Frozen Flames: The Saga of the Ice Dragon (Completed)

Two dozen knights surrounded him, pressing all around him as they rode the battlefield. They feared one of the wounded or captured men would try to kill him in one last act of vengeance and chose to put their bodies in the way. Jae smiled to see their eyes scan the corpses around them, bloodied blades at the ready. My men.

Lord Tarly rode up, once more asking for permission to pursue the fleeing enemy.

"Only as far as their camp and no further. Free any prisoners you can and return at once."

With a nod, Lord Tarly quickly rallied a couple of hundred men who still lusted for battle and disappeared over a nearby hill.

As they moved across the battlefield, the consequences of their devastating charge became clear. Severed limbs, decapitated heads, corpses turned to pulp by the hoofs of his cavalry – they littered the ground, more than he could count. Puddles of blood were commonplace; the legs of his white charger were stained red to its knees.

Nausea did not come this time. Jae's eyes saw all, but his soul felt little. More pawns removed from the board, that's all. He could not mourn their deaths, they'd come north for the express purpose of murdering him. He could not blame himself, Martell's had long proven themselves beyond reason.

Killing is an essential part of kingship, he'd come to know better than most. It's what you do with the masters that matters, their puppets are irrelevant.

Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan rode up to his little entourage, neither of them riding the horse they charged on. Grim-faced, their white cloaks splattered with blood, they nodded to him and made their way to his side.

"Go get some rest, good Sers, you have done enough for a day. I'm sure my Kingsguard will keep me safe enough," he told the men riding around him.

He received a dozen nods from faceless men hidden behind their helms. They dispersed in every direction, while Jaehaerys wheeled his horse towards the Baratheon battlements.

"Ser Oswell, how is he?" he asked Ser Loras when the knights rode out of earshot. He didn't have the chance to ask earlier. The knights surrounded him right after the Dornish broke and he had no wish to dampen their spirits.

Ser Loras swallowed, glancing at Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan who both gave him a look that demanded answers. "He—uh, he's dead, Your Grace. Killed when we hit the line of spearmen."

Killed to clear a path for me, you mean.

"Where is he?" Ser Arthur demanded, "Where have you taken him?"

"I left him where I found him."

"What? Why would you do that?" Ser Barristan asked, keeping his voice down so the men around them looting corpses wouldn't hear.

"He was caught under our own charge," Ser Loras shot back. "If it wasn't for the armor I'd never have recognized him." He clenched his jaw, lower lip trembling. He averted his eyes, looking out in the distance. I imagine those chivalrous ideals of war are good and dead now.

Jaehaerys mourned the man, knew he'd likely never find another knight to fill his shoes. What did they say about the Conciliator? He had great knights in his service, but none could come close to matching his first Seven.

Jae didn't even have seven knights of the Kingsguard serving him. The five he'd had in the beginning, however, were the finest in a generation. Even Ser Loras looked to be slowly earning his spot among that number. What will I do, should the day come when the Sword of the Morning no longer guards my back, when Ser Barristan the Bold isn't there to assuage my worries with his steadfast council?

Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur both looked crestfallen, glancing guiltily at Ser Loras. "I apologize, Ser—" Ser Barristan went to say.

"It's all right," Ser Loras said. "He was your friend. But he was mine, too. I saw him fly out of his saddle. I could've gone for him, but he told me if I had to choose between protecting His Grace and saving him, I should always go for the King and..."

"He told you right, Loras," Ser Arthur said, his expression telling Jae he's had to make the same decision before.

"The hell I did," Ser Loras erupted, quickly hunching down and glancing around to see if anyone heard him. "His Grace killed every man who got in his path anyway, I didn't even reach him until it was all over. I could've gone for Oswell and His Grace would still be safe."

Jae watched the exchange silently, knowing this to be a matter for the Kingsguard to handle.

"Maybe His Grace did not need you today, but someday he might. It's for that day that we make such precautions. Oswell himself would tell you, you did the right thing," Ser Barristan told him. Ser Arthur nodded in agreement.

Ser Loras stared at Ser Barristan for a few moments, then looked away, grinding his teeth. He nodded. Jae eyed Ser Loras as they rode, weighing what went on in his head. Did Oswell's death cast his service to me in doubt, or has it reaffirmed it? 

"Your Grace."

Jaehaerys looked in front to find some six men had gone to their knees before him.

"In the name of all the people of the Stormlands, I thank you for coming to our rescue this day."

Jaehaerys had to blink twice, unsure his eyes told him true. Before him knelt Lord Orys Baratheon. Back at the capital, he met a green boy, easy to smile and quick to laugh, though always held back by his father's judging eyes. This man kneeling before him looked nothing like him. Dark rings under his eyes, mud and blood covered him from head to toe. Jae spotted more than a few wounds bleeding freely. Born a year after Jaehaerys, he looked a decade older. Or mayhaps I just haven't seen my reflection in a long time.

"Rise, Lord Baratheon," Jae said, more than willing to give the young man his due. Orys stood with a noticeable groan.

Jae spotted the cut on his right thigh. He dismounted his horse and approached. "It was an honor to fight beside you, my Lord. I'm glad we got here in time."

The two men shook hands, Jae observing the grim men standing behind Orys. Warriors, tried and tested, but they all deferred to the boy who led them. Jae spotted a curious member of their party.

"Lord Swann, a surprise to see you here." He'd never met the man, but could still read sigils just fine.

Orys chose to answer the silent question for him. "Lord Swann learned of the deceit perpetrated by the Martells and the Lannisters, Your Grace. He's chosen to come over to our side and has been instrumental in our efforts. I had hoped Your Grace wouldn't mind."

Though little more than a catspaw, Swann played a crucial part in getting Stannis Baratheon's head chopped off. That Orys could ignore that piece of information in favor of political expediency...

Jae offered the best smile he could under the circumstances and said, "That is your prerogative as a Lord Paramount, my Lord, and one I support wholeheartedly."

Lord Orys' shoulders sagged and he bowed his head.

"I'm sure you'd like to get some rest after such a trying fortnight. I will leave you be today, but if you could join me tomorrow morning?" he asked, glancing around to see the clean-up had begun. Carts were brought forth to load the wounded, the Silent Sisters walked among the corpses like ghouls, and the cries of pain and pleads for mercy still hadn't gone quiet.

"It would be an honor, Your Grace."

Jae nodded and turned his eyes to the Lords standing behind Orys. "You have done the Crown a great service today. Rest assured, it will not be forgotten." He left them there, mounted his horse, and rode off.

"Anyone know what happened to Oberyn?" he asked his Kingsguard as they trotted away from the battlements, back to the hill from which they charged.

Ser Arthur nodded and his eyes told Jae he'd come face to face with the Dornish Prince. It couldn't have been easy, fighting his own countrymen let alone the man he'd been raised to obey.

"Dead?"

"No, Your Grace." Arthur looked steadily ahead. "But he might lose an arm."

They came up to the top of the hill and Jae spotted the command tent his men had set up. "I cannot imagine what this must be like for you, Ser Arthur, but I do want you to know I appreciate it."

"It is what it is, Your Grace. My oaths to the Crown come before all else. It is what will happen to my home when the truth of this comes out that I am more worried about," Ser Arthur said as they dismounted their horses and handed them to their squires.

Jae had barely considered the implications of this conflict on the political landscape of Dorne. A civil war could not be ruled out, and even if Prince Doran managed to hold onto power, it would take decades for a return to former glory.

And what do I want to happen? He didn't know. Martells had committed treachery on a scale hitherto unheard of. To ever trust them again would be foolish to the point of lunacy. Even if he kept Arianne hostage in the Capital, it wouldn't be enough. Martell's chances of ever developing close ties to the Crown were gone and who knew what they'd be willing to do to regain them.

But to put another in their place? The Dornish with their hot-blooded ways…Whatever House rose up to replace the Martells might secede from the Crown if only to gain full support from the people.

What was better? To leave Prince Doran on his shaky throne, exploiting his dependency on the Crown to keep him in line, or risk someone worse taking his place?

He walked into the tent, his desk already set up in the middle of it. He zeroed in on the pitcher of wine and poured himself a cup.

He turned to Ser Arthur and said, "Have my Maester tend to Prince Oberyn's wounds. It wouldn't do for a Prince of Dorne to die on our watch."

It only occurred to him then that Ser Arthur waited for that very command, so quickly did he bow and leave the tent.

Jae turned to the remaining two Kingsguard. He had another task for Ser Barristan, one he knew the venerated knight would loath to complete. But it had to be done. "Ser Barristan, you know what you have to do," he said. "Two men, two enemies, with fatal wounds that are sure to die by tomorrow. Understood?"

Ser Barristan swallowed and nodded, bowed, and left the tent. It was a sign of his disapproval that Ser Barristand did not say anything, but Jae would have to live with it. Ser Loras watched the exchanged with a pinched look on his face, but wiped his face of any expression when Jae's eyes fell to him.

"You disapprove?" he asked as he moved to the tent and called for Lucas. The boy came running and Jae gestured to his armor as he turned to Ser Loras.

Ser Loras' eyes fell to Jae's squire, a question in them. "You can speak freely around Lucas, I trust him with everything."

He didn't, of course, but it would only make the boy more loyal and it was not as if he could do much damage. By dawn tomorrow, the world would change and no one could stop it. Prince Oberyn had been the last one who had a chance to do so.

"Dragons are dangerous beasts, Your Grace." Lucas froze in the middle of unclasping Jae's neck brace. His eyes darted between Loras and Jae before he quickly got back to work when he noticed he'd drawn his King's attention.

"Great periods of peace are always a result of dominance, not compliance, Ser Loras." He rubbed the back of his neck, sore from days of wearing armor.

"And I have no doubt you shall engineer it, Your Grace. It's your descendants I'm worried about." Ah, the Dance of Dragons. The Conciliator's peace had made his descendants careless, made them think themselves untouchable.

If all went according to plan, history would repeat itself. Oh, sure, the question of succession wasn't around to create any chaos anymore, but power-hungry fools could always find a worthy excuse. No check on their power would stop it, no amount of warnings would prevent it.

A change of culture could go a long way, though. If they sent the ambitious and the power-hungry away to conquer new territories they could buy time, but as Old Valyria had learned, one can run out of territory to take. His descendants would turn on each other eventually.

Jae found he cared very little; he was going to be long dead and the prospect of an era of peace appeared too enticing to give it up on the off-chance that his blood-line produced another generation of idiots. He worried more about the present. He worried more about the Lords and their reaction to the return of Dragons. He'd gain a thousand enemies overnight. The Lords never liked the Targaryens while they had dragons under their command. It made them too powerful, depriving the nobles of any sort of leverage.

So a Lord came with a petition before the King? All the political maneuvering in the world couldn't get him what he wanted, not when the King in question had a flying, fire-breathing beast of destruction purring at his side.

No, dragons made Targaryens too powerful, so dragons made nobles nervous. Made them question the worth of their own precious bloodlines and put a check on their ambitions.

Still, Jaehaerys figured he could think of a way or two to counter their frustrations.

"Your Grace?" Ser Loras asked.

"Oh, excuse me, Ser, got lost in my thoughts." He took a deep breath as Lucas freed him of his breastplate. He'd begun to fear the bloody thing joined with his body. "And to answer your concerns, I have some plans in place to ensure history won't repeat itself."

Ser Loras believed him, he could tell. "And the cost required to birth them in the first place?"

"Ah... well, as to that, I can only ask you – how many men have you killed today?" Ser Loras stared at him, chewing on his lip. He finally looked away; the bloody arithmetics of life showing their face. "We shall sacrifice two today, but spare thousands."

Ser Loras nodded, though he kept his eyes on the ground, his brows furrowed. He's beginning to understand. Good. "I'm with you, Your Grace."

"Glad to hear it, Ser." Though what kind of a choice the man thought he had, Jae didn't know. That Loras felt he had to reaffirm his loyalty only put Jae on edge, made him wonder if he misjudged the situation. "Now if you wouldn't mind waiting outside, I would like to get some rest."

Ser Loras looked around the tent, utterly devoid of everything but his table and two chairs. "But Your Grace, the men haven't brought your bed yet."

"After the last couple of days, Ser, the ground looks mighty comfortable."

Ser Loras gave a snort of laughter, surprising himself even more than Jaehaerys. With a smile lingering on his face, he bowed and walked out of the tent.

"You too, Lucas, I'll call you when I have need of you."

Lucas nodded, his eyes wide in disbelief with what he heard, and walked out. Jaehaerys picked up the cloak Lucas left behind for him, laid it on the ground, and settled himself over it.

But sleep wouldn't come. He closed his eyes and his mouth filled with the taste of blood, his arm twitched in memory of how it jerked when he cut his opponents. He wondered who the Blackmont knight had been. He wondered if he wanted to know. Better to leave his opponents faceless than to learn about them and the families waiting for them at home.

He clenched his teeth. I have people waiting for me too. Daenerys, if he was being honest with himself, and only Daenerys. But he needed no other incentive, no other justification.

He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until Ser Barristan shook him awake. "Your Grace, Your Grace."

He opened his eyes. Night had fallen, and only the candle in Ser Barristan's hand illuminated the tent.

"It is ready, Your Grace."

Jaehaerys sat up and nodded. He thought he'd have some qualms when the time to make the final decision came, but none came forth to make themselves heard. Perhaps his pity died somewhere on that field by the Mander, perhaps he'd never had any to begin with. The face of that boy flashed through his mind, of the first time he'd committed murder. Why should this be any different? I murdered to earn Oberyn's favor and still ended up fighting him. This time, I will not murder in vain.

He stood up and Lucas came forth to offer a fresh cloak and some gloves. He handed him a freshly polished Blackfyre last.

"Where have you set it up, Ser?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes and grabbed a pitcher to pour himself another cup.

"About a league away," Ser Baristan replied. He'd never spoken so mechanically to Jae before.

"And the story behind the men?" Jae downed the cup in two large gulps.

"Your Grace ordered your own physicians to help them."

Jae nodded and walked out of the tent. "Very good." He mounted his horse. Ser Arthur and Ser Loras already stood at the ready and together they rode away. Some of the men shot them curious glances – while Jae slept an entire camp sprung up around him and he found himself right in the middle of it – but no one paid too much attention. Their exhaustion came before their interest in the strange habits of royals.

Ser Barristan had chosen well; a ring of fire surrounded the small depression, men with torches in their hands, looking out into the night to prevent any from approaching.

"Can we trust them?" Jae called when he rode past them.

"They will talk, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said as they reigned up before the funeral pyre. Jae spied the two men tied to it, shivering in the cool air of the night and looking around in panic. "But if things go as you say, it won't matter by the morning."

That's one way to put it. Jae dismounted his horse and gestured for one of the torch-bearers to approach. He took the flame and moved towards the pyre with no hesitation.

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan's concerned voice stopped him. "Are you certain about this?"

Does he fear the rise of the second Mad King? Jae turned back to him and allowed himself to show some of the regret he felt about the necessity of his actions. "Would that I were not, Ser."

He walked on and approached the pyre. The two men watched him with terrified eyes, the two dragon eggs between them. Ser Barristan had chosen two with stomach wounds; fatal, but it would take them a hell of a long time to die. I imagine they'd prefer it to the fire.

"I want you to know, I am sorry about this." Jae kept his eyes low.

"No! Please," one of them begged, glancing at the torch. "You can't do this! Please."

"It takes the sacrifice of a soul to birth a dragon," he remembered Varys' instructions. Let us pray to the Old Gods and the New he wasn't lying.

"Your death will bring peace to thousands. I know it doesn't mean much, but it's all I have." The man went to say something else, while the other kept his silence, his eyes glued to the eggs. He threw the torch into the pyre before his resolve melted away like morning dew.

He backed away and that's when the other chose to make himself heard. "I will hold you to that, Jaehaerys Targaryen!" he shouted as flames began to lick the sides of his body. "You hear me, I will hold you to those words!"

They had doused the entire pyre in oil and the fire enveloped to the two men seconds later. The night lit up in a brilliant yellow and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't block out the screams.

What would Jaime say?

The fire burned for hours. He did not know when the screaming ended. He could still hear it in his ears, like when Viserys held his arm so tightly he felt the grip for hours afterward. A grey dawn had come by the time the final embers of the fire went out. All around him he saw grey, as though he torched the entire Stormlands. His Kingsguard stood behind him, grim-faced and quiet. None said a word through the night, no one looked away.

But Jaehaerys did not see any of it, his eyes glued to the glowing embers. Something called to him, a beast in his chest demanded he go into the fire. He could not identify the feeling, other than to compare it to the times he'd let his lust run rampant. Only more primal. More powerful. More.

Ser Barristan's hand on his shoulder kept him from walking into the fire a dozen times but now even the venerated knight took a step back. A glance told Jae Ser Barristan was as desperate for the ritual to work as he was. He does not want to have to know he burned two men in vain.

Jaehaerys' legs carried him forward of their volition, his eyes watering with the smoke that blew in his face. He could not hear any movement from the fire, no noises, but he knew something waited for him there.

He approached the remains of the pyre, now nothing more than a pile of ash and some burned-out sticks. He moved around it, waiting for a sign of life, waiting for proof his sacrifice hadn't been in vain.

He saw nothing, but maybe they're hiding under all the ash. He crouched down, about to bury his hands in it when something rustled just to the right. His eyes snapped in the direction of the sound. Again he saw the ash shift, like a snake beneath the sand.

He swallowed and reached forward, gently dusting the ash away. His fingers fell on something smooth, warm, and white.

The tiny head of a snow-white dragon poked its head out, staring up at him with small, golden eyes. It shook itself free of the soot and awkwardly crawled its way to his hand, carefully sniffing his fingers before it looked back up at him again.

Jae did not have the time to think, to celebrate. The magnificent little creature before him captured his imagination and his heart with but a single look. Unconsciously, he opened his palm and it crawled into it, settling down in his hand as though it belonged there. Jae felt a smile bloom on his face and tears pricking at his eyes. He stood up and brought the dragon closer, wanted to run his fingers over its scales, feel its breath, anything to convince himself it was all real, he wasn't dreaming, he had a live dragon in his hand...

More movement from the right caught his eye. A blood-red dragon crawled its way out from the pile of ash and looked up. He could've sworn it glared at him, demanding to know why it hadn't been given the same treatment. Laughter bubbled up in his chest. Daenerys. This one's yours. He squatted down again and allowed it to crawl into his left hand.

A sob escaped him and a tear trickled down his cheek even as he smiled so widely his muscles hurt. By the Old Gods and the New, I've never seen anything as beautiful.

He held them gently in his hands but they quickly sought to prove they were no fragile creatures. The white one began to crawl up his arm and the red one, seeing its brother's initiative, followed. They both came to rest upon his shoulders, rubbing their tiny heads against his neck like cats. Scaly cats, that'll breathe fire one day.

Their claws clung tightly to him, but never so tightly to break his skin. In a daze, he slowly turned around and walked back to where his men waited for him, trying to make sure his little dragons enjoyed a smooth ride. He feared he might get a cuff around the ear or a vicious tug on his hair if he did not.

He emerged from the smoke to find his Kingsguard standing still as statues, but their eyes showing such shock it could only mean their stoic expressions hadn't had the chance to catch up yet. His eyes strayed to the side, to the ring of men that surrounded them through the night. He knew they'd followed his orders, did not turn to look at the fire once, no matter how loud the screams became.

They all looked at him now, silent sentinels who could not grasp what their eyes told them.

Ser Barristan recovered first and dropped down to one knee. "Your Grace," he breathed with a touch of reverence Jaehaerys had never heard before.

The rest of his Kingsguard followed his lead, the men surrounding them a moment behind. "All Hail the King!" Ser Barristan shouted. Not in the way he shouted after the Battle of Black Tree, when his eyes had been more on the soldiers standing around than Jaehaerys. This time his dark eyes stared right at Jae and Jae recognized what hid in their depths. He will do anything now. No order will be too ludicrous, no idea foolish. I can do no wrong. A shiver ran down his spine.

"All Hail the King!" came the echoing shout from two dozen throats.

"Rise, men," Jaehaerys said as the white dragon hissed in annoyance from his right shoulder. I really have to think of a name for them. "Let us return to the camp. There is an army whose faith in me I must justify."

Bright grins answered his words as they rose to their feet and together they walked back up the small hill. "Tell the men to erase all evidence of the fire. I want it to look like nothing ever happened here within the hour," Jaehaerys ordered as he glanced back. They knew the truth, but they would be the only ones. By the time they made it back to camp, their story would be but one of a thousand. I'll make sure of it.

He felt a warm breath on his cheek. He almost looked over his shoulder to see where Arianne had come from only to find himself eye to eye with the red dragon. Meleys. He knew it with a certainty. The name of the mount of the Queen Who Never Was, perhaps the greatest of all Targaryen women aside from Alyssane Targaryen. A name fitting for a dragon that's to be ridden by Daenerys.

He looked to the right and examined the dragon he claimed as his own. Its white color was without blemish, even its claws were white if his eyes did not deceive him. He'd never heard of a dragon like it, had no name he could pull from the history books. Morning was the name of Rhaena Targaryen's dragon, but that one had been a pale pink. He thought about using a Valyrian name but none seemed to fit.

Vermithor, the Bronze Fury. He thought as he walked down into another depression. He noticed the clouds had begun to clear; it would be the first sunny day in a fortnight. Another good omen. "Would Your Grace like to ride?" Ser Arthur asked.

"No, Ser," Jae said, his mind far away. "I want to walk among the men, I want them to see me."

Ser Arthur nodded in understanding and his knights led their horses behind them. I've been painting myself as the next Conciliator this entire time. Naming my dragon after the Old King will seal it.

He nodded to himself. Yes, he knew now. "Vermithor," he murmured to the dragon who cocked its head to the side and sniffed as if he was trying to decide if he like the smell of it. "Your name is Vermithor."

"And you." He looked at his left shoulder. "You shall be called Meleys."

Meleys huffed and a puff of smoke left its nostrils. Jae smiled, taking it as a sign of agreement, watching as Meleys shifted on his shoulder to look ahead with such haughtiness Jae fully expected a barked command to change course. They'll be telling me here to go before long.

"Beautiful names, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said. "And wisely chosen."

He gave the old knight a slow nod as they crested the hill, the camp coming into view. Hundreds of small tents littered the valley, fires burning throughout. With dawn, the camp slowly crawled to life. He saw squires running to and fro on the orders of their knights, others huddling around the firepits in the hope of a measly breakfast.

Jae stopped and took a deep breath. He had to move carefully, had to evoke the right sort of emotions in the men. They couldn't think that their King had gained a dragon. They had to think they had gained dragons, and they would soar with them.

"How do you want to do this, Your Grace?" Ser Loras asked, returned from giving them men their orders.

"Ride to camp. Tell Lord Tarly to sound the assembly," he said. He couldn't afford for a single soldier to miss what came next. Ser Loras nodded, launched himself into the saddle, and rode off.

"Ser Barristan, Ser Arthur, take your places at my side. We will walk straight to the middle of the camp. Everyone will catch a glimpse by then."

"Aye, Your Grace," Ser Arthur had his eyes locked on Vermithor. Jae bit his lip to hide a smile. He could grasp what he had achieved in political terms but sensed there might be something more to it than that. Have I just become a legend? An evil sorcerer? Does everything I have achieved so far pale in comparison?

He began to walk down the hill, his boots sinking in the wet grass, muddy up to his ankles. Meleys hissed at his side and Jae ran a gentle finger over it again. I will get to fly through the sky one day. All the plotting he usually busied his mind with was put on hold, his childish exuberance taking over. Fly through the sky, cross Westeros in a day if I like.

He wanted to giggle like a little child, but the warhorn from the camp tore through the morning silence. Heads perked up, knights stuck their heads through the flaps of their tents. They did not know where to look. Ser Loras and Lord Tarly helped with that. They rode their horses straight down the middle of the camp towards Jaehaerys, and all eyes followed them.

Jae eyed those closest to him, those at the edge of the camp. They stood up, curiosity etched on their eyes. A few frowns of confusion followed, they pointed at Jae and asked their brothers-in-arms, "Oi, what's that on the King's shoulder?"

A squire cottoned onto the truth first. Or mayhaps he had a wild imagination that turned out to be accurate for once. He froze before the entrance to a tent as his eyes jumped between Jae's face and his shoulders before he dropped the buckets of water he carried, turned on his heel, and bolted down into the heart of the camp yelling, "Dragons! The King has dragons!"

Strangely enough, Jae heard no scoffs of derision or disbelief. Men exchanged looks, wondering if they had heard right, and moved closer. Jae reached the first line of tents and many got to see for themselves. It would take a while before fifteen thousand men got their eyeful.

They stood in mute silence, staring at him as though convinced their eyes deceived them. Murmurs spread among them until the air around him buzzed. They lined the path between the tents to allow Jaehaerys room to pass, and every second another rank of men came from behind to see for themselves.

Jae heard shouts in the distance and could sense the word spreading through the camp. Lord Tarly and Ser Loras rode up to them, Loras grinning like a maniac while Lord Tarly maintained his composure even in this, the unlikeliest of developments.

The martial Lord needed only one look and a long blink before he dismounted the horse and handed the reins to Jae with a bow. Yes, they'll see me better from horseback. I should've ridden in.

Jaehaerys took the reins with a nod and carefully mounted the horse, focused on the dragons on his shoulders. It wouldn't do for the King to fall off. Can't be seen picking dragons off the ground like an idiot.

From horseback, he could see thousands of men had gathered in a matter of minutes. He rode on slowly, his back straight, his head held high – these men would remember the moment for the rest of their lives.

The stunned amazement began to give way to smiles of joy, and hoots of triumph. Tymon, that old soldier, watched him pass with tears streaming down his cheeks. Jae gave him a nod and a slight smile. He'd never seen such devotion in anyone without having to earn it first.

He rode on to the middle of the camp, past hundreds of knights and men-at-arms, past squires and cooks, past whores and healers. The whispers went quiet – all knew what had happened, and they only wanted to see for themselves.

When he reached the middle of the camp, they formed a loose circle around him, all of them staring up at him, a sea of faces. Ser Arthur, Ser Loras, Ser Barristan, and Lord Tarly took their places around him, like four points on a compass.

Jae took a steady breath and wheeled the horse around so as to give everyone a chance to see his face. If we're writing a legend, let's make it a proper one, shall we?

"Last night," he began, putting an end to the last of the murmurs. "The Seven came to visit me in my dreams." Oh, I have their attention now. "They charged me with restoring peace and prosperity to Westeros. They demanded I lead my armies against all those who would sow chaos and reap destruction. To show their favor to you, my brave warriors, they revealed the secret that laid at the heart of the birth of dragons."

The eyes went wide, the breaths hitched. He stood up in the stirrups, hoping Meleys and Vermithor wouldn't be too annoyed at what came next. "Aye, my brave warriors, my fierce fighters, dragons have returned!" Jae shouted and as one they replied in a thundering cheer. "We shall go forth from this place! We shall fight our enemies and we shall bring them to their knees for I promise you, my good men – all shall remember the Ice Dragon, the peace and prosperity he brought, and the brave men who stood by his side on the field of battle!" A bit presumptuous, but Jae cared little in the face of their deafening screams. "Will you fight by my side?"

"Aye!" came the shout from twenty thousand throats.

"Will you birth a new age in Westeros?!"

"Aye!"

He grabbed the hilt of Blackfyre, drew the sword, and held it high into the air. "For the dragons!"

Their cheer was like a thunderclap, their delirious shouts of support like blessed summer rain.

I do not want them loyal. I want them fanatic.