The unexpected death of a noble, who was also one of the potential heirs of Riverrun, caused quite a stir.
Rhaegar and Otto acted swiftly. The Unsullied maintained order, while the maesters immediately examined the cause of death.
The final verdict: Edmure had died from a lethal poison that acted instantly upon entering the bloodstream.
The poison came from the dagger he had drawn while attacking his nephew, Aelmon.
Setting aside the background of the incident, it was officially deemed an internal conflict within House Tully, with Edmure's death seen as his own doing.
The ruling was controversial, but half the nobles found it entertaining.
The tournament continued.
Harrenhal, The Sept
Edmure's corpse lay in the great hall, as two Silent Sisters carefully tended to it.
Lord Tully stood quietly to the side, gazing at the scene. His clouded eyes flickered between grief and numbness.
He had hoped to prevent bloodshed between his children, yet he had failed to escape this fate.
Not far away, the high lords—including Viserys, Rhaegar, and others—were gathered on the dais.
Alicent and Rhaenys were absent, as the two noblewomen remained in the tournament grounds.
Rhaegar stood silently, replaying the details of Edmure's death in his mind.
Another poisoning—too underhanded, too familiar.
"Prince."
Tormund approached quietly, speaking in a low voice.
"Have you found the culprit?" Rhaegar asked bluntly.
Tormund nodded. "Mylov, the second son of Lord Tully."
Mylov had not participated in the team events but had given his followers to his younger brother Edmure—along with a dagger.
He had intended to reap the benefits without direct involvement.
Hearing this, Rhaegar glanced toward Mylov, who stood near the front of the crowd, speaking in hushed tones with two septons.
After a moment of contemplation, Rhaegar doubted it was that simple.
Lord Tully himself was an incompetent man, and his children were even more foolish. None of them seemed capable of such a calculated scheme.
"Any news from King's Landing?" Rhaegar turned to ask.
Tormund shook his head. "It takes time for the ravens to return. They're still investigating."
Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. In a cold voice, he ordered, "Search Harrenhal thoroughly. Not a single rat hole goes unchecked."
Tormund hesitated for a moment, then his eyes flashed with understanding.
Edmure's death bore an eerie resemblance to Larys' methods. Rhaegar suspected that Larys had infiltrated Harrenhal under their noses.
With the chaos of the tournament, security at Harrenhal was lax.
Larys had grown up in Harrenhal—it wouldn't be difficult for him to know of a secret passage.
"Before nightfall, I'll have the information."
Tormund gave a firm nod before silently leaving the sept.
Moments later, an angry roar shattered the solemn silence:
"GET OUT! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!"
The voice belonged to Lord Tully.
Still reeling from the grief of his son's death, the old man was pointing a trembling finger at his second son, Mylov, and the two septons beside him.
Mylov shrank back into the crowd, thoroughly chastised.
The two septons turned pale, exchanging uneasy glances as they stepped to the side.
Rhaegar took a brief look at the scene before stepping forward.
"Where are you going?" Rhaenyra tugged at his sleeve, asking softly.
"I'm going to see Lord Tully."
With a brief explanation, Rhaegar made his way out of the crowd.
Most of those present had only come out of respect for the Lord of Riverrun.
Lord Tully, exhausted from his outburst, slumped onto the floor, devoid of dignity.
Rhaegar knelt beside him and spoke in a quiet voice. "Lord Tully, you must know who the real culprit is."
Edmure's death was far too suspicious. As his father, Lord Tully had to have some idea.
"Prince…"
Lord Tully hung his head, his sorrow too deep for words.
Rhaegar placed a firm hand on his shoulder, casting a subtle glance at Mylov before lowering his voice further. "There's an outsider involved in this. If you can't bring yourself to act, I will handle it for you."
At that moment, Mylov was huddled beside Aegon, trembling and unable to lift his head.
Behind them stood a man with an amused expression—Mondas Hightower.
Lord Tully lifted his head in confusion, his gaze shifting between Mylov and the two septons.
Finally, with great difficulty, he spoke. "Prince, I will honor the deal we made."
Moments earlier, the two septons had approached him alongside Mylov, declaring that the second son was now the rightful heir of Riverrun.
They even used Edmure as an example, claiming that the younger son had foolishly fought over succession and met a miserable end.
It wasn't hard to guess—Mylov had orchestrated Edmure's death, possibly even conspiring against his own nephew.
Seeing that Lord Tully still had his wits about him, Rhaegar patted his shoulder in silent reassurance.
Mylov's involvement also tied into the ongoing investigation of Larys. They would deal with them both at once.
Not long after, the group left the sept.
Most returned to their quarters in the King's Pyre Tower to rest, while others wandered the gardens.
Along the way, Rhaegar remained deep in thought, wondering which dragon had rescued Larys.
His first suspect was already in sight—his gaze landed on Daemon.
During his time imprisoned in the dungeons of King's Landing, Larys had spilled a great deal of information under torture.
One of his schemes had been to win over Daemon.
Given Daemon's love for chaos, it was entirely possible that he had helped Larys escape.
With that in mind, Rhaegar stepped closer to the disinterested Daemon and said outright, "Uncle, Larys is missing."
Their relationship was too complex for subtlety—directness was the best approach.
Daemon turned his head, his expression first one of surprise, then of disdain.
He Proved Himself with His Expression.
It wasn't him.
Otherwise, he would have shown a smug, arrogant look to express his satisfaction at disgusting his older nephew with his little trick.
Rhaegar couldn't stand his eye-rolls. Apologetically nodding, he intended to walk away.
"Wait," Daemon said indifferently.
Rhaegar took a deep breath, mustering patience.
Daemon looked him up and down and sneered, "Let me tell you something—guilty people always act suspiciously."
Hearing this, Rhaegar was momentarily stunned.
Thinking for a moment, he subtly scanned the crowd, taking in the varied expressions on different faces.
"Guilty people always act suspiciously…"
Rhaegar murmured, and sure enough, he noticed something unusual.
Aegon was entangled with Milov, while Mound Hightower walked alongside them, seemingly deep in conversation.
Helena trailed alone behind her father, her little head drooping, looking completely absent-minded.
Further back in the group were Aemond and the four Stormlanders.
Aemond, for some inexplicable reason, seemed to be in a bad mood, throwing a sour expression at Cassandra, his fiancée, who was several years older than him. His behavior left her trembling with anger.
Looking around, none of his younger siblings seemed normal.
A moment later, the arrogant Jason Lannister approached Aegon, with the bastard Boros Storm at his side.
Rhaegar's eyes darkened, and he called out in a steady voice, "Aegon, come here."
It wasn't hard to see that Mound had interfered with House Tully's affairs, while Jason had his sights on House Baratheon.
Both of them were trying to sway Aegon, as if hoping to rally a faction within House Targaryen.
At Rhaegar's words, Mound and Jason glanced over but quickly averted their gazes.
Aegon scowled, casting a look of disgust at Milov before reluctantly walking toward his brother.
Right now, he despised the Tully pest even more than Rhaegar.
Facing his brother, Aegon spoke in one breath, "Milov sought help from the Faith of the Seven. The Faith has ties to Mound Hightower. That's all I know."
Rhaegar smiled, clenching a fist and lightly punching Aegon's shoulder. With a hint of approval, he said, "At least you're thinking. Staying away from them is the right choice."
With Aegon's hint, everything started to connect.
Mound Hightower was most likely the mastermind, conspiring with the Faith and Milov to orchestrate a plot against Edmure and Eamon, turning them against each other.
Eamon was lucky to survive, and now he was trying to win over Aegon to gain more support.
Rhaegar's thoughts shifted as he instinctively glanced at Jason and Boros Storm.
Jason was an arrogant troublemaker. Could he also be trying to pull Aegon into his schemes?
Nightfall.
The temperature dropped as thick clouds gathered, and a torrential downpour began.
The Burning King's Tower, The Hall of a Hundred Hearths.
The nobles gathered as usual, hosting another celebratory banquet.
In the tourney, life-and-death battles were common—no one cared who lived or died.
They only cared about whether the fights were fierce enough, whether the spectacle was bloody enough.
The rain poured relentlessly outside the castle, water splashing against the ground and creating a misty haze. The night was so dark that one couldn't see their hand in front of them.
Crack!
Thunder and lightning illuminated Harrenhal's outer perimeter, revealing the ranks of the Unsullied standing guard.
A bridge connected the Burning King's Tower to the Widow's Tower.
At this moment, on either side of the bridge stood over a hundred Unsullied warriors clad in black armor, letting the rain beat down upon them.
Creak—
The doors of the Burning King's Tower opened, and a figure in a black cloak stepped out, braving the wind and rain as he walked onto the bridge.
"Prince!"
Grey Worm stepped out of the formation and spoke in a low voice.
The cloaked figure turned slightly, revealing Rhaegar's grim face beneath the hood.
Master and servant quickly crossed the bridge, their silhouettes vanishing into the entrance of the Widow's Tower.
Boom!
A bolt of lightning split the sky, casting eerie shadows over the dark halls of Harrenhal.
A storm was brewing.
The Widow's Tower.
Rhaegar descended the spiraling staircase, the dim candlelight flickering along the corridor. Occasionally, a cold draft swept through, causing the flames to waver.
In less than fifteen minutes, he reached the depths of the Widow's Tower.
When Harrenhal was first built, the tower's underground structure had been designed by Black Harren himself to serve as a dungeon for prisoners.
Rhaegar searched the dungeon carefully until he found a concealed mechanism embedded in the old stone walls.
Click.
As the mechanism shifted, the wall slowly rotated, revealing a dark and winding tunnel.
Sure enough, Harrenhal hid a secret passage unknown to most.
"Follow me. Take the lead."
Grey Worm stepped in first, two Unsullied soldiers following closely behind.
Rhaegar grabbed a torch, his eyes gleaming coldly.
The tunnel twisted and turned unpredictably, leading to an unknown destination. At the far end, a decaying wooden door stood in their path.
Bang!
Without hesitation, Grey Worm delivered a powerful kick, breaking the door open.
Two Unsullied guards flanked him as Rhaegar strode forward.
Before him was a dimly lit, modestly sized room.
The furnishings were decent—tables, chairs, and stools all in place. Murals were carved into the walls, yet a faint musty odor lingered in the air.
The moment the door was kicked open, a familiar figure came into view.
Larys, dressed in a deep green robe, with a head of curly brown hair.
Gone was his usual refined appearance. His face was unshaven, his expression dark and desolate. His left pant leg hung limply.
He sat in a chair, holding a crude scepter and a carving knife, wood shavings scattered across the table.
It was clear—he was crafting himself a new scepter.
As the door burst open, Larys turned sharply, eyes flickering with suspicion. His gray-blue gaze darted around.
Shing—
A blade was drawn from its sheath at his waist, its pitch-black surface glinting ominously.
Rhaegar stared at him coldly, his face unreadable.
"Larys, we meet again."
(End of Chapter)