The Battle of King's Landing 302 AC,
Homeless Harry Strickland.
He was angered. Wroth if truth be told. The words that Daemon Targaryen had spoken had lit a fire in Harry Strickland that he never knew he held within him. True, Harry oft would bristle when people threatened or made fun of his elephants. That it was usually those who'd never seen just how much damage one of their charges could do was not enough to allow him to forgive them. For ignorance was no excuse. Yet Daemon's threats had hit home more than most because, unlike others, Harry knew those threats could be followed through on.
It was why he worried as he climbed up his elephant's side and into the howdah. Why too he grumbled over the fact that they had not allowed Black Balaq to take Daemon Targaryen from this world with an arrow. Not even words spoken to him by Lysono Marr, about how someone had already put two arrows in Daemon's chest and it stopped him not, had made Harry think differently. It was far better they ended him before the battle than during it, far safer too.
Awaiting the order to charge, Harry could feel how his reticence was affecting Hyacinth. Yet there was nothing he could do to offer his elephant reassurance when he felt none for himself. Instead, he simply hoped that her courage held better than he feared his own may. Courage that was on the verge of faltering as he heard the roar of the dragon. Harry turned his eyes to the sky and prayed that the sound was just in his head and not that of his impending doom. A large and true smile appeared on his face as the source of the roar was revealed to him finally.
"By the gods, we've got a dragon of our own!" Harry called out happily.
Where it came from, he knew or cared not. The mere fact that Daemon Targaryen's biggest advantage had been nullified was all that truly mattered. Harry, his Serjeants, the Dornish Army, and the Tiger Cloaks all breathing that much more easily now. Not that they still didn't have a fierce battle to wage or that there would not be much blood spilled this day. Some of it their own. Still, to know it was not fire that you'd face was a great relief and so Harry raised the horn to his lips and blew.
"Ahooooooo!"
"Ahooooooo!
"Ahooooooo!"
Three blasts and the elephants began to move forward. The Golden Company's cavalry followed behind. Looking down the line to his left, Harry could see the Tiger Cloaks had started their march and so he turned right, happy to see that the Dornish cavalry too had begun to move. A smile threatened to split his face so wide was it. Never had he rode into battle with such a force of men by his side and even though the Westerosi matched them in numbers, Harry wagered they'd not do so in mettle.
No force in Westeros had ever faced an Elephant's charge before. They'd no experience to call upon in fighting against one. Seeing and hearing it as the elephants began to increase their speed, Harry knew full well that the ground would tremble and those who stood against them would understand it not. He knew too that when their arrows and crossbow bolts flew from inside the howdahs, it would cause panic and dissension in their enemies' ranks. Yet compared to what the elephants wore on their heads and what the sight of the deaths of the first men they encountered would cause, that panic would be relatively calm.
The blades were as long as two lances and as wide as shovels. Attached to the elephant's heads they would strike the enemy long before the enemy could strike them. When angered the elephants would move their heads vigorously from side to side causing even more carnage in their enemies' ranks. Their tough leathery skin would make arrows and even some lances obsolete when they were used to defend against them. Having been part of such charges for nigh on twenty years, Harry was a master in using the elephants to their truest potential. So now, with the dragon nullified, he blew the horn once more and the charge began for true.
"Show them, Hyacinth. Show them why the Golden Company is as feared as it is respected." Harry called out.
This was another reason why he'd been happy to take this contract. True, without the coin they were being paid they'd not have done so, but given who led the army of those they were to face, they had another reason to do so. Daemon Targaryen had been a torn in their sides in Essos. Long before they knew who he truly was, tales had reached Harry of the boy and the Red Priest who accompanied him. Words spoken in taverns that named far better men than he as cravens and cowards were not welcomed by the men of the Golden Company. Nor were they ever forgiven or forgotten.
"Today we pay you back for your disrespect."
Harry turned to look behind him, relieved to see that while the cavalry had followed, they had done so at a safe enough distance. Soon enough they'd be in range of their enemy archers and the sky would be filled with arrows. While he and those in the howdahs were well protected and the elephants would suffer little from the pitiful attempts to bring them down, horses and the men who rode atop them would fare less well.
With Hyacinth now in full charge, the ground beneath them was truly resounding with her hoof beats. The distance between them and the first rank of their enemies' forces was growing ever shorter too. Harry once more looked to the sky and could see no sight of either the dragon they'd brought to bear or the one that Daemon Targaryen would. Relief was his most prevalent emotion as he now turned his attention to those he'd face on the ground.
Taking a bow in hand, he placed his arrow and pulled back halfway on the bowstring. Whether or not there would be a need for him to loose it, he knew not and yet it was for the best to be ready to. A thousand yards, nine hundred, eight hundred, Harry began to brace himself and as he did so, he felt the wave of warmth that seemed to course right through him. Dismissing it as excitement or battle fever, was something he could only do briefly. The second time he felt that same wave of warmth, Harry knew it was something completely different.
"Where? How?" he cried out. His questions received no answer and his eyes now looked at a sight that would stick with him for the rest of his life. However long that may be.
The black dragon laid down wave upon wave of fiery death. To the left of him and the right, elephants and the men atop them burned. Had his ears been more attuned to the devastation that the black dragon wrought, Harry would have heard an elephant's mournful cry. If he was able to pay more attention to Hyacinth, he'd realize that she was the elephant that did so. Yet, it was not simply the black dragon that stopped Harry from doing so. It was the panicked charges of the elephants who had not yet faced the flames, Hyacinth's own just as true as the rest of them were.
Harry turned his eyes to the sky to look for their dragon but there was no sign of it anywhere. A truly worrisome thought came to mind that it had already been defeated and if so, they were truly fucked. Though given that half their elephants had been burned to ash or at least beyond recognition, mayhap that was true regardless. Either way, it mattered not. All that availed was flight and so Harry used all his experience and willpower. He even begged Hyacinth to take him as far from this field of fire as she could.
Be it his orders, pleas or that it was always what Hyacinth intended, Harry was greatly relieved when open ground and the safety of trees offered him some respite. He was even more so when glancing to the sky he caught sight of their dragon now chasing after Daemon's. Torn between turning back and reforming the charge or leaving this battle far behind him, it was the sight of what had once been the most feared part of the Golden Company in flames that decided things for him. All but three elephants were no more and two of those would not last the night. Only Hyacinth remained unscathed and unburned.
"There, take us there!" Harry shouted as the trees drew ever closer.
The impact when it came was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was not flames that took Hyacinth from this world but a dragon crashing into the side of her. Harry knew she was dead the moment she hit the ground. Now he worried that he too would be as the impact had thrown him from her back and for a short amount of time, Harry Strickland knew what it felt like to fly.
He would not learn what it was like to land heavily. Nor find out if that landing would cripple or end him. It was not flames either that were to take Homeless Harry from the world. Instead, the great maw of the black dragon opened and Harry Strickland, the last Captain-General of the Golden Company, met his end as a dragon's meal. Teeth pierced his armor as easily as a knife cut through butter and pain and agony were mete out in equal measure.
Randyll Tarly.
Never had he seen such a thing before. The elephants had looked formidable with their large blades atop their heads. Arrows had flown and had simply bounced off their hides. Their charge was unhindered not by anything that was facing them. Randyll, and he wagered all the men of the Reach who were in the first line that the elephants would reach, braced themselves for the impact. Heartsbane was unsheathed and he prayed that the blade would find better purchase than the arrows had. Then he offered up a different prayer.
He, like the others, had believed that the dragon would be their biggest ally this day. They'd feared not the Golden Company's famed war elephants because what use were they when compared to a dragon's flames? Randyll had seen what Daemon Targaryen and Lyanax had done to the Dornish Fleet and he had readied himself to see the same done to the Golden Company's elephants. Right up until they'd all seen the other dragon had he done so.
"By the gods, there's another one." he cried out.
Then he and every man and boy there had looked on as the two dragons had engaged in what seemed to be a chase. Had he not known Daemon Targaryen or judged him as truly as he had, Randyll may have named him craven. Lyanax flew not towards their enemy but away from it and the other dragon followed. That it afforded him the chance to take a truer look at the other dragon was not something he welcomed. The sight of it made Randyll disbelieve his eyes if truth be told.
It was as dark as Lyanax and yet it seemed lesser than. Almost a shadow of, rather than the true vision that Lyanax presented. As if flew over their heads it loosed no flames upon them, though it was close enough to do so. It seemed to flicker and waver somewhat as well. The closest he could describe it was as if he was atop a ship and looking to the horizon, seeing things that were not truly there and so it confused him greatly. However, it was not something he could ponder on for long as the elephants drew ever closer.
"Lances! Lances!" he shouted as down the line his orders were repeated or added to by some of the other Lords of the Reach.
Mathis Rowan, Ser Garlan Tyrell. Ser Jon Fossoway, Ser Baelor, and Ser Garth Hightower. Alyn Ashford and Lorent Caswell. All of them were good man and true and none would wither or cower even when faced with what now charged their way. Randyll could see none of them for true and so it was to his son that he looked. Dickon showed no fear and looked as resolute as Randyll himself was. It made him as proud as he could ever be and proved him right about sending Samwell to the Wall. His firstborn son was a craven and today was no day for such men.
A thousand yards. Nine Hundred. Eight hundred. Randyll counted them off in his head and needed no markers to judge the distance. They had but a few moments and he readied to speak the words that he hoped would give courage to the men of Horn Hill and those of the Reach. Moving his horse forward and turning to face those men meant he saw it not when Lyanax returned. The cheers that rang out so loudly, did at least force him to turn his head backward.
There were few sights he'd ever borne witness to that he'd named as glorious. The first sighting he had of Rhaegar Targaryen leading men into battle had been one. Watching the man they had all wished to be their king as he'd wielded Dark Sister and bested Robert Baratheon had been another. Seeing the traitorous Stormlords turn and flee at Ashford would long live in his memory. As too would the birth of his children, each of them, even his fat craven son. None could match this in its majesty, however.
Lyanax single-handedly broke the elephants' charge. The black dragon unleashed flames the likes of which Randyll had never seen before. Elephants weren't just burned, they were obliterated. Some even turned to ash before his very eyes. As for those who escaped the worst of the dragon's flames, they too charged no more. All but one were unable to even rise to their feet let alone run and that one ran away and not towards them.
' Not that it'll find safer ground.'
There was to be none found for any elephant this day. Lyanax flew after the last of the elephants and this time the black dragon was not alone in her pursuit. Even if the other pursuer chased after a different target. The shadow dragon was back and yet once again it unleashed no flames upon Randyll or his men. A brief thought came to his head that it mayhap had no flames to do so.
The sight of it then aiming dark flames at Lyanax soon put that to rest, though it was a much more welcome sight that brought cheers from his men and a smile to Randyll's oft-too-dour face. Lyanax crashed into the last elephant and sent those atop its back into the air. All but one of those poor souls found their landings to be what ended them. Whomever the man who ended up as Lyanax's meal was, Randyll pitied him not.
"King Daemon!" he shouted as once again the black and the shadow dragons engaged in their game of cat and mouse. Randyll wagering that the shadow dragon had no idea it was not the cat in this particular chase.
With the elephants no longer a threat, it left the cavalry to be dealt with. They'd stayed some distance back from the elephant's charge. No doubt hoping to come in and mop up the remnants of their broken ranks. In this they'd find themselves disappointed for their ranks were anything but broken.
Randyll turned his horse to face their enemy who was far off in the distance. Calling for his lance, he looked down the line and smiled at what he saw. All his fellow Reachlords and good and true knights had done likewise. Each of them now shouted out the same orders as he. Their horses moved forward as one. Lances that were raised were now lowered as the horses began to trot. The ground beneath their horses' hooves began to ring out with the sound of their gallop and soon enough they were in full charge.
No arrows filled the sky and instead, it was a bright light that did. Randyll sought and soon found the source of that light. Daemon had returned and once again was alone. The shadow dragon was nowhere to be seen and though there were no flames laid down upon their enemies cavalry, the light that shone from Daemon's swords was what forced their archers to lift their bows not and shield the truth of their own cavalry's charge from that of their enemy.
All too soon the shadow dragon returned and Randyll worried they'd be bathed in flames, though they were not. Once more it was only Lyanax that had to fear the shadow dragon's fire, not they. The chase had begun anew and Lyanax led the shadow dragon to wherever it was that Daemon wished it to be led to. The light returned to normal and Randyll could see the shocked look in the eyes of the helmed cavalrymen they were just now reaching. Lances struck men who were ill-prepared and unaware they were as close as they truly were.
"For King Daemon.!" he shouted as his lance broke and Heartsbane now swung in battle once again.
Ser Daemon Sand.
Anger, Rage, Hatred all of it courses through his veins as he urged his horse to ride ever faster. Daemon would name it an inferno, had he not borne witness to a true inferno only mere moments earlier. He, Oberyn, the Sand Snakes, and all of Dorne had looked on as the famed war elephants of the Golden Company had been burned away in the blink of an eye. Each of them thought the same thing and wondered where their dragon was as they lost one of their truest advantages over the enemy.
It had all seemed as if it was going to be so much easier when they'd seen the two dragons fly towards each other. Oberyn had even laughed loudly when Daemon Targaryen had turned craven and urged his dragon to fly away. Foolish though that assumption turned out to be. Whatever plan the Dragonking had in mind to negate their dragon was one that seemed to be working a whole lot better than Pyat Pree's. Why that was so, he knew not, though he could hazard a guess.
' Of the two, only one is an experienced Dragonrider.'
Daemon prayed that was so. For the alternative didn't bear thinking about, even but briefly. The idea that they were being played with and all of what was happening was as their enemies wished it was not one that he could quite shake, however. So, he shared those thoughts with the Red Viper and for once found himself disagreeing with what his prince and mentor said. Not that he had much time to ponder on those words, mind you. A glance at the field of battle and the scorched earth some distance off was the reason why that was so.
"Our Enemies Ride!" Oberyn called out. "I say we ride out to meet them! For Dorne! For Justice! For Vengeance!"
It was the last of those things that Daemon cheered most loudly for. His father had met his end because of the Targaryens and their allies. It was time for those allies to meet their ends at his lance and sword. Should he be lucky enough to come face to face with one of the dragons while he was seeking his vengeance, then all the better. As long as it was the two-legged non-flying dragon that was. Daemon had already seen enough of the Black Dragon to know what happened to those who fell under its gaze.
Luckily, or so he hoped, the Black Dragon was once more engaged in its battle with their own. Where they had flown off to, he knew or cared not. When they may return, worried him greatly. Yet in the end it truly mattered not. Their charge had begun and only victory or death would slow or stop it now. Daemon would even welcome the latter if it led to Dorne enjoying the former. A good death was not what he sought but it may be all he would know here today.
"And if that is to be my fate, I promise it to be a death worth remembering and worthy of song."
Beneath him, his sand steed covered the grassy ground with ease. Daemon knew some men preferred larger horses such as Destriers, but he had never been one of them. He knew too that sand was his horse's preference to ride over and yet it had never let him down before and he was certain it would not again.
Lowering his lance, Daemon sought his targets among the men of the Reach that rode his way. To his annoyance, few knew any fame or had storied names. Resolving himself that it would be numbers then that he would write his legend in, Daemon steadied himself upon his horse and readied for the impact. Wood crashed against shields, flesh, and horses alike as the two cavalries came together. Blood, spit, and shit soon were loosed by men who died or turned craven amid the glorious carnage.
Sooner than he expected it was his sword that Daemon wielded against men who wished to take him from the world. Its blade had the same effect as his lance did and cut down men as easily as he could have wished for it to do. Right up until it did not. Daemon found himself flying through the air and doing all he could to right himself and prepare for the landing to come. Something he managed with aplomb.
"My gods favor me still."
They were words spoken before Daemon truly had a moment to judge his predicament. Had he but waited a moment or two longer, he'd have named his gods as having deserted him. The Black Dragon had returned and once again there was no sign of their own. No flames were being loosed, however. Not that it made the devastation that Lyanax wrought down on them any lesser. Tooth and claw proved themselves just as deadly as fire and flame.
Daemon looked on as men and horses were picked up and thrown through the air. Others were crashed into just as the black dragon had crashed into the last of the war elephants. He saw archers try to fire bows only for a dragon's tail to swat them from the field like a man would a fly. All the while it did so unhindered and Daemon could understand it not. Nor could he figure out why, when their dragon returned, it did not looses its flames on the army they faced. True, to do so too close to where they fought was to see their forces caught by those very same flames. Yet their dragon flew over men who were further back from the true fight. It turned not its attention to those men nor those even closer to the city. Daemon would wager that had it done so, then the black dragon would have sought to give chase to it, or force it away from the Dragonking's allies.
Why?"
Why does it loose no flames?
What am I missing here?
They were questions that were not to find answers that day. The Black Dragon once again took off and Daemon and others looked on as it was pursued by their dragon.
Their fight was not Daemon's own nor would it be and so he turned his attention to the one that was. Searching, seeking, and finally finding what he deemed to be a worthy target for his rage, Daemon hurried to confront the Striding Huntsman before someone else did. Only to find that it was the son and not the father that he found himself faced with. Briefly, he almost told the green boy to run and hide under his mother's skirts, yet not only did he not get the chance to utter the words, but the attack he faced left no room for any.
Dickon Tarly may be a green boy, but he was certainly not a craven or cowardly one. Daemon needed all his skills to withstand the onslaught that he now faced and once he had, he soon began turning the tide in his favor. He felt no shame in striking the killing blow, no accomplishment in doing so either. It did bring him what he wished for, however. A truer and sterner test as Ser Baelor Hightower sought to avenge a boy that Daemon knew not if the Oldtown Knight named a friend.
"Be thankful it's not his father you face." Ser Baelor growled.
"After I end you, Breakwind, I'll see to Randyll Tarly too." Daemon boasted.
The fight he now was engaged in was much different than his earlier one. Dickon had been all anger and a need to prove himself, Baelor Hightower was poised and secure in who he was and so had no need to. Shield and sword against Daemon's sword and none was a different fight to navigate too. Especially when the man who bore the shield knew how to use it as a weapon. Daemon was forced backward time and time again and he did not find any openings though he sought them most keenly.
Parry, thrust, block, and dodge. On and on he and Ser Baelor fought and whether or not he'd disrespected the knight earlier, Daemon respected him truly now. Other than his prince, Thoros of Myr, and Daemon Targaryen, he'd faced no one better. Not in a genuine fight and certainly not in a fight like this, to the death. True, he'd crossed blades with his former brothers in the Kingsguard. While the Darkstar had always believed himself to be far better than he truly was, Daemon had not thought to find his equal amongst any others. He found more than that in Ser Baelor Hightower and as one cut became two, Daemon worried he'd not see this fight through to the end.
Had it not been for Obara, he probably wouldn't have.
Should he have felt shamed that it took the two of them to send Baelor Hightower to his gods, mayhaps.
Was he, certainly not.
Nor was he fearful when the true Striding Huntsman finally came his way.
"Bastard! I seek your blood and your life and I'll have both." Randyll Tarly called out loudly.
"Only in your dreams, Tarly," Daemon replied cockily. His underestimation of the depth of a father's desire to avenge his falling son was enough to cost him his head and his life not more than a few moments later. Valyrian Steel cut truly and it had taken his sword hand first before then taking his life.
Thoros of Myr.
Looking on as Daemon had taken the elephants from the Golden Company had brought a smile to Thoros' face as much as it had brought relief to those who stood alongside him. Few if any in Westeros had ever seen an elephant up close let alone faced one in battle and he'd heard them express their worries and doubts once they'd seen them. He'd heard too as others in their ranks told them that their king would never allow those elephants close to them, that Daemon and his dragon would bring them the flames. Those words then proved true.
It was much needed. The sight of the other dragon had cost some men their courage and diminished their faith in their king. Though here too it seemed that Daemon was more than capable of dealing with that not so little surprise. Thoros and the rest of the men watched as Daemon led the other dragon on a merry chase before returning to go about his deadly work. Once, twice, thrice, and more Daemon did so and it took until the third time for Thoros to truly see the other dragon and name it for what it was. A shadow and nothing more.
Whether or not the Shadow Dragon could harm Daemon or Lyanax, Thoros was uncertain. The fact that his prince bid the Black Dragon to lead the other on a merry chase, suggested that it could. What seemed more clear to him, and now the men too, was that they had naught to fear from it, as not once had it laid down flames upon any of the men it had flown over. Not that there were not things for them to fear as it was. They may have lost their elephants but the Golden Company was still a formidable fighting force without them. No matter the number of times his prince had named them all as cravens and cowards.
"Here they Come!" he shouted as the cavalry that mayhap had sought to crash through their broken lines after the elephants had done most of the hard work, now sought to do so through their efforts alone. With a look to the men of the Fiery Hand, Thoros unsheathed his sword and around him, prayers were offered to R'hllor. Down the line, red priests and priestesses began to chant and their fire was soon brought to bear. As for the men of the West, they readied their lances and prepared to repel the cavalry charge.
Thoros moved forward. Five feet, ten, five and ten, far enough so that he could be seen clearly by those who needed to and yet not too far that he'd not make it back into the ranks before the cavalry was upon him. Raising his sword high in the air, he waved it frantically. Not out of any sense of worry or doubt or even danger, but because it needed to be seen and his message had to be received. Seeing the four flaming arrows that were then fired high and out onto the field, he hurriedly made his way back to the line.
During their planning for the battle to come, Daemon had said to leave the elephants to him and Lyanax. His prince was no fool, however. Daemon was on edge and just as he had against the enemy with blue eyes and those with red, he'd made contingencies and tried to come up with plans for when things went wrong as much as he had should it go right. His words now rang out loudly in Thoros' mind once more.
" No plan survives contact with the enemy, Thoros. You and I know that far better than most and with this enemy in particular….."
Daemon had left it at that and had needed to say no more. His prince had known that should, for whatever unknown reason, he not be able to deal with the elephants, they would need another plan to do so. Had their charge managed to avoid a dragon's flames, it could not be allowed to continue unhindered to their lines. The sheer devastation to both men and morale such a thing would engender could not be allowed to happen. So, they had come up with something that would stop that from happening. The elephants had been dealt with by his prince and Lyanax, however, which now left them a contingency that they'd put to another use.
Thoros had given the signal and as the sounds of hoof beats rang out loudly, and the horses drew ever closer, that signal was now acted upon. Ropes were cut and the large trees they'd felled now rolled from the platforms they'd built for them. As they moved down the long downward ramps, those trees began to build up speed. While they were not atop a hill as such, the ground they'd picked was slightly more raised than that the Golden Company now covered to try to get to them. This too added momentum to the rolling trees.
Looking on in eager anticipation to see if they did to horses what had been planned with elephants in mind, Thoros found himself awed and amazed. He'd expected that the trees may knock the elephants off balance. With good fortune, they may even topple a few. Then, because of the intelligence of those massive beasts, a panic would enfold and whatever damage they may have done to their ranks would be lessened or even negated altogether. Against horses, the trees' effectiveness was tenfold than it may have been against the elephants.
The horses didn't simply topple over. They were sent flying as trees crashed against their hooves. Some tried to jump over the first tree that came their way only to then land awkwardly on the second. Their balance was completely taken from them as they found no firm footing and the result was the same as if they'd been hit by the tree they'd avoided. One line of horses, two, and finally three were affected before the trees finally stopped rolling. Yet the damage extended to the fourth and even fifth line of horses as some crashed into each other and others needed to pull up to avoid either the trees on the ground or the men and horses that those trees had crashed into.
"For King Daemon," Thoros shouted out to loud cheers.
"Archers make ready!" Another shout sounded and the sky filled with arrows as the Golden Company suffered a little of the fate of the man in whose cause they were formed.
Redgrass Field it may not have been and the Golden Company had few if any men of the caliber of Daemon Blackfyre or Aegor Rivers, yet the result looked to be heading in the same direction as it did on that fateful day. Lances at the ready. Their enemy's cavalry in disarray, the men of the West led by the Old Lion, rode out to finish the job that Thoros' signal had begun.
Looking at it from a distance, it was a bloody slaughter. Men who had lost some of their courage now faced those whose own had only been reinforced. Some turned tail and rode away be it to regroup or because they knew the day was lost. Far more stayed and fought and despite all he and Daemon had said about them over the years, they now proved those words false, in their case at least. While others moved past the men of the West and tried in vain to break through their lines in some vain attempt at earning glory or renown.
"SPEARS!" he shouted. His words repeated down the line and as he was handed his own, he lined up the shot.
They aimed not at the armored men atop the horses. Their spears may have done the damage they wished for and yet to aim at the horses themselves was to guarantee they would. Men were thrown from horseback and some simply jumped once they'd seen what was happening. Those men now racing towards them with swords, maces, or whatever their weapons of choice were, now drawn and ready to be brought to bear. A part of him wished to simply tell the crossbowmen to finish them. Another part knew that even though the Golden Company was all but done for, there would be other enemies to face this day and so he bid them to hold for now.
"Follow me!" he shouted and the Fiery Hand, along with some men of the West, did just that.
Around him, fiery spears made men into cravens for true. His flamed sword gave men pause and yet more than one Serjeant of the Golden Company came his way. Be that because they knew of his closeness with his prince or simply that they found him in their path, he knew or cared not. Thoros fought and though he knew some of the names of those who served in the Golden Company, he could name none of those whose lives he took over the next hour or more.
He was not the only one who ended more than one man face to face. The monstrous Mountain that Rides must have killed a dozen or more alone and his almost equally as large brother, the Hound, was not far behind. By the time they reformed their ranks and the Old Lion had returned to his place in the line, the Golden Company was broken beyond repair. Some men still lived, but those men would never fight on Westerosi soil ever again. House Blackfyre's last remnants were now no more and Thoros knew his prince would be much pleased by that.
Eyes looking to the sky and finding no sight of Daemon, saw Thoros offer a prayer to his god that as with most of their adventures, this would yet be another they'd jape, laugh, and drink while speaking of.
Malaquo Maegyr.
He understood it not. They'd been so confident in their plans. The men of Dorne seemed to be winning their battle against those of the Reach. The Golden Company had rode out behind their elephants to face the Men of the West and what looked to Malaquo through his Myrish Eye to be men of the Fiery Hand. Some red priests and priestesses too lest his eyes deceived him.
Their dragon flew above their heads and immediately gave chase to Daemon Targaryen's own and as he was readying to bring the Tiger Cloaks to bear, all seemed to go so very wrong.
Firstly it was something he noticed when he looked at their dragon. Malaquo had seen it fly over the lines of their enemy and yet release its flames not. Against the black dragon it had, and yet against men, for some reason, it had held back. It confused him greatly. True they needed it to keep Daemon Targaryen from simply burning them all to ash, but surely when you flew over the enemy, a wave or two of flames would be easy enough to let loose.
Then he'd watched as the Dornish attack seemed to falter. The Reach pushed back and though for now Dorne still held the upper hand, it did not do so by much and certainly not enough to offer aid to Malaquo's attack. Other than the few thousand men they'd given to Daario Naharis that was.
Seeing the black dragon take the elephants from the world and do so with such ease, worried him greatly. As too did the fact that their dragon was nowhere to be seen as it did so. Even upon its return, Malaquo was less than impressed as to his trained eye it seemed as if either Daemon Targaryen was a true Dragonlord and Pyat Pree very much was not. Or that Daemon simply led Pyat wherever he wished to. He took their dragon from the field to God's knew where and once there, he lost him somehow.
' How I know not.'
Seeing the Golden Company be dealt with easily and efficiently gave Malaquo even more pause. None of them had named the Westerosi as matches for their men and few of their men had fought in as many battles as the Golden Company had. Yet, to any with eyes to see, it was the Golden Company who looked as green as grass and the Westerosi who Malaquo would name formidable. So much so that with his Myrish Eye in his hands once more, he looked to see why that was so. The sight of the Old Lion looking as much a king as any man on the field today was enough to give him a reason why that may be so.
Turning the Myrish Eye to the men he was to face, Malaquo breathed a sigh of relief that they were the men of the North. They were savage, wild, and undisciplined according to the Red Viper and while savages can cause problems, they caused lesser ones in a pitched battle against men who were not. Or so Malaquo told himself as he raised his hand and he and the Tiger Cloaks moved forward, more slowly than they may have done had he not seen all he had.
As his men drew ever closer to those they'd face and beat this day, Malaquo searched his mind for all he'd been told of the men of the North. It took him some time to remember that Daemon Targaryen had kin amongst those men. The Starks of Winterfell were his uncles and cousins and according to Daario Naharis, they were who led the Northern Army. No sooner had the man's name come to Malaquo's mind than he again asked the questions that had plagued him since the parley. Daemon Targaryen's words preyed on his mind and had it not been for the sound of horns blowing, those words would have mayhap cost him his life. Distractions would get a man killed in a battle as truly as an enemy's blade.
"Syt volantis se se Triarchs!" (For Volantis and the Triarchs) he shouted as spears crashed against mail shirts and gauntlets tapped against polished helms in response.
The Northmen bore fierce-looking weapons and Malaquo knew that they'd fought battles before. They'd not fought against men like his, however. Spears would be wielded better than any but the Unsullied could do so. Their gauntleted gloves had steel claws attached that would rip a man asunder as truly as any tiger's claws would do. Few but those who'd faced the Tiger Cloaks for true would know of such a thing either, which brought Malaquo some comfort.
Again the horns rang out and the sound they made was almost maddening. Malaquo turned to look at his men and was happy to see those horns bothered them not. As he looked over his marching men, he caught sight of Daario Naharis and those he led and while he scowled at the man, he welcomed having him with him all the same. He'd feared that the man was a craven or working to some plan he knew not. When he didn't march with the Red Viper and the Dornish Army or with the Golden Company, Malaquo wondered if he would truly march with him and his men. Now that he had, he at least named the man's courage as not being in doubt.
"As for his character and his actions, they very much are," he whispered.
Putting his hand to the locket he wore around his neck, Malaquo opened it and looked at the image inside. His daughter was just as he remembered her. His pride and joy and the light of his life. A light that had been put out far too soon and by a man that Malaquo would give the rest of his days to face. Daemon Targaryen was high in the sky atop a dragon and for now, he was far from the field of the battle that was soon to be waged upon it. So Malaquo would have to settle for those who shared blood with the murderous dragon.
"I will serve my vengeance upon you, Daemon Targaryen," he said loudly. "And when I'm done, you and I will speak and I'll have the truth from your lips if I have to torture you to get it, Daario Naharis," he spoke far more quietly now.
"AHoooo"
"AHoooo"
"AHoooo"
Three loud blasts of a horn rang out almost at the same time. So closely together were they that had his ears not been so trained and accustomed to battle as they were, Malaquo may have named them a single one. They were but fifty feet away from their enemy and so distracted had he become in his thoughts that he'd not noticed it. Even now it took him some moments to realize it for true.
Why had the archers not fired upon them?
Why had no horses rode out to meet them?
Why did the Northmen look as if they were not readying themselves for a fight?
The answer when it came to him shocked him to his very core. As one the Tiger Cloaks began to charge, to run, before suddenly they turned and took their place in line with and not against the Northmen. He and those among his forces who were free men and not slave soldiers, the men of Dorne that marched with Daario Naharis and the sellsword himself were left there alone and lost in the middle of a battlefield where as of yet, no true battle had been fought. None truly needed to or could be if he was being honest with himself. Not when that battle had already been won.
Malaquo had marched with a force that was of a size with that it was to face. He now stood with a fraction of that force and across from him stood one that had doubled in size. What had been even numbers and to him, a certain victory, was now very much not, and naught but a certain defeat. Rage bubbled within him and all reason left his mind as he charged regardless. His death was guaranteed. Defeat was inevitable. Only the thirst for vengeance was left to be quenched.
"For Talisa!"
Prince Oberyn Martell.
They'd always had a contentious relationship with the Reach. It had been they that the Targaryens had sought to rule over Dorne in their name and Dornish memories were long. Once you'd crossed them in some way, rarely if ever was it forgiven. It was why he took so much issue with Daemon Targaryen even despite his sister's words. The boy's very existence shamed Dorne and House Martell and that was simply unforgivable. Oberyn had believed too that despite his sister's claims to the contrary, deep down inside Elia felt as he and Doran did.
' She is a Martell, how could she not.'
His sister had proved just how much of a Martell she was given what had happened at Summerhall. Oberyn was both incredibly proud of her and annoyed at her in equal measure. Had she simply accepted her fate then he could at least guarantee her safety. Now he feared very much for her life and that of her son and daughter equally. What Daemon had done to Quentyn would not go unpunished and a father's rage at the loss of a child was a thing to behold.
He would speak up for her to his brother and at the very least, bargain for the lives of his sister and niece and nephew and hope that Doran accepted all the others he'd offer in their stead. Those others starting with those of the Reach and already he and those with him had taken many and more of those who'd bowed and knelt to an unworthy king. None of any true name as of yet, however, although he believed that Ser Daemon had done for Tarly's heir.
As for his own true fight, it may very well be the Gallant that faced his spear this day. But first, it would be a man who truly served the dragons as Oberyn called out for and was soon face to face with Mathis Rowan. The Lord of Goldengrove seemed to be looking for him and he and his men had given him a clear path to where Oberyn waited for the fight. A smile on his face as he relished the thought of taking such a true servant of the dragons from the board.
"VIPER!"
"Golden Tree." he japed in return.
"You disgrace your sister's name this day." Rowan spat.
"And you make your wife a widow." Oberyn retorted. "Now shall we end this for I have others whose blood my spear wishes to taste before the night ends."
"You'll not see the morn, Viper."
"Brave but foolish words."
Mathis was an accomplished swordsman. He wielded his blade with efficiency if not true unparalleled skill. With his shield in his other hand, Mathis would cause most men problems should they face him in the sparring yard or during a melee. Oberyn, however, had always sought that which most men never dared to even dream about and this was a true fight and not some game of such.
Oberyn parried the sword strikes with the blade of his spear. He crashed it against the shield using its edged blade to cut into and break the wood. Dancing out of the way of any true strike that was aimed his way and confident that his back was covered by the guards that had inevitably formed behind him, Oberyn was able to concentrate only on the fight with the Lord of Goldengrove. Mathis on the other hand worried too much that someone else would seek to earn renown by taking his life this day. They would not, for none would dare interfere when Oberyn was having his fun, and fun indeed was what he was having.
"I heard your daughter opened her legs for some bard." Oberyn cried out. "Mayhap it's mine own spear she'd truly like to taste. What say when I'm done here I take a dozen of my men and we give your girl a night she'll never forget." Oberyn smiled. "Why, we may even truly turn her into the whore she longs to be."
His words enraged Mathis and cost him much of the focus he'd thus far fought with. They were needed not for Oberyn to win this fight. Spoken simply to cause the man both anger and some despair. For while there was not a lot of truth in what Oberyn had said, there was some and Mathis Rowan's daughter was not a girl who wished to hold to her virtue like it was some precious thing. Something that in Dorne would see her shamed not.
"I'll Fucking Gut You, Martell! And I'll See Your Bastard Daughters as Prizes For Mine Own Men to do with as they please."
Those words caused Mathis Rowan's death to be a more drawn-out and painful one than Oberyn had planned for him. The spear strikes became ever more focussed and directed and within a moment or two, the fight was won. Mathis lay dying in front of him and Oberyn did everything he could to ensure that it was not a clean death that was offered to the stricken lord.
"No man insults my girls, no man."
He moved away from the still dying Mathis Rowan and sought out the man whose blade he now wished to test himself again. Events, the sight of the man whose blade he truly wished to face upon his dragon's back and the pained cry from one of his girls, changing his direction and increasing his pace. Yet he was too slow to reach Obara and Nymeria in time to change their fates let alone that of his former squire.
Racing, running as fast as he could, and leaving any man who came near him to his guards to deal with, Oberyn sought to bring a father's rage against a man who was showing much of his own. Randyll Tarly had avenged his son against Daemon Sand. In doing so, he'd raised the ire of two of Oberyn's daughters. Nymeria and Obara foolishly thought themselves a match for a warrior of Tarly's repute. Even in the ever-growing darkness, its oppressiveness now something that everyone on the field had begun to feel, Oberyn could see the Valyrian Greatsword. What was once something he'd name a majestic sight was now the single most terrifying one he'd ever known. For as the blade moved it was one of his daughters that was its intended target.
"NYM! OBARA!
They were the last words that either of his girls ever heard. Heartsbane ended first the one and then the other and so, with tears in his eyes and his heart broken in two, Oberyn finally reached a father who looked and felt how he did.
"Good, for my vengeance is not yet sated." Randyll Tarly said as he turned to face him.
"Mine now never can be," Oberyn replied. Nothing would ever bring back his daughters after all and not even the blood he was about to spill would heal the hole he now felt in his heart.
Daemon Targaryen.
He had intended to use Lyanax to her best advantage. A dragon's flames were unmatched in their ability to break a cavalry charge or rob men of their will to fight. Once Daemon had seen that it was indeed men and not yet whatever they became when their eyes changed color that was. Instead of being able to do so, however, Daemon had faced a threat he'd not prepared for. One he had not even considered to be possible. A dragon that had been commanded by someone not of his blood.
It had thrown him at first. Worried him greatly. For just as he could do with Lyanax, they could now match with their dragon, or so Daemon had thought. Only for the truth of things to be somewhat different. He'd seen it then for what it was, or what he believed it to be, a Shadow Dragon. A mummery of one. Still, Daemon had taken no chances and he'd brought it far from the battlefield, confident that those who'd answered the call were of a match with those who marched against them. Other than the elephants that was. They he had dealt with as quickly and as ably as he could. Lyanax removed them from the board as it was Cyvasse they were playing and not a true battle they fought.
Daemon had led the Shadow Dragon where he wished. High in the sky to the clouds that he and Lyanax knew like he did the back of his hand. In amongst them where not even the black scales of his dragon could be seen. Their enemies' tactics played into his hands for once. In calling the night forward they had left the sky bereft of light. So Daemon had easily lost the Shadow Dragon and once he had, he'd bid Lyanax to return to deal with the Golden Company's war elephants. The last of those not facing the flames its brothers and sisters had. As for the man atop the elephant's back, his death was at the teeth of a dragon for he deserved as much for daring to bring the Golden Company to lands that they were far from welcome in.
At times the Shadow Dragon had brought its flames to bear and though it was a mummery, they were not. Yet at no point were those flames loosed against his men and it bothered Daemon greatly. It forced him to ponder upon things that he had no true wish to think about. To consider things that he wished he did not have to. One certain truth soon came to his mind and it was that which decided his course of action. So after Lyanax had once again lost their pursuer, Daemon bid her return to the field and though he wished to look to King's Landing and the Red Keep, he did not.
"Not the now."
Instead, he flew over where the Reach and Dorne were engaged in a pitched battle. Through Lyanax's eyes, he saw the Red Viper and Randyll Tarly engaged in a fight to the death. Daemon needed to look even more closely at them both to see why that was. It was not that he expected either man to give any quarter to the other, more they were fighting with anger and rage and he needed to know why that was. The sights of the bodies of Randyll's son and heir and Oberyn's daughters along with his former squire, were enough to explain the reasoning behind their fight.
"Not of the Kingsguard," Daemon said softly as Lyanax now moved to where his Goodgrandfather and Thoros had faced off against the Golden Company.
It comforted him to see that both men were hale and hearty. To see others among them that Myrcella named as her kin were breathing still, to see too that so many servants of R'hllor were unharmed. As it did to see the Golden Company as broken as it now was. Bittersteel's promise to see a Blackfyre on his family's throne had ended with the last Blackfyre, now the company he'd formed to do so had ended here today as well. Daemon was only saddened that he'd not played a bigger part in seeing it done and yet he was proud of the men who'd done so in his name.
He looked next to the walls and gates of King's Landing. His uncles and others were meant to be behind those walls and yet had taken to the field. Grey Worm had very much not. Orders from his prince were something that the Unsullied commander had faithfully followed for so long that Daemon needed not to check they would be followed now. Yet it brought a smile to his face to see it once more.
Soon enough that smile grew ever more true. As Melisandre, Thoros, and Kinvara had told him often, the Tiger Cloaks served his god more than they served the men who'd enslaved them. Malaquo Maegyr may think that it was he they followed and in some aspects, he'd have been proven right, but simply taking them from Volantis didn't make their faith lessen. Daemon had always known that what had truly stopped the Triarchs from seeking his death was that he was R'hllor's chosen and the Tiger Cloaks, just as the Fiery Hand before them, truly belonged to him. If there was any doubt of such a thing, then one look to the field and to where the Northern Army stood, would prove it to be a pointless one.
"Jēda syt iā pirta zaldrīzes naejot rhaenagon iā drēje mēre, Lyanax." (Time for a false dragon to meet a true one, Lyanax.) Daemon said to a loud and happy roar from his dragon.
The sight of the Shadow Dragon and the chase that once again began only fuelled Daemon's resolve. Lyanax flew high into the clouds and yet did so much more slowly than she was able to. She hid and very much did not at the same time. Both of them waited for their chance to send the fell beast that flew their way to the cold embrace of the god she served. To show her the truth in R'hllor's flames and which of them it was who ruled the skies.
"Dracarys," Daemon called out when the Shadow Dragon's great head pierced the cloud he and Lyanax had been waiting behind. "Dracarys" he called out once more.
They caught the Shadow Dragon so much by surprise that its flames weren't loosed. Daemon unsheathed Flame and Spark and the world above the clouds was bathed in light. Moving the smaller of the two swords into the hand that held the larger, he reached back behind him for the spear and called out for Lyanax to loose her flames once more.
"Dracarys."
Then offering a prayer to R'hllor, Daemon threw the spear and watched as it hit home. He didn't rejoice as the Warlock slumped forward, for the danger to him or his dragon was not yet averted for true. Once more he called out for Lyanax to loose her flames and this time she did so for quite some time. The Warlock, and the Shadow Dragon, both of them were bathed from head to toe in Lyanax's flames. For more than a moment or two, it was an unyielding barrage of fire that both faced and when she was done, naught but ash remained behind.
Daemon looked at it as it fell to the ground many miles below. Ash that came only from the Warlock and not the mummery of a dragon that he had ridden atop of. For it was only flesh and not fantasy that burned for true. Readying himself and asking Lyanax if she was able to bring the flames to their truer enemies, Daemon heard the voice in his head and his god's words were enough to tell him the time had finally come.
'Close them for me, Daemon. Shut the White Eyes as you have the Blue and Red. Join the rubies and let them all bear witness to my Champion of the Light.'
"As my god commands," Daemon said as he put the final ruby with the others and he and Lyanax swooped down from on high.
Daario Naharis.
It was a strange feeling having a god in your head. A worrisome one when that god was as angered as he now was. Daario, not truly aware of why that was for some time, so full of wrath and rage was his god due to Pyat Pree's failure. The blue-lipped Warlock was never to truly engage with Daemon Targaryen's dragon. At least not until he'd been given orders by their god to do so. Distracting and chasing away from the fight was the task that the now-fallen servant of the Great Other had been given and he'd failed.
"I'd wager mine own failure would be tolerated even less," Daario spoke openly. There was no need to think the thought or to imagine that if he did then his god would not know that thought immediately. So it was for the best if it was uttered aloud instead.
Around him, it was carnage and chaos and while he'd have welcomed the latter, as long as he was who was causing it, the former created some issues that needed a solution. Men falling was never a problem, or so Daario believed. That had been something his god had planned for and given him the tools to take advantage of. Men turning their coats, however, that had caught Daario and he wagered his god by surprise. It shouldn't have and yet, he'd not imagined that the Tiger Cloaks held so true to Daemon's god to turn their back on their commander.
As for the Golden Company. Never had he seen such a force of men be dealt with so easily. True, he'd sent them against what Prince Oberyn had said would be the best of Daemon's forces. Even though Daario would name the Unsullied as that. He'd thought them to be a match or at the very least to give the men of the West a fight. Instead, it had been a slaughter, a capitulation, and were these men not allies of his, Daario would have laughed at how simple a victory it had been.
"They were always so fucking full of themselves." he snorted.
It had led to his current predicament. The Tiger Cloaks had turned and Daario now had less than two thousand men under his command. Far off in the distance, the only true army he actually could bring to bear fought to a standstill against the men of the Reach. If this had been a contract or something he had signed on for coin only, then Daario would have retreated long ago. Was it not for the fear he had when it came to the retribution he'd receive from the god his fortunes were tied to, then he'd have found himself a nice place to hide and left these accursed lands as soon as he could. Retreat was not an option for him or any of them, not truly. So a path to victory needed to be found and found quickly. Men moved towards him that were far from friendly and even with the sword he now bore, Daario was no match for an army alone.
"The time has come. Five and twenty and one in particular." the voice in his head called out. "Blood for blood and the Lion's blood most of all."
Daario was much too far away from Tywin Lannister's forces. Had a battle been waged here for true then there was a chance the Old Lion would come to him. They'd won their victory after all and so would mayhap seek to join in the North's battle against the Tiger Cloaks to ensure they were victorious too. Alas, there had been no battle and there was naught that could bring the Old Lion to the field and little way of getting to him. Or so Daario believed.
"Yet try I must."
The cold from his sword chilled the very air around him. When he moved it in the direction of one of the Dornish men under his command, they took a step back for fear of being bitten by that cold. Using this as his guide, Daario led the men forward and into the battle that would soon become a rout. Man after man he cut down and watched as they turned to ice statues almost in front of his eyes. One and ten, two and ten, five and ten. When he reached twenty and one, Daario truly became lost in the bloodletting. Even if that blood never actually fell from the bodies he cut down.
He felt it, however. The blade absorbed it and that blood only made it and he become ever more powerful as he did so. The twenty-and second life he took was a man who a few hours earlier had named him an ally. It surprised Daario greatly that Malaquo Maegyr lived still if he was being honest. As it did he was mainly unmarked or uninjured. The look on the man's face was one of thunder and when he shouted out his accusation, Daario felt no need to lie. The time for such had long since passed.
"Daemon spoke true, it was me who took your daughter from this world. As it will be me who does the same to you."
It was not a fight, not truly. Daario was far beyond Malaquo's skills before he'd sold himself to his god. With his backing and the blade he'd been gifted, there were few if any on this field that could stand in his way. With that knowledge and with what felt like a storm of ice shards surrounding him, Daario cut across the field as easily as one of the black dragon's flames. None stood in his way, or if they did it was not for long, the storm bringing them death as well as clearing his path to where he was meant to be.
One man and then another, four and twenty he'd now taken and the Old Lion looked at him with something akin to fear in his eyes. Arrows, crossbow bolts, and spears all were aimed in his way and each found naught but ice to hit. His god offered him his protection as Daario set about to carry out his will.
"Thy will be done." he smiled as a monster of a man moved his way. A giant carrying a Greatsword of a size that Daario had never seen any man wield.
"TYWIN!" the giant shouted and Daario smiled contemptuously not at the giant, but at the man the giant had named.
"It was me who killed your grandson, Lord Lannister. Now I'll kill your rabid dog too."
Daario dodged the giant's blows easily. For a man of the size that his opponent was, he was fast, but Daario was no longer simply a man. Though he knew it not, each life he'd taken had changed him. His hair was now as white as snow and his eyes had grown just as white as he took one and then another sacrifice from this world and sent them into the next. Other than two small dark points at the center of his eyes, their color was uniformly white. As he struck first the killing blow on a man he knew now was the Mountain that Rides, even those small dark points began to fade away.
Killing Tywin Lannister turned them completely white and his hands which held the sword he'd been gifted, now turned to ice. Soon the rest of him matched it and yet it was unlike any ice that had ever been seen before. It sparkled, shone, and bathed everything around it in darkness at the same time.
Holding his sword aloft, Daario needed not to look behind him to see what he'd done. Around the field, the dead began to rise once more. Their eyes were as white as his own and were mere moments before they were outmatched and outnumbered, now they very much were not.
"End him, my champion. Take Daemon Targaryen from the world and all I've promised you will be yours."
"As you command," Daario said moving forward with his army behind him and the true fight now ready to begin.
Casualties.
The Army of Darkness.
Homeless Harry Strickland.
The Serjeants of the Golden Company.
10,000 men of the Golden Company dead, eight thousand injured.
20 war elephants.
Malaquo Maegyr and one hundred free men of Volantis.
Ser Daemon Sand.
Obara Sand.
Nymeria Sand.
Three thousand men of Dorne.
Pyat Pree and his Shadow Dragon.
The Army of the Light.
Mathis Rowan
Ser Baelor Hightower
Dickon Tarly.
Four thousand men of the Reach.
Ser Gregor Cleagane, the Mountain that Rides.
Lord Tywin Lannister.
One hundred men of the West.