(So I'm going to rewrite the other chapters to work on. Melara and Cedrick's chapter will be deleted and revised/rewritten to fit the story I'm trying to convey.)

SER JORGAN

He recollected an old memory in his dream. Six knights in golden cloaks, and a seemingly endless tunnel, and an ill Queen Cersei bloody and weeping. Ser Jorgan Hawthorne was in grave pain, wounded and disheveled, the fresh heat from the dragon's flames clung to the armor into his skin.

Out of the ten of the knights, he escaped with, he was only recalled six of them in his dream. In the dream, he and his companions all traveled down the narrow tunnel. Queen Cersei's mournful weeping resounding on the stone walls. With him was dutiful Ser Lancion Umber; sinister-looking and steadfast Ser Harrin Westerling; lean and pugnacious Ser Jarad Ryser, and earnest and gentle at heart Ser Russell Norcross, and youthful, but pigeon-hearted Benneth Tarbeck.

Ser Jorgan and Ser Russell at her side. Ser Jarad and Ser Lancion in the back. Ser Harrin and Ser Benneth in the front.

All of them encompassed Cersei once they reached a temporary spot to rest. Cersei was hysterical but yet fatigued. Ser Russell removed his cloak and draped it over Queen Cersei. She slumped up against the stone wall but was visibly too distressed to slip into slumber.

"Do you believe anyone saw us?" Queen Cersei asked warily. Her eyes bloodshot, her once beautiful face blotchy and red, her golden hair unkempt.

"All is well, my Queen." Ser Russell reassured. Ser Jorgan placed an iron-clad hand on his Queen's shoulder to soothe her woes. But she only cried harder. Ser Russell continued, a warm smile flashing on his face. "Do not weep, my Grace. The invader will never discover this hideout. No one will, I swear to you, you are in safe hands. Please, my Grace, rest."

Queen Cersei let out a relenting sigh and closed her eyes.

Once the Queen was deep in slumber, the soldiers all gathered together and settled on the floor.

"We just need to make it to the Red Keep," Ser Jorgan said to them.

"And just how do we do that? We barely made it to this damn tunnel!" Ser Jarad replied.

"We'll find a way," said Ser Russell. "We will just have to hope that the Gods will bless us with the means to escape."

"If the Gods were good, that madwoman and all those who follow her would be burning in the Seven Hells!" Ser Jarad hissed.

"The Gods will requite a kindness to us soon." Ser Russell insisted.

"We must go far away," Ser Jorgan said. "To the Reach to the Ser Jorgan , hell, to fucking Winterfell! Anywhere will do!"

"That's a pipedream!" Ser Jarad rebuffed.

"As long as we make it to the Keep, we will just sail. Sail anywhere to safety, then we will see what happens." Ser Jorgan said.

"We should discuss who," said Ser Lancion. "Let's remember that even if we escape, there is no guarantee we'll escape the true danger. That madwoman possesses a dragon whom she rides on. We will have to keep out of her sight under all circumstances."

"How is Highgarden?" squeaked Ser Benneth. He pushed a golden lock out of his quivering eyes.

"Highgarden is a dead end," Ser Jarad pointed out. "Same as the Reach, the Ser Jorgan , and Winterfell.

"We offer a truce." reasoned Ser Russell.

"And who's to say they'll accept?" Ser Jarad challenged. "Keep in mind, the Highgarden children were slain on this land and Ned Stark's head cursed us all. I'm sure they will not be overjoyed to see us begging at their doorstep for help."

"We should still try." Ser Russell insisted. "Offer them anything they desire."

"If not, then we'll change their mind," said Ser Harrin. He unsheathed his sword and gazed at his blade brazenly. "We can't stand idle."

"We swore a vow," explained Ser Lancion. "Protect all Lannisters."

Ser Jorgan nodded acceptingly. "And we shall," He proclaimed. "But we need to use sensible means."

Benneth gulped loudly. He sat in the fetal position, his knees up to his chin. A sorrowful glint gleaned in his watering eyes.

"Boy!" Ser Harrin scolded. "Don't go getting all soft on us! You are a soldier, not a wetnurse!"

"No." Ser Benneth whimpered. "I...I...just…" He was unable to finish as an iron hand-cracked him in the back of the head.

"If one teardrops from your eyes, I'll beat ya bloody!" Ser Harrin warned menacingly.

Ser Benneth nodded his head and drew in a deep breath to calm himself.

Ser Jorgan cast a glance at the slumbering Cersei and felt a glimmer of faint hope light up inside of him. As long as we have our Queen, all is well. He stared at her flat belly, remembering his late lover, Maellery, and his stillborn daughter, Emelia.

For a moment, he wondered if Maellery and Emelia were looking down at him. How sad they were about the Fall of King's Landing and how much he missed them.

He then found himself thinking of his son. Bertholdt. His only surviving child. His Mother, Henna succumbed to pox shortly after his birth. He has not seen him since he was nine. A plump little boy that resembled him greatly. By then, he sent him to live with his biological sister in the Stormlands. He wondered how his son was now, it has been decades since he last seen him. He wondered if his son had grew into the man he imagined he would become in his adulthood.

He thought of his old friend, Alester Sarsfield. The days of jesting and witty bantering, hunting the local boars and drinking sweet wine. The sounder days. Oh, how Ser Jorgan missed his dearest companion. It has been three long years since he was degraded.

Well, at least you were not caught up in this madness, Alester. He thought.

Then Ser Jorgan felt his dream becoming distorted. A cloak of darkness swept over him, heartlessly ripping him away from his companions and his Queen and stranding him in the void. He could hear the disembodied voice of Queen Cersei's last request to him. "Please don't let my baby die."

"I promise," he whispered. "My Queen, I promise . . . "

Then he bore witness to his allies' respective deaths. A cowering Benneth was the first to die, his blood cascading out of his chest. The end of the arrow penetrating his heart. Ser Russell's life was ended by a spear plunging into his throat. One by one the soldiers whom Ser Jorgan did not know well would step out of the tunnels in search of resources, only to disappear without a trace.

Finally, it was his turn. His turn to die. Roaming the dangerous streets in search of food for the ailing Queen.

Groaning, Ser Jorgan opened his eyes to little Hazelle standing beside the bed. Streams of moonlight seeped into the room. Her bedroom was cast in shadows, as the only window was covered with an old bookshelf. She was dressed in her pale nightgown, her golden hair hanging loosely down her shoulders.

Ser Jorgan winced. "How . . . how long? Has he returned?" A dull throb of pain shot up his side as he sat upright.

"No. It's still nighttime." Hazelle replied with melancholy. The little girl held a cup to Ser Jorgan's lips. "Drink, please. You feel so hot. You're sweating in your sleep."

"What is this?"

"Goat milk. It's cold. I would have gotten you water, but Cedrick said to save it. He said that that goat milk is good for you."

"Your brother is a thoughtful one." Ser Jorgan drank. His dry tongue tingled from the sweetness as he emptied the cup.

"Why are you up for?"

"Kept having nightmares, so I made a meal." She explained.

"Of course," He crawled out of bed, ignoring the dull burn coursing through his limbs. "What you dream about?"

"I keep dreaming of those scary men coming in here and finding you and killing us," Hazelle explained softly. "It's weird not having Cedrick around."

Hazelle then pointed a finger to a table that she apparently moved across the room. The table looked like a porcelain plate on three pencil-thin stilts. On it was food resources from Cedrick; a thick chunk of sausage, and a fresh bowl of hulled barley."Want some?" She offered.

A grateful smile creased across Ser Jorgan's face. "Thank you, Hazelle." Ser Jorgan crept to the table, peeled out of his melted armor, and dressed in the children's Father's soft tunic. He settled on his heels and smiled at the little girl. Hazelle placed all of the food on the table. "I can't express to you how thankful I am to you and your older brother."

"You're welcome." Hazelle smiled back at him.

Ser Jorgan took one look at the food and remembered the luxurious food he once ate in the early days. Tables full of delicacies. Anything he can think of and things he's never dreamed of at his fingertips. Roasted cows and pigs and goats. Massive dishes of poultry filled with fresh fruit and nuts. Ocean creatures drenched in spicy sauces. Countless cheeses, loaves of bread, fruits, and sweets.

Nothing he believed he would ever see again. Ser Jorgan was about to bite the meat before glancing at the child.

The little girl gobbled up a spoonful of hulled barley. She was as malnourished as the other children that resided in Flea Bottom. A thin stick of a girl she was. He extended the meat to her. "You need more of this than me." He offered.

Her tiny hand hesitantly grabs it. "Want the nuts?"

"I do, dear."

He nibbled on the sweet fruit.

Hazelle took a small bite out of her sausage. "Ser Jorgan, what is the Queen like?"

Ser Jorgan smiled. "A renowned beauty. Very stern in mind with an iron tongue."

Hazelle smiled shyly. "Is she nice?"

"No." He almost said. Queen Cersei was comely, but not exactly the fairest. She had her moments of her infamous temper and her scathing raves.

"I heard many things about her. Bad and good." Hazelle expressed. "My Mama said that she was a nasty lady one time."

Ser Jorgan chuckled. "The views on the Queen is different for everyone. To be honest, she has her flaws, her temper...and her grudges. But I swear to you, she is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdom. She was robbed of everything; her family, her devotion, her..." Ser Jorgan's words drifted into her thoughts. Her sanity...her children...

"A conflicted woman she is. A woman in the grips of a crucible of pain." Ser Jorgan said softly. "And that is why I must return to her and protect her."

Hazelle appeared perplexed. "I hope we do."

NEXT CHAPTER IS COMING. REVIEWS AND THOUGHTS.