Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

The Sack of King's Landing had to have been one of the most perplexing battles in the history of Westeros. Aelor had been there, and even he was confused.

Twelve thousand Westermen had descended onto the light defended capital, gaining the gates through deception. The door to the city had no sooner been opened then the true intent of the Lions became clear, the guards being cut down before the mass pillaging of the City of Dragons began. Women were r.a.p.ed, innocents slaughtered, gold and other valuables taken; half of Flea Bottom had gone up in flames, the cries of hundreds of smallfolk filling the grey sky as they burned in the filthy slum they called home.

And then another force had arrived, bearing the warring white dragons of Prince Aelor, smashing into the disorganized Westerman with the force of a blacksmith's hammer. The massacre had turned from that of civilians to soldiers, many being caught literally with their pants around their ankles, pulled off of the women they were raping and disemboweled, their lifeblood flowing around their stiffened members to form great crimson puddles. Many of the Westermen were so committed to the utter chaos they were wracking that they never knew they were being attacked before it was too late.

Infantry under Lord Randyll Tarly of the Westmarch had followed, many rushing through the gates to assist the cavalry of Prince Aelor in ridding the capital of lions while others formed there, cutting down any Lannister who tried to flee. Some Western lords managed to rally retainers and attempt breakouts at each of the gates, but the men of the Reach, unbloodied so far in the war, held firm, keeping the lions in their cage.

What rattled most about the battle wasn't the quick changes in momentum, however. What rattled most was the presence of two Targaryen Princes.

Aelor, Lord of Duskendale and second son of the king, had rode through the Mud Gate first, in the minds of the citizens cutting bloody swaths alongside Barristan the Bold and his best knights on their way to the Red Keep, through sheer brilliance anticipating Lord Tywin's move and arriving to thwart the lion. Rhaegar, Lord of Dragonstone and heir to the Throne, had ridden through the King's Gate alone, cutting his own path through the carnage towards the same destination. To many he had appeared as a God, returning from his self-imposed exile in time to save the city of his birth with his brother.

Only the two men in question knew what utter gibberish all of it was.

The brothers sat in silence in the Small Council Chamber, one at each end of the table. Rhaegar, hauntingly beautiful face framed by long silver hair, was strumming his lute, changing the song periodically. Aelor, his face bruised and bloodied, held a chalice of wine in his right hand and a tankard to refill it in his left.

Neither spoke for a long time.

"Do I have to call you 'Your Grace' now?" The latter finally asked, the cut he received from Tygett Lannister bound to make for one hell of a scar.

His elder brother smiled sadly. Rhaegar does everything sadly. "Only in public. In private you are still my brother."

Aelor nodded sharply. "Good. Because King or not, I'm still going to curse you for a fool."

Rhaegar Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, smiled all the sadder. "I know."

Their father was dead.

They had found the Mad King dead at the feet of Jaime Lannister, his long fingernails snapped from his impact with the ground, a bloody smile carved into his throat. Jaime sat the throne, dressed in the golden armor of his house instead of the white enamel plate of the Kingsguard, looking as calm as if he'd only swatted a fly instead of killing the King he was sworn to protect.

The lad hadn't put up a fight, dropping his sword and submitting himself to chains in the black cells when Ser Barristan and Alaric had found him after finding and killing the fat Armory Lorch in Rhaenys' chambers. Aelor didn't feel so much as a hint of sadness at the death of his father, a fact that no longer bothered him; his heart was so black by now it would have surprised him if he was to actually feel remorse.

Ser Barristan Selmy stood guard at the door of the chamber, the only Kingsguard left in the city besides the new Kingslayer, as Rhaegar's three companions hadn't returned with him, Prince Lewyn Martell was with the new heir to the throne, and Ser Jonothor Darry had been found slain in the chambers of Princess Elia, having gone to check on the Princess and instead running into a giant as he crushed a lady-in-waiting's head.

Darry was an excellent swordsman, but he didn't stand a chance against the behemoth they'd learned had been called Gregor Clegane. They'd found his body nearly cut in two at the waist, lying over the ruin of what had once been Talana Vaith, the lady in waiting looking as if she'd been ravaged by a monster.

That same monster had very nearly killed Aelor, only stopped from succeeding by the new King. Clegane's head now resided on a spike on the battlements of the Red Keep.

Rhaegar cleared his throat and for a moment Aelor thought he was going to begin to sing, but instead the new King of the Iron Throne spoke. Pity. I always like my brother's singing; maybe it would have calmed me down enough to not want to kill him. "Where are my children?"

Aelor took another drink of wine. He wasn't overly fond of alcohol, but right now he needed plenty of it. "Halfway to Dragonstone by now, if the winds were good."

Rhaegar waited for an explanation Aelor didn't voluntarily give. "How?"

"The same way I knew Tywin Lannister was marching; with the help of a Spider."

Rhaegar tilted his head back in understanding. "Lord Varys."

Aelor nodded. "You know of the secret passages; you and I used to ditch our lessons and play in them as boys. The Spider knows them better than anyone. I left my man Manfred Darke and recruited Varys' help should the city be attacked. He did the rest. Odds are they were well gone by the time I arrived, though in my panic I'd entirely forgotten the plan myself. I'll have to apologize to the swordfish knight for my crude language."

"Baratheon?"

Aelor clenched his jaw, teeth grinding. "I had the choice of riding for King's Landing or destroying the Rebellion's leader. I could not do both."

Rhaegar nodded. "I understand." They sat in silence for a few moments longer, Rhaegar strumming the lute absently. "Our father is dead. If I were to sue for peace, do you believe—"

"No," Aelor cut him off. "Why the hell would they? They have an army already amassed and reinforcements with a claimant marching towards them. And you and I are still alive. We are as guilty of starting this war as our father was."

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes," Aelor said, voice growing hard as his anger rose. "You ran off with a woman who wasn't your wife."

Rhaegar sighed. "Brother—"

"Save it," Aelor cut in, rising in his wroth. "You stole a woman, disrespecting your beautiful wife who will make the best Queen since Alysanne Targaryen. And then you brought the girl's father and brother to King's Landing, where our father killed them. Thanks to you. You, Rhaegar." Aelor glared at his brother a moment before dropping back into his seat in a defeated slouch, taking a long sip of wine. "And I am no better."

Rhaegar watched his brother calmly. "How so?"

Aelor stared into his wine. "We've always known what our father was, since we were little boys. For a long time we didn't stop him because we couldn't, but what excuse do we have for the last few years? We were his sons; you were loved by all the realm, and they at least didn't hate me. We could have done something, stopped all of this. Instead you steal a woman and I watch as a good man is burned alive, his son killing himself in a desperate attempt to save his father." Aelor's stare was unseeing, the Prince reliving a dark night full of wildfire and burnt flesh. "I stood andwatched. I could have done something, stopped the madness before it began, but I did nothing. And then I ran. I ran so I wouldn't have to listen as he r.a.p.ed our mother, the sweetest woman the gods ever graced Westeros with." Aelor took another long drink before laughing bitterly. "Some Princes we are."

Rhaegar said nothing, instead starting to strum The Dornishman's Wife on his lute. The King played and the Prince drank, neither speaking for a long while.

"I suppose I owe you for saving my life," Aelor said eventually, his tone making no secret of how distasteful he found that fact to be."

"No," Rhaegar responded, still playing. "You ensured Elia and my children were smuggled to safety. That is a debt I cannot repay."

"Good," Aelor said, slamming his chalice down. "Because you're the most foolish son of a bitch I have ever known."

Rhaegar sighed again. "I know you don't understand, Aelor."

"You're damn right."

"The prophecy—"

"Piss on your prophecy," Aelor spat, voice cold and sharp as he rose to his feet again. "That whole ridiculous delusion that you let become your obsession has already killed thousands. You broke a good woman's heart and ran out on two wonderful children because you buggering dreamed it was for the best! Horse shit it was. You tore a realm apart because of the decades old ramblings of a woods witch."

"The Prince that was promised—"

"Sure as hell isn't you or I."

Rhaegar clenched his jaw, only now beginning to grow angry at his younger brother's berating. "Careful, brother."

Aelor snorted. "Or what, Your Grace? Are you going to burn me alive as our father would have done? I've been fighting a war for you, Rhaegar. I've been doing it poorly at times I admit, but at least I was trying to put a stop to the destruction of our dynasty. And what were you doing? Hiding hell knows where with a woman who for all I know you kidnapped, letting men die by the scores." Aelor had both his hands on the table as he leaned over it, violet eyes boring into his brother's identical ones. To Rhaegar's credit he met them evenly. "Maybe Aegon is the Prince that was promised, but he can only fulfill your prophecy if we steer him to greatness. And we can only do that if we are alive. In case you weren't aware, there are tens of thousands of men at Riverrun and thousands more heading there, all aimed at killing every Targaryen that breathes."

Rhaegar was silent even longer, now playing the Bear and the Maiden Fair. Aelor wanted to take the lute and break it over his brother's head. "Are we certain they are still at Riverrun?"

Aelor sat slowly as he nodded, some of his anger dissipating after he lost his temper. I'm still going to kill him, but I suppose I can wait until the war is over to do it. "No. Baratheon is marching that way and he has too far of a lead on Prince Oberyn and his Dornishmen. Whether the rest of the rebellion is still at Riverrun or marching to meet Baratheon we're unsure of."

"How many men do they have?"

"Close to forty thousand. We'll have close to the same once Oberyn arrives, probably five thousand or so less. I sent Mace Tyrell and the Redwyne Fleet to besiege Storm's End."

Rhaegar c.o.c.ked his brow. "I imagine Robert's brothers are there, but does it truly matter whether Storm's End falls?"

Aelor shook his head. "No, but it keeps Tyrell out of the way."

Rhaegar smiled, and for the first time that day it wasn't a sad one. "Prudent of you, Aelor. You have made quite a name for yourself in this war."

The Dragon of Duskendale shrugged. "The Seven know why. I've only fought a handful of battles, and each of them I've either had the element of surprise or superior numbers. And I still had my flank turned by Selwyn buggering Tarth. A Dragon outmaneuvered by a man with the nickname 'Evenstar'. How pathetic."

"You're men love you, and I daresay you're being thought of as the second coming of Aemon the Dragonknight."

"I'm good at killing people. So is every sellsword on either side of the Narrow Sea."

"But none of those sellswords are Princes of the Iron Throne. Or Hand of the King."

Aelor stared at Rhaegar a long moment. "You're going to need to clarify that."

Rhaegar put his lute aside, standing to walk to his brother's chair. "Father's last Hand of the King was apparently some pyromancer, Roassart I believe. Jaime Lannister killed him before he cut our father's throat."

"Why?"

Rhaegar shrugged. "I couldn't say, though I fully intend to find out. I need a Hand of the King, one who can help me finish this war and also rule the Seven Kingdoms in Aegon's name should something happen to me. I can think of no one better than you." The King held his hand out to his shocked brother.

Aelor hit him.

Rhaegar went reeling backwards though he kept his feet. "No!" He told Ser Barristan when the Kingsguard knight began to start for them, intent on breaking them up. "Let him rage!"

So Aelor raged. Though three years younger, Aelor had been bigger and stronger than Rhaegar for most of their lives, and he used it. His chair went flying back as the Dragon of Duskendale burst out of it, landing another blow to his brother the King's cheekbone. Rhaegar fought back though they both knew he was outmatched; it was as if they were young children again, settling their quarrels through the world's oldest method of negotiation.

Ser Barristan the Bold, grateful for being called off, could only watch with a slight smile on his face as the two Targaryen's beat the hell out of each other like they were children again. Barristan would know; he'd watched them many times before.

By the time they were done Aelor's cut had reopened, fresh blood flowing down the second son's jaw. Rhaegar's hauntingly beautiful face was no longer quite as beautiful, his lip busted and bruises already beginning to form. Both men were breathing heavily, Aelor hunched over with his hands on his knees and Rhaegar hugging a column to keep himself standing.

"If you think," Aelor started through gasps for breath, "That a damn pin…is going to make me forget your stupidity…"

"I…know it won't," Rhaegar replied, holding that column closer than he ever had his wife. "But it's a…serious offer. We have…a war to win. You're the best…man for it."

Aelor glared daggers at his brother while both caught their breath. After several long minutes he slowly rose, face still angry and fists, bloody knuckles and all, still clenched. "I'll take the damn pin until the war is over. Then you'll take it back and find someone else to run your kingdom's for you, because I sure as hell won't."

Rhaegar had gone from hugging the column to simply leaning against it. "Fair enough. Though if I die, I want you to be Aegon's regent. You'll care for him, Rhaenys and Elia probably better than I ever could."

"I already do."

Rhaegar's sad smile returned. Aelor found it easier to stomach when Rhaegar winced at his split lip. "I know." He held his brother's gaze. "You love her."

Aelor raised a brow. "Rhaenys? Of course."

"Elia." Aelor's face instantly turned shocked. "You have for years, baby brother. You might not have known it, but I have. And she loves you, though I doubt she knows it either."

Aelor began to viciously protest, but it died in his throat. He thought of Elia then, all Dornish beauty with a heart of gold. He had always been fond of her it was true, but he had never considered it something more. She was his brother's wife, an unattainable object that Aelor hadn't even realized he wanted.

But then he remembered that he did have a strange fondness for Dornish women that had begun roughly when Elia had first arrived in the capital. Annara down at Chataya's was Dornish, as was Senelle at Allie's back in Duskendale; both were his favorites. And then there was Talana Vaith, so recently deceased. Aelor realized that he thought of Elia when he was with each of them. Well I'll be damned. That's buggering messed up, even for a Targaryen.

He loved Elia's company, almost always seeking it out when he had a chance. He wrote her often and thought of her even more. Her laugh never failed to make him smile. I sound like a young girl, all these romanticized thoughts. Renfred would never let me forget it if he knew. Rhaegar's words made a hell of a lot of sense, Aelor had to admit.

So this is love. Who knew.

Aelor finally looked back at his brother, still leaning against a column. "This changes nothing, Rhaegar. You know us both. We'd never—"

"I'm not worried about that, Aelor. Elia probably doesn't know how she feels anyway. Even if she did, I don't disapprove."

Aelor raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You don't care at all that your brother loves your wife?"

Rhaegar shrugged, a motion that caused him some pain judging by his wince. "No, nor do I care that my wife loves my brother. All I care for right now is ending this war and keeping my children safe; the rest can be worked out later. I need your help to do so. Are you with me?" Rhaegar held his hand out again.

This time Aelor took it. "Aye. But if you do one more bonehead thing, I promise I'll kill you myself."

Rhaegar smiled once more. "I know, brother. Believe me, I know."