King's Landing 302 AC,
Myrcella Lannister.
His duties took him away from her each morn and for most of the day, yet his love for her brought him to her side each night. Daemon's words spoken to her as they lay together were enough to allow Myrcella to worry not about the battle to come. Or worry less, in truth. Only a fool wouldn't worry about a battle involving almost the entire realm and where so many of those she loved and cared about would participate.
Daemon had told her that she could attend the war council should she wish, but she'd shaken her head and cried off doing so. It was one thing to know that a battle was inevitable, it was quite another to be part of the planning for that battle. Myrcella truly wished no part in either if she could make that so, but since she could not avoid the one, she would most certainly prevent the other.
Let any dare name her a weak woman for doing so, however. Should any of them be heard to utter such words then the wrath or her husband would be certain to follow. Daemon had taken great pains to tell her that a woman's strength was much needed in the days to come. He'd spoken words on Queen Elia, his grandmother, even his mother too, as he'd done so. Myrcella was happy to hear them and pleased to see that her husband recognized that it took more than men to win a battle or war.
" We fight with the tools we're given, Cella. Yours are just as impressive as mine own and unlike those, yours were not god-given."
She'd not lie, it made her proud to be spoken of in such a way by her husband. Daemon had even told her how very proud he was of her for how she handled not just the duties and responsibilities of the Iron Throne while he was gone, but the attempt on her life as well. Some people would crumble under the weight of either, Daemon had said. Myrcella knew full well that was true and so what if she had almost done so. In the end, she had not, and little mattered other than that.
"Are you well, your grace?" Margaery Tyrell asked worriedly.
"Forgive me, my mind wanders."
"It's understandable given what is soon to be upon us, my queen." her mother said and Myrcella offered her a warm smile to show that she had been distracted and not worried.
"Is the docks now truly closed?" Sansa asked and Myrcella nodded. Some relief going through the younger girl at that news. The man she was to wed would not be sailing or stuck at sea when the Dornish Fleet inevitably arrived. Something that Myrcella knew brought great comfort to Sansa Stark.
Less so was brought by the fact that Sansa's father, brother, and uncle would be fighting a truer fight in the battles to come. While Rhaenys she knew felt somewhat more relaxed. Only Myrcella and her mother found as much comfort as her Goodsister did in knowing that few of their own family would fight for true.
' Or at least they will not if Daemon is right.'
Myrcella would still have her grandfather and uncles, as well as cousins taking part. Margaery would have at least two brothers who'd fighting alongside the men of the Reach. Other than Daemon, there would be no member of House Targaryen involved, she believed. While her father and her brother would remain with the Kingsguard and protect the Red Keep from any who sought to take it for their own.
' They would not be alone in offering their protection either.'
Daemon's shadows would remain by their sides. One by Queen Rhaella's, one each with Viserys and Daenerys, and another with Rhaenys. The last was at present somewhere in this room and Myrcella believed if she squinted her eyes, she'd see him. Even if each time she'd done so, she had very much not.
Along with men of the Hundred, some Unsullied, and some members of the Fiery Hand, the Red Keep and the Royal Family were protected as well as they could ever be. Even if someone should manage to get by all of those who looked to her safety, they'd still have one very large and very white protector to best before they could do her harm. A protector that Myrcella now rubbed her hands through his fur and tickled behind his ears, earning her a longing look as she then began to scratch behind those ears for true.
"You really are just a giant puppy at times, are you not." she laughed.
Moving her hand from Ghost's fur, it was back to the embroidery that she turned her attention to. No petitions were being held and nor would there be until the Dornish Threat was dealt with once and for all. It left little work for her to do as they were now on a war footing, and Myrcella left matters of war to her husband who was far more capable than any other to deal with them. So, to try and maintain some semblance of normality, it was the other daily things a queen must do that took up her time. Teas, embroidery, lessons at times too, and even simply spending time with her friends and family, which in truth most embroidery sessions consisted of. Today's one was no different in this regard.
The knock on the door took them all out of the somewhat blissful ignorance that these sessions allowed for. Myrcella looked to see Ser Arthur enter carrying a note and that it bore her husband's seal. Worry, concern, and even fear quickly fought for precedence among her emotions. Relief was the one that won out when she read the words and rose to her feet.
"My queen?" her mother asked, Myrcella shaking her head to let her know there was naught to be fearful over.
"Daemon wishes to speak to me atop the parapets."
"Has something happened, your grace? Is the battle upon…."
"My husband just wishes for my company, Margaery." she interrupted, welcoming the relieved breath that the Rose of Highgarden exhaled from her mouth. "Continue with your day, my ladies, I shall return as soon as I am able."
"Your grace."
"Your grace."
Though she wished to hurry, Myrcella walked slowly and gracefully from the room. Once outside, she again resisted the urge and so, after what felt like an age, she and Ghost arrived at the door that led to one of the Red Keep's rooftops. Steadying herself, looking to the white wolf and with a nod to Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan, Myrcella turned the door handle herself and walked out to where her husband awaited.
Daemon wore his armor which surprised her somewhat. Seeing his swords on his back did not, as it was rare when he'd not have Flame and Spark close by. There was some relief to see that he wore only four rubies still and yet it was the blue sapphire that took her attention first and foremost. Or it did until she saw how Daemon smiled at her and then it was only her husband that Myrcella focussed on.
"Come wife there is something I wish you to see." Daemon held out his hand and Myrcella no longer moved slowly and gracefully as she ran to grab a hold of it.
He led her to the very edge of the rooftop. The small wall offered little protection should you trip and lose your balance. Only the long drop to the ground below would be your reward for doing so. Myrcella felt unafraid, however. She'd flown with her husband atop Lyanax and had looked down from a far greater height than she now did and so this bothered her not.
"Your grandfather's men." Daemon said pointing to the east of where they stood." The Knights of the Vale and the men of the Reach." he moved her so that she looked to the west. "The North and the Riverlands." she looked to the north. "Mine own." Daemon turned her around so she was now looking south.
"There are so many inside the walls," Myrcella said with surprise.
"We can do little to stop the advance outside and so it's only those mounted who will be placed there."
"So it's to be in the city itself?" she asked, worriedly.
"The only way they win is if the city falls. If we fall. If I fall."
"Daemon…."
"I will not fall, Cella," Daemon said without doubt or hesitation.
"No, you will not," she repeated just as firmly.
A warm embrace, kisses that did as much as Daemon's words or her belief and faith in her husband, were enough to chase any doubts she had fully away. Daemon's next words, however, brought her some more.
"I'll not leave."
"Cella."
"No, my place is here with my husband, my family. With our people."
"I….Davos offered to take you from here. To see you live a day, a week, a moon longer than I will should the worst happen. I told him no. And yet that choice was not mine to make."
"No, it's mine and I say no."
Again it was his arms and his lips that Daemon offered her. Followed by a nod of his head and whispered words in her ear.
"On the morrow, Lyanax and I will bring the fire to our enemies, Cella. We will bring them much blood too."
"Fire and Blood, Daemon," she said and Daemon kissed her before nodding once more.
King's Landing 302 AC,
The Battle of Blackwater Bay.
Quentyn Martell.
He hated ships. All his life they'd brought him nothing but the sickness of the sea and thus far, this ship had proved itself no different. Quentyn had wished to march with his uncle and he'd been given leave to do so until he had not. To the ships and the battle that would take place first by sea and then by land were instead the orders he'd been bid to follow. Orders that were given to him by his uncle and yet not at the same time, or so Quentyn believed.
Why Oberyn or anyone else listened to the Sellsword, Quentyn knew not. Yet the men of the Golden Company and those of Volantis seemed to answer more so to Daario Naharis than they did to Harry Strickland or Malaquo Maegyr. This meant that the men of Dorne too had to do so, albeit temporarily. His uncle had let Quentyn into his father's plans for Daario Naharis and while he'd had nothing against the man at first, forcing him to sail on this godforsaken ship had soon changed that.
Thankfully, Quentyn sailed with men he at least enjoyed the company of. Ser Gerris Drinkwater and Ser Willam Wells both joined him on deck as he emptied his stomach for what felt like the hundredth time. Each of them missed their other friends and a part of him would have much welcomed being in the force that had been sent to Summerhall. To travel with Cletus Yronwood and Ser Archibald and to be the one to bring his aunt safely back to Dorne. He'd even beseeched his uncle to allow him to split off from the main force and join them there, only to be denied.
" Taking hostages is no work for a Prince of Dorne, nephew. No, taking cities and winning wars is what will bring you the glory and renown that you and House Martell deserve."
" Yet I'll play but a minor part in either."
" A part your father bids you to play, nephew."
The closer they got to Blackwater Bay, the more Quentyn became certain that the reason why he was to play that part was because his father feared for him. He believed that it was to keep him out of harm's way rather than to see him earn glory and renown as his uncle had said. Ser Willam disagreed. His friend brought up the Greyjoy Rebellion and spoke of how Lucerys Velaryon's victory at sea had paved the way for the crown to then take the islands themselves. How without the one there could not be the other. Yet Quentyn still bristled over being placed upon a ship instead of a horse and so he listened not.
"Drink, my prince." Ser Gerris said as he handed him the foul-tasting liquid. Quentyn drank it down in one swallow to not have to endure its foulness on his tongue for longer than was needed.
"How long?" he asked when the draught had done its work and he felt his stomach settle somewhat.
"By mid-morning I wager."
"So soon?"
"Massey's Hook is in sight, my prince. Once we round it we'll be in Blackwater Bay itself and the fight will be upon us."
"You're certain?" he asked Ser Gerris.
"Of both the timing and the fight itself, my prince."
If he was being honest with himself, Quentyn welcomed the one more than the other. During this journey, he'd suggested they take Greenstone since the Estermonts like most of the Stormlords had most likely marched. He'd then suggested they take Tarth and sack Evenfall Hall, only for both ideas to be rejected out of hand. It had shamed him somewhat. To be so easily dismissed and to have his words go unheeded. Not even Ser Willam's words that his uncle would leave the Stormlands mainly unmolested and would seek to fight only when there was no other option, had stopped that from being so. Quentyn understood it not. They came to conquer and yet they were leaving the lands and seas they passed through exactly as they found them.
" The war is not there, my prince. We risk too much for too little gain."
So, they'd sailed and faced nary a threat. Caught no sight of ships or when they looked to the sky, the dragon. Others said that it was because they sailed from south to north. Had they passed Driftmark or Dragonstone, then they'd not have been so fortunate. There it would be the Velaryons and the Royal Fleet they said and yet on this, Quentyn agreed with them not.
It was he who was proved right.
Nigh on one hundred ships sailed into Blackwater Bay. Each of them carried more than a hundred fighting men. Men from Dorne, who were more comfortable fighting at sea than they were on land. From Volantis who were more used to using their spears and swords to protect the Volanteene trading routes and Sellsails from all across the known world. All of them were part of a two-pronged attack. By sea and by land had been the plan and as Blackwater Bay truly came into sight, Quentyn wagered that on the deck of almost every ship, they were all now doing as he was.
He held the Myrish Eye in his hands. Those hands moved from side to side almost frantically as he looked in vain for the Royal or Redwyne Fleets. It confused him greatly to see no sight of them and before he had a chance to worry or to celebrate, the shout went up.
"To the East! Look to the East!."
Turning and running to the stern of the ship, Quentyn wished he'd not done so as hurriedly as he had. The sight that he was presented with needed no Myrish Eye to see it for true. One hundred ships they had brought with them. Behind them sailed more than thrice that amount. Forward was now their only path to safety and so again, Quentyn found himself running far too quickly.
This time he looked to the far-off docks and tried to judge in his mind just how quickly they could reach them. To his left, some ships had turned to either engage those at their rear or to head for the open sea and flee from their inevitable defeat. His was not one of them and Quentyn thanked the gods themselves when he heard that Ser Willam had given orders for the oars to be brought to bear.
Little did he know that it was to the wrong gods he was praying.
Three things happened almost at once. The roar rang out and all eyes looked to the sky as the Black Dragon flew their way. Flames were loosed and moved towards the ship he sailed upon, drawing ever closer to it and him. Lastly, Quentyn Martell soiled himself before he felt the kiss of those flames for true. His body burned and his shit turned to ash in his britches before he threw himself into the water to put out the one and wash away the other.
"What fools we are." were his last words as it was water and not fire that claimed his life.
Paxter Redwyne.
Three days earlier.
He'd thought he'd play no part in the battles to come. Dorne had no fleet and there would be no sailing to their lands to see the battle fought there. Yet, he'd been ordered to bring his fleet to King's Landing or Dragonstone at least. Or at first, as he was soon to find out. Paxter did as he was bid and once they arrived, his flagship, the Arbor Queen docked beside the Pride of Driftmark much to his chagrin. Lord Monford Velaryon was not his most favored person in the land and yet, Paxter knew he'd need to answer to him.
After making his way through the village and up the winding staircase, he was welcomed warmly into Dragonstone itself. The keep felt emptier than usual given that the Queen and Ser Bonifer resided in the city and not on the island as they'd done for many a year. A nod to Ser Alliser Thorne and Paxter was shown to chambers that at least showed his importance. The warm bath and wine and refreshments that were laid out for him were both much appreciated and after indulging in both, he made his way to the Great Hall and then to the Chamber of the Painted Table.
Inside, it was only Lord Monford who sat waiting. The son of the Master of Ships offered Paxter more wine which he only sipped as the king's plans were laid out before him.
"I had thought it would be his grace or at least your father who would do so?"
"My father has the fleet itself to command, Lord Redwyne. As for his grace." Monford smiled and drew his attention to the large open window.
To say that the black dragon was not an impressive sight would be to name yourself a liar and a fool. Paxter had never seen it this close before, however. Few had and had been able to speak of it later, he'd wager. The scales, the feel of the wind that its wings produced as it flew by you. Even the way the eyes seemed to bore deep into your very soul, was all now far more apparent to him than it had been the other times he'd seen it. As for the man atop its back. Daemon Targaryen cut an impressive figure even without a dragon to force that point home.
The wait for the king to arrive in person was not a long one. Paxter wondered to himself just where the dragon would land and he almost laughed at the idea that because of having one, those long and winding steps would rarely if ever know a king's foot.
"Your grace."
"Your grace."
"Lord Velaryon, Lord Redwyne. Please keep to your seats, we have little time to truly speak and I'd waste it not on propriety and protocol. Not when my grandmother is not here to insist upon it." Daemon smiled warmly.
"Her grace is well, your grace?" Monford asked.
"She is, my lord. Both her and the babe."
"Then we can take our joy from both, your grace," he added, to an even warmer smile.
"Each day, I do, Lord Redwyne."
The king took no wine or ate no food, instead, he pointed to Massey's Hook and to the seas that lay south of it. Paxter had no need to look to Monford to know that he was listening just as keenly as he was to the plans that were being laid out. Or that just like him, Monford wondered just how the king knew what he knew. Not that either of them questioned that he did or suggested he did not, mind you.
"If all goes to plan then Lyanax and I will deal with the threat itself, my lords. If not, then it falls to you to see that the Dornish Fleet is no more."
"We block off their escape, your grace, see that none reach the open sea," Paxter stated.
"Indeed and keep your own ships as far from those to face a dragon's fire as you can."
"And after, your grace?" Monford asked.
"Your part will be done and I'd bid you to keep far from the city once it has been."
"Would it not be for the best…."
"I'll call for you if I need you, my lords. Other than that, your presence will only confuse things."
"As you say, your grace." he nodded, caring not that his question had been interrupted for it had been answered once it had been.
Today.
Fire was what all sailors truly feared. Ships sank and there were many ways this could come about. A storm, a rogue wave, crashing against unseen or even seen rocks. Yet to see a fire burn its way through a ship was what truly sent the shivers down Paxter, Monford, and Lucerys' spines. For though they were far from his sight amongst the combined fleets, Paxter wagered that both the Velaryons were feeling those shivers right now.
"Even if this is an altogether different type of fire."
To look on as Lyanax went about her deadly work was a thing of both beauty and horror. Paxter had heard the tales of what Daemon Targaryen had done to the Ironborn fleet. Yet, it was one thing to hear those tales being spoken and quite another to bear witness to the truth of those tales.
They'd done as they were bid. Had looked on from where they were hidden from the Dornish Fleet's view and waited until the ships were far enough inside Blackwater Bay so that they could turn back not. Then they'd blocked their escape and while some had tried to cut and run, they'd been easily dealt with. Four ships had been sunk and six had surrendered. Their battles were lost and yet they'd keep their lives and live to sail another day. It was more than could be said for the poor bastards who'd sought to sail onward and to the docks.
Lyanax was relentless. Her flames were unwavering. In less than an hour, more than eighty ships had been set alight by the black dragon. Most of those had almost turned to ash such was the ferocity of those flames. Some had simply fallen to the flames and others had brought those flames to ships that flew the same flag as they. The last twenty ships of the Dornish fleet had not felt Lyanax's rage and anger and instead had fallen victim to poor attempts to move out of the dragon's path.
In the water, men with armor who'd been lucky enough to have avoided the flames found something just as deadly. The sea welcomed them into her cold embrace and they sank as soon as they hit the water itself. Some were luckier and they had either worn no armor or removed it the moment they realized their day was done. Those men were now being fished out of the water and while they would live and breathe to see another day, it would not be one they'd find freedom in.
"The Black or the Block. May the gods have mercy on their souls."
The Battle of Blackwater Bay was very much not one. A rout as true as any that Paxter had ever witnessed, been a part of, or read about. Looking to the sky, and watched as the black dragon now headed to the city. He prayed not to the gods that he believed in, but to the one that his king did so that the next battle fought by Daemon Targaryen would prove just as much of one.
The Parley in the Kingswood 302 AC,
Malaquo Maegyr.
Malaquo looked at the city in front of them and he liked not what he saw. As far as the eye could see there were mounted men who were primed to ride out. Numberswise he would wager that they were evenly matched which gave him a little respite. Malaquo knew too that they had more men at sea and that those they faced had no doubt got some more men in the city itself. He knew too that it was hard to sack a city when your armies were evenly matched. Something that bothered not the men who were with him for some reason or other.
They'd as of yet seen no sight of the dragon but that was not as comforting as it may have been. Malaquo knew all about the mount that Daemon Targaryen named his own. It had been that knowledge that had stayed his hand for all these years. That and knowing that in Volantis while he may be in charge of the Tiger Cloaks, they answered not truly to him. Any attack on the Red Temple would lose them forevermore and so Malaquo had bided his time and waited.
It was something they'd done much of on this march too, he'd found to his dismay. One village had been put to the sword and only that one because Daario Naharis and his blue-lipped Warlock had bid it. The children and the young women had been spared and yet none had been seen since they'd been taken. Malaquo more than certain they were to be used in some fell ceremony or the other and while that should give him pause, his desire for vengeance gave him none.
"You think they'll parley?" Harry Strickland asked one of the Serjeants of the Golden Company. The two of them were standing to the right of where Malaquo stood.
"I do, and we should take them there."
"He'll not allow it."
"How can he stop it? Far better we end this war in an ambush than in a full-scale battle, Harry."
"I'll speak to them both."
A part of Malaquo agreed with the Serjeant. Looking at the army that had been gathered to face their own, he knew that any victory would not come cheaply. Yet, despite hating the man who'd cost him his daughter, Malaquo would not be a part of a breaking of parley. He'd not live with the dishonor of such a thing and yet that alone was not his only reason for why he'd not countenance them doing it.
"He needs to suffer as I have," he whispered before turning around and riding back to where their camp was.
The request for parley arrived attached to a raven's leg. Their march had gone unnoticed and no word had been sent regarding it thanks to Pyat Pree. It was unnoticed no longer. Not even the Warlock's magic could blind people from that which they could see with their own eyes. So as they had looked to the walls and gates of King's Landing. Those there had looked from those walls outward.
"Seven, that's all we bring." Prince Oberyn said looking to Daario Naharis who nodded."
"Pyat, stay here and see what can be done." Daario smiled at the Warlock. "Prince Oberyn, Harry Strickland, Malaquo Maegyr, myself, Black Balaq, Ser Daemon Sand, and Lord Yronwood. The rest of you make ready, for the fight is almost upon us."
Another time, a different place, and Malaquo may again wonder why they took their lead from a Sellsword. He had his own orders to follow and so that somewhat explained his reasoning. The vengeance that he sought all but explained the rest. Harry Strickland cared only for coin and it was not coin that Daario Naharis had put in his pocket. While Prince Oberyn liked the man not and showed this clearly with every glance he aimed Daario's way. Yet, each of them had done as he'd bid and was now doing so again.
It bothered him greatly. Though not as much as the sight of the six horses that rode their way or the large black dragon that flew over those horses. Daemon Targaryen and he had not been as close as they now were in more than five years.
"For you my daughter. I do all I do for you," he said softly, eyes closed as if in prayer.
The six horses stopped far out of archer range and that discomfited him greatly. Their own horses then lined up a short distance from the six and Malaquo looked to each of the men atop those horses. A lord who wore bronze armor and seemed fit and virile, two men who wore poor armor and had long faces and dark brown hair, sat atop their horses to the left. Looking to the right, there was a dour-faced man who glared at them and ground his teeth.
Beside him was a stern-faced man who bore a shield with a striding huntsman and whose horse had a large Greatsword strapped to its side. The last of the six men was the one who seemed to him to be the most impressive. From his crimson armor to his lion's mane helm. Even his horse showed off the wealth and power that the man who sat atop it exuded from every pore. Malaquo may not be able to name any of the other five men who'd come to this parley, he could name this one however.
' Tywin Lannister, The Lion of Lannisport.' a shiver ran down his spine as he thought the words.
There was little time for contemplation or even thoughts of how he and Tywin Lannister shared some things in common. Malaquo didn't even get to wonder if sharing his words on what Daemon Targaryen cost him would affect his relationship with the man Daemon now named his Goodfather. The black dragon had finally landed and Malaquo, Oberyn, and Daario Naharis all looked to the man who climbed down off its back and to no one else. Each of them watched as Daemon walked to where the six horses were and stood a little in front of them.
"Targaryen." Oberyn spat.
"Martell," Daemon said back just as venomously. "I see you made some new friends, poor company though they are," Daemon smirked.
"Better company than that which the Lords of Westeros are keeping," Daario answered.
"Would that was true, Naharis." Daemon paused before turning to Harry Strickland and Black Balaq. "Will you turn tail and run away again I wonder. The not-so-Golden Company. Did you bring your elephants with you Homeless Harry, for my dragon gets awfully hungry at times."
"I'll see you dead, boy!" Strickland all but screamed back. His precious elephants being threatened seeming to unnerve the man greatly.
"Bittersteel you are not, and that man was a coward and craven. And yet his courage was thrice that of your own. Leave these lands and do what you do best, Strickland. Sell yourselves like the whores you are and adorn yourself in gold. For mark my words and mark them well, should you take up arms here today then today is when the Golden Company exists no more."
Harry bristled and Malaquo swore he looked to Black Balaq resignedly. Whatever plans they had about taking Daemon Targaryen from this world with arrows were ones that both men were now cursing themselves for not following through on. Yet as much as he wished to contemplate on that, he could not. For Daemon Targaryen had turned his attention to him now.
"You shame her memory by being in such company, Triarch." Damon sighed. A sad expression on his face.
"I seek the head of the man responsible for her death. It is honoring my daughter that I am doing."
"By riding with her killer?" Daemon asked and Malaquo looked at him confused.
"You killed her!" he shouted.
"I loved her. Wished for her to be my wife. It was not my arrow that took her from this world. Nor my lust for that he could not have which was the reason why that arrow was fired." Daemon's passion and regret could be heard clearly and Malaquo looked from him to the man he was staring and now pointing at. "Deny my words, Naharis! Deny my words and I'll name you for the liar that you are!
"You are the prince of lies, Daemon Targaryen. The king of them. And none here wish to listen to them or you any longer."
"My gods wills me to speak the truth here today and so the truth is what I'll speak. Your nephew is dead, Prince Oberyn. Look to the sea and see what your fleet has wrought down upon itself. You, Ser Daemon, your father's head was taken by mine own. The foolish plans of the Red Viper and the Crippled Prince have failed. Riverrun and Winterfell are still places where my kin are safe to dwell and the men sent to take them, live no more. As for those sent to take Summerhall. They were no match for a true Princess of Dorne. Elia remains Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken. The men sent to see that was not so, they are food for the crows."
"My son?" Lord Yronwood asked worriedly. Ser Daemon Sand soon joined him in that worry.
"My father?"
"Sentenced to death for daring to think they are of a match for a true lady of Dorne. I give you leave to turn and mourn them or leave to join them. The choice is yours."
"You'll die here today, Daemon Targaryen. You and those cravens and cowards who bow before you and name you their king." The Red Viper sneered.
"Look at those men more carefully, Oberyn. Lord Yohn Royce, even your spear has tasted defeat at his hands. Mine uncles Eddard and Benjen, who are forged of Northern stone and have brought with them a true winter's bite. Lord Randyll Tarly, who won the Battle of Ashford and bloodied Robert' Baratheon's nose when their numbers were more evenly matched than yours were on the Trident. Lord Stannis Baratheon who held Storm's End for longer than any other man ever could."
Daemon paused and moved to stand in front of the Lion of Lannisport.
"My Goodgrandfather. Lord Tywin Lannister. Who I give leave to bring the Rains down upon each House of Dorne that dares to threaten his granddaughter. For believe me, even should mine own wrath and rage at what you seek to do to my wife not be what takes you from this world, I'll rest comfortably knowing it was a Lion who feasted upon your bloody corpses."
The dragon roared and the ground shook. Daemon then turned to Daario Naharis.
"My God has been planning this war for an eternity. He chose his champion long before your own ever looked your way. It was not necessity, nor was it convenience that made him do so. My god chose wisely, yours….." Daemon laughed. "Has no fucking idea of just how poorly his own choice truly was. He will soon enough."
"As the prince said, you die here today, Daemon Targaryen."
"Valar Morghulis, Daario Naharis."
They turned and rode back to the camp, the six horses and the black dragon doing the same. Albeit one of them flying and not riding. All the way back, Malaquo had two thoughts that filled his mind.
Was Daemon Targaryen lying, had it truly been Daario Naharis who had taken his daughter from the world, Was he truly the Prince of Lies?
As for the other. There was only one answer that you gave when someone spoke those words. Valar Dohaeris, all men must serve. Upon reaching the camp and watching Daario Naharis head off in the direction of where he believed the Warlock's tent was, Malaquo began to wonder just exactly who it was they were all now serving.
King's Landing and the Kingswood 302 AC,
The Calm Before the Storm.
Rhaella Targaryen.
War was not truly something that Rhaella knew even despite living through three of them. She'd been but a girl during the War of the Ninepenny Kings and those battles had been fought on the Stepstones far from where Rhaella lay her head. While Robert's Rebellion had somewhat made its way to King's Landing, Rhaella had been safe on Dragonstone and so it had only been her son and her grandchildren that were in any true danger should things go ill. The Greyjoy Rebellion too had been fought far from her sight.
As for Daemon's battles, those she heard about only in their aftermath or as with the one in Essos, in her grandson's departure to.
This one, however, was one she could not look at abstractly or with an impassive aloofness. Rhaella may once have planned for a war to put her grandson on the Iron Throne, but it had never truly been one she'd believed would come to pass and after Daemon's disappearance, it was one that she'd put mainly out of her mind. That was not something she could do this time.
Looking around the room. Seeing her daughter, son, granddaughter, and Goodgrandaughter. Knowing that just outside the walls, and less than two miles to the south, lay an army that would see them all dead, it was impossible for her to do so. So while Daemon treated with men who wished him dead, Rhaella like those in the room, worried not just about his immediate safety, but their own upon his return. For she doubted not that unlike with the ships that Daemon and Lyanax so easily dispatched, the army would prove a far sterner test of her grandson's resolve.
"The king rides through the gates, your grace." Ser Oswell burst into the room to say loudly. Rhaella glared at the Black Bat as did Bonifer, which at least brought some realization to the far too often impulsive Kingsguard.
"He is well, those with him are unharmed?" Myrcella asked and Oswell nodded before answering that they were.
Myrcella was not the only one of them to breathe a sigh of relief at the news. Rhaella had warned her grandson about parleying with an army led by the Red Viper. She'd brought up how the Young Dragon had met his end and Daemon had simply chuckled, kissed her cheek, and told her that, unlike Daeron, he walked with a god's favor. Besides, her grandson had added, Oberyn Martell only thought he led the army that marched their way.
She understood it not, not truly. By all accounts, the man who led this army and who was their greatest threat was an up jumped sellsword from Essos named Daario Naharis. Daemon had tried to explain that just as he was R'hllor's champion in the battle to come, so too was Daario Naharis the Great Other's. Her grandson had spoken of how the Night King and Chai Yen were the Great Other's first and second champions and that Daario was the third and final one that the false god had to call upon. Yet, it was a hard thing for Rhaella to comprehend when it came to the men who marched and sought their doom.
Why would a Prince of Dorne answer to a Sellsword?
Why would a Triarch do likewise?
Did they know they were not truly in command or were they even more foolish than she already named them?
These were among the many questions that filled her thoughts as she waited for Daemon to return to the Red Keep. Yet it was one and one thought alone that truly preyed on her mind each day.
Can Daemon beat him?
His men believed he could. The Lords of Westeros who had come at her behest and to serve in Daemon's army, believed he could. Rhaella had no need to speak to those who served R'hllor to know that every one of them believed it too.
"As do I," she whispered.
The wait felt almost unbearable. Had it not been for Bonifer taking her hand in his own and raising it to his lips, Rhaella would have been pacing the room. Something that her granddaughter was doing. Rhaenys then beat even his wife to greet Daemon when he finally entered the room. Rhaella smiled a little to see just how warm that greeting was and to then see it shared with Daenerys and Viserys.
Her family had finally become what she'd always wished them to be. Dragons.
"Grandmother." Daemon walked to her after he'd embraced Myrcella and spoken some words softly in her ear. Rhaella rose to her feet so she could embrace him just as truly as the rest of his family had done.
"All went well."
"As well as can be expected."
"And the battle, Daemon?" Bonifer asked earning him a frown from her for doing so.
"Will be fought this very night or by the morn at the latest."
"You are ready? All is prepared?" Myrcella asked before Rhaella could and Daemon kissed her on the cheek before turning to take his wife's hands in his own.
"For this, I was born ready."
Rhaella wished to argue with him. To tell him that this was not what he'd been born for. At least to remind him that this was not what she wished for him. Yet she could not. Instead, much to her and the rest of their family's surprise, food and drink were called for by her grandson and they ate a family meal, strange though it was.
There was no sitting at the table. No formality of any sort. Other than family it was only Bonifer, Thoros, and Melisandre that were invited into the room. Around her, there was laughter and japes. Her family ate from each other's plates and held those plates on their laps as they did so. Daemon spoke to each of them, moving from his seat to do so. Her grandson carried his plate in his hands and eventually, Bonifer moved so that Daemon could take a seat beside her.
"I am ready for this, grandmother. I feel no fear other than I wish this battle was fought elsewhere."
"I wish it had no need to be fought at all."
"It will be the last battle I ever fight, grandmother," Daemon said and Rhaella gasped. Her grandson shook his head firmly as he realized what his words had made her think. "No, after this I'll know only peace, grandmother. Our family will know only peace."
"You can't know that, Daemon."
"No, but my god can."
"I…"
"R'hllor may have been who forged me in fire, grandmother. You, and you alone forged me in blood. Thank you for always being there for me. For never letting me feel alone."
"Daemon…"
"I love you with all I am, grandmother and love will always trump war."
Rhaella nodded her head and reached out her hand to touch her grandson's cheek. Seeing and feeling Daemon lean into that touch as he always had, brought a smile to her face. One she did her best to hold onto for as long as she could.
She managed it right up to when Daemon left the room a few hours later. Then she needed the comfort of Bonifer's arms around her or she'd have collapsed to the ground in a heap.
By the time night had fallen, the sounds of battle waged, and yet, despite how close it now was, once again Rhaella knew it not for true.
Daario Naharis.
The parley had been a waste of time, just as he'd known it would be. There had been no advantage to be had in speaking to Daemon Targaryen. No words of theirs would keep him from the upcoming fight and while an ambush was something he considered, he did not do so for too long. Thoughts of a wrathful and vengeance-seeking dragon wouldn't allow that to happen. Daario may walk with a god's favor and fear Daemon Targaryen not, he was no fool, however, and until the dragon was dealt with, he would keep his distance from it.
Listening to the words that came from Daemon's mouth brought him some troubled thoughts. The way Malaquo Maegyr now looked at him made him relieved that the battle would come today. Were it a week or moon a way from happening then they may lose the Tigers before they were more his than their commander's. With the battle coming in the next few hours, however, it didn't allow enough time for the truth that Daemon had told the grieving father to truly take hold.
When it came to the Dornish Prince's plans for taking hostages being foiled so completely, Daario wouldn't lie and say he found that all so very amusing. Oberyn Martell had been so confident that by now they'd have Daemon's father, brother, and niece as well as one or two of his cousins to use against him that he'd not considered for once that his plans could be thwarted. Daario on the other hand had put little faith in them succeeding and so had played no part in seeing that was so. That particular failure bothered him not. A different one bothered him greatly and was foremost in his thoughts as he left the others and moved to the tents he and Pyat Pree had taken for their own.
"Of all the stupid, idiotic, useless…"
Shaking his head and holding his tongue as he entered the tent, Daario did his best to get past the fact that the fleet had failed so spectacularly in what was in essence an easy task. Sail, wait, and attack when the time was right. When the battle was already upon them and while the dragon was engaged with the forces at the gates. To go before that had occurred was foolhardy and so while Daario was angered at their loss, he mourned them not. They, the men with him who would fight by his side, even the blue-lipped warlock who now looked his way with eager eyes, were all expendable. Only Daario himself was not.
"You met with the dragon?" Pyat Pree asked.
"I did."
"His dragon is as formidable as we've seen?"
"I would wager so."
Pyat Pree bid him follow and Daario walked out through the gap in the back of the tent to the large circular space where their prisoners were kept. Some were tied to stakes alone while others had company in their confinement. The children most especially in this regard.
"Then it is good our god has given us the tools to remove its threat is it not?"
"How will this remove the threat?" Daario asked as he looked at the terrified women and children that Pyat Pree had insisted they take as prisoners from the one village they'd sacked.
"I know not the powers of our god, Daario Naharis. Only that his powers have no limitations and that today we'll see just how true that is."
"Then do as you must."
"No, not I." Pyat Pree laughed. "They must fall to your sword and your sword alone.
He sighed as he moved forward and removed his curved blade. It's icy steel smoking as it cuts through the air around it. To kill women and children was no easy thing, even for a man such as he who cared for no one but himself. There had been those who'd sold their swords beside him who would shirk from such orders. Some who'd not only go out of their way to not harm women and children but would turn on their brothers in arms should they do so. Daario was never one of those men.
The icy blade sliced through the throat of a young girl who was no more than four and ten years old. Her sister was next and other than thinking it was a waste that these two beauties died before knowing his fingers or his cock, Daario gave them no second thought. Two young boys were next. Neither of them was older than six or seven. They were followed by three young girls who had not yet reached their tenth Nameday. Daario mourned them not as behind him Pyat Pree followed holding a bowl and taking whatever it was he took from them once Daario's blade had completed its deadly work.
Five and ten, six and ten, nine and ten, on and on it went as the numbers of women and children he took from this world climbed even higher. At no point did Daario think this was not something he should do. Nor did he wonder what those who thought themselves his allies would say or do should they see him go about his god's work. Daario had no time for hypocrites and he knew full well that for as ruthless as Oberyn Martell or Malaquo Maegyr claimed to be, in this, they would show their hypocrisy. They'd whine and moan and tell him they wished not to be a part of this, all the while readying themselves to attack and sack a city filled with far more women and children that Daario was sacrificing to his god.
' Cravens, cowards and fools. I am glad I'll need to suffer them for only a while longer.' Daario thought to himself as he took the last two children from this world and sent them to the next. A young brother and sister of three and four Namedays respectively.
"You have all you need?" Daario turned to look at whatever it was that the warlock had taken from those he'd sacrificed.
"Such a small and precious thing is it not." Pyat Pree held up what seemed to be a small block of something. Daario then needed to reach out to take one of them from the bowl the warlock was carrying so that he could better understand what it was.
It was small, hard, and could be held between his thumb and index finger. Cold to the touch and a dirty red color, it took Daario more than a moment to realize that it was frozen blood. Even that didn't truly explain why it was necessary, however, and Daario liked being in the dark not. Or this dark at least.
"The last breath." Pyat Pree smiled a devious and wicked smile. "Their little pathetic lives all encapsulated in one small and powerful frozen breath."
"Our gods wished for this, why?"
"To slay a dragon, Daario Naharis, to slay a dragon."
He understood it not and it annoyed him even more than it should. So much so that while he'd normally allow Pyat Pree to go about his work without his presence, Daario now refused his side. Even when he was told to do just that, Daario moved not, the warlock simply shaking his head and saying that in time he'd have no choice but to do so.
When Pyat Pree began to eat the little blocks of ice, Daario looked on appalled. Few things could turn his stomach and now he was forced to bear witness to one of them. The look on the warlock's face as he savored each block of ice as if it was the most delicious of treats was sick-inducing. How Pyat Pree licked his fingers after each one, was mayhap the single most disgusting thing that Daario had ever seen in his life. Given that he'd once seen two fat Masters have their way with a girl who was far too young to be forced to couple, it was shocking to him that he'd now seen an even worse sight.
"Now what?" he asked when the warlock was finished.
"Now we both await our further orders. We ready ourselves for the fight to come."
"And what you do will nullify the dragon's threat?"
"No, what I did will end it forevermore."
Knowing he'd get no further answers, Daario left Pyat Pree to his own devices and went back to his tent. When night fell the battle would begin for true and other than bringing this army here and doing as he'd been told with the small village, Daario still hadn't been let in on his god's plans for how that battle would be fought. It was why he'd offered no counter to the plans that Oberyn Martell, Malaquo Maegyr, and Harry Strickland had agreed to. Other than the nature of the march and that it was to be a march, Daario had countermanded their orders not. Kneeling, taking his sword in hand, and slicing the blade down over his palm, he hoped he'd be told that now was the time to do so.
"What is it you wish of me?"
"Victory by any means, Daario Naharis. Defeat my brother's champion and see to it that it's by your blade that he falls."
"What if he won't face me?"
"He will face you, on that you can be certain."
"And those with me?"
"The time has not yet come for them to see the truth. So let them welcome the lie."
"The time is coming."
"At my signal, unleash them for true. Your sword in the darkness. Blood for blood."
"Whose blood?"
"Not whose, but how much."
"I understand it not."
"Look to the sword I gifted to you. Look to it and know when its need for blood has been sated. Then and only then will white eyes be unleashed."
"I shall do as you bid."
"Your reward awaits, my champion. Seize it for your own and know you walk with mine favor."
"Your will be done."
An hour later the sun had begun to drop and Daario sat atop his horse looking to the gates and walls some distance away. To his left Prince Oberyn was armed and armored, his spear ready to be stained with the blood of a man it would never even get close to. On his right, Malaquo Maegyr looked only forward. His doubts about Daemon's words and his longing for vengeance and justice for his insipid daughter would be something he'd never get the chance to bring about.
Looking further down the line, Daario almost chuckled to see the elephants and the men atop them. He had much enjoyed listening to Daemon Targaryen threaten both and a part of him hoped that whatever plans Pyat Pree had for the dragon, those plans would not take effect until Daemon's own were carried out. As for the warlock, he was nowhere to be seen, and yet Daario worried about that not. There would be no hiding place for any of them should they not carry out their god's orders and Pyat Pree was just as invested as Daario himself was.
"The dragon," Oberyn asked glaring at him. "You said you had plans to…"
A roar stopped the prince from talking and Daario would wager that if he was in the howdah alongside the man, his nose would now be assaulted by the smell of the shit in the man's britches.
This roar was not from Daemon Targaryen's dragon, however. Instead, it was an altogether different and dare he say it, more dangerous one that flew high over their heads. Atop its back was a small figure that Daario could only guess was Pyat Pree. Their god had now shown the first sign of his true power, looking at his sword, Daario found himself almost willing to see the second. Only the knowledge that it would come stopped that from being so.
"You were saying." Daario chuckled. He then raised his hand and the Tigers, The Golden Company, their elephants, and the Dornish army all began to move forward.
' Your life and your bride, Daemon, I will have them both.'
Daemon Targaryen.
It was Shiera who alerted him to the fleet that sailed their way. Unable to see it with one of her gifts, Shiera had used another and while the Great Other could shield his army's moves from the fires, he could not do so from things with eyes to see. Birds warged into by his Great-Aunt had shown her the fleet and then the army that marched as well. Though on the latter they were never something that could have caught them by surprise. As for the former, with Lucerys, Monford, and Paxter Redwyne's help and their fleet, Daemon had feared them not.
"With Lyanax, I had no need to."
Ships burn and Daemon had no compunction about bringing the fire to these just as he had not those in the Iron Islands. The men aboard those ships wished harm to his family and the people they all served. To take their lives before they were in a position to do likewise was not only his right, it was his duty too. As it would be to take the lives of the men who led the army that readied itself not more than a mile or so from their gates.
Still, he offered them the chance to leave in peace and was surprised not when they refused to accept it. He knew too that there were those among them who would try and remove him or one of his key allies from the board during the parley and so Daemon had refused to allow even the possibility of that. Open ground, far out of archer range, his grandmother's words about the Young Dragon and his knowledge of Dornish methods, had ensured that those who rode to the parley, rode back from it unharmed.
Should I have done what they could not?
Would breaking parley shame me and do I care about shame as long as those I love survive?
Had I not a god's favor, then what would I do?
As had at times been true, these were once more questions he truly sought no answers to. The simple truth was that this battle ended only when he removed Daario Naharis from this world and sent him to his god. R'hllor wished to see them fight and so fight they would. It would be a fight that would not come at the start of the battle, or even midway through it, yet it would be a fight that ended it when it did finally take place.
Upon reaching the gates, Daemon bid Lyanax to land and once she did so, he climbed down her back and moved to where Thoros and Melisandre along with Grey Worm awaited.
"The parley went well then." Thoros chuckled.
"You sent word?" he asked Melisandre.
"The birds have flown, my prince."
"Then let us hope that their faith in R'hllor trumps their training to obey."
"You seem troubled, Daemon," Thoros said as the sound of horses rang out behind them. The six men who'd parleyed by his side were now in sight of them.
"Their eyes weren't white, Thoros."
"Ah…"
"Thoros?" Melisandre asked, confused as she looked at both of them.
"This battle will be different than the two we faced it seems. There, Blue Eye and Red were already opened. Here it seems they may not be opened yet."
"That is a good thing, no?" Melisandre looked at them both. "It means our god's words may carry even more weight."
"It does and I'm mayhap overthinking things…." Thoros slapped his back and Melisandre touched his shoulder, Daemon turning around to welcome back his uncles, Lord Royce, Randyll Tarly, Stannis Baratheon, and Tywin Lannister. His Goodfather wore a look that did not bode well for any who felt Old Lion's gaze upon them this day.
"We make ready, my lords. The battle is soon to be upon us. I give you leave to seek your men and ready them for what comes our way."
"Your grace."
"Your grace."
Yohn Royce and Randyll Tarly turned their horses and Daemon watched them go to where their men awaited. A nod of Stannis' head as he too did the same. Daemon then walked to his uncles and bid them what he hoped was not a final farewell.
"Daemon I…" his uncle Ned began, Daemon interrupting.
"We save our words for the victory celebrations, uncle. Until then we thank our gods for the time we've been given and pray to them that we'll know some more."
"Aye, if ever there was a time for prayer this is it." Benjen laughed, both his other uncle and even Daemon joined in.
"I'll see you at the celebration, your grace."
"As will I, you, uncle."
It left only Tywin Lannister there. The Old Lion was not a man for soft words or shows of emotion and yet Daemon was able to garner a somewhat emotional response from him when he spoke.
"I offered them a way out, Lord Tywin. Myrcella I asked if she wished to leave and to go somewhere safer than here."
"And my granddaughter's reply?"
"She refused to leave." Daemon smiled. "Later she spoke to her mother, her uncles, her brother…."
"Who showed themselves to be the true lions they always were." Tywin too smiled as he spoke, Daemon nodding his head to confirm he spoke true.
"By my death, alone, Goodgrandfather. Only by that."
"Then we are of like minds you and I. And should today be the day I find myself in my wife's embrace once more, I'll do so knowing I served the truest king I've ever known. A king I'm proud to name my kin."
"To the Victory Celebrations, Lord Tywin."
"The Victory Celebrations, your grace."
Rarely had he ever seen a more impressive sight than Tywin Lannister atop his horse as he readied to ride into a battle. Words his grandmother had once said about the man now came to mind and they were enough to make Daemon even more grateful for what he had found with his wife.
" There were those who said that Tywin Lannister ruled Westeros and not the king he served. Those who looked to him and not your grandfather. For Aerys was no Dragon, Daemon, while Tywin was and will always be a Lion."
"Hear him roar," he said softly.
Leaving the gates behind, Daemon walked with Grey Worm, Thoros, and Melisandre. Their destination was the Red Keep, but they'd not be going inside. He'd said all he needed to say to his wife, his sister, aunt, uncle, and cousin. Daemon had spoken to the Kingsguard, to the Hundred, to Arthur, Barristan, and Bonifer. He'd said his words to Jaime Lannister and had bid him to keep Brightroar at the ready just as he told him Arthur would have Dawn.
Lastly, he'd spoken to his grandmother and thanked her for all she'd done for him. He'd promised her that it would not be the last time they saw each other. That while the future was unwritten, for his own he still held the quill. It was a lie, though a white one at worst. No man could hold the quill that wrote out the days of his life, not when that quill had been taken many years ago by a god.
Now, he needed to speak to his aunt, to the Children, and then to his own people. The first of those he did alone. Daemon bid Grey Worm, Melisandre, and Thoros to wait for him as he walked into the Godswood to where his aunt awaited.
"You're still not wearing it," Shiera said when she looked at the chain around his neck.
"The time is not yet upon us for doing so."
"They got the birds, Daemon. They have received the messages."
"Then we can but only pray they heed them."
"We will retreat inside when the battle begins, Daemon."
"Am I wrong to say I hope you play no part in it?"
Shiera answered him not, instead she moved to him and kissed his cheek. Whispering in his ears that should he see her birds, then he needed to follow them.
"I will." he declared firmly. Before then he was quiet to ready himself to thank her for all she'd done for him. "I owe you much, aunt."
"I owe you just as much, nephew."
"Be safe," he said and she laughed, her eyes looking him up and down and repeating the words without speaking them. It was enough to make Daemon chuckle as he walked away.
When he reached where he'd left Thoros and the others, Daemon was surprised to see Davos standing there. He'd given him leave to take his wife and children somewhere safer if he wished and had expected that to be what he'd do. It was not it seemed and Daemon worried that he'd left it too late.
"You were right, Daemon."
"Davos?"
"We make a stand and should today be our day to die, then so be it. Better to face it on your terms than to run and try to hide from it."
"You could not have done so?"
"I placed my faith in you, my prince. As all of us did. So aye, I could not have done so."
He hugged the older man, moving then to Grey Worm and offering him the same embrace.
"I am free. I do this because I wish to."
"It's been an honor, my friend."
"Mine too, my prince."
Thoros moved away so Daemon could speak to Melisandre. The red priestess had been the closest thing he'd known to a mother and as he told her so, she lost the battle she'd been having with her tears.
"I love you, my lady. As truly as I love my grandmother. Had you not been by my side I'd have been lost. Truly, I would. Thank you for always being there."
"It was not only my god's will that made that so, my prince."
"I know."
They embraced and he then moved to Thoros. The words refused to come to either of them and it was Thoros who spoke before he did.
"I don't have the words, Daemon…."
"Neither do I."
They came to him as they stood there hugging each other like brothers who'd not seen each other in many a year. Thoros though had never been his brother. Which was something that Daemon now told him.
"You are the father I chose, Thoros. I have walked in R'hllor's light and known the highs and lows by your side. No man could have wished for a better father than that."
"Nor a father a better son."
The words he spoke were not goodbyes, not truly. Did Daemon fear he'd not see some of them again, yes. For even in victory there is no telling the cost you'd pay. Yet, he believed that they would win this day and that his god would see them all safely through it. He had to.
Daemon rode to the Dragonpit alone. There was no need for guards and he'd not take any from their posts for such a thing as this. Inside the city, there was not a single threat to him or those he cared about. For now at least. Outside, there were far too many. Still, given his numbers and theirs, the path to their victory was a much narrower one than the one to his own. Beyond the Wall, he'd faced greater numbers. In Essos even more so. Here, for once, Daemon had the advantage and yet it sat wrong with him.
Arriving at the Dragonpit, he saw Lyanax already waiting for him. Daemon dismounted and sent the horse back to the royal stables. He moved to his dragon and it was to her that he now offered his thanks for all she'd done for him. The trill she made as he spoke the words was then followed by a roar that he wagered could be heard all through the Seven Kingdoms. A roar of warning and one that should not go unheeded. Even though they both knew it would.
"I am ready to do your will, R'hllor. To fight your fight. My faith in you is undiminished and knows no bounds. Thank you for allowing me to walk in your light. For naming me your champion. And for making me the man I was born to be. Victory in your name. I promise you no more or less than that." Daemon said after he'd climbed up and sat atop Lyanax's back and once he'd spoken the words, he spoke only one more.
"Sovès." (Fly)
The Time Before Time,
?.
The death of a father was a strange and mysterious thing to behold. Given who their father was and what powers he possessed, it was a thing that none of them truly understood. Even after they'd been called to speak to their father and had been gifted their inheritance, none of them were fully aware of what that meant. R'hllor, however, was the last to be called and so mayhap he was to know more than most.
"Your brothers each have their path to walk, my son. Yours is the most dangerous of all, however."
"It is?"
"I have tried to treat you all equally. To show no favor to one that I did not show to another. In this, I believe I've failed, for all know that when I look to you I do so far differently than when I look to your brothers. In time, because of that and because of their nature, you and your brothers will no longer be as close as you now are."
"And this is a bad thing?" he asked curiously.
"For brothers, it is the worst of things." his father sighed.
"What would you have me do, Father?"
His father bid him to move forward and R'hllor felt his touch upon his chest. The heat was almost overwhelming and yet he moved from it not. Pride shone in his father's violet eyes as he looked upon him and then R'hllor watched as those eyes turned first blue, then red, and finally white.
"I've given you all I have left within me, my son. The fire that burns deep inside of me burns no more. And though I may wish it not to be so, one day that fire will need to be let loose upon one of your brothers."
"It will? Who?"
"I know not, for even mine own powers allow me not to see that far or that clearly. A war between brothers will be fought, however, and it is one I'd see you win, which is why I now forewarn you of it."
There was some coughing and spluttering, his father seemed to at times fade from his view and R'hllor understood not how that could be so. They'd never known such a thing as this. Neither he nor his brothers had ever experienced loss and yet, here, now, they seemed about to do so. It made no sense. Had him wish for the time to seek answers or some way to stop the inevitable from happening. Yet he was not to be given the chance to do so.
"You alone know what is to come, my son. Not even the brother who will seek to rule over all is aware yet that this is what he'll wish for. Other than my fire which I gave freely to you and you alone, this is my gift to you. Use both well."
"I will, father."
"Now call your brothers to me so I can bid them all goodbye once and for all."
Each of them came, all of them bore witness to the last breaths of the man who'd brought them into existence. The man who'd created the lands that they looked over and as his father's white eyes now closed for good and he began to fade away, little did any of them know that those lands would be bereft of life no more.
For in his final moments, the last gift their father gave was the gift of life itself.
Some Millennia later.
His brother of Ice. That had been who his father had warned him about so many lifetimes ago. It had taken R'hllor little time to see that it would be so. Some time spent in the company of his other brothers had shown that they held no such ambition. Each of them was happy and content with the little part of Planetos they had carved out for themselves. The Seas, different lands, dominion over some men and women, all happy with their place in the world. All except one.
As for his own, R'hllor could have become what his father told him he would one day face. He was stronger than any of his brothers. Smarter too. Yet, just like them, he was content with his place in the world they now ruled over. He had no wish for the Sea. Nor for the cold lands north of Westeros. Less so for the even colder ones that his brother of ice had retreated to and named his own. Men and women to swear oaths in his name and the time to get ready for the fight that was one day to come, R'hllor was happy and content with that.
So he interfered not when his brother of ice sought to encroach on the lands south of his own. R'hllor simply watched and looked on as the brothers whom those who worshipped them had named the Old Gods, held back his brother of ice and those who named him the Great Other. He'd been ready to intervene if needed, yet, had believed it to be simply a test and not a battle for true.
In this, he'd felt he was proved right, as while the Old Gods believed the Great Other to be beaten and chastened, his brother of ice was very much neither. He instead simply retreated and did nothing when a great wall of ice was built to mark the boundary between lands that belonged to him and lands that very much did not.
"A test, that is all," R'hllor said as he looked to his lands once more and continued his preparation for a battle that would eventually need to be fought.
Years passed. Decades tumbled by. Centuries came and went and there were times when R'hllor thought himself a fool. Soon even some of his other brothers sought to take more than was their due. Not happy with the lands close to his own, they sought those across the Narrow Sea to be there too. Their brother of the sea cared not for what they did, as they infringed upon his domain not, and so he allowed them safe passage over the oft storm-riddled waters.
Right to the edge of the lands of the North did his seven brothers impose their will. There and only there were they stopped and yet they used so much of their power in seeking to take what belonged to them not, that they all but faded into insignificance once they did. The Seven who are One were aptly named because, by the end of their attempts to force the Old Gods to submit to their will, one was all who remained in truth. Weaker and lesser than he had been though he now was.
"We stick to that we have dominion over, brothers mine. Would that you'd learned this lesson in a much easier fashion" R'hllor laughed.
It was what R'hllor had done after all. To go only where fire was welcomed and naturally existed. To seek out its comforting warmth and to see his people bathed in the light that fire gave off. The lands of the Fourteen Flames were his and his alone, even if those there knew not truly of his existence. R'hllor was happy enough for them to name him as fourteen gods instead of one. For it was what he brought to those lands and gave to those people that truly mattered.
' Dragons.'
When he truly began to see what his brother in ice was plotting, he knew not. How he saw it, he cared not. What he needed to do to foil that plot, that and that alone was all that mattered.
' No that wasn't quite true. Who he needed mattered too.'
So he began to carefully take the steps he needed to take. To place the breadcrumbs where they needed to be placed. Each move was calculated and covered by another dozen or more as both contingencies or distractions. R'hllor had been happy then to wait and bide his time until once again a step needed to be taken. Not that he welcomed that step when it finally was.
Did he have to allow it to happen? He believed so.
Were the tears he shed real when it did? They very much were.
Would he see his brother pay for his actions? Very much so.
It took him some time to understand how his brother of ice had managed to wield fire in such a manner. By then, R'hllor had ensured that the first step had been taken so that he had a champion worthy to fight in his name when needed. A dream that was sent to a young girl and one that had been accepted and acted upon. The escape from the Doom of Valyria came in more than enough time and though he mourned those who'd not managed to escape, their lives were inconsequential in truth when compared to those who did.
More than three hundred years passed in the blink of an eye or so it seemed. Attempts had been made to see to the fall of the House of the Dragon and R'hllor had played his part in making certain it never fell completely. Yet even his powers were not enough to stop them from wasting the great gift he'd given them and from seeing dragons disappear from the world once more. His anger at that, along with his disappointment in those he'd chosen to bring about his champion, had almost been beyond his control to rein in.
"Yet rein it in I did."
He had to. As he had to ensure that the things needed for his champion to emerge victorious were put in place. A whisper to his other brothers that had been spoken a millennia ago had become a shout that they believed to be their own. His brother of horses then named his champion and R'hllor was happy enough to have the Great Stallion believe what he wished him to believe.
"The Stallion who mounts the World. Indeed." he laughed.
R'hllor allowed the Old Gods to think it would be their champion who defeated the Great Other and yet even then he had not foreseen that he'd need to steal him for his own. That theirs was to come from the House of the Wolf and his from the House of the Dragon, not initially making clear how that could or would be so. Only when R'hllor saw that Daemon Targaryen was to be a son of both did he know for true what needed to be done.
"A Song of Ice and Fire."
It had not been what he'd allowed the words to be spoken for. Not what even he had believed the words to mean. R'hllor had been certain they referred to the battle he would engage in against his brother of ice. They may still be in some fashion. However, he knew now that they were just as much about his champion as they were about the war to come. As he had from the moment that Daemon Targaryen had been born.
He had waited until he had all the pieces in place and then, and only then, had R'hllor finally moved the most important piece on the board.
Now, as he looked down upon his chosen, his champion. As he listened to the words spoken by Daemon Targaryen, R'hllor smiled a true smile. Blue eyes had been closed, Red eyes too, it left only the White ones to be shut forevermore.
"You are my chosen, and I have chosen well." R'hllor said as he put on his armor and held his fiery sword aloft." Brother I come, the day of our reckoning has finally arrived. It's time for you to face your Trial by Fire."