Dragons
"Those Lions have thick skin", said Black Balaq, watching the red tide of armored men that swarmed the small hill once again.
"That they do", Aegon replied softly, hiding his frustration with the ground condition. The ground had dried out faster than he had hoped, but nature was an enemy that few men could conquer. The weather today reminded him of the old crone's words from Lys, "the skies are like a ship, they swing from side to side, hot days bring rains and fierce storms bring scorching sun." He felt the truth of that today, as the powerful rain that had washed away the blood of yesterday's battle was gone, replaced by the blazing sun. The fight would soon reach the large hill, he knew, for his men on the lower one were tired and on their last legs. Half of his force was already spent.
"Any news of uncle's host?"
Jon Connington, clad in the griffin armor of House Connington, shook his head. "They say they are coming, but words are wind, and my eyes see only one sun on the horizon." Jon was disappointed, and he was not alone. Many had expected the Dornishmen to arrive already. Aegon was the most patient one, but his patience was running out with the sands of time.
"They will be here, I only hope before the Lannisters break both of our legs," he said, with a faint touch of discontent in his voice. Aegon could defeat the Lannisters by himself, and he will if he had to, but the price would be too high. His war would not end with this battle, and his return to the throne would be hollow, if he lost most of his army today. For every wounded man, two more were needed to carry them, as such victory ment army lost. Stannis Baratheon was somewhere, smiling at the outcome, for a man never loses when his enemies are at war with each other.
"Yes, in the sunset lands I expected to find glory, gold and fair-skinned women to take for a wife, I lack one of such... And now a lion will devour me," said Balaq in his heavy Summer Isles accent, touching the chain of golden skulls around his neck, where his lordly ransom was hidden.
"Essos is for gold and luxury, Westeros for land and titles," Laswell Peake replied absently, with a thin black band around his arm, for he mourned his brother Torman, whose half-burned body, with crushed chest, was found in the sept courtyard. Torman was the first captain to die, and Aegon hoped the last.
Aegon felt a thorn in his brow as he faced the dilemma of dividing the land and granting the titles. Harry craved Harrenhal and his ancestral lands in the Reach, the Lothsons clamored that Harrenhal was theirs by blood, and there was also the Whent family that Aegon did not want to cast aside so lightly and disinherit. The tradition of false names in the sellsword companies had bred false claims. The Golden Company had five hundred knights and each one wanted to rise from a blade to a lord and get a larger share of the spoils, even the Essosi members, who had as much bond to Westeros as the rising sun.
The road from the small hill to the big one was choked with the groans of the wounded who were hauled on squeaking carts to the camp, towards the healer tents. The column was like a wounded animal that crawled on the green grass, leaving behind a trail of blood that turned from scarlet to black, then to foul stench. Aegon had witnessed and smelled death so often, but his nose never grew numb to the harsh odor of mortality.
One cart veered off the road and halted in front of them and Aegon saw his hopes shattered in the mangled body of Ser Tristan Rivers. A huge blue bruise had swollen on the right side of his face and blood dripped from his hidden eye socket, where perhaps there was only an empty void now. Below, a gaping wound on his arm spelled a certain amputation, but the look on the knight's face spelled an imminent end.
"The Red cunt's got me", Ser Tristan chuckled, as if he was not dying, "I hoped, by the end, I would piss on Tywin Lannister's grave, or better yet Hoster Tully's, for fish cunt burned down my brother's village".
With a bloody sword in his hand Marq Mandrake came from the left flank, with Ser Franklyn Flowers, whose face was glistening with sweat under the open visor. "Piss in a bucket, we'll pour it on their graves", Flowers quipped and coaxed a smile from the dying knight.
"Lord Griffin" coughed Rivers, spitting blood, and touching his chain of golden skulls, "take the chain and let Edoryen pay my daughters. My King," he turned to Aegon, "give them a name and marry them to the good men with deep pockets. The land promised to me here is theirs"
"You have the word of a king", Aegon assured him. Marrying his daughters would not be a hard task, for land lured men more than beauty, and in the spoils the captains would get the most. In the coffers of the Golden Company only Homeless Harry had more coin than Ser Tristan. The withered faces took the knight away, accompanied by Mandrake. The last time he will see Ser Tristan, it was clear to him as a full moon in the night sky. The blue swelling on knight's face reminded him of the blue bruise on the pale face of a chestnut northern girl and a thin thread of sorrow for the lost knight boiled into rage. He searched for his uncle on the horizon, where the distant edges were wrapped in a darker shade, but his eyes did not find a satisfying sight. Only the sun, but the real one, the blazing giant in the sky, and Aegon looked at sun as a common man looks at the starry sky. The sun's glare did not scorch the eyes of a dragon. If only I am a dragon. I would burn Tywin Lannister's army with my fiery breath, the red cloaks would burn as the green armors of House Gardener vanished on the Field of Fire. But he was not a dragon, even though he saw shapes of dragonsin the wavy rays of the sun. The dragon has three heads, and fire is their song. He closed his eyes, felt the weight of a phantom crown on his head and opened them again. The dragons disappeared, like false dreams that hunted his mind.
...
Lions
Lannister banners waved atop the small hill, heralding the final assault. Lord Serret and the young knight, Ser Flement Brax, whose bravery did not disgrace his house, had fulfilled their part of the bargain. Yet Ser Harys Swift would claim the glory for himself, Addam thought with contempt, for he despised men who led from the rear. Few lords had earned that privilege, and the chinless Swift was not among them.
"Ser Addam, move your cavalry to the right and join Ser Swift's men when they crest the hill," Kevan Lannister commanded, as if his goodfather would actually be there instead of Serret and Brax. "Ser Gregor will charge the infantry straight at their center, and when Lord Falwell emerges from the wooded passage on the right, we will have them nearly surrounded."
Ser Gregor Clegane loomed among them like a statue, his visor down, so motionless that he seemed not to breathe. What did his face look like, Addam wondered, if they feared to show it even in their own camp? From the mountain's helm came a faint rasping, like the wind whispering through the halls of some forsaken ruin. He had lost the power of speech. What kind of commander leads an army without a proper tongue? But then again, for everyone in the Lannister camp, the mere sight of the Mountain was a command. To flee from his ranks in battle was a death sentence, and now he would lead twelfe thousand men across the plain to the great hill, his right flank bolstered by Addam's five thousand horse.
His men where standing in lines avaiting horn to call a charge, but Mounitons foot was first to depart. Large knight led from the front, his sword larger then hight of most men.
Mounted on his big brown destrier, Ser Tybolt Crakehall murmured, "I am eager to fight for once. A boar killing a dragon, that's not something a man can't hear in a song."
Ser Harwin Plumm laughed with a rough voice, "You! Boar's like you can only bore him to death. But if Lyle was here, Strongboar would have smashed the bastard back to the Lysene whorehouse he came from." Hardstone's comment did not sit well with Tybolt, who reddened and turned his head.
"I fucked a Lysene girl once," boasted Ser Alyn Stackspear, "in Lannisport, from a traveling brothel. She had a tear tattoo and all. Fair as white sails, silver hair and purple eyes, the bitch couldn't understand a dog's bark. Half a night I spent trying to explain what I wanted."
"Foreign food doesn't suit me, I can only stomach western girls. Even these slippery rivergirls ruin my appetite," quipped his older brother Steffon.
They all laughed except Harwin Hardstone, "Fuck that, my lady here", he raised his warhammer, "will put a tear on the face of that silver-haired mummer prince."
Addam chimed in, "I don't doubt it, the man is a coward. He hides on the hill while others fight his battle. I hope to cross swords with him or better yet, with the red griffin. He at least has a name behind him." It was frustrating to fight against this dragon. The day before, he had charged six times at the lines of sellswords and not once did they take the battle. The Boy had not even sent his cavalry when Addam joined the attack on the small hill at the end of the day. Damn rain, they were so close.
"I'd rather have the Griffin too, a better foe, a bigger prize. If I kill him, I become greater than him and Denys Arryn," exclaimed Hardstone excitedly.
"Thum-dum, thum-dum, thum-dum." The drums of war thundered in the sky above the plateau. A thousand souls stood still, waiting for the attack, while the young boys beat the drums.
"Tarantatataaaaaaaaa, tarantatataaaaaaaa." The trumpets answered the drums and the uniform step of the Mountain's footmen began. Woe to him who faced this force. Gazing at the sheer power in motion, Ser Addam rode to the command post with his men. At the highest point of the plateau, Lord Tywin, Ser Kevan, Amory Lorch and Lord Lewis Lydden watched the battle.
"This will be their end," said Lydden, an inconspicuous and insignificant man whose name and titule justified his presence in the camp rather than his deeds.
"Still, it will be a bloody day. The sellswords have shown that they know how to fight", replied Kevan Lannister, standing like a shadow a step behind his brother Tywin. Addam would give half of the lords and knights here for Jaime Lannister's presence. War was for men who had a knack for fighting. The individuals here made struggle of life and death boring.
"What is that?" Alyn Stackspear looked confused at something in the opposite direction. He was the only one not looking at the red giant rolling on the plateau.
Tywin Lannister turned his gaze to the knight. He wore a decorated red armor with a multitude of gold elements and wrapped in a magnificent red cloak. His face was as always a blank paper impossible to read.
"What are you seeing lad?", Ser Kevan asked softly.
"Something is moving, there, under the forest." Alyn stopped being a joker.
Ser Kevan took a looking glass and looked at the point the boy showed him. Addam saw nothing but dark hills and forests. Stackspear must have had a hawk's eye.
"Columns," Ser Kevan uttered. "Many men marching towards us. Gods!"
"Is it Ser Forley?", Lydden fidgeted impatiently on his horse.
"It is hard to tell. Here lad! Your eyes are better than mine. Which banners are there?"
Under pressure, Alyn began to sweat, surrounded by looks full of uncertainty. Tywin Lannister's face betrayed a slight anger. "It's… it's red."
"Praise the gods! Ser Forley rides back victorious", Lyden exclaimed. A stone fell from Addam's heart.
"…but… the columns are mostly of foot", said the boy, and Kevan hastily took a looking glass from his hands.
"No need for that", said Tywin Lannister. "They are Dornish". A silence as heavy as the rocks of Casterly Rock fell, as if all of the battle had fallen silent.
"Ser Addam, dispatch scouts and find out if Ser Forley is near. We need his men. In the meantime we press on the sellswords. The Dornishmen are too far away and to late. The small hill is taken, the dragon pretender is half broken. Ser Gregor will finish the task". He raised his eyebrows and looked at everyone present. "Not a word to anyone. We know and no one else does. As far as our army is concerned Martell's are in Dorne and frying on that godless sun. Kevan, reinforce the rear defense".
Addam looked thoughtfully at the columns in the distance. It would take them hours to reach their lines. Still, if they do not break through the sellsword lines at the large hill, all seven gods would not be able to help them.
...
Dragon
The Dornish Sun cast its great rays from the northwest, illuminating the columns of soldiers in redish cloaks, the color of desert. They moved slowly like a shadow of salvation, a faint hope in the midst of carnage. The sound of hope was drowned by the powerful steps of the Lannisters who marched towards them, their crimson banners and armor gleaming with might. On Aegon's left wing, thousands of Lannisters swarmed from a small hill, where Aegon's forces had been routed, of seven thousand warriors he had there, only four remained ready for battle.
"Myles, tell Ser Franklyn to retreat to us", Aegon ordered young Mooton, who rode away, to the left flank, without a word.
"It's time", Jon said quietly and Aegon nodded. "Aegon, don't let your emotions get the better of you". Jon looked at the false knight Gregor Clegane, who led the enemy center, a mountain of a man, clad in heavy steel and wielding a massive sword. Ever since he had seen the monster, Aegon's hand had clenched the pommel of Blackfyre, the ancestral blade of his house, the sword of kings. Valyrian steel, forged with dragonfire and magic, can cut through everything, even mountains.
"I know what I had to do", he thought of his ancestors who had soared on the backs of mighty winged creatures, and how people like the Mountain would cower before their wrath. The feeling of boundless freedom had not left his bloodline, even after the dragons had perished. Aegon the Fourth had unleashed five civil wars with his basterd folly, and had unwittingly given him an army. Aegon the Fifth had consumed his kin in fire with false hopes of rebirth of dragons. His grandfather and father had forfeited the crown by the same flame. Aegon knew, Blood and fire were his essence, death crowned with power.
"Recall Harry's men from the rear. We will make our stand here," Aegon said to Laswell Peake. Franklyn Flowers's cohort abandoned their position on the left flank, near the Forest Path, and rallied to Aegon's banner. The Lannisters seized their retreat and poured out of the forest. Lannisters from the forest, Lannisters from the Small Hill and Lannisters in front of him. They surrounded his forces, now shaped in a golden ellipse, ready to strike from three sides.
Fires of the dragan past are estinguished, bat dragons were not only beasts capable of trembnling the land.
...
Lions
"An hour later, Addam gripped his lance firmly, standing in the center of the Wedge Cavalry Formation. The Lannister forces from the Small Hill were already clashing with the ranks of the Golden Company that held the road on the Large Hill. In half an hour or so, Ser Gregor would unleash his frontal assault.
Addam's task was to break through the enemy lines, in the gap between the Mountain and Swift's attack from the Small Hill. He impatiently awaited the signal to charge, a horn and a trumpet. Victory meant going home and freeing Ashmark from the wolves.
'Auuuuuuuuu', 'Auuuuuuuuu'
Addam's thoughts and desires vanished in the sound of a thunderous rumble. Time slowed down as he saw huge Lannister banners soaring in a sea of red cloaks and armor. He spurred his horse and galloped towards them, began to bypass them and soon overtake them. The glint of thousands of golden armors dazzled his eyes. Every rumble was a heartbeat, every heartbeat a flash of an enemy spear. The heavy collision was followed by screams and Addam stabbed his lance into the helmet of one of the sellswords, who screamed loudly and fell. But a men was quickly replaced by another who thrust his spear towards Addam. Addam dodged it and moved back. Ser Gregor was fifty yards from the enemy lines, leading a might of Lannisters, united with those which had emerged from the Forest Path. They would hit harder than Hardstone's hammer.
Swift's men, who had faltered on left flank, tired of two days of fighting and were retreating before the spears of golden sellswords. They were struggling to keep their formation, Addam's charge saved them for a moment.
Spears hit shields, splinters shattered into pieces, armor bent and pierced, and the world became a cramped space of men killing each other. Addam's horse had taken an arrow and he found himself on the ground, with a sword in his hand, wading between the bodies of men and horses. He could not die trampled by his own army.
'Arouuuuu', 'Arouuuuu', 'Arouuuuu', many trumpets sounded in the enemy's rear, but Addam felt them strange and wrong, a sound powerful and raw, almost wild and untamed. The ground began to rumble as fear crept into his men's skin. Some foul magic was at work. The rumble grew louder until it turned into heavy screams, restless neighing of horses and breaking… the sound of breaking bones, falling flesh and trampling hooves. He tried to see what was happening but hundreds of horses and men blocked his view. From the direction of disorder and commotion came a horse without a rider who had escaped from the carnage and he took a chance and mounted on lost mount. The sight sent shivers down his spine. Warelephants! Eight large heavily armored carriage sized beasts with long spikes and blades on their tusks tore through his men like a hot knife through butter. The animals had completely disappeared under the golden armor and spikes. Horses stopped obeying their masters; they retreated at their own will; soldiers pulled back and collided with those who were just arriving. The broken cavalry was easily slaughtered by the sellsword infantry.
"Form ranks!", Addom shouted but in vain; in the ensuing chaos no command helped. The cavalry was not the only one in trouble, two dozen golden beasts, faster than any horse, charged down the hill at Ser Gregor Clegane's marching forces. Behind the beasts came the enemy cavalry. The speed of the beasts smashed into a powerful impact and the elephants broke through the first few rows in a second. The golden cavalry followed their lead. Utter chaos.
Without Addam's support, Swift's men fell apart by themselves and many ran back to the Small Hill.
To save the day, Addam charged at one of the elephants and hurled a short spear. The beast roared as it felt the impact, but the spear barely pierced its thick armor. It was all useless, Addam knew they had to retreat. He looked for his horn and blew it with all his might, hoping his men would hear him. Some did, but most did not. Addam's cavalry was already surrounded by enemies on two sides and their infantry was cutting them down mercilessly. Among the red and gold spots, Addam spotted Purple cloak of Hardstone. Harwyn Plumm clashed his warhammer with Jon Connington's sword. The Griffin had challenged Hardstone to a duel, and Plumm had accepted foolishly. The Griffin was a better warrior by far, which was clear even to a blind man. With some inhuman force he attacked Hardstone, raw power turned into skillful and fast blows. Plumm barely kept his distance, repelled sword blows so badly that it seemed that every next one would be fatal, Addam's thought preceded the griffin's sword, which buried itself through Hardstone's neck. A step away from the Griffin, a young dragon swung his sword and broke a Lannister's blade before beheading him swiftly. The boy wieldes a Valyrian steel sword.
Addam had no time to spare as three golden sellswords rushed towards him, he dodged the spear of the first one and stabbed him in the throat with his lance. Then he pulled back and blew his horn again, with the strength of an autumn seastorm, but his horn was answered by horns that Addam had heard twelve days ago, horns of desert. The Dornish cavalry had arrived, emerging below the forest and they struck Ser Gregor's army's right wing like a sandstorm. Many Lannisters fled in panic or fell under their spears. The battle was lost.
...
"Kevan's eyes darkened as he watched the slaughter of their army. Thousands of men were fleeing or dying under the enemy blades. Every line of defense was broken.
"My Lord, we have to go", he looked at his brother. Tywin Lannister's grim face answered him with silence.
The silence in the air was shattered by the gallop of a scout, who came to them covered in blood.
"Dornish are under Forest", "Dornish are under Forest", the young man shouted frantically before collapsing on the ground. Poison again, Kevan had no doubt. The news became truth when Ser Gregor's forces were attacked from the right side. While elephants and sellsword cavalry destroyed them from the hill, Dornish cavalry quickly broke through their flank. This is the end.
Ser Addam withdrew from the hill with two hundred riders and reached their position. The knight's armor was bloody; his face was sweaty and exhausted. "We have to retreat while we still can", he said in a firm tone.
"No", Tywin roared, "the commander does not abandon his army, especially when he has no other. Are you knights or rats who run into a hole? If we leave now, Lannister's will be defeated. Ser Addam, go back to the center and rally Ser Gregor's men. Lord Lydden, go to the Small Hill and pull back the men of that pathetic Lord Cock".
Lord Lewys Lyden turned red with fear, but obeyed the order. Kevan felt his fingers go numb, he had never felt fear like this in his life, only for his brother's life and his children's. Death was now closer to him than a collar on his shirt and it grew stronger with every beat of the Dornish drums. The Martell cavalry had crept upon them like ghosts, but their infantry was still behind them, blocking their way. Even if they gathered ten thousand men, they would have to break through Dornish infantry ranks. Ser Addam was right; they had to leave the army if they wanted to live.
...
Dragons
The mighty trumpets of the elephants mingled with the tolling of the sept bells, in the mind of Jon Connington. He faced Robert Baratheon now, not Denys Arryn, as it had been once. Robert was huge, strong, swift and young, with brawny arms and a crown of antlers. Three purple coins on gold gave way and merged into a black stag. The stag recoiled before him, the initial blows of zeal and foolish bravery fading into fear and doubt, and he thought he saw the stag wish to shed the metal skin that he wore. The moment was brief, as was the clash with Denys Arryn at the fountain in Stoney Sept. His blade sliced through the side of the neck and a spray of blood and flesh flew in an instant. The death of his foe lifted the veil of fantasy and instead of Robert Baratheon's corpse, a knight fell from his horse, under the weight of his hammer, bearing the arms of House Plumm, the face of the man he slew hidden under the visor. When you kill a knight, you kill not a man, but a sigil sewn on his breast.
Another head rolled past Jon Connington and his eyes found Aegon, with Blackfyre stained red in his hand. Victory was near. Lannisters were falling on all sides, crushed under the feet and tusks of the mighty elephants, or under the spears of the Golden Company. The order among the enemy horsemen broke down and now their turmoil was a greater foe to them than the Golden Company. An army that is not in formation is as good as dead. The lions who attacked from the small hill were in an even worse plight, the collapse of the red horsemen completely shattered their spirit and they began to flee back towards the burned Sept. Many yards below, under the ranks of the Golden Company's footmen, the rest of the elephants and Otreyes' horsemen tore through the lines of the great Lannister host under Gregor Clegane, whose assault was meant to be the final nail in the coffin of Aegon's claim to the throne.
"Uncle is here," Aegon declared with a kingly tone, rather than with excitement as the Dornish horsemen charged at the wounded Lion from another flank. "It is time to end this battle. Ser Laswell, take two cohorts and pursue the rabble on the small hill, do not let them flee or join their main force. The rest of us, will advance."
"With pleasure, Your Grace," the Reacher exile answered.
The army descended down the blood-stained hill, with steps hampered by the heaps of dead men and horses. A few elephants lay on the ground, brought down by Lannister spears and bolts, emitting low and deep groans as they succumbed to fatigue and agony. The Golden Company's cohorts passed by their own cavalry, striking at the enemy's left wing.
"Form squares," "Form squares," the Lannister commanders bellowed, trying to bring order on their ranks. Somewhere in the center, a man's voice roared, almost drowning out the trumpets of the elephants. Gregor Clegane climbed atop an elephant with a monstrous strength, the beast was struggling to shake off the heavy intruder. Jon had never seen anything like it in his life, Dornish arrows pierced the knight more than any mortal could endure. The Mountain that Rides was not a man, but a horror that the gods had unleashed upon the realm of men. The elephant shrieked in fierce pain as the brute drove his sword through the golden plates into its neck.
The animal fell slowly, even in death elephants are calm and dignified, but her butcher Clegane did not find peace. Dornish horsemen surrounded him and attacked him with swift and skillful thrusts of their spears like a swarm of wasps. The brute hacked with his massive sword, felling men and horses, with his other hand he snatched and snapped spears. Harder to bring him down than an elephant. No man is above fatigue, so the knight visibly faltered, his movements slower and clumsier. '
"You killed her,", cried a Dornishman under a snake-shaped helm, none other than Oberyn Martell and dealt the savage a final blow that knocked him off his feet.
"I hope he lives", Aegon said, his voice quiet rage. Jon could read hatred, even on a face hidden under a black visor.
"I do not doubt it. The Red Viper is not a man of coincidences, his ways with the Mountain are not over", Jon replied, hiding in his chest shame, because he never felt a true sorrow for Elia Martell. Not as he should have, because Dornishwomen, even as a wife for duty, occupied a more beautiful place with Rhaegar than Jon ever could.
"Death will..." Aegon could not finish the sentence before a crossbow bolt struck him just below the neck. He lost his balance and fell from his horse onto his chest. Quicker than a lightning, Jon leaped from his horse and turned Aegon over. Blood as dark as cherry gushed from his armor.
"What are you waiting for? Bring the maester, bring Haldon", Jon said with a catch in his voice. Fear gnawed at him from within; he felt his heart searing under the curse of some foul poison. He gently removed the helm from the boy's head, his pale Targaryen face gasping for air; the spark was vanishing from his bright purple eyes and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Jon never felt more powerless in his life than now; he looked towards the small hill, where a half-ruined and burned sept tower with a fallen bell peeked above the sparse treetops that parted the two hills. You never got gratitude from me for gifts you gave me, nor penance for all troubles I faced in life. Damn you if you rob this land of a king, if you rob me... he thought through the seven gods who were one. At this moment they were none. Next to him he saw the shapes of Haldon and Rolly Duckfield; he was surrounded by victory, but a black shroud fell again on Jon Connington's face. The same one as when he was half-drunk, in a tavern in Pentos, and heard that Rhaegar Targaryen was dead.