Chapter Text
115 AC
Essosi ships were not a strange thing to the docks of Blackwater Bay. They had been a slight rarity with the fighting in the Stepstones, but ships still arrived from Volantis, Braavos and Pentos with enough regularity that none thought it odd when a small collection of Essosi ships began to collect in the docks. They flew neutral colours, and the heavier weaponry they carried was waved away as precautions as they had travelled close to, if not through, the fighting. The men disembarked and spent their coin on whores and ale and food, and they made no trouble when Gold Cloaks searched their ships. None spared them a second glance or had reason to raise an alarm.
Until they fired upon the city.
The attack came in the early hours when even the whores were sleeping. A few fishermen had woken with the dawn and saw a small contingent of the Essosi ships sailing down the Rush towards the Sea flying the flags of Myr, Tryrosh and Lys, but there had been no time to raise an alarm. The ships in the docks fired their scorpions into the streets and buildings along the shore. Men who had gone ashore lit fires further inland and cut down the first Gold Cloaks who were called to the scene. And amidst the carnage, three ships slipped out of the bay unnoticed.
~~ Rhaenyra ~~
Rhaenyra woke early, before the sun had risen, and could not fight the feeling that something was about to happen. She had felt like this twice before, once during the Heirs Tourney and again the morning before her father announced his new bride. Her body quivered with a restless energy that would not fade and she knew there was no more sleep to be had. Sliding from her bed she donned her riding leathers and pulled her hair back into a simple braid before leaving her rooms. Ser Criston was on her door and stood to attention as she exited.
“Shall I call for a maid, princess?” He asked before he had even set eyes on her, though they widened in surprise when he finally took in that she was dressed for riding.
“There’s no need, Ser Criston. I intend to visit my lady this morning. Perhaps fly for a bit before my day is taken up with lessons and duties.” She didn’t wait for him, merely strode through the halls towards the yard. He was quick to fall in line behind her, hand on his sword as they walked.
“Would it not be better to wait until you’ve broken your fast? Or at least send word that you have gone to the Dragon Pit?” She couldn’t help but smile at his concern. He had been a welcome companion after her mother had gone and Alicent had betrayed her. Ser Criston seemed to see her, not just the Realms Delight or the temporary heir. He had never been shy in expressing his thoughts around her either. A welcome change from those who only said what they thought she wanted to hear.
“I will break my fast when I return,” she insisted, before considering that leaving in the early hours without a word might cause a panic. With a sigh she changed course towards her fathers chambers where she knew Ser Harrold was on duty. It was a short walk, achingly familiar but somehow strange. Once she had run through this hall with joy, eager to see her father and share her day with him, now he felt so far away.
Ser Harrold was on duty, as expected, and gave a slight nod to her as she approached.
“The king is still abed, princess.” He warned, brow furrowing in concern at her early arrival. He had been her sworn shield since childhood and knew that very little could rouse Rhaenyra from her bed before the sun was even up.
“I merely wished to give word that I have gone to visit Syrax. In case I have not returned before he wishes to break his fast.” She caught the way his shoulders relaxed and couldn’t help the bubbling of anger curling in her gut. Alicent was with him then. Helaena was only a turn old and already he had pulled his second wife back to his bed. A part of her, a cruel and spiteful part of her, whispered that Alicent deserved it, for crawling into bed with her father before her mothers ashes were even cooled. That she deserved to suffer as her mother had suffered. She buried the feeling before it could grow and left without another word. If she walked faster than before, and her mood was darker than when she had woken, then only Ser Criston made note of it. And he would keep it to himself.
It was odd to see the city so silent. Even the streets of Fleabottom seemed to be dormant, like they were all waiting for something. The few people who were already beginning (or ending) their days were quiet and paid her little attention as she rode towards the Dragon Pit. Ser Criston rode beside her, keeping a watchful eye on those who looked too long or strayed too close to her. A handful of orphans approached, grimy and sickly thin but eager for a glimpse of their princess
“Am I in danger from children now, Ser?” She teased as his hand went to the pommel of his sword at their approach. He sighed heavily at her teasing but relaxed and removed his hand from his sword. With a soft smile she beckoned the children closer. Only two were brave enough to approach and she struggled to keep her smile at their condition. One, a small boy with dark hair had bruises along his arms and limped heavily. The other was a little girl, barely older than Aegon but already broken by her circumstances. Both were too skinny and carried dark circles beneath their eyes, but they looked at her with wonder.
“Do you carry coin on you Ser Criston?” She cursed herself for not bringing anything with her. She hadn’t thought she would need any due to the early hour, but she had been wrong. She heard him shift his armor before he pressed a small handful of silver stags into her hand. She smiled gratefully at him before handing the coins to the two who had approached.
“Look after each other,” she ordered as she pressed the coins into their hands. They bowed reverently and Rhaenyra thought she caught the beginnings of tears in the older boys eyes before they scampered off to rejoin their crew.
“We shouldn’t linger here, your highness.” Ser Criston whispered in warning. With a brisk nod she spurred her horse onward. Her lady was waiting.
Rhaenyra had never felt more at peace than when she was in the sky. Her golden lady was as much a part of her as any of her limbs and the joy they shared when riding together was incandescent. The way the wind hit her face as they climbed higher than the clouds, and that brief second of weightlessness when Syrax dove… there was nothing in the world better than it.
By the time the sun was fully up the restlessness that had plagued her since waking had faded. For a moment she considered what it might be like to just… keep flying. To not return to the Red Keep, cross the Narrow Sea on her own and leave it all behind. She could do it, now while the king did not know she had left the safety of the holdfast, while her uncle was too busy with a war to chase her. Her father had his long desired son and now a daughter by Alicent. She was surplus to requirement and everyone knew it. Syrax banked eastward. For a moment Rhaenyra did nothing. She could leave and there was nothing her father or uncle could do to bring her back in time. With a long suffering sigh she urged her golden lady to turn back. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her run. She wouldn’t give Otto Hightower more ammunition for her displacement in favour of Aegon. She was a daughter of Old Valyria, and she would be the first ruling queen of Westeros.
As the spires of the Red Keep grew larger, the city below was coming awake. At first it sounded like gulls crying, then the first cracks and pops of buildings shattering reached her. The people were screaming. Syrax dove without any command, dropping below the cloud cover. Ships, several of them had loosed scorpion bolts into the streets and the other ships. Merchant vessels were burning amongst the debris of the Royal fleet. Large chunks of cobblestones had been ripped from the ground where the bolts had hit and buildings crumbled as they were struck. Further inland buildings were burning. Someone was attacking Kings Landing. The ships fired again, sending people and debris flying into the air. Something primal rose in Rhaenyra. The rage she had been holding in for years finally had an outlet.
“Ilagon, Syrax.” With a shriek, Syrax dove.
~~ Criston ~~
Watching the princess climb atop a dragon would never stop being nerve-wracking. The way she coo’d at the beast like it was a housecat before vanishing above the clouds atop its back was terrifying, but somehow Criston always felt like he was privileged to see it. Unfortunately, waiting for her to return to the ground was no less boring than it had always been. In the first few days of his service as the princesses sworn shield, they had been accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower and could make conversation while they waited for the princess to return. But now the princess came alone. She was almost always alone, in the aftermath of her lady’s betrayal. Somehow, she had become… diminished. Being named the heir to the throne had only seemed to make it worse. She slept poorly, ate little, and avoided others when possible. He had even heard her sobbing in the small hours on occasion. It was only with her dragon that she seemed to come alive again. So he would wait, here on the ground, for as long as she needed him to.
Once he was sure the princess had settled into her flight and would not be making a swift return, Criston dismounted from his horse and set to practicing his forms. He would have been expected in the yard around now anyway, and it passed the time. Hours passed and the sun rose high over the horizon and still Syrax had not returned. A small flicker of anxiety began to pulse within his stomach the longer the princess remained in the sky. He could see her faintly in the distance, flying loops and twirls. The dragons cry reassured him that she was merely enjoying herself and had not gone further afield than he could protect. But still he wished she would land, and soon.
And then the sounds of stone shattering and people screaming began, and he had never been more glad that the Princess had not returned.
From his vantage point on Rhaenys Hill he could see the cause of the chaos. Four ships were firing upon the shore from the docks. Two were loosing Scorpion bolts into the ground and buildings nearest them without any rhyme or reason, while the others were launching thick stones from large catapults that were mounted on the decks. Already the Mud Gate and parts of the Eastern Walls had collapsed, allowing greater reach into the city proper. The weight of the white cloak felt heavier in that moment than it ever had before. He was sworn to protect the princess, his duty dictated that he not leave her side. But she was far above, atop a fire breathing dragon and could make for the Red Keep without ever setting foot on the ground. In the distance came the sound of another heavy impact and his decision was made.
Criston climbed into the saddle and urged it down the Street of Sisters towards docks. He could see people fleeing towards the Sept and Visenya’s Hill for shelter. Many were fleeing towards the Dragonpit itself. As he drew closer he could see small groups of men moving amongst the crowd setting buildings and market stalls aflame. They cut down fleeing men and snatched women with abandon. Pirates, he realized.
Without a thought he charged into the nearest group, cutting down the bastards before they had time to shout. One of the women clutched her torn clothes around her body and whispered her gratitude over and over again.
“Go, to Visenya’s Hill!” He commanded. She bowed and scrambled to her feet, running towards the steps. The projectiles could not reach so far inland, never landing farther than the Street of Steel. But with the walls down Criston could see that portions of River Row had already been reduced to rubble.
He pressed on, turning onto the Muddy Way, cutting down any pirates in his path. As he came to the thick of it he saw that many of the smallfolk had begun putting out the fires and were pulling the injured from the rubble. In the smoke and debris he also caught sight of members of the City Watch working alongside them or harrying the pirates that remained. All around him people were screaming and sobbing and shouting for help. He saw the body of a boy, crushed beneath a pile of stone. An embroidered handkerchief still in his hand. He didn’t have time to linger on it. On his left another scorpion bolt slammed into the road sending people flying and shards of cobblestone into the air and into men's bodies.
He thought he had known battle. He had fought beside Lord Dondarion in the Boneway and thought he knew what true horror was like. He had thought there were rules to war, that there was honour in it even for those who fought for the opposing side. There was no honour in this. Just carnage.
A shadow passed over them and Criston saw the people, pirates and smallfolk alike, slow and come to a stop. They all looked to the sky in fear or reverence and many began to cry out.
“Praise the seven!”
“The Princess has come to our aid!”
“Seven blessings upon the Princess Rhaenyra!” And the shrieks of an angry dragon answered them.
Criston thought he knew what a dragon could do in battle. He had heard stories of the Field of Fire and the burning of Harrenhall. He thought he knew the power the Targaryens commanded. But as the gentle golden lady of princess Rhaenyra unleashed a torrent of destruction upon the ships below, he realised he had been a fool.
~~ Rhaenyra ~~
Seven ships had open fired on the people of Kings Landing, and three were blown to smithereens beneath the heat of dragonfire before they even saw her coming. Though she had never been trained for battle or war, Syrax had grown up chasing Caraxes and Seasmoke. While her father had thought them merely playing, Rhaenyra knew that Daemon had been teaching them maneuvers that were more for war than play. And she was all the more grateful to her uncle for it as Syrax narrowly dodged a scorpion bolt to the chest as they wheeled around. Below she could see the Gold Cloaks making quick work of the pirates that had come to shore and the smallfolk were already tossing water on the fires. She caught a glimpse of a white cloak amidst the chaos, Ser Criston most likely, before she turned her attention back to the remaining ships. Two had weighed anchor and were attempting to flee, while the other two had decided to try their luck at dragon slaying. The second attempt to hit Syrax flew wide and Rhaenyra grinned savagely.
“Dracarys.” She hissed, and watched with glee as the ships vanished beneath a torrent of fire. The glee was short lived. Another scream from the smallfolk behind her pulled her attention away from the fleeing ships, just in time to see green fire erupt from the walls of the Red Keep. She watched with growing horror as a tower collapsed under the onslaught followed quickly by a portion of the wall that buckled and crumbled into the sea. When the White Sword Tower collapsed into the side of the holdfast, her scream of rage and fear was primal.
She came at the ships like an avenging god. Rhaenyra had no strategy and no fear as she drove Syrax towards the ships that were still firing upon the walls of the Red Keep. She struck them hard and fast, driven by instinct and madness. First the ships that had tried to escape the Blackwater were obliterated, Syrax raking them apart with her claws before burning them to ash. And then the two catapults that had brought down the eastern wall. Whatever wildfire that had been left aboard the first ignited alongside the dragon fire, sending both vessels and their crews to a fiery death. The last did not even see her coming, but before they were obliterated the captains saw the flurry of ravens that heralded the collapse of another tower.
Rhaenyra felt nothing as she circled the Red Keep, surveying the damage and watching for any targets she may have missed. And the damage was indeed horrific. The eastern wall was gone, and the eastern side of the throne room with it. Portions of the roof had collapsed and the Iron Throne was exposed to the sky.
Maegors holdfast had withstood most of the damage, but when the White Sword Tower had collapsed it had taken out a large chunk of the walls on its way down. Miraculously, the Tower of the Hand was still standing, but it was surrounded by smoke and rubble. How many people had been buried beneath it all? How many were still alive?
Her ears were ringing and everything below her felt so far away. It was odd, seeing the halls she had once chased her mother and father through reduced to nothing but dust and smoke.
Father. Where was her father?! He would have been breaking his fast when the attack at the docks began. And Alicent had likely already departed to the nursery! Both of which were in the holdfast. They were likely fine. Unless… unless the Small Council had gathered when word of the attack on the docks reached them. And Alicent liked to take Aegon to the gardens before his lessons…
The numbness gave way to a dreadful cold that burst from her stomach and ran along her spine. She had to find them.
It was simple enough to bring Syrax down onto the walls near the traitors gate. The outer yard had been untouched by the catapults but that simply meant that most of the people within had fled there for safety. A dragon descending upon the walls of the keep only added to the chaos. Distantly she heard people calling for the Lord Hand to be alerted. A few ladies fell to their knees in prayer as Syrax lowered herself to allow Rhaenyra to disembark. She didn’t care. Beyond the gates was her father and the ruins of her home. She managed to stagger down from the battlements, but seeing the ruin brought her to her knees.
“Princess, princess are you well?” Someone was talking to her. A man. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t think. She had to stand and find her father. The outer walls were gone, but the castle was still standing. She could see the Small Council chambers were still standing. That’s where he would be. She tried to stand and cried out as something stabbed into her calves. Oh. She had fragments of wood embedded in her skin. ‘From the ships,’ she realized. With a shaking hand she reached out to grasp at them, to pull them out so she could get inside and find her father. An armored hand grasped her wrist and pulled it away. Right. A guard, or a knight, was talking to her. He had a kind of face. His eyes were very blue.
He lifted her off the ground and ran.
Sound came back in fragments. There were people muttering and talking over each other. Someone was prodding at her leg and she hissed in pain. Then understanding hit her like a lance. The Red Keep. The attack. She had tried to enter the castle but she had been too injured. She was in the Small Council chambers now, someone had carried her here. Maester Mellos was wrapping her leg where he had removed several fragments of wood from her flesh. The largest looked to be the width of a dining knife.
“Are you back with us, Princess?” the maester asked. Blinking, she looked around the room at the assembled lords. And weren’t they a sorry sight. Only three three small council members had made it to safety and were sitting listlessly in their seats. Chief amongst them was Ser Otto, but never had she seen him like this before. He looked grey and haggard, with a fresh line of stitches running from his nose to his jaw. Lord Lyonel Strong was still covered in dust and sat slumped beside Lord Lyman Beesbury. Two kingsguard knights and a gold cloak stood guard along the walls and beside the door, Ser Lorent and Ser Arryk.
Rhaenyra wet her lips and tried to form a sentence. All that came out was a croak and a harsh cough. Ser Otto poured a goblet of water and pressed it into her hands. She drank it greedily.
“Where is my father?” She asked once the goblet was empty. Ser Otto seemed to flinch before answering.
“He has not been found as of yet. He was in his chambers when the outer walls came down and none have been able to get through the rubble to find…” his body. They all thought him dead.
“What of Alicent? Aegon? Helaena?” Another suffocating silence answered her. Even Ser Otto allowed his devastation to show on his face. “No… No they are not… they cannot…”
“She was last seen in Aegon's Gardens with the Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon.” So there was little chance they had survived. Two more siblings and a woman she had loved as a sister that she would have to burn and bury next to her mother. She swallowed the urge to scream and tried to focus on what needed to happen now.
“What recovery plans have been made?” She asked, trying to push some more confidence into her voice. She may have been her fathers named heir but he had not taken the time to prepare her for rule. Because I am a placeholder, the bitter part of her whispered. She dug her fingernails into her palm to force the thought away. This was no time for past grievances.
Around her, the lords glanced between each other. Uncertain of procedure. This would not do, if her fathers council would not answer her then they would be reminded of who she was.
“Are you not my fathers Council? And am I not my fathers named heir?” She pressed them, but did not wait for an answer. “Until my father has been found I must act in his stead, and you will counsel me as you would him. Now tell me, what plans are there for recovery?”
It was Otto Hightower who broke the silence. He turned his full attention on her and sat rigidly in his seat, but his face was serious and he spoke calmly. “We have already issued orders to clear a path to the holdfast as soon as possible. If the king is alive, reaching him is paramount.”
“Unfortunately we have very few men on hand and the guards are still on alert in case there is another attack.” Ser Lyonel added. “We assume the attacking ships have either been engaged or defeated since there has been silence, but we cannot be sure.”
“There will be no further attacks.” Rhaenyra cut in. The lords all turned to her as one, and for a moment her words caught in her throat. She forced her spine into a straight line and met their eyes firmly. “There will be no further attacks. The ships that fired upon us are gone, as are the ones who attacked the docks. Syrax and I burnt them.”
For a long moment they all stared at her with open mouths and she met each of their astonished looks without flinching. She was the blood of the dragon and she had defended her home.
“I see. Then we owe you our thanks princess” Ser Otto broke first, inclining his head to hear before continuing on. “We should proceed with efforts to clear the rubble and find any survivors. Have any and all able bodied men assist with the clearing of the holdfast.”
“We should have them work in shifts, my lord.” The gold cloak interjected. Rhaenyra struggled to place him, but he appeared so familiar.
“And why is that, Ser Strong?” Otto sneered. The longer it took to clear the rubble the longer he would have to wait to find his daughter. It was an agony she shared with him, in regards to their loved ones.
“If we have the men working day and night they will collapse from exhaustion before even a quarter of the stone has been shifted. And tired men are more likely to make mistakes that could end in a higher loss of life. My lord Hand.” The honourific was tacked on and she could hear the poorly concealed frustration in the knight's voice.
“My son is right, Otto, and you know it. Better to work slowly and carefully and rescue more, than work quickly and risk making things worse.” Ah, so the knight was Lord Lyonel's son. Harwin Strong, the heir to Harrenhall.
“And how many will be lost the longer we delay?”
“Ser Harwin makes a strong point, my lords.” Rhaenyra cut in. If this descended into an argument nothing would get done. “Have the men work in shifts clearing the stone. And have any women who are able help where they can, even if it is not lifting or carrying. We must use every set of hands that are available to us.”
“As you command, princess. Next we must see about the damage in the city. If we sequester ourselves here there may be unrest as conditions worsen. Perhaps make sure the presence of the City Watch is felt.” The assembled lords nodded in agreement. Even Ser Harwin looked grim at the prospect and bowed his head to Ser Otto’s advice.
“Ser Harwin, are you able to handle this?” She addressed him directly.
“I am, your highness.” Then, with a short bow, he left to execute her orders. Rhaenyra breathed deeply, twining her fingers together to hide their shaking, before turning her attention to the maester.
“Grandmaester, opening lines of communication across the realm will be paramount as things progress. We need ravens. But more importantly, we need healers.”
“The ravens will not have flown far, I shall see if I can wrangle enough to send for additional support from the Crownlands.” Mellos agreed.
“Thank you Grandmaester.” Another problem solved. Casting her eyes over the councillors she tried to think of who else would be needed, if only provisionally. Her gaze caught on the white cloaks guarding the door. “Ser Lorent, until the Lord Commander is found I would have you act in his stead.”
“You honour me, your highness.” He bowed to her before approaching and taking up Ser Harrold's usual seat.
“Ser Criston went with me to the Dragonpit this morning, and last I saw he was helping to fight back the pirates in the city during the attack. If word can be sent to him to return…” The last thing she wanted was her sworn shield to be reprimanded for abandoning her. He had followed her dutifully and had helped the people when she was beyond his reach. Ser Lorent sat straighter at her words and nodded firmly. He had likely been wondering what had happened to him and was worried she had been abandoned by one of his sworn brothers.
“What is next?” And so the meeting resumed.
By the time the small council broke it was mid-day and Rhaenyra was already exhausted, but the people were in need of reassurance and she was the only one who could give it. Once the lords of the small council had filed out she permitted herself a moment to breathe. She slumped over the table and rested her head in her arms. Was this what being Queen would be like? But never-ending?
“You did well.” She jumped at the sudden voice and couldn’t help the flush of embarrassment at who had seen her. Ser Otto had not left, but had instead crossed to the open window and waited for them to be alone. What he said had surprised her though. He had always made his desire for Aegon to ascend the throne clear, never hesitating to cut her down before she could rise. And here he was… complimenting her. She held her tongue, waiting.
“You listened to the advice of the lords before making a decision and deferred to the expertise of those with more experience when you could. It seems I have underestimated you, princess.” He sounded different now. Whatever strength he had been borrowing for the duration of the council seemed to have left him. He was now just a man stuck waiting for news of his daughter and grandchildren. Rhaenyra stood and moved to join him by the window.
“I am not prepared to rule the realm. My lessons have always been about the Houses and their words, or how to sew favours for knights. I had little choice but to defer to your judgments on these matters.” She received a considering hum in response. They both knew her training as heir had been inadequate up until this moment. But then, I have always learned better by doing than reading, she thought.
“The mere fact that you have not tried to appear more knowledgeable than you are, is already a point in your favour. Many kings have trampled over their advisors, making ill-informed decisions to soothe their pride. Today you have listened to your advisors so you can make a better decision tomorrow.” His advice was good and she wondered whether his father had told him the same thing. Or maybe it really was experience that had taught him that lesson.
“Many would call that weakness. That I am dependent upon the men on this council to rule wisely. That it proves a woman is too weak to sit the Iron Throne.” She could not hide the bitterness from her voice. She had heard it all in whispers and gossip, told through puppet shows and mummery’s. She knew he had only suggested her as heir to push Daemon further from the throne. That he too saw her sex and thought her lesser.
For a long moment they stood in silence. Rhaenyra would not try and soften her words, not for him. She did not care to prove herself to him. Not any more. She had ridden her dragon into battle and burned ships to kindling without the men on this council. She alone had defended Kings Landing and the Red Keep while they had cowered behind its walls.
“Men will always talk, princess. You cannot bend yourself in two for their good opinions or else you will be torn apart. And you have too much to do.” He finally said, before giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze and departed.