Chapter 13 - Promises and Preparations

129 AC

First Day Of The Ninth Moon

Moat Cailin

Cregan Stark Pov

I gazed upon the vast host of the North, camped in the formidable fortress of Moat Cailin. Twenty thousand men had marched south, their banners fluttering in the chilly northern wind. The sight was awe-inspiring, a testament to the strength and unity of the North. Yet, beneath the surface of this grand spectacle lay a somber truth: many of these men would not return. The "Dance of the Dragons," as the maesters had named the civil war between the Targaryens, was nearing its bloody conclusion.

I entered the command tent, where the various lords of the North had gathered. Their faces were alight with jubilation, a stark contrast to the grim reality of our march to war. The scent of roasted meat and spilled ale filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp canvas.

"Lord Cregan, come join us!" proclaimed Lord Umber, raising his cup of ale high in the air. His voice was loud and boisterous, reflecting the mood of the assembled lords.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded coldly, my voice cutting through the revelry like a knife through flesh.

The tent fell silent as all eyes turned toward me. The lords, sensing the gravity of my words, quickly sobered.

"The war has not ended," I said sharply. The lords' gazes fell, the weight of my words settling upon them like a heavy shroud.

"The Silent Fury has killed the majority of the dragonriders alongside the false queen , Lord Cregan, and the only one remaining is the Rogue Prince," said Lord Bolton in his raspy voice. His tone carried a mix of fear and respect as I gripped the hilt of Ice, my ancestral greatsword, tightly.

"Aye, Prince Jaehaerys has indeed ended the majority of the dragonriders, but the Blacks still have close to thirty thousand men from the Riverlands. I doubt the Rogue Prince will admit defeat and bend the knee to King Aegon," I said. A few of the lords chuckled nervously at my reprimand to Lord Bolton, but a stern gaze silenced them quickly.

I turned my attention to the map of the Riverlands laid out on the wooden table before me. The intricate details of the rivers, castles, and roads were meticulously drawn, each line representing a potential battleground.

"The Riverlords have barely kept any men in the Riverlands, and only the young boys and greybeards are left in their castles," I spoke out, tracing a finger along the key strategic locations.

"We will strike them and capture their castles," I declared, my voice filled with determination.

"When the lords present in the Rogue Prince's army learn the fate of their kin, they will wish to return to the Riverlands," I said, my words carrying a weight of inevitability.

"The last time the men of the North marched south was to fight against Aegon the Conqueror, and now we march to honor the words of the last King of the North. Let no one say that the men of the North are oathbreakers," I proclaimed, my voice rising with fervor. The men cheered loudly, their voices echoing through the night.

As the cheering died down, I continued, "This is no ordinary war. The Dance of the Dragons has torn the realm asunder, pitting brother against sister, dragon against dragon. But we are not Targaryens. We are the North, bound by honor and duty."

The lords nodded in agreement, their faces now serious and resolute. The weight of the coming battle hung heavy in the air.

"We march not just for King Aegon, but for the North. For our families, our lands, our honor," I said, my voice steady and commanding. "Remember the words: Winter is Coming. And with it, we bring the fury of the North."

The lords raised their cups in unison, a silent vow to the cause.

Lord Manderly, his portly figure contrasting with the grim determination in his eyes, spoke up, "We will show the South what it means to face the might of the North. They will tremble at our approach."

"Aye," I replied, "But remember, our strength lies not just in our numbers, but in our unity. We fight as one, and we will prevail as one."

The night wore on as we discussed strategies and tactics, each lord offering insights and suggestions. The atmosphere was a mix of grim determination and cautious optimism. The North had always been known for its resilience, and we would need every ounce of it in the battles to come.

As dawn approached, the lords began to disperse, returning to their men with renewed purpose. I stood at the entrance of the tent, watching as the first light of day began to creep over the horizon. The sight of twenty thousand men, ready to march at my command, filled me with a sense of pride and responsibility.

I knew the road ahead would be long and treacherous, but I was ready. The North was ready. And we would not falter.

The Eyrie

Eldric Arryn Pov

I sat on the high seat in the grand hall of the Eyrie, gazing down at the assembled lords and ladies of the Vale. Each one bowed deeply, their heads lowered in submission. Lord Gunthor Royce stood prominently among them, his stern face betraying no emotion.

"Rise, my lords and ladies," I said, my tone dripping with mockery. As one, they stood, their faces a mixture of shame and apprehension.

"It seems you have finally understood the folly of your support for the whore of Dragonstone and the false lady of the Eyrie," I continued, watching as their eyes dropped to the floor.

"But my father is a forgiving man," I declared, a sly smile playing on my lips. "He has commanded me to extend his forgiveness to you all for your past transgressions. You have admitted your mistakes and have sent your men to the Bloody Gates to fight for the one true king."

I paused, letting my words sink in. "Ten thousand knights of the Vale will descend upon the Riverlands and fight for the cause of King Aegon."

"If any of you have matters to discuss, you may approach me now, as I serve as the regent of the Eyrie in place of my father, who is sadly indisposed."

"Lord Regent," Lord Leowyn Corbray stepped forward, his voice strained. "My brother committed a grave sin against the king and was duly punished. However, Prince Jaehaerys has taken the ancestral sword of House Corbray, and I wish for it to be returned to its rightful owners."

My anger flared at his words. "Lord Leowyn, where was this concern when my father was usurped from his rightful place as the Lord of the Eyrie? When the bitch, my cousin, took what rightfully belonged to my father and had him jailed for fighting back? Tell me, where was your concern then?"

The lords and ladies cowered at my harsh tone, but I took a deep breath, reigning in my temper. "Prince Jaehaerys will return Lady Forlorn, the ancestral blade of your house, once he has finished dealing with the Rogue Prince."

Lord Leowyn bowed his head, his lips forming words of false praise. I could see the resentment simmering beneath the surface, but I knew that for now, they would all comply. The power of the Eyrie and the might of the Vale were at my command, and I intended to wield them with ruthless precision.

Storms End

Borros Baratheon

I stood at the gates of Storm's End alongside the lords of the Stormlands, watching as my goodson rode toward us on his steed. Beside me stood my wife, Elenda, and my eldest daughter, Cassandra, who placed a protective hand on her burgeoning stomach as she saw her husband approach.

As he dismounted from his horse, he strode toward Cassandra, and they embraced tenderly. I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride as I observed their reunion. After a few moments, he turned his attention to me.

"Good father," he greeted me warmly.

"Good son," I responded, embracing him firmly.

"We shall eat until our bellies are full and drink to our hearts' content, for the whore on Dragonstone is dead!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the courtyard. The assembled lords cheered heartily as we made our way into the castle.

Cassandra walked beside her husband, their hands intertwined, their faces glowing with happiness. "Good son, I will see you at the feast," I said, preparing to let them have a moment of privacy.

"Very well, good father," he replied with a smile, leading Cassandra toward their chambers.

"They truly love each other," my wife Elenda said softly, her eyes misting with emotion.

"Aye, I am happy for her," I replied, a rare smile crossing my face. It was a joy to see my daughter so content, and it brought a sense of peace to my heart.

As we made our way to the great hall, the atmosphere was filled with celebration. The tables were laden with the finest foods and wines, and the hall buzzed with the lively chatter of the lords and ladies of the Stormlands.

When the feast began, I took my place at the head of the table, my gaze sweeping over the assembled guests. My goodson and Cassandra sat nearby, their hands still clasped together, their love evident to all who saw them.

"To the future of House Baratheon!" I proclaimed, raising my goblet high. "May our strength and unity continue to guide us through these turbulent times."

As the feast came to an end, Aemond approached me with a serious expression. "I need to talk to you, good father," he said.

"Very well," I replied, sensing the urgency in his tone.

We made our way to my solar, and once the door closed behind us, he began to speak. "The battle at Dragonstone was a victory, but it came at a high price," he said, his voice heavy with concern.

"My brother, the king, is injured and cannot ride his dragon. My younger brother, Daeron, is also wounded, and Vhagar is unable to fly for some time," he continued, his frustration evident. "The one who will face my uncle in battle is Jaehaerys."

"The Riverlanders have already invaded the Reach, and Daemon will surely attempt to burn Oldtown to the ground," he said, anger flashing in his violet eyes. "My brother will deal with him, but the fact remains that the Riverlanders have close to thirty thousand men."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Ever since this blasted war started, I have done nothing but remain a spectator, watching my brothers constantly risk their lives for our family's sake," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I know that you too have been waiting to fight, and the Dornish raiders are insignificant in comparison."

"What do you suggest, my prince?" I asked, meeting his intense gaze.

"We take the fight to the Riverlanders," he said, his eyes burning with determination. "While Daemon and his army march on Oldtown, we attack them from behind at the moment my brother and he meet in the skies."

"The Riverlanders will break," he declared.

The prospect of glory surged through me. "And the glory will be ours," I thought with glee. "Very well," I said aloud, and he smiled.

"Fifteen thousand men of the Stormlands will march into the Reach," I announced.

"I wish to accompany your army," he said, but I frowned.

"You have just returned, and I doubt Cassandra would be happy with this," I countered.

"I cannot let my brother bear the burden alone. I am his elder, and it is my duty to protect him, not the other way around," he shouted, his voice filled with passion.

"I do not want my grandchild to be born without a father," I said with steely resolve.

"I will not die," he gritted out.

"We leave on the morrow," I said, and he nodded, leaving me in silence.

As my wife, Elenda, approached me, she spoke softly. "You are going off to war."

"Aye, I am," I replied, my voice firm.

"The war is already over," she said, her eyes pleading. "Do not leave me."

"I have to go and fight," I said, my voice resolute. "To show them what real fury truly is." The thought of cleaving a man's chest with my hammer brought a fierce smile to my face.

She sighed, taking my hand and placing it on her stomach. "I am with child," she said, her voice trembling.

A smile spread across my face. "That is wonderful," I said, the prospect of a son filling me with joy.

"Promise me that you will return," she said, holding my face in her hands, her eyes searching mine for assurance.

"I promise," I said, my voice softening. "I will return."

As she held me close, I felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination. The glory of battle awaited, but so did the love and future of my family. And with that thought, I steeled myself for the challenges to come, ready to face whatever fate had in store.

Casterly Rock

Johanna Lannister Pov

I watched intently as the maester finished reading the raven from King's Landing. My heart ached as I saw my eldest daughter, Cerelle, gently place a trembling hand on her burgeoning stomach, tears welling in her eyes.

"My father died due to deceit, and this is what the Lord Hand has to say?" she shouted, spittle flying from her lips.

"A dragon was promised to him, one that would accompany him to the Riverlands, but none came," she said, her voice quivering with rage.

"The Silent Fury is as responsible for my father's death as the rogue prince," she declared, collapsing into her chair, her face a mask of sorrow and fury.

I rose from my seat and walked towards Cerelle, wrapping my arms around her in a comforting embrace.

"Hush, Cerelle. You must be strong for your family and for the child in your womb," I said softly as she cried in my arms.

What she had said was true. I had warned my husband not to leave for the Riverlands, but he sought glory, only to find death.

Despite being married to Jason for many years, I could not say I loved the man, for he never truly loved me.

"I want my husband back, mother," she said softly, her voice breaking.

"Daeron will come back to you, daughter, once he is fully healed. When he returns, you will show him your child," I said, trying to reassure her.

"I want him dead, mother," Cerelle sobbed. "The kinslayer and the rogue prince," she cried.

"Hush, my daughter," I said, holding her tighter. "We will pay our dues."

The Westerlands were currently leaderless; the majority of the lords had perished in the Riverlands alongside their heirs. My son, the current Warden of the West, was just a child, and I had to be the regent.

"The war is coming to an end, dear," I said.

"The rogue prince and the Silent Fury will kill each other when they meet," I added, trying to soothe her anguish.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a knight rushed in, startling both me and my daughter.

"Lady Johanna," he said, his face pale with fear.

"We received a raven from House Farman. The Ironborn have attacked," he said urgently. "They have started raiding our coasts."

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath.

"Order the men to fortify the city of Lannisport with the defenses my late husband built. We will be able to fend them off," I shouted, praying to the Seven to protect my people.

I could feel the weight of my responsibilities bearing down on me, but I knew I had to remain strong. For my daughter, for my family, for the Westerlands.

The storm was coming, and we had to be ready to face it.

Oldtown

Leona Tyrell

From the Hightower, I gazed at the vast sea of tents that had sprung up outside the city. Every day, more people arrived, seeking shelter in Oldtown.

Ever since the Battle of the Golden Grove, the Blacks had been sacking and burning every town and village they crossed. The Rogue Prince left nothing but ash and ruin in his wake, while the Greens desperately gathered their forces.

I had fled Highgarden alongside most of House Tyrell. In the distance, I heard my son crying. Approaching him, I picked up my babe, who was already the Lord of the Reach at just one nameday old.

"Shush, Lyonel. Your mother is right here," I whispered, gently rocking my child.

The doors of my chamber opened, and the Queen Dowager entered. I gave her a small bow.

"How is little Lyonel doing?" she asked, a soft smile on her face.

"He's just a bit grumpy," I said, trying to return her smile.

"What a cute babe you are," she cooed, pinching his cheeks and eliciting a giggle from him.

After a moment, her expression turned serious. "My cousin has convened a war meeting. We have been called," she said. I nodded, handing my son to a maid, and followed her towards the chamber.

As I entered, I saw many knights and lords of the Reach assembled. At the head stood Lord Ormund Hightower, one of the few survivors of the Battle of Golden Grove. Beside him stood Lord Unwin Peake, the man with the most men, though his presence was as unpleasant as ever.

On the table lay a map of the Reach, wooden figures in black and green scattered across it, representing our forces and the enemy's.

"Let us begin," Lord Ormund Hightower spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of our situation.

"From our reports, the Rogue Prince has sacked Highgarden and seized enough supplies to sustain his army," he said, his face grim.

"He calls himself a king, and his army has swelled to forty thousand men as those who surrendered joined his forces under threat of death," he continued.

"He is carving a bloody path through the Reach and is now marching towards Oldtown," he finished, the tension in the room palpable.

"How many men do we have?" one of the lords spoke up.

"Close to ten thousand," Lord Unwin responded irritably. "But not enough supplies. All the food is going to the smallfolk who keep coming in droves like rats," he spat.

"How do we expect our men to fight if we cannot feed them?" he demanded.

"Lord Unwin, we have to feed the smallfolk unless you want a riot. The last thing we need is disorder within the city," Princess Alyssane spoke up, her voice calm but firm.

Unwin's face twisted with anger as he retorted, "My princess, you do not know these rats. They will turn their backs on us in a moment's notice."

The prince's mismatched eyes heated up as she wanted to respond, but she remained silent as the Queen Dowager placed a calming hand on hers.

"Cousin, what of the Redwynes? Can they not send supplies?" the Queen Dowager inquired.

"I am afraid not, cousin," Ormund replied.

"Ever since the blasted Ironborn started sacking the Westerlands, the fleet has to remain vigilant. They cannot spare ships to send us supplies," he said.

"Or men, for that matter," Lord Unwin added.

The room descended into a cacophony of arguments as the lords bickered amongst themselves.

Suddenly, the doors of the chamber burst open, and Prince Jaehaerys walked in, exuding a dangerous aura. Clad in his bronze armor, his hair tied back, and the Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn resting on his hip, he commanded immediate silence.

He was the man who had led the Greens to victory, and no one questioned his orders.

Striding towards the table, he removed the green figures from the city near the Honeywine River and placed them strategically.

"The war is already won," he declared coldly.

"It does not matter if my uncle has forty thousand men or a hundred thousand," he continued, his voice icy.

"The moment he and his dragon fall, the war ends," he said with finality.

"We march tomorrow and end this war once and for all," he announced, his words like iron.

"I will face Daemon alone, alongside Vermithor, while my sister watches from behind," he stated.

"While Daemon and I fight in the air, his men will attack you. Hold on for dear life," he commanded.

"The moment I finish Daemon and his dragon, Princess Alyssane will attack their army, and they will break," he said, his confidence unwavering.

"And how are you sure you will win against Daemon?" Lord Unwin challenged.

"I do not need to win against him. All I need is to take him down with me," Jaehaerys replied without a care, speaking as if his life mattered little, while I saw Princess Alyssane's face turn dark and the Queen Dowager looked melancholic.

"My prince, who will lead our army?" one lord asked.

"By all rights, it should be my father, Lord Unwin Peake, since he has not yet tasted defeat, unlike a certain lord present here," Titus Peake said, glaring at Ormund Hightower.

"Mind your tongue, Peake," Lyonel Hightower, the son of Ormund Hightower, retorted sharply.

"Or what, boy?" Unwin Peake sneered, his eyes locked on Lyonel.

"Know your place, Unwin," Ormund spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Or what?" Unwin repeated, his glare turning icy.

I glanced at their retainers, hands gripping their swords, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

"Enough!" Prince Jaehaerys commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His icy glare swept over the assembled lords, freezing them in place.

"You are both lords. Behave like it," he said coldly, his tone brooking no argument.

"You are one to speak, kinslayer. You're nothing but a monster," a knight wearing the colors of House Peake said. I recognized him as Ser Mervyn Flowers, the bastard brother of Unwin Peake.

The moment he spoke, it seemed as if everyone held their breath. The color drained from Lord Unwin's face.

"A monster, huh?" Jaehaerys said, his voice dangerously soft. "Perhaps you should speak softly to me. Monsters are dangerous, and currently, lords and their houses are falling like flies."

As soon as he finished speaking, Unwin turned and punched his brother in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Forgive my brother, my prince. He does not know what he says. He is just a bastard," Unwin said, bowing deeply.

I saw Alyssane barely containing herself, and for a moment, it seemed as if she would fall upon Mervyn and kill him.

"I will lead the army," Jaehaerys declared, his voice leaving no room for dissent. The lords nodded, their fear palpable.

"What of the Ironborn my prince ?" a lord of the Shield Islands spoke up.

"Once my brother's dragons are healed, they will lead a crusade that will put an end to the existence of the Ironborn once and for all," Jaehaerys said with determination.

"What of the daughter of the Rogue Prince?" Lord Unwin Peake asked, a cruel smile forming on his lips. "We should cut her head off and present it to the Rogue Prince."

"No. Princess Rhaena will stay in Oldtown," Lord Hightower interjected.

"Rhaena is my prisoner, and I will do with her as I please," Jaehaerys said with authority, silencing the room.

"That is all. Other than Lady Leona Tyrell you may all leave," he commanded, his presence undeniable.

Hearing his words, my eyes widened in surprise. The lords were equally taken aback, but they obeyed the prince's command and filed out. I noticed Princess Alyssane staring intently at Prince Jaehaerys before she too left. Soon, it was just the prince and me.

He poured a cup of wine and handed it to me. I accepted it, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"What did you wish to speak of, my prince?" I asked him, my voice trembling slightly.

He took a sip of his wine, his violet eyes piercing into mine.

"Did you love your husband?" he asked, catching me off guard.

I took a moment to compose myself before replying. "Aye, I did. He was a good man, a good husband, and would have been a great father if he had not passed away," I said, my voice heavy with sorrow.

"Do you miss him?" he asked, his gaze never wavering.

"Every waking hour," I responded, feeling a tear escape down my cheek.

"But why do you ask, my prince?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

"I made a promise to my sister that I would survive my battle against my uncle. I have taken precautions," he said, revealing a scroll and unrolling it before me. It depicted a dragon with intricate armor plating designed to protect its neck and stomach.

"The forges of Oldtown have been put to work for the past nine moons to build a set of armor for my fight against Daemon," he explained.

His words left me stunned. "You knew you would fight the Rogue Prince?" I asked, incredulous.

"Aye, I did," he confirmed. "My original plan was to face him alongside my brothers so we would not lose any lives in the process, but it seems fate is a cruel mistress and it despises me."

"Do you think you will ever fall in love with somebody else?" he asked, his tone softer now.

I laughed lightly, though it was tinged with sadness. "I do not think I will ever love anyone else the way I loved Garth," I said.

He stood there, a melancholic expression on his face, before finally looking at me. "You may leave, my lady," he said quietly.

I nodded and left, feeling the weight of our conversation settle deep within me.