GAME OF THRONES: AEGON THE AVENGER

Harrenhal, Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

The massive hall remained empty and eerie.

Generals and officers in cloaks of crimson, gold, and pitch-black stood on either side of the hall, like three distinct yet harmonious currents of iron, standing in silent solemnity.

Most of their armor still bore the marks of battle that had not yet been wiped clean, and a murderous aura hung thick in the air.

Aegon sat on the high seat at the end of the hall, dressed in simple black commoner's clothing, his silver hair glinting with a cold luster under the dim firelight.

He leaned forward slightly, his elbow resting on the armrest of the stone chair and his fingertips against his chin, quietly listening as his subordinates stepped forward one by one to give concise reports on the spoils of the Battle of Stone Hedge, the count of prisoners, the casualty statistics, and the subsequent cleanup.

When Henry stepped out, his crimson plate armor, still stained with mud and dark red spots, looked exceptionally striking in the firelight.

He knelt on one knee and spoke.

"Your Highness." Henry's voice carried a hint of imperceptible tension. "This general... has come to ask for punishment."

"During the Battle of Stone Hedge, I led my unit in a charge. Amidst the chaos, I captured a man wearing ornate armor and a trout-patterned cloak... suspected to be the Lord of Stone Hedge."

"However, after repeated identification and interrogation following the battle, that man was not Edmure Tully himself."

He paused, bowing his head even lower. "The man calls himself Brynden Tully, nicknamed the Blackfish. He is the younger brother of the late former Lord of Stone Hedge and Edmure's uncle. I failed in my oversight; please punish me, Your Highness."

The words of apology echoed in the empty hall. The gazes of the generals on both sides focused on Henry, but no one spoke, and the atmosphere was heavy.

Aegon's gaze fell on the top of Henry's lowered head and lingered for a moment. His gaze was calm and unwavering, showing neither anger at being deceived nor harshness toward the mistake.

"Edmure Tully..." Aegon slowly repeated the name, his tone carrying a faint, almost indifferent mockery. "Stone Hedge stands right at the confluence of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone. The man can run, but the castle cannot. If he could change his clothes and vanish into the chaotic army today, where can he hide tomorrow? It is only a matter of time."

He waved his hand, signaling Henry to rise. "There is no need to dwell on this. You and the Bloodsworn swept through the enemy lines in this battle; yours is the primary merit. A minor flaw does not overshadow the achievement."

"Thank you, Your Highness." Henry breathed a sigh of relief before standing up and retreating back into the ranks.

"Brynden Tully..." A glimmer of thought flashed through Aegon's violet eyes. This name stirred some distant and blurry memories. The Blackfish of House Tully—one of the few names among the mediocre nobles of The Riverlands that could be remembered, and with an impression that wasn't too bad.

He was said to be skilled in raids and scouting, with a cold and unyielding personality—a difficult "fish" to deal with.

Perhaps...

"Bring him up," Aegon said, his voice spreading clearly.

The order was swiftly executed.

Before long, two tall Soldiers of the Ash Company escorted a figure with bound hands into the firelight of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

Brynden Tully stood still, squinting slightly to adjust to the relatively bright light. He didn't look at the high seat immediately, but instead took a quick, unobtrusive look at the generals standing on both sides of the hall.

In the short time since his capture, he had already gathered the general composition of this Targaryen army from the guards' snippets of conversation and his own observations.

The names Bloodsworn and Ash Company were unfamiliar, but the quality of their equipment and the indifferent murderous intent in the Soldiers' eyes were unmistakable.

As for the Golden Company... that name was not unfamiliar to him at all.

The War of the Ninepenny Kings.

Years ago, when the iron throne launched an expedition to the Stepstones to suppress the last Blackfyre, the Monstrous Maelys, he, Brynden Tully, had served as a vanguard in the army.

That war forged countless reputations. The most dazzling was undoubtedly Barristan Selmy, then a young knight, who slew Maelys with his own hands, completely severing the male line of the Blackfyres. Brynden himself had also led a frontal assault that broke the Golden Company's most relied-upon defensive line, achieving great merit and making a name for himself throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The fickleness of fate.

The Mercenary company he had defeated on the battlefield years ago, forcing them to flee in disarray, had now captured him, leaving him, the former victor, standing before their monarch in chains.

His gaze finally landed on the high seat.

Silver hair. Violet eyes.

Excessively young, and excessively handsome.

Looking at this face alone, anyone would think this was an heir carefully groomed by some Great House, about to make his debut at a tournament or a masquerade ball, or perhaps some romantic prince obsessed with poetry and adventure.

It was absolutely impossible to associate this appearance with the madman and tyrant who had landed in Westeros and stirred up a storm of blood and fire, intending to smash the thousand-year-old feudal order.

The corner of Brynden's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

But wasn't this the Targaryen "tradition"?

Seemingly dazzling on the outside, but hiding seeds of madness within. When Aerys II was young, was he not also handsome, bold, elegant in manner, and charming in speech, winning the support of countless nobles and commoners, and regarded as having the potential to be a wise king?

But what happened after he ascended the iron throne?

Suspicion, paranoia, tyranny... he eventually became the Mad King feared by all.

It was as if the Targaryen bloodline was naturally born with blood where greatness and madness coexisted.

The Aegon Targaryen before him had shown an all-sweeping dominance and unquestionable autocracy at a young age. Who could guarantee that beneath those calm violet eyes, a madness even greater than his grandfather's was not brewing?

When putting those new policies and cold-blooded methods capable of overturning the foundations of the Seven Kingdoms onto a Targaryen, Brynden suddenly felt that it was... not that hard to understand.

"Brynden Tully."

A voice came from the high seat, pulling Brynden's drifting thoughts back.

Aegon leaned forward slightly, his gaze falling on him like a tangible, scrutinizing stream of icy water.

"Brother of Hoster Tully, the Blackfish of The Riverlands. You have participated in countless battles large and small. In the War of the Ninepenny Kings, you followed the expedition to the Stepstones as the vanguard, broke the enemy lines, and were the first to scale the walls and seize the banners, making your name known throughout the Seven Kingdoms."

Aegon spoke slowly, his voice calm. "In the Battle of Stone Hedge, you put on your nephew's armor and took the initiative to draw away my elite cavalry to cover his retreat, leading to your capture."

He paused, an almost imperceptible trace of inquiry flashing in his violet eyes.

"From what I know of Edmure Tully, the man is mediocre and reckless. Is it worth sacrificing the reputation you've built over half a lifetime for such a person?"

Brynden raised his head to meet Aegon's gaze.

The shackles restricted his movements, but they could not lock away the calmness in his eyes.

It was a calmness born of having weathered many storms and having long since seen through many things, with cold, hard rock beneath.

"He is my kin," Brynden began, his voice raspy from dryness, but every word was clear. "He is the eldest son of my brother, Hoster Tully. He is the current head of House Tully and the Lord of Riverrun. To protect the family and continue the family bloodline is my responsibility."

He paused, as if weighing the gravity of the next words, before slowly uttering them.

"Just like the words of House Tully... Family, Duty, Honor. I, Brynden Tully, have followed this path all my life."

"Duty. Honor." Aegon softly repeated the two words, as if tasting them.

Suddenly, he gave an almost silent laugh. There was no warmth in that smile, only a coldness that had seen through a certain absurd essence.

"A fine duty, a fine honor." His voice remained steady, but his pace slowed, each word like a meticulously polished icicle.

"As far as I know, hundreds of years ago, House Tully was merely one of many lords in The Riverlands, huddled in Riverrun, guarding that pitiful bit of territory and catch at the confluence of the three rivers. It was the arrival of House Targaryen, it was Aegon I's conquest, that struck House Hoare, who originally occupied this Harrenhal, into the dust, and then..."

His gaze was like fire as he stared at Brynden. "It was the Targaryen King who personally handed the supreme power of The Riverlands into the hands of your Tully ancestors, raising you from minor local nobles to Lords Paramount of the The Trident, lords of a region, and dukes of a territory. It was Targaryen who gave Tully the authority, lands, and honor they have today."

Aegon's tone suddenly turned cold, carrying an unconcealed questioning.

"Then, during the War of the Usurper, when your benefactor, your liege lord, the Targaryen royalty who gave you everything, most needed their vassals' service and their loyalty to defend them, where was your duty? Where was your honor manifested?"

"Hoster Tully, your brother, not only failed to raise troops for the King, but was among the first to respond to the call of Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon, raising the banner of rebellion."

"Furthermore, he married his two daughters to the crucial northern Stark and the Arryn of the Vale within the rebel camp, thereby solidifying the alliance and binding the family's fate completely to the usurper's war machine. You joined forces to throw your former benefactor, liege lord, and King off the iron throne, standing by as the royal bloodline withered and nearly went extinct."

Aegon's gaze was like the sharpest sword, as if wanting to pierce through Brynden's calm exterior.

"Tell me, Blackfish Brynden, where was the vassal duty your House Tully owed to the Targaryen royalty then? Is the family honor you take such pride in used for betrayal and regicide?"

The hall fell into a dead silence.

The torchlight danced on Brynden's face, reflecting an almost imperceptible twitch of his cheek muscles.

But his eyes still did not flinch, nor did the guilt or wavering Aegon expected appear; there was only a deep, almost stubborn calmness.

"Then," Brynden's voice was still raspy but exceptionally stable, as if stating a truth he had long been certain of, "I was the brother of Hoster Tully, a son of Riverrun. My sword is swung first for my family."

He raised his head slightly, his gaze passing over Aegon, seemingly looking toward the distant, invisible past.

"As for King Aerys... his actions in his later years are well known. The foundations of the dynasty were already shaken in his hands."

"Fire and blood, suspicion and madness, had long since worn away loyalty. When my brother, when most of the lords and commoners of The Riverlands made their choice, my place was with my family."

He withdrew his gaze and let it rest on Aegon's face again, those weathered eyes showing no flickering.

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