The two Tully men ordered their knights to engage in another duel, their eyes never leaving the cold-faced Rhaegar.
**Squelch—**
After a brief clash, one knight swung his sword, slicing through his opponent's throat and securing victory.
The two monks standing beside Milov immediately closed their eyes, clasped their hands together, and began a silent prayer.
Rhaegar furrowed his brows, contemplating the role the Faith of the Seven played in this struggle for succession.
"Prince, these are the allies Milov recruited," whispered Aelmon as he nervously inched closer.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. "The succession should be determined by personal strength. What use is the Faith of the Seven in this?"
Aelmon gritted his teeth in frustration. "Those monks have declared Milov the rightful heir and have already sent a raven to the Great Sept in Oldtown. They're just waiting for my grandfather to breathe his last so they can endorse Milov's claim."
As he spoke, his fists clenched, and he muttered through gritted teeth, "Busybody fools sticking their noses where they don't belong."
The Tully succession was a family matter.
The Faith of the Seven had no right to intervene.
Yet, Milov had somehow found two greedy monks and promised them a generous donation once he inherited Riverrun.
Since Milov was already the rightful heir by birth order, the monks believed they were backing a sure winner and readily agreed to support him.
As they spoke, the two Tully men selected their next champions for the duel.
Milov chose a tall knight wielding a longsword and shield.
With a grim expression, Edmure called upon his father-in-law, Lord Lymond.
Rhaegar glanced at them before frowning. "What exactly is the purpose of these duels?"
Though they called it a duel, it was nothing more than two knights hacking at each other without rules.
What was the point?
Aelmon sighed. "They're competing to see whose knights are stronger. The one with more victories gains the upper hand."
"That's it?" Rhaegar asked in disbelief.
"That's it." Aelmon's voice was filled with helplessness.
His uncles could think of nothing better than gathering landless knights to butcher each other in a pointless display of strength.
"What a pair of hopeless fools," Rhaegar muttered in exasperation.
If they had the power to do this, they might as well just kill each other outright and seize Riverrun once the old Tully died.
Instead, they wasted time on this ridiculous spectacle.
The duel began.
Lord Lymond launched the first attack, wielding his greatsword with immense force, driving his opponent backward.
Spotting a weakness in the knight's armor, he swung down with a powerful strike.
**Squelch—**
The tall knight's arm was severed at the shoulder, blood gushing from the wound.
"Next!"
Lord Lymond planted his greatsword into the ground, his expression cold and emotionless.
Milov's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't expected an aging lord nearing fifty to be so formidable.
Lord Lymond's hair and temples were streaked with white, and his square face was marked with wrinkles.
The next opponent stepped forward.
Once again, Lord Lymond handled him with ease, his greatsword striking with precision. His opponent struggled to even counterattack.
In the end, Lord Lymond drove his blade through the knight's chest plate, killing him instantly.
Armor quality in Westeros varied greatly.
Expensive, custom-forged armor often appeared plain and bulky, resembling heavy iron cans.
But they left almost no weak points, fully enclosing the knight inside.
Cheaper armor, in contrast, looked more decorative and grand but was riddled with vulnerabilities.
Lord Lymond's armor was an ancestral relic, covered in nicks and scratches from past battles but meticulously maintained.
Most of the knights recruited by Milov and Edmure—landless nobles and hedge knights—were not wealthy.
They barely afforded decent armor and weapons.
Against the experienced Lord Lymond, their poor armor was filled with openings.
The duels continued.
Lord Lymond cut down four challengers in a row before finally slowing his breathing.
Then, he withdrew from the fight.
For his age, slaying four opponents was already a testament to his formidable reputation.
With Lord Lymond gone, the rest of the duels devolved into a messy brawl of second-rate knights.
Losing interest, Rhaegar gestured to Aelmon and led him toward the entrance of the godswood.
"Prince, what are your orders?" Aelmon asked anxiously.
Rhaegar's irritation flared at the sight of Aelmon's timid demeanor.
But compared to the incompetence of the two Tullys in the godswood, Aelmon was at least salvageable.
"Come here," Rhaegar commanded.
He grabbed Aelmon by the collar, his gaze piercing as his voice turned icy.
"Lord Tully is gravely ill. Your uncles are too busy fighting over his seat to think of anything else. But this is a Tully family matter—I will not interfere."
"Prince…" Aelmon's expression changed with alarm.
"Shut up."
Rhaegar's tone was cold and deliberate.
"Go back to the godswood and take a good look at your uncles. Use that rusted brain of yours to think—what do you want? What should you do?"
With that, he released the stunned Aelmon and walked away, leaving Grey Worm with him.
Then, Rhaegar returned to the main tower with a few Unsullied warriors.
Aelmon stood frozen, watching Rhaegar's retreating figure, murmuring, "My… desires?"
He looked down at his hands, calloused from years of swordplay and archery.
After a long moment, he raised his head and met Grey Worm's unwavering gaze.
His expression hardened.
Recalling his grandfather's words before falling ill, Aelmon rubbed his face, his breathing growing heavier.
Grey Worm remained expressionless, as still as a lifeless statue.
…
The duels in the godswood continued until late afternoon.
Both sides suffered heavy losses, their knights' corpses carried out one by one.
In the end, Edmure emerged victorious, overwhelmingly outmatching Milov.
Milov's face darkened, his eyes flashing with menace.
His elder brother was dead. By right, he should inherit Riverrun.
The old man was dying.
His opportunity had arrived.
**Nightfall.**
Edmure, returning victorious, held a banquet in his quarters, drinking to excess with his knights.
Unbeknownst to him, change was unfolding within Riverrun under the cover of darkness.
Since the elderly Tully had fallen gravely ill, the affairs of the castle had been divided between his two sons.
Milov controlled the treasury and storerooms.
Edmure seized the armory and granary.
Though the two had yet to clash directly, tensions were escalating.
Dark clouds blanketed the sky, obscuring the crescent moon.
A cold early spring wind howled as Riverrun's inner river flowed noisily, its waters rippling.
*"Move quickly. Don't get caught."*
*"Strike hard—don't waste time..."*
In the dim night, a group of figures clad in black robes emerged from the main tower, heading toward the armory and granary.
A few others made their way straight for the keep where Edmure's banquet was being held.
At the same time, in a basement somewhere in Riverrun...
Several officers responsible for the garrison entered one after another. The flickering torchlight illuminated their grim faces.
*"My lords, I have something to discuss."*
A hooded figure in a black robe stepped forward, removing their hood to reveal short black hair.
---
**Main Tower – Duke's Chambers**
Rhaegar carried a tray of fruit as he approached under the guard of several Unsullied.
*"Prince!"*
Two sworn knights remained steadfast at their post.
*"Pay me no mind—I'm only here to check on Duke Glover."*
Without giving them a chance to refuse, Rhaegar pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The knights hesitated for a moment but ultimately said nothing.
---
**Armory Entrance**
*Slash—*
The black-robed figures surged forward, slitting the throats of the two patrolling soldiers.
A similar scene played out near the warehouse.
As soon as the guards changed shifts, the black-robed assailants crept through the night and swiftly ended their lives.
*"It's done. Move out!"*
The leader wiped the blood from his dagger and gestured for his men to leave.
*Whoosh, whoosh...*
The moment he spoke, a volley of arrows rained down from afar.
One by one, the black-robed men fell, their screams dying with them.
From the shadows, an officer emerged, leading dozens of soldiers.
With a wave of his hand, he ordered flatly, *"Dispose of the bodies. Clean up the blood."*
*"Yes, sir!"*
The soldiers swiftly moved in, removing the corpses and pulling out pre-prepared buckets and mops to scrub the stone floors.
---
**Main Tower – Third Floor Bedroom**
Milov lay sprawled across a large bed, cradling two heavily made-up prostitutes, half-asleep in a blissful dream.
In his dream, the old Tully had passed away.
His fat younger brother had been chopped to bits, his nephew locked away in the dungeon.
He was now the new Duke of House Tully, Governor of the Trident.
*Bang—!*
The door was suddenly kicked open, causing the two women to scream in terror.
Milov jolted awake, scrambling to sit up as he bellowed, *"Who dares barge into the duke's chambers?!"*
*"Uncle, you're dreaming too soon."*
Elmon, clad in a black robe, stepped inside, his gaze icy cold.
Behind him, a squad of armored soldiers flooded into the room.
They shoved aside the terrified prostitutes and tightly bound the naked Milov.
Milov, now in utter shock, screamed, *"Elmon, what are you doing?! I'm your uncle!"*
*"I'm well aware. No need to remind me."*
Elmon's expression remained cold as he ordered, *"Gag him. Lock him in the dungeon."*
*"Yes, my lord."*
A soldier punched Milov in his frail stomach, then picked up a discarded stocking from one of the women and stuffed it into his mouth.
Like dragging a dead dog, they hauled him out of the room.
---
**Elsewhere – The Keep**
The black-robed assailants stormed through the gate, clashing fiercely with the night guards.
After a grueling fight, they relied on superior numbers to overwhelm their opponents.
Just as the battle ended, a sudden rush of footsteps echoed from outside.
*"Assassins! Leave none alive!"*
Dozens of well-equipped soldiers charged through the gate, swiftly eliminating the intruders.
Among them, Grey Worm, clad in standard leather armor, led a few soldiers up the stairs.
At that moment, Edmure lay sound asleep, his arms wrapped around his wife, completely unaware of the approaching danger.
Grey Worm stopped outside the chamber door.
Standing guard was Count Lymond, fully armored, his gaze indifferent as he looked down at the approaching men.
---
**The Next Morning – Riverrun's Great Hall**
Elmon sat slumped in a chair, his face weary.
He had understood the prince's subtle hints—striking first before his uncles could act.
In one night, both his uncles had been thrown into the dungeon.
The plan had gone surprisingly smoothly, something he hadn't expected.
But now, with control over his uncles, what should come next?
Should he go all the way, eradicating them completely and branding himself a kinslayer?
And what of his gravely ill grandfather—would he recover?
If he did, and discovered his grandsons had killed his sons, how would he react?
The more he thought about it, the more restless he became. Finally, he stood up, unable to sit still.
He had to go see his grandfather—otherwise, he'd never feel at ease.
With that thought, he strode toward the top floor of the duke's chambers.
Before long, he passed through the dimly lit corridor and arrived at the door, where two sworn knights and an Unsullied stood guard.
As Elmon approached, none of them greeted him.
They merely stared, silent and unmoving.
A sense of unease stirred within him as he reached for the door.
Beyond the tightly shut entrance, he could faintly hear a familiar voice...
*(End of Chapter)*