Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 6: Chapter 6: A Fool’s Folly

For the next few days, the Velaryon army waited for orders.

The men prepared for another assault on Bloodstone, though no one seemed to know when it would come. Weapons were sharpened, armour was repaired, wounds were bound, and supplies were moved toward the forward positions. Yet beneath all that movement, there was hesitation. The camp felt like a bowstring drawn too tightly, waiting either to loose or snap.

The ordeal with Daemon had soured the mood even further.

Vaemond continued to preach that they should send word to King Viserys and plead for aid, while Laenor opposed the idea at every turn, defending Daemon with a loyalty that seemed made of equal parts belief and stubbornness.

Corlys said less with each passing day, but his exhaustion became harder to hide. The Sea Snake was still commanding, still proud, and still sharp-eyed, but even he looked worn down by the constant infighting.

I could understand why.

The Crabfeeder was not merely fighting them with swords and arrows. He was making them rot. Every failed assault, every retreat into the caves, every ship burned or man dragged screaming from the dunes chipped away at the Velaryons more effectively than a single great defeat ever could. He did not need to destroy them all at once. He only needed to keep surviving until pride, frustration, and exhaustion did the work for him.

If things continued as they were, good men would die in wasted battles. We could storm the dunes and try to take ground, but without drawing the Crabfeeder’s forces out properly, we would only be a wave smashing against rock. The men might climb, bleed, and die, but the caves would swallow the enemy before dragonfire could finish the work.

Unless we could lure the Crabfeeder out, the next assault on Bloodstone would be pointless.

My confidence in Daemon accepting the plan withered with each passing day. His mood had turned rotten after the argument in the command tent, and any attempt to reason with him seemed doomed before it began. Even approaching him felt like gambling with my life, and I had no desire to test whether his threat about feeding me to Caraxes had been sincere.

The truth became painfully simple. Either someone acted as bait and gave us a chance at victory, or we continued to lose ships and men in assaults that gained nothing.

At first, I tried not to think about what that meant. I told myself Daemon might still change his mind. I told myself Corlys would find another way. I told myself that history would bend back toward the path I remembered and that a letter from King’s Landing might arrive to wound Daemon’s pride enough to make him act.

But each day passed, and nothing changed. On the fifth night, I made my decision.

The campfires had begun to burn low across the Velaryon camp when I left my tent. Around me, men settled into uneasy rest, though few truly slept well on Bloodstone. The air carried the smells of smoke, salt, sweat, and old blood. Somewhere in the distance, wounded men groaned, while closer to the shore, sailors shouted over the movement of supplies.

I passed through it all with a calm I did not feel.

Two guards stood outside Lord Corlys Velaryon’s tent, and one stepped inside after I requested a private audience. I waited beneath the darkening sky, listening to the wind drag itself over the camp. For a moment, I wondered whether I was making the bravest decision of my new life or the stupidest. Perhaps there was no real difference.

The guard returned and motioned me inside.

Corlys stood near the map table, though the tent was quieter than it had been during the council. No Vaemond. No Laenor. No officers arguing over losses and pride. Only the Sea Snake, a few candles, and the map of Bloodstone spread beneath his hands.

"Captain Galeris," Corlys said. "You asked for a private word."

I bowed my head. "My lord, thank you for meeting with me."

He offered a brief nod. "I assume you have a reason."

"I do," I said.

Corlys watched me in silence, waiting. He had the kind of patience that made a man feel foolish for wasting words, so I did not waste many.

"It is clear Prince Daemon will not agree to draw out the Crabfeeder," I said. "If the plan is to work, someone else must do it."

His eyes sharpened slightly. "And who would you suggest?"

I felt the weight of the answer before I spoke it. Once said, it could not be taken back without shame. A part of me wanted to look away, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.

"Myself."

Corlys did not react immediately. That was somehow worse than surprise. "You would walk into that hellpit of your own will?" he asked at last. "Why?"

"Because it was my plan."

"That is not a proper answer."

"It is the beginning of one," I said. "I suggested that someone should act as bait, but I realise now that asking another man to do it while I remained behind was wrong. If the plan is mine, then the risk should be mine as well."

Corlys studied me with the cold interest of a commander weighing the worth of a man’s life. "You are a sellsword captain. You command five thousand men. You are more useful alive than dead."

"I agree."

"Then why offer yourself?"

"Because I do not wish to see my men die in a doomed assault," I said. "If we attack without drawing the Crabfeeder out, we will bleed for ground we cannot hold. Your men will die. Mine will die. Then we will gather the survivors and do it again until the island is fed enough bodies."

The words were harsh, but Corlys did not flinch from them.

I continued before fear could make me hesitate. "If there is a chance to draw him out, then that chance must be taken. I may not be the perfect bait, but I am not worthless. I lead the Dread Legion. I arrived under contract to House Velaryon. If the Crabfeeder sees me isolated, wounded, and within reach, he may decide my head has value."

"He may simply kill you and retreat."

"He may."

"He may ignore you entirely."

"He may."

"And if he captures you, he will not grant you a clean death."

"I know."

Corlys leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "Do you?"

The question struck deeper than I expected. Did I truly know what I was offering? I had read about the Crabfeeder. I had seen what he did to men. I had watched from the comfort of another world as prisoners were staked in the sand and left to the crabs. But watching suffering and facing it were not the same.

"No," I admitted. "Not truly." That answer seemed to interest him more than false confidence would have. "I know enough to be afraid," I said. "I also know fear does not make the assault less necessary."

For a long moment, Corlys said nothing. Candlelight moved across his face, catching the silver of his hair and the exhaustion beneath his eyes. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. A brave man. A foolish one. A useful piece to be placed upon the board. Perhaps all three.

"At dawn, we can begin moving men into position," he said finally. "If you are set on this, I will not oppose it."

My stomach tightened, though I nodded. "Then you agree?"

"I agree to use the opportunity you are offering," Corlys said. "Do not mistake that for approval. Men often call sacrifice noble when they are not the ones paying for it."

"I understand."

"Laenor will support from the air with Seasmoke," he continued. "Our infantry will wait beyond the ridges, hidden as best they can. Your Dread Legion will be placed where they can strike once the Crabfeeder commits his men. If the trap works, we crush them between dragonfire and steel."

"And Daemon?"

Corlys’s mouth tightened. "I cannot speak for Daemon."

That was answer enough.

For a moment, I considered asking whether he thought the Rogue Prince would join once the fighting began, but I already knew the answer. Daemon might refuse the plan, but he would not remain idle if battle opened before him. Pride would not allow it. Anger would not allow it. The question was not whether he would involve himself, but when, and how much chaos he would bring with him.

Corlys reached for one of the markers on the map and placed it near the dunes. "You will need to look vulnerable, but not helpless. Too weak, and they may suspect a trap. Too strong, and they may wait for you to come closer before striking. The Crabfeeder is cruel, not stupid."

"I know."

"You will need to survive long enough for them to commit."

"That is the hope."

"It is a thin hope."

"Most hopes are, my lord."

At that, Corlys almost smiled, though the expression never fully formed. "Your men know?"

"Not yet," I said. "They know to prepare for an assault. They do not know the shape of it."

"Your brother?"

I hesitated. Corlys noticed.

"No," I said. "Not yet."

"He will not take it well."

"No," I replied. "He will not."

The thought of telling Vaeron sat heavier than the thought of facing the dunes. Vaeron had followed me across the sea, defended my decisions, and trusted me enough to stand beside me in councils filled with dragons and lords. Now I would have to tell him that I intended to walk alone into the killing ground and gamble my life on the Crabfeeder’s greed.

Corlys folded his hands behind his back. "Then tell him before dawn. A man deserves to know when his brother is planning to die."

The words were cold, but not cruel. They were simply true. I bowed my head. "I will."

"Very well," Corlys said. "Be ready by first light. The assault will begin near midday, once the men are in position and the sun is high enough to blind those watching from the caves. If the Crabfeeder takes the bait, Laenor will strike from above. If he does not, we withdraw before wasting lives."

"And if I cannot withdraw?"

Corlys held my gaze. "Then you will have bought us whatever time you can."

There was no comfort in that answer, but I had not expected any.

With that, my audience with the Sea Snake concluded. I left his tent and stepped back into the night, where the campfires burned low, and men prepared for a battle whose true shape they did not yet understand. The wind carried the distant crash of waves against the shore, steady and merciless.

I returned to my own tent without speaking to anyone.

Inside, my armour waited.

For several moments, I only stood there and looked at it. The dark metal had been cleaned after the voyage, the leather straps repaired, the buckles checked, and the dents polished as well as they could be. It was Othorion’s armour, made for his body, marked by his life. Tomorrow, it would either help keep me alive or become the shell they dragged from the sand.

I sat down slowly and began tending to it.

The work gave my hands something to do while my mind tried to tear itself apart. Cloth moved over metal. Oil darkened leather. Fingers checked straps, fastenings, edges, and joints. The motions were familiar because Othorion’s body remembered them, but the fear beneath them was mine.

Heinrich Adler had died beneath a chandelier.

Othorion Galeris might die beneath the sun on Bloodstone.

I thought of the twenty men lost to the sea. I thought of the names written in Dick’s ledger, of bodies sliding into grey water, of Vaeron telling me he would remind me if I stopped caring. I thought of the Dread Legion, five thousand men who had crossed the Narrow Sea because I believed history could be changed.

If I hid behind them now, what kind of captain would I be?

The question had no gentle answer.

I worked until the armour gleamed dully in the candlelight. Outside, the camp quieted, though it never fully slept. Bloodstone was not the kind of place that allowed deep rest. Too many men had died there. Too many more waited their turn.

Eventually, Vaeron entered.

He stopped when he saw the armour laid out before me, ready for battle. His eyes moved from the breastplate to the greaves, then to the sword resting across the table.

"You are preparing early," he said.

"I am."

His expression shifted. "Why?"

I looked down at the armour for a moment longer before meeting his eyes. "Because tomorrow, I am going to draw out the Crabfeeder."

Vaeron stared at me as though I had spoken in a language he did not understand.

For a moment, he did not move. His eyes remained fixed on mine, his face still, his mouth slightly parted as if he had prepared several responses and lost all of them at once. Outside the tent, the camp carried on in low murmurs and distant movement, but inside, everything seemed to narrow around the silence between us.

Then his expression hardened. "No," he said.

I looked back down at the armour. "It has already been decided."

"No," he repeated, sharper this time. "It has not been decided. You have decided, which is not the same thing."

I picked up one of the leather straps and checked the buckle, though there was nothing wrong with it. My hands needed something to do, and the armour gave them purpose. If I looked too long at Vaeron, if I allowed myself to see the fear beneath his anger, then perhaps my own resolve would begin to crack.

"I spoke with Lord Corlys," I said. "At dawn, the men will move into position. Near midday, I will enter the dunes and draw out the Crabfeeder’s forces."

Vaeron stepped closer. "Listen to yourself. You are talking about walking alone into Bloodstone as if you are discussing where to place grain stores."

"If I do not speak calmly, would that make the plan better?"

"It would make you sound less like a man trying to convince himself he is not afraid."

My hands stilled.

There was a cruel accuracy to that, though I did not say so. Vaeron had always been sharper than men expected. Perhaps people mistook his youth for softness, or his role as quartermaster for something less than command, but he saw too much. He saw through numbers, through excuses, and now, it seemed, through me.

"I am afraid," I said. That stopped him. I looked up from the armour. "I am not pretending otherwise."

"Then why?" he demanded. "Why do this? Why offer yourself when we have five thousand men? Why does it have to be you?"

"Because it was my plan."

"That is not a reason to die for it."

"It is a reason not to send another man in my place."

Vaeron let out a short, humourless laugh and dragged a hand through his silver-white hair. "You sound noble. I hate when you sound noble. It usually means you are about to do something stupid and expect the rest of us to call it honour."

"I am not asking you to call it honour."

"Good, because I would not." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and that hurt more than his anger.

I set the strap down and turned fully toward him. The candlelight painted his face in gold and shadow, making him look younger and older at once. He was sixteen, I reminded myself. Sixteen, and already burdened with feeding an army, managing contracts, reading men twice his age, and standing beside a brother who was no longer truly his brother.

"This is not death for the sake of death," I said. "If the Crabfeeder remains in those caves, the assault fails. You know that. Vaeron, you saw the map. You know what happens if we keep throwing men at those dunes."

His jaw tightened. "Then we find another way."

"There may not be another way."

"There is always another way."

"That is something men say when they do not want to admit the choices are ugly."

He stared at me, anger flaring in his eyes. "Then let them be ugly for someone else."

I did not answer immediately.

Vaeron stepped closer again, lowering his voice. "Send a condemned man. Send a prisoner. Send one of Corlys’s glory-hungry knights. Send Daemon, if he can be dragged away from sulking long enough to be useful. But do not send yourself."

"If I send a prisoner, the Crabfeeder may not bite. If I send a knight, he may die before the trap can close. If I wait for Daemon, we may wait until more men are dead."

"And if you go, you may die."

"Yes."

He recoiled slightly, as if the simplicity of the answer offended him. "Yes?" he repeated. "That is all you have to say?"

"It is the truth."

"The truth is that you are captain of the Dread Legion. You are Vitallion Galeris’s eldest son. You are my brother. You do not get to throw your life away because you have decided the story sounds better with you at the centre of it."

The words struck deep enough that I nearly looked away.

There it was. The thing he could not know he had touched. Story. Centre. It would have been easy, dangerously easy, to pretend this was all some grand tale built around me. A second life, future knowledge, a company under my command, dragons waiting beyond the dunes. In another world, I might have read this exact scene and admired the bravery of it. Living it was different.

"I am not doing this because it sounds better," I said quietly. "I am doing it because I brought us here."

"The men agreed."

"They followed."

"They chose to follow."

"They trusted me to lead them somewhere worth dying."

Vaeron’s face twisted. "And you think dying yourself will prove that?"

"No," I said. "Surviving will."

The tent quieted again. I looked back at the armour, at the breastplate waiting on the table. "Tomorrow is not just about baiting the Crabfeeder. Not for me."

Vaeron’s anger faltered, replaced by confusion. "What does that mean?"

I had to choose my words carefully. The truth could not be spoken fully, but some part of it needed to be said. Vaeron deserved that much, even if he could never understand why his brother suddenly sounded like a stranger wearing grief as armour.

"It means I need to know whether I can do this," I said. "Not command from a table. Not speak in councils. Not give orders while other men bleed. I need to know whether I can stand in the place where death is coming and not break."

"You have fought before."

"Othorion has fought before."

Vaeron went still. The words had slipped out before I could catch them. His eyes narrowed. "What?"

I forced myself to recover. "I mean the man everyone expects me to be. The captain. Father’s son. The warrior who has survived battles from Lys to Qohor. That man has fought before. Everyone knows he can do this."

"You are that man."

I held his gaze, and for a moment, I wished desperately that I were. "Tomorrow will prove it."

Vaeron searched my face, his anger giving way to something more frightened than either of us wanted to name. "You have been different since Myr."

"I know."

"Not entirely, but enough. You speak differently. You think too long before answering things you once would have mocked. You look at maps like a priest looking for omens. Now you are offering yourself to the Crabfeeder because of some plan that may not even work."

He swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Brother, tell me what is happening to you."

The question nearly undid me.

For one terrible moment, I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to say that his brother had died, or vanished, or been buried beneath the mind of a lonely man from another world. I wanted to confess that Heinrich Adler had never held a sword in battle, never killed, never commanded, never earned the love Vaeron kept giving to someone who only looked like the man he knew.

But I could not. Truth would not free either of us. It would only destroy what little trust remained.

So I gave him the closest thing I could. "I am trying to become worthy of what father left us."

Vaeron stared at me, breathing hard through his nose. "By dying?" he asked.

"By facing what I ask others to face."

His eyes shone now, though whether from anger or grief, I could not tell. "Father did not build this company so you could feed yourself to crabs on some cursed island."

"No," I said. "He built it so his sons could lead it."

"Then lead it."

"I am."

"From the front does not mean alone."

"I will not be alone for long if the plan works."

"And if it does not?"

I had no answer that would comfort him.

Vaeron looked away first, jaw clenched so tightly I wondered if it hurt. When he turned back, his voice had dropped into something almost pleading. "Please. Think for one moment as my brother, not as captain. Let someone else do this. Let me find another way. Give me one night to think, to plan, to make this less mad."

I stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, but he did not pull away.

"I have thought as your brother," I said. "That is why I am not sending you. I have thought as captain. That is why I am not sending some poor bastard in my place. And I have thought as myself, more honestly than I have since waking in this world."

Vaeron looked at me, confused by the last part, but I continued before he could question it.

"I have made peace with this. Not because I want to die, and not because I think fear has left me. It has not. I am terrified. But tomorrow will answer the question I can no longer avoid."

"What question?"

I let out a slow breath. "Whether I can kill," I said. "And whether I can survive the folly I have chosen."

The words settled heavily between us.

Vaeron’s face crumpled for half a heartbeat before he forced it back into anger. "You are impossible."

"I have been told worse."

"I am not joking."

"Neither am I."

He stepped back from my hand, shaking his head. "If you die, I will hate you."

"I know."

"If you die, I will never forgive you."

"I know."

"If you die, I will have to hold the company together while every man whispers that Vitallion’s sons led them into ruin."

The thought hurt, but I accepted it because it was true. "Then I will try not to die."

Vaeron laughed bitterly. "That is not enough."

"It is all I can promise."

For a long time, neither of us spoke. Outside, the night deepened over Bloodstone. Somewhere beyond the camp, the caves waited, and within them, the Crabfeeder’s men sharpened their blades, unaware that I had chosen to offer myself to them.

Finally, Vaeron wiped a hand across his face and looked at the armour on the table. "Your left shoulder strap is worn," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"If you are determined to be a fool, at least do not be a poorly armoured fool."

He moved past me and picked up the strap, inspecting it with sharp, angry precision. I almost smiled, but the expression died before it could form. This was not acceptance, not truly. It was love forced to wear the shape of practicality because anything softer would break.

Vaeron worked in silence for several minutes before speaking again.

"I will prepare the reserves near the ridge," he said. "Jasper and Rollis can hold the infantry until the signal. Emeric’s archers should be placed where they can cover your retreat, assuming you have the sense to run when the time comes."

"I will run if I can."

"You will run when you must."

I nodded. "When I must."

He did not look satisfied, but he accepted the words because there were no better ones left. When he finally left the tent, he paused at the entrance without turning around. "Do not make me captain tomorrow."

Then he was gone.

I stood alone beside my armour, listening to his footsteps fade into the night. The fear remained, cold and patient, but beneath it sat something steadier. Othorion Galeris had been forged for war by Vitallion, scarred by battle, and trusted by men who would soon follow him into the dunes. Heinrich Adler had been weak, lonely, sick, and afraid, but he had crossed death itself and woken in a world of dragons.

Tomorrow belonged to both of us.

If I survived, perhaps I would finally know what kind of man I had become.