Duskendale was an impressive sight. It had been impressive five years ago, when he'd rode with Tywin Lannister to besiege the city and it's castle, and it was just as impressive now, even after he'd ruled it in the years since his father had granted it to him after destroying the Darklyn's. He was still a mile away, but he could clearly see the Dun Fort, his castle, on the shore of the Narrow city speared out away from it, thickly walled on the three sides that didn't face the ocean. Cobbled and swept streets made Duskendale an attractive city, and a prosperous one thanks to trade made possible by its location on the ocean. Even now, galleys flying the banner of the Stormlands, Dragonstone, the Reach, and even the Free Cities of Pentos and Myr were docked outside the walls, being loaded or unloaded by the dockhands, their goods carried by the cartload to the traders inside the walls.
Despite being born and raised in King's Landing, which made Duskendale's population of forty thousand seem miniscule, Aelor always felt a sense of pride when he saw the Targaryen banners flapping above it.
They'd passed several fishing villages on the road, raising the levies as they went. Aelor had sent Sers Balman and Morgan Byrch, the brothers of Lord Cleyton of Byrch Hall, sworn to him, as well as Sers Manfred Darke and Gullien Elwood to the surrounding villages. Duskendale itself, however, would provide the most levies, among them two thirds of the two thousand strong City Watch. In the five years since Aelor had been granted the city, he had worked tirelessly to train and equip the men under the City Watch's banner, drilling them every day with his own household guards. In times like these that training would prove invaluable, as the peasants that would soon be flooding Duskendale would need both training and the occasional blow to the head if they stepped out of line.
His retinue pulled their horses to a stop at the fork in the road just outside the gates, the traders scurrying around the forty strong formation, many staring at the attractive dragonlord sitting astride the white palfrey, or the famed Barristan the Bold, fully armored and mounted on his own grey gelding. Slightly behind them a man bore the three-headed red dragon on black field banner of House Targaryen, and beside him another bore two three-headed white dragons facing each other on a black field, the personal coat of arms of Prince Aelor Targaryen, Lord of Duskendale.
Lord Renfred Rykker sidled his horse up beside his Prince's, clasping wrists with the second son of the king. "I'll return with my full force as soon as possible, Your Grace."
Aelor nodded, clapping his lifelong friend on the shoulder. "This will not be a quick war, Ren. Shall I ask Lord Buckwell to bring Malessa with his host?" The Targaryen Prince couldn't help but smile at the blush that overtook his massive friends face at the mention of his betrothed. "You will have the full hospitality of both the Dun Fort and Duskendale itself for your wedding. You need only say the word."
Renfred Rykker, who feared no man in either Westeros or Essos, turned white at the prospect of marriage. "I do not know if it will be necessary so soon."
"We both may die, old friend." Aelor spoke gently but firmly. "Your only brother is a member of the Night's Watch. You are the first Lord Rykker. If you die heirless, Hollard Hall reverts to me. I granted it to one friend for him to keep. I don't intend to grant it to another."
"There is no guarantee that…the…bedding would result in a child, Your Grace."
Aelor's smile grew. "No, but it certainly is worth a chance. You've postponed this marriage long enough, Ren. If we're to die for my family's follies, at least allow yourself some pleasure before we do."
Renfred Rykker hesitated a long moment, indecision fighting a losing battle over his facial features before he finally nodded, eyes resigned. "Yes, Your Grace. I graciously accept your offer."
Aelor laughed, clapping the larger Lord Rykker on the shoulder again as they released one another's wrists. "It's about damn time. Strong shield."
"Stronger sword," Lord Rykker completed the greeting and farewell the two had used since they were toddlers in the Red Keep. With a salute, he turned and spurred his palfrey down the road, ten retainers in the blue and white of House Rykker peeling off to follow.
Aelor spurred his palfrey towards the gate, Barristan and his own retainers following. "Are you certain it will come to war, Your Grace?" Barristan rode beside the man he had trained with a sword from birth, grateful to the king for assigning him to Aelor as his personal Kingsguard.
"I wouldn't call my banners if I wasn't, Barristan." The Prince turned his eyes on his mentor. "If I were Eddard Stark, I'd do the same."
"He seemed like a shy lad at Harrenhal."
Aelor nodded, turning his attention to the road as he passed under the portcullis. "He is, quiet and honorable. The opposite of his brother, truth be told, but he has a strength to him. After the insults my family dealt to his, he has to respond." Aelor nodded and waved at the citizens they passed, many stopping to watch him pass by, smiling. His voice, however, held none of the mirth showing on his face. "You have more experience at war than I could hope to gain. What are your thoughts? And don't try to sweeten the sound of it for my father's sake, Ser. I want your honest opinion."
Barristan kept his mare even with the Prince's, mulling the question even as he habitually watched the surrounding citizens for threats. An assassination attempt was unlikely, as Aelor was loved by Duskendale and its surrounding people, but Barristan was nothing but thorough. "The Northerners and Valemen will follow their liege lords to the death, as will most of the Stormlords. The Iron Islands won't budge. The Reach will likely stay loyalist, as will Dorne for Princess Elia's sake."
"Even after Rhaegar's dishonorable actions?"
"Princess Elia is still in King's Landing, Your Grace."
Aelor darted his eyes to the Kingsguard knight. "You think my father…" The young Lord let his voice drift off, looking down in thought before nodding slightly and returning his eyes to the road. "Aye, you're right, he would. I doubt I'll be able to convince him to send her and the children here or to Dragonstone either." Aelor shook his head. "Tywin Lannister may side against us as well, after the years of insults my father hurled at him."
Barristan shook his head. "No, Your Grace. Tywin Lannister may well take no part in the war, but he certainly won't side against us. The King keeps Jaime close at hand."
Aelor groaned. "Bloody hell, I'd forgotten. My father, using his own bodyguard as a hostage."
"It well keep the might of Casterly Rock out of this war you're so certain of, Your Grace. As much as I hate it for Jaime, it does serve a purpose."
"The same purpose as dear Elia and perhaps even my niece and nephew." Aelor rode on in silence for a moment. "How did we let things get this bad, Barristan." It wasn't a question, and the knight of the Kingsguard didn't answer, merely riding alongside his prince as he had for years. They were nearing the portcullis of the Dun Fort itself before the dragonlord spoke again. "What of Hoster Tully?"
"His eldest daughter was betrothed to Brandon Stark, Your Grace."
"Was being the key word. Catelyn is her name, isn't it? She's a fair lady, and quick of mind if I recall. Do you suppose Hoster will ask for Eddard in place of her?"
"I could not say, my Prince."
Aelor nodded, features drawn in in thought. "If I offer myself as a husband to either Catelyn or…what's the other one's name, the younger girl?"
"Lysa Tully, Your Grace."
"Yes yes, Lysa. If I ask to marry one of his daughters I may be able to keep him loyal."
Barristan felt a pang of concern for the boy he thought of as a son. "Your father would be furious were you to marry of your own choosing, Your Grace."
Aelor snorted. "It wouldn't be of my own choosing, Barristan. But my father will be furious with me no matter my course of action, and he hasn't chosen a bride for me on his own yet. At least I might be able to save my family before he burns me alive as well."
Barristan smiled slightly, remembering the phrase the young prince had always used as a child when chided for attempting something far more dangerous than he should have. "Fire cannot kill a dragon, Your Grace."
Aelor snorted out a laugh. "No, but steel most certainly can. It's the steel I'm wary of, Ser Barristan; dragon or no, it will kill you just the same."