Arianne left Harrenhal.
She hurried away, the hem of her silk skirt almost tangling around her ankles, but she did not stop.
The Dornish guards followed silently behind her, their armor scraping softly as they moved.
Harrenhal's vast, sinister silhouette receded behind her, but the cold humiliation of being utterly disregarded coiled around her heart like a venomous snake, tightening with every moment.
She swore that one day, she would make Aegon repay today's slight a hundredfold.
The Dornish delegation traveled east across the desolate plains of the Riverlands.
This should have been fertile land, the tributaries of the Trident spreading like veins to nourish the fields.
Now, all they could see were weeds and rotting wheat stubble trampled into the mud.
The Lannister purges and successive waves of warfare had drained the life from this land.
Now, figures had appeared on it again.
But they were not farmers bending over their fields. They were soldiers marching in formation.
Black armor, black cloaks, and banners bearing a three-headed red dragon on a black field fluttered silently in the wind.
They had already left the heart of Harrenhal's zone of control, but this was still Targaryen territory.
Arianne ignored the appraising looks cast her way along the road.
Her destination was clear.
The Bridge Inn.
In the now-depressed Riverlands, the inn's "prosperity" seemed rather out of place.
The main stone building was sizable, plenty of horses stood tethered in the stables, and there were even signs of an expansion.
The wooden sign hanging by the entrance swayed gently in the wind.
The reason was simple: this was one of the few places where Targaryen soldiers were allowed, and happy, to seek amusement.
Drink, food, and perhaps a few other things.
The Dornish delegation stopped outside the inn.
Arianne was the first