The war kept Viserys Targaryen buried in work for days. Only on the seventh day after the fall of Lys did he finally find time to summon Trigg Omoren and Lady Lynesse.
He chose the garden of the old Ottis palace for the meeting. The air was cool and pleasant, a welcome escape from the summer heat, yet every flower and fountain served as a quiet reminder that this beauty now belonged to the conqueror.
Trigg Omoren arrived in chains, filthy and stinking from the dungeons. His mistress had been allowed to bathe and dress properly so she could maintain at least the appearance of dignity.
Before passing final judgment, Viserys wanted to confirm a few things for himself.
Trigg Omoren was the kind of man who was hard to describe. You could only paint him by what he was not. Neither fat nor thin, neither handsome nor ugly, neither old nor young. Only his violet eyes still held a spark of cunning and life.
Compared to the bloated governors of Lys, he looked almost respectable. But that was all.
His mistress, on the other hand, drew the eye far more easily.
Tall, pale, golden-haired, and beautiful enough to stir any man's desire. Even her flat chest did nothing to lessen her appeal. She was the sort of woman who could make a green knight forget his vows in a heartbeat.
"Your Grace, King Viserys," the merchant began in halting Andal, his voice shaking. "We beg your mercy. Please show us mercy."
"We were never your enemies, nor enemies of glorious Volantis," Lynesse added quickly, feeling the weight of the Triarch's stare. "Please believe me—my master never supported this foolish war. He never backed Aenys and his mad gamble. Tyrosh's gold weighed heavy on his purse, but it was never his choice."
"I swear it," her master groaned. "We are not your enemies. We are glad the killing has ended. We want to atone. This is all slander—vicious lies spread by that old whore Rhaenella."
"Your Grace," Lynesse said, offering a charming smile, "you must know that House Hightower has always been loyal to the Targaryens. My father, Lord Leyton, always believed the realm should be ruled by dragons, not stags. He was the last to lay down his arms."
"We can still be useful," Omoren pressed desperately. "We have eyes and ears all over Lys. Many great families owe us favors. We can bring you every secret in the city! We have every reason to be allies. We can work together for our mutual benefit."
"Well spoken," Viserys said quietly. "Mutual benefit. As you say, the new Freehold—the new age—needs capable, influential people to serve it."
Viserys studied the pair in silence. He knew they had no chance to coordinate their stories beforehand. They had no idea what charges they actually faced.
Trigg spoke like a man half out of his mind. He would say anything to avoid returning to the hot, stinking darkness of the dungeons.
As for Lynesse…
"Trigg Omoren, you told only the part of the truth that helps you," Viserys said at last, ready to deliver the killing blow. "You never incited this war. You never spilled blood. You never backed Aenys. I know that much. But you stand accused of another crime, Governor—one just as serious, perhaps even more contemptible. War is common enough in this world. Your crime is something else entirely."
"I… what crime did I commit?"
"You nearly brought the Doom of Valyria down upon us all." The words almost slipped out, but Viserys caught himself. Turning this into a farce would serve no purpose.
He gathered his thoughts and spoke with deliberate gravity.
"You used lies and threats to lure a noble lady into your home and made her your private pet." Viserys let each word land like a hammer. "You turned Lynesse Mormont, born Hightower, into your mistress. You dishonored her—and you dishonored her husband, my captain of the guard and loyal vassal."
The outcome was already written.
The garden fell into dead silence.
In that single instant, Viserys caught a fleeting, vicious spark of satisfaction in the woman's eyes.
"My… my husband is still alive?" Lynesse broke the quiet, her voice trembling with perfect conviction. Her beautiful lashes fluttered. "I never dared hope…"
"Yes. Your husband is alive." Viserys gave a small nod. "More than that—he is waiting for you in my palace right now, serving as captain of my guard. All you have to do, Lady Lynesse, is say one word, and you can return to him."
The hook was baited. The fish took it without hesitation.
"Yes, Your Grace… your words have rekindled my hope and my faith! My husband lives! I… I can finally go back to him!"
"Lynesse, what are you saying?" Trigg gasped, even through his terror. "How can you—"
"Shut up! It's not your turn to speak!" she shrieked. "You can't silence me anymore, you bastard! To hell with your threats—I'm going back to my lord husband!"
"It wasn't like that at all!" Omoren's terrified eyes darted between the woman who had betrayed him and the Triarch. "You came to me! You begged me to take you in—"
"You sent your men to threaten me first!"
"I never sent anyone—"
"Trigg! The lady is speaking!" Viserys's sharp command cut him off instantly. The betrayed governor fell silent. "Lady Lynesse, tell me your story. From beginning to end."
Viserys let the woman pour out her tears and accusations while his mind drifted elsewhere.
He remembered exactly why he had always despised House Hightower.
This exiled prince knew better than anyone how the family had played both sides during his struggle with Daeron.
In his eyes, that duplicity was far worse than honest loyalty to his half-brother.
Good, brave, honest men could fight for the other side and still earn respect. Viserys's own camp had contained such warriors.
But the lords of Oldtown had kept one foot in each camp, ready to jump either way.
Daemon Blackfyre had been forced to tolerate it. He could not afford to lose even such unreliable allies.
But Viserys Targaryen had long ago reached a clear and merciless conclusion.
A man who serves two masters deceives them both. He serves only himself—and deserves double the lash.
And this was the house that had produced Alicent Hightower—the woman who had murdered her own kin for power.
Worse, those cowardly maesters, eager to please Bloodraven, had dared compare Viserys to that Green Party whore and even to the usurper Maegor.
Any man who wrote such words was either a fool or deliberately courting the favor of the most powerful man in the realm.
Maegor and Alicent had betrayed their rightful king and committed every crime imaginable to seize the Iron Throne. They had refused to let go even in death.
Viserys had risen only because Daeron had signed the order for his arrest.
Only Bloodraven and Shiera had whispered their poison into Daeron's ear.
That pale, twisted man and his witch had convinced Daeron that Daemon was preparing to crown himself.
Crown himself?
By the gods!
If Daeron had ever seen that cheap golden circlet, he would have laughed himself sick. It was fit for a pig-keeper, not a king.
Seven gods, R'hllor—all gods real or false—why had they not taken Bloodraven?
If he had died, what might the fate of the Seven Kingdoms have become?
On the other side of the garden, Lynesse's tearful performance continued.
According to her story, she had fled to Omoren only under threat of death. She had remained loyal, waiting faithfully for her husband to return from across the Rhoyne. Poverty and the slave-catchers had finally forced her to seek protection.
She had turned to the great merchant. He had pretended to help, offering shelter and gold, only to betray her trust. He had locked her in a gilded cage, forced her, humiliated her, and made her do every shameful thing that dishonored a noble lady.
It was the sort of cheap melodrama even the worst mummer would be ashamed to perform.
With a little polish from Merrytongue Martin it might have fooled a fool or two.
Viserys saw straight through it.
This greedy, faithless woman had abandoned an ordinary sellsword for the arms of a rich merchant.
Now she was ready to abandon her fallen protector and throw herself into the arms of the Triarch's guard captain.
Beneath that pretty skin beat a heart as black as pitch.
Viserys forced down his disgust.
"Lady Lynesse, it is a king's duty to reward loyal vassals and protect their families. You will sail on the first ship back to Volantis and be reunited with your husband. This wretch will travel with you. I trust Ser Jorah knows exactly how to punish him properly."
"I never dared hope… You are so noble, so merciful! I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Your Grace!"
"I am certain Ser Jorah will be glad to have you back."
And Viserys would send Ser Jorah a letter.
In it he would state clearly that both Trigg and Lynesse were to be treated as slaves under his command.
He would also include every word the pair had spoken today, so Jorah could deal personally with the faithless traitor and the merchant who had deceived him.
A little extra flavor for the revenge.
Especially since, only six months earlier, Jorah had still looked up to Omoren as an untouchable figure.
Sometimes the gods truly enjoyed their little jokes.