"Fire! Fire!" the voices shouted, their united cry creating a mighty echo that reverberated off the ancient walls of Harenhall in the hour of owl. Tywin rose from his seat, abandoning the pile of papers scattered on the desk, and strode towards the balcony of the northern tower. There, he gazed down at the south wing of the castle, where the stores of his army's supplies were housed, now engulfed in flames. A brilliant, ominous green glow emanated from every window, its radiance piercing through the thick smoke that billowed from the same source...
...
Two armies near each other, Lannisters at Harrenhal and the Targaryens at Maidenpool, yet no one dared to make the first move. A silent game was played, with scouts who tried to catch every movement of the enemy, and spies eagerly anticipating any shift in the adversary's camp. They lingered there like elusive shadows beneath the sheltering canopy of the forest trees.
For three long months, uncertainty hung in the air like an untamed beast, gnawing at the hearts of the soldiers. An army that merely stood still was as unhappy as the one retreating from the battlefield; the tension was palpable, and something had to give.
The spider knew that the waiting was over; the dragon would soon make its move on the board, seizing the trebuchets, catapults, and heavy cavalry from the hands of the golden lion. Step by step, over the years he built his web, touching every wall, every tree, every alley, understanding that a spider's web is resilient, enduring fierce winds and arid days. The key is to remain unseen, for only a men can dismantle the woven spiral.
Dark corridors beneath King's Landing lay forgotten, trodden only by rats. A feeble candle's glow illuminated the spider's path; he moved like a shadow within shadows. After deftly counted steps, he paused, his hand finding the wall, meeting the rough touch of rusted stairs.
Shogovhar awaited him in a cramped room, just enough space for two chairs and two men. "You're late," he smiled, revealing rotting teeth and a missing eye; his face and clothes were dirty, looking worse under the dim candlelight than Spider's.
"And you're early," spider retorted, displaying his own ruined smile. The stench of King's Landing was present; they were close enough to the surface.
"Are the boys ready?" Spider inquired.
"Four boys and a girl. The circumstances of the task didn't exactly attract candidates," Shogovhar replied, "although they're all willing to die."
Spider removed a small box from his back and handed it to Shogovhar, saying, "Tell them not to open it, shake it, or place it near fire. When they get there, all they need to do is throw the contents on the ground, and the rest will take care of itself."
"And the other box. They're sacrificing themselves for their families," Shogovhar prepared to leave.
That spider knew; gold coins were never the issue, but trust and willingness were. Shogovhar was among the few who could find such desperate souls, those willing to endure the worst and capable enough to carry out the desired task.
The other box is in the wall, he pointed out a crack, it was hardly visible in the dim light.
...
Dragons
"The enemy attempted to ford the Red Fork of the Trident, but the Tullys repelled them. Their movements suggest they aimed for Golden Tooth. This Stark has done us an immense favor," Lysono Maar said, tracing the maneuvers on the map, though most knew the terrain by heart.
The circle of captains sat within Harry Strickland's large tent, the warmth of braziers pushing back the chill of the autumn evening.
"It's clear Tywin wants to return to the West and defend his lands, but what shall we do?" one of the Lothsons asked.
"I say we march straight to King's Landing. If the reports are right, the city's hardly guarded. Better we take it before Stannis," Marq Mandrake spoke with fervor, scratching at his face marked by scars and blemishes. Aegon knew many shared the sentiment-take King's Landing, loot the royal treasury; some even wanted a night with Cersei. Some say she's the most beautiful woman in the realm. If that's true, old Aegon, from year before, would kept that honor for himself; he's never taken a queen.
After learning of Renly's death, Aegon gave the order to move, and to Lord Mooton's displeasure, nearly all the army left Maidenpool. However, Aegon left him with half of his own men, more than he needed or wanted. They established a camp south of Antlers, along the Kingsroad. Lord Buckwell refused to join them and barricaded himself in his castle. Initially, he wanted to forcefully change Buckwell's mind, but time was of the essence, so he ordered the castle to be bypassed.
"If we go to King's Landing now, we'd be doing Tywin a favor and defending the city for him," Laswell Peake said, his tone edged with annoyance. Of all Aegon's captains, he was the most passionate Westerosi and wanted to do things right.
Jon nodded in agreement, "Besides, Stannis is still in the Stormlands, and it'll be some time before he's ready to attack."
"We should wait for the Dornish," came a voice from Arvil Cole, a gray-haired serjeant who at thirty looked fifty. A spitting image of Harry Strickland, save for lacking Harry's talent for money and contracts. Thus, despite his years of service, he remained low in the company's ranks.
Dornish host under his uncle Oberyn was close, but Aegon didn't have time to wait. He decided to march with his host of fifteen thousand men. The time spent in Maidenpool paid off, and a third of his force from Westerosi lords, under the command of Ser Tristan Rivers, was well-trained and disciplined, and they didn't lag too far behind the Golden Company during the march.
"I wish to fight, my crown was lost on the battlefield and I," he drew Blackfyre from its scabbard and drove it into the Norvoshi rug that Harry had spread across his tent, "...shall reclaim it on the field of Battle." Ser Tristan and Laswell smiled in approval, while Harry stared in astonishment at the ruined rug. Satisfaction also adorned Jon Connington's face.
His days in Westeros had convinced him of need for his grandfather's throne. In Essos, every day was a game and every opportunity a gamble, but in Westeros, there was only one game, and the victor earned everything. "You all have castles to reclaim or lands and titles to earn," he continued with confidence, "and no one can tell me that one of our spears isn't worth three of theirs.". Aegon's eyes turned to Lysono Maar, "Tell them!"
"We have struck at Tywin Lannister's soft underbelly: his vulnerable supply lines," Lysono declared, with voice devoid of most of his false female traits. "Harrenhal has become a stronghold for his men, heavily stocked with provisions to sustain them. However, they have been living off the land, pillaging and consuming the resources of the smallfolk. So, out spies ignited fires within the heart of Harrenhal, destroying his stockpiles, his lifeline is cut off and he has to retreat back to the Westerlands."
"But he tried that at the Red Fork," Franklyn Flowers said, confusion evident on his face, and he wasn't the only one. All eyes turned to Aegon, for none of those present knew the plans, including Jon. Leaving Jon in the dark meant leaving everyone else in the dark. Loneliness was in Jon's eyes, but was Aegon's best friend. The plan wasn't his, but he had committed to it as soon as he heard it from Varys.
Aegon leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the map. His finger traced the Gold Road, which stretched like a golden serpent through the heart of Westeros.
"The Gold Road," Aegon mused, with voice filled with anticipation, "He will use Goldroad to return home. That is the place for our trap".
Always wary and fearful, old Harry Strickland anxiously scrutinized the map, voicing uncertainty, "The roads near Harrenhal, west and south of God's Eye, are unfit for large armies. Tywin may not opt for the shortest route. Should we veer too far west on narrow, muddy roads while he takes the Kingsroad to King's Landing. Sire... we will find ourselves bogged down and cut off from supplies".
With a look filled with anger and disgust, Ser Tristan snapped at Harry, "And what will Tywin find in Kings Landing... a starving city. We've been sitting on our arsses for too long, we need to get moving."
"You are quite right Harry, quite right," Aegon said in a low and soothing voice, "but we won't stay here either. We will position the camp along the Blackwater, far enough from King's Landing that he knows we don't plan to threaten the capital, but close enough to the river crossing near Redwood Sept to block Gold road passage across the river. That will give him the impetus to go to the west."
"Yes," Balaq, commander of archers, said disinterestedly, his voice carrying a Summer Islander accent, "we must look stupid."
"Indeed", smiled Lysono Maar, with sarcastic eye expression.
Mertyn looked at Aegon, a silent storm on his face, invisible to others but clear to Aegon. Having been Agrilla's companion for so long, he had learned more than Haldon could have taught him.
"The Dornish will join us along the way," he stated, even though it was evident. Seven thousand spears, with three thousand mounted. Aegon didn't place the same trust in them as the others did, knowing that they had failed his father on the battlefield. But one person he did trust was his uncle Oberyn, who in the end would have a spear through Gregor Clegane's skull.
...
Direwolf
In the dark and eerie corridors of Harrenhal, Arya Stark crouched, her heart pounding in her chest. The flames had finally been extinguished, but a heavy cloud of smoke still lingered, making it difficult to see and breathe. Lannister soldiers were on the hunt for the culprits responsible for the burning of their precious supplies. The once lively castle now bore a haunting silence, disturbed only by the distant echoes of agony.
As she peeked around a corner, Arya caught sight of several lifeless bodies hanging from the ruined walls. The lifeless eyes of the deceased servants seemed to bore into her soul, and she pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle a gasp.
"Who could have done such a thing, put fires, I mean?" a voice whispered behind her, causing Arya to jump.
It was Gendry, another survivor she had encountered while trying to escape. He too was seeking refuge from the merciless soldiers.
"I don't know," Arya replied, her voice barely audible. "But Tickler won't find me. I won't let them."
They continued to move stealthily through the darkened passages, desperate to avoid detection. The castle's twisted shadows played tricks on their minds, making them jump at every flicker of movement.
"I heard rumors about this place," Gendry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They say Harrenhal is cursed. That strange things happen here."
Arya scoffed despite her fear, trying to maintain her bravado. "Cursed or not, I'm not afraid of some old ghost stories."
Suddenly, a chilling wind swept through the corridor, extinguishing the lone torch that provided them with some light. The darkness engulfed them, and Arya's heart pounded even harder.
"Perhaps you should be," Gendry said, his voice tinged with unease.
Before Arya could respond, a faint sound echoed from somewhere nearby. It was a soft, agonizing moan that sent shivers down their spines.
"Do you hear that?" Arya whispered, her senses on high alert.
Gendry nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "We're not alone in here."
As they cautiously moved forward, their footfalls seemed deafening in the silence. The moaning grew louder, and they finally reached a chamber bathed in a faint, eerie glow. There, amidst the shadows, they saw grotesque figures huddled together, their bodies contorted in pain.
"Help us," one of the tortured figures rasped, their voice barely human.
Arya's heart wrenched with empathy, but Gendry pulled her back. "Don't be fool. There's something terribly wrong here."
...
Lions
The failure of forcing the Red Fork quickly fell into the shadow of the green beast, that swallowed their supplies. They had to return to the Westerlands, Kevan knew. First, because their reputation demanded it, they could not allow the wolf to rage in the hills of the west, the honor of House Lannister was at stake. And now they simply had to, otherwise they risked losing everything.
Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the long, dark table, his piercing gaze fixed on his commanders. The room was shrouded in an oppressive silence, broken only by the flickering flames of the torches that cast eerie shadows on the walls.
"Report," he commanded, voice of his brother was low and dangerous.
Ser Amory Lorch, known for his brutality against smallfolk, but now visibly nervous, stepped forward. "My lord, we have surveyed the damage to our supplies. It appears to have been a coordinated attack, well-planned and executed."
"Most of our supplies have been utterly destroyed, my lord," Kevan interupted Lorch, continuing grimly, "The enemy struck at our vulnerable points and inflicted significant damage.We have precious little left to sustain our army."
A murmur spread through the room, and Tywin raised a hand to silence it. "This is not the time for despair," he stated firmly. "Lannisters, do not yield easily."
Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Continue search. Ser Gregor, find all responsible and make an example of them."
The Mountain's first victim was Lord Leo Lefford, who was executed for failing to protect supplies. Many others perished, hanged, were put to the sword or died as a result of torture. The real culprits were never discovered. But Kevan was afraid, because the enemies of his house were using wildfire, how did such sorcery get into their hands. This was not the work of ordinary arsonists.
There was silence for a short time, no one dared to speak.
"I trust you have gathered all relevant information on the enemy's movements and the extent of our losses," Tywin spoke with a voice that brooked no dissent.
Ser Adam Marbrand, the seasoned knight, commander of the outriders, stepped in, "Reports are true. Enemy has advanced further south, my lord. Their forces are growing, and they seem to be marching on the Capital"
"The attack on King's Landing doesn't make sense," said Kevan with a thoughtful look, "it leaves Maidenpool undefended."
"How many men he has?" Tywin addressed Ser Adam.
"About 10 to 15 thousand. Half of them are from the Golden Company; they recently received some reinforcements, how many, we could not find out." Ser Adam replied.
"Horrible. He hasn't received support from Dorne yet. If he continues like this, he might surpass us," Lord Lewys Lydden said, but fell silent after Tywin shot him a sharp look.
Ser Forley Prestor spoke up, his voice fraught with worry. "My lord, perhaps it would be wise to retreat to the Westerlands through the Gold Road. We can resupply and regroup, drive away the Starks, then strike back against sellwords with greater force."
Ser Kevan, leaned forward, golden lion on his red armor glinting in the dim light of the tent. "Ser Forley speaks wisely, we can still regroup, My Lord. We must send word to Ser Damion at Casterly Rock and secure more supplies and men. There's a chance we can salvage this campaign." The castellan's son Lucion had not returned yet, nor had anyone from Vargo Hoat's group. The boy was dead, had the same fate befallen Martyn at Oxcross? At least Kevan had to bring Willem home, he had to find a way to save his son.
"Withdraw?" Ser Gregor snorted, clearly displeased. "We will be seen as weaklings and cowards!". Knight famous for thirst for battle, pounded a fist on the table. "We should attack now! Crush them before they grow stronger!"
Without any concern, Ser Addam Marbrand, voiced his disagreement, "Ser Gregor, but with the limited supplies, even if we march forward, we risk our troops starving. We cannot fight on empty stomachs."
"Enough!" Tywin's voice boomed for a short moment, silencing the room. "Clegane, your bloodlust clouds your judgment. We can't sustain an offensive without supplies. We ara going to the West, via Gold Road. That is the finate decision."
"In the meantime, we shall forage," Tywin continued calmly, with his hands resting on the table, "Gather what resources we can from the lands we traverse. We must adapt, improvise, and overcome. And, if the boy is foolish enough to attack the capital, they will have to live through siege. Tyrion is smart enough to at least keep the Red keep in our hands"
...
Dragon
"Burning Tywin's supplies. Who came up with that? The Spider," Jon asked, but Aegon already knew Jon figured out the answer, so he remained silent.
"The lion was hiding in the tall grass; it had to come out one way or another, although we did not anticipate that Robb Stark might invade the west. That helped" Aegon replied, casually holding his reins. The ground was still firm enough for easy riding, but that wouldn't last long, especially once the heavier rains came, but Aegon had already fought with mud caking up his boots. Caution of Tywin Lannister hadn't surprised Aegon. After losing battles around Riverrun, waiting was wiser, especially for a stronger, more cohesive force like his. He probably expected Robb Stark's strength to dwindle over time.
He slowly stopped the gallop and turned his gaze to the camp of the Golden Company, thousands of fires, neatly arranged in squares, from the hill the view would be magnificent. Jon Connington's eyes showed that he was tired, from the long march on the roads of Westeros or from the whirlwind of a long life, Aegon did not know.
"Is there something else you want to tell me?", Griffin looked at the camp, assessing the ditch and palisade with jagged stakes, which covered iner side of the camp. No cavalry could surprise them, although Aegon had many eyes that rode miles around the camp.
"Lysono has departed, under the banner of peace, to the south... hoping to persuade the Tyrell's to join our cause through marriage.", the answer surprised Jon more than the burning of Tywin's camp, and his face darkened more than the darkness of the night that surrounded them.
"With Mace Tyrell's daughter", he asked without seeking an answer.
"Yes. It is certain that the Lannisters are trying to fill the void left by the demise of the younger Baratheon. It is only appropriate that we do the same. The power of Highgarden is the key to victory... or defeat", Aegon said, convincing himself more than Jon. A man's ambition cannot be underestimated, if Mace Tyrell was not ambitious he would not have raised banners for a Baratheon without any legitimacy, true or false.
The thought of marriage took him to a tent, whose golden cloth glowed brighter than any other in his purple gaze, and concealed a maiden with hair as red as autumn leaves. You are a king, not a boy, he reminded himself, the time for fantasies is gone.
"A Wolfmaid will be heartbroken," Jon said with a faraway voice, searching for his own glow on the horizon, "I thought you had a fondness for her".
And he had... sometimes he would dream of chestnut hair, surrounded by joyful laughter, and many little steps that echoed in the great hall of black walls, where many grotesque dark eyes looked at Aegon, but he was not afraid. The place felt familiar and happy, as if he belonged and had to be there. But a powerful roar would bring him back to the heart of the comet, to his old dream, a thunderous storm that shattered ships with dragon banners, red mountains under such a scorching sun that the air itself began to flicker and the city, the city he had to return to. Aegon was afraid of Sansa Stark, he touched the small scar under his left ear, hidden under the strands of his hair; a scar that hurt more than the scars of swords and arrows, that adorned his chest and arms. I could not walk the same path again.
"She has a fair face, wide enough hips and is pleasant company. Good enough qualities for a queen, except that her brother has proclaimed himself king and wants to take half of my kingdom. It would be irresponsible to think of marrying her," he uttered the words, but as King Aegon. He firmly decided not to repeat the mistakes of his father, to alienate himself from his duties and chase dreams. Whether he loved her or not, his father's place was with his mother, with the kingdom, instead he led himself, her, Rhaenys and thousands of others to death, surrendering himself to passion with the Stark girl. The breaking of the Targaryen dynasty was on him. In the days in Maidenpool, Aegon almost succumbed, but when he put on his armor, saw the ruined villages and the wretched fleeing from evil to evil, he broke.
"You have a luxury that your father did not have, no force compels you to anything, the shadow of Aerys does not cry above your head. If Mace agrees, he will not only give you his daughter, but also the greed of his house. They will occupy your kingdom as the Lannisters occupied Robert's," Jon said, uttering the name of Robert Baratheon with disgust. Jon Connington's heart had always been with Rhaegar, which Aegon could not understand, what nature drives a man to remain loyal after so much personal suffering. Too much was lost, to listen to the heart, and too much hangs in the balance.
"A kingdom I do not have," Aegon whispered, "enemies and usurpers, to bend to me, are not lacking. But I need more men." At Aegon's words, Jon fell silent, and neither Aegon had anything to say. Sometimes it seemed to him that Jon was trapped in a romantic past, where brave Rhaegar, surrounded by the best of the best, leads to victory. But that Dream was shattered under the weight of Robert's hammer.
They had come full circle in the camp, riding along the clear paths between the tents, towards the heart of the camp where the huge tents of the officers stood. Sansa and Septa Lemore were standing in front of the tent they shared, wrapped in blankets for the cold night. It was as if the beauty of the moonlight had poured over the face of the girl with reddish hair, and became a light of its own. For a moment, Aegon gave in to the urge to look at her.
"Your grace," she uttered.
"While we are on the campaign, Lady Sansa, please stay within confines of your tent," he answered coldly and saw the pain on her face, she noticed his newly determined aloofness. Septa Lemore subtly put her hand on the girl's back and reproached Aegon with her eyes, as she had not done for a long time, and brought him back to the old days of learning lessons about religion, which was then foreign to him, as well as the kingdom he had to conquer.
In front of Aegon's tent, a lonely Westerosi man stood among the uniforms of the Golden Company, he had short gray hair and a half-long beard, dressed in a modest chainmail with some armor, which protected his chest.
Darkness seized Jon Connington's face, as he stared wide-eyed at the old man. No one said anything.
"Who are you, sir?" Aegon had no patience for this silence. The old man knelt on one knee, drew his sword and presented it to Aegon, "Your faithful servant, sire."
"...and a man who broke his oath," Jon Connington said in a plain voice but filled with anger, "Your grace, before you is Ser Barristan Selmy, a member of the Kingsguard of your grandfather Aerys and a man who served Robert Baratheon as commander of the Kingsguard." Silence fell again, as Aegon carefully measured Ser Barristan, and just, in himself, laughed at fate.
"Ser Barristan, why do you not serve Joffrey," he softly asked the knight. "Because he refused my service," Ser Barristan answered honestly, such honesty was the last thing he should have said to any King.
"And now you want to serve me," Aegon asked him with a slight smile, "even though you would be on the other side if Joffrey had not rejected you and put a white cloak on his dog." Ser Barristan was surprised by Aegon's words. "I cannot give you a cloak, for a broken vow remains a broken vow, but I accept your service." With a bowed head and modesty, the knight accepted his words.
"Your grace, this man abandoned your family, it does not suit you to give him any reward. Whent, Hightower, Dayne, your great-uncle Lewyn kept the whiteness of their cloaks, their honor, their vows and carried them to the grave. Many of us were sent to the wall, or across the narrow sea...", Jon seemed to lose his words, even a bewildered Jon Connington looked more sober than an ordinary man.
Aegon looked at Jon with the warmth of the days when they were just father and son. "Jon," he said softly and Jon Connington calmed down.
"Every man deserves a second chance and you will get yours tonight, Ser Barristan. From now on you will be the guardian of Lady Sansa Stark". Every man except Tywin Lannister and his dogs.
Ser Barristan raised his eyes and answered firmly "It will be my honor. Her father was an honorable man, he stood up for the life of your aunt Daenerys. Robert wanted to send assassins to kill her, before she can gave a birth." Gave a birth. Varys did not inform him that Daenerys was pregnant, and a year had passed since Robert's death. The spider and the merchant play their game.
"You may go. Join Thunderex," he said simply and Ser Barristan rose, bowed and went in the direction of Sansa's tent. She will be safer. Aegon looked at the sky from which the comet had long disappeared, but his dreams did not stop. At least by that he was one and equal with his dragon father. But not with the real one.
...
The lighthouse sent out beams of light, that would reveal the city lost in the morning fog. Elenoar was standing on the balcony of the highest tower of Maidenpool's castle and listened to the sounds of the great bell, as the large silhouettes left the fog-bound sea and revealed their sails. The great red sun pierced by a gold spear.