Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

Dragonstone is beautiful, Nettles thought as she gazed out over the island's landscape, smelling the smoke from the dragonmount as it mingled with the salty air of the sea. 

She didn't think it would be any different from Driftmark, where she'd grown up the poor daughter of a whore, but her first glance at the castle told her she was wrong. Something deep within her stirred as she gazed upon the intricate Valyrian architecture. The faintest whisper of home.

Don't get caught up in a flight of fancy, girl, she chided herself. It will never be your home. Not truly.

But fantasies were all that had sustained her through her childhood. Fantasy that beneath her ragged clothes and protruding ribcage flowed the blood of Old Valyria. The blood of the dragon. That one day, perhaps, her life might actually mean something.

And today might very well be the day her wildest dream came true.

Like many others, Nettles had just gotten off the small ship from Driftmark, recruited because of her mother's claims that she had Valyrian blood from her father. She was one of several score, and the odds that she may be able to claim a dragon were infinitesimal. The thought of her claiming a dragon and flying off to valiantly serve her Queen was a fantasy. But fuck, it was a beautiful fantasy. As was the Lordship (Ladyship, in her case) that Corlys Velaryon promised to anyone who could claim a dragon and serve in the war.

Nettles was willing to risk becoming a meal for a dragon to take her chance.

Perhaps I can gentle it, same way I did the dog, she mused.

Her beloved dog (a hideous gray and white mongrel she'd named Fleabag) had been near vicious when Nettles first met him. Freshly grieving her mother, a lonely Nettles had taken pity on the poor thing and threw him a few food scraps. The next day, when he came back, she did the same. And again. And again. And again. Fleabag grew braver and braver, coming in close enough to politely take the food from Nettles' hand. Eventually, she was allowed to touch him. Within the month, Fleabag was sleeping at the door to her home, and they were well on the way to becoming the best of friends.

If it worked for a vicious dog, will it work for a dragon?

Lost in her musings, she didn't realize she'd wandered a bit away from the other dragonseeds flooding the harbor of Dragonstone's village. Not until she heard the sound of a throat being cleared behind her.

"Excuse me?" a male voice asked, one that she did not recognize. "Lady Nettles?"

Lady? She barked a laugh as she turned around. "I'm no…"

For the briefest second, she thought he'd punched her, his closed fist slamming into her abdomen and knocking the wind from her lungs. It wasn't until he drew back his hand and she saw the flash of silver that she realized she was wrong. Dead wrong.

Even before she felt the warm gush of fresh blood soaking her shirt.

No…But she couldn't even open her mouth to scream before the stranger drew back his hand again, plunging the knife deeper into her gut.

No one saw Nettles fall to the ground before it was too late and her attacker fled, discarding his cloak and disappearing into the crowd of dragonseeds, his silver hair and purple eyes blending in seamlessly.

I'm sorry, girl, he thought, pointedly not looking towards where her body had fallen. He heard that a stab to the liver would kill quickly, and he hoped it was true. He didn't want her to suffer any more than she needed to. I didn't want her dead. But this is the only way. My only chance for a better future. My only chance for revenge.

When the Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen, was young and full of vigor, he'd fucked his way through the Street of Silk each night, earning the moniker of 'Lord Fleabottom' and making many friends amongst the smallfolk. But not everyone on the Street of Silk remembered Daemon so fondly, especially not a young whore named Jaylene, who was only fifteen years old when Daemon claimed her maidenhood.

Jaylene had been infatuated with the handsome prince, allowing herself to fantasize about being his favorite. Fantasies that were short lived. For although Jaylene had Valyrian blood, she was a plain-featured girl. Unremarkable. Her only value to Daemon had been her virginity, and once he'd taken that, he had no further interest in her. Jaylene had never been allowed near Daemon's inner circle again, let alone the prince himself. Their one night together left the young girl with a broken heart…and a babe in her belly.

That was twenty-eight years ago, and that babe was now a man: a dragonseed with long silver hair and eyes the color of heather. Jaylene had named him Aethan, the only piece of his Valyrian heritage that she could give to him. A lookalike for the father he despised. The father who left him to be raised half-starving in poverty, the child of a whore that Daemon undoubtedly had long-since forgotten.

The mere thought had Aethan balling his fists. I am no different than his other children, he thought bitterly. But while they live in luxury, enjoying grandiose adventures as dragonriders, I grew up in a rat-infested hovel with an empty belly, whilst my mother had no choice but to sell her body to feed us.

It wasn't right. Daemon had the means to take care of Aethan and Jaylene. A few coins, pocket change for him, would have changed their entire lives.

And now the fucking hypocrite is leading the realm into war so Rhaenyra and her bastards can inherit the Iron Throne, he thought, breathing deeply as he seethed. But he wouldn't provide for his own bastard.  

But that was all going to change. Aethan would have his revenge, and Daemon Targaryen would pay for one small fraction of the pain he inflicted. And it was all thanks to Borros Baratheon.

Lord Baratheon's men found him in a Fleabottom pub. They'd been looking for Lady Mysaria, no doubt, as King Aegon had placed a king's bounty on her head after discovering she'd had a hand in the assassination attempt on his children. But when they saw him nursing the watered-down piss that passed for Fleabottom ale, their eyes lit up, rushing to his side and asking if he was a dragonseed. Aethan was all to happy to share his tale (and his fondest wish that Daemon spend eternity slow-roasting on a spit in the hottest of the Seven Hells), and Lord Baratheon's soldiers practically beamed with delight.

The next thing Aethan knew, he was being whisked off to the Red Keep.

While he waited to meet Lord Borros, he was given a bath, a hot meal, and a fresh set of clothes that were far softer and higher quality than the roughspun rags he always wore. Even a cup of real ale, the first he'd ever had in his life. By the time Borros entered the room to meet with him, Aethan would have happily agreed to anything the Baratheon lord asked of him.

But Borros asked nothing of him. Instead, he offered Aethan more than he ever dared dream.

"I'm not sure when, but soon, Princess Rhaenyra is going to be looking for dragonseeds to claim the wild and unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone," Borros explained. "Potentially six, though I doubt anyone would survive an attempt to claim the Cannibal. But any additional dragons on our enemy's side could be catastrophic for our war efforts."

Leaning forward, Borros added, "So, we need to do what we can to level the playing field. Tell me, boy. If I gave you the chance to claim one of those wild dragons and take revenge on your festering cunt of a father, would you take it?"

He gaped at Borros slack-jawed, his mind unwilling to allow himself to hope.

A dragon? My own dragon? My own dragon AND the chance to pay my father back for the pain he inflicted on my mother and I? To keep him and his hypocritical whore wife from inheriting the Iron Throne and instilling her bastards as heirs?

He would give his life for either prize.

"Yes," he agreed.

They went into logistics from there. Aethan would be smuggled to Driftmark on a small fishing vessel (just small enough to sneak past the Velaryon fleet) to await the pronouncement that they were recruiting. Borros gave him enough money to stay at a reasonably comfortable inn while he waited, and he promised him more if he successfully claimed the dragon.

"There's gonna be some acting involved," Borros warned him. "A few cover stories for you to memorize…"

Nothing that Aethan couldn't handle. Not when the prizes were aplenty.

"Now, pay attention carefully, boy. Because if you do exactly as I say, you may be able to claim the dragon Sheepstealer…"

Aegon

"They'll be fine, Helaena," Aegon promised her sadly as they watched Vhagar grow smaller and smaller as she disappeared from their view. But his assurances did nothing to slow her tears. Nor did they do anything to quell his own anger.

You are one of the few people in this war who is truly innocent, he thought, looking at his queen. At yet it is you who faces the most danger from the Blacks. You and our children. 

Just over a week had passed since Joffrey's death. Days ago, Daeron and Tessarion had flown Maelor to the safety of White Harbor, where he would remain until the war was settled and it was safe for him to return home. He did not go alone; his new hatchling (a periwinkle dragon who Helaena had named Skyracer) had gone with him. The Manderly's promised to allow the hatchling to share Maelor's bed as an extra layer of comfort and protection while their little prince was away from home.

And just now, Aemond had flown Jaehaerys to the safety of Casterly Rock to be looked after by Lady Johanna Lannister. Little Shrykos had flown with them. A long flight for the young dragon, but Aemond assured them she could easily hold on to Vhagar's flank as a passenger whenever she needed to rest her wings. 

"Casterly Rock may be the safest castle in Westeros," Aegon reminded Helaena. "Remember the histories? During the Conquest, Queen Visenya was grateful that the Lannisters went to war with them rather than holing up in their castle, because she believed that Casterly Rock could withstand an assault by their dragons. That was why Queen Rhaena hid there during the reign of Maegor; she believed it was the safest place for her and her children."

Helaena sniffed, but her flow of tears did not slow.

"Casterly Rock is the safest place in the realm for our son, your heir," she agreed, shoulders shaking. "But I want him here. I want all of my babes here, with me. Not scattered across Westeros because we must keep them safe from Rhaenyra!"

She sobbed harder, and Aegon wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around her shoulders to console her, but he forced himself to stop, remembering Aemond's warning.

"She hates to be touched when she's distressed. The touch overwhelms her, and it only distresses her further. The best thing to do is let her talk and comfort her verbally."

And so that was what Aegon would do.

"When this is over," Aegon assured her. "We will throw a grand party to celebrate our children's homecoming. Even Jaehaera. She will marry into House Tyrell, it's true, but she will return here to live with us until she is of age. We will fly together as a family every day, and we will raise Jaehaerys to be a good future King."

But we must make sure he lives to adulthood, he thought grimly.

He was grateful he had at least gotten to fly with Jaehaerys once before they had to send him away. He was still too young and Shrykos too small to fly very far or long, but he and Helaena had taken him on a quick loop around King's Landing, flying on either side of him to make sure he was safe the entire time. After Rook's Rest, Aegon had to accept the very real possibility that he might not survive this war. And if he did meet his death, he wanted to do it with as few regrets as possible.

At least this way, if I should die, Jaehaerys will have one memory of flying with me.

But hopefully, it would not be their only flight together. With the conquest of Rook's Rest, Rhaenyra's chances of winning the war were crumbling beneath her feet. Mercifully, their allies did not fault him for killing Joffrey, even with the taboo of kinslaying. Joffrey had attacked him first, and Aegon had offered him mercy. It was not Aegon's fault he hadn't accepted it.

But whether the rest of the realm understood or not, the Blacks were out for blood.

Aegon's blood boiled when he remembered Rhaenyra's most recent letter:

Bend the knee and beg my forgiveness, and you shall be the only one who pays with his life for your treason. I shall allow all male Greens to abandon their titles, dragons, and wealth, and serve out their days on the Wall as men of the Night's Watch. All female Greens shall be allowed to live out their lives as Silent Sisters in service to the Faith. Refuse, and I will have your heads on spikes. Yours, and your children both.

Negotiations are officially over, Aegon thought as he gave the letter to his maester to copy for the history books. She's no longer interested in the possibility of peace.

"I will make you safe again, Helaena," Aegon promised. "I swear it. You and our children both." Tentatively, he reached over and touched her belly, wondering if perhaps their fourth child was already on her way. "What they tried to do to you, to our babes, will not stand."

Nodding her head sadly, Helaena brought her hand to rest atop Aegon's as it lingered on her belly, gently tracing his fingers wit her own.

"That is one possible outcome," she agreed softly.

One possible outcome?

"But in the meantime, we need to finish shoring up our succession," she said. "It will improve the morale of the Kingdoms if the Crown Prince is betrothed to his future Queen. Not only that, but he will need as many loyal siblings as possible to ensure he never faces a war himself." She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. "Sadly, I am not yet pregnant."

Aegon smiled encouragingly. "We don't know that yet. You haven't bled since our last attempt…" But Helaena shook her head.

"It did not happen this month," she said with certainty. A certainty Aegon was slowly learning to trust. "My blood will be upon me soon. I will carry another child, but not this month. I am not certain when."

Damn. He truly hoped she would be. Not because he was in any rush to stop trying. Quite the opposite. This was the first time he'd enjoyed trying.

He would never admit it, but he was sad because he was excited of the thought of welcoming a new child to the world.

He loved Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor deeply. He'd give his life for any one of them. But all three had been born of duty. What he had shared this month with Helaena and Aemond was far beyond duty. Far beyond pleasure, even. For the first time in his twenty-three years of life, he knew what it felt like to have something pure, and perfect, and absolutely wonderful. Pure happiness and contentment, if only for a few hours at a stretch.

All the sweeter now that Aemond has finally stopped referring to our one-on-one time together as 'lessons'. Those sessions were too intense and rough for Helaena to join, but they were acts of love in their own way as well.

But Aegon was at his happiest when all three of them were together. And he loved the thought of a child being born from that union.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Helaena offered him a tentative smile, speaking in High Valyrian in case they were overheard.

"I will admit…I am pleased…that we get to keep trying," she confessed.

Aegon smiled back, lacing his fingers with hers. "Whether we are 'trying' or not, my Queen, we can be together as often as it pleases you. We are married." Then, lowering his voice, he added, "All three of us. The arrangement with Aemond does not need to end when you become pregnant."

It never needs to end. He only wished he could take Aemond as a second spouse, like the conqueror did before him. But although he was King of the Seven Kingdoms, his power was not without limit. Even their dragons would not shield them from the wrath of the public if he decided to practice polygamy. Marrying a man would unite the entire realm against him.  

So be it, but he is part of our marriage in our hearts if not by law.

Helaena's smile grew, eyes shining with warmth and with love that made Aegon's heart swell.

"The three of us belong together," she agreed, echoing his thoughts. "With a little chuckle, she added, "It would be as though the child has three parents."

Yes…we would all be their parents. Because the union would not have happened without all three of us.

"Perhaps Aemond should be the father of our next child," he said, the words falling from his lips before he could even consider them.

What? What did I just say?

 His eyes widened in shock at his own words. Why? Why would I suggest that? That's a horrible idea. The child would be a bastard. I'd be putting Helaena in a horrible position, asking her to carry a child for another man.

Helaena stared at him wide-eyed, just as shocked as he was. But now that the words were out, he could not take them back.

But most shockingly of all, despite the hundred reasons why it was a horrible idea…he did not want to take them back.

"Aemond will spend his life in the Red Keep, and he can spend every night sharing our bed if he wishes, but he will have no choice but to marry Abby Tully," Aegon continued, the thoughts falling into place as he spoke.

Helaena nodded gravely, not saying a word.

"I don't want him to feel like he's an outsider. The three of us do belong together," he continued. And I could not love him any more deeply if he was my spouse. "If he is the father of one of our children, we solidify the bond between the three of us. Far more powerfully than we would even with wedding vows."  

Helaena was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly again. "No one would ever be able to tell. Aemond has Valyrian features, just like us. And if Aemond fathered our next child," she said, "and that child was a daughter….we would marry her to Jaehaerys."

And our grandchild, the next King after Jaehaerys, would be mine, Helaena's, and Aemond's.

Yes. Yes, that was exactly what Aegon wanted. And suddenly, he was no longer disappointed that he had not gotten Helaena pregnant. Instead, the child would be conceived next month, or perhaps the month after. Still a child born with three parents. Still a child conceived of love. But the child would be Aemond's by blood.

Now all that was left was for Aemond to agree. Their brother was far more invested in the rules than he was. Duty and honor and decency and all that. But he knew that Aemond loved them too. He felt it every time Aemond snuggled in close with them after a round of lovemaking. He deserved to father a future Queen. To have the future of House Targaryen run through him as well, even if it must remain a secret.

"He will spend the night at Casterly Rock, then return to King's Landing on the morrow," Helaena said, stepping forward to kiss Aegon lovingly on the cheek. "And then we shall speak to him."

Jace

"My prince," Maester Gerardys insisted, a bit exasperated. "You must let me treat it. It's becoming infected."

But Jace just swatted his hand away when he reached for him, a decision he immediately regretted when it aggravated the burns on his arm. But though it ached fiercely, he didn't cry out. In fact, he relished the pain. In a way, it took away some of the ache piercing through his heart.

I deserve to suffer.

There was certainly suffering aplenty. Slowly-healing burn wounds covered Jace's arm from shoulder to wrist. Gerardys told him he was lucky. The burns were superficial. They hurt, and they'd leave ugly scars, but they weren't deep enough to cause muscle damage or reduced functionality. Jace allowed Gerardys treat his burns, slathering them heavily with a healing paste, but he would not let the maester touch the cut on his face.

The cut had not come from the Battle of Rook's Rest. It came hours later, when he returned home to Dragonstone covered in burns. When he confessed to his mother what happened.

When she slapped him so hard across the face that her ring sliced open his cheek. His only punishment for getting his little brother killed.

I deserve worse. Far worse, he thought, studying the angry red cut in the mirror. I deserve to have it rot and fester, slices of my face falling away, just like Grandfather's.

But aside from the slap, Jace had been spared his parents' wrath. Daemon saved his rage for the Greens, ranting and raving about everything he was going to do to them once they took King's Landing. All bluster, he hoped. He didn't particularly mind the gruesome torture that Daemon had in mind for the male greens (including castrating Aegon and suffocating him with his own cock), but it turned Jace's stomach when Daemon suggested forcing Helaena and Alicent to be imprisoned in a brothel, 'Until each of them has a bastard son of their very own'.

What sickened him even more was that Rhaenyra hadn't scolded him for the suggestion.

The Greens deserve to die for usurping mother's throne. They deserve to die for Luke, because I will go to my grave believing that Aemond killed him. And in a way, it is their fault Joffrey died as well. If they hadn't usurped Mother's throne, Joffrey never would have been at Rook's Rest…

But it made no difference. No matter what Jace told himself about the Greens, he knew the cold hard truth. Joffrey's blood was on his hands.

I never should have gone. I never should have taken him with me. He was ten years old, what in the Seven Hells was I thinking?

Tears flowed down his cheeks, the saltiness stinging his cut, but the pain was not enough to drown out the sound of Joffrey screaming as he and Tyraxes fell from the sky, plummeting for the earth below.

I killed him! He gripped his hair as he sobbed, screaming like a wounded animal while Gerardys and the servants fled, giving him privacy to cry alone. I killed him. I killed him. I killed my baby brother.

Aegon was willing to let him live…Daemon was on his way back to Dragonstone and would have gone to Rook's Rest himself…I should have obeyed mother… A thousand possible ways Joffrey's life could have been spared. All for nothing now.

He didn't know how long he stayed curled up in his bed, sobbing, but he was interrupted by firm knock on the door.

Daemon let himself in without being invited, closing the door behind him and carefully listening for any potential spies before striding over to Jace and looking at his tear-streaked face in disgust.

"Sobbing about it won't bring him back to life," Daemon said coldly.

"Fuck off," Jace grunted, though it lacked any vigor.

"Nothing will bring him back to life," Daemon amended. "Because Aegon killed him. Just like the Greens killed Luke, either directly or indirectly. Nothing you do will ever bring them back, and crying about it serves no purpose. The only way to make this right is through avenging them."

Jace nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes and forcing down gulps of air. "The Greens need to die…"

"Oh no, they don't get a nice quick death," Daemon said, fire blazing in his eyes like an angry dragon. "They deserve to suffer, as we've suffered. Then they deserve to die."

Jace hesitated. The right people deserve to suffer, he silently amended. Having Aegon, Aemond, Otto, and many of the others tortured before death was fair, after all the harm they'd caused. But Jace didn't want Helaena to suffer. And he prayed his mother would not follow through on her threat to behead their children.

Daemon clapped Jace twice on the uninjured shoulder. "The dragonseeds have assembled," he said. "I want you to escort them to the Dragonmount while they make their attempts to claim them. You can oversee the whole thing, and you can start teaching them how to fly afterwards. Rhaenys will assist you."

Me? Jace blinked at him, but Daemon only rolled his eyes.

"You want a chance to redeem yourself, yes?" he asked. "Actually help us win this fucking war?"

"Of course I do, but…"

"Then do as I said," Daemon turned from him, walking slowly towards the door. "I need to get back to Harrenhal. Even flying back and forth every other day is too much. The Tully army is getting closer and closer, we have to find an alternate way to ferry in Lady Jeyne's support from the Vale, and I have…other matters to attend to," he finished sinisterly.

Jace could not help but shiver at his tone. "You're…" He swallowed. "You've…you've found a way to get to their children?"

Mother ordered one of them be killed immediately as payment for Joffrey. Even before she beheads all the rest of them after the war is won.

"Sadly, no," he said disappointedly. "I have few spies left in King's Landing, but word on the rumor mill is that all three of Aegon's children have been evacuated from the city. We have no idea where they might be. We'll get to them eventually, but it won't be before your mother's deadline of a fortnight. So I had to come up with a substitute revenge. Not as painful as losing one of the little ones, but…" He smirked dangerously. "It'll hurt."

Jace didn't dare ask for clarification.

"Dragonseeds. Now," Daemon repeated as he left, closing the door behind him.

Gwayne

The city looks good in Green, Gwayne thought as his gaze swept across the street.

Much of the Hightower army was set up in camps just outside the city gates (well fed and comfortable), but the higher-ranking soldiers were given lodgings in the castle, and many of the soldiers liked to peruse the streets, partaking in the pubs and the brothels when it wasn't their turn on watch. Green banners hung from hundreds of windows as the city welcomed them with open arms, especially the local business owners, whose pockets were growing fat with the extra silver.

Of course, the city was not as well-supplied as Gwayne would like it to be. The Reach, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands were united in favor of Aegon, so it was easy to get shipments of basic essentials by land, but because of the Velaryon blockade, they could not get imports or luxury items from sea travel. The pubs no longer served wine. The Arbor could still send it to Oldtown, and then have it brought to King's Landing by wagon, but transporting wine barrels that way was cumbersome. What little the city managed to get was routed directly to the castle.

Nonetheless, the city did not lack for alcohol. Without easily accessible wine, ale dominated the pubs, flowing freely into horns and tankards.

We'll have our wine and luxury items back soon, Gwayne thought with a smile. Father confirmed that the Triarchy has set sail for the Gullet. Without a dragon to protect them, the Velaryon fleet will be splintered under the combined weight of the Triarchy, the Manderlys, the Sistermen, and the Arbor. And whatever dragon Father sends to join the fray, of course.

But in the meantime, Gwayne and his City Watch would ensure that the soldiers and the King's Landing residents were getting along harmoniously. An easy task, and he knew his men were relishing the lingering days of peace. Any day now, King's Landing might be attacked, and the City Watch would need to aid the Hightower army in defending it.

Gwayne's patrol carried on into the night, checking in with his men as they kept the peace. A slow night. Everyone seemed to be carousing and having fun. Aside from a single pickpocket they'd apprehended, there was no crime for the City Watch to stop.

I almost wish there was, Gwayne thought as he yawned, turning his back so his men wouldn't see. Our country is at war. I want to do something to contribute.

Little did Gwayne know, his wish was about to be granted. Had he known, he never would have made it.

The next street on his patrol was a quiet one. A residential neighborhood with no merchant shops or stalls. The late hour left the street barren, all citizens either tucked away in bed or out on a busier street carousing. Almost not worth patrolling at all, and as Lord Commander of the Watch, he very nearly made the decision to skip it altogether, but it wasn't as though his attentions were needed elsewhere. So with a sigh, he continued, his gaze sweeping the street for any sign of wrongdoing as he headed for the next corner.

A next corner he would never reach. Before he was halfway down the road, the thunder of running footsteps would sound behind him. And seconds later, the cobbled street below his boots would be stained a vivid crimson…

Robert

"My network has managed to find a few more of the White Worm's people," Larys said as he, Robert, and Otto sat in Otto's office in the Tower of the Hand. Larys was Aegon's Master of Whisperers, but he preferred not to reveal the secrets he uncovered during Small Council meetings. Perhaps a power move, perhaps keeping sensitive information need-to-know because he wasn't certain who he could trust.

Either way, Robert was wary of him, taking every nugget of information with a grain of salt. History books knew little of Larys Strong. There had been rumors that he was a spy, and even a few rumors that he'd been the one to poison Aegon in the original timeline.

In fairness, by the end of the original Dance, Aegon had lost two sons, two brothers, his wife, his grandfather, his dragon, a host of other relatives, and he was badly crippled and in horrible pain. Giving in to his despair, he'd become bloodthirsty, unwilling to surrender even after it was painfully obvious that the Greens no longer had the means to fight off the advancing Stark army. Poisoning him at that point was an act of kindness.

But that's not going to happen now, Robert vowed. Not while I'm here. Not while I can change it.  

So while Robert was wary, he had not yet dismissed Larys as a potential source of valuable information.

"Have we gotten anything useful from them?" Robert asked, but Larys shook his head.

"The White Worm is a crafty one, my Lord," Larys said with a sigh, a glint of aggravation in his eye. Frustration that he had not yet managed to outwit her. "I'm dismantling her web strand by strand, and she has far less power and influence in King's Landing than she once did, but it will take time before she is no longer a threat."

Otto's lip curled. "This White Worm is the reason my daughter, granddaughter, and great-grandchildren were attacked and nearly killed," he snarled. "Daemon's minion."

"And catching her is my top priority, my Lord Hand," Larys assured him, nodding politely at Robert. "Made simpler, by the fact that Lord Borros has loaned me men from his personal guard."

Whatever it takes to rid King's Landing of that disease, Robert thought grimly, gritting his teeth as he remembered all the harm Mysaria caused in the original timeline. If the rumor mill from back then is to be believed, she is also responsible for the Brothel Queens.

Robert prayed the rumor was false, even though now he was changing the course of history. The thought of sweet, gentle Helaena being imprisoned in a brothel…

That will not happen. He ground his teeth so hard they ached. I will die before I allow that to happen.

Mysaria had to die. There was no way around it.

"There's another lead I plan on pursuing, and…"

They were interrupted by a thundering knock, and before Otto could give permission, the door flew open and a guard walked in, his eyes so wide with horror that Robert grabbed for the dagger on his hip.

"What in the Seven Hells…"

"My Lord Hand," the guard said, his face white as he spoke to Otto. "There's been an attack…"

Five Minutes Later

Seven Fucking Hells…

The sheet covering Gwayne Hightower's body was stained with blood, but it blocked the worst of the carnage. It didn't matter; Robert could smell it. He knew the scent of death very well: the stink of shit, blood, and the barest onset of decay. He'd smelled it more times than he could remember during the Rebellion. Smelled it on himself after he was attacked by the boar. And now the stench saturated the chamber where Gwayne Hightower's body rested on a table, awaiting the Silent Sisters.

Otto took one look at the covered corpse, and his knees buckled, letting out a strangled cry that he swallowed. Gripping Robert's sleeve for support, Otto's body swayed, and he swallowed another scream, releasing nothing more than a soft squeak.

That's your son on the table, Robert thought, cringing as he grabbed Otto's elbow to offer him more support. You don't have to hold it in. You don't have to look composed. Not a single fucking soul would judge you for falling apart.

On shaky legs, Otto tried to walk towards the table, hand extended as though he meant to pull the sheet from Gwayne's face, but Robert stopped him, gripping his arm and tugging him backwards.

"Otto…"

"That's my son," Otto said softly, trying weakly to pull his arm out of Robert's grip.

"I know, Otto," he said sympathetically, gripping him harder to pull him back. "But…"

"That's my son, Borros," Otto said again, just as soft, trying to rip his arm away. "Let me go."

"Otto, you don't…"

"THAT'S MY SON!" Otto bellowed, making Robert jump as he flailed. "THAT'S MY SON! LET ME FUCKING GO! I NEED TO SEE HIM!"

"OTTO!" Robert screamed back, grabbing Otto by the shoulders and shaking him. "You WILL see him, but not yet. Let the Silent Sisters…"

"FUCK THE SILENT SISTERS!" Otto screamed, fighting harder, but he was no match for the far-stronger Baratheon lord. "I NEED TO SEE HIM! I NEED TO SEE MY SON!"

"No, you don't!" Robert shook him harder. "Otto, if you see him now, you'll never get that image out of your head! That's not the way you should remember him!"

No father should ever see his son sliced open, covered in gaping wounds and his own shit.

Otto let out a wordless cry, continuing to fight but more feebly.

"Otto, listen to me," Robert said. "I swear to you, I'll make sure the Silent Sisters let you see him before they wrap him, but you have to let them do their work first. You have to let them make him decent and presentable. Not only for the sake of his dignity, but for the sake of your memories. If you see him now, that memory will haunt you every time you remember him."

The dam burst, and tears streamed down Otto's face, dignity long forgotten as he burst into sobs, gripping Robert like a drowning man to a life rope. His knees gave out completely, leaving Robert to half-hold him so he would not collapse to the chamber floor.

"That's my son…" he said weakly between sobs.

"I know, Otto," Robert said. "And I'm so fucking sorry…"

He was never any good with comforting men through their pain. Even during the Rebellion, Ned or Jon Arryn were always the ones who truly comforted their soldiers through their losses. They always seemed to know exactly what to say. All Robert could do was support Otto physically, anchoring him while he cried and keeping him from falling to the floor in grief. But fortunately, he was not alone in comforting Otto for long. Within minutes, the rest of the Greens arrived at the chamber except Aemond, who had not yet returned from Casterly Rock.

With his loved ones there to share his grief, Otto released Robert and reached for Alicent instead, pulling her in close as he let his tears mingle with her own. But he seemed to trust Robert's word that they should not look at the body. He did not try to get close to Gwayne again, nor did he let his daughter. Daeron and Ormund reached them quickly, rubbing Otto's back while consoling Alicent. The young prince had tears in his eyes as well, undoubtedly closer with Gwayne then the rest of his siblings, having grown up in Oldtown.

Aegon's eyes, however, were dry as he gazed across the room at his uncle's covered body. Dry…and blazing with undisguised rage.

"The Silent Sisters are on their way, Your Grace," Robert said to Aegon, though he wasn't certain the King heard him or even cared. His face grew red, teeth bared, the dragon inside of him ready to breathe fire.

"How did this happen?" he said. Wheeling on his guards, he repeated, screaming, "HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN IN MY CITY? With the entire Hightower Army outside of our fucking gates!"

"The White Worm, Your Grace," Robert explained through gritted teeth. "She still had a few assassins in her employ. The men of the City Watch caught them, and they're being interrogated as we speak. Apparently, they were watching your uncle for several days to learn his patrol patterns, striking when they knew he'd be alone." Swallowing, he added, "We're hoping they have enough information that we can use to finally find her."

His explanation did nothing to quell Aegon's anger, and he turned from Robert, pacing the room and snarling like an angry beast. It was only when Helaena reached his side, stroking his arm while tears streamed down her pretty face, that he cooled. But even then, only by a few degrees.

"No more," Aegon said, hands shaking as he balled into fists. "First they try to kill my wife, my children, and my mother. Now they succeed in killing my uncle! They are not trying to win a succession war; there was no POINT to this! Killing Gwayne gives them no militant advantage. They are trying to inflict as much pain as they possibly can!"

Robert didn't answer, lowering his head respectfully. Killing the Lord Commander of the City Watch was not the same type of senseless violence as Blood and Cheese; Gwayne would have been a combatant if it came to fighting. But Robert agreed that it was unnecessary. Killing him now, when King's Landing was not actively under attack, wouldn't hurt the Greens militarily. They could easily replace him with another Lord Commander. The Blacks had done it to hurt them emotionally.

And they succeeded, Robert thought as he watched them cry. Otto has lost a son, Alicent a brother, the children an uncle, and Ormund a cousin.

"I will hurt Daemon for this," Aegon seethed. "I will hurt them all for this. I want them alive, so I may take justice myself."

"And you will have it, Your Grace," Robert promised him. "When you win the war. But you mustn't do anything rash."

Aegon's eyes pierced him. "I mustn't do anything rash?" he repeated incredulously.

Robert nodded. "With the way things are going now, you are going to win this war, Your Grace. And if you hold the course, you will have your justice and your victory. But if you lash out in anger, you risk making a costly mistake."

Aegon started to shake his head, but Robert stepped forward as close as the Kingsguard would allow.

"You are the blood of the dragon, Your Grace," Robert said. "And I know your fires are burning hot. But vengeance is a dish best served cold. When you can maximize their pain whilst minimizing the risk to yourself and those you love."

"Aegon," Helaena urged, gripping his sleeve and tugging on it until he looked at her. "Brother. Husband. Please. You must listen to Lord Borros. He's right." She sniffed. "I can't bear to lose anyone else. Please…" 

Aegon hesitated, her tears dousing some of the flames burning in his eyes. Then, his gaze flickered to where the rest of his family was still crying, lost in their grief, and he knew Helaena's words were echoing in the young King's ears.

"My grandfather needs time to mourn his son, so he is relieved of his duties until he feels he is ready to resume them," Aegon finally said regally, a King once again. "In the interim, Lord Borros, you are acting Hand of the King."

Robert nodded grimly, though internally he cursed. I pray Otto will not see this as a slight. I need him to trust me. I'll just have to make it crystal clear that I have no intention of stealing the position permanently.

"I am honored that I can help your family through this difficult time, Your Grace. I will gladly serve until your grandfather is ready to resume. There is no better Hand in the Seven Kingdoms than Otto Hightower," Robert said.

Aegon folded his arms. "I will follow your advice to think strategically, Lord Borros, but we need to increase our efforts. We have the advantage, so let us press it to win the war once and for all. I want the Blacks dead before they can spill another drop of our blood."

Robert nodded, then accepted the King's dismissal so he could spend time with his family.

Fortunately, I should be able to follow that order rather easily, Robert thought. After all, the Triarchy will be in position soon...