Winter Rose.

cxiii.

The two men were in the thick of the fight, using their horses to propel themselves as they battled the men beneath them. She could see the longbow that was upon his back, his eyes as they drifted over those around him before kicking his heel into the side of the horse, spurring him on as he rallied men. A loud cry rippled across the field as Rhaenar moved closer, slipping from the trees completely before standing at the edge of battle. She could smell it, the coppery scent of blood as it turned the red grass to scarlet. "What are you doing?!" Bran hissed.

"We need to get closer." She uttered, her eyes searching for whoever made the scream. She could see the man, the cries as he clutched his eyes, blood spurting from closed fingertips. Daemon slipped from his horse, bending to a man with slashed eyes as he shouted out commands. That was Ser Gwayne; she remembered that Daemon cared for him. The Blackfyre reached forward, touching at his cheek as others swamped him, lifting Ser Gwayne from the field before passing over a sword from the floor, the tip equally stained in blood. Lady Forlorn. Another Valyrian Steel sword.

"Loose!" A voice cried into the air, catching them by surprise as Rhae turned to face wherever the noise had come from. She watched as the arrows took to the air, as they swarmed through the before falling around them. "Loose!" The voice called again. The men below cowered behind shields, as these sharp tipped arrows hit against them like raindrops, some lodging into the coloured metal, while others bounced, hitting the floor.

Men began to fall as the arrows were unrelenting, like comets as they took to the sky before hitting their targets. Brynden was now standing upon a ledge, looking down at the men below him as those red eyes searched the field below, his bow caught within his hand, as an arrow sat within his fingers. He was searching for someone. Brynden raised his bow, pulling the string along the shaft as he aimed before letting it loose. Her eyes were desperate to search for Daemon's son, for Aegon. He was the first of the Blackfyre victims to die by Brynden's hand.

She found him, at the distraught look upon Daemon's face as he dropped to the ground beside his son, pulling his hand into his. Tears pooled in the deep purple, spilling over pale cheeks as he shook his head, gaze captured upon the arrow that rose from Aegon's chest. Rhaenar gasped, shaking her head. A boy who had only just turned a man, died upon the field.

Brynden raised the longbow again, firing the arrow. Daemon's mouth opened, his head shaking as his back straightened. Brynden shot again. Rhaenar counted as one by one the arrows hit Daemon in his back, his body falling upon his son's as seven stood out from his hunched form; his sword dropped from his hand.

Why had Brynden killed the son? Because he knew his father would never leave him, he made the sacrifice. A copy image of Aegon dropped his shield, racing to his father as his hand fell upon Daemon's back, finding it still from breath. He raged, his anguish released in a cry as he looked to his twin brother, and his father.

Rhaenar didn't know how he did it, how he found the strength in him as he clasped Blackfyre from the grass, raising it in an unsteady hand. Brynden's head cocked, a deep chuckle released from his lips as his head turned. He wouldn't kill this one with an arrow, he'd do the honour with Dark Sister.

He was slow to step down, his feet deliberately taking their sweet time as they found the grooves within the mud. Despite the battle that raged around them, the men swinging their swords as they clashed, fighting with one another; no one turned on the two commanders. Aemon stood on shaky legs as his hand swiped away his tears, his lips in a thin line as his violet eyes focused on the Bloodraven.