High Tide, Chapter 72: The Dance of the Dragons

First Moon, 132 AC

Baela

Her heart pounded in her chest as they flew through the darkness. The only thing lighting their way was the full moon in the sky above and the glow of the glass candles in their saddles as they scryed their enemies and communicated with their allies. Herself, Jace, Rhaena, and Laena carried those glass candles and they flew at the front of the formation to guide Corlys and Serra who flew behind them. 

It weighed on her mind, knowing what they were here to do. In the distance, barely visible with the light of its torches, was the great drum tower of Storm’s End. The very same tower where her uncle, her cousin, and her nephew slept, tired after a long flight and unaware that their doom approached. She knew that when the sun rose, they’d have mounted their dragons to do the same to them, but it weighed on Baela nonetheless.

Strapped to the side of her saddle, the tip of her glass candle began to glow blue, indicating that someone was trying to contact her with another glass candle. Trusting her dragon to continue flying, Baela took the glass candle into her hands and concentrated, her mind slipping into another world as her thoughts connected to whoever was on the other end.

“Baela. We’re nearing Storm’s End. Are you all there as well?” she heard Daeron’s voice as a thought in her head through the glass candle.

“Yes,” she replied.

“That’s good. From our glass candles we can see that the six of you are closer than we are. Tell Jace to skirt Storm’s End and we’ll regroup to the north of the castle before making our final approach. Out,” he said before breaking off the call.

Once the call broke off, Baela directed the glass candle to scry the skies north of Storm’s End and sure enough she found Daeron and the rest drawing closer and closer to the castle but as he had said, they were further away than they were, having left a little later than they had and traveled a slightly longer distance. As she slipped her mind out from the glass candle, she related everything to Jace and he nodded before gently whipping Tessarion on the right to veer sharply north with the rest of them on their tail.

In order to time their attack perfectly, they would skirt Storm’s End as Daeron had suggested to regroup with the northern squadron before turning around and approaching the castle as one single squadron of eleven. As Storm’s End faded into the distance behind them, Baela spotted six dark shapes approaching from the north and she couldn’t help but feel her spirits lightened slightly.

She had known where they were due to her glass candle, but seeing them with her own eyes made more difference than you would think, especially as she laid eyes on her son Daemon for the first time in weeks and reassured herself that he was still safe. She would make sure he would always be safe, and what they did today, no matter how cruel or painful, it was so that he and the rest of his siblings and cousins would always be safe.

The eleven Velaryons greeted each other in the skies as they locked ranks and reformed their formation for the final attack. Jace and Luke took point, forming the vanguard while Daeron, Laena, Rhaena and herself formed up to their sides with Corlys and Telarion directly behind Jace and Luke and everyone else behind him.

The torches on the drum tower were visible in the distance again. Her heart beat harder than it ever had before, the anticipation building as they approached the castle. Bells began tolling in alarm as they were finally spotted but it was too late.

“Dracarys!” Baela and every other dragonrider in her squadron commanded at once. Eleven jets of flame rained upon the castle, setting everything afire. The stone itself resisted but everything else scorched and smoked as their formation broke up to spread the fires around.

Some of them headed to burn down the gates and seal off the exits, ensuring Storm’s End would be a fiery tomb for all within, others rained down fire upon the great drum tower itself, with Telarion pouring fire into its base in the hopes of melting and crumbling the legendary structure. Baela was among those hunting for the enemy dragons in the stables and courtyards.

Arrax had been crushed under rubble and debris and his body was burning but Silverwing burst into the skies with a furious roar as she sped straight for Jace on Tessarion. Tessarion evaded Silverwing and soon there was a battle in the sky as Luke, Laena, Daeron, and Corlys took their dragons to try and aid Jace against the enraged and grief-stricken Silverwing. Baela cursed herself for feeling relieved when she saw Silverwing’s saddle was empty, her uncle was either dead or stranded in the burning castle and good as.

Her relief was short-lived however because the last dragon soared into the sky then and a familiar figure rode astride it. Perhaps she had been on watch, perhaps she had miraculously managed to make it to her dragon in time when the alarm had woken her. The end result was all the same wasn’t it?

Rhaenyra had been like a sister to her at one point. It had once been a jape in their family that they were triplets not twins, herself, Rhaena, and Rhaenyra, all born in the same year, so close had they been. Rhaenyra’s jealousy when she and not her had been chosen to be Jace’s betrothed had been immense. She had been infatuated with him for many years and she had seen it as a personal betrayal despite it having been the choice of neither of them. Yet in turn Baela had envied her because Rhaenyra had been allowed to remain a Targaryen princess and that is all that she had wanted for so many years.

Deep down she wondered. If Rhaenyra had married Jace instead of her all those years ago, would it have come to this? As Rhaenyra and Seasmoke sped toward her, Baela knew that whatever the answer to that question was, it was too late for regrets or hesitation.

With years of instinct and experience to call on, Baela evaded the fireball Seasmoke breathed toward her face before returning fire of her own with jets of bloodfire streaming from her hands and columns of dragonfire spewing from Moondancer’s maw. Rhaena, Daemon, Baelor, and the other young ones all soon came to her aid as well.

Rhaenyra had had her dragon for years before any of them had claimed theirs and it seemed that the training she and the other Targaryens had been doing had paid off as she and Seasmoke evaded and weaved in and out of their attacks, constantly shooting fireballs back at them. Inevitably however, they began to tire.

Her cousin was a skilled enough fighter but she had been taken by surprise and was heavily outmatched. Arrayed against her were at least two dragons in the same weight class as her own with several smaller dragons as support and with several of the enemy riders capable of using bloodfire. Rhaenyra’s fate had been sealed the moment this battle started.

Frantically she tried evading their continuous blasts of blood and dragon fire as they converged on her while Storm’s End continued to burn below them. First she tried escaping, trying to get into the open and get more room to maneuver but they pinned her down ever closer to the blazing castle with their numbers. Finally, she tried desperately to take one of them down with her, charging straight for Baelor and Serra on their smaller dragons, and that is when they finished it.

Rhaena dived for Rhaenyra, bloodfire in hand, intent on protecting her children, and Baela was by her side. In lockstep, the twins moved to end the life of the woman who had once been an honorary triplet of theirs.

Morning wrapped her jaws around Seasmoke while Moondancer sunk her teeth into his left wing while her claws dug into her legs. The sheer weight of two dragons almost the size of himself sent Seasmoke plummeting into the fiery inferno below even as Baela and Rhaena bathed their cousin in bloodfire.

Her screams were haunting. Screeches of utter agony, pain, and betrayal, and with every second, Baela felt a lance going through her own heart. Rhaenyra and her hadn’t been close for years but she had never wished her ill and now she was killing her with her own hands. She feared she might hear those screams in her dreams for the rest of her life.

She forced herself to focus, to ignore the guilt and disgust steadily building in her heart and it wasn’t long before their dragons succeeded in their own task, tearing out Seasmoke’s throat and wing and setting his carcass on fire before it hit the ground.

Baela gulped as she watched Seasmoke and Rhaenyra fall into the burning blaze of Storm’s End, both surely dead. She tasted bile in her throat as she tried not to throw up. She was a kinslayer now. She had slain her kin before they could slay her and her own children but she had still done it, with her own hands she had murdered the cousin who had been like a sister to her once. How many more would she slaughter before this pointless carnage was at an end? Her mother? Her father? Her baby brother and sister?

She shook herself out of her anguish. Hesitation like that would get her killed. There would be time to mourn and vomit in disgust with her own actions when they won the war. If they were slaughtering their kin for this, they better damn well make sure it was all worth it in the end and they had to live for it to be worth it.

Baela turned to see if Jace and the others needed any help but it wouldn’t be necessary. Silverwing had been sentenced to Seasmoke’s fate. She watched as Telarion, Tessarion, Terrax, Morghul, and Shrykos tore her apart and left her ruined and burning carcass to fall upon the ruins of Storm’s End, each dragon tearing at her throat, her wings, and her legs simultaneously as their riders added bloodfire where they could to contribute to the kill.

With the enemy dragons all slain, Baela and the others ensured that the destruction of Storm’s End was as total and complete as they could make it. Whatever inch of the castle that still wasn’t on fire, they destroyed and ravaged, killing any who hadn’t yet perished. Corlys and a few others also continued the work melting the base of the tower and soon the great drum tower of Storm’s End melted and twisted like candle wax before collapsing entirely, falling into the rest of the castle and furthering the complete and utter destruction of the ancient castle.

When their grim task was at an end, they reformed their formation in the skies and sped off southeast for the Stepstones as fast as they could. Their glass candles were fixed on Summerhall, watching the three Targaryens there as they began to wake and prepare for their attack. In the far off eastern horizon, the sun began to rise.

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Hours later as the sun rose ever higher into the sky, Baela and the other Velaryons were pushing their bodies and their dragons as hard as they could go to intercept Aegon, Jaehaerys, and her father. Their heads were tucked low as their dragons raced through the sky at blinding speeds. Baela had never been more grateful for the glass visors in her Valyrian steel helm or the riding braids she had done her hair in beneath the helm. She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to have the wind in her eyes or tangling her hair at this speed without it.

With their glass candles they could see the Targaryens drawing ever nearer to Tyrosh where they expected to face Jace and his six dragons along with the three they had killed in Storm’s End. Baela knew all too well however that if they found Tyrosh defenseless with no dragon be it friend or foe in sight, nothing would stop the Targaryens from destroying the city, the crown jewel of the Triarchy, the holy city of the Zaldilaros Creed.

It would undermine House Velaryon’s legitimacy in the eyes of their people, and cause the deaths of tens if not hundreds of thousands of their loyal people who had sworn their loyalty to them in exchange for their protection. They couldn’t let them down, nor could they let the Targaryens destroy their invasion force which had amassed in Tyrosh for the assault on the Stepstones.

Ironic. For all that they had mocked and exploited House Targaryen’s refusal to abandon their fiefs, fleets, and armies, here they were doing the exact same thing. But all of them knew that victory with Tyrosh in ruins would be an empty victory at best. And so they flew, harder and faster than ever before.

She knew the younger ones were already struggling. They were young and less hardened and their dragons were far smaller and had much less stamina. Regardless of all the training they had done for years, all eleven of them had been up since the middle of the night and even though they had slept a little before it, it paled in comparison to the fact that they and their dragons had been relentlessly flying for almost twelve hours now without a single break, including a taxing though decisive fight at Storm’s End and all the destruction and murder they had done there.

It was with the last of their energy that they raced to Tyrosh and she hoped that they still had enough strength to spare between the eleven of them for the fight that would follow. Even now Baela was shaking off the lure of sleep, her battle instincts forcing her lazy eyelids wide open now that they were nearing the chosen interception point.

At times Baela forgot that Bloodstone was under their rule and it seems the Targaryens had as well given that they had had no short-term plans to attack the island in their own war strategies. It had perfect positioning for their battle, with a more than healthy distance from Tyrosh and Velaryon infrastructure and personnel already on the island, making it a safe place to rest and recuperate in the aftermath.

One of her goodmother’s more unsavory epithets had been the ‘Butcher of Bloodstone.’ Darkly, Baela wondered if any of them would be taking that epithet from her after today. She certainly wouldn’t be around to argue after all.

The thought made Baela feel even worse if it was possible. There had been no love lost between her and Corlys and Viserra and she thought their deaths had been borne out of needless and selfish pride but she knew how much it was aggrieving the rest of the family. Whether she liked them or not, Corlys and Viserra’s loss was one her family greatly felt and if only for that Baela mourned them. There would be too much mourning and grieving to do after today she feared.

She did her best not to dwell on Rhaenyra’s screams or the guilt that had gripped her heart and the bile she could still taste in her throat. She had to keep herself focused for the task ahead, not slipping away to dreams and haunting memories but she almost felt like crying knowing what was still to come. She flew south to murder her last remaining cousin, her little brother, and her father.

Up ahead, flying over the south of Bloodstone, were three all too familiar dragons. Tyraxes, Sunfyre, and the great Vermithor himself. Unlike at Storm’s End, their element of surprise was much weaker if nonexistent in the light of day. Her father, brother, and cousin would have seen them coming from miles away and it seemed that they had resolved to face them head on rather than turn tail and be hunted down.

As the fourteen dragons neared, Baela braced herself as the sky lit up in fire. No amount of training or exercises could prepare one for the reality of such a complex and enormous dragon battle in the skies. Fourteen dragons breathing fire all at once with eleven riders casting bloodfire soon resulted in utter chaos.

Baela weaved in and out of fireballs of a myriad of colors and red jets of fire that streamed through the sky at high speeds. At least once the fire strafed her on her saddle and she was barely protected by her Valyrian steel armor. She cursed in her head, she must be even more tired than she thought.

Opening her mind up to the bond with Moondancer as much as she could, they moved as one, with Moondancer often preempting her commands or the lashes of her whips to turn and evade and breathe fire. The battle was absolutely chaotic and there was no chance that they could use the glass candles to concentrate and coordinate their attacks in the midst of the battle with all of the fire in the sky but nonetheless as the battle continued, years of training and teamwork saw Baela and her fellow Velaryons divide the Targaryes up and surround them with three or more dragons each.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Jace, Luke, Corlys, and Baelor above astride Tessarion, Morghul, Telarion, and Aegion, circling and dueling her father atop the Bronze Fury. Further below, Daeron, Laena, Jaenara, and Serra faced off against her cousin upon Sunfyre and as much as she would have hated to be in any of their places and facing her father or cousin, she almost envied the others. Because she faced her baby brother, and she only had Rhaena and Daemon riding Morning and Saffyre on her side against his Tyraxes.

If their using bloodfire had shocked the Targaryens and unbalanced them, it was not visibly noticeable in the way they rode and evaded their attacks. But then her father, Jaehaerys, and Aegon had always been among the finest and best dragonriders her maiden house had to offer, and their skills spoke for themselves as they lasted longer than anyone else could have when outnumbered almost four to one.

For a while they had something almost like a dance in the skies as they circled and dived, dodged, weaved and evaded around each other, in and between the constant balls and columns of dragonfire and the jets of crimson bloodfire that roared through the skies. They outnumbered them three to one but Jaehaerys and Tyraxes were experienced and skilled and most importantly, fresh and well rested compared to them.

Inevitably however, Baela, Rhaena, and Daemon began slipping up, the exhaustion they and their dragons felt making them sluggish and sloppy. And Jaehaerys was far too skilled and experienced not to capitalize on it. When Daemon failed to evade a blast of Tyraxes’ dragonfire in time, it slammed straight into Saffyre’s chest, sending the she-dragon and her rider hurtling as they staggered to the ground struggling to recover, injured and winded.

Jaehaerys acted immediately, breaking from the dance with Rhaena and her to pounce on his target. In that moment, Baela made a split-second decision. Her brother or her son, an agonizing dilemma she would not inflict on her worst enemy but the choice was obvious.

As Jaehaerys dived for Daemon, Baela dived faster, far outpacing Rhaena and Morning as they moved more sluggishly and hesitantly, paralyzed by indecision in a way Baela just wasn’t. The love of a mother was far stronger than that of a sister and yet as they slammed into Tyraxes from above, as Moondancer sank her teeth into Tyraxes’ neck and her claws into his back and wing, Baela’s heart broke.

Unlike Rhaenyra, Jaehaerys did not scream. Baela did all the screaming as she ran the thorn on her left hand straight down through the middle of her right palm and bent over her saddle, slamming her hand forward and aimed right at her brother. As she bathed her brother in fire and killed him, the dam finally broke as Baela began to sob in agony and anguish.

As if to torture her, her mind flashed images of her baby brother learning how to walk, running into her arms and eagerly giving her a hug even as she reduced him to a charred and burnt corpse. All the while Moondancer’s teeth sank deeper and deeper into Tyraxes’ neck and began to twist. Right as Moondancer broke Tyraxes’ neck, Baela relented in her bloodfire.

Not even needing her command, Moondancer released Tyraxes from her jaws and claws and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Baela watched in shock and grief as her brother’s dragon fell into the mountainside and his body broke upon the rocks. She stared at the blood on her hands and felt an anguish so strong she wished she could die. Like she had his wife at Storm’s End, Baela had just killed her own brother, and she wept bitterly.

Yet the grief and despair was far from over.

“NO!!!”

Baela’s battle instincts kicked in as she heard Rhaena’s anguished scream and Vermithor the Bronze Fury’s triumphant roar that shook the very mountain below. She turned her head to see what was going on, her hands wiping the tears away and staining her face with blood as she did so, and what she saw horrified her.

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Daeron

“Embrot! Pālētēs!” Daeron shouted as he took Terrax down into a series of intense evasive maneuvers.

The battle was chaos. Jets and columns of fire streaked through the air with every color of the rainbow as fourteen dragons clashed. And just because the fire came from your ally didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt you. Daeron ducked below a jet of bloodfire that had missed its Targaryen target.

Inevitably however, with such a great advantage in numbers, they split up and surrounded the Targaryens. Jace, Baela and the others were handling Daemon and his son, but the task that had been left to Daeron was a bitter fruit indeed.

How many times had he raced against this dragon and its master? How many times had he thought that the sight of it would always bring him joy knowing that his best friend, his brother was astride it? In his mind’s eye he could see it still, halcyon days training in the yards, hunting in the woods, and riding in the skies together. Mischievous adventures in Spicetown, hundreds of pranks, japes, and secrets only they had known, and a bond of friendship they had once thought was unbreakable.

He could still remember when his once friend would greet him with a smile of his face, mirth in his eyes, and a stupid jape on his lips. But those days were long gone now and there was not a trace of the warmth and friendliness he had once known in Sunfyre’s growls for there was none of it in the heart of his master.

Aegon’s face was focused and determined, filled with a righteous and terrible rage. His erstwhile friend would go straight for the kill Daeron knew and he steeled his heart to do the same. If not for his own sake, then for the sake of his wife, daughter, and niece who flew alongside him against the Prince of Dragonstone.

Jaenara and Serra were already tiring he knew. He could see it in the way they rode, in the sluggish way their dragons responded to their commands and flew. Urrax and Starflame were young and much smaller than Terrax and the other large dragons in the family and they had had a long night and morning with intense riding and fighting. Daeron knew he had to act and end this before the girls slipped up and Aegon pounced on it.

With an instinct trained by a hundred thousand races and exercises, Daeron took Terrax into a fierce dive, whirling and rolling around the blasts of golden fire that Sunfyre sent their way. He fired off a stream of bloodfire at the same time that Terrax unleashed her flames at a different angle.

Unfortunately, Aegon and Sunfyre evaded both of their strikes but Daeron could tell that they were unnerved by bloodfire. They had never seen it before today and though instinct and experience were helping them evade it thus far, Daeron knew that if he put them in a tough enough position, they would not be able to account for bloodfire coming for Sunfyre’s eyes or Aegon himself and that would be their end.

So he pressed onward, pushing Terrax harder and harder as they danced in the skies with Sunfyre. The two dragons roared and growled at each other as they weaved in and out of each other’s fireballs while jets of bloodfire streaked across the sky. Around them Laena and the girls were also helping to surround and pin Sunfyre down but Daeron knew that if they didn’t end it soon, the chances grew higher and higher that Sunfyre might very well outlast all four of them even outnumbered. They were that exhausted.

He took Terrax in as close as he dared, spinning her into a furious barrel roll with a lash of his whip to evade Sunfyre’s blast before they fired their own in turn. To Daeron’s shock however, Sunfyre closed his eyes and surged forward, with Aegon bending down low in his saddle. The bloodfire streaked right over Aegon’s ducked head while Sunfyre took Terrax’s blast head on and charged for his dragon.

Desperately Daeron tried to evade but his tired dragon was too sluggish to respond in time, her exhausted muscles failing them both at a critical juncture. With a fearsome roar, Sunfyre slammed into Terrax mid-air, the two dragons grappling in the sky. At any other time, the two would be evenly matched with their similar sizes but with Terrax so exhausted from the long flights and fights, Sunfyre soon gained the upper hand, latching his jaws around her neck. In return, Terrax desperately clawed into Sunfyre’s belly but her tired and weak legs struggled to penetrate deeply enough as the grip on her neck tightened.

Daeron knew their time was up. Even if Laena and the others came to their aid, they would not save Terrax in time before Sunfyre crushed her neck. He resolved to take Aegon down with him at the very least. But as the dragons bucked and twisted in the air, he struggled to get a clear shot at Aegon in the other saddle. Even his fire whips were not finding purchase.

Looking up he saw Laena diving for them and he knew that he had only one last chance to live. The dying screams of his dear Terrax as Sunfyre’s jaws crushed her neck were like a knife to his heart and it hurt Daeron more than he could ever imagine to abandon her but he knew that he would die with her if he didn’t leave now.

And yet he couldn’t do it. If cutting Aegon off all those years ago had hurt, Daeron couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to live without Terrax. She had hatched for him in his cradle, he couldn’t even remember what it was like to be without her. Not a single day of his life had passed without her presence in his mind, in his very soul. She was a part of him and he couldn’t bring himself to let go because what would he be without her?

Daeron was dragged out of his thoughts by Terrax’s agonizing scream as Sunfyre closed his jaws around her neck deeper and deeper. In the back of his mind he could sense something telling him to go, that he had to live, and he knew that Terrax didn’t want him to die with her.

He detached himself from the chains and straps in the saddle as quickly as he could and slung the parachute bag through his arms and onto his shoulders. The ground below them was rapidly approaching, he mustered up his courage. He had to go, now, or nothing could slow his descent in time for him to survive.

Daeron took a deep breath. He forced himself to think of his children, of his family, of his dreams to adventure and explore he still hadn’t truly fulfilled. He ran his left hand over her beautiful scales one last time even as his right clung onto the reins for dear life, willing her all the comfort and love he could before she died, before he abandoned her. And then with more strength than he had ever needed in his whole life, he forced his disobedient hands to let go, his knees and legs pushing him off and away from his dragon as Sunfyre finally snapped her neck.

He felt it the very moment she died, the moment that the light went out in her eyes and she took her last suffocated breath. It was like he had been hollowed out, made empty. Something precious had been torn away from him. His mind was quiet, so very quiet. He was all alone.

A second later, Shrykos slammed into Sunfyre from above, crushing Aegon against his saddle between the weight of two dragons and killing him instantly. Shrykos then proceeded to avenge her sister, her jaws wrapping around Sunfyre’s neck as Starflame and Urrax crashed into his wings and began tearing at them.

Sunfyre was fresh and strong, more than any of their dragons were, but no amount of strength and energy could save the Golden as three dragons tore into his flesh while his jaws and claws hadn’t even detached from Terrax’s body yet. Deep down a part of Daeron had always insecurely wondered if Laena ever regretted the choice she had made all those years ago but he realized now how foolish he was as he watched her tear Sunfyre apart. Laena had made her choice long ago and she had proven it again when he had needed her most. She had chosen him.

As much as he wished he could continue watching, Daeron knew he had something far more important to focus on. He activated his wingsuit as quickly as he could and glided away from any dangerous landing spots before opening his parachute and letting it slow his descent to a hopefully safe landing.

He hadn’t even reached the ground however when a deafening roar made the earth itself tremble.

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Jacaerys

Jace knew that he should feel fortunate. Unlike poor Baela and Rhaena who had to confront their little brother or Daeron and Laena facing off against their former best friend and beloved respectively, the enemy he was fighting was a man he had no qualms with killing, a man who had been his hated rival for well over two decades. He didn’t feel so fortunate right now however as he desperately evaded a massive blast of bronze dragonfire that screeched as it burned right for his head.

Facing Daemon Targaryen again on the battlefield would have been easy if not for the fact that he rode Vermithor. The largest dragon in the world, second only to Vhagar, but unlike that ancient old dragon who had become slow and ponderous in her advancing years, the Bronze Fury was as nimble and agile as a much younger dragon and that had made him a terrifying foe.

With a speed that belied his size, Vermithor ducked and weaved between their fireballs and bloodfire jets, returning fire with more power than they could even imagine. Only Telarion came close to the Bronze Fury’s size and strength, and the skinny brown dragon was still outmatched.

It didn’t help that while the four of them were tired after their long hours flying and fighting, Daemon and Vermithor were as fresh and fearsome as ever. Every time they tried to use their numbers to their advantage, to pin down Vermithor with four dragons, the Bronze Fury would unleash a firestorm of awesome proportions, swinging his head around wildly to create a perimeter of fire that lit up the very clouds, forcing them to withdraw.

Unbidden, the thought came to him. He wondered if his parents had done the same at Driftmark before they… no. He couldn’t let his mind go there now. He couldn’t let himself be distracted. They had a mission to complete. Once they had killed Daemon, once Tyrosh was safe, then and only then would he allow himself to mourn.

There was a lot that they would all have to mourn. He couldn’t even imagine the pain that Baela was feeling right now, having already killed her cousin and now she was being forced to duel her own brother and kill him. Would she ever forgive him he wondered, for leading them all into this slaughter? Would she forgive him for killing her father?

Jace didn’t know. It was the only thing that made him hesitate when he thought of killing Daemon. For his wife’s sake he would have spared him in a better world. For his wife’s sake he had been civil and even developed a begrudging but mutual respect for him over years of interactions for the sake of Baela and the children whom they both loved. But all of that had burned away in Jace’s heart the moment Daemon had dared to threaten those very same people, the daughter and grandchildren that he claimed to love.

He knew he wasn’t being fair to Daemon. He was self-aware enough to recognize that. Daemon and the other Targaryens had discovered their plans to assassinate them after all and if he had been in their place he would have reacted the same as they had. It didn’t matter anymore though, it never did. War didn’t determine who was right, only who was left. His father had said that once.

Rhaenys would have made war inevitable no matter what. They all knew that. And perhaps if he hadn’t hesitated, if he hadn’t held back for Baela’s sake and let the assassinations happen, none of this would have ever happened. His parents would have never felt the need to destroy High Tide or die defending its burnt ruins. Baela and Rhaena wouldn’t have been forced to kill their family members with their own hands, and they wouldn’t have been forced to send their children to war. So many possibilities, but they were all moot now. All that was left to do now, was see things through to the bitter end.

Evading yet another blast of Vermithor’s dragonfire, Jace put Tessarion in position for a coordinated attack and despite the tense situation of the battle, he could not help but smile to himself when he saw that Luke had done the same with Morghul almost instinctively.

Their teamwork was the best in the family, better even than Baela and Rhaena’s were. They knew even without speaking what the other needed and when they needed it. They always had. They were twins, two halves of one whole, the two arms of one warrior, and together even the Bronze Fury would fall at their feet.

Though less coordinated than the two of them, he could see Corlys on Telarion and Baelor on Aegion getting into position as well. Vermithor had done his firestorm trick too many times already. When he did it again, they would all be prepared for it. They would evade it and they would go in for the kill just as they had with Silverwing at Storm’s End, jaws, claws, dragonfire, and bloodfire at the ready.

To their shock however, Vermithor did not do what they expected. Instead he thrust himself high into the air, his wings beating like a hurricane as he soared high above and then descended like hail from the seven heavens at a terrifying speed… straight for Jace and his dragon.

Had he been fresh and well rested, perhaps Jace could have reacted in time. Perhaps Tessarion would have had the strength and energy to evade. But for one second too long they froze, paralyzed in shock and indecision and it was too late for them. Their fate was sealed.

Or it would have been if an obsidian and sulfurous yellow blur hadn’t slammed into the Bronze Fury at the last possible moment, sending the beast careening to the side and narrowly missing Jace and Tessarion. It all happened so fast Jace barely knew what was going on, but soon it became clear what had happened. The blur had been Morghul, and he had his teeth clamped shut and biting hard down on the flesh connecting Vermithor’s upper and lower jaws on the right.

The Bronze Fury could not be defeated so easily however. With a savage crunch, he brought his teeth down and broke right through Morghul’s upper jaw, boiling blood spewing everywhere before an enormous fiery bronze inferno erupted from his maw, burning Morghul’s head off and bathing his rider in a fire hot enough to melt stone.

Jace froze in shock, his heart couldn’t, wouldn’t believe what his eyes told him. Luke was not dead; he couldn’t be dead… right?? They had been together all their lives, never once parted or separated, not even the Red Death could keep them apart for long. Luke couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t be. It was just a fact of the world that he and Luke would always be by each other’s side.

Unbidden the thought slammed into his head; the first part of grief was denial he had heard a soldier say once. He looked again and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces as it finally began to acknowledge the truth. Even with Valyrian steel armor, the chances of survival were slim and Jace watched as his brother’s armored body fell alongside the mutilated and burning carcass of his dragon, still chained to the saddle. Not a single sign of life from either dragon or rider. If the fire hadn’t killed them already, the fall surely would.

In the wind he faintly heard a woman screaming her anguish before Vermithor roared. If it was possible for a dragon to be malicious and smug, this would be it Jace thought as the dragon strutted, his roar having shaken the very earth itself. The Bronze Fury had just displayed his power for all to see and challenged them to attack him if they dared.

Jace dared alright. He saw red, all thoughts of regret and restraint, all questions of whether his wife would forgive him or not were burned away as surely as Morghul and Luke had been. Vermithor and Daemon would pay.

“Angōs!” Jace shouted to his dragon and she charged forward eagerly with energy he wished they had had moments ago, evading every single blast of bronze dragonfire without even caring to return their own. All thoughts of preserving their own life had gone out the window, the only thing both of them wanted was to make sure that the monsters who had murdered their twins died.

As Tessarion’s jaws latched on the upper back of Vermithor’s neck, Jace realized that his throat was hoarse. He must have been screaming furiously and not even noticed in his grief and single-minded rage.

Before he could regret the anger which had seen him charge the Bronze Fury alone, Telarion and Aegion latched on as well, the former onto Vermithor’s throat and the latter onto his left wing, both digging their jaws and claws as deeply into the enemy as they could. Vermithor fought and struggled hard, he would not go down without a fight, but the three dragons held on even tighter, with Tessarion and Telarion working together desperately to snap his neck and tear out his throat even as they each held back his legs and claws with their own.

Turning his eyes to Vermithor’s saddle, Jace noticed the chains were dangling. His alarm grew as he realized that Daemon had drawn his sword Dragon’s Wroth and was standing in the saddle. Before he could react however, Vermithor bucked and slammed his neck into Tessarion, causing Jace to be thrown around in the chains of his own saddle, winding him.

Looking up, Jace saw that Daemon had jumped from his saddle and his sword was aimed right for his face. In that instant, he recalled the memoirs his father had written of his strange and bizarre dreams of another world where this exact same situation had happened. He remembered what he had thought his answer would be if it ever somehow happened to him in real life.

In one single fluid motion, Jace drew Seafang from his scabbard and cut the palm of his left hand before throwing them both up to meet Daemon. The blood drops on the Valyrian steel blade ignited into a twisted spiral flame even as the blood in the palm burst into fire as two streams of crimson flame melded into one continuous blaze that screeched up to hit Daemon.

Daemon screamed as he was incinerated in seconds, for in his desperation Jace had made his bloodfire as hot as he could, so hot that he could feel it burning his own right hand as he gripped onto Seafang’s hilt, even when he was supposed to be unburnt by his own flames. As Daemon’s charred corpse came within range, Jace swatted it out of the way with Seafang, using his whole upper body to throw Daemon’s body and the Valyrian steel sword still in his charred grip aside.

He watched with grim satisfaction and pleasure as Daemon’s charred corpse fell out of view over the side of Tessarion, plummeting to the ground, before he gingerly slid Seafang back into his scabbard. His right hand was red and blistering, not from the bloodfire itself but from the heat it had transmitted through the sword blade down to the hilt it seemed. No matter. He would see to his injuries later. There was still one more beast he had to kill before Luke was truly avenged.

Unfortunately, despite their having three dragons latched onto his body with teeth and claws dug deep into his flesh, Vermithor was still alive and struggling and had grown even more infuriated with the death of his rider. Jace looked around desperately, trying to see if the others could aid them but they were far away and exhausted, having used up most of their remaining strength killing their own foes. He realized that Terrax was dead too as he didn’t see her in the sky and someone, presumably Daeron, was slowly descending to the ground in a parachute.

If they didn’t have enough large dragons to tear Vermithor apart in the sky, they would inevitably hit the ground Jace knew as he saw the island below rapidly approaching and enlarging as they plummeted towards it. He steeled his resolve. He had failed his brother, he would not fail his son and nephew.

“Corlys! Baelor! Break off!” he shouted through his hoarse throat over the furious growls and pained roars of the four dragons.

“What?” Baelor demanded.

“Excuse me!??” Corlys yelled.

“We can’t kill him before we hit the ground and we can’t all let go either or he’ll kill us. Save yourselves! Before it’s too late! I’ll see this through to the end!”

“No!” they both shouted, defiant.

“Stop being so stubborn! Do you think Luke died so both of you could throw away your lives like this??”

Screaming in anger, Baelor reluctantly detached but not before he had Aegion breathe as much fire as he could onto Vermithor before breaking off, making the Bronze Fury roar in pain before Telarion and Tessarion tightened their grip on his neck. The ground was getting ever closer now. Moondancer, Morning, and Shrykos were still too far away and Corlys and Telarion were still latched on.

“I can’t leave you Father! Telarion has his jaws on this bastard’s throat! If we leave you and Tessarion will die and for nothing! We have to do this together!”

Deep down, Jace knew Corlys was right but it went against every instinct he had to risk his son’s life like this. As he deliberated on his decision, he saw that they had barely a few hundred feet left before impact. There wasn’t time for them to argue anymore.

“Fine!” He growled in frustration. “Brace yourself! We need to put Vermithor below our dragons as much as possible so that we’re on top of him when we hit the ground. With any luck, he’ll take most of the impact and the rest of us will survive!”

Corlys nodded. Tessarion and Telarion pushed with all of their might as they adjusted their bodies as best as they could without ever detaching their jaws from where they were clamped shut on his throat and neck. As they approached the ground at a terrifying speed, they braced themselves as best as they could before they finally slammed into the earth.

In the tussle that followed on the ground, Tessarion and Telarion finally snapped Vermithor’s neck after it was half broken by the impact. With their victory complete, the two injured dragons roared triumphantly and their brethren flying in the skies above answered back with a deafening chorus.

Jace painfully pushed himself up from the saddle, not even knowing where or what was hurt or injured in his body as he processed everything that had just happened.

For a brief moment a feeling of jubilation filled his soul. He was alive against all the odds and they had done it. They had won. They had killed six Targaryen dragons and riders in a single day! But as quickly as it came, his good mood dissipated as he remembered what the cost of victory was.

Daeron’s dragon was dead, his mother and father and Dreamfyre were most likely all dead by now, and Luke and Morghul… Jace couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. His anger had burnt out and betrayed him, leaving only his grief and regrets behind.

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Author’s Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Lots of juicy and brutal angst, fire, deaths, and dragon duels! Stay tuned to see how the ramifications of this chapter affect the war to come and perhaps, even a peace?

Also note, with suggestion from a reader, I have tried to add in some dialogue to this chapter to improve it. A lot of this was in the form of dragon commands so if you’re too lazy to go check the wiki, here they are in order of appearance.

Dracarys = dragonfire
Embrot = down
Pālētēs = evasive maneuvers
Angōs = attack

Lmk your thoughts and suggestions in the comments below or in the patron chats over on Discord! https://discord.com/invite/NSEwuzpcWm

Reminder that this exists. Any of you have the time and knowledge to really make it pop? Please do contribute if so! https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/HighTide