Bloodstained
Ninth Moon, 107 AD (6 AC)
The Grand Captain
Ser Edric Cuy almost cried for joy. The Stoney Sept, one of the most famous and sacred in Westeros was finally in sight and soon it would be restored to communion with the Faith for the first time in over a century. For far too long Ironman savages and Valyrian heathens had occupied the town and the sept.
No longer. Today, Edric would liberate Stoney Sept from the oppression of the so-called 'House Scales' and their Targaryen masters.
'First Stoney Sept, and then the rest of our brothers and sisters under the yoke of the abominations!' Edric thought to himself with excitement.
He did not foresee it being difficult. Most of the Targaryen forces were tied up in the Vale and their brethren's sacrifice there would forever be honored and remembered. Stoney Sept was ripe for the taking and he had twenty thousand men to see it done, a thousand Warrior's Sons, five thousand Poor Fellows, and fourteen thousand knights and levies from the Reach.
Many of the lords and nobles in his army still grumbled at the idea of being commanded by the second son of a vassal of House Hightower but that was no longer who Edric was and he had reminded them firmly of that with the High Septon's aid. He was the Grand Captain of the Warrior's Sons, overall leader of the Faith Militant, and he would not be disrespected like this.
He had been keeping a close eye on those lords ever since the campaign had begun, unable to believe that the fools were acting like this when they had a divinely ordained mission to free their brethren from the abominations. But no matter, when he proved his success on the battlefield and liberated Stoney Sept, they would fall in line or suffer the Faith's wrath.
He wondered for a moment how the rest of their Holy War was proceeding. King Mern had taken twenty thousand men to aid the rebels in the Westerlands and last he heard they were laying siege to Crakehall. King Argilac meanwhile had twenty thousand men of his own at the gates of Dragonport on the mouth of the Blackwater. Both Kings' forces had been supplemented by the Faith Militant, strengthening their armies while also ensuring they heeded directives of the Faith and its holy mission.
Seven willing all three sieges would succeed. Edric prayed for their success, but prayer alone was not enough in these dark times. He gave the order to set up camp and start preparing to rush the city once the townspeople rose up to join them.
To his frustration, Stoney Sept did not fall that day, nor any day for the next week. The townspeople did not rise up to overthrow their heathen lords as he had hoped and the gates had remained shut, the town more fortified and prepared for a siege than Edric had been expecting.
His hopes may have dulled but his religious fervor only burned more furiously. Clearly the townspeople of Stoney Sept had been misled by their long occupation by heathens. Edric would show them the truth, the light of the Seven. He dug in for a long siege and prepared to mount more assaults on the town when his siege weapons were ready.
On the morning of the seventh day, Edric was woken from his slumber by roars in the sky. Terrible and fearsome roars. The pure white clouds in the distance were streaked with scarlet and pink as a dragon bore down on their encampment at terrifying speeds.
Instinctive fear struck into Edric's heart before he realized it. The Seven surely had to be with them for the dragon in the sky was not the dread black of Balerion, the regal silver of Meraxes, or the furious bronze of Vhagar. The Targaryens were more desperate than he thought if they had sent their thirteen-year-old daughter to war on her equally young and inexperienced dragon.
With newfound courage, he rallied his men, giving orders to load the scorpions and aim their bows and crossbows upon Meleys.
"Form up men! Let's slay us a Red Queen!" Edric shouted and his army cheered. Cheers soon turned to cries of horror, however.
With an agile twist and twirl that was as beautiful as it was terrifying, Meleys evaded every scorpion bolt and what few arrows impacted bounced harmlessly off her body. Desperately, his archers nocked new volleys of arrows on their bows and loosed them but they were of no avail. His scorpion crews struggled to reload and aim the unwieldy weapons, finding it difficult to pin down and shoot at the frighteningly fast beast in the sky.
Too late Edric remembered. Young or not, a dragon was still a dragon. And this dragon was ready to take its turn in this game they called war.
Her breath was death, copper swirled with scarlet. Every scorpion in his camp was reduced to ash where they stood even as the men who manned them shrieked their dying burning screams. The tents ignited. More arrows loosed but their heads would again find no purchase.
Edric's army that had been so filled with enthusiasm and faith broke and turned to rout, but there was nowhere to run, for the dragon had sealed them within their own camp in a circle of flames burning in the surrounding fields.
When the second roar sounded in the sky, Edric knew their doom had surely come. A red wyrm joined its sister in destroying them, his flames as dark as dried blood. Between the two of them, their end was but minutes away, a carnage of flame and death.
Edric espied the young abominable prince and princess atop their demon beasts and he knew that they had made a fatal mistake. They had thought the only threats to have been the dragon king and his two witch-queens. They had never realized that their children were as dangerous as they.
The two pillars of flame converged on his position, copper against crimson, and Edric knew no more.
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Aerion
As they made their final approach on Dragonport, Aerion took a deep breath to calm his nerves. The hours-long flight since they had left Summerhall had given him yet more time to think on what he and Valaena were really about to do.
He was only three and ten, too young for battle many would say. His parents and aunt had long drilled into him and his siblings the dangers of war, even when atop dragons. Overconfidence could kill even dragonlords, a stray arrow could end their life in the heat of battle, a lucky shot from a scorpion could bring them and their dragon crashing down.
In his mind's eye the image of that happening to him and Caraxes, or even worse, to Valaena and Meleys, made him almost want to hold Valaena tight and curl up at home in Summerhall.
But he couldn't. Because he was a Targaryen. Because he had been born to be a prince of a realm that would one day be an empire. Aerion had expectations to match, responsibilities to uphold, duties to fulfilled, people and family to protect.
His father had charged him with protecting the realm while he was away, and though he wondered even now if this is what he meant, Aerion would see it done as best as he could.
They were close enough now to Dragonport to see the army at its gates, black stags on yellow flags flew at the top of the encampment. Much devastation had been brought to Dragonport, for the fledgling city was still young and its defenses were not as strong as they could have been. The city had not yet fallen, but it was on the brink. Many lives had no doubt been lost and years of progress building the port city had been undone.
Aerion resolved himself to avenge these losses but his resolve soon turned to fear and panic as Valaena outpaced him. Despite his unwillingness to admit it out loud lest she crow about it, they had long known Meleys was the faster of their two dragons. Normally it was just a point of contention in their races atop their dragons but today…
He urged Caraxes onwards to keep up with Valaena and Meleys. Dragon and rider both were unwilling to allow their sisters to face these enemies alone.
The enemy encampment drew ever closer now, close enough that Aerion could see their approach had not gone unnoticed. Sentries had spotted them in advance and the enemy had hurriedly prepared their defense.
A volley of arrows and scorpion bolts came flying at them and instinctively Aerion ducked, shouting at Caraxes to engage in evasive maneuvers. In the corner of his eye, he could see that Valaena and Meleys had done the exact same thing. A perfect series of moves that had been drilled into them by their overprotective parents for almost as long as either of them could remember.
With elegant grace and speed, the two dragons evaded every projectile loosed at them and what few impacted bounced off their hard scales harmlessly.
Following his training, Aerion took Caraxes into a dive then, aiming for all the scorpions and other siege weapons he could see. They were slow and unwieldy, hard to aim, and difficult to use against dragons, but they still posed a threat however minimal. Not anymore, he thought as Caraxes' crimson flames bathed them all in fire, leaving a streak of flames through the encampment.
Meleys' copper flames had already begun bathing the perimeter of the camp in fire to ensure there was no escape for the invaders. Trapped beneath two angry dragons and between a wall of flames and the treacherous Blackwater Rush, many of the invaders began desperately fleeing into the river, taking their chances with the river's rapids and depths against the heat of dragonfire.
Aerion would not give them even that chance. Even as Valaena continued reducing the enemy encampment into ash, Aerion scoured the beaches and the surface of the Rush with dragonfire. Few indeed would escape back across the Blackwater to the Stormlands on this day.
It was… so easy. Part of him wondered why he had been so nervous before it all.
When the battle was finally at an end, Valaena and he landed in Dragonport to take command of the city, overseeing relief and repair efforts in the devastated city and salvage teams heading out to take whatever prisoners and supplies they could from the remains of the enemy encampment.
Two days later, with their work in Dragonport complete, Valaena and he had taken off for Stoney Sept where they had done the same as they had in Dragonport. Two days after that they had ridden for Crakehall and done much the same before staying the night in Casterly Rock and returning to Summerhall the next day.
Within a week, they had destroyed three invading armies and protected their kingdom at the ripe young age of three and ten. Each time they had gone into battle, it had become more instinctive and simple. Easier to do and not think, easier to put themselves into the mindset of warriors and generals, easier to not think about the screams of the thousands they killed beneath their dragons' wings.
By the time they returned to Summerhall on the seventh day, Aerion had little fear at all of the battlefield. There was a surety in his step that only those who had gone to battle and won could have. He soon found however that he was not above fear entirely when they caught sight of Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar in the Dragonwood as they came in to land atop Dragonsreach.
Their parents were waiting for them when they landed. Both of them barely enough time to greet their siblings before they were frogmarched to a solar by their parents and sat down in seats.
"Explain yourselves," his mother Visenya said. Her tone was measured but her steely eyes revealed a barely guised annoyance.
Before Aerion could speak, Valaena said calmly, "We received word that our kingdom was under attack. Our attempts to contact the three of you with the glass candles were unsuccessful due to the battle at Gulltown. Aerion decided that we had to act immediately to rebuff the invaders and I agreed with him."
Following up on Valaena's words, Aerion added, "We destroyed three enemy armies laying siege to Dragonport, Stoney Sept, and Crakehall within the span of a week. Estimates put the three armies' combined strength at sixty thousand and we broke them all utterly. The threat of invasion from our southern border has been removed for the foreseeable future. By all measurements, our decision led to a resounding success."
"Success?" Aunty Rhaenys barked. "Is that all that matters to you? What about discipline or obedience? The two of you were given precise instructions to hold Summerhall, rule the kingdom, and look after your younger siblings. Not go gallivanting around the border risking your lives thinking that you're soldiers!"
Aerion flinched from the heat in her voice but he did not back down.
"Dragonport was already on the brink of falling," he replied to his aunt. "The same for Stoney Sept and Crakehall. There was no gallivanting whatsoever, only what had to be done."
He knew his mother and aunt were displeased with them, but he could not help but chafe a little at the overprotectiveness. Right now, maternal instincts ruled them. They were thinking only as mothers and not as queens and generals. They saw only their young babies risking their lives unnecessarily rather than the prince and princess that had turned back three invasions into their kingdom despite their young age.
Aerion turned to their father. He had remained conspicuously quiet so far, the expression on his face completely unreadable as he sat in his seat and brooded while their mothers stood and barked at them.
"I was given express instructions to protect our people and family if our enemies to the south took advantage of your distraction in the Vale," he said.
Everyone in the room had followed his gaze. "Aegon!" Aunt Rhaenys protested as she realized.
Much like him however, his father did not back down at her fury. "I also told you it was a last resort."
"And I deemed it such given the urgency of the situation and the fog of war. If either Dragonport, Stoney Sept, or Crakehall had fallen to the enemy, it would have been a disaster for the kingdom that would have set back our plans months if not years, to say nothing of the devastation the Faith Militant could have wreaked on our lands."
"And there was no thought in your mind about hungering for battle? For the glory and renown, you would win for great deeds?" his father pressed.
Aerion knew honesty would be the best policy here, even if didn't make him look perfect. "It would be a lie to say the thought didn't occur to me, but it was never the primary motive. I am young, there is plenty of time to earn such things later. My goal was the defense of our kingdom and our family, just as you charged me. Even then I questioned myself, wondering if it was what you meant when you gave me that task, but in the heat of war there is no time for indecision."
"No, there is not," his father said and there was a silence in the room for some time.
Aunt Rhaenys remained stubborn but he could see the cogs slowly turning in his mother's head, always the more strategic of the two, as she came to see his point.
"You have done well Aerion," his father said at last, breaking the silence. "You as well Valaena. I only hope that when the two of you have children of your own, you will never have to sit in my place and listen to your thirteen-year-old children justify to you why they risked their lives to protect the kingdom. To have them force you to acknowledge that they made the right decision."
"All I have ever wanted is to do my duty as your heir, to contribute to our family's vision for the continent and bring our dream to fruition," Aerion said. Valaena held his hand under the table for comfort and support and he squeezed it appreciatively.
"I know. It doesn't make it any easier for me though. To think of my thirteen-year-old children, my heirs, my pride and joy, risking their lives to protect us all because of a war that I started, a war that I dragged the two of you into. If a stray arrow had been lucky, if a scorpion shot had found its mark, neither of you would be here today and everything that I have worked for will have been for naught."
"It's alright Father," Valaena said comfortingly but he shook his head.
"No, it is not. Do the two of you understand the weight of what you have done? You claimed you were not after glory and I believe you. But you have it nonetheless and it is a bitter cup to drink of when you are so young. Your childhood has ended, your hands are stained with blood. In a single week you have killed sixty thousand men. Among them were many great lords and nobles. For all we know, you have killed the Kings of the Reach, the Stormlands, and the Grand Captain of the Faith Militant as well. A great and terrible feat. The innocent red moniker the two of you were given by this court will soon spread across all of Westeros as a symbol of fear and dread.
"This isn't the life I wanted for either of you. We were supposed to do everything right this time so our children need never know war and rebellion."
'This time?' Aerion was confused, his mother and aunt looked downcast as well. He did not have time to dwell on it however as his father continued, distraught. It sounded like he was talking to himself more than any of them at this point.
"At the very least you should have been grown adults, long prepared and ready to handle whatever crises emerged. Instead, I have made child soldiers of you both. I made you risk your lives for my ambitions, made you throw away your innocence to slaughter thousands and do so gladly and dutifully because it was what I raised you to do."
"The father cannot help but be horrified and saddened, yet the king and aspiring emperor feels pride and thinks only of strategy. So be it then," he said, finality in his voice as he rose from his seat and turned to stare out the window, as if unable to bring himself to look them in the eye right now.
"A choice lays before you Prince Aerion, Princess Valaena. As you know, our realm finds itself beset with enemies on all sides and our ambitions have come to a grinding halt. The Faith and its coalition acted sooner than we had hoped. Even now with the victories you have won, they stir up more of the Reach and the Stormlands against us. The southern border will never truly be secure and the Empire formed so long as the Reach and Stormlands remain defiant for the cause of this Holy War.
"Meanwhile, the Vale remains defiant for all the inroads we have made, whispers come of the North mustering its forces, and there is treachery abound in the Westerlands. Supposed smallfolk rebellions aided in secret by the lower nobility of the Westerlands despite the mercy they were given years ago and the imposition of Alternate Attendance upon them. There must be a reckoning for them.
"In the face of all these threats, even three dragons may soon be overstretched. The choice is thus. Return to your duties as regents here in Summerhall, safe and secure in the capital where you will watch over the home front or accept a mission to pacify what remains of Vale and watch the northern border to ensure the wolves don't interfere in our business. Think wisely before you choose and know that none of us will think lesser of you whatever your choice may be."
Aerion was in shock. He thought for sure their parents would have locked him and Valaena up in Summerhall until they came of age and now they were giving them the opportunity to fight again?
He looked to his mother and aunt and realized that the strategic situation must truly be that grim. Neither of them looked that enthused by the idea, his aunt especially, but both of them looked to be in agreement with his father's logic. Perhaps they thought the Vale a safe way to make use of their dragons and skills without overly risking their lives.
If it was just him, Aerion would accept it easily, but he had to consider what Valaena wanted as well. He turned to his twin in all but name, his eyes conveying what his words did not as he asked her.
Valaena smiled slightly before she turned to their father. "What exactly would this mission entail?" she asked.
Without turning back to them, their father elaborated. "The Vale's major castles have mostly all been secured after the fall of Gulltown. However, resistance remains heavy and guerilla in nature towards the more mountainous north. Several islands also remain defiant, including the Three Sisters. The Vale as a whole must be pacified to prepare our foothold for an eventual invasion of the North and more urgently, free up much needed troops for the war in the south against the Coalition.
"Your uncle Orys has command of all the forces in the Vale at present, with the Eyrie as his main base. You are to assist him in his mission to pacify the Vale and provide him the dragon support he needs. You are not to overrule his directives nor disobey his instructions. Despite your accomplishments, both of you are still young and green. Consider this a learning experience.
"Should the North dare to invade the Three Sisters or through the Neck into the Riverlands, you will respond and destroy their invading forces for their insolence but otherwise take no actions against the North.
"Do you accept?"
Valaena looked to him and he nodded. "Yes," she said.
At last, their father turned around, and there was a terrible mix of pride, regret, and love in his face. His aunt Rhaenys looked to be almost holding back tears as she pulled Valaena out of her seat and hugged her tightly.
Aerion got to his feet and found himself dragged into an embrace by his own mother, which stunned him a little. Visenya Targaryen was not often the hugging type with her children.
When they were finally released from their mothers' clutches, their father spoke again. "I am very proud of you both. I just wish that it didn't have to be like this."
"We can't always control how things play out. All we can do is adapt. You taught us that," Aerion reminded him.
Their father nodded before Aunt Rhaenys spoke up. "Promise us, that you will not risk your lives unnecessarily, and you will heed the counsel of your uncle."
"We will Mother," Valaena assured her.
"What will the three of you do?" Aerion asked.
"You worry about the north Aerion. We'll handle the south," his mother said and there was a promise in her eyes.
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Tenth Moon, 107 AD (6 AC)
The Warg
In the fens and fields surrounding Moat Cailin, Brandon Snow oversaw the final training of his men. His human skin overlooked theirs, each and every one of them wielding a weirwood bow and arrows, dressed in a mottled tunic and cloak that blended into the surrounding marshes and forest and made them nigh invisible.
Nearby, his direwolf Shadow ran with their beasts and his bird Ebony flew with their birds above, and that was only some of the animals his men had bonded to for they took animals not just for war but for espionage and deceit as well, claiming little mice, rats, cats, and dogs alike among others.
They trained to fight together, man and beast, weaving in and out between skins like a woman changed clothes. The birds and beasts saw the targets. The human skins loosed arrows, striking any prey with terrifying accuracy and at incredible range, the many skins' minds linked to ensure perfect shots.
Their practice of the old ways had ensured the Old Gods' blessings upon them. Ancient spells passed down to the crannogmen from the Children of the Forest strengthened their bows and arrows and ensured they would find their mark. Their skinchanging gifts were more powerful than ever, honed and ready for war, espionage, and assassination. Some of his company had even claimed to have green dreams recently, dreams with omens of success and victory yet also darkness and defeat if the wrong decisions were made.
They were fifty strong, with more than half coming from the Neck and deeply entrenched in the old ways. The others Brandon had found after years of painstaking search, recruiting them from all over the North, from the Barrowlands, the Gift, the Wolfswood, Skagos, and all the rest. Many of them, especially those from outside the Neck, were jaded and embittered due to the prejudice they had faced, the hunts and persecution and prejudice.
But against all odds, Brandon had succeeded in rallying them to a cause. He was one of them, yet also a Stark by blood. He brought royal patronage and protection, a connection to the old ways and Old Gods, a way to strengthen their powers and improve their lives with purpose and meaning.
The Northern lords might fear and hate their company and the smallfolk might whisper rumors about them in terror, but they knew the truth of each other. A strong brotherhood had developed among them, and each of them had become fiercely loyal to each other, to him, and through him, to House Stark.
The Wolf's Teeth were ready. The North was ready. Now all that was left for Brandon, was to convince his brother to act before it was too late.
He dismissed his Wolf's Teeth when the day's training was complete and they returned to their encampment in the marshes, enclosed away from the suspicious glares and dark murmurs of his brother's lords. Brandon alone made his way into Moat Cailin in search of his brother.
Torrhen was in the council room, brooding with his closest advisors and vassals as they hemmed and hawed over whether or not to attack. Most of those advisors and lords looked askance at his entry, suspicion and fear clear as day on all their faces.
One of them reacted with joy at the sight of him however, his nephew and namesake.
"Uncle Brandon!" his nephew greeted him cheerfully. His charming demeanor and energetic vibrance and youth were what gave him the nickname 'Brandon the Boisterous'. Such was his charisma and energy that the suspicious and dark stares of the lords abated ever so slightly when they saw the crown prince of the North greet his uncle so fondly. Even Brandon himself could not resist a smile as he embraced his nephew eagerly.
"You've come just in time for the meeting!" his nephew said, guiding him to a seat beside his father.
Brandon noted with amusement that his nephew had given him the seat at his father's left while taking the seat to the right. He supposed it wasn't incorrect. Brandon was left-handed after all, and the left hand as all knew was the hand of deceit and intrigue and that fit him perfectly.
To his frustration however, little of note was accomplished in the ensuing council meeting. The lords and generals continued to hem and haw over logistics and troop deployments pointlessly. Censuses were reported noting that they had twenty thousand men ready for war camped at the Moat when they had known that weeks ago.
A letter from his niece Sansa was read out at the council elaborating on her pregnancy with the child of her husband, the son and heir of Lord Manderly, despite it being of no relevance to a council of war. Reports from Winterfell penned by his youngest nephew Edwyle were given far too much discussion, as were missives from the fleet and army moored in White Harbor commanded by his middle nephew Roderick, ready to strike at the Three Sisters and neutralize the Targaryens' invasion pathway from the Vale should the order ever come.
But at the rate things were going, it never would. The council continued to debate and dither and all the while his brother remained silent. Brandon could not help but feel frustrated. Only a month ago, his brother's mind had been made up to attack, yet now he hesitated and allowed his council to waste time instead of bringing them to order and focus as he had seen him do so many times. Why?
When the council was finally at an end and his nephew and all the rest had departed the room, Brandon stayed behind to speak with his brother in private.
"You're stalling." He said it outright, unwilling to waste any more time.
"And what, would make you say that Brandon?"
"Don't play games with me Torrhen. Only a week ago this council was ready to march, now we wait and dither once again, going around in circles planning and discussing useless things but the order to march or even to focus on preparations to march never comes. And I know you're doing this. What I want to know is why? Why are you hesitating?
"The time has come. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys Targaryen have gone south to fight the Faith and its allies as we always predicted. Their northern border is unguarded, ready for us to strike and make inroads into their territory. The Three Sisters, the Fingers, the Twins, and more could all be within our grasp and House Targaryen brought low if you but give the order."
Brandon knew the idea of allying with the Faith and fighting in its Holy War had never sat well with Torrhen, it didn't with him either. But war made for strange bedfellows and these were desperate times. It had never bothered Torrhen enough to make him hesitate like this before so that could not be it. What had made Torrhen suddenly become so skittish?
"The dragon king and his witch queens may have gone far to the south but their eldest heirs are far too close for comfort in the Eyrie."
'So that is what has made you cower?' Brandon thought, though he dared not say it aloud. Nonetheless he barked a laugh.
"You speak of the Bloodstained Red Twins?" Brandon scoffed. "How old are they? Three and ten? Little more than children playing at war."
"Those children killed sixty thousand men in a week. Including the Storm King and the Grand Captain of the Faith Militant," Torrhen reminded him with a glare, warning him to not take this lightly.
Six weeks had passed and word was already spreading across Westeros. Even in the isolated North, their spies had brought them tidings of the battles, no massacres, at Dragonport, Stoney Sept and Crakehall. Tales spoke of two red dragons bathing the land in blood and fire, the Blood Wyrm and the Red Queen, commanded by none other than the eldest son and daughter of House Targaryen.
The Prince, Aerion, was Crimson they said. For his doublet was as dark as blood and that was his wont. He had slain many upon his wyrm that breathed blood for fire. Some had even gone so far as to name him a 'demon' like those found in the seven hells. Yet somehow, the girl was even worse.
Where once she had been the ruby in the eye of Summerhall's court, now all who spoke of her whispered of how she had outpaced her own brother atop her mount the Red Queen to each and every battle they had fought. So eager was her lust for wanton slaughter. The stories say she giggled as she indulged in such carnage, like a maiden might with her sweets. Her name had become one of dread. Princess Massacre they called her now.
In the span of a week the false twins who had once been known for their innocent love of the color red had stained their childhood nickname with the blood of sixty thousand men. No innocence had ever truly existed within them if they were capable of such monstrous acts at such a young age all agreed. Even now some rumors leaked out from the Vale telling of the brutality they unleashed upon all who dared defy them.
Personally, Brandon was of the belief sure most of the ludicrous stories told of the Red Twins were false, nothing more than fearmongering and propaganda. The idea they killed sixty thousand was itself an exaggeration. It was merely the total number of the three armies that had been broken but it was known for a fact that some of the soldiers had escaped.
The Red Twins were little more than cocky brats playing at war and thinking themselves invincible atop their dragons. They would fall just like the rest of their family.
Yet where Brandon had seen the emergence of the Red Twins as a new minor threat to be dealt with, it seemed his brother had seen it as a sign to hold back their attack. He had to correct this, and fast, before it was too late.
"Aye, they did," he replied to his brother at last. "And that is precisely why we must act now. We all thought the Red Twins would not be a threat until the armies of the Coalition were at the gates of Summerhall itself, but we were all wrong. Who's to say we were not wrong about their six younger siblings either? I shudder to imagine what evils lurk in the hearts of those abominable dragonspawn.
"Within the decade, the Targaryens could easily pacify the entire south and all those dragonspawn will be as old as the Red Twins are now. Can you imagine that Torrhen? Can you see it in your mind? We know the Targaryens will not stop until all of Westeros belongs to them, we know their ambitions are to subject the entire continent to their yoke!
"Imagine eleven dragons combing to bear upon Moat Cailin, Barrowton, White Harbor, Winterfell, and all the rest with all the might of the south behind them. Do you think we can stand against such power?"
He could see the horror growing in Torrhen's eyes as he considered his words, as the danger of the threat forming against them became crystal clear.
"The hour is late Torrhen. The future of the North is at stake. Choose. And act."
His brother closed his eyes and when he finally opened them, Brandon saw just how weary he was. Heavy was the head that wore the crown, and for all of his faults, Torrhen had always taken his duties to their kingdom and people seriously.
"Can you do it brother? Can you and your Wolf's Teeth kill the Targaryens and their dragons?"
"Yes. We can," he answered.
There were many ways. Torrhen had been briefed many times on what their strategies could be. They could take control of the minds of the animals around the Targaryens such as their horses or dogs and turn them upon their masters, bucking them off as they rode or tearing them to pieces. They could use their bows and pray that the Old Gods guided their arrows, with deadly poisons made from exotic flowers in the Neck lacing the heads and expert marksmanship spotted by skinchangers' animals aiming their shots true for the eyes of the dragons and the necks of their riders.
And then there were the more dangerous ways. The darker, crueler ways that Torrhen did not know, did not want to know. The ways in which Brandon pondered how they could seize control of the dragons themselves with their skinchanging, for surely many minds united could accomplish such a feat? The ways in Brandon wanted to break the taboo and invade the minds of the Targaryens themselves and rend them to pieces.
Or the ways in which he schemed to put down not just the three adults and the Red Twins but the six little spawns tucked up in their beds in Summerhall as well to neutralize the threat the whole accursed family posed for good. The Red Twins might be cocky brats, but they had killed sixty thousand men and Brandon wasn't going to let their demon little siblings grow up and do the same.
If he had his way, all the Targaryens would perish and their dragons would either be dead or in the control of the Wolf's Teeth.
Winter was coming for House Targaryen.
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Author's Note: The concept of the Bloodstained Red Twins and the epithets they have, especially Princess Massacre, have been in my mind since the very first draft of the ideas I had for this story so I'm really happy to finally bring it to page and present it all to you! I hope you enjoyed how I thematically and narratively tied them to the color red through their dragons and dress code and how it represents the blood they bathe themselves and Westeros in now.
And then we have Brandon Snow and his Wolf's Teeth. Let me know what you guys think of those concepts! A fascinating new threat has crystallized against House Targaryen. Stay tuned to see how it plays out!
Let me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord! https://discord.com/invite/NSEwuzpcWm