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Chapter 51: Chapter 36: Marshal of WesterosChapter Text

"They're good, but we're the Legion,

We're better and in the region.

So surrender now and bend the knee,

Or we'll be the last thing you'll see!"

-Last verse of 'The Legionary Song', first and most popular marching song of the Legions of Westeros

110 AC, Legion Headquarters, outskirts of King's Landing

"Hail!" Thousands of voices shouted, legionaries lined up on either side of me in welcome, right fist over their heart in salute. I rode down the aisle in silence, eyes roaming over the legionaries and taking them in. Unsullied from the Third Legion one and all. Clad in the matte plate of legion heavies, bearing long spears and tall scutum tower shields, they looked like a living rampart of steel. Unyielding and unbreaking.

The old Unsullied were light infantry, as their numbness to pain and expendable nature made equipping them with full suits of armour an unnecessary cost for the Astapori. My doctrine was different, with a greater emphasis on keeping as many soldiers alive for as long as possible. Good soldiers were expensive to train and equip, especially veterans. And Unsullied were irreplaceable. I couldn't be seen buying more of them, and I definitely couldn't train my own. It's not that I couldn't do it if I tried, but it'd be political suicide. Shelling out good coin to equip them with proper gear was more cost-efficient in my opinion.

Of the six thousand Unsullied that we freed, two thousand had chosen to leave and return to Essos after it became clear that I didn't intend on persecuting a campaign against slavery on the rest of the Free Cities. Frankly, it was more trouble than it was worth. I wasn't Daenerys Targaryen, whom had a rabid loathing of slavery and all its institutions, someone whom would raise an army and waste time fighting a campaign that was frankly pointless in a strategic sense at Slaver's Bay.

In the current era, pretty much every nation that existed was a practitioner of slavery. Westeros was the exception, not the norm. Wasting good men, coin and resources by getting into a war with a dozen foreign powers solely for moral reasons was in my opinion, the epitome of foolishness. And here's the thing about a revolution: Once it begins, you can't put it back in a box.

Look at communism, spreading across the globe on the backs of people whom believed that they were liberating the downtrodden. Or before that, when democracy first begun, the masses reached up and dethroning their kings and queens, calling for liberty and equality. Even Nazism never truly died out. Every year, Neo-Nazis held rallies and demonstrations, never mind that the Nazi Party was long dead.

You couldn't kill an ideology.

If I started a war against slavery, then the movement would snowball. I'd have to go to war with most of the Free Cities. And after I toppled them, my armies would march on Slaver's Bay and Vaes Dothrak. Then Qarth and Yi-Ti, Mossovy and beyond. I would have to fight an unending war, because how could I call a halt to a liberation without being seen as a tyrant? How long before I was the one on the guillotine, awaiting judgement from the mobs as one of the masters they had freed themselves from?

No. Best to leave the genie in the bottle.

Baby steps, like the gradual erosion of slavery in the Free Cities, was the way to go. A gentle and unassuming euthanasia. Smothering it softly and slowly, until slavery simply died without anyone noticing.

Unfortunately, two thousand of the Unsullied had seen otherwise, and returned to Essos to free their brethren. Last I heard, they'd signed up with Braavos and were currently terrorising Pentos. Nevertheless, the remaining four thousand had signed up in the Legions, which would have to do.

My musings came to an end as my escort and I arrived at the gates of the sprawling war camp that the Legions called home. It had once been a shanty town on the outskirts of King's Landing, between the Gate of the Gods and the Lion's Gate. Not a slum, though definitely a lower income area. We'd emptied it out, sending all of its inhabitants down to repopulate the Stormlands, before appropriating it for ourselves.

Flea Bottom had first been considered for headquarters, but the knights told me that they needed room to manoeuvre, so we instead decided to appropriate a shanty town instead.

The Myrish Sapper Corps were the first to move in, and they assembled a great building of stone to teach the Westerosi Sapper Corps. Around which, barracks, mess halls, parade squares, lookout towers, target ranges, armouries and a hundred and one other things required for the creation and training of the army were built. Nowadays, there were few remnants of the original shanty town. Most of the buildings were gone. Torn down or dismantled for spare parts.

Now the war camp was home to fourteen thousand men and women, not including the one thousand sappers-in-training. The largest delay in raising them was that training sappers took a full year. Everyone else could be trained in half a year or less, but sappers were a different breed of soldiers. It was why the Third and Fourth Legions were commissioned before the Second was even fully functional, as we had a surplus of fighting men and not enough legions to accommodate them.

Waiting for me at the foot of the great stone building that was Legion Headquarters stood the three men I wanted to meet. General Rickon Tarly of the First Legion, General Edric Dondarrion of the Second Legion and General Darold Darry of the Third Legion. The three men knelt as I dismounted, their soldiers kneeling with them.

"All rise." I spoke, approaching the three men. "Generals."

"Your grace." General Rickon greeted. "It is good to see you once more."

"Indeed." I nodded, shaking his hand. "You've gone good work with the Legions."

I turned to face the other two generals.

"You have all done good work." I praised, the three of them inclining heads in thanks.

"Let's take this indoors your grace." General Darold suggested. "We have refreshments prepared."

I nodded and let them lead me into headquarters. Winding up in a well-lit room on the third floor, with a window overlooking the parade square, where legionaries drilled.

"Sappers?" Laena asked, peering at the men down below, whom were digging trenches.

"No. Those are legion crossbowmen." General Edric denied. "Every legionary is trained how to dig trenches and assemble palisades. Not just the sappers."

"How can you tell?" My girlfriend asked, squinting at the men. "They don't appear to be carrying their weapons."

General Tarly tapped his left paudron, which was embossed with a small bronze crown; the emblem of the officer corps.

"Legion armour holds much information on them. Including the unit they're assigned to." The First's General explained. "The Prince was the one whom came up with the idea. Gods know how much easier it's made life for us generals."

I'd stolen the idea from uniforms from Earth, where a soldier's uniform showed much of his personal information. The design for Legion armour had been inspired by the uniform of the Singaporean Army, with three slots on the breastplate, where tags made of black iron with bronze letters stamped onto them could be slotted in. On the sternum, the tag showed the rank of the individual, from the three chevrons of a sergeant to the two stars of a general. On the right breast was the soldier's nametag. On the left, was the unit.

The paudron were embossed with bronze. The right showing the Legion number in old Valyrian numerals. The left designating what type of soldier they were. Regular infantry had a sword embossed in bronze onto the paudron. Heavy infantry had shields, calvary had horses, sappers had hammers, crossbowmen had crossbows and officers had crowns.

There were also subtle differences in the rest of the armour worn by the legionaries. Legion heavies wore full plate, while regulars wore mostly mail. Calvarymen wore less plate than heavies but more than regulars. Crossbowmen had open-faced helmets that allowed a greater field of vision. Sappers wore boiled leather gloves instead of gauntlets and less armour than nearly everyone else. And officers had a rim of bronze embossed on their helmets, above the eyes.

That being said, all shared the same common features of being dull and grey, with the occasional bronze embossment to break up the monotony. The Tyroshi foundry steel they were made from was usually polished to a mirror sheen, but Legion gear was sober and practical, with a matte finish.

"I am happy you approve." I smiled, sipping the wine provided, though I'd duly watered it to be safe. "But onto business."

There were nods all around, and the mood on the low table turned serious.

"Have you heard of the changes I intend to make?" I asked. The three men looked at each other before speaking.

"Lady Mysaria has informed us. You need one of us to serve on your Small Council, as overall commander of the Legions." General Darry replied.

"Indeed." I turned to General Tarly, arguably the finest commander among the three men I'd appointed as the heads of my standing army. "I was considering you, General Tarly, but my advisors recommended against it. Too many Reachlords on the Small Council.

"Which means that I'll have to pick either one of you." I stated, turning to face the other two. "No offence, General Tarly."

"None taken." General Tarly nodded. "But what of the Fourth Legion? What of their general?"

"General Jaime Arryn has his hands full." I reported. "His legion was raised from unruly bannermen and hot-blooded youngsters, and the officers are struggling to break them to Legion discipline."

There was a murmur of solidarity and sympathy from the three men in front of me at that.

The Legions weren't like most contemporary armies. There was no glory hunting or recklessness. Professionalism was encouraged, as was a strict chain of command. Men were expected to have good hygiene and present a disciplined and professional appearance. Even choice of arms and armour were severely restricted. More than once, we had lordlings enlist in their shiny gilded armours and long flowing locks of hair, only for them to be sent to a barber for a haircut and the armoury for a proper soldier's kit.

All protests against this practise were ignored. I wanted disciplined soldiers, not a horde of glory-seeking warriors. Still, there were enough protests that I'd had decided to order Mysaria to begin seeding Legion propaganda as far and wide as she could. The Cups Guild hired many minstrels and singers in their taverns, and my spymistress had ordered them to write and sing songs about duty, discipline and patriotism.

We'd also had many protests about the fact that the Legions accepted female soldiers. Complaints had been raised, with even a sect of the Faith preaching it was unnatural. Again, Mysaria's singers were deployed to sing of Nymeria and Visenya, and as many other women warriors as we could dig up. And when songs failed, her assassins didn't.

The septs in question were sacked and looted by bandits, whom were in turn, hunted down by companies of female legionaries. The women then proceeded to parade the bandits through the towns and villages, where they were publicly hanged in front of the septs they looted.

Needless to say, public opinion swiftly swung in the opposite direction, and even the High Septon got involved, blessing them all as true defenders of the Faith. That was an unexpected bonus. Not that I was inclined to complain.

"And so the Second and Third remain." General Darry noted. I nodded, producing a baton of ebony, and placing it on the table. Traditionally, Marshals of Valyria bore batons of dragonglass, forged and twisted in a similar manner to glass candles. However, we lacked the ability and mages to produce such an item, and thus we had to improvise.

"By the end of today, I shall have my Marshal of Westeros." I declared, leaning back on the sofa. "I shall leave the decision as to whom gets the high seat up to the three of you."

Discussion began immediately, the three men huddling and talking in hushed tones while I sipped my wine. I was partial to neither one of them. Either one worked.

General Edric Dondarrion was a respected figure and commander in the Stormlands, and had led a successful guerrilla war against the Dorne-Triarchy alliance. Raiding their supply lines and killing their scouts and outriders. This was better than it sounded. The Dornish were the undisputed masters of the irregular warfare, and to have trounced them in their own game, even with a home field advantage, was an impressive feat worthy of song. While Lord Boremund Baratheon was arguably the finer commander and more powerful lord, he was ageing and uninterested in generalship. Meanwhile, Edric Dondarrion was in his prime and his star was rising.

Last year, Dornish insurgents had rallied at Wyl around a third Vulture King, whom mostly committed terrorist attacks against Dornish holdings whom bent the knee to us. The Legions were deployed to Wyl, and although on paper General Tarly was the official commander, it was in truth General Edric whom was the true architect of their counter-insurgency campaign against the Vulture King. And while it was the First Legion's sappers that brought the Third Vulture King's hideout down on his head, it was the Second Legion's trackers that had found the place.

General Darold Darry on the other hand, was more a political entity. He'd served under Ser Harrold Westerling as his second-in-command, commanding the Riverlands host, which made up the largest chunk of the army. The Rivermen were notoriously fractious, so it spoke volumes to Ser Darry's political acumen and ability, that he had undisputed command over their host. And when Ser Harrold personally took the field to slay the Sword of the Morning, it was Ser Darold Darry that commanded the host in his absence.

He got generalship of the Third Legion mostly because of politics. The Riverlands wanted someone nearby the throne, and while the Small Council back then was full, the Legions were recruiting. Still, he'd proved his competence, defeating every other candidate in wargames, securing his hold over the high seat. His legion was mostly Rivermen, but it'd also had the largest chunk of Unsullied. Thankfully, he'd been able to quell racist and xenophobic sentiments and the Third was now by and large running like a well oiled machine.

Appointing either General to the Small Council would show the two regions that I was willing to allow them greater say in the governance of the Realm and would appease a great many souls.

Eventually, the discussion came to an end, and General Darold Darry nodded at me.

"I shall accept the position, your grace." The General of the Third Legion declared, picking up the Marshal's baton.

"Very well then." I agreed, setting down my goblet. "My first order to you is to get me a list of the most talented commanders in Westeros. Focus on the North, Westerlands and Reach."

He blinked in surprise, but it quickly passed.

"You're finding candidates for more generals." He realised.

"Indeed." I nodded. "As of yesterday, it was agreed that the Night's Watch would be disbanded and their duty of garrisoning the Wall will fall to the Fifth Legion. And while it is still theoretical, plans have been drawn up by the Small Council for the creation of the Sixth and Seventh Legion, to be raised in the Westerlands and Reach."

"Are there enough soldiers to even raise them?" General Dondarrion asked dubiously. "We've drained the pool of professional men-at-arms considerably raising just three legions. There might not be enough for another three."

"That too, is another assignment I want you three to perform." I instructed. "The Seven Kingdoms will be slowly transitioning into a conscription system, where every youth in Westeros will be called upon to serve in the Legions for a few years. That will give us the manpower we need."

It'd go from partial conscription, starting in the cities, to full conscription. After which, we'd slowly introduce female conscripts into the pool of recruits, until one day, every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms would have served time in the legions.

"Conscripts will be no match for professional soldiers." General Tarly protested. "In either morale or training."

"I'm not asking for that." I denied. "I don't need them to be the best. I need them to be better than most."

I would know, having once been a conscript soldier myself. Slacking and skiving off were common occurrences in every unit in the Singapore Armed Forces. We even had a word in the local slang for it: 'Chao Keng'. Meaning malingering in Hokkien. It was something nearly every conscript has done at least thrice during their two years of service. I personally never did so, having sworn a vow to not do so on day one of Basic Military Training, but not every conscript was as dutiful or loyal as I was.

Nevertheless, the Singaporean Armed Forces still managed to punch above our weight with a backbone of highly-trained professional soldiers coupled with better equipment and hardware. I was hoping to replicate such success here in Westeros, albeit hopefully with less morale issues and more successful propaganda.

"Try your best to improve morale and training, Generals." Laena added. "We're not asking for miracles, but please do as much as possible to improve the quality of the conscripted."

I nodded in agreement to what my girlfriend said, the three generals frowning as they pondered the practicalities of such an issue.

"Very well then." Marshal Darry eventually sighed. "We'll do our best, Prince Rhaenyra."

"Thank you, Marshal." I gratefully said. "I know it's a lot of responsibility, but I have every hope that you can live up to the task."

The rest of the meeting went by swiftly. We toured the facilities, visited the men and women in their barracks and were shown how to fire an anti-dragon ballista. Which Laena and I found deeply ironic and amusing. It was a nice change to be on the other end of the machine for once.