The Riverlands, Fairmarket.
The sun shone brightly overhead. Not a cloud marred the sky.
Yet to the people of Fairmarket, it felt as though the heavens themselves had collapsed.
High above, two black dots were rapidly growing larger.
One of them expanded until it became a young black dragon—Lothorne.
Its scales gleamed with a dark luster beneath the sunlight. Its wings spread wide, golden fire burning in its eyes. Dragonflame brewed within its jaws.
The other black dot was enormous.
So enormous it looked like a mountain.
Vhagar.
The largest dragon in history.
Its colossal body blotted out half the sky. Every beat of its wings stirred violent gusts of wind.
Its scales were dark as cooled magma.
Those dragon eyes remained fixed on the prosperous market town below.
Fairmarket lay deep within the Riverlands, at the junction of three rivers. It was one of the region's most important trade centers.
Merchants normally crowded its streets. Travelers came and went without end. It was a place full of life.
Now it had become the Seventh Hell.
"Dragon! A dragon!"
"Run!"
"Help!"
Screams, cries, and pounding hooves merged into a single chaotic roar.
People fled in every direction, shoving and trampling one another as they desperately tried to escape this land of death.
But it was too late.
Lothorne dove.
Opening its jaws, it unleashed a torrent of dragonflame like a blazing waterfall.
Hotter.
More violent.
Far more terrifying than any ordinary fire.
The flames struck wooden houses, reducing them to ash in an instant.
They struck stone walls, turning the masonry red-hot and smoking.
They struck people, and those people didn't even have time to scream before becoming blackened lumps of charcoal.
One row of houses caught fire.
Then another.
Then an entire district.
The Riverlands soldiers stationed in the market tried to organize a defense.
Archers raised their bows and fired skyward.
But the arrows struck dragon scales as though they were iron plates, bouncing away with sharp metallic clatters. They could not inflict the slightest wound.
"Fall back! Fall back!" the commander of the guards roared.
But where could they retreat?
Vhagar had arrived.
The ancient dragon slowly descended, its massive body nearly brushing the rooftops.
It did not breathe fire.
It merely flew overhead.
Yet the hurricane-force winds generated by its wings threw people across the streets like rag dolls.
Its tail swept across two towers.
Both collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Then she breathed fire.
The flames were not a single stream.
They were a sea.
Entire districts vanished beneath waves of dragonfire.
Hundreds of people never even had the chance to run before they were reduced to ash.
The defenders began to break.
Soldiers threw down their weapons, stripped off their armor, and fled for the city gates.
Some ran for the river, hoping to escape by jumping into the water.
Others fled toward the forests, hoping to hide among the trees.
Lothorne circled low overhead, hunting those who tried to escape.
Whenever it spotted a group running, it would dive and exhale a burst of flame, turning them into ash.
If people fled in another direction, it simply banked and breathed fire again.
Lothorne thoroughly enjoyed the process.
Vhagar flew higher above, watching everything with cold indifference.
She had no need to pursue anyone.
A single breath from her could cover a far greater area.
So she simply drifted onward.
Wherever she passed, only scorched earth remained.
Aemond sat atop Vhagar's back, looking down upon the inferno below.
His silver hair streamed in the wind.
His violet eyes remained calm and detached.
He wore dragon-scale armor that had already been dyed black.
He watched the fleeing people.
The burning houses.
The charred corpses.
Inside, he felt as calm as a stagnant pool of water.
The Northmen had slaughtered more than a dozen villages in the Westerlands.
He could do the same.
As far as civilians living under the rebels were concerned, he treated them all equally.
The only distinction was whose people ended up dying.
Lothorne let out an excited roar and dove once more, pursuing a crowd fleeing toward the riverbank.
A blast of dragonfire erupted.
Dozens of people instantly became living torches, collapsing beside the river amid agonized screams.
Even the river water boiled away, rising as clouds of steam.
After a while, Aemond withdrew his gaze and turned his dragon away.
He would make his camp at Harrenhal.
And he would wait.
Wait for Daemon to come.
If Daemon refused to come, he would keep burning.
One castle after another.
One town after another.
How many castles were there in the Riverlands?
More than a hundred.
And towns?
Too many to count.
He could afford to burn them all.
He intended to force Daemon out into the open.
If Daemon stayed hidden, then the hearts of the Riverlands would be lost.
The nobles.
The lords.
They would come to hate the Blacks with all their hearts.
When that happened, the Riverlands would collapse without a fight.
Lothorne unleashed another blast of fire.
Fresh screams rose from below.
Aemond no longer looked down.
He simply let the wind wash across his face.
...
Riverlands Allied Camp, Deep Within the Forests Along the Lower Red Fork.
Dusk.
The forest was already growing dark.
Lord Elmo Tully sat atop a large stone.
Around him stood several of the Riverlands' most important figures.
His son, Kermit Tully.
Benjicot Blackwood of House Blackwood.
Alysanne Blackwood, known to many as "Black Aly."
And Lord Forrest Frey of the Twins.
Originally, they had been marching to relieve Maidenpool.
But just then, a group of refugees poured into the camp.
They had escaped from Fairmarket not long ago.
Their clothes were in tatters. Blood covered their bodies. The terror of surviving a massacre still lingered on their faces.
Through sobs and broken words, they recounted what they had witnessed.
"Dragons... two dragons... one black... the other gray, as big as a mountain..."
"Fire... fire everywhere... people burned like candles..."
"We ran... ran as fast as we could... but we couldn't outrun them... they flew too fast..."
"My wife... my wife burned to death... right in front of me... I couldn't save her..."
"My lords, please... help us... please help us..."
Crying.
Shouting.
Begging.
The sounds blended into a single cacophony.
Lord Elmo's expression grew darker and darker.
Nominally, he was the highest authority in the Riverlands.
But what truly gave him headaches were the quarrelsome lords under his command, each pursuing their own interests.
At that moment, Lord Forrest Frey was the first to explode.
A man in his forties, bald and sporting a thick beard.
House Frey of the Twins was famous for its cunning, and Forrest was among the finest examples of that reputation.
He had long believed the Freys should never have become involved in this war. Now, at last, he had found an opportunity to vent his frustrations.
"Aemond has gone mad!" Lord Forrest Frey roared.
"He's burning civilians! He's burning towns! What the hell is he trying to do?!"
Benjicot Blackwood spoke coldly.
"He's trying to force us out."
Benjicot was still a young man. House Blackwood supported the Blacks, and his family maintained close ties with Daemon.
Yet even he felt a deep sense of helplessness.
"He doesn't know where our main force is."
"He's trying to force us to reveal ourselves."
Lord Elmo asked gravely, "Then are we still going to relieve Maidenpool?"
"Relieve my ass!" Forrest cursed.
"The moment we arrive at Maidenpool, he'll be right behind us burning us all alive!"
"Without dragons, what exactly are we supposed to use against dragons?"
Alysanne Blackwood spoke softly.
"But what about the people of Maidenpool?"
Alysanne was Benjicot's elder sister. In her twenties, with black hair and brown eyes, she was known throughout the Riverlands as Black Aly and enjoyed considerable prestige.
Forrest shot her a glare.
"What about them? They die, that's what."
"Or are you planning to go ask Aemond personally to stop burning people?"
"You—"
"Enough!" Lord Elmo barked, rubbing his temples.
"What's the point of arguing?"
"Send a raven. Send one to Dragonstone."
"Tell the Queen we need dragons."
"Without dragons, we can't fight."
Forrest let out a cold laugh.
"Send a raven? And then what?"
"Wait for them to send dragons?"
"I reckon by the time those dragons arrive, the entire Riverlands will already be ashes!"
He rose and paced around the camp, emotions running high.
"Think about it. Aemond is sitting at Harrenhal right now."
"He can fly out whenever he wants and burn our castles whenever he wants."
"Wherever he goes, we have to hide."
"How are we supposed to fight a war like this? How?!"
No one had an answer.
Suddenly, the sound of galloping horses echoed through the forest.
Everyone turned toward the noise in alarm.
Several riders burst from the trees.
Leading them was Rylly Karstark, deputy commander of the Northern vanguard.
Rylly swung down from his horse and strode up to Lord Elmo before offering a respectful bow.
"Lord Tully."
Elmo nodded.
"Lord Karstark. What brings you here?"
Rylly glanced at the refugees around them and lowered his voice.
"We've heard about Aemond burning Fairmarket."
"My lord, I have a proposal."
"Let's hear it."
Rylly took a deep breath.
"Join forces with the North and crush that Lannister lion first."
Elmo froze.
"The Lannisters? They're still on the Westerlands border..."
"No, they're not," Rylly interrupted. "That fool Jason Lannister was enraged by our village raids. He's already marched out of the Golden Tooth and is advancing toward Riverrun."
"The Lannisters are moving fast. Their baggage train is lagging far behind."
"If the Riverlands and the North work together and ambush them on the road, we have a good chance of wiping out all eight thousand men."
Elmo fell silent for a moment before asking, "And what about Maidenpool?"
Rylly answered with a question of his own.
"Maidenpool is already a dead city."
"If we go to save it, Aemond could appear at any moment."
"The moment he finds our main army, we're finished."
"You need to understand something."
"Only dragons can fight dragons."
Elmo's expression darkened further.
"If we abandon Maidenpool, then Harroway comes next."
"Harroway connects to the Vale while also controlling the Kingsroad north and the western Riverlands routes."
"When that happens, all three regions will be under threat."
Grinding his teeth, Elmo asked, "You're suggesting we abandon Maidenpool?"
Rylly looked at him, a trace of mockery in his eyes.
"Then lead your army to Maidenpool."
"Take these Riverlands warriors of yours and fight Aemond."
"Let's see which is stronger—his dragons or your soldiers."
Elmo fell silent.
He thought of the refugees' tearful accounts.
He thought of the two dragons that had blotted out the sky.
He couldn't beat them.
No one could.
With a defeated sigh, he sat back down.
Rylly walked over, patted him on the shoulder, and softened his tone.
"Lord Tully, Prince Daemon will be arriving in the Riverlands before long."
"When we have dragons, then we can fight."
"If Maidenpool falls now, we can always take it back later."
"But once people die, that's the end of it."
Elmo looked up at him, then glanced around at the others.
At last, he nodded.
"Very well."
His voice was hoarse.
"We'll deal with the Lannisters first. As for Maidenpool... we'll leave it for now."
Rylly smiled faintly and turned to leave.
...
Harrenhal stood upon the lakeshore, its massive silhouette looking especially ominous beneath the setting sun.
This cursed castle had been built by Harren the Black and had once symbolized Ironborn rule over the Riverlands.
Aegon the Conqueror had burned Harren and his sons alive with dragonfire, reducing the castle to a ruin.
Though it had later been repaired, the curse of Harrenhal had never truly faded.
At that moment, two dragons circled above the fortress.
Vhagar slowly descended outside the castle.
Lothorne landed atop a nearby tower and let out an excited roar that echoed through the fortress, sending countless bats scattering into the sky.
Aemond leapt from Vhagar's back and landed atop the battlements.
Lucard Strong was already approaching with a group of attendants.
Lucard was Harrenhal's steward.
A massive man weighing well over three hundred pounds.
He wore an extravagant silk robe embroidered with the sigil of House Strong, and his face was plastered with an ingratiating smile.
"Prince Regent!"
He hurried forward and bowed deeply.
"You're here!"
"Welcome, welcome!"
"Harrenhal is truly honored by your presence!"
Aemond ignored him.
As he walked, he removed the steel gauntlets of his armor.
Several servants hurried forward and carefully accepted them.
The gauntlets still radiated heat.
The servants nearly dropped them from the burn, but none dared make a sound.
Reaching the battlements, Aemond pointed downward and spoke coldly.
"Lucard."
Lucard immediately scurried over and followed his finger.
Below the walls, a group of men huddled together in a corner, trembling.
They were laborers Lucard had hastily assembled to clean the castle and strengthen its defenses.
But now their faces were pale as death.
Some had collapsed onto the ground.
A few had even wet themselves.
The sight of the two dragons had terrified them that badly.
"I told you to prepare," Aemond said.
"This is your idea of preparation?"
Lucard's face flushed crimson.
Large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
"Your Grace, please calm your anger! Please!"
"There was no other way! You have to understand, Harrenhal only has so many people. I... I've already done everything I could..."
Aemond looked at him in silence for a moment.
He knew perfectly well that Harrenhal was surrounded by numerous villages and towns.
There were tens of thousands of people in the area.
This Strong was trying to feed him a pack of lies.
Then Aemond reached out, seized Lucard by the throat, and lifted his three-hundred-pound frame straight off the ground.
Lucard's eyes bulged.
His mouth opened wide, but no sound emerged.
His arms flailed wildly.
His legs kicked helplessly in the air like a fat goose caught by the neck.
That hand felt like an iron vise.
No matter how hard he struggled, he could not break free.
His face turned from red to purple, then from purple to blue.
His eyes seemed ready to pop from their sockets.
The servants nearby hurriedly backed away and lowered their heads, not daring to look.
Their bodies trembled.
Their legs felt weak.
A few nearly dropped to their knees.
Still holding Lucard aloft, Aemond brought him closer.
His violet eyes stared directly into the man's.
"Listen carefully."
"I have no patience for useless people."
Lucard desperately tried to nod.
But with his throat clenched in Aemond's grip, he couldn't move.
All he could do was blink frantically to show that he understood.
Aemond watched him.
Not the slightest ripple disturbed those violet eyes.
Lucard felt his consciousness beginning to fade.
I might actually die.
The Prince Regent is really going to kill me.
I'm finished.
Just as he was about to suffocate, Aemond released him.
Lucard crashed to the ground with a thud and immediately began gulping down air.
Tears and snot covered his face.
He sprawled there like a dead dog, unable to get back up for a long while.
Aemond looked down at him from above.
His voice remained as calm as ever.
"Lucard."
"How long ago was it that I ordered Harrenhal's defenses strengthened?"
"You didn't take it seriously?"
Still sprawled on the ground, Lucard shook his head frantically.
"N-No... Your Grace... it's my incompetence... my incompetence..."
Aemond did not spare him another glance.
He turned and walked toward the castle.
"There won't be a next time."
His voice drifted back from behind him.
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