The raven's black wings sliced through the dim yellow light, and before night swallowed the Riverlands completely, it landed in Harrenhal's rookery.
Its fluttering startled a few feathers into the air. The waiting maester deftly removed the slender bamboo tube tied to its leg, then hurried through corridors where the shadows were deepening toward the study in the heart of the main keep.
Inside the study, the torches and candles had already been lit.
Aegon sat behind a broad desk, several reports spread before him.
There were detailed tallies of spoils and casualties from the battle at Stone Hedge, inventories of supplies in newly occupied castles, and, more than anything, urgent dispatches arriving from every corner of the Riverlands...
Supply convoys attacked, patrols missing, small bands of northern troops appearing and vanishing along the edges of occupied territory, burning provisions and fodder, raiding outposts.
These attacks were small, and the direct losses they caused were limited, but they were as irritating as mosquitoes, constantly biting at his newly claimed domain, slowing the consolidation of the Riverlands and steadily wearing away what little patience Aegon had left.
He tossed aside a report about a granary burned somewhere on the eastern shore of the Gods Eye. His fingers tapped unconsciously against the smooth desktop, his violet eyes dark and deep in the dancing firelight.
Just then, the maester knocked softly and presented the newly arrived bamboo tube. Aegon took it, pried open the wax seal with a dagger, drew out the thin roll of paper inside, and quickly unfolded it.
It was a battle report from the Trident.
It came from Luke. When the raven had been sent, the battle had only just entered a standoff.
The letter briefly described their encounter with northern troops crossing the river, the vanguard's ambush, the