The matter had come to a close. A key piece of leverage had been uncovered for the acquisition of Harrenhal, and a minor hidden danger had been resolved. But Aemon was far from happy.
"Do not let your imagination run wild and let others influence your mood," Laena said, taking his hand and gently counseling him.
"A witch born of evil never speaks a word of truth," Aemon said angrily. If Rhaenyra cannot give birth, and Laena will have a difficult birth… then I am to be unlucky, is that it?
"I think she had a point," Laena said with an open-minded smile. "If I were to die in childbirth, I trust you would not let me go the way of Queen Aemma."
"What a thing to say," Aemon said, both annoyed and distressed. "Am I some kind of heartless person?"
"It is hard to say," Laena deliberately annoyed him, shaking her head with a sigh. She succeeded.
"Go back to bed," Aemon said gloomily, resolving to take every precaution in the future. It did not matter how many children she was prophesied to have; he only had one of her. His Highness was feeling a little superstitious again.
"Lord of the Vale, we have a humble request," two Children of the Forest emerged from behind the weirwood, looking as if they had something to hide.
"If it is a humble request, then do not ask," Aemon refused.
A gentle breeze blew, tilting the antler helms of the two Children.
"Do not be so petty," Laena chided him with a pat.
"Speak," Aemon sighed.
The two Children were delighted. "It is not suitable for our kind to live beyond the Wall," they said quickly. "We two would like to stay here and protect this castle for you."
"Are you planning to usurp this place?" Aemon asked sternly.
"No," said Acorn. "It is just me and Stump. No other Children of the Forest will come." This was the result of a prior agreement with their tribe. When they encountered a suitable place, they would prioritize their own survival, preserving a separate bloodline for the Children of the Forest.
"You… and him?" Aemon's eyes widened slightly, pointing at the two obviously male-presenting Children. Are the squirrel-people really that open?
"Perhaps you misunderstand," Acorn shook his head. "My kind is genderless. Where there are weirwoods, there is a chance for self-reproduction."
"Excellent!" Aemon marveled, and he granted their request. The reason was simple: he was intentionally protecting these magical creatures. Dragons were the most powerful individuals, while the Children and the Giants were magical races. The tide of magic was about to recede. The more "magic" he could preserve, the more stable the world would be after the ebb. More importantly, the Children and the Giants were pure by nature, unlike humans, who were so often wicked.
"Thank you, King of the Vale," Acorn bowed.
"Just call me Prince."
"Yes, King of the Vale."
…
That night, in the smithy of Harrenhal.
Clang! Clang!
The rhythmic sound of hammering iron echoed as the furnaces blazed.
"Come, try it on," Aemon said, shirtless and wiping away sweat, revealing his finished work.
A suit of emerald green heavy armor, standing twenty-five feet tall and offering full protection. A massive, fifteen-foot-long rectangular shield of the same material, sculpted with a three-headed red dragon emblem and surrounded by neatly arranged runes. And finally, a ferocious-looking meteor hammer, predominantly emerald green with a crimson, cracked pattern at one end.
"Armor… weapons," the giant Chestnut obediently squatted on the ground, scratching his head and grinning. "For… Chestnut."
"Yes, put them on," Aemon called to the simple giant.
"Thank you… brother," Chestnut stammered, eagerly picking up the oversized meteor hammer.
Aemon shook his head helplessly. It was hard to believe this giant was under the age of eighteen. Given his easy-going nature, Aemon had reluctantly accepted him as a younger brother.
Under Aemon's guidance, Chestnut slowly donned the armor and picked up the massive shield and hammer. He was quite fond of the meteor hammer. He said his tribe would try to find weapons, but the best they could manage was the heartwood of an ironwood tree, which was not strong enough to withstand a giant's brute force. Conversely, he showed little interest in the armor. "True giants do not wear armor," he had said.
"Look, it is on." The giant stood up, rising like a green mountain.
Aemon's brow relaxed, his expression filled with satisfaction. The armor was infused with three bronze bells from his sacred tree, and the five-meter shield used two. His beloved meteor hammer even used a bronze bell and two walnut-sized pieces of fire crystal ore.
"Perfect," Aemon boasted with immense satisfaction as he circled the giant. Blacksmithing was his hobby, and he knew his craftsmanship. Despite its size, the rune armor boasted impeccable detailing, ensuring no weaknesses could be found. With the horn-shaped helmet, he was completely armored. Coupled with the bronze shield, he could effectively block scorpion bolts and other heavy attacks.
"Hehe, I like it," Chestnut said, laughing, unable to express himself further. He shyly scratched his hard helmet.
Aemon's satisfaction grew. Made primarily of copper and bronze, the armor was lighter than iron and would not be a burden. "Excellent," he nodded. "Tomorrow, I will send you to a battle."
"Alright!" Chestnut roared, not even asking who they were fighting.
"Very spirited," Aemon beamed. After giving him a few instructions, he sent him to bed.
Rhaenyra had relayed a message: King's Landing remained neutral, unwilling to interfere in the internal strife of the Reach. This suited Aemon's wishes. Larys had also tipped him off that Aegon intended to aid the Hightowers. To prevent Highgarden from suffering a heavy loss, Aemon would send Chestnut there, to give the Hightowers and the lords of the Reach a small shock.
"Hightower… hold on," Aemon's lips curled into a smile.
The Mander River Valley.
Ser Ormund Hightower, mounted on a white horse, led an army of 5,000 men. Amidst his cavalry, several different banners were hoisted: the burning tower of House Hightower, the three castles of House Peake, and the golden cross and chain of House Costayne.
House Hightower was a formidable force. Lord Unwin Peake, swayed by personal gain, had decided to join the effort to overthrow Highgarden, and the remaining banners belonged to the many powerful vassals of Oldtown.
"Lord Ormund, are we not being reckless by not bringing siege equipment?" Lord Unwin rode up, his brow furrowed.
"We are on a surprise attack. Carrying too much baggage will only increase the chances of failure," Ormund replied, confident in his own ideas.
"I hope you will not regret this," Unwin said calmly. He was a wily, slender middle-aged man. His family held three castles—Starpike, Dunstonbury, and Whitegrove—and their power was formidable.
"Tell the soldiers to hurry! Do not give Tyrell time to react!" Ormund roared.
Lord Unwin observed quietly, suddenly regretting his decision. The young man, driven by passion, thought he could avenge his father. He was treating war like a game. But the army was mostly composed of Hightower soldiers, and there was no way to retreat.
It was approaching noon. The army had reached the end of the Mander basin, about to enter the main branch of the river. Ormund wanted to launch his surprise attack on Highgarden before dark and capture Garlan Tyrell alive.
Rumble!
Suddenly, the earth began to tremble, as if a vast army were galloping nearby. Ormund turned sharply. From behind a grassy slope on the riverbank, a fierce column of heavily armored cavalry emerged.
"For Highgarden! Crush the Hightowers!" Garlan Tyrell roared, leading the charge, a banner borne across his shoulders.
"Oh no! Cavalry!" Lord Unwin exclaimed in alarm. The Hightower army consisted of only a thousand archers, a thousand cavalry, and three thousand infantry; they were no match for a heavy cavalry charge. His mind frantically searched for a countermeasure.
Suddenly, a rumbling sound echoed from behind them. A second column of heavy cavalry appeared on the path they had just come from.
"I will be the vanguard!" a burly, stern-faced man roared, pointing a gleaming Valyrian steel greatsword—Heartsbane. A banner bearing the sigil of House Tarly, a striding huntsman, waved among the cavalry.
"Retreat!" Lord Unwin acted decisively, calling on his own bannermen to desert.
"Unwin, how dare you!" Ormund was furious, but he had no way to stop him.
At that moment, Garlan's heavy cavalry had already charged. There was a tiger in front, a wolf behind. Unwilling to give up, Ormund drew his family's Valyrian steel sword, Vigilance, from his waist. "Do not panic! Hold your formation!" he shouted, leading his own troops forward.
Less than half his soldiers followed. The rest fled in panic, heading eastward.
Boom— Garlan's heavy cavalry charged head-on, tearing through the Hightower army like a sharp blade. A moment later, the second cavalry unit crashed into their rear. The two forces, one in front and one behind, completely shattered the enemy's formation.
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