Chapter 2: Unknown Loyalty

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen rode Syrax to Rook's Rest upon receiving a raven from Lord Staunton. She hadn't intended to leave Dragonstone, grief over her son's death still raw. Yet, the message's allure proved irresistible. She had to see for herself. As Syrax circled the castle, the sight below seemed unreal. The battlefield was laid bare: no grass, no encampments, just scorch marks and a crater. In the crater lay a monstrous creature, its flesh exposed, no skin remaining, lifeless and steaming, disintegrating. The corpse was immense, rivaling even The Wall of the North in length.

But what truly caught Rhaenyra's eye was Vhagar, gravely wounded, body shredded as if by an explosion. The she-dragon clung to life, barely. Mercy killing was the kindest option, yet no one had done it. Nearby lay another dragon, head torn from its body: Sunfyre. The golden beast lay lifeless.

Rhaenyra circled twice more, taking in the battle's devastation. Scorched banners of the Greens littered the field. Bodies, unrecognizable from a terrible force, were being gathered for burning, septons praying over them.

Swallowing her anticipation, she descended outside the castle walls, where an encampment awaited. Dragonkeepers swarmed to guide her down. She slid towards the ground using Syrax's wings, and drew a deep breath to steady herself.

Not far off, a throng of men-at-arms encircled something. A pole, stark and solitary, marked the center of their huddle, with the top of it something, but it wasn't clear from the distance. Rhaenyra advanced, Syrax taken elsewhere under careful watch. As she neared, the soldiers parted solemnly, revealing the grim display.

Atop the pole, a head. Aegon's head.

Disbelief clutched her; the reality seemed ungraspable. She stood, breath caught in the vise of shock.

Lord Staunton arrived, weary on his steed, his knights a vigilant guard. He dismounted with haste, offering a curt bow.

"Your Grace. You needn't have come," he said.

"I had my doubts, Lord Staunton," she replied. "But after seeing… this, it seems you weren't exaggerating."

He smiled weakly. "I wouldn't dare."

Rhaenyra glanced at the castle, her breath catching. "So, is the other…?"

"In the dungeons, Your Grace," he nodded.

"And Princess Rhaenys?"

"Well cared for by our maesters," he replied. "I've sent a raven to Maidenpool for reinforcements in case of retaliation."

"Very well." Rhaenyra nodded, her gaze drifting to the colossal corpse far away. It troubled her. "What is that creature? Have you discovered anything?"

Doubt flickered in his eyes. "You must see for yourself, Your Grace. Or rather… ask it."

Ask? Rhaenyra frowned. "Then lead me to the dungeons first."

The lord nodded, commanding his knights to escort the queen. Just as she was about to walk off, she turned to the lord once more, before her eyes traveling to the distant Vhagar.

"And Lord Staunton. Why hasn't anyone finished off that beast?" questioned Rhaenyra, she tried to be as calm as possible, but her rage was leaking. That beast killed her son, and so it deserves death.

"We're trying, your grace." Lord Staunton defended. "While she is on her death days, she still has some fight left. Every man I sent she burned. I had thought that time would claim her soon, but if your grace wishes the beast to be killed, we'll keep trying."

The queen merely hummed, continuing to walk. "Then let her suffer."

***

Prince Aemond sat on the damp stone of the dungeons beneath Rook's Rest. He looked surprisingly well, his dragon bearing the brunt of the explosion due to her immense size, leaving him relatively unscathed. His only injuries stemmed from Vhagar's fall: a couple of broken ribs and an arm now supported by cloth. Even as a prisoner, he was a prince and thus demanded a certain level of respect.

His eye-patch was gone. The sapphire that once adorned his empty socket was likely taken while he was unconscious, either by a soldier or the lord himself. But his remaining eye remained fixed on the man in the cell opposite. The prisoner appeared young, with red hair and eyes as green as an emerald, the prince swore those eyes seemed to glow in the dark.

This was the man who killed Vhagar, the one responsible for the colossal titan that had annihilated the Targaryen host, including the Hand. A man who transformed into a fifty-foot giant and then into a seven-hundred-foot monstrosity. The notion seemed absurd. Aemond had never heard of magic so terrifying. But then again, dragons were said to come from dark sorcery; perhaps a man like this was possible.

The young man noticed Aemond's gaze and turned towards him, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

"Do you have something to say, my prince?" the young man asked.

At first, Aemond was silent, but he eventually succumbed to temptation. He looked down, releasing a thin breath.

"What are you?" Aemond asked. "A warlock? Does that whore of a queen resort to such services now? A far place to seek aid."

"The queen did no such thing." The young man chuckled, almost dismissing the question entirely. "I have no connection to Dragonstone."

"Then why," Aemond hesitated, "why did a monster such as yourself aid her side in battle? If you had transformed into that titan within the walls, the siege would have been unnecessary."

"I am not on your side either," the young man shrugged. "I simply... took a leap."

"A leap?"

"Now everyone knows what happened here," the young man said. "Most will dismiss, fear, or deny. But for the few, they'll take a chance on me."

"You turned yourself in." Aemond gestured at the cells. "How will that help you? Most will fear you, as you said. Who will stop Lord Staunton, or even his queen, from executing you? A common-born like you has no significance."

"I am harder to kill than you think. And yes, I am common-born. But in your one eye, am I insignificant now?" the young man asked. "Forgive my bluntness, my prince. But Vhagar is practically dead, and you are no longer the fearsome beast everyone thought. Your reputation depended on your dragon, and now she is gone."

Aemond was silent. He looked down at his broken arm. "That may be true. But I am still a prince."

"A prince and what army? I've burned them all. It will take weeks for another army to come." said the young man. "A prince is only a title here, nothing more. You are a hostage. Once the queen arrives, your head will be on a spike as well."

"Then I'll take a chance on you," the prince stated.

The young man scoffed. "What do you have to offer?"

"If you bring me safely to King's Landing, as soon as the war is over I will give you titles and lands," the prince said. "My brother is dead. I am to be king."

"His son is to be king," the young man corrected. "Maelor, if I recall correctly."

"No one wants a child as king," Aemond said. "It is easy enough to usurp him. I am already a kinslayer; what is one more nephew?"

The young man chuckled at the declaration. "If I were to destroy the Eyrie, would you give me the Vale?"

"I will," Aemond hummed.

"If I were to massacre the Starks, would you give me the North?"

"I will."

"You don't even know what I am," the young man said.

"I do not need to. I have seen your capabilities myself. Vhagar's injuries bear witness," said Aemond.

"And what if I want the throne?" the young man asked again.

"Then I bid you fortune, when you seek to sway the lords of the seven kingdoms. Aegon achieved it, amidst chaos, but he secured his conquest. Yet it was Jaehaerys who finally brought stability to the realm. You, a common-born from the Crownlands, face a far steeper climb."

"I am well aware of my station," the young man replied with a smirk. "If I aid your escape, what are my chances of execution upon reaching King's Landing? I slew Vhagar, cleared the path for your king's demise, and caused the deaths of men from House Rosby, House Stokeworth, and House Darklyn, not to mention the Hand."

"You will not be executed," Aemond assured.

The young man sighed. "Words are wind. You are a desperate man, my prince."

"I am," Aemond admitted. "As you said, I am doomed to be beheaded when Rhaenyra arrives."

Finally, the young man smiled. "We shall wait until then, then."

Aemond frowned. "So you agree?"

"I made no such promise."

Aemond looked down at the damp ground, contemplating his bleak future. Survival seemed impossible without the man before him, yet even that was uncertain.

It was then that the dungeon door creaked open. Knights spilled into the already cramped chamber, and at the very end of the procession came Queen Rhaenyra, accompanied by Lord Staunton. Aemond's lone eye fixed upon the queen's visage. Her features were worn, but a deep-seated rage smoldered in her gaze. Every ember of that fury was directed at him.

The queen stared at Aemond, her expression shifting from rage to sorrow, then to satisfaction, and finally ecstasy. She clasped her hands together, her posture rigid and unyielding.

"Kinslayer," the queen finally spoke.

"Princess," Aemond greeted her. "It is kind of you to come all the way from Dragonstone."

"Your brother is dead. Your dragon incapacitated. Yet you remain... prideful," the queen spat. "Soon enough, you will join him, along with your mother and grandsire. How unfortunate that you are defeated here."

"If it weren't for that man behind you, Lord Staunton would have lost his head. And I would have paraded Meleys's head through King's Landing," Aemond stated.

The queen turned to see the young man lurking in the shadows. Even she flinched at those haunting eyes, glowing eerily in the dim light.

"Indeed," the queen murmured. "Though I know little of the details, that matter can wait. I am here for you, Aemond."

"You can take my head at any time, princess," Aemond replied. "He is the one you should be concerned about. For your own safety."

The queen raised an eyebrow. "And why is that? Are you merely delaying your death?"

"Do you know how he decimated my army?" Aemond asked. "He transformed into a fifty-foot titan. He tore through my men, and when Vhagar and I approached, an explosion erupted from his titan form. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, looking up at a monstrous figure, seven hundred feet tall, skinless, its flesh exposed, steam pouring from every pore. It was as if The Wall had been reborn into a living being."

The queen fell silent. She turned to Lord Staunton, whose solemn expression confirmed the prince's words. She looked back at the young man, who smiled when their eyes met.

"A warlock? This far from Qarth?" the queen asked.

"I thought so too," the prince answered. "But he claims he is his own being."

"And why does that make him more important for my safety?"

"Who says he couldn't do it again?" the prince said. "Right here, beneath the castle."

Once again, silence claimed the place. The queen watched as Lord Staunton grew paler by the second, cold sweat glistening on his brow.

"Your Grace," Lord Staunton began, voice quivering. "We must move you to safety at once. It was my mistake, I was too—"

"All is well, my lord," the queen interjected, stepping towards the young man's cell. "He will not do it."

The lord was taken aback. "Y-Your Grace?"

"He aided you, did he not?" the queen asked, her gaze unwavering on the young man, who merely smiled. "And why is that?"

"I serve the queen," the young man replied at last.

"Do you seek a reward?" the queen inquired. "Lands? Titles? I shall grant you all, if you continue to serve me in this war. If Aemond speaks true, your power rivals that of dragons, perhaps even surpasses it."

"You honor me, my queen," the young man bowed his head. "I am at your mercy."

The queen paused, contemplating deeply before turning to Lord Staunton.

"My lord, release him," she commanded.

"Y-Yes, Your Grace," the lord replied, doubtful yet obedient. He ordered the dungeon keeper to unlock the cell. The keeper also unshackled the young man, freeing his limbs. The young man stepped out, glancing briefly at the prince before turning to the queen and kneeling in submission.

"I thank you for your grace," he said.

"Rise," the queen instructed. "What is your name?"

"Willam, my queen," he replied, standing.

The queen nodded and turned to Lord Staunton. "See to it that he is well-dressed for the prince's execution."

"Very well, Your Grace."

Willam was escorted from the dungeon, leaving only Aemond, Rhaenyra, and a few knights.

"A mistake," Aemond smirked. "In your place, I would have executed him on the spot."

"What is there to doubt? I do not revel in wanton violence as you do," Rhaenyra retorted. "A loyal subject must be rewarded."

"Even if he threatens your reign?" Aemond pressed.

"That can be dealt with later," Rhaenyra snapped. "But for you, it doesn't matter. The dead know not the future."

Aemond chuckled. "True enough. But take it as a warning, if not to you, then perhaps to me."

The queen frowned but said no more. She turned and exited, leaving Aemond to his solitude.

The prince sighed, pondering his fate—whether escape or death awaited, he did not know.

***

Now, Aemond stood upon a hastily assembled platform, a noose dangling ominously at its center. Shackled and dragged from the dungeons, he was to be hanged for all to witness. Before him stood the queen and Lord Simon Staunton. They needn't sit; this was meant to be swift. Yet, the queen longed to see Aemond's death, to watch his life wither as the noose tightened.

The prince gazed at the queen, his expression inscrutable. Acceptance or defiance? No one could tell. The queen, however, looked almost serene, as if a great burden would soon lift.

The executioner led Aemond to the noose, securing it around his neck as he balanced on a stool. It was then he noticed Willam, a man he'd spoken with earlier, lurking in the corner. Willam, now well-dressed despite his common birth, looked serious, the playful smirk gone. Lord Staunton had taken the queen's command quite seriously.

The queen stepped forward, her anticipation palpable. The executioner stood ready, poised to kick the stool. "Do you have any last words, kinslayer?"

Aemond glanced at Willam's empty spot and sighed. Perhaps this was truly the end. "You are fortunate, Rhaenyra. You won by sheer luck," he said. "I wonder how long that luck will hold."

"'Tis no luck that brought you here, Aemond," she replied. "'Tis your arrogance."

The queen nodded to the executioner, who then kicked the stool away. Gravity took hold. Aemond felt his body weight straining his neck; he couldn't breathe, let alone speak. His vision blurred, pain overwhelming. It was a wretched way to die.

But through the haze, he saw blinding lights appeared behind the crowd. From it emerged a titan, twenty-three feet tall, unknown to all but Aemond. In his final moments, he knew this was his salvation. The crowd screamed as the titan charged, its long arms tearing the noose free. Aemond found himself cradled on the titan's shoulder, breathing once more.

He could see it clearly now—the titan's shape. It was different than before. Its arms were long, yet its legs were thick, built for running. Swords were drawn, shields were raised, but none of that mattered.

"Defend the Queen!" someone shouted. Aemond turned to see Rhaenyra, seething with rage and confusion. The titan, too, was looking at her, its face twisted into an inscrutable smirk. Whether the man inside intended it or not was a mystery.

Ignoring the soldiers and their sharp toys, the titan ran. Its powerful legs propelled it so fast that Aemond nearly tumbled, but his dragon-riding days had trained him well. Horses couldn't keep up. They escaped, at least for now.

The titan's gait was strange; it used its legs, sure, but its arms also pushed it forward, almost like a horse. 

"I am in your debt," Aemond whispered to the titan.

[Do not celebrate yet,] the titan spoke, surprising the prince. [The Queen might ride her dragon to chase us.]

"I know. King's Landing has scorpions ready. She would not dare chase us there."

[Those scorpions might target us too,] the titan pointed out. [I cannot guarantee your safety.]

"Worry not. We'll stop outside the walls, then walk on foot to the gates," Aemond said.

[Very well,] the titan replied.

"You didn't kill Rhaenyra," Aemond suddenly remarked.

[You asked me to bring you to safety, not to assassinate the Queen.]

"True enough," Aemond said, his expression solemn. "But the war would end quicker if you had, and you'd get your rewards faster."

[I can wait.]

Aemond frowned but said nothing more. He turned and watched the skies. The journey remained uninterrupted—no queens, no Princess Rhaenys. Why, he did not know, but it certainly made things easier.