Author's Note:
Happy to be back with a new chapter and I hope everyone is keeping well! For all returning readers, thank you so much for following and your kind reviews throughout. It is a privilege to share more of this story (and quite fun to do too!).
Chapter 23: Aegon's Capital
The Kingsroad, Crownlands, 283 AC
At a half-day's ride before the Crown's armies congregated at the siege camp outside of King's Landing, Lord Rambton finally received approval to accompany Lord Baelor to Lord Aerion.
It was the first time Lord Baelor gained permission to leave his domain of the siege camp since he had arrived with Stonedance and House Grandison banners, a week's past.
To be exact, Lord Baelor had long received commands to stay at Stonedance castle. The agreement was that the Lord of Stonedance would come to retrieve the younger Targaryen lord personally, when all matters of war were settled.
After hearing the news of the traitors' attacks on the Kingsroad, and fresh injuries to Lord Aerion's person, however, Lord Baelor commanded the remaining Stonedance garrison to escort him closer to his brother.
Lord Baelor declared to the dissident counsellors to think twice that each of them could well be prohibiting him from seeing his lord brother again, possibly for the last time, in an unpredictable war.
Afraid that those unlucky words might strike true, the Maester at Stonedance had relented and allowed Lord Baelor to ride out, but only as far as Lord Wendwater's camp.
There, the party would wait for clearer permission from Lord Aerion.
From the siege camp, Lord Baelor had pled again and again to join the marching army on the Kingsroad, but could not change the Lord of Stonedance's decision to keep his brother under heavy guards.
Finally, when the armies were close enough and the capital defence seemed calm enough, Lord Rambton was directed by his liege's messenger to ride out to him.
Lord Rambton strapped on the young lord's armour and helm and reiterated the words of vigilance from Maester Kelhmon. You must stay close and on your horse. If any part of the armour feels stuck, you must raise it to me or another knight at once.
Lord Baelor had all but dragged Lord Rambton to their waiting group of riders.
They had ridden away from the capital's defences in Lord Wendwater's colours, the same as the daily groups of messengers who would join and leave the siege camp.
They rode faster ahead when their scouts told them that the main army was barely a league away.
Another stretch of riding placed them opposite a long procession of colourful standards on the wide path of the Kingsroad that would connect to the Gate of the Gods. Lord Rambton took care to count the standards of surrendered Houses of the Riverlands, of the Vale, and even of the North.
Those flecks of grey, brown, and blues blinked against a sea of sigils on green fields that were of the Reach, followed by dense arrays of flags of the red three-headed dragon on black.
Lord Aerion came to greet them.
The Targaryen lord's former squire, now taller and broader in his shoulders, followed behind in a small welcoming party with Ser Barristan, Lord Lorent and the Lord of Duskendale.
Having dismounted from his destrier, Lord Aerion pulled his brother into an embrace.
Lord Rambton looked up at the sky, then. It must have been the wind carrying dust that was irritating his eyes.
When Lord Aerion straightened, Lord Rambton saw that his liege wore a long cut on the side of his chin. It was still a ghastly red slash, and higher than where a collared undershirt would sit.
Although cleanly shaven and dressed in fresh robes, the Targaryen Lord's features betrayed some tiredness.
Lord Rambton banished more violent thoughts against the most recent Stonedance captain before those thoughts could ruin a good day.
Ser Barristan watched over the brothers with a smile on his lips. He picked up the reins of Lord Aerion's mount and held it with his own.
Lord Aerion's attention was entirely on Lord Baelor, accounting sternly why his brother never should have considered exchanging prisoners when House Bar Emmon had moved against Stonedance.
Lord Baelor did not argue back as he did with the Maester and with Lord Gulian and Lord Gawen, who each chided him when the Bar Emmons surrendered.
Lord Aerion turned the younger lord left and right, to satisfy himself that no harm was inflicted at the breach of their family seat and the fortnight since being away from home.
When that was done, Lord Baelor started his own questioning.
The younger lord pressed for details of the attempted assassination, their search for the traitors, and whether there were now better guards to maintain Lord Aerion's safety. Will the wound leave a scar? How did the Westerlands conspire with those in his personal retinue? Why did he refuse an additional Kingsguard from Dragonstone?
He also asked after the strategy at High Heart, and if they had properly interrogated Kevan Lannister while he was a prisoner.
The Lord of Stonedance answered most of the questions.
Lord Rambton had to admit that he was curious too, since all the letters he received have valued brevity at the risk of having messages intercepted.
Lord Baelor's questions stayed focused on risks to Lord Aerion's safety, and where Lord Aerion's answers felt unsatisfactory to his younger brother, the Kingsguard and Lord Rykker helped describe new defences at camp.
Still, Lord Baelor pointed out gaps and spoke of how dangerous the retake of the capital ought to be, with all the stories he had heard from Lord Wendwater, who had predicted a desolate battle with the intention of keeping the boy away from any actual fighting.
Lord Rambton heard his liege promise to be more careful and not to lead the attack on the capital.
Concerned, Lord Baelor shook his head and said that even joining the Dornish camp before the attack is a risk that Lord Aerion should not take.
Prince Oberyn's animosity has only grown since Castle Darry, and he could sense the Dornish nobles' contempt towards all Crownlands forces, even from his short stay.
Lord Aeroin patted on his brother's arm and replied that they would be fine.
Prince Oberyn had a better chance to harm him and had chosen not to. The main army, now with Stormlands reinforcements and Jon Fossoway's army, far surpasses the Dornish forces in numbers.
Most importantly, the armies needed each other to defeat the Westerlands. It was why Dorne had not attacked the capital on their own.
Lord Rambton didn't hear his liege explain further, but an open insurgence by Prince Oberyn's army sounded like it will only justify an allied offensive against Dorne.
They strode back to the main army's procession at a leisurely pace.
Lord Aerion wanted to hear about Lord Baelor's time at Stonedance ever since he had ridden out for Sow's Horn.
Nothing was too trivial, for Lord Aerion asked after his brother's lessons and training of the garrison, and after that, thievery and crime among the smallfolk on Massey's Hook. The younger lord tried to account the visitors from Dragonstone over time and the details of provisions that could support a fortified Stonedance castle.
Hearing Lord Baelor take his role of managing his family seat so seriously, especially when describing calculations of provisions, Ser Barristan paid true attention and asked his own questions, to invite the boy to think on matters of running a keep.
Lord Rambton was greeted by many familiar faces from Castle Darry.
Never straying far from Lord Baelor's side before Lord Aerion made formal arrangements for his brother's protection, Lord Rambton heard about the Dornish reaction to the sack of King's Landing as the news travelled north, about the precarious negotiations to push the rebel high lords to surrender, and about the wise counsel of Lord Swann, who was a new addition on their march.
Hours blurred out of focus as old acquaintances traded stories from their journeys.
The main army steadily marched ahead, with the clinking of armour and the rhythmic thud of marching feet.
The landscape eventually changed to bring the immense scale of King's Landing's fortifications into view.
The battlements of the city wall loomed above the grand and heavy city gates.
Coming closer, they could see hundreds of guards in full Lannister armour holding their positions, patrolling, observing, and readying catapults. Banners, with golden lions sewn to their full size, fluttered atop city towers.
For many soldiers of the Riverlands and the Stormlands, it was their first time seeing the capital. If the Battle of the Trident and of High Heart will be retold in the books of history, the reclaim of King's Landing was expected to be just as, if not more, momentous.
The realm will watch the capital in the coming days, studying the declared winners, forged alliances, and shifts in the fortunes of the kingdoms.
The air still carried the mixed scents of the sea and the city's less savory odors, a reminder that even though almost all those who eke out a living outside the city walls have scattered to safer villages and farms, the mazes of alleyways and markets just enclosed by the city walls were still home to countless common folk, now easy captives of the last Great House in rebellion.
High above the roofs of most buildings, the Red Keep's red-hued stone shone against the setting western sun, looking exactly as Aerion last saw it, after the birth of Prince Aegon.
Perhaps strangely, approaching the capital this time felt like coming home. It didn't matter that no Targaryen standards adorned the walls, or that the gates were sealed shut against him.
The time finally came to settle this war; for House Targaryen to face what it has lost beyond the defensive walls and to demand retribution from the culprits.
On his last visit to the city, he had all but escaped from the Crown Prince and the erratic currents of politics at court.
That relief felt true, but so does a sense of comfort at the present, from seeing the capital city stand its ground.
Sigils of the Reach and banners of the red three-headed dragon on black poured into an enlarged area of the siege camp and easily doubled the size of the besieging army.
House Fossoway, House Grandison, and House Wendwater bannermen stood just past the barricades, their eyes catching the allied commanders.
Two knights from the Dornish retinue stood in the back, taking in the added numbers to their besieging army.
They had little reason to delay the retake of the capital nor to give the trapped Lannister army more time to find aid.
The highest allied commanders gathered that evening to settle the battle plan, with their soldiers told to ready themselves at daybreak. The lesser holdings and knights knew of only their duties and formation, to avoid leaking sensitive matters to the capital's defenders.
Ser Barristan watched the commanders, both high nobles and new landed knights, find their seats along a wide dining hall table. High energies prompted the nobles to converse and jest, passing jugs of wine in preparation for a busy night.
Prince Oberyn and Prince Lewyn donned House Martell colours and engraved light armour. Ser Allyrion and Lord Blackmont followed behind, letting the gathered council know that they were ready to start.
House Targaryen, House Tyrell and House Martell's soldiers stood guard together outside of the council tent. The orders from their liege were that no one can approach the council without being summoned, to maintain the highest efforts of confidentiality.
Aerion surveyed the nobles who had gathered. He saw those who were eager to return his gaze, those working to rouse high spirits around the table, and those watching the scene with pinched lips or subtle apprehension.
"My lords, it is an honour to fight alongside you all again, whether you were at the Trident, at High Heart, or here, defending the Crownlands with my garrison." Aerion started.
The tent was quiet as Aerion continued, "Just as the Baratheons, the Starks, the Arryns, and the Tullys bent the knee to us, the Westerlands will soon follow their example."
"On the morrow, we fight for the fallen, for our families and for our faithful bannermen. Justice will not be stopped by stone, nor turned aside by steel. Let tonight be the last night of this unfortunate war. On the morrow, freeing the capital is the very last task that we have."
"Well spoken, my lord Aerion." Lord Mace said, "It is our duty, by the laws of the Seven and laws of men, to restore peace to this land. Our courage and unity will be the sword and shield that vanquish all that's evil."
"Our allied forces stand behind you, my lords." Young Lord Fossoway's clear voice and golden tunic made him easy to find. Lord Jon was in his early twenties and looked more adept at fighting than how his liege had described him. "We march for the realm and for justice."
"Lord Aerion," Lord Rykker said. "Our Crownlands army fight as one, under your command."
It was time for Dorne to chime in, but Prince Oberyn did not shift in his seat. The Dornish prince kept an eye on the Lord of Stonedance and, this time, avoided outward slight.
Before the lull felt too long, Lord Gawen said, "Although my House is a newcomer to this army and camp, I must say that our spirits are high, and our soldiers see each other as brothers. I have every faith that we will prevail."
"Thank you, my lords. I am mindful that my words of appreciation are growing repetitive, but I will not forget the support from each of you and your bannermen. I will not forget, and the realm will not forget." Aerion surveyed the room and left Prince Oberyn for last. The Martell prince was still staring with a mix of scrutiny and intrigue.
"If you would please, Lord Randyll, chart the various avenues of attack that our letters have discussed for the group? We will confirm these plans here and tonight."
"Of course, my lord." Lord Randyll nodded at Aerion. "My lords, if anything I say is of concern, please interrupt me for a chance to resolve it. I will start with our formation outside each of the city gates, move on to our proposed use of the capital's underground passages and then our position regarding taking prisoners from the battle."
The Lord of Horn Hill described how his own garrison would be leading the attack on the Lion Gate, with Lord Wendwater's troops nearby, focusing on the King's Gate.
He described how House Martell's banners have agreed to be responsible for the Old Gate, and the main Crownlands and Stonehelm forces will be stationed beneath the Gate of the Gods.
Hearing polite discourse between Lord Randyll and the gathered nobles, Aerion allowed himself some precious time to consider the range of outcomes from the retake of the capital.
The Dornish nobles maintained their silence at the second and then the third mention of their assigned duties in the battle, which is some assurance that they are still willing to fight against the Lannisters.
And what losses would he be prepared to take, for the besiege of King's Landing?
Aerion surveyed the room again at that thought.
He doubts that any intrusion through hidden passageways into the capital will lead to a coordinated breach of a city gate. The Westerlands would have prepared many moons in defence of known passages, and thus, they would have to take at least one main gate by force.
They might lose sunlight by the time they reach the Red Keep and Maegor's Holdfast. They will have to ensure that Tywin Lannister, his children, and his closest bannermen do not desert the battle amidst the chaos.
In darkness, and with many of their commanders having never set foot in the capital, a trained Westerlands retinue would be able to hide away their liege lords.
He will have to find men and gold to repair damages that will befall the city and the Red Keep.
Before hosting a Great Council, they would effectively be holding nobles of five rebel Kingdoms hostage. Both keeping all those captives together as well as scattering the high nobles to guard at different places introduce great risks.
Most importantly, what if the battle is lost? Where could his army regroup, or find more fighting men?
With half an ear on the main discussion, Aerion tried to play out the battle, gate by gate, commander by commander, army by army.
Would Tywin have found enough wildfire from the Red Keep's stores to use against the Crown's army? Their armies are separated by cities walls that wildfire can burn through. Using it would cause panic and fear, and perhaps that is what Tywin is after.
It would be humiliating to be deflected by a defensive army. If they abandon a siege of the capital, it will create an opportunity for Westerlands forces to move out of the city, or even to disperse in different directions.
"We will fight as you proposed on the morrow, but we will not take Lannister prisoners." Prince Oberyn's voice cut through the air and stilled the other voices.
Aerion looked up to see the Dornish Prince speaking to the room, but with eyes trained on his own reaction.
When no one responded in the affirmative nor challenged him, Prince Oberyn repeated, "We will not take Lannister prisoners. Where the Lannisters are, we will go. We will kill those on the city walls, those hiding in the Red Keep and when we are done here, those in Casterly Rock."
"Prince Oberyn, the customs of war dictate that an army takes surrendered enemies as prisoners." Lord Paxter Redwyne pointed out. "No one has broken that sacred agreement, not at the Trident and not at High Heart."
"We were not fighting the Lannisters at the Trident or at High Heart." Prince Oberyn said, "Do you think my niece and nephew were murdered because they didn't surrender?"
A slow, almost palpable hush smothered all noise in the command tent.
Some nobles had eyes searching for him. Aerion maintained his watch over the table in consideration.
"We are the Crown's army; we uphold higher customs and law." Lorent reasoned, "A Great Council of nobles will witness trials of each perpetrator, not just of the Lannisters but of all the surrendered Houses. That council will condemn those guilty of treason and pass fitting judgment."
"You mean what we were going to do with Kevan Lannister?" Prince Oberyn drawled. "I do not know where he has gone, but I do know that more of our soldiers, or even those of you at this table, will die by his hand. Now that we are fighting him, again."
Murmurs rippled across the room at that harsh prediction.
Lord Blackmont smirked at the allies' restlessness, before pulling Prince Lewyn close for a short word.
"I would think that if we captured Ser Kevan once, we could do it again to ensure that he faces the Iron Throne's justice." Jon Fossoway spoke, attracting Ser Barristan's surprised glance in his direction. "In any case, this decision is bigger than Kevan Lannister's fate and may even be bigger than Tywin Lannister's evils. It is about whether House Lannister should be dealt with any differently than the Baratheons and the Arryns, when one… lost us the Crown Prince and the other first called banners in rebellion."
Lord Paxter arched an eyebrow at his fellow nobleman of the Reach. Lord Jon had succeeded the New Barrel seat not long before the war, so he had never watched the young man at Lady Olenna's court in Highgarden.
"He raises a good point," Lord Blackmont pointed his chin at Lord Fossoway. "We should decide whether the Sack of King's Landing, the bloodshed against one's sworn liege and King, and the pillaging of the seat of the royal House should be considered a higher crime."
Jon Fossoway's mouth felt dry. The words that he could think of were swallowed by an unseen weight.
Not hearing a reply from the Targaryen lord, Lord Mace looked over to Lord Gawen, who sat unbothered by the shared quiet.
Lord Wendwater waited for time to stretch on. It may not be a decision that a war council can make, or even advise on.
Prince Oberyn rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. A landed knight of the Riverlands squeezed to his opposite side to avoid crowding the Dornish Prince.
"Conspiring to rebel, taking arms against the Crown Prince and inflicting injury to his person, and breaching the capital are separately, intolerable offences."
Lord Paxter drew a soft inhale at Lord Aerion's voice. He clasped his hands in his lap as the Targaryen's next words came through.
"That being said, given their savagery and betrayal of trust, you may be right that we can reconsider the way we engage with the Lannisters." Aerion frowned. "On the morrow, as in any other battle, we cannot dictate for certain which prisoner we will or can take. Each commander of this council shall command their forces with their best judgment."
Taking in the audience and setting at large, Aerion concluded, "I am inclined to say that an assembled Great Council, when Lady Olenna, Prince Doran, and Lord Quellon Greyjoy arrive to the capital, is well-suited to oversee a trial of the Westerlands' crimes, but I do not anticipate that we will hold each Westerlands nobleman at that time. Casterly Rock is a separate manner altogether, which we should discuss when the full council convenes."
Prince Oberyn snorted, "Doran can give less shit about trials. Our Dornish fighters are under my command to execute every Lannister scum and their lap dogs. Anyone standing in our way will be pursued as a sympathizer."
"No one will be in your way, Prince Oberyn. We fight as one army." Lord Rykker remarked, "Only that I gave orders to my garrison to accept any surrendered forces, so they may face the King's justice."
"As have I." Lord Gawen decided to share, "I am hoping to lose fewer men to the desperation of a cornered enemy. If we want to hold our next council from the Red Keep's throne room, then we ought to settle all the fighting, the sooner the better."
"Each commander shall command their forces with their judgment." Prince Lewyn recited, looking to Aerion, "On the morrow, if my judgment says that keeping live prisoners will hinder recovering the Red Keep, or will entice Casterly Rock to plot against my safety or the safety of my bannermen, then this council shall bless such judgment?"
Aerion surveyed the faces around the table.
The Dornish bannermen aside, many others have family members or friends in the capital, being held by the Lannisters. He would not restrain those who will bleed for the Iron Throne to preserve the lives of his enemies, to conform to some ideal.
Not at the gates of King's Landing and not at the last moments of the last rebel army.
"Yes, this council shall defer to your judgment." Aerion confirmed.
Prince Oberyn passed a look to the seated House Martell bannermen. "We are clear on that, then."
Noblemen shifted in their seats, causing soft shuffles of armour. They observed the expressions of their peers and sworn commanders.
Clearing his throat, Lord Tarly suggested that he continue to the latter parts of war council matters.
Lord Mace quickly nodded to the Lord of Horn Hill.
The different voices fell into the background once again for Aerion. He had long committed the assignments of their different forces to memory.
A few hundred yards away, the heart of the realm waited for its rightful stewards to return.
He would not misstep, and could not misstep.
King's Landing, Crownlands, 283 AC
Jaime Lannister maintained even strides on the walk from the White Sword Tower to the apartments of the ladies in waiting.
The sound of his boots echoed softly on the cold, hard tiles of the castle and his hand itched to rest on the hilt of a sword, except that he wasn't carrying one.
The Red Keep was quiet, as he had gotten used to, ever since they had expelled most of the servants and attendants from the grounds.
Being surrounded by Lannister embroidery, or even familiar faces from Casterly Rock, did not make the Red Keep closer to a home.
He had seen more than enough of this city, the filthy and the ugly, the corrupt and the craven. It was too silly to admit to his father or his sister, but sometimes he could still hear the high-pitched snickers of the dead King from within these walls.
He nodded back to a small group of guards who had paused to acknowledge him. The soldiers turned the corner to continue down to the courtyard, while Jaime started up a spiral staircase to reach the noble apartments.
They shouldn't still be here. The gathered army outside the city walls, from before the Targaryen and the Tyrell host arrived, was comparable to their numbers.
Through the many moons of fortifying the capital, it was not impossible to break through the siege to buy them safe passage west, or at least separation from their enemies.
Casterly Rock was their stronghold.
Returning west meant that their newly raised armies would not have to march across the continent to them, and instead keep watch at the choke points of Golden Tooth and Deep Den.
Voices had argued that retreating from King's Landing defeated the purpose of breaching the capital in the first place - subjecting the Targaryens to the embarrassment of losing their family seat and heirs to the Iron Throne, displaying to the realm their incompetence and divine repudiation.
The capital was further better situated to coordinate with prospective allies, as sending messengers to the rebel Houses, or to Highgarden and Sunspear, was almost a fortnight faster than from the Rock.
No one's opinion mattered, in the end, except for his lord father's.
Seeing that Lord Tywin had not made any arrangements to leave the city, their directive to defend it became clearer by the day.
Jaime thought of all the men that he had already lost by riots and disturbance in the Targaryen capital, from both the suppressed altercations and the more public displays of grief. The city fears their House and that fear, for now, overwhelms hatred against the House of the Lion; any half-wit, and surely his father's council, could see that.
Maybe it was justice in the truest sense, for him to die in the hands of Targaryen banners, when he murdered his King.
"Come back when my father calls the guests. We are not to be disturbed before then." Jaime said to the pair of guards and a handmaid who were attending that day.
"Aye, my lord." They spoke their formalities as they took their leave.
Jaime has visited enough times that the guards know to station themselves by the bottom of the spiral staircase, so as to show all courtiers away.
Jaime gently pushed open the double oak doors.
She was there, on his left, back-facing him, in front of a large, framed mirror.
She probably saw him right away. Her hands moved atop her head to a hairpin, guided by her reflection.
Jaime closed the chamber doors and latched it. "Let me help you." He offered, crossing the distance to stand behind Cersei.
His hand replaced hers and he fixed the hair pin more securely in her rich golden curls.
Cersei examined his work. Satisfied, she rose from the dressing chair to reveal a velvet dress bearing golden embroidery.
"You are nervous."
He straightened habitually. "I feel silly without my sword."
"You can survive one banquet." Cersei looked perfect. His sister should be far away from the war. She should be looking out to the Sunset Sea, rather than the dark smoke and heavy dust that suffocate the capital.
"Yes, fine." Jaime answered.
"Give father an hour or two, and you can go back to your city wall." Cersei soothed, looking like she is in a good mood.
"I still think they need me out there, or need someone out there."
"The army outside waits for daylight, as we do." Cersei flicked a speck of cotton from his doublet. "We are tasked to enjoy tonight."
His finger traced under Cersei's jawline very softly. "You, father, and uncle will all be there. You wouldn't miss me."
"Jaime." His sister eyed him.
He wanted to lean in to kiss her. If she could look at him with that same warmth always, then he is the luckiest man in the realm.
"It is to show our House's control over this city, how we have every confidence to prevail." Cersei reminded him. "We host not only our bannermen, but Essosi allies as well."
"Our bannermen I trust." Jaime sighed, "But the Essosi armies are sellswords, just some with a clearer price than others."
"You don't believe in us?" Cersei paused and then asked.
"I – " Jaime took a breath, "I don't doubt that father's strategy is the best one. I just don't want to see you at risk of harm, not ever. Late tonight, after everything, will you let me escort you out of the city?"
"Father has weighed everything." Cersei countered, "He wouldn't let you or I come to any real danger. If we couldn't hold the capital, we would have long left for home."
"Even father cannot foresee everything." Jaime said. Like the degree of their loss through Lord Marbrand's troops. "I need to know that you will be protected, whatever happens."
Cersei held his gaze. "Father will undo centuries of oppressive Targaryen rule on the morrow. I am not afraid to bear witness to that achievement."
"I can take you right back. We won't go far, a quiet village of sorts along the Blackwater Rush. I can fight at peace knowing you are protected. Please, Cersei."
"You know that my place is here, with our family." Cersei pursed her lips. "You shouldn't sound so worried or look nervous like this, or some of the more stupid guards will think to forsake us. Promise me that you will compose yourself tonight and during the fighting."
"I've only said these things to you." Jaime was keen to explain, "We are ready to take on the fight at the city walls."
"Good." Cersei brushed the pad of her thumb across his cheek. A faint pink hue quickly met her touch, as it always did when she took the time to reciprocate his attentions. "After tomorrow, King's Landing could be our city."
"Isn't it already?" Jaime admired how her emerald eyes shimmered with depth. His restlessness seemed to dissipate the closer he was to her.
"Ours." Cersei repeats as if he didn't hear the first time. "We should ask of father to rule the Crownlands together, with King's Landing as our seat. We will use his lessons here, to build the next Casterly Rock."
She let her head fall back, exposing part of her throat. He breathed in deeply and carefully pressed his warm, soft lips to her neck.
"The Crownlands are drained of coin and men after these conflicts, and the neighbouring Stormlands and Riverlands are the same." Cersei said. "We can have our pick of territory. Hoster Tully and Stannis Baratheon are no match for our Westerlands strategists."
He was getting lost in the smell of her perfume and the assurance of her embrace. He pulled her to sit atop of her dressing table and waited for her to look at him. He wordlessly asked for permission.
"I won't redo my hair." She chided, only half-jokingly.
"You will look marvelous, just as you do now." He cradled her against his chest, "and we will rule, together."
He found her soft lips then, delivering only the gentlest of kisses.
Cersei pressed the palms of her hands against Jaime's chest, feeling his heart pound wildly. She thought to tease him by moving her mouth to his ear, trailing kisses on the side of his cheek.
Jaime groaned and pressed against her as closely as he could. His trousers felt incredibly tight.
Cersei smirked and rested her arms around his neck. She felt his hand slip lower, tracing the curve of her breast and the small of her back.
"I am yours." Jaime breathed, something possessing him to remind her.
"I know," Cersei felt her body responding to his touch, "as I am yours."
Jaime's eyes darkened. His hand slipped beneath her skirts and without breaking their long kiss, pressed and rubbed at her flesh.
Tension began to build in her stomach and Cersei gestured for him to undress his trousers. She pulled Jaime closer.
Jaime pressed kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks and forehead.
Before long, Cersei shifted impatiently and fisted Jaime's loose tunic.
Jaime chuckled under his breath. Holding Cersei's hips in place, he slowly pressed into her warmth.
They moved slowly at first, ensuring that she didn't mind the different position.
He chased her quiet gasps and eventually arrived at the pace they liked best. He was buried to the hilt and there, he found her walls clenching him back from time to time, and a familiar sense of rightness settled in his mind and in his heart.
Jaime watched as she closed her eyes to better focus on her pleasure. Leveraging the edge of the dressing table, she was tugging him along with her legs.
He knew that teasing Cersei to moan or shout, against her chosen time and setting, would annoy her. His Cersei was beautiful, and she was unbreakable. He endeavours to protect every composition of her, from anyone who was not them.
Jaime's breaths became strained, and his thrusts gained more strength as the end closed in.
He couldn't let go before Cersei was grinding against him, her rosy lips parted from the pleasure of her completion.
That image of Cersei looking up at him, meeting him with perfect, yielding acceptance sent fresh shocks of pleasure down his spine.
He felt her clamp down on him and he was proud of his efforts to maintain a steady thrust when he was teetering on the edge himself.
His mouth was close to one of her ears when he pushed himself further inside than ever before. In those immediate seconds, he couldn't have moved to save his life.
He felt Cersei's gentle stroke on the back of his shoulder. He heard a light and content sigh escape her lips.
Regaining some composure, Jaime grinned back at the girl in his arms and made some distance between them.
He carried her to the antechamber.
"Let me help you bathe." He planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "We still have good time, and you needn't lift a finger."
Cersei hummed in approval. She allowed herself to rest eyes-closed, induced by a heavy, sleepy haze.
She could trust Jaime's embrace.
She would show her lord father that her hold of the Targaryen capital would be more valuable than a marriage alliance to House Allyrion.
Her lord father should know that his children, at least the proper ones, have grown up since Jaime was ripped away from them by a white cloak of the Kingsguard.
At nightfall, golden torchlight flickered against the high, polished walls of the Red Keep's grand banquet hall, casting dancing reflections on the full-sized House Lannister standards that adorned the marble pillars.
Servants bustled about, setting out polished platters of roasted boar glazed in honey and thyme and of steaming pheasant pies encircled by flaky crust. Wheels of white cheese from across the Narrow Sea were paired with goblets of spiced wine.
When toasts concluded and announcements were made, dancers in vibrantly coloured veils fluttered forward, swirling to the pulse of drumbeats and the plaintive notes of flute.
Jaime sat in impeccable posture, as instructed, in a cloak of deep crimson, to show the dignitaries and foreign allies of the future that Lord Tywin had promised.
Jaime had largely tuned out the different voices, some tinged with thick accents, of the upcoming battles and enticing rewards. He will always remember how that night, the image of Cersei in her long, golden-threaded gown, was regal, assured, and unattainable.
With Cersei at his side, he had more patience to watch the music and laughter thin out and for the torches to burn lower in their sconces. Chairs scraped against the stone stiles as those as the long tables rose, some with confident strides and others with inebriated sways.
Before joining a smaller cluster of Westerlands commanders, his father had nodded subtly to him as his blessing for dismissal.
He squeezed Cersei's hand under the tablecloth and bade her to not tire herself out.
Standing from his seat, he would meet his retinue for his sword.
The air outside was cool and smelled faintly of damp earth and old stone. The courtyard was still under the moon's thin glow.
"Jaime," a lowered voice called out to him.
Jaime half-turned to the approaching figure. "Uncle Kevan."
Ser Kevan came to a stop by the young lord, his gaze flickering towards the shadows to confirm they were alone.
The knight weighed his words, "As a last resort, the very last resort, I would urge you to tell the realm of your story; of what you had to do upon the breach of the Red Keep."
Jaime crossed his arms, "And what would that achieve? Did our House not plot the attack on the capital? Did the Targaryens not die at our swords? Your very suggestion implies that you are in doubt, Ser."
"Your lord father would never betray any pessimism of his strategies, but I know he would want you to live." Ser Kevan insisted, his tone even.
The brother of the Warden of the West donned polished armor. His captivity by the royalists appeared not to have left a trace of torment or injury on him.
"He would want you and Cersei to live. And Tyrion too, if he would admit it. He would want you to do whatever you can, to argue for yourself."
"He would want me to plead with the enemy, to die as a captive and laughingstock of the nobility?" Jaime snickered, "He would push me from the battlements himself out of disgust."
Ser Kevan paused and truly looked at his nephew. Jaime's rich robes and proud stance made him as close as ever to the vision of the heir to Casterly Rock that Tywin spoke of, since those early years of the twins' birth.
"He wouldn't care, if you could live. When you first joined the Kingsguard, I know that he had told you to obey all orders, reasonable or not. For your own safety, you could take any insult to our House and to what you believe in."
Ser Kevan continued, "I believe, in the most grim of situations, your lord father would want you to survive."
"But he won't do the same? To swallow his pride and survive this?" anger flashed in Jaime's eyes.
"Don't blame him." Ser Kevan sighed. "There is too much history. Twenty years as Hand of the King; high-handed and repeated harassments by Mad Aerys of your lady mother. Your father lives to ensure that the Targaryens will never rule in that cruel and unjust manner again."
When Jaime only stared at the far wall, his uncle said, "I have spoken to your father at every opportunity. The only thing I can guarantee now is that your father will not be alone."
Jaime shifted his gaze to the knight in front of him. Fine lines etched the corners of his eyes, but his words were steady.
"I have done what my father has done, and then some."
"But none that you cannot recover from!" Ser Kevan's voice was still low, but urgent. "He is not a Targaryen of King's Landing. Your story, to him, will help him."
Guards in formation appeared at the far side of the courtyard, tracking their usual route of patrol.
"What was he going to do to you, do you think?" Jaime asked, after some hesitation.
"Demand that we surrender the city," Ser Kevan shrugged, "or send my head to my wife and son? Make me stand trial?"
"We tried to get word to you. We tried to retrieve you from Castle Darry and the campgrounds in the Riverlands." Jaime's gaze landed on the stone tiles.
"I understand. You don't owe me an explanation." Lord Tywin's brother blew out a small breath, "I wonder whether I should feel indebted to him, for his protection from House Martell and from Dragonstone."
"You didn't know anything. You fought at the Trident and then saved his life when his army was reduced to his retinue by Jon Arryn." Jaime argued. The young knight suppressed a creeping urge to suspect his uncle of feeling too sympathetic towards the enemy.
"You are right. And executing me would have raised fear among the Great Houses that were contemplating surrender, if not also within his own ranks." Ser Kevan's face was pensive for a few seconds until he blinked to clear his thoughts, "I fight wholeheartedly for your father, before today and after today. I only mentioned him so you might consider the option."
Hearty laughter echoed through the castle courtyard, interrupting the restful evening air.
"I must go," Ser Kevan waited for the younger Lannister to look back at him. "Don't do anything that you or Cersei would not recover from."
"Uncle Kevan," Jaime called out. But suddenly, he was unsure of what to say when he had caught the knight's attention.
Ser Kevan softened his tone. "Always have your men with you and be careful. I'll see you afterwards, hmm?"
"See you after. Good luck."
The rest of Jaime's walk to the city walls was a blur. The swinging weight of his sword assured him that he somehow retrieved his weapon, but he could not recall any conversation.
The even colder wind on top of the city walls howled through the flying banners of his House.
Peering below, the bright light of the scattered campfires mapped out a sprawling expanse of tents, fences, and siege engines.
The Crown's army knew what they were to do at first light. There was a steady quietness, an almost reverent anticipation.
The wall itself was alive with movement, hosting a constant flow of defenders adjusting their positions, replenishing supplies, or observing any parties joining or leaving the enemy camp.
The major gates of the capital gathered their most seasoned warriors. The faces of his men were sharp, focused.
Robert's rebellion fell away as his lord father had expected. The hastily coordinated resistance among the North, the Vale and the Stormlands lacked confidence in their own abilities to replace Targaryen dynastic rule, across the continent.
Because the heads of all three Houses were not groomed to lead at that scale.
One could not spur a campaign forward, with just fear and hatred.
The strategies of his House have always been built on ambition and an assurance that they are the most capable to lead.
King Aerys II's rule had imposed suffering on the nobility and the smallfolk alike.
As for the Lord of Stonedance, he did not know the royal cousin outside of exchanges of pleasantries.
Jaime had not watched Lord Aerion conduct himself at court, at least at court concerning the governance of the kingdoms. Experience hadn't mattered, since the Targaryen cousin was trained to follow the orders of wiser men.
As such, Jaime's grievance was not against Lord Aerion's character, but towards the symbolism of allowing superior power to remain with the House of the Dragon - that is, the House that had no dragons, and of which its members favoured wielding superior power to satisfy their greed, lust or even boredom.
Someone must be brave enough to install change.
All others have failed, and House Lannister will pick up this purpose.
Jaime's deputies came to report on the final preparations. After that, they advised him to retire for the night.
Bidding them to call for him at any suspicious activity, Jaime descended the long staircase of the city walls.
In the comfort of his sleeping quarters, within one of the guard towers, Jaime folded away his embroidered cloak from the festivities. When he closed his eyes, sleep claimed him more easily than he had expected.
Ser Jaime woke up naturally to candles still burning in the bronze holders.
The outside was lit by torches as far as he could tell, which is a good sign.
Dressed in full armour, Jaime started up the stone stairs once again.
With the extra weight he carried, he allowed himself to catch his breath as he reached the top.
The hour was early that light, or the lack of it, was their ally for a few moments longer.
His deputies talked and he listened.
No suspicious movement within the siege camp, although they still expect an attack on the city walls when both sides can benefit from daylight.
Lord Tywin did not send further orders since the previous night, which meant that their plans were unchanged.
They should expect the worst of the attacks to be at the Old Gate and the Gate of the Gods, as they have seen certain Houses position themselves in those rough directions.
Jaime leaned against the cold crenellations, one gloved hand resting on worn stone.
Although faint, Jaime could hear a low hum of hammers tapping, horses snorting, wagons pulling in the sieging army's camp.
Around him, guards placed shields against the ground, checking and rechecking their gear.
He turned his attention to the east, where a thin band of pale light lined the horizon.
The heir to Casterly Rock drew a breath, steeling himself for the uncertainties that would play out.
"Our guest should come up now."
One of his deputies dipped his head and slipped away.
They waited in silence.
The outlines of the battle engines came into sharper focus as pink hues replaced the dense grays.
The Westerlands deputy returned with a full retinue. In the middle of the grim-faced formation of guards was a small figure - perhaps a page or a lord's son brought to witness the coming battle.
Jaime waved for them to approach.
The boy wore a thick black cloak with the hood lowered. The bottom of the cloak swept the dusty floors of the battlements as he was led forward.
Below the cloak, where the sides did not entirely overlap, was a fine doublet of deep burgundy, edged in silver thread.
The boy's cheeks were pale, either from the gusts of wind or from the company that surrounds him.
"Did you bring what you prepared?" Jaime asked, not unkindly.
"Here, Ser." A young guard answered before the boy could. The guard bearing House Swyft's sigil held up a scroll of parchment.
Jaime turned the wax-sealed scroll in his hand. It was on thick parchment, the kind that ink would not bleed through.
"Aim at that siege tower." Jaime pointed to somewhere below the wall.
"Aye." The archer jabbed through the scroll with an iron-tipped arrow and set it to nock.
"Our trumpets will sound soon and the men below will listen to you." Jaime gestured for the boy to stand at a panel of the wall that was his waist's height. "Do you still remember what we practiced?"
The child, seven or eight years old, clutched the edge of his sleeve and gave a nod.
"Good lad. No harm will come to you, from us or those below, I promise."
In the early dawn, royalist armies formed lines facing the city walls.
Although full-sized Targaryen standards filled the clearing in front of the Gate of the Gods, it looked to Jaime that the Lord of Stonedance was not personally leading the charge at the city walls.
Several large command or canteen tents nested at the heart of the enemy camp, and one of those probably hosted the high nobles of the allied forces.
"Trumpets at my signal." Jaime called out.
The attacking army was not quite ready, but the defenders were.
He reached to first pull back the child's hood and to unclasp the night cloak. Jaime then fixed the boy's silver-blond locks to better frame his face.
And in case any arrows would shoot back at the city walls, the Lannister knight kept within arm's length so he could turn the child away.
At a raise of Jaime's hand, clarion notes of trumpet cut through the low hum of activity below the walls like a blade. Heads snapped towards the source of the sound.
After a few breaths, Lannister trumpets rang out again, echoing off the stone walls and drifting across the clearing. There were three or four trumpets at most, but sent an unmistakable message.
The gathered army at the Gate of the Gods stared up at the defenders.
Voices rose in disbelief.
Soldiers pointed and more helmets turned to catch the Targaryen sigil embroidered on the child's burgundy garb.
Lannister archers were not preventing them from shuffling forward to steal a closer look, so the braver ones slowly approached the walls, stunned.
"The Lannisters have him!" A voice shouted in dismay. "I've seen Prince Viserys at the Red Keep. That is last Targaryen prince!" Another voice called out, near the front lines.
Yet not all the voices were so certain. Some called it a trick, an imposter dressed in borrowed colours.
High above the stirring crowd, the boy tried to summon courage in the face of so many watchful eyes. He blinked hard, as though fighting tears.
"They can hear you. Go on." Jaime used an encouraging tone. He could see that some soldiers below have lowered their weapons, uncertain of how to proceed if the younger trueborn son of King Aerys II was truly in danger.
The young hostage felt his heart hammer in his chest.
The lines Viserys rehearsed were simple.
Ser Jaime stood tall and remained behind the boy, there was no space to step back, no place to hide.
"My - My name is Viserys Targaryen." The boy's first word caught in his throat, but he recovered. "My father was King Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name. My mother is Queen Rhaella Targaryen and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was my brother."
"After my father, I am the head of my House. For those sworn to House Targaryen, I command you to turn back. My family seat will be Dragonstone, and not here."
"Cowards!" Some cried. "He is still a child!"
"Now, repeat your commands, to make yourself clear," Jaime suggested, exchanging a glance with the stationed archer.
"Release him, Lannister scum!"
"This is a trick, a decoy!" Was a faint yelled back, either at the Westerlands defenders or at his own men.
Viserys made himself ignore the more malicious remarks and repeated the same words. He lowered his gaze to the floor.
After the boy finished, an arrow delivered the rolled scroll squarely on the base of a siege engine, alarming nearby Crownlands fighters.
"Well done. Let's move you somewhere safer, while they understand your words." Jaime draped the night cloak over the boy again and lowered the long hood.
Ser Jaime turned the boy to a deputy. "Ser Estren, as we discussed."
Acknowledging the command, Ser Estren called for the same retinue to follow close.
The Crown's army hesitated below, not sounding any battle horns to begin their attack at any of the city gates.
Jaime watched for a few minutes. To his defenders, he announced, "When the fighting arrives on land, we ride out to meet these so-called allies!"
The Westerlands soldiers yelled back in reply. For many moons, they had itched for something more satisfying than besting the frightened guards of the Red Keep, when the Grand Maester threw open the castle gates at their arrival.
At the heart of the Crownlands camp, Ser Mallery almost careened into the command tent with his destrier.
The helmeted knight ran forward as soon as his boots hit the dirt floor. Another Stormlands knight rushed inside behind Ser Mallery, out of breath.
"Mallery! What's happened?" Lord Gawen was the first to react. The high nobles, whether sitting or standing, all turned their attention towards the scene.
"My lords, at - at the Gate of the Gods," Ser Mallery had a sheen of sweat at his temples, he held what looked like a crushed scroll of parchment across the room to Aerion. The nobles' gaze followed the scroll to the seated Lord of Stonedance, who donned a frown.
"Jaime Lannister brought a hostage to the walls, my lords." Ser Mallery swallowed. "A boy younger than ten. He wore all Targaryen colours and to me, bore decent resemblance to the Crown Prince - he - he announced himself as Prince Viserys to all our men."
Lord Rykker and his retinue arrived at the command tent then, his lips pressed into a thin line. The Duskendale retinue did not dispute Ser Mallory's report, and neither did the earlier Stormlands knight who serves House Dondarrion.
Questions and hurried chatter overlapped in the command tent. Lord Mace asked the witnesses to describe the child's features in more detail, probably comparing to memories of the prince from years ago.
Lord Gawen asked if anyone confirmed through a monocular, given the great height of the city walls. As a reply, Lord Rykker admitted that he had looked closely during the boy's speeches, and further described the boy's features and mannerisms to the council.
Aerion skimmed the handwritten letter on parchment twice over, before handing it to Ser Barristan, next to him.
It had said much of the same declarations, and directed the allied army's retreat from the capital, all in the writing of a pupil.
"We ought to plan a rescue, now that the Lannisters have shown him to us." Someone proposed.
"And send our fighters into a trap? Tywin is inviting us to attack probably because he has hidden armies within the city." A landed knight from the Reach countered.
"An exchange of prisoners, then. Tywin can name his price and we can consider several trades, as long as Prince Viserys remains safe." Lord William Mooton offered.
"By all accounts, the Lannisters led him away within minutes, when there was barely enough daylight. How do we know he's not a servant boy, a guard's son?" Lord Blackmont was the first Dornish noble to interject, employing a more casual tone.
"Of course you would suggest that. You couldn't care less for Prince Viserys' safety, as long as you have Lannisters to fight behind those walls." One of Dragonstone's surviving bannermen argued, "My lords, we should send word to Dragonstone at once. The Queen and the remaining Kingsguards deserve to know. We - we should do that, right?"
Crownlands bannermen would watch any decision they make.
The Lannisters are determined to harm Targaryen legitimacy, however the allies react.
How will House Targaryen tear itself apart, if House Targaryen at King's Landing sees more spilled blood, when they are losing their hold over the Iron Throne?
"Tywin Lannister planned this morning's display. Delaying our attack is what he wanted." Lord Allyrion's cousin said. "Our armies outside will need a clear command to ease doubts, and soon."
Baelor was in attendance that morning, since the safest place away from the battle of King's Landing would be their command tent.
Aerion could feel Baelor's gaze on him, but Aerion trained his own gaze on the piece of parchment being passed around the room. From Ser Barristan it went to Lord Mace, then Lord Gawen, and now Prince Lewyn.
Aerion thought about how it would be a simple decision if the Lannisters held Baelor at the city walls. Surely, he would retreat from the siege and spend however long necessary, to negotiate his brother's release.
He would bring the fighting to the Westerlands to force House Lannister's hand; round up many more Lannister kin and allies, both at Casterly Rock and to be seized from the Red Keep.
It would dampen their army's spirits and make a messy retreat, but there was always somewhere to regroup the army.
He might lose the Dornish legions if he abandons the siege, but he would find another way to retake the capital.
"Lord Rykker, will you draft a raven's message to Dragonstone, with the news of the Lannisters possibly holding Prince Viserys?" Came Baelor's request, not loudly over other whisperings, but still clear. "We should have Hayford's maester send it, to arrive by next morning."
Renfred sat right away and reached for a quill and fresh parchment.
"And what of our soldiers outside, Ser Mallery? Did you see panic, confusion, argument?"
Ser Mallery replied to the younger Targaryen lord, "Some confusion, my lord, but our fighters have stayed in formation. I do think word of what happened is spreading to the other gates and our legions there. News like that is hard to contain."
Baelor nodded to himself, seemingly considering the implications.
"Our Dornish forces will pull back to camp." Prince Oberyn decided, standing from his seat.
"Prince Oberyn, we've not decided on a resolution here." Lord Redwyne said, a tinge of irritation in his tone.
"And a resolution will come in three, four, seven days, if we are lucky." The rest of the Martell bannermen stood, following their prince. "My soldiers' time is better spent resting. I shall lounge, too, while your lot weighs every risk and harm to your reputations under the sun."
Prince Oberyn directed his half-sneer at the Lord of Stonedance. When no one else contended with him, he made way for the exit, his uncle and bannermen loosely in tow.
High nobles of the Crownlands and the Reach watched their Dornish counterparts go. Some sighed quietly under their breaths, and mostly kept to their different thoughts.
Lord Aerion spoke when the scroll of parchment passed further to Lord Rykker, his brother, and lastly to Ser Olyvar Oakheart.
"Our soldiers should retreat back to camp but remain on alert. Tell them that we are confirming whether the boy who called himself Prince Viserys, being held by the Lannisters, is an imposter."
The members of the council who were left answered in agreement. Commanders collected their weapons and gear and set about passing on those orders.
Time dragged on and they had fed their soldiers lunch, and still, no order to attack the capital had been made.
Lord Baxter led a messenger from his House across the vast allies camp, taking the quickest route to the command tent that he could find.
His shoulders were tense as he came to a stop in front of Lord Rambton and his retinue, who oversaw the many parties seeking an audience.
"My Lord, is anyone inside?"
"Lord Mooton and Lord Wendwater, my Lord. Discussing the planned rush at the King's Gate." The Stonedance bannerman politely replied.
"How long have they been inside?" Lord Paxter considered whether the Mootons and the Crownlands nobleman should be privy to the news he had.
"They should be done soon. Ser Olyvar is expected to report on the prisoners of the North and the Vale."
"Ser Olyvar can wait for me." Lord Paxter strode towards the tent entrance but stopped and turned around. A few more minutes he could wait. He should not be displaying concern.
"Very good, my lord." Keeping his curiosity to himself, Lord Rambton left the Lord of the Arbor to his contemplation.
Lord Paxter looked at his messenger and then at the city walls in the distance. He ran a hand through his hair and took tight breaths, stealing a glance at the command tent whenever he heard a shuffling noise.
Good thing that Lord Mooton ducked out of the tent in due course. Seconds later, Lord Wendwater also emerged.
Lord Rambton did not need to help announce the Lord of the Arbor. Lord Paxter pulled on the arm of his messenger and rushed into the war council tent.
Lord Paxter was in luck when Lord Aerion was only accompanied by his former squire and Lord Baelor. He crossed the distance to the end of the long table.
"Lord Aerion, I brought a deputy from the Redwyne fleet. I'm afraid that there is news from the Blackwater Bay." Lord Paxter looked over to the graying man at his side.
"Tell me." Lord Aerion straightened in his chair. His brother did the same.
"My lord, Dragonstone and the royal fleet guard the entrance to the Blackwater Bay, and no other ships other than our half-dozen Redwyne ships should be spotted in the waters. But early this morning, the ravens from our farther ships say they've spotted fleets flying no flags, with ships that do not look like ours."
"Ships big enough to carry crew and soldiers? How many?" Galleys can sneak past the royal fleet's blockade in the safety of the night. It wasn't unheard of.
"Dozens, my lord, likely more. And built to carry fighters. Wind is not on their side, but they head in the direction of the capital." The House Redwyne deputy confirmed, head bowed low, "My ship was closest to here, so we came ashore to deliver the news."
"From what my men describe, I think either Westerlands longships or mercenaries of the Free Cities." Lord Paxter added. "The bulk of my fleet is scattered along the coasts of the Vale and the Stormlands. The ships that I do have in the bay sound wholly outnumbered. We need the royal fleet to pursue these sightings."
"The royal fleet should be on active patrol," Lord Baelor said, and then raised a worry on everyone's minds, "unless they are indisposed."
"These ships could add fighters to the battle for King's Landing, or are here to aid the Lannisters to abandon the city." The deputy offered.
"I can call my ships closer to shore, but we will not hold them off for long without the royal fleet." Lord Paxter said.
"They should not come close to this camp or the capital, I understand. Let me think on it, Lord Paxter." Aerion rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "Terrence, will you ask Lord Mace and my grandfather to convene here, now?"
"Aye, and Ser Olyvar and Ser Mallery?" Terrence didn't want to trouble his liege, but he knew interruptions would be unwelcome.
"Anything Ser Olyvar is unsure of, he can decide with Lord Rykker. Ser Mallery will still lead the attack at the Gate of the Gods, and House Mooton's forces will support him."
Terrence left swiftly.
The allies camp hosted an early supper. Firewood was piled high by the large bonfires to prepare for another long night.
The sky was holding onto the fading light of the sun, though the city walls were already brightly lit by mounted torches.
Their horses were tethered near the camp's edge and snorted softly, their breath misting in the cooling air.
Orders from the high commanders passed from garrison to garrison, gate to gate, hastening the strides of their soldiers.
The hostage is an imposter. They will attack each city gate of the capital before nightfall.
