Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten (Completed)

Aegon

Seven Hells, if I had to call this pathetic crop of rocks my home, I might turn pirate too, Aegon thought as he circled the Iron Islands on Sunfyre's back.

Aemond, Daeron, Borros, half his Lords, and Aethan all tried to convince Aegon to wait out the siege at Casterly Rock. They argued that four dragons were plenty and they did not need a fifth. They warned him that arrows would likely be flying and he was still recovering from his last injury. They told him that as their leader, he was far too important to fly into battle unnecessarily.

Aegon listened to their council, then decided to ignore them and take part of the siege anyway. Much to Aemond's chagrin.

So be it. He would not be the type of King who sat in his castle growing fat and lazy whilst his men fought his battles for him.

More importantly, he needed to be there to ensure his men obeyed his order to spare the small folk, the women and children, and the three noble Houses who had been non-combatants. And he, as their King, needed to be there to speak to the populace afterwards.

Especially now, he thought as he studied what was left of villages from the sky. Until the invasion started and he'd seen it with his own eyes, he didn't fully understand how poor the Iron Born were. How little they had. How so much of their home was like a slum. Even from the sky, he could see virtually no gardens or farms. They would not be able to grow enough to feed themselves, let alone livestock, and so he'd seen very little of that either.

If they hadn't turned pirate, it's more like than not they would have died off ages ago, he realized bitterly.

And that had been a failing of House Targaryen. Once they'd taken over as the ruling authority of the Seven Kingdoms, it became their duty to ensure the well-being of all of their people. If a large group of their people were forced to steal to have money for food and other necessities, then House Targaryen had failed them.

No more, he thought, grateful that Helaena had convinced him not to go through with a full eradication of the Iron Born. I will do my duty as a King, and I will help the Iron Born find a new way of life. They should be able to draw an honest profit from the ores in their mine, and it is my duty to make it safer for them to do so.

But to help them forge a new future, first the pirates must be purged.  

The separation of the islands meant the siege was no quick thing, even with the help of thousands of Aegon's fighting men sailing in on Lannister, Arbor, and Mallister ships. They were going on three days of near-constant warfare, even following Borros's plan.

"Dracarys!" he commanded, Sunfyre's golden flame joining the Cannibal's emerald as they heated the iron mine on the largest island. From behind him, ships carrying trebuchets aided the dragonfire by launching boulders at the mines, causing them to shake and crack, forcing anyone hiding within to chose between being crushed in a cave in or taking their chances outside. Far safer than having their own soldiers venture into the mines, where they would have the disadvantage.

Slow and tedious, but the payoff was beyond anything Aegon dared imagine. Vhagar's flank had been clipped by a scorpion, and all the dragons had a few arrows lodged in their wings, but that was the extent of their injuries. A few hundred of Aegon's fighting men had lost their lives as well, from a mix of different Houses, and Aegon had every intention of honoring the life of each and every man who had died in service to him.

But as for the Iron Born?

Aegon could not begin to calculate the number that perished, either by flame or by sword. But he could see the fins of thousands of sharks that circled the Iron Islands, feasting on the corpses of the dead that were thrown into the reddening sea.

And it is I that ordered their deaths. Aegon's stomach roiled, even from his position in the sky, where the men beneath him were little more than dots. He could not allow himself to vomit, and so he forced himself to take deep gulps of salty sea air as Sunfyre made concerned chirps beneath him.

This is necessary, he reminded himself. They took up arms against me in service to Rhaenyra. They near exterminated House Farman, killing their men and abducting their women and children. They have spent their lives raiding, reaving, and raping their way across the Western coast. Generations, really. Clearing out the old is the only way for the young to flourish. To grow up in the future that I wish to build.

But while all of that was indeed true, it did not make the sea of blood and entrails below him any less horrifying.

A horror he need not endure much longer. At long last, the horn blasts sounded, alerting him that the last of the squids had fallen and it was safe to land. 

Robert

"Please!" the Iron Born beneath Robert's boot cried out. "Please, spare me!"

I am sparing you, he thought as he raised his hammer. You were stabbed in the liver. You're already dead. I'm just speeding things along.

Though when he brought the hammer down on the man's face, the only battle cry Robert could muster was a half-hearted grunt.

As powerful as Borros's body was, a three-day siege had drained much of the strength from his muscles, even with brief rests in between. Every part of Robert ached fiercely. His beard was matted so heavily with blood and gore it was drawing flies. He hungered. He thirsted. He needed sleep as badly as he needed air in his lungs.

And he enjoyed every second of it.

This is where I belong, he thought proudly as he pulled back his hammer, a squelching sound coming from the dead man's brains. My ass was never meant to sit that fucking throne. My rightful place has always been and will always be the battlefield.

'Twas almost a pity that the siege was over.

Dalton Greyjoy had been captured alive, bound hand and foot in iron manacles while he cursed and spit at the Northerners who'd managed to imprison him. Cregan's insistence. He claimed that it was Aegon's right to execute Dalton to signify the Iron Born's defeat. None of Dalton's sailors, to Robert's knowledge, were left alive. The mines had been scoured, the castles ransacked, the homes searched, and the only people left alive now were the smallfolk, the women and children, and the three noble Houses Aegon had agreed to spare, exactly as the King had commanded.

And so ends the Dance of Dragons, Robert thought proudly as he stared at the helpless Red Kraken. To Dalton's credit, he'd fought like hell, bringing down half a score of men along with him. But there would be no songs sung for him, his role in the history books miniscule compared to what it had been in the original timeline. Yet another tragedy Robert had managed to avoid.

Robert would give Dalton further credit when Sunfyre and Vhagar landed. The Red Kraken surely knew there was a strong chance he'd meet his end by dragonfire, and yet he didn't cower or tremble before the beasts. He glared at them, as though challenging them to battle, and then spat in their general direction. Even when Sunfyre roared in the background, as if heralding his rider's arrival.

Though whatever respect Robert felt for Dalton, it was nothing compared to what he felt as he watched Aegon dismount his dragon and stride confidently towards where his men held Dalton, manacled before the crowd of smallfolk who'd been gathered to watch the Kraken's execution. Aegon's gait was smooth and even, his face belying no hint of the pain he was surely forcing himself to endure. His armor crown marked him as a warrior king…a title he'd earned, flying the beautiful Sunfyre into battle now multiple times to dirty his own hands along with his men's.

But what impressed Robert the most was the way Aegon ignored the cursing, spitting Dalton completely as he stood before the smallfolk, making eye contact with them as they all fell silent, waiting to hear his words.

"People of the Iron Islands," he spoke, his face a mask of regal dignity. "I've no wish to imagine what you must think of me." He gestured across the landscape, though it was near devoid of bodies now that they'd been pushed into the sea. "You have watched, undoubtedly in terror, as the sailors who once manned the Iron Fleet were cut down by swords or arrows or otherwise burned by my dragons. You have watched as we've razed your ships and your castles. You have watched us lay siege to your lands. You no doubt fear the future that is to come, now that you lack the ships to continue your way of life by the sea."

Robert studied the faces in the crowd. Devastation. Fear. Anger…anger that they had no choice but to rein in, what with two dragons and an army of men surrounding the King, including Robert himself, wielding his war hammer.

"But I give you my word, here and now as your King, that you will not be left to rebuild on your own," Aegon vowed, causing a few in the crowd to look up at him in surprise. "I do not intend to abandon the Iron Islands or bring you further misfortune. I have not forgotten that each and every one of you is also my subject, and I do not fault you for the poor decisions made by those who held power over you. I shall help you establish a new way of life that is not predicated on the suffering of others. And in time, I pray you will come to see that ripping out the weeds of the past was the only way to sow the seeds of the future."

Laughing a bitter bark of a laugh, Dalton spit at Aegon's feet one last time. "We do not sow, you stupid twat."

Aegon's jaw twitched, but he held in whatever he wanted to say, maintaining a graceful appearance.

Robert, however, gave no such fucks.

"You have balls to call anyone else stupid, Greyjoy." Robert said drily. "Your idiocy led you to believe that you would actually reap some sort of benefit from affixing your banners to a sinking ship."

Dalton snorted. "Fuck the Queen," he cackled. "Fuck the King. Fuck the lot of them silver-haired cunts."

A sentiment I once shared. Until I realized that they weren't all cunts. Only those that contributed to making Rhaegar.

"My loyalty," Dalton continued, "has always been and will always be to the Iron Born. And I regret nothing. Nothing that I did to help mine own people."

Aegon glared down at him, lip curled in disgust. "Your 'help' has brought them nothing but pain and loss. And they are my people now."

They had discussed execution methods at Casterly Rock. Aegon had initially wanted to execute any captured Iron Born with dragonfire as a show of strength, but Robert had persuaded him to use Blackfyre instead.

"You've shown your strength a hundred times over, your grace," Robert had advised him. "They know the power of the dragons. Now they must learn the power of the rider. Not to mention there will be Northerners amongst your fighting men. They believe in the old way: he who passes the sentence must swing the sword."

Fortunately, while Aegon's leg was injured, his arms were strong and his hands steady. Nothing to impede him from making a clean decapitation of it. With a gesture from the King, Dalton was hauled forward, his head lowered to a stone designated to be his chopping block.

"Dalton Greyjoy," Aegon declared as he drew Blackfyre from its sheath, "you have committed treason against the Crown in taking up arms for the false Queen. You have inflicted atrocities upon the innocents upon the Western coast. You have made yourself an enemy of those under my protection. And for this crimes, I, Aegon Targaryen, Second of my Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die. Have you any last words?"

Only one last glob of spit and a snarled insult. "Better dead than forced to live under the rule of a sister-fucker."

Aegon didn't react to the jibe. But Robert supposed Aegon was already decapitating the man; he could allow him that one final barb.

Aegon's aim was not perfect. In fact, it was downright bad. His sword cleaved through the back of Dalton's head and chin rather than slicing through his neck. Ugly and sloppy as it was, it was quick and likely painless, Valyrian steel cutting through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. The Red Kraken's body collapsed to the stone ground, blood streaming from his wound and seeping into the rock. Yet another feast to be had for the gulls, the crabs, and the sharks.

The war might have ended then and there with no further ugliness. The war should have ended then and there with no further ugliness.

But for the first time since waking up in the past, Robert's experience had failed him, and he realized far too late that he'd made a lethal mistake.

When Robert and Ned had taken the Iron Islands, he'd dealt with Balon Greyjoy, a ruthless man but capable of reason, and Robert had offered to spare his life and leave him in power in exchange for an oath of fealty and good behavior (reinforced by taking his son Theon as a hostage). Balon had bent the knee and submitted, and so Robert had now believed the small folk of the Iron Islands would submit as well. That they would see reason, especially when Aegon promised them aid and peace. Far better than the certain death of continuing to fight.

He underestimated them. Underestimated the fierce loyalty the Iron Born would have, forged from the necessity of relying on each other to survive.

He never expected a riot to break out the instant Dalton's brains oozed out of his ruined skull.

"PROTECT YOUR KING!" Robert cried as the smallfolk began to scream in outrage, throwing themselves forward, ignoring the weapons in the hands of Aegon's fighting men.

Aemond got to Aegon first, drawing Dark Sister and standing protectively in front of his brother as he forced him backwards towards their dragons, Sunfyre and Vhagar surging forward to meet them and roaring threateningly at the crowd. But the dragons were all but useless to stop the riot, for they could not breathe fire upon the crowd without dousing their own allies in flame.

"STOP!" one of the Iron Born lords tried to command, wearing a sigil Robert could not identify in the chaos. "STOP, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS! THEY'VE OFFERED TO SPARE US!"

His words cut through the cacophony, causing most of the smallfolk to pause and fall back, but scores pressed on, arming themselves with rocks and pocket knives as they lunged, dying upon the blades of Aegon's fighting men. A half dozen waifish men, eyes wild with blood rage, twisted their way past, screaming madly and lunging with short blades as they ran for the Targaryens.

Robert rushed to Aegon and Aemond, planting himself between them and the assailants as Aemond herded Aegon back to Sunfyre. Robert raised his war hammer, whilst Aemond raised Dark Sister, and combined, they wielded far more power than what was needed to overcome the string of untrained peasants. Two fell to Robert's hammer whilst three met their end to Dark Sister, the blade so fast in Aemond's hands that it was scarcely more than a flash of silver through the air.

Robert did not turn in time to strike the third man until he was a half-second too late.

Strong as an ox, Robert managed to lash out his arm and strike the man in the chest, halting him before he could get to Aegon, who stood in a fighting stance of his own, Blackfyre raised. But it was a mere glancing blow, and Robert could not pivot out of the way before the man stabbed a dagger into his stomach.

'Stabbed' was too grand a word for it. His armor and the chainmail beneath did its work. The dagger scarcely pierced the vulnerable flesh beneath, a warm trickle of blood flowing from his belly to his groin. A cut, at worst. But cut or no, it enraged him, and with a savage roar, Robert grabbed hold of his assailant's head, drew his arm back, and slammed it against the rocky earth with every ounce of strength in his body. For a brief second, it was almost as if the strength of his youth had been returned to him. Even without the aid of a weapon, Robert crushed the man's skull, blood and brains staining the rocks a sickly pink.

"Fucking squid," Robert spat, drawing back to his feet.

Just as quickly as it started, the riot quelled, brought to heel by Aegon's fighting men and the few Iron Born lords who had been spared by Aegon's orders (House Merlyn, he could now recognize). The remaining smallfolk had fallen to their knees, trembling with fear as the monstrous Vhagar roared at them in outrage, furious that they had dared attack her rider. Sunfyre roared as well, equally furious, but his own cries were inaudible next to Vhagar's, like a cub at the side of a grown lion.

With the crowd controlled once again, Aegon stepped forward, briefly patted Robert on the arm to ensure that he was reasonably unhurt, then turned to address the crowd again.

"Lord Merlyn," Aegon said, addressing the man who had succeeded in stopping the riot from escalating. "It seems I have found a new House to fill the leadership position that the Greyjoys have left behind…"

And now we get to the fucking politicking, Robert thought, keeping his face impassive.

That would be Aegon's arena, and surely, much of the details would be sorted out later. Right now, Robert wanted a bath, a flagon of ale, and the feast the Lannisters had promised to throw them in celebration of the end of the war.

Gods know that all of us have earned it.

Robert gave no thought, however, to seeking treatment for the cut on his belly. 'Twas nothing. A flea bite. He'd had far worse. It would heal on its own.

His second lethal mistake. And like the first, he would not know it until it was far too late…

One Week Later

"Do something!" Aegon roared at the maester who prodded at Robert's exposed stomach while he lay in his bed.

A stomach that had swollen to twice its normal size, a hard purple lump in the center that had begun leaking a foul-scented pus.

"Your grace…" the maester said fearfully, wincing when Aegon started to snarl again.

"It was a cut!" he snapped from his chair by Robert's bedside. "It pierced no organs! You said so yourself only a week ago. He barely lost any blood! Why is he…"

Even enraged, Aegon could not finish the sentence, but there was no need.

Fever heated Robert's flesh and dampened his skin with sweat. Not that it served to warm him. He spent his days shivering, his fever rendering him so lightheaded that he vomited into the pot that now remained constantly at his bedside.

Better than shitting myself, I suppose.

Robert knew what was coming. He smelled the foul stink of death on his own body, even before the maester tried again to explain to the King.

Pity, he thought as he spat a wad of acid into the pot. I would have liked to see the fruits of my efforts. I would have liked to see him rule.  But mayhaps it was for the best. His own glory ended the day he won his rebellion and established peace. Afterwards, he'd drank, whored, and ate himself into an early grave. Best get on with it now, before he disgraced the legacy he built for Borros the way he disgraced the one he built for himself.

"Your grace," the maester said. "I have exhausted the skills of my craft, but alas, two days passed before your Master of War sought treatment for his wound."

Because it was just a fucking cut…

"I've cleaned it daily, and I have tried every elixir of healing herbs, but I fear it is already too late for mortal intervention. The infection only grows worse. I will remain by his side, and I will continue his treatment, but Lord Borros's health is now in the hands of the Gods."

The Gods have already extended my life far past when it was meant to end, Robert thought, a strange peace settling over him with the realization that he'd been given far more than he'd been meant to have. He even managed a laugh that drew the attention of both Aegon and the maester.

"Dead of a combat wound I earned defending my King," Robert said between bouts of laughter. "A far better end than being murdered by a pig."

Aegon furrowed his brow, looking at the maester questioningly, but the man only shrugged.

"Fevered rantings are often indecipherable, your grace."

Robert blinked away some of the fuzziness from his vision, then shook his head at the maester.

"I'm cognizant enough to know I'm about to die," he said, drawing a grim look of acknowledgement from him and a fearful wince from the King. "And I know there's little time before it happens."

The maester didn't correct him, gaze dropping respectfully, but Aegon balled his fist, shaking his head.

"I don't accept that," Aegon said, shaking his head again as he pressed his fist against his thigh. "I don't accept that. It's a cut. People recover from illness. Mine own father was a mess of cuts and sores, and he lived for decades before…"

"Your grace," Robert said, interrupting him. "There are things even a King has no power to change."

Aegon didn't answer him, merely snarled again and looking away. But Robert could see the young King was more fearful than he was angry, trying to use anger to mask the tears pricking at his violet eyes. A King did not have the luxury of weeping before the eyes of others. 

You'll be fine, Robert thought, though he was flattered. I led you through the war, but I would be worthless to both you and myself in a time of peace. You have councilors who are far better suited to help you build your reign.

"Lord Borros," the maester suggested gently. "Prince Aemond offered yesterday to fly to King's Landing and bring your wife and children here on dragonback. It might serve as a comfort to see them in…"

"In my last hours?" Robert asked, to which the maester nodded once again.

I don't want to see them. I don't know them.

Seeing Borros's wife and daughters would only force Robert to spend his last hours wracked with guilt. They would undoubtedly be grieving for their patriarch, and to playact the role felt like a betrayal. He already felt guilt enough for taking the final months of Borros's life away from him. The true Lord of Storm's End had died the day Aemond and Lucerys came to call upon him.

A needed sacrifice. The real Borros did not win the war for the Greens.

"My wife is pregnant with my fifth child and due to give birth any day. She is in no condition to travel on dragonback," Robert told the maester. "And I don't want my daughters to have this memory of me. I want them to remember me as I was."

Or rather, I want them to remember Borros as he was.  

The answer seemed to convince the maester, but it only served to distress Aegon further, making the King visibly cringe.

"I'd forgotten…" he mumbled softly. "I'd forgotten she was with child. You may never…"

This is the way it happened in the original timeline, pup. Borros never got to meet his only son either.

Robert nearly offered Aegon a reassurance that he did not have to worry, maybe make some fartsy speech about how he was proud of the legacy that he was leaving for his son…but then another wave of exhaustion and dizziness hit him. And with it, whatever dedication that remained to playacting his role was washed away.

But I have one last promise to keep.

"Your grace," Robert said instead. "Might you call for Queen Helaena?"

Aegon frowned, the tiniest flicker of suspicion in his eyes, undoubtedly worried Robert was asking to see her out of some sort of unprofessed love.

 No need to worry about that, pup, he thought, shaking his head softly in response. She's beautiful, of course, but she is far too pure and good for the likes of me. I only ever wanted to keep her safe.

"The Queen asked me a question some time ago," Robert explained. "And I was unable to answer her. This may be my last chance."

As if to confirm his theory, Robert's head began swimming yet again, and he had to reach for the puke pail to retch up another mouthful of acid.

Maybe it was the puking that convinced Aegon that seeing Helaena may well be Borros Baratheon's last request. Whether it was that or out of loyalty to the Master of War who'd served him so faithfully, Aegon nodded and told a servant to summon Helaena to join them, dismissing the maester so that the three of them could have privacy.

Helaena

The horrid stench cost her the battle not to cry.

For the sake of modesty, Borros had been re-dressed in a shirt, and his wound was covered by bandages, but it had done little to help. The infection had left him feverish and coated in sweat, and the faint hint of death lingered in the air. It was the same scent she'd learned all to well when she attempted to visit her own father before his passing.

She had no tears to shed for Viserys. He was her father, yes, but she hadn't known him. Nor had he ever shown her or her siblings enough affection for her to love him besides the love she was obliged to feel as his daughter.

But for Borros, a man not yet dead, the tears flowed down her cheeks freely.

She appreciated that Aegon made no attempt to touch her. He rose to his feet and stayed by her side, within arm's reach should she need him, but the mere thought of him or anyone else touching her right now made her heart gallop like a frightened mare. A challenge she did not need to overcome when she could scarcely compose herself as it was.

Her heart broke all the more when Borros smiled at her warmly and affectionately called her, "My Queen."

Daubing her tears with a silken handkerchief, she stepped in closer to his bedside.

"The gods can be cruel," she lamented. "We owe you our victory. Our family's lives. The future we will build. You should be here with us to enjoy it."

You should be there to see Cassandra wed Aethan. When your first grandchild is born…

But Borros showed no hint of anger or fear, continuing to wear a smile of contentment. Of peace.

"It may well have been the gods who sent me here in the first place," Borros said. "Though in fairness, I don't truly know. I never did figure out how it happened."

She frowned, looking over at Aegon, who wore a similar frown.

"What do you mean, Lord Borros?" she probed softly.

Ever so slightly, he shook his head. "Robert," he corrected.

Robert? She exchanged another look with Aegon, who merely shrugged.

"Feverish rantings?" he suggested. "He mentioned something about being killed by a pig earlier."

But before Helaena could reply, Borros shook his head again.

"No, your grace. I'm quite in my right mind," he assured him.

Helaena stepped in closer, curiosity ebbing the flow of her tears. "I don't understand. Who is Robert?"

Borros gently reclined his head against the pillow as he stared up at her. "You remember, do you not, my Queen?" he pressed. "The Dreams you saw before I came to King's Landing?"

She flinched, trembling as the Dreams returned to her.

Dreams of her sons dead, one decapitated, one torn violently to pieces.

Dreams of Daemon beheading her grandfather.

Dreams of Daemon plunging Dark Sister into Aemond's skull before they both fell to a watery grave.

Dreams of Aegon, burnt and broken.

Dreams of Daeron, butchered at war. Her younger brother who she would never again see after he had left King's Landing to ward at Oldtown.

Dreams of the day she would pray for death…until she finally succumbed to her grief and claimed her own life.

Dreams of the death of nearly every Targaryen dragon.

She blinked them away now, drawing a deep breath. The day Borros Baratheon arrived in King's Landing, those Dreams slowly but surely began to shift, fade, and eventually vanish altogether, replaced by newer Dreams of hope.

"You always believed my Dreams," she said. "Always. That's how…" She paused, glancing at Aegon out of the corner of her eye.

His belief in my Dreams led him to kill Meleys. Saved my husband the horrible pain he would have suffered at Rhaenys's hand.

"Aye," Borros agreed. "I always believed your Dreams, your grace. Because you were not the only one who knew the twists the future would bring."

I suspected as much.

Beside her, Aegon shifted. "Are you a Dreamer as well?" he asked. "It's feasible, I suppose. Orys Baratheon was half-brother to Aegon the Conqueror, and others with Valyrian blood have married into House Baratheon."

Helaena eyed Borros questioningly. It stood to reason he would keep quiet about it, less his advice be discarded by those who did not believe. She knew all too well the frustration of having her Dreams ignored. But even before he shook his head, she knew it wasn't so.

"No, your grace," he corrected, but his eyes remained fixed on Helaena. "I know the horrors the war might have brought to your family because I lived through the aftermath."

But his answer only left her with more confusion, and she stepped closer to his bedside. "If you saw the future, then you're a Dreamer…"

Borros laughed softly, wincing as the action jostled his belly.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly," he offered weakly. "My name is not Borros…"

Beside her, Aegon tensed, but before her husband could call him an imposter, he continued.

"My name is Robert Baratheon," he said.

But there is no Robert Baratheon. House Baratheon is newly forged. Their family tree has yet to spread its roots.

"Robert Baratheon, son of Steffon Baratheon. Born in 262 AC."

Aegon stepped forward, no longer looking confused or angry. He merely shook his head before reaching out to rest his hand on Borros's…Robert's arm.

"Lord Borros, your mind is lost to fever," Aegon explained to him gently. "262 AC will not happen for a hundred and thirty years."

No, Helaena thought as she studied Robert's eyes. Exhausted, yes, but not clouded by confusion or delirium. He knew what he spoke. And he believed it to be true.

There is one way to test…

"My Dreams shifted, even then," Helaena said, "but one was as undeniable, just as the rise and the fall of the sun. So tell me, Robert, how did my dragon meet her demise?"

Robert closed his eyes, drawing a breath. "The dragon Dreamfyre was killed when the Dragon Pit was stormed by peasants. Peasants who Rhaenyra taxed into starvation while she hosted parties and feasted on lamprey pie. Dreamfyre killed many, but she was eventually slaughtered."

Gods be good. That Dream, amongst others, had brought tears to her eyes. Her beautiful Dreamfyre...

She felt Aegon eyeing her questioningly, waiting for her to confirm Robert's answer, and she managed a barely perceptible nod.

"I can't begin to explain how it happened," Robert continued. "But once it did, I knew what needed to be done. For in my time, a horrible tyrant known as the Mad King plagued our realm. He and his son Rhaegar, who abducted, raped, and murdered the woman I loved before I could save her."

Aegon swallowed, and Helaena could see his jaw working as he forced himself to speak. "Rhaegar," Aegon repeated. "A Targaryen?"

"Aye," Robert confirmed. "A Targaryen descended from Rhaenyra and Daemon's bloodline." He paused, thinking. "Rhaenyra and Daemon's bloodline produced a great many monsters. Their grandson, Aegon IV. Aerion Brightflame. Even the good ones launched the realm into war after bloody war, long after the last dragon was dead. I had to believe…" He grunted, eyes closing as another wave of pain washed over him.

"I believed your bloodline would be different," he gasped out. "That if I could spare the realm of the horrors that the Dance of Dragons would bring, then I could spare the realm of the horrors inflicted by Daemon and Rhaenyra's spawn. That I could save my Lyanna. And Ned…"

Lyanna, Helaena thought, the pretty name sounding through her mind. The woman he loved. But who was Ned?

"If you are even half the King that I believe you will be," Robert continued, his gaze fixed on Aegon, "then the realm will flourish in a way it never did in mine own time. Mayhaps saving the dragons alone will help you succeed. They were all dead long before I was born."

Dead? Fear settled into Helaena's belly like a lump of ice. But if they were dead…

No. The dragons must live on. Though it would not happen in her lifetime, she knew what was to come. Those foul ice creatures that her descendants fought, burned away in Sunfyre's flame. How could the realm begin to hope to fight them without dragonfire?

"I…" Aegon said, drawing a breath and dropping his gaze. "I don't know if I can accept your words, Bo…Robert," he amended. "I do not know if I can accept that you are from a different time. A future that the realm will now never see. But I suppose it ultimately matters not. My sister's line will end. Your Mad King will never be born. It will be my descendants that carry on the Targaryen dynasty."

Pausing, he pointedly looked at Helaena, eyes flickering down to her belly that had not yet begun to swell.

"Our descendants," he amended.

"Targaryen fire tempered by the blood of the Hightower," Robert said, giving a tired nod. "The realm will be better for it." With a soft chuckle, he added, "If your sewage plan works, mayhaps the city will one day stop reeking of shit. Rhaenyra's spawn never managed to accomplish such a feat."

Laughter fading away, Robert squeezed his eyes as a guttural moan escaped him, echoing across the chamber walls as he gripped at his stomach before heaving over the side of the bed. There was nothing left for his stomach to expel, but still his frame shook with fruitless dry heaves.

This is the end, she realized as he pulled back, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

"Aegon…" he muttered, his voice beginning to slur, trying to look at the King. "One…one last thing. Use caution…with Larys Strong."

He stepped in closer to Robert, leaning down in the hopes that his dying Master of War could see him more clearly.

"My Master of Whisperers?" he asked. "Why?"

"In the…original timeline," he puffed, breath becoming more and more ragged with every word, "you were poisoned. Cregan Stark…sought justice for you…killed many men for it…but he could never…prove who…" Swallowing, Robert licked his dry, cracked lips. "But he knew…Larys had a hand…in it."

Helaena's knees trembled, and she sat down on the edge of Robert's bed.

She had always misliked Larys Strong. His presence unnerved her. Yet she also knew from her Dreams that the Aegon from Robert's timeline had been a very different man from the one standing next to her right now. Could his actions in another place and time be used against him?"

Aegon's gaze hardened, and he nodded. "I will ensure I do not turn my back on him," he vowed.

"Something was always off about that man."

Robert's eyelids drooped, and he coughed, gagging, but he lacked the energy to even attempt to vomit again. Yet still, he smiled broadly, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he spoke his final words:

"Give me something for the pain, and let me die."

Robert

Am I dead?

When at last Robert blinked his eyes back open, there was no blurriness. No dizziness. No nausea or pain gripping his stomach. He was also no longer at Casterly Rock. No maester by his bedside. No Aegon. No Helaena…no bed at all. The rich bedchamber furnishings had been replaced by a dewy grass beneath his head.

How in the Seven Hells did I get outside?

"Bout time you woke up," a familiar voice called out to him. A very familiar voice. One that he knew better than his own.

Ned!

Robert sat up, blinking again as he took in the sight of his oldest and closest friend leaning up against a boulder, smiling at him playfully. Not the Ned that Robert had known before he died, the aging Lord of Winterfell who'd grown disgusted with the swine Robert had made of himself. This Ned was scarcely a man grown, his eyes bright and happy as he stared at him. Bright and happy like they had only been…

"Are we in the Vale?" Robert asked him incredulously, startling a bit at the sound of his own voice. He'd grown so used to Borros's almost nasally tone that he nearly didn't recognize his own anymore. But the voice coming out of his mouth didn't sound quite deep enough to be his own…

"Aye," Ned agreed, pushing off the boulder and walking over to Robert, extending his hand, "we're in the Vale. And it seems we're young men once more."

Oh gods be good, is it happening again?

"Did I wake up in the past again?" he asked incredulously, rubbing a hand to his temple. "I shouldn't be alive! I stopped Rhaenyra's line! I…"

"Robert," Ned said with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder as he pulled him to his feet. "Relax, my friend. You did indeed stop Rhaenyra's line. The dragons will thrive for hundreds of years to come through Aegon's bloodline. And you're not alive."

What? "Then where in the Seven Hells are we?" he grunted, to which, Ned only shrugged.

"Who could tell?" he said. "I've learned precious little while I waited for you to join me here."

Join me…No…

"That would mean you are dead as well…"

"I don't know any more than you do, my friend," Ned said, but his smile never dimmed. "I wasn't certain you'd join me at all. With Rhaenyra's line ended, I feared you would cease to exist."

Right…Robert blinked, brow furrowed. He was a descendant of Rhaenyra's line as well. If her line ended, he shouldn't be here…

Mayhaps in changing the original timeline, he'd forged a new course of history but those who died in the original course were still permitted to live out their afterlives? Or mayhaps this was no more than a fantasy. An illusion created by the Gods as a reward for what he had done.

If that is so, then the real Ned will never know I existed. Him or Lyanna…

But as Robert stared at the young man who was smiling at him, he found he didn't care.

I saved them, he thought. Those I loved in my past...and those that I grew to love in the past. Ned and Lyanna will grow up and live happy lives, even if there is no Robert Baratheon for them to meet. 

And as for himself?

If this is a fantasy, an illusion…then it's a good one. I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. 

With a laugh and a hearty smile of his own, Robert clapped Ned on the shoulder.

"Well then!" he declared. "Since we're young again and neither one of us knows the fuck what's going on, lets make the most of it!"

Laughing back, Ned nodded, grabbed Robert by the arm, and guided him further into the fields of the Vale.

"I've explored a bit whilst I waited," he declared, "and nothing here has changed. There are hawks to train and deer to hunt, and…"

And no fucking politics or thrones or wives or glory to bring us misery. Just you and me, young again, like we once were…