Dragonlance, Chapter 9: Shattering Iron (Patreon)

Daeron

Tenth Moon, 173 AC

The ironborn were nothing if not predictable. Just as the Small Council had feared, the growing tensions on the Iron Islands had simmered and boiled over into open anarchy and revolt as the priests of the Drowned God and their Drowned Men acolytes had begun openly burning septs and attacking and killing septons, septas, and the men sent by the Crown to protect them. And worse yet, instead of crushing the revolt, the ironborn lords were aiding the rebels.

Everything had moved so much faster than anyone else had anticipated, but I suspected the ironborn were acting with urgency knowing it would not be much longer before the dragons were large enough to crush them with ease.

I had always known that allowing the Faith of the Seven back on the Iron Islands would likely cause a revolt. Frankly, I had been counting on it.

It might be a cliché in stories to always try and exterminate the ironborn (or ironmen rather as everyone else in Westeros called them) but they frankly deserved it. Their entire culture was dedicated to nothing but raiding, raping, and enslaving (they could butter it up all they wanted; thralls were slaves) and actively disincentivized trading, agriculture and other basic foundations of functional civilization. They were some weird Viking caricature and there was frankly little benefit in keeping them around and everything to gain from disposing of them.

Right now, House Targaryen didn’t have enough lands or influence of its own in Westeros and there were limited opportunities to acquire more without going full tyrant and causing massive revolts. The Iron Islands revolt was one such perfect opportunity. Nobody would miss them, in fact the rest of Westeros would thank me for getting rid of them, strengthening House Targaryen’s prestige and our influence over the Faith (which owed us for letting them back onto the isles and would soon owe us even more for going to their rescue).

Furthermore, while the Iron Islands were small in land area, they did have significant economic potential given their position along the west coast and the Sunset Sea, supporting trade, iron mining, and fishing and whaling in the large ocean. Conquering and annexing the archipelago into the Iron Islands would kill multiple birds with the same stone, empowering the Iron Throne with more land and resources at a time it barely had any and giving it a strong naval base and economic foothold in an area of the continent where its influence had historically been weaker.

It also wouldn’t hurt to rally the kingdom around the Crown and give their armies and fleets some much needed experience ahead of the eventual invasion of Dorne. Permanently dealing with the thorn in our side and securing the safety of our western coast would go a long way for our preparations for the sixth and final Dornish War.

Half of the Kingsguard, including Uncle Aemon, as well as Lord Alyn Oakenfist would be accompanying me to war and I had also managed to drag my father into it as well, that scoundrel was always up for a good war. Everyone else however, was being left behind.

My grandaunts, Baela and Rhaena had both come to the docks, as had my grandfather, and most dearly of all to my heart, my three beloveds and all of our children. Even my mother had come despite all of her opposition and fears about me going to war.

As I looked into her frightened eyes, I couldn’t help but feel for the poor woman, remembering the conversation we had had a few years earlier. I had effectively replaced and supplanted her son after all, and she had been the only person that had actually noticed. And though I had all of Daeron’s memories and didn’t regret all the changes for the better I had been able to make since taking over his body, it made me feel guilty sometimes for the lies I had told her, the lies some part of me wanted to make true if only for her.

I would always greatly dislike the Daeron I had replaced, but for the sake of his bereaved mother, I had tried ever so slightly to be a bit more like him around her. Naerys Targaryen had lived a very, very sad life and if there was anything I could do to ease her pain and lessen her grief, I would do it. It was part of why I had dissolved her marriage to Aegon.

Naerys had been much happier for it. So had Aegon for that matter, I thought with both amusement and bewilderment as my gaze drifted over to where my father was saying goodbye to all of his women.

Aegon had done very well when I had sent him to Essos. Almost too well. Because of his efforts, the Iron Throne now had an understanding with Tyrosh and a burgeoning, strong alliance with our kin, the Rogares, in Lys. In exchange for accepting the eventual Targaryen conquests of the Stepstones and of Dorne, Tyrosh and Lys would both receive reduced tolls and passage through the Stepstones and economic and indirect military support against Myr in the Disputed Lands.

Lys in particular, being ruled by our kin, was likely going to end up their strongest ally in Essos over the coming decades, so long as I could prop up Moredo Rogare and his heirs and ensure they weren’t overthrown like they probably had been in canon. And somehow, my father’s disturbing competence had struck again as in a fit of passion, lust, and apparent love (??) he had taken a new wife by the name of Serenei from House Rogare. A name I remembered all too well from canon and who apparently was in fact a scion of House Rogare and our kinswoman.

I now had a new legitimate sister who had been born late in 171 AC, and I almost shuddered to think on what the ramifications of a trueborn Shiera Seastar would be.

Of course, Aegon hadn’t stopped there. As soon as he had returned to Westeros with his new wife, he had begun touring the Riverlands for the fun of it with Serenei, who despite her haughtiness, appeared to share Aegon’s lusty appetites for women.

I really didn’t know and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how, but they had somehow managed to get a fivesome with Melissa Blackwood and the Bracken sisters, Barba and Bethany, all at the same time at some feast in Riverrun or something. That amorous encounter had given me even more bastard half-siblings, including one particular Brynden Rivers (whom I had made sure to immediately foster in the Red Keep) and two half-sisters from the Bracken sisters.

Since my father wasn’t King in this timeline, Houses Blackwood and Bracken were a lot less happy about their daughters being deflowered by him and they had pressured the Iron Throne for concessions and overall made a huge headache for me as the traditional Bracken-Blackwood feud had sparked up all over again with accusations about the chastity and propriety of each other’s daughters and how they had led the other into a life of sin and whatnot.

There had also been a lot of fiery drama as it appeared that Barba and Bethany Bracken had been too full of themselves and had gotten into a fight or something with Serenei and so my father and his wife had effectively ‘broken up’ with them while still keeping Melissa Blackwood (who apparently knew her proper place) as their little mutual sex pet. Something which had already borne fruit as Melissa was visibly pregnant for the second time, making me drily wonder if I was going to get Mya or Gwenys Rivers as a sibling this time.

On the bright side, maybe this whole mess would eventually let me seize Pennytree for the Iron Throne to pacify the region, just like alternate canon self had done? Who even knew at this point.

Aegon and Serenei had continued fucking their way through the Riverlands until their amorous adventures had led them to Harrenhal where my father’s very first mistress, one Falena Stokeworth, was lady wife to Lord Lucas Lothston. Things were rather uncertain about what exactly happened inside Harrenhal, but our spies had reported back that after some initial tension, catfights, and the like, the pecking order had been established and Falena Stokeworth had fallen into my father’s bed yet again, this time with added submission to Serenei too.

I would feel more sympathy for Falena’s husband, Lord Lucas, if it wasn’t clear that he was an outright cuckold and perfectly content with pimping out his wife to my father for certain royal favors. Even worse than that, House Lothston’s dark reputation from canon had long since had its seeds sown. Lucas was already known as the Pander for pimping out his wife to a prince (something his own septon had apparently spilled the tea on to the local Faith to decry him over) and his son was known as Manfryd the Black Hood.

Lordship it seemed had revealed Lucas’ true colors and taken him far from the fine master-at-arms that had so impressed my grandfather. Whispers and rumors had spread that painted him as an overly harsh and greedy lord, who heavily taxed the smallfolk in his domains, squeezing them for every coin they had to help maintain and rebuild the ruined castle of Harrenhal. His son, Manfryd, served as his chief enforcer for all of this and he had an even darker reputation than Lucas did.

It honestly made me wonder what on earth my grandfather had been thinking, sometimes. The Crown had kept full stewardship of Harrenhal for two decades and then he had been so desperate to get Falena away from my father that he happily married her off to Ser Lucas Lothston and gave the couple Harrenhal? What? It just didn’t make any sense at all.

Had Lucas been such a great and impressive friend to my grandfather? Had it been some kind of trauma over the older Falena sleeping with his son the same way his long-dead wife, Larra, had done with him? I simply didn’t know and I doubted Viserys would ever tell me even if I asked. He was quite out of touch with his mental health and unaware of his own traumas in that classically macho Westerosi way.

As if to make it all worse, Aegon and Serenei had taken the young Danelle Lothston as the latter’s lady-in-waiting when they had left Harrenhal. She was on the docks right now, besides her mistress, and the Lady Melissa, seeing my father off. They all lived in that manse in the city that my father had purchased.

Danelle Lothston was only three and ten and far from the mad sorceress that she would one day become but she was a pretty young girl and I somehow doubted that she wouldn’t end up in my father and Serenei’s bed one way or another. Maybe even at the same time as her mother and little sister, Jeyne, would be.

I was much more suspicious of what Serenei’s angle was amidst all of this. Danelle clearly had sorcerous talent and if my suspicions were correct, Serenei had noticed that and taken her on as an apprentice of sorts. Academically of course, that was a very interesting concept but politically it represented an enormous risk because the only thing that could possibly be worse than one shady sorceress with her own agenda was three shady sorceresses with their own agenda allied together.

I had to figure out some way to neuter Serenei and find a way to make her and her magic work for me and my family instead of potentially scheming against us. As much as I hated to think of selling my son’s future off when he wasn’t even four years old yet, I had considered the idea of betrothing Daemon and Shiera more than once.

The boy certainly wouldn’t be able to complain that his future bride wasn’t beautiful (hopefully she stayed faithful to him too or we would be having words) and it would ensure that Serenei and all of her magic was tied directly to Daena’s and my heir. Maybe between Shiera, Serenei, Danelle, and Brynden, we might even permanently restore House Targaryen’s magical knowledge and make some kind of sorcerer corps.

A sudden cursed thought occurred to me and it was almost as laughable as it was concerning that my father might be restoring magic to House Targaryen with his cock, one amorous conquest at a time.

As if sensing I was thinking about him, Aegon cheekily looked back at me and winked, arms still wrapped around both Serenei and Melissa while he ruffled Danelle’s red hair.

I scowled. Honestly, maybe it was a good thing this mess with the Iron Islands had started when it did or else my father would have continued fucking his way through the whole realm and causing infinite problems for me. I swear it almost as if he was trying to compete or make up for something or another sometimes.

Before I could dwell any further on the topic, however, Daena suddenly got right up in my face. Our second and infant son, Aegor, was nestled in her arms, and our elder son, Daemon, toddled along the pier, his little hands grasped tightly around his mother’s finger.

“You’re coming back. Understood?” she demanded. The tone of her voice and steely expression in her eyes ensured her intent was heard loud and clear.

Instinctively, my expression softened. The last time a Daeron dear to Daena’s heart had gone to war, he had never returned. If it wasn’t for her pregnancy, she would probably have forced her way onto this campaign just to make sure I did.

Dragon or no dragon, Daena was a fierce one, she always had been, and ever since she had been freed from the Maidenvault and become Queen, nothing and no one could stop her. She had returned to all of her old activities, riding at rings and shooting arrows at targets and she had even taken up sword training with the Kingsguard and entered herself into a few tourneys.

I could only imagine how frustrating it had to be for her, to have to stay behind now of all times. It had taken everything I had to convince her to stay, for the sake of our child, our children, and the realm in general, and in exchange she had extracted every promise imaginable from me to keep myself safe and whole to return to her.

I nodded my head. “Yes. I promise,” I said, before capturing her lips for my own.

It wasn’t long before Rhaena and Elaena especially clamored for my lips in turn, desperately memorizing every inch of my face as they did so. I did my best to console both of them, kissing them to their heart’s content until our children started protesting and whining.

I hadn’t had children in my first life, before I had been reborn here, so I hadn’t realized that this would hurt even more than leaving my beautiful wives behind. My second and third sons, Baelor (with Rhaena) and Maekar (with Elaena) were both standing beside their mothers and already instinctively locking in step behind their brother, my eldest son with Daena, Daemon.

The sight of the close bond between my boys, everything I had always hoped for them, couldn’t help but make me smile. My eyes drifted further to Aegor in Daena’s arms, Daenerys in Rhaena’s, and my identical twin daughters with Elaena, Viserra and Laena, in the arms of the nursemaids standing behind Elaena.

Careful to make sure none of them felt left out or less loved than their siblings, even though there were seven of them, even though it took me quite some time, I made sure to say goodbye to each of my children in turn. Even if they didn’t understand, even if they were too young to even remember me by the time I came back. 

When I was done with the children, I kissed Daena, Rhaena, and Elaena again one last time, letting my hands rest on their pregnant bellies as I did so. It was honestly quite ironic that I kept getting all three of them pregnant around the same time. Some would call it karma for my greed and luck, to have to endure the hormonal mood swings of three pregnant wives at the same time.

A lesser man might even be grateful for the chance to escape it for once, but I could only think of the fact that by the time I returned from this war, I would have three more children whose births I had missed.

As I stood there on that dock in the King’s Landing harbor, it really struck me just what I was risking. How much time I hadn’t understood I would be giving away, time with my family, time I couldn’t get back.

I had come up with so many ambitious plans for the Iron Islands and this war in my head. It was a completely different reality though now that the time had finally come to act on it.

I was the Protector of the Realm, the Faith and the nobility were watching for any signs of weakness, waiting to see if I would step forward and be the martial king and defender they craved for. For the sake of House Targaryen, for our prestige and reputation, I had no choice but to go, especially after I had bought approval for my polygamous marriage with promises of the Crown’s protection to the Faith. I couldn’t afford to give them even a single inch of an excuse to make trouble with.

With my dragon, Paarthurnax, barely large enough to ride at three years old, let alone ready to take to war, that meant that I would have to sail with the fleet and fight on the ground directly with our men. That meant months if not potentially years away from home, away from my beloved wives and my adorable children. Months of unpleasant wartime conditions and danger. Even with all my protection as the King, there was always the risk that a stray arrow or a lucky hit would do me in and that would be the end of my story.

It was enough to make me regret coming up with the plan, but it was too late for regrets now, wasn’t it? So finally, before my will failed me, I tore myself away from my family and forced myself onto that boat, calling Alyn, Aemon, Aegon, and all the rest that were following me onto the fleet as well so we could set off for war.

The sooner we could dispose of the ironmen, the sooner we could all come home.

__________________________________

Fifth Moon, 174 AC

I’d like to say that the war was entirely handled in-house by my own awesome Royal Navy and Royal Army but unfortunately that was very much not the case. While I had gotten started on the beginnings of my plans for both professional institutions and started laying the groundwork for the Boards that would one day lead them and their structures and ranks and so forth, I had only been reigning as King for four years.

There wasn’t enough time and frankly not enough money either after Baelor’s spendthrift reign to support such an ambitious project as a fully professional royal military. But eventually I’d have both ready, ideally in time for my Stepstones conquest and definitely ready to go by the time of the inevitable Sixth Dornish War.

In place of the disciplined and loyal Royal Army and Navy in my dreams, the great houses of Westeros had rallied to my call, all of them eager to put down the ironmen once and for all. There was Lord Alyn Oakenfist of course, Master of Ships, Lord High Admiral of Westeros, and head of the combined royal and Velaryon fleets. His brilliance had been instrumental in crushing the main ironborn fleet off the coast of Pyke earlier in the campaign, but he hadn’t been alone either.

Flotillas and ships from all across the western coast had joined him, from the Redwynes, the Hightowers, the Shield Islands, the Farmans, Lannisters, Mallisters, and more. And embarked upon that great fleet had been a mighty host of Crownlanders, Riverlanders, Westerlanders, and Reachmen alike.

There were thirty-one major islands in the main archipelago and thirteen clustered over at Lonely Light to the west. Once we had hunted down every last ironman fleet at large, those same isles proved to be easy pickings.

Eager for vengeance and treasure, our armies had landed and scoured every last island one by one, sacking and butchering as they went. It was brutal, bloody, and cruel, but it wasn’t something I could stop even if I wanted. The ironmen had predated upon the coasts of Westeros for thousands of years and now the so called ‘soft greenlanders’ were ready to repay it in kind and remove their pestilence, once and for all.

Standing in their way would have been counterproductive to my overall goals at best and downright detrimental to my reputation at worst. And so, I hadn’t just stepped aside. I had actively aided and coordinated it, even taking part in a few glorious cavalry charges that would hopefully give my most infamous nickname a more dignified meaning than the ridiculous song Aegon had made about me.

In a magnanimous show of piety and grace, I had also proclaimed every last thrall and salt wife in the Iron Islands free of their bondage, with the practices forever forbidden as forms of slavery. Even the very religion of the Drowned God which had encouraged those practices I had declared illegal paganry and idolatry, enshrining the supremacy of the Seven over the Iron Islands.

Every thrall, salt wife, and common-born ironman who wished to repent and seek the Light of the Seven was encouraged to take refuge in the remaining septs, all of whom I had taken care to safeguard with House Targaryen’s own retinue of men and declared sacrosanct under pain of death to all of my lords and their soldiers.

None had dared to complain about that order. After all, this war had been begun to crush the ironmen and protect the Faith to begin with. Nobody wanted the smoke that came with messing around with that kind of rallying cry.

Especially not when all of my actions had made me the Faith’s new favorite king. I had already received word from King’s Landing that the now teenage High Septon and the Most Devout had unanimously voted to grant me the honorary moniker of ‘Shield of the Faith’, a title I had accepted most graciously.

Having the support of the Faith and the appearance of pious prestige would further strengthen House Targaryen’s position and secure my polygamous family against any naysayers that remained.

It also came in handy in much more economical ways too. I had suggested by raven to the High Septon that a bounty should be set upon the heads and scalps of the heathens who had desecrated and butchered our holy septs in the Iron Islands (ironically similar to the bounties Maegor the Cruel had placed upon the Faith Militant over a century ago) and he had agreed. The Faith had organized the bounty and called for donations from the great lords of the realm to help fund it, setting a price of one gold dragon for every member of the ironborn nobility or priest of the Drowned God, and one silver stag for every Drowned Man or ‘radical rebel’ who had participated in the desecration of septs.

At my instruction, Daena and the others back home in King’s Landing had made a hefty and well publicized donation to the fund for the bounty but nowhere near the full amount required, just enough to make us look good and get the rest moving. Eager to save face, look pious, and follow the royals, the rest of Westeros, even those that hadn’t been called upon to contribute men for the war effort began donating. It had even become a competition of sorts between houses like Lannister and Tyrell.

And in the end result, the Faith had more than enough funds to pay the bounty, making them very happy that they could pocket whatever extra remained, thrilled with me for coming up with such a great idea (isn’t religious corruption such a bedrock for a great political relationship?) and making all of our soldiers here in the Iron Islands very motivated and eager to keep fighting for the chance of getting rich not just from whatever loot they could find but from the prestige, piety, and bounty they got simply for killing more ironmen.

That motivation was honestly truly necessary for morale because the Iron Islanders were fighting very, very hard. I had attainted every last member of their nobility and practically most of their population as well, forbidding even their very religion. They had nothing to lose anymore and they were fighting not just for their way of life but for their very existence.

Few ironmen were smart enough to try and surrender and take refuge in the septs and fewer still even made it to the septs past the hordes of hungry, bounty-chasing soldiers I had unleashed upon their islands. By the time this war ended, the Iron Islands would probably be even more depopulated than they had been after the Famine Winter countless centuries ago.

Yet despite all my efforts, the war still wasn’t over. Without dragons or the hand of Martin thumbing on the scales, wars took a long very long time and sieges were long, drawn-out affairs. Even with the jaw dropping numerical advantage I had, the Iron Islands still weren’t anywhere near fully pacified.

Pyke, Orkmont, Harlaw, Saltcliffe, Blacktyde, and several of the smaller islands had already been fully scoured, but the Lonely Light archipelago to the west was still being pacified and there was still fierce fighting on Old Wyk and Great Wyk, respectively the holiest and largest of the Iron Islands.

Several of the most radical Drowned Men and priests had holed up at Nagga’s Bones on Old Wyk and Great Wyk was large enough that some of its castles were even inland. Our army was spread all over the island, besieging each and every single one of its numerous castles while hunting down scattered bands of ironmen hiding in the mountains and soldier pine forests.

That is where I was, cursing and grousing to myself as my personal guard and I made our way from one siege to another on the largest of the Iron Islands.

‘Seven months into this blasted campaign yet still unable to go home,’ I thought to myself with annoyance. I had already gotten letters from home that each of my wives had given birth in the months that I had been gone and I had three new children that I had yet to even meet. Two daughters, Visenya and Naerys from Daena and Rhaena respectively, and a son, Viserys, from Elaena.

Just the thought of how I had missed their births soured my mood and I cursed my ambition all over again. I had to micromanage the pacification of Great Wyk so closely, traveling from siege to siege and making sure my orders were followed closely, because it was one of the two major islands I wanted to annex directly as fiefs for House Targaryen, the other being Harlaw.

While they certainly weren’t grand enough for me to even consider giving either of them to my younger sons (I had other fiefs in mind for them), Great Wyk and Harlaw were the largest and richest of the Iron Islands and holding both would allow the Crown to permanently dominate the Iron Islands both politically and economically. The iron mines, timber, and other economic commodities would all be useful strategically and economically, supporting the eventual western command of my Royal Navy and maximizing exploitation of the trade routes that would eventually flourish in the region.

Castellans and knights of my choice would govern all the castles and settlements on House Targaryen’s islands and they would all be answerable to the Governor of the Iron Islands that I appointed to oversee them and arbitrate disputes between the other six major lords I would be raising up to rule the region.

For the sake of simplicity, I had decided to divide the Iron Islands into eight major lordships, Great Wyk, Harlaw, Pyke, Orkmont, Old Wyk, Blacktyde, Saltcliffe, and Lonely Light. Lonely Light of course was made up of its thirteen islands while the twenty-four lesser islands in the main archipelago were each placed under the fiefs of the closest neighboring major isle.

Since I was taking Great Wyk and Harlaw for House Targaryen, that still left me six major fiefs to distribute and I was thinking carefully on who I would choose. Even if it would be a cadet branch that would hold the fief, I didn’t want to overly empower houses like Redwyne, Hightower, and Lannister.

At the same time, I also wanted to pick houses that had the naval and financial expertise to govern their fiefs and make them economically productive while having rich parent houses with reasonable interest in their success that could support them with funds and manpower. Most importantly I wanted the houses I chose to be loyal to me. So naturally, I couldn’t just simply choose my new Iron lords.

With these criteria in mind, I was thinking of giving Pyke to the second son of Lord Celtigar along with a city charter to promote economic growth in Lordsport. Of course, said city charter would also enshrine the rights of the local burghers and merchants to a city council and other privileges to ensure the new Celtigar cadet branch didn’t grow overly mighty.

Orkmont meanwhile would be a good fit for Alyn Oakenfist’s second son, Ser Addam Velaryon. Alyn had been instrumental in my campaign and it was only natural to reward House Targaryen’s oldest ally and vassal, though I was still wary of overly empowering the Velaryons. The last thing I wanted was a second Sea Snake after all.

Old Wyk and Lonely Light could go to Mallister and Farman cadet branches respectively, giving the Riverlands and Westerlands representation and incentives to support development in the Iron Islands without overly strengthening powerful houses. The Reach meanwhile could be represented with cadet branches from the Shield Islands, specifically Hewett and Grimm, receiving Saltcliffe and Blacktyde respectively.

And of course, I would also play a role in selecting all the landed knights that would serve as vassals to these six major lords as well as on Harlaw and Great Wyk.

Such grandiose plans were for the future, however. As I had discovered as of late, my life in this world was basically a series of overly ambitious plans that were extremely fun to think up and prepare for but mind bogglingly tedious and risky to actually execute.

Case in point, my current personal trudge through the damp, dark, and grim pine forests of Great Wyk. I wasn’t overly concerned since my party was some three hundred armored knights strong, including four knights of the Kingsguard, but it was always good to keep your guard up in enemy territory. Uncle Aemon had drilled that into my head enough times by now.

It was that training that probably saved my life as I stopped my trail of thoughts and froze, on high alert.

Aemon, riding beside me, looked over. “You sense it too, huh? Good. I’d be ashamed if any squire of mine was ever caught off guard by such an obvious ploy.”

“It’s too quiet,” I observed, starting to raise my guard. We had been on this trail for what had to have been hours already and not a single second had passed without the loud chirping of birds or the croaking of critters in the undergrowth.

Yet now, everything was all silent. As if something or someone had scared away all the animals.

With instincts earned from years of training and months of wartime experience, I unstrapped my shield from the saddle and raised it up to a guard. The ironmen were not known for their archery skills, but a forest trail like this was the perfect ambush conditions for even the most mediocre bowman.

Quietly, Aemon spread orders along the entire company, raising every knight’s attention to high alert as the four Kingsguard closed ranks around me.

 Suddenly, I heard a whirring in my left ear, something glinting in the moonlight ever so slightly as it barreled towards me in the corner of my eye.

I raised my shield and ducked to the side not a moment too soon and took the impact of the thrown axe head on. It had been so unexpected and so fast that I found myself falling off my horse.

“We’re under attack! Protect the King!” the Kingsguard shouted in a panic as I fell and I crushed my embarrassment over falling from my horse so easily. There would be time enough to worry about that later.

The forest roared as hundreds of ironmen poured out of the woods with their axes, maces, and spears onto our company of knights.

‘I refuse to die here,’ I screamed in my head, thinking of my wives, of my children, of the babes I had yet to even meet.

I took Aemon’s outreached hand and pulled myself to my feet before drawing Blackfyre from its scabbard, backing myself to guard Aemon’s rear as the other three Kingsguard formed a protective shield around us.

It might be cheating but I couldn’t deny the comfort I felt knowing that with Blackfyre in my hands and Dark Sister in Aemon’s, few foes would actually be able to stand in our way regardless of their skill at arms.

Valyrian steel was that much of an advantage in battle, capable of putting nicks into the best castle-forged steel sword and shearing through gambesons, leather, chainmail, and bronze like a a hot knife through butter. Even the strongest plate armor could give way to a cut or thrust from a Valyrian steel sword so long as the correct form and technique was used with just the right amount of force and power.

Much to my relief, the disparate ironmen hadn’t had a whole company of archers to rain down hell upon us but my trained instincts reeled at how close we had come to death. If they had had enough archers, we might have all died.

As it was, we were hard pressed enough fending off the savage ironmen. There was a certain desperation in all of their attacks, a savage brutality that could only come from men who knew they were fighting for their last chance.

I soon realized the likely reason they hadn’t brought any archers. They needed us alive. They needed me alive specifically. It was the only remote chance they had of their people surviving the onslaught the rest of the Seven Kingdoms were currently bringing to bear upon them.

Knowing they needed me alive didn’t make me fight any less hard, though. It couldn’t. I refused to let myself be put at that kind of risk, to take the chance that I might not see my family again. I refused to die to an ambush like my namesake did! Certainly not to fucking ironborn!

The Kingsguard did their duties admirably, ensuring that most foes never even got close to me. But in the chaos of a close melee brawl in the dark of night, even the greatest of knights could be forgiven for letting one or two slip through.

Fortunately, I wasn’t defenseless. With Blackfyre in hand, I cut down every foe that came my way with ease. The dragonsteel pierced straight through the rusted chainmail brigandines and leathered gambesons all my foes were wearing.

Unfortunately, my luck soon ran out as the next foe that slipped past the Kingsguard was not so cheaply armored. Or armed for that matter.

The man was a hulking giant, a huge savage raider with a horned helmet and strong plate armor that fit every tall tale of the berserker ironman that had ever been told. And in his hand, he carried a red blade with dark rippling swirls that were visible even in the moonlight.

Red Rain.

So this was where the blade had gone. We hadn’t been able to find it when we had sacked Castle Drumm. I didn’t have much time to think on it any further before the ironman charged straight for me and I desperately raised Blackfyre to parry his oncoming blows.

The ironman had none of the skill of Aemon or any of the elegance and technique of a true knight, but even in his clumsy, rageful hands, Red Rain was dangerous. The slightest mistake could see that crimson blade thrusting straight through my heart.

Using every ounce of my training, I focused every last thought I could onto the fight at hand, deftly deflect my enemy’s manic thrust before sweeping Blackfyre up his blade towards his unprotected torso.

Valyrian steel could punch straight through castle-forged steel plate like a warhammer or spike made of lesser steel might but it wasn’t a given. I couldn’t trust that the blade would strike true into his chest so I didn’t leave it to chance at all.

Angling the tip of the blade upwards, I sent it straight through the weaker chainmail at his gorget and out the other side of his neck. The ironman choked out blood as he died and I drew Blackfyre out, leaving his body to slump onto the ground, motionless.

The whole fight had lasted less than thirty seconds. It wasn’t some epic duel like the songs would have it. Fights so rarely were like that. Real battles were messy, quick, brutal, and unforgiving of even the slightest mistake.

All around me the tides turned quickly as the ironmen faltered without the element of surprise, an entire company of the best knights in the realm too great for any mere rabble to contend with. Before long, every last one of them was cut down.

My hands trembled as I walked over to the corpse of the berserker I had killed. I had killed many times before over the course of this war, but never before had I been faced with a foe as well-armed as myself. Never had I felt so close to death.

It was frightening and deeply humbling. To realize that the only thing differentiating me from the man dead at my feet was a split-second decision. All my convoluted plans and ambitious dreams, my hopes of seeing my family again, of meeting my new children, they could have all been for naught by the tiniest margin of error.

Bending down to pick up my prize, I pried it from the clenched fingers of my defeated foe before lifting it up to admire it. Reverently, I traced my eyes all over the blade, taking in the beautiful red sheen and the dark crimson swirls as I felt myself filled with a sense of awe and excitement.

How many other men in the world could claim they had held even one Valyrian steel sword in their hands? Let alone two. And this blade wasn’t one that I had inherited like I had Blackfyre. It was a blade I had won in single combat, fair and square, testament to my growth as a warrior. A prize I had earned through my own prowess.

I couldn’t help but feel elated and I wasn’t ashamed to admit I almost babbled like a jumpy little boy when Aemon came over.

“Look, Uncle. We finally know where Red Rain ended up,” I said, unable to wipe the pleased smirk off my face.

The worried expression on Aemon’s face gave way to a smile. “Wonderful, Daeron. I caught a glimpse of your fight earlier. It was good sword work; you should be proud of yourself. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help you with it, I happened to be preoccupied with a little fight myself,” Aemon said before he sheathed Dark Sister and brought up his own prize.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I recognized the blade Aemon brought up. The sword had a moonstone pommel and its blade was so dark it was almost black but I could see the same dark swirls in the metal that were so apparent on Red Rain. The same indestructible material.

“What are the odds that we would win both Nightfall and Red Rain in a single battle?” I couldn’t help but choke out in surprise, amazed.

Aemon’s face went grim. “Not high. This was planned, Daeron. They must have realized we were taking this route and attacked us out of desperation, hoping to kill or capture you.”

“That would explain why they brought Nightfall and Red Rain with them. They must have known we had Blackfyre and Dark Sister and needed a way to counter that,” I said with a nod.

“We should get out of here as soon as possible then,” Aemon said. “Let’s not stick around and find out if they have any reinforcements.”

“Agreed. Just remember, as soon as we leave here, we only found one Valyrian steel sword. Nightfall. Understood?” I ordered.

There was the slightest bit of a frown on Aemon’s face but he agreed. The Kingsguard were sworn to keep the King’s secrets after all and Aemon had gone along with the whims of far worse kings than me. I knew it didn’t sit totally well with him to hide that we had the technical heirloom of one of our vassal houses so we could take it for our own but I didn’t really care.

There was simply no way in hell I was going to give my hard-earned prize back to the Reynes of all people. The dumbasses had lost it to the Drumms to begin with centuries ago and I had almost died for the bloody sword! The Reynes could go kick rocks if they ever dared to come and complain. The sword just needed a new name and some changes to the hilt and they’d never be able to prove a fucking thing even if they suspected the truth.

It wasn’t as if this was the first time we had done this either. We had found Lamentation a few years earlier, the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of House Royce, while we had been clearing up and rebuilding the Dragonpit and I had immediately had the sword refitted with a new hilt and presented it as a gift to Daena. She had promptly rechristened it Vengeance. Because of course she did. I loved her very much, but it had to be said that Daena the Defiant had a certain flair for the dramatic.

Looking down at Red Rain, I noticed the way the blade’s crimson swirls almost made it look like a red fire burning in the night and the new name came to me instantly.

“Bloodflame,” I said, rechristening the sword.

“It’s a good name,” Aemon said in response and I smiled.

“And now between Blackfyre, Dark Sister, Vengeance, Bloodflame, and Nightfall, House Targaryen now has no less than five Valyrian steel swords. Five! Can you imagine that nuncle? Have you ever even heard of another house that had two? Let alone five.”

“I’m glad you’re so excited, nephew, but we really should get going.”

“Yes, yes. Let’s go,” I replied.

Before we could go however, Aemon seemed to pause and think a little.

“Uncle?”

“It only seems right to do it here,” he muttered confusingly to himself before he looked at me.

“I should have done this months ago, if not years, but I guess I just wasn’t ready to accept that you were. Ready that is. I don’t think it’s really appropriate to do it anywhere else than the place you truly earned it and since we really should be going, we’re just going to have to make this quick. Kneel,” Aemon ordered as he drew Dark Sister out from his scabbard.

Still in a state of disbelief that Aemon had finally decided I was worthy, my knees sank to the ground as I knelt before my uncle for the last time ever.

Placing Dark Sister on my right shoulder, Aemon began to speak, moving the sword between my shoulders as he dubbed me with every sentence.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. Do you accept?”

“I do,” I answered, swearing the famous vows thousands of knights had before me. I didn’t know how well I’d be able to keep those vows, but I swore to myself that I’d do my best, to set a good example for my sons who I hoped would end being knights as fine as their alternate selves.

“Then rise, Ser Daeron of House Targaryen,” Aemon the Dragonknight declared, a proud smile upon his face that I’d hoped to see for the longest time.

__________________________________

Ninth Moon, 174 AC

Eleven months to the day after we had left King’s Landing, and we had finally returned. Triumphant and victorious after nearly a whole year at long last.

By now, most every last trace of resistance in the Iron Islands had long since been extinguished and I had already gone through all the motions. Like a man on a mission, I had made sure to finish up everything in the west as fast as possible. All the celebratory feasts to attend and rewards to give out and whatnot. I had appointed my chosen lords, castellans, knights, and governor, and now the rest would simply be up to time to see how they would do.

My focus was fixed on the docks as we sailed into port and I swore I ran like the wind once we had moored, running down onto the pier and straight into the waiting arms of my wives. I took my sweet time, tenderly embracing and kissing each of them in turn, chuckling a little to myself as I saw how pouty Elaena got watching me with the other two. I made sure to kiss her extra long to make her feel better.

Soon my attention was captured by my little ones. Daemon, Baelor, Maekar, Aegor, Daenerys, Viserra, and Laena. Gods it really had been almost a year, hadn’t it? They’d all gotten so big! And some of them hadn’t even been walking and talking the last time I had seen them and now all of them were.

It hurt a little when the younger ones, the two-year old Aegor, Daenerys, Viserra, and Laena shied away from me at first. They probably didn’t remember me at all and they clung tightly to their mothers and nursemaids. Fortunately, they did have some vague subconscious recollection of me and they gradually warmed up to me but I could tell it would have to be something I worked on a lot over the coming weeks to get them really comfortable with me again.

Much to my joy however, it didn’t take very long at all for my eldest three boys to recognize me and once they had adjusted to having me around again, Daemon, Baelor, and Maekar all climbed into my lap and eagerly hugged me, babbling away about all their many adventures. It was honestly absurd how well-spoken they were now and I could hardly believe the amount of mischief a pack of four-year-old boys could get themselves into.

Someone cleared their throat to get my attention, snapping me away from my conversation with the boys, and my eyes turned to the side. Daena, Rhaena, and Elaena stood there, all of them having some of the most pleased smiles I had ever seen on their faces as they swaddled a baby in their arms.

I froze, gingerly getting up to my feet and approaching with an almost terrified caution. It was strange. I had faced down death itself on the Iron Islands, yet I felt more uncertain now as I approached the children I had never even met.

“Who… who’s the eldest?” I choked out. That was stupid, I already knew that from the letters but I didn’t know what else to say.

They didn’t judge me for it though. Instead, Elaena brought our son forward to me, the son she had named for my grandfather, a man we both respected and admired deeply.

I couldn’t help but smile as she placed him into my arms and I just barely managed to keep him from crying. Another boy, a fifth son for House Targaryen. And we now had five Valyrian steel swords. Was it some kind of sign perhaps? A good omen?

“He’s beautiful, Elaena,” I said honestly, amazed. Our elder three children, Maekar, Viserra, and Laena had all inherited my more simple silver-gold hair, but even at this young age, I could already tell that Viserys had inherited Elaena’s exquisitely rare and unique hair color, all platinum white with golden streaks.

Passing Viserys back to his mother, I took the next eldest, Visenya, from Daena. “I should have known you’d give our eldest daughter this name,” I said to her with a cheeky smile.

“She always was my favorite,” Daena replied with a satisfied smirk but my eyes were just mesmerized by my daughter.

“It suits her. She has this angry, defensive look on her face. She’s not crying or upset, she’s outraged that some stranger she doesn’t know is daring to hold her. I can tell she’ll be real handful for us once she grows up,” I japed.

Daena laughed. “She’s a feisty one, that’s for sure. Daemon and Aegor were practically easy to deal with compared to her.”

Rhaena stepped forward next then, carrying our infant daughter in her arms. She was so tiny and precious I was almost afraid to pick her up.

“You named her for my mother,” I said, finally.

Rhaena nodded. “I thought it the most fitting. Naerys and I are closer than ever after all the work we do together and she was a huge help while I was pregnant with this one.”

“She’s so small,” I said reluctantly, both amazed and concerned.

“Uncle Viserys said your mother was much the same when she was born,” Rhaena told me.

“I remember,” I answered.

I prayed to any god that would listen that my daughter didn’t grow up to be as frail and weak as my mother, that she would be strong, healthy, and happy. But even if she did, especially if she did, I swore to myself that I would make sure she had the best life she could ever dream of, a life of her own choosing, the life my mother had not been able to have until it had been almost too late.

“She’s perfect, Rhaena. They all are,” I said, looking up at Daena and Elaena. “Where is Munkun? I must thank him for all of his great services. He’s done very well indeed keeping my beloved wives safe through yet another delivery and giving unto me these three precious gifts.”

An awkward look passed between all three of them before Elaena answered reluctantly. “Daeron… I’m afraid that Grand Maester Munkun is dead. He passed of a fever not long after you left for the Iron Islands.”

What?

“What? Then who delivered our children?” I asked, confused.

“The Citadel sent Maester Alford back to become Grand Maester again. You were very young when he left the first time, but I’m sure you must remember him? He was the one who delivered you after all! Naerys always had many good things to say about him, and I think all three of us can attest much the same after all of his help,” Rhaena said.

“Don’t forget that he delivered all of us as well. Must have been quite the experience for the good old Maester,” Daena jested and the other two laughed.

Alford? My mind was racing as I tried to trace my memories from both lives. Grand Maester Alford... I remember now. He had replaced Munkun as the Grand Maester after Aegon III had come of age and reshuffled his Small Council. He had helped deliver my mother, all of Aegon III’s children, and finally myself before resigning and returning to the Citadel not long after Aegon III had died in 157 AC, allowing Munkun to finally return to his former post as Grand Maester.

I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t help but find the timing suspicious. What were the odds that Munkun, who had been in perfect health the last time I saw him, just so happened to sicken and die while I had been away? And he had been replaced by Alford, a Maester who had helped deliver almost my entire family including myself and so was implicitly trusted by everyone. Someone who had been Grand Maester for the vast majority of Aegon III’s reign and thus should be above either reproach or suspicion.

It just felt all too convenient, somehow. And the thought of someone I didn’t know and didn’t trust being so implicitly trusted by my entire family and having such intimate access to my wives and children disturbed me to the core.

 “Is there something wrong, Daeron?” Elaena asked, looking concerned.

“Nothing,” I replied, forcing a smile.

Perhaps I was just being paranoid. I didn’t have any proof after all and Alford had proven himself to be reliable many times over, even if I didn’t really know him. But try as I might, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t feel right about any of this.

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Author’s Note: Once again, I’m really so sorry for how long this chapter has taken. Was dealing with so much health issues with my sleep and sickness and whatnot. Thank you all for waiting patiently and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter after how long and how hard I’ve worked on it!

Please let me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord!