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Aerys Targaryen, close to Oldtown

The wind struck his face, the sea breeze hitting the monarch of the Seven Kingdoms while the smell of ash invaded his nose.

In the distance, great columns of smoke were visible, the Iron Born fleet was already attacking Oldtown and apparently, they had managed to penetrate the city’s defenses.

The royal fleet was close to Oldtown, Rhaella’s warning had caused them to hasten their pace, the imminent attack against the city.

Alas, apparently they had arrived late and the devastation within the city had already begun, Aerys soared through the skies and observed the city with interest.

-It seems the Hightowers are having problems- he whispered to himself, while using his Far-eye to get an idea of the state of the battle.

And upon observing, he could not help but snort at the grim sight.

The harbor gate was destroyed, the bridges connecting the Hightower to the city had collapsed, and the pirates were having the time of their lives pillaging the city.

Aerys made a grimace of impotence as he observed a group of disgusting Iron Born dragging a pair of young septas toward the ships, their intentions more than clear.

The fleet was still far away, at least half an hour would pass before the first ships began to arrive and Aerys knew he had to make a decision.

He could not protect both sides of the bay, he could set the ships at the North Gate ablaze, preventing more Iron Born from landing more troops, but allowing the ships farther from the coast, the largest of the fleet, to escape.

Or he could focus Rhaegal’s fury on the ones guarding the bay, exterminating the pirate forces attacking the city without mercy, allowing the more distant ships to escape.

No matter the decision he took, it would be impossible for him to destroy the entire fleet, Rhaegal was not large enough yet to exterminate several ships at once, and the larger ships possessed heavy scorpions that could put the Emerald Fury in danger, he would have to attack with precision and with the element of surprise on his side.

The main objective was the largest ship of the fleet which proudly displayed the Greyjoy kraken, surrounded by lesser houses, maintaining a continuous blockade on the city and punishing the walls of Oldtown.

The Citadel was under siege, hundreds of Iron Born concentrated outside the den of the grey rats, while the Starry Sept was completely on fire, by this point totally looted.

The pirates had coordinated themselves quite well, it was evident that whoever directed this attack knew very well what he was doing.

Alas, this was not the moment to be distracted, his duty as monarch was to protect the city, even if that meant that a great part of the Iron Born fleet would escape, these people had already suffered enough.

He would not focus Rhaegal’s flames on the fleet in the bay, but rather on the ships at the harbor, and he would let the fleet do the rest.

But he would make sure to incapacitate the enemy flagship in the process.

-Angos, Rhaegal!- shouted the king, causing the Emerald Fury to pull his wings close to his body and dive toward the flagship of the Greyjoy fleet.

The king inhaled deeply, looking with determination as everything around him seemed to stop for an instant, for the first time in more than one hundred and fifty years, dragons flew to battle in the skies of Westeros.

And it would be memorable.

-Dracarys!- roared Aerys, at the same time that Rhaegal obeyed and opened his jaws, releasing a powerful torrent of emerald flames upon the surprised ships, focusing most of the fire upon the central Greyjoy ship before rising once more into the clouds, outside the reach of the scorpions.

Rhaegal released a thunderous roar, letting the entire city know that Aerys had arrived, so without wasting time, the monarch dove once more, now toward the harbor.

The Iron Born ships were filled with captured smallfolk, therefore bathing them in flames was not an option, he had to prevent them from escaping.

And he had the perfect idea for that, but he would need to enter Rhaegal’s mind to accomplish it.

The monarch rolled his eyes back, at the same time that he began seeing the world through his faithful companion, suddenly, his senses sharpened, while instincts foreign to him began invading his mind, as the king prepared himself to execute his risky plan.

There were at least a dozen Iron Born ships on the coast, and all the insignificant pirates began fleeing toward the city the moment they saw Rhaegal flying at low altitude.

And the moment Aerys was close enough to the first ship, he grabbed one of the ropes tied to the mast with Rhaegal’s claws, and began dragging it through the harbor, moving the ship toward the nearest vessel, causing them to collide and become stranded against the docks of Oldtown, however, the dragon king did not stop, but continued pulling with all his strength, dragging more and more ships toward the narrowest point of the harbor.

His intention?

To use the Iron Born ships so that the Hightower soldiers could reach the city and begin defending themselves.

And apparently, whoever was in charge of the city’s defense had understood the monarch’s intention, because the moment the ships were in position and Aerys took flight once more, regiments of soldiers began running, swords and shields in hand, directly toward the city.

In the distance, the royal fleet had appeared on the horizon and had begun attacking the Iron Born ships, who responded with equal ferocity, while beginning to abandon the bay, leaving smoke behind to conceal their attempt to escape.

In the end, the filthy pirates had proven themselves cunning and resilient, something he could respect.

But it was time to end this.

Aerys was preparing to fly toward the retreating Iron Born ships and turn them into floating torches, however, just when he planned to begin flying, a loud impact caught his attention.

Directly toward the Citadel, or more specifically, toward the enormous golden gate guarded by sphinxes, which had been opened and dozens of Iron Born entered, axes and swords in hand, ready to loot the mysterious building.

And although nothing would make the monarch happier than the extermination of the entire order of useless rats, he knew very well that inside those walls were things capable of reducing this city to ashes.

-Damn it- he spat furiously, while looking with impotence toward the naval battle, the royal fleet, with the modifications of Davos and Ashara were devastating the Iron Born, and although the main Greyjoy ship would be captured, at least half a dozen ships would escape into open sea.

It would be a victory… but not a very sweet one to be honest.

However, the priority was the safety of the city.

The monarch landed in the central plaza, right at the edge of the harbor and fairly close to the improvised bridge of ships he had created, while the Hightower soldiers butchered the Iron Born with a fury Aerys had not seen in a long time.

Women and girls were rescued from the stranded ships, while they cried and knelt in gratitude, looking toward Aerys and Rhaegal with complete devotion.

However, the monarch’s concentration was not on them, but rather on the knight who had just exterminated who Aerys assumed was a Lord of the Iron Islands, too irrelevant to remember.

-Your Grace, the troops of Oldtown are entirely at your disposal, your orders?- asked the knight, looking solemnly toward Aerys and awaiting his response.

-The royal fleet fights against the Greyjoys in the bay, this is not over yet, the Starry Sept is destroyed and the squids invaded the Citadel, mobilize as many troops as you can toward there, we must stop these filthy pirates once and for all-

At the king’s orders, the knight did not hesitate and began barking orders to the rest of the men, organizing themselves and beginning to advance toward the Citadel.

There was no time to lose.

Gormon Tyrell, the Citadel

They were fucked.

There was no other way to describe it, simply fucked.

The golden gate had been opened and the filthy pirates had invaded the compound, killing every maester or acolyte they found along the way.

The destruction and screams were getting closer and closer, Gormon knew it was only a matter of time before they found them.

-They are close, very close, what will we do?- said one of the young disciples who had taken refuge with him.

And although Gormon knew the answer, he preferred to show mercy and give the young men false hope.

-The Hightower soldiers and the king’s troops are on their way- said the old man without conviction, knowing very well that, even if that were true, the Greyjoys would find them long before the enemy soldiers arrived.

The fighting sounded closer and closer, the sound of screams, pleas, and blood was literally outside the doors.

And then, he heard the no longer arrogant voice of one of his colleagues, begging for mercy.

-NO! Mercy please my Lord! I… AHHHGH-

The words were interrupted by the wet impact of an axe making contact with flesh, followed by a heavy sound that could only be a body falling to the floor.

The acolytes hiding with him screamed in absolute terror, and one of them even began crying when the metallic and heavy footsteps sounded closer and closer.

Apparently, the end was here, thought Gormon with a certain resignation.

He had lived a long life, loved his parents and siblings, he had been a good son and studied at the Citadel to help and provide information to his family, he cared for his nephews and the rest of the family, always loyal to the Tyrell motto.

And apparently, his hour had arrived.

The heavy door protecting them was kicked down, revealing the imposing and frankly terrifying figure of who could only be a Greyjoy.

He was tall, evidently young, clad in exquisite steel armor, with a helmet shaped like a kraken and a golden cloak, with the symbol of his family on his chest, in his hand he carried a battle axe bathed in blood, his eyes, cold and calculating, focused completely upon Gormon.

-So… here you are- he said calmly, causing alarms to begin sounding in his head, those words indicated that this man had been searching specifically for him.

Without any kind of mercy and with his total attention on Gormon, the mysterious Greyjoy ordered.

-Kill all of them except the old man, these disgusting greenlanders are useless to us-

At those words, the acolytes screamed and shrieked, while the Iron Born corsairs butchered them like pigs, before Gormon’s helpless gaze.

-You are the one leading the attack- said Gormon, observing the cold and intelligent eyes.

-Victarion Greyjoy old man, at your service- said the captain, with evident mockery in his gaze while walking toward where Gormon sat.

-The maester of Pyke is a great friend of mine, you know? Many times we drank together, he likes talking a lot, and during one of those long nights… he mentioned one of his colleagues, Gormon Tyrell, who apparently is an expert on an interesting and distant land, one even older and more powerful than Valyria, Yi-Ti… does that ring any bells?- asked the intelligent and frankly terrifying young man.

Gormon could not speak, he simply nodded, terror had him shaken while observing those cold orbs analyze him from head to toe.

The young Greyjoy snapped his fingers, and two of his men brought forth an old man, evidently a vagabond from Oldtown, who would not stop begging for mercy.

Something that, evidently, he would not find.

-The stupidity of my brother is destined to fail, if history has taught us anything it is that nothing can defeat a dragon in open battle, but history has also taught us… that dragons are not immortal, they eat, shit, and bleed like any beast and therefore… they can die- whispered the relentless young man, before looking toward his soldiers and ordering.

-Disfigure the old man’s face and put our guest’s robes on him, also his ring, better that the Tyrells believe he died during the attack, after all… who would search for a dead man?- asked the young Greyjoy with amusement on his face.

Immediately after, he looked toward Gormon again and continued.

-Aerys Targaryen and the Hightower soldiers are heading here, and you… will show me the way to avoid them, we will remain hidden until the royal fleet has departed and we shall sail toward Essos, toward this… golden empire I have heard so much about- said the young Greyjoy while beginning to remove his armor, handing it to one of his soldiers.

Gormon watched with realization as the man placed his Lord’s armor upon himself, the devotion and fanaticism in his gaze more than clear, his face hidden beneath the Kraken helm, giving the impression that the simple soldier was the commander of this attack.

-What is dead may never die!- declared the Greyjoy solemnly, before taking his Lord’s axe and running toward the entrance of the Citadel, at the same time that Victarion Greyjoy put on one of the disciples’ robes.

-Come Tyrell, we have much to do- he said with cruel amusement, lifting Gormon and leaving through the opposite corridor from where the sounds of battle echoed.

Gormon had no doubt that this was the beginning of hell on earth for him.

He was not mistaken.

Aerys Targaryen, the Citadel.

Aerys advanced through the endless corridors of the Citadel with Dark Sister firmly gripped in his hand, while the sound of steel clashing, men dying, and fire consuming ancient knowledge echoed throughout the colossal structure. Smoke continued spreading through the corridors, forcing the monarch to narrow his eyes as he walked over burned scrolls, broken maester chains, and corpses abandoned by the Iron Born during their advance. The Citadel smelled of blood, ash, and death, and honestly… Aerys had never believed the day would come when he would witness that arrogant nest of grey rats reduced to a battlefield.

A group of acolytes appeared at the end of the corridor, terrified, covered in soot and blood while carrying a wounded young man between them.

-Your Grace!- one of them exclaimed the moment he recognized the king.

-The Iron Born are inside the central vestibule, they are killing everyone they find-

Aerys simply nodded while continuing to advance without slowing his pace.

-Move aside- he ordered coldly.

The young men practically pressed themselves against the walls as the monarch of the Seven Kingdoms walked past them. And honestly… Aerys could not blame them. Covered in ash, blood, and carrying Dark Sister while the distant roar of Rhaegal made the walls of the Citadel tremble, he must have looked like something taken directly from the stories of the Doom itself.

The king finally crossed the final corridor and entered the enormous central vestibule of the Citadel, and absolute chaos unfolded before him. The gigantic circular hall had been transformed into a true battlefield. Corpses of Iron Born and Hightower soldiers covered the marble floor while dozens of men continued fighting brutally between the massive staircases, balconies, and columns of the hall.

Several gigantic bookshelves burned out of control, entire books being consumed by the flames while ancient scrolls floated through the air reduced to ash. And at the center of everything, the Iron Born laughed while murdering maesters and acolytes incapable of defending themselves.

-DRAGONSPAWN!- roared one of the pirates the moment he saw Aerys enter the hall.

And then everything exploded.

The Iron Born threw themselves at him almost at the same time, axes, swords, and knives in hand while screaming like the rabid beasts they had always been.

Aerys did not retreat a single step. Dark Sister danced in his hands with lethal elegance, the first Iron Born losing an arm before he could even comprehend that the king had moved, the second received a kick to the chest so brutal that he was thrown directly against a stone column, the sickening sound of bones breaking echoing through the hall.

The third attempted to bury an axe into the monarch’s neck, and died for it. Dark Sister pierced his throat from side to side with absurd ease, blood exploding across Aerys’ armor and face while the corpse collapsed lifelessly at his feet.

But more kept coming.

Aerys spun upon himself and decapitated another reaver before tearing the axe from the dead man’s hands and throwing it directly into the face of an Iron Born attempting to murder an acolyte hiding behind a column. The impact completely destroyed the pirate’s face, causing the Hightower soldiers to roar with renewed morale.

-The king! Protect the king!- they shouted while beginning to push forward with renewed fury.

Aerys, however, barely paid attention to them. His violet eyes observed every corner of the enormous vestibule while he continued advancing between corpses and fire. And then… something caught his attention.

Blood.

And it was fresh.

The monarch slowly frowned as he turned his face toward one of the side corridors of the vestibule. Between smoke and flames, small drops of blood stained the stone floor, disappearing into one of the inner corridors of the Citadel. Too much blood, and far too recent.

Aerys slowly advanced toward the corridor while partially ignoring the battle behind him. The passageway was burning, several bookshelves having collapsed while fire consumed books, maps, and ancient scrolls.

Thick columns of black smoke rose toward the ceiling, yet the strange thing was not the flames, but rather the pattern of destruction itself. It was too specific. Too concentrated. As if someone had deliberately attempted to destroy something particular… or perhaps conceal their retreat.

The king slowly advanced through the flames, observing the blackened walls and corpses abandoned throughout the corridor. Iron Born. Acolytes. Maesters. All dead. But there was something else, something that caused Aerys to stop completely.

A maester’s chain.

Partially burned and covered in blood.

The monarch slowly knelt and picked it up from the ground while his violet eyes narrowed suspiciously. The chain was broken, ripped away violently, and the blood upon it was still fresh. Far too fresh. Aerys observed the corridor in silence, thinking, analyzing. Something had happened here. Something important. And whoever was responsible… was probably still inside the Citadel.

The king took another step forward when suddenly a horrifying scream echoed from the central vestibule.

-AAAAAHGGHHH!!-

Aerys sharply turned his head and observed a Hightower soldier being impaled by an Iron Born spear while several pirates began reorganizing themselves around the central staircases.

-Damn it- the monarch muttered with frustration while storing the chain within his belt.

He did not have time. Not yet. The battle was still ongoing, Oldtown was still burning, and if he allowed the Iron Born to regain control of the vestibule, the entire Citadel would fall once more.

The king cast one final glance toward the corridor engulfed in flames, distrustful and uneasy, with the unpleasant sensation that something important had just slipped through his fingers. And then Aerys turned on his heels.

-Forward! Kill every last one of these squids!- roared the monarch while throwing himself back toward the central vestibule, Dark Sister gleaming amidst fire, smoke, and blood.

Behind him, the corridor continued burning silently, concealing its secrets beneath ash and flame.