Post by The Smith on Jun 11, 2009 12:47:10 GMT -5
Aegon Targaryen wasted no time. “We ride at once.” Leaving their newly pitched secluded camp guarded by ten men, Aegon and twenty of his men set out through the rain at a hard gallop. Aegon rode at the front, his face set, and his resolve undaunted.
The rain had finally stopped and the dawn light was strengthening when Aegon gave the order to stop. The men dismounted. Aegon noted that the road ahead was narrow and stony, the foothills rising high and wild all around them and the jagged snow-capped peaks on the distant horizon shining in the distance as the sun rose. Perfect!
The men were clustered around a stream and their horses were drinking their fill of the icy cold water and were grazing on clumps of brow grass that grew from clefts in the rock. Morrec and Jyck huddled close, sullen and miserable after the long wet ride. The hedge knight Mohor Wode stood over them, leaning on his spear and wearing a rounded iron cap that made him look as if he had a bowl on his head.
“We must have some rest.”, the hedge knight was saying to Aerys as Aegon approached.
“Ser Mohor speaks truly my prince,” Ser Aerys said. “We’ve lost three horses and will lose more, if we continue at this pace.”
Aegon nodded in agreement, “Yes. I think we’ve come far enough. Now we wait.”
Aerys Velaryon was one of the most unflappable men Aegon had ever met. The cool and calm façade he turned upon the world was not easily broken. However it was now.
“I don’t understand my Prince….wait for……”
Riders!
The shriek came from the wind carved ridge above them. Ser Maekar had sent one of the soldiers, Lharys scrambling up the rock face to watch the road while they took their rest.
For a long second no one moved. Aegon was the first to react. “Maekar, Aerys, Mohor to horse! Get the other mounts behind us.”
“I hear them!" Ser Maekar called out. Aegon turned his head to listen and there it was: hoofbeats, a dozen horses or more coming nearer. Suddenly everyone was moving, reaching for weapons, running to their mounts.
Pebbles rained down as Lharys came springing and sliding down the ridge. He landed breathless in front of Aegon, an ungainly-looking man with wild tufts of rust coloured hair sticking out from under a conical steel cap. “Twenty men…maybe twenty five," he said breathless. “Northmen by my guess, but could be wildlings maybe. They must have eyes out m’lord…hidden watchers…they know we’re here,”
Ser Maekar Velaryon was already ahorse, a longsword in his hand. He tossed Llarys a sword and scabbard and wheeled to meet the foe head on. Ser Mohor crouched behind a boulder, both hands on his sword, a dagger between his teeth. Others helped themselves to bows and quivers or to spare swords and crouched down. A ragged line of mounted men including Maekar, Aerys and Valarr began to form up. Only Aegon remained unmoved ...a small smile curving his mouth.
There were no heralds, no banners, no horns nor drums, only the twang of bowstrings as a couple of their archers let fly and suddenly the Northmen or wildings or whatever they were came thundering out of the dawn, lean dark men in boiled leather and mis-matched armour, faces hidden behind barred half-helms. In gloved hands were clutched all manner of weapons: longswords and lances and even sharpened scythes, spiked clubs and daggers and heavy iron mauls. At their head rode a big man in a striped shadow-cat cloak, armed with a two handed great sword.
As they came within bowshot, the man in the shadow skin cloak raised a hand and the enemy slowed and then stopped. Aegon mounted his stallion and rode forward smiling broadly. To his mens’ amazement they clasped hands each of them murmuring words of greeting.
At length Aegon trotted back to his men, with the man in the shadowcat cloak with him. “Sers, let me introduce Captain Bronn... commander of the some of the doughtiest sellswords this side of the Neck and now may I say... fighting for the Targaryen cause.”
Aegon glanced at Aerys. He noted with some amusement that the older knight had not been able to wipe the surprised look off his face.
“But how…?
Aegon smiled at them all “This has been planned for some time.” He glanced from one man to the other…his followers Aerys, Maekar his squire Valarr, Mohor Lharys ....all good men - good fighters.
“I have resources that perhaps even Rhaenys isn’t aware of. My foster-brother Rhaego in Lys sends me a regular stipend as part of our deal from the profits of his....our.... fleet. Ser Bronn here has been the grateful recipient of much of it. The time has now come for me to recoup some of that gold.
“These men were to be added to Rhaenys’ forces, seeing that I was their commander. That’s at an end now. I pay them…therefore they fight for me. If I fight for Rhaenys, as I hope to do, they fight for me. If she doesn’t want me or them, then we’ll make other arrangements. We will all return to Winterfell as soon as possible.”
Aerys looked doubtful. “We have thirty men. Ser Bronn has what…twenty-five men. Our position does not appear to have improved overmuch."
Ser Bronn shook his head and spoke for the first time. “Not twenty-five Ser. Three hundred.” he rumbled.
Aegon did not know which was more satisfying: the sight of the rest of his three hundred men coming out of the trees and rocks to the east or the shocked look on Aerys’ face.
Result: Aegon Targaryen becomes the commander of 300 sell-swords and returns to his secluded camp not far from Winterfell.
The rain had finally stopped and the dawn light was strengthening when Aegon gave the order to stop. The men dismounted. Aegon noted that the road ahead was narrow and stony, the foothills rising high and wild all around them and the jagged snow-capped peaks on the distant horizon shining in the distance as the sun rose. Perfect!
The men were clustered around a stream and their horses were drinking their fill of the icy cold water and were grazing on clumps of brow grass that grew from clefts in the rock. Morrec and Jyck huddled close, sullen and miserable after the long wet ride. The hedge knight Mohor Wode stood over them, leaning on his spear and wearing a rounded iron cap that made him look as if he had a bowl on his head.
“We must have some rest.”, the hedge knight was saying to Aerys as Aegon approached.
“Ser Mohor speaks truly my prince,” Ser Aerys said. “We’ve lost three horses and will lose more, if we continue at this pace.”
Aegon nodded in agreement, “Yes. I think we’ve come far enough. Now we wait.”
Aerys Velaryon was one of the most unflappable men Aegon had ever met. The cool and calm façade he turned upon the world was not easily broken. However it was now.
“I don’t understand my Prince….wait for……”
Riders!
The shriek came from the wind carved ridge above them. Ser Maekar had sent one of the soldiers, Lharys scrambling up the rock face to watch the road while they took their rest.
For a long second no one moved. Aegon was the first to react. “Maekar, Aerys, Mohor to horse! Get the other mounts behind us.”
“I hear them!" Ser Maekar called out. Aegon turned his head to listen and there it was: hoofbeats, a dozen horses or more coming nearer. Suddenly everyone was moving, reaching for weapons, running to their mounts.
Pebbles rained down as Lharys came springing and sliding down the ridge. He landed breathless in front of Aegon, an ungainly-looking man with wild tufts of rust coloured hair sticking out from under a conical steel cap. “Twenty men…maybe twenty five," he said breathless. “Northmen by my guess, but could be wildlings maybe. They must have eyes out m’lord…hidden watchers…they know we’re here,”
Ser Maekar Velaryon was already ahorse, a longsword in his hand. He tossed Llarys a sword and scabbard and wheeled to meet the foe head on. Ser Mohor crouched behind a boulder, both hands on his sword, a dagger between his teeth. Others helped themselves to bows and quivers or to spare swords and crouched down. A ragged line of mounted men including Maekar, Aerys and Valarr began to form up. Only Aegon remained unmoved ...a small smile curving his mouth.
There were no heralds, no banners, no horns nor drums, only the twang of bowstrings as a couple of their archers let fly and suddenly the Northmen or wildings or whatever they were came thundering out of the dawn, lean dark men in boiled leather and mis-matched armour, faces hidden behind barred half-helms. In gloved hands were clutched all manner of weapons: longswords and lances and even sharpened scythes, spiked clubs and daggers and heavy iron mauls. At their head rode a big man in a striped shadow-cat cloak, armed with a two handed great sword.
As they came within bowshot, the man in the shadow skin cloak raised a hand and the enemy slowed and then stopped. Aegon mounted his stallion and rode forward smiling broadly. To his mens’ amazement they clasped hands each of them murmuring words of greeting.
At length Aegon trotted back to his men, with the man in the shadowcat cloak with him. “Sers, let me introduce Captain Bronn... commander of the some of the doughtiest sellswords this side of the Neck and now may I say... fighting for the Targaryen cause.”
Aegon glanced at Aerys. He noted with some amusement that the older knight had not been able to wipe the surprised look off his face.
“But how…?
Aegon smiled at them all “This has been planned for some time.” He glanced from one man to the other…his followers Aerys, Maekar his squire Valarr, Mohor Lharys ....all good men - good fighters.
“I have resources that perhaps even Rhaenys isn’t aware of. My foster-brother Rhaego in Lys sends me a regular stipend as part of our deal from the profits of his....our.... fleet. Ser Bronn here has been the grateful recipient of much of it. The time has now come for me to recoup some of that gold.
“These men were to be added to Rhaenys’ forces, seeing that I was their commander. That’s at an end now. I pay them…therefore they fight for me. If I fight for Rhaenys, as I hope to do, they fight for me. If she doesn’t want me or them, then we’ll make other arrangements. We will all return to Winterfell as soon as possible.”
Aerys looked doubtful. “We have thirty men. Ser Bronn has what…twenty-five men. Our position does not appear to have improved overmuch."
Ser Bronn shook his head and spoke for the first time. “Not twenty-five Ser. Three hundred.” he rumbled.
Aegon did not know which was more satisfying: the sight of the rest of his three hundred men coming out of the trees and rocks to the east or the shocked look on Aerys’ face.
Result: Aegon Targaryen becomes the commander of 300 sell-swords and returns to his secluded camp not far from Winterfell.
Hope you all are well and happy.