Legacy of the White Dragon : Dance of the Dragons

Vaemond Velaryon (109 A.C. Fourth Moon)

Sea of Wreckstone

He smelled the sea salt as the armada of Aemon Targaryen Assemble to assault Wreckstone. Two more assaults after this, and this ugly war is over. He looked around the deck and at his men, who were all ready to fight for him and their Prince. That is what they fought for Aemon Targaryen, the White Dragon. He still remembered the day he knelt and became oathbound to the Prince.

Flashback

"Lord Vaemond Velaryon, do hereby swear to guard me and my against all enemies, in whatever for the may arise?" Aemon's voice resonated in the square of Little Tyrosh. "I do so swear, by old gods, the gods of Valyria, and the new."He answered.

"Do hereby accept my commands above all others except the king?"Aemon questioned. "I do so swear," He replied.

He then recited part of the oath. "I shall shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods, the gods of Valyria, and the new." Aemon smiled at him.

"I shall vow that shall always have a place and at my hearth, and meet and meat at my table. I pledge to ask for no service that might bring dishonor. I swear it by the old gods, the gods of Valyria, and the new." Aemon's voice carried across the plaza. "Now arise, Vaemond Velaryon. May your family be in our hearts forever. To stand together until the end day." He did and was clapped on the shoulder by his Prince.

Aemon turned to Laenor, who unveiled a bastard blade of Valyrian Steel, with a hilt engraved with Sea horse and pale blue pearls for its eyes.

"For your service in this war and your section of House Velaryon support. May this sword forever be in your house and held by your distance. Expect this a reminder of the bonds between us two and our house." Aemon gave him a blade. He unsheathed it, and when one knee again. To show his gratitude, a Valyrian blade was something only a few men had. Now, he was given one for his service.

"Thank your grace, I shall never dishonor the blade. Anyone who will in future may die in dishonor." He proclaimed

"Rise my friend, as a vassal to me and mine for centuries to come," Aemon said, and cheers erupted in the squares as he became oathbound to Aemon Targaryen.

End Flashback.

He gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly as he thought back on it. "Men today, we bring more of these corsairs to justice for what they have done to our country. To bring back the order to the Stepstones and bring into the fold of the Iron Throne. Bring them under the rule of our Prince!!" He bellowed, and he also saw the ships to sight cheer at his words.

"For whom do we fight!" He asked his men. "For the White Dragon!" He drew his sword from his seat and bellowed. "For Prince Aemon Targaryen, The White Dragon!"

Then, the roars of Seasmoke and Balerion echoed overhead, sounding the attack. The rocky fortress stood defiantly against the crashing waves, its walls weathered by time and war. His sword gleamed in the sunlight as he led his men forward with determined strides. Behind him soared Seasmoke and Balerion, their mighty wings casting shadows over the battlefield. As he and the man rowed to the shore, they hid under the cover built over the ships to protect them. A fine invention for a naval war that had developed the two years they had fought over these rocky gropes.

Then there were screams, as on the boats to his side were with catapult shot, sinking the men to the bottom of the sea. "Row, men row, or we early gifts to the sea. Or to Drowned God as to fucking Ironborn cry about." His men roared harder, so they hit the pebbled shore of Wreckstone. 

"Out now, from a shield-wall or die." He bellowed as he stepped onto the beach. He did not have to wait long before the first arrow hit his shield as the corsairs stationed atop the castle walls unleashed a volley of arrows on him and his men, yet held their shields high, deflecting the deadly rain.

He looked through an opening in the shield-wall that had formed as Balerion roared and swooped down, his massive form crashing into one of the fortress walls, sending stones and debris flying in all directions. Luckily, none hit him, and the man landed.

"Now move forward, in formation. Take the walls, kill the archers that remain. The rest follow me and hold the gap in the wall." He bellowed to his men as they marched up a slight hill toward the wall of Wreckstone. It was the only part of the castle that wasn't inside the rock formation, except for two towers that had already been smashed down by Seasmoke and Balerion.

"Now move forward. Take the walls, kill the archers that remain!" His voice boomed over the chaos as they fought their way toward the breach in the wall. As he fought alongside his men, his sword slashing with deadly precision. The Valyrian steel sliced through the armor of the corsairs. With each swing, he cut down corsairs who dared stand in their path, his heart pounding with the thrill of battle.

As they reached the top of the hill, they pushed into the gap in the wall, his sword dripping with the blood of his enemies. With a fierce roar, he held the line against the corsairs, his eyes scanning the battlefield for any sign of Prince Aemon. "Reform shield-wall," He bellowed, and he locked the shield with his men.

Then he got a glimpse of Aemon Targaryen, the White Dragon, fighting with unmatched skill and bravery atop the fortress walls. He sent his men to flow Aemon as he let assault against the archers. The shield-wall on the gap grew thicker as more men joined the assault as they landed at the shore. He stood his ground and let the assault toward the inner gates of the fortress.

Aemon Targaryen (109 A.C. Fourth Moon)

Wreckstone – Outer courtyard

Oh, the blood flowed down those walls of Wreckstone. His own dual blades, Wolf and Dragon's Claw, dripped with the blood of his fallen vow. The walls of Wreckstone were taken, and the smoke of the fallen towers rose into the sky.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Criston Cole asked, the man's white cloak stained red with blood. His white silver armor was covered in blood and dust. "Yes, Ser Criston, did you sustain any wounds?" He replied.

"No, my Prince, the corsairs were weak, most half-frail in body. Some even laid down their arms in fear. Yet now, as you command, no mercy was shown. Pardon me for repeating this, my Prince, don't rush forward as you do. The realm needs the White Dragon, and I would also not lose my friend." Ser Criston added. He shook his head and gave out a small chuckle and thought. 'Here he was, covered in blood, and yet friends with the man who in his own time would become the kingmaker.'

"Yes, Ser Criston, I shall think about it in the future, although I won't promise anything." He replied, "That's all a man can ask of his Prince." Ser Criston responded with a shake of the head. He gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked down to one of the gates that led into the heart of the fortress of Wreckstone. Where Vaemond stood waiting with his oathguard, covered in blood, it seemed that the gate was still closed.

"Ah, Vaemond, well done. You did what was asked of you. How many did we lose?" He questioned, and Vaemond looked at him with a look of pride. "Not too many, as the shock of Balerion's attack and the covering on the landing boats helped a lot. But from what I do know now, about a hundred men were lost. I expect it will be more by the end of the day." Vaemond replied.

"Well, give the men we can recover a proper burial, and those who are house members prepare for transport to Westeros to be sent to their respective houses." He commanded. He remembered Barbery Dustin's scorn for Lord Eddard for not returning her husband's bones so he would not make the same mistake. It would also gather support for him, the great Prince who honored the fallen. "As with you, my Prince," Vaemond replied.

 He then walked toward the gate and gave a hard knock with his fists. "You mongrels, if you open up this gate, I swear on my unborn child that you shall live. Your lives will be given off to the Wall, but you will live." He said it both in the common tongue and Valyrian. "Refuse and expect no mercy. You shall be nailed to a post at low tide and left there until you drown. Or be a snack for the Black Dread, your choice."

"A wise offer, your grace. The Wall can always do with more men. Yet I doubt these brigands would expect this generous offer to pay for their crimes against the realm." Ser Criston's voice spoke with disgust of the brigands, a shared sentiment amongst the men.

"Bring the chain and war spikes." He said. He looked toward Edric Karstark, who gave him a nod. He would give these idiots an hour of his time before breaking in and killing them all. The gates in the inner part of Wreckstone had slabs of iron plate on the front. Using a battering ram would take hours; the war spikes would break them open in a few minutes. "Set up the shield screen. I'm sure there are murder holes somewhere around this thing. I don't want our men to die needlessly." He commanded.

The screen was set in place, and the time ticked on. He wasn't even surprised that they didn't open the gates. Fucking idiots, he muttered to himself before giving the order to use the war spikes.

"Balerion land on the top castle. Make sure to be close to the gate we are using the war spikes." He said through their bond. Not much later, Balerion came flying in with a roar. Two Valyrian Steel Spears hammered into the gates. When they were through, he turned the spikes and attached the chains. He took the chains, walked Laenor and Ser Criston to Balerion, and attached them to the saddle. "Make yourself clear, and be ready to charge these bastards." He commanded.

He stepped away and said the words, "Sōves, my friend." With a mighty roar, Balerion, with enormous strength, pulled on the chains attached to the spears with all his might. The gates groaned and creaked under strain, but with a final, resounding snap, they gave way, crashing open to reveal the inner fortress beyond.

"Charge, kill the bastards with fire and blood!" He roared as he charged into the courtyard, leading the shield-wall. "Fire and Blood!" The men echoed his cry and followed him

Rhaenyra Targaryen (109 A.C. Fourth Moon)

Skys of above the Vale of Arryn

The air was colder in the Vale, she noticed as she arrived, even in Runestone, which lay along the coast. Yet, that wasn't what bothered her. It was the thought of the upcoming battle against the rebels—the need to give the command to Syrax and end the lives of many in her dragon's flames. As she looked ahead, the castle of the Eyrie came into sight. With it, she knew, began another field of fire. Rhaenys flew toward the right side of the Vale of Arryn, the lower valley where the Eyrie and the Gates of the Moon lay.

They had decided to approach from two sides to enclose the forces besieging the Gates of the Moon. No chance for the rebels to escape was left open; all would either die or surrender to them. Afterward, Rhaenys would fly to destroy the forces gathered at the Bloody Gate and open the gates to the Vale again.

"Here we go, my lady. We both have to be brave. We are both dragons; we shall bring them fire and blood," she murmured to Syrax as she took a deep breath, and Syrax dived into the valley below. The wind rushed past her ears, and then dive came to a hold, and she looked toward the banners gathered in the valley. She saw Waynwood, Grafton, Templeton, Corbray, and, of course, House Arryn. The enemy had entrenched themselves well, their war camp sprawled across the grounds, with trebuchets battering the walls of the Gates of the Moon.

She heard Meleys' roar echo across the other side of the valley. "Angos, Syrax," She commanded, and Syrax closed in on the enemy. When she reached the palisade, she gave the command "Dracarys." Syrax unleashed her flames upon the war camp, and she watched as the air filled with smoke and the screams of agony. On the other side of the valley, Meleys was already engulfing the rebel forces in torrents of fire.

The smell of burned flesh and earth was something she was familiar with from feeding Syrax, yet knowing the stench of burning men and beasts was far more disturbing. The stench clawed at her senses, threatening to overwhelm her, but she pushed aside the urge to retch. "No, you are of the Blood of Old Valyria. I asked for this duty and shall keep myself strong." She said to herself. Syrax shrieked in agreement as they bathed more of the camp in flames.

After some time, Meleys flew beside her. "Well done, Princess. I shall press against the Bloody Gate. Support the sally of the garrison; I shall return soon." Rhaenys said to her and soared back higher into the sky toward her next target.

As she descended upon the rebel camp, her eyes took in the devastation wrought by dragonfire. The ground was littered with the charred remains of men and beasts, the air thick with smoke and the stench of death. At the front of the camp, she saw the garrison of the Gates of the Moon engaging the remaining survivors, their swords flashing in the dim light. She circled overhead, scanning the battlefield for any sign of resistance.

There was nothing left. There was a reason why the dragons had united Westeros into one of the Seven Kingdoms. Houses like Hoare and Durrandon had tried, but none were ever able to hold their conquests. Here she was with dragons, not even the size of Balerion at the time of the conquest, but they had obliterated the rebels. Only a few hundred men remained, huddled in a group surrounded by the loyalist troops of her cousin.

She landed near the group and murmured some words to her dragon. "Well done, my girl, not even an arrow in you." She said softly as she traced her hands against the neck of her dragon, who let out a purr of happiness.

"Princess Rhaenyra, your intervention has saved us," a knight said, his voice filled with gratitude. "The rebel siege engine had just begun its assault, and the loyalist houses to Lady Jeyne were gathering, but we were uncertain of their arrival. On behalf of the loyal people of the Vale, I thank you for your protection." An older knight with grey hair proclaimed, wearing a Belmore surcoat as he went to one knee. Seeing his example, those who weren't guarding the prisoners did the same.

"Rise, Ser. It felt like the duty of the crown and to my kin to intervene. Is Arnold still among the living, or has he met the same fate as many of the rebels and sellswords?" she asked, nodding toward the group of prisoners.

"No, Princess, the traitor Arnold was burned, along with many of the other commanders of the rebel force. The soldiers we captured say that the red dragon unleashed her flames upon the main pavilion, leaving nothing but ash in her wake. However, the fate of his nephew, Rodrik Grafton, who led forces at the Bloody Gate, remains unknown." Good, the traitor was burned for his sins, and if the Seven were to be believed, he was now in a more fiery hell.

"Good, the man didn't deserve any less. Did we incur any losses? And, Ser, I didn't catch your name, so I can't speak to you properly." She replied. The knight smiled and gave her a bow.

"Ser Artos Belmore, Princess, Captain of the guard of the Bloody Gate. I have held the position since your mother was here. You look a lot like her. I suspect your mother would be proud of how you defended your kin this day. You look so much like her that I thought for a second your mother had returned to us." Ser Artos replied.

"I hope so, Ser Belmore. I thank you for your kind words. Now, let us speak with these traitors." She said. The man nodded and led her to the group of survivors.

"All of you oathbreakers, you have broken the king's peace. Many of you are forces sworn to House Arryn; I have seen the banners. All your houses will pay for your treachery. I shall discuss with your rightful lady what shall happen next. Who among you is your leader, or who still holds rank among you?" Her voice carried authority as she looked at the men, all broken and covered in mud and smoke. Some groaned as they clutched burned parts of their bodies.

A man identified as Ser Harrold Grafton stepped forward, his demeanor defeated. "I am Ser Harrold Grafton, the second son of Lord Serwin Grafton," he confessed. "I acted alone, hiring sellswords for Lord Arnold in hopes of being rewarded. Now, it seems I face the block or the wall. I only ask that you be merciful to these men and let them serve their punishment at the Wall," he said. Rhaenyra wasn't sure if he spoke true or not. "In return, I shall give you the names of all those involved."

She considered his plea before issuing her command. "You shall be judged by Lady Jeyne and me. Gather more information from the others, then place them in the dungeons of the Gates of the Moon."

Ser Belmore nodded in agreement and spoke. "As you command, Princess. Allow me to escort you to the castle. Lady Arryn awaits your presence. I suppose she wants to meet the protector who came to us in our time of need."

"That would please me as well. It has been some time since I last saw Lady Arryn." She replied. She walked to Syrax, taking her traveling pack. "Go feast now, my lady; you've earned it." Syrax roared in response before descending into the smoldering camp. With her belongings carried by a knight of House Arryn, she made her way toward the castle, her thoughts already turning to the impending meeting with Lady Jeyne. As she glanced back at the rising smoke and flames, she suspected this wouldn't be her last field of fire.