Chapter 27: By My Will
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Gregor Flowers felt god-like as he stretched his hands up into the starry sky, he felt so close to the ethereal sea as if to dip his fingers into the blackness and scoop out the stars themselves. Cannibal flew high as the wind ripped across his face as if to steal his very breath. He felt the heat and power beneath him as the great beast pushed them through the air, the culmination of his obsession. He'd faced little competition on the way to the lair of the black beast, and none he couldn't end through cutthroat cunning. They all wanted to mount Vermithor, the Bronze Fury. He wanted them all dead, and that black broken heart in his chest found its match in the Cannibal. Theirs was a love sealed at first sight, and consummated in the night sky, not under it like the common riff-raff.
A flash of grey scales banking beneath him revealed someone atop Silverwing, the dragoness of the Good Queen. The way it turned back to Dragonstone meant none of his dimwitted brothers managed to get to the beast, and a smile split Gregor's face at the thought of Vermithor and Silverwing already possessing riders even before they arrived on Dragonstone. Already bonded dragons would bath his brothers in the fire they so deserve.
Even still, Gregor thought to chase after the pair and burn them, but his partner rumbled beneath him and the rider understood the sentiment. Why risk ourselves against a dragon of similar size. Such battles almost always end in mutual destruction, and Gregor understood deeply that his own value in his father's world all derives from the wholeness of the beast beneath him. Instead, the pair maintained their course for King's Landing, eager to meet with his father in the capital and receive his justly due recognition and prestige. He's a prince now, not just in blood, but in fact. Gregor Flowers no longer, tonight Gregor Targaryen rides the wind.
With his gaze now focused downwards he spotted another dragon, this one far smaller and paler than the last, and on a similar trajectory as his own. The paleness of the other dragon caused it to glow in the moonlight, easily illuminating the rider, and more importantly the quartered green and white cloak he bore, the red three headed dragon and a red huntsman on the white fields. To understand the murderous rage that filled Gregor at the sight of his personal tormentor atop a dragon required a skilled bard and many scrolls. Of all the dumb cunts who leapt ashore with him this evening, Randall Fucking Flowers managed to survive the night and win the prize. It made a sort of cruel sense to him, for obviously his most hated foe possessed a sharp mind to avoid Gregor's many attempts to deal with him quietly and permanently.
The wind roared even louder in his ears as Cannibal picked up speed. The pale dragon maintained, completely unaware of the encroaching doom, and Gregor delighted in his partner's immediate response to his feelings. He'd never felt more seen, more loved. Each beat of Cannibal's wings brought him closer and closer to closure for the weeping wounds in his heart, wounds to be sealed tonight by righteous green fire.
Something alerted the Grey Ghost to the approaching danger, as the beast began flying erratically, causing the gout of wildfyre green justice to miss the speedy creature and its hated rider entirely. Offended by the denial, Cannibal bellowed a roar that ripped across Blackwater Bay loud enough to drown out the howling wind whipping past his ears. The failure added not an ounce of quit to their determination, and the Cannibal showed its aerial prowess pursuing the Grey Ghost as it desperately evaded and attempted to escape to the Capital. Each gout of great green blaze that missed its target felt like a fresh tragedy to Gregor, but after years as Randall's punching bag he'd long since learned to endure such with grace and grit.
The pale dragon proved why it managed to grow up in the shadow of the Cannibal as it continuously danced around the much larger dragon's torrents and dives, often flying so low to the sea as to hide behind the crests of waves and clouds of steam bursting up from every gout of flames his mighty dragon released. Gregor felt the frustration mounting until finally he saw it in his mind's eye, the final sequence, the last shadow Grey Ghost and Randall will ever see. He felt his vision tunnelling as he focused, guiding Cannibal with his heart, not voice. Both dragon and rider locked in, and Gregor could feel his partner's jaws closing in on his hated foe when a sudden and massive impact nearly tore the ropes binding him to Cannibal's spines.
Gregor didn't understand what happened, he could not believe the denial, he heart ached for violent climax and the world ripped it all away, then his vision filled with gold, shining in the night, the glorious form of Sunfyre now flying above him as Cannibal wailed in rage and pain. The sight of blood trailing down Sunfyre's talons filled Gregor with fear, but not nearly as much as the sight of a man's form, looming so huge in the night falling off the dragon above him. Gregor watched in awe and horror as his father's armored form landed atop the Cannibal next to him, the Golden Fleece trailing around him like a single radiant wing.
"Boy!" his father roared drowning out all other sounds as Gregor shook, unable to look away as the looming form of Aegon the Great filled his entire field of vision, impossibly wide, impossibly tall, as if encompassing all of existence with his mass, "Control your beast, or I will!"
Gregor's jaw shook, he desperately needed to escape, "I can't!" he squealed the lie, hoping to hide his murderousness behind the newness of his bond and the nature of his dragon.
"Pathetic." his father growled, the sound so low yet louder than anything Gregor ever heard before.
Then the man turned away from him and started running up Cannibal's back and neck, every step filling him with dread like thunder claps. He saw it all slipping away, his life, his love, all about to be extinguished by his father's hand.
"NOOOOO!" he cried in agony as he saw it in his mind's eye, his father drawing The Chimera's Wail, that undulating blade, and driving it into his dragon's throat and riding it down.
Cannibal desperately bucked and banked to shed the danger off his back, and Gregor prayed to all the gods willing to listen for his father to be cast off into the sea. Those prayers died in his mind at the sight of his father holding a spine with a single hand, his body locked ridged, all the desperate flailing of the Cannibal denied by the grip and isometric strength of a man. Even in the depths of despair Gregor instinctively understood the radical awesomeness of the feat he witnessed.
His father trailing gold made it to Cannibal's enormous head, capable of swallowing an aurochs whole, and locked one hand on the beast's brow and set his feet in a stance the gods themselves could not break. With the remaining limb, he reared back his fist and shouted in a voice that made reality tremble.
"BY MY WILL!"
With those three words Gregor felt a tremendous spiritual pressure descend upon him. His jaw slackened and his eyes glazed as his very soul felt as if held in bondage helplessly and made to witness the violation of his beautiful bride by a fat ugly bastard. His ego shattered.
"Obey father." he droned half-wittedly, "I always obey father."
He muttered this and variations of it mindlessly, over and over, and only instinct informed him of the radically awesome sight of Aegon leaping off the Cannibal and landing a short free falling flight below in Sunfyre's saddle.
-Aegon II-
I remember this dull ache that used to happen when I fucked too much. I haven't felt it in lifetimes, but I feel that old familiar sensation now, not just in the nuts, but globally. I feel like life asked me if I can ride two horses at once and we found out the hard way that the answer was kinda. I feel it in my soul. Too much horse, too little ass, but the horses are dragons, and The Cannibal is no whelp raised by my hand and afraid of the sound of my raised voice and the sight of my raised fist. When the man failed to make the leap, magic made the distance, and the aching hollowness radiating from my chest tells me we barely covered it. A part of me wants to jump off onto Grey Ghost and do the same, cow the much more placid and fearful wild dragon into submission, but I know better than to keep pushing into magic once it starts to hurt.
I knew these boys, Gregor and Randal, both a cut above the typical smooth brained apes I father. Those who wander about like everyone else you see, sucking up the air supply without contributing anything to the greater collective of humanity than farts and my lineage. Gregor and Randal, monkey scrotum brained. Just smart enough to get with the program, not smart enough to not piss me off. The finest of my sons.
With a few words spoken over the currents of the wind I commanded the great black beast to follow me to the capital, and the tiny pale dragon fell alongside in formation, security assured in my presence. I'll admit the operation went worse than expected. The goal was to deny Rhaenyra dragons, and somehow I'd snatched up the two beyond her grasp. I get the distinct feeling that my sexual frolicing on the island in my youth will come back to bite me soon enough when the rest of the dragons aren't claimed by degenerate losers. Unfortunately for my half sister, that's just more stacking the deck in my favor. As powerful as my sons may seem, I'm a thousand - zero - and one against my sons. The no contest due to interference by that grease-bag Great Jon.
I felt Sunfrye puffing up at the sight of Vhagar in the distance, Aemond finally taking to the air after Cannibal's warcry paused the pandemonium in the capitol. The pent-up dragon beneath me barely broke into the weight class capable of surviving a full coiling with Dreamfyre - an event that left him battered and grounded for an entire fortnight - and is already looking for the next mountain to hump.
Down boy, before the love of pussy destroys you.
I took us around the capital, getting an up to date view of the fighting. Thousands of swords sworn to me sacked the city, the culmination of years of build up by my man Vaemond Velaryon. Oh how the Blacks fought tooth and nail to take over the docks of King's Landing, only to stumble at the final step and put their faith in the wrong man. They thought they knew everything coming in and out of the city by water. They knew nothing but lies, and now they pay for it.
They sacked only the rich parts of the city, while the poors fought a battle against Sunfyre's aftermath. Down below my men stormed the houses and mansions of my sister's supporters, passing over those flying the green and gold dragon banners. They killed all the men, raped all the women, and showed the children the price of standing against me before making hostages of the survivors. They piled the valuables in carts as well as anyone worth taking. The sights, the sounds, surely the Hells smell like this. I remember the sack by the Lannisters, I remember thinking how I'd do it better.
Now I have my proof.
I brought the flight down on Rhaenys's Hill, the big dragons coming in behind us, and landed before Cannibal and Vhagar shook the earth with their mass. Randyl slid down Grey Ghost and fell to his knees at my feet. I felt surprised at the display, not of obeisance, that is my due, but of the freshly recovered panic. Did the boy think he'd live forever? Cling to your life less dearly, lest you damn the things worth dying for. There are few causes more worthy of your death than making the people you hate absolutely miserable, and thus the boy would have died well.
"Thank you, Father!" he huffed in his hurry, "I swear my life and my dragon to you, my king."
"You failed to meet my standards." I spoke down to the kneeling boy, "You gambled with your fate, and won. You knelt as a bastard, and rise a prince."
Perhaps I give the boy to much credit, as Randal leapt up shouting, "Father, Gregor tried to murder me! We must do something!"
The weight of my disappointment caused him to cease his outburst, and I educated him, "Not once in this life have I ever acted because I must, and I never will. Remember that, lest ignorance cost you more than my respect." I then turned my gaze to the Cannibal and his rider, raising my voice, "And you, boy. Explain yourself."
Gregor Flowers slid down his dragon and knelt before me.
"Obey father!" he shouted in a droning tone, "I always obey father!"
I locked eyes with the boy, daring him to look away with my posture as I searched him for any sign of guile.
"Gregor is retarded now." I declared, settling the matter.
"What? No he isn't-" my armored fist interrupted Randal's objection.
"First you declare what I 'must' do, and now you question my judgement. Speak no more till you've learned proper decorum." I instructed the somehow more foolish of my two present sons."
"Inspirational fathering!" loudly called Aemond as strolled over while the dragonkeepers led Vhagar into the pit, "I'm sure in the future when he looks at the scar across his lips and what's left of his teeth, he'll remember you fondly."
"His teeth remain, as I willed it, and should he speak so poorly again in the near future the servants can pick them out of his stool for him." I opened my arms and embraced my little brother then drawing him back to arms length I clapped him on the pauldron, "As for you, well done."
The pair of us looked out at the billowing tower of smoke rising of Flea Bottom and and nodded softly. He'd set everything up in the capital just as I commanded, and with far less scruples than my grandfather who often composed tedious ethical arguments about the chosen course of action. The poor man just lacked the foresight to understand that everything wrong with this city will just keep getting worse without end. This burning serves many of my end goals, inconveniencing my sister the least of them.
She elevated herself over the years, but at the cost of shackling herself to an image of compassion and justice. She'll come for the city, no doubt - of the two of us only she needs to grasp at legitimacy - and when she does she'll find hundreds of thousands of souls hungry and aggrieved. Whether they embrace her as savior or turn on her as the closest outlet of their rage, I am fascinated to find out. Either way a deadly anchor around her neck.
I needed to guide Cannibal and Grey Ghost into the pit, and provide instructions to both the Cannibal and Sunfyre, the first on how to behave with the handlers and other dragons, and the second to not fuck Grey Ghost, and not try to fuck Vhagar. The first because of how vital controlling the dragon population is, and second because I can't afford him to spend months grounded after the great she-beast shatters his hips. It honestly galls me how much of my life is policing the libido of a several hundred ton fire breathing monster. How many more children might I have fathered in the hours wasted on Sunfyre's needy nuts? A least five. The sacrifices I make for an orderly future.
The zorses kept in the royal stables at the Dragonpit carried us down the road up the hill, now lined with barbicans restricting access, and down at the bottom I spotted a human mass gathering. My soldiers manning the gatehouses looked nervous as the sun began lightening the skies not choked with smoke.
"There's thousands of them, my King!" shouted a sweaty man at the bottom barbican, he an his fellows holding the walls against any enterprising folk with ladders or ropes, dumping hot coals and oil on anyone trying to bring up carts, crates, or barrels to build a path up the short stone walls.
I dismounted and tied the zorse up to a post, then with some pep in my step I adjusted the straps of my shield to carry it over my shoulder and drew the Sword of Kings, Blackfyre. The bastard sword felt insubstantial in my hand, lacking the length and sensual curves of the Chimera's Wail, as well as the Valyrian Steel guard and pommel, but I didn't hold that against it. I stretched back the armored fingers of my off hand and languidly clenched my fist before ordering the portcullis up.
"Up, my king?" came the terrified voice of the man on the walls.
"Up." I deigned to repeat myself graciously to dispel any doubt.
"Brother, would it not be better to simply have Sunfyre come deal with this lot?" Aemond questioned, his well earned right.
"And wait hours for his fires to quell? Nay, my people have come to see their King, and I shall allow them the honor of my full attention." I explained myself, and Aemond simply shook his head in longsuffering brotherhood.
"Here, brother, treat yourself." I offered half pulling the Chimera's Wail from its sheath.
For me a well fitted bastard sword, for him a greatsword, but my brother trained extensively with my sword, should it ever pass into his possession and not Blackfyre or Darksister.
"Now stand back. I'm feeling… nostalgic." I turned my supremely well articulated armored neck left then right to the sound of some satisfying pops and a heavy sigh.
Aemond and my sons and our escorts obeyed, as did the gatekeepers. The iron portcullis rose, and the people of King's Landing backed away at the sight of me advancing step by step towards them. I crossed under the risen gate, and just beyond the arch of stone that serve as passageway. Out in the open amongst the people as those at the front pushed back against the mass at their backs. We stayed there for a time, them and me, silence radiating out in waves. My citizens trembled, many gasping for breath, mouths agape in struggle. The sight of me struck them dumb, and who can blame them for it? I certainly don't, but it aggravated me none the less. They'd been so eager for violence not moments ago, but once the show arrived they wanted to refund the tickets.
I allowed the tension to continue to build until it everyone within my sight looked pale as ghosts, then scraped Blackfyre across the cobbles in front of me, "How bout it then?"
Then the mad scramble began, not the chaos of combat, but of a mass rout. People threw each other down to the street to purchase just a bit more space away from me. They screamed and wailed and fled, not a soul with the fortitude to stand against me. I observed it all with forced stillness, as my face hidden beneath my helmet twitched. I looked down at the Sword of Kings unbloodied as if it betrayed me. With a growl of disappointment I sheathed Blackfyre and made sure not to stomp back to Aemond to relieve him of Chimera's Wail.
"A remarkable showing of the regal bloodlust, brother." Aemond smirked, reading my mood despite my rigorously controlled posture, "Those small folk will tell their grandchildren of the day the King turned back a mob with the pure aura of dreadful glee he exuded. Closer to gods than men, they say, and none closer than the King."
"You mock me by your tone, brother, yet who shall shield you from mother's disappointment for your hand in this night?" I placidly threated.
Aemond laughed as I mounted my zorse and returned to the lead of our formation, "Brother, what need have I for a shield? I've come to relish in mother's disappointment."
I felt incredible pride in the man Aemond became, though I kept it to myself. Together we rode through the city built by our ancestors, the city we brought Fire and Blood.
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I began publishing this story two weeks shy of a year ago, and its been my slowest year as an author yet. I've just cleared 70,000 words, and usually I can at least double that. Despite that, this is as close to a perfect work as I've managed. Thank you to everyone who kept up with me this year, participating in the each of the updates with comments. I value you all.