Before, the Game of Thrones, the seven kingdoms saw the rise of Westeros as a united country, all seven kingdoms forged into one great kingdom under the greatest dynasty. The story revolves around Aegon and his two sister-queens; their ascent and th...
The afternoon sky was still dense with black and grey clouds hanging; it had been raining for days now. The soft fresh musk of damp earth lingered in the air. Rhaenys breathed a lungful of air and sighed.
Orys has been gone for some time and despite her best effort, Rhaenys found herself tensely fidgeting for the warrior.
By her feet, the singer sat working his harp to produce a sweet tune that made Rhaenys even for antsy. She had found him, a young lad of ten and four, entertaining the army. They were as kind as any drunk mob, calling out on his slight figure and teasing him for his womanish voice; some even seized him by his hand, touching him rudely. Rhaenys had him brought to her and given a place in her tent.
He had been playing for her since.
The flap of the tent parted and a bald head peeped in.
"The Hand of the King, my Queen." He announced.
Not much later Rhaenys heard the boots stomping on mud and Orys Baratheon entered the tent, head lowered to accommodate his body. His hair was wild and greasy and his attire soaked with blood. Rhaenys did not miss the way his eyes regard the boy with hostility. She signaled him to leave them.
Orys was followed by Massey, Cave and Mooton along with the chief generals. One of them bore a huge sack that had blood seeping out and tainting the ground. Rhaenys proceeded to embrace the warrior; he stank of blood and sweat.
"What is that?"
Orys gestured the man who gave a nod and emptied the sack on the floor. Three heads tangles in hair and blood rolled to her feet.
"Ronnel, Fell and Errol." He announced.
Rhaenys covered her nose and stepped back. "Easy victory?"
"Quite. I suppose they've heard of Aegon's win. By the time we trapped them, these lords were intent to escape like they were being hunted by lion."
Words of Aegon's triumph should have all corners of Westeros by now. It puts them in a better position than few nights ago.
"Old Durrandon will shit himself when he sees a dragon." One of the generals quipped.
"I wouldn't so sure." Orys said solemnly. "He is a stubborn old fool. He wouldn't give up his seat without a fight. He is too damn proud for that. No, we have to lure him out of his castle."
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In the end there was no need for luring him out.
The word of Harren's horrifying demise soon reached his nemesis's ear. He had heard of the army approaching his gate thanks to Lord Buckler who had managed to escape with his life.
He is riding out to meet their host, their messenger informed.
"Meeting us in the open field! He is even greater fool than we thought." Massey said joyfully.
