Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Becoming Legends

Baldur Crowl, Disputed lands, 275 AC

The night after the discussion with Vargeo, they had readied themselves to assault the fortified town. River Wood was surrounded by tall stone walls on all sides, built along the swift Orange River in which it traded goods on. The south wall was connected to the river by an open square with a number of docks leading out into the water. The city itself was protected from an attack from the docks by a sturdy looking set of doors from what Ivar had observed during the day.

Ivar warged into his falcon and saw that the docks were lightly defended and even remained open through the night, not that anyone on land would know that. This was likely due to the fact that one would have to get to the docks by boat, as it wasn't connected by any piece of land. The Volantene forces that was camped outside River Wood had no ships to get to the docks, leaving them as a minor concern to the defenders. It was here that Baldur planned to infiltrate the town and gain access to the main gates.

Skagos has some of the swiftest and most dangerous waters surrounding it when growing up and it was on those waters that Baldur learned to swim. As a young man, he swam in the waters around Deepdown, as most of the young men did after a hard day of training. While many fear to swim across the treacherous waters of Deepdown, Baldur always looked forward to it.

They spent the night planning for the assault, selecting ten strong swimmers to make their way across the river. Brynden, Ivar, Halvar, Rolf and a few more Skagossons would be the first to swim towards the docks. While they are swimming, they would carry a length of rope to tie off to the docks, allowing for the forty men following them to not get pulled away by the current. The undertow of rivers in places like these could mean the death of someone if they weren't careful.

The rest of the Skagosi forces would attack with the remainder of the Westerosi forces when the gates were opened. Under the leadership of Mark Ryswell, they would join with the Volantene that would pour through the gates of the town to force the surrender of the enemy commander. It was up to Baldur to make certain that could happen.

Baldur stripped himself of all clothing but his leathers and a sword on his back as he entered the rushing water alongside the castle walls, carefully hidden within the shadows, followed by his nine companions. Creeping into the water, he pushed out into the current, fighting against its strong pull as he pressed towards the docks, a sense of excitement building in his chest at the tale that would be sang of this.

It was a battle to get from the shore and out far enough to reach the edge of the docks but Baldur managed it, grasping a hold on the long wooden posts that came down into the water. He wasted no time in wrapping the rope around the pole and hauling in the rest of the swimmers who were still fighting the current behind him, carrying them to safety.

Looking to Ivar, he nodded his head as the man closed his eyes and warged into his nearby falcon. Baldur could just make out the bird through the moonlight surrounding them, soaring over their heads to scout the enemy positions, before settling down on the wall. A tense silence has passed between the men before the falcon gave a chirp, signaling that they were all clear. Moments later, Ivar opened his eyes and nodded towards Baldur.

Baldur had gone through great lengths to keep the knowledge of his wargs anything but a tall tale that only story tellers believed. As far as Brynden was aware, Ivar simply has an incredible talent for training falcons and Baldur intended to keep it that way. Wargs had once been butchered south of the wall in many places and he would be damned if it happened again to his men.

Baldur was the first to pull himself up onto the docks, helping the ones behind him out of the water as quietly as possible. From there, they silently crept down the docks and into the shadows of the wall, waiting for the others to join them. It took ten minutes before all forty of the men worked their way across the swift waters, dragging along the rope to join them. From here, they would begin working their way through the town and to glory.

The town was filled with sounds of drinking and revelry that was coming from the center, the occupants obviously assured of their safety from the forces outside as the occupants waited for the Free Cities to come to an agreement, ending the Trade Dispute.

The sell swords and town garrison were clearly not very alert, as they move their way through the shack like slums where the slaves lived, towards their destination. Ivar kept a watchful eye out, killing the occasional guards they came across and pulling their bodies into the shadows or a hidden alcove to cover their tracks.

Baldur was certainly surprised at the ease of it all as they made their way towards the front gate, nearly unopposed. He was a bit disappointed by it all, imagining more of a tale than the occasional killing of a drunk guard. So far, this was certainly not living up to how he imagined it.

As they arrived at the gates, silently moving through the shadows, Baldur could see a lit torch and a couple of guards standing beside it on the ground level. On top of the wall, several more guards stood on watch, looking out towards the camped army. The gates were built of wood with several thick beams of timber placed securely behind the door to keep it closed and reinforced.

Baldur was the first to run forward and plant his sword deep into one of the unsuspecting guards as the man folded with a small cry to the ground. He was robbed of his next kill as Brynden planted his sword through the man's chest as the guard struggled to pull his sword from his side. The top of the gate itself was assaulted by Rolf and Halvar who dispatched the sentries with little trouble.

"Quickly, open the gates and give them the signal. They surely heard the fighting." Brynden ordered as the remaining Skagossons began hefting the large pieces of timber off the back of the doors and pushing them open wide. Atop the gates, Rolf waved a lit torch in the air, signaling to the Volantene forces.

If the sound of the attack on the guards hadn't alerted anyone to the fact that they were under attack, then the accompanying sound of thousands of men rushing towards the gates of the city certainly did. Baldur could hear voices shouting from the deeper parts of the city and the clamoring of feet on the cobble stone roads as the defenders began to rush towards the gates.

Picking up one of the discarded guards shields, Baldur readied his sword in hand, eager for the coming fight. "Defend the gate!" Baldur ordered as the first of the men rounded the corner and into the awaiting group of Skagosi.

He wasted little time, running forward into the coming guardsmen and slicing the one on his left across the chest, sending him to the ground. Followed through by a kick to the torso of another guardsman, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling. The guardsmen was poorly trained in true battle as they fell around them quickly while the sell swords within began trickling into the fight.

He hacked and cleaved his way through the town defenders as they desperately tried to close the open gates, making them easy targets in their haste. Baldur had already managed to kill ten men by the time the Volantene's forces began to pour through the gate and into the town defenders, thoroughly ruining Baldur's fun.

"Press forward!" Baldur yelled as the men pushed further into the town. The large Skagosi man himself climbed up the side of the wall and began working his way along the top, getting out of the mass of bodies that was starting to pile into each other below them.

The first man that came to meet him was a young sell sword, wearing mismatched chain mail armor with a few pieces of dinged up plate to guard a few of the more vital areas. He seemed confident in himself as he jabbed his sword towards Baldur, who batted it away with his shield and kicked the man from the side of the wall, sending him hurtling to his death with a crunch as Baldur laughed loudly.

This continued as he worked his way along the side of the wall, lost in the excitement of battle. He hoped that those below could clearly see him laying waste to any man that met him in battle. He imagined he must look a glorious sight, like something out of legend as blood flowed along the stone steps in his wake. He couldn't wait to regale this moment to his son for a bed time story when he arrived home to Skagos.

The next man up was far more talented with a sword, dancing along the wall and sending jabs towards Baldur's way, forcing him to defend. The man moved quite fluidly, his long silver hair swishing in the open air as he rained down attacks on the Skagosi man in quick succession. Baldur however, wouldn't be beaten by some scrawny wench looking man from a Free City that was for damn sure.

"Varedo is a master in the art of the sword." The man spoke as he retreated back when Baldur went on the attack. "First, I am here." The man said as he rolled past Baldur in a tumble, rising with impressive agility to score a slice across Baldur's leg. Fortunately, it was just a light flesh wound, barely making it through his leathers. "And now, Varedo is here." The man finished with a bright smile and a wink as Baldur narrowed his eyes. If this little faerie wanted to play games, Baldur could surely play games.

"I will tell all the women about slaying the giant of River Wood, oh how they shall quiver in excitement at the thought!" Varedo spoke as he jumped over Baldur's strike and struck out a quick jab towards the large man again. Baldur was able to catch it on his shield and stop it with a quick lowering of his shield. "Strong as ten regular men and stupider than an ox, I shall say!" Varedo taunted as he ducked his head when Baldur flung his shield with a shout, sending it crashing to pieces against the side of the wall.

Again, Varedo twirled towards Baldur to prod at his defense, though this time he was ready. As his silver colored hair drifted by, Baldur grabbed a hold of it and yanked as the man screeched out in pain. "Not so quick now, you little shit." Baldur growled as he dragged the man back by the hair amidst the screams of pain towards the edge of the wall. The man dropped his sword with a clatter as both of his hands reached up in an attempt to free his hair from Baldur's firm grasp.

Hauling him towards the edge, Baldur grabbed him by the throat as he raised him over the side of the town walls. "Yes… I shall name my newest drink after you." He informed the struggling man who was now gripping onto his arms in an attempt to keep himself from plummeting to his death below.

"Drink?" The Valyrian man whimpered as blood from his uprooted hair began flowing down his forehead as Baldur stared into his eyes.

"Yes, and a fine brew it shall be. I will name it the Flying Banshee." Baldur informed him with a grin.

"B-but, I-I can't fly!" He exclaimed as Baldur pried one of his hands free from the man, leaving him nothing but one to cling to.

"I'm not worried about the details." The Stone Lord said with a shrug as he released his grasp on the man, letting him plummet to his death with a terrified scream and a resounding thud as he was dashed against the rocks.

Humming to himself, Baldur turned around, intent on continuing down the wall and laying his enemies low. Unfortunately for him, the shout that the enemy has surrendered could already be heard from the overwhelmed defenders below.

Rhaegar Targaryen, 275AC, Kings Landing.

As of late, the prophecy had weighed heavily on Rhaegar's mind. As a youth, Rhaegar had discovered a hidden away scroll in the depths of the library, a writing from times past, speaking of a Prince That Was Promised.

Intrigued, Rhaegar had dug deeper, finding a more recent prophecy from his grandfather's time that said that the Prince That Was Promised would be born from his parent's line. That was something that had shaken Rhaegar to his very core and prompted him to begin his martial pursuits, for it seemed that he would need to be a warrior.

It was as if he carried a great weight on his shoulders, one of despair but hope for the future. The Prince That Was Promised would deliver the world from darkness and the task ahead of him was a difficult one that troubled him greatly. It would be up to him to uncover the mystery of the prophecy and to unravel it and ultimately save the kingdom from the coming darkness, though he hadn't any idea what the darkness was.

Rhaegar had been corresponding with Aemon Targaryen, who believed that Rhaegar could be the Prince That Was Promised as Rhaegar himself thought. He had been born amidst salt and smoke during the tragic burning of Summerhall. The smoke referred to the burning of the pleasure palace and the tears of the many people who had wept in despair at the tragedy. Though much of the prophecy alluded him, he remained vigil of its existence, for surely few else would.

These days, he often spent his time training with Ser Willem Darry, an able and patient knight who was the brother of Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard. Rhaegar had taken the man in his employ and like his brother, he was a loyal knight of high caliber. When not training with Ser Willem, he would often strum on his harp, singing songs of the coming darkness and the troubles that plagued his mind. He would play for the people of the Seven Kingdoms as a constant reminder to himself of what was at risk, should he fail to be prepared.

Rhaegar had already begun doing his best for the people of the realm, riding to personally see the Crown Lords and put them at ease. The rising of taxes in the realm and the changing of the Small Council seats had greatly rattled the Crownland Lords. He appealed to them though, urging them to be at peace and showing them personal favor to put them at ease. By showing them personal favor, they had known they weren't forgotten in the realm, despite the recent changes.

The recent changes had been good ones in Crown Prince's opinion. Lord Rickard Stark was a promising Master of Laws, who took his duty seriously. His father was wise to reach out to the long neglected North and bring them into the fold, unifying the kingdom. He had also done well in building roads to help the people better thrive in the future. What his father neglected was the tact to deliver the changes as positive for everyone. His Father could sometimes be an eccentric man, but he had done well for the realm as a whole.

"My prince, it is time for our training session." Ser Willem said as he entered the room that Rhaegar had been occupying.

"Of course, I shall be ready shortly." Rhaegar replied to the knight as the man bowed and exited. Putting his troubles from his mind, the prince slid his notes back onto the shelf, intent on solving the mystery of the prophecy at a later time