Ser Aegor Rivers
His whole life seemed to have been just one big massive struggle. The life of a bastard even a royal bastard had been a hard one, when his father had dropped his mother and taken up with Blackwood whore, his mother had died drinking her own bodyweight in wine and Aegor had effectively been an orphan. The king's hand Lord Peake had brought him to court in an attempt to curry favour with his father, and as such Aegor had grown up, really grown up in King's Landing using his anger and his strength to become the best warrior he could be. He was nothing compared to Daemon or Daeron though, even at a young age he had seen how skilled and charismatic the two of them were and would be, and a small part of him admitted that that was what had fuelled some of his early anger and bitterness.
The rest had been fuelled by his father's death and that weakling Daeron the Good he was called coming to the throne, and preferring the way of the book to the way of the sword. The Dornish snakes who had caused so much blood and destruction on Westeros were being rewarded with influence and power, and the nobles who had bled for the throne were forgotten, resentment grew and Aegor had grown with them. Daemon had wed some Strickland woman, long dead now and had sired son after son on her, whilst Aegor had watched the love of his life flit her way through men and Bloodraven. He had gotten the last laugh on that kinslayer though for the last years of her life Shiera had warmed his bed and Bloodraven had never heard her say she loved him, Aegor knew his love had loved him back towards the end.
His own wife was dead as well, dead from some sort of fever whilst they had been away waging war in Slaver's Bay. She had born him five children, the eldest of whom served as Aerion Targaryen's squire, but had died whilst they had been fighting in the Reach. His second son Baelon was his own squire, a good lad if a bit on the short side, he had the makings of a very fine commander and warrior, though Aegor knew he would likely not live long enough to see him into command of the company. This war had extracted a heavy toll on him, his body no longer healed as quickly as it used to and his reactions were much slower than before.
He also found that the will to continue the fight, and the struggle and the arguing with Haegon about which direction the company was going in were wearing on him and making him feel older than his sixty one years, he felt a hundred. There were times in the past few years when he had been tempted to simply give up and die in peace in Tyrosh, but then something would come back to haunt him and stir him from his slumber and apathy. Whether it be the sight of Daemon's body buried by arrows or the sight of his mother drinking herself to death, it mattered not something always managed to get him angry again, and willing to raise the flag of the golden company once more, for one more round.
Unlike other campaigns, this campaign had left Aegor feeling uneasy. Haegon had planned the campaign and had ordered the men around, taking over unofficially from Aegor, and so far the company had been largely organised though how they had fallen for the trap the Stormlord had set for them Aegor knew not. Led on a wild goose chase away from their allies from the Reach, and their men were being bled dry, Baratheon had led them towards the God's Eye and the River Road where fighting had been going on between Ser Borros Hill and his westermen against the Valemen and then the Stormlords had retreated into the shadows.
The battle with the Valemen had been bloody but they had managed to force them to retreat. Aegor had rallied the company for one big push and against the walls of the old Mudd Fort, they had smashed the Valemen to pieces, bit by bit. Aegor had slain Jasper Arryn the Lord of the Vale, slashing the man open from throat to shoulder and watching as the man bled to death. He had then slain the man's brother, Artys Arryn had put up more of a fight then his brother, and Aegor had received a fare share of wounds during their fight, but Artys had died just the same, a sword through his throat and then out again.
With the two Arryns dead, had this been Redgrass the Valemen would have fled, instead that simply added more fuel to their fire and pushed them harder. Lord Royce had led the charge, just as Aegor had at Redgrass and the remaining fight was bloody murder. Hacking and slashing, Aegor had cut a path through the Valemen painting the Mudd Fort red once more, before slaying Royce himself. Still the Valemen continued fighting, until Ser Symond Templeton had ordered a retreat, and thanks gods that man had had the sense to do something like that, otherwise Aegor was convinced that the company would have died there and then.
As it was they had been left with 3,000 of their original 10,000. The Westermen 2,000 of their original 12,000 and the riverlords led by Lord Butterwell some 4,000 of their original 10,000. Lord Denys Lothston had been slain and his brother Lord Damon had retreated behind the walls of Harrenhal, ready for one more attack the man said, but hiding from Targaryen wrath was what Aegor thought, the Lothstons had betrayed Daemon once before what was to say they would not betray the Blackfyre cause again? That was why Aegor had ordered men sent into Harrenhal to kill the Lothstons there and then, they would not be attacked in the rear not again.
The Stormlords were still around as well, camped near the Isle of Faces where Daeron had been crowned king in the north so many years ago. Their men were more rested but less battle tested than Aegor's own and the alliance he had formed. He wondered how things were going with Daeron in the south against Maekar and whether or not victory would be theirs for once, somehow he doubted it. "Baelon." He said sharply. "Summon the commanders to the command tent." His son hurried away to do so and soon enough the commanders entered. Lords Shawney, Butterwell, Crakehall, Tarbeck, Banefort and Brax. Haegon, Aerion and Ser Borros Hill all entered, all of them looked tired and broken but ready for one last push. "My lords, I would know the state of our army and how ready we are for battle." Aegor said softly.
Lord Helman Shawney spoke then. "Our men grow restless and desperate for a fight my lord. They wish to spend themselves against the Stormlords in one last push. I say we march now and deal with Baratheon once and for all."
Lord Butterwell voiced his agreement. "Aye, we cannot spend the rest of the war sat here watching our men fade away or die from starvation. The Riverlands are a burnt thing now, we must fight or we must bend. And since we shall never bend we must fight and soon."
Haegon of course voiced his approval, so much like Daemon but also not. "Aye, the time for waiting is at an end. The Vale have beaten themselves back to behind their mountains, their boy lord is protected but for how long? Dorne is struggling to fight our friends of Osgrey. The Stormlords will get no support from the pretender, we must fight now and we must do so quickly before they can suspect a thing."
Aerion spoke then and Aegor was surprised to hear him agree with Haegon, so rarely did those two ever see eye to eye on anything. "Aye, I agree with Haegon. The time is now, the Stormlords are cut off from their home by the fighting in the south and the throne is fighting a battle with the northmen that they are sure to lose we must ride now and we must strike soon."
"Very well," Aegor began. "How do you suggest we proceed then? They are still camped near the ridge, and as such will be able spot any surprise marches we try and enforce on them. We shall be rained down by fire and arrow and bleed to death before we even get across to them."
It is Aerion who comes up with the suggestion. "We could always attack at night. The darkness will provide us with cover, and if we send men out early to probe their front lines and kill their sentinels they won't know what to expect. Baratheon is the sort of man to go charging boldly into the fray blind that will be his downfall."
A sound plan, but then Butterwell voices his opinion. "Would they not suspect that though? After all it is the only possible option for us to achieve victory." This one truly is milk.
"Baratheon is not a patient man my lord. He knows one thing, he knows how to fight. We can sit and wait here and watch everything bleed away or we can strike and we can strike tonight." Aerion countered.
The lad truly has come on; he will make a good leader one day. Aegor thought. Aloud he said. "What Aerion says is smart; Baratheon will expect us to do something during the day. We move at night and we move tonight. I want all of the men ready and waiting for the orders."
With that he dismisses the others from his tent and prepares for the upcoming battle, he feels as though this might very well be his last ever battle. If it is he will make sure to bring down a fair few Baratheon men with him. As the sun begins to set a few hours later, Baelon comes to help him put on his armour, the straps tighten and he grimaces slightly, the wound he took during the fighting with the Valemen hurting. He bites his teeth and then he finishes putting on his armour thanks his son and then heads outside where he mounts his fiery red warhorse. Atop the steed he rides out to see where his men are gathered near the base of the lake, and he bellows. "Tonight we ride, let them know our wrath." The men roar and then he puts on his helm, his son beside him and he raises his sword and sounds the command.
The setting sun provides them with the advantage, for it blinds the sentries to their attack until the early birds are upon them cutting them down. Those who escape are cut down by Aegor and his men in the first line of attack, soon enough they are setting fire to the tents closest to the sentries, burning and roaring for victory. It takes time but sure enough men come stumbling out with weapons and armour on, but they are lax and are cut down sure enough. On it goes, hacking, slashing and burning, the Baratheon men are caught out here and they will pay for that.
Baratheon comes swaggering out of his own tent, war hammer in hand his stage helm on and he bellows for Aegor and so Aegor rides to meet him. Baratheon is ahorse by the time Aegor reaches him, and so they meet in a clash of steel on hammer. Swinging and power, hacking, cutting, slashing, it all happens rather quickly, but soon enough Baratheon hits Aegor with enough force to dent his armour and cause blood to come gushing out of the wound opened. Aegor manages to in his lurch forward slash at Baratheon's throat, he does not know what happens next all he knows is that the ground is hard and his vision is departing. Aegor Rivers, Bittersteel, founder of the Golden Company dies on the sixth day of the fourth moon on the 233rd year after Aegon's Landing. Taking Lord Edric Baratheon with him.
King Maekar I Targaryen
The fighting, gods his whole life was just a fight wasn't it. He had had to fight as a child to survive when the pox had almost taken him and claimed his twin brother, he had had to fight when his grandfather had decided to invade Dorne and had taken Aelinor hostage, he had had to fight at Redgrass when all he had wanted to do was flee when news of Baelor's imprisonment had reach them. He had had to fight for all those times in his marriage when it looked like his wife would die giving birth, and when Bloodraven had wanted Aegon made an example of he had fought so fiercely he thought his life would have ended had Aerys not seen sense.
It seemed the gods had made him someone who only knew how to fight; he would fight once more for his throne, a throne he had never wanted, a throne that should have been Baelor's. He had fought for his marriage to survive after one of Daemon's idiot followers had raped his wife during the early days of the war, and he had fought for his son when it seemed Bloodraven wanted him dead. Throughout all of that he had become a hard man, a cold man some said, but deep down he still knew what it was to love and to be loved, and he was terrified that this time he might not live to see his children secure in their futures.
The Vale was beaten and bloody, the Westerlands a ruin, the Riverlands burnt to cinders, the Reach was at war with itself and Dorne, Dorne was something that he did not even want to think about. Only the crownlands and the Stormlands remained mercifully untouched by the war though for how long that would last he knew not. All he knew was that it was a long hard road to survival and this time he was not sure if he was going to make it through or not. He had lived for far too long when other more deserving men had died before their time. Baelor for one, that blow still haunted is every waking hour, and Rhaegal and his sweet children, they had all died during a fire, which he thought Bloodraven might have caused or might have been caused by Bittersteel.
His own firstborn had predeceased him as well, Daeron the boy had died sometime ago but the man had died a few years before this war. Dead for a pox he caught of a whore, what a way for a Targaryen to die, but then again his son was not truly a Targaryen, not truly, there was no fire only gas. Aerion was wed to a Blackfyre, and perhaps if Maekar died that might be what brought the peace, though he suspected the Vale would not stand for it nor would Aegon, his fourth son was many things but he had never forgiven Aerion for the torture he put him through as a child.
There had been times since Daemon had died that he had simply cursed his father for not being harder on the man and having him arrested or killed especially after he became king. Daeron the Good had done many good things during his life, but keeping Daemon Blackfyre alive or able to move around and rally supporters based on those gods damned rumour was not one of his smarter moves. Keeping him at court as well had only made things worse, but of course Maekar could not truly fault his father for doing such a thing, better to keep an eye on him than let someone like Bittersteel have complete control over him. But it mattered not now, for they were at war some forty years after Daemon had died on Redgrass, and he was sure the wars would continue long past his own lifetime that much he was sure of.
The Ironborn had done nothing since fleeing after their defeat at the Sunset Sea, and the Redwyne fleet had been sent to go raiding across the tributaries that the Iron Islands had to take their gold and deplete their resources. Some might have said they could have been used to invade the north, now that it was nearly completely empty of men and resources, but Maekar knew such a thing would be foolish, winter was coming and the southerners he sent would die before they got to Winterfell. No the Redwyne fleet was put to better use elsewhere, besides the Reach itself was in dire need of some form of unity now that Lord Garse Tyrell was a prisoner and his son but a child.
News had come from the north, Lord Edric Baratheon and his men had been set upon by the Golden Company and the rebels and had been butchered either in their tents or in the field. Edric himself had been slain by Bittersteel whilst also killing him in the process. The Golden Company was now lying broken and defeated on the banks of Jonquil's tears and were looking for a way to retreat back across the narrow sea, broken as they were they would not be of assistance to Daeron or the Blackfyre lad.
There had been word from the south as well, Mors Martell was dead, slain in battle fighting Harrold Osgrey, but the Dornishmen continued fighting, swelled by reinforcements sent by Lord Daltar Gargalen, Maekar's granddaughter's uncle. The Reachmen would be kept occupied for long enough he hoped, he needed to deal with Daeron and the northmen otherwise King's Landing would most certainly fall before winter came.
The death of Aegor Stark and Aegon Blackfyre had nearly broken the Northmen, but they still had two Blackfyre heirs fighting, Jaehaerys and Aegor Blackfyre. And so they continued fighting and the battle was going on now nearing six days, there would be retreats and feints and then more fighting would happen, and on and on it went, going until the setting of the sun where both sides would retreat back to their camps and then start anew on the morn.
"They are stirring once more father." His son Aegon said by his side. They were all armoured and ready waiting by The Tumbling Man's Hill, where it is said the Mudds once fought the Storm kings hundreds of years ago in a battle that lasted for nigh on a year. "We need to get to the point of their power father. Daeron Stark must die."
"Aye son, but the question is how do we get to him? The man is protected by his guards and even those who break through them do not live long enough to see the end of their attempt." Maekar replied.
"A pronged attack perhaps? If the best fighters in the reserve or the van join together to cut through his guards and then attack him at once surely one of us will land the killing blow?" Aegon asks.
Maekar is silent for a moment and then says. "Very well that might just about work. I shall lead the attack; you continue leading the van son. We cannot all be sacrificed in this."
When the horn is blown later on that morning battle commences once more. Maekar swings his mace like it is attached to his arm, at this point it more than likely is. He swings, and swings and swings until he can't swing anymore. And he sees the pile of bodies that are there before him on the ground, their heads kicked in, their armour dented, the blood seeping into the ground. It's like a scene from a nightmare, his nightmare and he rides on continuing to swing his mace like his life depends on it, in reality it truly does.
His mace meets flesh, steel and armour all the same and beats through them with some force, Maekar is not truly thinking about what he is doing now, he is simply doing it. He learnt a long time ago that the best way to ignore the pain and horror of war was to go inside and never look out whilst fighting. That is what he is doing now, swinging his mace through and through, again and again, hitting, killing and taking the life from men who are doing nothing more than fighting for their king. The blood that covers his mace is red, red like Baelor's was though Maekar had always thought his brother had blue blood he was so noble and good.
On he went swinging his mace, his arms truly hurt now but still he continued. He felt the sharp jolt of pain that shot through his arms every time his mace connected with an enemy's skull, and as he watched yet another man fall to his death he briefly wondered whether this fighting would be worth it, any of it. He pushed the thought from his mind briefly when he saw a flash of blue and a dragon banner. He raised his mace high and pointed to the banner, and the lords he had chosen, Bolton, Velaryon, Celtigar, Bar Emmon, Darklyn and Massey all joined up with their men as well, the two knights of the Kingsguard joined him and they rode hard.
Sensing Daeron close by seems to have given him a new lease of life, the pain of fighting no longer seems all that consuming above trying to end this war now, if he can get to Daeron and wear his friend down for long enough he could stand a chance of victory and then there would be no more Blackfyre wars to deal with at least from the north. He barrels his way through the men protecting the Winter Dragon, his mace crushing their skulls or their chests in, and he rides on, blood flowing down from the wounds he himself has taken. He continues riding, swinging his mace for all it's worth.
Beside him he sees out the corner of his eye, Ser Steffon Storm of the Kingsguard fall to the ground dead from a thousand wounds. He rides on, swinging his mace killing more and more northmen and feeling his head grow weaker with the effort as well, on he rides. Lord Velaryon falls down dead next, his son soon after. On they ride though, the horsemen riding by his side determined to end the threat once and for all. He comes across a Greycloak and the fighting is intense and furious and eventually the Greycloak dies his breastplate caved in and blood pouring out.
A giant of man comes into Maekar's path, and swinging a massive axe as well, they duel and fight for what seems an age, Maekar swinging and ducking as he has not done since he was a child in the red keep. Soon enough, he learns where the man's weaknesses are and though he himself is feeling the effects of battle and would dearly love a break, he continues fighting and probing until he finds the weakness he was looking for, a gap between armour and throat, he uses the sharp end of his mace and thrusts it straight into the man's throat when the man leans forward. The spike finds it's mark and soon enough blood covers Maekar's mace and hands.
The man dies and they ride on. The world is beginning to turn black now though, he can't hear and he can barely see through the fog that has become from his injuries. He needs to find Daeron and yet cannot see him. Tiredness is creeping in as well, and he knows he needs to find Daeron or he will die either from a careless move or from sheer tiredness and blood loss. He spurs his horse on and there, he sees not a white banner but a red one, Jaehaerys Blackfyre it must be. They meet in a clash of steel on steel, mace and mace and strength versus experience, both men give the other wounds serious and lethal alike, Maekar pounds Jaehaerys's breast plate in with enough force to cause him to bleed severely, but before he can deliver the killing blow he slumps of his horse and falls to the ground,. His wounds have bled out, Maekar Targaryen is no more.
It falls to his son Prince Aegon to rally the forces and force the northmen to retreat back to Moat Cailin all the while both sides see their forces being bled to the extreme. Duncan the Tall kills Jaehaerys Blackfyre, and Daeron Stark kills the three remaining lords who rode with Maekar. With Aegon and Jaehaerys Blackfyre dead the Targaryens seem in control of their destiny and the throne, but with Maekar dead no solid heir chosen, perhaps the Black Dragon can finally claim what they have sought.