Lucos
Snowfyre was stirring restlessly beneath Lucos as he peered through the darkness at the small flecks of flickering torchlight in the distance. The host had made camp in the troughs of the hills spanning the country north of Duskendale, more than few days further south than they rightly should have been. Lucos did not know who had command of the enemy army but he wanted to thank them. Once they had determined that the slow pace was no trap but instead the result of mere incompetence, he and Daeron could not believe their luck. When Lucos had drawn up this plan, they had been assuming the Green foot would be within a few days of Rook's Rest. There had been always been a risk of Cole discovering their movements and moving against them.
Instead they were in the middle of the Hollard Hills. Far away from any possible aid.
They had chosen their camp poorly as well. Setting camp atop the hills was difficult and Lucos could understand the temptation to simply settle below, where the ground was lower and flatter. The Green commander had set his twice as many sentry's than Lucos thought they truly needed but they were stationed around the camp itself and left them with no visibility across the hills. Already the two halves of his and Daeron's force were approaching silently through the night, closing in of Aegon's foot from both sides.
The plan was a solid one, even Lord Corlys had agreed. It was he whose input Lucos had valued most. For all Lucos' complaints about the old man's caution, once Rhaenyra had decided to commit to this course of action his knowledge and experience had been crucial in ironing out any wrinkles in Lucos' plan. By the end they had come up with a stategy that they both felt left the advantage with their own forces and mitigated the risk of implementing it so close to the Green horse at Rook's Rest.
"It will have to be at night," Lord Corlys had said. Lucos had agreed. "They will have the numbers on us so we must catch them by suprise. If we can fall upon them sleeping, we can be within the camp before they can even rouse themselves."
"Our men will have to march without light though, else the sentry's will see them coming." Jace said, frowning. "Lack of sight will hinder us, especially if we fail to take them unawares."
"And we haven't considered Aemond yet," Daeron had pointed out.
But they were both wrong. Lucos had considering both things.
"The dragonfire will be the signal for the men to launch their attack." He had decided. "It will spread chaos among their ranks even if they do know we're coming and provide light for our men to use. As for Aemond, I'll draw him out. I will be the one to begin the attack. If he's there, he won't be able to resit the chance to face me. Daeron will stay in reserve and only engage once we know one way or the other."
Neither Jace nor Daeron had been very happy with that decision but neither could fault the cold logic of it. Lucos never mentioned that he also had another reason for not wanting Daeron to engage straight away. Lucos had very much desired to be the one who went to Rook's Rest to face Aegon. Everything in him burned to be the one who got to drive a sword through the fucker's mouth. Ultimately though, he couldn't let anyone else take the risk of facing Aemond. So here he was, Daeron at his side, the two of them leading an army against the Green foot while Rhaenys flew to Rook's Rest.
Each of the other riders had volunteered for that job. Jace wanted revenge on Aegon as much as Lucos himself did and Daeron felt it was his responsibility, his duty, to face his elder brother. Lucos wouldn't hear a word about it though and since the Queen herself had given him complete authority over this battle the two Prince's had no way of changing his mind. He had decided early that one of them would be staying on Dragonstone and the other would be right next to him, where he could protect them. Ultimately, he had decided that Jace, being the Crown Prince, was too valuable to risk and had commanded him to remain behind.
Lord Corlys had gotten a pinched look on his face when Rhaenys received her instructions and Lucos had very consciously tried to not pay attention to their heartfelt farewell. But it would be fine. Rhaenys was a capable rider and Meleys a fierce mount. They could handle Aegon.
There was a whoosh of air from beside him as Tessarion glided down and landed as gently as possible. There was still a slight quaking in the ground, though thankfully they were far enough away that their foe would not feel it.
"Any sign?" Lucos asked, watching with a small smile as Snowfyre craned her neck and gently nudged her snout against Tessarion's.
Daeron shook his head.
"None." He had been circling high above the clouds, searching for Aemond and Vhagar.
Lucos had been hunting closer to the ground as well and had also seen no trace. While it was possible they had simply missed him, Lucos thought it more likely that he wasn't here. He was probably still in the Stokeworth lands, burning their fields to ash.
"I've not seen him either." Lucos told him. "Nor any movement from the camp since nightfall."
No significant movement at any rate. It was too dark and too far to see everything exactly and the sentry's had most likely changed shift.
"The men are in place." Daeron said. Lucos nodded.
The two of them had flown out from Dragonstone a week earlier with Princess Rhaenys. Lucos had wanted to get to the mainland ahead of their forces from the Narrow Sea islands in order to scout the land and to try to rally some extra forces. He and Lord Corlys had agreed that they couldn't leave Dragonstone undefended. If they failed here, Rhaenyra would still need some forces for any further offensive's and the men from the Vale would not be enough alone. As such, the Velaryon and Targaryen men had remained on Driftmark.
Some twelve-hundred men from house's Celtigar, Bar Emmon and Sunglass had sailed though. They had been ferried across to the mainland by a portion of the Velaryon fleet, who would now be rejoining the rest of the blockade. Those men were to the north now, marching under Lord Celtigar's command alongside the thousand men sent by the clans of Crackclaw Point. It had Princess Rhaenys who had flown north and given those men their orders before she set off for Rook's Rest.
He and Daeron had spent their time further south, passing over the Green army. Daeron had flown from holdfast to holdfast, town to town rallying minor lords and landed knights to their cause. He had started at Duskendale itself, where Ser Leyton Darklyn, by best guess the new Lord of Duskendale, had managed to raise two hundred fresh levies. The other houses; including Lords Follard, Byrch and Hollard; had between them supplied a hundred knights and a five hundred strong mix of spears and archers.
Lucos, meanwhile, had scoured the countryside for the scattered remnants of Lord Gunthor Darklyn's force. Most of the survivors had broken and dispersed into the winds either slinking back to their homes or prowling the country as outlaws and bandits. He had found some small groups still flying Rhaenyra's banner though, including one larger force riding under Ser Robert, a young knight who turned out to be Lord Leyton's eldest son. Lucos had managed to bring four hundred bloodied men to accompany the grass green recruits that made up the southern half of their force.
They had also been suprised to see the arrival of the young Lord Jaime Stokeworth, still very much alive and delivering three hundred of his own levies for their use.
Twenty-two hundred men to the north. Fifteen-hundred to the south, being led by Ser Leyton. Thirty-seven hundred men total. The green foot still had the numbers on them, with what looked to be about five thousand men. But the Green's were asleep. Completely unaware of their presence.
And they had no dragons.
Lucos grinned.
"Remember the plan." He said. "Hang back until I begin my third run. Aemond would have shown himself by then, if he were here."
Daeron nodded.
"Be safe," he said.
Lucos flashed him a smile before pulling his helm on. He patted Snowfyre's side and the slender dragon gave a low, almost excited sounding growl before prowling forward a few paces and pushing off. Her white wings spread outward and one strong beat had them rising. He made sure to try and temper Snowfyre's speed, circling wide circles around the camp and rising gradually instead of powering straight upwards as he wanted. Snowfyre's scales were a very light colour and the shape of a dragon is hard to conceal even in the darkness of night.
He waited until he judged them high enough, hundreds of feet above the camp and hopefully out of sight of anyone who happened to look up, before he pulled on Snowfyre's reigns and directed her above the camp. He'd kept an eye on it as they flew, searching out the best targets to attack. There were rows of wooden siege equipment on the east side of the camp. Catapults and scorpions stolen from the walls of Duskendale that the Green host had been dragging along with them, undoubtedly part of the reason they were moving so slowly. They would have to be destroyed before the host could fully wake, but Lucos planned on taking them second. The huge, fancy pavillions in the center of the camp were his first choice. The more senior nobles would likely be together there and removing the Green command would throw their forces into even further disarray.
The nobles, then the siege works, Lucos told himself and then help Daeron put down any resistance. He would be quick enough. Daeron wasn't to enter the fray until Lucos' third attack. The siege equipment would be destroyed by then.
Lucos glanced down. Miles below, the Green camp slept. They were oblivious to the living death and destruction hovering above them.
"Ilglyr," he whispered. The Valyrian word for 'dive'.
He was just loud enough for Snowfyre to hear; he didn't want his voice to carry too far, after all; and tapped his spurs into Sunfyre's scales. It didn't hurt her, her scales too hard by far to be pierced by a gentle tap of some puny little spikes but it got her attention and she knew that it meant move. In combination with his command, she knew exactly what to do. She rolled her neck, turned her body to follow and tucked her wings in close. Then they were falling.
Lucos wasn't scared. He trusted his mount implicitly. Instead he felt a grin stretching his face as he pressed body close to her back. His hands grasped at the ridges along the back of her neck, legs digging into the stirrups on the saddle. The wind rushed around them. He could feel the shock of cold carried with it even through his armour and leathers, could hear it shrieking through the gaps of his armour. Snowfyre opened her mouth and roared! Lucos' whole body shook with the force of it and he rolled his eyes at her dramatics. Of course she couldn't do this without showing off.
It didn't matter. By the time the sound had registered they were only twenty feet above the huge, rounded green tent that was the centerpiece of the camp. Lucos could see the guards outside it jump and startle and almost drop their weapons only to actually do so when they looked up and saw Snowfyre's mass bearing down on them. They ran. Maybe they would make it.
Whoever was inside wouldn't.
"Drakarzi!" Burn it.
Snowfyre unleashed her almost white flames on the tent and it was engulfed within seconds. Snowfyre didn't let up, merely turning her head ever so slighly as she levelled out. The other tents were almost blown over from the force of Snowfyre's wings beating to get them level. They glided then, Snowfyre rolling slightly to one side as she sprayed out her monstrous dragonfire on the camp. Even before Lucos gave a sharp tug on her reigns and Snowfyre lifted them higher, taking them over the tops of the other tents and towards the missile equipment on the far side of the camp, several tents were collapsing beneath the weight of the flames. On a few, Lucos could see shapes beneath the fabric frantically scrambing to get out.
His observations were interupted by the loud creaking of wood and a sharp crack snapping through the air. Lucos snapped his head forward and his eyes widened. He dropped his head flush against Snowfyre's back, just barely evading the burning ball of something that had been launched at him. There were the faint sounds of something cutting through the air far too close for comfort and Lucos yanked hard on the reigns in his hand. Snowfyre responded excellently. She banked sharply left, rolling almost sideways and exposing her belly. One scorpion bolt might pierce a dragons scale but it wouldn't go all the way through to the flesh underneath. She had protected the vulnerable areas on her face and her wing joints and her rider.
There was no pained growl though, so Lucos dared presume that Snowfyre hadn't been hit; or at the very least, nothing had actually done anything other than bounce off; so when they righted themselves, Lucos' eyes were drawn immediately to where they had been attacked from.
His stomach dropped.
There were lights swarming around the siege equipment and he could make out men hustling a fresh round of missiles into their equipment. He snapped his whip against Snowfyre's side and his companion surged forwards, soaring over the camp towards the catapults and scorpions that had caught them so badly off guard. They must have set their bedrolls out next to the equipment and woken when the attack had begun, Lucos thought.
They finished reloading before he reached them. Lucos winced, anticipating a trio of boulders and a dozen scorpion bolts firing towards him. Snowfyre had been lucky enough to not take any damage during the last volley, he doubted they'd be so fortunate again. He began to turn Snowfyre, intending to veer away and make himself a difficult target. But it proved unnessecary. Before they could release their second volley, the catapults were engulfed in bright blue flames. The wood caught instantly, disintergrating before Lucos' eyes. Lucos' eyes narrowed and he glared at Tessarion as she swept in, blanketing the ground in flames. The siege weapons and the men manning them turning to ash in minutes. He was supposed to wait.
Lucos growled in frustration before turning his attention back to the battle. Seeing that Daeron had the siege equipment well in hand and trusting him to continue on with the rest of their plan when he was done, Lucos had Snowfyre sweep south first. With the fires now spreading across the camp, their ground forces would have begun their approach and they had fewer men on that flank. Lucos thought they would need the help more. He had Snowfyre unleash her flames on the tents below and on the men darting about trying to organise themselves. By the light of the dragonfire he could see the glinting steel of spear heads as Ser Leyton's men swept into the Green army. Beneath the carpet of dragonfire and the onslaught by Lord Darklyn's force the southern side of the camp was collapsing within seconds.
Lucos turned his attention northwards then. The Green army was almost entirely in rout already. The center of the camp was a raging inferno. The siege equipment had been reduced to smouldering kindling and Lucos could see Tessarion's massive figure crouched in front of the supply tent, spewing flames out in front of her. Swarms of men were fleeing to the west. Lucos was tempted to go after them. But he could see that the Green's had managed to form a crude, shallow shieldwall to the north. It was already buckling under pressure, but Lucos saw no reason to let their resistance play out.
Snowfyre swept down. His own men saw them coming and disengaged, scrambling over themselves trying to get out of range. The Green's seemed triumphantly confused, until Snowfyre roared and they realised that it was over. Half dropped their spears instantly and tried to flee. The rest, to their credit, huddled behind their shields and lowered their spears against him. Lucos snorted at the futility of it. At his command, Snowfyre opened her mouth and in the split second that the oncoming fire illuminated the spearmen's faces before they were set alight, Lucos saw stark fear. Snowfyre made three passes over the north side of the camp. Whether they fled or not made no matter. They burned.
The battle was over long before sunrise. When the first glows of dawn shone over the battlefield, Aegon's banner's lay trampled in the mud and soot. The fires had died down after a few hours, all the fabric and wood and flesh that had been feeding it burnt to a blackened crisp. Lucos and Daeron landed their dragons in what had once been the Green commander's campsite. Only a pile of ash remained now, with some mishapen bones buried beneath them.
"Hayford." Daeron said listlessly.
Lucos glanced over. Daeron had climbed down from Tessarion's back and was holding the sad remains of a banner. It was only a small scrap; torn, tatterred and burnt along the edges. But there was enough left to see the green and gold fretty of House Hayford.
"It makes sense. Aegon looked down on those beneath him. Hayford is just about the only Lord loyal to him with enough status that Aegon would give him a command so important," he said. "His grandson was a page at King's Landing. He is only ten, I think."
"Daeron..." Lucos began.
"My Lord, My Prince." Ser Glendon called as he strode through the ashen fields. "The day is ours. My men chased the enemy as far as Dunhallow. Beyond there I dare not give chase blindly. Your orders?"
Ser Glendon had been one of the men Rhaenyra chose to make up her new Queensguard. Those members of King Viserys' Kingsguard that had proven loyal; Ser Steffon, Ser Lorent and Ser Eryck; had been kept on, with Ser Steffon being named the new Lord Commander. The remaining four places had been filled with the best of the young knights Rhaenyra retained on Dragonstone. Ser Glendon had been a good choice. He'd served on Dragonstone as a page, then a squire and then remained as a knight. Four-and-twenty he was now, with long, flowing black hair and a well groomed beard. He was decent with a sword, Lucos knew, and seemed a trustworthy, loyal sort. He lacked the same faith in some of his new brothers though.
Ser Harrold Darke was an exceptionally skilled knight with both lance and sword. A tall, handsome blonde man with a strong jawline, sharp cheeks and a rougish smile. The maids loved him and the squires admired him. But the way he looked at the Queen, at the Princess', made Lucos teeth grind. He would be driven at least, Lucos' supposed, if he could resist his urges. Better than the other two. Lyonel Bentley was scarce more than a boy but he had a sharp sense of humour and a gift for song and dance that made Rhaenyra fond of him while Adrian Redfort, the eldest of the four, was a little too fond of sweetwine for Lucos' taste.
Lucos gave one more long look at Daeron but he did not meet his eyes. He remained turned away, staring at the strip of cloth in his hands. Lucos wanted to rage at him; for straying from the plan, for being reckless, for putting himself in danger. But looking at him standing there, shoulders slumped and a look of such deep sorrow on his face...Lucos couldn't bring himself to say a word.
"Ser Glendon, lead the army south. We'll set camp a few miles away. Leave some men here to count and pile the bodies. I'll have Snowfyre take care of them."
Ser Glendon nodded sharply and marched off, barking instructions and relaying Lucos' orders. Lucos watched him go and then turned back His Prince. He put a hand on Daeron's shoulder and glanced around quickly. No one was paying attention to them and the dragons bulk gave them some cover. He pulled Daeron close and pressed their foreheads together. The most intimacy he would allow so publicly.
"Go with Ser Glendon. I'll handle things here. You don't need to see that." He whispered. He felt Daeron tense. Knew he was going to argue. "Please. For me."
He hesitated a moment. Then nodded slightly. Lucos pressed a kiss to Daeron's temple and stepped away. Daeron took a shaky breath and began to climb back onto Tessarion.
"Lucos," he heard. He turned back. "Thank you."
The moment he was gone, Lucos longed for his company. It hadn't been this bad, before. But both of them had come to depend on each other far more closely than ever in the wake of all that had happened. But it was better for Daeron to leave. Lucos had seen him struggling to come to terms with what they'd done and being around the evidence wouldn't do him any good. Nor would having to deal with the clean up. Besides, Lucos thought, he needed his own time. To get his thoughts in order.
Lucos...was conflicted. He had felt nothing when attacking the camp. He'd heard the screaming, the crying, the pleading and the wailing. He'd seen the terror and devastation he was unleashing on them and hadn't felt a thing. No. He'd felt vindicated. He'd felt proud. There had been true hatred in him for the men he was attacking. He hated them for daring to march under the banner of Jace's enemies and felt a swell of...not joy but triumph as they burned and died beneath him. When the battle was done and the dust settled, his thoughts hadn't lingered on them for a second. Until he saw Daeron. Until he saw what it had done to him and he was suddenly assaulted by a feeling of wrongness. He wondered what was so wrong with him that he could command such brutal, gruesome death and walk away with a light soul.
He didn't feel guilty or disturbed or shocked or horrified. But he knew he should and he did feel guilty for not feeling the guilt he knew Daeron was wrestling with.
It took Lucos nearly the whole day before he was able to fly to the camp and rejoin Daeron. There had been hundreds of bodies to remove and though Lucos was loath to linger, it felt the least he could do. He couldn't give each man a funeral, but he could make sure they weren't left to rot. Most of the men were innocent. Farmers and fishermen and smiths and tanner who'd had spears shoved into their hands and sent off to die. He had his men dump the bodies in huge piles and then had Snowfyre unleash her flames on them until they were reduced to ash. It was better than nothing.
It was impossible to get a true count of how many of Aegon's men they'd slain. So many had been caught in the dragonfire and reduced to naught more than ash and many of those whose bodies were still intact were unrecognisable besides. They'd managed to count enough bodies to be sure of killing at least a thousand of the enemy though and their own casualties numbered barely a hundred. Among them though were Lord Crispian Celtigar and Ser Leyton both. Lord Adrian they'd found with a large double-headed axe buried halfway into his neck. His body had ended up under Snowfyre's flame. The blackened and blistered skin made him look nothing like the weathered old veteran. They'd only been able to identify him because of the Valyrian Steel long axe held tightly in his hand. The wooden shaft was burnt and twisted but the rippling steel was as vibrant as ever.
Ser Leyton had taken a blow to the side of the head in the battle. He'd been fine until he removed his helm after the fighting had died down and piece of his skull came away with it. He'd been dead seconds after hitting the floor.
The nobles among their own dead had been separated and carried to the camp, ready to be sent back home. The highborn Green's had been left on the field for the Silent Sisters to find. Snowfyre glided over the men as they marched. Lucos didn't think they truly needed protection. The rest of their army had marched this way just that morning and they'd seen no sign of any threat. But it was better to be safe.
The sun was descending behind the tree tops in the far west when they arrived. There was a large open spanse of field left open in the camp that Tessarion was already lounging in. Lucos guided Snowfyre down next to her and left them to their playful snapping as he made his way towards the tents. He raised a hand and hailed a knight in the livery of House Warren.
"My Lord." He was greeted deferentially. Not unusual on Dragonstone but nobles from the mainland rarely paid him any mind. But House Warren were quite small and Lucos was known to be close to several Royals. And a dragonrider beside.
"The Prince?" He asked simply.
The knight jerked his head towards the middle of the camp.
"He's holding council with his commanders." He explained. "I'll show you to him, if it please."
Lucos nodded and followed the knight as he led the way to Daeron's command tent. He saw men stop and stare as he passed and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. He heard whispers and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in panic. Some pointed. Some bowed and one lad, a few years his elder, dropped hastily to a knee. Lucos didn't know what was going on but he didn't like it.
The command tent was a large square, every inch of it exhuding devoted oppulance. The walls were made of myrish lace with seahorses and dragons embroidered into the fabric and Rhaenyra's quartered banner hung from the pointed ceiling. Daeron's own personal tent was just as obscene albeit better looking with its plain red and black colouring. The guards on either side of the tent flaps straightened when they saw his approach. The Warren knight stepped aside and the guardsmen pulled the flap open for him. One of them announced him as he ducked into the tent.
"Lord Lucos Ryder, my Prince."
There was a crowd in the tent. About a dozen or so nobles; some in silk and some in steel, some Lords and other merely knights; all of them crammed in around a rectangular wooden table. Their loud arguing voices fell silent when he entered. Lucos scanned them in passing. He recognised some. Ser Robert Darklyn was there, pale and gaunt, a silent shadow hidden to the side. Sable haired Lord Gunnar Follard and his cousin the knight of Old Sept, Ser Richard Dargood. One of the Sunglass brothers; balding and gruff Samwell Bar Emmon; the large, bearded Jon Pyne of the Crackclaw clans. The child Lord Stokeworth was there too, his eyes barely able to see over the table top.
And at the head of the table was Daeron, Ser Glendon standing to his left. He was still wearing his armour, Lucos noticed. A suit of gleaming silver plate with a dragon head inlaid into the chest piece, over his heart. Beneath the plate he wore a leather gambison and a pale blue surcoat (he used to wear green, before he defected, and Lucos privately thought it was more his colour). His shoulders were hunched up, head bowed over the table and his face lined with worry. He looked up at Lucos' name though and as their eyes met, Lucos saw the tension drain from his shoulders.
"Lucos," he said and then stopped himself, eyes darting around at his commanders.
"Prince Daeron," he greeted in return and when Daeron gestured to the empty space at his right hand side, he smirked and stepped around the clearly fuming Sunglass and took his place.
"You have the numbers?"
"A thousand of theirs for a hundred of ours," he confirmed with a grin, though it faded at the tight lips and stilted nod he got in return. The cheer from the men around him made up for it. "Though I'm sorry to say that as well as Ser Leyton, Lord Celtigar also fell in the battle."
They likely knew. He wasn't here after all. Still, it needed to be said and Lucos wasn't lying when he said he was sorry about it. Lord Crispian had been a good man and a strong warrior. He'd fought against the pirates, the Dornish and the Triarch on the Stepstones. He had Lucos' undying respect for that last enemy alone.
"We've also managed to capture near two hundred noblemen; knights and men-at-arms mostly, cousins and such of variours houses."
"Good. We've dealt Aegon a decisive blow today, My Lords," Daeron said. Lucos had always found his voice slightly melodic. "One he will not soon recover from. But there is little time to rest. I intend to linger here for no more than a week. We must decide our next course of action before then."
Several Lords puffed up and opened their mouths to shout out their advice but Daeron held up a hand to forestall their words. Lucos smiled slightly when their mouths snapped closed instantly. He had always enjoyed seeing Daeron and the Velaryon boys flexing their Princely authority and watching proud puffing men twice and thrice their age clam up as a result. He could see a brief glimmer of amusement in Daeron's eyes when their gazes met.
"But first," Daeron continued. "Ser Glendon, do you have anything to report."
The Queensguard Knight leaned forward from his place at Daeron's left hand side.
"Our scouts have tracked the remains of Prince Aegon's foot as far west as Briarwhite, from where they turned south. They seem to be heading towards Antlers, but they may turn south when they reach the Kingsroad and fall back to King's Landing."
"Are they in good order?" Lucos asked.
Ser Glendon grinned widely.
"I've seen a herd of sheep move with more order." He said. "They're a chaotic rabble right now. Hundreds will have split off and deserted by the time they arrive at Antlers. More than a thousand, mayhaps, if they flee south."
"Then our course is clear. We must strike south for King's Landing at once!" Shouted Ser Samwell.
"We still do not know where Vhagar is," Lord Follard mused, stroking his thick moustache. "I counsel patience, my Prince."
"Spit on patience. My Prince, should Princess Rhaenys fail we will find ourselves surrounded by our enemies. We must push somewhere lest we find ourselves cut off," Ser Robert argued.
"My Prince, we must..."
"...city is vulnerable..."
"...rally at Harrenhal with Prince Daemon..."
"...nay, summon Prince Daemon to us..."
"...hunt down Cole..."
"...back to Dragonstone, to regroup with the Queen..."
"I will not tuck my tail between my legs and hide on Dragonstone while Aemond turns my lands to ash, My Lord." Little Lord Stokeworth spat, venemously, much to Lucos' amusement.
He remained silent through it all though. He watched Daeron instead. The Prince kept his eyes fixed on whichever Lord was speaking at any given time, for all appearances giving them his complete attention. But as the arguments raged on, Lucos could see how his love was struggling to cope with the weight of leadership. They looked to him for leadership and never noticed how he seemed to sag under their expectations. Only Lucos saw that.
"Duskendale." He said. He tried not to smirk when their commanders fell silent as his voice cut through their bickering. He spoke with the authority of the Queen behind him and all the Princes as well. It grated on some of them he knew; Ser Sunglass looked like he had swallowed a lemon and Lord Follard had a sneer on his face. But they feared him and feared Snowfyre more. They listened. "We will make for Duskendale."
"Lord Ryder," Ser Richard said, a particular tone in his voice that told Lucos his use of 'Lord' was meant as an insult. "Duskendale is a city in chaos. What could come of a journey there but wasted resources."
"A city in chaos because they stayed true to our cause." Lucos retorted. "We should not leave such a faithful ally to struggle alone."
The balding knight turned to Daeron. He had a very pinched face, Lucos noticed.
"My Prince..."
"Why Duskendale?" Daeron cut him off.
Lucos smiled.
"We need to send word of our victory to the Queen and to Prince Daemon and then await their response. Duskendale is the only loyal hold large enough to house our army behind its walls should our enemies march against us." He explained. "The coast road will allow us to move to King's Landing alongside the Queen's own forces when they sail or else there is a straight shot west to the Kingsroad.
"All told it is the best location to await new orders."
Daeron was nodding. So were a few of the other commanders. Young Lord Jaime was looking at him like he was one of his seven gods come to life. Ser Richard's jaw was clenched but he spoke not another word.
"My Prince, this is foolhardy. Duskendale is too close to Rooks Rest. Surely you see we must make for Harrenhal..." The Sunglass knight pleaded.
"I see that Lucos was given command of this army as much as I was." Daeron said, icily. "And that I find no fault with his plan. Duskendale is as good an option as any and its port will allow a quick escape should we need it. See to your men, My Lords. We will rest here tomorrow but I want us marching the following morning. If that is all?"
Daeron pushed away from the table like the question was a mere courtesy and he was finished whether the assembled nobles liked it or not.
"Not quite, My Prince." Ser Glendon said. "There is one other small matter to attend to. If you and Lord Ryder would both follow me outside."
Daeron's eyes narrowed as their commanders flooded out of the tent in Ser Glendon's wake. He exchanged a look with Lucos and then cautiously followed. Outside, the Lords had gathered in a circle with Ser Glendon in the middle. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and drew it from his sheath. Lucos' own hand instantly flew to his own sword. Ser Glendon saw and gave him a wry look. But he said nothing about it.
"Prince Daeron, Lord Lucos," he said. "Last night you both acted with valour and courage worthy of any knight. You have spoken well of how bravely your men fought, but in truth the victory is yours, not ours."
"You are kind to say so, Ser, but truly the day belongs the dragons. Tessarion and Snowfyre are the true heroes here." Daeron protested, ducking his head. There was the faintest blush rising on his pale cheeks.
Ser Samwell scoffed.
"I've seen how riderless dragons act, My Prince. They don't throw themselves at loaded siege equipment."
"Nor do they pick their victims with such precision as Lord Ryder did during the battle." Ser Robert added.
The men circled around them were nodding and muttering agreements. The crowd was growing, men edging closer to see an event that had clearly been planned our in advance. Lucos resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders at all the attention and stood straight-backed and square-shouldered. Although Daeron seemed to be growing more and more flustered; even if only behind that stoic, royal mask that he used in public, the one that Lucos could see right through; Lucos felt proud. Snowfyre had flown like a dream but it had been their strategy they'd used, their command that had been followed and their actions that carried the day. It felt good to be recognised for that.
And based on Ser Glendon' words, the intention was there to be recognised formally as well. Knighthood had been Lucos' dream for years. Not least because it was required to be a Kingsguard, and Lucos had every intention of being Jace's Lord Commander one day. But there had always been an obstacle. Lucos, nominally at least, followed the Old Gods as his ancestors had done for centuries and Knighthood was a custom of the Seven. With the chance to prove his valour in battle always looking slim, Lucos would have had to convert in order to be knighted and though he didn't particularly believe in either, the Old Gods were his father's and held a place in his heart for that alone.
But now there was war. A chance to prove, in battle, that he was worthy. And he had done so. He shot Daeron a half-pleading, half-commanding look; silently begging him to cease his objections before they changed their mind. It was alright for him. He was a Prince. He could be knighted whenever he wanted, in truth. But Lucos would not allow this chance to pass him by.
Ser Glendon smiled.
"Lord Ryder; you were the first into the battle and the last to rest. You and your dragon dove at the enemy without fear or hesitation and then stayed behind to give what respect you could to the dead. Today you have proven your courage and honour several times over. I ask you to kneel, My Lord."
Lucos exhaled and stepped forward. He felt Daeron very gently and very subtly nudge his should and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Daeron was looking at him with a fond look on his face. Then he was before Ser Glendon. He knelt, head lowered. Felt the touch of steel on his right shoulder.
"Lucos of the House Ryder. In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." The sword moved to his other shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect all innocents. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be strong. In the name of Crone, I charge you to act with wisdom. In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to uphold these vows until the end of your days."
The sword lifted from his shoulders and Lucos saw the tip come to rest against the ground in front of him. He looked up.
"Arise," Ser Glendon continued, smiling broadly. "Ser Lucos, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."
He stood and there were cheers erupting from the gathered crowd. Some of the higher tier nobles were clapping unenthusiastically, but the knights and men-at-arms were boisterous enough to make up for it and both Ser Robert and Ser Samwell and young Lord Jaime were cheering his name. Lucos grinned. It took a few moments for everything to die down and then Ser Glendon repeated the process for Daeron. Lucos beamed at him as he knelt and received a more restrained smile in return. There was joy in Daeron's face. Lucos could see it. But something was holding him back from enjoying this moment as he should.
The cheers were even louder when Daeron rose and Ser Glendon proclaimed him 'Ser Daeron'. No one resented or begrudged him. Not even sour Ser Richard. With the formal ceremony over and the victory from the previous night still on the mind, several lords and knights ordered casks of ale and wine to be brought out and cracked open for the men. Lucos and Daeron were swept into the celebrations briefly as they, their dragons, their victory and their Queen were all toasted half a dozen times each. Another night, Lucos would have revelled in such an atmosphere. But Daeron had been acting uncomfortably from the first round of congratulations and Lucos stayed by his side as he made his excuses and left.
Ser Glendon escorted them to his and Daeron's tents. They were set up side by side with a shared canopy connecting between them; officially, because it was easier for their guards to have both commanders in one space. Daeron slipped inside immediately, without another word. Lucos, though turned back to the Queensguard.
"We will not be marching tomorrow, so I see no reason not to let the men have their celebrations tonight. But don't let our guard down. Aemond is still out there and Cole could be riding hard for us as we speak."
Ser Glendon nodded. "Not to worry Ser," he said. "I've set up watch posts every fifty yards around the edge of camp. Three men each; overseen by a trustworthy knight from Dragonstone where I could manage it."
Lucos patted him on the shoulder. "Good man. Our own guards?"
"Discreet." Lucos stumbled. Ser Glendon gave him a smug smile. "Both from Dragonstone and very loyal to Queen Rhaenyra. Even more so to Prince Jacaerys, he arranged squireship for their sons."
"Yes, well; thank you for your good judgement, Ser. Will you be joining the men tonight?"
"For a time, perhaps, if the Prince allows."
"You did your duty well today, Ser. Go. Enjoy your night. But return here an hour after first light. I want to speak with you before we begin arranging our march south" Lucos told him.
Ser Glendon bowed. "Of course, my Lord," he said. Then he smirked as he began walking away. "It seems I'll be taking your orders for a long while, if rumours of the Queen's plans for you are true."
Lucos watched him go, dissatisfied that the knight had gotten the last word. He shook his head and stepped into the tent, giving a nod to the two men standing outside the entrance. Daeron was standing beside the small wooden table that had been set up in their tent, back turned.
"Knights!" Lucos almost laughed as he approached. "Can you believe it Daeron? We're finally..."
He trailed off as Daeron turned to him and he saw the tears glistening in his love's amethyst eyes. Lucos' smile faded. He was next to Daeron in an instant, arms wrapping around the other boy. Daeron remained tense for a moment and then relaxed, melting against Lucos' front and burying his face against Lucos shoulder in an awkward crane of his neck. Lucos could feel him shaking and hugged him closer, muttering soothing nonesense in his ear.
"They were...They...The screams..." Daeron stammered. Lucos heart clenched for him as he realised what this was about. "They wouldn't stop...they were screaming and we did that...to people...we did that to people Lucos...how could we..."
He trailed off and Lucos could do nothing but hold him. He didn't understand. He didn't know what Daeron was feeling. He hadn't reacted the same way. He couldn't comfort him, not truly, because his feelings were cold and hard and they would be as strange to Daeron as Daeron's were to him. But...as he felt Daeron desperately clutching at his sleeves and begging him to stay with him for the night...he knew he could be there for him. He could listen. He could let Daeron lean on him and take on the responsibilities that he couldn't face alone. That, at least, he could do.
That, he would do. Whatever it cost him.