Bittersteel

The nightmares of Redgrass haunted him still. So many years from when the battle had actually occurred and victory had been so, so very close. He still heard the screams and the cries of the dying men, the men he had killed, as they had their lives torn from them. He remembered how confident he had been on the eve of the battle; they were winning the war, a sure sign from the gods that Daemon was meant to be king. At Redgrass they had come so very close, Lord Arryn's van had been smashed, Daemon had killed Lord Arryn and Lord Hayford. Aegor himself had come very close to breaking Maekar's right, but then that thrice damned Bloodraven had resorted to trickery and sorcery , and had killed Daemon and Aegon and Aemon, and the men who had fought so resolutely for Daemon began to break.

Aegor had led a fierce counter attack, cutting through the cowardly Raven's Teeth, had fought a fierce duel with Bloodraven himself, had severly wounded the man. But victory was not to be, Baelor Breakspear had emerged from the Dornish marches with an army of Dornish spears and Stormlords who were pumped up for battle, and that combined with Maekar's hammer had crushed the remaining men who had fought so loyally for Daemon and then Aegor. The army broke, men were killed in their thousands, and when defeat looked imminent, Aegor did the only thing he could think of that would preserve the chance of a Blackfyre victory in the future, he seized Blackfyre and rode with great haste with some of the other leading rebels and retreated back to where Daemon's wife and other sons were, and took them across the narrow sea with him to his contacts in Tyrosh.

That had been many years ago now, and yet the bitter taste of defeat was still present in his every movement, his every waking hour. All he could see was Daemon's lifeless body, arrows protruding from his neck, throat and face. Aegon and Aemon- his two favourite nephews- lying there unseeingly in the dust and hard plains of Redgrass Field. Such thoughts merely served to anger him further, his plots for retribution to Bloodraven, to Daeron Falseborn, only grew more and more with each passing day. Then his spies in Westeros reported that Baelor Breakspear had died, leaving his sons as heirs to the throne, Aegor began plotting anew with some remaining Black Dragon loyalists, then came the news that Daeron Falseborn and his grandchildren Valarr and Matarys had died in the sickness that had engulfed Westeros. Thus leaving Aerys as King and a babe as his heir. Aegor amped up his plotting and began making proper preparations for a new invasion of Westeros.

Daemon's namesake, the boy who would call himself Daemon the second, was nothing like his father. Where Daemon had excelled at weaponry and had been charismatic, the second Daemon was weak and brooding, preferring his songs to swords. Aegor had despaired at ever getting the lords of Westeros to rise for this Daemon, but he had to try, he had a promise to keep after all. And so he sent Daemon with Gormon Peake to try and drum up support for the Blackfyre cause. The boy failed, he failed to impress the martial lords who attended the tourney of whitewalls, he had himself captured by Bloodraven, years of planning undone in mere hours, simply because the boy could not fight or lift a sword to save himself. Aegor had cursed violently when he had heard of the boy's arrest, the fact that Bloodraven had not had the boy executed was frustrating enough. He could not crown Haegon, not with Daemon still alive, and rotting in the black cells of the Red Keep.

The boy had died in the black cells a few months before Aerys had, of a wasting sickness apparently. Aegor had laughed with delight upon hearing the news of the boy's death, though his mother had wept with sadness. Haegon had been a warrior since he could hold a mace, he fought well, had proven himself a fierce warrior in battle with the Golden Company, and had proven himself a good leader of men. And so their rebellion was plotted once more, the boy king on the Iron Throne was crowned and two months later, Aegor mobilised the Golden Company and brought with it the Second Sons and the Brave Companions.

And so after months of preparation here they were landing on the shores of Cape Wrath with their men and elephants ready for a battle. Aegor knew that the Iron Throne would not be caught out by their invasion, he knew that Bloodraven had spies in Tyrosh, likely had spies within the Golden Company, but it did not matter they had more numbers now than they had had in the past, the realm itself was tired and weakening after the Ironborn raids, a boy sat the iron throne, yes now was the right time to fight and invade.

And so they fought, 10,000 men of the Golden Company plus some 500 men from the Second Sons and whatever houses in Westeros were still loyal to the Black Dragon, fought against the Targaryen pretenders. Aegor drew his sword and hacked and slashed like a man possessed, cutting down all who got in his way. He slashed and ducked, and dodged and weaved, and cut down more and more men. Watching with grim satisfaction as his sword became more and more red, coated with the blood of the enemy.

He continued slashing and hacking his way through the Targaryen army, making sure to keep a close eye on Haegon, he was glad to see Haegon keeping his own, swinging his mace in a manner that was strangely similar to Maekar. Aegor swung his sword across the face of a man with the silver seahorse of House Velayron, he watched as the man's face was cleaved in two and blood began to spurt out of his face. Aegor rode on, swinging and hacking as he went, drenching the ground in more and more blood.

As he rode, Aegor heard the sounds of more and more men dying and screaming out in agony. Blood coated the ground, and the cries of the dying echoed throughout the sky and the clouds seemed to darken as the seven drank greedily from the feast that was being made for them. He tried desperately to put the memories of Redgrass from his mind, but was not successful and so missed a blow to his horse that killed the old steed and sent him falling to the ground- thankfully away from the falling horse- Aegor looked up and found himself staring at his nephew Prince Maekar. Maekar had not changed too much in the intervening years between Redgrass and now, he still seemed perpetually angry and had the same pox marked scars on his face, though there was a much more hardened look in his eyes.

Aegor struggled up to his feet and raised his sword, just as Maekar dismounted from his own horse and moved toward Aegor, with his mace drawn. They swung at the same time, the clanging of mace on sword rang loudly in Aegor's ears, and for now the surrounding fights were blocked from his mind, now there was only him and Maekar, and survival was the only target on both men's minds. They kept themselves locked in a fierce game of strength and will, with neither man being willing to pull their weapons away, sparks began to fly the longer they kept their weapons pressed together, and both men were beginning to physically strain under the effort.

Eventually both men broke apart, both tired from the stain of the previous fight- they were no longer the young men they had been during Redgrass after all- then Maekar swung his mace at Aegor's head, Aegor just about managed to bring his sword up in time to block the blow, though the impact of the mace hitting his sword caused his shoulder to jar, making him wince in pain. Maekar kept hammering his mace at Aegor, causing Aegor's sword to begin to dent inwards, and for Aegor to feel his strength beginning to wane.

Though Maekar could not keep up the assault for long, and when he pulled away to catch his breath, Aegor pounced. Attacking his nephew with a series of fast and constant slashes and hacks, some of which Maekar managed to block with his mace, some of which he didn't. Those that he did not manage to block managed to cut and dent his armour, and at one point even managed to cause blood to trickle out from a few of the dents.

Aegor pulled back once he was tired from the assault, and Maekar then resumed his own assault. Swinging his mace rapidly, at Aegor's face, his body, his arms, his hands any part that Maekar could get his mace to, it seemed to Aegor that he would try and hit. Aegor felt himself beginning to tire out, felt the blood begin to flow out from his armour, from cuts and dents to his armour in a thousand different places. He knew he was going to die, but he was determined to die with a sword in his hand, and as a warrior.

He blocked Maekar's next mace swing, and with a great effort managed to push his nephew away from him. He then began swinging and hacking at Maekar, with no particular care as to where his sword strokes landed, he kept swinging and hacking, and slashing until he no longer had the strength to. When he moved back a few paces, he was happy to see several fresh bruises on Maekar's body, he was happy to see the blood beginning to fall out in droves from his nephew.

Maekar swung his mace once more, and this time Aegor could not get his sword in the way to block the blow. Maekar ended up hitting him in the stomach, winding him and causing him to fall to the ground, blood began pouring out of his mouth. He tried to raise his sword, but Maekar knocked it down and out of his hands, he heard the sword clang to the dirt below, the clanging of steel on ground lost amongst the chaos of battle. Aegor then saw his nephew raise his sword high into the air, and closed his eyes to say a quick prayer to the seven before he felt the mace connect with his skull.

Aegor 'Bittersteel' Rivers, at the age of nine and forty was killed in the Battle of Cape Wrath, during the third Blackfyre Rebellion, by his nephew Prince Maekar Targaryen. Dealt a mace blow to the skull, his death was instant. The third Blackfyre rebellion ended with Haegon Blackfyre being slain by Prince Aegon Targaryen in single combat. The realm had peace once more, at least for the time being...