The eerie green dragonflames swept across the battlefield, scorching deep trenches into the ground and igniting emerald-colored embers.
Inside Harrenhal, the viridian wildfire raged uncontrollably, surging like a tidal wave.
For a moment, the dragonfire outside the castle and the wildfire within seemed to answer each other, as if the entire fortress had plunged into a green inferno.
The difference was that wildfire would eventually burn out—dragonfire, however, was endless.
The Devourer's vertical pupils flashed with a feral glint, showing no mercy to the tiny insects scurrying below.
With his sword in hand, Rhaegar cast his gaze toward the chaos within Harrenhal, his thoughts racing.
**"Wildfire!"**
Thanks to the rigorous education he endured as a child, he had suffered through the relentless teachings of the maesters at the Citadel.
He knew exactly what wildfire was—and just how destructive it could be.
A rare alchemical creation, it was said to contain a trace of magic.
Due to its terrifying potency and extreme volatility, the Citadel had long since banned its production in Oldtown.
Observing the roaring green flames engulfing Harrenhal, Rhaegar could feel the intense heat and acrid fumes even from a distance.
**"Once this is over, Harrenhal will need extensive rebuilding."**
He withdrew his gaze, silently sighing for Lord Lyonel.
Wildfire could burn through wood, stone, even steel—and water could not extinguish it.
After the War of Conquest, Harrenhal had already suffered near-total destruction, leaving much of the fortress in ruins.
Now, with this wildfire spreading unchecked, the structures the Strong family had painstakingly rebuilt over decades would likely be lost once again, requiring a fortune to restore.
---
### Inside the Burning King's Tower
Not long after Alys Rivers left, the temperature within the lord's chambers continued to rise.
Ser Glover leaned against the window, anxiously watching the chaos below.
He cursed under his breath.
**"Useless fools! Why haven't they led the troops to rescue him yet?"**
After that nighttime raid, he had been escorted into Harrenhal under the protection of his guards.
The Brackens had besieged the castle, riling up the common folk to storm the gates.
The Blackwoods, on the other hand, were playing a more calculating game.
Though they had not participated in the raid or the siege, they were even more despicable.
Blackwood forces were stationed outside Riverrun, cutting off House Tully's reinforcements from reaching Harrenhal.
They watched the Brackens' assault unfold, waiting to reap the benefits like opportunistic vultures.
There were two thousand men left to guard Riverrun.
With the summoned vassals, they could muster a force of nearly five thousand.
If even one of his two incompetent sons had the courage to rally their forces, they could drive the Blackwoods back.
In just a few days, they could have freed their father, who was now trapped inside the castle.
But, of course, if they had such ability and bravery, they wouldn't be the failures they were.
**BANG!**
Glover slammed his fist against the wall, burning with frustration.
**"Cough, cough..."**
A fit of coughing interrupted his thoughts, snapping him out of his anxiety.
Glover's eyes lit up. He turned toward the large wooden bed.
Lying there, Lord Lyonel's chest rose and fell violently. His eyes were wide open, his face red as he struggled to suppress his coughs.
**"Lord Lyonel!"**
Glover was overjoyed. He quickly helped Lyonel turn onto his side and patted his back to help him breathe.
Lyonel gasped for air, his face flushed, before finally managing to spit out a thick glob of phlegm.
**"What time is it?"**
He panted heavily, his gaze unfocused.
The last thing he remembered was the attack on their camp—he had fallen from his horse during the ambush.
After that, he had been brought back to Harrenhal and treated by the maesters.
He had been unconscious for days, and his mind was still foggy.
Glover's face darkened. **"We're surrounded. The Brackens won't let us go."**
**"Has the kingdom sent reinforcements?"**
Lyonel tried to gather his thoughts, his first instinct being to ask about the crown's response.
Knowing Viserys, even with his weak nature, he wouldn't tolerate open rebellion from his vassals.
Glover's expression turned grim. He hesitated.
**"The ravens were sent…"**
But the realm was already in turmoil. The Riverlands, the Vale, and the Crownlands had all been drained of troops due to ongoing conflicts.
Mustering an army to quell the rebellion wouldn't be something that could happen in just a few days.
Seeing Glover's expression, Lyonel understood most of the situation. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
He was starting to feel the heat, too.
**"Screeeeech!"**
A piercing dragon's roar echoed across the northern shores of the Gods Eye, reverberating through the entire castle.
Lyonel's eyes widened with sudden clarity, his voice hoarse yet filled with hope.
**"A dragon's call."**
House Targaryen's rule over Westeros had never relied on armies.
It had always been dragons that dominated the skies.
**"Help me up. The castle is burning—I need to organize our people."**
Leonor propped himself up on the bed with his left hand, struggling to sit up.
Glover reached out to support him, not refusing his request.
The dragon had arrived.
The weight on his heart was finally lifted.
…
By noon—
"Hiss—caw…"
The Devourer circled Heron Hall again and again, leaving scorched earth in its wake.
At the front gate of Heron Hall—
Charred corpses lay in heaps, with the occasional agonizing wail from those not yet dead.
Rhaegar stood atop the battlements, covering his mouth and nose with one hand, his hair falling over his eyes.
After a relentless barrage of dragonfire, the rebel forces collapsed entirely, fleeing in disarray.
Hundreds of Bracken soldiers perished.
Over a thousand of the unruly mob lay dead or wounded, while the rest scattered, fleeing in panic.
There were too many of them—the Devourer couldn't kill them all.
Rhaegar's priority was securing Heron Hall, not massacring a disorganized rabble.
"My prince, the wildfire won't die out—we need to evacuate the castle."
Harwin ran up to the battlements, his face covered in soot, his expression dark as could be.
Sand was the only thing that could somewhat weaken wildfire.
The soldiers fought desperately, barely managing to contain the flames.
Yet the fire in the godswood remained impossible to extinguish.
A godswood typically referred to a small grove within a castle's walls, found throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
For those who upheld the traditions of the First Men and worshiped the Old Gods, it was a sacred place of prayer.
At its heart stood a weirwood tree, planted and nurtured for generations, surrounded by other trees and flowers.
Heron Hall's godswood spanned a full twenty acres.
Beyond its single, ancient weirwood with its eerie carved face, the grove was home to countless pines and sentinel trees.
When wildfire was cast into the godswood, it spread rapidly, engulfing the entire forest and threatening the five towers of the castle.
Hearing this, Rhaegar nodded and asked, "How is Lord Leonor? I heard he was injured."
Leonor Strong was a diligent and responsible Hand of the King.
Rhaegar respected him.
A flash of relief crossed Harwin's eyes as he sighed, "My father just regained consciousness. I've sent him and Duke Glover out of the castle."
"That's good," Rhaegar said, relieved.
"Hiss—caw!"
"Hiss—caw…"
Suddenly, two opposing dragon cries echoed through the skies above Heron Hall.
Rhaegar and Harwin instinctively looked up toward the source of the sound.
In the vast blue sky—
A massive dragon with shimmering light-blue scales soared through the clouds, flying over the expanse of the Gods Eye.
At the same time—
A slightly smaller dragon, its scales golden-yellow, skimmed the lake's surface before gradually ascending into the sky.
On each dragon's back sat a Targaryen woman—one older, one younger.
Rhaegar's keen eyesight allowed him to make out their faces clearly. Shocked, he muttered, "Rhaenyra… Helaena?"
The light-blue dragon was Dreamfyre. The golden one was Syrax.
At that moment—
Dreamfyre, using her larger size to her advantage, reached Heron Hall first, beating her wings as she descended.
"Brother!"
Helaena, her hair tied in a neat bun, wore a simple white dress. She called out in a crisp, cheerful voice.
The young girl sat atop Dreamfyre's newly installed saddle, waving excitedly.
"Helaena? What are you doing here?"
Rhaegar gripped the raised battlements, gazing up at his sister.
"Hiss—caw…"
Syrax arrived close behind, her powerful wings stirring strong winds as her talons gripped the castle walls.
Her massive body swayed slightly, and atop the saddle, Rhaenyra tightened her grip on the reins, her voice calm as she said, "She insisted on coming—ran faster than me."
She had planned to come alone to see Rhaegar.
But she had run into Helaena in the dragon pit, chatting with Dreamfyre.
The moment Helaena heard Rhaenyra was heading to Heron Hall—to see Rhaegar, no less—her eyes lit up, and she secretly took off on Dreamfyre without permission.
As they spoke—
Dreamfyre let out a high-pitched cry before descending onto the castle walls, lowering her neck for her rider to dismount.
Helaena unfastened the chain around her waist, but instead of using the soft ladder, she simply slid down Dreamfyre's smooth back.
"Brother, why didn't you take me to Heron Hall with you?"
Helaena's small legs moved swiftly as she ran straight into Rhaegar's arms.
"Princess."
Harwin greeted her in a low voice.
"Mm-hmm, Ser."
Helaena nodded her little head, her large eyes gleaming as she gazed up at Rhaegar.
Rhaegar sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm here to put down a rebellion. Can't you see the carnage below?"
Helaena hadn't noticed at all. Confused, she blinked her big eyes.
She had arrived on Dreamfyre's back—wherever the dragon flew, she followed, paying little attention to her surroundings.
"Rhaegar, what's the situation at Heron Hall?"
Rhaenyra dismounted, frowning as she glanced at the still-raging flames in the godswood.
From the color of the fire alone—
**I thought it was dragonfire spewed by a Glutton.**
Rhaegar ruffled Helena's hair and sighed. "Don't even mention it. The Brecken family somehow got their hands on wildfire, and the city gates nearly fell."
The Strong family suffered heavy losses this time.
Rhaenyra glanced around. The land outside the city was scorched black, a tragic scene of devastation.
"I should have come with you," she said softly.
"If you had arrived earlier, those three dragons could have burned down half the rebellion," Rhaegar said with a faint smile. Then he reminded her, "Let's go see Lord Leonor first. We're all spending the night outside the city."
"Alright," Rhaenyra and Helena responded in unison.
---
**Nightfall.**
On the northern shore of the God's Eye.
A vast encampment had been set up, with bonfires illuminating the night sky.
Soldiers patrolled the castle and the camp, while servants, forced from their quarters, sorted through salvaged supplies.
Inside the largest command tent, Leonor lay on a makeshift wooden cot, his wounds freshly bandaged.
Rhaegar, his sisters, Harwin, and Glover sat around a table.
"Prince, if not for your timely arrival, we would have been finished," Glover said, raising a goblet of red wine in a toast.
Rhaegar simply tapped the table in acknowledgment. "Lord Glover, the raven we sent to your family left days ago. There should be news by now."
He didn't have high hopes for those two incompetent Tullys in Riverrun, but there should at least be some response.
They couldn't just sit back while their father remained trapped.
Glover's expression stiffened, and he waved his hand dismissively.
Those two utterly useless sons of his—who knew, maybe they were even hoping for his death so they could take control of Riverrun.
Leonor spoke up weakly at the right moment. "Prince, now that you've escaped the Stepstones, we can begin the counterattack in the Riverlands."
*(End of Chapter)*