The joint procession set out quietly at twilight, while the Grand Tourney had not yet fully concluded. The deepening dusk draped a cloak of secrecy over their departure.
As thousands of lamps began to light up Harrenhal and the noise of the final feast rose to a crescendo, this group had already vanished onto the road south, deliberately avoiding the grand closing ceremony of the night.
The next morning, before the warm light of dawn could fully dispel the night's chill, Varys the Spider approached the King's chambers with his characteristic light, silent steps. In that peculiar, musical tone of his, he reported to Aerys II: "Your Grace, a matter must be brought to your attention. Princess Elia departed Harrenhal last night with the Dornish contingent."
The King's reaction was like a wildfire ignited.
Aerys II leaped from his seat, his pale face twisted in rage. His withered fingers gripped the armrests of his throne so tightly that his knuckles turned white and protruded sharply. He screamed and roared, his voice filled with the fury of being provoked. Although he had privately planned to have Rhaegar annul the marriage, it had to happen according to his will, under his control.
Elia was not just a princess; she was a vital hostage he used to keep Dorne in check. How could he allow her to slip from his grasp so easily?
In a fit of fury, the King immediately ordered ravens sent, their messages flying straight to King's Landing. The orders commanded the City Watch to dispatch their elite forces instantly to intercept the group. They were to stop Princess Elia before she reached Dorne at any cost and bring her back to the Red Keep.
"Bring her back!" The King's shriek echoed through the halls of the castle. "No one leaves the King's control like this!"
---
Ultimately, the King had overestimated his own authority, overestimated the obedience of the Seven Kingdoms' nobility to his erratic commands, and vastly overestimated the actual combat capability of the City Watch.
In the face of Storm's End's ferocity, Dorne's sharpness, and the Iron Islands' savagery, the ornate Gold Cloaks were like fragile parchment, easily torn apart. The troop of nearly a hundred City Watchmen, with their shining armor and orderly ranks, proved as weak as dry straw before elites who had just been baptized in the blood and death of Harrenhal.
The battle began abruptly and ended even faster.
In the blink of an eye, the Gold Cloaks, who had arrived with such arrogance, were annihilated. Only a field of messy corpses and broken weapons remained, silently testifying to the King's miscalculation and the true gap in power.
Euron rode up to the side of Wenda the White Fawn and spoke with genuine sincerity. "Thank you for your help."
Wenda wiped the blood from her blade, not even looking up as she replied, "You spared my life during the single combat. Consider this debt paid." Her voice was calm and rippled. "We are even."
Noticing she was alone, Euron asked, "If I'm not mistaken, you are of the Kingswood Brotherhood?"
Wenda immediately raised her eyes, a flash of wariness in her gaze. "If I am, or if I am not, what is it to you?"
Euron chuckled and shook his head dismissively. "The 'Smiling Knight' of the old Brotherhood did much evil and was put down by Arthur Dayne long ago. The Brotherhood today exists in name only. Why not travel with us?"
Wenda scoffed. "That madman didn't represent us. We never slaughter the innocent, nor do we bully the weak."
Having said her piece, she didn't give Euron a chance to persuade her further. She turned and agilely vanished into the depths of the dense forest. In a few leaps, she was gone without a trace, leaving Euron looking thoughtfully in the direction of her disappearance.
While cleaning up the battlefield, the Ironborn found a sealed letter inside the blood-stained breastplate of Jacelyn Bywater.
The wax seal bearing the raven feather imprint had been broken; clearly, the letter had been read before they arrived. On the parchment, Aerys II's frantic, jagged handwriting was clearly visible. The ink seemed to carry the Mad King's paranoia and anxiety:
> Bring Elia and Rhaenys back to the Red Keep.
> Those who dare obstruct—
> Kill without mercy!
Three short lines, yet every word was like iron, soaked in unquestionable, cruel royal authority. No salutation, no signature—just the simplest, coldest command, typical of the Mad King's increasingly hysterical style in recent years.
Euron handed the letter to Oberyn. The Dornish Prince swept his eyes over the words, and a suppressed fury instantly ignited in his dark eyes. This letter confirmed their worst fears—Aerys II had never intended to let Elia leave peacefully.
The Ironborn efficiently dragged the bodies of the Gold Cloaks into the deep woods beside the road, covering them hastily with broken branches and dry grass. The blood on the road was quickly covered with fresh earth. Soon, the traces of this brief conflict became blurred and indistinct in the forest shadows.
Euron spoke with a grave expression. "I think we must pick up the pace. If these men don't return, the next wave of Gold Cloaks will follow their trail soon enough."
Beside him, Robert burst into a hearty, uninhibited laugh. "Refreshing! Damn it, that killing felt refreshing!" He wiped a speck of blood from his cheek, a terrifying light shining in his eyes. "I've been holding back this rage for so long, finally let a little bit of it out!"
Oberyn interjected calmly, "We leave immediately. If the Mad King asks in the future, say Dorne killed these men."
Robert's eyes widened like copper bells, and he roared roughly, "Damn it! Do you take me for a coward who fears that Mad King?"
"That is not it," Oberyn shook his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over Robert's bold face, and smiled. "This is a domestic matter for Dorne; we cannot bring trouble to the Stormlands. Dorne will remember your help!"
Oberyn handed the bloodstained letter to Elia. She took the parchment, her fingertips inadvertently touching the not-yet-dried blood. The dark brown stain seemed to carry the scent of death, causing her stomach to churn violently. She suddenly covered her mouth, suppressing a dry heave, her frail body trembling slightly.
"What is it?" Oberyn leaned down with concern. "Is the smell of blood too strong?"
Elia shook her head weakly, unable to speak. Arianne immediately stepped forward to support her aunt's arm, whispering, "I'll help you back to the carriage to rest." She carefully guided Elia toward the vehicle, not forgetting to shoot Oberyn a reassuring glance.
The carriage curtains fell, shutting out the blood and chaos of the outside world. Oberyn watched the carriage, frowning slightly, then turned and ordered: "Move out!"
The procession started again. The sound of hooves and wheels resumed, carrying people burdened with their own thoughts toward Storm's End, leaving the blood-soaked glade far behind them.
Inside the carriage, bumping along the road, the curtains sliced the outside light into fragmented spots that danced in the dim interior.