Some days, Daenys wished she could die.

Seldom had she had the thought, having had a happy childhood in spite of her mother's death. Prince Baelon had done everything he could to see his daughter happy and healthy. But a few times in her life, death and its proximity to her seemed to be a sweet idea.

She'd thought it the day her father passed, wishing to see him again and finally meet her mother in whatever land awaited her after death. She'd thought it the day Jaehaerys passed, when the last of her guardians withered away into nothing and left her to finally grow up. She'd thought it when she arrived at Highgarden and was first bedded by Gareth Tyrell, feeling trapped and wondering if she'd bleed to death leaping off a tower into the thorny rosebushes below.

But since having children, Daenys had not thought of her own death. Since marrying Rolf, really. It had marked an end to betrayal, an end to feeling that her life was out of her control. She'd been happy with him, grown happier still, and had five children that she was equally proud of. Though losses continued to plague them, she'd always chosen to live for her children, for her husband.

Yet, when word reached them about Rook's Rest, Daenys wondered if perhaps death could finally end the anguish that still managed to follow her around.

Three dragons had been there. Not one. Three. Rhaenys had been set upon by Aegon and Sunfyre, then by Aemond and Vermithor. She'd done quite some damage to Aegon; whispers ran about that the Pretender might not live, that his dragon was likely soon to die as well. But when she'd had a moment to flee, she hadn't. Vermithor had not left unscathed, clawed in the belly by Meleys, but the Red Queen had her neck snapped by Vermithor's jaws. She'd fallen on top of Rhaenys, their bones mingled and charred together when the fires finally went out at Rook's Rest.

Gemma had sobbed and sobbed into her hands, standing by the window as Daenys hugged herself tight, feeling the grooves of her own dragonrider armor, a set she'd inherited from Rhaenys once she'd claimed Vhagar. The cool metal on her fingers was meant to soothe, but she felt it brushing sharper than a knife, a stab of blame telling her that it should have been her that went, not Rhaenys. It should have been her that died, not Rhaenys.

Eight hundred knights and squires had died in the battle, a hundred more killed when Cole and Prince Aemond put the rest of the garrison to death. Lord Staunton's head had been taken, as had the head of Meleys, to be paraded around the streets of King's Landing. It was a disgusting bit of mockery, one both Rhaenyra and Mysaria believed would be taken ill by the smallfolk. But this small ray of bad news for the Greens could not console Daenys.

"Where are they?" she heard Gemma shouting– her Gemma, her sweet and gentle Gemma, shouting– at Bertram.

"I-I don't know," said Bertram. "There's been no word, Gem, I don't think... I don't..."

"No!" she heard Gemma hiss. She'd never heard her daughter speak so soundly to any of her siblings, not even when they'd broken her dolls and ripped her gowns. "No, that is not an answer I want from you, Bertram. I asked you to send for Father and our brothers, where are they?"

"They didn't reply to my raven! They're likely making their way here now, I don't– I don't know what else you want me to say! The last I even heard from Cliff, he'd ridden from Riverrun to Stone Hedge with a host of men behind him. They're regrouping there with Aenar before Cliff leads them the rest of the way to Harrenhal– the raven might not have found him. And Aenar has to hold Stone Hedge, he can't simply waltz back at your command–"

"They will do what they need to do for our mother! She needs them! Find them, find them now, you claim to be so clever–"

"My girl." Wearily, Daenys slinked out of the room, seeing her children nose-to-nose in the halls. Well, more like Gemma was leaning towards Bertram with a furious expression on her face. He had his own temper, but would never snap at Gemma.

"Mother." Gemma relaxed. "Alyssa returned. Bertram told me she was seen in the cave's Dragonmount."

"Good." Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she forced herself to say, "I will go and find her. Bertram, do not worry yourself over communications with your father or brothers. They have their tasks. Let them keep to them. Gemma, my dear... none of this is your brother's fault. Do not push your anger onto him."

She wished Gemma's commands could come true, that Rolf and Aenar and Cliff would come back to see her. She needed a hug from her husband, the gentle words of her clever Aenar. She would even like to hear the threats that Cliff would make against Aemond. But what good would it do? When in all of it would Rhaenys return from the dead? Never.

She'd said as much to Corlys before she finally went to her room and broke down. The day they'd learned of Rhaenys's death, Corlys had been there, taking his wife's place on the Small Council. The moment the news broke, he'd rushed out. When Daenys had followed, he'd turned around to snarl at her. He said it was Rhaenyra's fault and Daenys had unleashed all her fury on him.

The last thing that Daenys would want was for Rolf to go around blaming Rhaenyra when she inevitably passed. Rhaenys had died a Princess defending the rights of her Queen and Daenys intended to die the same way. She would have rather Corlys put the blame on her, asked her why she wasn't there instead.

But when Corlys had blamed her girl, the same girl that Rhaenys knew needed her there, it had been too much to bear. She'd slapped him, called him a cunt who dishonored his wife's memory, and ran to her room. Gemma had found her leaning over her bed, fighting back tears until they at last came, and then, they had not stopped for days.

Was it the guilt of being alive? The knowledge that with Rhaenys died the last bit of Daenys's childhood, the memories of what once was? What did she have left now from that old time but Daemon, who was far away and had never been the brightest part of her past?

The lords of the Small Council wanted someone to answer for Rook's Rest. Knowing that Alyssa had taken Otto captive– delayed, it seemed, only because she'd been trying her best to keep out of sight when she'd almost been spotted by Aemond and Vermithor– was nowhere near enough to abate them. Ser Alfred and Lord Bartimos remained exhausting with their constant desires to pursue battle, and even Jacaerys was restless to do something.

All seemed to silently resent Daenys for not having gone– at least with her out there, there would have been more certainty that Aegon and Sunfyre were dead. Even Aemond and Vermithor would be dead. Her loss would not have weighed on them so much, given it would have accomplished such a great deal. They looked at her now as being useless.

In giving her time to recover, Rhaenyra and Mysaria had concocted their own little plan to send aid in food and fresh water to King's Landing, who'd been choked off and were starving after the lengthy blockade of the Gullet. Mysaria believed it the best course, now that the people saw Meleys dead and believed it an ill omen.

Word was being spread that they feasted at the castle, especially now that Aemond had supposedly been named Prince Regent to serve in the place of Aegon while he recovered– if he ever would. The smallfolk were more key than the Greens were currently believing, and it was Mysaria and Rhaenyra's hope that a gift of food would have them associate Rhaenyra with goodness, with plentifulness, with honor rather than cruelty, scarcity, and disgrace.

"Put me to do something." Daenys paced her room as Rhaenyra came to see her, wondering how she was. "I need to do something. I will not feel... relieved of this guilt until I do something useful."

"Aunt Daenys," pleaded Rhaenyra. "Rhaenys was right, you are needed here."

"My sons are leading hosts to war!" said Daenys. "Neither they nor their father are like to come anytime soon, what with the Riverlands army massing at Harrenhal. Surely there is something more I can do. Jacaerys has Bertram reading books looking for Targaryen bastards who might be dragonriders and I cannot be content with only patrols. The one thing I agree with, regarding the men of the council, is that we must answer for Rook's Rest."

Rhaenyra hesitated. "Well... there was... a letter Bertram showed me this morn. Movements in the Reach. The Tyrells seem to have heeded your threat but Hightower banners move. Have you... have you spoken to Otto?"

Daenys shook her head. "I cannot speak to him now when I am a mess. I cannot show weakness to him or I will get no information out. He's been ill from the journey here. Alyssa gave him quite the bump on the head when she knocked him unconscious. He was burned on the arm when she killed his men. He's not been keeping food down, no... I cannot see him. Not now."

"Then... I will task you with the Hightowers. Here." She offered her the scroll, as if she might have expected this. "Look at it, consider it, and if it is truly your wish to do something... then this would be a great help to put the council at ease and allow you to express your anger." She half-smiled when Daenys's face reddened. "You always taught me to face my emotions, dear aunt. Do yourself a favor and face yours."

She thought of it the rest of the day, toying with the slip between her fingers. When evening fell, Gemma came to speak with her, her girl as upset as ever. It was so strange to grow accustomed to a Gemma who now cursed people and spoke of hurting others when she'd never wished to do so in her whole life. Daenys worried she was losing her sweet girl. Gemma would scarcely recognize herself in the mirror when the war was over.

"I knew it would come to Aemond being Regent," said Gemma, ranting away as she lit her mother's candles for her. "Bert said something earlier that made me feel such a fool. We ought to have played a trick on them when we received that summons after they usurped the throne. I should have pretended to feign support for Aegon out of fear for my life. Perhaps I could have been there when Aemond returned from killing Luke. I could have... I could have played a game with them. Wed myself to Aemond and gotten close enough to kill him."

"Gods be good," said Daenys, raising her brows at her. This sounded like Alyssa posing insane ideas, yet it was Gemma. "No, my dear, I do not wish it had been so. We expected that Aemond would be where the Greens would shift their strength... it has come to pass."

"What else is going to come to pass, hmm?" Gemma turned, hands on her hips. "Who else is going to die, Mother? I am tired of sitting here patrolling while left and right they pluck members of our family up. What damage have we managed other than Otto and Aegon, both of whom are clinging to life? I want Aemond dead, why does everyone think I'm madfor that?"

"We're not accustomed to you wishing someone dead, my sweet girl," said Daenys gently. "I worry for you, for this new vengeance you are finding."

Gemma scowled. "I'm more surprised neither you nor Alyssa has acted on it. You're clever, I know, but I always... I assumed something like this would make you do something."

Daenys pursed her lips. "Well... I am going to do something. I asked Rhaenyra today for a task." She unfurled the scroll she still had tucked between her fingers. "It seems that Lord Ormund Hightower– Otto's nephew– has left Oldtown with a thousand knights, a thousand archers, three thousand men-at-arms, and uncounted thousands of camp followers, sellswords, freeriders, and rabble. There is war now against them, for Ser Alan Beesbury and young Lord Alan Tarly are both keeping him entertained."

Gemma perked up as Daenys continued, "They are calling these men the 'two Alans.' Though they have less men, they've been harassing Ormund's army day and night. They've raided his camps, murdered his scouts, set fires in his line of march. Even Lord Costayne has issued forth from Three Towers to fall upon the Hightower baggage train. Thaddeus Rowan brings a host of equal size descending on the Mander... and it seems Ormund has need of dragons."

"So, Daeron and Tessarion aren't with them!" said Gemma, excited. "It means my cousin has probably not flown yet, or he's being sheltered. It also means... Aemond isn't there."

"And is unlike to be there," said Daenys. "With Sunfyre left behind at Rook's Rest and Dreamfyre not about to fly to battle, Aemond must remain in the city waiting for our retribution. I intend to aid our allies and save the Beesbury, Tarly, Costayne, and Rowan men from what the Stauntons suffered at Rook's Rest."

"Very well," said Gemma. "I am going with you."

Daenys shot up. "Gemma, you do not know what you are saying."

"I know very well," said Gemma. "I want to take more responsibility. And after what happened to Rhaenys... if Vermithor and Aemond happen upon you, you cannot be alone. It's my fault that Bert sent those letters calling Cliff and Aenar back. They might not listen, but if they do, those dragons will come here. None will be there to help you. I am going with you. Starbeam is quick enough to grant me an escape if I need one, and I will proudly die on my dragon as Rhaenys did."

Still, Daenys was hesitant. "My girl... are you certain?"

"Yes," insisted Gemma. "Yes, I want to go. Bert's going to be occupied finding dragonseeds with Jace anyway. I'm not doing anything other than patrolling and right now, I want to burn things."

"I ask you to think about this again," said Daenys. "Gemma... you will see blood. You will see men burning. You may have to shoot one down yourself from dragonback. It will change you. If I am in need of company, Alyssa would–"

"Alyssa will not heed your warnings as I will. She and Frostbite need their rest after chasing Otto around. Let me come with you. I want to, I am not hesitating."

So, it was decided. They left on the morrow after informing Rhaenyra, the two dragons flying side-by-side, mothers and daughters together making towards the land between Honeyholt and Horn Hill. The plan was simple– Gemma and Starbeam would descend to burn and would shoot from the sky, but were mostly meant to be keeping watch for any larger surprises coming from the east.

Daenys and Vhagar would descend upon the Hightower men, destroying all that they could. It was even Daenys's hope to place her feet on the battlefield once the situation calmed and slay some men with Bloodrain, who'd been waiting for blood. If any Tyrell banners were spotted, or those of any houses who answered more to the Tyrells than the Hightowers, then their next stop afterwards would be Highgarden. If Lady Brys and Lady Ira had not kept their promise, then Highgarden would burn and Gemma would be left as the new Lady Paramount of the Mander.

It had been a long time since Daenys had flown at the Stepstones and recognized the familiar screams of men terrified by the sight of a dragon looming overhead. Vhagar might have been old, but remained as fearsome as ever. She saw Hightower banners fall, the men holding them thinking to run in fear when the men saw the two dragons descending over them.

From the other side of the Mander rose cheers. The Beesbury banners– three yellow beehives over yellow and black stripes– and the Tarly banners– a striding red huntsman on green– were waving in delight when Daenys gave the first drop, guiding Vhagar towards the edges of the Hightower army. "For Rhaenys, for Lucerys, and for Viserys," whispered Daenys as they came to a smooth sail over the tops of their heads. Fire erupted before them, Vhagar groaning as she incinerated the men that rested beneath them.

On the other side of the bank, Beesbury, Tarly, and Costayne men began to hop over, taking advantage of the chaos. Some of the Hightower men tried to toss themselves into the water, only to be slain within seconds or start to drown. The burns still ached no matter what they did.

She looked up as they made their ascent, Gemma having knocked an arrow in her bow. Her daughter flew low, and she saw her arrow whiz just past the head of Lord Ormund Hightower, who'd been knocked aside by one of his men to save him from death. She saw the determination in Gemma's face, who turned Starbeam down and called her first 'Dracarys,'burning the archers who had turned to look up at her.

That was when she saw the panic on her face. When the smoke cleared and Gemma had pulled Starbeam back up to where Daenys and Vhagar circled, looking for their next targets, she saw Gemma's eyes wide as saucers, staring down at the charred corpses. Still, she said nothing and dove back down when Daenys did, the two of them swooping around opposite sides of the army and letting lines of fire burst closer and closer to the center, where Ormund was being guarded.

"Mother?" Gemma's face was pale with terror this second time. "Mother..." She had loosed a second arrow, and Daenys saw a man writhing below, blood gushing from his neck. Not Ormund, but that did not matter.

"Stay here, my girl," Daenys yelled over the wind. "Circle and keep watch. You have helped me a great deal." She offered a comforting smile and dove back down. Good. She has not lost herself. She only needed to see it with her own eyes.

With the Hightower men swarmed on all sides, there was only one thing left for Daenys to do– join the fight. She had Vhagar touch down behind the last row of Costayne men and slid off the saddle, her great beast rising back into the sky and roaring defiantly as Daenys sprinted towards the battle.

Once within the lines of men, she drew her sword and dove through them, making for the front line. Above, Starbeam and Gemma were still circling, and it did not appear that Vermithor and Aemond would come to join them– good. Nor would Tessarion and Daeron show their faces, which was good, for Daenys had no intention of killing her nephew.

"The Princess has joined us!" she heard Lord Owen Costayne shout out after he saw her cut open the belly of a Hightower bannerman. "Men, the Hand to the rightful Queen fights beside us!"

"Fight alongside me, Lord Owen!" said Daenys, coming to stand with him. "Let us show these men how towers are toppled!"

He gave a roar of approval, the two of them rushing at the men in green. She cut and slashed, fighting back-to-back with Lord Costayne. Then, she heard him cry out in pain. She saw him cut high in the thigh by a man with Roxton arms– gold-linked rings on a blue field– who wielded a blade of Valyrian steel. This must be Ser Jon Roxton, with his sword Orphan-Maker.

Daenys leapt toward Lord Owen's attacker, jumping over his fallen body and cutting Bloodrain hard against Orphan-Maker. She heard Vhagar's roar overhead, feeling the vibrations through her body as the air moved, Vhagar's leathery wings ripping a thundering heartbeat through the sky and making men stagger. Ser Jon Roxton tripped, and Daenys took his head for it, seizing Orphan-Maker for herself.

Holding up both swords, she pointed her way towards a group of men rushing at her. Before she moved, she felt a warmth in her chest, smiling as Vhagar swooped down over her head, fire engulfing the men and leaving them to screech to a halt, burning and yelling in defiance. She looked up at Vhagar, who swept up and purposely let her hind legs scrape the ground, knocking down a line of archers who were going to send a volley out at Lord Tarly's men.

I love you, old girl. She'd always loved how Vhagar understood her. She remained a constant reminder of her father, who while dead was never far from her side while Vhagar kept near. Lifting Orphan-Maker, Daenys shouted for the Costayne men to launch themselves onward, the path clear as the burning men collapsed. She did her best to secure the swords to her waist before pulling Lord Owen to his feet, dragging him to safety.

In the aftermath of the battle, few Hightowers remained to be taken prisoner. Lord Ormund's men had guaranteed him an escape back to Oldtown, though it had meant all those who remained behind were slaughtered. All but a hundred were dead or dying, and those hundred were given the choice between becoming prisoners of Houses Beesbury, Tarly, Costayne, and Rowan– thus fighting for Rhaenyra– or dying while they proclaimed Aegon king. Only five took the sword, the rest were divided amongst the houses.

"Well done, my lords," said Daenys, congratulating them once she'd assured that Gemma had dismounted and was steadily making her way to them. She shook the hand of Ser Alan Beesbury, a fairly young man who she remembered meeting many times at tournaments, for he visited each time Viserys held one. His grandfather had been Lyman Beesbury, who served as Master of Coin and had apparently been the first casualty when Aegon usurped the throne.

"We owe you our thanks, Princess," said Ser Alan, kissing the back of her hand. "We feared the arrival of Prince Daeron and his dragon, but you came to our aid first."

"As I hope to always," said Daenys, passing on to Lord Thaddeus Rowan, who introduced her to Tom Flowers, known as the Bastard of Bitterbridge– born to House Caswell and a great fighter, it seemed. She said he deserved to be knighted, and the boy wept in gratitude.

"Mother!" Gemma arrived, holding up her dragon-riding skirt. Her bow was still slung to her back.

Daenys drew her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. "My sweet girl. I am glad to see you unharmed."

"As are we," said Lord Alan Tarly. He was a handsome young man, likely twenty, with chestnut hair and a kind face. He had the start of a mustache and beard growing around his mouth, making him look older than he was. "Thank you, my lady, for your great aim. You slew the archer who put an arrow in me." He lifted his cloak, revealing a great, seeping wound on his shoulder that had yet to be addressed.

Daenys thought Gemma might withdraw at the sight of blood, but she only blushed– blushed– and smiled at Lord Alan. "I am glad to have been here to help," said Gemma shyly. "You ought to tend to that wound. The puncture is clean, you will be alright, but the arrow must come out."

Lord Alan bowed to her, "As my lady commands."

Gemma watched him go, blushing more when Daenys raised a brow at her. "He is handsome," said Gemma innocently. "I am allowed to look."

"Yes, you are," said Daenys. Gemma was eighteen, and had not shown much interest in boys before. Daenys had caught her staring, but she'd never actually tried to speak to one. She wasn't as particular as Alyssa, but Daenys always assumed Gemma might not entirely like the idea of marrying.

"Mother." Gemma looped her arm with hers, leading her away from the men. "I... I froze. I became afraid."

"I noticed. It's alright, Gemma, I didn't expect you to burn the whole host yourself. You did magnificent work up there. Starbeam was very good at following your command. You helped a great deal."

She scrunched up her nose. "I thought.... I thought it would feel different. But when I saw them burning and bleeding... I was scared again. I remembered I don't like seeing people hurt, no matter who they are."

"That is a good thing, my dear. If only all people were like that. You don't have to like any of this. It's alright if you prefer doing other things on dragonback, none would fault you for it."

"I only... well... sometimes I wish I were more like Alyssa. More like you."

Daenys swept some curls out of Gemma's face. "Why is that, my love?"

She shrugged, "I don't know, I feel I am hardly a Targaryen. I only ever claimed Starbeam because Bert wasn't interested... otherwise I don't think I'd have a dragon."

"Is that what you think? Oh, my sweet girl." Daenys kissed her cheek. "You are every bit a Targaryen. You are just like Rhaenyra's mother was, sweet Aemma, and she was like my kind aunts Daella and Gael. I wish you would have met him. You know, your father may have named you after his mother, but in my mind, Gemma was a tribute to Aemma and Gael, my closest companions growing up."

Gemma's gaze softened. "Really?"

"Yes. Really. You and Alyssa are different, but it is a beautiful thing to be so. You are both so protective of your family in your own ways. You are your cousins' favorite person, all come to you knowing they will be safe and that you will never fail to defend them. There is no need for you to kill to show that. Alyssa acts on impulse, but you have always acted on love. From when you were in my belly, your father and I knew you'd be a much calmer babe. We have always loved you for it and will continue to love you for it. The world needs more people like you, Gemma. Believe me, you are as much a dragon as you are a fish. You are the sort of dragon all dragons should hope to be like."

Her daughter leaned forward, seeking another kiss on the forehead. Daenys held her tight, whispering, "I am so unbelievably proud of you, Gemma."

She was even prouder when Gemma joined her on a walk through the camps, facing her fears to help gather injured men and the weapons of the fallen. Lord Alan Tarly had had his wound dressed by then, and he walked alongside Gemma, grinning and eliciting a laugh with every other sentence.

To herself, Daenys thought, In the midst of pain, she has found her Rolf like I did.

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A/N: Happy 300 pages! Comment for more :)