"The Talons send their regards."
*BANG!*
Daemon froze at the sight of the barrel pointed at his brow when a loud shot rang in his ears. Someone pulled the trigger, yet he was still standing. Before anyone could respond, the now-treacherous rebel had slumped over to the ground next to the Prince. From examining the corpse, he had seen that the would-be assassin was shot in the back. Daemon's head was still throbbing, and the sound of the gunshot made it worse but was overall relieved by this miracle act.
"*Aroooo!*" the cry of a distant howl was heard.
While Clayse and the other rebel sharpshooters remained under a barrage of enemy fire, Petyr's ears perked up at the sound of an approaching mounted charge. For a moment it seemed Captain Tyler or his troops did not even notice until…
*KABOOM!*
Squads of Lannister soldiers were sent flying in multiple different directions as a barrage of mortar fire came hailing down on them past the Red Fork; Tyler's gaze switch from being harassed left and right to suddenly being taken aback by the force of the impact from heavy artillery.
"What the—?! How did the rebels get mortars?!" Tyler exclaimed.
"We're getting bombarded from the forest, Captain!" shouted Lieutenant Humfrey Hill.
*SSSSHBLAMM!*
"Well return fire!"
"We can't, ser! Most of our artillery has been sabotaged! We can't even see which direction enemy movement is coming from!"
"DO SOMETHING, BASTARD!"
*KABOOM!*
*SSSSHBLAMM!*
Daemon and Petyr searched the surrounding areas, with Clayse and the other rebels still firing their musket rifles and flintlock pistols at the Lannister soldiers along with local resistance fighters harassing them left and right. All was silent for a moment until the sound of horses galloping and wolves growling grew increasingly louder.
"Is that…?" Daemon wondered; his head still slightly throbbing from the warning call.
*BANG!*
Within seconds, wolves and Stark cavalry rode past them and charged the Lannister footman; visibly spooked by the sight of wolves and northern weaponry being set loose on them. The rebels stationed at Wayfarer's Rest noticed the banners breezing through the air as each rode past them including the specialized logo beneath them—an armored grey direwolf running on an ice-white field. Petyr, however, noticed these troops. Common chain mail armor covered by leather boiled lamellar and occasional piece of steel or ironwork, these men fought more ferociously and were fiercer in addition to being highly organized and disciplined.
Rodrick Stark. "It's the Winter Wolves!" Petyr called out. "All hands! Reinforcements from the North have arrived! Let's drive these golden lions out of the Riverlands and back to Casterly Rock! On us!"
"Hooorah!" Clayse and the other rivermen hollered.
*BANG!*
*WHIZ!*
Daemon felt his mind boggle as Northmen and wolves darted across the battlefield, killing unsettled Lannister infantry soldiers before they had any time to react. Spotting Sergeant Arlen's discarded musket rifle, the Prince picked it back up and proceeded to memorize the instructions Samson gave him before they departed from Riverrun, filling it with gunpowder and a lead ball before ramming it down and filling a small amount into the pan, aimed his sights and fired—scoring a lucky hit on Lieutenant Humfrey Hill's carotid artery, rupturing the blood vessel and causing the Lannister army's second-in-command to drop to the ground in a pool of his life essence.
"Nice shot!" Emmelyne exclaimed.
Somehow Daemon felt a euphoric rush washing over him; whether it was from his recent first kill or his Baratheon genetics fueling the flow of adrenaline. Again, the Prince repeated the cycle: load, aim, shoot, reload, repeat. Over and over, instincts appeared to take over until he had to hide behind cover as the headaches kept growing stronger.
« …You must keep moving… »
"Gah! Damn it!" Daemon cursed through his teeth; the burst of pain caused him to get a nosebleed.
Private Emmelyne noticed. "Hey! Are you all right?" she asked concerned.
"Uhhh… Yeah. Yes, I'll be fine." At least, I think so.
Petyr, however, remained unconvinced. "'Fine'?! That little seizure of yours almost got you killed! Why didn't you tell us you had a sickness beforehand?!"
"I swear by the Old Gods and the New, I was feeling just fine until this happened!"
"Well consider yourself off the field. Go back to Riverrun!"
"That's not your call to make, Major!"
"Consider it my decision now, Your Highness! Return to your post or—"
"That's enough!" one of the Northmen approached.
Both Petyr and Daemon observed the high-ranking officer as the battle behind them was continuing with the Northmen seizing the advantage against the panicked Lannister host with their casualties beginning to outnumber Stark losses in a 5:1 ratio. His gaunt features made this officer noticeable to the rebel Prince.
"Brandon!" Daemon acknowledged.
"It's good to see you alive and well, cousin," the Stark returned the gesture before he glanced at the fallen assassin. "So, you had an encounter with the Talons as well? Good thing Commander Reed is one of our best sharpshooters."
"'Talons'? You mean the guy who up until recently tried to kill me?"
"Aye. We had a run-in with one of them two nights ago. He said they were only one of many, and each Talon is more dangerous than the other. What's more, he had on his person a list of names."
"Like a bounty?"
"Aye. Rodrick's name and yours are on the list… with the price on your head being the highest."
Daemon blinked with astonishment. He knew Argilac was vicious, cruel, and evil… but this? This was an astonishing new low, even for him. So, his brother does intend to murder him, an act of fratricide. This revolution was beyond stopping now. Argilac needed to be removed from the Andalosinian Throne permanently or no one on that list will be safe from him. Yet if these Talons had sleeper agents in the rebels' ranks, who knows the amount of damage Argilac could inflict.
"Colonel Brandon Stark, I'm Major Petyr Hardyng from the Vale of Arryn," he introduced himself. "While we are relieved that reinforcements have come to our aid, I feel it is my solemn duty to inform you of the Prince's condition—"
"I can see that Major Hardying," Brandon observed. "We've seen this once or twice in the North. But only occasions like his are considered exceedingly rare."
"Then you know what's wrong with him?"
Daemon shook the discomfort from his head. "But I feel fine now—"
"No, you're not! That one slipup almost cost us everything—"
"Enough!" Brandon barked again. "I might have an idea, but we'll need a maester first. Is there one nearby?"
Petyr shook his head. "No," he replied. "Maester Lawsen is still at Riverrun with General Samson and Colonel Vargo."
"Samson's returned to active duty?"
"Aye. He's been reinstated—"
"I named him Master of War and commander of my armies," Daemon interrupted feeling fed up with the Vale officer.
Brandon was getting curious the more he learns. "Then what business do you have here in the Riverlands, cousin? It's not safe for you here," he questioned.
"I need an army. A real army to help me defeat Argilac. This 'business' I'm on is part of it. I need the Vale's support, but they need the Riverlands' crops to feed their soldiers."
"Which they can't because the only way to get here through the high road is… I see. Well, you have quite the momentous task ahead of you, cousin. Just know you are not alone in this endeavor, nor will you ever be."
"You mean…?"
"The North will support your efforts against Argilac. But first, we will need to remove the Lannisters from the Riverlands before we can even muster a counteroffensive. Once we are done here, we'll join you."
Daemon breathed a sigh of relief. He caught his first lucky break. "That's more than sufficient. Thank you, Brandon," he said feeling grateful.
Petyr's face frowned at the Prince, looking as if he had sucked on a lemon. But regardless, that is one region so far that has chosen to side with the rebel forces. If the Riverlands and Vale follow suit, then a Revolutionary Army would be a force to be reckoned with—able to contend with the Royal Army itself. Before Petyr or Daemon could decide their next move, a rebel scout appeared from the woods and knelt before them.
"Report," he panted. "Your Highness, Major Hardyng… General Samson has requested you both return to Riverrun immediately. Colonel Vargo has found something."
Both men looked at each other.
"Go on, you two," Brandon motioned. "We'll take care of the rest."
Daemon and Petyr nodded at the Stark officer, who left to rejoin his troops in battling Captain Tyler Lannister who rushed at Brandon with his flintlock and sword raised. Both stag and falcon glanced at each other briefly—suspicion and resentment still lingering in the air between them—until they turned on their heels and fled into the forest along the Red Fork towards Riverrun. Gunfire and mortar fire still rang in their ears despite the sounds fading several distances behind them.
—At King's Landing—
"*Ack!* *Gag!*" a Talon assassin choked as he was lifted off the ground by his throat.
Applying the powerful stranglehold on this bounty hunter stood Argilac, who in a fit of rage after learning of his failure to assassinate Rodrick Stark and word of Daemon's survival as well as the Northmen routing his armies along the western front, squeezed tighter around his neck. Wielding his massive warhammer in one hand whilst strangling the man with the other, Argilac stood all above all currently assembled in the throne room. Despite his intimidation and overall aggressiveness, only Gerion Lannister remained unmoved.
Clutching desperately at his throat, the Talon's eyes start to roll back.
"Apology accepted, Talon Zharreq," Argilac mocked angrily. With a tighter grip, malevolent stag King quickly flicked his wrist sideways and snapped the Talon's neck with an audible crunch.
*CRACK!*
Once the Talon's arms slumped to his sides, Argilac released his grip—causing the slain assassin to fall to the ground near his feet. Two of his elite personal guards pick up the lifeless body and carry it away quickly as the Small Council members hurry up to the King. Among the members included Ser Stefon Parne, the Master of War; Asten, the Grand Maester; Lord Gilbar Centyre, the Master of Coin; Lord Daltis Harclay, the Master of Commerce; Azleq mo Rhou, the new Master of Whisperers; Ser Bryen Granes, the Master of Laws; Aurane Waters; the new Master of Ships; and Ser Edam Marbrand, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. They were being led by the Hand of the King, Lord Gerion himself.
"Report from the frontlines," Argilac commanded.
"Rodrick Stark and his army, the Winter Wolves, have made contact with Captain Tyler Lannister near Wayfarer's Rest – the latest known rebel supply base in the Riverlands," Azleq informed his master. "However, we have—"
"We've noticed that the Swift Wolf dispatched only a splinter force to that location," Stefon interrupted. "Our frontline commanders received word early this morning that the main force is advancing on Riverrun from two angles in preparation for Captain Loreon's arrival from Harrenhal."
"And what of my little brother's forces on the east coast?"
"We tried advancing on the rebel fleet near Gulltown, but Jacaerys Velaryon anticipated our arrival. He has repelled assault after assault. It would seem the former Lord Admiral is a remarkable seafarer, and a master of naval warfare."
"I agree," Aurane replied. "The damage his armada inflicted on the Royal Fleet… 20 of our ships were destroyed, 10 were damaged beyond repair, and 5 had to return to the harbor for a few weeks of work – whilst Jacaerys's vessels remain afloat. We had no choice but to withdraw."
"That's because you bloody fools DON'T KNOW HOW TO PROPERLY USE THEM!" Argilac roared. "When you challenge my traitorous uncle in open waters, then yes he will have the advantage! Because he knows them! Because every son of House Velaryon is given the taste of a seafarer's life as soon as they come of age to become the masters of their element – which is the seas itself!" He remembered his childhood; his late father Jaerys Velaryon always wanted to teach both his sons the ways of a mariner and often took the royal family sailing with him. As a child, he always expressed deep disinterest in it with a passion and would often complain loudly whenever he was forced to go by his mother, but his younger brother was the opposite: he loved the sea which Jacaerys picked up on. "And what of the other Talons? Are they in position?"
"They are, Your Grace," Azleq confirmed. "But after what happened with the Swift Wolf, I suspect it won't be long before the rebels begin a routine background check to route them out."
"The paranoia will eat away at them until they reach a point where they will not know who to trust – so long as chaos and confusion keep them off-balance long enough for my army to crush them once and for all. 'The King in the Narrow Sea', huh! My brother still has much to learn about waging war before calling himself a King."
"Regardless, Your Grace," Gerion interjected, "It would be wise not to forget that Prince Daemon has three seasoned warriors counseling him—Samson, Jacaerys, and Vargo—with the addition of possessing a formidable fleet of his own. And with the North declaring for him, to underestimate what the boy could one day be capable of by rallying your enemies to his cause would bring about one's undoing."
That comment made Argilac sneer. "You expect me to be afraid of a little green boy?" he mocked.
"I expect you to not underestimate your opponents, no matter how big or small they appear to be, whether in politics or warfare. Such as the teachings of King Durran II the Bold were passed on more than 100 years ago. Otherwise, how else would House Baratheon retain its position as the royal family of Westeros for eight centuries?"
"Do not pretend to assume you know more than me," the Argilac pointed a finger at his Hand, reddening. "I am THE KING!"
"Any man who said 'I am the King' is no true King at all. When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you. The last Targaryen sovereign, Aerys II the Mad, failed to understand that 850 years ago before the Baratheons ascended to power. I'll make sure you understand that when I've won your war for you, restored the King's peace and the King's justice. The only matter that needs your attention right now is producing a legitimate heir to further the family line should the worse come to pass."
Argilac had that defiant, malevolent look. The Baratheon ruler had surprised his Small Council as they scuffled a safe distance away as he gripped his war hammer tightly. Gerion, however, did not flinch. He remained calm, collected, and composed and studied Argilac in silence, golden flecks shining in his pale green eyes.
"Do not forget who made you a General in the first place, Lord Gerion! My grandfather made you what you are, and I can easily unmake you with a simple snap of my fingers. We won all our battles! Everyone knows it is true. Why even bother hiding from the truth? My ancestor King Robert I killed Prince Rhaegar Targaryen at the Battle of the Trident and won the crown, his son killed Daenerys Targaryen in the War for Westeros, while one of your ancestors hid under Casterly Rock until the last second and the other was no more than a drunk, lecherous dwarf!" he shouted, giving his Hand a cold, defiant look. "Strong rulers act with bold, affirmative action, not waste time with idle talk."
The room goes silent as the depth of the insult sinks in.
"The King is tired. See him to his chambers," Lord Gerion said with courtesy so cold it was like to freeze anyone's ears off.
Argilac is stunned by the sudden change in atmosphere, which angers him greatly. "I'm not tired!" he insisted.
"Grand Maester, perhaps some dreamwine with a dose of essence of nightshade to help him sleep restfully." The Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West would have paid more heed to a mouse scurrying in the corner. "The rest of you, remain."
As Asten and the Kingsguard tried to gently escort Argilac away, he remained defiant.
"I… AM NOT… TIRED!"
Hell, even some of his elites were more scared of Gerion than of Argilac and helped to usher him to his bedchamber. By firmly putting his foot down and demonstrating both his political experience and military power as well as his great wealth, it seemed to be apparent that only Lord Gerion Lannister was the only one in King's Landing to be able to restrain King Argilac… for the moment. Indeed, since his appointment as Hand of the King, Gerion felt the need to restore order was sorely needed these last four years. But he did not, of course, forget that it was King Ormund II Baratheon himself who promoted Gerion to the rank of General in the Royal Army. The two were, in the beginning, best friends until they began to drift apart and ended when the Great Spring Sickness took him.
His daughter Shiera kept the Old Lion at a distance until her time unexpectedly came too.
And now they are not worthy of anything.
"M-my lord," Lord Gilbar stuttered, "was that really wise?"
"And what were you all telling him at court, I wonder? I did not fight three wars to retain House Baratheon's sovereignty just to endure such incompetence. You gave me to understand His Grace needed guidance, not flattery or foolishness."
"But Argilac is the King," Daltis mentioned. "He's the most powerful man in Westeros."
"You're a fool if you honestly believe he's the most powerful man in Westeros."
"A treasonous statement!"
"Tell me: do you really believe a crown gives you power?"
Some of them avoided his gaze.
"N-no," Bryen answered. "An army does."
"Mm-hmm," the Old Lion nodded.
"The Royal Army of Westeros stands as the most powerful military force the known world has ever seen; its influence even reaching as far west to Mirantibus Spe—our proud colony."
"Mm-hmm."
"Yet even now we've noticed signs of fragmentation," Stefon raised the subject. "The Talons—"
"Their methods for getting the job done will be approved from me. So, explain methodically why it's more publicly appropriate to kill 10,000 men in battle rather than a dozen at dinner from the shadows? Do you disapprove?"
No response came.
"Good," Gerion stiffly noted before pacing to the window. That was unlike him; he was more furious than he wished to show. "Argilac will need a sharp lesson… as will Daemon in due time." He turned to the Master of War. "Send the word to my son. Tell Loreon to show no mercy if the rebels continue to defy us."
Chapter End
Author's Note: With the Northmen arriving at Wayfarer's Rest and taking the Lannister army approaching from the Golden Tooth completely by surprise, Daemon has already secured the allegiance of the North for his cause in the Clash of Antlers. But as he and Petyr seek to return to Riverrun upon learning of Samson's discovery, what could they hope to find? And more importantly, what of the Prince's dreams of warning that's giving him a hard time concentrating? But lastly, Argilac made his disappointment in failure known—yet Gerion demonstrates his power in the capitol. Does he remind you guys of someone in particular?
ArchPsion: see that certain themes and scenes from canon (themes/scenes which didn't happen in Trials and Tribulations) have been transferred to this new time period. Between that and the obvious inspiration from Fable 3 I wonder if there will be a magical threat for Daemon Baratheon to confront after confronting his brother and Gerion Lannister's more grounded threat to the realm.
Pretty sure Daveth would roll in his grave if he saw what Argilac is like. Same with Tyrion finding out his descendant is Tywin 2.0 but with his favourite uncle's name. A shame about what House Arryn is facing, but at least it isn't dying with a whimper. Hope the same can be said of House Tully.
At least the Starks seem to still be on top of their game, and set to get the good old STAB alliance back up and running.