Summerhall 301 AC.
Rhaegar Targaryen.
The traveling took longer than he'd have liked, though it was brightened up considerably by his granddaughter's presence and enthusiasm. Not once was Elia's excitement at seeing new lands undimmed. Each day she had woken up eager to experience more of them. It allowed for Rhaegar's own excitement at this new stage of his life to be what guided him rather than be irritated by how long it took them to reach Summerhall.
When they actually did see the keep in the distance, Rhaegar turned to see his wife looking as surprised as his son and he himself both were. For more than thirty years the keep had remained as it had on that fateful day that he'd been brought into the world. It had been left almost as a standing symbol of his family's arrogance and stupidity. His great-grandfather in his vain effort to bring dragons back into the world had foolishly put their entire family at risk and had cost them far too much in the process. Closing his eyes, Rhaegar offered a prayer for all those lost that day and thanked the gods for those they had saved.
"My love?" his wife asked worriedly.
"It's nothing, just seeing this place stirs up memories that were best left alone," he replied as he looked to see Aegon laughing at something that his granddaughter had said to him.
They were soon greeted in the courtyard by some of the men and women he'd sent ahead to ready the keep for their arrival. Yet it was the Unsullied and the captain of his own guard who entered the keep before Rhaegar or his family did. Instead, they spoke to those lined up to greet them and took in more of the keep itself. Ten years and a substantial amount of coin it had cost to rebuild Summerhall and from the outside at least, it was time and money well spent. There was, to Rhaegar's eyes at least, barely any sign of the tragedy that had taken place here. The new stone and works had, it seemed, covered up where once they were only burned and broken walls.
Again Rhaegar became lost in his memories and this time it was Aegon who pulled him out of them. His son touched his arm and bid him answer Ser Richard Lonmouth, who he'd sent to ready the keep in his stead. Once he'd done so, they then entered the keep itself and if the outside was impressive, the work they'd done to the interior was even more so. It was not overly elaborate and the decorations were more to show off his family's history than anything else, but as he walked the halls, it quickly began to feel like home.
Taking his granddaughter in his arms when she looked up at him with those wide-open eyes of hers, Rhaegar began to tell her some of the tales that the tapestries showed. A short while later, he was laughing fully as Elia peppered him with question after question, and by the time they reached the Great Hall, he'd forgotten even where he was. They stayed only a moment in the Great Hall with Rhaegar taking a brief look around it and finding it more to his taste than he had ever found the Throne Room at the Red Keep. Here it was simply a small raised dais with two chairs of equal size and room for more to be added should it be a feast that was being held. Something he'd no doubt need to have at least once in the next few days.
"Should we see to your room, Elia?" Rhaegar asked his granddaughter, her eager nod all the reply that he needed.
The family rooms had been the last things decorated. While a part of him had always had the dream of retiring to this keep, it was a dream he never thought would be fulfilled. Instead, he'd expected that it would have been Rhaenys, or mayhap a child of hers or Aegon's who would one day call this keep their home.
' Even here I thought not about my other son' he thought and felt the bitter sting of shame as he did so.
Again it was Elia's excitement that took him from his dark thoughts. Her eagerness to be out of his arms and to run around her room which now quickly brought a smile back to his face.
"All of this is for me?" she asked as she picked up one of the stuffed toys that his wife had no doubt been responsible for.
"All of this is for you, little dragon," Aegon said happily as he chased after the excited little girl.
As much as he would have enjoyed just standing and looking at his granddaughter all day long, he knew for now at least he could not. So bidding her and his son farewell and looking to her mother who bore a true smile on her face, Rhaegar left the room and made his way to what was to be his and his wife's chambers. He found his wife waiting there when he arrived and with a nod to his guards, he entered to find the room exactly as he'd requested it to be.
"They did a wonderful job did they not?" his wife asked.
"They did." he said as he moved to her "Elia may never leave her room," he said smiling at his wife as he did so.
"Good." his wife replied.
"This… what we're doing here….it's the right thing is it not?" he asked and then felt his wife's lips on his own as she answered him not in words.
They ate a family meal that night. Only they and those closest to them out of their new household. Each of them had been handpicked by him or by Daemon and other than the Unsullied and the men of the Fiery Hand, he knew them all personally. In time he'd get to know the rest of them too and while he felt that Daemon was worrying excessively over their safety, he would allow him his peace of mind. Once they'd eaten, Rhaegar and his wife put Elia to bed themselves and he sat by her bedside and told her a tale of princesses and dragons.
Over the next few days, they each explored some of the lands outside the keep. There was a small forest a little distance away should they wish to hunt. A decent-sized stream that both provided fresh water as well as fish for their table. Rhaegar had ridden over the hills and down into some of he valleys, finding himself more at peace than he'd known in many a year. While his wife seemed to much prefer the cool crisp air and lack of smell that King's Landing was unfortunately incapable of offering. They even held a feast that some of the nearest Stormlords attended. Not a single one of them seemed to be put out that Summerhall was now to be occupied properly for the first time ever.
If there was one thing that Rhaegar would change, it would have been how Daemon's men acted. Always on alert and always waiting as if they expected trouble to come. They seemed to be preparing themselves for some war or battle that Rhaegar knew not about. At first, he put it down to them simply being Daemon's men and they, like his son, had spent their lives readying themselves to fight the only war that matters. More and more, Rhaegar began to believe it was that they were truly worried about their safety. It had led to him doing things he'd thought he'd left behind in King's Landing. Making plans for events he'd hoped and expected he'd never need to worry about again.
He, Elia, Aegon, and his granddaughter had come here to no longer need to feel like a king, queen, or prince. Yet, for now, at least, Daemon had felt the need to protect them as if they still were. Given the many times he'd cared not for his son's opinions or truly thought of him over the years, Rhaegar felt he owed him at least this one small thing. It didn't stop him from wishing that his son was wrong, however, but it did stop him from ignoring Daemon. Rhaegar felt that he'd done enough of that for two lifetimes, after all.
King's Landing 301 AC.
Rhaella.
The city felt strange without her son and gooddaughter's presence. Though Rhaella worried not about Rhaegar or Elia. Not even about Aegon and her great-granddaughter. As she believed that they'd all be far happier at Summerhall than they'd shown themselves to be in King's Landing. Yet still, without them here, things felt odd and different. Not worse and not yet better. Just something that now required a period of settling in and getting used to.
Never was this clearer than with Rhaenys and Myrcella. The Queen and the Hand, both now ruled for true for the first time which took some people time to get adjust to. Be it their worries over Daemon, the small pushback they faced from some of the Lords who felt a woman shouldn't rule, or simply their own newness to their positions, it had taken many words from Rhaella to allow them to relax. As for any lord that dared speak ill of either of them, well a visit from Bon soon had them singing a much different tune. A simple reminder that this was the wife and sister of a dragon-riding king was more than enough to stop foolish questions from turning into even truer doubts.
For Rhaella, her own time in the city was mixed, to say the least. She had her own worries about Daemon that until she saw him unharmed and unhurt and standing in front of her, would not be assuaged. Yet she enjoyed being with her children once more. Supping with Viserys and Dany. Gossiping with her daughter and Missandei and even chiding her son for not yet seeking out a bride. The latter being something she did only half-heartedly to be fair. Still, it would be something they'd need to consider in time and it was for the best that the thought was put in Viserys head sooner rather than later. Who that bride was to be was yet another thing to think about. 'Though not something she had to do now,' Rhaella thought to herself as readied for the day ahead.
"Another day," she said, rising from the bed and making her way to pick out her clothing for the day.
Bon was up and about already and by the time Rhaella was dressed and ready to break her fast, he'd returned. A soft kiss on her cheek and an offer of his arm were all part of their morning routine. Today they'd eat with Myrcella, Sansa Stark, and Missandei joining them and her children. Some days it would be with Rhaenys or even them both, but mostly it was just Rhaella, Bon, Dany, Viserys, and Missandei. Her daughter's love had quickly become part of their extended family, and the happiness that she'd brought into Dany's life was something that Rhaella was most grateful to the young girl for.
Entering the small room where they ate, Rhaella was happy to see, Dany, Missandei, Sansa and Myrcella all engaged in light conversation. Viserys looked far more tired than she'd have liked, yet he brightened up when he saw her and Bon. Rhaella knew full well that her son much preferred to speak to Bon during these morning meals than he did to any of the rest of them. It made her even keener for Daemon to return. As the thoughts of her son and grandson bonding of a morn were ones that most pleased her.
"And what has you all excited this morn?" Rhaella said, joining in the girl's conversation.
They ate and spoke, while Myrcella rose to her feet more than once to stretch. Her pregnancy was now starting to take a toll on her more and more each day. So far it was only small discomforts, but in time the worries would add to them and make them feel much worse. So Rhaella, Dany, Rhaenys, and Myrcella's own mother as well as her cousin, all went out of their way to make the young queen feel less concerned by the changes her body was going through. Most days they succeeded, though on the ones where Myrcella was missing Daemon the most, not any of their words were enough.
"What plans have you for the day, Mother?" Dany asked when Myrcella sat back down and made herself comfortable once more.
"Bon and I have some meetings to attend. You?"
"I'm spending the day with Rhaenys. We're going over the funding for the new orphanage and meeting with Lord Willas to speak on food shipments." Dany said proudly.
"And you, son?"
"I've to meet with the new recruits and speak to each man individually, Mother. To decide if they're truly the men we wish for the Gold Cloaks or not."
"Bon gave you his notes?" she asked, though she really had no need to.
"That he did. They were most helpful, Mother."
Finishing her meal, Rhaella rose to her feet and moved to first her son and then her daughter. Kissing each of them on their cheeks and trying not to laugh at how put out Viserys pretended to be. Like all men, affection being shown by a mother or grandmother was something he welcomed, though he acted a mummer and claimed not to. With a look to Myrcella to let her know that she was around should she be needed, Rhaella nodded to Bon and together they made their way from the room and then out of the Red Keep.
Flanked by men of the Hundred, they walked through the city and to Bon's own building. Once inside, far from any prying eyes or ears, then and only then did they speak on their true concerns for the day.
"We've received no word from any of Daemon's men?" Rhaella asked as she sat down at the desk that Bon had seen fit to place in his solar for her use.
"No. Nor does any of the Red Priests have any news of import to share. They are not worried, my queen. "
"You must send your own people once again, Bon. We needs must have news."
"I shall do so, my queen. Though I fear it a wasted exercise and have no doubt that Daemon will have returned before any reports do."
Rhaella nodded at him. She knew he spoke the truth and yet she cared not. Better to do something than nothing and even if Daemon returned before any news may, they may still see some benefit in having one of Bon's men travel to Essos.
"Rhaegar and Elia have settled?" she asked, moving on to the next thing on her list.
"And are most comfortable, my queen. I've set four of the Hundred to keep an eye on the lands nearest them. Should they be needed…."
"Let's hope they are not."
They spoke then on the Small Council, the Lords Paramount, and Wardens. Bon shared news from each of the Seven Kingdoms and all seemed well enough. Other than the Riverlands and Riverrun, all was at peace and the realm seemed content. Not that she had any worries about the Riverlands either, since the only reason it was not being marked off her list was due to it awaiting the arrival of its new Lord Paramount.
"The Blackfish has left Winterfell?"
"He has, my queen. He and Brandon Stark passed the Twins a few days ago."
"Untroubled?"
"As much as anyone can be when dealing with House Frey." Bon chuckled.
Running the quill through the second last line of her piece of parchment, Rhaella looked down to the only word that had not yet been crossed off. Dorne.
"Let us speak now of the Snakes, Bon."
Rhaella listened as Bon spoke of Oberyn traveling back to Essos again. Of reports of the Golden Company moving and of a fleet being readied in Essos. Yet, it was the reports of food being moved and the ground cleared near Wyl, the Tor, and Sunspear. That along with the disappearance of some men of known repute which soon had Rhaella asking for a map.
"Could they truly be planning a full-scale attack, Bon? Are my eyes deceiving me or am I seeing things I fear more so than believe to be true?"
"Were it not for the reports from Essos, I'd say you were, my queen. Yet, if it's a fear you have it's one I find myself sharing."
"We must speak to Lord Tywin, to Lady Olenna, and to Lord Stannis. Word must be sent to Lord Stark too." Rhaella said with determination.
"You would have them call the banners, my queen?" Bon asked and Rhaella shook her head.
"No, not as such. Not yet."
"But to ready themselves should they be needed," Bon said and she nodded her agreement.
"I'll see that word is sent this very day. The Queen, the Hand?"
"No, not for now. Send word to my son too, Bon. To your men there." Rhaella said moving her fingers from Wyl to the Boneway and Summerhall."
"It shall be done, my queen."
A soft kiss, a welcome embrace, and then in the blink of an eye, Bon had left the room. Rhaella took her seat and began to write down numbers, her estimation of the forces that each kingdom could call upon and how quickly they could be gathered together and be on the march. Many years earlier, she'd planned a war that never came. Together with Bon and Barristan, they'd sat and looked down on a map much like the one in front of her while planning Daemon's rise to the Iron Throne.
In the end, they'd found no need for that war to take place. Firstly because of Daemon's disappearance and then later, due to his return. The crown she'd wished her grandson to wear was one that was given freely and without conflict. While the war she'd been willing to wage, though had prayed she'd not need to, had been forgotten about. It seemed now to Rhaella that the gods had always wished a war to be fought. That all his life they'd been preparing Daemon to fight more than one. As she looked down at the numbers and the map, she began to wonder about the words that Daemon had spoken to her regarding what he was destined to do.
" Red Eyes, Blue Eyes, White Eyes, Grandmother. In time I'll shut them all."
In the far North, Daemon had fought and closed Blue Eyes. Right now he was in Essos looking to do the same to red ones. What did White Eyes mean? And why was Rhaella starting to believe that the war she feared Dorne was preparing to bring to their shores was the last of Daemon's three wars? Closing her eyes, Rhaella offered a prayer to the gods. Two prayers in fact. One to beg them to make her wrong about what she believed was about to happen. While the other simply begged them to let her grandson return unharmed and to be here with them, should she be proved right.
"Come home, Daemon. Soon, I beg of you." Rhaella said, as she walked from Bon's solar and began to turn her mind to defending a city and seven kingdoms from those who would wish it harm.
Riverrun 301 AC.
The Blackfish.
Brynden had held a meeting with Raymun Darry before heading North. Happy to find that while not best pleased to lose the Lord Paramount position, Raymun had accepted it with good grace and blamed him not for it. He was unsurprised to find out that Queen Rhaella had spoken to the lord before he had. Or that a role closer to the crown as well as land and coin had been given to Raymun in recompense.
Annoyingly, however, there were barely any of the other Riverlords in the city for Brynden to speak to. Which would certainly mean he'd need to organize a welcome feast at Riverrun for his grandnephew to be introduced to them. A feast that would have to include Bran's betrothed and her family most of all. For now, that was the least of Brynden's concerns. He'd taken a ship to White Harbor to cut the traveling time down to less than a week. From there, he'd ridden to Winterfell and in turn, he had gotten his first true look at the North.
Colder than he'd anticipated, there was a wild beauty about the lands that he traveled through. A harshness that explained much about the men of the North that he'd known over the years. To his good fortune, the weather was milder than it could have been and he'd not truly seen a proper snowfall. It made the going good which allowed him to reach Winterfell in less than a moon and Brynden had been most happy to see the great keep for the first time.
It put almost all other keeps he'd seen to shame in sheer size alone. With only Harrenhal beating it in that regard, or so he'd wager. Sturdy, defensible, like the North itself it was a hard nut to crack should anyone ever even dare for such. It made Brynden wonder just what the Iron Born had been thinking. How foolish their plots and plans to attack the North had truly been. Though that soon brought up other thoughts that only the fact he was allowed through the gate and caught sight of his niece's red hair on one of the walkways, were they able to be put to bed.
"Ser Brynden." a voice called out and the Blackfish turned away from looking at Cat, to see a man of an age with him who bore large whiskers on his cheeks and was smiling up at him.
"Ser Rodrik?" he asked, having spoken much to Cat in letters at least over the years and so recognizing the man as Ser Rodrik Cassel.
"Aye, welcome to Winterfell, Ser Brynden. I'll have a man see to your horse and I'll escort you to Lord Stark."
Dismounting and grabbing his pack, Brynden followed after Winterfell's Master of Arms. The two men even shared an enjoyable conversation as they did so. Rodrik told him that the boys were at lessons with the Maester while the girls were with their mother. Brynden then spoke about seeing Cat on the walkway and being told that his niece often did so while his great-niece Arya and some of the girls of the household were finishing some task she'd set them to. Lord Stark he found out, was in his solar doing his own work and it was to there that Brynden was taken.
"My lord, the Blackfish has arrived." Ser Rodrik said after he'd knocked on the door and been allowed entry to the chambers, Brynden then followed him when the man bid him to.
"Ser Brynden, be welcome."
"Lord Stark," Brynden said, a small bow of his head as a way of greeting.
"No doubt you'll welcome something warm in your belly, Ser Brynden. The weather is mild enough but it still fills a man with an appetite I'd wager."
"Something warm would be most welcomed, aye."
By the time the food and drink arrived, Brynden and his Goodnephew had dispensed with the formalities. Neither of them was truly comfortable with them in the first place and so it allowed for a more true greeting. Ned was surprised he'd come so soon and a little ill-prepared for it. Brynden explained that it was both his own eagerness to get things started in the Riverlands as well as the fact that Lord Darry had already been informed of the change that was the reason for his sudden arrival.
After some food and a little more talk, they were joined by his niece and Brynden was most happy to see Cat hale and hearty. She looked no worse for the ordeal she'd been put through by the Iron Born scum and seemed to bear no marks from her captivity. Like her husband, Cat was surprised he'd come so soon and showed a little reluctance for Bran's departure. Though it was simply a mother wishing more time with her son and not any true reluctance for the role that son was to take up, that was the reason for that.
Later that night, Brynden ate his meal with the whole family. While not quite a feast, it was not exactly a private intimate dinner either. There was a comfort in how his Goodnephew seemed to welcome people to his table. A lack of formality that was much appreciated as well as an atmosphere that Brynden could come to enjoy. Brynden felt that his grandnephews and his nieces were all good and true children.
Sansa, he'd met while in King's Landing and it took him no more than a moment to see that she was clearly missed by all those present. Brynden had been surprised that she was now residing in the Red Keep and that she was serving the queen as one of her ladies-in-waiting. Though Sansa had soon impressed upon him just how happy she was in doing so. His words spoken now on her to her mother, father, and brothers, and to her sister had been most welcomed, Brynden felt.
In truth, so much like her mother had Sansa looked, that upon meeting her, Brynden had almost expected to see Lysa by her side. Arya he could now see was much different from her older sister in both looks and bearing. His youngest great-niece looked far more like a Stark than her sister had and she and Rickon were as wild as each other. Something which brought a smile to his face as he watched them both try and fail to sit still and behave. Robb was to Brynden's eyes an heir that any man could be proud of.
As for Bran. His new liege lord was quiet at first. Bran seemed to share his parent's reluctance that it was to be so soon he'd depart. Soon though, after a little conversation, that reluctance seemed to at least turn to a keenness to experience the adventure of travel if nothing else. Over the five days that Brynden stayed in Winterfell, that keenness had turned to excitement. He'd gone out of his way to tell Bran as much about the Riverlands and Riverrun as he could. Had told him that of course, he'd be right there with him for as long as he was needed. Brynden had even told his grandnephew that he'd be training him personally and should he wish it, he could earn his spurs at his side. Something that earned him one of Bran's truest smiles.
Finally, the day came and goodbyes were said. Brynden was then stunned to find that it was not just Bran who'd be making a new home for himself at Riverrun. While Cat and Ned had told him they'd be sending a guard of thirty men, some to stay on at Riverrun with some to return once he and Bran arrived there safely, Brynden had not expected the Direwolf to be among their party too. He'd barely seen them during his time at Winterfell and had certainly not interacted with them. Yet, where Bran went so too went Summer, or so Cat had told him. So after saying their goodbyes and promising he'd write often, Bran mounted his horse with Summer beside it, and together they rode out through Winterfell's gates.
A Moon and a half later.
The ride from Winterfell had been a hard one. A larger group made for slower going and the weather turned on them while they were on the road. Eventually, they reached Moat Cailin and rode through the Neck and into the Riverlands. Bran getting his first good look at the lands that he was now to rule over. Passing through the Twins with less annoyance than he usually found doing so, they were soon at Stone Hedge where they spent a night in warm rooms and bathing in good warm water.
Jonos welcomed them happily enough and other than wishing it was one of his daughters Bran was marrying rather than Lord Mooton's, he took no issue with Bran being Lord Paramount. If anything it was something he welcomed, especially once Brynden told him that he'd be serving as his grandnephew's regent. Finally, after more than three moons of travel to and from Winterfell, Brynden arrived at Riverrun and saw his family keep for the first time in almost a year. To his credit, Edmure welcomed them with the right amount of respect and though his nephew looked at Bran with some jealousy, his tongue was kept firmly where it belonged.
A large welcome feast where Bran was introduced as the new Lord and Lord Paramount was followed by a private meeting between him, Bran, and Edmure. Nothing of import was discussed at it and Bran somewhat put Edmure's mind at ease. Though it would take his own words with his nephew to do so completely. It was not something Brynden wished to do that first night and not even something he got to do the second. Instead, he'd shown Bran around Riverrun the day after their arrival and had introduced him to the Household before putting him to the test in the yard. There were some skills there but they'd need to be honed and Brynden was glad that Bran was still young enough to learn.
"Uncle, can we speak?" Edmure asked on the third day after their arrival.
"Aye, atop the parapets may be best."
Bran was busy at his lessons with Maester Vyman and Brynden had been sitting in what had once been Hoster's Solar while looking over their books. They were in a decent enough state for a House of their size. Though a poor state for a Great House who was now serving as Lord Paramount. Time would be all that would rectify that, however, and time he had. So Brynden was not too concerned. Something that could not be said for Edmure as they made their way up the stairs and out onto the flat roof of the tallest tower.
"I can understand you're not best pleased with losing Riverrun, Edmure." Brynden began.
"I could take issue with it, Uncle. As father's heir, I could moan about my rights and decry my lot in life."
"But you'll not."
"No, I'll not. I am well aware of what we're gaining from Bran being Lord, Uncle. All the favor we lost because of…" Edmure's words trailed off as he refused to name it as Hoster's folly. "Yet, I'd not be a man if I worried not about mine own place in things."
"No, you'd not. I'd not see you destitute or homeless, Nephew. You know me better than that. Their graces have given Bran leave to name you the lord of your own keep. We'll see it so. Lands of your own and you sworn only to Riverrun and to the Crown."
"Can we afford such, Uncle?" Edmure asked worriedly.
"No, not the now. In time, which is why I'd ask you to serve as Bran's second for now. I know much about the Riverlands, but you can add much too. We'll take our time and pick the best place for your new keep, Nephew. See that it's built in half the time it would normally take. Still, it'd be a few years and so I'd not see you idle until then. Just as I'd not see you shamed."
"I'm most grateful for it, Uncle."
"Now come, we've got a young lad who will need us both over the next few moons and years."
"That we do," Edmure said, happily it looked to Brynden's eyes.
He lit a candle in the Sept that day before praying to the Father to grant him the time to do what was needed. To not take him before he'd seen his nephew settled and his grandnephew was the lord he'd mold him to be. A few more years, that's all he asked for. Then he'd be happy to go to the gods and pay for any sins they deemed him guilty of.
King's Landing 301 AC.
Myrcella.
Each morning that she woke was another one where she missed her husband. Alone in her bed other than for Ghost, Myrcella had at first found it difficult even to sleep with Daemon beside her. Her worries, fears, the growing discomfort of being with child, all of it combined to make her toss and turn until exhaustion forced her eyes closed. Slowly, sleep began to come easier and instead it was her waking hours that gave her more trouble.
Breaking her fast, and going about her daily duties would lead to daydreams which at times would threaten to turn into nightmares. At those times she was even happier to have the white wolf by her side. Ghost seemed to always know when she needed him most and would move to her to allow her to brush her fingers through his soft white fur. Almost as soon as she would do so, Myrcella would feel a sense of calm come over her that would allow her to do what she must.
That what she must do was act like a queen, caused problems of its own. For as much as her grandfather had wished it for her or her mother had wanted it for her, Myrcella felt ill-prepared for the reasonability that had been thrust upon her. Mayhap that was partly because she'd long since abandoned the idea of being a queen. She'd known from early on that Aegon would not wed her. He'd have bed her if she'd given him the chance but he'd not have married her. Then even when she and Daemon had fallen for each other it was at most a princess that Myrcella had believed she would be. Events, fate, Daemon's destiny, all of it had placed a crown upon her head that at times felt far too weighty for her to bear.
Thankfully she was not alone in carrying the burden. So rising from her bed and moving to the door to allow Ghost to run from the room and do as wolves must do, Myrcella called for her handmaidens and sought to prepare for the day ahead. Soon enough she was dressed and ready. The crimson red dress with black accents was one of her most favored daily outfits. It was one that she now looked at herself wearing as she stood in front of the looking glass to make sure she was truly ready. Then with a nod, Myrcella moved to the door and Ser Oswell took up his position behind her.
"You slept well, your grace?" Oswell asked as they walked down the short corridor to the room she'd break her fast in.
"Most well, Ser Oswell. You've eaten?"
"I have, your grace." the Kingsguard answered.
Some mornings Myrcella would eat with Daemon's grandmother, along with Rhaenys, Dany, and Missandei. On others, it would be with her ladies-in-waiting. While on occasion and when there were matters they needed to discuss, she and Rhaenys would eat together and without any other company. Mornings like this one, however, were some of her favorites as she'd eat with her mother, father, and uncle, as well as with Tommen.
Entering the room, she smiled to see them all already there waiting and bid them keep their seats when they went to rise. Taking her own seat, she had no sooner sat down than Ghost arrived back and took his place by her feet. The white wolf was more than eager for his morning treats of bacon and sausages no doubt. Her own morning fare was mainly fruit, some toasted bread, and occasionally some warm porridge. Though some mornings, when she felt the sickness of the morn, she'd simply drink some juice and tea. This morning was one of her better mornings and so Myrcella ate as heartily as a woman eating for two could eat. Something that did not go unnoticed by her uncle.
"My niece is a hungry lion this morn," Tyrion said which earned him a chuckle from Tommen and a mummery of an angered glare from Myrcella.
"The babe needs sustenance, Uncle. It is a dragon after all."
"That it is, niece, forgive me for my lapse in memory." Tyrion japed to an eye roll from Myrcella that made him laugh.
"You feel well, Sweetling?" her mother asked with concern.
"I do, Mother, thank you."
"Your brother had a request of you, did you not, Tommen?" her father said, and Myrcella looked from Jaime to Tommen, one wearing an eager expression and the other very much not.
"I…"
"Tommen?" she asked somewhat firmly. Myrcella for once used her queen's voice or so her grandfather had named it.
"I wondered if there was any chance… I mean if it would be….With your permission of course…" Tommen stuttered.
"Gods Tommen, it must be something important if you're stumbling over your words so much. You wish to know if it could be arranged that you and Margaery are wed in the Great Sept rather than at Casterly Rock or Highgarden." Myrcella said putting her brother out of his misery.
"I… How did you know?" Tommen asked as he looked at her with intrigue.
"Margaery is one of my ladies, Tommen. And she's much better with her words than my dear brother is too." Myrcella said, winking at her brother to put him at ease "As for your request, of course, you can. I'd be most delighted to see the wedding held here. Both Daemon and I would wish to attend would we not."
"You would," Tommen said, her brother speaking more comfortably now.
"So it would suit us as much as it would stop whatever arguments grandfather and Lady Olenna may engage in."
Myrcella saw the proud look her mother gave her. An even prouder one on both her father's and uncle's faces. Margaery had hinted at things. The Rose of Highgarden was much better at the game than Tommen ever could be. She'd not come out and said it in so many words but Myrcella had needed them not. Knowing how stubborn Margaery's grandmother could be and being even more aware of her grandfather's mind on things, they'd argue back and forth over where the wedding was to be held. Neither would give in either. So this was the best and mayhap the only solution.
With that one request now granted, the rest of the morning meal was spent on a far more frivolous and pleasant conversation. Her uncle left to go about his work while Tommen and her father made their way to the sparring yard to sharpen their skills. It left Myrcella alone with her mother and the truer questions about how she was feeling and what discomforts the babe may be causing her were then asked. Once she'd convinced her mother that she was well and that the moment she felt not, she'd reach out to her, Myrcella then made her way to the first meeting of the day.
She was joined by Margaery, Sansa, and Rosamund and she forewent the chance to tell Margaery about what she'd agreed with Tommen at her morning meal. It would be better coming from her brother she felt and the two of them would then celebrate the news in the manner that only those betrothed would do. Myrcella trying her best not to feel somewhat jealous of them both.
"Let's begin now shall we," she said as she took her seat behind her desk, Ghost by her side and the first of the morning meetings now at hand.
Luncheon was eaten with Rhaenys and talk of the realm was their topic of conversation for the day. The Blackish and Brandon Stark had arrived in Riverrun to take up their new roles and thus far it seemed there had been no one who took issue with it. Lord Raymun had been appointed to the role of Crown Commissioner and Trade Envoy, which would allow him to see his own House rise as did the Crown's coffers. He'd work under their Master of Coin and while Myrcella knew not if Daemon wished for him to take up a truer position on the Small Council in the future, it would be good practice for him should that be the case.
"There is nothing else of note?" she asked Rhaenys after they'd finished eating and speaking of anything that could cause concern.
"Other than Dorne and mine uncles, no."
"Still no word from them?"
"Nor my cousins."
"You truly think…."
"Grandmother will no doubt be looking at them with an even keener eye than our own, your grace."
"I'll speak to Queen Rhaella later," Myrcella said to a nod from Rhaenys. "Your mother, father, Aegon, and Elia?"
"Are most settled and enjoying their time in Summerhall," Rhaenys said happily. "Were Daemon here I'd seek to travel to see them for myself…" Rhaenys gasped. "Forgive me, I'd not meant to bring up my brother, I'm sorry, Myrcella."
"No, No. There is naught to be sorry about, Rhaenys. I'm passed the crying stage." she said, smiling brightly at her Goodsister. "I have no fears my husband shall soon return and so I can forbear his absence a little longer."
"Just a little." Rhaenys giggled and Myrcella laughed truly.
"Just a little."
The afternoon was spent handling the petitions. She sat atop the Iron Throne, with her crown on her head as she offered judgments, words of comfort, sent aid and generally allowed people to come before the crown and present their cases for whatever ills or good fortune that they sought. Myrcella believed she was even-handed and not too generous in her decision-making. She tried to be fair and just and according to her uncle Tyrion, who often made his way to watch as she held the petitions, she was so more often than she was not.
With the petitions done, she had a bath made ready for her and welcomed the long soak that she took in it. Her body was changing, with her breasts growing larger and the swelling of her belly becoming even more pronounced. Myrcella wondered if Daemon would find her less appealing or more so and longed to find out for true. Eyes closed, fingers moving over her body and down between her legs, she once again failed to even come close to the pleasures that Daemon could wring from her and so once more she abandoned her exploration.
Dinner was with Daemon's family and no sooner had she taken her seat than she saw the worried frown on Rhaella's face. Deciding to eat and get the pleasantries over with, Myrcella welcomed listening to Dany and Missandei's excited conversation and joined in where and when she could. To her surprise, after the meal was over and done with and people had gone back to their rooms, Rhaella asked to speak to her rather than waiting for Myrcella to do so first. Alone, other than Ser Bonifer, Myrcella sat, looked to see Ghost was calm, and thanked the gods that whatever it was that was bothering Daemon's grandmother, it wasn't his own health or safety.
"Dorne is planning something, your grace. With you leave I'd like to put our own plans to counter it in place." Rhaella said, direct and to the point which Myrcella much appreciated.
"Planning what?"
"A war I believe." Rhaella's words sent a shudder down Myrcella's spine and so she simply nodded her agreement.
Later, lying in her bed, her fingers wrapped protectively around her stomach. Myrcella welcomed Ghost's presence and yet cried out for who she truly wished was there to comfort her.
"Hurry back, Daemon. Hurry back, for we are in dire need of your embrace." Myrcella said, hoping the wind would carry her words to wherever it was that Daemon was.
Essos 301 AC.
The Battle of the Storm.
Ser Arthur Dayne.
The storm had come out of nowhere. One moment they were easily beating the things they faced, the next they could barely see them. Arthur ordered a shield wall formed and for men to move behind it. While he looked down the line to see Torgho Nudho, Thoros, and even the warrior women had done likewise. As for the Dothraki and Daemon himself, he could see them not.
Had it not been for the loud roar of the dragon, then the horses would have crashed and crushed their shield wall or broken against it. How Arthur knew what the roar signified, he could only put down to some sixth sense. His orders though were thankfully listened to and far more horses than he could count now all charged through seeking cover from the storm. No sooner had they done so than Arthur ordered the shield wall to be reformed and then the dead came at them once more.
Fighting against an unseen foe was as difficult as Arthur would have ever expected it to be. In those first initial moments, they lost more men than they had up to them. Those unlucky enough to be at the front of their lines were made to suffer the worst of it. When the flames came, they felt far too close to their lines and Arthur worried that some of their own men had been caught up in them. To his relief, they had not been. Though his relief was short-lived.
"SPEARS! SPEARS!" he called out as spears the size of three men crashed against their shields with some of them breaking through and impaling any man unlucky enough to be in their path.
"REFORM THE LINE!"
Dawn soon swung as Arthur found himself in his own fight. Its white blade was almost invisible against the sand, rain, and wind that blew it all against his men and his own faces. Far too quickly another problem presented itself and this one could very well be the end of them. Beneath their feet, the ground had become wet and muddy. Men slipped as their feet found no purchase and the dead men they faced, now pushed even harder against their lines.
When it came, Arthur believed he'd finally been caught up in a fight he was to lose. The line broke and the dead pushed through only for the Dothraki to come to their aid. Off their horses and on foot, they were as fierce as they'd been atop them. Curved swords aflame, they cut down dead men by the thousands. Yet still, they came as too did the flames once again. How Daemon and Lyanax were able to direct them where they did, Arthur put down to his king holding a god's favor. In the blink of an eye, thrice the number that they'd taken down themselves with their spears and swords had fallen and to his great relief, the storm began to clear.
"Kisha Dothrakh Save!" (We Rde Again!) the shout rang around in all directions and then as the storm cleared some more, Arthur watched as the Dothraki charged back into the fray.
While it didn't relieve the immediate pressure on their lines, it allowed them to hold back the dead things that had threatened to overwhelm them. Soon enough their shield wall was almost fully formed once more and more and more of the battlefield was revealed to Arthur's eyes. Dawn was still being swung but Arthur was picking and choosing his targets far more than simply lashing out with his famed sword. The tide it seemed had turned back in their favor again and never was this shown more clearly than by the flames being loosed by Daemon and Lyanax far off in the distance.
Food and water were brought to them and any who was not engaged directly in the fighting ate and drank greedily. Once they'd done so, they moved to their comrade's place and allowed them to do the same. Arthur believed that he had never seen such camaraderie before. Nor such a belief in why they were fighting and that they would win the day. Even their losses, which had been more significant in this attack than in the earlier one, didn't seem to shake the men's spirits. He'd even go so far as to say some of the men almost wore a smile on their faces as they ate, drank, and then rejoined the lines to fight things that were more monsters than anything else.
Not even tiredness or fatigue seemed to be an issue. Men fought, they ate, lines were revolved so others could take their places at the front and give them a respite, and yet their spirits remained high. All through it, the storm that had threatened to end them grew lesser and lesser. It even allowed Arthur to take the Myrish Eye and look out to the Dothraki who could now be seen somewhat. As they'd done when they'd first rode out, they once again charged into the lines with abandon. It looked savage and undisciplined to an untrained eye but was very much anything but. There was a method to it, an art he'd even dare say. Different from a Westerosi cavalry charge but just as effective.
"Ser… Ser…" A voice shouted from far too close to him, Arthur turned to see what it was that worried the man so "There, Ser, There"
The sight he saw was grotesque. Dead men and women, who were far more damaged physically than any of the others that had come against them, now moved their way. These things were true monsters and while a part of Arthur felt they were of a lesser threat than what he'd so far faced, for some reason he knew he was wrong.
"ARCHERS! ARCHERS! TAKE THEM DOWN!" he shouted as he called for men and sent them to where Thoros, Torgho Nudho, and the Warrior Women were.
Dawn in hand, Arthur moved to the front of the line and readied himself once more. He'd not name the things that moved their way as the reserves of the army they faced, though in some way that's exactly what they were. These were to Arthur's mind, the crack troops if there could be such a thing in an army of dead things. The true threat and the biggest danger. He just thanked the gods that they seemed few and far between.
Thoros.
The storm had threatened to break them. Up until its arrival, the battle was one they were not only winning, but they were winning it easily. Then out of nowhere a storm had blown up and caused as many problems as the dead things themselves. More in truth, as it was far easier to beat back a dead thing than it was wind, sand, and rain. Even when you did manage to grow accustomed to seeing no more than a foot or so in front of your face. Or when you could stand the feel of rain and sand as it lashed against you and made you cough, splutter, and shield your eyes. You were then faced with another problem. Soggy ground.
More than one of his men had slipped and fallen in the mud which had then in turn cost that man his life. The dead it seemed cared not and simply moved over the ground with the same ease they'd done before the storm's arrival. They pulled, grabbed, and clawed and Thoros was certain he'd seen them bite more than once or twice. Any man unlucky enough to lose his footing was soon pulled away never to be seen again. Thoros did his best not to ponder too much on their fate once they had been. As that way would rob him of his own courage should he do so.
Not seeing Lyanax and Daemon had threatened that enough as it was. He knew they were out there, somewhere. Yet not seeing his prince worried him greatly and he was not alone in his concerns. For now, however, he had even larger ones.
"RAISE YOUR SHIELDS!" he called out when he saw the spear impale two men who'd been unlucky enough to be fighting against the dead as it came toward them.
The sound of wood and metal colliding was now added to by the sight of men being pushed back by the force of the spears' impact. All down his line, Thoros saw those who'd followed his orders now still stood while those who'd only been in the process of doing so, very much did not. Then the attack came once more, this time in even greater force. Moving from where he'd stood overlooking the battle, or doing as best a job he could of it considering he really couldn't see much through the storm, Thoros hoped his fiery sword offered some of the hope that Daemon and Lyanax's flames did.
Within a moment of reaching the front of their lines, Thoros was swinging with all his might and dead things were slashed, cut, decapitated, or burned by his blade. He felt more than one blade crash against his breastplate. Though not a single one managed to pierce the Valyrian steel. Then he heard the loud roar of a dragon and felt the warmth of Lyanax's flames. Close, too close, and yet somehow not a single one of their men was caught up in them. Down the line, again and again, his prince atop his dragon let loose their flames and the dead things fell.
Thoros fought and looked for Daemon equally. Happy to finally see his prince and see that he and the black dragon were well. It took him a moment to realize that he could actually see Daemon and then another to register that he could see more than that. The storm was faltering. It was lesser in its intensity and looking to where Torgho Nudho and Ser Arthur were, Thoros was greeted by just as welcome a sight. The Dothraki had begun to charge once more and the dead were as much a match for them this time as they had been the last.
Soon enough they were given even more respite. So much so that Thoros called for food and water to be distributed and for their wounded to be taken from the front of their lines. The dead things crashed against their shield wall to no avail and men once again were able to rest and recuperate a little. Each time that Thoros looked out to the field was another that he'd see a dragon loosing its flames in the distance and he'd not lie and say the sight didn't remove the weight he'd felt closing in on his heart.
Now more relaxed, Thoros ate, drank some water, retook his position, and readied himself for the end of the fight or what he believed to be the end.
Khal Drogo.
He sent men to the Warrior Women, as well as to the Knight that his brother by choice had brought with him. Drogo sent them to the Unsullied who followed after Daemon and to the Red Priest whom his brother cared for as much as any man he knew. The storm had caused them to stop their charges. It had forced them back behind the lines and no Dothraki, especially not the Khal of Khals, ever liked to retreat.
Yet retreat he had. For this was the fight of his life. The fight he'd been born for. Just as Daemon had a destiny, this was Drogo's own. Daemon would strike the killing blow and kill the Khal of the Dead while Drogo would take down the general of his armies. To do so he would first fight a fight unlike any he'd ever known. As this one had already proved itself to be. So he'd ordered the retreat. Then he'd ordered men to dismount and offer their Arakhs in aid of those who fought by their sides this day. Drogo had watched, as with his men's help, the lines had held firm even from those giant spears.
He'd eaten from his pack. Drank from his water pouch. Along with his bloodriders, Drogo had welcomed the small rest and awaited his chance to take to the field once more. Though for some time he could barely even see that field. Then, like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds on a rainy day, Daemon and his dragon's flames began to be seen. First, it was mere glimpses of the fire that the great black dragon unleashed on the fools below it. Soon enough it was the sight of Daemon himself which brought a smile to Drogo's face. Eventually, the storm itself proved itself no match for the man or the dragon that he rode upon.
"Kisha Dothrakh Save!"(We Ride Again) Drogo shouted out, his order soon reverberating around the field and into his men's ears.
As one the Khalasar mounted up and the shield wall opened to allow them to pass. Men moved out of their way as the horses gathered pace and the dead that were unlucky to be in their path fell to hooves, Arakhs, and arrows.
"Kisha Dothralat! Iffi che Athdrivar!" (We Ride! Victory or Death!) he shouted out loudly as the battle cry rang out through the entire Khalasar.
The ground beneath his stallion's hooves was soft and soggy and yet it mattered not. Their horses were the best trained in the known world and their riders were the very best of men. No ground was too rough or too big an obstacle for them to deal with. Other than the poison water, there was nothing that would stop the Khalasar once it was in full charge. Slashing down with his Arakh, Drogo proved that to be even truer now.
To his left, a spear the size of three men took a horse and rider while to his right another did the same. Then whoever had fired that spear found itself wrapped in a fiery embrace as Daemon and his own might steed took them from the world. Drogo smiled at the thought they were riding together for true now. Left and right, side to side, Drogo swung his Arakh and cut dead men in two as if they were nothing, while easily dodging their pitiful attempts to pull him from his horse.
Some of his men were not as fortunate nor as skilled as he, however. They fell never to be seen again and later after he'd fulfilled his destiny, Drogo would sing songs of their valor as they were sent to the Great Stallion. For now, he had dead things to kill. So he, his bloodriders, and those nearest him killed them with great abandon. As too did the black dragon and the man who rode atop it. Flames led the way and Drogo rode towards them. They cut down dead things to clear his path and Drogo cut down any who'd been fortunate to avoid those flames.
Around them, the storm was almost completely gone now and Drogo could look and see the extent of their victory or the scope of their defeat. Though he truly needed no eyes to see it was one and not the other. The Khalasar had completely broken the lines of the dead things. Behind them, the men on foot had moved forward rather than hold their position. While ahead of them, lay Drogo's destiny and it was to that he rode. Turning to see where Daemon was, Drogo laughed loudly. Were he to wish it, he could almost reach out and touch his brother so close did he and the black dragon fly beside them.
"Assikhqoyisir ma Fasqoyi!" Drogo called out.
"Prophecy and Destiny!" Daemon replied, repeating his words.
Daemon Targaryen.
The battle had been all but won. His tactics, how they'd been carried out, Drogo, Thoros, Torgho Nudho, Arthur, and Phiranah Naerann with her warrior women. Their men, the Khalasar, Unsullied, and the Fiery Hand. Lyanax with him atop her back. All of them had stuck to the plan and not only held the army of red-eyed dead things at bay but even forced them back. Then that accursed storm had come out of nowhere and Lyanax's flying had become erratic as she'd tried to adapt to it.
Daemon had feared they'd be grounded and while he would lead this fight from the ground if need be, there was still too much for Lyanax to do for it to be now. So despite his better instincts, he bid her to take them out of the storm and once she'd done so, he began to change his plans. Light and flame were still the way to end the dead things they faced, but it was no good to them if they couldn't bring those flames to bear.
Lyanax was in his mind telling him that she could and would fly through the storm, that together it was no obstacle for them, not truly. While Daemon admired her will and confidence, he knew too that she was only saying so for his benefit. Not only that, but he risked her too much if neither she nor he could see where the threats were. So they continued to fly around the edges of the storm. Doing all they could to try to peer into it and hoping that the men and women who fought along with those who lead them all held their nerve and their lines.
" Blood for blood, you know it's what you must do." the voice called out in Daemon's mind, a voice he knew all too well and one he most welcomed hearing.
Looking at the rubies on his neck, Daemon readied to cut his hand and cover them in his blood and yet something stopped him. What that was, he knew not. Though later was someone to ask him then he'd say it was a dragon from a different age that he heard. Cutting his hand as had been his plan, it was not to the rubies that his hand moved, it was to the sapphire he'd found in the God's Eye. Feeling the jolt go up his arm the moment he touched it, Daemon saw the battle take place in his mind. More than that, he saw the path to victory that was offered to him in the vision, dream, or whatever it was he was looking at.
Still, it took him a moment to ready himself for what he needed to do. Firstly he wiped down the sapphire and then he called out to the shadows. All of the shadows and as one they left their posts. From behind him on Lyanax's back and from each of the sides of those he'd sent them to watch over, to now move out into the battlefield itself and across it. As with the Night King, his enemy had used his magic on those closest to him most of all. Though these things were not White Walkers, they acted much the same. Now, they were targeted by seven wraiths and they'd find their magic was no match for that of seven dead kings.
A sword cut through a dead woman as if she was nothing. Arrows flew through the air and took down two men or things that had once been men. An axe took a head from a shoulder before taking down another while daggers cut a man up and apart as if they were slicing their meat for a feast. A Greatsword crashed so hard against a body that the two halves that it had cleared in two were thrown more than twenty feet.
On and on it went, Fingers crushed a dead thing's throat and pulled the head from its shoulders. Others were slashed down their chest or back and fell where they stood. Those that were lesser than the shadows' true targets fell with barely a whimper. Those the shadows sought out, fell just as easily, though at least one or two tried to put up a fight. Their blades, their weapons, left no marks and cut through the shadows to no effect. While the weapons the shadows wielded were deadly and efficient as well as unstoppable.
Daemon felt it then. The moment when the storm began to dissipate. It was not enough that it would bring true respite to their lines, not yet. It was enough, however, for Lyanax and he to fly into the storm once more. His dragon needed no command and almost as soon as Daemon had thought to act, Lyanax was already heading into the storm.
"Dracarys," Daemon said as he looked down at a large group of dead things, their end coming to them in one fiery wave less than a moment later.
Each time they loosed the flames, Daemon felt the storm weaken. So much so that he called the shadows back and once again he flew with them guarding his back and the backs of those that he cared about. Lyanax was relentless and unwavering as she let loose the true death that these things had been denied by the Great Other's fell magic. Fire cleansing their very souls and sending them to whatever of the seven hells they deserved to reside in for eternity.
None of them would be welcomed into R'hllor's embrace. Not a single one of them was worthy of the warmth that his god offered those who believed in him. A city, land, or even an empire's worth of people were all now ended for true as on the field Drogo and his Khalasar rode once more. Meanwhile, atop Lyanax, Daemon went about his god's work. An hour, less, or even more, time was not something he could truly make out in this battle for light and life. Beneath them, the dead army was now facing off against his own who'd broken from their lines and were now finally on the attack and Daemon felt the call when it came.
"It's time, brother. It's time we rode together for true."
Lyanax took him to where Drogo and his Khalasar rode and cut through dead things as swiftly as their horses covered the ground. Dropping so low that he could almost reach out and touch Drogo on the shoulder, Daemon nodded when his brother by choice looked his way. A destiny that had been forged in the bonds of friendship and brotherhood was now finally at hand. His own work would not be finished when they won this day. Drogo's, however, would.
"Prophecy and Destiny!" He called in response to Drogo's words.
With Lyanax, he cut a swathe of fire that led him, Drogo, and his bloodriders right to where their true enemies stood. A dozen, two, mayhap more. Too many to face one on one and yet these would not fall to Lyanax's flames. Bidding the shadows that rode with him to once again play their part, Daemon told Lyanax to fly high once he'd done as he must. Promising her that this would not be the last time they flew together, Daemon looked to Drogo, smiled, and then jumped from Lyanax's back.
Drogo quickly joined him. His horse then pulled up a little past where the commander of the dead army and his closest generals now stood waiting. They were joined a few moments later by Drogo's Bloodriders and by four of the shadows.
"May the Great Stallion protect us," Daemon said as he Unsheathed Flame and Spark.
"May we walk in R'hllor's light" Drogo said, the two of them giving the other's god their due.
Though he knew it not at the time, the thing that moved toward him had been once named Chai Yen. At one point he'd been known as the Sorcerer Lord and had named himself the ninth and sixtieth Yellow Emperor. Beside him was a thing that had once been named Pol Qo, the Hammer of the Jogos Nhai. Together they could have ruled over Yi Ti and none could have challenged them. Instead, they'd made a deal with true evil and sold themselves to the Great Other. Daemon knew that the former was one of the champions that he had spent most of his life prepared to fight, while the latter was who Drogo had spent his entire life ready to do so.
Looking to his brother by choice, seeing the shadows move to shield their backs and the bloodriders ready themselves for their own fights. Daemon nodded his head which Drogo answered with a nod of his own. Then together they moved into the fight that they'd both known it would always come down to.
Chai Yen was fast, but Daemon was faster. Pol Qo was strong, but Daemon wagered there wasn't a man living or dead who was stronger than Drogo. As Arakh met bloodied blade, Flame and Spark moved against a thin curved sword. More than once in the early moments of the fight, an arrow, spear, or even a dead thing with a blade tried to take down Daemon, Drogo, or either or both of them. Be it the shadows at his back, Drogo's bloodriders, or their gods' will, not a single attempt was successful. It allowed them both to concentrate only on the fight they faced. To dodge when needed and to attack when the opportunity arose.
Out of the corner of his eye, Daemon watched as Pol Qo slashed, spun, moved back and forth, and yet was basically played with by Drogo. His own fight was somewhat more difficult, but it was one he was in control of. When he heard the cheer, he knew Pol Qo had fallen and Daemon almost chuckled at the barbs he'd receive later because Drogo had won before him. It made him double his efforts, forcing Chai Yen back further and further, and then with a slash from Flame and a thrust from Spark, the fight and Chai Yen's brief reign were both ended.
Lyanax landed and around the field the dead were finally at rest. Daemon turned to look at Drogo to see him on one knee, unharmed but offering up his thanks to the Great Stallion. One of his bloodriders bore an injured arm while another had a wicked-looking scar on his cheek, but all it seemed still breathed. Closing his eyes, Daemon thanked Lyanax for all she'd done and bid the shadows to take their leave. The cost of their service was one he'd pay dearly for later that night, he knew. Yet once again, it had been a cost worth paying.
" You have done well, as I always knew you would," R'hllor said as Daemon knelt to do as Drogo had and to offer his own thanks to his own god.
" I walk with a god's favor. I won this victory in your name and I will win the last of them. As R'hllor wills it, so shall it be.
" So shall it be," R'hllor said, his god sounding happy and content.
Opening his eyes, Daemon rose to his feet and he and Drogo embraced each other. His brother by choice had fulfilled his own prophecy. He'd fought against his own true enemy and had defeated him, as Daemon had always known he would. Tonight they'd celebrate and it alone would be worthy of song. Let alone the songs that would one day be sung about the battle itself. On the morrow, Daemon would turn his sights back to Westeros. To his wife, grandmother, and family and to the last battle that he ever hoped to wage.