'Closure'

.

. .

. . .

| Author's Note: WE HIT 1 MILLION VIEWS?!

Dear readers,

(Rubs eyes, and double-checks stats.)

Nope, it's real! We just hit 1 million views!

I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or spontaneously combust in a flurry of confetti and dragon eggs.

When I started this fanfic, I never imagined it would grow into this monstrous, fire-breathing beast of a story. Honestly, I thought I'd get a handful of readers, maybe some polite applause, and then quietly fade into obscurity like a forgotten Frey family member. But here we are, a million views later, and I feel like I just won the Iron Throne (minus the constant threat of assassination).

First, let's take a moment to appreciate what this milestone truly means,— a million views.

That's more people than the combined armies of the Reach and the Westerlands.

If this fanfic were a kingdom, I'd need to hire Varys, Littlefinger, AND Olenna Tyrell to keep things running smoothly (and even then, I'd probably end up poisoned).

I owe this to you, my wonderful, chaotic, and slightly bloodthirsty readers. You've cheered for my OC's ruthless actions, cursed his non-existant luck in love, and left comments that range from "OMG, this chapter wrecked me! Aenys is such a masterplanner." to "Why does he even feel bad for Alicent, truly?"

To celebrate, I considered commissioning a bard to write a song about this fanfic's rise to glory, but since I'm on a fanfic writer's budget (read: broke), I'll settle for dedicating this chapter to all of you. Yes, even the ones who keep asking if there's any yuri in the story.

I still can't understand how people dislike seeing two beautifull women kissing eachother or something...

Anyway, in all seriousness, thank you for being part of this journey. Whether you've been here since the prologue or stumbled upon this fanfic last night during a 2 AM scroll, your support means the world to me.

Now, grab a goblet of wine (or water, if you're a Maester), because this next chapter is about to knock your dragon-hide boots off...

I hope...? xD... (I'm totally not nervous about the reactions to a 1st person pov chapter...)

So! Here's to another million views, more plot twists than a Dornish labyrinth, and enough drama to make even Cersei clutch her pearls.

Let's keep the story(and the chaos) alive!

With love, laughter, and slightly burnt quills,

Your (now slightly overwhelmed) author.

Enjoy!

. . .

. .

.

| Aenys 1st Person Pov - A few minutes after speaking with Viserys over Otto's letter:

A knocking sound echoed softly down the dim corridor, louder than I intended in the stillness of the Red Keep at night,— almost swallowed by the vast stone walls,— yet to me, it felt intrusive.

Beside me, at each side of the double doors, Ser Criston and Ser Steffon stood motionless, silent as shadows, their presence a reminder of duty even in moments like these.

The flicker of torchlight painted jagged shapes on the polished wood of Rhaenyra's chamber doors, and I found myself hesitating, a rare moment of uncertainty flickering through me.

What was I doing here? Why did I feel compelled to disturb her rest?

The answer eluded me, though the pull was undeniable. My brother's words from earlier, the weight of our conversation, they had left me restless.

And so here I was, hoping to find some clarity in her presence.

For a moment, there was no response, only the faint sound of a hearth crackling within, and perhaps she was already asleep.

I almost turned to leave, but then came the sound of movement,— a shuffle, the soft creak of floorboards. The latch turned, and the door opened just enough to reveal her face, framed by unkempt waves of silver-gold hair.

"What is it?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, her eyes unfocused, and a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"Rhaenyra." I greeted her, watching as recognition lit her tired features.

"Oh! Uncle?" Her voice grew more alert, though confusion lingered in her tone. "What are you doing here, so late?" Her gown,— a pale pink thing that clung to her figure,— hung loosely on her shoulders, one strap slipping down her arm.

She was no longer the poised princess the court knew but a young woman caught between girlhood and something far more complex. "I wanted to talk." I said simply.

"May I come in?" She blinked, her surprise evident, but stepped aside without hesitation. "Of course."

The scent of incense greeted me as I entered, mingling with the faint warmth of the hearth. Her chamber was modest by Targaryen standards, though touches of our lineage were evident, such as paintings woven with dragons, a small collection of Valyrian steel trinkets on a shelf,etc...

The fire from the hearth cast a golden glow across the room, its light flickering on the silver strands of her unbound hair, and then I heard her close the door behind me, her footsteps soft as she leaned back against it, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite place.

Her eyes,— those unmistakable Valyrian lilac eyes,— trailed over me as if searching for something. "You look like you've been brooding." she remarked lightly, breaking the silence.

"Perish the thought, I leave brooding to my brother." I replied, letting a faint smirk curve my lips. And she laughed softly, but a genuine, fleeting sound that seemed to lighten the room, and I allowed myself a brief moment to savor it before shifting to another topic.

"I heard you spent time with Alicent today." I began, watching her closely, as her expression shifted, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. She adjusted the slipping strap of her gown, her gaze dropping briefly to the floor. "We did." she admitted after a pause. "And?" I asked.

"It… went well." she said, though her tone carried hesitation, and I took a step closer, noting the tension in her shoulders. "That's good to hear, Rhae."

"Why?" Her voice was sharper now, questioning, as I met her gaze, unflinching.

"Because I want you to be happy. Is that not a reason good enough?" Her lips parted slightly, as though she meant to respond, but no words came. Instead, I took her hands in mine, feeling the faint tremble in her fingers.

"Rhae." I said softly, my voice dropping to a gentler tone. "I've seen what bitterness does to people,— how it can twist them, make them see betrayal where none exists. I didn't want that for you, I didn't want you to lose yourself in the anger and hurt that I know you've been carrying. Alicent may be a pawn in her father and family's schemes, but she was once your friend. Perhaps she still is,— and if she can give you even a moment of peace, then I'll do what I must to keep that for you."

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her lips trembling as she tried to form a response. "You did all this… for me?" she whispered.

'No. But at least some of it was...' And I nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Because I care for you, Rhaenyra,— you were hurting, and I couldn't stand by and do nothing." She stepped closer, resting her head against my chest.

For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift as I held her, one hand resting on her back, the other tilting her chin so her eyes met mine. "No matter what they try, no matter how they scheme, they won't tear this family apart." I promised. "I'll see to it personally."

A faint laugh escaped her, warm and melodic. "I'll hold you to that, Uncle."

I smiled, the tension in my chest easing as she settled onto her bed, her expression softened, her body relaxing as the strain of the day seemed to melt away.

"Will you stay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just for a little while?"

"Of course." I replied, taking a seat beside her. It didn't take long for her breathing to even out, her lashes resting against her cheeks as she drifted to sleep, while I watched her for a moment longer, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You might be the death of me one day, Rhae." I murmured softly, a rueful smile tugging at my lips.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the quiet didn't feel heavy, it felt… peaceful.

I missed the feeling of having someone by my side with whom I could just be myself with...

.

A few days later, late at night:

I stood motionless atop the raised platform overlooking the Red Keep's outer yard, as sea of men assembled below me, their polished armor catching the faint light of the torches lining the courtyard.

Hundreds of gazes bore into me, each pair of eyes unwavering, fixed, waiting.

Soldiers in the gold of the City Watch, knights of the household guard in silver and crimson, and a scattering of men wearing the white of the Kingsguard stood at rigid attention behind me.

The time had finally come.

For days now, preparation for this moment had consumed me, hours spent in strategy, in whispers with Arthur, in briefings with men like Harwin, and even with Viserys.

And it had all led to this night.

Three pits, spread across the capital, each crawling with filth, and the plan was clear: three simultaneous strikes, each timed to the sound of five consecutive bells that would ring out across King's Landing. Tonight, the pits would burn, and those who profited from their depravity would meet the fate they so richly deserved.

My Valyrian-Steel armor, black with faint veins of red velvet etched into the pauldrons and cuirass, weighed heavy on my shoulders, yet it was a weight I welcomed. It was a reminder of who I was,— and what I had to do tonight.

I exhaled, the breath slow and deliberate, coinciding with the soft rustle of Cannibal wings high above, and for a moment, I allowed my mind to wander, to settle into the calm before the storm.

But the stillness didn't last, as my eyes focused on the men below, their forms stiff and disciplined, like an army of statues carved from stone. I stepped forward to the edge of the platform, and the yard grew impossibly quiet, even the faint clinking of chainmail and shifting boots ceased.

"Men of mine!" I began, my voice even but loud enough to carry to the farthest corners of the courtyard, the words echoing against the high walls, drawing every gaze toward me.

"You all know why you stand here tonight, do you not?" I let my gaze sweep over them, taking in the determination etched into their faces, the barely contained tension in their stances.

"In these past few days, you have been made aware of the horrible crime that has taken root beneath this city,— beneath our watch, beneath our very ceilings,— it festers like a disease, hidden from the light." Not a single man shifted or looked away, yet I could feel the ripple of anger building among them.

"After hours upon hours of preparation, we have reached the moment for action." I continued, my voice growing stronger.

"Today, we know the truth. These pits, these vile dens of sin, will operate simultaneously. A mistake, on their part, as their greed has blinded them, made them arrogant. And as such, they have made our job easier!" A murmur of approval rumbled through the yard, low and unified, accompanied by a visceral and sadistic laugh of eager 'killers'.

"These bastards..." I pressed on, my tone sharpening, "... have long believed that they own this city, that they own us. They think themselves untouchable,— that we are weak, that we are cowards, that we will look away as they corrupt and destroy."

Silence reigned, as the clenching of teeth started.

"And why wouldn't they? For years, they have operated unchecked, for years, they have grown fat and rich while children are torn apart in their rings,— while entire families are destroyed for the sake of their entertainment!" My words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike.

The anger I saw in their faces earlier had now fully ignited, their expressions hardening into something fierce and unyielding. "But let me tell you something, men. We are not weak, we are not cowards, and we are not beneath them!" My voice rose with each declaration, cutting through the night like a war horn. "We are protectors, we are guardians, we are the shield that stands between the innocent and the wicked. And tonight? Tonight we will remind these monsters why they should fear us!"

The soldiers began to stir, their rage palpable now, fists clenched at their sides, and murmurs of agreement rippled louder through their ranks.

Good. I extended my arms outward in a exaggerated manner, my voice carrying the final surge of fire that I felt roaring within me.

"Tonight, this ends! We will tear their dens of filth apart, stone by stone. We will burn their sins to ash, and we will send every last one of them to the Seven Hells where they belong! They will fear us,— not because we are merciless, but because we are righteous. They will fear us because we are the men who stand for what is right!"

I took a step forward, leaning slightly, my voice at its peak. "So I ask you, men of King's Landing,— are you with me tonight? Are you ready to bring justice to those who have defiled our home?"

The roar of their response was deafening.

"WE ARE WITH YOU, MY PRINCE!" The sound surged through the courtyard like a tidal wave, filling every shadowed corner with the weight of their conviction, and my chest swelled with pride as I swept my gaze over them, nodding in approval.

"Good!" I shouted back, my voice carrying over their cheers. "Then let us march, and let them know who we are! LET THEM KNOW WHO OWNS THIS CITY!"

Their shouts followed me as I descended from the platform, the soldiers already breaking into their units, captains barking orders as they moved to formation.

And the air buzzed with the tension of action, of purpose, as I adjusted my gauntlets while walking, the faint weight of my sword, Sunset, reassuring at my hip.

This would not be a clean night, nor an easy one, but as I glanced once more at the men readying themselves for what lay ahead, I felt no doubt, and certainly no hesitation.

Tonight, we would take back the city,— tonight, the pits would all burn in hell,— and above all, tonight I will gain the loyalty of the people of King's Landing.

.

Flashback, earlier on today's night:

The cells beneath the Red Keep were cold, damp, and cruelly quiet, save for the occasional drip of unseen water echoing against stone.

The air was thick with a pungent mix of mildew and despair, clinging to my senses like an unwelcome guest, and the dim torchlight danced weakly along the walls, casting shadows that seemed to whisper their own tales of torment.

I strode purposefully through the narrow corridor, my boots striking the stone floor with a measured rhythm.

Soldiers of my household guard stood at rigid attention, their polished armor gleaming faintly in the flickering light as I passed, their faces betrayed nothing, though I could sense the weight of their unease. They, too, had heard of what this woman had done,— or failed to do.

My gaze, however, was fixed solely on the figure huddled at the far end of the hall.

Captain Rosamund. Once a respected name among the Goldcloaks, now reduced to a crumpled heap on the cold stone floor of her cell.

The sight of her,— a woman who had sworn an oath to protect the city, now shackled and broken,— stirred no pity within me.

Not yet.

I gestured silently to the guard beside the cell door, and he quickly unlocked it, the creak of iron against iron loud and grating in the suffocating stillness. The door swung open with a groan, and I stepped inside, my armor faintly clinking as I moved.

She looked up at me, her dark, sunken eyes meeting mine with a mixture of fear and resignation.

The once-proud captain of the City Watch now sat slumped against the wall, her uniform torn and stained, her face marked by fresh bruises and older scars.

"Prince Aenys." she croaked, her voice weak and hollow, a pitiful shadow of what it had once been.

I stopped just within arm's reach, my hands clasped behind my back, my expression cold and unyielding as my gaze swept over her. "I must admit, Captain..." I began, my tone even but sharp, "I truly did not expect you to be the kind of Goldcloak who would betray her oaths to support such a heinous crime as the fighting pits."

Her lips trembled, her eyes dropping to the floor, unable,— or perhaps unwilling,— to meet my gaze any longer. "Not everyone can stand against those in power..." she murmured, her words barely audible. "I had no choice."

Those words ignited something in me,— a cold fury that surged to the surface before I could suppress it.

My hand shot out, gripping her chin with enough force to make her wince as I yanked her face upward, forcing her to meet my eyes. "No choice?" I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. "You allowed children to be stolen, tortured, and butchered for entertainment,— and the best excuse you can offer me is that you had no choice?"

Her lips quivered, but no words came.

I held her there for a moment longer, my fingers pressing into her skin as I searched her gaze for something,— remorse, perhaps, or even defiance. But all I found was shame and regret, pooling like stagnant water in her eyes.

Finally, I released her, watching as she sagged back against the wall, rubbing at the red mark my grip had left on her face.

"Do you think I wanted this?" she spat suddenly, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. "Do you think I didn't want to tell you? Why do you think I stayed silent? You're an intelligent man. Surely you can figure that out without my help!" Her defiance surprised me, though it was short-lived.

My hand moved before I thought better of it, striking her across the face with a backhanded slap.

The sound echoed sharply in the small cell, and she recoiled, her tears spilling freely now as she clutched at her cheek.

"You will not address me as 'you'." I said coldly, the steel in my voice silencing any protest she might have had. "I am not your friend, nor am I one of your subordinates. Is that understood?" She nodded once, her movements stiff and jerky, and I could see the fight draining out of her.

"Good." I said, my tone softening slightly but losing none of its edge. "Now tell me, Captain,— why should I spare someone who allowed such depravity to fester in my city for gods know how long? Why should I show mercy to someone who turned a blind eye while innocents suffered?"

She stared at me, her lips moving soundlessly for a moment before she found her voice. "Because I was afraid..." she whispered. "Afraid of what they would do to me if I spoke out, afraid of what they would do to my family. Do you think I didn't know the cost of my silence? Do you think I didn't hate myself for every moment I stood by and let it happen?" Her words struck something deep within me, though I refused to let it show.

Perhaps there was truth in what she said, and perhaps her fear had been real, her shame genuine, but it changed nothing.

Not in my eyes, and as I leaned closer, my voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Your fear does not absolve you, Rosamund. And it does not erase the lives that were lost because of your cowardice." Her tears fell in earnest now, streaking her bruised and battered face, but I felt no satisfaction in her misery.

Only a cold, hollow ache deep within my chest.

Once, perhaps, I might have been moved by her plight,— once, I might have reached out to help her, to forgive her, to offer her a chance at redemption.

But that man,— the man I had been before exile, before hardship, before war,— was gone. In his place stood someone colder, harder, someone who had learned that mercy was a luxury Westeros could ill afford.

"Forgive me." I murmured under my breath, the words meant more for myself than for her.

She looked up at me, confusion flickering across her tear-streaked face, but I was already turning away, stepping out of the cell and into the torchlit corridor beyond.

The guard moved to lock the door behind me, the sharp clang of iron echoing in my ears as I walked away, my thoughts heavy with the weight of what I had just done,— and what I still had to do.

End of Flashback.

.

At the present:

The sound of the bells had long faded, their five peals still echoing faintly in my mind as I marched with purpose through the shadowed streets of King's Landing.

Each chime had been a call to arms, a signal to the groups scattered across the city to begin their grim work.

The air was thick with tension, a palpable weight that seemed to press down on the cobblestones beneath our boots.

Around us, the people scattered like leaves before a storm, their faces painted with confusion and fear. Mothers pulled their children into doorways, while merchants abandoned their stalls mid-sale, yet none of their wide-eyed stares mattered to us.

We are close now.

The assigned pit loomed just ahead, an unremarkable structure save for its size and location.

It sat like a parasite in the heart of the city, hidden in plain sight, its mundane facade a mockery of the horror festering within.

I came to a halt just before the door, a massive slab of reinforced wood bolted with iron. It would not give easily, but that didn't matter.

I turned, my gaze sweeping over the soldiers and knights assembled behind me, their armor gleamed faintly in the torchlight, their hands gripping swords, axes, and hammers with grim determination. "Bring it down." I commanded, my voice cold and steady.

At once, the strongest among us stepped forward, their weapons striking the wood with a force that echoed down the empty street.

The door shuddered beneath the onslaught, splinters flying with each blow, until finally, it buckled and gave way with a deafening crash.

I stepped aside as the soldiers formed a perimeter, their shields raised, ensuring no innocent soul wandered into what was to come.

The narrow street became a fortress, and I allowed myself a brief nod of approval before turning to face the darkness beyond the broken door.

The air inside was thick and stale, heavy with the stench of sweat, blood, and despair. The sound of cheering and jeering reached my ears as we descended a set of narrow stairs, the noise growing louder with each step.

It was a cacophony of madness, the kind of sound that could only come from those who reveled in the suffering of others

When we reached the bottom, the space opened up into a vast pit lined with crude wooden stands.

The flickering light of torches cast grotesque shadows across the walls, illuminating the filthy faces of men and women packed shoulder to shoulder in the stands.

Their cheers were deafening, their eyes fixed on the ring below where two children fought to the death.

My stomach churned at the sight.

A boy, no older than eight, had pinned a girl to the ground, his teeth, filed to jagged points, sank into her shoulder as she screamed in pain. Blood streamed from the wound, staining the dirt beneath them in a pool of crimson.

Around me, the soldiers shifted, their hands tightening on their weapons, their faces contorted with rage. "Hold..." I said, raising a hand to still them, and they froze, their anger barely contained as I surveyed the pit.

My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the faces we had marked,— the men and women whose gold kept this nightmare alive.

It didn't take long to find one.

A corpulent merchant from Essos sat near the front, his silks stretched tight over his belly, his rings catching the torchlight as he raised a goblet to his lips.

The bastard looked pleased with himself, laughing at the scene below as if it were no more than a play put on for his amusement.

A smirk touched my lips.

You will die last.

I lowered my hand, and with that single motion, all restraint broke. The soldiers surged forward with a roar, their weapons gleaming as they descended upon the crowd.

The stands erupted into chaos as men and women screamed, their laughter turning to terror as blood began to flow.

My soldiers showed no mercy.

They moved like wolves among sheep, cutting down those who dared to run and dragging the wealthier patrons to their knees.

The ring itself became a slaughterhouse, the dirt floor slick with gore as the soldiers dispatched the guards and handlers with brutal efficiency.

And I?

I strode through the carnage, my eyes fixed on the merchant.

He had abandoned his goblet and was now scrambling to escape, his fat fingers clutching at the edge of the stands as he tried to haul himself over.

He didn't make it far.

One of my men seized him by the collar and threw him to the ground at my feet.

"Please..." the merchant blubbered, his voice high and panicked. "I'll pay you! Gold, silver, whatever you want! Just spare me, please!"

I crouched before him, my gaze cold and unyielding as I met his watery eyes. "Spare you?" I said softly, my voice dripping with mock disdain. "Did you spare the children you threw into that ring? Did you spare the families you ruined to fill your coffers?" He opened his mouth to respond, but I didn't give him the chance.

"I don't think so." My dagger found his throat in one swift motion, silencing his pleas with a gurgling gasp, as my hand became filled with dark red blood.

I wiped the blade on his silk tunic and rose to my feet then, surveying the aftermath.

The stands were empty now, save for all of the bodies that lay slumped against the wood. The children in the ring had been pulled aside, their wounds tended to as best as possible by the soldiers who had paused long enough to show them a sliver of mercy.

I looked down at the merchant's body one last time before turning to my men.

"Burn it." I ordered. "Burn it all down."

The torches were set to the stands, the flames consuming the wood with a hunger that mirrored my own.

The heat was oppressive, the smoke choking, but I didn't move until the building was little more than ash. And this? This was just the beginning...

.

| At the same time, Otto Hightower's 1st Person Pov:

The air in my solar was thick with the lingering aroma of the spiced wine I had poured for myself earlier, its once-warm contents now forgotten on the desk beside me.

A single candle burned low, and from outside, the faint cries of the city carried on the night breeze, though they were no concern of mine.

Tonight was about strategy, about ensuring House Hightower's ambitions continued to flourish. As such, my son Gwayne sat across from me, his back straight and his face carrying that familiar expression of quiet determination.

He had always been dependable, though far too transparent for his own good, even after I'd instructed him time and again to harden his resolve, to wear a mask when needed.

Yet here he sat, his discomfort all but etched into his features. "So?" I asked, breaking the silence. "How goes your befriending of the prince?"

I noticed him shifting slightly, his jaw tightening before he answered. "Not quite good... I haven't had the chance to get close to him these past few days,— he seems to have always been busy as of late."

That's concerning... "Is that so?" I said, leaning back in my chair.

My fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the polished armrest. "That's quite strange..."

"It is." Gwayne replied, his voice quieter now, as though he were piecing together his own thoughts. "I heard that-..."

Before he could finish however, the door to my solar burst open with a suddenness that froze the blood in my veins, the sound of booted feet soon filled the room, and I turned sharply toward the intrusion. "Who are you? Guards!" I called out instinctively, rising from my chair.

A man I did not know stepped forward, his expression calm but cold, his eyes sharp and assessing. He wore no armor, yet the air about him spoke of command, while behind him stood a group of armed soldiers clad in the red and black of House Targaryen, their swords unsheathed but held at ease.

"Don't bother." the man said, his voice steady and measured. "What?" I snapped, disbelief coloring my tone. "There are no guards coming to save you." the man replied smoothly, his words slicing through the air like a blade.

My chest tightened, but I refused to show weakness. "Do you possibly not know who I am?"

The man tilted his head slightly, his expression unchanging. "I do actually,— very well."

"Then you would know the price of doing whatever this is-..."

"You are Otto Hightower." the man interrupted, his voice firm but calm. "The Hand of the King, the architect of countless schemes, and, as of tonight, a prisoner of the Crown."

The room seemed to shrink around me, the candlelight flickering wildly as though it, too, sensed the shift in power. "Prisoner?" I hissed. "On what grounds?"

The man stepped closer, his soldiers parting to let him through, he was close enough now that I could see the faint scar across his left cheek, the steady glint of intelligence in his eyes.

"I am Ser Arthur." he said, his tone betraying no emotion. "The spymaster to Prince Aenys Targaryen, and I am here under his orders to see that you, Lord Hand, are arrested for the crime of treason."

"Treason?" I repeated, my voice rising. "This is absurd!"

"What is absurd..." Arthur replied coolly, "... is your belief that you could scheme against the Crown and its dragons without consequence. Did you truly think you would never be caught, Lord Hand?" My mind raced, yet no words came to my lips.

Instead, my gaze darted to Gwayne, who remained seated, his face pale but impassive, and I willed him to act through our shared gaze, to draw the sword at his side and strike down these men.

However, he did not move, and the man named Arthur seemed to notice the glance my son and I shared, and smirked faintly.

"Don't waste your hope, Lord Hand. Your son won't be saving you tonight, in fact, it's thanks to him that we entered so easily... after all, he did send the guard at the doors away."

"What...?" My voice faltered, the weight of his words sinking in, and yet the man named Arthur continued, his tone almost casual.

"Gwayne here has recently come to an understanding with Prince Aenys, and so he acted out of loyalty,— not to you, but to his sister. A wise choice if you ask me, given the circumstances we find ourselves in."

N-No... I turned to Gwayne fully now, my disbelief giving way to cold fury. "You... you betrayed me?"

Gwayne met my gaze, his expression tight but resolute. "I did what I had to..." he said quietly. "For the sake of my sister,— for Alicent's future." The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle.

The targaryen soldier shifted their bodies and their leader, Arthur, took a step closer, his voice low and cutting. "The evidence against you is damning, Lord Hightower. Your attempts to divide the royal family, the endless letters to Oldtown, your daughter's convenient marriage to the King... and, of course, the intercepted letter to your brother Hobert. Truly, you could have been subtler, perhaps taken a quiet vacation to Oldtown to deliver your schemes in person. But impatience, it seems, is the undoing of even the cleverest schemers." My fists clenched, my mind a storm of rage and desperation.

Yet I knew the truth: there was no escape from this.

The targaryen soldiers stepped forward, their swords gleaming in the dim light. "Come quietly, Lord Hand..." Arthur said, his tone softening slightly, though his eyes remained hard. "You'll have your trial come morning."

And as the soldiers moved to seize me, I cast one final glance at Gwayne, his face betrayed no joy, no triumph,— only the quiet resolve of a man who had made an impossible choice.

And so, with no words left to speak, I allowed them to lead me away, the shadows of the solar swallowing me whole.

.

. .

. . .

| Fire & Blood |

. . .

. .

.

So... What's better, the 3rd Person Pov or the 1st Person Pov?