Inside the main hall of Riverrun.
Two robed monks, each holding a holy book, stood quietly, waiting.
Their calm expressions exuded the air of devout believers.
*Tap, tap...*
Footsteps echoed through the hall.
The monks lifted their heads, looking toward the small balcony on the second floor.
A familiar figure appeared—it was Aelmon.
A flicker of light flashed in the monks' eyes, and their fingers tightened slightly around their holy books.
They had heard about the dramatic events of the previous night.
Milov, a devoted follower of the Seven and the rightful heir to Riverrun, should have had their support.
Aelmon walked to the ducal throne.
He did not sit but stood respectfully by its side.
The monks watched in disbelief as the elderly Lord Tully, supported by two young and beautiful maidens, slowly made his way forward, his frail body hunched.
"May the Seven bless you, Duke Glover, for your recovery from illness," one of the monks said, clasping his hands together in reverence, surprised by the old man's appearance.
"Hmph! A mere illness won't take my life," Lord Tully scoffed, showing utter disdain for the so-called blessings of the Seven.
If the Seven truly blessed the Tully family, they would have granted him a wise and valiant heir.
The two monks exchanged glances, debating whether to bring up the matter of Milov.
With Lord Tully still alive and well, the issue of succession would have to be postponed.
However, the promises Milov had made to them were too tempting to ignore.
One of the monks gave a slight nod—remaining silent was not an option.
Milov was, after all, the Duke's son. Ensuring his survival would not be difficult.
If they spoke in his favor, perhaps they could sway the situation.
With this thought in mind, the monk forced a smile onto his wrinkled face and said, "Duke Glover, there was an incident in Riverrun last night—your second son, Milov—"
"Silence, you damned scoundrel!"
Lord Tully's furious roar cut him off as he pointed an accusatory finger at the monks.
"You two wretched fools! Encouraging my children to kill each other, to fight for power—how dare you call yourselves followers of the Seven?!"
At his command, a squad of soldiers stormed into the hall.
Disgust written all over his face, Lord Tully barked, "Arrest them! Search them for evidence of their crimes! I will send these villains to the Grand Sept of Oldtown for judgment by the High Septon himself!"
During their stay in Riverrun, Milov had lavished these monks with gold and gifts.
They had even indulged in prostitutes—there were witnesses to testify against them.
Lord Tully had no patience for pleasantries. He preferred swift justice.
"Yes, my lord!"
The soldiers sneered as they seized the monks, breaking their arms and legs on the spot.
"Ahh! We are followers of the Seven! You cannot treat us this way!"
"The Father Above will not forgive you—!"
The monks screamed in agony as their limbs were twisted and snapped. Their holy books tumbled to the floor.
Lord Tully ignored their cries, instead turning to Aelmon with a lesson.
"Scoundrels like these, frauds parading as holy men, must be dealt with accordingly."
The Faith of the Seven was powerful.
But meddling in noble succession was crossing a line.
The monks had overstepped, and now they paid the price.
*Clap, clap, clap...*
From a side chamber, Regar and Count Lyman emerged, applauding with satisfaction.
For nobles who did not worship the Seven, the Faith was a constant nuisance.
It was rare to see such a gratifying display of justice.
Lord Tully shot Count Lyman a scornful glance and sneered.
"Why are you still here? Didn't I already send you gold and supplies?"
After years of neglecting his duty to visit his liege lord, Lyman had the audacity to show up and immediately ask for money and provisions.
Why would Lord Tully entertain such a man?
Count Lyman, however, remained serious.
"The gold and supplies have arrived, and I will leave immediately. But I must warn you—there is a dangerous new figure rising among the Ironborn. They're becoming restless."
"Noted," Lord Tully scoffed dismissively. "But no matter how 'dangerous' they are, they're still just pirates."
He had nothing but contempt for the Ironborn.
A bunch of savage raiders who produced nothing of value—let them try and march into the heart of the Riverlands to take Riverrun if they dared!
"Lord Tully," Regar interjected with a cold expression. "There's trouble in King's Landing. I must depart as well."
The news of Beaumont's death could reach the capital at any moment.
He needed to return and prepare.
Lord Tully blinked in mild surprise but did not insist on keeping him.
With a nod, he said, "Prince, I appreciate your efforts. I will have Aelmon prepare a gift and send it to Harrenhal."
Using a crown prince was not something to be taken lightly.
A token of appreciation was necessary—who knew when he might need Regar's favor again?
Regar waved a hand.
"Do as you please. I won't linger."
With that, he bid Count Lyman farewell and strode toward the stairs.
"Prince, wait a moment."
He had barely taken two steps when Lord Tully suddenly called out.
Regar stopped, turning back with a questioning look.
Lord Tully hesitated, his grip tightening and loosening around his cane as he struggled with his words.
"Prince, do you remember the name Alia Rivers?"
Regar narrowed his eyes, searching his memory.
"The bastard daughter of Lord Leono?"
He recalled the green-eyed woman with a bosom as full as a milkmaid's.
Lord Tully had once mentioned that something was off about her—that she seemed to harbor ill intentions toward Lord Leono.
At the time, Regar had been focused on restoring Harrenhal and hadn't paid much attention.
His only impression of Alia Rivers was that, before leaving Harrenhal, she had once slipped into his chambers in the dead of night.
For a moment, he had thought she was an assassin and nearly struck her down.
Lord Tully's expression turned grave.
Lowering his voice, he muttered, "Prince… she was never Lord Leono's bastard daughter. She was once his wet nurse."
"What?!"
Regar froze, stunned by the revelation.
Alia Rivers appeared no older than thirty.
Her skin was as fair and smooth as a young maiden's, without a single wrinkle on her face.
How could someone with such youthful features have once been a wet nurse?
Lord Laenor is at least in his forties, so for someone to have been his wet nurse, she must be at least around sixty.
If that's the case, wouldn't that mean Alys Rivers' age dates back to the time of King Jaehaerys I?
An ageless old woman?
The old Tully looked serious and said, "From an old servant of House Strong, I've learned that this woman was not only Lord Laenor's wet nurse but also nursed his two children."
"Her appearance has remained around thirty years old. It's said that she bathes in the blood of young maidens to maintain her youth. She is very likely an evil forest witch."
Rhaegar gasped, shocked.
Does that mean… he had almost been seduced by an old woman old enough to be his grandmother?
"Seven hells! Thank the gods for my unwavering loyalty."
Rhaegar secretly rejoiced, his mind recalling the gentle touch of Rhaenyra.
Thinking about that shameless old woman's sweet words made him feel nauseous.
The old Tully's face darkened as he said gravely, "That woman is dangerous. I suspect she once had ill intentions toward Lord Laenor."
"The last time she was seen was six months ago."
"She disappeared?" Rhaegar asked in surprise.
A dangerous woman like her lurking in the shadows was not a good thing.
The old Tully shook his head. "I don't know where she went, but according to the servants of House Strong, Alys Rivers was quite close to Larys Strong."
"She may have realized someone was investigating her and fled to Larys Strong."
Rhaegar's eyes flickered, and he instinctively grasped the dragon claw pendant at his waist.
Larys Strong had long resided in the Red Keep, serving as the King's Master of Whisperers.
If Alys Rivers had sought refuge with Larys, wouldn't that mean she was now hiding inside the Red Keep?
The old Tully had clearly realized this as well. He warned, "Prince, whether Alys Rivers is truly a forest witch or not, she should not be allowed too close to the royal family."
He was a traditional and stubborn man.
To him, magic was always a dangerous force.
And a woman rumored to maintain her beauty through the blood of maidens was an absolute abomination in his eyes.
Had he not once discovered Alys Rivers' disloyalty toward Lord Laenor, he wouldn't have bothered investigating her at all.
Hearing this, Rhaegar took a deep breath and said gratefully, "Thank you, Lord Tully."
He himself possessed some supernatural abilities and knew firsthand how terrifying magic could be.
What the old Tully had uncovered was vital information for the royal family.
"Be careful, Your Highness," the old Tully reminded him with concern.
"I understand," Rhaegar nodded and turned to leave.
As he walked away, he muttered to himself, "Alys Rivers… a forest witch…"
The last time he had heard of a forest witch was when he was six years old during the Shadowbinder incident on the Crag Claw Peninsula.
The notes about forest witches from that time were still vivid in his mind.
A kind of magic that allowed one to sense plants and hear their voices.
A type of magic that nurtured the gift of skinchanging.
And finally, necromantic magic capable of reviving severed heads.
Deeply unsettling.
…
At noon, the sun shone brightly.
"Screech…"
A pitch-black dragon burst through the thin clouds, soaring over the Gods Eye Lake.
Below, the towering Dragon's Roost stood facing the Isle of Faces.
Three years had passed, and the Isle of Faces had grown in size, thanks to continuous tectonic activity.
The dragon's nest was built on the northern shore of the island, appearing like a dark, hollowed-out mountain.
On the southern shore, a dock had been constructed for ships to anchor.
The central region, where several weirwood trees had once grown, had been cleared of lush vegetation to make space for a palace built from white stone.
Inside the structure, steaming hot springs bubbled, their mist rising into the air.
Several weirwood trees had taken root at the bottom of the springs, their red leaves no longer growing. The maesters determined they were dead.
After all, the water contained sulfur and other minerals, and the high temperature had likely made survival impossible—even for weirwoods.
At this moment, Rhaegar was soaking naked in one of the steaming hot springs.
After a good night's rest, he decided to relax in the hot springs first.
With his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling steadily in the hot water, it looked like he had drifted off to sleep.
Unknowingly, he slipped into a dream.
…
In broad daylight, over the vast sea.
The ocean lay still, waves barely stirring. A flock of seagulls soared through the sky, the salty sea breeze carrying a faint metallic scent of blood.
"Screech—!"
A furious dragon roar echoed, shaking half the sea.
Through a unique perspective, Rhaegar observed a massive dragon soaring into the sky.
On its back sat a small silver-haired child, their face obscured.
"Screech—!!"
Another dragon cry rang out as the clouds churned, and a flash of green scales whipped through the sky.
Boom—!
A golden and crimson dragonflame clashed, sending thick clouds billowing and sparks flying.
"Screech—!"
Suddenly, another slightly smaller dragon appeared, soaring from the distance to join the battle in the clouds.
This dragon had dark red scales, elongated horns, and fierce, deep-colored eyes.
Rhaegar clenched his fists, his gaze locked onto the beast.
This dragon was as large as the Red Queen Meleys and the Blood Wyrm Caraxes.
But Rhaegar was certain—it was neither of them.
This was a dragon he had never seen before.
(End of Chapter)