A/N: And now, the final climax of the war arc itself, which will soon be followed by the aftermath.
Thanks to Wobb Nox, filipinosberman and Ascalon on SB for beta-ing.
Chapter LXI: Broken Fates, Part VI
29 AC
Twelfth Moon
City of Lys
Arin Rada
The Iron Throne made great strides in their conquest of the Disputed Lands as the war raged on, though mounting casualties from both the Midnight Scourge's relentless adaptability and mastery of foul sorcery forced even the most foolhardy commanders to be more prudent with their strategies and troops.
In fact, there were so many dead in the battlefields that they simply could not bury them all in time before rot started to take hold of the corpses, and so the Targaryen Queens made the highly controversial decision to burn the dead in mass pyres to prevent the spread of disease.
Once again, there was an uproar among the Septons who remained comfortably at home in Westeros, who never saw the gritty realities of war and wanted the flimsiest reason to criticise the Targaryens. For those who served alongside the troops, however, there was shared reluctant acceptance, believing that allowing the dead to rot or worse, be reclaimed by the fanatics, was an even worse fate than death.
Septons and Septas gave their reluctant support, leading fervent prayers to the distraught as they came to terms with fighting the walking dead. Upon seeing the sheer carnage and devastation wrought by the Midnight Scourge, they decried them heretics most foul, demons of the darkest pits of the Seven Hells deserving only of death. They readily helped bring casualties to safety, administered spiritual healing and rallied hearts that faltered in battle.
However, the serving clergy would also grow resentful of the Most Devout and other high-ranking Septons back in Oldtown, who lounged on luxurious cushions of silk and feathers and regularly feasted on fine Arbor Red and tender sherbert. They would complain, quietly at first, before their resentment was shared among the soldiery and even nobles who felt alienated that the highest-ranking Septons would not participate.
And that was to say nothing about the Druids of Gosmerch under House Blodfeld and the Hydromancers among the Dornish armies.
Thus a seed of schism was sown, one that would soon bear fruit.
Their allies in Daeria (Volantis) and Bareelooryger (Summer Islands), hearing the horrid stories that filtered from Essos and partly convinced by Westerosi diplomats, lent economic and military aid to the war against the Midnight Scourge, eager to prove themselves to their allies and benefactors and earn greater clout with the rising power in the west. Their elites, the Max-Wuadok and Kivezakinadian Guard, distinguished themselves as masters of war and not the glorified bodyguards others derided as in hushed whispers, and their generals were equally intrepid and courageous as the finest knights of the Reach.
As with all other participants, they suffered their fair share of setbacks and losses as they adapted to fighting the Midnight Scourge and their foul magics. And more than once they had to rely on coordination with their Westerosi allies to learn from or avoid the same mistakes the Westerosi once made in the war.
With their help, they were able to push all the way to the cities of Myr and Lys, blockading and bombarding them for an entire week before the final assault.
Theon Greyjoy, Firstborn Son of Vickon Greyjoy and Iron Captain of the Ironborn Reavers, snarled as he saw the corrupted Lyseni put up stiff resistance against his men, slaughtering scores of Reavers as they mounted a determined attack upon the city walls. The stench of foul magics, of blood and sacrifice permeated the air like nightsoil pools, wrinkling his nose.
"Is this Lys the paradise, a city dominated by rich and wealthy merchants where trade is an honourable practice and where its pillow houses produce some of the finest courtesans the world over?" Theon muttered to himself with muted disappointment, "Don't care much for fat, corpulent pigs, but seeing this paradise fall to these zealots… Makes me wish I came here to sample their goods one last time. Wouldn't mind a few salt-wives with their particular looks so I can say I fucked those dragon-riding cunts aboard my ship."
Lys as a mercantile city made a fortune in the slave and pleasure trade, though it housed a significant number of industries - shipbuilding especially - that allowed the city to flourish economically. A tempting target for all denominations of pirates and raiders looking to plunder soft targets to fatten their pockets.
Now that seemed to be in the past tense, and one that it may never reach the heights of if they dare return to such businesses.
To mollify the Ironborn and put them to the test, they were given the task of subduing the Lyseni navies and blockading the island and then sieging the city, accompanied and aided by contingents of Stormlanders and Daerians who kept a close eye for any sign of disobedience and betrayal.
"Talking to yourself, boy?"
Vickon Greyjoy stepped forward to observe the battle unfold, the Ironborn furiously storming their section of the walls in coordination with their allies assaulting other sections of walls. The old Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands had seen better days, walking with a pronounced limp due to an arrow in his right knee, his posture more hunched and haggard and his face caked with wrinkles, yet his eyes maintained a steely gaze of defiance and greedy ambition, as was befitting of all those destined to pay the Iron Price.
"Just wondering how mighty cities like Lys could fall so easily," Theon mused, "A damn shame, too; I recall how delicious their courtesans were."
"Always treasure your good memories, boy; you never know when they're memories for good," Vickon reminded, "Though I admit, it's a real shame hearing what happened here. Seeing it in person, I feel the Midnight Scourge to be more detestable than the Targaryens."
"The fact they ruined such a great city?" Asked Theon.
"The fact they plundered it before we could," Vickon clarified, his grumpy smile a reflection of wounded pride.
"Cheer up, Father. At least we can make them pay the Iron Price," Theon smiled as he hefted his axe, "The best part is no one will say anything about us plundering a city already devastated by the Scourge."
"Aye, that is the best, and I sincerely hope the Drowned God will appreciate such a gluttonous offering today," Vickon smiled back, licking his lips.
They heard a dragon roaring overhead, and both father and son grimaced at the sight of a mighty dragon scorching the ramparts of the city walls in several passes, whittling down the defenders and easing the Ironborn's invasion. Said dragon landed right in front of the Greyjoys, who became even more recalcitrant to deal with the rider himself.
"Lords Greyjoy," Maegor Targaryen greeted, "I trust the siege progresses well?"
The pompous arrogance and grisly face of Maegor always made the Greyjoys stand on edge, the prince known to be extremely quarrelsome and stubbornly set in his ways. The fact he was assigned as overall commander of the Lys expedition force was as much a measure to trust and mollify him as it was a warning aimed at the Ironborn.
"Yes, My Prince," Vickon answered, "I am pleased to report that thanks to your help, our passage into the city has been eased considerably, and we should have the palaces by the end of the afternoon."
"Splendid," Maegor said, though he never smiled, "I hope you keep to your schedule."
A blast of black fire erupted like a volcano, a brilliant plume striking the heavens for all to see. A winged demon approached with rapid speed, too fast for the troops to get away.
"Dracarys."
Maegor's command sent a bright jet of hot flames towards the demon, who had to swerve away at the last minute to avoid being incinerated. Drawing his sword, Maegor gave another command.
"Sōvēs!"
Zaekos [1] took flight, eager to do battle with the winged demon. Fast and agile like the wind, Zaekos was able to keep pace with the winged demon despite its large size, and whenever Zaekos had the demon in his sight, he unleashed a gout of dragonfire that nearly scorched him within inches if not for the demon's matching speed. Maegor, unwilling to let Zaekos do all the work, cut his hand to unleash brief bursts of Bloodfire.
However, the demon proved to be no novice to fighting, his movements hardly wasted and his timely manoeuvres prevented him from meeting an early death. Feints and dodges were his mainstay tactics, but at times he conducted a daring charge towards Maegor, his claws managing to wound him and cut through his armour.
"Vēzot!"
Zaekos flew upwards at high speed, a speeding arrow piercing through the clouds. Though the demon followed close behind, it maintained distance as if expecting a trap.
"Embrot!"
And Zaekos plummeted downwards, charging towards the demon like a falling boulder. The demon evaded the plume of dragonfire and a swing of the claws, but Maegor angled his sword at the last moment, slicing the demon's abdomen.
"Agh! How dare you!?" The demon cursed.
Maegor responded with another charge, this time unleashing a late-timed burst of Bloodfire. He managed to singe the demon's wings, but in the process suffered a laceration across his arm.
"You damned demon…!" Maegor grunted out.
As the battle progressed and both sides became increasingly battleworn, there remained no clear winner; Maegor stubbornly refused to lose the duel out of pride as a dragon prince and eldest scion of House Targaryen; the demon had his pride as one of the most powerful servants of the Lion of Night.
And when two stubborn and arrogant enemies with nary a tolerance for losing clashed, there was only one way it would end.
"You think you dragonlords rule the land because of your dragons!? We are eternal, ancient, born when the world was first created! We ruled the world before we were sealed away, when your people were mere sheep farmers scraping by to survive! Without your dragons you are mortal men doomed to die!" The demon roared, lacerating Maegor's face and drawing blood.
"House Targaryen has endured for thousands of years when our ancestors first discovered our dragons! And when the Doom was to come, our ancestor Daena foresaw it and ensured our house's survival! We shall survive now and for centuries to come, long after you and your ill-fated kind perish from the face of this world, and I shall be the one to bury you beneath the earth!" Screamed Maegor, plunging his sword deep into the demon's arm and drawing high-pitched screams.
Having had enough, the Demon ripped apart the chains holding Maegor to his saddle, and dragged him off and pushed him to the ground at a rapid descent. Maegor's sword flew away, and he was left with only his hands. He struggled to keep the Demon from burying his claws into his face, yet as the demon said, he was just a mortal Human and thus lacked the strength to properly hold off the Demon's grip.
"When I claim your skull, I shall fashion it into a cup and drink deeply of your failure!" The demon roared.
Then Zaekos came to the rescue, chomping on the demon's wing and causing him to lose his grip in pain. Maegor promptly broke free, pushing free and making a swimming motion to create distance.
Then Maegor spotted his falling sword, and adjusted his posture to freefall faster towards it. Just in the nick of time, he grasped it in his hands and turned around…
…To stab the demon clean through his wretched heart.
Before his eyes, the Demon burned with fire, screaming to the heavens and hells like a choir of burning demons, before crumbling to ash.
Maegor managed to remount Zaekor mid-air, adjusting to fly back into the sky mere moments from certain disaster. He gripped his reins tightly, letting out a breath he did not know he was holding until now.
"By all the Izulampari, I've never had such an intense fight until now…" He muttered.
Despite his close brush with death and intense fatigue, he felt a smile of satisfaction come to his face, one that only grew wider the more he thought about it.
"At least I've an achievement to match Elaegelle's," He slyly muttered, "I won't let her outshine me…"
The siege of Lys would quickly conclude in the absence of its supreme commander, and the remaining Scourge troops were mercilessly exterminated. Once the city was declared totally under control, the Stormlanders and Daerians went to work cleaning the streets and rescuing what prisoners survived in the jails, though the poor Lyseni who survived would never again be the same. Under very strict instructions, they refrained from plundering on pain of death.
As for the Ironborn, as reward for their ferocious fighting and the selfless sacrifice of thousands of Reavers over the course of conquering the City-State, they were rewarded with a heavy share of the treasury once the Lyseni nobility's vaults were found and plundered. All discipline and restraint was lost upon the Ironborn, many valuable pieces of jewellery and expensive silks looted and purses fattened.
The Daerians and Stormlanders looked upon the Ironborn with disgust, shaking their heads and getting back to work.
The city of Lys, however, was in terrible ruin, and its facilities were so badly damaged it was months before they could make use of them.
Then news arrived that the city of Myr had also fallen and its occupying forces dealt with, demon included, slain at the hands of none other than Arin Rada with Dawn in hand, his legendary battle atop a pillar of water the most magnificent thing to see. Not long after, Pentos fell to the repeated onslaught of the Targaryen Queens, who scorched the nests clean of all taint to prevent more mutants from being born in a mockery of the life cycle.
With those cities gone, the Disputed Lands were now firmly under control of the Iron Throne, and they could finally turn their full attention on the City of Braavos, the last stronghold of the Midnight Scourge.
IIOII
Lagoon of Braavos
Arin Rada
He stood upon the deck of his ship, gazing upon the eerily calm waters of the City-State of Braavos as mariners worked to pilot the ship and prepare for the upcoming conflict. For the Hydromancers who accompanied the fleet, all they could do was act as emotional support - as chaplains [2] or so Arin described - or as fellow soldiers with sword and arrow, their powers sadly holding no dominion over the ocean water.
As the grand finale to this bitter and brutal campaign, the full naval might of the Iron Throne and its allies was thrown into the Lagoon of Braavos, all battle-tested and fully equipped and repaired in preparation.
"You're being far tenser than usual, My Lord."
Arin turned to face Huang Xue, the Yi-Tish strategist gracefully aged in the years since he first entered his employ. His hair remained as black as midnight, his eyes sharp and energetic and his face only slightly wrinkled. And as he spoke, he maintained his signature sly smirk.
"Well, we are invading the Scourge's last stronghold, of course I'm tense," Arin responded, "No telling what nasty surprises are waiting for us."
"At least the three winged servants of the Lion of Night are gone," Huang Xue offered, "Though conventional wisdom dictates that skilled, sagacious enemies will conceal a last, nasty surprise at the very end."
"And that's what I'm worried about," Arin said, "Fighting the Reachmen was far easier than this unknown enemy."
"No one likes unknowns, My Lord," Huang Xue agreed, "And yet Heaven is not so gracious as to always allow us to fight what we are most comfortable with."
"No, it never is," Arin admitted, "How far from the city are we?"
"Roughly twenty leagues, My Lord," Huang Xue informed, "And to think we have not encountered a single enemy since we first sailed past the ruined Titan of Braavos [3]..."
At that, the two shared a knowing look of alarmed realisation, and Arin was quick to give his next order.
"Have all ships tighten formation and prepare for an ambush!"
Coloured flags were hoisted and bells rung across the Dornish fleet, and the same message was relayed to the other allied fleets. Preparations were quick, but not quick enough, for at that moment the trap was sprung.
Hideous, half-rotted things of flesh and shadow sprung up from the lagoon's waters, wrapping ships in a deathly embrace and crushing them in a shower of splinters. Many sailors fell into the waters, trying to swim for safety only to be dragged down to a watery grave, pools of blood forming where their bodies once were. Smallfolk, mercenary, noble, all were equal before the watery jaws of death.
Screams of alarm rang out as the fleets tried to ready scorpions to fire, and they achieved some success in killing or wounding some of the beasts, but they were faster than the scorpion crews and dragged some off from the ships into the water. Jars of wildfire [4] were thrown at the beasts, and to their satisfaction they found the substance highly effective in scorching and scaring away the waterborne predators. Mages and dragons swooped in and fended them off, and dozens more were slain, incinerated or brutally mauled to pieces.
Some tried to climb into the ships using their tentacles, and while normal weaponry could wound them, only magically enchanted weapons could hope to kill them.
"Get off my ship!" Arin roared, thrusting Dawn into the maw of a hungry mockery of an octopus.
It promptly screamed and immolated in a burst of black fire before tumbling into the water.
"Huang Xue, stay close to me!" Arin ordered.
"As you say, My Lord!" Huang Xue affirmed, his back firmly against Arin's.
Elaegelle swooped in upon Castenkair, the azure-scaled dragon eager to spill blood at the command of its bondmate.
"Dracarys!"
And at her command, brilliant gouts of indigo-coloured flames ignited the oceans, scorching far beneath the water surface and killing the demons hiding within.
"Elaegelle always makes the most dramatic entrances, even though she never intends such," Huang Xue remarked smilingly.
"Don't we know," Arin shrugged, "Anyway, our formation's a mess; tell our men to focus fire and take them down one at a time."
"Aye, My Lord," Huang Xue, "Might I also suggest that we communicate to the dragonlords to stay within seeing distance of the fleets at all times?"
"Yes, please do that," Arin nodded.
IIOII
?
It was time.
After countless millennia of slowly weakening the seal, he was finally ready to taste freedom for the first time. Languishing in boring captivity was an unpleasant prospect he wished to avoid at all costs.
"Perhaps I should deal with Arin Rada first… that brat certainly has a talent for causing quite the unexpected upsets where least expected."
He gave a throaty chuckle, sanguine and sophisticated in tone, yet no less evil and monstrous.
"The Champions of Rhoynamhari and Balerion will rue the day they dared interfere in my plans."
And with a single punch, the seal was shattered.
IIOII
A heartbeat reverberated throughout the world, one received with ill-foreboding.
The animals retreated into their safest havens, eager to flee this enormous predator; the birds chirped as if wailing for their imminent demise, the fish swam as fast as their fins could carry them, and all others felt a sudden bone-chilling fear that shook them to the core.
"What is that?" Asked Huang Xue, white-faced with fear and apprehension, an alien expression on his face.
"Nothing good," Arin said, equally fearful and uncertain.
And from the city of Braavos itself, an earthquake rumbled that caused several small tides to form, tilting many ships but not enough to capsize them. Then, from where the Sealord's Palace used to reside, a giant being of black skin - a man's body with a lion's head - emerged like a worm from its burrow in the ground, shattering the palace to smithereens. A truly colossal being, he towered above even the famed Titan of Braavos by a full head.
All who looked upon the Lion of Night trembled in fear, even the most stout-hearted warriors faltering with just a glance of the god himself.
Raising his hands high in the air, the Lion of Night proclaimed: "Tremble, mortals, for the Night itself comes to swallow the dawn!"
As if to emphasise his point, the Lion of Night cast bolts of shadow towards the allied fleets, annihilating entire battlegroups in a single blast.
"Get away now! We can't take on that monster!" Arin roared at the top of his voice.
Brave or not, no living being in the allied fleets could hope to take on a living god, and no weapon in their arsenal could scratch him in the slightest.
And discreetly, Arin prayed from the bottom of his heart.
O Mother Rhoyne, O Udohanar, any god that hears me, please come and help us.
And then he heard a voice in his mind.
We have heard, and we shall answer.
A brief magic circle flashed at the Lion of Night's feet, and there were glowing chains fixed onto his body, pulsing with a light that made the Lion feel slightly disoriented. Then, from the lagoon's waters came Rhoynamhari herself, a sword in hand. From the skies a rift opened, red as blood, and a mighty dragon of gleaming ebon scales emerged.
"What is this…? The Mother Rhoyne and the Father of All Dragons come to face me…?" The Lion of Night snarled, "Never would I have imagined that two mortal enemies would unite against me… I'm impressed."
"We were enemies once, but no longer," Balerion growled, "Not after what you did to my people."
The Lion of Night laughed uproariously, a sickeningly eerie sound to listen to.
"Don't make me laugh," He said.
"Flame and water both," Mother Rhoyne replied, "The very essences of life. We stand against you, the scion of death. If you will not keep to your realm, then we shall guide you there. By force if necessary."
Mother Rhoyne launched her first attack, her sword swinging towards the Lion at lightning-fast speed. The Lion of Night raised an arm to block it, but he suffered a laceration that made him step backwards in bewilderment.
"I see… so that is how it is…"
Balerion attacked next, firing fireballs of crimson red from its maw in rapid fire, circling around the Lion like a hawk circling its prey. At times it would charge in, swiping claws or chomping down and forcing the Lion to defend itself on occasion. Rhoynamhari would use her swordsmanship, deftly avoiding attacks and slicing at gaps in the Lion's defense.
While the battle of the gods raged, the allied fleets sailed to put as much distance between them and the gods as possible, eager to avoid being caught in the crossfire.
And then the Lion of Night roared, pouring as much power into it as possible. Some died of fright on the spot - primarily Andals - while others managed to stay alive somehow.
"Do not think you can win!" The Lion challenged, "Even if your fellow gods weaken me, I am still beyond-agh!"
The Lion clutched its bleeding eye where Rhoynamhari sliced.
"Enough!"
With a powerful punch to the gut, Mother Rhoyne was sent careening backwards, coughing up blood. Balerion was blasted by magic, and while a barrier protected him from the worst of the damage, he was wounded severely and likewise incapacitated.
"You pitiful gods are not enough to stop me!" The Lion bellowed, "I am the Lion of Night, and I claim dominion over this world!"
"Claim dominion over this," Balerion countered.
He fired a brief burst of fire, a straight beam that gouged out the Lion's remaining good eye as he staggered backwards in pain, and it was all the distraction Mother Rhoyne needed; she sliced off the Lion's arms with effortless swings, and then beheaded him with another horizontal swing.
A great plume of shadow erupted from his neck stump, armies of ashen white ghosts firing like a volcano and surging towards the Heavens, their cries of freedom from aeons of pain and suffering chilling to the core. Those who listened had their hearts leap into their throats, their eyes wide with fear yet transfixed, as if cursed to never look away.
When the plume subsided and the very air became silent, the headless form of the Lion of Night crumbled to ash, and so too did the demons who lurked within Braavos's waters, sharing their master's fate.
Mother Rhoyne and Balerion smiled at the allied fleets, before the former sank into the water and the latter burst into flames and his smoke dissipated into the clouds above..
None dared utter a word, too dumbfounded to make sense of what in all the heavens and hells just transpired.
Then a voice rang out.
"Victory! We have victory!"
Elaegelle's declaration was followed by Castenkair's roar of triumph, and soon the entire expeditionary force roared in cheers, deafening lesser men within hearing range.
Arin simply slumped to the deck in relief, wiping cold sweat from his face.
"I never expected that to happen…" He muttered, "I'm pretty sure plenty of bards will be competing their hardest to tell this story."
"I don't think even the most truthful accounts can be differentiated from embellished war stories," Huang Xue shrugged.
And the two shared a dry, mirthful laugh.
[1] Maegor had always proclaimed that only Balerion the Black Dread was worthy of him, when other siblings teased him for never claiming his own dragon. When Balerion died, Maegor was known to have become utterly catatonic for several days, and when he emerged his wroth became an even deeper part of his personality.
He would claim a new dragon Zaekos as his own, and his animosity towards Elaegelle would reach new heights.
[2] Chaplains, according to Arin, are certified clergy members who provide spiritual care for individuals in non-religious organisations. Most times, it applies to armies in times of war, and especially after the War of Twilight, as it was called among the Westerosi, these Chaplains proved highly crucial in helping soldiers through grief, terror and post-war nightmares, Hydromancer, Septon and Valyrian Priest alike.
[3] The Titan of Braavos was once the Hidden City's most notable landmark, a massive statue of granite and bronze in the shape of a warrior, acting as both a fortress and lighthouse - the first line of defense.
When the Midnight Scourge took over, they contemptuously smashed the statue to pieces, both as a mockery to Braavos and to bait invaders into the well-prepared traps they placed in the lagoon's waters.