The next day the army marched.
They headed straight into the Riverlands.
Daeron flew ahead on dragonback, racing for Harrenhal.
"Hiss-graa!"
Tessarion beat her wings hard, slicing through the clouds to catch up with Caraxes.
Shaena rode in full armor, lips pressed tight. She had insisted on coming.
Her words had been simple: if a dragonrider wasn't going to fight, they had no right to take up a dragon's saddle.
Outside the Dragon Gate, on the Kingsroad.
Lord Mace Tyrell sat tall on his little chestnut mare, chest puffed out, bragging to his vassals about how he was going to slaughter rebels left and right.
Randyll Tarly rode in silence, leading the Tarly troops in the middle of the Reach column.
Ever since the Stormlands fell he'd been guarding the Coppergate Pass. Only when Daeron called for the Riverlands campaign had he been pulled back to command again.
At the very rear of the Reach host.
Prince Lewyn rode at the head of the Dornish spears.
Lord Anders Yronwood kept his chin high, commanding his own five thousand men like they were a separate army.
Harrenhal.
Tywin sat shirtless while the maester yanked an arrow out of his arm. His face twisted in pain.
"All done, my lord. Try not to strain it—the wound will heal in time."
The maester finished bandaging and hurried out.
Tywin sucked in a sharp breath, forcing down the tremor in his arm. "Sandor!" he roared. "Get in here!"
Creak.
The tall, disfigured youth stepped inside, voice flat. "Yes, my lord?"
"What's the situation at Riverrun? What about Hoster Tully and the Blackfish!?"
Tywin's eyes burned with pure hatred.
That damn Blackfish had slipped back into Riverrun without a sound, opened the gates at midnight, and raided the camp. Tywin had barely escaped capture.
Sandor Clegane's burned face stayed blank. "Ser Barristan Selmy has Riverrun under siege. Lord Whent sent a raven—Prince Daeron is on his way."
"What? That boy is coming?"
Tywin's temper flared instantly.
Anyone else was fine. Daeron was not.
He might be a terrible teacher, but he refused to look weak in front of his former student.
Losing battle after battle had already shredded his reputation. The last thing he needed was the kid showing up to watch him bleed.
Sandor continued, "Prince Daeron has the king's blessing. He's bringing the full seventy-thousand-man Reach host plus over ten thousand Dornish spears. They're already on the march."
"Dornish spears?"
Tywin blinked. Why was Daeron commanding them instead of Rhaegar?
"Word is Prince Rhaegar's mistress fell ill," Sandor said. "He sailed for Lys to find a cure."
"Idiot!"
Tywin spat the word.
Abandoning a war for one woman? Was he more lovesick than "the Small" Duncan?
At the same time Tywin couldn't help wondering if Rhaegar and Lyanna were truly in love.
After all, the man had thrown away family, kingdom, and allies for her.
"Hmph. The Targaryen madness really does run true in every generation."
Tywin gave a cold laugh.
And yet here he was, still trying to marry a Lannister girl to one of Aerys's sons.
"Aerys, you will never escape my grasp."
He didn't hate Aerys's madness—he'd known exactly what kind of man his old friend was. What he hated was Aerys's stinginess with Targaryen blood.
A Lannister was not so easily refused.
---
That night Daeron and Shaena landed at Harrenhal, touching down in the outer ward packed with troops.
"Prince, you're finally here!"
Lord Whent came running, torch in hand.
Daeron brushed his hair back and turned to help Shaena down from Tessarion.
Her silver hair was wind-tossed, but she looked brighter, sharper—less gentle, more alive.
There was no controlling the wind when you rode a dragon.
"Is that… Princess Shaena?" Lord Whent asked, eyes wide at the blue dragon and the armed princess. "She's a dragonrider now?"
Daeron ignored the chatty lord and strode toward the Tower of the Burning King. "How bad is the front line?"
"Not good," Lord Whent answered honestly.
"Lord Tywin's army took heavy losses. The rebels are using the Riverlands terrain for hit-and-run raids. No major casualties yet, but morale is dropping fast."
"And Lord Tywin?"
"Wounded in the arm. Ser Kevan has temporary command of the Lannister troops. Things have been quieter."
Who would've thought the famous Tywin Lannister would keep losing to four-kingdom rebels?
Daeron shook his head. "How many men do we have at Harrenhal right now?"
Lord Whent rattled off the numbers without hesitation.
Thirty-five thousand total.
Ser Barristan held eight thousand and kept Riverrun under siege, using the classic "besiege the point, strike reinforcements" tactic.
Five thousand guarded Darry, forming a triangle with Harrenhal.
Of the remaining twenty-two thousand, eight thousand were Lannisters and fewer than fifteen thousand were Riverlords.
Daeron asked the key question: "Are the Blackwoods and Brackens still fighting each other?"
"Still at it," Lord Whent sighed.
Daeron nodded. "Send word to Lord Tywin and the Riverlords. Assemble the army. I'm taking command and we're writing new battle plans."
"Yes, Prince."
---
The next morning at first light fifteen thousand men marched for Riverrun.
Ser Kevan brought eight thousand more and fell in behind them.
After days of hard travel they reached the walls of Riverrun.
"Prince, you're here."
Ser Barristan Selmy rode out in silver armor and white cloak to greet them.
Daeron looked around. Eight thousand men had camped around three sides of the castle. Cookfire smoke rose into the morning air.
"Feed the troops, then we attack at once," Daeron ordered crisply.
"Yes, Prince!"
Barristan's face turned grim.
11:30 a.m.
Twenty-three thousand men surrounded Riverrun. Siege engines rolled forward.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes perched on a high hill. His molten-gold eyes flashed with bloodlust, eager to burn.
Daeron checked the time on his panel. If those gates don't open by noon, Riverrun gets no survivors.
Rumble.
Suddenly the drawbridge began to lower. The iron portcullis rose.
The garrison tore down the Tully trout banners, stripped off their armor, and dropped their weapons.
"Prince… what is this?" Barristan asked, confused.
Daeron stayed silent, watching two figures walk out of the open gates.
The Blackfish strode in front, still in his black scale mail. He held both hands high, unbuckling his sword and hidden blades as he walked.
Lord Hoster Tully followed, wearing the cotton-and-leather armor he'd loved in his youth. He led an old horse by the reins.
A red-haired boy of about ten sat on the horse, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Secure the castle. Arrest every man who held the walls," Daeron ordered as he slid from Caraxes's back.
A long moment later Hoster and the Blackfish crossed the drawbridge and stood before him.
Hoster dropped to both knees, voice cracking with grief. "Noble Prince, Hoster Tully begs your mercy. I surrender Riverrun and throw myself on your justice."
Daeron ignored him and looked at the man he hadn't seen in weeks. "Blackfish?"
Brynden knelt on one knee. "Prince, I swore I would convince my brother to surrender. I kept my word."
"You joined the rebels and raided Tywin's camp!" Daeron snapped, furious.
He had promised forgiveness even if Brynden was dragged into rebellion.
But the Blackfish had chosen this.
Brynden met his eyes. "I promised my brother I would get his daughters to safety. I could not break that promise."
"You could have walked away clean," Daeron said, eyes blazing. He regretted ever letting the man go.
For two women the Blackfish had thrown his life away.
Brynden's face stayed calm. "I know what my fate is now. I do not regret it."
"Hoster would never have opened the gates unless he knew his daughters were safe."
He couldn't be perfect.
But he would rather die with his brother than betray either his family or his prince.
Shing!
Daeron drew Dark Sister and laid the blade across Brynden's neck, offering one last chance. "You kept your oath and delivered Riverrun. Name your final request."
"Spare my nephew Edmure Tully. He is only a boy. He was dragged into this war."
Brynden looked up at the child on the horse with genuine warmth, giving up his own life so the next generation might live.
Daeron had known this was coming. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Very well." Daeron's voice turned to ice. "I will spare Edmure Tully. I strip him of the titles Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident. He will be Count of Riverrun and nothing more. That is his chance to prove himself."
"Thank you, Prince."
Brynden looked at peace.
Then, for the first time, his iron heart softened. "I followed you when we conquered the Iron Islands. I followed you when we pacified the Stormlands. I saw your strength and your mercy."
"But I am the Blackfish. I could not stand at your side and watch my house torn apart, watch my brother beheaded or sent to the Wall."
"In this last fight I chose to die for my family."
Brynden had kept every vow. He had been born at Riverrun. He would die at Riverrun.
Daeron raised Dark Sister.
Brynden closed his eyes and whispered the words that had ruled his life: "Family. Duty. Honor."
Barristan turned the boy's head away so he wouldn't see.
But betrayal was betrayal. Reasons did not excuse it.
Shing!
Dark Sister fell. Blood sprayed into the moat.
Edmure screamed.
Daeron pointed the blade at Lord Hoster. "And you? Death or the black cloak?"
"I killed my brother. I destroyed my own house—"
Hoster collapsed, sobbing, baring his neck.
He had no face left to live with.
Shing!
Daeron's sword flashed again. The indecisive Lord of Riverrun was gone.
"Waaaahhh!"
Little Edmure finally broke, sobbing so hard he nearly fell from the horse.
Barristan held him tight. The boy's life had cost two grown men theirs.
"My uncle left me a letter," Edmure gasped through tears, pulling a crumpled envelope from his tunic.
Barristan took it and looked at Daeron.
"Prince…?"
Daeron opened the letter and read.
It was Brynden's final words. He had explained how he'd smuggled the two girls out during the chaos—but at the very end he admitted they had never reached Winterfell or the Eyrie. They were safe at Seagard, under Lord Jason Mallister's protection.
"Fool!" Daeron clenched Dark Sister so hard his knuckles whitened. He wished he could stab Hoster twice more.
Barristan read the letter and sighed. "A legendary knight, brought low by family."
Brynden had promised to get the girls to safety, so Hoster had opened the gates.
But he hadn't sent them away. He'd kept them at Seagard.
He hadn't feared death—he had feared Daeron might spare him.
No ruler, no matter how ruthless, could punish Catelyn and Lysa after reading a dying man's last letter.
From the very beginning Brynden had planned to trade his own life for his nieces'.
"Blackfish… Blackfish," Daeron muttered through gritted teeth.
He finally understood how poisonous Westeros's eldest-son inheritance system truly was.
In his final moments Brynden had not cried out a house words.
He had whispered the creed that had defined him: "Family. Duty. Honor."
He had fulfilled every single one.
Barristan changed the subject. "Prince, the army has secured Riverrun. What are your orders?"
"In Edmure Tully's name, summon every Riverlord. Anyone who surrenders now will be forgiven. Anyone who refuses will see their entire house destroyed."
Three days later.
Woodhedge—one of the disputed border keeps between Blackwood and Bracken.
Lord Tytos Blackwood and Lord Janos Bracken knelt in full plate on the blood-soaked field. Their soldiers stood exhausted on either side, weapons lowered.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes lay atop a high ridge, molten-gold eyes fixed on the two lords, screaming with bloodlust.
Daeron sat on the dragon's back and looked down. "I summoned every Riverlord to Riverrun. Why did neither of you appear?"
"Prince, we were at war," Tytos Blackwood answered, head bowed, realizing too late how stupid he had been.
After Riverrun fell the entire Riverlands had flipped overnight. Most lords had followed their liege lord Tully, abandoned the rebels, and ridden to Riverrun begging forgiveness.
The few who tried to play deaf had received personal visits from Daeron and Caraxes. Their castles burned and their defiance ended in fire.
Daeron turned his cold gaze on Janos Bracken. "And you? What's your excuse?"
"We… we were fighting, Prince."
Janos was thick-headed and slow. That was all he could manage.
Daeron gave a cold laugh. "This is Woodhedge. Before the fighting started, whose land was it?"
"Blackwood land," Tytos answered quickly.
"Good."
Daeron stared at Janos Bracken like he was already dead.
"Prince, I—I—"
Janos's spine turned to ice. His slow brain spun uselessly.
"Dracarys!"
Caraxes screamed and unleashed a torrent of crimson flame.
"AAAAHHH!"
Janos Bracken rolled in agony, but dragonfire could not be smothered. In seconds he was nothing but charred bones.
Tytos Blackwood watched his old enemy die screaming. His pupils shrank to pinpricks—pure terror and relief twisted together.
"Raise your head."
The prince spoke.
Tytos looked up and saw the young prince and the crimson dragon that looked like something out of nightmare.
Daeron studied him for a long second. "There will not be a next time, Uncle Tytos."
"No, Prince! Never again!"
Tytos Blackwood trembled, bowing over and over.
Daeron patted Caraxes. The dragon rose, shook his long body, and glided down in front of the two armies.
"Who is the Bracken heir?"
After two heartbeats a young man in plain armor stepped forward, shaking.
Daeron asked, "Your name and relation to Lord Janos?"
"I—I am Cedric Bracken, Prince. Lord Janos was my uncle. My father died when I was young; he raised me."
Daeron already knew Janos had no sons, only daughters. "Kneel. From this day forward you are Lord of Stone Hedge and head of House Bracken."
Cedric dropped to his knees, face flooding with joy.
A short distance away Tytos Blackwood's eye twitched. He understood the warning.
Under normal circumstances House Bracken should have been wiped out.
But Daeron had left them alive—purely to remind House Blackwood who held the leash.
Once the oaths were sworn, Cedric Bracken eagerly offered two thousand five hundred men to join the loyalist host.
Daeron gave both lords one last cold glance, then turned Caraxes and flew away.
Back at Harrenhal Daeron called a war council in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.
Tywin, Barristan, Ser Jon, Lord Whent, young Edmure Tully—every loyalist commander and important Riverlord was present.
Daeron noticed Lord Jason Mallister in the crowd.
A few days earlier Jason had followed orders and quietly returned Catelyn and Lysa to Riverrun, formally joining the loyalist side.
Catelyn had cried herself nearly into miscarriage.
Lysa had already lost her child.
Daeron rapped the table. "I hereby declare myself temporary Lord Paramount of the Trident. The Riverlands host and Crownlands forces are now under unified command."
He paused. "I appoint Lord Walter Whent as the first Warden of the River Road. He will oversee all tolls, patrols, and maintenance along the Riverlands highways."
Lord Whent's face lit up with delight.
The other Riverlords wore every expression imaginable—envy, fear, calculation—but none dared speak against it.
No one was stupid enough to test the Dragon Prince.