Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...
Jaehaerys accompanied his grandfather's Hand, Lord Lyonel Strong, towards the king's solar. Viserys wanted to speak to him about whatever it was, but no one – not even the Hand or prince – understood what for. Meanwhile, Lyonel suspected it was related to the incident in the courtyard to his son's actions. Upon opening the door, both Jaehaerys and Lyonel entered, upon which the sight of King Viserys and Prince Aeonar immediately greeted them. Beatrice stood nearby a few feet away from them in the same room – watching the youth enter with the Hand behind him.
"Prince Jaehaerys and the Hand, Your Grace," Criston stated. Turning to guard the door, the Kingsguard knight couldn't help but see a striking resemblance between the boy and the man who he once called a friend. The damage had already been done ten years prior; now, they were bitter enemies.
"The king is resting―" Beatrice tried to speak.
"I will see him," Viserys interjected.
Once gaining entry, Jaehaerys was the first to approach. "Father. Grandfather," he noticed the king coughing and shifting in his seat, indicating slight discomfort. "Here, let me get that for you," he approached. Taking a nearby blanket, the prince covered his grandfather at the waist and fluffed the pillows behind him.
"Oh, no my boy. I do not need the blanket..." Viserys tried to convince the child, all while breathing heavily.
"I know you've been unwell for some time, grandfather. At least let us make you as comfortable as possible. Here. Lean forward a bit."
"Ughhh..." The king groaned as his grandson tended to his needs. Before long, he glanced up at his Hand, who immediately bowed to both royals whilst feeling beads of sweat forming on his brow. "I'm being endlessly fussed over, Lyonel. It's a wonder I can visit the privy alone."
"Ahem!" Aeonar cleared his throat, his arms folded unamused.
Lyonel adjusted his collar. "Your Grace. Prince Aeonar," he said.
"You are aware of the consequences your son has inflicted on my son, Lord Lyonel?" Beatrice inquired.
Viserys coughed. "Indeed. We were all there when we saw it happen. It was most unfortunate, but... did your son have to physically get involved with one of mine?" he inquired.
Lyonel's eyes darted to Aeonar for a moment before returning his gaze to the king. In the eyes of the realm, the seven knights of the Kingsguard were a representation of the authority of the crown. To lay a hand upon one of them was tantamount to laying a hand on the king himself. Jaehaerys, sensing the tension rising, looked to his father who said nothing but subtly tilted his head sideways – motioning for him to leave. Once he was certain Viserys was comfortable enough, the young prince bowed and turned to leave, giving them a moment of privacy. "Your Grace, I feel..." Lyonel began. "The episode in the yard... I have relieved my son Harwin from his position as Commander of the City Watch. He disgraced himself and every fishwife in King's Landing will soon be telling the tale, and... I too have come to resign as Hand of the King."
"What?" Viserys looked dumbfounded.
Aeonar raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Young Harwin's conduct was unfortunate, it's true. But he's been expelled from the City Watch. That seems punishment enough."
"Forgive me, Your Grace, it is not," Lyonel shook his head.
The king, exchanging glances between his queen and his heir, forced himself to rise. "You have served me faithfully for many years, ten as Hand. Your advice has been sage, unmarked by self-interest... which stands in contrast to all others."
"You speak kind words and your faith in me is touching. It was the greatest privilege of my life. But I fear I cannot continue to serve you because of..." Lyonel stopped himself as if the last bit of his sentence were caught in his throat. He looked at Prince Aeonar, who continued to look at him.
"Because of what?" Aeonar pressed. You know as well as I do, Lyonel. The rumors surrounding the legitimacy of Jacaerys, Lucerys... and Joffrey – you know they do not carry Velaryon blood in their veins nor do they share any resemblance to Ser Laenor. They are Ser Harwin's bastard sons. And you know it.
"There is a shadow over my house, and it grows ever darker. I can no longer serve with integrity."
"What is this shadow? Name it, if it casts such gloom that makes you incapable of serving me as you have."
"Yes, name it," Beatrice pressed. "We must have your reasoning in plain language."
Lyonel trades glances between Viserys, Aeonar, and Beatrice. While he has no love for the queen, he does, however, retain great loyalty to the king and respect for his heir. "I cannot," he refused.
"Then no. I cannot accept this," Viserys declined.
"If you insist on resigning, it will be a shame, Lord Lyonel," Aeonar stated. The father shouldn't have to suffer the consequences brought on by the impulsive actions of the son.
"My dear husband―" Beatrice tried to speak.
"I said no!" Viserys said firmly. "You will continue in your service to the crown."
"Well then. It would seem the king's decision is final. You are to remain as Hand of the King and continue to serve and advise my father as you have done these past 10 years. But another matter needs to be settled beforehand, doesn't there?"
"If you insist... and I agree," Lyonel conceded. He turned to the king. "I would ask for a leave of absence to take my son from the court and escort him back to the family seat at Harrenhal. He is my heir and will be lord of Harren's castle one day. It is time he assumed his duties there as castellan."
"Hmm," Aeonar observed. Just then, he felt the nerves in his head twitching and tugging again. Damn it, not again. "However, we expect you to return once your business in Harrenhal is done."
"I agree. It's a fair compromise," Viserys concurred. "But please provide a list of suitable replacements to lead the City watch before you leave."
"As you wish, Your Grace." Lyonel bowed toward the king, acknowledged the prince, and glanced at the queen before taking his leave. Once the Hand was gone, it was just the three of them again.
Viserys sighed, groaning as he gripped the arm of his chair to sit down. "Aren't you going to help me?" he inquired.
Beatrice said nothing.
Aeonar looked at her. "If you're going to just stand there like a statue and do nothing, then you might as well get out," he said firmly.
Beatrice frowned deeply and stormed out in disgust.
"Aeonar," Viserys tried to talk.
"Don't," Aeonar warned, setting his father down and fluffing his pillows, and putting the blanket back on him.
"Aeonar."
"What?"
Viserys immediately backed off. He knew when to not press further. "Peculiar man," He tapped his foot on the ground, referring to his Hand before shifting his gaze to his eldest son. "Do you think if I offered Daemon his old position, it would be enough to drag him and his family out of their self-exile in Pentos?"
"No," Aeonar shook his head. Dumb question. "Besides, I've expected something like this would inevitably happen at some point. No matter. Harwin can be replaced. I've already fielded a list of potential candidates if they're to be promoted as the next Commander of the City Watch ― provided their background checks are cleared first," he handed over a dossier. "So far, Ser Luthor Largent, captain of the Gate of the Gods garrison, stands out as the frontrunner."
Taking the dossier with his one good hand, Viserys didn't even bother to open it. "Ah yes, a fierce man I once recall hearing a rumor that he killed a warhorse with a single punch. A man like him would certainly make the criminal element in the city quiver," he set the papers on the table. "Still, I would like to have Daemon and his family return to Westeros at some point. Rhaenys misses her daughter, and I don't like that two of the most powerful dragons in the world are at the disposal of the Pentoshi. Besides, I have heard Daemon's daughters are very fetching." Viserys then cleared his throat. "Speaking of daughters, Jaehaerys is getting closer to manhood each time I see him. I think it is time you and Alicent considered potential matches for him."
"I know. And I think I have a suitable match in mind..." Soon. All the pieces will soon fall into place. Then nothing will stand in the way of my ambition. Aeonar glances at the window, noticing a Lykiri Mere agent silently snooping. "Yutabae tous. Óchi yatrak kákoios yaraa eseís. (Follow them. And don't let anyone see you.)" Giving a quick nod, he instructs his assassin to carry out their task. Once the Lykiri Mere vanished from sight before anyone could spot him, the Young Dragon remembered the last glance from Beatrice. Something in him suspected she was up to something.
"Aeonar? Who are you talking to?" Viserys inquired.
"No one. Nothing you need to be concerned with," Aeonar replied in refusal.
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Alicent spent the evening having supper with her children. She had been informed by her eldest that Lyonel attempted to resign as Hand of the King, but King Viserys had refused. What's more, Aeonar and Beatrice were in the same room as them. No doubt Her Grace tried to convince the king to replace Lord Lyonel with her father, Lord Unwin.
"Mother?" Viserys spoke up. "Is it... is it true Ser Harwin is leaving?" he asked.
"Did we do something wrong?" Aegon the Younger chimed in. "But... but we haven't done anything! We're trying to be on our good behavior. I swear!"
"No," Alicent shook her head. "No, no. Aegon, Viserys... you two didn't do anything. It's just... it centers around Ser Harwin stopping your uncle, the elder Aegon, from attacking all of you in the yard."
"Him?!" Daeron huffed. "Why should Harwin be sent away when he gets away with it? It's not fair!"
"Mama..." even Aemma looked saddened.
Jaehaerys couldn't help but feel suspicious. Something doesn't seem to add up. "Mother," he said. "While I don't condone anyone laying their hands on those of royal blood, I fail to see how Ser Harwin's defending us should warrant him being stripped of his gold cloak and being sent back to Harrenhal over a... minor inconvenience."
"I agree, yet sadly there isn't much any of us can do about it," Alicent concurred. With his intervention in the yard, he all but confessed the truth himself. "However, your father assures me that it's only temporary. Once Ser Harwin is settled in Harrenhal to assume his duties as heir, Lord Lyonel will return to continue his duties as Hand. But I do agree there is more going on than we were led to believe."
"Can't papa do something?" Aemma asked.
"Sweetling, I'm afraid there's only so much your father can get done with bureaucracy impeding him. It is now that I most rue the absence of my own father. He wouldn't hesitate to speak the truth to the king. If Otto Hightower were still Hand..."
"But wouldn't that mean being impartial?" Jaehaerys inquired.
"No, but he would be partial to me." Alicent massaged her temple. She hadn't forgotten how her father was unjustly dismissed from his position at court and sent back to Oldtown. No doubt she suspected Beatrice was involved, yet part of her still blamed her past naive self for falling for such manipulation. "Things were different with him here when I was a little girl. Now it's just not so simple."
"Nothing ever is. But that doesn't mean we should dread circumstances no one could anticipate nor the ones to come, mother. We still have each other. We will always be a family. It'll all work itself out in the end, maybe in ways we least expect."
"I don't doubt it. Your father would have said the same thing with the exact look, too. Hmm... but that does remind me of something else."
"What's that?"
"You're thirteen, Jay; almost a man grown. I guess I just need to start finding you a suitable wife."
"Yes, I believe per― Wait! What?!" Jaehaerys froze with shock, his eyes widened and his face flushed pink.
"Huh? Jay's getting married?" Viserys raised an eyebrow.
"Hahaha!" Aegon the Younger chuckled.
"Really?" Aemma beamed.
"Ewww!" Daeron gagged.
"M-Mother, c-can't we talk about this?"
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Rhaenyra dreaded the day it came. Once word reached her that Ser Harwin Strong was not only stripped from his position as Commander of the City Watch but was also being sent away to Harrenhal, the princess realized her position made the Blacks appear more vulnerable. Weakened. Harwin had served Rhaenyra faithfully as her sworn protector for ten years... and loved her as any man would; gave her three wonderful sons, even if it meant keeping his distance. But the incident in the yard only served to add oil to the fire with the allegations surrounding their true parentage. She could do nothing but watch as Harwin make an emotional but silent farewell to Jacaerys and Lucerys.
"Be good to your mother, lads," Harwin told the boys. "I'll visit when I can. But that may be some time."
Lucerys sniffled, lowering his head in sadness. Jacaerys, meanwhile, while despondent, couldn't help but feel something within himself telling him that there was more going on than just saying goodbyes. The young prince couldn't help but suspect that given the amount of time Harwin spent with them, nurtured them, and played with them, Jace developed a strong bond with the Bonebreaker. He knew he and his brothers were somehow different than their cousins, uncles, and aunt.
"Jace," Rhaenyra gently reassured her eldest son.
Harwin noticed Jacaerys's low spirits and approached the boy. "I will return," he lifted the boy's head. "I promise." He then turned to Rhaenyra, who then presented him with the infant Joffrey. I've faced men in battle, trained so hard to become where I am, and fought for the Young Dragon and the Blacks. I thought nothing would harm me. But to be away from you, your brothers, and your mother... is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I never thought it would hurt me this much. Jace, Luke, Joffrey... I know I've had to keep my distance, but I don't regret whatever time I had to share with you. My... my sons... I've watched you grow into fine young lads. I only wish... we could have had more time. I wish I could do more for you as a father. Forgive me, lads. "I will be a stranger when we meet again," Harwin told her.
"Harwin..." Rhaenyra choked.
"Goodbye... princess."
With that, Harwin went to retrieve his belongings and left the room – knowing he might never see Rhaenyra, Jacaerys, Lucerys, or Joffrey ever again. Unbeknownst to him, Jacaerys, the eldest and most cognizant of the three, noticed the way Harwin spoke to his mother. When the Bonebreaker was gone, the young prince went out after him only to find him nowhere in sight. He could only watch him leave.
"We will exchange letters by raven," Rhaenyra told her son. "Won't that be fun?"
No. No, it won't. It... it's not the same. "Mother, is Harwin Strong my real father?" Jacaerys asked bluntly, still staring down the hallway. "Are the things they say about me true? Am I a bastard? Does grandfather and uncle Aeonar―"
"Shhh!" Don't say such things, Jace. "You are a Velaryon and Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. That's all that matters. Don't let the words of others tell you otherwise." Rhaenyra kissed Jace's forehead. "Now inside. It's almost time for bed."
Jacaerys nodded and slinked his way back into the room.
Rhaenyra could only watch her firstborn son get himself ready for bedtime, as did her second. Still cradling Joffrey in her arms, the princess noticed high up on the balcony Aeonar staring down at her. She already knew her brother eavesdropped on them, heard everything – yet didn't say a word; only looking at her. Rhaenyra watched Aeonar shake his head before disappearing into the shadows. I already know what you're thinking, Aeonar, but my children are my business as is your own to you. We're on the same side, brother, even if you believe my actions say otherwise.
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Later that evening, Beatrice dined with her fellow collaborator and Lord Lyonel's younger son, Larys Strong. Since it was apparent Lyonel tried but failed to resign as Hand, she had to find another way to make the office vacant to clear the way for the Caltrops to seize back power from the Blacks. So long as Lyonel was around, House Peake would be unable to advance their interests; and so long as Aeonar was around, the queen in her paranoia believed eyes and ears were monitoring her every move.
Larys, who in the past few years had taken a position in the Caltrops as an interrogator, had prepared a banquet for the queen who had returned to her private chambers. The table was decorated with pigeon pies, grapes, carrots, bananas, apples, and cantaloupes – all while the room was lit by candlelight. "I took the liberty of beginning without you, Your Grace. It seemed a sin to let such a pie grow cold," he said whilst pouring himself and the queen a cup of wine.
"Ugh, already Larys?" Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Though you had no such worry about the wine, surely."
"Meat without wine is also a sin."
"As an arrangement of our... mutually beneficial partnership, it's been my duty to tell you of happenings about the castle, but tonight you know, and I, unfortunately, do not. I understand the king had an audience with my father."
"He attempted to resign as Hand."
"I suspected as much. His honor's always been a millstone about his esteemed neck. Interesting you said 'attempted'? May I ask what happened?"
"My lord husband refused to accept."
"Oh?" Larys raised an eyebrow. "Then he fell short of confessing my older brother's... transgressions. I heard what happened in the yard. Between your sons and... the Young Dragon's sons. But more toward Princess Rhaenyra's sons."
Beatrice's face scrunched. "Your brother dared laid his hands on my son in the defense of those... things," she referred to the children. "He all but all but confessed the truth himself and would have gone further had Aeonar Targaryen not taken it upon himself to have his son humiliate mine and get in the way between Harwin and Ser Criston."
"I'm not surprised, considering their history. My brother entrenched himself within the Blacks' ranks as Prince Aeonar's enforcer and right-hand man. Pity. The soldiers admired him. Ser Harwin 'Breakbones', the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. But now that he's been dismissed from the City Watch and no longer has the protection guaranteed by the royal family... Truth has many flavors, Your Grace. Do you expect the king to doom his dear daughter to exile, or even―"
The talks were silent when Beatrice's new lady-in-waiting, Madeleine Bowman, abruptly entered the room.
"Madeline, not now," Beatrice scolded.
Madeline, saying nothing, turned and left.
"It's a willful blindness, the king," Larys resumed. "I mean, you'd surely suffer the same affliction, if it came to it."
Beatrice shook her head. "No, I would not," she refused scornfully. "No matter how many times I broach my lord husband on the matter, he brushes me off. Dismisses what I have to say and continues pretending to ignore all the evidence laid bare before him. Rhaenyra's sons, all of them... are bastards. None of them were the seed born of the seahorse of House Velaryon. No, they were fathered by Harwin. I know it. We all do. But I can't do anything, not while the king buries his head in the sand and..." She composed herself. "Your father, Lord Lyonel, will be escorting Ser Harwin back to Harrenhal to watch over his seat whilst he continues to serve as Hand."
"But the Hand is compromised by the acts of his son. My father cannot give unbiased counsel to the king."
Beatrice stared up at her benefactor. "No, but I know who would provide the necessary counsel and forward our interests. My father, Lord Unwin Peake. Oh, how I rue that he cannot be here. Things would be different if he were Hand instead of Lord Lyonel... had my stepson hadn't gone behind my back to recommend your father to the position instead. Had he not... purged my followers ten years ago, made us look so weak. How the Blacks did it in such a short time, I don't know, but they will move against us," she sighed. "After ten years, in all of King's Landing, is there no one to take my side?"
Larys hummed. "Your Grace, if I may... there might be a way to make it so," he suggested. "A solution for you to strike back at the Blacks... with your leave, of course. We will need no qualms about what needs to be done, but it depends on how far we're willing to go. For that, we will need the best – and the most unorthodox. It will weaken the Blacks' morale, but it'll also keep the Young Dragon himself off our trail long enough for a more efficient strategy to be put into place for your son's ascension."
Beatrice looked at him. She couldn't tell what it was, but there was something in his eyes, the way he formed his words. It made him look more convincing. But if Larys managed to last this long against the Young Dragon, then what other options were present to her? "Just get it done," she instructed.
Larys smiled. "It shall be done, Your Grace," he acknowledged.
Red Keep ― Black Cells...
Seizing on Beatrice's instructions as a pretext, Larys descended the steps leading to the third level of the Red Keep's dungeons normally reserved for prisoners accused of serious crimes, such as treason. Each cell was completely dark, with no possible light sources except when jailers entered with torches. Escorted by men-at-arms donning orange armor, the Clubfoot stood in one of many cells, eyeing each convicted prisoner one by one. "What a collection of heroes I have before me," he observed. "A murderer," he said to one, "a deviant," to another, "a traitor to the crown," toward a third. He soon sat down next to them. "For your crimes, you've been sentenced to death by hanging."
"What do you want with us?" one of the prisoners asked.
"I am prepared to offer you mercy. A second chance at life and serve a greater purpose... if you're prepared to pay a little price."
Each of the inmates looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
"What is this... price?"
Larys glanced at one of the Caltrops. "You are required to remove your tongues. Should the Blacks ever catch you, you are to remain silent and not tell them who you work for. But should we, the Caltrops, ever find out otherwise... the deal will be called off, and you will be put to death immediately. In your case, I think it's a fair trade. Be free once again, but never speak again. What's say you?"
The prisoners whispered amongst themselves debating on the offer. For the more serious convicts yearning for another chance at freedom, the temptation was simply too great to pass up.
"We'll do it," an inmate said eagerly. "We'll join you. What's the word? Who's our target?"
Larys raised his hand, motioning for silence. "All in due time," he said calmly. Nodding to his men, he watched them place each of the prisoners on wooden blocks. One of the inmates opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. One of the Caltrops prepared hot pincers and a sharpened blade, heated by a burning brazier. The blade itself sizzled upon contact with each of the prisoner's tongues, their screams momentarily passing before being rendered entirely mute. "Good," he said looking pleased. "Now... time for us to send my plan in motion."
Pentos ― Prince Reggio's manse...
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!" Leana screamed. Having gone into labor, she spent hours trying to give birth... but nothing happened. The pain was simply too unbearable and was steadily growing worse with each contraction. Her third pregnancy had somehow taken a bad turn. Laena felt the unborn child in her womb, turn yet didn't go down. Her muscles tightened, but there was still no movement.
"Push, my lady!"
"Push! Push!" the midwives beckoned, sensing immediate danger and concern.
"GRRRAAAAAAAH!!"
"Push!"
"You must push!" a Pentoshi physician said with urgency.
"Push!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!"
Daemon, leaning against one of the pillars outside, could only help but listen to his wife's painful cries of agony. It was torture for her. But the Rogue Prince somehow felt this situation had happened before. No matter how hard he tried to block out Laena's screams, he could still hear them plain as day. Yet, in the pit of his mind, Daemon felt something was seriously wrong.
"It needs to come out!"
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"
"Push!"
"EUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGH!!!"
"Push! Push!"
"You must push now, my lady!"
"Push!"
Laena gritted her teeth. "NAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!" she screamed. Her throat was sore. The pain in her womb was too much. No matter how hard she tried to push, the baby wouldn't come. Feeling every ounce of strength leaving, Laena collapsed on the bed and began to cry. It hurts! It hurts! Mother, father, Laenor... help me! Please help me! Please! I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home! Exhausted, she continued crying in agony and despair.
The elder Pentoshi healer, understanding the gravity of the situation, rose and stood outside – fresh, warm blood covering his hands and staining his white robe. "I've reached the limit of my art. The child will not come," he informed in disbelief.
"My brave girl," Daemon sighed, referring to Laena.
"I am very sorry, my prince."
"What other options are there?"
"We could lay open the womb... try to remove the infant by way of the blade. But I cannot say for sure whether it lives."
Daemon felt his stomach twist in knots. He realized the baby had breached! NOW he remembers where he'd seen it all before! Fourteen years ago, his late sister-in-law – the late Queen Aemma Arryn, his brother's first wife – was facing the same problem when she struggled to give birth to the unborn Prince Baelon. No matter how hard Grand Maester Mellos and the midwives tried to turn the baby, it was to no avail. Now the Rogue Prince found himself facing a similar choice to the one his older brother faced when he gave the order for a caesarian section to be performed that caused Queen Aemma to bleed to death. Even so, the child still died regardless. It felt like the gods themselves were mocking him for being in the same situation as Viserys. "Would... would the mother survive it?" he asked as if hoping for a third option without condemning Laena to suffer the same fate. Regardless of his feelings toward his young wife, Daemon still needed her for their daughters' sake. Baela and Rhaena still needed their mother in their lives.
The Pentoshi healer shook his head. "No," he replied grimly.
Daemon contemplated the choices he was now facing: either sacrifice Laena to save their unborn child or do nothing and both would die. He felt that no matter what decision he made, it would only be a lose-lose scenario. Before he could do anything, however, Daemon turned to investigate the room only to find Laena was missing. "Where did she go? Laena!" he called out loudly. He heard the faintest screams and cries. Looking over the balcony, the Rogue Prince spotted his wife staggering towards... Vhagar?! Oh no...! "Laena! Laena!" Turning on his heels, Daemon took off in pursuit, realizing what Laena's intentions were. No, Laena! You are not doing this to me, not to our girls!
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Laena, clutching her swollen belly, felt blood trickling down her thighs as she staggered toward Vhagar. She overheard what those Pentoshi physicians had said. No... no, I refuse! You... you will not be killing me! I will not die like this! Not on a birthing bed! I... I am the blood of Old Valyria! A dragonrider! But if I am to die... I will die... on my terms! Continuing her staggering toward the beach, her heavy breathing and painful whines woke up Vhagar.
"*Guuuuuuur...*"
"Vhagar, dracarys," Laena commanded in a painful tone before collapsing.
Vhagar looked at her rider confused, unsure of what she had just heard.
"Dracarys!"
"*Uuuurrr...*"
Please, Vhagar... don't let me suffer like this... "Dracarys!!" Laena screamed louder.
"*Rrrrrrr!?*" Vhagar leaned closer deeply concerned. She sensed Laena was in excruciating pain. Now she realized what was going on, what her rider was commanding her to do. Laena was telling her to burn her with dragonflame! But in doing so would mean her death! The Queen of All Dragons remembered Prince Baelon the Brave, her last rider... how he died before her very eyes of a burst belly. Her new rider was dying and was pleading for the largest dragon in the world to end her suffering.
"Dra... Dracarys. Dracarys!"
"*Urrrrrrrrrr...*" Vhagar hesitated, unwilling to burn her rider despite Laena's repeated painful cries. She was conflicted. For the first time, she didn't know what to do. The past ten years with Laena Velaryon had been the greatest for the Queen of All Dragons; a rider who treated her with gentle kindness and as an equal, not as a weapon of mass destruction to be used as she once was during the Conquest more than a century ago. Vhagar was bound to Laena, sworn to obey her and protect her in times of peril. But this? Laena's commands grew weaker, almost quieter than the last – and she wanted her dragon to prevent a more drawn-out and painful death.
"Drac... Dracarys..."
"*Ruuuuuuuuuu...*" Vhagar turned back at Laena. Their eyes slowly met. The Queen of All Dragons understood her rider's pleas, no matter how much suffering she was experiencing. Vhagar loved Laena unconditionally as she did with Baelon the Brave. Unlike her previous rider, she knew her current one was going to die and wanted a death worthy of a dragonrider. After a moment's hesitation, Vhagar's eyes narrowed. "*Ruuuu!*" she growled in acknowledgment. Raising herself, the Queen of All Dragons would comply with her rider's last wish.
Nearby, Daemon hurried outside. "Laena!" he shouted. His pace quickened when he saw Vhagar readying herself. "Laena, no! Stop this! LAENA!"
Laena closed her eyes and stretched her arms out wide, waiting for the inevitable. I'm sorry. But promise... promise me you'll take care of the girls. Bring our daughters home to where they belong: at Driftmark. Take Baela and Rhaena home. Our real home... Goodbye, Daemon. And thank you... for everything.
Opening her jaws, Vhagar spewed forth a blazing immolation... just enough to make it quick and painless – reducing Laena to a pile of burning ashes in a matter of seconds. Knowing she was gone forever, the Queen of All Dragons could only stare at the remains where her rider once stood. "*RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!*" Vhagar roared mournfully.
Daemon stopped in his tracks. Despite his attempts to stop it, the Rogue Prince was too late. Stunned and shocked, he felt utterly helpless for the first time. His wife was gone, and she was not coming back. Now Daemon was alone with two daughters to raise by himself. No... No, no, no. Laena... why? How could you do this... to our girls? Why...?
The Riverlands ― Harrenhal...
Lyonel, Harwin, along with their household knights rode to Harrenhal – a massive castle, the largest one in Westeros, left half-ruined a century before during the War of Conquest. Though it was the site of the Great Council of 101, Harrenhal was infamously regarded as the most ill-omened since Aegon the Conqueror used his dragon, Balerion, to destroy the great fortress with the Black Dread's powerful dragonflame – burning King Harren Hoare and all his sons alive within their own tower before banishing the remaining ironborn from the Riverlands and to the Iron Islands from whence they came. Before House Strong, Harrenhal had many ruling lords with House Qoherys acquiring the ancient fortress as the first Lords of Harrenhal, only to later become extinct. Houses Harroway and Towers were also gifted the castle, but they too suffered the same fate as the Hoarses and Qoherys and died out, leading to the castle being considered a cursed place.
As the Strong guardsmen galloped down the main road leading to the castle, unbeknownst to them, they were being followed by Larys's new agents in the Caltrops. The same tongueless prisoners the Clubfoot had acquired from the Red Keep's dungeons and sent after his father and brother. Keeping their distance, they waited for nightfall before making their move.
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Lyonel slept in his room. For a while, the Hand of the King had planned to install his son and heir to rule Harrenhal in his stead before preparing to return to King's Landing in the next few days. But something was off. Something was disturbing him, making him stir in discomfort. Lyonel began coughing. Opening his eyes, he coughed rougher before the sound of someone yelling indistinctly and banging on his door. Leaning to the side, he saw thick smoke pouring into his room. Fire! Quickly throwing the sheets over, Lyonel sprang to his feet.
"Fire!" Harwin shouted on the other side of the door. "Fire! I will burn!" he warned.
"Harwin!" Lyonel shouted. Grabbing the handle, he withdrew at the slightest touch. "Ow!" he exclaimed. The handle was too hot! "Harwin!" he called out to his son.
Harwin screamed as he thrashed against the door, slamming, kicking, and punching as hard as he could. The fire's heat had sealed the lock shut, preventing both father and son from escaping. No matter how hard he tried, the flames were getting hotter by the second.
Lyonel desperately tried to pry the door open with an iron fireplace poker, but it was no use. It wouldn't budge! With time running out, the Hand of the King and Lord of Harrenhal wailed against the door with the poker, but to no avail.
Both men hollered and screamed in terror as the flames steadily weakened the ceiling's wooden pillars above them before they came crashing down on top of them, crushing Lyonel and Harwin beneath their weight. With no way to escape, the Strongs were condemned to a gruesome, painful death as they both burned alive.
« What are children, but a weakness? A folly? A futility? Through them, you imagine you cheat the great darkness of its victory. You will persist forever, in some form or another. As if they will keep you from the dust. But for them, you surrender what you should not. You may know what the right thing is to be done, but love stays the hand. Love... is a downfall. »
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The following morning was like a scene of utter chaos. Soldiers and commoners rushed in and out carrying buckets of water trying to put out the remaining fires in the Kingspyre Tower, the largest and tallest of the five melted towers of Harrenhal. Whatever or whoever started the fire claimed the lives of so many that left them burned beyond recognition, including Lord Lyonel and his heir Ser Harwin who were carried out into the main yard.
Amid the chaos, the tongueless Caltrop agents took the opportunity to disappear into one of Harrenhal's corridors. The order was complete. Now was the time to flee to avoid suspicion.
Needless to say, they weren't the only agents dispatched to Harrenhal under the cover of night. Once they ascended to the upper levels of the battlements, they were soon confronted by a squad of Lykiri Mere agents – assassins dispatched by the Young Dragon, leader of the Blacks.
"Tāmen zài nàlǐ! (There they are!)" a Lykiri Mere warned his comrades in Yi Tish.
The tongueless men quickly turned on their heels and ran.
"Zhuā zhù tāmen! Bié ràng tāmen pǎole! (Grab them! Don't let them get away!)" another Lykiri Mere chased after them.
The Caltrops agents sprinted as fast as their legs could carry them. Now that they've been spotted, their cover was blown. Their only chance was to get away. But in the narrow corridors, the Lykiri Mere was right on their tail – utilizing their swiftness and wall-running skills to close the gap. The chase caused them to run out into the open, pushing past peasants and House Strong knights.
"Hey!"
"What the...?!"
As the Lykiri Mere continued their pursuit, one of them shouted in the Common Tongue. "Stop! Get back here!"
The commotion caused some of the knights to join the pursuit. They weren't sure who or what to believe, but if these assassins were chasing after the hooded figures, they must have been involved somehow. It was a long chase along the main road, but the Lykiri Mere unveiled their blow darts and small throwing knives. Aiming directly for the back of the neck or biceps femoris tendon behind the knees, they hurled their instruments at their targets, nearly scoring direct hits but enough to slow them down to apprehend them. Leaping into the air, the Lykiri Mere pounced on them.
"Nǐ yǐwéi nǐ kěyǐ bǎituō wǒmen, shì ba wéisītè luò? (You thought you could get away from us, huh Westerosi?)" one of the assassins planted their knees on one of the tongueless Caltrops agents' backs.
"Wǒmen de zhǔrén zǒng shì dédào tā xiǎng yào de. (Our master always gets what he wants.)" another spoke in Yi Tish.
"What is the meaning of this?!" one of the Strong knights demanded, his lungs were all out of breath.
One of the high-ranking female Lykiri Mere agents ignored him. Prying open one of their mouths, he hummed. "Lìng yīgè. (Another one.)" she inspected. "Tāmen de shétou bèi gē diàole. (They had their tongues cut out.)"
"Jiù xiàng zài ānquán wū... (Just like at the warehouse...)"
"Common Tongue, please! Speak the Common Tongue! We can't understand what the fuck you people are saying!"
An acolyte looked at the Westerosi knight. Like his comrades, his face was covered by a hood. "The Young Dragon suspected there would be trouble with your Strong lord... and sent us to investigate," he glanced back at the captives. "Seems our master was right to be worried. We've seen people like them before."
"But who are they!?"
"Agents for the Caltrops. They cut out their tongues so they wouldn't talk should they ever get captured."
"So how in the Seven hells are we going to know who sent them here?!"
"Maybe you are the ones who did this," another Strong knight said with suspicion.
"Huh. You foreign Westerosi are so paranoid. If we wanted you dead, we wouldn't be speaking right now." One of the Lykiri Mere dug around for anything incriminating. Finding nothing, she soon stumbled upon something attached to the leather jacket. "A badge shaped like a beetle." She turned to her comrades. "Àiōunàěr Wángzǐ xūyào kàn dào zhè yīdiǎn. (Prince Aeonar will want to see this.)" she said in Yi Tish.
"Mmm. Yěxǔ zhè kěyǐ bāngzhù suōxiǎo sōusuǒ fànwéi... bìng zhǎodào wǒmen zhǔrén de dírén. (Perhaps this could help narrow the search... and find our master's enemy.)"
"Bùguǎn tāmen shì shéi... tāmen dōu shì yīgè yǒuqù de tiǎozhàn. (Whoever they are... they are an interesting challenge.)"