The feast was already in full swing when Aerion and Laenor arrived, the Velaryon's extended family and their guests sat down at three long tables on either side of the aisle, and his father and Lord Corlys sat atop the long table at the end of the hall, separated with by a few steps, joined by Rhaenys and Laena to the left of them, and two empty seats to their right.
Aerion moved to the edge of the table beside his father, and Laenor came to join them, sitting between Daemon and Corlys. The table was filled with fish from across the seas, with a mix of beans, onions, spinach, and carrots, accompanied by slices of fresh bread.
He expected the tables to be filled with meats and exotic fruits from across the narrow sea in Essos, as it was in King's Landing, however the food set out before him was modest and not extravagant.
"Glad for you to join us, my prince." Corlys said, raising his cup to him. "Quite the feast we have here, would have been shame for you to miss it."
"I expected nothing less from House Velaryon, my lord." Aerion nodded his head, positioning himself comfortably.
"Did you get lost, my son?" Daemon smirked, leaning back on his chair with a goblet in his hand and an arm wrapped over the back of his chair "Had you left it any longer, we would have sent a search party, isn't that so, Corlys?"
"Indeed." Corlys added "If only you knew how many guests found themselves falling from a high place during their stay." He chuckled, and hit the table a few times, while Aerion rolled his eyes. "I jest of course, boy."
Aerion paid them little attention, and lifted his goblet, watching as a servant girl made her way to him and began to pour the wine from a jug. Her hands were trembling with nervousness, and she spilt a drop of the red liquid onto his wrists.
"Sorry, my prince."
Instead of causing a stir, the prince smiled warmly at the girl and began to wipe his hand against the stain on his clothes, shaking his head "It's quite alright. There is no need to be so nervous, I don't bite." He smirked, and grabbed the jug from her hands and filled his own cup.
She bowed her head respectfully and took hold of the jug once more, making her way back down the table towards Laena and Rhaenys, though Aerion kept his eyes on her, watching as she moved, which gained the attention of Daemon.
"Do you want to have her?" he grinned, leaning in close to him and whispering in the ear "I'm sure Lord Corlys would not mind if you were to have his servant for the night. I can make it happen if that is what you wish."
Aerion threw his father a menacing look "To take that girl to bed would lower myself to your standards, father, it is you who has had so many women that I am sure you can not even count the number, I intend to be better."
"Is that so?" Daemon scoffed, and grabbed a piece of bread from his plate and ate as he kept eye contact, watching him as if he knew an unspoken secret.
Aerion raised his brow, and went to question him further, though Corlys tapped his utensil on his goblet to gain everyone's attention in the room.
"I am pleased to see everyone is enjoying this marvellous feast, but I want to dedicate it to someone who has recently came into immense power." Corlys rose from his seat "Prince Aerion Targaryen! I congratulate you on your claiming of Vermithor, the mount of the beloved Old King, Jaehaerys, and I am honoured to dedicate this feast to you, my prince, for pledging your support as we prepare for war with the triarchy!"
"Prince Aerion!" Daemon echoed, rising from his seat and raising his goblet. The rest of the room followed suit, standing and raising their cups as well, repeating the same words in unison.
A few hours passed and the mood of the hall was beginning to fade as guests made their ways to their respective chambers, and they were soon interrupted by a man stumbling through, dressed in bright silks and fine jewellery, clearly drunk as he tries to make his way down the aisle, grabbing hold of the chairs on his way.
"You're late." Corlys growled as the man made his way up the steps, there was a change in his demeanour immediately upon the man's arrival.
"You have my apologies, Lord Corlys." The man said with a foreign accent, Aerion had heard similar sounding men on the docks near to his home from men belonging to Essos "The seas were rough, my lord, and I joined my men in the brothels, they have fine tits there."
"Mind your tongue in the presence of my daughter." Rhaenys spat, shifting the glare that once laid on Aerion, to the Braavosi.
"Did I say something to offend you, my lady?" there was a grin on the man's face as he moved to sit beside Laena, and he clicked his fingers at the servants "Get me the finest wine, I am thirsty."
"Welcome to High Tide." Laena smiled, though the distain could clearly be heard from her voice "I was so sorry to hear of passing of your father."
"Yes, yes... it was a tragedy, and now those cunts exile me from my lands." The man spat, before running his hand through Laena's hair uninvited "Aren't you a pretty thing, you will make my fine wife, comparable to the prettiest sluts to be found in Lys."
Laena gasped, and both Corlys and Rhaenys looked just as offended and surprised he said such words in their presence, the Sea Snake rose from his chair and slammed his hand down on the table.
"You enter my hall stinking of some back-alley whorehouse and insult my daughter, I will not accept this outrage." He shouted, "You've lost your worth to me, I agreed to this proposal while your father still reigned as the Sealord of Braavos… now you are nothing but a nuisance."
"You gave me your daughters hand in marriage, Lord Corlys. How could you go back on such a thing? I do not know much about your customs, but that is highly dishonourable." The Braavosi replied.
"He wouldn't have to." Aerion turned his focus to Daemon as he rose up from his seat and slammed the goblet down on the table "You should go back to your ridiculous gods and your pathetic whores."
"You dare speak to me in such a way? I will cut you down where you sit! Who are you to insult me?" the man yelled. Aerion chuckled briefly at how quick things had escalated from when the man first entered.
"Daemon Targaryen." He declared "I am brother to the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and I am the true blood of Old Valyria, the same blood that ruled over your pathetic country. You do not deserve to marry such a beauty as is Lady Laena, you are of lesser blood and possess no rank or resource that would be beneficial to anyone."
The Braavosi did not take the comment well. He grabbed his dagger and slammed it into the table, making it shake. "I will not take such disrespect from the likes of you! Our actions will speak for us. I challenge you to a duel!"
Aerion snickered at the unfolding confrontation.
"What are you laughing about?" the Braavosi yelled, glaring at Aerion. Aerion looked at the man for a moment, not uttering a single word.
Finally, he spoke, "I am laughing at you, thinking that you could speak of whores in the presence of your betrothed, and then insult my father without losing your head in the process. You should be glad that my father will be fighting you and not me, for I would make it slow and savour every moment."
They made their way out into the courtyard where the duel was to take place. Aerion seated himself on the wall, wrapping a cloak around himself to keep warm, with Laena sitting beside him with a furred blanket.
"Apologies for this happening. You deserve a fine meal for your accomplishments," Laena smiled.
"Nonsense," Aerion said, shaking his head. "It wasn't something no one had done before. I'd say claiming Vhagar took far more strength than it took me to claim Vermithor."
"Thank you, Aerion." Laena's smile widened, a hint of pride in her eyes.
They each turned their focus to the two warriors as they took their positions.
Daemon wielded Dark Sister, while the Braavosi held an arakh, a common weapon used by Dothraki warriors. It was a curved blade about two and a half feet long with a thick handle. Aerion was curious why he chose that blade over an ordinary sword.
"I took this from a Dothraki I killed," the Braavosi announced, circling Daemon with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Perhaps once I have dealt with you, I will take that shiny Valyrian sword you have."
Aerion observed Daemon's composure, noticing for the first time that his father was completely calm, without a hint of sarcasm or overconfidence that the rogue was known for.
There was a long, tense wait before the Braavosi struck at Daemon. The attack went horribly wrong as Daemon deftly trapped the arakh, catching it at the curve and yanking it away from the Braavosi's hands before throwing it to the ground.
Disarmed and desperate, the man turned to flee, but Daemon was quicker. With a swift and lethal motion, he plunged Dark Sister into the back of the Braavosi's neck, the blade slicing through and emerging from the front of his throat. The duel was over in an instant.
Aerion watched as the Braavosi crumpled to the ground, lifeless and his father stood over him, the victor, his face as calm and composed as it had been before the fight began.
Daemon dragged his blade across the ground as he made his way across to Laena, she had an impressed grin across her lips and seemed gladdened that she would no longer have to wed such a despicable excuse of a man.
"Your betrothed will no longer be an issue for you, my lady." Daemon smirked, and took ahold of one of her hands that laid within the blanket "I have recently found myself free of my own spouse. I ask for your hand in marriage."
"I accept, Prince Daemon," she replied, sharing a small smirk with him.
Aerion rubbed his temple with a finger, then jumped down from the wall onto his feet. He was happy for them, but he couldn't help but feel sad for his own mother, who had been married to Daemon for years, a union filled with hatred.
Daemon remained behind as everyone else returned to the castle and wiped his sword against the sleeve of his arm "You do not intend on staying even the night, do you?" he asked.
"It has never been clearer to me that I have no place here." Aerion said, gripping his hand tightly on the hilt of his blade "I've lost a mother, I have lost my home... and it is you that has come out on top of it all."
"Runestone will be yours in a matter of days." Daemon chuckled, sheathing his sword and then looking back to Aerion with a grin "Besides, as I you've been reminded before, you have benefited just as much as I in these past weeks since your mother's death. You've claimed a powerful dragon, and you now stand as one of the most powerful lords in Westeros."
"Those are hardly –" Aerion began to protest.
"And you've managed to charm your way into bed with the realm's delight... my sweet niece." Daemon said, and his words began to send a strong worry through Aerion. His eyes widened as he tried as he tried to figure out how Daemon could learn such a thing.
"Heh.. I don't know what you speak of, father." He replied, trying to maintain his composure despite the growing anxiety gnawing at him.
"Don't play coy with me, Aerion. I know more than you might think." Daemon's grin widened "I would love to see my brother's face if he was to ever learn that you sullied his precious daughter before her wedding day, it would no doubt cause a stir within the kingdoms."
"Even if what you say were true." Aerion swallowed hard, searching for the right words "There would be no proof to it, neither a witness nor item to convince the king to believe such a thing."
"Had it been any other king I would agree. But it only takes the whispers of your uncles most trusted advisors to turn his back on you and begin to believe the 'lies' being spewed into his ears." Daemon placed a hand upon his shoulder "Fear not, son, I won't be telling him your little secret."
"How do you know?" Aerion asked, accepting the defeat "We made sure to be as careful as could be."
"Did you? Even the walls have eyes within the red keep." Daemon said, and immediately Aerion knew he was speaking of the hidden passages "Had you kept your affair secret, you would not have chosen her chambers or yours as the place to perform such acts."
"And despite you knowing, it doesn't seem that you care as much as I thought you would." Aerion crossed his arms as he looked out across the ocean as the sun set across it "It was you who had your sights on the princess before I… it is you who she had an infatuation with once before."
"Aye, I won't deny it." Daemon's expression lightened "Rhaenyra is a beauty and I longed to make her mine, but if it is you who will ensure our bloodline remains pure, then I will stand aside, and be content with my new bride. Will you not stay for our wedding?"
"Father, you understand why I cannot witness such an event. I wish you the best with this marriage, truly I do. I hope it brings you the happiness you did not have with my mother," Aerion explained. "But I must return to retake Runestone."
"Very well." Daemon replied, "Once the ash has settled, I will join you there so that we may train for the war in the stepstones. Take care, son."
The wind blew against Aerion's face as Vermithor soared over the water on the Vale's coast near to Gulltown. Rodrik was practically clenching his entire body throughout their journey as he sat behind, and wrapped himself in ropes to ensure he did not fall from the mighty beast.
"Wooah" Aerion cheered in exhilaration, as he pulled up on the reigns and veered Vermithor northward towards Runestone. The dragon flew upwards until they were high in the sky, just below the clouds, with Gulltown looking miniature from the air.
"You are mad! Slow this thing down." Rodrik shouted as they were batted with high winds "I am never getting on this monstrous beast again!"
It was another hour before they landed on a steep hill near to an encampment that had been set up a mile from the castle, busy with what looked to be at least a thousand men.
Aerion's nerves had dissipated from when he first climbed the dragon, and now he felt an immense connection with Vermithor, sliding down his wing without a care in the world. Rodrik slowly climbed down by the ropes, he had never seen the man so frightful before.
The prince ran his hand across Vermithor's bronze scales and placed his forehead upon the base of his neck, before they set forth down the steep hill and towards the camp, with three guards wearing the coat-of-arms of House Redfort on their breastplates coming to meet them.
"My prince." The middle guard said, and slowly bowed his head though looked as if he kept his eyes upon the dragon that now created a large shadow across the camp. "May I escort you to your tent? Ser Willam Royce has been awaiting your arrival for some time."
Aerion looked back at Rodrik, who was still feeling dizzy from his first and most likely the last Dragon ride, clutching at his stomach "Prepare the men to march at first light on the morrow, Runestone will be ours before noon."
He followed the guards as they led him through the camp, which was the busiest he had ever seen, their men practised swordplay, and were at work building up siege equipment, from a battering ram to ladders for the walls.
When they came upon the tent, the men bowed their heads once again and stood on either side of the entrance. Aerion opened up the flap and made his way in, Willam was sitting down, his legs crossed and upon the desk, with his eyes closed.
Aerion loosened his belt and began to unclasp the borrowed doublet from Laenor. He watched the sleeping Willam for a moment before slamming his fist onto the desk, causing him to jolt upwards and almost fall from the chair, causing Aerion to chuckle.
"A siege must be mentally draining..." he smirked, watching as Willam came to his senses for a moment and a smile instantly formed on his lips, causing him to rise from the chair and embrace him "I've been gone for a couple days at most." He chuckled.
"Its good to see you healthy, brother." Willam patted his back before stepping back from the embrace "Where have you been? Some of the men said you disappeared from the Redfort during the night."
"I travelled to Dragonstone." Aerion answered "We finally have the power we need to retake Runestone from Gerold without a siege. I claimed my birthright on that island, I am now the new rider of Vermithor, the mount of the Old King."
"Truly?" Willam said shocked, perhaps even in disbelief. Aerion placed a hand on his back and led him over to the tent's flap, and he peaked his head through, seeing Vermithor resting high atop the steep hill. "Unbelievable, he looks even more formidable than what is written in the tales." He whispered.
"And to match such a formidable beast, I have found myself a blade fit for a dragon rider.." he revealed, tugging at the sheathe that held the Valyrian steel sword "Lamentation is no longer the only Valyrian steel sword in our possession."
"What is the name of this sword?" Willam asked, running his hand across the hilt "All the best swords have them."
"Goldfyre." Aerion decided upon, given its golden hilt and the similarities of size it shared with the ancestral sword of House Targaryen, Blackfyre "To the matter at hand... who has committed their forces to our cause?"
"House Redfort ofcourse, and we have supplies from House Grafton. We've received a raven from House Shett." he got straight to the point, holding a piece of parchment in his hand "Lord Jasper prays that we are victorious against Gerold, but is remaining at the Gull Tower with his men." he rolled his eyes, planting the letter down "Coward."
"I would expect nothing less from the old fool." Aerion replied.
"Are we to do anything about it?" Willam asked, taking a seat once again.
"Lord Jasper?" He grabbed the parchment and shook his head "We have Vermithor on our side, had we not then it would be a completely different conversation with what to do with the spineless fool."
"We should take one of his sons to make sure he remains loyal after we have retaken Runestone." Willam said "He has a boy close to ten years of age… Olyvar? No that wasn't it, Marton? Yes…Marton, I need a squire.
Aerion rose from his chair, grabbing a goblet of wine and walking over towards the entrance to the tent, looking through the flap at the busy camp at work, he could see Rodrik in the distance already at work training some of the villagers that were raised.
"There should be more." Aerion took a sip of his wine "If this was any other war, I could raise three thousand men. What makes this so different that I can hardly raise half that number without calling upon allies?"
"You already know the answer to that." Willam walked over to him, resting his hand comfortably upon Lamentation, his own ancestral sword, before a confused look formed on his face "You don't… must I give you the answer?"
"You will regardless of my response." Aerion glanced at him.
"Runestone has belonged to House Royce since before the Andals came, even the smallfolk know of our history, it is passed down through each generation as stories that you tell your children before they sleep." Willam said.
"What point are you making?" the prince said, as he grabbed his black tunic and pulled it over his head.
"You know what I am getting at, Aerion." Willam replied "There are many in the Vale that believe Gerold has a claim because you are a Targaryen, and they do not wish to see the dragons take hold of one of the great houses of the Vale, and risk its history being lost."
"Then they should take up their grievances with my grandfather's ashes. It was Yorbert who wed my mother to a Targaryen, and in Westeros tradition, I took my father's name at birth, so it was he who ruined House Royce, not me." Aerion spat and threw his empty goblet across the tent "When we regain Runestone, Gerold will die by my hand, as will anyone else that questions my claim."
"He is kin, Aerion." Willam turned "Think carefully before deciding such things, to do so will brand you a Kinslayer. Have him sent to the wall, castrate the cunt if you wish, but do not kill him, or that title will remain on you until death."
"What kind of lord would I be if I don't serve justice to traitors no matter the blood, they share with me? My mind is clear on this matter, Gerold will die."
"Reputation has always been everything to us. Do you not remember the stories we would make up as boys? The two of us fighting in this very field, waving our wooden swords around, pretending we were the greatest warriors of Westeros, searching for glory and battling against our enemies." Willam smirked, "Those were good times, and now look where we stand."
"I remember you as the Winged Knight, and I as the Bronze King, battling it out for the Runic crown and dominion over the Vale just as it had been during the Andal invasion." He chuckled, a smile touching his lips "Those were good days… but we are no longer children, and now we make our own legends to be sung a thousand years from now."
"Heh, on that we can agree." Willam replied, and not long after, Ser Adrian Redfort made his way into the pavilion, glancing at them for a moment before uttering a word.
"Did I interrupt your love-making session?" Ser Adrian chuckled, slapping Willam on the back "It's good to see you again, William, how was it serving a fat oaf in the Riverlands? Such a shame that you missed the skirmishes with the mountain clans..."
"A pleasure as always, Adrian." Willam mumbled, and the prince noticed the roll of his eyes, clearly, he did not take a liking to the man "Your army came almost a day ago now, how come you were so far behind them?"
"I re-acquainted myself with a brothel on the way. Willam, you would love one of their sweet brown-haired girls, barely touched." Adrian said, and they were quick to believe him until he began laughing again "I jest, my friends, it took quite a bit of convincing to my father, but I come with another three hundred men. Gods, you both need a sense of humour."
"The time calls for seriousness, friend." Aerion mentioned and rubbed his head "We were discussing our next moves."
"What discussion is there to be had?" Adrian shrugged, making himself at home as he slouches down on a chair "You have a dragon now, my prince, knock down the walls and burn the men inside alive, if there is one thing we all know, its that walls can be rebuilt."
"Aye, they can be rebuilt, but would we not rather find a way out of this with diplomacy?" Willam said "Gerold took control of Runestone when you had no dragon, land Vermithor outside the gate and demand his surrender, and promise no harm will come to him so long as he takes the black and lives out the rest of his miserable life on the wall."
"And if he was to refuse?" Aerion crossed his arms. Willam was always the one of reason out of the two of them, and would do anything to find a way out of conflict with the least amount of lives wasted, judging by the many lessons of tactics they had as children.
"Then we would be going into battle knowing that we tried to make peace with him." Willam responded "Should he not accept, then I agree with Adria, using Vermithor would be a wise action, and amount to less deaths to our forces."
THE NEXT MORNING….
Breakfast was a grim affair of stale bread and bacon burnt to a crisp. It was the worst meal Aerion had eaten in weeks, but he knew better than to expect luxury in a war camp, even as a prince of the realm.
Clad in a mail tunic beneath his plated breastplate, Aerion stood atop a hill beside Vermithor, watching the men begin their march from the camp along the dirt path toward Runestone. Jory soon climbed up to join him, carrying a leather flask of ale.
"Never enter battle without the taste of ale on your lips," Jory called out, handing the flask to Aerion. "In the North, our warriors drink the night before facing wildling incursions, saying it might be their last chance to enjoy it."
"You're a welcome sight, Jory," Aerion said with a smirk, taking the flask. He took a sip and instantly pulled away, coughing at the strength of the ale. "I thought you might have abandoned us, fled back to King's Landing or White Harbor. It's good to see you've stuck around."
"And miss out on a chance for lands and riches that would otherwise never be mine?" Jory replied with a grin.
Aerion chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're a bold man, Jory. I'll give you that. Most would have run by now."
Jory settled beside him, looking out over the marching troops. "Bold or just too stubborn to know better? I suppose time will tell." The two men shared a laugh.
"Are you missing that simple life?" Aerion asked, with a playful glint in his eyes "All those thrilling nights as a gold cloak on the city walls, enjoying a beautiful girl at the end of every shift?"
Jory grinned, taking a swig from the flask before passing it back. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing like chasing petty thieves and breaking up tavern brawls to get the blood pumping." He shook his head. "It was an easy decision to trade that life for one by your side. It's not every day a Northman is asked to protect a prince, though I suppose you can handle yourself."
Aerion landed outside the gate of Runestone after setting off on Vermithor not long after his talk with Jory. The mighty dragon growled at the bowmen, who looked as if they were going to soil their breeches. Vermithor towered over the walls, his massive form casting a shadow over the battlements.
Aerion's eyes met those of one of the bowmen. "Send Gerold out now," he commanded "You have only minutes before I command my men to attack and these walls become ash."
The bowman, eyes wide with fear, nodded frantically and rushed down from the walls and across the courtyard, into the great hall, all of which Aerion could see above Vermithor.
"Be prepared, Vermithor. You may just have the taste of blood soon," Aerion murmured in the dragon's tongue, his hand stroking the beast's rough scales, and Vermithor's growl rumbled through the air.
A voice rang out from the ramparts above the gate, between the two towers. "So glad for you to finally show your face, cousin."
Aerion's head snapped upwards, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the treacherous snake, Gerold. Rage surged through his veins, and his grip on his blade tightened. The sight of Gerold's smug expression only fuelled his fury.
The prince's eyes burned with fury as he addressed his cousin. "Gerold, lay down your arms and surrender. I offer you a chance to live, despite your treachery. Take the black and join the Night's Watch. This is the only mercy you will receive from me, and it is only offered because we are blood, and Willam insisted."
"You expect me to throw away my life and take the black? To live out my days in disgrace? I would rather die a thousand deaths." Gerold sneered.
"Consider your position carefully, cousin. Refuse this offer, and you will be facing the wrath of Vermithor. These walls will fall, and you will be amongst the ashes when I am done." Aerion's jaw clenched, and he raised his voice
Gerold glanced nervously at the enormous dragon, But his pride was too great, and his stubbornness too deep-rooted. "I will not bend, nor will my men. If my fate is to burn, then so be it. I will not yield to you, Aerion."
Aerion's eyes narrowed, a cold finality settling over him. "So be it, Gerold. You have chosen your path."
With a swift motion, Aerion signalled to Vermithor. The dragon reared back, a deep, rumbling growl emanating from its throat, and the bowmen on the walls quivered in terror.
Vermithor's massive wing unfurled, and with a powerful sweep, it crashed into the castle wall to the left. Stones and debris flew as the wall crumbled under the force, creating a gaping hole.
"Dracarys." Aerion commanded, raising his hand and watching as Vermithor responded immediately, unleashing a torrent of flames that engulfed the men before him. Their screams filled the air as the fire consumed them.
The prince spotted as Gerold made his way across the courtyard to hide within the walls of the keep, causing him to laugh "Run while you can, Gerold!" he screamed, knowing the man could not hear him.
"Vermithor, hold." Aerion commanded, and the dragon paused, its fiery breath simmering. He then made his way down from the dragon, and to his men, as they made their way from their positions only a few hundred feet from the keep. "We advance."
They went through the breach, and he unsheathed Goldfyre from his belt, walking through the courtyard, watching as their enemies burned to death from dragon flame, with screams that could be heard miles from the battle.
Aerion cut down anyone who came in his path towards the keep, until he finally reached it, and shut the great doors behind him, and made his way down the hallway towards the great hall, where his traitorous cousin was sure to be.
Gerold was found, slouching on the throne, with his hands on each of the stone arms "I commend you, Aerion, you have achieved victory over me."
he shook his head and whispered something to himself that Aerion could not hear, though he moved further towards him, making sure to keep a tight grip on Goldfyre.
The fear was clearly setting into Gerold, and his boldness was fading "I've reconsidered my position, I agree to your demands to take the black."
"No, you don't. You said it yourself out there on the walls." Aerion let out a conniving chuckle, pointing back towards the door "You will never bend to me, is that not what you said? Let me have a guess, you wanted to feel powerful in front of the men, and yet you sit there, upon my throne."
"I won't fight you, we are kin after all, despite everything that has happened." Gerold continued.
"Is that so? I finally have the power to end your miserable life and now you want to make peace, where is the man that rejected my terms on the wall?" Aerion chuckled "You betrayed me, your own blood, and in doing so, you insult my mother, who loved you dearly."
"Do you accept my surrender?" Gerold asked.
"Unsheathe your sword," Aerion demanded, his voice cold and final. He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his blade.
"Aerion, this isn't the way. We can still—"
"Enough!" Aerion's voice cut through the air "You speak of surrender now. But this never would have happened if you did steal Runestone from me."
Gerold rose slowly, unsheathing his sword "If this is the only way, then so be it."
Aerion laughed harshly. "Spare me your regrets, cousin. They will not save you now."
Aerion lunged at Gerold, their swords clashing with a resounding clang. The duel began with swift, calculated strikes. Aerion fought ruthlessly, driven by rage.
Aerion pushed Gerold back with a flurry of blows, his strikes growing more aggressive and desperate. He deflected a strike from Gerold and countered with a powerful slash, drawing blood from Gerold's arm.
Gerold landed a few blows, but each strike seemed to fuel Aerion's rage. Aerion's relentless assault forced Gerold on the defensive, their swords clashing again and again, echoing through the grand hall.
Aerion's eyes burned with intensity as he pressed his advantage, forcing Gerold to retreat step by step. His strikes were precise and unyielding, each one intended to end the fight. He could see the strain on Gerold's face, the weariness in his movements.
With a sudden burst of strength, Aerion broke free from a sword lock, knocking Gerold off balance. Seizing the moment, he struck with a powerful blow that sent Gerold staggering, but he recovered quickly.
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left; Aerion launched a ferocious attack that drove Gerold back toward the throne. He parried a strike from Gerold and countered with a powerful slash that knocked Gerold's sword from his hand.
Gerold stumbled, momentarily disarmed, but he soon recovered, grabbing a hidden dagger from his belt. Aerion saw the move and reacted instinctively, dodging the dagger's thrust and delivering a powerful kick to his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Aerion held the sword at Gerold's throat, the blade pressing just enough to draw a thin line of blood. They stayed in that position with no words spoken between the two of them, until footsteps echoed from beyond the doors and some of the men arrived from the courtyard.
"Take him away," Aerion commanded "I want him lined up outside with the other prisoners, it time to send a message to the rest of the realm."
They made it outside of Runestone, where the prisoners had been lined up and Vermithor watched from a small distance away, though soon came closer as Aerion commanded him to.
Gerold was knelt on both knees tied up in the middle of a line of the traitors that decided to surrender, and Aerion had a clear smirk on his face to be seen.
"Your name will be tarnished when you kill me, Lords of the realm will whisper 'Kinslayer' behind your back." Gerold says with a chuckle.
"Well I certainly hope they say it front of me, for I care not about that title anymore, in fact I will relish it, for it will remind me each and every time it is said that I killed you, and how I got great enjoyment out of it."
He pulled Gerold out from the line of prisoners, grabbing him by the collar as he moves him about like a dog on a leash.
"Everyone, listen." he said, getting the attention of the men who remained to view the execution. "This man here was my cousin, and yet he has proceeded to betray me, let him be a reminder that I care not whether you are my kin, I will destroy each and every one of those who stand against me."
He pressed his dagger against Gerold's throat, and before he was about to slit, he suddenly stopped, and shoved him back into the line "A slit throat is too painless a death for you, let you burn with all the others." He whispered.
"VERMITHOR!" he yelled as he took a few steps backwards "Dracarys!"
Vermithor gritted his teeth as he looked to the prisoners, rising up and a the flames from his throat were enough to terrify the prisoners, before they were each engulfed in Dragon flame, each of them dying a painful death, and bringing an end to his traitorous cousin, who's screams could still be heard even after death in his mind.