Captain-General Maelys Blackfyre 260AC
As the messenger finished his report I drove my gauntleted fists into the table, splintering the oak and sending cracks racing like lightning through its grain. Wine leapt from my cup and from the goblets near to me, Nine Eyes's and Xhobar Qhoqua's, dark droplets spattering on the floor.
Vallar sprang forward without being told, pitcher in hand, righting the cups and wiping the mess away with practiced haste. I leveled a finger at Old Mother, my voice loud and dangerous.
"Seems the only one in this damned tent worth his salt is my bloody page. You mean to tell me you and Samarro Saan both let your fleets get broken by the squids?"
The now Pirate Queen of the Stepstones spat onto the floor, her wrinkled face twisted into a scowl.
"I warned you, Maelys, that I needed more men on my decks to face the Ironborn. Those mad bastards sail draped in iron from brow to heel, and even with better seamanship my ships couldn't hold against theirs. Before the fight was truly over that gutless Samarro cut his losses and fled south with what was left of his fleet."
I dragged an iron hand across my face, fighting down the urge to crush her skull like rotten fruit. Rage burned behind my teeth, but I forced it down. Even the worst captain afloat was worth more to me than just another corpse.
For a season all had gone great with the Stepstones falling to us in weeks, and word from the mainland speaking of Summerhall in flames, most of the royal bloodline gone to ash, leaving that frail Jaehaerys II clinging to the throne.
Even when news came of the royal host mustering to bring steel against us, I felt no fear. Our numbers seemed to be less than theirs but I welcomed battle given that my men were seasoned killers, bloodied and eager.
The Iron Throne had sent no paltry force but rather over a hundred Ironborn longships under Quellon Greyjoy, a thousand knights and ten thousand men-at-arms from the Westerlands led by Ser Jason Lannister, and tens of thousands more men from the other kingdoms. Fifty thousand swords in total, ten thousand more than ours, but I reckoned half of theirs would break and run when the smell of blood turned their guts given that many were levies.
Our plan had been simple, harry them at sea and lower their numbers before they ever set foot on Bloodstone. Instead, the Ironborn and the royal fleet tore through our supply lines like sharks through a shoal, and when I sent Old Mother and Samarro to stop them they had returned broken or not at all with Samarro having slithered away south.
As if that was not enough the Hand of the King himself, Ormund Baratheon,had successfully landed with his host on Bloodstone. This news was not all bad. 'Let them come', I thought 'better an open battle than them attempting to starve us on the island'. The red dragons had spent generations trying to grind House Blackfyre into the dust and I was eager to return the favor.
Turning to the gathered leaders I spoke again now calm and focused.
"We must force a battle in which we kill their leaders. Westerosi armies do not have as structured a command as ours and when we kill their high lords the levies shall break and run."
Spotted Tom and Bad Apple Fossway nodded, both being from Westeros with Fossway adding, "It would be best if Xhobar's archers targeted them with their goldenheart bows. Westeros isn't as used to such a range so we may very well catch them by surprise."
I looked at Xhobar who nodded. Nine Eyes then spoke, his High Valyrian tinged with a Ghiscari accent as he hailed from the slaver cities of the east.
"My men are used to mountainous terrain like the one present here on Bloodstone. I can lead a detachment of my men to flank the Westerosi army as a distraction for Xhobar."
The talk about tactics, troop positioning, rations and the like continued long into the night for the battle was soon to be fought in the coming days as the royal army marched with haste across the island of Bloodstone to meet us.
Dismissing everyone from my tent I relaxed in the silence before realizing I wasn't alone. Vallar stood dutifully in the corner having remained silent the entire day. Waving my hand I called him over to the maps.
"What do you think about our situation, Vallar? As the only other Blackfyre it's important that you have knowledge of all things battle."
Staring at the papers burdened with many different wooden figurines depicting both our and the enemies forces Vallar spoke.
"It seems our position could have been worse. If they simply chose to blockade the island we would have no choice to push for a sea battle something that we would probably lose. An open battle on the other hand suits us much more than the usurpers army. Though they have more heavy cavalry they will be hard pressed to manovore on the rocky island. They are also numerous hills that we can set up archers on given that they are the ones approaching and not us. All in all though we may be outnumbered but we have more than a chance."
I nodded pleased at his words that echoed mine own thoughts. He had clearly been paying attention during the meeting, something most ten nameday old boys wouldn't be able to do. Testing him again I asked, "Why did you think we would have lost at sea."
"Even if we have a similar amount of ships ours is a loose band of pirates while the royals have the Ironborn which are a dangerous tool when controlled by someone with a brain like Quellon Greyjoy. The current Lord Reaper clearly has some low cunning given that he put himself in a position to reap large rewards from the King simply by having had his men reave our supplies and destroy our ships in a single battle. He now is free to use his position in the Stepstones to raid the Free Cities before returning home whether the royals win or lose."
'If that damned squid was more like his forebearers he wouldn't have left his barren isles and the royal army would now be on the bottom of the Narrow Sea' I thought before pushing the useless notion from my head.
Deciding to amuse myself and to humor Vallar I asked him if he had any suggestions on the upcoming battle. His face pulled in indecisiveness and he repeatedly opened and closed his mouth clearly deciding whether or not to voice his thoughts. Disappointed in his hesitation I raised my hand choosing not to hear him out dismissing him instead.
"A man must be decisive. Go and sleep, you will need the energy in the upcoming days for even if you do not fight in the battle you will prepare my armour for me."
– – – – – Lord Commander Gerold Hightower 260AC
Adjusting my resplendent white Kingsguard armor I mounted my horse and joined the men who marched in good order and high spirits despite the numerous skirmishes of the past few days. Perhaps they were in such a good mood because of the skirmishes after all we had soundly won every one of them, using our cavalry to flank and run down any force that tried to harry our columns or burn our food stores.
I had grown wary of how easily we had dispatched our foes and had asked the Hand, Ormund, to slow the march and send more outriders ahead. The boisterous lord amiably refused after being reassured of our dominance by an assembly of lords led by the ever-arrogant Lord Roger Reyne.
Riding up beside the dependable Ser Jason Lannister I motioned my head towards Roger, who now flattered the Hand with honeyed words in some clear effort to gain concessions. Jason gave a bitter smile then turned sharply to glance back at his young charge, Tywin. The boy's face seemed carved of granite as he locked venomous eyes onto Lord Reyne's back, ignoring the jests of his friends Steffon and Aerys.
"Pardon me, Lord Commander," Jason said. "While I do enjoy your company it seems I must educate my charge." Gripping his reins he turned his horse to ride back, exchanging brisk words with young Tywin urging him to leave off glaring at the Red Lion and rejoin his friends.
It was sad, I thought, how the usually prepotent Lannisters now had to contend with grasping bannermen whose ambitions weakened both the realm and our cause.
My thoughts were cut short by shouts from the head of the column. Digging my spurs into my horse's flanks I sped forward to see what had stirred such alarm. Reaching the front I seized the arm of the first lord I saw, the burly northerner Wylis Dustin.
"What's happening? What's the commotion?" I demanded.
Wylis pointed ahead with a grim set to his mouth. "Trees, ser. They've felled trees across the road. Blocked us proper."
'Seven gods above,' I thought, as I turned back to bellow at the men to halt the march before we bunched up and ruined our order. The clang of armor and snorting of restless horses filled the humid air as the column shuddered to a stop, banners wilting under the midday sun.
It wasn't long before Lord Ormund himself rode up, his courser kicking up dust, impatience plain on his face. Wylis again explained the situation, gesturing toward the freshly felled trees that barred the road. Ormund shook his head, his mouth twisting in what seemed a mix of scorn and disappointment.
"Surely you haven't stopped us for just a few trees, my good lord," he drawled, voice heavy with derision. "I'm not aware of how the Starks run the North, but you needn't to get permission for such an obvious thing. Had you removed the trees we would have been on the move by now."
Wylis's face darkened at the slight, jaw tightening like a drawn bowstring. Before he could spit back a reply I stepped in my voice measured but edged with urgency.
"Lord Ormund, it's not so much the trees that are the problem but rather the fact that none of the scouts we sent ahead earlier have returned to warn us of them. Their silence speaks louder than any horns. This has all the signs of an ambush. We best get the men into proper formation to await battle or at least to set up a fortified camp right here."
The Hand, finally grasping the danger, sent runners with orders for the cavalry to form up and flank the infantry columns to shield them, but scarcely had the men begun to move when the sound of battle erupted from the rear of our host.
Dust rose towards us in choking clouds carrying the sound of battle, the clash of steel on steel, the desperate cries of dying men, and the shrill terrible squeals of wounded horses. A rider came thundering up sweating with wild eyes.
"A group of around a thousand light horse crested the hillside and smashed into our lines with javelins, my lords!" he gasped out. "They've been forced to keep their distance thanks to their lack of armor but even so the number of casualties are heavy."
Knowing that the Prince was in the rear my blood ran cold and without pause I spurred my destrier hard, the horse surging beneath me. Shame burned hot in my chest for as I busied myself with the management of the army I forgot my first duty as a Kingsguard, the safety of the royal family.
'How low have we fallen since your death, Dunk,' I thought bitterly, gripping the reins so tightly the leather bit into my gauntlets, the title of Lord Commander heavy around my neck.
Behind me the sharp snap of bowstrings reached my ears, then the cutting whistle of arrows splitting the air, followed by fresh moans and the guttural cries of the dying. I dared not look back, trusting Ormund's monstrous strength in battle if not his mind, knowing that my charge lay in danger ahead.
At last, bursting through the press of panicked footmen I reached the rear and saw the chaos laid bare. Less than a thousand lightly armored riders, clad in rough leathers and mail, weaved and circled just out of spear range. Javelins arced through the summer sky falling among our ranks like deadly rain. Whenever a detachment of knights formed up and charged, the riders scattered and if they failed to flee in time our heavier horse crashed through them, steel smashing mail and horse.
Amid the tumult, my eyes scanned the field fixing on Ser Jason Lannister, who was bleeding heavily and barely seated on his horse, shielding Prince Aerys, young Tywin, and Steffon Baratheon. Nearby, Ser Velaryon lay dead, his pale cloak sodden with blood, body pierced by a forest of javelins. A group of enemy riders made their way towards me and so I raised my shield to absorb their javelins, feeling them glance off me and my horse's armour.
Teeth bared, I lowered my lance and kicked my horse into a fresh charge. The world shrank to hooves pounding beneath me and the line of enemy riders ahead.
The point of my lance drove clean through the neck of the first rider, flesh and mail parting like wet parchment. The force of the blow drove his dying weight backwards onto a second man, and the lance punched through his chest with a wet crack of ribs. For a heartbeat they hung skewered together like grotesque fruit on a branch before I flung the used lance from my gauntleted hands.
My sword was already in my grip by the time the lance clattered to the ground. In one savage arc the blade bit into the face of a foe, shearing bone and flesh alike. As his corpse slipped from his saddle, I turned my mount the destrier's flanks foaming with sweat, and thrust my blade into the thigh of another enemy. My steel pierced through him and bit into his horse's flesh causing the animal to rear in pain crashing them both into the ground. A thrown javelin scraped across my pauldron rocking me back but leaving me otherwise unharmed.
Another rider lunged, swinging a heavy warhammer. I twisted in my saddle sliding the blow off the edge of my shield, the force jarring up through my shoulder and arm. I rammed my sword under his extended arm, feeling the steel crack mail and carve deep into bone eliciting screams and fountains of blood. I left him with his wound moving onto the next enemy.
All around, the air was a whirl of dust, sweat, blood, and screams. Horses screamed and reared, men cursed and died, and through it all I fought forcing a path to the Prince.
At last breaking through the press I drew alongside Ser Jason who sagged in his saddle blood pouring from a deep cut along his face. He lifted his lidded eyes to mine, relief warring with exhaustion and pain. He pointed at something before promptly falling from his saddle to Tywin's cries.
My gaze drew to where Ser Jason pointed, finding a single rider whose helm was painted with seven eerie green eyes. Even at a distance I recognized him as Nine Eyes of the Ninepenny Kings. Drawing up before Aerys I stared at him, wanting to run him down and claim his head this instant but unwilling to leave my charge again.
I had little time to dwell on it as Nine Eye's drew a horn and blew it, signaling the retreat of him and his men. I quickly gathered some knights and mounted men, placing them under Lord Roger, and had them run down the fleeing enemy turning their retreat into a rout.
The battle ended and we made camp for the night, tending to our wounded and speaking of what to do next. When the count was finished we had lost around four thousand men, dead or too badly wounded to fight again. Worse still we had lost our commanders. Many lords had fallen, among them Ser Jason and Lord Ormund, who died cradled by a crying Steffon. With their deaths the command of the royal army passed to me something I had only accepted after much protest and making clear that Prince Aerys would be staying near to me with me commanding the battle from the back.
I sighed as I turned in for the night today's loss weighing heavily in my mind. For all the men proclaimed this war to be the War of the Ninepenny Kings I knew this to be another Blackfyre rebellion and I vowed to put an end to that accursed line in the battles to come.
– – – – – Captain-General Maelys Blackfyre 260AC
Weeks had passed since the battle the men referred to as the Rain of Iron, an apt name given that the majority of the battle was fought at range with javelin and bow, and since then we had found little luck. Unlike our expectations that the royal host would crumble when their commanders had fallen they seemed to be in an even better shape beating us in the small testing battles we fought in the days since.
I quickly downed the wine glass that Vallar refilled staring accusingly at Nine Eyes as we finished our strategy meeting.
"We would have had no need for such a meeting if someone had the balls to kill the Prince and the now commanding Gerold Hightower when they were right in front of them."
"I could have killed them but I would have died," Nine Eyes said concisely and quietly.
"Seeing the Lord Commander and Prince fall would have made the men break and so you could have gotten out of there fine," Fossway argued.
"You mean to tell me not one knight would try and kill me to avenge them," Nine Eye inquired to which we stayed quiet.
The Ebon Prince Xhobar spoke up then, "Give the man a break the only reason we were so successful, excluding mine own noteworthy achievements, was because of his daring attack at the rear in which he sacrificed many of his men's lives."
Acknowledging the truth in that I decided to end my antagonism towards the man and dismissed the meeting.
Leaning back in my wooden chair I stared at the ceiling of the tent as Vallar massaged my shoulders taking care to avoid my second misshapen head. The boy had been nothing but quiet and dutiful and had grown on me despite my desire to kill any potential threatening claimants like I had done to Daemon's get. He would certainly prove useful for if my fertility remained low, not one bastard being born no matter how many women I layed with, I could raise him as my heir.
"I heard you ordered the hand cut off a man who touched the chest containing your armour," I said leaving the question of why hanging in the air.
Continuing to massage my shoulder Vallar answered, "He touched my armour, something that signals my identity as a free man. Besides, would you have not done the same if someone touched Blackfyre?"
I laughed at the comparison of my valyrian steel sword to a large ornate chest, that the boy always seemed to be near, and the armour it carried.
"You're lucky you did so to a Golden Company man, had you done so to one of the others men they would have ordered your throat slit as you slept," I lied to the boy wanting to instill a healthy fear in him.
I leaned my head back some more to see the boy nodding. I planted my feet, taking them off the desk, and stood turning before kneeling to look at the boy at eye level.
"Now that we are near the coast we mean to have an open battle against the Targaryens host tomorrow. I don't plan on it but the Stranger may decide to be a bitch and take my soul so it's important that you know this. Beneath the gold, the bitter steel."
The boy looked into my eyes with rapt attention, not even darting a glance to the grotesque fused head of my twin that I had killed in the womb. I continued, "You already have been taught the history of why our cause is right but now I tell you what every soldier in this army knows. No matter how many of us die or how bad we lose we shall never lay down our arms, that is the meaning of bitter steel. Understand that boy."
Vallar answered with "Yes, my King," never forgetting to use my proper title when even my so-called allies did.
"Good, it's time for today's sword lesson. Let's bruise up that sissy face and make it match your bulky body," I said before hauling the boy to an empty area of the camp. As the boy tried his best to beat me I smiled enjoying myself for the first time in years.