Lucerys Velaryon is dead.

He died on a stormy night in the year of 129 AC in the Shipbreaker Bay. Vhagar crashed the bones of him and his dragon, letting the leftover of what were once a prince and his beloved dragon to fall in the open waters, his uncle Aemond – now a kinslayer – watching it unfold. From his lips, he has told his mother it was an accident. But from the look in his eye, Baelor knew his brother wanted the boy dead.

The storm passed through King's Landing that same morning when Aemond returned. Lucerys was of the salt and the sea partly and this was his goodbye to what he once called home. When the news reached Genna, she held her girls extra tightly, fearing that if she looks away, they'll be taken from her arms. Baelor got Trevas to guide them all with his life. He swore to the memory of his mother that Genna and the children will be protected. Baelor trusted him whole heartly.

Visenya laid on the bed of her grandsire inside the dimly lit chambers. The only time it got brighter was when the lighting crashed over the town and Rhaella pushed herself further in her mother's dress where she sat on her father's bed. Alyssa was sitting on Tyland's knee, her dress brushing against the wood of the table anytime her grandsire would bounce her up and down, letting her in a spite of giggles.

"I feel bad," Genna spoke quietly in the darkness of the room, a hand on the back of Rhaella's head where she clung on her dress.

"Don't," Tyland responded, looking up from the paper on the table – Alyssa was making a drawing; a dragon, her father and herself on it, "'tis not your fault."

Her daughter was on the verge of tears, a hand resting on her aching belly, "I know. But . . .," she lets out a shaky breath, "I cannot imagine what it's like to have a child ripped from you. And . . . and he was all alone out there. I can't imagine how scared he must have been."

Tyland looks away from his daughter and back to the drawing on his desk, "a regretful accident, I'd venture."

"I'm scared," she spoke again with more urgency, "not – not the dragons. I fear what is happening inside the Keep. Father, they . . . Rhaenyra will not just sit there on her rock and not do anything about it. I was . . ."

She looks down in her lap and Rhaella rests her head there, "I was wondering if I may take the girls and go to Casterly Rock. Just for some time."

Tyland looks from the drawing and to his girl. She's beyond scared, he knows it – he can see it in her face, her eyes that reminded him of her mother, "we must meet the match with a stiff lip. You are a lion, Genna, we must act like that. We mustn't run away from our issues. And . . . and you must stay strong. Not only for the girls but for Baelor as well."

Rhaella urges herself on the bed to play with her baby sister. She's gentle with her, she fears she'll break her like glass and that she'll shatter all around. Genna still plays with her belly – she draws circles, hearts across it, "I know, father, but . . . I just want to keep them safe."

"I know, sweet girl," he sighs with a nod, fingers tracing patterns on Alyssa's back, "but we cannot just escape. And your uncle might come sooner or later. He's raising men back home."

"An army?" Genna chokes out, clearing her throat not to cry, "we are at war now, are we not?"

Tyland nods his head again, his free hand drumming on the desk, "it's inevitable. As you said, Rhaenyra will not rest. Neither will Aegon. She will find her revenge and Aegon will reply to it. It's a terrible thing – a war between dragons."

"Ao issi nykeā mittys," Baelor spoke when he reached the Iron Throne room. Aemond stood by the first steps that lead up to the ancient seat. He didn't turn around when he heard his older brother, "Iksos bisa skoro syt ao sīr desperately jeldan naejot jikagon? Naejot ossēnagon zirȳla?" (You are a fool. Is this why you so desperately wanted to go? To kill him?)

"Myna vēttan ao confused, lēkia?" Aemond taunted when he turned around, his hands clasped on his back. (Myna made you confused, brother?)

He clenches his jaw. He thinks if he spends any more time around his younger brother that he'll explode, "Nyke pendagon ziry iksos ao qilōni should worry syt Myna, daor issa." (I think it is you who should worry for Myna, not me)

The doors are pushed open by the guards but they don't walk inside. It's rather Aegon that stumbles inside, a goblet of red Dornish wine filled to the brim. He wears a beaming smile – a proud one, "it is right you who – who I'm looking for!"

Baelor doesn't look away from Aemond nor does he look away from him. The elder one is still mad while his brother looks at him with a grin. Aegon approaches and rests his arm on his twin's shoulders, "we are in the need of a celebration! For it is our brother that killed that bastard nephew of ours!"

"Aegon, you're drunk," Baelor speaks – he's not worried for what Aegon does or how the people see him. They're aware he's a cunt, a drunken prince (now king) who seeks comfort in alcohol and whores. But if the smallfolk see Baelor like it, it's his doom. He spent his entire life prompting the people into believing he's the better of the twins – the donations to orphanages, money given to the poorest, having people receive work at the Keep.

"I am," Aegon chuckles, sipping on the wine in his hands, "and you will be too, soon. We are going to celebrate the death of our nephew, are we not? It's – it's revenge, Baelor! For our whore of a sister's bastard dying! We must celebrate the occasion!"

His brain does weird tricks on him sometimes. He thinks of Genna at that moment when Aegon speaks. He thinks of how she'd feel if she was in Rhaenyra spot. He doesn't feel pity for his half-sister, for he knows how much trouble she brought to him. He doesn't feel pity for Lucerys either, he's half glad he's dead and that Aemond got his revenge. But he fears the war that will come now. He fears for his girls mostly.

"The madame," he hiccups, spilling some wine on the floor, "Sylvenie, Syl? Or something like that –"

"Sylvi," correct him both his brothers.

"Sylvi, yes!" Aegon exclaims, pushing himself off his twin like he was proud of them for knowing her, "she! She got these new whores from – from fucking Dorne or somewhere. She is letting us be their first customers."

Baelor scratches the skin just above his eyebrow, "a fit start for your time as the king, I'd venture?"

Aegon tilts his head and looks at Baelor, "everyone wins. We get the new whores, the brothel will get coins, we'll fucking enjoy ourselves for this victory. And for many to come!"

Aegon downs the wine as a toast and lets the cup fall on the floor, stumbling over his own feet. Baelor doesn't move to help him back on his feet, neither does Aemond, "enjoy your nights and whores, brothers. But I have a duty as a husband and a father."

"As you do," he called over his shoulder when his boots echoed across the Iron Throne room when he left. It wasn't much of a taunt; Aegon nor Aemond really cared for their wives or children. Nor did Baelor. At least he likes to think so.

The hood was placed over her head, hiding her face underneath it. She watched her husband and his brother enter the brothel. She felt pity to some extend – she felt pity for Helaena, Genna and the children. She cursed quietly when she didn't see Baelor. She knew he was playing a saint again.

Her feet padded across the floor as she rushed back to the Keep, her fingers twisting the dress to hold it over her ankles for an easier run. She mixes well between the maids and servants until she reaches the dark hallway. She stopped by the wall where the butcher sat, fingers laced over some self-made fire to keep himself warm through the rain and thunder.

"What is your plan tonight, butterfly?" he asks without looking up from the fire and the smoke.

She approaches silently, kicking some small rocks from the path. She stops on the other side of the fire, her hands clasped together over her stomach, "I have work for you. And your friend."

He looks up – there are scars on his cheeks, his left eye is red, turning black from when someone punched him – and he snickers, "were the butterflies not enough for you? Can't kill a fucking child?"

She looks at the gates when servants approach and she hide her face under the cloak again, "I heard you're better at killing than I am."

If he didn't know her, he'd beat her like the whore that made him lose his job as a serjeant. He tilts his head to look at her, wood cracking in front, "what do you want?"

"I was paid," she replied, fingers twisting underneath her cloak, "but you have to do the job. You get a third of the money, the second third goes to that little ratcatcher friend of yours."

The man chuckles – the air comes far from inside his lungs, "a fucking third? I know you now live in a fancy Keep and have no connection to us anymore, but, butterfly, you can do better than this."

She shakes her head under the cloak, "I have to live off something. Do you think the bitch queen leaves me to do anything? I have come here with a paid job. You either take it or rot in the streets like a fucking dog."

He stares at her for a moment. Not angry or mad – fascinated. He stands up, "who do you want killed?"

"The prince's children," she spoke quietly though no one could hear them either way, "prince Baelor's. An order from the other bitch queen that sits on her little rock in the bay."

The man slowly nods, "what for?"

"For the murder of her son," she shrugs her shoulder, lying – it wasn't Rhaenyra who ordered the murder, "the bastard boy? He was eaten alive by Vhagar last night. The queen now wants revenge."

He takes some wooden sticks and throws it in the fire, "I don't know how his children look like."

"Doesn't matter," she replies, shaking her head, "I will get them in their mother's chambers. It's on the second floor near the chambers of the king's mother. All you have to do is get there and kill one of them. Doesn't matter who, he does not have a son."

Her hand slides underneath her cloak and brings out a dagger, offering it to him, "and bring a head. I must give it back as a sign the work was done."

He takes the dagger and twists it in between his fingers as if to try it out. There's a rat that tries to run pass him. He grabs it by the body and brings it in the view between the two. He twists the dagger and points it to the rat's throat. He slits it open, blood dripping in the fire. He grabs the small head, his body falling down, "like this?"

She smiles, "I told them I know the right guy. I will go get them in the chambers. Get the ratcatcher guy. There are two girls and the mother and a babe. Someone will have to hold her down."

She disappears in the shadows then.

Rhaella holds her mother's hand tightly when they move down the hallway of the Keep. Trevas walks right behind them and Genna looks over her shoulder with a small smile, "I truly appreciate this, Trevas. I know you must hate it – you probably had more important duties to attend."

"I do not mind it, my lady," he shakes his head as he follows the two up the staircase, "besides – it's either this or listening to Ser Cole speak of loyalty and trust."

She lets out a small chuckle before they reach her chambers. He pushes the doors open for them and she smiles to him, "thank you, Trevas. I – uhm. You can get some rest now. Ser Criston will probably get here soon since Helaena is with me."

He nods his head, "thank you, my lady. I bid you a good night."

"You too, Ser," Genna replies with a nod and a smile when she watched him walk away down the hallway, not realizing the gravity of her situation.

Inside her chambers, Alyssa was already invested in running around the armchairs, Jaehaerys following right behind, both in spits of giggles. Maelor rests on the bed next to Visenya, both kicking their tiny feet in the air. Genna kisses the top of Rhaella's head and gently urges her to sit with Jaehaera by the fireplace.

Genna pads across her chambers to where Helaena sits on the floor surrounded by dark green fabrics. She's working on the needlework that Genna left behind earlier. She'd crouch down if she wasn't so heavily pregnant, "I thought of doing dragons but then I felt awful for the girls to wear it."

Helaena hums and nods her head slowly. She looks up, twisting her head to get a clearer look of Genna, "I think it would be nice. They like dragons. They just do not ride one."

Her sister-in-law nodded her head, fingers tracing patters on the green fabric over her belly, "I know. It's just . . . I feared they will take it the wrong way, you know? They're just babes to me, still."

Both too focused on their conversation, neither heard the wall by the fireplace cracking. Visenya kicked harder in the air, fussing at the sound. Genna continued to rest her hands against the side of her belly, calming the babe inside. The next thing the chambers were occupied by the floor cracking underneath the boots of the two men.

Genna turned around but was too late – one of the men grabbed Helaena by the back of her dress, pulling her harshly off the floor, a dagger to her neck, "do not scream or I will slit your fucking throat."

There was a sharp pain in Genna's belly then, letting out a small gasp – of pain, fear. Her eyes landed on her and Helaena's children that were cornered by the other man. She feared it; she wanted to leave for Casterly Rock – dear Seven, why do you punish me so?

"Which of them is it?" the man by the children asked, eyes darting from one to the other, "she said a girl. Which one is it?"

"There's a boy," the man spoke, twisting around to the children with Helaena in his grip still, "a more valuable thing, no?"

Genna thought of somehow getting Ser Criston's help. He must've been standing outside the doors by now. But she can't move, she can't speak, she can just stare at them - at Helaena, at the children.

"Pick," he whispered to Helaena, a dagger closer to the skin, letting it cut just a little, "which to pick?"

The men weren't aware this was not the girl they were after. They knew little of the family that didn't care for the people of King's Landing. They assumed the prince married one of their own and the pregnant girl did not look like one of them. Helaena whispered, "please."

The dagger was closer to her neck and Alyssa held tighter on Rhaella, "choose, girl. I'm giving you a way out."

Helaena's eye turned to Maelor on the bed. He won't know, she thinks, the pain must be quick, he's not aware of the world yet. All he does is eat and look at his mother with the brightest eyes. She's not sure if it's actually happening when she raises her hand and points to her son on the bed. The man by the children laughs, "do you hear that, boy? Your mama wants you dead."

Genna feels something drip down her thigh and the pain increases. She suddenly thinks of Baelor. The man grabs Jaehaerys then. The boy doesn't scream, he can't scream. He's so terrified of the man.

"Wait," the man that holds Helaena stops him, a grin tugging on his lips, "why not have a little fun? Had you ever had royal cunt before? Neither have I. And here's what? Six?"

His friend chuckles, taking a small knife from his boot and holds it to Jaehaerys' throat, "I much prefer my payment."

He slits Jaehaerys' throat. Blood prickles down his skin and on the floor. Genna grabs her lips to prevent herself from screaming or running to her girls that cried in each other's shoulders or to comfort Visenya on the bed. Helaena stands still when the man lets go of her and moves to the little boy.

"Wait," he speaks and starts slicing Jaehaerys' neck off with the dagger he was given. Blood pools around the little boy's body before the man grabs his head.

The man smiles at Helaena and Genna before pushing the boy's head in a sack and disappearing back in the secret passages. Only then Helaena Targaryen lets out a bloody scream of pain and agony, crawling to her son on her knees and holding his headless body close to her chest.