A/N: This turned out to be a bigger chapter than I planned, but we are moving along to the next phase of the war.

Thanks to filipinosberman and Ascalon for beta-ing.

Chapter LVI: Broken Fates, Part II

29 AC
First Moon
Disputed Lands
Maegor Targaryen

Maegor Targaryen was displeased.

Several months had passed since the ill-fated mortal wounding of his father at the hands of the Black Robes who worshipped the Lion of Night, and they were no closer to bringing them to heel, with them being forced to fight their formidable magi and mutant hordes.

And over the months that followed, these Black Robes had begun to adapt and evolve their tactics accordingly; they began to equip mortal followers with crudely forged or looted equipment and sent them as part of massed charges or as bodyguards for the magi, and their officer-equivalents directed units that formed formations with limited precision.

However easy they were to kill they enjoyed near-limitless numbers, and over months of constant skirmishes with Westerosi forces, several enemy officers began to display tactical acumen on par with the average Lordly veteran, and their forged arms took on better quality - stronger, more durable and less likely to snap. In some cases, overeager lords, knights and other manner of glory-hounds or incompetent officers were slaughtered at the hands of these increasingly sagacious tacticians. Even worse, these soldiers of the Black Robes showed no fear or any concept of Human emotion - totally bereft - as if bred solely for the purpose of war.

He watched as several black-clad soldiers clashed with his infantry from atop his dragon Aphakukuk, son of Vhagar, swords clashing with swords as a wall of steel confronted a hodgepodge of levies.

Pulling on his reins, he deftly avoided a bolt of black hurled his way, glaring at the magi who scrambled to fire again.

"Embrot."

At his command, Aphakukuk swooped down from up high like a hungry animal, and the Black Robes on the ground quickly cast their hands up high.

"Dracarys."

Aphakukuk unleashed a heavy gout of flame upon the magi before flying up, gaining distance and swerving to avoid being hit by another spell. Ordinary men would have no defence against fire hot enough to melt rock, but the Black Robes managed to survive, a black barrier deflecting the dragonfire.

"Hmph, they can't keep this up forever," Maegor mused to himself, "Even if they could, it's only a matter of time until my cavalry overwhelms the enemy infantry."

Right on cue, Targaryen cavalry issued forth with a thunderous applause of hooves, lances lowered with steel tips gleaming in the sunlight. Too committed to the frontal clash, it was too late for the enemy troops to react, and they were mercilessly mowed down from behind, allowing the Targaryen infantry to push back and envelop them, culling them to the last.

Then the distant moaning of a horde reached his ears, and he narrowed his eyes to see two more enemy forces approaching his army. The nearest, he could easily deal with and keep the magi on him as a distraction, but he had no time to spare dealing with the other.

And I'll be damned if I let my proud army suffer defeat.

He would just have to work them all faster.

Aphakukuk flew downwards in several passes, dodging a hail of spells and unleashing gouts of dragonfire upon the hordes that charged towards his infantry, each pass scorching hundreds of enemies to ash.

"Dracarys!"

He could not help but smile at his dragon's power - at his family's power. Each burst of fire was like the opening of a dam, a great burst of power and exhilaration that made his blood sing with ecstasy. He would never give it up, such was his utmost desire.

"Dracarys!"

He thirsted for war, longed for battle, all in a bid to prove his mettle as worthy successor to his family's legacy.

And yet that weakling Aenys is the firstborn and not me, that meaningless cur whose greatest strength is letters and numbers! How my blood boils…

"Dracarys!"

Another gout of flames incinerated the last of the mutants, and now he could turn his attention to the magi who pelted him with little pebbles from afar like naughty children. He also saw that the other army was getting closer, and he did not know how long it would take for him to overpower the enemy magi.

"Damn these rats…"

Then he heard a horn blowing, and he saw another army encroaching towards the Black Robes, one that was counted among his allies.

The banner he saw, however, made him grit his teeth.

"That dragonless bitch has come, hasn't she…?"

The Sand Dragon Regiment deployed into formation, pummelling hard into the mutant hordes and enemy infantry like a landslide while flying the sandy yellow banner of a dragon's head up high with pride. Cataphracts aided the Targaryen cavalry and added momentum to their charge, while spearmen and swordsmen provided support and broke up the enemy formation, archers and mages providing cover fire.

Elaegelle was there, riding atop her steed Endrusys and cutting down foes with her Valyrian Steel longsword with a practised ease, Ser Calderon by her side with a retinue of Paletillian Knights. Colonel Jamaqhor led the horse archers, directing them to harass the enemy magi and pick them off when their barriers were down. Colonel Vilarr led the tegio formations forward, relentless as a lion, unyielding as a mountain.

Arcanists erected barriers of their own, deflecting enemy spells and returning fire, working with Valyrian sorcerers as if they were natural allies.

Elaegelle's men performed as well as his. Slightly better, in fact. He will give them that much. And yet his pride was injured at the fact the youngest scion of House Targaryen was now becoming successful and accomplished in her own right, potentially outshining him and the rest of their siblings.

I'll tolerate this for now. Just for now.

Together, they worked to slaughter the last of the enemy resistance, mowing down all they could; any survivor that escaped could come back to haunt them another day, and mercy was no option.

"Victory! We have victory!"

And the Paletillian forces cheered for victory.

IIOII

"So I see that your army has expanded again, Colonel Elaegelle," Maegor commented atop Aphakukuk, his emerald scales gleaming like polished gems.

"It's Brigadier-General now, Prince Maegor," Elaegelle said stoically, her face betraying nothing.

"Ah, you were recently promoted again, yes," Maegor narrowed his eyes, his chin tightening, "I suppose congratulations are in order."

Elaegelle narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

"In any case, you have my thanks for aiding us in this battle. Your swift arrival prevented more casualties among my men," Maegor said.

Inwardly, Maegor wanted to puke for saying such words.

"I was given orders by Mother to come to your aid," Elaegelle stated, "I was otherwise preoccupied with clearing out one of their nests, and was just informed of the presence of another nest deep within the hills to the north of our position."

"That would explain the inordinate amount of mutants we fought here," Maegor nodded, "I take it you will be accompanying us for this as well?"

"It is my mother's orders," Elaegelle answered.

Maegor scoffed inwardly, "Very well, take us there."

Maegor never missed the discreet glare Elaegelle sent his way, and that of Ser Jaehaerys and all her captains. It was as if they were warning him: "Do not cross Her Highness."

He clicked his tongue, then took to the skies.

IIOII

"So that is the nest there? I can already smell the stench."

"They took over another village and put all its inhabitants to the sword, so they have all the raw materials they need."

The two armies came across a ruined village, the burnt husks of houses charred black and a forest of impaled corpses visible from the walls, erected from amalgamations of pulsating flesh that stank of rot and attracted swarms of flies. In the heart of the village were towers of flesh, blister-like growths pockmarking their surfaces.

The horrific sight was too much for some of the newer troops to stomach, retching where they stood. Others tried to cover their noses with cloth or fingers to no avail.

"Such pitiful defences are no match for my might, or the might of my dragon, but the Black Robes will certainly not give this nest up without a fight," Maegor commented, "I doubt they'd sacrifice months of progress for nothing."

"I don't deny that, but I also doubt they'll simply allow Aphakukuk to torch their painstaking hard work," Elaegelle added.

"You think me so unfamiliar with their trickery?" Asked Maegor.

"I am simply offering you advice, if you will have it," Elaegelle answered, evenly matching his gaze.

Maegor scoffed, then said, "We take down this nest, one way or the other."

"Then let us commence the battle," Said Elaegelle.

With a curt nod to Elaegelle, Maegor roared to his men, "Attack! Burn down that nest no matter what!"

Infantry charged up the hill, the magi casting spells against the ramparts and causing the flesh walls to erupt in flames. Bolts of magic came flying in return, easily nullified by Aphakukuk making passes along the top of the walls, scorching them clean of all life.

Cavalry were the first inside the town, but here they began to notice something strange.

"What is the matter? Why have you stopped?" Asked Maegor as he landed on the ground, seeing the confused faces of his cavalrymen.

"Your Highness, the nest is empty," The leader of the cavalry explained, "There's no one coming out to attack us."

"What? But we experienced an attack from the ramparts," Maegor pointed out.

"Those were mere foci designed to attack those the Midnight Scourge deemed enemies, Your Highness," A sorcerer explained, "Though I must admit, this is rather strange."

"Yes, they won't ever leave a nest undefended, unless…"

Elaegelle's eyes widened as she realised the enemy's aim.

"Everyone, out of the village, now! It's a trap!" She bellowed at the top of her voice.

Her troops obeyed without question, beating a swift retreat from the top of the hill.

"Do as they do! Evacuate the village, now!" Shouted Maegor.

Maegor's army did the same, their horses and feet carrying them as fast as they could. They did not dare stop for a single moment, even when they were a league's distance from the abandoned nest.

Then it happened.

A great flash of thunder sounded in their ears, and they all beheld a burst of flame that extended outwards like a mushroom-shaped cloud, a wave of heat and a rush of air threatening to throw them off their feet.

"Wha-!"

"Get down!"

The rush of wind subsided as quickly as it came, yet the heat remained, and the soldiers stared dumbfoundedly at the sight. If they had delayed their retreat just a second longer…

"To think those cretins would willingly bait us into a trap… I underestimated them," Maegor frowned, "Regardless, we have your quick thinking to thank, Brigadier-General."

"Do not mention it, Prince Maegor," Elaegelle said evenly, "Though this means we have another thing to worry about."

"I shall forward this information to our Mothers and the other commanders of our forces," Maegor said.

"Yes, please do so," Elaegelle nodded, "So what do you propose we do now?"

"We've achieved our objective, one way or another, so we report back our success," Maegor suggested, "Then we pick our next target and attack there."

"Sounds good," Elaegelle shrugged, "Let us depart immediately."

Maegor grumbled at the loss of glory due to the enemy's antics, though a small consolation was that Elaegelle too was denied hers. He would have to settle for this.

The next time we fight, I will be the one to attain the glory and prove myself my father's heir!

IIOII

Tyroshi Mainland
Brandyll Tarly

The men of Tegonia (The Reach) thundered against the levies of the Midnight Scourge [1] as the knights earned their glories, blood irrigating the fields of Tyrosh. Due to lacking magi of their own, they had to rely on help from Dornian and Paletillian magi and the occasional Druid from Gosmerch to supplement their deficiencies.

"Send in the 4th battalion to support the 5th battalion, and have the 3rd cavalry regiment circle around to the rear!"

Brandyll's orders were crisp, fluid and precise, directing his troops like moving pieces on a chessboard.

"Milord, enemy reinforcements to the south! They bring a regiment's worth of regular infantry!"

"Send the 2nd and 3rd battalions to intercept along with a score of allied magi!"

With speed befitting the Black Fox's armies, the men of Tegonia swiftly marched towards their objective, blocking the enemy's advance like a wall of rock against a tidal wave. Despite their reservations, the Andals of Tegonia fought hand-in-hand with magi as if they were long-time allies, their coordination top-notch like a well-oiled machine.

"Milord, squads of enemy cavalry closing in on our headquarters!"

Edmund grit his teeth and hefted Thornbite, raising it up high.

"Men, with me! We halt their advance!"

He was halted by a hand from Brandyll.

"No need, My Lord. We have a trap in place," He explained.

"Truly? What kind?" Asked Edmund.

Black-clad cavalry emerged like an encroaching shadow, horse and rider silent with lances lowered. Their eyes were focused like a predator's, yet lacked both life and emotion, mindless machines like the mutants and infantrymen that served the Midnight Scourge.

Closer they approached, and both pikes and crossbows made ready, the latter pelting the riders with disciplined volleys. Scores fell, yet they charged without a care for their lives, and their unnatural speed meant most bolts missed their targets.

And then the trap was sprung.

"Raise the barriers!"

Spiked traps were raised from the ground, and the enemy riders were too close to stop their momentum by the time they noticed. Scores of horses were impaled upon wooden stakes, and pikes quickly began stabbing at their opponents while crossbowmen shot them down at point-blank range.

Before long, the enemy cavalry was surrounded and annihilated to the last, and the headquarters was safe.

Edmund Garderner could only watch in amazement at the prowess of one of Tegonia's top generals, the man himself wielding Thornbite [2] - the Bloodhand's blade.

Amazing. So this is the man who served by my father's side… a general who earned the recognition and respect of both the Bloodhand and the Black Fox, the Hero of Tegonia.

Yet Brandyll sighed in exasperation, as if dissatisfied by the results they obtained. Edmund sympathised with him, feeling the same way.

"This war has been a long and painful one so far," Brandyll stated, "And it will become even more painful as time goes on."

"Lord Rada always said that he never likes long wars, because the longer the enemy fights your armies, the more he's able to learn your art of war," Edmund voiced, "And the Midnight Scourge is doing just that."

"As of now, they fight on the equivalent of a regular army of levies, but who is to say they will not show the same skill as the Lockstep Legions of Ghiscar?" Brandyll suggested, "And then there's the matter of their magi who can easily pose a threat to the Targaryen dragons. At least we're making progress, however slow it is."

"I would personally prefer this war go faster, so we can be done with all this heretical magic that should never exist," Edmund admitted, "Fighting with proper steel and muscle? That is more like how a battlefield should be."

"As you say, My Lord," Brandyll nodded in agreement.

A cold gust of wind blew over the battlefield, and both Lord Paramount and General saw an entire battalion turn to solid ice from an unseen force, faces transfixed in stupefaction as a sheen of bluish white wreathed their entire bodies. Then they were promptly shattered by Northmen cavalry, their bluish steel making short work of the enemy's magical protections.

"Yet another force of magi I would rather do without," Edmund commented, "Though ironically enough, I'm also gladdened by their presence, even if they are Northmen."

"Northmen under the command of Eckard Blodfeld himself," Brandyll added, "A man with both a titanic amount of ambition and the talent necessary to turn mirage into reality."

Eckard Blodfeld's armies had rapidly distinguished themselves as radically different from the Northmen armies of old; well-supplied, modern and professional in their conduct in both war and peace. Their strategies were fluid like a stream yet horrifyingly devastating as a tidal wave, and their Winter Steel equipment, enchanted with the magics of the First Men, proved capable of directly dispelling the evil magics of the Midnight Scourge.

"I will give the men of the Neck this much: They know how to fight," Edmund commented with both skepticism and grudging approval, "Makes you wonder just how much they had to sell themselves out to others to gain the resources and money those Crannogmen needed."

"For them, just one person," Brandyll countered, "And I believe you can guess who."

"...Arin Rada," Edmund muttered.

Edmund held both respect and suspicion for Arin, always unsure of his true motives, always wary of his next move. The only things he knew about the Black Fox were that he was a highly meritorious person who preferred that a person attain results through his hard work and the other by making proper use of the people by his side.

"You know that Eckard was the one who approached Arin first, based on what our agents could gather," Said Brandyll.

Edmund grumbled under his breath but said nothing.

"Has he made any other moves so far? Anything to be concerned about?" Asked Edmund.

"None whatsoever, My Lord," Brandyll replied, "If anything, he's making sure to not stand out too much while others gain their glory. Eckard Blodfeld, on the other hand…"

"I've heard many rumors that he's the source of increasing contention between him and the other Northern lords," Edmund said, "It's plainly obvious during our war council meetings with Lord Stark and his commanders."

"And that is where the line is drawn between Lord Blodfeld and Lord Rada," Said Brandyll, "Whereas Arin is content with what he has, Eckard continues to aim for more, building up the economy and military of the Neck until it has become a kingdom in its own right. What's more, his industries are being expanded at a neck-breaking pace with all the trained craftsmen at his disposal - all conducive to his growing wealth."

"And his navy?" Asked Edmund.

"Close to coming on par with that of the rest of the North combined," Brandyll stated, "They've already scored many victories on their own and proved invaluable to their allies."

"And what of his allies in the North? Surely he has converted a few greedy people here and there," Edmund commented, "I don't know much about these Northmen, only that while they deride southern politics they play their own game like the rest of us."

"Every court has its politics, no matter the face," Brandyll nodded, "And to count, Eckard is already making deals with Houses like Forrester, Karstark, Mormont and even Bolton."

"House Bolton? Surely those man-eating flayers make for poor allies? And here I thought Houses Forrester and Mormont count among the most loyal vassals to House Stark."

"Considering Eckard's ambitions, I would surmise he plans to use them, and then once they serve their purpose, he will dispose of them to avoid further trouble," Brandyll concluded, "For Houses Forrester and Mornont, however, trade seems to be the only feasible goal, if I read him right."

House Bolton's flaying ways and its consistent rebellions against House Stark's authority made it one of the most problematic houses in all the North (Sonaria), and it once held the title of Red Kings as rulers of their petty fiefdom before House Stark defeated and dethroned them in their unification campaigns. For an upstart house like Blodfeld, the ancient lineage of Bolton stood in steadfast opposition.

That is, unless they made a deal that allowed them to get back at House Stark, one way or another.

House Forrester relied on its Ironwood trade to make ends meet, yet due to recent reforms by other Northern houses in a bid to improve their trade and thus become less reliant on House Blodfeld, they were struggling to find buyers for their ironwood stocks. House Mormont owned only a small island, and they were forced to confront the reality that their noble lineage and prestige was no longer sufficient to secure them their rightful place in court once other houses began reaping greater profits, and thus found themselves cut out of several lucrative trade deals especially with their lack of a trade navy.

House Blodfeld was their saviour, providing them lucrative trade offers and other benefits in exchange for concessions; they had to grant unimpeded access to their caravans with no tariffs levied upon their goods.

As a result, House Mormont was able to upgrade to a stone castle and proper ports capable of housing galleons while House Forrester invested in infrastructure and various industries, allowing them to catch up with other houses.

House Karstark, on the other hand, refused to entertain House Blodfeld's trade offers, seeing them as little more than an upstart house trying to subsume all others and pose a threat to their noble standing and prestige.

"Of course, this is all just pure speculation on our part, nothing that warrants any real investigation on our part," Brandyll suggested, casting a knowing glance towards Edmund which the Lord Paramount shared, "And I highly doubt he has any interest in trying to extend his claws into Tegonia (The Reach)."

"Yes, just speculation," Edmund repeated, "Well, I suppose whatever plans Eckard is cooking up in his mind, we can only wait and see."

Brandyll nodded in agreement.

By now, the battle was concluded as the last of the enemy resistance fled from the battlefield, and the men let out a jubilant roar as they scored another victory. Just then, a messenger bearing royal colours arrived, falling to a knee before them as he presented a sealed scroll.

"Milords, Her Grace Visenya Targaryen has called every nearby commander for a war council meeting to discuss the siege of Tyrosh City," Said the messenger.

Breaking the seal and opening the scroll, Edmund and Brandyll quickly inspected it, then shared grim nods.

"Tell Her Grace we are on our way posthaste," Edmund said.

"At once, Milord!" Said the messenger as he mounted his steed and went on his way.

"No rest for the wicked," Brandyll muttered.

"No rest indeed," Edmund nodded.

[1] Midnight Scourge - The name the self-styled cultists of the Lion of Night called themselves, their sigil an eclipse over a field of white.

[2] Edmund wielded Thornbite as both tribute to his father and to continue the family's legacy as warrior kings.