The Western Expeditionary Army stayed in Highgarden for two full days to sort out the spoils, settle the wounded, bury the fallen soldiers, send messages of victory to both enemy and friendly forces, meaning the entire Reach and the two allied armies to the north and south, and distribute and issue the latest deployment orders and arrangements. After finishing all this, Aegor left half the troops to hold the heartland of the Reach, though in truth it was to recover from their injuries, and took the victorious army, now streamlined to just over ten thousand men, reversing the previous policy of "advancing step by step and slowly pushing forward." He set off along the Rose Road, moving quickly west toward the final destination of this Western Expedition, Oldtown.
On the wide, straight road, Daenerys's army was no longer in combat formation but spread out in a single line along the road, stretching for miles from one end of sight to the other. The soldiers' steps were light, their morale high, and they sang loud and majestic military songs.
After obtaining the vast amount of grain and military supplies stored by the coalition camp and House Tyrell in the castle, and gaining the "loyalty" and cooperation of the ruling family of the Reach, the rest of the Western Expedition became a relaxed excursion. Echoing this inspiring marching scene were the fields on both sides of the road. Farmers who, under the call and command of House Tyrell, had finally begun to plow and cultivate the land with peace of mind. They were absorbed in the spring planting that had been delayed for weeks, occasionally straightening their backs, wiping their sweat, and gazing curiously and reverently at the neatly marching Western Expeditionary Army on the main road, which had been invaders only moments ago and had instantly become the royal army.
Looking around at this beautiful spring scene beneath the warm rays of the slanting spring sun, a thought could not help but cross Aegor's mind. When Jaehaerys Targaryen I allocated royal funds to build this road, had he already foreseen that two hundred years later, a descendant would be able to follow it to "re-conquer" the Reach more quickly and easily, expanding the Crownlands belonging to the dragonrider?
Woo, woo.
A warning signal interrupted his thoughts. The singing stopped abruptly, and after a series of complex military tunes and hand signals relaying orders, the entire army understood the situation. Troops were approaching from the front. The Golden Company and the Highgarden guards who had fled the battlefield three days ago had accepted the peace agreement and were returning east along the same road to surrender, about to meet them head-on.
No fighting was expected, but according to military regulations, the front half of the troops still needed to don armor and enter a state of readiness, while the rear half would stop in place and rest for a moment.
The troops without guard duties completely relaxed. Some drank water, some urinated, and soldiers who sat or lay down to rest quickly scattered across the right half of the road. On the left half of the road, which had been deliberately cleared, Daenerys's trusted Unsullied troops jogged past with neat steps, preparing to go to the front to protect Daenerys and witness and accept the upcoming surrender.
That was right. Despite the frequent harassment and threats to the eastern coast of the realm by the slave masters' alliance, Daenerys still insisted on staying with the Western Expeditionary Army instead of returning to King's Landing to take charge. Firstly, it was to help Aegon, who had just become a dragonrider, better adapt to his new identity and mount. Secondly, it was to personally accept Aegon's surrender and ensure that no "accidents" occurred during the process, whether he was real or fake.
With two dragons circling overhead, Aegor also hurried from the middle of the formation to the front. He dismounted and stood beside Daenerys, waiting for the surrendering party with her under the escort of the Unsullied army, who stood solemnly arrayed on both sides of the road.
A moment later, a large number of bright yellow banners mixed with red and green appeared in their field of vision and quickly advanced within sight under their gaze. After stopping at a distance that would not cause misunderstanding, a small group of about forty to fifty people from the defeated army detached from the formation and approached Aegor and Daenerys.
The two stopped their casual conversation and quietly observed the crowd.
They saw the Golden Company commander's big round head and Mace Tyrell's bulging belly, a crowd of tall, sturdy sellswords and guards, and the slow-moving small pony cart at the very end of the procession, but they did not see Aegon's tall, slender figure.
"Perhaps Your Grace's nephew feels his crimes are unforgivable and wants to perform some trick of tying himself up to beg forgiveness, and is currently walking at the back in shackles and chains," Aegor snorted, not hiding the contempt in his tone.
He did not yet know whether his plan to kill with a borrowed knife had succeeded, but given his identity and status, there was no need to hide his hostility toward a rebellious prince anyway. Even if Aegon walked up to him alive, he would still be sarcastic.
Daenerys pursed her lips, neither agreeing with the sarcasm nor refuting it. She was already extremely grateful that Aegor, as Hand, could indulgently support her willful decision to protect Prince Aegon, and had even proactively suggested that the Unsullied guard the surrender ceremony to avoid suspicion. It was impossible for her to push her luck and ask him to show respect for her nephew.
Soon, the surrendering delegation approached to a distance where their faces could be seen. This group was mainly composed of Golden Company generals. They had various skin tones and distinctive clothing, but they shared one thing in common: sellswords were accustomed to displaying their worldly wealth openly. They wore gold and silver, carried jewel-encrusted swords and carved armor, and the gold armbands on each person's arm were enough to serve as a lord's ransom. In the Battle of the Blackwater Rush, the Dornish army, who stood with the Gift army, had even brawled among themselves over plundering spoils from the bodies of fallen Golden Company soldiers, and Oberyn Martell, who felt disgraced by this, had severely punished both sides afterward.
As the defeated party and the ones surrendering, they were all on foot today instead of riding horses.
"Your esteemed Grace, Hand of the Queen, the Golden Company hereby offers its most sincere surrender and deepest respect."
Harry Strickland, the amiable Golden Company commander who completely lacked a warrior's bearing, spoke first.
Daenerys frowned and glanced at Mace Tyrell, who stood nearby looking disheveled and saying nothing. She was somewhat puzzled. Why was a sellsword leader without a title or noble status representing this surrender, bypassing Prince Aegon and the Lord of Highgarden? Not to mention Jon Connington was also there.
How improper.
"Where is your prince?" She had no interest in wasting more words with the oily middle-aged man before her and asked coldly and directly.
"Your Grace!" The fat lord's round face instantly showed a look of sorrow. "Last night, a disturbance broke out in our camp due to dissatisfaction with the post-battle arrangements. Some unruly soldiers found the prince's residence in the dark, and in the struggle... accidentally killed him!"
"What?!"
Daenerys's shoulders trembled, too shocked to show any expression. She watched as the Golden Company generals and Highgarden guards at the front, their faces cold and indifferent, moved aside. A coachman led a harnessed horse, pulling a cart carrying Aegon's body before her.
The nearest Unsullied immediately stepped forward with their spears, forcing back the sellswords by the cart. One of them felt Aegon's arm, confirmed that his body was cold and stiff and that there was no possibility of him feigning death, then stepped aside to allow Daenerys to approach and observe.
On the open cart bed, amid layers of luxurious silk and wool laid beneath him, the silver-haired young man lying flat on his back with pale cheeks and tightly closed eyes was indeed the cheap nephew she had met once: Aegon Targaryen, who claimed to be "Rhaegar's son."
There was no emotional bond between them, and she did not even know whether this blood relative was real or fake, so Daenerys certainly would not make intimate gestures like crying or gently touching Aegon's face.
However, the lack of sorrow still could not change the feeling of her heart suddenly sinking, nor the strong sense of emptiness and loss.
Before last night, no matter how much there was no evidence, reason, or position to admit the authenticity of this nephew, at the very least, she might have had a family member.
But from today onward, even that "possibility" had completely disappeared.
Now, she had truly become a solitary figure, the last Targaryen in the world.
Following that sense of loss came a surge of anger.
She owed Aegor such a great favor to convince him to accept Aegon taking the black, and she had not even hesitated to abandon the safety of King's Landing and a small half of the realm's eastern coast to forcefully remain on the Reach battlefield, only to receive such a corpse?
(To be continued.)