It was like trying to soothe a madman.

Amalia sat for hours staring at the parchment laying empty before her, inviting her to give it life. It had been so easy to write to the Smallfolk, to tell them all the awful things her father had done. Why could she not do the same for her brothers?

A madman could not be tamed or comforted. He believed his own things, for whatever reason, and would not change no matter what anyone said. He could not be reasoned with, but he might have his attention grabbed for a moment. She thought of all the ways she might only incite further scrutiny, further prove to her brothers whatever lies her father had told her. Staying quiet was out of the question, however, Rhaenys had the right idea about it, and to do nothing was to let them live with the same delusions.

What could convince them? What would make them listen? None of them could possibly forget all the things she did for them, nor could they forget that for many years, she was their mother. But much had changed since then. Even from the moment her father sent the boys away to ensure she could devote all her attention to Rhaenyra and Viserys after Aemma passed, nothing had been the same. Norman and Bryndon's most formative years had been had in Oldtown, and they'd more easily cleaved to her father's will with whatever her uncle Hobert and cousin Ormund said in Oldtown.

Gwayne was the only one she had a chance with. He was different, he never did things because someone told him, he did things because he believed them to be right and just. He had taken as heavily to their faith as she and Alicent had, in a way the twins had chosen not to. Otto hadn't enforced it with them, but Gwayne was old enough to have knelt in the sept alongside their mother, and he used to sing along to the hymns with her. He used to love how she sang, he used to request bedtime songs that were about the Seven.

He could be reasoned with, because if she appealed just enough to the scriptures, she could open his eyes to the truth. The twins... gods, they'd always been a pair of their own. Just needy enough that they'd come running to her first for everything, but independent enough that they adjusted to life without her quickly. Norman used to be afraid to drown in his bath, always more passive than Bryndon, who was reckless but once used to be afraid of eating because he thought he'd get a stomachache and die. They once came to her, once slept in the same bed begging for her to hold them and tell them everything would be alright.

She'd once been Norman's comfort and Bryndon's safety, but the boys were brave and stubborn like their father. They'd become knights in Oldtown and moved wherever they were told to. Soldiers, they were, following orders as long as said orders got them somewhere they could have fun. Gwayne told her how they still liked to tease and make jokes, how they'd do dangerous things for others' amusement. Norman was as clumsy as ever and Bryndon was fearless now, but with swords in their hands, they could now kill any man they were told to. She wondered if they liked it, the killing. If they would kill in Aegon's name and still sleep soundly at night.

Amalia remembered that Gwayne wrote to her the first time he killed a man. She was a young mother when it happened, perhaps pregnant with Jaehaerys. He'd been sent out to resolve a dispute that ended in blood. He'd had to kill a man who was about to stab his friend in the neck. He'd written to her about the blood that covered his armor, about the way the man's body became heavy as he carried him to the grave he dug. He begged her in the letter to pray for him, to pray that he would be forgiven, to pray that he would not be haunted, to pray that he never had to kill another man.

She didn't know if the twins had experienced anything like that. How could she appeal to them? They were unmarried, the two of them, though she'd heard over time about a series of girlfriends each had. She didn't know if they had bastards roaming around or if they'd been more careful than that. Who could she use to remind them of their humanity, of the cost of war? At the rate things had gone with Alicent... were they too far gone? Alicent, at least, did not have the gall to kill. She could use her words and send another to do the deed, but her sister would never be able to take a knife and plunge it into someone's heart. If the twins had already done so, what was to stop them from continuing to crave that, to complete a task set out if their father commanded it? They'd always been afraid of his scolding... had that fear turned into unquestionable loyalty?

There was no way around it– she had to write something. Cole would continue to move, and the Hightower men with him. The longer she took to write, the more time they had to slink through the trees. Rhaenys was certain they were moving at night to avoid being spotted by dragons. Now that Baela had spotted them, they'd be even more careful.

In the end, she poured everything she was feeling onto the parchment. She told them how scared she'd been when her father first sent the three of them away to Oldtown. She told them that she'd been even more afraid when she married Viserys, then when she gave birth to Aegon, and nothing more than when she realized her children were being kept as hostages. Whatever they felt for her, those children were their nephews and niece– did they not care how they'd felt? Did they not care when they saw Aemond beat and bloody? When they heard that Aegon and Helaena had been forced to wed?

She told them that if this did not stop now, it never would. It would end in death. She did not threaten them, she only told them the truth– no amount of training or high-quality armor would protect them from dragonfire. To see reason now was to save their lives, to step out from under the thumb of their father. Amalia would protect them, she would make sure no one harmed them for the commands they were made to follow. It boiled down to choice, to whether they would do what was right, what the King truly wanted, or follow a madman down a path that would spell everyone's demise.

Gwayne, if you are reading this, I remind you of our dear mother. Do you remember how much she cared for Rhaenyra and Queen Aemma when we first arrived? Remember when we were all first introduced, and Viserys introduced Rhaenyra as his pride and joy? She remained so, forever. He never changed his mind, this I promise you. I loved my husband as one loves their dearest friend, and I know that it was his wish that she succeed him. I wrote to you often of Aegon, his progress, his dreams– none of it involved being King. He is not happy, he is a prisoner. My son wants to be free, he wants to explore the world and find love and happiness, not be forced onto a throne that will limit his curiosities.

Norman, do you remember all the times I prayed at your bedside when you were scared or unwell? I did the same for my children. They were even more terrified than you when they were trapped in that castle, told their father was dead and forced into roles they never wanted, roles not meant for them. Do you remember how I took care of you when mother died? You once cried when they were taking you away from me. I wonder if my children cried that way when we were separated. How they will cry if they lose each other, if they see the world they know burst into flames. You and them have so much left of it to see, so many things left to love in it. Do not throw it all away for a man who was never there for you, a man who hardly remembered you were his son lest he had need of you.

Bryndon, my wild boy. When Aemond was born, he was just like you when you were little. I had to chase after him as best as I could with Helaena in my belly and Aegon on my hip. Jaehaerys was another little replica of you. Did you see my Aemond's bruised face? Did you know how miserable Jaehaerys was without his siblings? Do not act rashly on behalf of someone who only snapped for you to 'be a man' when you scraped your knee. Do not rush blindly into your death, for you have so much left to live for, so many places to explore.

Six copies of the letter were made, to try and catch them if they were with Cole or with Ormund in the Reach. It was Baela who would be entrusted with the letter, once they were certain which direction the soldiers were heading. While the men of the Small Council seemed to think Harrenhal was the target, the women weren't so sure. What did Cole stand to gain from taking a small host– no more than seven-hundred, Baela had estimated– to where their might was becoming strongest?

"I did it!" Amalia spread her arms to receive Jaehaerys as he ran up to her on the Dragonmount, where Daemon had had her summoned. "I have a dragon!"

"Is that so?" She hugged him, rubbing his shoulders proudly. "You'd been all day, I thought you were still to be venturing deeper into the caves."

Jaehaerys drew back with a grin. "No, the dragon came to me. Uncle Daemon took me down, but Vermithor and Silverwing weren't coming out for me. He said perhaps we had to lure them with food. We went back and he told me to fetch a sheep. I was out there when I saw him, he tried to take it from me! That's why they call him Sheepstealer, you know, but I think he probably had another name before that."

Amalia blinked several times, glancing at Daemon for an explanation. "Is that not one of the wild ones? Unclaimed since... ever? How big is this dragon?"

Daemon nodded and replied, "Unclaimed until now. He is... close to size with Silverwing, having lived here for so long with more space and food than is often available for those in the Dragonpit. You'll see him soon... he is not as pretty as you may be used to, having seen Dreamfyre and Sunfyre the most. He's a clever thing, swift and sly. He's depleted the flocks of Driftmark to Wendwater for years. A good dragon for Jaehaerys, who has been quick in his own regards."

"I'm sure it is lovely," said Amalia, though she knew that Jaehaerys didn't care whether a dragon was pretty or not, only if it was a dragon or not. It wasn't as though she'd ever thought dragons to be beautiful. Majestic, yes, but not the sort of thing she dreamed of. Vhagar wasn't exactly easy on the eyes and she supposed her favorite had to be Tessarion, a most pleasant blue rivaling the brightness of Sunfyre.

Jaehaerys grabbed her by the arm, pulling her closer to the edge of the mount. Amalia's stomach turned, seeing the drop below them where the caves began. She reached out to hold onto Daemon, steadying herself right by the edge. Jaehaerys whistled, a rush of air blowing into her face and making her leap away. A mud brown dragon soared to the top of the cage, giving a chirp and swooping back down towards the landing– he was far bigger than what she would've thought suitable for Jaehaerys, but who was she to complain? Certainly not a pretty thing, but the smile on her son's face as the dragon landed and tilted his head towards her boy was enough to make her relax.

"Mother, meet Sheepstealer," said Jaehaerys. He spoke to the dragon in Valyrian, reaching out to caress the bridge over his nostrils. The horns over its mouth seemed to quiver as it rumbled, seeming to purr as a cat did. "Shall we go for a ride?"

Amalia's stomach was still turning. "I think I'll wait a few more days before I'm ready for that. It's never been my favorite." My children have too much fun on their dragons. The only one who won't try to do a flip is Helaena. Once Jaehaerys gets a few of them out of his system, then I'll take to the skies with him. Her son gave a shrug, making for the saddle as the dragon wiggled down to let him on. She turned to Daemon, whispering her thanks to him. Gods, another dragon to keep track of, what was she to do about that?

The first report of Cole's movements came from Rosby and Stokeworth. As those lords had cleaved to the Greens will, it was learned that their men had added power to Cole's host, until it set itself for Duskendale.

Ser Alfred Broome had had the audacity to say that Baela should've burned them when she had the chance. A dangerous thing to say with Daemon present, but Baela had defended herself without his help, stating he was free to do so when he next sighted them on his dragon.

"They're targeting Rhaenyra's supporters," said Daemon when it was only him, Rhaenys, Amalia, and Rhaenyra in that room. The men were exhausting and the children did not need to hear anything until there was a proper plan in place. "Duskendale will be hit hard and I doubt Harrenhal is the target. Rook's Rest lies further along the coast, more accessible to cole and equally housing a supporter of Rhaenyra. Cole knows that Houses Darklyn and Staunton hold high positions in Rhaenyra's council. Otto's plan is to break the will of her supporters, until there is nothing left."

"It's all purposeful," said Amalia. "He knows we have the advantage with the dragons, but until we have the majority on land, we cannot hope to seize King's Landing. If he forces all of Rhaenyra's closest supporters to join the Greens, then she would either be forced to burn those that originally raised her banners, or give up altogether."

Rhaenyra scowled. "None of that will happen. Our last letter from Harrenhal detailed great success. Laenor and Jace's presence there has improved upon the courage already shown by those who rose in their proper oaths."

"That may be so," agreed Rhaenys. "But how will their morale be impacted if their own families start to be slaughtered? We were fortunate with what happened between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. If Cole hits Duskendale and we send no aid, he will show no mercy. If he goes to Rook's Rest, he will show no mercy. Lord Staunton is anticipating this and already wishes for leave to close his gates and defy any attackers as long as he can. It will be insufficient without unleashing at least one dragon, Your Grace."

She kept on even when she saw Rhaenyra pressing her tongue to the inside of her mouth in discomfort. "It is possible there is an attack planned here, and they wish to lure us out– lure you out. We've already sent two dragons away and, forgive me, Prince Jaehaerys is nowhere near experienced enough to do anything if it comes to battle. I'd hardly entrust it to Baela or Daeron, they are too at risk. You must send either Daemon or myself."

Amalia did not like it, either, though she agreed. A show of force had to be made, lest they keep growing bolder. What was the point of having the dragons on their side if they did not use them? It was possible that burning a few men now would save them from burning scores of them– and entire castles and keeps– later down the line. "As much as I fear there is a trap out there... I think Rhaenys is right. We cannot let them slaughter all our allies. The others we have, no matter how far, will feel their Queen does not care for them and will not protect them. If we need to gain more supporters for Rhaenyra, particularly in the city, then all need to see the lengths Rhaenyra would go to in order to protect her claim and her men."

Rhaenyra drummed her fingers against the edge of the Painted Table. "The last report we have from the Reach tells us that Lord Ormund's host is heavily delayed. Lord Alan Tarly and Ser Alan Beesbury are causing quite the stir... raiding camps, murdering scouts, setting fires on the line of march. Lords Costayne and Rowan have issued from Three Towers and Goldengrove to trap them. Aid from them will not arrive soon, not in the form of food or men. I cannot imagine the Lannisters are any closer, not as close as our men at Harrenhal are. Yet they are not ready, and I suppose... there is no choice."

Before she could say more, the door opened. Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon marched in urgently. "Your Grace," said Ser Lorent, bowing hastily. "You will hardly believe the news we bring." Behind them, Ser Harrold Westerling was gripping tight a man with a sack over his head. His clothes were recognizable even if his face was hidden away. His cloak was rich, as those in his house tended to dress even for the simplest of occasions. Though not a hint of red shone– and if there were, it was likely blood– Amalia recognized the way he walked and the lines of gold at the stitchings of his boots.

Ser Harrold ripped the sack off, pushing the man towards Rhaenyra. His hands were already bound, and likely he'd been searched for weapons by now. Daemon drew his sword anyway, while Rhaenys instinctively moved out of Rhaenyra's path, though nearby enough she, too, could defend her if need be.

It was not Rhaenyra the man looked to, however. He stared at Amalia, face contorted with agony. He dropped to his knees, the sound sharp as they met with stone. "Your Grace," he pleaded. She often forgot he was a much different man than his twin, for it stunned her to see that face looking to her for help. "Sanctuary, I beg you, sanctuary."

"You're lucky you're in here alive," said Daemon coldly, stepping nearer to Amalia. "After the way your wife treated her own sister and child, had I found you attempting to make your way here, I would have already carved you in half. What brings you here, Ser Tyland?"

Amalia held out her hand, motioning for Daemon to stand down. Tyland leaned forward, giving a gasp of what could have been relief or pain or even exhaustion. He let his forehead drop into his clasped hands, sighing and shuddering. "I had to come here, there was nowhere else to go. I cannot do it, what they ask of me. They sent me to treat with the Triarchy, but I will not. Not when I know my daughter is here, I will not risk her life. Please, tell me she's alright."

Ignoring the way everyone signaled for her not to approach, Amalia went anyway. She sat herself down in front of Tyland as he caught his breath. He smelled like a wet dog, perhaps having come in the same way Ser Arryk snuck into the castle to try and kill Rhaenyra. Daemon had ensured every fishing boat was being double and triple checked entering and exiting the castle– nothing would have slipped past them. Tyland had to have known he'd be caught, had to have expected he might die. Still, he had come.

"Alyrie is safe," said Amalia soothingly, carefully placing her hand on his shoulder. "She is my niece, named for my mother. I would never have her harmed. I wanted her rescued, but I did not think it would be possible until she stood here with Helaena. The girls told me of the conditions they were being kept in. Alicent's doing, no doubt."

Tyland looked up at her between tears. "I never wanted to marry your sister. Your father convinced my brother and father we should, and so we did. There was no love between us, but when Alyrie was born, that was all that mattered to me. When Alicent was sent away, I had time with my daughter, time she hardly gave me when she was there. She was going to send our little girl off to be wed, she wanted to keep her away from everything she knew and loved. She would have done it when I was in Essos, I would've come back to find my daughter suffering. The relief I felt when I heard she'd been taken with Helaena... I give up, I cannot serve them anymore, none of it matters unless my daughter is safe. Please, I need to see her, I need to see for myself she is safe."

"I can let you, once you tell us what you came here to say." Amalia knew he hadn't just come for Alyrie. Being here was an act of treason in the eyes of her father– if Tyland ever made it back, he'd be killed. Jason would not see him as a brother anymore. He'd betrayed the cause everyone around him believed in because even he saw the truth to the matter. How could he help rob Rhaenyra of her inheritance then turn around and look into his daughter's eyes? How could he deny her that which he knew made her happy? Her friendship with Rhaenyra's son, her bond with her cousins.

She always knew Tyland had been different from Alicent. He'd been a good man to have on the Small Council, and she remembered he'd been respectful to her even when Alicent started turning her nose upward and keeping Alyrie away from her. The only time he'd angered her was when he tried to have her sons be fostered at Casterly Rock, but even that had been the doing of Alicent and Otto attempting to take Amalia's children away from her. He saw now the pain one felt when their children were so far, when one did not know if they were safe. He'd been fond of Lucerys ever since Amalia made him Tyland's squire, and he knew how deep the friendship between him and Alyrie went. Tyland had been manipulated by his parents and by Otto about as much as any of the others serving a false king.

His lip quivered but he straightened himself up. Still, he looked only at Amalia– she must have been the only one he wasn't so afraid of. He was scared of her, to be sure, for he surely saw the way Daemon loomed over her waiting for him to threaten her life so he'd have an excuse to cut him apart. But Tyland had always interacted with Amalia the most, he knew very well that she was reasonable, that while she had the power to hurt, she rarely wanted to do so.

"I told them we cannot win this," he whispered. "I told them that no army from the Reach or the Westerlands would be a match for the might of the Riverlands, the Vale, the North, and dragons flying overhead. That was when they decided they had to reach for the Triarchy. That was when they started deciding to target Rhaenyra's allies."

"Queen Rhaenyra," corrected Daemon coldly behind her. Amalia, too, disliked that Tyland spoke her name as if they were familiars. But perhaps it was too early for him to acknowledge her as his queen. He thought she would win, but he was yet to be convinced she was what they wanted in a ruler. That could be worked on.

Tyland gulped and corrected, "Queen Rhaenyra's allies. The Lord Hand's manipulations on the boys have yielded nothing. I've been there as he speaks to them, as he lectures them. Tells them that they were robbed of their birthright. Your boys are clever, Your Grace, every time your father tells Aegon he is the rightful heir, your boy insists that neither you nor his father ever said such a thing. Ser Otto insists you are easily influenced by feelings, that your femininity weakens you. It was Aemond who I saw spit in his face and tell him that you are the strongest person he has ever met, woman or not. He said... he said, 'Grandfather, you are an old man with hardly the strength to move your bowels into a chamber pot, much less one mighty enough to withstand childbirth and all that you made my mother endure when you wed her to my father. Let us not talk about strength, because even my mother could pluck out your eyes while you struggle to lift your sword.'"

It made her smile, but the smile dropped imagining what must have been said back to such a statement. "Aegon insists he will not take a crown that is not his," continued Tyland. "He says he will not damn himself for pride and glory as many have mistakenly done, that she is his sister and he would never betray her and incur her wrath. He only took Princess Helaena to wife because of the threat on their lives. I can only imagine the resistance they are putting up now that they are free. But they will wed him again, I know, to Lady Cassandra Baratheon."

Tyland fell again, limp fingers reaching for the hem of her skirt. Daemon took a step forward, but the man only gripped it tight as though to hold himself steady. "You must act now... all of you, you have to act before it is too late. They have a scorpion bolt with them as they march for Duskendale, for Rook's Rest. The majority of their men are archers, and they are lacing their arrows with poison, your brothers march with them and they will burn if you send a dragon, but that same dragon can easily fall if they are cautious enough sending their bolts through the treeline. Turn to King's Landing, take the city now. Force Cole to turn back and be caught between your force at King's Landing and the one you've massed at Harrenhal."

Finally, he looked right into Rhaenyra's eyes. "Use your dragons before they find a way to kill them all."

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A/N: Happy 500 pages! Next chapter may possibly be one of the last if not the last. Comment for more!