3rd Month of 299 A.C. Griffin's Roost
King Viserys III Targaryen
Renly Baratheon had proven a useful hostage, in that he had given them information that would have otherwise taken time to collect and information, as Viserys had long ago learned was the key to remaining alive. Still, there were certain things that Renly Baratheon could not provide the answers to, certain things that none could provide the answer to. Well, no one apart from Melisandre, the red woman, she seemed to have those answers, Viserys had seen proof of that. But that power frightened him, it was not natural, having that ability, it was not normal, and he was not sure he was entirely comfortable using that power. There were certain things that one should think of, and the deepest part of his heart's desire was one such thing. Bringing someone back from the dead, well that was against the laws of nature, and no matter how much he might secretly want it, Viserys was not such a big fool as to not understand the consequences such a thing would have, for all of them. And so he continued to suffer on, in silence. He would not damn others to be haunted by his ghosts.
Whilst he believed that that was the right way to go, it seemed that Jon Connington had not believed that. Viserys looks at the lords gathered in the solar for this meeting, and sighs. "Tell me what the messenger said again."
Ser Jonothor who has stood by his side through everything speaks once more, his words tired and drawn. "Lord Connington led the men given to him by you Your Grace, and from there he met Robert Baratheon's host. They engaged in combat, and Lord Connington and the usurper met in single combat. Connington was killed, and Baratheon emerged more victorious."
Viserys closes his eyes for a brief moment, Connington had been a good man and true, but he knows that somewhere deep down the man's ghosts were what had led him, mainly the ghost of Rhaegar. That brother of his who everyone seemed to be comparing him to. He takes a breath, opens his eyes and then speaks in response to the news. "How many of the men Connington took out with him remain?"
Ser Jonothor looks uncomfortable but he speaks all the same. "Very few Your Grace, maybe around one hundred. And even then some turned their cloaks and went over to the usurper, whilst others are straggling their way back here."
Viserys sighs, the news is bad, terrible even, but it can be salvaged. He looks around him and then asks. "And where exactly is the usurper's army now? They cannot be far away from here. Not with the traitors who defected leading them to our position." He sees an expression of fear cross over his nephew's face, and knows that the boy is thinking about Daenerys.
"The usurper's position is currently not known Your Grace. Our scouts have not been able to locate them. Though that is likely because the traitors are able to track our scouts' movements and are leading the army through positions that are difficult to get through without prior knowledge." Ser Jonothor supplies.
Viserys nods, it is a weak excuse, but it is one nonetheless and they look as if they might need it now, more so than ever. "What of the Dornish? Where are their spears and their horse? Are they any closer?"
This time it is Lord Cafferen who speaks, his voice tired. "They are still unsighted Your Grace. Personally, I think it would be most unwise to trust them to come to our aid any time soon."
Viserys accepts the thoughts of his lord with a mere nod. He had sensed some bitterness in the Dornish after Arianne's death, a death that haunts him still, and the divisions between Martell and Yronwood had grown larger with Quentyn Martell's supposed preference and his marriage. That was something Viserys had had to agree to, to get the brat to march his army. Viserys knew there would be a reckoning with Martell when this was all said and done, but for now, they could only accept that this was their situation. He takes a breath then looks at Jon. "How prepared are the men? How many do we have?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.
His nephew gives the expected answer. "The men are as prepared as they will ever be Your Grace. They are hungry after that last battle, they want revenge for their fallen friends and their family. They want to do you proud. We have enough heavy horse to provide a challenge, and we have archers a plenty as we do infantry. We do not lack for men Your Grace."
Viserys nods. "Very well. I want a patrol set out and I want men prepared to leave from the castle on a moment's notice. I will not be caught unaware by Baratheon." He sees his lords nod and then turns to his nephew. "Jon, you shall command the first wing. Lead the charge and make sure that it is clean and pure. We do not want more losses. Or at least more losses than are necessary." His nephew nods at this, and Viserys continues. "Lord Cafferen you shall command the right wing. Come in sharp and after the third pass that Jon has made." The man nods eager to prove himself. Then he looks at Ser Oswell and says. "You shall command the final centre Ser. You know what needs to be done." The Kingsguard knight nods his head in acceptance.
There is a brief pause as they all digest the fact that they are approaching a crucial battle, it will not be a pleasant one, but it is one that needs to happen, perhaps then he might advance for the throne, and what is rightfully his. After a moment, Jon speaks, his voice questioning. "What of your marriage Your Grace?"
Viserys looks surprised, but the question had been planned beforehand. He looks at his nephew and then says. "An envoy has been sent out to find the Dayne host, as an envoy has been sent out to the Tyrell host. I shall see which one responds first."
