Chapter 23

Several months had passed since the siege of Duskendale began. Over time, the camp had grown into a small city—tents stood tightly packed, with narrow paths between them, along which soldiers, squires, and wagons moved. Everywhere, the sounds of hammers striking, metal scraping, and loud conversations by the fires could be heard. But despite the apparent order, tension hung in the air. The siege dragged on, and time was not in their favor.

Aeryon sat on a small rise near his tent, watching the life of the camp. The Stormlanders were disciplined, but even they were beginning to tire of the prolonged standoff. The prince gazed thoughtfully at the fire, where the shadows of his warriors danced. The familiar sounds of the camp had become an integral part of his life.

Since the siege began, the young Targaryen had grown accustomed to this new reality. Sleep was scarce, the nights were cold, and time crawled by slowly, with his thoughts often returning to his own plans. Over these months, Aeryon had held many meetings with Tywin and Rhaegar, their strategies still centered on wearing down the besieged. For Aeryon, this was the most advantageous approach, but each day the impatience of the lords grew.

The siege engines had been ready for weeks, but the decisive assault had yet to come. They were waiting for the moment when hunger and fear would break the besieged's will to resist. However, with each new day, the camp not only grew more weary but also rife with rumors. Aeryon fully relied on his cunning friend Ralf, who wasted no time and had already established contacts with the locals. Although there was still enough food in the besieged city, how long would it last? Lured by gold, bread, and promises, people were eager to provide information about what was happening behind the walls of the fortress.

The secret passage, revealed to them by Darklyn, could fit only one adult man at a time, and with difficulty at that, but it was enough for their plan. The prince ran his hand over the helmet hanging on the bench next to him, pondering the future. His once gleaming armor was now coated with a thin layer of dirt and dust, and the black cloak, once pristine, now hung ragged on his shoulders.

The war camp spared no one, and even dragons, symbols of indomitable strength, seemed weary of the prolonged inaction. Solarex, lying nearby, lazily raised his head as if sensing his master's unease. Though the dragons had not participated in the fighting, their mere presence instilled terror in the enemy.

Aeryon rose and made his way to the tent where Ralf awaited him. As usual, his friend was busy sorting through the latest reports. The prince entered, feeling a slight tension in the air—Buckler looked more focused than usual.

"News?" Aeryon asked, stepping closer.

Ralf looked up, meeting the prince's gaze with a slight frown.

"A new message from Darklyn has arrived," he said, pulling a scroll from his pocket. "It seems the situation in the city is escalating."

Targaryen sat at the table opposite his friend, awaiting details.

"Denys writes that his men are growing more anxious," Ralf continued, unrolling the letter and quickly reading it. "Recently, a small uprising broke out among the townsfolk. A few families, dissatisfied with the prolonged siege and the king's presence, tried to revolt. Denys had to suppress it with force. He says the atmosphere is on the verge of explosion."

Aeryon frowned as he listened. He knew the situation in the besieged city would heat up, but he didn't expect unrest to start so soon. An uprising was a serious signal.

"What does he suggest?" the prince asked, trying to remain calm.

"Darklyn doesn't ask for direct help," Buckler replied. "He hopes to keep the situation under control, but hints that it won't last long. If the siege drags on, things might spiral out of his hands."

Aeryon thoughtfully ran his hand along his chin, considering the next steps. Internal instability could jeopardize their entire plan.

"So, they're already at the brink," he said, staring at the map in front of him. "It's happening much sooner than I expected. If chaos breaks out, Tywin might decide on an assault, especially if the other lords press him."

"You think so?" Ralf nodded. "He's been pushing Rhaegar so hard that it seems like he doesn't care about saving the king at all."

"We'll save Aerys, and Lannister's words will turn against him," the prince added with a smirk. "As for the unrest in the city, it's time we play our hand. Stir things up there. I want everything to erupt at the right moment. But be cautious."

Ralf smiled, understanding the prince's plan, and returned to his papers. Aeryon went back to his thoughts, feeling how each piece of his plan was falling into place.

POV: Denys Darklyn

Denys Darklyn sat at his table, his head in his hands. The flickering flame of a lone torch cast shadows on the stone walls of the room, making them seem longer and more ominous. Before him lay a map of the city, marked with the positions of troops and supplies. Bad news was coming from all sides: uprisings, unrest, dwindling resources. The long months of siege had drained both the city and its ruler.

"Denys, this can't go on," rasped Hubert, the captain of the guard and his childhood friend, standing by the window. "We need to act while we still have a chance."

Darklyn tiredly lifted his eyes to his friend, who had always been a man of action, without hesitation or doubt. But even he now looked grim and uncertain.

"And what do you suggest?" Denys asked, though he already knew the answer.

Hubert took a step forward, his gaze growing more determined.

"We must show the townspeople that they have no choice but to obey. If they can't maintain order, we'll force it upon them. We'll hang a few of the instigators of the rebellion. And not quietly, but publicly, for all to see. Let them know that power is still in our hands."

Darklyn fell silent, considering the captain's words. The thought of such a move was tempting. A swift, decisive blow might indeed quell the wave of dissent and prevent future unrest. The city was cracking at the seams, and it seemed one of the few remaining ways to keep it from collapsing.

But then he remembered why this all began. His goal had always been to protect the city and its people. He fought not for fear. Denys wanted to preserve the honor and greatness of his house, to protect those who believed in him. Executing the townspeople—that was not his way.

"No," the young lord said quietly, straightening in his chair.

Hubert clenched his fists in response.

"Do you understand that if we don't show strength now, soon we won't have any left? You see what's happening!"

"I won't become an executioner and turn my people into victims. We must hold the city, not tear it apart from the inside," Darklyn's voice grew firmer.

Hubert stared at him for a few seconds before sighing heavily and looking away.

"As you wish."

After a while, left alone, Denys felt he couldn't stay within four walls any longer. He needed to do something, anything, to regain control of the situation. His feet led him to the dungeons, where the king was held.

Aerys Targaryen was a key figure in this game, but with each passing day, the young lord doubted his importance more and more. Was it a king or a madman sitting in that cell? A figure who could help Darklyn achieve his goals, or one who only hastened his downfall?

He stopped at the heavy iron door. Two guards silently opened it, and Denys stepped inside. Aerys sat on the floor, almost completely hidden in the shadows. His appearance was pitiful: the king had withered like a lifeless doll, his hair tangled, his face covered in grime and sweat. As soon as the door opened, he raised his gaze, a flicker of recognition passing across his face.

"You… you've come," Aerys mumbled, his voice full of fear and hope.

"Yes, I've come," Denys replied, struggling to hide his irritation. His nerves were on edge. "I wanted to know if you remember what's happening."

Aerys slowly rose to his knees, his hands trembling.

"Will you… release me?" Targaryen suddenly brightened, grasping at the thought. "I'll reward you… generously… I'll make you… a hero and forget everything!" But his eyes quickly grew wild, and he switched to shouting: "No! You betrayed me! All of you betrayed me! I'll kill you!"

"Aerys…" Darklyn said, sitting down across from the king. "Do you understand that time is running out? The city is on the brink of revolt, and your people—they're not coming for you."

The king stared at him with a twisted expression. For a moment, a flicker of understanding crossed his eyes.

"Rhaegar... Aeryon... they will come for me," he whispered. "They will bring an army... of dragons... They will burn you all... all of you!"

Darklyn felt his patience finally snap. Every word from the king only fueled his inner rage. Anger at Aerys, at Aeryon, at the siege, and at his own weakness.

"Enough!" he burst out, and before he realized what he was doing, his hand clenched into a fist and struck Aerys in the face. The king staggered and fell to the floor, a painful groan escaping his lips.

"You're the reason for all of this!" Darklyn shouted, unable to contain himself. "If you'd listened to me, the city wouldn't be under siege right now! People are dying, and all you talk about is dragons! Where are they, Aerys? Where are the dragons?! And your sons?! Do you really think they need you? They hate you and will be glad to see you die!"

Aerys tried to stand, his trembling hands reaching for Darklyn.

"They will come... I am the king... I... they... I..." his voice gradually faded into incoherent whispers.

Denys, breathing heavily, stepped back. His fist still throbbed from the blow. He looked at the king before him, unable to believe what he had just done.

"You're no longer a king, Aerys," Darklyn said quietly, turning away. "You're just a madman. Soon, it will all be over."

He left the cell, slamming the door behind him. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, while a storm raged within him. He knew that time was running out.