Outlines of the port city were visible from afar. The town surrounded by pink walls, Maidenpool, belonged to the cities that would, in Westeros, overshadow all but the four largest and truest cities. Northern road led through a fishing village, one of many, that stretched along the coast near Maidenpool.
Soldiers of the Golden Company marched with discipline and in parallel to twelve galleys, which sailed along the coast of the Bay of Crabs. Jon's eye caught the largest galley, Turquoise Sword, which led the line of ships. The village was deserted, like many along the way, smallfolk fled before the army. However, the strict discipline that Jon enforced guaranteed a clean campaign as much as possible.
Three and a half thousand Crabb men he had put under the command of Ser Tristan Rivers. The bastard reluctantly accepted the task, frowning at Jon in the face, "What am I supposed to do with this rabble? I'm used to slaughtering such, not ordering them. Half of them are more wild than untrained elephants." He cursed at the new recruits, scolded but also did what Jon knew he would do. Make a fighting men out of crabbs. Serjants Chain and Mudd trained those less skilled, but made modest progress.
Vanguard, under the command of Laswell Peak, positioned itself on the field in front of the walls, out of range of arrows. The red salmon fluttered on the walls, where numerous figures stood ready.
"True, the lord is preparing for defense, but not of the city," giggled Lysono Maar in Jon's tent, the night before they left for the march. "Only his castle."
William Mooton was soft and weak, everything opposite of his brother Myles. For a while, Jon was jealous of Myles, but Jon was jealous of anyone who would distract Rhaegar's attention. Myles's death is on your soul, Jon reproached himself. The bells rang loudly. He still has a headache from the damned bells. "How many men did he send to Tully's?", Jon asked spymaster.
Cross-legged, spymaster played with strands of his blonde hair, while shadows of flames danced on his powdered face. "Non, it seems that our lord is mortally afraid of Lannister. As I said, he is fortifying the city and is fortifying his castle three times more," Lysono replied in a soft feminine voice. A voice that tore Jon's ears. The company was more than capable of taking the city. Maidenpool will be a perfect base of operations and a safer defensive position in case of Lannister attack.
The bells are tolling. Captain Otreys's cavalry has severed the approach to the city from the west. The infantry stands in formation before the walls, gazes crossing over the flat green field. The golden hue has turned to green, looming over which is the pink wall. In his thoughts, Jon searched another city, with Myles Mooton by his side. Myles, one of the six.
Commanders stood beside the King - Homeless Harry, Marq Mandrake with a tarnished face, Laswell Peake, eternal exile, and Ser Tristan Rivers, always wearing a furious expression. Peake was the first to speak, "The gates won't be hard to break." He turned to Mandrake, "You head to the docks, my men will move towards the castle." Mandrake only remained silent, pondering the imported goods he could plunder.
Dread seized Jon as he walked the streets of another city, searching for a traitor. Myles found him first and paid for it, becoming one of the six struck by the usurper's hammer. Now, he only stood silently, gazing at the pink walls. The golden company's catapults stood at the rear behind the infantry ranks, while Balaq's archers impatiently awaited the start of the attack, between the artillery and infantry. A gentle autumn breeze swayed the banners, and the bells pounded in Jon Connington's mind. Once again, he clashed swords with the Darling of the Vale and triumphed. A hollow victory, meaningless, for the usurper survived, and Jon's army was vanquished. When the madman drove him into exile, Jon felt partly relieved, not having to look Rhaegar in the eyes and reveal the magnitude of his defeat. The royal army was destroyed... due to his own vanity. Through victory, he could have secured Rhaegar's throne, through victory... his prince would still be alive. Jon looked at the boy; he would not fail Rhaegar again. Never again.
The gates swung open with a sudden, resounding creak, and three figures emerged from the city, bearing a flag of purest white, a symbol of peace. Negotiations, the last thing Jon had expected, especially after the fool Mooton ignored their earlier pleas. Approaching Aegon and the other lieutenants was a young man, dressed in sumptuous cotton, embellished skillfully with a red salmon on his chest, flanked by two guards from House Mooton.
"I am Myles Mooton, the bearer of warm greetings from my father, Lord William Mooton," the young man spoke. Myles's death is on your soul. "My father, Lord of Maidenpool, extends greetings to Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name, and solemnly reaffirms House Mooton's vow to the royal House Targaryen, the true rulers of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros." The boy dismounted, humbling himself in submission, flanked by the guards. Jon distrusted William Mooton, just as he distrusted any coward. Strickland chuckled with his irritating giggle, "Marvelous news, Your Grace," he addressed Aegon, "no need for us to wage a battle." Toyne must be rolling in his grave; this fool would blunt the edge of the Golden Company. Thankfully, most current members were veterans from Toyne's time. Had Jon waited longer, crossing the Narrow Sea would have been impossible. Nevertheless, Jon breathed a sigh of relief, every avoided battle meant more soldiers to confront the Lannisters.
"Fock it, I ein't seen action in ten months," John Mudd exclaimed, irritated by the unfolding events.
"Indeed, Harry," Aegon replied shortly, dismissing the comment, his gaze fixed pensively on the comet that tore through the northeastern sky above Maidenpool. A cursed comet, Jon mused.
Aegon ordered the lieutenants to set up camp beyond the city walls, which elicited disapproval. Only Mandrake's cohort and Laswell's three cohorts were allowed within. Aegon paid little heed to the discontent, "The number of those allowed inside can be reduced further," he threatened, his tone devoid of anger. Soon, almost all the officers from the Golden Company found shelter under the roof of the portly William Mooton. The coward looked even worse than Jon recalled, his flushed face and overly perspiring forehead betraying his nervousness. He was always on edge.
"I couldn't believe it when I heard... but it's really true that a Targaryen leads this army," William deceitfully addressed Aegon. You lie like a dog, Jon thought. The hall they sat in was adorned with colorful tapestries depicting ships on the open sea and Pool; everything in Maidenpool revolved around that damn pool. William Mooton's castle was grander than his actual power and wealth. If Mooton were smart, he wouldn't waste coin on such frivolities, Jon mused. The lavish feast he had prepared forgot the realm was at war.
Nevertheless, Aegon was more courteous than Jon; the boy put on his regal face, the mask he wore in front of Strickland and the others. "I appreciate your loyalty, Lord Mooton. The history between our two houses is long, and our bonds strong. You've chosen wisely," Aegon said, and Jon knew the last part of the sentence was as much a threat as it was courteousy. His threats are silent but present, making him more subtle than old Toyne was.
Ser Tristan Rivers, slumped in his chair, his beard stained with marinated quail, which he held in his hands, didn't have patience for manners. "Mooton, what about the Lannisters? The Women says they're still sitting on their arses in Harrenhal," he pointed to Lysono Maar, to which the spymaster chuckled as usual, unoffended.
Anxious at the question, Mooton fidgeted, trying to hide his cowardice. "Outriders have been raiding and pillaging villages in the west for weeks. Sellswords from Essos have come to our walls several times. They didn't look like Lannisters, but they carried their banners. Our arrows drove them off," Mooton tried to sound confident. It didn't justifie why he hadn't face them in open combat, Jon knew.
"And how many men can you provide?" Laswell asked Lord Mooton.
"Men?" Mooton asked, confused, but then gathered himself, "I have two thousand swords, perhaps a bit more. Your Grace, a third of them is needed to defend the city," Mooton pleaded, directing his words to Aegon.
"Of course. We don't want to leave such a gem of a city undefended. Its alleys almost remind me of my native Lys," Lysono Marr sweetly said, emphasizing almost every syllable.
"A reasonable number," Aegon said without hesitation. "Maidenpool will be crucial for supply shipments. My galleys are ready to defend the city."
The words delighted Mooton, and it seemed like the redness was leaving his face. His sons, who sat beside him, were also unable to hide their happiness. They want us to defend the city.
"Furthermore," Aegon continued in a weary voice, "the ships with elephants have not yet arrived, and we expect my uncle Oberyn to join us later," he added, addressing more his lieutenants rather than Mooton.
...
Weeks later, Jon carefully observed as hundreds of ravens departed from the maester's tower, carrying the same message to every corner of Westeros.
"Bend the knee."