Daemon Blackfyre (196 A.C. Second Moon)
Somewhere South-West of King's Landing
Daemon closed his eyes as he ordered another halt to his march, ordering his two Kingsguard, Ser Quentyn and Ser Byren Flowers, to wait for a moment.
He looked back and saw his marching army coming to a halt. A march that, for a long time, he had not expected to travel. Yet here he was, marching toward King's Landing, to take his rightful throne. The one his father had shown to the entire realm should be his.
Yet his bastard cousin sat on the throne.
Daemon closed his eyes again. He knew the truth. Daeron was his brother, as were all the others. From Brynden to Aegor, they all were, and they all shared the same blood. He had no doubt of that. It was the justification, he needed to rise and take the throne, and perhaps see his love again, to take her as a second wife.
The face of Daenerys came to him fondly, the silver-golden hair, and the eyes he could drown himself in. The sweet lips he had kissed, and the promise of a wedding in the future. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago, and he was a different man. He had not seen her in nine years. The day he failed to win the joust and proclaim her Queen of Love and Beauty, to proclaim his love to the realm, and his intent to claim her as his own. Even if, by that point, Aegon and Aemon were already born, and his own little Daemon was on the way. He loved Rohanne for the children she had given him, yet his heart would always belong to Daenerys.
He sighed as he looked back to the column, which had started to set up camp. As Aegor rode up beside him, he spoke.
"Thinking of the journey's end?" his brother asked.
Aegor was his most loyal supporter, and brother, yet Daemon did not call the man a friend. Aegor was a hard man, full of martial discipline and a harsh temper, something he hoped his daughter could tame when she came of age. It also cemented the alliance between them. Daemon knew he had need of Aegor, and the man had delivered, sending his wife and their children to Tyrosh, save for Aemon and Aegon. Bringing with him two sellsword companies, and rallying houses in the Riverlands and Crownlands to their cause.
"I do. It has been a hard road, yet here we are. One clash to truly decide who will sit on the Crown," he replied.
"Indeed, although we will not have the advantage in numbers. Not if Baelor can reinforce them in time," Aegor stated.
"True, yet them waiting for Baelor allowed us to join our forces. I suspect they discussed attacking either of our hosts. They did not do it, likely for fear of risking an attack in the rear. It is paramount that when we face the main host of my brother, we strike them hard, and break them before Baelor arrives. A hard strike through the center." He pointed forward with his gauntlet.
Aegor nodded. "It is a viable strategy. Who will lead them?"
Daemon smiled and looked at his brother. "Myself. As for the rest, who will lead what will be decided after the camp is established. We are close enough now that a full battle plan must be set."
Aegor nodded and rode off, as Ser Quentyn, the commander of his Kingsguard, rode up beside him.
"Almost, Your Grace," Ser Quentyn said.
Daemon only smiled as he looked toward the horizon.
"I see it, Quentyn. The black dragon rising from the ashes of war," Daemon replied, and thought back on that dream, the dream that had pushed him over the edge.
"You will sit your rightful throne, not that of the bastard, born of the devoted prick Aemon," Ser Quentyn said.
Daemon gripped his reins and looked at Ser Quentyn harshly.
"Do not insult Aemon the Dragonknight. For all his fault in lying with my father's wife, he was still a great man, and one to be admired. He gave his life for his king. Remember that well, ser."
Ser Quentyn looked down. "My apologies, Your Grace. I forgot myself."
"See that it does not happen again."
Daemon turned his horse around and rode toward the forming camp.
A hour later - Outside Daemon's command tent.
Daemon watched fondly as he saw both his boys clash their blades against one another. Aegon was the more spirited of the two, but Aemon, in the way he fought, was more calculating. In their spars, Aemon won more often, and after the campaign, he would knight him, not as a knight, but as a prince of the realm.
He watched as Aemon made a feint, parried, and set his brother on the back foot before striking hard and knocking the blade out of his brother's hands, demanding a yield.
"Well done, Aemon. Good work," Daemon said as he stepped forward, pride clear in his voice. Then he turned to his eldest. "Aegon, you fought well, but you press too hard. A patient foe will always punish that. You must learn to temper strength with restraint. Your brother did not win by force, but by timing."
"I shall remember, father," Aegon replied, giving him a smile.
"We will make you proud in the battle, father. We will fight beside you," Aemon stated, puffing his chest.
"I know you will, and soon, when the crown is mine, you both will be knights of the realm. You have earned it. Now one last trial remains to make it so. I dub you with Blackfyre, as my father did with me," he said as he placed his hands on both the boys' shoulders.
They smiled.
"Now go clean up and join me in the command tent. We have war to discuss."
They both ran off to their tents as his greatest supporter stepped up beside him.
"Future heirs of the realm. I see a great future for them. Perhaps once again, an Aemon on the Kingsguard, and an Aegon on the throne when the time comes," Gormon Peake noted.
Daemon smiled. "Indeed, a bright future. If Aemon will be Kingsguard, that has yet to be seen. Aegon will need an heir first."
Gormon nodded. "Indeed, Your Grace."
Afterward, Daemon walked inside the tent, and Gormon followed him, as did Ser Quentyn. Inside, the rest of the lords and Aegor were already waiting for him.
"My lords, we will wait a moment for the princes, and then we will start."
A few moments later, both the boys walked into the tent, still flushed from their spar, yet they carried themselves with dignity and took their place by his side.
Inside the command tent, the lords and captains were already gathered. Aegor stood among them, as did Ser Quentyn.
"My lords," Daemon said, taking his place at the center, "we will wait for the princes."
It did not take long.
Aemon and Aegon entered together, still flushed from their spar, yet composed. They took their place at his side without a word.
Daemon let his gaze pass over the assembled men. These were not merely followers, but men who had chosen him. Some out of belief, others out of grievance, and some for ambition. It mattered little. Steel did not ask why it was drawn. In the end it were men, blood and sweat they would shed in the coming weeks.
"My lords, you are here because our scouts have returned." Silence fell.
"Prince Maekar marches against us, with Brynden Rivers at his side. They advance even now. Within days, we will meet them in battle." A murmur spread, quickly stilled by a glance from Daemon. "This is the moment we have sought. A victory here will do more than break an army. It will break the will of those who still cling to Daeron's rule."
"We should smash them, Your Grace," Lord Luton Bracken said. "Ride them down and scatter them to the winds."
"And we shall," Daemon replied evenly. "But we will do so with purpose, not fury."
He stepped toward the table, placing a gauntleted hand upon the map. "Prince Baelor has not yet joined them, yet he moves fast, with horse and only light infantry to join his brother. That is our advantage, and we will not squander it. If we wait, their strength grows. If we strike now, we face only part of their force."
He looked up. "We strike before they can unite."
Lord Ardian Tarbeck spoke. "Your Grace, if our attack fails to break them, we risk being enveloped once Baelor arrives."
"A risk," Daemon acknowledged, "but one outweighed by certainty. Every day we delay, Maekar and Bloodraven gather more men. And Lord Tyrell marches as well."
Aegor stepped forward then, his voice firm. "Lord Gormon has already sent forces to harry Tyrell's march. But that will not hold him forever. If we wait too long, we will face not one army, but three."
Tarbeck nodded slowly. "I see the danger."
"Good," Daemon said.
He straightened.
"In battle, we do not match them in number. So we will not fight as they expect."
His hand moved across the map.
"Their strength lies in their foot. Ours lies in horse."
He looked at each of them in turn. "We will break them at the center."
He rested his hand over the marked position. "I will lead the charge myself, with Blackfyre in hand. The sight of it will carry across the field. They will see me, and they will know. Not a distant king behind walls, but one who rides at the front."
The tent stirred at that. "Our cavalry will strike hard and fast, driving into their center before they can steady their line. Shock and fear will do half our work before steel is even crossed."
He turned slightly. "Aegor, you will command the infantry. Hold the line, press when they falter, and do not overextend."
Aegor gave a single nod. "With you, Beron Snow and the Company of the Rose."
Beron grinned, "Like old times." Aegor grinned at the man in response.
"The right flank will fall to Lord Gormon Peake. Hold firm, and be ready to turn inward when the center breaks." Gormon bowed his head.
"The left, Lord Luton Bracken. If you see an advantage to flank, do so."
"I will not fail you, Your Grace," Bracken said. Daemon's gaze hardened slightly. "See that you do not."
His gaze then turned to Lord Gormon as well, "Same goes for you, Lord Gormon."
He let the silence settle for a moment before speaking again.
"My sons will ride with me."
Aegon and Aemon both straightened. "They will see what it is to win a crown. To show to the realm Daemon rides with his son's unlike Daeron the Weak."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"And when the day is done, and I were my they will stand as knights beneath it."
He drew himself up fully now. "My lords, rest well tonight. Tomorrow, we march."
His voice carried through the tent. "And soon, we take what was always meant to be ours, and the throne my father intended me to have!" At he drew Blackfyre, and raised it high.
The tent erupted. "Blackfyre! Blackfyre! King Daemon!"
Daemon stood amidst it, feeling the weight of it, the pull of destiny, the echo of his father's hand placing the sword in his grasp, and making him a knight.
This time, he would not fail, and he would take his crown.
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