Chapter 48
LORD BYRNDEN RIVERS—Bloodraven
Brynden was the first to abandon the agreement of the parlay, and the second, the roar of the dragon cut through the air. He reached for the blade in his belt and rushed towards Aegor, who was still trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed.
He was breaking his oaths with his actions, but Brynden cared little for them. Especially ones made to enemies.
"ATTACK!" he roared, and when he had come to the parley, he had readied his armies for an offensive, hoping to take advantage of the event, and now Matarys had given him the perfect opportunity to do just that.
Brynden swung his blade at Aegor, but his guards were able to parry the strike, as the two armies rushed towards one another. It was a bloody affair, and the river around them was too deep for the armies to cross, so the men raced down the bridge as Brynden managed to slip through Aegor's defenders and strike at the man himself.
Despite his nature, Aegor was a good warrior, and parried his strike easily even as the two of them found themselves cramped against one another. Their blades met again, and again.
Steel met steel, as both of them refused to back down. Brynden had won House Targaryen the First War on the Redgrass field, but he was also responsible for many of the losses they had suffered in this war.
If it were not for his failings, then they would not have had to suffer as much as they had. This duel was meant to be his redemption. Their eyes met, and Brynden smirked.
"It's over," Brynden reminded him, for with a dragon at their beck and call, House Blackfyre stood no chance against them at all.
Aegor did not deny his words, for he knew that Brynden was right, but he did not lower his blade as he swung at his neck, only for Brynden to block the strike with his own blade.
The bridge was so cramped that they could move very little, and so this would be a duel of blocks, parries, and strikes, not dodges and plunges.
"If it were anyone else, I would have offered them mercy," Brynden taunted as he swung the blade at his neck, but Aegor parried his strike easily.
"But I am afraid I have none to offer you," and Aegor smirked.
"I have no need of your mercy, you bastard," and his frustrations were obvious, and the two of them came at each other again. This was a battle unlike any other, for most of the fighting was being done on the bridge.
Men from the two sides rushed to the bridge, and soon enough, the ground was filled with blood and bodies of the dead. There were piles upon piles of them, and now men of the two armies stood on these piles of bodies as they waged their war.
Brynden and Aegor dueled for several hours, as neither of them managed to get an advantage. By dawn, the river below them was dyed red, and the pile of bodies on the bridge was several heads thick, as Ser Brynden and Aegor continued to strike at one another like madmen with nothing to separate the two of them.
There was little grace to their duel now, as the two of them stumbled over bodies. They were tired, but none dared to intervene in their duel as the two of them continued to whack at each other even as the Sun began to cut through the darkness of the fading night.
Aegor stared him in the eye as the two of them faced one another.
"You think that the roar was a lie?" Brynden questioned, and Aegor stilled as he realized that Brynden had nearly read his mind.
"You hope for it. Pray for it," Brynden taunted as Aegor snarled.
"If you are right, then where is he! Where is your Prince!" and he knew that already.
"All we saw was a shadow, and shadows are not dragons," and Brynden remembered well. He had seen no shadow. He had seen a dragon, and suddenly a roar cut through the clearing, and he saw Maegor's eyes widen as he felt a content smile appear on his lips.
"You asked for him," he answered, and he looked up and saw a massive beast flying over the forest in front of him. Aegor turned to see it as well, and Matarys flew towards his armies, and he heard the beast roar before fire erupted out of its mouth and tore through Aegor's men like a storm.
Men screamed. Men burned. Men died. Matarys flew over them as his own army roared in relief and joy, before he turned around and burned Aegor's armies once more. It was chaos, and Brynden could not help but smile at those screams.
"Now he is here," he finished, as Aegor grit his teeth as he realized that this was the end. He tried to come for him, but the battle did not last long. Without his army at his back, Brynden's men had him in chains rather quickly.
Aegor's army, or whatever was left of it, abandoned the clearing and began running into the forest in complete disarray. He sent some of his men to chase after them, but Matarys landed on the ground with his mighty beast.
It was covered in dust and stone, but he could see the hints of the scales that lay hidden under all that silt. A shining silver, and he knew his histories well enough to know the only beast who possessed such colorings.
"So, you found her in the end?" After the Dance, only one dragon had survived the war unscathed. A she dragon, one who had been the mount of the Good Queen herself.
Silverwing.
Her rider, Ulf the White, had sought the Crown in his greed and had been poisoned for it. The grief of the war had made the often docile dragon mad. So, she had taken off from Kingslanding in its rage only to land safely at the Red Lake in the Reach.
For years, it had stayed there, and there were a few sightings of it during the reign of King Aegon III. But then the sightings stopped, and the world began to believe that the dragons were all gone.
Aemon had found this piece of history buried within the tomes at the Citadel, and Matarys had clung to it as a drowning man clung to straw. He believed that Silverwing may yet be alive, and so he had journeyed to the Reach in secret, and now he had returned with the greatest treasure of his House.
"I did," he answered, and he spotted a hint of a smile on his face as he walked towards him. He had grown a beard, and his face was dirty and weary, but once again, after years, Brynden saw in him the very boy who had enticed his heart and mind years ago.
"Tell me of Wendwater," and it was obvious to him that he had gone to the place first.
"It was a disaster, truly. Lyonel rode his armies through the river and managed to break my brother's host. He had him surrounded by the time I reached him, but in the end I burned the traitor and his armies," and so they had won at Wendwater as well.
"Valarr is injured, but the Maester believes that he will survive with a few scars," and that was it. The war was all but over.
Matarys's gaze moved past him towards the man chained behind him.
"Is this him?" he asked, and Matarys had never seen Aegor Rivers until now.
"Yes," Brynden answered, and as much as he wished to take the bastard's head, he knew that someone else desired it more.
Matarys' face hardened as he looked at the man who had brought ruin to his life. He walked past him and came to stand just in front of Aegor.
The realization had settled by now, and Aegor had realized that the war was lost. Haegon Targaryen may still hold Dragonstone, and Storm's End may still stand strong, but soon enough Haegon shall die, and Storm's End will have no choice but to surrender.
He thought of Shiera and the Princess, and how much they had suffered because of this war, and his fist balled up. But this was not his revenge. This belonged to Matarys, who looked down at Aegor with a burning gaze.
"I can see why Brynden is so devoted to you," Aegor began as he met Matarys' gaze.
"I had heard tales before, but now I see it for myself," he continued, before shaking his head.
"House Targaryen is blessed with great luck," and yet Matarys spoke nothing.
"Will you not offer me mercy, O Matchless Knight?" and now he finally spoke.
"No," he answered.
"There will be no mercy for you. None," Matarys was clear in his answer.
"I expected as much," Aegor countered, before his eyes narrowed.
"I nearly broke you," he uttered with frustration.
"How! How can you still stand here after losing your wife, after having the lords turn their backs on you! How can you do that!" he roared, and Matarys took a second to answer.
"Because I am more than just a Prince. You and your lot will never threaten us again. Ever," Matarys declared.
"I will hunt down the line of Daemon Blackfyre to the last babe, and I will slaughter them all. No child with Daemon's blood will be left alive, and his line will come to an end," and it was a promise of death and destruction.
"Haegon Blackfyre will die by my blade, and none will ever dare rise in rebellion against my family ever again," and Aegor seemed nervous, for his own sentence was yet to be announced.
"As for you. I won't offer you a quick death," and there was a promise of cruelty in that tone, as the Prince crouched down.
"You took my wife from me. You killed her. You!" he snarled angrily as he pushed his finger into the man's forehead.
"I will make you suffer for it. I will make you beg for the respite of death, and even then I will never grant it to you. Never," and now Aegor was pale with worry, as he learned of the fate that awaited him.
"You will suffer for decades. I will make sure of it," and he saw Aegor's eyes land on him in desperation, but he had nothing to offer him as well.
"Take him to Kingslanding and put him in the Black Cells," Matarys ordered as he walked towards him.
"I want him alive, Lord Brynden. I want him alive for a long time," and as the men came to pick him up, Aegor shouted at Matarys's retreating back.
"You were meant to be a kind man!" he roared, angrily, and the Prince stopped and turned his head to look at Aegor.
"I was...," he answered.
"....once."
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