With Ser Gerold and Ser Willem directing operations, nearly all supplies on Dragonstone had already been loaded onto the ships.
But just as they prepared to depart at any moment, news arrived that the danger had passed.
Rhaella and Elia both thanked the gods aloud.
During Targaryen rule, the ironborn had always caused trouble. Now it was the ever-fattening stag's turn to suffer.
And unlike the original timeline, Robert had no proper fleet of his own.
Whether he leaned on the Redwyne Fleet or the Westerlands' ships, it would take at least two or three years to crush a rebellion at sea.
Stannis excelled at naval warfare, yes—but naval warfare required ships. He could hardly wage war by throwing himself into the waves.
Whatever the nuances, Dragonstone was safe.
After settling Elia and the four children again, Rhaella received word: Oberyn had arrived on Dragonstone.
On their way to meet the queen mother, Ser Gerold kept questioning Oberyn about Gohor and Viserys.
"Our king has already conquered the Rhoynar of Gohor. He is now King of Gohor."
The danger to Dragonstone was gone, and Oberyn had brought excellent news.
Gerold's spirits rose noticeably.
Seeing this, Oberyn did not spoil his relief.
He intended to dump that cold bucket of truth directly onto Rhaella instead.
Though he acknowledged Viserys's ability, he still felt a sting whenever he remembered Young Aegon losing his claim to succession.
But only that—nothing more. Oberyn would not do anything extreme.
Viserys had sent him to Pentos and then allowed him to leave Essos altogether. There was a silent understanding between the two men.
A great war was likely to fall upon Gohor. Oberyn was not Viserys's subject; he had no obligation to stay and fight.
If Viserys failed to return with the fleet and Gohor fell, then Oberyn would take Elia and her two children away.
Perhaps, out of gratitude that Viserys had helped smuggle Elia out of the Red Keep, he would even protect Rhaella as well.
But that was the extent of it.
With Gerold guiding him, Oberyn passed beneath a dragon-tailed arch and entered the Stone Drum's grand hall.
Below the throne, Ser Willem stood guard with sword in hand.
"Prince Oberyn, you have come far. You must have given House Targaryen much help in Gohor. On behalf of His Grace, I thank you for your efforts."
Although the Targaryens still wore their crowns, Rhaella knew exactly how fragile their position had become—especially after the rejections from Sunspear and Highgarden.
To Oberyn, she spoke not as a superior but as an equal.
Her courtesy softened Oberyn's intention to begin with "praise first, then the blow."
Instead, he stated plainly:
"Your Grace, Gohor may soon face a great war."
The words fell like a stone into water—silence spread instantly.
Gerold stared wide-eyed at him, as if to say, You didn't say that earlier.
Rhaella, seated straight upon the throne, seemed to forget how to breathe. Her violet eyes widened with fear.
"Prince Oberyn, please explain in detail."
Oberyn explained briefly how Viserys had conquered the Rhoynar.
Everyone listened spellbound.
Then he spoke of the political tensions with Pentos and Braavos—explaining why he had spoken so gravely.
"But do not fear, Your Grace. His Grace—Viserys—is not in Gohor right now. If he can bring the fleet from Volantis to Gohor, the crisis will naturally be resolved."
Rhaella, who had studied Essosi power structures countless times, knew that this was nearly impossible.
Volantis guarded its river mouth fiercely, treating the Rhoyne as sacred, forbidden waters.
They would never allow another power's fleet to pass.
Yet Oberyn's next words sounded even more absurd:
Something about a Prince's Spear.
Something about the Old Man of the River.
Something about Viserys calling down fog at will.
Had he gone mad?
Dragonstone might be safe—but far away in Gohor, the new mixed army trained in Vaghahar's inner yard.
Eighteen thousand armored troops—Viserys's greatest force besides the fleet—yet Oswell knew well: the Rhoynar and the Andals had fought each other too long.
Hatred did not vanish in a day.
And with war looming, he needed to vent that hatred somewhere before it exploded inward.
Thus the surviving mercenary leaders—Bloodbeard, Vargo, Terno, Gafas—and their closest henchmen were all bound and strung from execution frames.
Nearly a hundred men hung naked in the bitter wind.
Terno, once a noble elder, burned with shame.
He had long been reduced to a plaything in Bloodbeard's company, but being displayed naked before thousands was another torment entirely.
"Endure it," he muttered. "Death will come soon enough."
At that moment, a familiar face appeared before him. Terno looked up—it was Baelor, gaze cold and conflicted.
"So you've come to kill me? Heh."
"It isn't me who will kill you," Baelor replied softly, gesturing to the soldiers behind him. "They will."
Terno was bewildered.
Baelor nodded to the crowd below. A Rhoynar footman stepped forward onto the execution platform.
He shouted for all to hear:
"My name is Lancher. I was a farmer under Terno's rule.
When I was nine, Terno added a new tax so he could renovate his estate. My father could not pay it, so he was taken as forced labor.
We starved. My mother's milk dried up.
My newborn brother died in her arms."
Terno's expression twisted. He did not remember this young man.
"It was just a tax," he muttered. "If they paid what they owed, why would I raise it?"
Baelor heard him—and felt sick.
Since childhood, every year, Terno had found new excuses for taxes. His estate was a bottomless pit, consuming the lifeblood of the Rhoynar.
More soldiers stepped forward—men whose stories echoed the same pain.
Their glares could have carved Terno apart.
"I—I paid for the medicine already," Terno stammered.
But even that was overheard.
The soldier named Mado lunged and smashed his fist into Terno's face, breaking his nose and drawing blood.
Others surged forward, needing to be restrained as they shouted:
"I'll kill you! Murderer!"
One testimony followed another.
Soon it was Gafas's turn.
"My name is Gilton," the next footman cried. "I served under Gafas—"
More grievances—years of suffering—fell like stones. Gafas' legs trembled; the cold numbed him, but fear crushed him more completely.
Then Baelor added fuel to the fire.
"Gafas is a man of Gohor—yet he colluded with Braavos. He spent five years of his people's taxes to buy himself a house there!"
The crowd erupted.
"He sold our crops cheaply—barely enough to live—only to satisfy his own greed!"
"And this man—Vargo Hoat, captain of the BraveCompanions! He was planted by Freygo of Braavos to force us into war against our king!"
The people of Gohor knew little of the wider world. Today, under Viserys's orders, Baelor tore away the veil.
They finally understood why life had been so cruel—not only because local tyrants crushed them, but because foreign powers had used them like pawns.
In deeds, both Terno and Gafas were vile. But Gafa's betrayal—selling out their entire people—was worse.
Voices rose—screams of rage—soldiers with gaunt cheeks and burning eyes spitting steam like white fire.
Baelor judged the moment right.
He cut the ropes binding Terno, Gafas, Vargo, and their men, and shoved them toward the furious Rhoynar soldiers.
Hands reached for them—hundreds of hands.
Fists. Nails. Teeth. Slaps. Boots.
Their vision turned red—then black.
Consciousness vanished.
When the guards finally restored order, only mangled bones remained—clinging scraps of flesh still dripping.
Along with the bodies, the authority of the old elders had been shattered completely.
After this judgment, the Rhoynar wholeheartedly accepted Targaryen rule.
___________
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