The Dragon's Revenge

Chapter 1

The air stank of human waste and unwashed bodies. Moving through the thick, flowing crowds of flea bottom was a tedious, tiresome task. The giant men who walked these alleys towered over all others, their lumbering movements cutting a swathe through the bodies, smaller men following closely in their wake. The elderly and the weak were jostled about, pushed too and fro as the able-bodied moved with haste: that is, as fast as you could go with the mass congestion that overflowed the narrow cobbled roads.

Jaehaerys Targaryen, second of his name and rightful heir to the iron throne, knew the ins and outs what was referred to as "kings landings arse-hole". For the past two months he had lived amongst the filth, memorizing the routes that each street vendor took, commiting the guards rotations to heart as he watched them from the slanted roofs above. Each day his boredom reached a fever pitch, and each day he reminded himself of why he was here. After all, he had only to look up to see the Red Keep, knowing that he was closer now than ever before to avenging the fate his father had suffered. So Jaehaerys continued on in this mundane state of existence, trying his best to become a familiar face in the countless pubs that littered the lower city, all of them in various states of extreme disrepair.

The air shimmered in the intense heat, the sun shining directly overhead. Jon pulled the cowl of his cloak lower on his face, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Scanning the crowd in front of him, his eyes darted to and fro, searching for his Targets. Every two weeks, a senior officer of the city watch would accompany the standard patrol down Pisswater Bend. The time of the patrols always seemed to vary; the Gold Cloaks had grown soft under their current leadership. Jon knew that after his father took back the crown, late patrols would never pass unpunished. Just one more reason that I'm here, he reminded himself.

The time passed slowly, the heat giving way to the cool evening breeze that washed over the city. The sun set a blood red, the light glinting off of golden armor as the men of the City Watch rounded the corner towards flea bottom. Jaehaerys counted five of them including their leader: light pickings for the would-be Crown Prince. As quiet as a shadow and as quick as lightning, the Targaryen lordling slipped off of his perch and into the bustling mass below.

Pushing and shouldering his way towards the guards, his right hand gripped the hilt of his bastard sword. People shouted curses at him as he shoved them aside, his violet glare set firmly on the Gold Cloaks in front of him. They didn't see him until they stood a few meters away; the man at the front of the group taking noticing his raised hood and his aggressive stance and called out to him.

"Out of tha way wit you," he snarled, his yellowed teeth and purplish gums on display for all to see. Jaehaerys didn't move.

"Get out of the fuckin way or we'll gut you like a fish, boy," another yelled, his pudgy hand reaching for the sword on that hung loosely on his hip. Jaehaerys didn't move.

"Right then," the first one said and started towards cloaked figure in front of him. He never saw Jaehaerys's hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and he couldn't react to the blow that lashed out at him, the Valyrian steel moving like lightning as the blade punched a hole through his chestplate. Blood oozing from the wound, he was dead before his body hit the ground.

The crowds all around them stopped, and a silence fell over the spectators as Jaehaerys began to slowly walk towards the remaining gold cloaks. With yells of fear and anger, two more of them ran to meet him: Jae's sword flicked out, and two more bodies fell to the ground, their thick blood coating the edge of the Targaryens blade. The Officer that had accompanied the patrol growled and drew his sword, he and the remaining City Watchman holding their ground, their aggressor stalking ever closer. Jaehaerys reached the the Watchman first, his first strike meeting his opponents sword and his second slashing across his neck. The Gold Cloak went down, blood spraying from his severed arteries. The Officer watched as his compatriot fell, his sword lowering slightly as he stared at his fallen comrade in horror. Jaehaerys was on him in a flash, his blade swinging in a deadly arc that shore through the Goldcloaks armor above his knee, severing the lower part of his leg. Screaming in pain, the Officer Collapsed, clutching at the stump where his leg used to be. Jaehaerys kneeled next to the man, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice cold, "you don't have long left if your leg isn't cauterized soon. I need information regarding the whereabouts of Ser Jorah Mormont." If the Gold Cloak heard him, he didnt respond. A pathetic whimper of pain emitted from his mouth, his eyes bulging in agony as his blood pooled around him. Sighing, Jaehaerys unsheathed the dagger he wore on his hip and drove it into the man's side, the blade peircing his intestines. The Officer let loose another blood curdling scream as Jae pulled out his blade out. "Now will you listen," he asked, his voice laced with impatience.

Dimly, the man below him seemed to realize what was being asked of him and spat up into Jaehaerys's face, his eyes filled with hate, "Burn in-".

His sentence was cut short by the valyrian steel blade that pierced his neck, the remaining light in his eyes vanishing. Placing one foot on his fallen enemies chest, the Targaryen slid his sword out of the man's throat, and turned to the mob.

"Shows over," he said, wiping the blood off his sword. Those who had stopped to watch hurriedly turned and continued with whatever it was that they had been doing. Jon knew he had to move on quickly; someone was bound to have alerted the rest of the City Watch as to what had transpired here, and there were no doubt more men on the way.

Jaehaerys slipped into the crowd.

…

The cold water ran in rivulets down his face as he stood in front of a mirror, scooping the cold liquid out of the basin in front of him. He scrubbed the blood from his hands and arms, wiping away the odd spot on his neck and face. Jaehaerys caught a glimpse of himself in the dirty looking glass infront of him as he moved to dry himself: his dyed black hair and dark purple eyes gave no indication as to who he really was. He had grown up being told that he looked like a mirror image of his father, Rhaegar, but Jae knew that you had to be looking for the similarities in order to find them: the people in flea bottom weren't interested in looking. Pushing away his thoughts, Jae walked to the window on the opposite wall, the inn he was staying in providing a perfect view of the Red Keep. It helped Jae sleep at night and wake up each morning: looking up towards the person who was the cause of all the suffering he had endured motivated him to no end.

One day, he swore, I will have my revenge.

One day, he knew, he would kill Daenerys Targaryen, and restore the rightful ruler to the throne.

That day grew ever closer.

I hope you everyone enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know it probably isn't a smart idea to try and juggle two somewhat similar stories at the same time, but its an endeavor I'm going to attempt. The next chapter that I will be publishing will be chapter 8 of Love is the Death of Duty, followed by the second chapter of this fic. LitDoD only has about six more chapters left in it: from the very beginning I knew it wouldn't exceed 15 chapter, but 14 looks a lot more likely now. Anyways, thank you for the favorite, follow and reviews!

Phsyconic