OTTO
The raven arrived at dawn.
Otto read the message three times before permitting himself to react. Even then, his expression remained controlled. Decades of political maneuvering had taught him the value of an unreadable face.
Daemon has declared for Rhaenyra. The Riverlands rally to him. He marches to unite with the Black fleet.
The small council would need to convene. Strategies would need adjusting. Allies would need reassuring.
But first, he needed to think.
He walked to his window. King's Landing spread below, ignorant of the disaster brewing beyond its walls. The smallfolk went about their business—buying, selling, living their small lives. They didn't know their world was about to burn.
Daemon.
Otto had known the prince for forty years. Had watched him rise and fall and rise again. Had seen the cruelty beneath the charm, the ambition beneath the valor.
And now that ambition had a focus.
He'll come for the children first. That's how Daemon thinks. Strike at the heart, shatter the will to fight.
Helaena's children. The heirs. Three small lives standing between Rhaenyra and uncontested rule.
Otto moved to his desk. Began drafting orders.
Security would need tripling. The passages would need sealing. Guards would need vetting.
And the bastard—Ulf—would need watching.
Too capable. Too loyal to Helaena specifically. Too unpredictable.
Useful, certainly. His performance at Rook's Rest had proven that. But usefulness had limits. Men who couldn't be controlled became liabilities.
Otto finished his orders. Sealed them.
War was coming. Real war. Not the skirmishes and posturing of the past months, but fire and blood and horror.
He was ready.
He just hoped the rest of them were.
ULF
News of Daemon's movements reached me through my network before it reached the small council.
A dockworker whose sister sold fish in Flea Bottom. A stable boy who eavesdropped on messengers. A tavern keeper who remembered old loyalties.
Information flowed through King's Landing like blood through veins, and I'd learned to tap every artery.
Daemon holds Harrenhal. Consolidating Riverlands support. Planning something.
The question was what.
In the history I remembered, Daemon's first major strike after Harrenhal was sending Blood and Cheese into the Red Keep. Revenge for Lucerys. Horror for horror.
But Blood and Cheese were dead. I'd killed them months ago, before they could receive their orders.
Which means Daemon will need a new approach. New assassins. New methods.
I spread my copied map across my desk. The Red Keep's passages marked in careful ink. Every junction. Every entrance. Every vulnerability.
The passages are sealed now. Otto's orders. But seals can be broken. Guards can be bribed. There's always a way in.
I needed to find it before someone else did.
A knock. My door opened.
Criston Cole stood in the doorway. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Newly named Hand of the King, replacing Otto in the field while the old man managed politics.
"The regent summons you."
"Now?"
"Now."
AEMOND
The bastard entered the war room with the careful movements of a man who trusted nothing.
Good. He shouldn't.
Aemond studied Ulf from his position at the map table. The man had changed since Rook's Rest. Harder. Quieter. More dangerous.
"You killed Meleys."
"Vhagar killed Meleys. I helped."
"Don't be modest. I saw you on her back. Saw what you did." Aemond stepped closer. "Nobody's ever done that before. Leaped from dragon to dragon. Fought a rider mid-air. It shouldn't be possible."
"A lot of things shouldn't be possible."
"What are you?"
"Queen Helaena's sworn protector."
"That's a title. I'm asking about the man beneath it."
Silence stretched.
"I'm someone who will do anything to protect what I love," Ulf said finally. "The methods don't matter. The results do."
"A pragmatist."
"A survivor."
Aemond smiled. It didn't reach his eye.
"Daemon has taken Harrenhal. The war council can't agree on response. Half want to attack immediately. Half want to defend." He gestured at the map. "I want your assessment."
"Mine?"
"You fought at Rook's Rest. You've survived things that should have killed you. You see the battlefield differently than our lords and generals." Aemond's voice carried a edge of genuine curiosity. "What would you do?"
Ulf studied the map. The pieces. The positions.
"Daemon wants you to attack," he said slowly. "Harrenhal is a trap. He'll lure Vhagar in, then spring whatever he's prepared. Multiple dragons. Ground forces. Something to negate your advantage."
"So we wait?"
"No. Waiting gives him time to coordinate with Rhaenyra's other forces. The Velaryons. The Northern lords." Ulf traced a line on the map. "We don't attack Harrenhal. We attack his support. Burn the Riverlands lords who've declared for him. Destroy his supply lines. Make him come to us on ground we choose."
"Scorched earth."
"Controlled burning. Strategic denial." Ulf looked up. "You have the largest dragon in the world. Use her for what she's best at—terror. Make the Blacks' allies understand what siding with Rhaenyra costs."
Aemond considered this.
"And while I'm burning the Riverlands?"
"I'll be here. Watching. Making sure Daemon doesn't use your absence to strike the capital."
"You think he'll send assassins."
"I know he will. It's how he thinks. Can't beat the army, kill the children. Demoralize the enemy. Break their will."
"The passages are sealed. The guard is tripled."
"And none of that matters if someone inside is compromised."
Silence.
Aemond's single eye studied Ulf with new consideration.
"You suspect a traitor."
"I know there is one. The assassin I killed had maps that were updated within weeks. Someone inside this castle provided them."
"Find them."
"I intend to."
Aemond nodded slowly. "Do what you must. Report to me directly. Not the council, not my grandfather. Me."
"Understood."
"And Ulf?"
"Yes?"
"If you fail—if something happens to those children—I'll feed you to Vhagar myself. Slowly."
The threat hung in the air.
Ulf met it without flinching.
"If something happens to those children, you won't have to. I'll walk into Vhagar's mouth willingly."
Aemond held his gaze for a long moment. Then he turned back to his maps.
"Dismissed."
ULF
I left the war room with a new mandate and the same old problem.
A traitor inside the Red Keep. Someone who knew the passages. Someone who could provide information to Daemon's agents.
Start with access. Who knows those routes? Who has the clearance to map them?
The list was short. Guards who'd served decades. Maesters who maintained the Keep's records. A handful of servants with special duties.
And ratcatchers.
Always the ratcatchers.
Blood and Cheese were dead. But they'd had friends. Colleagues. People who knew the same routes, worked the same shadows.
I'd eliminated the two I knew were dangerous. But how many others waited?
The corridor stretched before me, torches flickering against ancient stone.
Find the traitor. Secure the passages. Keep the children alive.
Simple goals. Impossible circumstances.
But I'd faced impossible before.
And I was still standing.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0