Chapter 663: Capturing the Children of the Forest

Chapter 663: Capturing the Children of the Forest

Time flew by, and another half-month had passed. The army left The Twins, officially entering the swampy, malarial lands of the Neck.

"Roar!"

A golden dragon soared above the dense jungle, guiding the army below. The force had swelled since their departure, with more feudal lords from the Riverlands sending troops. House Arryn of the Vale led an alliance of 3,000 Knights of the Vale and 5,000 archers and foot soldiers. More forces continued to gather.

Clop, clop, clop...

The horses' hooves trampled the rotten mud, sending foul-smelling sludge splashing into the air. Rhaegar rode alongside the lacquered white Round Palace carriage. As the curtain parted, it revealed a pretty face.

"A letter from Lord Rowan. The Reach army has crossed The Twins," Rhaenyra said with a bright smile, holding the letter in her small hands.

With the arrival of the Reach army, their northern force would soon number 30,000 strong.

"Put it away for now. There are too many mosquitoes here," Rhaegar replied, waving at the swarm of insects as he gently drew the curtain closed.

"We should ride the dragons," Rhaenyra suggested, leaning against the window ledge and clapping her small hands together. The curtains framed her head, leaving only her bright purple eyes visible.

Rhaegar pulled the curtains fully shut, teasing, "We're almost at Greywater Watch. Next time, just say so sooner."

"Mm-hmm~~" Rhaenyra hummed, retreating into the carriage as she embraced her adopted daughter, whispering softly to her.

The Neck was a natural fortress, sapping the morale of any army that dared pass through it. Furthermore, this was a coalition army, hastily assembled from various kingdoms, lacking true organization. The king's presence, however, boosted cohesion and ensured the arriving forces would follow the same path.

...

The sun set, and dusk gradually settled over the land. In the depths of the jungle, a gray castle covered in rubble appeared before the army. It was neither majestic nor grand—short, old, and weathered. Standing alone in the black and green forest, it resembled a watchtower gazing into the distance.

"Finally, my aching back!" Aegon grumbled, his face twisted with discomfort.

Rhaegar dismounted, looking up and around.

"Roar..."

A loud, muffled dragon's roar echoed from deep within the forest, its enormous body hidden among the trees. Sunfyre and Sheepstealer had landed earlier and were now being herded by the Dragonkeepers as they fed. Above, three dragons hovered in the sky. Syrax slowly descended toward the tower of the gray-white castle, while Moondancer and Morning circled each other like dancing butterflies.

"Your Grace, please forgive the modest conditions of Greywater Watch," Hall Reed, one of the Kingsguard, said respectfully as he led the way. Hall, born to House Reed of Greywater Watch, was the youngest son of the previous Lord Reed. Skilled in martial arts and keenly intelligent, his return to Greywater Watch was like a son coming home.

"Anyone who hosts the king is treated kindly, no matter the circumstances," Rhaegar replied, recalling his correspondence with Lord Reed.

Creak.

The doors of the lacquered white chariot swung open, and Rhaenyra, dressed in black, stepped down gracefully.

"Roar!"

A pale pink Morning flapped its wings and flew toward her, its large body crashing into the side of the chariot. Mud splattered in all directions, just as Rhaena stepped off, catching some of it.

"Haha, Morning loves you so much," Baela mocked from behind, a smirk on her face.

Rhaenyra patted her skirt, checking to see if any mud had landed on her, then took Rhaegar’s hand naturally.

Shortly after, Lord Bard Reed of Greywater Watch emerged and warmly invited the group into the castle.

"Your Grace, please come inside."

...

Night had fallen.

In the dimly lit bedroom of Greywater Watch, the quiet was broken by a sharp crack. The tallow candle on the Weirwood table sputtered, spitting out sparks. Rhaegar sat at the table, carefully reviewing letters from King's Landing and various factions.

Just as he prepared to observe the rider further, the dream shattered.

"Cuckoo, cuckoo..."

The sharp sound of birds chirping cut through the haze. Their calls seemed more urgent than before. Rhaegar slowly opened his eyes, shaking his head to clear the remnants of the vision.

"Rhaegar, I'm sleepy," Rhaenyra mumbled beside him, her voice soft and drowsy.

Rhaegar groaned, a terrible headache pulsing through his temples. He propped himself up on one hand and rubbed his forehead. As he shifted beneath the quilt, something felt off. He frowned, lifting the edge of the quilt to reveal the pale, mottled Weirwood planks beneath.

Suspicion crept into his eyes as he quietly slipped out of bed. Leaning down, he kissed Rhaenyra’s flushed face softly and whispered, "I'll be back in a bit."

He grabbed the shirt from the bedside table, buckled his sword, Blackfyre, to his waist, and headed toward the door. Before stepping out, he glanced out the window, his mind still heavy with the memory of blue eyes and the rising dead.

...

Greywater Watch, the swamp.

A silver-haired figure moved steadily through the thick brush and tangled obstacles, following the faint trail left by animals. Rhaegar didn’t know how long he had been walking, but he pressed on. Soon, a low-growing species of Weirwood came into view, its crimson leaves stark against the darkness.

Whoosh.

As Rhaegar halted, a figure flickered into view. It was small and thin, no larger than a child. In the moonlight, its skin appeared green, draped in rough animal hides.

"Ula-ula~~"

The figure paused briefly in front of the Weirwood, muttering something incomprehensible to Rhaegar before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. But even in those brief moments, Rhaegar had seen enough—hair like bark, eyes filled with ancient wisdom, and rags hanging from its frail frame.

Stunned, Rhaegar stepped closer to the Weirwood. The tree's trunk was thick and sturdy, a sorrowful face carved deeply into its surface. In the dim light, the face seemed to bear its suffering, as if confessing long-held pain.

"Did you lure me here?" Rhaegar muttered, eyes narrowing as his hand hovered near the trunk.

Silence.

The swamp, the trees, everything was enveloped in an unnatural quiet. Rhaegar’s face hardened. He slammed his hand against the pale bark, his voice sharp. "Ungrateful!"

Zilla!

Dark scales began to form on his forehead, horns pushing through as black flames surged along his fingers. The flames consumed the Weirwood, charring its bark in an instant, while the red leaves caught fire and burned like tinder.

"Ahhh!" A piercing scream echoed through the air as a magical ripple pulsed from the tree.

Thud.

A small, green figure tumbled to the ground.

Swish!

In a flash, the blade of Blackfyre was at its throat. The creature froze, its hand halfway to its waist, too terrified to move further.

"Children of the Forest," Rhaegar hissed, his gaze cold. He pressed the sword harder against the creature's throat. "Did you lure me here on purpose?"

"Ula-ula~~" The creature gestured frantically, as though trying to explain itself.

Pah!

Rhaegar struck it across the face with the flat of the blade. His voice was ice. "Speak human words."

"I lured you here," the Child of the Forest admitted instantly, now speaking fluent Common Tongue, fear evident in its trembling voice.