A series of crude shouts and the sound of dragging objects approached from a distance.
A man, tied up tightly with rough ropes, was being roughly dragged along by two Ash Company Soldiers.
He was short and plump, resembling a bloated barrel filled with grease. His hair was disheveled, and his face was a mixture of suppressed fear, anger, and lingering bruises.
"Let go! You savage bastards! Idiots! I am a noble! A knight! You cannot treat me like this!"
"I have the right to treatment befitting my status! My family will pay a ransom! Enough gold dragons!"
Amory Lorch kicked his legs in vain; because he refused to cooperate, he was practically being dragged by his armpits by the two tall, strong Soldiers.
He yelled at the top of his lungs, attempting to use his noble status and promises of ransom to buy a moment's respite.
What greeted him was even rougher dragging.
The Soldiers turned a deaf ear to his curses, dragging him straight to a spot a few paces in front of Aegon before letting go simultaneously.
Thud!
A dull sound echoed.
Amory Lorch was slammed onto the cold, hard black stone floor like a heavy sack of grain.
The impact was solid; his vision went dark, his internal organs felt displaced, and his curses were choked in his throat, leaving only pained groans and violent coughing.
The two Ash Company Soldiers didn't spare the prisoner on the ground a second glance. They turned to Aegon, pounded their right fists against their chests, and gave a concise, powerful military salute.
Aegon merely gave a slight wave of his hand.
Taking their orders, the two Soldiers retreated two steps in silence, standing guard on either side, their cold gazes fixed on the man curling and squirming on the ground.
The vast, high-ceilinged hall was deathly silent, save for the sound of suppressed breathing and the faint, unsettling echoes coming from deep within the castle.
Amory Lorch writhed on the ground for a long while before barely regaining a sliver of consciousness from the agonizing pain and dizziness of nearly being broken apart.
He felt countless gazes falling upon him—cold, scrutinizing, and filled with undisguised malice...
He struggled to lift his head; his vision was blurred at first, then gradually came into focus.
What entered his sight was a pair of boots encased in black steel armor, stained with the fine dust of Harrenhal's floors.
His gaze slowly moved upward: straight greaves, faulds, a breastplate... then, he saw the figure with a crimson cloak draped over his shoulders, silver hair glinting coldly in the castle's gloomy light.
Finally, his eyes met another pair.
Purple. Cold.
Like a frozen winter lake, or the never-melting ice at the very bottom of an abyss.
There was no trace of human emotion within them, only pure scrutiny and... killing intent, enough to freeze the soul.
Amory Lorch shuddered violently, as if struck by an invisible icicle.
He instinctively wanted to look away, but his body was so stiff it refused to obey.
Struggling to pull his mind back from that cold pressure, his throat felt dry, and he spoke in a trembling, fawning voice, trying to grasp at the final straw:
"My... My Lord... I... I am a knight of the Westerlands, Amory Lorch, a... a legitimate noble."
"According to the customs of the Seven Kingdoms... a captured noble has the right to treatment befitting his status. You... you only need to send word to the Westerlands. My family, House Lorch, will pay a ransom that will satisfy you! Enough gold dragons! Gems! Anything!"
He spoke incoherently, desperate to exchange wealth and noble status for a chance to live.
Aegon finally spoke.
His voice was calm, yet like cracking ice, it carried a bone-chilling cold that reached the ears of everyone in the courtyard clearly.
"Knight? Noble?" He repeated the two words, his tone carrying a hint of near-mockery. "Before true royal blood, they seem so... insignificant."
Amory Lorch froze, seemingly not understanding the meaning of those words.
Aegon took a step forward, his cold black warboots nearly touching Amory's greasy face.
He leaned down slightly, his purple eyes locking onto the fat face distorted by fear. Every word was like an icicle, slowly piercing out:
"And seventeen years ago, in that blood-stained room in the Red Keep, you, Amory Lorch, personally used your knife..."
He paused, letting each word fall with the weight of a thousand pounds.
"...to stab a royal scion with true Targaryen blood flowing in her veins, a defenseless little girl, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, my... sister..."
Aegon's voice remained steady, but the icy fury contained within caused the temperature in the courtyard to plummet.
"One stab, another stab, you stabbed her to death alive."
"Now," Aegon straightened up, looking down at him from above, his gaze as if examining a piece of filth that needed to be disposed of, "what right do you have to speak of noble privileges and ransom before me?"
Boom!
It was like a thunderclap exploding in his mind!
Amory Lorch began to tremble violently, the color draining from his face instantly, leaving only a deathly pallor.
He finally realized—the attire of these Soldiers, the fluttering black banners with the three-headed red dragon, and this silver-haired figure before him, far too young yet as majestic as a mountain, with those signature purple eyes...
"You... You... You are..." His teeth chattered so hard he could barely finish a sentence. "Aegon Targaryen... How... how could you be here... in The Riverlands..."
Immediately, seeing the undisguised, pure icy killing intent brewing in those purple eyes, his will to survive overwhelmed everything else.
He snapped to his senses; now was not the time to wonder why the other was here!
He used all his strength to argue hoarsely, saliva mixed with blood leaking from the corner of his mouth:
"No! No! Back then... when we entered the Red Keep, I... I was also following Lord Tywin's orders! It was Lord Tywin who ordered the elimination of all Targaryens!"
"I was just... just following orders! It was Tywin! It was the Lannisters! It has nothing to do with me! It really has nothing to do with me!"
He screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to shift all the blame onto that Lord Duke far away in the Westerlands.
Aegon listened quietly to his incoherent defense, his face devoid of any expression.
It wasn't until Amory Lorch finished, looking at him with pleading eyes full of fear and desperate hope, that Aegon slowly nodded.
"Correct."
A surge of wild joy erupted in Amory Lorch's eyes, thinking the other had listened to his defense and was willing to shift his hatred to Tywin!
He had a chance!
However, Aegon's next words instantly extinguished the faint flame of hope that had just risen, freezing it into shards of ice:
"He cannot escape it. The reckoning will surely come."
Aegon's voice was frighteningly calm, as if stating a pre-ordained fact.
"You shall receive yours first."
"He shall pay later."
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter