The walls of Rook's Rest had been weathered by sea winds for centuries, bleaching the stone to a pale white. The defenders huddled behind the battlements like a pack of startled rabbits.
"Have you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Old Blind-Eye... last time the black dragon breathed on him, he was burned so bad even his bones were gone."
A young conscript pulled his neck back, his voice trembling.
"They say Vhagar's fire is green... the Septons said a demonic dragon spits the very flames of hell."
"Doesn't that mean if you're burned to death, you fall straight into the Seven Hells?"
A veteran spat on the ground.
"Rubbish! I've fought for twenty years and seen every kind of shit. The Seven Hells? I'm living in the Seven Hells right now!"
"Shut your mouths!"
A patrolling knight walked over, rapping the veteran's helmet with his sword hilt.
"To fight for Queen Rhaenyra is an honor, a glorious death in battle. We fight for justice!"
The veteran rubbed his head, not daring to speak.
But the young conscript muttered resentfully under his breath, "Lord Staunton's bounty money, I haven't seen you share a copper of that with us."
The knight's ears were sharp. He spun around and delivered a stinging backhand.
"Lowborn cur, what did you say?"
The young soldier clutched his face and lowered his head, silenced.
He knew these high-born lords had the power to kill him at any moment, as easily as crushing an ant.
The knight was about to deliver a kick when suddenly....
ROAR!
Everyone on the wall snapped their heads upward. In the sky, a deep purple shadow burst through the clouds.
Morghul. The young black dragon was circling again.
The knight's face turned white instantly. He pointed at the young soldier.
"You! Stay at the watchtower and observe! The rest of you, follow me to the cellars!"
The young soldier wanted to weep. He cursed his own big mouth.
Over the past month, Morghul had circled Rook's Rest seven times.
Every time he dived, dragonfire fell from the heavens to ignite houses, granaries, and towers.
Lord Staunton's garrison hid behind the walls, listening to the wind whipped by draconic wings as if listening to the Stranger knocking on the door.
Yet, strangely, the dragon never truly moved in for the kill. It was like a cat playing with a mouse.
Lord Staunton stood by the window of the main tower, watching the black shadow in the sky, his brow furrowed deep enough to crush a fly.
Where is Vhagar? That true world-ending beast, why had she not come?
With Vhagar's size, it would only take a day to trample Rook's Rest into the earth. But she stayed away. Why?
The Lord felt a lingering sense of unease.
Suddenly, Morghul let out a long shriek, pulled up sharply, and vanished into the cloud layer.
"Is it gone?" a soldier asked, poking his head out from a tower to scan the empty sky.
"Gone."
"Truly gone?"
"Are you blind? There's nothing left up there!"
"Careful, lad. It might just be waiting to swoop back down!"
A cheer erupted from the battlements. Some knelt to thank the Seven, others shook their fists at the sky, and some embraced each other, laughing through tears.
Lord Staunton did not join them. He stared fixedly at the northern horizon.
There, clouds of dust were billowing upward.
"My Lord!" a scout burst in, drenched in sweat.
"The Green army! They're coming from the east! So many men... I couldn't see the end of them!"
Staunton's hand gripped the window frame. They were finally here.
He knew the Black faction's plan: Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenys were already nearby, waiting for the perfect moment.
"Pass the word," his voice was raspy.
"Prepare for battle."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
In the forest north of Rook's Rest, Daemon sat atop Caraxes, gently patting the Blood Wyrm's neck.
"Quiet."
Caraxes let out a dissatisfied whimper, forcing himself to be patient. He had seen the black dragon, Morghul, parading in the sky.
The Blood Wyrm wanted to surge up and tear him apart, but his master's order was to remain still.
Daemon watched the purple shadow fly higher and higher until it vanished into the clouds. A faint smile touched his lips.
"Truly a cunning beast," he murmured.
That black dragon seemed to act independently, like a human, without needing a rider. He had heard it was only three years old, yet already nearly fifteen meters long.
Daemon's heart sank.
This battle had to be won. He needed results, and he needed them fast.
If he could just kill that bastard Aemond, the Blacks would win.
The useless Aegon II, the young Daeron, the pacifist Helaena, what could they possibly use to fight the Blacks?
He took a deep breath and looked toward Rook's Rest.
Soon. When the Green army besieged the castle and Aemond appeared, his death would follow.
The Green army deployed across the plains north of Rook's Rest. Over five thousand infantry were arranged into twelve phalanxes, spears standing like a forest and shields like a wall.
Cavalry guarded the flanks, their armor gleaming in the sun under fluttering war banners.
The commander, Gwayne Hightower, reined in his horse on a gentle slope, surveying the distant castle.
"That stubborn old man Staunton has clearly prepared well," he mused to himself.
The deputy commander, William Darklyn, trotted over with a smile.
"The garrison is about a thousand strong, well-provisioned, and their morale..."
"What about their morale?"
William paused.
"After being ground down by the Prince's dragon for days, they're like rabbits, frightened by every sound. We should be able to take it without much trouble. They were cheering just now; they probably think they've won because the dragons left."
Gwayne chuckled. "Let Ser Cole lead the vanguard."
He gave William a meaningful look.
William understood instantly. Gwayne knew a fair bit, Ser Cole was Dowager Queen Alicent's confidant, and being so handsome, the relationship between him and the Queen was... complicated.
Now that the late King was dead and the Queen was a widow, Cole was always hovering around her.
As Alicent's brother, Gwayne saw it clearly. But he didn't favor Cole's prospects.
He knew better than anyone how terrifying his nephew Aemond could be when he went mad.
Aemond would never tolerate a stepfather, let alone one who was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"Let them be happy for a while," Gwayne pulled his thoughts back.
"Once the siege towers are up, they won't be cheering anymore." He paused, his voice turning cold.
"Remember, try to take Lord Staunton and his family alive. The Prince has ordered them brought before the Iron Throne for trial and execution for treason."
William blinked. "All of them executed?"
"What of it?"
William hesitated.
"Executing a traitorous Lord is one thing, but his entire family... the guilt doesn't extend that far. And to seize all their lands... they are a noble house. If the Prince slaughters an entire family, it will..."
"It will what?"
"It will make the other Great Houses wary," William lowered his voice.
"Stripping lands, ending a bloodline... every house in Westeros has stood for a thousand years. The last one who dared to do such a thing was Maegor the Cruel."
Gwayne looked at the marching army and laughed.
"As long as he keeps winning, no one will oppose him."
He paused.
"You should be aware of that 'Youth Guard' of commoners he's training. These boys will be the new nobility of the future. When the Prince strips a family of their lands, he has a place to settle his own men."
William nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "But what of the noble houses who lose their lands? They have ruled for centuries; their wealth and influence..."
Gwayne suddenly raised his hand, pointing toward the vast blue sea.
"Tell me, what lies across the water?"
William was confused. "Across the sea? The Free Cities...?"
Gwayne smiled, interrupting him.
"The Prince told me that everyone across the sea is an enemy."
William was shocked. Was this civil war only the beginning?
If the losers of this war could be given lands in Essos through foreign conquest, it would indeed shift the internal conflict outward.
It would give the defeated something to hope for.
William looked at the distant castle and took a deep breath. The siege was about to begin.
-----
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