Chapter 32

Aeryon gazed thoughtfully at the letter lying before him. His fingers slowly traced the edges of the paper, as if the material itself helped him grasp the significance of the moment. Hoster Tully's agreement to the betrothal with his daughter had finally arrived in the prince's hands. Even though he had expected it, the event was still momentous. A faint smile tugged at the young Targaryen's lips.

"It seems that cautious fish has finally figured out which way the wind blows," he muttered, as if speaking to the emptiness of his chamber.

He set the letter aside, picked up a cup of wine, and began to reflect. A marriage to Catelyn Tully would not only strengthen friendly ties with the Riverlands but also make Hoster his eternal ally. House Tully was now bound to his plans and ambitions. The Riverlands, with all their strategic castles, would be under his influence.

His thoughts drifted to another allied region, and memories of Storm's End stirred unexpectedly warm feelings in him. Lord Baratheon was much more than a mere mentor to him. Perhaps Steffon had become a true father figure, while the perpetually grim Stannis had turned into a loyal friend. The only concern was Robert... Though they could speak amiably, getting along with that towering, hot-headed man was a challenge. Robert always seemed more of a hindrance than an ally.

"What if I remove him?" A cunning thought flashed through his mind. But he dismissed it almost immediately. Too dangerous. While Stannis could be the perfect ally for his future plans, if something went wrong, the consequences would be catastrophic.

Aeryon leaned back in his chair, pondering his prospects. His thoughts gradually shifted to Rhaegar. His elder brother had always been peculiar, difficult to predict and even harder to understand. In his alliance, Rhaegar had chosen the kingdom's biggest headache—Tywin Lannister. The West could rightfully be called the kingdom's strongest region. Their army was powerful and vast, and their resources seemed almost limitless.

Moreover, Tywin knew how to play the game, and that made the prince uneasy. The lion had an important advantage in the form of a promising heir. Rumor had it that Jaime Lannister was talented and handsome. His marriage could grant Rhaegar another region.

Of course, Aeryon had tried to thwart their plans, but it was hard to say how successful he had been. As he tried to see the bigger picture, Targaryen realized he wasn't strong enough yet. A persistent thought kept nagging at him: to solidify his claim to the throne, he needed the support of a third Great House.

The only question was—who could it be? Only a madman would bet on the wild Ironborn. A marriage to Catelyn would certainly offend the North. The Vale, under Jon Arryn, was a stable ally, but would such an experienced elder lead his men into war, persuaded by the promises of a young prince? Of course not.

Soon, the image of the admiring eyes of Luthor Tyrell's heir, Mace, surfaced in his mind. Mace might not have been the smartest or most talented member of his house, but his ambitions were clear, and Aeryon knew how to use them. During his time in the Reach, the prince had tried to build a semblance of friendship with Mace, showing off Solarex, which greatly intrigued him. Tyrell had been impressed and made no attempt to hide it. Aeryon had eagerly answered all of his questions, recounting how, at such a young age, he had defeated great knights and won the tournament.

Mace's reverence already spoke volumes, and Targaryen had no doubt that this young man could be turned into a useful ally, especially if he made him feel that glory and success awaited him by Aeryon's side. The Tyrells, with their large army and wealth, could become the missing piece in his plans.

The Riverlands, Storm's End, and the Reach—such an alliance could change the political landscape of the kingdom. But what could the prince offer besides grand promises? The only thing that came to mind was the future marriage between his children and Mace's. Though, for now, Aeryon wasn't even officially married.

With these heavy thoughts, he set down the empty cup. His gaze grew more focused, but then a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," the prince said, and Oswell entered.

"Your Highness!" greeted Whent, bowing his head in respect.

"Oswell, good to see you on your feet. How is your health?" Aeryon asked, casting a quick glance at his ally.

"You know me, I've fully recovered and am ready for battle," Whent's voice held a tone of resolve, which pleased the prince. Aeryon gestured for him to sit across from him.

"And what battle might that be?" the prince asked jokingly, trying to dispel his troubling thoughts.

"Your Highness, I am completely serious. There are rumors that the Brotherhood of the Kingswood has become active again, and you are planning a military campaign against them. If so, I want to join you."

"It's true, though I'm not pleased that my men are so talkative. But I want you to understand: aside from the usual riffraff, there are also trained fighters among them, some of whom are deadly, and if your body fails you…"

"You can count on me, my prince."

"Good, but know this won't be a simple march. Some of the commoners have been bribed with gold, but many still aid these outlaws. They see them not just as criminals but as protectors against the crown's cruelty." The prince laughed.

"I'm sure we'll have a chance to strike them, and then I'll show you my readiness."

"Excellent."

In the following days, Aeryon oversaw the final preparations for the campaign. The clanking of metal, the hum of voices, and the thudding of boots on stone filled the inner courtyard of the castle. A group of loyal Gold Cloaks was ready to set off.

Aeryon silently surveyed the assembled: Qwelton Fell, his tall and quiet friend, was adjusting his battle axe in preparation for the journey; Barristan Selmy, the embodiment of knightly virtue, gazed coldly at the road ahead; Oswell Whent, newly recovered from his wounds, was determined to prove his worth; Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stood a little apart, his watchful eyes surveying everyone; and, of course, Manly Stokeworth, whose experienced gaze followed every movement of the soldiers, anticipating potential problems.

"Aeryon, everything's ready," Qwelton called out, stepping closer.

"Excellent," Targaryen nodded, turning to the others. "We set out immediately."

"Your Highness, you know many of the outlaws in these woods are notorious for their cunning. We must be prepared for ambushes," Barristan said as he approached.

"I doubt that will be our greatest concern, Barristan. By the way, I have a special task for you," Aeryon added with a heavy look.

"What do you mean?"

"The Smiling Knight," the prince continued curtly. "I think only you are capable of defeating him."

Ser Barristan simply nodded in response. He was a man of action, not words. Manly Stokeworth approached them and began to speak:

"We'll rid these forest rats of their miserable existence, Your Highness. Their time is up. Once the common folk learn that you are personally leading the forces, their loyalty to these bandits will crumble like dust in the wind."

"If only it were that simple," Aeryon muttered. "I have no doubt the battle will be tough. We will shed blood, but remember, our victory must be absolute. We need not just the bodies of common outlaws but also the heads of their leaders."

"You're right, my prince," Gerold Hightower quietly added, stepping closer. "The victory over them must be flawless. We're not just eliminating outlaws but removing a threat. The Brotherhood commits terrible acts, holding many in fear, yet they pretend to be noble defenders. We must show the people that the crown's authority is far more just and powerful than cowards hiding behind trees and masks."

Aeryon nodded at Hightower's words. The Lord Commander rarely spoke in vain; his experience was vast, and his strength unquestioned. That was one of the reasons why Targaryen respected him. The prince looked up at the group gathered around him, knowing that each of these men had been tested by years of loyalty and danger.

"Do you think the people will accept us?" Whent asked, looking directly into his eyes.

"We won't give them a choice," the prince answered for him. "In any case, trust is won not only with mercy but with the sword."

"Hahaha," Fell laughed beside Targaryen, hearing this. "By the Seven! No matter how much you try to change, Aeryon, you're still the same. Well then, let's move out, and may the Kingswood tremble beneath our steps."

His voice echoed through the courtyard. The Gold Cloaks formed into a column. Their armor softly clinked in the night air, and each of them was ready for the battle ahead.