Hail to the Stag Kings

Chapter 7: The Lion of Lannister

—The Riverlands—

Riding down the high road along the Mountains of the Moon, Daemon and Samson were accompanied by Ser Petyr to officially begin their first task of uniting Westeros. The young Prince's uncle and Master of Ships, Jacaerys, had already ventured to Gulltown by himself to rally his armada against his tyrannical elder nephew's fleet. Jaqoros remained in the Vale to oversee the rebel spy network. As for Petyr, he received two vital tasks from Sharra and the other high lords of the Vale: evaluate the sincerity of Prince Daemon's intentions, and partly to ensure neither Daemon nor Samson tried anything stupid.

Admittedly, the travel itself was as dangerous as the task itself: shadowcats and Vale hill mountain clans, the trio had their armaments ready. Swords, lance, musket rifles, and pistols... Ser Petyr's knowledge of the high road proved useful not only for traveling safely but to effectively bypass General Gerion Lannister's massive armies.

"It won't be long until we reach the Riverlands now," Petyr mentioned.

"Any signs of the Lannisters?" Samson inquired.

"No. Not yet, General. Still... I recommend exercising extreme caution. King Argilac has placed quite a hefty bounty on all our heads, yours included."

"Let my brother try," Daemon replied rather curtly. "The more he tightens his grip, the more support he will lose. It's only a matter of time before his efforts implode."

Now normally Samson would ignore such a comment, but the way Daemon responded was unnerving. He had heard rumors surrounding his protégé and royal he had declared allegiance to and the new Lady of the Eyrie Sharra Arryn; but they were just that: rumors. Whether they had merit, Samson guessed that Daemon's thoughts would hinder his overall growth. And that was something this revolution could not afford right now—not with the civil war going on all around them. For this revolution to succeed, Daemon needed a clear judgment and to think rationally. He was still young, Samson knew that, but he had yet to test himself in the actual field of battle. By the time the trio appeared from the High Road entrance, they heard the distinctive sound of a fast-flowing stream of water.

"Is this...?" Daemon inquired.

"Yes, lad. We're no longer in the Vale," Samson confirmed. "We're on the eastern skirts of the Riverlands. I'd said we're nearing the Trident."

Petyr nodded. "You hear the stories about the Trident, even as far as the Fingers. Around 842 years ago, it was said that the fate of all Westeros was decided here at this very place. The Battle of the Trident. Our forefathers back then consisted predominantly of soldiers of the North, Vale, Stormlands and the Riverlands as the Reach and Dorne still supported King Aerys II the Mad of House Targaryen."

"I remember reading about it at the university libraries. And the lectures from Grand Maester Asten."

"Correct. Your ancestor Robert Baratheon commanded an army of around 35,000 men in total—compared to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's 40,000. But what Robert's forces lacked in numbers, they made up for in battlefield experience. As the battle progressed with both sides showing no signs of gaining any ground, these two colossal titans fought in single combat. Although Rhaegar did manage to wound Robert, the Baratheon warlord proved too much and delivered the killing blow with his monstrous warhammer—caving in Rhaegar's breastplate so hard it shattered his rubies all around."

Daemon hummed. "And thus, sealed the fate of House Targaryen and the ascension of my house to the throne. Of course, if my ancestor had not won that day, House Baratheon would not be where it stands today. Or all of us. Our houses since that day had been intertwined."