DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING

A/N: As always, thanks go to Ramzes for sticking with this story for so long. Your reviews have kept me going this far!

AEMON

Lord Stark's arrival had been the final step in motivating King Aegon into launching his assault against the Blackfyre army. It seemed all the lords of the North had come to lord Edwyle's command and bolstered the royal army's ranks to an impressing degree.

Aemon was tired. I need sleep. He had been up half the night practicing with sword and shield, working to improve his skills enough to be able to stand with Gerold and the others come the battle and the big knight had complimented him on his improved swordplay but still he pressed himself. Even after stumbling into his narrow bed with his muscles aching, rest had not come easily. He knew what he faced today, and found himself tossing restlessly as he brooded on what his father and the wardens had said during their last war council. "The Blackfyre fleet has been halved," the king had said, "But their cause is not yet done. Thousands of Tyroshi sellswords still yet plot away on the Stepstones along with the entire force of the Gold Company. All of our spies have confirmed that they have no intention of return to the Free Cities, and even as we speak Maelys and his legions are marching to take our lands." He looked around at each of the lords standing before him; Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell, Lannister, Arryn, Tully, and even Greyjoy. "My lords what we are about to do is no easy thing but I think we have the strength to do what must be done. They have made our realm bleed. Retaliation must be harsh and it must be swift."

The prince had taken his father's words to heart and vented his grief and fury out into the practice dummy; he liked to pretend it was Maelys he was swinging at, every blow serving as faux retribution for Alerie's death. It was during his training that Aegon had found him.

"So you still intend to fight then." It wasn't a question.

"I do. I intend to kill as many as I can, Maelys too if the gods are good."

Aegon shook his head. "You are being foolish, you've won many tourneys but those are not the same as real combat, not even in the same realm Aemon."

"I will be with Gerold, and Ser Barristan and members of the Kingsguard," he frowned at his father then. "Duncan fought beside you when he was younger than I am now."

"This isn't about Duncan."

Aemon frowned, confusion and anger bubbling up inside of him. "Then what is it about father? Why won't you let me avenge myself upon the people who killed Alerie?" a thought occurred to him, "You think I'll die."

The king levelled his purple gaze at Aemon. "No, I think you….want to."

So it's come to this. He supposed it had to come to a head at some point, all the simmering rage and grief and madness that had plagued his mind and heart had finally been called out into the open. Aemon gave a deep sigh, his whole body heaving with the effort. For the first time in his life he was afraid to speak to his father.

"I…have dreams," his voice hitched a little but he pressed on. "I see things a-and I don't know what to make of them. Sometimes they're nothing more than silly dreams, but…sometimes they come true. I saw that pirate attack me; I saw it happen before it did. And Alerie….gods almighty I dreamt of her too." Upon saying his dead wife's name he felt something give way and suddenly he was sobbing as hot tears ran down his face. " I saw you and Duncan die father, I saw you consumed in flames!" he clutched at his head as if to claw the painful images out and found himself crying all the harder.

Aegon looked stunned and for a while stared at his son as he struggled to comprehend everything he had just heard. He quickly remembered himself and after a heartbeat took Aemon into his arms, holding onto him as if to shield him away from the dangers of the world. "I want it to stop father," he said miserably. "I want things to go back to the way they used to be."

"I…I wish I could say it's going to be alright son," Aegon said hoarsely, "I wish I could tell you it's all just a bad dream and that you'll wake up fine in the morning but I can't. Our time of peace is over, and right now we have to be strong. We have to endure…" the older man's voice was shaking. "Please be strong for me Aemon. Please. Don't throw away your life."

They were quiet for a moment, father and son together in an embrace. Aemon struggled to find the strength to disagree with his father, a large part of him wanted to just return to King's Landing and leave the fighting to the soldiers and let others take his revenge. But then he remembered Alerie's smile and the rest was easy.

"Live or die I need to be there for the end of this, or I'll never have peace."

When he woke, he found Gerold looming over him in the darkness of his temporary bedchamber. "Aemon? It is time, the hour of the wolf just as we agreed."

"…Aye, so it is." Aemon threw of his blankets.

Gerold waited for him to dress and then helped him into his black and red armour. There was various rubies encrusted on his chestplate that were connected together to shape a dragon. It was a tad fanciful for Aemon's tastes but he supposed that he had to look the part when he took to the fields against the Blackfyres.

Outside the world was black and still. Oddly cold for summer, he noticed. It will be warmer when the sun sits atop us all. And when the heat of battle is upon us. When they reached the beach dozens of men were lined up, ready to enter the massive ships that sat in the shallows waiting for war. Aemon caught sight of a few of the men's faces, some looked calm, and others looked cheerful. Most seemed anxious. I wonder how many of them have been in an actual battle. Surely only the oldest. Westeros had not seen any major conflicts since his father took the throne.

They met up with Ser Barristan Selmy, standing out amongst two score of Hightower knights. Aemon smiled at the sight of them. This is your army Alerie; you will be the sword that cuts into Maelys legion.

The men dipped their heads as they saw him and Aemon returned their loyalty with a nod of gratitude. Gerold turned and shoved a skin of wine in the prince's hand, a smile tugging at his broad features. "Let's share one last drink before the war."

Aemon took a mouthful, it was Arbor gold. "If the Gods are good then we'll have another when this is over."

"My prince, Ser Gerold, I think we had better get ready, there's only so much time before dawn." Ser Barristan Selmy looked an impressive figure in his polished chainmail and plate armour, though the look of anxiety was apparent on the knight's face and it reminded Aemon of just how young the man was.

"Aye, I suppose we should board."

The interior of Daeron's fist was extremely crowded, with over six hundred men tightly packed together in its bowels it was lucky that the men got a chance to breathe at all. Being a member of the royal family did have its perks however, and Aemon was allowed above deck with Gerold and Barristan. The glow of the moonlight off of the sea was a dazzling sight and the prince spent much of the trip quietly watching the shimmering waters. Why is does it take a war for me to appreciate the small pleasures in life, he wondered. Because you know that you'll likely never see them again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw two crew members laughing together, a Dornishman and a man of the north. The two looked as different from one another as any two men could get, the short olive skinned Dornishman draped in boiled leather and the tall pale northern lord wrapped up in furs. The sight of it made Aemon laugh.

"What's so funny?" asked Gerold from beside him.

Aemon pointed to the two men. "Look at that, seven kingdoms united in their hatred of Maelys Blackfyre."

The Hightower chuckled to himself. "At least something good came from this war."

The first light of dawn was upon them just as they sighted the isle which the band of nine had made their lair. Aemon could feel his stomach contents rising in his throat and his hand instantly fell to the sword at his hip and clutched at it nervously. We're sailing right into the mouth of the monster…

Gerold gave him a light smack on the chestplate to gain his attention and led the prince below deck. The various men rocked ever so slightly with the waves and many of them looked as if they would wretch at any minute. Gerold made sure that they all saw his massive form.

"There is nothing more terrible, nothing more glorious, nothing more absurd than war," Gerold proclaimed. "And it's alright to be afraid. Any man here who says he isn't afraid is a damn liar and a fool. "His voice reminded Aemon of rolling thunder before a storm. "Fear is useful. Fear is what gives men the strength to push themselves beyond all boundaries and allows them to fly in the face of gods." A smile came over his face then. "You men feel afraid, well so do they! But what strength do pirates and exiles hold? None I say. You men are of the Seven Kingdoms, and it's time to show these curs that we don't take kindly to savages at our door. It's time to show them…THAT EVEN THE BLACK DRAGON BLEEDS WHEN STRUCK!"

Soon the belly of the Daeron's fist shook with the chants of men, their discomfort and anxiety forgotten. Ser Barristan especially seemed to be standing on better spirits than he was earlier and Aemon wondered when Gerold became such a good leader. The ship began to shake more violently now and he knew that soon they would be upon the Blackfyres.

"When we get to shallows you stay by my side," Gerold had told him in a sobering voice. "I will be leading the men into battle but they won't make it easy for us, we'll have to face the full brunt of what they can throw at us. Stay by my side and try to kill as many as you can."

A man cried out -the signal that they were ready- and the men quickly gathered their arms and shields and made their way above deck. As the newborn sun slowly rose to their backs they saw the vague outline of some encampment in the distance and in the purple haze they saw that their enemy had already dug in. They can see us coming, the realization twisted like a knife in his belly. How could they not? Hundreds of ships are no small matter even in the early hours of the day.

The longboats were being lowered into the water when Gerold turned to look at the men. "Let us slay this beast and see peace returned to the seven kingdoms." Aemon was the first to follow him down into the boat, but he was quickly joined by Barristan and dozens more as they all clambered down into the boats and set about rowing with a violent ferocity towards land.

Aemon found his heart was beating in tune with each row and he had to take a breath to steady himself. The sun was higher now, and its orange glow fully illuminated the enemy. As they got closer a few of the Blackfyre men fired shots of arrows but most stood ready, waiting to sink their steel in the men.

They all unsheathed their swords then and as soon as the boats hit the beach they were upon them. Gerold and a few burly Hightower men barrelled towards the eager sellswords with a hungry violence while the others left their boat. Aemon made sure to keep beside Ser Barristan as they struggled to cut their way through the screaming horde. Out the corner of his eye Aemon spotted several other boats beach themselves and unload more willing loyalists, and soon the entire beach was alive with a storm of swords.

Blood bathed Aemon from every direction as he hacked and slashed his way through the Golden Company. In the midst of the violence the prince found that time had slowed to a crawl and that with each slice and weave of his sword the only sound that he could hear was the thumping in his chest. He fought with an odd detachment, as though it was someone else's sword cleaving into the throats and bodies of other men, as if it were someone else getting punched and cut and bled on while blades danced about around him.

Finally the loyalist forces hammered the Golden Company to the point where the main fighting was no longer confined to the beach and coast. The Hightower men under Gerold's command had pushed the enemy back into the dry open fields that made up the majority of Bloodstone Isle and had drawn the most attention from the vanguard while Brynden Tully led a collection of men from the North and Riverlands against the right flank of the Blackfyre host. The young Riverlander had proved so capable that his men had killed ten sellswords for every knight that they lost, coupled with the Baratheon forces coming in from the left, the Golden Company's land forces where overwhelmed.

Though the struggle wasn't without it's loses, many of the Reacherlords had been slain in the first landing, their ships burnt and used as barricade to hold off other loyalists. The Lannister forces were also stretched thin from the battery they had received prior to the war and were easily put down.

It was in their forward march that Aemon caught sight of several members of the Golden Company draped in white and for a moment he mistook them for his father's own protectors before realizing that they were likely Maelys' self-styled Kingsguard. This mad jape is at an end Maelys, he declared to himself as he began cutting a way through to the ivory knights. It wasn't long before he finally crossed swords with one; however the other man stared at him in disbelief. He pressed forward as fast and as hard as he could yet the false Kingsguard merely kept fighting defensively, refusing to strike at Aemon in any way other than to protect himself. Does he think this is a game? He wondered, his fury rising. I'll show him that my steel cuts just as deeply as any other man's.

Aemon's blade curved and danced about the other man with as much speed as he could move it, only to be met by his opponent's own weapon in an almost casual manner. The Targaryen moved himself close enough so that he could see the whites of his foe's eyes and feigned an attack only to strike the man square in the face with a mailed fist, catching the man off guard before using his other arm to drive the blade through the Kingsguard's chestplate.

For a moment they were still, the blade in Aemon's grip connecting them. The knight looked down in disbelief before leaning forwards, his hand resting on the prince's shoulder as he winced and choked on his own blood. He looked at Aemon with eyes that were quickly losing focus and tried to gurgle something out in between the blood that clogged his throat.

"The….boy…..t-the….prince...w-we…could…only….dress him in…..t-tatters…only….tatters…" as he said. Then the light left his eyes and his body fell limp around Aemon's sword.

QUENTON

The drums were pounding out a battle beat as Drowned God's Wroth swept forward, her ram cutting through the choppy green waters. The smaller ship ahead was turning, oars slapping at the sea. A Red snake streamed upon her banners; a large red serpent coiled into a figure eight on a black field. The Drowned God's Wroth raked at her side so hard that half the boarding party lost their feet. Wood snapped and splintered; music to Quenton Greyjoy's ears.

He licked his lips in anticipation before vaulting overboard and landing on the deck of the enemy ship below with his black and gold cloak billowing behind him. The pirates drew back, terror clear in their painted green, purple and blue faces. Most men would cower at the sight of Quenton dressed in full plate armour, his blade at the ready. They were clutching swords and spears and foreign curved blades of the horselords, but most of them wore only boiled leather armour. A feral grin spread across the Greyjoy's face at the cowardice of his opponents.

They came at Quenton and his men all at once, hissing in foreign tongues and shaking as if the Storm God himself was before them. Left and right he laid about, an axe in each hand as he cleaved his way through the sea of meat before him. Quenton saw a green bearded fool come running towards him and the lord Reaver turned the axe in his left hand around shoved the handle through the idiotic whoreson's eye before ripping it free and spinning around and slamming it through another's head. He could feel the impact run through his hand and up his arm as he cut into the Tyroshi's helm and skull and when he wrenched the blade free the man stared at him in confusion for a heartbeat before tumbling onto the ground.

All around, the sea was full of ships. Some were burning, some were sinking, and some had been smashed to splinters. Between each ship the water was thick with corpses, broken oars, and men clinging to wreckage. The once fearsome fleet of the Serpent was getting devoured by the Kraken's might. The snakes were falling back before the Iron tide.

Men hacked at Quenton from front and back, but their curved blades could not get through his heavy plate. One man's Dothrak blade caught near one of his joints and as the man struggled to pull his blade free Quenton split the man's head in two. He slew the others with cold patience as he buried his axes deep into their chests, their leather doing little to slow his steel.

When he turned to find the next victim for his axes, he spied the Serpent himself across the deck. His chestplate adorned with a large red snake running down it. The man bore the same device across his shield. He wore no helm and his dark hair hung loosely about his shoulders, a trimmed beard on his comely face. The man's red eyes caught sight of Quenton and turned his smug grin into a scowl. "Savage! I offered you and yours a chance at power and this is how you reply?"

"We are no slaves to you, cannibal!" he roared back. "Come taste my steel!"

The pirate leapt to meet him. His longsword was a pretty thing that was adorned with Valyrian glyphs, and he made it sing. His first cut was low, and Quenton deflected it with his left axe. The second caught the Lord Reaver on the thigh before he moved his axe in the way. Quenton gave a howl of rage and swiped at the other man's face, only for his longsword to stop him. In the blink of an eye the man moved away, causing Quenton to fall forward from the momentum and as he staggered the Serpent's longsword hammered at his side, once, twice, thrice, screaming against the steel. He darts around as quickly as his namesake, Quenton realized. The Greyjoy swung around with both arms and managed to catch his opponent's shoulder with his right hand axe and threw all his weight behind his left hand as he swung around take the man's head from his body, only to meet air as the man ducked away and forced his blade up through the leather joint near Quenton's ribs.

Quenton grunted in pain as he felt the blade try and pry open his ribs and get to his heart. The Serpent seemed to revel in the act as he pushed forward, his maroon eyes gleaming with sadist joy. The Lord Reaver of Pyke gurgled out a laugh and dropped his axes and grabbed at his foe's shoulders, pulling him forwards into a crushing embrace.

"What are you doing!" screamed the struggling pirate as he spat and cursed within the Greyjoy's thick arms.

"You call yourself a man of the sea?" rasped Quenton as he locked his mailed hands together around the man's back. "I think we should both meet the Drowned God together!"

With an inhuman effort he picked the man up off the bloodied deck and rushed forwards through the meagre wooden rail, sending the both of them down into the bloodstained waters below. The weighty armour on Quenton's chest sent them both down through the salty depths, sea water rushing through his mouth and nose and eyes. The Serpent continued to writhe in his grasp but he would not let go as darkness soon surrounded them and they descended into the Drowned god's watery halls. To a lessor man it would have been agony as the air bubbles left him but to Quenton Greyjoy, lord of Pyke and the Iron Islands, it felt like going home.

BARRISTAN

The air sang of steel against steel and Barristan found himself caught amongst an ocean of death and dying. The young knight danced and weaved about as three or four blades swiped in his direction, only one managed to make a connection with his body and that scraped uselessly off a steel greave. He answered every attack with a slash of his own, striking one foe across the throat and sending him to the dirt as the air left his body, the second cut managed to pierce through an opponent's chainmail and stick him in the heart. The third severed a man's head from his shoulders in a single motion.

Another man raced towards him then, swinging his sword with blazing speed. Barristan blocked the blows calmly, his longsword meeting each slash and turning it aside. The gods made me for this, he thought. A sword in my hand and an opponent before me.

The blades rang and rang again, as the two men let their steel collide with one another like two long parted lovers. The sellsword backed away for a moment and sneered at Barristan before pressing on again; screaming as if sound could defeat him where his sword had failed. The young knight moved away at the last moment, letting the man to pass him before turning on his heel and swinging his longsword around, catching the man on the side of his neck. The blade did not quite cut through the bone and instead a squirt of blood burst out just below the man's jaw when Barristan pulled his sword free. He quickly put the man out of his misery.

The young knight let out a gasp when he spotted a big figure in black and red armour amongst the sea of knights and sellswords and immediately knew what lay before him. Maelys, if I kill you I can save the lives of many of these men. Barristan took a single, deep breath before closing his visor and lifting his sword. More than a dozen men lay between him and Maelys, perhaps even twenty. Seven save me.

He clenched his blade and rushed forwards, feeling a surge of energy come through his body then as he cut across one man's mailed chest, the force of his longsword severing the rusted links and spilling gore down onto the soil below. On the edge of his narrowed vision he saw another man moving towards him with a mace in hand. The young knight swung his sword around his body before striking with a high cut that stopped at his foe's mace. The other man didn't even try to use another attack and instead pressed himself down onto Barristan's longsword. The young knight clenched his teeth hard as he struggled to keep the spiked weapon up before suddenly sidestepping just enough and spinning his blade upwards so that his opponent impaled himself on it.

Barristan pulled the blade out and continued forwards, as if the whole world was stuck at a snail's pace and he fast as a hare. Blood washed over him as he carved his way through; downing one man after another until finally he stood before the Blackfyre Pretender himself, Maelys the Monstrous.

The man was just as horrific as the tales said, with a freakishly big chest and abdomen with two heads sitting atop his fat neck. The smaller of the faces was stuck in a permanent wail of agony while the larger was glaring at Barristan with a look of utter hatred. The gods have marked him as a Kinslayer, thought the young knight as he circled the large brute. He chanced a slash at the monster's broad head only for his foe to casually wave the blade away without so much as flinching. Maelys raised his massive hands, the Valyrian sword of Aegon the Conqueror and the namesake of his house within in his grasp. With freakish speed Blackfyre became a whistling blur, a steel storm that seemed to come at Barristan from three directions at once.

The young knight retreated a few paces, struggling to move out of the ancient sword's reach. His blade is Valyrian steel, thought Barristan. With the force he's putting behind the weapon it's likely to break my own. He continued to dance and weave as the giant of a man struck at him, until finally Barristan turned a high cut into a low one and slipped past Maelys' blade for once and tore at the leathered joint of the big man's armpit, biting at the flesh beneath.

Ser Barristan could see anger in his foe's purple eyes which proved signal enough to betray the man's next swipe which the young knight dodged with ease. Moving within Maelys reach, Barristan curved his blade up and caught Maelys' second head across its malformed cheek, before tracing its way down the side of his neck, warranting a cry of agony from the man. Blood welled from Blackfyre's wounds. That seemed to make the man's sense leave him as he came upon Barristan with a flurry of strikes, most of which he could barely block in time, yet the young knight had courage of his own and moved his blade low to strike at the mailed fist of the pretender, bouncing off his gloved hand without any damage but shaking the Valyrian sword out of his grasp. That was all the chance Barristan required. He finished Maelys Blackfyre with a quick thrust up through the joints of his armour, into his heart.

Blood of the dragon stained the pale soil beneath him as Maelys fell. Selmy took a step back. The longsword in his hand was red for half its length and dripping downwards. He glanced down only once at his fallen adversary. May the Father judge you justly, he thought as he closed the eyes of the last Blackfyre.