King Aemon I Targaryen
Snow had fallen the day before they had set off for battle, it had slowed the army and his dragon, Belgabad had not reacted badly to the snow, but he had not been happy about it either, letting his unhappiness show through burning whatever or whoever came in his way. Eventually, the snow had settled and they had been able to move from their camp out into the world. Slowly but surely they had moved, and when they had arrived, the fighting had already started, there was chaos on the ground below them, men were fighting, screaming, begging for relief, and Aemon dressed in black as night armour, a dragon helm and crown on his head, had seen it all and felt anger. The pretender had caused much and more destruction to the land around them, he had been responsible for the deaths that had passed as they had marched through the lands of the storm, and Aemon was determined to make him pay.
Belgabad soars into the air, roaring out a challenge, Aemon wonders if the pretender will answer it, he hopes that the boy does, he truly does. He wants to fight the boy who calls himself after a dead baby, to see the man who would insult Rhaegar's memory. There is no response immediately, and so Aemon settles on allowing Belgabad to breathe fire out onto the ground below, the screams of men filter through the air, and set a song for Belgabad to follow. They breathe fire onto the ground below, burning a pathway through the armies, and reducing numbers. Soon enough, the armies of the lords shall be weakened, and they will be unable to oppose him. That was something his father had lacked, but for now, they will suffice. The burning continues, and onwards they go. Looking, scouting out for the enemy, no sight of him at all, no sight of him at all, until a dragon roars and they dance.
Teeth and claw are brought into action, and as they get closer to the enemy, Aemon uses his sword, Blackfyre, the sword of Kings to fight the enemy. Steel meets steel and sparks fly, they pull apart as their dragons move back, fire is unleashed, jets of red, black and green, then they move closer together, and the fighting begins anew. Their swords sing a mournful song, blades, humming against one another, they recognise who they are, and why they are fighting, and they are deeply unhappy about this. They move at their masters' command though, a slice here, a cut there, then they pull apart and fire is unleashed. On the ground, the soldiers watch mesmerised, no dragon has ever fought since the dance, and now they are fighting. The fighting continues. A swipe here causes one dragon to cry out in pain, a swipe there, causes another to roar in anger. The sun has disappeared underneath the fighting of the beasts that make their riders gods. They fight, breaking apart one by one, until the armour of their riders is broken and creaking. Still they move forward, the fighting continues.
Aemon feels alive, as alive as he has ever felt, and the rush of it all makes him laugh. The pretender is sat on his dragon, looking concerned and terrified. Aemon moves forward, swinging his sword whilst Belgabad roars a challenge and rips out a chunk from the enemy's dragon. Their dance continues, Aemon swings, the pretender blocks, the pretender swings, Aemon blocks. Their dance moves further and further from the battlefield, the armies fighting on the ground unable to see them for the clouds and the beginning fall of snow. The snow dampens their dragons' fire some, but not enough for it not to be effective, both of them get burned at one point or another, or singed. But they keep fighting. Bleeding and aching, they move forward, swinging their weapons, their dragons coming in for the brace. A smack here, a smack there, they move forward, breaking the enemy as they do so. But still they keep going, their dance cannot end, the song being sung is a sad one, it makes them both ache with worry, and regret over what they are doing, but they keep going.
Belgabad smashes into the smaller dragon, teeth and claws at the ready, they make short work of the enemy, an eye falls to the ground then another tooth, then another. "Yield!" Aemon roars at the pretender. "Yield and I might let you live!" there is some response from the pretender, but what it is, Aemon does not know, for it gets lost in the moving of wings and the wind that comes from that. They pause for a brief moment, then they are back at it. Teeth, claws, swords, blood and spit, all things that cause the world to turn upside down. Aemon curses, feeling as if he might throw up, but he continues onward regardless, his sword guiding him through it all. They meet and fight, and meet and break apart again. The dance continues, Belgabad is bloodied, as is the other dragon, Aemon is sweating, panting and heaving, desperate for some sort of relief, but unsure of whether or not that relief will come anytime soon. Another breath, he moves forward, then the fight begins again.
Blood, that is the one thought that echoes in his mind, blood, the only thing that counts, the only reason he continues to fight. He must protect his blood, and this man has shown he is not that. In fact, the pretender is the furthest thing from blood that it is possible to get. They fight once more, their steel clanging against one another, and then, Aemon decides to do something very risky. He frees himself from his straps, and lunges onto the enemy dragon, he cuts, and swings and moves, and the enemy falls, the enemy dragon falls as it tries to get free. Belgabad is there waiting for Aemon as he jumps off, narrowly avoiding plummeting down with the pretender. Aemon watches from his dragon, as the enemy and the dragon fall to the ground, the ground shakes as they hit, and the war, the war ends with the death of one of three dragons. Aemon watches, and he roars, Belgabad roars, they roar together, and the world quakes.