12

Chapter Twelve

Eastwood

Late 52 AC

It was a well-known fact that a person always remembers the most important and significant days in their life. I remembered countless moments of a previous life. I remembered the day I received news of my father's death and my subsequent ennoblement in startling clarity. I remembered the day I first walked into Eastwood and the day I married Elena.

Another such day occurred in the twelfth moon of the fifty-second year after Aegon's Conquest.

The sun was shining bright in the sky. It had been two turns of the moon since I had started manufacturing the Eastwood Ale and so far we were keeping pace with my schedule. While we were still importing ale from Bronzegate, I had been able to reduce the volumes and supply a good portion from my own production. I was still a while away from being able to single-handedly supply ale for my lands as well as Tarth but we were making sure and steady progress towards that goal.

I was returning to my Keep after meeting with the various functionaries and office bearers in the newly built town hall, with Ser Edwell Errol riding alongside me. He had arrived in Eastwood a sennight ago as his father hoped to emulate some of my reforms in his own lands and I had arranged the meeting for Edwell's benefit.

As we rode through the town, I noted a rider approaching me in the distance. As he got closer, I noted that he was one of my men at arms. He stopped when he reached me and gave a short bow before stating, "My Lord. An urgent summons from the Keep. The Maester bids you return immediately."

My thoughts immediately went to Elena. She was nearly eight moons along and an urgent summons from Armon could mean that she had entered labour.

"My wife? Is she alright?" I barked at the guard.

"The Lady Elena?" The guard appeared confused. He continued, "Lady Eastwood is fine my Lord, the Maester received a raven and immediately bade me to fetch you. I also heard him call for Ser Morden."

I was immediately wary. I turned to Edwell and he nodded at me. We immediately spurred our horses to rush towards my Keep. As we entered through the gates I could see that there was a flurry of activity in the courtyard. Guardsmen were heading towards the armoury and suiting up their armour. Servants were polishing the weapons and I could see that the maids were running around like headless chickens.

As I dismounted my horse I was greeted by a guardsman who informed me that Maester Armon, Serwyn and Ser Morden were awaiting me in my solar.

As Edwell and I walked into my solar, I was greeted by my advisors with solemn and serious expressions on their faces. Ser Morden was gnashing his teeth, something that I had noticed he did only when extremely angry and Serwyn looked like he was a stiff breeze away from pissing his pants.

I turned to Maester Armon and barked out, "What is happening Maester. Why does the courtyard look like the men are preparing to go to war?"

Ser Morden replied, "That was at Lady Elena's order, my Lord. In your absence, she, as well as I, believed that speed was paramount and ordered the men to begin preparing."

He nodded at Armon to continue. The Maester took a deep breath and said, "Buckler men have invaded your lands. The Mayor of Daegon's Valley sent word. Around fifty or so men in Buckler livery arrived at the new iron mine west of the Valley. They announced that the mine belonged to Lord Buckler and that the smallfolk there were trespassing on his lands. Fighting broke out my Lord and scores of men and women were slaughtered by them, my Lord. The survivors reached Daegon's Valley bloody and beaten an hour or so before noon."

As the Maester spoke, I felt a spike of white-hot anger as the words sounded in my head. The anger grew into a raging inferno of rage that threatened to spill over. That bastard dared to invade my lands and slaughter my people. People whose safety was my responsibility. And the man had reportedly slaughtered scores of them over what? Some ale? Some trade disputes. Distantly I could hear Ser Morden saying something about the men being ready to ride out within the hour.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. As I turned my head to snap at the man to whom the hand belonged, I saw that it was Edwell. He had a dark look in his eyes that belied his own anger. He softly said, "Save your fury for the Bucklers, Aelon. I will ride with you and we will wet our swords with Buckler blood."

My rage didn't fade. It was more like it was safely held in the back of my mind to be unleashed at the opportune moment. Even as the roaring flames of my rage were suppressed, I attempted to clear my mind and think rationally. I could not afford any missteps at this point. An emotionally charged bad decision would spell disaster for House Eastwood.

"Is this message verified?" I asked the Maester.

"It bore the seal of the Mayor of Daegon's Valley and was carried by his messenger. The Mayor says that all the survivors are miners from the settlement and narrated similar stories," replied the Maester with a grim tone.

"When did the incursion occur?" I questioned. I needed all the facts.

"Just before sunrise today my Lord according to the survivors."

"And the messenger arrived so quickly?"

"It seems that the road to Daegon's Valley, although still incomplete, is yielding results already."

"Has Daegon's Valley been attacked?" I asked. If Bryce Buckler was stupid enough to attack my mine, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that he may have ordered an attack on Daegon's Valley as well.

"No attack had occurred when the messenger left my Lord. The Mayor ordered the gates to be closed and for able men to be armed. With the number of smiths who call the valley home, there are enough weapons there to arm every able-bodied man. The town should be secure, my Lord."

I turned to Morden, "How many men would be able and ready to march within the hour Ser?"

"Ninety or so my Lord. Sixty of our men at arms and a further thirty from the Town Guard my Lord," replied the Master of Arms.

"I said ride Ser Morden, not march. How many horses can we muster? If we march from Eastwood on foot the Buckler men will be gone far before our arrival," I said with a snarl.

"We could muster fifty or so horses my Lord if we empty the stables in the town as well. If Ser Edwell lends the horses he arrived on with his men, we would add another five. But my Lord, I must add, if we travel on foot, we would outnumber the Buckler men by a considerable margin. On horse, our numbers would be even. If there is a battle, it could go either way," said the experienced Knight.

Ed chimed in at this point, "We will not just lend our horses, Ser Morden, we will ride alongside you. If Lord Buckler has broken the King's peace then I shall bear witness and fight on Aelon's side."

As he spoke, I felt a wave of affection for the man. Edwell was not just an ally; he was my friend. My truest and first friend in Westeros. The fact that he would ride alongside me filled me with confidence.

"The letter stated fifty men right? Were they all mounted?" I addressed Armon.

"Fifty men my Lord. But it did not state whether they were all mounted or not," replied the Maester.

"Even if they are all mounted, which is highly unlikely, we will still have the element of surprise. If we leave immediately and ride hard, we should reach just before the Hour of the Bat. We can attack under the cover of night. What say you, Ser Morden?" I asked the grizzled veteran. While I felt confident in the plan, I was green as grass in matters of warfare in comparison to him.

The man looked thoughtful for a few moments before he concurred, "Tis a sound plan my Lord. I would be more comfortable if we had more men, but if you wish to prioritise speed, this seems to be the best course of action."

I nodded. "Prepare the men. We will march within the hour Ser."

I turned to address Maester Armon, "Send a raven to Storm's End. Inform Lord Rogar of the situation here."

"Right away my Lord," replied the Maester.

"One more thing Armon. I'd like you to write down my instructions for what should be done should I fall in battle," I said. While the very idea terrified me, I had to face reality. There was a chance that I could fall in battle. A stray arrow here, an errant axe there, older and more experienced warriors had died in battle due to ill luck.

"My Lord, surely you don't need to charge into battle yourself. You could stay back in the rear where you would be safer and well protected."

"I have to lead the men myself, Armon. These are my lands. My men. I cannot and will not ask other men to fight my battles for me. If I am to earn their respect, I must lead from the front," I said as I sat down in my chair.

"Very well my Lord," replied the Maester solemnly as he took out some papers to write down my instructions.

"Should I fall in battle, the child Elena is carrying, girl or boy shall be my heir. Elena shall serve as regent until the child reaches his or her majority and shall be advised by Serwyn. Is that clear?"

"Very well my Lord."

"You have served me well Armon and I hope that should I pass, you shall serve and guide Elena and my heir in the same manner," I said as I affixed my seal and signature on the paper that Armon handed me.

"I shall serve House Eastwood till my last breath, my Lord," said the Maester solemnly. I nodded sharply at him and exited my solar. Heart pounding, I prepared for the first action of my new life in Westeros.

It was time to ride to battle.

Eastwood

Late 52 AC

Elena POV

The Keep was bustling with activity since the messenger had arrived from Daegon's Valley. Word quickly spread that Buckler men had invaded the lands and with Aelon touring Eastwood, it had fallen to her to take control of the situation.

A messenger had been immediately dispatched to fetch Aelon, and at Ser Morden's recommendation, she had given the order for the men to begin mustering. She was not sure what action Aelon would take, but knowing him, it would be quick and decisive. Having the men ready was a no brainer.

Even as she gave the command, much work was to be done. The men needed to be outfitted, arms and armour needed to be made ready from the armoury, horses needed to be fed and groomed for battle from the stables and letters needed to be dispatched. And this was despite the fact that she was heavily pregnant.

Writing a letter to her father and uncle would be of paramount importance once Aelon decided on a course of action. As House Eastwood's closest ally, Tarth needed to be informed of the possibility of war with the Bucklers. While war was unlikely, House Tarth would need to exert their influence at Storm's End to ensure a favourable outcome.

She was writing the said letter in her rooms, when Aelon swept in.

"Elena, are you well?" He said as he knelt next to her, his hands automatically reaching for her rounded belly as was his habit.

"You worry too much, Aelon. I am strong, and so is our child." She replied as she placed her hand on the hand which he had placed on her belly. A year ago such an action would have been unthinkable to her, and him as well for that matter, but they had made much progress this past year.

Marriage to Aelon had been nothing like she had expected it to be. She was well aware that a noble marriage was one of duty and not love, and she had been taught how to deal with philandering, reckless and hotheaded husbands by her mother. But Aelon was none of that. He was faithful, measured and calm, a dutiful lord who cared for his people and strove to better his lands. In that regard, she could not have expected better for a husband. But the man was painfully shy, extremely stubborn and completely inept at romance.

She had even contemplated that Aelon might be a sword swallower, but had immediately discarded that thought. While Aelon may not frequent her bed as often as expected, when he did, it was fun to say the least. No sword swallower could fake that level of excitement. She had even thought that Aelon might have a paramour, but after months of searching she had concluded that he did not.

Eventually she had concluded that Aelon was not some philanderer, but just a very busy man who was extremely uncomfortable and shy when it came to more physical interactions. The man had little trouble talking to her. Why, nought but a few turns of the moon ago, he had even taken her on a wonderful little 'picnic' as he called it.

While it was most definitely annoying to deal with a husband, who was actually uncomfortable with bedding her, counterproductive as it was to the main objective of a marriage, she had taken it in her stride. The initial months of their marriage had been strained to say the least, but that was the case with many other noble marriages she had consoled herself. For Aelon was otherwise an ideal husband.

While their personal relationship could have been better, from the very beginning he had made it clear that she could play whatever role in his household as she wished. He invited her to attend his council meetings, which she found extremely boring and attended only when her presence was necessary, allowed her to take on roles and responsibilities beyond the norm for the Lady of the House and never looked down on her for her gender. As Lady of Eastwood, she had more freedom and responsibilities than she ever did at Tarth.

All that had changed when she had announced that she was with child. Before, Aelon treated her as though she were a child herself, which was baffling considering that at nine and ten years, she was actually older than him. But now, things had changed. His visits to her bed became more frequent, they spent more time together and their relationship grew warmer. She knew it was not love, but she felt that perhaps some day it could be.

She sat in silence as Aelon knelt before her, gently caressing her belly as if he were communicating with their child through his touch. It was an intimate moment. A familial moment. Just the three of them.

"The men and I shall ride to meet the Buckler men within the hour. We mean to ambush them." He abruptly said, breaking the silence.

"And you shall be leading them into battle." It was not a question. She knew him well enough. Aelon was not the kind of man to let others do his work for him. So many nights, he would be the last to sleep as he sat in his solar working on something or the other. Copper counting another lord would call it, and yet she admired his dedication and work ethic.

"Aye. Elena…should I fall.."

"You will not fall, Aelon, for you are not allowed to. You will return to us and sit by my side as I give birth to our child. Is that clear?" Said the Lady of Eastwood, her expression betraying a hint of her worry and fear despite the strength of her words.

Aelon's lips curled up in a slight smile, "Yes my Lady. As you command."

"Good. Now hold out your arm so that I may grant you my favour. No husband of mine is going to charge into battle without my favour."

He chuckled as he held out his arm for her.

West of Daegon's Valley

Late 52 AC

Borros Buckler POV

As he sat among the ruins of the mining settlement that his uncle had ordered him to capture, Borros Buckler grimaced as he thought of the disaster the last two days had been.

Two days ago his uncle, Lord Bryce Buckler, had commanded him to lead fifty men and capture and stake House Buckler's claim to the iron mine in the lands of House Eastwood along the Buckler border. His Uncle claimed that the vein stretched into Buckler lands and as such rightfully belonged to House Buckler.

In the past few years that bastard Aelon Eastwood had caused numerous pains to House Buckler. While he enjoyed the brat's whisky, commoners like him were good for little else. A sentiment that most members of House Buckler shared. His uncle obviously believed that the bastard needed to be put in his place.

He had ordered him to take fifty armed men and capture the settlement with a show of force without shedding any blood. Sure he could rough up a few villagers to set an example, but his uncle had been clear in his instructions that no blood was to be shed. If even a single man died, House Buckler would immediately lose its high ground and credibility and it could be perceived as an act of aggression. He choked back a laugh of pained humour at that thought. The past two days had been a disaster.

Things had gone fairly smoothly initially. He had conveyed his uncle's instructions to the men and had marched them across the border. They had arrived at the mining settlement in the morning, much to the terror of the lowborn there.

Borros recalled with satisfaction the looks of utter horror on the faces of the poor miners as they saw fifty armed men in Buckler livery marching into their village. He had announced that House Buckler laid claim to the mine and ordered the miners to leave the village or face dire consequences.

The terrified peasants had immediately jumped to comply and his men began herding the dirty soot stained villagers out of the village. Occasionally as per his instructions, they would lash out with their whips or the butts of their spears at any of the smallfolk that seemed to be going too slow or were wailing too loudly.

And then things went tits up.

One of his men was teaching one of the miners a lesson and struck out with the butt of his spear to encourage him to move faster. The spear had struck the man in the neck and the man fell sharply and cracked his skull open on a large jagged stone nearby. Pandemonium broke out as the villagers rushed to aid the fallen miner. In the chaos one of the smallfolk women got too close to one of his men and the man lashed out with his sword and struck down the woman in question.

From that point onwards, things had gotten really out of hand as the smallfolk nearly rioted at the death of one of them. Enraged he had rushed into the mob to beat the accursed commoners into submission and end the violence when his horse bucked and threw him off. His men immediately retaliated in force and as he lay dazed on the ground, they had begun to slaughter the village folk.

When he finally rose a few minutes later, he gazed in horror at the slaughter occurring before him. "Not one drop of blood is to be shed nephew." He remembered his uncle saying. He had ordered his men to stop fighting, but amidst the pandemonium he was barely audible. The slaughter continued for several minutes before his orders were relayed and over the next few hours the surviving smallfolk were tracked down, rounded up and captured. A few had escaped but it would take time for the bastard Eastwood to rally his meagre forces and march here.

While his men had suffered no losses themselves, some were injured so he had opted to stay in the village at night, rest and leave at the crack of dawn. Eastwood would likely arrive later in the day and he would be gone long before that.

It was nearing the Hour of the Bat. And yet sleep eluded him. The past day had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions. He shuddered thinking of the punishment that his uncle would dole out on him for bungling up his orders in such a manner. He had considered just slaughtering all the prisoners and leaving so as to leave no witnesses to the slaughter, thereby absolving House Buckler of all blame, but many of the smallfolk rats had escaped and would undoubtedly spread the news.

He sighed as he stood up from the campfire and went to the edge of the village to take a piss. As he crossed the settlement the stench of blood and viscera filled his nose. He grimaced and stepped up his pace. The smallfolk were rounded up in the centre of the village and he did not want to hear the wails and cries of the dirty peasants for any longer than necessary.

He reached a small clutch of bushes at the edge of the settlement and pulled down his breeches to relieve himself. As he cast his gaze across the small knoll that bordered the village, he saw some movement on the horizon. He squinted his eyes to better see and slowly his eyes widened in horror.

Men atop horses were slowly coming into view atop the hillock as they crossed over. He yelped in alarm and gathered up his breeches. Before he could sound the alarm, he heard the sound of a horn and the mounted men began to charge.

He turned and saw his men slowly gathering their wits at the sound of the alarm. In the distance he saw the charging cavalry bearing the banner of House Eastwood.

As he barked orders at his men to form up a line to break the charge, his mind went into overdrive. House Eastwood should not have had the ability to muster these many horses. Last he had heard, Eastwood was a shitty little town barely better than a village and the tower masquerading as a Keep did not have remotely large enough stables to field these many horses.

He and a few of his men also possessed their own horses, but not enough for every man so a counter charge would be impossible especially with his own men bleary eyed.

Any further thoughts of his were halted as the cavalry charge was now barely a hundred paces away. His men were yet unprepared and exhausted from the battle and subsequent tracking the day before. He barked commands at them to hold the line no matter what. If they were able to hold the cavalry charge, his soldiers would be able to better manoeuvre in the cramped spaces of the village and victory would then be possible.

He commanded his archers, few as they were, to shoot at will in hopes of taking down a few horses and disrupting the charge. But even as the arrows were loosed, the Eastwood men kept charging. A distant part of his mind noted that all the men were clad in good quality armor and carried steel weapons that looked well forged and maintained. The charging cavalry also held far more discipline and held to formation in a manner not expected of the men of a bastard lordling of a backwater keep.

Borros held up his own shield and sword and braced for impact. The cavalry crashed into his line and he was knocked back several feet with the rest of his men.

The next few minutes were pure frenzied chaos as he struggled to just survive as the Eastwood men proceeded to take advantage of their mounts and scatter his men. He saw one of the mounted men direct his horse towards him. He parried a blow at his head with his shield and struck the horse in its neck with his sword. The horse fell and took its rider with it. He barked orders at his men to get back into formation as he engaged and felled another horseman who had sought to take his head.

As he was shouting orders he spotted another man slice open the throat of one of his men a few paces away. His eyes widened as he noted that man's silver hair. That had to be the bastard Eastwood. He snarled and charged as a hysterical cry of rage and desperation escaped his throat. His target saw him coming and even though he was visibly caught by surprise, somehow managed to raise his sword to intercept him. Borros ducked as the bastard's sword swept above his head and managed to bash the horse in the side with his shield. The horse bucked and reared and the silver haired bastard fell from his horse.

Smelling an opportunity to decisively end the battle, he charged at him aiming to lop off his head with his sword. Blood lust and hatred filled his mind and the only thought Borros possessed was to make Aelon Eastwood suffer. The bastard had slaughtered his men and humiliated House Buckler.

As his sword struck, the man in question somehow managed to roll away and get on his feet. He had somehow managed to hold onto his sword even as he had fallen from his horse. Borros charged again with an overhead strike, but the silver haired lordling obviously still had his wits about him as he parried and countered with his own sideswipe. They continued trading blows for a few more seconds before he saw an opening in the man's guard and thrust his sword forward.

Before he could react, he saw that the young lord had managed to pull out a dirk from behind his back with his left hand and deflect his thrust causing him to lose his balance. His opponent then pressed the advantage and struck him in his left hamstring with his sword. He cried out in agony as blood gushed from his wound and he fell over his side.

He fell to the ground, blood gushing from his wound. He struggled to rise to face the bastard who dared to strike him, when his wounded leg gave away and he collapsed again on the ground. He could taste blood in his mouth and felt as the hot tears streamed down his face. As he lay on the ground, the last thing he saw were the bloodshot violet eyes of Aelon Eastwood before his boot hit his face and he knew no more.

West of Daegon's Valley

Late 52 AC

Aelon POV

I limped through the ruined settlement that had been liberated by my men just hours prior. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and the little settlement lay in ruins.

We had set a hard pace from Eastwood and had arrived at the mine a few hours after sundown. The following battle had been a bloody one. As planned we had managed to catch the Buckler men off guard and our cavalry had completely routed the hastily organised infantry line that they had set up.

I remembered the cavalry charge as we had galloped down the hills. The beating hooves of the horses tossed up mud and tufts of grass as the roars and battle cries of my men filled my ears. The drum of the beating hooves and sounding horns had created something akin to an orchestra of tribal music in my head as we smashed the infantry line.

The battle had been chaotic, bloody and macabre as I hacked and slashed at the Buckler men who dared stand against me. I was terrified, yet furious, nervous and yet somehow determined. Ser Morden, Edwell and I had led the charge together but I had soon found myself distanced from them as a blood rage had overtaken my mind.

An undetermined amount of time later, I had found myself unhorsed and crossing blades with a man in fine armour who had been shouting commands to the opposing men. We were evenly matched in skill of arms, my years of relentless drilling under Ser Morden's watchful eyes had finally borne fruit. Somehow I had managed to draw him into a feint and strike a blow at his leg.

As he had lay on the ground, moaning in agony, an unnatural desire to take my sword and behead him had come upon me. That man, the likely leader of the Buckler men, had invaded my lands and slaughtered my people. But as I stood panting, sword drawn and ready to swing, common sense prevailed and I knocked him out instead. With his finer armour and refined features, he was likely highborn. He could be a valuable hostage.

The battle came to an end soon after. The Buckler men had already been at a severe disadvantage and with the capture of their leader, they had soon surrendered. It was clear that severe casualties had been incurred on their side. At least a score of their men lay dead or dying while almost all of the rest bore injuries of some sort or other.

Of my men, casualties were much lighter. One of my men at arms had been struck by an arrow in the neck during the cavalry charge and had died almost immediately while three others perished during the ensuing battle. Some had suffered serious injuries but without a Maester nearby it was difficult to tell whether or not they would survive.

I had sent a rider to Daegon's Valley to inform them of the situation as well as to bring back a healer and additional medical supplies. The men in the battle were not the only wounded.

When I had seen the state of the mining settlement and its people, my blood boiled. Piles of bodies of smallfolk lay scattered across the village where they had been stacked on top of each other by the Buckler soldiers like sacks of wheat. The survivors were beaten, bloodied and in some cases barely strong enough to stand.

As we tallied the numbers over the next few hours and began doing what little we could to help, Ser Morden reported to me that near forty smallfolk had died at the hands of the Buckler men.

Forty people. Forty good men, women and children who were supposed to be under my protection. Forty human beings who died. Because a few dozen people migrated from Buckler lands to mine? Or was it because I had spat in Buckler's face and started manufacturing my own ale. Were my overconfidence and ambition the cause of these pointless deaths.

I stumbled away from the camp, away from the solemn gaze of Ser Morden and the despondent look on Edwell's face. Away from my men who had followed me into battle. Away from the dead bodies and rivers of blood. I stumbled into a small thicket of trees a few paces outside the village and puked out the meagre contents of my stomach onto the ground. Tears filled my eyes and choked sobs of anger and grief escaped my throat. I screamed in anger and frustration. Images of the bodies of the smallfolk filled my mind. Of me slicing open the throat of one of the Buckler men who had charged at me. The droplets of blood splattering on my face. The deadened eyes of the poor surviving women whose clothes were torn and scuffed.

Could I have prevented this?

Daegon's Valley

Late 52 AC

Aelon POV

We rode into Daegon's Valley later that day. After my manic breakdown, I had collected my wits and returned to the settlement. The settlement was almost ruined and the decision had been made that once the men had recovered and the serious wounds tended to, we would make way to Daegon's Valley so that smallfolk could receive greater care and shelter and the prisoners could be better guarded.

On the topic of prisoners, the leader of the Buckler soldiers, whom I had captured was not just highborn as I had suspected, but Ser Borros Buckler, Lord Buckler's nephew himself. As far as evidence went, I could not have gotten luckier. Earlier in the day I had dispatched a rider to Eastwood with a letter to Armon for him to forward to Storm's End in which I had narrated my account of the battle as well as the atrocities wrought on my lands and people by House Buckler. Edwell had affixed his personal seal and signature on the letter as well corroborating my account.

With the capture of Borros Buckler, several Buckler men at arms, my own accounts and Edwell's testimony, I had Bryce Buckler by the balls. No matter what justifications or legal standing he may have had to stake claim to my mine, the consequent slaughter and atrocities that his men had wrought on my people would see him severely punished by Lord Rogar.

We spent the next couple of days in Daegon's Valley as the injuries of my men, the smallfolk and even the captured Buckler men were treated. Ser Morden oversaw the interrogations of the Buckler men whom we had captured and a clearer picture of events began to form in our minds. Even if the original intention had not been to shed blood, they had done so nonetheless and I would see each of these men punished for their actions.

I had personally taken part in the interrogation of Borros Buckler, not that it had yielded any results. As he was highborn, we could not implement any of the more creative interrogation techniques we had. He had remained steadfastly silent even as he hurled abuses at me and claimed that his uncle would see me brought low.

The days had also been spent attempting to salvage the lives and livelihood of the people at the mine. Those in need of medical aid were cared for. I provided each of the survivors a generous stipend to see them cared for at Daegon's Valley before I could work out a more permanent solution to the plight.

Obviously the mine would be reopened, but having such a vital strategic and economic asset completely unprotected had been folly on my part. Perhaps I could build a walled settlement instead to better protect the mine and its people. I would have to confer with Warren and Armon regarding the best way forward.

The actions of House Buckler would have far reaching consequences for me. In addition to the loss of lives and destruction of property, the mine would remain inactive for several weeks at the very least before mining could begin again. Even then, with so many miners dead and the apprehension of resettling near the mine, would mean that even after the infrastructure was replaced, it would be many moons before the mine reached its earlier level of productivity.

This alone would cause several thousands of dragons worth of losses to me over the next few years, not to mention the cost of rebuilding the settlement and reinforcing its defences. Buckler's actions with the taxes and excise duties had already cost me a pretty penny. Now he had attacked my lands and slaughtered my people as well. I swore to myself that I would make the bastard pay.

But revenge could wait. There was much to be done yet in repairing the damage inflicted by him and his men.

Two days after our arrival in Daegon's Valley, we departed with the prisoners for Eastwood. Lord Rogar should have received my letters by this point and I was expecting him to summon me to Storm's End to justify my actions and to resolve the dispute.

Eastwood

Late 52 AC

Aelon POV

We received a jubilant welcome when we rode into Eastwood. Smallfolk lined the streets cheering as I returned triumphant. Word had spread of the incursion by Buckler men into House Eastwood's lands and that I had ridden out immediately and engaged them in battle. I honestly felt that the whole thing seemed a little excessive.

The "battle" was barely little more than a skirmish when compared to actual battles that were fought in Westeros. But the fact that I had responded immediately to defend the people, lead the men into battle myself and emerged victorious seemed to win me much respect from my people.

Even Ser Morden, who was extremely frugal with praise, had complimented my conduct over the past few days. I had even observed a noted difference in the way my men treated me. Oh there was no doubt that I had always commanded their deference and respect, but as Ser Morden explained to me when I asked him, "You have led these men into battle and bled alongside them. Earlier they owed you their fealty, now you have their loyalty and respect as well."

I rode through the streets of Eastwood, Edwell to my left and Ser Morden to my right, distributing coin and waving at the crowds that had gathered. We reached the gates of my Keep and rode into the yard where we were greeted by Maester Armon, Serwyn and a heavily pregnant Elena.

I immediately dismounted and approached Elena, "My lady, in your state you should be resting, not standing here in the yard," I said softly.

"If you can ride into battle my Lord, then I too can stand in the yard for a few moments to welcome my husband as he returns," she said defiantly.

I couldn't help but chuckle. The past few turns of the moon since she had become pregnant had done wonders to improve our relationship. She was going to be the mother of my child. And our mutual love for our unborn child had finally provided us with the common ground that had been lacking in our relationship thus far. We were most definitely not in love, but we now shared an understanding.

"Maester," I said turning to Armon, "How fared Eastwood in my absence?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary my Lord. There was some tension when word spread of the conflict on the Buckler border, but Ser Jarett and Lord Serwyn were able to quell any disturbances that arose."

"And did you receive my letter?" I questioned.

"Indeed my Lord. I dispatched it to Storm's End post haste as per your instructions and we received a response from Lord Rogar yesterday. He has summoned you and Lord Buckler to Storm's End so that he may resolve the dispute immediately. He has also ordered that all hostilities between the Houses Eastwood and Buckler cease and that any further escalations would be punished severely by House Baratheon," replied the Maester, deftly summarising the contents of the letter.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had after all engaged and defeated Lord Buckler's men and captured his nephew. I had been very concerned that the Lord would further escalate the perceived slight on his honour and call his banners. While I could match him in small scale engagements such as the one at the mine, in terms of sheer military might, Bronzegate simply outclassed Eastwood.

"Let us convene in my solar in an hour's time. Then we will discuss how we'll proceed."

An hour later, my unofficial council of sorts convened in my solar. I had invited Edwell to join us as well. As one of my closest friends and someone well acquainted with the politics of the Stormlands, his advice would be invaluable. Elena joined in as well, she was always welcome to attend these meetings, but she only did so when the agenda was relevant to her. This certainly counted.

I had just finished providing a more detailed recounting of the events that had occurred over the past few days and a grim silence had fallen over the room.

"We must demand reparations from House Buckler!" said Serwyn in an unusually fierce tone.

"That goes without saying my Lord, but are reparations enough. Villages can be rebuilt and losses can be recouped but what about the lives of the smallfolk lost," said Warren.

"There is even the question of what is to be done with the prisoners, more specifically, Borros Buckler," added Ser Morden.

And that was the crux of it. The damage to House Eastwood was clear. There was no question as to whether reparations would be paid. The question was rather how much, what form, and what would become of the prisoners?

"I would not expect much justice for the loss of lives Aelon. You overestimate the justice of the Baratheons. Buckler is an ancient and respected name whereas House Eastwood has existed for nought but a few years. The Bucklers hold much sway at Storm's End," said Edwell as he looked at me solemnly.

"What are you getting at Edwell?" I asked him impatiently.

"Well Aelon, you are dealing with nobility here. Old blood. They care little for the lives of smallfolk. I would not expect Lord Rogar to punish House Buckler too heavily," replied the Errol Knight.

The man had a point. Lords cared little for the lives of smallfolk. Expecting harsh punishment for their deaths may not be wise. But I was still hopeful. Forty people had lost their lives, surely Lord Rogar would not be callous enough to completely ignore it, though why I continued to expect just action in this world I didn't know.

"Elena, has there been any response from Lord Tarth?" I turned my attention to my wife. She had been corresponding on my behalf with her family to keep them abreast of the situation. As my closest allies, their support would be critical if the situation deteriorated further.

"I sent him a letter yesterday. I expect that we may receive a response later today or early tomorrow," replied Elena.

"Keep me updated on Lord Brynden's response." I said.

"Warren, I want you to write up a detailed report of the loss of lives and infrastructure and the reparations to be demanded from House Buckler for the same. Make it comprehensive, if even the handle of a spoon was bent, we will demand that House Buckler compensate us for it. Lord Rogar has called for us immediately. We will depart tomorrow morning. I want the report ready for my reading by tonight," I addressed the Steward as he nodded.

"Ser Morden, prepare Borros for travel tomorrow. He will be accompanying us. See to it that the remaining prisoners are securely lodged in the dungeons," the burly man nodded at my instructions.

Turning to my friend I continued, "Edwell, I hate to ask more of you after your aid, but your testimony would be invaluable and I would be grateful for your company and counsel if your schedule can accommodate it."

"Of course," said the Errol. I nodded in gratitude. His testimony would form the lynchpin of my arguments before Lord Baratheon. House Errol was as old and storied a house as Buckler. His name and testimony would add great weight to my own.

As my unofficial council dispersed from my solar, I let out a groan and leaned back in my chair. The past few days were exhausting and the next few would no doubt be equally tiresome.