Real Battle Begins

Lord Fell watched with growing satisfaction as the rebel forces began to retreat. A sinister smile spread across his face as he turned to his son, gripping him firmly by the shoulder. "Look at them, running like frightened deer," he sneered. "Robert Baratheon is a fool. I knew he had no plan. He's just a reckless boy, believing he could fight us. Now he flees, just as I knew he would." He raised his voice, shouting to his men, "Charge! Chase them down! Show them the price of defying the crown!" His soldiers roared in response, their voices a mix of anger and triumph. They surged forward, eager to cut down the retreating rebels. Lord Fell's men poured across the clearing, their eyes fixed on the fleeing enemy.

From atop the hill, Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent watched the scene unfold, fifty thousand men at their backs. Gerold's face was lined with concern as he observed the rebel retreat. "Something doesn't sit right," he murmured to Oswell. "The rebels knew we would have the advantage here, yet they still attacked."

Oswell laughed, dismissing Gerold's worries with a wave of his hand. "Robert Baratheon is a prideful fool. He thought he could win through sheer bravado. Now he runs, tail between his legs. This is nothing more than a desperate attempt to save face."

Gerold still wasn't convinced, but he knew he couldn't hold his forces back now that Lord Fell had already committed to the charge. "Forward!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the noise of the battlefield. "We press the attack!"

He turned to Oswell. "Lead the cavalry down the left flank. We need to cut them off before they make it past the river."

Oswell nodded, a confident grin on his face. "Consider it done." He spurred his horse forward, signalling his cavalry to follow. The ground thundered beneath the hooves of thousands of horses as they charged down the hill, aiming to flank the retreating rebels. The King's forces, now joined with Lord Fell's army, roared as they charged after the rebels. The combined might of their troops surged across the battlefield; arrows rained down from the hill, striking at the retreating rebels.

On the other side, the retreating rebels maintained their discipline, moving back in an orderly fashion despite the relentless pressure from their pursuers. Daemon and Robert, still fighting at the back, shouted commands to keep their men in line. Gerold watched the battlefield with a critical eye, something still nagged at him, a sense that things were not as straightforward as they seemed. But with Lord Fell's forces already committed, he had no choice but to push forward.

"Advance!" Gerold called out.

Oswell Whent grinned as he led his cavalry down the left flank, closing in on the retreating rebels. His confidence radiated, believing that the end was near for the enemy. However, his grin quickly faded as another horn sounded across the battlefield. From behind a large hill, the rebel cavalry emerged, led by Lord Dondarrion and Lord Tarth. They had been kept hidden for this precise moment, ready to cover the retreat and counter any attempt by the enemy to run them down.

Oswell growled, drawing his sword and raising it high. "Prepare for battle!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the din of the battlefield. The ground began to tremble as thousands of cavalry on both sides charged towards each other, the thunder of their hooves creating a deafening roar. The distance between the two forces closed rapidly, each rider bracing for the impending clash.

The initial impact was catastrophic. The front lines of both cavalry forces collided with a bone-jarring force, the sound of metal crashing against metal mingling with the screams of men and the terrified whinnies of horses. Lances splintered and swords clanged as the two sides met in a brutal, chaotic melee. Horses screamed as they were impaled by lances or cut down by swords, their powerful bodies collapsing to the ground, often crushing the riders beneath them. The cries of pain and fear filled the air, mingling with the metallic clatter of clashing weapons. Men were thrown from their saddles, many never to rise again. Riders swung swords and axes, desperately trying to cut down their enemies before they themselves were struck. Blood sprayed as blades found flesh, the cries of the wounded adding to the cacophony. The ground beneath them became a treacherous mire of mud and gore, making every movement a struggle.

The thunder of hooves was interspersed with the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground and the crunch of bones breaking underfoot. Men screamed in agony as they were unhorsed, many trampled under the relentless advance of their own comrades and enemies alike. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring vision and adding to the chaos of battle. The rebel cavalry, led by Dondarrion and Tarth, fought well, cutting down enemies in the name of their liege lord. They knew the stakes of this battle and fought with a desperation born of the need to protect their retreating comrades. The King's cavalry, though initially caught off guard, quickly rallied under Oswell's command, his aura flaring to an intensity that dwarfed all others on the battlefield. With a single swing of his sword, he slashed five men at the hip, cutting them in half. The rebels looked on in fear as Oswell rampaged through their troops. None of the aura users dared to face him; the sight of a Kingsguard in full fury was too much. Oswell's presence was a force of destruction. His sword cut through the air with deadly precision, each swing claiming lives. His cold laughter echoed over the battlefield as he tore through the rebel forces with ease.

However, Lord Dondarrion and Lord Tarth were not afraid. Their auras flared to life. Together, they charged at Oswell, determined to stop him and buy time for Robert to make it across the river. Their combined assault was met with chilling calmness from Oswell, who turned to face them with a grin. The initial clash was explosive. Dondarrion's sword met Oswell's with a loud crash as he blocked a swing from the Kingsguard, sparks flying from the impact. The force of Oswell's swing sent Dondarrion flying from his horse, despite his successful block. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him.

Lord Tarth, seeing his comrade unhorsed, conjured an arrow formed of pure aura and aimed at Oswell's horse. With a precise shot, he struck the horse in the eye, sending the beast rearing back in agony and toppling to the ground. Oswell, agile and quick, rolled free and rose to his feet, unharmed. He flared his aura again, the sheer force of it blowing Tarth from his horse. The shockwave rippled through the battlefield, causing men to stagger and shields to rattle.

Dondarrion, having recovered, helped Tarth to his feet. Together, they faced Oswell, who casually rested his sword on his shoulder, a cocky smile playing on his lips. "Any last words?" he taunted.

Dondarrion and Tarth exchanged a glance and smirked. "Fuck the king," they said in unison, wiping the grin from Oswell's face. With a roar, they charged. The ensuing battle was a flurry of steel. Dondarrion and Tarth attacked with ferocity, their blades striking with the force of their combined auras. But Oswell's skill and power were evident, he blocked and dodged their attacks with ease, his movements fluid. He laughed at their attempts, mocking their weakness as he parried their blows. Dondarrion's sword came down in a powerful arc, only to be deflected by Oswell's blade. Tarth aimed a series of quick, precise strikes, each one met with an equally swift counter. Oswell hadn't taken a single hit from either of them and he told them as much before backhanding Tarth.

Oswell's counterattacks were brutal. He struck Dondarrion with the flat of his blade, sending him reeling. He followed up with a backhand slash that caught Tarth across the chest, drawing a deep, bloody gash. Both men staggered but did not fall. They pushed through the pain, they were men of the Stormlands and they wouldn't falter.  Dondarrion lunged forward, his sword aimed at Oswell's heart. Oswell sidestepped, catching Dondarrion with a powerful kick that sent him sprawling. Tarth seized the opportunity and attacked from the side. But Oswell was ready, meeting Tarth's blade with his own in a powerful strike that jarred their arms.

Tarth stumbled back, blood dripping from his wounds. Oswell advanced on Dondarrion, who struggled to his feet, ready to fight. Oswell's sword moved swiftly, each strike cutting through his aura slicing up his skin. Dondarrion managed to block a few of the attacks, but his arms were shaking from the effort. Oswell swung his sword with such force that it shattered Dondarrion's blade, sending shards of metal flying. Dondarrion, now weaponless, stood his ground, defiant. Oswell's smile widened as he prepared to deliver the final blow.

Tarth was not finished. With a roar, he charged at Oswell, his aura flaring. He swung his sword with all his might, aiming for Oswell's head. Oswell turned just in time, meeting Tarth's attack with his own. The impact sent both men staggering back, the ground beneath them shaking from the force. Tarth's breathing was ragged, blood pouring from his wounds. But he stood tall, ready to fight. The three men clashed again, their auras lighting up the battlefield. Oswell's movements were a blur as he blocked and countered each attack. Dondarrion and Tarth fought with everything they had, but their strikes were nothing to the Kingsguard. Oswell's laughter filled the air, mocking their efforts.

In a final, brutal exchange, Oswell delivered a powerful kick to Tarth's chest, sending him crashing to the ground. He then turned to Dondarrion, who lunged at him with a roar. Oswell sidestepped the attack and brought his sword down in a crushing blow, sending Dondarrion sprawling.

Both men lay on the ground, badly injured but still defiant. Oswell stood over them; he raised his sword, ready to finish the fight. However, before Oswell could finish them, a horn sounded out and the rebel cavalry began to retreat. Oswell looked up in shock and confusion, only to see that the rebel forces had successfully pulled back. He roared in anger, cursing himself for not taking this seriously. He knew he could have killed these traitor lords quickly if he had gone all out.

He looked down at the broken forms of Lord Tarth and Lord Dondarrion, he knew that he should let them live and take them prisoner so they could face the King's Justice. 'I am a Kingsguard...'

'I am the King's justice!' He thought as he brought his sword down in a quick motion slicing both of their necks so deep that their heads almost came off. He looked satisfied as he watched them struggle for life but slowly give up as the strength was sapped from their body. Oswell then looked up and watched as the rebel cavalry hastily retreated back to where they came, probably taking the long route to meet back up with the main force. The rebel army was hugging the bank of the river, making it dangerous for his cavalry to pursue. The ground would be muddy and uneven, a charge likely hurting a large number of them. Frustration gnawed at him, but he understood the need for caution.

"Fall back!" Oswell shouted to his men, his voice carrying over the battlefield. The cavalry began to pull back, and Oswell rode ahead, determined to join Lord Fell's army, which was still in hot pursuit of Robert's forces. Lord Fell's men kept up their attack, shooting arrows at the retreating rebels. The sky filled with arrows, and the sounds of impact and screams echoed. Aura users, faster and stronger than normal soldiers, surged ahead. They aimed to break the rebel lines, to turn this retreat into a rout.

However Daemon and Robert, at the forefront, fought back fiercely. Robert's Warhammer crushed bones and armour, each hit sending bodies flying. Daemon's sword cut through attackers like he was carving a cake. Together, they held the line, making it difficult for the enemy to get through. Arrows continued to rain down, hitting those who couldn't escape in time. Aura users tried to flank the rebels, using their speed and strength to their advantage, but Daemon and Robert blocked every attempt.

Bodies piled up, the screams of the dying adding to the horror. One aura user got close, but Daemon quickly killed him. Another group charged, but Robert's hammer smashed them aside. Despite their efforts, Lord Fell's aura users couldn't break past Daemon and Robert. The rebels kept moving, staying close to the riverbank. The terrain became muddy and uneven, making it hard for the enemy to follow, but follow they did and soon Lord Fell and his son got to the forefront and began to lead the charge.

Lord Fell and his son, Silver Axe, reached the front lines, urging their men to charge the enemy. The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos and violence. Arrows whistled through the air, and the sounds of clashing steel and screams filled the atmosphere.

Robert Baratheon saw the traitorous Lord Fell and roared in anger. His eyes locked on his target, and he prepared to charge, but Daemon grabbed his arm. "Stick to the plan!" Daemon shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle.

Robert looked at Daemon, then back at Lord Fell. His fury was uncontrollable, and with a roar, his aura exploded out of him. He shrugged off Daemon's grip and charged towards Lord Fell, his Warhammer raised high.

Daemon cursed under his breath as he watched Robert charge the enemy forces alone. "Damn fool," he muttered. Realizing the situation was spiralling out of control, he knew he had to act. Daemon gripped his sword tightly, feeling his anger bubble to the surface. Robert's reckless actions had put everything at risk.

Robert, his aura turning from a translucent field to one of crackling lightning, activated his ability, the Stormlord. His speed and strength increased dramatically, making him a force of nature on the battlefield. He ploughed through enemy soldiers, his Warhammer smashing through armour and bone, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.

"Stop the retreat! Charge!" Daemon shouted, his voice booming across the battlefield. The rebels, seeing their leaders charging, turned and followed, roaring as they did. Daemon rushed towards the enemy lines, his sword cleaving through soldiers as he released more of his aura.

Robert's charge was halted by Silver Axe, who stepped forward to intercept him. Silver Axe activated his ability and summoned his axe. The axe shifted and grew, matching the intensity of Silver Axe's aura. With a swift movement, he blocked Robert's Warhammer, the axe expanding to absorb the impact. His axe as a conjured weapon was capable of a lot more than what normal weapons were, he could change the shape and size of his axe as long as he had aura.

Robert Baratheon charged at Silver Axe, their auras clashing violently as they met in the middle of the battlefield. Silver Axe's weapon gleamed, shifting and growing as he poured more of his aura into it. He swung the massive axe, aiming to cleave Robert in two. Robert blocked with his warhammer, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the ground, knocking nearby soldiers off their feet. Silver Axe pressed his advantage, his weapon constantly changing shape to catch Robert off guard. He swung again, the axe head splitting into multiple blades. Robert ducked and countered with a powerful upward swing, sending Silver Axe stumbling back. The sheer strength behind Robert's attack was evident, even as Silver Axe's aura absorbed most of the impact.

They circled each other, the air crackling with energy. Robert's muscles bulged, his body coursing with lightning. He lunged forward, his Warhammer a blur as he brought it down toward Silver Axe's head. Silver Axe barely managed to block, his axe expanding to shield him. The force of the blow sent a tremor through the ground, and a few unfortunate soldiers were caught in the shockwave, and thrown aside like ragdolls. Silver Axe retaliated with a spinning strike, his axe elongating mid-swing. The blade sliced through the air, aiming for Robert's midsection. Robert twisted, his lightning aura enhancing his speed, and countered with a brutal swing of his hammer. The weapons met with a resounding crash, sparks flying as metal clashed against metal.

Silver Axe's strikes were desperate, changing the shape of his axe without any regard for his aura reserves. He swung low, aiming to sweep Robert's legs out from under him. Robert jumped, bringing his Warhammer down in a powerful blow. Silver Axe blocked again, but the impact forced him to his knees. Robert seized the moment, his aura flaring even brighter. His muscles expanded further, veins bulging as lightning surged through him. He swung his Warhammer with renewed fury, each strike more powerful than the last. Silver Axe struggled to keep up, his aura flickering under the onslaught. A wild swing from Silver Axe caught a nearby soldier, the man's body falling in two pieces. Both armies had clashed again and the warriors found themselves being surrounded with their troops, with non-aura users becoming unintended casualties. Bodies littered the ground, blood soaking the earth. Robert roared, his Warhammer smashing into Silver Axe's shoulder, the force of the blow breaking through his aura and armour. Silver Axe cried out, his weapon disappearing as he tried to reinforce his body with 'Fortify'. He tried to retaliate, but Robert was relentless. The lightning coursing through his body made him almost unstoppable.

Silver Axe managed to conjure his axe one last time, swinging desperately at Robert's head. Robert ducked, his Warhammer swinging upward in a brutal arc. The blow connected with Silver Axe's jaw, shattering bone and sending teeth flying. Silver Axe was thrown backwards, his body skidding across the blood-soaked ground. Robert advanced, his aura crackling with electricity. Silver Axe struggled to his feet, his axe shrinking to a fraction of its former size. He swung weakly, but Robert easily blocked the blow. With a final, devastating strike, Robert brought his warhammer down on Silver Axe's head, crushing his skull and ending the battle.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Lord Fell saw this happen and his cries echoed across the battlefield. Seeing his eldest son killed in such a brutal manner tore his heart in half. He looked at Robert Baratheon, who had a smirk on his face, and roared as he flared the entirety of his aura. With vengeance in his heart, he rushed at the Stag Lord, attacking relentlessly, his sword clanging off Robert's Warhammer.

"You call that an attack?" Robert mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Just like your son, you are weak and barely worth the effort."

Lord Fell roared in fury, lifting his sword high, but Robert was quicker. He connected a powerful kick to Lord Fell's chest, sending him flying nearly a dozen meters back. Fell crashed through his men, scattering them like leaves. When he stood up, it was Lord Cafferen and Lord Grandison who helped him to his feet. Both lords had their auras released, and they eyed Robert with nervous expressions.

"Come, let's do this together," Lord Grandison said, pointing his sword at Robert.

"Yes," the other two replied, their voices filled with resolve.

They roared in unison, their combined auras blazing as they charged toward Robert. The ground shook under their feet, and the air buzzed with their power. Robert stood his ground, his Warhammer ready, as the three lords closed in on him.

...

Daemon moved through the battlefield, cutting down regular troops and aura users as easily as killing children. His sword cleaved through flesh and bone, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. He had lost sight of Howland a while ago, but he had to trust that his apprentice was okay. His fighting led him closer to the bank of the river, where the ground was muddier and more treacherous. He worried that the Kingsguard would not join the fight; he needed to defeat them sooner rather than later.

"Time to show off," he muttered to himself.

'Aura Mimicry: Aerys Targaryen.'

As he activated his ability, his aura turned a bright orange, the heat radiating from him intense enough for everyone to notice. Non-aura users looked at Daemon with fear, and those with aura turned tail and ran. Daemon held his hand out and released a torrent of flames against the enemy troops. Screams of pain and horror echoed across the battlefield. Non-aura users couldn't see the flames that covered people's bodies, so to them, it just looked like they were running around screaming while their skin burned and their armour melted.

Daemon hesitated when he saw this. He hated what he had just done; it made him feel sick, and it made him feel as if he were no different from Aerys who killed people so easily. His eyes started to water and tears streamed down his face as he watched dozens of people burn to death because of him. His hand shook as he prepared to do it again, but he thought of Lyanna and Lysa. His resolve hardened, and his eyes grew cold. He released another torrent of flames, killing even more people.

The plan was simple. He would force the Kingsguard to confront him, or they'd risk losing too many men. After his third gout of flame, it seemed his plan worked. He had to jump backwards, avoiding a slice from Oswell. He flipped into a handstand before pushing off into his feet and skidding across the mud.

"Well, well, it seems the traitor decided to come back and at the head of an army, the Golden Company no less," Oswell spat, looking at Daemon with contempt. While King Aerys remained willfully ignorant about Daemon being a Blackfyre, the Kingsguard did not, and this just confirmed that belief in Oswell's eyes.

"Fucking traitor, you've been plotting for the throne for years, haven't you?" Oswell said, his expression murderous.

"The only traitors here are Aerys and Rhaegar," Daemon replied, his face stoic.

Before Oswell could reply, Gerold appeared. "Are the rumours true? Are you indeed a Blackfyre?"

"I am," Daemon replied.

Gerold had fought in the last Blackfyre rebellion and had seen the true horror that Maelys the Monstrous was. Had Aerys not been present that day, who knows how many would've died before they could take him down.

"In the name of King Aerys II Targaryen, I sentence you to die," Oswell said, flashing his aura, Gerold doing the same.

Daemon's flames burned brighter than before as he prepared for the fight. The true battle had now begun.

(AN: So mid chapter is done, dw not all battles will be this long, only this one as it's the first and the Trident which may be a bit longer. I don't count the confrontation with aerys as a battle but that will probably be 2 chapters. I'm trying to make this battle descriptive but I feel like I'm repeating myself a lot, I hope you guys have enjoyed it. Anyway next chapters gonna be the fight and conclusion of the battle. Cya)

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