"A Shield in the Storm: The Captain’s Oath"

POV: Jon Connington, Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Qarlton Chelsted

The Aftermath of Stoney Sept

The bells of Stoney Sept still echoed in Jon Connington's mind. They had not rung for him.

They had rung for his failure.

Jon rode in silence toward the Red Keep, his once-proud crimson cloak reduced to a tattered rag. His horse, though strong, carried the weight of defeat as surely as he did. He had left behind the dead and the wounded, abandoned his scattered men, and now he returned not as a commander but as a condemned man.

The journey to King's Landing had been quiet. The roads were empty save for merchants and refugees fleeing the rebellion. Whispers of Robert Baratheon's growing legend followed him like ghosts. The Usurper had survived. The North had arrived. And the war, once so easily winnable, had shifted.

All because he had failed.

By the time he reached the Red Keep, he knew his fate was already sealed.

---

The Red Keep – The Court of a Mad King

POV: Ser Gerold Hightower

Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stood as still as a statue beside the Iron Throne. He had seen many men enter this hall with pride and leave it in shame. Today would be no different.

Jon Connington knelt before Aerys II, his face grim, his armor still stained from the battlefield. The hall was filled with courtiers, lords, and sycophants eager to witness his downfall. Aerys himself lounged atop the Iron Throne, his decaying fingernails tapping a slow rhythm against the jagged steel.

"You were supposed to kill Robert Baratheon," the king hissed.

Hightower did not move, nor did he react. He had long since learned that silence was his only shield in Aerys's presence.

"You failed," the king continued, his voice cracking into a shriek. "You had him trapped, did you not?"

"The North arrived," Connington said, his voice low. "The battle turned against us. They were too disciplined, too—"

"Excuses!" Aerys's voice echoed through the hall, making even the courtiers flinch. "The Griffin falls, does he? Like a common dog, rolling in the mud while the Usurper lives?"

Hightower studied Connington's face. The man was proud, but there was no defiance left in him. Only resignation.

"You are no Hand of mine," Aerys spat. "You are a failure."

Hightower felt no satisfaction in those words. He had not trusted Connington, but he had also not wished to see him humiliated like this. He had seen what exile did to once-proud men.

But he did not speak.

He simply watched as another man was cast aside by a king who had long since lost his reason.

---

POV: Lord Qarlton Chelsted – The Last Loyalist

Lord Qarlton Chelsted, Master of Coin, observed the scene with a sinking heart.

Jon Connington had made mistakes, but he had tried. And now he was thrown away like a broken blade.

Chelsted stole a glance at the gathered lords. They watched with fascination, some whispering, others smirking behind their hands. None would speak for Connington. None would dare.

"The rebels now hold the Riverlands, and Robert Baratheon walks free," Aerys continued, his lips curling into something almost gleeful. "And all because my Hand was not strong enough to stop him."

Chelsted swallowed hard. The king should not be laughing about this. The war was turning against them, yet Aerys did not see it. Or perhaps he simply did not care.

"You are hereby dismissed from my service," Aerys declared. "And you will leave Westeros. Exile is merciful, don't you think?"

Jon Connington looked up then, meeting the king's gaze. His hands clenched at his sides, but he said nothing.

Chelsted turned his eyes to Rhaegar's absence. The prince was in Dorne, away from this madness, and he wondered if that was deliberate. Does he know what his father has become?

As Jon Connington turned and walked out of the throne room, Chelsted realized the answer didn't matter.

Rhaegar may have been the last hope for the realm, but Aerys still held the crown. And with each passing day, his grip tightened.

Chelsted knew it was only a matter of time before Westeros burned.

And when it did, there would be no victors.

Only ashes.