Chapter 28: The Last Dragon's Scream, The Weaver's Silence
The Dance of the Dragons, a bonfire of Targaryen ambition stoked by Sōsuke Aizen's unseen hand, raged into its most self-destructive and soul-rich phase. King's Landing, captured by Rhaenyra and then scarred by the horrific Storming of the Dragonpit – an event Aizen had observed with the keen satisfaction of a connoisseur savoring a rare vintage of terror and spiritual release – became a cauldron of paranoia. Rhaenyra's brief, tragic reign there was a testament to her unraveling sanity, a process subtly guided by the gentle, poisonous counsel of "Maester Valerion." Aizen, in this guise, whispered interpretations of omens and dragon dreams that fed her fears, isolated her from loyal counsel, and pushed her towards acts of cruelty and desperation that alienated the populace and her own supporters. He ensured her grip on the Iron Throne was soaked in blood and mistrust, guaranteeing her eventual, inevitable fall.
When Rhaenyra was forced to flee King's Landing, a queen without a throne, hunted and increasingly alone, Aizen made sure her escape was possible, though fraught with peril. Her continued existence as a claimant, a rallying point for Black loyalists however diminished, was essential to prolonging the agony of Westeros. He did not wish for a swift Green victory; he wished for a grinding, mutual annihilation.
Aegon II, broken in body from his encounter at Rook's Rest but unyielding in his claim, eventually retook the capital. King's Landing was a ruin, its people starving, its coffers empty, its great Dragonpit a smoldering tomb. The Greens were back in power, but it was the power of ashes, ruling over a kingdom drowning in its own blood.
And still, the dragons danced their fiery ballets of death in the skies. Aizen, ever the aficionado of such potent displays, ensured he had a vantage point, either through his scrying Kido that painted vivid, real-time tapestries of destruction within his Obsidian Spire, or through direct, disguised observation. He was particularly invested in the final, great dragon duels, for these were where the most potent souls, both rider and beast, would be unleashed.
The Battle Above the Gods Eye was a spectacle he would not have missed. Prince Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen, astride the colossal, ancient Vhagar (the Targaryen relic, not Aizen's own primordial beast), was the Greens' most terrifying weapon. Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, Rhaenyra's husband and a warrior of incandescent fury, mounted upon the fierce, battle-scarred Caraxes, was her most formidable champion. Their fated duel was a legend in the making, a clash of hatred, valor, and two of the most powerful dragons left in the world.
Aizen, in the guise of a nondescript fisherman on the shores of the Gods Eye, his presence utterly effaced by Kyōka Suigetsu, watched them meet above the vast, dark lake. He felt the surge of their Valyrian bloodlust, the desperate courage, the suicidal abandon. He subtly wove illusions into the periphery of their vision – phantom dragon silhouettes in the clouds that made them misjudge distances, fleeting images of their most hated foes that spurred their rage to even greater heights. He ensured neither would seek to disengage, that their hatred would drive them to a mutual, spectacular end.
When Daemon leaped from Caraxes onto Vhagar's back, plunging Dark Sister into Aemond's remaining eye, and both dragons, locked in a death grip, spiraled into the lake below, Aizen felt the explosive release of four immense spiritual essences: the fiery, indomitable soul of Daemon Targaryen; the cold, vengeful spirit of Aemond One-Eye; the ancient, battle-worn essence of Vhagar (Targaryen); and the fierce, loyal soul of Caraxes. It was a quartet of power that sang through the Hōgyoku, now seamlessly part of Aizen, invigorating him, granting him deeper insights into the warrior psyche, the nature of Valyrian dragon-bonds, and the very essence of dynastic self-destruction. He savored it, even as the ripples on the Gods Eye slowly stilled.
The betrayals that marked the later stages of the Dance were also, in many instances, guided by his subtle hand. Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White, the "Two Betrayers" whom Aizen had subtly encouraged after they claimed Vermithor and Silverwing, grew arrogant with their newfound power. Aizen, through his Faceless Men disguised as disgruntled retainers or ambitious rivals within their own camps, fanned their ambitions to ludicrous heights, whispering that they, not the Targaryens, were destined to rule. When they inevitably turned their coats at the Second Battle of Tumbleton, causing catastrophic losses for the Blacks, Aizen was pleased. They had sown immense chaos. And when, shortly after, these same traitors were themselves assassinated (some by their own new "allies" who feared their ambition, others by Faceless Men ensuring no loose cannon grew too powerful or independent), their potent, if corrupted, souls and those of their mighty dragons were added to Aizen's tally.
Larys Strong, the Clubfoot, Master of Whisperers for the Greens, was a creature Aizen found particularly amusing – a mortal who dabbled in the kind of subtle manipulation Aizen practiced on a divine scale. Aizen did not need to control Larys directly; the man's own ambition and cunning served Aizen's purposes well enough, ensuring the Green council remained a nest of paranoia and intrigue, incapable of forging a lasting peace even if Aegon II had desired it.
As the dragon population dwindled with each savage encounter – Tessarion against Seasmoke, the tragic end of Dreamfyre in the Dragonpit's collapse, the desperate hunts for wild dragons like the Cannibal – Aizen watched with a profound sense of satisfaction. He was not merely harvesting souls; he was witnessing, and subtly ensuring, the near-extinction of a species that could, in sufficient numbers and under unified command, potentially pose a long-term challenge to his own draconic assets, particularly Ignis Primus. He was pruning the competition, ensuring his own future aerial supremacy. Any surviving dragon eggs discovered amidst the chaos were discreetly acquired by his agents and spirited away to the Obsidian Spire for future study or integration into his own breeding programs.
The end of the main combatants was orchestrated with similar finesse. Rhaenyra Targaryen, after fleeing King's Landing, was eventually betrayed and captured. Aizen, through "Maester Valerion" (who had "regretfully" parted ways with her some time before her capture, his mission to sow discord in her council complete, his persona vanishing from Rhaenyra's retinue), ensured that her captors delivered her directly to Aegon II on Dragonstone. He wanted her death to be a significant, spiritually charged event. And it was. Aegon II, crippled, bitter, and increasingly mad, fed his half-sister to his dragon Sunfyre (itself grievously wounded and barely able to fly). Aizen, observing through a disguised Sentinel nearby, felt Rhaenyra's proud, broken soul, saturated with grief, rage, and queenly ambition, erupt into the aether, a potent offering. Sunfyre's own subsequent death, a slow, agonizing decline from its wounds, was another soul he collected.
Aegon II's own demise was equally… timely. With Rhaenyra dead and the Blacks seemingly broken, there was a brief flicker of hope for a Green victory and an end to the war. Aizen could not allow such a premature peace. The King, already a physical wreck, was poisoned by his own councilors, men who feared his tyranny or sought to secure their own positions in the ensuing power vacuum. Aizen's Faceless Men might have subtly provided the poison, or the suggestion, ensuring the deed was done cleanly and at the most politically destabilizing moment. Aegon II's soul, twisted by pain, paranoia, and a hollow kingship, was another dark jewel for Aizen's crown.
The "Hour of the Wolf," when Lord Cregan Stark marched his grim Northmen into King's Landing to dispense Stark justice and oversee the chaotic interregnum, was a development Aizen observed with detached curiosity. Stark's rigid honor and harsh justice were an interesting counterpoint to the Valyrian intrigues he had fostered. He allowed it to play out, as it served to further purge King's Landing of lingering Green loyalists and ambitious plotters, adding a few more scattered souls to his collection and leaving the path clearer for the eventual ascension of Rhaenyra's young son, Aegon III, a boy king who would inherit a shattered realm, a legacy of sorrow, and, most importantly for Aizen, very few dragons.
The Dance of the Dragons, the bloodiest and most self-destructive chapter in House Targaryen's history, finally whimpered to its end. Westeros was devastated. The great houses were decimated. The dragons, save for a handful of hatchlings and a few wild, untamable beasts, were virtually extinct. The Iron Throne was occupied by a grieving boy king, Aegon the Dragonbane, whose reign would be defined by the shadow of the Dance and his deep-seated fear of the creatures that had been his family's glory and their doom.
Sōsuke Aizen, from the silent, timeless vantage of his Obsidian Spire, took stock. The harvest had been beyond magnificent. The Hōgyoku, now an indivisible part of his divine essence, thrummed with an unimaginable concentration of absorbed spiritual energy – the souls of nearly twenty Targaryen dragons, each a unique repository of elemental fire and ancient power; the souls of countless Valyrian-blooded dragonriders, princes, queens, and lords, their spirits ablaze with passion, ambition, and despair; and the souls of tens of thousands of mortal soldiers and commonfolk, their collective anguish a vast ocean of raw emotional energy.
He felt a new plateau of power solidifying within him. His understanding of Valyrian blood magic, of draconic nature, of the very soul of Westeros, was now absolute. The elemental mastery he had gained from devouring the "Gods of Old Valyria" was now supercharged, infused with the living fire of a generation of dragons. He could sense new divine abilities stirring, a greater capacity to influence not just events, but the very fabric of belief and consciousness on a continental scale, a deeper resonance with the planet's life force, and a chilling, refined control over the energies of death and despair he had so abundantly reaped. Kyōka Suigetsu itself felt sharper, its illusions capable of weaving tapestries of deception so profound they could rewrite history or create new gods in the minds of men.
With the Dance concluded, Aizen's direct, intensive manipulation of Westeros for this particular conflict ceased. "Maester Valerion" had vanished from all records months before Rhaenyra's final fall, presumed lost in the chaos by those few who even remembered his quiet, scholarly presence. The Sentinel mercenary companies, their contracts fulfilled or their employers dead, either "disbanded" into obscurity or were reported as "destroyed" in the war's final, brutal skirmishes, their Valyrian steel weapons and uncanny discipline becoming the stuff of grim battlefield legends.
Aizen withdrew his primary focus from the Seven Kingdoms. He had achieved all his objectives. Westeros was broken, its dragon power shattered, its people traumatized, its new king a boy easily influenced by the factions that would inevitably squabble for power around him. The Iron Bank of Braavos, its coffers swelled by war profits and its influence deepened by the debts owed by the Iron Throne and numerous great houses, would continue to be Aizen's subtle leash upon the realm. His Faceless Men remained, hidden eyes and ears, ready to act should any true, lasting peace threaten to break out prematurely, or should any individual arise who showed too much promise of uniting the realm too effectively.
In the Obsidian Spire, Ignis Primus, the colossal magma dragon, stirred from its long, patient vigil. Its psychic voice resonated in Aizen's mind, a rumble of ancient fire and barely contained power. "The little fires have danced themselves to ash, Master. Is it my time now? Does this world now learn the meaning of true conflagration?"
Aizen gazed out from his Spire, not towards the smoking ruins of Westeros, but further, towards the vast, largely uncharted continents of Essos, Sothoryos, and the lands beyond the eastern seas. The Dance had been a magnificent feast, a crucial step in his evolution. But his divine appetite was eternal, his ambition boundless.
"Westeros is a garden that must now lie fallow for a time, my First Fire," Aizen conveyed. "Let them rebuild their fragile kingdoms, let them forget the true architects of their sorrow. Our gaze turns eastward, towards older, stranger lands, where different kinds of gods slumber, where forgotten empires hold secrets yet unplundered, where new conflicts are waiting to be born, or to be… encouraged."
He might choose to investigate the deeper mysteries of Asshai and the Shadow Lands, to finally confront the "Voice from the Abyss" and its Seekers of the Lost Blood. He might turn his attention to the crumbling Ghiscari Empire, or the sorcerer-kings of Qarth. Perhaps he would even seek out the legendary Five Forts, or the rumored Elder Gods of the distant east.
The Dance of the Dragons was over. The Weaver had gathered his crimson tithe and now, his hand temporarily rested from that particular loom, he surveyed a world teeming with new possibilities, new feasts for a god whose hunger was the engine of his endless, terrifying becoming. The silence he left in Westeros was not one of peace, but of exhaustion, a silence pregnant with the seeds of future horrors he had already planted.