The Wolfswood 301 AC.
Ser Archibald Yronwood.
The North was an unforgiving place. It's weather something that Archibald and his men had been ill-prepared for. Feeling the icy wind on your face was more than enough to rob you of whatever warmth your clothing afforded you and yet that was only part of the issues they'd faced since arriving here. Their horses turned out to be just as ill-suited for moving over the snow-covered ground as Archibald and his men were. It had led to losses that he prayed wouldn't doom this mission any further than the Seven already seemed to have done.
Thirty men with ten more awaiting them on their ship, Archibald had been convinced it would take no more than that to take one or more of the Stark Brats as hostages. He, Prince Oberyn, and others had dismissed the threat of Winterfell's guard and Archibald had even bragged that with fifty men of Dorne, he could take Winterfell itself. A fool's notion he would say now were he to be asked to do so. While he too wished he'd brought fifty just so he'd have his original thirty to now call upon for the task at hand.
They landed nearly a week ago at a cove just past the Stony Shore, Archibald confident at the time that within the week they'd be returning to their ships with their quarry in tow. In truth, it had taken them almost two weeks to even catch sight of one of the Stark Brats and by then he'd lost four and ten men. Eight of them to the cold itself and the other six had been sent back to the ship, though whether they had made it or not was unknown to him or the others. Of the thirty horses they'd brought with them, there were only twenty remaining. Six had fallen to the difficult terrain they rode over, while four had been sent back with the six men. Archibald felt that he could spare no more than that.
' For if we lose more then it'll be in the cold North that my bones will lay and not beside my forefathers.'
They'd been forced to huddle around fires. Sleep in a cave that they had been lucky to find and had to share their warmth with the man next to them as they turned in for a night. For three days they had been unable to move at all such was the ferocity of the storm. Archibald and others offered up their prayers to the Father and the Mother to lift the storm as they feared it would be the end of them. Now, finally, they had found some cover under the canopy of the large trees that grew around them and had even found some decent hunting. All that remained was to find a sight of one of the Stark Brats alone and then come up with a plan to take them without being seen. Archibald was now more than unsure about his boast about being a match for Winterfell's guards.
In normal weather he'd wager any man of Dorne would be a match for a man from any other of the Seven Kingdoms. He'd even place coin was the fight to be fought against an IronBorn on a ship. If that fight were to be held in a tourney in the South, then Archibald would be even more confident of the outcome. Which was why he'd been so certain that they'd not find their match among the heathen savages of the North. Now, however, he'd not even back himself against a Northman one on one. The cold, poor food, not having a decent night's sleep, and the conditions that the fight would take place in, all combined to make the outcome far less certain.
"Ambush is the only certain path to victory," Archibald muttered under his breath.
With the weather mild for the North, Archibald had sent out scouts and hoped that today would be the day. It would be a long and hard enough trek back to their ship as it was. So given how long this mission had taken already, he'd be a liar if he said that he did not fear the ship had already departed. A small bitter laugh now coming from him at the thoughts that he'd be proved right and they'd succeed in capturing their target, only to then fail because their ship had returned to Dorne. However, another part of him wagered that the Captain wouldn't wish to return empty-handed. The reward for succeeding was too great to miss out on, while the punishment for failure would be harsh indeed.
"Ser, your stew," Perros said. The young lad was a squire for Ser Arron Qorgyle who Archibald had butted heads with over who was truly in charge of this mission.
"I thank you, though I'll not lie and say I miss a home-cooked meal."
"As do we all." the lad chuckled before taking a bowl for himself.
Warm and filling was the best that Archibald could say about the stew. It lacked most everything and yet warm and filling was more than enough and better than some of the meals he'd endured since arriving in this gods-forsaken place. He'd only just finished it when Ser Arron arrived back with the three men that had made up the scouting party. Archibald looked at the younger man and was happy to see a smile on his weather-beaten face.
"We saw them, the girl and the boy both." Ser Arron declared as Perros hurried to get his knight a bowl of stew. The others with him having moved to quickly get their own.
"Outside the gates?"
"They are and better yet, it seems they're to ride today."
"For true?" he asked eagerly.
"For true."
Those who hadn't eaten, now quickly did so. The camp was pulled up and their escape route had been gone over so everyone knew as much as Archibald was willing to tell them. Once, weeks ago, right at the start of this mission, Archibald would have told his men everything. Now, he very much did not. Should they be successful then he would be in the party that returned with their hostages to the ship and that return would be done in much haste. So telling his men that if they were parted they were to meet up somewhere else, well that was a lie that he now felt was warranted. Dornish men may be hearty and Leal, but Archibald wouldn't wager his life that they'd not sell him out should they be captured. A night alone in the cold and he'd not wager he'd not sell his fellow Dornishmen out either.
It took them an hour to be ready. Another to catch sight of the Starks and their guards and Archibald felt he owed the gods much thanks when they did so. Four guards were all the two Stark Brats had with them. Looking to Ser Arron, Archibald gave the order and the archers among them raised their bows. They fired at Ser Arron's signal and it was soon clear that the sight of the Starks and their guard was the end of the favor granted to them by the gods. Not a single one of the arrows finding their mark and the firing of them had given away their presence.
"CHARGE!" he shouted as the Starks and their guards moved to turn their horses and ride back to Winterfell.
While their arrows found no purchase and missed their targets by some distance, the same was not true about the Stark guards' arrows. Four and then two more men crashed to the ground as Archibald led the charge. Their horses and not the men atop them had been the targets and Archibald cursed that he'd not ordered the same. Still, as the distance between him and his targets narrowed, Archibald felt confident of the outcome. Not even when he heard screams behind him did he believe they'd not win the day. That only came when first Ser Arron's and then his own horse was taken from under him. The flight through the air, however, gave him no time at all to ponder on why that was.
He felt his leg break as he crashed heavily to the ground. Archibald then heard the screams of Ser Arron from somewhere behind him as he did his best to regain his breath. Raising himself on one arm, Archibald found to his dismay that his sword was no longer on his hip. Reaching for his dagger, he almost cried out when he saw that it too lay some distance from him. Not that a dagger would do him any good given what now moved his way.
In all his life, Ser Archibald Yronwood prided himself that he had never given in to fear. He knew that some men had. That some men would believe themselves brave only to one day find out that they'd be faced with a moment that would prove them not. Never would he have imagined that he'd be a man that did so. Then again, never did he imagine that he'd be face to face with not one, not two, but three Direwolves who bore down on him.
Try as he might to look to see if any of his companions yet lived, Archibald could not. Fear had robbed him of all his senses and as the three Direwolves closed in on him, he begged the gods, the Stark guards, or anyone to come to his aid. In the end, it was only the very two children he'd sought to take hostage who did so. Archibald looked up as a young lad with auburn hair and a fierce scowl on his face and a young girl with a long, yet pretty face, both glared down at him. The two of them stood between two of the Direwolves while the other wolf moved ever closer.
"Be thankful that Nymeria, Grey Wind, and Shaggy Dog have all eaten well this day." the young lad chuckled.
"And that my father would have words with you." the girl added.
"My men?" he asked shakily.
"Belong to the North now." the girl smiled and that as much as the Direwolves themselves was what his nightmares were made of that night and all his remaining nights to come. Few though those nights turned out to be.
King's Landing 301 AC.
Ser Bonifer Hasty.
While the Kingsguard were ostensibly in charge of the Queen and Royal Family's protection, it was clear they were unable to provide it alone. The attack on the queen and the other attacks the Royal Family had faced since Daemon's return was proof enough of that. Yet, for as much help as the Hundred or Daemon's men could offer, they had to take their instructions from Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard. This was why Bonifer now sat in a room with the Queen, Hand, Prince and Princess, Ser Barristan, and with the Queen of his Heart.
"No one is blaming you, Ser Barristan, nor are we saying that you or the Kingsguard are not up to the task."
"Then what are you saying, my queen?"
"I'm saying that if Daemon was here, he'd make the very same order I'm seeking her grace to make, Ser, naught else," Rhaella replied.
"And what order is that?" Myrcella asked, the young girl doing her best to project calm when it was clear she felt it not.
"That until Daemon's return, Bon is placed in charge or the security for all of us," Rhaella said looking at him. "Even you, your grace."
There was silence for a moment. Myrcella looked to Ser Barristan who Bon could see wished to defer to Rhaella's wishes. Years of doing so had made it almost second nature to the man by now. Had it been Ser Arthur who was here, then he very much would not. The Sword of the Morning, however, was even more capable than the Bold was. Although how much any of them could truly do if what Daemon had said about their enemies was true, Bon knew not.
"Ser Barristan, you will see to the Kingsugard's role and will confer with Ser Bonifer when needed."
"Your grace." the Bold bowed his head.
"Ser Bonifer, I leave the rest in your capable hands. Brown Rat leads Daemon's men in King's Landing and Prince Viserys will speak on the Gold Cloaks."
"Your grace."
With that, the meeting was brought to an end and though he whispered in Rhaella's ear, for now, that was to be the only words they shared. Instead, it was to Prince Viserys that Bon moved to and together they left the room, four of his men and Ser Loras Tyrell all following behind the prince as they did so. Though the Knight of Flowers wasn't officially a Kingsguard, he was so in all but name. Bonifer was happy enough to see him stand with his men and he felt that between them and the prince himself, Viserys was well protected.
"Only men you can trust, my prince, and I'll need a list of them beforehand."
"I helped root out most of the bad eggs, Bon." Viserys was a little affronted.
"That you did and most diligently, my prince. However those were for the protection of the city, this is for you and your family. Forgive me if I hold them to an even higher standard."
"There is naught to forgive, Bon, you know better than I."
"For now, my prince. I wager in the years to come, I'll be in your shadow when it comes to such things."
True or not, Bon would do all he could to see that was so. He'd already suggested, and Viserys had begun to see it was so, that amongst the Gold Cloaks, the prince would have his own Hundred. Men whose loyalty was above question and who the prince trusted implicitly. Those men he'd ask Daemon to approve and once they were, then Bon could rest somewhat easier.
' Not that I'll rest until this fight is done and Daemon shuts white eyes forever.'
An hour later, Bon made his way to Daemon's manse. Alone, he moved through the streets and felt eyes watching him as he did so. Eyes that he was happy enough to feel look his way for these belonged to Daemon's red priests and they were truest of all, Bon believed. None were more invested in seeing Daemon and his god succeed.
' Other than those who share either blood or a bed with him.' Bon smirked.
Walking in through guarded gates, Bon soon caught sight of the Children of the Forest. Their antics brought a true smile to his face as they acted as if they were true children and not creatures from myth and legend. He was just about to enter the manse itself when he felt something tug on his armor, Bon looked down to see one of the children staring up at him with intrigue.
"Good Morrow," he said and felt foolish doing so.
"The Raven will return on the morrow, the prince within the week." The Child's sing-song voice sounded more than happy as she spoke the words.
"For true?"
"For true."
With that, the Child was gone and it did so in so swift a manner that Bonifer almost believed he'd imagined the conversation. Shaking his head, he entered through the large double doors and spoke to the commander of the Unsullied inside. Brown Rat, having come back to the Manse to give his men their orders, and Bonifer was happy to find he did not need to change them or give the men different ones.
"This one will see to his prince's family's safety personally."
"As will I, Brown Rat," he said to a sombre nod.
From Daemon's manse, it was to the Lannister's own that he next walked. This time not alone as two Unsullied moved with him. Bon allowed the men to do their duty even though he needed them not. A brief conversation with Ser Jaime was enough to tell him that the Lannisters would be more than protected. The knight then asked to speak to him away from his brother and sister and so it was to Joanna's Garden that Bon found himself being taken.
"He did a wonderful job with this, your father."
"That he did. It comforts me to know that she had such a place. As it does that Myrcella and my sister do too."
"You wished to speak."
"This war, Ser Bonifer. The one Daemon is to wage, you believe it to be here?"
"I do."
"And Dorne is involved?"
"They are the instigators of it in some ways, pawns in others or so I've been told."
"My father, the men of the West?"
"Have been informed, Ser Jaime. I've no doubt they and others will march when needed."
"My father will march most quickly, Ser Bonifer, of that I am most certain."
"As am I."
"Should you require my blade…."
"We'll have great need of it and many more and so I would make but one request of you."
"Name it." Ser Jaime said instantly.
"Move your family to the Red Keep, Ser Jaime. They and men you trust with their lives, move them, and let that be where all those the king and queen care for stay."
"It shall be done by morning, Ser."
"I had never wished to fight alongside you, Ser Jaime. Mot for how others may not have, for I share in my queen's high opinion of you," Bon said and saw the gulp that Jaime made, the emotion he felt at his words clearly shown. "Yet I'm most grateful that you'll be there when the battle comes."
"I thank you, Ser and it gives me comfort knowing my daughter has a man such as you to call on."
"It comforts me even more that we have a dragon, Jaime." Bon chuckled which Jaime joined in with.
After a conversation with Ser Jareth and some men of the Hundred, their building was soon locked down and Bon made his way back to the Red Keep. Other than the few men who watched over those who needed it, the entire Hundred would be stationed at the Red Keep. From now until Daemon returned, none other than Prince Viserys would leave the confines of Maegor's Holdfast, and soon enough, the city itself would be locked down.
A nod to his men who were stationed on Rhaella's door and Bon entered the room to find his queen sitting at her desk and looking as regal and as beautiful as ever.
"All is done?"
"All is done."
"And now we wait."
"We do, yet we'll not have long to." Bon quickly told Rhaella about Shiera and Daemon's returns, and how both were due to be within the next few days.
"Dorne?" she asked.
"Have made their move and are as we predicted."
"Riverrun and the North?
"Ravens have been sent, first calling the banners and then warning of possible attack."
"You think they'll attack?" Rhaella asked worriedly.
"No, but best to be prepared regardless."
"So it'll be here?"
"It will and we'll be ready for them, my queen."
He held her in his arms that night. Rhaella unable to truly sleep and only that Shiera returned the next morning as the Child had told him she would, allowed for his love to somewhat relax. Bon knew though that just like with Myrcella, it would only be Daemon's return that would allow her to truly do so.
"May we all walk in R'hllor's light," he whispered. His first prayer to a god in more than eight and ten years.
Riverrun 301 AC.
Ser Brynden Tully.
From the moment he'd woken this morning, Brynden had been on edge. A knot had formed at the pit of his stomach that he tried his best to ignore. Now, he wished he'd not done so and had canceled the hunting party rather than allowed it to take place. Given that he'd lost sight of his grandnephew and the raven's scroll he held in his hand, Btynden prayed to any god that would listen to see Bran safely return to Riverrun. He prayed too that should his grandnephew face any danger before he found him, then his wolf would be there to offer him the protection that Brynden could not.
All had been well. Bran had been more than excited for the hunt and had even wagered that he'd take down an elk or a stag. Brynden had half-heartedly chided him for doing so and yet he'd been proud of him were making the wager all the same. The shy and reticent young boy that his grandnephew had once been was long a thing of the past and a confident young man was who Bran was on the path to becoming. He'd make as fine a knight as he already was a liege lord, or so Brynden believed.
In the sparring yard, his grandnephew had come on in leaps and bounds. The will to be a true swordsman was already deeply ingrained in Bran and there were few more diligent students of his age in any of the Seven Kingdoms, Brynden would wager. Already he rode a horse and wielded a lance better than boys who had far more experience than he had. With a sword in hand, Bran was careful, composed, and fierce when he needed to be.
"Let him not need it today, I beg of you." Brynden prayed.
All had been going well. They'd taken down a wild boar, the more experienced huntsmen doing that as it was much more dangerous than taking down a deer or elk. Bran had looked on excitedly and listened keenly as Brynden told him how it was done and why the men used large spears rather than arrows.
" It's a test of skill as much as anything, Brandon. Many men can fire arrows, only a few can wield a spear and face such a dangerous foe."
" Could I…"
" Aye, one day lad, but not today."
Bran had accepted it and spoken no more about it. He'd congratulated the man who'd finally killed the boar and those who'd helped him do so. Telling each of them they'd be feted at the evening meal that night and would be given the first cut of the quarry they'd so capably defeated. Brynden sat on his horse and looked on proudly as his grandnephew acted like a lord and did so without needing to be prompted. It was yet another sign of just how much the lad had grown since taking his place at Riverrun and was partly the reason he now found himself worrying so.
Had it not been for what Bran said about the boar, then mayhap Brynden wouldn't have let him ride without him to seek out his own quarry. His grandnephew wished to prove himself, however, and some of that was to Brynden more than anyone. So he'd nodded his head, had sent men with him to see him safely back and though he'd worried, they were the worries he'd always carry with him. Or at least they were until that accursed raven arrived from King's Landing and the message it carried was sent to Brynden by Edmure. The rider's haste in getting it to him proved just how important it was.
Ser Brynden,
I write to you to tell you to be wary over the next few days and weeks. To double your guards on both the keep and my grandson's cousin. We believe that an attack is imminent and yet know not what form that attack may take. While we believe too that it will be King's Landing and the immediate members of the royal family that will be the main targets of that attack, we cannot be certain that it won't extend to other members of my grandson's extended family.
Another raven shall arrive bidding you to call your banners and once you have, we'll ask you to march. To where, I know not, and yet I fear it will be soon and will need to be done in haste.
Look after your people and your charge as well as we all know you can Ser Brynden and take no chances with Lord Brandon's safety. With the grace of the god my grandson is sworn to, we all shall walk in R'hllor's light but as my grandson is oft heard say, the night is dark and full of terrors and so I'd bid you be prepared for such.
Rhaella Targaryen.
While the raven's scroll mentioned not who it was that was launching the attack, there was no need to. Brynden knew full well who bristled under Daemon Targaryen's rule and though he thought them fools for pulling on the dragon's tail, he knew it wouldn't stop them from doing so. He knew too that Dorne fought not how other regions fought. They cared not for the usual military tactics and instead resorted to any means to win their battles. Be those means fair or foul.
To take hostages and to use them to keep the dragon at bay, Brynden could see that as one potential tactic the Dornish would employ. So while Daemon Targaryen had proved already the lengths he'd go to free a member of his kin from those who held them, Brynden would much prefer that he did not need to do so regarding Bran. Which meant that he needed to find him and return him to the safety of Riverrun as quickly as he could.
"Ser, Ser…" a voice called out, and Brynden looked to see the horsemen he'd sent searching to the left now returning.
He waited not for them to reach him. Brynden kicked his horse into a gallop as he rode fast toward the four men.
"What news?" he all but shouted out.
"We found no sign, ser. No men nor horses went that way, I'd stake my life on it."
"'Tis not your life that concerns me for the now," he replied which was thankfully waved off by the guardsman.
Looking at the path ahead of him, Brynden wondered if he should continue forward or ride to the right. He'd sent men that way already and yet they'd not returned which made the choice he now faced an even harder one. In the end, be it instinct, a call, or simply the faith he had in his men, Brynden and those with him continued on their path.
In this, he had the gods' good fortune. The signs soon became clear that it was this way that Bran had ridden and Brynden was relieved to see that they were the only ones following after his grandnephew. Quickening his pace, he soon had the horse riding in a trot as he wished not to miss it should Bran have left the path. Something he soon found his grandnephew had done and which worried him greatly. As too did the sound of the mournful howl he heard in the distance.
"That be a Direwolf howl," he shouted as he and the men with him rode hard and fast.
The sight he came upon would haunt him for many years to come. Horses and men as well as two young boys had been butchered and left for dead. Jumping from his horse's back, Brynden moved to the first of the two boys and though it shamed him, he breathed relieved to see it was not Bran. As it did when he moved to the second young lad. In time he'd mourn them both and offer his sympathies to their families. As he would the guardsmen and huntsmen who too had met their deaths here today. For now, all he cared about was his grandnephew, of whom there was no sign.
Once again the wolf howled in the distance and despite his worries for his grandnephew, it was that which Brynden concentrated on. He understood not the bond Bran had with Summer, only that he very much doubted that the wolf would leave his grandnephew unprotected. Mounting his horse, they rode hard and fast and were soon riding out from under the cover of the trees. He saw him then, the grey wolf standing like a sentinel on a hill in the distance, his mournful howls forcing Brynden to ride even faster and fearing what he'd find once he reached him.
To his relief and somewhat his anger too, it was just Summer he found when they reached the hill. The wolf was bloodied and almost instinctively Brynden knew that it was not from any injury. Whoever or whatever the wolf had faced, it had been that and not Summer who came off the worse for wear. Dismounting, he moved carefully to the grey wolf and reached out his hand to softly stroke its head. Brynden looked into eyes that bore both worry and sadness in them and yet it was the anger he saw there that he concentrated on. It was an anger that he too felt and for the first time since he'd met the Direwolf, Brynden Tully felt some of the same kinship that he believed his grandnephew and Summer shared.
"Lead me to him, boy. We'll see him home together," he whispered and with that, the wolf raced off. Brynden and his men soon followed.
A full day and night it took to catch up to the men who'd taken his grandnephew. Men who were much lesser in number when they spotted them. For along the way, it wasn't only the signs they'd passed this way that the men left behind. Some had left their lives too in their attempt to carry off his grandnephew to wherever it was they wished to take him. Brynden almost smiled at the gruesome sight of their bodies and the knowledge that they'd fallen to a wolf's fangs.
Still, it did them little good. As the Dornishmen, for that, was now even more clearly who they were, outnumbered them by two to one. Not only that, but to launch a direct attack risked his grandnephew too much and so Brynden began to plan for a much different rescue. His knowledge of his family's lands helped greatly in this regard. Brynden was able to pick a spot and then pick a route that would take them to it so they could prepare an ambush of his own.
That night, they waited for the moon to disappear behind some clouds, and together with Summer, they moved quietly towards where the Dornish had made their camp. Their timing would need to be nigh on perfect and the aim of their bowmen true. Something that having huntsmen with him allowed for. As for he and Summer, they had the hardest task of all as they would see to Bran's safety while his men saw to the Dornish threat. Brynden was more than aware that not all would be returning to their loved ones and proud that none of them wished to bow out of this attack. Some even offered to protect the rear once Brynden had rescued their liege lord.
" I thank you one and all, as does my grandnephew. Should I not see any of you after this night, know that I owe you a debt that will be repaid. If the gods will that you or I are to fall, then let them will it while knowing that the Blackfish was proud to name you all my true friends this night."
" For Lord Brandon."
" For Riverrun."
There had been no loud cheers, their closeness to their enemy not allowing for that. Yet, each man among them had worn the same expression on their face and Brynden worried not that their courage would falter. Separating so they would come in from both sides, they began to creep towards the Dornish camp. A thousand yards, eight hundred, five, silent and soon to be deadly they crept ever closer.
They were no more than three hundred yards away when the screams began. All sense of stealth was quickly abandoned as worry and fear took over and Brynden was among the first men to race toward the Dornish Camp. Though not a young man, he was mayhap the third or fourth to reach it. Summer easily outpacing them all and Brynden looked to see the grey wolf's shadow as it moved to a bound figure tied to a tree. As for the Dornishmen, never in his life had he seen such carnage. Not a single one of them lived and each of their deaths had been bloody.
"Bran! Bran!" Brynden shouted as he moved to his grandnephew.
"I'm well, uncle, I'm unharmed," Bran replied when Brynden removed his gag and though he bore marks that showed he'd put up a fight, his words were as true as Brynden hoped them to be.
"What… who…" he asked as he looked to the forty or so Dornishmen who'd met their ends here tonight.
"The Shadows saved me, uncle. They came for Dorne and though the night was dark and full of terrors, we all walk in his light."
"Whose light?" he asked confused.
"R'hllor's."
The Battle of Summerhall
Summerhall 301 AC.
Ser Richard Lonmouth.
He'd accepted the posting because of his feelings regarding Rhaegar. Though he'd not lie and say that the idea of a quiet life hadn't appealed to him too. Richard knew too that his days of fighting in tourneys were somewhat behind him and though he was loathe to admit it, it was long past time he found a wife and settled down. Something he couldn't do as part of the Household Guard at the Red Keep. Master of Arms at Summerhall, however, offered him much better prospects. So when Arthur had come to him, Richard had accepted gladly. Little knowing that in doing so he'd be facing a fight against an enemy that was beyond him.
Despite Daemon's changing of the original makeup of their guards, the simple fact was that they just didn't have the men to hold out against the Dornish army camped outside. Not even the Unsullied, as resolute as they were, nor the Fiery Hand with their magical gifts, were enough to see that would come to pass. Something that Richard had reluctantly told the man he still considered his king and who had knighted him by his own hand. Rhaegar had been both happy for his honesty and yet had liked not his words at the same time.
Instead, all that availed to them was flight and Richard thanked his gods, as well as a god he believed in not, that he'd been so diligent in preparing an escape route. Not that it would be one that was to be used, however, as Queen Elia had made that more than clear. The woman whom so many had once named as weak or fragile had just proved once again she was very much not. Yet while he admired her greatly for it, Richard wouldn't lie and say he wished it was not so. Rather than her being Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken, he wished that Elia Martell was for once, just as fragile as some thought her to be.
" My queen, surely we…"
" If this is to be our end then so be it. I am Elia Martell, a woman wedded into the House of the Dragon and we do not cower from men such as these."
" Your granddaughter, my queen, your son, mayhap…"
" My wife has the right of it, Ser Richard. We do not flee. Then or now," Rhaegar said firmly.
He'd lost hope for some time after those words had been spoken. Not for himself, for he cared not whether he lived or died as long as those he'd sworn to protect did. Richard feared seeing Rhaegar fall, and Elia meet her end. He believed he could not bear to see them or Aegon lose their lives and yet in some ways, it was the youngest member of House Targaryen who he truly feared for.
Young Elia was like a beam of light in all their lives. A single smile or hearing her speak your name would brighten up even the darkest day. She had single-handedly, or so Richard believed, seen Aegon return from the darkness he'd fallen prey to. Had given Elia something to pour all her love and affection into and seeing her as she and Rhaegar played together was something worthy of song. Never before had he seen his king so content or happy and he loved the little girl for that as much as anything. As too did any who crossed paths with her.
"She deserves a long life. She more than any." Richard said firmly as he made his way to the parapets.
Summerhall wasn't truly built to withstand a siege and yet it was all they had to do so. Ravens had been sent out and the Stormlords had risen, or so he'd been told. Yet Richard knew full well that it took time for men to ride and by the time they arrived, the battle could well be over. Standing next to men who'd been handpicked by him and Arthur Dayne, and Daemon most of all, Richard did his best not to think about them losing their lives here today. Instead, he concentrated on one single thought above all others. They would hold, for however long it took, they would hold, even to the last man they would hold.
"We fight for the king most of us have served for the best part of our lives!" Richard shouted out loudly. "For the family that we've all sworn to above even our own!" he continued. "We fight with men sent here by their prince, by the new King of the Seven Kingdoms. Men that each of us are proud to name our true friends!" Richard placed a hand on the shoulder of one of the Unsullied and tried his best to remember the man's name. Cursing himself for not doing so. "For King Rhaegar and Queen Elia!"
"King Rhaegar!"
"Queen Elia!"
The shouts rang out loudly and Richard smiled to hear how determined each man there sounded.
"For Prince Aegon and Princess Elia!" Richard shouted. The young girl may not have been titled so but there was no doubt that even in the short time they'd known her, each of them thought her a princess of their hearts.
"For Prince Aegon!
"For Princess Elia!"
Lastly, he raised his sword and around him, the archers readied their bows. Down below him, the Unsullied stood with spear and shield and the Fiery Hand made ready to light their spears.
"FOR SUMMERHALL!" he shouted as the Dornish attacked and the sky was darkened by a wave of arrows fired down upon them.
There was no return shout, however. Or if there was it was drowned out by the roar and the cheers. A hand touched his shoulder and Richard looked to see it was the same Unsullied he'd done the same thing to. An Unsullied he now knew was called Grey Dog.
"The Prince Returns!" Grey Dog said with the closest thing to a smile that Richard had ever seen any of the Unsullied wear.
Looking off to where Daemon and Lyanax now flew over the Dornish army, Richard smiled too. The wave of flame that the black dragon unleashed was a terrifying and yet beautiful thing to see. As for the men caught by that wave of flame, none deserved their fate more than they did in Richard's eyes.
The fight may not yet be over and today could still end with the deaths of far too many good men and true, yet Richard was comforted to know it would not end with the deaths of any member of the family he served.
"Not Today," he said happily.
Ser Ryon Allyrion.
Never in his life did he imagine he'd be doing as he was now. True, he'd at times wished to be in charge of a large force and to march for Dorne. However, he'd always expected it would be to the Reach rather than the Stormlands that his march would take him. To a fight against House Tyrell rather than one against House Targaryen. One against his princess and her family.
Unlike others in Dorne, Ryon had never considered what Rhaegar Targaryen had done to be an insult to Dorne. Or to be more truthful, one conversation with Elia Martell had been enough to prove this wasn't so. He knew, however, that Doran, Oberyn, and others did take umbrage in what had happened at the Tourney of Harrenhal and later at a tower in the Prince's Pass. As they had with the fruits of the union between Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Something which had never sat right with Ryon if he was being honest with himself. As to blame the child for the sins of the father was not his way.
Despite their feelings, however, Doran had bid it and then Oberyn had led their men and marched against the rebels. At the Trident, the coming of the Dornish Army had been what had changed the course of the battle and won the day. True, there were Reachmen amongst them too, but it had been his prince who gave the orders and led the men and so it was he that Ryon ascribed victory to. Rewards, honors, and a prominent place at court all to be their rewards, and a conversation with Elia Martell soon revealed the truth of things regarding her husband's actions. A truth which Ryon accepted far better than most.
' Would that others thought as I.'
Daemon Targaryen's return had changed things and yet Ryon had not believed it would lead to war. He'd even argued with Yronwood and Uller when they'd spoken of such. War, however, was upon them and the task he'd been set was one he took little comfort for. Only the words the two princes spoke to him and the fact he was in complete charge of the men he led had allowed him to be somewhat at peace with what he was to do. For there was nothing in this world that would see Ryon Allyrion take part in a venture that caused the princess any bodily harm, or so he'd promised himself.
' As for whatever other harm mine actions cause her, may the Seven forgive me for them for Elia Martell certainly will not.'
The princess had made that most clear in their parley. Elia had once again proven herself to be fiercer than either of her brothers and thrice as stubborn. His words and the words of those fools he rode with all did not affect her bearing or manner in the slightest. Her own words were enough to send a chill down Ryon's spine and cause him some hesitation when it came to giving the order to attack. A hesitation that he knew he must get over and one he soon put to one side as he willed the battle to commence.
" Cletus, you and the archers take out as many of the Unsullied as you can. Those men have a formidable reputation and should they stand, then many men of Dorne will fall today."
" Wyland, Gulian, lead the cavalry and break their lines.."
" And you, Ryon?" Wyland asked.
" I'll take our spearmen and our infantry and probe for any weaknesses in the keep's defenses."
The orders were given. Their plans were set and other than a standing order to make sure that no harm fell to the princess, her son, or her granddaughter, no one in Summerhall was off limits in the battle to come. Ryon had been ordered to do what he could to see that Rhaegar was brought before Doran and Oberyn, but should the former king fall, then so be it. Should Elia Martell fall then it would cost him his life.
' Though were that to happen I'd take mine own.'
Hand in the air, Ryon brought it down and the horns began to blow. Cletus and their archers moved to take up their position and the cavalry set off in a trot. Soon they were in full charge and Ryon almost pitied the poor fools that stood against them. Looking to his men, they set off at a brisk marching pace. Their plan was simple enough. To split into three groups and probe where the keep was at its weakest. Siege engines would not be needed as Summerhall was not as well off for defenses as most keeps usually were. The walls were high, true, but ladders and ropes would be more than enough to climb them.
With a Myrish Eye in hand and atop his horse, Ryon, and his commanders the only ones who rode with the infantry and spearmen, he now began to survey the battlefield. Cletus was having no luck against the Unsullied and little luck against Summerhall's bowmen. The cavalry were still in mid-charge and his men were some distance from the keep. Ryon sighed as he began to picture the carnage he'd soon be caught up in.
Neither Oberyn nor Doran had known that there would be men of the Unsullied here. Nor that there would be some of the warriors of the Red God here either, the so-called Fiery Hand. Other than for the fact it was at Summerhall that the most valuable of the hostages were, then Ryon would have been given a much smaller force. Only that he was to then march this force to join up with Oberyn's own, or he'd have found this keep impossible to take. As it stood now, it would be taken but cost much blood and many lives to do so. Lives that Ryon wished not on his conscience and had no idea were to be far more numerous than he feared. The sound of the roar that came from behind him and then the sight of the flames the Black Dragon loosed, were enough to make Ryon fear that even his own could be amongst them.
"May the Father protect us all."
Rhaegar Targaryen.
It had been far too many years since he'd swung his sword in a proper battle. Dark Sister had a hunger for blood, or so its legend told, and yet he'd not sated that hunger in more than a decade. Had he his way, then he'd not have seen even one more life fall to the famed blade of Visenya, The Dragonknight, and The Rogue Prince. Rhaegar knew however that rarely did one get their way in the world he lived in. Had that been so, he'd have known far more time with the love of his life than the gods afforded him.
So despite his wishes, Elia's, and those of his son and granddaughter. As well as the men who would be putting their lives on the line to see them all safely through the Dornish attack, Rhaegar put on his armor and tied his sword to his hip. He'd not cower like a craven. Not seek out cover and wait out the battle there. These men came to harm his family and even if it cost him his life, Rhaegar Targaryen would play his part in protecting them.
"Take no unnecessary risks, Rhaegar." Elia kissed his cheek.
"Father I…"
"No, my son. I fight so you need to not." Rhaegar embraced his son as he thought of his other children and wished only one of them was here on this day of all days. Rhaenys would be safe in King's Landing and as for Daemon, well, he'd not lie and say they'd not welcome his son and his dragon's company.
"Papa Rhae… play game?" his granddaughter asked and Rhaegar picked her up and hugged her tightly. Whispering in her ear that they play upon his return and for her to save him a piece of pie. Before then praying to the gods he'd long since stopped believing in that they'd let him keep his promise.
The Battle Lines were drawn and while his family would be well protected and hopefully far from where that battle would be fought, he would not. Rhaegar soon made his way to join the men on the parapets and to look out on the Dornish Army that now marched and rode their way. He watched as arrows filled the sky and as some were fired their way. The Unsullied proved themselves adept at dealing with such threats and Rhaegar marveled at the large shields they used to provide themselves with cover.
Looking out as the forces beneath them split, Rhaegar feared for the men who were protecting the gates and other entrances to the keep. He then cursed himself for not seeing this keep built to the same standards as other keeps too. The wish he'd had for it to be a family retreat and then a place where mayhap he could retire to, now coming back to haunt him. Knowing that thinking about such regrets would bring up others that he felt more truly, Rhaegar forced them from his mind and focussed only on the matter at hand.
Ser Ryon Allyrion led the Dornish Army and was a most capable man according to what Elia had told him about the Dornish knight. The others with him were heirs or first sons and were far less so. The ineffectiveness of their archers proved that to him as did the charge of the cavalry who found only obstacles and arrows in their way. Rhaegar looked on as it was the horses and not the men that their bowmen aimed for and it was a terrible and wondrous sight to see at the same time. Though compared to the one in the distance, one that paled completely.
"Is that?"
"The King."
"THE KING RETURNS!"
On the other side of the keep, loud cheers rang out and Rhaegar wore a soft smile on his face as he thought about his former squire and the men he led. Ser Richard too had bid him to stay with his family and to sit this fight out, before accepting that Rhaegar would not. He'd then asked him to at least protect the keep from the parapets as he was doing. Rhaegar agreed much to Richard's relief. He'd wager the relief was even more profound now.
Asking for a Myrish Eye, Rhaegar looked to where Lyanax was now dropping low and he watched in awe as the Black Dragon unleashed her fiery fury on the men below. He'd long thought that seeing a dragon in the sky to be the most incredible thing he'd ever bear witness to. Only to find there were other more wondrous things to see. His son walking unburnt and breathing from a pyre that had been built for his body, only one of such things.
"A Dragon facing down enemies who wish to harm those you care about, that's just as wondrous," he whispered.
Daemon Targaryen.
Lyanax led and he followed. The Black Dragon having decided that she knew better than he what their destination should be and who was Daemon to argue with her. He'd seen naught in the flames and though he'd beseeched R'hllor, for some reason his god left his pleas go unanswered. Instead, it was Lyanax who led them. Firstly over the Stormlands forces that were riding quickly and seemed ready for war. Daemon landed and spoke to the men but briefly before he took to the skies once more.
" My king, we had not thought.."
" Why are you marching, Lord Selwyn, for why has the Stormlands raised its banners?"
" A raven, your grace. From Summerhall…."
Lord Beric Dondarrion finished not his words. Daemon in truth needed not to know any more than he already did. He left Arthur and Melisandre behind, bid his Lord Commander to take charge of the men and to ride with haste, and then he and Thoros readied to bring fire and blood to those who threatened his family.
Cutting his hand, Daemon took a hold of the rubies and bid the Shadows to come forth. He sent them out to do their work. Bid them separate and travel the long distances that he knew they could cover even faster than Lyanax. To the North, to Riverrun, to Summerhall, and King's Landing. All of them were sent with but one goal in mind, to protect his family from those who meant them harm. Something that Daemon heard Lyanax promise him that she too would do.
" Together, we fight them together and we give them no mercy or respite."
" No mercy or respite," Lyanax said firmly.
When he saw the army attacking Summerhall, Daemon thanked R'hllor that he'd sent so many men with his father and Elia. He prayed to his god to keep them safe until he dealt with the fools who'd sought to take Dragons as hostages. Then he prayed that any who sought to do the same to Wolves or Lions would find only death's cold embrace as their reward. Be that at Daemon's own hands, at the hands of those who named him their prince or king, the Shadows who wrought such a heavy price for their help, or the Black Dragon who now readied to unleash her flames. His command was the only thing Lyanax waited for to do so. It was not a wait she'd need to suffer for long.
"DRACARYS!" Daemon shouted angrily.
Beneath them the Dornish infantry and their spearmen marched and those unlucky enough to be at the back of that march now felt naught but fire. So fierce were Lyanax's flames, that those caught up in them were but ash in the wind and were soon to be joined by many others. For no sooner had the first flames been unleashed, than Daemon bid his dragon to ready her second.
"Dracarys," he said more calmly and yet no less angrily. The time between the first flames striking the Dornish infantry and spearmen and the second had allowed Daemon to take a much better view of the battlefield.
A third call from him was enough to all but end the forces below him. Yet he called out thrice more to be certain before moving to the cavalry and then to the retreating archers. The men who led each now proved themselves craven in the face of a dragon's flames and though Daemon knew it was enough to make most men's courage waver, craven is what he'd name them still.
"Dracarys," he called out as he bid Lyanax to end those nearest the keep before turning her attention to those who now rode hard to ride away from it.
None would know any mercy from him here this day. Not one surrender would be accepted by him and for the next hour or so, Daemon and Lyanax offered not a single man any respite. Had it not been for the riders from the keep, then they may have flown for even longer. Daemon looking at them and recognising both Red Ant and Ser Richard Lonmouth amongst them.
"It is done, my prince. Let them take whatever prisoners they wish to or end those whose time has come." Thoros whispered in his ear.
"I…"
"Be at peace, my prince. There are others you wish to protect are there not?"
There were and Lyanax would need to be well rested and fed before he could do so. The battles to come would require it of her and Daemon now wished to make certain that his father, brother and niece, and Elia were safe and well. He needed to look to the fires too, to see if those in Winterfell, Riverrun and King's Landing were as protected as they needed to be. Dorne had sent a decent-sized army to take Summerhall, he'd wager the one they sent to take the capital would be its true strength. That the fight he was destined to fight and the white eyes he was born to close would be there.
"May I have the time I need to be there when they arrive, I beg it of you R'hllor, show me your favor in this as you have in all else I've done."
Lyanax landed outside the gates and it was his father who greeted Daemon and Thoros when they dismounted. In all his life, Daemon couldn't remember seeing his father wear his armor in anything more than some ceremony or other. Not that he'd been around his father as much as his brother or sister were and so he truly only had other people's words on how formidable his father had looked on the Trident. How true a warrior he looked.
Looking at him now, Daemon would wager it was a truly impressive sight. One that no doubt filled his men with resolve and had mayhap helped to see his father win the day. Feeling his embrace as he then hugged his father just as truly, Daemon finally felt the last remaining obstacle to naming him his father for true, begin to fall away.
"You came, I….thank you, thank you, my son."
"Father I.."
"They are safe, son. Your brother, niece, her mother, and my wife are safe thanks to what you've done here today."
Daemon found that he had no wish to tell his father that today's battle was but a precursor to the true one that was soon to be fought. While Summerhall had been defended ably and the threat to it was now over, other threats remained. Instead, he accepted the embrace and asked for food to be brought to Lyanax, before then walking to the Black Dragon to thank her for all she'd done.
"I owe you more than I can ever repay," he said softly.
"We are bonded you and I, there is no debt between us."
"Thank you."
As Daemon spoke to Lyanax, Thoros explained to his father where Arthur was and that he and the Stormlords, or some at least, would arrive by nightfall or early on the morrow. Daemon arrived at where they stood to hear his father say that he expected them the day after and Thoros explaining that Arthur wouldn't rest until he got here. Both Daemon and his father knew this was true even without Daemon's orders to the Sword of the Morning.
"He'll not arrive unready for a fight, your grace, but he will arrive in haste," Thoros said to a nod from both Daemon and his father that was almost the exact image of the other.
Happy to see the food placed in front of his hungry dragon, Daemon took a last look at where Ser Richard and Red Ant had rode to and once he was happy enough that they needed no help for him, he entered the keep. As they walked, his father spoke of word coming from King's Landing from his grandmother and Daemon took much comfort that Bon and the Hundred were already making preparations to see the city protected. As he did from the fact that the banners had been called and the West and the North along with the other regions of Westeros would soon be marching.
Hearing his niece's happy cry of "Papa Rhae." and seeing the relief on both Aegon's and Elia's faces, Daemon took a seat and welcomed the wine when it was poured and offered to him.
"The keep is secure, Daemon?" Elia asked and Daemon nodded. No wish to speak on things too truly with his niece there.
"Thoros, why don't you and Aegon take Elia for some pie," Daemon said, Thoros nodding and knowing it was because he wished his brother and niece to be protected even if there was no real need for such.
"Of course, my prince."
After waiting until it was just him, his father, and Elia in the room, Daemon spoke of what he and Lyanax had done. Of how he knew it was to here and not somewhere else that they were to fly and that while he wished it to be so, he could not stay for more than one night.
"There are more battles to fight?" Elia asked worriedly.
"With good fortune, just the one," he replied.
"Rhaenys…"
"Our family is safe, Elia, on that you have my vow."
"How can you be so certain, son? What if…."
Rising to his feet, Daemon placed his hand on his father's shoulder. He then told him that if there was as pressing a need for him to offer them a dragon's protection, then Lyanax would have taken them to King's Landing, not Summerhall. Feeling his father relax, Daemon moved to Elia and knelt in front of her. He'd beg forgiveness for what he had done and would soon do to Dorne, later, for now, he wished her to know that Rhaenys was safe. Just as he too wished for his father to know that Dany and Viserys were under his god's protection too. There would be no need to tell either of them that his grandmother was, for how Daemon felt about Rhaella was known to one and all.
"I've sent the Shadows to their sides, to yours too as we flew. Though I see them not here…." Daemon said as he realized they'd not come here as he'd bid them to and had for some reason refused his command.
"Daemon?"
"The fires, I must look into the fires." He tried not to panic or to cause them to and yet failed miserably in both. Had Thoros not returned at that moment, then Daemon may have given into his worries for Myrcella, his grandmother, sister, uncle, and aunt.
"They knew there was no need for them here, Daemon."
"Which means there is a need elsewhere… I must…."
"Have they ever failed you? Ever not succeeded in the task you set them to? Even against eyes of blue and red the Shadows have carried out your true will, my prince. Look to the fires if you must, but do so with that knowledge and comfort at least."
It allowed him to calm down somewhat. For his father and Elia to do so even more so. Daemon then moved to the fire and let his blood drip from the wound that he'd opened earlier when he'd set the Shadows to task. Only he and Thoros bore witness to what the flames gave up. A failed attack on his cousins in the North and one that had more than met its match at the fangs and claws of Direwolves.
They saw an attack on his wife that sought her end and not one to take her hostage such as the one at Summerhall had mainly been about. Daemon breathed relieved to see Myrcella unharmed and even more so to see what his grandmother and Bon had done in its aftermath. The Lannisters had moved to the Red Keep giving them another true and worthy sword in Ser Jaime and even more men to keep those he cared for safe.
He saw his uncles, both of them leading a force out of the North, and never had he seen either look as determined or focused. In the West, Tywin Lannister led its full and true might, and rarely if ever had Daemon seen a more impressive-looking army. The Vale, Crownlands, and even the Stormlands all rose in true and impressive numbers. Stannis had called his banners and while some men had been sent to aid those at Summerhall, more had been ordered to march to King's Landing.
In the Reach, Ser Garlan Tyrell and Randyll Tarly led an army of more than 60,000 men. While in the Arbor a fleet readied to set sail with but one destination in mind. Looking to the Riverlands, Daemon saw the ambush that took his cousin hostage and then he watched with a keen eye as the Shadows revealed themselves, or some of them at least. Two of them had gone not to the North or Summerhall but to Bran's aid. The carnage they left in their wake was something to behold as too was the anger in the Blackfish's words when along with his liege lord, he led the men of the Riverlands in search of vengeance for what they tried to do. The Riverlords had come out in a greater and more united force than they had done ever before.
Seeing King's Landing locked down and with it in a state of readiness was a relief. Seeing his family in the Red Keep even more so. Yet it was the sight of the White Wolf by his wife's side and that of the five shadows and who they stood by that truly did so. Daemon was happy to see that his wife, grandmother, sister, uncle, and aunt all now had a truer protector than even the men in white cloaks who stood by the other shoulder.
"The time has come, the fight that both you and I have readied ourselves for is finally at hand," R'hllor called out loudly.
"Your will be done," he said just as loudly and he felt his god's pleasure at hearing not just the words, but how firmly they were spoken.