Chương 12: Chapter 12 - The Dragons Wrath
129 AC
Twentieth Day Of The Eighth Moon
Goldengrove
Ormund Hightower Pov
"We have been laying siege to the castle of Goldengrove for more than a moon. I say we attack at once!" Lord Jon Roxton proclaimed, brandishing Orphan-Maker in the air.
A hundred different voices rose up in a cacophony, some supporting his decision, while others told him to shut up.
Looking at the nobles gathered in the command tent, I wanted nothing more than to beat the lot of them. Every day and night, the Reach lords bickered amongst themselves. Roxton wanted to burn Goldengrove down, the knights of House Tyrell wanted to leave for Highgarden, and the Fossways wanted to continue the siege. Like them, there were a hundred lords whose pride was bigger than themselves.
As I looked at the lords before me, I felt as if I was surrounded by children and not the lords of the Reach. The incessant squabbling made me doubt their capability to see reason.
"Everyone shut the hell up!" I shouted, struggling to control my anger. "Enough of this squabbling! You all are lords, not children," I said.
"I have gathered you all to inform you of something important," I continued. Hearing my voice, they all quieted down.
"Prince Jaehaerys has ended the Whore of Dragonstone, The False Queen is Dead" I said. There was a moment of silence until various shouts rose in the air as they all rejoiced, thinking the war had ended.
"But the war is not finished," I said, bringing their celebration to an abrupt halt. "The Rogue Prince still lives. From the raven I received from Oldtown, Prince Jaehaerys wishes for us to retreat from Goldengrove at once and go to Oldtown." Jeers raised from the crowd, the loudest among them being Jon Roxton.
"Why should we retreat?" Roxton shouted. "The cunt Thaddeus Rowan is on his last legs, and we can end this siege if we attack with all our might!" he exclaimed. "We have thirty thousand men-at-arms present here," he said, and some lords agreed with him.
I never thought I would miss Unwin Peake, but it would have been better if that cunt was present here, as he would clash heads against Roxton. "Thirty thousand men are nothing in front of a dragon," I said, silencing the lords on Roxton's side.
"Prince Daemon can appear at any time and lay waste to our army," I said. "Tomorrow at first light, we head out," I declared, raising Vigilance in my hand. "And it is an order," I said, "as I doubt anyone here would like to disobey an order from Prince Jaehaerys." A worried look appeared on the faces of the lords present.
The fear that Jaehaerys invoked in his enemies and allies was truly shocking. I remember meeting him when he was just a young lad. Unassuming and quiet was what I took from our first encounter. But ever since the war started, everyone saw him for what he truly was—a ruthless man blessed with strategic brilliance.
It was suffice to say that he had single-handedly turned the tide of the war towards our side.
His reputation was not merely built on his ability to command but on the fear he instilled. Stories of his ruthless efficiency and unforgiving nature had spread like wildfire, creating an aura of invincibility around him. Lords who once scoffed at his youth now trembled at the mere mention of his name.
"You all may leave," I said as the lords exited the command tent one by one.
After dismissing the lords, I retreated to my tent and sat heavily in the chair, unfolding the raven-sent letter from my son and heir. As I read, frustration welled up within me. "That idiot," I muttered under my breath.
My son wrote of how rudely the prince had spoken to him and lambasted the knights and lords present in Oldtown for having less wit than my wife. Once I returned, I would have to put some sense into that boy. His mother had been too soft on him—may the Seven rest her soul.
Sighing, I opened another letter, this one from my wife Samantha. Despite being only two namedays older than my son, she was quite intelligent. Her words were sharp and insightful, a stark contrast to the folly of my heir. As I read her letter, I felt a pang of longing. It had been some time since I had lain with a woman, and thoughts of her consumed me.
Unable to resist my desires any longer, I called for a knight and instructed him to bring one of the camp followers to my tent. The girl he brought was coy, understanding what was about to happen. She approached swiftly, her clothes falling away as she moved toward me. I gave in to my lust, taking her in a fervor that had been building for far too long.
Afterward, exhaustion overcame me, and I drifted into a restless sleep.
I was awoken roughly as I looked at my kin Hobert Hightower staring at me with eyes filled with dread.
"Hobert, what in the seven's names has happened?" I asked the man, who shook in terror.
"We are under attack, my lord," he said, his voice quaking with fear.
"By who?" I demanded, as I got up and hurriedly pulled on my chainmail and breeches. I unsheathed Vigilance, the ancestral sword of our house, and prepared myself for battle.
The night sky was filled with the cacophony of war—the clash of steel, the shouts of men, the screams of the dying. In the distance, I saw the men atop the walls of Goldengrove shooting arrows, and I realized we had been taken by surprise.
Then, through the chaos, I saw the sigils of the houses of the Riverlands—Tully, Blackwood, Mooton. It struck me like a hammer to the chest: the army from the Riverlands had descended upon us.
"Fuck," I muttered as I tried to rally my men. Suddenly, a terrifying roar split the sky. I looked up to see a blood-red dragon swooping down, its maw opening to unleash a torrent of flame. My men were bathed in fire, their screams echoing through the night.
It was the Rogue Prince, and for the first time in my life, I felt the cold grip of fear. I was about to lose everything. Before I could fully process this, I saw riders wearing the colors of the Riverland houses cutting through our men as their infantry attacked us. Without a command center, the men of the Reach were being slaughtered like sheep.
I was ripped from my thoughts as a man came at me with murder in his eyes. I met his attack with a parry and then a swift counter. Blood sprayed as I opened his throat, but there was no satisfaction in it. In the distance, I saw Jon Roxton fighting a knight of House Blackwood. In one swift motion, Jon beheaded the man and laughed madly, covered in blood. But in the next moment, an arrow appeared out of nowhere, piercing his skull. He fell lifeless to the ground.
"We are getting slaughtered, my lord," Ser Hobert said, bringing a horse toward me. "You have to leave. If you die here, Oldtown will be left without a lord to guide them. Your son is just fifteen namedays old. Please, think of House Hightower."
"Fuck," I cursed again, seeing the grim truth in his words. I mounted the horse, feeling the weight of shame and duty pressing down on me. I turned away from the battle, followed by six knights of House Hightower.
As we fled, I looked back at the smoldering camp. The Rogue Prince and his dragon Caraxes were relentless, wave after wave of fiery death raining down upon my men. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh and the screams of the dying.
The battlefield was a scene of utter carnage. Our men, caught off guard, were being slaughtered mercilessly. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, some burnt beyond recognition, others hacked apart by sword and axe. Blood soaked the earth, turning it into a muddy quagmire that clung to our boots as we rode away.
In the distance, I saw men impaled on stakes, their lifeless eyes staring into the void. Others were trampled beneath the hooves of charging horses, their bones snapping like dry twigs. The sounds of battle were deafening—the clash of steel, the shouts of commands, the screams of the wounded and dying. And above it all, the unrelenting roar of Caraxes, his flames a harbinger of death.
I felt a pang of guilt as I rode away, leaving my men to their fate. But I had no choice. Oldtown needed its lord, and my son needed his father. I could not let House Hightower fall.
As we rode, the horror of what I had witnessed began to sink in. The Riverland army had come with a vengeance, their hatred for the Reach evident in every brutal strike. They showed no mercy, cutting down anyone who stood in their way. The Rogue Prince and his dragon had turned the tide of battle with their fiery onslaught, leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake.
My heart ached for the men I had left behind, for the friends and allies who had fallen. But there was no time for mourning. We had to reach safety, regroup, and plan our next move.
As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, we finally stopped to rest. My body ached, my mind numb from the horrors I had witnessed. I looked back at the smoke rising in the distance, a grim reminder of the devastation we had endured.
But I could not afford to dwell on the past. There was still much to be done. We had to warn the other lords of the Reach, and prepare for the inevitable retaliation. But then I realized that most of the nobility of the reach was present near Goldengrove and I prayed to the seven that the rogue prince would take mercy on the lords who were captured.
"Fuck", I muttered out.
The fate of Oldtown and House Hightower rested on my shoulders and I would not fail them.
----
Twenty First Day Of The Eighth Moon
Goldengrove
Elmo Tully Pov
A victory in every sense of the word. The Battle of Goldengrove was a pyrrhic victory for the Blacks. The thirty-thousand-strong "Green Army" was defeated. The majority of their commanders were now in chains, while the rest of their army was in tatters. Most of their soldiers lay dead after last night's events. I still remember the way the already waning will of the Green Army shattered the moment Prince Daemon and his dragon burst forth, engulfing their brothers-in-arms in dragonfire.
The screams of men being burned alive in flames still resonate in my ears as I sit in the great hall of Goldengrove alongside the other lords and the singular lady. The battle of Goldengrove resulted in very few casualties on our side, with the exception of Lord Blackwood, who was slain by Lord Jon Roxton. In turn, Roxton was killed by Lady Alysanne Blackwood, the sister of the now-departed Lord Blackwood.
While the atmosphere among the army and the lords was one of triumph, it soon turned to ashes when it was discovered that Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the woman for whom we had all bled, was dead. She, alongside her two sons by her second husband, Prince Daemon Targaryen, were brutally murdered by her own brother. The lords were afraid to utter his name for fear that he would strike. The fear of the "Silent Fury" was utterly terrifying, with even my two headstrong sons, Kermit and Oscar, being reserved when speaking about him.
The atmosphere in the great hall of Goldengrove was one of anger and despair. Some lords wished to cease fighting, arguing that the queen's death marked the end of their cause, while others were determined to continue the struggle to the bitter end.
"What reason do we have to fear? We have the Rogue Prince himself," Lord Ferret Frey declared, trying to rally support.
Lord Jorah Mallister, however, quickly countered him. "They have six dragons, while we only have one," he retorted, his voice filled with frustration and fear.
"We destroyed their army alongside Prince Daemon. We have no reason to fear defeat," a young knight spoke up, but his words were met with glares from the other lords. His naive optimism only served to inflame the tension in the room.
The reality was sinking in for everyone present. The war was lost; everyone knew it the moment the news of the queen's death reached us. There was no way, in the seven hells, that we were going to triumph over the Greens now.
"Join the Greens," my grandfather had advised, and I had wished for neutrality until the Rogue Prince landed his dragon near Riverrun. It is difficult to say no to a dragon, especially when its rider is as formidable as Prince Daemon.
"We will triumph, my lords. Believe in the Prince," Lord Thaddeus Rowan said, his voice filled with a desperate hope. His blind faith in Daemon made me want to smash his face. How could he be so oblivious to the dire situation we were in?
The shouts of the lords rose, each of them bickering against the other. The hall descended into chaos as voices overlapped, anger and fear driving the heated arguments.
"This is madness," I thought to myself. "We are tearing ourselves apart while our enemies grow stronger."
I looked around the room, seeing the faces of men who were once united in purpose, now divided by fear and despair. The bonds that had held us together were fraying, and it was only a matter of time before they snapped completely.
Amidst the shouting, I caught sight of Prince Daemon himself, standing at the edge of the hall, watching the proceedings with a cold, calculating gaze. He had always been a man of action, not words, and it was clear that he had little patience for this bickering. His presence alone should have been enough to command respect and instill a sense of purpose, but the lords were too consumed by their own fears to notice.
"We need to calm down and think rationally," I said, trying to inject some sanity into the chaos. "We cannot afford to let our emotions drive us. The Greens are still a formidable enemy, and we need to be united if we are to stand any chance against them."
Some of the lords turned to look at me, their expressions a mix of surprise and disdain. They were not used to being told what to do, especially not by someone they considered their equal. But I knew that if we were to survive, we had to set aside our differences and work together.
"Prince Daemon, what is your plan?" I asked, directing the question to the man who had led us to victory on the battlefield. If anyone could provide a clear path forward, it was him.
Daemon stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room, filled with desperation and a burning resolve. "We will strike at the heart of the Greens," he said, his voice steady and commanding. "We will use our dragon to our advantage and take the fight to them. They may have more dragons, but we have the element of surprise and the will to fight."
His words seemed to have a calming effect on the lords, and the shouting began to subside. There was a glimmer of hope in their eyes, a spark of determination that had been missing.
"We cannot give up now," Daemon continued. "We have come too far and sacrificed too much to turn back. We must press on and see this through to the end, for Queen Rhaenyra, for our fallen comrades, and for the future of the realm."
His face hardened, the pain of his losses etched deeply into his features. "I will kill each and every Hightower, but before that, we will burn the Reach to the ground. Anyone who sided with the Greens will die a brutal death. They will face the dragon's wrath; they will face my wrath!" His voice rose to a shout, and I noticed just how distraught he truly was.
"Jaehaerys Targaryen will die by my blade if it is the last fucking thing I ever do," he swore, his eyes blazing with fury and vengeance.
"All hail King Daemon Targaryen, the first of his name, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!" one of the lords proclaimed, and the hall echoed with the sound of their voices.
Daemon's anger was palpable, his grief transformed into a fierce resolve. His wife, Queen Rhaenyra, and his two sons had been brutally taken from him, and the pain of their loss drove him to a singular focus: revenge. He stood tall, his presence commanding the room, his eyes burning with an intensity that none could match.
"We will not rest until every Green, every Hightower, and every traitor to our cause is dead," Daemon vowed, his voice filled with a cold, deadly promise. "We will scorch the earth beneath their feet, rain fire from the skies, and leave nothing but ashes in our wake. They will know the true meaning of terror when they face the dragons' wrath."
The lords, who had been bickering moments before, now looked upon Daemon with a mixture of awe and fear. His words had reignited the fire within them, turning their despair into a fierce determination to see their enemies destroyed.
"For Rhaenyra!" one lord shouted, raising his sword high. "For the queen!" another echoed, and soon the hall was filled with cries of vengeance and loyalty.
Daemon's gaze swept across the room, taking in the faces of those who had pledged their lives to his cause. "We will march on the Greens, and we will not stop until we have reclaimed the throne that is rightfully ours," he declared. "We will honor the memory of Rhaenyra and our fallen brothers by fighting with every ounce of strength we possess."
The lords cheered, their voices a unified roar of defiance against the Greens. The fear and uncertainty that had plagued them were replaced by a steely resolve, a burning desire to see justice done.
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