The death of Lily crossed the final line within him.
Whatever restraint Thaddues had once clung to—the hesitation that stayed his hand even in war, the belief that there was always another path—vanished in silence. It did not shatter or tear itself apart. It simply ceased to exist.
He walked through the burning streets of The White Market with Lily's body floating beside him, suspended gently by magic as though she were merely asleep. Ash drifted around her, yet none touched her pale skin. Firelight flickered across her small face, gilding a stillness that would never move again.
Thaddues did not look away.
There was no grief left on his face. No tears. No visible rage. Only a terrible coldness—the kind that comes when pain grows too large to carry.
Around him, the White Market burned beneath a darkening sky. Smoke rose in thick black waves while screams echoed through distant streets. The sea reflected orange from the harbor fires, and ships bearing the banners of House Tyrell crowded the coast like vultures circling a corpse.
Invaders rushed through the streets with bloodied swords, cutting down servants, guards, and townsfolk alike.
Then they saw him.
A young man walking through the chaos without armor, without guards, without fear. Beside him floated the child they remembered—the one who had helped others escape the White Market.
The invaders faltered, glancing at one another as doubt crept in.
Then someone shouted.
"Kill him!"
Steel hissed from sheaths as several men charged forward, no longer caring what sorcery stood before them.
Thaddues continued walking. He did not even glance at them. His fingers lifted slightly.
A single snap echoed through the ruined street.
An explosive curse erupted outward like judgment made manifest. The charging men never had time to scream. Flesh burst apart in an instant, bodies torn into sprays of blood and shattered bone that painted the stones crimson.
One moment they were alive.
The next, nothing remained but scattered ruin.
Silence followed.
Nearby invaders stumbled back in horror. One dropped his sword. Another trembled as blood and fragments slid down the wall beside him.
Thaddues felt nothing.
That emptiness unsettled him more than the killing itself. This was his first kill. Once, it would have haunted him—once, he would have searched for another way.
Now no guilt. No hesitation. Nothing at all.
He kept walking, and the surviving invaders fled like frightened animals.
Behind him, Isolde followed in silence, face pale beneath ash and streaks of tears. Her eyes never left Lily's body, as though refusing to accept what she saw.
Neither spoke.
Ahead, the castle of House Peverell rose through smoke and fire like a wounded giant. Flames crawled along its outer walls, and corpses littered the courtyard beneath shattered banners.
Steel clashed somewhere inside.
Thaddues stepped through the broken gates.
In the courtyard, Esteban fought several invaders at once. His sword moved with brutal precision despite exhaustion dragging at every strike. Blood covered his armor, and three bodies already lay at his feet.
Another man lunged from behind. Before Esteban could react, the man stopped mid-step.
His scream tore through the courtyard.
Then his flesh began to melt.
Not burned—melted. Skin slid from bone like wax under unbearable heat. Muscles liquefied. Eyes dissolved within their sockets. The nearby men recoiled in terror as the same fate overtook them.
One by one, they collapsed screaming until only blackened skeletons remained, standing for a few seconds before crumbling onto the bloodstained stones.
Silence swallowed the courtyard.
Esteban turned slowly toward him. For the first time since pledging himself to House Peverell, he felt fear toward his lord.
Not because Thaddues looked monstrous but because he looked calm.
There was no fury in his eyes. No hatred. Only stillness—cold and absolute. The kind carried by winter storms before kingdoms freeze.
"My lord," Esteban said quietly.
Thaddues stopped a few feet away.
"When did the invasion occur?"
His voice was controlled, almost quiet. That alone unsettled Esteban more than shouting ever could.
"It began shortly after your departure, my lord," Esteban answered. " The fleets of the Reach crossed the Summer Sea and landed along the coast. House Gargalen still holds the shoreline, but the enemy numbers—"
Thaddues barely heard the rest.
Guilt clawed through him like rusted blades. He had gone to Sunspear believing he was preventing greater bloodshed. Believing restraint meant safety.
Instead, his home was burning.
His people were dying.
Lily was dead.
Again, he had been careless.
His jaw tightened.
The protection charms of Castle Peverell should have been active before he left. They were not. He had not foreseen the Reach striking beyond expectation, beyond Sunspear.
Last year, that same carelessness had cost him two lives and nearly cost him everything. It should have stayed carved into him but he repeated it.
And now Lily was gone.
A child he cherished. A child who smiled whenever she saw him. A child who believed he could protect everyone.
Thaddues closed his eyes briefly, then turned away without another word.
Thaddues stopped at the high tower overlooking Salt Shore. The halls were silent, ash drifting through broken windows like gray snow. Isolde and Esteban followed him.
He ascended to the highest floor, he then laid Lily onto a bed with careful hands.
The table she had used for studies had been transfigured into her final resting place. A bed of lilies. He chose this floor, believing it would hasten her ascent to heaven.
He brushed hair from her face. For a moment, something almost surfaced within him.
Almost.
"She hated language exams," he murmured softly.
No answer came.
He stood there for several long moments before turning away and walking toward the terrace.
Night had fully fallen.
Fires illuminated Salt Shore beneath the darkness like a dying constellation. Men slaughtered each other in the streets while flame flickered near the harbor.
Thaddues watched in silence.
Sadness lingered—but frustration burned stronger.
Everything below was the cost of restraint. He had believed restraint alone could protect his people.
And where had it led?
To this.
To Lily lying cold behind him.
To Salt Shore drowning in blood.
Something inside him loosened—or broke entirely.
He exhaled slowly.
"Esteban," he said quietly, "would you hate me if I became ruthless?"
The steward did not hesitate.
"I would never hate you, my lord."
He meant it. He had seen Thaddues heal people without reward, feed refugees, give work to those others discarded, and carry guilt for deaths he could not prevent.
Thaddues had been too kind for the world he lived in.
And the world had answered with fire.
Beside them, Isolde suddenly collapsed to her knees. Tears streamed down her face as grief shattered what remained of her composure.
"My lord…" she choked out.
Thaddues turned.
What she saw was not a servant. Not a subject under contract. Only a mother who had lost her child.
"Avenge my daughter," she begged."I will give my life if needed—just avenge her. Kill the Reach invaders! Avenge my little girl!"
The agony in her voice cut deeper than the battlefield ever could.
Thaddues felt it—the same desperation he had sensed when they first met. But where it had once been laced with hope, it was now hollowed out by fury.
And something within him stopped resisting.
"Very well," he said quietly. "I will lend you my magic."
Isolde lifted her tear-filled gaze.
Below them, battle still raged as the Reach flooded Salt Shore, believing victory already theirs.
Thaddues looked toward the burning horizon.
"The Reach dared invade Dorne and Salt Shore because they believed themselves protected by dragons," he said coldly.
Magic gathered around him. The air itself trembled.
"Then let them burn beneath the very creature they worship."
He faced her, bent down and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Instantly magic surged into her—violent, ancient, overwhelming.
Isolde screamed.
Fire ignited beneath her skin. Veins glowed blue. Bones cracked and reshaped. Wings burst from her body in a violent eruption of pale scales.
The tower shook as stone cracked beneath her feet.
Then came the roar—deep, primal, absolute.
It rolled across Salt Shore, stopping the battle below.
Above the tower rose a colossal pale blue dragon, scales gleaming like frozen flame beneath moonlight and firelight alike. Wings stretched wide enough to cast shadows over the castle.
Debris hung suspended in the air, held by protective charms.
Thaddues stood beneath her, unmoving.
No awe. No fear—only cold judgment.
"Burn them, Isolde," he said quietly but it reached her ears. "Unleash your wrath."
The dragon turned toward the battlefield.
Then Thaddues spoke again.
"Dracarys."
Blue fire fell. Not ordinary flame, but dragonfire laced with magic.
It swept across Salt Shore like divine punishment. The invaders vanished beneath it. Steel melted. Flesh turned to ash before screams could form.
Entire siege lines disappeared.
Ships along the harbor erupted into blue flame, lighting the sea like a second sun.
The tide of battle broke instantly.
Above the burning world, the pale blue dragon roared once more.
And Thaddues watched without emotion as his enemies burned.
The man who once feared becoming ruthless no longer existed.
TBC
Isolde[*]
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