Hugh Hammer (ASOIF/SI)

 He sat in the Solar of the Keep of Cider Hall, aware of the irony of

 where he found himself now, supervising the disbandment of their

 army and the return to their homes of the banner men who had

 flocked to the cause of King Aegon, second of his name.

 A cause now as dead and gone as Aegon himself, along with his

 brother, Alicent and all her sons. A cause that had been so righteous

 that the Septons in the Starry Sept themselves had preached that

 victory for Aegon was ordained in the very heavens themselves.

 Well, that was where he must reign, and that was where he must

 have found victory, because his cause had found only defeat in

 reality.

 And yet, it had been so close, so close, if the timings had been just

 that little bit different, if luck and chance and all the imponderables of

 war had gone just slightly different, well, he would in all likelihood be

 sitting in Kings Landing now.

 Not that he would not be sitting in Kings Landing soon enough, and

 as Hand of the King, but the tinge of defeat hung over him, and he

 disliked it intensely.

 What he disliked even more was the nagging feeling that he had

 been played, that the events that had played out on the so-called

 Day of Fire and Blood were not the chaos and happenstance that

 had been reported, but that they had played out according to

 someone's plan.

 And he had good reason to suspect two men, either jointly or

 separately, as being the masterminds of the 'Day of Fire and Blood',

 Lord Strong and the Regent, Lord Corlys.

Individually either of them could have been capable of orchestrating

 the events of that day, difficult though it would have been. But

 together? Together those two men could have twisted and shaped

 the events to their whims, of that he was certain.

 The very specific slaughter that took place in the Red Keep, the

 survival of those pieces of the game necessary to both men's

 survival and retention of power was little short of miraculous, or more

 likely the product of intense and careful plotting.

 And to allow one's own blood to be massacred, in the case of

 Princess Rhaena, well, that spoke to him of a plotter of supreme

 ruthlessness. But then again, had not Princess Rhaena been born of

 the union between his daughter and Prince Daemon? And had not

 Lord Corlys and Prince Daemon had a complicated relationship

 down the years?

 The fact that Lord Corlys had thrown his lot in with them, or had

 appeared to, was cause enough for him to fear the Sea Snake, a

 man as duplicitous and ruthless as Lord Corlys was a terrible

 opponent to face. The more he examined the events of the Day of

 Fire and Blood the more convinced he became that Lord Strong and

 Lord Corlys had manipulated events for their own advantage, and

 not for the advantage of any so called 'Blacks' or 'Greens'.

 With that said, did he still want the role of Hand of the King? He

 chuckled darkly to himself, of course he did, what a stupid question

 to ask, even in the private recesses of one's own mind. The position

 of Hand brought with it great power, even if such power were likely to

 be circumscribed by that of the Regent, to whom he would be Hand

 to in all reality. But Lord Corlys was an old man, and he wanted to

 reign as Regent for the entire six years it would take the younger

 Aegon, second of his name to reach his majority. But this was

 unlikely to happen, of that he was certain, for competition for the

 position of Regent would be intense, savage even. He would not

 give a groat for the chances of Lord Corlys serving out his desired

 term as Regent for the King.

And when a Regent was….no longer available, well then was it not

 customary for the Hand to ascend to that most lofty of positions?

 That there would be plots to prevent him from reaching this goal he

 did not even give a second thought to, of course there would be plots

 and maneuverings and dark, shady deeds, for this was the currency

 with which power was paid for in the Red Keep.

 And once Regent he would have to defend his position against the

 inevitable attempts to remove him, again something to be totally

 expected. With his family's overall position somewhat damaged by

 recent events he would have to look to allies of assist him. Former

 and current allies would need to be sounded out and future allies

 would need to be seduced and secured, and rapidly to ensure his

 place in Kings Landing, never mind for him to survive or even thrive.

 And there was the vexing question of Lord Strong still being confined

 to the shadows and not formally announced as Master of Whispers,

 it was troubling him greatly, and his questions to his erstwhile ally on

 this matter either went unanswered or were answered far below his

 satisfaction.

 Add to all of this was the conundrum of Prince Hugh, the bastard

 dragonrider who by all prior arrangements should have been

 disposed of long ago, once his usefulness was at an end. And yet

 the lad still lived and seemed to be without a care in the world, still

 possessed of his shameful title, and to think that bastard shared the

 name that the children of his niece once had! It made his blood near

 boil at the insult of it, but then again, had it not been Daemon who

 had bestowed the name on the bastard? To his mind just the last in a

 long line of slights and slurs that the so-called Rogue Prince had

 inflicted on House Hightower in particular and the realm in general.

 He would make it his first priority to strip the lad of his name when he

 reached Kings Landing, and mayhaps even ensure the death of this

 disgusting, jumped up cur. But Hugh's continued existence and title

 did give him pause for concern. for it spoke of events beyond his

 ken, of deals and plots he was unaware of.

Thus, needed to make haste to Kings Landing to assume his post,

 and not dawdle here, doing work that was frankly beneath him. But

 he was here for another reason, another reason entirely.

 And speaking of that other reason, Ser Criston Cole was let into his

 presence, dressed in plain clothing and bereft of his normal armor

 and white cloak. The former Kingsguard and Hand of the King was

 just about ready to depart for pastures new, for there had

 unfortunately been no deal or accommodation that could be possible

 with Ser Criston Cole still in Westeros.

 "Ser Criston, a sad day, a sad day indeed," he intoned, schooling his

 face to show concern he did not feel.

 Cole shrugged his shoulders and said. "I depart within the hour; I

 have letters of introduction under an assumed name for several of

 the better-known mercenary bands in Essos. Not how I wanted to

 spend the rest of my days, but it's better than the Wall or the

 headman's block."

 "It is for the best Ser Criston, it's just a shame how things turned out

 in the end, is it not?"

 Cole did not reply, seeming to be lost within his own thoughts.

 "Oh, here, I almost forgot," he said, retreating to his desk and

 retrieving a large purse and a sealed letter, he walked up to Cole and

 stood right before him.

 "This scroll contains instructions on how to access an Iron Bank

 account in the name you have assumed, and this purse, well, it's not

 that much, but it's a token of my appreciation for all your efforts Ser

 Criston."

 "Thank, thank you Lord Hightower," the former Kingsguard replied,

 taking the offered gifts.

"And my condolences," he said as Cole was just the slightest bit

 distracted by putting away the scroll and the purse.

 "For what?" asked Cole, bringing his face back up to meet his gaze.

 "For your death," he replied, as Cole suddenly stiffened in shock, as

 behind him two of the supposed 'guards' in the room buried their

 already drawn, but previously hidden daggers into the former

 Kingsguard's back, blood sputtering out of Cole's suddenly gaping

 mouth.

 The blades were each stabbed several times in quick succession

 into Cole's back, the culprits taking a swift pair of steps backwards

 after their work was completed. Cole swayed for a few seconds, his

 face a rictus of agony and the terrible realization of his betrayal,

 before the corpse collapsed to the ground at his feet, he had stepped

 backwards quickly enough to avoid the falling body.

 "Take his head and salt it, dispose of the body in the Mander, and

 give me the purse and the scroll, Ser Criston has no more need of

 either item."