We Do a Little Warlording Here

Chapter 10: We Do a Little Warlording Here

It is hard to describe how good it feels to be back in the saddle, metaphorically, obviously, I've got to much going on down south to ever feel comfortable in the saddle, but hey, that's just me living up to my namesake, right. A king should never sit comfortably. I don't even need the dumbest chair in the kingdoms for it. I just live that life. 

So much has tickled my mind recently, sometimes even strongly enough to bring back fond memories. It's like that right now as I ride around with my friends, all of us resplendent in our polished plate armor, myself of course the bell of the ball, but I don't blame them for lacking style on this level. Behind us comes a baggage train of menials, not yet loaded down to their capacity, but we'll remedy that soon. The dull eyed mongrels kept up a brisk pace behind our horses without complaint, nor bother about Sunfyre, my great golden partner crawling along the ground with far more ease than any dragon his size should. 

It's the forelimbs. In normal specimens, the forearms are quite long and spindly, but Sunfyre's are positively ape-like, the claw on each wing like a reaping scythe capable of finding purchase even in solid stone. For him, our pace is merely a brisk walk, and he happily lolls his gargantuan tongue out his jaws, dagger like teeth on display with a jolly smile. 

And why wouldn't he be happy? The scent of grilling beef and spices fills the air. It's a feast we travel too. Our invitations must have been lost on the roads of life, but I assure you we are the guests of honor, after all, if they didn't want me to come, why are they grilling my beef?

I raised my magical steel clad fist to bring a halt to this procession. It's time for a speech, something rousing to commemorate this grand occasion of a master returning to his craft. I'm an artist, especially so in this life with the time and talent to pursue it, but today we get back to my roots, painting in the one color that has always favored me most. I may love gold and pink like few others, and have pulled off green both in this life and the last, but red really is my color. No one paints red like me. 

"Gentlemen," I began after turning my zorse to address the group, "Here in Aegon's Army we hold to honor and virtue above all, and the practice of chivalry is the great work of a knight's lifetime." I see confusion on the faces of my knights with open faced helms or their visors raised, "As such, we will accept all surrenders, and there will be no looting or rape." 

Pure rage, barely contained, but oddly not satisfying instead, I clutched over my heart plate, "By the gods!" I gasped, "Pretending to be the kind of self righteous, entitled, daft, delusional cunt who could say that kind of thing and mean it hurts something in me." I raised my gaze back up to my men, "I was just fucking with you all. We're here to kill all the men, rape all the women, and steal everything worth taking." 

My knights let out a collective sigh of relief, and some let out a nervous chuckle. I understand, the idea of fighting for the kind brain-dead, head in the clouds, limp-cocked fop that could mean those words truly boggles the mind of any man with a real understanding of the world. War is hell, and just because you can't enjoy it doesn't mean you get to ruin it for the rest of us. War is not some place for the genteel purging of emotions, it's were a man must dig down deep into his character, and find that part of himself that says 'fuck you' to the people he hates, and bring that to the fore. 

"We've come to do the god's work today." I continued, this time sincere, "Not the Warrior's, no. We aren't here for a fight. We've come to do the Father's work. It's time to teach these Dornish cunts a lesson. Just as a father teaches his children, so too must we teach these filthy sinners their place. Remember not to tear down the buildings, burn the fields, or foul the wells. I want those who survive to pick up the pieces of the wreckage that was once their happy lives, and in ten years time, I want to come back and do this all to them again! For the sake of the slow learners. Sunfyre, lead the charge!" 

I doubt Sunfyre could smile wider before his countenance sharpened andhe let out a roar that shook the dust off those around him and echoed through the Red Mountains as my declaration of war. He took off like a ballista bolt, clawing along the ground bursting onto the scene. We followed in the destructive wake of his passing as he barreled with unstoppable momentum towards the feast fires at the heart of the village. His second bellowing roar drowned out the screams as he twisted and turned amongst them, sending bodies flying as he devoured men whole, even their hands and feet. 

Our knight platoon lowered lances and split up skewering every man trying to flee from Sunfyre. Behind us came the menials with nets, casting them on the fleeing women and dragging them to a group of thinking-capable men to guard. It ended in minutes, this village with a hundred families that dared to steal my cattle in the night, that tried to cover their tracks through the Red Mountains, the Red Mountains! I know these mountains better than the halls I carved in the rock of Bear Island with my own two hands. They thought they could move my cattle from my territory into my own backyard and get away clean. 

It's not like they could know that I had a psychic imprint of the martial experience of every Sword of the Morning through time all the way back to the Last Hero burnt into my mind during my last life. It's a very niche bit of lore about a man who hasn't even been born yet, completely unfair, but that's life. 

As the carnage wound down I found the knight in charge of this village splattered on the ground, still clutching his sword despite his arm being completely shattered around the elbow. Respect, you cattle rustling cretin. My knights circled around a few passes to make sure we didn't let any man get away, then moved into clearing out the houses, dragging those who get to live out and gutting those who don't. 

I personally went to the fortified manor house at the top of the rise the village was built on, and gently opened the oak and iron door. I found the dinning table and began carrying the chairs outside, setting them in a line before the captured people, and then sitting in last. I looked out at the battered and wailing women and children surrounded by my men, and gave the mental nudge to the feasting Sunfyre to come here and unleash that bellowing roar one more time. It left my ears ringing, but that settle quickly, and it accomplished my goal of silencing the terrified lot. 

"I want the family that sits these chairs." I stated as I sat in the largest, my golden cloak providing the padding the modest throne lacked, my sword cradled in the crook of my arm, the hilt resting on my pauldron as my articulated gauntlet tapped tapped tapped against the blade. 

Of course, no one made a move. Typical. 

"I've come to send a message." I explained calmly and reasonably, "Whether you are my messengers, or your bodies are the message, the choice is yours. Just know, the message must be true. Sit someone who shouldn't or stay someone who should, and I'll get creative with my cruelty, and generous. It's not something I look forward to, or will generate any pleasure from. It will simply be the wages earned out for your obstinance, and I am a dutiful paymaster." 

Eventually, the women in the crowd, mothers with small children clinging to them, rose and dragged out four girls from the crowd, between six and ten and eight years of age. I've an eye for such things after so much time spent amidst my progeny. The girls came kicking and screaming, but eventually they were wrestled into the chairs. Eight chairs, and only five seated. 

"Is this your final answer?" I asked after turning my head to the girls, quietly examining them, they looked like sisters under the dust, tears, blood, and bruises, then I turned by gaze back to the others.

"Rejoice." I announced languidly, "For these girls have become my thralls, and now live under my protection." I began a slow clap for them that my men promptly took up despite the practice being out of fashion in most of Westeros.

"Now it's time to teach these heathen Dornishwomen a lesson." I declared, "Begin." 

I turned to look at the girls in the chairs and informed them, "Leave those chairs and you will share the same fate as the others." 

With the menials there to hold people down, my knights and men at arms, good proper thinking men, began instructing these uneducated women on the topic of consequences, and by the time they finished, I believe all involved learned from the experience, and took from it the core message I came to impart: Those who believe the House of the Dragon responds to provocation in a reasonable and proportional way, are fools. 

After the work finished, we ate the feast the village prepared, spiced beef, roast corn, grilled peppers. Brought my own wine, not trusting a small mountain village to carry anything inoffensive to my palate and rightfully so. It served as the high point for me on this most perfect raid. It felt incredible to be working with my fellow professionals again, culling savages, and my good mood continued despite the meager haul of valuables gathered by the menials and their minders. 

Today wasn't about loot, or rape, or even vengeance. It's about the message, and as I looked back on the herd of weeping women and children I knew, they got the message, and would spread it to all in Dorne with ears to hear. The famous hot-blood of these people will not let something like this go. They'll come. I'll be waiting. I'll drag all of Dorne into a fight they can't win, and the best part, there's nothing they can do to stop me! 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shorty, but I didn't want to dilute the scene with events before or after. Plus, that ending, perfect for a transition. 

You can support me and my family at 

ko-fi.com/jmanm