Wow, an update so quickly I'd almost forgotten what that was like! An important chapter this one, as the two armies collide.

In other news, I've deleted some of my stories that I have decided I'm not going to continue with. In the wake of all my data being gone, I'm going to stick with my OC series until at least No Mercy is completed and then go on from there.

The armour that Durran wears for the battle is the same as the Falkreath armour in the Skyrim mod of the same name.

As always, I own nothing but Durran and the other OC's.

Fortuitously, Viserys had accepted the offer of a parlay, and a couple of weeks after arriving at Fawnton, Durran found himself staring up at the charred husk of Summerhall. There was a slight breeze that almost sang through the burnt castle, a sound that was almost haunting to Durran. Next to him stood Stannis, Ser Barristan and Randyll Tarly, as Durran wanted to show off the strength of his command.

"This is where my Father won three battles in a single day then." Durran said in awe, as the Targaryen party were but specs in the distance. "Incredible."

Nobody said anything, as they waited for the Targaryen party to get closer. Durran recognised Oberyn Martell, and guessed that Viserys was the silver haired man with the sleek black and red armour, but he didn't recognise the other two. Ser Barristan recognised the ginger man however.

"Connington?" He asked, surprised. "I thought you were dead."

"I would have rather died than turned my cloak, traitor." The man Connington spat.

Viserys turned to the man. "Now Jon, let us not fall to petty insults straight away. We can wait until the Usurper's spawn bends the knee before then."

Durran just grinned. "Funny, I was going to say the same for when you bent the knee towards me and your sister."

Viserys' smug façade fell briefly. "I'll get her back after I'm done with you." He promised.

Stannis cleared his throat. "We are here for a parlay, not a bickering contest." He said. "Viserys Targaryen. King Durran Baratheon, the First of his Name would ask you and your party to bend the knee and proclaim him the rightful King of Westeros. House Martell will be reaffirmed as rulers of Dorne, and you shall be given Dragonstone, to be held by you and your heirs from this day until the end of time."

Viserys chuckled again. "You think you can buy me off with Dragonstone?" He asked Durran.

"It's your ancestral seat." Durran shrugged. "It currently sits empty, gathering dust. Who better to sit in its halls?" He intentionally insulted.

Viserys' features grew dark. "I can see it was a waste of time." He spat. "I promise you, Baratheon. I will find you tomorrow, and when I do, you shall taste the steel of Blackfyre." He partially revealed his Valyrian Steel sword, and Durran almost let on that he was surprised to see the lost Targaryen sword. "Then I shall take my city, sit on my throne and take back my sister-wife, and fuck her underneath your mounted head."

Durran's eyes glazed over with anger, but Stannis took point. "This is your last chance. Bend the knee or we will destroy you tomorrow on the battlefield."

Oberyn grinned. "Stern Stannis, you seem so sure. Your men are tired and lust for their homes and their women. Ours are strong and looking forward to slaughtering your family as recompense for Elia."

"Elia was murdered by Ser Gregor Clegane." Stannis said strongly. "A man that has not been seen since the death of Tywin Lannister. You're looking in the wrong place if you want justice, Prince Oberyn."

"Your fat Brother stepped over the body of Elia and her children to sit his arse on that chair." Oberyn spat. His eyes angrier than anything Durran had ever seen. "I will gladly repay the favour to every Baratheon to see the rightful heir sit the Iron Throne."

"There's no more to be said then." Durran exclaimed. He looked around at the ruin of Summerhall. "Take it in, Brother." He nodded to Viserys, angering him by reminding him of Dany. "This place will see yet another Targaryen fail."

"We shall see Baratheon." Viserys said, turning his horse back around. "We shall see!"

The unknown, quiet man followed him first, with Connington glaring at Ser Barristan a final time, and Oberyn took a step towards them, offering a sly grin before riding off with the rest of them. Stannis turned to Durran. "Well, I hope that pointless exercise got you exactly what you wanted."

Durran nodded. "It did. He's vain, he's arrogant, but he's determined. He'll throw everything he has at me from the start."

"I still don't like the elephants." Randyll Tarly said.

"The Belfry's are prepared. Lord Beric promises his men are ready." Stannis said.

"They better be, it seems like we've cut down half of the Kingswood for this." Durran said. "The new weapons?"

Randyll Tarly answered. "Are being tested constantly. They are working, Your Grace, the men are prepared and their aim is good."

"Good." Durran answered. "Taking down those elephants are our main priority, I don't want to have to bring in the Dragons for that."

Dany was sat in the Small Council chamber, and looked around at the fairly empty room. Pycelle was dozing off in his seat, and the only other members of the full council that weren't at Fawnton were Varys and Mace Tyrell. For that reason, she had invited Cersei in to lighten the load a touch.

Varys was reading from a letter. "Lord Anders has agreed to the King's suggestion, and will turn his cloak for Ghaston Grey."

"The prison island?" Cersei asked, bemused. "Why in Seven Hells would he want that cess pit."

Dany shrugged. "It is of no use to us, he can have his island." She told Varys. "Is there anything else?"

"The penultimate harvest has been counted. Your Grace." Lord Tyrell told them. "We shall have plenty of food for a six-year winter."

Dany nodded, thanking the Lord.

"There is a small matter from the North, Your Grace." Pycelle said. He feebly reached into his robes and pulled a roll of parchment. "Lord Stark has taken 5,000 men to the Wall and they have successfully held off the King Beyond the Wall's initial attack."

Cersei scoffed. "Barbarians with clubs. He should have brought his men Southwards to aid the King."

Dany shook her head. "What does the report say?" Pycelle handed her the raven letter. "They sent men over the Wall and they attacked from the North and the South, now they only have 100,000 men in the North to worry about. 100,000? Is that possible?"

"They are mere savages, Your Grace." Pycelle said. "If the Maester didn't think they could be handled with Lord Stark's men, he would have asked for aid."

Dany nodded. "Very well. We shall convene again in a couple of days, My Lords."

Varys and Mace Tyrell were quickly out of the room, with Pycelle a little slower. Dany got up and walked out with her mother in law.

"A letter came today from Durran." Dany said. She handed Cersei the parchment. "Tommen wrote a part for you."

Cersei hastily grabbed it, and Dany watched as her green eyes darted across the page. Cersei breathed out a laugh at the end. "He says he's going to bring me a flower from the Stormlands."

Dany smiled back. "It's hard to remember how young we all are sometimes."

Cersei nodded. "It still feels like yesterday when I birthed Durran, now he is the King with a child of his own, Myrcella is to be wed and Tommen is Lord Lannister. I can scarce believe it."

Dany placed a hand on Cersei's shoulder. "You raised the three well." She said.

Cersei's eyes flashed sadly for a brief second. "Perhaps. Excuse me." She said, as she walked out of view briskly. Dany guessed she was off to visit Joffrey's grave, but quickly paid it no mind. She made her way to her chambers and relieved the servant of babysitting duties, picking up baby Elaenor and staring out to the city, her mind worried on events that were due to happen in the South.

After arriving back at the camp just to the North of Summerhall, Durran immediately went to find his Brother in the small Lannister part of the camp. It was strange to see him in similar clothes to all the other Westerland squires, but it brought a smile to Durran's face seeing him struggle with polishing Ser Devan's armour. The other squires all seemed to stop when Durran and Ser Arys got closer, but Tommen was far too invested in the polishing.

"Circles." Durran said, making Tommen to realise he had company. "Polish it in small circles, here."

Durran took the cloth from Tommen and showed him the technique before handing the cloth back.

"Thank you." Tommen said. "It's hard work!"

Durran chuckled. "We were fortunate to be born as we were, but the life of a squire is to teach people like us some humility. I had to do it too with Stannis."

Tommen nodded, and continued to polish the armour. Durran looked around and noticed all the other squires were now using the circle technique, causing him to grin. A few minutes passed as Durran just spent time sat with his brother, until Tommen looked up again.

"We aren't going to die tomorrow, are we?" He asked.

Durran was surprised at the question, and placed his hand firmly on Tommen's shoulders. "No Tommen. I promise. You all will be far away from the battle, looking after the camp."

"It seems a bit… cowardly." Tommen added.

Durran nodded. "Perhaps, but you are 12 years old, and none of your friends here are older than 15. One day you will be by my side leading the Westerlands into battle, but that day is not today. Right now, you are here to learn, to meet your men and drink with them in a camp environment, to learn the values of being a knight and to understand why we must do this. The fighting comes later for you, when Ser Daven feels you are ready."

Tommen nodded, and Durran could sense that the other squires were listening in intently. He stood up and addressed them. "Some of you may feel like you belong in the battle, but I promise you your role is far too important than to have you in the midst of a battle. I'm trusting you all to keep this camp running, and when we return it will be your jobs to aid us with the wounded. Can I count on you all?"

They all nodded eagerly and shouted. "Yes, Your Grace!"

Smiling, Durran replied. "Good, now get to work on this armour, your knights will need them in excellent condition tomorrow." Afterwards, he turned to Tommen. "I likely won't see you until after the battle, so look after yourself. These squires look up to you, so be the Lord you are and help them, support them, and lead them when they need it."

Tommen nodded. "Come back." He pleaded.

Durran smiled, and hugged his brother. "I will, I promise." Releasing the 12-year-old, he walked away with his Kingsguard.

"You shouldn't have promised." Arys said. "In the thick of battle you can never know."

Durran nodded. "He needed to hear it. He needed the confidence and the belief that my promise will give him."

"Your Grace." Arys bowed his head as they walked. "It was a fine speech."

Durran smirked briefly. "Sometimes being a squire seems like you're just a slave to your Lord, make them feel important and they'll perform twice as hard."

Again, Arys bowed his head at the perceived wisdom of his King. They walked through the camp, stopping at certain points to have brief conversation with the soldiers in his army, until they arrived at Durran's tent when the sun fell from the sky. He stood while his squire for the battle, his Mother's cousin Tyrek, removed his old, black plate armour.

"How old are you now, Tyrek?" Durran asked.

"17, Your Grace." Tyrek answered. "I also served your Father."

"A few months older than I am then." Durran chuckled. "Yes, I remember you serving King Robert. You're a bit old for a squire. How is your swordplay?"

Tyrek waited a moment before answering. "I can hold my own, Your Grace."

Durran grinned. "We shall see. You fight with Ser Daven tomorrow. Survive, and I'll finally knight you."

Durran could see Tyrek try and hide his grin in the mirror. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"But until then, you're still a squire." Durran reminded, and Tyrek nodded and the squire went about his work, taking the armour away and leaving Durran alone in his tent. He took out a book about the Third Blackfyre Rebellion, and tried to will himself to sleep, to no avail.

He managed a couple of hours, enough to manage throughout the battle. With his brand new white mailed armour on that gave him extra movement, Durran was sat on his horse on the front lines. He watched on as the Golden Company and Martell forces marched forwards, halting noisily in the distance. Summerhall could be seen behind them in the mountains.

Looking to his left, he nodded at Ser Barristan before putting his antlered helm on, making sure he could see properly. Turning back to Ser Barristan, he asked. "Are we ready?"

"Yes, Your Grace." The old knight replied. "Lord Stannis is waiting in reserve, hidden well enough with the Stormlanders. Lord Garlan is eager for blood on the right, and Lord Randyll is prepared on the left."

Durran nodded. "May the Warrior guide us this day my friends." He spoke to his Kingsguard, before raising his voice to bellow for all his troops to hear. "BELFRY'S. ADVANCE!"

"BELFRY'S. ADVANCE."

Stefan heard the call, and turned to his second in command. "Advance Ser." As the men began to spring into action, he stepped towards the edge of the tower as it rolled.

Hastily put up, a total of ten movable towers had been erected with three floors. The bottom two held ballista's, massive crossbows that could penetrate stone walls if needed. The top held a weapon that had apparently originated in Yi Ti, and an architect had been found by the Spider to build a number. A miniature trebuchet used to fling projectiles distances known as a mangonel. The Marcher Lords had been put on the towers, and Stefan looked across both ways to see the other 9 of them roll forwards at a similar pace.

Turning to the crew of the mangonel, Stefan said. "Remember, aim for the elephants when you can. We want them taken out before they can reach our main forces."

"Yes milord." The men replied, before they set up the contraption. Looking behind him, he could see the army refilling the gaps as the belfry towers moved beyond the troops. Once they had refilled the gaps, they began moving forwards at a similar pace, noisily chanting and banging shields and spears together as they marched.

Turning back to the enemy, he saw them advancing also. "GET READY TO FIRE!" he screamed. The men loaded the mangonel, and he could hear the ballista below him being cranked. Waiting a moment until they were in range, he screamed. "LOOSE!"

The men yanked the cord as hard as they could, and Stefan watched the chunk of rock soar into the air. The men didn't stop and watch, as they hastily reset the weapon. The rock smashed into the front lines, taking out a couple of Golden Company soldiers. "And again!" He ordered. "Loose!"

Four volleys of rock were sent before the opposition were close enough to use the ballista's, and to devastating effect. Stefan watched on as his tower loosed a bolt into the leading elephant's leg, causing it to roar in pain, before the second buried itself deeply into the skull with a deafening crunch. Stefan felt ill, but looked around at a number of other elephants falling, leaving only three remaining in reserve. Stefan could see men rushing to prepare them, and grinned at the devastation caused. The problem with the ballista were its load time however, and one surviving elephant at the front used the time to charge forward, crushing dozens of its own men and evading a falling rock before smashing its body into the Dondarrion tower to Stefan's left.

Wood splintered, as the contraption fell apart. "Beric…" Stefan gasped as he watched more Stormlander men succumbing to death as the elephant rampaged. Another tower fell to a large boulder too. "They have siege weapons!" A man screamed.

"Abandon the tower! Burn it to ash!" Stefan roared as the final stage of the tower plan was enacted. The men started creating sparks to set the tower alight, and they quickly made it out the back of the tower, leaving them burning and still moving slowly towards the onrushing Targaryen forces. Stefan withdrew his sword. "Regroup to me!" He roared, as he awaited the onrushing enemy.

Edric Dayne felt a bit wrong. In Reachman plate armour, but at least he had his purple surcoat of House Dayne. As the men advanced in a line, he looked forwards and saw the banner of House Dayne of High Hermitage opposing him. His focus remained solely on that until the crackle of flames came the Belfry's to his left. That was the signal, and he heard Garlan Tyrell shout. "CHARGE!"

He jeered his horse forwards, galloping at pace as he unsheathed his sword. Arrows flew over their heads as they charged towards the Dornish, impacting in the front few lines and allowing gaps in the Dornish defence for them to exploit. Edric leaned to his right and swung his sword as hard as he could, feeling it impact with a Dornishman. Gaining his balance again, he charged towards the Dayne troops, spotting the man that had slaughtered his family, Gerold Dayne. The Darkstar was racing forwards as well. As his vision narrowed and his breathing slowed down, he swung his sword at the Darkstar.

His sword was met by Dawn, the ancient sword of House Dayne. "THAT DOESN'T BELONG TO YOU!" He roared.

"Come and get it." Gerold Darkstar grinned, and the swords clashed once more. Edric put all his might into his swings, expertly moving his horse into range. He slashed and parried, growing angrier and angrier as the duel on horseback went on. The Darkstar was grinning wildly. "Useless! No wonder you fled! Your weak Mother put up more of a fight before I raped her and cut her to pieces for defying the True King!"

"AAAARRGHHH!" Edric roared, as he got his foot out of the stirrups and leapt from his horse towards the Darkstar, tackling him from his horse. Edric fell to the ground with a thud, also hearing a snap on his way down as the Darkstar roared in pain. The younger Dayne looked over at his family's murderer and saw that his leg had snapped in the stirrups. Edric stood and grabbed his sword, walking over to the Darkstar, who was waving Dawn around in anguish. "You shall hurt no-one else." Edric snarled. "For my Mother!" He parried Dawn to one side, watching it clatter to the ground. Picking that up too, he dropped his sword and held Dawn in his hands for the first time, feeling empowered at having the sword in his hands. "For my Father!" He roared, bringing Dawn down into the heart of Gerold Dayne.

He released the sword, wedged in the torso of the Darkstar as he watched the man grow lifeless. Breathing a sigh of relief as the body moved no more, he took Dawn back and held it aloft, watching as the Dayne soldiers around him stopped fighting their enemy and started chanting for the Sword of the Morning.

"The tyranny of the Darkstar is finished! Do your duty to House Dayne and follow me now!" Edric roared. "You will all be forgiven for his crimes once King Durran is victorious!"

Some refused, but the majority looked around and saw they had been outnumbered, and Tyrell troops were closing in. "Edric! Edric!" Was the chant coming from a few, before more of them joined in.

"For Starfall!" Edric shouted, and the Dayne men repeated the cry before they flew into battle again.

Stefan and his Marcher forces had moved to join Randyll Tarly on the left, Together, the Tarly and Stormland forces pushed through the lines, and Stefan's sword was covered in red. His attention was taken by a roar of an elephant, as one of the last remaining beasts was taken down yet again by the best archers the realm had to offer. Not for the first time he was thankful to Anguy the archer.

His blade was soon met by that of a large red-haired man that looked to be a leader. The man growled. "You have the Baratheon look." Stefan remembered his Father talking to him last night about the commanders at the parlay.

"Connington." He replied. "Your nephew is somewhere here, you would fight your own blood?"

"For Rhaegar's own blood? Always." The man replied, swinging his sword down fiercely. Stefan met it with his own, and the two Stormlanders duelled. The clash of swords filling the younger man's ears as he had to focus on all his training to keep up with the surprisingly nimble Connington. Spotting what he perceived to be an opening, minutes into the duel, he feinted towards the left and slashed out, only to be knocked back and have a mailed fist smashed into his face.

Flying backwards, Stefan landed on the body of a Reachman with a thud. Groaning, he brought his now sword less remaining hand up to inspect the damage, and felt blood trickle from his nose. Wiping it away, he saw the blurry figure of Connington approaching him, and held his metal arm out to block the blow.

The sword bounced off the arm with a clang, and as his vision returned to him, Stefan could see that Connington was surprised. Blocking a fiercer blow with his arm again, Stefan punched out, striking Connington in the face. His Baratheon strength showing as Connington staggered away. Stefan reached behind his back and pulled out a small blade, thrusting it into the side of Connington.

The Commander of the Golden Company fell to his knees and Stefan pressed the advantage. Kicking out at Connington's balancing leg, he straddled the now prone man and used his metal arm to repeatedly punch Connington in the face. Punch after punch was unleashed, before most resistance had subsided and Connington was barely clinging on to life. Eager to end the fight then and there, Stefan took his knife and plunged it directly into Connington's eye, ending him.

Meanwhile, over the other side of the battlefield, Garlan Tyrell was locked in an epic duel with the heir of Sunspear. Trystane Martell was a good swordsman, and Garlan was letting the Martell be on the attack as he tried to analyse him for a weakness. Parrying to the left, he noticed that the young man favoured his right too much. As Trystane swung in again, Garlan held up his golden rose shield, blocking the swing, before he slashed at Trystane's knee. The Martell fell to his knees, grimacing in pain. Garlan stood tall, catching his breath. He noticed that the Martell was going to lash out with his sword, so he kicked the hand of Trystane, hearing a crunch of bone before he swung his sword in his hand, and plunged it into the neck of the Martell.

Withdrawing it, he moved on, and to his right he could see Tyrell after Tyrell fall in quick succession. He made his way through a number of Martell spearmen, slashing and stabbing until they fell until he was feet away from Prince Oberyn.

"A Tyrell come to taste my spear." Oberyn grinned. "How fitting."

Garlan shook his head. "My blade has already tasted a Martell Prince's blood today, Prince Oberyn. It shall do so again."

He watched as Oberyn's eyes blazed red. "You shall pay Tyrell. Once I am done with you, none of your blood shall live long." He growled before swinging his spear. Garlan anticipated the movement however, and blocked it with his shield, and again with his sword on the return. Knowing he had to get in closer, he tucked his arms in and crouched slightly behind his shield making less of a target. Oberyn was twirling his spear with precision. "Your fancy knights play won't save you." He taunted.

Garlan ignored him, and blocked the incoming spear again. He stabbed out with his sword quickly, being knocked aside by the spear before retreating and getting back into stance. He tried again, knocking the spear out of the way with his shield before stabbing out again. Oberyn swiftly jumped and dived over the sword however, causing Garlan to have to turn quickly, but not quick enough as Oberyn's spear slashed at Garlan's side, scratching him slightly.

Garlan got back into his defensive stance, once again rushing forwards to try and break Oberyn, but again it was no use as the Martell danced away from his blade. "Are you feeling strange, Tyrell?" He asked.

Garlan didn't know what he was meaning, but pushed forwards again. This time, Oberyn's overconfidence was key, and Garlan let a volley of swings loose, managing to cut Oberyn's face slightly. This enraged the Martell, who smashed Garlan in the helmet with the butt of his spear. Garlan went tumbling to the ground, and as he went to get up, his arm gave way.

"Poison." Oberyn said, leaning over him.

"You dishonourable…" Garlan began, before he had to cough. A thick liquid could be felt inside the helmet, and Garlan guessed it was blood. It was harder for him to breath now, as his sword fell from his fingers. Suddenly a sharp pain from just inside his hip flew through his body, and he looked down to see the spear protruding from him. He reached up to try and grab Oberyn, but his arms dropped down to the ground as the life left him.

The left flank was holding, and the King and the vanguard were pushing through the lines successfully, but Ser Rolland Storm was looking over towards the right flank and seeing the orange waves of Martell troops overrunning the Tyrell forces. Already angry at the sight of the Caron belfry being peppered by rock and not knowing if his half-brother was alive, he rode forwards to Stannis Baratheon.

"My Lord, the Right flank needs our aid." He said. "I beseech you, send in the cavalry."

Stannis took out his far-eye and looked over. "Prince Oberyn." He commented. "He is holding a head aloft."

He handed Rolland the device, and he looked through it to see Garlan Tyrell's head being thrown unceremoniously to the ground. "Lord Garlan." He commented.

"Then yes, Ser Rolland. Prepare the men. We will ride for the right. Light the signal fire and bring the Yronwoods to our side and join us."

"At once, Lord Hand." Rolland nodded, whipping the reigns and galloping over to the large bonfire they had prepared as a signal. Taking a torch, he threw it on the kindling, and without waiting he re-joined the lines of charging cavalry.

They charged down the hill in unison, rows of five keeping time with one another. Cheering and making as much noise as possible, Rolland noted that inside the battlefield the Dornish were turning on themselves, as Yronwood and Blackmont soldiers betrayed their Martell liege lords. Rolland reached up and pulled down his visor and withdrew his sword. The cavalry led by Stannis Baratheon crashed into the fray, as Rolland slashed his sword across the neck of a Dornishman, before swinging upwards, and opening the side of another.

He soon found himself racing around on his horse, savagely striking out at any in Dornish colours that faced him, until his horse buckled, and he had to launch himself away from the dying animal. Bringing his Greatsword up quickly, he looked around for the attacker, and saw Oberyn Martell, his face covered in blood from a scratch above his eye. Twirling his sword, Rolland said a quick prayer to the Warrior and leapt in.

Deftly parrying the spear away, he noted how aggressive the Martell was, remembering from tourneys he favoured grace over power. Presuming it was down to the betrayal of Houses Yronwood and Blackmont, Rolland tried to work that into an advantage. He was being forced backwards, parrying blow after blow and deftly evading the metal tip of the spear, but as Oberyn went to leap at him with a stabbing motion, Rolland rolled out the way before bringing his body around with his back to the Martell, and slashing to his side at the spear embedded in the dirt. The spear was snapped in two, and Oberyn was surprised briefly, before gasping as Rolland had twisted the sword in his hands, and thrusting it backwards into the Martell Prince's gut.

Retrieving his sword, he turned around to watch as Oberyn held his hands to his wound, before looking up at his opponent. "Who…"

"Ser Rolland Storm." He replied strongly.

Oberyn grinned, as blood started pooling at his mouth. "Killed… killed by a pox scarred bastard. How amusing."

Rolland grimaced at the reminder, and raised his sword before bringing it down forcefully across Oberyn's neck, and he watched as the body slumped to the ground, before he turned to find his next opponent.

The problem with Durran's glistening white surcoat and huge stag antlers is that he was a clear target. The battle raged and he had been rushed numerous times, but mounted on horseback he held them all off. That was until an arrow found his horses eye.

His Kingsguard had surrounded him, and together the five of them carved their way through the Golden Company forces. The balding man that Durran hadn't known at the parlay had fallen to Ser Arys, the bear sigil on his chest plate giving him away as the disgraced Lord of Bear Island that had sold slaves. They were winning the fight, but in the distance the last push of the Company looked like it was coming, and Durran spotted the black and red armour of Viserys.

As battle rage clouded him, he ignored the cry of Ser Barristan as he was brought to the ground by a company member, ducked below a stray Marcher arrow that embedded itself in that same soldier, saving Ser Barristan's life, and instead pushed beyond the defensive figures of Ser Balon Swann and Ser Podrick Payne, and carved his way brutally through the enemy forces, with his eyes mostly trained on the mounted figure of Viserys, just joining the battle.

Durran ran, and watched on as Viserys spotted him and turned his horse to charge at Durran. Flexing his fingers on the hilt of Stormbringer Durran got ready, and as the horse was within distance, Durran barely dodged the swing of Blackfyre, feeling one of the antlers on his helm fly off, and sliced off the hind legs of Viserys' horse.

Twisting around, he watched as the Targaryen rose from the ground, taking off his sword belt and throwing it away. He pointed his sword out at Durran. "You'll pay for that."

Durran didn't respond, just roared as he swung the sword around his head and lashed out at Viserys, Stormbringer meeting Blackfyre. The blades met time and time again, as the two hacked at one another with everything they had. The blades locked together briefly, before Durran kept the Greatsword in his right hand and threw a punch with his left. Viserys staggered back, and Durran pushed forwards.

"It didn't have to be like this!" Durran roared. "I am not my Father! You could have lived peacefully at Dragonstone and gotten to know your sister! Your Niece!"

Viserys spat blood on the ground. "My sister has been whored and manipulated by you! Her place was with me, and instead you defiled her!"

"She made her choice! She could have left, she could have joined you as soon as she knew where you were but she didn't!" Durran exclaimed. He started laughing, and held his arms wide. "She chose me. She chose her family!"

Viserys grinned. "She'll choose me once I bring her your head and free her from your grasp."

Durran snarled and threw all his force behind his next blow. Viserys threw Blackfyre up to block, and what happened next shocked them both.

As the blades connected, a loud shatter filled the ears of the Baratheon King as the Valyrian edge of Blackfyre carved Stormbringer's blade in two. Durran was left with around a fifth of the Greatsword left. Staring in disbelief, he looked up and saw Viserys laughing and staring at Blackfyre in wonder.

"The blade of Kings!" He shouted, only to be distracted by men in Golden Company colours running Southwards.

Durran looked around, and heard the shout. "Lord Connington and Prince Oberyn are dead! It's hopeless!"

Viserys could also hear it. "No! No! I am still here! I am your King! Stand and fight!" He briefly turned around at the fleeing soldiers, and Durran pounced.

He jammed his broken blade through Viserys' left hamstring. The Targaryen roared in pain, but Durran grabbed him in a choke hold, his left arm around Viserys' neck and his hand gripping the wrist that held Blackfyre. Squeezing the wrist, Durran made Viserys drop the weapon, before stomping on the stronger leg, forcing the Targaryen to his knees.

"It's over, Viserys!" He exclaimed, before repeating the words to himself. "It's over."

Looking around he saw the still burning husks of the towers, the elephant carcasses scattered around the battlefield, and the mounted forces with Baratheon banners chasing down the fleeing soldiers. The scale of the area they had fought in was massive, nothing like anything Durran had seen before. The cheers rang out at that moment, as Ser Arys, Ser Podrick and Ser Balon caught up with Durran.

"Sers, take him away, but treat him as you would a Lord." He ordered. The three nodded, and though Viserys struggled, the pain from his leg and wrist were too great to be of effect. Durran watched him be dragged away, only to see Ser Barristan hobbling towards him being held up by an archer. "Ser Barristan. I'm glad to see you living." He said, catching his breath.

"I wouldn't be if it was not for this archer here." The old knight said. "I owe him my life."

Durran looked, and recognised the archer that his cousin was so fond of. "Anguy, right?"

Anguy looked surprised. "Yes, Your Grace."

Durran patted him on the shoulder. "I'm in your debt, you've done a great deed today."

He took one final look around the battlefield, and nodded to himself. Thousands may have died on both sides, but the last true threat to his rule was in custody. They had the victory.

I really hope you all enjoyed it. I loved writing this chapter so much! I'll run through a list of dead from this chapter in a moment.

So Viserys is in custody and the Martell's have been severely weakened, although the victory didn't come without a cost, as we lose several Stormlords and Lord Garlan Tyrell.

Please leave me a review with your thoughts! I'm eager to hear them all. If you don't want to review but want to ask me anything then send a PM, I'll always reply as soon as I can.

Please raise your glasses for the named fallen, although admittedly some were nicer than others: Beric Dondarrion, Bryce Caron, Gerold Darkstar, Jon Connington, Trystane Martell, Garlan Tyrell, Oberyn Martell and Jorah Mormont.

Reviews:

ThelonewolfNT: That argument is an interesting one, but it depends on the level of 'murder'. Durran wants pure extinction, like the Reyne's or Tarbeck's, meaning there will be nobody left to rebel.

Guest (proof): Like the rubbish plot device in Season 7? That definitely will not be happening in this story.

Riverdog: I hope the meeting lived up to expectations!