Chapter 3 – Campaign and Wedding
98 AC
Aelor had spent the better part of a year inside the walls of Runestone with his betrothed. What began as duty had slowly become something else. Rhea's blunt, straightforward manner was a sharp contrast to the soft voices of King's Landing, and he found himself preferring it. They hunted the same trails, sparred in the yard, and on clear nights he took her up on Moonfyre. She never truly loved the heights the way he did, yet he had seen the quiet wonder in her eyes when the full moon turned the mountains silver. For the first time he could imagine a life that was more than obligation.
Then the mountain clans began pushing deeper into the Vale, burning villages and seizing stores of food. Aelor volunteered without hesitation, asking only for a hundred men. For two months they fought through the high passes. The work was mostly on foot; Moonfyre was used carefully, only when the ground favored her. They lost good men, yet for every one who fell another local fighter joined them. The band grew.
It was during those weeks that he gained a squire.
She was fifteen. After one of the raids the other women were being sent toward safer villages when she refused to go. She walked straight up to him, declared herself a dragonseed, and demanded a chance. Aelor nearly sent her away. Instead he tossed her a sword. She barely managed to lift it, yet when he tested her she caught the blade awkwardly, desperately again and again. Something in the stubborn set of her jaw made him stop.
"Short sword for now," he told her. "Learn that first."
That was how Gwyn became his squire.
"Gwyn!"
Aelor stepped from his tent already armored in the suit he had commissioned before leaving King's Landing. The Burned Men were consolidating. Scouts reported a final host gathering three hundred or more preparing a last stand deeper in the mountains.
Gwyn waited outside. A few new scars marked her face. The constant training and the weight of real armor had hardened her. She now favored a short sword in one hand and a longer, thinner blade in the other—a style Aelor did not use himself, yet had begun to study so he could teach her properly. She had already stood beside him in two skirmishes and lived.
"My lord," she said, "the scouts confirm it. The Burned Men are building a last holdout. Three hundred at least."
Aelor smiled and started toward Moonfyre. The dragon lifted her silver-grey head at his approach. He scratched the soft scales beneath her jaw while Gwyn followed.
"I think we should call for more men," Gwyn said carefully. "I mean no disrespect, but… do we truly need the dragon for this?"
He glanced at her, pleased she questioned him. A squire who never spoke up was useless.
"You're right. Dragonfire would turn the forest to ash, and three hundred clansmen are not worth that. So picture yourself a dragonlord. You have the greatest weapon in the world, yet you choose not to use its fire. What do you do against warriors who have never faced a dragon?"
Gwyn's eyes lit with understanding. "You treat them like sheep and become the sheepdog. You fly low, break their lines, drive them into a killing field."
Aelor's smile widened. "Exactly. You're listening." He waited a beat. "There's more you want to say."
She hesitated, then spoke. "Even if the plan works, a hundred men is thin. If they don't break… if they rush us… I'd rather have the numbers. Lady Rhea would send more. We're nearly finished with this campaign. Another hundred, or even fewer, would make the difference."
He nodded, proud. "You're right again. We already have the captured women and children to watch. I'll write tonight and ask for the extra men. Until they arrive, we keep drilling. Steel only. Show me that second blade."
---
Days later the raven returned. One letter was the formal request for reinforcements. The other was personal. The maester of Runestone delivered both to Lady Rhea Royce.
Rhea read the request first, mouth set in its usual firm line. Her betrothed was still playing at war in the mountains while their wedding drew closer. She did not like the delay, but she understood the necessity.
"Give him the hundred," she told the maester.
Then she opened the private letter.
*To my dear soon-to-be wife,*
*I am sorry it has been so long. I cannot wait to come home. The campaign is nearly done. My squire continues to surprise me—she is a good young woman, and I hope to teach her more. But that is not why I write. I have been thinking of you. Of the nights we flew above the clouds, of the rare smile you wear when you believe no one is watching. I miss that smile.*
Rhea's strict expression softened for a moment, alone in her solar. The match that had once been pure politics no longer felt empty. She dipped her quill and answered in her usual blunt style, yet the words were warmer than she would ever admit aloud.
*You have your hundred. Finish this quickly. Our wedding is soon, and I would prefer my husband present for it. Tell me more of this squire when next you write. She sounds interesting. I am surprised you chose a girl, but I look forward to meeting her.*
She sealed both letters and sent the raven back into the mountain wind.
---------------------------------------------------------- should his kids have a mutation like he does nothing overpowered but something that is inside of the world