Time flies, especially in the tranquil Reach. Several days had passed in the blink of an eye.
On this particular day, Rhaegar rose early as usual, heading downstairs with faint dark circles under his eyes. Margaery was already waiting, her face contorted in surprise as she covered her mouth with her hand ."Prince, what happened? Didn't you have a good night's sleep?"
Rhaegar gave a sideways glance and said, "Don't make a fuss."
He casually gathered his long, silver hair and walked straight to the dining table. Margaery, momentarily speechless, swallowed the comforting words she had prepared.
The host and guest remained silent as they sat down to eat. Rhaegar said nothing as he devoured the monotonous bread and sausage. Margaery watched silently, the milk she was sipping losing its flavor.
The handsome prince from the picture stories was just as striking in real life, but unfortunately, he had a sharp tongue. People often build unrealistic expectations in their minds, and over time, they face a kind of sad disillusionment.
Rhaegar couldn't help but smile, sensing Margaery's gaze. In his daily observations, he had two words for her: chatterbox and drama queen. Ignoring her, she could go on for an hour, finding topics you want to avoid. The best way to handle her was to cut her off firmly, shoving the words back into her warm throat like a mop at the first sign of her chatter.
"I'm done eating."
After drinking his warm milk, Rhaegar gently massaged his dark circles and asked, "Is Lord Tyrell not back yet?"
"Yesterday, Father wrote that he had already set out and would be back in Highgarden soon," Margaery responded, managing her expression and speaking patiently.
"That's good. The front lines won't wait long."
"Don't worry, the Tyrells are your most loyal allies," Margaery said, smiling as she spoke of her father's loyalty and dedication. She mentioned the past friction with Hightower to secure the crown prince's position and his determination to rally the entire realm behind the war effort.
"Old Tyrell is a good man," Rhaegar nodded, his eyes straying to a vase of red roses decorating the table. Highgarden had an abundance of roses and wealth. In the spacious courtyard, roses of all kinds were planted, filling the air with their fragrance year-round.
The roses on the table were beautiful, tied together in a bouquet, their petals bright red and bursting with life. Rhaegar crossed his arms and stared at them, lost in thought.
The red roses were very beautiful, but they seemed too showy and exaggerated. As he gazed at them, one of the roses tilted its head as if dozing.
Pop!
The fragile neck of the rose snapped without warning, and the flower gently fell onto the white marble table. As it hit the surface, a few petals scattered, like bright red dye smeared on white paper. Rhaegar paused for a moment, then looked away.
Margaery noticed and said, "The waiter didn't choose well. How could he bring a rose that's so delicate?"
"Is it the fault of the servant or the rose?" Rhaegar muttered, lost in thought.
It was peculiar. Since the war began, he hadn't had a single dream. But since moving into Highgarden, where everything seemed perfect, his nerves had relaxed, and the nightmares returned one after another. Last night, he dreamt of war—a great fire consuming the flower garden for miles, with the flowers' wails contrasting the beauty of the blossoms and the horror of the destruction.
Clatter...
Light footsteps came from the stairs. Helaena, dressed in a white dress, stood at the top, holding onto the railing. Rhaegar looked up at the sound.
In a trance, Helaena blurted out, "A beast that has escaped its cage is difficult to stop."
Rhaegar frowned, trying to decipher the abrupt sentence. Margaery wiped the milk stains from the corner of her mouth and approached worriedly. "Helena, what do you mean?"
She was very perceptive and sensed the underlying meaning.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
The words had barely left her mouth when three bells outside the castle rang out, heavy and oppressive. Rhaegar and Margaery turned pale and looked out together.
According to Highgarden tradition, one bell tolls for peace, two bells for caution, and three bells for mourning.
Bang!
A muffled sound came from the open carved door. A knight in silver armor, stained with blood, fell to the ground, his face grief-stricken. "Lord Tyrell It's dead!"
"What?" Rhaegar was shocked.
Margaery was even more direct; her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed backward.
Helaena stood nearby, watching the scene with a blank expression.
Thud!
Margaery's head hit the ground, the impact waking her from her faint. She gasped, her head spinning.
Rhaegar chose to ignore it and walked out the door with his knights. Old Tyrell had been his supporter, balancing the wealth of the most prosperous region in the Seven Kingdoms. His death was a severe blow.
...
It wasn't long before they arrived at the sept behind the castle. Rhaegar strode in, with Margaery and Helaena trailing behind. In the center of the chapel, several silent sisters with veils were tending to the corpse of an obese old man. Lady Alyssa stood nearby, tears in her eyes. She had married a 50-year-old man while still young and had been widowed after only two days of happiness.
Rhaegar approached the motionless corpse. The old man's face was kind, his hair and beard white, showing he had taken good care of himself. But now, he had a bottle-cap-sized hole in his chest, the dried blood already cleaned.
"A wound from an arrow?" Rhaegar murmured, silent.
There were no other wounds on his body; he had been pierced through the heart and lungs by a single arrow, dying without suffering.
"Father!" Margaery suddenly screamed, bursting into tears as she rushed to the corpse. She fell to her knees in front of the stone bed, weeping bitterly.
Rhaegar slowly backed away, his eyes locking onto the knight. The knight shuddered and hurriedly explained, "The Lord Tyrell and Lord Ormund had a big fight and left Oldtown. On the way, they were ambushed and shot from their horses. We barely managed to retrieve the Lord's body."
Fear flickered on his face as he recounted the ambush. They had faced a group of about a hundred armed with crossbows, while the Old Lord Tyrell traveled with thirteen knights and thirty horsemen.
They were tripped by a horse trap and then attacked with hidden arrows. The old Tyrell, unarmored, was quickly murdered. Without the sacrifice of the thirteen knights, his body would have been riddled with arrows. In the end, only five knights returned with the Lord's body; the rest were all killed.
Rhaegar's eyes narrowed in fury as he listened. "Who was behind the ambush? Was there any sign?"
"It seems to be mercenaries from across the Narrow Sea," the knight stammered, inexperienced and confused. Suddenly, he snapped back to reality and produced a one-foot-long steel-tipped crossbow bolt.
Rhaegar took it, examining it closely before laughing coldly. "A three-arrow crossbow from Myr. Good stuff."
There was no doubt—the ambushers were mercenaries from beyond the Narrow Sea. With a strong hand, Rhaegar snapped the arrow in half, suppressing his anger. "Assassinating a Lord of the Realm—how dare they!" he spat.
There are rules to war. No one would be so reckless as to commit an assassination before the battle's outcome was clear, especially not assassinating a lord. This act wasn't about weakening the enemy but provoking them in the most vile way, igniting the war to the end.
Rhaegar left the Sept in a rage without saying a word.
Dong! Dong!
Suddenly, two more bells tolled, signaling the alarm.
...
Highgarden, outside the city walls.
A cavalry unit galloped up to the city gate, raising a cloud of dust. Their banner depicted a burning tower on a green background.
"Roar!"
Suddenly, a thunderous dragon roar resounded through the sky, like an explosion in their ears. The hundred-strong cavalry team looked up in shock, staring at the sky. A black dragon burst through the clouds, creating a gust of wind that tore through the sky.
Boom!
The black wings blotted out the sun as the coal-black dragon landed outside the city walls, its stark contrast to the white stone making the scene all the more vivid.
"Roar!"
Cannibal's green pupils were cold as it extended its neck, warning the cavalry with another roar. The horses, terrified, scattered, causing several riders to fall.
"Steady, don't panic," Ormund Hightower shouted, tightening his reins and commanding his subordinates.
At the same time, Cannibal advanced slowly, green dragonfire flickering from its fangs. Rhaegar sat on the dragon's back, looking down coldly. "The Lord has been assassinated. What is Lord Ormund doing here?"
Old Tyrell had left Oldtown after a quarrel with Ormund and had been assassinated en route. The body had just been brought back to Highgarden, and now Ormund had arrived. Suspicious, to say the least.
Facing the terrifying black dragon, Ormund retreated from his horse, his voice shaking. "Prince, the cavalry of Highgarden has requested my assistance."
Rhaegar's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the cavalry ranks. A rider in full armor stepped forward, his round shield emblazoned with the golden rose of House Tyrell.
"Deserting on a battlefield?" Rhaegar accused immediately.
The knight shook his head frantically. "It was the Lord who told me to seek help. I went to Honeyholt first, and then to Oldtown."
Rhaegar noticed more than a dozen riders with shields bearing the three hive emblems. It was hard to determine their authenticity.
Turning back to Ormund, Rhaegar asked, "Have you caught the murderer?"
Ormund hurriedly replied, "I arrived too late. All that was left were the bodies of a few Tyrosh mercenaries."
Tyrosh was known for its mercenaries, easily identifiable by their colorful hair dye. Hearing this, Rhaegar clenched his fists in anger and forced himself to remain calm.
"Dorne! Damn war!"
The assassination of the Lord of Highgarden, a long-time enemy of Dorne, during the Dorne Rebellion was a blatant provocation that set the nerves of the entire Reach and even Westeros on edge.
Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar shouted, "Gather the Coalition forces of the Reach and march on Dorne today!"
"Roar!"
Cannibal roared again, sensing its rider's anger, and flapped its wings, ascending into the sky. Despite the chill in his heart, Rhaegar remained focused. The assassination had happened recently; he intended to intercept the mercenaries and uncover how they infiltrated The Reach and knew the old Tyrell's whereabouts.
That night, Highgarden's ravens flew out in large numbers, stirring the entire Reach. Nobles, both great and small, gathered their soldiers and hurried to Highgarden. They were united by a single belief.
Revenge! Avenge the invasion of Dorne.
(Word count: 1,802)