Harrenhal, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.
The vast hall remained cavernous and gloomy.
Generals and officers in crimson, gold, and black cloaks stood on either side of the hall, like three streams of iron, clearly distinct yet flowing as one, their ranks silent and solemn.
Most of their armor still bore traces of battle they had yet to clean away, and an air of killing intent lingered around them.
Aegon sat in the seat of honor at the far end of the hall, dressed in simple black clothes, his silver hair gleaming coldly in the dim firelight.
He leaned forward slightly, his elbow resting on the stone chair's armrest and his fingertips against his chin, quietly listening as his subordinates stepped forward one by one to give concise reports on the spoils from the battle of Stone Hedge, the tally of prisoners and casualties, and the subsequent cleanup.
When Henry stepped out of the ranks, his crimson plate armor, still spattered with mud and dark red stains, looked especially striking in the firelight.
He went down on one knee and spoke:
"Your Highness." A barely perceptible tension strained Henry's voice. "I... have come to beg punishment."
"At Stone Hedge, I led my men in a charge and captured a man amid the fighting who wore ornate armor and a trout cloak... I believed him to be the Lord of Riverrun."
"However, repeated identification checks and questioning after the battle confirmed that he was not Edmure Tully."
He paused, lowering his head a little further. "The man calls himself Brynden Tully, known as the Blackfish. He is the younger brother of the late Lord of Riverrun and Edmure's uncle. I failed to ascertain his identity. Please punish me, Your Highness."
His plea echoed through the cavernous hall. The commanders on