Tyrosh, the Training Grounds.
It was mid-afternoon. Five hundred Velaryon soldiers stood in neat, ordered ranks across the sunbaked dirt of the grounds.
They were dressed in light linen tunics, entirely unarmored, and carried no weapons. Every face was alight with anticipation.
They had been told Prince Lucerys was to distribute a heavy bounty today.
After being stationed in the foreign city of Tyrosh for so long, they were finally seeing some extra coin.
"I heard it's ten silver pieces each?"
"More. I heard the deputy commander say twenty."
"That's grand. I can finally save up to buy my new wife a proper dress."
To maintain the loyalty of the occupying force, Prince Lucerys had previously permitted the Velaryon troops to forcibly marry the common women of Tyrosh.
Lucerys knew the morale of his army was perilously low, as many of these soldiers had family members currently held captive by the Greens; he had issued the marriage decree as a desperate necessity.
At this moment, the Velaryon troops whispered excitedly among themselves, broad smiles on their faces.
Unbeknownst to them, crowds had begun to gather silently around the perimeter of the training grounds.
These were the newly recruited Tyroshi forces, two thousand local men, fully armed in bright mail and boiled leather, tightly clutching spears and swords.
The Velaryon troops watched them assemble with mild confusion as they formed a solid, unyielding wall of steel, systematically blocking every exit from the grounds.
"What are these Tyroshmen doing here?" someone asked.
"Probably just to maintain order," another replied with a shrug.
"Giving out thousands of silver coins always requires a few heavy guards."
"Fair enough."
The soldiers didn't think twice, turning their attention back to the empty podium, continuing their wait.
Lord Aemon stood on that raised platform overlooking the grounds, his fleshy face ghastly pale and his forehead drenched in a cold, clammy sweat.
Behind him, six of the bastards watched him with predatory, unblinking eyes.
Several Tyroshi messengers stood at the base of the platform, awaiting Aemon's command.
"My Lord," a messenger asked cautiously, "when shall we begin?"
Aemon opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He knew that with a single spoken word, the armored soldiers would rush in and slaughter every unarmed Velaryon man below.
Five hundred lives rested in his trembling hand.
But if he did not obey, his beloved wife and children would become corpses by nightfall.
Aemon closed his eyes and took a ragged, deep breath. Then, he opened them and raised his hand.
"Begin."
The messenger raised a curled ram's horn to his lips and blew the signal for attack.
Toot, toooot!
The horn's harsh blast echoed over the training grounds. The Velaryon soldiers stood dazed, momentarily wondering what the signal meant.
Then, they saw the perimeter move. The fully armed Tyroshi soldiers, moving in perfect, ruthless formation, began to close in, step by step.
They drew their swords and raised their heavy shields, forming a shifting, shrinking wall of steel.
"What... what is this?" "Something's wrong!" "Run!"
But it was too late. The first rank of spears lunged forward, and a dozen men fell instantly, their blood spraying across the dry dirt.
A young soldier collapsed to the ground, cradling the body of a dead companion, wailing in horror.
"Why? What did we do wrong? We are on the same side!"
A Tyroshman walked over and, without a single word, drove a spear straight through the boy's chest.
Another soldier desperately tried to scale the high stone wall to escape, but was caught by several locals and stabbed to death before he reached the top.
An officer ran blindly through the chaos, screaming: "I am a Velaryon man! I am a sworn vassal of Lord Corlys! You cannot kill me!"
Before the words finished leaving his mouth, a swinging blade took his head.
Aemon stood frozen on the high platform, trembling violently as he watched the carnage unfold.
He knew his path of retreat was utterly severed; he had just assisted Hugh in a bloody coup.
The betrayed eyes of the soldiers before they died stabbed into his heart like knives.
To the very bitter end, they didn't understand why their own supposed allies had suddenly turned on them.
The massacre lasted a quarter of an hour. When the final Velaryon soldier fell, the training grounds had been transformed into a shallow river of blood.
Five hundred corpses lay in tangled heaps, the hot afternoon air thick with the nauseating, metallic stench of iron and ruptured bowels.
The Tyroshi soldiers who carried out the slaughter reacted in various ways; some stood expressionless, some looked pale and haunted, and others leaned over their shields to vomit into the dirt.
These local troops only knew what Lord Aemon had told them: that this was a direct order from Prince Lucerys because these men had conspired to betray Queen Rhaenyra.
- - - - - - - -
Tyrosh Castle.
Prince Lucerys Velaryon was in his private chambers, chatting warmly with Baela and Rhaena.
Baela, twelve years old, was the daughter of Daemon and Laena, and Lucerys's betrothed.
She had inherited her mother's fierce beauty, with silver hair, vibrant purple eyes, and a sweet, confident smile.
Rhaena, thirteen, was Baela's elder sister; she also bore the classic Valyrian look, but her temperament was far gentler than her fiery sister's.
"Luke," Rhaena said, leaning gracefully against the stone windowsill and looking out at the city view, "when do you think Father will come to fetch us?"
Lucerys gave a soft smile, though the expression looked somewhat eerie as it stretched across his scarred, burned face.
"When the war is over, Uncle Daemon will come for you."
"When will the war end?"
"Soon."
"Then Luke, will you still marry my sister?" Rhaena nudged Baela playfully with her elbow.
Baela's face flushed a deep red as she ducked her head.
Although Luke was disfigured, their years of shared history and genuine affection remained unbroken.
"Of course I will," Lucerys said softly.
"When the war ends, we will be wed."
Rhaena clapped her hands and laughed.
"Wonderful! Then I shall be the bridesmaid!"
Baela turned even redder. Just then, a frantic, heavy set of footsteps sounded in the hall outside.
An attendant burst through the heavy doors, his face as white as a sheet: "Your Grace! It's bad! Someone is attacking the castle!"
Lucerys jumped to his feet. "What?!"
Before he could even react, the door was slammed fully open. Hugh burst into the room, leading a dozen bastards absolutely drenched in fresh blood.
They gripped swords that were still dripping gore onto the carpets. Lucerys's gaze swept past them to the hallway beyond.
Several corpses lay scattered there, members of the twenty-man Bastard Guard who had remained loyal to the Prince.
"Hugh, my knight," Lucerys asked in utter, paralyzing confusion, "what are you doing?"
Hugh walked toward him, dropped smoothly to one knee, and lowered his head, maintaining a posture of deep respect as if absolutely nothing were amiss.
"Your Grace, the Velaryon stay-behind force conspired with the Volantenes to betray the Queen and yourself. I have executed the traitors."
Lucerys stared down at him, entirely speechless for a long moment.
'The Velaryon force? Ser Simon?'
Those were loyal men personally chosen by his grandfather, Corlys.
How could they possibly betray him? Finally realizing the horrific truth, Lucerys pointed a trembling finger at the kneeling man.
"You... you are rebelling?"
Hugh raised his head, his expression perfectly calm.
"Your Grace misunderstands. I did this out of absolute necessity to protect you."
"Protect me?" Lucerys let out a harsh laugh fueled by sudden rage.
"You slaughter my loyal men and call it protecting me?"
"They were all traitors," Hugh stated flatly.
"Nonsense!" Lucerys roared, stepping forward.
"Ser Simon served my grandfather faithfully for decades! How could he betray us? The army? How could they betray us?!"
Hugh remained completely silent. Lucerys looked at his expressionless, blood-splattered face and those cold, emotionless eyes. This was a coup.
"Hugh," Lucerys said through gritted teeth, his voice shaking.
"I promoted you. I gave you noble status. I made you a knight. I made you commander of my castle guard. Is this how you repay me?"
Hugh stood up slowly and casually brushed the dust from his knees.
"I hold Your Grace's kindness deep in my heart. But Your Grace, you are far too young. You do not understand how treacherous this world truly is. You honestly believe those Velaryons were loyal? I have cleared the rot from your house; you should be thanking me."
"Thank you?" Lucerys shook with absolute rage as he stared at the utterly shameless Hugh.
"You butcher my people and expect me to thank you?!"
Hugh looked at Prince Lucerys, a fleeting flash of pity in his eyes, the pity of a victor looking down upon the defeated.
"Your Grace," he said smoothly, "you should rest. I will handle the complicated matters outside."
He waved a heavy hand, and several armed bastards immediately stepped forward to pin Lucerys down.
"Unhand me!" Lucerys struggled violently against their grip.
"You traitors! You will all burn in the Seven Hells!"
Baela and Rhaena were terrified by the sudden, violent turn of events.
Baela hugged her older sister tightly, staring at the traitors in a speechless, fiery fury. Rhaena had already begun to cry, tears spilling over her pale cheeks.
Hugh glanced briefly at them and spoke to his men in a heavy voice.
"Take the two Princesses to the adjacent room and serve them well. Ensure no one harms a hair on their heads."
The two girls were forcibly led away. Rhaena's sobbing grew distant until it vanished entirely at the end of the stone corridor.
Lucerys was shoved down onto his own bed, pinned tightly by the bastards. He looked up, glaring at Hugh.
A dragon's fire burned in his remaining eye, but it was a useless, impotent fire.
"Hugh," he said, biting off every word, "you will regret this. My grandfather will kill you! Prince Daemon will kill you! My mother will cut you into a thousand pieces!"
Hugh gave a faint, chilling smile.
"Perhaps. But Your Grace, have you considered exactly where you will be when they come for me?"
Lucerys froze. Hugh leaned down, bringing his face level with Lucerys's.
"Your Grace, you are currently in my hands. The two Princesses are also in my hands. Tell me... do the Blacks truly dare move against me?"
Lucerys had no answer. Hugh patted his scarred cheek dismissively, stood up to his full, towering height, and spoke to his guards.
"Watch the Prince well. If anything goes wrong, you know the exact consequences."
"Yes."
Hugh turned and strode out of the room, his heavy footsteps fading down the corridor.
Lucerys was left paralyzed with agonizing regret.
Why had he ever promoted these bastards? Now, they had betrayed the Blacks!
They had betrayed him, and they had betrayed his mother!