99

Chapter 99: Interlude: Legio IVNotes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I name you Breakthrough. The tip of the spear, thrusting straight into the hearts of our foes."

-King Rhaenyra I Targaryen granting the Fourth Legion their cognomen

114 AC, 13th Moon, 23rd day, Bitterbridge,

Bitterbridge was a pretty little town by the riverside. Half of it sat on either side of the river Mander, connected by an old but still-solid stone bridge that stretched from shore to shore.

The bridge was small, by modern standards. Its archways of weathered stone were short and relatively narrow, meaning that Lord Corlys' warships would have to take down their masts and sail in single-file through.

It was thus upon this bridge that the Greens had set up the primary defensive line. Catapults and trebuchets stood poised on the bridge, with barrels of pitch at the ready. Any ship of the line that tried to cross would find themselves under heavy fire, and even if they did cross, there was still the secondary line of defence.

Pleasure boats, yachts, merchant barges… any ship that could float, were all lashed together hull-to-hull, forming a second bridge that was a floating wooden barricade. Too thick to easily ram through, a wall of wood, floating atop the river.

The Houses Caswell, Merryweather and Fossoway, alongside their vassals, had under Shaera's command, raised an army of ten thousand men to garrison the defensive lines. And over half of them were currently present in Bitterbridge.

Unfortunately the town was made mostly of wood, and King Rhaenyra had in her hands the alchemists guild.

Under the veil of night, skinchangers and bloodhounds from the Fifth Legion easily located the Green scouts and pinpointed the watchmen on the walls, allowing the crossbowmen to quickly dispatch them. This allowed the host to move into position unimpeded, with the Greens none the wiser about the approaching army.

At the stroke of midnight, the sappers of the Fourth Legion had struck the eastern side of the town, trebuchets hurling barrels of wildfire over the walls. There was no parley, no negotiations for surrender, and no warnings given.

Even as screams and smoke filled the night sky, the other detachment of the Fourth Legion sprung into action.

They'd struck from the western side, the town there was newer, and not as well fortified.

Giants of the Fifth smashed down the wooden gate with impunity, and the Fourth Legion rushed into the town like a tide of steel. Five hundred Knights of the Vale rode up the streets of Bitterbridge, and onto the bridge itself, destroying the siege engines and seizing the position.

Meanwhile, the giants and several companies of legionaries begun dismantling the second line of defence, hauling the boats back onto shore or cutting them free.

And as soon as the river was cleared, a glass candle transmission was sent to the main force, and ships of the Royal Fleet, rowing as fast as they possibly could, immediately begun passing uncontested under the titular bridge and down the river Mander.

———

114 AC, 13th Moon, 23rd day, Longtable,

While Bitterbridge was ready for war, Longtable most definitely was not.

While the castle and surrounding town's gates were closed for the night, and the watch clearly doubled, they set up no lines of defence to block the river Mander. There were a few trebuchets overlooking the river at its narrowest point, yes, but they weren't properly manned.

They weren't expecting the enemy force to come knocking at their doors a mere two hours after Bitterbridge fell.

It would have been child's play for the Royal Fleet to rush right past them, and for the most part, they did. But Longtable needed to fall, lest the main Green host marching out of Highgarden receive warning of the trap waiting for them at Highgarden.

Eight warships of the line immediately sailed up the the small harbour of the castle town, and unloaded eight hundred horsemen.

The alarm bells of the town were drowned out by the sound of wildfire breaching charges, and the knights of the Fourth Legion rode right up to the castle gates virtually uncontested.

A second round of breaching charges later, and eight hundred legionaries fell onto the unprepared and virtually defenceless Green garrison.

———

114 AC, 13th Moon, 23rd day, Cider Hall,

Cider Hall sat at the confluence of the Mander and the Cockleswhent.

It was said that House Fossoway had wanted to imitate Riverrun with their castle, surrounded by water on three sides, but the rivers were too shallow, and the attempted ditch between the two rivers was but a gentle stream.

Regardless, there was much wealth in the area, with its bountiful apple orchards, and so the castle was made of strong stone. Boasting three individual baileys, each rising taller than the last, crowned with towers and capped with crenellations.

It fell without much issue anyway.

At the rear of the castle, where its walls stood flush against the river Mander and Cockleswhent, there were several latrine shafts. Essentially long slides that ensured all waste and fecal matter were sent into the rivers and washed away.

These shafts were also large enough for men to climb up, and that was exactly what one truly unlucky platoon of legionaries— comprising of the last 30 men whom had the misfortune of annoying General Jaime Arryn—were ordered to do.

Now inside the main keep, it was child's play to assassinate much of House Fossoway and their knights. Killing in their sleep anyone whom could feasibly take command of the castle, before slaying the maester and his apprentices to prevent any messages from being sent via raven.

They set fire to the castle behind them for good measure, before exiting the same way they came in from. And in all the confusion and panic that followed, the remainder of the Fourth Legion hit the castle from the front, easily overwhelming the defenders.

Come dawn, the three castles of Bitterbridge, Longtable and Cider Hall—the Greens' vaunted defensive line, meant to hold back no less than four Legions worth of men until Highgarden could be relieved—had fallen in the span of seven hours.

As per orders, legionaries in the three captured castles sent messages to the Hightower host marching on Highgarden, falsely reporting that only Bitterbridge had fallen, and the defending force had retreated to Longtable in good order.

———

114 AC, 13th Moon, 24th day, Highgarden,

It was a quiet night in Highgarden, despite the Second and Third laying siege to the castle.

But with the arrival of the Fourth and Fifth, it was time to execute the next phase of Operation Towerfall.

Taking the castle by storm was feasible, even by the Second and Third alone, but the casualties involved in such an endeavour… messy business.

And so Rhaenyra had turned to her most trusted loyalists, and deployed Rhaegar and his sister as the scalpel to the Legion hammer.

The siblings flew through the sky, riding the minds of a pair of ravens. They flew over the castle walls unimpeded, circling the air until they landed in the main keep.

They wriggled in through arrowslits, and begun hopping from ledge to ledge, occasionally possessing other animals as required to unlock doors or distract guards.

House Tyrell was not a single unified bloc, especially after Shaera's hostile takeover.

There were about three distinct factions: Shaera's loyalists. The neutrals. And Shaera's opposition.

Lord Lucas Tyrell was besotted with Shaera, and had his own supporters. They made up approximately a third of House Tyrell, and were the most powerful bloc of the three, especially with Viserys in their corner.

The neutrals had coalesced mainly around Lady Lucille Tyrell, Lord Lucas' older sister. Shaera had saved Lucille's life in the attempted coup by their uncle Garth, the one which saw Shaera ascend from bastard to Lady Tyrell, and as such Lucille felt herself in debt to Shaera, making her honour-bound not to oppose her.

But at the same time, Lucille was repulsed by Shaera's plots to ascend in society, and thus distanced herself from her goodsister. She, and the approximate sixth of the family, neither helped nor hindered Shaera, and had forsworn themselves from all affairs.

Last but certainly not the least, was Shaera's opposition. The largest faction by far, over half the family utterly despised Shaera and everything she stood for. Assassinations had been attempted, a couple of times, but they'd all been foiled. Not that it would have done much good, for so long as King Viserys lived, he would have seen the death of his beloved niece Shaera as an act of war. Meaning anyone whom succeeded in offing the Lady Tyrell would have a lifespan best measured in days if not hours.

Such had been the situation for the past few years, before Rhaenyra killed Uncle Viserys, and Shaera broke free of her leash. With her newfound freedom, Rhaegar's traitor sister had since consolidated her power bloc, purging many of her more unruly in-laws and breaking the rest to her lash with sorcerous beguilements and compulsions.

Landing on Lady Lucille Tyrell's bedside table, Daenys and Rhaegar begun the work of digging said beguilements and compulsions out of her mind.

It was harder to cast from the bodies of ravens. Their sorcery was weakened, and the birds' brains ill-suited for such a precise task. But Daenys was a singularly brilliant mage, perhaps even Rhaenyra's superior, when it came to fine control.

Rhaegar watched with awe as his sister fished out the bindings and compulsions, picking them apart with surgical precision, despite the cumbersome and unwieldy tools they had on hand.

And so, approximately two hours later, Lucille Tyrell gasped, waking up to freedom. She nearly screamed, at the sight of the two birds looming over her, but Rhaegar lashed out with his sorcery, quickly— if somewhat roughly— muting the young woman.

"Do not scream, but listen." Daenys cawed, using the bird's syrinx to speak.

Birds actually could produce a wider range of sounds than humans, but few had the actual brainpower to make coherent words, much less speak. Brainpower which the skinchangers provided.

"We are envoys of Rhaenyra, and she would like your cooperation." Daenys said, subtly nudging Rhaegar to release Lucille. He did so, and the young woman gasped as the muting spell faded.

"Seven gods, what is this sorcery?" She fearfully murmured, pulling herself back in fear.

"Irrelevant." Rhaegar cawed as well. "We bring terms, and you would be wise to hear them."

"I'm listening." Lucille said, eyes narrowing in attention.

"Shaera is a traitor, and House Tyrell is abetting her treason." Rhaegar threatened. "Rhaenyra would not see her go unpunished for this… and so will House Tyrell"

"Gods don't I know that, but what can I do?" Lucille demanded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Shaera murdered Rhaena in cold blood, then my dumb brother obeyed his wife's orders to purge her staff. There was no way Rhaenyra was going to take that lying down, so what could we do but go Green?"

"But we propose mercy. Throw Shaera under the chariot, declare for the Blacks, and House Tyrell will walk away unharmed." Daenys promised.

"With exception of a few of the more egregiously guilty individuals, of course." Rhaegar added as caveat, deliberately acting as the bad cop to Daenys good cop.

"Does this include Lucas?" Lucille asked, and Rhaegar knew that they had her.

"Older and wiser men have been hoodwinked by Shaera." Daenys assured. "He shall go unharmed, so long as he bends the knee."

"Might need to lock him up first, lad is rather stubborn." Lucille muttered fondly, before turning to face them once more. "But I have a single condition to add."

Well now, that was a lot of iron in her voice. Just what could bring about such conviction?

"We will hear it." Rhaegar allowed.

"Shaera once saved my life, in my uncle's attempted coup. For purely selfish reasons, I know, but I owe her a life debt that I am honour-bound to repay." Lucille said, looking them both in the eyes. "And so, I ask that you spare Shaera in turn. Only then will it be settled, and can I rest easy."

Rhaegar swelled with indignation at that, but felt Daenys subtly nudging him. They were as one now, and so could communicate without words, even when possessing different bodies.

Traitor. Murderer. No Mercy. Rhaegar insisted.

Rhaenyra. Tyrell Heir. Fates Worse Than Death. Daenys rebutted.

They went back and forth for a little bit, before Rhaegar finally yielded.

"We agree." Daenys informed Lucille. "I swear on behalf of King Rhaenyra Targaryen, that Shaera Tyrell will not be slain or executed."

Amusingly, Rhaegar's sister then stuck a wing out to shake.

"Then we have accord." Lucille replied, looking a bit nonplussed as she shook the wing of the raven. "What do you need me to do?"

———

114 AC, 13th Moon, 25th day, Highgarden,

Riding Lucille's mind, the siblings were able to free the rest of House Tyrell from their mental cages far quicker than they could when birds. Lucille knew exactly whom would or would not back her coup, and with her help, freeing the rest of the malcontents was easy.

Come dawn on the 25th, and the coup was in full swing.

Loyalist and rebelling troops fought each other, and the castle burned from the fighting.

With House Tyrell so focused on fighting one another, it was child's play for the Legions to take the castle.

The Manglers destroyed the bronze gates of Highgarden in a single volley, and the Legions poured in, knights of the Fourth Legion in the lead.

By noon, Highgarden was now garrisoned by the Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth Legions, and the loyalist troops dragged out into the main courtyard.

There, they were forced to watch as Rhaenyra publicly executed their commanders in the most gruesome ways possible, with being crucified alive with six-hundred and one rusty nails being the most humane of the lot.

"Now, do I have your attention?" Rhaenyra asked, flicking the blood off of her hands.

Many of the men had soiled themselves or thrown up, at the bloodsoaked scene before them. And whatever defiance and hatred they initially bore had long been stamped out of them.

"You all, to a man, are traitors." Rhaenyra drawled, deliberately keeping her voice as nonchalant as possible. "You rebelled against the Iron Throne and rightful ruler of the Realm, to support a treasonous madwoman.

"As King, it is well within my rights to execute you all for such treason, and grant you fates like your commanders here." The Dragonqueen lazily said, gesturing at the scene behind them. "But I am feeling inclined towards mercy."

The banner of the First Legion was thrust into the ground, before them all. The Valyrian numeral one in red, on a background of pure black.

"The First and Sixth Legion… attends to other matters. And in their absence, I need men to wear their armour and fight their battles in their stead." Rhaenyra revealed. "You all have two choices."

The Dragonqueen looked imperiously down at the sea of men. They whom had once been the knights and men-at-arms for House Tyrell, professional soldiers and veterans whom would form the backbone of any conscript army raised by House Tyrell.

While inferior to properly-trained legionaries, the gap was close enough that they could be considered borderline peer in terms of quality.

"You can choose defiance, and meet the same fates as your commanders."

A shudder went through the Tyrell garrison, at the grisly sights before them.

"Or, you can kneel, and I shall release you from your service once this campaign concludes, as free men."

In the end, they all knelt.

———

115 AC, 1st Moon, 23rd day, Highgarden,

General Jaime Arryn had to admit, the Tyrell soldiers were fighting like devils.

Fifty-thousand men had come knocking on the southern gate, garrisoned half by the Third Legion, and half by what the men had jokingly called 'the Faux Legion'.

The First Legion would not have been ashamed by the performance of their imposters.

"I owe you ten gold dragon then." General Jaime Arryn admitted to General Edric Dondarrion. "The Tyrell men are doing far better than expected."

"Thank you kindly." The General of the Second Legion politely said, eyes not moving from the battle raging down south.

The general staff of the Blacks had commandeered usage of the tallest tower in Highgarden for their use, favouring the commanding view it granted of the battlefield.

"Eh, don't pay up just yet." General Roderick Dustin grunted. "The hard part comes next."

As planned, the Third Legion immediately begun pulling out of the gatehouse-fort, with the Faux Legion as the rearguard.

The Faux Legion was able to hold the fort just fine, but when they in turn begun retreating up the avenue, things went to shit nearly instantly. The men-at-arms were well disciplined, but without walls to defend from or proper cover fire behind them, even the Legions would be hard-pressed to hold the line against the relentless calvary charges of the Greens.

Rearguard actions were exceptionally difficult things, even on the best of times.

"Shit, they're breaking! They're breaking!" One of their aides shouted, clenching his telescope so hard his knuckles shone white.

"On it." Rhaenyra called out from the back of the room, putting on the headdress of silver and platinum.

The Dragonseeds sortied, and a storm of sorcery came down, ripping straight through Greens to cover the retreat of the Faux Legion. While the truth was that the Tyrell men were all expendable death fodder, the entire point of this battle was to lure the Greens in as deep as possible, before slaying them all with Daenys' grand ritual.

But the bait could not be so obvious, lest the Greens realise they were blundering right into a trap. Hence, they had to put on a performance that looked genuine as possible, in order to bait the Greens into overcommitting.

As planned, the Dragonseeds tore straight through Green lines like an axe though kindling, before being forced into retreat by the Paladins, leaving the Faux Legion right open.

There, the thousands of casualties the Greens inflicted upon the 'First Legion' ought to give them enough of a confidence boost to try the second line of defences.

And it did.

Blood soaked the ritual grounds as thousands of Greens threw themselves into the meat grinder. General Dustin soon left the room, to personally command his men fighting at the second line, and Marshal Darold Darry tromped up in turn.

"Good job, bossman." General Jaime called out to the highest-ranking Legion officer. "Very convincing performance, I must say."

"Shut up you." Marshal Darry sniped back, though without any real heat in his voice. "What's the status on the ritual?"

"Daenys estimates another hour or two." Rhaenyra frowned, pulling off the headset.

"That much? They must already have lost five thousand men." General Jaime replied in confusion. "I know you needed a lot of sacrificial blood for your magic, but that much?"

"We can fire it now, of course." Rhaenyra shrugged. "But then we'll be wiping all life within a five mile radius out, including ourselves."

A shudder went through the general staff at the causal reminder that they were tampering with barely-understood eldritch magicks.

"It's the containment wards on the outer perimeter that takes up the most energy, truth be told. And since Aerion stole my dragons, we're going to have to fuel those arrays the hard and dirty way." Rhaenyra continued on. "Grey Ghost is not powerful enough by itself."

There was a long beat of nonplussed silence, before Marshal Darry found his voice once more.

"Ah well, the defensive lines are solid. Two hours is nothing, at this rate, we could hold on for two weeks if we had to." The Marshal of Westeros decided, voice ringing with deliberate calm.

An exaggeration, but he wasn't entirely wrong. The hours ground on, the bastions falling and the Greens committing more and more men into trying to breach the second line of defence.

Eventually, Daenys signalled that it was time, and the orders were given.

The Third Legion slackened up on the left flank, allowing the enemy right to finally accomplish a breakthrough.

Green soldiers flooded into the camp, and were met by the Faux Legion, futility attempting to stem the tide and plug the breach.

The enemy calvary, their strategic reserve, rode in, carving straight through the Faux Legion and claiming the second line of defence. It was time.

Even as Rhaenyra begun to sing, General Jaime Arryn rushed down into the inner courtyard of Highgarden, where his men, near two-thousand knights of the Vale, the heaviest calvary in Westeros, stood ready for battle.

The General mounted his horse, and readied his lance. Any time now.

———

"Emustolronzen Finé el zizzl,"

On the last note, Rhaenyra Targaryen snapped her fingers, and unleashed Desolation.

A tsunami of grey magic immediately burst out of Highgarden castle, from the exact middle of the castle, where Daenys conducted the heart of the ritual.

This great wave of sorcery, miles long and miles high, swept forth, expanding like a grand explosion.

Shaera watched in horror as it expanded outwards.

Grass turned brown and died. Trees shrivelled up, shedding all their leaves, withering into skeletons of themselves before disintegrating into dust a heartbeat later.

The Greens had numbered at fifty-thousand at the start of this battle. Ten thousand had died trying to take the defensive lines, and another ten thousand or so were in the rearguard, past the first defensive line.

Of the thirty-thousand men that had sallied forth beyond the first defensive line, only five thousand of them managed to make it to safety. The rest all died screaming.

The men caught in the pulse grew wrinkled and stooped, hair turned white and faces turned gaunt as the Desolation washed over them. And within five seconds, every single one of them had died of old age. Bodies wilting to dust seconds later.

Shaera gasped as the pulse washed over her, Syrax hissing irritably. Magic boiled out of both rider and mount unbidden, shielding them both from the Desolation. Across the sky, not too far away, Erik and Grey Ghost looked like they were experiencing something similar.

The ritual spread outwards, only stopping once it hit the lines of trenches of the first defensive line. The pulse of grey magic shuddered and raged, roiling in it's attempt to break free, but Daenys' magic was precise as ever, and not even a single mote of power leaking out of the edge of the massive magic circle Highgarden was surrounded by.

A containment ward, Shaera realised, to prevent the ritual from spilling out beyond siege limits and destroying the breadbasket of Westeros. Similarly, the walls of Highgarden and everything behind them were completely unaffected by the pulse, presumably warded with identical spells.

At least a legion's worth of men had been caught in the pulse as well, having been unable to retreat in time. But they were spared death, sorcerous glyphs shining to life on their armour and insulating them from the Desolation. Similarly, the Paladins in their magic-impervious armour seemed utterly unaffected by the pulse, but they were the only ones.

Every other living thing within the radius of a mile was dead.

Snow fell, the ground frosting over, and Shaera let out a rattling breath, seeing her breath mist up in front of her. Gods, even heat had been stolen in the ritual.

Highgarden once sat surrounded by endless flower fields, in some of the richest and most fertile lands in the Reach. Now, it sat in the middle of a desert, the soil itself stripped so thoroughly of life that it was now sand.

Nothing could grow there now, and nothing ever would, Shaera somehow knew. Not now and not until the end of time. The land was now so barren that not even bacteria could enter and survive.

Highgarden would now permanently be surrounded by a mile of desolate land, never to see life again.

———

The Dragonqueen casually jumped right off of the tallest tower, her fall slowing at the last moment and allowing her to land gently onto the ground. Laena and the Dragonseeds followed, landing on the ground around her.

General Jaime Arryn took in his liege lord and her cousins. Rhaenyra was positively shining with power. She'd always been inhumanly beautiful, but now there was something distinctly inhuman about her.

Was it the way her skin looked to be carved from pale alabaster, or the way her hair seemed to billow and flow as though liquid electrum had been caught in the wind? Her indigo eyes shone like jewels, gleaming with inner fire and radiance.

Power radiated from her, like a bonfire. So much so that even someone as magic-blind as himself could feel it.

General Jaime remembered that in times past, the citizens of Dragonstone had once worshipped their rulers as gods. He could understand why now, for there was no doubt that after her great ritual, it would be blasphemy to call Rhaenyra a mere mortal.

The Dragonqueen was now as a goddess on earth, brimming with more power than even a dragon. Similarly, Laena and the Dragonseeds all glowed with radiant light, equally divine.

Was it all of them?

Did the Dragonqueen share the spoils of this great ritual with her cousins?

Rhaenyra closed her eyes, Daenys swooning into Laena's arms, and when she opened them, indigo was gone. Instead, her right eye shimmered like a brilliant moonstone, while her left glowed like a pink diamond. 

Aemon knelt, and presented Blackfyre, the Dragonqueen taking and brandishing the sword of kings.

"General Arryn." Rhaenyra spoke, and even her voice rang with power, causing his very soul to thrum at the sound.

"I listen and obey." He bowed, from atop his destrier.

"Mount up, Fourth Legion." Rhaenyra ordered, shadow pooling at the feet of both herself and Shaeterys, forming horses made completely of oily darkness. "It's time to break the Greens."

"Finally." General Arryn laughed, rearing his horse up in excitement. "Ready your lances and raise your shields! Hoist the banners and sound the horns! Knights of the Vale, we ride to victory!"

———

The gates of the castle opened, revealing thousands of knights atop warhorses. At the head of the formation, a blade-crowned knight raised her sword to the sky, power gathering around her. So much so that even the most magic-blind can feel the sorcery in the air.

Rhaenyra looked out, gaze shining grey and pink, and Otto somehow knew that she could see him, despite being the better part of a mile away. He shuddered, seeing a great monster looming behind the Dragonqueen. A dragon that even Balerion the Black Dread paled before.

"Fire." Otto muttered.

"My lord?" One of his aides asked.

"Fire. Fire at her." Otto retreated.

"The trebuchets? The crossbowmen?" The knight asked, and oh gods why did he not understand.

"FIRE EVERYTHING!" Otto screamed, grabbing the man by his collar. "Get the men in ranks! The footmen! The knights! Every fucking thing! The Dragonqueen is coming!"

The Knights of the Vale thundered forth, two thousand of the heaviest horse in all Westeros. A living battering ram of steel and muscle. The best calvary in the Realm, sallying out to break their ranks.

They might as well have been gnats before Rhaenyra.

Lady Cerelle's monstrous trebuchets fired, throwing barrels of wildfire and carpeting the avenue green.

Rhaenyra brought her sword down, and the firestorm of green parted like the sea.

Every single siege engines the Greens had fired, ballistas, trebuchet, catapults, scorpions and more. The sky filled with stones and steel-tipped darts, a hailstorm of death, descending upon the charging knights.

Rhaenyra thrust her sword out, and dragons burst forth from the wildfire. Wrought completely out of green fire, the flock of chair-sized dragons flew forth, devouring the hailstorm of death in starbursts of emerald light.

A heartbeat later, and the charging knights entered arrow range.

Crossbowmen and archers stood shoulder-to-shoulder, as many as physically possible crammed onto what was left of the first defensive line. Arrows were unleashed in a continuous stream, pausing only when a string snapped and had to be replaced.

Rhaenyra waved a hand, and shimmering panes of energy burst into existence. Near transparent at first, the forcefields grew in intensity as more and more arrows struck it. Gradually going from transparent to translucent and finally turning opaque, absorbing the energy of the arrow impacts that struck it to grow stronger.

The siege engines reloaded and fired once more, but they were unable to pierce the shields.

Rhaenyra raised her arms, and sorcery surged. A massive ball of spiralling darkness formed above their head, swelling ever larger with every heartbeat. So much so that Rhaenyra's ethereal radiance faded slightly from the sheer amount of power invested. Enough concentrated magic to obliterate them and everything within a three-block radius down to their individual atoms.

Rhaenyra brought her hand down, and the black hole flew forth, shuddering through the air. The ball of darkness impacted the gatehouse-fort of the first defensive line.

Reality broke.

The gatehouse and everything within a three-block radius was shredded instantly, a great keening sound screaming out as earth and wood shattered indiscriminately like a glass bauble, with all the fragments of the fort being sucked straight into the heart of the vortex. Until all that was left before them all was a wound in reality, a single pinprick of darkness.

There was a beat, and then the vortex burst. Dust and colour filling the world with a great bass rumble that glassed the ground and brought everyone to their knees.

Rhaenyra and her knights rode straight through the breach and bore down upon the Green rearguard, the battered and decimated remnants of the once-proud army. A mere fifteen-thousand men strong now.

To their credit, the remaining men rallied and stood their ground despite facing a demon. A shield wall was raised, pikes brought forth, and lines of hard-eyed men lined up the intercept the Fourth Legion.

Rhaenyra brought down a sword, but it was not annihilation or Armageddon she unleashed. Instead it was fear.

With screams of blind terror, the brave ranks of Green soldiers broke and routed, fleeing in every direction with no conscious thought in their heads.

Out of formation and fleeing in blind terror, at least a thousand men must have ridden down by the Fourth Legion.

"Stand and fight!" Otto yelled, struggling against his personal guard. "Stand and fight!"

"My lord, we must go!" One of his knights yelled, physically pulling him away.

All that was left the Paladins, indifferent to the eldritch terror.

The last remnant of the Faith Militant locked shields and raised pikes, valiantly standing their ground as the demon rode forth.

They took three volleys.

Fire and brimstone. Hail and storm. Lightning and thunder and things stranger still.

Sorcery washed off the Paladins' holy armaments like a wave breaking on rocks.

But where magic failed, foundry steel and Legion discipline did not.

The Knights of the Vale crashed straight into the Paladins of Oldtown.

Steel-tipped lances tore irreverently through prayer-craved armours. Shields bearing the rainbow sword of the Warrior's Sons shattered. Swords of silvered steel glanced right off platemail, and horses brutally trampled men underfoot.

The Fourth Legion broke through the last trump card of House Hightower and continued riding on.

Otto and his remains guards drew their blades, expecting death, but to their everlasting surprise, instead of riding west towards them, Rhaenyra and the Fourth Legion rode east.

Ah, so that was why. Otto realised, looking eastwards. Where Syrax was a fast fading shape in the sky, the dragon fleeing from Highgarden as fast as it could fly.

Rhaenyra was going after Shaera first. He would not be remiss to miss this opportunity.

"Retreat!" Otto bellowed. "Run before she comes back! Retreat back to Oldtown!"

This was not over yet, and Otto Hightower swore that he would make Rhaenyra regret sparing him today.

———

115 AC, 1st Moon, 21st day, Red Keep,

The glass candle lit up, glowing with the light that signalled an incoming call.

Lucerys hastened to pick it up, knowing that Rhaenyra did not like to be kept waiting, only to find that it was not from Rhaenyra or one of her subordinates down in the Reach.

There were only two other people still linked in their downsized glass candle network. Visenya and Rhaella, babysitting the kids on Dragonstone were one. Rhaenys out in the Free Cities, playing an intense game of cat-and-mouse with Aerion, was the other.

This particular call was from neither of them.

In fact, the caller wasn't even in Westeros at the moment. Or even the Free Cities. This was coming from East, way further east.

"Who the fuck is calling from Qarth?" Lucerys wondered aloud.

Notes:

Next chapter comes out on Monday the 10th. Shaera will finally be getting her long-awaited comeuppance. Though I might be persuaded to release it a bit early on Friday the 7th, if there's sufficient enthusiasm in the comments section.