Blood of Old Valryia (Aemond Targaryen FF)

Chapter Sixty Four

Aesira flew straight for Kings Landing. Her plan had been to burn the Sept to the ground, with all of the dragons inside of it. Upon her arrival at the capital city, she saw the Sept was already up in smoke. Her destruction at Storm's End had travelled faster than she had. So she turned her sights to the Red Keep that loomed over the polluted city.

As she landed in the lower bailey of the Keep, she untied Jace and tossed him to the ground before calling over the knights.

"Take him to the Maester," Aesira commanded the knights, who looked at her with fear in their eyes. The sight of the large dragon and Aesira's ruthless behavior had left them worried for their safety.

They are used to my Sakaris' fire, Aesira thought to herself, but they have never seen me this callous before.

Aesira dismounted as the knights carried Jace toward the Maester's Tower. She kept her bo-staff strapped to her back and then rested her forehead on Sakaris' and whispered, "You know what to do. Get it done." 

Sakaris did little more than huff before Aesira twisted and bounded up the steps of the Keep, her eyes meeting the frightened gaze of the small folk who had gathered to see what was happening in the courtyard behind her. 

The Great Hall was a magnificent chamber, with a high ceiling supported by tall marble columns and a large fireplace at one end. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, illuminating the room with a warm golden glow. But despite the beauty of the Hall, a sense of unease hung in the air.

Aesira's eyes were drawn to the throne almost immediately, where she saw a wounded Rhaenyra seated atop the throne that was always meant to be her birthright, with Aegon the Elder lying dead at her feet. Rhaenyra had gotten what she wanted then, at the expense of too many lives, too many sons, too many brothers, too many husbands. And the reason for this strife lay dead at her feet.

"Aesira," Rhaenyra said. Her voice was raspy and weak, "you're back. Have you come to aid me, sweet cousin? The greens' army badly outnumbers my own."

Aesira approached the throne, her eyes fixed on Rhaenyra.

"The war is over," she said firmly. "I have returned from the battlefield, and there are no survivors."

"Truly?" A smile bloomed on Rhaenyra's mouth, as blood dotted the corners of her lips. "Your aid is noted, appreciated, and will be rewarded. Name your price, sweet cousin and it will be yours."

Aesira paused by the lifeless body of Aegon the Elder. A few feet away, Alicent's muffled sobs pierced the air as she grieved for her son, who she was unable to hold in her arms because of the two Queensguard holding her back. "I wish to be forgotten and erased from this accursed land of kinslayers and kingslayers alike. This land and its warring antics have taken everything from me."

The jab is meant for Rhaenyra, for anyone who fought in her name or Aegon's, Aesira thought to herself, steeling her spine as she stood before the towering throne. They were all kinslayers and kingslayers alike. And where she and her Aemond had agonised over the choices they'd made that led to their kinslaying, no one in the court cared about who'd been killed. All that mattered was that their side had won.

Rhaenyra swallowed hard, all fondness and warmth bled from her face as she looked at Aesira, her eyes searching for answers. "Where is my son? What has become of Jacerys on that field of battle?"

"You have not given me leave yet," Aesira narrowed her eyes. "Promise to leave me be, to erase me from your history books, your missives, your minds. What becomes of your Heir is no concern of me or mine."

Rhaenyra looked down the bridge of her nose at Aesira. "Whatever callousness has wrought you in this year past, I am willing to put it aside for the sake of our family. I will need you. If I succumb to my wounds, you will be needed to guide young Viserys. If Jace has fallen, then Viserys is all that remains."

"If you succumb to your wounds, Rhaenyra, then it is the will of the Gods," Aesira did not mean to sound as cold as she did but the words were true still. Any fondness or love she had felt for her family had fizzled away the day they set the man she loved on the path that led to his death. "I will not interfere with their plans."

It would never be Aesira's place to offer guidance or opinion to the Queen of the Realm, but this war was not one that needed to be fought. Bending the knee to Aegon the Elder would have wounded her pride but it would have saved this Realm from the war that had ravaged it. And had Aegon the Elder, and his family of traitors, not superseded the chosen line of succession, this Realm would have been spared the war that ruined it.

Rhaenyra looked at Aesira, disappointment in her eyes. "I had hoped you would be more helpful," she said. "But if you will not aid me, then why have you come here? If your intent is truly to be forgotten, you need only have stayed away."

"I'm here to right the wrongs of House Targaryen," Aesira declared, side-eyeing the wailing Alicent and Rhaenyra. "A war like this will never happen again. And when I am done, my shadow will never darken Westeros again."

The ground beneath their feet trembled and then a pained roar echoed through the Great Hall. Syrax. 

Rhaenyra's eyes locked with Aesira's, understanding what the sound meant, and rose to her feet to yell at the knights, "Grab her!" 

But Aesira would not be taken prisoner, not in Kingslanding, not ever again. Ser Gyles had made sure to train her more efficiently than Aemond ever could have. Ser Gyles had ensured that no knight, lord, sellsword or even Queen, would ever hold her against her will again.

Aesira unsheathed her bo-staff, as the knights surrounded her, recognising the threat that she posed. As one, they stepped forward, swords drawn. All of their faces changed into that of Ser Gyles, and the way he had prepared her for their advances. With a fierce determination in her eyes, she swung her staff with grace and precision, striking the knights and forcing them to yield a step back. They exchanged glances and then one knight, one Ser Gyles, lunged forward.

The sound of metal clashing against wood echoed throughout the Great Hall as Aesira fiercely defended herself with her bo-staff. She twirled it around herself with expert ease, using its length to keep the knights at bay as she backed towards the door. The knights tried to close in on her, but she struck out with quick jabs, forcing them to retreat.

One of the knights tried to strike her from behind, but Aesira quickly spun around, using her staff to block the blow. She brought the end of her staff up in a swift arc, striking the knight on the side of his head and sending him sprawling to the ground. The other knights hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the ferocity of her fighting style.

With the knights momentarily stunned, Aesira took advantage of the situation. She darted towards the door, dodging and weaving around the knights as she fought her way out of the Keep. She leaped over a fallen knight, her staff blurring through the air as she struck at anyone who tried to stop her.

As she reached the courtyard, Aesira scaled onto the back of her dragon, yelling, "Dragonfire! Dragonfire!"

Sakaris reared her head back and breathed a column of white-blue flame at the approaching knights, melting them in their suits, and burning the area around them. Aesira crawled into the saddle and turned Sakaris' head towards the body of Syrax. Syrax's head had been clawed in and Aesira knew the blood that pooled around the lifeless body, was also on Sakaris' talons.

Sakaris burned and burned and burned until Syrax's body, and half the courtyard was wreathed in the white-blue flame and smoldering piles of ash.

Rhaenyra's screams were heard echoing through the halls of the Red Keep as Sakaris launched into the sky, leaving the wretched and half-burnt castle behind them.

No more would Targaryens be given weapons of mass destruction to abuse and instill fear over the people of Westeros. If they wanted the Iron Throne, they would have to earn it the way every other Great House did.

Syrax, though unfortunate, had to die. Like all of the other dragons in the hypogeum below the dragonpit. Though Rhaenyra might respect the dragon she rode, the next rider of Syrax might not.