"Yes, Prince."
Grey Worm looked straight ahead, his words brief.
"Why not change your name? You are no longer a slave."
Rhaegar was intrigued.
The Unsullied were all young boys who had been sold into slavery.
At four or five years old, they should still remember their birth names.
Grey Worm's face remained serious as he answered, "My former name brought me pain—it made me a slave."
"When Lys fell, I longed for your protection."
As he spoke, his chest unconsciously straightened.
His gaze burned with reverence as he looked at Rhaegar, the dragon-rider. "From that day forward, I stopped changing my name. I have always been Grey Worm."
"This name gives me a reason and the courage to fight for freedom!"
*Clang! Clang!*
As his words fell, the Unsullied struck their round shields with their spears, their eyes filled with admiration as they looked at the man and his dragon.
Rhaegar's expression remained gentle. Facing more than four hundred men, he met each of their gazes, scanning over them with composure.
From these unique Unsullied, he sensed something pure.
**Faith.**
They longed for freedom and peace, placing their hopes in him.
The old and new gods would not save these castrated slave soldiers.
But Rhaegar, the dragonlord and city-burner, would.
**Rhaegar Targaryen.**
Breaker of Chains, Maker of Ruins—their one and only faith.
Retracting his gaze, Rhaegar chuckled softly. "A truly trustworthy army."
"Grey Worm." Rhaegar called the Unsullied officer's name.
"Here, Prince!"
Grey Worm took a step forward, his voice deep and firm.
Rhaegar returned to his calm demeanor. "We don't need a large force to suppress this rebellion. Harrenhal has been ravaged by fire. You will lead your troops to garrison this place and guard against the rebels' counterattack."
"Yes, Prince!"
Grey Worm accepted the command without hesitation and immediately led his troops to join the patrols.
Rhaegar lifted his head to the sky, murmuring to himself, "Riverrun, Blackwood…"
---
**Dusk.**
Three dragons soared into the sky from Harrenhal, flying toward Riverrun.
The sun was setting, casting a red glow over the vast and fertile lands.
The rivers flowed endlessly, and the farmlands stretched as far as the eye could see.
This was the **Riverlands**, a land rich in fish and grain.
Passing over High Heart, they saw fields that had been pillaged and set ablaze—likely the work of marauders.
*Hiss—Screech!*
As they neared Riverrun, Feaster slowed down, letting out a warning cry.
Rhaegar looked down and saw a massive encampment.
The camp wasn't far from Riverrun, situated atop a towering hill.
It was well-fortified, complete with watchtowers, archer towers, and defensive barricades.
A small winding stream flowed at the base of the hill.
With a single glance, Rhaegar could tell that the commander leading this army was a seasoned strategist.
A hilltop camp was easy to defend and difficult to attack. With ample supplies, the defenders could hold out even if besieged for a long time.
Taking this stronghold would be no easy task.
Atop the camp's gate tower flew a banner—a black raven encircling a weirwood tree.
Rhaegar recognized it immediately. "House Blackwood."
Muttering to himself, his impression of the family deepened.
He had to admit, the location of this encampment was strategically brilliant.
House Blackwood's stronghold, Raventree Hall, lay west of the Red Fork, south of Stone Hedge.
Riverrun was located at the confluence of the Red Fork and Tumblestone River.
House Bracken's Stone Hedge was north of the Red Fork, northeast of Riverrun.
The war between House Blackwood and House Bracken had broken out on the northern banks of the Red Fork.
There, a fertile grassland had become the battlefield.
Ser Harwin led Riverrun's forces and defeated the vanguard of both houses.
However, Stone Hedge was closer to the battlefield, and after regrouping, House Bracken launched a night raid on Harwin's camp.
His retreat to Riverrun was blocked by House Blackwood's forces.
Harwin, along with the elder Tully and their men, had to fight their way back to Harrenhal.
Now, House Blackwood had positioned its camp south of Riverrun and west of Stone Hedge.
It sat precisely at the crossroads between Riverrun, Stone Hedge, and Harrenhal.
They made no effort to launch an attack, instead choosing to be a thorn in everyone's side, disrupting the balance of power in the Riverlands.
A despicable yet cunning strategy.
At this moment, fires were lit within the camp as soldiers prepared their meals.
*Hiss—Screech!*
Feaster let out a thunderous roar, diving low and sweeping over the camp, kicking up a fierce gust of wind.
"Dragon! A dragon is coming!"
"Into the tunnels!"
The sight of the massive black dragon sent shockwaves through the soldiers, throwing the camp into chaos.
The moment they saw Feaster, they abandoned any thought of resistance, grabbing whatever weapons they had and scrambling into pre-dug tunnels.
*Hiss—Screech!*
*Hiss—Screech!*
Before they could fully retreat, Dreamfyre and Syrax took their turns diving, their wings cutting through the air as they passed over the encampment.
*Crack!*
At Helena's command, Dreamfyre flicked its tail skillfully, snapping the flagpole atop the gate tower.
In an instant, the three dragons soared back into the sky.
Syrax drew closer to the gluttonous dragon, Caraxes, as Rhaenyra, clad in black dragon-riding attire, called out, "Rhaegar, are we just leaving like this?"
Just moments ago, when Caraxes had dived toward the encampment, she thought they were about to launch an attack.
Rhaegar gazed down at the chaotic camp below and laughed. "Let's go. No battle today."
The three dragons flew over the military camp, trusting that House Bracken would make the right decision.
"Screeeech—"
Caraxes let out a fierce roar, flapping its wings as it soared toward Riverrun, nestled along the rushing waters.
Dreamfyre and Syrax flanked Caraxes on either side as they all advanced together.
---
### Riverrun
A sturdy triangular castle stood at the confluence of the Tumblestone and Red Fork rivers.
The castle wasn't large, but two of its sides bordered the water, while the third, to the west, was protected by a massive artificial moat.
When the sluice gates were opened, river water would fill the moat, turning the fortress into an island—surrounded on three sides by water, making it nearly impregnable.
At this moment, the sluice gates were clearly open.
Water encircled the castle on three sides, and the only drawbridge had been raised.
"Screeeech—"
A dragon's roar echoed through the air as Caraxes flapped its wings and slowly descended before the flooded moat.
Seated firmly in his saddle, Rhaegar fixed his gaze on the soldiers atop Riverrun's battlements and called out loudly, "The prince and princess of House Targaryen have arrived! Bring out old Tully's two sons to receive us!"
"Screeeech—"
Syrax and Dreamfyre landed in formation behind Caraxes, one on each side.
The three dragons lifted their heads high, staring intently at the triangular fortress.
The garrison, having never witnessed such a sight before, was nearly scared out of their wits.
Panic-stricken, they scrambled down from the battlements to inform the two sons of Lord Tully.
Rhaegar observed the scene calmly, a faint smirk playing at his lips.
House Tully, as the ruling house of the Riverlands, would need to be reckoned with if the rebellion was to be quelled.
---
### Nightfall – The Stepstones, Bloodstone Island
A patrol ship carried out its routine surveillance of the waters surrounding the island, intercepting a small smuggling vessel.
There were three people on board—all locals from the Stormlands of Westeros.
After capturing the smugglers, the soldiers found leather, barley, and several dozen bottles of Lysene red wine in their cargo.
One of the smugglers knelt on the deck, pleading, "My lord, have mercy! We only wanted to make a little extra coin."
"Save your breath, smuggler!"
A soldier kicked him to the ground and spat in disgust.
Smugglers and poachers were the lowest of the low on Westeros's social ladder.
"Alright, let's see what we've got here."
Two figures stepped onto the deck from the patrol ship—both silver-haired and dark-skinned. A middle-aged man's voice rang out.
The soldier turned and immediately straightened upon recognizing them—it was Commander Vaemond Velaryon and his nephew Laenor.
Vaemond swept his gaze over the goods on the smuggling vessel, his expression indifferent.
But when his eyes landed on the bottles of red wine, they lit up with interest.
The war had dragged on for a long time. Supplies were abundant, but good wine was scarce.
The cheap ale the common soldiers drank was far too crude for his tastes—these fine Lysene reds, however, were just passable.
"Take the wine. Toss them into the sea."
Vaemond lifted his chin and gestured dismissively.
As a member of House Velaryon, a family built on maritime power, feeding small fish to the big ones was second nature to him.
Hearing this, the lead smuggler pleaded desperately, "My lord, my wife is pregnant! I need to support my family—please, show mercy! The Old Gods and the New will bless you!"
Vaemond remained unmoved and barked at the soldiers, "Throw them in! Are you deaf?"
"Yes, my lord."
The soldiers shuddered and seized the smuggler, preparing to toss him overboard.
Terror-stricken, the smuggler suddenly blurted out, "My lord! I have two bottles of rare Dornish Summer Red—aged for ten years! A true delicacy!"
"Wait."
Vaemond raised a hand, intrigued. "Aged Summer Red?"
Dorne was renowned for its wines.
One was a strong, fiery vintage, while the other was the richly flavored Summer Red.
Both were highly sought after, often selling out immediately upon arrival.
Aged vintages were especially rare.
The smuggler nodded frantically. "They're on my ship, my lord! Please, accept my humble offering."
"Fine. Bring them here."
Vaemond's anticipation grew.
The smuggler, freed from the soldier's grip, scrambled back to the boat's cabin and retrieved a wooden box. He carefully opened it, revealing two bottles of deep, blood-red wine.
His face contorted in pain as he reverently presented them with trembling hands.
Vaemond uncorked one bottle and took a whiff. The fruity aroma was intoxicating—it was indeed genuine Summer Red.
Satisfied, he recorked it and handed the second bottle to Laenor, smiling. "Take it. Aged wine is a rare treat."
Laenor cradled the bottle happily. "Thank you, uncle!"
It had been a long time since he had tasted good wine.
Vaemond chuckled in satisfaction before turning to his soldiers. "Take the wine. Do whatever you want with the rest."
"Yes, my lord."
The soldiers, grinning, drew their blades and swiftly cut down the three smugglers, stripping the ship of its cargo.
Before leaving, they set the vessel ablaze, watching as flames consumed it in the dark sea.
Lanino was overjoyed to have gotten a bottle of fine wine.
He mounted his horse, Smoke, and rode back to Bloodstone Island, where he found Aegon hiding in a tent.
**"Cousin, look at what I found!"**
Lanino's voice was loud and cheerful as he lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.
**"No, no! Don't come in yet!"**
Aegon cried out in alarm. He was lying naked on his side in bed, his hands moving up and down beneath the blanket.
**"Oh, by the Seven!"**
Lanino quickly turned around and sighed helplessly. **"Sorry, I didn't expect you to be... busy with your craft."**
Aegon, frustrated, shouted, **"Damn it! Just give me a moment!"**
With that, his hand movements sped up. His body suddenly tensed, and he let out a low groan.
**"Finished?"**
Lanino perked up his ears and asked when he heard the sound.
(End of chapter)