He had dared such a reckless act only because of his fear for his mother and sisters.
He sensed that the Elder might know their fate and whereabouts.
It was not truly his intent to take the Elder hostage—Baelor knew that only by saving Terno, then joining him with the other Rhoynar Elders to drive out the Targaryens, could his family be rescued.
The carriage carrying Terno and Baelor had barely left the manor for a minute before Viserys's cavalry surrounded the estate.
Those inside, seeing disaster at hand, tried to flee but could not. They scurried about like headless flies.
Some perhaps hoped to escape, others to hide, but many did not know what they were doing at all. It was fear that drove them into mindless motion.
When Viserys's men broke down the gates, all confusion was crushed.
Through the memories he had seized from the water mages, Viserys knew the manor as though it were his own. He knew where the granary stood, where the armory was hidden.
Very soon, the serving girls and guards were all rounded up.
Among them, Ruchel was dragged forward. Once proud, he was now disheveled and trembling.
"Your Majesty, merciful king," he babbled, "Terno fled—I am only his steward. It was his idea to deny you laborers for your wall. None of it was mine, I swear!"
Viserys ignored his excuses. He knew only that the Elder had fled, and that there was still time before the rest of the Rhoynar gathered their armies against him.
He handed Ruchel a small booklet and ordered:
"Spread these words as widely as you can. At once."
Within its pages were his tax reforms and promises of benefit.
Before the Rhoynar lords could unite, Viserys had time to move families willing to follow him to safety.
Meanwhile, Terno and Baelor fled for three days and two nights without pause before they dared rest.
At the riverbank, Baelor filled a silver cup with water and handed it to Terno.
The Elder drank it down in one gulp, but hunger gnawed at his belly. Water could not silence it.
They had fled in such haste they carried no food.
"You—find me something to eat."
"Yes, Elder."
Baelor himself was in no better state. His back still bore the whip's wounds, and his stomach ached from hunger. He had gone without food as long as Terno.
As he turned to leave, he hesitated and asked, "Elder, this river belongs to Lord Lothan, not to us."
"What does that matter? At worst, we'll repay him later. Wait—Lothan? Have we reached his lands already?"
"Yes, Elder," Baelor replied, licking his parched lips.
Terno swallowed. What could he possibly eat here? At most, roast a fish or two from the river. Better to hold out a little longer, and once in Lothan's domain, demand proper provisions.
So he ordered Baelor to drive on.
Though weary, hungry, and near fainting, Baelor obeyed. It was better to reach Lothan quickly, to call for aid.
Thinking this, he pinched his thigh hard to keep himself awake.
A man might drive his body onward by sheer will, becoming like a beast of burden—but horses could not.
When exhausted, they faltered. They foamed at the mouth. They fell.
Had they not paused earlier, the horses might have held out.
But no sooner had they set off again than one collapsed, tongue lolling on the ground, blood-flecked foam at its lips, eyes staring at Baelor in mute despair.
"Useless beast!" Terno spat.
Baelor knew the truth: they carried too much gold. If they cast aside some of the load, the other horse might still go on.
"Elder, perhaps we should leave some of the treasure behind, and reach Lord Lothan first—"
But the moment Terno heard the words "leave behind," his eyes blazed.
"You? You are nothing! You are but my servant. This gold could buy and sell you a thousand times!"
Baelor faltered, stunned at his fury. Still, he tried once more:
"But Elder, the Targaryen army ravages our lands. If we do not summon aid soon, our people will be in danger!"
Terno laughed bitterly, his face twisted.
"Our people? What people? Did I hear you right? Just now you said this was Lothan's river, not ours. Not ours? Mine! It is my river. You are my servant. Everything the Targaryen burns belongs to me. What has it to do with you?"
He seized the reins and thrust them at Baelor.
"Put them on yourself. Pull the carriage. Now!"
As the harness closed around his shoulders, Baelor felt something within him break.
All he had done, all he had hoped—it was meaningless.
He pulled the carriage on numb legs, cold wind cutting his face. Even the lash of the whip brought him no pain.
Step by step, across stones and dead grass, he dragged it on.
He did not know how long he walked before they reached Lord Lothan's manor.
It was vast, larger than any other Elder's estate, yet defended only by a thin wooden fence. Through the gaps, one could see plainly inside.
Children's laughter carried across the yard, sharp and carefree. It grated on Terno's nerves.
He could not fathom this Elder. Lothan ruled more people than any other, collected the richest taxes, yet his manor had not been repaired in decades.
Instead, he poured all his men and treasure into searching for "that thing." Even after all four of his sons had perished in the search, he did not relent.
If only Lothan were less obstinate, Terno thought bitterly. A show of goodwill to Braavos could bring real gain. Why cling to stubborn pride?
And then there were the children.
Dozens of them, clean and well-fed, playing in the yard. All of them Rhoynar orphans, whom Lothan had taken in.
Terno sneered. If they had the gift to become water mages, perhaps. But most were ordinary.
To raise them was waste. Better to sell them to Volantis as slave boys.
Gold spent on the poor was gold thrown to ruin. It was a sin.
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