Nights on Dragonstone had never been so restless.
Rhaenyra stood on a hill near the Dragonmont, the sea wind whipping her silver-gold hair into disarray. Not far away, the sound of slaughter shook the skies above the castle—the Valyrian army, destroying the surrendered Velaryon soldiers in their hands. And she stood here, helpless to do anything.
She could only think of her father.
Viserys was dead. The father who had carried her to the Iron Throne as a child, who had let her sit on his knee and play—dead. The Greens said she had poisoned him. The Faith and the Citadel agreed, and half of Westeros believed it. She had not even seen her father one last time, yet they said she had conspired with Orwyle to kill the king. It was shameless! They should be ashamed!
Rhaenyra closed her eyes.
Her dreams were full of Jacaerys, of Joffrey, of her father. Her father stood in the chambers of her childhood, his white hair gleaming, his arms reaching for her. She rushed toward him—but there was nothing there. Then she woke. Then she wept again.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Heavy, slow.
Rhaenyra did not turn.
Corlys Velaryon stood behind her. This old man, who had once commanded the largest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms, who had been so powerful, now seemed stooped.
"High Tide..." He was silent a long moment. "...is gone."
Gone.
Two words, light as a sigh.
Rhaenyra turned. She had never seen Corlys like this. The Sea Snake, who had dared to point at Viserys and rage at the Small Council, now trembled violently.
"Aemond, that beast... He burned the harbor, burned the docks... destroyed two hundred years of Velaryon foundation. More than forty thousand people. The forty thousand I left on the island—he herded them to Moonspire like cattle."
With each word, his shoulders dropped a little lower.
"Those who refused to surrender, those who refused to move, those who were too slow, and those who were implicated... he executed them. Old men, women, children... thousands of people. That bastard..."
He could not finish the curse. Because saying it would not bring High Tide back.
Rhaenyra reached out, trying to support him. But Corlys suddenly bent over, his mouth filling with dark red blood that splattered onto the black volcanic stone.
"Lord Corlys!"
Corlys waved off the panicked attendants. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slowly straightened.
"I spent sixty years making High Tide the richest land in the Seven Kingdoms. That bastard Aemond took a single month to undo it all."
Rhaenyra took his hand. The old man's hand was thick, covered with age spots.
"My lord," she said, with a vow in her voice. "High Tide is still there. You are still here. The fleet is still here. The people are still here. All can be rebuilt."
But Lord Corlys shook his head. This time, House Velaryon had been broken by Aemond.
---
In the Great Hall of Dragonstone, more than three hundred bodies lay upon the black stone floor, each in the heraldic armor of House Velaryon. Blood flowed like a river.
Rhaenyra's skirts brushed against the stone steps, staining with blood that had not yet dried. She did not look down.
"Who is the commander?"
An old knight of House Velaryon raised his head, holding a sword in his right hand and a battered helm in his left.
"There is no commander, Your Grace." The old knight's throat worked. "After Aemond took High Tide, he marched all the families of the Velaryon soldiers to Moonspire. For each day these men held out, he would release thirty of their kin. But if any surrendered..." He paused. "For every man who surrendered, a hundred of his kin would be killed."
The hall was silent as a tomb. No one dared breathe.
"So not one of them surrendered," said the old knight. "One batch died fighting, and the next went up. One batch died fighting, and the next went up."
He walked past the cold bodies.
"They held for five days. In five days, they killed more than eight hundred of us. Including twelve knights and the heir of a lord..." His voice cracked. "...and my son."
Quiet sobs filled the hall. The Velaryon soldiers who had entered Dragonstone alive now looked at the bodies of their kin, at the sword wounds that kin had carved into kin.
"We still have families locked in Moonspire." The old knight raised his head. "Your Grace..."
He did not finish. But Rhaenyra understood.
She was silent a long time. Then she spoke, and she vowed.
"I promise you. Aemond Targaryen and the Greens will pay for all of this." She spoke the words one by one. "For every kinsman of mine who has died, for every kinsman of yours who has died. If the Seven will not let me live to see that day, then let my son, or my son's son, or my son's grandson, pursue them to the end. Blood debt must be paid with blood."
The old knight looked at her.
After a long time, he knelt.
"I have only this life. Your Grace may take it at any time."
The sound of armor clashing was like a tide washing over the stone floor. One by one, the Velaryon soldiers fell to their knees.
Corlys stood motionless, unmoving.
Rhaenys came to him and took his hand gently. The old princess did not speak, only stood quietly beside him.
---
In the corner of the hall, a prisoner lay grievously wounded, unconscious. Now he slowly opened his eyes. His armor had been stripped; only a torn, blood-soaked shirt remained.
Rhaenyra approached him.
"What is your name?"
The young man looked up.
"Wilderic. Wilderic Velaryon."
Corlys turned his head. He remembered the young man. Two years ago, in the hall of High Tide, he had laid the flat of his sword upon this young distant kinsman's shoulder and knighted him.
"Wilderic?" He hurried forward.
Wilderic lowered his head.
"Forgive me, Lord Corlys. I did not wish to do it."
No one in the hall spoke.
After a long time, Wilderic raised his head again. He looked at Corlys, at Rhaenyra, at the silent lords and knights.
"I do not wish to live. For the sake of my family, I killed many of my own people, as he commanded. I deserve death."
He continued bitterly. "The prince said it was the price for House Velaryon trying to match itself with the Targaryens."
Corlys's body trembled. Rhaenys held him close. Tears fell from the old princess's eyes.
All because of my overreaching ambition, Corlys thought. All because I tried to make House Velaryon a second family of dragon kings.
He reached out, trying to lift Wilderic from the floor.
"Live. Survive, and fight beside me."
Wilderic took the lord's hand.
Then he laughed.
"Lord Corlys. My family is still in their hands. If my surrender becomes known..." He looked at the cold bodies of the surrendered soldiers beside him. "I am sorry for them. They will all be killed. Then what meaning is there in my life?"
Corlys did not answer. No one could answer.
Wilderic drew a dagger from his belt. He looked at them all.
"I pray Your Grace, my lord, wins this war. Avenge us."
The dagger pierced his throat. Blood sprayed.