Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 232: The Arrival of Cannibal

Chapter 232: The Arrival of Cannibal

Surveying the chaos below, Harwin found himself at a dead end. With too few men and the ferocity of the wildfire, the situation seemed dire. After a moment of intense deliberation, he pounded his fist against the battlements and gritted his teeth.

"Withdraw 500 men to fight the fire and dig a moat to separate the towers from the Godswood forest," he ordered, knowing it was their best chance.

"Yes, my lord."

The soldiers scrambled to pass on the orders. Harwin, drenched in sweat from the intense heat, felt like he was boiling alive.

...

Inside Kingspyre Tower

Grover Tully, his hair half-white and his face gaunt, paced anxiously. His clouded eyes kept darting to the window. As Lord Paramount of the Trident and Lord of Riverrun, the power of the Tully family rested on his shoulders.

But because of his mediocrity and stubbornness, their reputation had plummeted. Now he found himself besieged by his own bannermen, cowering in the castle.

"Damn Brackens, I'll hang them all!" he cursed, his trembling hands betraying his fear.

From the lord's bedroom, he could clearly see the green flames ravaging the city. Even inside, the heat was suffocating.

Knock, knock...

A mature woman's voice called from behind the door, "Lord Tully, I've come to give Lord Lyonel his medicine."

Grover turned, his gaze falling on the large solid wood bed where Lyonel lay. Pale and sweating, Lyonel was unconscious, his right arm bandaged and his rounded stomach spasming occasionally. He had been badly injured during the retreat, with a broken right arm, a broken left calf, and two broken ribs.

"Goddamn Brackens, they all deserve to die!" Grover muttered, still seething from the night's attack that had claimed his eldest son.

"Lord Tully, if you don't answer, I'm coming in."

The knocking continued, impatience growing in the woman's voice. Grover, furious, pointed at the door and shouted, "Get out of here, bastard! Lyonel won't take the medicine you bring."

Outside, Aly Rivers' colorful face darkened, her green eyes cold. She held a bowl of soup, her ample figure tense with frustration. "Old fool with no vision," she muttered, turning to leave.

The surname of bastards varies from place to place, In the Riverlands, this surname is "Rivers".

Inside, Grover's anger quickly subsided as he approached Lyonel's bedside. "You're not good enough, to even have such a rude bastard daughter!" he spat.

Rumors swirled in Harrenhal that Aly Rivers might be Lyonel’s illegitimate daughter or her mother may be the nurse of Harwin and Larys.

Regardless of her identity, Grover detested the green-eyed woman. The Maester had said Lyonel should wake in a few days after taking her medicine, but after four or five days, he was still feverish and delirious. Grover, suspicious, had stopped allowing Lyonel to take her medicine.

Boom!

A thunderous crash echoed through Harrenhal.

"The corridor is on fire, come and put it out!"

"Water's not working, use sand!"

Grover's heart pounded, his hands trembling more violently. Outside, the wildfire raged uncontrollably. The veranda overlooked a barn stocked with hay, always kept closed and poorly ventilated. As the wildfire breached the barn walls, the trapped gases exploded, and burning hay flew everywhere.

...

The City Wall

The people, driven by desperation and rage, swarmed the city walls with ladders. Guards threw down rolling logs and poured boiling oil, temporarily halting their advance. Yet, more kept coming, undeterred by the carnage.

Harwin stood on the battlements, his voice raw from shouting orders. He was caught in a dire predicament, struggling to orchestrate the city's defense amid the chaos.

Outside the City Wall

Near the catapults, a soldier of the Bracken House reported urgently to his commander. "Ser, we've used all the wildfire we had."

"Is there no more?" The bearded commander, greedy, demanded more as his face contorted with frustration.

"The priests has only prepared so much. The rest of the Wildfire is too unstable to transport," the adjutant explained helplessly.

"Curse that bunch of useless fools!" The bearded commander spat, his disdain for the so-called sacrifices evident. He glanced at the walls of Harrenhal, where the mob was beginning to crest the battlements. "Drop rolling logs and stones! Smash them off the walls!"

The army command was ruthless, considering the frenzied mob expendable. Their lives mattered little in the face of his goal.

"Yes, Ser," the messenger responded, quickly scurrying away to relay the orders.

...

Boom...

A large boulder crashed into the battlements, shattering chunks of the wall with each impact. The violent shaking made it nearly impossible for Harwin to stand, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Kill! Take all the food from the castle!"

"We're starving because these nobles have taken over the land!"

With the castle's supplies dwindling, the people scaled the walls and attacked the guards in desperation.

"Hold on! The kingdom's aid will soon arrive!" Harwin shouted, swinging his longsword at the attackers. As commander of the City Guard, he was used to dealing with unruly mobs and struck quickly and decisively.

"He's the heir of the Strong House! Kill him first!"

Harwin dispatched several attackers with brutal efficiency, quickly revealing his identity as a noble. Recognizing him, the ruffians were further inflamed and rushed toward him.

Westeros was built on a strict hierarchy. Nobles outranked knights, knights outranked commoners, and commoners outranked rogues. The few nobles held vast lands and lived in luxury, while the masses struggled to survive.

When the nobles ruled justly, the people could live decently. But when the nobles abused their power and preyed on the weak, the commoners were driven into poverty and despair. This systemic inequality bred deep resentment and frequent rebellions against the oppressive noble class.

Harwin, surrounded by the angry mob, shouted, "Get out of my way! My family has always been fair to the commoners!"

The guards rushed to his aid, clashing fiercely with the rioters.

Boom...

Outside the city, the stonethrowers continued their relentless assault. The battlements crumbled under the barrage, sending down debris and knocking down many of the defending guards.

Gradually, more and more people swarmed up the battlements.

Rumbling...

A loud noise echoed from below. Bracken soldiers had moved a siege wagon into position and rammed it against the gates of Harrenhal.

The city was besieged from within and without, and a wildfire still raged within the walls. Many servants had perished in the fire, buried beneath the collapsing buildings.

Harwin fought fiercely as he retreated, but his shoulder was pierced by a pitchfork, blood pouring from the wound.

Crisis after crisis, Harwin's heart pounded with anxiety, and despair began to creep in. The king's support seemed a distant hope, and it felt as if the Strong House was doomed to fall to the rioters.

"Fight harder! Give it all you've got!" yelled the bearded commander as the siege wagon pounded relentlessly on the gates.

His mission was clear: breach Harrenhal before nightfall and capture Old Lord Tully and the Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong. The Brackens weren't crazy enough to rebel without a plan; they wanted to use high-profile prisoners as leverage.

The scene was a nightmare.

Harrenhal Castle was engulfed in smoke and roaring green fire. The densely packed mob screamed wildly, clinging to the walls like ants.

From a distance, it looked like a vision of human purgatory.

Hoo...

A gust of wind blew away the clouds, revealing a clear blue sky.

"Roar..."

A deep, resonant dragon roar echoed across the battlefield.

A pitch-black dragon emerged from the clouds and swooped down over Harrenhal.

"Dracarys!" A young, clear voice commanded.

"Roar..."

The dragon slowed its descent, gliding along the city wall and spewing green flames.

"A dragon! Run!"

"It burns!..."

Cannibal revealed its true form, its piercing eyes sweeping over the terrified people on the battlements, all consumed by the dragon's flame.

As Cannibal glided upwards, the green Dragonfire blazed along the city wall like a string of fire.

"Prince!"

At the sight of the dragon and its rider, Harwin, who had been cornered, felt a surge of relief and joy and cried out.

Rhaegar, atop the dragon, his silver hair billowing and his black robes flowing, looked down.

"Ser, handle the fires. I'll deal with the rebels!"

Leaving the order behind, Rhaegar led Cannibal to the center of the battlefield.

"Yes, Prince."

With renewed vigor, Harwin quickly ordered his soldiers, "Five hundred men stay to guard the wall, the rest follow me to put out the fires!"

Cannibal's dragonfire had incinerated the rioters on the walls, sending the remaining climbers fleeing in terror.

With the dragon's arrival securing the front lines, Harwin turned his attention to saving the family castle.

"Roar..."

Cannibal hovered over the battlefield, unleashing dragonfire.

The siege wagons battering the gates were the first to be incinerated, their remains consumed by green flames.

"Run! It's a dragon..."

"Escape while you still can..."

Cannibal's massive size and black wings cast a dark shadow over the battlefield, blocking out the sunlight.

Rhaegar's expression remained inscrutable as he surveyed the chaotic army below.

He soon spotted the Bracken soldiers, their silver-gray armor standing out from the crowd.

"Cannibal, burn them all!" Rhaegar commanded, his eyes cold.

"Roar..."

With a mighty roar, Cannibal lunged at the retreating Bracken soldiers, unleashing dragonfire.

Boom...

A pillar of green dragonfire fell from the sky, striking with precision.

In an instant, the Bracken soldiers were reduced to ash, leaving no time to scream.

"Keep pursuing them!"

Rhaegar's gaze swept over the stone battering rams and bloodied rioters, his heart hardening.

If they dared to rebel, they must be prepared to die.

Cannibal flapped its wings, hovering and raining Dragonfire on the battlefield.

The rioters below screamed in terror, running like headless flies.

Amidst the wailing, they were transformed into charred corpses.