Chapter 11: Vhagar's Shadow and the Wolf's Gambit
The decision to hold Harrenhal against the approaching fury of Prince Aemond Targaryen and Vhagar sent a fresh wave of dread through the Black forces, yet it was quickly superseded by a grim, almost fatalistic determination. Lord Cregan Stark, their young, chillingly composed commander, had not led them astray thus far. His brutal efficiency at the Dreadfort, his tactical acumen at Stonebridge, and his unnerving prescience had earned him a fearful respect that bordered on awe. If he believed Harrenhal could be held, or that a trap could be laid for a dragonrider of Aemond's caliber, then they would stand with him, ghosts and curses be damned.
"Hold Harrenhal?" Lord Manderly had repeated, his jovial face pale but resolute when Ciel announced his plan. "Against Vhagar? By the Old Gods, Stark, you aim high."
"Aemond is arrogant, Lord Manderly," Ciel had replied, his single blue eye glinting in the torchlight of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. "He expects us to scatter like frightened sheep. He will not anticipate a wolf pack turning to fight in a dragon's den. Harrenhal is vast, ruinous. Its very disrepair can be our ally. We will make him bleed for every stone."
Prince Jacaerys, ever earnest, pledged Vermax to the defense, though the anxiety in his violet eyes was palpable. "Vhagar is immense, Lord Stark. Vermax is but a shadow to her. We can harry, we can distract, but a direct confrontation…"
"Direct confrontation is not our aim for Vermax, Your Grace," Ciel assured him. "Your role will be to be Vhagar's irritation, her distraction. Keep her occupied in the sky, draw her fire away from our critical defenses. And be our eyes. We need to know Aemond's movements, his tactics."
The preparations were frantic, a race against the impending dawn that would likely bring Vhagar's monstrous shadow. Ciel, with Sebastian at his side, orchestrated the defense with a meticulousness that was both inspiring and terrifying. He did not try to defend all of Harrenhal's sprawling perimeter; that was impossible. Instead, he focused on creating a series of deadly strongpoints within the castle's labyrinthine core, utilizing its crumbling towers and shadowed courtyards.
The Hall of a Hundred Hearths, the Kingspyre Tower, and the Tower of Dread were designated as primary defensive bastions. Ruined sections of wall were deliberately collapsed further to create choke points, funnelling attackers into pre-prepared kill zones. Archers, many of them Northern longbowmen famed for their accuracy, were positioned in shattered arrowslits and along precarious ramparts, with orders to aim for Vhagar's eyes or Aemond himself if the opportunity arose – a near suicidal prospect, but Ciel knew desperation could breed unlikely courage.
Sebastian, with a small, handpicked team of Northmen whose nerves were seemingly made of ice, undertook more specialized tasks. Under Ciel's direction, they rigged sections of unstable masonry in the upper reaches of the Kingspyre Tower and the Tower of Dread to fall with carefully placed charges of wildfire – a small cache of which had been discovered in Harrenhal's deeper vaults, a forgotten relic of some past siege. It was a risky gambit; wildfire was notoriously unstable.
"Should Vhagar attempt to perch on these towers, or should Aemond lead an assault through their lower levels," Ciel explained to a wary Bennard Stark, "we will bring the towers down upon them. A desperate measure, yes, but desperate times…"
"Wildfire, nephew?" Bennard had said, his face grim. "That is a substance of madness."
"Madness is sometimes required to fight monsters, Uncle," Ciel had replied coolly.
Ciel also used Sarx, his warging senses pushed to their limit, to map the hidden rhythms of Harrenhal. He sent the direwolf skulking through forgotten tunnels and along the battlements, not just to detect approaching enemies, but to feel the very pulse of the ancient, cursed stones. The castle's oppressive atmosphere was undeniable; through Sarx, Ciel felt the cold spots, heard the inexplicable whispers, and sensed the lingering terror that clung to the place like a shroud. He didn't speak of this to his men, but he used the knowledge, guiding placements of defenders away from areas that felt… particularly malevolent, or subtly directing them towards paths where the direwolf sensed structural weaknesses an enemy might exploit.
As dawn approached, a tense silence fell over Harrenhal. The Northmen and their Riverlander allies stood to their posts, their faces pale in the grey light, but their grips tight on their weapons. Ciel stood atop the Kingspyre Tower, the highest point of the castle still relatively intact, Sebastian a silent shadow beside him. Prince Jacaerys was already airborne on Vermax, a small green speck against the vast, bruised sky, acting as their early warning.
The warning came not with a shout, but with a tremor in the very air, a sound that began as a distant rumble and grew into a guttural roar that vibrated through stone and bone. Then, a shadow blotted out the rising sun.
Vhagar.
She was a vision of terrible magnificence, a creature out of nightmare and legend. Her scales were the color of bronze and verdigris, her wings vast enough to shroud entire courtyards in darkness. Her roar was a physical force, shaking the crumbling towers of Harrenhal. And astride her neck, a small, defiant figure in black armor with a single sapphire eye glinting malevolently, was Prince Aemond Targaryen.
"So," Aemond's voice, amplified by some unknown artifice or simply the acoustics of the vast space, boomed across Harrenhal. "The little wolves have found a new kennel. And a dragon whelp plays with them. Did you truly think these cursed stones would protect you from me, Stark? From her?"
Ciel met Aemond's distant gaze, his own single eye like a chip of ice. "This kennel has teeth, Targaryen! And it is tired of Southern arrogance!" he shouted back, his voice carrying with surprising strength.
Aemond laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Arrogance? I will show you arrogance!" He urged Vhagar forward. The colossal dragon opened her maw, and a torrent of molten bronze flame erupted, washing over a section of Harrenhal's outer wall. Stone exploded, turning incandescent, then crumbling into smoking ruin. The heat washed over the defenders even hundreds of yards away, and the screams of men caught too close were horrifying.
"Archers! Aim for the rider! For her eyes!" Ser Rodrik Cassel's voice bellowed, trying to rally his men. A volley of arrows flew towards Vhagar, but most bounced harmlessly off her thick scales or were incinerated by the heat of her passage. A few lucky shots perhaps pricked her, for she let out an annoyed hiss.
Jacaerys, atop Vermax, chose that moment to strike. The smaller green dragon, agile and swift, dived at Vhagar's flank, loosing a stream of his own bright green flame. It was like a hornet attacking a lion. Vhagar, momentarily distracted, turned her massive head, snapping at Vermax.
"Brave, whelp!" Aemond snarled, maneuvering Vhagar to meet the challenge. "But foolish!"
This was the distraction Ciel needed. "Manderly! Karstark! Hold your positions! She will tire of attacking stone! She will seek easier prey on the ground if Aemond brings his men!"
Aemond, however, seemed content for now to demonstrate Vhagar's overwhelming power. For what felt like an eternity, Vhagar systematically blasted Harrenhal's outer defenses. Courtyard walls were reduced to rubble, lesser towers collapsed into infernos. The air filled with smoke, the stench of burning stone, and the screams of the dying. Vermax, under Jacaerys's skillful command, continued his daring hit-and-run attacks, forcing Vhagar to divide her attention, preventing her from concentrating her fire on any single point for too long. Jacaerys knew he couldn't defeat Vhagar, but he could annoy her, enrage her, and hopefully, save some Northern lives in the process.
Ciel watched the fiery destruction with a cold, calculating gaze, his mind racing. He was forced to order retreats from collapsing sections, to redeploy men to bolster defenses that were about to be overrun. Through Sarx, who was now with Bennard Stark in the Tower of Dread, he felt the tremors as Vhagar's flames struck nearby, felt the rising panic of the men. He sent calming assurances through the direwolf's presence, a steadying force in the chaos.
Then, Aemond changed tactics. Whether he was growing impatient, or Vhagar was tiring of simply blasting ruins, he directed her to land in Harrenhal's vast central courtyard – the one place large enough to accommodate her bulk. With a ground-shaking thud, the ancient dragon settled amidst the rubble, her baleful yellow eyes scanning the surrounding structures. Aemond dismounted, drawing his Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister – the ancestral blade of Queen Visenya Targaryen. A small contingent of Green knights and men-at-arms, who must have entered through one of the breaches Vhagar had created, rallied to him.
"The wolves hide in their holes!" Aemond's voice echoed. "Come out and face me, Stark! Or are you as craven as the rest of your Northern curs?"
"He seeks to draw us out into the open, where Vhagar can butcher us," Ciel murmured to Sebastian. "Predictable." He raised his voice. "The wolves hunt best in the shadows, Targaryen! If you want a fight, you will have to come into our den!"
Aemond sneered. "So be it." He led his men towards the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, clearly intending to take the castle's command center.
This was the moment Ciel had been preparing for. "Sebastian. With me. Lords Manderly, Karstark – engage Aemond's men. Funnel them towards the Hall. Ser Rodrik, hold the King's Gate at all costs. Uncle Bennard, prepare the surprise in the Tower of Dread if Aemond attempts to bypass the Hall."
The fighting inside Harrenhal's ruins was a brutal, confusing melee. Aemond Targaryen, with Dark Sister in hand, was a whirlwind of destruction, cutting down Northmen with a skill that was terrifying to behold. His Green knights were elite, fighting with the fanaticism of those who believed their prince invincible.
Ciel, with Sebastian clearing a path before him, moved to intercept. He knew he couldn't match Aemond in single combat, not yet. His goal was to delay, to channel, to lead Aemond into the trap. Sarx fought at his side, a grey fury, tearing out throats and hamstringing knights, his howls adding to the cacophony.
The Hall of a Hundred Hearths became a slaughterhouse. Manderly's heavy infantry formed a shield wall, absorbing the initial charge of Aemond's knights, while Karstark's wilder warriors harried their flanks. Ciel, from a vantage point on a collapsed balcony, directed the defense, his commands sharp and precise.
Sebastian, however, was not focused on mere soldiers. His crimson eyes were fixed on Aemond. The prince was a formidable warrior, but even he seemed momentarily unsettled by the black-clad attendant who moved with inhuman speed and precision, deflecting blows that should have been lethal, his movements less like a man fighting and more like a force of nature. Sebastian was not trying to defeat Aemond – not yet. He was… assessing. And protecting Ciel.
"You fight well for a pup, Stark!" Aemond snarled, cutting down two Manderly men who tried to block his path to Ciel. "But you are outmatched!"
"It is you who are outmatched, Targaryen!" Ciel retorted. "You fight for pride! We fight for survival!"
Suddenly, a roar from outside announced Vhagar was on the move again. Jacaerys, seeing Aemond engaged on the ground, had likely directed Vermax to press his attack on the temporarily riderless dragon. Vhagar, enraged, took to the air, blasting indiscriminately at the castle walls, trying to dislodge Vermax.
It was then that one of Ciel's gambits paid off. Vhagar, in her fury, landed heavily on the crumbling battlements of the ancient Tower of Dread, seeking a better angle to attack Vermax.
"Now, Uncle!" Ciel screamed, his voice barely audible above the din.
From within the Tower of Dread, Bennard Stark gave the signal. The charges Sebastian had set were ignited. With a deafening explosion, the upper section of the Tower of Dread, tons of ancient stone and masonry, collapsed outwards and downwards. Vhagar, caught by surprise, shrieked in pain and fury as massive blocks of stone rained down on her, one striking her broad wing, another her flank. She stumbled, nearly falling from the battlements, her roar turning into a sound of pure agony.
"Yes!" Jacaerys yelled from atop Vermax, seeing Vhagar injured. He pressed his attack, Vermax diving and loosing a stream of fire at Vhagar's exposed underbelly.
Aemond, seeing his dragon wounded, let out a howl of rage. "Vhagar! To me!" He abandoned his assault on the Hall and raced back towards the courtyard, his knights struggling to keep up.
"He is falling back!" Lord Karstark roared triumphantly.
"Do not let him escape!" Ciel commanded. "Press the attack!"
But Vhagar, though injured and bellowing in pain, was far from defeated. With a desperate beat of her massive wings, she launched herself into the air, her bronze scales stained with her own dark blood where the stones had struck. She ignored Vermax, her one good eye fixing on the courtyard below, searching for Aemond. She landed heavily beside him, shielding him with her body.
Aemond quickly remounted, his face a mask of incandescent fury. "You will all die for this, Stark!" he screamed. "Every last one of you!" Vhagar unleashed another torrent of flame, this time aimed directly at the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, forcing Ciel and his defenders to scramble for cover as the ancient roof began to collapse.
The battle for Harrenhal was far from over. Vhagar was wounded, but still terrifyingly powerful. Aemond was enraged, his pride stung. Ciel had won a temporary reprieve, had drawn first blood against the great dragon, but now he faced a cornered, furious prince with nothing to lose.
As flaming timbers crashed around him, Ciel met Sebastian's gaze. The butler's expression was one of grim satisfaction.
"A most… stimulating… engagement, my Lord," Sebastian said, his voice calm amidst the chaos. "Prince Aemond is proving to be a more entertaining adversary than initially anticipated."
"This entertainment could cost us our lives, Sebastian," Ciel gritted out, dodging a falling beam.
"Indeed, my Lord," Sebastian replied, the faintest of smiles on his lips. "But what is a life, or even a soul, without a little… exhilarating risk?"
Ciel had no answer. He only knew that Vhagar's shadow still loomed over Harrenhal, and the one-eyed prince atop her was now consumed by a singular, murderous rage. The wolf had bloodied the dragon, but the dragon's fury was now fully unleashed. The gambit had only just begun.