King Daeron Stark
Harrenhal was grim, dark and desolate. Just as it had been the last time he had been here. The last time he had been here though, they had just learnt of Daemon's death, and his bannermen had been riled up on adrenaline and righteous fury and so he had left Harrenhal as King of the North, the first King of the North since Torrhen Stark had bent the knee all those many years ago. Now, he was here and the war was still raging, and this time it really did seem as if they might win. He could taste victory in the air, the Riverlords were all either spent or fighting for them. The Battle of High Heart had seen the Tully line brought close to extinction, with its Lord, heir and most of Lord Brynden's sons slain during the battle, only a babe was left as the Lord of Riverrun now. Lords Darry, Bracken and Blackwood had fled back to their respective castles after the battle, broken and scared. Houses Shawney, Lothston, Smallwood, Butterwell, Ryger and Mooton commanded the majority of the Riverlands host in Harrenhal at the moment.
Daeron's own men were becoming restless, he knew this, he could feel it in the air, the feeling that the war was just passing them by. They had been camped in Harrenhal now for some five moons, as the war raged on in the Westerlands and the South. The Westerlands were a smoking ruin, the Lannisters had been brought to their knees by Daeron's nephew Lord Rodrick Greyjoy, and now the Reach was also being brought to its knees though Lord Gormon Tyrell continued to lead his men north to meet up with Maekar's forces. Dorne was engaged in its own civil war, Lord Artos Yronwood, Daeron's nephew had led a rebellion joined by Lords Gargalen, Toland, Holt and many others and House Martell was currently struggling through many a battle. So they would not be joining Maekar's army.
The Stormlands were now all firmly under the Golden Company's control, the last piece of resistance provided by Lord Grandison had been crushed at the battle of the Shadow, where the men of the Golden Company led by Maekar's own son Prince Aerion had smashed Grandison's own host to pieces and slain Ser Robar Baratheon the heir to Storm's End. The Baratheons had not been able to join in the war effort, and that Daeron suspected might very well cost Maekar his throne. For the Stormlords were by nature a very fractious and argumentative lot, and only seemed to truly unite when led by a Baratheon, Lord Lyonel Baratheon was old and ageing and yet he commanded more of a presence than his son had, at least that was what the men of the company said. The Stormlords had appeared broken and divided in their unity whenever the company had fought them, and as such they had paid the price for it now.
The Golden Company had arrived in Harrenhal some two moons ago, navigating round King's Landing and the remaining Targaryen strong holds through marching from Summerhall in small groups of men. Daeron had been surprised to see his old friend Aegor Rivers, the man had been strong and whole the last time Daeron had seen him some thirty years ago, and now he looked old and haggard. There was much for them to discuss it turned out apart from the war. Daeron had learnt of his friend's marriage to a Volanteene noblewoman in order to gain more money and men for the company, they had five children now, two of whom were here serving as squires for men of the company. His friend also informed him of the alliance that the company had made with the Company of the Cat and the Second sons, and how these extra men might prove useful against Maekar's army. "They fight like the savages they are Daeron. Maekar and his men won't be able to handle that." Aegor had said. Daeron had seen some of these men fight in the yard, and he had to admit that he agreed with his friend's assumption.
Another thing that made Daeron feel slightly more relieved that his friend and the Golden Company were here was the presence of what he felt would be the ultimate weapon, war elephants. Tried and tested in a hundred battles according to Bittersteel, a gift from his goodfather. The elephants would provide more of a fear factor than anything else against Maekar's men, scaring and spooking their horses, and perhaps also scaring the men themselves, for it was not often that one came face to face with an elephant.
The time they had spent in Harrenhal had also allowed Daeron the chance to better know his nephews. Daemon had had seven sons by Delena Strickland and though two of them were buried in the ground now and one was still in Winterfell, three had come with Aegor to fight for their nephew. Haegon, Monterys and Daeron Blackfyre. All three were tall strapping lads with their father's build, though Haegon reminded Daeron of Maekar a lot in his attitude and outlook on life, a grim and serious man. Monterys was more carefree though a demon with a sword in his hand, and Daeron's own namesake was quick witted and a sound tactician, the leader of the Golden Company's archers he would have to be.
As for Maekar's son, Aerion Brightflame was a skilled soldier, and a smart man but he was also short of patience and quick to anger. Daeron could see some hints of madness in him, and sometimes he wondered whether or not the man would be a liability when it came to the actual fighting. Aegor though was quick to reassure him. "He is good in battle Daeron. He fights like a man possessed. Trust me; we have nothing to worry about." Aerion did not spend that much time in the training yard, preferring to spend it alone closeted with maps and his close friends. Still the recent news they had received would prove ample opportunity to see just how tactically minded Aerion truly was.
Daeron had made his rooms in the Kingspyre Tower and as such the meeting of the important commanders were held in his solar. The lords who had gathered in the solar apart from Daeron himself included, Aegon Blackfyre his great nephew and goodson, his son Prince Aegor Stark, his cousin Edwyle Stark, the lord commander of the Winter's Guard Theon Stark, Ser Rodwell Manderly heir to White Harbour and wed to Daeron's cousin Lyanna, old Hothar Umber the Lord of Last Hearth a veteran of a hundred battles, Lord Cregan Dreadstark and his son Willam both Daeron's brother and nephew respectively, Lord Ethan Glover, Lord Mors Karstark as well as Lords Ryger, Smallwood, Butterwell, Mooton and Goodbrook. Aegor was present as were Haegon and Aerion and Ser Robb Reyne. "My lords," Daeron began. "We have received some very interesting news from our scouts this morn. It would appear that Maekar Targaryen is but five miles away from Harrenhal. It seems he has been joined by Lord Tyrell's van as well, led by Tyrell himself. I would hear your views on what we should do. Do we march out now and deal with them or do we sit tight here and wait."
There was some murmuring at that and then Lord Umber spoke his voice still loud and strong despite his old age. "We take the attack to them. Let the dragon know the wrath of the north, we've spent too long in this bloody castle Your Grace. The men need action and they need it soon."
Lord Karstark was quick to voice his agreement. "Aye Your Grace. Let us wage war on the bloody Targaryens, we have waited for too long now, we are not getting any younger sitting here. Let's fight them on the ground we choose and let's crush them and be done with it."
There was some cheering at that, but then Aegon spoke up, and his voice was calm and sedate more like his mother Barbery than his father. "Whilst that is a nice thought my lords, it would not do to rush into anything. Set the terrain you say Lord Karstark, but if we leave Harrenhal we shall be fighting on ground that Maekar sets, not the other way around. Wait I say, wait and then we should move."
Edwyle seemed to agree. "What King Aegon says makes sense my lords. We should not leave Harrenhal just yet, and bleed ourselves dry fighting a host that is smaller than ours when a bigger host comes down from the Vale."
There is more murmuring at that and Daeron asks his cousin. "How many men Edwyle?"
His cousin is silent for a moment and then replies. "My sources state that Lord Jonothor Arryn is leading some 15,000 men down from the Bloody Gate as we speak, most likely to hit us from the rear if we move from this spot now."
There is silence for a moment and then Aegor speaks. "The Vale has finally stirred itself you say? Daeron has there been any word from your uncle Beron as to what he has managed to do?"
Daeron shakes his head. "No, last we heard he was camped at Strongsong. We have had no further word about him or any of the other men we sent with him. But it makes no difference, it is clear that with Lord Jonothor finally stirring from the Eyrie, that they mean to plan a trap for us. Maekar means to lead us out to face him and then he will push us against Harrenhal and the Vale's men will be the things that break us. We cannot allow that to happen."
"What do you mean for us to do then Your Grace?" Ser Rodwell asks.
Daeron is silent for a moment before he replies. "We shall wait within Harrenhal's walls for the time being, but we shall also continue to send scouts out southwards, and now eastwards. Once we know when both hosts are but two miles from the castle we shall stir ourselves and we shall fight, and we shall win."
With that the meeting ends, and a few weeks later they receive the news they have all been waiting for, Maekar and his host of men numbering some 20,000 strong are near the Old God's ridge, and Lord Arryn and his host of some 15,000 men are some two miles near Darry. With this in mind, Daeron decides to call the council together once more where the battle plans are finalised. With the Golden Company and the companies of the cat and second sons they have a total of 45,000 it is decided that this will be split into two hosts one which will be overall commanded by Daeron himself and shall march south to face Maekar, and the other will be commanded by Aegor and will march north to fight the Valemen. Daeron's host sees him commanding the Van, Ser Rodwell commands the left, old Hothar Umber commands the right and Daeron's son Aegor commands the reserve.
They leave Harrenhal at the break of dawn, marching at a quick pace 25,000 men marching with him and his son and his great nephew. They manage to surprise Maekar's host with the sun rising, and that gives them an early advantage. Hacking and slashing through the men in his path, Daeron fights like something out of a song, cutting men down like they are no more than sacks of meat, meant for the slaughter. Soon enough Ice is stained red with the blood of many foes, bodies litter the ground, and on it goes.
Hacking and slashing, ducking and diving. Daeron receives a few cuts and bruises as he charges through the ranks of enemy soldiers but mostly the enemy is lucky to even get a scrape onto him. He cuts down roughly ten men bearing the arms of House Darklyn, as well as a knight of the Kingsguard before coming face to face with his old friend Maekar.
King Maekar I Targaryen
The war had raged for two years now, and its effect on Westeros was more damning than any other war other than perhaps the Dance of Dragons had been. Fields were smoking ruins, crops were nonexistent, the smallfolk hid behind their thatched homes and stared at Maekar and his men with the sort of loathing that Maekar had often seen reserved for his grandfather. The war was costing Westeros more than just gold and men, it was costing them the chance to ever have a lasting peace. The Targaryen rule looked to be undermined for good now, and it had fallen to him to once more rescue it from the abyss.
The war had been going badly for House Targaryen and its allies very, very badly. The Westerlands had lost much of their gold and the things that had made them a rich kingdom in the first place to the Ironborn reavers. The Lannisters themselves had not really been able to stop the Ironborn from wreaking havoc, embroiled as they were in their own crisis and so it had fallen to Lord Lefford, an old man whose fighting days were behind him to lead the charge against the rebel Westerlords and the northmen who had joined them. Maekar knew there had been two big battles fought in the Westerlands between the two forces, one at Pendric Hills which had ended in a stalemate and one at Castamere which had ended with Lord Lefford dead and skewered and half the other combatants dead as well.
The Ironborn had moved on from the Westerlands and had taken the Shield Islands, and had been looking as if they would sail up the Mander for Highgarden, something that Lord Tyrell had been seriously worried about. He had begged Maekar to allow him to send some portion of his men back to the Reach to defend it from the Ironborn, loath as he was to do it, Maekar had refused the man telling him in plain and simple terms that there was nothing that could be done now. Those men left to defend the Reach would have to do just that, without any extra aid. They had been camped at Antlers at the time and so Maekar had sent word to Egg, instructing him to send the Royal and the Velaryon fleets to the Reach to deal with the Ironborn, meanwhile the Redwyne fleet had sailed from the Arbor to deal with the northmen in the Vale.
They were still camped at Antlers when news came of Beron Stark's last stand at the Battle of Alyssa's ridge. Beron Stark and his 10,000 northmen had faced off against 5,000 Valemen and 12,000 Reachmen commanded by Desmond Royce and Garrett Redwyne. They had not fled back to their ships as Maekar had thought they would have done, instead they had held their ground and had fought bravely and admirably, according to the report that Aegon gave him in his letter. Beron Stark's 10,000 northmen had been slaughtered but they had taken a fair few of the men they had fought with them including Royce and Redwyne themselves. Leaving the Vale free of invaders but with markedly less man power than before the war had begun.
Still at least that was one victory they could claim to have won. The Riverlands belonged to the Blackfyres as did the Stormlands. Ser Robar Baratheon had been slain trying to prevent the Golden Company from exiting the Stormlands, his father old Lyonel Baratheon was now close to death's door and soon enough a question would arise about the Baratheon succession, at least it would if any of them managed to survive this. Maekar still rued the fact that he had not anticipated the Golden Company's invasion of the Stormlands. If he had, perhaps things might have gone differently; the Baratheons most certainly would have made a difference in the fighting that had gone on in their kingdom. Without their presence to unite them, the Stormlords had become fractious and had divided into different camps, with those who had not sided with the Blackfyres being wiped out completely and utterly.
Dorne was broken as well. The Yronwoods were so very close to achieving something they had dreamed of since the days of Nymeria's conquest. According to the reports that Maekar received from his son at court, of the five battles fought in Dorne between the two sides, the Yronwoods had won three and the Martells just one, with one the first battle at the Scourge ending with both sides retreating. Maekar wished he could help them, but alas he could spare no more man power for them than he could for the Reach. It was all so frustrating and aggravating and yet there was nothing he could do. And so he had ordered a war council to be convened, and so here he was. The Lords gathered included, Lord Tyrell, Lord Tarly, Lord Rowan, Lord Darklyn, Lord Hollard, Lord Rosby, Lord Massey and Lord Celtigar. All apart from Tyrell were experienced men. "My lords," Maekar began. "You know why we are here. The rebels sit in Harrenhal and a host led by Lord Jonothor Arryn is descending on them from the east. But our scouts report that there has been movement within the camp and we must discuss it."
Old Lord Gyles Rosby was the first to speak. "What sort of movement Your Grace?"
Maekar sighed and looked down at the report the scout had given him. "Men flying the banner of House Ryger have been seen heading southwards towards us, they are atleast another day's ride from us."
There was some murmuring at that and then Lord Tyrell spoke his voice cocky sounding. "Pah, it seems Ryger has lost the will to fight then Your Grace. Perhaps he will be offering us some inside tips of the divisions that are plaguing the rebels."
Maekar did not think so, but it was Lord Denys Darklyn who voiced the doubt. "I do not think so Your Grace. Ryger has been an enemy to the crown for many years. I believe this might simply be a ruse to lull us into a false sense of security. I say we capture the man and question him thoroughly before marching."
"Aye, my lord of Duskendale has the right of it. " Lord Matthew Massey said, his big head nodding. "We must capture this scout and see what he has to say before we march."
And so when the scout was captured Maekar used all the techniques he could think of to question him but the man did not answer any of the questions asked of him, and instead died with some ravings on his lips of the Winter Dragon and the true king being seated on the throne soon enough. That left them with a dead end, and so with much frustration and not wanting to go into the war blind, Maekar ordered the men to march, and march they did, until they reached Old God's Ridge where they set up camp for the night, Maekar plagued by nightmares could not sleep and it was lucky that he did, for he heard the sounds of hooves and battle before anyone else did.
By the time he was dressed and armoured in the same black armour he had worn at Redgrass, he could see the flames and hear the screams of dying men. So it seemed the northmen had struck early. Most likely Daeron's work. His horse was saddled and ready by the time he strode out of his tent, his mace in hand, Ser Oberyn Dayne and Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard with him. They rode fast as they could toward where the fighting was along the way they passed, Ser Morris Waters the former master of arms and he looked at them with bloody eyes a wound through his chest. "Northmen," he stammered. "Thousands of them." He fell down and died there right in front of Maekar, and so the battle began.
The campsite is burning, the northmen seem to be winning when Maekar arrives with some 1,000 men who were camped near him. This has Daeron written all over it, the surprise attack at night, the burning the screams of the dying men, all of it stinks of his friend, and Maekar feels his gut churn. He raises his mace high into the air and then spurs his horse on, his part in the battle begins. He swings his mace right and left, bringing crushing blows down on those who seek to attack him. He swings and swings, clearing a path through the northmen and others who are attacking his men and his kingdom.
Soon enough his armour is covered in blood, not his though thankfully, that of his enemies. His mace is covered in it as well, there are many bodies littered around the ground, the sound of steel on steel fills the air, as does the shouts and screams of the dying men. He swings his mace at a man bearing the arms of House Lothston, crushing the man's skull, he swings again knocking a man off his horse and then swings once more, killing the man. He feels a sharp pain in his side some bastard must of got him when he was not looking.
He looks up through his helm at the sound of steel on steel and a wolf's head helm charging through the throng of men and bodies. Daeron, that's who it is. Maekar watches enthralled as man after man comes across the Winter Dragon only to be slain and cast aside like they are nothing more than meat. Ser Roland Crakehall is the last person to come in Daeron's way, and Maekar watches as one of the finest swordsman in the realm is cut down by his friend, as if he were nothing more than a fly. Soon enough, Daeron is in front of Maekar mounted on a black war horse, his dark blue armour dented in some places and covered in mud and blood.
No words are exchanged between the two friends, they merely stare at each other for a long time as the battle rages around them, then something happens to break their trance and their duel begins. Steel met steel and sparks began to fly as both men pushed hard at one another, determined to break each other but not so sure whether they were fighting to kill. They broke apart only to meet again, more sparks began to fly, and this time when they broke apart Daeron managed to snick Maekar's armour, opening up another wound. They met once more steel on steel, clanging against one another; Maekar broke through Daeron's defences and managed to dent his armour.
They fight once more, Daeron this time pushing Maekar's mace aside and slashing at his armour, denting it and deepening the wound he had opened. Daeron takes advantage of that and continues pummelling Maekar with blow after blow, some of which he manages to deflect with his mace, others he is not so quick to block and he ends up with more cuts and bruises on his arms and chest, and more dents in his armour. Maekar can feel the strength beginning to leave his body, his mind is going hazy, but somehow he manages to find the strength to push back against his friend even if it just by a little bit.
He swings his mace hard, knocking Daeron on the chest, and then whilst his friend is still winded he swings his mace once more and knocks him on the mouth. He swings again but Daeron blocks his swing, and pushes the mace from his hands, he can see the end now, he prays it will be swift, he closes his eyes, but then suddenly he is no longer on his horse and instead he is on the ground. He looks up to see, his horse lying dead to the side, and Ser Oberyn Dayne fighting Daeron. He tries to stand up, but finds that he cannot, and so he watches horrified as Ser Oberyn Dayne the sword of the morning and a knight of his Kingsguard fights Daeron Stark and in three or four swings is a bloody mess on the floor. Maekar sees Daeron turn to face him, and for a moment they lock eyes before his friend shakes his head and rides on.