Chapter 238: Aegon’s Little Buddy

Chapter 238: Aegon’s Little Buddy

The next day at dawn.

In the Great Hall of Riverrun, Old Tully's two sons and a retinue of retainers lined both sides of the room. Above them, in a separate chamber, Rhaegar, clad in black, sat on the Lord's high seat.

A bell chimed softly as Helaena, standing by Rhaegar's side, rang it to summon the servants. Rhaenyra quickly took the bell from her and gave her a stern look. Helaena shrank back, snuggling into Rhaegar's lap, silenced.

BANG!

The hall doors burst open and Robb Rivers strode in, helmeted and tired after a grueling day and night journey to Riverrun.

Rhaegar, his hands on the armrests, tilted his head, "Milov, step forward."

Milov Tully, the second son of Old Tully, stepped forward, his head hanging low with trepidation. His lewd, gaunt appearance spoke of a life of debauchery.

Rhaegar eyed him with disdain, "Riverrun has a thousand defenders. Why did you avoid fighting?"

The Old Lord Tully sons had been left to stew for a day and a night; it was time to see what they were made of.

Milov, barely lifting his head, replied weakly, "Prince, my father ordered us to defend the city, not send troops."

Rhaegar snorted and summoned Old Tully's youngest son. This man, fat as a pig with a mop of red hair, resembled a reborn boar.

Before Rhaegar could speak, the young man blurted out, "I wanted to send troops, but no one would obey my orders."

His face, trembling with random jerks, showed a lack of intelligence that explained his failure to command.

"Enough, both of you, get out!" Rhaegar bellowed, not wasting another look.

The Tully brothers, relieved as if pardoned, slipped out the side door.

Riverrun was the stronghold of the Tully House, and this meeting was crucial to the safety of the Riverlands. Yet the brothers showed no concern, only an eagerness to avoid responsibility. Rhaegar sighed, momentarily sympathizing with Old Tully's plight.

At that moment, a young man with black hair stepped forward and asked, "Prince, I hear the chaotic army is besieging Harrenhal. Are Lord Lyonel and my grandfather safe?"

Rhaegar recognized the young man. It was Elmo Tully, the sixteen-year-old grandson of Old Tully and the only son of the heir who had died in the rebellion.

"Lord Lyonel is recovering and Lord Tully is well," Rhaegar replied.

Elmo, relieved, inquired further, "Prince, with both lords well, do you have a strategy for dealing with the Blackwoods and the Brackens?"

His temperament mirrored that of his grandfather and late father: not possessing great skills, but brimming with cleverness. for new novels

Rhaegar surveyed the hall, noting the absence of significant bannermen and a lack of leadership.

In response to Elmo's question, he declared, "The Blackwood and Bracken House have risen in rebellion and will face severe consequences."

The room erupted in murmurs. Elmo's eyes lit up with anticipation. With his father dead and his uncles being useless, Elmo stood to inherit Riverrun when his grandfather died. If he could use the royal family to subjugate the Blackwoods and Brackens or take territory from them, his future as lord would be much more secure.

"Robb," Rhaegar called, gesturing to his loyal supporter.

Robb stepped forward, his head held high. Rhaegar continued, "At Lord Lyonel's suggestion, we will negotiate with the two houses first. As Lord Blackwood's son and heir, you will lead the way."

Rhaegar's choice of words - "lead the way" - was deliberate. His gaze shifted to Elmo, scrutinizing him. "Your uncles have proved not being capable enough. As the ducal family of the Riverlands, Riverrun should send a representative."

Elmo hesitated, taken aback. Despite his knightly training, he had never seen the battlefield, living a sheltered life under the protection of his grandfather and father. Now he was being asked to represent his family against the rebels. The pressure was immense.

Rhaegar tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "What, you don't dare?"

Samwell looked at his father, who was deep in thought. The implications were clear: the Brackens were the primary culprits.

Half an hour later, Lord Blackwood rubbed his temples and sighed, "I'm going to Riverrun to meet the Prince. Samwell, you will stay here and lead the army."

"Yes, father," Samwell replied, concern evident in his voice.

...

At the same time.

In Stoneleigh City, the maester received a raven's message and promptly delivered it to the Lord of Bracken, Amos Bracken. Amos, a square-faced young man with brown curly hair, read the message carefully.

When he reached the end, his face contorted with rage. Tearing the letter to shreds, he cursed, "Damn them! Do they think they can trick me into entering Riverrun City? Do they take me for a fool?"

The maester, standing nearby, cautioned, "Lord Amos, scouts report there are three dragons in Riverrun. It might be wise to meet with them."

Amos glared at him, "Nonsense! If I go there, I'll be walking into a trap!"

The maester sighed, bowing his head. Amos, still agitated, snapped, "Go and tell that fool to prepare more wildfire, and bring the priestess here. I need her counsel."

"Lord Amos, Tru was a maester once. You should show some respect," the maester replied in displeasure.

Amos dismissed him with a wave, "Stop arguing and do as I say!"

The maester, feeling disrespected, had no choice but to leave with a sullen expression.

Not long after, a voluptuous woman in red robes, a priestess from a foreign land, arrived.

...

Two Days Earlier

Bloodstone Island

Aegon rose from his bed, his hair disheveled and spread out around him. He had spent the night indulging in various pleasures. Laenor, standing nearby, looked at him with a playful smile and held up a bottle of wine.

"I found a bottle of Summer Red. Let's share it?" Laenor suggested.

Aegon, irritated and dismissive, threw on some clothes. "Keep your distance. I'm not interested in a man's appetite," he snapped.

Laenor's preferences were known, but Aegon had not yet explored such inclinations. He was particular about his partners, and men were not among his choices.

Laenor's voice remained soft. "Relax, Aegon. You're my cousin. I'd never touch you unless you wanted me to."

Aegon, clearly still in a bad mood, grabbed the bottle from Laenor. "What good wine can there be on this island? It's not worth washing my cock with," he said roughly. He bit off the cork and, to Laenor's horror, poured the wine over himself to clean up.

"No!" Laenor exclaimed, clearly distraught. "This is Dorne's Summer Red, aged ten years!"

It was too late. The bottle was already empty, and Aegon threw it to the ground, shattering it. He looked at Laenor with dark, empty eyes. "Summer Red? Ten years old?" he repeated, mocking the meaning.

Laenor's face was a mixture of helplessness and frustration. "Yes, a bottle worth a hundred gold dragons."

Aegon's face twisted in a mixture of realization and indifference. "A hundred gold dragons? You should have told me sooner. My cock isn't worth that much."

Gritting his teeth, Laenor replied bitterly, "Then perhaps you should have chopped it off."