Chapter 135: Combat — Exhilarating
Tap… tap… tap…
Armored boots stepped into the inner courtyard, striking the hard brass floor with crisp, echoing sounds.
Step by step, the knight entered the chamber.
Lady Mellario was already huddled in a corner, clutching the swaddled infant Prince Quentyn to her chest. Her eyes were wide with terror, her posture unmistakably that of a woman whose home had just been invaded by a monster.
The knight tilted his head slightly, his azure gaze meeting hers.
Even without releasing a shred of killing intent, the fact that he had personally slaughtered dozens moments earlier meant the stench of blood and death still clung to him like a shadow.
One glance was enough.
Mellario shuddered violently, dropping her gaze at once. Black hair spilled down, shielding both her face and the child in her arms as her body trembled—afraid that a single wrong word might earn her the same fate as Frelna and the others.
"Heh…"
But Lance ignored her entirely.
A low chuckle escaped his throat as he continued forward.
Stopping before the bound queen, he wasted no words. The blade flashed, precise and clean, severing every rope restraining her.
"As promised," he said calmly,
"I've come to take you and Prince Viserys home, Your Grace."
The blood-soaked white-armored knight dropped to one knee, planting both swords before him. His forehead rested against the hilts—a knight's vow fulfilled.
The queen's eyes shimmered.
Freed at last, she stepped forward without hesitation, lifting a hand to gently stroke the knight's head—then, without warning, pulled him into a fierce embrace.
Enemy blood smeared across her black ceremonial gown.
Yet somehow, it did not look dirty.
Lance had felt it before—but the queen's generous warmth still made him inwardly sigh.
In a night steeped in slaughter and death, this brief moment of closeness slowly bled the killing intent from his body. The restlessness, the thirst for blood, quieted at last.
Then—
A shrill scream tore the stillness apart.
"You can't do this! I—I'm just a woman holding a child!"
"By oath, knights are meant to protect women and the weak—not abduct them!"
"If you dare lay hands on us, the Seven will curse you!"
Both turned.
Six knights had surrounded Mellario, clearly debating whether to take her along as well.
The act was undeniably ugly—but holding Mellario and Prince Quentyn would force Prince Doran to act with restraint.
Mellario, however, reacted swiftly.
Seizing the moral high ground, she lashed out with knightly oaths and the doctrine of the Seven. These men—who had been anointed with holy oils and sworn sacred vows—hesitated, uncertain how to respond.
"A Norvosi preaching the Seven," Lance said flatly as he strode over, swords in hand.
"You've memorized the scripture well."
His voice dropped.
"When your husband and his despicable brother abducted the queen and her child under their own roof, did they remember honor? Did they remember oaths?"
The presence of the white-armored knight made Mellario instinctively shrink back.
Yet the moment she looked down at her son—his wide eyes staring up at her—the instinct of a mother took hold.
She straightened.
"That was their decision," she said firmly, meeting Lance's gaze.
"I am merely a woman. Such matters are beyond me."
Her voice did not waver.
"I don't believe you would harm me—or a child only days old, Ser Knight."
"As a knight… as Commander of the Kingsguard…"
"Honor binds you."
Fear still lingered in her eyes.
But beneath it—
Certainty.
She was convinced she had him.
Westeros was what she missed most.
In Norvos, in the Nine Free Cities, even across the Dothraki Sea, no one ever granted you mercy because of your gender. On the contrary—being a woman often meant living in harsher conditions.
In Essos, where the law of the jungle and naked profit reigned supreme, women were merely another form of wealth. Except for Braavos—which loudly proclaimed the abolition of slavery—everything else could be openly priced and sold in the streets.
Including people.
Women—especially women who had already given birth—were often worth a great deal.
Because fertility meant future value: the ability to produce more slaves, more property, more profit.
When the Dothraki came raiding, the Free Cities—Norvos included—would host lavish feasts and present extravagant gifts to send them on their way.
And among those "gifts," women were naturally included.
Even powerful merchant magnates like Mellario had no choice but to hide indoors when the Dothraki arrived, fearing that some dominant khal might take a fancy to her and simply carry her off.
But Westeros was different.
Here, knightly culture prevailed. Though some men still treated women as playthings, most dared not go too far—for doing so invited retribution from knights and lords who still clung to the idea of honor.
Now, with her Norvosi bearded priests wiped out and no palace guards in sight, Mellario's status as a woman had become her final bargaining chip.
A fragile one, perhaps—but the only one she had left.
Even though House Martell had already shattered that protection, she had no choice but to clutch at this last straw for her child's sake.
Such flimsy leverage might mean nothing across the Narrow Sea.
But to sworn knights—
It worked all too well.
"You should leave, sers."
Seeing the knights hesitate, Mellario allowed herself a faint smile, adopting a tone of false concern.
"Dawn has come. The palace guards will soon notice the disturbance here, and when they do—"
She never finished the sentence.
A dull thud sounded.
Mellario's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed unconscious to the floor.
Fortunately, Lance reacted instantly, catching the child from her arms before he could fall.
The knights stared in shock.
Behind them stood the Targaryen Queen, amusement written plainly across her face.
Casually tossing aside a bronze wine jug, she brushed nonexistent dust from her gown and curled her lips.
"I'm not a knight," she said lightly.
Then, her voice turned cold.
"Take them with us. That is the Queen's command."
With that, she lifted the still-sleeping Prince Viserys into her arms and strode out of the courtyard without hesitation.
Truth be told, the boy had nerves of steel.
Outside, blood had been spilled, bodies piled high, chaos raging—and yet he slept straight through it all.
No wonder, after the fall of his house, he would later survive exile and grow strong alongside his sister.
Watching the Queen walk away—her boots stepping through blood that hadn't yet congealed, crimson splashing onto the hem of her gown—Lance couldn't help but sigh.
Targaryen women… every single one of them is tougher than steel.
He glanced down at the unconscious Mellario and muttered to himself:
"Look at that. Just gave birth and already knocked out cold—she's definitely going to have complications later."
The group stepped over the corpses of the bearded priests and exited the Water Gardens, moving toward their rendezvous point—
When suddenly, the thunder of approaching footsteps erupted nearby.
They turned.
Charging at the front was Areo Hotah, axe in hand—an even more imposing figure than Frelna had been—leading more than a dozen men at full sprint.
The moment Areo spotted the familiar body slung over Ser Hod's shoulder, his already simmering fury exploded.
His massive frame surged forward like a prehistoric beast, every footfall slamming into the ground with bone-shaking force.
"Take the Queen and the Prince and go."
Lance stepped forward decisively, crossing his black and white blades before him as he issued the order coldly to Ser Hod.
"I'll deal with them and meet you at the appointed time."
"B-but… ser—"
Hod hesitated.
Though they had witnessed Lance's terrifying strength firsthand, abandoning a comrade in the midst of danger ran against everything he believed as a knight.
Before he could finish—
The Queen had already turned and started walking away.
"If you don't arrive, Lance Lot," she called out without looking back, her pace unbroken,
"I'll send Viserys back to King's Landing with them…"
"And then I'll return alone to find you."
"So—"
"Don't keep me waiting."
Faced with such resolve, the knights had no choice but to follow.
They all understood—if they hesitated and the palace guards arrived in force, none of them would escape.
As the footsteps faded into the distance, Lance finally allowed himself a satisfied grin.
He lowered his center of gravity, slowly raising his arms as the twin blades crossed before him.
Sunlight blazed across his blood-soaked white armor, dazzling and fierce.
Dawn continued to rise.
And battle—
Was glorious.