A crisis was unfolding.
Harwin glanced at the rioting commoners below, momentarily caught in a dilemma.
There weren't enough men, and the wildfire was too powerful.
After a brief pause, Harwin slammed his fist against the battlements, gritting his teeth. "Send five hundred men to put out the fire. Dig a trench to separate the tower from the godswood."
There was no better option.
"Yes, my lord."
A soldier rushed off to relay the orders.
Harwin's face was grim. The intense heat had drenched him in sweat, making him feel as if he had been thrown into boiling water.
---
**Inside the Burning King's Tower**
Gravvor Tully, his beard streaked with white and his face gaunt, paced anxiously. His murky eyes darted toward the window every few moments.
He was the Governor of the Trident and the Duke of Riverrun.
The head of House Tully.
But due to his mediocre abilities and stubborn nature, his family's reputation had steadily declined.
Now, he found himself besieged in his own castle, suffering defeat after defeat at the hands of his own vassal.
"Damn those Breckens! I'll have them all hanged!"
Gravvor cursed furiously, his trembling hands betraying his fear.
The tower was tall—three times the height of an ordinary castle.
From the lord's chamber, he could clearly see the eerie green flames consuming parts of the city.
Even indoors, he could feel the temperature rising, making it difficult to breathe.
**Knock, knock...**
A firm rapping on the door was followed by a woman's mature, sultry voice.
"My lord duke, I've come to give Lord Leonor his medicine."
Gravvor turned his head at the words, his gaze landing on the solid wooden bed.
Leonor lay sprawled on the soft blankets, his limbs splayed out in an unnatural position.
His face was deathly pale, his forehead slick with cold sweat. He muttered in pain, unconscious.
His upper body was bare, his right arm wrapped in bandages. His large, round belly occasionally twitched in spasm.
Leonor was gravely injured.
He had been thrown from his horse and knocked unconscious while retreating from the chaotic battle.
The maester's diagnosis: a broken right arm, a fractured left shin, and two broken ribs.
He had been in a coma ever since.
Thinking back to that night's ambush, Gravvor's rage flared once more. He spat, "Those goddamn Breckens! They all deserve to die!"
His eldest son had also perished that night, lost in the chaos of battle.
He didn't even know if the Silent Sisters had recovered the body.
**"My lord duke, if you don't answer, I'm coming in."**
The knocking resumed, and the woman's patience was clearly wearing thin.
Gravvor snapped. He pointed at the door and bellowed, "Get lost, you big-titted bastard daughter! Leonor won't drink your damn medicine!"
A duke of Riverrun would not take orders from some woman.
Outside the door, Alyse Rivers' face darkened, her green eyes turning cold.
She glanced down at her own voluptuous figure, her ample chest straining against her dress.
"Heh, no taste, you old fool," she sneered.
Holding a bowl of medicine, she turned on her heels and left, though not without reluctance.
Bastards were given different surnames in different regions.
In the Riverlands, their name was "Rivers."
Back inside the chamber, Gravvor listened carefully until he was sure she was gone. Then, his anger vanished as quickly as it had flared.
He strode briskly to the bedside, staring down at Leonor's pale, bloated face. He muttered, "That bastard daughter of yours doesn't seem like a good person."
Rumors in Harrenhal suggested that Alyse Rivers might be Leonor's illegitimate child from his younger days.
Others whispered that she had been both Harwin's and Larys' wet nurse.
Whatever her true identity, Gravvor detested the green-eyed woman with breasts like overfilled balloons.
The maester had said that Leonor should have woken up after a few days of treatment.
But after drinking the medicine brought by Alyse Rivers for four or five days, Leonor's condition had only worsened. He was now burning with fever and delirious.
Gravvor grew suspicious and refused to let Leonor drink anything from her again.
---
**Boom!**
At that moment, a deep explosion echoed through the tower.
"The stables are on fire! Someone, put it out!"
"Water won't work—throw sand!"
Gravvor's heart pounded, his hands trembling even more violently.
Outside the tower, the wildfire spread with terrifying speed.
The stables were right next to the granary, where vast amounts of fodder were stored.
The granary was a sealed structure with poor ventilation.
When the wildfire reached its walls, the built-up gases inside ignited instantly. The explosion sent burning hay flying in all directions.
---
**On the City Walls**
The rioters climbed desperately, using ladders to scale the defenses.
The guards hurled logs and poured boiling oil to keep them at bay, but each wave that fell was quickly replaced by another.
Harwin was torn between choices, screaming commands as he tried to hold the defense together.
---
**Outside the City, Near the Catapults**
A Brecken soldier ran up to his officer. "Ser, we've used up all the wildfire."
"No more?"
The bearded officer was unsatisfied.
The lieutenant sighed. "The priest only prepared this much. The rest was too unstable to transport."
"Damn those corpse-worshipping priests!"
---
The bearded officer cursed loudly, showing no respect for the so-called ritual, only contempt.
As he watched the rioters begin to climb the walls of Harrenhal, he shouted, "Drop the logs and stones! Smash them onto the battlements!"
The rioters were nothing more than easily manipulated fools, sent to their deaths with just a few words.
It didn't matter how many of them died.
"Yes, sir!"
The messenger responded immediately and ran off in fear.
...
BOOM—
Massive stones crashed into the battlements, shattering large chunks of the wall.
The violent tremors made it nearly impossible for Harwin to stand, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Kill them! Seize all the food in the castle!"
"It's all because these nobles took our land that we're starving!"
As the defenders ran out of supplies, the rioters climbed onto the battlements and launched their attack on the guards.
"Hold your ground! The kingdom's reinforcements will arrive soon!"
Harwin shouted fiercely, raising his longsword and slashing at the swarming rioters.
He had served as the commander of the city garrison for many years.
Any sympathy for the unruly masses had long since faded—his strikes were swift and merciless.
"He's the heir of House Strong! Kill him first!"
Harwin had already cut down several rioters when someone recognized him.
As soon as they realized he was a noble heir, the rioters grew even more frenzied, rushing toward him.
The continent of Westeros was ruled by a noble hierarchy.
This system divided people into different ranks.
Nobles were above knights, knights above commoners, and commoners above outlaws…
Although nobles made up only a tiny fraction of the population, they controlled the most land and lived the wealthiest lives.
If a noble was just and kind, their subjects might live decent lives and have enough to eat.
But if a noble was cruel and corrupt, exploiting and oppressing the people…
Then commoners would be left to suffer in misery.
Over time, this led to deep conflicts between nobles and commoners.
Nobles despised and looked down on the commoners.
Commoners resented and feared the nobles.
Across the continent, reports of peasant uprisings against noble lords were common.
Furious at being surrounded, Harwin roared, "Get the hell out of my way! My family has always treated our people fairly!"
The castle guards rushed to his aid, engaging in brutal combat with the rioters.
BOOM—
Outside the walls, trebuchets continued their assault. Debris from shattered battlements rained down, killing many defending soldiers.
More and more rioters swarmed over the walls.
RUMBLE—
A loud crash echoed from below.
At some point, the soldiers of House Bracken had wheeled a battering ram into place.
They smashed it against Harrenhal's main gate with force.
The castle was under attack from above and below.
Inside the walls, wildfire raged, consuming buildings and servants alike.
Harwin fought while retreating, but a pitchfork pierced his shoulder, leaving a gaping wound that bled profusely.
One disaster followed another. His heart pounded with anxiety, and despair crept in.
If the kingdom's reinforcements didn't arrive soon…
House Strong would be wiped out by the rioters.
"Harder! Put your backs into it!"
The battering ram slammed against the gate again as the bearded officer shouted impatiently.
His orders were to take Harrenhal before nightfall and capture both Lord Tully and the King's Hand, Lyonel Strong.
House Bracken wasn't foolish enough to openly rebel without an escape plan.
A duke of Riverrun and the King's Hand would be the perfect bargaining chips in negotiations.
From a distance, the scene unfolded:
Dark smoke billowed over Harrenhal, its massive walls wreathed in green wildfire.
A vast horde of rioters howled as they swarmed up the walls like ants.
At a glance, it looked like a vision of hell.
WHOOSH—
A powerful gust of wind tore through the sky, parting the clouds to reveal a brilliant blue expanse.
"Screeeech—"
A deep, thunderous dragon roar echoed across the battlefield.
A shadow—massive and black—burst from the clouds, diving toward Harrenhal.
"Dracarys!!"
A sharp, youthful voice rang out.
"Screeeech…"
The black dragon slowed its descent, gliding along the castle walls, spewing torrents of green dragonfire.
"A dragon! Run for your lives!"
"Aaahhh! It burns!"
The beast known as Glutton appeared in full view, its vertical pupils scanning the panicked rioters, engulfing them in flames.
With a powerful beat of its wings, the dragon soared upward, leaving a trail of green fire blazing along the battlements.
"Prince!"
Seeing the dragon and its rider, Harwin—cornered and bleeding—felt a surge of joy and shouted in relief.
Rhaegar sat astride the dragon's back, silver hair billowing in the wind, his black cloak fluttering as he led the charge.
"Ser, you go handle the fire first—I'll take care of the rebels!"
Leaving behind those words, Rhaegar urged Devourer straight toward the heart of the battlefield.
"Yes, my prince!"
Harwin was filled with excitement and quickly called out to the soldiers, "Five hundred men stay behind to guard the walls—the rest, follow me to put out the fire!"
Devourer unleashed a breath of dragonfire, instantly incinerating the rebels on the city walls.
The terrifying flames also drove back those still climbing.
With a dragon descending upon the battlefield, the front lines were now secure—it was time to head for the family's castle.
"Hissss—Gaaah!"
Devourer circled above the battlefield, spewing dragonfire without pause.
The battering rams smashing against the city gates were the first to be destroyed, reduced to ash along with the soldiers operating them.
"Run! The dragon is here!"
"Quick, escape!"
Devourer's massive form cast a terrifying shadow over the battlefield.
Its jet-black wings blotted out the blazing sun, plunging the ground below into darkness.
Rhaegar's expression was unreadable as he gazed down upon the rebels fleeing in disarray.
Soon, he spotted the Brecken soldiers hidden among the crowd.
Unlike the other rebels, their silver-gray armor made them stand out too much.
"Devourer, burn them all!"
Rhaegar's eyes gleamed with cold resolve as he gave the order.
"Hissss—Gaaah!"
With a thunderous roar, Devourer dived toward the Brecken soldiers' escape route, its maw brimming with dragonfire.
Boom—
A pillar of green flames rained down from the sky, striking its target with deadly precision.
In an instant, the Brecken soldiers were reduced to ashes—none even had time to scream.
"Keep pursuing them!"
Rhaegar's gaze swept over the remaining catapults and the bloodstained rebels. His heart was as cold as ice.
If they dared to rebel, they should have been prepared to die.
Devourer flapped its wings and soared over the battlefield, unleashing wave after wave of dragonfire.
Below, the rebels shrieked in terror, scattering like headless flies.
One by one, they fell, their charred corpses left smoldering in the ruins.
(End of Chapter)