The gods had cast their dice from the skies.
Life and death were weighed.
Victory and defeat were sealed.
The Red Kraken lay dead at Aegon's feet, his severed head crushed beneath the sole of the prince's boot. That sharp tongue which had once mocked kings and spat defiance at dragons would never speak again. His eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, glassy and empty, stripped of all menace.
Aegon did not look away.
He stood amid smoke and ash, chest rising slowly as the din of battle ebbed around him. The Cannibal crouched behind him like a living mountain of blackened scales, green fire still leaking in sickly wisps from between its jagged teeth. Blood steamed on the stones where dragonfire had passed.
Panic rippled through the remaining ironborn.
Sensing the moment had turned against them, two men broke from the press and ran for the harbor road leading toward Fair Isle. Alester Wynch fled with his cloak clutched in one hand, glancing back over his shoulder like a fox pursued by hounds. Beside him thundered Gonser the Great, his heavy boots pounding stone as his deep voice bellowed orders no one obeyed.
"Dracarys," Aegon said quietly.
The Cannibal obeyed.
Green flame surged forward in a rolling tide, swallowing the fleeing figures whole. Their screams were short and ragged, cut off as flesh and steel alike vanished into fire. When the flames died, nothing remained but scorched stone and drifting ash.
A thunderous roar rose from the Western host.
Men slammed spear hafts against shields. Swords were raised high. Crimson dragons and golden lions snapped in the wind as banners surged forward. Victory burned bright in every face.
The Cannibal reared back and loosed a roar that shook the air itself, a sound so savage it seemed the island might crack beneath it. Even hardened men flinched at its fury.
One man. One dragon.
It was enough to break kingdoms.
Morale swept through the army like oil poured upon flame. Men who moments ago had fought with grim resolve now surged forward with exultant fury. Eyes turned toward Aegon, some wide with reverence, others tight with fear.
A king must be bold. A king must fight.
Lady Johanna Lannister rode forward through her guards, her golden hair bound tightly back, her crimson cloak spattered with ash. She raised her hand, fingers clenched, and her voice rang sharp and clear.
"Kill them," she commanded. "Slay these wretches and free the women they have taken. Show the ironborn what it means to defy the West."
Her standard-bearers lowered their banners.
"Long live Regent Aegon!" a man shouted.
"Long live House Targaryen!"
"Long live Casterly Rock!"
The cry rolled outward as the host surged through the shattered gates. Fair Isle fell open before them, and within its walls the flower of slaughter bloomed.
The ironborn were broken. Their captains were dead, their ships burned to the waterline. There would be no escape, no rescue, no mercy. Against such remnants, defeat was unthinkable.
When the fighting had moved deeper into the city, Aegon finally bent and lifted the fallen blade from the ground.
"Fine steel," he said.
He wiped the blade clean with a strip torn from a fallen cloak before sliding it back into its sheath. The sword felt light in his hand, balanced and eager. Moonstone gleamed in the pommel, cool beneath his thumb. The grip was worked with gold shaped like kraken tentacles, curling toward the guard. The blade itself drank the light, dark as black smoke.
Lady Johanna stood a few paces away, guarded on all sides. Her eyes had not left the sword.
"Valyrian steel," Aegon continued, more to himself than to her. "Light, unbreakable, sharp beyond reason. It does not dull. It does not fail."
He accepted it without ceremony. Victory had earned it.
House Lannister had searched for such a blade for generations and found none. Now one lay in his hand.
"This may be lent to Viserys," Aegon thought. For now. Whether for himself or his brother, the blade was his by right. The Targaryens now held a third Valyrian sword.
Nightfall, it was called.
The name felt wanting.
Perhaps it would bear another one in time.
Lady Johanna's fingers curled slowly at her side as she stared at the blade, longing plain upon her face. Brightroar came to her mind, as it always did. Lost to the Smoking Sea. Lost with King Tommen and his golden fleet.
"I will find one for my son," she swore silently. "No matter the cost."
Aloud, she inclined her head.
"You have won a great victory, Prince Regent," Lady Johanna said, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them.
Within Fair Isle, steel rang against steel and men screamed as the Westermen vented years of fear and fury. Smoke curled above the rooftops. No ironborn banners still flew, and none who bore them would be spared.
"I killed the Red Kraken," Aegon said. He met the Lioness of the Rock's gaze without blinking. "But I will need your strength as well."
Lady Johanna stiffened slightly, her fingers tightening around the reins of her horse. She did not interrupt.
"I did not come without cost," Aegon continued. "Beyond gold, I require ships. New ships, built at Casterly Rock. This war is not yet finished."
The Cannibal shifted behind him, scales scraping stone as heat rolled outward in suffocating waves. Even seasoned knights stepped back, sweat beading beneath their helms.
"I need your gold, your fleet, and your soldiers," Aegon said calmly. "You were the first to stand with me. And for Ser Tyland's sake, I will not be overly harsh. But traitors will lose their lands and titles. They will pay fines five times over."
Lady Johanna drew a slow breath. Excitement flared in her eyes, chased quickly by calculation and unease.
"Yes," she said at last, inclining her head. "House Lannister will remember your grace. Casterly Rock stands at your command."
The Cannibal's presence pressed upon them like a physical weight. With Fair Isle broken and their terror made flesh, the West had no will left to resist.
Aegon had slain the greatest threat they faced. Had the Red Kraken lived, the shattered West would have bled for years yet.
In the original story, the ironborn would have ravaged the coast from 130 AC to 134, unchecked and triumphant.
"When can the Western fleet be rebuilt?" Aegon asked.
Lady Johanna did not hesitate. "The Red Kraken kept more than twenty salt wives, but no rock wife," she said, lowering her voice. "His death will plunge the Iron Islands into bloodshed."
She straightened in the saddle. "Our shipyards will be rebuilt quickly. Lannisport still has timber, coin, and craftsmen. We will strike the Iron Islands and take our revenge."
"And your fleet will serve me as well," Aegon said. "Cleanse the Iron Islands. Do not waste my time."
Lady Johanna nodded once. She understood the warning.
Aegon could rely on dragonfire alone if he wished, but time was the one resource he could not squander. With the Red Kraken dead, resistance in the westering seas would crumble swiftly.
From Lannisport, sailing south allowed a rapid blockade of Oldtown. Marching from King's Landing was slow and perilous. The Stepstones crawled with pirates. Dorne remained unconquered.
The Reach. Dorne. The Stepstones. The Three Daughters. Winter. Plague.
A broken age. A broken realm.
He would drag it back from the brink, whether it wished to be saved or not.
Ignoring the stench of blood, Aegon ordered the Red Kraken's corpse searched.
Among the remains, he found a Valyrian steel dagger. Its pommel was shaped like an octopus, the metal dark and hungry-looking. Beyond that, there was little of interest. Gold and jewels meant nothing to him.
Then something else caught his eye.
"Here."
Aegon knelt and cut open the lining of the dead man's clothing. Sewn close to the flesh were two broken fragments of a bronze mirror. The backs were etched with ancient runes and strange symbols, worn smooth by age and handling.
The Red Kraken had kept them near his heart.
Aegon took the fragments without hesitation.
The ironborn lord had plundered half the world and gathered countless treasures, yet these broken pieces had been the ones he guarded most closely.
Behind him, the Cannibal moved.
The dragon circled the headless corpse, claws scraping stone as gray smoke bled from its jaws. Its wings twitched, stirring ash and embers into the air.
Lady Johanna's retinue recoiled. Several men turned their faces away, unable to meet the gaze of the beast that had burned Fair Isle to cinders.
The Cannibal's sickly green eyes fixed on the corpse.
It lowered its head.
It wanted to eat him.
"You wish to devour him?" Aegon asked softly, feeling the dragon's hunger brush against his thoughts.
ROAR!
The sound rattled armor and bone alike.
Aegon frowned slightly. This was unusual. The Cannibal was savage, yes, but it had never lingered like this before.
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A/N: Some reviews would be really appreciated, Thanks Guys!!
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