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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
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Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death
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Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. MartinA Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)
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Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,548Kudos:3,730Bookmarks:1,073Hits:221,664
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 58
Notes:
A HUGE thank you to @MARch_Of_Time for their extensive help with this chapter!!
Chapter Text
Chapter 58
"We must prevent this plague that would eat away at the Empire. If we don't prevent it, the cost to society…" -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 3
For Jace, the first months of married life had not changed his day-to-day much, though evening feasts and the nights afterwards were more pleasurable. Baela enjoyed dancing, feasting, and dragon riding. She was also at times impatient and had quite the sharp tongue.
"Jace, you must do something about this. I enjoy fresh fruit and we are at the nexus of multiple trade routes!"
"Baela, you know trade has been strangled of late, and why. White Harbor has been hit hard by the Winter Fever, as has Pentos. My grandsire has been clear on his orders to the harbormasters across the realm. Vessels must remain docked for seven days before unloading any goods and must swear that none aboard are ill."
"'Tis folly, let us just fly somewhere and pay orchard keepers and vineyard owners directly. We have dragons, Jace!"
Jace was taken aback by the suggestion.
"I would not even know where to begin, and would that also not cause danger? People are dying in the Crownlands and Riverlands as well. We have plenty of food here, my love, there's no need. But I will go flying with you if you'd like."
She turned away from him. "No, if you are too craven to go out and do something then forget it."
Jace felt his face flush, but he would not be goaded into folly. He was to be King one day, and that required an even temperament.
"As you will, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
Baela looked annoyed and made a show of stalking off, somewhat ruined by her hesitant glance backward. With her gone to sulk somewhere, Jace went to the yard. Young Corwyn was working the pell with his sword and Jace gave an encouraging shout.
"Fierce, just like our father!"
Corwyn turned and his concentrating look gave way to good cheer; he was nearing his tenth name-day and since his dragon, Rusthrax, was still too young to fly, he spent most of his free time at play or in the yard.
"Jace! Look, I finally figured out the combination of strikes Joffrey taught me."
Jace smiled and gestured for him to be shown.
Corwyn took a two-handed stance and demonstrated. It was a feint, followed by a strike to the mid-section, that bled into a parry from an invisible foe, a step forward and then a low sweep. The move was designed to take a foe off their feet and made use of the raw physicality that the sons of Rhaenyra all had.
"Well done! Soon you'll be entering into a melee or two yourself."
Jace spent some time helping Corwyn out, including a mock duel. Jace pushed him hard, but effectively and took time to praise his improvement. His youngest brother bore a serious expression, one that was a younger mirror of Ser Harwin's. Jace knew that whispers and accusations would likely dog his life and his reign, but he still would not change a thing. His family may not be the way the septons would have liked it, but he cherished it. Both Harwin and Laenor had taught him much, and he was grateful to both.
After a pleasant time in the yard, he saw two dragons in the air heading east. Moondancer and Arrax.
No… surely Luke isn't foolish enough to join Baela in looking to purchase fruit on a lark!
"Seven hells!"
He dashed up the stairs and sought out his father. After locating him, he explained that Baela had talked of finding a fruit merchant or farmer and just purchasing the delicacies Baela so enjoyed in Tyrosh, and would normally also have at Dragonstone were it not for the difficulties in trade.
"East, you say? I am not certain either of them would even know where to look. I'll go northeast and then once the shore is visible I will fly south. You go southeast and then fly north upon sight of the shore. If you lay eyes on them, use the battlefield voice over the wind and say I've instructed them to return. I'll inform your mother and then be off. If we have not sighted them after crossing this area, then we return and await them here."
Jace nodded and quickly took Vermax into the sky. In truth, there was little risk, but Essos was already on guard thanks to the situation in Tyrosh. Daemon had made it no secret that he desired more of Essos under his control. There were tales that Myr had a hundred scorpions ready to sting any dragon who flew near. Myr was nowhere near where Baela and Luke may have gone, but still, he had the edge of worry in his mind.
Contagion was unlikely, but that too could take place. He assumed neither was as foolish as to accept goods from someone visibly ill.
Well…
He flew and flew and eventually spied Laenor in the meeting point of their paths, and Laenor shouted to return. Unease rose in Jace's stomach. The sky was vast and they had left before he did. It was quite difficult to find someone unless one knew where they might be headed.
Jace and his father arrived back on Dragonstone where he saw Baela, Luke, and the others waiting for them. His mother gave a chaste kiss to Laenor and then turned toward him, a bemused smile on her face.
"Jace, it warms my heart to know how deeply you care for Baela and worried over her so, but you must learn some trust as well."
Jace's confusion must have been writ upon his features.
"I went flying because you made light of my complaints, my lord husband. I've flown with Luke and Aenar before, you really can't think me so silly as to go off to Essos after you said we shouldn't," Baela said sweetly while her eyes danced with amusement.
His worry twisted into anger, but he mastered it. It was clear to him Baela had done this deliberately as some sort of jape, but what was important was that both were safe.
"All is well that ends well. I am sorry for worrying everyone on my assumption."
His mother kissed his brow. "Worry for those you love is never wasted. Come, we may not have oranges and peaches, but a fine table will still be laid."
Baela took his arm as they entered the feast hall. She whispered to him.
"I still want you to find a way to get me what I desire, husband. I care not if it isn't profitable for a merchant; send a raven and arrange for it. I'm to be Queen one day, and being denied something so simple as a peach is beneath our dignity. We are the blood of Old Valyria."
He wasn't even sure if she was being serious or not. And he doubted she would give him a straight answer. Trade had greatly diminished and many merchants were forgoing Westeros, with their harbors all enforcing the rules. Essos, Dorne, and the Summer Isles were more lucrative for the time being, especially for items like foodstuffs. Silks, furs, glass, and jewels were still traded as the extra time quarantined in port still made the journey worthwhile.
But was any of that even the matter to Baela? She already knew the nature of the problem and what little might be done, did she even try to handle it herself? Were the fruits just a convenient excuse or inciting spark to have her fun? Would she really grow more spiteful or teasing of him over this... minor inconvenience, one that was a reality faced by the whole of Westeros?
Life with Baela will not be uninteresting.
***
Kevan suspected that other people had no idea how worried Elaena was. Or that she was truly worried at all. She continued to carry herself with the effortless grace she always did. However as her husband, he knew she was deeply concerned over the spread of Winter Fever. He could see it in the tightness around her eyes and the sharpness to her tone of late. Despite their efforts, the deadly ailment had spread. Silvervale was yet untouched, but White Harbor, Claw Isle, and Old Anchor had all been hit hard. From there it had begun to ravage the Riverlands.
In the south, Tyrosh was affected, but had weathered the storm better than White Harbor. During one of their many discussions of the crisis, Kevan had suggested that it might be due to the warmer environs dulling the power of the Winter Fever, but Eleana had looked almost pained, saying with a measure of exasperation that it was true, but not in the way he thought.
Elaena was no stranger to exasperation, much as she tended to hide such feelings, but the spike of frustration tightening the corners of her expression in that instant had clued Kevan in to the complexity of the factors she must have been weighing. Things he knew he would have an interest in understanding, had they the spare time for him to learn. He could almost see from moment to moment her struggle with a desire to explain and converse on the matter, warring with a need to focus on the immediate problems and preparations.
Kevan had felt significantly more disquieted about the spread ever since. Quiet preparations and procedures to protect Silvervale proceeded with his full backing, while special measures to protect his own wife and children discreetly redoubled.
The disease had come even to Storm's End. Borros Baratheon had fallen ill with it, but had survived the tremendous fever. Two of his daughters were not so fortunate. Other nobles had suffered, including Lord Errol's young son. Not everyone seemed to catch Winter Fever when it invaded a place, but those who did fall ill were almost certain to perish.
A terrifying game of chance, one that made his concerns for his own family feel more and more foreboding.
"Father will be displeased, but I must have more firsthand information," Elaena told him, the day they learned that Lord Darry had died from his fever.
They were in the large room that displayed a detailed map of Westeros. She'd devised a clever system to write upon the glass that housed the map upon the wall. She could erase her markings at will and as she received reports on the spread of Winter Fever, she marked symbols indicating the reported severity and extent of it. Kevan suspected nowhere in Westeros, or in all the world, had something like this.
Kevan shook his head forcefully. "You cannot. Elaena, if I were to lose you…"
"Husband, you will not. No Targaryen has fallen ill yet, and you know I never get sick."
He strode a few paces to burn off the spike of anxiety her words brought to his heart, before leaning softly to lift her hand and kiss it. "I remember that you had a brief spell of sickness early on when our Fraedrik was growing inside of you."
She gave him a cross look. "That was brief, and then when I… ah, the point remains the risk is significantly less."
It was unusual of her to look past legitimate concerns or arguments like this, but also painfully true to her nature when it concerned her own safety, as he'd come to understand. He had sworn to Elaena and her father both that he would guard her in all ways, even those her wise eyes remained blind to.
He wasn't going to let it go. He could do much to support her in any path or decision she made, but he would not let it go unsaid when he felt she was making a mistake. He knew from better times that she appreciated the spine to share his advice, and indeed expected no less of him. It was times like these where that mattered most.
"Targaryens have suffered from birthing fever. You yourself said Laena was very nearly lost when she gave birth to Maegor. Haven't you also made complaint of Rhaenyra forgoing your father's wishes when she seemed set on helping Daemon go to war with Lys and Myr? Now you are suggesting open defiance yourself!"
"That all- 'tis different, Kevan! I know more about disease vectors than the entire Citadel! My involvement will have an untold impact upon how well the continent weathers this disaster."
Kevan did not doubt that at all. Elaena was a font of knowledge that staggered the imagination. No Grand Maester was ever so learned. He was not certain how that came to be, only that it was undoubtedly true.
But her words belied something at the heart of what each of them were thinking... this was a disaster, chaos beyond any one person.
Kevan allowed his eyes to sting with unshed moisture as he met her gaze, slowly releasing her hand to ghost his own upon the sides of her shoulders.
"You say it true. No one knows more than you, which is why you are too valuable to risk. What if it worsens? You must ensure your health remains lest we flounder without your wisdom."
She narrowed her striking blue eyes at him.
"A clever attempt, and adequately reasoned, but insufficient. I will not be moved by words." Her own hands twitched and flew up across her chest to gently clasp at his where they lay against her arms, a slight tremor in them as her voice took on a more impassioned note, "I will not sit idly by while everything I have built for this kingdom falls to ruin from some disease! I will fly to Dragonstone first and speak with Laenor. He's to go to places yet untouched and remind them that any who disobey the King's orders for quarantine efforts will face his wrath. After I've ensured he understands his duty, I will make for Bronzegate. House Buckler is on the edge of the main holdfasts dotted around King's Landing. I've been mostly concerned about trade by sea, but if it comes to the capital over land…"
Kevan was still in awe of how Elaena managed so much influence over the Dark Storm, especially when she was at odds with the man's wife, her own sister. He was a man, of course, and had friendships and debts of loyalty like any other, but he was also so much more. Elaena was already the most powerful woman in Westeros for her work with the Dragon Bank and through the power of trade, as well as having her father's ear. But few realized, even without all of that she would still wield power unmatched through her sway over Laenor Velaryon.
"My love, please. Your children need you. Fraedrik and Alys need their mother; I don't know the first thing of how to teach them to be proper dragonriders, let alone share with them the depths of your knowledge."
Not that Alys had a dragon, but Kevan assumed more eggs would one day be forthcoming.
"All who love you would agree that you should not do this! Shall I write to the Queen and ask her opinion? Your father? Your other siblings? I know both Aegon and Helaena would be of like mind, and so would the others!"
Kevan let loose a slow exhale, adding softly, "Please, don't ask us to live without you. I can't live without you."
Her expression wavered for the briefest instant, then cooled.
"Your care and concern for me is rational," she bowed her head slightly, eyes closing for a moment and looking more tired than ought else, "but you do not know the capability of the blood that runs through my veins or the extent of the knowledge that ensures that I will be fine. I swear it to you – Winter Fever will not claim me. If you have any trust in my words, then abide by my decision and do not seek my kin's opinion on this."
A part of him wanted to put his foot down, but their marriage had never been one where he as her lord husband had any real control over her. It wasn't even that they were equal partners either, Elaena was far and away utterly without equal. Both from her connections to her family and from her personal authority as a dragonrider, along with her unrivaled mind that was only matched by her personal beauty.
As he ever did, Kevan would respect who Elaena was, above what he wanted.
He lowered his gaze, and closed the last bit of distance between them to wrap her in a quick embrace.
"As you wish, I will not inform the king or any of your kin. When will you return?"
"I do not know," she said from where she leaned into the curve of his neck, "but I will be cautious. While I am confident I will not be laid low by the disease, it may be possible that I carry it. I will need to wait a sufficient amount of time as we do with ships coming to a port. I must also… test some theories I have on treatment possibilities if the worst should occur and Targaryens can fall ill to it."
This is alarming. She had earlier suggested her Targaryen blood would prevent her from falling ill with it. I want to trust her, but I fear she is not as confident in the peril of Winter Fever as she claims.
Kevan felt himself pause, sense of perspective shifting back to reconsider the previous conversation. The subtle differences in the way she held herself, her shifts in tone, the logic she used or dismissed at will.
As his realization grew, he hugged her closer.
She is afraid, perhaps more than ever before. She wants to be ready in case her family grows ill, so she can find a means to prevent their deaths. Yet again, she places her love for family above even fear for herself. My sweet and brave Elaena, you do too much!
***
The gods could be cruel. It was a blasphemous thought, and Alicent hated herself for thinking it, but it seemed all too true. Despite all the precautions that gave voice to thousands of complaints, Winter Fever had come to King's Landing. The Red Keep had been sealed and if one were to leave, that person would be forbidden from returning.
But we must still eat.
According to Elaena's instructions, the disease may well be transmitted through objects that were within the possession of an afflicted. Time afforded safety, but no full assurance the danger had passed. Alicent knew some of the small council had voiced stringent objections to her husband enacting Elaena's suggestions, but in the end the disease still struck.
Larys, the Master of Whisperers, had said that over a dozen individuals had been found breaching the protocol at the gates, and had blamed a number of the household guard along with the serving staff. Alicent knew some swore innocence, but even so, they were now in the Black Cells.
It seemed cruel that the plague was causing so much suffering among those she held most dear, even more so than the smallfolk.
Perhaps we are being punished for Aemond's sin.
Everything was being kept quiet because her husband had fallen ill with the dreaded Winter Fever. He had ordered the Grand Maester to not send word out. Alicent knew he feared his children would come to visit him. Aegon, Helaena, and the children had been sequestered, and they had not fallen ill. Alicent could not visit them, for she had the beginnings of it as well.
So many did. Her maids, some of the guards, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Lord Isembard Arryn had also been laid low. Fortunately, her father had sequestered himself in the Tower of the Hand with the Master of Whisperers and seemed to have avoided the fate of so many others.
Confined to the small section of the Red Keep she resided in, along with her husband and the other sickly notables, she could hear the delirious groans of Ser Harrold Westerling. The elderly knight was not expected to survive his ordeal, but Alicent still prayed for the Mother's mercy.
As she turned the corner leading to the king's separate room, she saw a seemingly hale and healthy Ser Criston, and her eyes widened in shock.
"Ser Criston, what are you doing here? Have you fallen ill as well?"
"No, Your Grace, but there needs to be more than just one Kingsguard protecting the family."
A healthy one, or at least one capable of fighting, he did not say.
"I'd rather you have not chanced it and stayed protecting my son," she snapped. "I can be assured of your loyalty, but I am uncertain of the others. That was foolish, ser."
Ser Criston stood erect in his white armor. No slouch or change in posture as he stood guard before the King's chambers.
"As you say, Your Grace," Criston intoned with a bow of his head. "'Tis too late now. Before the Grand Maester lost consciousness he gave strict instructions that any of the sickly are not to leave these areas. Only if the King himself commands it will I obey the order, and risk spreading this accursed affliction to the others."
Alicent could only nod. She knew her time of trial would come soon. The red flush on her face seemed etched in some indelible ink. Within the next day she would be strapped into a bed and ice would be used in an attempt to stave off the worst of the fever. She was fearful of it, but also knew that she was hardy. Seven children she had gifted Viserys; she would survive this as well.
She entered to see the other Maesters tending to her husband.
"My love," she said, though her feelings for him were complicated, "there may still be time to have your family see you should you not recover. Do you not want parting words to Aegon, Helaena, or Elaena?"
"N-n-n-o," he said between chattering teeth. "Y-y-you, know t-t-tha-at Elaena would come. P-perhaps t-too late n-now, b-but I may yet r-r-recover. And I'll not r-r-risk anyone else. I have p-p-prepared l-l-letters for each of my c-c-children."
They must have been dictated, for he was in no condition to write. Or perhaps he had written them earlier, even as soon as he started feeling unwell, had he resolved himself...
Fear gripped her, for her own possible journey into death, but also for Viserys, and what it would mean. Her father had once said Viserys would not live to be an old man, such was his indulgence in food and drink, but it seemed her father's predictions were in vain. Like so much else, Alicent knew it was due to Elaena's insistence on proper 'diet' and physical activity. It seemed cruel that one who had made effort to improve would succumb to such a wretched disease.
Father says war can be avoided. He has his plan that he will not speak of. But can it? Will the Dark Storm allow his wife to be usurped?
Viserys was shivering uncontrollably now. The vitality had leeched from him with the coming of Winter Fever and it seemed as if he had aged years in the span of just some days. The Maesters had warned that normally useful substances like milk of the poppy could make things worse, or at least they suspected it.
What seemed true in White Harbor was not true in Tyrosh, and the Grand Maester had no certainty to what he said, only conjecture. Alicent knew that Elaena had sent an exhaustive treatise, but much of it was couched in terms of 'if the disease does this' and 'but if the symptoms show that' and the Maesters had doubted it was of much use. Alicent thought them fools, her daughter in all but flesh was someone she trusted more than all the Maesters in the Citadel.
It was selfish, but she wished Elaena were here. Her presence was always a soothing balm to both herself and her husband. As Viserys groaned and shivered and the cool ice melted, Alicent sent yet another prayer to the Mother for her mercy.
***
Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men lay dying. The fever wracked his body with shivering cold. He would give almost anything to feel warm again. The Stranger loomed. He knew it did, for he had felt death once before. When the mighty Balerion breathed his last, Viserys had felt the touch of the grave. That same presence was here now.
He was not a man who had often thought to himself about what happened after death. Viserys thought often about how he would be remembered, the legacy he would leave, and the future of his family. But on a personal level, his mind had shied away from it.
The septons claimed that those who had lived good lives would enjoy an afterlife of sweet surcease, and sung often of voyaging to a far sweet land of light, honey, and feasting. Where all would be judged justly by the Father until the end of days. The idea of seeing those who had gone before him again in a place of eternal joy and peace was a delightful notion.
Like Aemma.
Viserys, however, had not been one to listen overmuch to the septons. He often found their pontification tedious and did not feel they held any special wisdom.
Death was not something he enjoyed speaking of and could only recall a handful of times he had done so with others. The High Septon had words of comfort when his wife had died, but they had done little for him at the time.
He had no desire to die. Not when there was so much left undone. His diorama had continued to expand beautifully and he had several other additions he wanted to pursue. His grandchildren were marrying now, and having great-grandchildren would be wonderful. Viserys had the love of his brother, his second wife, his children, grandchildren, and wonderful friends like Otto. There were few men, and fewer Kings, who could boast of having so many close connections.
Each of his nine children was precious to him. Elaena may have been his second-born, but his heart knew in simple truth that she was his favorite. Unlike Rhaenyra, she had never caused his heart so much trouble. A more dutiful daughter, no father could ask for. But she was so much more. Lyman had freely credited her with the extent of the progress the Seven Kingdoms had made, of their expanding influence around the world, her involvement ever able to quiet the usual discord and hectoring of his small council.
The cities of Essos were starting to fall behind the wonders of her Silvervale. Crops were more plentiful, tools were hardier and easier to make, glass gardens and ingenious new ways to protect the substance of the land from the chill of the earth were now being put to the test and were not found wanting. All the roads, the ships, the ports, the bridges, the suppression of bandits and pirates... the realm had grown and her contributions lay at the heart of it.
He hated that his last letter to her had been so terse, but she had obeyed him in not going to White Harbor, only then had chosen to go to Bronzegate when the disease had spread there. Lord Buckler had sent word to Viserys and the Gods had seen fit to spare him, no doubt for his display of loyalty to the King. He had worked with Otto to draft it and ensure that Elaena was commanded to return to Silvervale, and told directly to stay there until the dreaded disease was no longer an issue. His daughter was canny and sharp-witted in all her dealings; she could find ways to do as she willed when she truly wished it, while still following the very letter of his commands, so he needed to be certain she stayed put and most of all safe.
If she knew he too had fallen ill with the dreaded sickness, she would come to him. By the gods he knew in his bones that she would have tried to come, her love for her father and her caring nature compelling her to act. But Viserys would rather die than risk her.
Viserys loved Elaena best, but he loved the others too. Rhaenyra, difficult Rhaenyra. She taxed his patience, but her headlong embrace of life was a sight to see. The love she bore him and her children was easy to see. She managed to tame the raging Dark Storm and kept a lid on his inhuman wrath with an aplomb that made it seem as if she did nothing at all. He worried sometimes of her rule after he passed, but if she could manage someone like Laenor Valeryon, then the Seven Kingdoms would be easy enough.
Aegon was a fine young man. He and Helaena reminded him of himself and Aemma. The gentleness between them always soothed his heart, and their children were a delight. Aegon rode the most beautiful dragon in all the realm, and his cordial and well-thought, if infrequent, counsel when he attended the Small Council sessions filled Viserys with pride.
Aemond was as wild as Daemon. The boy was rash, but what a warrior! He was covering himself in glory as a dragonrider beset with a fury towards the despicable barbarians of the east. Some thought it beneath a prince, but Viserys thought he just needed to settle his wild oats. Fight some wars, bed some women, further a worthy cause, and return steadier, less quick to unsettle those around him.
Daenora was now safely wed and had been a beautiful bride. Joy and laughter were ever her way. Uthor had been such a serious child and was now a guest in Dorne, betrothed and a key tie to continual peace. He had been quite earnest in promising that peace would last so long as he drew breath. He reminded Viserys much of Aegon's seriousness.
Little Baelon was not so little any longer. It was with some regret that Viserys had not spent much time with the lad. He was doing well in the yard according to Ser Criston, and would one day make a fine knight.
Breathing was becoming difficult now. His thoughts lingered on his grandchildren but briefly before he let out a moan and a wheeze. It was not going to be long now. He hoped Alicent would survive. She had not left his side until recently when her own condition rapidly deteriorated. She could never be his Aemma, but she had been a fine Queen for the realm.
Yes, Viserys wished to live. But it was his time, and as he thought back on his life, he was content. He had kept the peace in spite of the best efforts of others. One did not get to choose one's moniker after they had passed, but if he was not known for being Viserys the Peaceful, he would be known as Viserys the Prosperous, and that was more than acceptable. In his life he had raised nine children, who had in turn given rise to nine grandchildren themselves. And more almost certainly on the way.
The pain was receding as his breath grew wispier. His final thoughts were ones of peace. During his reign he had secured the Seven Kingdoms for generations to come. The power and wealth of the House of the Dragon had reached new heights, and the succession was secure. He had been a gift to the Realms of Men. That was enough, and the last thought of Viserys Targaryen, who died with a serene expression on his visage.
***
The King was dead, but Ser Criston had his orders. That was why he had even been sent into the den of sickness. The Seven must have favored him, for he had not fallen ill despite the dishonor of his actions. What greater proof could be had than his vitality against such a potent scourge? The Seven could not abide the thought of the great whore upon the Iron Throne, and so moved their hand to safeguard those who would act.
It was necessary for none to know the King had passed for as long as possible. The Hand's grand plan needed time for the concurrent strikes to take place in the Vale, Tyrosh, Dragonstone, Driftmark, and even other locations that Larys had hinted at. Aegon would make a great King, precisely because he would never be party to such vile actions. Once they were completed, there could be no choice, but forward.
I pray that the Queen survives her battle with the Stranger. The Queen Mother will be able to temper Aegon's fury at the murder of dragonriders and dragons.
Criston's sole command was to ensure that word of the King's passing would not leave Maegor's Holdfast. Afterwards, he would need to secure the Red Keep itself against any of the lords who might prove treacherous against Aegon.
While he did not know the details, he knew that the most important ones would be Dragonstone and Tyrosh. Criston also knew that there were no certainties. If Otto's assassins and Aemond failed utterly, there would be no Green victory. All hinged on knives in the dark and the Bronze Fury.
May the Warrior guide their hands and end the specter of a bastard upon the Iron Throne!
Author's Note: Let the dance begin!
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