In the courtyard of Harlon Castle, the captured soldiers of the Westerlands knelt in a vast mass, their dark heads stretching from the castle gates deep into the courtyard.
Their weapons had all been confiscated and piled together like a small mountain of steel, gleaming dully in the sunlight.
The Golden Company under Clinton's command stood around the prisoners. Their armor was covered in dust and dried blood, but they still stood ramrod straight, their bearing marking them as elite soldiers.
Although the dragons had frightened almost all the Westerlands soldiers into losing the courage to resist, a few fools had still failed to grasp the situation or recognize their own limitations and chosen to fight back.
As Viserys walked past them, the prisoners lowered their heads, not daring to look at him. Some trembled, while others prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads against the cold flagstones.
A young soldier secretly raised his head, glanced at Viserys's retreating back, then quickly lowered it again. Even that fleeting glimpse was enough for him to sense Viserys's extraordinary presence.
"Your Majesty." When Duke Clinton saw Viserys, Daenerys, and the others approaching, he hurried forward and bowed. "We have just finished counting the prisoners," he said respectfully. "There are more than thirteen thousand captives from the Westerlands, along with over four thousand wounded. We haven't had time to count the dead yet."
"What about the Westerlands nobles?" Viserys asked.
"The Westerlands nobles are being held separately in the great hall of Harlon Castle. There are more than two hundred of them, of various ranks. There are also several members of House Lannister, including Kevan Lannister's son and some members of the Lannisport branch."
Viserys nodded. "Any news of Tywin and Kevan?"
"We found no trace of them." Clinton shook his head. "But one of