Daenerys
The Tyrell scouts had told her how it was, but Dany wanted to see for herself. She took Drogon so high up in the air that her men on the ground looked like nothing more than ants from where she sat. From the top she could see everything without being seen. It was how she had taken the Hightowers unawares at the banks of a tributary of the river Honeywine which flowed in from the east by the Uplands, the castle of House Mullendore.
Ser Baelor had hoped that her men would go straight to Oldtown to find the city barred against them. They would have been forced to sit in another pointless siege and whilst they were mounting it, the true forces of the Hightowers would come swinging in from the behind to break them against the walls of Oldtown.
She had seen it all from atop her dragon and when the time came for it, Dany urged her army southeast to make for the Uplands. They had found the Hightowers somewhere between the Honeywine and Uplands by the river, well covered behind a high ridged slope blanketed in long green grass.
Dany had decided to attack at night when their enemies would least expect one. And with the cover of the dark, barely illuminated by the silver moonlight, she had given the order for the attack. When she torched the camps up in fire atop her dragon, the battle had come to an end.
When the battle was done, Dany had rode her mare through the fields of the dead. Her goodfather and his lords bannermen coming behind her, smiling and jesting among themselves.
The hooves of warhorse had torn the earth and trampled the grass and canvas into the ground, while swords and arrows were strewn across the field watered with blood and torched in fire. Dying horses lifted their heads and screamed at her as she had rode past. Wounded men had surrendered, whilst others died for the cause they chose to believe in. Dany had sent some of her men amongst them when he couldn't stand their screams, and mercy had been given to those who were in need of it with their swords and heavy axes and arrows, putting down the dead and dying alike. Finally when the camp had been cleared and Dany's own banners had been flown, the numbers came from the bloodshed. A lot of blood had been shed, but little had belonged to her or hers. They had counted five hundred dead from Ser Baelor's army. Dany had lost barely half a hundred.
Even still Ser Baelor had made off with the best part of his army. Her counts had put them at almost six thousand men, but barely five hundred of them had lost their lives whilst the rest broke away and ran, the better part of them. She would have happily traded this five hundred for the five thousand who had fled.
She had torched the camp with fire as they left it the next day. They made off to Oldtown as black plumes of smoke roiling and tumbling as they rose into a hard blue sky behind them. Beside burned tents and trodden fields, riders galloped back and forth, herding away the survivors and captives from the smoking grass and clothes. If only the city of Oldtown would fall as easy as the camp had, that would be a great victory indeed. But even Dany knew that would not be the case.
Lord Leyton had more men in his city apart from the ones his son and heir had led. And the city was well fortified and defended by all the accounts the captives provided. Even with the help of Drogon, it would be a bloodbath before the city would fall. Her goodfather advised her to chase after Ser Baelor, but Dany had deemed that Oldtown is much more important than pursuing some defeated forces.
When she could see the beacon of Oldtown burning on top of the Hightower, green through a sea of grey clouds, Dany reined in Drogon and flew down past the clouds enough to see the city without the interference of the clouds but still high enough to escape the eyes of the people down in the city. She circled around the city twice and looked across the fields, to where the Hightower host lay athwart her path. She knew how best to count the numbers of a foe. Four thousand, she thought, more or less.
When she took in the layout of their camp from above, she flew past them for a proper look on the city. She rounded above the walls of the city like a hawk circling an unsuspecting prey, before it comes swooping down to snatch the life out of the air. She made a slow descent, taking a good look at the walls of the city, the defences and the defenders, the traps and weapons mounted on the walls to counter her dragon. From the back of Drogon she could see the men on the walls, the huge trebuchets within the walls, the catapults and the scorpions and ballistae on top of them, where the main part of the city's garrison was positioned, which gates were well defended and which were less defended.
Drogon growled when he looked at the scorpions and ballistae lined along the walls. He was annoyed with the arrowfire that scattered off his scales that had become common. She would have to burn all of those down first, Dany thought. Such great number of scorpions and ballistae would surely pose a problem for herself and Drogon if left unchecked. And the myriad of trebuchet and catapults should be taken care of as well. By the time she flew back to her camp half a league upriver the Honeywine from the city, Dany felt as if she had won the battle before it could even start.
Back in the camp her men were waiting for her. Her soon-to-be goodfather was the first one to greet her back from her scouting back to the camp. "There is another army close by the city," Dany told them as she climbed down from top of Drogon. "About four thousand men, with cavalry on the flanks. Lances and mounted knights, with swords and axes for the close work. The Cuys on the left wing, the Costaynes to the right. About five hundred men apiece. They fly the High Tower of Hightowers and the sunflowers of Cuy and other banners, all sworn to Oldtown."
She had seen the Hightower of Lord Leyton streaming from the tallest spears. The other lords flew their own standards beneath those of the city they served: on the right silver chalices on black quartered with a black rose on gold, on the left six yellow flowers on blue. "The Hightowers hold the center themselves, along with the Beesburys, Bulwers and Mullendore," Dany noted. She had seen their banners too, three yellow beehives on a black pale over a paly black and yellow field, black-and-orange butterflies strewn over white for Mullendore and the bull's skull of Bulwer, bone over blood.
"Who is leading them?" Lord Appleton asked. "It couldn't be Ser Baelor by any means."
"Might be some other son of Lord Hightower," suggested Lord Raymund Rhysling. "The Hightower family is a big one."
"What say you? Can we defeat this army?" Ser Bayard Norcross asked.
"Easily," Mace Tyrell said. "Four thousand men are no match for us in any way."
"It's not the army you should be worrying about," Lord Titus Peake adviced. "Oldtown will never fall just as easy as these armies."
Not without any bloodshed as well. This time part of it will belong to her own people. She had seen the city, prepared for the siege, or for assault. Either way the Hightowers will resist.
"We might win a battle here, my lords, but at such cost we cannot take the city." Ser Parmen Crane shook his head, already garbed in his bright purple armour, with the crane of his house enameled on the breastplate.
"That is ever a risk," Lord Victor Vyrwel said. "Oldtown is forewarned of our arrival. They will be prepared for us."
Dany considered. The Hightower host seemed small compared to her own numbers with the combined force of the Lords of the Reach and the Crownlands, but even then it would not be easy to dispatch them. She could obliterate the army like Aegon the Conqueror had done in the Field of Fire. Drogon could have a easy time at it than the men, but she could never take the city without the help of her men. "We can take the city with Drogon's help," she said. "Send word to Oldtown that we will be coming for the city today by evenfall. I will be expecting them to have the city doors open at my arrival. If I find them open, then I shall be merciful and spare the city off any harm. If not then, I shall bring Fire and Blood upon them."
"As you wish," Ser Gerold Hightower said. "But if they do not wish for peace-"
"Then I will keep my word. We will march for Oldtown today." She turned about towards her tall golden pavilion at the center. "If the army in our path lay down their swords, I will pardon them. If not, I shall burn them to ashes. If the city yields, I will show them the mercy I promised, if not we will take the city by any means necessary."
For a moment, the dragon within her had been awoken and she had an anger within her that she hadn't felt since her brother's death. She waited for a reply from Oldtown for a long time, but none arrived. When none arrived, she had run out of patience.
She gathered her men for a war council at Lord Tyrell's tent. "Oldtown asks for war," she told them. "It is our duty to bring it to them now."
"This is good, Your Grace," Ser Simon Chyterring said. "We thirst for blood. We can take the city."
"We will have to defeat the assembled army on our path before moving to the city," Dany said. "They are encamped right on our path."
"We can defeat them in no time, princess," Ser Boros Blount was confident. "These traitors will stand no chance. We will show that to you."
"When battle is joined, let you all show wisdom as well as valour," Dany told him. "Spare anyone who runs or throws down his weapon. Kill anyone who hold a weapon in his hands. I don't care what happens in the city though." She had promised them that she will bring fire and blood upon them and she meant to keep that promise.
They broke camp as the sun was going down and the sky was the colour of bruised purple. It had not gotten red, yet, showing that she still had an hour or two before dark. Her vanguard formed up in the front and the command was given to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. A hundred mounted knights on magnificent armoured horses accompanied him at the front. Sunlight winked off the steel tips of the lances they carried.
A chill wet wind blowing from the west as they departed from her camp. She hoped to take the city before the dark could arrive. She thought it was going to be a gloomy night; moonless, starless and she didn't want her army to stumble across in the dark. A fine black night, thought Dany, and she wanted to be inside Oldtown before it could settle over. Dany seated herself on the back of Drogon, as her army spread all around her. When they were assembled, she said, "It's time time mount our attack."
"Yes, princess," said Lord Tyrell. "The men are ready to ride out."
"It's going to be a long day still, but when it ends we shall be resting within the walls of the city."
Lord Lothar Mallery scowled. "Should we prepare for a siege?"
"No," Dany said at once. "We will mount an assault. I want Oldtown taken by tonight. They will not think that I will be brave enough to attack both the army and the city this close to night. We will prove them wrong, by defeating their army in the field and by taking the city."
"If they were waiting for us?" asked Ser Simon asked.
"Then it will not change anything at all," said Dany. "We gave them a choice and they have picked one." Dany turned towards Ser Gerold Hightower. "What do you think we should do about the army, Ser Gerold?"
"I think we should attack from three sides." The old knight pointed towards the map, where the positions of both armies had been neatly set up by wooden miniatures. "The mounted knights and cavalry shall strike at them from right and left, while Lord Mace shall lead our infantry to thrust through their center and push them towards the flanks. Princess Daenerys will be atop her dragon softening their lines along with our bowmen." He finished.
It didn't take long to work out all the details after that. And then began the most important and dangerous time, Dany thought as they departed onwards to their fight. She could only think of what would happen if she failed here now. But she wouldn't fail, she was the blood of the dragon and the blood of the dragon never fails.
The eastern horizon was almost red by the time Dany leapt on the back of her dragon, leading the men onwards to battle. As she took to the air, she heard the voices and hooves of horses trailing far beneath her. Drogon clawed the air and ascended quickly, up and up until the she could not hear any sounds at all.
Slate skies and cold wind accompanied her on the way to the enemy camp. Dany made it there first before her men could arrive, but only to find empty canvas and smoking cookfires which had died long ago. When she reached there, she found that the enemy camp had been deserted and those who had once stayed there had long gone. Back to the city, she thought. There were no where else for them to run other than the city.
By the time her army reached the camp the sky had turned completely red.
"They must have fallen back to the city," Lord Tyrell said, vexed at that.
Dany nodded in understanding looking back at the high walls of Oldtown. The city was built of pale bricks with massive, thick, high stone walls surrounding them. Even from here they could see the green flame burning upon the top of the stepped tower of the Hightowers like a distant green star on a sea of clouds. The wall and towers were swarmed with crossbowmen and scorpions and ballistae and catapults. She had seen them earlier and now there must be even more of them who must have joined at the defence of the city.
"What should we do, your grace?" Lord Rhysling asked.
"We stick to the plan," Dany said, walking back to Drogon. "We assault the city and take it by storm. Deploy the men. The main gate is well defended with archers and footmen. Concentrate most of your attack on the side gates. Its not as much defended as the main one."
Mace Tyrell and Ser Gerold Hightower deployed her men, to mount a two sided assault on both gates at once. Dany mounted on back of Drogon to lead the attack herself. Her men looked up at her as she took to flight. She passed them, leaving them in a cloud of wind and dust.
She left the men down and soared above them against the evening sky. When she had reached high enough to get away from the eyes of the men on the walls, she descended on them from above. Drogon was as silent as a black shadow as he descended down upon them. No one saw him he was above them until he was right on them. Just as she was about to utter her command to let loose a streak of black and scarlet fire, a loud thunder cracked over head in the sky. The world flashed in a faint purple for a moment and the boom arrived, so bright and loud that Dany had to close her eyes and ears shut and fly away.
When she opened her eyes, it had grown dark. Dark black clouds swarmed in the sky and the last of the light from the world was fading quickly. It couldn't be, she thought. She still had an hour of light or two before she started the attack. Yet it seemed as if a sudden storm had descended upon them, bringing darkness and thunder along with it.
A cold, wind came in howling from the sea and flung blasts of water and dust alike against her face. Dany pushed forth into it, and her men followed her, walking forward towards the gates. The gritty storm found every gap in armour and clothing alike, combining with sweat in a cold, wet bath. The air was cold and soon rain started to lash against her face.
She could barely see through the rain and the dark, but still flew through the dark. Beneath her, the army was not faring any better as well. It will pass, Dany told herself. If we are suffering, then the defenders must suffer as much as we do. Dany could only see a dozen yards in front of her and when she set Drogon highter over the walls of Oldtown she could barely see the men to on the ground.
The thought that she had to meet her enemies facing into the wind did not cheer her much. But the wind ought to render the bows and ballistae of the defenders useless by some part. The dark would give her enough cover. Drogon blended into the storm like a black shadow and she wheeled him around to the part where the defenders had positioned most of their scorpions and ballistae. She waited until she was only four feet away from the battlements. The clap of the leathery wings was the last sound the defenders heard as Dany bathed them in dragonflame, destroying their wooden catapults and scorpions as she passed overhead.
The men in the other line suddenly scuttled around, plying their bows. Tall pikes loomed out of the swirling moisture, silken banners and roughspun cloaks alike swirling around them, flapping like vast wings. Some of the bowmen let fly their bolts and arrows blindly. If anything was aimed for her of Drogon the shafts were drift astray by the wind. Those who aimed down at the men on the ground had more success. Dany saw half a dozen horsemen thrown from their saddles. The animals whirled and ran before the wind, pursuing other riderless companions. The defenders flung stones and boulders from the trebuchets and catapults on the walls and within them. Each boulder was large enough to smash an armoured man to pulp. They landed amidst her army with a loud thud followed by screams of men. Dany turned around. "Dracarys," she said and Drogon lit the air around him in a bright red light, burning away the catapults and the men who manned them. The wood set aflame burned through the light rain. It would take much more than that to douse dragonfire.
A dozen men ran away, clothes and flesh alike on fire whilst twice as many died on the spot reduced to nothing but ash and charred bones. The flames provided enough light for her men to mount their assault properly. Dany burned down the gates and the defenders garrisoned close to it. She heard a scorpion both squealing past her ear and tearing through the leathery wing of Drogon. The dragon gave a loud roar and waved his long, serpentine neck left to right, breathing a long and hot line of flame burning everyone and everything around, setting half the buildings around on fire.
Some of her own men were caught in the fires, but she didn't care. She flew Drogon to the walls and burned everyone he found there, torching the scorpions and ballistae until wood and iron and hempen ropes were burned through. Beneath, her men entered the city, lead in an orderly column by Ser Gerold Hightower who broke the shieldwall of the defenders and pushed them back from the barricade they had put up using wagons and crates.
Horns blared in their direction, and the men of Oldtown rushed forward to meet them. The fighting commenced down in the streets below her, the voices of men and horses distinctly edged with panic. They gave way to a distance muddled sound of fighting, an uproar which swelled rapidly. The fighting sounded heavy and confused. Dany started toward the Hightower, but she paused to join the fight going on in the streets and flew down to help them.
She flew down and burned everyone on the streets, sending the men running for cover. Dany chased them, roasting them where they stood until both their armour and stone started to melt. The cobblestones had begun to glow in stripes and spots, a deep, deep red that was barely noticeable at first. The red became brighter. It bubbled and molten stone oozed out of the streets. It was then she noticed that the stone was not melting from the surface. It was melting from within. Dany looked behind and saw that the stones were red where the dragonfire hadn't even come close, beneath the feet of her men.
Stone began to grumble and roar as molten rock flowed until the streets ran red. There were cries from below, the cries of the hopeless who see doom coming and can do nothing to stay or evade it. Her men were being cooked and crushed. Those who escaped from the fire ran out of the city to save themselves and Dany saw almost all of her army rushing out of Oldtown hastily through the gates and over the walls. Those who weren't fast enough found safety in the buildings nearby.
In spots the stone became so hot it caught fire. The wind howled over. The sky was lit by lightning so bright that it blinded her for a moment.
Hightower, she thought. She had to get to Hightower now. There was nothing else to do. Dany rocked gently and directed Drogon upward. They flew past the smoking roofs and burning streets. Air whipped around her. The streets of Oldtown looked like a hellish maze from above. Dany glanced around the sky, lightning all around her, gusts of cold wind swirling around.
There was a cloud of darkness hundreds of feet high and equally across, black as the inside of a coal sack, thicker than the densest fog. The world was covered in a sinister, enduring silence. After all the roar and clangor, the quiet was deadly ominous. She climbed up trying to get past the cloud.
Terror froze her. The mist wall of darkness vanished as quickly as it had appeared. And suddenly she came up to face him. The old man stood between two soldiers, a woman in a hooded cloak behind him.
She did not see the storm until it was all around her. Drogon lashed at the cold air. The old man waved his hand and the rain water around her and water from the sea rose up and covered her and Drogon like a cocoon of molten glass.
She could barely see through it and the water roiled her within its grasp. Dany screamed, grabbing hold for something anything. Another purple bolt crackled across the sky, cutting through to the water straight at Drogon.
The dragon roared and then he was gone from her, flying away. The water fell with a crash back to the ground, crashing wildly over the streets, drenching the cobble stones. She found herself gaping down at an earth receding rapidly and only then she realised she was spinning and falling.