The 'tree' clearly did not take kindly to the pair of intruders standing before it.
It shuddered violently, like so ancient beast rousing from so deep slumber.
Its bark split apart along its seams with low groans, ember-red light bleeding faintly from within its cracks.
Every branch on it began to writhe in unison, slow at first…then frantically, as though seized by so sudden madness.
Then…it struck.
Whoooosh!
Branches snapped forward with impossible speed, screaming through the ash-choked air like spears.
And beneath them, the island answered in kind.
Roots erupted upward in jagged arcs, splitting the blackened earth as though it were rely wet parchnt.
'What is this? A welco banquet?' Baelon's eye twitched as he stared at the oncoming storm of wood and roots, so vast it swallowed what little light filtered down from the ashen heavens above.
His hand twitched, then at once, dozens of fiery spears blood into existence around him, stark against the gloom before launching forward in a roar.
Helaena followed a heartbeat later with her own tide of spears.
Then—
KRAAAASH!
The island groaned as fla and wood devoured one another in a violent explosion of splintered bark and burning embers.
Heat blasted outward in rolling waves as entire branches detonated apart, scattering molten sap across the battlefield like droplets of blood.
Burning roots twisted against the inferno, shrivelling black as fire consud them…only for fresh limbs to burst through the haze a mont later.
Baelon barely managed to twist aside before one spear-like branch tore past his cheek close enough for him to feel the scorching rot lingering upon it.
What in the Seven Hells was this thing?
Genuinely.
Baelon had long since abandoned the notion that this island obeyed the natural order, but this…this was sothing fouler entirely.
Should Hell truly exist beneath the world, he earnestly believed this tree would stand amongst its eldest demons.
Still, the world held little care for his musings as the battle dragged on.
Minutes bled into what felt like hours beneath the endless storm of ash and fire.
Again and again, the tree attacked. Relentlessly.
Roots erupted beneath their feet without warning. Branches descended like barrages of spears. Each surging towards them with enough force to even the thickest city walls.
And each ti they burned one section away, more ca writhing from the darkness beyond.
Thankfully for them, their dragons noticed the commotion and joined in, spitting fire at the twisted abomination before them.
Still…the battle was yet to end.
Baelon's breathing grew ragged. The battle had claid quite a bit of him as he felt himself begin to wilt in fatigue.
Helaena fared little better as her silver hair clung to her face, mixed with sweat and dust.
Still, neither of them yielded as the inferno around them only grew larger.
Nevertheless, regardless of their stubbornness, the tree endured.
Even now, Baelon could see its trunk knitting itself back together where fla had once split it apart.
Despite his exhaustion, his mind remained sharp.
Whatever this tree was, it guarded sothing.
No…perhaps it was the secret itself.
Perhaps this was what he had truly co searching for all along.
And if so…then he could not afford to lose here.
'Flas alone are not enough,' Baelon realised grimly as another torrent of roots burst apart beneath his fire. 'I need sothing with greater force behind it.'
How such a thing could exist without fearing fla, Baelon did not have the slightest clue.
It burned like any old wood, but every ti he struck it, it recovered. Every. Single. Ti.
nded by so cursed unseen hand. The wretched abomination seed to spurn every law the world was ant to obey.
Yet even amidst the chaos, his thoughts drifted toward a particular spell.
One he and Kael'thir had painstakingly derived from the scraps he had recovered from Valyria.
"Can you hold its attacks off for a mont? I have a plan." Baelon turned toward Helaena.
Helaena bent slightly at the waist, one hand pressed against her side as she struggled to steady her breathing.
Yet despite nodding at his words, her violet eyes still burned with irritation, most certainly unimpressed by the ordeal.
"You and these damn plans of yours…" The words ca through gritted teeth.
Baelon heard them well enough.
Still, he chose to pretend otherwise.
After all…this was his fault.
Had it not been for his obsession with fate, neither of them would be standing before this maddened abomination that refused to die.
Shaking the thought from his mind, Baelon looked forward just as the tree shrieked once more.
At once, Helaena raised her trembling hand.
FWOOOOSH!
Fire erupted outward in a roaring tide.
The flas surged across the battlefield like a crashing wave, smashing into the advancing branches and blasting entire walls of roots apart.
Burning splinters exploded through the air as the inferno carved a temporary path through the writhing mass.
Up above, Vermithor and the other two poured Dragonfire upon the tree's crown one after another, giving it little ti to breathe.
However, the tree responded in kind. Its branches thrashed against the blaze, as it spat wooden projectiles at the dragons above, forcing them away.
Then, seizing the mont, it launched another round of attack onto Helaena, who had to force more fire forth, her expression twisting with strain.
anwhile, Baelon did not waste the opportunity. He licked at his dry lips before conjuring a small blade of fla into his hand.
Without hesitation, he dragged it across his palm as blood poured forth from the wound that showed no hint of healing.
Yet, pour was not enough to describe.
It rushed out of the wound unrelentingly as it smoked and hissed.
Far more than should have been possible.
Baelon's face paled almost imdiately as weakness clawed at his limbs.
'Co on…co on…' He gritted his teeth hard enough to ache.
Scarlet spilt onto the blackened earth in writhing rivulets before slithering across the battlefield toward the tree itself.
The streams, weaved through burning roots and shattered stone alike as though tugged along.
Ahead of him, Helaena's flas continued raging against the creature.
But Baelon could already see her slowing.
Her fire no longer roared with the sa fury as before. The inferno flickered unevenly now, weakening with each passing second.
Both of them were running dry.
If this failed…
Baelon shook his head.
The streams of blood finally reached the tree. The mont they touched its bark, silence swallowed the island whole.
Or perhaps only Baelon felt such silence.
His vision blurred violently as sothing vast crashed against his consciousness.
A presence. Imnse and…hungry.
It pressed against his mind like an ocean descending upon a lone man, monstrous beyond any mortal comprehension.
For a brief instant, Baelon felt himself standing before sothing that should not have existed within the world of n.
Then—
A smile curled upon his lips.
'Got you.'
The stream of blood ignited.
THOOM.
Crimson flas burst forth from the streams coating the ground.
One eruption after another raced toward the tree in pulsing breaths.
THOOM.
THOOM.
THOOM.
Each blast surged faster than the last, crimson fire spiralling upward in expanding rings as the streams lit one after another in rapid succession.
The ground cracked beneath the sheer force of it.
Scarlet light illuminated the dead island in violent flashes, the flas gathering higher and higher along the trunk.
Then the inferno reached the tree entirely.
KRRRRAAAAAAAAGH!
The shriek that followed barely resembled any sound he had heard of.
The very air around the tree distorted as the scream erupted outward, shaking ash from the heavens above.
Its branches convulsed wildly, smashing against the earth in blind panic while the bark split apart across its trunk in glowing crimson fissures.
Like living chains. Like starving serpents.
The crimson fire slithered over every inch of bark rcilessly, coiling tighter and tighter as though binding the very soul hidden within the tree itself.
This was a derivative spell born from the Codex.
A spell refined through countless experints alongside Kael'thir.
Using his blood as a sacrifice, Baelon could conjure a fla to strike directly at the soul of his target. The more blood he offered, the more potent the fla.
Baelon panted heavily as he watched the colossal thing begin to wither before him.
Its once-violent branches slowed.
Then slowed further. And further. And further.
Until at last they collapsed limply onto the ruined earth below with deafening crashes.
Roots shrivelled into blackened husks.
The bark lost its strange crimson glow.
And slowly, perhaps even painfully…
The monstrous tree stilled.
For several monts, neither Baelon nor Helaena spoke.
Only the sound of their ragged breathing remained.
Then, with unsteady steps, they began to approach the dying tree.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Baelon's legs trembled faintly beneath him, exhaustion gnawing at every inch of his body after the sheer blood loss.
He scarcely imagined how he looked right now, likely even paler than his own hair.
Burning embers drifted through the ash-filled air while the corpse of the colossal tree lood overhead like so fallen god.
Helaena glanced toward it, still breathing heavily.
"…Was this what we were looking for?" She asked.
Baelon stared at the withering bark for a long mont.
"I…" He hesitated. "I am not sure."
Helaena sighed, Gods knew whether it was from frustration or fatigue. "Just hurry this up, I imagine Daenys is halfway through demolishing the Estate."
"Aye, aye. I hear you, it's just…" His gaze slowly drifted elsewhere.
By now, the dragons were slumped on the ground nearby, panting in exhaustion, a rare sight Baelon noted.
Still, it was not them that he looked at.
No. It was the pouch dangling off Vermithor's saddle.
And, inside it? The very thing that prompted all this.
***
The heavy iron door of the Black Cells groaned open with a screech that sent stale dust drifting from the ceiling above.
Lyman Beesbury slowly lifted his head as he stared ahead.
Dim torchlight spilt into the darkness of his cell, revealing a pair of silent Gold Cloaks standing at the entrance.
For a brief mont, hope stirred within him.
Perhaps sanity had finally returned to the Red Keep.
Or, perhaps everything that happened was simply so foul dream?
Alas, the world did not take kindly to his hopes.
One of the guards stepped forward and roughly seized him by the arm. Rough enough to make him understand this was now his reality.
"On your feet." The armoured wretch barked.
Lyman grimaced as aching joints protested the movent. His captivity had not been kind to him; even his once-pristine robes were now stained with gri from the damp stone floor.
Yet his eyes still burned fiercely.
"You drag about like so common criminal? On whose orders?" He snapped as they hauled him into the corridor. "I sat upon the Small Council before either of you fools learned to wipe your own arses! Tell Her Grace that no trickery of hers will ever earn my allegiance."
Neither guard answered, their silence unsettling him more than insults would have.
Seeing this, Lyman continued regardless, voice growing sharper as they ascended the narrow stairway from the depths below.
"You two must think wisely. This farce cannot stand. The realm shall never accept it. Princess Rhaenyra is the rightful heir by law and decree!"
Again...silence.
Only the echo of boots against stone accompanied them.
When they finally erged into the open air of the castle courtyard, the sudden daylight nearly blinded him after so many days beneath the earth.
Then he saw it.
Near the centre of the yard, partially covered by a bloodstained cloth, lay a stocky corpse clad in grey maester's robes.
One arm protruded from beneath the covering.
The chain around the wrist caught the light.
Lyman froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
"No…" His eyes shrank with dawning horror as he swiftly understood who that was.
Gerardys.
Or what remained of the poor soul.
The old lord stared at the body as dread settled deep into his chest like a cold winter's breath.
"God…you're all mad…" He whispered. "Every one of you is…"
The words trembled from his lips. "Insane."
The guards shoved him forward once more.
Lyman stumbled but ultimately did not resist.
Not anymore.
At last, understanding settled fully upon him.
This was no ploy to get him to bend the knee…no, he was certain he knew what fate awaited him ahead.
Soon, the old lord was brought before the gathered execution party beyond the gates overlooking Blackwater Bay.
There, already bound in chains beside the block, stood another familiar figure.
Lord Corlys Velaryon.
The Sea Snake looked battered but unbowed despite the bruises darkening his face.
His silver hair stirred lightly in the cold wind blowing from the sea as his sharp gaze settled briefly upon Beesbury.
No words passed between them.
None were needed.
Both n understood well why they were there. Far…far, too well.
The realm…had crossed the point of no return.
The guards forced Beesbury down beside him.
The old lord's knees struck stone painfully, but he scarcely noticed.
Instead, his gaze drifted upward toward the gathered, observing the execution from afar.
And there she stood.
Queen Alicent.
Green-clad. Still as marble.
Nevertheless, Lyman was certain her gaze was eting his…which only made his heart grow cold.
There was no triumph upon her face as he looked at him.
Nor any grief either.
How had it co to this?
How had the girl he once watched nervously stumble over her words beco this cruel thing before him now?
The wind whispered across the battlents, gently caressing his face as it drifted past him.
Far away, sowhere within King's Landing, Lyman heard a bell ring faintly...mockingly.
The old lord closed his eyes for but a mont.
And he mourned.
Not for himself.
Not even for the man beside him, who was likely to share the sa fate as him.
But for the realm.
For the fire that was coming.
A fire that would sweep across Westeros and leave nothing untouched. Dragons would descend upon castles. Great Houses would burn. Rivers would choke upon corpses. Brothers would slaughter brothers beneath banners of black and green alike.
And all of it had begun here.
Fraught with ambition. With fear…and a touch of madness.
Shiiing!
Before the steel kissed his neck, Lyman could hear it slice through the air, then…
Nothing.
For his world had turned to darkness.
The last thing he saw was his own kneeling form, muddied and lowly, with a green figure stark against the gloom in the far distance, her back now turned towards him.
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