Raven letters arrived from the north, one after another, landing in the rookery of the Red Keep.
The message tubes were removed, the wax seals broken, and the battle reports, carrying the scent of gunpowder, were quickly sent to the study.
Seven days had passed since the two armies set out and advanced into The Riverlands.
News of victories kept arriving.
The capture of Maidenpool, the easy taking of Milkstone... the ink on the reports was still fresh, recording the unstoppable advance of the Golden Company and the Ash Company in The Riverlands.
The most recent raven letter came from yesterday evening; the army had reached Harrenhal the day before and completed the encirclement.
Aegon stood before the massive map of Westeros in the Red Keep's study, holding the latest raven letter just presented by a maester.
He broke the wax seal, unfurled the parchment, and his gaze swept over the concise and definitive words.
Harrenhal has been captured.
"Luke and Laswell's speed is quite impressive," Aegon said, setting the letter aside on the desk, his tone betraying little emotion.
Jon Connington, standing by, bowed slightly and analyzed calmly, "Your Highness, Tywin Lannister's main force has withdrawn to the Westerlands. The original ruling family of Harrenhal has long since gone into exile amidst the constant fires of war, their whereabouts unknown."
"The garrison stationed by the Westerlands is limited; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it an empty fortress."
"As for Maidenpool and Milkstone, they were never military strongholds, and their defenses were weak. It is only natural that our army advanced so swiftly."
Aegon tapped the location of Harrenhal on the map. "With Harrenhal taken, the gateway to The Riverlands is wide open. The largest overland route between the West and the North has fallen into my hands."
Jon nodded. "Exactly. By occupying Harrenhal, our army can advance or retreat at will, giving us complete control over The Riverlands. However..."
He hesitated for a moment. "Though Harrenhal is grand, it is also empty and dilapidated. Maintaining a large army there is extremely costly, and we must divide our forces to guard various key passes to prevent harassment from small units from the West or the North."
Aegon turned and walked to the table where the valyrian steel sword, recently named dictatorship, lay.
He reached out and stroked the cold hilt, the dragon-wing crossguard pressing against his palm.
"Since the vanguard has taken Harrenhal and opened the way," he looked up at Jon, a sharp light flashing deep in his purple eyes, "then as the commander-in-chief of the Western Expedition, I should naturally go to the front lines myself."
Jon was startled. "Your Highness, you intend to go in person? Though Harrenhal has fallen, the situation is unstable. The Westerlands' main army is stationed at the Golden Tooth, and Tywin Lannister is not a man to be trifled with..."
"Sit in the rear and control the front from afar?"
Aegon interrupted him, a faint curl appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"That's not my style."
After all, he was no master of micromanagement; he couldn't just sit comfortably in the rear and command a war a thousand miles away.
The battlefield changes in an instant; he needed to see it with his own eyes and grasp it with his own hands.
He looked at Jon, his tone shifting to an unquestionable command. "Jon, after I leave, King's Landing and the entire The Crownlands will be under your full control."
"Enforce the garrison, maintain order, appease the refugees, and oversee the transport of supplies. I trust your handling of these matters."
Jon Connington took a deep breath, suppressing all further protest. He knew this Prince; once his mind was made up, no one could change it.
He placed his right hand over his chest and said solemnly, "I will not fail your trust, Your Highness! As long as I am in King's Landing, I will ensure the rear is safe and the supply lines remain open!"
Aegon nodded. "Go and prepare. I depart immediately."
...
Dragon wings tore through the clouds, casting shadows that swept across the fields and hills of The Crownlands.
Ghidorah's massive body glided steadily through the sky, its three heads turning slightly to look down at the tiny rivers and roads below.
The wind roared in his ears as Aegon cast his gaze toward the northern horizon.
Before long, the silhouette of a massive complex, appearing exceptionally gloomy and heavy in the afternoon sun, appeared at the edge of his vision.
Harrenhal.
Even from high above, it was still magnificent.
The towering turrets were like the stiff fingers of a giant stabbing at the sky, surrounded by impossibly thick walls and deep shadows.
The castle itself was so large it didn't seem like a human dwelling, but more like a hall for giants from legend.
But now, set against Ghidorah's mountain-like, pale-gold dragon body, this fortress of terror, famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms, showed the limitations of mortal creation.
The dragon began to descend, the airflow from its wings whipping up a gale over the castle, causing banners to dance wildly and dust to fly.
On the ground, the Targaryen Soldiers who had already occupied the castle stopped their tasks and looked up, their faces a mix of awe, excitement, and a hint of instinctive fear.
Ghidorah did not land inside the castle; there was no open space large enough to accommodate it.
It chose the open muddy ground outside the main gate, which had clearly seen combat recently, still bearing scorch marks and messy footprints.
"Boom—!"
The heavy body landed, causing a dull vibration like a minor earthquake.
Dragon claws sank into the mud, sending gravel flying.
The three heads slowly lowered, six vertical pupils sweeping over the towering gate and the figures on the walls, who were first stunned and then quickly turned fervent.
Aegon walked steadily down the dragon's back along the slope formed by one of Ghidorah's lowered wings.
The pitch-black valyrian steel armor glinted coldly in the daylight, his deep red cloak billowing behind him.
Without needing his command, the quickest-reacting officers rushed out from the gate at their fastest speed, kneeling on one knee in his direction.
More people swarmed from every corner of the castle, stopping nearby to bow in awe.
Soon, a flurry of rapid footsteps came from the gateway.
Luke and Laswell Peake, along with a dozen senior officers, arrived before Aegon almost at a run.
Dust still clung to their armor, and their faces bore a shock they hadn't quite managed to hide, clearly not expecting Aegon to arrive so quickly.
"Your Highness!" the two bowed in unison, and the generals behind them followed suit.
Aegon waved his hand with a concise motion.
"No need for formalities. Let's talk inside."
He stepped toward the gate, his pace steady.
Luke and Laswell hurried to catch up, following half a step behind on either side, with the other officers close behind.
The red cloak appeared as dark as blood as it passed through the shadow cast by the tall gate.
Stepping into Harrenhal, the gloom and emptiness unique to this castle immediately rushed toward him.
Large.
This was Aegon's most direct impression.
The walls were incredibly thick, the towers absurdly high, the courtyards spacious enough for horse racing, and the dome of the Kingspyre Tower hall was so high it seemed like another sky.
Sunlight streamed through several ancient cracks and broken windows, forming slanted beams of light that illuminated the dust dancing in the air.
It was indeed gloomy.
The stone walls were a dull black, as if they could absorb light.
The air was thick with ancient dust; it was said that the burn marks left by the Conqueror riding Black Dread had not fully faded after hundreds of years.
In the vast space, echoes were elongated and distorted; even the slightest sound seemed exceptionally clear before being quickly swallowed by the silence.
The interior of the castle was staggeringly large, even beyond imagination.
Aegon saw some Soldiers simply clearing small spaces in empty side halls or corridor corners to set up large march pots, the firewood crackling beneath them, as the coarse aroma of food mingled with dust and a faint smell of blood drifted through the air.
It was mealtime.
When the Soldiers saw the group approaching, especially the figure at the front with the red cloak, silver hair, and purple eyes, they all stopped and stood at attention, their eyes gleaming with excitement and fervor.
Aegon did not linger, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings before landing on a side hall near the main keep that was being used as a temporary prison.
There, dozens of prisoners in battered Westerlands armor, their hands bound, sat dejectedly, surrounded by Ash Company Soldiers holding spears.
Luke noticed Aegon's gaze and stepped forward half a pace to report in a low voice, "When Tywin Lannister withdrew to the West, he left about five hundred men in Harrenhal, led by Amory Lorch."
"Supposedly a garrison, but actually eyes to monitor the movements of The Riverlands and The Crownlands. Our army surrounded them quickly; their attempt to break out failed, most were wiped out, and the remaining hundred or so were captured."
Aegon's footsteps suddenly stopped.
All the generals and officers behind him also stopped immediately, looking at him in confusion.
Aegon turned his head to look at Luke.
His expression didn't change, but the temperature in his purple eyes seemed to drop abruptly.
"Amory Lorch?" He repeated the name. His voice was steady, yet it caused Luke's heart to tighten for no reason.
"Yes, Your Highness," Luke replied affirmatively, adding with some confusion, "A knight of the West, the Lord of House Lorch. Is there... something special about him?"
Aegon did not answer Luke's question.
His gaze returned to the prisoners, slowly sweeping over faces that were fearful, numb, or forced into composure.
"Where is he?" Aegon asked, his tone still flat. "Is he still alive?"
"He's alive, held with the other officers. They are being interrogated separately to see if we can dig out any intelligence on the West's defenses."
Luke sensed the unusual concern in Aegon's tone and answered immediately.
"Bring him to me," Aegon said.
He paused, then added another sentence, his voice not loud but carrying an unquestionable decisiveness:
"Now."
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