Legacy of the White Dragon: A Dance of Dragons

Chapter 25 : Siege of Little Tyrosh

Criston Cole (108 A.C Thrid Moon) Targaryen encampement outside Little Tyrosh

He stood waiting beside Bennard Stark, when Aemon approached the command tent with Farrick and Harold at his side. Not having the nightguard, he had waited here until his Prince was ready to join him. His thought wondered then 'Aemon Targaryen, a man ten years his senior, was someone he admired. It made him feel proud to fight beside the man – The White Dragon, rider of the Black Dread, and Prince of Dragonstone. War marked this year, and he followed his commander into battle, making him admire him even more. Aemon was a brilliant strategist, and his battle valor was unparalleled. In that year, Harrold spoke to him about Aemon and the Kingsguard. "Prove yourself, and you will become one of the best Kingsguard. Aemon, however, is something else. I have followed him around since he could walk. If you want his loyalty and him to respect you, speak true and hold strong in your beliefs. Never have them flatter."

He had taken it to heart, and it seemed Aemon was a man who didn't care if he was part Dornish or common-born. He was only interested in his skills, and they had sparred many times, yet he had yet to win. Only with Ser Harrold were they able to beat the Prince on occasion. However, he suspected it wouldn't have happened if it had been a fight with the ability to kill. He had noticed his own skill increasing the more he sparred with the Prince and got to know the man behind the moniker of The White Dragon.'

"My Prince," He said as they came. "Ah, Ser Criston, are all the commanders within?" The Prince questioned, and he nodded. The Prince smiled at him before touching his cousin's shoulder.

"Well, Bennard, be ready. Your first war meeting – observe, and don't speak unless spoken to." The Prince spoke in an authoritative but guiding tone toward his cousin, who had become his second squire and had arrived a moon before Sunstone before the assault on Little Tyrosh would begin.

He opened the tent's flap and followed his Prince into the tent. "My lords, seeing you all hale and healthy is good. Some I have not seen since we last spoke on Tarth. Some have already been sent to The Father, to their ancestors, or wherever they may find peace in death," Aemon said as he walked into the room and addressed the gathered lords.

"Well, so far, the war has been going well. The western Stepstones are ours and under our control, as are The Last Refuge. Only The Skull remains to be taken to start the blockad. However, the Triarch has been pressing us hard to supply the other aisle. The crab feeder himself has attacked some of our patrols close to the center. I want to send a message, which is why we are here. Taking Tyrosh itself would start a total war war between us and Triarch. Hower Little Tyrosh would give us that chance to send them a message and keep it for them to see as a proxy war. Also, the capture of Little Tyrosh allows us to gain perhaps the best supply hub in the region for our future blockade," Aemon spoke clearly, leaving nothing out.

"It will make them fearful. Neither of us wants a total war. But I have one last option if they declare a full war upon us. Balerion and creating another Harrenhal in the territory of the Triarch. This last resort of preventing the Triarch from declaring war." He shuddered at the thought of Aemon creating another Harrenhal, as did some of the others gathered, and deep down, he knew full well Aemon would do it if he had to. Aemon might be a fair ruler, but he wouldn't hesitate to act.

"Well, now that is out of the way. Tomorrow, the assault shall begin, and remember one thing. If I see any form of raping, senseless killing, or destruction, Balerion shall be your end station. It doesn't matter if you are highborn or lowborn. Perhaps Seasmoke might also fancy a snack." The words hung when they were spoken. Aemon hadn't been clear like this since they departed from Tarth. Although this was a siege, the histories had spoken more than often of men acting like beasts. "He might, good-brother," Laenor quipped in answer.