Here it is! Part II of the Battle of Highgarden. Who will win the day: the Blacks or the Greens? Who will survive: Daeron or Baela? Read on and find out...
But most importantly of all, enjoy the chapter!
Author's Note: Blood, gore, mentions of rape, and disturbing scenery ahead.
Roseroad en route to Oldtown
One Day Earlier...
Princess Saera Targaryen, the Lady of Highgarden, watched the scenery pass by her window as the wheelhouse made its way down the road. She was resting her chin on the palm of her right hand, her elbow resting on the wooden windowsill, her left hand resting gently atop her pregnant belly. Sitting in the wheelhouse with Saera were two of her handmaids, her septa, and a midwife. All was quiet save for the typical noise of travel: turning wheels, horses neighing, the clamor of the plate armor worn by the knights escorting the Lady of Highgarden to Oldtown. Distressing thoughts of war and what the future held for everyone was the reason for the passengers' silence.
Feeling her baby move inside her brought Saera some comfort; the fetus's movements felt strong and lively. Another thought that comforted Saera was that she was going to be reunited with her nine month old daughter Daena and younger brothers Valerion and Aeryn at Oldtown. Her ladyship could not wait to hold Daena in her arms again, to kiss her chubby cheeks, to nuzzle her soft, curly dark brown hair, to look into her big brown eyes brimming with innocence. As for Valerion and Aeryn, Saera was eager to wrap her arms around them and kiss them on their foreheads, glad to know that both her brothers were alive. A pang of grief stabbed Saera's heart at the memory of her youngest brother Valarr, who left this veil of tears only a decade old and under such horrible circumstances...
As if sensing their mother's pain, the unborn Tyrell pressed their hands or feet against the walls of Saera's womb. Smiling softly at her unborn child's actions, Saera slid her hand down to the spot where she felt the touch and rubbed it. The other women's eyes were rapt on the princess when she moved, the troubled expressions on their faces lifting somewhat at the tender sight. Names swirled in Saera's mind. If the baby was Lyonel's long hoped for (legitimate) son, well, there was no shortage of names for the boy's parents to choose from.
Lyonel had hoped to name a then unborn Daena after his father-in-law Daeron to ingratiate himself to him and to mend the rift between them over the former bedding and impregnating Saera out of wedlock, and hopefully Lyonel would finally get that chance a second time around. Alester, Harlan, and Theo were Lyonel's favorite traditional Tyrell names, but he could not pick which was his most favorite to give to his son. Saera had considered suggesting the name Valarr, but grief kept her from saying the name aloud. As for girl names, Lyonel didn't give much thought to that beyond naming his potential second daughter after his mother. Saera only had one girl name too that was just as special as Mary: Helaena, in honor of her late aunt, a doting mother and grandmother who died a Green martyr on the order of her own half-sister, the Black tyrant Rhaenyra I...
"Dragon!"
The word snapped everyone in the wheelhouse to attention. Was it one of the Greens' dragons or the Blacks'? Saera could feel her heart pounding as the tension in the wheelhouse rose like boiling water, the organ seemingly sighing in relief with her when the dragon was identified as Tessarion. The Blue Queen's identification was soon followed up with news of the Green army marching behind her. Everyone was safe.
Great wings flapped overhead, a massive shadow that was both familiar and comfortable to Saera passed over the wheelhouse. Tessarion could be heard grunting, its volume indicative of her flying low to land. Saera exited the wheelhouse, doing her best to restrain her excitement over seeing her father in respect to her delicate condition, her entourage rising from their seats to follow her. A mounted knight who had been riding behind the wheelhouse dismounted from his horse when he saw his liege's pregnant wife appear from the around the wheelhouse.
"My lady, allow me to accompany you."
Saera said nothing but offered her arm to the chivalrous knight, who escorted her for only a few steps until Daeron met them as he strode over to them from the Blue Queen. Saera's arm slipped from the knight's to embrace her father, who embraced her back. The hug started off awkwardly at first as Daeron's attempt to wrap his arms around his daughter was interrupted by her belly, which was six months along and big, and Daeron had to step around Saera to embrace her from her left side. Nearly a month away from her sixteenth nameday, married to the High Marshal of the Reach, a soon-to-be mother of two, Saera was reduced to a little girl again in her father's embrace. She felt warm and protected, like nothing could harm her now that papa was here.
"Papa," Saera breathed as she held her father.
"My Saera. My lady daughter," Daeron uttered, patting Saera on the back and pulling away slightly to kiss her cheek and look her in the face. "You look radiant." The prince glanced down at Saera's big baby bump. "How is my grandson doing?"
Saera beamed at her father's question. "Thriving and kicking. Can't decide if I am carrying a baby or a horse sometimes!"
A chuckling Daeron nodded in satisfaction, his face proud and happy. "Good, very good."
Saera's joy bubbled over, and she could not help but blurt out her next three sentences.
"Have you heard about Horn Hill, father? Lydus won it for Jaehaerys! Daena, Valerion, and Aeryn are all safe and unharmed, and Lydus is taking them home to Oldtown!"
"I know, my dear girl, I know," Daeron said while nodding, his lips rising into a faint grin. "A messenger in the employ of Lord Bushy brought the news to me last night at our camp. It is truly splendid that they're all well and homebound! Your mother and little sister's spirits should be soaring now knowing that your brothers and Daena will soon be home with them. My spirit flies high with that knowledge."
The prince's eyes darkened, and his hands slipped from Saera's arms. Saera had never seen such darkness in her father's eyes before, but she knew where it came from; she could almost hear Daeron's thoughts. "If only Valarr could be there as well. Then our family would be complete again..." Saera shared those same thoughts too, and tears fell down her cheeks once more at the memory of her youngest brother.
Overwhelmed with grief, the lachrymose Lady of Highgarden buried her face in her hands. Daeron, his fatherly instincts kicking in, put aside his own sorrow to comfort his distressed firstborn.
"There, there, Saera," Daeron said softly in an encouraging way that was somewhat stifled by his own rising emotions and his attempt to subdue them. "I know it's hard. Believe me, I know; my heart has been ripped apart every day since Valarr was taken from us. Don't lose yourself in grief, my dear. You and your mother will both be having new babes next year.
"Try to focus on those coming joys, Saera, and help your mother with that endeavor as well. Valarr would want that. He would want the both of you – all of us – to be happy, not sad."
Saera removed her hands from her now red swollen face to wipe away her tears, nodding all the while. "Yes, papa," she said as she wiped the moisture away, her words soft and choked. Daeron smiled softly, his expression one of fatherly sympathy and pride. But the prince's face fell when he caught a warhorse from his army kicking at the dirt in his peripheral vision. He had to get going.
"Come here," Daeron commanded gently, guiding his daughter into another embrace, not caring if his men saw it. The embrace was brief yet meaningful, and Daeron ended it with a kiss on Saera's cheek and imparted his love for her and their family. "I must go now, darling. Please be strong. Know how much I cherish you, your children, and your mother and younger siblings.
"May the Mother Above watch over you all in my stead until I return."
"May the Warrior give strength to your sword-arm, father," Saera intoned softly. "May the Crone show you and Tessarion the way to victory."
Daeron nodded at his daughter's words, giving her one last smile before pulling down his visor and heading back to Tessarion. Saera wished she could go over and pet Tessarion, but her father and the Blue Queen had to get going. Father and daughter waved as Tessarion took to the air, the Green army marching around the wheelhouse en route to Highgarden. Saera's companions and the knight from earlier surrounded her as she watched her father fly down the Roseroad. The beseeching for divine protection reminded Saera of the lullaby "The Song of the Seven".
The song taught children about the gods that made up the Seven, except for the ominous Stranger of course, as well as comfort them and lull them to sleep. Saera's earliest childhood recollections were of her mother and father singing "The Song of the Seven" to her. Feeling the baby moving within her again prompted Saera to sing the lullaby.
"The Father's face is stern and strong,
He sits and judges right from wrong.
He weighs our lives, the short and the long,
And loves the little children..."
Her ladyship's female companions heard her singing and took it up as well, their lovely, delicate voices flowing over to the passing ears of the marching men. The women were still singing as they walked back to the wheelhouse. Even Prince Daeron Targaryen, who obviously could not hear his daughter and her companions' singing, found himself inspired to sing "The Song of the Seven" as he flew for Highgarden. The prince felt his heart tighten as he reached the lyrics about the Warrior and the Crone, the two same deities his eldest daughter had intoned to protect him and Tessarion.
"The Warrior stands before the foe,
Protecting us where e'er we go.
With sword and shield and spear and bow,
He guards the little children.
"The Crone is very wise and old,
And sees our fates as they unfold.
She lifts her lamp of shining gold
To lead the little children..."
19th Day of the 11th Moon
Today
"Look over there!"
The Rowan cavalryman who had first spotted Tessarion made the Blacks' attention switch from the fiery path at Highgarden to the approaching Blue Queen on their left. Unseen as of yet, the Green army was marching behind Tessarion and would soon become visible to the enemy. Moondancer let out a roar of warning as Tessarion approached. Prince Daeron's eyes were rapt on his cousin Baela as she sat astride her mount as he flew closer to Highgarden. The princess herself also locked onto Daeron from her perch on Highgarden's middle wall.
Divided by political ideology, Daeron and Baela shared a lot in common besides blood. They were both bereaved parents who had lost their youngest sons to horrific and bloody circumstances, tragic deaths that spurred Daeron and Baela into punishing those who were responsible for taking their children away from them, making them fiercely determined to win with reckless abandon. Tessarion and Moondancer sensed their riders' conviction, and the two she-dragons growled in anticipation of shedding blood. Daeron sighed softly to himself when he saw Moondancer's wings unfurl across the battlement and take flight. "So be it," the prince said to himself, who was mentally prepared to incinerate his cousin; little did Daeron know just how willing Baela was to do the same to him.
Moondancer was smaller and faster than Tessarion, who was seven years older than her, and Baela's mount quickly closed in on the Blue Queen. Daeron waited until Moondancer was just within range to give Tessarion the order. "Tessarion, dracarys!" The Blue Queen opened her maw and unleashed a great jet of cobalt flames right at Moondancer. Baela saw the cobalt firelight rising to the top of Tessarion's throat through her open mouth, and she had Moondancer bank to her left just as the dragonfire surged towards them.
As soon as she was out of harm's way, Moondancer opened her own jaws and shot out a green and white fireball at Tessarion's right shoulder. The fireball struck its target, charring the beautiful cobalt scales. Tessarion hissed in pain, but she was still able to fly, being roughly the same size Meleys was at the start of Rhaenyra's reign whereas Moondancer was roughly a third of Tessarion's size. Furious over her wounding, Tessarion craned her neck to snap at Moondancer, who evaded by diving under her opponent's wing. The Blue Queen turned around to follow after Moondancer, beginning a hair-raising chase across a blue sky that had scant few clouds for either dragon to take cover or lay in wait in.
The sight of two dragons battling in the sky enraptured those on the ground for a moment until word got around that the Green army had been spotted. Fluttering banners bearing the personal heraldry of the False King and the coat-of-arms of Houses Hightower, Bulwer, Florent, and Redwyne came into view down the Roseroad. Lord Robert Rowan and his bannermen organized their soldiery and prepared for open battle. Franklyn and his two sons stayed behind at Highgarden with a decent sized contingent of men to repel any sneaky counterattacks the Tyrell's may try to launch against the Blacks. Flanking Robert in place of his son and grandsons were Lords Webber and Osgrey, and the three nobles and their men charged to meet the Greens down the Roseroard amidst a sea of yellow roses.
Those same golden blooms were soon marred with blood splatter from wounded men and horses or were crushed and slashed as soldiers leapt over fences to gain more fighting room or to flee. Archers belonging to the Blacks' side stood on the piled stone fences surrounding the extensive rose fields for higher ground to fire upon the Greens. But the Greens were not overwhelmed; their own archers and crossbowmen crouched down and maneuvered around rosebushes, using them for cover before rising and firing at their foes and ducking down to reload. An axe wielding Osgrey infantryman went berserk after his brother was struck down by a Green archer, and he charged through the roses and hacked down seven Green archers before a Redwyne crossbowman shot and killed him with a well-placed quarrel in the eye. That same crossbowman was soon felled by an arrow through the eye courtesy of a Targaryen archer.
Robert was dueling on horseback with a mounted knight from the Arbor when a spearman stabbed his horse in the heart through its right side, causing it to fall over dead and crush his leg beneath its weight. The spearman stood over the dead horse as Robert struggled to free himself and tried to thrust his spear through Lord Rowan's visor. Suffering great pain from his broken leg, Robert was still able to grab the spear by its shaft with his right hand. Spearman and lord played an intense game of tug-of-war for less than a minute before Robert's head was trampled under a running horse's hooves, the metal of his helm getting crushed into the wounds made by the splintered bone of the Lord of Goldengrove's fractured skull.
Lord Osgrey saw the spearman standing over his liege's fallen steed, and he ran over and beheaded the man with a single swing of his sword just as the spearman was starting to turn around. Realizing that Robert was dead, Lord Osgrey commanded his squire to run to Highgarden to inform Franklyn and to bring him to the frontlines to lead the Rowan host. Risking life and limb, the squire raced his horse through the chaos of shouts and clashes and spilling blood to get to Franklyn. Ser Rowan, devastated at both his father's sudden death and the thought of leaving his young sons behind, had no choice but to go down the Roseroad.
"Ser Rupert Webber!" Franklyn called out; a knight came forward from the shadow of Highgarden's outer wall. Rupert was the nephew of the Lord of Coldmoat, the same nephew who led the conquest of the outer wall during the first phase of the battle.
"Yes, my lord?" queried the young man.
Franklyn regarded Rupert's youth; his face being visible with his visor up. Ser Webber was about eighteen years of age, a man grown, and a proven warrior. These facts comforted Franklyn somewhat as he gave his bannerman an order.
"My father has fallen in battle, and I must lead my forces at the front." His lordship reached over to grab the right shoulder of his eldest son and heir, Ferdinand. "My son here will lead the rear here along with his brother Fulbert. Please stay with them and keep them safe in my stead, ser. Do that, and I will forever be in your debt as both your liege and as a father.
Will you do this for me, Rupert?"
Rupert nodded without hesitation. "You have my word, Lord Rowan."
"Good," Franklyn said while nodding. "Thank you."
Franklyn turned to face his sons, who were doing their best to be stoic in the face of their grandfather's death and the responsibility of leading men into battle. Franklyn had to make his farewell brief as he had to rush off into battle.
"Be strong, my sons. I know you both can do this. This is what separates men from boys. Stay with Ser Webber and you two will be safe. May the Warrior and the Mother Above be with you all."
Ferdinand and Fulbert both nodded and promised to do as their father said, and he rode off into battle. As Franklyn galloped into the fray with Lord Osgrey's squire, he prayed fervently with all his heart for the safety of his two sons, knowing that he would never be able to forgive himself if either or both Ferdinand and Fulbert were to be killed. Franklyn was halfway down the Roseroad when Highgarden's inner gate opened. Issuing forth from that gate was a sortie consisting of siege survivors, household knights, and peasant men all led by a cousin of Lord Tyrell's.
"Be brave now," Ser Rupert Webber instructed his lordly charges as he unsheathed his sword. Rupert looked between Ferdinand and Fulbert. Both boys were clearly scared out of their wits, too frightened to move or do anything but gape at the coming horror. Time was of the essence, but Rupert spoke to Ferdinand in a voice that was both firm yet brotherly, as if he were teaching his own little brothers the art of war in Coldmoat's training yard. "Lord Ferdinand, give the command to attack and we will all take it from here.
"Make your grandfather and father proud."
Rupert's words helped to unglue Ferdinand's terrified lips, and he gave the order to attack the incoming sortie. "Stay with me, you two," said Rupert, repeating Franklyn's order to him as the contingent braced themselves for battle. The raised blades of both the Black contingent and the Green sortie reflected the cobalt blue of Tessarion's dragonfire above as she tried to burn Moondancer out of the sky. This latest fiery stream was a close call for Baela, who could feel the great heat of the dragonfire right above her head. The entirety of her duel with Daeron had been spent flying in every direction to evade Tessarion and taking potshots at her whenever possible.
It was a tense battle of wills that was matched unevenly in size and strength but equal in frustration. Daeron wanted Tessarion to break Moondancer in half, and Baela wanted Moondancer to avoid that fate. This couldn't go on forever. Something had to give. The problem was that Tessarion was too damn big for Moondancer to take on directly; she couldn't rip the Blue Queen's throat out, nor break her wings, not even snap her tail to throw her off balance. But there was one way to stop a dragon without killing it.
Kill the dragon's rider. Yes, the dragon will still be alive, but it would it be without the direction of their rider, a mindless creature that would be lost in grief and confusion. Baela would deal with that when that happened. She had to kill Daeron first, a thought that made Baela's vengeful heart giddy with mad excitement. But how to go about doing that?
Remembering how Moondancer plucked defenders off Highgarden's watchtowers earlier gave Baela an idea. She looked up at the afternoon sky and found the sun. It was behind the two battling dragons, beginning its downward trajectory in the west. "Moondancer, fly down!" Baela commanded. The she-dragon ducked down and crested beneath Tessarion, unleashing a stream of dragonfire on her beaten copper belly.
The Blue Queen roared angrily, though more out of frustration rather than pain, which like a friction burn to her, and she turned around again to chase after the pest that was Moondancer. Daeron squinted through his visor at Moondancer when he thought he noticed her flying at a slower pace.
"Is she getting tired finally?" Daeron asked himself. He wanted to be careful; Moondancer and her rider had proven themselves to be a crafty pair of females so far. Who knows what they were up to. Tessarion, intelligent as she was, seemed to give herself up to excitement at the prospect of finally catching and destroying her opponent, and she beat her wings harder and stretched her neck forward, her mouth open and ready.
"Easy, Tessarion," Daeron commanded to caution his mount. Baela looked over her shoulder and saw the Blue Queen draw closer to her. Unseen by Tessarion and Daeron, Baela was leering at him through her visor. Everything was in place. Noticing the strength of the sunlight reflecting off her armor, Baela urged Moondancer to pull up. The ascent was sudden, and when Daeron followed Moondancer, his eyes reached the sun, and he was blinded by the intense light.
"Ah!" Daeron exclaimed as he closed his eyes, colors flashing beneath the darkness of his lids. The prince shook his head and opened his eyes tentatively, colors still spotting his recovering vision. Moondancer was nowhere to be found, but Tessarion was looking up and growling. Daeron looked up and saw only azure. It was such a pretty thing to see.
Daeron registered darkness first before the pressure when Moondancer clamped her powerful jaws down on his upper torso from above and pulled him out of his saddle. The prince shrieked and flailed about in Moondancer's clutches, who flew away with her prize just as Tessarion looked over her shoulder and hissed in surprise that her rider had been taken. Moondancer flew down towards the battlefield in the yellow rose fields with the Blue Queen in hot pursuit. The shadows of the two she-dragons washed over the clashing men below, and those who looked up often had their distraction lethally exploited by iron or steel. Baela eyed the Roseroad, where the thick of the fighting was, and an idea came to her.
Tessarion edged closer and stretched her neck in hopes of nipping at Moondancer's tail when she saw something get "tossed" by her opponent. That something could only be one thing – Daeron. The prince had been thrown into the Green side of the battlefield, crashing into a rosebush and tumbling into another while men fought and died around him. The Blue Queen hissed in fear for her rider, and she immediately ended her pursuit of Moondancer to get to Daeron. Tessarion's landing made men from both sides scatter, and she sauntered over to Daeron, who was lying still under a frayed rosebush, yellow rose petals and plant debris covering his armor.
The Blue Queen nudged Daeron with her snout, and her heart rose at the sight of him moving, albeit slowly and painfully. Frightened shouts and agonized screams drowned out Daeron's soft groans, and he was overtaken by a wave of men who had leapt over the fence. Looking up, Tessarion saw the reason for the male flooding. Moondancer was burning the Green army down the Roseroad, and those who stood ahead in the she-dragon's path fled to escape to a horrific fiery death; some of the men who tumbled over the fence were aflame. Men trampled men, horses bolted for the Mander's banks or deeper into the adjacent rose fields, trampling even more bodies underfoot.
Tessarion snapped at any man or beast who came near Daeron even though they were on their side, crushing them to death in one bite or throwing them aside like a chicken bone. Franklyn Rowan and his men paused their fighting to gape at the horrific sight unravelling before them. This pause was temporary, the bloodletting resumed after a household knight from Goldengrove cut down a fleeing foot-soldier bearing a Hightower shield. The Blacks picked off or captured any enemy they could get their hands on and did their best to keep their distance from Tessarion. One overzealous Rowan crossbowman took aim at Tessarion's left eye as she crushed a charger between her jaws, only for her to suddenly turn to face him, the crossbowman's quarrel bouncing harmlessly off Tessarion's cobalt forehead.
The crossbowman froze in terror, the raised voices of his comrades fading off into the distance as the blood drained from his face. Tessarion dropped the horse's corpse and went after the Blacks this time, breathing a great gout of fire onto the crossbowman and his friends, incinerating rosebushes and devastating that part of the stone fence. Moondancer, who had been hovering above the Mander, swooped down towards the rose field and plucked Daeron off the ground, rosebush included. Daeron's scream was heard by Tessarion, who froze in mid-saunter to look over and witness Moondancer flying over to the adjacent rose field, casually tossing Daeron in midair and catching him again in her jaws before landing. Tessarion roared and climbed over two fences and a myriad of corpses to rescue her rider.
Baela stared the Blue Queen in the face as the great dragon drew closer; Moondancer also held her foe's gaze as Daeron struggled against her jaws. "Crush him, Moondancer," Baela ordered without emotion. Her dragon did as commanded. Ribs snapping and the deep crack of a backbone breaking seemed to be the loudest things heard on the battlefield when Moondancer bit down on Daeron. The prince became limp in Moondancer's jaws, his blood dripping from between the dragon's teeth like a fountain.
Tessarion's mouth fell slightly open, her blue eyes rapt on the horrific scene she had just witnessed, the only sign that she was still living was her moving nostrils and trembling tongue. Moondancer dropped Daeron to the ground and backed away. The prince landed with a thud on the grass, his body flaccid and bleeding from his mouth and wounds. Tessarion was by her rider's side in a heartbeat. She nudged Daeron's body with her snout, looking for any sign of life, desperate to hear so much as a moan or a sigh.
But no sound was made, and Daeron never moved so much as an inch. The Blue Queen let out a soft whimper as she accepted the terrible and heartbreaking truth. Paying no heed to Daeron's killer, who was only feet away, Tessarion mourned her loss. She laid down on the field, pulled Daeron's corpse closer to her with her mouth, and curled herself around him as if the late prince was one of her eggs. Witnessing a dragon mourn the death of her rider made the surviving Blacks and Greens quiet with subdued awe and pity.
Emotion flickered across Baela's face beneath her helm as she observed Tessarion grieve for Daeron. Regret and sorrow tugged at Baela's heart, but she pushed them aside. Daeron was merely Baela's cousin, her uncle's youngest son; the grief Lady Baela felt for her lost husband and son were far greater and more painful. Ironically, it was this same immense pain that made Baela not care that she was now a kinslayer in the eyes of men and gods. And by her human heart and the gods who saw it fit to bring her into this world, Baela was going to continue reaping more of her treacherous kinsmen until the bloodline of her uncle's second marriage was extinct.
But first, it was high time that the Battle of Highgarden ended. The fighting in the rose fields was over as the surviving Green soldiers either surrendered or ran down the Roseroad for safety, with a few of them getting picked off by archers. All that was left to do was to seize Highgarden itself. Leaving the capture and killing of the remnants of the late Prince Daeron's army to Franklyn and his men, Baela commanded Moondancer to take flight again and head for Highgarden. Sunlight reflected off the blades and armor of the combatants of the sortie outside the castle's walls, the light sparkling as if it was reflecting off the surface of a body of water.
Archers had mounted the battlement of the outer wall again, and Moondancer cleared it once again with dragonfire before turning her attention back to the sortie. She swooped down and planted herself on the outermost gate to breathe more fire on the Tyrell defenders who were fighting on the ground. Pale green flames split the sortie in half. The half that was fighting outside the gate lost most of their number and soon found themselves overwhelmed by the Blacks, who were still going strong despite the initial onslaught. The other half that was within Highgarden's walls fled back to the castle for safety. Moondancer chased after those fleeing defenders, breathing dragonfire on them, burning men to ash in mid-stride.
Moondancer landed on the innermost gate of Highgarden, the she-dragon's outstretched wings and snarling mouth reminiscent of the great harpy statues that decorate the cities of Astapor, Meereen, and Yunkai in far-off Slaver's Bay. Savoring the fear her presence had induced in the entrance courtyard's occupants for about a minute, Moondancer opened her great maw to build up a fireball. Seeing the coming attack, castle guards and some of those who made it inside began shutting the massive door to the keep despite the panicked shouts and curses of those still fleeing for their lives outside. Ser Rupert Webber was leading the Blacks through the gates with Ferdinand and Fulbert when they saw Moondancer's fireball crash into the keep's door. The fireball's impact decimated the thick double-doors, reducing them mostly to splinters and sending bigger pieces flying into hallway like meteorites, one such piece killing a guard after striking him on the back of the head.
Looks of astonishment were on the faces of the Black soldiers who had reached the courtyard and witnessed Moondancer's power. Those in front of the contingent took a step back when they saw the dragon's shadow pass over the courtyard and land in the middle of it. Baela dismounted from Moondancer to the chorus of screaming men, shrieking horses, and barking dogs. Moondancer narrowed her eyes and looked around the courtyard, growling menacingly to silence the noisemakers. The dragon's warning made the frightened animals retreat to the back of their pens whimpering.
The pained groans and odd shout from men could still be heard as Princess Baela Targaryen dismounted from Moondancer. Baela glanced over her shoulder at the Black forces. She gestured for the men to follow her with her left arm, and the soldiers did as they were told. Anxious with both excitement over their imminent victory and fear over marching around the intimidating Moondancer, the soldiers' pace was subdued at first but grew brisker the closer they got to the castle's keep. Pale green and pearly white dragonfire burned the climbing ivy that covered the keep's walls, making it look as if the impressive white stone facade was draped with a fiery mantle lined with dark green.
A burning banner depicting the Tyrell coat-of-arms fluttered down from the wall and landed in front of Baela, who walked over the burning cloth without hesitation. A hum of surprised murmuring rose as the soldiers behind Baela spoke of her fearlessness. Baela stepped across the threshold and looked around the hall. Fire was scattered about the hall: a nearby tapestry, some furniture, and pieces of wood from the door all burned in the stone hall. Bodies of dead guardsmen were scattered pell mell on the floor, some burning and a few impaled by chunks and slivers of jagged wood.
Shell-shocked survivors, both male and female, who were tending to the wounded or trying to help them stand looked up when Baela's shadow darkened the entrance. Gawping faces greeted the princess, who was utterly indifferent to the terror she inspired. All eyes on her, Baela uttered a chilling command.
"Secure the castle. Find the Lady Dowager and bring her to me here in the courtyard. Kill anyone who stands in your way."
Any survivor left in the hall who was still able ran for their lives screaming. The screams were drowned out by the shouts of the enemy as they flooded into the hall around Baela searching for captives, treasure, and blood. Locked doors were broken down and the rooms were searched and plundered. If there was anyone hiding inside, those who showed armed resistance were cut down, and the cowering survivors were dragged out protesting, crying, or both. Statues within the castle colonnades retained their carved tepidity as blood was shed around them, or when women were dragged off kicking and screaming behind bushes and fountains to be raped.
Highgarden was gigantic and labyrinthine, and even with the added help of more Black soldiers coming in from the rose fields, the search was time consuming. The search would have carried on until dusk if it had not been for a traitor within Highgarden's own walls. The traitor in question was a thieving maidservant about seventeen years of age. The maid had taken advantage of the chaos to pilfer Lady Mary's bedchamber of valuables when six soldiers stormed inside. The leader of the group, an Osgrey knight, grabbed the girl by the throat with his free hand and pushed her up against a bedpost belonging to the dowager's great canopy bed.
The maid dropped the ornate jewelry boxes she had stolen to the floor when the knight seized her, and his comrades happily helped themselves to their captive's plunder. As a Targaryen spearman admired a gold necklace studded with round cut pieces of lapis lazuli, the Osgrey knight pressed the bloody edge of his sword against the maid's throat.
"Where's Lady Crane, girl?" the knight growled. "Tell me where she is, or I will cut your damn throat..."
"She's in the godswood!" the maid blurted out. "Lady Mary's in the godswood with her household and some refugees. I can take you there. Just spare my life, please!"
The Osgrey knight grunted and nodded. "Good girl." Relief bled into the girl's frightened expression for only a moment until the knight manhandled her so that she was in front of him, his free hand now holding her left bicep and the tip of his sword brought down to poke the small of her back. "Lead the way. Don't do anything stupid."
The maid, nearly catatonic with fear, nodded her head rapidly and led her captors silently to Highgarden's godswood. As the group of seven marched through the halls for the godswood, the men shouted to their comrades to join them on their journey to confront the Dowager Lady of Highgarden and her household. A force of forty-nine strong (excluding the serving girl) had been amassed by the time they reached the godswood. Terrified shrieks, cries, and shouted prayers for mercy rang out through the trees as word spread that the Blacks were coming. Smallfolk ran for the Three Singers where Mary Crane and her household were congregating at. The people huddling together around the pool beneath the Three Singers were of an eclectic mix of smallfolk and highborn, the unwashed and the perfumed, and the drably dressed and the dazzling.
Dowager Lady Mary Crane stood in the middle of this trembling group surrounded by her women: two handmaids, a maidservant and septa, and a rare female fool who also happened to be a dwarf. Maester Eleison was the only man standing amongst the women, standing between the septa and fool; Mary's household knights closed in to protect the dowager. There were six knights surrounding Mary's entourage and a paltry few able-bodied smallfolk males of fighting age to supplement their numbers. Unafraid of engaging in more violence, the Osgrey knight shoved the thieving maid aside onto the ground and readied himself for more bloodshed; the men behind him were also ready. The two forces were within feet of each other when a voice called out.
"Stop! No more of this! Please!"
The voice belonged to Mary herself, who stepped forward, her knights parting to allow her entry. The Osgrey knight stopped, the men behind him following suit.
"So, you surrender, Lady Mary?"
Mary nodded, a lump forming in her throat, but her next words were uttered clearly.
"Yes. Take me to Princess Baela Targaryen. I will surrender formerly to her. Please, spare us all from harm. Enough good people have died today..."
"Smart woman," replied the knight. He looked over his shoulder and commanded two men to seize Mary.
"Don't worry. Stand down," Mary commanded her knights as two soldiers grabbed her arms.
Wails and moans of despair rose from the gathered women and children as Mary was led away. The Blacks made the knights put down their weapons and shields and rounded up their new captives. The treacherous maid who had led the Blacks to the godswood was dragged off deeper into the woods by the Targaryen spearman who had taken a liking to Lady Crane's gold and lapis necklace earlier. The two of them returned separately sometime later in different states: the spearman flushed with satisfaction and cruel pride, the maid ashen, bruised, and weeping, her clothes and hair in disarray. Draped around the girl's pale neck was that beautiful necklace, a "gift" from her rapist...
Lady Mary did her best to tune out the carnage that was going on throughout Highgarden as she was being taken to Baela. There was also the rapid beating of her heart, but Mary was unsuccessful in tuning out both that and the horrors of war. Baela was where she said she was – standing in the middle of the castle courtyard holding Moondancer's head and touching her forehead (she had removed her helm earlier) against the dragon's face. Franklyn was in the courtyard as well with his arms around his two sons, comforting them and mourning with them over their lost patriarch. Rupert Webber was standing next to a stable ogling Moondancer.
All the men's eyes, including the other soldiers idling in the yard, fell on Mary and her escort when they announced their arrival. Baela lifted her head from Moondancer's and turned around to meet Mary's gaze.
"Release her," commanded the princess.
Mary rubbed her biceps after the soldiers released her, her gaze still holding Baela's. Mary Crane was less than a decade older than Baela and a handsome woman. She was wearing a slate grey dress with black satin sleeves, and Baela was surprised to see how long Mary's brown hair was (not to mention the lack of any noticeable grey hairs); it was braided into two long ponytails that hung over her shoulders and nearly reached her waist. Noblewoman and princess, Andal and Valyrian - these stark differences set Mary and Baela apart, the small common ground the two women shared being that they were both proud mothers and grandmothers. Ten years earlier in that same courtyard, Mary and Baela also shared the same hope that their respective son and daughter would marry each other.
Lyonel had gifted Alyssa with a yellow rose then, and now, if Mary had been given the chance, she would offer Baela a rose of her own. Except she would have offered Baela a white rose in place of the white flag of surrender.
"Lady Mary of House Crane," began Baela abruptly, her voice breaking the silence as if it were glass, "before me and these gathered witnesses, bend the knee and surrender. Bend the knee and submit yourself and Highgarden to the might and authority of the Iron Throne and Queen Rhaenyra I Targaryen. Bend the knee and no more lives will be lost today."
Mary balled her hands into fists as Baela spoke, another lump forming in her throat, another lump that was soon swallowed. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, Mary leaned her head back and looked up at the sky as if searching for divine intervention to arrive at any moment to deliver her from this terrible predicament. None came, and Mary lowered her head back down and gracefully knelt before Baela. The dowager's voice was steady and controlled with no hint of emotion anywhere.
"In the name of my son, Lyonel Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, the Warden of the South, and High Marshal of the Reach, I surrender Highgarden to you, princess, and to the queen."
Baela nodded but said nothing. Word of Mary's surrender spread like wildfire amongst the gathered soldiers, and raucous cheering could be heard all over Highgarden both inside and outside its walls. The Battle of Highgarden was over. Tessarion did not react to the cheering in any way, still mourning over Daeron, whose corpse was still curled up with his beloved Blue Queen. Plenty of relieved and grieving tears were shed amidst the cheering; this Black victory had been hard won with a horrifically bloody cost.
Little did anyone know that one more life was about to be lost that day. Mary looked up at Baela after she surrendered. Baela's face was red and clammy, her bangs stained a dark silver from moisture and glued to her forehead. Those features were insignificant in comparison to the princess's eyes. Baela's eyes were wide, dark, and piercing; something menacing seemed to be radiating from those eyes towards Mary, the feeling of unease she felt was akin to seeing a snake slithering on the ground.
"My lady?" Mary began to break the tension between her and Baela. "What will become of my son? He is still at Horn Hill. Will he be spared?"
Baela raised her eyebrows.
"Will he be spared?" The princess repeated Mary's words back to her. "Spared like my son was at Harte's Watch?"
Mary blanched at Baela's words.
"Ly... Lyonel had nothing to do with that. He took no part in that battle..."
"But he's still a Green, and it was the Greens who killed my son. It was also the Greens who killed my lord husband. The Greens hired a man to kidnap my grandson, but he ended up killing my sister-in-law in front of her children instead."
Baela's eyes darkened with a sinister shadow, the kind of shadow that descends upon land as storm clouds blot out the sun. The princess stepped towards Mary, who rose to her feet and took a fearful step back.
"My lady...," stuttered the frightened Mary. "You have my sincerest condolences for your losses. But -"
"But what?" Baela interrupted snappily. "But still spare your son? Your son? Ha!"
The princess's laugh was shrill and cruel, disturbing all who heard it save for Moondancer. Mary backed away further but found herself blocked by the two soldiers who had brought her here to face the princess in the first place. Baela closed in on Mary, grabbed her left ponytail and dragged her over to her. Mary hissed in pain and reached for Baela's hand, who responded by pulling down on her braid harder, bringing Mary's head down and putting an end to her resistance. The men gathered in the courtyard were stunned by how Baela was treating Lady Crane, but none of them said or did anything to intervene out of fear.
"I will not spare Lyonel, Lady Mary...," growled Baela as she retained her iron grip on Mary's hair. "He will suffer a traitor's death along with all the rest of the Green usurpers. No beheading for the highborn and your son, Mary. Death by fire and blood awaits them all!"
"No!" Mary cried out, fearful for her only son and his family, fearful for everyone who would be caught in the crossfire of Princess Baela's vengeance. The woman's plight seemed to arouse amusement in Baela, for the corners of the princess's lips rose into a wicked smile.
"I killed my cousin Daeron today. Moondancer crushed him between her jaws, and Daeron's blood flowed like water from his body. Fire and Blood. Blood and Fire."
Baela's lips parted to reveal an evil grin. Her purple eyes now seemed black and demonic, insanity burning wildly in the irises.
"Daeron died in blood. It will be most fitting if you died today by fire, Lady Mary!"
And with that, Baela threw Mary towards Moondancer. All the men gasped as the dragon moved and readied herself to kill Lady Crane.
"But you promised that no one else would be killed today, my lady!" shouted a horrified Lord Franklyn in protest. Baela looked up at Franklyn, and her eyes chilled the man to the bone.
"I lied about Lady Mary," Baela replied nonchalantly. Her eyes fell back on the petrified Dowager Lady of Highgarden. "She's an exception to the rule."
Mary, who was trembling more than ever now, rose to her knees, and she looked up to see Moondancer's frightening eyes glaring back at her. The she-dragon slowly opened her mouth, a pale green fire lighting up the back of her throat. Terrified to the core of her soul, tears blurring her eyes, Mary slowly got back on her feet again. If she was going to die, she was going to so on her feet, not on her knees. Much to everyone's surprise, including Baela's, Mary held out her arms as if she was welcoming the imminent agony of burning to death. As Mary awaited her end with her arms outstretched and her eyes closed, she silently recited a prayer in her head.
"Burn her, Moondancer!" commanded Baela.
A torrent of pale green flames shot out of Moondancer's mouth and enveloped the Dowager Lady of Highgarden. Mary fell to her knees and screamed as she burned. Most of the men in the yard looked away save for a horrified few. Baela did not take her eyes off Mary either as she suffered and turned black, the firelight dancing off the princess's mad eyes. When the roar of the dragonfire ceased, and Franklyn and the other men who averted their gaze saw the charred and smoldering corpse that had once been Lady Mary Crane laying in a heap on the ground.
Franklyn's eyes, wide with horror and disgust, met Baela's, which were still dark and wicked.
"Plenty more of that to come after the next moon's turn, I hope, Lord Rowan," was Baela's reply, her tone calm and matter of fact with a hint of excitement. "Plenty, plenty more..."
Franklyn was speechless. Unable to say anything, the man glanced from Baela to Mary's corpse to Moondancer, who raised her head to the late afternoon sky and let out a triumphant roar. The roar could be heard across Highgarden and the bloodstained yellow rose fields. A gentle breeze followed the roar, spreading the scents of roses, fruit blossoms, blood, smoke, and burning flesh. Tessarion paid no heed to neither the roar nor the breeze; she just remained cuddling with Daeron's cold corpse amidst the bloody and charred desolation...
Quite a bloody chapter, huh? I was originally going to kill off Baela, but after reading some reviewer comments, I changed my mind. Give the Blacks a win, Pyrrhic victory as it is. I plan on writing five more chapters after this: three breathers, one appendix, and one more battle, I hope. Those should close out the year 150 AC.
Thank you for reading. I am glad that you are all enjoying my story. :)