"Someone has to leave first.
This is a very old story.
There is no other version of this story."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Rhaenyra Targaryen stood at the port of Dragonstone, the sea breeze ruffling her silver-gold hair and her heart heavy with the burden of the moment. The Pentoshi ship, its sails billowing, waited patiently in the calm waters, ready to ferry her young sons to safety. Her boys clung to her, their small hands gripping her gown with desperation, making it all the more difficult. 

"Mother, please, we don't want to go," Aegon pleaded, his eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.

"Yes, Mother, please," echoed Viserys, his voice trembling with fear. "Don't send us away."

They were young, their childish tongues not accustomed to her royal title, and thus they were the only ones who called her Mother with such ardour. The rest of her children no longer seemed comfortable, and to them, she was the queen first, their mother second, a fact that made her heart ache as they hastily corrected themselves every time their tongue slipped. 

She sighed deeply, a sound laden with sorrow and resignation, kneeling to their level and cupping their faces gently. 

"My sweet boys," she began, her voice tender yet firm, "your brother has decided that you should be fostered by the Prince of Pentos for your own safety. Until I secure the Iron Throne, it is the only way to keep you safe."

Viserys's lower lip quivered, "But I'm scared, Mother."

Rhaenyra kissed each of their palms, and immediately they pressed them to their foreheads, a long-standing tradition of theirs. The kissing hand. She sealed all her affection and strength into their hands, and they would hold on to it when they felt like they needed it, particularly when they were away from her. 

"You do not have to be, Viserys. The Prince of Pentos is a friend of your father's. And you will have Aegon with you the whole time. You will never be alone."

Nearby, Jacaerys Velaryon stood stiffly, his guilt palpable. His eyes flicked between his mother and his brothers, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't shake off Luke's memory, of how he had failed to protect him. The thought of losing Aegon and Viserys too was unbearable. He knew he had to send them away, far from the fighting, where they could not be hurt, where he could not fail them. The events of the past few moons had only solidified his decision; with Ser Arryk's infiltration as well as the Battle of Rook's Rest, it was best that their innocence was not further tainted by bloodshed and violence. 

Next to him, Daenys knelt to pick up Viserys, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and when she moved to set him down again, he shook his head vehemently, clinging to her with all his might. He had his arms wrapped around her neck, while Aegon bid tearful goodbyes to Baela and Rhaena, clinging to them in the same way. 

"Please, Daenys, come with us. You can come halfway at least," Viserys mumbled into her hair. 

Daenys's heart ached at his plea, and briefly, she wondered if perhaps she should escort them after all. She knelt, setting him gently on the ground and smoothing back his hair. 

"I can't, Vis," she said softly. "Mother needs me here, but I promise, when the war is over, I will personally come to get you. And I will let you ride Silverwing."

Viserys sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Do you promise?" he asked, his voice small and hopeful.

She nodded, her single eye glistening. "Of course, I promise." She leaned in, kissing his forehead. "Now, be brave for me, and for Aegon."

"I am braver than Aegon."

"You are not! I am braver!"

Rhaenyra smiled and patted Aegon's head, looking at both boys with fierce protectiveness, "You are both my brave boys. Look after each other and be good. Remember, you are Targaryens."

As the final preparations were made, the family stood together, watching as Aegon and Viserys were led aboard the ship that would take them away, escorted by seven of the Sea Snake's warships.

Jace watched the ship with a heavy heart, his mind filled with doubts. He turned to Baela, his voice a whisper filled with uncertainty. 

"Am I doing the right thing?"

His betrothed squeezed his hand reassuringly, her grip strong and steady, "You are doing your best, Jace. The boys will be fine. They are safer away from here."

The prince of Dragonstone looked at his siblings, at his mother, and back to the ship now beginning to move away from the dock. His heart ached, but he knew he had made the only choice he could, and he felt a little better when his mother took his hand. 

"You have done well, my son. We will be together again soon," Rhaenyra's eyes never left the horizon, her heart torn between her duty as a queen and her love as a mother. "We must be strong. For them, and for ourselves."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

It was barely half a day before they heard the news, late in the evening while Daenys and Jace were sparring in the courtyard, their training overseen by Baela. Daenys, though grateful that it had been her left arm that had borne the brunt of Vhagar's flames at Rook's Rest and not her sword hand, still found the adjustment a constant struggle.

As they sparred, the rhythmic clash of steel filling the air, she paused momentarily to wipe the sweat from under her eyepatch. The chafing was getting better now that she had stopped peeling back the skin and picking at the wound, but it still itched. She turned her gaze skyward, enjoying the brief reprieve from the combat, and it was then that she noticed an object hurtling towards them at breakneck speed.

At first, it was too small to make out, but as it drew nearer, her breath caught in her throat, recognizing the head of pale hair and the small figure clinging to the equally small dragon, arms wrapped precariously around the beast's neck. 

Within moments, the dragon crashed into the ground with a terrible squeal, the impact sending a cloud of dust through the air. Daenys wasn't sure if it was the boy or the dragon that emitted the sound, but both were clearly in agony. The young creature was studded with arrows and bore a scorpion bolt through its neck. It made her stomach churn, wondering how it managed to fly at all. This would have been its very first flight with a rider, and Aegon had never been taught to ride or land properly.

Baela reached them first, dropping her practice sword and scrambling to his side, her siblings close behind. The dragon twitched violently on the ground, making a keening sound that echoed the distress of its rider, while Aegon was wailing, great sobs bursting from his chest. He was covered in bruises, cuts, and blood—so much blood, cradling his wrist in a way that made it apparent it was broken.

"Aegon!" Baela's voice was frantic as she knelt beside him. "Aegon, what happened?"

But the boy couldn't form coherent words. He kept blubbering, sobs wracking his small frame as he howled Viserys's name over and over, tears rolling down his cherub cheeks. His dark mauve eyes were wide with terror and pain, darting between his dying dragon and his concerned siblings, unable to convey the extent of his distress and guilt. 

"Aegon, where is Viserys? Why have you come back like this?" Jace demanded, his voice tight with fear and urgency.

When they received no response, Baela scooped him up in her arms, "We need to get him to Mother and the maesters. Maybe they'll be able to get more out of him."

Jace nodded, and along with Daenys, they watched her carry their broken brother back inside, their gaze then turning toward the pitiful creature at their feet. The dragon's eyes had glazed over and it had finally stopped twitching, hot blood still gushing black and smoking from his wounds. That was what finally jolted her into motion, and without a word, Daenys turned and began to walk away, her steps quick and determined. Jace's eyes widened in alarm, and he called after her.

"Daenys! Where are you going?"

"To find Viserys," she snapped, not slowing her pace.

Jace's impatience flared, and he reached out, grabbing her burned arm. She hissed in pain, pulling away from him.

"You don't even know where he is. You cannot act impulsively."

"I will not lose him, Jace! I will not sit around and wait for Aegon to make sense of his words or for Mother to decide what is to be done. I will find him."

"How?" her brother demanded. "How do you plan to find him?"

"I know where they were headed. I know where to look. It's a start."

"It could be a trap. An ambush like Rook's Rest was. They could be waiting for you."

"I don't care," Daenys retorted, her eyes blazing with determination. "They could have an entire army and it would not stop me."

"You could die!" Jace's voice rose in desperation."

"So be it. But I will not abandon my brother again. I will not lose another brother. I will not."

"I will go with you!"

Daenys turned toward the source of their interruption and scowled at the sight of Joffrey, his face pale but determined. He did not meet her gaze, and his animosity toward her was palpable, but he did not falter, having watched Baela bring Aegon inside and heard their entire conversation. 

"Absolutely not."

"I will go with you."

"Joffrey, you can't." 

"I have to. I can't sit this one out, please."

Sighing, Daenys pinched the bridge of her nose. She was frustrated, running out of time, and currently going through withdrawal as Maester Gerardys was still adjusting her medication doses. All of it combined, made her terribly ill-tempered, and she was desperate to escape before she said something hurtful. When she began to walk away again, Joffrey grabbed her hand, almost pleading in his attempt to follow her, and it broke her heart when she roughly shook him off.

"Daenys, please—"

"I don't have time for you right now, Jof. You'd only get in the way."

Joffrey's face reddened with anger and hurt. "And how useful are you going to be?" he shot back, his voice shaking. "You couldn't even save Luke. How are you going to save Viserys?"

Jace inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. "Joffrey, that's enough!" he said sternly, trying to mediate.

The younger boy ignored him, continuing his barrage, now that he had begun, "At least I do not hold love for the enemy, at least my husband is not the Kinslayer. I will not let Viserys die like you let Luke die!"

Daenys flinched, her nails digging bloody crescents into her palms. She wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled, she wanted to scream at him, to plead with him, to tell him that none of it was by choice. In the end, with nothing else to do with her hands, she allowed the seething torrent of venom that was brewing in her chest to spill past her lips. 

"You are just a fucking child playing at war with no idea of the costs associated with it," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "Go play with your toys or something, but do not try me again, or so help me god—"

"Enough!" Jace thundered, his voice ringing with authority. "This is not helping. Both of you!"

"I'm going, Jace. Take him back to Mother and make sure he doesn't go where he's not supposed to."

Joffrey, his face streaked with tears of anger and hurt, watched her leave, his hands clenched into fists. "She thinks she knows everything," he muttered bitterly.

Jace turned to him, his expression softening. "Joffrey, she's just scared. We all are."

"She doesn't want my help. She called me a child, and she swore at me."

The prince of Dragonstone looked at his brother sympathetically. If he was being entirely honest, he was expecting this. Their sister had a fiery temper, but he had not seen a shred of it in the past few moons, despite everything that had happened. Almost every day he waited with bated breath for her to explode, for her to unleash the storm he could so clearly see brewing inside of her, but it was a pity that Joffrey had become the unwitting target of her anguish. 

He placed a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, "It's not that. She's trying to protect you...and what you said, that wasn't kind either."

"I just want to help."

"I know. But it was cruel of you."

"I didn't—I didn't mean it...at least not all of it," his voice grew small with regret.

"You're going to apologize to her when she gets back."

It wasn't a request from a brother; it was a command from the heir to the Iron Throne, and Joffrey nodded obediently. 

"I will, Jace."

"Good. Now, we need to think. We need a strategy. Running off without knowing what we're facing won't help Viserys. It will only get more of us killed."

"Is Daenys going to die?"

Jace gave him his most nonchalant grin, "Our sister has a penchant for surviving the strangest of circumstances. She will survive this too."

"And what about us?"

"We will survive it too. We will prepare, and gather our strength and our allies. We will find out where Viserys is, and then we will strike. But we will do it smartly, not recklessly."

Joffrey wiped his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Okay," he said, his voice steadier. "I'll help however I can."

"Good. Now, let's find Mother and the Sea Snake."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Inside, the family huddled around their youngest as Maester Gerardys set his wrist in a sling, waiting for him to speak. When the maester was done, the queen immediately took her son into her arms, cradling him close to her chest. 

"You're safe now, my sweet boy. You're safe."

Aegon clung to her, his sobs subsiding into hiccupping breaths. "Viserys..." he whispered, his voice breaking.

Rhaenyra turned to Baela, "What has made him like this? Why does he not say anything?"

"I don't know, Your Grace," Baela whispered. "He keeps calling for Viserys, but he won't say anything else."

Turning back to her son, the queen smoothed his hair away from his bloody forehead, wiping it carefully with her own sleeve. 

"Where is Viserys, sweetling? You have to tell me so we can find him. What happened to him?"

Aegon shook his head, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks as he wailed, "I'm sorry!"

"You have nothing to apologize for. It is not your fault, but please, you need to tell me."

"I don't know... they took him..."

"Who took him?" Rhaenyra pressed again, her voice urgent.

"I'm sorry. I left him," the young prince shuddered before burying his face in his mother's chest as he babbled incoherently. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You told us to stay together and I left him behind. I swear I wanted to bring him but Stormcloud was too small and he was too scared to get on. I'm sorry, Mother!"

"We must go find him," Jace interrupted, looking to Lord Corlys—now the Queen's Hand—for support. "We must find him before it's too late."

"Do you know where he is?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"No, but I am sure his ship will not be difficult to find, and besides, Daenys has already set out."

The queen turned her gaze to the ceiling, muttering in frustration, "That stupid, stupid girl, impulsive to a fault."

"We will bring him back, Your Grace, I swear it." 

Jace bowed before rushing off to gather the dragon seeds, a plan already forming in his head. Baela was close behind, while Rhaena remained behind, suddenly feeling irrevocably unproductive. She had no dragon, and no way of aiding her siblings in their quest, so all she could do was watch and hope for their safety, a task that felt wholly repetitive and utterly futile. Thus had been her position for most of the war, her siblings rushing about the kingdom heroically, gathering allies or fighting battles while she remained sheltered in the safety of Dragonstone. 

When Joffrey stepped forward to follow after his older brother, Rhaena grabbed his arm, pulling him in the direction of his chambers. Despite his fervent protests, she held on tight. She could not have saved Luke, and she could not go looking for Viserys, but she'd keep Joffrey safe. She'd ensure that he did not throw himself into danger haphazardly; it was the least she could do, but if she couldn't protect anyone else, she'd protect him. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The ships were not difficult to find, even for someone half-blind like Daenys. The familiar sails of the Velaryon fleet blockading the Gullet, the narrow stretch of water between Dragonstone and Driftmark, stood out against the horizon. Daenys could also make out the Lysene galleys, their sleek forms cutting through the water as they engaged in battle with the Velaryon ships. Her heart sank at the sight.

So the Greens had successfully used Daemon and the Sea Snake's enmity with the Triarchy to recruit them to their side. The Lysene ships seemed to overpower the Velaryon fleet, ramming and sinking some and swarming aboard others with ropes and grapnels, the sight filling her with despair. The sea was a chaos of clashing steel, splintering wood, and the screams of men.

To Daenys's greatest disappointment, the Pentoshi cog aboard which her brothers had set sail was nowhere to be found. She swept down upon the enemy galleys as close as she could get, scanning the decks for any sign of Viserys. The sailors below, alerted to her presence, began to shout and point. 

A rain of spears and arrows rose up to meet her, the projectiles slicing through the air with deadly precision, and Silverwing swerved to miss them, many glancing off her thick hide while she outmaneuvered the rest. Daenys imagined that the sailors of the Triarchy had faced dragons before whilst warring against her stepfather and father in the Stepstones, and they had learned how to fight dragonfire.

Her irritation and rage grew with every passing moment, setting the nearest ships that dared to fire at her ablaze, their decks erupting in flames and smoke. Men screamed as they leaped into the water, their bodies charred and broken. Despite the destruction, only her fear of accidentally burning the ship her brother might be hidden on prevented her from unleashing all her fury.

As she circled back, her eyes scanned the chaotic battle below. She knew she was vastly outnumbered. There were far too many ships and only one of her. Still, if she were to go down searching for her brother, it would be a life well spent.

Then, a shout rang out, piercing through the chaos of battle. Daenys turned her gaze back to see more winged shapes coming around the Dragonmont, heading toward her. Relief and concern mingled within her, because her brother was here, and he had brought reinforcements, but if he was here, that meant he was in danger. 

Vermax, Sheepstealer, Seasmoke, and Vermithor descended upon the enemy fleet with terrifying grace, their shadows casting long, ominous shapes over the water, and the men of the Triarchy felt their courage desert them. The line of warships shattered as one galley after another turned away in a desperate attempt to flee. The dragons fell like thunderbolts, spitting balls of fire—blue and orange, red and gold—each brighter than the next. Ship after ship burst asunder or was consumed by flames. Screaming men leapt into the sea, their bodies shrouded in fire. Tall columns of black smoke rose from the water, marking the destruction left in the wake of the dragons.

Daenys's heart surged with hope as the tide of battle turned in their favour. The sight of the enemy fleet breaking filled her with a fierce determination and she renewed her search for Viserys. They might survive this, they might even win, but then, the unthinkable happened.

A sailor in the crow's nest of a Myrish galley cast a grapnel as Vermax swooped through the fleet. One of its prongs found purchase between two scales, driven deep by the dragon's own considerable speed. The sailor had coiled his end of the chain about the mast, and the weight of the ship and the power of Vermax's wings tore a long, jagged gash in the creature's belly. His shriek of rage echoed through the clangour of battle, his flight jerking to a violent end.  Vermax went down smoking and screaming, clawing at the water, struggling to rise, only to crash headlong into a burning galley. Wood splintered, the mast came tumbling down, and the dragon, thrashing, became entangled in the rigging. When the ship heeled over and sank, Vermax sank with it.

Daenys heard herself screaming her brother's name, her voice raw with terror. She watched in helplessness as Jace leapt free from his saddle, clinging to a piece of smoking wreckage for a few heartbeats while crossbowmen on the nearest Myrish ship began firing quarrels at him. She seemed to be outside of her body, a spectator to the unfolding horror, unable to move. She was too far away, and he had already been hit twice, the ichor of his noble blood streaming into the vast sea, draining him of his life force.

But that did not stop her. She urged Silverwing into a steep dive, the wind whipping her hair back, tears streaming down her face. She leaned so far out of her saddle that she might have fallen straight out, reaching desperately for her brother. If she managed to catch him, she'd save him, and if she didn't, the sea would swallow them both. There was no other path forward.

Silverwing's claws dipped below the waves, her wings skimming the surface of the water, creating a spray that glistened in the sunlight. When Daenys's hand finally grasped Jace's tunic, she dragged him onto her dragon with a strength she did not know she possessed. 

The Prince of Dragonstone was limp and ashen, his face pale and eyes half-closed. Blood seeped from his wounds, staining his clothes as well as hers, and her dragon's silver scales. The battle continued to rage below, but Daenys's focus was solely on him. She could feel his shallow breaths, the rise and fall of his chest growing weaker as she pressed a hand to his wounds, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"You are not going to die. I swear to the gods, Jace, don't you dare fucking die."

Her vision blurred with fury and desperation. She could not feel the arrows that found purchase in her back or the one that pierced through her burned shoulder, searing her flesh. The pain was nothing compared to the cold dread that gripped her heart. Only when a scorpion bolt found its way into Silverwing's tail, was she jolted out of her panic by her dragon's shrill screech of pain. On instinct, she let loose a burst of cobalt flames, engulfing the ships beneath her in a blaze of dragonfire.

"Please, please, please. Please, stay alive. You're the prince. You're mother's heir. You have to be king, you have to marry Baela, you have a whole life to live...please."

The other dragons had taken care of most of the enemy fleet, and the battle was dwindling, but Daenys was torn between continuing her search for Viserys and taking Jace back to Dragonstone. The decision came in a heartbeat: she had to save the brother who was already with her, even if it meant leaving the other behind. She would never forgive herself for abandoning Viserys, not knowing where he was or what had become of him, but Jace needed her now.

Silverwing's flight home was unsteady due to the injury in her tail, and when they landed at Dragonstone, it was more of a crash than a descent. Despite her own wounds, which were now making themselves known with every throbbing movement, Daenys dragged her brother through the gates of Dragonstone. 

"Maesters! Mother! Help!" she screamed, her throat bloody and agonizing. "Somebody please!"

Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled, almost collapsing under Jace's weight, but she held fast, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other holding his limp form against her wounded shoulder. Everything hurt, but nothing more so than the feeling of his skin losing its warmth and the horrifying stillness of his chest. 

The queen and the others found her immediately, their faces aghast at the horrific sight, and Maester Gerardys was immediately summoned. The Prince of Dragonstone was taken to his chambers, but when they approached Daenys, she drew her sword, snarling at anyone who dared come near. 

"No one touches me until my brother is fixed. You will not waste a single moment on me that could go to him!"

The maesters and servants hesitated, exchanging anxious glances. "Princess, you are gravely injured. You need care," one of them implored.

"You will not touch me! Save him first. Save my brother...please."

Reluctantly, they focused their efforts on the prince and Daenys followed them to his chambers, her steps faltering as blood seeped from her wounds. She slumped against the wall outside the door, unable to watch as they worked, cutting his tunic away and pulling the arrows from his broken bleeding body. He did not scream or cry, and at times it felt as though they were handling a corpse, preparing him for his funeral. Everyone of importance had gathered there it seemed, waiting with bated breath to watch the young boy be resuscitated because without him their position would become precarious.

Outside, Daenys sank to her knees, unable to keep herself upright. There was a sharp sting in her stomach, almost making her double over, and when she pressed her hand to the lesion, her hand came away wet with blood. A bitter laugh burst out of her, a hollow sound that echoed in the corridor. She couldn't tell if the blood was hers or Jace's, but one thing was for sure. If he died, she didn't think she'd survive. The guilt of losing Viserys and Jace together, of all her efforts being utterly futile would kill her. If her wounds didn't finish the task, the noose she'd string around her own pathetic neck would. 

The servants and knights that occasionally passed by on the way to check on the prince offered to assist her, but she snarled at them like a wounded beast, a deranged look in her eyes that said she'd give them injuries to match if they so much as touched her. She would not let them waste a single moment, a single precious resource on her until they had dragged her brother from the unrelenting grasp of the Stranger. He was the heir to the throne, the Prince of Dragonstone, their strategist and leader. He was invaluable, irreplaceable even, and she was just another soldier ready to bleed for him. There would be plenty more of her, but people like him were rare and treasured. He was everybody's most beloved and had to be saved first. 

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she waited outside his door, each moment an eternity. Her breaths grew shallow, and darkness crept at the edges of her vision. The pain was becoming unbearable, but she refused to succumb to it. She heard snatches of conversation from the other side of the wall, Maester Gerardys's anxious whispers, her mother's quiet sobs, and Lord Corlys's muttered curses when he was told of the decimation of his warships and the worsening of Princess Rhaenys's condition. Today was a day of tragedy in Dragonstone, and it seemed as though everyone was dying, in one way or another. 

It was Ser Atticus who found Daenys, the one person she could not scare away by the trembling shake of her sword or the menacing threats she spewed at him. He approached her slowly, as one did a cornered animal, hands outstretched and placating. His face was lined with exhaustion and concern, particularly when he caught sight of the discarded ends of the arrows she had snapped from herself during her wait. Thankfully, she had not dragged them from her flesh, or she would have already bled to death. 

"Princess," her sworn shield said softly, "you have done all you can."

"My brother—"

"Your brother has lost much blood, and his wounds are severe. The maesters are not sure he will survive them."

Daenys's face crumpled, her legs giving way, the last of the fight going out of her, and her body sagged against the wall, streaking the white stone with crimson gore. Ser Atticus was there in a heartbeat, sliding his arms under her knees with an apology for decorum as he hoisted her up. The mixture of blood the princess was soaked in stained him too now, but he did not care, even as she tried to fight him off. 

"My brother," she rasped, fighting against the urge to close her single eye and never open it again. "Please, he has to be alright. He has to be alive."

"Whatever becomes of him is up to Maester Gerardys, and he is a capable man. I am certain he is doing his best. I, however, have a duty to you. To protect you, even if it is from yourself."

"I am perfectly fine."

"You can barely keep your eyes open. I thought we had agreed long ago not to tell lies to each other."

The brunette knight gave her a teasing grin, his constant habit of trying to lighten the mood not failing him now, even as his charge scowled at him. 

"And besides, while all the maesters are tending to the young prince, I doubt I have a place amongst them," he continued. "So perhaps I might try and ensure that you do not die. You must understand how important it is to me; after all, I would be out of a job should you perish, and with the state of the economy and the kingdom as it is now, I do not fancy being unemployed."

He heard no further protest from her, but to his alarm, it was only because her eye had slipped shut, her body going limp in his arms as she succumbed to the darkness that had been hounding her since she landed. Carrying her to the closest room he could find, he waved over a passing maester to tend to her, praying to all the gods he knew of to save his foolish princess. Never had he seen someone who so daringly straddled the line between self-slaughter and sacrifice, and every time she rushed out and put herself in mortal peril, he wondered if this was the last time he'd see her. 

Ser Atticus had to admit that he had grown rather attached in his many years of serving her. He had never had siblings of his own, but if he had a sister, he imagined she would be like her. It was a traitorous thought for someone of his station, but such was the demeanour of the princess, that it was impossible not to form attachments to someone as sincere and unwaveringly supportive as her. She did not shun him after finding the truth about him, did not find him repulsive and immoral as was her right, and her treatment of him transcended the simple courtesies afforded to a mere knight. In return, he had inevitably begun to treat her as more than someone he simply watched over by obligation. 

They had become family, and after the passing of the old Commander of the City Watch, Ser Atticus found that he had no wish to lose any more family. 

He watched as Daenys drifted in and out of consciousness, asking about her brothers, asking about her grandmother, and receiving no affirmative response. He watched helplessly as her gaze filled with an agony that went beyond physical pain, and he could imagine the thoughts of self-loathing that might have flashed through her mind before the darkness claimed her again. 

The queen and her remaining sons kept vigil at the corpse-like prince's bedside while Lord Corlys and his granddaughters did the same with his wife, so Ser Atticus remained Daenys's only devoted hierophant, his fingers entwining with hers, for a while her only anchor to the corporeal world. 

That night at Dragonstone was filled with the final breaths of the dying and the fervent prayers of the living; a battle of wills; a battle of mortal desperation against the cruelty of the gods. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The Battle of the Gullet ultimately proved too costly for both sides. While it could have been considered both a tactical win for the Greens and a strategic one for the Blacks, the losses were so great that such a Pyrrhic victory was hoped never to be achieved again.  

The Velaryon fleet lost almost a third of its strength, and Spicetown was sacked by the men who had managed to land on its shores. The bodies of men, women, and children were butchered in the streets and left as fodder for gulls and rats and carrion crows, its buildings burned. The town would never be rebuilt. High Tide was put to the torch as well, and all the treasures the Sea Snake had brought back from the east were consumed by fire, his servants cut down as they tried to flee the flames.

Rhaenyra's youngest son seemed lost as well. In the confusion of battle, none of the survivors seemed quite certain which ship Prince Viserys Targaryen had been on, and men on both sides presumed him dead, drowned, burned or butchered. Though his brother Aegon the Younger had fled and lived, all the joy had gone out of the boy; and he never forgave himself for abandoning his little brother to the enemy, a shame shared by his oldest sister, Daenys Velaryon. 

While Hugh the Hammer, rider of Vermithor, celebrated his participation in the Battle, Nettles and Addam Velaryon—the riders of Sheepstealer and Seasmoke— were heavily affected, with the latter seeking out the Sea Snake, though what they spoke to each other remains unknown. Many people on Dragonstone came to resent Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen for the kin they had lost during the battle, as well as for the slaughter of the residents of Spicetown. 

Meanwhile, the greens had failed in their main goal: to break the hold of the Velaryon fleet on the east coasts of Westeros. Moreover, their allies in the southern Free Cities took such heavy losses that they played no further part in the war. Only twenty-eight of the ninety ships commanded by the admiral who spearheaded the battle returned home, and only three of those were not crewed by Lyseni. The Gullet was considered a disaster by the Triarchy, and the Myrish and Tyroshi widows accused the admiral of sending their fleets to destruction while holding back his own Lysene ships, thus beginning a quarrel that would eventually lead to the Daughters' War.

Whether the Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, would survive remained to be seen, although his loss would be felt more deeply than all the rest combined, for there was none so loved as he. However, if love was all it took to keep someone alive, the children of Rhaenyra Targaryen would all be immortal. 

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A/N: LOL it's a coin toss between Rhaenys dying and Jace dying. Do we have any preferences ;)

As usual, don't be a ghost reader. I live for yalls comments/questions/concerns/reactions, even a keyboard smash is highly appreciated and encouraged! Would love to hear your predictions/hopes for future battles/events <3