A/N: And it has come! Jon finally is here! Enjoy :)
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 54: Falling Star
Gritting her teeth, Lyanna regarded the kindly man she had met so long ago - in another life. "So Renly's tightened his grip upon the bay?"
Davos Seaworth nodded. "More catapults guarding the entrance than last time, larger ones too." His hand drifted to the cut on his forehead, nicked after a fleck of projectile hit the deck of his ship. "Didn't think anyone could get them up to those cliffs, but he found a way, I suppose."
Lyanna cursed - she was sick of this. Why… why can't my children know a moment of peace? Her hand drifted too, only hers was to the large swell of her belly. "At least you were able to dock your vessel before it sank."
"Thank the Seven for small favors," Davos chuckled - already, the Dayne guards had integrated his sailors into the defenses as auxiliary archers. The least he could do for his Queen. "Forgive me, your Grace. I know you don't follow the Seven."
Waving him off, Lyanna smiled. "It's alright - the Faith are the majority religion and I would never speak against it." It didn't hurt that Starfall followed the Old Gods though. "I will make sure to compensate you for your ship, Davos."
Smiling, Davos gently took Lyanna's hand and kissed it - the picture of deference and respect. "You, your Grace, are someone with a truly good heart. Queen Elia, yourself, and I do believe his Grace the King are the just women and honorable man that those of us on the bottom have been so desiring since the Conquerors."
Lyanna blushed, a bit overwhelmed at his praise. "You flatter me, Davos, and I hope to one day be worthy of the respect you have for me."
"Oh, there needs none for me. That smile you put on my boy's face was enough." Bowing, Davos made his way towards another part of the keep, resolved to find his men and begin their new tasks in Starfall - all of them now residents for the time being.
Exhaling deeply, Lyanna pressed on through the corridors. Rubbing her belly as Jon was being far more energetic this morning. "Gods, little pup," she chided with a chuckle. "Take it easy on muna, please." The Valyrian word left her lips without much prompting these days. Living close to Rhaenys and Rhaegar had truly changed her - and Lyanna truly didn't mind. Benjen will make sure I don't forget my Stark bloodline.
Guards and servants both bowed and curtseyed as she walked by. "Your Grace," they murmured with half-deference, half-awe. A complete inversion of the dirty stares she received at Sunspear.
Lyanna wouldn't let any of them go by without a kind word, or a hug for the children. Listening to their concerns and offering whatever she could as encouragement. Seeing how their eyes lit up at someone as mighty as the Queen-claimant of Westeros sincerely caring about them. The same way Davos regarded her.
Perhaps we can leave Jon, Rhae, and Egg a better world than we were born into.
Putting her into a good mood, she turned the corner and ran into her brother standing guard in front of the guest solar. "Ben," Lya said excitedly… only for her smile to fall at his expression. "What? What's wrong?" He was… ashen? Lyanna already assumed the worst.
And that's when she heard Ashara from inside. "You have to tell Lyanna about this! However much horseshit it is."
After came her wife. "I don't believe what he said… but if Lyanna knows even what was alleged about Rhaegar's demise, I risk what will happen to our son."
Those words slammed into her like a Bolton knife. Desperately, she moved for the door but was blocked by her brother. "Let me through."
Benjen's face was pained, but he tried to keep Lya from the door. "Sister… think of the babe."
Shooting him a death glare for using Jon to manipulate her, Lyanna shoved Benjen's arm aside and threw open the door. Startling those within - Arthur, Dacey, Ashara, and… "Elia, what were you speaking of?"
For the life of her, Elia had thought Lyanna was in bed - so gravid with child, the northern Queen tired easily, especially with such low rations. "My love… I…"
"No, don't bullshit me, Elia. What's going on?" From the ashen, guarded looks on their faces, nothing good. Oh gods, no… "Ned?" she breathed. "Rhaella?" May the gods help her, for a split second she hoped it was either of those and not…
"Your Grace," Arthur began, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "We were given information that…" He looked over at Elia, who merely nodded. Tears pricking at her lids but feeling Lya did deserve to know. "That his Grace was mortally wounded during battle at Harrenhal."
Lyanna staggered, forced to prop herself up on the bannister. "No…" Her legs wobbled, lungs starting to constrict from the mere thought. "It's not true." She looked at Elia. "Tell me it's not true, Elia." But Elia's eyes betrayed the words forming on her lips - words of comfort and discreditation of Renly's account… only for those eyes to draw Lyanna to the helm. "Oh gods!"
"Lya!" Benjen and Elia screamed at the same time as the northern beauty merely crumpled, legs giving out. But her brother caught her just in time.
Rhaegar… you promised! Her vision was spotty, barely able to see Elia kneel beside her, arms wrapping around her neck… faintly feeling kisses all over her cheek and forehead. Faintly hearing Ashara say something about Renly Baratheon. You promised you'd come back… Rhaegar… Jon…
And suddenly it came. "Ahhhh!" Lyanna screamed.
Elia's guard was up, a split second of worry until she felt it. The telltale sign any mother should know. "Fetch Qyburn!" she shouted at Benjen… Ashara… Dacey… anyone at all. For there was a prominent wet spot soaking Lyanna's dress. "The babe is coming!" she yelled just as the sound of trumpets blared through the windows.
"The fuck?" Arthur stuck his head through the window just as an arrow smacked into the stone wall not a foot away from him. "Seven fucking hells! The castle is under attack!"
Bells began to ring in her ear as Lyanna was carried towards her bedchamber. An immense pain shot through her abdomen - Elia holding her hand, Rhaenys appearing and throwing herself at her muna's side, and men dashing to and fro through the corridors - but her mind was focused on one thing.
Rhaegar…
Jon…
No… it's too soon…
My loves...
How the fook did I end up here? A crabber's son and a Flea Bottom two bit smuggler, Davos supposed this was just one of those quirks of fate. Stories he would tell Marya and his boys if he made it out of this alive… that's if Marya didn't kill him for being such a risky idiot.
Manpower in House Dayne at the moment - all truly battle-ready forces north with the heir fighting for Rhaegar - the smuggler found himself in command of the entire gatehouse. Something he would strive not to disappoint these poor lads. "Make ready men!" he ordered.
Before them, thousands of men marched out of the enemy camp. A massive show of force or the few hundred defenders of the castle.
"Nock!" Davos commanded, watching the lines of Reach and Stormlands infantry, the majority carrying the stag of House Baratheon. Armor gleaming in the sun and ready to advance. "Hold! Wait till they get in close…"
Suddenly an older Dayne guardsman, mumbling a curse, let an arrow fly. Hitting one of the more well-dressed knights right in the join of his breastplate and head… ripping through his throat and sending him to the ground in a gurgling mess of frothy blood. An unsteady silence fell over the dusty plains ahead of the Starfall gatehouse when a furious cry rang out from the attackers. Bellows and snarls of hate. Their blood was riled.
Running a hand down his face, Davos was flushed red as he looked at the men under his command - both his own and Lord Dayne's. "Does nock mean loose?!"
"No, Ser," came the reply.
"Does hold mean fuckin' loose?!"
"No Ser!"
Drawing his sword, Ser Gwayne Dunn - commander of the assault force - leveled it right at the walls and the line surged forward. Racing forward covered only by their shields and armor… though noncombatants wheeled mantlets as well.
"Wait till they get close!" Davos wasn't going to waste the only asset House Dayne had in abundance besides walls and the river. "Hold…" Already, the mass was halfway there. "Hold!" Catapults began unloading on the gatehouse. "Hold!" Davos' fingers tightened on the string, starting to ache. "Loose! At will!"
In one sheet the battlements released their deadly payloads upon the attackers. Arrows lancing out to pierce mail, slam through eyes or throats. Emboldened, the archers continued to fire - longbows rapid while the less numerous crossbows traded speed for accuracy in taking out anyone that seemed in command. Countless fell, watering the few plants upon the field with the blood of the Stormlands and Reach, but there were too many. Soon they reached the edge, mantlets setting up for… "Enemy crossbows!"
Managing to duck just in time, Davos was able to survive the counterfire that raked the battlements. Men pitched back dead or wounded, others falling forward down towards the Torrentine below. Brushing himself off of dust, Davos rose again and took aim - arrow striking home on a Baratheon man-at-arms.
"Ladders!" Large siege ladders, equipped with grasping hooks at their ends, toppled towards the walls. Long enough to span the banks of the river, they hit at an angle closer to horizontal than vertical, leading the men to a shallow climb up. "Push them off!" Davos bellowed, joining a Dayne and heaving it away from the battlements - down it fell, taking five men with it to a watery grave.
But more kept coming. Too many for the archers and crossbowmen to take on independently. As such, the guardsmen raced in with sword and spear - a hundred of them to take on many hundreds of warriors. "Present spears!" Protected by their armor plate adorned with the falling star of their house, the Dornish presented a loose hedgehog of spears at the onrushing attackers. Tips thrust forward to stab at them, piercing flesh and splitting armor. Felling dozens yet only increasing the fury among them. The swordsmen soon saw action as many others managed to leap upon the parapet, swords clashing in a chaotic melee.
"Don't let them at the gate!" Quiver long since exhausted, Davos swung at a young Reachman… he was never much of a fighter, but the poor boy was worse. Swing weak, Davos' got him in the neck. He suddenly felt a sharp thud in the back, pitching him on his front. Sword still in hand he rolled to his back only to see a large figure move towards the drawbridge winch. "Stop him!" he screamed. A Dayne guardsman ran him through but it was too late. The lock was disengaged and the winch spun rapidly, drawbridge clattering to the ground with a resonating boom.
A thunderous cry rang out from the Baratheon host. They surged towards the now open gate, Starfall as open to them as a Dornish maiden spreading her legs.
Disaster, this was a disaster. "Oil!" Davos ordered, sword stabbing upward. Catching a Stormlander scrambling over the lip of the battlements through the chin. "WHERE'S THE DAMN OIL!"
Steaming barrels of black sludge - kept in reserve for just this moment - were tipped over, flowing unimpeded through holes in the battlements. It drenched the first wave of attackers, the noxious liquid boiling and roasting the men alive in their armor - the shrieks of those with their flesh literally melting off their bones would feel stuff of nightmares, but the Brave Companions making up the second wave ignored it. Vargo Hoat, personally leading the assault, merely shoved aside any screaming men and was the first to leap into the Starfall courtyard - catching a guardsman in the face with his blade.
The warbling trumpets brought a smug smile to Renly's face. "It's done," he stated confidently. Soon he would have the heads of the Stark whore and Martell bitch to give to his Griffin.
"Don't be so sure, my Lord."
Renly looked up at the grim frown of Will Cole, eyes scrunched in the sun as he stared ahead. "Please. All that's left is spilling blood. They can't hope to stop us."
Cole sighed, a deep exhalation of air of a man accepting a grim reality. "Ever corner a rat?"
"Why would I sully my noble blood in such a manner?"
"Rats prefer to run, to flee. But when you corner them and they have no means of escape… they strike. Vicious and without care."
Digesting what he said, Renly finally scoffed. "They've been cornered for moons and nothing's happened."
A grimace formed on Cole's face. "I know. That's what worries me." Renly had no response to that.
"AAAAGGGHHH!"
"Please, Lya…" Elia leaned over and rubbed up and down her back. Trying desperately to calm her wife in spite of the terror in her veins. "You can do it."
"I can't…" came the weak voice. "It's too much… Rhaegar's not here… too soon…" Lyanna's voice trailed off as another scream ripped from her throat, one powerful enough to drown out the chaos of outside.
But the roar of crashing projectiles and clashing steel resonated into the room, causing little Rhaenys to burrow further into Benjen's side. "Uncle, is muna gonna die?" she murmured in a terrified voice. Suddenly something shook the very walls - likely from a trebuchet - Rhaenys screaming and clutching her uncle harder. "Am I gonna die?" she sobbed through the tears.
Close to unbearable for him as well… Ben willed himself to be strong. For he with his niece, Ash with little Egg, and Dacey with young Arthur, they needed to get the new generation - the future of all their houses - through this slaughterhouse. The true meaning of being a Kingsguard. To die on his feet so those cared for and swore to didn't have to live on their knees. A price Ben would pay gladly for those around him.
"No, sweetling," he gently told Rhae. "Not if my blade has anything to say about it." That seemed to mollify her somewhat - she still sobbed, but less frantically.
Maester Qyburn tended to Lyanna, pressing a warm compress against her forehead and instructing Elia to hold it there. "Easy, your Grace," he cautioned, returning to the stool in front of her spread legs. "Your canal is close to ready."
"Gods…" Lya moaned. "How much longer… ah!"
"Might be a quarter-hour. Might be two."
"Two!"
A kiss to her cheek seemed to calm her. "Please, Lya. Stay strong for me. Stay strong for our babes, my love." Worn grey eyes found Elia's, fatigued and heartbroken, but still resolute and filled with love.
Suddenly, Arthur burst into the room, startling all as he went for his helmet. "They've breached the gatehouse." Fixing it to his head, he heard the gasp of his sister and Queen.
"Gods… they'll overwhelm the castle," Ashara murmured.
"Not on my watch." Setting Arthur down in the crib next to Egg. Dacey drew a mace. Unlike the other women, she wore the leather and mail of Bear Island. Ready to fight.
If Arthur didn't want her to risk herself, he didn't say it. "Ash, bolt the door behind us. No matter what happens, do not open it." Smacking Benjen on the shoulder, the northern knight nodded and donned his helmet. "Understood."
Ash nodded. "Yes, brother."
Walking to his son and kissing him on the forehead as if it would be his last time, Arthur then hugged his sister. "I'll kill them all before I let them reach you."
"I know."
With the drawbridge down, hundreds poured into the courtyard of Starfall castle. Wearing the heavy plate of the Reach, plate and mail of the Stormlands, or mixed mail/leather of sellswords, blood followed in their wake as they cut down all Dornish in their way. Davos and his archers poured their fire from the battlements, but there were simply too many.
For Althos Dayne, bedridden and confined to the Lord's Quarters, he could hear the slaughter outside. The clash of steel, groans and screams of men impaled or disemboweled. When he heard the resounding booms of a battering ram against the thick ironwood door to his personal bedchamber, the longtime widower knew it was his time. I'll be with you soon, my love.
"Again!" screamed Ser Gwayne Dunn. "Again!" His bannermen heaved the large block, crashing it into the door. "Again!" Another crash could feel the hinges groaning, bolts snapping and popping off. Fuck you, dragons. This would teach them and the Peake and Dayne lackeys from threatening his hard won keep. "Again!"
With a thunderous blast, the door collapsed, ripped off its hinges and opening the Lord's bedchamber to defilement. A man at arms drew his sword and stepped into the doorway when he fell. Crossbow bolt piercing his left eye.
The next man met a similar fate, revealing Althos Dayne with a crossbow in hand, another discarded on his lap. "For fuck's sake! Kill the old cunt!" Ser Gwayne snarled.
Drawing a pair of knives, Althos' joints burned from the quick moments but he cared little. Determined to go as a former Sword of the Morning should, he tossed the left blade - ripping through a reachman's throat. Another stumbled falling right atop the prone lord.
Hissing in pain, Althos slammed his second dagger into the man's spine. Feeling him go limp. It's on your shoulders now, my children, was his last thought before Gwayne Dunn's sword beheaded him in a single stroke.
Hand trembling upon the pommel of his blade, Benjen willed himself to calm. And yet the clatter of boots upon the stone floors grew ever louder. Guttural battlecries ever closer to the guest chambers. "Fuck…" he breathed.
"Now's not the time, Ben," Dacey hissed at his side, fingers tightly gripping her mace - digits going white. "Need to be strong."
Easy for you to say, Dace. This wasn't her first true clash.
He felt a pat on his shoulder. "Stay strong, Ben," he said, as if reading his mind. "Remember your training - you're a knight of the Kingsguard after all." The Sword of the Morning smiled softly.
The weight of the white cloak often felt like a shroud upon him - the great duty and the ghosts of the white book only seeming daunting for a humble Northerner to match. But now… I am a Kingsguard. From within the chambers, his sister's cry filled him with energy. With fury. I am a Kingsguard!
"If you die Ben, I'll kill you again for leaving my sister." Catching the threat from his brother in white, Benjen shared a smirk with Arthur as the voices echoed from around the corner at the edge of the hall.
Out rushed half a dozen armed Brave Companions. Mismatched chainmail and curved swords of Essos belied their exotic origins - the wild look in the eyes of each of the men belied their noted savagery. The Reachmen and Stormlanders would butcher Lya and Elia… these men would butcher all the women and men, raping their corpses while they did it.
And at the front was Vargo Hoat. "Sthher Arthhhur," he grinned through his lisp. "Stho wonderfuthl to join us." A chain of coins, bearing the minting of cities from Westeros to the Bone Mountains, dangled from his chest. He pointed his misshapen sword directly at him. "I'll be thhhaking Dawn fromthhh youthh."
Arthur snorted. "Many men have tried. None have succeeded." Far from nervous, the three defenders were calm. Arranged in front of the door in the well of the oval-shaped corridor. Wide enough to give each a line of defense - Arthur in the center and the northerners on the flanks.
Pursing his lips, Vargo laughed. "You're a coolthh patron, Serthh Arthhur." He spun his sword. ""I've wanthed to know forth a whilthhe. Why did youthh not go with your King?"
"Our King wanted us here," was the simple reply.
"Ah yesthh, the Queens. I'llth have the Dornish one. The others willthh be butchered."
"You'll die first," Benjen growled.
Hoat regarded him as one would a cockroach. "Althhright, this is getthing annoying." He cracked his neck. "Now it endthhs." He leveled his blade, with his men taking the signal to ready themselves.
Looking once at his brother and again at his love, Arthur frowned. "For you." In one fluid motion, Arthur drew both his blades, tips pointing straight up. Benjen followed, his bastard sword glinting in the sunlight streaming from the windows - Dacey raised her mace, shield up and at the ready.
Smirking, Vargo backed up till he was behind the first ragged line of Brave Companions. "Killth them allth." In a single blurr the Brave Companions charged.
Releasing a breath, Arthur purged the rage and fear from his system and let his mind slow. Plotting each of his moves for a split second before stepping right into the attack of the sellswords. The first man swung his battle axe, deflected easily by Arthur's blade before he slashed Dawn across his throat. Flash of blood in his vision found the Sword of the Morning spinning his arms. Coming at the next sellsword with a parallel slice - Dawn cutting through chainmail and disemboweling the unlucky enemy. A dull flash of Dacey's mace beside him filled the air with bone shards and misty brain matter as he crossed his swords. Catching a third in the neck and ripping the man's head from his body.
Howling like the Direwolf adorning his gorget, Benjen fought like a true Northern swordsman. Shieldless, only the speed of his moves and strength of his blade protecting him. Against a hulking sellsword with a barrel chest and a massive shield it seemed an unfair match. The bruiser swung his sword, a quick duck by Ben bringing his shield in an attempted melee. Ben howled, charging into the melee and burying his bastard sword straight through the sellsword's exposed middle.
If Benjen howled, Dacey roared. Shield painted with the rearing bear of House Mormont, the lithe, powerful form had rapidly re-emerged after Arthur's birth not two moons ago. Her beautiful boy kept flashing in her mind, vaporizing the ice of her home with a vicious fury. They will not take them! Catching an axe-swing with her shield, she swung around. Mace caving the sellsword's ribcage and sending him smacking into the ground like a sack of meat.
"Dace!"
At her love's call, a charging attacker found himself bashed in the chest with the side of her shield… scrambling right into the waiting tip of Dawn, slicing his heart right through the middle.
One small smile shared between the two lovers lasted but a moment, Dacey roaring and leaping in the air. Using the momentum to crumple a sellsword's helmet and turn his brain into mush. Frenzied movement to her left had her screaming. "Arthur!" But seeing Vargo Hoat finally enter the fray and leap over the half a dozen corpses Arthur accumulated to hack and stab at her paramour didn't stop the two attackers coming straight at her. Dacey gritted her teeth and stood her ground.
Fist clenching over the hilt of his blade, Benjen kicked forward. Throwing yet another sellsword off balance - so many were coming but the three were holding their own, four bloody heaps carpeting the well of the corridor before him. His movements quick, Benjen made his teachers proud. Bastard sword quick and agile, an extension of his hand as he attacked from all angles. Furious slashes slowly wore down his opponent until a weak shoulder gave way. He spun his sword and struck, hacking through the sellsword's shoulder and joining his dead comrades..
Arthur was a strapping man, but Hoat had half a head at least two score of weight on him. Each attack left his muscles searing from the force upon them. Fingers ignited as they gripped hard on the bolts of his swords, but still the Sword of the Morning fought. Blades spinning into new ripostes. Forcing Hoat to react to him… slowly, he inched forward. Driving the sellsword back.
Snarling, Hoat lashed out. Kicking Arthur to blunt the knight's momentum, down swung his blade. Arthur recovered quickly and crossed Dawn with the twin blade. Chop blocked, Hoat tried again and again, fury delivering hammer blow after hammer blow… only to exhaust him.
Sensing the monster tiring, Arthur leapt back. Flashes of steel passing through the corridor as he spun. Slashing twin lines of blood across Hoat's chest and sending the gold coins - symbols of his battle prowess, clattering to the floor.
Hissing in pain, Hoat was saved by two of his men barreling past him. Battle axes ready to take on Arthur… take him on and fail, but it gave the Brave Companion a chance to slip away.
Vargo cursed. His chest stung with pain. The wound wasn't serious, but his pride had taken a beating. That shit took my coins! And yet a direct attack even against only three defenders would be a bloodbath for his men. I need to outsmart them. Pushing his head out a window, the maze of crawling vines about the walls of the keep provided the answer.
Sheathing his sword and clenching an extra dagger between his teeth, Vargo leapt onto the windowsill and began the treacherous climb of the vines.
"Nock!" Quivers were nearly empty as the archers drew back their bows, preparing another volley from behind the mantlets. "Loose!" The deadly arrows shot towards the battlements, hitting them over open sights and hopefully slaughtering whatever Dayne archers were still among them.
Tapping his fingers against his armor, Renly was feeling impatient. "Why haven't they done it yet?!" he demanded of his sworn sword.
Always ready to proclaim himself the sworn sword of Steffon Baratheon rather than his youngest, most maladjusted child, Will Cole nevertheless kept it to himself. "These things take time, my Lord." A cornered rat never goes down easy. "Shall I throw in the reserves?" One hundred Baratheon guardsmen kept just in case, though by the truth of it Cole was more concerned on his Reach and Sellsword allies turning on them after the battle - especially the sellswords.
"Hmmm… do it," Renly ordered.
But the trumpets that echoed across the dusty ground weren't of the Baratheon host. They were sharper, more numerous, and accompanied by a roaring of hooves. Renly looked around, completely confused. None of my men are mounted. The Brave Companions were committed to the fight and thus their zorses were left behind at the camp.
"My Lord!" Taegyn Sand, face covered in blood, pointed towards the hills. Cole followed the sellsword's finger and his face went ashen. "The rat makes its move," he murmured.
Through the mountain passes rode what had to be several thousand mounted infantry. Spears held at the ready and curved swords twirling, fluttering high were the banners of death itself. The roasting horizon of House Uller, the golden hand of House Allyrion, the scorpions of House Qorgyle… and the sun and spear of House Martell. Thousands of gold-coated and black-armored Dornishmen screaming like banshees as they charged the Baratheons.
Renly nearly pissing himself in both shock and fear, Cole was the first to react. "To arms!" he shouted at the guardsmen. "To arms!" But suddenly a spear skewered him right through the middle, blood flying from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground. The scattered five score of guardsmen didn't stand a chance. Few stood and fought, getting cut down by the vengeful Dornishmen as a result. Many fled… and were still cut down. Some, including the majority of the archers and siege engineers, surrendered. About half were slaughtered where they stood.
Shaking in his boots, several guards and the sellsword commander tried to hustle him towards waiting horses. Hoping to use the chaos to escape back north to Nightsong and safety. But a swift steed blocked them, a graceful warrior jumping from its back and running a spear through one guardsman's neck. "Renly Baratheon, we finally meet," Oberyn Martell said with a smile, his red-scaled armor glinting in the sun.
A guardsman charged, shield up and sword high. Oberyn danced around the flurry of thrusts and slashes, the butt of his spear batting aside the shield before he jabbed forward. Piercing mail and slicing through muscle and intestine. As the guard dropped, Oberyn leapt upon the other man-at-arms, speartip slashing through his neck before he could even react.
Scimitar drawn, Oberyn was faced with an equally agile opponent from his own land. He gave ground, twirling his spear as the sellsword lunged with a slash that he deftly parried. The man was good, but Oberyn was better. Far better. Punching upward in an uppercut, the blow to the jaw disoriented the sellsword and allowed Oberyn to jab the tip into his shin. With a scream, Taegyn Sand collapsed and met a dagger to his eye… just as the Dornish Prince's personal guard rode up.
Heat of battle beginning to fade away, Oberyn deflated. He embedded his spear in the earth, regarding his prisoner with a smug contempt. "Lord Renly, didn't your father teach you not to play the games of adults while still a child?"
Pure hate reflected off Renly's enraged blue eyes. "Dornish cunt! Fucking traitor! Lord Connington will have your head!"
"I highly doubt that," scoffed the Red Viper. "You don't see that fool here, do you?" After more profanities erupted from the young highborn, Oberyn kicked him in the gut. "Tie him and gag him," he told his men. "I'm getting a headache from his voice." Robert was just as irritating but at least his voice didn't grate on one's ear.
All around their Prince, the relief army slammed into the rear of the besiegers. Starfall and hundreds of their trapped Dornish brethren only yards away from being saved. Men dismounted, assaulting the ladders and mantlets with sword and dagger cutting into flesh. Horsemen rode directly across the drawbridge, sun and spear soon speckled with blood as they hacked and stabbed at their traditional enemies. Already in at the death with the Dayne guards and Davos' archers, being hit from the rear disintegrated the ragtag force brought to butcher the rightful Queens of Westeros. Cheering their former Princess' name, the men of Sunspear, Hellholt, Sandstone, and Godsgrace knew they were only moments away from liberating her from her tormentors.
None of them noticed the manic sellsword, beard matted as he scrambled like a gecko across the vines to reach his targets.
"You're just about to crown, your Grace," Maester Qyburn said gently. "The little Prince or Princess will soon be in this world."
"It hurts… I can't…" Lyanna kept muttering, face ashen and exhausted.
Elia kissed her head, squeezing her hand. "You can. You're a strong Northern Queen." She wouldn't let Lyanna lose hope. "Stay strong for our son… for our children."
"The fighting out there is dying down," Ashara exclaimed. "I can't hear as much." It was good news, but nothing would be good until Lya's child was born.
Qyburn stood. "Let me get some towels." Not looking where he was going, a fist came out of nowhere and crashed into his shoulder, knocking him down in a bony heap.
"Tolthh you I'd be here!" Vargo said with a savage grin, sword out and ready to play.
Rhaenys screamed - waking her brother and cousin. Elia shot up from her seat, while Ash made a dash for the door. "ARTHUR! DACEY! BEN!" Just as she managed to reach it did Vargo's sword slam into the door, embedding itself in the wood. She yelped and fell back.
Damn… I was aiming for her heart. "Staythh down." He drew his dagger, making for Lyanna's bedside. "Time to earnthhh my coin."
Screaming at the top of her lungs, Elia jumped him. "You will not take her!" Her shrill battlecries and clawing hands made him stagger. Distracting him enough for Ash to scramble to the door.
Snarling, Vargo smashed his elbow back - catching Elia in the gut. With a cry she fell, doubled over in pain. "Sthhaythh down, whhhore!" he stammered out, eyes furious. "I'llhh be bacthhh for youthhh later!" Spinning his dagger, he held it downward, advancing on the screaming Lyanna.
"Don't touch my muna!" Driven to the breaking point - the nightmares of her grandfather brought to life by the Qohorik sellsword - Rhaenys was every bit the dragon as she launched herself at Vargo and bit his arm. But aside from a grunt, she was easily picked up by the straps of her dress. "Let me go!" she screamed, wriggling like mad.
"Begone, brat!" Not bothering, Vargo simply tossed her away, Rhae hitting the ground on her rear and sliding against the wall, coughing. Beside her, Arthur and Egg wailed their lungs out from their crib. "Let's fucking finish this."
Scream ripping through the air, Lyanna could feel her womb beginning to push as the towering form of Vargo Hoat loomed above her. Teeth bared in a demonic leer and dagger in hand. "No!" she cried, pleading. "Don't kill my babe!"
Vargo chuckled. "A contracthhh's a contracthh, wolthhf bitch. Nothhhing personalthh, but I'm gonna enjoy thhhis." And with that he raised the dagger, moments away from plunging into Lya's abdomen.
Crash!
Howling in pain, Vargo staggered back as his chest ached - to the left, a large shield clattered on the tile. Emblazoned by a rearing bear. "Get away from her, you cunt!" Dacey roared, clutching the mace with both hands. Her armor and parts of her hair were streaked in blood making her look like somewhat of a demon herself.
"Fucthhing bitch!" Vargo lunged, aggressive with his dagger and forcing Dacey back.
Hissing as the blade cut her side, Dacey saw red and charged. Bashing the Qohorik with a surprising strength. Here we Stand! The Mormont words roaring in her mind, with a frenzy Dacey swing her mace. Grinning like the she-bear she was when the head crashed into Vargo's upper arm. Blood flying and bone crunching from the blow.
Something akin to a primal scream left Hoat's mouth, the sellsword stumbling back. Almost slipping upon the floor. "My arm!"
"Soon to be your fucking face," Dacey said darkly, advancing upon him.
Arm broken beyond repair, blood soaking his tunic and jerkin, sword and dagger nowhere close… Hoat knew this was the end. He wasn't stupid. "Youthh won't taktth me, bitch!" Sucking in a breath, he pitched backward out the window for the sparkling blue waters of the Torrentine below. The demon disappearing from Starfall for the first time in many moons.
Racing to the window, Dacey bellowed a roar of anger that she hadn't sated her bloodlust… but it didn't matter as Lya's screams once again filled the room. "Fuck… Qyburn!" The Maester was already on his feet and resuming his vigil.
Dacey reached down to pull up Elia as Ashara was back on her feet and tending to poor Rhae. "That monster…" Elia murmured.
"He's dead," Dacey said firmly. No one could survive that fall.
Elia nodded, but her wife's cry shook her to life. "Lya!"
"The babe is coming," Qyburn called out. "Your Grace, I need you to push."
"AAAAHHHHHH!"
Groaning, a swarthy man in Uller colors turned over yet another sellsword corpse. "This one's still alive!"
A flash of steel found whatever shallow breaths the sellsword was taken ended in an instant. "Now he isn't," Ryon Allyrion grunted.
Spear slung over his shoulder, Oberyn clicked his tongue. "Not enough blood for you, Ryon?" The only thing the heir to Godsgrace liked more than fucking was fighting - he was the opposite of Oberyn that way.
"Not nearly enough," Ryon called back, wiping the blood off his blade with a rag torn from a Baratheon guardsman. Oberyn could still see the rearing Stag emblazoned on it, smeared in blood and grime. "Stag fuckers, they deserve this and more."
He couldn't help but chuckle. The only thing Dornishmen hated more than Sellswords or Reachmen killing their countrymen were Stormlanders killing their countrymen. Long-standing hatereds still ran deep. It was more than mutual.
Starfall was nothing like the beautiful garden keep Oberyn remembered it to be. With less disgust than a profound sadness he looked over the scarred landscape, the smell of death overpowering and the stench of decay and shit hidden underneath. They were dying long before Renly attacked the walls. Oberyn knew just a few weeks more could have killed half the defenders from starvation.
But the slip of paper in his pocket proved exactly why Renly didn't wait. The merciless swings of his spear weren't enough. Ryon is right, I am nowhere near sated.
His festering rage reached the breaking point at the body of Althos Dayne, headless corpse arranged with the greatest care by Qorgyle's men. "Who killed him?" Oberyn seethed.
"Body was found in his chambers with four dead Dunns scattered around."
"He truly was a Sword of the Morning." Even old and crippled with rheumatism, House Dayne was deadly. "Where are the Dunns?" His friend pointed them out.
A knightly house of the Reach, even the lowest bannermen of House Dunn were proud and arrogant. Surrounded by angry Dornish just itching to rip their throats out, they were rather close to shitting themselves. At the arrival of an enraged Oberyn, undoubtedly some actually did.
"Alright," the Dornish Prince demanded. "Which one of you cunts killed Althos Dayne?" There was no answer. "Perhaps if I find what I came for, I'll be inclined to let the rest of you escape the gallows."
No less than seven bannermen pointed at one man in particular - clearly a Knight by the looks of him. "You fucking cowards," he snarled.
Oberyn gritted his teeth. "You killed Lord Althos Dayne?!"
The knight stood up, glaring contemptuously at Oberyn. "I, Ser Gwayne Dunn, demand you be ransomed…" He couldn't go further, words turning into a gurgle as Oberyn thrust his spear through the knight's open mouth.
"For Lord Dayne, twice the man you could ever be." Pulling the spear back, he watched as the corpse crumpled to the dusty ground. "Leave him for the vultures," Oberyn ordered his men.
Another voice evaporated whatever anger he felt. "Brother!" Oberyn turned and saw Elia running across the battlements towards him. Her face overjoyed and streaming with tears.
Without wasting a second Oberyn was bounding up the steps. Not stopping until Elia was in his arms - the two of them in a tight embrace. "Thank the gods you're alive, sister."
"You came," she murmured.
"Of course I would," was the reply. "Ash? Arthur? Lyanna?"
Elia sighed, though her expression was relief. "All alive, if tired." She chuckled. "Lya certainly knows the right time to go into labor." Oberyn's lips curled upward and the next moment brother and sister were laughing. Finally letting out the stress of impending death.
"Elia!" Both turned to see Ashara hurrying to them. Seeing her unharmed and still the great beauty he remembered made Oberyn quite happy - though to him it was obvious that she didn't know of her father. "Lyanna, the babe is here."
Disentangling from Oberyn, several different emotions passed over her face - most notably a mix of fear and joy. "Is he…?"
Ashara gave a weak smile. "Everything seems fine… oh Gods…" Eyes flickering down to the courtyard, it was clear that she now knew about her father. "Papa," Ash breathed, covering her mouth and tears welling in her eyes. Beside him, Elia gasped, realizing it as well.
Oberyn quickly put himself between Ash and the still form of Althos Dayne. "I didn't want you to know this way." Ashara nodded and accepted his embrace. "He died killing the enemy."
"As he would have wanted," she finished, trying her best to keep her composure. "Elia, let me show you your son." Oberyn's eye quirked up. Her son? Oh, our brother will not be pleased.
"Are you sure you don't…"
"The time for mourning will be later, when Arthur knows as well." Much as she grieved, Ash would never want to take this moment away from her two friends. "Come on." Elia needed no prodding.
Dacey Mormont kept vigil at the door, looking quite like the female warriors her House was famous for with a chainmail vest and mace in her hand. "The only other Martell I'm glad to see," she said tiredly, wan grin on her lips.
"A great honor from a lovely lady," Oberyn answered with a grin of her own, but Elia cared not for banter, pushing through the door without delay.
What greeted her were the gentle wails of a babe. "Lya!" he was at her wife's side in a split second. "Gods, you're alright."
Looking quite drained, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and eyes drooping with fatigue, Lyanna nevertheless tilted her head towards Elia. "As alright as I can be… given the circumstances." Her eyes flickered around. "Where is he?"
Elia looked just as frantic. "Where's our son?!" Egg still rested in his crib, while Rhaenys stood close to Arthur, but the newborn was nowhere to be seen…
"Calm down, sister. Here he is." Taking the newly cleaned bundle from Qyburn, Benjen made sure to keep his blood-stained armor as far from his newest nephew as he could. "Perfectly healthy and happy, though I think he wants his mamas."
Standing up, Elia went to Benjen. "Please, Ben." And into her arms went the warm, squirming bundle, his wails lowering immediately as he was pressed against Elia's chest. "Oh, my sweet babe." Lya's son - their son - was absolutely precious. He looked like Egg did after his hard childbirth, pink and tiny, but with a tuft of dark hair just like Lya's. Entranced by the beautiful babe, Elia leaned down to kiss his forehead, earning two eyes opening ever so slightly.
He has Rhaegar's eyes. Gods, it was like a dream.
"Give him to me, Elia," begged Lya, her arms out and nearly falling out of the bed. "Give me my son."
How could Elia deny her that? "Here you go, little pup. Here's muna." Handing her son to Lyanna, she sat in her chair beside them watching intently. Not the only pair of eyes riveted to the amazing scene - a light in the middle of all the darkness and death that hung over Starfall after the battle. Martell guards finally relieving Dacey and the two Kingsguards, the former grabbed her son and ran to Arthur, while Benjen embraced Ash in a tight hug. Neither woman cared about the blood on their armor.
All of this was invisible to Lyanna - from the moment her son was in her arms, the only thing that mattered was him… him, Rhae, Egg, and her beautiful Elia. Slowly, she looked over her child, finally out in the open after eight moons nestled in her womb. From once she could only feel him move, now he was exposed to Lyanna in all his glory. "My son, my little pup." Her voice shook.
Chubby cheeked and steamed almost raw from the difficult labor, any discomfort on the newest Targaryen Prince's part seemed to be put off by the proximity of the woman that birthed him. So much so that young Rhae moved from where she stood. Going to her own mother. "Muna?" She tried to jump up onto the bed. "Is my brudder good?"
Elia pulled her onto her lap. "He's just fine, little dragon."
Rhae stared at her newest brother with awe. "He's so little."
Lyanna laughed, unable to contain her joy. "All babes are little, Rhae." She brushed her finger against her son's cheek, watching him instinctively turn towards her. Hand reaching out - Lya put her finger in the tiny palm, and he gripped it. "His eyes are Targaryen," she said, quivering at how wonderful it was. The same eyes of the strapping young man in her dreams.
"And the Stark coloring," Elia added, kissing Lya's cheek before showering her son with love and attention.
Smirking, Oberyn had a feeling this babe would be his nephew when all was said and done. If the Starks call Rhae and Egg theirs, then why not I? His eyes drifted to Arthur, who kissed the cheek of his own son before Dacey took him for a feeding. "Forgive me, but congratulations on the future Sword of the Morning," he told his childhood friend.
Nodding, Arthur smiled to himself. "Yet another one worth fighting for." The dozens of corpses slayed by Dawn piled in the corridor belied how hard he'd fight for those he cared about.
"Was it a problem?" Oberyn asked Arthur, the Kingsguard slumped against the wall in utter exhaustion. "The Brave Companions?"
Arthur snorted. "Got a bit dodgy, though it was nothing we couldn't handle." He gestured to his bloodstained armor. "Everyone made it through in one piece." The Prince averted his eyes - it wasn't his place to tell him of his father.
"Your father would have loved you, my little pup," Lya cooed, tears in her eyes. "You look… look just like him." The tears were of heartbreak now, drawing Elia in - hugging her close, kissing her brow comfortingly.
"What does she mean?" Oberyn was confused.
Glowering, Arthur mumbled several unchivalrous words. "That sick fuck, Renly. He told our sister that Rhaegar died at Harrenhal"
Oberyn pursed his lips, thinking of the various forms of torture he would subject that little bitch to before he turned him over to Rhaegar. But his sister and goodsister mattered more right now. "Lyanna." He stepped forward.
Blinking back tears, Lya looked up at Oberyn. "Goodbrother… thank you for coming here." She offered as wide a smile as she could under the circumstances.
"Family like you, it would be dishonorable not to come to your aid, but it seems that you've been lied to." Both Queens looked up at him expectantly. "His Grace, your husband is alive."
Two pairs of eyes widened. "Really?"
"This better be true…" Elia tried to keep her composure even though she was close to collapse herself. "Please… let it be true."
"If he died, the Mad Dragon would have sent it all over the Realm, but the rebels still fight on. He's alive - I've seen his letters to Doran, begging for our help. It's his writing."
"Oh gods…" Elia felt like crying, the last bit clenching her heart disappearing. "My love?" she looked at Lyanna, who was actually crying - just holding their son closer. Nothing really needed to be said.
It was Rhae that broke the silence. "Muna, what brudder's name?"
Lyanna met her daughter's gaze with sparkling grey eyes. "Jon." A kiss on his cheek. "Prince Jon Targaryen."
With her mother setting her on the bed, Rhae leaned over - careful of Lya - and cupped Jon's cheek. "I love you, baby brudder." Two violet eyes stared at her, curious. "I protect you. Dragon protect dragon."
Jon, unaware of all the chaos and fighting that turned his birthplace and first nameday into a slaughterhouse, yawned. Tiny arms stretching into the air. "I think your brother needs to sleep," Elia said, giggling. Rhae merely kissed his cheek and went to her muna's arms.
Hugging Jon to her bosom, Lyanna pressed her cheek against his. "I love you Jon, my darling boy." All that was missing was Rhaegar.
My love, promise me you'll come back. Your son needs you. We need you.
She hoped he heard her plea.
Promise me.
He had to hear her plea.
Promise me.
A/N: Completely new context for the famous line. Hope y'all liked :D
So baby Jon Targaryen is here, surrounded by those that love him instead of by death and tragedy. Had so much fun writing this chapter!
Arthur, Dacey, and Benjen make a good team, don't they?
Davos there to protect the Targs and Oberyn arriving just in the nick of time! Everything ended quite well.
Next time, Jaime carries out Varys' request. Be sure to review :D
