Divide and Conquer, Chapter 3: The Tyrant and the Trout

Second Moon, 97 AD (5 BC)

The Black Tyrant

“Faster!” one of his ironmen captains shouted as he whipped a mewling thrall who was struggling to carry the boulder up the steps leading up the colossal curtain wall. Around him thousands of men were hard at work carrying more boulders as well as bundles of arrows and barrels of tar up to the battlements. Many were also being whipped for their pathetic snail’s pace just as the first thrall had been.

“Weak,” his eldest son Harwyn observed.

“Greenlanders are soft as we all know,” Harlan, his second son, commented.

“Still this lack of spine is disgusting even for them. I can only hope the Rivermen among our levies and vassals are not as weak as those that have been made thralls,” his youngest son Harrag concluded.

“Weak Riverlanders or not, the castle itself is impregnable with its outer walls complete and fortified,” Harren said at last. “Just as the Riverlords broke upon these walls five years ago, so too will the Targaryens. A million men could assault these battlements, and a million men would be repelled!” he boasted.

His sons nodded in agreement eagerly and Harren turned his attention upon the two lords that were walking with them to inspect the walls. “Lord Harlaw, Lord Codd, what say you?”

“Of the castle or the Rivermen Your Grace?” Lord Balon Codd asked, confused.

Harren glared at him for asking such a stupid question. Maybe the rumors were true after all and Codd women really did fuck their brothers and fathers. The sheer stupidity of Lord Balon could only be explained by such inbreeding. By the Grey King, what had ever possessed him to name this simpleton the Lord of Saltpans again? Oh right. He had been the one to take it back from the traitorous Coxes when they had joined Blackwood’s rebellion. Perhaps he was the fool for having been so generous to such an idiot.

He wondered if the Targaryen children were as stupid as this. Rumor had it that Aegon Targaryen had taken both of his sisters to wife. Harren had laughed when he had heard of that degeneracy almost as much as he had crowed his begrudging respect that Targaryen had managed to acquire two such fine looking women for himself… even if they were his sisters.

“The thralls are clearly weaker than true sons of the Drowned God born in iron and salt are Your Grace, but it seems their meager strength has been sufficient enough to bring your vision to life and build a castle as fine as Harrenhal. I am sure the Targaryens will find it impregnable once they finally arrive and dare to face us,” Lord Harren Harlaw answered eloquently.

Harren smirked at him. He was reminded of why he had been so impressed with Lord Harlaw’s second son enough to grant him Stoney Sept all those years ago. And it was not only because he was his namesake, though that had been no small part of it, Harren did so love being flattered. Harren Harlaw was possessed of a trait that seemed woefully lacking in most of Harren’s servants. A true cunning that befit any worthy Ironborn, knowing what to say and when to say it, and those wits served him well in war as well.

“A silvertongue as always Lord Harlaw, but I approve of your words so I will let it pass. My castle is indeed wondrous, isn’t it? Thirty-seven years of work, and if this dragonlord thinks that he will undo it, he is sorely mistaken.”

Harren turned back then and beheld his great towers. Three were complete, along with the walls and most of the rest of the castle, but the tallest two in the center were yet unfinished and had not yet reached their final heights. His foremen had estimated another three years before all the remaining work had been completed at last and his dream ever since he was a boy would finally be realized.

Many had tried to stand in his way all his life, Blackwood and his allies five years ago, ironmen and rivermen alike plotting and scheming since before he took the throne from his father Halleck, even his own younger brother who had tried to usurp him and whom he had spared and sent to the Wall only for the sake of the mother who had borne them both.

Aegon Targaryen was simply the latest in a long line of would-be usurpers who had tried to take his throne from him and just like all the others, he would fail. He might have dragons, but even those overgrown lizards would prove no match for the strength of his castle.

His grandfather, Harwynd Hardhand, had once made the mistake of trying to conquer the Targaryens’ little islands with a fleet of wooden ships and had paid dearly for it. Every last ship had been destroyed by one Gaemon Targaryen and his dragon, a feat for which he had been named the ‘Glorious’ by lesser descendants too cowardly to intervene in the Century of Blood ravaging Essos.

Harren was not his grandfather; he had learned from the lessons of the past. He had built his castle in stone. Stone did not burn, and Aegon Targaryen was no Gaemon the Glorious.

If the upstart Valyrian thought that he could take him by surprise, then he was so green he might as well be pissing grass. Harren had noticed at least three months ago, once the Targaryens had started massing their armies in Crackclaw Point and training their forces on their three little islands, clearly preparing for war.

He had called all of his banners from both the Riverlands and the Iron Islands, ordering his servants to fortify their holdings, and raise their levies. The Riverlords had been ordered to muster their armies and lead them either to Harrenhal or to the hosts led by his five sons. The Iron Islands houses had been instructed to send ten thousand hardened Ironborn warriors to Seagard where his second son Harlan had ruled as lord ever since House Mallister’s destruction for treason.

Once Harlan had finished mustering his own levies from Seagard’s domain, he and his host had sailed down the river on barges and trusty Ironborn longships that had been pulled overland from Ironman’s Bay all the way to Harroway where he had met with his brothers, Harrag, who had sailed from his own domains at Raventree Hall alongside Lord Harren Harlaw, and Lord Balon Codd and Harwyn who had been gathering his own levies from Harroway and Darry, both of which had been given him to rule since the rebellion.

From there Harren had ordered his three sons south to take counsel with him and muster their full might at Harrenhal so they might decide how best to respond to the Targaryen threat. In the meantime, he had ordered his fourth son Qhorwyn to march his armies from Duskendale and reinforce his brother Othgar at Maidenpool and continue mustering their own levies from there.

He had not expected both of them to fail so miserably, however. While he had predicted that Maidenpool would fall eventually once the Targaryens had eighteen thousand men at its walls against Othgar and Qhorywn’s three, he had certainly thought that they would put up more of a fight, delay the Targaryens and bloody their army dearly for the assault like any true Ironborn would. Instead, his sons had lost within a day, to a woman no less, and now both of them were in chains and their army had either been imprisoned with them, slain, or turned cloak to the Targaryens.

Harren would admit his own miscalculation just a little, he had not foreseen the Targaryens landing at Duskendale as well, having expected they would concentrate their whole force in Crackclaw Point and march from there. His minor mistake hardly justified Othgar and Qhorwyn’s embarrassing failure though seeing as it had little relevance to the actual fall of Maidenpool. If they survived until they won the war and were recovered intact, he would be punishing them for gross incompetence.

Because of them the Targaryens had been able to regroup and converge their combined forces to take Castle Darry to their north with barely any losses from their sweeping the entirety of Blackwater Bay. With their previous forces combined with the traitorous lords and levies who had joined them, their scouts estimated that the Targaryens now had well over thirty thousand men at Darry, if not more.

It was only a matter of time before they marched on Harrenhal, but Harren welcomed the challenge. He already had fourteen thousand men within his walls, though granted, only half of those were proper Ironborn. Still even soft-bellied Rivermen could hold Harrenhal even if the castle’s sheer size and the awe-inspiring height of its walls would do most of the work for them. Not to mention there were tens of thousands more men that had been raised across the Riverlands and the Iron Islands both and Harren expected that many would be arriving in the coming days and weeks, both before and after the Targaryens did.

And it was not like they could be starved out either, Harren had seen to it that the castle was well-stocked, enough to last them three years feasting like gluttonous green Reachmen every day. Targaryen’s thirty thousand men would have no choice but to attempt an assault… and break, just like Blackwood and his allies had five years ago. When the dust settled, Harren would sally forth and crush the Targaryens betwixt his garrisons and the reinforcements marching from the west.

Victory was close. He could sense it. He could almost taste its sweet juices upon his lips already. And the look on Targaryen’s face when the thousands of scorpions on his walls brought down those overgrown lizards of his and Harren took him as a thrall and his sisters as salt wives would be glorious to behold. He would treasure the memory forever.

The bells tolled then, drawing Harren’s attention. “Open the gates!” the captain of the gatehouse shouted.

Harren smiled. Some of his reinforcements must have arrived. His sons and Lord Harlaw and Codd followed him as he marched over to the main gate to greet the newcomers. They watched as a hundred men heaved and pulled the massive gate open inwards while the portcullis rattled and shook as the pulleys and levers struggled to pull its immense weight up slowly.

His maester had told him before that his gatehouse was larger than Winterfell’s Great Keep and he was sure it must be true. He had designed it after all, to impress and intimidate all who would march into his seat of power. Only the tops of the great towers of Harrenhal were visible above the sheer walls when one stood outside the gatehouse and the walls of the main gatehouse were so thick that one would have to pass by a dozen murder holes on either side before they reached the yard inside the castle.

Though the gates were open, the gatehouse was so large that it was still a few minutes before the heads of the arriving company reached them. They dismounted their horses as they neared and sank their knees to the pavement below as they kneeled. “Your Grace,” they said deferentially.

“Rise,” Harren said, pleased as he recognized Lords Bracken, Roote, Lychester, Deddington, and a number of other smaller lords. His pleasure turned to anger as he realized some conspicuous absences. “Where are Tully, Ryger, Piper, the Vances, Vypren, and Frey? The last report we received indicated that that they were marching with you,” he demanded furiously.

“Forgive us Your Grace, but they kept finding excuses to dither and delay. We decided to leave them and march on ahead,” Bracken explained.

Harren scowled. “Those treasonous curs will be punished after the war. In the meantime, however, I am grateful for your loyalty Lord Bracken, and for the rest of you as well. How many men do you bring with you?”

“Six thousand between all of us Your Grace,” Bracken reported.

Bringing the garrison of Harrenhal to an even twenty thousand then. That was good. Some small consolations at the very least in light of Tully and the others’ treason. He looked at Lord Bracken again and pondered. Five years ago, he had been one of the few major Riverlords who had openly fought for him instead of rebelling or trying to be neutral and his aid had been instrumental in his victory over the rebels.

Harren had thought that he had had done so only because his archenemies House Blackwood had led the rebellion and he had hoped to be granted their lands when the rebellion was quelled, ending their feud forever. Harren had instead granted Raventree Hall to his youngest son Harrag.

He would have expected Bracken to have jumped at the chance to be treasonous after that disappointment but it seemed perhaps there was a chance he truly could be loyal after all? If that was so, Harren would be remiss not to reward it.

“Loyalty will always have its just rewards in my hall Lord Bracken. I can assure you, all of you, that there will be many spoils to share indeed when the Targaryens are crushed and the treasons of the other Riverlords punished.”

Bracken and the other lords nodded eagerly at his words, looking grateful and excited, like a pack of hungry hounds. Perhaps they truly were his loyal dogs after all.

As they left to see to their forces’ settling into the castle, his son Harwyn whispered to him. “Our food stocks will deplete faster now that Bracken and the others have arrived. Do you wish to do anything about that?”

Harren thought about the problem his son had raised for a short while before his eyes glanced upon the useless mewling thralls on the battlements, struggling to even lift a few simple boulders and arrow bundles. “Have the newcomers and the rest of the garrison take over siege preparations from the thralls and cut their rations.”

His son furrowed his brows in confusion. “The thralls will starve though.”

Harren smirked. “Precisely. And when Targaryen finally arrives we will expel them right into his camp. He will have no choice but to accept them and drain his own supplies or turn them away and risk souring his supposed reputation as a liberator of the Riverlands.”

There was a reason he was known as the ‘Black’ after all.

___________________________________

The Trout Lord

“The proper course is clear. We should stay where we are and wait out the battle. Whoever emerges victorious from the bloody struggle at Harrenhal will not have the strength to punish us for our neutrality so long as we stay united,” Lord Robert Ryger argued.

“I must concur with Lord Ryger. Together we are ten thousand strong, surely, we are numerous enough that either Harren or Aegon will leave us be unmolested? It is not like our reasoning to join neither side in battle is all that weak either. Much can happen in war to delay one’s march and there is no shame in kneeling to the victor. The Riverlands have done so for centuries,” Lord Raymun Vance of Atranta said.

“Yet as we all know Harren the Black is hardly a reasonable man and he may see our recalcitrance as treason. If we are being frank my lords, none of us are all that eager to fight for Harren or else we would not have come up with those excuses. Now we must decide if we will endure his fickle reprisals should he win or throw our lot in with the Targaryens and ensure for ourselves a place in the new order they are creating,” said Lord Vyman Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest.

“I say we join with the Targaryens. There is no love lost between any of us and Harren. Haven’t we enough of his cruelties and tyrannies? His enthrallments and rapes of our people and kin?” Lord Franklyn Frey asked.

There was a murmuring among the lords in the council at that. Harren and his Ironmen’s abuse of the First Night to take the brides of nobles and smallfolk alike, their beggaring taxes, their enthrallment and enslavement of thousands, and their unfair decrees were but a few of the injustices which had seen the anger of the Riverlands brewing for decades now. It was a long, long list of grievances that they had.

“Can the Targaryens even beat Harren though? Blackwood, Mallister, and the rest tried and failed five years ago, breaking like waves upon a rock on Harrenhal’s great walls. Who’s to say the Targaryens will be any different?” Lord Simon Smallwood, chief among Lord Vyman Vance’s vassals pointed out.

“Their dragons,” said Lord Hoster Piper. “The dragonlords of Old Valyria brought all of Essos to their knees and none could stop them. Not the Ghiscari, not the Rhoynar, and not the Andals. Valyria may be doomed and gone but Aegon Targaryen is here in Westeros and he has three dragons. If there is anything that might be able to break the walls of Harrenhal, it would be those.

“Has not the rapid pace the Targaryens have made through all of Blackwater Bay and even the fortifications at Duskendale, Maidenpool, and Darry stunned all of us? It seems that the Targaryen dragons live up to what the histories say of them.”

“Yet Valyria was a no kinder master to its subjects than the Ironmen are,” Lord Ryger protested. “If anything, they were crueler and more malicious than even Harren if that is possible. Who is to say this Aegon will not impose his foreign heathen ways upon us or enslave us with the power of his dragons as his ancestors did Essos?”

“They are not doing that in any of the lands they have conquered now have they? Instead, Staunton, Stokeworth, Rosby, Buckwell and more now find vengeance, honor, and glory fighting for the Targaryens,” Lord Frey countered.

“Perhaps but this would be dragon king is still a queer one who has taken both of his sisters to wife and has hired a massive army of Essosi sellswords. Maybe he shan’t enslave us, but haven’t we had enough of a foreigner ruling over us and imposing his ways and his culture upon us?” Lord Victor Vypren asked.

“Lord Edmyn, you’ve been awfully quiet so far. What say you?” Lord Vyman asked him curiously and all eyes turned to the head of the table.

Edmyn drummed his fingers on the table as he pondered the words of his fellow lords. Each and every single one of them had put their trust in him for years, with all of them having formed a secret defensive pact to defend one another from the tyrannies of the Ironmen should the situation escalate to war again after Blackwood’s failed rebellion.

As a well-respected and affable lord, Edmyn had always wielded great influence among this little alliance of theirs. He weighed his words carefully, knowing that his opinion could be the deciding factor in their collective decision.

“It has been centuries since the Riverlands were strong enough to stand on our own and I sadly cannot see that changing anytime soon. Thus, we are forced to choose our poison. What is one foreign heathen against another ultimately? It is not like any of us are so pious as to follow the teachings of the Starry Sept so strictly when they and the rest of our supposed brethren in the Light of the Seven across the other kingdoms left us to languish under the Ironmen yoke for a century.

“I truly do not care that Aegon Targaryen married both of his sisters. I find it a little queer perhaps but it is meaningless compared to the Ironmen’s atrocities. I have never heard a single word of Aegon Targaryen enslaving any man or raping any noblewoman or peasant girl under his rule with the excuse of the so called First Night, regardless of what his ancestors did or did not do. That is more than I can say of Harren the Black.

“Perhaps he will impose his strange foreign ways upon us or perhaps he won’t. It is nothing that we are not used to, is it? If nothing else, I do not think Aegon Targaryen could be any worse than what we have endured from the Hoares and their ilk for a century. Time shall prove me wrong perhaps but it is my humble opinion that we should seriously consider the possibility of joining Aegon Targaryen as Lord Frey proposed,” Edmyn concluded.

Lord Frey and Lord Piper looked pleased to have his support but the Lords Vances, Smallwood, and Ryger all looked more nervous and hesitant, worried about Targaryen’s chance of success and more importantly, about what he would do with his success.

Better the demon you know than the demon you don’t some said but Edmyn felt that he had known enough of Harren’s rule to last a lifetime already. He did not know Aegon Targaryen at all, and while some feared the unknown, Edmyn found himself daring to hope that he could be better. If he was not, it wasn’t like he hadn’t lived under a tyrant for decades already, but if he was, perhaps things could finally start going right again for the Riverlands for the first time in a long, long while.

Three deafening roars sounded in the sky above then, loud enough to even shake the tables in the meeting tent. The guards outside hurriedly barged into the tent and bowed nervously. “My lords, you have to come see this!”

As they exited the tent Edmyn’s heart skipped a beat as he beheld three dragons in the sky. The smallest was bronze with greenish-blue highlights, the next silver, and the greatest of them had scales as black as night. Atop each of them, even from here, he could espy a rider dressed in black and red. House Targaryen had come.

The three dragons continued to circle the camp for a few more minutes though they did not attack, only roaring further to ensure they had their attention before flying off some ways away to a nearby field and landing. It was not long before the three Targaryens dismounted there and what looked like two truce flags were raised.

Edmyn turned to his fellow lords. “We should mount our horses my lord. We’ve a parley to attend.”

“Is it safe to even go?” Lord Smallwood asked fearfully.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Lord Raymun said simply.

A few minutes later, every lord in the army, minor or small, was riding together to treat with the Targaryens, all of them accompanied by ten guards each, though Edmyn privately wondered if the number of men they brought even mattered.

As they arrived, the first thing Edmyn noticed was their incredible beauty, looking so unbelievably perfect they were almost inhuman and ethereal. The stories held true it seemed. The two queens, Visenya and Rhaenys looked like they had descended from the seven heavens, with pale flawless skin, exquisitely shaped bodies with just the right proportions and striking silver-gold hair and purple eyes. Their husband looked like the Warrior incarnate, armored in fine black plate with a chiseled handsome face.

They looked far more royal than Harren and his ilk ever had, with an elegant wisdom and grace. There was a noble and high air that seemed to surround the three Targaryens, evident in the self-assured way they carried themselves, proud but so unlike the haughty arrogance of the Hoares. It was not the strut of an overly proud Ironman but the utter surety in one’s own power that could be held only by the dragonlords.

For what were the dragons but power itself Edmyn thought as he turned his eyes upon them and beheld their awesome majesty and splendor. The black dragon was immense, his great maw easily large enough to swallow an auroch whole, if not one of the legendary mammoths from Beyond the Wall. His teeth were swords, his claws were spears, his scales looked as thick and strong as ten shields, and his wings were so immense furled up and tucked in Edmyn shuddered to imagine what their full span might be when spread. Could they overshadow a whole village? A town even?

The silver and bronze dragons were not much smaller either, the former must have been four-fifths the size of the black dragon and the latter half at least.

His gaze was torn away from the dragons as Aegon Targaryen began speaking with a bright and cheerful smile on his face. “Thank you, my lords, for coming to meet me! I would have sent a messenger ahead to arrange this meeting but I decided in the end that it would be better to simply come in person.

“The sooner the better after all if we are to dispose of Harren. It is for that noble cause that I graciously ask all of you to swear fealty and join me in dethroning the tyrant and building a great and prosperous kingdom after his downfall, together.

Instead of answering his call for fealty, Lord Vypren instead asked a question that was on many of their minds. “Forgive our surprise King Aegon, but the last we heard, you and your army had just taken Darry and you were many miles away from us.”

“Old news,” said the woman to Aegon’s right. There was a sword on her hip and her beauty was harsher and more austere than the other woman. This must be Queen Visenya then. “We’ve now taken Harroway as well and our armies march for Harrenhal as we speak. We saw you nearby and decided to come and treat with you, so that you might be offered a chance to join us in the siege of Harrenhal.”

Edmyn frowned. “We did not notice any outriders or scouts, and I am certain we would have spotted one of your dragons in the sky.”

In reply to that the Targaryens only smirked. “We have our ways,” Queen Rhaenys replied and it was clear that was the only answer they would be getting from them there.

Lord Raymun looked at the truce flags then, one the familiar rainbow-striped peace banner of their Faith on a staff topped by a seven-pointed star, the other a pure white banner on a staff crowned with a sleeping dragon. “Any reason for there being two truce flags instead of just one?”

“Indeed, there is. It is so that both your gods and ours can bear witness and may they curse whoever dares to break this truce,” Aegon answered.

“So, it is true then? You do not intend to convert to the Faith of the Seven?” Lord Ryger asked.

“That is right. I do not believe in the Seven and I will not abandon my heritage simply for political expedience. However, part of that same heritage was a respect and tolerance for all religions so long as they agreed to do no harm to each other. A thousand gods were honored in Old Valyria and yet there was peace between them and all their followers. There are some things that are more important than differences in religion

“You can all rest assured that I have no quarrel with your faith and you would be free to practice it as you wish, I ask only that you reciprocate that and extend that same respect to my religion and the practices it allows me,” Aegon said.

It was clear what Aegon meant by that when his two sister-wives were standing beside him. Edmyn looked to his fellow lords and noticed all of them looking agreeable. As many of them had said, Aegon’s marriage was queer to them but it couldn’t truly offend them, not after what had they endured under the Ironmen.

“Will you remove the strictures the Hoares placed on the Faith and allow the Faith Militant to return to these lands though?” Lord Smallwood asked curiously.

“No. That I will not do. Under any circumstances,” Aegon said with a firmness that took them all aback a little though none of them cared to press the point.

Had Targaryen been speaking to any other group of lords from another kingdom, perhaps the matters of religious tolerance, incestuous marriages, and the continuation of the Hoares’ restrictions on the Faith of Seven would have been offensive but Edmyn could not truly bring himself to care.

He would be lying if he said he felt particularly devout or pious and he was certainly not loyal to the Starry Sept. What had the Seven or their Septons ever truly done for them? Five years ago, Lords Mallister, Mooton, Darklyn, and all the others had claimed that they had the Seven on their side, and Lord Blackwood his Old Gods. They had died all the same. The High Septon, the Most Devout, the Faith Militant, and all the rest of the kingdoms and the so called Faithful of the Seven had not lifted a finger to help them, just as they hadn’t while they had endured the Ironmen’s yoke for generations.

Edmyn knew that he would not be alone amongst the remaining Riverlords or even the smallfolk if he privately admitted that at times he wondered if the Seven were even real, for if they were they would surely have saved them from this torment by now. It had been long since they had had any hope that the gods would save them and nowadays it felt only like they went through the motions, holding on to the religion as the traditions of their ancestors out of spite for the Ironmen and their attempts to force their ways upon them if nothing else but without any true belief.

Aegon Targaryen’s supposed heathen ways would find little true opposition in the Riverlands Edmyn suspected so long as he kept it strictly to himself and did not try to force it upon the people.

“If it’s any consolation, I have drafted a doctrine of sorts that will help justify my family’s… unique marriage customs in a way that all religions can acknowledge and accept without contradicting their own beliefs. It will also be written into law to help solidify it,” Aegon continued.

That was clever of Targaryen, Edmyn would have to admit. While he doubted it would be necessary when he had those dragons, depending on how this doctrine was worded, it could help justify his marriage in the eyes of the people he sought to rule and give the slightly more pious a way to reconcile their religious beliefs with fealty to Aegon and recognition of his marriage and heirs’ legitimacy.

Of course that was assuming they would kneel to Aegon. Edmyn intended to do so, and he was sure Lords Frey and Piper would join him in doing so but the others still looked uncertain. For their benefit and a little for himself as well, he asked the next question.

“How do you intend to rule King Aegon if you would have our fealty? Especially with your family’s history of practicing slavery and the First Night, two things the Hoares have long tormented us with. I say this not to insult you, but to ask you humbly to lay our fears to rest. Long have the Riverlands endured under the tyranny of the Ironmen and our people cry out for a savior, any savior. But would there be any meaning if that savior proved to be a tyrant as bad or worse than the one he dethroned?”

Aegon’s sister-queens looked insulted at his insinuation and for a moment Edmyn feared for his life as the silver and bronze dragons seemed to stir in response to their anger. The moment was gone as quick as it came however for Aegon calmed his two wives with a gentle raise of his hand before smiling disarmingly at him.

“It is no insult Lord Tully and I in fact praise you for your astute question! You do your house and your countrymen a fine service with your words. Allow me to assuage your concerns.

“Slavery has been illegal on Dragonstone ever since my namesake, the son of Gaemon the Glorious, abolished it some seventy years ago. I believe that the thralldom the Ironmen practice is simply another form of slavery so that will be abolished also for I find slavery to be a disgusting and wasteful practice. Yes, my ancient ancestors back in Old Valyria practiced it, but I do not and neither have any of my family for over seven decades.

“As for the right to the First Night, I will acknowledge my family has eagerly practiced it on Dragonstone, but I have never partaken in the practice myself, my wives can testify as much. I dare say I would not still be here if I had,” he japed as his wives smirked and Edmyn could not help but smile at the joke.

“I abolished the right to the First Night on Dragonstone once I became Lord, ensuring my own heirs would not partake in it as well. I am also willing to commit to ending the practice entirely in the Riverlands and ensuring that none but a woman’s chosen husband may lay with her on her wedding night by law.”

Edmyn nodded approvingly at that as did his fellow Riverlords. Some outside of the Riverlands might be surprised that they were so eager to lose what should be considered a traditional privilege and right of theirs, especially the barbaric Northmen, but none of them cared for it. It had been uncommon south of the Neck for centuries before the Hardhand’s conquest and in the Riverlands, lords and smallfolk alike had come to truly despise the custom after the Ironmen had used it to wild abandon for a century on everyone from the lowest thrall’s wife to the highest Riverlord’s bride.

Aegon was not done speaking though it seemed. “Indeed, there are a great many plans and reforms I have in mind. Laws to protect women, widows, children, smallfolk, and lords alike. A vision to build a prosperous and thriving Riverlands that is safe, secure and powerful like it has never been before.

“It is a simple thing of course, to merely speak of just and fair governance over a prosperous kingdom. Trust not in my words but in my deeds. For have not the isle of Dragonstone and its vassals thrived under my stewardship? Have I not been leal and fair to their people and lords and to those of Blackwater Bay, Crackclaw Point, and all the other lands that I have conquered and liberated?

“I extend to you all now my lords, a chance to be part of something greater. To be part of the renewal of your kingdom’s glory and your people’s pride. Join me now, swear your fealty and your swords, and you will not only keep all your lands and titles but you will have the chance to attain glory, honor, and rich rewards from the spoils of war and the prosperity of the peace to come. Lend me your strength in bringing down this tyrant and we will bring this beautiful dream to fruition,” Aegon declared with a fiery passion in his eyes.

Edmyn could see it in the way he spoke, in the way he carried himself. Aegon Targaryen told no tall tales. No, he truly believed in what he said and he believed that he could do it, that his record spoke for itself. A man with such conviction was a leader worth following in his mind.

He was just about to draw his sword to kneel and swear his fealty when Lord Ryger asked a question that chilled him to the bone.

“And what if we refuse?”

Aegon, no, the King’s smile did not fade one bit at all. It only grew as his black dragon stirred and stretched its enormous wings out so far they blotted out the sun and covered the entire field and more in the shade underneath.

Slowly, the dragon stalked forward on its great black wings and lowered its head until it hovered just beside the King, growling softly at them and only stopping when the King scratched the scales beneath its jaw and pet it affectionately.

“I don’t think you will,” was all he said.

He was right. It was a race between Edmyn and his fellow lords then to see who could kneel and swear their fealty the fastest.

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Author’s Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and the insights into the Ironmen and Rivermen alike! Stay tuned for Chapter 4: The Siege of Harrenhal! Let me know your thoughts and suggestions in the comments below or over on the Discord!