The Dornish Marches, Outside Starpike — 233 AC
Dust clung to the royal banners as they fluttered in the wind. The sun was setting behind the rugged hills, bathing the land in a dull orange glow. From atop a ridge, King Maekar I Targaryen stood armored in black and red, his crowned helm tucked beneath one arm, his eyes fixed on the monstrous silhouette of Starpike in the distance.
The castle loomed like a stone serpent, jagged and vast, girded with fresh timber palisades and deep trenches dug into the hillsides. Along its walls, gleaming spears and crimson banners of House Peake shone defiantly, their defiance echoing across the open ground in grim silence.
"Seven bloody hells," Prince Aegon muttered beside his father, sweat clinging to his brow. "It's grown teeth."
Maekar grunted in agreement. "It always had teeth. Now it's learned how to use them."
He shifted his gaze, watching shadows dance across the towered walls. "Peake could never have devised this alone. He's a battle-hardened lord, aye, but these tactics—layered retreats, supply harassments, misdirection—this is the work of a grander mind."
"You mean Bittersteel?" Aegon asked.
Maekar shook his head. "No. Aegor is a hammer. He charges, he breaks, he swings until there's nothing left. This war… it was planned like a game of cyvasse."
Aegon looked thoughtful. "Then one of the Blackfyres plays long games now. That's worse."
Before Maekar could reply, the sound of distant horns echoed across the plain. From the northwest, golden lions crested the hills—the Lannister banners, bright as fire beneath the setting sun. At their head rode Lord Robert Reyne, tall, proud, and sheathed in gilded armor. Beside him galloped two younger riders, both golden-haired and green-eyed: Tywald and Tion Lannister, twins of Lannisport.
As they approached, Aegon dismounted to greet them. Tion leapt from his horse first and dropped to one knee.
"My prince," he said with a wide grin, "I told you I'd follow you to the gates of hell."
Aegon clasped his shoulder and laughed. "You've come to the right place, then. We may break through them tomorrow."
Tywald nodded to the King, then stepped back to stand by his knight, Lord Reyne.
"My liege," Lord Robert Reyne began, dismounting and bowing, "five hundred knights and a thousand men-at-arms march under the lion's banner, as you commanded. We've traveled light and swift. If the gods are kind, we are not too late."
"You are not," Maekar replied with a grateful nod. "Though the fight that awaits may test all your strength."
The red lion glanced toward Starpike, eyes narrowing. "We'll gut the bastards. I've seen castles fall with fewer men."
Maekar gave a tight smile. "This one was meant to break us. But it won't."
He turned back to his generals, his voice hardening. "We march at dawn. Bring the engineers forward. I want the siege lines drawn tonight."
Aegon nodded. "And the men?"
"Let them rest. Tomorrow," Maekar said, placing his crowned helm upon his head, "we remind House Peake—and any who stand with them—why dragons wear crowns."
As the night fell, torches lit the royal camp like scattered stars. And beyond the ridge, Starpike watched, its walls silent but its teeth bared.