The aftermath of battle was always uglier than the songs suggested. As the sun climbed higher over the crossroads, casting long shadows across ground churned to mud by blood and rain, Aemon found himself part of the grim work that followed victory. Bodies to be counted and identified, wounded to be tended, prisoners to be questioned, and the thousand practical details that determined whether a tactical success became strategic advantage.
His enhanced senses made the carnage more vivid than it had any right to be. The copper taste of blood in the air, the sounds of injured men crying for water or their mothers, the sight of ravens already circling overhead in anticipation of the feast to come. It was a brutal education in the reality behind the glory of warfare.
This is what songs don't mention, he thought as he helped carry a wounded rebel soldier to the makeshift field hospital. The smell of opened bowels, the sight of good men dying slowly, the knowledge that you're responsible for some of this pain.
But there was no time for philosophical reflection. Robert had called for his senior commanders to assess the battle's results and plan the next phase of the campaign. As a member of the guard, Aemon was expected to be present but silent, observing and learning while his betters made the decisions that would shape the realm's future.
The command tent had been erected in the center of the battlefield, a deliberate statement that Robert Baratheon did not flinch from the consequences of his choices. Maps covered the campaign table, while scribes recorded casualty reports and inventory of remaining supplies. The atmosphere was businesslike rather than celebratory, professionals analyzing their work with clinical detachment.
"Final count," Ser Jon Connington reported with satisfaction. "Sixty-seven enemy dead, thirty-two captured, the rest scattered to the winds. Our losses: twelve dead, twenty-three wounded, most not seriously."
Robert nodded approvingly. "Acceptable. What about Lord Harbert?"
"Escaped with perhaps a hundred men. Heading east toward Summerhall, probably trying to link up with other loyalist forces."
Summerhall. The ruined palace where Aegon V died in the great fire. If loyalist forces are gathering there, it suggests they're trying to establish a defensive line before we can reach the Riverlands.
"Let him run," Robert decided. "We've bloodied his nose and scattered his force. More important to maintain our schedule than chase down stragglers." He turned to Maester Cressen. "Any word from our allies?"
The elderly scholar consulted his notes. "Lord Arryn reports his advance elements have crossed into the Riverlands. Lord Stark is moving south faster than expected. News of Lyanna's situation has put a fire in his belly."
Ned Stark was motivated by the need to rescue his sister from Prince Rhaegar. If only he knew the truth of that situation, that she went willingly, and that her son would one day threaten the realm itself.
"Good," Robert's smile was fierce with anticipation. "The sooner we link up, the sooner we can march on King's Landing and settle this business permanently."
The discussion continued for another hour, covering everything from supply logistics to intelligence reports about enemy movements. Aemon listened carefully, filing away every detail while maintaining the alert but passive demeanor expected of his position. His enhanced cognition was constantly analyzing and cross-referencing current information with his knowledge of how events were supposed to unfold.
They're missing something important, he realized as the commanders discussed potential routes north. Prince Rhaegar isn't sitting idle in King's Landing. He'll move soon, probably try to intercept us before we can link up with the northern and Vale forces. The Battle of the Trident is still months away, but the pieces are already moving into position.
As the war council concluded, Robert approached him personally. "Rivers, walk with me."
They left the command tent together, Robert setting a pace that took them away from the bustle of the army's preparation for departure. The great lord seemed thoughtful, almost brooding, a marked contrast to his usual boisterous confidence.
"First battle?" Robert asked without preamble.
Aemon considered his response carefully. "First real one, my lord. I've been in skirmishes before, but nothing like this."
"And how did you find it?"
Honest answer, but not the whole truth.
"Terrifying and exhilarating at the same time," Aemon replied. "Part of me wanted to run, part of me never wanted it to end. Does that make sense?"
Robert's laugh was rich with understanding. "Perfect sense. Any man who isn't afraid in battle is either lying or mad. Fear keeps you sharp, keeps you alive. But the exhilaration..." He paused, searching for words. "That's what makes the difference between a soldier and a warrior."
They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, both men processing the morning's violence in their own ways. Finally, Robert spoke again.
"You fought well today. Ser Richard says you took down three men without taking a scratch in return. That's not luck, that's skill."
Three men. I hadn't been counting, but the enhanced cognition keeps perfect records. Knight with the mace, spearman who tried to flank Thunder, and the sergeant who thought he could overwhelm me with brute strength.
"Thank you, my lord. Good training and better equipment make all the difference."
"Modest, too." Robert's grin returned. "I like that in a man. Too many knights think their first victory makes them invincible." His expression grew serious again. "But I didn't bring you out here to discuss your fighting prowess. I want to talk about what comes next."
This is it. The moment that determines whether I remain a useful tool or become a trusted advisor.
"This war is going to be longer and bloodier than most people expect," Robert continued. "Aerys has more support than we'd like to admit, and Prince Rhaegar isn't the fool his father is. They'll fight us every step of the way to King's Landing, and even victory won't end the conflict; there'll be loyalist holdouts, regional disputes, and the question of what to do with the remaining Targaryens."
Aemon nodded thoughtfully. "Civil wars have a way of creating new problems even as they solve old ones."
"Exactly." Robert stopped walking and turned to face him directly. "Which is why I need men around me who understand the bigger picture. Men who can think as well as fight, who can see consequences before they become disasters."
He's offering me a real position in his inner circle. Not just as a guardsman, but as an advisor. This is the opportunity I've been working toward.
"I'm honored by your confidence, my lord," Aemon replied carefully. "What would you have me do?"
Robert's smile was sharp as a blade. "Learn. Watch. Think. And when I ask for your opinion, give it to me straight, no pretty words or telling me what you think I want to hear. I've got plenty of men who'll flatter me. What I need are men who'll help me avoid the mistakes that could cost us everything."
Perfect. Exactly the role I need to influence events without revealing how much I actually know.
"You have my word, my lord. My loyalty is to you and the success of our cause."
"Good." Robert clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to stagger a normal man. "Now, let's get this army moving. We've got a war to win."
The march resumed within the hour, the army moving north with the confidence that came from a decisive victory. Aemon rode with the command group now, his position as one of Robert's trusted advisors officially recognized by his placement near the great lord's banner. It was a significant promotion, one that put him at the very heart of the rebellion's strategic planning.
From castaway to inner circle in less than a month, he reflected as Thunder carried him along the muddy road. Either I'm incredibly talented at this game, or Robert is more trusting than is wise. Probably both.
The afternoon brought their first real test of intelligence analysis when scouts reported a large body of troops moving to intercept them from the east. The news sent ripples of tension through the command group, but Aemon's enhanced cognition was already running calculations based on troop movements, timing, and his knowledge of the historical timeline.
"How many?" Robert demanded of the scout who'd brought the report.
"Hard to say precisely, my lord. At least three thousand, maybe more. Mixed of cavalry and infantry, moving fast."
Ser Jon Connington's expression was grim. "If they reach the river crossing ahead of us, they could hold us up for days. Weeks, if they're determined."
But they won't reach it, Aemon thought with sudden certainty. The timing's wrong, the numbers don't match, and Prince Rhaegar's still consolidating forces around King's Landing. This has to be something else.
"My lord," he said quietly, just loud enough for Robert to hear. "Might I suggest an alternative interpretation?"
Robert's eyebrows rose slightly. "Go on."
"Three thousand men moving fast suggests they're not trying to hold ground—they're trying to avoid us. If they were planning to block the river crossing, they'd be moving to prepared positions and waiting. This feels more like a strategic withdrawal."
It's a guess based on incomplete information, but the enhanced cognition is giving me confidence in the analysis. Sometimes the best way to build trust is to take calculated risks.
Ser Jon looked skeptical. "You think they're running?"
"I think they're repositioning," Aemon replied carefully. "Probably under orders to avoid decisive engagement until they can link up with larger forces. They'll try to harass our flanks and slow our advance without risking a direct confrontation."
Robert considered this for a long moment, his intelligent eyes studying the maps spread before him. "Makes sense," he said finally. "Aerys can't afford to lose another major force this early in the campaign. Better to trade space for time and hope to wear us down."
The prediction proved accurate over the following days. The enemy force shadowed their march but avoided direct confrontation, content to strike at stragglers and supply trains before melting away into the countryside. It was frustrating but not dangerous—the kind of harassment that tested patience more than capabilities.
Building credibility, Aemon noted with satisfaction as his analysis continued to prove accurate. Every correct prediction makes Robert more likely to trust my judgment on bigger issues.
Their camp that evening was more elaborate than usual, reflecting their growing distance from friendly territory and the need for stronger defensive positions. Aemon found himself assigned to help plan the security arrangements, another sign of his rising status within the command structure.
"You're learning fast," commented Ser Richard Horpe as they worked together to position sentries and establish patrol routes. "Most men take years to develop the kind of tactical instincts you showed today."
If only you knew, Aemon thought wryly. I'm not learning. I'm remembering, calculating, and cross-referencing everything against knowledge that won't exist for another thousand years.
"Good teachers," he replied aloud. "And strong motivation to avoid getting everyone killed through stupidity."
That evening's council meeting was more relaxed than usual, the successful day's march having improved everyone's mood. Robert was in particularly good spirits, regaling his officers with stories of past campaigns while they shared wine and discussed the strategic situation.
"The key to this whole war," Robert declared, slightly flushed from wine but still sharp as steel, "is momentum. Keep moving, keep winning, and eventually the uncommitted lords will decide we're the safer bet. Let ourselves get bogged down in sieges or defensive actions, and they'll start thinking maybe Aerys isn't finished after all."
True as far as it goes, Aemon thought, but it's more complicated than that. The real key is Prince Rhaegar's decision-making. If he moves too early, Robert crushes him at the Trident. If he waits too long, the rebellion becomes unstoppable. The timing has to be perfect from the royalist perspective.
"What about after?" asked Ser Parmen Crane. "Assuming we take King's Landing and remove Aerys from the throne, what then? The realm's been torn apart by civil war. It'll take years to restore order."
Robert's expression grew thoughtful. "One crisis at a time, old friend. First we win the war, then we worry about winning the peace."
Spoken like a true warrior-king. Robert's great strength is also his great weakness. He lives in the moment, reacts to immediate challenges, but never really plans for long-term consequences.
As the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, conversations became more personal and revealing. Aemon learned more about the relationships between Robert's senior officers, the political dynamics within the rebellion, and most importantly, Robert's own thoughts about leadership and responsibility.
"Sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right thing," Robert admitted during a quiet moment when most of the others were distracted by Ser Jon's war stories. "Tearing the realm apart, getting thousands of good men killed, all for what? Justice? Revenge? Personal ambition?"
A moment of vulnerability. This is when leaders reveal their true character. When they question themselves and their choices.
"You're fighting for the future, my lord," Aemon replied quietly. "For a realm where fathers don't burn their sons alive, where kings serve their people instead of terrorizing them. That's worth fighting for."
Robert's smile was grateful and slightly surprised. "You have a gift for putting complex things simply, Rivers. I appreciate that."
Trust is being built, one conversation at a time. This is how influence really works. Not through grand gestures or dramatic moments, but through consistent reliability and genuine understanding.
The night ended with Aemon on watch duty, walking the perimeter of the camp while his enhanced senses monitored the darkness for potential threats. It gave him time to think, to process the day's events and plan for tomorrow's challenges.
Three weeks since I joined Robert's service. Two major victories, growing influence within the command structure, and a reputation for tactical insight that's already paying dividends. The foundation is solid now. I need to start building the structure that will carry me through the war and into the peace that follows.
Above him, stars wheeled in patterns that had guided the Númenóreans across distant seas, while around him slept an army that would soon reshape the world. The game of thrones was accelerating, and Aemon Rivers was positioned to play it better than anyone who had come before.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities, and new steps along the path that led from bastard sellsword to something far greater. The blood and brotherhood forged in battle would serve as the foundation for everything that came after.
The Númenórean was rising, and the realm would never be the same.