That damned fat pig!

Davion shook his head helplessly.

He no longer wanted to waste his breath arguing with someone like Wes.

"Ser Ward, throw this babbling fool into the bear pit, then retrieve your armor and sword from his room and find yourself a room to get some proper rest! We'll deal with everything else tomorrow."

The bear pit was a small fighting arena built by Harren the Black.

It was a pit ten yards wide and five yards deep, located in the middle of the castle, beside Flowstone Yard.

Having served Harrenhal for over ten years, Ser Ward naturally knew what the bear pit was used for.

He was delighted to see Davion become more forceful, and was more than happy to see him deal directly with the greedy Wes.

"As you command, my lord."

Ignoring his spinning head, Wes dragged his fat body over and crawled to Davion's feet.

"My lord, I've been utterly loyal to House Whent! All these years, the house's income has kept declining. It's only thanks to me that we've managed to hold on until now!"

Davion calmly stepped back, afraid of getting any of that disgusting thing on him.

He said to Pia, "I wouldn't have remembered if he hadn't brought it up! Pia, go with Ser Ward and search Wes's room thoroughly. Let's see how many gold dragons our steward has embezzled from my Harrenhal to fatten himself up like a pig!"

With that, Davion walked around Wes and left the cell.

Wes kept knocking his head against the floor, muttering:

"I've shed blood for House Whent! I've rendered great service to Harrenhal!"

Vereword chuckled, then abruptly raised his leg and kicked Wes square in the face.

Wes's nose was instantly driven into his fat face! Two of his front teeth were kicked out as well!

Wes clutched his face and rolled on the floor in agony!

Muffled screams poured from his mouth!

Just then, Davion returned.

Without so much as looking at Wes rolling back and forth on the floor, he said to Vereword:

"I forgot something. Remember to throw that damned spotted dog of Wes's into the bear pit with him! Isn't our dear steward especially fond of that bitch?"

Before Vereword could react, Davion turned and left again.

Vereword caught a pause in Wes's rolling and planted a foot on his chest.

He truly was a knight with years of training. The force of that one foot alone left the fat pig Wes unable to move.

Vereword smiled, but his voice was icy as he said:

"Master Steward, stop rolling around and get up! Enjoy the private accommodations our lord has arranged for you!"

As Vereword spoke, he pressed down harder with his foot.

Only after he felt several cracks through his foot did he withdraw it in satisfaction.

Wes's screams grew even louder.

As though he heard nothing, Vereword selected a set of leg irons from a row of torture implements outside the cell.

He clamped one end tightly around Wes's ankle, picked up the other end, and dragged him out of the cell.

"Let's go, Miss Pia."

Pia was staring wide-eyed at Wes on the floor.

There was no fear in her eyes, only a trace of satisfaction.

Given how Wes behaved, he showed no respect even for Davion, let alone maids like Pia.

On top of that, Wes routinely beat and cursed the servants, as though he were the lord of Harrenhal himself.

How could Pia not be happy to see him dragged away like a dead pig?

She nodded excitedly at Vereword.

"Yes, Ser Ward. Slow down a little. I'll open the doors for you."

Davion returned to his bedchamber.

Many heads of houses with illustrious histories had once stayed here.

It was easy to imagine how luxurious and beautiful it must once have been.

But now, the spacious bedchamber held only a large oak bed, a desk, and a chair, scattered sparsely about.

Such shabby furnishings were worse than those in a madam's room in King's Landing!

Even more pitifully, the windows should have been adorned with exquisite stained glass.

Now, however, it had been replaced with battered wooden boards.

When a strong wind blew outside, a weaker one blew through the bedroom.

Wes had once suggested that Davion move his bedchamber to the third floor and simply abandon all the rooms above it.

His reasoning was that Harrenhal lacked both the staff and the money to maintain the rooms above the third floor.

But the original owner of this body had refused.

He still remembered what House Whent had been like in its glory days.

One of the greatest Hand's Tourneys in all of Westeros had once been held here.

The king had come, the prince had come, and the wardens of the Seven Kingdoms had all come as well.

Davion had only been a few years old then.

He still remembered his uncle, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard, personally lifting him onto his shoulders to meet the king of that time.

Those scenes had been seared deep into his mind.

Thus, the original owner had stubbornly believed that moving down from the top of the Kingspyre Tower would mean completely abandoning his dream of restoring House Whent.

That would have been a fate worse than death for him.

Davion lay on the bed, shaking his head with a helpless sigh.

"Grand ambitions, sure. Too bad reality is so cruel. Without the strength to back them up, all your dreams are nothing but fantasies!"

"I'm a man of action. I won't sit around daydreaming like you! You have to eat one mouthful at a time and walk one step at a time. Take too big a stride and you'll tear your balls."

"Food comes first. So the first step is to get myself a comfortable life!"

"Gold dragons! Gold dragons! Where am I supposed to get that many gold dragons?"

"Oh, right. I'll summon that maester tomorrow and ask him. Just how big are my lands? How much money do they earn each year? Why has House Whent fallen into such ruin?"

"Come to think of it, isn't this maester rather bad at his job? Should I ask the Citadel for a replacement?"

"House Vance, just wait until I land a blow on you!"

"When I become a great dragon, the forests of Westeros will whisper my name: Dragon Knight, Davion!"

Amid these wandering thoughts, Davion gradually fell asleep.

Meanwhile, in the sky above Westeros.

A Great Comet, scarlet as blood and brighter than the moon, suddenly appeared, trailing a long tail across half the sky.

It stained the land a dark red.

North of the Wall, in the Haunted Forest.

The Three-Eyed Crow, who had already become one with a tree, sensed something and immediately projected his consciousness into a crow outside the cave.

The comet's red light shone in the crow's eyes.

The Three-Eyed Crow murmured, "The timing is wrong! Someone has altered the future! It seems my plan..."

The Reach, Oldtown, the Citadel.

Maester Marwyn saw with his own eyes the green Glass Candle in his room suddenly flare with an eerie, cold, pale-green light.

Maester Marwyn murmured, trembling, "Magic. It's magic! Magic has returned!"

Essos, the Free Cities.

Melisandre raised her head to gaze at the sky, the blood-red comet reflected in her pupils. The wind lifted her red robes like a flowing flame.

Her eyes were filled with excitement.

"After the long summer, the stars shall weep blood, and cold darkness shall cover the world! This is a projection of the Lord of Light's sacred fire, the sign of Azor Ahai reborn!"