Red Scab 260AC
I sat astride my horse atop the knoll with almost an entire century of Unsullied at my back. Lord Vallar, instead of staying inside the camp as ordered, was with us sweating under the blistering sun in his armour analyzing the field before us. Uncomfortable in the saddle I shifted my weight and tugged at the reins seeking firmer footing. Even after a year in Lord Vallar's service horsemanship still came awkward to us.
'And what a service that had been', I thought. For all that each of us truly loved and respected the man who had given us our freedom, it was hard to ignore the queer orders he gave. From seemingly foreseeing the fire at Summerhall, having us camp outside the castle walls and then rush in among the burning ruins to seize seven dragon eggs, to his current orders.
Unlike the two armies arrayed below us we Unsullied were not here to fight. Our task rather was to seize two prizes Maelys's corpse and the valyrian steel sword Blackfyre. None of us had dared ask why Lord Vallar was so certain of the captain-general's impending death with him merely advising us to be ready to move when we saw a young knight carrying a banner of wheat making for Maelys. A fluctuating array of emotions flashed on Vallars face before he gave the order and continued even now with him unsure of something.
I turned my gaze back to the field below just as the skirmishers and archers had finished trading their volleys and the two lines of men crashed into each other. A thunderous sound ruptured outwards as the two masses of steel and flesh pushed against each other war cries and death throes echoing out at the same time.
The Band of Nine had thrown nearly all their cavalry onto the right flank, hoping to offset their calvary disadvantage, while the Golden Company held the left, leaving the center to the rest of the allied infantry. Opposite them the Targaryen host had formed up in a more typical Westerosi fashion with cavalry on both flanks bracketing a solid line of foot.
This meant that, when the lines met, the Golden Company's infantry and paltry cavalry alone had to withstand the hammer blow of the enemy's right-flank horse. Hoping to steady his men and stiffen their resolve, Maelys himself had taken his place among the Golden Company ranks. It was a risky plan, banking on smashing the enemy's right and rolling up their line before our own left could be broken.
The battle turned into a brutal slog with neither side able to gain meaningful ground along the line. Any holes punched into the Westerosi ranks by the Ebon Prince's archers were swiftly filled by fresh men drawn from the rear, while in turn our cavalry on the right flank found themselves checked by desperate countercharges and hedges of spears. Steel rang against steel, and the cries of the dying were drowned in the roar of thousands locked in mortal struggle. From my vantage the shifting banners and surging masses below seemed less like armies and more like two great beasts tearing at each other without end.
Maelys, towering above the men around him with his size, could be glimpsed now and then even from this distance swinging Blackfyre in massive arcs daring any knight to come claim it. The ground near him was especially slick with blood, and following his trial showed heaps of fallen bodies.
Yet for all his fury it seemed that the Golden Company line would soon break under the Westerosi knight's charges. The young knight with the wheat banner had not yet moved towards Maelys, contending with the footmen still, and so Vallar had us wait silently atop the knoll, hands tight on our spears and our horses restless beneath us.
The smell of sweat, blood, and churned earth rose on the breeze, mingling with the smoke drifting from our campfires and the salty smell of the sea.
It seemed the battle was soon to be lost for us as the gambit on the right flank failed. A knight bearing the banner of a Red Lion led a mad charge through our cavalry, cutting deep furrows into their ranks. Those furrows were widened again and again by fresh formations of knights crashing in one after the other, giving no time for our men to regroup. Smelling defeat on the wind and showing their nature as sellswords, the men broke and fled caring only for their lives.
As our right-flank cavalry scattered the Westerosi left was free to wheel around and smash into the flank of our infantry rolling up the line. The press of men made it impossible to stand firm and no man could face an enemy in front and another at his side, while bearing the crushing weight.
Maelys, seeing victory slipping from his grasp did not call for an organized retreat instead he threw back his head and let out a roar, something I could not hear over the din but felt like I could.
Resolute in seeking death he spurred forward with the Golden Company, the only force that had not fled even in part, shouting ""Beneath the gold, the bitter steel!"" A chant taken up by his men. Shockingly, their ferocity pushed the cavalry opposite them back for a moment but it was soon undone as fresh foes struck from the flank.
Then I saw the young knight with the wheat banner cutting his way toward Maelys, each stroke of his sword easily felling soldiers as though they were reeds and not men. Knowing at last that the moment had come Vallar moved from the hill and we followed, spurring our horses and charging into the swirling melee, aiming to please our benefactor by grabbing Maelys's corpse and the prize that hung at his hip even if it cost us our life.
We moved on through the press of fleeing men and oncoming foes, the going harder than wading through water while clad in iron but nonetheless we did not stop. Vallar rode at the center of our wedge formation, eyes fixed on the distant struggle. Now and then a determined enemy slipped past our defenses with one rider thrusting with his spear at Vallar who leaned forward letting the point sail past his head. He lifted and brought his warhammer down hard onto the horse's skull and the beast dropped dead mid-gallop with its rider flying headlong into the dirt.
I felt my own breath catch as I thrust my spear through the neck of a screaming man, then spun it, driving the iron butt hard into the helm of another. Blood splashed my greaves as I pulled my horse back in line, tightening the shield of spears around our lord.
After what seemed like an age, we reached them at last. Maelys the Monstrous twisted giant frame of scarred flesh and blackened plate was made even more gruesome by the blood that soaked him from head to toe. He towered over the smaller wheat-bannered knight, each swing of Blackfyre whistling through the air with murderous force as if cleaving the very air itself. The clangor of their blades seemed to rise above the din of battle, and in that moment, strength against skill, brute fury against deft precision, it felt as though all on the battlefield held their breath.
Whether from exhaustion or a hidden wound, Maelys's warhorse suddenly buckled and crashed to the ground beneath him. In a show of knightly courtesy his opponent dismounted as well, refusing the unfair advantage. Enraged by that gesture Maelys roared and with one brutal sweep hacked his own fallen horse's head clean from its shoulders then heaved it at the knight. The young knight caught it on his shield staggering under the weight and using the distraction Maelys surged forward with Blackfyre raised high to strike.
The knight caught the sword with his shield, and as the Valyrian steel bit through iron and wood he released it rolling away from the blow. Springing up into a crouch he thrust his blade forward piercing straight under Maelys's pauldron. Groaning Maelys grabbed the knight's arm, twisting it and raised Blackfyre to put an end to the nuisance. His blow never came as a dagger was thrust right under his jaw killing him instantly and sending his hulking frame crashing to the ground.
Vallar, having watched the tail end of the fight and holding us back from entering, now burst forward. "Beneath the gold, the bitter steel!" he shouted, reinvigorating the fleeing Golden Company men with his presence reminding them another Blackfyre still lived. We followed quickly after him, with three of Unsullied engaging the wheat knight, not underestimating his skill. Vallar grabbed Blackfyre himself as I pulled Maelys's corpse onto my horse. Turning around and raising the sword high, Vallar shouted "Organized retreat!" over and over until the men's training and experience kicked in, turning the rout into a retreat, with men peeling off to form a rearguard.
We hightailed it out of there with the enemy hot on our heels, knights and smallfolk alike lusting after the Valyrian steel now in my liege's arms. With desperate rearguard actions and suicidal sorties from the men who guarded the camp we made our way passed our trenched lines and into our fortified camp. We were immediately greeted by the few Unsullied who stayed behind guarding our lord's chests of wealth, which they now carried ready to flee with us.
Vallar stopped and climbed the wooden wall of the camp that he had insisted to Maelys be built. Craning his head he saw the men pursuing us peeling off after tasting the arrows of the men from atop the battlements.
"We leave this night for our ships. Make clear to Golden Company captains and serjants that they are free to follow me as I head east. I mean to rest, wake me if the situation changes." I was shocked that he aimed to sleep in such conditions but I nodded. And with that he entered his tent though with Maelys corpse, firewood, and the chest of dragon eggs.
– – – – – Serjeant Ronald Peake 260AC
"Where even is the little brat. If we mean to choose a course of action he should have a say as the only Blackfyre left," Brendon said.
"Just because he is a Blackfyre doesn't mean he got to be the Captain-General. Besides, didn't you find him as a slave in Tyrosh which means he might not even be a Blackfyre," Serjeant Rivers said before continuing, "I'll be damned if I take orders from someone who just finished weaning his prostitute mother's milk," ending his tirade by spitting on the ground and scowling at the Unsullied that stood in the corner of the room. He flinched when the Unsullied tightened their grips on their spear upon hearing the insult to their master.
I rubbed my dirt and blood caked hands through my hair, not having had the luxury of taking a bath before a meeting of the officers was conveyed. The majority of our allies had already fled with only the Summer Islander under the Ebon Prince joining us upon his death.
With the majority of the men dead or too severely wounded to care for, the Golden Company was left with some three and a half thousand infantry, five hundred archers, and two hundred knights. The men were taken with loss to the point of even thinking that the red comet that recently streaked the sky heralded our end. I thought differently about it, thinking the fall of red represented the future death of the red dragon.
With the majority of the higher ups dying with our aged veterans, serving as the rearguard as if to take responsibility for the loss, that unfortunately left me, bearing ten gold bands on my arm signifying a decade of service, as the most senior officer.
Before I could speak to wrangle the men back onto to the topic of where we should retreat to the gold cloth of the captain-general's tent flew open showing the boy we were talking about against the backdrop of the ring of pikes topped with the gilded skulls of previous captains-general, Maelys's freshly added, though only the Seven know what happened to his body.
"What the Seven Hells is that," Serjeant Rivers shouted as he and the men closer to the tent's entrance stood with shock on their faces. Standing as well to get a better look at what he was talking about I saw the glistening black scale of the small beast first.
Its scales shimmered like wet obsidian catching the torchlight in ripples of oily sheen. The creature was no bigger than a hound pup yet every line of its lean sinuous body spoke of something older and crueler than any mere beast. Its tiny wings stretched taut over bony spars and twitched against its back as if testing the air. Smoke curled lazily from its narrow nostrils as its molten gold eyes blinked once slow, fixing us with a gaze that felt far too knowing.
As it opened its narrow jaws, a low, rasping hiss rattled in its throat, and for the briefest moment a flicker of orange flame danced across needle-sharp teeth. Even as my mind doubted what my eyes were seeing I knew this creature could only be a dragon.
Our silenced awe was broken by an Unsullied who leaned close and whispered in Vallar's ear. Vallar's gaze hardened and spoke a single word in High Valyrian, "Attack", while pointing his gloved finger straight at Serjeant Rivers.
The little beast reacted instantly, springing forward in a blur of black scales and beating wings, landing on Rivers's chest before the man could even cry out. With shocking ferocity, it lunged and sank its needle-sharp teeth deep into his face. Rivers thrashed once, gurgling, as blood sprayed across the tent floor and then he went limp with lifeless eyes staring upward as the dragon leisurely tore free bits of flesh still clinging to his face.
In a display of control at a soft call from Vallar, the creature turned away from its kill and padded back to him, its snout slick with blood. Vallar knelt unafraid and stroked its head with slow, deliberate motions. The dragon closed its eyes pressing into his touch, as if savoring his master's praise.
"Is there any other person who wants to inquire as to my heritage?" Vallar asked.
I swallowed hard and shook my head and the others in the tent quickly followed. Brendon was the only one smiling, though shock still showed on his face.
"I knew there was something special about you, my King," he said, then dropped to one knee. Glancing around and seeing which way the wind was blowing, we all followed, kneeling and proclaiming the ten-nameday-old boy as King.
Vallar stepped forward and took my seat at the head of the table and with a small wave of his hand he bid us to rise. With my place taken, I moved to Rivers's seat not minding the blood given that I was already dirtied in it from the earlier battle.
"You have seen me do what every Blackfyre and Targaryen failed to do in over a century. I have hatched a dragon," he said and let the words hang heavy in the air. His heavy gaze met every one of us with a determined experience on his young face, that would have been cute if not for the situation. "I will do more than just this and lead you to glory."
"I don't want word of my dragon's birth to leave this tent," he went on. "I trust my Unsullied and your blades, but why invite assassins to my door? Any who break this order will face my dragon's claws and flame. Or this." He patted the sword Blackfyre resting at his hip.
Continuing swiftly on he charted our course for the future.
"We will be ill welcomed in the Disputed Lands and the Free Cities after the sack of Tyrosh and I doubt the Silvertongue will open his gates to us either. I mean to take the men toward Astapor instead for great promise lies there."
While I would have tried to go to Volantis or Qohor to secure a profitable contract and recruit more men, rather than rely on the cheap masters of Slaver's Bay, hearing his reasoning his plan was sound as well. I looked toward Vallar's Unsullied guards and a thought sprang to my mind.
Choosing my words carefully, I spoke. "You don't mean to purchase Unsullied do you, my King? Though they are fine infantry, they're rigid in the field and need cavalry to cover their flanks, something we do not have."
Contrary to my fear that he might set his beast on me, Vallar only smiled. "I welcome your seasoned advice, Serjeant Ronald," he said. "But I aim for more than just buying Unsullied. While I cannot yet speak of my full plan, it depending on secrecy, know that I act for the Golden Company's future."
Relieved by his answer, though frustrated by the secrecy, I dipped my head in silent acceptance.
Leaning forwards, the dragon curling around his shoulders like an expensive fox cloak, Vallar continued the meeting dominating the discussion, though making sure to ask for everyone's thoughts, including our ideas into the evacuation plans or gently dismissing them.
In the end it was decided that we would immediately set march, wanting ample distance between our men boarding the ships and the enemy army. With the enemy's fleet on the other side of the island and the few Ironborn longships present on this side preoccupied with our fleeing allies we didn't expect much trouble.
Orders passed down in hushed voices as men strapped on what armor they could carry and slung packs over shoulders already aching from battle. The golden banners were lowered and furled tight, hidden beneath cloaks so no glint might betray us in the dark. Horses, restless and wide-eyed, snorted and tossed their heads, their riders whispering calming words that sounded hollow in the night air. And so we began the retreat under the moonless sky, our boots sinking into churned mud from our earlier march.
The column stretched long and thin as we moved through the mountainous terrain with no songs and talk, the only sounds being the quiet scrape of iron and the dull thud of marching feet. The few cavalry we had left rode ahead as scouts, while also guarding the rear and flanks of the column.
The pale wounded shuffled forward and those too hurt to walk were borne on makeshift litters or left behind with a mercy blade if they begged for it. I kept my place near the front with the other serjeants, glancing back now and then to see Vallar carrying a wounded soldier on his horse, his dragon, almost impossible to see in the darkness, still draped around him like living heraldry.
Step by step we made for the coast, each mile carrying us further from the field of our defeat and deeper into whatever future the new dragonlord guided us toward.
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What should the name of the dragon be?