133 AC
Cregan Stark POV
As we neared Rook's Rest, the battle was already a roaring, fiery chaos. I could see the three dragons fighting in the sky, flashes of gold, red, and bronze against the smoke-filled air. On the ground, fire and smoke billowed, and I could tell the Green army had broken formation. Rhaenys must have struck them hard before Aegon and Aemond joined the fray to finish Meleys. My eyes quickly found Criston Cole, a white-cloaked figure frantically trying to rally his men, shouting about the king joining the battle. He was a fool.
"Saphira!" I mentally commanded, reaching out through our bond. "Help the red dragon. Focus on the fight in the sky." Her assent, a cool, powerful presence in my mind, was immediate.
Then I turned to my men, my gaze sweeping over their hardened faces. "Asgardians," I bellowed, my voice cutting through the din, "prepare to fight! The time has come to show these soft southern fuckers what the might of the Wolf Pack can do! Leave no one alive, even if it is a knight, lord, or prince! We fight for glory!"
"FOR GLORY!" they roared back, a unified, thunderous shout that shook the very ground.
And then we charged. We didn't care what was in our way. Our horses thundered across the field, a black wave of fury. We decimated everything in our path, a living battering ram tearing through the shattered Green lines. Every Wolf Pack member was trained to the extreme limits of human capability, utilizing Demon Slayer breathing techniques to enhance their strength, speed, and endurance. Fully armored, they moved like a dark tide, giving the enemy no quarter. They were a force of nature, a blizzard of steel and ice, cutting down all who stood before them.
As we carved a path of destruction, my eyes flickered to the sky. I saw Saphira, a blur of white, clamp down on Sunfyre's throat. The golden dragon thrashed for a few horrifying seconds, then went limp, plunging to the ground. Sunfyre was down! My ice dragon then made its way towards Vhagar, but the bronze she-dragon, sensing the shift in battle, wisely retreated. Good decision.
With their king's dragon dead and Aegon likely crippled beneath the wreckage, the Green army's morale slumped like a pricked balloon. Panic set in, and the army began to scatter, a tide of green and gold breaking and fleeing. Rhaenys and Meleys, seeing Vhagar gone, roared their triumph and began to rain fire down on the fleeing Greens, turning their retreat into a rout. From the keep of Rook's Rest, the Black allies, seeing Meleys join the war with such overwhelming new allies, cheered and threw open their gates, pouring out to join the fight against the shattered Green forces.
My Wolf Pack and I finally reached Criston Cole and the remnants of the Green army he was trying desperately to hold together. He was a capable fighter, but a fool. Our eyes locked.
"You!" Criston roared, his face contorted in rage, drawing his sword. "You're the Northern barbarian they spoke of! Come to meddle in our affairs, have you?"
I met his glare, my own voice calm, almost bored. "Just stretching my legs, Kingsguard. Heard the South had some... scenic views."
He snarled, tightening his grip on his sword. "I'm sick of your jests, Stark! This is war, and you're about to face the King's Justice!"
"Justice?" I scoffed, a cold smile touching my lips. "The only justice here is a defeated king on the ground and turned to dust. My justice is coming for you, Ser."
We urged our horses forward, a clash of wills preceding the clash of steel. In the first tilt, before he could even properly engage, I rode him down, my heavier Northern charger knocking Criston Cole clean off his horse. He landed with a grunt, his armor clanking. I dismounted, making my way towards him as he struggled to his feet, trying to regain his composure.
"You'll pay for this, Stark!" he spat, wiping blood from his lip. "For Sunfyre! For His Grace!"
"He should have stayed home, then," I replied, my eyes cold. "Now get up, Kingsguard. Don't waste my time."
He roared, charging at me, his sword a blur. I met his attack with ease, my movements fluid, effortless. I didn't press the attack, merely defended, deflecting his blows, letting him wear himself out. He was strong, but predictable, his rage blinding him. It was a dance of steel, but one where only one of us knew the steps.
After what felt like an eternity of playing, and with a sudden surge of speed, I moved. My blade snapped forward, disarming him with a sharp clang. Before he could react, the pommel of my sword smashed against his temple. He went limp, collapsing to the ground, unconscious.
Then I looked around the battlefield. The remaining Greens were throwing down their arms, surrender cries echoing across the blood-soaked field. Near me, Rodrick Dustin stood over the prone form of Gwayne Hightower, Roddy's sword still gleaming. Gwayne, Alicent's brother, was clearly dead, his head at an unnatural angle. A fitting end for one of the usurper's sycophants. The battle of Rook's Rest, which should have been a devastating blow for the Blacks, was now a decisive victory. And it was only the beginning.
As the final remnants of the Green army scattered and were eliminated by my men and the arriving forces from Rook's Rest, the roar of a familiar dragon filled the sky. Rhaenys, astride Meleys, began her descent towards our position. Just as they neared, Saphira, my majestic ice dragon, also glided down, her white form a stark contrast to Meleys's crimson. She settled near our group, her blue eyes scanning the battlefield with a calm, predatory grace.
Lord Staunton of Rook's Rest, a portly man with wide, grateful eyes, hurried towards us as well, his gait relieved but still a little shaken.
Meleys landed with a powerful thud, and Rhaenys dismounted, her silver hair loose, her battle-scarred face alight with a fierce satisfaction. Lord Staunton immediately bowed deeply. "Princess Rhaenys! We are saved, thanks to you!"
"Lord Staunton," she acknowledged with a nod, her gaze then finding mine. "Prince Cregan." She gave a curt nod of respect.
"Princess Rhaenys," I replied, mirroring her formality with a slight incline of my head.
She offered a wry smile. "I see the weather in the South is agreeing with you, Prince Cregan."
I grinned, the exhaustion of the battle finally starting to settle in. "We were just starting to enjoy it, Princess. But the fun seems to be over already."
Rhaenys chuckled, a genuine, hearty sound. "Then you should march a little further south, Prince. I have a feeling there will be plenty more 'fun' to be had."
We shared a moment of shared laughter, the grim camaraderie of battle forging an instant bond. Then, our conversation turned to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra's court, and the unfolding disaster that had brought us all to this bloody field. As we spoke, Roddy the Ruin approached, his armor scuffed but his eyes bright with victory.
"Roddy," I said, clapping him on the shoulder, "allow me to introduce you to Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. This is Rodrick Dustin, or as we call him, Roddy the Ruin, leader of the Wolf Pack."
Rhaenys offered him a respectful nod. "Lord Rodrick. Your men fight like demons. A fearsome sight."
"My pleasure, Princess," Roddy replied, his chest swelling with pride. Then his expression turned grim. "My Prince, Aegon is dead. Found him amongst the wreckage of his dragon."
"Then woe to the usurper," I stated, a cold satisfaction settling in my gut.
Rhaenys nodded gravely, her earlier mirth gone. "Indeed. A fitting end for one who stole what was not his."
I then pointed towards the unconscious Criston Cole, who lay slumped, guarded by two Wolf Pack members. "Criston Cole is unconscious. Strip him of his armor and tie him up."
Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to execute him, Prince Cregan? He is a Kingsguard who betrayed his oaths."
"Oh, we will, Princess," I said, my voice hardening. "But he would wish it were a clean death. He should be made an example for those who break their vows after joining the Kingsguard in the future. A lesson, stark and clear."
Rhaenys's expression became thoughtful, then she nodded slowly. "A very Northern idea of justice, Prince. What is your next plan?"
"March to King's Landing," I stated plainly.
Lord Staunton, who had been listening in hushed awe, gasped. "To King's Landing? With three hundred men? This is madness, Prince Cregan!"
"And an ice dragon," I corrected him, glancing at Saphira, who had laid down near us, her vast white form a silent, undeniable argument.
"But still madness!" Lord Staunton insisted, wringing his hands.
I met his gaze, a glint in my eye. "Lord Staunton, there is a fine line between madness and greatness. If Aegon the Conqueror had failed to combine Westeros after sending each king a raven telling them to surrender to him and his dragons, that would have been madness. He won, so now he is called Aegon the Conqueror. Success defines the legend, Lord Stauton."
I then turned to Rhaenys. "Prince Rhaenys, will you come with us?"
She sighed, a hint of regret in her eyes. "I wish I could, Prince. But the Queen ordered me to return to Dragonstone quickly after relieving Rook's Rest. After seeing Lucerys injured, she isn't up for taking risks."
"Understood," I said, a slight nod. "Well, we will continue our march tomorrow morning. You are free to join us if your duties permit."
She paused, then asked, her tone softening with genuine concern, "How is Visenya doing? The news of the King's passing, and Lucerys's injury..."
"She's fine," I replied, a small, private smile touching my lips. "Just a little overwhelmed by the news. But she's strong. Stronger than most realize." I then shared a few more details about her well-being, assuring Rhaenys that Visenya was safe and coping.
She wished me luck in my future battles and, with a final, lingering look of gratitude and resolve, remounted Meleys. With a powerful beat of her wings, the Queen Who Never Was ascended into the sky and flew off towards Dragonstone.
Lord Staunton, now visibly more composed, cleared his throat. "Prince Cregan, your victory has saved Rook's Rest. Please, allow us to offer you and your brave men rest within my castle for the night."
"Thank you, Lord Staunton," I accepted with a nod. "That would be most welcome."
We made our way into Rook's Rest, the castle gates now open wide to welcome us, the taste of victory sweet on our tongues, and the road to King's Landing beckoning with its promise of fire, ice, and glory.