Dothraki Sea…
Moon of the Stag, 280 After Aegon's Conquest…
"Seven hells, Agonstark!" Greatjon Umber roared, sweat pouring down his ruddy face. "Why the fuck are we in the middle of a fuckin' oven!?"
"We're in the Dothraki Sea, Jon," I said as we stood atop one of the few hills we could find in this godforsaken place. "You think this is bad? Good thing you've never been to the Red Waste."
"Bah! There's somewhere worse than this!?"
"There's always somewhere worse, Umber."
"We could be freezing our balls off North of the Wall."
"Seven Hells, we could be on the Wall."
"For this night and all the nights to come."
"Fuck that shite." The Greatjon shuddered. "I like me women too much to take the bloody Black… But at least I could crack some wildling skulls North of the Wall, lads. Here I just have to watch this bloody army Agonstark's put together kill a few horse lords. Where's the fun in that!?"
"You could have a pregnant wife, gone eight moon turns into nine with your third babe home alone with the other two – both of whom have just barely seen their first name day – waiting for you, Umber. Ben should be at the Moat with them. Instead, he's on the other side of the bloody world so he can show these stubborn bastards why this idea's better than letting high lords raise levies so they can play at being Generals." Brandon Stark said with his arms folded over his chest. The Greatjon turned white.
"Er… The Last Hearth is open to you, milord, should you ever need it."
"I'll be fine, Jon, but thanks for the offer." I smiled. "After all, Dacey said she'd beat me bloody if I didn't show up to this after all the work we put into it. Who knew it would take so much work to make diggers into soldiers?"
"I did."
"Shut up, Ryan."
"Where's the fun in that, my lord?" My brother grinned toothily as a breeze swept in from the east. "So what can your new toys do?"
"The boys are about to show you," I said, pointing at the dust plume rising from the horizon. "I found the biggest, ugliest Dothraki horde I could find."
"They're Dothraki, not bullies. Taking on the biggest of the lot doesn't typically work against them," Ryan said.
"Unless you don't have balls," Brandon smirked. I chuckled darkly as I looked down at the men.
"My legions would tear through the Unsullied."
"Yeah, they probably would. But you'd have to kill every single Unsullied to beat them. How many losses can your men take before they break?"
"You're assuming they can be killed."
"They're not immortal."
"No, but they're also not using wicker shields and bronze spears." Ryan cocked his head to the side but I wasn't finished. "Then there's that little advantage I have that no one else does outside of Westeros."
"Ah. What'd you do to the shields?"
"Grashnog mass produces them with the same steel he uses for his railway, I suggested a few runes he could punch into them… Even if I'd rather them be made out of vibranium, like my armor." I sniffed in annoyance. The runes would run out of power eventually - it wouldn't be soon but it would still happen - but snow or ice vibranium wouldn't. The problem with vibranium was its damn weight.
"And those runes do what exactly?"
"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…" I grinned fiendishly. "That would ruin the surprise."
"Well, then let's hope these Greycloaks have one Hell of a surprise ready." Ryan shook his head.
"Oh, they should," I smirked. "Buln trained them."
"God help the poor bastards…" Ryan muttered, shaking his head as he looked down at the group of nearly six thousand men lined up in rectangular formation across the field.
"The Dothraki or the Legion?"
"Both."
"Heh, fair enough." Folding my arms over my chest. "Ever since he came back from Braavos he's been a right prick."
"He's always been a prick from what you've told me."
"Well, yeah, but even more than normal. I've got him helping the glassmakers and the legions."
"Then they're the poorer for it."
'And wasn't that the truth?' I caught myself thinking as I stared down at the hedgehog of silver-gray spearheads (made from the incomplete Bastard-Valyrian steel Grashnog and I developed) glinting dangerously in the merciless sun. Not that any of the men wearing the heavy, knee-length, gray cloaks so much as twitched. Most had their hoods up to protect them from the sun but occasionally there was a glint where sunlight would reflect off of bare steel helmets. Mostly those were from the few men milling about on horseback, giving orders as they waited for their enemy to appear over the horizon. One of the riders, a man with a single crimson band that was no more than a hand wide running down the length of his cloak shouted one order and the other officers (whose cloaks were adorned with other markings differentiating their ranks) rushed to follow. The captain had called for a full shield wall, rest position, and the troops obeyed mechanically.
"It appears you have trained ants, Lord Agonstark." Lord Glover said, his beady eyes flickering as he watched the men fan out from ninety-six ranks of sixty files to six ranks of nearly a thousand. The formation came together rather quickly but even now we could see the approaching dust cloud was growing darker and darker.
"Ah, but these ants bite quite a bit harder, Lord Glover."
"So far we've only seen them do that fancy marching, boy." Jeor Mormont grunted, his hard eyes examining the legion closely with his arms folded over his chest. "If you've dragged us all out here to witness a bloody massacre, it better bloody be the Horse Lords dropping like flies."
"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, Lord Mormont."
"Bah."
"Should they be spread less thinly?" Lord Forrester asked, his voice wavering slightly. "Will they not be run through by the Dothraki?"
"A good shield wall alone would hold them back, my Lord, a spear line behind the wall would end them. The Dothraki are determined and utterly ruthless, but they're as stupid and stubborn as the asses they dare call horses." That got a chuckle from all of the Lords present, myself included. "Six lines of men spread across almost a half kilometer? That'll get their attention. Assuming they'll do what I think they will then the khalasar will dive right for the Legion's belly."
"Really?" The Greatjon harrumphed. "They're that stupid? Seven Hells, where's me sword!? I'll kill 'em meself!"
"And leave Last Hearth to the Littlejon?" Brandon snorted. The Greatjon whipped around and stared at the Stark Heir. The silence lasted only for a beat before Jon cracked a smile and belted out his whooping, roaring laugh that made him sound like a choking bear.
"That pipsqueak? Lord of Last Hearth!? Bah!"
"Lord Umber." The Greatjon stopped laughing instantly as he turned to Rickard.
"Aye, my Lord."
"They come." And with that, everyone turned and stared as the horse lords surged over the horizon like a living, writhing wall at full speed… Just how long could they run their horses like that? I caught myself from following that line of thought too long and watched as the back lines turned around to face us.
"The fuck!? Why are they facing us!? The horse fuckers are the other way!"
"They're protecting their rear," Rickard said.
"Oh…" The crimson Umber said, scratching the back of his head. I rolled my eyes at his antics and turned back to the field of the coming battle.
"They knew we were here," Ryan said quietly, eyes scanning the horizon.
"Of course they did. They do have scouts."
"And you let them go?"
"Why do you think we have a Khalasar galloping at us full tilt?" I grinned wickedly as my brother looked confused.
"If the scouts report an army on the plains: the Dothraki will charge. If the scouts don't report back in a certain amount of time: the Dothraki will charge. " Brandon said, rolling his eyes.
"But if they don't report back then shouldn't they send more scouts to find out what happened to their scouts?"
"They should, but, as Ben said, the Dothraki are about as wise as an ass," Brandon smirked as Ryan shook his head. Personally? I doubted it was true. The Khal leading this horde was quick to anger and would rise to any who dared challenge him. Even if it was only men in iron skirts.
"So what's the strategy here? Are they going to try and flank the Legion when the first charge fails?"
"Oh no. If things go as they did against the Unsullied at Qohor then they'll hit the wall, lose thousands of men, loop back, and do it again. Rinse and repeat."
"When will they give up?"
"Give up?" Brandon scoffed with a raised eyebrow. "The Dothraki don't give up, not to half men without horses."
"Jesus… This is going to get ugly, isn't it?"
"Oh yes. See this is why I don't know why you decided to join us here."
"I'm going to govern a city, I might as well learn how to command an army." Ryan shrugged. "You know I have a head for strategy."
"You have a head for tactics." I corrected, gently. "I'm not big on either, being a hammer swinger and all that. I have people who understand all that and I pay them to do it well."
"You're not going to be facing the Ironborn."
"Maybe. I'm the North's gatekeeper." Ryan tilted his head to the side and nodded. "And I currently have the only close air support in the world."
"Speaking of which, where's Ancaleon?" Ryan asked with a lifted eyebrow. "I thought he was always with you since he got big enough for you to ride." I just pointed a finger straight up. Ryan lifted an eyebrow but finally got the hint and tilted his head backward. "Ah… Got it."
"Your beast is here?" Umber asked nervously, glancing up to the sky as Ryan had. "I thought you weren't worried about your boys."
"I'm not, my Lord. He's worried about me." I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "He's a big worrywart."
"That can tear down castles with his tail and incinerate armies in seconds. Why waste a legion when you can call in air support, Ben?"
"Because I need to know how the Legion performs in actual combat. If they don't perform like I think they will, then I'll let Ancaleon play." Everyone on the hill nodded nervously. "After all, who's going to miss a few thousand Dothraki?"
"Aye." Robard Reyne, a Lord of the North in his own right now that the stronghold at the Bite had been established, said as he stood beside his son. Rhys, the only Heir that had been invited to this demonstration, was only fifteen but his auburn hair had already started to cover his chin, and he was taller than his father already. As for their stronghold? It was still far from being the complete castle it would be when it was finished but it was already formidable. Tywin's men had done an excellent job and they still had three more years to finish it before the Northmen would have to take over. It was a miracle Tywin hadn't figured out that I'd picked a Reyne of Castamere to command the castle he was building yet. But I knew that wouldn't last. I would have left Robard in Westeros but, unfortunately, he was the only man I knew that had any experience with the horse lords. The bearlike ginger crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the approaching horde. "They'll never even see us through the army. They'll just keep sending riders into the shit until either their Khal surrenders or dies. If neither of those options happens then they'll all die."
"What would it take for the Khal to surrender?"
"Complete and utter humiliation."
"Then we have nothing to worry about. Who's the fucker in charge of these idiots?"
"Khal Bharbo. Rumor says he has upward of twenty thousand men."
"And how many are in this one?" Ryan asked.
"Here's an old cavalry trick, Seastark," the Greatjon shot back, "count the horse's legs then divide by four. There's yer answer."
"Jon?"
"Aye?"
"Shut up."
"Aye, Agonstark."
"The number looks about right to be Bharbo's. There's only one other Khalasar that can rival Bharbo's size and it's said to only have about fifteen-thousand riders."
"And why isn't it the smaller one?"
"Because Khal Quotho roams the flatlands between Pentos and Lys, that's to the west. This Khalasar's barreling down our throats from the east."
"Oh…" Ryan said, his eyes snapping up with the rest of ours as the Dothraki (who were still pushing their horses at a full sprint) started whooping and screaming. We fell silent, listening to the thudding hooves thunder toward the legion while the Dothraki screamed for blood.
A few minutes later, the Dothraki chargers finally slammed into the shield wall with a sickening thud. The screamers screamed even louder but now from pain and surprise. The shield wall held like a castle's curtain wall as the spearmen made quick work of the Dothraki who had flown off their horses while the men in the line behind the spearmen dispatched horse lords that flew over the spears. But even those Dothraki pressing against the shield wall weren't spared. Swords slipped between the gaps in the shield wall, slicing through men and horses alike. And while the Dothraki screamed in rage, anger, and agony, the legionnaires never made a sound. None other than the officers calling orders the men always heard through runic arrays in their helmets. Thank Merlin the protean charm had almost limitless applications.
With it, the legion always had a clear chain of command: the Captain commanded the entire legion - made up of two Brigades, of three Regiments, of two Cohorts - with ease. This meant that a Captain commanded two Brigadiers, who commanded three Tribunes each, each of whom then commanded two Majors. In one legion you had a Captain, two Brigadiers, six Tribunes, and twelve Majors. There were, of course, lesser officers with four Centurions to a Major and three Lieutenants to a Centurion, but the Majors were the bridge between the junior and field grade officers while also being informed of what the men were experiencing in the shit. This meant that the Majors were the bridge between the lowest of the enlisted men and the Captain, having a twelfth of the army each under their direct command. The Captain could choose to send a general order to his Majors and the entire legion would do the exact same thing everywhere or he could send opposing orders to his Brigadiers and split the army in half under a completely separate command structure. In short? It was an army, within an army, within an army.
There was even a hierarchy among the enlisted men. Since there were normally ten men assigned to a tent, the squads would elect one of their own to deal with the officers - the elected man became a sergeant. Mostly the system was for camp duties but we found it worked out well for other situations with the Sergeants representing their squads directly to the lieutenants. There was a clear chain of command and word could travel quickly with help of the protean charm. If a man found something, he'd report it to his sergeant, who'd report it to the Lieutenant, and then information would climb the daisy chain. This meant the legion had a huge amount of autonomy in its smaller units, and that was helping them slice through the Dothraki like they were made of tissue paper.
The Dothraki, enraged at being stopped and torn through by 'half men,' screamed louder and tried to circle around the legion only to find that it was just as hard to break through as the front, if not harder. Those who didn't fall on the front's swords didn't have enough room to pick up any speed to try and break through the wall - not that it would have helped if they had. The riders who weren't cut down with swords were ended at the end of the spears as they tried to advance.
Soon enough, the bodies of thousands upon thousands of horses piled up in front of the shield wall made walking difficult. A cavalry charge was almost impossible. But the Dothraki were getting a bit smarter. Instead of smashing into the shield wall over and over again without any luck, they decided to sit back a bit and launch arrows at the legion.
Of course, that didn't work either.
As one, the spears fell and the shields rose over the legion in a turtle formation - warding off the majority of the arrows slamming against the front or falling from the heights. But, of course, a few made it through the gaps. Yet the cloaks that the legionnaires wore weren't just for show. They were enchanted to cool the wearer in intense heat, warm him in the cold, and deflect projectiles that hit the cloak. There were limits to how effective the cloaks were though. They wouldn't be able to keep a soldier perfectly cool in a desert but he wouldn't die from heatstroke - though he may be uncomfortable. The cold, though, was a bit trickier. The arctic temperatures North of the Wall were all but impossible to completely ward off without burning someone. The cloaks also couldn't ward off anything much larger than an arrow but that was what their shields were for.
The legion took the volley without even flinching as the captain gave a single order: advance.
As one, the legionnaires stamped their feet with the men at the back turning around to face forward. Then they began singing. It wasn't pretty but marching songs didn't have to be. The Dothraki stopped, surprised that these half men would march to their deaths.
Then a lone Dothraki broke from the ranks and trotted forward. Then four men trotted up behind him. Every eye was on the Khal and his Blood Riders as the legion, of nearly six thousand men, marched forward. The Khal stood in his stirrups and pointed his arakh toward the advancing legion. Their blood song was drowned out by ten thousand Dothraki screamers baying for blood of their own but the legion marched on. The Dothraki charged, screaming all the way - with the Bloodriders at the fore, another rider at their side. They were cut down a mere sixty feet in front of the legion as the legionnaires threw their spears, scything the horsemen down. Then the third line threw their spears and another thousand horse lords fell. Throughout it all, the Khal never left his position, but he did look up. Our eyes met across the battlefield and he brought his arakh up, pointing it directly at my chest.
I drew my own sword, holding Winter's Bane skyward as the Khal's face darkened even further. Another thousand Dothraki died as the thresher of the Legion cut through them with stunning efficiency. Their swords of dragon-steel made quick work of the bare-chested horse lords while the Dothraki's poor quality arakhs couldn't even make a mark in the legionnaires' spell forged, steel shields.
When we could hear the Legionnaire's blood song over the screaming Dothraki, we knew the battle was over - even if the Dothraki had no idea. The men chanted and sang, spreading into two lines as their swords rose and fell. The hard fighting was over, now was the time to mop up. And the Dothraki still hadn't surrendered. Their Khal hadn't moved as the legion marched toward him, singing all the while.
I saw the Khal's lips move but I had no idea what he had said.
"He wants your head." Robard scoffed. My eyes flickered over to him. "He says that your band of cowardly half-men killed his Blood Riders and- oh, that's interesting. The legion killed his son with… With a stick? Guess that means one of the spears. He's calling for their Khal to fight him man to man."
"Only after his Khalasar was decimated. How many does he have left?"
"Less than two thousand, Lord Agonstark." I nodded, tapping a rune in my collar.
"Captain."
"Yes, my Lord?" The voice of the Captain, none other than one Manly Stokeworth, was as clear as if he were standing next to me.
"Call the halt. Their Khal finally wants to fight man to man."
"It will be done, Lord Agonstark."
"Very good, Captain." I folded my arms over my chest, smirking slightly as the former Goldcloak kept the Legion marching. The men peeled off into their regiments and reformed the block they were in before the battle began, then they came to a halt with the Khal just a scant few meters from the frontman. I turned to Robard and offered him my arm.
"Oh no… Really?"
"Would you rather walk? I don't see any free, living horses around here."
"Damn you, Agonstark," Robard grunted. I smirked as I tapped my chest, my armor flowing onto my body like a second skin, then he took my arm and I apparated us to the front of the legion.
"Maegi!" The Khal howled as he leaped from his horse and stormed toward me. "Yeri're vosi vosma ah maegi ma filkak! Athchilar zohhe shah ansha Khalasar shor ma an lajasar!"
"He's calling you a coward and a witch who hides behind his army and…" Robard squinted in concentration.
"And?"
"And an iron dress." I just scoffed.
"Tell him he's an idiot standing there with nothing but a sword and leather pants." Robard did just that. The Khal threw his head back and roared in outrage. His muscles rippled under his skin and spittle flew from his mouth as he charged toward me. The jingling of bells coming from his oiled hair was almost comically opposed to the beast-like man charging me down with his massive sword. Winter's Bane arced up as the Khal stuck down, his sword hissing through the air as he tried to cut me through from skull to balls.
He didn't.
Winter's Bane passed through the cheap iron and sent the length aimed at my head careening through the air harmlessly. The Khal glanced down at his truncated arakh and shouted in outrage. He charged once again, pulling a bronze dagger from his belt as he tried to tackle me. He didn't get the chance. I side-stepped easily and Winter's Bane sliced into his belly, deeply. His scream warped from rage to pain and shock as he dropped his dagger, desperately trying to keep his innards from becoming outards. He staggered and fell to his knees, still clutching at his belly. Winter's Bane rose and fell once more. There was a beat of silence then there was a thud. Then there was another.
Khal Bharbo was dead, and his Khalasar had all but died with him. The few thousand Dothraki had stopped their charge to watch the fight and panicked when their Khal's head hit the dirt. As one, they turned, spurring their horses back toward the horizon and running away from the slaughter as fast as they could - all to the cheers of the legion behind me. I held up my sword, turning to face the legion. I waited about a minute before a grin stretched across my face, sheathing Winter's Bane.
"Men!" I barked as I tore my helmet off.
"Ser!" The Legion barked with one voice, their cheers immediately falling silent.
"You have won a great battle here today! You annihilated a Khalasar! Their Khal is dead and you killed a Khalakka! The Khal's son!" The legionnaires banged their swords against their shields, only once, but the clack was nearly deafening. "Now there're nearly twenty thousand less of these fuckers in the world! Congratulations! You have two days leave once you return to Westeros. Do with it as you will. Afterward, you will be assigned to Winterfell. Congratulations, men, you are the First Wolf Legion. For the North!"
"For the North!" The legionnaires shouted.
"Good! Now gather your shit! Let the survivors go, they won't fight anymore. Understood?"
"Aye, Ser!" The Legionnaires barked.
"Good! Captain? The men are yours."
"Aye, My Lord." Stokeworth bowed - grinning broadly before he turned to the men, barking commands as he rode away. When he was finished, the rest of the officers began shouting for the regiments to separate from the main unit. Clean-up operations were always better done in small units. I took Robard's shoulder and apparated us back to the Lords standing on the hill.
"My lords, have you seen enough?"
"Aye. That was… Impressive, Lord Agonstark." Rickard said gravely. "But why assign them to Winterfell?"
"My Lord, this was simply the first of many legions to be trained. Three more are training in the Rills now. With your leave, I'll assign one to Moat Cailin, one to White Harbor, and the last to the Stony Shore. The legions are trained to make their own battle camp and how to fortify it."
"Good. Assign the fourth to Sea Dragon Point. The harbor there is only lightly defended. A single Mormont may be worth ten Iron Born-"
"Twenty."
"But after seeing this?" Rickard shook his head as he stared at the carnage the Legion inflicted with not even a scratch on any of the men. "I doubt any Iron Born would be able to stand against. The fifth legion you train is to be assigned to Bear Island, understood?"
"Aye, my Lord."
"Lord Mormont?"
"I'll take all the men I can get to fight those fuckers back. Quellon won't stop their reavers and his sons are all insane. I fear for the Realm when Balon becomes Lord Reaver."
"I thought you were doing well against them?"
"Oh ho, we are. Those arbalests Agonstark made are gifts from the Old Gods themselves." Jeor grinned crookedly. "But there's only so many men on our island. The iron fucks just keep coming."
"Aye, I know it." Rickard nodded. "You'll have your legion after they're trained, no sooner. That would be a disservice to you."
"I'll even train them as Marines for you, my Lord," I smirked as Jeor cackled.
"Aye, Dacey did well for herself indeed. When's the babe due?"
"By the next moon turn."
"And how're the boys?"
"Leo's as rambunctious as always and Cregan's still a quiet boy who hardly wants to leave his mother. They're both walking now."
"Already?" Jeor blinked in surprise before he grinned broadly. "Well then, it appears as if I have to make a trip to see my great-nephews. Maege still hasn't stopped fawning over them."
"She loves them but I don't think she's happy to be a grandmother already with the way she complains about it."
"Bah, she should have expected it when she had Dacey at fourteen," Jeor smirked. "Father was furious, of course, especially when she wouldn't give up the name of the father so he could gut him."
"Do you know who he was?"
"Nay, lad, I don't. I'd have castrated him myself if I did." Jeor cracked a smile as he clapped me on the shoulder. "Rickard? Do you need us for anything else?"
"Go meet your nephews, Jeor." Rickard smiled as he waved us off. "Where will your Legion land, Benjamin?"
"Ten miles south of Winterfell on the King's Road. It'll finally be put to its real test."
"Aye, marching an army up it." Rickard nodded. "The cisterns seem to be doing well."
"The limestone we dug out of the mountains and the Stony Shore helps that. Oh, and magic too." I smirked as Lord Stark nodded.
"Aye. Plentiful clean water readily available for the smallfolk… I never thought it possible without a well or river, lad, and then you made it a reality. From snow."
"And the lakes, the aqueducts are still some of our engineer's best achievements."
"The idea was yours, my lord. All of it was because of your ideas. The roads, the aqueducts, the baths… Old Gods bless those baths. The air's never been cleaner in Wintertown."
"The sewers are a part of that too, my Lord."
"Aye, only you Starks would collect shite then use it as fertilizer." The Greatjon laughed as he lumbered over. "Bull shite, horse shite, chicken shite, man shite… It's all the same to you lot."
"Not true, only the flowers get man shite, Jon," Brandon said. I closed my eyes as the tactless one entrenched himself in the conversation he knew nothing about. "The southrons love our winter roses… If only they knew what we grew them in."
"Hah! And they pay their weight in gold for the bloody things too!"
"Three times their weight in gold, actually," Rickard smirked. "They only grow in Winterfell or far beyond the Wall."
"Me mam grew a few at the Last Hearth. Now if I want to see them, I'll have to buy them off you, Stark." The Greatjon laughed. "Man shite and all!" If only both of them actually knew we used horse manure as fertilizer for the roses…
"The southrons get man shite and we get bullshite from your gab, Umber."
"Oi!"
"Alright, that's enough of that," I smirked as I turned to the rest of the Lords. "My Lords? Have you seen enough?"
"Aye, I have," Glover said, nodding as he stared off at the battlefield.
"Not quite the ants you'd thought they'd be, Gerold?"
"Fuck off, Thorren." Gerold Glover said reflexively at the Forrester. "They're mighty impressive, Agonstark… Where'd you think to train them like that?"
"I took a few ideas from the Unsullied, some from the old Lockstep legions," I said with my arms over my chest. "But it's their equipment that makes them the best of the best."
"Aye, I'd wondered about that." Lord Ryswell said.
"What makes their equipment so special, Lord Agonstark?" Lord Manderly's eldest son asked, he had sent his father's regards but the Lord Manderly claimed to be ill.
"When the shields are down, you'd have an easier time moving a castle wall if you were the opposition. The Dothraki proved that quite handily." Most of the Lords chuckled at that. "The shields cannot be broken or dented and weigh as little as a board. Their weapons are all made of Dragon-steel. It's not quite as rare or strong as Valyrian steel, seeing as it can break - only if a dragon stomps on the blade, mind you - but it holds just as sharp an edge that never needs to be resharpened."
"And their cloaks?"
"Absorb the force of impact and are impervious to penetration. An arrow fired from a longbow would feel like a mere beetle hit the cloak."
"What of a spear?"
"I'm afraid a spear would hit much harder. It could possibly break a rib."
"Then why aren't the cloaks better, wizard?"
"Because they have their shields." The Greatjon boomed with laughter as Wylis chuckled himself.
"Right… Quite right. Those would do it, wouldn't they?" Wylis said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sure father would be very interested in having a Legion for White Harbor as you plan."
"Excellent. Does anyone else have any concerns?" None of the lords said anything. "Then we're finished here. Does everyone have their portkeys?"
"Aye." The Lords said in unison.
"Very good, we'll meet again at Lord Stark's pleasure."
"Indeed." Rickard rumbled. "Winter is Coming, we will be prepared. For the North."
"For the North!" The Lords said, then they were whisked away in a flash of light.
"Ben?" Ryan asked as he looked at me strangely. "Why are we still here?" Brandon and Rickard were interested too.
"We're Starks, we get to help with the clean-up."
"No, they're Starks." Ryan pointed at the Lord and his heir. "I'm a Seastark and you're an Agonstark, the first Seastarks and Agonstarks at that."
"But nonetheless, we're still Starks. Come on, I'll be doing the lion's share of the work."
"We'll speak to the troops," Rickard said. "Come, Brandon. These will be your men when I am gone."
"Gods willing, that won't be for a long time yet, father," Brandon said gravely.
"Old Gods willing, I hope you're right, son. Benjen is suited to be the Stark in Winterfell for short absences but with these Legions? Winterfell will need a strong leader when I cannot be there. Come, let us meet the men."
"Aye, father," Brandon said as he and his father walked down the hill and into the ranks of Legionnaires while my brother and I watched.
"That's really why you kept us here, isn't it?" Ryan asked when the Starks were well out of earshot.
"Yeah, it is. They may have started as road builders and Buln and I may have trained them up but they're Northmen, all of them are Northmen. They're loyal to the Stark first and foremost."
"You didn't recruit any of the migrants?"
"Not for the first legion. I'm training a few of them now, though. Only single men with nothing to lose."
"And everything to gain," Ryan added.
"Yeah, but they're the ones who I'm most nervous about."
"Why?"
"Because they came from King's Landing. I'm already pushing it with putting the more intelligent Gold Cloaks that marched with them into officer candidacy but I can't vet the men like we could back home."
"No background checks, no criminal records?"
"Exactly. And the record-keeping here is abysmal. The criminal justice system has basically two options: take the Black or lose a limb."
"So the head is a limb now?"
"According to the Westerosi." I shrugged as I walked over to the battlefield that the men had already cleared.
"So how are you going to do this? Even I know you can't control fiendfyre."
"Fiendfyre?! No, no, no, brother of mine. I have a better way to clean up here." I grinned and brought my fingers to my lips. Ryan clapped his hands over his ears as I let out a whistle that rang across the field. Some of the more paranoid Legionnaires jerked around to face the sound but relaxed when they saw it was me.
Then came the roar.
With it, every, single, one of the Legionnaires stiffened and snapped their heads around backward to watch the dark speck in the sky rapidly grow as it hurtled for the ground. Ancaleon, now just as large as Balerion at his peak (being far and away the largest of his siblings), fell from the sky with an ear-splitting screech. There was a boom of displaced air as he spread his wings, transforming his uncontrolled fall into a graceful glide as he came in for a landing a few feet away from me. He chirped and hooted as he brought his muzzle down to my level. "Hey, buddy, I'm okay, I'm okay." I grinned as the dragon snorted as if to say that he'd be the judge of that. "Do you mind cleaning up this mess for me? The flies are already swarming and crows are circling."
Ancaleon's red eyes flickered at the field littered with the bodies of men and horses, snorted, and lumbered away. Fire poured from his mouth like a river as he lazily but steadily bathed the fallen Dothraki and their horses in flame.
"Jesus Christ!" Ryan barked, covering his face with his sleeve. "How the bloody Hell do you stand this all day?"
"I got used to it." I shrugged as I activated my armor. I might have been used to it but that didn't mean I liked getting my face roasted if I didn't have to.
"You've gotta get me armor like that – and a sword. Then we've gotta spar sometime."
"I've offered to make you a set of armor, multiple times, but you've turned me down time and again."
"Oh, c'mon! Please!? Think of it as a Christmas gift!"
"Ryan, it's October."
"Really?"
"Eh, they have twelve moons in a year. I got here on a Lion moon and disappeared in August back home. I've just kept up the calendar like that."
"So you have no idea what month it really is?"
"Do you? They have years of summer and winter here. Keeping up with the seasons by the month is kind of ridiculous."
"True… Remind me why we decided to live in the coldest part of the world in winter again?"
"Because we had family there."
"Ah, right. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be getting back to yours?"
"Not without Ancaleon."
"Ben, it would take you hours to get to the Moat on Dragon back. You have portkeys."
"I know, Ancaleon has one on him." Ryan blinked as I grinned. "What? Do you think I make him fly everywhere? No. He and I portkeyed over to Essos, scouted out the Khalasar together, and then I went and got the Legion while he stayed here. Once the legion was transported, I gathered the Lords (plus you) to attend this little soiree I threw together."
"Ah… Er… Do all the dragons have portkeys?"
"Worked into their saddles."
"Alright then." Ryan nodded, blinking a few times as he worked that over in his head. "That… That's actually pretty cool."
"Thanks, I thought so too," I smirked then glanced at Ancaleon. I blinked, my jaw falling open as I watched my dragon melt the fucking Earth as he cremated the horses and Dothraki.
Well… Didn't expect that one.
"Ben?"
"I see it."
"Since when could he do that?"
"I'm honestly not sure… I guess he's not holding anything back."
"Jesus Christ…" Ryan muttered, utterly transfixed by the black fire and burning corpses. "I'm really glad he's on our side…"
"Me too. Could you imagine what the world would be like if the Targaryens still had dragons?"
"No. Just no." Ryan shuddered as every living being in the field finally turned to watch the dragon clean up the carnage.
"Dace?"
"By the fire." I smiled as I stepped into our suite of rooms. The Great Keep was one of the last things the architects finished but they had done it excellently. The stonework and massive, double-paned windows held in heat during the winter but the windows could be opened in the summer. But I had taken it a step further and made them unbreakable. Right now, Dacey and I shared our bedroom slash private den with twins until they were old enough to have rooms of their own. I took off my cloak, hanging it on its hook as I found my wife with both the boys snoozing against her chest as she sat by the fire in one of the two rockers I had made for us, her belly swollen with our third. "Welcome home, my love." She smiled, glancing down at the boys before looking back up at me.
"How are they?" I sat down, barely able to take my eyes off of the blonde and black-haired boys.
"Cregan's been cranky and Leo's not stopped asking for his Papa."
"Did you take Cregan to see the dragons?" I asked as I carefully extracted the blonde from her arms. "It usually cheers him up in a beat."
"Oramir poked her head through a few hours ago but you know how he likes Ootun."
"Ah, right." I sighed, sinking into the chair as I settled Leo against my chest. "One of the Wild Three."
"Aye. He and Arcton roam as they will without care. The less said about Inferna, the better."
"They're dragons, and Inferna's bonded with Harry. Do we even know where the professor is this time?"
"The latest report said he was somewhere 'round Yi Ti."
"He's going to the Manticore Islands then?"
"There or the Shadows."
"Asshai? You think he may be going to the one place we both agreed to stay the Hell away from?"
"That was Valyria, my love. You agreed that if either of you were bound for the Shadows it would not be without Potter and his cloak."
"Aye… Right. A Deathly Hallow… How he got that is so far beyond me it might as well be in Asshai."
"You said the Hallows were naught but children's tales."
"They were… And then they weren't." I sighed, pushing my free hand through my shaggy hair. "You haven't seen other invisibility cloaks, if you had you'd understand why this one was so special."
"Aye, but I have not and have only your word, my Lord," Dacey smirked. "But you can retell your tale later, my love. Tell me of how the Legion performed."
"They decimated a Khalasar of twenty thousand horse lords - only two thousand rode away to tell the tale."
"Impressive… Very impressive. The shields held up?"
"Like the Wall."
"Good. How did the cloaks hold up against their bows?"
"Dacey, no one got more than a scratch."
"Truly? We lost not one man?"
"We didn't take a single casualty."
"Will you train the archers then?"
"And some dedicated Cavalry. If we get too reliant on doing things one way then we're begging for someone to find a weakness to exploit."
"Hm… How are you to apply archers?"
"I've toyed with the idea of training regiments and attaching them to the legions at the direct command of the Captain. I've also thought about training an existing, established regiment in the legion to shoot but that would screw with the group unity I've been working so hard to make those stubborn bastards learn…"
"You need not an answer today or tomorrow, my love. Rest, mayhaps your sleep will bring you an answer."
"Yeah… Maybe it will… But I'm not too keen to get up yet."
"No, they do have that effect." Dacey smiled, her green eyes sparkling as we looked at each other. "It is so… Strange that you are here, sitting with a babe."
"Why's that strange?"
"It is not done. Not by Lords."
"Well, I'm doing it so it is done." I rolled my eyes as Dacey chuckled. "These are my boys, I want to be here to watch them grow up."
"Aye, you are a good father, my Lord." Dacey's eyes crinkled as she sighed, relaxing further into her chair. "A pair of ravens came today. One from Harrenhal."
"Oh? What business do we have with the Whents?"
"There is to be a tourney held there beginning under the moon of the Dragon." Dacey sighed. "Lord Walter wishes to honor his daughter's name day."
"Oh? Am I to attend?"
"Aye."
"Wonderful." I sighed. "Where did the second come from?" Dacey plucked a small, rolled-up piece of parchment from her bodice. I took it and my blood ran cold as I looked at the seal.
"Tywin?"
"Aye." She said as I stared at the Hand's personal badge of office.
"Merlin…" I muttered, breaking the seal and scanning the scroll. I closed my eyes when I was finished and breathed out.
"What is it?"
"It's unrelated. It's his annual 'have you made your selection,' letter for East Castle."
"Thank the gods - old and new. I thought Tywin was ordering you to attend the festivities."
"If the Hand did that then it would mean the King would want my oath of fealty in front of the whole realm."
"Aye."
"I won't swear to him."
"I know, my love. Your distaste for the Targaryens is well known even if it is well hidden."
"That and I don't think Aerys is a fit ruler. But Rhaegar…"
"You've not met the Prince."
"No, but I've seen him."
"When?"
"When I was disguised in King's Landing after the exodus."
"Oh?"
"He wandered the streets with a harp, of all things, with a Kingsguard at his shoulder. He wore a cloak, though."
"Did it help?"
"Hell no." I guffawed. "The silver hair was enough of a giveaway but the bodyguard in white armor?" I raised an eyebrow as my wife shook her head. "Granted, ser Barristan was wearing a gray cloak but it didn't help when he was walking. No. Rhaegar and Barristan both stuck out like sore thumbs."
"Who did he play for?"
"The few smallfolks who remained behind. The dockhands are paid well now, better than even I can offer."
"Truly?"
"Yeah. The harbormasters are desperate for men to work, ones who won't come running for the Moat in search of a better life if they're not paid well enough."
"So they pay well?"
"As well as they can afford. Rhaegar plays for their kids when the high lords aren't in town."
"Where do they stay?"
"The Red Keep still has all its servants. None of them left with us… Officially. Unofficially, quite a few did but we didn't exactly write that down."
"Aye, I remember."
"Yeah. It was their stories about Rhaegar that made me the most nervous."
"How so?"
"The man is obsessed with fate. With prophecy. If you ever get the chance, ask Harry about what prophecy means."
"Smoke. Words are wind, especially when spoken by a charlatan."
"Until someone believes it. Rhaegar believes the whole, the dragon needs three heads bullshit through and through… I'm afraid of what he'll do to make sure the prophecy is fulfilled."
"Aye, that is worrying." Dacey frowned as she stared into the fire. "This is not an issue armies or dragons can solve."
"I know, that's why I'm worried."