She watched the standards of the various houses of Westeros flap in the breeze blowing in from Blackwater Bay. The fluttering sound they made altogether echoed the sound of the waves in the distance. There were so many standards, and yet she recognized nearly all of them from her training in her youth, as well as from her studies. There was the golden centaur of House Caswell. There was the golden tree of House Rowan. There was the red knight of House Boggs. There was the white bear paw House Brune, and countless others. The largest standards of all bore the red Targaryen dragon quartered with moon-and-falcon of House Arryn and the seahorse of House Velaryon – the personal sigil of Rhaenyra Targaryen and her branch.
A small hint of jealousy came over Annara. She used to have such a standard that accompanied her family: House Darklyn, the former lords of Duskendale. That had been long ago, before her father’s betrayal, and before they had been removed from power, and the newly instated House Valzyren put in their place. She knew she had to count herself lucky that she hadn’t been placed on a chopping block along with many others, as usually happened when a noble house angered the wrong people too deeply. Rhaekar, her new master, had even been kind enough to position as his spymaster, a task for which she was reasonably capable. He would even give her special tasks to do – such as follow the army of Rhaenyra Targaryen.
As she made her way through the camp, Annara found that the soldiers paid her no mind. Neither did she pay them any mind, and for her part, she was happy about the arrangement. Rarely was she even one to talk during the council sessions, and had to often be pressed by Rhaekar to speak up. She had overheard Rhaekar being told to find a new spymaster, to which he replied, “I could not ask for a better spymaster than one who knows to keep her mouth shut.” When Annara glanced towards a group of tents and saw some of the soldiers harassing and accosting the camp followers, she thanked the Seven that she was less then a wholesome view for men. All the same, she also thought bitterly about the women, whom she hoped would be violated many, many times before the war was over. It was the gentlest punishment the Seven could exact upon wretched whores, she thought.
She arrived at the command tent. Several men of various ages were gathered around a table. Hunched over it, wearing bright silver armor, was a tall man with bulging muscles that barely seemed resistant to the idea of being constrained in the metal suit. Beside him stood a woman with curly dark hair and a tanning complexion, who was likewise decked in armor that covered, if not hid, her feminine form. She immediately recognized the man as Hugh, of the House of Hammer, and his warrior mistress known simply as Nettles. Well, “warrior mistress” was a phrase whispered only in the quietest of tents in the camps – she was by all means his legal wife. Annara was taken aback by just how young she appeared – the girl could not have passed her sixteenth name day.
Hugh lifted up his hand, balled it into a fist, then brought the metal-gloved fingers down upon the table. It made a boom sound, nearly knocking over a goblet nearby. “We attack in a few days.”
An older man nearby with a gray beard pursed his lips. “Tomorrow? So soon?” Annara knew the man to be Thaddeus Rowan. “The North has barely mustered her forces.”
“Aegon has most of his forces here, in Dragonstone.” Hugh pointed his finger to a spot on the map. “He wishes to end this war as soon as possible. Let us show him we will take the war to him.”
“I for one agree with the Hammer,” Daemon Targaryen said. “Aegon has made the foolish mistake of spreading his forces out too wide. King’s Landing will be guarded by a minimum force. We have enough men here to take it within a few days’ time.”
“20,000 men, to be exact!” Hugh declared. “Much more than those fools in armor that lie drunk in the taverns and brothels of King’s Landing. But if we dilly-dally too long here, the Three Daughters will be upon us.”
Hubard Brune chuckled at that. “The only time I would never want three women coming upon me.”
The other officers gave collective chuckles. Nettles and Annara didn’t join in.
“In either case, we will not sit here too long. Aegon hopes we will stay here in Stokeworth, or head away to relieve Dragonstone. We shall do neither. We shall show him that even behind the walls of King’s Landing, he is not safe.”
A footman approached, bearing a small slip of paper. He approached Hugh Hammer and bowed low. Hugh took it from the man, unfolded it, and read it quietly.
“What does it say?” Daemon asked.
Hugh crumpled it up between his palm and fingers, then tossed it onto the grass behind me. “There was a battle in Griffin’s Roost.”
The lords and knights exchanged glances. It was Daemon who spoke first. “What happened?”
“That accursed Aemond One-Eye swooped in with his dragon. Prince Lucerys flew to meet him, but was captured. His dragon was killed.” Hugh pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Pah.” With a sudden motion, he lifted up his fist and slammed it against the table.
“Captured?” Daemon asked. He curled his lips into a sneer. “I take it the battle is lost, then.”
“Yes, leaving Aemond free.” As Hugh’s lower lip curled over his upper one, his large face began to turn red. His fingers wrapped around the parchment, crushing it under the iron glove. “Stupid boy! He has just made the situation all the more serious. If we hesitate any longer, we give Aemond a chance to return to King’s Landing, or give the Three Daughters a chance to sail their fleets to Westerosi soil. No, the decision is final.” He opened his other hand and slammed it palm-first onto the table. “We attack King’s Landing and throw that usurper in the black cells!”
“The fate of Aegon will be decided by my wife, the queen,” Daemon remarked. Each word was said with a certain level of distinction, as if he wanted to make certain none was misheard.
Hugh glanced his eyes towards the Targaryen. His eye twitched. Nettles seemed to take notice of it, and planted a hand on his arm. Immediately, Hugh’s eye settled. He turned his face back to the map. “Yes, it will be decided by the queen.”
Daemon smiled at that. His eyebrows rose suddenly, and then he turned his eyes toward the entrance of the tent. He at once laid them on Annara. “Ah, Lord Rhaekar’s dignitary, the good Lady Darklyn, is here.”
Everyone in the tent turned to look at her. At once, she became very self-aware of the fact she existed. She forced a smile, but could only think in her mind,
I hope to see you hang for this, dragonspawn.
Hugh lifted his gaze and caught sight of the spymaster. He smirked. “Hello, Lady Darklyn. I heard news that your lordship was going to join us today. Is he late?”
“You know, my lord,” Annara replied in a soft voice.
“You move faster than him, it would seem,” Daemon remarked. He grinned even wider. “A truly amazing feat.”
Annara frowned at that. It was an obvious jibe at her weight. It had to be that. It was only confirmed when some of the other lords joined together in a chuckle, which, though not boisterous, pierced her heart all the same. She felt her hands ball into fists, but then she relaxed herself. It stung at her pride, to have her faults pointed out in front of so many fellow highborn people, like this. However, she hoped to repay it in kind, all in good time. How this was to occur, she wasn’t certain yet – but she was intent on seeing it happen.
“Yes, indeed,” Annara replied. It was the only thing she could think to say. “I believe he should be arriving soon.”
“With three thousand of his own host,” Hugh Hammer said. “Scouts reported he was nearing the camp shortly before our meeting.”
Annara curtsied. “Then I bid you all a farewell.”
The spymaster turned and began to step away. After she had gone some distance, she heard another collective chuckle from inside the tent, and could only imagine something else had been said at her expense.
Power hungry fools, she thought.
They will someday wish that Lord Rhaekar had chosen to behead me and my brother, instead of letting us serve.
She did not have to travel far before she saw a large force coming from the north. The closer she reached the edge of camp, the more recognizable the details of this army became. At once, she recognized the crimson banners with the white unicorns, and the checkered banners of the region of Duskendale. It was all too easy for Annara to recognize: House Darklyn still bore the same checkered pattern on their family crest, even if only on the right two-thirds. When she reached the edge of camp, she recognized the simple uniforms of the soldiers. Most of all, she recognized the onyx-colored armor worn by her own lord, Rhaekar Valzyren.
He was flanked by a standard-bearer holding aloft the white unicorn above the lord’s head on one side, and her own kinsman, Ser Jon Darklyn, on the other. He was her uncle, though only eleven years older than her. In addition to Annara becoming spymaster, Lord Rhaekar had seen fit to make Jon Darklyn his sworn swordsman. Annara knew from contacts within the Dun Fort that, just as with her appointment, many opposed Ser Jon being assigned so close to Lord Rhaekar for his safety, but the Valyrian had ignored most of these protests.
Rhaekar’s violet eyes took notice of her, and his lips curled into a grin. “Well, well. Is this the best mummer in all of the six kingdoms, or is this my spymaster I see before me?” He turned his horse away from his army and rode towards her, followed by the standard-bearer and Ser Jon. The army continued on behind him, the commanders leading them along the edge of the tent. Rhaekar turned the horse again when he was only a few feet. His hand rested on his lap, and his long, silver hair fluttered in a sudden gust. “I hope we find you well.”
A voice from the bottom of her heart told her to tell him how “King” Daemon had treated her. She suppressed it at once. She was not a little girl anymore, to run and tell her mother, with tears in her eyes, that the other girls had called her a little piggy. She was an adult, and a spymaster. She had far worse things to worry about. “I have been fine, my lord.”
“I trust their lordships have treated you well?”
Does he somehow know what might have happened? she thought. She felt a sardonic smile spread over her lips. “Fair, though not always politely, my lord.”
“They do not appreciate you as well as I do.” Rhaekar dismounted, his dark armor clanking noisily as he landed on the ground. He took the bridle and handed it to Ser Jon, who took it and rode away towards the army. Rhaekar took off his gloves and used one of his now bare fingers to scratch the side of his nose. “Tell me, is there anything I should know before I enter the camp?”
Annara felt some of the tension building in her heart dispel at once with the change of subject. “Yes. They intend to attack King’s Landing within a week.”
Rhaekar raised both eyebrows. “Ha! Do they? We arrived just in time then, did we not?” He lifted up one of his gloves and lightly patted Annara on the shoulder; a quiet motion for her to walk towards the camp alongside him. “What of the war?”
“Aemond One-Eye met a Velaryon host at Griffin’s Roost. He defeated them, and captured Lucerys.”
“Unfortunate, though not unfitting.” Rhaekar held up a finger and tapped his cheek, just under his right eye. “It was Lucerys who robbed Aemond of his eye. I suppose that was not uncalled for altogether – Aemond did insult him and his brothers. Ah, well.” Rhaekar shook his head. “How often something as simple as war complicates family tensions. Is Lucerys dead?”
“No, captured.”
“All the better for Aemond, least he be considered a kinslayer. Anything else I should know?”
“Daemon Targaryen and Hugh Hammer seem to be at tension with one another.”
“Oh bother. I could have seen that coming long ago. It would not surprise me if they come to blows before they duel Aegon. Lord Flea Bottom on one hand, and Lord Hammer on the other.”
Annara felt a soft giggle arise in her throat. “Otherwise, there is simply nervousness in the ranks regarding the upcoming battle.”
“Standard fair, you will find. There is always great fear before any invasion.” He paused a moment, then asked, “Have you seen my betrothed?”
“She is here, in the camps, with her sister. She is Lord Daemon’s ward.” Annara turned to look at Rhaekar. She attempted to read his face, but, to her dismay, she could not. She found it was often difficult to read his face – whether that was from a lack of skill on her part, or a strange part of his personality, she wasn’t sure. “Do you wish to see her?”
“No.” He added not another word on the matter. He tilted his head away from his spymaster, then smiled. “I think my tent may be near completion. See me again, if you have any news. Farewell, Annara.”
With that, he was gone. He moved towards the edge of camp, his cloak flowing behind him as he briskly marched away. Annara paused to watch him leave.
I don’t understand him, came a thought in her head.
But who can understand dragons?