Chapter 66: The Dragons Dance Pt 1
Mist shrouded the shores of the God's Eye that morn, as it did nearly every morn. But today would bring something different than most. Something more common to the Riverlands than more peaceful regions such as the southern Reach, arm of Dorne, or the wide expanse of the central North.
Battle.
Death.
Civil war.
Watching her gooddaughter embracing her son, the latter in his leather riding tunic and trousers lined with fur for the chilly altitude, Alyssa Velaryon still held out hope that Rhaena and Maegor would come to their senses. See that this clash could be avoided.
Neither her husband nor Lord Lucas - let alone her son himself - harbored that false hope anymore, but Alyssa stubbornly held on.
It was all that kept her from collapsing.
Seeing Aegon meet her gaze, Alyssa nodded and headed to him. Catching the last words he gave Alys. "Love, I need you and your guards to find the most nondescript place in the keep and wait there. A place Balerion's fires would ignore."
"Surely your uncle wouldn't…"
"You're father doesn't want to take chances, and I agree. Too much symbolism in Balerion again bathing Harrenhal in fire."
Alys nodded, grabbing his hands and placing them over her stomach. "Come back to us."
He chuckled, kissing her while caressing her belly. "I'll come back for my son."
Her gooddaughter giggled. "The Maester says I may be carrying twins… bigger than usual for how far I am."
Alyssa suppressed a smile, while Aegon caressed the stomach with awe on his face. "Then I shall come back for both my sons." They kissed sweetly, and then Alys headed back to her guards, her escorts to wherever it was safest in the keep.
Aegon watched her until Alyssa walked up behind him. "Oh, muna."
"Twins, huh?" She beamed at him. "Good tidings for the future."
"I certainly think so."
Kissing his cheek, she motioned him to follow her. "I'll help you with your armor. Better me than some nervous squire." He chuckled and complied - perhaps he wished for her company as much as she wished for his. Soothing his nerves. Hers definitely needed soothing.
The coat of mail was easy to don, flexible for the range of motion one needed while riding a dragon. The various leather straps were more challenging. "I will be alright, muna," he stated, as if reading her mind.
"You cannot blame a mother for worrying." Biting her lip, she fastened the leather straps. Pulling hard to make sure they were tight. "I haven't heard anything of the last army of the Faith. Mayhaps Lord Tyrion would attack us?" She didn't think so, the action near suicidal, but Alyssa couldn't discount Tyrion attempting something so daring or Hugor being desperate.
Aegon chuckled. "That is something he'd do, but Lord Lychester's scouts report nothing out of the ordinary. Lucas thinks they'll try and attack the Stormlands next, try and approach King's Landing from the south."
Alyssa frowned. "There are no forces in that region beyond what the northern Reach can bring to bear."
"Do not worry, muna. As soon as the battle is won, I shall marshal my sister, aunt, and cousins to go south and create another field of fire. Mayhaps Viserys too if he can bond with Balerion."
"You've certainly thought of a bold plan." Like his father, his real father. "And Maegor?"
Aegon's face twisted into something… if not pained then distressed. "My uncle made his bed when he usurped my throne. I do not want harm to come to him, but it is time he must lie on the bed he made."
She tried to hide her wince, the resolve in Aegon's tone all the more twisted and tragic given the secrets only she knew.
"Goodsister."
He'd almost caught her at the worst moment. From her scowl, all moments were the worst, but she would not give him the satisfaction of being truly enraged at his presence. "What do you want?"
Or aroused - desperate to have him close to her. Damn herself, but she was.
If he was affected by how she hurriedly affixed her dress back in order after nursing her newborn son, Maegor didn't show it. "How is he?"
Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Your brother's been proclaiming his son's health to the skies. Your father's declared a week's thanksgiving for the birth of his first grandson." She refused to look at him for more than a glance. "Shouldn't that tell you anything?"
There was a pregnant pause, Alyssa hoping he would simply go away. "Lyssa…" No such luck. "You know what I'm asking."
She bit her lip, willing her voice to become dispassionate. "I have no idea."
"I am not stupid," he replied, stepping towards her. She tried to restore the distance, but his strides were longer than hers. "I know that he has to be my son…"
"He is Aenys' son," she proclaimed, as much to herself as to him. "The child of Prince Aenys and Princess Alyssa, as much as Princess Rhaena is." Liar. His eyes were the same as Maegor's, hair the same shade. Only the fact that the difference between the brothers was subtle kept the lie going. "You lost your chance to see me bear your children, you cruel bastard." Alyssa lost the war of words, immediately losing her composure. "Get out or I'll have my guards throw you out!"
Maegor remained there, silent but unmoving. Long enough for the pitter patter of gentle feet to echo through the bedchamber. "Muna, muna, see bwudder…" It was Rhaena, slight as anything and begging to hold little Egg in her arms.
"Here, sweetling." Maegor hefted her up into Alyssa's lap where she had sat down.
"N'uncle… love love love," she giggled, beaming at Maegor before stroking her brother's cheek.
Their eyes met, and Alyssa almost melted. "Get out," she ordered, hoping he would leave before her composure collapsed and she'd kiss him.
Thankfully, Maegor finally complied.
"All done."
Blinking, Alyssa stepped back to allow for Aegon to turn, displaying the fine physical specimen he was. "You look like a King. Your namesake." It was the truth.
Sheathing his sword in its scabbard, Aegon leaned over and kissed Alyssa's brow. "Go find Alys and wait with her. I shall come to you when we've won, and bring Rhaena with me."
"Do not harm her, Aegon."
"I shan't. We shall be a happy family again, I promise you." He escorted her out, but was greeted by a man in her husband's employ. "Your Grace, Lord Rogar has already formed up battlelines. He requests you mount Quicksilver at once, for the dragons are spotted."
Cursing, Aegon kissed his mother once more and then rushed off, leaving her alone. Alyssa only then knew that she didn't have the foggiest idea where Alys had been whisked off too. "Oh, seven hells."
Mayhaps she should stay in her quarters. Maegor was a lot of things, but he wouldn't burn Harrenhal to the ground like his father did while the family was inside. Rhaena wouldn't let him.
Walking briskly through the corridors, some muffled voices caught her attention. "You didn't say anything about four fucking dragons!"
"We all thought there would be three."
"Yes, but then news came that Rhaena's in King's Landing rather than here. Two, our King can take on." Was that Ronnel Baratheon? Her goodbrother? Why weren't they with Rogar? She and Rogar made love all through the night - it was wonderful, but he had been off at the break of dawn to oversee the deployments of his troops. She'd woken up to a cold bed, but didn't mind since it proved her husband was dutiful. His brothers weren't.
She didn't like them for that reason.
"You idiot." Borys, the most loutish of the group - as ambitious as Rogar but stupid. "Rhaena stayed, but Rhaenys brought her two Stark brats south. Those are the two new dragons." Alyssa's eyes widened. Rhaenys brought her own children?
"That's still four dragons."
Another voice, this one belonging to Orryn. "Two are small. They can easily be overpowered."
"I don't like this… I don't like it at all…" Ronnel's voice was hesitant. "Why couldn't Rogar just have been content with the Stormlands. I mean, he got rid of grandfather and father and got away with it, why risk…"
Alyssa gasped silently. Was he saying…
He was, and she had to leave.
"Not so loud, people can fucking hear you!" The sound of a hand smacking another. "Go do your fucking job. The Queen's probably carrying our nephew right now. Too big an investment for us to lose."
About to slip out, Alyssa had nearly made it to the stairwell when a strong hand grabbed her and yanked her back. "Goodsister, what is the matter?" Ser Orryn, Rogar's brother.
Her heart was pounding in her chest, but Alyssa rallied. Trying to adopt a haughty tone. "What are you doing, Ser Orryn? Unhand me!" Indignant and superior, hopefully one that would cow a fifth son and knight that would inherit nothing. "You are my husband's brother. To think of what would happen to you if he found out you placed a hand on his wife…"
"An eavesdropper, you mean?" Mayhaps she had faltered, or mayhaps he wasn't as dumb as he looked… Alyssa felt a bead of sweat on her forehead. "How much did you hear?"
"What are you talking about? Are you a fool as well as a brute…"
"You heard it all, didn't you?" That was Borys. When Orryn nodded, he winced. "I told Ronnal he was being too fucking loud…"
To hear him admit it stoked Alyssa's ire. "You killed your own grandfather and father? Just so that Rogar could take Storm's End. You filthy traitors!" She writhed and pushed, trying to yank her wrist free of his grip, but Orryn was strong. "I'll tell my husband. Kin or no you'll all hang…" From a flash on Orryn's face, she gasped. "Rogar knew?!"
Orryn looked pale, while Borys shrugged and grinned. "It was his fuckin' idea," laughed the middle brother, shattering Alyssa's world. "Took Storm's End, and eventually you."
She was beyond words, hanging her head. Eyes shut as tears welled in them.
"Good going you dolt, now she knows."
"Who cares. When Maegor's dead we'll just tell Rogar and he'll handle it."
"What to do about her?"
A pause. "Lock her in here. We'll come back for her later."
Alyssa's head shot up. "No!" She couldn't let this happen… Rogar had manipulated her. Seven hells, Lord Lucas probably did too. She'd hate herself for everything after, but for now. "This battle can't happen! Help! They're assaulting the Queen Dowager!" Someone had to hear her.
Tossed into the bedchamber, no one did. "Now stay put," Borys shouted, slamming the door.
Throwing herself at it, Alyssa only heard the turning of a lock. She fell to the floor, clutching her face as she cried.
What had she done? Maegor… I'm sorry…
Aegon…
Father and son, flying to battle against each other. All her fault.
Sunrise had bore witness to an army that hadn't slept. Having marched the morning before across the ford near Lord Harroway's Town - the domain of Lucas Harroway untouched even though multiple commanders wished the officially attained treasonous Hand to endure his keep burned to the ground - Maegor ordered a fortified camp be built and the men to bed immediately after an early supper. Thus they had risen halfway between the hour of the wolf and sunrise, setting to work on their formations and preparations.
Unlike before they'd be going on the attack, to control the battlefield and strike a decisive blow before too many were killed.
Stroking Balerion's snout, Maegor nevertheless felt a great dread in his soul. Be it either that he would be committed to the pyre as the sun set, or that someone he loved would be.
He hoped it would be the former, not the latter.
"So we are agreed," the King heard behind him, the exuberant voice of a youth experienced only in riding and training - expecting glories untainted with pain and loss to come out of war. "You shall stay beside Muna on Vermax while Tessarion and I will guard Balerion's flank."
Or in the case of his niece and nephew that belonged to a different house than he, their loss was detached from them. The death of Brandon a far-off event, one where they could seek their vengeance without consequence.
Maegor knew that was not the case - to vanquish his own brother's killer had nearly took his own life. Made his wives widows and his son an orphan.
But Saera and Aegon were still summer children - fierce dragonriders and tough direwolves but the most they had fought were scattered wildling raiders. Maegor could hear it in Aegon's cocksure tune. "And have you in the place of honor? I don't think so."
"Your dragon is bigger and stronger." He smiled slightly, knowing just how much it must've killed Saera inside to admit that to her brother. "Arrax will need such a protection. Balerion is bigger, so Tessarion's swiftness will be needed."
"That's a bunch of shit and you know it. You're just a craven wanting the Black Dread's protection."
Oh, how Saera reminded him of Rhaenys when she was that age. Always spoiling for a fight to prove her worth. "Say that again," she seethed.
Aegon rose to the challenge. "Craven."
He rolled his eyes when Saera shrieked and lunged at him. The two taking a tumble. Meeting Balerion's amber eye with his violets, Maegor felt the dragon's annoyance. Clicking his teeth, the King turned and quickly yanked Saera up by the scruff of her cloak. His angry niece moved to lash out at he who picked her up, but was stilled at the sight of her uncle. Aegon too, scrambling to his feet. "This is what brother and sister do? Not just in general, but on the day of their first battle?" They chafed under his scolding. "For shame. Your father would be disgusted."
Invoking Brandon's memory was a bit of a low blow, and Maegor felt guilt at the hurt that radiated from the expressions of his niece and nephew, but it had been effective. Brutally so. Aegon had wilted and there were tears in Saera's eyes. "Forgive us, uncle," she sniffled.
Maegor sighed. "You won't be punished, nor will I ask you to reflect on it beyond my stressing that you must be united and focused. Battle will prove to you what is truly important and what is truly petty." Build them up, not break them down. "As your King, I can say that Saera's plan is the one with tactical merit, but you cannot be smug about it, Saera. Overconfidence leads to death."
"Kessa, uncle."
She'd be a strong dragonrider once she grew up. "Hang around me and Balerion unless Quicksilver attacks, then bank off and stay in reserve in case there's a threat to our lines. Tessarion is too small for dragon combat." That Saera seemed to understand that without complaint was a sign. One of the best, Maegor was sure. "Aegon, you are going to be an equal partner to your muna… protect her with everything you have, and do not leave her side for a moment." He knelt down to his level. "The two of you must work as a team, to which you must trust her decisions and Vermax's instincts. Understood?"
"Kessa, uncle," he nodded. "I will not let you down."
At that point Rhaenys walked up, far off finding Arrax devouring the charred carcass of a steer. "I trust that my children are ready for their first fight."
Aegon puffed up. "We are, muna."
"I'll be with uncle the whole time. He'll keep me safe." Saera gazed up at him with a childlike awe, the same face Maegor remembered young Rhaena giving him or he and his siblings gave their parents. Oh, where has the time gone?
Rhaenys ruffled their hair with a smile before looking at Maegor with a poignant expression. "Are they?"
He shrugged. "No one is ever ready, but we can't really beg at this point can we." He would've kept them in the North had he been their father, but Rhaenys willed them here. He wasn't one to second guess his sister. "Shall we, then?"
Wordlessly Rhaenys hugged him and kissed his cheek, then accepted the teary and wordful embraces of her two eldest. Aegon and Saera here, with Alaric and Lyanna in the North. The beautiful family of dragonwolves she and Brandon had created, only for this war to cripple it with Brandon's vile death. And here, on the coming battlefield, were the dragons going to try and tear each other apart.
They might be above man or god, but if this was their action then perhaps they didn't deserve to bond with dragons?
'Your kepa got philosophical before battle… I wished you'd not. Quite depressing.'
Maegor rolled his eyes. "Enough, Balerion. I do not need this right now."
The Black Dread stomped his foot, causing the ground to rumble. He was immense, after all. 'It's sad, I know, but don't think you can escape what has to be done.'
"I know, boy, I know." Of all of them, Balerion was in fact the oldest. Damn those who wouldn't accept his wisdom. "Alright, let's ride." With any luck, Aegon would lose his nerve and see the folly of all this.
Would he have in his youth? Maegor didn't wish to repeat the answer.
Did he want this?
Aegon couldn't say that he did. Of course he wanted the throne. The Crown, to be King. Ambition burned in his blood, as did the desire to make his mark for the better upon the Realm. It was in his name, after all. The namesake of the Conqueror himself - 'Aegon' was the name of royalty and the founder of their dynasty.
He was destined to rule, after all - just as his goodfather always told him. But Aegon knew he didn't want to hurt his family. Not even Maegor, let alone his aunt, cousins, and above all his beloved sister.
'They're ahead, little brother.' Aegon felt connected to Quicksilver, as if their instincts were shared, but above all the dragon was his kepa's. The King-claimant would always be the young son of his first rider to the dragon… and he was fine with that. 'Shall we attack?'
"You're saying we should kill them?" Stroking the dragon's scales to calm himself, Aegon hoped the beast would have some advice.
He wasn't so lucky. 'I cannot make that decision for you, only protect you. And to do so, you will need to either flee or attack now, for I cannot face Balerion while outnumbered. Arrax is my size and Vermax and Tessarion are young and quick.'
Narrowing his eyes, Aegon stared ahead. First at the ground, where the columns of infantry and cavalry on either side advanced against the other. No skilled tactics or artful generalship, just a matched frontal assault. Unimaginative but fitting for the day.
What constituted the greater threat were two pairs of shapes. One closer, one further. Balerion was further off, and that posed an opportunity. "Do not kill, Quicksilver. Only wound, but let's go."
The dragon seemed comfortable with that. 'Kessa, little brother. Let's.' With a loud roar, Quicksilver advanced, beating his wings into a shallow dive from his vantage point high in the clouds.
Wind howling and shrieking as Quicksilver picked up speed, he could see the distant pair of amorphous blobs start to morph into something concrete. Bat-like shapes, flapping as they sailed through the air. One larger than the other but not as blatant as he would suspect. Arrax and… Vermax? The dragon of his cousin of the same name?
Aegon didn't remember what Vermax looked like, or what any of his Stark cousins looked like, but it was a decent assumption to make. Quicksilver would be outnumbered, but not horribly so. All that mattered was the element of surprise and his own instincts, to which Aegon was sure worked in his favor…
But his optimism was premature. Surprise wasn't a must but attacking without it was risky - just as Aegon was to swoop on the unsuspecting duo of Vermax and Arrax, the latter twisted in the air with a roar piercing the sky. Vermax noticed too and began to bank away. "Fuck!" he shouted, thinking quickly. "Dracarys!"
Quicksilver opened his maw and unleashed a stream of dragonfire at Vermax, not relenting until he shot past. The smaller dragon was too far away to be completely bathed in the flame, but it was enough to force him to dive. Separating him from Arrax and leaving the larger dragon now in a one on one clash with no support forthcoming for the short term
Finding no time to praise herself for such quick thinking, Aegon gritted his teeth and leaned closer to Quicksilver's neck. "Loop down and attack from behind."
'Dragonfire?'
"No, teeth and claw."
Quicksilver roared his affirmation as he did a sudden sharp climb into the air. Arrax let out a tongue of flame, but the silver beast was swifter and outshot the dragonfire. Quicksilver was slightly older and with a larger wingspan, but Arrax had grown heavier and thus had more endurance. Youth blessed the powerful dragon, meaning that he could outfight and outlast Quicksilver over an extended period of time. Unless the agility and speed inflicted enough injury to wear him down.
Rhaenys was no fool, and at the quick approach she was undoubtedly shouting proper commands to counter the attack. Arrax roared and beat his mighty wings, trying to recreate the distance between them so his superior fire could be brought to bear. But Quicksilver was flying too fast and closing too quickly and Arrax couldn't avoid close contact. A melee was inevitable, horrified wonder certainly in the faces of all the spectators on the ground watching something not seen since the days of the Valyrian Freehold.
A dragon melee.
Aegon held onto Quicksilver's spines as tightly as he could, bracing himself when the two dragons collided. He lurched, hurled onto the front of his saddle but he held on. "Dracarys!" he bellowed, Quicksilver unleashing his own flame at Arrax's neck and skull. Eyes singing, Arrax roared his distress, flapping furiously to stay upright.
This allowed Quicksilver to latch his claws onto Arrax's soft underbelly. Further roars and shrieks thunder-clapped through the air, once sibling dragons now tearing at each other. Arrax flailing from the sudden stun while Quicksilver saw his opening and left deep, bloody gouges in the other's flank and belly. Arrax tried to angle his head to rain fire but Quicksilver butted his neck with his brother's, further disorienting Arrax.
"Rhaenys!" Aegon cried, his visored helm finding the bare head and flowing silver hair of his aunt. "Give up! Surrender!"
"You surrender! End this!"
Gritting his teeth, Aegon was about to reply when a flash came in his vision. "Quicksilver!" The dragon reacted quickly, head shooting out to clamp on Vermax's neck at the base. The smaller dragon shrieked as Quicksilver essentially tossed it off, flapping frantically as it lost attitude. Whipping back, he clubbed Arrax near the same way, incapacitating the dragon as he began to shallowly plunge to the ground.
A grin formed on his lips. Not one of joy, but of satisfaction at triumphing in his first clash. In defeating without harming his aunt and his cousin. Quicksilver, flush with such heady emotions, roared in victory. Claiming his dominance over the skies. But before Aegon and Quicksilver could capitalize on their ownership of the air, attacking the ground forces below, another roar echoed through the field. This one louder and more menacing than either of the three dragons that had clashed.
Balerion.
With the great shadow starting to loom large over all of them, Aegon spurred Quicksilver. "Climb, brother!" He wasn't about to give up, to concede the skies to his traitorous uncle. Aegon would fight, and to do so he'd need to climb.
Quicksilver roared and carried out the command, just missing Balerion's dive towards them. "Aegon!" he heard his uncle call to him, but Aegon didn't reply. Too immersed in his fight. In his destiny.
Hornblows sounded over the field, but at a distance. For once it wasn't the Stormlands that were aggressively advancing and it disconcerted Rogar. "Didn't expect them to be this aggressive," he muttered to himself, dismounting from his horse and smacking its rump. Sending it to the rear.
"What are you doing, brother?!" Orryn cried, remaining mounted.
"Gonna fight, you arse. What does it look like?!" He hefted Stormbreaker, caressing the Valyrian steel as if it were the pale skin of his wife or lover. "Northmen are good fighters but they will break before Stormlands steel, I assure you."
"We have men who can fight, you must stay and lead!"
He rolled his eyes. "They'll fight fifty times as hard with their Lord fightin' with 'em, won't ya boys?!"
They cheered Rogar's boast, ready to follow their Lord to the gates of the Seven Hells. Overhead, Quicksilver roared and charged blindly into the fight, aiming for two other dragons circling above the Stark army. "Their King's doing it, and so will I!"
Orryn hesitated, opening his mouth as if he wished to say something… Moments passed until he finally spoke. "Brother, I must… there's something…"
"Arrows!"
Ignoring his brother, Rogar snapped into fighting mode. "Man your shields, boys!" With a clatter, the entire front rank of men-at-arms closed shields, forming a firm spear wall against any projectile. "Get out of here, Orryn! Find the horse reserve and stay there!" As the arrows whistled down from their high arc, Orryn bit his lip and then spurred his horse about. The final part of his conversation forgotten.
With a woosh the arrows rained upon the shield wall, pattering like raindrops on a tin roof. Rogar rolled his eyes, almost bored. Contemptuous of the few idiots who hadn't angled their shields properly and were pierced with the rain of darts. At least the archers behind them, answering the northern volley with one of their own, braved the assault without shields and only light armor. What excuse did the wounded men-at-arms have?
But like most arrow volleys, this one was over quickly. "Up! Up!" he bellowed, the wall of spears leveled forward in a bristling concentric network. Seven men deep, the first three depressed forward, the fourth - which he was a part of - armed with axes and swords and hammers, and the final three with spears raised up. The reserve lines. Enough to hold for the cavalry to show up and mop up the rest.
But the Northern line, racing through the grass and scrub, halted in place. Shields interlocking and with pikes lowered. Each spear had a Royce's Cross emblazoned on it in the shape of a bloody man. "Boltons!" one knight cried, and the line seemed to shudder.
Their reputation preceded them.
Rogar wouldn't let his men be daunted by the force they faced. "Advance! Forward at walking pace!" They did so, ponderously, marching at the same pace as the Boltons did in front of them. Both sides hooting and bellowing war cries, and yet disciplined. Never breaking, never wavering.
It wasn't until they were only about twenty feet apart did Rogar realize that the Bolton pikes were longer than his own spears.
"Charge! Charge!" he bellowed, but it was too late.
"HAA-HOO! HAA-HOO!" Stabbing forward, the Bolton spikes had a devilish tendency to exploit the gaps in the shield wall. Men fell by the scores - a lucky few with their hearts or eyes pierced and dead instantly, while many others had their stomachs stabbed, their limbs and chests ripped apart. The worst getting their lungs or throats torn up and faced with sucking wounds.
The Baratheon line wavered, shuddered. And that was when the Northern lines at several places seemed to split open and scores of heavily armored warriors pouring out of them. A wedge to pierce the Stormlanders as the latter moved to close on the Boltons in a furious head-on phalanx crash.
Rogar whistled, not ready to see his entire line shattered and rolled up by a dozen little flanking attempts. "Fourth line, drop spears and draw swords! Third and fourth lines, melee!" His knights and bannermen screamed their rage, following Stormbreaker as they entered the fray.
The Lord of Storm's End thought he had seen battle before this. Facing the men from beyond the Neck quickly changed his mind of such foolish notions. As if this were millennia ago at the many assaults on Castle Black by Andal invaders, the Northmen fought like crazed wildlings. They seemed to have no fear or pain, hurling themselves and their blades against the southerners. Axes hacked down at the edges of the shield wall, widening the various holes punched through the line. Swordsmen and spearmen then attacked in a frenzy at Rogar's men even as crossbows were brought to bear.
They were too close for them to make a difference, so it would be up to Rogar and his men-at-arms to staunch the bleeding and patch up the holes. "Fuck you!" he snarled, Stormbreaker up as he countercharged at the nearest Northmen.
A common man-at-arms tried to swing a sword at him, but Rogar dodged the slash with an agility beyond his build. The poor fuck wasn't as lucky. A single swing of Stormbreaker lopped off his head, Rogar laughing as it landed somewhere in the Northern phalanx. At the flash of another blade, Rogar left nothing to chance and charged first, getting inside the swing. Stormbreaker's shaft slammed into the Northman's chest and sent him sprawling. Muscles straining, he swung the warhammer up and hacked down. Thick chainmail gave way as if it were paper, the man's chest disappearing in a mess of blood and shattered bone.
A knight of House Manderly - the only northern house to have knights as regular course - charged at him, the merman on his shield bathed in blood. Rhaegar parried the blow with Stormbreaker's shaft. A right hook followed, his gauntlet cracking against the Manderly's jaw and leaving his hand throbbing, but Rogar. One of his spearmen delivered the killing blow, running the poor knight through the throat.
"Mi'lord!" There was barely any time following the warning for Rogar to hurled himself to the right, but he managed to do so before an axe nearly severed his head from his body. Rage built in him. Who dared to bear kill the Lord of Storm's End?! The great-grandson of Aerion Targaryen and Argilac Durrandon both!
A strong arm pulled him up. "Mi'Lord" The arm belonged to a young boy with a turtle of House Estermont etched in his gorget. "Come…"
Just as suddenly as he appeared, the boy's face disappeared into a mist. It was the same battleaxe. Its steel would've gleamed in the sun had it not been bathed in blood and brain, its wielder having earned the right to bear it in battle. Yanked back, the axe swung into a wide arc, coming right at Rogar. Spinning on his feet, the Lord of Storm's End raised Stormbreaker, catching the axe with its shaft.
It let him get a good look at the warrior, locked in a deadly stalemate. He was slender, wearing Stark colors and with a snarling direwolf on either side of his gorget. Unlike most Northmen he wore a full helm, blocking his face.
"Coward! Show yourself!" Kicking with his leg, the knight broke off his clash, allowing Rogar to bash forward with Stormbreaker's shaft and knocking off his helm.
Revealing he to be a she.
A beautiful woman, all things considered, even with the snarl. "Who the fuck are you?!"
"Baratheon!" She knew him. Snarling like a rabid dog, the woman in Stark colors swung her axe as if it was part of her arm. Rogar grew angry, meeting the ace with Stormbreaker, aiming for the direwolf on her breastplate.
They clashed again, and again. Rogar growing steadily more frustrated that a beautiful woman a half-head shorter than he - him being a giant among men, that made her very tall for a woman - was actually matching him blow for blow.
"You'll die for your treason against my lady!"
It suddenly clicked, frustration changing into amusement. "You're Rhaenys' wildling lover!" He laughed, swinging for her legs. She jumped out of the way. "She has good taste! Mayhaps I should take you for a taste."
"You will die!" Her mail was thick, added protection that contrasted so much with such a beautiful, sharp face. A wildling that looked nothing like s wildling… ironic. Nevertheless, she charged out. putting her strength all into the crashing blows directed at Rogar's midsection.
Rogar raised the hammer, shaft blocking the axe. Jerking to the right and sending the weapon careening to the side. "How soon did she bed you after Brandon died? Five days? The night of?" He laughed, swinging down hard at her. The savage only just dodging. "What a whore."
"You cunt! I'll take your head for that!" Roaring, she leapt at him, making Rogar spring back. The resulting swing only missing the Lord by an inch.
He smirked darkly. Before Gelina could truly pull her axe away, Rogar grabbed the shaft and yanked the wildling forward. He punched, smelling his fist into Gelina's chest. Sending her to the ground with a thud
"Such a shame." He hefted his warhammer. "You are quite beautiful." She glared at him in defiance, a face he planned to wipe away with a blow from Stormbreaker…
Until a gout of flame blew them apart, sending Rogar careening back towards his lines and his vision going white.
"My Lord, the columns are in position."
Sitting high in the saddle, Tyrion Lannister met Lord Lefford's stare. "And the scorpions?"
"Hidden among the trees on the hillsides as you ordered, with free fields of fire."
Tyrion nodded, motioning for his squires. Both lads arrived, one with a heavy metal-plated lance and the other with his shield. Neither of these would be shattered in battle, instead shining bright alongside his golden armor. Like an angel of the Seven. "Your scouts cleared the paths for us, yes?"
Lord Simon Lychester grinned. "Absolutely, Lord Tyrion. And my best man has already informed Prince Aegon that the northern route is clear. Fools."
"Such is the fate of those who challenge the Seven." Lord Simon has wished in his zeal to join the late Lord Tully in his rebellion, but a large sum of gold kept his religious fervor in check until he could be used against the dragons he feigned loyalty to. It worked perfectly. "Ser Joffrey, I believe it is time we take our positions."
Joffrey Doggett snorted. "Too early to attack. The dragons just engaged each other, let them fight."
"Then we'll be discovered for sure," bemoaned Lord Tarbeck. "Our luck has held out for us through the entire Riverlands, we shouldn't push it further. Full attack now while we still have the element of surprise."
Laughing at the both of them, Tyrion shook his head. "It is not luck, Lord Tarbeck, that brought us here. It is the piety of the Rivermen… and my own skill." His own banners were quiet, while Ser Joffrey simply glowered. It was a joy to antagonize such a sour man, even if he was in agreement of the plan in full up till now. "We attack."
"I am joint commander and I still oppose this."
"Very well, Ser Joffrey," Tyrion drolled. "If you wish to hang back with your men then fine. I shall launch my attack, even if it is unsupported." A flash of anger formed on Joffrey's face, but he eventually nodded and galloped off without a word.
Tyrion merely smiled widely. He felt every inch a true highborn, the true Lord of Casterly Rock as was his birthright. Father… my real father, the true warrior who fought at the Field of Fire. Today, I will do what you were unable to accomplish. I will free our land from the chains of the Dragons. Bring glory to himself above all, the Defender of the Faith as decreed by the High Septon.
If only the pathetic worm old Loren Lannister had become could see it.
His feet dangled in the stirrups as he guided his mount across the front line of tightly packed troops. They had been formed in a compact column. Ten men across but two hundred deep, able to advance fast under the cover of the thick canopy of oak, maple, and poplar trees until they reached the plain. Horses to join them then, dragons warded off by the hidden scorpions.
Tyrion eyed them all, gauging their readiness for battle. They were veteran and green both, grizzled and experienced interspersed among bright and hopeful. Most having only seen battle in the victory over the North that required no blood but that of their prisoners. It made them hungry, and Tyrion loved to see it. They packed their shields tightly, swords and spears drawn. Thirty thousand men from every keep and every town in his kingdom - the finest the Riverlands had to offer, joined by a further twenty thousand of Ser Joffrey's army. Tyrion looked upon his Lannister banner, the mighty golden lion rearing back mid-roar.
Quite a good idea. He pulled on the reins, his stallion tipping back on its hind legs. Rearing up as Tyrion bellowed out his own roar.
"Men of the Westerlands!" he roared, awing his men. "This is our time! Decades ago, the dragonspawn took our liberty and our honor from us in a dirty trick, leaving us mere slaves of those incestuous tyrants that think they can lord over us. No!" Oh, this felt grand. "Today, we reclaim our honor! We pay our debts!" He drew out his sword, holding it mightily in the air. "Hear us Roar!"
Roaring in unison, the columns lurched forward, ready to spring their ambush. To slaughter both sides as they foolishly hacked each other apart.
Oh, Tyrion loved it when he won.