The sound of thousands of people fighting and dying littered the battlefield, the clashing of steel and the sounds of bones breaking and bodies hitting the ground. It had been less than a few hours since the battle started and yet a pungent odour filled the air, one ripe with the smell of death. All of these sounds and smells did not affect Daeron and Robb, they did not focus on anything but the opponent in front of them. King Robert Baratheon stood in front of them like an enraged wild animal, but both Daeron and Robb who were only 15 name days stared down the dangerous warrior.
"Just like your father! A fucking spineless traitor! Don't have the balls to do what needs to be done!" Robert boomed as he clenched his fists around his Warhammers, his anger bubbling and boiling beneath the surface.
Robb shook his head "I will protect my family and if that makes me a traitor so be it..."
"I'll make sure to not break your body too badly for when I send your body home to your father," Robert said Maliciously.
Robb felt a chill go up his spine, he looked to Daeron whose eyes hadn't left the man before them "Do you think we can take him?" He whispered, it had the effect of snapping Daeron out of his thoughts and he looked back to Robb.
He smirked "One Warhammer for each of us, it can't be too hard" he replied making Robb snort, They both then got into their stance and held their swords up ready to fight the monstrous man before them.
The battlefield was a whirlwind of chaos and violence as Daeron and Robb charged the King. Their swords gleamed in the sunlight, ready to confront the colossal might of Robert Baratheon and his twin Warhammers.
The King responded with a thunderous bellow, swinging his Warhammers with a raw fury that could shatter bone. Daeron and Robb, recognizing the need for agility over strength, moved with a grace that belied their youth.
The first clash of steel on steel sent sparks flying. The King's Warhammer met Daeron's sword, a deafening crash echoing across the battlefield. Daeron's arms shook from the impact, but he parried to the side, deflecting the Warhammer's full force away from him. Beside him, Robb sidestepped the other Warhammer, the ground trembling where it landed.
They danced around the King, each step a calculated move to avoid the crushing blows. Daeron feinted, drawing the King's attention, while Robb lunged in from the side. Their combined efforts forced the King to defend on two fronts.
Yet, it was not an easy task. The King's armour was like a fortress, his bulk a daunting obstacle. But Daeron and Robb knew there were chinks in that armour. They probed, searching for any vulnerability, any weakness they could exploit.
With a swift parry, Daeron redirected one of the Warhammers, sending it crashing into the ground beside him. The King roared in anger, his exposed side momentarily unprotected. Robb seized the opportunity, driving his sword into the gap in the armour. The King's roar turned into a painful howl as blood spilt.
But the King was far from finished. He swung his remaining Warhammer with a desperate fury, forcing the brothers to retreat. Daeron felt his sword arm grow heavy, his breath laboured, but he couldn't falter now.
As the battle continued, every action and interaction became a blur of steel, sweat. The brothers parried and deflected the Warhammers, dodging with practised precision. The King's Warhammer crashed down with bone-shattering force, yet Daeron and Robb's swords found the seams in the armour, drawing blood and eliciting agonized cries from their opponent.
The battle raged on, but the tide had turned. Robert Baratheon fought with the rage of a wounded beast, determined to bring down his foes. Daeron and Robb, now on the defensive, knew they had to protect each other as they weathered the King's relentless assault.
The King's Warhammer came down like thunder, smashing the ground with earth-shaking force. Daeron and Robb danced back, their swords flashing in a desperate bid to parry and deflect the relentless blows.
Injuries began to accumulate. Daeron felt the crushing impact of the King's Warhammer against his arm, the force nearly sending him sprawling. His arm throbbed, and he could feel the strain in his muscles, threatening to give way.
Robb had a bruising blow to his chest, the sheer force of the King's strike causing him to gasp for breath. His chest plate was dented, and his ribs ached with every breath.
The King, sensing his advantage, pressed the attack. He swung one of his Warhammers low, sweeping Daeron's feet from under him. Daeron crashed to the ground, his vision momentarily blurred as pain shot through his ribs. He could hear Robb's desperate shout as his brother lunged to defend him.
Robb parried the King's blow aimed at Daeron, his arms shaking from the impact, but he held firm. His Valyrian steel sword scraped against the King's armour, leaving a mark but failing to pierce it. With a desperate cry, he pushed back, forcing the King to stagger.
Daeron, struggling to rise, saw his brother's peril. With a surge of adrenaline, he rolled to the side and launched himself at the King's exposed side. His sword struck the King's armour with a resounding clang, denting it further and eliciting a pained grunt.
The King, now showing signs of exhaustion and his armour battered, became even more enraged. His Warhammer swings grew wild, striking the ground with devastating force. Robert Baratheon, had become a relentless force of destruction, driven by fury and an unyielding will. Daeron and Robb, bloodied and battered, fought with every ounce of strength they possessed.
Daeron's Valyrian steel sword cut through the air with precision, a silver blur seeking weaknesses in the King's armour. He struck at the gaps between the plates, aiming for joints and exposed flesh. The King roared in pain as Daeron's blade left its mark, but still, he pressed on.
Robb, his own sword gleaming with the sweat of battle, danced around the King's Warhammers with a grace born of desperation. He deflected blows with expert timing, using the King's own force against him. Each parry was a testament to his skill.
In the midst of the fight, Daeron and Robb communicated with little more than glances and nods. They knew their survival depended on their unity. When one was knocked off balance, the other stepped in, their movements synchronized as if by some unspoken bond.
The King's Warhammer crashed into the ground, sending shockwaves through the earth. Daeron and Robb had to rely on their agility and quick reflexes to avoid the bone-shattering impacts. The force of the blows left craters on the battlefield, adding to the surreal landscape of devastation.
Their swords clashed with the King's armour, again and again, leaving gouges and dents. Each strike was a test of endurance, a struggle to keep their arms from trembling under the weight of their weapons.
But the King was relentless, his roars echoing across the battlefield, a primal cry of fury and determination. He swung his Warhammers with an almost inhuman strength, threatening to overwhelm the brothers.
The battle raged on, Daeron and Robb's relentless assault finally paying off as they managed to disarm King Robert of one of his Warhammer. There was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of possibility that they could overcome this monstrous opponent.
But the King was not one to be easily subdued. With a furious bellow, he grasped his remaining Warhammer with both hands, a sight that sent a chill down the brothers' spines. His strength seemed boundless as he swung the massive weapon with a thunderous roar.
Daeron, his Valyrian steel sword in hand, tried to intercept the blow to parry it. But the sheer force behind the King's strike was overwhelming. Their weapons clashed with an earsplitting clang, and Daeron felt his arm shatter under the immense pressure.
He was sent hurtling through the air, a ragged scream escaping his lips. The world spun around him as he crashed to the ground, pain coursing through his broken arm. He lay there, gasping for breath, his vision blurred.
Daeron pushed himself up through the pain, his eyes widening as he saw Robb desperately trying to evade the brutal strikes of the King, who now wielded his remaining Warhammer with two hands. Robb's once-graceful parries had given way to a frantic dance of dodges, each movement narrowly avoiding the crushing blows that rained down upon him.
The air was filled with the terrifying whoosh of the Warhammer as it swung through the air, accompanied by the grunts and roars of the King. Robb's face was a mask of sheer determination and fear as he weaved, ducked, and twisted, narrowly escaping the strikes that could have ended him.
Daeron's heart pounded in his chest as he watched, the urgency of the situation clear in his eyes. He knew that Robb's stamina and luck wouldn't hold out much longer against the relentless assault of the King. Despite his injuries, Daeron struggled to his feet, a deep-seated need to aid his brother surging through him.
Fear and desperation surged through Daeron as he rushed back toward the battle between Robb and the King. His injured arm throbbed with pain, but he paid it no heed. He couldn't afford to lose his brother to the raging King.
As he closed in on the fight, a group of Reachmen noticed his approach and lunged at him. Daeron's fight against the Reachmen was a whirlwind of steel and blood. As they closed in on him, their swords and spears gleamed menacingly in the sunlight. He raised his Valyrian steel sword, ready for the onslaught.
The first Reachman lunged at him with a spear, but Daeron sidestepped the attack with practised ease. He retaliated with a swift, diagonal slash, severing the man's arm from his body. The Reachman fell to the ground, screaming in agony.
Two more attackers closed in from opposite sides. Daeron blocked a thrust with his sword, the force of the blow nearly knocking him off balance. He swiftly countered, driving his sword through one man's chest before spinning to avoid the other's swing.
A Reachman charged him head-on, attempting to tackle him to the ground. Daeron sidestepped and used the hilt of his sword as an improvised mace, smashing it into the man's face. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his shattered nose.
Desperation clawed at Daeron's chest as he dispatched one Reachman after another. With every moment that passed, he could see the dire situation unfolding on the battlefield. Robb was struggling against the towering King, and Daeron couldn't reach him in time.
The Reachmen continued to harass him, their attacks becoming more relentless. Daeron felt their strikes landing on his flesh, driving him back step by step. His breathing grew laboured, and sweat dripped down his brow. Every second counted, and he couldn't afford to be delayed any longer.
Robb was outmatched, and Daeron could see it in his brother's eyes. The King's sheer strength and ferocity were overwhelming. Daeron watched helplessly as his brother dodged, weaved, and staggered, doing everything he could to stay alive. Each swing of the King's Warhammer seemed to shake the very earth beneath them.
The Reachmen sensed Daeron's desperation and pressed their advantage, closing in with a renewed fervour. Daeron had no choice but to fight back with even greater intensity, striking down his attackers with ruthless efficiency. Yet, every moment he spent dealing with them felt like an eternity as he yearned to join the fray and aid his brother.
With a final, desperate push, Daeron broke free from the Reachmen's grasp, leaving behind a trail of fallen foes. He sprinted toward the epicentre of the battle, where Robb and the King clashed in a life-or-death struggle.
Daeron was close by as he rushed towards them, but he was helpless and could only watch as Robb's sword arm was broken when he tried to deflect a swing of the King's hammer. His sword fell to the ground, and he felt his heart stop when the King raised his hammer high with one hand as if signalling victory. Daeron knew what was about to happen, and not caring for himself any longer, he drew upon his ice magic, shooting as much of it as he could towards the King.
However, it was too late, and he could only watch as the King's hammer swung down to make contact with Robb's breastplate, caving it in. Daeron's heart sank as he watched in horror. Time seemed to slow as the King's massive Warhammer descended, crashing into Robb's breastplate with a deafening impact. The world seemed to shake, and for a moment, there was silence, as if the gods themselves held their breath.
Robb's body crumpled under the brutal blow, armour shattering and bending, while the King's Warhammer left a devastating dent in his chestplate.
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" A strangled cry escaped Daeron's lips as he saw his brother being thrown backwards, the force of the strike sending him sprawling.
At almost the same time the force of the Ice that Daeron had conjured hit the King full force knocking him to the ground. Daeron's rage and desperation fueled his relentless assault on the fallen King. With each swing of his Valyrian steel sword, he rained down blows upon the once-mighty Robert Baratheon. The King sprawled on the ground, and could do little to defend himself, and the strikes landed with brutal force.
Daeron's sword sliced through the air, and he aimed for any vulnerable spot he could find. The King's fingers, once powerful and menacing, were now in the path of Daeron's blade. With a savage swing, Daeron severed several of them, causing the King to cry out in agony. He dropped his Warhammer, no longer able to hold onto it, and his face contorted in pain.
Daeron, his eyes blazing with fury, raised his sword, ready to deliver the final, decisive blow. The King, realizing the imminent danger, tried to shield himself with his remaining arm. But Daeron was merciless. With a single, powerful stroke, he sliced through the King's arm at the elbow.
As Daeron went to end the King's life, his focus wavered just for a moment. The war horn's blaring notes had grabbed his attention, and in that split second, his intended final strike against the fallen King was disrupted.
His blade descended, but it never found its mark. Instead, Daeron was forced to defend himself from the Reachmen who were determined to protect their wounded King. In the midst of the chaos, he felt a searing pain as a sword pierced his shoulder, and he couldn't suppress a hiss of agony. Reacting swiftly, he retaliated, slashing his sword at the attacker and ending his life.
The Reachmen, however, did not continue their assault on Daeron. Instead, they turned their attention to their injured King, dragging him off the battlefield and away from Daeron's reach.
Cursing his misfortune and burning with the desire for vengeance, Daeron watched as the man who had harmed his brother was taken away. But his immediate concern was for Robb. He hurried over to where his brother lay, injured and in need of help.
Daeron knelt by Robb who lay on the ground with blood pouring out of his mouth, he tried to lift him but Robb screamed in pain. So he unbuckled his dented breastplate and lifted it up, his heart dropped when he saw a similar but smaller dent in his chest.
He heard Robb chuckle "It isn't good then?" He said in a hoarse voice.
Daeron shook its head "You're fine, we just need to get you to a Maester" he said with a smile though even Robb wasn't convinced by it.
"Unless a Maester is hiding behind that rock there... I think I'm done" Robb breathed out his voice becoming increasingly ragged.
"Jon... I need to say something to you" Robb continued.
Daeron felt his eyes begin to water as tears hit Robb's chest from above "You can tell me later, at our victory feast tonight" he replied.
Robb shook his head "No it needs to be now" he said.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry that I was never a good brother to you, I should've been better and maybe you would've wanted to stay home" he continued
"But most of all I'm sorry that I never believed in you, I hope you can forgive me," Robb said as tears fell from his eyes.
Daeron grips Robb's hand in his own "There is nothing to forgive" he replied.
Robb smiles widely at Daeron which reminds him of all the fun they had together in Winterfell "Maybe... in another life, I could've come with you too"
"We would've had such fun together..."
Daeron looks down and sees Robb closing his eyes, he shakes him but he doesn't respond "Robb! Robb! Wake up, please! Robb!" But he doesn't respond. Daeron hears another war horn sound, and he looks up, in the distance he sees the standard of House Lannister as they clash with the Northern army.
He doesn't care though and goes back to trying to wake his brother as tears continuously fall from his eyes "Robb! Please! It can't end this way!"
"Daeron!" He hears from behind him as someone grabs his shoulder, he turns his head and sees the bloody and dirty visage of Arthur.
"We need to leave! House Lannister has shown and the North and Dorne are in full retreat, we need to leave now!" He explained.
Daeron attempted to lift his brother but he was too heavy especially when Daeron had a broken arm "Daeron I'm sorry but we don't have time! We need to leave" he said grabbing him by the arm and lifting him.
"I won't leave him!" Daeron shouted at Arthur, as he shook himself out of his grip.
Arthur sighed 'I'm sorry Daeron...' he thought as he brought the butt of his sword to the back of his head knocking Daeron out, Arthur then grabbed him before putting him on his shoulder and running.
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The King was in agony as he sat in his tent the Maester had to cauterise the wound to staunch the bleeding, Sweat poured down his body as the pain of having his arm cleaved off was starting to intensify now that the adrenaline from the battle was over "Gods curse Daeron I will kill him if it's the last thing I do!"
Walking into the tent fully armoured with a sword in hand was the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Robert's Father-in-Law Tywin Lannister "You wished to see me, your grace?" He said in a cool tone.
"Where in the seven hells have you been? This bloody battle would've been won if you'd shown up!" Robert cursed as he drank from a cup of wine.
"I merely waited for the best opportunity to strike, You needn't worry about me not joining the war" Tywin replied.
"Oh? And why is that 'MY LORD'" he shouted.
"Daeron Targaryen is the biggest insult to House Lannister since the Reynes and Tarbecks" Tywin stated.
"He kidnaps my granddaughter, he uses my house's Ancestral sword to murder my Bannerman all in plain view of other houses, Did you think I would not be planning the boy's demise" Tywin continued.
"He will die, it is just a matter of when"
(AN: So the battle is over and Dorne and the North are in full retreat thanks to an unexpected showing from Tywin. There is also the battle that takes place in the other pass between Ned and Oberyn but I won't write that, bit too long)
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