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Thus began Rhaenar's campaign against the clansmen, spanning from late 108 to early 109 AC. The prince, a mere thirteen years old, led his band through the daunting Mountains of the Moon.

The outset radiated great optimism. Upon declaring his intent to the Lords of the Vale, the prince swiftly departed the Eyrie. 

However, before leaving the grand hall, Rhea Royce obstructed his path, her rune armor shining with a dark bronze gleam.

"Runestone is with you," she proudly affirmed.

Maintaining formality before the crowd, Rhaenar replied, "This is my burden to bear. Your people have bled enough."

In response, Rhea Royce offered a smile capable of dismantling the sternest walls of austerity. "Foolish nephew. Did you not say this was a 'family' matter?"

That's how House Royce joined the campaign.

Upon descending and assembling the masses, the men exhibited varied reactions. 

Whether due to the mountain air or the toll of thousands of miles on their calloused feet, there was a palpable excitement among the ranks.

"Bahaha!" laughed Captain Zane, relegated to assisting Phoenix in training recruits as punishment. "That's our prince for you!"

Chit Chattington, incredulous, remarked, "For once, it's not my tongue that got us in trouble."

"I never thought I'd live to see the mountains at my age. My hammer is with you," declared Dick Mason, who, before joining Rhaenar's ranks, had never ventured beyond the greater Harrenhal area.

Gorgeous George, averse to violence and preferring steel on trees over flesh, exuded confidence anyhow. "And my axe!"

As the crowd's roar became rowdy, Rhaenar quelled them with a simple raise of his hand, stating, "Good! Let's see you bastards keep that same energy! The foothills are treacherous and unmapped. Maintaining a logistical supply line will be difficult. This won't be like our stroll through the Seven Kingdoms!"

Instead of groans, cheers erupted, and spears were raised.

"A'oo! A'oo! A'oo!"

So we marched. Out of the mountains and into the Vale proper. This continued until we intercepted the forces Lady Rhea had summoned from Runestone with a raven before we left the Eyrie.

Combined with Runestone's forces, the Rhaenari captains convened in the prince's tent for a war meeting, joined by Lady Rhea, her cousin Ser Gerold, and their respective constituents.

"Be welcome," Rhaenar announced, gesturing for a cupbearer to fill each chalice with wine. "As you all know, we have six moons to subjugate the mountain clans."

Rhaenar unfurled a map he crafted, covering the large wooden meeting square table, and continued, "Our research, unfortunately, based on dated information, indicates at least nine prominent clans. I have no doubt there are more and numerous minor and cadet factions to consider.

"We should anticipate that our targets are evenly distributed throughout the vast expanse known as the Mountains of the Moon. These mountains stretch from the riverlands to the west, the Bite to the north, and the Bay of Crabs to the south, making this a formidable undertaking.

"However, based on reports from recent raids, we have identified key areas to initiate our campaign. Even better, some reports have specified the exact 'clans' responsible for the raids. I have my people scouring the records for information on these clans as we speak."

The prince snapped his fingers twice, and I promptly handed him the small parchment covered in his squiggled notes. "Thank you," said Rhaenar as he scanned the parchment, "Hmm. According to the latest count, we have 460 of the 501 Rhaenari available?"

Dirty Douglas cleared his throat, "Yes, my prince. I left two squads in Oldtown, another two in Lannisport. My best lieutenant is handling affairs back at the capital, bringing the total to 4-and-1 that aren't with us."

Prince Rhaenar nodded, "Very good. Nevertheless, facing an entire culture with fewer than 500 troops is not ideal. What of Runestone?"

"We have 150 spears," said Lady Rhea, "and two score knights on horseback, not including members of my House, their squires, and servants. In total, we add 200."

Relieved, the prince quipped, "If they are even half as fierce as their lady liege then we are truly blessed.

"Now... We have over 2000 recruits, some of whom have followed us since Storm's End, well experienced after countless war games. With them supplementing our ranks, I believe we can make deadly use of the advanced training and tactics we have drilled.

"That said, we can only rely on ourselves. We shall march assuming it is only us 660. I strongly feel that many uninitiated will succumb to desertion at the first sign of trouble."

As the captains scoffed at the weakness of recruits, Prince Rhaenar continued, "Make no mistake. This is war. Expect poor supplies and shoddy sleep. Mud, shit, and blood, gentlemen."

Captain Zane rubbed his hands, "If you ain't bleeding from your ass, you ain't eating with the brass'!"

"Yes..," the prince was a mix between cringe and laughter, "thank you, Captain."

With that, strategy planning commenced as Rhaenar pointed to one spot on the map and another.

Concerning the foothills, not much was known. No generations of hunters were familiar with the hidden trails and pathways, nor was there a history of explorers ordained by the mystique of climbing the highest peaks.

Stray too far from the beaten track, and you'd be set upon by clansmen orshadowcats, never to be seen again.

Or so we initially thought.

"There are known ways," said Ser Gerold Royce, Lady Rhea's cousin, a capable-looking fellow by any standards, with mustache and eyebrows of bushy jet-black, "tracks through the hills that have existed for thousands of years, long abandoned. Every house in the Vale knows of one or two of their own."

Rhaenar snapped out of a brief trance of thought before saying, "Good. Suffice it to say they should lead somewhere promising. 

"Still, there's a reason why the Vale lords haven't simply dealt with this problem themselves. Scattered clans that know how to traverse what is impassable to the conventional army… I dare say they could avoid us forever if they wanted to."

Rhaenar scanned the map as if it were a canvas, seeking the perfect spot where the right stroke of color could transform the entire piece, like some divine inspiration.

However, sometimes it never came, especially when you most wanted it. Rhaenar could burst with creativity, completing painting after painting at times. In contrast, he could endure days of creative drought at others, thus occupying his time with other matters until inspiration struck once more. 

But that wasn't a luxury he now had. For a moment, it seemed as if his heart had wavered. 

Then, he closed his eyes, and with a pleasant sigh, he said, "In any case, it's futile to worry about doing everything at once. Our first priority is information. And for that, we need to move."

Thus, we marched steadfastly toward the closest location where a clan raid had been reported. This led us east along the path that the forces of Runestone had used to reach us before veering south toward the Redfort.

There, the prince conversed with the castellan, who informed him of the damage inflicted on their surrounding villages — the men killed, the innocent farmers, the women dragged away, and the children taken as slaves.

Rhaenar listened with heavy heart before instructing me to oversee the maesters of Runestone and the Redfort. We gathered any information about the mentioned pathways that each House of the Vale supposedly knew of.

In the jagged hills that composed the Vale countryside, the prince dispatched agents with messages of reassurance. 

The narrative was straightforward: Rhaenar, deeply distressed by the tragic raids, would personally compensate families for the loss of their loved ones. Additionally, a monetary reward awaited those who could provide valuable information.

Later, the prince confided, "When I was knighted, Ser Ryam publicly praised my cunning and bravery. But in private, he told me that while I succeeded in vanquishing the bandits, my methods were macabre. 'His Grace would never have threatened to burn down villages. Instead, he'd have listened to their concerns and offered them coin.'"

Rhaenar always smiled fondly when reminiscing about the Old King. "So, I'll do things differently from the Kingswood. Let the hills resound with chants of change. Maybe our song will sway the hearts of even the clanfolk?"

It didn't take long for Rhaenar's investigation to bear fruit.

Touched by his benevolence, the Vale's smallfolk wept at his feet, sharing all they knew. Some were so devoted that they required further insistence from the prince to accept his coin.

Meanwhile, the Rhaenari scouts, reinforced by auxiliaries from across the realm skilled in tracking, pathfinding, hunting, scouting, and the like, were able to follow initial reports and confirm sightings of clans men who seemed to be shadowing at the edge of their territory.

Deadeye Ronny, ever vigilant even as a world-class archer, noted, "I think we were close to a hamlet of some kind. They watched us differently than those who followed us along the High Road. It wasn't about ambushing and stealing from our baggage trains. It was about judging our strength."

At that, Rhaenar swiftly led half a cohort, around 300 men, toward the designated site.

The ensuing battle against the Milk Snakes, a notorious clan wreaking havoc in the southern Vale, unfolded. The Milk Snake community spanned across three foothills, their notoriety extending to the ambush of anyone traversing the High Road without proper escort.

When the Rhaenari horn sounded, all able-bodied individuals clan folk, including women, took up arms. With almost 400 infantry, their advantageous position on higher ground, the Milk Snakes exuded confidence. Invaders had not approached the foothills in a long time, and a significant threat was even more distant.

However, the slight numerical advantage held no sway. The Rhaenari, equipped with scaled armor and steel weapons, outmatched the clansmen in shaggy hides and stone arrowheads. The impenetrable shield wall of a hundred spears led to the Milk Snakes routing within the hour.

Many captives were taken that morning, mostly women and children, along with notable youths and feisty veterans.

The prince commanded, "After everyone is questioned, have the civilians fed and marched away on the morrow. They can wait out the fate of their kind from the safety of the sidelines."

With captives in hand, Rhaenar's campaign became more manageable. Each captive provided valuable information about the landscape, clans, or other crucial details, guiding him to nearby clan headquarters.

Prince Rhaenar swept through the southern Vale with relative ease, defeating the Moon Brothers and the Painted Dogs, feared among the mountain clans. As he moved north to the mid-Vale, however, he found only empty hamlets and ghost villages.

By the time the southern Vale was rid of the known mountain clans, word had spread to others in the foothills.

Rhaenar had successfully turned some mountain clansmen to his side, acting as undercover agents who attended a rare gathering of the clans.

And they disclosed meetings, how they discussed the growing problem of Rhaenar's campaign, concluding that they must unite to fight back or face eradication.

This did not surprise the prince; in fact, Rhaenar had planned for this.

"Better they gather and face us in a single decisive battle," the prince said.

Though I am inclined to believe he was more concerned with his 6-moon time limit with Lady Jeyne than a wholehearted belief in such a strategy.

What surprised Rhaenar, however, was that the mountain clans not only united but did so under the banner of an elected king.

This so-called 'King of the Mountains', reported by our scouts, was a man in his mid-twenties named Ulfgar.

Little was known of 'The Nutbreaker,' as the clansmen famously called him.

It is said he descended from a lesser-known clan near the Snakeswood. His grandmother, rich in the ancient rebellious blood of the First Men, was said to have hitched up with a Braavosi trader who shipwrecked on the coast near the Snakewood.

This merchant sold nuts and bestowed many seeds upon them, growing into prosperous nut trees in the mountain environment.

Even from a young age, Ulfgar was strong enough to crack the shell of any nut, hardening his body day after day.

The tool he used? Nothing but the bone of a giant, a great arched themur.

When the Mountain Clans convened, and the matter of uniting against the threat of Prince Rhaenar had already been settled, it's said that Ulfgar Nutbreaker descended upon the meeting with his giant bone war club in hand. With him were many a queer shaman and witches. He declared himself king and defeated any who dared question his rule.

Indeed, Ulfgar may have started his journey as the Nutbreaker, but by the time he made his presence known, the amount of damage he'd done with his mighty giant's bone club, the number of brains he'd bashed in, it would have been more fitting to dub him Skullbreaker instead. I digress…

It was only when the clansmen united under Ulfgar Nutbreaker that the true war began.

-Brien Flowers