The Eve of Battle

Lord Fell sat astride his horse atop a hill, his gaze fixed on the sprawling field before him. The combined forces of his own house, along with those of Lord Cafferen and Lord Grandison, stretched out below. Positioned halfway between Summerhall and Storm's End, near the Boneway and Griffin's Roost, they had a strategic advantage. The long river beside them meandered down to the Sunset Sea, a natural barrier that he planned to use to his benefit. Though not a particularly talented aura user, Lord Fell had made his foundation strong, and today, he intended to capitalize on it.

His plan was simple: lure the rebels to the opposite side of the river and, once the King's forces arrived to reinforce them, push the rebels back against the water. The garrison from Griffin's Roost would then rain arrows upon them, ensuring the rebellion was crushed before it could gain any real momentum. Lord Fell allowed himself a smirk as he envisioned the rewards awaiting him once the rebellion was quashed. Perhaps, he mused, he might even be granted Storm's End. His thoughts were interrupted by the murmurs of his fellow lords, their voices tinged with worry.

"Robert Baratheon is a force to be reckoned with," Lord Grandison muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon nervously. "It's said he took Gulltown by himself and slew its lord single-handedly."

"Aye," Lord Cafferen added, his voice low. "There are rumours of his strength, feats that seem almost impossible, that he commands the very lightning in Storms End."

"Enough of this," Lord Fell commanded, his voice sharp. "They are rumours, nothing more. Robert Baratheon is but a green boy."

"I will kill the Stag before he can even raise his hammer." Silver Axe chimed in, his youthful confidence evident.

The lords fell silent for a moment, they were not sure whether to trust the word of Fell's son. Lord Fell took a deep breath, pushing aside the doubts gnawing at the edges of his mind.

"My son shall handle Robert Baratheon then, is that suffice?," Lord Fell said, his tone brooking no further argument.

"Now go over the strategy again, I want there to be no mistakes," Lord Fell stated while looking at Lord Grandison.

"We hold this hill," Lord Grandison began, gesturing to the field below. "It gives us the high ground, and the river provides a natural defence."

Lord Cafferen nodded in agreement. "Once the rebels cross, we'll have them trapped between the river and our forces. The garrison at Griffin's Roost will support us with a barrage of arrows, ensuring they cannot retreat."

"And what of the reinforcements?" Lord Fell asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Ser Hightower and Ser Whent are expected within the week," Lord Cafferen replied. "They bring with them an additional fifty thousand men from the Reach and Crownlands."

"A formidable force," Lord Fell mused. "We must ensure we hold until they arrive."

Silver Axe leaned forward, his eyes glinting with determination. "Father, I can lead the charge. Once Baratheon shows himself, I'll make sure he never leaves this field alive."

Lord Fell regarded his son carefully, noting the fire in his eyes. Yet, he couldn't ignore the doubt that lingered. "Can you defeat Robert Baratheon, my son?" Silver Axe hesitated, his bravado wavering for a moment. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, Father. I will."

"Good," Lord Fell said, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Then get to your positions, and make sure the men are ready."

The lords dispersed, each heading to their respective commands. Lord Fell remained, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement.

A few hours later Lord Grandison trotted over, his face lined with concern. "Do you think we'll truly be able to hold until the reinforcements arrive?"

"We must," Lord Fell replied firmly. "If we falter, this rebellion could gain the foothold it needs to spread. We cannot allow that to happen."

Lord Cafferen joined them, his expression grim. "What of Baratheon's aura? Surely there is some merit to what people say."

"Rumors," Lord Fell reiterated, though his own aura prickled with unease. "Stay focused on the task at hand. We have the advantage of position and soon we will have fifty thousand more men here and two of the strongest Aura users in Westeros." The commanders nodded, but the uncertainty in their eyes was unmistakable. As the day wore on, tension mounted. The sound of clanking armour and the murmur of soldiers preparing for battle filled the air.

Silver Axe returned, his demeanour more sombre. "Father, the men are ready. But I must ask... are you truly confident in our plan?"

Lord Fell turned to his son, his gaze steely. "Confidence is a luxury we cannot afford to doubt, my son. We have a plan, and we will execute it to the best of our abilities. Trust in our strength and our strategy."

Silver Axe swallowed hard but nodded. "Yes, Father."

Lord Fell watched his son ride back down to a lower portion of the hill. He couldn't help but feel worried about the upcoming battle; he knew he was wrong in defying his Liege Lord, but his family had never had the favour of the Baratheons, numerous generations had passed and their House hadn't gotten stronger or made any worthwhile alliances. It grated on him seeing how weak members of his family had been, he was grateful to his father that he had managed to arrange a good match for him. The Tarths were a good family and their women were good breeding stock, often producing powerful aura users. His son was perhaps one of the strongest members of House Fell in five hundred years.

'Would it be enough...'

The thought grated on his mind. He had heard the rumours about The Stag Lord's strength, but he considered it just the ramblings of peasants who knew nothing of Aura, knights and lords appeared like gods to the small folk, which was why he didn't put much stock in what they said. However it did nag at his mind, he trusted in his son's strength as well as their plan, but he worried that even half the rumours about their liege Lord were true. Baratheons had always produced strong warriors, their close link with the Targaryens as well as the Durrandons assured that.

'It'll work, and if he struggles then I'll assist him... he can't take both of us," Lord fell thought to himself.

...

Almost a week later, the horizon shimmered with the telltale glint of armour and the flutter of banners as Robert Baratheon's army finally came into view. The lords atop the hill exchanged puzzled glances, their initial confidence giving way to a creeping unease. Lord Fell, Lord Cafferen, and Lord Grandison gathered on the ridge, their horses pawing at the ground restlessly.

"Why has it taken him so long?" Lord Grandison muttered, his eyes narrowing at the approaching force. "We expected him a day sooner, perhaps even earlier if he had hard-marched his troops."

Lord Cafferen nodded, a frown creasing his brow. "Indeed, it's unsettling. It's no secret that we intended to join with the main army. Why would Robert risk facing sixty thousand men?"

The question hung in the air, thick with anxiety. It wasn't like Robert to delay without reason —everyone knew how hot-headed he was— and the uncertainty gnawed at the commanders. They had expected a brash, head-on assault, but this delay suggested a different, more calculated approach. "He's up to something," Lord Grandison said, his voice low. "What could he possibly have been doing?"

"Perhaps he's found a way to flank us," Lord Cafferen speculated, his tone edged with worry. "Or mayhaps he's laying some kind of trap."

Lord Fell's patience wore thin, and he glared at his fellow lords. "Hold your tongues and stop being foolish," he commanded sternly. "This is not the time for baseless speculation. Robert Baratheon may be bold, but he is not invincible. The reinforcements will be here soon, and together, we will crush these rebels." The other lords fell silent, chastened by Lord Fell's firm rebuke. They had no choice but to trust in their strategy and the impending arrival of the King's forces.

"Make ready for battle," Lord Fell commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Ensure our men are prepared to hold the line and execute the plan. We will not be caught off guard."

The lords nodded and dispersed to their respective positions, issuing orders and rallying their troops. The air grew tense with anticipation as soldiers donned their armour and weapons were readied. Lord Fell turned his gaze back to the approaching army, his resolve hardening. Whatever Robert Baratheon's plans might be, they would meet them head-on and emerge victorious. The future of House Fell hung in the balance, either they would fall today or they would become the new masters of the Stormlands.

A large clearing lay between the hill they occupied and the river that separated their armies. Lord Fell knew Robert would have no choice but to bring his army to the other side and attack them head-on. Robert was running out of time, the longer he waited to attack the closer the reinforcements came. He had no choice but to attack on their terms and Lord Fell would take full advantage of this.

Robert Baratheon would die soon.

———————————————————-

On the other side of the river, Daemon stood with his squire Howland inside the command tent. With them were Robert Baratheon and the other Lords of the Stormlands. The air was thick with tension and anticipation, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows on the faces of the assembled men. Daemon spoke in a clear, commanding voice. "Remember, everyone. Stick to the plan. Do not show off your aura. If too many people are seen to be dying, they will retreat, and our plan will be ruined."

Robert growled, his frustration evident. "You expect me to hold back? I want to crush those traitorous lords!" He slammed his fist on the table, the impact making the other lords flinch. But Daemon remained unfazed, his expression stoic. "Yes... I do," Daemon said calmly, "we must keep to the plan, or we will have no chance of defeating sixty thousand men."

One of the lords, Lord Dondarrion, spoke up. "What about Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent? They are Kingsguard and among the strongest aura users in Westeros."

Daemon's gaze was steady as he replied, "Do not worry. I will handle both of them."

Robert's eyes flared with anger. "I want to fight them! It should be me!"

Daemon met his gaze unflinchingly. "It's your responsibility to fight your lords, Robert or have you forgotten about Lord Fell, Lord Grandison, and Lord Cafferen," Robert grumbled but eventually relented. Daemon continued, running through the plan once more. "We will attack when our scouts report that the reinforcements are close. Once the enemy reinforcements arrive, we will launch into a retreat, crossing back to the other side of the river and retreating down to Griffin's Roost."

One of the lords, Lord Caron, raised an eyebrow. "What about the garrison stationed there?"

Daemon's lips curled into a faint smile. "My sister Serra took a thousand men and should have sacked the place by now."

Some of the lords chuckled at his words, a few making derogatory comments about Serra. "A woman, sacking Griffin's Roost? Preposterous," one of them muttered.

Daemon flared his aura, an almost murderous intent filling the tent. It wasn't for long, but it was enough to terrify the lords, with the exception of Robert, who boomed out a laugh at his 'cowardly' lords.

"Serra has conquered Griffin's Roost," Daemon reiterated slowly, each word promising danger if they were to say otherwise. The lords fell silent, the weight of his aura pressing down on them. "They will undoubtedly follow us," Daemon continued, "As killing Robert means ending the rebellion. With their numerical advantage, they will grow lax. The Golden Company is stationed at two different points. They are hidden for now, but when the King's forces cross the river and follow us, they will attack. We will be on the southern side; the Golden Company will attack from the eastern and northern sides, with the river to their west. They will be trapped."

"What of the survivors?" Lord Estermont asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"THEY DIE!" Robert shouted, his fist pounding the table once more.

Daemon, however, remained calm. "They will be given the offer to bend the knee and join us, or perish."

Some of the lords exchanged sceptical glances, the numerical advantage of the enemy still weighing heavily on their minds. Lord Tarth voiced their concerns. "The Targaryen forces have a significant numerical advantage. How do we truly expect to overcome that?"

Daemon's expression didn't waver. "It won't matter when the elephants come."

...

After the meeting, Daemon left the command tent with Howland following closely behind. The camp buzzed with activity, soldiers preparing for the imminent battle. Daemon glanced over at his squire, noting the subtle tremor in Howland's hands and the way his gaze kept drifting to the army across the river.

"Don't be nervous," Daemon said, his voice calm.

Howland chuckled humorlessly, his eyes never leaving the distant enemy. "Is it that obvious?"

Daemon nodded, maintaining his stoic demeanour. "You don't hide it well."

As they walked through the camp, the sounds of men sharpening their weapons and preparing for combat surrounded them. Howland's mind was elsewhere, his thoughts heavy. "I'm not averse to killing," he began, his voice low. "But fighting against the non-aura users... slaughtering so many people... it feels wrong. Does that make me a coward?"

Daemon shook his head firmly. "No, Howland. It makes you a good man. Never change. The world would be a much poorer place if it lost people like you."

Howland glanced at him in surprise. Daemon continued, his tone measured. "Killing should never be easy. A person who doesn't value life is capable of horrible things. Look at King Aerys."

Howland nodded. "But sometimes it's necessary," Daemon added, his gaze steady. "Even those weaker than ourselves."

Howland looked down, the conflict still evident on his face. Daemon placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to fight the non-aura users if you don't wish to. Focus on the aura users. Leave the rest to others."

Howland nodded gratefully, the weight of his burden lifting slightly. A moment of silence passed between them before Howland looked at him "Do you remember all the people you've killed?" Howland asked.

A grim expression overtook Daemon's face. He nodded slowly. "Every time I go to sleep."

...

The next day dawned with a tense anticipation that hung heavy in the air. Robert's forces began to cross the river, a manoeuvre that positioned them directly in front of Lord Fell's army. The sun glinted off the water, casting reflections that danced like flames across the soldiers' armour. The cavalry was kept back intentionally, reserved for the tactical retreat that would come later. Daemon and Robert stood on the front lines, their presence a symbol of strength and resolve. Howland stood by Daemon's side, his nerves steeled from their conversation the previous night. Robert mounted on his powerful warhorse, and trotted out in front of his men; his Warhammer gleamed menacingly in the morning light.

Robert raised his voice, a booming sound that carried across the field. "Men! Today, we crush these traitorous dogs! We will tear down the Targaryen Dynasty, starting with the houses that dared to defy us!" He spat on the ground, his contempt palpable. "These bastards think they can stand against us? My hammer will show them the error of their ways!"

"We're gonna break them, we're gonna make them bleed, and by the end of the day, they will know the fury of House Baratheon! They will regret the day they chose to side with that mad king! Let's show them what real men can do!" The soldiers roared their approval, their voices blending into a deafening cheer that echoed across the battlefield. Robert raised his Warhammer high, letting out a primal roar that electrified his troops. The men banged their weapons against their shields, the sound a rhythmic promise of the violence to come.

"OURS IS FURY!!!" With a final bellow, Robert jumped off his horse and ran towards the enemy, and the charge began. The ground shook as thousands of men surged forward, their battle cries filling the air. The initial clash was a symphony of chaos, the front lines meeting with a resounding crash of metal and flesh. The front ranks of both armies collided with brutal force. Swords clanged against shields, and the air was filled with the screams of the wounded and dying. Blood sprayed as weapons found their marks, painting the ground in a gruesome tableau of gore. Men hacked and slashed at each other, driven by fury and desperation. The sounds of battle—clashing steel, guttural shouts, and the cries of the fallen.

Arrows whistled through the air as archers on both sides loosed volley after volley. The sky darkened momentarily as the arrows arced high before descending upon their targets. Shields were raised, and men cried out in pain as arrows found flesh. Some fell immediately, while others staggered, desperately trying to pull the barbed shafts from their bodies. Amid the chaos, aura users from both sides unleashed their powers. A fiery wave surged forward from Lord Fell's side, incinerating a swath of Robert's men. In response, one of Robert's aura users, a man capable of conjuring water, created a torrent that doused the flames and knocked the enemy aura user off his feet.

The battlefield became a chaotic swirl of colours and sounds as aura attacks clashed and countered each other. Spheres of pure aura, waves of fire, and blasts of raw power lit up the scene, each impact sending shockwaves through the ranks. The ground trembled under the intensity of their powers, and the air crackled with residual energy. Robert, true to his word, waded into the thick of the fight, his Warhammer swinging with lethal precision. He smashed through the enemy ranks, his aura-imbued weapon sending men flying and crushing those who dared to stand against him. His presence on the battlefield was like that of a storm, his men watched with awe as he smashed his hammer into the ground making men fly.

Men continued to clash with each other, their once gleaming weapons becoming soaked with blood. The clang of steel on steel was punctuated by the guttural cries of those struck down. Blood splattered across armour and faces, the metallic tang filling the air. The non-aura users fought valiantly, their weapons clashing against the enhanced abilities of their opponents. It was a brutal, bloody struggle, with men falling on both sides. The ground beneath them became slippery with blood and littered with the bodies of the dead and dying. In the midst of the chaos, Daemon and Howland moved through the battlefield. They cut down regular soldiers with ease, Daemon easily sliced through them with Blackfyre while Howland contented himself with knocking them unconscious with the shaft of his trident.

An aura user from Robert's side, a knight with the ability to create barriers of force, shielded a group of soldiers from a barrage of arrows. His shields glowed with a translucent light, protecting the men behind them and allowing them to advance without fear. When the enemy aura users targeted him, he redirected their attacks, causing explosions that tore through their own ranks. The battle raged on, with neither side willing to give an inch. The air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat, and the noise was deafening. Soldiers shouted orders and encouragement, trying to rally their comrades even as they fought for their lives.

In one corner of the battlefield, a particularly fierce skirmish broke out near the centre, where Lord Fell himself fought with his men. He wielded his sword with brutal efficiency, his aura flaring as he sent slashes of aura through the enemy forces. His son, the Silver Axe, fought by his side, his conjured weapon destroying an enemy aura user, however, he kept a lookout for Robert Baratheon. Aura users started to become more desperate, their attacks more ferocious. A powerful blast from an enemy aura user sent several of Robert's men flying, their bodies slamming into the ground with bone-crushing force. Another enemy aura user created a whirlwind of blades, cutting down soldiers left and right.

But Robert's aura users were not to be outdone. One, with the ability to manipulate the earth, raised a wall of stone to protect their archers, who continued to rain arrows down on the enemy. Another, capable of summoning aura beasts, sent them crashing into the enemy ranks, rending flesh and tearing apart armour. The regular soldiers fought with equal tenacity. Shields splintered under heavy blows, swords shattered against armour, and men grappled in the mud, their faces contorted with the primal fury of survival. Blood soaked the ground, turning it into a treacherous mire that slowed movements and swallowed the fallen. The air was filled with the sounds of combat: the clash of metal, the screams of the wounded, the shouted commands of officers trying to maintain order amid the chaos. The sky seemed to darken with the smoke and dust kicked up by the battle, and the stench of blood and sweat was overwhelming.

Robert, meanwhile, continued his rampage through the enemy lines. His Warhammer was a blur of motion, each swing sending men flying or crumpling to the ground. His aura crackled with energy, the air around him seeming to vibrate with his power.

Daemon moved through the battlefield with deadly efficiency, his sword cutting down enemy soldiers with brutal precision. A soldier lunged at him with a spear, but Daemon sidestepped the attack and brought his sword down, cleaving the man's head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed, and the body crumpled to the ground. Daemon didn't pause, moving on to his next target. Three soldiers charged at him, weapons raised. Daemon met their charge head-on. His sword flashed, severing the arm of the first soldier at the elbow. The man screamed, blood spurting from the wound, but Daemon was already driving his blade into the chest of the second attacker. The third soldier hesitated, fear in his eyes, but Daemon didn't give him a chance. He spun, his sword cutting through the man's throat in a spray of blood.

The battlefield around Daemon was a scene of utter carnage. Bodies lay everywhere, eyes staring blankly. The smell of blood and death was overpowering, mixed with the earthy scent of churned dirt. Daemon's boots were slick with blood, his armour splattered with gore. A shout drew his attention. An enemy aura user was charging at him, crackling with energy. Daemon didn't flinch. The aura user swung a glowing sword at him. Daemon parried the blow easily, his own aura flaring as he channelled it into his sword. He pushed the enemy's blade aside and stepped in, driving his knee into the man's gut. The aura user doubled over, and Daemon finished him with a swift slash to the throat.

A group of enemy soldiers surrounded Daemon, their faces twisted with fear. Daemon moved among them like a ghost, his sword slashing and stabbing with deadly accuracy. He ducked under a wild swing, his blade slicing through the attacker's knee. The man fell, screaming, and Daemon stepped over him, driving his sword into another soldier's chest. The sounds of battle were deafening: the clash of weapons, the cries of the wounded and dying, and the roar of commanders trying to maintain order.

Another aura user came at Daemon, this one wielding a massive axe. The man swung with all his might, but Daemon sidestepped the blow and brought his sword up, cutting deep into the man's side. The aura user grunted in pain but swung again. Daemon caught the axe with his sword, their auras clashing. With hardly any effort, Daemon twisted his blade, wrenching the axe from the man's grip. He followed up with a swift slash to the man's neck beheading him. Blood sprayed across Daemon's face, but he didn't blink. He wiped his blade on his opponent's tunic and moved on.

A particularly large soldier came at Daemon, swinging a mace. Daemon ducked under the swing and drove his sword up into the man's belly. The soldier gasped, blood bubbling from his lips, and Daemon yanked his blade free, letting the body fall. He didn't stop, didn't even pause to catch his breath. The battle was far from over, and there were still enemies to kill. He moved with purpose, his sword a blur of steel and blood. Another soldier came at him, and another fell, their lifeblood soaking into the muddy ground.

Everywhere Daemon looked, there was death and destruction. He made sure to keep an eye on Howland to see how he was doing, the battlefield would be unlike anything he'd ever experienced and he worried a bit for his apprentice. As Daemon cut through the enemy ranks, he encountered another aura user. This one wielded a spear, his body crackling with energy. The aura user thrust the spear at Daemon, but Daemon sidestepped and slashed at the man's leg. The aura user stumbled, and Daemon followed up with a brutal strike to his eye socket, ending the fight in an instant.

As he fought, he caught sight of Robert not far away. Robert was a whirlwind of fury and laughter, his Warhammer smashing through the enemy ranks. He roared with both rage and mirth as he fought, his aura crackling with raw energy. Daemon watched as Robert grabbed a man by the head and with a savage grin, hurled him into a group of enemy soldiers, sending them crashing to the ground.

"Having fun yet, Daemon?" Robert shouted, his voice booming over the chaos of the battlefield. He laughed loudly, the sound almost maniacal, as he continued to wreak havoc on their foes.

Daemon rolled his eyes, he then turned and kicked an approaching soldier squarely in the chest, caving in the man's ribcage and sending him sprawling to the ground. The soldier didn't even have time to scream. The two continued to fight, side by side but separated by a sea of enemies. Daemon's sword flashed as he dispatched foe after foe, while Robert's Warhammer crushed bones and shattered skulls. Despite the chaos and carnage around them, they moved with a deadly grace, their aura-enhanced abilities making them nearly unstoppable.

Suddenly, a loud horn blast cut through the din of battle. It sounded three times, the signal they had been waiting for. Daemon looked up, his eyes meeting Robert across the battlefield. They both knew what it meant: it was time to enact the next phase of their plan.

"Retreat!" they shouted in unison, their voices enhanced by their aura, carrying over the noise of the fighting. The command was clear and unmistakable, reaching the ears of their soldiers even amid the chaos. Daemon and Robert continued to fight as they began to pull back, their soldiers following their lead. The retreat was not a panicked flight but a tactical manoeuvre. Daemon moved with purpose, cutting down any enemy who tried to block their path, while Robert's Warhammer cleared a wide swath through the ranks of their foes.

Daemon then looked up to the hill, at first he thought his vision played tricks on him but he quickly realised what he saw was true, their silver armour catching the midday sun.

Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent had joined the enemy forces.

(AN: So the fighting as started and now the second phase of their plan is in the works. Next chapter will have them spring their trap as well as have Daemon confront the Kingsguard while Robert fights four lords by himself. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)

If you like my stuff consider supporting me.

Patreon.com/captainalfie78works