The Burnt Prince-GOT SI

[Drkest]

Chapter 32

ASHARA DAYNE

Ashara had considered her life forfeit all those years ago. And now, as she lived, having the opportunity to spend every day with the man he loved, she considered them all a blessing. It was a fought blessing that had come at a great cost, most of it born by her lord husband sitting infront of her.

And he continued to bear it still. For her. For his family. For this world, and yet few understood him, understood the sacrifice he had made for the world. And so, she would, she would understand him, stand by his side even when no one else would.

"So, it is beginning?" she asked, and of all the people in the world, she was the only one who knew of both their perceived and their true enemies. Many believed the Blackfyres as their ultimate enemy, and yet she knew that to be false. That the Blackfyres were but a nuisance in the grand scheme of things. Their true enemy lay North—hidden behind the Great Wall, gathering strength as the seasons passed, wishing to plunge this world into darkness.

"Yes, the Blackfyres are finally making their move," he replied as they both lay in the Godswood. She rested her head on his lap, savoring his presence and warmth before he went on to his campaign.

"Is it wise risking yourself like that?" she asked, knowing that his plan of taking down the Blackfyres was dangerous and involved much risk on his part.

"Meereen provided me with a refuge when I had no place to go. The city is our greatest ally on the other side of the Narrow Sea. After the liberation of Astapor, many in the region are eyeing this conflict and are supporting the Blackfyres only to curb this wave of freedom that threatens the status quo," Pentosh and Volantis were among the most prominent ones. They could only officially support the Blackfyres, of course, not with Kingslanding being a great trading partner for these cities.

There was a time when the only thing that made the continent a power was its military might, but in one decade, Daemon had changed that, believing that if Kingslanding was to become a power broker in the world, it must expand its influence through the art of commerce.

And so the last decade had seen the Crown expand its enterprise massively, investing heavily into ventures that had revolutionized one thing after another, from farming to construction to craftsmanship.

Artisans had been smuggled from across the Narrow Sea, and now Kinglanding's expanded Streets housed the finest glass makers and other craftsmen, each of them working for the Crown, helping them expand their influence.

"So, you think they will target Meereen first," she asked again as she held his hand. The glove covering it made her heart fill up with guilt.

"Yes, and if Meereen falls, our enemies will have access to an unimaginable amount of Gold, and though Gold doesn't necessarily win the war. It is much easier to win a war if you have if you have it rather than not," he finished, his eyes landing onto her own as she felt them soften as he caressed her protruding belly.

"I wish there was another way, but the truth is if Meereen falls, this war will become a lot harder for us," he replied, and she knew it as well.

"I know," she replied as she touched his face. The cool feel of the metal made her bite her lip as she felt guilt rip through her knowing full well that she was the one responsible for putting him through this.

"If I ask you to stay, will you stay?" she asked, and his eyes softened as he looked her in the eye.

"You very well know the answer to that," and he would. And yet she would not.

"Pycelle, the Grandmaester, you were the one who killed him," she asked, and he nodded.

"He was working for the Lannisters. The only reason I kept him around was to keep an eye on their movements and to monitor their movements. But now that they have made their choice, the man has served his purpose," he finished, and she knew that.

"So, Lord Tywin has made his choice," the relationship between the Crown and House Lannister had been rocky ever since her marriage as the Lord of the West was denied a Queen once more, as Daemon hung the sword of his children's dishonorable acts over his head.

Both of them knew that the man would not take the threat lying down, but regardless, she had not expected the man to join hands with the Blackfyres.

"And what of your brother? Is he really ready to lead the campaign in the Riverlands?" With Daemon away from the continent to bring down the force planning to attack Meereen, he had tasked his brother Viserys with the duty of pushing down the conflict in Riverlands.

And over the years, much of the influence of the late King had been curbed from the young Prince, and though Viserys Targaryen was no Daemon, the young Prince wished to prove his own worth and wanted to make a name for himself.

She knew that he had requested Daemon to grant him lands of his own, lands across the Narrow Sea.

"Viserys is nearly the same age as me when I began my own campaign in Meereen. He has long wished to come out of the shadow of our father and myself, to make a name for himself. I think it is better that we channel his energy and ambition like this rather than let it fester and turn this ambition into resentment," he added.

"Plus, here in Westeros, he will have the wisdom of many others to rely on one. Despite our differences, he is my brother, and neither me nor mother would wish to see him harmed," and that was just who Daemon was. Thinking of everyone.

And so she would think for him.

"So, we leave for Dragonstone?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Ships have been prepared. We will leave tomorrow," he said, and that was the official story that the King and the Queen were going to their ancestral home at Dragonstone for the birth of their first child. Though that was but the half-truth, for yes, that was the purpose of her visit, but Daemon had a whole other reason for going to that island.

"Will I finally get to see it," she asked rather giddily about the Crown's most well-guarded secret, one which was known only to but three people in total. And she felt him stiffen for a second as he sighed.

"You promised me, Daemon," she reminded him, and he nodded, finally giving in to her request.

"Alright, alright, I will let you see him, the beast that has been slumbering away in those caves for all these years."

0000

EDDARD STARK

Much had changed for Eddard Stark in the last decade. Much had changed in the realm as a whole, with their new King cementing his power and bringing sweeping changes across the realm, though one should never have doubted his intentions given he had modified the borders that had stood the same for nearly three hundred years.

And North was not much different from the realm. The losses suffered by their lands during the Rebellion threatened to decimate the North, and yet it was the very Crown they had risen up against that supported the North through those tough times. Of all the rebelling kingdoms, the North had been given the most merciful terms, and though the reparations from the other kingdoms had been cut down as well as the years passed, with most of the hostages from the Vale and the North now back in their lands or married into Houses in Kingslanding.

"I was not expecting you to grace my Halls, Lord Stark. Had I known, I would have prepared a feast worthy of you, my lord," Wyman Manderly spoke, his booming voice booming across his solar. The hulking man was a symbol of opulence as he sat in a chair specially made for him.

There were rumors that the man could no longer saddle a horse, and looking at him, he did not doubt them. House Manderly was amongst the newer houses in the North and the only one who worshipped the Seven. They governed over the North's only city, White Harbor, and were very wealthy because of it.

After the rebellion, when his marriage with the Tullys was resolved, he married the sister of Lord Manderly on the advice of his sister and the King. The marriage helped him stabilize the North, especially as much of the North's trade happened through this port.

"There is no need. I did not write to you about my visit because I wished to keep it discreet," Eddard replied, and the man's eyes glinted as he rubbed his hands.

Wyman Manderly was not a warrior. He was a merchant and one of the more astute minds in the kingdom. And they were fiercely loyal to House Stark.

"If I was a guessing man, I would say that this is because of my recent appointment as the Master of Coin," the man guessed, and he would have expected nothing less of the man.

"Yes, it is," he said as he took out a missive from his pocket and handed it to the man.

"I was to visit the capital myself, but some things have come up that make it troublesome for me to leave the North at the current time. But I have sensitive information that needs to be passed onto your grace. Information that shall only ever be seen by his eyes, and I can think of no better man to carry it than you," he said, lavishing a bit of praise, and the man's lips turned up at that.

"Of course, I will be honored to take your message, my lord," he said as he pocketed the missive.

"Though I must say I am surprised that you came here just for a missive," he asked, and of course, the man would be curious.

"If I may be so bold, may I ask you one thing, my lord," the man began, and Eddard nodded.

"You may," he answered, and he saw the man lean back as he looked him in the eye.

"To this day, many question why the Crown was so lenient on the North after the Rebellion. And not just lenient. The Crown has helped us progress in a way no other King has ever done before. I have watched you import grain for years even as we live in the longest Summer of our times," and he knew that he would be asked that question once.

And of all the lords in the North, only Wyman could question him, given he was his good-brother. And with the things developing as they were beyond the Wall, the secret of the true enemy rising from the Great North will not be a secret for much longer.

"For years, ships from the Capital have come to my shores, laden with stone carved from the caves of Dragonstone. Stone that I have then sent to your lands without question," he added.

"What do you think of this, Manderly?" he flipped the question and saw the man raise a brow as he rubbed his chin, contemplating.

"The answer to that is rather simple, my lord. You are preparing the North for war," Wyman answered. And it was rather easy to infer that once one looked at the trade volume.

And he raised a brow at that as the man's face turned grave and his voice somber.

"And yet we have no enemies to our South. We have no quarrel with the Crown, for the King seems to favor us quite a bit. The other kingdoms have no reason to engage us in a conflict," he added, and he nodded.

"And yet we prepare for war," he admitted, and the man did not speak as silence hung in the air.

"That means the enemy we prepare for is in the North, beyond the wall," the man reasoned out, and he nodded.

"Yet this is all a bit too excessive for the free folk. They may have the numbers, but they are not a unified fighting force. Twenty thousand strong men, fully armed, would be enough to deal with them," Eddard sighed.

"For the true enemy we face are not the Freefolk," Eddard began and saw the man frown, and yet as the seconds passed, he saw the man's eyes widen.

"You wouldn't be referring to that," the Mnaderlys had lived in the North for hundreds of years and were now aware of legends and tales of their lands.

"But those are just tales, legends used to scare children," he added, and Eddard believed the same until he read the reports from Night's watch and realized the truth in their King's word.

"I am afraid you are wrong, Lord Manderly. These legends are not just stories. They are real. And they are rising up once more, and if they succeed they wil bask the whole world in absolute darkness."

0000

Back in Yunkai, the exiled Masters gathered in a massive solar as they expressed their frustration to the hulking figure of the man who had promised them back their cities, and yet even after giving the man their gold and riches they had nothing.

"You promised us our cities if we gave you an army. We gave you gold enough to hire every mercenary company this side of the Narrow Sea, and yet we have nothing to show for it," one of the masters roared as Illyrio Mopatis replied.

"Patience, masters. Patience!"

"Soon enough, both Astapor and Meereen will burn, and you shall have your cities back. Soon. Very soon."

0000

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[Drkest]

Chapter 33

EDUMRE TULLY

The Tullys were the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands for three hundred years. The Conqueror bestowed this honor upon them, giving them control over the most central region of the Seven Kingdoms.

They had ruled over the disputing and disagreeable lords for more than three hundred years, keeping the King's peace until they were forced to rise up in rebellion as Prince Rhaegar stole away the wife and pride of Robert Baratheon, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

House Stark, House Arryn, and House Tully joined the Stormlands in their desire for revenge and retribution, and just as they were on the cusp of victory, one in which House Tully had played a central part by tying up the alliance through multiple marriages, he had appeared.

Though dead for years, his appearance came as a shock to many. Prince Daemon Targaryen, the King's second son, had been burnt by his own father for the crime of orchestrating the Defiance of Duskendale, had yet somehow survived his public burning and had come back and in a few months, had changed the face of the war, winning battle after battle until he baited the oaf of a man, Robert Baratheon into single combat and defeated him bringing their campaign to an end.

And with Robert Baratheon dead, the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces and endure their new King's wrath, most of which had been focused on two Kingdoms. The Stormlands and the Riverlands, with the King taking key lands away from both, rendering them weak and ungovernable.

"This is idiocy," his uncle, Brynden, advised him as he walked towards his solar, as the Riverlands were set to finally retaliate against the damned King. The Heathen King.

"Your advice is duly noted, uncle," he snarled in rage. The man had been undermining him for a decade now, making a mockery of him even though it was he who was the Lord Paramount. Yet, he did not miss how the people would often turn to his uncle even in his presence, believing him to be the true holder of power in these lands.

"You may have resigned yourself to cower in fear of our new monarch, but I refuse to give up on the glory of our House. The King had the maps remade, taking away key lands from us, and for what? For standing against him! Against a tyrant!" and now a sword remained pinned to their throats with the Royal Army stationed right there at Harrenhall, ready to strike at them.

But soon enough, they will have troubles of their own to deal with, and if his gamble worked House Tully would not just have a chance to reclaim all their lands but much more.

"King Daemon is not a man who should be trifled with. Acting against him will bring consequences," the man advised, and he scoffed. He was not like them. He was the lord of Riverlands. He was his father's heir, unlike this old scared old man.

"The King does not scare me," he replied as he rounded off and faced his uncle, who looked him in the eye as he added.

"And that makes you more stupid than you think," he replied as Edmure's fists balled up at the insult.

"For he makes men much smarter and stronger than you tremble with fear. I have faced him in a war myself and have seen him rule over the realm for more than a decade now. He is not a man to be crossed," Edmure scoffed at that. Everyone made a big deal of their King's governance, yet in the decade since his ascension, he had yet to cement his rule over the Riverlands, which were filled with skirmishes and violence.

To him it felt that the King was even more incompetent than his own father who was able to maintain a semblance of peace throughout the Riverlands.

"If our King scares you so much, then go. I do not need your help anymore," he said curtly and saw the old man's brows arch.

"I am the Lord of this castle, and you will follow my decisions. I am not like you or my father. The people who support me in this are not idiots like Robert Baratheon or opportunists like the Starks. They are here to bring an end to the era of the Red Dragon, and through them, I shall win back the glory of our house," he declared.

"Either with you or without you." He finished and saw his uncle's lips thin as he moved forward and raised his hands, and Edmure flinched, thinking that the old man would strike him, and yet he felt those arms wrap around him as his uncle whispered in his ear.

"How much I wish my brother's loins had blessed him with another daughter rather than an idiot like you."

0000

TYWIN LANNISTER

Tywin Lannister sat in his solar, and beside him sat his son and heir Jamie while they stood face to face with the people that would make his revenge against House Targaryen and the King possible.

"I was told that I would get to meet the man behind this whole affair," he asked tersely as he looked the magister in the eye. He knew the man's name, the one who had gathered the alliance set to challenge Daemon and House Targaryen, and it was not the Magister of Lys.

No, it was Illyrio Mopatis, a magister from Pentosh who had married a daughter of Daemon Blackfyre named Saera Blackfyre, continuing the line of the Black Dragon they had all thought ended.

The magister of Lys smiled as he tried to placate him.

"Magister Illyrio sends his apologies, but he is busy with other matters. Other very important matters that concern our common enemy," the man began and Tywin did not like the insult.

"And what matters would that be? It must be quite something that it was considered more important than making an ally of House Lannister itself," he scoffed, and the man shuffled nervously.

"The magister sends his apologies, and was very troubled by how things came out to be. But you must understand, Lord Tywin, that dealing with Daemon Targaryen requires a certain level of caution given how he delves into arts and magics long thought gone," and that was a common insult against the King.

Daemon's appearance and the fact that he had survived a public burning led credence to all the rumors that the King practiced magics. It was something that drove quite a rift between the Crown and the High Septon, especially since the Crown now funded all its charitable endeavours separately from the Seven, directing much of their donations and gold to institutions run directly by the Queen.

And yet such an allegation could never really work against the Targayrens, for they were hailed as unique, as God's chosen on the land for their various powers. And though the masses worshipped the Gods, it was not the Seven that fed them, provided them with a roof, or medicine when they became ill. It was the Crown that did so, and he was acutely aware that the High Septon had failed in their attempts to rile up the public against the King.

"But, he will..."

"Meereen," suddenly Euron Greyjoy cut in, and the brother of the Lord of the Pykes, jumped in their conversation, his sole uncovered eye looking into his own as he smiled, showing his yellowed crooked teeth, as he smirked.

"As long as Meereen stands, our dear King shall always have a land to fall back on. A place to retreat to. Already his influence has grown considerably there, with Astapor having broken its shackles as well. If that city is allowed to stand, we shall always have a knife pointed at our backs," and that was true.

"This is not the first time an attack is being mounted on the city," he pointed out.

"Already, you have tried many times to break the city, but it has held for so long and has only gotten stronger. What difference will this attack make," he scoffed, and it disgusted him that he had to ally himself with these slaving curs, but he had no choice. It mattered little what their histories were but how they could support him in his revenge.

"Because this time, we are not going to attack the city with an army," the man smiled cruelly as he looked him in the eye.

"This time, the world will learn what it means to be a dragonlord," the man continued, and he understood the implications.

"How can I trust you when your own leader fails to honor his word?" Tywin cuts in, and Euron Greyjoy shrugs as he rises from his seat.

"Then so be it. Meereen will be attacked by Sundown tomorrow. The city will be burnt to a crisp, and the world will know of the true descendant of the House of the Dragonlords. You will need to make your decision before that," the man challenged, and Tywin's fists balled up at that.

They were looking down on him.

"I will be waiting for your reply in the city," the man said as he walked towards the door.

"And what makes you think I will not disclose your plans to the King?" Tywin asked.

"Haha," and the man chuckled.

"You wouldn't do that now, would you, Lord Tywin? Afterall what can the King offer you," and with that he was about to walk out the door and yet the doors did not open, as the guards guarding the door lowered their spears blocking the door.

Euron Greyjoy glared at him.

"What is the meaning of this?" The same question passed through his head when, suddenly, an ominous feeling bubbled up. He saw his son and heir, Jamie, rise from his seat.

"I am afraid I cannot let you leave, Lord Euron," Jamie began. He saw that his son had hidden his sword under the table and had taken it out, brandishing it openly.

"Jam..." he realized. He was about to chastise his son when suddenly Euron Greyjoy jumped back, reaching for the wine at the table, and he threw the goblet into the fire behind him.

BOOOOOM!

"CATCH HIM!"

0000

DAEMON TARGARYEN

Daemon moved through a set of caves on Dragonstone, despite his reluctance he had brought Ashara to keep his promise to her. However, he had not expected to be joined by a rather young third party.

"Why are you here, Daenerys?" he asked his little sister, who had decided to tag along. And this Daeneyrs was much different than the Daenerys of his dreams. She was bubbly and cheerful and filled with life and generosity, a long mile from the child who would have grown up alone and on the run in exile.

"Because I want to see it as well. The secret that you have been hiding here," she said, chuckling as she tried to rush forward, only for him to stop her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"This is not a joke, Daenerys. You are old enough to know what truly lingers in these caves," he warned her and saw her face turn serious, or as serious as it could become in a twelve-year-old, as she nodded.

"I know. Mother told me," she whispered, and he nodded.

"I want you to stay with Ashara and do not leave her side," he ordered and as she tried to argue.

"Otherwise, I am having you escorted back to the castle," she nodded enthusiastically at that.

He slowed down as they reached the deepest part of the cave, where little to no light reached. Their only source of illumination was the red gleam coming from his blade and the wooden torch he held in his hand.

And then their steps halted, as a low growl sounded off in the distance, as he slowed down.

"He is here," he said. As they stepped forward into the absolute darkness of the cave, he heard a deep rumble as the walls shook, and something giant and majestic approached them.

He raised his hand, stopping Ashara and Daenerys as a shadowy figure approached them; the fire on his torch flickered, weakening before it began to simmer out.

"All those years ago, when I told you about the dragons being alive. I always mentioned that only one tamed dragon survived the dance," he began as he felt that familiar presence approach him. He pushed forward his hand, and it touched nothing at first, only air before a rugged surface touched his hand, its warmth spreading through his body as darkness descended onto the cave.

"For Silverwing was not the only dragon that survived. Another beast survived the Dance, a dragon that had never bonded with any Targaryen for more than two hundred years. A dragon who feasted on other dragons," he continued as he felt their connection simmer, the madness, the hunger, and the rage of the beast he was touching bursting forth in his mind. Yet, he battled against it, suppressing it, not letting it get any control over him as he gave a portion of his own sanity to the beast.

"It really is a dragon," he heard Ashara gasp as two green irises opened up, glowing in the darkness like jewels he heard both of them gasp behind him.

"The other dragon that survived the Dance..." Daenerys continued.

".... Cannibal."

0000

Across the Narrow Sea, Illyrio Mopatis walked through his manse as his armies assembled and laid siege to Meereen. The Slave Masters funding his campaign had been growing restless for quite some time and had forced his hand on attacking Meereen.

Yet no matter. He would soon bring the city to its knees. After all, no city could stand against the might of a dragon, and as he walked through the manse, he burst through the doors and entered the room of the person on whose back this entire campaign was built, his little child.

Saera's heritage.

And she was just like her as well, her hair long and flowing as she stood on the balcony, something which made him stiffen as he continued.

"You know you cannot let them grow out like this, don't you?" he asked sharply as the doors closed behind them. He saw her turn towards him sharply as she gulped down worriedly.

"What will I do if anyone sees you like this?" he raged, seeing her look down guiltily as he looked towards the servant beside her.

"Cut her hair and get her ready for battle. Meereen burns tonight.!

0000

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[Drkest]

Chapter 34

JAMIE LANNISTER

Jamie Lannister had not seen a more astute political mind than his own father—that was until Daemon Lannister put him under his thumb, keeping both his and his sister's honor hostage. The man was the second coming of the devil itself, and yet he was not a man to be crossed.

And despite all that, the man kept his oaths, and as he had promised despite it being a decade since that fateful night that had ended with him losing his right hand, his and Cersei's sister remained unknown to all but a few, keeping his and his sisters honor intact. His life had truly transformed that day, and often he wondered what would have become of him had he not followed Cersei that night, that would he be really be in his current situation if he had kept his own oaths that night.

Alas! He would never know.

Jamie had been forced to hang up the white Cloak, becoming the first knight in history to be removed from the Order, and would return to Casterly Rock, both without his sword hand and his honor. Tywin Lannister would become furious upon learning of his and Cersei's actions, and it was the first time he had seen the monster his own brother saw in their father.

The man would disown his daughter then and there, claiming her to be useless and writing her off as he had Tyrion, and Jamie was forced to wed a year later to Alyssane Leoford, the daughter of Lord Leoford, a rather meek girl who was his father's choice for her.

Their marriage was one of convenience, and though he had two children from her, a part of him still missed the secret trysts with Cersei even after all these years, who was married herself to a sword swallower in the form of Lord Jon Cunnington of Griffin Roost. He had waited for years, years until he could finally hold her again, and he knew that if he were ever to be able to do that, then Tywin Lannister needed to die, though the man needed no help in that regard.

Despite Jamie's constant council, the man refused to budge and continued to go against the King, thinking him a boy. Only Jamie Lannister knew that Daemon Targaryen was no boy, but the devil came again. And now, with his father trying to join hands with traitors, the message had arrived from the capital a few days prior to arrest everyone involved in the conspiracy, and as a reward for his service, Cersei would be returned to him.

"AGHH!" he grunted in pain as Euron Greyjoy pushed a chair into him, making him stumble back before the man suddenly picked up the wine bottle from the table and threw it into the fire, as a massive explosion basked the whole room in smoke.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!" his father raged as he pushed himself back up and chased after Euron Greyjoy who jumped out the window.

"Catch him," he screamed as he saw the man vanish and fall to the stairs surrounding the tower as the guards chased after him before he turned and found his father staring at coughing and looking at him in unbridled rage, as the guards detained the Magister from Lys.

"What do you think you are doing, Jamie?" he raged and he stood straight as he answered.

"I warned you," he began as he looked towards the guards.

"Do not go against King Daemon, and yet you refused to listen," he began.

"This is preposterous! We came to you in good faith, lord Tywin!" the magister screamed, and yet his father ignored the man, looking him in the eye as the realization dawned on him.

"All these years, it was you," he gasped out as his face turned cold and still.

"It was you spying on me, on your own father. Joining hands with that cur!" he raged, and Jamie shrugged.

"I did as you taught me to," he replied.

"Between you and King Daemon, I chose to side with the one who will win," and with that, he turned to the Royal Army men who were dressed as guards.

"The lord of the castle has taken ill. Take him to his room and make sure that he does not leave it. Until then, I rule over Casterly Rock," he answered, and the men saluted as they approached his father, who was grinding his teeth, looking at him as the fire burned in those green eyes of his.

"You are making a big mistake," Tywin warned as the guards surrounded him.

"Not as big as the one you were about to make," he rebutted, and the man scoffed.

"To think I would have my own son try and usurp me while I still draw breath," and Jamie stopped as he was about to walk out.

"You did the same thing to your own father," and his father shook his head.

"I did so to protect this House," and Jamie looked him in the eye.

"I am doing this for the same reason," and with that, he rushed out to help the guards chase after Euron Greyjoy.

.

.

.

Hours later, they would be able to track down the man and corner him on the tower by the river as Jamie approached him.

"Give up, Euron. There is no place left for you to run," he challenged, and the man smirked.

"Ohh, is that so," the man began as he backed off and smiled, running his tongue over his blue lips.

"Think again, lion boy," said the man, turning back and jumping down. He fell into the river as he rushed and watched his body vanish into the waves.

"No man can survive that fall," a guard added, yet he was not so sure about that.

0000

EDMURE TULLY

Edmure watched the Prince sitting infront of him, and he must hand it to the Targaryens. They were beautiful. The man's unblemished porcelain skin put him a cut above the rest, and with his silvery blonde hair and purple eyes, one could see why the Targaryen features were so sought after.

And yet, he was not here to admire the man's beauty. His main concern was with how he could use the young Prince to further his own gains.

Viserys Targaryen was the younger brother of Daemon Targaryen, the Demon King himself. The boy had always lived in his brother's shadow, whom he believed had usurped his position, given that the King had named him his heir when the Queen had been evacuated to Dragonstone during the rebellion.

And to this day, the young Prince had resentment for his brother because of his actions, as preposterous as that may sound, this whole thing was to their advantage.

And so, under the advice of one of his closest aides, he had spent quite some time building a rapport with the Prince, riling him up against his own brother and the King as he tried to tempt him to join their cause.

"The King's actions are frowned upon in all regions of the land. The people cry out for a savior," his closest aide and friend added as he addressed the Prince. Baelish had come from humble beginnings in a small lordship in Vale and had climbed up the ladder, slowly becoming a rather wealthy merchant.

He had connected him with the foreign powers amenable to his plight and helped broker dialogue between him and the Blackfyres.

"By the laws of Gods and men, you should be the King as nominated by your father, for he saw in you the very Greatness we see. You are a pious man, a just man unlike your brother who decried his very gods, making a mockery of the Crown and the Faith," the man added, and he nodded.

"Indeed, he is right. The King supports his alchemists and healers, decrying the work of sections as they associate disease with imaginary organisms and ply away people's minds with their potions and powders," and that was a big problem for the faith.

The new healers of the King had reduced the gold flowing into the Sept's coffers as they continued to preach their radical ideas about disease being associated with dirt and rot, decrying the word of the High Septon that disease was the work of God and only the holy Light of the Seven could heal all ailments.

For years, the Septons have been healing the smallfolk, an act that increased the faith's influence, which had been dwindling both in the capital and outside because of the King's actions.

"He opens his coffers to beggars and thieves while holding back his gold from the Seven," Baelish added as the Prince listened in silence.

"And what am I to do about that?" he asked.

"My prince, the people hunker for a new King, one that would set things right. That would bring back the era of your own great father," he added and saw the Prince's eyes glinted.

"You are the chosen heir, the one who was born to sit on the Iron throne. You must save your House and the continent, and House Tully shall stand behind you," he offered as the Prince raised a brow.

"Is that so, and what will House Tully offer me? Words?" the Prince scoffed.

"No, my Prince. Swords," Baelish added.

"Nearly fifty thousand of them," he added, and the Prince leaned forward.

"Fifty thousand?" and Baelish nodded.

"The King can call forth a number twice, if nor thrive that. What good will fifty thousand swords do me," the Prince scoffed and made to stand, and he panicked, rising up from his seat.

"My Prince. Please, wai..."

"And what about something your brother does not have," Baelish cut in, and the Prince halted in his steps as he glanced back.

"And what would that be?"

"A Dragon."

0000

OBERYN MARTELL

Oberyn stood beside the men of Meereen on one of the forts with a scorpion as the night enveloped the city, and yet Meereen did not sleep, for outside its walls stood an army, thousands strong, ready to lay waste to all the lives inside the city at the behest of its previous Slave Masters.

Meereen was now a free city, and its people were not ready to give that up, and so even as the night bathed the skies dark, the city's forges kept lit, its men kept awake, as they remained ready to defend their freedom to, the last man standing.

And yet, in that moment, he saw it: a great shadow taking to the skies, like arrows taking to the skies from one fort to another, as a surge of fear erupted from his heart as a giant shadow passed over his head.

"It's here," he gasped out as the men screamed.

"Get the Scorpions ready," and as the massive black arrows were fitted into the machines, he heard it again, the same deafening voice from a decade ago.

ROARR!

And in that second, he watched as a torrent of fire enveloped one of the forts and went up in flames as he heard the city's massive gings ring up, indicating an enemy onslaught.

The shadowing beast vanished once more, taking the cover of the skies as a dozen or so scorpion bolts passed through the air, and yet in a second, it appeared once more blow \ing up two more forts, and yet none of their bolts hit it.

"It's really that. A Dragon," a man gasped.

"But I thought they were all dead," another asked.

"You thought wrong," he answered as he opushed the man opearitng the scoropion andtook aim himself.

"Let me aim."

.

.

.

.

There was a reason that Valyria had conquered nearly all of the world, and that reason was dragons, and as Meereen lay torched, the reason was more than evident. To this day, only Dorne and Daemon had slain a dragon, and alas, Meereen was neither, and though its forts held strong, the massive beast toppled them all as he stood there menacingly even as two scorpion bolts stuck out of its body as it speeded torrents of fire all around.

"It's over," the dragon rider screamed as he stood there with the men that ruled over the city.

"Kneel and I shall have mercy," came the offer, and yet they did not deter as they stared death in the face.

"Never! Meereen will not bend the knee to anyone ever again," they chorused together as the dragon rider continued.

"So be it," and then, as the dragon opened its mouth to light them all up, he heard it again. Another roar, one much more defining than this one, as the air shifted, and he watched as a shady figure descended from the skies.

BOOOM!

The ground clattered as it put itself between them and the beast, casting a great shadow over them all. Everyone gasped as they saw the behemoth that had landed, its size nearly double, if not even greater, than that of the beast they had just faced.

Its scales were black as if charred, and its eyes, green, flew ominously as the smaller beast backed off while it roared.

"ROARRRR!" and the whole ground shook.

"It's him," he heard one of the men gasp. His eye followed his finger, and he saw the person sitting on the beast's saddle.

"It's the King. King Daemon!"

"Cannibal..." he heard that familiar tone as the dragon snarled, as the King commanded.

"...Dracarys!"

0000

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[Drkest]

Chapter 35

SAERA BLACKFYRE

Saera Blackfyre was a special child. One born with a destiny and burden that had come to her from a lineage that went back hundreds of years. She was an avenger, the last remnant of a lineage robbed of its birthright, the last flagbearer of the legacy of House Blackfyre—the true heirs to the Iron Throne.

And yet she had desired none of it. None of the legacy, none of the burdens. No, the truth was Saera Blackfyre's life was a lie, one propagated by her own father so that he could exact revenge on the people who had murdered her mother and her family. And yet she desired none of it, for she knew little of them both.

For as long as she could recall, she had been kept in a cage, a gilded cage as her father paraded her around as the savior of the realm, showing her to be the last bearer of Valyria's legacy. No, the truth was that he never cared for Saera. No, what he showed and what he cared for was Aegon, the perfect Prince, one fluent in High Valyrian, trained in the way of the sword and the spear.

He did not care for Saera, his daughter. No, what he truly cared for was Aegon, the perfect Prince with his perfect little dragon to showcase his legitimacy. She was trained to be the perfect Prince. She dressed in trousers, and leather. She rode horses, fought with a blade, struck lances in jousts, all while every day losing a part of Saera Blackfyre, the little girl who had once dreamt of taking to the skies on her dragon and seeing all the wonders of the world, the little girl who liked only reading, and watching stars in the skies.

And yet, none had any need for Saera, not even her own father. They had need of only Aegon, and like every child, Saera wished to be loved, wished to be needed, and so she endured, and endured killing off Saera as she moulded herself into the perfect Prince, believing herself to be the salvation and blessed child her father presented her to be.

She would become Aegon Blackfyre, rider of the second coming of Balerion itself. Named after her legendary ancestor who had united the Seven Kingdoms under his rule. And she would carry on his legacy, decimating the pretenders who had slaughtered her family, and rule as Aegon Blackfyre and unite the realm.

Yet as she lay there, propped up against the moving and bloodied remains of the only thing that was truly her own—Balerion the younger, she realized that neither Aegon nor Saera's dreams would ever come true, and the destiny and dreams she had spent so long chasing after had been but a lie—yet a part of her always knew that.

And she coughed up blood as battle raged around her. Blood seeped from her wounds and formed a puddle around her while the ground shook as a colossal beast landed infront of her, its size double if not even greater than her own Balerion, who now lay dead behind her as a single person jumped off of it.

Even at night, his armor was dark, as if he were cacked in charred coal. In some ways, it was similar to her own, with the symbols of the three-headed dragon carved into its chest in jewels. While hers were black, as in obsidian, his were red, symbolizing his House's colors.

She recognized him, for few in the world would not. He was the masked warrior, the liberator of Slaver's Bay, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Burnt Prince, and to her, he was the Pretender, the killer of her uncle.

Daemon Targaryen.

He was the person who had saved the pretender's line from ruin, killing her own uncle who had gone to foreign land to exact revenge on the Targaryen line for the murder of her mother.

He walked towards her, his steps measured, and she tried to force herself to stand, yet her body refused to budge. The bones in her legs had been broken, and she could do little but watch as he walked up to her before he crouched down and reached for the helmet that covered her face.

Their eyes met, their colour so familiar. Her father had told her that she had her mother's eyes, amethyst eyes that spoke of her Valyrian heritage, and yet there was more to that gaze.

Daemon Targaryen was said to be a demon who murdered thousands with his own hands. A man who had won a war singlehandedly and was rumored even to have slain a dragon. He was the devil incarnate himself and had sent many assassins after her.

And yet, as he stared at her, stared into her eyes, she found none of the hate, rage, and disgust she had expected. What she was a pity. Yes, it was a pity.

"You should have run away with that maid of yours," and the worlds shook her world. How did he know that?

"How do you know that?" she whispered out as she coughed.

"I know much more than that, Saera," and that shook her as well, for to all the world, she was Aegon. Aegon Blackfyre, the Blackfyre. Saera Blackfyre did not exist to the outside world except as the mother to the chosen one.

It should not exist.

"It is useless but know that I wished you no harm. Even with Balerion," he said looking up at her dragon, which he had killed without any mercy.

"Had you simply flown away as you so desired I would not have chased you," he said, and she scoffed, as she coughed up blood, the mere act of speaking made her pain worsen yet she fought through it.

"You lie! All these years! All those assassins, and yet you lie!" she raged as she looked him in the eye.

"You killed my mother, my uncle, my whole family!" she thundered, and he shook his head.

"I killed only your uncle, and even that, for he tried to do the same to my own family. And I never sent any assassins after you or your mother. Never," he said as he rose up and took out his sword, as she shook her head.

"You lie! You are lying," she screamed out as she lay there in a bloody pool.

"I do not. It is a pity that your whole life has been a lie, Saera Blackfyre. I just wished to give you a bit of the truth," and as tears slipped down her eyes she shook her head.

"No! NO! You are the devil! I hate you! You killed everyone. You killed all my family. You did! I hate you," she screamed as he raised his sword.

"If it eases your pain, hate me as much as you wish, Saera," and she bared her teeth.

"MY NAME IS NOT SAERA!" She felt the word shift, and the whole world began to rotate. Darkness overcame her vision.

"MY Name is Aego...."

THUD!

0000

DAEMON TARGARYEN

Daemon had learned of Saera Blackfyre years ago. Initially, he had thought her to be her mother, the mother of Aegon and was rather surprised at her being alive.

And yet as the years grew, the story became clearer, and the truth was revealed to him. The truth that there was no Aegon Blackfyre, but only a Saera Blackfyre, a simple girl whose whole life was a big lie. His source had been a servant serving her; a girl picked up from a brothel who had fallen in love with the said girl and had wished to save her from her evil father, Illyrio Mopatis.

And Saera herself was said to be rather enamored with the said girl, and when Illyrio had learned of this, he had the girl killed and the blame placed on him, further driving the little girl's rage and anger against him and the Targaryen line.

It was his belief that a part of her knew that she was being lied to, that some part of her recognised her father as the monster he was, but it was buried too deep and too powerless to do anything, for Saera Blackfyre had no one part from her father.

He had made it so that the only person she could rely on was him, as he used her to create his perfect Prince to launch a campaign against the Seven Kingdoms.

"You had a dragon," Oberyn added from the side, his eyes focused on the beast that stood behind him towering over buildings, glaring at the dark skies, its madness roaring even in Daemon's own head.

"All these years you had a dragon," Oberyn gasped once more staring at the Cannibal, who snarled as it turned its eyes towards the dead beast lying infront of him, baring its bloody fangs showing its intentions.

And so, Daemon walked forward and picked up the corpse of the pretender Prince Aegon, or Saera as she was in truth, after wrapping it in cloth and began to back away.

"Yes, I did," he finally replied as he set down the body a bit of a distance from the dragon's corpse the Cannibal roared and then began to tear into the bear that it had just slain.

"Seven Hells!" Oberyn gasped as blood rained down on them even at the distance as the Cannibal began its feast.

"Cannibal, it's really that dragon," Oberyn had recognised the beast, and he should have given that the man had spent quite a bit of years at the Citadel pouring over tomes, and old records.

"Yes it is," he replied. The two armies would be clashing outside the city, as they spoke. Without their dragon, the Golden Company and the mercenaries had no chance against Meereen's forces, especially after he had burnt nearly a quarter of their forces himself.

He could have done more, but riding the Cannibal took a toll on him; its madness was contagious, and it took much effort to keep it at bay and not let it affect him.

"All those trips to Dragonstone, they were for this. For it," Oberyn mentioned as he sat down beside him, and Dameon nodded.

"But if you had him for years, why didn't you show it. Why did you prepare all those scorpions and other weapons to face a dragon when you had one of your own," Oberyn's question was sahrp.

"What would have happened if I had shown my hand earlier?" he asked as he looked him in the eye, and Oberyn frowned, rubbing his chin.

The Dornish Prince had an astute mind, for he figured out the answer.

"Your enemies would have prepared just as you did," he reasoned, and Aegon nodded.

"You prepared to fight a dragon so that they would not. And now their war is over," he pointed out, looking at the dead body of the girl beside him.

"Yes, it is. Illyrio Mopatis's so-called allies stood behind him only because they saw it as a very profitable conquest. They poured gold into his little plot by the millions, funding and feeding his armies, and now, with the lynchpin holding it all together gone, they will all slither away like rats abandoning a sinking ship, making them all easy picking for a formidable foe," and he knew that as soon as word of Aegon's death and his true identity got out, Illyrio Mopatis's alliance would break into a thousand pieces.

And Daemon wouldn't even have to go after the man himself. His allies would take care of that, trying to curry favor with him. And given that the largest support to his cause had come from the exiled slave masters, the last of the refuge for the Slave Masters Yunkai shall fall within a few years as well, ending the tragedy of Slaver's Bay and giving House Targaryen a strong foothold this side of the Narrow Sea.

"That formidable foe being you," Oberyn pointed out, and he shook his head.

"I am afraid not. This is not my war," Daemon clarified as he rose up once more. His dragon was rather done with his feast.

"Then whose is it?" Oberyn questioned as he jumped after him.

Daemon glanced back as he answered.

"Yours and Viserys's," he added as Oberyn's eyes widened. It was why he had sent him to Meereen, both as an ambassador and as to lay the groundwork for Viserys if his brother wished to test his mettle against the world.

"Go wild," he added as he walked towards the Cannibal, who turned towards him with his bloody maw, its sharp green eyes focused onto him, as it snarled. Any normal human would have backed off, but Daemon was anything but and did not shift as he continued to gaze into those beady eyes.

"It's time to go back," he said, and the Cannibal snarled and yet lowered its head allowing Daemon to walk up to the saddle as Oberyn's voice came from behind.

"But if its our war, then which war were you preparing for all these years?" he questioned and Daemon looked him in the eye, as he answered.

"The Final one," and with that, he got on the saddle as he whispered.

"Soves...." and then, with a massive roar, the Cannibal took to the skies, and the tale of Aegon Blackfyre and his conquests came to an end just as quickly as they had begun, and the whole world would hear the whisper in a day, confirming the shippers that had been lingering in the air for many years.

That Magic was alive once more.

0000

And as Edmure led the Prince back to Riverrun, alongside his friend Baelis after showing him the army hidden in Maidenpool, he smiled as he saw the Prince's expression.

"You just need to give the order, and I shall personally lead the army towards the Kingsladning, and the Iron Throne will be yours as it was meant to be," he offered.

"But what of my brother? Daemon?" the Prince questioned.

"Him and his men will not stand for it," the Prince asked.

"There are ways, of course," Baelish added from the side as they rode towards Riverrun, and he heard the herald sound the alarms for the gates to be opened for them.

"Your brother has retired with the Queen to Dragonstone. The Greyjoy have already sent their fleet to the island and shall contain your brother and his men at your command. Whatever fate you desire upon them can be carried out, either openly or in secret. After all, childbirth can be a rather dangerous thing," Baelish added as they entered Riverrun the Prince's horse halted as he looked at both him and Baelish.

And there was something in his eyes, something troubling and ominous, as Edmure felt his throat dry up and yet he still stepped forward.

"This is the opportunity to claim your birthright, my Prince. Say the word, and we shall see to it that you sit on the Iron Throne," he offered, and the Prince opened his mouth.

"Say the word, huh," he scoffed as he passed a hand through his hair and looked into his eyes, before he began chuckling loudly, his laughs ringing across the grounds as Edmure frowned.

The Prince only stopped later as he shook his head and snarled softly.

"I already did," and he frowned as he couldn't comprehend the meaning when suddenly Baelish gasped and reached for a dagger and rushed towards the Prince, and yet before he could take two steps forward an arrow hit him in the neck showering Edmure with blood as he stood there and watched his friend's body collapse to the ground as he found himself surrounded by guards—no. Not guards.

Their armors, he only noticed now how they were different. The sigil was not the Tully fish but the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

"NO," he gasped as it all clicked together, and his uncle's warning rang in his ears, as he found a whole slew of blades pointed at his neck.

0000

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