Baldric
"Gods be good… what is that?"
Baldric turned back to look at Wyl Waynwood. He was surprised to hear such awe and shock in the fierce man's voice, but now his shocked expression was almost alarming. "What ails you?"
"Nothing except that smell," Wyl replied weakly. "I always thought Gulltown was too big for my liking. Now it seems little better than a village!"
Baldric wanted to laugh, but only a fool offended Wild Wyl. Instead, he smiled and put an arm over the man's shoulders. "Come on now, my lord. I thought nothing frightens a Waynwood."
"Frightened?" As expected, the words restored Wyl to his old self. "Who said that I was frightened?"
For his part, Baldric had never been so happy to see King's Landing again. He'd begun to think that he would never survive the Vale campaign.
Still, he had not given in to despair. Enoch Bolt still lived, as did Garvey Sawyer, Karl Penny, and Branston Straw. The morale which had been draining from his troops had been restored with the retreat of Redtusk and his Blackfyre army out of the Vale.
Lord Donnel Arryn had received the summons, and so he had marched south with as many troops as he could summon in haste. With him went Prince Jon Waters, who was not foolish enough to pull rank on Lord Arryn. For his part, Donnel was clever enough to treat Jon as his equal, and Baldric saw no evidence of strife between them.
Baldric felt such relief and joy as he rode beneath the large gates of King's Landing, basking in the cheers of those who lined the King's Way. It was surreal to him; Daemon Blackfyre still lived, undefeated, yet the smallfolk were hailing him as though the war was over. His joy slowly eroded; by the time he found himself at the top of Aegon's High Hill, he had a bad taste in his mouth.
All the same, he remained solemn as he bowed low before King Daeron and Queen Myriah. Three of their sons were present as well, along with their wives.
The pleasantries and formalities went by without incident, and Baldric felt as though he were walking through a pleasant dream. It was not until the war council that he recovered himself and plunged back into the war. Strangely, he was not cheered by the fact that he was considered important enough to sit on that council with the king himself.
"Daemon has mustered his full army," Brynden Rivers, the master of whisperers, declared to the others. "My spies report that it numbers more than forty thousand men."
It was a sobering report, made worse when Daeron pointed out that they had barely half that strength assembled in the capital, and most of them had come from the Vale. The Riverlands and Westerlands were too broken by the war to provide reinforcements, the Iron Islands were too fickle and too far away, the North had enough wounds to lick, and the Reach was still bitterly divided. Prince Baelor Targaryen had sailed south to rally an army from Dorne and the Stormlands, but they too had been ravaged by war. It was not certain that he would succeed, or return in time.
Once again, Baldric fretted over his family, and what must have happened to them, but he kept those fearful thoughts to himself.
"At least we have enough men to hold the walls of King's Landing," King Daeron declared. "Our supplies are full, and we still control the sea. Daemon cannot walk upon the waves. So long as I sit the throne, he will never win the war, let him break his head against our walls."
He meant it as a rousing speech, Baldric could see that. Daeron was never a warrior. He knew he should cheer these words, but he could neither find it in him to do it, nor to correct Daeron.
Thankfully, someone else spoke his mind. "Nay, Father," Maekar interjected, "this war will not be won by a siege. If we mean to put down this rebellion once and for all, it must end on the battlefield. Else men will say that we dared not face Daemon Blackfyre."
"Hear hear!" Jon Waters thumped the table approvingly in support of his cousin.
It was clear that Daeron did not like this talk of battle. "Daemon has shown himself capable of breaking armies that outnumber him three to one. Now he has the advantage of numbers and you wish to give him the battle he seeks?"
"Men will never cease their whispers if Daemon is not put down," Jon insisted.
"Words are wind," Brynden Rivers interjected. "Let them talk. It matters not how Daemon is defeated. What matters is that he dies. Along with that brood of his. That will be the only end to this rebellion."
Baldric shuddered. He agreed that the war could only end with Daemon's death, but he didn't believe Bloodraven's assertion that words were wind. Not from him, anyway. He'd heard too many rumours of what Daeron's master of whisperers did to men who spoke of their Blackfyre sympathies.
Daeron shook his head. His discomfort was clearly to be seen, even before he spoke again. "Daemon would welcome a battle. That is what he understands best. Aegor Rivers, Quentyn Ball, they all put their faith in swords over words. I do not wish to give them what they want."
"It must end."
Baldric had not expected to speak, and he immediately regretted his outburst. All eyes turned to him. He might have balked before, but he was too far gone to retreat.
"This war has lasted nearly a year now," Baldric insisted, and his resolve to speak calmly slowly deteriorated as he continued. "I have fought from one end of the Vale to the other. I've seen men burned alive. Every family in my castle has lost a son or a father or a brother or an uncle while fighting under my command. I have had no word of my own family for months! If we can make an end to this war, then by all the gods, we must do it!"
He was standing up, breathing heavily, scanning the shocked faces that stared back at him.
Daeron seemed at a loss for words. "Lord Dondarrion, perhaps you have need of rest."
"The realm has need of rest, Your Grace," Baldric urged. "You know that better than any of us, surely."
Maekar stood up with alacrity. "You go too far! Ser Gwayne, escort him to his chambers!"
"No!"
Maekar turned to Jon, who had also risen to his feet. "Let him speak, cousin. Baldric Dondarrion has proved his loyalty ten times over. If any man may sit on this council, it is him." Turning, the bastard prince gave Baldric a respectful nod.
Surprised and grateful, Baldric returned the nod before looking back at Daeron. "Prince Jon speaks truly, Your Grace. I left my home to fight for you, even against mine own kin. We here at this table have all fought for you, and we will again. But I cannot speak for them, only myself. And I beg you, let us make an end of it. Once and for all."
Daeron's expression was unreadable to Baldric. He wondered frantically whether he would be punished.
Instead, the king glanced at his youngest son. "I trust you would lead our forces to battle?"
If Maekar was afraid, or hesitant, or doubtful, he gave no indication. "I say it is past time that I see my uncle again."
Cheers erupted from the others. Baldric joined in, stunned and relieved that he was not going to be executed for his outburst.
Daeron nodded solemnly; he alone of the assembled men was not cheered by the prospect of battle, whilst Queen Myriah appeared even more grim.
Despite any misgivings, the council began talks on planning an attack. It didn't take long for the men to agree that Daemon needed to be lured into battle on a battlefield of their choice.
"This is the first problem we face, my lords," Lord Folgrim Hayford observed as two servants unrolled a large map of the Crownlands. He was the King's Hand, and though he seemed an unremarkable man to Baldric, there was no denying his loyalty to House Targaryen.
Now he pointed to the illustration of King's Landing. "How will we know if Daemon will even deign to fight us? If we march out to face him in battle, what will stop him from marching on King's Landing?"
"Daemon loves battle too much to shirk it," Brynden observed. "If he avoids a fight, men will call him a coward. But in case he's grown some sense in that thick skull, I know how we can draw him towards us."
Maekar leaned forward. "Another one of your secrets, uncle? Or will you share it with us?"
"We march on the Aegonfort," Brynden replied.
"Again?" Lord Hayford frowned. "We seized it once already. It never brought him running back."
"This time, we will raze it all to the ground," Brynden declared. "We put everyone to the sword. We let him hear what happened to those who served him so faithfully."
Baldric shuddered. It was war, but he could not help remembering what men sounded like when they were burning alive.
He could not follow along with everything that was discussed; once he learned where he and his troops would be placed, he ignored the rest as he gave in to his thoughts. He could always refresh himself on the details later.
Once he became dimly aware of men leaving the table, he got up to leave
"Lord Dondarrion?"
Baldric turned.
Prince Maekar Targaryen was barely a man grown, but he already bore himself with the surety of a seasoned commander. The war has made him cold and hard beyond his years, even as it only weakens me. At first, Baldric was worried; Maekar had been the first to demand his expulsion from the council, after all. But now the prince spoke in a quieter tone.
"I bring word to you of the south," Maekar declared without preamble. "Your family still lives, as far as I know."
Baldric nearly sank to the ground with relief. "Thank you, Your Grace!"
"Do not thank me so hastily," Maekar answered. "They have not been spared from the war. Your wife has fought this war almost as much as you."
He spoke of Blackhaven's capture by House Swann, Cassana's journey, her attack and capture of Stonehelm, the retreat of his brothers, and the seizure of Blackhaven by Titus Dondarrion. All of it left Baldric in a daze.
"I did not know Titus had returned," Baldric remarked blankly when Maekar was finished.
"A brave commander," Maekar observed, "and a valiant fighter."
Baldric sighed. He would never have guessed it from Titus, especially the way Cassana always spoke of him. Why is the war bringing out the best in everyone except myself?
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More than twenty thousand men marched from King's Landing. They were a mix of men who had fought for Maekar in the south, for Baelor in the North, for Jon Waters in the east, and surviving levies of House Arryn.
Maekar Targaryen was the commander, with Jon Waters, Brynden Rivers, and Donnel Arryn riding alongside him. It was understood that these men would have their own command beneath Maekar when battle was joined. Daeron had also sent five knights of the Kingsguard with his son: Ser Borlad Hardy, Ser Androw Chyttering, Ser Lucas Rollingford, Ser Gram Lefford, and Ser Gwayne Corbray, the Lord Commander.
Baldric marched, as always, with Jon Waters. He was not the only one; the bastard prince retained the greater part of his forces from the second contingent. Baldric was not sure if Adlin Lannister, Victor Fossoway, or Ulrick Dayne would have agreed to march with the bastard prince if they'd had the choice. For his part, Baldric still thought Jon was a hot-tempered man with far too much pride, but Jon had nevertheless earned his loyalty. He could not fully explain it, even to himself.
What he also couldn't explain was that he missed Wild Wyl's company. Maekar's division stood between them as they travelled north. It seemed a much more gloomy and tedious journey without the garrulous Valeman at his side.
At least he wasn't close to Brynden Rivers. He and his regiment of Raven's Teeth formed the vanguard, scouting the road ahead for any dangers.
After several days of marching, the army reached Daemon Blackfyre's estate. By the time Brynden laid eyes upon the land, it was already burning. It was, in one way, a relief. At least Bloodraven takes some joy out of it.
The same result occurred when they reached the Aegonfort. The presumptuously named castle was already being looted and burned. Men, women, and children were fleeing from Raven's Teeth, but Brynden had trained his archers well.
"Gods be damned," Baldric murmured. He heard other men murmuring with the same disgust and alarm that he felt. Must we slay the children too?
He did not give voice to that question; he already knew what some men would say in response. Bloodraven will likely have me executed for suggesting such a thing.
Thus, he made no protest. Instead, he turned to his foremost knights. "We had best play our part."
Enoch Bolt was visibly affronted. "Respectfully, my lord, I wasn't born to kill women and children."
Baldric sighed. "When did I give you that order? There are other tasks to be done. Raze, loot, do what you have the stomach for and turn a blind eye to the rest. Elsewise it'll be your head that Bloodraven takes next."
Enoch still looked unhappy, but he made no more word of dissent. Sawyer and Penny were less reticent, but nor were they cheerful.
Baldric watched as his men joined in the bloody business. He remained mounted, urging his skittish horse away from the fires. He found a quieter space beneath a beech tree, where he could be alone with his thoughts.
As always, he fretted over Blackhaven, and his family. What made his blood boil was the knowledge that his own blood would attack his castle, force his wife and children to flee…
He wished that he could have faced Raymont in combat. He wished he could have battered him bloody and made him answer why he'd always hated him. So wroth was he that he envisioned doing the same to his father, all three of his brothers, and especially his uncle. He felt foolish for ever taking their side against Cassana. Perhaps she was right to despise them. I spent so many years defending them, and this treachery is my reward?
His horse suddenly gave a loud whinny of alarm, jolting him back to his surroundings. A group of Raven's Teeth were dragging a man towards the beech tree. He looked to be a man of some standing. His clothes were of sound quality, and his half-cloak was secured with a silver brooch, though everything was stained with dirt and dust. Baldric wondered whether the man had stolen those clothes for himself.
"What's all this?" Baldric forced himself to sound authoritative. "Is he a thief?"
The men were surprised by Baldric's question, but one of them stepped forward to answer sardonically. "Mayhaps he is, mayhaps not. What we know is this man served the traitor."
"Please," the man begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I never did no treason! I only served my lord as I was bid! I raised hogs and sent them off to the castle!"
Baldric felt ill. He did not doubt the man's innocence, but Brynden had made it clear at the council. Daemon needed to be drawn out, and the king had sanctioned it.
The pig farmer continued to wail and protest as the Raven's Teeth bound his limbs and put a noose around his neck. Together, the archers pulled the rope so that it looped over a sturdy branch. Slowly, the pig farmer was lifted into the air, where he thrashed wildly in his bid for life.
Baldric turned to the archers, disgusted. "You might have killed him quicker than this!"
This time, the Raven's Teeth ignored him. They simply continued to hoist their victim into midair before securing the rope to the trunk of the tree. Then they stood by and began placing bets on when he would stop moving.
The pig farmer's breath rasped through what little opening was left to him as he jerked like a fish on a hook.
Baldric thought of cutting him down. He thought of drawing his sword and stabbing the poor man through his heart, or cutting through his neck to make an end. But he did not know what these Raven's Teeth would do; they took orders from no man except Bloodraven, and he answered only to the king himself. What is the Lord of Blackhaven compared to these men? Who will stand up for me if I am accused of treason?
Slowly, reluctantly, Baldric turned his horse away and rode off. He looked down at his horse's mane, so that he did not need to look anyone in the face as he fumed impotently. The sooner we make an end to all this, the better.