Chapitre 39: Chapter 39
12th Month 267AC
It was a fine summer's day, only marred by the slight shower of rain falling from the cloudless sky. A shower so light, that it could barely be felt when it kissed the skin.
The hooves of the horses made a rhythmic beating as we made our way down the kingsroad. The road was wide enough to allow four wayns to ride abreast, stone paved and metaled, whilst cambered for drainage when it rained. I had planned for footpaths, but that would have taken longer than it had already taken to built them to the standard that they were already.
I had severely underestimated how big the crownlands where, but in my defence, scale had never been one of my things. Looking at the crownlands on a map, they didn't seem all that big. It wasn't until I got to the road building that I realised how ridiculously big they were.
Roads were good. They provided with a rather efficient means of travel for trade goods, communications and if I had anything to do with it, armies. Of course, I had only focused on giving the crownlands the sort of road system that I wanted.
I would be proud to boast that only the crownlands had this sort of paved roads and I liked to think they were already beginning to pay themselves back. We had passed far more travellers on the roads than I could remember when the road was nothing more than a very well trodden dirt path of some size.
I planned on improving the kingsroad and all the other major roads of Westeros to this standard, but that was it. Like I said, I had severely underestimated how big the crownlands were. I didn't like to think of how big the other kingdoms of Westeros are and how much that would cost. Perhaps at a later date.
Thankfully, improving on the roads of the Seven Kingdoms didn't mean I would be the one to make sure that they were looked after. That fell to my vassals as part of their feudal obligations to me. Fun.
We had travelled down the road from the River Gate for some hours now and our destination was near enough in site. The black smoke in the distance rising slowly into the sky that I had spotted some time back was closer and darker now and further along the road, it branched off to turn into a field.
This particular road was half a well worn out dirt track that had been ground out by the constant beating of boots, wheels and hooves upon it, whilst another half, closer to the road was much like the rest, paved stone and metaled.
I was going to have to sent the road crews to bring this part of the road up to scruff like the rest of the roads. Which was easy enough. I had more than plenty enough road crews to work on any road that I needed, nearly half of them not even having to being paid for their work.
Community service was this great invention that I had introduced Westeros to. The free labour was just the cherry on top of an excellent cake.
"Your grace," Ser Gerold called out from beside me. "We are here."
I forced myself back to reality from the depths of my mind and noticed indeed that we had very much appeared at the object of our destination. The fort was new and was still in construction in some parts, half-naked men busy working at wood, hacking and sawing away. The palisades made for an adequate enough defence, but eventually, that would be changed to stone at a later date.
Although it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, this particular military base was quickly on it's way to coming into existence.
A guard on one of several watch towers blew a horn to tell of our approach.
The great wooden doors slowly swung upon, dragging earth and mud to allow us entrance into the fort. Inside the base, there was a single main road that led to the centre of the base, beside on either side were orderly rolled tents of a white colour and newly thrown up buildings of wooden huts and halls. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of men ran to and for.
In front of me at an intersection, I saw an older serjeant lead a group of young men on a jog through the camp, before randomly darting off into a sprint at some signal. In another open clearing, I saw another serjeant prow the field bellowing out commands to recruits that were busy being made to do push-ups.
Down the main road we went, passing target ranges that were filled with archers knocking back arrows and loosing them at a distance, lowly-born knights, but knights nonetheless, leading the training of arms to groups of men. At another intersection, we had to stop to allow a group of horsemen to ride past us towards another one of the gates at the other side of the fort.
They had gone by so quickly I didn't get a chance to count their numbers. I hoped that Rodrik had been able to keep to my original plan of how exactly each and every military unit was to be formed and how many men it had in it.
Little things like this did wonders for the logistical nightmare that were responsible for keeping the men fed and paid and supplied.
At the centre of the base, I dismounted from my horse and unsurprisingly, Rodrik was already out to greet me. Dressed in uniform black with red trimmings and a similarly coloured tricorne on his head.
He made his dislike for his hat as soon as possible when he took it off. "I don't care much for this."
I smiled at my good father. "I think it looks dashing on you. Brings out your eyes."
Rodrik ignored that as his eyes peered past me to look at the troop of men that had served as my escort on this journey. "And you didn't bring an old man's joy?"
"Dany and Luc have their lessons. They can't come see you everyday, good-father. You can always come to the capital to visit them. It's not that far a ride."
"Not until these lot are sorted." He snorted, indicating at the base full of men being trained to kill and fight. He turned and began to lead me into the main building. "And I wouldn't dare let my little grand-pups be exposed to the stink of this place."
I took a whiff of the air. "I don't smell much of a stink."
"You were born and raised in King's Landing, your grace. I'd think that by now, your nose doesn't work as good as you think it does." He paused for a moment. "That, or everything to you can never be compared to the great stink that is King's Landing."
"Not so much anymore." I was rather proud of how little King's Landing smelled now.
"It still smells. Just not as much as before."
"Your praise means much to me, good-father."
Inside the building, there were clerks that walked to and fro, carrying to one task or another. The clerks served as something as close to a General Staff as I could remember. Of course, the clerks were more along the administrative staff, whilst the true General Staff was probably out and about doing stuff that was related to their particular path of service that Rodrik had assigned to them.
"Nicely built base, good-father."
Rodrik gave a grunt. "Serving with the Second Sons made me learn the value of a good camp or base. Latrines are down the river, and only drinking water can be taken from up the river, and boiled. The last thing I want is the bloody mare running through the camp and decimating the army before it has even fought a battle."
Speaking of men. "How many have you got?"
"Last time I checked? A little over two thousand. This Royal Army of yours is growing quick. Mostly green boys, but by the time I'm done with them, they will be better than any levy any one of the other lords would be able to rabble up together."
Two thousand? Considering that I was following the regiment system, that meant that I had enough for one regiment, four battalions, ten companies and forty platoons. Nice to know that my maths was still very much on point for such basic divisions.
My good-father and the guy that I had put in charge of this entire army continued speaking. "Mind you though, two thousand isn't much of an army. Good enough numbers for a lord of some import, but not enough for a king."
"I plan to see to that." I told him, as we continued through the hall ways of the building. "I'm of the same mind that two thousand is a paltry number. What would you say is a reasonable number?"
"Preferably more than what your lords can call to arms."
"So you want me to have an army that is of a match for the Tyrells?" A hundred thousand was quite the number. Something I doubt I would have be able to sustain on a Medieval economy.
"No. Not that much. Preferably half." Rodrik led me into his office, Spartan in decoration, but functional and practical all the while. The only noticeable piece of furniture was a suit of armour at the size, stood at ghostly attention. "Like I've said, this lot you have me bringing up to something worthy of an army will be better than any of the half-assed levies that your other lords will be able to call to arms."
I rubbed at my chin in thought. "Fifty thousand doesn't sound so bad." I admitted, but the question was though, would I be able to sustain that large a number? "Come across any troublesome lot yet?"
Rodrik offered me a drink which I declined before he answered my question. "A few, not much. Most of the recruits are nothing more than farm boys who had found themselves not being needed working the fields any more." He raised his cup to me. "Suppose that should be laid at your feet."
"The price of progress." Farm boys being sent away from the farm because of the fact that they weren't needed anymore was the least of my problems. At the very least, people were coming to work in my factories. Or joining my army. They at least got honest pay regularly. "What happened to the few?"
"We either straightened them out or they were shown the door for the more lost causes. After all, you don't want bad characters in your precious army."
"Public relations, good-father. Public relations. I would rather not add fuel to the fire for any lord to say that I'm some sort of tyrant by having savage morons in my army. It would be far better for me if I had any arm that could control itself."
"Idealistic, but futile. When the blood comes to you in battle, men can hardly control themselves." He shook his head then. "Gods know I've seen that happen enough times. Has happened to me a few times."
I knew that much. "I'm not asking them to be angels. I know that when it comes to it...unsavoury things are going to happen, whether I like it or not. But consider me weak for wanting to, at the very least, go to sleep knowing that I tried. Even just a little."
Blue-grey eyes looked at me then, mirth evident in their light. "Never knew you were such an idealist. I'd figured you by now to be the opposite."
"I'm a professional cynic, good-father. I think I'll have that drink now." Rodrik nodded and poured me a cup. "I saw some peculiar recruits in the training yards. Of a Dornish colouring and I think some Summer Islanders as well."
"They would prefer to be called Rhoynish rather than Dornish. The slaves that Lord Addam freed when he took Grey Gallows. When they heard about this little enterprise of yours, the next ships from there had them aboard. They seem to have it in their minds that you might be taking it to the slavers of the Stepstones."
"Unlikely, but whatever keeps them motivated." I took a sip from my cup and forced myself through the initial distaste for the wine and took a deeper drink. "Can't be demoralizing them like this."
Rodrik Stark raised up his glass in cheer. "To the poor bastards that will be at the end of their pikes. Whoever they are."
I raised my cup to that. And in truth, those very same poor bastards would be well deserving of the treatment they would come to receive.
xXx
Apparently, I had come to fall asleep in the castle godswood at some point in time. Funny really, I don't particularly remember going to sleep anywhere near said castle godswood. I don't even remember going to sleep.
So what the fuck?
Rising from the shade of the tree that I had been leaning on, I looked around and noticed that it was rather eerily quiet. By the looks of it, it was the middle of the day and there wasn't even a sound to be heard.
It was then that I realised that I had been sleeping in the shade of the weirwood tree. A present I had planted for my northern wife. Because I care like that.
So this was actually happening?
"I was wondering when this was going to happen." I said aloud, to no-one in particular. "So, which one am I getting, the living human-tree thingy or the standard three-eyed crow special?" I paused in thought for a moment. "Or perhaps you haven't become a tree yet. Maybe you are still human?"
I didn't get a reply, but eventually, I heard the fluttering of wings. From nowhere, hundreds of ravens or crows or any other black coloured bird flew in from every direction possible. Where were they hiding?
And with their coming, I was now remembering The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock. The prospect of being pecked to death was something that I did not look forward to, but unfortunately, I had been surrounded by those damnable birds.
They flew all around me in formation. I think I saw some going clockwise and other counter-clockwise. I refused to be cowed.
Nor impressed. "Pretty trick." I slid my hands into my pockets and leaned back onto the weirwood tree, casual as casual can be. I had come to learn that letting nothing phase me, even when the world ends does wonders to how others perceived you. "Are you going to be doing this all day?" I looked at an imaginary watch that wasn't strapped to my wrist. "I'm a king and I have things to do. Better things to waste my time with than this."
The ravens or crows or whatever they were cried out all at once before they came to perch on the myriad tree branches in the godswood. All looking at me. Thousands of pairs of eyes just staring at me. That was freaky.
And somewhere in those pairs of eyes was a three eyed crow. Or was it raven? It's been so long that I can't particularly recall all of the details.
Talons perched themselves onto my shoulder, light as a feather, but that did not stop me from feeling their sting on my skin. They were pretty sharp. I turned my head and found my self staring into a crow (or raven) with three eyes.
"Brynden Rivers, a pleasure." I greeted with a smirk on my face. "Do you prefer Lord Rivers, Lord Bloodraven or Lord Brynden? You were Hand of the King after all. And family. Proper respect is due. Loving your work to try and save humanity by the way. Much of a fan."
I think I saw the three eyes widen some, but perhaps it was a trick of the light. A raven (or crow)'s eyes were pretty large things. And dark. It was difficult to tell.
"You know of me. I cannot say I am surprised." The crow (raven) said to me, without moving it's beak.
Telepathy? Well, he was in my head or dream, so it was possible. But wasn't shit to do with dreams fall under oneiromancy? I'm more surprised with myself that I was able to remember something like that.
"To save me the trouble, this form of yours, is it of a crow or a raven?"
"A crow."
I nodded. "Good to know." I pushed myself of the weirwood and began to walk down one of the myriad trodden upon paths of the godswood, leaving it to my feet to take me to some sort of destination. "I suppose me and you need to have a little talk."
Those ravens or crows were freaky as fuck. They just continued to watch me as I walked underneath the branches they were perched on and they seemed to be unending of them. No branch was free. It was a forest of black wings.
"I have many questions."
"No doubt. About me, I suspect."
"What are you?" The crow asked, it's three-eyes studying me. "You are not Aerys."
"I am Aerys. Well, I am both Aerys and someone else."
I think the crow frowned. Can crows frown? It continued to speak. "You are not a skinchanger. And a skinchanger as powerful as one would have to be to completely supplant the control of a man is rare to come across. So very rare. So rare I think it impossible."
"Are the peculiarities of my existence so important? I would think the knowledge that I am here to protect the Seven Kingdoms and perhaps the world when the Long Night version. 2 comes along is good enough news."
"Fool!" The crow hissed. "You have changed things. Your careless blundering around has set events into motion that could very well result in the end of all life!"
The woods came to an end, stepping into the open I saw that we had come to the part of the godswood that faced the Blackwater Bay. A Bay that was covered in ice, with distant figures on the ice walking across. I heard the dull boom of cannons being fired, and in the air, flaming shots from catapults and trebuchets sailed through the air in the direction of the shadows.
"Huh," I looked over the scene in front of me. "That's some pretty cool special effects you have going on here. Is this one of the abilities of a greenseer? If so, I can't wait until I have my own greenseer, cause this would be so much fun to screw with peoples dreams like this. Tell me you left at least some kind of instruction manual for someone to learn this bullshit. Cause this bullshit is awesome."
Bravado aside, if this was the future, I better have high-tailed the fuck out of Westeros to my summer fortress in the Summer Islands or something when shit had certainly gone south.
I glanced to the side and noticed the look of incredulity that the crow was giving me. I was thinking this was nothing more than a scare tactic to get me aboard his plans. Probably.
I decided to plough along with my seemingly laissez-faire attitude to the apocalyptic scene in front of me. "What did you do with Dark Sister? You were the last recorded wielder of that particular sword and I want it. The Golden Company probably has Blackfyre. And you had Dark Sister. I swear to every fucking god in this forsaken world you had better not have taken it north with you, or me and you are going to have some words."
The three-eyed crow waved a hand at the scene happening in front of us. "Look at this. This is what you will cause."
"Meh, we can take 'em." I focused my attention on the three-eyed crow. "But seriously, Dark Sister. I want it. Don't make me search for you in the north."
"You don't even know where I am." Brynden Rivers returned, having given up on trying to make me take stoke of the end of the world happening in front of me.
I don't think he knew how much I was freaking out right now. I really hoped this wasn't the future.
I gave him my best grin that showed all of my canines. I thought of the grin that Smaug had on his face as he talked to Bilbo. I hoped mine was just as terrifying. "You don't know what I am. You don't know what I know. How can you be so sure I don't know where you are? I would hate to bring the ruin of a potential ally, especially that of the children. I'd love to have them as allies." A moment of quiet passed between us. "You too as well, if you are interested."
I hoped he was. He knew this shit more than me.
The scenery changed all of a sudden. I found myself not overlooking the Bay, with the army of the dead creeping ever closer to my seat, but in a grove. The ground was covered in snow and I was surrounded by nine weirwoods in a perfect circle.
"Here." Brynden Rivers said to me. "Dark Sister is here."
I scowled. "And where is here?" This could be anywhere, but judging by the snow, I figured somewhere in the north. Hold up. He became the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I sighed as I looked around, and sure enough, in the distance, the wall stood proud and tall. "Fuck off."
I could feel the smirk on the fucking asshole. "Good luck." He said to me, his voice echoing into the distance as the world around me melted away.
When I blinked, I found myself looking up down onto the training yard below, watching as Ser Lyle Chelstead, master-at-arms drilled and trained the House Targaryen guardsmen.
"Aerys?"
I turned my head and smiled at the sight of my wife. "Yes?"
Branda cocked an eyebrow upwards. "What's the matter? You stared off into space for a moment then."
A moment? It had felt longer than a moment. "Apologies, I got lost in my thoughts."
"You do that for a worrying amount of time." She ran a hand down the bump of her middle. "Thankfully, it seemed none of our children have inherited your absentmindedness."
"I'm not that bad." I laughed, sheepishly. I kissed at her hand. "Apologies my queen, but I shall have to excuse myself. I have a message of import to send."
Branda seemed ready to about say something, but was cut-off by a shout.
"Your grace!"
I turned around and saw one of the royal pages run towards us. A page that was related to my wife through her cousin Benjen Stark and his wife, Jeyne Rosby. If he played his cards right, Martyn might very well be in contention for the inheritance of Rosby in the future. Martyn Stark pumped his legs as he ran towards us, skidding to a halt, barely stopping himself from crashing into us.
Branda didn't like that one bit, placing her hands firmly on her hips, she looked down at her nephew. "Martyn Stark! How many times have you been told no running?"
I took a moment to stand at the side as I watched Benjen's son get a telling off from his aunt. The boy was panting as Branda layed into him. "But...it's important!" The boy wheezed. He continued speaking in between breaths of air. "The Hand...Prince Duncan says to get the king! I ran all over looking for you, your grace!"
"Duncan is it?" Branda said, mulling it over before nodding. "Very well, that's a good enough excuse as any. It seems whatever letter you wanted to send shall have to wait. Go on then, whatever your hand requires of you, must be terribly important to send him running."
I ruffled the young Stark's hair, much to his annoyance. "Anything can send this little sprite running." I bowed at my wife again. "My queen." I said as I left in parting within the company of her nephew.
Whilst I made my way towards the council chambers, I was going through my options on how to retrieve Dark Sister. I could send for Brandon in Hardhome. Or get into contact with the Night's Watch. One or the other.
It was better to ask the Night's Watch in this regard. If I remembered my maps correctly, the haunted forest was the immediate forest in front of the wall. The rangers of the Night's Watch occasionally made their rounds through that forest.
So they probably knew when to find a grove of weirwoods arrayed in a circle. I wondered if that was a natural thing or the act of men or the children.
Duncan and Ser Gerold happened to be waiting for me in the small council chambers along with a strange stick of a man. Ser Gerold was the first to notice me, standing up and bowing. "Your grace." The others followed suit as well, the stick of a man included as well.
"Rise." I waved at them, walking around the council table to take my seat. I eyed the stick of a man with interest, trying to recognise him. I got nothing. "And you are..." I trailed off for a name.
The man gulped down some as he tried to look at anyone but me, or Duncan or Ser Gerold. "Yorrick, your grace."
"Yorrick..." I repeated. Yeah, I still had nothing. I glanced in the direction of my Hand and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for some clarification.
"He's a journalist, your grace. For the Herald."
The man, Yorrick, raised a finger then. "I used to work for them, ser, your graces."
I raised an eyebrow at that, noting the bitterness but I decided to ignore it for now. "I didn't know I was giving interviews, now." Not that they were a bad thing, but I really didn't think I was giving interviews. They hadn't even come to mind.
"Nothing like that." Duncan was immaculate where he sat, and I had to give it to this Yorrick character as he was able to withstand my uncle's gaze for as long as he did without any seeming trouble. "He has some rather important news. News about the dock fires."
That got my interest. I leaned onto the table, adding the weight of my own gaze onto Duncan's very own. "What is this news?"
The journalist shifted around on his seat at the combined weight of a royal stare down on his persons. He licked at his lips. "I have information that the Darklyns may have been involved in the fires, your graces, ser."
That took me back. The Darklyns? What the fuck? I mean, what the fuck? Wasn't the Defiance of Duskendale supposed to be years away? Was this one of the butterflies flapping away it's wings?
"Are you about this?" I asked, putting on my best regal tone of voice. If Georgie boy had described the manner I had asked the question, it would have probably involved tones of some kind of metal. Brass to be sure. Or bronze. Nothing like iron or steel.
But a metal nonetheless.
"He's sure." Duncan answered the question for him. Passing to me a sheaf of papers. "And It's not just the Darklyns."
I picked up the papers and began to skim through them as quickly as possible, picking up the relevant information. Something I had become quite adept at when I want to read something quickly but get the general gist of before going back to it for a more detailed reading.
Through out it all, a name jumped out at me. A name that made me growl as I spoke it out loud. "Alequo Adarys."
Ser Gerold nodded his head gravely. "This is a declaration of war, your grace. By the Darklyns and Adarys. The Iron Throne must respond."
I scrunched up the piece of paper that held Adarys' name and his association with the Darklyns. At this very moment in time, I was not a happy man. Not one bit.
"We will respond." I said to the two of them. Then I glanced towards Yorrick who seemed a little out of his depth. "But first, a suitable reward must be given to our loyal friend here."
"Loyal is not what I would call it, your grace." Ser Gerold said, his face having darkened. "He was brought to our attention by another one of his fellows. He had this information long before the fires." The Lord Commander was now practically glaring at him. "If he had brought what he knew to us, we would have been well prepared for the Darklyns treachery."
I glanced at Yorrick once more who was trying so very hard to sink into his chair, or better yet, hoping that the ground would just swallow him up whole.
"I had my reasons." He protested, weakly.
There was a calmness to my uncle's face, but I could feel the anger and venom with each word he spoke. "Great reasons I'm sure. Reasons such as gold."
The fire came back to Yorrick then. "No. Not just the gold. Bu the story." He looked at me then. "Didn't your grace charge us, the Herald to spread out and share whatever news of import we came across? That would tantalize our readers? Keep the people hanging onto our very word?"
Well, I'm pretty sure I said that, but that was just for the public. In private, the Herald was my fucking propaganda piece. Truth and all that went really my things. I just wanted people to think me a swell guy.
"I do remember saying that." I lied with a nod. "But only if that news didn't threaten the lives of my many subjects. Guess what? This news threatened the lives of my subjects. This news killed my subjects. You should have brought this to the proper authorities."
After the chastisement, Yorrick dropped down in his seat. "What is to happen to me, your grace?"
"I'll think of something. Until then, consider yourself my guest." I called for a guard to take him away and into the tender custody of House Targaryen. I was left alone with my Lord Commander and Hand. "Do the Darklyns know, that we know of their hand in this?"
Duncan frowned. "I doubt it. We have been investigating for some time now with no clues until today. It would not be foolish of Bennar Darklyn to think that he was able to get away with his treachery."
"They won't be prepared when we march onto them for their treachery." Ser Gerold added his voice to the discussion.
"Good. Keep it that way. I will allow Lord Bennar and Alequo to savour their apparent victory. It will all be the sweeter when their worlds come crashing down on them." I rested my chin onto hand. "This would be the part where I leave the gathering of intelligence on our enemies, but since we don't have a spymaster at the moment, we'll have to make do."
"What will you have us do, your grace?" The Lord Commander asked.
"Well, a retaliatory strike at Tyrosh is a given for their part in this, but what's important at the moment is to bring Lord Bennar to answer for his crimes of treason. I know you aren't much of a spymaster, uncle, but would it be possible for you to place people inside the walls of Duskendale?"
Duncan mulled over it in his thoughts for a moment before answering. "It would be difficult, but doable."
"Then do so. I want to know how many men their armouries can arm. How many knights. Their strengths. Their weaknesses. Everything."
Duncan nodded. "Just so you know, a spymaster I am not. I can possibly give you less than half of what you ask."
"Less than half is better than nothing."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone