บท 10: It Hated Me First
The afternoon sun hung low, casting a golden hue across the camp as Aegon and Rhaenyra stirred from their long-deserved rest. The bed beneath them was slightly uncomfortable, though Aegon, ever chivalrous, had taken it upon himself as he laid down on it, allowing Rhaenyra to rest atop him, her warmth and steady breathing the only thing that mattered in those peaceful hours. As the afternoon light filtered through the tent's canvas, they awoke slowly, the weight of battle and tension still lingering in their bones, though softened by the comfort of their shared moments of quiet.
Stepping outside, they were met by a guard standing sentinel at their tent, his posture stiff yet respectful. He bowed slightly as they approached.
"My Prince, Princess," the guard greeted, "you are invited to join Lord Corlys to dine in the command tent."
Rhaenyra and Aegon exchanged a glance, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. "It seems we're summoned," she mused, adjusting her cloak.
Aegon nodded in agreement. "Let's not keep them waiting."
As they walked through the camp, the mood around them was remarkably different from when they had left for battle. The soldiers, once wary and burdened by the weight of a seemingly unwinnable war, once again cheered as Aegon and Rhaenyra passed. They had experienced two swift victories in two nights mere days ago, the tides of war turning in their favor. Some of the men even went so far as to shout praises toward Aegon, calling him a blessing from the gods, an ordained savior that answered their prayers.
One soldier, eyes wide with reverence, called out, "He's been crafted by the gods themselves! Sent to bless us in our hour of need!"
Rhaenyra glanced at Aegon with a teasing smile as she brushed a lock of his hair back. "Ordained by the gods, they say."
Aegon, ever humble despite the admiration thrown his way, shook his head with a chuckle. "I'm simply a man, no different than any of them. Flesh and blood, as fragile as the rest." His voice carried a modest tone, though the soldiers did not seem to heed his words. To them, he was a living legend.
"NO, FIRE AND BLOOD!" Another cheered as a few followed, others laughing at the witty response, making Rhaenyra laugh, jokingly throwing her fists into the air, cheering to Aegon who stifled his laugh with a smile and briefly closed eyes. This is one of the few small things that made the conflict bearable.
When they finally reached the command tent, they were welcomed by Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark, whose face was lit up with joy and admiration. He clasped Aegon on the shoulder, his praise hearty and filled with genuine appreciation.
"Well fought cousin" Laenor beamed. "It's been long since we've seen a battle won with such swiftness and grace. You've brought hope to these men, and they'll speak of your deeds for generations."
Aegon offered a nod in thanks "I'm content with those who simply speak to me in the now" he replied, the humility that clung to him remaining. He turned to Corlys Velaryon, the famed Sea Snake, who merely nodded with a warm smile, his eyes filled with approval.
"Come," Laenor urged, gesturing to the table before them, which was laden with platters of roasted meats, fresh bread, and a pitcher of wine. "You are victors this day, sit, feast and rest."
As they took their seats, Aegon inquired on Vaemond's absence. Corlys replied between sips of his wine, his voice carrying a hint of gravitas.
"He's off counting the dead and overseeing the recouping of resources. The battle was won, but there are losses to tally, a far less average then our previous battle thanks to two."
Aegon nodded in understanding, and Rhaenyra poured them each a tall glass of wine. They shared a glance before downing the goblets in unison, making both Corlys and Laenor laugh heartily at their clear thirst for relief after the chaos of war.
"Gods, you two drink like warriors who've fought for weeks, not just two long nights," Laenor joked, pouring himself another glass.
With a refreshing glass of water soon after, Aegon and Rhaenyra dug into the feast laid before them, their hunger apparent after all that had transpired. The tension of the battlefield slowly eased from their shoulders as they reveled in the comfort of the meal, the wine warming their spirits.
The conversation flowed through the afternoon. Laenor, still riding the high of victory, could not move past discussions of the last battle, praising the tactical brilliance and bravery on display.
"I still can't believe how you took to the field," Laenor remarked, his eyes gleaming with admiration. "You could've stood on the cliffs and marveled at the carnage, yet you were down there with us. You fought like one of us, no, more then that, like a myth made flesh, crumbling great mountains like they were nothing but a patch of dirt under horse hoof."
Aegon simply and humbly shrugged, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I've had years, since I was a child, to marvel at my abilities, but even they are not what define me. Power is dangerous if it clouds one's sight. Humbleness and compassion are what keep one from becoming lost."
Corlys nodded approvingly at this. "Wise words, young prince. Many forget that the greatest of leaders remain grounded."
For a moment, the atmosphere shifted to a more somber tone as the Sea Snake leaned back in his chair, contemplating the path ahead. "You've earned your rest," he said, his voice firm but grave. "But this war is not yet over. The Crabfeeder still lives. He's holed in the most fortified cliffs at the end of the valley, but we will root him out, or bury him, it makes no difference in the end.
Aegon's expression turned serious as he looked at Corlys, his voice unwavering. "The cliffs may be fortified, but they will fall. We've come this far, and I don't intend to leave this land with our task unfinished."
Rhaenyra, seated beside him, nodded in agreement, her hand slipping into his beneath the table, a subtle gesture of unity and strength. "The Crabfeeder's reign will end. We'll see to it."
Laenor, ever the optimist, raised his glass. "Then let us drink to that! The cliffs will fall, and victory will be ours."
As they clinked their goblets together, the mood lightened once more, and the tent filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter. Aegon and Rhaenyra shared a quiet moment, their hands still intertwined, as they took a deep breath. The road ahead would be treacherous, but for now, in this brief respite, they allowed themselves to enjoy the victory they had earned.
It had been two days since the harrowing latter battle, where blood had soaked the earth and the cries of the dying had echoed in the wind. But now, peace had descended upon the camp at Grey Gallows. The once-frenzied encampment was eerily quiet, as if the sea itself had decided to grant the warriors a reprieve from its usual restlessness. Corlys had agreed that rest is vital, as even he himself enjoyed it, mostly away from the stresses of command. For two days, Rhaenyra and Aegon had slipped into an unspoken rhythm, a respite from the brutality that seemed worlds away.
Rhaenyra found solace in the company of their dragons. Syrax and Vermithor had taken up positions near the cliffs, lounging in the sun, their massive forms relaxed as the warm ocean breeze blew in from the east. The sea was a mirror of tranquil blue, with only the occasional ripple breaking the horizon. Rhaenyra sat with her back against Syrax's golden scales, her legs stretched out before her, eyes half-lidded in a state of near meditation. Beside her, Vermithor dozed, his enormous head resting in the sand, his deep, rhythmic breathing almost like a lullaby. His wound had improved drastically, filling in healthily as his rider kept up his seaweed-therapy routine. Aegon reclined next to her, his hand idly tracing patterns in the sand, the grit rough beneath his fingertips but soothing nonetheless.
The sun, though no longer as fierce as it had been in the heart of summer, still kissed their skin with gentle warmth. Its rays danced across the surface of the water, making it shimmer as if it were coated in diamonds. The serenity of the moment was a stark contrast to the chaos that had enveloped them not long ago. Now, with the soft sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the distant cry of gulls, and the slow breathing of their dragons, the world felt almost like paradise.
Aegon, ever the playful one even in moments of calm, leaned back and looked at the horizon with a smile. "You know," he began, his voice a lazy drawl as if he were half-asleep, "our ancestors were fools. They should've built Dragonstone here. The breeze, the sun, no doom and gloom accompanied by random clouds of ash..."
Rhaenyra chuckled, her eyes still closed as she basked in the warmth. "Perhaps," she agreed, "or perhaps they lacked the imagination to realize what a paradise they could have created."
Aegon turned his head to look at her, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We could fix that, you know. Order a new castle built right here, away from all the fat little lords with their squabbling and scheming." He sighed dramatically, his hand sweeping through the air. "A proper retreat where we can forget about politics and all the slithering rats in their finery."
At his words, Rhaenyra's lips quirked into a smile, though she remained in her relaxed state, the image he conjured so tempting. "A vacation home on the cliffs, overlooking the sea," she mused, opening her eyes just slightly to meet his gaze. "We could watch our children grow there, play in the sands, ride their dragons over the waves."
The mention of children gave them both pause, as if some invisible force had drawn them into the same moment of contemplation. Neither had spoken much about it openly, but now, under the warmth of the sun and in the presence of their great winged companions, the thought settled between them, heavy with its unspoken weight. The future seemed to unfold in their minds, vivid and hopeful. Rhaenyra's hand instinctively went to her stomach, not because there was a sign, but because the possibility of it, of life growing within her, felt closer than ever.
"What do you think they'll be like?" Aegon asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile, perfect moment. He leaned in a little closer to her, his gaze soft as he watched her face.
Rhaenyra's smile softened, her heart swelling with emotion she hadn't expected. She didn't answer immediately, her mind wandering through the myriad possibilities. "Fierce," she finally said, her voice as soft as his, "like us. Full of fire and passion, but with hearts full of love." She closed her eyes once more, imagining small feet running through the sand, laughter echoing in the distance as little dragons flew overhead. "They'll be strong, Aegon. Our blood makes sure of that. But I hope they'll also be... free."
Aegon nodded in agreement. "Free to choose their path, like we have." He reached over, his hand covering hers where it rested on her stomach. His thumb traced lazy circles over her skin, a gesture so gentle it almost felt like a promise.
"Do you think they'll be like you? Able to wield such power?" She asked softly as she looked up to him.
He considered her question carefully and thoughtfully, not giving an immediate answer.
Her mind drifted to a mysterious resonance, the same they both had felt just days prior, the strange sensation of connection that had blossomed between them. "Perhaps," she murmured. "I feel... I feel like they will be different. There's something more, something beyond what we can understand yet."
Aegon's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Two dragonlords, bound by blood and love, bringing more into the world." His gaze became distant, lost in the thought. "What kind of world will we give them? Could we craft such a thing...where they won't be shunned...And what if fate ordains their presence to not be a constant...as we regrettably done to mother and father..."
The question hung in the air between them, weighty and full of uncertainty. The realm was fraught with conflict, and their very bloodline, their heritage, brought with it a heavy burden. But here, in this moment, with the sea at their feet and the sky above them, it didn't seem as daunting as it had before.
"We'll give them a world worth fighting for," Rhaenyra finally said, her voice steady and sure. "A world where they don't have to face the same struggles we have. Where they can be free, whether that be somewhere out there, or with us."
Aegon's grip on her hand tightened, a silent affirmation of the vow they had just made, unspoken but understood. They would fight for this future, for their children, and for the peace they so desperately craved.
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the salty scent of the sea and the promise of a cooler evening. The dragons stirred slightly, Syrax letting out a low rumble in her throat as she shifted her massive body to block the wind from Rhaenyra's face. Vermithor, ever the wise old beast, lifted his head and gazed out toward the horizon, his golden eyes scanning the distance as if sensing something unseen. Perhaps it was just his way of watching over them, over the future they had begun to imagine.
"We could start now," Aegon said after a long silence, his voice playful but serious all at once.
"Start what?" Rhaenyra asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she opened her eyes.
He gestured toward the land around them. "Our home. Build it here. For us. For them. Away from everything and everyone."
Rhaenyra laughed softly, shaking her head. "You always dream so big, my love."
"Why not?" he replied, his grin widening. "What's the point of being king and queen if we can't have a little paradise of our own?"
She leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back, her smile matching his. "Perhaps we will. But first... we must finish what we've started here."
Aegon nodded, his expression turning serious once more as he gazed out at the horizon. The war was not yet over, and there were battles still to be fought. But in this moment, for the first time in what felt like ages, there was hope. Hope for a future where they could find peace, together, and for their children.
Later that night.
The camp began to quiet under the velvet dark of the Stepstones sky, Corlys Velaryon summoned his commanders to a war council. His tent, large and lit by the soft flicker of oil lamps, was filled with the low murmur of voices. Around him gathered the key figures of this campaign: Laenor, Daemon, and of course, Aegon and Rhaenyra. Though officially not all held equal command, their presence here was undeniable, their power both as warriors and dragonriders needed to see this war through. Outside, the soldiers stood assembled a few meters away, their watchful gazes turned toward the gathering, anticipation brewing in their hearts as they awaited the final plan that would bring them victory.
Corlys stood before a map spread out on the table, his sharp eyes scanning the positions marked upon it. "The Triarchy's forces, or what's left of them, have retreated to the farthest reaches of Bloodstone Valley," he began, his voice steady and commanding. "They've dug in, as expected. Bolstered their defenses with what they had left." He gestured to the map, indicating the caves at the valley's end. "Wooden spikes line the approach. They've littered the field with pitch, waiting for a single spark from our dragons to light it ablaze and block any ground forces from advancing. Makeshift ballistae, weak enough to only pester our dragons, but deadly if they strike a rider."
The mood in the tent shifted, the tension tightening as they all understood the stakes. These weren't men they were fighting anymore; they were cornered animals, desperate to survive. Aegon listened closely, his eyes never leaving Corlys as the Sea Snake continued.
"We'll need to break through that," Corlys said, his finger tracing over the terrain. "Two dragons will swoop in from opposite sides of the crater. They'll rain fire upon the enemy, drawing their attention and clearing the ground of defenses. The moment they're distracted, Aegon" Corlys' gaze shifted to him, "you'll leap from Vermithor and take down the tunnels. We end this in one final strike."
Aegon's face remained impassive as he nodded in agreement, though there was a storm brewing behind his violet eyes. Outwardly, the plan was solid, two dragons, synchronized strikes, a ground assault to finish the remnants. But one thought gnawed at him, a singular name rising in his mind like a shadow in the back of his consciousness: the Crabfeeder.
Aegon wasn't content with simply bringing the tunnels down. He didn't just want to crush the Triarchy's forces. He wanted to end it, to find Drahar, the man responsible for the blood spilled on these lands. The thought of the Crabfeeder dying in the rubble, unseen and buried, left him unsatisfied. Aegon wanted to face him, to bring him low personally.
Beside him, Rhaenyra watched him carefully. Her eyes were bright, curious, as though she could almost sense the direction of his thoughts. She knew her twin better than anyone else, and while she couldn't pinpoint the exact plan forming in his mind, she could feel his intent, dangerous, risky. He could feel her concern without needing to look at her, but he said nothing for now.
The war council continued, with Corlys detailing how fresh Velaryon reinforcements would cross the narrow straits to the Stepstones, ensuring their numbers were superior to what little remained of the Triarchy's forces. Laenor added that their ships had sighted no enemy fleets; they had control of the waters. It was now just a matter of flushing out the last of the resistance. All present agreed, by dawn, their final victory, the final nail in the Triarchy's charred coffin, would be secured.
As the discussions wound down and the plan became final, one of the men in the crowd outside, a grizzled soldier with a weathered face, called out to Aegon with a smile. "Another speech, Prince? You've burned through most of your good ones already," he joked, referencing Aegon's stirring words from the previous battle that had ignited the spirits of the men.
Aegon smiled lightly at the remark but raised a hand to wave away the jest. "That I have my friend, but nor do I have need for more speeches," he said, his tone more subdued than before. He was no longer filled with the fervor that had possessed him two days ago, where every word seemed to crackle with fire. Now, his voice was calm, thoughtful, fitting for the waning hours of a war that had already cost so much.
"Jaehaerys once said that family is the most profound and central thing to a man's heart," Aegon began, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers before him. "And I agree with him. Family is what binds us, what makes us fight true and endure more." His voice grew stronger as he continued, though it lacked the bravado of his previous speeches. "Fight with all you have this night, fight for your families. Love your country, and most importantly," he smirked slightly, "love your women when you return."
Brief cheers and laughter rippled through the crowd, lightening the atmosphere briefly before Aegon continued.
"While the commanders, such as Lord Corlys and his son are the backbone of this war, I am the figurehead, the face of it for our enemies. When our foes undoubtedly suffered desertion, they fled because they remembered me. They remembered my name, my dragon.
They carry that message beck to the east, where delusions of vengeance will undoubtably stir, and I gladly mantle the responsibility of being the object of their vengeance, their ire. I say this out of no sense of self importance, for let me tell you this" his voice dropped lower, more solemn, "if the world hates you, just remember...that it hated me first."
Aegon's words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of them sinking into the hearts of those present. It wasn't a speech filled with fire or rage, but rather a simple, honest statement. He had carried the burden of leadership, of being the name and face that struck fear into the Triarchy. He knew the hatred and the fear that came with it, and he asked them only to remember that in the final hours of this war.
The response from the soldiers was thunderous. They pounded their fists against their shields, stamping their feet into the earth, chanting Aegon's name with fervor. The sound reverberated through the night air, echoing across the valley, a promise of the fight that would come. Aegon stood there, his expression calm but resolute as the crowd hailed him once more as their champion.
As the noise died down, Rhaenyra caught his eye, her expression a mixture of pride and concern. She stepped closer to him, her hand brushing against his as the crowd dispersed, soldiers returning to their camps to prepare for the nights final battle.
"You don't plan to simply bring down those tunnels, do you?" she whispered, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
Aegon glanced at her, a small smile pulling at his lips. "You know me too well, Rhae."
"I know you too well to let you do something reckless. I know you have fought for this moment, we all have, but It doesn't facilitate you risking everything" she said, her tone sharp but her eyes soft with worry.
Aegon exhaled slowly, his hand squeezing hers. "I need to face him. I need to end this personally, to know what he's wrought before I send him blazing to the void."
Rhaenyra frowned, her grip tightening. "I don't like it."
"I know," Aegon murmured. "But I have to do this."
She didn't argue, though the tension between them was clear. In the end, she understood. They both carried their burdens, and this was his to bear. But she would be there with him, just as she always was.
As they turned to leave the tent, the firelight casting long shadows across their faces, they knew that come dawn, they would either find victory or face the storm together.
As the camp stirred with the first light of dawn, a hushed tension settled over the soldiers. Armor was strapped on, swords sharpened, and whispers carried in the cool morning air. Dragons shifted restlessly, sensing the anticipation in their riders. Aegon stood next Vermithor, the old beast knowing his wound wouldn't keep him from the fight even having gone as far to nudge Aegon to the ground, making the prince laugh to curb the tension just for a moment. Adjusting his gauntlets with quiet focus, his mind was already on the battle ahead, on the plan, and the shadow of the Crabfeeder that loomed in his thoughts.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure approaching, striding with his usual air of confident nonchalance, Daemon. The Rogue Prince was never one to be subtle, even at a time like this, and his steps seemed almost deliberate as he moved across the camp toward his nephew. The silver in Daemon's hair glinted in the moonlight that was only hours from breaking into dawn, his black and red armor gleaming as he came to stand beside Aegon, the older prince's eyes locked on his younger kin.
For a moment, Daemon said nothing, simply studying Aegon as though weighing him. There was always an air of unpredictability about Daemon, a wildness that simmered just beneath the surface, and Aegon, in all his years of squiring under him, had come to know that when Daemon sought words before conflict, they were rarely without a purpose.
Finally, Daemon broke the silence with a slow, measured tone, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement. "You know, there's a madness in you," he said, his voice low but with a touch of wry admiration. "I can see it. You're eager for this fight, too eager."
Aegon straightened, meeting Daemon's gaze with equal intensity. "I don't seek madness. I seek an end, an end I wish to cascade into peace long enough so I can enjoy the incoming epicenter of my life, without fear of more conflict brewing somewhere."
Daemon smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as though he found the reply amusing. "An end?" he echoed, his voice carrying a note of skepticism. "Do you think killing Drahar will bring you peace?" He cocked his head slightly, watching Aegon closely. "It's never that simple, nephew. The blood we spill in war, it's never truly washed away, no matter how justified it might seem."
Aegon's jaw clenched, his fingers twitching slightly as though gripping an invisible blade. "It's not only about peace Daemon. It is also about justice. He deserves to face what he's done."
Daemon's expression darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower, as though sharing a secret. "I've known men like Drahar, warlords and tyrants who think themselves infallible. They always believe someone else will pay the price for their ambitions. But when the end comes, they never face it with the bravery they claim." His eyes narrowed. "When you face him, and you will, don't expect him to stand tall. He'll crawl, he'll beg, and he'll die like the coward he is."
Aegon remained silent for a moment, absorbing the words. He knew Daemon spoke from experience, the older prince having faced his own share of men who had been broken in the heat of battle. But Aegon wasn't interested in mercy or the weakness of a man such as him. Drahar had to die, not just as a symbol of the war but for the lives he had taken, the horrors he had unleashed.
Daemon tilted his head, studying Aegon with a more serious expression now. "You're a better man than I, Aegon," he said, almost quietly, surprising his nephew with the unexpected tone. "You're fighting for your family, for your queen. But don't let this war strip you of who you are."
Aegon's eyes softened, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as he nodded. "You of all people should know it won't," he replied, his voice steady. "But Drahar has to face justice for all he has wrought, families destroyed, blood..."
Daemon's lips curled into a smirk again, his usual confidence returning. "Then make sure he does. Just remember, if you die doing it, I'll be the one who takes the glory" His characteristic smile spreading across his face from the jest "But It is also I who has to explain it to your father." He said, breaking it almost immediately with a knowing stare.
Aegon couldn't help but smile, the tension between them easing. "You'll manage."
Daemon chuckled, the sound low and rough in the early morning air. He reached out, gripping Aegon's shoulder with a firm hand. "Fight well, nephew. But leave a few of the cunts for me." He gave Aegon a final, pointed look before turning on his heel, walking back toward Caraxes, whose tail twitched restlessly in the distance.
Aegon watched Daemon leave, his mind clearer, more focused. He knew what lay ahead, the risks, the dangers. He was more then ready.
The night was alive with the roars of dragons, their voices shaking the earth and sky in a final chorus of fire and fury. Aegon, atop Vermithor, felt the weight of the moment bearing down on him, but also the heat of anticipation. His bronze-scaled dragon, still bearing scars from his earlier injuries, seemed to share his rider's thirst for vengeance, snorting plumes of smoke as they circled above the enemy encampment. Below them, the battlefield stretched out like a hellish landscape, the remnants of Bloodstone Valley bathed in flickering hues of orange and red as the fires of war burned low.
Aegon glanced down at the sword strapped to his side, a Qohory-forged blade that had seen little use in this conflict. He'd been a storm upon the battlefield, more a force of nature than a man, wielding his bending and his dragon's wrath to crush his foes. But tonight felt different. Tonight, his sword would sing. The fire that burned in his veins, a reflection of his dragon's own rage, needed an outlet, and the Crabfeeder, Drahar, was that target. The smoke from the battlefield had dissipated, leaving the air clearer but laden with the scent of death, ash, and saltwater. Aegon glanced behind him, where Rhaenyra followed close on Syrax. Together, they were the fire that would burn this cursed land clean.
The plan had been set. The dragons descended, releasing torrents of flame, reducing the wooden fortifications of Drahar's remaining forces to cinders. Aegon and Rhaenyra avoided the deadly pools of pitch, knowing that any misstep could doom the ground forces preparing to cross the waters behind them. His moment had come.
Leaping from Vermithor's back for the final time in this war, Aegon landed with a crash, his feet hitting the scorched earth as flames billowed around him. He unsheathed his blade, the cold steel gleaming in the light of the fires surrounding him. His blood hummed with a mixture of emotion, the deep, churning rage he'd long kept in check now threatening to consume him. He waded through the few remaining Triarchy soldiers with practiced efficiency, dispatching them like leaves before a storm. His bending allowed him to feel the battlefield like a living thing, the vibrations of the earth guiding him as he made his way toward the tunnels where Drahar hid.
Moving swiftly, Aegon entered one of the larger tunnels, cutting down the men who tried to flee upward, their desperate climb turning into a death sentence. This would be their tomb, the burrows they hoped would keep them safe would now serve as their grave.
The tunnel opened into a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of mildew and rot. There, at the center of the room, Drahar—the Crabfeeder—stood hunched over a war table. His face, marred by the horrific plague of Greyscale, was a mask of stoic dread. He had four guards with him, all poised for battle, but Aegon could feel their fear, their hesitation. He wasted no time.
With a flick of his wrist, a rock shot from the wall, striking the first guard square in the head, crushing his skull with a sickening crunch. The second lunged at Aegon, but he parried the strike with ease, spinning to drive his dagger into the throat of the third guard before kicking the second in the leg, forcing him to his knees. With a swift motion, Aegon decapitated him, the blade slicing clean through his neck. The final guard barely had time to react before Aegon stomped his foot on the ground, causing the earth beneath him to open into a chasm. The man screamed briefly before the ground swallowed him whole, the rocks sealing back up as though he had never existed.
Now, it was only Aegon and Drahar.
The Crabfeeder, his body ravaged by disease, remained eerily silent. The Greyscale had claimed his voice, rendering him mute, but the fear in his eyes spoke volumes. He watched in horror as Aegon approached, tossing one of his gauntlets aside. The air in the room seemed to grow colder as Aegon extended his hand, cutting it on the edge of his blade. Blood dripped into the pool formed in his palm.
"True creation requires sacrifice," Aegon whispered, his voice low, almost a hiss in the stillness of the chamber. The blood in his hand glowed faintly before his sword ignited in flames, the fire roaring to life along the blade's edge. The light cast terrifying shadows across the chamber, illuminating the Crabfeeder's grotesque features.
Aegon took a step forward, his voice a soft growl. "Upon this rock... your tale ends."
With a swift motion, he plunged the fiery sword up through Drahar's torso, the blade cutting through flesh and bone as though they were nothing. The heat of the fire seared Drahar from within, cooking his insides as his body went limp, collapsing like a rag doll. The Crabfeeder's reign was over.
Aegon stood for a moment in the silence that followed, breathing heavily, his blood still pulsing with the adrenaline of battle. He bent down and severed Drahar's head from his body, carrying both it and his warhammer in his grip as he made his way back through the tunnels. With each step, he slammed his feet down, causing the tunnels to collapse systematically behind him, burying the dead and sealing the caverns for eternity.
Emerging from the earth, Aegon stood atop a ridge, the head of the Crabfeeder in one hand, his flaming sword in the other. Below, the battlefield was a maelstrom of dragonfire and combat, but it was clear, this was the end. The war was over.
For now.
The morning after the final battle was unlike anything Aegon had ever experienced. Bloodstone, once a land of bitter war and strife, was now alight with the fever of victory. Every soldier still standing, the forces of house Velaryon , joined in a celebration of pure rapture that swept across the island and echoed back to Grey Gallows. Wine flowed freely, songs of war heroes filled the air, and the names of Aegon and Rhaenyra were on every tongue, praised and sung with a reverence that bordered on worship. For this day, they were the conquerors, and the dragons that had led them to triumph.
Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, watched the revelry with a keen eye, well aware of the political tremors their victory would send through the Red Keep. The King's court in King's Landing would stir uneasily at the sight of two royal dragons—Aegon and Rhaenyra—who had fought in the mud and blood of a foreign war. It was not a mere victory for the Targaryens but a statement of power.
As Rhaenyra landed beside her brother after the battle, the two siblings embraced, both still high on the adrenaline of their triumph. Lord Corlys approached them, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction but also with the wisdom of what came next. He embraced Rhaenyra, a proud smile crossing his weathered face, before he inquired of them, "Will you remain here with us to celebrate longer?"
Aegon and Rhaenyra exchanged a glance. They had lingered in this war long enough, and though the victory was sweet, they both knew what awaited them in King's Landing: their father, King Viserys, would be waiting, and his judgment would not be delayed.
"We shall stay for the morning," Aegon replied respectfully. "But by noon, we must return. There are matters that need addressing." Both he and Rhaenyra knew the weight of what was to come, but for now, they allowed themselves a moment to revel in the triumph.
Out of respect for Corlys and the toll this war had taken on House Velaryon, Aegon retrieved the fragmented golden mask that had once covered the face of Drahar, the Crabfeeder. He had cleansed it of the taint of his taint, leaving the metal branding to the touch. Knowing the symbol it represented now, the final crushing blow to the Triarchy, the young Prince offered it to Lord Corlys, nodding in acknowledgment of the Sea Snake's efforts in the war.
"Let this serve as a reminder, Lord Corlys. The Triarchy is shattered."
Corlys, his eyes lingering on the mask, called for tongs to hold it with. He did not admire its appearance but the profound meaning it held. The Triarchy, once a force that had nearly brought him to ruin, was now a memory. He accepted the mask, holding it high for all to see, a symbol of their collective victory.
As the sun began to rise, Daemon Targaryen, their fiery uncle, strode into the command tent where Aegon, Rhaenyra, and Corlys gathered. His presence, as ever, was magnetic, drawing the eyes and attention of all around. But today, he was not the Rogue Prince of trouble and ambition, he was a victor, the man who had fought alongside his kin and emerged victorious.
He joined his niece and nephew in quiet revelry, the three Targaryens, dragons of legend, standing together in the light of dawn. The battlefield lay behind them, but the war they had fought, the war they had won, would echo through history.
Together, they had not gone gentle into that good night, they had raged, raged against the dying of the light, keeping their flame alive.
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