The Stormlands ― Kingsroad...
The clash between the Blacks and Caltrops on the kingsroad had escalated into a bloody battlefield, with Lord Borros Baratheon at the helm of his formidable army of 45,000 troops. It had been raining heavily for days, and the grass was wet, the ground soft and muddy. With unwavering determination, Lord Borros led his forces in a thunderous charge towards King's Landing, hoping to conquer the capital that was six days away from Storm's End. However, both sides soon faced stubborn resistance, which thwarted significant progress and frustrated the Baratheon warlord. Under the joint leadership of Lord Gerold Royce and Lord Leowyn Corbray, the Blacks led the knights of the Vale to keep the Stormlands' armies occupied and hinder the advance of the Baratheon forces, effectively halting their progress northward.
"Give no quarter, lads!" Gerold ordered.
"Show these southern greenhorns how the North fights a battle!" Roderick roared.
The Winter Wolves, a contingent of 2,000 Northmen led by Lord Roderick Dustin and Ser Medrick Manderly, charged into battle alongside the Blacks, their swords and axes glinting menacingly in the stormy skies. Yet, even with their assistance, the Blacks were not immune to the casualties inflicted by the formidable Baratheon host nor the devastating toll of war, with the Baratheon forces causing significant casualties on both sides. The battlefield was a symphony of clashing swords, and the cries of the wounded echoed through the battlefield as the two sides fought with an unwavering determination to emerge victorious. The kingsroad, a highway between a wood and a low hill, was now a site of brutal warfare, its once smooth surface a canvas of blood and steel. The Caltrops and the Blacks clashed their armies, a testament to the unyielding spirit of both sides. The outcome of this ferocious battle remained uncertain as the two armies fought unrelenting, leaving behind a trail of destruction in their wake.
The clash of metal and the thunderous impact of hooves reverberated through the air as Lord Borros's army charged down the road, their determination unwavering. The hastily armed conscripts, their spears held high, followed closely behind the 600 Stormlander knights, their iron pot helms gleaming in the lightning bolts. The solid wall of shields that stood before them seemed impenetrable, a formidable barrier that threatened to halt their progress. As the knights charged down the road, their horses thundering beneath them, the ground seemed to shake in anticipation. The enemy archers on the hill to the right unleashed a volley of arrows, darkening the sky with their deadly rain.
But the Caltrop knights, undeterred by the imminent danger, pressed on with unwavering determination. The clash of metal against metal reverberated through the air as the knights crashed into the shield wall. Spears pierced through the gaps in the shields, finding their mark and causing chaos among the enemy ranks. Lord Borros's army fought with a ferocity that belied their numbers, their determination and skill overpowering the initial advantage of the Blacks' defensive position.
True to his Baratheon heritage, Borros proved himself a mighty warrior and was able to kill numerous men around him. "Bah! Back, you little boys!" Meanwhile, the archers on the hill to the right unleashed a barrage of arrows, aiming to halt the advancing army. But Lord Borros had anticipated this threat. "Archers! Get those arrows up!" He had ordered a contingent of his own archers to position themselves strategically, providing cover fire for the knights and recruits. The arrows from his archers rained down upon the enemy archers, forcing them to take cover and disrupting their deadly assault. With each step, Lord Borros's army gained ground, pushing the enemy forces further and further back. Though the Stormlanders wreaked great havoc with lance, sword, and long axe, the Valemen held firm as new men stepped up to fill the place of those who fell.
"Gah! The Baratheon's too strong!" Leowyn cursed.
The Caltrops archers reared back their bowstrings. "Nock! Draw! Loo―"
Before the archers could meticulously unleash their arrows toward the Blacks, a sudden and unexpected blazing inferno engulfed the men, reducing them to a mere pile of ash before they even had a chance to react. The intense heat licked at the air, creating a shimmering haze that distorted the view of the battlefield. Within a matter of seconds, the Targaryen dragons Maelyx and Sheepstealer emerged from the fiery chaos, their wings beating against the scorching air. The sheer power and majesty of the dragons sent shockwaves through the hearts of both friend and foe, their presence commanding attention and instilling fear.
"Dragons!" Ser Corwyn Corbray exclaimed.
The clash of swords against steel reverberated through the air, drowning out the screams of the wounded and the dying. Warriors from both sides engaged in a deadly dance, their blades glinting as they fought for their lives. The resounding thud of shields colliding with wood echoed throughout the chaotic scene, creating a symphony of violence and desperation. The shields, decorated with the sigils of their respective houses, bore the brunt of the onslaught, protecting their wielders from the deadly blows raining down upon them. Splintered wood and shattered shields littered the ground, evidence of the fierce struggle. Amidst the chaos, commanders bellowed orders, their voices barely audible over the din of battle. The ground shook with the thunderous footsteps of armored soldiers, their heavy boots leaving imprints in the blood-soaked earth. The archers, once prepared to unleash their deadly arrows, now found themselves engaged in close combat, their bows discarded in favor of swords and shields-the once orderly formations dissolved into a chaotic melee, where survival depended on instinct and skill. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and burning flesh, a testament to the brutality of war.
"Grrrr! Damn boys!" Borros let out a frustrated growl as he cursed under his breath at the sight of dragons soaring through the sky, their fiery breath decimating his armies below. The distant sound of galloping hooves and war cries grew closer, echoing in his ears. Borros could feel the ground trembling beneath him as the enemy reinforcements approached. With each swing of his sword, Borros fought off countless adversaries, his muscles straining with the effort. Sweat dripped down his forehead, mixing with the dirt and blood that stained his face. His eyes narrowed, scanning the chaos around him, desperately searching for any sign of weakness in the enemy's ranks. And then, amidst the chaos, he saw a young silver-haired Targaryen riding on horseback, flanked by knights of the Kingsguard: Lorent Marbrand, Willis Fell, Harrold Drake, and Adrian Redfort. The sight filled him with a mix of anger and determination. "So... you sent your boys after me," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice laced with defiance. He knew defeating a Targaryen would be a personal victory and strike a blow to the enemy's morale. It was a chance to turn the tide of the battle in his favor.
The clash of steel against steel filled the air, drowning out the sounds of battle. Borros could feel the weight of his enemies' blows, each strike threatening to break through his defenses. But he refused to yield, pushing himself beyond his limits, his determination unwavering.
Galloping through the thunderous storms, the 5,000 troops proudly displayed the sigil of the Blacks: House Targaryen's three red-headed dragon sigil, quartered with the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, and the silver seahorse on sea green of House Velaryon. As their horses' hooves pounded against the wet ground, the combined might of these noble houses created a whirlwind of power and determination. With the force of centrifugal motion propelling them forward, they descended upon the kingsroad like a tempest, their banners billowing in the wind. The troops, clad in armor adorned with the symbols of their respective houses, formed an imposing sight as they rode with unwavering unity. All were galloping against the thunderous storms as they descended upon the kingsroad to flank the Caltrops as if by centrifugal force.
As the troops neared the Caltrops, their formation shifted, utilizing the power of centrifugal force to flank their enemies. The Caltrops, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, found themselves surrounded by a whirlwind of steel and fury. Maelyx and Sheepstealer circled and breathed fire, scorching the enemy lines.
"BARATHEON!!" Aegon swiftly launched himself from his horse's saddle towards Borros and knocked him off his steed with a clothesline, causing them to tumble into the muddy ground. Being younger and in his prime, Aegon quickly rose to his feet. "I've got a bone to pick with you!" Determination gleamed in his eyes as he drew his sword, ready to confront Borros head-on.
Borros, towering over Aegon with his superior size and strength, swiftly regained his composure and prepared to counter the young Targaryen's assault. "Young fool!" he bellowed with a thunderous roar, belittling him as a foolish and inexperienced adversary. Borros scoffed at Aegon's audacity, confident that he would easily overpower the young upstart.
As the two adversaries circled each other, the air crackled with tension. Aegon's eyes never wavered from Borros, his gaze unwavering and focused. He had trained tirelessly his whole life, honing his skills and studying the art of combat and assassination. He knew that his only chance of victory lay in exploiting his opponent's weaknesses and capitalizing on his own agility and speed. With a sudden burst of energy, Aegon lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Borros parried the blow in the nick of time. The clash of their swords echoed through the battlefield, each strike reverberating with intensity.
Aegon's movements were fluid and calculated, his strikes coming from unexpected angles. He danced around Borros, his agility allowing him to evade the Lord of Storm's End's powerful blows. With every successful dodge and counterattack, Aegon's confidence grew. But Borros was no ordinary opponent. He possessed a strength that seemed almost supernatural, his blows carrying an immense force that threatened to overpower Aegon, with the young Targaryen's quick reflexes keeping him out of harm's way. With each clash, the ground beneath them trembled, the sheer power of their confrontation shaking the very foundations of the battlefield.
"Look at my face," Aegon was filled with potent anger as he clashed swords with Borros. "Remember Daeron Targaryen? My little brother died in your lands. You knew what Aemond was up to... but you did nothing to stop it." Their blades collided with a resounding clang, sending sparks flying in all directions. The heat of the fight was intense, and Aegon could feel sweat and raindrops trickling down his forehead. Each swing of his weapon was fueled by a deep-seated desire for vengeance, for justice against those he believed were responsible.
Borros met Aegon's attacks with equal ferocity, his own blade dancing effortlessly in the rain-soaked battlefield. Aegon's mind raced, his thoughts consumed by the memories of his brother's fiery temper, his overwhelming loyalty to their family, and the cruel fate that had befallen him over Shipbreaker Bay. But Borros was no ordinary opponent. His experience and brute strength were formidable, and he soon began to overpower Aegon. With a mighty shove, he sent the young Targaryen sprawling backward, his body crashing into the mud once again. Aegon's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to regain his footing.
"Huh! The boy was brave and had a fire in his eyes; I'll give him that much." Borros delivered brutal strikes, forcing Aegon to defend himself. "But I did say there would be no bloodshed beneath my roof the last I saw him with Prince Lucerys. Whatever Prince Aemond did was of his own accord."
As Borros closed in, a fire ignited within Aegon's eyes. He refused to be defeated, refused to let his determination be extinguished. With a surge of adrenaline, he leaped to his feet, meeting Borros head-on. Their swords clashed once more, the clash of metal ringing out like a battle cry, a thunderous symphony that drowned out all other noise. Sparks flew as their blades collided, illuminating the darkness that surrounded them. Aegon's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles turning white with the strain. He could feel the muscles in his arms and shoulders burning with exertion, but he pushed through the pain.
"Hmph! Blameshift and deny all you want, but all those excuses are just digging yourself into a deeper hole!" Aegon tucked his legs to perform a side-flip technique. "You've been nothing but a bothersome thorn in our side since you chose to break faith with House Targaryen and back a pretender!"
"In that case... it's about time I send you back to your father as a corpse!"
"How about I do what my father should have done and kill you where you stand!"
As the battle raged on, Aegon's anger grew, fueling his every move. He accused Borros of paying no heed to Aemond's treachery and allowing his uncle's actions to go unchecked, which eventually led to Daeron's murder. The words dripped with venom, each accusation punctuated by a swing of his sword. Aegon's voice was filled with righteous fury, his words echoing in the rain-soaked battlefield. He fought with the heart of a dragon, refusing to back down in the face of adversity. The battle raged on, the clash of their blades becoming a violent symphony. Each strike was met with a counter, each parry with a riposte. They moved with a grace and fluidity that belied the brutality of their intentions as the dance of death played out before them.
Aegon's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The relentless assault from Borros Baratheon left him drained and weary. Each blow rained down upon him, leaving Aegon with no choice but to adopt a defensive stance and retreat, carefully observing Borros's every move in search of a vulnerability to exploit. His agile sidesteps mirrored the grace of an elegant feline, his body moving with a fluidity that belied his exhaustion. He evaded Borros's reach with a swift backflip, his body soaring through the air with an almost otherworldly grace. Utilizing his speed, Aegon executed a vertical wall run along a muddy cliff, his feet barely touching the surface as he defied gravity. As he ascended, the wind whipped through his hair, his eyes never leaving Borros's form. Reaching the apex of his ascent, Aegon spun in mid-air, his body twisting with a dancer's precision. His leg extended, delivering a powerful spinning high kick at Borros's face, his face contorting in pain as Aegon's kick connected with precision. The force behind the kick was enough to send most opponents reeling, but the Baratheon lord growled in defiance as if almost unfazed by such an attack.
In a display of sheer physical strength, Borros seized Aegon's leg, his grip like a vice. With a mighty heave, he hurled Aegon forcefully to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of Aegon, leaving him gasping for breath as pain radiated through his body. He struggled to regain his footing, his mind racing to find a way out of this dire situation. But as Aegon lay on the ground, vulnerable and gasping for air, Borros loomed over him, his sword poised menacingly in the air. Aegon's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing for a way to turn the tide. At that moment, Borros's mind instinctively recalled Aeonar's movements from their duel at Storm's End many years ago. Borros had witnessed firsthand the grace and precision with which Aeonar fought, and now, facing Aegon, he saw echoes of that same prowess.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Aegon's body sprung into action with a surge of adrenaline and quickly rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding Borros's strike. As he rose to his feet, Aegon's eyes blazed with determination, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
"Aegon!"
As Borros readied himself to unleash his devastating attack, he never anticipated the sheer force of Maelyx's head ramming him in his side with a sudden burst of energy. The impact was like a thunderbolt, catching him completely off guard and sending him crashing into a nearby tree. The wind knocked out of his lungs, and pain shot through his body despite his armor protecting him. A thunderous roar filled the air in that split second as Borros struggled to regain his bearings.
Viserys flew in astride his dragon Maelyx to intervene. With wings outstretched and scales glistening as lightning bolts shot across the skies, Maelyx descended upon the scene. Viserys had arrived just in the nick of time, coming to the rescue of his twin brother. With a swift and graceful descent, Viserys landed beside his fallen brother, his dragon's claws digging into the earth, warning hostile intruders to stay away. Nettles and Sheepstealer flew overhead, incinerating enemy forces in a strafe of dragonflame to keep them at a distance from the Targaryen twins.
"Viserys!" Aegon called out.
"Aegon, you're too far out!" Viserys told his twin. "When will you ever learn?! You could've been killed!"
"Eh, sorry...!"
"Well, it doesn't matter now. I'm here."
"Ready to kick his ass?"
Viserys shook his head. "There's no need. Look," he pointed. The twins observed the ongoing battle with great interest, noticing how the intricate and strategically placed Caltrops formations were gradually losing their effectiveness against the unrelenting onslaught from the Blacks. Aegon and Viserys also took note of the efforts made by Maelyx and Sheepstealer, who were providing much-needed support to the attacking forces. "They know when they're beaten."
Aegon's frustration grew deep within him as he witnessed the enemy again slipping away. However, his attention swiftly shifted towards a commotion nearby. He observed Borros Baratheon being forcefully lifted to his feet by Ser Byron Swann, who faced strong resistance from his liege lord. Despite Borros's protests, expressing his desire to continue the fight, it became evident that the Baratheon forces were preparing to retreat. The two dragons, Maelyx and Sheepstealer, posed an insurmountable challenge for the Caltrops.
Standing at a distance, Aegon watched intently as he discreetly reached into his sleeves, searching for a concealed weapon. He was determined not to let them escape despite their considerable distance. Suddenly, with a burst of speed, Aegon revealed small yet deadly projectiles crafted by skilled Lykirī Mēre blacksmiths - Valyrian throwing stars held firmly between his thumbs and index fingers. He swiftly hurled six of them horizontally toward his targets with a flick of his wrist. Although four missed their mark, the remaining two throwing stars sliced through the air, striking their target with precision, piercing Ser Byron's cervical spine and the back of his skull. The force of the impact killed him instantly, causing him to fall from his horse. Only Borros Baratheon remained, taking hold of the reins as his shattered army was compelled to retreat south to Storm's End.
"Shit! I missed," Aegon cursed.
"Aegon! That's enough," Viserys chided his twin. Although he felt deeply empathetic towards his twin's frustration, he knew he needed to maintain control. As he turned his gaze towards the direction of the Blacks, who were reveling in their recent victory along the kingsroad, the young Targaryen prince dismounted from his dragon with a sense of solemnity. He watched as Sheepstealer, the dragon belonging to Nettles, gracefully landed beside them. Hmm, the Caltrops still had resources to spare yet knew the battle was lost when we showed up with Maelyx and Sheepstealer. However, I doubt this will be the last we see or hear from Lord Borros or any of the Baratheon host. I suspect he'll lick his wounds before he can mount another campaign north.
"Nosy shites," Nettles said. "They couldn't even tell that all this was a mistake on their part."
"I know. Even with logic and reasoning, there are some things we can't control."
"Like trying to discipline a spoiled brat, Serys?"
"Sure... something like that, Netty. It's all... such a waste."
"Yeah. It is..."
Viserys and Nettles' dynamic took an unexpected turn as a subtle shift in their interactions became apparent. Although they had initially butted heads, over time, they had grown accustomed to one another's presence and affectionately referred to each other by their chosen nicknames. As they spent more time together, it seemed that their fondness for each other only deepened. Despite the warnings, Viserys found himself unable to resist the pull of his attraction for Nettles. He admired her fiery spirit, something he had rarely encountered in the noble circles to which he was accustomed.
On the other hand, Nettles was drawn to how Viserys treated her as an equal, never looking down on her for her baseborn origins as a dragonseed. They would find solace in each other's company. They would spend hours talking, sharing their dreams and fears, and finding comfort in the understanding they found in one another. Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, and it became apparent to those around them that their connection was more than just a passing infatuation.
However, the whispers of disapproval grew louder. The courtiers and advisors, concerned about the potential scandal and damage to the Targaryen name, urged Viserys to sever ties with Nettles. They argued that his duty as a prince should precede his personal desires.
Viserys, torn between his duty to his family and his fondness for Nettles, found himself at a crossroads as he struggled to find a solution that would satisfy both. He knew that pursuing a relationship with her would bring shame and dishonor to his house, but he also couldn't bear the thought of losing her. He saw the unfairness in judging Nettles solely based on her birth, believing that love should transcend such societal barriers. The weight of his decision pressed heavily upon him, and he sought counsel from the one person he trusted: his eldest brother, Jaehaerys. Ultimately, he decided to keep their love a secret, hidden away from prying eyes, and continue their relationship in the shadows. And so, Viserys and Nettles continued their clandestine affair, their love growing stronger each day. They found solace in the stolen moments, cherishing their time together while constantly aware of the risks they faced. Their love, though forbidden, burned brightly, a flame that refused to be extinguished, even in the face of adversity.
"Prince Viserys," Roderick Dustin approached, "fuckin' good show with that dragon of yours. Hah! Glorious!"
"Thank you, Lord Dustin. How are the men?"
"We're still counting the losses, but we've also captured 50 enemy soldiers in the process. I guess their comrades weren't as virtuous as they thought. Bah! They bring shame and dishonor upon their family names."
"They did, but we should ensure they're each given a fair trial. If they're more than willing to renounce the Caltrops and renew their oaths of fealty, we should consider giving them a second chance. Only if it's a genuine one."
"Huh, as you wish, my prince. We should set up camp and establish a buffer along the kingsroad if they try anything again."
"Good idea. Pass the word to the others, my lord. I'll do the same with my twin and Lord Gerold." Viserys stood solemnly as he perused the list of soldiers who had been declared killed in action. Despite the list being incomplete, the names of the fallen weighed heavily on his heart. Among them were three Kingsguard knights who accompanied them to the battlefield - Lorent Marbrand, Harrold Drake, and Adrian Redfort, all of whom had served the crown with honor and courage. Only Willis Fell managed to survive. They were good men. Honorable men.
The deafening sound of a dragon's roar reverberated through the entire length of the kingsroad, causing everyone who had miraculously managed to survive the brutal Battle of the Kingsroad to stop and look up at the sky in awe. Even the dragons Maelyx and Sheepstealer, who were busy going about their own business, stopped what they were doing to gaze up towards the heavens and see the impressive sight of Vaelor soaring over the kingswood, heading west.
"Is that father's dragon?!" Aegon hurried.
"Yes, it was. It's Vaelor," Viserys confirmed.
"What's he doin'?" Nettles implored.
"I... I don't know, Netty. I honestly don't know." Father, what are you doing?