A/N: And now we move on to the siege of Tyrosh itself.
Thanks to filipinosberman and Ascalon on SB for beta-ing.
Chapter LVII: Broken Fates, Part III
29 AC
Second Moon
Tyroshi Mainland
Visenya Targaryen
Within a captured Tyroshi Fort, Queens Visenya and Rhaenys stood before the gathered Westerosi generals, a map of the layout of the island-city of Tyrosh displayed on the table before them.
"Our acquisition of the mainland was easy enough, but attacking the island is where we've encountered severe resistance," Visenya pointed to the island walls, moving several tokens in place, "Not only do we face heavy fire the moment we're within range, they even have their best admirals attacking our fleets with highly advanced tactics. Due to the sheer attrition we've suffered, we've been forced to call off further attacks to minimise losses."
"We have, however, managed to obtain crucial information on an artefact that they use to transport their troops outside their barrier," Rhaenys said, pointing to a marked 'X' on the nearby mainland, "From what we can tell, they warp troops between two separate points over varying distances in large numbers but require two such artefacts at two points to perform this feat of magic."
"That would explain the sudden appearance of reinforcements out of nowhere, especially as more of their nests were being destroyed," Arin commented, "They must have a massive one within Tyrosh City itself."
"Aye, and that means they will defend the city to the death," Brandyll nodded, "Do we have any reports on exactly how the supposed artefacts work, Your Graces?"
The Targaryen queens shook their heads.
"This is completely unfamiliar territory for our magi, I'm afraid," Rhaenys informed.
"If I may, Your Graces," Edmund stepped forward, "What guarantee do we have that this artefact will work as intended for us, or that they do not have a trap waiting to be sprung?"
Many officers shared murmurs of agreement, and neither the queens nor anyone else could bring themselves to counter his argument, fears and disdain of magic aside.
"Lord Gardener presents a valid point," Arin added, and all eyes were on him, "And yet, much as I despise admitting it, we have no other option for a quick resolution to the siege of Tyrosh."
"With all due respect, Lord Rada, I thought you said this would be a longer war, that it will not conclude so easily," Edmund pointed out, much to Arin's chagrin, "Surely you would want to spend time finding another way to breach Tyrosh City?"
"It's never good to spend too long fighting any enemy, especially the Midnight Scourge, Edmund," Arin argued, "They're already beginning to match our tactics, and chances are that the more they improve, the more casualties we'll sustain, and then we won't have the manpower to fight the forces of Myr, Lys and Braavos."
"I must second Lord Rada's opinion as well," Rhaenys interjected, "Remember how swiftly they improved from being a ragtag mob into an army of levies."
Many lords bit their lips at the horrendous losses they suffered, and dozens of minor houses were extinguished in the clashes with Tyroshi forces alone in the past few months. Any longer and they feared the war would become untenable.
"Which is exactly why I advocate taking this risk, Your Grace," Arin concluded.
"Many will die, even if this plan succeeds," Visenya contended.
"Many have already died, Your Grace," Arin countered, "Men always die in war, and that is exactly why we must not needlessly waste their lives; lives expended for little to no gain are a fool's endeavour worthy only of endless hatred and derision. And should we reach a point in time where Tyrosh becomes more of a liability than a benefit to us, it'd be better to outright demolish Tyrosh to the last stone. Kill the weed and pull out the roots so thoroughly that it may never grow back to spite our efforts."
In light of such conviction and pragmatic logic and eager to shorten the duration of the war, all shared nods of agreement with his words.
"Then it is decided; we shall take the artefact and attempt to storm Tyrosh from within," Visenya nodded.
"What is the strategy, Your Grace?" Said Orys, the weathered man peering hard over the Tyroshi tokens.
"As stated earlier, the Tyroshi artefact is stationed in this fortress here, so we must storm and take it with all necessary speed," Visenya began, moving a few tokens near the marked 'X', "Queen Rhaenys will ride atop Meraxes and scorch the fort's defences to clear the way for our troops. In the meantime, we keep the men of Tyrosh City occupied with a direct assault by air and sea. Maegor, you lead the dragons and continually make passes at the barrier, unleash as many gouts of dragonfire as necessary."
"As you command, Mother," Maegor beamed with pride and enthusiasm.
"Orys, have the Royal Fleets engage the Scourge's fleets and focus on whittling down their numbers as much as possible while preserving ours," Rhaenys added.
"By your command," Orys bowed.
"The rest of you, get ample food and rest. Tonight, we will strike," Visenya ordered, "Elaegelle, please stay behind.
Maegor gave Visenya a questioning look, but Visenya silenced him with a pointed glare, forcing him to grit his teeth and desist. The rest milled out of the war room one by one until only the three were alone.
Once they were alone, Visenya quickly embraced Elaegelle with a mother's love, kissing her on the cheek.
"Are you alright, my dear? How has Lord Rada been treating you?" Asked Visenya.
"He treats me with all due respect and decorum, Mother," Elaegelle smiled.
"I should thank him for helping us to raise you," Visenya said warmly, "You have shaped up to be a fine leader."
"He merely gave me a helping hand, Mother," Elaegelle smiled softly.
Visenya nodded, then said, "Elaegelle, how would you like to return to Daro Villinion (King's Landing) once this campaign is over? We have so much to catch up on."
"I'm certain you have plenty of stories to tell. Your time in East Point, the friends you made, maybe some mischievous adventures in your youth?" Rhaenys said suggestively, causing Elaegelle to roll her eyes.
"No, I'm fairly certain her experiences in war are far more interesting," Visenya pointedly stated, "After all, I'd love to hear how she climbed her way to her current rank and position."
"How nice of you to want to learn my more embarrassing moments in life," Elaegelle said dryly.
"And this next siege will no doubt be your stage to shine, dear daughter," Visenya smiled, "I have to ask though, is Maegor's attitude proving a problem?"
Elaegelle frowned, but did not look overly concerned, her shoulders relaxed and her eyes focused.
"He acts calm and polite, but he does tend to act like a petulant child when things don't go his way," She calmly informed, her words lacking any forced calm or underlying fear, her tone like that of a nanny complaining about a spoilt child, "In fact, he's determined to attain glory at the expense of mine."
Visenya sighed heavily, a knowing look of resignation on her face, "I know he's always been the quarrelsome kind, and too proud to admit his own faults."
"He does not matter anymore," Elaegelle shrugged.
And every word she spoke was the gods'-honest truth. What was the Game of Thrones to her when she had what she wanted from being fostered in Dorne? She was free and happy there, and would lose everything going back to the capital.
"Are you certain, Elaegelle?" Asked Rhaenys with concern, "If he tries something detrimental, please let us know."
"Of course, Mother Rhaenys," Elaegelle assured.
"For now, get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day," Visenya suggested.
Elaegelle nodded, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."
As Elaegelle left, once she was certain no one was watching her, she let out a shudder she held in.
Maegor… Why does it always have to be Maegor…?
It was a lie to say Maegor no longer mattered to her; she yet harboured lingering scars from the methodical abuse under Maegor, and though she no longer cowered in fear of him, it was a far stretch to say he did not intimidate her. At the very least, she was no longer overtly intimidated, merely slightly scared deep within.
I love Mother just as any of us do, and yet Maegor was also mother's favourite due to his martial strength and pride - one that blinded Mother - since Mother herself said he was worthy of riding Vhagar.
She subconsciously clenched her hand, willing her emotions to still.
No point worrying about it now; all I need to do is do as I've always done, lost glory be damned.
IIOII
The next morning brought a fresh wave of bloodshed as the Iron Throne's forces and the Midnight Scourge clashed at the designated fortress where the artefact was located.
Queen Visenya and the dragon riding scions of House Targaryen were at sea, subjecting Tyrosh City and the Scourge's fleets to constant bombardment of dragonfire while Queen Rhaenys led a scorching of the defending Scourge forces, culling the Scourge's numbers while the main force led a determined attack, pushing slowly with every inch bathed in oceans of blood from both mutant and man.
"Hold the line! Maintain formation and focus fire on the largest clusters!" Arin ordered, swinging Dawn as the ancient sword smote down the minions of darkness.
Tegio formations held firm as knights and other cavalry forces conducted sorties, relieving pressure on the front lines and wreaking havoc on the enemy magi and archers. Light and dark magic clashed in bright shows of rainbows and shades of grey.
The hordes pouring forth from the fortress were seemingly endless, a tide of flesh, bone and ebon armour surging forth like a floodgate being opened, torrential waters threatening to wash away all who swam against the current. For most armies, it was a horrendous situation with terrible odds stacked against them. For eager gloryhounds or experienced veterans, it was a battle with good odds to win, a chance to carve their names into the annals of history.
For the men of Westeros, it was a do-or-die battle to remove one of the four hostile Free Cities as a contender, to free up valuable manpower for other fronts across Western Essos.
The Sand Dragon Regiment fought hard on the front lines, its cavalry pushing their steeds hard in a bid to maintain top speed over their enemies, but the enemy's numbers soon proved too much for their current steeds to handle, and at Elaegelle's horn blow they retreated to safety, where the troops took a quick rest and their steeds exchanged for fresh ones.
"Damn, these bloody mutants keep streaming out like locusts!" Jamaqhor complained, gasping in relief after chugging down a cup of water, "And they're fighting much harder and faster than we're used to! Those Scourge soldiers and mages as well!"
"That's when you know they're defending a crucial objective," Ser Jaehaerys wiped the sweat from his face using a towel, "And would you ever take the easier way out?"
"Hah! As if! It's a great day to spill the blood of slavers, puppets or not!" Jamaqhor exclaimed happily despite his exhaustion, then downed another cup of water, "Oh, that hits the spot."
"Get as much rest as you can, regardless," Jaehaerys smiled, "The battle's still raging and will rage for at least a few more hours."
"Can't say no to that," Jamaqhor shrugged, "What're we going to do about that artefact though? You think it might be a trap?"
"I can't say," Jaehaerys said with creased brows, "Quite a number of our commanders are concerned about the possibility, but it's also the fastest way into Tyrosh City if it works as intended."
"I don't like this, relying on a magical artefact from our enemies," Jamaqhor grunted.
"Neither do I," Said Jaehaerys, "And yet this is the way forward."
After some well-needed rest, the cavalry of the Sand Dragon Regiment returned to the fray, swords sharpened, quivers restocked and lances at the ready.
"Charge!" Ser Jaehaerys bellowed.
The cavalry pummelled their way through the enemy formations, yet they had to take care to avoid being caught in kill-zones designed to take down formidable cavalry such as theirs. While months of experience taught the Sand Dragon Cavalry reflexes and knowledge that saved many lives, a good few nevertheless lost their lives in the process.
"They've definitely gotten a lot smarter fighting us," Jamaqhor commented, slashing an enemy captain with his Saoidhar, "And their tegios are hard to hit without artillery with all these bodies in our way."
Several boulders and barrels sailed through the air before landing upon the enemy formations, the former crushing hundreds into gory pieces and the latter immolating hundreds more in bright plumes of yellow-green flames. The mutants and soldiers cared nothing for the flames, marching straight through them and charging to their deaths in a bid to immolate their enemies as well by contact. The tegios pulled back, archers focusing fire to take them down.
When the enemy momentum did not stop, the Westerosi tegios withdrew to put distance between them and the Midnight Scourge, bypassing specific spots indistinguishable to the naked eye.
The Scourge continued their mad charge, and in their fanatic zeal they managed to cost the Westerosi a few scores of troops who stayed once they caught fire, willingly consigning themselves to death to avoid harming their comrades. And soon, their zeal worked against them, the ground giving way to reveal spiked pits beneath. Thousands fell to their deaths, and they continued charging regardless, stepping over the corpses of their comrades and adding to the kill count.
Elaegelle, shooting arrows astride her horse, saw this and gave the order.
"Throw the pots, now!"
Colonel Vilarr blew the horn, and soldiers threw clay jars into the spiked pits which, upon breaking, erupted in yellow-green fire that consumed piles of corpses whole.
"Focus volley! Don't let up for one second!" Elaegelle ordered, then cursed as she reached into an empty quiver, "And signal our logistics teams to restock our arrows!"
"Embrot!"
Queen Rhaenys atop Meraxes swooped down upon the Midnight Scourge, an angel of death come to render judgement upon the heathens.
"Dracarys!"
Judgement came in white, hot fire.
The battle continued to rage on, and thanks to their tactics and consistent artillery barrages, the Westerosi held firm and maintained their position. The Midnight Scourge, on the other hand, was continually bled dry, and soon their numbers began to dwindle noticeably.
And finally, at long last, the stream of troops trickled to a miniscule drip.
"Now! Signal the men, we counterattack!" Elaegelle ordered.
With an enthusiastic smile, Vilarr blew the horn in three crisp notes, and the entire army surged forward. Artillery battered down the gates of the fortress while Meraxes scorched the ramparts clean of enemy presence.
"Can you detect the artefact?" Asked Elaegelle.
"Yes, Your Highness," Said the Arcanist, channelling a little mana to show a trail of light leading deeper into the keep.
"Follow me!" Elaegelle bellowed.
The Sand Dragon Battalion stormed into the keep, mercilessly eradicating all resistance in their path as they followed the trail of magic. They reached a room deep within the keep of the fort, large enough to accommodate a flow of hundreds of hundreds of troops. The artefact in question was a giant circular piece of wood, supported on a solid base and glowing a maleficent black, the reflection of a perverted Tyrosh City bathed in shadow clear on the glowing face.
The Black Robes who tried to stop them were slain on the spot, too few to mount an effective resistance, too weak to react accordingly.
"That is it, the artefact," The Arcanist reported.
"Can you inspect it for any traps, just in case?" Asked Elaegelle.
"We can try, but I cannot say how long it will take," Said the Arcanist.
"Please work as fast as you can; the battle depends on us," Elaegelle gently ordered.
"By your will, Your Highness," The Arcanist bowed.
Yet suddenly, Elaegelle felt her heart throb, and all of a sudden time seemed to slow down around her.
"Hear me, Elaegelle Targaryen, my chosen champion…"
What the… Am I hearing things?
She noticed her marked hand glowing a crimson red, a glow that gradually grew in intensity. Nearby troops stopped to look at her hand, which Elaegelle raised subconsciously.
"Take my power… and bend this artefact to your will!"
The voice thrummed with power and authority, speaking with the nigh-immortal will of an ancient god that existed since the dawn of time. Each syllable made her body tremble with fear and awe, and her throat went dry, unable to mouth a response. Under a strange compulsion, Elaegelle outstretched her hand, and tendrils of crimson power stretched out from her hand into the gateway, two invisible forces fighting for control of the artefact.
Swiftly, the pool of light reflected in the gateway changed colour from midnight black to crimson red, and as the tendrils subsided, Elaegelle felt a sudden bout of light-headedness and was caught by Ser Jaehaerys from falling.
"Your Highness, what just happened? What did you do?" He questioned.
"Nevermind that right now, the gate's ours!" Elaegelle quickly said, "Through the gate! We must hurry!"
"You heard Her Highness!" Vilaar prompted, "Through the gate, now!"
Training and discipline took over, and the Sand Dragon Regiment along with the Westerosi main force went through.
IIOII
Tyrosh City
"Impossible, how could we lose control of the gate!?"
The demon that possessed the host body of Vogar Brenaar snarled once he sensed something amiss in the direction of the gateway. An alien power wrested control of the gate, subverting it and allowing the Westerosi troops to stream into the city almost unopposed.
Transforming into his true form, he flew up high in the sky and sneered at the Westerosi troops who fought hard and pushed deeper into the city itself. Armies issued forth and spread to all four corners of the city, some troops storming the walls and aiming for the mages and pylons that held the barrier together.
The empowered servants of the Midnight Scourge, the Berserkers, clawed their way through the troop formations like a giant, their heightened strength and reflexes and natural resistance to magic making them highly formidable foes few mortal soldiers could match.
Here, several captains would make known their name, daringly attacking the Berserkers with well-timed gambles using either martial strength or tactics to gain an edge.
Elaegelle used the latter, trapping the Berserkers in kill-zones and then firing arrows or stabbing them straight in the skulls.
"That girl… I have never thought the Chosen One of Balerion would manage to mature so much as a general," Vogar muttered, "She is becoming much too dangerous."
He went deeper inside the Archon's Palace, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the Westerosi, smirking evilly.
IIOII
The moment they took the first steps into the city, the men of Westeros were horrified at what the city had become.
Spires of obsidian rose high into the sky, feeding the barrier that protected the city with tendrils of black magic oozing out like pus from a blister. Tied to those spires were half-dead captives, their life force feeding the barrier. Along the streets were massive nests forged of flesh, birthing new mutants into the world in the Lion of Night's greatest mockery of life.
Elaegelle saw this and felt a righteous anger burning deep within her heart - a fire of vengeance.
"Destroy the mockeries of life, and end the life of the Lion of Night's Servant!"
She would have it no other way.
"Men! We move on the black spires! Take them down and the dragons can scorch the nests clean!"
"Aye, Ma'am!"
Whilst the main part of the army engaged the Scourge's soldiers who rushed to intercept them, the Sand Dragon Regiment worked to destroy every single last one of the spires scattered throughout the city. Large and imposing, they were ridiculously easy to find by sight as they towered above all other structures save the city walls, and with each one they destroyed, the barrier grew weaker.
From high in the sky, Visenya could see the barrier beginning to dim, flickering from time to time.
"Mother! The barrier grows weaker!" Maegor informed eagerly.
"I can see that!" Visenya stated, "Maintain concentrated fire on the barrier and do not relent!"
As it turned out, the Sand Dragon Regiment did not need to destroy every single last spire; the relentless bombardment of dragonfire put immense pressure on the barrier itself, and soon, it collapsed by itself as the spires cracked, then broke and exploded, and beams of black light shot up into the sky as ethereal screams of relief rang out like a dragon's roar.
With nothing keeping the dragons from entering, the Targaryen dragon riders went to work scorching the nests and all other clusters of Scourge troops within the city itself, hastening their efforts.
"Go to the Archon's Palace, the Servant awaits you there."
Once again the voice beckoned her. Once again, she found no reason to refuse.
"Sand Dragon Regiment, we march on the palace," Elaegelle ordered.
It was now time for the final confrontation.
IIOII
Archon's Palace
When Elaegelle and his men reached the council chambers, that was when things started to go wrong.
Packed in such a tight space, Elaegelle's men were ill-prepared for the ambush the Servant sprung on them, as several Berserkers emerged from hiding and began attacking with wild abandon.
Colonel Vilaar and Ser Jaehaerys were by her side, fending the ambushers off, but the Servant lunged for Elaegelle and knocked the breath out of her, pinning her to the ground and grasping her neck in a vice-like grip. She tried punching him, but all she achieved was a bruised hand as if she were punching a brick wall, the Servant himself never budging an inch.
Seeing this, her captains tried rushing to her rescue, but the Berserkers were too many and too dangerous for them to take their attention away, forcing the Sand Dragons to focus on them instead.
"Nice try, girl. You will need more than this to best one of the Lion of Night's Servants."
Elaegelle felt her consciousness fading from lack of air, her vision gradually blurring.
No, I can't fail like this, not like this!
Then the throbbing came again, stronger than ever. She felt her anger boil like an active volcano ready to erupt, the veins in her neck vibrating with tension that made the Servant pause. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire as bright and hot as the sun itself, and her arms filled with strength.
Red mark pulsating, she placed her marked hand on the Servant's face. Immediately, he began screaming in anguish as the sound of sizzling flesh was heard, and he leapt back while cradling the burnt side of his face.
"What is this…?"
Elaegelle leapt forward, brandishing her own sword in retaliation and forcing the Servant to materialise his own cudgel in defence, a large metallic monstrosity that was deceptively lightweight despite its great size and the Servant's skinny stature.
When sword and cudgel clashed, the sheer force behind every blow created a sound as loud as a ringing Sept bell, and both Berserker and Sand Dragon winced badly as they tried to cover their ears. The former were more badly affected, and the latter used the chance to rebound and retaliate, eager to keep them from interfering.
"Fight on, men! Not one of them takes a step closer!" Vilaar roared, swinging his battleaxe.
Slicing her hand, Elaegelle cast a burst of Bloodfire at the Servant who quickly dodged, but part of his robes were singed badly. The Servant tried feinting a strike, but Elaegelle saw through the deception and deftly dodged an overhead blow with a sidestep, slicing his cheek.
What is this…? My body feels so alive! My blood sings and my heart beats like a drum, is this normal?
"Enough! This ends now!"
The Servant cast Elaegelle through the windows, flying after her. As she flew in midair, she saw the Servant speed towards her with cudgel in hand, eager to end this duel once and for all. With a contemptuous swing of her sword, however, she smashed the cudgel to pieces, shocking the Servant who stared at her with wide eyes.
"Impossible!" He exclaimed.
It was her turn to speed towards him, sword impaling his chest as they fell towards the earth like a falling meteor. They crashed onto the ground with a thunderous impact, and the Servant bore the full brunt of the impact while Elaegelle was unharmed. Staring dumbfoundedly at the sword in his chest, he looked at Elaegelle and trembled in fear.
His body crumbled to ash, and Elaegelle breathed a sigh of relief as the adrenaline of battle left her body.
Looking around her, she could see her fellow Westerosi still engaged in battle with the Lion of Night's Servants, though they were now decisively winning as the tide turned in their favour. Scorched remains of flesh were visible for leagues around, no more mutants emerging like hungry rats.
She saw Vhagar land in front of her, Visenya quickly dismounting, yet as she tried to speak to her, a sudden wave of fatigue washed over her mind and body, and she soon blacked out.
It would not be until three days later that she learned the battle was won, and all Tyroshi lands now under full control of the Iron Throne.