"We've arrived," their father announced, sliding off the back of his borrowed horse and landing hard in the soft sand at their feet.

Arlan looked around at the desert around them, the arid wilderness of bleached stone and light sand, the nearby hill and the barren landscape. How could they have arrived, they weren't anywhere at all.

There was only a dozen of them here in this party. Himself, Durran, father, Lord Commander Beric, Ser Rolland, Ser Balon and six scouts of House Dayne. A more significant force had come with them, at least three dozen knights of the order and their attendant squires had been on the ship with them, but his father had left most of them behind at Starfall, where Lord Edric had feasted them on their arrival. They then set out with only Dayne guides to their destination. He and Durran seemed to be the only ones who had no idea where they were going, and a glance at his brother showed that Durran was as confused as he.

He swung over the saddle of his sand steed, leant to them by Lord Dayne for the journey into the desert of inner Dorne, and felt his leather boot sink into the sand a little. One of the Dayne men took his horse and retreated, together with the Kingsguard forming a loose shield ten yards out, leaving father and sons together with the wind whipping around them. Their father pulled the silk scarf down from his face and lowered his hood, letting his hair be caught by and carried by the wind like a tattered standard. Arlan had never been shocked by his Father's face, it was the only face he'd known his father to have, but his eyes... They were so filled with sorrow and regret as he looked around them.

"Where are we, father?" He asked. His father looked at him and held his gaze for a few seconds.

"Come."

Their father led them to scale the hill. It was a steep climb, and the hill was baked dry, with very little purchase for his fingers as he tried to climb. His left boot slipped and he slid roughly down the side before the back of his tunic caught. "Careful brother," Durran's voice grunted in his ear and hoisted him back onto the hill. His brother was using his dagger to seek purchase in the hill. Of course he would see an easier way. He drew his own dagger and drove it into the dirt. Apart from a slight spitting of baked mud, it stuck, he had to keep it angled down to prevent it slipping, but he was able to make it to the top, where they found their father waiting. The hill was great, with a sunken top, like a giant hammer had been driven into it from above. Father was stood on the edge, and held out his hand to them. Durran let him take the hand first and after his father had hoisted him up, they both pulled Durran up. His brother sheathed his dagger then dusted the dirt from his hands. "Where are we, father?"

Their father looked around, silent for the longest time. He knew what to say, but he clearly didn't want to, and when he did speak, it was in a hoarse whisper. "The Ruination of the Hellholt."

Durran's breath hitched, but he was just confused. "The what?"

"The Ruination," his brother replied. "I've heard of it, but..."

"This is it," their father said, stepping into the depression, arms opened wide, as though leading them through a gallery of the finest sculptures and paintings. "See the depression in the hill? The castle of the Hellholt stood here, the seat of House Uller."

He'd heard stories of House Uller, how they had slain Rhaenys, the sister wife of Aegon the Conqueror, and her dragon Meraxes. His own father had taken inspiration from that when he'd ordered the building of hundreds of bolt throwers to combat the Dragon invasion of Daenerys Targaryen. And he'd heard that his father had stripped them of their seat for their defiance in the wars against him, and their refusal to submit to his reforms of Dorne.

"What happened here?" He asked.

"House Uller refused to submit," his father said. "The Kingdoms were fractured, shattered by war, and I had a chance to bring them back together as they never had been before, build them new and clean. The Dornish had been too independent. I had to bring them to heel, they were crippled by war, but I had neither the strength nor resources to occupy the country, and they are... were a defiant people by nature. You know of how they stood against Aegon's Conquest. Their fighters hid in the hills, leaving only their families behind. I couldn't afford the cost in blood and time and gold that I would have to pay to bring them in by force, nor could I miss this chance to forge them all together. As punishment for his defiance, I ordered House Uller's seat put to the sword, and then erased to the earth. As you can see, that order was carried out... Come, before I continue, there is more to see."

He led them across the hill and down the other side. Arlan looked out. Dorne wasn't a vibrant land, but here it was lacking, he couldn't see a single village for all the view, not that there was any reason to build here. The river wasn't far off though, perhaps they were all there.

Their father led them to a bush, a coarse bush, barren and lifeless, tough old roots keeping it here. Their shield was still shadowing them. "So, you ordered the Hellholt raised, then what?" Castles were raised in war, and as punishment. It was unfortunate, but true. Why was his father so ashamed to go here? Why was it a failing?"

"It wasn't the Dornish lords that posed a problem, they had been broken, first in war, then by the extermination of the Ullers. But the people... As I said they were always defiant, first against the Conqueror, then against the Young Dragon. I could't afford the same. So I sent in my knights to the lands of House Uller, and razed them to nothing. Every village was burned, every man woman and child killed, the dogs, the cats, the cattle, slaughtered, fields sown with salt, wells polluted with corpses, the rest left to rot in the desert heat. The men who would have fought, the women and children who would have been left behind... none survived."

He looked around. Was that why this land was so... dead? Because his father had erased it. "All of them?" He asked. He couldn't imagine that. How many had died.

His father nodded. "All of them. It took half a year, but my army was patient, brutal, ruthless and, as I ordered, absolutely thorough. When I came here to see their work myself, the last survivors had been gathered. Many more had fled to neighbouring lands, spreading word of what would come from defiance. The Dornish could fight occupation, but not eradication. The country was concluded, and Lord Dayne could bring the lords to heel and the land to me." He knelt down at the bush and reached under it, drawing out a bleached white skull, grinning at his father as he held it up, looking into it's black pits of eyes. "This man tried to kill me. He charged at me, no weapon, no plan, no thought for his own survival. He didn't care. By my order his brother had died. So had his sisters, their children; his sons and their sons, his daughters and their daughters; one was impaled, the infants perished to starvation, their families driven to eat the corpses to survive. He was already dead by the time I had arrived, his head being struck from his shoulders was a mercy. I let the other loose to spread the tale as far as possible."

"Father." His brother's voice was cracked and dead. Arlan glanced over at Durran, his brother was pale, eyes wide and filled with horror. "How many?"

Their father couldn't meet their eyes. "Too many," the skull slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a crack, rolling several feet before settling, looking at them vacantly. "And that was me. I killed them all. I was the hand upon the sword that felled this land. I made the decision, and it is me that holds all the blame." He looked back at the skull staring up at them. "I was their king... It was my duty to defend them, to protect them and instead, I brought ruination to them and their families."

His father had done this? "How have I not heard of this?" He asked.

"Few talk about it," his father replied. "The only remaining witnesses were my army and the scattered peasants who fled elsewhere. As you can see," he said, sweeping his hand over the view in front of them. "I razed the villages as well. One day, perhaps, this land will be resettled, and the realm will forget what I did... perhaps..."

Durran's fists and jaw were both clenched tightly. "Father... why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to return," he replied simply, looking at them with his usual stone face. "And this wasn't a story you could hear from me without coming here. You had to see it, and I had to be the one to show you."

"You never taught a lesson like this," Durran whispered, looking around.

"Of course I didn't," their father snapped at them. "Did you think I was raising you to be a king like me? That I wanted to see a mirror of myself sitting on the throne when I died? Of course not. I was teaching you to be better than me. I cow the nobles with my castles and my soldiers; I teach you to be strong and stand against and above them so that you never have to do this. This is not how a King should act. This was a failure by me, my greatest. These people were not Red Heretics looking to destroy our gods, they were not marauders looting and burning my lands, putting my smallfolk to the sword; they were guilty of living here, of being here. Not a crime, yet I sentenced them to death and called it necessary. Maybe it was necessary, perhaps I would have lost it all if I hadn't been prepared to show how ruthless I can be. Or perhaps I wouldn't. The histories will judge me as they see fit, as they always see fit. You may also judge, that is your right. But you must learn. If you do not learn from this, then I have truly failed here." Their father was speaking to them both, but he was looking at Durran, and the words were meant for him. "I do not know how much longer I have on this world, I am already older than my father was when he left it. One day, I will be gone, the crown will be on your head and the Kingdom will be yours. These are the sorts of choices you will have to make, and when you do, you must make them without regret. Act, Durran, you remember that, don't you."

His brother nodded. "Act boldly, act valiantly, act subtly, but above anything else, remember to act."

"King's who do not act are seen as weak," he said. "You are not weak, neither of you." He turned and looked out over the ruination. "I acted that day and this was the result. It was wrong. If I had done nothing, the realm could have shattered. But that doesn't mean that this was the right choice to make. We all make mistakes, and there is a reason why I only did this once. I could have reduced the lands of the rebels who took you hostage, or those who supported you in the war and killed the Justiciars. When I founded the Justiciars I did leave that as a possible threat, instead, I only executed the one responsible. Do you know why?"

They both shook their heads.

He gave them a few seconds to think about it, he so often did that, let them try to think of an answer themselves. "Because it would have been wrong?" Durran answered tentatively.

"It was wrong twenty years ago," their father pointed out. "Why not again? Why did I not make the choice again?"

Nothing. Arlan couldn't think.

"I learned," their father said. "We all make mistakes. And I stand by what I said, that a King must act. But you must also learn. If you do not learn from your mistakes, as I did, you will be brought low. That is my lesson here. Do not shy away from your failures. Embrace them, learn from them, and then you will not repeat them."

"Is this about the rebellion, father?" Durran asked.

His Father's face flashed with anger. "You think I brought you here to chastise you about that again? No. You must learn from your mistakes, but you must also learn from mine, and your mothers, and my Father's. That is my final lesson, my son. Learn from my mistakes as you learn from your own, and you will be a greater king than I. In the end that is all I wanted from you. My teaching may have been harsh, I may have been a poor father, and I may have pushed you too hard. If that was my mistake, then learn from it, and do not repeat it. Act and learn, both of you. Act and learn and you will only grow stronger as time progresses and the crown comes to you."

They spent three days in the Ruination. They walked the dust and ash, saw the outlines of villages in the dirt, the broken timbers of houses and mills, and the cairns marking the mass graves of the extermination.

When they returned home they did so in silence. He had never known... had never thought his father would be capable of such an act. His father had massacred them, you could feel the deadness in the place as you walked where children had once played and lovers had once laughed. His father was a strong king, no one doubted that, yet looking at him on their return, he seemed half broken, unresponsive to anything but thing necessary to live. It had been horrible to walk there himself, but his father had seen it when it had just died. Arlan could walk the battlefields of the great war, through the glories of Stag's Wood and the horrors of Harrenhal, but he had not seen them when the corpses were fresh and the blood running hot and free.

He barely noticed that the fleet had been gathered to take them east, that the army was waiting on the shore to restore order to Andalos, to take him to his new home. Their mother hugged their father tightly when they disembarked, whispering soft words in his ear and running her fingers through his hair. When their father moved on she did the same to them, holding them in her warmth and comfort.

They prepared for three days before making their way to the ships. Durran had been silent these last days, secluded with his wife and son, contemplating, perhaps, or something else. But he had come down to greet them. He hugged his brother tightly. "Be well, brother," he said in his ear.

Arlan nodded. "I will," he replied. His brother and father hugged in silence before they turned to the boats that would take them to the ships out in the Rush. Just after they cast off, they heard Durran call to them.

"Father!" They all looked at him, he was standing at the edge of the jetty. "I'll learn the lessons, father. All of them, I swear it!"

His voice carried over the water, hollow in the wind. His father looked at Durran silently for the longest of moments, then nodded. "That's all I ask, Durran. That's all I ever ask."

Extract from "A Vengeful and Just King" – Chapter 10 Kin Strife

It would take Jasper and Arlan a year of campaigning to pacify Andalos and come to terms with the Braavosi alliance over the attacks. For that year, his wife, Queen Arya, ruled Westeros, accepting surrender from rebels and accepting them back into the King"s Peace. We have few records to tell us exactly what Prince Durran was doing at the time, but from the records we have we can tell he was 'kept at King"s Landing.

When he returned, leaving Arlan to rule over Andalos in his stead, Jasper took the final step in pacifying the rebellious factions. He named his son, the hope and future of the realm, and the hero of the rebels, as the Hand of the King, replacing his Uncle Stannis. In this move, he was highly successful, and the father and son worked together to keep the peace successfully. Prince Durran accepted some of his Father's policies, but was able to curtail some of his others. Durran was also given significant power and responsibility, beyond a mere advisor. Over the next year he would settle the inheritance dispute for the Golden Tooth, removing the Royal garrison there and granting the castle to the new Lord Mowbray; bring the concerns of the rebels to his Father's attention and oversee the initiation of sixty three former members of the Night's Watch into the Order of the Stag.

But it was a two way appreciation, while Durran curtailed the excesses of his Father's authority; he also accepted and secured others. One of the Rebels" key demands had been limitations of the Justiciar's power, instead, Durran's name would appear first on the latest grants to the Justiciar's Tower, expanding the order by another fifty members.

Together, father and son were able to bring about an end to the war and conflict of the pas. For the last years of his reign, King Jasper would face no more rebellions from within. But that was not to say there was entirely peace. There would be one more conflict in the east. A Dothraki Khalasar had set it's sights on Andalos, and they were not interested in tribute. They would reduce the Kingdom to nothing and drive the Westerosi back into the sea. And this time, Jasper would be unable to go himself to fend off the invasion. His sons would step to the fore and Durran and Arlan, the princes on opposing sides at the Battle of Meadow's Field, would stand side by side against the horde of barbarians who sought to destroy their Father's eastern realm.