Crown Prince Jon Baratheon
They had marched with two thousand men from the crownlands, mainly drawn from those lords near King's Landing who could come at such short notice, and then had marched into the Stormlands drawing some three thousand men. There had been arguments over the course to pursue, what with word coming that this so called Vulture King had defeated a host under the command of Lord Manwoody, something that everyone found hard to belief, and of course the defeat of some of the Marcher Lords which had been easier to understand given the reports of the superior numbers that the Vulture King supposedly had. Jon had found it all somewhat strange. Firstly, he wanted to know where this Vulture King had come from, and secondly he wanted to know how he was drawing so much support. Such concerns would be put on the back burner though, for right now he was in command of the Vanguard with Ser Jaime at his side, he was marching with his men to fight the initial host of the Vulture King.
"Be prepared and be calm, your duty is to hold them, do not try anything foolish. We shall come and finish them." His father had told him before he had marched off. They'd not had word from Uncle Renly and that had worried Father, though he had tried to hide his fear. Jon had sworn he would not do anything foolish and he intended to stick to that promise, but if the opportunity arose to strike a nail into the coffin of the rebellion he would take it. "Up ahead, Your Royal Highness." Uncle Jaime said. Jon looked up and through the slit in his helm saw a massive host, stretching from the patch of march to the streams. Jon raised a mailed fist and called a halt to the march. His men stopped and he looked before him. There were peasants, in fact he was quite convinced that this entire army was made purely of peasants. They held pitchforks and other tools, there were very few knights amongst them.
"You can lay down your weapons and surrender. None shall think less of you." Jon said, having taken off his helm. "You can lay down your weapons and simply return to your fields and tow them. His Majesty, King Robert has agreed that such a thing can be done. Just hand over your leaders for judgement." There was silence, no one said anything, so Jon said it again. "You need not fight. We are willing to listen to your concerns. We need not shed your blood." He knew that these peasants would not stand a chance. Jon had heavy cavalry in his ranks and battle hardened knights who had fought in the rebellion and other wars, these peasants would not stand a chance. Nobody responded, Jon sighed. He looked at his uncle and said. "Sound the horn." The signal was given, and the horn sounded as Jon put his helm back on. The archers stepped forward, and counted to four before unleashing their arrows. The peasants took the hit and fell. Another line came and they too fell, then a third line and the same result.
Jon sighed as he saw what was happening. The peasants looked as if they wanted to break, to run and flee, but something was preventing them from doing so. He scanned the battle field and could find nothing, no commander, no one barking orders. He wondered who or rather what was keeping the peasants in line. When he asked his Uncle, his uncle snorted. "Fear. That is what is keeping them in line." Jon sighed again, and then as the peasants started marching in orderly lines toward them, Jon called for his archers to fire again. A few of the peasants were taken out, and he felt grief, these were his people he was killing. The archers retreated as the peasants got closer. "Pikes." Jon called out, the pikemen stepped forward and impaled the first few lines of peasants before they pulled back, and then it was time for him to fight.
Jon drew his Warhammer, he used one hand to swing it, watching as the peasants took the blows to their heads. He knew they would not get back up and he felt terribly sorry for their families, their wives who would never get to share in their embrace, and their sons and daughters who would never know their father's love. Jon swung his hammer and felt his anger grow. This was not right, nor was it fair. He continued going, the hammer doing the work, they carved a bloody path through the peasants. He killed many of them, knowing that they were dead the moment his hammer hit them. There was not a chance that any of them could survive such blows. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, this thought that his first battle was not against the Vulture King himself but against the mere peasantry who had been used to destroy something pure.
The battle continued for a little time, he killed more men, dozens of them, old, middle aged and young they all fell before him. His hammer had destroyed more lives than he cared to remember. Nobody managed to land much of a blow on him though, for he was more skilled than they were. Jon just felt tired and sad. His uncle remained at his side, his golden sword glimmering red with blood as time moved on. Eventually the peasants either threw down their weapons and surrendered or they fled. Those who surrendered were imprisoned. They were questioned but gave no information. Father arrived, and after getting a bit of a bollocking, they talked and then Jon was knighted. He stood there in the mud and dirt, his black armour caked in dirt, he kneeled and said the words. He rose Ser Jon, and he knew this was just the beginning. There would be more people to kill before this war ended.
King Viserys III Targaryen
Meeren had been a shit heap, but Daenerys had revealed her pregnancy, and so they had trailed carefully. The slavers there had been those who had fawned and promised money in return for Drogo and his Khalasar remaining outside. Viserys had taken one of their women as his mistress and then left, since he had killed two of the man's bloodriders, Drogo had showed him much more respect and even deference. He liked it, they had arrived at Astapor after avoiding Yunkai per the request of Drogo, apparently, there were some bad memories there. At Astapor he had bought the Unsullied, the best fighters in all of Essos. His army was growing he felt confident that he could garner something akin to more support. And now here he was, meeting with some half mad bastard in the docks of Astapor to arrange for transport.
The man had brownish hair, had a eyepatch over his eye, and his other eye was dark. He had a slight beard, and he smiled. "I trust Your Majesty has enjoyed the comforts of Astapor and the whore you have with you?"
Viserys looked at the man, and whilst he had pretended to be mad, he thought that this man was most definitely mad. "Indeed I have. Ser Jorah tells me that you are someone who can be counted on to deliver the ships needed to get me to return home." Ser Jorah had protested coming here for this meeting, something about this man being mad and not wanting to associate with an Ironborn. Viserys had overruled him and ordered him to attend. Drogo and Daenerys had made camp outside the city.
The man, who Viserys knew as Euron Greyjoy, who went by many other names smiled. "Ser Jorah would be right. Then again he did fight against me and my family during my brother's ill-timed rebellion against Robert Baratheon. After that failed mission I did indeed flee from Westeros and I took my ship and seven other ships and struck out to make the most of what I could. I ventured far and wide, I have been to the smoking ruins of Valyria, Your Majesty, and I know what resides there. And I have been to Asshai and I have seen things that would make you hard. I have also gained a crew and a fleet to rival that of the Royal Fleet. Indeed, I believe it would be better than the Royal Fleet."
"Of course you would say that, you are trying to get His Majesty to agree to your terms, whatever they might be." Ser Jorah snarled.
Greyjoy ignored the bear and instead kept his focus on Viserys. "You see, Your Majesty, you have the Dothraki and the Unsullied, and they are all great fighters, but you need ships that will ensure smooth transportation for them. The Dothraki are not the easiest of travellers after all. I can promise you that my ships will give them a good berth. Will make it so that their horses and they themselves are not sick."
Ser Jorah snorted, and Viserys himself doubted the truth behind this proclamation. "And how will you do that?"
"I have means to ensure that the ships of my fleet are protected against the elements, how else would I have been able to sail to Valyria and the lands beyond Asshai?" The man replied. He pulled out a horn, dark in colour with elaborate golden carvings on its side. "This is a horn that was forged by your ancestors, in ancient time it helped control dragons, and now, now it enables the wielder to control the elements."
Viserys stared at the horn, transfixed, remembering the eggs that his sister had. He wondered if the horn could awaken the dragons. He blinked and then asked. "Assuming I agree to your service, what would you want in return?"
Euron Greyjoy smiled. "I want what is rightfully mine. Rodrik Harlaw has turned the islands into a ruin, my nephew and niece have been raised by Greenlanders. That is not right. I want the Iron Islands and I want the right to raid through your enemies' lands to ensure their complete submission. And once you sit the throne, then I shall be satisfied."
Viserys looked at the man before him not entirely sure he believed him. Viserys was sure there was something else that the man wanted, he had heard the rumours about Euron Greyjoy and about the type of man he was. He had no reason to assume that the man was being genuine. And yet, the thought of returning home with this army he had was too good of a thought to pass up. He wanted so desperately to return home, to see the land of his birth. "How do I know you are being genuine and not simply lying to me?" He asked.
Greyjoy looked at him, a mad glint in his eye. He pulled out a knife and handed it to Viserys. "Take this knife, my King. Use it to make the horn yours." Viserys looked at the man and then he knew what he needed to do. He hesitated briefly before taking the knife and slitting his palm, the blood spilled onto the horn. Greyjoy then took the horn and blew it. When he pulled the horn away his lips were black. Greyjoy looked at him and Viserys got the impression he was awaiting a command.
"Tell me truly will you help me for what you have asked?" Viserys asked.
The man's lips went from black to purple, to blue to black again, somewhere a crow cawed. "I will. Your Majesty."
Viserys looked at Ser Jorah who shrugged, Viserys knew that the man did not trust Greyjoy, and if he were being honest, neither did he. But still, the thought of returning home a hero, with the army he had marshalled, that was too good an opportunity to pass up. He took a deep breath and then said. "Very well, prepare your ships, get them ready and ensure that none shall be ill when they are on them. We leave in two days' time."
The man bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty." Viserys felt a slight thrill, he'd be returning home.
