The royal host’s march has met an impasse: one of the king’s “dragons” has broken an axle, and now the whole host has ground to a halt, stretched for miles along the roseroad in the midst of the kingswood. The king himself has ridden back to the rear, having roundly cursed the carpenters and wainwrights and pyromancers who have made the wildfire-spewing beasts, and with him are various companions. What they come across are a makeshift effort to gather enough men, levers, and planks of wood and even stones to bodily lift the wooden engine up so that the axle can be knocked out and replaced.
“What’s taking so bloody long?!” the king can be heard to shout as he comes in range of the effort.
Otho is among those who have ridden with the King to the rear of the column. The large knight has kept quiet, as usual, though when he sees the broken axle Otho grumbles and mutters in frustration. “Indeed, wherever I can help, your grace, please please let me know.” He nods to Omrys in agreement, “Aye, ser, aye, and a good enough fulcrum, a flatish boulder would likely do nicely.”
No one seems eager to come forward and claim oversight over this effort, but finally one of the maesters who helped design the dragons and a junior pyromancer come forward, as men mill around uncertain. “Y-your grace!” the alchemist says, bowing before the king. “With you here, we’ll surely set matters right.”
With a keen eye for detail, Malwyn frowns, unimpressed. “I have some small knowledge of engineering, Your Grace, though these pyromancers are elusive. They guard their secrets even from Oldtown,” He looks to the king. “The axle could be greater reinforced, I suppose, to bear the weight of this…dragon,” Calling this mechanical beast a dragon tends to bring a smile to the Hightower’s face, but their tedious progress has become a daunting prospect. “Perhaps extra support beams to evenly distribute the weight.”
The pyromancer receives a cool gaze: “And why should the men fear the wildfire? Is it not safely stored?”
Otho frowns at the laborers. “Then mayhaps we may need to do it ourselves.” He turns to his squire and says, “Go grab a few of our men and have them begin cutting a couple of trees for levers,” he turns to Aegon, “If that is acceptable, your Grace,” remembering they are the King’s trees. He sighs and scans the field for where he could apply his own strength.
The alchemist finds his voice and replies to Malwyn, “Oh, yes, ser, undoubtedly secure. We would never think to create anything other—”
The engineer cuts him off. “Your grace, we thought before that the wildfire was all on the wagons there yonder,” he says, gesturing to the great caravan of wagons under careful guard, wagons that travel slow and steady and with ever motion dampened by the sand piled under and around each barrel. “But then when they told us to be careful, we realized there’s wildfire _in_ the engines.”
“Of course there is, you oaf,” Aegon growls. “Why leave them empty, when it just means more oxen and wagons would be needed?” With an angry huff, he turns to the others and says, “Do as you suggested, sers—help round up more men, and make sure they have what they need to get this done.” And then, after a moment, he adds, “If any man refuses because of the wildfire in my dragon, tell them they’ll get a taste of it on their backside if they don’t set to.” He looks around with a glint in his purple eyes, and a chuckle in his throat. “That’ll make for some evening entertainment, eh?”
Ser Omrys’ mood is touch infectious for the Hightower, and he offers the knight a genuine smile. “It’s good to know a fellow student of Citadel is among us, ser,” he replies, returning the nod. “And your caution regarding the additional beams is noted. We must be mindful of the weight.”
No one seems eager to come forward and claim oversight over this effort, but finally one of the engineers who helped design the dragons and a junior pyromancer come forward, as men mill around uncertain. “Y-your grace!” the alchemist says, bowing before the king. “With you here, we’ll surely set matters right.”
The engineer, a plainer-spoken man, offers the same bow and after the alchemist says, “As the Wisdom says, your grace.” He hesitates… and then adds, “But, the men aren’t eager to help. I have some of my lads, and a few from the supply guard, but we could use more.”
“Are these men, these would-be conquerors of Dorne, so lazy that they won’t keep their own march moving?” Aegon says, not in a mood for joking. “In Maegor’s day, men who refused to do as required of them came to rue it. Tell them I’ll have the King’s Justice here in a trice!”
The pyromancer blanches, and so too does the engineer, but he swallows and says, “It’s… Your grace, it’s the alchemist’s wildfire that has men in a fright.”
Otho nods to his squire and the boy goes riding off to get some men and axes. He nods to Jon, “Thank you ser, the more men we have on this, the sooner we can continue our journey.” While he may not be a proponent of the war, the Valeknight is not going to do his duty in half measures. He stretches his neck and rides over to where a nearby tree could be used as a hitching post in a pinch. The notion of the wildfire being inside of the dragons gives Otho concern, but he keeps it to himself for the moment, instead scanning the field some more, trying to spot any other issues.
“That’s what I thought best, m’lord,” says the engineer to Ser Merys, after falling silent for a time when the king belittled him, “but…” He looks to the pyromancer.
The Wisdom scowls and says, “It’s secure! The bronze vessel they’re in is sealed for now, and firmly secured to the floor of the engine. We only warned your men to be careful so that they did not jostle it so much it tipped over entirely.” What happens then, if it tips over? Well… best not to worry about it.
“Just get it done!” King Aegon commands.
He tugs on the reigns of his mount and motions for laborers to come closer. “You heard the king’s command. We need more men to help with the reconstruction efforts. And you and your rank,” he points to the pyromancer, “will watch over them to ensure the safe handling of the wildfire.” He gives them a cold stare before turning his attention back to the men. “Now go and gather more men, and make sure that the task is completed quickly and safely.”
To Jon, he says, in a lower voice, “My uncle commands the fleet and sails to Dorne by sea. You are right to worry, ser. The pyromancers are not true men of learning but charlatans and sorcerers. We put too much trust in them.”
Under the king’s eye, and with the knights lending their presence, crews of men start gathering as commanded, rousted by the bannermen who’d brought them or by men-at-arms in the service of this lord or that one. Rumor that men who refuse may get a taste of wildfire certainly seems to have added some haste, but regardless, a renewed effort to haul the dragon off its wheels so that the axel can be replaced is under way. One group of men, woodsmen of the kingswood, lead the way to find suitable, slender but strong young trees from which to make added levers.
“That’s a thought,” King Aegon says to Ser Omrys, as he watches the efforts beginning to take form. He turns in the saddle to old Ser Aleyn Florent of the Kingsguard and says, “Ser Aleyn, stay here as a reminder that their king is watching.” And then to the other Kingsguard and household knights and companions, those who did not volunteer themselves to the task of getting the host marching again, he says, “With me.”
The forces of Oldtown have yet to join up with the royal host, so none of these men are truly his to command, save a small contingent of household guards. Thus, he too joins the king to his pavilion, after a sigh and a few moments of watching the men at work.
“Perhaps you should offer your services to the King, ser,” he says to Ser Omrys, brows lifted in amusement. “to ensure he is comfortable in his pavilion.” As for Malwyn, despite obtaining camp followers for the king and his companions on one occasion, he is a married knight and appears devoted to his wife, even away from King’s Landing.