Gwayne POV
The eldest son of a second son, Gwayne Hightower knew he had to make his way through life on his own merit. He wasn't the heir to a great House. And he wasn't a once in a generation fighter like the Kingsguard.
His father was himself a self-made man. His skill in politics and diplomacy had him elevated from a simple courtier to Hand of the King.
But Gwayne would be a fool to think his father's ambitions were just limited to a tenous non transferable position. Otto Hightower wanted to build a legacy. To birth a dynasty that would last a thousand years.
His children would serve his visions, one way or another. His sister was condemned to a miserable marriage with an abusive fool.
It might've seemed the best possible arrangement. To keep Alicent at their side and offer her more influence than most of the women in the Realm. But would a man who refuses a better political match, to fulfill his own desires, logically think of stability in regards to inheritance.
It's treason to slander the king, but Gwayne doesn't actually give it that much weight. The court of Viserys the peaceful - and what a presumptuous epithet - is a cesspool of schemes and blatant treachery.
The betrayers aren't confined to just his side of the family. His nephew Aegon is heir by all customs of the country. Even the Conqueror was initially Lord of Dragonstone, instead of his elder sister Queen Visenya. But the king's own chosen successor has carried on an affair with his direct superior Ser Harwin Strong, disguising the product of their union as legitimate heirs to House Velaryon.
He knows his sister's slowly but surely falling into despair. Fearing day and night for her sons to meet a tragic accident to allow a safe transferable of power.
Their father had long left court. But his shadow looms as grand as a giant.
War could be inevitable.
***
Gwayne found himself standing at the edge of the Blackwater, his eyes fixed upon the fearsome monsters atop the vast expanse of water.
About an hour ago, he had gathered his subordinates to track down the missing accused, Daemon Targaryen.
He never had a good thing to say of the Rogue Prince. Since his youth, he could remember his father describing him as impulsive and violent. A thorn in his side. And a Maegor in the making if allowed to claim the crown.
The fact that he nearly died in his very first tourney at Daemon's hands did nothing to embellish his opinion of the man.
But hunting him down now goes beyond nursing a nearly two decade old grudge. Daemon is effectively a fugitive of the Crown's justice. An outlaw to be returned in chains to face judgment for numerous crimes. A kinslayer cursed and shunned from divine grace and a social pariah.
If he resists arrest, he can be killed with impunity. So were his father's words when he gave his orders.
Princess Rhaenyra was already accused of treason. Eliminating the only military man in her corner will destroy any dreams of a bloody coup - or restoration, depending on where you stand - and secure the throne.
A great many plans of capture swirled in his mind. Until the shrieking of the Blood Wyrm invaded his senses.
You would think that seeing a dragon soaring above for years would ever make that infamous mixture of fear and awe go away. But it never does. House Targaryen claimed sovereignty over an entire continent because of their mythical mounts. He doesn't think it gave them the right of course. But it's not too hard to consider their own perspective.
Fire was power. And dragons were fire made flesh.
Caraxes circled like a stalking predator waiting to set the insignificant ants to flame. And light their man-made constructions to ashes.
That is until more of his brethern joined him in the heavens.
Dreamfyre, her scales shimmering like moonlight on water, soared with an elegance befitting her ethereal name.
Gwayne's breath caught in his throat as he marveled at her graceful movements, her wings beating with a rhythmic cadence that stirred his soul.
But the serenity of the moment was shattered when Vhagar, the most ancient of beasts descended. Her arrival was marked by a thunderous roar that reverberated through the air, sending tremors through Gwayne's very being.
Vhagar's scales were a deep and menacing shade of emerald, reflecting the fading light as she circled above, exuding an aura of raw power and dominance.
And then, as if in a symphony of destruction, Sunfyre, the golden dragon of his nephew Aegon, joined the fray.
Gwayne's heart pounded in his chest as he beheld the sheer magnificence of this majestic creature, a living embodiment of fire and fury.
He was offered many times to go on a ride with his sister's children. Like her, he subscribed to the belief of staying firmly on the ground. Perhaps he'll change that soon.
The clash of titans unfolded before Gwayne's eyes. The dragons flew to the edge of the bay before Helaena's mount was singled out by Daemon's.
The two twisted and turned, their bodies intertwining in a deadly dance of power and ferocity.
Flames erupted from their jaws, engulfing the midday sky with an inferno that painted the heavens in shades of crimson and blue.
The sound of their roars echoed across the Blackwater, drowning out the gasps and murmurs of the onlookers.
In the midst of this chaotic spectacle, Caraxes was soon stranded in a pincer move. And found himself outmatched by the combined might of Dreamfyre, Vhagar, and Sunfyre.
Gwayne watched the red drake succumb to the overwhelming force of his adversaries, his torn body plummeting towards the unforgiving waters below.
He could've imagined it, but he swears he heard the long painful cry of his rider as he meant his end.
Fitting.
***
Aemond POV
"How could you be so reckless? Did you all collectively lose every iota of common sense? Well, Answer me!"
Aemond had vanquished his wretched uncle. The Blood Wyrm was a fearsome opponent. And Daemon wasn't a horrendous rider. Even if he secretly wished he were, just to best him on his own. But against the might of his family. Even a master rider will crumble and fall.
Daemon was no master. He jumped from his saddle right before Vhagar munched on Caraxes' head. But he was severely burned by Sunfyre's flames that he died upon impact as soon as he touched the water.
Aemond would rather his worthless corpe remain forever at the bottom of the sea. Daemon doesn't deserve funeral rights. But his uncle insisted that the body should be brought back. Confirmation of death.
And to decide what exact scenario they're going to pitch to the nobility.
Aemond is willing is take the kinslayer mantle on his own shoulders.
It's not like it's the worst fate.
A king shouldn't be stained with the blood of relatives. Helaena certainly shouldn't be left to suffer the fallback.
He's at the center of this murder. He must take the blame. A crippled second son. No one will ever bat on eye if he's exiled or disowned.
But he definitely won't suffer being reprimanded like a comman child for something that had to be done.
"Daemon had escaped imprisonment. He climbed his dragon and nearly massacred an entire city. I killed him because there wasn't any other option. Mother."
Aemond didn't blink once when he offered his admission. Cole was near the balcony. Grandsire and Daeron were seated at the table. His elder siblings were by his side. Aegon scoffed under his breath, whilst Helaena looked at him with confusion.
He signaled them to quiet down without a word.
The Queen would believe he was the sole culprit. She had no problem with that.
He clenched this hands in frustration.
Well, go on them. Name me damned and cursed.
"Your grace, prince Aemond does speak truthfully." Criston intervened in his defense. He doesn't need his protection.
"Your opinion is unneeded, Lord Commander." Mother dismissed the Kinsguard cooly.
Ouch.
Lord Commander.
Did he not attend morning prayer or something?
"Fuck me. What did you do Cole?"
Eloquent as always brother.
"Aegon!" If there's one thing you can trust Aegon to do. It's riling up everyone who partakes in a conversation with him, until they wish to end their existence.
Daeron tried to stop a laugh but couldn't and Cole just looked like a kicked puppy.
"He challenged Syrax to a trial by seven. And killed her. If you could believe it." His younger sibling barely formed the words through his cackles.
"You killed Syrax?" Aegon and Helaena exclaimed simultaneously. Aemond was left too suprised to form a word.
"It was a group effort. She was chained and well ... lazy and unfamiliar with hunting men for food or sport. Still, we got lucky. The Seven protected us." Criston was stumbling through his speech as if not believing it had happened.
"Wait. Why are you angry Mother? Shouldn't you be hosting a celebration?" Aegon's inquiry peeked the interest of the knight in question.
"I'm not angry. I'm furious that he put his life at risk for an already sealed outcome. The trial was finished. And just like him, you three decided to engage in aeral combat and could've perished." His mother's passionate admission did touch some deep part in his being. That culpability wasn't what she was after. Merely concerns of their safety.
But it rings a tad hollow considering how she reacted to Luke's death.
"I think we've derailed from the subject at hand. What is to be my fate, your grace?" His question had his mother apparently baffled. From the corner of his eye, he saw his grandfather look intrigued. The old man always did love a sacrificial lamb.
Their silent staring was broken by a knock on the door. His uncle soon entered the room with a too relaxed walk.
"Sorry to barge in. Is it Dragonslayers only?" He quipped and fist bumped Aegon.
"Is that what they're calling us?" Heleana asked.
"That's what they shouted after Criston defeated our half-sister's dragon. And I guess that the many witnesses who saw a dragon battle at the harbor would say the same. Why did you not invite me by the way?" Daeron shared his knowledge and lamented not tagging along. Was this a jest. They were fighting for their lives.
"Has it been taken care of, my son?" The Hand finally addressed his uncle. Gwayne stopped talking in murmurs with his brothers.
"Yes. The body has been salvaged. I had only three men recover it. All were sworn to House Hightower before joining the Watch. They haven't spoken a word to anyone. And I've already sent them to the Clubfoot."
Why hide Daemon's been found if proof was necessary. Why drag the body in the first place.
"Lord Hand. I do not understand the need for secrecy." He cared little for his future. But he needed some clarity. He was owed that at the very least.
"Isn't obvious? The royal family can't be kinslayers. In the eyes of the court, Daemon escaped capture. Killed three members of the gold cloaks when they tried to apprehend him. And was killed by Ser Gwayne Hightower in self-defence. His dragon flew in a rage and had to be dealt with. You are heroes." Otto concluded his statement without the slightest hunt of disturbance.
Ruthlessly pragmatic to the end.
"Aemond. What did you think was going to happen? That we'll put your head on a spike or send you to the Wall." His mother tried to get him to look at her. But he kept his head down.
"Everyone, leave us."
One by one, the occupants of the room left. The noose grew tighter around his neck. What is there left to say.
"I ... I didn't mean what I said. I was overwhelmed. Rightfully so. But I shouldn't have let you think I didn't believe you." There was no hint of falsehood in her tone. But it seemed too good to be true.
"You believe me?" He kept his voice controlled.
"Of course I do. You've suffered all these years in silence. You've remade yourself into this unbreakable wall. But I know how you feel about what happened at Driftmark. You had a right to ask for an eye."
"I couldn't give two shits about that bastard's eye. I wanted it for you. Neither that weakling Viserys or even Cole the white knight could give it to you. So I had to do it."
He never cursed in her presence. Or really in general except when Aegon got on his last nerve. But he now felt a tidal wave overcoming his body. She was the only one that cared about him that miserable night. Fought with the tenacity of an ancient Dragon protecting her clutch to see justice done. But none was given.
Is it so hard to believe when their abuser died, he would claim what was stolen for so long.
"For me?!" His mother didn't apparently know what to do his confession. She instinctively tried to pick off her fingers but he stopped her motion. She shouldn't be nervous when he's around. He hates that he makes her uncomfortable.
"I shall go. We need never speak of it again." He was already rebuilding the cracks in his armor.
"No! That's not what I want. I'm truly sorry if I haven't explained this before. But I want you to share these things with me. Everything that ails you or makes you happy, I want to know. I'll always listen to you Aemond." She tried to rap her arms around him. It was a bit awkward with how tall he's gotten. But he didn't mind at all.
It felt like home.