GAME OF THRONES: AEGON THE AVENGER

Arianne left Harrenhal.

She walked in a great hurry, her silk skirt's hem nearly tripping her at the ankles, but she did not stop.

The Dornish guards behind her followed in silence, their armor making faint clinking sounds as they moved.

The massive, gloomy silhouette of Harrenhal receded behind her, but that cold sense of humiliation from being utterly ignored coiled around her heart like a venomous snake, tightening its grip.

She vowed that the slight Aegon showed her today would be repaid a hundredfold in the future.

The Dornish Mission traveled east along the desolate plains of The Riverlands.

This should have been fertile land, with the tributaries of the The Trident spreading like veins to nourish the fields.

But now, as far as the eye could see, there were only wild weeds and rotting wheat stubble trampled into the mud.

The Lannister purges and successive fires of war had drained the life from this land.

Now, figures appeared on the land once more.

But they were not farmers bending in the fields; they were Soldiers marching in squads.

Black armor, black cloaks, and banners of a three-headed red dragon on a black field fluttered silently in the wind.

They had left the core control area of Harrenhal, but this was still Targaryen territory.

Arianne turned a blind eye to the scrutinizing gazes that swept over them along the way.

Her goal was clear.

The Crossroads Inn.

In the now-depressed Riverlands, this inn's existence seemed somewhat out of place in its "prosperity."

The main stone building was of considerable size, with many horses tethered in the stables and even signs of expansion.

The wooden sign hanging at the entrance swayed slightly in the wind.

The reason was simple: this was one of the few places Targaryen Soldiers were allowed—and happy—to go for recreation.

Wine, food, and perhaps something else.

The Dornish Mission stopped in front of the inn.

Arianne was the first to step out, ignoring several people leaning against the wall whose eyes roved over her as she walked straight into the dimly lit hall.

The scent of ale, roasted meat, sweat, and cheap spices hit her face.

The noisy voices went quiet for a moment, and various gazes—stunned, curious, or wary—fell upon her.

A plump middle-aged woman with lingering charms came forward with a forced smile, but was immediately blocked by two Dornish guards behind Arianne who stepped forward in silence.

Arianne didn't even look at her, her eyes scanning the noisy hall before heading toward a staircase at the back.

At the end of the upstairs corridor, two girls in Dornish attire stood guard before a wooden door.

Seeing Arianne, they immediately bowed slightly and addressed her as "Your Highness," but they remained in front of the door, with no intention of moving aside.

Arianne frowned and was about to speak when a lazy, slightly raspy male voice came from inside the room:

"Let her in. Don't block our little princess."

Only then did the girls at the door step aside.

Arianne pushed the door open and entered.

The room was more spacious than expected, with decorations in The Riverlands style.

Her uncle, Prince Oberyn Martell, stood by the window with his back to the door, seemingly observing the two bare-chested men standing in the room with great interest.

He wore dark trousers and a shirt designed for easy movement, topped with a loosely fitted Dornish-style silk robe with intricate patterns.

"Tsk, tsk, compared to that lovely one in King's Landing, they're really far off. The muscles are decent, but a pity about the faces," Oberyn commented without turning around, his tone carrying its usual cynicism.

He then gave a light wave of his hand, signaling the two men to withdraw.

On a soft couch on the other side of the room, Ellaria Sand reclined lazily, toying with an empty wine cup, only lifting her eyelids at Arianne's arrival.

"Uncle!" Arianne's voice carried an irrepressible resentment.

Oberyn finally turned around slowly.

His face wore that habitual, half-smiling expression, and his dark eyes roved over Arianne's face.

"Our Little Sun, it seems you've met with a rebuff at Harrenhal?" He walked over and poured himself a cup of wine. "I told you before, that boy is not easy to deal with. Look at what he's done; conquering territory is one thing, but..."

He took a sip of wine and clicked his tongue, his tone turning into genuine regret and dissatisfaction. "He destroyed Silk Street in King's Landing! During those few days I was in King's Landing, I couldn't even find a decent brothel! Truly a man who doesn't appreciate refinement!"

Arianne faltered.

This point of shared indignation was a bit different from what she had expected.

"He is simply arrogant!" Arianne found her opening and continued to vent. "I went to talk about an alliance on behalf of Doran and my father, yet he..."

She recounted Aegon's cold, almost insulting attitude in Harrenhal, getting angrier as she spoke, her cheeks flushing with rage.

"...He actually told me to go back and tell father to either submit sincerely or face the same fate as the others! Who does he think he is?!"

Oberyn listened, nodding from time to time, echoing with "Mm," "Indeed excessive," and "He thinks too little of us Martells."

Ellaria let out a barely audible chuckle from the couch.

This gave Arianne an illusion, a warmth of being understood and having an ally against a common enemy.

It seemed her uncle was on her side; he was also dissatisfied with Aegon.

"So, Uncle," she took a step forward, hope igniting in her eyes, her voice lowered with earnestness and determination, "you will support me, right? Support me, instead of father's constant retreat and endurance!"

"We must let Aegon Targaryen know that Doran is not someone he can disregard at will! We must make him regret today's arrogance!"

Oberyn put down his wine cup and looked at his niece's exceptionally bright eyes due to her excitement, then nodded.

"Commendable courage, Arianne," he praised, his tone sounding very sincere. "You have more guts than Doran."

"He is always calculating, always waiting, and in the end, he often misses everything."

Arianne's heart lifted, and she looked at him expectantly.

"However," Oberyn's tone shifted, and that half-smiling expression returned to his face, though his eyes became somewhat inscrutable, "I will not support you."

"What?" Arianne was stunned, doubting her own hearing.

"I will not support you in opposing Aegon, or in defying your father, my dear brother Doran."

Oberyn spoke clearly, each word like a small hammer striking the hope that had just risen in Arianne.

The color instantly drained from Arianne's face, followed by an uncontrollable wave of humiliation and fury that rushed to her head, making her want to scream.

"You—!"

She pointed at Oberyn, her finger trembling slightly.

Were all those moments of empathy and agreement just him playing with her?!

...

Harrenhal, the study in the side wing of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

Compared to the main hall's grand gloom, this place was slightly more habitable, but still cold and hard.

A massive map of The Riverlands was spread across the long table, marked with different colors indicating troop deployments, controlled areas, and vital transport routes.

Aegon stood before the table, his fingertips moving slowly across the map, pausing occasionally to think.

Luke and Laswell Peake stood in attendance to the side, adding information in low voices.

"...The clearing of the line from Stone Hedge to Harrenhal is basically complete; sporadic resistance has been extinguished."

"According to your orders, we are attempting to restore basic markets and public order in the controlled towns and villages. Preliminary management is being handled by army clerks and some well-behaved prisoners, with small squads from the Ash Company sent to patrol and deter," Laswell reported.

"Status of grain collection?" Aegon asked, his gaze falling on a granary symbol marked on the map.

"Exceeding expectations. What was left by the Westerlands Army and the Riverlands Allied Forces, combined with what was seized from the castles of some minor lords who resisted to the end, is enough to support our current force for more than three months."

"If we control the supply lines, that time can be extended further," Luke replied, his raspy voice showing no ripple of emotion.

Aegon nodded.

Controlling and consolidating, turning the occupied areas into bases that could truly provide support, was more important and more tedious than simple military victory.

He was sketching a more detailed web in his mind—the prototype of an intelligence network, a supply network, and an administrative management network.

This required manpower, time, and the shedding of more blood to clear out the holdouts of the old era.

A guard entered silently, placed a small scroll of secret correspondence sealed with wax on the corner of the table, and then withdrew.

Aegon did not look at it immediately, waiting until he had confirmed a few more defensive adjustments with Luke and the others before picking up the secret letter and opening it.

His eyes quickly scanned the brief report.

His brow twitched imperceptibly, and a very faint, almost mocking arc crossed the corner of his mouth.

"Protecting the last bloodline his sister left in the world?" he murmured to himself, as if finding it quite amusing. "Is this how Oberyn Martell protects her?"

"By letting his ambitious niece find him in a place like The Crossroads Inn, while he himself indulges in wine and women in a brothel a day's journey away from the target he's protecting?"

He casually held the secret letter over a candle flame, watching it curl, blacken, and turn to ash.

"It seems the sincerity of Doran is even more ethereal than we imagined," he said faintly, whether to the generals beside him or to himself.

Just then, clear and forceful footsteps came from outside the study and stopped at the door.

"Your Highness! Urgent report from the scouts!"

"Enter."

A travel-worn Scout Captain walked in quickly and knelt on one knee, carrying the scent of dust from the wilderness.

"Speak."

"Yes! The scout team sent to monitor the movements of the Northern Army reports that the great northern host stationed between The Twins and Riverrun began breaking camp two days ago and shows signs of continuing south!"

"The activity range of their forward scouts has extended significantly southward. Their main force's direction of movement is preliminarily judged to be... the The Trident region south of Riverrun!"

The air in the study seemed to freeze for a moment.

Luke and Laswell exchanged a glance, both seeing the gravity in each other's eyes.

The Northern Army moving south at this point in time meant only one thing: Robb Stark did not intend to turn back.

He was going to bring his army, which was eager to return home but forced to fight, to The Riverlands to test the edge of the Targaryen blade.

The slight ripple on Aegon's face caused by the secret letter disappeared completely.

He slowly straightened his back, his gaze rising from the map as if piercing through the stone walls to look toward The Riverlands, which was about to be shrouded in war clouds once more.

In those purple eyes, the last trace of the calm contemplation from handling administrative affairs faded, leaving only a coldness and decisiveness like a frozen lake.

"Summon the generals," he spoke, his voice like an unsheathed blade cutting through the last bit of heavy air in the study.

"Assemble in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths."

Dear Reader,

A special 60% discount offer available Don't miss this opportunity to enjoy your favorite stories at a greatly reduced price.

The offer is available for a limited time only — grab it before it ends!

Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898