Aftermath of the Third Blackfyre Rebellion
The battlefield still smoked, littered with the fallen—men of the red dragon and the black alike. Crows circled above. Fires crackled in the distance. And amidst the dying groans, Prince Aegon Targaryen and Ser Duncan the Tall stood over the broken body of Haegon Blackfyre, while Prince Aerion, eyes alight with smug satisfaction, wiped the blood from his sword.
"You struck down a man who had surrendered," Aegon said, his voice hoarse with rage. "He threw down his sword. He knelt. He yielded."
Ser Duncan's tone was darker, colder. "A knight doesn't kill a man who's thrown himself on mercy. Not unless he's forgotten what honor is."
Aerion sneered, unrepentant. "Honor is for fools and corpses. He was a traitor. A Blackfyre. I did what needed doing."
"You did what shamed us all," Aegon snapped, fists clenched.
Before the tension could boil further, a shadow fell over them.
Prince Maekar Targaryen dismounted, the bloodied spike of his mace still dripping. He did not speak. He seized his son by the collar and dragged him bodily toward his command tent, ignoring the gasps and sidelong glances of his men.
Inside the tent, he threw Aerion to the ground.
Then came the blow—open-handed, but thunderous. Aerion reeled, stunned.
"You shame your name," Maekar hissed, standing over his son. "You shame me. I raised you to be strong, not craven. Ruthless when needed, not dishonorable."
Aerion wiped his lip and spat blood onto the furs. "Traitors don't deserve mercy. He would've risen again, like his cursed father."
"You sound more like one of those damn Lyseni sycophants than a prince of the realm," Maekar growled. "What did those years in exile teach you? Deceit? Butchery?"
"I did it for the realm!"
"You did it for yourself."
Maekar's eyes flared. His knuckles turned white around the pommel of his sword. For a long moment, silence hung like a sword between them.
Then the tent flap shifted.
Aegon and Duncan stood there, hesitant but watching. Aegon's face was pale, sorrowful. Duncan's jaw was tight with fury.
Maekar turned his gaze to them. A father's eyes, filled not with apology—but with grim acceptance.
He said nothing.
He stepped past them and left the tent, his boots heavy with the weight of what his blood had wrought.
Not far from the field, atop the charred ridges, Lord Brynden Rivers raised a bloody hand and pointed toward the harbor.
"There," he barked to his Raven's Teeth. "The silver bastard flees again."
Aegor Rivers was attempting to board one of the last Tyroshi ships with what remained of the Golden Company. His black armor glinted in the light of burning sails. The glint of fury and grief in his eyes clear even from a distance.
Brynden's archers loosed.
Arrows hailed down as royalist spearmen surged from the flanks. Bittersteel fought like a cornered lion, cutting down three men with savage grace, but numbers overcame even him.
They shackled him in iron. Brynden approached slowly, blood crusted on his pale face, Dark Sister resting at his side.
"No more kings for you," Bloodraven said coldly. "No more crowns. You'll answer for it all."
The Red Keep – Throne Room
Later that evening
Chains clinked with every step as Aegor Rivers, battered and bound, was dragged beneath the great iron monstrosity of a throne his brother had once claimed to defy.
King Aerys I, pale, thin, and cloaked in dusty velvet, sat atop the Iron Throne, a book open on his lap.
He looked up, blinking slowly. The hall was silent. Aegor, still bleeding, stared up at the cousin he called a pretender.
"Bittersteel," Aerys said, voice dry like old parchment. "You tried once more."
Aegor didn't speak. His lip curled.
Aerys closed his book softly. "Tell me, do you remember the words of House Blackfyre?"
Silence.
Brynden stood beside the throne, crimson eye unblinking.
"I believe," Aerys mused, "it is 'By strength and by sword.' Yes?"
He gestured, almost lazily, for Aegor to be taken away.
"You failed at both."
As the doors creaked open and the throne room echoed with Bittersteel's fading footsteps, Bloodraven leaned in.
"He will not escape again, Your Grace."
"No," said King Aerys. "This chapter ends… but the book is never done."