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sydsrichie · 1 year

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'til queendom come, ch. 7

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aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 10,004

ch. 7, pariah: "It is about time you young ones learned what it is to play the long game. Now is not the time for the rashness and hot blood of youth. It is time to dig in before winter and lay plans, Lady Visenya. Will you trust me on that?"

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+ in later chapters, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: each and every ask, reply, reblog puts a gigantic grin on my face, guys, so thank you so so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Once the maester came to tend to her father, Sena did not waste any time in using the distraction to slip out of Dragonstone. The wind on the rolling moors before the keep’s walls was ice cold and it penetrated Sena’s dress like so many knives. She wrapped her arms around herself, her splinted one still aching angrily, and carried on up the incline to the smoking home of her family’s dragons.

The tunnel she found was a familiar one, and the skeletal remains of fish and seabirds littered the floor as she retreated into the cave. It was dark. So dark. And cold. The blackness was only broken by a thin few shafts of light penetrating the ceiling. She usually would have asked Grey Ghost for light, but she did not find him there. He was not coiled in the cavern, dozing safely and happily, knowing as sure as the sun rises in the east that it was only his master who approached him. His master, his only friend, who would never let harm come to him.

Sena’s chest started to constrict and spasm and she threw her weight down onto the cavern floor.

The sobs started wracking her body like they were being drawn from the depths of her stomach, the marrow of her bones. Her throat felt raw and her cheeks stung as she swiped at them angrily. She could not draw breath, could do nothing but gasp and pray desperately to every God she knew of that she would find air. The sounds that were shredding their way out of her throat echoed off of the rocks around her and bounced back to her ears like the wails of a ghost.

Maybe she was a ghost, doomed to haunt this smoking isle forever, lonely and lost. Try as she might to pretend otherwise, she was still little more than that sad child who fifteen years ago had wandered off into the hills, searching for a fabled dragon of the fisherfolk who was as alone in the world as she was.

The last few moons were nought but a bleak blur in her head. It had been savage blow after savage blow. Aemond, her poor, sweet uncle, Aegon’s crowning, Luke, Grey Ghost… and now this.

She had promised Jaehaerys they would race his uncle and sister on her own Grey Ghost. Now… now Aemond seemed an entire world away, and Grey Ghost was dead at her hands, and poor Jaehaerys. It did not bare thinking about. A tiny blood-soaked body… Helaena screaming.

Sena hit her hands off of the cave floor until they were raw and bleeding. She screamed and screamed until her voice failed her, throwing every rock and shard of bone she could lay her hands on, listening to them ricochet in the dark.

Her father.

The wet arc of his blood spattered across the front of her gown.

The split in her lip that leaked her own blood onto her tongue. The aching of her jaw where her father had struck her.

She needed to move. The castle garrison would come looking for her soon, once Prince Daemon was bandaged. When they asked the guards on the walls and found out she’d made for the Dragonmont, the empty haunt of her lost dragon would be the first place they checked. She had to move.

The only problem was that she could not see anything. Her hands were aching, her left arm had lost much of its sensation, and she was desperately cold, shivering even as she dragged in ice cold air like a dying man. Was this how Grey Ghost had always felt, like he was stumbling around in the dark? This was how she had killed him, flying him into a storm and taking his sight from him.

She got to her feet shakily. The cold air of the Dragonmont felt like knives in her chest. She needed to find somewhere safe to hide, somewhere in the smoking hill. Somewhere closer to the molten veins, far from the surface, far from where the Queen’s guards could find her.

Would she hang for it, she wondered? What sentence would the Queen pass down for an attempt on her consort’s life? Hanging was probably too kind - if they did it right, it would snap her neck and end it all instantly. No, her father would not like that. Maybe it would be Caraxes? The Blood Wyrm would do it, certainly - he held no love for her, did not even tolerate her like Vhagar did. But then, her father’s words rung in her head like a struck bell. He had no intention of wiping her from the face of the earth until he had first hurt her each way he could.

She would not be a prisoner until that day came, she decided.

The floor of the Dragonmont was uneven and slippy beneath her feet, damp in the cool air of the nearing winter. Her cotton dress and shift were like a paper shield against the penetrating cold, so she pushed forward, up the connecting passage and deeper into the heart of the hillside. She felt her away along the wall, probing carefully with her feet before her with every step so as not to be caught unawares by a sudden drop. Meagre sunlight broke up the darkness when it could, but she was mainly on her own, her eyes straining for any kind of guidance.

It was while she fumbled in the dark that she first heard a low growl. Fuck. She was just trying to find warmth, light, not step on the tail of a sleeping dragon-

The grumble grew louder and she crouched into the wall, as if it could give her any cover. It had to be one of the bigger dragons she had stumbled across, as the sound was distant and echoing, like it was coming from overhead. Not Syrax, Vermax or Tyraxes. She winced. Maybe Caraxes was about to put a swift end to her after all. “Lyks,” she hissed urgently. “Lyks. Lykiri.” Peace. Calm down. She crouched down before the beast, making herself small, willing the racing of her heart to slow.

The dragon did not set fire to her, at least. Not straight away. Recognising its own tongue, the blood of the dragon, the way she was only sitting somewhere close by and not actively trying to come nearer, was enough to get the beast to settle some.

Sena let out a long breath and calmed her racing heart. “Nyke jeldan naejot sagon mērī,” she said, I wanted to be alone. “Kesan daor jenigon ao.” I will not bother you.

The dragon grumbled its assent. The cavern was warmer, at least, with the great beast’s breath filling the air, and Sena felt her shivers subside as she set herself down on the stone. The floor radiated a little heat, closer to the glowing heart of the Dragonmont. She could stay here - for awhile, at least.

She focused on her breathing. In and out. That was it. That was all she had to do.

-----

Sena had no idea how long it was before she heard boots approaching and distant calls of “Lady Visenya?” Men’s voices. More than one. The castle garrison. As soon as the dragon she shared her cavern with heard, it shifted in the dark and growled, low and menacing.

The steps in the hallway faltered. “Careful,” one man hissed to another. “That one doesn’t sound friendly.”

“We have to find her,” the companion hissed. “We can’t go back to the Queen empty-handed.”

“We won’t go back to the Queen at all if we get torched.”

The second man made a sound and said, “C’mon, then, craven. We’ll look for her elsewhere.”

The footsteps retreated again.

Sena could feel the dragon’s gaze on her, the beast’s steady breathing causing her skirts to ruffle a little. She hoped the beast would not decide her to be more hassle than she was worth and just torch her there and then.

It wasn’t until many hours later that she heard someone approaching again. She’d been passing in and out of a light sleep, her thoughts exhausting her and her stomach starting to growl. But she heard light feet on the hallway she had come down, and the dragon sharing the cavern stirred once more, growling at the incomer.

“Lykiri,” came a woman’s voice. “Nyke māzigon isse lyks.” I come in peace.

The woman bore a torch, and blinding light flickered across Sena’s field of vision for the first time in hours. She flinched and averted her eyes. Gods, could no one in this damned family leave well enough alone?

Princess Rhaenys stood at the mouth of the cavern, her eyes catching on Sena’s crouched form with an unreadable look on her face. “There you are, my lady,” she said. “You’ve had the entire castle garrison and all the family scouring Dragonstone for you all day.”

Sena gritted her teeth at the idea of Jace, Baela and Rhaena knowing what she had done and being made to search the entire isle for her. “The dragon kept the garrison away.’

“He could do that, yes,” the Princess raised her torch, and the light caught on a truly fearsome beast, bronze in colour and twice the size of Sena’s Grey Ghost. The dragon peered at Rhaenys through a slit of eyelid, then lay his head down to go back to sleep, unbothered by the intrusion. “He was my grandfather’s mount, once upon a time. I flew across the realm upon Meleys with him on a royal progress, when I was a young woman. The same progress where I told my grandfather I intended to marry Lord Corlys.”

Sena gazed up at the bronze beast in wonder. “Vermithor?” She breathed. The name was like legend in her family. The mount of her great-grandfather, Jaehaerys I, the progenitor of all living Targaryens and the greatest King their House had put on the Iron Throne. The King who seized back power and restored order to the Seven Kingdoms after his father’s throne was usurped by Maegor the Cruel. The Conciliator. It had been Vermithor who bore Jaehaerys I across the realm, from the North to the Stormlands, cowed his enemies and sired clutches of eggs that had birthed many of their current dragons.

Rhaenys had a wistful look in her eye. “Those were better days,” she said, and looked down at where Sena still huddled on the cavern floor. “If you had told me then as a young woman that my good, kind Uncle and bawdy, courageous Aunt would sire a man like your father… I would have been too naive to believe you.”

Daemon never told her about her grandfather and grandmother, Baelon the Brave and Princess Alyssa. Truthfully, she thought he struggled to speak of them. Childbirth scared her father - he had not been with Rhaenyra through any of her births after losing both his mother and his second wife to the birthing bed. And if someone who seemed so destined for greatness as her grandfather Baelon could die of something as menial as a burst belly… she sometimes thought it had put a recklessness in her father, a distaste for patience, reserve, morality. He could die at any moment and it weighed on his mind constantly. It made him dangerous. “So you’re not here to drag me back to Dragonstone and clap me in chains then?”

Rhaenys gave her a wry look. “If I was, I wouldn’t waste time by standing here talking to you, girl,” she said. “Your father has left for his troops in the Riverlands. The Queen commanded him to stay and heal, but he is as wilful as he is foolish.”

“’Twas only a letter opener,” Sena said darkly, “he’ll live.”

“I can’t decide if you meant to kill him or not. Lord Corlys thinks you did. My grandchildren think you did not.”

“I knew I couldn’t. Like I said, it was only a letter opener. I just… wanted him to feel the fear he inflicts on others,” Sena said, rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. There were still specks of blood on them, she noted with a grim smile. “So I guess there isn’t an answer to your question.”

Rhaenys nodded, as if that was answer enough. “Are you going to come back down to the keep for supper and a salve on that bruise or shall I have to send your sisters up with a plate?” She asked. “The Queen will not punish you tonight. The immediate threat to Daemon’s life is over and I do not think she would wish to lose the loyalty of any more dragonriders.”

Sena looked at her, really looked at her. Took in the snow white streaks in her hair and the fine lines on her face. She envied the Princess her wisdom, she realised with a pang. She envied the assuredness and the strength that Rhaenys walked through the world with. The kind of certainty you only get from having your world fall to pieces and putting it back together many times over the years. The assuredness that nothing in life was unsalvageable if you knew how to pick through the rubble. Sena did not know if she was strong enough to make it as far as the Princess had, not if her next twenty years were to be anything like her first. “Am I supposed to just go back to normal? Pretend nothing’s happened?” She asked and her voice was hoarse from the screaming.

“No,” the Princess said, shaking her head. “I am not asking you to do that. But it is about time you young ones learned what it is to play the long game. You will not get your revenge today, my lady… or tomorrow, or in the next moon, or maybe even next year. Now is not the time for the rashness and hot blood of youth - you tried that today and it failed spectacularly. It is time to dig in before winter and lay plans, Lady Visenya. Will you trust me on that?”

Sena considered her and thought about it. It was true, rashness had not prevailed today. Her father was still breathing and more livid than ever, even if he had run off to the continent to lick his wounds. She also knew she had lost much of her favour with the Queen. Not that she could truly care who liked her, not while Helaena was leagues away, drowning in agony and grief. But if she wanted to stop this war, wanted to stop the pain, the death, wanted to right the wrongs that had been done to her and the people she loved… she sighed. “I guess I had best keep my strength up, if it’s the long game we’re playing,” she said and pushed herself up from the ground, a little wobbly.

Rhaenys gave her the barest hint of a smile. “Now you’re getting it.”

After that day, Rhaenyra was loathe to be in Sena’s presence. Whether it was fear or anger or shame, Sena did not know. But truthfully, she did not mind. She too could not stand to be in the presence of a Queen who either had not known that Daemon had set his eyes on Prince Jaehaerys or had elected to ignore it. So Sena trained instead, and helped train Jace and Joffrey and Baela, and wandered the Dragonmont when she needed some quiet, some time alone. And with every meal and prayer and parry and heartbeat, she thought of Helaena.

Helaena, Alicent, Aegon, Daeron… Aemond.

The maester to her father’s army reported his swift recovery. Targaryen blood burned out infection better than all others and she had clearly missed everything vital. Sena made a grim mental note to herself to study the veins and arteries of the neck when she got the chance.

Harrenhal fell quickly to Prince Daemon’s burning wrath, and by all reports it set the green council ablaze. Ser Otto Hightower was dismissed from the Tower of the Hand, with Ser Criston Cole taking up his office and the Usurper’s armies being ordered to march. It seemed the war of words was well and truly over, and the storm of swords was about to begin.

It was the day that Maester Gerardys removed the splint from Sena’s arm and she was testing out her healed arm that a new line of dominoes began to fall. She had managed to dress herself and was overjoyed at being able to wear her favourite gowns again when her handmaiden, Sophey interrupted her. “Pardon me, m’lady, but the Queen is requesting your presence at the war table.”

Sena looked up, shocked. “Are you sure?” She asked Sophey and the doe-eyed girl nodded hurriedly. What could Rhaenyra possibly want with her at the war table? She had not spoken to Sena in two long moons and this was how she chose to break the silence? “Okay,” Sena nodded stiffly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

When she entered the makeshift throne room in Dragonstone’s great hall, she curtseyed low to the Queen. Rhaenyra was more gaunt than the last time Sena had seen her, clearly was not sleeping well, and let Sena stay crouched in a curtsey for a moment, seemingly deciding whether or not to relieve her legs. “Rise,” she commanded eventually, coldly, and Sena’s thighs burned with relief as she followed the order.

Around the war table, the Queen, Prince Jacaerys, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys were focused on the small corner of the map they currently stood in, the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Sena could see black dragons on Dragonstone, Driftmark and Harrenhal, showing their forces, and a green dragon advancing up the coast. “What news do we have?” She asked, drawing close to the table to observe the troop positions.

“Duskendale has been sacked,” Lord Corlys said, “with heavy casualties for us and the death of a member of the Queen’s black council. Now, Ser Criston Cole lays siege to Rook’s Rest, and Lord Staunton is asking for our aid.” He slid the letter across the table to Sena, who took it up to read it.

Some 3000 knights, men-at-arms and sellswords at the gates of a town garrisoned by a hundred men, and that was not even considering the usurper-king on dragonback. It did not look good for Lord Staunton. “Then we should send dragonriders. The greens are attacking our declared allies to prevent further defection in the Reach, the Riverlands, the Crownlands. If we are to gain more supporters, we must defend the ones we already have.”

“Our allies?” The Queen bit out. “You still count yourself amongst our number after making an attempt on the life of your Queen’s consort, your own father?”

“Mother,” Jace warned in a stiff tone.

“It’s alright, Jace,” Sena placated him with a small smile. He looked so grown, standing there in his fine wool and steel, his brow adorned with a circlet. “It seems as though I’m here because you are asking me for help. Is that right?” She asked the Queen, who looked away from her with a flicker of rage.

Lord Corlys seemed to be suppressing a weary sigh when he said, “Yes, my lady.”

“What do you want from me?” She asked and eyed Princess Rhaenys. She remembered her words in the Dragonmont that day - that it was time to dig in and lay plans. Sena would not end this war today or tomorrow, as much as she might wish it. But if she was to have any hand in it coming to an end sooner rather than later - fuck whoever sat on the damnable throne in the end - it was high time she rolled her sleeves up and started incurring favours and loyalties.

Princess Rhaenys gave her a knowing smirk, and Sena felt a burst of pride. It was high time she sharpened up and learned to play. Aemond would be proud. “We think it is time you claimed another dragon and joined me in defending Rook’s Rest.”

Sena raised her eyebrows and looked to Lord Corlys, who was clearly in on the plan, eyeing his wife. The Queen was stoney faced, and Jace seemed even less pleased. “Do we have a shortage of dragonriders on Dragonstone?” Sena asked, a little perplexed.

Jace frowned unhappily and was ready to speak up when his mother silenced him with a hand. The Queen met Sena’s gaze. “Baela’s Moondancer is much too young to go to war. Rhaena has no dragon, no experience as a dragonrider and I will not put my sons into the monstrous paths of my half-brothers again. Nor will I risk making them orphans by going myself.” The implication that by comparison Sena was expendable was clear.

“I also have no dragon,” Sena said. He died, trying to save your son, she longed to say. “Aegon’s beast is young, still not so large. Smaller than my Grey Ghost. The Red Queen is more than a match, Princess,” she told Rhaenys.

“Nothing is ever so certain when dragons dance, my lady,” Rhaenys said grimly. “If we can stack the deck in our favour, we ought to. Make a decisive victory of it and shatter Cole’s advance.”

Sena considered it. “What dragon did you have in mind?” She asked. “We have a number of riderless ones. Will it be a case of wandering the Dragonmont like it is the Street of Silk until one takes a liking to me?” She got a hint of a smile out of Jace at that.

“I think one already has,” Princess Rhaenys said dryly. She was a somewhat humourless woman, Sena thought, and found she liked that about her. “My grandfather’s mount is not a kindly beast. He is ferocious, only tolerates my presence because I have been around him and pulling at his tail since I was out of swaddling clothes.” Lord Corlys looked a little horrified at that, as members of other houses were wont to when they heard of children playing with dragons. “The fact that he did not eat you that day I found you in his cavern is enough indication to me that you could be a good match.”

Sena thought of the gigantic beast, the colour of beaten bronze, large enough to ride a horse down his gullet, and shivered. “Just because he liked me enough not to make a meal of me does not mean he will let me ride him or command him,” she said. “Even if he did, we would need time to bond so I could control him. Time we do not have. I will not have a repeat of what happened above Storm’s End.”

Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys and Jace all stiffened at the mere mention of Storm’s End, and the implication that it had not been entirely under Prince Aemond’s control. It was so much easier to hate him, call him One-Eye and kinslayer if they could believe him to be evil to the core. But for the love she still bore the Prince, Sena would not have it. The Queen glared at her. “On the contrary, that might be exactly what we need. Put an end to the Usurper and I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I do not see what that would achieve,” Sena said coldly, her tongue dripping with acid. “I am already rich, and Aegon has heirs… unless we were planning on murdering Aegon’s other infant son, as well.”

Queen Rhaenyra gripped the model black dragon in her hand hard enough to splinter and clenched her jaw. “If that’s what it takes,” she said, but it sounded weak to Sena’s ears, like she could not bring herself to mean it.

Rhaenys looked like she was stifling an eye roll at their dramatics. “This war will not be ended by cutting off a single head, for two more will always grow in its place,” she said plainly. “We need to do this with force, with decisiveness. And with unity.”

Sena sighed and looked across the table at her cousin. Rhaenyra looked tired and broken. “If my Queen will have me, I will join this fight, Princess.”

Rhaenyra looked up at her from across the table and her expression was conflicted. So vengeful, and yet Sena thought faintly that it was not directed at her. She was just unlucky enough to be close at hand, catching the brunt of it. “I will have you,” Rhaenyra breathed, and Princess Rhaenys gave a barely audible sigh of relief.

Sena nodded at her cousin, then looked down at her dress. “I guess I had better go change, then.”

-----

The morning was brisk as Sena pulled her dragon-hide gloves into place. The leather under her chainmail felt strange on her body, too stiff, too new. The armour was an inky black and her breastplate was emblazoned with the crest of her family, a crimson three-headed dragon reaching for its own tail. As she stalked up the incline to the Dragonmont, she prayed to every god who would listen that Vermithor would be in a pliant mood.

Thrice. That was how many times she had ridden Vermithor so far. She could barely even work the chains on his saddle that kept him from throwing her midair. But needs must, and Rook’s Rest was in distress, so she was approaching the great bronze dragon with trepidation in her chest, ready to meet Rhaenys and Meleys on the cliffside.

Vermithor surveyed her with amber eyes as she entered his dwelling. He was still young enough not to be as sluggish as Vhagar and that made her even more nervous, being surveyed by a dragon big enough to swallow her whole, nimble enough to catch her off her guard and interested enough to bother doing it. “Lykiri,” she commanded as Vermithor’s tail flicked with irritation at being disturbed once again. It had been some five-and-twenty years since the Old King’s death, and Vermithor had grown used to being his own master. “Dohaerās.”

The dragon did not seem pleased to see her but did not protest as she started the long clamber up his wing and onto his back. As soon as she brought him back from Rook’s Rest, she would be adding some sort of ladder to his saddle, but there was no time for that now. With a grunt, she jumped and caught the stirrup and back of the saddle with her hand and elbow, and her left arm twinged as she dragged herself up. Undignified, but worth it to be riding one of the largest dragons her House had ever hatched. That was, if she could control him and not accidentally set a killing machine on the people of Rook’s Rest. She had some comfort in the fact that Vermithor was familiar with Rhaenys and Meleys - at least they would be safe from whatever carnage she unwittingly unleashed.

The ground shook as Vermithor moved, and he clawed his way forward, out of his cavern and onto the side of the Dragonmont. When he met the fresh sea air, he let free a deafening roar that almost had Sena clapping her hands over her ears. She hurriedly fastened the saddle chains to her armour before he could take flight and throw her off with a well-timed flick of his tail. “Gīda,” she commanded the beast. Calm. Whatever good that would do.

Above her on the side of the Dragonmont, Sena saw the vibrant red of Meleys emerging from her cave and a sharp salute from the Princess. “Are you ready?” Rhaenys bellowed down the hillside.

“As I’ll ever be,” Sena gritted out below her breath. Then, “Sōvēs,” she commanded the dragon in a strong tone, and the bronze giant lurched forward. His size meant he was not so manoeuvrable as Grey Ghost, and instead used the sea cliffs to drop off of to take to the air. Sena’s heart lurched every time he did it, pitching them both over the edge and letting them fall for seconds that felt like hours. Then, with a solid, swooping beat of his wings, they would soar up, up into the clouds.

Meleys followed behind her on the wind as Sena turned Vermithor due west. It would not be a long flight - as they climbed into the sky, she could practically see Rook’s Rest on the horizon - but every moment, her heart was in her throat.

It was bizarre, to ride a dragon this large. Larger than her father’s own Caraxes, larger than Syrax and Vermax put together. Vermithor’s wings covered vast swaths of the bay, blotting entire islands from Sena’s view, and sometimes, when she pulled at him or bellowed commands, she felt like she was trying to reign in a glacier, so vast and uncaring was the beast.

She could do this, though. She needed to believe it. If she was to have any chance at putting a stop to this bloodshed and torment, she would need to be riding a dragon like Vermithor. The only thing her family ever bowed to, the thing they had been wielding as a weapon for more than a century now was the pure, unadulterated power given to them by their dragons. Without them, they were nothing.

After some time in the air, with Meleys close behind, Rook’s Rest drew closer until it was beneath them. From here, Sena could see the town’s walls and the thousands of soldiers marshalled outside, laying siege and blockading every road in and out.

Trying out her control of him, she commanded Vermithor lower and he swooped down over the King’s army. She squinted her eyes and could make out dragon banners, mounted knights, men at arms. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to the sky to watch the two dragons circling overhead, one a vicious red and the other monstrously large. Sena’s breath caught in her throat when she laid eyes on Sunfyre - proclaimed to be the most beautiful dragon to have ever lived. He was a fine beast and shone like beaten gold against the burnt ground he coiled on, watching his kin circle above him with lazy interest.

Sena sighed and commanded Vermithor down to land in the town square. It was barely big enough - she gritted her teeth as smallfolk rushed out of the way and Vermithor’s tail knocked the top of the spire off of a sept, but she was suddenly surrounded by gasps of relief and cheering, so she guessed she was forgiven.

She met Lord Staunton in his keep with Princess Rhaenys. He was beyond relieved to see them - the people of Rook’s Rest would have needed to start slaughtering the horses to keep eating if relief had not arrived soon, he informed them. “Relief is here,” Princess Rhaenys said, standing tall in her armour and doing her best to calm him.

There was little to be done to calm anyone when the letter from the encampment outside arrived, however.

Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Protector of the Realm requests the presence of the Bronze Dragon at parlay. In one hour, a pavilion will be erected before the gates of Rook’s Rest. Guest right will provided in the form of bread and salt so that negotiations may proceed peacefully and safely for all parties.

The Bronze Dragon. Sena gripped the letter in her hands and nodded at Rhaenys. It had been what they wanted. They had hoped that Vermithor’s mere presence would be enough to scare off the enemy and end the siege without blood being shed. She could only hope that Aegon would be smart about this. “I will go-“

“I will come with you, my lady,” Princess Rhaenys said firmly. Sena’s pride smarted at that. The Princess caught her look and sighed. “I mean no offence but in these matters, you remain as green as grass.”

Sena set her jaw, knowing that Rhaenys meant it in more ways than one.

Within the hour, a pavilion was hastily erected before the town gates, and Sena and Rhaenys approached under a peace banner. Their dragons stayed inside the town but the women remained armed for their own protection.

Sena ducked under the tent flap and came face to face with Aegon and Ser Criston for the first time in many moons. Aegon could not be said to look kingly - he was as gaunt and tired-looking as ever - but he was still the handsome lad she remembered and he sent her a menacing grin. Ser Criston nodded his head at her but showed little warmth despite knowing her from girlhood. The badge of his new office shimmered on his cloak.

Both men were less impressed when Rhaenys followed behind her. Aegon huffed and poured them wine, which they hastily ignored in favour of the bread and salt Ser Criston pushed towards them across the table. Sena chewed at the dry heel of loaf the enemy had scrounged up and grimaced at the salt on her tongue. Aegon might have been enough of a cur to not care for the symbolic protection of guest right, but Ser Criston was nothing if not a stickler for the rules. When it suited him, at least.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenys asked as soon as she had swallowed her own guest right.

It was Aegon who spoke, leaning forward in his seat. He shone from neck to toe in polished plate, his circlet of Valyrian steel and rubies nestled in his silver blonde hair and the other ancestral blade of their house hung at his hip. Sena was not fooled. It would take more than Blackfyre and the crown of the Conqueror to make Aegon a King. “We simply wish to give you an opportunity to turn tail and leave before things get… messy,” he said with his familiar lilting smirk.

“It’s more than you gave Prince Jaehaerys,” Criston cut in, surveying them both stonily.

Sena clenched her jaw and Rhaenys balked at that, going pale in the face and rounding on Aegon. “If it is mercy you speak of, what sort of mercy did your mad dog of a brother show my grandson?” She spat.

Aegon grinned at the mere reminder of Lucerys’s fate and it only set Rhaenys further on edge, reaching for the hilt of her blade. Sena laid a hand on her arm to stop her, trying to catch her gaze with a glare. Where were her lectures about rashness and hot blood now? Was it just that she did not know Aegon? Did not know how purely aggravating and contemptuous he could be?

But it was Ser Criston who spoke up, cutting through the thick tension between the Princess and the would-be King. “Careful, Princess. You speak of someone who is very dear to all those around you,” he said, and Sena glared at him, her cheeks flaring with shame.

Aegon looked at her and smirked at the embarrassment on her face. “Everyone knows, goodsister. It’s alright.”

“Shut it,” she snapped at him and Gods, if she could only reach across the table between them and clobber him with his own crown.

Ser Criston was not looking at her, though, and addressed the Princess. “We are willing to incur what casualties we must to raze Rook’s Rest to the ground, Princess. It would certainly show your allies how little the support of their so-called Queen is worth. You need only look outside this pavilion to see we are equipped to accomplish this,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed Princess Rhaenys with a hard look. “Of course, neither of us truly desires a battle where considerable life will be lost, and potentially another dragon. We would like to discuss the terms of a mutual retreat, if that is amenable.”

Sena looked at Ser Criston in confusion as he rounded the table. Mutual retreat? What in the name of the Gods was this about? It made no sense. Ser Criston offered to escort Princess Rhaenys from the tent, and rage flared inside Sena. The disrespect of it all, speaking as if she was not there-

Once they had left the tent however, Aegon turned to Sena, furious, and it all became a little clearer. “Why did you bring her? I asked for you and you alone.”

Sena rolled her eyes. It was all a ploy. “Do you think I can command her about like a servant? Do you truly think I got a choice in the matter, fool?”

Aegon scowled at her. “It’s King Fool to you.”

“Fine then, King Fool. Do you care to explain to me what in the seven hells this parlay is about? You don’t truly expect me to believe you would give up so easily, or expect us to,” she said, leaning over him where he sat.

Aegon considered her for a second, clearly trying to come up with some pithy response. He eventually realised where he was, though and that time was of the essence. He cut to the chase. “He won’t fight you.”

“Who?”

Aegon screwed up his face like he was talking with a simpleton. “Gods, Visenya, who do you think?”

Her brow shot up. “Aem-“

King Fool stood up swiftly and slapped a gloved hand over her mouth, eyeing the tent flap where Ser Criston and Princess Rhaenys had been moments earlier. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.

Sena’s blood thundered in her ears. “He’s here?”

“Yes,” he nodded and her heart swooped, suddenly turning her head this way and that like Aemond was going to materialise in the corner of the pavilion or pop out from under the table. “This was a trap for Meleys, but even my clever brother did not think to anticipate you swooping in on the second largest dragon in the known world. You really ought to have words with him - underestimating you like that shows a certain lack of respect, no?”

“Aegon,” she hissed, willing him to focus.

“Right,” he said, conceding with a nod. “So we’re at a stalemate. He does not wish to fight you - I think the whole nearly killing you the first time thing is weighing on him, y’know? And if I know this ridiculous little lovesick dance of yours well enough by now, I know you do not wish to fight him. So what does that leave us with?”

Sena thought about it for a second, leaning down to the table to cradle her head in her hands. Aemond was here. He was near her, near enough to talk to, near enough to explain, near enough to babble apologies, touch, kiss until they were drunk on each other. “We both go home,” she breathed. The thought was agonising. “Aemond goes to King’s Landing, I go to Dragonstone.” And in the ensuing battle, Meleys would snap Sunfyre’s neck, she thought grimly.

“No way,” Aegon waggled a finger at her. “Not good enough, goodsister. I would like to propose you and Princess Rhaenys turn around and go home and leave us to Rook’s Rest. No bloodshed, no sad ballads to be written about star crossed lovers dying on each other’s swords today.”

She scowled at him and looked around her. “Where is he? You can’t expect me to stand here and have this conversation with King Fool. Gods, even Cole would be better.”

“No,” Aegon snapped, his expression gone hard and he looked so like his little brother in that moment that Sena’s heart leapt to her throat. “You don’t get to speak to him. You don’t get to bat your eyelashes at him and say pretty please, none of that shit. You are going to turn around, go and explain to our sweet cousin Rhaenys that the largest dragon alive is sat behind a hill five leagues away, and go home. You won’t win this fight, Sena. And I know you think I don’t care about this family, but I won’t watch my brother destroy himself by killing you.”

“I can’t, Aegon,” she hissed, her throat burning. “I can’t counsel retreat. Don’t you think they already mistrust me enough, for how I love your sister? For how I feel about your brother? If I turn tail now, my own father will take it as a betrayal and slit my throat in my sleep.”

Aegon looked as though he could not care less. “Not my problem, sweet Sena,” he said. “You could have switched sides anytime you liked… you still can.”

Sena ignored that vehemently, blazing right past it. “And what if we hold fast? What if you turn around and go home?”

“We don’t go home,” he said. He was growing weary of this now, his expression sullen. “There will be a fight if you do not retreat, Sena. And Aemond is dutiful, he will do what I command of him and turn Vhagar against you if he must. I don’t want that to happen, but the alternative is giving up the crown and losing my fucking head. Not just mine, all of our heads.”

Sena leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess we’re at an impasse, then.”

Aegon shook his head at her in disbelief. “Trust my brother to love the most stubborn fool in the Seven Kingdoms. It seems we are, Sena.”

She surveyed him. The armour that was tailored to him perfectly but still did not seem to fit, the crown that was seemingly causing his neck to buckle under the weight. She eyed Blackfyre on his sword belt. Could think of few people in her family less suited to wield it. “I’ll speak to Rhaenys,” she said at long last. “If I can convince her to retreat, you will have my word by daybreak tomorrow.”

Aegon nodded his acquiescence and sunk deep into his chair, raising his goblet to take a long gulp of wine. “Think about it carefully, Sena. And I meant what I said. Whatever you feel towards me, there will always be a place for a stubborn bitch with a big dragon in my army.”

Sena shook her head at him and turned to leave. She paused at the tent entrance though, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She could not stop herself saying it. “I’m sorry,” she said, “about your son. He was a sweet boy.”

Aegon’s petulant manor froze and his jaw went tight. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t kill him,” he said, and she could hear a quiver in his voice.

“I’m sorry it has come to this, Aegon,” she said softly.

He frowned down into his lap and the crown slipped deeper down his brow. “So am I.”

Sena braced herself with a breath. “How is Helaena?”

But Aegon wasn’t having it. He shook his head at her. “You have made your choice, Sena. I think you have lost the right to ask me about her.”

“Aegon-“ she said with a pang in her chest, but he cut her off.

“Good day, Lady Visenya. Consider my terms carefully.”

-----

“There is not a decision to be made,” was Rhaenys’s answer to Aegon’s proposal over supper that night. They had been given Lord Staunton’s private dining room, and a fire crackled low in the grate, their food barely touched. Sena felt guilty for wasting what was already in short supply, but her gut was churning so much it was unthinkable to eat. “We must stand and fight.”

Sena dragged her hands through her hair with a weary sigh. “It’s not truly a decision, is it? If we turn back now, we’ve as good as lost this war. Our lives will be forfeit.” What hope did they have of suing for peace if their allies saw their words meant nothing? What leverage would they have to stop Aegon storming Dragonstone and putting them all to the sword? “And if we fight… the odds are about as even as they’re ever like to be.”

“Even? We’re still a hundred against an army.”

“The real battle is the one in the air, you know that,” Sena said, eyeing Rhaenys. Their family’s battles were fought and won with their dragons - the Conquerors had shown what little use men-at-arms were against the winged wyrms of Old Valyria.

“So it is the dragon battle you’re concerned about?” Rhaenys asked and Sena knew that was what she had been probing at all along.

Sena narrowed her eyes. “I would be a fool not to be concerned about it. I ride a dragon I have no bond with against two of my cousins, one of whom rides Vhagar.”

“It is not Vhagar you are worried about, though, is it?” Rhaenys said, leaning back in her seat and holding her wine goblet close. She surveyed Sena with hard eyes, and the words caught in Sena’s throat. Rhaenys sighed. “You shall take Vermithor against Sunfyre and I shall take Meleys against Vhagar. Do you think you can do that?”

Sena raised an eyebrow. “With all due respect, Princess, I don’t think that is a fight you can win.” There were few dragons alive who could hope to survive a bout with Vhagar and at first glance, Sena would not put Meleys among them.

“You give me little choice, Visenya,” she said, and pushed her chair back with a scrape. She composed herself and went to leave, the matter having been decided.

“If it was Lord Corlys,” Sena said, stopping Princess Rhaenys in her tracks. “If you found yourself on opposing sides with the Sea Snake, could you truly meet him in battle?”

Rhaenys turned back to her and gave her a pitying look. “If what you feel for that brute is a shadow of what I feel for Lord Corlys… you are truly lost, Visenya,” she said, and Sena’s heart plummeted. The elder woman sighed, not uncaring. “And truthfully, I do not know what you are doing here.”

Neither did Sena.

Daybreak came and went, with no peace signed.

It was midday by the time Aegon’s vanguard made to breach the gates. Lord Staunton’s men held it valiantly and defended their position, but the two dragonriders knew that their time had come. With a nod to Rhaenys and a prayer to the Gods, Sena took to the skies upon Vermithor. No sooner had she chained herself to his saddle than she caught sight of Sunfyre rising with her, a brilliant gold-and-pink blur against the sky. She set her sights on her target and steadied herself.

It was only when she saw Vhagar’s monstrous form looming in the distance that dread flooded through her like ice water.

As Vhagar drew closer and Meleys circled above her, Sena suddenly knew for certain that this did not bode well for Rhaenys. Meleys was not a small beast by any measure, but Vhagar loomed nearly twice as large.

Before she could intercede though, Sunfyre was tackling Vermithor and the battle in the sky begun. It was as though the brothers could read her mind exactly and knew they needed to divert her to give Aemond a chance to take down Rhaenys.

But Sena forced it all from her mind for now and focused on her own battle. Vermithor was new to her, did not know her well enough. That coupled with Sena’s own gnawing uncertainty was enough to draw the fight between Vermithor and Sunfyre nearly equal as Meleys and Vhagar clashed behind her.

Sunfyre banked and rolled, resplendent in the high noon, missing Vermithor’s gnashing teeth by the breadth of a scale every time. Sena could hear Aegon laughing. Could hear the howls of Vhagar and Meleys tearing at each other on the wind.

Gods be good, if this was the end, she wasn’t going to die fighting Aegon.

Sena directed Vermithor for one more wild snatch, letting Aegon become complacent and arrogant, as he was wont to do. He was a lazy swordsman, and even bearing Blackfyre, he could not make up for the fact that his next move shone on his face like a lit beacon in winter snow. The same principle seemed to carry over into his dragonriding. Sena and Vermithor came around on Sunfyre and Aegon one more time, and, at the most logical moment for the larger dragon to dip and lunge, she screamed “Navemanon!” into the wind. Vermithor hesitated - it was not a Valyrian command, not even a word in their tongue, but it sounded enough like it to Aegon and it worked beautifully, because whilst her dragon was confused and trying to work out what she wanted him to do, Aegon turned his entire head to the right. There. “Nābēmagon, Vermithor! Paktot!” Attack, Vermithor! Right! And as Aegon feinted right to dodge the first, false attack, Vermithor lunged with him and clamped his teeth down into Sunfyre’s wing.

The scream from the golden dragon was piercing, and it was all Sena could do not to let go to cover her ears. Vermithor gave one good shake of his head, shredding the membranes of Sunfyre’s wing, and the King’s dragon screamed, spewing flames back at Vermithor. But Vermithor was too large, his scales too thick, and with a sharp “Dracarys!” from Sena, he caught the King’s dragon in a blast of his own flame. Sunfyre roared and began to wheel desperately in circles, only born aloft on one good wing. Sena commanded Vermithor to bank so they could take a final swipe and be done with Aegon for the time being, but there was no need, as the King’s dragon was falling from the sky at speed.

That was when she caught sight of Vhagar raking her claws down Meleys’s back in the distance. There was an almighty roar from the Red Queen as steaming blood began to spurt from the wound. “No! No!” Sena screamed. Aemond would not add another dragon or another Targaryen to his headcount. Vermithor sharply banked towards Vhagar, nearly colliding midair with Meleys who was reeling in descending loops, fighting to stay airborne. To deal so much damage to such an experienced dragon so quickly… Aemond was either letting Vhagar wreak carnage as she saw fit or he was the greatest dragonrider in a century. Sena found herself not wanting to know the answer.

She spotted Rhaenys on Meleys’s back - shaken but unharmed - and commanded Vermithor around, determined to keep Vhagar’s attention away from the failing Meleys. Vhagar seemed to have the same notion, deciding to deal with the fitter prey before finishing off the weakened one. As the two mighty dragons set on a collision course towards each other, Sena felt her blood run cold as she thought of Luke, and whether Aemond had any control of the ancient beast right now.

Sena threw herself flat against Vermithor’s back, bracing for impact, letting free a wild howl as the dragons came closer and closer. And then, Vhagar feinted left, and the force of the wind from her wingbeat would have knocked Sena clean from her saddle if she had not been chained down. The message from Aemond was clear. Stand down.

Vhagar followed a long arc downwards to where Meleys was reeling, pulling up at just the right second to catch the Red Queen’s neck in her maw. Claret blood spurted and steamed as the Red Queen gave a feeble shudder. It was too late by the time Sena brought Vermithor round and slammed down onto Vhagar. It knocked all three dragons - two living, one in the final throes of a bloody end - the last thirty feet to the ground. Vermithor and Vhagar hit the ground with enough force to knock every soldier within a league on his back. A wave of searing pain and nausea hit Sena as her head whipped off of Vermithor’s hard-scaled back, her nose burst with blood and her vision swam out of focus.

“Fuck,” was all she could manage, and Vermithor was furious at her handling of him. He roared and swung his weight in an attempt to throw her from his back, but her chains held her down. He then moved as though to roll with her still on his back, crushing her beneath his weight, and Sena’s stomach lurched, desperately pulling at the chains on her belt.

At the last second, she unhooked her entire sword belt, wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword and threw herself from dragonback.

She hit the ground hard, and Vermithor screeched once more. Her head swam as she staggered to her feet, desperately trying to drag air back into her lungs, terrified the dragon would round on her once more. But instead, free of his rider, Vermithor took his chance and rose to the sky again.

“Well, fuck you then!” She screamed after him and attempted to staunch the blood flowing into her mouth with her glove. She stood there on the field, a wide circle cleared around her where her dragon had fell, sword in hand and watching her dragon retreat West. She was utterly alone in a field of green soldiers who were staggering to their feet, watching her, waiting for orders. She was truly fucked now. Meleys was down, twitching in her last throes of death, and Sena could see no sign of Rhaenys. Sunfyre and Vhagar were down too, the former seemingly for good, the latter only dazed, somewhere on the field behind her. Sena turned to watch Vermithor’s retreating form in the sky and groaned in frustration. Vhagar would be free to torch the entire town now once she regained the air-

“Back,” snapped a commanding voice. “I’ll deal with her myself.”

Sena spun around and her heart lurched in her chest. Aegon’s troops had fallen back from her at the sharp command, Vhagar was watching her from across the field with beacon-like eyes and her rider… Aemond stood before her, sword drawn, clad in armour from head to foot. He raised the corner of his mouth in his soft smile. “Pure ingratitude,” he said, nodding at Vermithor. “Most men would kill to have you all to themselves.”

She swallowed around a lump in her throat. “I don’t know about most men,” she said and her voice was barely a croak.

“Fine, maybe I meant I would kill to have you to myself,” he said.

It was a poor choice of words and her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Her blood surged rebelliously in her veins. “You’ve killed for less.”

His expression faltered. “I have,” he said wearily, shamefully. “Lay down your sword and I’ll get a maester. Your nose needs seeing to.”

She clutched her sword tighter. “I can’t.”

He shook his head at her, looking tired. “Stop fighting,” he told her. “Please. Let me take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” She asked, her voice trembling. “You killed Luke, Aemond. And Grey Ghost-“

“I thought I had killed you.” he said, his own voice shaking, drawing closer to her. His eye was glossy. “When I watched you fall, I thought I would die with you.”

She clenched her jaw and raised her sword as he tried to approach her. She kept him at arm’s distance with the point of her blade.

He let the point of the blade catch on the centre of his chest. Met her eyes with a beseeching look. “Give up this folly, my lady. Come back to King’s Landing, come home and marry me.”

“You’re betrothed,” she bit out, and that was another part of this that stung like hell.

He shook his head in disbelief. “There’s not a woman in the world I would not spurn, not an oath I would not break for you. How can you not know that by now?”

Her eyes were swimming with tears, her knuckles gone white from how hard she was grasping her sword. “Give up everything I believe in? Give up my Queen, my sisters, my brothers, to come stand silent at your side and bear your sons? No, Aemond. No.”

He held his expression carefully blank, though she could see the bob of his throat. “You would not be you if you were so easily swayed,” he said, “but to hear you reject me so plainly, reject us and our children… it hurts more than I thought it would.”

Everything in her was shaking. She needed to end this now, before she went weak. Before she folded. Before she succumbed and pulled him into her arms.“I can’t let you take this town without a fight, Aemond. I owe it to my family, to everyone your army will put to the sword.” Her voice was shaking. She wrapped both hands around the hilt of her sword, the point still resting against his armour.

“I understand that, Sena.”

Sena. Her name from his lips had haunted her dreams since all this began.

A breeze picked up behind him and his long hair blustered around his face. Leather, brimstone, rosemary filled her senses.

“Why did the gods make me love you, Aemond?” She asked, her voice shaking.

He smiled a sad smile as he stepped back and raised his sword. A tear rolled freely down Sena’s cheek. “Because they made me for you.”

Their swords clashed between them and at long last, they danced.

They knew this dance well, knew each other well, and it showed in each parried blow, each perfectly timed deflection and dodge. Aemond’s bare steel swung through the air on a counter and she met it with a sharp ringing sound, throwing his strength back at him and slashing with a backswing. He stepped backwards, grimacing as a few strands of silver hair were cut loose from his head, and looked at her with fire in his pretty eye. “You’re going to have to do better than giving me a haircut, issa jorrāelagon.” Sena’s heart seized. My love.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped and swung at him again.

Time and time again, her strikes fell. And time and time again, he batted them away like he was swatting flies, but never advanced on her. She grew frustrated, grew furious and howled with rage as she swung at him again. He caught the blade inches from his shoulder and deflected it, sending a sharp glare at her, but she did not care, swinging her arms back up again-

It was Ser Criston that caught the next blow, approaching from the side. She’d been so focused on Aemond, she did not even see him approach. Neither did Aemond, his mentor coming at them from his blind side, and he flinched away from the ring of their steel meeting.

“Stand down, my lady,” Ser Criston Cole commanded her sharply. “We have you surrounded. There is no way out.”

But Sena was too angry. Seething at the thought of it all. Luke, Aegon, Jaehaerys, her father, all of it, all she wanted to do was win, just this one time. She struck out one final, savage blow at Aemond, but it was sloppy, made in anger and exhaustion. He side-stepped her easily and pulled her back sharply towards his chest with an arm around her middle.

Ser Criston Cole knocked her hard against the head with his armoured elbow and the scorched field tilted out of focus.

Her vision spotted, her stomach rolled. The ground did not so much rush up to meet her as she was lowered to it. She thought she heard Aemond - her Aemond - murmuring in her ear. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. Look at me. You’re okay.” She couldn’t be sure.

But she did feel cold shackles closing around her wrists, and a murmured “Apologies, my lady,” from a misshapen blob that looked like Ser Criston Cole.

Then, there was something sweet on her tongue, and the world went black.

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