The arrival was none other than Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall.
As the Count dismounted, the two hundred Raven Guards behind him reined in their horses in unison, displaying perfect discipline and obedience.
"Lord Tytos."
The heir to House Whent stepped forward to greet him.
Lord Tytos removed his helm. His resolute face remained unchanged as he said directly, "Take to see Prince Daeron."
"This way, please!"
Putting aside the reception for his uncle Oswell and his group, the heir prioritized ushering the distinguished guest into Harrenhal.
"Oswell, what is going on?"
Jon Connington's eyes widened.
Why would soone from House Blackwood be here?
And what does he an, 'go see Prince Daeron'?
Myles Mooton was also dumbfounded. If he didn't trust Oswell, he would have suspected they were being set up.
Oswell: ...
---
The Front Courtyard
Lord Tytos walked along the cobblestone path and imdiately spotted the young Prince standing between two dragons—one red, one blue.
Fifty-six Dragonguards, fully ard, ford layers of protection around him.
Daeron had been waiting. One hand stroked Tessarion's head, while the other held down the restless red dragon.
"Prince!"
Lord Tytos strode forward.
As soon as he approached, two Dragonguards stepped in to form a human wall.
Seeing this, Daeron called out, "Wait a mont, Uncle Tytos."
Skree-onk!
Tessarion rubbed against Daeron's slender waist, her proportionate cobalt-blue body gleaming like an exquisite gemstone.
"Hungry?"
Daeron ordered a guard to bring a goat and push it toward the famished hatchling.
Tessarion sniffed it. It wasn't a fish rich in vitality, but it would barely fill her stomach.
The hatchlings were picky eaters.
But Daeron had no fish left. He gave a command in High Valyrian: "Dracarys!"
Skree-onk!
Obeying the order, Tessarion spewed a stream of cobalt-blue dragonfire.
The dumbstruck goat was instantly charred into coke by the ink-like flas.
Crunch, crunch!
Tessarion bared her fangs and began to feast.
Daeron looked helpless.
He had intended to bring only Caraxes, but Tessarion had secretly followed them.
Early this morning, the noise of the two dragons playing had startled the entire castle of Harrenhal.
Waving away the Dragonguards, Daeron walked toward Lord Tytos.
Witnessing two hatchlings with his own eyes—especially seeing one use dragonfire to feed—Lord Tytos's breath hitched.
He said in a deep voice, "Prince, are these your dragons?"
Seeing truly was believing.
"Yes."
Daeron took a towel to wipe his hands and said calmly, "Toothless didn't co. Father likely kept him back."
His father had beco nearly obsessed with taming Toothless. He ca up with endless strange ideas and feared neither hardship nor fatigue.
Unfortunately, Toothless was wild and hard to ta. Even Daeron's commands were only followed depending on the situation.
Lord Tytos was no brute. He used respectful terms: "It is only right that His Grace demands a dragon."
Seeing the Prince's two dragons was already shocking enough.
Daeron said, "I apologize for making you travel all this way."
"It is my honor."
Lord Tytos's voice was firm.
In the Riverlands, House Blackwood was one of the premier noble houses. When Daeron set out for Harrenhal, he had imdiately notified them to provide support.
The two n walked one after the other toward the King's Pyre Tower.
Oswell and his group were completely given the cold shoulder.
As they walked past and saw the two hatchlings, they were imdiately warned off by the Dragonguard.
"Back off!"
Jacaerys Velaryon brandished a flail, blocking them at a distance of twenty ters.
Jon Connington's face darkened, barely suppressing his anger.
Myles Mooton, young and hot-headed, shouted, "Boy, do you know whose orders we follow?"
"Comparing backgrounds with ?"
Jacaerys scoffed.
His uncle was the Master of Ships, Lord Lucerys Velaryon, and his direct superior was Prince Daeron.
Anyone who dared approach the hatchlings would get their skull crushed.
Shing!
Myles suddenly drew his sword.
In the next second, dozens of Dragonguards surrounded them, pulling out their weapons like wolves and tigers.
In Westeros, you could never imagine the extraordinary treatnt Daeron gave his Dragonguard—treatnt that made them willing to follow him into death without hesitation.
"Calm down, Myles."
Connington held his friend back.
Oswell had to flash his Kingsguard credentials just to get the Dragonguards to back down, then he dragged his two friends away quickly.
As a top-tier knight who had mastered Life Energy, he was confident he could take on ten n.
But dozens of Dragonguards in heavy armor, wielding morningstars and flails?
They would beat him into at paste through sheer brute force.
---
Hall of the Hundred Hearths
Lord Walter Whent warmly entertained Lord Tytos.
But when he heard that his brother Oswell had returned, the smile on his face froze instantly.
Why did he have to co back at such a terrible ti!
Lord Walter cursed inwardly. With both factions eting here, he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
Daeron smiled. "My Lord, it seems you have a problem."
If caught fence-sitting, one would be branded a chaleon.
Lord Walter said nothing, a storm of thoughts raging in his brain.
Quickly, he made a decision.
Lord Walter extended a hand and said solemnly, "Prince, please take a seat first. I will give you a satisfactory answer."
Daeron or Rhaegar?
Since his younger brother Oswell had chosen the elder brother, then he, the elder brother, would choose the younger brother.
In an instant, his stance beca firm.
"Don't make it difficult for yourself," Daeron said as he took the lord's seat.
Shortly after.
Oswell and his group entered the hall.
At a glance, they saw Daeron sitting in the high seat.
Ser Barristan, in his silver armor and white cloak, stood at the young Prince's left hand.
Lord Tytos, still in his armor and gripping a greatsword, stood at the young Prince's right hand.
"Brother?"
Oswell's heart skipped a beat, an ominous feeling rushing straight to his head.
Lord Walter stepped forward, his face cold. "Oswell, you are a Kingsguard. If you are not serving at the King's side, what are you doing back at our family ho?"
These words cut straight to the heart.
Oswell's expression changed drastically, his hand instinctively reaching for the white cloak on his back.
Lord Walter pressed on relentlessly, questioning, "Are these your friends?"
Referring, of course, to Connington and the others.
Oswell was speechless.
Prince Rhaegar's rival was sitting right there on the dais, and his own brother was barking orders at him. The attitude was obvious.
House Whent had defected.
Connington stepped in front of Oswell and said, "Lord Whent, we are just passing through to pay our respects. We an no harm."
In terms of status, he was the Lord of Griffin's Roost. A major lord in his own right.
Lord Walter gave him no face, speaking coldly, "If you are guests, then I welco you."
"But Oswell is derelict in his duty. I will report his offense to His Grace."
With a wave of his hand, he issued an eviction order.
Oswell's face turned pale; he wanted the ground to swallow him up.
But Lord Walter's words truly ignited Connington's fury.
He stepped forward aggressively. "Lord Whent, do you know what kind of disaster your actions today will bring down upon you!?"
Before this, House Whent had been die-hard supporters of Prince Rhaegar.
With the Tourney at Harrenhal imminent, how dared Walter turn his back on them now?
"Then what are you here for?"
Daeron knew it was ti for him to speak.
Connington turned the spearhead toward him, speaking righteously, "I act on Prince Rhaegar's orders to advise Lord Whent on the proceedings of the tourney."
At this point, there was no need for concealnt.
House Whent supported Prince Rhaegar.
They were in the past, they were in the future, and they should be right now!
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