Greetings, everyone, and a late Happy Fourth of July my American viewers. Here is the chapter regarding the Battle of Honeyholt I mentioned at the end of the last chapter, although it has been rennamed as the "Siege of Honeyholt". It is quite long, but I hope you enjoy it.
Author's Note: Blood, gore, animal cruelty, disturbing imagery, and threats made against children lie ahead.
The morning of the first day of the eleventh moon began normally for Prince Joffrey Velaryon at Honeyholt. He awoke a little after sunrise, stretching his arms and yawning before getting out of bed. Dressing himself without the aid of servants, Joff went outside to walk the battlements and watch the sun rise higher in the sky before traversing to the great hall to break his fast with his wife's family and their hostages. Following Nell's marriage to Joff in 131 AC, Honeyholt's population had gradually dwindled as his wife's younger sisters and female cousins were married off or left to join the Faith like the youngest daughter and son of Ser Damion Beesbury, Nell's uncle, did, but the marriages of Philip and Arthur Beesbury (Nell's respective younger brother and cousin), had helped to bring that trajectory upward thanks to the birth of many healthy children. Procreation aside, the recent addition of eight royal hostages had also helped to repopulate House Beesbury's seat.
Except for the nursemaid who looked after little Buford Bulwer, the other seven hostages were all highborn: one prince, five noblewomen, and the above-mentioned lordling. The hostages were all well provided for by the Beesbury's, but creature comforts could not assuage the latent anxiety and distrust that existed between captor and captive. Nonetheless, there were some positive interactions between the two factions despite the evident ill-will. Prince Valarr Targaryen served as a cupbearer for Joff's father-in-law, Lord Alan Beesbury, while Ladies Priscilla and Samantha Hightower and Vivian Costayne, the youngest daughter of Lord Aldus Florent, and the Lady of Blackcrown performed needlework with the women of the house: Ladies Jeyne Cuy (Joff's mother-in-law), Ellyn Roxton (the wife of Joff's uncle-in-law), Sansara Tarly (Philip's wife), and a one Lady Smallwood (Arthur's wife). Meanwhile, as the women sewed and socialized in Jeyne's solar, Buford played with the younger Beesubry's under the watchful eye of his lowborn nursemaid.
Joff was fond of the ten year old Valarr, who was his half-cousin, for he reminded him of his own two boys back home in King's Landing when they were young. The two did not interact much due to Joffrey conducting searches outside of Honeyholt on a daily business, but on the few occasions when the two cousins were together, their interactions were cordial if not a little awkward given the twenty-three year age gap between them. Valarr was a sweet and quiet boy who kept his head down around the Blacks and did whatever he was told, although he seemed to rebuff Joff's attempts to be fatherly towards him. He was handsome, too, and Lord Alan's granddaughters and grandnieces fawned over Valarr whenever they saw him, which was a source of amusement for the Beesbury's. Joff had thought of rousing his half-cousin so that they could go on a morning walk together, but he thought otherwise and decided to let Valarr sleep for a while longer.
Thinking about Valarr quickly switched to thinking about Nell, Aeric, and Daemion back home. How were they all doing at the Red Keep? Was Nell still playing her harp? What did Aeric and Daemion do to occupy their time other than attending small council meetings with their grandmother and practicing swordplay in the training yard? Did Aeric attend to his horse and dog? Did Daemion think of his betrothed, Lady Tara Lannister?
Daemion and Tara's wedding was scheduled for last month on the former's sixteenth nameday, but obviously, given the current situation between the Iron Throne and the Reach, the wedding had been postponed indefinitely until Prince Aemond Targaryen was located, captured, and/or killed. Joff would be more than happy to kill his half-uncle himself if it came down to that. Aemond had killed his oldest brother Jacaerys, and Joffrey was more than willing to bear the stigma of kinslayig if it meant he could personally deliver karmic justice upon the one-eyed prince. Joff shook his head. It was all so depressing.
Kinslaying. Vengeance. Then what? That was a foreboding rabbit hole that Joffrey had no intention of diving into. His stomach growled then, and the prince looked up at the sky.
He had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he had not noticed his surroundings. The sun had risen up above the horizon. It looked like today was going to be a beautiful day. There were not too many clouds in the sky, the air was warm, and a gently blowing breeze carried a sweet, flowery scent. It was still too early for Honeyholt's bees to be buzzing around yet, but when they did wake up, they were in for a delectable feast from the flowers that were waiting for them outside their skeps.
Joff's stomach growled again. Time to eat. As the prince left the battlements for the great hall, he hoped that the bees would be up the next time he saw the skeps. The great hall was buzzing somewhat when Joff arrived there as the Beesbury's and their captives filed in. Everyone's fasts were quickly broken, and the men remained in the great hall after the women and the children had all left.
Those men were Lord Alan Beesbury and Prince Joffrey Velaryon, of course; Alan's three sons: Philip, Thore, and Aubert; Alan's younger brother, Ser Damion Beesbury; Damion's oldest son, Arthur, and a few other male cousins and the Beesbury's household knights. Prince Valarr was by Alan's side ready to serve him wine and to listen to the Blacks plan another search to find his missing Uncle Aemond. Alan had not finished his first cup of wine when his maester, Bryce, came bounding into the great hall with a letter held tightly in his hands.
"A thousand pardons, my lords, but there is an urgent message for Prince Joffrey from his mother that I must share with him."
"By all means come and give it to him, Bryce," commanded Lord Beesbury.
Joff met Maester Bryce, took the letter from him, unrolled it and began to read it. Although worded differently, the letter was nearly identical to the one Queen Rhaenyra had sent to Lucerys and Baela and Aelyx. The Beesbury's observed with growing concern how Joff stiffened and blanched as he read his mother's letter, his eyes widening and his mouth opening like a slowly bursting seam the further he read. When he was done reading, Joff quietly put the letter on the table, rested his hands on the tabletop, and leaned forward to collect his thoughts.
Questions were immediately thrown at the prince by his wife's concerned kinsmen.
"What happened, Joffrey?" asked his father-in-law. "What did your mother say?"
"Has Prince Aemond been located? Did he put up a fight?" asked Philip, his question causing the aforementioned prince's nephew, Valarr, to perk up with a face full of worry.
Joffrey did not answer either of the two men's questions. Instead, he handed the letter to Philip, who then passed it on his father. Alan's demeanor and countenance mirrored that of his son-in-law as he read the letter, and when he finally spoke, his tone sounded dire.
"Something terrible occurred at King's Landing last night..."
Alan then shared the shocking news of the murder of Lady Thea Celtigar at the hands of a would-be kidnapper, the discovery of the Green Conspiracy, and the queen's order to have Oldtown burned to the ground. An uproar sounded immediately after these grim pieces of news were shared. The words madness, traitors, and treason resounded in the great hall with the frequency of a steady rainfall. Only Joff and Valarr remained silent amidst the booming din. Joff felt a hand on his right shoulder, and he turned to see that the hand belonged to his middle brother-in-law, Thore.
"I am so sorry for your loss, Joffrey."
"Thank you, Thore," Joff replied softly. Just like everyone else at the Red Keep, Joff had a high-opinion of Thea, and he was heartbroken over learning that she had been killed. Heartbroken as he was, Joff knew that his grief could not be compared to that of his younger half-brother Aegon's. Joffrey had observed how Aegon and Thea's relationship blossomed from a close friendship during childhood to a loving marriage in their adult years. Many had compared the couple's marriage to that of the happy union of Aegon and Joffrey's great-grandparents, Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa Targaryen: inseparable, amorous, and wonderful, and now, both these love stories shared the same tragic ending – the premature loss of two vibrant and adored women before their time, leaving behind devastated widowers and young children in the wake of their passing.
As if this wasn't hard enough to deal with, Joff also had to deal with the revelation that the Greens were plotting against his family and had done them harm. Prince Jaehaerys's treachery was what stung Joff the most. He and his family had been well provided for by the Blacks all his life, and they were never in any danger from court politics. The Beesbury's were also hurt by Jaehaerys's betrayal, for since they had provided for him under guest right - sharing their bread and salt with him, assisting him and Joff in any way they could with the manhunt with Honeyholt's manpower and resources. To make it simple, everyone in Honeyholt's great hall was hurting at that moment.
"How big is your host, Alan?" Joff asked after breaking himself free from his sorrow to focus on the pressing matter of bringing fire and blood to Oldtown. Alan scoured his brain for an answer, but was beaten to it by his brother.
"Three-thousand men, my prince. Infantry makes up most of it, bowmen second, and we only have a good number of mounted knights at our disposal which includes this lot right here." Damion pointed at the household knights with his left thumb.
"And with the addition of my host from King's Landing, that brings the number up to four-thousand," Joff added. "Tyraxes is an invaluable asset to our host as well."
This reassurance did not bring any comfort to either Joff or the Beesbury's, however. A host of four-thousand strong including one dragon was far from enough to tackle Oldtown, especially since there were more dragons at the Green's disposal now thanks to the flight of Jaehaera and her children from King's Landing atop the backs of Morghul and Sunfyre.
Goldengrove and Horn Hill could summon larger hosts thanks to their bannermen and the presence of Moondancer and Macetail, and there was Arrax and the Velaryon Fleet in the Arbor, too. Joff looked at the location of Oldtown on a map that was on the table before Lord Alan. Tracing the paths that the hosts would take by land and by sea for Oldtown, Joff saw that a pincer movement could take place. Luke, Arrax, and the Velaryon Fleet could attack Oldtown through the Whispering Sound, and Baela, Aelyx, Joff and their dragons and combined forces could do battle at the city gates with the Oldtown City Watch and House Hightower's forces. Boxing in the Greens and setting fire to them would certainly help in nipping the bud of their kingmaking plot, and perhaps even dissuade them from plotting again against the Dragon Queen and her descendants.
However, strategizing was one thing, carrying it out was another. Honeyholt needed protection, so a few of the Beesbury's host would have to be subtracted from the main force to stay behind while the rest marched off for Oldtown. Not only that, but the Beesbury's would have to wait for other Black hosts to arrive, which would give the Greens time to initiate offensive maneuvers against them. Time was of the essence. Martial preparations had to be made now.
Alan ordered Maester Bryce to return to his study to send out ravens to the Arbor, Goldengrove, and Horn Hill bearing letters regarding military planning. Lord Alan the ordered for his household knights and host to be assembled. Honeyholt buzzed with activity as the Beesbury's prepared for a major military operation and got their defenses ready. These precautions were soon deemed necessary after a raven from Oldtown arrived. The seven-pointed star of the Faith decorated the wax seal, the author being Septa Amicia, Ser Damion's youngest daughter.
Both Amicia and her youngest brother, Lyman, were clerics who resided at the Starry Sept. What Amicia had written was positively hair-raising.
"Uncle Alan,
Lyman and I just witnessed something inauspicious take place on the hallowed steps of the Starry Sept that needs yours and Prince Joffrey's urgent attention. Joff's cousins, Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Jaehaera, were crowned as the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms today not long before I picked up my quill! The High Septon himself anointed the twins with the seven scared oils and pronounced them as king and queen. Jaehaerys gave a speech about holding Queen Rhaenyra "accountable for her crimes in the Reach" and pursing his claim to the Iron Throne, and he and a large force have left Oldtown in different directions. Not only that, uncle, but a lot of those lords who are marching with the Pretender are kin to the hostages you have taken like Prince Daeron, the Lord of Brightwater Keep, and Cyril Hightower to name a few.
One of those armies could be heading your way, Uncle Alan. Mind you, these armies also boast dragons amongst their ranks. Lyman and I pray that this letter finds you all in time before something malign happens. May you all be safe. May the Seven watch over you all.
Sincerely,
Your niece,
Septa Amicia"
Rhaenyra I's letter may have caused an uproar, but Amicia's letter brought that uproar up to a fever pitch. Lord Alan quickly barked out orders to his servants and garrison. Honeyholt's gates were to be shut, the drawbridge raised, and the garrison put on high alert. Archers from Honeyholt's garrison, crossbowmen from Joff's host, and nine scorpions were posted on the castle battlements and turrets and by murder holes. Supplies like food, water, clothing, blankets, cots, medicine, straw, and the like were brought down to the castle cellars to be used when non-combatants like women, children, and the old and wounded took shelter there.
Men of fighting age got ready for battle. Weapons and armor were distributed from the armory, and the men hastened to tie leather strips, fasten on metal, and arm themselves. Joff was helped into plate armor by squires, and he armed himself with a short-sword and his prized "Shipwreck Shield", a shield that had been made from the wreckage of the ships from the Burning of the Narrow Sea twenty years ago in 130 AC during the short-lived Wylde Rebellion. Hopefully this conflict would be just as short-lived. When he was ready, Joff had Tyraxes saddled up and harnessed, after which the prince mounted his dragon.
"Where are you going, Joffrey?" asked Lord Alan as he walked up to his son-in-law and Tyraxes flanked by two knights.
"Brightwater Keep. Amicia mentioned the Florent's as having participated in my traitor of a cousin's coronation in Oldtown. I'm going out to confront them."
"Why don't you take some men with you?"
Joffrey turned to look down at Alan.
"I have a feeling that very little talking will be taking place, Alan, and we cannot afford to lose any men right now. I will be fine. I have Tyraxes, and I will burn the Florent's out if need be. That should hobble Jaehaerys's war effort somewhat."
Alan looked concerned, but he nodded and bid Joffrey Godspeed. Tyraxes was commanded to take flight, and he flapped his wings and took to the air as Alan and his knights looked on. Brightwater Keep was north of Honeyholt, and Joff steeled himself for whatever was to come on the flight there. The weather was good, Tyraxes was swift, and it was not long before Brightwater Keep appeared on the horizon. Checking the ground below on each of Tyraxes's sides, Joff did not see any sign of a marching host.
As he got closer to the castle, Joff pulled down his visor and got his shield ready. As soon as the visor came down, an arrow bounced off the crown of the prince's helm. The strike jolted Joffrey and he held his shield up to defend himself. Two arrows struck the shield, and another made its home in Tyraxes's right shoulder. The dragon hissed with pain, but the injury was nothing to worry about.
More arrows followed, and Joff had Tyraxes fly up higher into the sky to avoid the projectiles. "Would it have hurt the Florent's to simply turn me away at the castle gates instead?" Joffrey thought. Then again, this was to be expected. "Well, that settles it then..."
Recalling the Burning of Harrenhal in 2 BC during the Conquest, Joff had Tyraxes dive down on Brightwater Keep. As soon as the first stretch of battlement was in range, dracarys was ordered, and Tyraxes unleashed a torrent of orange dragonfire on the archers who were stationed there. Tyraxes breathed more fire on the battlements as burning men ran around screaming. Surrounding Brightwater Keep with a ring of fire, Tyraxes then flew up and set the apex of Brightwater Keep aflame. Lord Aldus's four other sons and kinsmen, who were overseeing the preparation of the Florent host in the castle courtyard, could only stand and watch helplessly as their castle burned all around them.
Joff had threatened to burn the castle before when Aldus tried to surrender his third wife as a hostage in place of his youngest daughter, and now, Joff was following through with his threat, but for a different reason. Having set fire to the walls and keep, Joff turned his attention to the courtyard, the last remaining unburned section of Brightwater Keep. Stables, wagons, and supplies were present there. Joff hated the idea of killing horses, but if it meant less cavalry units to support Jaehaerys's cause, then so be it. Tyraxes made one final dive on Brightwater Keep, and dragonfire poured down on castle courtyard.
The Florent men and their knights took cover in the gatehouse as Tyraxes set fire to everything that had been gathered for the war effort: knapsacks, weapons, armor, barrels, crates, wagons, horses... Joff did his best to block out any noise he perceived to be a horse crying out in pain as the fires raged and destroyed everything they touched. By the time Tyraxes was done, Brightwater Keep was burning, well, rather brightly, and black smoke flowed into the sky above like spilled ink. House Florent would not be providing Jaehaerys the Pretender with any military aid anytime soon. Taking in the destruction he had wrought for a moment, Joffrey had Tyraxes fly away from Brightwater Keep down the Honeywine to check for that host that his cousin-in-law had mentioned in her letter.
The Honeywine glimmered under the morning sunlight like a polished mirror; Tessarion's flying form reflected perfectly off the river's surface as she flew overhead. Prince Daeron Targaryen looked from the host to the river from his perch on the Blue Queen's back.
"Too bad the river currents are slow moving, otherwise we could have sailed up to Honeyholt on barges instead of marching to it on foot. Then again, that's not a really good idea given that Tyraxes is at Honeyholt..."
Daeron looked over to the river road on his right. A host of five-thousand strong from Oldtown and Uplands marched up alongside the Honeywine on the adjacent river road. Leading the host on horseback were two pairs of cousins: Sers Reginald and Cyril Hightower, and Sers Perceon and Peregrine Mullendore, and then there was Lord Aldus Florent and his two eldest sons and firstborn grandson, who were going to split from the host as soon as they reached Honeyholt to get to Brightwater Keep to lead their host. Casualties were expected in the upcoming confrontation, but the prince shuddered at the thought of how many men would have been lost if they did use barges. Tyraxes could easily kill dozens of men by setting one barge alight, could even burn the whole host alive if Tessarion wasn't there to confront him.
Besides, the march was progressing swimmingly. Oldtown was behind the host in the distance, with the Pharos being a tiny speck on the horizon, and the last few miles to Honeyholt were being closed in on. Daeron's nephew, Prince Lydus Targaryen, was flying up the Roseroad with Seasmoke to assault Horn Hill together with the Peake and Tyrell forces. Daeron squeezed Tessarion's reins in his hands as he thought about the upcoming battle between his nephew's forces and those of House Tarly and Prince Aelyx Targaryen and his dragon Macetail. The prince was concerned for Lydus's safety, of course, but he was more worried about his two oldest sons, Valerion and Aeryn, and baby granddaughter, Daena, who were being held captive together by the Tarly's just as Valarr was being held by the Beesbury's.
Daeron glanced over at Reginald and Cyril. Were they just as worried for the well-being of their captive relatives at Honeyholt as Daeron was for his children and grandchild? Most likely, but Daeron was not a mind reader. All he could think about was the safety of his own kinfolk. Taking a deep breath, the prince softly intoned the "Mother's Hymn" to calm himself.
"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray,
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day..."
The hymn was cut off abruptly by the boom of Tessarion's roar, startling her rider. Another roar answered the Blue Queen's. Up ahead on the river road was a raging wall of fire that cut off the host's march and flapping his wings above the flames was nonother than Tyraxes. Down below, a cacophony of raised male voices and frightened neighing from horses sounded as the presence of an enemy dragon was sighted and confirmed amongst them. Reginald was nearly thrown from his destrier after he reared up in fright, but the knight was able to hold on to his horse and regain control of him. Cyril was able to keep his mount under control, and he, along with Reginald and other Hightower commanders, shouted for the crossbowmen to ready themselves for battle.
As the crossbowmen scrambled to prepare for battle, Tessarion let out another roar before flying towards Tyraxes as her rider pulled down his helm's visor. Joffrey's jaw clenched at the sight of the charging Blue Queen. Tessarion was five years older than Tyraxes, and she was much bigger than him, and there was no question that the fiery breath Tessarion breathed would be hotter, and that her claws and teeth would be sharper. Joff knew that the odds were stacked against him and Tyraxes, but he was still going to try and confront his half-uncle and his dragon. Honeyholt was in danger, and Joffrey was going to protect his wife's family.
"Let's go!" Joff shouted, steeling himself for battle. Tyraxes roared and flew over the flames to confront the Blue Queen above the Honeywine. Tessarion unleashed a great gout of cobalt dragonfire towards Tyraxes when he was barely six feet away from his fiery roadblock. Tyraxes banked right and avoided the flames at the last second, and the Blue Queen's flames mixed with the orange conflagration that was already there. With the tip of his right-wing gliding on the Honeywine's surface, Tyraxes opened his mouth and shot a fireball into Tessarion's face.
The fireball struck the Blue Queen on her left cheek just beneath her eye, and Tessarion shook her head from right to left to try and dispel the burning pain she was feeling on her face. Taking advantage of Tessarion's distraction, Tyraxes flew towards her with his mouth open and teeth ready to tear into flesh. Tessarion was twice her opponent's size, so Tyraxes's teeth only sank into the side of the Blue Queen's neck.
"Come on, Tyraxes, bite harder! Harder!" encouraged Joff as he watched deep crimson blood pool around his dragon's maxilla as he applied more pressure on the side of Tessarion's neck. Blood dripped down into the Honeywine below, the drops turning into evanescent crimson feathers that flowed down with the current. More blood was spilled when quarrels were shot into Tyraxes's beige belly from the crossbowmen who were lined up above the riverbank across from the two sparring dragons.
Tyraxes groaned with pain and tried to hold on to his opponent's neck, but his hold was broken by Tessarion after she shook around even harder. But Tyraxes's teeth did not slip out of Tessarion's neck cleanly, for he ripped out a small chunk of flesh from the she-dragon's neck. Tessarion roared in pain, and she was quick to retaliate. Tyraxes still had his bloody prize in his mouth when the Blue Queen's bigger jaws latched onto his left wing. The bones in Tyraxes's wing were easily snapped by the pressure applied by Tessarion's jaws, and her teeth tore through his flesh with ease.
Tyraxes's agonized roars filled the air like the most frightening thunderclaps. Daeron, who was furious that his beloved Blue Queen had been mutilated, smiled smugly at Joff as Tessarion enacted her revenge on her maimer.
"Rip it off, Tessarion," commanded Daeron. His words were drowned out by the fracas that Tyraxes was raising, but his order was unnecessary. Tessarion was doing just that. Reaching out with her left foot to sink her claws into her opponent's arrow ridden belly to hold him in place, Tessarion bit down on Tyraxes's wing even harder, and she violently tugged her head to her right. That tug was powerful enough to rip Tyraxes's left wing clean out of his shoulder. Tyraxes let out one final agonized roar and flapped his remaining wing once before his tourmaline eyes went dark and his body fell from the sky.
"Tyraxes!" Joffrey screamed as his beast fell into the Honeywine below. Joining Tyraxes in his fall was his severed wing, which Tessarion had released from her bloodied jaws. Tyraxes fell belly first into the river with a mighty crash that caused a wall of water to rise up around his body and to splash onto the riverbanks. Slow moving as the Honeywine was, Tyraxes was anchored into place by his tail end, which had landed on the riverbank opposite of the Green host.
Tyraxes's severed wing floated against his body thanks to its hollow bones, the blood seeping out of the jagged end added more to the bloody cloud that was already surrounding the dead dragon's body. Tessarion let out a triumphant roar as her dead opponent's blood colored the river, which looked like a fluttering giant red flag. The roar roused the stupefied troops below, and the air soon thundered with the sound of the men cheering. Daeron was not in a celebratory mood, however, and he had Tessarion land in front of the host so that he could dismount and examine her neck injury amidst the exulting. The prince was no maester, but it appeared that the damage done to his beloved Tessarion's neck was confined to the muscles and no major blood vessels were damaged, but the possibility of an infection setting in caused anxiety to prickle within Daeron.
The only thing that distracted Daeron from Tessarion's wound was the sound of men shouting that Joff was moving and that he could possibly try and escape. Joff had suffered whiplash from the impact of Tyraxes falling into the Honeywine, and he was feeling dazed and sore. Through the slit of his visor, Joff saw some men descending the slope of the riverbank to try and seize him. Tyraxes's snout was two feet away from the shallows, but that gave out to an area of water that was waist deep, and the men thought that climbing up on the dead dragon's snout would be an impossible feat. Little did the troops know that Prince Joffrey himself would (unintentionally) amend the situation.
Out of it as he was from pain and delirium, Joffrey's hands fumbled with his harness, and he was able to free himself from Tyraxes saddle. Crossbowmen aimed at him, but they were told to hold their fire when it became evident that Joff, who was trying to stand up, was unsteady on his feet. The moment he stood upright, Joff lost his balance and fell into the red water. Seeing that the prince was now within reach, the men who had gathered at the riverbank carefully waded into the water and grabbed Joffrey before his plate armor could sink him. Joff tried to struggle against his captors, but the pain he was feeling in his neck and shoulders as well as his dizziness hampered his efforts, and he was dragged onto the riverbank.
Now out of the frying pan and into the fire, a subdued and soaking wet Joffrey could only sit on the pebbly sand and stare vacantly at Tyraxes's corpse as it floated above the Honeywine's surface. He did not say a word, nor take his eyes off Tyraxes even as manacles were secured on his wrists. Having killed off the most dangerous threat to their march, the Hightower's now had to contend with the fiery orange and blue wall that was still burning in the middle of the river road. This was remedied by nonother than Tessarion, who, by a stroke of genius by Daeron, had used one of her wings to flick great waves of water until the fires died down, leaving behind a smoldering scorch mark on the road whose embers glittered like jewels. Cheering rose once more after the obstruction was gone, and the host, with a captured Joffrey in tow, resumed their march on Honeyholt.
"Where the hell is Joffrey?" demanded Lord Alan Beesbury to nobody in particular. He was pacing around on the roof Honeyholt's keep wearing a cuirass and cape. Alan's oldest son, Philip, younger brother Damion, and nephew Arthur were all with him; his youngest two sons, Thore and Aubert, were patrolling the battlements together. None of the men knew how to respond.
Prince Joffrey Velaryon and Tyraxes had been gone for little over an hour. They were last seen flying past Honeyholt after confronting the Florent's. Alan was a little annoyed that his son-in-law had not stopped to share any news he had regarding House Florent, until the sharp-eyed Aubert alerted the garrison to a plume of black smoke on the horizon in the direction of Brightwater Keep from his position on the battlements. The news made Alan's blood run cold. Brightwater Keep was located less than six leagues from Honeyholt, and if it weren't for his niece's letter, Alan and his family would surely be besieged by the Florent's right now...
He forgave Joff for flying past Honeyholt without stopping – he was most likely searching for other potential hostile forces that meant to do House Beesbury harm. Following the sighting of the smoke in the distance, Alan ordered for the women, children, and infirm to evacuate into the castle cellars as a precautionary measure. Only the men were above ground armed and ready. The drawbridge had remained up since Joffrey's departure, and the moat that surrounded Honeyholt like a blue-green ring offered protection against foot-soldiers, cavalry, and most siege weapons.
"Dragon! There's a dragon coming our way!"
The alerting cry from a guardsman broke the tense silence that had been wrapped around Honeyholt. Alan and his kinsmen ran to the edge of the keep and looked ahead at the horizon. There was indeed a dragon flying towards them. The Lord of Honeyholt turned to Philip and told him to see who the dragon was with his Myrish eye. Removing the expensive device from his belt and pulling it to its full length, Philip observed the dragon through the tube's lenses.
"Is that Tyraxes?" asked Alan anxiously. His son hesitated before answering.
"No, father. It is Tessarion the Blue Queen..."
All the men turned pale, and they looked at each other with concerned faces, dread weighing heavily on their hearts. Soon after the confirmation of the dragon's identity, the sound of Aubert and Thore and the guardsmen sounding the alarm with both their voices and horns about an approaching army filled the air. Philip looked down at the road with the Myrish eye and he saw the myriad of soldiers that made up Daeron's host.
Philip was in for a shock when he spied halfway down the host where Lord Aldus Florent and his sons and grandson were riding. His brother-in-law Joffrey was marching on foot between two burly foot-soldiers wearing the livery that displayed the coat-of-arms of House Florent: a fox head encircled by a wreath of blue flowers on an ermine field. Joff looked battered, sorrowful, and, strangely enough, tired. Black iron manacles bound the prince's wrists together, and his biceps were being held by his two escorts. Slowly lowering the Myrish eye from his face, Philip informed his father of his unpleasant discovery.
"Father, Joffrey is alive, but he is marching with the host in manacles!" spoke Philip in a tone of horrified disbelief.
"What?!" gasped Alan, and he held his hand out for the Myrish Eye. "Let me see!"
Philip handed his father the telescope, and Lord Beesbury looked through and saw for himself that what Philip had said was true.
"By the gods...," the old man murmured. Alan looked up at Tessarion, and was able to see bloodstains on her teeth through the lens. "By the gods," he repeated. All four men paled, and their pulses quickened as the daunting reality that their trump card, Tyraxes, was without a doubt deceased, and that Honeyholt was at the mercy of Tessarion. The outlook seemed so bleak for House Beesbury, and it was made even bleaker when Philip reminded his kinsmen on how inadequate their current fighting force was.
"What do we do, father? Conscription notices sent out over an hour ago, and the host we have here now is too small to confront Prince Daeron and his men. Tyraxes is dead, Joffrey has been captured by the enemy, and there is a dragon bearing down upon us-"
"I know, Philip! I know!" snapped a frustrated Alan, who immediately regretted his outburst and apologized. "I... I'm sorry, my son."
Alan said nothing more as Philip accepted his apology, and Lord Beesbury began pacing again. A fierce storm was brewing in his mind, and he was lost in the surging waves of confliction over how this situation should be addressed. There were two options: surrender or fight. Surrender was the easiest option; bend the knee and plead for mercy. Honeyholt would be spared from dragonfire, but what about House Beesbury's honor?
They were one of Queen Rhaenyra's most loyal vassals, and Alan's eldest daughter was Prince Joffrey's wife. Not only that, but the prestige and honor that House Beesbury now possessed would not have been possible without the participation of Alan and Damion's late grandfather, Lord Lyman Beesbury, in the Black Conspiracy in 129 AC. If an octogenarian could have the courage to stand up for Rhaenyra's claim when she was a princess twenty-one years ago, then Lyman's grandsons and great-grandsons could muster that same courage to safeguard the queen's rule now in 150 AC. It was settled then. House Beesbury would fight.
"Sound the war horn," Alan finally said, his voice sounding steady and resolved.
"But father..." Philip began before he was silenced by his father's upraised hand.
"Daeron the Daring may have a dragon and Joff as a prisoner, but we have scorpions and more prisoners than he does, one of them being his son, and the rest being kin to his wife. A scorpion bolt was what took down Meraxes at Hellholt during the First Dornish War, and I'll wager anything that no threat will be made against Joff's life out of fear that we will put our captives to the sword in retaliation."
Philip opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by his uncle.
"That may be true, Alan, but what if Daeron tries to call a parley? Are we to deny him?"
"I say to hell with the prince, father!" exclaimed Arthur. His kinsmen all looked at him with large eyes and gaping mouths. "Parley or no parley, Daeron is bringing an army to threaten us and to get us to submit to a pretender. Our words are "Beware our Sting". Let us show Daeron and his allies exactly what happens when you try to kick over a beehive."
Alan smiled broadly and proudly at his nephew, and he clapped him on the shoulder. Arthur's words humbled his father and cousin, and they soon found themselves inspired to fight for the Dragon Queen. And with that, the order for the war horn to be sounded was passed on. It was not long until the deep rolling timbre of Honeyholt's war horn, which was accompanied by the din of men intoning war cries, was soon heard by the advancing host. Tessarion hissed in response. Daeron shook his head in dismay before pulling down his helm's visor. "Fools," muttered the prince, who steeled himself for another battle.
Foolish as the Beesbury's resistance appeared to be, they were certainly not lacking in courage nor awareness of how much was stacked against them. No sortie would be sent out, and the drawbridge was staying up. Archers and crossbowmen manned the walls and teams of engineers stood ready by the scorpions. House Beesbury was not going down without a fight. It would not be long until the Greens suffered the wrath of the Beesbury swarm.
The first bolt was fired when Tessarion had flown close enough to the castle. She dodged that missile, but a second bolt pierced Tessarion's right thigh and a third one struck her above the clavicle. Tessarion shrieked with pain, and Daeron hastily had his dragon fly to the back of the host out of range of the scorpions to see if he could get the bolts out of her. House Beesbury's soldiers cheered at their accomplishment, as did Lord Alan and his kinsmen, who watched the spectacle unfold from their place on top of the keep. There was hope after all.
The first volley of arrows from Honeyholt's battlements followed Tessarion's wounding. The Hightower and Mullendore cousins put their shields up to deflect the arrows (the Florent's had fallen back since they weren't wearing any armor, and they didn't want Prince Joffrey to get shot), but Reginald's destrier was hit, and over a dozen men behind him were felled by the volley. Struck in the chest by three arrows, the destrier fell over onto his left side, crushing Reginald's leg beneath his weight. Cyril and the Mullendore's immediately swarmed around their fallen companion, shouting orders for the crossbowmen to take up their positions and to fire back at Honeyholt. Crossbowmen quickly marched forward and planted large human sized shields in front of them for protection as they prepared to return fire.
Foot-soldiers were called forth to form a shield-wall around the commanders as they pulled the wounded Reginald out from under his dead horse. Two soldiers carried Reginald away to have his broken leg treated, and Cyril shouted for catapults to be brought forward. Daeron saw the two catapults being moved to the front of the host after he and a knight pulled the last bolt out of Tessarion, the one that had been shot into her thigh. Tessarion was ready to fight again, but Daeron did not want to risk the scorpions. Hopefully the catapults could destroy some of those weapons as well as kill the enemy archers.
The Lord of Blackcrown was bringing two catapults with his host, which consisted of two-thousand men. Seven-thousand soldiers, four catapults, and one dragon. Even without the Florent host, which Prince Joffrey had confessed to destroying, the Greens should be able to hold their ground and take Honeyholt sooner or later. If only the Bulwer's could get to Honeyholt quicker... Until Lord Bulwer arrived with reinforcements, the Hightower's, Mullendore's, and Florent's would have to dig their heels in and hold out for as long as they could.
The second battle of the Dance of the Dragons was a ferocious one, and it lasted for about two and a half hours. Fire was traded on both sides be they arrows, or quarrels shot from bows and crossbows, stones and boulders that were thrown by the catapults, or bolts that were shot from the scorpions. Honeyholt's moat negated the use of siege towers, undermining, and battering rams, so artillery was the only option that was available to both the besiegers and defenders. Slain Beesbury defenders sometimes fell from the battlements into the moat below, and the corpses floated tranquilly above the water with dark rings of blood wreathing them as the siege carried on around them. Two of the Beesbury's scorpions were confirmed to have been destroyed, but there were still seven more that had to be dealt with.
Bodies began to pile up on the Greens side, too, as crossbowmen and siege engineers were getting cut down one after the other by the Beesbury's relentless onslaught. Peregrine was killed by a lucky shot through the eye by an arrow, and his lifeless body was dragged through the grass by his frightened horse after one of his feet got caught in a stirrup. Cyril was impaled with a scorpion bolt that pierced his steel breastplate through the left side of his chest and out his back, puncturing his lung and splitting his shoulder blade in two. His horse reared up in fright and threw him off her back, leaving the young man to spend his last few moments alive crumpled on the ground, gurgling blood, dazed and in pain. Poor Perceon was the only commander left at the front, and he had to keep his head clear amidst the heat of battle and the grief he felt over the loss of his cousin Peregrine and his friend Cyril, insufferable as the latter could be.
A messenger was dispatched to Prince Daeron to inform him of the double loss of Peregrine and Cyril. Daeron knew he had to do something, but before he could do anything, word had spread that Lord Bulwer had finally arrived with his host across the Honeywine's tributary. Crossbowmen wearing livery bearing the Bulwer bull skull on a blood red field crossed a bridge that straddled the banks of the Honeywine on Honeyholt's left, and they fired at the defenders on the battlements. The two catapults the Bulwer's brought were set up on the riverbank, and those engines were soon throwing large rocks and boulders at the battlements. One boulder landed right on a scorpion, crushing it into splinters, while a hailstorm of jagged rocks snapped the string of one and concussed its handler after he was struck on the head.
Four scorpions down, five left. Daeron, who had taken to the air a safe distance from the castle and saw the destroyed siege engines, decided that contending with five scorpions was worth the risk of flying Tessarion around Honeyholt. The Greens may have brought catapults and crossbowmen, but they were not fully equipped to deal with, nor did they want a long-term siege. Time to smoke this hive out. Tessarion flew on Honeyholt's left, where most of the scorpions were damaged, and she unleashed a great torrent of cobalt dragonfire upon the battlement.
Alan's two youngest sons were on that battlement, and their father, older brother, uncle, and cousin could only stand there and watch helplessly as they were set aflame.
"Thore! Aubert!" Alan screamed, his voice drowned out by the roar of the dragonfire. Cobalt fire engulfed all the men and scorpions. Men screamed in agony, and many of them blindly flung themselves into the moat below, the cobalt fire that was burning them alive giving them the appearance of being the petals of a winter rose. Aubert was one of those men who threw himself into the moat. Thore did the opposite and fell into the courtyard, where he began rolling around on the cobbles in a vain attempt to put the fire out letting out screams of agony.
Thore's horrified father was frozen where he stood, unable to look away from the carnage, his eyes and ears tortured by the writhing, burning men and their horrible screaming.
"Don't look, father. Don't look!" begged Philip, his voice saturated with emotion and anguish. Alan's face twisted the knife in Philip's wounds further, for it was the look of a traumatized, bereaved father; horror, grief, and disbelief molded into one facial expression. Lord Beesbury's mouth hung open, a lost look in his eyes. All four Beesbury men were devastated and horrified over what had just happened.
Alan saw more cobalt flames pour forth from the Blue Queen's mouth, and he saw Daeron 's armor glint in the sunlight. A fire of a different kind was lit in Alan's eyes, the fires of vengeance. Rage consumed the Lord of Honeyholt, and when he gave a command to his brother and nephew, his voice sounded dangerous and volatile.
"Bring me Valarr and Lord Bulwer's son..."
"What? What for?" Damion asked confusedly. His question was abruptly answered by Alan shouting, "Just bring them to me!"
A rattled Damion and Arthur left to do as they were told with guards in tow, and they walked briskly down to the cellars to fetch their two youngest captives. Ignoring the anxious questioning and pleading from the women, the two Ser Beesbury had Valarr seized from his twin cousins, and all but tore baby Buford out of his frightened mother's arms. Buford cried all the way up to the top of the keep as Valarr begged his captives to let him go.
"Where are you taking me? Why are you hurting me? Please let me go..." cried Valarr, whose arms were hurting from the powerful hands of the guards who were escorting him. Pillars of smoke and the odors of burning wood and flesh greeted the group when they emerged at the top of the keep.
"We're back," announced Damion, who looked around morosely at the destruction that had been wrought during his absence. Alan looked over his shoulder and sauntered over to Valarr. He grabbed the boy by his silver-gold hair, and he dragged him over to the parapets. Tessarion swooped down and breathed dragonfire onto the gatehouse, incinerating the last scorpions and defenders. Honeyholt's keep was surrounded by smoke, cobalt flames, and burning men.
Taking in the devastation of his home with Valarr's hair still firmly gripped in his hand, an outraged and heartbroken Lord Alan dragged the boy so that he was standing in front of him, and he unsheathed his dagger. Valarr stopped crying when he felt cold steel being pressed against his throat.
"Alan, what in the name of the Seven are you doing?!" shouted a horrified Damion.
"Father, don't!" Philip cried out.
Arthur, who was holding Buford, held the crying baby closer to his chest with fatherly protectiveness when he saw what his uncle was doing. Alan was so drunk on vengeance that he did not hear his brother and son's raised voices. All he cared about was hurting Daeron and his allies. Daeron had killed Alan's two youngest sons, so his own youngest son would become the first victim of Lord Beesbury's terrible vengeance; Buford would be next. An eye for an eye, a son for a son.
Seeing Tessarion hovering above the burning gate through the smoke, Alan shouted, "Daeron! DAERON!" with such passion that it did get the prince's attention amidst the cheering of the Hightower and Bulwer soldiers. Daeron looked up at the top of Honeyholt's keep, and he squinted when he saw something flash there in the sunlight. He flinched when he realized that the flash came from the silver-gold hair of his son, and he saw the glint of a blade at his child's throat. "Valarr!" cried out the panicking Daeron.
Some of the soldiers below stopped cheering and followed Daeron's gaze, and some of them began pointing at the keep. Word of what was happening reached the Florent's and Joffrey, and they too looked up in horror.
"Don't do it, Alan," Joff said under his breath. "Please, for the love of the Father and Mother Above, don't do it!"
"You killed two of my boys, Daeron!" shouted Alan. "Vengeance is mine!"
The Lord of Honeyholt then did the unthinkable. With one hateful stroke, he cut open the throat of the ten year old Prince Valarr Targaryen. Valarr immediately clasped his ravaged throat, deep crimson blood flowing out of his wound and oozing from between his fingers. Deranged and wrathful still, Alan then shoved the dying Valarr off the keep, falling eighty feet down to the courtyard below. An eerie hush fell upon the armed forces at Honeyholt; only the sounds of crackling fire, frightened neighing, and Buford's wailing could be heard.
Damion, Philip, Arthur and the two guardsmen stood as still as statues in stunned silence. Alan, whose senses had been overwhelmed by hatred and bloodlust, suddenly felt a wave of despairing calm wash over him. He dropped his dagger, and stood motionless by the parapets looking down at the shattered and bloody body of Prince Valarr. It was then a terrible scream was heard coming from Prince Daeron the Daring. It was a horrific thing to listen to.
The scream sounded inhuman yet human, cuttingly shrill yet primally deep. It was the sound of a father mourning the loss of his child. Daeron's lamentation was soon drowned out by the Blue Queen's equally mournful roar. Understandably, Tessarion was close with Daeron's family, having carried his wife and children on her back many times throughout the prince's marriage even when his children were newborns. Alan let out his own roar of despair, the last vestiges of his desire for revenge faded away as grief and remorse took over, and Alan fell to his knees as his hands gripped a parapet.
Many of the eyes of the surviving soldiers in and outside of Honeyholt were wet with tears, Joff's being the wettest after his half-uncle's, and the prince held his head down and as he wept over the senseless death of his young cousin. Tessarion roared again, as did Daeron, both sounding wrathful this time. The she-dragon flew over the gate and up to the keep. Seeing Tessarion flying towards them snapped Alan's kinsmen and the guards out of their stupor. Alan pulled himself back up.
"Run!" shouted Arthur, clutching Buford to him and taking off for the stairwell with the guards. Damion and Philip turned to flee, but the latter stopped and called out to his father. "Father, run!" Alan made no attempt to run; he just stood there as if he were admiring the scenery.
"Father!"
"Come on!" shouted Damion, who grabbed his nephew and tried to drag him away just as Tessarion crested the top of the keep, her maw open and her eyes fixed on Alan with a murderous glare. Lord Beesbury closed his eyes and accepted his fate. Damion and Philip looked away just as Tessarion's jaws clamped down on their patriarch, and they heard the moist, painful sounds of ripping flesh and breaking bones. They made their way to the stairs as Tessarion flung Alan up to the air.
Roasted by cobalt fire as he fell, Alan's blackened body crashed onto the roof. Tessarion seized her prize and ripped it apart, making sure to leave no crumbs behind. Swallowing the last of Lord Alan Beesbury, Tessarion let out a triumphant roar that seemed to shake the air itself. Breathing heavily and seething with fury, Daeron spurred Tessarion back into the air to exact further vengeance on House Beesbury. The Blue Queen descended upon Honeyholt's prized garden and set it on fire, her dragonfire incinerating the trees, flowers, herb gardens and skeps.
Every roof of the castle was set aflame, and even the walls and gatehouse were set on fire again before Daeron was finally sated, and he flew to the courtyard. Tessarion landed near Valarr's body, and Daeron dismounted. Lifting his visor to reveal a lachrymose face, Daeron slowly approached his son's body, who was lying on his back and was surrounded by a pool of blood so dark it looked black. Falling to his knees, Daeron gathered his boy into his arms and held him close, brushing Valarr's hair out of his face. Tessarion craned her neck to look at Valarr, her expression mournful.
Valarr had worshipped the ground his father walked on, and Daeron had failed him twice, his first failure being unable to keep Valarr from getting taken away by the Blacks, the last being unable to save him from Lord Alan Beesbury. Regret's terrible iron grip seized Daeron's heart, and the bereaved father wept bitterly over his dead son as Tessarion gently nuzzled him. As rider and dragon mourned, Honeyholt's drawbridge was lowered, and the gate was opened. A somber Green army marched into Honeyholt, their victory being a tragic and muted one.
Tessarion at some point stopped nuzzling Daeron and let out a low growl in the direction of the keep. Philip Beesbury, now the Lord of Honeyholt, was walking outside carrying a white flag of surrender. His family and household followed him out, and the shell-shocked survivors of the castle garrison gathered silently into the courtyard. All was quiet save for Tessarion's growling and hissing, and the sounds of weeping women and crying children. Daeron finally lifted his face from his son's corpse to look up at Philip.
Locking eyes, the victor and the loser stared at each other. Philip was pale, almost ghost like, and his amber eyes were dark and empty. Daeron's face was drawn, red and wet, his purple eyes just as dark and empty as Lord Philip's were. Without taking his eyes off the new Lord Beesbury, Daeron gently laid his son down and stood up, revealing that his armor had been smeared with Valarr's blood. Philip looked away when he saw the blood, and Daeron sized him up, hatred building up inside of him.
Philip led his household into bending the knee. Nothing was said at first. Glancing over at the remaining Beesbury garrison, Daeron finally spoke.
"Kill off the garrison."
A cacophony of protests and pleas for mercy sounded from the Beesbury's, but they went unheeded. Green knights and soldiers rounded up the garrison and put every one of the begging men to the sword, their blood flowing gracefully around the cobbles. As the massacre was being carried out, Daeron glared at Philip and his uncle and cousin. Unsheathing his sword, Daeron uttered the following order, "Seize the elder Beesbury men. Give me Lord Beesbury."
More shouting and crying ensued, especially from Dowager Lady Jeyne Cuy, who had already lost her husband and two youngest sons, and was now about to lose her last surviving boy. Philip was dragged over to Daeron and forced to kneel along with Damion and Arthur with his head down and neck exposed. Prince Daeron gripped his sword with both hands and raised it up high above his head to bring it down on Philip's neck.
"Please don't kill my papa!"
Daeron paused and glanced up at the gathered Beesbury's. The voice came from a young girl who looked to be about six or seven years of age. She was kneeling beside her terrified mother, who was holding a wailing toddler, with a slew of crying, whimpering little ones who appeared to be the girl's younger siblings. Daeron recognized the terrified woman as being Lady Sansara Tarly, the younger sister of the late Lady Sam. She was also Reginald's aunt.
Seeing the terror in the eyes of Philip's family, mercy sprouted in Daeron's heart. Haven't enough lives been lost today? Lowering his sword, Daeron addressed Sansara with a respectful but distant sounding voice.
"How old is the little one you are holding?"
"Wh-what?" asked the trembling Sansara.
"How old is your baby?" Daeron's tone did not change.
"She's two. Two and a half."
The corners of the prince's lips rose slightly. "My wife and I are expecting. We are hoping it will be a girl." Daeron's face fell then. Gods, he would have to tell Bethany that they had lost a child.
The Hightower's, Florent's, and Bulwer's would be getting all their loved ones back while Daeron and Bethany would be burying their son. It was so unfair. The prince closed his eyes and prayed silently for the Mother Above to spare his other sons and granddaughter in the coming confrontation between the Tarly's and Lydus's host. The lives of Philip and his remaining kinsmen would be spared that day, but they would be separated. His wife and children would be taken away from him to become hostages in the name of Jaehaerys II at Oldtown, as were Arthur's wife and little ones, and so would Septa Amicia and Septon Lyman once the Hightower's were informed of their treachery against them.
Jaehaerys the Pretender's flag was later hoisted above Honeyholt that same day. It bore the same heraldry that Aegon the Elder once used: a golden-yellow three-headed Targaryen dragon on a black field. Yellow and black decorated the livery and surcoats of the fallen Beesbury defenders, whose bodies were scattered about the castle in various degrees of ruination, with some burning, some riddled with quarrels, and some slashed to ribbons. The scent of smoke and burning flesh filled the air, and it mingled with the rotted vegetation smell of the moat, where more ruined and burning bodies floated. These men would not be the last casualties of the day, for more lives were being cut down northeast of Honeyholt near Horn Hill...
Quite a Pyrrhic victory for the Greens. I couldn't decide on what Valarr's cause of death was to be, slit throat or being thrown off the keep, so I combined them. Pays homage to how Catelyn Stark killed "Jinglebell" Frey during the Red Wedding, Theon hanging those two boys at Winterfell, not to mention Jaehaerys's fate in canon when he was a child. I had planned to have Valarr killed off from the start before deciding to spare him and then switching to having him killed again. Just so much tragedy all around for both sides... Anyway, the skirmish between Tyraxes and Tessarion could be considered the first official battle of the Dance, but I plan for most Westerosi military scholars to dismiss as a mere prelude to the main conflict of the Siege of Honeyholt rather than as a separate confrontation.
Next chapter will be the Assault on Horn Hill (working title). Stay tuned, and please review! :)
PS: libra1989. I have been meaning to mention this, but I looked into the Citadel after reading your December 22nd review, and I mentioned the maesters sending out ravens after Jaehaerys II's coronation. Thank you for the idea. :)