The walls of Rook's Rest had been weathered by sea breezes for centuries, the stones bleached white. The defenders huddled behind the walls, cowering like frightened rabbits.
"Did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"That old blind man—last time that black dragon burned him. His whole body was charred to the bone." The young conscript shrank his neck, his voice trembling. "That Vhagar's flame is green... the septon said the fire spewed by demonic dragons is the fire of demons... Wouldn't it burn you alive and send you straight to the seven hells?"
The veteran snorted. "Pah! I've been fighting for twenty years. What nonsense haven't I seen? Seven hells? I'm living in the seven hells right now!"
"Shut up!"
A patrolling knight approached, struck the veteran's helm with his sword hilt, and said angrily, "Fighting for Queen Rhaenyra is glorious. Dying in battle is glorious. We fight for justice!"
The veteran touched his head and dared not speak.
The young conscript muttered involuntarily, "The lord paid us, but I haven't seen you share any with us."
The knight had sharp ears. He spun around and struck him.
"Lowborn bastard, what do you mean by that?"
The young soldier covered his face, lowered his head, and said nothing more. He knew these lords could kill him at any moment, as easily as crushing an ant.
The knight was about to kick him when suddenly—
"Rrrr!"
Everyone on the wall suddenly looked up.
In the sky, a dark purple shadow pierced through the clouds.
Lothron.
The young black dragon was soaring again.
The knight's face went pale instantly. He pointed at the young soldier. "You! Stay in the watchtower and keep an eye on things! The rest of you, come with me to the cellar!"
The young soldier wanted to cry but had no tears.
He cursed his own mouth.
---
In the past month, Lothron had circled Rook's Rest seven times. With each dive, dragonfire fell from the sky, setting houses, granaries, and towers ablaze. Lord Staunton's defenders hid behind the city walls, listening to the sound of dragon wings beating overhead like the knocking of the Stranger at the door.
Strangely, the dragon never truly slaughtered. It was like a cat toying with a mouse.
Lord Staunton stood at the window of the main tower, watching the purple shadow in the sky, his brow furrowed so deeply it could kill a fly.
Where was Vhagar?
Why had the dragon that could truly lay waste to the world not come? With Vhagar's size, she could level Rook's Rest in a single day. But that had not happened. Why?
The lord felt a faint unease.
Lothron in the sky suddenly let out a long howl, and the dragon's body abruptly rose, piercing through the clouds and vanishing.
"Is it gone?"
A soldier stuck his head out from the tower and looked at the empty sky.
"It's gone."
"Really gone?"
"Are you blind? There's nothing left in the sky!"
"Fool boy, be careful—it might come diving down any moment!"
Joyful cries came from the walls. Some knelt to thank the Seven, some shook their fists at the sky, some embraced each other, weeping and laughing.
Lord Staunton did not laugh.
He stared at the northern horizon.
Smoke and dust were rising there.
"My lord!" A scout burst in, drenched in sweat. "The Green army! They are coming from the east! So many men... I cannot see the end!"
Staunton's hand slammed against the window frame.
At last.
He knew the Blacks' plans. Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenys were already nearby, waiting for the right moment.
"Give the order," his voice was hoarse. "Prepare for battle."
---
In the forest north of Rook's Rest, Daemon rode upon Caraxes and gently patted the Blood Wyrm's neck.
"Quiet."
Caraxes whined discontentedly, suppressing his fury. He had seen the black dragon in the sky—Lothron. The Blood Wyrm wanted to charge forward and tear him apart, but his master's command was to stay still.
Daemon watched the purple shadow climbing higher and higher, finally vanishing into the clouds. A smile played at the corner of his lips.
"A truly cunning beast," he murmured.
This black dragon, like its rider, could act alone without a rider. He had heard it was only three years old and already nearly fifteen meters long.
Daemon's heart tightened.
This battle must be won. Results must be delivered as soon as possible. Once Aemond died, the Blacks could triumph. A hollow Aegon the Second, a young Daeron, and Helaena who had never fought—what capital would they have to oppose the Blacks?
He drew a deep breath and looked toward Rook's Rest.
Soon.
When the Green army attacked the city, and when Aemond appeared—that would be his death.
---
The Green army was arrayed on the plain north of Rook's Rest.
Over five thousand infantry were arranged in twelve squares, spears like a forest, shields like a wall. On the left and right flanks stood cavalry, their armor glinting in the sun, battle banners flapping in the wind.
Commander Galwyn Hightower stood on a gentle slope, looking at the distant castle.
Rook's Rest was small, but strong.
"That stubborn old Staunton has clearly prepared well," he said to himself.
Deputy Commander William Darklyn approached with a smile. "There are about a thousand defenders in the city. Food, supplies, morale..."
"What do you think of their morale?"
William paused. "After so many days with the prince's dragons overhead, those men are as frightened as rabbits. Barring something unexpected, we should handle this easily."
"They were just cheering," William added. "Probably thinking those two dragons have left and they've won."
Galwyn smiled.
"Let Ser Criston Cole lead the vanguard."
He gave William a meaningful look.
William understood the implication. Galwyn was vaguely aware that Ser Criston Cole was the Queen Mother Alicent's confidant—handsome, and the Queen Mother... there were somewhat unclear relations there. After all, the late king was dead, the Queen Mother was a widow, and Cole was always hovering around her...
Galwyn, as Alicent's younger brother, naturally saw this. But he was not optimistic about Cole's prospects. His nephew Aemond knew best how terribly mad he could become. He would never tolerate a stepfather, much less the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"Let them be happy for a while," Galwyn pushed aside his thoughts. "Once the siege towers are built, they won't be laughing."
He paused, his voice cold.
"Remember—the traitor Lord Staunton and his family are to be taken alive if possible. The prince has ordered these people brought before the Iron Throne for trial, and all executed for treason."
William was momentarily stunned.
"All executed?"
"What's the matter?"
William hesitated. "Execute the traitor lord, yes, but his family's crime is not death... And the confiscation of all lands... after all, they are a noble house. If the prince exterminates the entire family, then..."
"Then what?"
"Then the great houses will be afraid." William lowered his voice. "Stripping fiefs and exterminating entire families—which house in Westeros isn't a thousand years old? The last one who dared to do that was King Maegor."
Galwyn looked at the marching army in the distance and smiled.
"As long as he keeps winning, no one will oppose him."
He paused.
"You should know the group of common-born soldiers he has trained. Those men will become the new nobility in the future. If the prince wants to strip these people of their family lands, naturally there will be places to settle them."
William nodded thoughtfully and asked, "And what of those noble families who lose their lands? Those families have ruled their lands for thousands of years. Their wealth and influence..."
Suddenly Galwyn raised his hand and pointed at the blue sea in the distance.
"What would you say lies across the sea?"
William was stunned.
"Across the sea? The Free Cities...?"
Galwyn laughed and interrupted.
"The prince told me: the other side of the sea is the enemy."
William was somewhat shocked.
Is this civil war only the beginning? If those who lost were exiled to the eastern continent, that could indeed be used to divert conflict through foreign wars. Let those losers have hope.
William looked at the distant castle and drew a deep breath.
The siege was about to begin.
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