Baelon Targaryen (196 A.C. Third Moon)
Baelon woke from a dream, and he saw a sea of grass. He felt heavy, as if his clothes were soaked with water. He only saw the green of the grass as he raised his head to the sky. Dark grey clouds rolled in, wrathful and endless, like the dark winds the White Walkers brought with them.
Then a drop of red fell from the sky.
It struck the grass before his feet, dark red like blood. No, it was blood.
Another followed.
Then another.
Soon the field was drinking blood, soaking him in it.
Baelon looked down and saw that he stood barefoot in it, his small feet buried in the thick red mud.
A shadow passed above.
He looked up.
A dragon flew across the sun.
Its wings were black. Its eyes burned like coals. Yet when it opened its mouth, no flame came out. Only the cries of men.
Then another dragon answered.
This one was red, but its body was a shadow upon the field, a fallen star above him, standing firm against the black one.
Baelon wanted to run.
His legs would not move.
Then the sky split open.
From the wound in the clouds came ravens. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They circled above the field, black wings beating against red light, yet all with white beaks. Then one raven landed before him, its feathers wet with blood. Yet unlike the others, this one was white with red eyes, and it looked at him attentively.
Then, with a loud crash, the dragons clashed against one another. As they fought, the white raven flew high and cried out harshly, and all the black ravens flew straight toward the black dragon. Their white beaks pierced the black dragon's chest.
Baelon's breath caught.
The grass shifted beneath him, and before him lay two crowns caked in blood and mud. One was made of black iron. One of red. The black crown was cracked clean in half.
Then he saw a man fall, one of his eyes bleeding blood, and above the man was a red stallion with red wings, breathing fire.
Another figure stood across the field. A boy, pale and frightened, his nightclothes stained red at the hem.
Daeron.
His brother saw him too.
For a moment, they stared at one another across the bleeding grass.
"Baelon?" Daeron called.
The wind took his voice and turned it into the sound of horns.
"Wake," it whispered.
Baelon woke with a gasp.
He sat upright in his bed, his small hands clenched in the blankets. The room was dark, save for the low glow of the remaining coals in the hearth. His heart hammered against his ribs.
A dream.
No.
A dragon dream.
He felt the difference.
He had known wolf dreams, when he warged into Ghost. This had been none of those. This had been one of fire and blood.
He heard a bed creak. Baelon turned.
Daeron stood there in his robe, pale-faced and trembling. His gold-brown hair was tangled from sleep, and his eyes were wide with the same fear Baelon felt crawling beneath his skin.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Then Daeron whispered, "You were there."
Baelon swallowed. "So were you."
Daeron stepped toward him from his bed, looking at the still-sleeping Aerion. "The sky was bleeding."
Baelon's fingers tightened around the blanket. "Did you see the dragons?"
Daeron nodded slowly. "Ravens too. They slew the black dragon."
Daeron came closer and asked, "What does it mean?"
Baelon looked toward the window. Outside, the night was quiet, but it no longer felt empty. Somewhere far away, armies were sleeping, waiting for the battle to come.
"I think it was the battle Father is about to fight, or has already fought," Baelon said.
Daeron blinked as he took his hand and sat beside him on the bed. "I think so too."
"I didn't expect to see you. I have dreamed before, but not with someone else. I remember dreaming of your birth, little brother," Daeron said, with a small smile.
Baelon looked at his brother and replied like a two-year-old. "Neither did I expect to see you. You saw my birth?"
At that, Daeron smiled. "Yes, and later I saw you wearing a crown and rising from the ashes."
Baelon frowned. A crown, rising from the ashes. Fuck, am I to be king again?
"Oh, weird," he replied.
Then Daeron thought back on the dream. "We will tell Father when he returns. And he will. He must. Father is strong, like the dragon on the field, standing firm," Daeron said, his voice trembling a little.
Baelon was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
"Yes. He will be back, as will Uncle Baelor," he said, even as he felt his lip tremble. It was fear. Fear because he knew he cared for Maekar Targaryen, and for Baelor Targaryen.
Chapter 14: Maekar Targaryen
Maekar Targaryen (196 A.C. Third Moon)
The Crownlands
Maekar sat in his tent with Lord Daven as they looked over the map and the line they had assembled, discussing what could happen. The more they talked, the more the feeling of the coming battle settled in his gut.
Then he thought of what Brynden had told him. Both Daemon and Baelor were close, yet whether his brother would arrive in time to aid him, he did not know. Even without him, Maekar felt they could win, and that was partly because of his boy.
That little warning of the black and red dragons clashing had caused him to act and be more vigilant. He had trained the levies of his domain, and he was quite certain they would be able to hold against Daemon and his forces. Either they would beat them, hold them until Baelor arrived, or fight them into a stalemate.
Then he heard the tent flap open and saw his uncle walking inside.
"Brynden?"
"It's Daemon," Brynden said. "His army was spotted a few leagues away. If we hold this position, he will be here by the morrow. My Raven's Teeth have been able to kill his scouts so far, so I do not think he knows of our position yet."
The three men looked at one another.
For a moment, there was only the crackle of the brazier.
"Good," Maekar said at last. "We need to keep it that way. We stay in this position. The land before the camp is good for battle, with mostly flat terrain. Good for cavalry, an advantage for Daemon, but also for our pikes. It is paramount that our levies hold the line. The small stream on our left flank can also be used, depending on how the battle goes."
Lord Daven nodded. "The stream will slow any attempt to turn us from that side, I would advise having a reserve, and if Daemon tries to flank us, we anchor the flank to it properly. The steam, it's not too deep, but mud and water do not need to be deep to break a horse's stride."
"Spearmen?" Maekar asked.
"Spearmen, with archers behind them," Daven answered. "Men with heavy shields, who can hold a line, and archers can start to shoot over the line. We steady men. The sort that will listen when told to hold, and not chase glory if the enemy pulls back. A flank is often lost by fear, but it can also be lost by foolish courage."
"Well then, Lord Hand, I expect you, too, to lead them, and I trust in you to make sure our left flanks hold. I shall hold the center, and I spoke to Lord Rickard Selmy; he will lead the right flank."
"A wise one on both accounts, and thankfully, because of your son. We have our levies drilled better than we would have otherwise. I suspect Daemon will underestimate them. He will expect the levies to bulge under a full cavalry charge. " Brynden noted, and they nodded, before his uncle looked at him intently.
"Brynden, what is it?" Maekar asked.
"I wish your leave to move out and strike their camp. To pick off their commanders, perhaps even Daemon, if I am able. It would allow us to perhaps finish the battle before it even starts. Or break their moral." Brynden stated.
Maekar frowned as he looked back at the map and the sketch he had made of the battlefield and the line he had set out. He could order an attack at night, sending in assassins. His father had refused to take Daemon captive under false pretenses, and now the realm was at war.
His father was not here, and he had the main command.
He closed his eyes.
"Do as you wish, Brynden, yet one thing. Do not take any unnecessary risks. You command the scouts and our only mobile mounted archer force. That is a card I wish to hold during the battle."
Brynden looked at him and then gave a bow. "I shall do as you command. Perhaps the rebellion will end tonight." His uncle left his black figure disappearing into the night.
After that, Maekar was left alone with Lord Daven.
"A wise move. Better one death in the night than thousands at the breaking of the sun."
Maekar sighed and spoke. "If we can end this war with minimal losses, then I will take it. Yet I fear, even with Daemon's death, it will not be the end. I fear that his line has to end. Like House Stark did to the Greystarks, so may we now have to do with the Blackfyres."
"That is the price of ruling. Sometimes ruthlessness is part of the job," Lord Daven stated, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Maekar looked down at the map one last time. The little pieces of carved wood seemed too small for what they represented. Men. Houses. Banners. Lives. The fate of the realm, reduced to lines of ink and markers on a table.
"Let us try to get some sleep," Maekar said. "On the morrow, the fate of the realm may lie on a knife's edge."
Lord Daven nodded. "Good night, my prince. Be at peace, if peace can be found tonight. You made the right decision, or at least the best one war allowed you."
After that, Daven left him alone.
Maekar remained by the table for a while, staring at the lines on the map. His eyes found the open field, the stream, the place where he meant his center to stand, and the path Daemon would likely take when he came.
Then, at last, he walked to his bed and tried to find some rest.
Chapter 14: Ser Brynden Rivers
Ser Brynden Rivers (196 A.C. Third Moon)
The Crownlands
Brynden rode the first part of the journey on horseback.
The night was moonless, and that pleased him. Clouds smothered the stars above, leaving the land wrapped in darkness. Behind him rode twelve of his Raven's Teeth, men he trusted to move quietly and kill without hesitation.
No songs would be sung of this.
No septon would call it honorable.
That mattered little to Brynden Rivers. He was white as bone, a spymaster, and a sorcerer to the realm. The realm already distrusted him. Another move found dishonorable was not something he thought of twice.
Honor was a fine thing in the mouths of singers and young knights. On a field of corpses, it was often little more than a pretty word men used to justify their own deaths.
The realm did not need pretty words. It needed his brothers, Daemon, and Aegor dead. It needed his commanders dead.
It needed the rebellion broken, the head cut off the snake before it could do more damage. Before thousands joined them in death. Thousands already had, and more were to follow if the black dragon did not fall tonight.
Brynden raised his hand.
The riders halted.
Ahead of them, faint lights glimmered through the dark. Campfires. Daemon's host rested there, spread out across the fields, unaware that death had already slipped past their scouts.
A raven croaked softly from a bare branch above. Brynden looked up at it and smiled. The bird tilted its head, watching him with black eyes.
He dismounted. The others followed.
"From here, we move on foot," Brynden whispered. "No needless killing. No noise. We strike where it matters and vanish before they understand what has happened."
One of his men nodded. "Daemon?"
"If the gods are generous," Brynden said.
"And if they are not?" one of them asked.
Brynden reached back and touched the arrow set apart from the rest in his quiver. Its shaft was pale as bone. Weirwood.
"Then any of them. Aegor, Daemon's sons, Fireball, Gormon Peake," Brynden said.
No one questioned him.
"Wait. Guard me well. I will scout ahead."
Then he slipped into the mind of the raven.
He moved and arrived at the camp. He found it quieter than he had expected, and he searched for opportunity. He watched as men slept beneath cloaks and rough blankets. Horses shifted in their lines. Somewhere, a man coughed. Somewhere else, dice clicked softly before being followed by a low curse.
Then he noticed something close to one of the few openings of the camp. Near the stream the camp had set itself along stood a man in bright steel, wearing a white cloak, with a fireball upon his tabard.
Fireball.
In that moment, Brynden slipped out of the raven.
"Come. Follow me. We have our chance now."
Brynden passed through it all like a shadow, his Raven's Teeth following him. He needed to get closer to Fireball to make a killing shot.
Yet the sentries were too close. He ordered four men forward.
"Take out the four sentries, and I will move to strike at Fireball. He is close. I will go in, and then we retreat."
As the five of them moved out of the bushes, the sentries noticed movement.
Yet they all died with gurgles in their throats as four weirwood arrows pierced through them.
With a quick sprint across the land, he found his target.
Ser Quentyn Ball.
Fireball.
He was taking a drink from the stream.
Daemon's fiercest sword. His trainer. His spur. The man who had helped turn the west into chaos, winning two major victories for the Blackfyre rebellion.
Brynden knelt in the grass.
For a moment, he listened to the wind, and then he drew the weirwood arrow.
The pale shaft was one of the few things that seemed to give light in the darkness.
He set the arrow to the string.
The bow bent slowly. Brynden breathed in, then let loose with his breath.
The arrow whispered through the dark toward Daemon's sword.
Then it struck with a sound so soft that only Brynden heard it.
A wet gasp followed, then cries.
Brynden left as quickly as he could, moving back to the tree line.
"Is it done?" one of them asked as he found them again.
Behind them, the camp started to wake. Shouts of chaos and murder spread across the dark night.
Brynden turned his eye once more toward the camp. Then he turned and vanished back into the dark, his Raven's Teeth behind him.
When Daemon Blackfyre woke, he would find one of his sharpest swords stolen from him.
And by the time the armies met, the fire that might have led his charge would already be dead.
Hello everyone!
If you've enjoyed my stories and would like to support my work, consider joining my community. Your support means the world to me and helps me continue creating the content you and I love.
By becoming a Patreon, you'll get access to exclusive benefits like:
- Early access to new chapters (Up to Four months ahead)
- Writing and story updates.
- Access to concept art for the stories.
- And, of course, you will support me.
- And much more!
Join now and be part of a community that loves and supports creativity. Your contribution makes a huge difference and allows me to keep bringing you exciting new stories.
If you want to join, go to Patreon. Copy this link : www.patreon.com/HeroDut1998
Thank you for all your support!