Chapter 99: Trap
Harrenhal.
Arya Harroway ran into a dark corner, clutching her head. Her face rapidly aged, then quickly regained youth, only to immediately wrinkle again. After several such cycles, Arya Harroway's face finally returned to its previous maidenly appearance.
No one knew when this young woman had appeared within House Strong. Some said she was a bastard daughter of the Strongs; others claimed she had lived in this castle for forty years.
Perhaps the latter was the truth.
"I found you."
Dragonzel's voice suddenly came from behind Arya Harroway. Arya jumped in fright, immediately standing up and staring at him warily. Her figure seemed to blur and sharpen at once, and her eyes rippled like flowing water.
"Do not use your inferior magic before me."
Dragonzel raised a hand. Arya Harroway instantly clutched her throat as though drowning. She struggled violently, only to find her body lifting slowly into the air.
"Tell me—who taught you this black magic?"
Dragonzel flicked his fingers, drawing a drop of dark blood from Arya's forehead. Her face instantly aged.
"Let me go! Let me go! I will tell you—I will tell you everything!"
Black flames ignited in Arya Harroway's throat, freeing her from the suffocating pain, though her shriveled hands still clutched at her neck. Yet a different voice emerged—shrill and unnatural—from deep within her abdomen.
"It was the Green Men of the Isle of Faces! My father was a Green Man—he taught me magic!"
"Hmph."
Dragonzel flicked the drop of black blood back into her forehead. Her face instantly returned to youthful smoothness.
"A forest witch?"
Arya Harroway nodded frantically.
"Then tell me—what purpose do you have in remaining at Harrenhal?"
Dragonzel slowly rotated his wrist. Arya could feel the very blood within her body responding to his motion, churning with terrifying force.
"Why would a forest witch stay in a cursed place like this—one steeped in fire magic—instead of returning to the Neck, the Wolfswood, or the deep forests?"
"I… I want the Dragonlord's seed…"
"Did the Green Men command you?"
Arya shook her head, terror filling her eyes.
"No… it was the castle… the castle made me do it. It told me to curse Prince Daemon and you. But Prince Daemon left too quickly—I never had the chance to approach him. And you—"
Her voice trembled.
"If I may be so bold… I cannot even regard you as human."
"I am mortal as well. All mortals die."
Dragonzel sighed softly.
"This castle? Are you saying the fire curse compelled you?"
"No… not fire."
Arya's face twisted in horror.
"Damp… cold… silent… I do not know what it is. My father warned me to stay away, but I cannot… I cannot escape it…"
Dragonzel watched coldly as the witch clawed at her own hair in madness. Slowly, he extended his hand.
The Reach
The assembled army of House Hightower had rapidly expanded to nearly twenty-five thousand men, including seven thousand cavalry.
Ser Alan Beesbury decisively led Count Cuyton to abandon Honeyholt and the Three Towers, retreating toward Horn Hill. Along the way, they constantly harassed Hightower scouting forces, carefully avoiding aerial detection by the blue queen dragon.
Lord Ormund Hightower gazed coldly at the scattered wreckage before him. His scouting cavalry had once again been annihilated by Beesbury's riders, their armor stripped from their corpses.
Tessarion—the Blue Queen—roared as she flew overhead, circling before descending beside Lord Ormund and Ser Hobert Hightower. Prince Daeron shifted wearily in the saddle before dismounting.
"My lord… my dragon needs rest."
Tessarion let out a soft, almost petulant roar. Seeing no food immediately offered, her cries grew louder, prompting soldiers to hastily drag forward dead horses.
The dragon snorted a stream of flame, cooking the carcasses before delicately tearing into the meat.
"Your Highness, what news?" Ser Hobert asked.
Daeron shook his head.
"The enemy marches along routes that obscure them from the air. I cannot locate Beesbury or Cuyton's forces. House Rowan's army has also disappeared into the forests—they have abandoned the Honeywine line."
"You have done well," Lord Ormund sighed, placing a hand on Daeron's shoulder.
"Queen Helaena has arrived safely in Oldtown. My wife and Lord Hobert are preparing to send away the young prince and princess. Lord Redwyne will dispatch warships to escort them across the Narrow Sea."
"My nephew and niece?" Daeron frowned deeply.
"What has happened in King's Landing? Why would the King send them away so urgently? And my mother—how is she?"
"Grave news, Your Highness," Ser Hobert said.
"Since Dragonzel joined the Blacks, their strength now surpasses ours. Reports say King's Landing has already fallen. The Dowager Queen has been taken captive… and it is rumored the pretender queen ordered her stripped and cast into Flea Bottom—"
Seeing Daeron's face flush crimson with fury, Hobert quickly changed the subject.
"Prince Aemond and the Small Council are missing. King Aegon… he and Prince Aemond slew the enemy dragon Meleys at Rook's Rest. But His Grace's dragon fell as well."
"What?"
Daeron staggered.
The Greens had possessed only four war dragons—now one was lost.
"If only Queen Helaena would ride to war," Ser Jon Roxton muttered.
"With Dreamfyre, we would not be so pressed."
"Women are women," Hobert muttered under his breath before continuing.
"My lord, have we received word from Lord Otto?"
Ormund shook his head grimly.
Without security from the east, the enemy dragons could strike Oldtown at any moment…
Suddenly, realization struck him.
"Send word at once—fortify the harbor. Warn the Redwyne fleet. The enemy may strike from the sea."
All present understood instantly.
Dorne—no, the Stormlands principality under Prince Albin Dayne.
"My lord, shall we continue the advance?" Roxton asked.
Ormund gritted his teeth.
"We march north. We must break Rowan's army, seize Bitterbridge, and force House Tyrell to commit. This is our only chance."
As long as they severed King's Landing's supply lines, the tide could still turn.
"And our bloodline remains," he added quietly.
"As long as the young princes live… hope remains."
Prince Daeron mounted Tessarion once more, flying ahead to shield the vanguard of eight thousand men pressing toward Highgarden.
Flowers Valley
Hidden within the forest, soldiers cloaked in foliage readied their weapons.
Ser Alan Beesbury exhaled in relief upon seeing Lord Randyll Tarly and his son Dickon.
"Alan—my grandfather—did the Queen save him? And our dragon?"
"The dragon is here."
A sudden gust of heat swept through the trees.
Beesbury turned—and saw the massive form of Silverwing concealed beneath layers of foliage.
Valarr stepped forward solemnly.
"I am sorry, Alan. Your grandfather proved his loyalty with his life."
"Lord Lyman was slain by Ser Criston Cole," Jacaerys added grimly as he stepped forward.
Alan Beesbury swayed—but steadied himself.
"My prince… I have brought sixteen hundred seasoned men. They have fought and bled against the Hightowers. Our swords are yours."
"Can you guarantee they will pass through here?" Valarr asked.
"I can."
Valarr and Jacaerys exchanged a glance before mounting their dragons.
The sun crept slowly across the sky.
Silverwing suddenly lifted her head.
Valarr narrowed his eyes.
"A dragon…?"
Silverwing gave a subtle nod before lowering her head again beneath the leaves.
Lord Randyll Tarly signaled silently.
Archers raised their bows.
Knights gripped their weapons.
The Hightower vanguard finally entered the valley in a long column.
Ser Brandon Hightower raised his hand sharply.
"Hold."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics