The next day, at dawn.
The great hall of Riverrun.
Lord Tully's two sons and a group of household retainers stood on either side of the hall.
Above the hall was a private chamber, where Rhaegar, dressed in black, sat in the lord's high seat.
*Ring, ring…*
Helena stood beside him, shaking a small bell meant to summon the servants.
Rhaenyra swiftly snatched it from her hand and shot her a glare.
Helena shrank back, burying her face against Rhaegar's leg, not daring to make a sound.
*Bang!*
The great hall doors swung open, and Ser Robb Rivers strode in, clad in iron helm and armor.
After riding hard through the night, he had finally reached Riverrun.
Rhaegar rested his hands on the armrests of his chair and tilted his head back. "Milof, step forward."
The one called was Lord Tully's second son.
Milof Tully slouched his head and stepped forward hesitantly, his whole demeanor trembling with fear.
His appearance was wretched—gaunt and sickly, his body seemingly hollowed out by years of indulgence in wine and women.
Rhaegar gazed down at him with a frown. "Riverrun had a thousand soldiers stationed here. Why did you not engage in battle?"
He had left Lord Tully's sons to stew for a day and night; it was time to test their worth.
Milof did not dare to lift his head and mumbled weakly, "Prince, my father instructed us to hold the castle. He never ordered us to march out."
Rhaegar let out a cold chuckle and called forth Lord Tully's youngest son.
This one was as fat as a pig, his thick red hair disheveled, making him look like a wild boar reborn.
Before Rhaegar could even ask, the young man blurted out, "I wanted to march, but no one would follow my orders!"
His eyes bulged as he spoke, his chubby cheeks quivering with each word.
With that foolish expression, it was no wonder no one obeyed him.
"Both of you—get out of my sight!"
Rhaegar couldn't bear to look at them any longer and barked his order.
The Tully brothers, as if granted amnesty, scurried away through the side door in disgrace.
Riverrun was the ancestral seat of House Tully, and this meeting concerned the security of the Riverlands.
Yet these two cared nothing for their homeland's fate—only for escaping responsibility.
Rhaegar sighed, rubbing his forehead, sparing a moment of sympathy for Lord Tully.
Just then, a dark-haired youth stepped out of the ranks and asked, "Prince, I heard that Harrenhal is under siege by rebel forces. Are Lord Leonor and my grandfather safe?"
Rhaegar glanced at the boy and answered, "Lord Leonor is still recovering from his wounds, and Duke Tully is unharmed."
He recognized this youth.
Aemon Tully—the grandson of Lord Tully and the only son of his late heir, who had perished in the rebellion.
Just sixteen and newly come of age.
Hearing that his grandfather was safe, Aemon let out a breath of relief before asking, "Prince, since both lords are well, have they proposed a strategy to deal with Houses Blackwood and Bracken?"
His temperament was much like that of his grandfather and late father.
Not exceptionally talented, but full of scheming thoughts.
Rhaegar glanced around the hall. Not a single key vassal was present—only minor lords and retainers.
He took Aemon's question and answered solemnly, "The Blackwoods and Brackens have raised a rebellion. They will be punished without mercy."
The hall erupted into murmurs.
A flicker of joy crossed Aemon's eyes.
His father was dead, and his two uncles were useless.
As long as his grandfather, Lord Tully, remained alive, he had a strong chance of becoming the next Lord of Riverrun.
If he could use royal support to crush the Blackwoods and Brackens—perhaps even seize some of their lands—his future rule would be much easier.
"Robb," Rhaegar called.
Robb Rivers stepped forward at once, standing tall and proud.
Rhaegar deliberated for a moment before speaking. "According to Lord Leonor's suggestion, we will first negotiate with the two houses. Since you are of Blackwood blood, you will lead the delegation."
His words were clear—*lead the way,* nothing more.
Then, turning his gaze to Aemon, Rhaegar scrutinized him before saying, "You should know what kind of men your uncles are. Riverrun, as the ducal seat of the Riverlands, must send a representative."
"This…"
Aemon hesitated, startled.
He had been raised as a noble and trained in knighthood, but he had never been on a battlefield.
Under his grandfather's and father's protection, he had lived a privileged life.
Now, to be asked to stand for his house—to meet with the leaders of a rebellion—was an overwhelming responsibility.
Rhaegar tilted his head, smirking. "What's wrong? Are you afraid?"
Compared to the Brackens, who were actively besieging Harrenhal, the Blackwoods had remained relatively quiet.
With Robb leading the way, if Aemon still faltered—then the third generation of House Tully was utterly hopeless.
Hearing the challenge in Rhaegar's voice, Aemon straightened and forced himself to speak firmly, "Prince, I volunteer to represent my house and persuade House Blackwood to surrender."
Whoever represented House Tully in this matter was essentially being considered as the heir to Riverrun.
Whether he was ready or not, he had to be.
"Good."
Rhaegar sat up straight and then shifted the conversation. "You will both act as envoys and invite Lord Blackwood to Riverrun for negotiations."
A matter as crucial as diplomacy could not be left to a bastard and a young Tully alone.
Aemon hesitated, then asked, "But, Prince, Lord Blackwood's army is camped outside the city. Why would he agree to meet you?"
"That is not your concern."
Rhaegar instructed them carefully. "Just invite him—tell him it is an audience with the heir to House Targaryen."
The Blackwoods had yet to make a move.
Clearly, they were waiting to see how things unfolded, hoping to reap the benefits of the conflict.
With three dragons having already circled above them, and now Robb and Aemon delivering the invitation—one as a warning, the other as an olive branch—
It was time for them to make a choice.
---
**The Earl of Blackwood Still Had His Senses and Wanted a Dignified Resolution.**
Once the order was given, Robb and Aemon had no choice but to comply.
"As you command, my prince. We will depart immediately," Robb responded decisively, turning on his heel and leaving at once.
Aemon hesitated for a moment before lowering his head and following.
With the two gone, Rhaegar turned to the maester of Riverrun and instructed, "Write an invitation for Earl Bracken, summoning him to pay homage to the Crown Prince. Send it to Stone Hedge via raven."
The maester hesitated briefly before nodding and withdrawing to carry out the task.
Since they had agreed to offer diplomacy before resorting to force, they had to make a proper show of it.
If the two earls came to Riverrun, they would be taken into custody and escorted to King's Landing for judgment.
But if they dared refuse…
Above Riverrun, three dragons circled in the sky.
---
**One Day Later**
At the Blackwood encampment, inside the main tent, Robb and Aemon were carried in, tightly bound.
A middle-aged man with a stern expression and black hair sat waiting, alongside Samwell Blackwood.
Upon seeing the two prisoners—one older, one younger—Robb struggled against his restraints, making muffled noises through the gag in his mouth.
Earl Blackwood frowned and ordered, "Untie him."
No matter what, Robb was still his bastard son. Binding him up like this was disgraceful.
"My lord, we are envoys of Prince Rhaegar, sent to invite you to Riverrun for an audience and negotiations," Robb stated the moment the rag was removed from his mouth.
He did not call him "father"—there was no need to make things difficult for both sides.
"Robb, take a breath and speak slowly," Samwell said as he helped untie him. "The prince is summoning Father?"
Robb nodded. "The prince wishes to convince House Blackwood to surrender, hoping to avoid unnecessary bloodshed."
"Hah, does he think having dragons makes him invincible?" Earl Blackwood scoffed, unconvinced.
Robb's expression faltered at the remark, and he lowered his head in thought.
The earl let out a cold snort before pressing, "Robb, answer me this—what are you thinking?"
He had raised this bastard son with care, intending for him to serve as a capable second-in-command for his eldest son, Samwell.
Yet now, after the war in the Stepstones, Robb had become a captain in the Crown Prince's army—and here he was, standing opposite his own father in negotiations.
"I was just recalling the size of Raventree Hall," Robb replied, lifting his chin with a hint of pride. "You can refuse, but when the dragons come, there will be no escape. Who knows? I might even inherit your lands and castle."
"Insolence! Where did you get the gall to speak to me like that?!"
Earl Blackwood was furious, pointing a finger at Robb as he berated him.
Even if the entire main bloodline of the family perished, a mere bastard had no claim to the title or the land.
He's provoking me on purpose.
Wait… provoking me?
The earl suddenly realized what Robb was doing and gave him a complex look.
Robb was deliberately riling him up—to make him think carefully about the consequences.
Regaining his composure, Earl Blackwood asked directly, "What does the Crown Prince intend to do with our house?"
"No idea," Robb answered bluntly.
Samwell frowned. "Robb, you are one of the prince's close guards. Has he given no hints at all?"
Robb shook his head and casually remarked, "Our family has only had one skirmish with Riverrun's forces. No matter how troublesome, it's nothing compared to House Bracken."
Samwell blinked, then turned to his father with an expectant look.
Earl Blackwood fell silent, evidently grasping Robb's implication.
House Bracken was the real traitor here—the greater offender.
After a long pause, the earl rubbed his temples in frustration before sighing, "Fine. I will go and meet the Crown Prince. Samwell, you will remain here to oversee our troops."
"Yes, Father," Samwell replied, though concern flickered in his eyes.
---
**At the Same Time**
In Stone Hedge, a maester received a raven with a letter and immediately delivered it to Earl Bracken.
Earl Amos Bracken, a square-faced young man with curly brown hair, took the letter and read it line by line.
A long silence followed.
Then, in a fit of rage, Amos tore the letter into shreds and cursed, "Damn it! They're trying to trick me into walking into Riverrun like an idiot!"
He had committed such a serious crime—going there would be walking straight into a trap.
The maester hesitated before advising, "My lord, our scouts report that Riverrun has three dragons. It might be best to go and seek leniency."
Facing three dragons head-on or negotiating for a lighter sentence—one of these options was clearly wiser.
Amos glared at him. "Nonsense! You think I'll survive if I go?"
The maester lowered his gaze, sighing internally.
Seeing his unease, Amos grew restless and snapped, "Summon that fool to make more wildfire! And bring the red priestess—I need her counsel."
"My lord, Trull was once a maester. You should show him some respect," the maester said disapprovingly.
Amos scoffed. "Spare me the lectures! Just do as I say!"
Trull had been expelled from the Citadel—what honor was there left to respect?
The bachelor had no choice but to leave with a sullen face.
Not long after…
A foreign woman, dressed in a red robe with an alluring figure, walked over.
…
Two days earlier.
Bloodstone Isle.
After indulging in some self-entertainment, Aegon climbed out of bed, his hair disheveled.
Lannino glanced at his pale, naked body and lifted a bottle of *Summer Red* with a smile. "I found a good bottle of wine. Want to have a drink together?"
"Keep your distance. I have no interest in tasting men."
Aegon hastily threw on some clothes and walked off the bed in irritation.
Lannino's tastes were well-known.
While Aegon wasn't picky about women, he had yet to take the road less traveled with men.
"Stop talking nonsense. You're my cousin. Unless you're willing, I wouldn't lay a hand on you."
Lannino's voice was gentle as he swirled the bottle in his hand. He had simply come to share some fine wine.
Aegon shook his member, causing sticky residue to splatter onto his stomach. He let out a disgusted *ugh* and muttered, "What good wine could there possibly be on this island? I wouldn't even use it to wash my dick."
With that, he snatched the bottle from Lannino's hands and bit down hard on the cork.
*Pop!*
The cork came loose. Without a second thought, Aegon tilted the bottle down and poured the wine over his crotch, rinsing off the sticky mess.
"Stop!"
Lannino cried out in anguish, his voice filled with heartbreak. "That was *Dorne's Summer Red*, aged ten years!"
But it was too late.
The wine splashed out in a steady stream. Aegon casually tossed the empty bottle onto the ground, where it shattered with a crisp crack.
He lifted his head, his dark-circled eyes filled with confusion. "Did you say ten-year *Summer Red*?"
Lannino looked utterly exasperated, his words squeezed through clenched teeth. "Yes. A bottle worth a hundred gold dragons."
"Fuck!"
Aegon's face fell into despair. "You should've said so earlier! My dick isn't even worth a hundred gold dragons!"
"Then you should just cut it off." Lannino gritted his teeth.
(End of Chapter)