Aegon
A few leagues in front of them, the exposed bedrock that formed the walls of Volantis, loomed over the mouth of the Rhoyne. The cold water of the Summer Sea bubbled softly with escaping gases. It was said that there were few, small hills beneath the ocean, remnants of old volcanoes from ages long ago, though they remained every bit as active as they had once been. The water bubbled on the surface at certain parts, so hot that it even started to boil at one place.
The First Daughter of Valyria was a proud and great city, a large and deep harbour facing the sea and mouth of the Rhoyne. Giant towers, that stood as tall as two hundred foot protected the harbour, where even giant ships simply seemed to vanish.
Heat shimmered off the walls of the city, making them glow in a light red. They had the appearance of a dreamlike quality, and even though Aegon knew that they were no match for the even higher, black walls that waited in the city, he couldn't help but admire the architecture.
Giant Braavosi warships floated around Summer Sea, Aegon's eyes, however, remained fixed on the gigantic city in front of them. The loud, steady rhythm of over ten thousand footsteps echoed across the plain, flat land outside of the city.
"An impressive sight, those walls," Connington spoke up from beside him. "But do not fret. They shall be yours soon."
"The Volantenes are powerful. Their walls are strong and high. They won't fall easily."
"It won't be easy and it might cost us more troops than for what I hoped. But ultimately we will emerge stronger than before."
"It serves our war," Aegon sighed. "Doesn't make it any easier."
"The moment killing is easy, you are lost," Connington replied, his face a stern mask.
"Very true," Aegon mused silently. "Hard but necessary."
"Hard but necessary," Connington reaffirmed.
Jon Connington and Harry Strickland were guided through the maze of alleys, pools and gardens that were located inside the inner walls. Aegon himself, disguised as Jon Connington's squire, as well as a dozen other high-ranking serjeants of the Golden Company, had been invited into the famed Black Walls of Volantis. The climate was hot and humid, the fresh air blowing from the open sea, creating a sullen, wet heat in the city that made Aegon feel as if he would soon drown in sweat.
In the lower city, the air reeked of fish and dirt. The scent of elephant dung and sweat was everywhere as well, filling the air with a smell that made you feel dirty and rotten.
Above, beyond the Black Walls where the high nobility lived, there was nothing of the kind. The smell of perfume and flowers lingered in the air, great gardens bloomed everywhere with hundreds of different flowers from all across the known world. Aegon could see Winter Roses from the North of Westeros, the Dawnberries from the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, while others were from Sothoryos, Naath or the Basilisk Isles.
The air smelled like a hundred things at once, sweet and dangerous, sour and poisonous, even hot and cold.
They walked through tunnels and over bridges They walked up stairs and ramps, walked through palaces and mansions. The home of the volantene nobility was an entire world by itself, narrow and isolated, yet still overflowing with splendour. There were fine wooden carvings and giant statues everywhere, depicting former triarchs and warriors, but also dragons and manticores, krakens and sphinxes.
Belicho Maegyr. was the first of the triarchs to greet them. He was a renowned Volantene patriot. He was the only ruling triarch who belonged to the tiger faction of Volantis. He has been re-elected as triarch many times and is old and toothless, but he was a tiger still.
The Volantenes were split into two major factions. After the Doom of Valyria, the Century of Blood began, a war for power in the east, since the destruction of the freehold had left a huge power vacuum behind.
There, those of the Old Blood, later known as the tigers, favoured war, whilst the moneylenders and merchants, later known as the elephants, favoured to achieve dominion by trade. In the end, the tigers held sway for almost a century and led Volantis into conflict with the other Free Cities.
This conflict included almost all of the Free Cities, with only Lorath staying out of the war. The Volantenes succeeded at first, however, they were later beaten by a gigantic alliance, one of the greatest the known world had ever seen.
Tyrosh and Pentos, Myr and Lys, Qohor and Norvos, the Dothraki, the Storm King Argilac Durrandon and Lord Aegon Targaryen of Dragonstone fought against the city, and finally, the First Daughter was defeated.
In the end, the Volantene faction favouring peace, the elephants, took power from the tigers, and the fighting was at an end.
For the last three centuries, since taking power from the tigers, at least two of the three triarchs in power have been elephants. The elephant-triarchs were now Nyessos Vhassar, as well as Doniphos Paenymion.
All three of the triarchs that ruled the city now stood before them. They sat on one side of a gigantic black table, carved from Dragonglass and embedded with gold and jewellery.
"Honoured captains of the famed Golden Company," Doniphos Paenymion spoke. He was a small man, yet still clothed in the finest garments the east knew. He was bald, his skin turning grey, yet still, he seemed amicable enough. His brown eyes seemed warm and inviting, making him look fatherly, like some girl's favourite grandfather. Not at all, like someone who owned a thousand slaves.
"Honoured triarchs," Harry Strickland replied neutrally. As Captain-General he was the highest-ranking of the serjeants and was therefor the one to speak.
"You are aware of your task?" the Triarch Vhassar replied. He did not look nearly as friendly as Doniphos did. His voice was cold and calculating, his eyes devoid of emotion.
"We are," Strickland replied with a curt nod. "We were informed, that we were to battle the horde of Dothraki that are threatening the city."
"The Tiger cloaks would be quite sufficient for the task," Belicho Maegyr said in an arrogant voice. "But why waste noble, volantene lives, if you can pay others to die for you?"
Aegon wanted to throttle the old man for his arrogance, yet a glance from Connington made him control himself.
Strickland however just seemed to take it in stride, showing no reaction whatsoever to the insults thrown at him.
Maybe he is already used to it Aegon mused to himself. Or he just remembers that we will not truly defend the city.
It was indeed a soothing thought.
"Of course, honoured triarch," he replied, his voice perfectly even.
"Who are those men with you?" Doniphos asked, his voice contrary to his co-rulers soft, showing no signs of hostility or entitlement. "You have not introduced them yet."
"My most trusted advisors and commanders," Harry said with a slight bow. "Black Balaq, Brendel Byrne, Will and Dick Cole, Caspor Hill, Malo Jayn, Jon Lothston, Lorimas Mudd, Young and Old John Mudd," he named the advisors, pointing his fatty finger at each of them as he named them.
"Those are Lysono Maar, our company's spymaster, as well as Jon Connington, a Lord from the Sunset Kingdoms."
"And him?" the Triarch asked, nodding towards Aegon, who stood directly behind Connington.
"His... squire," the captain-general said hesitantly. "And cupbearer," he added as an afterthought when he saw the triarchs' annoyed expressions.
"Enough talk," Malaquo Maegyr cut in. "According to our informers, the Dothraki will be here within a fortnight." The old man nodded towards the giant double-door leading outside. "Go and get your troops in position. I want them standing guard on the walls every hour of the day. I want everyone to be in full position, even before the horse-fuckers get within a dozen leagues of the city, is that clear?"
He received a round of nods from the assembled generals.
"Go then, my friends," the only friendly triarch spoke. "I wish you good fortune."
Volantis wasn't a city, Aegon was convinced. Volantis was a nation with walls and streets and sewers, a massive city that stretched out as far as the eye could reach.
Aegon was certain that Volantis must have once been multiple cities, that perhaps now made up the dozens of different districts.
But now, that was the least of their worries.
The grass of the Dothraki Sea was to the north of the city, running up the river Rhoyne. A flat land that stretched out for leagues ending, that reached out towards the horizon. It was all grass, swerving under the pull of the wind. There were no mountains, no cities to disrupt the view.
And in that land of grass, there were thousands of men, women and children, some slaves and some free. The sounds of thousands of hooves thundering over the ground could be heard all across Volantis.
The followers of Khal Drogo marched, stomped and swept aside the blades of grass.
Almost all of them had copper-toned skin and dark almond eyes, oily black hair, woven into long braids, with bells for every battle they had won. Aegon could not see it, as he stood on top of the walls of Volantis, a dozen leagues away, but he had been told they had black eyes as well.
Khal Drogo himself stood out from the rest of the horde. He rode a giant, black stallion, with his bloodriders sitting on their horses, just a few feet behind him.
He looked just like he had when Aegon had met him, his body toned by veins and muscles. His hair reached far below his waist and he had a sword in his left, an arakh in his right hand.
Aegon knew these warriors of Khal Drogo's khalasar to be fierce warriors, as any capable Dothraki rode better than any Westerosi knight. They were unparalleled when it came to fighting from horseback, with almost all of their warriors wielding arakhs, curved bows, and whips.
They were undisciplined and wild, yet still, together they formed an efficient fighting force, one that was respected and feared all across Essos. The Free Cities and even the once-proud Ghiscari cities of Slaver's Bay dealt carefully with them. The rulers of the cities give lavishly to every Khal who passes with his khalasar, feasting them and giving them gifts, so the khalasar will pass on without sacking the city.
However, not one khalasar had dared to approach the cities of Slaver's Bay in 3 years, ever since his aunt's conquest had begun.
In their thousands of years of co-existing with the Valyrian Freehold, even they had learned to respect the power of a dragon.
Jon had gone to organize the troops below, while he remained at the top of the wall, feeling anxiousness creep into his stomach. He had expected this nervousness, there was a battle to be fought soon, a sack to be done. But this felt different.
He felt... watched.
He whipped his head around and once more saw the woman in the red mask, the same he had seen in Pentos many moths ago. It had been a short encounter, but it had remained in his memory.
Her long robe was stitched from the darkest silk Aegon had ever seen. It seemed to flow like a dark ocean, with waves and foam crowns running down the soft fabric. Gold jewellery hung from her neck, diamonds and expensive metals glistering in the hot sun. Aegon saw not the slightest bit of skin of her, the long robe covering her entirely. Only the eyes sparkled behind that crimson mask and danced like the brightest stars, in the clearest of nights.
"Who are you?" Aegon demanded angrily, as he strode towards the mysterious woman. "What are you? A spy? A red priestess who accidentally put on the wrong robe?"
Quaithe shrugged. "I have been many things, young Griff. A red priestess is not one of them."
"The boy who claims to be the heir to the Iron Throne, making pacts with those savages," she said, showing her distaste.
"Are you mocking me?"
"I am stating a fact," Quaithe said, her eyes twinkling in the heat. She seemed completely out of place, amongst the thousands of men who were preparing for war. "You promised Daenerys Targaryen to Khal Drogo. A Dothraki horselord."
"How do you know that?" Aegon asked, but Quaithe ignored him. "Why are you here? Who are you, to speak to me like this?"
"One who doesn't care about whether you call yourself King, Emperor, Lord or Triarch. What I see is a boy. One who made a grave mistake, promising his aunt to a Dothraki."
"I am Aegon Targaryen, sixth of my name!" he all but shouted, yet the woman didn't seem intimidated at all. "You do not question me."
"Dragons of red, dragons of black… A true dragon answers to no one, something your aunt will show you. A Dragon does not bow, not to the likes of you."
"I am Aeg-" he started but was quickly interrupted.
"Do you know that? The silver-gold of your hair, the deep violet of your eyes, a son of Valyria for sure. But Aegon Targaryen..."
"I am Aegon," he intoned angrily, but once more the woman ignored him.
"It's what you've been told. But you don't know if it's true."
"Connington knows this."
"Connington is not who got you out of King's Landing." She sighed dramatically, before continuing.
"I did know one of your ancestors, many years ago. You remind me of him. Charismatic... a man who can inspire both loyalty and fear in others. One who many might rise up to support."
Aegon would have bristled with pride at the compliment, were he not too confused. "Who are you speaking of?" he asked her.
Certainly not my grandfather
"Daemon," she replied. Her eyes looked at him intently from behind the mask.
"Daemon Targaryen? The Rogue Prince?" He asked, laughing at how absurd this claim was. The Rogue Prince had died in 130 AC at the Gods Eye, no man alive could still claim to have known him.
"Not Daemon Targaryen," Quaithe said silently. "Daemon Blackfyre."
"Who are you talking to?" Connington's voice boomed suddenly, making him jump slightly in shock. "Why are you trembling?" Aegon whipped his head around, but when he looked towards the mysterious woman again, she had suddenly disappeared, without any trace.
"It's nothing, Jon," Aegon whispered. "Nothing at all."
Aegon's mentor looked at him with suspicion, before he changed the topic. "Everything is in position. Our men are manning the walls now, and the elephants are directly behind the wall, supposedly to counter-charge the horselords."
"But they will turn on the Volantenes instead," Aegon said questioningly, receiving only a nod from Connington.
The thundering sound of the horses charging up and down the front wall grew ever louder, accompanied by their battle screams.
"Has the mission already been started?" Aegon asked finally, as the two of them looked out on the plain grasslands.
"Yes. Everything should be in place."
"Why do they not retreat?" Malaquo Maegyr asked his co-triarchs, though it was more of a statement than a question. "The Dothraki are wild and fierce, but even they know that they won't take Volantis on horseback."
The three triarchs, along with 5 dozens of guards and even more naked girls sat atop the Black Walls, that reached even further in the air than the outer walls. From there they had a perfect view, as the Black Walls stood over two hundred foot tall, a great oval of fused black stone that was located in the eastern part of Volantis.
The Dothraki horde stretched out over the grasslands for leagues, their screams reaching even to where they were at.
But even with their sheer numbers, they would find no easy opponent in the Golden Company - in fact, the Company was far from easy prey.
They fought like the men of the west, clad in full armour, covered in iron plate and their heads protected by helmets. The Dothraki were half-naked on the other hand, their torsos' exposed and vulnerable to any sort of attack.
"Arrogant fools," Nyessos Vhassar proclaimed. "They overestimate themselves, they think that they can take our gates and storm the city."
"Careful, triarch Vhassar," Paenymion replied thoughtfully. "The Dothraki often lack sense, when something other than horses are concerned, yet they have never lacked in a feeling for warfare. Dothraki are savages, yes, but they are born to fight and born to kill. They know their limits well. Something is wrong, I feel it."
"You worry too much, triarch Paenymion," the Maegyr triarch mocked. "Volantis only ever fell in the Century of Blood and then it was to Aegon Targaryen's dragons. We, who rule the First Daughter know the power of Dragons. But these Dothraki are horses, not fire-breathing, flying lizards."
"Are they?" Doniphos Paenymion shot back. "What news of the Dragon Queen? Might she have allied with the Dothraki?"
"Allied with the Dothraki? How would that work?" Maegyr asked.
"Marriage of course. It is, after all, the best way to form alliances."
This received laughs from the other two triarchs.
"Marriage? The Targaryens are many things. They're fierce, they're fools, they're Valyrians. But above all, they are proud. A marriage to a Dothraki horselord? Never."
"Mayhaps you are right," Paenymion conceded. "But I do have a feeling, that today will bring quite some surprises. And my feelings have never failed me, not once."
9 hours earlier
The men were sneaking through the abandoned cellars, beneath Volantis.
They had been abandoned many years ago, when horrible diseases spread through the underground tunnels and barely anyone returned healthy enough, to survive the following week. Haunted they called the old sewers.
Rats and mice were everywhere, crawling through the tunnels, filling them with their shit and corpses so that an awful stench lingered in the air.
The men were walking for what seemed like forever until they finally came to a larger room, where the tunnel widened and became as large as the halls of many castles.
There was a collapsed well in the middle of it. Dirt filled the hole and nothing was left but a few bricks and a couple of planks of wood. Green veins of moss and other plants were creeping over the old stone, shimmering slightly in the lights of the candles they had lit.
The walls were high and very dark as if a giant painted them all black. Skulls of men and beasts were laying around the well, bits of flesh still hanging on their rib-cages. Rats were chewing on their bones and skin, their tiny, pale claws cutting through the flesh.
"Well, this looks inviting," one of the men said, looking around the opening. The candlelight flickered, making the large shadows on the wall move and dance, rocking back and forth slightly.
Unlike the tunnels, through which they had previously walked, there were bits of wildlife here. Overgrown bushes and lianas wound up the walls, the leaves fluttering in the soft wind that blew through the tunnels.
"They must have lived here once," one man spoke, looking around in shock. "Poor souls," another added. "This must have been a secret shelter for the poor once."
"Until the bloody flux came to this place," their leader spoke, making everyone look uncomfortable.
"Why are we even doing this?" the first man asked, as he looked around anxiously. The tapping sound of rats walking through the tunnels echoed loudly through the underground passages.
"You know why. Now come, we have a mission to accomplish."
With more and more men with candles spreading out through the underground hall, they saw more and more of the secret shelter. A staircase led to an upper floor, where desks and baskets stood, made crudely from oak and timber.
It's once beautiful arched brick walls were now covered in muck and filth. The floor was littered with bottles of low-quality wine, splinters of metal and wood, that may have once been weapons, and the many bones and skulls. The bottom of the tunnel was a perfect arc too, but enough mud has been tracked in overtime to make it more like walking on a woodland path, that slight softness underfoot.
The tunnels had once been build as sewers, as it befits the First Daughter of Valyria, however after the doom they had wasted away swiftly, as none of the High Nobility cared enough about the hygiene of people they deemed below themselves.
The leader of the group walked forwards, dragging his hand across the wall, picking up dust and grime. Wind streamed through the tunnels, clutching the scattered pieces of ragged papers that laid on the ground, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void.
"Let's get outta here," one man said, clearly uncomfortable. The others never would have admitted to it, but it was indeed quite unsettling.
There were almost a hundred men, almost two-thirds of them carrying barrels of pitch and oil, mixed to create a great explosion, similar to Dragonfire in terms of destruction.
The men with the barrels, however, followed further behind them, as they took longer to move, while the others scouted ahead, finding a way through the sewers.
All of them were poor men, criminals sentenced to death, with their only way to survive, being to accomplish this mission. If they were to die while doing so, or so the Captain-General had promised, as compensation for their lost lives, their families would be taken care off.
A promise not many would trust, but they did not have much of a choice. It was a suicide mission, all knew it, but by doing it, they were giving their families a chance.
They moved on from the opening and kept on going, their candles flickering in the darkness of the tunnels.
Few would have believed it possible, but the passageways got even darker as they moved on. The barrels of pitch and oil could barely fit through the tunnels at times when they narrowed down to no more than 3 feet in width.
The tunnel curled away coldly into an infinite dark, the light that showed the rough walls dwindling as it snaked away. Their skins shuddered and the men could feel their brain starting to defocus, searching for a way out... I should go backwards... they all thought, but still, they pushed on, only forwards, without looking back.
In two more leagues is an exit into the old market place, their destination. A small market, inside the Black Walls, made for the Old Blood's servants, to restock on any food and other utensils, long before they could ever run out.
They walked on for around another hour until finally, the light of the marketplace illuminated the darkness of the tunnels.
It was still the middle of the night and only very few were awake.
The men brought up the explosive barrels, though it was a difficult task to fit such barrels up a narrow ladder.
It took them over half an hour to bring up all of them, but finally, it was done. Disguised as barrels of wine, they rolled the explosive casks through the labyrinth of mansions, palaces and gardens.
"There ain't no back now," one of the men, Jarl was his name, muttered under his beard.
It was true, of course. If they were caught now, they would face death or worse. Their families even more so.
If they went back to the serjeants of the Golden Company, they would face the executioner's block, and without them, their families would likely starve. If they betrayed their plans to the Old Blood and pleaded for mercy, they would likely be executed anyways and their relatives would face death as well, by starvation or direct measures of the Company.
The only way for them was to keep going. To accomplish their mission, dead or alive, and trust that Strickland would keep his word.
"Forwards. Come on." the leader, Chejen, spoke. A Summer Islander, taller than the others.
There were no debates. Footsteps echoed on the marble floor and the casks were rolled or carried as well, surprisingly silent due to the even floor.
They circled around Old Volantis, in the shadow of the Black Walls.
It was an impressive sight for the men. The giant Temple of the Lord of Light stood tall in the eastern half of Volantis, a giant structure that dwarfed the rest of the city. Firepots, as large as entire houses decorated the temple. It was an enormity of pillars, steps, buttresses, bridges, domes, and towers flowing into one another as if they had all been chiselled from one colossal rock.
Finally, they placed their explosives as instructed. Candles were lit above the barrels and would take a few hours to ignite the mixture. Everything is in place Chejen thought, allowing himself a small smile. We did it.
Now we only have to get back to the camp.
"Are you sure, the men managed to get everything in place?" Aegon asked Connington worriedly. Their men were starting to grow restless, their lust for battle rising.
"So they say," came Connington's curt reply.
"So they say?" Aegon echoed, with an arched eyebrow. "I fear, 'So they say' may not be enough for us."
"They said the job was done, the barrels in position, the candles lit. Since no one is screaming treason yet, it seems nobody found them either."
"Quite an impressive job, they have done then. They infiltrated the famed Black Walls and lived to tell the tale."
"Not for long."
When Aegon looked at him questioningly, he continued. "The men had to be taken care of. There are many diseases in those sewers and many of them can be the bane of even the strongest armies. The Bloody Flux, the shaking sickness, the pox, Red Death and Red Spots... there are too many to name. Especially the Bloody Flux has been known to kill three out of four men in armies. We could not take the risk."
"And you could not just send them away?" Aegon asked incredulously.
"They might try to come back," Griff shrugged. "What are a few men, against the risk of most of the Company dying? They weren't good men either. Most of them were sentenced to death anyway."
Aegon was about to object, but seemingly changed his mind and just let the topic drop.
The whole situation was quite tense, with the sounds of the Dothraki outside of the gates, while the huge city itself was deadly quiet, as the common people were hiding inside their houses. The men were starting to grow restless as well, tired of waiting.
But they had not earned their reputation as the most disciplined and efficient fighting force in Essos from nothing. Despite their hunger for war and victory, the men remained steadfast, holding their positions.
They don't know yet, that it will not be the Dothraki they face today. Aegon mused to himself. Yet despite the surprise that the orders would give the men, they had been thrilled to obey their commanders mindlessly in battle. They would follow their serjeants, no matter the orders.
"So we wait and pray?" Aegon asked.
"We wait and pray," came the reaffirmation.
The cheering and chanting of the Dothraki grew ever louder in volume. They were not called 'Dothraki Screamers' for nothing, their shouts followed a certain rhythm as if they wanted to provoke their enemies to strike.
On the contrary, the silence that lingered over the walls of Volantis, manned by the Golden Company and the Tiger Cloaks of the city was deafening.
Until it happened.
...
Boom.
...
The sky turned as black as the Walls surrounding Old Volantis.
The same moment came the sound of an explosion, a whistle of splinters as from a breaking window frame, a suffocating smell of pitch and oil that filled the air.
The sound of the explosion was ear-shattering, it cracked the sky like thunder, loud enough to be heard even in the taverns in Volon Therys.
A tremor rippled through the entire city, as screams started to ring through the narrow streets.
Flames licked on the inner walls of the city, the fused black stone started to glow brightly, but not due to the sun shining on it.
The fused stone started to glow dimly, heating up with the heat of the explosion. They glowed in a hot red, twisted and cracked until the wall started to melt like a candle in the midday sun.
The Black Walls were old and strong, built by the freehold, but the explosion had been well calculated. It was the bottom of the wall that melted, and when the foundations grew weak, as did the rest of the wall.
Molten stone, glowing and hot ran down in streams where the epicentre of the explosion had been. Smoke still cloaked the high Black Walls, veiling them in darkness, as the eastern part of the wall crumbled into piles of dust and rubble.
"What happened?" Vhassar all but screamed, his exterior far from his usual, cocky attitude.
"An attack," Maegyr replied.
"A big one," Paenymion added. "An attack of a great scale, there must have been lots and lots of pitch and oil hidden away. It was well planned and executed, the plans likely made over many months. Untypical of the Dothraki, to perform such an attack." There was even a bit of admiration and respect in the man's voice.
"You aren't helping, triarch Paenymion," Malaquo Maegyr snarled at the older man, his eyes piercing. The man was fuming, but the older man seemed unbothered.
"Recall the tiger cloaks," Vhassar ordered. "They shall find whoever did this."
"The tiger cloaks are better off on top of the walls, my friend," Paenymion said. "There is not the slightest chance of you finding the culprits of the attack. We should focus on the task at hand - the Dothraki that are piling outside of our gates."
"They'll never get in."
"They do seem to have allies within the city."
"So we send the tigers to ferret out whoever is behind this foul trickery and end the threat before it can begin.
"Look down," Paenymion said calmly. Below them, thousands of men ran away from where the explosion had happened. "Do you think you can find anyone in that mess?"
"I am starting to wonder, why you show no signs of being worried when for the first time in hundreds of years, the Black Walls were breached," Vhassar said lowly. His voice turned into a growl. "You are suspiciously little tense."
"There are many questions to be asked, my friend. One of them would be, why we are sitting here exchanging harsh words, while the city beneath us falls into chaos. It's a long chain of reactions. Some of them run away, others see how they run away and run with them until finally, everyone runs. And you are wrong about me being bothered as well. I am indeed bothered very much by these unfortunate events, however, I hide it better."
"You've seen over seventy namedays, Paenymion, that is true. But do you not cling on to life as all men do?"
"Age is a curious thing, dear co-triarchs... Death is certain in all things. With age, you eventually come to accept it. You will know this feeling as well, eventually. Provided, of course, you survive this day."
"Should I consider that a threat?" Vhassar asked.
"Merely an observation," Paenymion replied smoothly, his frail lips twisting into a soft smile.
"I would warn you to watch your tone, Paenymion," the head of House Maegyr said heatedly. "One might come to wonder where your true loyalties lie."
"My most heartfelt apologies, my Lord Hand." The old triarch lowered his head in apology, but there was not the slightest shame in it.
"Half the tiger cloaks shall abandon the walls and search for the perpetrators," came Vhassar's final decision. "They shall annihilate any threat inside our walls. The Golden Company is enough to hold the walls. They are supposed to fight and die for their gold after all."
"I fear I am being overruled here." Paenymion looked at the two other triarchs, his demeanour calm and steady. "If that is your decision, then see it done."
Two guards immediately bowed and left, moving to get their orders to the outer walls.
"Well then," the old triarch smiled. "This might still get interesting."
Below the triarchs, chaos reigned in the streets of the city.
When the explosion happened, more than a dozen people had immediately been turned to cinders. Some of the corpses around the blast were burned so darkly, that not even the ravens would ever dare feast on them.
Screams of fear and panic had erupted all around them, with men and women trying to flee from the blast.
Many more around the location where the explosion had happened laid dead or dying, scorched by the hot, black flame or trampled to death by the fleeing mob of people.
The smell of ash and death soaked the streets of Volantis. Where buildings of wood had once stood, inhabited by the common folk of the city, nothing but ashes, scorched and melted rock remained.
The streets close to the explosion were deserted entirely, like the ghost city Yeen in Sothoryos. Those streets were scorched and empty, but a few hundred feet further, was another story entirely.
There were cries of fear and rage on every front. A young boy ran through the streets of the city, trying to push forwards, to get away from the heat and burnt corpses.
"Repent for your sins!" A red priest screamed over the crowd before him. He was clad in a long, red cloak. Tattoos of flames covered his cheeks, chin and shaven head, forming a bright red mask that crackled about his eyes and coiled down and around his lipless mouth. His voice carried over the crowd high and clear, his eyes blazing like those of a madman.
The huge red temple loomed in the distance as he kept screaming. "Repent your sins, for soon it will be too late! Repent as long as you can!"
The crowd grew ever more restless. All fought to flee, as the flames started to spread from building to building, the dry wood and straw that the buildings were made of burning easily and quickly.
One man took matters into his own hands, pulling a dagger from his robes and stabbing the man before him. There was no law, there was no order, nothing but an animal panic in the tides of human flesh. Women wailed, babes screamed, and hordes and hordes of smallfolk on every street, fighting for themselves alone.
More and more daggers emerged from the dark, their blades red and dripping blood. It was a slaughter, as Freedmen, slaves and masters alike tried to fight their way through the mass of human flesh. Every man that toppled and fell was another fresh corpse, often taking others with them to their death. The falling men and women clutched others, trying to stay upright, but more often than not, they were too big, too heavy, so that when they fell to the floor they took the others with them down as they toppled.
When they fell on the cobbled stones together, it wasn't long before blood oozed from their bodies, their faces were stomped in by heavy steel boots running over them or blood pooling from stab wounds into the back and stomach they had received.
Suddenly, there was once more an ear-shattering snap. Wood and stone crumbled to the ground, as a building shattered in the flames, sending black ash through the streets, veiling them in a cloud of dark smoke.
There were brief and piercing cries of pain and anguish all around the sector, with daggers and arakhs cutting through flesh and bone.
In the veil of fog, they were just the silhouettes of men, squirming in smoke.
"REPENT!" The red priest's voice thundered over them all, doing nothing to calm the panicking crowd, but only increasing the fear and panic.
The young boy tried to fight his way through the crowd, but to no avail. The blood pounded in his hear, his heart thudded quickly in his chest. His hands shook and his feet tingled. The young boy's vision started to disfigure, as more and more smoke started to surround him, burning in his eyes and lungs.
The streets started to look like the reflection in a deformed shard of dragonglass, as tears started to well up in his eyes. He couldn't stay here any longer, he had to get away from this butchery.
"We are all facing the end!" the priest screamed again, waving his hands in the air. "Repent! Repent before the end of times! Repent or face eternal darkness!"
There were more and more bodies piling up around him, bodies being trampled to the ground. He could see 3 men try to break open a door leading into a house of stone, but the roof and floor were made of wood and wouldn't last either.
Desperate people threw large rocks at the windows of buildings, hoping to find shelter in them, but all of them were quickly turned into roasted meat.
The small boy ran to a small tavern, that he knew would have a basement, made from the stone where they stored the barrels of wine, but when he reached it he was met with a huge man. He wore dull armour, but his sword was exquisite, shimmering in the red flames and black smoke. His expression was unreadable.
There was a collar around his neck and blood stained his grey armour. Four long chains of iron were tattooed on his cheek.
The marking of a madman. The men who had gone mad in the fighting pits wore this tattoo, a sign that their minds were shattered.
Just as he realized this, the sword came down.
"Oh," the boy softly muttered as the red blame carved through his bone and flesh. It left a sickening crunch, as the dark red blood spilt everywhere.
The screams grew faint, as black started to creep into his vision.
Oh
"The time has come, Aegon," Connington proclaimed. "Give the signal now, and the gates shall be opened. The city will be yours."
Aegon, however, remained silent, as he stared out onto the city. Below them, a few leagues away the fires roared and spread.
"What happened?" he asked finally. "This was not supposed to happen. The explosion yes, but the fires? What happens there, is no war. It's not a sack, it is no conquest. It is a slaughter. Black bones, burned by fire and red bones, bathed in the blood of innocents."
He turned to face Connington. His face was pale and ghast. A drop of sweat ran down his temple, but it wasn't due to the damp heat that laid over Volantis. "What. Happened?"
"Miscalculations," the old griffin said carefully. "It was thought unlikely to happen, but there is nothing more unpredictable than an explosion. We had to take more barrels than we thought necessary, to ensure the wall would well and truly fall."
"What about the fires? Can we stop them? Extinguish them?"
"I fear not," Connington sighed. He laid an arm sympathetically on Aegon's shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off. "Aegon, look at me," he said finally with a commanding voice. It had been quite some time since Aegon's foster-father had last used that voice on him.
"I have known you for many years. Had I known what would happen down there, I would not have done it. I know you don't want to see these people suffer and that's why I think you'll make the best ruler the realm has ever seen. I know you don't want these people to suffer, but there is nothing to be done now. Nothing. Not by me, not by you, nor by anyone else."
He turned to face Aegon completely, staring directly into the young king's eyes. His pale blue eyes had a tone of harshness in them.
"Worry about this later. Now is not the time for worry or hesitation. Hesitation is the very thing that lost me the Battle of the Bells. Had I taken the initiative and burned the city to the ground with all the rebels in it, the Rebellion would have ended then and there. But I didn't. I hesitated, as I didn't want any innocents harmed. I didn't want to see the thousands of men and women who lived at the Stony Sept burned to cinders. I didn't even want the soldiers of the rebels dead. They only followed their liege lords commands, they too had families - wives and children that awaited their return."
A tone of melancholy crept into his voice, mixed with a deep sadness. "It was that hesitation, that allowed their reinforcements to arrive and Robert Baratheon escaped. He survived the Stony Sept and lived to fight another day. To face your father Rhaegar on the trident, where his damned Warhammer found his chest and ended all the hopes for a better realm."
He pointed towards the men below them, their screams clearly audible on the top of the walls.
"This is regrettable. I would have prevented it if possible. But do not make the same mistakes as I did, Aegon. I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. I tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell. Learn from my mistakes. Don't look back now. No hesitation, only forwards, never backwards. Don't look back, don't regret your past actions. Accept them and deal with them later. But not now. Now is no time."
"Can we not at least keep the Dothraki outside? Why open the walls? If we let them in, they will bring even more death and destruction over the city. Half of the tiger cloaks are gone, we can easily take control here. The Dothraki will rape and pillage a bloody path through the city, bathing the streets in blood. If we cannot stop the fire then this is the least we can do."
"We can't."
"We can't?"
"The Dothraki are fierce warriors, but unknown in matters such as how to siege castles or cities whatsoever, that much is true. But there's more to it than that. We have 10.000 men here, warriors all of them. They're disciplined and we trained, a force to be reckoned with."
Connington raised his arm and pointed towards the vast labyrinth of streets and houses that laid below them.
"Volantis is huge. As large as Oldtown and King's Landing combined." He looked at Aegon with a pained expression. "We need the Dothraki in the sack. The Fiery Hand of the Red Temple and the tiger cloaks will fight ferociously. And even if we didn't, we just don't have the men to both take a city of that size, crush its defenders and at the same time fight a Khalasar of 40.000 men. I'm sorry."
"Fuck," Aegon muttered. "Fuck."
He remained silent for another minute before he spoke up again.
"Alright," he all but whispered. "Open the gates."
The Lord of Griffin's Roost gave a curt nod and took out a horn. It was small, not more than a foot in length, but when he blew into it thrice, it echoed across the entire city.
A signal only their commanders understood, and it took them no more than a minute to give the new orders to their troops.
What followed immediately was a slaughter, just like what happened in the streets below. The men and few women of the Golden Company turned onto the remaining tiger cloaks, stabbing them through the back and painting the black walls red.
"Open the gates," a scream called out.
"OPEN THE GATES," more voices echoed. Finally, the rattling of chains filled the air, as the giant Dragongate of Volantis started to lift itself into the air.
The chains that lifted the heavy gates, forged from thick metal ached and creaked under the weight, but still, the gate rose from the ground.
Shouts of fear arose from the inside of the city, as the Dothraki charged forwards, the hooves of ten thousands of horses speeding over the ground, like the cracking of thunder.
"Close the gates," A woman that clutched her babe helplessly in her arms squeaked in fear, as the Dothraki charged in a full gallop towards the gate. "CLOSE THEM!" She stood in the street, located directly behind the Dragon Gate, sweat and blood all over her clothing.
"Please, close the gates," she begged again, her voice growing silent, but Aegon was close enough to hear.
Had he seen this image before him a minute earlier, he might not have given the order to raise the gates. But it was too late.
The Dothraki charge entered the city with brutal efficiency, the Khal himself riding at the very front of the column. The woman was torn to shreds within seconds, her corpse no more than bloodstains on the hooves of their horses.
Aegon vomited, and even Connington looked pale, as the Dothraki continued their charge into the city.
No hesitation, don't look back, Connington's words echoed in his head, as he moved to the front of the column of the Golden Company. Deal with the consequences later, focus on the task at hand - sacking the city.
He had always known, that sacking a city was a bloody affair. He knew that innocents would die for his quest and that many of the men of served him would die in the fighting. However actually being there, to experience the violence and madness of battle, was another thing entirely.
He had been raised from birth to be a king. The best king the realm had ever seen. He had been taught everything about warfare there was to know, he had the best teachers and the best advisors.
But in the end, nothing could prepare you for the pained screams in battle, the smell of shit and blood. Parents screaming as their children were cut down, Dothraki raping and murdering whoever happened to stand in their way and the smell of fire and smoke, fire and blood that filled the air.
Was this truly his house's legacy? To bring fire and blood on all who would dare oppose them? "Fire and Blood indeed," he muttered. "Death and destruction."
The ranks of the golden company formed a wall of shields, as they started to march towards the eastern side of the city, where the Black Walls were located.
"Beneath the gold..." One man cried out and a thousand voices answered in unison. "...The Bitter Steel!" they shouted back, a phrase in honour of their founder Aegor Bittersteel. Once Aegon would have bristled at the Insult of shouting Bittersteels name while charging into battle, but now, nothing of the sort mattered. He just wanted the battle to end as quickly as possible, to get this over with, so he could prepare to face his aunt.
They reached the middle of the Long Bridge that spanned over Volantis, just as soldiers of the Fiery Hand and some of the recalled tiger cloaks appeared on the other end. They too wielded giant shields, as large as any man, with spearmen behind them, who efficiently reinforced the shield-wall.
"Fight!" The High Priest Benerro screeched. "Men of the Fiery Hand! Men of R'hllor! Rise up to slay these heathens who dare invade the sacred city of Volantis! Stand and fight!"
"For R'hllor!" the men echoed, as they bumped their shields on the ground in a curt rhythm so that a thunderous sound echoed over the Long Bridge.
"Men of the Golden Company!" Aegon screamed back, trying to make his voice be heard among the screaming and shouting. All worries were forgotten, the only thing that filled his thoughts now, was winning the battle. "Forwards! Onwards! To victory!"
The sun was high, and Aegon focused on the battlefield as the enemy lines got into position, their shield wall strong and near unbreachable. It was hard to move in the full-plate armour that 2 squires, provided by the Golden Company, had donned on him, but there would be no better protection once the fighting broke out. Until now the battle had been utterly one-sided, the remaining tiger-cloaks on the wall had been caught off guard and easily been taken out. But now, this would change.
The now recovered defenders were organized and would not be caught off guard.
The men of the Company moved forwards themselves, spears and swords lifted, ready for any battle that might arise. The thousands of men moved at the same time. It was a slow charge, a careful one.
The archers got into position just behind them, drawing their bows, aimed towards the column of the Fiery Hand.
"Black Balaq," Aegon screamed. "Loose!"
The Summer Islander was the commander of the company's archers and one of the men that Aegon trusted the most. He was known well for his physical strength, but what made him so deadly as an opponent, was his intellect and knowledge of battle tactics.
He had drilled each of his men to perfection and was always calm, never nervous. He would do his duty and he would do it well.
The tiger cloaks would be a threat, yes, but the true problem was the Fiery Hand. They were few, only a thousand men, but each fought with the discipline of an Unsullied, the power of a dragon and the wildness of a flame. They wore ornate armour over their orange robes, all of them full-plate, made in the finest forges of Volantis. Each of them wielded spears with points shaped as writhing flames.
While the Golden Company moved forwards slowly, the Dothraki charged straight ahead, their horses crashing directly into the shield wall of the defenders.
This was all it took, for their own warriors to join into the Frey.
"Careful, Aegon," Connington shouted towards him, as he himself charged with the troops.
Aegon didn't listen as he was already running, sword raised and eyes determined. "Archers on the Shieldwall!" he screamed. "Fill their lines with arrows!"
Arrows were nocked and loosed, volley after volley rained down on the battlefield. Fires hissed from the demolished buildings that had once adorned the Long Bridge of Volantis. They crumbled one after another, leaving only burned heaps of dust and stone.
Aegon felt another shudder, as another building fell apart, not far from him.
The Dothraki charged against the defenders, but they fell quickly to the defenders. They were too efficient, to disciplined to break against their charge.
The tiger cloaks and soldiers of the Fiery Hand fell one after another, but each of them took half a dozen Dothraki into the grave with them.
Despite their dwindling numbers, the men weren't backing down, they were fighting tooth and nail. They were clinging on, resisting with everything they had. Every arrow, every spear, they used everything they had. Some threw burning stones into their lines when they ran out of arrows or threw bundles of ash, blinding their vision. On and on they fought, making them bleed for every foot they moved forwards.
Benerro kept screaming frantically before he turned oddly silent. He muttered silently a prayer, one that was soon repeated by dozens of red priests as well.
"Lord of Light defend us!" He finally shouted. "For the night is dark and full of terrors..."
"... but the fire burns them all away."
More and more men joined the chorus, as Benerro himself walked to the front of the shield wall. With just a touch of his hand, their shields ignited, creating a wall of flame that blocked the bridge.
The horses of the Dothraki wheezed and stumbled backwards, terrified by the fires before them.
"Archers! Loose!" Black Balaq's command over and over, but the archers couldn't do much against the men in full plate armour.
"We should signal a charge," Young Yohn Mudd proclaimed, as he moved close to Aegon. "They've left themselves to dispersed, their ranks are weakened. They fight fiercely, but they are outnumbered – let us force a charge through their centre. They will break."
"Against the Shield walls?" Aegon asked incredulously. "They're burning in case you hadn't noticed."
"False flames, nothing more, my king," he replied. "A mummers farce. The horses might shy away at first, but they'll obey eventually. Besides, who needs horses to charge?"
As he spoke the words, a loud tone was sounded from behind them. 3 big, grey elephants moved forwards, their steps loud and intimidating. They were armoured and towered over the men. Jon Lothson, the serjeant responsible for the elephant cavalry was seated on the back of the largest beast, a huge warhorn mounted on its back.
Not a single shield wall could stand against those beasts, that much was clear.
Still, Aegon decided against it. It was too unpredictable. A common shield wall would never be able to stand against them, but if it burned? Would they go mad, turning on their riders and the men around them?
"Signal a slow retreat instead," he ordered, his purpled eyes boring into Young Yohn Mudd's dark blue eyes. "The centre falls back, the left and right supports them. Let us straighten the ranks."
The serjeant looked at him as if he had just lost his wits. "Fall back? Why sacrifice our position? They are about to break?"
"The Dothraki are raiding through the city, and the Long Bridge isn't the only way to cross. We have 5000 men here, but there are another 5000 out there as well. They will soon be encircled, with no way out. Then we can crush them completely."
The orders were passed on quickly, spreading like wildfire amongst the men. Warhorns echoed over the field to pass the instructions, as the men slowly started to fall back.
Their opponents did precisely, what they weren't supposed to do.
They hesitantly moved forwards, the entire shield wall crouching forwards, step by step, taking back the land they had previously lost.
While moving, many moved their shields out of formation, leaving spots open as targets. And the response came immediately.
Black Balaq and his archers did their jobs with great efficiency – his men with goldenheart great bows fired dozens of volleys onto their lines, most of them hitting steel, but not nearly all of them. Their bowmen were well trained and many arrows found their marks in tiny gaps inside the shield wall. Slowly but consistently, their ranks were diminished as more and more archers started aiming for the spots were a shieldman had fallen. A storm of arrows rained down, that cost the defenders dearly.
"Fire and Blood!" a cry came, cutting through the orchestra of chaos. More and more men started to pick up the cry, cheering and celebrating, as the enemies lines grew weaker.
"Fire and Blood! Fire and Blood! Fire and Blood!"
Hundreds, even thousands of corpses filled the street, piling up in the middle to form a mountain of dead. Aegon could see corpses wearing the golden armour of the Company, some wearing the orange robes and other the blank armour of the tiger cloaks.
Crows circled above the field, occasionally diving down to claw flesh from the bodies of the fallen, feasting on their warm blood and fresh meat.
Finally, lines of Dothraki emerged on the other side of the Long Bridge. Thousands of mounted warriors poured from the streets, trapping them on the Bridge.
"Now!" Aegon screamed. "Charge!"
As the command came, the massive war-elephants were urged forwards, charging wildly towards the trapped defenders.
Aegon could make out Khal Drogo on the other side of the bridge as they closed in on the remainders of the Fiery Hand. The Khal did the same from the other side.
Still, despite their obvious defeat, the defenders refused to budge, fighting on with tooth and nail.
It was a dance of tens of thousands of men scattered across the bridge. A gruelling fight that lasted no more than mere minutes, but still more bloody than anything seen in Essos in a hundred years. Footsteps danced to the beat of war drums and bellowed orders, as the two fronts closed in on the followers of the Red God.
There was a weariness in the air, the smell of blood and sweat, but finally the last of the Fiery Hand were cut down, their corpses littering the streets.
Cheers of Dothraki and Golden Company soldiers filled the streets, as they moved on through the city to rape and plunder.
"Onwards! Onwards to the Black Walls!" Connington shouted next to Aegon. Throughout the entire battle, Aegon had not once swung his sword at an enemy, but it was a victory nonetheless.
The King and his hand walked forwards to the corpses of the Fiery Hand, trampled to death by the elephants and cut apart by the Dothraki and sellswords. Still one of them remained.
"False...dragon," Benerro croaked, as he laid in a pool of blood, that constantly grew around him.
"I... curse... you," he sputtered. "You shall touch the stars, see the glorious light of a thousand suns and stars laid out before you. You shall see all you could ever have, but you shall have none. Cursed shall you be, cursed by the cruel betrayal of the men you would have served. Entire villages, entire towns shall rend your flesh, curse you and hate you until the end of days, like an unholy god."
The red priests face twisted into a small smile, pained, but a smile nonetheless. "Rage against the rising of the sea, rage against the dying of the light. You shall have it all and shall have nothing. May you never find peace, false dragon."
Aegon's sword pierced the man's chest, making blood splatter from his lips. "Fire... is... eternal," came his last words, before the life left his eyes.
"What's wrong?" Aegon asked the serjeants, as he strode into the tent. His once perfectly polished armour was now dark with smoke and red with blood. Ironically, those were the colours of his sigil.
The Golden Company had built up a small camp in the abandoned streets of the city, where they could rest before continuing the battle.
Small riots and battles occurred all over the city, as the flames slowly started to extinguish themselves, leaving behind a burned Volantis.
"My King..." Brendel Byrne started hesitantly. "Our forces are stuck. The common people are rising up against them, attacking them from every corner. We need to take care of them."
"Take care of them?" Connington fired back. "You mean to slaughter the entire city?"
"It can't be that bad," Aegon murmured. "They don't know who caused the explosion."
"It is that bad," Connington replied. "They don't know about the explosion, yes, but they know who let the Dothraki into the city. Benerro's speech demanded from them that they fight us and resist us. And since he is the High Priest, they take it as the absolute truth - So they obey."
Connington sighed, before continuing. "We need to earn back the favour of the citizens. And we have yet to take the Black Walls."
"That should be rather easy," Lysono Maar stated. "We breached them after all."
"The Black Walls will fall," another serjeant added. "The problem at hand is the Red Temple and the people of Volantis."
"What to be done about them?" Aegon asked. "We can't very well storm the temple. That would only enrage them further."
"Where is serjeant Jon Lothson?" Connington asked. "He was given command of the elephants, we are going to need them when taking the Black Walls."
"Dead," came the curt answer from Maar. "That's where he is. A corpse amongst the many in the streets. He changed the elephant for a horse after the battle of the Long Bridge, when he believed himself in safety."
For a moment, bits of emotion played on the spymaster's face.
"His horse panicked in the flames and he was unfortunate enough for it to happen during a riot. The smallfolk ambushed him and ripped him apart. They see us as their worst enemies, even more so than their late masters."
"A mob tore him apart?" Aegon asked shocked. He remembered the serjeant, a brave and fierce fighter.
"A mob tore him apart," Maar nodded, confirming his fate.
There was a moment of silence. All eyes were focused on the king, waiting for him to make a decision.
"Deal with the riots. Use any means, but use the ones the least bloody. I don't want the corpses of hundreds brought before me. We will need stability in the city, before dealing with my aunt."
"You intend to summon her here? To us in Volantis?" Balaq asked. "That is quite a risk to take. She might be Rhaenyra come again and for all of the Golden Company's might and glamour, we can't hope to fight three giant Dragons."
"Our reports are quite clear," Maar stated. "The largest of the beasts has almost reached the size of the Black Dread. The other two are just a bit smaller but still immense."
For a moment, a childlike joy filled Aegon as he pondered on if he would be able to fly a Dragon like his namesake, the Conqueror had. But the feeling quickly vanished. His aunt's support was far from assured, that much had become clear to him. We should have captured her long ago when she fled from Braavos. I would have long learned to control our dragons and she never would have reached Asshai. A wasted opportunity if there ever was one.
"I will have stability in the city," he proclaimed. "See it done."
It took 2 more days until the entire city was secure. Corpses littered the streets and the marble stones of the long bridge had turned red with blood. The Red Temple continued to preach against them, but with the Fiery Hand wiped out, they could not do anything beyond that.
The Loss of Benerro, the High Priest of R'hllor, the Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, First Servant of the Lord of Light, and Slave of R'hllor had thrown the leadership of the faith in disarray, leaving them with no true leader or organization.
The Black Walls eventually succumbed to the Dothraki and sellswords. The master's personal guard switched sides and joined the attackers, but most were put to the sword by the Dothraki nonetheless.
"They're here," Vhassar murmured as if he couldn't truly believe it. In less than 3 days, Volantis had fallen, due to the treachery of the Golden Company.
"You did notice that exceptionally quickly, triarch Vhassar," Paenymion smiled. He carefully picked up a glass from the table and poured a small vital inside of it.
"Poison," he explained. "You would be wise to do the same."
Slowly he lifted the cup and brought it to his lips. He carefully sipped on the glass, his old and frail lips easily swallowing the liquid. "To Volantis," he toasted. "May it rise again from the ashes."
The other two triarchs quickly followed after, all of them drinking from the glass. "To Volantis," they repeated.
"Shame it came to this. But I did tell you, that my feelings are never wrong."
"I feel so good now, knowing that your feeling was right," Maegyr grumbled.
"As do I, triarch Maegyr, as do I," the older man smiled back, blatantly ignoring his sarcasm.
"I do admit, it is impressive what they pulled off. They did what no one has been able to do since the Century of Blood. They allied with the Dothraki and took the First Daughter with trickery and deceit."
Begrudgingly, the other triarchs nodded, agreeing with the older man.
"Still, justice will eventually come to them. The smallfolk are enraged, their stores depleted and troops exhausted. I had the food spoiled with greyscale. They won't have an easy time holding Volantis," Vhassar spoke. "Eventually we will prevail," he said and a small smile formed on his face. "All those slaves down there... they all wait to be freed. Those who wait to be freed, do not deserve freedom. It is the natural order. It's been this way forever and it will not change until the end of times."
"Indeed, triarch Vhassar," Maegyr added. "Change is temporary, the wheel remains unscathed. Nobody can break the wheel, only stop it for a few years at most. But Daenerys Targaryen and her self-proclaimed nephew won't live forever. Once they are gone from the world? All returns to how it was before. Change is temporary. The First Daughter is eternal."
"To Volantis," they proclaimed once more, as the life finally left them.
The Battle of Volantis
Date: 298 AC
Place: Volantis
Combatants:
Aegon's Forces:
~10.000 men of the Golden Company
4000 Shield carriers
2000 Spearmen
2000 Knights
2000 Archers
3 armoured war-elephants
Commander: Aegon Targaryen/Aegon Blackfyre
Co-Commanders:
Jon Connington, Hand of the King
Harry Strickland, captain-general,
Black Balaq, commander of the archers,
Lysono Maar, company spymaster,
Jon Lothson, commander of the elephant garrison
Lord Tristan Darry, formerly Rivers,
Marq Mandrake, serjeant,
Pykewood Peake, serjeant
Torman Peake, serjeant
Old Yohn Mudd
Young Yohn Mudd
Brendel Byrne, serjeant,
Dick Cole, serjeant,
Will Cole, serjeant,
Caspor Hill, serjeant,
Malo Jayn, serjeant,
Lorimas Mudd, serjeant,
Ser Lymond Pease, serjeant,
Ser Denys Strong, serjeant,
Duncan Strong, serjeant,
Humfrey Stone, serjeant.
Franklyn Flowers, serjeant
Allies:
~100.000 Dothraki under Khal Drogo
35.000 capable fighters
30.000 horses
Commander: Khal Drogo
Co-Commanders: His 3 Bloodriders Aggo, Jhogo and Rakharo
The Defenders of the City
Commanders: Triarchs of Volantis
Nyessos Vhassar of the elephant party
Malaquo Maegyr of the tiger party
Doniphos Paenymion of the elephant party
Forces
The Fiery Hand
Commander: High Priest Benerro, the High Priest of R'hllor, the Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, First Servant of the Lord of Light, and Slave of R'hllor.
~1000 men, well equipped with spears and shields, as well as full plate armour
~12 other red priests, enforcing the flame spell
The Tiger cloaks/The city guard of Volantis
Commander: The triarchs of Volantis
~5000 men, with average equipment
2000 with full-body shields
2000 spearmen
1000 archers
Battle Commanders:
unknown Volanteen serjeants
(Circa 1.200.000 civilians in the city)
Casualties
2500 men of the Golden Company
4 serjeants of the Golden Company, namely Jon Lothson, Franklyn Flowers, Malo Jayn and Denys strong
High Priest Benerro
All warriors of the Fiery Hand
All warriors of the Tiger cloaks
All 3 triarchs of the city
6000 mounted Dothraki
Unaccountable number of civilians within the city, estimated to be at around 60.000 dead and thrice as many injured
The Battle
Previously placed barrels of pitch and oil are ignited beneath the Black Walls, making a part of them crumble.
Explosion terrifies the smallfolk, fires spread uncontrolled to nearby houses, causing a mass panic
The triarchs recall half of the tiger cloaks from the wall to search for the perpetrators
Betrayal of the Golden Company, sellswords massacre remaining tiger cloaks and open the gates for the assembled Dothraki
Smallfolk fight each other for shelter and escape paths, resulting in many casualties.
Dothraki and Golden Company push through the city, Dothraki rape and pillage the houses of their victims
Fiery Hand and recalled tiger cloaks make a stand on the long bridge
High Priest Benerro demands in the name of the Red God, that his followers may rise up to defend the city
Defenders are encircled on the bridge and utterly annihilated
Smallfolk continue to resist and kill Dothraki and men of the Golden Company, due to their hatred at them for sacking the city and the High Priest's words
Riots are brutally suppressed by the Golden Company
The Black Walls fall to the attackers
Triarchs commit suicide
Aftermath
The Eastern side of Volantis is almost completely burned down
The smallfolk is in uproar
Aegon is not hailed as a liberator but instead as a tyrant.
Aegon becomes King of Volantis and the surrounding regions
The Golden Company loses around a third of its forces
Massive losses of innocent lives within the city
The power of the Red Temple is completely crushed.