Chapter 46: Chapter 29: A Bleeding Stag (Orys Baratheon, Theo Tyrell, Vaemond)
๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐๐จ๐จ๐ง, ๐๐๐๐
๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฌ๐ค๐ข๐ซ๐ญ๐ฌ ๐จ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐๐ซ๐ญ๐จ๐ง, ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ง๐๐ข๐๐ฅ๐, ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ซ๐ง ๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ซ๐ฅ๐๐ง๐๐ฌ
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๐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ด ๐ด๐ฐ ๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ข๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฎ๐ข๐ณ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข ๐ง๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต Orys Baratheon thought to himself as he spurred his horse across the flatlands of the Southern Westerlands, his small warband close behind.
It had been too long since Orys had a good fight, in his youth he had been a great warrior, slaying the Storm King Argilac in single combat during his half-brother Aegon's conquest. However, his appointment as Hand of the King following the conquest meant that during wartime, he was oft needed to remain in the capitol to govern and rule. He had seen some minor action during the pacification of Bloodstone in the Stepstones, but even then he had missed out on the fighting, his role during the war limited to starving the pirate defenders of the aforementioned fortress into submission.
The outbreak of the war that was becoming known as the Lion's rebellion had given him ample opportunity to participate in skirmishes however and he found that the years of limited combat had not dulled his affinity for fighting, though the loss of his eye some years prior and his growing age affected him more than he would have cared to admit.
He often rode ahead with his outriders, personal retainers and scouts in search of enemy warbands, often several days ahead of his main host. Today was one of those days, his outriders had given him word that a small party of Swyft men from Cornfield had been seen in the area, a party which included several highborn knights, led by Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon Swyft, who was Lord of Cornfield and Marshal of the Westerlands.
Orys immediately put together a force to ride ahead and deal with the small force, it was better to deal with them now then wait for them to join a larger force. The Dornish were marching up the Princes Pass with a host of over ten thousand to join up with Orys's Stormlanders and the Ironborn, his nephew Vaemond would also arrive in the southern Westerlands in time, the outcome of this war would be decided on the southern flatlands, and Orys was prepared to gain every advantage he could before those decisive battles, even advantages as small as removing a few knights.
''They may have fled into the village of Mulbartonโฆ.we should be prepared to burn them out.'' proclaimed Jon Penrose, Lord of Parchments, a formidable warrior, and one of Orys's most trusted Stormlords.
''Let its burning serve as a lesson to other villagesโฆ.show them the price of harboring traitors.'' Agreed Ser Jorys Vunatis.
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The young Lyseni knight was one of the more interesting of the retainers that rode with Orys. When Orys had captured Bloodstone some years prior, he had captured many members of the Vunatis pirate family. Most of these he had ransomed back, but young Jorys, then a boy, was a distant cousin and his kin had not bothered to ransom him.
So Orys had taken the boy to serve as his page in King's Landing, serving drinks, running messages and the like, the young Lyseni boy had proved so hard working Orys had made him a squire, and in turn a knight, serving in Orys's household guard in the capitol.
''We ride west to fight rebelsโฆI won't have it said I preyed on the weak and innocent villagers of Mulbarton.'' Orys said, earning a frown from Lord Penrose.
They rode for another hour until suddenly, a warband of about their size appeared on the plains in front of them, mounted and armored, bearing a standard of a blue rooster on a yellow field.
A few riders rode forth to meet them, riding under the banner of house Swyft, a scarred and portly knight with a brown beard led them. Orys nodded to Lord Penrose and Ser Jorys and they spurred their horses to the plains in between the two forces.
''If we would come to blows I would know your name Ser.'' Orys said politely, enemy or not the man was a knight and was afforded certain courtesies.
''Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon, Marshal of the Kingdom of the Rock and Lord of Cornfieldโฆ.and we shall most certainly come to blows.'' The man said.
''Unless of course you turn around and ride the way you cameโฆ.we shall allow you to retreat unmolestedโฆ..if you are foolish enough to give us battle however none of you shall be spared.'' A young knight next to Ser Daven said.
''And who is your companion who speaks so boldly?'' Orys asked curtly.
''Ser Simon Boldroosterโฆ.my cousin and son of my grandfather's natural born sonโฆ.he speaks trueโฆ..run back to Storm's End with your tail behind your legs...else you shall learn what happens to stags that leave the woods.'' Ser Daven said hotly.
Lord Penrose's face went red and his hand dropped to the longsword at his hip, but Orys raised a hand to calm him.
''Mayhaps you will learn a similar lesson as to what happens to overbold chickensโฆ.make your preparations Sers.'' Orys said, wheeling around his horse and riding back to his men without a second glance behind him.
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''Prepare the men for a charge.'' He commanded Lord Penrose who nodded.
''Glady Orys.'' He responded.
Orys had forsaken all ornamental armorment since the antlers on his stag's helmet had taken his eye at the Tourney of Kings Landing, and instead wore a plain woolen doublet with a heavy and plain well worn mail over it. His helm was a simple greathelm with ample dints and dents, while his shield was splintered and bore evidence of heavy useโฆdespite his hard working nature, Orys was not a man that devoted much care to his equipment. He wore a faded yellow cloak upon his shoulders. The only possession that distinguished himself as a great lord was a longsword with a black diamond in the pommel and two winding weirwood antlers in the crossguard, the sword of Storm King Argilac Durrandon, whom he had slain in single combat during the conquest.
''LETS KILL THE WHORESONS.'' Lord Penrose shouted to the some fifty mounted men in their small warband, who shouted a raucous cheer and thundered towards the host of house Swyft, who were similarly numbered and mounted.
''WEDGE!.'' Orys commanded, taking the lead position in the triangular charging formation, Ser Jorys and Lord Penrose immediately behind them.
They came together in a crash of horse and shield upon the grassy flatlands, Orys prepared his longsword to strike at a lancer, but before he could deliver a blow one of the men behind him stuck a spear in the horse's eye, sending the man tumbling to the ground, leaving Orys's strike to cut harmlessly through the air.
Cursing, he wheeled his horse around to regroup.
Behind him Jorys was parrying a mounted axemen's attacks, turning away two of the man's attacks before opening him from neck to navel in a savage downwards hack.
Jon Penrose was faring equally well, and Orys saw the Lord of Parchments stick a lance through Daven Swyfts neck, sending a spray of blood throughout the melee.
A knight in heavy plate armor with a longsword riding at Orys was enough to remind him he was more than a spectator to the battle.
Orys urged his destrier forward, avoiding the knights strike.
The knight tried another slash at his stomach, but Orys, once again spurred his horse forward, raising his shield in the air, crashing into the man, though both managed to keep their balance and the melee quickly turned into a close quarters brawl.
Orys slashed his sword down at the mans legs, his blade cutting into the plate armor but failing to draw blood, he quickly slashed upwards, hoping to surprise the man but the knight managed to push his shield in front of his neck at the last moment though the force of the blow cut the leather straps and caused it to clatter to the ground.
The Lord of Storm's End kept up the attack, using his larger frame to force the man into the defensive and block a flurry of savage attacks.
The knight desperately tried to regain the offensive and to his credit it was a fine strike, his longsword traveling in a lightning fast arc all the way from behind his shoulder towards Orys own shoulder, a cut that would have cleaved Orys from shoulder to torso, but the Lord of Storm's End brought his own longsword in a ferocious hack towards the coming sword in a deafening clash, and his strength won out, pushing the blade back as his own sword caught the Cornfield knight right between the eyes with a meaty thunk, ending the duel.
๐๐ถ๐ณ๐ด ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ถ๐ณ๐บ Orys thought to himself, breathing heavily.
The exhaustion slowly came upon him then, but he did not have much time to rest as the young knight that had been named Ser Simon Boldrooster caught sight of him and thundered towards him at a breakneck gallop, a look of determination in his eyes.
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Orys caught the first strike on his shield, as well as the second, thrusting his sword forward in a counterattack but Boldrooster was quick and pulled his horse to the side, out of range of the strike.
They exchanged strikes once more, Ser Simon blocking one with his shield, while Orys turned away one with his longsword, and the deadly dance continued.
Ignoring his aching muscles Orys forced himself to launch several hacking strikes at the man, but the young Westerlander was quick, and made good use of his shield, before a darting thrust forced Orys to abandon his own shield, which looked more like a tree stump than a kite shield at this point.
Orys sensed the situation was growing dire, he was already fatigued from his previous fight and his one good eye was fast becoming filled with sweat.
Down to just his longsword he turned away two strikes and attacked, hitting the young knight in the leg, leaving a long slash mark in the plate but otherwise doing nothing, while his followup attack sent flakes of plate from the mens gorget on his neck.
๐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฎ Orys thought to himself, feeling the momentum change.
The Boldrooster sensed it too and wildly thrust his sword forward in a last ditch attempt to stop the ferocious attack. As fate would have it the strike would pass by Orys's blind eye and the Lord of Storm's End would not see it until it was too late, his own sword raised high, prepared to deal a killing blow.
The Westerlanders sword took him in his good eye through the slit in his greathelm. Orys bellowed a roar of pain as his sight filled first with bright red crimson then nothing.
He tumbled from his horse onto the hard ground with a thud. He raised his arms into the darkness, but he never saw the Boldrooster dismount and thrust downwards his sword into his neck, sending his mind to darkness as well as his eyes.
Orys's forces would send the Westerlanders into a full retreat, but their celebration was short lived as they would discover the body of Orys Baratheon on the grassy plains of Cornfield, the man who had served as hand of the King for near 3 decades and the most trusted companion of the late King Aegon was dead.
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๐ ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐๐๐๐ค๐ฌ ๐๐๐ญ๐๐ซ
๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ญ๐ฒ๐๐ซ๐ ๐จ๐ ๐๐ญ๐จ๐ซ๐ฆ๐ฌ ๐๐ง๐
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Vaemond stood in the courtyard of the ancient fortress of Storms End, which true to its name had just experienced a downpour before the proceedings of the day, and the air was heavy with the smell of both the sea and the fallen rain, though the emerging sun was already making the downpour a distant memory.
The bodies of his aunt and uncle, Orys and Rhaenys, were placed upon two resplendent pyres, laying on beds of thick cloth, his aunt laying on black velvet with red stitching, his uncle on bright yellow and black.
He had been just days removed from securing the capitulation of the port city of Duskendale when he had received the grim news that his uncle had been killed in a skirmish in the southern Westerlands, and his body was being brought back to Storm's End.
With Duskendale dealt with and the majority of the Darklyns levies scattered, Vaemond had ordered all the lords of the northern crownlands to raise their levies and join their forces to the small force he had led at the beginning of the war, it was time for the King to ride west.
Gathering the levies and establishing battle order would take time however, giving Vaemond time to attend his aunt and uncle's funeral. He had stopped for two days in King's Landing, spending them peacefully with Nyel and little Laena before he once again continued on by ship to the capital of the Stormlands.
Vaemond had been preparing to mourn just his uncle and longtime hand, but hours before he was to set sail another raven had brought more grim news. His aunt Rhaenys had died of the cancer that had afflicted her for the past few years. The word of her half-brother's death and the unenviable task of informing her ward, Orys's youngest daughter Eglantine had sapped much of her strength, and she had taken to her sickbed, never to rise again, the last of the four great leaders of the Targaryen conquest, to make matters worse, her dragon Meraxes had fled the castle in a grief filled rage, burning a stableboy and two horses before flying across the Narrow Sea.
Nyel had of course wanted to come, but Vaemond reminded her that there should always be a Targaryen in the capitol, and he knew all too well the dangers of traveling by sea, Matarys was still in the Riverlands on his way back from Fair Isle,a dangerous task since the Tullys had all but been removed from the war, if something were to happen to not only him and his younger brother, Nyel and princess Laena would be all that was left of their dynasty, and he would not risk them at sea.
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He gave a look towards young Boros Baratheon, the new Lord of Storm's End, and his own cousin. He had the dark black hair of his father, and all of his strength. He was only sixteen but even before his arrival Vaemond had heard he was growing into quite the warrior, favoring a large warhammer with great skill.
In truth, the boy had very nearly not been here. Vaemond had never had much interaction with his younger cousin, and much of that was due to the fact Boros had been fostered at Casterly Rock by Loren Lannister as a ward since his early boyhood. No doubt when planning the rebellion Loren Lannister had counted on his holding of the young man to stay Orys from raising his banners in support of his King, but young Boros had staged a daring escape in the middle of the night when word of the war came, but not before slaying two of Lannisters guards.
Vaemond was shaken from his thinking by the young Septon of the castle, who had approached him uncertainly, a nervous expression on his face.
''Speak your mind.'' Vaemond said, sensing the man had something to say.
''A thousand pardons your Graceโฆit'sโฆwellโฆyour Aunt of course should be burned according to your family's customsโฆbut Orys Baratheon was lord of Storm's Endโฆ.he became a Baratheon when he took his wife's nameโฆperhaps his place is in the crypts with the Storm Lords of old.'' The young septon said cautiously.
Vaemond was silent at that for a moment, studying the young septons face, in truth he was older than the King, but still was a part of a younger generation, who were quickly forgetting the truth about his uncle if this septon was any indicator.
''Orys Baratheon is my uncle...the brother of my father King Aegonโฆ.he was no mere general during my fathers conquest, but instead his kin.'' Vaemond said.
The septon looked shocked at that ''Yourโฆ.uncle?''
Vaemond nodded ''He was the natural born son of my Grandfather Aerion...he may not have my name, but he has the blood of my family in his veinsโฆ.he is the blood of the Dragon and he shall have a pyre as befits his heritage, so that he may join his ancestors.''
The septon quickly bowed at that and scuttled off.
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The ceremony went quick after that, as his aunt's closest kin he bore the torch to her own pyre, while his cousin Boros attended to his father.
He approached his aunt, who even in death looked graceful and serene, memories of his aunt singing them songs and telling them tales as children coursed through his mind. His aunt had no children of her own, but he knew he owed her a debt all the same, not only for her kindness in his youth but also for the fact that his own dragon Moondancer, currently in King's Landing, had been hatched by her own dragon Meraxes, though of course it had originally been intended to be his younger brother Matarys dragon.
๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐ถ๐ฆโฆ..๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ข๐จ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ค๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ด ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ He thought, before placing the torch onto the black velvet, the fire immediately spreading throughout the Pyre, while his cousin set Orys's pyre alight.
Vaemond stepped back and joined Orys's family to watch them burn. Orys's wife Argella, her arms placed on the shoulders of her two daughters, had grown heavy in her twilight years, but nevertheless was still a handsome and sturdy woman.
He watched the flames dance, and for a moment he thought he could see dragons in the flames, flying among the embers.
Twenty five years prior four young warriors from Dragonstone had set out on the greatest conquest in the known world, and twenty five years later they were united once more.
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๐'๐ญ๐ญ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ฎ๐บ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง ๐ญ๐ถ๐ค๐ฌ๐บ ๐ช๐ง ๐ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ข๐ต๐ค๐ฉ ๐ข๐ฏ๐บ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฏ Vaemond thought to himself, the past years had been hard, first his son Aelyx and his mother, and now his aunt and uncle. It was not lost on him that the future of his family now depended solely on him and his actions, a future that was becoming more threatened with each passing day and defeat.
After his aunt and uncle's souls had been seen off, he sought out his cousin. He was encouraged by the tale of his escape from Casterly Rock, but still his cousin's upbringing with the Lannisters was worrying.
''Cousin Boros.'' Vaemond said.
Boros nodded greetings at that, Vaemond was a large man but even at 16, Boros was of a height with him.
''My condolences about your fatherโฆ.he was a great warrior and a greater manโฆ.even as a child I knew of his prowess, to serve as hand of the King for nearly three decades is a testament to his ability.'' Vaemond said.
Boros shrugged rather indifferently ''You knew him better than I did, living at the capitol, his duties often kept him from making the trip to Casterly Rockโฆ.he was a great warriorโฆ.that much is true at least.''
Vaemond had never been one to beat around the bush, and he sensed that his cousin would not be won over by kind words and eulogies ''Cousinโฆ..I must know your intentions in this warโฆ..your connection to Casterly Rock is notableโฆ.you will forgive me if I am concerned.''
Boros was silent for a moment before he shook his head ''Trust me cousin if I meant to side with the Lannisters I would have you in chains and on your way to the dungeons of Casterly Rock the moment you set foot in Storms Endโฆ..but here we are, speaking.''
''So you will raise your banners to my cause?'' Vaemond asked.
Boros nodded ''You have my men, and my hammer, I never loved my father in truth, but I will find the man that slew him and bury my hammer in my skullโฆ..as honor demands.''
Vaemond nodded, relieved.
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Any happiness of his cousin's commitment soon was washed away with more negative tidings however. He spent much of the afternoon speaking with the Storm Lords in attendance at the funeral and they all sang the same song, veiled in courteous or blunt and honest, their message was the same.
They had been willing to send their entire levies with Orys, who was an experienced battle commander, but they were much less willing to devote men to Boros, an untested boy of 16. When Vaemond had pointed out that he could lead them into battle, he was reminded rather sharply by Lord Peasebury that it was the duty of the Lord of Storm's End to lead Stormlanders into battle, not foreigners.
Orys had brought over 25,000 swords and spears to Vaemonds cause, however Vaemond had helplessly watched that number dwindle down to about 8000 at days end, as most of the Lords were calling back most of their levies, unwilling to devote men to a sixteen year old boy in a war that was fast becoming uncertain.
Following the last of these conversations, where Lord Willem Tarth had politely stated that while he would honor his obligations to Storm's End, but no more than what was necessary, Vaemond was left alone in the courtyard.
The sun was gone as quickly as it came, and the gray skies sent a constant drizzle down to the courtyard, but Vaemond paid it little mind, making his way to the walls, leaning over them and looking at the stormy seas over a hundred feet below.
The Tullys had been all but neutralized in the war, over two thirds of the Stormlanders were abandoning him, the Ironborn had been with his uncle in the west, but Vickon Greyjoy had never been one for cooperation and they could be anywhere by now, the Dornish were still marching up the prince's pass, and the North watched the war with great interest, like a hunting wolf looking for any sign of weakness, and any day could be the day a raven arrived with tidings that 40,000 northmen were marching south to join the rebels.
๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ Vaemond thought to himself, the gray skies matching his mood.
He had hoped that taking Duskendale would send a message to the rebel and neutral lords of Westeros, swaying them to his cause, but all reports suggested that more attention was being payed to the fact that after over a year of war, none of the Westerlander fortresses had been taken, his caputing of Duskendale barely being acknowledged.
๐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ณ๐ค๐ฉ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆโฆ..๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด He thought to himself grimly as the rain fell upon the walls of Storms End.
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๐ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ ๐๐๐ฒ๐ฌ ๐๐๐ญ๐๐ซ
๐๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ง
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Theo Tyrell sat in his throne, a frown on his face as he read the missive that had arrived by raven that morning once again.
''This is true?''He asked Highgardens aged Maester Garmon.
Garmon nodded ''It was sent by Maester Monfryd of Storm's End, in his own writingโฆ..may the warrior give him rest.''
Theo nodded and read the scroll once again, the message was short but nonetheless grim, Orys Baratheon had been killed in a skirmish in Cornfield, in the southern Westerlands and had been laid to rest in Storms End.
Cornfield was on the border of the reach, and Theo Tyrell had of course heard rumors of Orys's demise, but he assumed they were false, he had been raised in the capitol by the late King Aegon and Orys Baratheon was never far, and Theo had admired the man for his ability, both as a warrior and an administrator, Orys would often accompany the King and give him instruction during Theos training days in the courtyard.
He found himself thinking of Corlys Velaryon, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and the hero of his youth, who had knighted Theo in the north after the fight against the Eastmelt bandits. His old mentor was on the losing side now and knowing him he would die in defense of his King and the capitol, and if recent reports were to be believed the Lannisters were preparing for a thrust east towards Kings Landing, against the Targaryen royal family.
In truth he had not known Vaemond very well, he had returned to Highgarden shortly after the boy's birth, but he did remember Nyel, always sweet and polite, even as a little girl.
The thought of all their heads adorning spikes was almost too much to bear and he quickly expelled the thought from his mind, yet the feeling inside of him did not abate.
๐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ด๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ฅ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฃ๐บ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ He thought to himself.
He had of course wanted to strike his banners in defense of King Vaemond and the Targaryens at the war's onset, but his marriage to Rylenna Lannister was a complication, he was bound by blood to Loren Lannister, who was grandfather to Theos own son Amaury.
The memory of that day in Eastmelt came back to him, where Theo had slain his first man, he remembered the cold snow on his knees as he had knelt at Corly's command, the feel of cold steel on his shoulder as the Lord Commander had knighted him, the cheer of the warriors when he had rose as Ser Theo Tyrell.
But most of all he remembered the words of the Lord Commander.
๐๐ฐ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ด๐ธ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฐ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐บ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐จ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ง๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ
๐ ๐ฅ๐ฐ
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ณ๐ช๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ข๐ณ๐จ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ, ๐๐ช๐ด๐ฆ ๐๐ฆ๐ณ ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฐ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ ๐๐บ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ, ๐๐ฏ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ค๐ฉ.
He realized he had been silent for a good long while, a state he was oft to fall into. Maester Garmon had since bowed and began to withdraw from the hall.
''Maester Garmon.'' He called out suddenly.
The man turned.
''Call the bannersโฆ..we ride to war.'' He commanded.
''For whose cause?'' The maester asked with surprise.
''The Targaryens.'' Theo said curly.
''But my Lordโฆ.your marriage to Rylennaโฆyou are bonded by blood to Loren Lannisterโฆthe gods frown on wars between those bound by blood.''
''I was bound to the Targaryens long before Loren Lannisterโฆ.when the histories write of this war they shall write that it was the Chivalry of the Reach that won this warโฆthey shall write that the Tyrells remain loyal to the throneโฆthat Lord Theo Tyrell, first of his name kept his vowsโฆnow do as I ask.'' Theo commanded.
The maester bowed and withdrew.
The Knights of the Reach rode to war.
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