Four Weeks Later

Courtyard of Storms End

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.

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 Grace…it's…well…your Aunt of course should be burned according to your family's customs…but Orys Baratheon was lord of Storm's End….he became a Baratheon when he took his wife's name…perhaps 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 Aegon….he was no mere general during my fathers conquest, but instead his kin.’’ Vaemond said.

The septon looked shocked at that ‘’Your….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 veins….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.

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.

Your line shall continue…..the dragons of our descendents will be your children 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.

I'll count myself lucky if I never have to watch anymore of my kin burn 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 father….he was a great warrior and a greater man….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 Rock….he was a great warrior….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 ‘’Cousin…..I must know your intentions in this war…..your connection to Casterly Rock is notable….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 End…..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 skull…..as honor demands.’’

Vaemond nodded, relieved.

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.

I am losing this war 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.

I march west with the men I have…..even without the greater part of the Stormlanders  He thought to himself grimly as the rain fell upon the walls of Storms End.

Five Days Later

Highgarden

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 writing…..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.

I have sat idly by for too long 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.

Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to obey your liege lord and king, to fight bravely when needed

I do

Then in the name of the warrior I charge you to be brave, Rise Ser Theo of the House Tyrell, Knight of the Reach.

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 banners…..we ride to war.’’ He commanded.

‘’For whose cause?’’ The maester asked with surprise.

‘’The Targaryens.’’ Theo said curly.

‘’But my Lord….your marriage to Rylenna…you are bonded by blood to Loren Lannister…the gods frown on wars between those bound by blood.’’

‘’I was bound to the Targaryens long before Loren Lannister….when the histories write of this war they shall write that it was the Chivalry of the Reach that won this war…they shall write that the Tyrells remain loyal to the throne…that Lord Theo Tyrell, first of his name kept his vows…now do as I ask.’’ Theo commanded.

The maester bowed and withdrew.

The Knights of the Reach rode to war.