Chapter 68: Retribution

Pursing her lips, Visenya reached for the goblet and drank it down, wetting her dry mouth. The juice was tart and sugary, like Arbor Gold without its intoxicating effect. She needed her wits about her. "How many spears can you spare?"

Nymeria frowned. "No more than five thousand."

Visenya hauled herself out of her chair in spite of the pain it inflicted on her knees. Rising to her mighty height, even in age taller than near all women. "That's it? That's all you can spare? You managed to extract your command from Tumbleton with the least casualties of Roxton's four divisions, and you claim you can only spare five thousand?" She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Is there some threat of rebellion from Wyl loyalists or something?"

The new ruler of Dorne - Dorne being a realm inside the Seven Kingdoms that is - Nymeria certainly didn't look like a warrior Princess. Her face was made up with jewels and rouge almost like a courtesan, while her dress… Visenya had seen worse in Lys, but it was a bit of a stretch to call the clingy, gauzy fabric Nymeria wore a dress.

However, looks did deceive in Nymeria's case. She was a hardened warrior, and her luscious brown eyes hid a crafty battlefield mind behind them. "You are insisting on a surprise attack so as to prevent a siege. The only way that would happen by land is if we launch a purely mounted force that doesn't need a baggage train. With all the horses I can find… five thousand."

Sighing, Visenya had to admit she had a point. "How about by sea?"

Both turned to Ser Victor, who had his arm around his wife's slender waist. At least it was still slender for now. "I've been in communication with Queen Tyanna in King's Landing, and her little birds have managed to approach Lord Redwyne about betraying the Faith. He's been expressing those sentiments for a while now - very jittery."

Nymeria snorted. "Groveling to get a good deal, no doubt. How much did it cost to buy him off?"

"Far less than you would expect, love." Victor chuckled. "Him turning gives us surprise going into Oldtown bay, but there are two keeps overlooking it that could send word to Oldtown…"

"Houses Bulwar and Costayne if I recall correctly," Visenya cut in. "Vhagar can eliminate their threat pretty easily, so it's not an issue."

"The question remains of how many ships we actually have." Nymeria turned to Victor. "Dorne's fleet is mostly for raiding and trading. We don't have ships that can ferry men. House Velaryon?"

Victor winced. "Twelve. Not enough."

Visenya cursed. "Damn." They needed to end this war and end it quickly, especially with the succession crisis Rogar started up north. Dorne's switching sides should've been a massive reversal of fortune, but its effect in the war was proving to be far more limited than Visenya hoped.

Another year or two of war would cripple Westeros, leaving the Targaryens with a battered, bloody realm primed for more rebellions and famine in the next several decades. Not near the glorious Empire that she, Aegon, and Rhaenys dreamed of.

It was… disheartening to say the least.

"Mayhaps the five thousand can still be useful… if we can rush the city gates or use infiltrators to keep one open." Nymeria and Victor nodded, but they were hollow. For a city as large as Oldtown, a mere five thousand would be useless in any sort of sack, even with a dragon to which the Starry Sept would've formed defenses against. At least ten thousand were needed, and that was the bare minimum.

Visenya was resting in the sun two days later when the answer to her prayers graced Sunspear harbor. "Your Grace?" She looked up to see Nymeria, this time dressed more appropriate for a warrior, even if her dress showed off plenty of cleavage - not that she couldn't pull it off. "An honored guest has arrived in Sunspear and requests your presence alongside mine and Victor's."

Brow raised, she groaned as she rose. It was getting harder and harder to walk without a cane these days, but Visenya pushed herself. "Let us see who this surprise guest is that can solve all our problems." She didn't right believe it, in truth.

In the end, she was not proud enough to admit she had been wrong. "Your Grace." Triarch Trianna Vhassar greeted Visenya equal to equal in the ancient Valyrian custom of a peck on the lips. "You've only departed for about a moon, but it feels like longer, no?"

"Much has happened, yes." Visenya smiled at her old friend. "You being here means…"

Her smile said it all. "Dorne switching sides convinced the traders and naval captains of the Three Daughters, which swayed Maegyr. Full support of Volantis to the Targaryen Realm as per your proposal." Ceding all influence in Essos to Volantis in exchange for military support. Long-term it would prove dicey perhaps, but Visenya knew the short-term gains outweighed it. "I took the liberty of bringing ten thousand sellswords including the Company of the Rose."

"The Northmen who wouldn't bend the knee alongside Torrhen Stark, then. They've changed their minds?"

"Mayhaps not, but they are itching to fight those that butchered their countrymen." Visenya nodded, Tyrion Lannister's butchery still working against the Faith even now. "You wish to attack by sea, no?"

She cocked her head. "I would ask if you have a spy in our midst, but that would insult your intelligence, no?"

Trianna chuckled and looped their arms together. "You remind me of my own muna. She could read minds too."


"I think it's twins."

The thought brought elation to Rhaena, but she restrained herself. "How can you be so sure, Ceri?"

Her wife closed her eyes, posture serene but expression a bit harried. "I mean I can't ever be sure, considering I have no magical dragon dreams as your blood does, Rhae." They were in the Queens' solar, nestled on the plush couch after a nasty bout of morning sickness earlier for the pregnant Queen. Ceryse laid flat on the surface with her head nestled in Rhaena's lap, the Dragon Queen gladly massaging her temples and gazing down at her beauty.

Slightly affected by age - given Ceryse was quite a bit older than her - but Rhaena would not deny such mature features didn't put a bit of a thrill through her core. Making the urge to bed her aunt turned sister-wife even greater. "And yet you still make such a sweeping claim."

Ceryse nodded. "I mean… I'm carrying lower, and my swell is larger at this point than with any other of my… efforts." She shrugged her shoulders, exhaling as Rhaena's fingers pressed in a particularly sensitive spot on her temples. "Don't ask me how I know… I just know."

"A mother knows," grinned Rhaena.

"Kessa." Ceryse opened her lovely eyes and met Rhaena's smile with one of her own. "We do."

"Two boys? Two girls?"

"One of each."

"Maegor will be delighted, as am I."

Ceryse chuckled. "Just hope Daemon won't be jealous… of mine or Tyanna's babe."

The thought was an amusing one. Daemon certainly had a bit of a stubborn streak with his maids sometimes, usually because he was hungry and impatient for food or not wanting to sleep the times they insisted. He'd be a fierce one grown up, but with his munas he was as devoted and lovely a child as any. It's why she wasn't worried. "I was excited for each of my siblings. Only time I was ever jealous was if I felt I was being overlooked."

"Daemon has three munas so there will always be someone to love him." Mayhaps that was one of the reasons the Valyrians did it, or at least it didn't hurt the tradition. "Then again, my father and mother largely ignored me growing up, placing my care with governesses and a Septa while… my brothers got their attention. Especially Morgen." The last was spat out.

Not replying with words, Rhaena merely leaned down and kissed her on the lips. A kiss that was deepened but didn't go beyond a passionate comfort. A show of care and love for Ceryse, that she wasn't alone. The gentle expression on her face when Rhaena pulled back showed it worked. "Everything will be fine," Rhaena said.

Ceryse cupped her face. "I know. Thank you."

The banter turned happy again, and by the time Tyanna entered their solar Ceryse was in a gentle sleep while Rhaena was half there. The abrupt entrance of their wife both sobered her up as well as woke Ceryse. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but an urgent raven came in," Tyanna said, her voice serious and tight.

A sinking feeling felt Rhaena, her heart clenching. "Is it from Harrenhal?"

That certainly shook all sleep from Ceryse. "Gods, is it our husband?" She bolted upright, grabbing Rhaena's hands and squeezing."

Thankfully for their hearts, Tyanna shook her head and allowed them to relax - no news was good news in regards to the battle developing between Aegon and Maegor. "No, it's from Queen Visenya in Dorne."

"Grandmother?" Rhaena approached Tyanna, the two kissing chastely in greeting before she snatched the scroll in her wife's hand. "What could she want that's got you in a tizzy? Don't tell me the Dornish capitulation fell through?"

"Nothing so worrisome as that…" Tyanna clasped her lower back, the gravid stomach of her unborn babe starting to give her back trouble. Rhaena did not miss that. "This is more a potential opportunity than anything disastrous, though fraught with risk."

Furrowing her brows, she unfurled the scroll and started reading. As Tyanna promised, it was an opportunity, though her draconic nature made Rhaena far more eager with each line she read as opposed to the more cautious Tyanna.

Granddaughter,

By the grace of the gods, Nymeria Martell's bending of the knee to House Targaryen has convinced the Volentenes to support Triarch Vhassar's proposed alliance with us. A fleet of ships bearing the Company of the Rose as well as plenty of space for a further ten thousand soldiers. Princess Nymeria has offered to give us Dornish spears and Ser Victor Velaryon as Prince-Consort of Dorne to lead the force in an attack upon Oldtown.

We do not know what naval forces the Faith has around Oldtown, but a decapitation strike with our twenty thousand and both Vhagar and Dreamfyre could end this war in one stroke. I urge you to consider to fly to Dorne and lead this with me.

Your Grandmother

Rhaena's eyes narrowed, violets alight with a zeal. "We can end this."

"Love…" Tyanna cautioned. "Just think this over."

But she shook her head. "My grandmother would've done that already." She banged on the door from the inside, drawing out the guard. "Inform the dragonkeepers to have Dreamfyre saddled and ready for a long flight."

"Yes, your Grace."

Rhaena was about to head to her chambers to don her battledress when Ceryse took her by her wrist. "Rhaena?"

Her fierce gaze calmed. "Yes, aunt?"

She clasped it warmly with both palms, biting her lip. "As much as I desire to, it is best if I do not… but you are not burdened by such restrictions since they aren't your blood kin. Will you…"

Cutting her off, Rhaena kissed her. Pulling the taller, older woman into an embrace, making her melt in her arms as they lost themselves in the kiss. "You need not say it… I will make sure justice is done."

Ceryse nodded. "Thank you."


"Your Eminences, my Lords," Barth stated pleasantly, not betraying any form of extreme emotion or his own personal thoughts. "The news has arrived from the Westerlands. It seems Prince Aegon has been killed and his cause destroyed by Queen Rhaena and King Maegor. Rogar Baratheon is dead, Lucas Harroway is in custody, and both Prince Viserys and Queen Dowager Alyssa Velaryon have bent the knee to the two."

For the gathered assembly of the Holy Dominion's leading men - Lord Manfred Hightower, his son Ser Martyn, the Most Devout represented by Archsepton Boniface and Septon Moon among others, and the High Septon himself - what concerned them wasn't what he said. It was undoubtedly what he didn't say. "Well," grumbled Boniface, ever irascible. "What of Lord Tyrion and Ser Joffrey? Have they attacked?"

Barth tucked his lips betwixt his teeth. "They have."

"And?" Manfred Hightower, aged beyond his years, slammed his fist on the table. "Tell us, damn you!"

Alright. "They are both dead. Their forces attacked, and while the battle was bloody for all involved and resulted in the wounding of all dragons and the death of both Prince Aegon and Lord Aegon Stark, the armies of the Westerlands and of the Faith Militant were annihilated. Dead or captured, the lot of them."

It was as if all the warmth and levity was sucked out of the council hall. All were silent, not even breathing as the news fully hit them.

Barth understood, oh he did. When the personal aide to the High Septon received the raven from the Golden Tooth explaining what had happened and the warning from Lord Lefford that he would be momentarily surrendering to Lord Reyne and begging for mercy, Barth couldn't believe it. He merely stared at his desk for what seemed like hours, the ironwood desktop covered with scrolls and letters filled with information both completely outdated and telling him nothing he needed to know in the new scheme of things.

So in this he empathized with those gathered. Pitied them even, for they hadn't the wee morning hours and a robotically devoured breakfast to steady their spirits and allow them to plot their next move.

But did Barth hold them in contempt for their lack of foresight? Also yes.

Silence eventually gave way to the circular squabbling he expected, knowing how proficient these fools were at it and how predictable they were. Every one of their reactions he could've written a script for their responses like a mummer's playwright in one of the theaters in Oldtown.

"This is madness! It could never have happened!" shouted Ser Morgen Hightower, standing guard over the place and always fiery and defiant. The attitude that led you to rape your own sister for moons. The still prominent burn scars that marred his once handsome face gave testament to that.

His father was far less defiant. "We're dead men… the dragons flames come for us." Always a torpid man with narrow ambitions unlike the High Septon or even the Lannisters, with the failure of those ambitions his fall was far, unlike someone more reaching who would be stubborn in such adversity.

"No!" Septon Moon, shifting his corpulent frame about as he stood and tossed his hands everywhere. "This is not decreed! We are that of the Seven! The gods shine on us, for we are their instrument! Victory has been decreed by divine favor…!" So ambitious and zealous that it bordered on delusion. What could one expect from such a bearded brute?

"Our options are not gone!" Archsepton Boniface was not a brute like Moon, educated and clever, but his zealousness was just as strong. "We can join with Volantis…"

"Volantis is with the Targaryens you idiot!" Hightower shouted at him.

"Then Braavos, or Pentos, or Slaver's Bay! We still control the Reach, we can still win…" As the chamber descended into arguments, Hugor - as of yet still quiet as a mute - simply rose and departed. Barth followed, seeing as that no one seemed to notice as so deep they were in their anger and despair.

Unlike the others, High Septon Hugor was the rare man that held Barth's respect. The man that had elevated him from nothing to something far beyond his station. A guardian angel and mentor, one that had built Barth up into the powerful figure he was. Barth was no fool, knowing that had it not been Hugor it would've been someone that would elevate him given his intelligence. A Lord perhaps, or… Jaehaerys Targaryen mayhaps - he laughed at that mad possibility - but it had been Hugor.

He was the only one whose opinion mattered to him and the only one who could perhaps convince him to change his view on the matter. "Your Holiness."

Hugor turned. "Barth." They were alone in the corridor. "Couldn't stand them either?" He continued before Barth could respond. "Delusional… I fear our cause has been lost from the beginning."

"Your Holiness?" Hugor was a true believer, if a smart one. "What are you saying?"

A sigh. "I authorized our war and campaigns because I felt we could win. I authorized yours and Doggett's gambit because it was our last gamble that could've won us everything… and yet I fear in my arrogance I didn't see how the gods decreed their favor to the Targaryens."

"How?"

"Maegor's Trial by Seven."

Barth blinked. "You don't truly believe that?"

"I'm afraid it seems that the trial was the most predictive of everything, Barth." Hugor then surprised him with a warm, fatherly embrace. "Take care of yourself, Barth. You are the best of all of us."

In intelligence he was right. In morals he was wrong. Barth appreciated it all the same.

Returning to his office, he gazed at the pile of scrolls he'd written out over his desk. Orders and directives he'd scrawled out not long after recovering from the news… long into the night he had planned everything out. Only Hugor could've convinced him to change his plan, but it seemed as if the High Septon had given him his blessing.

I hope you find peace, Hugor. The rest of you can fucking die. Morgen the most, for Barth hated the spoiled shit as much as he did Jaehaerys.

A dark-haired boy of five and ten, one of his assistants and dispatchers, ducked his head into the chamber. "Is the vessel ready?" Barth asked.

The lad nodded. "Ready and waiting for us far outside the city. The captain heard reports of a fleet sailing towards us but insists that he should be able to sneak us to Lys with no difficulties."

Barth nodded. "He has my baggage?" What he had here meant nothing. He'd done his part, and the fate of the Holy Dominion would not be on his shoulders.

"He does, except for his second payment."

Few could resist an extra ten pounds of gold bullion. "Excellent." The lad had pulled through - if only Jeyne had succeeded, she was the most worthy of all those he supervised or worked with. Mayhaps she could've become the first female High Septon. The thought was amusing but novel, Jeyne would've deserved it had she not betrayed them by falling for Prince Viserys. He shrugged. "Wait outside. I will be out shortly and then we'll be off." The lad nodded and closed the door behind him.

Grabbing a bottle of Arbor Gold out of his desk, Barth poured a small amount and raised in a toast. "To the Holy Dominion, the Lost Cause." The wine burned down his throat.

He and his few companions, all loyal men, had made it to the eastern gate when the hue and cry began to chime from the Starry Sept's bells. In the distance, Barth could make out two shapes, one larger than the other. Vhagar and Dreamfyre.

"Looks like we made it out just in time." Turning away from the city and spurring his horse, Barth felt nothing for their fate.


In the end, Oldtown's defenses were… worth more on paper than they were in reality. Vhagar and Dreamfyre made ash of the sea gates just as easily as they did the castles on each side of the mouth of the bay, allowing the twenty thousand Dornish and sellswords unfettered access to the city.

The rules were the septs and manses were fair game, but the civilians were to be spared. Rhaena wanted the guilty to suffer, not the innocent.

Vhagar swept the walls, her massive wings casting shadows over the city. Holding onto the saddle, Rhaena weaved in and around the buildings, Dreamfyre spraying flame on any pockets of resisting soldiers or guardsmen. Not that they were many, most surrendering pretty quickly.

The Citadel loomed large but Rhaena ignored it. She had no desire to burn books. The Hightower on the other hand… "Dracarys!" she screamed, eyes lighting up with a dark elation as Dreamfyre turned it into a torch… at least the top of it. A hose of dragonfire, much like her grandfather did Harrenhal.

A horrible fate for the traitors inside. Also anticlimactic. They had barely put up a fight. It was glorious, she grinned as Dreamfyre headed for the courtyard before the burning Hightower.

Boots kicking up small puffs of ash as she dropped to the ground, Rhaena made for a dazzling sight as she approached the Velaryon and Martell soldiers. The former being of her muna's house while the latter she had fought at Tumbleton but now served her, both catching witness to this physically slight Queen who still towered over them. Crimson cape blowing in the sea breeze, armor inlaid with jet and rubies. Dark Sister at her hip only completed the ensemble. She was her grandmother reborn, and truly as much a dragon as the indigo beast behind her.

"Your Grace." The leader of the group was Dornish, his skin swarthy. He bent the knee before her. "The Hightower grounds are yours."

She nodded. "Make sure the fire doesn't spread to the lower levels. I intend to rebuild it and give it to Queen Ceryse's children." Let House Targaryen cleanse this place. Besides, they are the blood heirs to it anyway. The thought made her smirk.

"We have men on it, your Grace." As he rose, the Dornishman gestured behind him. "We have a gift for you."

Confused for a moment as two Velaryon men hauled forth a soot-covered prisoner bound in rope, Rhaena's eyes widened as she beheld him. Recognizing his face. "Ser Morgen Hightower." Her eyes narrowed, fists clenching.

Ceryse's rapist in the flesh.

The Dornishman spat in his face. "We caught him trying to flee through the sewers. Craven shit." He kicked him, though to his credit Morgen didn't even grunt. "Almost ran him through, but then we recognized him and remembered your orders."

"Deliver him to me alive, exactly." She spared the men a smile. "Fifty gold dragons to all of you for his capture, and a hundred to you, good Ser, as the commander."

Fight against her they all did, but from their expressions she was now the favorite person to all the Dornishmen. The Velaryons already loved her and that did not change.

What small satisfaction she had at seeing their love for her morphed back into rage as she regarded Ser Morgen. "So, we finally meet face to face."

Morgen was not humble in defeat. "Fuck you, dragonspawn."

Pursing her lips, Rhaena suddenly kicked him in the gut. This time he did grunt in pain. "I should kill you for what you did to her!" she shrieked. Kicking him again. "I am going to kill you for hurting her!"

"You… whore…" coughed out Morgen, hate in his eyes. His soul as black and ugly as the scares on his face made him look. "You defiled her too… not just Maegor… a harlot committing the blackest of sin."

"Just makes the king the luckiest cunt alive," laughed one of the Dornish soldiers, from how far the laughs carried showing the general reaction to the relationship of the royal family.

It would be so easy for Rhaena. To unsheath Dark Sister and end this monster's life for raping Ceryse. Her fingers curled around the guard of Dark Sister, her calling to Rhaena. How she thirsted for blood.

"You have… no fucking honor… but by the Seven I call for a trial by combat!" He hauled himself to his feet. "Let the gods witness that you betray and desecrate them as my last act…"

"Done." Dark Sister was out and with a slash cut the ropes binding his wrist. "Give him your sword," she ordered the Dornishman.

He stared dumbfounded. Everyone did. "Your Grace…"

"Years ago, my husband the King dispatched one Lyonel Lorch through trial by combat for an attempt to defile me. I believe that such a punishment was the only fair remedy." Rhaena watched as the soldier placed the sword in Morgen's hand, Ceryse's brother himself surprised that she would honor his request. She twirled Dark Sister, readying herself. "Attack, then."

To her, there could only be this. The most fitting humiliation for this monster, and a fight she knew for certain she would win.

Morgen didn't stay surprised for long. Bastard sword in both hands, he erupted at her. Uttering out a loud bellow, he brought his sword down to strike. With fluid ease, Rhaena shot up and parried the incoming strike. Eyes blazing, Morgen tried to quickly follow through with another but she had no trouble shifting. Dark Sister an extension of her arm as she fought.

The second she deflected the strike, Rhaena spun quickly in the opposite direction. Dark Sister slashed up and batted away Morgen's sword. Her momentum and weight of her blade deflected his away from his body leaving him open. Rhaena rocked back and kicked forward into his breastbone. Hearing a crack.

Stumbling back with a cry of pain, Morgen was open but Rhaena didn't advance. Waiting patiently for his next attack. Degenerate rapist that he was, he had stamina and charged again at her. Each hack and slice had plenty of weight behind it but Rhaena dodged and weaved in and out of his strikes. Her petite figure made her agile, and it was clear he knew not how to fight against it.

Everyone was entranced at their Queen's fighting capability. Visenya had trained her well.

"Is that all you've got? Fuck, even the women who wanted you must've gotten bored in the middle." Morgen gritted his teeth, fuming her insults. "Jealous that Ceryse would rather a woman bed her than you?"

"That's not true!"

"Your face proves otherwise." Rhaena took a new stance, vastly different from before. She held Dark Sister back in both hands, her right foot positioned back holding the hilt at waist height and extended the blade upwards. "I've given her more pleasure than you have to every woman you've bedded combined."

"Dragonspawn! You die today!" He swung away at Rhaena but she deflected and parried each and every one of his strikes, matching him blow for blow. Enduring the onslaught as he got sloppier, putting more fury and force into the slashes and thrusts than skill. He closed in on her again, trying to swing at her legs but she twirled Dark Sister and easily deflected the attack. Another twirl, this time with a swipe of her hand she batted his blade away, spinning once more and then slashing down with a snarl.

He cried out in agony, his arm severed above the elbow as it fell with a plop onto the ground. Rhaena kicked and sent him sprawling. "You lose," she hissed. "And now you die."

Morgen, twisted in pain, was clearly still fueled by anger. "No, you!" With a surprising strength, his remaining hand drew a hidden dagger from his boot and leapt at Rhaena. She was stunned for the first time that day and pitched back, falling against one of the pylons of the bridge leading from the Hightower to the mainland. Morgen pinned her, knife thrust to her throat. Only just blocked by Dark Sister. "Any last words?" he spat out, teeth clenched as he tried to force the knife forward against her efforts.

Rhaena could only smirk. A dark one reflecting all her hate for this man. "Dracarys."

It was her fondest pleasure to see his eyes widen in terror as Dreamfyre reared her head and unleashed a stream of dragonfire on the both of them.

Only one felt pain as he died.

The other simply a gentle warmth as she merely laid back and savored her victory. Having gained justice for Ceryse and ending the war in one day.


He hated ostentatiousness.

There was a part to play for it, being the High Septon and needing to radiate the majesty of both the title and of the gods he represented. Hugor Flowers though was a simple man. Being the bastard of a King, all his needs were provided for growing up but he never had access to the glittering trinkets and trappings of royalty that his trueborn siblings managed to gain. It had fostered a love of the simple, of the plainly majestic, something he had continued as he rose up the ranks within the Starry Sept. The people adored him for it.

However, now all had changed. Facing himself in the mirror, Hugor tied every tie of his vestments perfectly. Taking great care with each and every one no matter how little. Draping the stole of silk over his neck, then the formal drape made of cloth of gold, and finally the silk and gold second stole, he reached for the bowl placed before him and grabbed each of the jewels contained within. Armbands, torques, rings, necklaces, sacred amulets featuring a symbol for each of the Seven, they glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the stained glass windows of his office - only barely obscured by the smoke.

If he was to die this day - and all signs pointed to that being quite certain - he would die displaying the full glory of the Faith of the Seven. Their corporeal existence could be wiped out, burned by the dragons, but the majesty of the gods could never be extinguished. Hugor Flowers would show it that day, his last manner of defiance.

In the corner of Hugor's eye, he spotted his young page boy trembling. It brought a small smile to Hugor's face, one of a gentle paternal concern. "What troubles you, lad?"

The boy stared at him, as if shocked that the High Septon of all people was speaking to him anything other than curt orders. "Um… your Holiness…"

"It is alright. You may say anything to me." His smile didn't falter. The boy was not one he knew. Mayhaps most of the servants had fled the Starry Sept. Hugor didn't blame them.

Biting his lip, he eventually sighed. "I'm afraid, your Holiness. The dragons are out there. We could all die."

"So why haven't you fled?"

The boy swallowed. "You're a good man, your Holiness… and my mother and sister have no one but me to bring them coin…"

Eying the boy, without hesitation Hugor removed one of his rings - a gold band inlaid with emeralds - and reached for the boy's hands. Placing the ring in the palm, chuckling at the boy's eyes widening into saucers. "Go. Sell this and care for your mother and sister. Find a nice wife and simply preserve the teachings of the Faith."

"I will, your Holiness. I promise."

"Good lad, now go, save yourself." The boy hugged him, a hug he happily reciprocated, before he did as bidded.

Ser Casper Straw, the last of his guards, entered Hugors chambers just as the boy fled. "Your Holiness…"

"Just tell me, Ser Casper," Hugor sighed, not wanting to hear euphemisms.

Gulping, the knight merely nodded. "The majority of the guard has fled. I'm all that remains."

"And the Most Devout?"

"Last I heard, Boniface was killed with Morgen Hightower by Queen Rhaena."

"Poor Boniface… as for Hightower he got what he deserved." What happened to Queen Ceryse… vile. Hugor didn't know until far later, but by then it was too late to properly discipline him, for his father and brother would raise a stink. "Barth?"

"I cannot find him."

"I see. And Moon?"

A shrug. "Last I saw of him, he headed for the Hightower… Dreamfyre turned much of it into a torch."

Well… that was that. "They're coming here?"

"Yes."

"Vhagar or Dreamfyre."

"Vhagar."

"I see." He'd deal with the final Conqueror, not the Dragon Queen. Fitting, Hugor figured. "You should go, Ser Casper. It isn't fair you must die as well."

But Casper shook his head. "I joined thinking I may have to martyr myself, and I intend to stand by that oath." Hugor replied not but to clasp the knight's hand, murmuring one last prayer for the both of them. Once Ser Casper shut the thick door behind him, standing guard, Hugor made his way to his desk. Gingerly grasping the crystal coronet and placing it atop the crown of his head. There, his regalia complete, he sat in his seat and waited patiently for what was to come.

His water clock proved only an hour passed when he heard the shouts through the door. "Open the door, cunt, and we'll spare your life!"

"You'll need to make it through me, apostate!" bellowed Ser Casper. Steel clashed against steel, the fight furious as Hugor prayed for Ser Casper's soul. He heard several cries of pain before a final one rang out. Farewell, brave knight. You'll dine with the Warrior tonight.

The door took a few blows before it burst open, a mix of Dornish and Velaryon guardsmen entering. He recognized the silver hair, pale skin, and aquamarine eyes of an aristocrat of that family… only to be greeted by a far more familiar figure. She had aged significantly from when they had first met, but Hugor would never forget. "Queen Visenya." He rose from his seat. "Welcome to my home… I regret that I am not able to offer you guest right."

"As if you'd honor it," the Velaryon hissed.

Hugor narrowed his eyes. "I resent that. I am no monster."

"Brandon Stark can attest to your lies."

"That was not of my doing… and Tyrion Lannister paid for his sins. As I will have to pay for mine, and you will need to pay for yours when your death comes."

The Velaryon was about to open his mouth again, but the Queen cut him off. "Enough." She stepped forward, eying Hugor with her still piercing violet eyes - losing none of their power with age. "So here we are, Hugor."

Hugor smiled softly. "Aye, here we are." There was a silence between them. "Will you burn me as you burned my father?"

Visenya nodded. "Such is the fate for those who betray House Targaryen."

"You do not have the right to rule us."

"Maegor defeated your champions in the Trial of Seven. According to your own laws, he has won the right to rule under divine sanction."

"A trial not sanctioned by me." In the staring game, he lost, blinking with a sigh. "But I suppose it doesn't matter. You and your house have won the greater trial. We did lose, but it was a noble effort."

Visenya spat. "Noble? You brought death and destruction to a peaceful land for nothing. That is the worst sin in my regard… your only choice now, Hugor, is whether Vhagar kills you, or Dreamfyre does. Rhaena wants to, but Vhagar is most likely to make your death quick."

"You'd concern yourself with sparing me pain?"

Her rageful expression softened somewhat. "A promise your sister made me swear. A mercy, given her affections for you."

Vivienne. Hugor had truly been hurt by her failure to join his cause, but perhaps it was for the best. Their blood could still live on through House Tyrell. "Tell her that I love her, and I couldn't have asked for a better sister." Visenya nodded. "But you are wrong, Visenya. Just as my father had an option rather than between execution and submission, so do I have another option. A third choice."

Visenya cocked her head. "Damn me, but I am curious."

Hugor smiled once more, the final bit of his preparation finally coming to effect. "I am truly tired, Visenya, and though in loss rather than triumph I look forward to peace." The dagger slipped down his sleeve into his palm. Velaryon rushed forward to protect the Queen Mother, but she was never in threat.

A simple action, one he didn't even feel besides a gentle punch through the chest. His eyes widened, then closed softly. Blissful darkness overtaking High Septon Hugor Flowers before he had even hit the ground.