Chapter Text
ROBB STARK
Barristan Selmy was a legend amongst all of Westeros and even beyond. He had scores of heroic deeds to his name. However, one of the earliest was the slaying of Maelys the Monstrous during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, which ended House Blackfyre. Their leader dead, the Golden Company ran once again from Westeros, taking up refuge in Essos. That was the last time that the Golden Company graced the shores of the Seven Kingdoms…
Until Robb Stark, King in the North, searched his mind for a solution to his problem. He should be winning this war, but the North was vast and resources were scarce. His northerners fought ferociously, true, but they were outnumbered gravely by the Lannisters, the Tyrells and what remained of Renly’s army. He had not lost a battle and yet, the cause still felt hopeless. The Baratheon Brothers were beaten, Renly dead and Stannis forced to flee back to Dragonstone. The Stormlands were far from secure and Stannis still held the Gullet, but the main strength of his enemies would once again be sent against Robb.
And there Robb sat in a large pavilion tent surrounded by the representatives from the houses in his army. The lords assembled in front of Robb squabbled over what to do. “We should retreat to the Neck,” said Galbart Glover.
“To do that would be to abandon the Riverlands,” argued Jason Mallister, the elderly riverlord fuming. “Let us meet with Lord Bolton in Harrenhal. It has been the key to Riverlands for centuries.”
To Robb, it felt like a dozen voices were each carrying their own opinions. Not all of the Northern lords were here. Others were fighting their own battles in the field like the Freys, the Boltons and the Karstarks. Ironically, he wished for his mother’s council, but he had sent her north with enough soldiers to secure the North as the Ironborn rampaged through it and to retake Winterfell. He turned to his legitimized, formerly bastard, brother Jon Stark who had been with him since the beginning. Originally planning to join the Night’s Watch, Jon had delayed going to the wall at the behest of Robb who all but begged his brother to stay with him until winter to aid Robb in running Winterfell, much to the chagrin of Catelyn Tully Stark. Jon sat there staring at the map, not saying anything. In a room of lords, Jon was never at ease, but on the battlefield, he was something else entirely. When the nights grew long, Jon was there to offer advice or listen to what Robb needed to say. Some thought of Jon as a Brynden Rivers with his whispering in Robb’s ear, secretly managing the army behind closed doors.
Suddenly, Robb’s mind started racing. Brynden Rivers, the Great Bastards of Aegon the Unworthy, Daemon Blackfyre, Aegor Bittersteel, the Golden Company. The Golden Company.
“Jon,” Robb said, his voice cutting through the debate as the lords quieted to listen to their king. “Jon, you are to go to Essos and get the Golden Company under contract.” The lords in the tent were shocked.
“But my lord, could the Lannisters not buy the loyalty of these men right from under us?” asked Wendel Manderly.
Robb addressed the larger man from White Harbor. “The Golden Company prides themselves on keeping their word. They won’t betray us. Not so publicly.” Robb saw some lords shift uncomfortably at the thought of using sellswords. Some of them may have fought members of that company years ago during Robert’s Rebellion.
Jon stood, his head bowing to Robb and said, “Aye, your Grace, I’ll go.”
Robb’s eyes went back over the men from the Riverlands and the North. “You are dismissed, my lords. Rest well and we make for Harrenhal in the morning. Jon, stay a moment.” The lords shuffled out of the pavilion, walking in pairs, still conversing or alone. A few gave respectful nods to Jon and Sir Wendel clapped Jon on the shoulder giving him a slight smile as he went by. Slowly, the last two men of House Stark were left alone. Robb and Jon were already close, but the loss of Rickon and Bran made them even closer, especially, when Robb made Jon his heir and legitimized him. Robb moved to stand in front of his brother.
“Go to White Harbor and Lord Manderly will make sure you get a fast ship.” He leaned in a bit to Jon’s ear. “They are the best sellswords we can get. Whatever the price, pay it, but come back to me. I need you by my side.”
Jon grimly nodded at Robb, the understanding clear in his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
JON CONNINGTON
The camp of the Golden Company stretched across the plain, an ocean of tents and banners fluttering in the cool evening breeze. They were somewhere east of Pentos. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a soft, purple twilight. Fires were lit, their glow reflecting in the eyes of soldiers who murmured among themselves, sharing stories and dreams of the Iron Throne. Jon Connington, once the Hand of the King and now a man on a mission to restore a Targaryen to the throne, walked with purpose through the camp. Some of the Golden Company toasted to every battle they heard of as the homeland they were exiled from. Underneath his left arm, he had a rolled up map and an two long twigs.
He approached a particular tent, it's entrance unguarded. She must have sent them away again. Inside, the tent was on the smaller side, with her refusing the more spacious tents that were offered to her with a small reading table with a cyvasse set on it, a few foldable chairs, and a cot. The air smelled faintly of incense, a sharp contrast to the sweat and leather of the camp outside.
At the table was Visenya Blackfyre, pouring over a tome in her hand. There was nothing of her father in this girl. To be frank, and likely little came from her mother either, though Connington had never met her. She looked closer to Rhaegar than anything with a sharp face, pale skin and purple eyes of a Targaryen. She truly embodied her namesake, the fierce warrior queen. She was on the taller side for a woman, but not too much so that she would stand out and had a strong athletic figure that was covered in her trousers and shirt. Her hair was dyed a dark blue in a shallow attempt to disguise herself. Most of the high ranking company members in the camp now knew of the true identity of the girl. She looked up at him as he closed the flap to the tent.
“Lord Connington,” she greeted, her voice a melodic blend of command and intrigue. “What brings you to my tent this evening?”
“I thought we might go over our next steps. We need to give a united vision to Strickland.” The girl might be the heir to the man for whom this company was founded, but Harry Strickland still controlled the pay and thus the man had to be consulted, maybe even made to feel in charge by Connington.
“Very well,” she said, closing the book. “Have a seat.”
Connington felt his body ache as he lowered into the offered chair and unfurled a large map onto the ground in front of them. He handed one of the sticks to Visenya who leaned over the map.
“The main problem we will have is figuring out where to cross into Westeros where we can muster some support, but also be safe from any of the other armies in the field.” He grabbed some of the pieces from the cyvasse set and placed them around the map. He indicated to the spot marked ‘Riverrun’. “The reports we have been getting have placed the bulk of the fighting in the Riverlands, especially with the death of Renly and the defeat of Stannis. The main threat to the Lannisters is Robb Stark who has been able to gather the support of most of the Riverlands and more Northern houses are marching to push the Greyjoys back into the sea.”
“Are they not yet sick of war?” Visenya asked, her fingers tracing the outline of the Riverlands on the map.
“They may be, but they remember the acts of the Lannisters in burning their homes. The riverfolk are afraid of what they will suffer if the North loses.” He points to King’s Landing. “Tywin Lannister had to withdraw from fighting the Starks to defeat Stannis, but now the hosts from the Stormlands, the Reach, and Tywin’s own army can now march almost freely against the Starks.”
Jon leaned forward, shifting uneasily. “There is also the matter of the Stormlands. I have old ties there, though many may not remember. If we can secure Storm’s End, it would be a significant foothold, but the Stormlands are still under watch as they look for any remainders of Stannis’ army and Stannis himself is still holed up on Dragonstone.”
Visenya’s eyes filled with understanding. “The Stormlands are indeed crucial. And I know how eager you are to return home. But we must proceed carefully. We need war to still be rampant in the Seven Kingdoms otherwise Blackfyres will once again be usurping the peace, instead of being harbingers of it.”
She looked over the rest of the map, casting her eyes on all of the labeled ports. “Still, with the Riverlands in chaos, Dorne, the Vale and the North not allied with us and the ports of the Reach too far away and Storm’s End under the control of some Baratheon fanatics, the best place may just have to be in the Stormlands.”
Jon Connington nodded slowly. “So we should make for Tyrosh and use the stepstones to cross.” The Elephants and men unused to the sea would benefit from the divided journeys. Connington decided now was the best time to change the topic. “Your merchant father will be coming to visit us when we stay near Pentos.”
The girl bristled, her back straightening upon hearing about the cheesemonger. “I am sure he will be showering me with gifts yet again,” she said through gritted teeth. Connington knew that Visenya had a strained relationship with her father, who she thought only saw her as nothing, but a tool by which he could honor his wife. If Visenya knew the love that Mopatis had for his daughter or even the gift he was planning on giving her…
Outside, the fires burned brightly, and the soldiers of the Golden Company prepared for the battles to come, unaware of the plans being forged within the tent. But soon, all of Westeros would feel the impact of their decisions, as the game of thrones continued to play out.
