A thousand miles away.
The Riverlands.
The night at Stone Hedge was torn apart by flames.
Daemon Targaryen rode upon Caraxes, watching the burning city below. The Blood Wyrm's scales were dark red in the firelight.
This was the fourth day of the siege.
House Bracken had held for four days. Daemon had not expected them to last so long. Lord Humphrey Bracken—a man he had never thought much of—had dared to close the gates, refuse envoys, refuse parley, refuse surrender. Four days. Daemon had to admit he admired him a little.
Caraxes loosed his seventh blast of dragonfire that night. A watchtower collapsed, rubble crashing down, flames leaping skyward. Bracken's soldiers scattered from the ruins like ants from a trampled nest. But these ants did not surrender. They fled to the inner keep, to the main fortress, to every corner where they could still resist. On the walls, Lord Humphrey Bracken's banner still flew—a red horse on a brown field, ready to gallop.
Daemon nudged his dragon's neck with his heel.
Caraxes swept low over the city, the wind from his wings nearly snapping the flagstaff. Daemon reached out and tore down the banner, tucking it upside down into the side of his saddle. The red flag snapped in the night wind.
He landed behind the Blackwood lines outside the city.
Alysanne Blackwood hurried to greet him. Fourteen years old, with long black curly hair and amber eyes full of fire, she was very beautiful. The Riverlords called her "Black Aly." A famed archer. Sharp and fearless.
"Your Grace!" she said, with excitement and admiration in her voice. "Bracken cannot hold! I saw that coward Amos Bracken trembling on the walls! That boy—I beat him bloody when we were children!"
Daemon dismounted. He tossed her the red banner.
"A trophy for you."
Black Aly caught the banner, stunned for a moment. Then her face lit up with joy. This was the banner of House Bracken, her family's ancient enemy. With this clan banner, those stubborn horses could be humiliated for generations to come. She pressed the banner tightly to her chest.
"Thank you, Your Grace!"
Daemon did not look at her. He looked at the castle still burning.
"Send word to Humphrey Bracken. This is his last chance. Surrender tonight and I will spare his house. Tomorrow, I will raze the city to the ground. Not a chicken nor a dog will be left alive."
---
Stone Hedge, the inner keep.
Humphrey Bracken stood before the window. Beyond the glass, a sea of fire.
He was fifty-one years old. His first wife had died of childbed fever. His second wife had died of typhus. His third wife, Leylani, was young enough to be his daughter.
Two grown sons. His trueborn son, Amos Bracken, twenty-five, brave and loyal, but not clever enough. His bastard son, Raylaton Rivers, twenty-seven, clever and cautious, but without the right to inherit.
He had made his decision the moment he saw Prince Daemon and his dragon.
Before the Blackwood army attacked the city, he had ordered Raylaton to evacuate through the secret passage with Lady Leylani and his two young sons and daughters, and hurry to Riverrun by night.
"Go to Lord Grover Tully," he had said. "Beg him, for the sake of the Seven, to take my family in."
Raylaton had knelt before him, tears on his face. "Father..."
"I am not your father." Humphrey interrupted, his face unchanged. "You are Raylaton Rivers, a bastard. You owe the Brackens nothing."
He paused.
"Raylaton, go. Go to the Greens. I will give you a statement. They will accept you."
Raylaton had taken his wife and two young sons. They should have reached Riverrun by now.
Humphrey exhaled in relief.
So the war of the Blacks and Greens had begun. He had not expected the first battle to be fought on his own lands. He had thought to send a raven to King's Landing, to inform Aegon the Second. But the Blackwood archers outside the city—those bowmen never missed. And the Brackens had no dragons.
The Riverlands would be devastated. He needed to prepare for both sides. His family's succession mattered more than anything.
Hurried footsteps sounded outside the door. Amos burst in, his scarlet armor scorched, his face blackened with smoke.
"Father! Prince Daemon has sent an envoy! He says surrender tonight and I will spare our house. Tomorrow, he will raze the city to the ground. Not a chicken nor a dog will be left alive."
Humphrey did not turn.
"What do you think?"
Amos opened his mouth. He wanted to say surrender. Stone Hedge was lost; only the inner keep remained. He had watched from the castle walls as Caraxes tore three watchtowers apart with flame. He did not want to watch his father, the remnants of their army, burned to ash by dragonfire.
But he could not say it. Because his father had taught him countless truths in life. The most important was this: Bracken could endure defeat. But never, never surrender to the Blackwood enemy.
For thousands of years, Blackwood and Bracken had been locked in struggle. Blackwood might surrender, Bracken might surrender—but that was to the Iron Throne, to greater power and force. Never to each other.
If they knelt tonight, tomorrow all the Riverlands would sing that Bracken had bent the knee to Blackwood. His father would rather die than accept that shame.
Amos lowered his head.
"I will do as you say."
Humphrey finally turned.
He looked at his son. Amos's face was grey and black. His lips were cracked, his hands trembling. Not with fear—with the exhaustion of days of hard fighting. He had done all he could.
"Amos," Humphrey said. "You are twenty-five years old."
Amos did not understand why his father said this now.
"When you were born, your mother died in childbed. Every morning I went to the lord's hall for business. Every afternoon I patrolled the borders on horseback. Every evening I came home to you. In those days, it seemed the time without your mother would stretch on forever."
Amos's eyes began to redden. "Father..."
"Now my days are finished. But I have one last thing to do."
He reached out and clapped his son on the shoulder.
"Bracken is yours. You are Lord Bracken."
Amos looked up. "Father."
Humphrey did not look at him. He walked toward the door.
Amos lunged forward and seized his father's arm. "Father! Where are you going?"
Humphrey looked down at his son's hand holding his arm.
"Amos. When you were a child, you asked me why our house's crest is a warhorse. I told you: because our ancestor had no dragon, no magic. He won everything with a single warhorse. Our warhorse has its master. But no enemy may ride it."
He gently broke his son's grip.
He pushed open the castle gates.
The night wind howled, thick with smoke, the smell of burning earth, and the distant roar of Caraxes. Amos tried to follow, but two guards held him back.
"Father!"
Humphrey did not look back.
He walked through the burning courtyard. Past the collapsed watchtower. Through the charred corpses and scattered spears. The black-haired old lord moved slowly through the sea of fire, toward the city gates.
On the walls, Blackwood soldiers who had already entered the city saw a solitary figure approaching. A soldier raised his bow. But Benjicot Blackwood stopped him.
Daemon had dismounted from Caraxes. He stood in the open ground before the gates, waiting for the lord to come and surrender.
Humphrey Bracken stopped before him.
His black hair whipped in the wind. The hem of his cloak was burned. No sword. No shield. No weapon. He simply stood.
"Daemon Targaryen."
Daemon did not answer.
"I saw you at Harrenhal once, when I was young," Humphrey said, almost to himself. "It was a tourney. You were sixteen, riding a fierce horse no one else dared approach, wearing armor given you by King Jaehaerys the First. Many of us lords wanted to defeat you—the proud Dragon Prince. Claim that glory."
He smiled self-mockingly.
"But I was one of those you unhorsed."
Daemon still did not answer.
Humphrey looked around.
His city was still burning. His soldiers were either dead or surrendered. His eldest son knelt at the gates, weeping.
"I swore an oath. My sword belongs only to King Aegon the Second."
He looked back at Daemon.
"I will not break my oath."
Daemon said, "You are a man worthy of respect."
Humphrey smiled.
"I only sought to preserve my house's honor. My son never swore that oath. He will swear fealty to you."
Daemon was silent a moment, then replied, "Do not worry. I will not harm him."
Humphrey looked at him. After a long time:
"Targaryen," the old lord said, "you are not without honor."
He turned.
Behind him, the watchtower still burned, gutted by dragonfire from above. Flames poured from windows, from cracks, from every crevice, turning the whole tower into a vast torch.
Humphrey walked toward it.
His pace was slow. No hesitation.
He pushed open the charred wooden door at the base of the tower.
Amos's wail came from the gates. "Father!"
Humphrey did not look back.
He walked into the fire.
Daemon stood at the city gates, watching the tower.
Soon, flames burst from the ground-floor windows. The night sky turned orange-red. The stones of the tower cracked under the heat, a thin, popping sound.
No one spoke.
Black Aly's expression was complicated. Blackwood and Bracken had hated each other for a thousand years. But now, watching the burning tower, she said nothing of humiliation.
Daemon was silent a long time.
Within the gates, Amos came out with the remaining soldiers. His face was smeared with dirt, tears, and smoke. He stood before Daemon.
Daemon looked at him.
"Your father is dead. You are now Lord of Stone Hedge, head of House Bracken."
Amos did not answer.
"Kneel and swear loyalty to me, and you will join my army. Refuse, and you will meet your end."
Amos lowered his head.
He did not want to. But what could he do? Did he want House Bracken to be the first house extinguished in this war?
Behind him stood the remaining Bracken soldiers, their armor broken, their faces bloodied. They waited for their new lord's choice.
Amos raised his head. He looked one last time at the tower still burning. His father had died within.
Slowly, he knelt.
His forehead pressed into the blood-soaked earth.
Behind him, a thousand Bracken soldiers fell to their knees like the ebbing tide.
Daemon looked at him.
"From this day forward, all Bracken forces will temporarily serve under House Mooton's command."
Amos's shoulders trembled slightly. No warning.
"...Yes, Your Grace."
Daemon turned.
Caraxes let out a low hiss, his wings slowly spreading. Daemon mounted.
He cast one last glance at the burning tower.
Humphrey. It was not I who destroyed you.
The night wind carried ashes past his face.
It was this troubled world that destroyed you.