One hundred sixty leagues to the north, other dragons soared above the Trident, where Prince Daemon Targaryen and the small brown girl called Nettles were hunting Aemond One-Eye without success. Instead, Prince Aemond struck at Stonyhead, in the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, always vanishing back into the sky before the hunters could arrive. Vhagar never lingered, nor did the survivors agree on which way the dragon had flown.
On the western shore of Blackwater Bay, word of battle and betrayal at Thumbleton had reached King's Landing. It is said the Dowager Queen Alicent laughed when she heard. "All they have sowed, now shall they reap," she promised. On the Iron Throne, Queen Rhaenyra grew pale and faint, and ordered the city gates closed and barred; henceforth, no one was to be allowed to enter or leave King's Landing. "I will have no turncloaks stealing into my city to open my gates to rebels," she proclaimed. Lord Ormund's host could be outside their walls by the morrow or the day after; the betrayers, dragon-borne, could arrive even sooner than that.
This prospect excited Prince Joffrey. "Let them come," the boy announced, flush with the arrogance of youth and eager to avenge his fallen brothers. "I will meet them on Tyraxes." Such talk alarmed his mother. "You will not," she declared. "You are too young for battle." Even so, she allowed the boy to remain as the black council discussed how best to deal with the approaching foe.
Seven dragons remained in King's Landing, but only one within the walls of the Red Keep and one not bound by chains: the queen's own she-dragon, Syrax, and the Lady Dracarys's dragon, Cannibal.
The other dragons were kept in the Dragonpit. Caraxes, Verminthor, Silverwing, and Sheepstealer had made their lairs there before flying off to battle. Four dragons remained: Prince Joffrey's Tyraxes, the young Morghul and Shrykos, bound to Princess Jaehaera and her twin, the late Prince Jaehaerys... and Dreamfyre, beloved of Queen Helaena.
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Long leagues to the north, in a castle overlooking the Bay of Crabs, another lord found himself sliding down a sword's edge as well. From King's Landing came a raven bearing the queen's message to Manfryd Mooton, Lord of Maidenpool: he was to deliver her the head of the bastard girl Nettles, who had been judged guilty of high treason. "No harm is to be done to my lord husband, Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, I have sent Lady Valaena Valar, to see him home safely." Her Grace commanded.
When his lordship read the queen's letter, he was so shaken that he lost his voice. Nor did it return to him until he had drunk three cups of wine. Thereupon Lord Mooton sent for the captain of his guard, his brother, and his champion, Ser Florian Greysteel. He bade his maester to remain as well. When all had assembled, he read to them the letter and asked them for their counsel.
"This thing is easily done," said the captain of his guard. "The prince sleeps beside her, but he has grown old and so has the Dragon Whore, Valaena Valar. When she arrives three men should be enough to subdue her should she try to interfere, but I will take six to be certain.
"Six men or sixty, she is still Valaena Valar, bearing a child does not change her swordsmanship." Lord Mooton's brother objected. "As for Daemon, a sleeping draught in his evening wine would be the wiser course. Let him wake to Nettles dead."
What was said after that is unknown. All we know is that the maester, a young man of two-and-twenty, found Prince Daemon and the girl Nettles at their supper that night, and showed them the queen's letter. Weary after a long day of fruitless flight, they were sharing a simple meal of boiled beef and beats when he entered, talking softly with each other. The prince greeted him politely, but when he read the letter the joy went from his eyes, and a sadness descended upon him, like a weight too heavy to be borne.
"What does the letter say, my prince?" The girl Nettles asked.
"A queen's words, a whore's work." Then he drew his sword, Dark Sister and pointed it at the young maester's throat. "Are Lord Mooton's men waiting outside to take us as captives?"
"I came alone," The boy said, shakingly before bowing his head. "Forgive me, My Prince, I have broken my maester's vows."
Prince Daemon looked at him for a moment before sheathing his sword. "You are a bad maester, but a good man. Speak no word of this to lord nor love until the morrow."
How the prince and his bastard girl spent their last night beneath Lord Mooton's rood is not recorded, but as dawn broke, they appeared together in the yard, and Prince Daemon helped Nettles saddle Sheepstealer one last time.
No words of farewell were spoken between the two, but as Sheepstealer beat his leathery brown wings and climbed into the dawn sky another dragon with gleaming black scales was seen in the clouds, Caraxes raised his head and gave a scream that shattered every window in Jonquil's Tower. High above the town, Nettles turned her dragon toward the Bay of Crabs, and vanished in the morning mists, never to be seen again at court or castle. Some say she was slain by Lady Valaena, her and her dragon falling into the water.
Daemon Targaryen returned to the castle just long enough to break his fast with Lord Mooton. "This is the last that you will see of me," he told his lordship. "I thank you for your hospitality. Let it be known through all your lands that I fly for Harrenhal. If my nephew Aemond dares face me, he shall find me there, alone."
Thus did Prince Daemon depart from Maidenpool for the last time with Lady Valaena, unbeknown to the prince, acting as a shadow behind him. When he had gone, Maester Norren went to his lord to say, "Take the chain from my neck and bind my hands with it. You must need to deliver me to the queen. When I gave warning to a traitor and allowed her to escape, I became a traitor as well."
Lord Mooton refused. "Keep your chain," his lordship said. "We are all traitors here."
That night, Queen Rhaenyra's banners were taken down from where they flew above the gates of Maidenpool, and the golden dragons of King Aegon II raised in their stead.
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The Rogue Prince and Dragon Shifter arrived at Harrenhal just as dawn was breaking.
"What are you doing here?" Daemon said, his voice cold.
"Rhaenyra sent me." Daemon gave her a pointed look making her look down at her rings, the ring he'd given her when they were young, when things were so much different. "I know what you plan to do, I know you, Daemon."
"You meant to stop me from killing him?" Daemon stepped closer to her, reaching for the pommel of Dark Sister.
"In my dreams, I kill him every night," Valaena admitted, looking up at him. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves."
"Yet you still love him." Daemon said, softly. He knew her as well as she knew him.
"We don't get to choose who we love. The gods can be cruel... to mate me to him-" Valaena paused for a moment looking at the tall walls of Harrenhal. "I wanted it to be you, I really did. You have a place in my heart no one else ever could have."
"You cannot stop me from killing him." Daemon muttered, stepping even closer. Valaena took a deep breath, clenching her fists.
"Let me be the one to kill him... Rhaenyra needs you." Valaena says softly, looking into his eyes. "I am not afraid; I was born to do this. If I die and you live, look after Aemma for me. The realm will hate her for being Aemond's daughter... for being my daughter. Look after her, make sure she's happy... she's quite fond of Aegon." Valaena smiled slightly; however, Daemon turned and left her standing outside the massive gates of Harrenhal.
Daemon was willing to risk everything for Rhaenyra, for she was the only woman he had ever truly loved many believed.
However, many forget that before the hatred that came between the Rogue Prince and the Dragon Shifter, there was love.
As so it was that Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Valaena Valar spent their last days at Harrenhal, waiting for the Kinslayer to find them. How they spent those days is unknown.
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In the dark corridors of the Red Keep outside the chambers of Helaena Targaryen, Lord Vaegon Strong stood in his black armor adorned with rubies.
"Wait." Helaena called, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vaegon was at her side once more, concern sketched onto his features.
"Know... that we have met before and that we will meet again." She tells him, mindlessly playing with the ring on his finger.
Vaegon smiles, kissing her forehead before pulling away to look in her eyes. "I will find my way to you in the next life and every life after that." Helaena worriedly looked at the knight who walked past, Vaegon grabbed her hands that had started shaking, drawing her attention back to him. "Nothing else matters, only us. Remember my sweet Hela... I've loved you always. I always will."
Helaena's quiet sobs filled the corridor as the Lord of Vengeance left to go meet his sister, Aemma to go fly to war once again.
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Men may plot and plan and scheme, but they had best pray as well, for no plan made by man has ever withstood the whims of the gods above. Two days later, on the very day the Caltrops planned to strike, Tumbleton woke in the black of night to screams and shouts. Outside the town walls, the camps were burning. Columns of armored knights were pouring in from the north and west, wreaking slaughter, the clouds were raining arrows, and a dragon was swooping down upon them, terrible and fierce.
Thus began the Second Battle of Tumbleton.
The great host encamped about the walls of Tumbleton outnumbered the attackers, but they had been too long in one place. Their discipline had grown lax, the death of Lord Ormund Hightower had left them without a leader, and the lords who wished to command in his place were at odds with one another. So intent were they on their own conflicts and rivalries that they had all but forgotten their true foes. Lord Vaegon and Princess Aemma's night attack took them completely unawares. Before the men of Prince Daeron's army even knew they were in a battle, the enemy was amongst them, cutting them down as they staggered from their tents, as they were saddling their horses, struggling to don their armor, buckling their sword belts.
Most devastating of all was the dragons. Vermithor and Silverwing came swooping down again and again, breathing flame. A hundred tents were soon afire, even the splendid silken pavilions of Ser Hobart Hightower, Lord Unwin Peake, and Prince Daeron himself. Nor was the town of Tumbleton reprieved. Those shops and homes and septs that had been spared the first time were engulfed in dragonflame.
Daeron Targaryen was in his tent asleep when the attack began. Ulf White was inside Tumbleton, sleeping off a night of drinking at an inn called the Bawdy Badger that he had taken for his own. Hard Hugh Hammer was within the town walls as well, in bed with the widow of a knight slain during the first battle.
Though attempts were made to wake Ulf White from his drunken slumber, he proved impossible to rouse. Infamously, he rolled under a table and snored through the entire battle. Hard Hugh Hammer was quicker to respond. Half-dressed, he rushed down the steps to the yard, calling for his hammer, his armor, and a horse, so he might ride out to fight the army. His men rushed to obey, even as Silverwing set the stables ablaze. But Lord Jon Roxton had claimed Lord Footly's bedchamber along with Lord Footly's wife, was already in the yard.
When he spied Hard Hugh, Roxton saw his chance, and said, "Lord Hammer, my condolences."
Hammer turned, glowering. "For what?" He demanded, waiting for his armor and hammer to be brought to him.
"You died in the battle," Bold Jon replied, drawing Orphan-Maker and thrusting deep into Hammer's belly, before opening the bastard from groin to throat.
Three conflicting accounts exist as to the manner of death of Prince Daeron Targaryen. The best-known claims that the prince stumbled from his pavilion with his nightclothes afire, only to be cut down by the Myrish sellsword Black Trombo, who smashed his face in with a swing of his spiked morningstar.
In the sky above, Vaegon and Aemma could see the battle turning into a rout below them. Two of the three enemy dragonriders were dead, but they would have had no way of knowing that. They could doubtlessly see the enemy's dragon, however. Unchained, Tessarion was kept beyond the town walls, free to fly and hunt.
A crossbowman let fly a bolt at Silverwing, and twoscore mounted knights closed on Vermithor with sword and lance and axe. They paid for that folly with their lives. Elsewhere on the field, Tessarion threw herself into the air, shrieking and spitting flame, and Aemma Targaryen turned Silverwing to meet her.
Time and time again the two dragons rushed one another, only to have one or the other veer away at the last instant. Soaring like eagles, stooping like hawks, they circled, snapping and roaring, spitting fire, but never closing. Once, the Blue Queen vanished into a bank of cloud, only to reappear an instant later, diving on Silverwing from behind to scorch her tail with a burst of cobalt flame.
Meanwhile, Silverwing rolled and banked and looped. One instant she would be below her foe, and suddenly she would twist in the sky and come around behind her. Higher and higher the two dragons flew, as hundreds watched from the roofs of Tumbleton. One such said afterward that the flight of Tessarion and Silverwing seemed more mating dance than battle. Perhaps it was.
The dance ended when Vermithor rose roaring into the sky with Vaegon screaming at his sister to return to the Red Keep. Begrudgingly she did but not before she loosed her wroth on all, spitting flame to right and left, turning savagely on any man who dared to fling a spear in her direction.
After the departure of Silverwing, Tessarion fell upon Vermithor.
This was no dance, but a fight to the death. Vermithor had been flying no more than twenty feet above the battle when Tessarion slammed into him from above, driving him shrieking into the mud, with Vaegon leaping from his saddle to avoid being crushed, breaking his leg and a few ribs in the process. However, not everyone was as lucky, men and boys ran in terror or were crushed as the two dragons rolled and tore at one another. Tails snapped and wings beat at the air, but the beasts were so entangled that neither was able to break free.
Tessarion was the first to die, when Vermithor locked his teeth into her neck and ripped her head off. The Bronze Fury died shortly afterward.
Lord Vaegon was the only one left to face the army coming towards him. "The end has come, and I am not afraid." He muttered weakly, unsheathing his father's sword. Vaegon fought valiantly, nobly, and honorably, but that was not enough. He barely felt the cuts made by the swords of the mounted knights. When the hammer of Hard Hugh took him in the chest, he gave a grunt and sank onto his knees into the mud. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of the dying Lord of Vengeance, his last breath a murmur of a woman's name. Hela.
So, the last thing that Lord Vaegon Strong, the Lord of Vengeance, thinks about, is Helaena Targaryen.
By dusk, the fighting was done. The Lord of Vengeance was dead, and the men cheered. They tore the armor from his body, claiming the rings that bore his mother and fathers house sigils. More soldiers let their rage win, they tore at his body, a squire of Lord Hightower was sawing at his neck to claim his head when Lady Viserra Stark arrived with Cannibal.
The men retreated across the battlefield as Viserra came down from the monstrous dragon, they hurriedly waved white flags, but the Lady Dracarys did not care. She commanded her dragon to burn them all as she clutched the few remains of her twin brother.
A/N: How are we feeling? Comments and Votes are always greatly appreciated <3