"The granaries… all of it… burned."
Hidolf stood very still. For a heartbeat he seemed carved from stone. Then his legs gave way beneath him, and he sank to the ground as if the strength had been pulled from his bones.
Spartacus hurried forward and caught him under the arms. "You are our leader," he said, trying to pull him back to his feet.
Hidolf pushed him away. His hands shook. His voice trembled with a despair so raw it felt like it scraped the air. "You do not understand. None of you understand. We will never gain true freedom."
The words struck Spartacus harder than the news of the burned grain.
Hidolf's eyes were shadowed with the weight of what he had deduced. And he understood it too well. The gold dragon had not burned their provisions out of cruelty or madness. It was strategy. It was chains forged from hunger.
"They want to control our supply lines," Hidolf whispered, staring at his open hands as if the ashes of the grain still clung to his palms. "They intend to drive us into the arms of the slave masters again. They want us desperate enough to fight their battles so they may take the profit in the end."
He closed his fingers slowly, helplessly. "And there is nothing we can do. We could only stand there and watch while everything we relied upon burned."
Spartacus frowned. Rage and disappointment battled in his eyes, but he held his tongue until he could no longer restrain himself.
"You are our leader," he said again, but this time the words were harder. "Yet you sit here whispering that we are hopeless. You keep saying that we do not understand, that we cannot win. Then why did we follow you? Why did we cross the sea? Why did we march all the way to the Lango Highlands?"
His voice rose, sharp and ringing.
"If everything is doomed, then stay here and wail like a beaten widow. Crawl back to the slave owners and beg their forgiveness if that is what you choose. But I will not." His eyes burned fiercely. "Even a speck of hope is enough. I will fight for freedom until my last breath."
Spartacus turned at once and strode out of the courtyard without looking back.
Men hesitated. Women murmured uncertainly. Then one by one, they followed Spartacus into the evening light. The air carried the faint smell of smoke, the reminder of all they had lost, yet most chose to walk forward anyway.
They had tasted blood and tasted freedom, and even the smallest glimpse of either could change a person. Hidolf's despair could not undo what they had seen or what they now wanted. If Hidolf believed true freedom to be impossible, then they would die chasing an impossible dream rather than turn back.
By nightfall, the great host of five thousand had dwindled, leaving only eight hundred gathered in the manor grounds. Their faces were etched with exhaustion, fear, and loyalty that refused to break.
These eight hundred still looked to Hidolf as if he were the only star left in a dark sky.
For a long while Hidolf did not speak. The wind stirred the dust around him. His breath trembled in his chest.
Then at last he lifted his head. The despair was still there, but something else burned through it. Resolve. A flickering ember, fighting to live.
"I will speak with Aegon Targaryen," he said, rising to his feet. "Spartacus was right. We must not abandon any chance, no matter how thin."
Tanshman stepped forward at once and seized his arm. "You cannot. You are the leader of the rebel army. If you walk into the lion's den, who will lead the rest of us?"
Hidolf lightly pushed his hand aside. "What am I to fear? I am only going to negotiate. I am not walking into my grave. And if the worst happens, Spartacus will lead. He already has the fire for it."
Nothing in Hidolf's voice shook now. His decision had settled deep into his bones. If Aegon Targaryen wished to use the rebel army as a tool, then that tool deserved proper support. Hidolf would secure it with his own hands. Supplies first, stability next, and eventually a way out of these chains.
"Listen," he said, turning to Tanshman and Andres. "I will take ten men with me. Once we leave, you will take everyone back to the main camp. Then lead them north to the Lango Highlands. Search for any food you can. There is only one dragon. It cannot scorch every blade of grass between here and the mountains."
Tanshman opened his mouth to argue again, but Hidolf's expression ended the attempt. At last Tanshman bowed his head in resignation.
The eight hundred were divided. Ten would accompany Hidolf to the coast, where two longships lay hidden behind a rocky outcrop. He had meant them as a last resort, a hope for some distant future. Now that future had arrived too soon.
According to the merchants they questioned along the road, Aegon Targaryen had made camp on distant Bloodstone Isle. The voyage from Tyrosh to Bloodstone would take days. It was a dangerous gamble, but Hidolf had already accepted the risk.
The sky was streaked with red when they reached the shore. The longships rocked gently in the darkening waves, the hulls creaking as if urging him onward.
Hidolf took one last look at the men who remained on the beach. Then he stepped onto the ship, and the oars dipped into the sea.
The world narrowed to the steady rhythm of rowing and the hiss of water against the hull. Above them, night swallowed the sky.
Across the sea, Bloodstone Isle glittered with firelight.
The island's great hall burned bright with torchlight. Music drifted beneath the high rafters, muffled by the roar of a lively feast. Men raised cups, shouted greetings, and sang half drunken songs that echoed off the stone walls.
Aegon sat at the head of the long table, a silver goblet in hand. Kraken lifted his cup toward him, and their wine met with a clear ringing sound.
"You are generous tonight," Kraken said with a crooked smile. "Three silver stags per head. If the pirates knew their skulls were worth so much, they might deliver them already severed."
Aegon laughed though the jest was hardly amusing. His eyes glimmered with satisfaction. "Today is worth celebrating. You arrived just in time. I was beginning to worry I would not have enough men."
Kraken leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You need not fear a shortage. We are not the final wave. Word spreads quickly among the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. Many are moving pieces on the board. The Lannisters, the Reynes, the Crakehalls, the Strongs, the Brackens. They have already formed a joint fleet."
Aegon arched a brow. Kraken continued, raising his cup again in quiet amusement.
"And that is only the great families. Countless smaller houses have begun to offer manpower. Not coin, not ships, but people. The Hightower ships alone carry dozens of retainers from minor families who brought everything they possessed. Entire households uprooted in search of opportunity. You know the type well."
Aegon's eyes brightened with recognition. He tipped his cup in a gesture of understanding.
Kraken grinned and drank deeply.
Across the hall, the faces of landless knights and second sons shone in the lamplight. They laughed too loudly, clapped each other's backs, boasted of their lineage and valor, all while glancing often toward Aegon. Hope turned their eyes sharp.
The Seven Kingdoms had little fertile land left to claim. Every valuable stretch of soil had long ago been carved up by the great houses. Young men from lesser lines had only two paths to glory. They could serve quietly and grow old in obscurity, or they could throw themselves into a war and pray that someone rewarded them with land.
After years of peace and prosperity, the population had swelled. Tenant farmers multiplied faster than the land could feed them. Free folk with land managed well enough, but those without it starved on rents that grew harsher each year. Families with swollen households became burdens to their lords.
But to Aegon, such men were treasure. He needed people to settle the empty lands he claimed. And these nobles understood that offering tenant farmers cost them little yet won them much favor.
"After the banquet," Aegon said, swirling the wine in his cup, "prepare a list. I want every house name, and the number of farmers they provide."
Kraken bowed slightly. "Your grandfather already ordered such a list. He instructed me to deliver it to you tonight."
Aegon blinked, then gave a faint laugh. "Did he now."
Of course Otto had anticipated him. Grandfather was the scholar whose pride made enemies and whose cunning made allies uneasy. Aegon had sent his mother with a list for Otto. Now Otto returned the favor with one of his own.
The message needed no explanation. There were the true Greens, the ones who merely wore the color, and those fools who believed they could stand with both camps at once.
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A/N: Aegon's ambition has begun to stir.As his power grows, so do his foes, traitors, and enemies rising with blades already drawn.
Will he truly succeed… or be crushed before he can claim it all?
If you want to find out, read ahead on Patreon.19 advance chapters available, the first 2 are free.
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