Aemond's death could hardly be celebrated.

With great difficulty, Vhagar flew them back to King's Landing. At least, as close to King's Landing as she'd managed. With the Dragonpit too small for her and her old age keeping her less keen on interacting with the younger dragons, Vhagar had taken to the grassy field on the cliff ever since they returned to take the city.

It was there that she landed, groaning and flattening herself tiredly on the grass. Daenys and Rolf had done their best to clean and dress her wounds before they left Harrenhal, but Vhagar was too old to recover from such injuries. Daenys knew that she would never fly again, that Vhagar would likely linger here napping and eating what was brought to her until she eventually passed.

Daenys hugged her, pressing her cheek to Vhagar's and singing soft a lullaby her father would sing to her, once sung while they flew together over the city. Vhagar fell asleep, after which Daenys and Rolf descended on foot until they found guards to escort them back to the city on horseback.

King's Landing had taken a turn for the worse since their departure. In a week, two great things had happened that could not be undone. First, she learned from Ser Luthor Largent that Lord Bartimos Celtigar had placed a tax on any child born out of wedlock. While this was sure to replenish the Crown's coffers and rid the Realm of thousands of bastards, Daenys thought it a terrible decision that was already proving perilous.

The smallfolk were angrier than ever, and with Daenys's absence as well as the many passing nicknames that refused to die (Cliff Cunt-Maker, Alyssa the Kinslayer, Rhaenyra the Cruel), the tax had erased all good memories of what Daenys and her daughters had attempted to do to alleviate their suffering.

Even worse, there had been a death in the Red Keep. Ser Luthor briefed them in their carriage that the day after Daenys flew to Harrenhal, Helaena had leapt to her death from her window in Maegor's Holdfast. She'd been impaled on the iron spikes that lined the dry moat below.

There had come much talk immediately after the news broke. The most passed-around rumor at present was that Rhaenyra had had her killed. Daenys had told Ser Luthor of the need to quash such rumors immediately, and he insisted that they had tried to do so already, but Lord Corlys suspected this would not end so easily, not when it was well known that Rhaenyra had Alicent, Helaena, and Jaehaera as her prisoners.

She knew how easily influenced the smallfolk were. All of them were under the impression that they loved Helaena (and yes, of course, she had been a sweet girl, always loving) even though they had hardly interacted with her. They looked for anyone to blame, and Rhaenyra was that person, no matter that she'd never harmed Helaena before.

There had been a riot that night, beginning amidst the alleys and wynds of Flea Bottom. Men and women poured from the wine sinks, rat pits, and pot shops by the hundreds, angry, drunken, and afraid. They'd spread through the city shouting for justice for the dead Prince Jaehaerys, for his murdered mother Queen Helaena. Some had even been heard to say that Rhaenyra surely ordered Alyssa to toss her out the window, for Alyssa had already shown no qualms about murdering Daeron.

Carts and wagons had been overturned, shops looted, homes plundered and set afire. Gold Cloaks that attempted to quell the disturbances were set upon and beaten bloody. No one was spared, be of high birth or low. Lords were pelted with rubbish, knights pulled from their saddles. Sailors were unable to return to their ships and fought a pitched battle with the City Watch. It took Ser Luthor and four hundred spears to disperse them.

But by then, the River Gate had been hacked half to pieces and a hundred men were dead or dying, a quarter of them Gold Cloaks. The worst loss– and this, Daenys did lament though she'd never liked the man– was Lord Bartimos Celtigar, whose walled manse had only had six guardsmen and a few hastily-armed servants in its defense. The rioters had come, the dubious defenders had joined them.

His son, fifteen-year-old Arthor, had been killed making a brave stance. Lord Bartimos's horses were all dead or stolen. He was bound to a post and tortured until he revealed where all his wealth was hidden. A tanner called Wat announced that his lordship had failed to pay his 'cock tax' and must yield his manhood to the Crown as forfeit.

Wat had ridden through the streets on a white horse, brandishing Lord Celtigar's severed head and bloody genitals, declaring an end to the taxes. Cobbler's Square had turned into the site of a slaughter, what with some man calling himself the Shepherd denouncing Rhaenyra and giving force to the crowd who rose up against the Gold Cloaks.

Were it not for the intervention of an already-grieving Bertram, they would have surely been lost. The sight of a dragon had broken the riot at long last, though not before fires were started and whores and hedge knights started offering replacements for Rhaenyra, noting a four-year-old boy named Gaemon Palehair as a bastard of Aegon and a sixteen-year-old squire Trystane as a bastard of Viserys. These boys had been named 'King' for a time during the riot, and that was not like to be so easily forgotten.

"My sweet boy." Daenys wrapped her arms tight around Bertram when he found them, exhausted after a day of patrolling the city. He'd had to fly low to keep the people in check, but Daenys knew he risked being speared by those still angry. "I am so, so very sorry."

"I tried to help her," whispered Bertram wearily. He leaned over to let Rolf kiss his forehead, but Daenys did not think he registered the touch at all. "I tried to heal Helaena, I talked to her and I told her I could sneak her and Jaehaera out, that we could fly to Essos and never be heard from again. I wanted to save her."

"You did everything you could, my son," said Rolf gently. "She'd been hurt so many times, I don't think she believed she'd ever escape it, even with your kindnesses."

Bertram let his head fall on his father's chest, heaving a shaky sigh. "I have Gemma and Dyana watching over Jaehaera. She's been betrothed to Aegon. But the girl... I fear she will do to herself what her mother did. I don't know if I can save her, if I failed Helaena..."

"We'll figure something out," said Daenys. Perhaps betrothing Jaehaera to Aegon was no longer the wisest idea, not with Jaehaera suicidal. She could perchance send Gemma and Dyana to Dragonstone to care for her. "I am proud of you for your bravery against the rioters."

"It's only going to get worse, Mother," said Bertram honestly. "We have to find Aegon and we have to kill him, there is no other way."

Daenys nodded wearily. "I know. It will not stop the smallfolk just yet, but it may save us the trouble that will come if he hears the smallfolk seem eager for his return, if only to depose Rhaenyra."

She went to her daughters next, Alyssa beside herself with sadness over Helaena and uncomfortable with the accusations that she'd thrown her from the window. Gemma was solemn, but proved the only one that offered Daenys a smile when she revealed that Aemond was dead. Of course, it was little consolation now, especially with Daemon lost as well. Breaking the news to Baela and Rhaena had been difficult, but the girls had suspected as much, for Daemon had prepared them before he had them fly back.

Daenys had gone to see Rhaenyra, and laid Dark Sister at her feet. The sword, Daenys had considered keeping after Rolf fished it from the God's Eye, removing it from Aemond's skull once the water settled and Caraxes sank back to decompose with the fish. Daenys had always wanted Dark Sister to be hers, despite knowing from a young age that it would always belong to Daemon. Now, it no longer felt right.

Rhaenyra had taken the sword in hand and kept a moment of silence for her fallen husband. She'd decided she'd keep the sword safe in a vault, until such a time that her sons were able to decide amongst themselves who would wield it. Blackfyre, they hoped to retrieve for Jacaerys. Dark Sister, perhaps, would one day belong to Daemon's son Aegon.

It annoyed Daenys how little they could celebrate this paramount defeat. Had it even been worth it, anymore? They'd finally avenged Lucerys and Rhaenys properly, Aemond could no longer terrorize their people, but those same people hated Rhaenyra more than ever.

She hadn't sought any satisfaction in breaking the news to Alicent, and it certainly had not come. She felt awful bringing the news so soon after Helaena's suicide– that, no mother deserved. Alicent looked unstable these days, easily losing focus and growing ever quieter. Daenys wondered, after telling her of Aemond's death and proving to Alicent that she had but one child left alive, if it would not be a greater mercy to kill her in her sleep and let her go.

Daenys's first night back had been marred by an even worse riot than the first. The Shepherd had turned the people against their greatest strength, that which they still needed to hold power. She'd been awoken in the middle of the night to guards rushing about and screaming for help. The smallfolk had massed outside the Dragonpit.

"Mother, what if they kill Tyraxes?" said Joffrey fearfully when they gathered the children in the Small Council chambers to ensure all the dragonriders were accounted for. The only ones unaccounted for were Addam and Hugh, who'd been sent on Seasmoke and Grey Ghost upon Daenys's arrival to confirm Sunfyre was still in the woods beside Rook's Rest. If the dragon lingered injured, then he would be their next kill, to ensure Aegon would not have his power again.

"I do not believe they will manage such a thing," Rhaenyra tried to soothe. "One taste of dragonflame and these people will run."

Still, she glanced at Daenys uncertainly. The Dragonpit was well-guarded if the dragons could be considered guards, to be sure. Dreamfyre was there, as were Frostbite, Starbeam, Aegarax, Moondancer, and now Sheepstealer. Syrax had been brought to linger in the Red Keep since they returned to King's Landing, to ensure Rhaenyra's escape if she ever needed it.

"We can only wait," said Daenys in the end. "We would be fools to rush out there now. We must stay here. All of you, back to your rooms. Pray to the gods that no harm will come to the dragons." She walked out with Rhaenyra, who was wringing her hands tight. "Would that Vhagar were not so injured, I could scare them all off."

"I worry, too, for Vhagar," said Rhaenyra. "At present we haven't heard of anyone making for the cliffs, yet..."

"She can take care of herself," said Daenys. Vhagar isn't in chains, after all. The problem with those in the Dragonpit is that some are, at least those accustomed to chains. Only Moondancer and Sheepstealer have been allowed to be unchained as far as we know. Aegarax and Frostbite, I am unsure about, sometimes Alyssa and Bertram purposely neglect the chains. The others... they will find it difficult to flee if they have to."

She pursed her lips, but chose not to say anything else. "All of this, I feel it falling apart in my grasp. It shouldn't be... we've won the battles, we've defeated the rival dragons, and still, I cannot hold my throne. The people despise me."

"More desperate measures may be necessary to remove their taxes," said Daenys. "We've spared the Lannisters and the Baratheons but mayhaps we will need to install our children there and take their wealth for ourselves. The smallfolk, while not as influential as one initially thinks, hold a great degree of power in swaying public opinion. I failed to change their opinion of you."

"It is not your fault. You were always kind to them and you did what you could to ease their burden. You secured us food from the Reach. I admit, I... I never interacted with them as I should have. Mysaria's gift from me could only do so much. It was too little, too late. Helaena, they saw her often going to prayer. Me, I ran to Dragonstone as soon as I could not tolerate the whispers about me in the corridors. I should have stood my ground, I should have let them see me and my children, should have made them love us from the first."

You were once the Realm's Delight, and so easily your father let you be set aside because he could not control his lust. I am sorry, my girl. "We will persevere," said Daenys. "We have to."

But perseverance would not find them that night. Within the hour, as reports of the Dragonpit's breach began to reach them, there came another cry from within the castle. Syrax had been disturbed, and Prince Joffrey was nowhere to be found.

Daenys and Rolf had never suited themselves up so quickly. Rhaenyra had shrieked for every last person capable of riding a horse be dispatched at once through the gates to retrieve Joffrey. He was only a boy, he didn't know what he was getting himself into. The risk he was taking, thinking to fly into battle, it was too great.

But even after riding out, helms protecting their faces and swords out, they were already too late. Daenys had been riding blind behind Rolf, letting her horse follow as she gazed up into the sky, watching Syrax move towards the Hill of Rhaenys. She thrashed in the air, and Daenys knew why– dragons did not like being ridden by those not their riders. The bond between a dragon and its rider went too deep. Even if Daenys had tried to ride Vhagar alone while her father was still alive, despite the dragon perhaps already sensing she would bond with Daenys after Baelon's death, it likely would have gone the way Joffrey's ride on Syrax went now.

"Gods, Rolf!" said Daenys, pointing up when she saw Joffrey's legs flailing. He was gripping tight to Syrax's horns, having nothing else to keep him steady. There was no saddle holding him in place, only his little hands.

"He's going to fall!" shouted Rolf. He raised his voice at the men, "All of you, follow the boy and the dragon, if he falls let him fall on one of us!"

Daenys prayed in her head– what had Joffrey been thinking? Most like to reach the Dragonpit and save Tyraxes rather than actually go to battle on Syrax. But he didn't understand, he didn't realize that no matter what Syrax felt for him as a son of Rhaenyra, as the rider of her own offspring, it meant nothing in a moment of panic.

Rolf's party had come to a screeching halt, the narrow streets lined with people trying to stop them from reaching the Dragonpit. Grabby hands reached out, and though some had been trampled already, others were still startling the horses and making it impossible to follow the same line. They were reaching the thick of Flea Bottom, and they were still too far from Joffrey...

"CLEAR THE WAY!" shouted Rolf, slashing out with his sword and relieving one man of his hand as he tried to yank a knight off his saddle. Stones, spears, and arrows flew into the air from ahead, all aimed at Joffrey and Syrax. Syrax was twisting, fighting, flying too low–

Then, the shouts of anger turned to screams. Daenys saw Joffrey's hands lose their grip, and she watched helplessly as the boy plummeted two-hundred feet from the ground. She clapped a hand over her mouth as his little body crashed onto a steep-pitched roof, then rolled off out of sight with a mighty crash and more shrieks of terror. Shards of slate flew down where he'd fallen from the roof, likely dead on impact.

Daenys kicked down to rear her horse, cutting sideways with her sword and risking the groping and pinching and stone-throwing as she rode down anyone in her path, riding madly to where Joffrey had fallen. Rolf was tight on her heels once she cleared a bloody line for them, the other horses threading through. She heard him whistle behind her, guiding the men down other alleys and shouting for them to do the same. Unfortunately, if these people meant to impede them, they would suffer the consequences of that.

A mob had already surrounded Joffrey's broken little body. A young girl was cradling him when they arrived, sobbing and shielding him until a looter ripped her away. Some of them were tearing off Joffrey's boots, removing his own sword from his belly, stripping him of his fine, bloodstained clothes.

Daenys saw red when she watched one man cut his hand off to claim the rings on his fingers. One of the Gold Cloaks who had ridden up another street was flailing after a man had set his cloak on fire for trying to reach Joffrey.

She slid off her horse and urged it forward, which certainly made the smallfolk jump out of the way. She cut and slashed at any who got in her way, men or women who sought to grab her finery and her dragon's helm. When she reached Joffrey, he was missing a foot a well, which she snatched away from a man who then lost his head in retaliation.

The young girl who'd been cradling him sobbed and covered her eyes as Daenys scooped the body up, rushing back to Rolf, who'd rounded the alleys with his horse and opened space for Daenys. She lifted Joffrey's body onto his lap then leapt onto the horse behind him, having him ride back for the Red Keep.

Syrax still flew above, screeching madly and closing in on the Dragonpit. Daenys could see a dim fire rising beneath a column of smoke, she could hear the snarls of the dragons and heard wings beating defiantly. There were at least two dragons– no, three– that were flying free around Syrax, sending flames down to those who would harm their kin.

She knew much would be lost, that there was nothing she could hope to do to help the dragons that were not free. She would need to leave that up to their brethren, for she knew the pain of losing a sibling, a friend, a child. That pain was about to rise tenfold in Rhaenyra.

By the time they cleared the crowd and made it back to the Red Keep, it was evident the Dragonpit had fully fallen. Rhaenyra had sobbed, cradling Joffrey's body while Jacaerys and Aegon watched, both ashen grey. When the sun came up and the battle had been broken, the report of casualties came in.

Dreamfyre had been tormented greatly, but was chained and unable to flee. A crossbow bolt nicked one of her eyes, and even half-blind and maddened by a dozen lesser wounds, she managed to fly high enough to break the great dome above. She brought it crumbling down, crushing both her and her would-be slayers.

With the dome broken, some dragons had escaped. Morning, Sheepstealer, Aegarax, and Frostbite had made it out alive and had burned who and what they could until arrows and stones made them flee. Aegarax and Frostbite had fought hardest to free the chained Starbeam, who had done her best to defend the littler dragons Shrykos, Morghul, and Tyraxes before a sword finally made its way down her throat.

Shrykos, never ridden but bonded to the late Prince Jaehaerys, had killed scores of people before a woodsman leapt on her neck and drove his axe into her skull as she roared and twisted. Morghul, bonded to Jaehaera, had received a spear through the eye.

The worst fate was shared by Tyraxes, whose own chains had strangled him when he fought hard to line the entrance of the pit with corpses to prevent further attacks. His body had been savaged, with this Shepherd cutting the membranes of his wings and tearing them into strips, supposedly ready to make dragonskin cloaks.

Syrax had fallen as well, much to their dismay. She'd descended on the mob from above, for whatever reason electing not to flee even after the other dragons did. She devoured dozens, rained fire from above even down the streets from the Dragonpit.

None knew exactly how Syrax fell. Some reports claimed that the same man that killed Shrykos had turned his axe on Syrax. Another said a man had leapt from the dome onto Syrax's back. One believed a man with a Valyrian steel sword had cut her wing and brought her down. But most seemed to like the tale wherein the Shepherd himself had stood fearlessly before Syrax bearing a black blade of smoke which cleaved Syrax's head from her body.

"I will have answers about this Shepherd," said Daenys viciously, presiding over the Small Council after Gemma failed to draw Rhaenyra from her room. She knew the loss of Gemma's own dragon was killing her, for she'd loved so dearly to fly on Starbeam. Still, her selfless Gemma always sought to heal another's pain, and in her eyes, Rhaenyra was hurting much worse with the loss of both her son and her dragon.

"He's a prophet," said Ser Alfred Broome. "None knows his true name, only that he looks half a corpse. He's been preaching against Her Grace in Cobbler's Square since before her return, the Lady Mysaria last reported."

"If word is to be believed," said Rolf, "he is the one who spun the tale of our Queen ordering Helaena's death."

Daenys sneered, "And he turned the people on the dragons because, what, that would be their salvation? Seven curse him, I wish him all Seven Hells. We will answer this with fire and blood, for that is what they sought when they went for our dragons. The next time this Shepherd preaches, we will be there, hidden, and we will slay him."

"Forgive me, Princess," said Ser Alfred, "but we must face reality. Our Queen has suffered another great loss. The truth is, King's Landing is lost. We must abandon the city. I say we leave on the morrow, at dawn."

"Her Grace will not take kindly to running off like a coward," said Daenys sharply. "She means to rule these people and in recent days, we've done naught but slaughter. To make a stand here is paramount to all things. Queen Rhaenyra cannot be seen to show weakness."

"Princess," said Lord Gormon Massey, "I must concur with Ser Alfred. Her Grace has but two sons left alive. She must go somewhere that she cannot be hurt. She and both her heirs are now dragonless."

"Exactly," argued Daenys. "How is she to get anywhere safely?"

"My ships are being burned and sunk as we speak," said Corlys. "But if we were to move north on the mainland, I could arrange for passage to take her and the children to Lady Jeyne Arryn in the Vale. Our visiting Manderlys have even offered White Harbor, glad and able to receive her."

"No." They all stood as Rhaenyra swept in, eyes red with deep circles beneath them. "No, I must go to Dragonstone. My sons and I have need for more eggs. Another dragon. Only until the city is safe. Lady Hand, your son will come to our aid, will he not?"

Daenys hesitated. "Yes, our last report stated that Cliff and his army are intending to seize Lannisport and Casterly Rock in your name. Dalton Greyjoy dealt a great deal of damage, but it is incomparable to the might of Goldhorn. Cliff has regrouped with our fiercest Riverlands allies after crushing the Lannister army. Bertram stated that, in his last letter, Cliff had commanded the Greyjoy boy to take his ships up the Mander. The Tyrells have allowed him passage through the Reach now that the Hightower army is in pieces. He will reach Tumbleton, and the Ironborn may yet come to aid us by land. Cliff and his army will turn to us as soon as they can."

"It is hardly soon enough," said Maester Gerardys fearfully. "Your son is undoubtedly eager to fight for his Queen, Princess, but he is leagues away and the only one able to travel swiftly by dragon. He may come, yes, but his army will be weeks behind him."

Rolf threw up his hands, "Then let us hold the city as long as we can until he arrives. If the Tyrells are willing to allow Greyjoy passage, perhaps they may spare a few men. We know Cregan Stark and Lady Jeyne Arryn intend to send us more men. We still have four dragons to rely upon here, and no harm has yet come to Vhagar. I must agree with my wife, we ought to stand our ground. Daenys and Lady Mysaria have great knowledge of the passages in this castle and can evacuate the Queen and her children if it must happen, but for the Shepherd and these other pretenders to see her run..."

They turned to Rhaenyra, who stared down at her hands. Daenys could see she'd clawed at them in a way she'd never seen Rhaenyra do– if anything, it reminded her of how Alicent mutilated herself. Her pale skin was broken and raw, with fresh reddening scars where she'd dug her nails in and raked down the backs of her hands.

"I must go to Dragonstone," whispered Rhaenyra. "I do not wish to run, but it may be our only hope. My dear aunt... I entrust you with holding this castle. With seeking aid from our allies. Whatever you must do... please."

Daenys knew that Rhaenyra had given up, then. She could not endure the loss of another child– no, that would kill her. Syrax's loss had weighed even more heavily, for even when she'd lost her sons, she'd still been known as a dragonrider. What would their enemies say about her now?

"Rule in my stead, until I can return to my throne," finished Rhaenyra. "Princess Daenys, Hand of the Queen, I name you acting Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Protector of the Realm."