Lord Alyn climbed the grassy verge to witness the first atrocity of the war. The smells of burnt flesh and wood smoke clung to his nostrils. It had been decades since he had seen something like this and it brought back painful memories of the last war he had fought in. The Dance of the Dragons felt like yesterday, perhaps because it still frequently pervaded his dreams. Yet he had been so young then, so ambitious, so bold. The civil war changed him from boy to man. Alyn had seen his fill of suffering and death but war was part of life and vital to prove one’s self and their house. House Velaryon would fight with honour for the Crown whatever the cost. It was their duty both as subjects and as a testament to generations old bonds and loyalty to the Targaryens.

Disgusted, Alyn turned away to face his son Jace, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to war, son,” he sighed, walking back in the direction of the Velaryon camp. Jace remained, drinking in the spectacle and atmosphere. It was just how he had imagined it, the beginning of war. Ashamedly, the eyesore had rather the adverse effect than intended and enthralled the lord’s son and heir. He was as green as they come and war was still a fantastical event to his mind where valiant knights would collide and test their resolve and loyalty to their causes. Sure, he had fought often in tourney, engaged pirates and smugglers off the Blackwater Bay, tasted blood on his sword, but had never been on a battlefield, never witnessed a sea of blood and iron and death. Pumped up with adrenaline, Jace admitted the scene to memory and turned back to join his father at the encampment.

Soldiers from various houses bent their heads as Alyn passed. He acknowledged them with a weary hand yet his face betrayed no sincerity. The ride from King’s Landing had been long and exhausting and Alyn had slept poorly. The Velaryons had had the privilege of travelling down with the Targaryen host, far outnumbering the pathetic Velaryon army. The Velaryons were naval specialists and had little to offer in terms of ground units. Their worth would be measured along the sea and rivers and, if it came to it, in all-out naval warfare. On the road down, Alyn had been offered admiralty by the King and assigned a special task, which he gratefully accepted. His mission was at the same time a huge responsibility and a golden opportunity to reap glory and reward. Alyn would succeed.

Alyn soon approached camp, lavish with sea green and silver colours. More bannermen knelt to his presence which he swatted away as he headed towards the main tent reserved for family members. Inside sat his daughter combing her long cascade of silver hair, surprising given the early hour and no doubt her exhaustion, in her feminine delicacy, from the lengthy journey. Lunaerys smiled as her father entered, resplendent in her natural beauty.

“Good morning, father. What occupied you at such an early hour?” Her violet eyes beamed warmly at his, the image of ancient Valyria.

“The King wished us see him. Do not worry yourself, my Lunaerys.” He did not see the need to tell Lunaerys the truth, not wanting to frighten his fragile young daughter. Aryn pulled off his boots in preparation to redress. He had clothed in haste given the immediacy of the message from Viserys.

“Oh? Did His Highness mention me?” Her eyes burned into him with fervent intensity.

“Ah, I’m afraid not, my love. Don’t fret; there’s still plenty of time for that.” 

The sole reason Lunaerys had come was to win the affections of the King. Other proposals would come in abundance; she was a great beauty and she well knew it. To become not just royalty but the queen of all Westeros was for Lunaerys a singular dream she obsessed over. She had flaunted and flirted with King Daeron from the moment they met on the road, taking note of every little thing she could glean from him in terms of temperament, body language and interests. Lunaerys knew the time she had left to charm him was wearing thin and every minute spent in his presence increased her chances of infatuating him.

She smiled, deceiving her feelings. “Yes. Perhaps our early presence in Summerhall will create an opportunity to talk again.” Yesterday’s meeting in the castle had been invaluable to Lunaerys’ game, allowing her to prepare for hours beforehand and dress in all her finery, more difficult when she was on the move. She had worn her favourite sea green dress with straps made to look like dried kelp and a silver waist belt to showboat her petite figure. It had the effect she desired, attracting much male attention in the hall. The Velaryons had seated early, well before the other Crownlands houses around them. Lunaerys’ father had opted for a grand silver doublet fastened with seahorse-shaped buttons and her brother a turquoise coloured one. They had conversed with many of those gathered, Lunaerys often pushed to blush on cue, including the King and the Targaryen royalty. Everything had gone to plan thus far and the endgame was approaching.

“Good idea. I’ll go get ready.”

Jace flung open the tarpaulin sealing the atrium to join his family. His eyes wandered to his sister who looked in all her freshness despite the hour. His gaze momentarily drifted from her face to her supple breasts and quickly darted away, ashamed of his impure thoughts. He had had plenty of women fall over him, lords make marital offers for their daughters, but they all paled in comparison to his sister. Jace knew his feelings were not reciprocated, Lunaerys devoted to finding a Targaryen husband. She would never be his, and it broke his heart.

“Morning, sister. Sleep well?” He kept up the façade of cheeriness. Seeing Lunaerys swoon over the young king since King’s Landing was soul-destroying and made a rage burn inside him. Jace did not begrudge King Daeron, he was as loyal as the noblest of the Kingsguard, but envied him deeply, longing to be in his shoes. He would fight and command with honour, shunting thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind. The battlefield was no place for women.

“Yes thank you. We are getting ready to go to Summerhall. You should redress.”

“Right.”

Within a half hour, the party had set off, escorted by a few household guards. They passed the camps of Celtigar and Darklyn, Staunton and Bar Emmon, flags billowing in the wind. The rising sun reflected in the morning’s dew, sparkling like tiny diamonds befitting a royal encampment. Alyn and Jaces’ minds were on war, mulling over battle details and strategies. Lunaerys on the other hand thought of King Daeron and how to win his affections. They soon arrived at Summerhall, a magnificent edifice of modern architecture. “House Velaryon,” spoke Lord Alyn to the door guard, seeing no need for further explanation. They were permitted and entered, a fresh breeze playing at their hair.