The King of Winters

Chapter 82

Myles

The call came drifting through the black of night. There was no mistaking it, the deep boom of the warhorn. Myles pushed himself onto an elbow, his hand reaching for his sword by force of habit as the camp began to stir. The sound of the horn reminded him of the Crossroads.

The long low note lingered at the edge of hearing. The sentries at the stairs leading up to the Sept stood still in their footsteps, eyes heavy with sleep and heads turned toward the west, always watching and waiting for any attack that might come from the Westermen. They had been taken by surprise before and had paid dearly for it and Myles was not looking forward to have caught off guard once more. As the sound of the horn faded, even the wind ceased to blow. Men rolled from their blankets and reached for spears and swordbelts, moving quietly, listening. Just a few feet away from him Aegon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, had also woken up from the sound of the horn. For a heartbeat it seemed as if the whole town of Stoney Sept was holding its breath. Myles waited for a second blast, an alert from the sentries posted at the gates, but it never came. And so he knew that there was no foe who was coming for them, at least not for now.

When the silence had stretched unbearably long and the men knew at last that the horn would not wind again, they grinned at one another sheepishly, as if to deny that they had been anxious. Myles sat up on his bed. He could not sleep anymore, not after waking up to the sound of horn at dawn. A servant was feeding a few sticks to the fire, that had been lightened in the square just outside the doors of the Sept. The light coming from the fire illuminated the Sept in a low orange glow. And in the wash of the warmth from the fire, Myles Mooton buckled on his swordbelt, pulled on his boots, shook the dirt and wrinkles from his cloak, and fastened it around his shoulders.

When he reached the fireplace outside the sept, the flames blazed up beside him, welcoming warmth beating against his face as he stepped out into the morning gloom. He could hear Prince Aegon coming up behind him. After a moment he joined him by the fire. "The outriders?" From his shoulders, the black cloak with the three headed dragon stitched upon the back flapped about his ankles.

"It must be Richard," Myles agreed. "Returning with his scouting party."

The prince moved to the fire and showed his palms over the flames very much closer than Myles would have liked. "It is past time they returned." He had often led the scouting party from atop his great green beast as they waited in the Stoney Sept to keep both the Lannisters and the Baratheons in check from moving either South for King's Landing or linking up together with their allies in Riverrun. Every day they anticipated the attack to come but it proved false as neither army did much in terms after Aegon's victory in Stoney Sept. The longer they waited here, the faster their supplies drained.

In the first few days, the green dragon always stayed close to them since the Lannister presence was always lingering so close. He had feasted upon the dead who were slain in the battle, men from both armies. Good men who had fought beside him and died for the cause They believed in. They should have been given a proper burial, he thought as he remembered the beast gorging on the corpses. But there was no telling that to the dragon. When the corpses ran dry, he sent his men to round up the sheep they could find from the lands and settlings around Stoney Sept to feed the dragon. The beast had an appetite as large as itself. No matter how much food found for him, he needed more. When Myles told the prince of his concerns about the supplies running dry if they kept feeding the dragon, Aegon Targaryen had set his dragon free to hunt for himself, albeit unenthusiastically. The prince didn't feel so safe parted from his dragon. "See that there are here as soon as they can. I'd want to meet Ser Richard at once."

"I'll bring him, my prince." The men who had gone to scout ahead had been expected days ago. When they had not appeared, the men had begun to wonder and tales started spreading around the town like wildfire. Myles had heard gloomy mutterings around the cookfires, and Aegon's lords of Narrow Sea sworn to Dragonstone wanted him to end the rebellion by striking deep at Riverrun and cutting off the head of the wolf. For a moment Myles had feared that the prince would be quick to listen to them and take the plan for himself in order to go in search for the quest for glory. The Prince of Dragonstone was young, and young knights were more gallant than wise. If he had left the strong position he had taken in Stoney Sept to march for Riverrun, he would leave King's Landing undefended for the Lannister army so close. And if he had gone chasing after the Lannisters, he would have left the way open for an attack from the north where the spearhead of the great alliance of Jon Arryn and Andrew Stark and Hoster Tully were aimed right at the heart of King's Landing.