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HOGWARTS: REGULUS LORD OF THE STARS
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American Horror: Grind Edition
Euron walked out of the nursery carrying two heads still dripping with blood, leaving a winding trail on the soaked carpet. Right at the door, he ran into Tywin Lannister.
The two stopped in the narrow corridor, locking eyes in silence. Euron's face was expressionless, as if he had just returned from the market carrying ordinary goods. He slowly raised his arms, lifting the two heads to eye level with Tywin, letting those four hollow, fixed eyes stare directly at the Warden of the West.
"They said," Euron's voice was as calm as a frozen lake, "that they were following your orders to kill an infant not yet a year old, and following your orders to rape an innocent woman."
Tywin's gaze swept over the two familiar but lifeless faces, his own face like a cold mask of gold. "They misunderstood." There was not a ripple in his voice. "My order was simple: Dragonspawn must be rooted out."
"Is that so?" The corner of Euron's mouth pulled into a faint, heatless arc. "Then why don't you go in and see for yourself? Dragonspawn refers to a baby less than a year old? And Arriana Whent, her clothes weren't even fully on."
Tywin looked past Euron's shoulder into the blood-scented room, then turned his gaze back to Euron's face. His repeated words fell like a hammer, brooking no argument: "Dragonspawn must be rooted out!"
Euron casually tossed the two heads onto the floor with a dull thud. He wiped the blood from his hands carelessly, as if brushing off a bit of dust.
"I happened to pass by. Didn't like what I saw, so I killed them." He glanced at Tywin sideways. "You won't blame me, will you?"
"No." Tywin's answer was brief and cold, without hesitation. He didn't even spare another glance at the heads before walking straight past Euron, as if they were two sacks of irrelevant trash.
He walked toward Arriana Whent, who was slumped unconscious in the corner. His gaze lingered for a moment on her disheveled clothes, then fell on the lifeless infant beside her whose head had been smashed in.
Tywin unclasped the heavy cloak embroidered with the golden lion of House Lannister from his back. with unusually steady movements, he wrapped up the tiny, frail corpse. The crimson fabric was quickly soaked by dark bloodstains, swallowing half the lion sigil.
He carefully picked up the small body wrapped in the cloak, his movements carrying a strange solemnity, like performing a dark ritual.
When the two of them stepped into the Throne Room one after the other, Eddard Stark's furious roar was exploding like thunder in the empty hall:
"Get down from there, Lannister! That is not your seat!"
Ned held the greatsword "Ice" with both hands, the cold tip pointing unsteadily straight at the Iron Throne—straight at Jaime Lannister, sitting there in his bloodstained white cloak.
Ned's face was a mix of disbelief, shock, and pure rage. He saw not just usurpation, but the deepest betrayal: a Kingsguard who had murdered the king he swore to protect.
When Robert Baratheon's burly figure entered the Throne Room, the first thing he saw was Aerys's sword-pierced corpse beneath the Iron Throne. He burst into booming laughter that seemed to shake the hall.
"Hahaha! It's just a chair welded together from scrap iron, Ned!" Robert waved his hand at Ned carelessly, as if Jaime sitting there was just a child's prank. "So what if he sits for a bit? Is it going to prick his Lannister arse?"
Then, Tywin Lannister stepped forward steadily. He gently placed the small bundle wrapped in the gold-embroidered crimson cloak before the steps of the Iron Throne, as if presenting a precious gift.
The atmosphere in the hall solidified instantly—the outline of the bundle was clearly an infant.
Robert's smile vanished instantly, his thick brows knitting together. "Tywin, what game is this?"
Tywin's voice was steady as ice. "Your Grace, this is the dragonspawn that had to be purged. The bastard Aerys sired by raping Arriana Whent."
Eddard Stark's hands gripping "Ice" trembled violently with rage. His voice squeezed through his teeth: "Tywin... that is just a baby!"
"It is still dragonspawn," Tywin answered without wavering.
Suffocatingly, Robert was silent for only a moment before nodding heavily, his voice gloomy as thunder. "I see no baby. Only the spawn of dragons."
Standing to the side, Oberyn Martell finally frowned deeply. His narrow eyes squinted, his viper-like gaze nailing Tywin coldly, his face dark enough to drip water.
Ned turned to Robert in disbelief, his voice filled with painful questioning. "We swore to protect women and children when we rose up! Robert! Look at him! He isn't even a year old! What crime could he have committed?"
"Innocent?" Robert roared suddenly like ignited wildfire, his voice deafening. "Ned, wake up! No seed of House Targaryen is innocent! What about Rhaella? Where did she and her whelp run off to? As long as one dragonspawn lives, this realm will never know peace!"
"Our new King speaks true, Lord Stark. This is the sacrifice for a new era." Tywin's voice broke the silence, cold and certain. "Queen Rhaella and her son, along with the bastard in her womb, have already fled to Dragonstone."
Robert's gaze snapped to Euron beside him, rage and demand rolling in his eyes. Dragonstone, situated in the sea, was naturally best handled by the Ironborn who controlled the waves.
Euron merely shrugged indifferently. "I have no interest in sending Ironborn to chase down a pregnant woman and a suckling babe. Besides, the Iron Fleet is too far from there." His tone shifted, looking at Tywin with a trace of playful mockery. "However, I imagine Lord Tywin would be very happy to be of service."
Tywin's face was like carved stone. Meeting Robert's gaze, he made a resolute promise: "Your Grace, I will present their bodies to you—not one will be missing."
This cruel declaration and the extermination order for the Targaryen remnants was the final fuse that completely detonated Eddard Stark's suppressed anger. The fierce dispute between him and Robert regarding honor, oaths, and vengeance exploded before the bloodstained Iron Throne.
Ned Stark stepped forward abruptly. Though the tip of "Ice" pointed to the ground, every muscle in his body was taut with rage. He no longer looked at Tywin but stared dead at Robert, his voice low and trembling from extreme restraint.
"Robert! Look at your feet! Look at this child! We rose against Aerys's tyranny, not to become butchers of women and children! Do knightly vows and noble honor mean nothing before the Iron Throne?"
Robert's face was flushed red with wine and anger. He waved his thick arm as if dispelling unpleasant thoughts. "Honor? Ned! Can your honor bring my parents back to life? Can it bring peace to your father who was burned alive and my parents who drowned because of Aerys's foolish orders? House Targaryen has madness in its blood! Every dragonspawn is a root of disaster! They must be pulled out by the roots! Don't forget your sister, kidnapped by Targaryens, be..."
"Robert, I know! I know it all! We sought revenge against the Mad King, against Rhaegar! But what wrong did this baby do?" Ned's voice finally erupted into a painful shout. "He doesn't even know this world! You sentence him to death because of his blood? Then how are we different from the Mad King? What is the meaning of resisting tyranny?!"
"The meaning is that we survived! We won!" Robert roared, pointing at the Iron Throne. "And now, I make the rules! As long as one dragonspawn lives, someone will rise in rebellion under their banner! Countless people will die for it! One baby dies today so that thousands of babies won't die in wars tomorrow! Can your damned Northern honor understand that logic?"
Ned shook his head in despair, his eyes filled with unfamiliar pain. "What I understand is that if we water the throne with the blood of infants, then this throne is built on sin from the start. Robert, this will curse your reign, curse us all!"
"Curse?" Robert let out a bitter, cold laugh. "Ned, from the moment I watched the Crowned Stag of my house trampled into the mud, my life was already cursed! Now I only need to ensure the Targaryen curse ends here!"
Their roars clashed and echoed in the empty Throne Room—one defending the baseline of justice in his heart, the other driven by blood feud and political reality. The former comrades-in-arms were completely fractured by a fundamental moral choice beneath the iron seat of power. Tywin Lannister watched coldly from the side, while Oberyn Martell's fingers silently caressed the viper-headed haft of his spear.
Just as the dispute between Ned and Robert raged like a storm in the Throne Room, threatening to tear apart the newborn alliance, an old and weary voice cut in, like a dam trying to calm the waves:
"Enough."
Lord Jon Arryn walked forward with a slightly unsteady gait. His face was etched with age and now deepened by profound worry. He was the foster father to both Robert and Ned, the bedrock that united them against tyranny. Seeing the two eagles he had raised now at each other's throats, his heartbreak was palpable.
He first cast a gentle but firm gaze at Ned. "Eddard, your integrity and adherence to oaths are among the most precious qualities in the Seven Kingdoms. No one questions your honor." His words carried the comfort of an elder, trying to first extinguish the Northern lord's anger.
Then, he turned to Robert. His voice remained steady but carried the weight of a Hand of the King. "Robert, you are King. Your decisions concern the future of the realm. Vengeance is a right, but ruling requires foresight and... a degree of virtue, even if only on the surface." He cleverly avoided direct criticism, hinting instead at political necessity.
"But," Lord Jon raised his voice slightly, looking over everyone present, finally resting on Tywin and the small bundle at his feet, "enough blood has been spilled today. King's Landing is burning, the people are terrified. The coalition needs stability. It needs to see the opening of a new era, not witness its founders split by infighting on the day of victory."
He walked between the two men, a highly symbolic gesture. "Regarding Dragonstone, regarding the future, these decisions need to be discussed by the Small Council. They require cool heads, not decisions made in hot blood and anger. I beg you," his tone was almost pleading, "in the name of the cause we fought for together, set aside the dispute for now. There are too many things that need to be handled right now."
Jon Arryn's mediation didn't directly support either side but placed the stability of the state and the survival of the alliance above personal grievances. He reminded them of their shared past and greater responsibility. His intervention was like a bucket of cold water—though it didn't completely extinguish the flames of the dispute, it at least forced Robert and Ned to forcibly suppress their explosive emotions, allowing the suffocating tension in the Throne Room to ease temporarily.
Eddard Stark turned abruptly. The fire in his eyes hadn't died; instead, Jon Arryn's mediation added a finality to it. "The Small Council?" His voice was cold, carrying the stubbornness of the North. "You can discuss your kingdom's great matters. I have only one sister to save now. I must go to the Tower of Joy immediately."
Hearing this, the Red Viper of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, curled his lips into a meaningful smile. He stepped forward lightly. "Lord Eddard, the Tower of Joy is hidden deep in the Red Mountains of the Dornish Marches. Without a son of the desert to guide you, I fear you will be lost in the sun and sand. As it happens, I will go with you."
Beside them, Euron Greyjoy let out a low chuckle, as if seeing an amusing coincidence. "What luck. I am also heading south to Dorne. It is time to go to Starfall to marry my Lady Ashara Dayne. It seems we can travel together for a stretch."
Robert opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something—perhaps remembering the Lyanna he had dreamed of, wanting to go too. But Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully had already quietly taken hold of his arms on either side.
"Robert," Lord Jon's voice was low and firm, "you are the King. King's Landing is just secured, everything awaits rebuilding, and countless eyes are watching you. You are needed here to hold the fort."
Robert looked at the resolute back of his best friend Ned, then at the devastated King's Landing. His immense loss and helplessness finally turned into a heavy sigh. His broad shoulders seemed to slump, and he could only silently acquiesce.
Ned said no more, not even sparing Robert another glance. Gripping "Ice" tight, he strode out of the Throne Room without looking back. Oberyn and Euron exchanged a glance and followed. Three figures, harboring different purposes, left this place filled with the scent of blood and power together, leaving the Iron Throne and brand new troubles to the people behind them.