Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

Loyalty

Chapter Forty-Four~ Loyalty

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A week had passed, Ser Criston marched on Rosby and Stokeworth, on the first day of the twelfth month. The dawn was still void from the sky, clouds of warning blocked the sun from shining upon the Lands of the newly aligned Lords. The air was crisp, and it bit at the exposes skin on the faces of the army.

Stokeworth and Rosby were two neighboring Lords, often building armies together to keep the lands they shared, And now Criston Cole planned to force their hand by having them prove loyalty for the new King.

"Your Lord King is in need of your help." Cole shouted up to the guards watch of Lord Stokeworth's estate. "You will prove your loyalty to your king or your heads shall be placed on your castle gates, and the village between here and Rosby burned by the kings flame!"

Rhaella listened intently from her black horse, her hood covering her white hair from any onlookers who might recognize her, Aemond stalled on her left and Aegon on her right.

"It should be me leading the men." Aegon whispered.

"The element of surprise is a stronger tactic when we are on offense." Aemond replied, his voice low and his figure also disguised.

It appeared that Stokeworth had been aware of the marching on his grounds, because as the gates opened, a company of soldiers were waiting behind.

"My men are the Kings men!" Stokeworth shouted from the head of the party.

Rhaella turned to look at Aegon, catching the small wash of shock that dressed his features at the announcement of loyalty. Aegon was not used to feeling loyalty toward him, the only person he had ever felt it truly from being Rhaella. And now companies of men were joining to support him as king.

They marched on toward Rosby then, The Lord of the estate, too, lining his men with the King.

Criston Cole led an army of close to three thousand men. And they marched through the morning darkness in a brigade of uncertainty for what the days would bring.

A camp was set up by the river.
Broth cooked over flame.
Tactics voiced in the war tent, with only the Lords having knowledge of the Kings presence.
Men fucked whores out in the openness of the night, wanting the feeling of life before they went on to risk their own.

But Rhaella sat alone in her tent. Comfort had not been spared on the count of war, a bed had been set up in the center of the room, lined with furs and cushions. Flags of Aegons Banner hung in various areas, and candle light illuminated the room in a dim orange shade.

But it was far too green for her liking.

She sat by the entrance to the tent, staring out into the night, watching soldiers clash cups of ale together and laugh by the fires as pigs and deers roasted on the flames.

"You paint a solemn picture your grace." It was Criston Cole.

"I am a solemn artist." She replied.

"What troubles you Princess?" Cole questioned, brushing a hand along her horse's mane.

"I should be back at the castle with my children." Rhaella stated. "It was my Belief that the Lords of this realm thought it to be improper for a woman to join them in battle."

"You are no ordinary woman, Princess." Cole laughed. "You are a dragon rider, it is the tradition of your house to ride into battle and defend your royal house no matter of your gender."