Eventually, I spotted the blue standard flying high above the dust of the supply wagons, exactly as Oro had described. I turned my horse, navigating the gaps in the formation to ride alongside her.
She cut a striking figure amidst the grime of the march. Ana wore custom-fitted armor of polished silver, the chest plate deeply engraved with the mark of the Falling Star. Fine, interlocking chainmail covered the gaps at her joints and neck, offering maximum protection without hindering her lethal agility.
Riding faithfully at her side was Marc, ever the dutiful guard. He wore his significantly bulkier heavy plate, the same polished silver as his Commander's, though his armor was accented with crude, battle-scarred lines filled in coloured as if molten gold.
She saw my approach and smiled at the sight of me, a smile I warmly reciprocated.
"Daemon, good to see you unharmed," she commented.
"Ana, good to see you hale as well." I nodded toward Marc, who did the same. He did not strike me as a man of many words.
"Now that you are here, do you not wish to report your scouting efforts?" she asked.
"I might, if you ask nicely," I said with a sly smirk.
"Oh, being coy, Daemon," she said, amused. She then leaned toward me from her saddle. "Whatever shall I do for Your Grace to give me what I want?" she purred in a sudden, sultry drawl.
My retort died in my throat at the sudden shift in her demeanor. I simply stared at her. She met my eyes, holding the gaze for a fleeting moment before bursting into a fit of laughter.
"Marc, did you see his face? By God, I should have liked a portrait of that expression," she wheezed, laughing her heart out.
My face soured, seeing how much merriment she derived from catching me off guard, but I quickly gathered myself.
"I shall wait for you to join me in my tent, my lady," I countered smoothly. "Where we shall discuss all the details of my scouting. Each. And. Every. Little. One." I emphasized the words, leaning toward her, doing my utmost to match the provocative cadence of her teasing.
It seemed to work. She pursed her lips, a faint dusting of crimson rising to her cheeks. She did not speak, suddenly finding the leather reins in her hands incredibly interesting.
"Oh, for the love of all that is holy! Be done with it, the both of you and your flirtations," came the frustrated, booming voice of Marc. "Daemon, you can do your courting of Ana later. The scout report is of greater importance."
I scoffed at his reprimand but did not wish to start an argument. Amusingly, he did not call out Ana for initiating the behaviour, just me.
"Very well," I relented, shifting back to a professional posture. "The army of Rome is stationed on both banks of the Qhoyne, with the bank facing Qohor holding far greater numbers. Their encampments stretch along the river as far as the eye can see. Many of the villages on the path to Qohor have been pillaged and burned to ash. It would seem the Emperor is not merciful."
I paused, recalling the layout of the siege. "The city itself has suffered visible damage, though the extent of it I could not tell from such a height. There are camps both inside and outside the walls. I reckon the true army of Qohor remains protected inside, while the sellsword companies are left to fend for themselves beyond the gates. There are fresh signs of battle near the city, and deep trenches have been dug around the walls and camps to deter a direct infantry assault. I believe by the time we arrive, we may need to immediately join the fray. I also spotted the Norvoshi troops during my flight; it seems they were marching well ahead of our column and should have reached the city by now."
"That should bolster Qohor's confidence a little," Ana commented, her blush fading into a commander's grim focus. "Last we were informed, Rome had nine legions stationed outside the city. That number may very well have increased in the past moon."
"That is likely. We will know their true numbers once we make it to the gates," Marc grunted. "Nothing else to do but march on."
We both nodded at his words and fell into a brief silence as the march continued. Eventually, Ana and I resumed speaking, shifting between light-hearted banter on battle tactics and quieter reflections on our respective childhoods as we rode along. We both knew we were withholding pieces of the truth from one another, but even the fragments we shared bonded us as more than mere acquaintances.
We were becoming friends.
…
It was dusk when we finally arrived at the outskirts of Qohor.
Large, white canvas tents littered the perimeter just beneath the city walls. The stone fortifications bore signs of extensive damage, the cause of which became glaringly obvious when one gazed out at the distant sea of red tents forming the Imperial Roman camp. Massive catapults were lined along their defensive boundaries—the clear culprits behind the breached masonry. Blood and severed appendages were strewn near the freshly dug trenches, where morbid scavenging efforts from both sides were still ongoing in the fading light.
"Come, we need to meet with the leaders. Keep a hood over your head, lest someone ask too many questions," Ana instructed, spurring her horse forward. She had already commanded the men to set up camp.
"You seem fine riding openly with Valyrian features. Why then must I hide my own?" I challenged.
"I only bear a passing resemblance to Old Valyria. I do not possess your strikingly inhuman charm. Coupled with those deep purple eyes, it is a dead giveaway to your heritage," she said, flashing a quick smile. "We may not have known exactly who you were at first glance back in the hills, but Marc and I both knew you were a Targaryen the moment we laid eyes on you. The sword merely confirmed the rest."
That was certainly intriguing. "I was not attempting to hide my appearance, but I imagined it would not be quite so easy to have me figured out," I commented, pulling my heavy hood over my face and burying Dark Sister deep within the folds of my cloak.