More than a decade ago, it was here that a moment of misplaced mercy led him to spare the town a full search, allowing Robert Baratheon to slip away right under his nose. That single mistake ultimately brought about the fall of the Targaryen dynasty and condemned him to a life of exile.
This place marked the end of his glory and the root of half a lifetime of suffering.
Now, history seemed to be repeating itself.
Kevan and Tommen, like Robert all those years ago, had vanished into this small town without a trace.
"Search every house. Every room, every cellar, every rat hole. Leave nothing unchecked."
Jon Connington's voice had grown sharp with urgency.
He would not allow the same mistake to happen a second time.
The soldiers of the Golden Company burst into homes, overturning furniture and terrifying the residents, but they found nothing.
The people of Stoney Sept watched these outsiders in silence, fear plain in their eyes, just as they had looked upon Connington's army more than a decade earlier.
To Jon Connington, that silence was nothing but concealment and provocation.
"My lord, the entire town has been searched. There's nothing."
The Golden Company sergeant Caspor Hill reported.
"Impossible!"
Jon Connington snarled. "They're hiding them, just like they hid Robert back then. These stubborn peasants, these traitors!"
Under the double strain of returning to this cursed place and failing to catch his prey, his state of mind began to twist.
Just then, the bells of Stoney Sept's church suddenly began to ring.
Dong! Dong! Dong!...
The distant peals fell on Jon Connington's ears like open mockery of his past failure.
The unending tolling became the final straw, shattering what remained of his reason.
It was as if he had been dragged back more than ten years, shame and fury swallowing him whole.
He drew his sword in one sharp motion and pointed it at the church, madness burning in his eyes.
"Seal the town gates! Not a single one leaves! Burn it. Burn it all down. Burn this filthy nest that shelters rebels to the ground. Reduce it to ashes, and let's see where they can hide then!"
Caspor Hill and the other officers stood stunned.
"My lord, this… the town is full of civilians!"
"Carry out the order!"
Jon Connington roared, his face contorted. "Burn them alive, or you'll die in their place!"
Orders were absolute.
Though terror gripped them, the soldiers of the Golden Company obeyed.
The town gates were slammed shut and barricaded.
Fires were set throughout the streets. Torches were hurled onto rooftops, braziers overturned to ignite stored goods.
House after house went up in flames. Thick smoke rolled through the air, fire climbing toward the sky.
Civilians screamed and wept, but there was nowhere to run.
They beat against the sealed gates, only to be cut down by the Golden Company's merciless arrows.
In moments, Stoney Sept was turned into a living hell.
Mounted on his horse, Jon Connington gazed upon the sea of fire, and in the flames, he seemed to see Prince Rhaegar's melancholy, handsome face smiling back at him.
"Prince… did you see it? I've avenged you. All traitors must die…"
He muttered to himself, his manner bordering on madness.
The officers nearby watched with dread creeping into their hearts.
…
In a concealed attic atop a tower at the center of the town, Kevan and Tommen huddled together, trembling.
"Lord Kevan, what's happening outside?"
The young Tommen was deathly pale, clutching Kevan's sleeve with both hands.
Kevan peered through the narrow stone window. Outside, the town had become a sea of fire. Thick smoke stung his eyes until tears streamed down his face.
His expression darkened as he cursed under his breath. "Madman. Jon Connington is a madman. He's burning the entire town."
Just then, noises rose from below the tower. Voices of Golden Company soldiers, the scrape of wood being dragged and stacked.
Soon, smoke began seeping through the cracks around the attic door.
Kevan rushed to force the hidden door open, only to find it blocked from the outside, completely immovable.
"No…"
His heart sank.
The smoke thickened, the heat climbing rapidly.
Tommen began coughing violently, choking as tears poured down his face.
Kevan wrapped his body around the boy, desperately searching for a way out. But the window was fifty feet above the ground, and below it raged an inferno. Jumping meant certain death.
Despair closed in on them.
At last, the flames burned through the oak door. Fire roared into the attic.
"Ahhh!"
Kevan let out a piercing scream as his back was instantly engulfed in flames, yet he still shielded Tommen with his body, refusing to let go.
The horrific sight stunned Tommen into panic. Seeing the Hand of the King consumed by fire, he screamed, tore himself free, and instinctively fled toward the window to escape the flames.
The stone sill was searing hot, burning his hands.
He looked out. Below was a hellish ocean of fire. He turned back, and all he saw were the flames swallowing Kevan.
There was nowhere left to go.
The young king, who had never truly held his own fate in his hands, sobbed as he took one last look at the cruel world. Then he closed his eyes and threw himself from the tower…
…
The fire burned for three full days and nights.
Jon Connington even ordered his soldiers to keep feeding the flames, ensuring that nothing living could possibly survive.
Three days later, what had once been Stoney Sept was nothing but blackened ruins, wisps of smoke rising from collapsed walls. Silence reigned.
Jon Connington ordered his men to enter the ruins and search thoroughly.
All they found were countless charred corpses in the ashes, confirming that no one had survived.
"My lord, there are no survivors in Stoney Sept."
Caspor Hill reported, his voice dry.
Jon Connington nodded in satisfaction.
He took one last look at the ruins, as though a tremendous weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders.
More than a decade ago, the rebels had defeated him here at the Battle of the Bells, and the Baratheons had risen as a result.
More than a decade later, he had burned Stoney Sept to the ground, sweeping the Baratheon dynasty completely into the river of history.
"The Baratheon rule… is over," he murmured.
Caspor Hill added quietly, "My lord, that child… he wasn't a Baratheon. He was a Lannister."
In his heart, he added that perhaps the boy might even have been a Targaryen.
Jon Connington turned his head, his expression utterly calm. "Lion or stag, anyone who stands in the path of the true dragon must die."
During the siege of Stoney Sept, rumors about Young Aegon's parentage had also reached Jon Connington.
He dismissed them with a scoff, refusing to examine the doubts hidden within those whispers, doubts that could not truly be refuted.
All of Jon Connington's hope and redemption rested on one truth: "Rhaegar's son."
If even that was false, then his years of exile and perseverance, the blackened ruins before him, and the countless crimes he had committed would become meaningless, even absurd.
He could not accept that. He never would.
So he chose to believe, to believe with a madness that bordered on obsession.
The true dragon had to be real.
Otherwise, the very meaning of his existence would collapse with it.
...
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