DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

Hoofs drummed down the street as Gaemon rode his black stallion down the sloped hill that led to the docks. Many of the fishermen and merchants yelled and cursed as his mailed form rode past them without restraint, he struggled to keep his beast steady as he turned and rode up near the wharfs. His relief was palpable once he caught sight of Maiden's Kiss still at anchor and he thanked the Seven for their mercy.

Daenys was standing there waiting for him, her silvery gold hair covered under a veil and a child in her arms. Varys he realised as he dismounted and approached, his son was fast asleep in his mother's tight embrace. Beside them stood the other boy, his cousin's bastard, in his young hands was Gaemon's daughter Serra. To see them all nearly tore his heart asunder.

"Have they demanded anything?" he asked before taking his newborn son from Daenys arms. "Do they require more coin?"

Daenys shook her head sadly, she seemed composed yet her voice betrayed the turmoil of her heart. "They only ask that we leave shortly, I do not think that they wish to stay here much longer with the war looming."

Gaemon snorted. "I never expected bravery from murmmers," the ship was not the sort he had wished for his family, but it was the only thing that he could arrange under such circumstances. "You'll be safe with them at least, you and the children."

Tears began to well up in Daenys eyes and it struck Gaemon just how much he had ruined things. She is too young for this, he thought; I am too young for this. I just wanted someone to share my life with and now I have invited war upon us all.

As if reading his mind, Daenys reached out and touched his cheeky with her slender fingers. "It is not your fault, if I had not run away from them then you and Aelix would be safe and-"

"-and our children would never have been born," he smiled. "There has been much grief from all of this, but these two are more than worth it." He glanced down at the child in his arms and the babe in his cousin's. "My little prince and princess, papa loves you."

Behind them a fire broke out in the distance, sending an orange glow up into the night sky and the faint sounds of battle echoed in air. Daenys took Varys back from him and clutched at him tightly, her beautiful face struggling to conceal the fear that welled deep within. "Come with us," she whispered hoarsely. "There's still time."

Gaemon could only give her the smallest of smiles. "No my love, there isn't. I must stay and keep them distracted while you and the crew get as far away from here as possible. Pentos would be best; my brother had friends there who would be willing to help." His brow furrowed. "Remember what I told you, do not trust anyone and only go to the names I have written down for you."

Through tears he looked down at his young cousin who was watching them in confusion, no doubt unaware of everything that was happening. Would that my brother wasn't so hesitant about sending you back to the family, you could have be spared all of this. He forced a smile and bent down to one knee before the child. "Will you look after them for me coz? They will need someone to protect them after I'm gone."

The little boy's face went deadly serious and he gave a solemn nod. "I promise coz, I'll keep them safe. I'll be just like Aemon the Dragonknight!"

Gaemon laughed despite himself and rested a hand on his cousin's shoulder before glancing down at his sleeping daughter. He gently caressed the soft tuff of silvery gold hair from her head and gave it a soft kiss. He stood and took them all into an embrace, careful not to let them see him cry, before he gave his lover one last kiss. "Go." He whispered before urging them away, back up into the big ship where the captain stood watching with a grimace.

He waited until the ship had raised anchor and began moving off into the darkness of the night before he went back to his horse and rode through the streets again. Most of the citizens were screaming and choking the paths but he managed to ride his way through them back to his manse. Despite wanting to send them away, he decided that it would better serve the illusion if he kept guards about his home. Though the only thing worth protecting is sailing far away from here…

It wasn't until after he had finished his third cup of wine that he began to hear the clang of steel coming from his courtyard and by the time he had drained his forth they were already banging at his chamber door, knocking the great wooden slab from its hinges. Gaemon casually unsheathed his sword and rose, as half a dozen men burst into his room, all of them wearing finely polished steel plate armour with rich bands of gold adorning their persons.

Despite outnumbering Gaemon six-to-one, the soldiers remained at a distance before parting as another man made his way behind them. The man stood tall in his fancy silver armour, a red lion emblazoned upon his broad chest declaring his heritage of House Reyne. His jaw was square and covered with fine golden stubble that was several shades lighter than the auburn mop that hung down his head, his nose had clearly been broken more than once and a large dented scar adorned his brow. The man's shining green eyes burned with determination as he scanned the room before settling on Gaemon.

"Where is she?" he demanded with a stern growl. "Where is the heir of Daemon Blackfyre?"

Gaemon forced a laugh despite his fear. "She's beyond your reach Lord Hill, I'm afraid you travelled all this way for nothing. Though I am most grateful that you chose to pay me a visit, it is so rare that I get visitors of your standing."

The man's green eyes boiled with something for a moment before he turned to his men. "Check the rest of estate; make sure they aren't hiding in any of the rooms." The soldiers scattered about past Gaemon as if he was nothing more than a piece of furniture, tossing beds over and ripping doors from their hinges.

Hill's eyes never left Gaemon, twin storms that were slowly picking the Targaryen to pieces as he studied him. Rumours and myth surrounded the newest Lord Commander of the Golden Company, all of which were spoken in harsh whispers. Some said he was the bastard great-grandson of Robb Reyne, others swore that he was Bittersteel himself reborn; all agreed that he was a brutal man.

"Why do you do this Targaryen?" he asked with a low growl. "Even amongst a line of Usurpers your father was usurped. What loyalty do you owe your Westerosi kin? If you gave us the woman and children you would be the father of a king and queen, forefather to a dynasty."

Gaemon frowned. "Forefather to another century of pointless wars over some damned chair," he shook his head. "I will not be party to that, and Daenys wouldn't either."

The Lord Commander took out his long Valyrian sword and pointed to Gaemon with it. "You already are, you and the girl both. You want peace? Then perhaps you shouldn't have fucked your children into the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

The Targaryen gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "Why do you care? You are no Blackfyre."

Instead of speaking the Sellsword answered with steel and lunged at Gaemon, slashing and hacking with a force that the untrained lordling had never experienced and it was all he could do to keep his blade up. With a grunt of effort he shoved his enemy back, struggling for breath as Hill stared back at him with a bored expression.

"This is pathetic, you're nothing but a spoiled craven who refuses to face the world," Hill's voice was dripping with malice. "What did you think would happen when you got a Blackfyre pregnant with your spawn? Your Targaryen spawn. You have given my cause the greatest weapon against the pretenders currently sitting the Throne; with your children I can rally both Blackfyre and Targaryen to my side. The seven kingdoms will rise up in glorious revolution and Daemon Blackfyre's blood will finally take their rightful place."

"Never!" hissed Gaemon as he rushed his opponent, swinging wildly with a strength he didn't know he had.

Hill ducked and weaved before casually swiping downwards in steep motion, knocking the blade from Gaemon's hands and disarming him. Before the Targaryen could think he felt the wind leave his chest and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Hill's sword hadn't quite hit Gaemon's heart but it presently sat not two inches beneath it. With a violent twist Hill pulled the blade free and let Gaemon fall backwards to the marble ground below.

Lord Hill stood over him like a towering colossus. "I will find those children, and when I do, this world will know a new age of the Black Dragon," he grabbed a handful of Gaemon's silver hair and pulled him close. "And it will all be because of you."

ACROSS THE NARROW SEA…..

In that moment, high up on the ramparts, there were only the rolling hills of green and grey, caught in twilight. The setting sun hung low and violet on the horizon, and its rays slanted down silently onto the dense forest. What was left of the day was quickly leaking from the world, the sun going away to wherever it slept at night while the rest of the world threw it a marvellous farewell.

Steffon Baratheon soaked it all in, as he did every day, as he had always done. Unlike the rest of his kin, Steffon enjoyed the beauty of nature at every opportunity, it was something that his mother had instilled upon him from a young age and became a part of his daily ritual. Despite being lost in his thoughts he could still hear someone calling his name in the distance. "Steffon!" came the deep baritone voice, the sounds of heavy metal boots thumping on the stone as it approached. "Dammit boy where are you?"

The heir of Storm's End opened his eyes and turned towards the sound. "I'm here uncle!" he called before walking down the many steps to the courtyard. His uncle Harbert met him halfway down the stairwell, his large form stopping the young lordling up and trying to look stern as he inspected Steffon's clothing, casually dusting his tunic off.

"Lords Connington, Estermont and the others have arrived already," he complained as they hurried down the stairs. "It's very important that you make a good impression on them, especially on Connington, he needs little excuse to cause trouble."

"Yes uncle, " was all Steffon said as he moved down the steps and into the hallway. While he was but fifteen, Steffon and his Uncle Harbert were almost of the same height and it seemed like a lifetime ago when his uncle used to pick him up and sit atop his shoulders. The world seems much larger when you're a child, he reflected sombrely.

When they entered the great hall they found the room alive with the beginnings of a feast, with maids and servants hurrying along the various tables, quickly placing plates of food down for the highborn guests and a collection of musicians were setting up for the entertainment. Steffon spied his Father deep in conversation with Lord Cafferen, discussing some matter about the Rainwood forest. Around him sat the Lords Connington, Wylde and Estermont, each of them eagerly digging into their freshly cooked meals. Steffon couldn't help but stare at the empty seat to his father's left, it had remained vacant for almost two years now and every time the young lord caught sight of it he felt a painful tug in his chest. I miss you, he thought sadly as he remembered the bright purple of his mother's never said the words aloud but often repeated them in his head every day like a prayer. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could still see the flames of Summerhall, could still smell the thick choking smoke.

Lord Edric gave the smallest of nods when he saw Steffon and Harbert enter and the two Baratheons quietly slipped in beside lord Grandison while said lord was none the wiser. The servants likewise quietly put down a small plate of duck in front of the uncle and nephew before slipping away quietly. They ate in relative quiet as the others all chatted amongst themselves and Steffon tried his best to keep his boredom from spoiling theevening. Eventually his Uncle Harbert nudged him in the ribs and gestured to a couple of arguing lords sitting on a table below them. "You see that fat one, with the drooping beard?" he said, pointing with his knife. "That is lord Errol, and he has been giving your father and I quite a bit of grief with his constant bickering with lord Fell, the man who is sitting on the opposite side of the room."

"What have they been fighting about?" asked Steffon curiously.

Harbert gave a snort of laughter at that. "Why, a woman of course. What else?" he laughed again and downed a cup of ale. "Fell's sister claims to have been dishonoured by lord Errol's son, or at least that's what she'd have you believe. Such things should be beneath the duties of Lord but alas my boy we have to suffer them, you must remember that when you inherit Storm's End. Even the smallest of matters must be attended to."

Steffon gave a firm nod and turned his eyes back to the feast. So many grumpy old men, how does father put up with them all? Edric Baratheon would laugh at that in his booming voice and shrug the question off in his usual manner. Old lord Penrose was glaring at lord Lonmouth while the knights on either side tried to distance themselves from the brewing dispute, behind them Bonifer Hasty was preaching to a Tarth man. Steffon frowned in boredom until he caught sight of someone sitting down on one of the tables.

Her hair was the colour of chestnuts, thick and curly, framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes in contrast, were a vibrant green and when she laughed they would visibly brighten like two stars of wildfire. The young woman was sitting quietly with her attendants, smiling and laughing as they exchanged gossip. For some reason Steffon found that he could not take his eyes from the maiden and wished for once that he had his uncle Harbert's confidence. After a time the girl noticed that he was looking at her and gave him a shy smile.

Steffon smiled back.