The vast Hall of a Hundred Hearths stood empty of the commanders who had lined its sides. Only Aegon remained, seated alone at its head.
His fingertips rested lightly against his chin, his purple eyes dark as he continued to reflect on his conversation with Brynden.
The foundations of the old feudal order had long since been etched into the bones of every noble in Westeros.
Family before realm, self-interest before oaths-these were never the failings of any one person. The order itself had rotted.
Then it would be torn down entirely. There was no room left for leniency.
As Aegon remained immersed in thought, a radiant figure walked slowly into the hall, interrupting his reflections.
"Arianne Martell?" Aegon looked down the hall at the beautiful woman who had entered Harrenhal only after a servant announced her and he granted permission. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
Arianne pressed her red lips tightly together.
She had long heard of Aegon's ruthless measures since landing in Westeros. Word had reached even the distant Water Gardens of Dorne.
He abolished feudal holdings, stripped away privileges, and brought every old noble who dared resist to account, acting with cold severity and showing no mercy.
When her father, Doran, learned of this, misgivings and fear filled him. He immediately sent strict orders for her to stay where she was and observe, forbidding her from rashly going to join Aegon.
He feared her recklessness would anger the True Dragon, and feared still more that Dorne would be dragged into war and plunged into utter ruin.
But she refused.
Deep down, she despised her father's indecision. He had spent his entire life hesitating and sheltering in his corner of the realm, squandering a heaven-sent chance to bind himself to the True Dragon.
Others feared Aegon's