The walls of Rook's Rest had been battered by sea winds for hundreds of years, the stones bleached pale.
The garrison huddled behind the battlements like a pack of frightened rabbits.
"Have you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Old Blind—last time that black dragon breathed on him, burned him so bad not even bones were left."
A young levy shrank his neck, his voice trembling. "That Vhagar's flames… they're green. The septon said—dragonfire like that is demon fire…"
"Then if you're burned to death, you go to the Seven Hells?"
An old soldier spat. "Bullshit! I've fought for twenty years—what haven't I seen? Seven Hells? I'm living in the Seven Hells right now!"
"Shut your mouths!"
A patrolling knight strode over and rapped the old soldier's helm with the pommel of his sword. "To fight for Queen Rhaenyra is an honor. To die gloriously is an honor. We fight for justice!"
The old soldier rubbed his head and said nothing.
The young levy, however, muttered unwillingly, "The lord's reward money… didn't see you share any with us."
The knight had sharp ears. He spun around and slapped him hard.
"You lowborn bastard, what did you say?"
The young man clutched his cheek and lowered his head, not daring to speak again.
He knew these lords could kill him whenever they pleased—like crushing an ant.
The knight was about to kick him again when suddenly—
"ROAR!"
Everyone on the wall snapped their heads up.
In the sky, a deep purple shadow tore through the clouds.
Lothorne.
That young black dragon was circling overhead again.
The knight's face went pale at once. He pointed at the young levy. "You! Stay in the watchtower and keep watch! The rest of you, with me—down to the cellar!"
The young man nearly burst into tears.
He cursed his own mouth.
In the past month, Lothorne had circled above Rook's Rest seven times.
Each dive sent dragonfire crashing down from the sky, setting houses, granaries, and towers ablaze.
Lord Staunton's men hid behind the walls, listening to the beat of wings overhead like the Stranger knocking at the door.
Yet strangely, the dragon had never truly struck to kill.
It was like a cat toying with a mouse.
Lord Staunton stood by the main tower window, staring at the purple shadow in the sky, his brow drawn tight with tension.
Where was Vhagar?
That colossal dragon capable of ending the world—why had it not come?
With Vhagar's size, flattening Rook's Rest would take no more than a day.
But it hadn't come.
Why?
A faint unease crept into the lord's heart.
High above, Lothorne suddenly let out a long cry. Its entire body surged upward, diving into the clouds and vanishing.
"It's gone?"
A soldier poked his head out from the tower, staring at the empty sky.
"It's gone."
"Really gone?"
"Are you blind? There's nothing up there anymore!"
"Idiot—stay sharp. It might dive straight down in a moment!"
Cheers erupted along the wall. Some fell to their knees thanking the Seven, some waved their fists at the sky, others embraced, laughing and crying at once.
Lord Staunton did not smile.
He stared fixedly at the northern horizon.
There, dust was rising in great rolling clouds.
"My lord!" A scout rushed in, drenched in sweat. "The Greens' army! Coming from the east! So many—no end in sight!"
Staunton's hand clenched tight around the window frame.
At last.
He knew the Blacks' plan—Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenys had already arrived nearby, waiting for the right moment.
"Pass the order," his voice hoarse, "prepare for battle."
In the forest north of Rook's Rest, Daemon sat astride Caraxes, gently patting Blood Wyrm's neck.
"Easy."
Caraxes gave an annoyed growl but restrained itself.
It had seen that black dragon preening in the sky—Lothorne.
The Blood Wyrm wanted to tear it apart, but its rider's command was to hold.
Daemon lifted his gaze, watching the purple shadow climb higher and higher until it vanished into the clouds. A faint smile curled at his lips.
"Clever beast indeed,"
he murmured.
That black dragon seemed almost human—able to act on its own without a rider.
It was said that at only three years old, it was already close to fifteen meters in length.
Daemon's heart sank.
This battle had to be won.
Results had to be achieved quickly.
As long as that bastard Aemond was killed, the Blacks would win. With that useless Aegon, the still-young Daeron, and the non-confrontational Helaena—what capital did they have left to contend with the Blacks?
He took a deep breath and looked toward Rook's Rest.
Soon.
Once the Greens' army began the siege, once Aemond appeared—that would be the day he died.
The Greens' army spread out across the plain north of Rook's Rest.
More than five thousand infantry formed twelve square formations, spears like a forest, shields like a wall. Cavalry held the left and right flanks, armor gleaming under the sun, banners snapping in the wind.
The commander, Gwayne Hightower, reined in his horse atop a gentle slope, gazing toward the distant castle.
Rook's Rest was not large, but it was sturdy.
"That stubborn old fool Staunton has clearly made careful preparations," he muttered to himself.
The deputy commander, Willem Darry, leaned over with a smile. "About a thousand defenders in the castle. Supplies are sufficient. Morale…"
"What do you think their morale is like?"
Willem paused. "After days of being worn down by the prince's dragon, they're like rabbits—jumping at every shadow."
"If nothing unexpected happens, we should be able to take it."
"They were cheering just now. Probably thought the two dragons had left, that they've already won."
Gwayne let out a short laugh.
"Have Ser Cole lead the vanguard."
He cast Willem a meaningful glance.
Willem understood at once.
Gwayne had some vague understanding—Ser Cole was the Queen Dowager Alicent's confidant, handsome as well, and between him and the queen dowager… there was something hard to put into words.
After all, the former king was dead, the queen dowager now a widow, and Cole lingered at her side day after day…
As Alicent's younger brother, Gwayne naturally saw it all.
But he did not think highly of Cole's prospects.
That nephew of his, Aemond—he knew better than anyone how terrifying he could be when he went mad.
He would never tolerate a stepfather, much less a Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"Let them be happy for a while," Gwayne said, pushing those thoughts aside. "Once the siege towers are raised, they won't be smiling anymore."
He paused, his voice turning cold.
"Remember—Lord Staunton and his family, take them alive if possible. The prince has ordered it. They are to be brought before the Iron Throne for trial and executed in full for treason."
Willem froze.
"Executed… all of them?"
"What of it?"
Willem hesitated. "Execute a traitorous lord, yes—but his whole house does not deserve death…"
"And to confiscate all their lands… after all, they are a noble house. If the prince wipes out the entire family, then afterward…"
"Afterward what?"
"Afterward, the great houses will grow wary," Willem said in a lowered voice. "Stripping lands, exterminating entire lines…"
"In Westeros, which of these houses hasn't ruled their lands for a thousand years?"
"The last one who dared do this was King Maegor."
Gwayne looked at the army advancing in the distance and smiled.
"As long as he keeps winning, no one will oppose him."
He paused.
"You should understand—the batch of common-born youths he has trained."
"They will all become newly risen nobles in the future."
"If the prince intends to strip those houses of their lands, he will naturally have places to settle them."
Willem nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "But what of the noble houses that lose their lands?"
"They've ruled their territories for a thousand years—their wealth and influence…"
Gwayne suddenly raised his hand and pointed toward the vast blue sea in the distance.
"Tell me—what lies beyond the sea?"
Willem was taken aback.
"Beyond the sea? The Free Cities…?"
Gwayne smiled and cut him off.
"The prince told me—everything beyond the sea is an enemy."
Willem was stunned.
Was this civil war merely the beginning?
If those who lost in this war were sent to the eastern continent, then indeed, conflict could be redirected outward—giving those defeated a hope to cling to.
Willem looked at the distant castle and took a deep breath.
The siege was about to begin.
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