The same scene was playing out at Old Anchor in the north.
The setting sun cast long shadows. The castle of Old Anchor was situated on the coast, next to a tributary of the Narrow Sea. Two flags flew high atop its green stone walls. One was the banner of House Malkor: a rusty anchor on a turquoise field. The other was the banner of the full moon and falcon, symbolizing loyalty to House Arryn of the Eyrie. The Prince of Riverrun was an ignorant fool, Lord Malkor thought, to ask a loyal house to kneel.
"Everyone, look sharp! Beware of the Royce scum!" a knight of the castle guard shouted, patrolling the walls and scolding the hastily assembled garrison. There were only five hundred of them. The soldiers held their heads high, clad in chainmail and holding axes or longswords. They were full of confidence, dreaming of making a name for themselves in the coming war and being rewarded with coin and land.
But while the soldiers were in high spirits, the lord of the castle was in grave peril.
Inside the great hall of Old Anchor, Lord Elan Malkor, a man of fifty years, wore a grim expression. His wrinkled eyes were tense as he stared at the silver-haired figure on his throne. Someone had broken in quietly.
Laena Velaryon sat on the high seat, clad in a pure black, scale-adorned riding suit, her legs crossed elegantly. She looked particularly beautiful today. Her long, curly, silver-gold hair was tied into a single braid, and her violet eyes were calm as she looked down upon Lord Malkor's family. In that moment, she resembled Queen Visenya in her youth, exuding confidence, power, and a noble grace.
"Lady Laena. Why have you come uninvited?" Lord Elan asked, his face dark. He was a stubborn, rigid man. He had seen the Velaryon girl at the Eyrie and knew she and Princess Rhaenyra were involved with the Prince of Riverrun. He resented them, feeling that the crown had long looked down on lords like him.
Laena pursed her lips, looking bored, and had no intention of responding.
Bang!
The door was suddenly thrown open, and a young man with brown hair and green eyes rushed in. "Father, Royce cavalry have been spotted to the south!"
His name was Elander Malkor, eldest son and heir to Lord Elan. The father and son shared a name and were known colloquially as Elan the Elder and Elan the Younger. The entire family was now gathered in the hall.
Lord Elan had a terrible premonition. Looking at the woman on his throne, he shouted, "Do you mean to invade Old Anchor? Do you not fear the wrath of the Eyrie and the King?"
At this, a charming smile curled Laena's lips. She looked as beautiful and dangerous as nightshade. Seeing it, Lord Elan grew increasingly uneasy.
Clap!
Laena glanced at the sky outside and clapped her hands together. The sound was crisp and particularly harsh in the quiet hall. Lord Elan didn't understand its meaning, but his heart began to hammer against his ribs, his clothes suddenly damp with sweat.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, a gust of wind whistled through Old Anchor, scattering flocks of seabirds into the air with sharp, panicked cries. It was a danger signal. The next moment, the sky became gloomy, as if the sun had set an hour early. Lord Elan trembled and turned to look out the narrow iron window.
The blazing clouds were torn asunder as the earth was covered with an immense shadow. A dark green dragon, as large as a mountain, soared into view. Its wide, tattered wings raised a gale-force wind, and its thick, pillar-like tail swayed with the rise and fall of its body.
It's enormous! That was the only thought in Lord Elan's mind.
As the dragon flew over Old Anchor, its dark green form blotted out the light from the hall's windows, making them feel like frogs at the bottom of a well, unable to see the sky. The dragon had to be more than 140 meters long, nearly the size of Balerion the Black Dread when he died.
"Lord Elan, I came here with respect," Laena said.
Lord Elan was stunned, instinctively opening his arms to shield his wife and children.
"I hope you will consider my offer seriously," Laena said again.
"Wait, I—" Elan began, shocked, finally realizing what was about to happen.
"ROAR—"
As if she could read her rider's mind, Vhagar circled Old Anchor and spewed dragonflame upon the bewildered soldiers on the walls.
"Ahhh!"
Thick, orange-yellow flame mixed with billowing black smoke engulfed the men before they could escape, melting the green stone walls into boiling magma. Wails of agony filled the air.
Vhagar's cold, ruthless pupils widened as she rose higher into the sky, as domineering and powerful as ever. However, a subtle change had occurred. The old dragon had not only grown in size, but the broken scales of her past had been replaced by new ones. The once-hole-ridden, goose-yellow membrane of her wings had become stronger. The skin on her body was tighter, and the sagging jowls of her jaw had receded. It was as if some of the signs of old age had faded away. The old dragon was majestic, having seemingly regained some of her former glory.
"Vhagar is very energetic," Laena noted with joy, trying to suppress a mischievous smile. Vhagar was now more than a quarter larger than Vermithor. If Aemon misbehaved, she could teach him a lesson, as an older sister should.
But one man's joy is another's sorrow. Lord Elan witnessed the annihilation of his soldiers, his eyes wide with disbelief, unable to act, unable to stop it.
"Do you recognize the power of a dragon?" Laena asked, slowly standing up. Her graceful figure could not be concealed by the riding suit. "I do not like to fight," she sighed. "I do not wish to see more meaningless sacrifice."
Lord Elan's body trembled uncontrollably.
Thump. He dropped to his knees and lowered his graying head.
Riverrun, the Evergreen Hall
Rhaenyra sat in the strategy hall, her expression lost. She wanted to help, but her identity as heir to the Iron Throne forbade it. This feeling of powerlessness took her back to the days after her mother's death, when she felt betrayed by her father and Alicent, isolated by the court. A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
"You missed a fine supper, little one."
A voice came from behind her. Rhaenys, seeing candlelight in the hall, had come to find her. Rhaenyra quickly wiped her eyes. "I will eat later."
"You can eat now." Rhaenys shook her head helplessly and walked in with a plate of food. Rhaenyra was a little surprised. Her aunt, who usually seemed so aloof, was suddenly showing concern for her.
Rhaenys leaned against the table, a hint of tenderness in her eyes. "Eat. Don't starve yourself."
"Thank you, Princess," Rhaenyra said, picking up a piece of bread and taking a small bite.
Rhaenys shook her head and laughed. "Compared to you, I am old and plain." After my father was assassinated, who would call me a princess? she thought. Not even my own grandfather.
Rhaenyra sensed the kindness but pretended not to. "Aunt, do you think I should be out there too?"
"That's a fine idea. Then I wouldn't have to bring you food," Rhaenys teased, causing her niece's face to fall slightly. She was so sensitive.
Rhaenys saw it at once and her tone softened. "If you go, you will only harm yourself. Your father would take away your status as heir."
"I suppose so," Rhaenyra replied with a hint of sarcasm.
Rhaenys was insightful. She ran a hand over her niece's beautiful face and sighed. "You are more beautiful than Laena. Men love to conquer women like you."
"But I have received no special treatment," Rhaenyra said, her eyes flashing.
"Then you should think about what you can do instead of complaining," Rhaenys said sternly. "You know your position was won for you by your father. Do you know how many people envy you?"
Rhaenyra was silent for a moment. Aemon would say she was lovesick. After her inheritance was secured, her mind had been filled with messy, emotional thoughts. In her relationship with him, she felt she had gradually lost the initiative, becoming a mere companion.
Rhaenys touched her fair cheek. Her own expression was stiff, but her eyes were loving.
Rhaenyra swallowed hard and asked with difficulty, "What should I do?" For some reason, in that moment, she saw the shadow of her own mother in her aunt. She wanted to cry.
Rhaenys withdrew her hand, reluctant to show more emotion. "Ask yourself: who is your enemy?"
Rhaenyra fell into deep thought. The Hightowers? Grand Maester Mellos? She shook her head. No. As long as she was on the throne, they were just ministers—stumbling blocks, at worst.
After a long moment, Rhaenyra said hesitantly, "I don't seem to have any enemies."
Rhaenys's eyes flashed with surprise. She hadn't expected to hear that. It was a foolish answer, yet it revealed great wisdom. To have no enemies… what a powerful mindset.
Rhaenys's expression softened. "You have many potential rivals," she reminded her, and then pointed them out bluntly: "The Queen's children. Your uncle, Daemon. My husband, Corlys. And your husband, Aemon."
"I can't guard against everyone!" Rhaenyra said, agitated. "I couldn't stop Aemon if he tried to seize the throne, and I wouldn't want to fight him."
"Did you not just say you have no enemies?" Rhaenys shook her head. "Don't be small-minded like your father. Find a way to turn these threats into your strengths instead of rejecting them."
"Strengths..." Rhaenyra wasn't stupid. A solution she had never dared to imagine before began to form in her mind. She and Aemon shared a bed; she knew him better than anyone. He was trying to become a link between all the factions, to stabilize the family. Even Alicent listened to him.
And she... Rhaenyra felt her scalp tingle. For her status, for the future, she didn't mind reconciling with Alicent. And those half-siblings... she should formally accept them. Daemon was a rogue; he couldn't be allowed to return to King's Landing. Aemon had ambitions, but she knew him intimately, and that was a power of its own. Even Laena could be an ally.
Thinking of this, Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her expression hardening with resolve.
"It seems you have come to your senses." Rhaenys, who had been observing her, turned to leave. "I have said all I should. If my niece still cannot understand, then she is truly a fool."
"Wait," Rhaenyra called out.
Rhaenys frowned. "Is there something else?"
Rhaenyra did not back down. "Why are you helping me?"
Rhaenys looked her up and down, then sighed. "Probably because we are both princesses. And some people used to call me a queen." Then, without another word, she swept from the room.
Rhaenyra was stunned. After a while, a smile appeared on her face.
Days passed. Aemon and Laena returned victorious. When they arrived in Riverrun, they saw Rhaenyra dragging Johanna off to discuss arrangements for the upcoming tournament. She was full of energy.
Soon, news came. Wickenden and Old Anchor had raised the twin-headed dragon banner and sent their children to Riverrun to serve as squires and ladies-in-waiting. Of the three main targets, only Gulltown, the most important port in the Vale, remained defiant.
Aemon listened to the discussions in the hall, humming a little tune. He remained calm. He would let things simmer for a while.
That night, in Gulltown
In the magnificent hall of Grafton Keep, several well-dressed men sat around a table. Lord Barkin Grafton sat on the main throne, his small eyes glittering with calculation. He had received the message from the Prince of Riverrun. However, his family had been loyal to the Eyrie for a thousand years. He would not switch allegiances easily, especially when joining Aemon's camp offered no significant benefits.
"The Waxleys and the Malkors have already pledged allegiance to Aemon Targaryen. Are you not concerned, my lord?" a middle-aged man with black hair asked. It was Ser Essard Arryn, of the Gulltown branch, known as the "Golden Eagle."
Another man, this one with blond hair, retorted, "We are loyal to the Arryns of the Eyrie. At worst, we can go to King's Landing and ask the King for justice." This was Lord Shett.
Ser Essard, a cautious man, looked at Lord Grafton. "You have a close relationship with Prince Aemon. What do you think?" In his opinion, it was better to be loyal to a Targaryen with a dragon than to a woman in a mountain castle.
"This..." Lord Barkin hesitated, looking uncomfortable. He didn't want to agree, but he didn't dare refuse outright.
At that moment, the old castellan entered the hall.
"What is it?" Lord Barkin asked, his voice suddenly solemn. The castellan would not interrupt unless it was important.
The old man came closer and whispered in his ear. Lord Barkin frowned. "A musician? Send him in."
"Yes, my lord." The castellan stepped back and opened the door, welcoming in a young musician holding a cello. The three nobles looked on, curious.
Without a word, the cellist sat on the cold floor and began to play. The song was haunting and melancholic: "The Rains of Castamere."
The song played out, and when it finished, a dead silence filled the hall.
"Guards!" Lord Barkin's lips had turned pale. He immediately shouted for the guards. A team of armed men rushed in.
"Seize him!" he commanded.
The guards sprang into action, grabbing Lord Shett.
"What are you doing? I am your guest!" Lord Shett shouted in a panic.
"Gag him!" Lord Barkin said cruelly, sweat beading on his brow. "Take him away, and send men to surround the Shett castle." In that moment, he thought of the fate of House Waynwood of Ironoaks.
The next day
At daybreak, the twin-headed dragon banner of Aemon Targaryen was raised on the tallest white tower in Gulltown. Lord Barkin, accompanied by his daughter and young son, hurried to Riverrun.
Meanwhile, Aemon was in the Evergreen Hall, enjoying breakfast in his bedroom.
Creak. The door was gently pushed open, and Johanna entered with an envelope.
Aemon read the letter and couldn't help but sneer. "Our generous Lord Barkin won't cry until he sees the coffin."
"Will the news be released?" Johanna's eyes were seductive.
"Release it? Of course," Aemon said, munching on bread. "Half the old lords of the Vale are loyal now. The lesser houses and landed knights will surely follow."
"What about the Eyrie?" Johanna asked, her hand trembling slightly.
"Stop," Aemon said, gently taking her hand. "Remember to invite Lady Jeyne to the Riverrun tournament."
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