NOVEL WEB Chapter 38: Avenging Elia
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Sixth Moon of 286 AC, Skyport:
POV: Torrhen Skywalker
The sea breeze off Skyport tasted of salt and ashwood. Gull cries echoed overhead as the masts of arriving ships creaked against the docks. Looking around as he rode on a horse he had rented after getting off the ship and paying the captain a few silver coins he saw that Skyport had massively expanded ever since the construction had started roughly a year ago.
By now, Skyport's population had to be atleast five thousand and the numbers were growing as it's reputation of being clean and a good place for those who sought work had spread to the mainland.
Cobbled streets and houses that reminded him of the images he had seen of central europe were what made Skyport unique in Westeros and Torrhen liked what his sister had accomplished here.
Torrhen had just dismounted, boots still damp from the trip back from Lannisport. The weight of the Netherite sale still sat in his saddlebags—a fat pouch of gold, and a thinner one of foreboding.
He couldn't wait to tell Lyarra about all the gold that he managed to get from Tywin. Sure they could farm gold but even then these gold farms took time and they didn't want to crash the economy by farming too much.
But it all dropped from his mind when he saw her.
"TORRHEN!"
The cry was a sob—shrill, broken—and then she was hurtling at him like a shadow with wings.
Rhaenys slammed into his chest, arms wrapping around his neck, her face buried beneath his collar. She was shaking. No, trembling so violently it was all he could do to hold her upright.
"Rhae?" he asked, startled, cradling her instinctively. "Rhaenys, gods—what happened?"
But she could barely speak—only sobs and stammered fragments came: "Mama—Aegon—Uncle Arthur—blood—fire—screaming—gone—"
He froze.
Behind her, a figure climbed the dock—a stern-faced woman in sea-worn leathers bearing a diamond pin at her collar. One of the Faithful. One of theirs.
She met his gaze. Steady. Grim.
"Good morning, my Lord I am afraid I bring grave news. We picked lady Rhaenys up outside Pentos," the captain said. "She escaped slavers. Made it to us alone."
Torrhen felt the world slow around him. The sounds of the harbor dimmed.
"Where's Elia?" he asked. "Aegon? Arthur? Ahsoka?"
The captain hesitated. Then:
"From what we could gather from Rhaenys, Arthur and Ahsoka died fighting against the slavers who had boarded the ship not long after they had left towards King's Landing. Aegon was… murdered in front of her eyes and she was seperated from her mother. Rhaenys was the only one to get away."
Rhaenys wailed again, and Torrhen knelt down, holding her tighter, brow pressed against her hair as his heart shattered in real time.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He simply whispered: "I'll kill them all."
**Scene Break**
Torrhen stood at the top of the tower hours later, wind tearing at his cloak. The letter to Tywin Lannister had gone unsent. The gold untouched. None of it mattered now.
He turned as Lyarra approached.
"She's sleeping," she said. "Barely."
Torrhen didn't respond. His hands were clenched against the stone.
"I know that face," Lyarra said softly. "You're tracing it. Finding the path back to the knife."
"I thought we were safe," he murmured. "I thought I could leave them for a few weeks. I thought—"
"You're not the gods."
"But I know the plot of the entire saga and have taken so many steps to prevent all that suffering," he spat. "I was building a world where Elia wouldn't have to kneel again. Where Aegon could be a boy, not a pawn. Now he's gone. And Elia—" He looked to the horizon. "—is in chains. Or worse."
He drew a deep breath to calm himself, regret filling his every being "I have been to lax in my actions and should have done away with the spider much sooner... It wasn't just slavers, Lyarra. Slavers don't come near Skagos or Skane, not anymore and they don't kill Targaryens upon seeing them for they are too valuable as hostages... not unless someone asks them to."
Lyarra nodded slowly. "Who?"
He thought. Counted the moves. Considered the timing.
"There is a plot around a boy named Aegon Blackfyre" he said finally. "That false boy Illyrio has been preparing up for a throne he'll never earn. He works with Varys who will allow Westeros to fall into chaos all that so it is weakened when the Blackfyres make their claim."
"They needed Elia gone," Lyarra said after a short while. "Because she'd never lie about her real son."
"And Rhaenys too. But she survived. Gods save me, she survived."
His knuckles turned white.
"Varys can wait," he said. "He's scheming in King's Landing and will still be there in a month or so. Elia is more important right now."
Lyarra tilted her head. "You're going to Pentos."
"Not alone," he said. "I want half the Diamond Guard with us. Quietly. And fast. I want that bastard found."
She looked him in the eye. "You're not thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking perfectly," he replied. "I've been playing diplomat. Merchant. Inventor. Now I'll be something else."
"What?"
His voice was cold. Absolute.
"A Terminator"
Then after a moment of silence, "Why did you not give her any potions for the journey?"
"... I'm sorry Torr, I didn't think they were needed" said Lyarra with a small voice.
"... I will sort out this mess and bring Elia back and after that we're going to have words about all the enemies the North will face in the future. I have been passive for too long, it's time to take out the threats before they arrive" he said grimly, "Send a few of the faithful to the house of black and white... I am hoping they will return as fully trained faceless men. It's an investment into the future sure but we will need our own order of assassins in a few years"
**Scene Break**
Seventh Moon of 286 AC, Pentos
POV: Torrhen Skywalker
The estate of Illyrio Mopatis slept beneath the stars—its silk-draped balconies and tiled courtyards quiet save for the occasional snore from one of the so-called Unsullied guards. Fat, half-drunk, and long past their prime, they barely glanced up as small bubbles of various colours quickly flitted past.
Torrhen moved like a wraith through the perfumed dark, flanked by Lyarra and four Diamond Guard—faces masked, blades sheathed in obsidian and silence.
They scaled the outer garden wall with ease, bypassing the unlocked gate. The outer villa was gaudy—columns etched in gold leaf, orange trees swaying in the breeze, braziers burning lazily by the pool. A summer palace for a man grown soft.
In the colonnade, two servant girls whispered as they swept the mosaic tiles.
"...the Martells will come for blood if they find out she's dead—"
"Elia Martell? She was poisoned, I heard. Quiet-like. The fat man says no one must know until the ship sails."
"Fool thinks no one'll talk when a princess drops dead in his guest wing."
"Shhh—"
Torrhen froze. Lyarra's hand closed around his forearm. The guards behind them tensed.
"Elia's dead?" Lyarra whispered. "That coward—"
Torrhen's voice was a rasp. "Get back to the ship."
"What?"
"I said go. Take the guards with you. I'll handle this."
She grabbed his wrist. "Torrhen—"
"I don't want you to see what I'm about to do."
Lyarra stared at him for a long moment, then finally nodded.
"We'll wait at the dock. But don't make me come after you."
**Scene Break**
Torrhen moved through Illyrio's halls like smoke—redstone-infused invisibility fading only when he passed the last threshold.
The chamber stank of perfume, grease, and saffron. Illyrio Mopatis snored beneath silk sheets, a goblet still clutched in one sausage-like hand.
He should have killed the man as he stood there and taken revenge for his dear friends' death and he would eventually for he would not let Illyrio live to see his son become a man but now? He would extort the man as much as he could so that Elia's and Aegon's death would not be in vain. Let House Skywalker become stronger from this strike and the conspirators wail in defeat.
Torrhen waited until he was a breath away and the potions' effects had waned before punching the creature of fat rolls in front of him in the stomach.
"Wake up."
The goblet fell. Illyrio blinked into the dark, chins wobbling, before a sharp inhale nearly choked him.
"I—the gods save me, what is going—" his face met a furious fist and Illyrio cried out in pain.
Torrhen sneered down at him, stepping into the moonlight.
"I should kill you where you lie."
Recognition dawned. The merchant prince paled, eyes darting toward the dagger beside his pillow.
Torrhen crushed it underfoot before sending his sword deep into Illyrio's leg.
"I know what you did," he said flatly. "I know Elia is dead. I know who you're hiding in that mansion in Lys. And I know the boy's not Elia's. Aegon Blackfyre—not Targaryen."
Illyrio wheezed from pain and fear. "Please—listen—I didn't want—I had no choice—Varys—"
Torrhen stepped forward and pressed the point of his sword into the man's throat.
"Spare me the excuses, I know of your conspiracy. You tried to wipe out her children to sell your puppet prince as the last dragon. Did you think I wouldn't notice when her ship vanished when she was on her way to King's Landing?... I want restitution. And silence."
Illyrio nodded desperately. "Anything—yes—gold, ships—"
"One hundred thousand dragons," Torrhen said coldly. "Delivered to Skane within two moons."
Illyrio sputtered. "A hundred thousand—?"
"Make that One hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons as well as two thousand Unsullied from Astapor. And you'll sent them straight to Skyport. If they so much as stop in Braavos, I'll know."
"And… in return?"
"I say nothing," Torrhen said. "No word of Blackfyre. Your son will be allowed to live out his life in silence... that is as long as you hold your tongue and pay your debt, only then he get's to live. "
Illyrio's jaw worked. "What if I refuse?"
Torrhen leaned close. "Then I start telling stories. To Doran Martell. To Jon Arryn. To the Citadel. And if that doesn't work, I burn your palace to ash and drown your boy in the sea."
Illyrio swallowed. "Fine. Done. I'll send the gold... and the Unsullied."
"One more thing," Torrhen said, turning to the opulent sideboard.
Propped against it, wrapped in silk, was Dawn.
"Arthur Dayne's sword doesn't belong in your collection," Torrhen said, lifting it with both hands. "It belongs with the living. Now... tell me where you took Elia Martell's body."
Illyrio didn't protest as the man in front of him. Not now. Seconds later he revealed the location of the princess' corpse after which Torrhen left. It was time to say goodbye to the mother of his daughter.
**Scene Break**
Pov: Illyrio Mopatis
Illyrio sat alone in his chamber for a long time after Torrhen vanished like smoke into the night and after checking on his guards who were guarding the door as if nothing had happened... He was still wondering how the hell the Stark boy had slipped past all his guards unnoticed.
He poured himself a fresh goblet. His hand trembled.
"A hundred thousand dragons…" he muttered. "Two thousand warriors…"
He blinked at the window. The sea beyond was calm.
And then he frowned.
Faceless men don't cost that much. Not quite. But sometimes… for the right target…
He reached for a quill. "Send word to Braavos," he told the servant at the door. "Ask what the price would be… for a bastard of House Stark."
**Scene Break**
Eighth Moon of 286 AC, Sunspear:
POV: Doran Martell
The night had fallen hot and dry over Sunspear. The stars above the Tower of the Sun glimmered like a thousand watching eyes, and the sea whispered mournfully beyond the city walls. Doran Martell stood upon the high balcony of his solar, the wind tugging gently at the folds of his robes. His joints ached slightly as they had been the past two years. His heart did worse.
It had started with a bad feeling when he had gotten the initial raven from Frostgate that his sister Elia was to come to King's Landing with her children to swear fealthy to the usurper and his newborn son. A show of power and that alone made Doran bristle but what layed beneath had truly made him worry. Something was wrong in the entire affair, he had known even then.
And he had been proven right, the raven had come three days ago from Skyport, telling him that the ship of his sister and her children had been attacked by slavers and only little Rhaenys had made it back to Skyport safely. Arthur Dayne, the sword of the morning was dead. 3 year old Aegon the sixth, the rightful king of the seven kingdoms, was dead, now the Targaryen loyalists would only have Rhaenys to rally around something that didn't fill Doran with confidence for the dance had shown that the lords would not allow a queen to rule them.
Worst was the uncertainty of his sister's fate as Rhaenys and her had been seperated before the little girl was able to escape those that had sought to shackle her.
With little else he could do, he had waited.
Now, beneath the black of night, a sleek vessel entered the shadowed harbor of the Water Gardens—no banners, no guards, no herald. Only silence. And a dark-haired man who stepped onto the dock carrying something wrapped in fine cloth and grief.
Behind him came a girl—no longer a child, not quite a woman—her face hard with pain. Beside her, guards cloaked in shadow, and another bundle, heavier, carried between two of them.
It turned out to be Torrhen Skywalker and his sister who had brought Doran's sister home... unfortunately not alive as he would soon find out.
Doran did not weep—not at first. Only when they brought Elia into the halls of her birth wrapped in Martell colors, her skin pale, her hair dark as memory did he allow the first tears to fall.
He sat beside the bodies as the stars turned and the torches burned low. His brother Oberyn knelt at Elia's side in silence, brow pressed to her lifeless hand, his bastard daughters stood in the shadows, arms crossed, face unreadable. Obara's and Nymeria's gaze already spoke of vengeance.
Doran finally spoke, his voice low and dry. "Who did this?"
"Illyrio Mopatis," Torrhen said. "And Varys. It was part of a plan—one we interrupted. They tried to replace Aegon… with someone else."
"What someone?" Oberyn growled.
"A boy they raised in secret. Blackfyre blood. Not Targaryen. They would have had the world believe him Elia's son."
Oberyn's knuckles whitened, "Surely the Blackfyre line is extinct?"
"Only in the male line... a daughter of the Blackfyres had married Illyrio Mopatis who now seeks to put his son on the throne."
"And Elia?" Doran asked.
"Poisoned," Lyarra said. "In Pentos. Quietly. After they murdered Aegon."
Doran exhaled slowly. "And the one who did it?"
"Illyrio has paid a price," Torrhen said, his tone flat. "A hundred thousand dragons. Two thousand Unsullied. Dawn is back in our hands."
Oberyn looked up sharply. "Not enough."
"No," Torrhen agreed. "But vengeance isn't finished. He will be allowed to live until everything has been delivered to Skyport. After that I will send a few assasins to deal with him. With his support gone the entire plot around Aegon Blackfyre will crumble for the boy sees himself as the son of Jon Connington who is raising him."
He stood and looked between the gathered Martells, "Elia died so their puppet prince could live. If we reveal this now, the spider will vanish. The lie will be reinforced. His next move would come from the shadows."
Lyarra stepped forward. "We want to draw him out. Let him think the plot succeeded. Let him believe Elia and Aegon are still alive and hidden."
"You would use my sister's death as bait?" Oberyn said coldly.
Torrhen did not flinch. "I would use it as a weapon."
Doran looked down at Elia's still face. "Would she approve?"
"She would want the truth," Torrhen said softly. "And justice. For herself. For Aegon. And for the trauma that Rhaenys has gone through."
Doran said nothing for a long moment. Then he closed Elia's eyes with a gentle hand. "Then let her rest. The world shall mourn her… later. Send us a raven when you are done with the spider just please don't let him die too quickly."
**Scene Break**