55 The Princes Pass

(Sky Reach)

Daeron sat outside of the War room House Fowler felt insulted that they'd bring a boy barely away from the mother teat to strategise for the upcoming battle, the fact that he was a Targaryen enflamed their anger even more as from their point of view he brought war to Dorne.

He didn't care too much, he was here for Arthur and would fight the enemy, The battle plan mustn't be too bad since Beric and Arthur are inside "You shouldn't frown so much Daeron You're going to start looking like my brother" he heard a voice say out from his left. He turned his head and smiled seeing Ashara, She was in a rolling chair, similar to the one that Doran had made for him, she was still weak and so she had to be moved around in it. She shouldn't have accompanied them to Sky Reach but she insisted that she could not wait around while her family fought, she would do her part no matter how little it was. Daeron smiled at her and stood up before taking the servant's place behind the chair, he would do this when he had time as he enjoyed her company, whenever he had to contemplate a problem she would help him through it.

Daeron didn't know that Ashara would go out of her way to spend time with Daeron, Her gratitude for what Daeron had done when he looked after her affected her deeply, she was convinced she would've gone mad if she had not had Daeron there to entertain her "Ashara are you sure you should be out, I'm sure the Maester advised you to rest"

"Tch I've been resting for months, I need fresh air and good company more than anything else" she replied making Daeron smile again.

"Well I hope I can provide good company, however, I have to say I am rather distracted," he said to her as he started to push the rolling chair down the corridor of the keep, House Fowler descended from the First Men so they've kept a Godswood to honour their heritage and this is where Daeron directed them to.

"What is on your mind Daeron?" Ashara asks as he pushes her.

"I'm concerned that I'll have to kill Northmen... they should not have to die for a stupid grudge that should've ended at the trident" he explained.

Ashara reached up and grasped Daeron's hand "You should not be expected to fight your kinsmen, I am sure they'd understand should you ask to stay behind" but Daeron shook his head, They eventually entered the Godswood and Daeron stopped moving her.

"I will not stay behind while Arthur fights for his life, that is not the person I am nor the one I wish to be," Daeron said with conviction, Ashara just smiled at him.

"No it's not..." she replied.

"Either I beat back the King's Army or at the very least the King will get what he came for," Daeron said darkly, However, he was surprised when Ashara reached up pulling him down by the shirt.

"Do not say such things, your life will not be extinguished just to sate one man's vengeance, Remember who is waiting for you across the sea" She stated sternly to him.

For a minute he's too shocked to speak but eventually a smile forms on his face "You are right, sometimes I forget that I cannot risk my life so easily now" Ashara smiles back at him and cups his face.

"Do what you need to to come home, no more no less, You cannot blame a man for that" Daeron nods his head and leans into her hand slightly before standing up straight. He spent the afternoon with her as he waited for Arthur to update him on the situation.

Arthur came upon the sight of his sister laughing at something Daeron had said, he couldn't help but raise his eyebrow at the scene 'No... just my imagination' he thought to himself as he approached them.

Daeron stopped laughing as he saw Arthur approach them, he stood up closing the last bit of distance between them "Arthur is it decided?" He asked.

Arthur nods his head however he doesn't seem happy about it "A letter was received by Lord Fowler, it gave him command of the army, his strategy is... well it leaves a lot to be desired"

"My father is trying to convince him of it but it seems his mind is set, he believes that we could beat them if we had the high ground, we simply need to attack them when they are sieging Kingsgrave and lure them to a large hill that covers out back" he explained

Daeron scrunched his eyebrows "But that won't work... we'd be trapping ourselves and if we are unable to fight off the 80,000 men we'd be dead"

Arthur nodded his head "I hope the old hawk has a plan otherwise things may become difficult" he replied with a sigh.

The three of them just stood there with frowns on their faces as they thought of the impending battle.

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(Kingsgrave)

"Release!" A soldier shouted and a rock was flung from a catapult and straight to a building inside the Kingsgrave, Robb knew this wasn't necessary and even advised the King that it would devalue the keep after they had taken it, but he had been told that this won't be an occupation, just a mere sacking. They'd imprison all the lords and ladies and execute those who were not important enough.

After hearing those words Robb considered turning on the King right there and then, there were thousands of people in that keep who were innocent and had nothing to do with this war, Their only sin was being Dornish which was enough for the King the judge them as guilty. Robb sighed as he sat down on a chair that overlooked the siege.

'I hope what I'm doing helps you Jon...' he thinks to himself, he was the eldest of the Stark siblings and it was his duty to ensure their happiness above all things, something he wished his father would've taken to heart. To say he was anxious would be an understatement however, he had never been in battle before and at the age of 15, he was already planning to rebel.

Elsewhere in the camp, King Robert Baratheon lifted a large rock nearly the same size as his body onto a catapult "Your grace it may not fire, it is simply too heavy" the soldier operating it stated.

"Start the damn thing and cease your whinging" the King stated and the man pulled the lever, the wood groaned but it did fling the rock, however, it didn't quite make it into the city and instead put a large crack in the wall of the keep.

"HAHAHA, now that's what I like to see" Robert boomed as he saw the panicked looks on the faces of those who manned the castle walls.

However, before he could order another to be tested an arrow flew and pierced the head of one of the nearby soldiers. His eyes widened for a second but he immediately regained his calm and looked to where it came from in time for another to hit one of his soldiers and then another and another "AMBUSH!" He boomed out, his voice reverberating through the camp and men all got up to fend off their attackers.

The King saw the Ambushers just on a hill further down the Princes Pass, there seemed to be around a thousand of them 'Did they sneak out from Kingsgrave? He thought to himself

He saw them all disengage and it made him scowl, he would ride them down, though he considered the possibility it could be an ambush, he did not want a repeat of what happened with Randyll Tarly, though he was glad the man was on his side this time. Speaking of the man, he came riding towards the King "Your grace, scouts have reported a large force approaching our position"

"More than us?" He asked to which Randyll shook his head.

"Good, ready the Reachmen, Have the Northmen stay here to continue the siege, meanwhile I will lead the men of the Reach and smash any Dornish resistance" he commanded, while Randyll looked a bit annoyed that his men would be the ones used he did not say anything and just obeyed.

Robert Baratheon armoured up and mounted his horse, and with 30,000 men he pursued the Dornishmen who had dared attack their camp.

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Daeron stood with the Dornish army as they waited for the King to come, they stood on a large hill that was covered from both sides, and behind them was a large circular space that was a dead end, this was what worried Daeron, if the King was able to push them into the space behind them then they would be trapped and no longer have the advantage of the high ground, but it seemed Lord Fowler had strange ideas in strategy. He'd even come privately to Daeron and asked if he'd serve on the frontlines for moral support.

Daeron had been around enough people to recognise when someone wasn't being truthful, and Lord Fowler had plans of his own that he did not see fit to tell anyone. Arthur had taken command of the cavalry which was located a bit further up the pass, they'd need to lure them in before they even attempted to use them otherwise they'd likely all be slaughtered.

Daeron looked at the men that stood beside him, They all seemed nervous and they all had sweat pouring down their faces, whether this be from the heat of the Dornish sun or the anticipation of the oncoming battle he didn't know. He wore light leather armour and had been given a shield to use, while he normally didn't use one having one in a full-scale battle seemed like a smart idea.

The sounds of horsemen galloping reached Daeron's ears and he tightened his grip around his blade and his heart sped up, a few minutes later he finally saw them, the hill reached pretty high so the invading army looked like a sea of ants covering the land beneath them.

As he looked down the King seemed to stop at the hill considering whether it would be worth the risk of traversing it, but any thoughts or doubts he had went out of the window when he saw the gleaming silver hair of a Targaryen. No longer thinking rationally he dismounted his horse taking both Warhammer into his hand and charged up the hill with all his Cavalry doing the same and the footmen after them. Daeron gripped his sword as the battle had truly begun.

As King Robert led the charge, the frenzy of battle enveloped his men. The Dornish defenders unleashed a volley of arrows, their swift release sending the sky ablaze with glinting steel. Arrows whizzed through the air, cutting through the distance between the two forces. Each thud marked the impact of deadly precision, as King Robert's forces felt the toll of their audacious advance.

Despite the rain of arrows, the relentless momentum of King Robert's charge was unyielding. Foot soldiers and knights alike pressed forward, their resolve unshaken by the barrage. Shields were raised, forming a makeshift barrier against the flying projectiles. Yet, the arrows found their marks, and the ground became littered with fallen warriors.

With a roar that echoed across the battlefield, King Robert Baratheon charged up the steep hill, his eyes fixed on a singular target. In his fury, he seized the body of a fallen soldier, using it as a makeshift shield to protect himself from the unrelenting onslaught of arrows. The soldier's lifeless form became his impromptu defence, an emblem of his unyielding determination.

As he ascended the hill, King Robert's troops fell around him, cut down by the Dornish defenders' deadly arrows. The ground was painted with the sacrifice of his men, yet his unwavering pursuit remained singular in focus. The clatter of armour and the cries of the wounded surrounded him, but his determination drowned out the chaos.

Driven by an all-consuming rage, King Robert's every step resonated with raw power. His boots crushed the earth beneath, propelling him forward with an almost supernatural force. The makeshift shield he wielded served as a testament to his primal instinct to survive, an emblem of his indomitable will.

Amidst the carnage, King Robert's heart beat like a drum, echoing his relentless pursuit of his adversary. His vision was singular and his purpose unwavering: to reach Daeron and mete out his wrath upon him. The world around him became a blur of arrows, shouts, and chaos, yet his iron will propel him ever onward.

Daeron was shocked at the amount of carnage that unfolded, he knew the advantage of having the high ground was great but they were slaughtering them faster than they could traverse the hill, it was a bloodbath and in less than an hour thousands were already dead. However a horn sounded out and Daeron looked over to the horizon, as did Robert.

Robert smiled as he saw the Northmen 50,000 strong come to their aid, or that's what he thought. However, their cavalry did not slow down as they approached the reachmen, in fact, they only seemed to speed up. The Northmen Cavalry clashed with the Reachmen decimating their rear lines as they had not prepared for it, Even from so high up Daeron could hear the words 'Traitor' and 'Betrayal' on the air.

Robert was positively enraged, he wanted to continue up the hill as Daeron was a tempting target but eventually his better sense won out and he commanded everyone to descend the hill and engage the traitors. The Dornish saw that the Northmen had defected and on the high of what they saw as their impending victory, they cheered.

Daeron knew this wasn't good, and when the first person started charging down the hill his fears were realised "Stop! We can't leave this hill, we have the advantage from here!" But his words fell on deaf ears and they charged down the hill to attack the King from behind. Daeron realising he had no choice anymore followed them down.

One of the bloodiest battles in the war would now be fought in the sand of the Princes Pass.

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Amidst the tumultuous clash of battle, Daeron's breath came in ragged gasps as he navigated the chaos that surrounded him. His senses were on high alert, each sound, each movement, heightened to a razor's edge. The battlefield was a maelstrom of violence and desperation, a relentless contest of life and death.

Drenched in the dirt and grime of the battlefield, Daeron moved with a fluid grace that belied the brutality of his actions. His Valyrian steel sword was an extension of his will, each swing a calculated dance of precision and power. The ground beneath his feet was slick with blood and sand, yet he remained steady, his focus unwavering.

Amid the fray, a Reachman horseman charged at him, his lance aimed with deadly accuracy. Daeron's instincts kicked in, his body responding with lightning speed. He sidestepped the charging horse, narrowly avoiding the lance's deadly tip. As the horseman passed, Daeron's sword found its mark, slashing deep into the man's side. The horse whinnied in pain as it crashed to the ground, its rider falling with a thud.

Another opponent lunged at Daeron, sword raised for a downward strike. Daeron's training and experience guided his response. He parried the strike with a deft movement, his blade meeting the enemy's with a resounding clash. With a quick twist of his wrist, Daeron redirected the enemy's sword, leaving him exposed. Daeron's blade found its target, delivering a lethal thrust that silenced his adversary.

The battle raged on, each clash of steel a symphony of violence. Daeron's movements were fluid and economical, his every action calculated to incapacitate his foes. He deflected a spear thrust with a well-timed block, then spun on his heel, slashing his sword through the air and slicing through the spearman's neck.

As he fought, Daeron's body bore the marks of his brutal encounters. Cuts and scrapes adorned his skin, his clothing darkened by blood and sweat. His breath echoed in his ears, a steady rhythm amidst the cacophony of battle. Each swing of his sword, each clash of weapons, shook his very bones.

A Reachman's sword found its mark, slicing into Daeron's leg with a sickening thud. The pain was blinding, a white-hot surge that threatened to overwhelm his senses. A guttural scream tore from his throat, the sound a visceral blend of anguish and determination. He staggered, his vision wavering, but he refused to fall.

With blood-soaked determination, Daeron responded with a move born of desperation. His sword arced upwards, guided by sheer willpower. The blade met his attacker's unprotected throat, and the Reachman's scream merged with Daeron's own. In that moment, pain and triumph coalesced, and Daeron's scream became a battle cry, a declaration of his unyielding defiance.

Another adversary lunged at him, sword raised in a brutal strike. Daeron's movements were a dance of agony, each twist and turn an attempt to evade the pain that threatened to engulf him. His sword met the enemy's blade with a deafening clang, the impact resonating through his body like thunder. His scream echoed once more, a primal roar that reverberated across the battlefield.

As the battle's tempo escalated, Daeron's demeanour shifted, his determination morphing into a ruthless ferocity. The taste of blood and the echoes of pain seemed to fuel a primal instinct within him, casting aside any restraint that remained. Each movement became a calculated act of brutality, an embodiment of his unyielding will to survive.

A Reachman soldier lunged at him with a desperate strike. Daeron's response was immediate and merciless. He deflected the blow with a force that reverberated through his arms, his eyes aflame with a newfound intensity. In an instant, his sword reversed its path, seeking the gaps in his adversary's armour. The blade found its mark with chilling precision, sliding through the weak points and ending the soldier's life in a violent spray of blood.

Daeron's movements were swift and merciless, each strike a symphony of lethal intent. Another soldier charged at him with a wild swing, driven by desperation. Daeron sidestepped with a dancer's grace, his blade sweeping upward in a fluid arc. The edge of his sword met the soldier's exposed neck, and crimson spurted forth in a gruesome testament to the ferocity of his strike.

As the battle raged on, Daeron's eyes seemed to gleam with a cold, unforgiving light. His adversaries became mere targets in his path of destruction. He utilized every opening, and every weakness, exploiting his opponents' vulnerabilities with calculating ruthlessness. A Southern knight swung his sword, aiming for Daeron's head. Daeron caught the blow with his blade, his face contorted with a savage intensity. His boot lashed out, connecting with the knight's knee in a sickening crunch. Before the knight could react, Daeron's sword found its mark in the man's throat, ending his life with swift brutality.

The once-hesitant fighter had become an embodiment of violence, his every action a ruthless expression of his intent. A Reachman soldier came at him from behind, sword raised high. Daeron's instincts flared, and he spun on his heel with a feral grace. His blade slashed across the soldier's midsection, ripping through armour and flesh alike in a frenzy of bloodshed.

Amidst the turmoil of the battle, a figure emerged that seemed to embody raw, unbridled power. It was Robert Baratheon, a force of nature clad in heavy armour, his visage obscured by a helmet adorned with stag antlers. As he swung his twin war hammers, they became extensions of his wrath, unleashing a relentless onslaught upon the Dornishmen who stood in his path.

Each swing of Robert's Warhammer was a cataclysmic event, a force of devastation that shattered armour and bone with a savagery that defied description. The battlefield itself seemed to tremble beneath the weight of his blows, and the air was filled with the sickening crunch of shattered bones and the wet squelch of flesh being crushed.

Dornish soldiers who had once faced down other opponents now found themselves confronted by a juggernaut of destruction. Heads were crushed, helmets shattered, and breastplates caved in with a sickening finality. Robert's Warhammers were like twin hammers of doom, a deadly symphony of destruction that left a trail of broken bodies in their wake.

The Dornishmen's cries of battle turned to cries of anguish as they were felled by the unstoppable force that was Robert Baratheon. His movements were a dance of carnage, each swing of his warhammers a lethal choreography that painted the battlefield in shades of brutality. No armour could withstand his assault, no defence could stave off his advance.

Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, Daeron's resolve solidified. He understood the magnitude of the challenge before him, the behemoth that was Robert Baratheon. With a fierce battle cry that pierced the cacophony of combat, he drew the King's attention. His silver hair glinting like a challenge, Daeron's eyes locked onto the colossal figure.

As Robert Baratheon turned his attention towards him, a malicious grin crept across Daeron's face. He had become the target of the King's Wrath, a role he had willingly stepped into. Amidst the swirling chaos, Daeron prepared to face the embodiment of destruction head-on.

In his path, those who attempted to challenge Robert met their doom swiftly. The Northmen and Dornishmen alike who dared to stand in his way were obliterated by the force of his warhammers. Armour offered little protection against the raw power of Robert's blows. The ground was littered with the remnants of their futile efforts as his path remained unhindered.

Finally, the two warriors stood face to face, the ground beneath them stained with blood and churned by battle. Daeron's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination, his eyes locked onto Robert's hulking form. The weight of the moment hung in the air, a showdown amidst the chaos of war.

Daeron's grip tightened around his Valyrian steel sword, his knuckles turning white. He braced himself, ready to face the storm that was Robert Baratheon. The battle was far from over, and the outcome rested on this pivotal clash between the King's Wrath and the young Targaryen prince who dared to stand against him.

As the clash between Daeron and the King was about to begin, Daeron recognized the futility of a direct block. He needed to disrupt Robert's rhythm, to exploit a moment of vulnerability. In a swift motion, he released his shield, sending it hurtling towards Robert's helmet. The unexpected blow staggered the king, creating an opening for Daeron's strike.

With calculated precision, Daeron lunged forward, his Valyrian steel sword seeking the gaps in Robert's armour. The blade found its mark, slicing through where the metal plates met. But this victory was short-lived. The king's rage surged, and his retaliation was swift and brutal.

Robert's onslaught began, a furious barrage of strikes that Daeron struggled to withstand. The force behind each swing was overwhelming, sending tremors through Daeron's arms with each attempt to parry. His every dodge was desperate, his every movement fueled by sheer instinct. The king's power was awe-inspiring, a brutal symphony of destruction that left Daeron with little room to breathe.

Even as the chaos raged around them, the focus of the battle narrowed to this one brutal confrontation. Northmen and Dornishmen attempted to intervene, to capitalize on a potential opening, but they were crushed beneath Robert's hammers. His strikes were devastating, shattering bones and rending armour as if they were paper.

Daeron's efforts to regain his footing were met with the brute strength of Robert's assault. The king's Warhammer carved through the air with deadly precision, leaving Daeron with only the option of dodging. Each parry threatened to throw him off his feet, and his body ached from the force of the blows he managed to evade.

'I'll have to use magic, there's no way I can beat him like this' Daeron thought to himself, It reminded him of his right with the mountain, if the mountain was twice as fast and wielded two swords. The king was full of bloodlust and had given himself into madness, he did not care about the cuts or the stabs that Daeron made with his sword. At this moment he truly embodied house words.

Daeron did not want to use his Magic, he felt himself edging ever closer toward a living death the more he used it. But he couldn't win if he didn't use it, he wondered how effective it would even be in the hot Dornish sun and such a dry environment.

Daeron's exhaustion was palpable, his movements growing slower and more laboured. A misstep left him exposed, his defences momentarily compromised. As Robert Baratheon raised his arm for the crushing blow, desperation surged through Daeron. With a quick thought, he summoned his ice magic, attempting to form a protective barrier around his chest. It was a gamble, a final attempt to ward off the imminent strike.

But before the Warhammer could descend, a figure in armour materialized from the chaos. With a swift and precise movement, the newcomer sliced through a vulnerable point in Robert's armour at the armpit. The blow altered the trajectory of the attack, forcing the king's arm down.

In a whirlwind of motion, the stranger spun around, using his shield to deliver a forceful blow to Robert's side. The impact staggered the King forcing him back and creating a momentary opening in his relentless assault. Daeron's mind raced, his senses struggling to make sense of this unexpected intervention.

As the newcomer turned around, removing his helmet, Daeron's disbelief transformed into astonishment. Underneath the armour stood his brother, a wide grin on his face. His brother's voice cut through the chaos, each word carrying a weight of camaraderie and loyalty. "You look surprised," he said, his grin unwavering. "Did you think I would not come when you needed me?"

Daeron found himself returning the smile as he clasped Robb's hand "You are a better brother than I deserve" he replied.

Robb shook his head "I doubted you once but never again, I'll stand with you till the end... even if that end is now" he said as he looked to the hulking giant that stood back up to his feet enraged that his quarry had been denied to him.

"Father may have been wrong about many things but one thing I believe he got right was that the lone wolf dies..." Robb states

"But the pack survives..." Daeron finishes as they both enter their sword stances and stare down the Stag King.

(AN: Yeah tbh I thought about continuing it but I want the battle to be longer and it's late as shit, anyway hope you enjoyed the chapter, trying to develop a relationship between Jon and Ashara, it's kinda hard I mean she's like twice his age what would they have in common? But yeah im trying my best. Anyway imma do the next chapter of Lost Artefacts then gonna do a new thing I've been thinking about. A Jon Dayne story.)

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