48 Chapter 48 - Entangled in Ambition.

124 AC

The eleventh day of the fourth moon.

Harlon Pov

As the commotion subsided in the halls, I found myself walking alongside Ser Hugh and Mushroom, both of us guided by the directive of the Sea Snake. Concern etched across our faces as we made our way towards Ulf, seeking answers and hoping to understand the turmoil that had unfolded.

Hugh's voice cracked with worry, his words ringing out through the corridors. "What's wrong with Ulf?" he exclaimed, his tone filled with genuine concern.

Mushroom, the court fool who always seemed to have a finger on the pulse of the castle, offered a voice of reason amidst the chaos. "Hugh, calm yourself," he advised, his small stature somehow carrying a sense of wisdom beyond his years. With gentle guidance, he led us towards the location where Ulf could be found.

As we approached, the air grew heavy with tension.

I could hear the silent weeping of a woman coming from inside the room, her name presumably Marilda. Ulf stood outside the door, wearing a gentle smile on his face, as if attempting to offer solace to the sorrowful soul within.

"Ulf," Hugh called out, his voice laced with concern, "explain yourself." His tone demanded an explanation, a yearning to understand the turmoil that seemed to have gripped Ulf's spirit.

Ulf's response was filled with a melancholic aura, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tinged with sadness. It was as if he himself was grappling with the weight of the changes that had come over him.

As Ulf's words hung in the air, a surge of anger welled up within me. But before I could respond, I witnessed Hugh's reaction. He lunged forward, his hand gripping Ulf's collar tightly, his frustration palpable. "What the fuck do you mean, 'what happened'?" Hugh demanded, his voice charged with a mix of confusion and concern. "You haven't been acting like yourself since that damned tourney in King's Landing. You barely smile anymore, always wearing this sorrowful expression. And after what you did today..."

Hugh's words trailed off, the weight of his unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. It was clear that Ulf's recent actions had left a profound impact on Ser Hugh, one that he struggled to comprehend and accept.

Ulf remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ground as he searched for the right words. The room echoed with the muffled sobs of Marilda, a poignant reminder of the pain caused by their recent encounter. Slowly, Ulf raised his eyes, meeting Hugh's gaze.

"What I did was protect an innocent boy and his mother from injustice," Ulf's voice resonated with a resolute conviction as his gaze shifted towards the injured boy and his distraught mother. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting Ulf's response to the disapproval in Hugh's words.

"You do not question the nobility, you follow their orders," Hugh's voice carried a mix of frustration and loyalty, the tension between them palpable.

Ulf's eyes darkened, a storm brewing within him. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, the room fell into an agonizing silence. The weight of their conflicting perspectives hung heavily in the air.

"Hugh, you know me," Ulf began, his voice low and laced with a trace of disappointment. "I have always been guided by the principles of knighthood, by the duty to protect and serve. But blind obedience without question is not the essence of true chivalry."

He took a step closer to Hugh, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. "I risked everything for a child, a child who was subjected to unwarranted cruelty. In that moment, it wasn't about noble birth or societal status. It was about doing what was right, about defending the defenseless."

"We both know how hard we struggled to reach where we are today, the hardships we faced, Ulf," Ser Hugh's voice quivered with a mix of frustration and disbelief. "All that we went through, all the battles we fought, just to extend our reach and make a difference. And now, for the sake of a mere bastard, you were willing to throw it all away. You could have risked your life, your standing, everything."

Ulf's expression tightened, a blend of determination and hurt flickering across his face. "Is that all that boy was to you, Hugh? Just a bastard?" His voice quivered with a mixture of disappointment and accusation.

Ulf's words struck a nerve, unraveling the facade of composure that Hugh had worn moments ago. His face contorted with a mixture of anger and wounded pride as Ulf confronted him with uncomfortable truths.

"Did you forget where you came from, Hugh?" Ulf's voice rang with an intensity that cut through the tension in the room. "Did all the praise from the nobles go to your head? The Hugh I grew up with stood for what he believed in Or have you conveniently chosen to disregard your own struggles as a bastard?"

I watched in shock as the room crackled with an electric charge, fear gripping my heart. The air thickened with a palpable sense of animosity, and it seemed as though the very foundations of their friendship trembled under the weight of Ulf's probing questions.

Hugh's fist clenched, his knuckles turning white with suppressed rage. His jaw tightened, and for a split second, it seemed as though he would strike out in fury. But instead, his blow missed Ulf, narrowly hitting the wall with a deafening crack. Blood trickled down his hand, a physical manifestation of the volatile emotions coursing through him.

Ulf remained remarkably still, his expression unreadable. His unwavering calmness in the face of Hugh's aggression was both admirable and unnerving. It was as if he had anticipated this confrontation, steeling himself for the fallout.

The room fell into a stunned silence as the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. The crack in the wall served as a stark reminder of the frayed bonds and simmering tensions that threatened to tear their friendship apart.

With each venomous word that escaped Hugh's lips, the room seemed to freeze in time. The weight of his anger hung heavy in the air, casting a somber pall over the shattered remnants of their friendship. The sharpness of his words cut through the silence, leaving me shocked and speechless, grappling with the gravity of the situation.

"F-fuck you, Ulf," Hugh spat, his voice dripping with disdain. The words seemed to linger, thick with resentment and hurt. It was a painful reminder of how quickly relationships could crumble, the bond between comrades disintegrating under the weight of wounded pride.

"You can go and fucking die for all I care," Hugh continued, his voice trembling with unbridled fury. Each syllable carried a visceral hatred that seemed to seep into the very fabric of the room. It was a gut-wrenching moment, witnessing the collapse of a friendship that had once seemed unbreakable.

The final blow landed with an agonizing impact as Hugh uttered those chilling words, "You are dead to me." The room seemed to shudder, the words echoing like a funeral dirge, signaling the irrevocable end of their once cherished connection.

As Hugh stormed out of the room, his departure leaving a void in his wake, the silence settled heavily upon us. It was a silence laced with sorrow, with the knowledge that something precious had been irretrievably lost.

Ulf stood there, a solitary figure in the aftermath of the tempest. In the hushed aftermath, the room seemed to echo with the remnants of their conversation. The heaviness of the words hung in the air, a testament to the irrevocable damage that had been inflicted. It was a painful reminder of the fragility of human connections, the deep wounds that could be inflicted by the ones we held closest.

"Harlon, please take care of him," Ulf's voice resonated with a mix of vulnerability and strength. It was a plea that carried the weight of their shared history, a bond forged through battles fought side by side. I nodded in silent understanding, aware of the responsibility that now rested upon my shoulders.

Ulf approached me with a sorrowful smile, his eyes filled with a bittersweet mix of gratitude and sadness. In that moment, it felt as though time had slowed, as though the weight of their fractured friendship lingered in the air. He enveloped me in a tight embrace, a gesture that conveyed both farewell and unspoken trust.

"And you, Mushroom," Ulf turned towards our loyal companion, his voice tinged with affection. "Take care of him too, won't you?"

Mushroom, ever the faithful servant, chirped in agreement, his eyes brimming with a quiet loyalty that matched his diminutive stature. It was as though he understood the depth of the bond between Ulf and me, and the responsibility we now shared.

Ulf's voice grew softer as he addressed both of us. "I believe it's time for you both to go and rest," he said, his words laden with a sense of finality. The weight of the situation pressed upon us, and it was clear that he wanted us to find solace in the quiet of our chambers.

As we left the room, a heavy silence enveloped us. The echo of Ulf's plea resonated within me, a reminder of the trust he had placed in my hands. The responsibility felt both humbling and daunting, a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead.

In the hushed corridors, I exchanged a glance with Mushroom, the unspoken understanding between us palpable. We both knew that the road ahead would be filled with uncertainties, the fallout from the fractured friendship demanding our utmost resilience.

We found our way to our chambers, the weight of the day's events settling upon us like a heavy shroud. As I lay on my bed, my mind swirled with a mix of emotions—grief, anger, and a deep sense of longing for what had been lost.

Yet amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of hope emerged. The bond between Ulf and me may have been fractured, but the foundation of our friendship remained. It was a reminder that healing was possible, that bridges could be mended with time and understanding.

I closed my eyes, finding solace in the knowledge that Ulf's faith in me had not wavered. With that thought in mind, I allowed sleep to claim me, knowing that the path forward would be challenging, but not insurmountable.

As I reflect on that pivotal moment, I can hardly believe that nearly five moons have passed since that day. The memory of Ulf's plea and the weight of responsibility still linger within me, etched deeply into my consciousness.

Leaving Driftmark the very next day, the absence of Princess Rhaena and Princess Baela was palpable. It seemed as though their presence, once a constant source of energy and vitality, had been replaced with a void. The halls of Dragonstone felt emptier, the air heavy with the weight of their absence.

During those five moons, life carried on, albeit in a muted and subdued manner. The days blended into one another, marked by routine and duty.

I found myself amidst the lively training yard, where a chorus of clashing steel and the heavy thuds of combat echoed through the air. Ser Alfred, a figure of authority and experience, stood at the periphery, his features etched with a somberness that betrayed his concerns.

Within the flurry of activity, one individual stood out among the rest, commanding attention through sheer intensity—Hugh. With a ferocity unmatched, he engaged in combat, unleashing a storm of strikes upon his adversaries. There was no semblance of restraint in his actions; it was as if he sought to channel his inner turmoil into the physicality of the fight.

The events that transpired on that ill-fated day on Driftmark had left an indelible mark on Hugh's spirit. His temperament had become increasingly volatile, his patience wearing thin like frayed cloth. The ache of loss weighed heavily upon him, an ever-present reminder of the absence of his dear comrade, Ulf. Such sorrow was etched upon his countenance, visible to all who cared to look beyond the surface.

Each powerful swing of Hugh's blade, each aggressive thrust, spoke volumes about the depth of his longing. His strikes held a hint of desperation, a rawness fueled by grief and a desire to reconnect with the person who had been irrevocably snatched away. Through the physicality of combat, he sought an outlet for the anguish that gnawed at his core.

Ser Alfred, ever vigilant and perceptive, regarded Hugh's unchecked fury with a mix of compassion and wisdom. He recognized the toll that grief could exact, the way it warped the soul and clouded the mind. Approaching Hugh with measured steps, Ser Alfred aimed to guide him through the tempestuous storm that raged within.

I watched as Hugh, consumed by his emotions, abruptly stormed away from the training yard, his footsteps heavy with frustration. Something within me stirred, a deep concern for my troubled companion. Without hesitation, I knew I had to follow him and offer a listening ear, perhaps even a voice of reason in the midst of his turmoil.

I quickened my pace, catching up to Hugh just as he reached a secluded spot beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree. He stood there, his broad shoulders slumped, the weight of his grief visibly burdening him. Approaching him cautiously, I cleared my throat to announce my presence.

"Hugh," I called out gently, my voice laced with empathy. "May I speak with you?"

He turned, his eyes still clouded with anguish, but a flicker of surprise crossed his face as he recognized me. "Harlon," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "I didn't expect you to follow."

I stepped closer, my gaze meeting his with unwavering compassion. "You're not alone in this, my friend," I said softly. "I can see how deeply Ulf's absence affects you. The pain you carry... it's understandable."

Hugh's shoulders sagged further, and he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "It feels like a void, Harlon," he confessed, his voice choked with emotion. "A part of me is missing, and I don't know how to fill it."

As Hugh spoke those words, his voice laced with a profound sense of loss, my heart ached for him. The pain he carried was palpable, and I wished there was a way to alleviate his sorrow. It was a bitter reminder that time was a fickle companion, sometimes snatching away those we held dear without warning.

With a gentle tone, I offered Hugh a glimmer of hope. "Hugh, my friend, even though Ulf may not be physically present, his memory lives on within you," I said, trying to reassure him. "And you can keep that connection alive by writing letters to him. Maester Geradys can assist you in sending them, ensuring your words reach him wherever he may be."

Hugh's eyes brightened momentarily, as if the notion of maintaining a correspondence with his lost friend brought him a measure of solace. "You think so, Harlon?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of longing.

I nodded, offering him a small smile. "I truly believe it, Hugh," I affirmed. "Ulf's absence is deeply felt by all of us, but perhaps through your heartfelt words, you can find a way to bridge that gap and keep his spirit close to your heart."

As Hugh's words hung in the air, heavy with grief, I sought to offer him a glimmer of hope. "Hugh, my friend, I understand your pain, but you mustn't lose faith," I reassured him, my voice filled with conviction. "Remember, Prince Daemon will surely bring his daughters back. And since Ulf is their sworn shield, it's highly likely that he will return alongside them. Your reunion may be closer than you think."

A flicker of hope danced across Hugh's eyes, momentarily lifting the weight of his sorrow. "You truly believe that, Harlon?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of longing and skepticism.

I nodded, my confidence unwavering. "I do, Hugh," I replied, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Prince Daemon will stop at nothing to bring his daughter's back, and that includes Ulf. Hold onto that hope, my friend, for it is a beacon in the darkest of times."

Before either of us could say more, a servant appeared, interrupting our conversation with a sense of urgency. "Ser Harlon, the Prince Daemon's requests your immediate presence in his chambers," he announced, his voice carrying a sense of gravity.

I glanced at Hugh, a mixture of concern and determination in my eyes. "I must attend to the prince's summons," I said regretfully, already feeling the pull of duty. "Remember, Hugh, you are not alone. Lean on your comrades, and together, we shall weather this storm."

Hugh nodded, his gaze focused on the ground. "Thank you, Harlon," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and resolve. "I'll hold onto hope and trust in Prince Daemon's efforts."

With those words echoing in the air, I left Hugh standing beneath the comforting shade of the oak tree, his thoughts and emotions his solitary company. As I made my way towards Prince Daemon's chambers, a sense of anticipation mingled with the concerns that weighed heavily upon my mind.

As we approached the chamber of the painted table, the gravity of our task weighed heavily upon us. Prince Daemon, seated at the head of the table, exuded an air of contemplation. His fingers traced the surface of the ancient wood, as if seeking solace in the connection to the realm's history.

We stood silently, the room thick with anticipation, as Prince Daemon began to speak. "My wife," he began, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and sorrow, "does not wish for Ulf to set foot on Dragonstone. She would sooner burn the entire island than allow him entry."

The weight of Princess Rhaenyra's opposition hung heavily in the air, a challenge that needed to be navigated with utmost care. Prince Daemon's next words held the key to our purpose. "That is why I have a task for all of you," he declared, his gaze sweeping across the room.

He voiced his concerns about the loyalties of House Targaryen's vassals, his skepticism evident. "They have sworn oaths to recognize Rhaenyra as queen," he explained, his voice tinged with disappointment, "but I suspect that some of them would choose my nephew, a worthless choice, over her."

Prince Daemon's eyes settled upon us, the weight of his gaze compelling our attention. "That is why I need you, alongside Ulf, to embark on a journey across the kingdoms," he revealed. "Your mission will be to gather reconnaissance, to assess the loyalties of the various great houses."

A glimmer of hope sparked within me as he continued, his words directed at Hugh. "I believe that the hindrance between you and Ulf will be resolved," he stated, a hint of assurance in his voice. Hugh nodded, a smile gracing his features at the prospect of apologizing to Ulf and reuniting with him once more.

Prince Daemon's words carried finality as he concluded, setting our course. "Very well," he declared. "You will leave tomorrow at first light, heading for Driftmark. I will follow suit."

The room fell into a charged silence, the weight of the task ahead settling upon us. As we exchanged glances, we understood the importance of this mission, the potential it held to shape the future of the realm. With renewed determination, we prepared ourselves for the journey that lay ahead, knowing that our actions would play a pivotal role in unraveling the intricate tapestry of loyalties that bound the Seven Kingdoms.

As I meticulously packed my belongings, ensuring I had everything I needed for the impending journey, a sharp knock on my door disrupted my concentration. "Come in," I called out, turning to face the unexpected visitor. To my surprise, it was Princess Rhaenyra herself who stood before me.

"Princess," I greeted her, my voice filled with respect, bowing in acknowledgment of her presence. "How may I be of service?" I asked, curious as to why she sought me out personally.

She regarded me with a keen gaze, her eyes searching mine. "Ser Harlon Flowers, the bastard son of the Lord of Horn Hill," she began, her voice measured. "Tell me, what was your dream while growing up, Harlon?" she inquired, a hint of intrigue coloring her words.

I paused, momentarily taken aback by the question. After a moment's consideration, I responded with sincerity, "I wished to make a name for myself, Princess. To carve out a legacy that would make my father proud," I confessed, my voice carrying a touch of vulnerability.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Rhaenyra's lips as she absorbed my answer. "A noble aspiration, Harlon," she remarked, her tone filled with a mix of understanding and approval. "But did you not also yearn to be recognized as a true member of House Tarly, rather than just a bastard?" she asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

I nodded, my gaze unwavering. "I did," I admitted, a flicker of longing in my eyes. "I still do," I added, my voice filled with determination.

The princess's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with a newfound proposition. "Well, Harlon, I have the power to grant you that legitimacy," she revealed, a sense of excitement coloring her voice. "I can send a letter to my father, requesting your legitimization. You would no longer be a bastard, but a true member of House Tarly."

Overwhelmed with gratitude and astonishment, I struggled to find the words to express my appreciation. "Princess, I would be eternally grateful to you," I exclaimed, a mix of excitement and disbelief evident in my voice.

Her expression turned serious as she continued, her voice taking on a grave tone. "But there is something I need from you, Harlon," she revealed, her words hanging heavy in the air. I listened intently, ready to fulfill any task she assigned me.

She handed me a small vial, its contents unknown to me. As I looked at it curiously, she explained her request. "I have heard that you will be embarking on this journey alongside Ulf," she said, her gaze unwavering. "During your travels, I want you to administer the contents of this vial into his food or wine," she stated matter-of-factly.

Shock coursed through my veins as I realized the gravity of her words. "Princess, what is this?" I asked, my worry evident as I considered the potential consequences of such an action.

Rhaenyra's voice was cold and calculated as she revealed the truth. "It is poison," she replied, her words piercing the air like shards of ice. My mind went blank, the weight of her request bearing down upon me.

"W-What?" I stammered, fear creeping into my voice, unable to comprehend the depths of her intentions.

"I want him dead, the Great White Knight," she declared, her eyes ablaze with a fire fueled by hatred. "If you do this for me, I will legitimize you and grant you lands to rule," she offered, her voice laced with a chilling determination. "You would become a lord in your own right, Ser Harlon Tarly," she added, her words meant to entice and ensnare.

Her words hung in the air, coaxing me to embrace a newfound power and status. But as her smile widened, I couldn't ignore the darkness that danced within her eyes, the depths of her hatred veiled behind a facade of twisted determination.

A lump formed in my throat as she urged me to repeat the chilling phrase. "When the time comes, the White Knight shall die," she commanded, her voice dripping with venomous intent. Her demand reverberated in my mind, a haunting melody that clashed with my conscience.

Caught between the lure of power and the whisper of morality, I locked gazes with Rhaenyra. Her eyes bore into mine, daring me to defy her, revealing the depths of her ruthless nature. I knew that to refuse her request would be to face the wrath of a woman consumed by her own ambitions.

Summoning what little courage remained within me, I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. "When the time comes, Ulf must die," I acquiesced reluctantly, my words carrying the weight of a pact sealed with blood and betrayal.

As the syllables left my lips, a heavy silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. In that moment, I realized the magnitude of the path I had chosen. I had forsaken my own moral compass, succumbing to the darkness that Princess Rhaenyra wielded as her weapon.

Guilt and remorse clawed at my conscience, threatening to unravel my resolve. The consequences of my actions loomed ominously, casting a shadow over the future I once aspired to. I couldn't help but question the depths to which I had fallen, the price I had paid for a chance at power and recognition.

Princess Rhaenyra's smile widened, a cruel satisfaction radiating from her. "Very well, Ser Harlon," she said, her voice a chilling reminder of the path I had chosen. "Your loyalty will be rewarded, and House Tarly shall rise."

As I stood before her, a pawn in her dangerous game, a sense of foreboding settled over me. I was now entangled in a web of deceit, forced to bear the weight of a secret that would poison the very bonds I held dear. The fate of Ulf, the man I once called friend, now rested in my trembling hands, a heavy burden that threatened to crush my soul.

Little did I know that this dark pact would set in motion a chain of events that would shake the foundations of the Seven Kingdoms and forever alter the course of my own destiny.