Tygett IV

Somewhere in the Stormlands, 298 AC

One of the very first things that Tygett had learned in his military career, was that death was a constant companion for soldiers. From the moment a man first donned his armor to when he finally crossed blades with his enemy, a dark shadow loomed over his shoulder, ready to reap his life like a farmer does with corn. Tygett had seen lots of people die. Distant relatives, complete strangers, and sometimes even friends. He still remembered that time when he had seen his best friend, a man who had fought alongside him since the Fifth Blackfyre Rebellion, die by a pirate's sword. He still remembered the pain he had felt, and the burning rage that had possessed him later. That day he had fought like a beast.

Now, he was feeling something similar, although this time it wasn't a friend. In the short time they had spent together, he had come to respect the other man's martial prowess, and had even taken a liking to him despite his flaws. Had things gone differently, they might have become closer, and perhaps even called each other friend.

Alas, such a thing was never going to happen. For Lord Robert Baratheon was dying.

"Fuck...it hurts..." muttered the stormlord from his bed, his chest heaving with difficulty. He was sweating profusely, the white bandages covering his chest and left arm by now turned from white to yellow. The air inside his tent was rich with the smell of sweat, so much that Tygett longed for a breath of fresh air. He couldn't leave, though. Not yet.

"He doesn't have much left." said the maester, his voice low so that only Tygett could hear him. "That poison was incredibly strong."

Tygett grimaced at that. He still couldn't believe it. Lord Robert had survived all of their encounters with the enemy, seemingly unscathed after taking blow after blow...only to end up being hit by a poisoned arrow that had somehow found a crack in his armor. That wasn't a good death, in Tygett's opinion. Had Lord Robert died on the field, his hammer in hand and surrounded by enemy corpses, it would have been different. But this...it was undignified, to say the least. It was a shame that a great warrior like him had to die in such a way.

At least it's over...almost. It was the only thought that soothed his mind. Most of the enemy soldiers had been killed or taken prisoners, with a few groups scattering through the woods. Tygett had personally slain the red priest, although he hadn't seen his imposter of a king. Hopefully, the outriders he had sent out would find him before the end of the day.

"Lannister..."

Tygett raised his head at that. "My lord..."

"Tell me...was it worth it?" The stormlord's voice was but a pained whisper. "Did we...are they dead?"

He exchanged a quick glance with the maester. At a nod from the older man, Tygett spoke. "Yes, Lord Baratheon. They are all dead. We won." It wasn't the whole truth. The war could be considered well and truly won only once the imposter's head was on a pike. However, he supposed there was nothing wrong in pleasing a dying man. "Your brother is avenged." He knew that was the main reason Lord Robert had fought, loyalty to the crown aside.

Lord Robert showed a little triumphant smile. "Good..." Then he began to violently cough, and the maester rushed to his side. The stormlord stopped him with a gesture.

"It seems that I'm soon going to...to see Father and Stannis again." He chuckled, and Tygett chose to not answer to that. "Well, Ser Tygett...it's been nice knowing you."

"Likewise, my lord. It's...it's been a honor." He meant it.

There was another coughing fit. "Tell...tell Lyanna...that..." He suddenly groaned, then stopped and just stood still, his eyes staring into the infinite. The maester cautiously peered over him, then checked his throat and chest. He shook his head gloomily. "He is dead." The older man closed the stormlord's eyes.

Tygett angrily clenched his fist. You didn't deserve to die like this. He silently vowed to do something to avenge that shame.

"He uttered a name, Lyanna...who is she?"

"His lady wife, Ser Tygett. From House Stark of Winterfell." the maester answered. "Lord Robert mentioned her often. He must have been deeply in love with her."

It didn't take long for the news of Lord Robert's death to spread throughout the whole camp. A septon blessed Lord Robert's body and held a small funeral service, just like he had done two days earlier for Prince Viserys. Both crownlords and stormlords attended, and later many soldiers made a toast to Lord Robert's memory. Later, Tygett met with Ser Cortnay Penrose, who had taken command of the stormlander host after Lord Baratheon's injury.

Not a meeting he looked forward to. His first impression of the man had not changed.

However, as it turned out, it wasn't as unpleasant as expected. Ser Cortnay was, after all, a good soldier and a competent commander, and just wanted to talk about strategies. They stayed up well into the night, talking and exchanging point of views. During this time, they got to know each other a little better, and surprisingly enough, never once he felt the need to choke the stormlander to death. When Tygett left, part of him wondered whether he had been wrong in judging Ser Cortnay.

Perhaps it's because he reminds me so much of Tywin. Ser Cortnay, though, showed at least the promise of something different than his looks. Tywin, on the other hand, was exactly what he looked like.

But still, what if Tywin...he shook his head. That trail of thoughts would lead him nowhere but to a sleepless night. And right now, he needed to sleep as much as he needed to eat.

The day after Lord Robert's funeral was spent mostly organizing burials for the common soldiers and more search parties. Tyrek eagerly offered to join one, and Tygett didn't feel it in him to deny his request. He later watched his son depart, hoping he would come back alive and well. He had made Tygett proud so far, and come out of the battles with only a few minor injuries. Perhaps, after all was done, he could even earn his spurs.

For the following two days, Tygett waited anxiously for his son's return, or even just news about the search for the imposter. Two parties came back with enemy commanders who had chosen to surrender out of fear of starvation. Tygett had them all executed, and their bodies were later thrown into a mass grave. He could have spared them, but he was in no mood for mercy.

Then, exactly five days after Lord Baratheon's death, came the news he had been expecting.

Tygett waited at the edge of the camp with Ser Cortnay and some of their soldiers. He kept looking at the horizon for a sign of their arrival, clenching and opening his fist over and over and getting increasingly nervous. He couldn't wait for all this to be over.

Finally, a horn announced the arrival, followed soon after by a sound of hoofbeats and the screams of cheering men. A slight smile formed on his lips as he watched the men and their horses approach. Then he was back to his usual grim self. Now was not the time for smiles.

The imposter was dragged in front of him and Ser Cortnay by Tyrek and a boy he didn't know. He was in chains, his arms behind his back. He was also bleeding from a wound on his forehead, and looked as if a herd of aurochs had just stomped him. Tygett took in his features. He was a young man, around the same age as Tyrek, with short silver-gold hair and purple eyes. He couldn't help but notice the sullen look on his face. He realizes it's over. Good.

"Please...you are making a terrible mistake...I'm your true king." moaned the imposter. "Please..."

"Spare us your lies, imposter!" spat Ser Cortnay. "It's over, do you hear me? It's over!"

"The imposter is the one you serve. I'm the real Aegon...I can prove it! Just let me..."

"Enough!" Tygett couldn't stand it anymore. "Your host is defeated. You are here, surrounded by the royal army, and bound with chains. It's over, and if you won't accept it, you are a worse fool than I thought."

"Please...you can't let a false dragon sit the throne..."

"Ser Tygett, it seems clear to me that this imposter still clings to his delusions."

The imposter's face seemed to suddenly light up. "Ser Tygett...Tygett Lannister? I know about you! You are my mother's uncle! We are kin! Please, you can't do this to your own blood."

"You are no kin of mine." Tygett punched the young man right in the face, breaking his nose. "And you will pay for all the deaths your lies have caused!"

The men around him and Ser Cortnay began to shout. "JUSTICE! JUSTICE!" It was far too plain to see that they thirsted for blood.

Tygett looked at the imposter, the rage inside him growing by the minute. It was finally over. The Blackfyre line was on its knees, and soon enough it would finally die out. They would bring the young fool to the Red Keep, and then justice would be done.

A part of him, though, wanted to kill the young man right there and then. He wanted to end this whole thing and be done with it. He wanted to avenge Lord Robert and all the brave men who had died because of the invasion.

Then a thought struck him. He remembered reading that in the North, the lords still carried out executions by themselves. Such a thing had long fallen into disuse in the south, but still...

"Ser Cortnay." he said. "Do you think that the King or the Queen Dowager would object if we didn't bring the imposter to the capital alive?"

"Well..." The stormlander answered, seemingly understanding what Tygett meant. "I think that if we just brought them solid proof of his death...like his head, they should be pleased enough."

Tygett nodded, and brought his hand to his sword. The imposter paled as he realized what was going to happen. "No, please..."

"Keep him still." said Tygett as he drew his sword from the scabbard. Tyrek and the other boy forced the imposter to his knees.

"Aegon Blackfyre, or whatever your name is." Tygett slowly positioned himself. "In the name of King Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I, Tygett of House Lannister, thereby sentence you to death." He raised his sword with both hands and pointed it at the imposter's neck. "May you rot in the deepest of the seven hells."

He lowered his blade with all his strength, amidst a cacophony of cries. The imposter's pleas for mercy, and the soldiers' encouragements. The blow sent blood all over his blade, himself, Tyrek and the other boy. To their credit, they didn't flinch. The imposter's head fell to the ground and arrived at Tygett's feet. He picked it up with his right hand and raised it so that everyone could see.

"This is what happens to liars and traitors. LONG LIVE HOUSE TARGARYEN!" Everybody else, even Ser Cortnay and Tyrek, echoed his words.

"LONG LIVE HOUSE TARGARYEN!"

"LONG LIVE HOUSE TARGARYEN!"