The Cliffs of Dragonstone.
Night on Dragonstone had never been so clamorous. Rhaenyra stood on the cliffs not far from the Dragonmont, her silver hair whipped into a frenzy by the sea gale.
Nearby, within the walls of Dragonstone, the air was thick with the deafening roars of slaughter.
It was Velaryon soldiers killing Velaryon defectors. And as she stood there, she found herself powerless to stop it.
Her thoughts drifted to her father. Viserys was dead.
The father who had carried her to the Iron Throne when she was a child, who had let her play upon his knees, was gone.
The Greens claimed she had poisoned him. The Faith and the Citadel had remained silent, effectively giving their consent, and half of Westeros believed the lie.
She hadn't even been allowed to see him one last time, yet they branded her and Orwyle as regicidal conspirators.
It was utterly shameless! They should be drowning in their own ignominy.
Rhaenyra closed her eyes. Her dreams were haunted by Jacaerys, Joffrey, and her father.
She saw Viserys in his chambers, as he was when she was small; he wore his white nightshirt, his hair thin and grey, reaching out to her with open arms.
She would lunge toward him, only to grasp at empty air. Then she would wake, finding her face wet with fresh tears.
Footsteps approached from behind. They were heavy and slow. Rhaenyra did not turn.
Corlys Velaryon came to a halt behind her.
This man, who once commanded the greatest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms, an old man of once-limitless power, now stood with a hunched back.
"High Tide..." he paused for a long time.
"It is gone."
Gone. Two syllables as light as a dying breath.
Rhaenyra turned around. She had never seen Corlys like this.
The Sea Snake, who had once dared to shout at Viserys I during Small Council meetings, now had lips that trembled violently.
"Aemond, that animal..."
"He burned the ports. He burned the shipyards... he burned two hundred years of Velaryon legacy. Forty thousand people. The forty thousand people I left on the island were herded like cattle to Rook's Rest."
With every word, his shoulders seemed to sink further.
"Those who wouldn't surrender, those who wouldn't relocate, those who moved too slowly, and those simply guilty by association... he ordered them executed. The old, the women, the children... thousands of them. That bastard..."
He didn't finish his curse. No amount of vitriol would bring High Tide back.
Rhaenyra reached out to steady him, but Corlys suddenly doubled over.
A spray of dark red blood splattered onto the black volcanic rock.
"My Lord!"
Corlys waved away the frantic attendants. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve and slowly straightened his back.
"I spent sixty years turning High Tide into the wealthiest land in the Seven Kingdoms. That wretch Aemond took only one month to turn it into a wasteland where not a blade of grass grows."
Rhaenyra took his hand. The old man's knuckles were large and gnarled, covered in age spots.
"My Lord," she said with the weight of a vow.
"High Tide still exists. You are here, the fleet is here, and our people are here. Everything can be rebuilt."
But Lord Corlys shook his head. This time, House Velaryon had been cut to the very bone by Aemond.
------
The Great Hall of Dragonstone.
Over three hundred bodies lay across the black stone floor, each clad in the seahorse heraldry of House Velaryon. Blood flowed in rivers.
Rhaenyra's hem swept across the stone steps, picking up a streak of wet blood, but she did not look down.
"Who was their commander?"
An old Velaryon knight looked up, his right hand gripping his sword and his left cradling a mangled helmet.
"They had no commander, Your Grace," the knight said, his throat bobbing.
"After Aemond captured High Tide, he moved all the families of the Velaryon soldiers to Rook's Rest. For every day these men held out, Aemond would release thirty of their kin. But if anyone surrendered..."
He paused. "For every defector, a hundred family members were to be slaughtered."
The hall became as silent as a tomb. No one dared to breathe. Rhaenyra remained silent.
"So, none of them surrendered," the old knight continued.
"One group died in battle, and the next took their place. That group died, and the next stepped forward."
He looked over the cold corpses.
"They held for five days. In those five days, they killed over eight hundred of our men. Including twelve knights, an heir to an Earldom... and my son."
Low sobs echoed through the hall. The Velaryon soldiers who had entered Dragonstone alive now stared at the bodies of their kin, seeing the sword marks where blood had been forced to strike blood.
"We still have family imprisoned at Rook's Rest," the old knight said, looking up.
"Your Grace..."
He didn't finish, but Rhaenyra understood. She remained silent for a long time.
Then she spoke, her voice a solemn promise.
"I give you my word. Aemond Targaryen and the Greens will pay for this. For every one of my fallen kin, and for every one of yours. If the Seven do not permit me to live to see that day, then let my sons, or my sons' sons, and their descendants after them, hunt them to the end of time. A debt of blood must be paid in blood."
The old knight watched her. After a long moment, he dropped to one knee.
"I have only this life left. Your Grace may take it whenever she wishes."
The clatter of armor rang out like a tide over the stone.
One by one, the Velaryon soldiers knelt. Corlys remained standing, unmoving. Rhaenys walked to his side and gently took his hand.
The Queen Who Never Was said nothing; she simply stood with him in the silence.
In a corner of the hall, a lone prisoner, heavily wounded and previously unconscious, slowly opened his eyes.
His armor had been stripped away, leaving only a tattered, blood-stained tunic. Rhaenyra walked toward him.
"What is your name?"
The youth looked up. "Vildrick."
"Vildrick Velaryon," Corlys said, turning his head. He remembered this young man.
Two years ago, in the hall of High Tide, he had personally tapped his sword on this young distant cousin's shoulder and dubbed him a knight.
"Vildrick?" He walked over quickly.
Vildrick lowered his head. "I am sorry, Lord Corlys. I did not want it to be this way."
Silence fell over the hall. Finally, Vildrick looked up again at Corlys, at Rhaenyra, and at the silent Lords and knights.
"I do not ask for my life. For the sake of my family, I did as he commanded. I killed many of our own. I deserve ten thousand deaths."
He continued bitterly, "That Prince said... this was the price for the Velaryons attempting to lay hands upon the Targaryens."
Corlys's body swayed. Rhaenys caught him, supporting his weight.
Tears of old age leaked from his eyes. It was all because of his own swelling ambition.
Because he had fantasized about making House Velaryon a second House of the Dragon.
He reached out, trying to pull Vildrick up from the floor.
"Live. Live, and fight back with me."
Vildrick gripped the Lord's hand.
Then he smiled. "Lord Corlys... my family is still in their hands. If word of my surrender gets out..."
He glanced at the cold bodies of the other defectors.
"I truly would have failed them. They would all be executed. What point would there be in living then?"
Corlys could not answer. No one could.
Vildrick drew a dagger from his waist and looked at the crowd.
"I wish Your Grace and my Lord victory in this war. Avenge us."
The dagger plunged straight into his throat, and blood splattered.
-----
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