GoT and House of The Dragon: The Last Valyrian Dragonlord.

The spear flew from his hand before the words had even finished leaving his lips.

The assassin did not hesitate either. With a flick of his wrist, a dagger slipped into his palm.

But the two young men were faster.

Hoffa lunged without a word, ramming into the assassin's waist. The impact barely unbalanced the man—his movements were unnaturally controlled, as if he had trained for such attacks. Still, it was enough.

Even as the assassin steadied himself, his dagger still flashing forward, the spear found its mark.

Valar seized the opening, rolling away from the fight and snatching up a broken lance from the training yard.

The assassin glared at him with burning hatred, the spear embedded in his chest. Then, in flawless High Valyrian, he muttered:

"I regret this."

He flipped his dagger and drove it into his own throat.

A clean death. One that left no questions.

Silver Scorpion stepped forward, yanking his spear free. "It's a Regretful One," he said grimly. "Valar, my lord, you may need to return to Volantis sooner than planned."

"Who sent him?" Valar asked, the shock fading, replaced by cold understanding. Hoffa remained tense, standing protectively in front of him, eyes locked on the corpse.

Silver Scorpion didn't answer. Instead, he methodically thrust his spear into the assassin's limbs, chest, and head before turning to the approaching guards—soldiers of the Silverblood Legion, along with several towering warriors in full plate, wielding great axes: the Weepers.

"Silver Scorpion!" The clatter of steel echoed through the courtyard as Gonzal Pyrebrand stormed in, Sebastian Pyrebrand close behind.

Gonzal was a large, powerfully built man with brown hair, his beard tightly knotted. His silver chestplate bore the Pyrebrand sigil—black flames on a deep blue field. A sworn vassal of House Varezys, he came from a line of loyal retainers. Unfortunately, that line had all but died with him.

His story was well known. He had loved his wife fiercely, but she had died in childbirth. Stricken with grief, he had sworn an oath never to marry again. To seal that vow, he had drunk the Oathwine—a concoction laced with Lozar's blood, binding him to the Varezys family forever.

Thus, House Pyrebrand's bloodline had ended.

A similar fate had befallen the Valterkan family, once the most powerful retainers of House Varezys. Their last heir, Rafa Valterkan, had drowned on his own wine, choking to death in his cups.

And so, the Valterkan line had ended as well.

Fortunately, Lozar had taken in many orphans.

Sebastian had been raised as Gonzal's son, inheriting the name Pyrebrand. Another boy, Lyn Valterkan, had been given the Valterkan name and the family's place of honor among the household.

Gonzal's fury simmered as he scanned the scene. "What the hell is going on?"

Silver Scorpion was unshaken. "A Regretful One infiltrated the estate and tried to assassinate Lord Valar. We need to lock down the grounds immediately."

Gonzal's expression hardened. "Understood. Sebastian, with me. Silver Scorpion, keep the young lord safe." He unsheathed his longsword, nodding at Sebastian before leading a group of Silverblood riders into the courtyard.

Their warhorses were still waiting outside.

The remaining Unsullied and Silverblood soldiers spread out, weapons drawn, securing every exit.

Silver Scorpion turned back to Valar and Hoffa. "You need to leave with Gonzal and Sebastian," he said, voice firm. "A Regretful One is bad enough. If they've hired a Faceless Man… the consequences would be far worse."

Valar and Hoffa exchanged glances. They had no illusions about the danger now.

They ran to their quarters to pack.

A Long Night of Searching

The estate remained on lockdown for the entire day.

"Anything?" Valar asked as Sebastian returned, sweat-drenched and breathing hard.

Sebastian grabbed a glass decanter from the table, pouring himself a drink of amber-colored fruit wine. He downed it in one gulp.

"My father and I searched every corner of the estate," he said at last. "We found a few servants who helped the assassin slip inside. They didn't know he was a Regretful One—he had convinced them he was a new recruit for the Silverblood Legion."

Valar narrowed his eyes. "And what happened to them?"

"They're alive," Sebastian replied. "Hoffa made them drink the Pactwine. They couldn't lie under its influence. Once we confirmed they weren't involved, we let them go."

Valar nodded. His brother had drilled this lesson into him—secrets, loyalty, control. Never let a false word pass unnoticed.

"The message to the Lord should have arrived by now," Sebastian added. "We leave at first light."

Valar nodded. "Good."

Back in Volantis – The Black Walls

CRACK.

Expensive glass shattered across the stone floor.

"Who did it?" Lozar growled, his deep violet eyes rimmed with bloodshot exhaustion.

A tense silence filled the chamber. Seated at the long table were his closest retainers.

Lord Vansen Kaon stroked his beard in thought.

Beside him, Aslan Rondel, a silver-haired youth, was seething. "It has to be the Tigers!" he spat.

"Aslan," said Maester Visari, his voice calm, "you should be careful with accusations. The Lord is not a senator. Assassinating him—or his brother—would bring no benefit to the Tigers. It would only be a scandal for them."

A dry chuckle cut through the room.

Dressed in black, Zesar the Shadowweaver smirked. "Maester, you make the mistake of applying reason to fools," he said.

Zesar was the Master of Whispers for House Varezys. His expertise ranged from Lysene poisons to the spy networks of Braavos. He was also the reluctant mentor of Tigaro Targaryen, whom Lyn Valterkan had dragged back to the family.

"There are plenty of factions who could afford a Regretful One," Zesar mused. "But only one has a clear motive—House Bentarro. Mogul Bentarro may be a spineless waste of air, but his family has the gold to make rash decisions."

Lozar's fists clenched. "Then why not target me? Killing Valar serves them no purpose."

A heavy pause.

"Unless," he said slowly, "they thought killing my brother would provoke me."

Then they've won.

The anger burned in his chest.

"Because you are too expensive," Zesar answered. He leaned on his cane—his leg had been permanently damaged in a poisoning incident. "Even the High Magisters of the Free Cities, or the Triarchs of Volantis, could not afford to kill you."

Lozar hesitated.

It was true.

His house had warriors. Unsullied.

More importantly, he had blood magic.

His retainers and servants had all drunk the Oathwine or the Pactwine. Even the cats and crows on his estate had been fed meat soaked in his blood.

His estate was a death trap for intruders.

Even a Faceless Man would struggle to breach his defenses.

Though… a dragon would certainly help.

"Fine." Lozar exhaled, glancing at the map on the table. "Let's discuss how we're going to make House Bentarro pay. My brother won't be scared for nothing."

"Perhaps poison?" Tigaro suggested, raising a hand. "With just three drops of graycap venom and a pinch of scorpiontail extract, I could wipe out the entire Bentarro household. It would look like a fever outbreak."

"The price shouldn't just be blood," Lyn Valterkan countered. "Tigaro, you go too far sometimes."

"You're both right," Vansen Kaon interjected, diffusing the tension. "My Lord, your orders?"

Lozar's violet eyes gleamed.

"The Bentarros made their move. Whether they did it or not, their guilt is all that matters. And if they acted, the Tigers must also pay."

A slow smile curled on his lips.

"This could be an opportunity," he murmured. "A perfect distraction to shift the nobles' attention… away from my real plans."

The ships were nearly ready. Only Malahar's recovery remained. Then they would set sail for the ruins of Valyria.

And in his veins, Lozar felt something calling him there.

Something waiting.

"Prepare the carriage, Lord Kaon. Zesar, Tigaro—you're staying. Aslan, Lyn, you're coming with me."

He stood.

"We're going to the Senate."