Fire and Blood

Chapter 120: Blood of the Dragon (Part 1)

Harrenhal...

The Caltrops sentries stationed on the walls of Harrenhal were a constant presence, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. The night was pitch black, the moon hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. But the sentries were not left entirely blind. The flickering light of torches, strategically placed along the battlements, provided just enough illumination to carry out their duties. The flames danced and cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, creating an atmosphere of both trepidation and determination. Ever since the news had reached Harrenhal of the capture of the Caltrops' central leadership and the surrender of the Westerlands, the remaining troops had been on high alert. The possibility of the Blacks shifting their focus toward Harrenhal loomed over them like a dark cloud.

However, amidst the tension and uncertainty, there was a source of reassurance for the men patrolling the battlements. Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons, had taken up residence near Harrenhal. The presence of this ancient dragon instilled a sense of confidence among the troops. They knew that with Vhagar nearby, she added an extra layer of protection, even as she slept. But the men patrolling the battlements remained cautious, their eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. They knew that even with Vhagar's presence, they could not afford to let their guard down. The war taught them the importance of vigilance and never underestimating their enemies. As the night wore on, the sentries continued their diligent monitoring of the walls, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the night, and their eyes scanned the darkness for any signs of movement. Their torches cast flickering shadows, creating an eerie dance of light and darkness. But amidst the uncertainty and the dimly lit surroundings, the soldiers remained steadfast.

Out of nowhere, a hushed sound, followed by a quick hush, shattered the stillness of the air. The first guard, now lying lifeless on the ground, had no chance to react as his assailant moved with deadly precision. The silence that followed was deafening; the only sound was the soft rustle of fabric as the killer melted back into the darkness. Just as the second guard was about to look back, he felt a hand covering his mouth, then a cold blade piercing his heart before being swiftly removed and pressing against his throat, the last thing he felt before everything went black as he took his last breath. The night was once again. The guards had been taken out with ruthless efficiency, their deaths a grim reminder of the dangers that lurked in the darkness.

As more Lykirī Mēre stealthily ascended the walls and reached the battlements, Jaehaerys discreetly gestured with a circular hand motion, signaling his comrades to disperse and swiftly eliminate the guards without attracting attention. The Dance of the Dragons had significantly depleted the Lykirī Mēre's numbers with each passing battle, leaving only a handful remaining. Nevertheless, their training and the ideology instilled in them the notion of embracing fear rather than fleeing from it, to use it as a weapon rather than allowing it to control them. Consequently, those assigned to carry out the assassinations were well aware that their chances of survival were slim.

With a silent nod, Jaehaerys led his comrades deeper into the fortress. Each step was calculated, and each movement was deliberate. They moved like ghosts, their presence barely registering in the minds of those they passed. They blended seamlessly into their surroundings, becoming one with the shadows. "Ilzigon. (Scatter.)" he whispered in High Valyrian.

As Jaehaerys watched his comrades disappear into the shadows, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride mixed with sadness. They were the last of their kind, the final remnants of Old Valyria. The Dance of the Dragons had taken its toll on them, claiming the lives of their brothers and sisters in arms. But they were determined to carry on, to fulfill their duty to the Targaryens until the bitter end. Moving silently along the battlements, Jaehaerys felt the weight of his mission pressing down on him. The guards had to be eliminated swiftly and silently, without a trace. Any sign of their presence could alert the enemy and jeopardize the entire operation. It was a dangerous task that required nerves of steel and a willingness to sacrifice everything. As he approached his first target, Jaehaerys felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. With a swift and silent strike, he dispatched the guard, his blade finding its mark with deadly accuracy. He moved on to the next, and then the next, each kill executed with the same precision and efficiency. The guards fell one by one, their bodies silently crumpling to the ground.