Although Barristan was old, his senses remained sharp.
Before long, he had managed to narrow down the location where the "little newspapers" were being distributed.
Unfortunately, every time he was only a step away.
He began to suspect that there was a spy among his own people.
But who could it be?
The only people who had been involved in his entire investigation were Jon Arryn and Littlefinger.
Just as he was racking his brains over the matter, one of his gold cloaks came running over, gasping for breath.
"Ser! Dragons! Dragons have appeared!"
"What?!"
Barristan hurried toward an open area.
The white cloak behind him billowed in the air created by his rapid stride, making him look like a beast ready to pounce.
When Barristan reached the street, the residents of King's Landing had already hidden beneath the eaves of their houses, poking their heads out to watch the dragons circling overhead.
After a while, when they realized that the dragons showed no intention of attacking, some of the bolder citizens ventured into the middle of the street to get a better look.
One large dragon and two smaller ones.
Exactly as the reports had described!
'Prince Viserys, have you come as well?'
Barristan stared at the black dragon and thought silently.
Over the years, he had heard no shortage of reports about Viserys.
But in his mind, Viserys was still the prince who most resembled Aerys.
Arrogant, discourteous, and carrying a considerable amount of aggression.
First impressions were always deeply rooted.
Once Barristan recovered from his surprise, he immediately ordered the gold cloaks beside him to evacuate the civilians.
With dragons at his command, Viserys could accomplish many things.
For example, after recruiting the Westerosi prisoners, he could immediately take his three dragons and coordinate with the armies of the Reach to attack Harrenhal.
It had been more than a century since dragons had appeared in Westeros.
But before heading to Harrenhal, Viserys had decided to take a little detour through King's Landing.
Of course, this visit was merely a show of force.
He had no intention of imitating Daenerys and slaughtering the city.
King's Landing was even more deserted than he remembered.
Although he had already learned this through his intelligence network, seeing it with his own eyes still left him somewhat melancholic.
Viserys flew over the Street of Steel, over the Street of Silk, over the Dragonpit and the brothels, heading straight toward the Red Keep.
The defenders of the Red Keep still reacted the same way the moment they saw the dragons.
They ran.
Viserys chose a section of the walls where the largest number of blond-haired soldiers had gathered and dove down.
Black dragonfire gave the red walls a baptism of flame.
After clearing the soldiers from the battlements, the dragon landed on one of the merlons.
A merlon capable of accommodating a dozen soldiers could barely hold one of Balerion's claws.
His enormous black wings almost covered the entire stretch of wall.
"The dragon has come into the castle to eat people!"
Within the walls of the Red Keep, maids and guards fled in every direction.
Viserys looked at the familiar Maegor's Holdfast.
Cersei was probably inside.
He then looked toward the White Sword Tower, where the Kingsguard lived.
Then came the Maidenvault, where a Targaryen king had once locked his own sisters away, claiming that he wished to avoid succumbing to the temptations of the flesh.
Soon, Viserys's eyes settled upon the Tower of the Hand.
Through its windows, he could even see shadows moving inside.
'Lord Arryn, are you there?'
Inside the Tower of the Hand, Jon looked toward Viserys through the window, unmistakable terror in his eyes.
Suddenly, he saw the dragon beat its wings.
Its enormous claws slammed against the wall, and it lunged directly toward him.
"Run!!!"
Jon sprang to his feet in terror, expending every ounce of strength he possessed as he fled the chamber at a speed that left even his attendants stunned.
But the dragon arrived in the blink of an eye.
Black dragonfire struck the Tower of the Hand like a massive fist.
The great semicircular windows shattered with a deafening crash.
Viserys rode Balerion around the tower, continuously bathing it in dragonfire.
If he could kill Jon, it would undoubtedly be a considerable gain.
Robert's rear command would be thrown into chaos.
It was essentially a decapitation strike.
Under the scorching dragonfire, the Tower of the Hand began to blacken.
When it could become no darker, it began to glow.
The stone fortress started radiating fire from within.
The stone turned into molten rock, and the tall, slender tower began to melt like a candle.
Unfortunately, there was still a considerable difference between Balerion and the Black Death.
After five full minutes of continuous burning, the Tower of the Hand had lost all of its original detail.
It looked like melting ice cream, its shape becoming blurred and indistinct.
Viserys did not remain any longer.
He knew that the heavy crossbows surrounding the Red Keep could be trained on him and his dragon at any moment.
So he turned away and began bathing Grand Maester Pycelle's chambers in dragonfire.
That was where a large number of ravens were kept.
Even if he had failed to kill Jon, he could at least cripple King's Landing's ability to communicate with the outside world.
Dragonfire poured down.
The screams of ravens echoed from within the chamber, but soon they fell silent.
After another two or three minutes, Viserys caught the unmistakable smell of burning protein.
He had no idea whether he had killed the current Grand Maester.
But it did not matter.
Before any soldier could aim a heavy crossbow at Balerion, Viserys turned the dragon westward and flew toward Harrenhal.
Back inside the Tower of the Hand:
"My lord? My lord! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
Jon rolled up his sleeve and examined his arm.
It was covered in numerous blisters from the burns.
The black dragon's fire was still nowhere near as hot as the Black Death's.
Moreover, when Aegon the Conqueror had burned Harrenhal, Balerion had burned it for an entire day and night.
Even so, extensive burns were hardly easy for a man of Jon's age to endure.
If the wounds became infected, the suffering might well be worse than death.
When he heard that the three dragons had flown west, Jon knew that the fall of Harrenhal was inevitable.
Harrenhal was the largest castle in Westeros.
Five towers, each a hundred meters tall, formed the core of the fortress.
To build it, the people of the Riverlands had shed countless tears and blood. Thousands upon thousands of corpses lay beneath its foundations.
So the day Harrenhal was completed was also the day it began its destruction.
After the Conqueror arrived with Balerion, Harrenhal became not only the largest castle in Westeros, but also its most ruined.
The several houses that later took possession of it never possessed the wealth necessary to properly repair it.
More than a decade later, the inflated Lord Mace Tyrell once again led an army of tens of thousands in a siege.
This enormous castle did not become his second Storm's End.
It fell in less than two days.
Mace stood atop the highest tower, the Tower of the King, looking down at the ground below.
He could not help but feel rather pleased with his own "military genius."
"Father, dragons!"
Standing beside Mace was his second son, Garlan.
Garlan was a strong and well-built young man.
His courage had even earned him the epithet "the Gallant."
Yet when Garlan saw the three enormous dragons rapidly approaching, his voice still trembled.
"N-no, don't panic. It should be His Majesty. We'll go and meet him together."
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor