After waking up, Laenor received a great deal of information.
He learned that Rhaegar had attacked the Kingdom of Three Daughters and that victory in the Stepstones was imminent.
A great dragon had returned to the mainland, and the rebellion among the Riverlands' lords would no longer be a problem.
"Laenor, please be mindful of your injuries," Rhaegar said with concern, eyeing the other man's bulky figure.
Laenor patted his chest and coughed twice. "My body is fine."
**The Strong Family.**
As the name suggested, its members were all known for their formidable physiques—except for his second son, Larys Strong.
Larys was born with clubfoot, a frail and sickly child since birth.
Seeing that Laenor still appeared to be in decent health, Rhaegar became serious and said, "The rebellious lords are led by House Blackwood and House Bracken. My intention is to crush them with an iron fist."
Open treason must be met with fire and blood.
"Your Highness, your reasoning is not wrong," Laenor said, stroking his beard as he pondered. "However, these two houses have existed for thousands of years and have deep roots in the Riverlands. Too much slaughter might provoke resistance from other nobles."
Nobles were a peculiar breed.
They fought among themselves constantly, often to the death.
Yet, if the royal family destroyed a great noble house, it would cause an uproar and make the others wary.
Rhaegar understood this and asked, "What do you suggest?"
"First diplomacy, then force—to prevent giving others an excuse to criticize us," Laenor said, his eyes sharp. "Send envoys to negotiate with both houses first and see where they stand."
House Blackwood still retained some sense and had only clashed with Riverrun's forces once.
They were a house that could be swayed.
House Bracken, however, acted recklessly, showing no regard for the law.
They must be punished without mercy.
By exploiting the enmity between the two houses, they could ally with one and crush the other, minimizing losses while quelling the rebellion.
Rhaegar found this strategy reasonable. After some thought, he said, "I am acquainted with Samwell Blackwood, the heir of House Blackwood. Perhaps I can persuade him."
Incidentally, Robert Rivers, the commander of the Second Sons, was also from House Blackwood—Samwell's half-brother.
A bastard of Lord Blackwood.
Rhaegar and Laenor then discussed the finer details of their strategy late into the night before finally concluding.
---
Leaving the tent, Rhaegar stretched.
Above, the night sky was adorned with countless stars, and a bright moon cast a soft glow.
Rhaenyra and Helaena emerged hand in hand.
"Rhaegar, you should get some rest," Rhaenyra said, taking his hand and looking him over with concern.
Helaena leaned against Rhaegar's leg, her chubby little hands folded quietly in front of her.
Aside from when she was riding dragons, she was a rather reserved child.
"Alright. You two share a tent so you can watch over each other," Rhaegar said gently, reaching out to take Helaena's small hand.
Sleeping outdoors was safer for the sisters if they stayed together.
Rhaenyra glanced at Helaena and sighed, reluctantly pulling her along.
This little girl had become bolder by the day ever since she tamed Dreamfyre.
Who knew if Alicent would be beside herself with worry when she found out Helaena had sneaked away from King's Landing?
Just then—
**Screeech!**
A dragon's cry echoed through the night.
The Glutton's screech pierced the air as it flew in from the direction of Harrenhal, its form blending with the darkness.
As the enormous dragon soared overhead, the moonlight was momentarily obscured, casting a brief shadow over the land.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, observing the Glutton's movements.
This dragon, which usually spent most of its time sleeping and rarely stirred, seemed oddly restless.
**Boom!**
After circling twice, the Glutton landed beside the shores of the Gods Eye, its massive form looming over the three siblings.
Its vast wings spread wide, its head held high as it flapped its wings, shaking its body.
"What is it, buddy? What did you sense?"
Standing near the dragon's hind leg, Rhaegar patted its scales, immediately noticing its unusual behavior.
The Glutton lowered its head, its house-sized snout nudging its rider while its large green slit pupils locked onto the Gods Eye.
Rhaegar followed its gaze.
The lake's surface was dark beneath the night sky, occasionally rippling under the scattered moonlight.
**Grrr…**
The Glutton let out a deep growl, its powerful head pressing forward, urging Rhaegar to climb onto its back.
It had caught an unusual scent.
Somewhere near these emerald waters.
Rhaenyra examined the eerily still lake and said doubtfully, "Rhaegar, your dragon seems to be looking at the Isle of Faces."
A dragon's vantage point was far superior to that of a human.
Even in the dark, its slit pupils could see with absolute clarity.
**Screeech!**
The Devourer lifted one of its thick hind legs, carving deep grooves into the lakeside grass with its dragon claws.
Its vertical pupils fixated on its rider, conveying a message.
Rhaegar glanced at it twice, and memories from not long ago surfaced in his mind.
Helena had tamed Dreamfyre, and the two siblings had stopped at the Isle of Faces.
Before leaving, the Devourer had left similar dragon claw marks on the island's land.
Comparing the two, Rhaegar realized the key detail and suddenly exclaimed, "A marker!"
Years of experience had made him well-acquainted with the Devourer's habits.
It had wandered across vast regions of Westeros and Essos, gaining extensive experience and broad knowledge.
This was thanks to dragons possessing intelligence on par with humans.
The Devourer had an exceptional memory—not only did it hold grudges, but it also remembered the places it had been and the wonders it had seen.
However, it had never shown a habit of leaving markers before.
"The Isle of Faces…"
Rhaegar murmured, searching his mind for records of the island.
Twelve thousand years ago, there were no humans in Westeros.
The continent was ruled by the Children of the Forest and the Giants.
Later, the ancestors of the First Men, unable to endure oppression from Old Valyria, invaded Westeros through the Arm of Dorne.
Thus, the war between the Children of the Forest and the First Men officially began.
This war was historically known as the **Dawn Age**.
No one knew exactly how long the Dawn Age lasted—perhaps two thousand years, or even longer.
Eventually, the wiser individuals from both factions established a truce on the Isle of Faces.
The pact stipulated:
The First Men would claim the coasts, plains, grasslands, mountains, and marshes, but the vast forests would forever belong to the Children of the Forest.
Additionally, no weirwood tree in the kingdom was to be felled ever again.
To commemorate this hard-won peace, the faces of the Old Gods were carved into every weirwood tree on the island, serving as eternal witnesses to the pact.
Thereafter, the First Men and the Children of the Forest coexisted peacefully for four thousand years, an era known as the **Age of Heroes**.
Later, the Andals, who had also suffered from Old Valyria's expansion, left their homeland and landed in Westeros from the Fingers, launching an attack on the Vale.
The Andals had superior iron weapons, a more structured civilization, and were also far more ruthless.
They slaughtered every Child of the Forest they encountered and burned the weirwood forests in the south.
They abandoned the Old Gods and introduced the Faith of the Seven.
This catastrophe led to the massive decline of the Children of the Forest, shattering the peace they had established with humanity.
As a result, the surviving Children retreated north of the Wall, vanishing into history.
Their existence remained only in ancient records.
Thinking of this, Rhaegar felt a deep sense of awe and sighed, "The Freehold Empire was truly formidable."
Even the mighty Targaryen family was merely a lower-tier house among the forty dragonlord families.
It was said that Exile Prince Aenar Targaryen had heeded his daughter Daenys Targaryen's prophecy and fled to Dragonstone in advance.
But in truth, it was more likely that the family had been outmaneuvered and exiled to Dragonstone, a mere frontier outpost.
**Hiss—Grunt…**
The Devourer grew impatient, nudging Rhaegar so hard that he stumbled before turning and crouching down.
Rhaegar steadied himself and reassured the beast, "Alright, don't rush—I'm coming."
He climbed up the dragon's back using the rope ladder and looked at his two sisters. "Are you heading back to rest, or do you want to come with me to the Isle of Faces?"
"I'm going!"
Helena eagerly raised her small hand and dashed toward the Devourer, grabbing the ladder and climbing up.
Rhaenyra pushed her little sister up from behind, equally intrigued. "Let's go check it out."
With all three aboard, the Devourer was satisfied and flapped its wings, soaring over the waters of the God's Eye.
Rhaegar relinquished the saddle to his sisters, standing alone on the dragon's neck, his silver hair whipping in the evening breeze.
The Devourer glided low, its tail dragging across the lake's surface, creating ripples.
Before long…
The three riders and their dragon reached the Isle of Faces, descending upon its central region.
"I'll scout ahead."
Rhaegar leapt down and immediately spotted several large, grayish-white weirwood trees.
Weirwoods were rare in the south.
Noble houses that still worshipped the Old Gods often planted a single weirwood in their godswoods.
But only on the Isle of Faces could one see multiple weirwoods growing together.
**Rustle…**
The trees were ancient and massive, their twisted branches resembling a wicked witch's fingers.
Their lush crimson leaves rustled in the evening breeze, whispering eerily.
The sound was unsettling, as if an old crone were about to cast a spell, clapping her hands in excitement.
Most disturbing were the faces carved into the gray-white trunks.
Blood-red sap trickled from their eyes, making them appear as if they were weeping.
The sight sent shivers down Rhaegar's spine.
Instinctively, his hand moved to the hilt of his dragonbone sword as he scanned the surroundings, ensuring there was no immediate danger.
He pulled out a torch for illumination and called back, "Come down—there's no one here."
Rhaenyra and Helena climbed down one after the other, each taking a torch.
Looking around, they saw nothing but dense vegetation, apart from the weirwoods that enhanced the island's eerie atmosphere.
"Devourer, what did you find here?"
Rhaegar ran his hand over the rough, grooved bark of a weirwood and asked tentatively.
**Hiss—Grunt…**
The Devourer actually responded, snorting deeply.
Then—
It spread its massive wings, planted them firmly into the ground, and swung its long, thick tail.
With a single sweep, it cleared away the dense foliage of the island.
**Crash…**
The climate in the Riverlands is warm and humid, with fertile soil. The islands are covered in shrubs and tropical flowers.
The Gluttonous One swung its massive tail like a dragon, instantly clearing a large area.
It didn't stop and continued its rampage.
Thousand Faces Isle was located in the center of God's Eye Lake, a rare island in the middle of the lake.
The island was quite large, bigger than an average castle's grounds.
But even that was no match for the devastation caused by the massive Gluttonous One.
In a short time, the place was left in complete ruin.
Rhaegar let it act freely but wasn't idle himself.
There were a total of seven fishbeam trees on the island, and Rhaegar inspected them one by one.
When he reached the last one—the thickest of them all—
A sharp voice suddenly interrupted him:
"Stop, heir of Targaryen!"
Rhaegar paused, turning back warily.
From the shadowy hillside, a hunched figure emerged—a small, frail person leaning on a cane.
(End of Chapter)