Chapter 5 Black Army Rising

Down to the southern seas, the dragon army sailed.

10 000 killers made, to turn the islands bloody stale.

3 Dragon overhead, turning pitch night into day.

1 Crown to rule them all, and burn it all away.

Extract from "Burning Stepstones", Author unknown.

---

The Vale.

Bronn had generally thought he loved and knew the Vale. Now, as he marched alongside men from all over the old kingdom, he'd been forced to realize he knew it not at all.

He'd barely seen anything of the vale in his life, having never went more than a few hours walk from his home village.

He'd grown up as a farmhand at a larger farm under old Tom. He'd been born on the farm, as had his entire family. His parents had been born on it, and they had both died on it. Not him. He was destined for greater things.

Peace had reigned in the Vale for longer than he had been alive. Ever since the war down in the south had ended, the banners had not been called, and so the only glory the village ever heard off was old men who would tell of how things were before the Dragon Kings came.

Fewer and fewer of those each year.

Now though, things were changing. The new King had given out the call that it was time for a new war, for a new chance and riches, with even a promise of one's own farm at the end.

He'd signed up the day the knight came to ask for volunteers.

His brothers had both stayed at the farm when the lord came to ask for volunteers. Jon had a wife now, so it was understandable he didn't want to go, but Andar had also chosen to stay. That craven had boasted for years how he longed for war. Yet when the moment came he balked out of fear, leaving Bronn to go alone.

Well, not alone. Just without anyone he knew. From his village, several others had wanted to go, but all were the oldest sons of Farm owners, which apparently weren't taken on for the campaign.

He'd asked why not, and Ser Roybar had told him he didn't know, nor bloody cared.

Not the most gallant man that one.

Alongside him now was a pretty massive group of some 80 men. All young and in the prime of their lives. No old men or boys, for which Bronn was very grateful. No old idiots to boss him around for being younger, and no brats running around being a nuisance.

He'd made some friends on the march, but for the most part, it had been silence on an endless march for a week now.

Apparently, they were heading to someplace called Gulltown.

He'd heard of it before from older men in the village, but he didn't really get the way people talked about it.

It was basically just a bigger village, right?

How wrong he had been.

Gulltown was the most amazing thing he had seen in his entire life.

Walls two times taller than the keep of the knight who ruled his hometown and many, many, many times its length.

Outside the walls were more buildings than existed in all his home village of Stoneshield.

"See? I told you it'd be a sight." Cheerful Donny gloated.

The short man was the only one who had been to the city before and had Unsurprisingly not shut up about it on their travels. He was also the only one amongst them who had started out with a horse. One that he had cheerfully sold to Ser Roybars squire for an enormous sum.

He'd then lost half of that on gambling by the fire with the rest of the men.

Donny did not seem to mind that. He didn't seem to mind anything, to be honest. One would think that he'd have been humiliated given that the only reason they had cards to play with was that Donny himself had provided a set. Yet he was as cheerful as ever.

"When you told us it had large walls, you didn't mention they were 30 feet tall? The other Bronn complained loudly.

"Actually they're only 27 feet tall." Donny replied cheerfully.

The other Bronn rolled his eyes.

"Those 3 feet makes all the difference I bet."

It was kinda weird to think of the man as "the other Bronn", especially when he actually had a second name.

To differentiate them, the Knight had given them the surnames of their home villages. So he was Bronn Van-Stonshield, while the other Bronn was Bronn Van-Poppymark. One of them had gotten the better deal from that.

He wasn't sure where the Van had come from, but the ser had told them it was to differentiate them from Noblemen and Knights.

As his friends continued chatting he simply marveled at the sheer size of it, and how little of the world he had actually seen.

He hadn't been this overwhelmed since he saw the sea for the first time.

Finally, the knight put an end to it.

"Alright, enough gawking, we're heading into the city and to the ship. You men can do your chats on the boat."

---

As they walked through the city, he was once again overwhelmed by it all.

The first thing that struck him was the people. The sheer number of people here was incredible.

"And this city is considered small?" He asked Donny incredulously.

"Oh yes. The smallest of the cities in Westeros. It's More populated than White Harbour up in the North, but it's actually quite a bit smaller.

'How many lives here and there then?"

"Oh, about 50 000 here and 30 000 up there.

He just stared at him.

Donny laughed. "Just wait until you see King's Landing. It's got almost a hundred thousand people in it, and it way bigger than either.

A hundred thousand. Gods Stoneshield was small.

Beyond the sheer number of people, there was, there was also the way they dressed. He had always thought Tom was as finely dressed as the smallfolk could be, with his furs.

Walking down the roads of the city he saw aa dozen traders dressed just as well, if not even more so. And then there were those dressed even finer than that. Many went about in a beautiful colorful material he had never seen in his life.

"What is that?" He asked Donny while pointing. "That isn't cloth is it?"

"No, that it is most certainly not. That my friend is Silk."

It was beautiful.

Before he could stop himself he asked "How does one get that?".

Donny simply smiled.

"We don't. That's for the truly Rich Bronn. Not common soldiers like us."

He pointed at a man wearing a fine, fancy silk shirt in a dark color Bronn had never seen before.

"That shirt there alone is worth more than the entire last village we passed. This isn't the sort of wealth you and I are ever going to see my friend."

He didn't reply and just kept watching the folk as they passed by.

Along with all the fine clothing, there was jewelry, men in full plated steel, knights, food stalls, incredibly alluring smells from said stalls and countless shops with signs Bronn could not read. Many had pictures that gave some idea what they sold, but many more did not.

Many of the city folk stared at the marching men, but many just ignored them entirely.

The knights generally gave them a short cool glance then went on their way.

Many of them actually looked like the knights from the stories too. Ser Roybar was not the first knight Bronn had ever seen, but unlike the knightly house who ruled Stoneshield, he actually did look like a warrior. Though not a gallant one by any stretch.

Dressed in mail and an old tunic, with a mace in his belt that had to have been decades old, his equipment wasn't much better to look at than his eternally dour and scarred face.

These knights though… Well, there were a couple who looked like Roybar, but for the most part, they actually looked like knights. Shining steel plate, surcoats that were not old and worn and mounted on gallant and powerful steeds as opposed to Roybar's old horse.

It was a powerful contrast. Well, it made sense. Not all the farmers around Stoneshield were nearly as capable and thus wealthy as the rest. It made sense not all knights were as capable as those who served the high lords and the king.

Old ser Steven who ruled his hometown was proof enough of that.

Finally, they came to the harbor.

Bronn had seen ships before during the march. But the difference between what Donny called fishing Vessels and these… Floating buildings were immense.

Roybar lead the way and eventually, he trotted up to a massive ship flying a banner with a three-headed firebreathing dragon. He'd heard of the banner of House Targaryen of course. The King's house. The royal family of Dragonlords that had united seven kingdoms beneath their banner.

The flag was an impressive one and in his mind, it stood out compared to the rest of the flags in the harbor.

Then Roybar talked shortly with a man by a piece of wood connecting where they stood to the ship. He handed him a sack as well, one Bronn had seen him carry all the way through their journey.

Then he turned to them and yelled with a surprisingly strong voice.

"Alright, so this is where we part. You'll enter this ship to King's Landing, where you'll begin your drilling and service to the king in full. Good luck. And try not to die."

Then he simply began to trot away, quickly followed by his squire as well as the rest of the small company of knights who had been escorting them.

For a moment everyone just stared after him. It wasn't before the man Roybar had been talking to barked for them to get onboard that everyone started moving again.

It took a few hours before they finally set sail, and he was shuffled beneath deck along with the rest.

Beneath the deck, they began to chat. They'd done that all through the journey, but this time they weren't allowed to form separate groups. Instead, they were way too confined.

"Donny, how long is the sailing time to King's Landing?" He finally asked after mayhaps an hour of listening to tales and stories.

"One to two weeks depending on how the wind is."

One to two weeks of this. Great.

Not quite how he had planned his journey as a soldier, but nothing to do about it now.

He'd made his choice back home. Back home…

After what felt like countless hours, the sound of the rocketing of the waves, and what meager light they got disappearing completely, the sound of snoring filled the room.

Finally, he too began to feel sleep claim him.

The last thing he saw before he fell asleep was Donny leaning up against the wall, a smile on his lips.

---

Alyn took a look at the men he had gathered as the drillmasters of the Kings host.

Generally, they were a mix between eastern mercenaries and Master-at-Arms from across the Crownlands.

Men who presumably knew their stuff.

It wasn't that the king's orders regarding where he would gather from had been ill-thought-out, but as he learned, not everyone had the same ideas in how to train men.

In particular, the fact that the army would be using halberds as their main weapons, with war maces as the secondary weapon was a huge problem.

As it turned out, most of these men had some form of specialization. The westerosi were generally used to training for sword and shield along with mounted combat. Few were experts on halberds or spear walls in general. That was the expertise of dornishmen, of whom he had 3.

The Essosi were far more varied, but generally, not many of them were heavily invested in the spear either. Or if they were, it was always the spear and shield combination of which this host would not use. The tactics the king was planning were new and as he had realized, he would need to drill his drillmasters as well in the new form of war.

Great.

At least the secondary melee unit training had better foundations. The pikesword(Or zweihander as the king called it) was essentially just a large two-handed sword. None of the kingdoms in Westeros lacked men who specialized in heavy two-handed weaponry.

The crownlands was no exception as pretty all the men from crackeclaw point knew the art of two-handed swords inside and out.

The tactics the king planned to use these swords for was somewhat new, but the actual art of just murdering a man with a large sword was not.

And finally, the one element of the drillmasters who knew everything they needed to know was the Myrish mercenaries.

Everything the king wanted with his crossbowmen, these men knew. Attack, movement, retreat, large shield, the stiletto side weapon.

They had also adapted extremely quickly to the king's goat foot lever.

So that was one group he did not need to instruct.

At least the king's training program gave him a lot of extra time to train the drill masters. For the first few months, the soldiers would work on stances, as well as just building themselves up physically and mentally.

And what a training regiment the king had put up for these men.

Truly he did not envy those poor bastards.

Hours of running, heavy training for the back, legs, and arms, and once a week they would march for miles, to set up a camp no matter the weather.

It was a brutal training regiment. One that he would never have gotten away with for knights. But these were common folk, whose job in life was to serve the king. And if he wanted to experiment how far the human body could be pushed, then their duty was to be pushed to the limit of human endurance.

His job was to make sure that the men pushing were up to the job.

---

O'er the hills and through the Vale

Through Western hills, Storms and Reacher plains.

The King commands and we obey

Over the hills and far away.

Extract from "Over the hills and far away" by Aenys Targaryen