Support me by leaving a comment, review and vote
Game of Thrones: Azeroth? This Is Westeros!
Game of Thrones: Starborn Conqueror
Game of Thrones: My Pets Evolve Into Dragons
Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Ruthless Emperor
visit my Pat**on at CaveLeather
Two days later the training field outside Lys was busier than ever. The Lightning Company—now officially swelled by a handful of freeborn recruits drawn by the tournament victory—drilled under the hot Essosi sun. Tiberius walked the lines, correcting spear grips and shield angles with the same calm precision he'd used in the arena.
Vito lounged on a wagon, chewing a grass stalk and watching with approval.
"Kid, you're turning into a proper little tyrant," he called. "Even the new meat are standing straighter than my dick on a cold morning."
Tiberius didn't smile. "They need to be ready, Vito. The tournament was a game. The real war won't give us pretty rules or an audience."
He glanced toward the harbor where Lysene warships were gathering in greater numbers. Word had already spread through the mercenary taverns: the Three Daughters were preparing something big against Volantis. Invitations had gone out to every reputable company.
Lysaro appeared at the edge of the field, still limping slightly from a minor wound he'd taken in the blood combat. He waved Tiberius over, face glowing with excitement.
"My father wants to see you and Uncle Jules tonight. He's heard the stories from the tournament. And… there are rumors of war. Real war. The Triarchs of the Three Daughters have sent formal letters."
Tiberius's stomach tightened, but his face stayed neutral.
"War with Volantis?" he asked, as if the thought had never crossed his mind.
Lysaro nodded eagerly. "They want the Lightning Company. They want us. Father says if we perform well, the Rogare name could rise even higher. Maybe even a seat on the council one day!"
Tiberius looked at the sweating, disciplined men on the field—his men—and felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders.
War, he thought. The Dance of the Dragons is still years away, but this conflict in Essos is the perfect meat grinder. I wanted to lie low. Instead I built an army and painted a target on our backs.
Out loud he said, "Tell your father we are ready, Young Master. The Lightning Company will not disappoint House Rogare."
As Lysaro left, practically skipping, Tiberius turned back to the field and blew his iron whistle.
"Again!" he shouted. "From the top! I want those formations faster than Volantene elephants can charge!"
Vito chuckled darkly beside him. "You know this means we're going, right? No more playing soldier in Lys. Real blood. Real death."
Tiberius's eyes were cold as he watched the spearmen snap into position.
"I know, Vito. I've always known."
He traced the lightning-bolt emblem now sewn onto every man's tunic—the symbol he himself had designed.
All I ever wanted was to be a simple deserter, he thought with bitter humor. Instead I keep building armies… and signing contracts with dragons on them.
Far to the east, across the Narrow Sea, the first faint stirrings of greater storms were already beginning in Westeros. But here in Essos, the real thunder was gathering.
And the Lightning Company stood ready—whether they wanted to or not.
---