The Brightest Sun

Chapter 62

My lord," the young man next to him said. Fallyn, if Harry remembered the sandy haired man correctly. Fallyn from the Shadow City, an archer with wicked aim and no family save a younger brother that remained in the Water Gardens. His hands rested lightly on his bow, a guarded look on his face as he glanced around them. "Lord Tarly and his men are taking the surrender of Robert's army, and the men are gathering the injured."

Not much of an army, Harry thought. Some four thousand men, some of which had thrown down their arms at the Reach's betrayal and others that had been injured and plead for mercy.

"That's good," Harry replied, sitting heavily on a hastily conjured stump. "Help me out of this, will you?"

Fallyn rushed forward, grey eyes crinkled in thought as he deftly undid the fastening of his pauldron. The pain in his shoulder was more noticeable, the rush of battle no longer blinding him to his injury. The breastplate was the next thing removed, making it easier to see the blood staining his shirt.

"The arrowhead is buried deeply, my lord-" Fallyn stopped speaking, dropping into a hasty bow.

"That will be all, Fallyn," Rhaenys waved him off, a slight smile on her face garnering a flush from the older man. "I'll take over from here."

"Of course, Princess," he murmured, bowing once more before he stepped back to join the guards keeping watch a few feet away.

Harry glanced over her shoulder, seeing three other Martell men-at-arms quietly greeting their fellows before they took up a position alongside them. He looked her over carefully, not seeing any outward injuries.

"I'm fine," she said. "A few confringo's and I stayed well away under guard for the most part."

His brows rose, watching as Rhaenys summoned the dittany from his potions kit. "You're wand works," he said lowly. They had struggled in Dorne, able to call up fire but do little else beyond that. He'd not thought they would have some success outside of the wild magic in Bloodstone. A product of Storm's End's less obvious magic, he guessed.

"Not as well as when we were in Bloodstone," she answered quietly. "But enough to do most simple tasks."

He winced, feeling her poke at the skin around the wound. His shirt was soaked with blood, more dribbling down as she prodded at the area.

"You remember what to d-" he hissed in pain, blinking rapidly as the arrowhead flew into her palm, the dittany smoking as it stitched his skin closed. "That works too," he grunted.

He took the pain relief she offered, swallowing quickly as she tucked her wand into her sleeve. There was an odd look in her purple eyes, her dark ringlets pulled back from her face in a braid.

"Where are your brothers and Viserys?" Harry asked quietly.

"They're fine," Rhaenys answered, shaking her head at his unasked question. "One of Robert's Kingsguard survived the battle."

He grimaced, guessing at which of Aerys' knights may have lived long enough to see their former brothers. "I take it the current queen's brother is not among them?"

A rueful grin was his only reply before her face sobered, lips tugging downward in a soft frown. "Lord Connington did not survive his brush with Robert Baratheon's warhammer. Egg's seeing to it that he is given all honours and returned to Griffin's Roost to be buried."

"I'm not surprised," Harry sighed, peering past Rhaenys' shoulder where he could barely make out Aegon's silver-gold head. He hadn't liked Jon Connington, brash and disrespectful as he was. The man had been so singular in his goal, churning in his hatred of his former liege lord for his role in Rhaegar Targaryen's demise, that Harry had known instinctually that he would meet a gruesome end. He was no Arthur Dayne to go toe-to-toe with the man they called Demon and come out victorious.