A thousand miles away.
The Riverlands.
The night at Stone Hedge was torn to pieces by fire.
Daemon Targaryen rode upon Caraxes, looking down at the burning castle below.
Blood Wyrm's scales glimmered a dark red beneath the firelight.
The siege had entered its fourth day.
House Bracken had held for four days.
Daemon had not expected them to last this long.
Lord Humfrey Bracken—a man he had never once taken seriously—had dared to shut his gates, refuse envoys, refuse parley, refuse surrender.
Four days.
Daemon had to admit, he felt a measure of respect.
Caraxes loosed his seventh blast of dragonfire that night.
An arrow tower collapsed with a thunderous crash, stone shattering, flames roaring skyward.
Bracken soldiers fled from the ruins in all directions, like ants scattered from a crushed nest.
But those ants did not surrender.
They ran into the inner ward, into the keep, into every corner where resistance could still be made.
On the walls, Lord Humfrey Bracken's banner still flew.
Brown field, red horse, rearing as if to charge.
Daemon nudged the dragon's neck lightly.
Caraxes swept low across the battlements, the gale from his wings nearly snapping the flagpole.
Daemon reached out.
He tore the banner free.
Then he drove it upside down into the fastening ring of his saddle, the red cloth snapping sharply in the night wind.
After that, he descended outside the walls, into the encampment of House Blackwood.
Alysanne Blackwood strode forward to meet him.
Fourteen years old. Long black curls. Amber eyes filled with firelight—strikingly beautiful.
The nobles of the Riverlands called her "Black Aly."
A famed archer.
Fierce and fearless.
"Prince!" she said, her face lit with excitement and admiration.
"The Brackens are finished!"
"I saw Amos Bracken—the coward—shaking on the walls!"
"That boy—when we were children—I beat his teeth out more than once!"
Daemon swung down from the dragon.
He tossed the red banner to her without ceremony.
"A trophy. Take it."
Black Aly caught it, stunned for a moment.
Then her face lit up with delight.
This was the banner of their ancient enemies—the Brackens' own castle standard.
With this in hand, she could shame those stubborn horses until their ancestors turned in their graves.
She clutched the banner tightly to her chest.
"Thank you, Prince!"
Daemon did not look at her.
His gaze remained fixed on the burning castle.
"Send word to Humfrey Bracken."
"This is his last chance."
"Surrender tonight, and his house will be spared."
"Tomorrow, when the walls fall—no one will be left alive."
...
Stone Hedge, inner keep.
Humfrey Bracken stood by the window.
Outside was a sea of fire.
He was fifty-one years old.
His first wife had died of childbed fever.
His second of spotted fever.
His third—Lady Lyarra—was young enough to be his daughter.
He had two grown sons.
His heir, Amos Bracken—twenty-five—brave and loyal, but not clever enough.
His bastard, Raylton Rivers—twenty-seven—clever and cautious, but without rights of inheritance.
The moment he saw Prince Daemon and his dragon, he had made his decision.
Before the Blackwood army began their assault, he had ordered Raylton to take Lady Lyarra and the younger children through the hidden passage, fleeing under cover of night toward Riverrun.
"Go to Lord Grover Tully," he had said.
"Beg him, in the name of the Seven, to shelter my family."
Raylton had knelt before him, face streaked with tears.
"Father…"
"I am not your father," Humfrey had cut him off without expression. "You are Rivers. A bastard."
"You owe House Bracken nothing."
He paused.
"Go, Raylton."
"Turn to the Greens."
"I will make my stand. They will accept you."
Raylton had departed, escorting his proud young wife and the children.
By now, they should have reached Riverrun.
Humfrey let out a breath.
So—the Blacks and the Greens had come to war at last.
What he had not expected… was that the first battlefield would be his own lands.
He had considered sending a raven to King's Landing to inform King Aegon II—but outside the walls, the Blackwood bowmen…
Those cursed archers—never missing their mark.
If this continued, the Riverlands would be drowned in blood.
It seemed he must prepare for both outcomes.
The survival of his house mattered more.
Footsteps came rushing from the door.
Amos burst in, his crimson armor blackened with soot, his face smeared with smoke.
"Father!"
"Prince Daemon has sent an envoy!"
"He says… surrender tonight, and the house will be spared."
"Tomorrow, when the walls fall—no one will be left alive."
Humfrey 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 seen with his own eyes, upon the walls, Caraxes tearing apart three towers with dragonfire.
He did not want to watch his father, his men, burned to cinders.
But he could not say it.
Because his father had taught him many things.
And the most important was this:
House Bracken could endure defeat.
But it would never kneel to House Blackwood.
For a thousand years, Bracken and Blackwood had torn at each other without end.
They had bent the knee before—to the Iron Throne, to greater power.
But never to each other.
If they knelt tonight, tomorrow all the Riverlands would know.
House Bracken had bowed to House Blackwood.
His father would rather die than bear that shame.
Amos lowered his head.
"I will follow your will."
At last, Humfrey turned.
He looked at his son.
Amos was covered in soot.
His lips were cracked, his hands trembling.
Not fear—just the toll of days of battle.
He had done all he could.
"Amos," Humfrey said, "you are twenty-five this year."
Amos did not understand why his father would say that now.
"When you were born…"
"Your mother died giving birth to you."
"Every morning I went to the lord's hall to see to my duties. At noon I rode out to patrol the borders. At dusk I returned to be with you."
"In those days, without your mother… the days felt long. So long it seemed they would never end."
Amos's eyes began to redden.
"Father…"
"Now, my days are at an end."
"But there is one thing left for me to do."
He reached out and patted his son on the shoulder.
"Bracken is yours now."
"You are Lord Bracken."
Amos looked up.
"Father."
Humfrey did not look at him.
He walked toward the door.
Amos lunged forward and seized his father's arm.
"Father! Where are you going?"
Humfrey lowered his head and looked at the hands gripping his arm.
"Amos."
"When you were a boy, you once asked me why House Bracken's sigil is a warhorse."
Amos stood frozen, unable to speak.
"I told you—because our forefather had no dragons, no sorcery. He had only a warhorse, and with it he won all this."
Humfrey gently pried his son's fingers loose.
"A warhorse serves a master."
"But it must never be ridden by the enemy."
He pushed open the gate.
The night wind roared in, carrying with it smoke, ash, and the distant, rumbling hiss of Caraxes.
Amos tried to chase after him.
Two guards seized him and held him fast.
"Father!"
Humfrey did not turn back.
He walked through the burning courtyard.
Past the collapsed arrow towers.
Past the charred corpses and broken spears.
The old lord, black-haired, moved slowly through the sea of fire.
Toward the gate.
On the walls, the Blackwood soldiers who had already climbed up saw that solitary figure.
One of them raised a bow.
But in the next moment, it was stayed by a raised hand from Benjicot Blackwood.
Daemon Targaryen had already dismounted from Caraxes.
He stood in the open ground outside the gate, waiting for the lord to come forward and yield.
Humfrey Bracken stopped before him.
His black hair was tousled by the wind, the edges of his robes burned and frayed.
No sword. No shield. No weapon at all.
He simply stood there, calm.
"Daemon Targaryen."
Daemon gave no reply.
"When I was young, I saw you once at Harrenhal," Humfrey said, as if to himself.
"That tourney."
"You were sixteen. You rode a horse no one dared approach, clad in armor gifted by King Jaehaerys the First."
"At the time, many of us lords longed to defeat you—the proud dragon prince…"
"To take that glory…"
He let out a self-mocking laugh.
"But I was one of those you defeated."
Daemon still did not answer.
Humfrey looked around.
His Stone Hedge was still burning.
His men were dead or surrendering.
His eldest son knelt by the inner gate, weeping.
"I swore an oath."
"My sword belongs only to King Aegon the Second."
He drew his gaze back and looked at Daemon.
"I will not break that oath."
Daemon spoke at last.
"You are a man worth respecting."
Humfrey smiled faintly.
"I am only keeping my house's honor."
"My son has sworn no such oath."
"He will bend the knee to you."
Daemon was silent for a moment before answering.
"Do not fear. I will not take my wrath out on him."
Humfrey looked at him.
For a long while.
"Targaryen," the old lord said, "you are not without conscience after all."
He turned.
Behind him, the watchtower—its top torn open by dragonfire—was still burning.
Flames licked from windows, from cracks, from every seam, turning the whole tower into a towering torch.
Humfrey walked toward it.
Slow steps.
No hesitation.
He pushed open the blackened wooden door at the base.
Amos's wail came from the gate.
"Father!"
Humfrey did not turn back.
He stepped into the fire.
Daemon stood outside the gate, watching the tower.
Before long, flames burst from the lower windows.
The night sky was stained orange-red.
The stone of the tower cracked under the heat, popping and splitting.
No one spoke.
Black Aly's expression was complicated.
Blackwood and Bracken had hated one another for a thousand years.
But now, as she looked at that burning tower, she found no words left for mockery.
Daemon stood in silence for a long time.
From the inner gate—
Amos emerged with the surviving soldiers, hollow-eyed.
His face was streaked with tears and soot, smeared into mud.
He came to a stop before Daemon.
Daemon looked down at him.
"Your father is dead."
"You are now the Lord of Stone Hedge, head of House Bracken."
Amos gave no answer.
"Kneel and swear to me, and you live as part of my host."
"Refuse, and you die."
Amos kept his head lowered.
He was unwilling—but what choice did he have?
Was House Bracken to become the first house to vanish in this war?
Behind him, the surviving Bracken soldiers stood in ruined armor, faces smeared with blood.
They were waiting for their new lord's choice.
Amos raised his head.
He glanced at the tower still burning.
His father… was inside.
Slowly, he bent his knee.
His forehead pressed into the blood-soaked earth.
Behind him, a thousand Bracken soldiers followed, like the retreating tide, dropping to their knees one after another.
Daemon watched him.
"From this day forth, all Bracken forces will be placed under the command of House Mallister."
Amos's shoulders trembled slightly.
He did not raise his head.
"…Yes."
Daemon turned.
Caraxes let out a low hiss, wings slowly spreading.
Daemon mounted the dragon.
He cast one last glance at the burning tower.
Humfrey.
It was not I who destroyed you.
The night wind carried ash across his face.
It was this age of chaos that destroyed you.
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