Chapter 24

The morning at Duskendale's camp began, as always, with the familiar noise: the voices of knights, the clanging of metal, the rustle of tents, and the smell of cooking food. But for Aeryon, everything felt entirely different — he knew that today, everything would change.

Approaching a separate tent, he met with Ralf. The prince, deep in thought, looked at his friend. Ralf's face reflected a mix of anxiety and determination.

"Ralf," he began, locking eyes with him, "Tonight, we will free the king. We need to prepare."

Buckler frowned slightly.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Freeing Aerys is a very risky move. We can't afford any mistakes."

"I understand," Targaryen replied, trying to keep calm. "But now that the situation in the city is heating up, we have to act. You said you left your man there; tonight, let him stir up unrest among the discontented townsfolk. That will distract attention. Once chaos begins, we'll use the passage Darklyn showed us."

Buckler only nodded, realizing the importance of each step ahead.

"Have you decided who you'll take with you?"

"You, me, Qwelton, and Oswell."

"We shouldn't trust Whent just because of his heartfelt speeches."

"I know, but there are no other options. Aerys isn't our only problem. Remember the letter?" Seeing Ralf's understanding look, the prince continued, "Fell and I will go search for it."

"Understood. And what about Oswell and me?"

"You two will go to rescue the king. After we remove the evidence, we'll all meet at the designated place."

Thinking it over once more, Buckler nodded and stood, preparing to leave.

"I'll inform Bran of his task immediately. What time do we plan to act?"

"At the hour of the wolf," Aeryon replied with a smile, feeling the rising excitement. They had come a long way, and this night could mark the beginning of their rise. Gathering their thoughts, they left the tent, ready for the upcoming actions.

As the evening approached and the sun began to dip toward the horizon, bathing the military camp in a soft glow, Aeryon, collecting his thoughts, decided to meet with Whent. He knew there wasn't much time left for open conversations.

"Oswell," the prince called, finding him by the fire, where the Kingsguard was inspecting the final details of his gear. "I have something to discuss with you."

The Kingsguard lifted his head, cautiously eyeing the prince.

"Something important?"

"Tonight, we are going to rescue the king," Aeryon replied, trying to speak with confidence. Whent frowned and asked,

"We? It seems there was no talk of a siege plan yet?"

"That's exactly why I'm taking things into my own hands."

"And you decided to tell me this just now?"

"There are certain things better left undiscussed in advance. I trust you, but here, everything has ears."

"Aeryon, I want you to understand: after the vow I made in the woods, my life and sword belong to you. I'll go wherever you say, but I need to know what to prepare for. What do you need from me?" Oswell asked insistently.

"Your task is cover. If things don't go as planned and we need to break through by force, someone as skilled and experienced as you will be absolutely necessary."

"Sounds risky."

"We have no other choice," the prince paused, staring into the fire. "We can't afford to fail. You'll understand when it begins."

Whent nodded, though his expression still betrayed doubt.

"I'm ready," he said firmly, finishing the cleaning of his sword.

Soon, the night enveloped Duskendale in a thick shroud of darkness. The camp fell silent, interrupted only by the occasional rustling and footsteps of the night guards. Aeryon, Ralf, and Oswell stood by the secret passage, with Qwelton Fell standing nearby, grimly gazing at the city walls. They all stood still, waiting for the signal Bran had promised.

The darkness deepened, and every new sound seemed louder and more dangerous. Aeryon tried to remain calm but could feel the tension tightening his shoulders. He looked down at his hand, resting on the hilt of his sword, and suddenly noticed it was trembling slightly. For a moment, the prince froze, observing the involuntary movement of his fingers and couldn't suppress a faint smile. "Shaking like a boy," Targaryen thought to himself with a smirk.

This reaction amused him. Despite all his plans, ambitions, and confidence in his own strength, he was still just a young man facing such danger for the first time. It was funny to realize that while his mind was fully focused and ready, his body was betraying him.

"Interesting," he muttered to himself, lowering his gaze.

Ralf, standing nearby, noticed nothing and continued to watch the area intently. Time seemed to drag on, but suddenly, something changed in the distance beyond the walls. They spotted a thin line of smoke slowly rising into the night sky.

"The signal," Buckler whispered, fixing his gaze on the smoke. "The time has come."

"Forward!" Aeryon ordered briefly, and they moved toward the passage without wasting a second. Their steps were almost silent on the damp ground. The passage that Denys Darklyn had shown them was narrow and barely visible to the eye. Sheltered in its shadow, they carefully advanced toward the heart of the city.

Upon entering, they wordlessly made their way to the old house where Bran had previously left clothes and gear for them. Worn, plain cloaks hid their weapons, turning them into ordinary townsfolk, unnoticed by anyone they might encounter on the streets.

Aeryon quickly changed into the outfit and checked the equipment — the ropes with hooks were neatly coiled and ready for use.

"Everything's in place," Ralf whispered, tightening his straps. "Now, the main thing is to get to the castle walls without arousing suspicion."

"Looks like your man overdid it with the fire. Everyone who could is already there," Qwelton remarked with a chuckle.

They then headed toward Dun Fort, moving through the narrow streets of the city, where lighting was scarce, and the houses stood so close together that shadows nearly concealed them completely. Reaching the fortress walls, they stopped at the base. The height was intimidating, but the gear they had prepared in advance would ease the task.

"Time to climb," Oswell whispered, nodding to his companions. As the most experienced, he was the first to throw the hook, making sure it securely caught on a ledge of the wall, and began to climb. He was followed by Aeryon, Ralf, and Qwelton.

Upon reaching the top of the wall, they spotted a guard patrolling. Without hesitation, Buckler silently drew his bow. One quick, precise shot — and the guard fell to the ground without making a sound.

"Done," Ralf whispered, scanning the area. "Now it's up to us."

"Whent, Buckler," Aeryon addressed them, "you head to the dungeon for the king. Free him and meet us at the secret exit."

"Understood," Ralf nodded briefly, wasting no time as he headed to the fortress dungeons.

"And you and I," Aeryon turned to Qwelton, "are going to Denys' chambers. We don't have much time, so we move quickly but carefully."

Fell nodded, and together they moved through the dark corridors of Dun Fort. Their footsteps were barely audible, but every shadow and sound echoed in the prince's mind, with tension slowly giving way to cold focus.

Suddenly, a figure appeared ahead — one of the fortress guards. Targaryen stopped abruptly, motioning for Qwelton to halt.

"What do we do?" Fell whispered, pressing himself against the wall.

"We'll go around him," Aeryon replied, watching the guard's movements carefully. The man seemed indifferent, simply making his usual rounds. They patiently waited for him to pass, then silently slipped around the corner.

At the door to Denys' chambers, however, they faced a new danger. A guard stood by the entrance, his armor faintly gleaming in the torchlight. The prince paused, squinting.

"We need a diversion," he whispered, leaning closer to Qwelton.

They hid behind the wall, quickly discussing a plan. Aeryon cast a brief glance at the door, then at the knight, and, waiting for the right moment, deliberately made noise, striking the hilt of his sword against the stone wall. The sound echoed down the corridor. The guard instantly tensed, lifting his head and moving toward the noise. He walked slowly, listening and peering into the darkness.

As soon as he got close, Aeryon emerged from the shadows with lightning speed, driving his blade into the guard's throat. The blade slid through easily, and the guard's body instantly went limp in the prince's arms. Only his eyes reflected the terror and shock of what had happened.

"Let's go," he told Qwelton, wiping his sword on the guard's cloak. "Now let's take what's ours."

Fell nodded, and together they swiftly approached the door.