Dawn broke over King's Landing beneath a sky stained red.
Not the brilliant crimson of sunrise, nor the vibrant hues of a summer morning. This was a darker shade, a lingering scar left upon the heavens by the fires of the previous day. Thin ribbons of smoke still drifted above the blackened plains beyond the city walls, carried by a wind that smelled faintly of ash and burnt earth.
The city was awake long before sunrise.
No one truly slept anymore.
Not after dragons.
Not after witnessing an army vanish beneath flame.
The people moved through the streets in hushed groups, voices lowered instinctively whenever shadows passed overhead. Market stalls reopened. Bakers lit their ovens. Blacksmiths returned to their forges.
Life continued.
Yet everything had changed.
Because above them, occasionally disappearing behind the clouds before emerging again, a crimson shape circled the city.
Watching.
Waiting.
Reminding everyone below exactly who ruled now.
The personalities of the two dragons couldn't be more different; Caraxes was almost always flying above the city, while Dreamfyre mostly stayed in the forest and hadn't taken flight again since burning the rebel army.
While Kingslanding was waking, Damon was already at work.
The chamber was quiet except for the scratching of a quill.
Prince Damon Targaryen sat alone at a massive oak desk, surrounded by stacks of parchment.
The armor he had worn during the destruction of the rebel host remained draped across a nearby chair. Soot still stained portions of the black steel. He had not bothered cleaning it yet.
There were more important matters.
War had been won.
Now came ruling.
His violet eyes moved methodically across the parchment before him.
Each letter was written in his own hand.
Each word deliberate.
Each sentence carefully chosen.
Unlike his father, Damon understood that kingdoms were not governed by fear alone.
Fear conquered.
Administration ruled.
The first proclamation read:
'By decree of Damon of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the Iron Throne, let it be known throughout the Seven Kingdoms that the rebellion against the Crown has been ended and peace restored to the realm.
Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark, and Jon Arryn have been taken into royal custody. The armies raised in defiance of the Iron Throne have laid down their arms.
The line of succession remains secure beneath House Targaryen, and the authority of the Crown stands unbroken.'
His quill continued moving.
A second parchment followed.
'One moon's turn from this day, Damon of House Targaryen shall be crowned King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, within the Great Sept of Baelor.
All Lords Paramount, bannermen, landed knights, and noble houses owing fealty to the Iron Throne are commanded to attend.
Their presence shall be taken as an affirmation of loyalty. Their absence shall be taken as an act of defiance.'
His expression never changed.
A third followed.
This one was shorter.
Sharper.
'The coronation shall be accompanied by trials concerning the recent rebellion. Rewards shall be granted to those who remained loyal. Judgments shall be rendered upon those who raised banners against the Crown.
Let every lord choose wisely how he presents himself before his king. As fire and blood await those who do not.'
When he finished, Damon placed the quill aside.
The wax seal of House Targaryen sat beside him.
One by one, he pressed the three-headed dragon into molten red wax.
The symbol appeared again and again.
By the time he finished, dozens lay upon the desk.
The Master of Ravens entered moments later.
The older man's face remained carefully neutral, though Damon noticed the nervousness in his eyes.
Everyone was nervous the day after watching him burn thousands of men.
"Your Grace."
Damon handed over the letters.
"Every major castle."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Every lord."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Every corner of Westeros."
The man swallowed.
"At once."
Minutes later, ravens exploded from the rookery.
Hundreds of black wings filled the morning sky.
The realm would learn its fate before sunset.
Damon looked and smiled; there was no mention of dragons in the letters he sent off, and he had intercepted all ravens leaving the city long ago, so the rest of Westeros still knew nothing of the return of dragons.
But Damon had already ordered his men to lift the bans. Ravens were still to be intercepted, but once the message proved to be nothing dangerous to him, they were to let it go.
(Days Later)
Rain battered the walls.
It always seemed to rain at Storm's End.
Mace Tyrell was enjoying breakfast when the raven arrived.
The Lord of Highgarden sat beneath a lavish pavilion surrounded by Reach banners and enough food to feed a small village.
The siege had dragged on for months.
Boring months.
Miserable months.
Then the maester entered carrying a scroll.
Mace frowned.
"What is it?"
The letter was read aloud.
Silence followed.
Then Finally:
"Oh."
The Lord of Highgarden blinked.
"The rebellion lost?"
The maester nodded.
"The dragons returned."
Mace stared.
"Dragons?"
"Yes, my lord, two of them. Word came from many sources in Kingslanding."
His goblet slipped slightly.
"Two?"
Around him, Reach lords exchanged nervous looks.
Randyll Tarly remained silent throughout the reading.
When it ended, he took the letter himself.
His eyes narrowed. He read every word twice.
"Lift the siege."
Mace blinked.
"What?"
"Lift it."
"The castle was about to surrender."
"It no longer matters; we must return and then head to Kingslanding."
Winterfell
Snow fell softly across the ancient castle. Winterfell had never felt colder. Benjen Stark sat beneath the direwolf banners in the Great Hall.
The seat once occupied by his father remained empty.
The memory of Rickard Stark's death lingered like a wound that refused to heal.
The raven arrived shortly before midday.
The maester's voice echoed through the hall.
When he finished reading, nobody spoke.
Not immediately.
The northern lords sat frozen.
Eddard Stark, Jon Arryn, Robert Baratheon all captured.
The rebellion was dead.
Benjen stared at the fire.
His brother had marched south to avenge their family.
Now he sat in chains awaiting judgment.
One moon. That was all.
One moon before a trial.
One moon before a possible execution.
The young Stark lord rose slowly.
"Leave me."
No one argued.
The hall emptied.
Benjen remained standing alone before the fire.
"Eddard..."
His voice barely existed.
Outside, snow continued falling.
Riverrun
Hoster Tully read the letter three times. The first reading brought disbelief. The second brought anger. The third brought resignation.
His daughters stood nearby.
Catelyn watched silently.
Lysa looked ready to cry.
"Father?"
Hoster exhaled.
Long and slow.
"The war is over."
"Is Ned ok?" Catelyn asked, rubbing her swollen belly.
"For now."
The Lord of Riverrun folded the parchment.
"The question now is whether Damon Targaryen intends mercy."
Sunspear
Prince Doran Martell sat beside an open window.
The sea breeze drifted through the chamber.
He read the letter slowly. His expression revealed little.
It rarely did.
Elia lived.
Rhaenys lived.
Aegon lived.
That alone mattered.
For months Doran had feared receiving a different message.
A message filled with blood. A message announcing tragedy.
Instead he held something entirely unexpected.
Hope.
Careful hope.
Dangerous hope.
His fingers tightened slightly around the parchment.
"Damon Targaryen."
The name of the second prince he had completely overlooked.
"Prepare my household."
The servant bowed.
"We leave for Kingslanding."
Kingslanding
Damon stood upon a balcony overlooking it all. The city stretched endlessly below. Thousands of lives, thousands of ambitions and fears.
Soon they would all belong to him.
Footsteps approached.
Tywin Lannister.
The older man joined him silently.
For a moment neither spoke.
Together they watched the city.
"The letters should have all arrived by now."
Damon nodded.
"They'll come."
Tywin's mouth twitched.
"Of course they will."
Out of fear, duty, or curiosity.
Every lord would have a reason.
Few would dare remain absent.
"The realm is trying to understand what happened."
"In a moon's time they will, and they will accept it as they will have no other choice."