The Riverlands were among the most fertile regions of Westeros. Nourished by the winding Trident River, the land had fed countless generations. Yet precisely because of its location—at the crossroads of the Seven Kingdoms—it had also become a perpetual battlefield.
Where armies marched, blood followed.
Shear Village had once been an ordinary, peaceful settlement in the Riverlands. Tonight, however, it had been transformed into a living hell.
"Bring out your finest wine, barkeep!"
A group of armored men stormed into the tavern at the edge of Shear Village. The barkeep, Joss—a bald, heavyset man wearing a brewer's apron—froze when he saw them.
Even in the dim candlelight, something felt wrong.
These men rode tall warhorses and carried longswords, axes, and crossbows. They laughed loudly, cursed freely, and moved with the confidence of veterans. Yet none of them wore sigils, family crests, or banners.
Joss racked his brain.
None of the nearby lords possessed troops like these.
"Bring us the best you have," one of the knights barked, slamming a gauntleted fist on the counter. He said nothing about payment.
"Yes… yes, my lord," Joss replied quickly. "The ale here is the best in the Neck."
As the knights drank, one of them spat on the floor.
"What kind of swill is this? You call this good wine?"
Laughter erupted. Several men deliberately overturned barrels, spilling ale across the floor. The tavern descended into chaos.
"My lords, please—!" Joss protested despite himself.
"You should brew wine in hell instead."
One knight raised a crossbow toward him, swaying drunkenly.
Joss didn't wait.
He bolted through the back door, sprinting into the fields. The darkness and his familiarity with the land saved his life.
When he dared to look back, flames were already consuming his tavern. The fire glowed crimson against the night sky, like a devil's grin.
The knights mounted their horses and began their raid.
Shear Village was being butchered.
They burned homes, slaughtered livestock, killed men without hesitation. Children screamed. Women were dragged away. These were not men—they were demons unleashed from the Seven Hells.
Joss ran until his legs nearly gave out. He could hear the cries clearly, but he never looked back.
The stone manor at the center of the village became a refuge. Villagers poured inside, clutching each other in terror. The bell rang endlessly, but no help came.
Some were not fast enough.
Joss watched as the blacksmith's apprentice—a boy barely old enough to hold a hammer—tripped while running. Knights chased him down, laughing as they prodded him with spears.
The boy screamed until his strength failed.
One massive knight charged and drove a spear straight through him.
Joss felt sick.
Crossbow bolts whistled through the air, cutting down women and children alike.
"Father above," Joss whispered. "What sin have we committed?"
The blacksmith beside him wept silently.
"They're not ordinary bandits," an old man said grimly. "Those are warhorses. That's real armor."
The knights approached the manor, but stone walls deterred them.
They piled wood, preparing to smoke the villagers out.
The towering leader snorted. "Forget it. Let's head upstream. Bitch's Pool will be richer."
The knights rode off, leaving behind ashes, corpses, and silence.
King's Landing
At the Tower of the Hand, Eddard Stark did not see the king until the next day.
But he saw the queen.
Jaime Lannister had fled the city overnight.
Robert Baratheon entered wearing his finest velvet coat, the crowned stag of House Baratheon embroidered in gold. A goblet of wine hung loosely in his hand.
Behind him came Queen Cersei, glittering with jewels.
"You're lucky," Robert said bluntly. "Another fall and your leg would've snapped."
"I don't want a drink," Eddard replied.
"I wish your leg had broken," Cersei sneered.
"Quiet, woman," Robert snapped.
"You know what Catelyn did?" Robert demanded.
"I do," Eddard said. "And the responsibility is mine."
"I am displeased," Robert said heavily. "Three men are dead."
"Two died by Lannister blades first," Eddard replied.
"This ends now," Robert declared. "You and Jaime make peace. Everyone forgets this."
"They murdered my captain in front of me."
"You were drunk in a brothel," Cersei spat. "With your bastard."
"I was visiting your daughter," Eddard roared. "Barra."
Silence fell.
Cersei's face went pale and cold.
Robert drained his wine.
"Enough," he sighed. "This ends here."
Essos
South of Pentos, Khal Drogo's khalasar advanced like a storm.
They plundered Qohor and Pentos, then turned toward Myr.
From a hill east of the city, Gendry observed through a Myrish lens.
The Dothraki were countless.
"The war begins now," Gendry said.
"When night falls," Anguy replied, "we strike."
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