HELAENA
The maps spread across Ulf's desk.
King's Landing's streets. Sewer systems. Harbor approaches. Three different routes marked in red ink.
"This one leads to the docks." Ulf traced the first route. "My contacts have a ship on standby. Fast, discreet, can sail to Essos within days."
"Essos?"
"Far from the war. Far from dragons. Far from anyone who'd use your children as pawns."
"What about you?"
"I come with you. Obviously."
Helaena studied the maps. The careful planning. The contingencies for contingencies.
"You've been preparing this for weeks."
"Since Aemond became regent." He met her eyes. "Maybe before. Since I realized how dangerous this war would become."
"You think he'd hurt my children?"
"I think Aemond would sacrifice anything—anyone—for power. If your children become obstacles, he'll remove them."
Cold. True. Necessary.
She pulled off her rings. Three pieces—emerald, ruby, sapphire. Placed them on the desk.
"These can be sold. Gold for bribes, for passage, for whatever we need."
"Helaena—"
"I'm not being generous. I'm being practical." She looked at him. "You've given everything for us. Your gold. Your safety. Your future. Let me contribute something."
He took the rings. Held them carefully.
"I'll hide these with the other caches. Three locations. If one's compromised, the others remain."
"How many caches?"
"Seven. Different districts. Different contacts." He smiled slightly. "I learned paranoia in Flea Bottom. It's serving me well."
"What else have you prepared?"
"Weapons. Food supplies. Forged documents—you become a wealthy widow from Lys, the children your heirs." He paused. "And a dragon."
"Silverwing?"
"She knows the plan. Or she knows that we might need to flee quickly. She'll come when I call."
Helaena touched his face.
"You've thought of everything."
"I've tried. But plans fail. People fail. All I can do is maximize our chances."
"Then let's hope we never need these plans."
"Let's hope."
But neither of them believed it.
AEMOND
The war was finally being fought properly.
Aemond reviewed the reports with cold satisfaction. Efficient food distribution—riots down by half. Aggressive dragon patrols—Black scouts unable to approach. Targeted strikes against Black-aligned lords—three castles burned, two surrenders, one execution.
This is how you win wars. Not drinking and whoring while advisors squabble.
"My prince." Criston Cole entered. "The Riverlands reports."
"Good news or bad?"
"Mixed. Daemon remains at Harrenhal. His forces grow, but slowly. He's waiting for something."
"Reinforcements?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps he's baiting us to attack."
"Let him wait." Aemond set down the report. "Harrenhal is a fortress. We'd lose dragons trying to take it. Better to starve him out, cut his supply lines, make his position untenable."
"That could take months."
"We have months. The Blacks have problems of their own—Rhaenyra lost Rhaenys, her most experienced commander. Syrax is wounded. Moondancer's rider is dead or fled." He smiled. "Time favors us now."
Cole nodded. Started to leave.
"One more thing." Aemond's voice stopped him. "The queen's protector. Ulf the White."
"What about him?"
"Have him watched. Discreetly. I want to know where he goes, who he meets, what he plans."
"You suspect him?"
"I suspect everyone." Aemond turned back to his reports. "Especially those who proved willing to let kings die."
HUGH HAMMER
The wine was cheap, but it did the job.
Hugh found Ulf in the training yard, going through forms in the moonlight. Always training, that one. Always preparing.
For what? The war's already won. We have the dragons.
"Drinking again?"
"Celebrating." Hugh raised his skin. "We killed the Red Queen. Drove off the others. Put the king in his place."
"His place being a coma."
"Better than the throne, way he was ruling." Hugh stumbled closer. Lowered his voice. "Listen. I've been thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
"Fuck off and listen." He leaned in. "Aemond's power-hungry. Anyone can see it. And Aegon's probably going to die. So what happens then?"
"Aemond becomes king."
"Or what if he doesn't?" Hugh's eyes glittered. "What if neither of them survives this war?"
There it is. The treason.
Ulf kept his face neutral.
"What are you suggesting?"
"We're dragonriders. You and me. The two most powerful weapons in the realm." Hugh grinned. "Why should Targaryens rule? What makes their blood better than ours? We've got the same fire. Same scales under our saddles."
"You're talking about betraying everyone."
"I'm talking about taking what's ours. The Blacks, the Greens—they'll destroy each other. When the smoke clears, who's left standing? Us." He spread his arms. "Dragonlords. Real ones. Not inbred nobles playing at war."
He's serious. Or drunk enough to be serious.
"That's... a significant plan."
"It's the only plan that makes sense." Hugh grabbed his shoulder. "Think about it. When you've got a real idea how to make it happen, come find me."
He staggered away.
Ulf watched him go.
Hugh Hammer wants to betray the Greens. Wants to rule himself. Wants me as an ally.
The smart move was to report this. Tell Aemond. Let Hugh be executed for treason.
But Hugh on Vermithor was a valuable weapon. And Aemond might not believe a bastard's word against another dragonrider.
Watch. Wait. Gather evidence.
His hand found his knife hilt.
And be ready to kill him if necessary.
The training yard felt colder now.
Enemies everywhere. Even among allies.
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