(Loyalist soldier POV)
I fought in the mud at the Trident, loyal to my Prince and to the cause of those who ruled over me. The waters of the ford stirred from the hooves of horses and the armoured feet of men, having been painted red with blood. Foam splashed against broken shields, torn banners and dead bodies all over. The sound of arrows was the most daunting sound I could imagine, and I didn't even hear it that often in my life.
But when the Prince commanded us to charge the rebels and push through the Trident, it was all I could hear until I eventually made it to the other side. So many of my friends died... so many of them...
Arrows hissed past, some hitting flesh, others disappearing into the mud and waters. It is horrendous. Truly and utterly horrible. I breathe hard and hear the loud sound of my heartbeat against my helmet. I am sweating, but I feel cold. My hands shake, but I can't let go of my sword and shield. It's all I have that might keep me from dying today.
"RAAAHHH!!"
I move to the side and narrowly dodge the attack of... someone. I block his second attack and use as little movement as possible, making him overextend and then I slash my blade through the air. Short and precise movements are the best, as they keep you from tiring out too fast. I have lost count of how many I killed; it feels like hundreds, but it couldn't have been more than a dozen.
I manage to hit the soft spot and plunge my sword into the man's flesh. I breathe hard and in short, rapid bursts. I didn't even know why he was fighting. I don't even remember why I am fighting. The sound of metal striking against metal breaks me out of my daze, and I look up.
In front of me, Ser Barristan Selmy carves through men like the Warrior himself come again, his once white cloak is now crimson with the blood of so many men. He slays enemy after enemy, a dozen at least, and I believe none could stand before him. Never have I seen a man with a more demanding presence, with more skill and power in battle, capable of ending lives with each swing of his sword--
Suddenly, the ground seems to tremble. I look to the right and see the figure we are all here to fight and kill. The green armour and stature of Robert Baratheon come crashing through our lines. A giant clad in steel, warhammer in hand.
...
I take back what I said.
"Selmy!" I hear his booming voice, which seems to pierce my skin and shake my bones.
Ser Barristan, surely he will win. This is perfect; he can use this moment, this opportunity, to end the threat we are all here to fight. Please... please end this battle.
"Lord Robert."
"How about you join my side?" I hear him ask.
"I am a loyal knight. I won't--"
"Bahaha. Force it is."
I feel the ground tremble as Robert gets off his steed and walks forward. How can a man look like that? How can this be a man? I see him meet Selmy's sword slash with that large warhammer. He uses one hand for it... only one hand and deflects the attack easily. Then he brings it back down, overwhelming even our greatest knight. Barristan strikes high, fast and deadly, yet Robert blocks the attack with the handle of his warhammer, using every part of his massive weapon.
"We'll talk later."
Then, I see Robert move forward and, with a savage uppercut, hit Ser Barristan's chin.
*BAMM*
I see Ser Barristan's helmet snap backwards and him falling to the ground... unmoving, broken and still. I swallow and then look up.
The Stormlord's gaze found me.
Gods help me, it is like staring into the maw of the abyss itself. My bowels turn, and I feel the wetness on my cheeks as I cry involuntarily; I drop sword and shield, piss soaking my clothes. I can't breathe, I can't feel my heartbeat. My legs grow weak, and I fall to the ground, begging, but no sound leaves my throat.
To my surprise, Robert doesn't bother with me. He looks in the distance, the centre of the battle and walks away, leaving me in my own piss and shit.
.
.
(3rd Person POV)
The Battle of the Trident was a brutal one. There were no rules, no regulations, nothing was forbidden. All that mattered was to kill and not get your leaders killed. Robert had baited Rhaegar and had him charge forward, giving his superior army of over 40'000 soldiers the disadvantage. They rained arrows on them and reduced their numbers by waiting for them at the other side.
Not all parts of the rebel army were as skilled and as strong as the Stormlands were. The Northerners were accustomed to cold temperatures and were still fresh. The Riverlanders were fresh as well and had nothing to offer that made them special. However, it was the Vale Knights who managed to stand up to their name and contribute to this battle.
The Dornishmen under Lewyn Martell began the assault, threatening Robert's left flank with an early foray. The Vale man, Lord Corbray, was injured in this fighting, forcing his son, Lyn Corbray, to assume control of the left, barely holding back the Dornish onslaught. The battle was fierce and brutal; no one offered anything to anyone. The morale was high on the left flank, simply because the Dornishmen were not fighting the Stormlanders or Robert. Seeing that the pressure was untenable, Lyn Corbray charged forward, leading his men by Robert Baratheon's example and utterly broke the Dornish force by slaying their commander, Lewyn Martell, in single combat.
So with the left flank more or less under control and the right one, without the deadly Ser Barristan, only the strong centre remained, where some of the most prominent and skilled Lords and Knights were fighting.
"RHAEGAR!!!"
A loud roar sounded through the battlefield and pulled the Crown Prince's attention to the approaching bloody figure of Robert Baratheon. Both armies seemingly slowed as the two champions turned their steeds toward one another, for all men knew the fate of kingdoms rested on this clash. All that mattered was the outcome of this fight.
Rhaegar struck with the speed and grace of a prince, his Valyrian sword slashing down, aimed at Robert's helm, only for the stag to raise his warhammer and catch the blow. Sparks leapt, and the steel grinded. Robert shoved him back with raw strength. He wasn't looking for a fast end to this fight. He was going to enjoy this.
Robert delivered a crushing overhead swing, forcing Rhaegar to twist aside speedily and parry desperately; the shock of the impact rattled through his arms, cracking his bones. The Prince, ignoring his pain, countered with a thrust, which Robert knocked aside with his gauntlet, treating it like child's play.
Again and again they clashed, Rhaegar cutting low at Robert's legs, Robert blocking with the long shaft of his hammer and retaliating with a monstrous horizontal sweep that Rhaegar barely ducked under and deflected with his blade. Rhaegar's sword finally slipped past Robert's armour, and being a Valyrian blade, it pierced his shoulder.
"BAHAHAHA", but the Stormlord only laughed. "Is that all you've got, you weak cunt?!"
Robert dropped his warhammer and grabbed the blade with his hand. He didn't let Rhaegar pull it out and instead reached forward, catching Rhaegar with inhuman speed. One massive fist clamped down on the Prince's arm before he could react. Robert pulled the stunned Rhaegar towards him and let go of the blade, using his bloodied hand to punch him in the gut.
*BAAAM*
Men gasped, the battle slowing as all eyes fixed on the struggle in the ford. Robert forced Rhaegar's head down and smashed his knee into the Prince's ribs with bone-crunching force, quite literally, as several of Rhaegar's ribs broke right then.
"AAAGGH..." Rhaegar screamed.
"Do you remember what I told you?" Robert asked.
Rhaegar groaned in pain as he tried to hold on to his sword and stay on his feet. Robert stood in front of him, within reachable distance, but he wasn't scared. He didn't fear the dragon; he never did.
"I told you that should you touch the she-wolf, I would ride to King's Landing, break down the walls to your pretty castle, waltz through the corpses who stand in my way, find you and then feed you your own groin and cock for all to see. Was I not clear enough for you, boy? I will bathe the Trident and through it, all of Westeros in your blood."
*Cough*
"I didn't care about you, I didn't care about power. But you and your father took away the woman I wanted to be with and then dared to lay hands on my parents. And all I have left is rage."
"Plea--"
Robert did something that would forever be remembered in history. He lashed out, broke Rhaegar's groin protector, and with his moonstrous strength, he ripped the Crown Prince's testicles and penis off.
"AAAAHHHHHHHH---UHGAAGG..."
The sound was choked as Robert, true to his word, shoved the broken Prince's groin into his own mouth with brutal strength, holding him there as he gagged, his eyes wide in horror.
"Choke on it, you white-haired cunt."
Then, Robert grabbed Rhaegar's head with both of his hands and started to squeeze. The sound was hideous: bone cracking, skull plates shifting as if the very head of the Prince would pop. Rhaegar's violet eyes bulged out of their sockets slowly, his legs thrashing weakly as Robert's grip tightened. Blood ran from his nose, his ears, his mouth, and still the stag crushed harder, with a stone-cold look on his face.
"I'll take this as your apology to me, that you were born into my world."
It was as though the Stormlord held the crown prince's life like a rotten fruit in his palm and was determined to pop it. The creak rose to a crack, then to a splintering, and finally to a wet, meaty 'boom'. The once beautiful Prince's head gave way entirely, popping under Robert's grip, causing the gore to spill into the Trident's waters and on Robert himself.
The dragon was dead.
...
Leaderless, the royal host broke. The Dornish fled first, shattered by the loss of Prince Lewyn and Prince Rhaegar. The Reachmen who were still alive followed soon after. The battle was over.
.
.
At King's Landing, the Red Keep, the news reached the throne room. Aerys II sat slumped upon the Iron Throne, his long nails scratching the steel armrests, making his hand bleed. The words struck him like blades: "Rhaegar is dead. Robert slew him on the Trident."
"KAKAHAHAHAHA..."
The king's laughter turned to shrieks.
"Lies! Lies! My son is a dragon! No man can kill a dragon! Burn them all, do you hear me? BURN THEM ALL!"
His eyes bulged with madness, spittle dripping down his beard as he clawed at his servants. The wildfire stores beneath the city became his obsession once more, as he had already made preparations. He was ready for the arrival of Robert Baratheon, and he would make sure that he had the last laugh.
"Get, Viserys and his mother to Dragonstone... Hold the Martell whore here. Lewyn Martell must have betrayed Rhaegar."
With what might have been the last vestiges of the King's sanity, he ordered the Queen and their son to sail to Dragonstone, so that they might be spared.
.
In the Westerlands, at Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin Lannister listened in silence as the raven's message was read. His eyes narrowed. He had expected this outcome, and so he had prepared his forces long ago.
"What shall we do, Brother?" Kevan asked.
The decision was made.
"We ride for King's Landing," he declared, "and prepare something that is of worth to the future King of Westeros, his capital."
"Do you think that will be enough?"
"Robert Baratheon just fought a brutal war, no doubt. I would be a fool to believe everything that was reported during these months, but if even half of it is true, then he will be brutal to those who stood against him. By taking and preparing King's Landing for him, we have done the impossible: to join the winning side without the loss of a single soldier."
Cersei overheard the words in her father's solar, having hidden herself in the corridor. Her heart was pounding. Robert had won; he had killed the Crown Prince, the man whom she used to think was the greatest and most beautiful man in Westeros. Her cheeks flushed as she imagined Robert triumphant, warhammer in hand, drenched in the blood of the silver Prince. Desire and dread warred within her.
What would happen now? Would he take Elia back?
No, that would never happen. Would she have a chance? Surely now that he was to be the King, her father would allow it, no? Her mind started to wander to different places, rather strange places, but she always had strange desires and a willingness to do whatever she needed. She took after her father in that. If only she had inherited his mind as well.
And yet, she thought about the prophecy she had received. 'Not the Prince... a King'
A beaming smile made its way to her face. A king... King Robert!
.
.
(Stannis POV)
I move my eyes over the parchment one more time. It was basically over. Robert had sent me a raven, telling me what happened. He had killed, no, executed Rhaegar Targaryen and taken the first step in avenging our parents and our House.
I should have felt joy. Instead, all I felt was weight.
Robert had done what he always promised: face the dragon and break him. He had fulfilled his word, as he always does, most brutally and uncompromisingly. And yet, I could not ignore the unease in my gut. Rhaegar was no ordinary foe, and now that he was gone, the realm would shudder at his loss. I knew that this would happen, of course, and I also know that Robert is the best we could ever hope for as a King. Tywin Lannister would now also start to act, and Aerys would lose what little wits he had left; that's what worried me. The plans in King's Landing weren't as good as they could have been, simply because the rebellion started rather early.
I gripped the parchment tighter.
The rebellion would call it victory. I saw it for what it truly was: the beginning of a years-long cleanup work, which Robert will have to do. And what's more, the war wasn't over yet. Aerys still lived, and Rhaenyra was still in King's Landing. Let us hope that the preparations were enough.
Our parents were about to be avenged; that was at least something.
Still… I let out a slow breath.
No matter what doubts I carry, Robert is my brother. He has carried our banner into and through this war, and he has prevailed. Against all reason, against all odds, he has prevailed. For that, for this moment, I will allow myself to smile at least for a short moment.
I am uncertain whether the Reach host outside knows that Rhaegar is dead. The months have not been easy, but compared to a city that wasn't designed by Robert and built by both of us, while I am in charge of managing, we have had a very comfortable time.
As it turned out, we didn't need the 2'000 soldiers for more than to placate the people's worries and look for order here and there, which was caused by confusion and surprise. The good thing about Storm's End and the way Robert and I improved it was that we could grow our own food and even fish without having to leave the safe walls. It was something Robert thought about a long time ago, when he first came to me with the new plans for the city.
It was ridiculous then, and it still is, but we did it. In these months of being under siege by the Reach army, we have provided a steady supply of fish, wheat and vegetables. Through the implementation of an orderly provision and administrative distribution, the people didn't starve and ate their fill, albeit not as much as usual. I understood that thievery would be terrible, but thankfully, the Peaky Blinders were a massive help in that regard.
All the thieves had been eliminated long ago, and the Blinders would ensure that this remained the case. So, while the Reach thought we would bend any moment now, we were actually living under good conditions, and everyone had enough food to wait out the siege comfortably.
Time to tell Father and Mother. And time to see Renly again. It's been a while already.