and nail. I want you, my lord, to
order her to surrender.”

Without missing a beat, Lord Tywin retorted. “And why should I do that?”

“Because you care for your legacy. If I take King’s Landing with thousands of casualties, then I
assure you, I’ll have need of vengeance. And what better way to take vengeance, if not to wreak
havoc on House Lannister? If you don’t cooperate, I’ll give the Wardenship of the West to
someone else. Lannister will be stripped of all rights and privileges, and your house will be nothing
more than common beggars.”
“And if I cooperate?”

Jae shrugged. “You’ll still lose your head, but House Lannister will remain Lord Paramount of the
Westerlands. Yes, a lot of lands will be granted to other houses, but what dod you expect? Your
son Tyrion will inherit Casterly Rock.”

For a long moment, there was silence. Then Tywin spoke. “I want Daven Lannister to inherit the
Rock.”

Jaehaerys thought for a moment. “Does this mean you will cooperate?”

“Yes. But only if Daven Lannister is Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“Done. Prince Viserys will send a man, and the deal will be set in paper. I’m glad you saw sense,
my lord.”

Tywin stared at him with hard eyes. “You have won, Your Grace. Enjoy your spoils for now.
When the day comes when you lose, remember the Lannisters whom you defeated. Then you will
learn, be it dragon or lion, all of us are human.”

Jae didn’t answer. He stepped out, having accomplished his mission. The capital could be taken
without a slaughter, and for that, he was thankful.

When he was walking through the yard with Ser Daemon, he saw Lord Yohn walking up to him.
The man’s stride was hurried, his face excited. “Your Grace.”

“What is it, my lord?”

“Princess Rhaenys and Princess Arianne have arrived at Duskendale, Your Grace.”
 The Lord of Maidenpool
Chapter Summary

Myles Mooton receives a guest...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The night air was cool and windy as Myles Mooton walked through the empty courtyard of
Summerhall.

The Lord of Maidenpool had always considered himself to be a decisive man. Yet now, he knew
not what to do. Once more he wished for the calming presence of his mentor, his friend.

But what good does wishing do? He’s dead, just like Father.

Myles Mooton had first met Rhaegar Targaryen when he was but a wide eyed boy of two and ten.
The Crown Prince had been a handsome young man of fifteen, newly knighted by Barristan the
Bold. Only the gods knew why Myles had been chosen to squire for the prince. But he knew that
he had never felt luckier then.

Myles sighed as he felt the breeze caress his skin. Would that I could be young once more..

But Myles Mooton was not young. At nine and thirty years of age, his raven black hair had started
to show streaks of white, and his once aquiline features had slowly begun corroding away. The
days he had spent laughing and sparring with Richard Lonmouth and Arthur Dayne, and the Prince
himself were long gone, just like the boy Myles had been those days.

It hurt to remember the pure joy and fun that Myles had had then. His days were spent laughing
and fighting with Richard and Arthur, and occasionally Rhaegar would join them for a bout. He
and Richard would chase after every skirt that came their way, while Rhaegar and Arthur watched
on chastely with disapproving looks.

And then the War of the Usurper happened. And everything changed for Myles.

The Battle of the Bells had been a nightmare for every Targaryen loyalist at Stoney Sept. Myles
remembered Robert Baratheon, face and shoulder half covered with bandages, roaring and
charging with his warhammer. Injured as he was, how Baratheon managed to fight, Myles never
knew.

He wouldn’t have hesitated to face off Lord Robert, Myles knew. Yet, Connington stopped him,
and together the closest companions of Rhaegar Targaryen watched as Robert Baratheon laid waste
to the Targaryen army.

When the rebels caught Myles, he had fully expected to be killed on spot. After all, his friendship
with Prince Rhaegar was hardly a secret, and neither was Robert Baratheon’s hatred of him.

Yet, Robert took one look at Myles, bound and chained in front of him, and asked the soldiers to
release him and give him comfortable quarters. He even sent a local healer to Myles, to look after
his wounds. Why the Stormlord did him such a kindness, Myles never knew. Only the next day,
Robert Baratheon rode off north to the Trident, and to his doom.

Myles had expected the Lord of Storm’s End to be a horned devil, a man with no qualm about
murdering innocents. Yet, Baratheon was nothing like that. Yet another experience in life for
Myles where rumour didn’t match the truth.

There were some in the Stormlands who whispered that Robert Baratheon had been a good man, a
good man killed by an evil prince who lusted after Robert’s beautiful betrothed.

Myles had asked Rhaegar about Lyanna Stark. The look he’d gotten in answer was the only time
Myles had ever been afraid of his best friend and King.

“Speak not to me of her, ser. She was sixteen, a full life ahead of her. And I dragged her into the
mess, and now she is dead. Must you remind me of my failure now?”

“M’lord.”

Myles turned to see a servant standing behind him. “What is it?”

”The lords have assembled at the council chambers. They’re waiting at your pleasure, m’lord.”

Myles took one last look at the empty courtyard, before turning away. “Very well. I am coming.”

Rhaegar had decided to rebuild Summerhall for Prince Jaehaerys, and had also given him lands and
overlordship over the western part of the Stormlands and the southeast portion of the Reach. He
had also entrusted Myles the task of overseeing the final stages of the construction of Summerhall,
as well as assuming temporary regency of the lands Summerhall governed.

Myles had been at Summerhall when the news of the feast came. He knew that Rhaegar was
getting old, he was two and forty the last time Myles saw him. Yet, who would have thought that
the Silver King would be killed in a cowardly assassination?

Myles hadn’t marched against Blackfyre, much to his shame, and yet his patience paid out. Now
there was a king claiming to be Jaehaerys Targaryen, and there was Haegon Blackfyre, and the
Boy King Daemon Targaryen. ‘Tis a true War of The Dragons...

It was truly a mess. Jaehaerys Targaryen claimed that the Lannisters were responsible for the
massacre, the Lannisters claimed Blackfyre was responsible for the massacre, and Blackfyre
himself remained ominously silent.

As he walked into the council chambers, all the lords looked up. Lord Berric Dondarrion, Lord of
Blackhaven, lounged in his chair. He was a handsome black haired man with a nonchalant attitude
oddly reminding Myles of Jaime Lannister, the few times he spoke with the knight before the war.

In contrast to Dondarrion, ageing Lord Ashford was propped up in cushions, his shoulders
slumped. Lord Elwood Meadows sat with his back ramrod straight, his face hard and cold as stone.
Of all the Reach lords, he and Tarly were perhaps the most martial bannermen of House Tyrell.
And at a corner sat Renly Baratheon, an amused smirk gracing his face.

As he sat himself in the chair, Myles raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Lord Ashford cleared his throat. “We have news, my lord. Jaehaerys Targaryen has defeated Lord
Tywin’s army, just outside the gates of Harrenhal.”
Lord Beric spoke out, his characteristic nonchalance coating his words. “I hear they’re calling it
the Battle of Harrenhal.”

Renly laughed out loud. “What I would not give to see Cersei’s face now. Her precious father
defeated by the prince she so hated.”

Meadows frowned. “No prince now, Lord Renly. A king. There’s a difference.”

Ashford spoke up. “Does it matter? There is nothing that can stop King Jaehaerys from taking the
throne now. We should be pledging our fealty to him, instead of sitting here.”

Myles frowned. “You forget Blackfyre. He occupies the entire Stormlands and the Reach. The only
reason Summerhall is not in his domain is because this castle has no tactical advantage, and it
would require too much manpower to hold it.”

Berric sat up in his chair. “So you mean to declare us for Blackfyre, then?”

“No. They are a failed line. Jaehaerys Targaryen is indeed a sensible choice, but we have no proof
of his authenticity.”

Meadows coughed. “I beg to disagree, Lord Mooton. King Jaehaerys has fought with the northmen
before the War of The Dragons. I do believe the northmen would recognise an impostor if this man
truly was one.”

Renly smiled. “The Black Prince fought beyond the wall. Perhaps a snark killed him and then took
his appearance. There, you have an impostor even northmen couldn’t identify then.”

Lord Meadows’ gaze was cold. “This isn’t a joke, Lord Renly. Besides, I see not why we should
trust you. Your niece was to be Daemon Targaryen’s queen. You could very well be a traitor.”

Renly shrugged. “The betrothal of Shireen to Daemon Targaryen was unlawful. Without a male
head of House Baratheon to oversee the betrothal contract, considering that I was at Summerhall
and Stannis was dead, that betrothal is null and void. I don’t see the point of your accusation, Lord
Meadows.”

Dondarrion was about to speak, but Myles slammed his hand down on the table. “That’s enough
accusations for now. I have declared Lord Renly trustworthy, and so he shall remain.”

Lord Beric looked at him. “Very well. Renly is not a traitor. But that doesn’t solve the issue at
hand. Who do we declare for?”

Myles thought for a moment, before speaking. “The Battle of Harrenhal has effectively put
Daemon Targaryen out of the game. Now the true fight is between Haegon Blackfyre and
Jaehaerys Targaryen. Each will make a move against the other. But, the real conflict will be at the
border of the Reach and the Crownlands. Not in Summerhall.”

Realisation dawned on the lords’ faces. “So you say that Summerhall is in no position to help
either the Black Prince or the Black Dragon?” Asked Meadows.

“Yes. For now, we wait out. Let the kings make their move. Until something more decisive occurs,
we stay at Summerhall.”

Renly shrugged and stood up. “Whatever you say, Lord Mooton.” With a well practised bow, the
young Baratheon swept away from the room, his footsteps echoing through the corridor.
 The other lords took their leave too, leaving Myles alone in the room. Staring at the wall, the Lord
of Maidenpool was thinking of how to keep the lords patient when a servant burst through the
door.

“You have a visitor, m’lord.”

Myles frowned. “Who?”

The servant shook his head. “Didn’t say, m’lord. Just said that he has a message for you.”

Myles considered the situation for a moment, before cocking his head. “Very well. Bring him
here.”

The servant went away and soon enough, two soldiers entered, flanking a man in a blood red robe.
His scraggly beard looked as though it had last been washed when the First Men came to Westeros.

Myles stood up from the chair. “Who are you?”

The red robed man smiled. “I am but a servant of the Lord of Light, Lord Mooton. I live to serve
the Azor Ahai.”

“Cut the dramatics. What do you want?”

The Red Priest’s eyes glinted dangerously. “I have message for you, Lord Myles. His Grace King
Rhaegar sends his regards.”

Chapter End Notes

In canon, Myles Mooton was Rhaegar’s former squire and one of his closest
companions, alongside JonCon and Arthur Dayne. He was killed at the Battle of the
Bells by Bobby B, but here, he’s alive and well, obviously for plot purposes...

And also, this is Rhaegar. Not Lady Stoneheart. Rhaegar was a dreamy fool obsessed
with prophecy. Resurrected Rhaegar has the best of his ancestor’s cunning, and none
of their mercy. There is defintely no prophecy obsession in him now.
 The King in the Landing
Chapter Summary

Shadows and secrets greet Haegon as he arrives in King’s Landing.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

King’s Landing was more of a shitpile rather than a true city.

Haegon Blackfyre, Second of His Name, decided he preferred the scent of elephant poop to the
stink that reached his nose as he rode through the city.

People crowded the streets, looking up at him with unsure faces. Haegon had made it clear to his
soldiers that there would be no raping or murdering. It would not do to get in the bad graces of the
smallfolk the very day he took the capital.

And yet, Haegon didn’t fool himself by thinking that there wouldn’t be a single rape or murder
committed by his men. The Golden Company weren’t saints, they were men, and they had a man’s
vices and needs. Haegon knew that before the day would end, he would be signing several
execution warrants with his quill.

He had taken King’s Landing, and he had taken the seat of power of entire Westeros, and yet
Haegon failed to feel victorious. All his life, he had prided his own cunning more than any other
skill. Yet, Jaehaerys Targaryen had forced his hand, and King’s Landing felt nothing more than a
forced victory.

As he rode through the half broken archway of the Dragonfort, Haegon made sure to smile and
wave at the smallfolk. Appearances were important, and the common people needed to know that
there king was a gallant and charming man.

Haegon knew he looked the part of a proper Valyrian King. His silver hair was combed backwards
and seemed gold in the sunlight, while his red armour added to the glamour of his appearance. The
ruby encrusted hilt of Blackfyre poked above his shoulder, and Haegon knew that the sight of the
famed Targaryen sword would go a long way to bolster his legitimacy.

But Blackfyre was a Targaryen sword no longer. Daemon Blackfyre had been granted the sword
by King Aegon IV, and it belonged to House Blackfyre. It belongs to me.

Haegon hadn’t known what to think when he had been presented the sword of Blackfyre. Till now,
he had never bloodied the sword. The few times Haegon had fought, it had always been with a
normal blade. He felt Blackfyre was something to be treasured and showcased, not to be bloodied
in the dirt and grime of battle.

As he reached the open courtyard of the Dragonfort, he saw Garlan Tyrell come up to him. The
second Tyrell son had a bruise on his left cheek, excepting that, the man was uninjured.

As Haegon got off his horse, Tyrell went to one knee in front of him, his face grim. “Your Grace.
King’s Landing is yours.”
Haegon looked down at the kneeling man. “Lord Garlan. Rise.”

As the knight stood up, Haegon looked around at the courtyard. It was bustling with men in golden
armour, with a few green Tyrell men with them. King’s Landing had been taken by surprise, and
that surprise had been so complete that there had been no time for the Lannisters to mount any
resistance.

Garlan Tyrell’s face did not betray any sign of joy at the victory. The Gallant Knight had a
reputation of being a charming man, but Haegon had been told that ever since Loras Tyrell died,
Ser Garlan had yet to be seen smiling.

“We have some problems, Your Grace.”

Haegon took a deep breath. “What problems?”

“While our men were securing the Dragonfort, a contingency force led by myself stormed the
royal quarters.”

“And?”

“We found Daemon Targaryen bound and gagged, scared out of wits, and Cersei Lannister dead.
Someone killed her by smashing her head repeatedly against a wall, I think. There’s little left of her
face.”

For a moment, Haegon felt shocked. Cersei Lannister, killed in the safest place in Westeros for her?
He looked at Garlan. “Wait, let me understand, you found Daemon Targaryen in the same room
with the corpse of Cersei Lannister?”

If it was possible, Tyrell looked even more grimmer. “Yes. It appears as though someone killed her
while making King Daemon watch. The boy can hardly form a coherent word now.”

Haegon frowned. “Where is he?”

Garlan shrugged. “My men wanted to kill him, but I ordered them to take him to a maester. I
wanted to kill him too, but he’s just a child. Hardly two and ten.”

Haegon felt lost. He knew that for his reign to be secure, every man and woman bearing the name
Targaryen had to die. Yet, how was he supposed to murder a child? He conquered Westeros
because it was his birthright, and because he would deliver the people from weak and worthless
kings. Yet what king would he be, if he had to murder a child to help stay his reign?

A part of him told himself to be hard. He knew there was no honour in a battlefield, so why should
there be honour in the game of thrones?

Haegon considered his options for a moment, before speaking. “Very well. Once the maesters have
finished with Daemon, bring him to me. I would talk with him.”

Garlan Tyrell nodded and was about to go off before seemingly remembering something. He
turned to look at Haegon. “Your Grace, uh.. congratulations on your victory.”

Haegon gave the man a wry smile. “Remembering our courtesies a bit too late, aren’t we, my
lord?”

Tyrell bowed his head. Haegon laughed and raised his hand in a placating gesture. “I was merely
jesting, my lord. Rest assured, I am no King to go scampering off just because a man forgot some
pointless courtesies.”

Lord Garlan bowed and was about to go when Haegon remembered the thing that had been
gnawing at his mind. “Oh, Lord Garlan, what of the Imp?”

Tyrell frowned, and it seemed as though the matter had slipped his mind. “My men have made no
mention of Lord Tyrion till now. I will look into it, Your Grace.”

Haegon nodded. “Do so, my lord. It would not do to lose Lord Tywin’s son the very day we take
King’s Landing.”

As Tyrell walked away, Haegon turned and breathed in the sight of the Dragonfort. All his life he
had imagined himself living here, and now that he had finally captured the place, it still felt hard to
savour the victory.

He had not wanted to move against King’s Landing. His tactic had been one of patience, he had
wanted to wait and calculate his moves. And yet, if he had done so, he would’ve probably ended
up assassinated.

A good conqueror rides on the momentum, Haegon knew. But a good strategist hides behind
patience. Patience allows a man countless opportunities and options to explore.

Haegon’s problem was, the Reach lords were all glamour and no patience. Jaehaerys Targaryen’s
splendid victories had started them wondering whether they would find more glory in the Red
Dragon’s camp rather than the Black.

Of course, it had been his plan to root out the traitors lurking within his army. Yet, waiting even
more without any glamorous victory to boast of was to risk losing near all Reach lords. And
Haegon could not let that happen.

Taking King’s Landing was a feat few people in the past could claim to have done. Haegon had
done it, and his lords and men would boast of it for the next few weeks.

But Haegon did not feel any pride at his victory. His cunning resented to be forced to do
something, and Haegon knew that he had been forced to take King’s Landing. Unknowingly or not,
King Jaehaerys had forced his hand, and Haegon knew that it was the last time anyone would ever
catch him off guard.

The Lannisters are out of the war. Now its you and me, dragon, and we’ll dance. Oh, I promise
you, we’ll dance.

Haegon strode into the throne room. Its was a long hall, and where once dragon skulls had adorned
the walls, now it was decorated by the night black Targaryen colours, with the roaring red dragon
drawn at the center. Haegon would make sure to reverse the colours soon enough.

As he walked closer, Haegon’s eyes went to the very chair which inspired strife, disloyalty,
treachery and war. The very throne which was responsible for countless deaths. The very throne
which was responsible for the Dance, the War of The Usurper, and now the War of The Dragons.

The original Iron Throne built at the behest of Aegon the Conqueror had been melted during the
explosion of the Red Keep. Miraculously, only one sword from the throne had survived the
explosions, and no sane man could explain how the sword had avoided being melted.

After the Rebellion, Rhaegar Targaryen, ambitious, grand fool that he had been, had collected the
swords of all the vanquished rebel lords and men-at-arms, and created a second Iron Throne of it.
At the place where the King’s back would rest, the Silver King had placed the sword of the
original Iron Throne. The smallfolk called it ‘The Iron Sword’.

At the foot of the throne stood Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill, and one of the chief commanders
of Haegon alongside Garlan Tyrell. His face was etched into a frown as he stared at the base of the
throne.

“Lord Tarly.”

The man turned and upon seeing Haegon, gave him a bow. A bow, Haegon noted, but he did not
bend his knee. “Your Grace.”

“What has you in such a mood, my lord? Surely you would be rejoicing in such a victory?”

Tarly’s face was cautious as he answered. “I prefer to think of future obstacles than dwell on past
glories, Your Grace.”

Haegon raised an eyebrow. “Might I inquire of these ‘future obstacles’ you’re referring to, my
lord?”

Tarly shrugged. “There are several problems, Your Grace. Tyrion Lannister has vanished without a
trace. The city still lives in the shadow King Rhaegar and views all other claimants as usurpers.
And Jaehaerys Targaryen looms over us like an ever present shadow.”

Haegon gave the man a sardonic smile. “I do believe you forgot the identity of Lady Lannister’s
murderer, my lord.”

Tarly frowned. “What of it? Queen Cersei wasn’t well loved by the smallfolk, especially not after
the rumours that she orchestrated the beloved Silver King’s death. Some incensed soldier or man-
at-arms must have killed her.”

“Perhaps. But some other agency is equally likely.”

Tarly looked at Haegon dubiously. “Other agency?”

Haegon shrugged. “Its just an idea of mine, my lord. I will elaborate more once I get more details
of Lady Lannister’s death.”

With precise and calculated steps, Haegon climbed the stairs to the throne. And then in a practised
motion, he swiftly seated himself on the throne.

Sitting on the Iron Throne, Haegon didn’t feel especially powerful or special. He felt... gloomy.
The bare metal against his skin was a stark reminder that even if he won the war, the challenges of
ruling an entire realm awaited him. It was a reminder that a King was never meant to rest easy.

He looked down at Lord Randyll and gestured at the chairs of the Small Council beside the throne.
“Seat yourself, my lord. We shall wait for Lord Garlan to arrive.”

Tarly complied, and the hall was engulfed in silence. Haegon’s mind was a whirlwind of plans and
schemes, and each was as temporary as a puff of wind.

Not long after, Lord Garlan entered the hall. He strode towards the Throne and bent the knee.
“Your Grace. I’ve had Queen Lannister’s body sent to the sept to be cleaned. Do you want to have
her buried?”
Haegon nodded. “Queen she was, even though she wasn’t on my side. There will be no funeral, but
she will be buried in the Great Sept, beside other members of the Royal Family.”

Garlan bowed. “Your orders will be carried out, Your Grace. But what of the Queen Dowager’s
murderer?”

Lord Tarly spoke with a hard voice. “What does it matter? She was murdered by some brutal
brigand, and alive, she would’ve been more trouble than worth. We should move to more urgent
matters.”

Garlan frowned. “The problem is, Lord Tarly, that how some common soldier or smallfolk
would’ve found his way into the most securely guarded place in the Dragonfort?”

Haegon spoke, keeping his voice calm. “Was her body... defiled? In any manner?”

Tyrell looked surprised. “Not that I could see.”

Lord Tarly spoke, his voice harsh. “What matters if the woman was raped or not? I care not for the
past, but we must look at future matters.”

“What matters, Lord Tarly, is that we have another player at the game.” Haegon’s voice was still
neutral, but there was a hint of warning to his tone.

“What?”

Haegon considered his thoughts for a moment. “The fact that she wasn’t raped is very suggestive.
Imagine yourself as a common soldier. Your blood is running hot, and you’re excited. You see this
woman whom you hate, and this woman has one of the finest bodies you’ve ever seen. How
unnatural is it that even then we see a clearly undefiled body?”

Garlan looked cautious. “So you’re saying this is no mere work of some smallfolk.”

Haegon nodded. “Yes. It’s almost absurd to think that enraged commonfolk can infiltrate ranks and
ranks of Lannister men, overpower a full grown woman, and then kill her without satisfying his
lusty urges. This... this is far more intricate.”

Tarly snorted. “Intricate? Bashing a woman’s head against a wall is not my definition of intricate.
It’s called savage.”

Haegon shrugged. “I meant the planning. Whoever executed this murder has the cunning and
boldness to do it, and he’s savage. I’ll investigate more on the matter.”

Lord Garlan nodded. “As you say, Your Grace. The lords from the Reach and the Crownlands are
assembled outside. They’ll be in the throne room in a few minutes.”

Haegon nodded, and sat up properly on the Iron Throne. Tyrell was about to go, but Haegon hailed
him back. “You sit beside Lord Tarly, Lord Garlan.”

Tyrell looked surprised. “I am on your Small Council, Your Grace?”

Haegon smiled. “I do believe the Hand of the King is part of the Small Council, my lord.”

Later, Haegon would take personal satisfaction on the look of utter astonishment on Garlan
Tyrell’s face. Now, though, once Tyrell seated himself in his chair, he focused on the closed door
of the hall.
 Few moments later, the door opened and the first trickle of lords filtered in. One by one they stood
at the sides of the throne room, and once they were assembled, the smallfolk started streaming in
too.

They stood there, Lords of The Reach and the Crownlands, and looked at their King. The sunlight
fell square on Haegon’s face as he looked down on his subjects, his back straight, his face regal.

Many things they would call Haegon. Usurper, bastard, black dragon.

Yet, every man would proudly claim that, at that moment, Haegon Blackfyre looked every inch a
king.

Chapter End Notes

This is the end of the first arc. Lannisters are officially dusted and gone, and from now
on, main focus will be Jae v Haegon.

Also, things are really tantalising. Jae controls more than half of Westeros, whereas
Haegon has only the Reach and the Stormlands. But, Haegon’s forces are disciplined
and fresh, whereas Jae’s are battle worn and tired.

And, reason why Dorne is still doing nothing is because, as long as Jae doesn’t send a
confirmation to Doran bout his marriage prospects, Dorne won’t budge. Even then,
utilising Dorne presents a whole set of problems that will be discussed later.
 The Prince of Dragonstone
Chapter Summary

The War Council of the Red Dragon

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Crown Prince Viserys Targaryen felt oddly uncomfortable. He felt a sliver of anxiousness that he
wasn’t used to feeling.

The rain pattered outside the walls of the Wailing Tower as he stood beside Jaehaerys in the
King’s council room. The lords present looked at the two Targaryens present curiously, probably
wondering why they’d been shaken from their slumber and brought here.

Viserys was hesitant, to say the least, about Jaehaerys’ decision. His nephew was made to inspire
people, Viserys himself was the shadow player, the one who played the game in the back.

Jaehaerys stood up in his chair, and all the assembled lords stood up too. “My lords, there have
been several important news that the Crown wishes to discuss with you. As also, there are two
fundamental announcements to be made.”

Jaehaerys picked up a scroll from the table. His nephew looked more a pirate and less a king these
days. His long black hair was tied back, and his single eye glinted with an ever present look of
amusement. His black clothing, black eyepatch and dark boots gave him a distinct demonic look.

“The first announcement is that regarding my heir. Until I have trueborn heirs of mine own body, I,
Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, King of The Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, hereby declare
Viserys of House Targaryen my heir. He is granted the title of Prince of Dragonstone, and all
taxes, income, and homage from nearby lands rightfully belong to him.” Jae looked up from the
scroll. “Any objections, my lords?”

Of course there won’t be any objections, mused Viserys.

His good-father Yohn Royce stood up. “Of course not, Your Grace. I personally can vouch for my
goodson’s character and capabilities, and I’m sure all of us agree Prince Viserys to be a worthy
heir to the Iron Throne.”

One by one, all the lords mouthed their assent. Mallister and Blackwood congratulated Vis, Umber
gave a shrug, and Lady Catelyn Stark politely inclined her head.

Of all the people present, Lady Catelyn interested Viserys the most. She seemed to have the trust
of Jae, but Vis had long learned that the only person Jaehaerys truly trusted was his cousin Robb,
whom Vis had yet to meet. A part of him felt resentful that he didn’t have his King’s trust, but that
part Viserys kept buried deep.

Jaehaerys picked up a second scroll. “Now, as I have told you, the conditions Prince Doran has
offered for House Martell to join our cause are decrease of taxes, and perhaps the most important
of all, two marriage alliances.”
The lords deflated a bit at that. Jae was a man of eight and ten, a warrior, king, and man in his
prime. The perfect catch for a noble lady.

“Martell has offered me two options for a bride. Arianne Martell, Heiress of Dorne, or Rhaenys
Targaryen, mine own sister. Whomever I do not choose will marry my Lord Robb.”

Lady Catelyn spoke, steely fire in her eyes. “With all due respect, Your Grace, it seems to me that
the Dornish are overreaching themselves. Asking for your own hand was expected, but that of my
son? They connect themselves not only to the king himself, but also to his own cousin.”

Lord Jason Mallister nodded at the Lady of Winterfell’s words. “I agree with Lady Catelyn, Your
Grace. The hand of Lord Robb is very important, considering that he is one of your most trusted
generals. Would it not be better if Lord Robb was married to some Reach lord to reconcile the
Reach to your rule?”

Jaehaerys shook his head. “I’d agree with you, my lord and lady, except that we are in open war
against the Reach. Aside from defection of whomever Reach lord I vow my cousin’s hand to, I gain
nothing. On the other hand, Dorne bring near ten thousand fresh spears, and another ten thousand
cavalry, and are strategically suited to raid the Reach.”

Viserys watched the lords talk and debate, and finally spoke. “So you intend to agree to Prince
Doran’s terms, Your Grace?”

Jaehaerys shrugged. “Yes. There is no time to haggle over who marries whom, especially since we
have an enemy the like of Haegon Blackfyre. Besides, we have my other cousins Bran and Rickon,
do we not? Their hands will suffice should the need to reconcile the Reach arise.”

Lady Catelyn seemed to disapprove, but you do not openly contradict the King. Lord Blackwood
spoke up, his face betraying no emotion. “Might I enquire whom Your Grace wishes to honour as
his queen?”

Jaehaerys remained silent for a long time. The silence stretched on, with the lords looking
curiously at Jaehaerys. Finally his nephew spoke. “Princess Rhaenys.”

Considering that his nephew had just said that he would continue the custom of Targaryen incest,
Viserys would’ve expected the lords to raise an uproar. Yet, they simply looked at each other with
raised eyebrows.

“If I may, Your Grace, why not Princess Arianne?” Lord Mallister’s voice was cautious.

Jae shrugged. “Dorne and I do not get along well. I am sure it is no secret that Prince Oberyn and I
weren’t the best of friends. I know my sister since childhood, unlike Princess Arianne. Like I
explained to Prince Viserys, I need someone whom I can trust by my side, not someone who’ll be
scheming god knows what.”

There was some silence after that. Finally, Viserys’ goodfather cleared his throat. “You mentioned
some important news for us, Your Grace?”

Jae nodded and turned to Viserys. “Yes. If you would, uncle?”

Viserys cleared his throat. “My lord, we have word from the capital. Haegon Blackfyre has taken
King’s Landing.”

His statement was met with shock. No one had expected Blackfyre to strike so fast, or so hard.
Even Jaehaerys had sported a raised eyebrow when he read the scroll.
Lord Blackwood frowned. “Then what word of Princess Daenerys, Your Grace? And Lord Stark?
The Princess was supposed to aid in his escape, was he not?”

Jaehaerys spoke with a clear voice. “Princess Daenerys escaped with Lord Eddard barely an hour
before Blackfyre took the city, I am told. They are both safe at Driftmark.”

Viserys eyed Lady Catelyn. Her face was etched in equal measures of joy, curiosity and relief.
Viserys shrugged inwardly.

If truth be told, he couldn’t help contain a disdain for the Starks. Eddard Stark and his barbarians
had fought against Viserys’ own father, a Dragon King, and had been granted full pardons by
Rhaegar. Not only that, Eddard Stark and Robb Stark seemed to be Jae’s closest family. They
rebelled against a king and were granted the favour of another.

Lord Mallister cleared his throat. “This is great news, Your Grace. When can we expect Lord Stark
with us?”

The King shrugged. “My lord uncle is currently recuperating at Driftmark, my lord. I am sure he
will join us as soon as health and duty allows.”

Lady Catelyn frowned. “Forgive a mother’s anxiousness, Your Grace, but has there been no word
of Lady Arya and Lady Sansa?”

Jaehaerys’ face softened to a degree Viserys hadn’t known it could. “I am sorry, my lady, but Lord
Eddard has written that they were being led to Storm’s End before Blackfyre took it. There current
whereabouts are unknown.”

Jon Umber had been unusually silent throughout the council. Now, the giant of a man spoke, his
voice even. “And what of Lord Robb’s movements, Your Grace?”

Viserys picked up another scroll kept at the side of the table. “Lord Robb has sent word, Lord
Umber. He has taken Maidenpool.”

Lord Blackwood smiled. “So Duskendale and Maidenpool are ours. In essence, we own the
Crownlands.”

Jason Mallister frowned. “Can we attempt a siege on Rosby?”

Jaehaerys shook his head. “I think that would be unwise, my lord. Rosby is very close to King’s
Landing, and Blackfyre can easily flank us from the sides. Then Lord Robb will be trapped
between the Rosby castle walls and an army behind him.”

Viserys stared at the map on the center of the table. “Your Grace, King’s Landing is the seat of
power for any king. So long as Haegon Blackfyre occupies it, it is a huge boost to his legitimacy.
The capital must fall.”

His nephew frowned at the map. “Of course, uncle. But, we’re also forgetting that Blackfyre won’t
be lounging in the capital forever. He needs to conquer seven kingdoms, and I control five. I think
we should all expect a Blackfyre offensive.”

Umber pointed at the map. “If you marry Princess Rhaenys, the Dornish are ours. Why not have
Dorne attack the Reach from behind? Or if not the Reach, at least they can raid the borders. The
Reach is one of Blackfyre’s most powerful supporters.”

Jaehaerys threaded his hair through his hands. “I have thought of that, Lord Umber. But the thing
is, Dornish and the Reach hate each other. If I order Dorne to raid the Reach, you can be rest
assured that they will do more and worse than that.”

Umber looked surprised. “So? The Ironborn pillage the Westerlands in your name, and you said
that we can afford to be unpopular. This war after all.”

Viserys spoke through gritted teeth before his nephew could answer. “My lord, the westerlands are
a relatively small kingdom, whereas the Reach is huge. We can’t afford to be hated there. There
are huge areas to subdue and conquer there, and even Bloodraven and King Daeron were under
pressure to do that.”

Lord Blackwood spoke with a frown creasing his face. “I’m afraid Prince Viserys speaks truly,
Lord Umber. We cannot afford to earn the hatred of the Reach. But there are several other targets
we can utilise the Dornish for.”

Viserys studied the map once more. “You speak of the Stormlands, Lord Blackwood?”

Lord Tytos nodded. “Aye, my prince. The Stormlands are small enough that their borders can be
harassed without difficulty, and if we get a foothold there, we also have a base of operations
against Blackfyre in the south.”

Viserys turned to look at Jaehaerys. Blackwood’s plan was sound, and they had everything to gain
from it. The King however, had his eyes fixed on the map.

“We are overlooking the danger that Blackfyre might attack Driftmark, or Dragonstone. If they do
that, they gain the Lord of Winterfell, a Princess of the Realm and the Lord of Driftmark as
hostages.” His nephew’s voice was calm, betraying no emotions.

Umber shrugged. “Both Dragonstone and Driftmark have their own fleet to hold against Blackfyre.
But say,” the Lord of Last Hearth looked up suddenly, “can we not attack the capital with the
Dragonstone and Driftmark fleet?”

Jae looked thoughtful. “It is possible, yes, but we need ground troops to support the naval attacks.”

Viserys shook his head. “By now, Blackfyre will have his own troops patrolling the Reach and
Crownland borders. If we want to get our army to King’s Landing, we’ll have to risk a direct
confrontation first with Blackfyre’s border troops.”

Lady Catelyn finished what Viserys left unsaid. “Which will tire our troops before the main fight.”

It was at this impasse that Viserys found his mind. He was struggling to find a solution to the
problem, all the while the lords argued and proposed plans around him.

Vis turned to his nephew, intent on calling off the council and thinking clearly when he saw that
his King had his eyes closed, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Only a few moments later, Jaehaerys suddenly stood up and raised his hand. The talk immediately
died down, and all the lords looked up at their King.

“We do not wait for Blackfyre’s move, my lords. We go on the offensive.”

Mallister frowned. “And where do we attack, Your Grace?”

King Jaehaerys Targaryen’s one lone eye glinted. His face had a feral smile, almost wolfish. “The
heart of the enemy.”
Chapter End Notes

I’m not dead. No, I’m alive. Truly, believe me.

Lol sorry for the delay. My impromptu 11 day break was totally unplanned. I got
released from isolation on 16 Mar, from where I had to make up the days I lost at
college.

On top of that, I just got my JEST exam syllabus, which is HUGE. There’s this thing
about syllabuses, they tend to make you want to jump off a train. You know.

With all the studies and real life problems around me now, it is a miracle I managed to
get this one out, I’ll try my best to update ASAP, but I cannot give guarantees. I’m
sorry.

Also, a reader managed to convince me that Jon/Jae having Dark Sister is ok. So, I’m
asking the lot of you, do you guys have any problem with me including DK in the
story. I’ll edit the previous chapters accordingly. Let me know in the comments.
 The She Wolf
Chapter Summary

Arya Stark in the pit of vipers..

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Whatever Arya had imagined King’s Landing to be, it was not this.

The city reeked of shit and slime. Even inside the walls of the Dragonfort, the stench was
overwhelming. Arya huddled miserably in a corner of her room.

In the single bed in their room, Sansa was huddled peacefully, fast asleep. She and her sister took
turns sleeping, for there was only one bed and it was barely large enough for Arya to fit in, scrawny
as she was.

She did not know whether to be happy or terrified. There was so much Arya did not know, so much
she did not understand that sometimes she wished the world could’ve been a lot simpler.

They were supposed to have been at the capital to serve in the court as ladies, a prospect which
Arya had been vehemently against. But then again, she was a girl, and since when did people start
listening to girls?

She had heard a lot of rumours and stories about what was happening in the realm, yet Arya
thought half of it had as much credibility as Sansa’s songs. When they’d stopped at a village in the
stormlands, some had whispered that Jaehaerys Targaryen had warged into a dragon and had set
alight the entire westerlands.

Arya had snorted when she’d heard that. She could only imagine her cousin’s sardonic smile if he
heard the rumours around him.

Other whispers were more sinister. Haegon Blackfyre was Aegon the Dragon come again, some
said, sent by the Seven to deliver Westeros from evil. Lord Tywin had been killed, but even the
Seven Hells had sent him back, such a wicked man he was. The Black Prince planned to sack entire
Westeros with his barbarian Northerners.

Arya knew not who was fighting whom, but she knew that a war was happening. And she knew
that the Lannisters were gone.

Nightmares of the feast were a common thing for her and her sister, but worse was the journey
south to Storm’s End.

The Lannister soldiers didn’t bother them much. Even then, the entire trek through the dense and
humid forests of the Stormlands had been miserable. Sansa kept pleading with the men to let them
go, and Arya had lost count of the amount of times she’d restrained herself from snapping at her
sister. But she endured. She was a wolf, the daughter of the Warden of The North, and whatever
came, she would meet it with open fangs.
Yet, such sentiments seemed to disappear in Arya’s mind whenever they had any real chance of
escape. Once, when the burnt face knight had gone off to make water, and the other soldiers had
been busy striking camp, both Arya and Sansa had been left completely unsupervised. The perfect
chance for escape.

But Arya’s legs seemed to turn into lead. She willed herself to run, to run and not stop until the
soldiers were far behind her, to run away and find her father. But her will was not enough. She
remained sitting, alongside Sansa and the opportunity flew past.

And when the burnt faced knight came back and threw them their food, Arya was ashamed. She
was no wolf, she was naught but sheep. Arya had become exactly what Septa Mordane and her
lady mother wanted her to be. Meek, unimpulsive, obedient. Arya had never hated herself more
than then.

Arya did not know what made the soldiers abandon Storm’s End as their destination, though there
seemed to be many things Arya had not been aware of. The soldiers had then moved north back to
the capital. Just the very thought of being where the feast had occurred made Arya want to shrivel
up.

She and her sister did reach the capital, just not with the Lannister soldiers.

It had all happened so fast, Arya could only remember bits and pieces of it. In an abandoned village
a few miles south of King’s Landing, they had decided to rest. Arya and Sansa were inside a
recently inhabited house, looking for wood when shouts and noises reached them. Along with the
sound of horses galloping.

By the time they got outside, most of the Lannister soldiers were dead. The burnt faced knight was
surrounded by mounted men, who had formed a circle around him. The men wore golden armour,
Arya had noted. Her heart had soared upon seeing the dragon banner they carried, but it quickly
sank when she noticed the colour.

It wasn’t a red dragon. It was the black one.

When they’d finished with the Hound, the soldiers noticed them. Arya knew that they knew who
she truly was. They must have known, because they strapped her and her sister up with them, and
took them back towards the capital.

All of Arya’s questions to them went unanswered. They rode silently, and soon enough, they
reached the Dragonfort. There, the golden soldiers exchanged a few words with a handsome
bearded man wearing a green surcoat, and then the same man led them to their current modest
chambers.

And in those chambers they had remained for nearly two days.

Even Sansa had understood that they were prisoners. A withered old woman came to them thrice a
day, to give food. Other than that, they were alone. They had no baths, and both she and her sister
wore the same filthy rags which they’d been wearing since the village.

It had been nearly an hour, or so Arya guessed, till the crone had brought them their food for the
morn. In a locked room, there was naught to do but sit by and count the seconds, and sleep. Arya
spent away her time by counting each second.

The sound of footsteps outside their room drew Arya’s attention. She quietly moved from the
corner of the room towards the bed, intent on waking her sister. But she had barely even reached
her bed before the door burst open.

A stranger in golden armour walked in, a sword at his hip. His face was lined and craggy, his hair
tangled. The man looked at Arya, and then at Sansa. Then he walked over to her sleeping sister.

Arya did not know what the man wanted to do, but he gently shook her sister from her sleep. Sansa
gave a start, and sat upright, looking around frantically.

The man raised his hand in a placating gesture. “At ease, girl. I’m not here to harm you.”

Sansa gave no answer but shrank back. It fell upon Arya to speak. Mustering her most fearsome
glare, Arya looked at the man. “What do you want?”

The soldier shrugged. “The lord wants to speak with you both. I’m here to take you both to him.”

Arya looked around miserably, but there was nowhere to go. She knew that they had no choice but
to follow the man.

She shrugged at the soldier, who then turned to Sansa. Her sister looked back and forth at her and
the man, before slowly nodding her assent.

The man gestured at the door. “Follow me. Do not try to escape. You won’t like the result if you
do.”

The man led them out of the room, and then turned them left and right through the twisted
corridors of the Dragonfort. That they were in the Dragonfort, Arya was sure. She well
remembered the colour of the Fort’s walls, just as a few passages seemed to be familiar to her.

After what seemed like an eternal walk, the man showed them into a room. Arya looked around
cautiously. Once more, her lack of knowledge made her want to tear her hair. What awaited her
beyond the door?

Taking a deep breath, Arya entered. Behind her, he heard Sansa try and follow, but the man
blocked her sister. “One at a time.” He said in a gruff voice.

Inside, the room was sparsely furnished. At the centre, there was a table, and two chairs were kept
at opposite ends. And sitting on one chair, with his legs propped up nonchalantly was the same
handsome man whom Arya and Sansa had seen at the gates of Dragonfort.

Upon seeing her enter, the man stood up, and smiled at her. Arya looked warily at him. If Sansa
had been here, she would undoubtedly be impressed. The man was dashing and handsome, but
Arya didn’t care. She had learnt the lesson that looks did not settle matters.

Arya distrusted the man’s smile. Nevertheless, she moved forward. The man spoke to her in a
warm voice. “Sit, girl. Are you in need of anything? Any refreshments?”

Arya mutely shook her head. Hope was suddenly blooming in her chest. The man had addressed
her as ‘girl’. If he had known that she was Arya Stark of Winterfell, he would’ve never called her
that. Her mind began to work furiously as Arya tried to come up with a suitable false name.

“What is your name, girl?”

Arya put on a scared face, which was easy. She was feeling scared. “Ella, m-my lord.”

The man smiled at her once more. “At ease, Ella. I am Garlan Tyrell, Hand of The King to His
Grace King Haegon. You were found by the Golden Company in your village, yes?”

Arya nodded, trying very hard to maintain her scared facade. Inside, her entire body was coursing
with the sense of victory. They do not know who I am! They do not know my true identity!

The man claiming to be Garlan Tyrell spoke to her. “You were sheltering the Lannister soldiers?”

Oh. So they thought her and Sansa to be village girls sheltering the soldiers? Arya understood it, if
only partly. The rags she and her sister were in, no highborn lady could ever expect to be seen
wearing.

Arya made a terrified face. “My lord, they forced us, they said they’d kill us if we didn’t, oh
please, we didn’t mean—“

Tyrell raised a hand. “Shhhh. There’s no need to be afraid. We won’t prosecute you. We just
wanted to ask a few questions.”

Arya calmed down once more. She decided that Sansa could have pulled off being meek and
terrified much better than Arya. “I’ll answer any questions you have, my lord.”

Tyrell nodded. “Good. Sandor Clegane, the knight we captured, told us that he was transporting
Arya and Sansa Stark.” Arya’s heart jolted upon hearing her and her sister’s name. “It appears that
during the skirmish, our soldiers missed them. Do you have any idea where they are?”

Arya shook her head once more, going along with the act. “No, my lord. We saw only the soldiers,
no girls or little ladies.”

Arya expected the man to smile once more, or to ask a few more questions. What she had not
expected was Garlan Tyrell to burst into a laugh. The man sat down on a chair opposite to Arya,
and threw his head back, still laughing.

Arya was completely nonplussed. Why is he laughing?

Finally, Garlan Tyrell’s laughter subsided. And when it did, all warmth was gone from his face,
and his eyes were sharp as they rested on her face. “I must say, Lady Arya, you are a very
convincing mummer indeed.”

Arya’s blood froze. She looked up at the man, who was sharply observing her, before looking all
around the room. They knew who she was! She decided to put a last attempt. “My lord, I don’t
know—“

Garlan Tyrell cut her off. “Please, my lady, no need for this mummer’s farce to continue anymore.
And besides, your way of talking betrays you. No smallfolk will ever say ‘my lord’. They say
‘m’lord’. If you act the part, you might as well do it right.”

I am a wolf. A wolf of Winterfell.

Arya told herself to not be afraid. She was a wolf. Her father wasn’t afraid. Robb wasn’t afraid. Jae
wasn’t afraid. Neither was she. She stared up defiantly at Lord Garlan, finally mustering an ounce
of courage inside her.

For his part, Tyrell looked amused. “The King wishes to speak with you. Follow me, Lady Arya.”

I am a wolf. I am the predator.

 Arya steadied herself, despite the fact that she wanted nothing more than to bolt outside the room.

Into the dragon’s lair I go.

Chapter End Notes

So here’s Arya and Sansa for you guys. I probably should’ve introduced them earlier,
but hey.

As for the Dark Sister edit, I’m still working on it. It will be done, fret not.
 The King’s Uncle
Chapter Summary

Eddard Stark meets an old friend... but perhaps she is more than a friend.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

He felt like a child caught in the midst of a prank, and was now waiting to be handed judgement by
his parents. If one looked at it in a certain way, that comparison was certainly fitting.

Eddard Stark stared glumly at the floor of his father’s solar. Beside him, Brandon looked mutinous
while Lyanna sat quietly in a corner, with not a word to say.

The sound of the door opening made the three of them look up. Lord Rickard Stark was a man
whose face looked to be made of ice. His face was stern and unforgiving, like the North itself. His
grey eyes shimmered with anger and frustration as they fell on the three children he sired.

When his eyes fell on Lyanna, one would’ve expected Lord Rickard’s face to soften. Yet, nothing of
the sort happened. Their father’s gaze was harsh and hard, and even Brandon seemed to shrink
under it.

After surveying the room for a few moments, Lord Rickard’s eyes came to rest on Brandon, and
then Lyanna. “Explain yourselves, all of you.”

Lyanna looked up, and there was a flash of defiance in her eyes. “What should we explain about?
You act as if it’s all our fault, Father.”

Lord Stark’s face didn’t change, but his eye narrowed in anger. “Oh? So you were a perfect lady
throughout the tourney? So perfect, that you even prompted the Prince of Dragonstone to crown
you Queen of Love and Beauty over his own wife?”

Ned’s sister grew even more angrier at her father’s words. “What was I to do? The Prince caught
me—“ Too late, Lyanna realised her mistake. She blushed and covered her mouth.

Ned had to admire his father’s cunning. He’d cleverly set up a bait for Lyanna, and she’d stepped
right into it.

“Sweet daughter, what was it that you were about to say, pray tell?”

“I— “ It seemed for once, Ned’s wild sister was at a loss of words. Rickard Stark looked unamused
at her flustering, and his voice was cold and harsh as he spoke once more.

”Speak, Lyanna! If we are to sort out this mess, we must know the cause. What did you do?”

Brandon stood up angrily. “Why are you accusing our sister, sire? The cause is the prince himself,
and that cause can only be sorted by sticking a sword through the cunt’s arse.”

Ned winced. His brother had spoken without thinking. Lord Rickard looked at his eldest son
incredulously. “You must have the wits of a carrot if you truly mean that, Brandon. You kill Prince
Rhaegar, and half of Westeros would rise against the North.”

But Lord Rickard was not done. He turned to Ned, and Eddard Stark truly wanted to melt through
the floor. “And you, Eddard? I’d have thought I raised at least one sensible son. What were you
doing while this was happening? Getting to bed with a certain Dornishwoman?”

Ned’s mouth fell open, as did both Brandon’s and Lyanna’s. “You bedded Lady Ashara?” Asked
Brandon skeptically.

Ned knew his face must have been beet red. He looked at his father, anger, embarrassment and
astonishment all in his gaze. Lord Rickard smiled grimly. “You’ve spent too much time in the Vale,
Eddard. We in the North do our duty first, and then comes honour. You can throw honour out of
the window if it obstructs your duty.”

Finally he found his voice. “Wha— how did you...”

Lord Stark merely shrugged. “You all are my children. It is a father’s duty to look after his
children. A few coins to the stable boys and grooms accompanying you, and they’re soon reporting
every one of your movements to me. But,” Ned’s father turned to Lyanna, “some things even the
stable boys can’t explain. What mischief were you upto, Lyanna?”

His sister’s voice was almost a whisper as she spoke. “I was the Knight of The Laughing Tree.”

Considering his father’s mood, Ned would’ve expected him to explode. Instead, Lord Rickard just
shook his head. “You’re willful, daughter of mine, but this is a stretch, even for you.”

Lyanna didn’t answer, she just stared at her father with pleading eyes. Lord Rickard sat down on
his chair and gently massaged his head. “Go, Lyanna. I shall talk with you later. Now I need to
speak with your brothers.”

Ned and Brandon exchanged a fearful look as Lyanna rushed out of the room, looking neither left
nor right. Lord Rickard turned to them and sighed. “This has affected our plans greatly.”

Brandon shrugged. “Way I see it, nothing has changed. We wanted to depose Aerys, and now we
have to depose Rhaegar and Aerys. Just one more person.”

“Everthing has changed!” Snapped Lord Rickard. “Do you not understand the political
implications of this, son? Like it or not, the entire realm will think of Lyanna as Prince Rhaegar’s
mistress. There will be a lifelong hatred between Dorne and the North. We planned to replace
Aerys with Rhaegar, and now the Prince of Dragonstone turns out to be as unpredictable as his
father.”

His brother was unperturbed. “Tywin Lannister’s son was put into the Kingsguard. The Old Lion
will be angry at Mad Aerys for this. Perhaps we can make an alliance?” Brandon looked quite
pleased with himself for his suggestion.

But Lord Rickard didn’t think so. “Do I truly have such a buffoon for an heir? Tywin Lannister is
displeased, yes, but he wouldn’t dare move against Aerys. Do you not see that with the Lannister
boy in the Kingsguard, Aerys has a hostage against the Lion?”

Silence reigned in the room. Finally, Ned gathered the courage to speak. “What will we do now?”

Lord Stark closed his eyes. “Nothing. You’ll go back to the Vale, Eddard. Stay there with Lord
Arryn, and try to keep Baratheon under check. We need to observe the reactions of the realm.”
Brandon spoke. “And what of our dearest sister?”

Rickard frowned. “As undesirable as she is of the match, it is of paramount importance that
Lyanna wed Lord Baratheon as soon as time allows. And you, Brandon, will wed Catelyn Tully by
the next two moons.”

His brother made a face. “What a bore you are, father. And,” he gave a sly smirk towards Ned,
“what of my little brother’s affair?”

Lord Rickard turned to Ned with a hard look. “Your stint with Lady Ashara will remain that until I
say otherwise.”

Ned opened his mouth to protest, but his father cut him off. “Already you are weak, Eddard. If we
fight against Aerys, and perhaps Rhaegar, do you not think we’ll have to fight the Dornish? I have
no need for a son who is already partial to the enemy.”

The sound of waves lapping against the distant shore was almost a soothing sound to Lord Eddard
Stark of Winterfell. His room in Driftmark was a modest one for a Lord Paramount, yet he had
never been one to care for such things.

A single candle cast a dim light throughout the room. Ned frowned and shook his head, groggily
wiping the sleep from his eyes. His body was damp and sticky with sweat. It was too hot for him
down south.

Once more Ned wished for the comfort of his own chambers at Winterfell. It was cool there, not
cold, neither hot, just a pleasant coolness that calmed him. His current chambers were even warmer
than Catelyn’s had been at Winterfell, and Ned had never hated it more. He hated Driftmark, he
hated Lord Velaryon and his snide remarks, he hated the vast sea.

It had not taken even an hour of their arrival at Driftmark that Ned and Lucerys Velaryon had
found themselves at each other’s throats. The man hated Ned, and he reciprocated likewise.

The Lord of Driftmark had been one of Aerys’ closest advisors, and Ned cared not for a lord who
stooped so low as to flatter an evil king.

Velaryon couldn’t stand the sight of Ned, considering that he was one of the pillars of the
Rebellion. And Velaryon’s snide comments of ‘barbarian Northerners’ were starting to grate on
Ned’s nerves.

They had been at Driftmark for five days, and neither the princess, nor her Kingsguard had shown
any sign of leaving. Driftmark was a place untouched by war, and still beautiful. And while the
War of the Dragons was at full swing, they spent their time lazing here.

Ned stared miserably out of his window, his mind fraught with worry. Worry for his son leading
armies. Worry for his daughters, whom only the gods knew where they were. Worry for his King
and nephew. It seemed that all Ned could do these days was worry.

A knock on his door roused Ned. He got up and opened his door, to see Ser Arys standing before
him.

These days the Kingsguard looked glamorous and dashing, and Ned had seen the way the serving
girls giggled at the Reach knight whenever they passed him. The man had been officially named to
Jaehaerys’ Kingsguard, which Ned did not know what to make of. The man had helped Ned
escape, and he owed his life to the knight, yet he was a traitor, even if to the lions.
“Ser Arys. What is it?” Ned’s voice must have come off as a tad too curt, for the knight frowned at
him.

“Princess Daenerys sent me,” said Arys Oakheart, “there is news you might wish to hear.”

Ned frowned and then nodded. “Where?”

“Lord Velaryon’s solar.”

“Give me a moment, ser. I will join you after I get dressed.”

The knight nodded and stepped behind, and Ned closed the door and turned to his wardrobe.

A few mintues later, Ned emerged from his room, dressed in a thin grey and brown tunic over
brown breeches. If he had his way, Ned would’ve walked only in his smallclothes, but that was
hardly appropriate.

Driftmark was a much less grimmer castle than Dragonstone. Outside the walls, there was a huge
lush green field that stretched on and on, ending just a few miles before the shore. The port was a
lovely thing, full of markets and stalls, with men crying out the prices of their goods.

Or so Ned had been told.

There was no market now, for there was no trade. No ship dared to come close to King’s Landing,
with the Blackfyre fleet patrolling the Blackwater Bay. The Velaryons had their own fleet, not as
big enough as the Golden Company, but big enough to give the Blackfyre forces a headache. Ned
could only assume that was the reason the castle hadn’t been attacked. Yet.

The door to Velaryon’s solar was open as they walked in. Inside, sitting around a table, were three
people.

Lucerys Velaryon scowled at Ned as he entered, while his son Monterys was a bit more courteous,
nodding at Ned. Princess Daenerys, on the other hand, got up from her chair and curtseyed at Ned,
her eyes shining with mirth.

Velaryon’s scowl hadn’t left his face. “Lord Stark. I was not aware you had been informed.”

Before Ned could answer, the Princess replied. “Surely a general as capable as Lord Stark,”
Velaryon’s mouth twisted when he heard that, “would be welcome amidst us, my lord? Besides,
having the Warden of The North with us is only sensible, considering that it his son and nephew’s
marriage we are discussing.”

Ned started. “What of Robb’s marriage?”

Velaryon still looked unhappy, but he could hardly go against the words of a princess. “The
Dornish have demanded the hands of His Grace and Lord Robb in marriage for their alliance. And
His Grace has acquiesced to their wishes.”

Something twisted inside Ned’s chest. “Who will my son marry?”

Velaryon shrugged. “Arianne Martell. Good for you, Stark. She’s used goods, I hear.”

Ned prepared to spring up and punch the wits out of Velaryon. Dornish or not, Arianne Martell
would be the future Lady of Winterfell. Ned would not have his son’s bride insulted so.

But before he could do so, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Arys Oakheart calmly looked at Ned, and
then at Daenerys. The Princess nodded at the knight, before turning to Velaryon. “I suppose my
lord would know about used goods. You do have a bastard, do you not Lord Velaryon?”

Ned bit back a snort. It was shameful, to use a boy’s birth against Velaryon, yet Ned felt no shame.
The man deserved it.

Lord Lucerys’ face was almost purple, yet he somehow managed to restrain himself. Ignoring the
princess’ words, he looked flatly at Ned. “King Jaehaerys has agreed to wed Princess Rhaenys.”

Princess Daenerys let out a tinkling laugh at that. “It seems I should make it a habit of calling my
dearest neice Your Grace.”

Ned frowned. Rhaegar Targaryen had never said it out loud, but it was a known fact that he
disapproved the Targaryen incest. Ned didn’t know how Jaehaerys could stomach bedding his own
sister. And yet, his nephew was King, and you do not question a King’s decisions.

“Is there a fixed date for the wedding?” Ned asked.

Monterys Velaryon shook his head. “No. For now, only a betrothal will be announced. The
weddings will take place after the war.”

Ned decided it was good news. At least he would be present to see his Robb get married.

Lucerys Velaryon coughed. “The Dornish ship will have docked by now. Son, kindly greet them
and escort them to the castle.”

Ned frowned. “What Dornish ship?”

Velaryon shrugged. “When Princess Rhaenys and Arianne went to Duskendale, they stopped at
Dragonstone and left a few representatives of Dorne there. If King Jaehaerys accepted their offer,
the representatives would journey on to Duskendale to sign the betrothal contract and negotiate the
dowry.”

“And since His Grace has accepted, they’ll be journeying to Duskendale now. His Grace has also
said that he wishes for your presence, Lord Stark, and so you and Princess Daenerys will be
travelling with the Dornish retinue.”

Ned did not think it a good idea. There had been bad blood between the North and the Dorne ever
since the Rebellion. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morn.”

“Very well.” Ned’s stomach suddenly rumbled, and he realised he hadn’t eaten anything
throughout the morning. “Pray excuse me, my lords and princess. I find myself in need of food.”
He bowed to Princess Daenerys, nodded at Arys Oakheart before leaving the room.

Ned spent the next hour thoroughly eating and thinking. He would meet Robb soon, and his
nephew. They needed to discuss about Arya and Sansa. Ned knew it would be a folly to go to the
Stormlands, yet he himself knew that he would journey to the Land of Winter if it meant saving his
daughters.

After finishing his food, Ned decided to walk back to his chambers. Passing through the yard, just
as he was about to walk through a corridor, he saw a lady with her back to him, staring at the
knights training in the yard.
 The woman’s figure felt almost familiar to Ned, just as the way her braided hair fell over her
shoulders felt familiar. And then she turned.

Surprise was etched across her face, as if she hadn’t expected to see him. Ned himself hadn’t
expected to see her face ever again. All the conflict, the sleepless nights, the emptions, all of it
returned once more.

A part of him had longed to see her again. A part of him had wished never to see her again.

“Lord Eddard.” Her smile was sad, with a hint of melancholy in it.

Ned could only stand rooted to the spot as the lady with laughing purple eyes smiled at him.

Chapter End Notes

Kindly note the ultra amount of sexism and hypocrisy Rickard displays in this chap.
There’s this thing that has always struck me out in the medieval world, the entire
patriarchal society. See that he immediately assumes that Lyanna is the one at fault,
not Rhaegar. Same goes for Arthur. Everyone is blaming Lyanna here.

If Rhaegar took Lyanna as his mistress, he’d be described as a man ‘with needs’. And
Lyanna would be called a whore. There’s logic for you.

And guess who Ned’s lady is?? no lol I don’t think you readers stupid, it’s easy
enough to figure out on your own. I hadn’t thought to include her at first, but then I
though ‘What the hell, lets just run along with it.’

And there’s a fic idea that I’ve been toying around for quite some time, might post a
link here if I ever write it.
 The Disguised Maid
Chapter Summary

She is a serving girl... and a lot more.

Chapter Notes

WARNING : This chapter has some depictions of non-con/rape. Fall out if you can’t
stomach it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The girl scrunched up her face at the smell.

She missed Dragonstone, with its vast foamy shores, the sound of waves crashing against the
shore, the taste of salt in the air as one took in deep breaths. She missed her home.

King’s Landing was nothing but a reeking mountain of hovels. It was better inside the Dragonfort,
but she didn’t always stay behind the walls.

She felt miserable. Her hair was dyed deep black, and mud and dirt had been rubbed into it, making
the once fine and silky strands a tangled nest of crows. Her head constantly itched, and her fair skin
was filled with blisters and bruises.

Her job as a serving girl required doing work she’d never thought she’d have to do. She had to
wake up at dawn and get ready to prepare the water for the bath for all the knights and great and
small lords residing in the Dragonfort. After doing that, she had to present herself to the kitchens,
where the god awful woman Harma waited with her fat and bulging face.

Harma was the chief woman in charge of food, and every morn she’d tell the girl which vegetables
to cut, which animal to bring to the butchers, when to bring water. The girl hated her and her job.
Oft times, while carrying the meat from the butchers, her shift would get stain and sticky from the
blood. Her hand had become rough and calloused from constantly using the knife, and somedays
she felt the need to run that knife through Harma.

Doing Harma’s jobs took her well into the afternoon, and once she finished, tired and exhausted,
one would think they’d let her eat. But no, then she had to serve the food to the knights and
lordlings. She hated that even more than Harma. She had always known she was beautiful, but now
she wished she was as ugly as the back alley whores in King’s Landing.

The knights leered at her with undisguised lust, while the lordlings eyed her with passing looks, no
doubt keeping a lookout for some comely maid to fill with a bastard. And she was just that. Even
her dyed hair or the mud in her face didn’t change that.

She was thankful she atleast had the luck to be assigned to serving the highborn and the knights.
The freeriders, common soldiers and men-at-arms were rumoured to fuck every serving maid who
came upon them, comely or not. By now, her virtue might well have been broken by some uncouth
smallfolk.

She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. All her life she had been raised in fabulous comforts, and
yet here she was, unwashed and filthy, like a scraggly common girl. She missed her mother. She
used to run to her mother when she was young, whenever she skinned her knee, whenever her
bastard of an elder brother played a cruel prank on her. She did not know what had happened to her
mother. According to the knight, it was unlikely she had survived the Capture of King’s Landing.

She sniffed and shook her head. She remembered what her mother had told her. “You may be a
woman, my daughter, but inside you lies a strength greater than any man. Never show it to the
world, for they will always force that strength out of you. Store it, and use it when you need it the
most.”

She kept chanting her mother’s words over and over in her head. She was strong. She was stronger
than any man. She had the blood of two great houses in her veins. She would endure. She would
triumph over all.

Her thoughts broke when another burst of that disgusting smell reached her. Harma had sent her
out to fetch water from the city, and as she was coming back that smell had accosted her.

She shuddered at the thought of what it would’ve felt if she’d been living inside the city. However
much she hated her job, she was at the very least allowed to sleep inside the Dragonfort. If she’d
not disguised herself as a serving girl, then she would’ve had no choice but to go out in the city.
Alone. She had no doubt what would’ve happened to her then.

She reached the main gate of the Dragonfort and knocked at the sidegate. A burly man peeked
through the hole before admitting her inside, his eyes resting a second too longer on her breasts.

She gripped the pail of water and made her way through the corridors of the Dragonfort, towards
the kitchen. When she finally reached her destination, she found Harma near the larder, chewing
sourleaf and surveying the cooks and servants working with the hawk-like eye. On seeing her,
Harma shouted, “Oi! Girl! C’mere.”

The girl moved towards Harma, and stared at her with contempt. Harma was unimaginably fat,
layers and layers of flesh and skin covering her waist and chest. The girl had once tried to try and
count the number of chins Harma had, and she’d had to stop at two and ten.

“Yes?” She asked.

Harma narrowed her eyes at her. “That pail of water, go deliver it to the right wing. Highborns stay
there, so be discreet. Don’t look here and there, just go and keep the pail in front of the second
room of the fifth right corridor. And is it warm?”

She nodded mutely, and Harma nodded back. “Good. Go, and be fast, girl. I’ve got other jobs for
you.”

She picked up the pail once more, and left for the place where she’d been told. The right wing of
the Dragonfort had one of the most elaborate quarters, and Harma was right when she said that
only highborns lived there.

She was walking through a hallway absentmindedly, water almost spilling from the pail when a
voice hailed her. “Girl!”

She froze. Turning, she saw two soldiers approaching her. She recognised their sigil. They were
Estermont men. “Yes, sers?” She asked nervously.

“What are you doing here?” One of the soldiers asked, his gaze on her chest.

“I... Harma asked me to deliver this pail to the right wing.”

“Hmmm.” The man didn’t seem to have heard her answer. His gaze was still on her breasts, while
the other man leered at her the base of her legs.

“Pretty wench, aren’t ye?” The other man spoke, his voice loud and unrefined.

“With damn good tits, Jos. Look at them, man. Ever seen them so large, or so firm?”

The other man, apparently Jos, laughed. “Seems to me you’re in love with her tits, Kererk. Not that
I blame you.”

Her words caught in her throat. She shrank back. “Sers please... I have to deliv—“

The man cut her off. “Oh, we’ll feed that fat bitch some excuse. Now, such a lovely wench like
you needs some admiration of her body, no?”

She shrank further back, dropping the pail of water. She felt the cold stone against her back.

The other man laughed. “There, there, don’t be shy. C’mere, you’ll have a good time.”

She could retreat no further. “Please, no!” She lashed her hands about, but one man caught them,
while the other grabbed her waist and flipped her around.

She felt tears forming in her eyes. I am stronger than a man. I am strong. I am strong. She heard a
man guffaw behind her. “Will you look at that arse! Round, fleshy, better than a Lysene whore.
Gods girl, what the fuck are you made of?”

“NO! Please, no!” She cried out, trying to lash out, trying to fight, trying to find the strength her
mother had told her she had, but it was in vain. She was not strong. She was simply a weak little
girl.

“STOP IT!” It was a girl’s voice.

She heard a shuffle behind her, and suddenly the hands pinning her to the wall were gone, and she
was free. Furiously wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned to see a little girl barely ten years of
age looking furiously at the men.

That girl had frightened her would-be-rapers? And then she saw another man in golden armour
holding a sword to the chin of the man who’d held her down.

“Ser, we were—“

“You’ve left little to doubt what you were doing, Kererk. Now go, before I decide to actually kill
you.” The man in golden armour’s voice was cold as stone.

The two men gave her a glare, before departing hurriedly. The man in the armour turned to her, his
voice devoid of the coldness before. “Are you hurt, girl?”

She shook her head. She had to limit talking to anyone as much as possible. It wouldn’t do for her
to get recognised.
 The little girl shrugged. “I was walking through the corridors with this idiot of a knight trailing me
when I heard your shouts. And so I came.”

As she focused on the little girl’s face, recognition clicked in her mind. The girl had long face, and
grey eyes, with hair as black as coal. The very features she had come to hate.

A surge of hatred flowed through her. She’d heard that the Starks had sided with Jaehaerys.
Against Daemon. But she quickly diminished that surge. It would be disastrous if she gave
something away just to pure hatred.

“Do you need help?” The knight asked.

Visenya Targaryen shook her head, all the while trying her hardest not to glare at Arya Stark.

Chapter End Notes

Several questions you have, I know. They will all be answered when we get a Visenya
POV again (which is soon enough). Please don’t bombard me with comments about
how this and that happened, how I’m not explaining things etc etc. I only request
patience.

Also, I wrote a new fic! The link is below Go check it if you have the time

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/74948349?
show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_410727171

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!