Lomas
The morning breeze was cool on his face. The sun was still rising in the east, looming up over the waters of Blackwater Bay, a mass of bright yellow turning the sky red and the water purple.
There had been a time when he would have slept through all this majesty; he would be too wine-sodden, too hagridden, too miserable to pull himself from the bed. Those days were behind him. He had lost several stone over the last six years, doing his best to get back into shape. It was unfitting that a master-at-arms to become as stout as he had, or as drunk.
Every morning, he arose to begin training. He began with brisk walks down to Blackwater Bay, and along the shore. By then, he had worked up an appetite, so he walked back to the castle for breakfast, and then continued on to train with weapons. He had initially been too ashamed to take part in weapon-training with the others; he did not wish to expose himself to mockery. But the garrison had other greybeards present, and they cheerfully welcomed him. Much to his surprise, the younger knights were encouraging rather than judgmental; all of them respected him for his experience in the Dornish Conquest, and it was not long before they helped him recover a trimmer figure.
Now, his walks were slower, so that he might appreciate the sun's rise from out of the water, into the sky. He had never lived so close to the sea before, and he still could not fathom how a man could take such a sight for granted.
The land which Aegon had bequeathed his true heir was among the best land in all the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon had taken the estate of an established knightly house, buying them off with a dragon egg. Their original dwelling had been a crude motte-and-bailey castle made mostly of wood. At Daemon's request, Aegon had had the old castle torn apart and replaced with a stronger castle made of stone. It had only been finished three years ago, and the sight of it still caught in Lomas' throat.
The castle was raised up on a hill whose long slope was gentle and easy; walking to the sea was a pleasant stroll if one wished. The castle was also protected by a moat, as well as a secret passage which led to a natural inlet for ships.
King Aegon I had made his seat atop one of the three hills which later formed King's Landing. Coincidentally, it had also been a motte-and-bailey fort, humble and crude in scope and design. it had eventually been replaced by the Red Keep, which had become the new name of the castle within Aegon's capital.
One might be forgiven for assuming that was why Daemon Blackfyre had named his own castle the Aegonfort. However, the Black Dragon had also called it that in honour of his father, the fourth king to bear the Conqueror's name.
This had been Lomas Tarly's home for nearly six years, ever since he'd fled from Blackhaven with all that he could carry on two horses, and his squire, Robin Horpe. They had travelled across the Stormlands, and entered the Crownlands to seek out the Black Dragon on his estates. It had seemed like the best decision to make at the time, for Lomas had come within a hair's breath of going insane.
Armond Dondarrion had been a proud marcher lord. Mayhaps he was a difficult man, but Lomas had understood why; the Dornish Conquest had been terrible, and so many good men had died trying to subdue the Dornish once and for all. Armond had earned Lomas' loyalty during that terrible time, and he had made Blackhaven his home ever since. It had been a good home, even when Armond's children had either died young or become belligerent ingrates. Cassana was loyal, but too cold, and a woman besides; her husband was an able knight, but a fool in all other things. Jena had been belligerent and willful, making it impossible for Armond to find a man interested in her. And as for Titus...
This morning, the sounds of horses drew Lomas' gaze away from the rising sun.
Two riders made their way down the pathway which led up to the Aegonfort. They both wore red surcoats with the Blackfyre dragon emblazoned on the their fronts and backs. Lomas approached them, calling out a greeting.
One of the riders turned and removed his helm. It was Ser Gideon Farring, a young knight whom Lomas had squired after Robin Horpe.
"Good morrow, Ser," Ser Gideon observed, inclining his head.
"What brings you out and about this early?" Lomas asked. "Whom have you been visiting?"
"Lord Rollo Bourney and Lord Tudur Buckwell," Ser Gideon answered. His smile gave away that they were loyal Blackfyre supporters.
Lomas was relieved. He had heard stories from King's Landing of Blackfyre supporters being rounded up and executed for treason on trumped-up charges. The crown was pressing its fist down on those who questioned the king's legitimacy, a sure sign that they were afraid of the truth being accepted. Bloodraven cannot kill us all, try as he might.
Ironically, the greatest obstacle to the Black Dragon's cause was perhaps the Black Dragon himself. Daemon had not committed to the idea that he was owed the Iron Throne, that his father had clearly meant for him to succeed him, just as he had intended for Daemon to marry Daenerys in order to further legitimise his position as the heir. Bittersteel and Ser Quentyn Ball had spent years trying to push Daemon into action, but the debacle around the tourney of 189 had made him far more reluctant to gamble on long odds.
Some men had apparently begun to whisper that Daemon's reluctance was a sign of weakness, or even cowardice, and Lomas would cheerfully break the teeth of anyone would dared suggest that within earshot of him. Lomas had been through war, and only a fool would seek it out again. Daemon was no fool, nor was he a power-hungry tyrant. He wanted men to choose him, as they hadn't chosen Daeron.
As a result, men who were loyal to the Black Dragon were travelling across the Seven Kingdoms, eager to mark out those who could be relied on to support Daemon's bid for kingship. Ravens were not trusted; there was no surer road to execution if such messages fell into the wrong hands. Lomas himself was due to make a journey of his own.
As always, breakfast was on the table when Lomas returned to the hall. Daemon Blackfyre sat with his wife, Lady Rohanne, surrounded by his abundant brood. Nine children, and the Black Dragon is not yet thirty. Beside Daemon's eldest daughter sat her betrothed, Aegor Rivers. Better known as Bittersteel, he was also one of the best warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. A worthy right arm to his half-brother.
It was only the night before that Daemon announced that he and his family would visit Dragonstone in four days, and Lomas had been wracked with doubts and questions ever since. He would have advised Daemon to go alone, so that his family would still be on hand if there was a concern. Or he would have advised Daemon not to go at all, to make up whatever excuse might be considered valid enough to avoid insulting Baelor Targaryen. But Daemon was ever a gallant man; he would not make conditions, nor would he show any fear in the face of an invitation. It was admirable, if not foolish. Privately, Lomas resented Daemon's wife for putting all in great danger through her friendship with Jena.
Gods, if a man told me that Jena would marry Baelor Breakspear, I would have choked to death on my laughter and called the man a halfwit. If Lomas had needed any last confirmation that House Targaryen had become a shadow of its former self, it was betrothing their crown prince to a woman like Jena. She had always been stubborn and impertinent, and she could learn good manners all she wanted, but Lomas saw through her mummer's farce every time.
Jena had visited the Aegonfort several times since her marriage to Baelor, and Lomas had avoided her at every opportunity. He had been convinced that Daemon was mad to allow his wife to continue this absurd association with such an obvious adversary, until Bittersteel had pointed out the obvious truth to him.
As Lomas entered the hall, Daemon raised a hand and called his name. The old knight walked over to the Black Dragon's table and gave a small bow. "Good morning, my lord."
"And to you, Ser Lomas," Daemon replied cheerfully, "I hear that you will be leaving us today?"
"That is so," Lomas answered, "I wish to visit my kin at Horn Hill." That was a truth, but not the entire truth; House Tarly was only one of several houses which Lomas meant to visit while he was away.
"I hope there is nothing amiss with them," Daemon remarked.
"My brother has been ailing," Lomas explained, "and it has been several years since I saw him last."
Daemon inclined his head respectfully. "I wish you safe travels and a speedy journey, in both directions. And give my best wishes to your family."
Lomas bowed again, and found the quietest table to sit down and eat his fill of breakfast.
As he ate, a serving woman approached him and whispered into his ear, "The library. Come after breakfast and wait for the others."
Lomas nodded, as casually as if she were informing him of a change in the weather. He proceeded to eat his fill, but rather than go out to the yard and train, he made his way to the castle library and waited.
The 'library', as it was known, was even smaller than the one which stood in Blackhaven. Like the marcher lords, Daemon had little time for books and 'maesters' work.' But Lady Rohanne had a larger interest in the written word, so Daemon had allowed the septon and maester to fill the small room with a collection. Rohanne had also gone and purchased other books on different topics, including several in the Tyroshi language. She insisted that her children learn to speak that tongue, though her eldest twins often found reasons to avoid lessons.
Lomas had never managed to read, and he had only regretted that illiteracy once in his life. But for now, the library was a suitable place to meet, for few of Daemon's household ever came in there, much less Daemon himself.
Soon, he was joined by Bittersteel, Ser Edwyn Osgrey, Ser Byren Flowers, and Ser Robin Horpe. The latter three had all been part of Daemon's entourage on the visit to Dragonstone, and they had managed to learn a great deal about the castle whilst exploring. Ser Robin had even drawn up a crude sketch of the castle grounds.
"This will prove useful," Lomas murmured as he looked over the details, "but we shall never know the castle as well as the inhabitants."
"That is no matter," Ser Aegor countered brusquely. "Anything we have can become an advantage if we choose the right time."
Even though he was young enough to be Lomas' grandson, Lomas greatly respected Bittersteel. He was strong, swift, iron-willed, but also clever. Indeed, he shared a few traits with his despised half-brother, Bloodraven, without being too much like him. It had been Bittersteel who had organised support to be raised across the Seven Kingdoms so that Daemon might be persuaded of his chance to become king.
"In any case," Bittersteel continued, "we have good news from King's Landing."
Lomas leaned forward eagerly. It was known to him that Ser Quentyn Ball was greatly sympathetic to Daemon, his former pupil at arms. The problem was that Quentyn's loyalties were known by most, and so Bloodraven needed just the slightest excuse to have Ser Quentyn's head mounted on a spike alongside the other Blackfyre supporters. It fell to those whose loyalties were less known.
For one, there was Ambrose Butterwell, the Hand of the King. He had always been a careful and cautious man when it came to his Blackfyre sympathies, hence why he could thrive under King Daeron's nose for so many years. But that meant he would not send any ravens with his own handwriting upon them. He had a contact among the goldcloaks whom he passed on messages and news. Despite all the efforts of Bloodraven, this contact had not yet been found, and he just so happened to be Harrold Osgrey, Ser Edwyn's younger brother.
Now he had passed on more information from the Hand. The message spoke of war in the North troubling King Daeron's mind. Ambrose had persuaded his king to send reinforcements, knowing that only the houses loyal to Daeron would be enthusiastic about obeying the king's commands. Other houses had their orders to reserve their strength, to send as few as possible. This way, King Daeron would be weakening himself while also turning his eye northwards rather than amongst the rest of his bannermen.
Bittersteel had already been sending riders across the realm to warn the Blackfyre supporters of seizing the opportunity when the time was right. He had only used the most loyal men to carry out these messages, often going out in person. Bloodraven might have his ways of spying, but he could not be everywhere all at once. No could he intercept a message if it hadn't been written down.
"What is the word in the Riverlands?" Lomas asked Ser Aegor.
Bittersteel never smiled, but there was a sense of satisfaction and triumph in his tone. "Medgar Tully is young and rash. He has grown up on stories of Kermit and Oscar Tully. He will undoubtedly lead his forces personally, and leave the Riverlands in the hand of a castellan. Moreover, he will want to prove his loyalty, and will draw most strongly from his own forces."
"Which houses will stand with us?" Lomas asked.
"Bracken, Roote, Perryn, Blanetree, Wayn, Terrick, Shawney, Groves, and Mudd," Bittersteel answered.
Lomas was disappointed, but he did not wish to prick Ser Aegor's famous temper. He tempered his criticism with a gentle politeness. "Ser, we are grateful to have House Bracken's support, but those other houses are not great powers in the Riverlands."
"The Mudds were once kings," Bittersteel answered dismissively. "But regardless, they will not be called upon to provide troops for the North. Piper, Frey, Mooton, Blackwood, and Mallister will be sure to provide the cream of their armies to the false king's cause. Let them go be eaten by northern cannibals if they wish. If our houses are not great yet, they will be great when we triumph."
Lomas still had his doubts, but he could find no fault with Bittersteel's logic. As long as everything goes according to plan.
"I have also some more news," Ser Aegor revealed smugly. "I have securd the Iron Islands for Daemon's cause."
Lomas stared in shock. An entire kingdom in support of Daemon? Even if they are the lowest of the seven, the Ironborn are not to be trifled with.
"How did you do it? What did you promise them?" Lomas whispered.
"I promised all that those pirates have ever wanted," Bittersteel replied, "I promised them a chance to plunder their neighbours. When the time is ripe, the reds will be divided between fighting in the North and fighting us. The Westerlands and the Reach and the Riverlands will have many targets for the Ironborn to raid, and raid them they will. I swore a blood oath with Lord Torwynd Greyjoy himself." He pulled back his sleeve to reveal a scar across his forearm.
"But what of our allies along the Sunset Sea?" Edwyn Osgrey asked. "What good will it do them when the Ironborn land on their shores?"
"You think I would overlook such a thing?" Bittersteel snapped dangerously. "After he swore the oath, I informed Lord Greyjoy which houses he must not attack, and warned him that if he should do so, our agreement would be void. Not even the Ironborn are so stupid as to risk the Black Dragon's wroth when he is secure upon the Iron Throne."
Lomas could sense how jubilant the younger men were at this news, and he could not blame them their excitement. He was beginning to feel that Daemon might well be able to win a war with the Iron Throne.
"What of the Westerlands?" Ser Robin asked eagerly.
"Robb Reyne has promised us enough lords to provide us a full third of the westermen's strength. And that is before mentioning those who will rise up against their own liege lords and join our cause. The Reynes are behind Ser Robb, as are the Westerlings, the Tarbecks, and the Algoods."
"Aye, that they have," Bittersteel answered. "In any case, I will return to the Riverlands whilst Daemon is away. There are other matters which require my attention. But there are tasks for other men to carry out. Redtusk has returned to the Vale, and Ser Robin shall go to the Stormlands when he returns from Dragonstone." Ser Robin nodded eagerly.
The Westerlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Crownlands, the Iron Islands, thought Ser Lomas, ticking off each region in his head, and now comes the Reach.
"*"*"* "*" *"*"* "*"*"* "*"*"* "*"*"* "*"*
Three riders journeyed to the south-west of Westeros with all haste. Each man was from a different part of the Reach. Ser Edwyn Osgrey, another knight from the Reach, might have gone with them, but Daemon had selected him to join his family on their visit to Dragonstone. His task was of a much different kind. Ser Quentyn Ball was also unable to join in, for he would draw far too much attention from Bloodraven and the Targaryens.
At first, Lomas travelled alongside the other three, but each one had their own journeys to make. Ser Ranulf Strickland, brother to the Lord Commander of the City Watch, halted in Penmore as they went along the Roseroad. Ser Bryen Flowers made for the north-western Reach, where the Leygoods had their abode. From there, Ser Lomas continued down the Roseroad, past Highgarden, before turning away for the Dornish Marches.
It had been a long time since Ser Lomas had come back to his ancestral home. Horn Hill was an ancient stronghold against the Dornish, producing the finest soldiers in the Reach. House Tarly were proud marchers who made their reputations with strength of arms and martial prowess rather than deception and maneuvering. Lomas knew that he needed to be delicate for now, and it went against his nature, but he knew that there was no other way to rally men to the Blackfyre cause.
Lord Hunthor Tarly was a dying man. Lomas could sense it from the way his eldest brother looked, the way he moved, and even the way he smelled when they embraced each other. The only hair left on his head was a wispy beard which was shock-white. However, his sons and his grandsons were more than capable of wielding weapons and wearing armour, and Lomas was pleased to see that they had assembled other lords to Horn Hill in order to greet Lomas.
Aside from the minor lords and landed knights sworn to House Tarly, they were also joined by Lord Gormon Peake, another prominent marcher lord, and several of his own highest-ranking bannermen. Gormon was tall, well-built, with black hair that was so closely trimmed that it seemed more like a shadow across his skull and jawline.
Aside from the marchers, there was Lord Mullendore of Uplands, Lord Cuy of Sunflower Hall, Lord Bulwer and his brother, Ser Buford, of Blackcrown, Lord Beesebury of Honeyholt, Lord Costayne of the Three Towers, and most encouragingly, Ser Boron Hightower.
Ser Boron was neither the Lord of Hightower nor the heir, but he was a knight of much renown in the Reach, and his house commanded the loyalty of the other five major lords who weren't marchers. Golden-haired and brown-eyed, Ser Boron was of average height, but anyone who had seen him jousting or fighting in the melees would know just what a fearsome warrior he was.
Lomas felt intimidated as he and the others assembled in Lord Tarly's solar. The room was spaceous and sun-lit, but the number of people made it seem cramped. Or perhaps that was Lomas' own nervousness as he braced himself to speak.
Before he began, Ser Boron Hightower insisted that an oath of secrecy be sworn, lest any man proved faint of heart or traitorous. None of his family's bannermen disagreed, and the marchers kept their peace.
When that was done, Lomas stepped forward and looked around. Most of these men were young enough to be his sons or grandsons; many of them had earned reputations in tourneys, but Lomas had earned his reputation in war. For the first time, he truly appreciated how many of them looked at him with fascination, even reverence. That is how they should look at Lord Daemon, not me.
"My lords," Lomas began haltingly, "I come before you because I represent the true king of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Hear hear!" Gormon called out boastfully, as if he wished to outpace any attempt at loyalty to Daemon's cause.
Lomas gave him a respectful nod before continuing. "I am not a man for making speeches, but such a man is not necessary. We have all lived through these twelve years of Daeron's reign. We have seen how he favours our old enemies."
Several Tarly men murmured angrily, and Gormon thumped his fist against a table.
"In the days of old, a king needed to be strong," Lomas resumed, pacing the room as he sought to look every man in the eye. "A king needed to prove that he was worth following, that he could protect the realm, that he could lead his men into battle. What sort of king demands that men do what he cannot do himself?"
"Daeron the Unworthy!" Gormon interjected again, seemingly unable to restrain himself. "He has no right to the Young Dragon's name!"
Lomas nodded, remembering the first Daeron. He had never seen him up close, but he had heard the accounts of men who had seen him fight, who had seen him lead his troops from the front. Such was the reputation of Daeron I that the Dornish had only been able to bring him down through treachery, and even when he had been slain, the Dornish had still sent the king's sword back to King's Landing. That sword has a new owner, and he will be twice the King that Daeron ever managed to be.
"The time has come for new leadership," Lomas declared, "but Daemon is not a usurper. He is not a fool. He will only reign with our support. For that is what a king must do. He must rule, but he must not be a tyrant."
Now it was Ser Boron who was nodding, though he did it slowly, cautiously. Lomas knew that he would be the man to convince; the marchers had been his before he'd even begun to speak. The key to Daemon's success would be the support of such houses as the Hightowers, and they would need convincing.
"The Targaryens are divided," Lomas continued, "I have spent the last several days riding to Horn Hill, and even I have heard the rumours. Daeron is summoning soldiers to subdue Skagos for the northmen. Baelor himself will lead this army."
That had been the sweetest news to Lomas' ears whilst he'd ridden down the Roseroad. Baelor was everything that his father was not, and he alone had proved able to best Daemon in combat. Even though he was half-Dornish, he could easily become a rallying point for his father's supporters, and that would have been devastating to Bittersteel's plans. This way, he would be far off in the North, and by the time he even heard of war in the south, it would take him too long to return.
"The time will soon come for us to strike. We must prepare for that opportunity, and then the advantages will all be ours. Strike too soon, strike too late, the consequences will be dire. We shall send ravens to all our followers when King Daemon declares himself. And then it will be a swift action."
"Such is the way of plotters," Ser Boron observed. "We of the Hightower have dabbled in such conspiracies before. We believed that war need not happen, and we unleashed a war which brought about the death of the dragons. Who is this Daemon who thinks himself capable of succeeding where we failed?"
There were murmurs of discontent, but Lomas was delighted to see that many of them came from Ser Boron's own bannermen. They were convinced, and they wanted to have their liege lord's support.
"Daemon would not suggest that he is above you, Ser," Lomas retorted. "He has offered your house no insult, and nor have I."
"There have been others who said that House Hightower overreached themselves, of course," Lomas observed in a neutral tone. "They say that the Hightowers were too ambitious, and too greedy. They wanted the throne for themselves and their descendants."
Boron folded his arms and frowned.
"I would not say that, myself. I say that perhaps there is another opportunity for you and your house."
Boron cocked his head to the side. "Go on, then."
"The Hightowers have always been Protectors of the Faith. They have always commanded the respect of their bannermen, and they have often proved fine matches to the Tyrells," Lomas stated, "the ruling house of the Reach."
Ser Boron smiled coldly at how Lomas had emphasised those last words. House Tyrell's origins were famously humble in comparison to that of many other houses in the Reach. Their rise to lordship had been a whim on King Aegon's part. Many in the Reach had not forgotten it, such as the Florents and the Peakes.
"Daemon would set things right," Lomas continued. "House Hightower has an indisputable claim to kingship, and they only set their crowns aside in submission to the Gardener kings. But the Gardener line is long gone, and the Targaryens may not rule forever. Why shouldn't the Blackfyres reward their leal supporters with the lordship they deserve?"
The Hightowers' bannermen voiced their support, loudly and confidently. They knew full well that if the Hightowers became Lords Paramount of the Reach, they themselves would be elevated above their rivals, such as the Oakhearts, Merryweathers, Fossoways, Redwynes, and Rowans.
Ser Boron was still giving a thin-lipped smile as he held up a fist to silence the others. When their cheers died down, Ser Boron opened up his hand and held it out to Ser Lomas. "You were saying, Ser? I believe that there are many details to go over."
There were, and Ser Lomas did, feeling more triumphant than he'd felt since the Conquest of Dorne. And this time, we will win properly.