Second Moon, 108 AD (7 AC)
Rhaenys
They had captured eight skinchangers alive. Twelve fallen bodies had been recovered as well, and ten of their brethren had escaped due to their presumed pack of wolves and dogs distracting their soldiers. Thirty skinchangers in total, in addition to gods knew how many that had died near the Twins during Meleys' rampage.
How had they been so blind? So unprepared?
Rhaenys still remembered how she and her siblings had rushed home when they had heard of the attack on the twins. How irritable and agitated Caraxes and Meleys had been the whole time, so much so that the older dragons like her own Meraxes had had to rein them in lest they harm their younger siblings in their distress.
Yet she knew she had been little better herself. Visenya and their maesters and healers had tended to the twins' injuries and the strange poisons afflicting their bodies as best as they could, but they hadn't been able to wake them. Not even with glass candles.
That had driven Rhaenys to despair.
The thought of her little girl, her precious Valaena, her eldest daughter, her joy, wasting away and never waking up along with her love, Rhaenys' nephew… It had been too much to bear. Rhaenys had never cried so much in her life.
She had wondered if Visenya felt the same with her son in the same state but her sister had steeled herself, never showing how much she had hurt inside. And Aegon? Aegon had done much the same even as he had held her as she had cried into his shoulder, staying strong for her sake no matter how much Rhaenys had suspected he wanted to fall apart.
Visenya and her had turned on him then. Demanding to know what he knew of this, if his knowledge of that other world could help them, and why he didn't tell them if so?
And Aegon had spoken then, confessing his suspicions that it was a skinchanger who had done this to their children, much like thise that had existed in that other world's future with the children of House Stark or their own descendant, Brynden Bloodraven. Their children had been attacked with poisoned weirwood arrows, their flesh torn by birds and their minds ravaged. The signs had been clear.
Aegon had struggled to remember obscure details he hadn't read firsthand in over thirty years, but vaguely he had recalled a suggestion in that otherworldly knowledge that the bastard brother of Torrhen Stark had cut three arrows from a weirwood tree and schemed to kill them or their dragons yet it had never amounted to anything in that world nor had it ever been proven that it had been him. It had been but a single throwaway line, never again spoken of, and thus, it had slipped his mind. Until now.
With what he could recall and remember of the Stark children, Bloodraven and the other skinchangers, and what their own scarce knowledge in this world was with all the texts they could find within their realm, they had planned and prepared.
They had put their plans for the war against the southern coalition on halt, for this was far more important. They had stayed at home in Summerhall for three weeks, regrouping and preparing defenses and countermeasures against skinchangers, comforting their frightened younger children and waiting desperately for Valaena and Aerion to wake up.
Visenya had even left at one point to visit the site of the attack on the twins, yet she had found no clues nor evidence there. Meleys' and Caraxes' rampage had destroyed all the lands about in a fiery desolation, no, perhaps it had even been Meleys alone as Caraxes had borne both their children to Summerhall. The locals had reported nothing out of the ordinary apart from the scattered remnants of Torrhen Stark's army that Lord Frey's men were dealing with.
The skinchangers had been almost like ghosts. Yet even then they had not realized how much danger they had been in. They had thought the danger simple, something now known. Brandon Snow had acted alone or with the aid of a few companions to attack their children in vengeance for his brother's death.
They had failed to realize just how powerful Brandon had become, how he had achieved something unheard of since the Age of Heroes and united dozens of skinchangers into a cohesive and terrifying unit of assassins and spies, with capabilities they had not even begun to imagine.
The three of them had trusted too much in Aegon's half-remembered knowledge, for it had never failed them before. They had thought themselves safe and secure in their own home, at the top of Dragonsreach, protected by a huge castle and thousands of guards and insurmountable heights.
They had thought the glass candles would warn them if anything was amiss. They had not even considered that the skinchangers could take over the children's pets, thinking that distance and their lack of familiarity and so many other scarce details from Aegon's knowledge would make it impossible. Rhaenys hadn't wanted to separate the children from their pets either, thinking it would needlessly distress them with how much comfort they were taking from them in these trying times. Oh, how foolish she had been.
How they all had been. They had thought a lot of things in their arrogance, and their children had suffered for it.
Elaena had been scratched and bitten by her cat until she was bleeding all over. She was deeply traumatized by the betrayal, swearing she'd never have another pet and she was even afraid of her own dragon, Dreamfyre, now. She had been so scared ever since that night, so young and frightened of the world and everything around her. It broke Rhaenys' heart to see her like this.
Her youngest daughter was not alone in her trauma. Aemon's dog had almost torn his throat out before the Dragonguard had killed it right in front of his eyes. Aenar had been saved from his cat only to be swarmed by rats that had bit and scratched him all over before he had been rescued. Daena's fingers had been ravaged by her dog so much they worried if they'd ever heal.
And Aegor… her poor nephew had lost an eye. Forever blinded in one side. Crippled. Maimed.
Visenya's mask had finally fallen apart when she had heard of her second son's injury. Oh, how she and Aegon had screamed and raged and sworn vengeance on whoever had done this to their son. Rhaenys had only cried all the more, and most of the children had cried with her.
The one and only silver lining in the midst of all this tragedy, was that Aerion had finally woken up. Yet even that joyous occasion had been made tragic. For Aerion had woken, weak and unstable, to strangle Rhaena's skinchanged cat which had been trying to kill Valaena, still lost in her own mind.
Rhaenys would never forget the debt she owed her nephew, her son in all but name, for that, though she doubted he would even consider her to be in his debt. Valaena was his love, and the cat he had killed had long been a beloved family pet, one that Valaena herself had gifted to Rhaena.
Rhaena had been inconsolable ever since the night of the second attack. She was completely unscathed, physically at least, but she hadn't stopped crying. She was traumatized by the attack like all her siblings, but above all else she was plagued with guilt, grief, and the ceaseless torments of what almost had been. If Aerion hadn't woken up right in that moment, both he and Valaena would be dead.
She had laid her cat Sable to comfort and guard Valaena who had given her to her to begin with. She couldn't have known, but it didn't make it any better for her no matter what they said; it was still too fresh.
Rhaena was not the only tormented by what-ifs. Rhaenys couldn't help thinking. What if they had been better, what if they had taken things more seriously, they could have prevented all of their children from being hurt. But they hadn't been. They had failed them.
As it was, things could have been even worse. If Visenya hadn't insisted on checking their surroundings with the glass candles that night, they would have been taken completely unaware and the attack would have been even worse. Perhaps some of their children might even be dead instead of alive and traumatized.
It was an advanced technique to use with the glass candle, but with it one could see through the glamors used by the Faceless Men or detect magical influences on the minds of animals or people, including skinchanging.
Normally however, as with all things concerning glass candles, it would have been exceptionally tiring and difficult to search in such specific detail, like trying to find a needle in a haystack while your vision was spinning, for such was one's experience with an artifact that could see the world entire and very much wished to take you for a ride. An incredible will, focus, and long hours of practice and training were required to use a glass candle to its full potential and even Visenya had yet to even scratch the surface of what their candles could do.
Yet on that night, she hadn't had to. One or two skinchanged animals scurrying about the town beyond the castle probably would have slipped her notice, but a whole horde had come instead. Swarms of rats, giant storms of birds, and even their children's own pets, all possessed by skinchangers she had traced like following a trail all the way back to a certain inn in the town.
Visenya had immediately sounded the alarm. As it so happened, their ever-competent Rangers and Eyes had grown suspicious about the large party of thirty outsiders that had slowly gathered in that inn and had planned a raid for that very night. As soon as Visenya had informed them, they had immediately moved, the Eyes slinking back into the shadow while the Rangers roused up platoons of Dragonguard and Provincial Guard to capture or kill all the skinchangers.
But it had been too little, too late. The attack could not be stopped. What had followed had been nothing short of nightmarish.
Their children's pets had turned on them, three cats, two dogs, and a white raven. Hordes of rats and crows, ravens, and birds of prey had swarmed the tower and attacked all of them. It had been chaos and fear incarnate as they had tried desperately to see to the safety of their children and lead the Dragonguard against their attackers. All the while their family's eleven dragons had all circled about the tower, helpless to aid their riders and roaring their rage and anger at that fact.
Yet for all the carnage and chaos, for all of the greatest attempts of their foes, Rhaenys felt the slightest glimmer of triumph and victory. That for all of Brandon Snow or whoever else's efforts, the attack had failed ultimately. All of them and their children were alive, traumatized, scarred, and maimed even, but alive.
And now it was time for answers.
Though tired and weak, they had pried from Aerion everything they could about how the first attack had gone down, learning valuable clues and resisting the temptation to slap him as hard as they could right beside his still unconscious sister for their utter stupidity and foolishness in exposing themselves like that in a time of war. Once they had finished with Aerion, they had turned to the prisoners.
The eight skinchangers their men had successfully captured in the town had all been dragged back and thrown into the darkest cells beneath the Tower of Summer before they had been tortured. Their skin had been flayed, their nails torn out before their toes and fingers were removed, their very minds stripped apart as they had used glass candles and torn through it without even a hint of subtlety.
Rhaenys watched it all happen. She took part in making it happen, just like her siblings did. There would be no mercy for those who had dared harm her children and these men would not have a moment's rest until they had extracted everything that there was to know from their pathetic little minds.
It had taken three days of the sharpest questioning, but the whole story had come out. They had checked already to make sure there was nothing left and then ordered the prisoners slowly flayed until they expired as they stewed over what they had learnt.
It was confirmed now. Brandon Snow had done this. He had done it all. Created a brotherhood of skinchangers known as the 'Wolf's Teeth', that had been fifty strong before all of this had started. Twenty of their number had died in the first attack on the twins and they had lost twenty more in the recent attack in Summerhall, leaving just ten at large, including their leader.
Brandon Snow was still alive. The man responsible for the maiming and injury of all their children was still alive and they would make him know pain. His captured brethren had told them that Brandon had been driven mad with grief after Valaena and Aerion had killed his brother and two of his nephews? Then in that case, they, Valaena and Aerion's parents, would make sure Brandon Snow had no home to return to.
The North had dared to send assassins after their children, and now they would feel the full fury of the Dragon's Wroth.
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They had been so full of rage and fury that they had barely stopped to ensure all of their supplies had been packed and their plan was sound before they had taken off on their dragons on the fifth day after the attack.
Rhaenys flew faster than she could ever remember, only pacing herself to make sure that Meraxes was not exhausted and Balerion and Vhagar were keeping pace.
It was only an hour or two past noon when they had fallen upon Moat Cailin like a hammer. For thousands of years the Starks had maintained the castle and all of its twenty towers as their shield against the south. Brandon Snow and Torrhen Stark had gone to special effort to repair and garrison it before their war and Rhaenys took a special glee in ruining all of their work.
They let out the full fiery fury of their wrath, burning and burning until all twenty towers had melted and crumbled into the swamps of the Neck. And when they had finished with Moat Cailin, they had not paused to rest no. They had continued onwards, bearing hard down upon their true target.
At long last, as the sun was setting, they set eyes upon it. Winterfell. The proud and ancient seat of House Stark. Thousands of years old, vast and splendid. A third the size of Summerhall, covering many vast acres, with tall double walls and a moat betwixt them surrounding it all. A small town or village rather was outside the walls. The banner of the running grey direwolf on a field of white flew proudly from every standard.
All Rhaenys could think of was how beautiful it would all look aflame. Winterfell had been burned twice before by the Boltons. What was one more?
"Dracarys!" Rhaenys ordered.
Silver-gold flames erupted from the maw of Meraxes, joined and intermingled with greenish-blue and black swirled with red. The full power of the three oldest and largest dragons in the world burst forth. They did not stop until the winter town had been utterly destroyed and the screams of all its people had been silenced. They did not rest when the curtail walls melted and sagged, when the moat had boiled away until nothing but ash and dirt remained.
The flames soon spread to every corner and crevice of Winterfell, igniting its godswood like kindling in a fire, yet still they continued to release more fire, more wrath, more fury. They tore down the Great Keep of Winterfell and reduced to rubble the First Keep and all the other buildings. They burned and burned until naught was left but ash and rubble and then they burned even those, as the sun set and darkness fell upon the land. The glow of the flames lit up the night sky.
When they were finally sated, they set their dragons down miles away from Winterfell in wide open fields. Even from here the sky glowed with the heat and enormity of the blaze consuming what was left of Winterfell.
The cold of the North would normally have chilled them to the bone even in summer but they were kept warm by the heat emanating from their three dragons who laid to rest and formed a protective circle around their campsite. Rhaenys would be surprised indeed if any would dare to attack them but nonetheless Visenya insisted that they set a watch.
Dinner that night was little more than rations, though hot thankfully as Aegon and Visenya had prepared a fire and a single light breath from one of their dragons had lit it. It was the only thing any of them had eaten that day, and the dragons flew off in turns to hunt and eat as they did. Rhaenys suspected they would be descending on the ruins of Winterfell first and eating any animals or people that remained, dead or alive.
She volunteered for the first watch that night, too restless to sleep, and when she finally turned the watch over to Visenya and tried her best to sleep, all her dreams were of fire and blood.
For the next two weeks they repeated this routine. Winterfell and Moat Cailin had been destroyed and now they turned their wrath upon the rest of the North. Castle Cerwyn, Ramsgate, Widow's Watch, Torrhen's Square, Ryder's Mark, and Flint's Finger had all burned, the castles utterly ruined and any of the infrastructure they might have used to support fleets or armies destroyed with them. The castles and other settlements further north had been spared, but only because they hadn't cared to attack them, prioritizing more immediate targets to shorten their time away from their children as much as possible.
While they had been destroying those castles, they had also descended upon neighboring Barrowton and White Harbor. The latter was the only true city in the North while the former was the largest town and the next biggest settlement in population. Respectively they were the main ports of the North on its western and eastern coasts and Torrhen Stark had built up their infrastructure significantly, fortifying them and building shipyards and fleets.
Rhaenys and her siblings had seen to it that all of Torrhen's work had gone up in flames. They had descended upon the two settlements, destroying the keeps of Barrow Hall, Goldgrass, New Castle, and the Wolf's Den, before they had burned the ports, annihilating all the docks, the shipyards, the warehouses, and the ships themselves. Every last one, whether they were meant for trade, war, or both. They had crippled White Harbor and Barrowton, as Aegor had been crippled, as Elaena, Aemon, Aenar, Daena, Rhaena, Valaena, and Aerion had been savaged.
It had taken everything Rhaenys had had not to destroy the town centers themselves, to ruin them as utterly as they had the castles. Lay waste to every corner and street. Burn every soul that dwelt within. She hadn't cared for the thousands that would perish if she had gone through with it, that had already perished as a result of their actions elsewhere. They had tried to kill her CHILDREN! As far as she was concerned, they deserved every last ounce of suffering that was being dealt them now.
In the end, it wasn't mercy that stayed her hand but a cold and cruel calculating logic. An obedience to Aegon's vision for the future. All three of them knew that if they destroyed Barrowton and White Harbor utterly, the latter especially, there would be nothing of value in their eventual conquest of the North but ash, dirt, and snow. White Harbor was what gave the North any ounce of prosperity and wealth and it was the key to ensuring it developed and integrated well into their empire as anything more than just a burnt-out husk.
Ruined keeps and ports could be rebuilt in time but the annihilation of a whole city of fifty thousand souls could never be undone. Not in their lifetime at least.
And so, they relented and the people of White Harbor and Barrowton were spared utter desolation not because the dragons above cared a single whit for their lives but only for how they would serve them better alive. Even that pragmatism was almost more than Rhaenys could bear in the depths of her rage and bloodlust, however. She would have to finally sate her need for blood with the destruction of the crannogmen.
The captured skinchangers had revealed everything, confessing how they and most of the Wolf's Teeth had come from the Neck, how the poisons they had laced on their arrows had originated from the queer plants and animals in the swamps. The old ways of the Old Gods were truest there, they had confessed through screams and tears, and thus in all the lands south of the Wall the Neck had the most skinchangers and the most green dreamers, and they hoped dearly that one day some might be born who had both the greensight and the ability to skinchange so that new greenseers might rise.
Rhaenys and her siblings would ensure that all those hopes would be in vain. Brandon Snow and his Wolf's Teeth had been dangerous enough as mere skinchangers and she shuddered to think on what a greenseer could do. The Neck produced the most skinchangers and green dreamers in the North, it had the highest likelihood of producing the next greenseer. It produced all the strange poisons that had so confounded their healers and almost killed Valaena and Aerion. There were ten Wolf's Teeth still at large and they would likely turn to the Neck to replenish their ranks and acquire more poisons. The Neck was a threat, and it had to be destroyed.
Thousands of invaders had tried and failed to do just that, but none had had the advantages they had.
The minds of the captured skinchangers had revealed in lovely detail the number and general location of each of their people's settlements, as well as a truth the crannogmen had preferred outsiders not to know. They were by no means great in number, for their harsh lands and natural ways of life allowed no such thing. The crannogmen in their entirety numbered little more than thirty thousand, men, women, and children, and almost all of them gathered for safety in numbers at Greywater Watch and the other crannog castles and villages for it was simply not safe to live elsewhere in the swamps. Lizard lions, snakes, or all other manner of creature could kill isolated stragglers with ease.
Ironmen, Andals, and Freys had lacked the tools to exploit this weakness, but Rhaenys and her siblings did not. They landed at the Twins to rest and regroup, and then with glass candles in hand they tracked down the exact locations of Greywater Watch and all the other crannogs and predicted their trajectories.
When dawn came and they were rested and refreshed, they set off again on their dragons, splitting up and descending upon different parts of the Neck. Methodically and systematically, they would burn and destroy every crannog in a certain region, diving at high speeds and angles to ensure no skinchangers or archers could kill them as a precaution and ensuring there were no survivors to warn their kinsmen in the other settlements. Then when night fell, they would return to the Twins to rest, checking the regions they had previously covered with the glass candles to ensure they did not miss any crannogs and confirming again the exact locations of the next day's chosen targets.
They repeated that process for weeks, over and over again, burning and destroying until, as the second moon of the year died, they confirmed at last that there was not a single crannog left in the entirety of the Neck. From the forests and hills that separated it from Cape Kraken to the cliffs at the coast of the Bite, and from the fens of the Freyland to Moat Cailin and the Fever River. Not a single crannog, and as far as they could tell, not a single crannogman left.
The Freys had been most pleased about the eradication of the mudmen, frogeaters, and bog devils, while Rhaenys and Visenya had taken no small amount of pleasure in it themselves knowing that they had wiped away a threat to their children.
Aegon had once pondered the possibility of draining the swamps of the Neck into the sea or the Green Fork (to ensure one of the Trident's main tributaries was still fed enough water). It would be a massive undertaking for sure, though a worthy one that would recover millions of acres of valuable, fertile farmland from the swamps and permanently destroy the natural barrier that separated the North from the rest of the continent, unifying the empire and knitting it together tightly. He had wondered as to what should be done with the crannogmen if they went forward with the idea.
Rhaenys snorted. They wouldn't have to worry about that anymore now, would they? Though she was certain a few stragglers had survived in the depths of the Neck, they were of little concern to her. The crannogmen as a whole had been utterly destroyed and Rhaenys doubted they or their culture would ever return nor recover.
The Neck itself was on fire now. Thousands of years' worth of peat had accumulated in the bogs and swamps and when they had unleashed their dragons to destroy the crannogs and encircled them in rings of flames to trap survivors, in some cases with enough fury to boil the swamp water itself, all of that peat had ignited. Massive wildfires had broken out across the entirety of the Neck, burning all the swamps and bogs into ash and steam.
Would the struggling and isolated survivors of their purge survive this as well, Rhaenys wondered. Would they starve to death, unable to hunt without the aid of their brethren, or become the meals of the lizard lions and snakes they sought to hunt instead? Would they fall, weak and broken, unable to escape the fire.
There was so much smoke from the fires that even dozens or hundreds of miles away in the Twins, they could see the smoke and taste the ash blown by the winds. The Freys said that the Neck had never burned like this before in living memory, perhaps even ever.
Good Rhaenys thought. Let them all burn.
The fires would burn and ravage the Neck until they had wiped away all memory of the crannogmen, and upon the ashes, Rhaenys and her siblings would build a better future.
On a few occasions there had even been no crannogs at all in sight and yet still Rhaenys had ordered Meraxes to open fire as she took out her rage and anger on the lands below her. In the back of her mind, she had thought to herself that she was just helping their future plans along. They would need to clear the forests in order to drain the swamps after all.
At dawn on the last day of the second moon, Rhaenys and her siblings finally left the Twins. Their destination was Summerhall at long last. After a month of rage and fury, of a series of vengeful acts of carnage and desolation all Westeros had already deemed the Dragon's Wroth, Rhaenys' bloodlust and fire had finally burnt out, and now she only wanted to see her children.
She did not even dare to hope that Valaena was awake, half dreading she might have even finally died in her sleep, but when they landed on Dragonsreach and descended into their apartments to find Valaena, weak and shaky as Aerion had been, but awake nonetheless, Rhaenys had cried again.
Yet unlike all the other tears she had shed in that past month, these tears were not from grief, despair, nor rage, but joy. And she held her eldest daughter so tightly she almost smothered her in it.
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Third Moon, 108 AD (7 AC)
"We can't stay here any longer," Visenya said finally two weeks later.
Rhaenys didn't want her sister's words to be true, but she knew they were. It had been two joyful weeks of spending time with all of their children (as well as lecturing both Valaena and Aerion for their reckless stupidity over and over again), but all good things had to come to an end.
While they had been distracted by the attacks on their children and the Dragon's Wroth they had unleashed upon the North for more than two whole months, their enemies in the south had taken advantage. On every front, their soldiers had been pushed back and much of the progress they had achieved had been undone. The Vale and Westerlands continued to burn in dissent and guerilla warfare and most of their garrisons and allies in the Reach and Stormlands were under siege and calling for aid.
Their enemies had been emboldened, for despite their best efforts to contain it, rumors and whispers had spread across all of Westeros of the skinchanger attacks on their family. Whether some like the Faith even believed the truth of the rumors that magic had been involved did not matter. What was known for a fact was that they and their family had suffered at least two assassination attempts that had almost succeeded. The aura of invincibility that had surrounded their family had been shaken. Their enemies now believed that they could truly be killed and it had galvanized their resistance like never before.
It did not help matters either that some of the efforts they had taken to protect their family in the aftermath confirmed the rumors in all but name. Rhaenys and her siblings had ravaged the North and the Neck in particular in the Dragon's Wroth and ever since their return, Aegon had issued two new laws and royal decrees.
The first ordered every weirwood tree in their domains, past, present, and future, cut down, the stumps and roots pulled up and burned, and the species made illegal for anyone to cultivate nor grow under pain of death. This edict applied to all weirwoods, whether they were heart trees carved with faces or not. Black Harren had cut down all the weirwoods in the Riverlands already but now all the weirwoods in the godswoods and wild forests of the Westerlands, Vale, and the other territories they occupied were being cut down as well. Even the stumps of ruined old weirwood groves like High Heart were being uprooted and destroyed.
Every last piece of usable wood was claimed for House Targaryen and taken to Summerhall's vaults, for weirwood had many useful properties, but they would not suffer a single tree of the species to remain extant in their realm, dead or alive, stump or not, heart tree or not.
Given how their empire would one day stretch from the Summer Sea to the Wall, they were almost certainly dooming the species to extinction in these lands but Rhaenys could not bring herself to care no matter. They would hoard what remained of the priceless wood for themselves even as they drove its species to extinction. It was simply too dangerous to keep them around just for their wood. Who knew what the skinchangers or the more powerful greenseers could do with them?
Aegon's second new law formalized the existing prejudices against skinchangers which had been hunted across all of the kingdoms south of the Wall for generations already. It hadn't been an official law previously but now the magical art of skinchanging or warging was illegal throughout all their domains and anyone caught practicing them would be executed.
For a brief moment, Aegon had lamented that the skinchangers could have been useful even still but he had relented in the end to her and Visenya's demands. Everything important the skinchangers did, they could do better with glass candles. And beyond that, no matter how useful they could be, it was simply unconscionable to her to recruit into their ranks the same ilk that had so terrorized her children. She would not have it.
Aegon's words broke Rhaenys out of her thoughts.
"No, we cannot," he said, agreeing with Visenya. "In hindsight, no matter how much we wanted it otherwise at the time, it is a good thing we cut short our retaliation against the North. The situation in the south would have grown dire indeed if we had continued burning the rest of the North's settlements, or gods forbid even attempted an invasion and overstretch ourselves."
Despite the fury that had burned so strongly in her previously, Rhaenys could not help but concur.
Visenya nodded. "The North has been devastated enough. Even with Brandon Snow still at large, it is unlikely they will dare to attack us again any time soon. Their final reckoning will come in time, but first we must deal with the Faith and fully pacify the Andal kingdoms."
"I have ordered the Freys to set a watch on the northern border, to make sure neither the wildfires in the Neck nor any new skinchangers or invaders cross into our lands. It should keep the border secure until we return to finish what we started," Aegon said.
"Brandon Snow and his remaining nine Wolf's Teeth are still south of the Neck as far as we know though. If we return to the war, how safe will we be if they or some other skinchangers try and attack us?" Rhaenys asked, concerned.
"There's a manhunt ongoing for Brandon and his skinchangers and most of the sightings of them indicate they are heading back north. We've tripled our guard and we have the glass candles to look out for their attacks. It's really all we can do," Aegon said, though he too looked a little worried.
"The twins fell into a coma when the skinchangers attacked their minds. Can that happen to us as well?" Rhaenys questioned.
Visenya shook her head. "The prisoners we interrogated made it clear that at the very least the Wolf's Teeth are unlikely to try that again. Caraxes and Meleys ripped apart the minds of their brethren who had tried. It's a death sentence for any skinchanger to try and enter the minds of either dragon or rider it seems."
"If that's the case, then why did Valaena and Aerion fall into comas to begin with? What happens if more skinchangers than attacked them come after us? What if there's a greenseer?"
Visenya looked uncertain but still tried to theorize. "Perhaps it was a combination of several factors? Caraxes and Meleys are still young so their minds, while still inevitably victorious, are not as dominant nor strong as Vhagar, Balerion, and Meraxes? Not to mention, Aerion and Valaena were attacked by many, many skinchangers and their bodies and minds were already weakened by their injuries, the poisons, and blood loss. I do not think we will be in the same situation as they were, nor do I think any greenseer will suddenly emerge at this point to threaten us. If any still existed and wished to attack us, they would have aided the Wolf's Teeth and taken us when our guards were still low."
"But how can you be sure?" Rhaenys pressed
Her sister looked frustrated. "I can't, Rhaenys. None of us can. We can't be certain. All we can do is prepare as best we can and hope for the best."
"That's not good enough," Rhaenys said. Their 'best' had gotten them attacked in their own home and all of their children scarred for life.
"And what do you expect me to do about it?" Visenya demanded, getting angry.
"Enough," Aegon said firmly as he pounded his fist into the table. "Bickering amongst ourselves like this will accomplish nothing."
Rhaenys relented and Visenya did the same.
"Damn that Maegon," Aegon cursed. "If he hadn't made that damn vault in his stupid paranoia and then gotten it lost when he died, we wouldn't be in this situation."
Visenya turned to him. "Well, there's certainly nothing we can do about that either," she said drily. "We spent years looking for that vault when we were younger and we certainly do not have the luxury to do so again any time soon."
"No, we do not." Aegon's voice was tinged with regret and disappointment.
"How will we divide ourselves among the fronts then? Please don't tell me the two of you want to send Valaena and Aerion back to the Vale when they have recovered?" Rhaenys asked, hoping against all hope. She had never liked the idea of the twins being involved in the war so young but she had been overruled in the end. Now with things so uncertain and the chance that they could be attacked again, she was even more opposed to it.
"No," Aegon said firmly to her surprise and joy. "The twins had their chance and they squandered it. They go to Dragonstone with all their siblings, and there they will rest, recover, and reflect on their mistakes. When they come of age, we can revisit the idea of them taking part in this war, but until then they are not to step a single foot off Dragonstone without our permission. Not even to visit Driftmark or Claw Isle."
Rhaenys smiled, pleased that Aegon agreed with her for once on this matter. She noticed that Visenya had no complaints either. Excellent.
"I will take the Vale," Visenya said finally. "Put an end to Hubert Arryn's pathetic little resistance."
Rhaenys nodded slowly. "I guess I'll return to my post in the Westerlands. Wrap up all the rebellions there as well."
"And I will continue where we left off in the Stormlands," Aegon said, mostly to Visenya who had been with him there previously. "Very well, it is settled then."
For the next few hours, they continued their planning and discussion, agreeing that Aegon would reinforce the ailing frontline in the south and complete the conquest of the Stormlands at long last while she and Visenya would crush their respective rebellions as soon as possible before they joined him to plan in detail the final conquest of the Reach and the Faith itself.
When they finished with their war plans, they summoned all eight of their children into the solar to inform them of what was to happen next.
They weren't stupid. She could see the looks on their faces. All of them knew what this was for. Some of them looked resentful, others despondent. Valaena looked a little distraught while Aerion seemed almost eager? They'd have to disabuse him of that eagerness if he thought he was returning to the frontline any time soon.
"Aerion, Valaena, Aegor, Rhaena, Daena, Aenar, Aemon, Elaena," her husband began, calling each of them by name. No matter their mixed feelings, and each and every single one of them straightened where they stood when their father called their name.
"As I'm sure you all know, your mothers and I have spent the past few months with you, either protecting you from those that would do us harm or comforting you after the horrific attacks we all endured. But we cannot delay any longer.
"The war against the Faith goes ill and our men look to us for leadership. Sooner or later, they will question why they fight for absent kings and queens. We must return to the frontline. I know that all of you will hate to see us go, but we have to. We simply have to accept that this is our lot in life as royals."
Many of their younger children did not look very convinced. Rationally they understood, but they had suffered so much as of late at such a young age they could only think with emotion.
Aegon sighed. "We did not call you here just to inform you all that we are leaving Summerhall. The eight of you will be as well."
The children broke their discipline briefly to start turning and looking to each other uncertainly, surprised as they were.
"Where to Father?" Rhaena asked simply in a dull and grey tone that almost brought Rhaenys to tears. Her once cheerful daughter had become so melancholic.
"Dragonstone," Aegon answered. "Our royal fleet is uncontested in the Narrow Sea and you will be safe there."
"Why can't we just stay in Dragonsreach?" Elaena asked timidly, afraid of going somewhere new. She was so young she didn't even remember the last time they had visited Dragonstone.
"Oh sweetling, we thought Dragonsreach was safe for all of you. But we were wrong," Rhaenys said as she hugged her youngest child.
"Brandon Snow and his Wolf's Teeth are still at large in the Riverlands and their actions have emboldened many to try their hands at killing all of you as well. Summerhall is simply not secure enough and a lot of work has to be done to reinforce its defenses and make sure no new assassins can sneak in like the skinchangers did. It's better to not risk it right now. Dragonstone will keep you all safe and let the three of us focus on ending this war as soon as possible without being distracted by worries of your safety," Visenya said logically.
"Is that all we are then?" Aegor demanded bitterly. "Distractions?" There was a harshness in his voice that had not been there before, one that was strange to hear from a boy of twelve. Rhaenys flinched at the sight of the still swollen and sewn shut socket that should have been his left eye. A permanent and visible reminder of everything their family had lost.
Rhaenys stepped back and pulled Elaena with her. She couldn't say she approved wholly of how Visenya was handling this, but Aegor was her son and she would not interfere in how her sister parented her own children.
Visenya stared at her son, and unlike Rhaenys she did not flinch away at the sight of his lost eye. Her voice was measured though tinged with the slightest trace of displeasure.
"No. You're our children and we care for you very much. And our enemies have exploited the love we had for you and took advantage of it to try and kill us all. For your safety and ours, you must go to Dragonstone and let us finish this war."
Aegor averted his one-eyed gaze as his mother continued to stare him down and with the slightest hint of a sigh, Visenya ruffled his hair a little before returning to where she had stood beside Aegon.
"On Dragonstone, the eight of you will have free rein of the castle but you are not to leave it without Dragonguard escorts. You may take your dragons flying, but you are not to land anywhere outside of the castle or its environs, nor are you to fly your dragons beyond the confines of the island to Driftmark or anywhere else. In fact, none of you are to step a foot off the island at all unless we give permission. Understood?"
"Yes Father," they all chorused.
"You'll take one of the glass candles with you and your mothers and I will check in on you all once a week from wherever we are. And we'll write of course," Aegon continued.
"Aerion, Valaena, the two of you will go to Dragonstone with your younger siblings. You're to look after them and rest and recover from your injuries. And once you have regained your strength… you will stay on Dragonstone, and you will not be returning to the war."
'Moment of truth,' Rhaenys thought.
Valaena looked resigned and guilty, as if she had been expecting this and blamed herself for it. Rhaenys didn't want to think such of her eldest daughter but she couldn't deny that based on the story the twins had told them, as much as Aerion had tried to defend his sister, it was clear that Valaena's instigations had led them into the bad habits that had gotten them in the position to be attacked. Even if it took two to tango and Aerion had played his own part in letting their romantic entanglement affect their judgement.
Rhaenys could sympathize with Valaena's worries that they were letting the war consume their lives, but that had not been the way she should have gone about it at all and it had almost gotten both her and her brother killed. She had made that very clear to her numerous times since she had woken up and recovered enough to be lectured.
While Valaena looked to accept the verdict however, Aerion did not.
"Father, is that wise?" he asked cautiously. "Won't the three of you be overstretched handling so many fronts? You need us."
"Perhaps, but it is what has been decided nonetheless," came Aegon's reply.
Aerion looked confused and upset. "We proved to you that we could do it didn't we? In the Deluge of Blood, or in the Vale, or when we defended the northern border against the Starks. We did well."
"You did," Aegon said, nodding his head in agreement before he paused and stared Aerion right in the eye. "Then you proved how much growing up you still have to do. You let all your victories get to your head. You and Valaena become arrogant, reckless, and stupid. Everything we taught you not to be. And because of that you almost died.
"No matter how useful your efforts could be on the frontline, your mothers and I cannot wage this war effectively if we are constantly worrying that the two of you will pull some stupid stunt and get yourselves killed."
Aegon held nothing back. Every word was a resounding chorus of condemnation and disappointment in the son they had all thought better than this. Valaena looked guilty that her brother was taking all the heat for decisions she had convinced him to make and held his hand while the rest of their siblings slowly started backing away from them, unnerved by the tone in their father's voice.
"Look at you Aerion," Aegon said as he looked up and down her nephew with a judging glance. "Even now you're still struggling to stand without shaking and you're trying to convince me to let you go back to war?"
He scoffed. "No. Maybe when you come of age, we can revisit the matter and see if you've learned anything but until then you will stay on Dragonstone. You will do your duty as my heir and see to your siblings' and your own safety and that is final. Am I understood, Aerion?"
Aerion clenched his fists. "Yes, Father."
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Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Do let me know what you think of the Dragon's Wroth!
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