—The Riverlands—
Riverrun…
Loreon did not languish in the cells alone for too long. Several other ranking and highborn officers who had been captured were shoved into the damp dungeons beneath Riverrun as well. Common soldiers among the enemy were forced to surrender their arms and were placed in hastily constructed stockades. Those who were heavily wounded were taken to get treatment, as Samson insisted that the articles of war be followed to the letter. He would not give truth to the rumors that the rebels were not but a bunch of thugs and ruffians.
Still, despite the number of captives that had been taken prisoner, many more had escaped. Scouts and riders reported that the remnants of Loreon's army were marching back to the loyalist-held territory at full speed. Many had wanted to pursue and wipe them out before they could regroup. However, that had been overruled. Though they had won a great victory here, the war was far from over. And their southern and western borders were still not completely secure. The bodies on the battlefield were being collected, sorted, and identified.
Gawain had been permitted to go out with his men to collect members of their unit. Of the twelve captains that had joined Gawain in his plot, only eight remained. Algar Wagstaff, Landen Yelshire, Graham Middlebury, and Kelton Herston had died during the ensuing chaos when the revolt started. He would write letters to their families and see that they got a proper burial. These men had been his friends and had given their lives to help him with his desire for revenge against Argilac and his cronies. His distaste for Argilac's rule had begun when the tyrant had disbanded parliament. Gawain had counted certain members of Parliament as friends and companions, including the niece of Lord Blackwood, whom in his youth Gawain had felt attraction.
The dissolution of parliament had been one of the examples he used when he urged his father to raise the banner of Prince Daemon over Redmont. He had been certain that had his father sided with the rebels that other storm lords would have followed suit. But Elyan 'Ironside' Thayne would not be moved. Though he thought of Argilac as a despot, he was still the lawful king of the realm. He refused to betray his oath of loyalty and would not tolerate any talk of treason against the King. But now he was dead and the burden of deciding the fate of House Thayne fell on Gawain, assuming he was able to keep his head here among the rebels.
He had been summoned to the great hall of Riverrun shortly after sunset, the guards outside the doors had told him that he could not enter armed. After a moment that Gawain had purposely made tense, he surrendered his pistol and sword. Inside the great hall, he found only Prince Daemon, sitting on a chair placed next to the high seat of Riverrun, with Samson standing next to him.
Following a protocol that had been drilled into him since birth, Gawain saluted Samson "General," he then bent the knee to Daemon "Your Highness." As he rose, he folded his arms behind his back. "Normally, I would introduce myself but… I am a little confused as to what I am currently. My lordship is in land held by the enemy and my rank was with an army that I fought against today. I suppose I am still technically a knight though, so… Ser Gawain Thayne, at your service."
"Thayne?" Daemon tilted his head in confusion before it dawned on him. "Ah! House Thayne of Redmont. I see. Well, at least there are a few who haven't spat on me already."
"Why should we allow such a man whose family served the tyrant Argilac for years?" Petyr inquired. "Yet only NOW do they decide enough is enough. How convenient. How little honor is valued these days."
"Arlī hen!" Daemon quirked in High Valyrian.
"What did you say?" Petyr questioned.
"That's enough! Both of you," Samson interested firmly. "Major, we've been through this already," he said to Petyr. "And you," he turned to Daemon. "You need to not let your emotions get the better of you again. It is unbecoming."
Both young men relented, but Gawain could feel a bit of rivalry between Major Petyr Hardyng and Prince Daemon Baratheon – yet only Samson is keeping them in line.
Now, Gawain could not understand what language Daemon had just said, but it sounded High Valyrian. Being fluent in such a dialect could one day prove useful.
"Yes, I... Sorry, professor," Daemon apologized. "It's just... We have been through a lot these past few months."
"Yes, general," Petyr acknowledged. "We all have."
"Remember: an officer must remain level-headed, even when under pressure," Samson lectured. "Now, word has already been sent to the Eyrie. Now that the Vale and Iron Islands have joined the fray, the country has effectively been split in two."
"Meaning that now we've given Argilac a moment of pause," Petyr said. "But how long would this reprieve last, I wonder."
"My brother will no doubt be even harsher on any he suspects of treason," Daemon said. "Many more innocent people will suffer. And Lord Gerion..." He turned to Gawain. "Gawain, right? We are not in court. If something is bothering you, speak freely."
"Oooh, you are way too trusting..." Petyr pinched the bridge of his nose.
"First, Your Highness, the major there is not wrong. Trust should be earned, not given automatically," Gawain stated.
Petyr gave a satisfied look at confirmation of his beliefs.
"I will admit that I did fight for Argilac, and I killed quite a few of you lot. But I did not fight for him because I thought him a good king, honestly, I think he a royal shit. I fought for him because my father refused to betray his oath of loyalty. My father was a stubborn arse, but I was not willing to fight against him. If he were alive, I would still probably be fighting under that blonde prick. But… let us not dwell on what might have been and focus on what is. I am here, I got men, we are willing to fight for you. Give us a chance we will earn that trust and give those fuckers south a good thrashing." Gawain then looked directly at Daemon "Also, I have a terrible mind for languages other than the common tongue, what did you say there in High Valyrian?"
"What? 'Arlī hen'? Oh. It means 'back off'," Daemon answered, shifting in the seat slightly. "My father, Lord Jaerys Velaryon, taught me how to speak, read, decipher, and translate High Valyrian when I was very young... among other things."
The late consort to Queen Shiera III, Gawain understood that Jaerys Velaryon—Lord of Driftmark and Master of the Tides—was once a formidable sailor and admiral whose accomplishments earned him the moniker "Sea Dragon". He fought in the War against the Band of Twelve in 1089 AC during his youth, where he befriended Samson and Jon Stark.
According to those who knew him, Jaerys was hailed as the greatest seafarer the Kingdom of Westeros had ever seen; he was remembered as wise in peace and valiant in war. Jaerys was also said to be proud of his lineage having the blood of Old Valyria in its veins. As per tradition among House Velaryon, he taught his sons the importance of sailing when they were young.
"Reminiscing aside," Samson cleared his throat, "as Master of War, I can only lend my advice on military matters. You are young, but if you mean to win this revolution then you must make important decisions. Even tough ones. But be mindful: few will agree with actions you may take blindly. You need to consider their opinions."
Daemon cupped his chin in his fist and thought long and hard. After a while, he sighed. "Captain Gawain Thayne," he began.
Gawain rose to his feet.
"I swear, by the Old Gods and the New, I am NOT my brother. The things he is doing, the devastation and harm he has inflicted on the helpless... It is not fair to be judged for something Argilac did that I had no part in. That is just not right. I have suffered worse by his hands for as long as I can remember. If I allow you to enlist in my service, do you swear by the Old Gods and the New that you will help me remove my brother from the Andalosinian Throne and restore peace to the kingdom to the best of your ability?"
Gawain stared hard at Daemon, though he was still little more than a boy in appearance, his words made him seem every inch a king. A king who defended the honor of a lady and heeded the word of nobility and commoners. He then dropped down to one knee and bowed his head. "I, Gawain of House Thayne, pledge my sword and my honor to Daemon of House Baratheon. In victory or defeat, I am your servant from this day until my last." His words were solemn and heartfelt, he then looked up and grinned at Daemon "You know, more than a thousand years ago, my ancestor tied his destiny to yours. And look where the tides of fate and fortune have led."
"Well, now that we got that sorted out," Daemon clapped his hands. "Ahem! Effective immediately, you and your men are pardoned for desertion and will be permitted a place in my army. Your rank is hereby reinstated as are your lands and income surrounding Redmont. So long as you are in my service, consider yourself and your men cared for."
Samson nodded. "Get some rest, captain. We leave for the Eyrie at sunrise. While the rest of our men hold the fort in the Riverlands, the rest will prepare for the push to reclaim lost territory." He turned to Daemon. "Come, child. We have more to discuss."
Daemon sighed with a carefree eyebrow raised. "Se tolie angotan hen ñuha... (The other part of my job…)" he walked away with Samson and Petyr.
—King's Landing—
Knightguard…
"They have my son," Gerion said as he read the letter that had just arrived from one of the army's field camps in the Westerlands.
Assembled in the war room, the Knightguard was the overall military headquarters for the Royal Army. An enormous fortress planted on the highest peak of Visenya's Hill, it consisted of thick walls, sturdy guard towers, and almost impregnable front gates; the central spire itself being much taller and more cylindrical than the other towers combined, it housed the Royal Army's most senior leadership advising the Master of War, the Hand, and ruling monarch on military matters.
Gerion stood at the head of a grand oak table overseeing a map of Westeros with puzzle pieces spread across the continent. Seated around him were four Royal Army officers who made up the general staff, all of them holding the rank of Lieutenant-General.
The first was Ser Gerold Lantell from the Westerlands, who was wiping his brow with a handkerchief while sweat stains were soaking through his well-tailored uniform.
The second was Ser Preston Conklyn from the Reach, who had a pained look on his face as he clutched his stomach. He had long suffered from an ulcer and the anxiety of the latest news from the frontlines only seemed to exacerbate it.
The third was Ser Lyle Dargoode, a native of the surrounding Crownlands. He was unable to look in Lord Gerion's general direction and instead seemed to focus his attention on a piece of loose thread on his uniform.
And the fourth was Ser Edric Whitehead from the Stormlands, who was pale and shaken by the announcement, his entire body twitching and darting his eyes around the room.
In truth, none of these men had been particularly chosen for their military capabilities; no, they were only selected because they knew how to follow orders and did not question what Gerion had instructed them. They were little more than desk generals who relayed information from their respective administrative regions regarding recruitment, the dispensation of supplies, quotas on munitions, and the dispatching of soldiers. True responsibilities regarding the execution of the war and battles, Gerion left that to more capable men. But now, these four were the only ones on hand.
"They have my son," Gerion repeated as he continued to stare at the piece of paper.
"How could this happen?" Edric asked, his thin reedy voice piercing the air. "How could we have lost when victory was within our grasp?"
"We were betrayed," Lyle said slamming his palm down on the table for effect. "Traitors, mutineers, and malcontents conspired against us and their rightful king."
Preston, taking a deep drink of water to calm his stomach, spoke in a strained voice "Has anyone calculated the losses?" he inquired.
Gerold shook his head. "No, but initial speculation suggests medium to heavy. And matters are only worse, with the whore of the Iron Islands giving her support to Daemon's rebels, the entire west coast is at risk." More sweat formed on his face, indicating just how fearful he was of such a threat
"We must contact Lord Redwyne and Farman. Their combined fleets should be more than enough to keep the ironborn contained," Preston said with a small degree of hope.
Lyle shook his head. "And leave our southern flank open, for all we know the rebels are talking with Dorne right now," He had little trust for the Dornish, believing they were sitting there waiting to strike the moment it looked like one brother would achieve victory over the other.
"And now they can move supplies freely between the eastern and western ends of the country." Edric wailed. "How could this happen?!"
"THEY HAVE MY SON!" Gerion suddenly shouted, despite his age, there was still power in his voice, enough to make all four men quiver in fear. "You chitter like frightened hens." The disgust in his voice was evident. "Get out. All of you."
The four Lieutenant-Generals were quick to scurry away, practically fighting to get out of the door first.
Gerion stood alone in the empty war room. He placed his hands on the table as he tried to organize his thoughts. He had underestimated the boy. He had gambled on Daemon's age and lack of experience, but the prince had proven himself to be an adaptive learner. For that, he had to give some grudging respect. From what Gerion had managed to garner from the reports he was getting from survivors, the mutiny that had been launched had caused enough confusion among the loyalist ranks to give Daemon's reinforcements enough time to reach the battle and turn the tide.
The cause of the mutiny was still not verified, but based on the reports, it suggested that it was a conspiracy among a group of captains. Which confirmed Gerion's suspicions that there were still those with sympathy towards Daemon and his cause among the Officer Corps, which needed to be dealt with.
But primarily among his thoughts was his son Loreon. He was certain to be alive, the rebels would not risk killing such a valuable prisoner. He doubted they would be willing to ransom him. A prisoner exchange was not out of the question, but they lacked the kind of high-quality prisoners needed to tempt Daemon to consider giving up Loreon.
A rescue attempt could be arranged; a small, but highly trained team or even a Talon could free Loreon from captivity.
Gerion looked at a map of the realm once more. His son was most likely being held at Riverrun, but even he doubted that Daemon would keep him there. No; far too close to the frontlines. They would most likely relocate Loreon to the Eyrie. Once inside that ring of mountains and up in a sky cell, his son would be beyond even Gerion's long reach. Turning on his heel, Gerion left the war room and then after navigating the corridors of the War Ministry exited the building itself. He climbed into his carriage and his servants to take him back to the Red Keep, where he would need to deliver the news of their loss in the Riverlands to his King.
Red Keep…
By the time Gerion arrived at the Red Keep, he could already hear Argilac roaring at the top of his lungs in a blinding fury.
"My best troops were defeated by treacherous scum?! SUCH INSOLENCE! HOW DARE YOU STAND BEFORE ME!"
Raising his war hammer high in the air, Argilac smashed marble pillars before bringing it down on the skull of the messenger who delivered such news to his king, leaving nothing but a mushy pile of brain matter, tissue, and shattered pieces of bone. The infamous Baratheon rage was legendary throughout the realm. Even though the royal forces besieging Riverrun were larger in size and better equipped, the rebels must have had a capable commander and tactician among their ranks. Gerion knew... it was Samson. His old colleague turned traitor must be the brains behind the rebel's military forces, advising Daemon himself. This did not concern Gerion Lannister, though.
"DAEMON, YOU PRETENTIOUS BRAT! WHAT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" Argilac noticed Gerion arriving. "You! You failed me, Lannister! Your SON failed me!"
Gerion did not even flinch. Five decades of service to the royal family had numbed him to this King's mercurial mood swings and exaggerated tantrums. He kept his voice calm and his face stoic while he spoke, "A single victory does not make your brother a conqueror, Your Grace," he said plainly. "The defeat at Riverrun and the loss of the Iron Islands, while unfortunate, has only delayed the inevitable. We still outnumber them and can easily outspend them. Daemon and his rebels are merely living on borrowed time."
"And if word of this were to spread?! Had you not considered that scenario?!" Argilac slammed the pommel of his war hammer on the messenger's corpse. "Your son-the golden heir you prize so much-had one job, General. ONE job and he botched it up by being so smug and overconfident in himself! I ordered them to put down these malcontents, to seize Riverrun and all the Riverlands, and all I got was that little brat humiliating me!"
He marched his way to the war table surveying the map of Westeros.
"But it makes no difference. Your son's failure means nothing. Once I have the greenseer's power for myself in addition to the Storm Kings of old and these rumored flames across the Narrow Sea, none shall stand in my way of total conquest."
Gerion resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since Argilac had ascended the throne he had become obsessed with the ancient powers of his ancestors. The Lord of Casterly Rock had lost track of the amount of gold that Argilac had spent to hire alchemists, mystics, mages, and other hack sorcerers to study the runes and writings in Storm's End. "As you say," he said with a slight bow of the head. "But until the day you claim the power that is your birthright, we must rely on more conventional methods," he walked over to the map and side stepping the corpse. "Daemon's victory at Riverrun is a hollow one. He still lacks the men necessary to launch any major assault into the south. He will have enough trouble keeping the men he does have properly armed. He lacks the raw material and factories necessary to produce rifles and cannons in mass amounts. He also lacks the money to buy the material he needs. Meanwhile, our mines and factories continue to operate at near full capacity. Fresh men are being conscripted even as we speak."
"But for how long, I wonder," approached Azleq mo Rhou, the new Master of Whisperers. "My little birds have informed me of some rather suspicious activity."
Argilac snorted. "What now?" he demanded.
"My agents report someone is moving a sizeable amount of money to the rebels through encrypted channels. Sixteen million gold dragons."
There was shocked silence as the news was revealed. Gerion's mind raced as he mentally calculated the supplies, arms, and men that Daemon could purchase with that amount. "No bank or money lender in Essos would dare give the rebels that kind of gold and risk souring their business with us."
"It isn't from any of relatives from any of the city-states, my lord. It is domestic. Someone in the Central Bank of Westeros is funneling money to the rebels... via a third party." Azleq turned to Gerion. "There's more: I have just received word that the Iron Fleet has captured Lannisport and is bombarding Casterly Rock's defenses."
A vein on the side of Gerion's head bulged and the audible sound of Argalic's hand tightening around his war hammer could be heard.
The Redwyne Fleet would need to be dispatched from the Arbor immediately. House Farman could also muster a fleet to provide aid. Casterly Rock would not fall to ironborn scum, it was a fortress second only to Storm's End. However, the damage their cannon could do to The Rock was nothing compared to the devastation that House Lannister's prestige would suffer if an outright attack on their ancestral keep went unchallenged
Gerion doubted that the ironborn could hold Lannisport. No, they would most likely steal anything that wasn't nailed down and set the city to the torch. That would affect their production and refinement of raw material for munitions and disrupt imports from the western colonies.
"While we're on the subject, I've taken the liberty of contacting these Talon agents... with your leave, of course."
The Red Keep doors fling open to reveal two individuals approaching Gerion and Argilac. One of them was a tall, muscular woman standing 6' 5" with long brown hair, four scars stretching across her face, and a yellow tabard on her breastplate with three black dogs in the middle.
The other, however, was a tall man standing 8 feet tall and weighing 420 pounds, with legs as thick as trees, a chest worthy of a plow horse, and shoulders that would not disgrace an ox. From head to toe, his armor is steel plate enameled white, over gilded mail. A greathelm hides his face - apart from his glowing crimson eyes being visible and the low growling emitting from his throat.
"We've learned that the tall one is named Ser Robert Strong, but he has taken a vow of silence," Azleq explained. "The Talons say he will not speak until all their clients are dead."
"For the right price. Our services don't come cheap," huffed the female bluntly.
Azleq nodded. "Among the Talons, these two are the most skilled and the most dangerous. Even their comrades fear them."
Gerion looked at both of them and then turned his attention to Azleq and gave a nod of approval. "We will need them, very shortly in fact." He said as he looked at the map, His emerald, green eyes focused coldly on the spots on the map that were controlled by the rebels, he then looked at Argilac. "If your brother is so adamant on playing war sire, then we shall respond in kind." He trailed his finger across the Riverlands. "We will turn the southern Riverlands into a wasteland. Burn the villages, salt their fields, and poison their wells. Let them know what it means to choose the wrong side. Anyone in rebel territory is to be considered a terrorist and guerrilla, not protected by the rules of combat. Men are to be hung, women and children imprisoned. Let the word be spread: if you harbor the enemy, you will lose your lands and your life. Bounties will be placed on every officer and leader in their cabal of traitors. Hunters and mercenaries from every corner of the globe will gather to claim the prizes." He then turned his attention to the Westerlands, Reach, and Stormlands. "As of now, we shall throw the entire might of the south against these rebels. Prisoners and convicts will be sent to shipyards to build a new fleet that will smash the ironborn and the navy at Gulltown. Men and strong lads will be conscripted and sent to training camps. Factories and industries will give priority to military supplies. We will drive our war machine right at their throats. No quarter or mercy will be shown from this point forward."
Argilac huffed. "No mercy. Just slaughter them all!" He bellowed. "And one more thing: you will find and bring Daemon to me... alive, if possible. I will deal with him myself. If not, it doesn't matter."
At that, Gerion turned to the two Talons. "Here is your mission: kill General Samson, kidnap Prince Daemon Baratheon, and bring back my son Loreon Lannister. Both must be brought here alive and unspoiled. Price is not an object and whatever men or material you need shall be given."
The female Talon extended her hand, obviously demanding payment. Once the fee was paid, both departed from the Red Keep.
"Foolish old man," Argilac commented. "The professor is advising my little brother pretty well. You fought with him during the War against the Band of Twelve under my grandfather many years ago, Lannister. You know as well as I do that he must be dealt with." He picked up his war hammer and stomped on the messenger's corpse before leaving. "In the meantime, dispatch envoys to the Princess of Dorne, Arianne Martell. Demand those damned Dornish get in line."
Gerion raised a brow, "It will be done," he said as he watched Argilac leave, no doubt to vent his frustration on one of the multitudes of whores he kept.
In the beginning, the cooperation of the Dornish had not been highly ranked on his list of things to do. However, given recent events, it now made sense to gain their favor. If Martell decided to throw her lot in with Daemon, then it would force them to fight a war on two fronts. Even the most inept commander knew that a two-front war could easily spell disaster.
And Princess Arianne Martell will most likely recognize this. She was a crafty viper. Dealing with her would require tact and skill.
If he was not able to bring them into the fold with the rest of the south, then he might be able to convince them that remaining neutral in this conflict would be best for all parties.
"Enjoy your victory while you can, Samson," Gerion said as he picked up a painted block that represented the rebel faction. "For now, we enter the next stage of the great game," he then crushed the flimsy piece of wood and let it fall to the floor.
Chapter End
Author's Note: As we witness the pledge of fealty Daemon has received from Gawain Thayne and the few who defected from Argilac's army, we begin to witness the darker side from the opposing team. Learning of his son's capture at Riverrun, Gerion Lannister no doubt has something planned up his sleeve. And who are these new Talons? Why are they considered the most dangerous of them all? Does anything strike as familiar to you? Find out next time.
Guest #1: Even though Argilac is the bad guy it would be cool if he won
CodeWesteros: I m verry happy to read a new chaper of this fantastic history... I think whe see a descendent of house Clegane, maybe of a descendent of Sandor (for the woman) and the other of gregor... or maybe, just maybe is The same Gregor clegane the montain, reborn like Zombie... But How, what is relly is the Talon, a faction from the faceless man, or other think?, whe will se Dragons bay. or other city like Bravos? i hope see a member or house seaworth, or flashback or dreams abaut the past of Daemon or Argilac in child, or a Ghost of Daveth and sansa?
You doing a great job
—The Talons are essentially an organization from Essos that specializes in a variety of arts such as assassination, espionage, infiltration/spying to outright actual combat. Regardless as one of the deadliest assassins in the world, there have been members who were mercenaries or Faceless Men. Can't say whether or not Dragon's Bay or any of the city-states in Essos will be mentioned or not, but I'm keeping my options open. And yes, there will be flashbacks that weren't mentioned in Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper.