A sharp dragon roar pierced the night air. Orange and yellow Dragonfire, interwoven with the sky, cut through the darkness, raining down on the soldiers of the Bracken House.
"Ah! ..."
"There's an ambush! Run away!"
The Dragonfire's intense heat and immense impact were irresistible. The already weakened Bracken soldiers were incinerated or scattered like dust.
On the ground, Samwell's army surged forward, crashing into the enemy ranks.
"Make this quick! Don't let any of them escape!"
Samwell's longsword swung with deadly precision, cutting down any soldier who dared to resist. His lean figure moved with lethal grace through the chaos.
Above, two dragons circled, their presence casting a grim shadow over the one-sided slaughter below. Two thousand Blackwood soldiers against three hundred Bracken men—victory was inevitable.
Twenty minutes later, the melee ended. Every Bracken soldier lay dead, with Samwell's men ensuring none were feigning death.
"Let go of me, Blackwood scum!"
Amos lay in a pool of blood, helpless and alone, struggling futilely against his captors.
"Amos, good to see you again!"
Samwell, eyes blazing with fury, kicked Amos in the stomach, sending him sprawling.
"Ah! Damn Blackwoods!" Amos screamed, clutching his stomach in agony.
Samwell, breathing heavily, grabbed Amos by the hair, pressing his longsword to his throat. "Amos, I killed your brother, and you won't get away with it!"
Amos's brother had been the last Lord of the Bracken family. To curry favor with Rhaenyra, he had provoked several Blackwood children. A teenage Samwell had slain him in a tournament.
"Little bastard, kill me if you dare," Amos spat, trying to salvage some dignity.
"You think you have a chance to live?" Samwell's grip tightened, ready to decapitate him.
"Wait, leave him for the prince," Robb interjected, grabbing Amos, who had resigned himself to death.
At the mention of Rhaegar, Samwell paused, his expression hardening. "It's too merciful to kill him with one stroke."
With a final kick to Amos's face, Samwell vented his rage.
The soldiers secured Amos to a flagpole, their grim procession heading toward the burning city of Stone Hedge. The feud between the Blackwoods and Brackens, as well as the personal vendettas, demanded more than a swift death.
...
On the other side.
Tru gathered over a hundred civilians and stormed Bracken House's castle. After a chaotic smash and grab, more than ten nobles in fancy dress were dragged out.
"Get out of here, you scum!"
The peasants, filled with rage, hurled curses and assaulted the nobles with punches and kicks. They had been oppressed by the Brackens, and their hearts were full of fear and resentment. They wanted to burn the castle to the ground.
The members of Bracken House, gagged and helpless, could only plead for mercy, which earned them more beatings.
The Bracken House was utterly destroyed.
Rhaegar circled over the castle on his dragon, Cannibal, closing his eyes to the night wind. The Targaryen was true to his word: if he vowed to end a bloodline, he would follow through.
...
Half a month later.
A high platform was set up in a busy marketplace. Lyonel, his arm in a sling, pointed to a crowd of people kneeling before him, fervently explaining their crimes.
"The Blackwood House waged a private war and disobeyed the King's orders..."
After a long proclamation, he announced the verdict: "Kellan Blackwood is deprived of his lordship and is sentenced to death by garroting."
Turning to Kellan, he asked aloud, "Prisoner, do you accept the sentence?"
"Yes, Lord Hand of the King," Kellan replied in a low voice. "But I do not wish to die immediately. Please allow me to don the black robe and guard the Great Wall."
The crowd watched expectantly. Lyonel nodded and granted the request. The Kingsguard draped a black robe over Kellan and led him away from the execution ground.
This decision was the result of long negotiations. Kellan pleaded guilty, and the Blackwoods ceded some territory near the Red Fork River. In exchange, Kellan was allowed to live, and his eldest son, Samwell, inherited the title and the land.
With the Blackwoods dealt with, the Brackens were next. Lyonel declared their sins: waging war, disobeying the king, murdering Lord Graves Tully, Lord Tully's heir, and defying the Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong.
The Bracken House was sentenced to death. Every man, woman, and child was beheaded, and their heads were thrown into the moat. Amos Bracken, the chief culprit, was stripped of his title and territory, his clothes torn from him, and he was whipped all the way to the Dragonpit.
On the journey, he was scorned by the common people and pelted with filth.
When he reached the Dragonpit, covered in grime, Cannibal awaited him. The dragon's flames burned him to ash.
The people of King's Landing knew of the Bracken House's rebellions and transgressions. They became the epitome of traitors.
Prince Rhaegar, who managed to put down the rebellion, was hailed as a hero by all.
...
Red Keep.
In the bedroom, Rhaegar sat at a table, head down, writing furiously.
Knock, knock...
There was a soft knock at the door, followed by Rhaenyra's voice. "Rhaegar, I'm coming in."
She entered without waiting for an answer. Compared to half a month ago, Rhaenyra looked even more radiant. Her long silver-gold hair flowed smoothly, woven into a slender braid. She wore a fitted black dress that revealed her ankles, and a pair of exquisite red-bottomed high heels.
Rhaegar looked up at the sound of her voice, revealing dark circles under his eyes. He saw three blurry images of his sister.
Supporting his head with one hand, he said, "Rhaenyra, I'm dizzy."
"You are too tired. You should rest," she said, gently dragging her brother to the bed and laying him down, rubbing his head.
Rhaegar obediently closed his eyes and rested his head on his sister's smooth, white thighs, savoring the comfort. He hadn't had a moment's rest since breaking through the Stone Hedge. He had spent days placating the townspeople, dispersing the townsfolk at the gates, and holding back the remnants of Bracken's forces. For three days, he had extinguished the fires in the city, sent men to clear the ruins, and cleared the streets.
And that wasn't all.
Bracken, as a lord's house, had numerous subordinate families and knightly houses. Some needed to be punished, others accepted. Rhaegar had to oversee the Bracken vaults, granaries, and tax records, ensuring every detail was correct.
It was exhausting. "Rhaenyra, if I have to do this every day as king, I'd rather abdicate to you," Rhaegar said, lying as still as a corpse.
"You're the only one who works this hard," Rhaenyra said, tapping him affectionately on the nose.
These tasks shouldn't be left to the heir alone. There were advisors for that. But the House Bracken, with its ancient legacy, demanded careful handling. Rhaegar trusted no one else with it. Managing the money, the food, and the ownerless Stone Hedge required his watchful eye. Without him, local nobles might take advantage of the situation.
Checking finances and keeping records was the job of Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin. But Lyman, old and inefficient, couldn't keep up. Needing the resources of Stone Hedge, Rhaegar took on the task. Had he done it alone, he might have collapsed from exhaustion. Fortunately, he had the help of his followers.
After resting for a while, Rhaegar's headache subsided. He rubbed his face against Rhaenyra's smooth thighs for comfort. This was how a prince should be treated. The corners of Rhaenyra's mouth turned up and her eyes flashed with triumph. Dressing up had been worth it.
Rhaegar, understanding her motives, still enjoyed the warmth. He was tired and dizzy, but not stupid.
Time passed quietly. Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled as she asked softly, "Rhaegar, you seem so attached to Stone Hedge. Do you have any ideas?"
Compared to the Blackwoods, who lost only a piece of territory, the Bracken House was utterly destroyed. Their direct lineage was executed, and their titles, castles, and territories returned to the crown.
Rhaegar sidled over, hugging her white thighs. "Yes, I want to find a territory for myself," he said.
"You're the heir, and the Prince's Palace is still under construction," Rhaenyra said suspiciously.
Rhaegar shook his head, saying no more. The Prince's Palace was just a residence with scarce territory, population, and resources. His true fiefdom should be Dragonstone, now given to Rhaenyra. He felt it was only right. However, he still needed a rich land for his fiefdom. The Riverlands were ideal: fertile, populous, and close to the crownlands.
Seeing his reluctance to speak, Rhaenyra pinched his cheek and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Rest now. There is a celebration banquet this evening."
...
Nightfall.
Inside the Red Keep, the lights glowed brightly, illuminating the steady stream of guests. Viserys sat at the head of the table, smiling broadly as he accepted the flattery and toasts of his subjects.
The long-dormant royal family had destroyed an ancient house of the Riverlands in one fell swoop. No matter how much the nobles had despised the young king in the past, they now had to put aside their petty thoughts and show the respect due to his strong heir.
After the toasts, the feast began. Rhaegar and Lyonel sat on either side of Viserys.
Rhaegar was the first to speak. "Lord Lyonel, I have some business to discuss with you."
"Go ahead, Prince," Lyonel replied, holding a wine glass, his expression turning solemn.
Rhaegar hesitated, locking eyes with his father. Viserys broke into a smile and nodded. Father and son had discussed the matter beforehand and there was no problem.
With his father's support, Rhaegar said with a straight face, "Lord Lyonel, the Strong House served their kingdom faithfully, but Harrenhal was burned by the mob."
Leonor took a sip of mulled wine, troubled by the situation. Harrenhal had been badly damaged and it would cost a fortune to repair. He was already considering borrowing from the Iron Bank.
Seeing Lyonel's distress, Rhaegar smiled. "The castle at Stone Hedge is still intact. What do you think about using it as a replacement?"
(Word count: 1,697)