Came up with this while I was waiting for my oil change. Technically this Fic is a crossover with 40K/ASOIAF/ASOIAF The Miniature Game.
—-
[From the Archival Database of the 13th Expeditionary Fleet. Compiled by Jin Hesong of the Rememberance Order.
See: Specialist Units of the Legions. See: Sub-Topic- 12th Legion (Storm Warriors). See: Stag Knights. ]
[WARNING! DATA CORRUPTION! IMAGE NOT FOUND!]
(Image Description: Legiones Astarte wearing Cataphractii-Pattern Terminator Class Armor. Armor Coloration does not match Storm Grey-Blue of normal Storm Warriors, instead is colored in a black on gold coloration except for the pauldrons which instead feature a crowned stag instead of the Hammer-Lightning identification of the 12th Legion.
Noted features include stylized Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield which do feature regular lightning/storm motif of parent legion. Also the helmet is crowned with antlers which appear to crackle with electrical energy.
Legionannaire is identified as Ser Verric of House Thunderhawk. Notably Ser Verric is neither Planetosi or Terran and House Thunderhawk is one of the Post-Reunification astartes houses created following Aegon's reunion. ]
The Stag Knights are a noted specialist, heavy infantry of the 12th Legion whose history is in fact tied to The Stormborn's history prior to his rediscovery on Planetos and the precursor Storm Warriors. One of several such as the Wardens, Sentinels, and Champion specialist units which would be later incorporated into the Legion.
Initially formed by Robar Royce, the Stag Knights represented the more elite trained men of the Storm Warriors, notably those who came from highborn or landed knight backgrounds and had formal training prior to joining Aegon's cause. The first numbers of these men coming from The Stormlands and then later the Reach and finally other parts of the Westeros continent of the Seven Kingdoms as the Storm Warriors made their way across the continent. The Stag Knights represented the epitome of Storm Warrior tactics then and would soon be so once Aegon was reunited with his legion - namely organized, heavy infantry to shatter enemy formations in the field of battle.
The Storm Warriors battle doctrine is characterized by their ability to defeat their opposition first through drop-pod assaults followed by a steady advance of armored infantry assaults into and through opposing battle lines . Excelling at close-combat operations better than the Death Guard while not being as agile or filled with esoteric weaponry as their knightly cousins in the Dark Angels or First Legion. Indeed the largest comparison one could take between the two legions being the overspecialization of the Dark Angels and their various "Wing" formations and if a comparison could be made the 12th Legion exemplifies the so called "Deathwing" and "Ironwing" protocols en large (See: Specialist Units of the Legions. See: Sub-Topic- 1st Legion (Dark Angels). See: - Hexagrammaton) on the field of battle.
As on the fields of Planetos the Stag Knights would lead the breakthroughs as a hammer blow once battle lines had commenced, Storm Warrior training allowing for their formations to open up and close around Aegon and the Stag Knights before pushing forward and through all opposition.
On a Legion Cultural look at the Stag Knights their notable antlered helmets and gold-black colorations comes from the local history of Planetos - being the symbol of the ancient "Storm King" of House Durrandon which was taken by House Baratheon following the extinction of that house's main branch three hundred years prior to Aegon's reunion with the 12th Legion. The House heraldry contained a crowned stag, the Westerosi stag in particular the Stormlands regional equivalent is know for fatalities among hunters and other predators though also allusions can be made for fertility for a noble line.
For the Stag Knights the original antlered helmets were simply gilded stag antlers mounted onto their helmets (solid metal antlers would have much too heavy and unwieldy) however this changed following reunification. Most of the modern Stag Knights antlers are not only made of metal but have a secondary function actually as a weapon - being outfitted with electro-generators or power generators similar those on power swords and hammers.
Within the 12th Legion the Stag Knights are seen as a coveted position, as a status of great honor as being elected to join the Stag Knights means that they will be deployed if not alongside their Primarch at the very least at the head of other operations undertaken by the legion. Again allowing greater chances for gaining battle honors and advancing further up the chain of command if enough fighting ability and leadership is shown.
((Archival Image of Artistic Rendition of Stag Knights during the War of False Kings. Westerosi Calendar 298-300 AC))
Sandor
299 AC
Storm Warriors' Camp
As soon as he had been able to, he had collapsed onto his sleep roll in his own tent, no one wanted to share one with the Hound still and he was bloody thankful for that, and tried to block out the splitting headache that had been developing since earlier that day.
"You had one shot girl, just one shot to fucking kill me and you failed it. Now put down that toothpick or else-"
"Or else you'll what? You'll cut me into bloody bits just like you did Mycah?"
"What the Seven Hells is a Mycah?"
"He was my friend and you killed him! Joffrey was a drunk and a liar and you killed Mycah for him!"
He had killed the boy, had nearly cut him in half when the fool boy had run all that time ago - when Robert had been on the Iron Throne still, Joffrey had still been a twat but he had been a royal twat, and Sandor his sworn shield. Had he killed the boy for Joffrey? Yes, he had, but had he taken any pleasure in it? Not at all - how could he? The butcher boy had pissed off the wrong people and that had killed him - it just had been Sandor doing the killing.
The people were just meat and he was the butcher.
"I was ordered to kill him. I killed him. Whatever had happened between you, that boy, your sister, and the blonde shit though was the cause of it and I don't give a rat's ass. You want to kill me for it, girl? Fine then. Try it."
"You're nothing but a monster in armor. Just like your brother-"
"DON'T you compare me to my brother. I don't care what fancy name you have. I'll-"
Of course naturally all the shouting between the Hound and the Wolf Girl had attracted all sorts of attention. Royce had come up with several other warriors and separated them though the shouting only got louder and worse. He had been made to sit in Aegon's tent, in a separate corner from Arya, like he was some brat who had been caught stealing from the kitchens or fighting with a brother who hadn't been a monster.
The giant of a man had stood as impassive as a thundercloud, his eyes utterly focused on one after the other as they had been ordered to speak.
Sandor noticed as they had been commanded to retell the events from along the Trident that the girl's mother had not been called or seemed aware of what had been going on. Which was all well and good because he knew what sort of flying bitch the Lady Stark was and he did not need her shrieking in his ear as he and the Girl sniped at once another as they spoke. It was also good in that it meant the incident was being handled within the Storm Warriors' ranks - no outside politics.
After hearing them both out Aegon had disapproved of Sandor's killing of the butcher boy but he had also disapproved of Arya seeking to take her own hateful vengeance in the broad daylight of his camp.
"Wrath. Vengeance. Poisons that will destroy you both if you do not nurture it correctly. Turn it to your favor instead of your self-destruction."
While Sandor was one of his Storm Warriors, the Girl though well connected with Aegon and many of the others was not so he could not punish the Girl for her actions.
So, he had decided to punish them both by virtue of one another's company.
Sandor had been assigned as the Girl's minder at least until they arrived in Riverrun and the Starks were officially reunited with Robb Stark and his forces. He had assigned guards to both of them too to make sure neither he nor the Girl knifed one another and thus had begun the splitting headache. He had been tempted to ram his face into a tree trunk as he had seen Gregor do on occasion but had decided his face looked horrible enough without having tree in it.
She had been cheeky a few times, forcing him to follow her into the line of archers practicing their aim or trying to trip him up to fall in front of a moving cart but he had lived and that had seemed to piss her off so Sandor had been satisfied.
When the Girl had met with Dondarrion's squire he had made a comment about her replacing her friends easy enough and that had almost caused another fight.
Some of the tension had bled out when they had made a stop by Joffrey's wagon, and the Girl had shown the Squire-boy how to throw rocks right through the bars of the only window. That had pissed off the Blonde Twat and he had enjoyed himself over the little fools impotent screeching and demands for Sandor or the guards to do something.
They hadn't done anything.
Their arguing had started again soon after when, under supervision, the Girl had shown her toothpick to the Squire-boy and Sandor had called it what it was.
They had argued then about the nancy water dancing swordsmanship the girl had learned while he had argued on the virtues of 'Just Kill Them With Your Sword'.
Once they had finally went their separate ways for the night the fiery spite that he had traded back and forth with the Girl all day had left him and he had become too tired to give a fuck about anything other than curling up in his tent and sleeping.
"Just a few days, and you won't have to deal with her or her family ever again." Sandor grumbled to himself as he shut his eyes, feeling the world drop away from him as he drifted into slumber.
Then.
Sandor dreamed.
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cliff west
Sandor
007. M31
Bodt System. High Orbit Above Bodt:
Depot World of the XIIth Legion.
Bridge of the Storm's End.
Sandor flicked the power stud of his thunder hammer on, with his enhanced senses he could hear the pop of the molecular field surrounding the head of the hammer come to life -even through the chaotic din of the Storm's End's command bridge as the bonded-crew and brain dead servitors alike raced below where he stood on top of the command platform and beside the ship's command throne.
He regarded his thunder hammer.
While others in the Storm Warriors preferred to name their weapons Sandor had not cared about it with the swords or warhammers he had wielded when he had just been an ugly man among many killing others in Westeros and had carried the practice over to his new life among the stars. Still, he had been harried by the squads he had been assigned to, bringing up the practice; however, again and again, he relented and finally named his thunder hammer: Sandor's Hammer. Touch It And It Will Be Sandor's Bloody Hammer.
He personally never used the name because it was a mouthful to repeat more than once.
Usually he didn't need to repeat it more than once to anyone who asked him what its name was.
With a grunt he flicked the weapon's power off again. Then on again. Then back off.
This he continued for several more times - his only recourse from the bloody, mind fucking boredom of guard duty.
It would have been more bearable if he had been assigned anywhere else on the ship - he'd take the click-clacking of the machine-botherers in the enginarium over the command deck. His squad of Storm Wardens numbered ten, all of them born on Tegon…Planetos…whatever the hell the Remembrancers called it now…but the others were new - they were full gene-wrought astartes raised after Aegon had returned to the stars. He looked at them out of the corner of his eyes, they stood closer to the entrance to the Command Deck and had their breacher-pattern shields up and their free hands close to their own weapons: power mauls or bolters or in Lambert's case his meltagun. They kept their distance from him when necessary and did not question his commands, which he appreciated.
In one of his squads he always had some new blood gushing on about him, about fighting with the Primarch and so on. Which annoyed him. Even saying he 'invented' the whole Storm Warden specialist formation which annoyed him even more. He had been a late comer to the Storm Warriors as far as he was concerned and Aegon had already created the Warden formation which was what the XIIth legion called their most numerous specialist formation. The Storm Wardens were assigned as bodyguards for Legion commanders or high-value members of the Imperial government that the Legion worked with (mostly diplomats and generals in the Imperial Army. Occasionally a governor and at least once a Rogue Trader). Yet, ust because Aegon decided because he had a history of being a minder for brats he kept assigning him to be a sworn shield for the most annoying…
"Sandor. Desist. Or I will have your weapon fired from one of the cannons." a sharp woman's voice commanded, and it made Sandor pause if so only he could let out an angry sigh.
The Girl.
If it had not been for the Girl he maybe wouldn't mind being assigned to the Command Deck.
She sat in her command throne at the center of her own kingdom with a straight back seriousness that he thought would not have looked out of place on one of the earlier Targaryens, before they had all gone mad, while sitting on the Iron Throne and ordering about the kingdoms of Westeros. Between the shift rotations she commanded somewhere around three or five hundred bondsmen that filtered in and out of the various data pits and lecterns that made up the deck. Her uniform was in a darker gray than the Storm Warriors' own colors but was accented in similar bright blues and across her chest was the symbol of an upturned white sword flanked by two yellow lightning bolts. Her tendency, and fearlessness, when she was speaking her mind and voicing her own opinion tickled something in the fog of Sandor's memories.
"I'd just get another one, Girl." Sandor's twisted features stretched into a smirk as he addressed Flag-Captain Lorrin Satara who looked at him from the command throne with a hard, unamused look for several seconds before she returned in kind with her own smirk.
"Then I will send a report to the Stormborn commending your service and make recommendations for similar future assignments."
She wasn't bluffing, she had done it before.
In the chain of command of the Legions the ship captains of the various vessels that served the XIIth were further down than most legiones officers. So even though he was just a 'humble' squad sergeant he outranked her and could take over command, but then there was the fact that he did not know how to command a ship or care to. The Girl even had a devoted following among the Storm Warrior companies assigned to the Storm's End (except for those legiones who were particularly disdainful of the more mortal crew members. At least a handful had been sent to the Apothecarium in short order) - and seemed to have Aegon's ear more often than not. So overall while both of them certainly could make the other's life a short hell they had settled on annoying one another to keep themselves entertained between bouts of more 'exciting' activity.
Sandor bit back his retort as one of the command crew members called up from one of the communication lecterns, "M'am, Ser -" he still hated it when they called him Ser, "we are receiving a message from the surface. Cogitators are compiling the message contents now."
"Send it to the hololith as soon as it is finished. We need to be ready if Captain Kharn requires the Storm's End to provide support." she turned and called out to another bondsman fussing over a pair of servitors plugged into their stations, "What about the boarding parties? I saw a report of one of the retrieval thunderhawks returning to Bay Delta-5."
"The last report we received from Bay Delta-5 was in regards to the thunderhawk making a successful landing. No further reports about the status of the warriors onboard." the bondsman replied, a servo skull drifting through the air past his head.
"Follow up on that now. I want…"
Sandor's mind drifted away from the conversation and over to the great oculus where he saw the vast hull of the Storm's End spread out in front of him as if he was looking down the blade of a massive sword. Painted in the blue-storm grey of the Storm Warriors the ship bristled with massive gun turrets across the Gloriana-class ship's entire length. Whereas normally the view he saw was also dominated by empty space, or steel shutters when travel was made through the warp, now it was filled with the broken wreck of a starship that looked like a toy broken by a child that had thrown a tantrum.
The Justified Aggression, had been the legion's sole remaining Annihilator-class battleship. The class of battleship had been more popular during the early years of the Great Crusade due to the early sense of needing to level overwhelming firepower over finesse in early fleet engagements. Eschewing now more popular broadside armaments the ship class was dominated by a pair of massive battle cannons that measured half of the ship's length and rotated up to a 180 degree angle on a firing platform situated in the middle of the ship's upper half. The cannons' shells were powerful enough to rip smaller ships in half, tearing through the armor plating and leaving very little for salvage after the payload exploded. However, the ship's lack of speed and limited firing arc eventually saw it outclassed and mothballed with most of the survivors, such as the Justified Aggression, being relegated to in-system defense pickets.
Had it been being forgotten by the rest of the Thirteenth Expeditionary Fleet and the XIIth Legion that had turned the crew to the side of Horus as Sandor assumed had happened with Gheer and his bitterness or had it been some other outside influence?
In the end it didn't matter. Not when the vengeful Storm Warriors had returned to Bodt to put down Gheer's insurrection. Especially not when the Storm's End had blasted past the first and only volley the Justified Aggression had fired in the void battle and having come close enough the Girl had commanded the Storm's End's weapon crews to fire their most fearsome weapon - the Lightning Claws.
Once the command had been given the Justified Aggression's fate had been sealed as a small tide of harpoon-like armaments had sailed through the void of space and pierced all along the starboard hull of the traitor vessel. Coursing arcs of energy had passed from the Storm's End through the massive chains that linked the claws to its foe, the power surge shorting out systems across multiple decks of the Justified Aggression - if not outright electrifying the human crew to burnt cinders. Then like an Ibbenese abhuman whaler the Storm's End had pulled closer the Justified Aggression so that when the loyalist Storm Warriors had launched their boarding torpedo's not a single one had missed their target and had unloaded the Warden Breacher Squads that had overtaken the ship from within. Even while the Storm's End had been locked with its defeated foe in a death grip it had fired broadsides at the Justified Aggression's escorts but they had been quickly overwhelmed by the rest of the fleet and had opened the way for Kharn and his companies to make planetfall and bring Gheer and his traitors to justice.
"-arn. Report-...decimmia captured. Tra-...rounded up. Those who-...dead.`` The static filled voice of Assault Captain Kharn brought Sandor back to the command throne as the image of Kharn shifted and stuttered before him and the Girl.
"Looks like we didn't miss much of a fight. Nancies." Sandor scoffed, the Girl silently nodded though she did not look at him as she focused on the message which continued.
"...arning. Discovered elements of…th among Gheer's dogs. They killed hi-..." Kharn continued and Sandor felt his blood quicken.
"Who? Who killed Gheer?" Sandor demanded, he flicked the power stud on Sandor's Hammer. Touch It And It Will Be Sandor's Bloody Hammer. It had to have been one of the other Traitor Legions. Which one though? Or maybe another legion had turned on the Throne World. Was it the Khan's horde? They reminded him enough of the Dothraki of Essos before their horse-armies had been broken. This time the Girl did not scowl at him, she was already scowling at one of her minions below them.
"Replay that last section of the message now, and by the Seven Virtues and the Seven Hells clean up this static or I'll boot you back to the lower decks one step at a time!" Sarrin barked and the crew below her rushed into activity. After several minutes the image of Kharn solidified again as it spoke.
"Warning. Discovered elements of the Ninth Legion. I repeat, the Blood Angels, the Ninth among Gheer's dogs. They killed him and drained his blood but not in that order. Beware that other forces of the Ninth may be in-system."
Memories came unbidden to the front of his mind with all of the grace of the monsters the Blood Angels had become. He remembered the Shattering where they had chased after the Storm Warriors, their boarding torpedoes littering the Storm's End like fat leeches as they had disgorged howling monstrosities. They had, had Aegon then and had beaten back or killed the Blood Angels that had made it onto the ship but the fighting had been a mad thing as they purged the invaders from every corner and the decks where the Ninth had made the most progress had been blood and gore filled abbattoirs as the bondsmen crew had been slaughtered like lambs. He had witnessed as some of the Blood Angels had transformed into more fiendish beasts, their bodies bursting out of their armor and becoming creatures of fang and a terrible thirst. Now once more the Storm's End was being violated by the presence of the twisted angels.
At that moment dramatically, and didn't Sandor HATE when his life became some sort of drama, bolter fire echoed from the otherside of the lock-gates that made up the entranceway to the Command Deck. That would have been the gun-servitors slaved to their weapon ports outside of the entranceway.
The sound of their guns had cut off far too sooner than it would have if they had killed the intruders.
Someone or something pounded on the other side of the gate and the metal groaned as it deformed under the frantic blows.
"Storm Wardens form up on the door. Keep them corralled at the entrance otherwise they'll be loose among the bondsmen like a fox among chickens. They're obsessed with blood so much they want it anyway they can. Their can't be many of them otherwise we would have noticed, they wanted to fucking chop off our heads well we're going to cut off their heads and piss down their throats instead!" Sandor hefted his thunder hammer and his breacher shield and advanced onto the forming line of legiones. Five additional bondsmen joined his warriors wordlessly, these were the ship's voidsmen - bondsmen equipped with boarding shotguns assigned for security for the vast majority of the city sized ship. Behind him the Girl spat out a string of orders.
"I want a high-alert message to be sent to all other ships in the fleet and Kharn's forward command post in Tredecimmia. I am also locking down the Command Deck and transferring command to the secondary post outside of Vorias' Librarium. Only by Kharn's orders will the command be restored here so there will be no chance of groveling to the traitors from anyone here. Anyone who tries, I will blow your brains out." Sarrin looked almost like she would breathe fire at any moment.
The bondsmen cowered under Sarrin's gaze, those not given security las-pistols being herded by the lower officers to the pits farthest away from the entrance - the only ones who did not leave their posts were the servitors by virtue of being plugged into them.
The pounding on the door continued.
Giving the Girl an approving nod he joined his squad, his breacher shield locking in place with Wyman and Poul on either side of him - he took center place among their formation. Just as he did so though, the sound of metal finally shearing away filled the Command Deck as a quarter of the lock-gates came away and he caught a glimpse of something too large and swollen to be an astartes-
-before bolter fire from the outer edges of Storm Wardens' formation blasted the thing back with an outraged howl.
The Storm Warriors had taken up a semi-circle like array, with Sandor and those among his men wielding power mauls at the center and those with ranged weapons at the ready at the ends of their line. That way the enemy would be forced away from trying to skirt the edge of their shields and come straight toward Sandor and his hammer.
And it worked.
The hole in the lock-gates widened as the Blood Angels charged, eight of their number in total their once glorious, if overly pompous, armor looked like it had been worn down or chipped away to a gore-stained echo of what it had once been. The feathery angel wings motifs had become jagged, any of their previous ornamentation had been deliberately or just uncaringly broken off - skulls seemed to replace them on brass chains that jangled as their new owners charged. What was most noticeable was the varying shades of red and crimson that splattered their armor - what was paint and what was dried blood he couldn't tell even if he had wanted to. Those with helmets had broken away the vox-grille over the mouths leaving an open space which displayed their slavering mouths and pointed fangs.
While Sandor and his men barely outnumbered the Blood Angels, the biggest problem though was the Blood Fiend among their number - the legiones astartes the fiend had once been had swollen up in size, where his body had broken through the ceramite of his armor the skin was darkened an abyssal black or colored an angry red - their hands ending in claws that almost seemed to glow with the light of some infernal forge. This one's helmet was gone, his features half warped from handsomeness that a small part of Sandor had secretly envied to an semi-cone like head with twisting horns rising out from either side of his temples. The Blood Fiend's teeth had also either been coated with molten brass or they had somehow just changed to be that way.
Sandor had known many kinds of monsters in his lifetime and the Blood Angels in his opinion had just become honest ones.
Four of the bolters among Sandor's men rattled off, their explosive rounds ripping into two of the Blood Angels and sending them crashing to the deck - for a split second he saw one feebly try to extend a malformed tongue from its mouth to lap at its own spilled blood before a bolter round turned its face into a mess. Lambert's meltagun caused the air to shimmer as the beam of heated energy streaked toward the Blood Fiend and it caught it - but it was only a glancing blow as while the fiend's shoulder pauldron melted across its arm it barely seemed to notice the damage - it did however make it lag just behinds its more mortal fellows The boarding shotguns from the voidsmen caused a third Blood Angel to stagger but it limped forward with unnatural speed.
The surviving Blood Angels crashed into the Storm Warriors' shields with enough force to make them take a step back - but they did not break. Even as the Blood Angels raked at them with chainswords and claws the Storm Warriors stood firm - together.
"Strike!" Sandor hollered, and lifted his thunder hammer up and brought it down past his shield, the moment echoed by five other warriors with their power mauls. He smelt the stink of rotten meat on the traitor angel in front of him a moment before the once-man's howling face was pulverized by the head of Sandor's hammer. Bone, blood and cartilage breaking apart under the power of the weapon's molecular energy field - and when he withdrew his arm back to let his foe's body fall dead there was not a trace of any blood of meat on his weapon as it was scoured by the same energy field.
To his left and right he saw three more of the Blood Angels go down under the synchronized blows of Sandor's squad. However, the traitors took their own compensation for that. Rodwell strangled a scream in his throat as a chainsword got underneath his arm and cut into the fibers just below his elbow - shearing the rest of his arm away from his body and making him fall to his knees - but still holding his shield. Worse though came a moment later as the Blood Fiend crashed into Wyman on Sandor's left, a flick of the fiend's claws separating the warrior's head from his shoulders and letting loose an arterial flow of blood to which the monster sickeningly lapped at with its mutated tongue even as it sent the warrior on Wyman's otherside - Tessaro - flying back with a great bloody rent in his shield and his shoulder.
"Strike! Get behind them and strike! Don't fucking hit the oculus or we're all dead!" Sandor commanded, his squad following his orders as those on the outer edges of their shield formation broke off so they could fire their weapons into the backs of the Blood Angels - successfully bringing down the one who had been injured by the voidsmen and forcing the one who had wounded Rodwell away - he ignored that one as he knew the others would box in the Blood Angel and deal with him - no his worry was on the Blood Fiend who - as if attracted to the scent of Tessaro's blood - followed after the stricken warrior - one claw reaching out to-
-a flurry of las-pistol shots struck the Blood Fiend across its exposed side, seeming to do little damage but enough to have it recoil back a step and turn its head toward Lotara Sarrin from where she stood before the command throne.
"Get off my ship, monster!" She pulled the trigger again and this time the Blood Fiend actually recoiled as if it had been hurt.
The beast would tear through the Girl as if she was made of wet paper - and then gorge itself on the blood of the crew behind her - but the distraction was all Sandor needed.
"Listen to the Girl and go back to whatever hells spawned you!" Sandor yelled as he came up behind the Blood Fiend and smashed his thunder hammer into the twisted astartes' backside. Causing it to twist in real pain and give a shriek as it tried to swat at Sandor as if he were a bug or annoyance. Sandor parried its slower, weaker blows beating back at it and seeming to cause it to become more frustrated and more importantly focused on him - which was what he wanted.
Weakened as it was, it could still tear him bloody limb from blood limb but beating it in combat had not been Sandor's aim - he just needed to lure it into an open enough spot for Lambert to bring up his meltagun.
The Blood Fiend's upper torso disappeared in a hot flash of energy that left a red afterimage on the back of Sandor's eye lids for several seconds. A scream seemed to echo after the beast had been killed before it became silent as the Blood Fiend's corpse smacked into the ground. Behind Sandor he heard the remaining Blood Angels let out an almost affronted sounding shriek before it too was silenced.
"Vox the Apothecarium now and have them send aid up - with an escort, I won't have anyone wounded walking into a trap by going down to them" Sandor ordered without missing a beat, "Once that's done form up again, we are the Storm Wardens."
"Our Foes Break Against Us." echoed his warriors.
Nodding he turned and climbed back to the command throne - where the Girl had already turned away from Sandor and his men and was issuing orders to the bondsmen as they returned to their work pits. The displays around the command throne came to life again as information was sent back and forth between the deck and the various other systems spread out across the Storm's End.
Looking at her Sandor felt a shiver up his spine as his vision blurred. The Girl was still on the throne but she and it were different, it looked worn as if it had not been maintained properly for months, she looked haggard and worn - as if slowly bleeding from an invisible wound. Her uniform was replaced with a dirty one, the color might have once been white, but most notable about it was the large, blood red handprint across her chest.
He blinked again and the image was gone - like the afterimage of the Blood Fiend.
She spared him a look and said nothing but gave him a nod. He returned it and looked back down at the hololith of Kharn's frozen features…and felt as if something was amiss.
The Blood Angels had certainly become more suicidal and cared not for except that blood flowed. Yet, this had a purpose. They wanted to take out the Command Deck and…do what? They wouldn't have been able to take over the entire ship. Not since command had been seconded away. He looked at the displays again with all of their reels of data. It wasn't just the Storm's End's data - it came from and was relayed to the rest of the fleet.
"The secondary command post by the Libarium." Sandor turned to the Girl, "If those blood-crazed maniacs had been able to butcher everyone here. Would they have been able to...to handle all of the systems work the same as here?"
She raised an eyebrow at him but seemed to turn his question over in her head thoughtfully, "...no. They would be able to deal with ship primary functions but secondary functions such as spreading out communication data and compiling would not be possible. If the Command Deck had to have been retaken it would have taken hours - days to repair and bring up to functionality."
The Storm Warriors' fleet had been concentrated around Bodt but they also had other ships scattered throughout the system.
"Are there any priority messages? Something we may have missed?" Sandor asked.
Turning to her displays, the Girl eyed them, scanning through the data for several long minutes before something appeared to catch her eye.
"It's one of the astropaths on one of the picket ships toward the mandeville point. They report…they report a disturbance in the warp. A fleet is moving and they are coming toward Bodt."
"Seven Hells. This was a trap." Sandor thumped his thunder hammer into the deck plating, "Sanguinius. He must be coming here to-"
XxxxxxxxxX
Sandor
299 AC
Storm Warriors' Camp
Sandor awoke from his dream with a jolt, sweat beading down his face and across his chest. For a moment he felt terror - deep, strong terror and did not know why he did.
He tried to recall the dream, had it been a nightmare? It was like trying to grab fog - as much as he tried to recall it he couldn't - it was like a void had opened up and swallowed all of his memories of it. Perhaps it had been another one about his brother?
He struggled with it for several more minutes before he gave up, cursed and got up - he needed to take a piss. Walking out of his camp into the still pre-dawn light of the morning he spotted several riders getting ready to set out from the camp. He recognized their leader, Ser Andrew Estermont - Stannis Baratheon's former squire who was as stone faced as the least loved of the Baratheons had been. Though if he had been like this after or before Stannis had lit up like a torch after one look from Aegon, or so the stories he heard had said, Sandor did not know.
"Off for a ride around the countryside?" Sandor asked him as he came up to their party, ignoring the glares from the other riders. Estermont, who seemed to now almost worship the ground Aegon walked on, shook his head.
"The Stormborn has commanded us to ride to Riverrun - we will be the heralds of his arrival."
Last edited: Aug 22, 2022
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Brienne IV
King's Landing
299 AC
Brienne was very good with a sword.
She knew how to fight with a short sword and shield or a longsword. She was fair with a lance but knew her way around her own saddle and could take care of her charger on her own. She never had her own squire so she was well experienced in maintaining her own armor and kit - something she still tended to herself except for the more serious damage that would need to be repaired or replaced. She knew not to react to an opponent but to keep her own head, to conserve her own strength and not spend it foolishly - until the time was right to strike or so Ser Goodwin her family's old Master-at-Arms had taught her. Aegon who had seemed to be able to master anything he put his mind to had praised her not just for her strength of arm, but her ability to always strive ahead.
Words though were things she was NOT very good with.
How was she ever to fight words? They could not be cut or pushed aside - though they so often cut her deeply to her own core. Worse, they were not as obvious and often more than not she was ill prepared to defend herself from them - for often they skulked like some blackguard before they struck. No, the list of battles fought with words that she had lost was a long one and just thinking of it made her eyes slide over to her fellow Kingsguard (or Rainbow Guard as Renly had first named them though in truth he and many others used it interchangeably.) at where he stood on the opposite side of the Queen's chair, Ronnet Connington did not show any sign that he acknowledged her existence.
"This single rose will be all that you shall ever get from me, Oh Beauty of Tarth."
She was VERY good with a morningstar too.
And she had been immensely satisfied with her victory over him in the melees that had allowed her the dreamed and cherished opportunity to become one of Good King Renly's own Kingsguard, even if he had been offered a cloak by her Renly later on.
She had put aside her own feelings about Connington - he had not.
"On behalf of my good husband, King Renly Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms I wish to begin this meeting of the Small Council." the Queen smiled as she spoke, and it was so warm and affectionate that Brienne felt that she had to avert her gaze. Since Brienne's recovery from the dastardly ambush by the Lannisters that had been her proudest moment - protecting Her King with her very being from assasination that she dreamed of for so long - the meetings of the Small Council that she had attended had been chaired by the Queen, Margaery. It was something not uncommonly done in the past history of the Iron Throne, certainly the Bitch Queen (as many were referring to the unlamented Cersei) had attended them on behalf of her son, Bloody Joffrey (as again many of the smallfolk were referring to him - she thought it was something perhaps spread by the Tyrells in particular). It had also been done in other instances of regencies or when the King and Hand of the King were indisposed. While she was...disappointed…that she had not been assigned to stand for Her Renly as much as she had before she had saved him and been injured she was still determined in her duty to protect his queen.
Whose company she seemed to spend almost every waking hour with.
Not that Margaery, beloved by the smallfolk, seemed to need Brienne's arm for even now the Small Council basked if not returned her warmth.
The only absent position was of Grand Maester which had not been filled since Pycelle, the Lannister creature, had been removed from his position. Only Varys as Master of Whispers remained - having served under Aerys the Mad, Good King Robert, Bloody Joffrey, and now Good King Renly. Though she disdained him she had to concede that he must be good at what he did to have retained his position - though it was begrudgingly given. Lumpy nosed Lord Orton Merryweather had taken Renly's original position as Master of Laws, while Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor had taken over Stannis' old position as Master of Ships. Garth Tyrell had taken over the traitor Littlefinger's position as Master of Coin after the weasel had fled King's Landing. Ser Loras Tyrell as Lord Commander of the Rainbow Guard had his own seat on the council, his father Mace Tyrell was Hand of the King but they along with King Renly were absent. Mace heading north with Aegon to Riverrun, Loras and Renly…well she did not know
At times she thought it odd that though Renly was from the Stormlands by birth his entire council, bar the Essoi Varys, were reachmen. If her fellow stormlander Connington felt anything off by it he did not confide in her - not that he would have anyway, but she had heard Lord Bryce Caron the Orange mutter (again, another difference in Her Renly's Rainbow Guard was that a landed lord could be among them. And it seemed they could MARRY and have…relations. Something banned under the original Kingsguard that she had idolized and twisted in her stomach that the other rainbow knights did not offer their full devotion to Renly. Then again…she never would have been accepted the Whitecloaks due to her sex, now would she?).
"This may yet be an auspicious meeting," Varys' amused voice set her on edge, "I've received word from my little birds that the delegation to Riverrun should be there if not today then tomorrow." Varys' put his hands together, hidden within the sleeves of his foreign robes, "Mayhaps this will mean peace and law will return to the Seven Kingdoms!"
"Hmph. More like six of them, if not five and a half." Lord Redwyne scowled at the eunuch, "the ironborn still run amok in the North and WILL need to be brought to heel - as we did during Balon Greyjoy's last rebellion against the Iron Throne."
Redwyne had of course fought the ironborn before, during the last Greyjoy Rebellion having commanded the Arbor's warships alongside Stannis at the Battle of Fair Isle that had seen them smash Victarion Greyjoy's fleet and allow for the final invasion of the Iron Islands themselves.
"You are both correct in your sentiments." the Queen acknowledged with a dip of her head, "We agree with Varys in hopes that the peace negotiations with the Lord Stark will bear fruit and stop the wanton savagery of the ironborn - this we know our husband the King agrees on and hopes for in equal measure." Redwyne smiled fondly at the Queen, as did Varys though Brienne could tell his was a good deal more strained.
"I agree, and hope old Hoster and the Young Pup of Winterfell can be made to see reason so that the violence from Robert's death can finally be laid to rest," Orton added in, pausing before he continued, "However if they do not bend the knee then assuredly the Stormborn will make him do it - and smash any resistance they hope to commit, ey?"
This last comment by Lord Merryweather was directed at Brienne making her startle.
"M-my brother…my brother Aegon…" Brienne stammered, steeling herself against the sudden and unexpected attention of the Small Council. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Ronnet smirk. Margaery looked neither critical or expectant. "He will…he will do as any Knight would." Brienne finished, lamely perhaps or perhaps not.
It seemed to please Lord Merryweather at least as he nodded absently, "Yes, just as I thought. He will obey whatever Lord Tyrell commands as is a knight's vow." Most of the other members of the council added their agreements, only Varys looked skeptical and it rankled her at the thought that he would doubt Aegon.
"Regardless, once the Ironborn have been removed from the North…" Lord Redwyne cleared his throat, "The Royal Navy, the Arbor Fleet, and the Lannister fleet out of Lannisport - if the bloody Imp can even GET the Westerlands back in order-"
"Speaking of, it seems that the Lannister holdouts within the Crownlands and most of the Riverlands have been 'removed'" Varys interrupted Lord Redwyne which caused the red-haired older man to glare at the Essoi, "I managed to spread so many rumors…that Tommen Hill was still in King's Landing, that Cersei was being held in Rosby, that her and her children were secretly being moved up the Blackwater that many of the holdouts fell for it and have been dealt with by Reachmen forced under Lord Tarly."
"Yes, our Lord Husband did mention receiving a raven of the news just the other day," Margaery added in, which confused Brienne as she had been guarding Margaery all that time and she had not spoken with Renly at all, "Like bees to a flower. Those that -did- bend the knee were sent back to the Westerlands though from what we have heard there are many still who are standing in the way of Tyrion Lannister claiming Casterly Rock."
"Once the-"
"I suppose the Lord Lannister saying they would offer a reward worth their weight in gold sounds a bit more lackluster nowadays…" Orton sneered which earned a chuckle from Garth. Though he had spoken over Redwyne whose face was taking on a shade not that far in color from the grapes grown on the Arbor.
If the Imp was having so much trouble gaining the fealty of the westernmen lords then why hadn't Tarly or one of the other commanders of the Reach's armies gone with him to restore order? It couldn't be that the new Lord Lannister was being set up to fail. The sooner peace returned to the West then the gold and silver mines could be reopened…
"Will the fleet be moving on Dragonstone, Lord Redwyne?" Margaery asked, deftly forestalling what looked like an imminent eruption from the Master of Ships who gave the Queen a thankful nod before he spoke.
"Yes, though hopefully the Seahorses are being truthful in their intentions to go over to Renly."
"I hope so," Garth coughed, his words becoming dark edged, "if only so I can see Axell Florent dragged in chains before the Iron Throne."
"From what my Little Birds have told me we can believe Aurane Waters' testament in regards to Lord Velayron's intentions." Varys smiled thinly, "Stannis has still not awoken from his coma and Monford HAS been seen arguing with the Florents on several occasions."
Lord Monford Velayron, the Lord of Driftmark was the main naval strength of the remnants of Stannis' forces though stewardship over Dragonstone and the houses that had remained by Stannis' side following Storm's End had been headed by his wife Selyse Florent's family. House Florent were rivals to House Tyrell. The Florents had apparently greatly traded on Selyse's marriage to Stannis AND the birth of Edric Storm (which had occurred when King Robert had bedded her cousin at her wedding to Stannis) and had used it to greatly annoy the Tyrells. Though not all of the family had sided with Stannis, Axell Florent had done the right thing in siding with Renly and so House Florent had split over loyalty to both Baratheon brothers. Which explained Garth's glee at seeing their downfall, though his great-niece did not appear to share his maliciousness toward them.
The Lord of Driftmark had secretly sent his bastard half-brother, Aurane Waters to King's Landing not long ago to parley with Renly. The King had been…greatly taken in by the handsome looking man, something that Brienne had noticed had perturbed Loras. For clemency and apparently Monford wanted to be raised to Lord of Dragonstone - though by the way Aurane talked he seemed to hint that he was also angling for the seat on top of legitimization.
"Especially recently for some reason - there has been some sort of shift or event on Dragonstone. Which unfortunately is being kept behind tightly closed doors." Varys shrugged his shoulders beneath his silken robes but then he seemed to brighten as he turned to the oldest Tyrell, "Though that reminds me of men sneaking about on ships on the Blackwater, I also gave a report to the Master of Coin."
"Now as for the matter of the missing coin that the thief Baelish stole from the treasury and smuggled out of the city after his escape," Garth seemed to hurry through his words as he spoke, "...the missing money has not been found among the establishments we have managed to track to him within King's Landing."
"I have to concur with Garth's statement." Orton looked anywhere but at the eyes of anyone else in the room as he spoke, "Baelish must have smuggled it out from the city even BEFORE it came under siege - or he did it a little at a time maybe. Everyone connected to the man that I have spoken to says he was a crafty weasel - even if he did give weasels a bad name.
"Which means the Crown may have to delay payments to the Iron Bank, yes?" Margaery seemed to share in the woe displayed by both her great-uncle and the Master of Laws, as if in solidarity with them - a frown did not look well on her pretty face Brienne thought, "Or borrow from House Tyrell and I am sure you know Great-Uncle how our own finances have been stretched between taking King's Landing and all of the free food we have given to the poor people here. If Father were in King's Landing now we would be able to come to a decision on it sooner but a raven will have to be dispatched to him."
"Baelish will be found, your Highness." Varys spoke with an uncharacteristic word of concern, "If he has fled to Essos then the Iron Bank may be helpful in finding him as well if we told them of course…" Varys paused as if to let the suggestion sink in before he continued, "Once he is back in chains here though I may be able to raise some funds myself - by selling tickets to his trial!"
Some of the other men around the table added their own words of encouragement and the meeting continued though to Brienne it appeared as if a small, dark cloud had settled over the remaining time. Once all of the business had been gone over with promises by Margaery to inform both her husband and Father of the discussions and updates the Small Council adjourned and fractured going their separate ways. By then the sun had set, servants having come in to light the candles in the room during the meeting.
Brienne and Ronnet followed Margaery through the now candlelit corridors of the Red Keep to the Queen's chambers. They had formerly been Cersei's own chambers within the Red Keep but as soon as she had moved into them Margaery had removed all trace of the foul woman - even replacing the furniture and tapestries with images of golden flowers on green fields.
It was hard to remember a time when Renly had called on Margaery to attend him in his own chambers within the keep.
Per their schedules, both Brienne and Ronnet would be relieved from their duty watching over the Queen halfway through the night. So that they could return to their own chambers in the White Tower, get food and sleep for themselves. Before that though each of them would stand guard within and without the chamber doors keeping their guard. Servants arrived to help the Queen out of her dress and into a bath before she would take her sleep but as they did so there was an awkward amount of time where both Brienne and Ronnet were alone together and outside of Margaery's view or range of hearing.
Of course that was when Ronnet attacked her.
With his words.
"You know, just the other day I was chatting with Merryweather's fetching wife, Lady Taena, and she had told me the most interesting rumor worming its way through every floor and wall of the Red Keep - even through the city I daresay!" Ronnet smiled at her as he spoke and she was darkly reminded of the same smile he had worn when they had first met over her engagement.When he had posed as a welcoming suitor.
"I do not-" Brienne tried to say but he spoke over her, taking several steps close into her personal space.
"She said the people are saying that the only, and I mean only, reason you are here attending on the Queen, is because of your brother - the Mountain of Tarth." he spat the words, and it rankled her that he was comparing Aegon to Gregor Clegane by using that sobriquet. "That the only reason you weren't dismissed from Renly's Rainbow Guard - now that the novelty - of a woman wielding a sword has worn off - is because everyone admires and fears him."
"I am here because I proved myself to the King - and because I beat you-" Brienne felt her blood boil but she resisted the urge - barely to place her hand on the hilt of her sword. She was headstrong that she acknowledged and had paid for it time and time again but the advice of Aegon's words rang in her head. 'Shut it. Close it behind gates of steel within your mind.'
Still Ronnet continued over her. His sneer taking up his face and warping his handsome features into something cruel - what he was behind the mask of a knight.
"They even say- don't you know? That you only wear your cloak because you put yourself before the King like a mare before a stud and even then because your face looks close enough to a ma-"
Brienne felt her walls and gates within her mind buckle and she could feel her hand form a fist- but she was interrupted before she could take any action by the return of Margaery and the servants.
"SER Connington." Margaery said, her voice even and cool - as was the gaze she leveled at Ronnet. She wore an ivory silk nightdress, her brown hair braided for her sleep. Despite her womanly figure she was small, she was much shorter than both of her Kingsguard and yet she wore command about her that made her seem at least a foot taller, she advanced as she spoke, siding up to Brienne and linking arms with her (a part of Brienne marveled at how such a beauty could link arms with a beastly woman like herself), "If you would tonight take the shift outside of our chambers. We promise that we will not tell our husband, His Majesty, that such salacious rumors came from your own mouth."
She smiled at him, her thorns hidden again beneath her beautiful petals.
Ronnet's eyebrows shot up and he seemed to choke on what he was going to say, sputtering he swallowed and bowed to Margaery - eyes looking straight down at the floor, "Yes, as your Highness commands it we will do. I just wanted to ensure my…compatriot was aware."
And then he retreated in a blur of red armor and cloak - closing the door behind him as the servants left (and at least one of them appeared to be whispering to another while looking at Ronnet behind his back).
"Do you suffer very much from men like Connington?" Margaery asked, still at her side with arms linked - as if she was a friend supporting her to her own feet.
"I-My Lady," Brienne stumbled over her words again, bewildered that the Queen would come to her -rescue- (and she smelled very nice). Brienne willed herself to stop and compose herself, she gathered her thoughts and words as if they were her own armor and shield - she felt like she owed Margaery the truth, "I have, but less so in recent years. With those who have believed in me - my brother and the King."
She looked away, at the ceiling, the wall, the door, and the wall again before Margaery spoke, drawing her attention.
"Grandmother has told me, and this I agree with, that in her opinion you are a 'most singular' individual, Brienne the Blue." that made Brienne stare at Margaery. The Queen of Thorns had actually complimented her - and it didn't sound as if it had been sarcastic or biting at all? "Grandmother's good opinion is certainly worth more than a dozen - no, two dozen - a hundred men like Connington."
She smiled, and Brienne noticed that this smile that graced Margaery's face was…different. As the young woman's bodyguard for months now Brienne had seen the young Tyrell smile quite a bit - it was sometimes exhausting to her. She had smiles at Renly, at knights, at lords and ladies of houses great and small, at Aegon, and at the smallfolk but this smile was unlike those smiles. Brienne did not know what it meant but she felt like she had to…she had to do something to show her appreciation.
So she went down to one knee and bowed her head to Margaery, "Thank you, My Lady. I-I both your grandmother and your words- I shall take them to heart and carry them with me."
Davos II
King's Landing
299 AC
It was said that he could sneak a ship into port blindfolded and lashed to the wheel.
While Davos was not one to boast his sons were certainly ones to and he didn't very often disagree with their pride in their father.
He was just a good smuggler. He knew the key to his trade was skill - and knowledge (not of the sorts the maesters wrote in their heavy tomes but the kind that helped you live another day). He had combed over at least once every inch of the shoreline from the Blackwater to the strait of Tarth at least once in his lifetime and knew what angle to bring in a small skiff at an angle to King's Landing's walls where in the dead of night would not be noticed by any of the Goldcloaks on the walls (or any fellow passers-in-the-night for that matter).
It also helped that he had taught his sons well.
As the skiff came ashore Dale, his eldest, deftly leaped ashore with line in hand steadying the boat that it would not wander and was in a few blinks safely secured for the skiff's captain and passenger could come ashore without alerting anyone by sight or by sound of wood clattering against rock. Davos steadied his passenger as their smaller body struggled against the rocking boat beneath their feet and saw them on solid earth before he too followed up the rock as quiet as a sept mouse.
"Lantern." Davos whispered, and was immediately proud as he was handed a covered lantern by Dale and even as he spoke and without a word of his own ushered their passenger against the wall of the city and even more out of sight. Smuggler lanterns were covered on most of the sides of the light so it focused the light only in one direction - that was kept downward and low enough for smugglers such as Davos to see and not trip over their own feet and crack their head open.
Without a word he stalked along the edge of the wall, one hand on his passenger as he guided them in the dark - until after a handful of steps they found what he was looking for. To anyone looking at the spot at the base of the wall from above or at a distance it would have looked like just a group of rocks - and it was - except by cunning placement the rocks blocked a small crevice - that lead directly into the city's wall. It had been several weeks since a storm had struck across the bay so the likelihood of the smuggler tunnel being flooded was low - even better the sewer on the other side was most likely to be unflooded as well. From there it was only a short way to a small house - shack really - that he had purchased within the city and had friends from Flea Bottom occasionally use to ward off the chance of any squatters taking up residence.
His mind ate at him though and it made him turn to his passenger and bend down so he could speak to them, "Are you sure about this?"
There was hesitation in her posture - she was so young yet the gods had made her go through so much in her short life - followed by determination. He could imagine her greyscale scarred features attempting to copy an impression of her father's hard looks.
"Yes" Shireen Baratheon whispered back."During the Dance, the Hand Larys the Strong hid Aegon the Second on Dragonstone - beneath the nose of Rhaenyra and her Black-loyalists. I'm safer here than...than…"
Underneath the clutches of the Florents or the Velayrons. A pawn. Or the mania of her own mother.
Davos grimaced but did not voice his thoughts. He silently laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. She seemed to relax at his gesture and followed him as he guided her into King's Landing.
Last edited: Sep 23, 2022
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