The Dragon of Duskendale -- A Song of Ice and Fire Fanfic

Chapter 6

The Dragon of Duskendale had captured his first castle the same day as he'd fought his first true battle; Bronzegate had surrendered without incident and bloodshed at midday. After surrounding the large but plain castle with the great bronze gates that gave it its name, Aelor had displayed both Lord Buckler and the tall, portly Lord Bryce Rogers before the walls. Lady Alerie Buckler just so happened to also be Lord Rogers' sister, and fear for her husband and brother—and ten thousand Targaryen loyalists surrounding her keep—had made the woman see sense. She'd opened the gates of bronze, and Aelor Targaryen had ridden though without trouble.

Out of respect for her practicality, Aelor had confined Lady Alerie and her children, six-year-old Andrus the Heir and three-year-old Rohanne, to the lady's chambers under guard, and even allowed Lord Buckler to join them after more interrogation. They were prisoners in their own home, a humiliating thing to be sure but infinitely better than the dungeons and cells many prisoners of war found themselves in. Lord Rogers was learning that now in the bowels of his goodbrother's castle, though Aelor couldn't quite blame him for the vicious cursing of House Targaryen that had placed him there; the tall knight the prince had slain at the end of the battle had been his son, a lad of seven and ten. They had feasted in the halls of Bronzegate and made their plans, then retired before the next day's march.

And then a messenger arrived in the middle of the night.

The Dragon of Duskendale met the unremarkable man in Lord Buckler's commandeered chamber, during the hour of the owl. Average of height and build, wearing a common tunic and cloak of drab brown that matched his hair and eyes, Aelor could have seen him on the roads of Westeros a thousand times and remembered none of them. The commoner was the definition of forgettable, the sort who could shadow you for a fortnight and go undetected. It was probably those very characteristics that had prompted the Spider to employ him.

The prince was in simple black breeches and white night shirt, silver hair unkempt from sleep but eyes clear by the time the man was brought in. Ser Barristan, he who never slept, was fully awake and in his Kingsguard armor, and kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as the intruder bowed to Aelor, who was seated at a small table of oak. The three men were the only occupants, and likely the only ones awake save for pickets and patrolling guards. "My prince," the messenger said formally, a scroll in his hand.

Bloody hells, even his voice is forgettable. "I hear you have a message, Ser...?"

"My name is Roland, Prince Aelor, though I am no ser. I am a simple messenger with news from Lord Varys." He waited, face perfectly blank.

Aelor glanced to Barristan, then back to the man. "Does this concern the war or my family?"

"The war, my prince."

"Then Ser Barristan needs hear it anyway. Continue."

Roland bowed again and began. "Lords Fell, Grandison and Cafferen opposed the rebellion, as my prince knows." Aelor nodded, for he had received a herald from Lord Fell three days prior. He'd sent one of his own, commanding the three to rally together and march to join their strength to his own. "Baratheon has defeated them all two days past, facing and defeating their hosts one at a time as they attempted to rally near Summerhall."

The prince leaned back in his seat, brow furrowing. "I knew he had made it to Storm's End, but how did he make it Summerhall so quickly? That is no small distance to cover."

"Baratheon has only his retinue and what mean he could raise on the fly; the majority of his forces are still gathering."

Barristan spoke, having relaxed somewhat—though his hand still rested on the hilt of his blade, and Aelor knew the knight could draw steel and hew Roland's head off in the blink of an eye if the man proved dangerous. "Crown loyalist among his own lords could not be borne, not by their claimant. He moved to put them down quickly."