Hello everyone! Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year. And speaking of the new year, here is the first chapter of 2024! Sorry it took so long for it to be published. It was originally going to be one chapter, but it soon proved itself to be a two-parter. Please enjoy.

Author's Note: Profanity and scenes of carnage.

Goldengrove

The Morning after the Battle of Horn Hill

"I will burn them all... I will burn them all... I will burn them all..."

"Your grace?"

"I will burn them all... Send off each and every one of them from this veil of tears screaming..."

"Pardon me, your grace?"

"Burn them all in the name of my husband, my son, my good-sister..."

"Your grace?"

The feeling of a big hand touching her shoulder snapped Baela out of the silent recitation of her vengeance mantra. Opening her eyes to the pale greenness of Moondancer's crest, Baela's other senses soon returned to her. Sound: neighing horses, barking dogs, male voices chattering or shouting out orders, footsteps, and the clattering of plate and the rattling of mail. Smell: soiled straw, animal excrement, traces of body odor from the men and horses and apple blossoms. Touch: the uniform bumpiness of Moondancer's scales beneath her fingertips, and the hard ground beneath her feet.

Looking over her shoulder, her hands still cradling her dragon's cheeks, Baela finally addressed who had been trying to get her attention. It was her host, Robert Rowan, the Lord of Goldengrove. Standing with his lordship were three other men: Ser Franklyn Rowan, Robert's son and heir; and the family's maester and septon. The men's expressions were all grim, and Robert was clutching something in his hand. Baela's purple eyes fell on Lord Rowan's closed fist and rose to meet his gaze again.

"What's the matter, Robert? What's in your hand?"

The grimness of Robert's face melted into sorrow. It was obvious that he was dreading having to tell Baela something. The princess let go of Moondancer to turn around fully to face the four. Baela did not show any overt sign of concern, but she had an inkling as to what was about to be told to her. Robert sighed and finally spoke.

"Your grace, I am afraid that I have only bad news to share with you. It's about Horn Hill..."

Robert told Baela about the Battle of Horn Hill, how Macetail had been killed alongside Lord Alan Tarly and his kinsmen, their killer being Seasmoke. Going over this horrible news had to be hard on Robert since Alan was kin to him, his mother being Robert's first cousin, Lady Jeyne Rowan. Not only that, but Jeyne and her grandchildren had been taken captive by the Greens after the battle. Robert kept his pain bottled up inside just as Baela had been doing all this time. The widowed princess was shockingly stoic when she learned of the death of her youngest son, Prince Aelyx Targaryen, over a fortnight ago, and today, her reaction to the news that the last connection to her boy had been killed was the same.

"How many men have you been able to field so far, Lord Rowan?"

The question caught Robert off guard.

"What?" He was brought up to speed by Baela repeating her question. "Oh! Yes... The number changes every day, my lady, but yesterday the count was 5,500."

"And that includes men from your bannermen, correct?" Baela asked, seeking clarification, to which Robert nodded. "I see," Baela turned around and adopted a thinking stance, murmuring, "And including my host makes that number 6,500..."

She then looked up at the sky with her hands behind her back as if contemplating its vast blueness. "Why don't we set out for Highgarden today, my lord?"

The four men blinked again in surprise. "Today, princess?" stammered Lord Rowan, who was shocked by Baela's question. Baela swiveled her face to address her startled host.

"Yes. Today, Robert."

"But we haven't finished raising our host, my lady." This protest was made by Franklyn, who did his best to be polite with the princess. "Our host is normally 12,000 strong, and we can raise half that number in little over a month. Forgive me for asking this, princess, but how do you think we can take on the Tyrell's with an army of over 6,000 men?"

"Lord Tyrell's host will not be as big as it should be with some of his strongest bannermen fighting for the other side or having already sustained heavy casualties since the start of this rebellion. Yesterday's battle at Horn Hill should have been no different, especially if both armies had a dragon in their arsenal. Highgarden will not be well defended, even less so the towns and villages of the Tyrell's domain.

"Not only that, but your ranks include my dragon Moondancer."

"That may be true, my lady, but the Greens have two dragons on their side, both of whom are bigger than Moondancer."

"I know that," Baela replied curtly. "I will handle Tessarion and Seasmoke in due course. I do not fear death."

The four men were unnerved by the princess's statement. Was Baela trying to commit suicide by heading off to war with a half-formed army? Had she gone mad from all her losses? Neither Lord Rowan nor his son and courtiers felt brave enough to inquire Baela about her mental health. There was a sinister glint in the princess's eyes that made the four men believe that she was going mad, the destructive type of mad.

Baela turned wordlessly away from the men and headed for Moondancer's saddle, harness and reins. "Assemble your men, Lord Rowan," commanded Baela as she gathered her dragonriding equipment. "We'll set out after the host has been gathered and Moondancer has been harnessed. Make haste." Robert gaped at the princess as she busied herself with preparing her dragon for battle.

"Y-yes, my lady. I will," stammered the lord as he turned and went off to gather his men. Franklyn followed his father, and Maester Andros and the septon went their separate ways. Time flew by as Robert got his host ready alongside a Targaryen commander who carried out Baela's order to organize their forces. Even amidst the organized chaos of assembling the host, many noted how serene Princess Baela looked as she readied Moondancer for flight, which she took her time doing.

Moondancer was saddled and harnessed by the time the host was assembled, and they marched from Goldengrove as soon as Baela mounted her dragon. The once peaceful morning scene became marred with the clamor of rattling metal, marching feet and trotting hooves, and the colorful banners of Houses Osgrey, Rowan, Targaryen, and Webber outshone the pretty white and pink blossoms on the apple trees outside. Baela flew above at the head of the army, Moondancer's shadow fluttering just ahead of the horses of Robert, Franklyn, and Franklyn's two oldest sons: fourteen year old Ferdinand and thirteen year old Fulbert. Energy levels were high amongst the men, a mixture of excitement and anxiety over their premature marching off to war. Robert and Franklyn still felt uneasy over this march, but did not share this with Lords Webber and Osgrey, whose questions over Princess Baela's decision to march for Highgarden today without a full host were met with vague reassurances; the Targaryen commander knew better than to question the princess given her standing and the losses she had suffered so far.

It was well into the afternoon when the Rowan-Targaryen host crossed into Tyrell lands. Marking this border was a cairn as tall as a boy on the cusp of ten that had a yellow rose bush growing next to it. Standing just walking distance away from these markers was a village with a vast flowering orchard and fields of green grain.

"I don't see any signs of resistance," spoke Ferdinand as the army approached the picturesque place. Some of the villagers stopped what they were doing to gawk at the approaching army, puzzled by the sight before going into defense mode.

"Oh, there will be, my boy. There will be. But it won't be much. We've caught them off guard..."

Robert's words trailed off after he heard the roar of dragonfire being unleashed. He looked from his grandson to see Moondancer unleashing a great gout of pale green and white dragonfire on the thatched roofs of the first cottages she came across, the dry thatch going up instantaneously. But Moondancer didn't stop there. She let out a tremendous roar after burning the first row of houses and set fire to more buildings. Houses, barns, the town square and marketplace, and even the fields and orchards were all set alight with only the sept being spared from burning.

Screaming and crying could be heard amidst the flames, and people could be seen running in an attempt to escape Moondancer or trying to rescue loved ones or precious possessions. Those same people soon fell victim to Moondancer's fires, which she breathed upon the scurrying masses, devouring those that had been charred to her liking. While this was all happening, Lord Rowan and his men watched the ensuing carnage in stunned silence.

"Father?" Franklyn asked nervously. "What should we do?"

Robert squeezed his horse's reins in his hands before reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Follow the princess's lead," replied Robert after unsheathing his sword. "Rain down fire and blood on those who dare to defy the Dragon Queen!" Pointing his sword in the direction of the burning village, Robert led the charge, the resulting din of shouting blood-thirsty men being louder than the roaring flames themselves. Fire raged and blood flowed as the Blacks unleashed an unholy vengeance upon the first unlucky victim to stand in their way.

Moondancer's rampage had done a great deal of damage already by the time the Rowan's and Targaryen's entered the village, but there was still plenty of destruction for the men to cause on their own be it killing, raping, or sacking (if the building wasn't on fire). Those who survived the onslaught either found sanctuary in their untouched sept or fled in all directions. Baela watched the chaos from Moondancer's perch on the village sept's steeple. Firelight glowed off Moondancer's pearlescent belly scales and horns and glimmered in her rider's eyes.

Baela's countenance was no longer stoic. Her mouth was set into a scowl, and her eyes were wrathful. She had roared at the same time Moondancer unleashed her flames upon the village, a roar that was as loud as the rushing dragonfire and just as intense as the fire's heat. That roar had been a culmination of all the pain, grief, and fury that Baela had been bottling up inside for the past moon's turn, a personal best for the hot-tempered princess. The deaths of Jacaerys, Thea, Arrax, Alyn, Tyraxes, Aelyx, and now Macetail; the capture of Lucerys and Joffrey, the betrayal of Jaehaerys and his family. It was all enough to drive anyone mad, and Baela had been edging closer to madness with each passing day in the wake of endless heartache.

But starting today, the Greens were going to learn just how far their actions had pushed Baela past her breaking point. From this day forward, the Greens were going to taste Baela's vengeance, and Seven have mercy on those who stood in the princess's way for she was certainly not going to show any mercy to any enemy be they Green or innocent.

"I will burn them all... I will give them fire and blood... No one will be safe from me... No man, no woman, no child... No one.

"Jaehaerys will burn, Jaehaera will burn, their children will burn, Aemond and his sons will burn, Daeron and his children will burn including his grandchildren; cook Lord Tyrell's unborn whelp in Saera's womb along with her! Greens, Hightower's, Tyrell's, Redwyne's, Costayne's, Florent's... Burn every single fucking one of them to ash and bone. ALL OF THEM!"

Highgarden

Three Days Later...

Refugees who had fled the destruction of their homes had been sharing harrowing stories ever since the first batch of refugees reached Highgarden two days ago. Every recounting was alike. Villagers were going about their daily business until an advancing army with a pale green dragon was spotted. Next thing anyone knew was that same dragon swooping down on their village and breathing fire upon buildings, people, livestock, and fields indiscriminately. Soldiers wearing livery depicting red dragons and spiders, golden trees, and green and blue checkered lions put villagers to the sword and destroyed their mills, fields, and orchards with torches and axes or hatchets.

People scrambling to save loved ones, precious possessions, or themselves amidst the chaos; some released their farm animals to give them a chance to escape impending doom. People running in every direction wherever their legs could carry them, with some fleeing to Appleton, Hammerhal, and Risley Glade while the bulk of these refugees headed for Highgarden. The physical appearances of most of the refugees were as similar as their stories were: thousand-yard stares and sweaty skin smeared with soot and dirt that was oftentimes etched with tear trails that was reminiscent of woodworm markings found on trees and logs. The latest batch of refugees came from a village called Peachwell that was less than four leagues away from Highgarden.

After Peachwell, all that stood between the Blacks and Highgarden was an open road flanked by the Tyrell's peach and fireplum orchards, melon patches, and yellow rose fields. Despite the starkness of her situation, Mary saw a "silver-lining" in this latest loss. Peachwell's citizens were forewarned about Baela and the Rowan's approach by refugees from other destroyed settlements, and the villagers abandoned Peachwell well before the Blacks arrived. What the people of Peachwell brought with them to Highgarden were food, livestock, and, most importantly of all, an intact male population. These viable males supplemented the Tyrell's readily available force of household knights and soldiers from conscription or whatever men could be spared from Houses Vyrwel, Wythers, Crane, and Ambrose.

Normally, House Tyrell could raise up to ten-thousand men in two weeks, but their current manpower was short of less than half that number since Lyonel had taken those men with him down to Horn Hill. Gods, Lord Lyonel Tyrell was probably in a frenzy at that moment after reading the letters his mother had been sending him in the past few days. Lyonel wrote to his mother swearing to her that he was cobbling together what was left of his army as quickly as he could to march on Highgarden to fight the Blacks. Prince Lydus Targaryen was absent from Horn Hill since he had been dispatched by Lyonel to fly his baby daughter Daena and surviving brothers-in-law Valerion and Aeryn back to Oldtown to be reunited with their family, but Lydus swore that he and Seasmoke would return to Horn Hill as fast as possible after dropping off his cousins.

Joining Daena and her uncles at Oldtown was her pregnant mother, Princess Saera Targaryen. Saera had been evacuated to her hometown not long after the first wave of refugees arrived at Highgarden bearing news of Baela's rampage in the Reach Proper. To think that just five days before Saera and her mother-in-law celebrated Horn Hill falling to the Greens and that Lyonel, Lydus, Daena, Valerion and Aeryn were all safe, joy that was even apparently felt by the unborn Tyrell in their mother's womb, for the little one kicked at a lively pace that delighted Saera. It was hard to see Saera go, but Mary knew that it was the right thing to do; she could not bear the idea of any harm befalling her daughter-in-law and unborn grandchild. And it was their safety that Mary was praying for in Higharden's sept on the morning of the 19th Day of the 11th Moon of 150 AC.

Mary was kneeling before the altar of the Mother with her septa when the sounds of the chapel door being pushed open with great force and rushing feet disrupted the peaceful silence. Her ladyship and the septa rose to their knees to see who their visitor was; Mary's sworn shield and two ladies-in-waiting, who were witnessing the prayer session, rose from their pews to see who had entered the sept so noisily. The visitor was Highgarden's maester, Eleison.* He rushed down the aisle panting and red-faced towards the dowager lady. Words spilled out of the maester's mouth as soon as he came to a stop, doing his best to share his message before catching his breath.

"Princess Baela and the Rowan's have been spotted!"

Mary and her entourage exchanged worried looks as Maester Eleison panted. The Blacks were on their way to Highgarden at last. Mary did not bother to ask Eleison how far away the enemy army was; if the castle guards on the walls could see the Blacks, then they would be arriving at Highgarden in less than an hour's time. House Tyrell had to act now. Without a moment to lose, Mary hurried out of the chapel with her entourage and Maester Eleison in tow.

News that the Rowan-Targaryen army had been spotted spread like wildfire throughout Highgarden as did panic and a call to arms. Terrified women and children and the infirm were herded into the castle by guardsmen and stewards, their instructions nearly drowned out by the crying, screaming, and anxious chatter of the non-combatants. Every available healthy man of fighting age both highborn and smallfolk scrambled to find arms and armor. Highgarden's three battlements swarmed with archers and crossbowmen, siege weaponry was manned, and cauldrons of oil boiled away in the great courtyard; it was a scene like what went on at Horn Hill just five days prior. There is no way that Mary Crane could have known about this odd coincidence, like it mattered anyway.

Well, except for one important thing. Another dragon. Saera's father Prince Daeron Targaryen was on his way to Highgarden with a substantial force from Oldtown atop the Blue Queen. Daeron's host had left for Highgarden five days ago, and, Seven willing there was nothing standing in their way on the Roseroad, Daeron and his men were due to arrive later that afternoon. Highgarden was huge and well defended; it should be able to withstand a siege and a single dragon.

Mary observed the progress of the advancing Black army from Highgarden's tallest watchtower. She saw Moondancer swoop down on House Tyrell's beautiful demesne and breathe dragonfire down upon blossoming trees and vines whose only crime was that they bore fruit for the enemy. Hard as the destruction of the orchards and melon patches was to be witnessed, Mary and her entourage cringed even harder when Moondancer's pale green fires were breathed upon the yellow rose fields. Magnificent roses of the boldest yellow were reduced to piles of depressing grey ash, leaving behind ugly blackened vines if anything at all as the dragonfire burned them down. Mary, whose hands were clutching a parapet, tightened her grip on the stone corners hard enough that she nearly broke the skin on her palms, despair and rage burning inside her as fiercely as Moondancer's flames did on her son's lands.

It was those same lands that entertained and nourished Baela's children and nieces and nephews during the Royal Progress of 140 AC ten years earlier. Lyonel had presented Baela's daughter with a yellow rose upon House Targaryen's arrival at Highgarden, and that same daughter and her brothers and their cousins all feasted upon the delicious bounty that grew within the domain that was Highgarden. Bread and salt had been offered to Baela and her kinfolk when they first came to Highgarden then, and they were shown the beauty of the Tyrell's realm. But now, a decade later, Baela was destroying that very domain that had given her family so much pleasure in the past. Today, the princess and her forces would be shown House Tyrell's thorns and be served their fire and steel.

Baela flew ahead of her host and had Moondancer fly straight for Highgarden. The great castle sat on a hill and was defended by three tiers of large defensive walls from which jutted out watchtowers both square shaped and reed thin. Baela remembered well the briar maze that stood between the outer and middle ramparts of the castle from when she observed her children trying to navigate through it from above on Moondancer's back ten years ago, and a faint smile of sad pride waxed on her face as the princess remembered that her son had burned that maze to the ground nearly a month ago. "Thank you, Aelyx," Baela whispered to herself.

"I will destroy the Tyrell's in your name. I will avenge you, my dear departed son. I will..."

Sensing her rider's resolve, Moondancer let out a menacing roar as she neared Highgarden. "Fire!" shouted the head archers and crossbowmen and siege engineers. Waves of arrows, quarrels, and bolts came flying from Highgarden's outer wall in hopes of striking down Moondancer. But the first wave did not strike their target; Baela had her dragon fly upwards right before reaching the trajectory of the outer wall's artillery line, and eager fingers on the wall had released drawstrings in anticipation of Moondancer coming into range.

Moondancer flew up into the sky, surpassing Highgarden's tallest tower, after which the she-dragon turned gracefully in midair and came torpedoing down towards the castle. Starting with the innermost wall, Moondancer blasted the defenders stationed there with dragonfire, flying the entire circumference until every man had been torched and was screaming in agony. While the inner wall was the smallest, Moondancer still had to exert considerable effort burn the entire thing, tiring out her throat and exhausting the flames in her gullet. Baela could tell that her dragon could not breathe anymore fire for now when she heard a deep wheeze accompanying her last fiery gout, which was thinner but no less hot. "That would make for a perfect perch for us," said Baela as she eyed the tallest watchtower, where Mary and her courtiers stood gawping at the princess and her dragon.

Baela leered at Mary, causing the older woman to flinch and back away from the parapets. Moondancer flapped her wings and became airborne. "Run! Head for the great hall!" Mary commanded as everyone turned tail and ran down the spiral staircase, their pace quickening when they heard the tower's roof creak from under Moondancer's weight and the dragon's sinister growling.

Until Moondancer had recovered enough to breathe fire again, she would stay put on top of that tower. The Rowan host should be able to deal with the remaining two walls of Highgarden on their own until Moondancer could help them. But Baela glanced around the towers, a smile of sinister realization forming on her face. Moondancer could snack off the guardsman manning the watchtowers; fill her belly as her fires built back up inside her. Moondancer took flight again and flew towards the nearest square tower on her left to devour the archers who were standing on the roof.

Meanwhile, Lord Robert Rowan led his men up the road until they reached an area that Robert deemed to be a good battle line for his forces. Archers were brought up front to open fire on the Tyrell defenders manning the outer wall. Siege engineers started assembling trebuchets and battering rams. Infantrymen formed a shield wall and marched on Highgarden with men behind them carrying scaling ladders and holding shields over their heads. Good for the Tyrell's that the Blacks did not see the steam coming from the boiling oil in the castle courtyard.

Messengers were dispatched to command that oil be carried to the outer wall along with large rocks to be thrown down on the besiegers. Lord Osgrey's men were the first to reach the wall, setting up their ladders and scaling up them brandishing swords and maces. Some of the archers and crossbowmen on the walls fired at the attackers, but they were soon told to save their missiles for the main army. Six rungs separated the first wave of Black invaders from Highgarden's parapets when defenders carrying heavy cauldrons poured the boiling oil down on their enemies. Heavy torrents of scalding liquid splashed onto the soldiers scaling the ladders, burning off layers of exposed skin, burns exasperated and spread by the rapid heating of metal that came in contact with the oil.

Hideous agonized screams could be heard coming from those scalded by the oil as they fell from the ladders; soldiers on the lower rungs made the rash decision to jump when they saw the steaming cauldrons tip over the parapets. Men writhed about in exquisite pain from either horrific burns or broken bones while their able-bodied comrades, some bold and some forced, made a mad dash to climb up the bare ladders to get on the wall. Those leading the second wave were met with large heavy rocks being thrown down onto them. Rocks that dented helms and fractured skulls and facial bones and broke arms. The second wave of attackers fell off the ladders and onto the ground, sometimes on the bodies from the failed first wave, but just as a shark always grows a new tooth in place of a lost one, there were always more men for the Blacks to throw at the Greens.

As the Blacks dealt with missiles, boiling oil, and rocks, Moondancer regained her dragonflame after feasting on the defenders on the watchtowers along Highgarden's inner wall. Taking a deep breath, Moondancer repeated what she had done to the inner wall earlier, breathing down a great gout of pale green and white flames down upon the middle wall. That crenellated wall was bigger than the inner one was, and Moondancer could only burn half of the middle wall's circumference in one go before exhausting her flames again. Dragonfire or no dragonfire, Moondancer still had her jaws, and she landed on the untouched half of the middle wall to tear into the enemy defenders who were still manning it. The she-dragon snapped grown men in half between her powerful jaws, threw men off the wall, bit off limbs and trampled the screaming unfortunate souls underneath her great feet, and crushed scorpions with a mighty swing of her head like a club.

The proximity of Moondancer's noisy rampage distracted the defenders on the outer wall, a distraction that was soon exploited by the invaders. The Blacks were able to get a foothold on the outer wall, using pure manpower to earn every inch of stone while Moondancer burned and ravaged the middle wall. It was Lord Webber's nephew who led a small contingent of men towards the outer wall's gatehouse, slaughtering the defenders there and opening the gate for the Blacks. Cheers erupted from the army outside and even Moondancer roared in celebration at this hard-earned achievement. And the Blacks' luck seemed to get even better as the middle gate opened without anyone in the gatehouse needing to be stormed.

"Moondancer must have scared the gatekeepers," mused Lord Rowan as he observed the middle gate's opening from afar as men cheered around him.

"That and us taking the outer wall, father," added Franklyn, a tidbit that Robert nodded in agreement with. Franklyn observed that although his father nodded, he was frowning.

"We should be careful -" Robert said before his sentence was cut off by more shouting and cheering. The reason for the latest wave of excitement was deciphered by whatever Robert and Franklyn could hear from the men around them. Apparently, the inner gate was opening. Battle cries pregnant with bloodlust and joy rose up like a fire fed by a bellows, and Franklyn and his father and two sons watched as their soldiers ran up the castle path. But only the main gate of the inner wall had been opened – the portcullis was still shut; perhaps the soldiers, high on their endorphin rush, thought they could break the portcullis down with their weapons?

Figures could be seen standing behind the portcullis, but the mad dash to the gate blinded the Blacks to what the figures at the portcullis were standing around, least of all the three great rolling, evanescent clouds of steam that flowed between the figures. Baela saw the trap from where her vantage point on the middle wall from Moondancer's back.

The princess shouted "Stop! Turn back! You've been tricked!", but her words were drowned out by the high cacophony. The Blacks only realized what was going to happen when they were in range of the Tyrell's trap. The figures behind the gate tipped over the objects they had been standing around – three great cauldrons of boiling oil. A flood of scalding hot oil flooded down the path through the portcullis's holes towards the feet of the besiegers. Oil washed over the cobbles and seeped in between the plating of sabatons and through leather boots of the soldiers in front of the charging horde.

The men's cheers and battle-cries turned to panicked shouts and pained roars as the oil cooked their feet, the ones whose feet had been burned fell into the oil and hurt themselves further. But that wasn't the worst of it. Highgarden's defenders frantically shoveled river sand through the bottom of the portcullis while their comrades threw flaming sticks through the holes, sticks that had been lit by the fires used to boil the cauldrons. Those fiery sticks ignited the oil-soaked path between the inner and middle walls, turning it into a river of fire. The Black soldiers who had been immobilized by their oil burns were caught in the fire, suffering even more agonizing pain as they writhed about in their death throes.

"Bastards!" Baela hissed through her teeth. "Come on, Moondancer," she said as she urged her dragon into action. Moondancer grunted and flapped her wings, but a distant roar interrupted her takeoff. Baela looked over her shoulder.

Some of the Blacks heard the roar too, and it was a Rowan calvaryman who spotted the origin of the sound. "Look over there!" the man called out as he pointed to his left. It was Tessarion the Blue Queen. She had arrived at last, and her army, while not yet visible, could not have been far behind.

Baela's march down to Highgarden is a Medieval battle tactic called "chevauchee". It's when an army destroys an enemy region's productive capabilities to hobble the enemy's war effort. Soldiers taking part in a chevauchee would kill livestock (and people of course), destroy mills, farms, and granaries.

*: The name for Maester Eleison was inspired by the name of Maester Kyrie, the maester who served Lord Rogar Baratheon in the previous century and delivered Rogar's daughter, Jocelyn, in 54 AC. Their names come from the Latin phrase "Kyrie Eleison", which in English means "Lord have mercy".

Next up, Battle of Highgarden - Part II. Stay tuned!