A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 71: The Storm Over Duskendale

299 AC – Duskendale

The cold winds of winter swept over the Crownlands as Aerion Targaryen's army approached the walls of Duskendale. His banners, the red three-headed dragon, flew high above the battlefield, a sight unseen for over a decade in Westeros. The city's defenders stood watch from the battlements, their armor glinting in the gray morning light, but they knew what was coming.

The Dragon had returned.

Aerion's forces had landed at the cracked shores of Duskendale at dawn, 20,000 strong, battle-hardened men who had followed him from the Stepstones, the Disputed Lands, and Dragonstone. Meanwhile, Ser Guncer Sunglass, one of his most trusted commanders, had taken 18,000 men and set up camp at House Longwaters' keep, near the Blackwater Rush, securing the river crossings and cutting off any hope of retreat or reinforcement from the west. The lords of the Hook, sworn now to Aerion, rode under his banners, adding their strength to the growing siege.

With his forces split between Duskendale and the Blackwater, Aerion knew that this campaign would be fought with strategy and ruthlessness. The Lannisters still held King's Landing with over 30,000 men, but the city was on edge. Food was scarce, morale was low, and the Reach lords were divided.

Meanwhile, Clement Celtigar, his closest friend and most brutal commander, had taken Maidenpool in a bloody battle. He had already sent Ser Robin Darklyn with 6,000 men to reinforce Aerion, but Aerion could only imagine Clement's fury upon receiving his latest letter.

Clement would not be part of the siege of King's Landing.

Instead, Aerion had other plans for him. Clement's forces would secure the Vale's approaches, ensuring that no reinforcements from Gulltown or the Mountains of the Moon could threaten them. More importantly, he was tasked with rallying the Darrys, one of the last great houses of the Riverlands still loyal to the Targaryens.

It was a mission just as vital as the siege itself.

But before any of that could happen, Aerion had to take Duskendale.

The Battle of Duskendale

The outer gates of Duskendale stood tall and unbroken, its walls repaired after the failed Defiance of Duskendale years prior. The city was lightly garrisoned, held by only 4,000 men, mostly Lannister retainers, a few Stormlanders, and local Crownlander soldiers. But the true defenders were the Darkdens, the new lords of the city after the Darklyn line had been exterminated by Aerys II.

Aerion sat atop his black destrier, his black armor trimmed with silver. Ser Barristan Selmy, his Lord Commander, sat beside him, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Will they surrender?" Aerion asked.

Barristan shook his head. "The Lannisters do not surrender. Neither do their allies."

Aerion sighed. "Then we burn them out."

He turned to Robin Darklyn, his commander of the vanguard, who had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

"Duskendale is yours, my lord."

Robin's blue eyes burned with vengeance. The Darkdens had taken his family's home, lived in the halls of his ancestors, and swore loyalty to the boy-king Joffrey Baratheon. There would be no mercy.

The Assault Begins

At Aerion's command, catapults were dragged forward, and the first volleys of fire and stone were launched against the walls of Duskendale.

A thunderous crash echoed as the projectiles struck, shattering sections of the outer defenses. Flaming pitch splashed against the walls, thick black smoke rising into the winter air. The defenders rushed to douse the flames, but it was already too late.

The battering rams came next.

Aerion led the first charge, his black cloak billowing as his forces stormed the main gate. The cries of war filled the air, the sound of steel clashing against steel, the screams of dying men.

Robin Darklyn fought like a man possessed, cutting through the Lannister spearmen who dared to block his path. His blade was red with blood, his armor splattered with gore, but he did not slow.

Ser Barristan, ever the unstoppable warrior, cut down three men with a single stroke before riding forward to seize the gatehouse.

The defenders fought bravely, but they were outnumbered and outmatched. The walls of Duskendale burned, and as the gates buckled under the weight of the battering ram, the army poured inside like a flood.

The Lannister garrison broke first, their morale shattered. Some threw down their swords, but no mercy was given. Aerion's men had their orders.

The Darkdens, desperate, retreated to the castle, but Robin Darklyn was already inside. The last remnants of their house fell beneath his sword, their blood staining the halls that once belonged to his ancestors.

By nightfall, Duskendale was Aerion's.

With Duskendale taken, Aerion's forces spread out, taking the remaining castles of the Crownlands one by one.

House Rykker of the Duskendale Hills surrendered without a fight, bending the knee and swearing fealty to Aerion.

The Hollards, long thought extinct, sent word that they still lived in exile and would return to serve House Darklyn once more.

Each victory tightened Aerion's grip on the Crownlands, cutting off King's Landing from its remaining allies.

When the dust had settled, Aerion stood before the charred ruins of Duskendale's castle and turned to Robin Darklyn.

"You have fought for me. You have bled for me. You have taken back your family's honor."

Robin knelt. "You have given me back my home, my prince."

Aerion unsheathed his sword, Starfyre, its Valyrian steel glimmering in the firelight.

"Then take what is yours," he declared. "I name you Lord of Duskendale, and may you hold it for the House of the Dragon."

Robin rose, his expression fierce with loyalty.

"It will never fall again, my prince."

The next morning, as the sun rose over the Crownlands, Aerion's army began its march on King's Landing.

The gates of the capital loomed ahead, and inside, the boy-king Joffrey sat upon a throne of stolen steel, his allies divided, his army starving.

The siege had begun.

And the Dragon had come for his throne.

The fields before King's Landing had transformed into a city of war. Tens of thousands of men gathered under the banners of House Targaryen, House Celtigar, House Darklyn, and the lords of the Hook. Aerion Targaryen stood atop a hill overlooking the city, his crimson cloak draped over blackened steel armor, the Valyrian steel blade Starfyre strapped to his back. The walls of King's Landing stretched before him, their damaged battlements lined with defenders, torches flickering in the cold morning air. The siege had begun.

Aerion had landed at Duskendale with his remaining force of twenty thousand men. The capture of the town had been swift. The gates had been thrown open by sympathizers, and the few Lannister loyalists were swiftly put to the sword. Aerion had granted Duskendale back to Robin Darklyn as a reward for his service and to put to rest the rivalry of their forefathers. With Duskendale secured, his men took the surrounding keeps of the Crownlands in quick succession. Those who surrendered bent the knee. Those who resisted were slaughtered.

Ser Guncer Sunglass was camped to the south near the Blackwater Rush at House Longwaters' keep with eighteen thousand men, cutting off any approach from the Stormlands or the Reach. His men patrolled the southern roads, ensuring no supplies could reach the city. The siege had taken shape.

Clement Celtigar had secured Maidenpool but was not with them. Aerion had ordered him to remain behind and reinforce the defense against the Vale while also securing more allies, such as the Darrys, long-time Targaryen loyalists. He had no doubt that Clement had been furious when he read the letter. Clement was a warrior, a man of action, and to be denied the siege of King's Landing was a slight he would not take lightly. But Aerion had his reasons.

Aerion had left his dragon, Maelos, behind at Dragonstone. The little creature was still no larger than a cat, too small to be of any use in war, but precious nonetheless. The time would come when he would ride a dragon to battle, but not yet.

Inside King's Landing, the city teetered on the brink. The granaries were nearly empty, the streets filled with hungry, angry people. The bread riots had only been suppressed through brutal force, with executions carried out daily in the streets to deter further unrest. The walls bore the scars of the last war, and though repairs had been made, they were still weak in several key areas.

The Red Keep was a fortress of tension. The Lannisters had not allied with the Tyrells, as some had expected, but with the Hightowers. Their men still held the city alongside the Lannister forces, numbering around thirty-two thousand soldiers. The Hightower banners flew alongside the lions on the battlements, their disciplined knights keeping order in the streets.

Joffrey Baratheon sat upon the Iron Throne, restless and furious. His golden crown was tilted on his sweat-slicked brow, his boyish face twisted with rage.

"We should ride out and crush them!" he shouted. "Let me lead the charge! I'll kill the dragon myself!"

Tywin Lannister stood near the war table, his golden armor polished, his green eyes cold as he studied the map.

"You will do no such thing," he said without looking up.

"I am the king!" Joffrey bellowed.

"The greatest King who ever existed my Love and soon the dragon will get to learn your wrath." Queen Ceryse said.

"Shut up, you are still not with child, you have no use besides your fathers army and your cunt." Joffrey yelled.

Tywin did not even glance at him. "You are a child."

Cersei Lannister sat beside her son, drinking deep from a golden goblet, her emerald eyes bloodshot.

"They won't breach the city," she said. "They are rats waiting for us to starve."

Across the chamber, Lord Leyton Hightower sat in silence. He was an old man, his long silver hair flowing past his shoulders, his expression unreadable.

Tywin looked to him. "Your thoughts?"

"The city can hold for a time," Leyton said, his voice soft but firm. "But not forever. If the boy presses hard enough, we may need to consider other options."

Joffrey scowled. "There are no other options! We kill them all!"

Leyton did not acknowledge him. His focus remained on Tywin. "We should be prepared for anything."

The Lannister lord only nodded.

In the Targaryen war camp, the commanders had gathered inside a large pavilion, the map of King's Landing spread across the table. Aerion studied the layout, his silver-gold hair catching the candlelight.

Ser Barristan Selmy stood at his side, arms crossed. "Tywin Lannister will not surrender," he said. "Not unless we break their walls."

Aerion nodded. "Then we shall."

Robin Darklyn leaned forward. "The Gate of the Gods has not been fully repaired since Stannis's siege. It is the weakest point of the northern defenses."

Ser Guncer, speaking from the southern camp via raven, had suggested a two-pronged assault, focusing on the Mud Gate and the King's Gate.

Aerion turned to his master engineer, an exiled Myrman named Cassaro Vaes, who had designed the siege machines.

"Our trebuchets are nearly ready," Cassaro said, rubbing his ink-stained hands. "They can hurl stones heavier than a man's chest. Given time, we shall smash their walls."

Ser Barristan frowned. "Time is not on our side."

A messenger burst into the tent, his face pale with urgency.

"My prince," he gasped. "A raven from Highgarden. The Rowans have taken the castle."

The tent fell silent.

Aerion tensed, his mind racing. The fall of Highgarden meant the Reach's true power had shifted. The Tyrell loyalists in the city were now a liability, and the Hightowers could send reinforcements at any moment. They had to act before that happened.

He turned to his commanders.

"We strike before they can reinforce the city," he said. "Ready the siege engines. We attack at dawn."

The sun rose over King's Landing, casting golden light upon the banners of House Targaryen.

The trebuchets were lined up, their massive arms creaking under the weight of the stones loaded into their slings. Siege ladders and battering rams were dragged forward, their wooden frames reinforced with iron.

The warhorns sounded across the battlefield, a low, echoing bellow.

On the northern walls, the Lannister and Hightower soldiers tensed, gripping their spears and crossbows.

Joffrey stood upon the Red Keep's battlements, his golden lion cloak billowing, watching with wide eyes.

He turned to Tywin.

"Do something!" he shrieked.

Tywin watched the siege unfolding below and spoke calmly.

"It begins."