"We ride out into battle!" The damned Targaryen raised his banner in war. Aegon Whatever-his-damn-name-is wishes to conquer my kingdom! Ha! A foolhardy thought for a Valyrian.

"The gods has blessed us!" I laughed as the first drops of rain touched the garrison. The foreign army is no match against us, whatever they have, we have double as much. The people of the Kingdom of Storm are raised by rain and lightning, if the Targaryen army doesn't fear us, it is the thunder and lightning they should.

On top of a nearby hill, the first banners of a three headed dragon could be seen. I smirked and turned to Morrigen, "If we die, we die with the tears of the gods!" The army reaches closer, and I begin the march.

A horn rings and my men run for the foreigners. The swift stag has begun its fight with the arrogant dragon. I ride my mighty white stallion into battle, with the strongest armor and weapons my men could provide. I see the goddamned bastard in black armor riding his horse and driving swords into my men, I fight twice as fiercely, I place my sword into men's heart and removed their bodies from their heads.

"Fucking mud!"

"That damn dragon is going to kill us all!"

I couldn't even see the dragon, but our spearmen can take them down easy. Reports of my men tell them of a weakling dragon no bigger than a keep, no bigger than the biggest ship broken by our army in Shipbreaker Bay.

I continued to thrust my sword into soldiers, more entrails thrown as I see more men fall and future cadavers flee.

A crossbow rips through my skin, stabbing me just in my lower chest.

A roar in the ground, not that of thunder, not that of anything I heard before—the roar of a dragon. Men turned their attention to the highest hill as a silvery monster ascended high enough to be noticed by the men. Spears are thrown at the dragon, yet Rhaenys the Dragon Bitch controlling it dodges them with swiftness.

The dragon is provoked, a spear or two hits it just where its jaw is. The beautiful golden eyes of the dragon widen as it gives out a roar that could match thunder.

"Argil—" The voice of Merian Buckler called out for me, but I could not see my personal bodyguard as mud was flying as high as houses and screams as terrifying as those in the dungeons. My stallion stops and turns until I see the Baratheon bastard drive a sword into the belly of my closest friend. My heart beats faster as my closest counsel is slain at the hands of a foreigner.

"Bastard!" I yell after him, and my stallion makes a run for the bastard. The Dragon Bitch's beast flies low enough that its wings begin to knock my men to the dust.

Her stern and loud voice still echoes through my mind, "Dracarys."

Flames bright in the colors of the Sun erupt through the hills in which we fought. I could see men being cooked in their armor, both Durrandon and Targaryen alike, the burn so cruel that not even the storm rains could heal them. I can hear the terrified screams of these men, I could feel the terror in me.

It's too late, we need to yield if we wish to eat, piss, and whore another—No, this is a foolhardy thought, for a Durrandon to surrender, especially to a bastard.

My attention turns towards Dickon Morrigen and Barlon Blackhaven, where in Seven Hells are they? The storm turned too heavy to hardly see any men left, just rain pounding my back and mist covering what left I could see. The dragon releases bright fire flames again, mixing with the thunder of the powerful storm. I felt the heat burn my back with excruciating pain, to add to worse, the flame may have frightened my stallion.

My beautiful horse, now just as worse as the bastard, the bitch, and the beast combined, stops cold and knocks me off the grip. I crash into the mud as the horrified horse runs away from the ruins. I scramble for my sword, and it is found buried quickly by the heaps of mud. I could feel my face covered in a helm of mud, down to my beard which looks just as brown as it ever was before.

A blade was to my chest, held by a man with a strong built.

I pulled out my sword out, but the stressed blade snaps, leaving the tip buried in the sand.

"You can yield, save all these men, and rule the Stormlands under King Aegon Targaryen."

I looked up to see what the bastard Orys Baratheon is. The natural reflex of me made me kick his feet and knock him to the mud. He lay there, with him gripping firmly his Valyrian blade.

"Fuck his dragon whores!" I yell at him, before giving him a hard kick to the balls. "Fuck Aegon! I kick him on the chest. He seemed to anguish a little. This is the perfect time to use his sword against him. I attempted to grab the sword from his grip. I was so close to winning...

"Fuck—"

A slash a cross my chest.

Orys Baratheon, a bastard from Dragonstone, managed to fatally wound a Storm King, a Durrandon, while lying down. He placed his hand on my shoulder as he stands up and I fall down. He withdrew my sword from my belly, and with the blood of the blade, the loud thump of my falling body crashes in the mud once more.

"Final sayings, Durrandon?" Orys asked, his blade positioned at my neck. He had a look that was hopeful me yielding. Spit on that, my daughter Argella is twice as mighty as her father. She'll kill Orys. She will.

"Spit on you, Baratheon. I'd die a king than some lord. Ours is always the fury."