Maekar
Winter had engulfed Westeros, winter had engulfed the kingdoms, and winter was beginning to engulf Maekar. Yet another war was about to be fought, yet another fight between the red and black dragon, for a cause that as far as Maekar was concerned had died on the Redgrass Field when Daemon had fallen. The Black dragons had lost Bittersteel some time ago, and yet still they pushed and insisted on bringing Westeros to its knees once more, still they insisted on making the country that they would claim bleed, they would take fathers and husbands and sons and uncles and nephews from their families, to fight and die for something that should have ended years ago. It was enough to make Maekar angry, enough to drive him to pick up his mace and fight alongside his son and nephew, to make sure that his family and the country that they ruled would have peace. They had to have peace now, Maekar was growing too old now to fight anymore.
Maekar looked to his right, and saw his nephew King Brynden sat on his black stallion, his black armour glinting in the sunlight, and for a brief moment Maekar thought he was looking at what people said Daeron the Young Dragon had looked like. Maekar shook his head to remove such thoughts from his head, his nephew was young, had only just reached his sixteenth nameday, had only just married, his nephew could not die, not now not for a long time, otherwise the fighting would continue to engulf Westeros until the realm could bleed no more. No in Brynden, Maekar saw the hope and future of the kingdoms, he knew that his son Aegon saw the future in Brynden as well, it was a tough burden for such a young man to bear, but it was true, Brynden was a more than capable fighter, and he had the chance to become a great king, he just needed to survive this fight.
As if sensing that he being observed, Maekar saw his nephew turn his head and smile at him, it was such a cheeky smile, reminiscent of smiles that Rhaegal used to smile before the madness took him. "Are you well uncle?" Brynden asked.
Maekar smiled at his nephew to hide the unease he was feeling and said. "Yes Your Grace, I am well. I was only thinking that is all."
Maekar saw his nephew make a face at being referred to by his title, he knew that his nephew would prefer it if his family only called him Brynden, but of course, Maekar had been raised to call his family by their given titles in public, even if he was more than familiar with them- something that had deeply pained him, when Aerys and Aelinor had become King and Queen- and so whether his nephew liked it or not, he would give him the title and the respect he was due.
"Ah, how much longer do you think it will take to get to the Marches uncle?" Brynden asked.
Maekar thought about this for a moment, the raven had come the day of his nephew's wedding telling them that the pretender had landed in the marches, with the Golden Company, the Second Sons, some barbarians called the Brave Companions and of course the armies of Pentos. Dorne was divided, Lord Yronwood had mustered half of the Dornish spearmen against Mors Martell the heir to the Princedom of Dorne, and they were currently engaged in a bloody civil war. The marches were in between the Reach, the Stormlands and Dorne, and had been the site of many a bloody battle in years past. "Well we past Harvest Hall not two days ago, we should be at the sight within another day or so."
Maekar saw his nephew nod, the rest of the journey past in silence, until they did eventually reach the marches and the sight where they were to make camp, the pretender and his men were camped near the Boneway, the Black Dragon banner could be seen flying high in the air, even from where the Targaryen forces were camped. Snow covered the ground, and Maekar knew that it would be difficult to mount a full on assault of the enemy with the snow and the likelihood of ice. He did wonder how the pretender intended to use the elephants that the Golden Company supposedly had, or if they had even bothered to bring them- Bloodraven's spies had not been able to deduce that much- elephants would more than likely be a burden for the pretender if he engaged them in full battle, something which could prove useful for Brynden.
A war council was called the day after they had arrived. Maekar, Aegon, Brynden, Lord Tybolt Lannister- a man whose loyalty to the crown Maekar severly doubted- Jasper Arryn, Lord Robar Baratheon, Lord Edwyn Tully, Lord Mathis Tyrell, Lord Edwyle Stark (Brynden's goodbrother) were all in attendance at this war council- Bloodraven had been left behind to hold the capital and run the kingdoms with Brynden leading the army-. Discussion went long into the night, over what the best approach should be to dealing with the pretender and his army. Lannister was all for going straight to the offensive. "Maegon Blackfyre has grown up in Essos, there has not been a drop of snow in Essos since before the Conqueror landed in Westeros. What will this boy know of fighting in the snow? What will his commanders know of fighting in the snow? I tell you the fool has brought elephants with him; we should attack right away and cause chaos amongst their ranks."
It seemed that Mathis Tyrell agreed with him, for the man said "Yes, Blackfyre does not know the marches like we do. His advisors have clearly given him the wrong advice, the fact that he has brought elephants with him during winter proves this. Your Grace, I say we attack now."
Maekar turned and looked at his nephew, who seemed to be assessing the value of Lord Tyrell and Lord Lannister's words. Attacking now would be foolish, it would cost them needlessly, if there was one thing that Maekar had learnt of the Blackfyres it was that they were not patient people, Daemon had certainly not been. What was there to say that his son was also not? As if hearing his thoughts, Maekar heard his nephew say. "That maybe true my lords of Lannister and Tyrell, but what of our men? We have not had to fight a war in winter for some time also. Say I decided to listen to your suggestion, and march my men today or tomorrow, what is there to say we would not fall to our graves much the same as the pretender's would? What is there to say that our men will fall in greater numbers than theirs? No, Lord Baratheon, you have been at the Marches for longer than us, what can you tell us of these other sellswords that the pretender has brought with him? The Brave Companions?"
Maekar was impressed with his nephew, the fact that he had at sixteen been able to dismiss the suggestions of two of the most powerful lords in the kingdom, without insulting them, was no small feat, and it once again reminded Maekar of Baelor. He just hoped his nephew would be able to live a much longer life than his brother had.
Lord Robar Baratheon, a big, broad shouldered man who wielded a hammer like a man wielded a sword, spoke in a gruff tone. "The Brave Companions? More like the Bloody Murmurs. Ha, they are a fierce some bunch that is to be sure, led by some big burly Dothraki savage. The Pretender has allowed them to go pillaging around the lands bordering the marches, but other than that there is nothing more to say."
Maekar saw his nephew nod. "Very well, we shall wait until sunrise in two days time. If the pretender still has not given any sign of his intentions, we shall attack." Brynden said.
With that the meeting was dismissed. In the end they did not have to wait for two days to pass, for on the eve of the second day, the pretender attacked in full might. The Golden Company blowing their war horns, elephants trumpeting into the night. Battle raged fiercely and quickly all around him. Maekar wielded his mace like a mad man then, fighting for his life. Swinging and bludgeoning a foe here, and a foe there. Using the spikes on the tip of his mace for good use, swinging and bludgeoning. He sent some dothraki savage to his grave, his head caved in blood pouring from various blows Maekar had dealt.
He received his fair share of blows as well. Some Lyseni fool struck him hard on the head with a axe, and Maekar had felt like his head was about to explode. Maekar had dealt with that fool though, a blow to the chest had been strong enough to end the man's life. Next had been some big Dothraki man who had come wielding an arakh that had nearly taken Maekar's ear off, if it hadn't been for the fact that the man misjudged his swing, and that misjudgement allowed Maekar to swing his mace just in time to knock the man of his horse. Though the man had still dented Maekar's armour in several places before Maekar had finally ended his life.
After the first day of proper battle, the spirits amongst the loyalist camp seemed high, Maekar knew that they had suffered relatively few casualties, when compared to the pretender's forces, and yet there was something about the way in which the day had gone that was nagging at him, perhaps it was because of the battles he had fought over his lifetime, but something about the day seemed to easy.
It seemed that as days turned into months, and still there seemed to be no letting up of the pretender's attack, more of the lords and men began to grown anxious and felt the same nervous feeling that Maekar did. No matter how much was thrown at them, the pretender's army still seemed to keep giving as good as they got, and as their own numbers began to dwindle, as injuries became deaths, the pretender's army seemed to grow as more reinforcements came in from across the narrow sea.
Maekar had yet to see the pretender himself, Maegon Blackfyre was proving to be an elusive threat. Aegon had not seen the man fight, and yet the stories coming from the soldiers was that the man was built like a bull, Maegor the Cruel come to life once again, the men said he thought like the warrior himself, and seemingly had already taken a large proportion of the Targaryen forces. Maekar knew that Brynden had fought the man, once. That had ended with his nephew being severly injured, and bleeding from several wounds, Maegon had apparently left relatively unscathed, and had killed Ser Edrick Baratheon and Ser Garlan Tully of the Kingsguard.
Brynden was not yet well enough to lead any sort of assault as of yet, and so had been kept largely to bed, though he had summoned a war council once again to discuss what was to be done. Grim faces greeted Maekar as he entered the command tent, Tybolt Lannister looked somber for once, there was no mocking glint in his eyes when he looked up and greeted Maekar- the man's brother had been slain during the fighting, his men severly crushed by the Pentoshi vanguard- Robar Baratheon looked battered and bruised, still alive despite the battering he had taken during the past six moons of fighting, Edwyle Stark looked shattered. Of the lords who had come to the very first war council some six moons ago only, Lord Tybolt, Lord Robar and Lord Edwyle were still alive; Edwyn Tully had been slain by some giant dothraki- an arakh through the head- Mathis Tyrell had been killed by Denys Strickland- a sword through the bowels- Jasper Arryn lay on the verge of death, injured and broken, maesters were not sure whether or not the man would live. Aegon was still alive thankfully, had proven himself a more than capable warrior once again, Brynden was still severly injured, the fact that he was able to move at all was a miracle after the beating he had taken at the hands of this Maegon Blackfyre.
They all rose, as Brynden limped into the tent, followed closely by Ser Devan Manderly and Ser Oberyn Dayne. "Sit, all of you sit." Maekar heard his nephew bid them, and sit they did. "We have a situation my lords, I am sure you all know that. The pretender continues to threaten us, and Dorne has been torn in half, Mors was killed, his son Derryck continues to fight on though, but for how long I do not know. We must deal with this pretender and we must deal with him now. We must split the man's forces, I see it now. We have been fighting him on his own terms, he wanted us to fight him head on, and we did, and we have paid the price for it. Now we must make him fight us, on our own terms. Lord Tybolt, you shall take the right from tomorrow, attack the Brave Companions, strike at their flanks, and crush them, I want their heads on pikes by the end of this. Aegon, you shall lead the left, attack the Pentoshi, attack their centre, the fools seem overconfident if what I have been told is true. Uncle Maekar, you shall lead the Vanguard, attack the Golden Company, and kill that bastard. He wants the Iron Throne make him work for it."
"And what of you, Your Grace?" Maekar asked. "What will you do?"
Maekar saw his nephew cough, blood falling from his lips as he did so. "I will lead the reserve, these Maesters would have me stay in bed till the cows come home. But I will not do that, the pretender wants my throne, I mean to see that he does not get it."
After that they all bowed and left, the next day Maekar led the vanguard out onto the field and tried to make sure that his nephew would not be needed, his nephew needed to live if there was to be any chance of peace. Raising his mace high into the air, he called for his men to charge, and he let the battle rush take over him. Swinging his mace, he knocked a man on the head, dented another's armour, killed another man with the force of the mace swing, he swung his way through the Golden Company, littering the snow covered ground with bodies as he went, continuing to swing and swing and swing. Until he finally found the man he was looking for. Maegon Blackfyre, sat astride a red stallion, dressed in big black armour, the greatsword Blackfyre in his hands, and he wielded it like it was a scythe and he was the stranger come to collect payment, all around him men fell like flies.
Maekar charged through past the man's guards and then swung at the man, his swing was blocked by the man's sword, and soon they were engaged in a fierce competition of strength and seeing who could remain in their little game the longest. When they broke apart, Maegon swung hard at Maekar, striking him on the arm, Maekar retaliated by swinging hard at the man's chest and managing to dent his breast plate. Maegon swung Blackfyre, and struck Maekar on the same dent he had created before, causing Maekar to hiss with pain. Maekar struck back, swinging his mace, and hitting the man on the head, knocking him off of his horse.
Maekar dismounted and soon the tide of battle changed, Maekar went on the offensive, swinging his mace like a mad man, every hit to Maegon's body seemed to be a blessing from the gods, every new dent that he created in the man's armour was payback for forty years of hurt and war, that the Blackfyres had brought to Westeros. He continued swinging his mace, regardless of the blows that the man was dealing to him, he ignored the sharp pain he felt in his side, when Blackfyre was plunged into it, he kept swinging his mace, kept swinging and relishing in the feel of power he had over this man, he knocked Blackfyre out of the pretender's hands, and then kicked him to the ground, raised his mace up high into the air, and brought his mace down with as much power as he could muster, and felt satisfied with the resounding crunch of the man's skull being caved in, as the mace hit his head.
He swung his mace at the next few men of the Golden Company who tried to come near the pretender's body- no doubt to retrieve Blackfyre- and continued to swing and swing, until he had knocked out or killed more men than he could have thought possible before, and took the sword of a fallen foe, and giving his mace to a nearby Targaryen solider, grabbed Maegon Blackfyre's lifeless body, took hold of the man's hair and then hacked of his head. Holding it high up into the air, he shouted for his men and the pretender's men to hear "Maegon Blackfyre, the pretender is dead. The fighting is done, where is his Grace King Brynden?"
At that a messenger came up to him and said, "Your Grace, his grace the king has been injured. You are needed in the king's tent." Maekar felt his heart begin to speed up at the man's words, he dropped Maegon's head, and walked as quickly as he could toward his nephew's tent, praying fervently to gods he didn't believe in anymore, that they would keep his nephew alive, he had to stay alive, he had to.