The Game of Cyvasse

The Battle of the Blackwater

The sibling... the word felt queer, meant for a dream, carving and mending his soul in a strange harmony. Above all, he knew that it was the truth, it had to be, a stubborn ache in his chest would not let him forsake it. Even now, on the battlements, with mist shrouding the river mouth and the sun sinking low in the west before yielding to another night to come. Can I fight? he wondered, in the moment when Sansa uttered the words, the farewell was hard, he yearned to hear more. Hear from her. The stag was prancing through the mist, in full strength, ready to seize the crown, a royal circlet barely placed upon his brow. The hilt of the Blackfyre felt heavier than usual; his sword was defying him, loath to leave its scabbard. Might be Blackfyre knows I am not prepared to face another battle so soon after Jon's death. Now, I stand alone.

"Your grace, are you well? Do you require water?" asked Laswell Peake, too seasoned a man to not sense a turmoil on Aegon's demeanor. I must stand for my men; they cannot confuse my sorrow for dread.

"This wind is opening my wounds, never a welcome thing," Aegon fibbed. A befitting reply to a man whose life is of steel and war. You cannot fight for decades in the Golden Company, as Peake did, and not bear wounds that smart. The man made a serjeant ere Aegon's nameday. Wisely so, Aegon put Peake in command of the Mud Gate, where Baratheon's hammer will strike fiercest.

Stannis filled the bay with nigh half a thousand of his ships, most smaller trade galleys, carracks, and cogs. A wooden shaft on a spear to bear men-at-arms until a sharp spearhead breaches entrance at the river. A tip laden with almost eighty warships, large and stout; half of which Stannis taken from his elder brother when he served as Master of Ships, and the other half a boon from Free Cities. A score of foes Aegon did not even know he had. Foes of my friend are my foes as well, and Illyrio never ceased to remind me of his bounteous friendship. If Velaryons and Celtigars stood by the side of the stag, he would have more than a hundred. Alas the trident and claw are in my grasp, ready to smite the foes rear. Lord Stannis was not the only one who received gifts; Aegon got forty warships moored at King's Landing and two scores of trading ships Tyrion Lannister impounded in the interest of Joffrey's crown.

The dragon borrowed more than just ships from the dwarf, the entire plan to defend King's Landing perched on small legs. First, with the doom of wildfire, Aegon shall annihilate Baratheon's spearhead; then, the fleet commanded by Lord Velaryon will strike and shatter the shaft. The fleet led by Driftmark's Seahorse departed three nights ago for Duskendale, under the cloak of a moonless night and howling storm. Lord Rykker pledged three warships of his own— the only three he had— old and weary, but still fit for war.

"Ships in the river," warned the voice from the watchtowers. Yet, from the merlons of the southern wall, only white mist glided across the dark currents of the Blackwater.

From the belly of the mist, warhorns spoke first, followed by drums, an eerie and steady rhythm. Aegon never fancied drums, especially not these, clear and ordered, hinting at an enemy ready for battle, well-trained and armed. Stannis Baratheon had such a renown, a seasoned commander with enough battles under his girdle. Firm in mind and body, as hard as iron.

Twelve shadows emerged in a straight battle line, from the wide river mouth. The stag emblazoned in flame gleamed on sails and stern; fire on canvas came to life, casting light on the dark river trapped in fog and the late day. The work of the Red Priestess, it was known to him, the most perilous tool in Baratheon's host.

Once, he shared a bed with one servant of R'hllor in Pentos, in the sorrowful years after Eira's death, when he had somewhat lost himself, drowning in books, work, and occasionally, in women. Dyed blue hair did not deceive her, she instantly knew Aegon was not a son of rich cheesemonger Illyrio Mopatis but a prince from a distant land. A better prize, worthy to ensnare, just so, if only Aegon were so simple to prey upon