As the majestic dragons soared through the skies, Princess Rhaenys, Rhaenerys and Jace rode forth towards Rook's Rest. Ryker sat astride behind Rhaenerys, his sturdy arm encircling her waist, sending shivers down her spine. Though she strove to ignore the sensation, his rapid heartbeat against her back kindled curiosity within her. Did fear, excitement or another emotion entirely stir his pulse? Shaking off distraction, Rhaenerys refocused on the perilous task ahead.
With mind sharpened, she delved into memories of past battles, gleaned from tales of the Seven Kingdoms' chronicles. Ensuring no detail escaped her, she recalled the strategies forged in counsel. Turning to Princess Rhaenys, she nodded gravely. In unison, their gazes fell upon Rook's Rest, where archers loosed arrows upon the invaders.
"Loose! New rank!" The captain yelled repeatedly.
Amidst radiant sunlight, a majestic dragon unfolded her splendor. Membranes of her wings shimmered in soft pink hues, while crest, horns and claws gleamed with copper's fiery brilliance. Upon her back, magnificent in steel and copper armor aglow with solar fire, rode Rhaenys Targaryen - the Queen Who Never Was.
"Dragon!" the sentries cried, their warning shouts echoing through the battlements, but Ser Criston Cole, unflinching and resolute, stood firm, his demeanor unshaken by the impending shadow.
Rhaenerys knew what came next. They would order the levies to break off and move ahead to must keep the dragon's attention divided. He must have raised levies from his own house.
Drums boomed, issuing the command to unleash chaos. Archers surged forth, longbowmen and crossbowmen alike, filling the skies with a deadly hail of arrows and quarrels. Scorpions creaked upward, poised to release iron bolts - the same dread projectiles that had once felled Meraxes in Dorne's unforgiving sands.
Meleys, undaunted by the barrage, suffered a score of hits. Yet, the arrows merely ignited her fury. With wings outstretched, she plunged downward, spewing fire to scorch all in her path. Knights succumbed to infernal flames, their saddles transformed into pyres as horsehide and harness ignited. Men-at-arms fled, abandoning spears as panic gripped their hearts.
Some sought refuge behind oak shields and iron bucklers, but dragonfire laughed at their defenses. Ser Criston, astride his white steed, bellowed commands through smoke and flame.
Meleys thundered, smoke billowing from her nostrils, a stallion crushed within her jaws as flames engulfed its screaming form.
"Dragon!" the guards thundered again, their voices echoing off stone walls. The air trembled with an answering roar as two majestic forms emerged from the skies: King Aegon II astride Sunfyre the Golden, his scales shimmering like molten sunlight.
Criston Cole's trap had sprung shut, luring Rhaenys Targaryen into peril. Yet, fate had twisted the snare - the king's unexpected arrival threatened to jeopardize the entire plan.
Ser Gwayne Hightower's piercing gaze locked onto Sunfyre. "Whose dragon is that?" he demanded.
Ser Cole's clenched jaw betrayed his dismay. "His Grace, the king's."
Ser Gwayne whirled on Criston Cole, outrage etched on his face. "This was your secret plot, Cole? To endanger the king's life in a reckless ambush?"
Criston's swift response cut through the tension. "No!" He bellowed orders to the archers, "Loose more signal arrows!"
As Ser Criston Cole charged into battle, his voice rallied the troops. "Stalwart men of House Targaryen, your king fights beside you! Stand firm in courage and wit! The Seven bless and shield our host with divine purpose! For the one true king, Aegon!"
The soldiers' thunderous roar echoed through the skies as Cole's eyes scanned the clouds, his thoughts urgent. "Where are you, Aemond?"
Princess Rhaenys, the fearless "Queen Who Never Was," stood resolute. With a battle cry and a sharp crack of her whip, she wheeled Meleys, the majestic Red Queen, toward the oncoming enemy. "Angos, Meleys!"
Meleys, sensing her rider's fury, unleashed a deafening roar. Flames danced in her jaws as she charged forward, wings beating powerful and swift.
The battlefield trembled beneath the dragon's thunderous approach. Sunfyre, the Golden, responded with a mighty roar, answering the challenge.
"Dracarys!" Aegon commanded.
Sunfyre engulfed Meleys and Rhaenys in flames. The inferno raged, then subsided, revealing an empty battlefield. The princess and her dragon had vanished.
Suddenly, Meleys burst forth from beneath, claws outstretched. The Red Queen tore into Sunfyre's belly, ripping scales and flesh. Meleys continued its savage assault, shredding Sunfyre's underside.
The Golden dragon stumbled, its wings faltering. King Aegon struggled to regain control, rebalancing Sunfyre mere moments before impact.
Sunfyre's blood rained down upon the soldiers below, a grim portent. The king's grip on his dragon's reins tightened, determination etched on his face.
Rhaenys and Meleys, the Red Queen, lay in wait, their wrath momentarily sated. Meleys struck anew, seizing Sunfyre's wing in her fiery jaws. Sunfyre, the Golden dragon, struggled, but Meleys' grip held fast.
Lord Staunton espied movement amidst the trees. Vhagar emerged, Aemond astride, casting a dark shadow over the fray. The ancient beast took to the skies.
Meleys released Sunfyre's wing as Vhagar drew near. King Aegon's relief was brief. Aemond commanded, "Dracarys!"
Infernal flames engulfed Sunfyre and the king. Their screams echoed through the realm. Sunfyre crashed to the earth, lifeless.
"Your Grace!" Ser Criston Cole cried, rushing to the wreckage.
Vhagar and Aemond soared toward the castle, leaving ruin in their wake. Rhaenys, weary, eyed Aemond's approach, her heart burning for vengeance. Yet, she recalled Rhaenerys' words: Dear Aunt, refrain from striking twice. Jace and I shall take the reins.
Rhaenys nodded, yielding to her niece's strategy. Meleys settled beside her, their battle paused, as fate hung in the balance. The castle's fate, the kingdom's future and Targaryen legacy trembled before Vhagar's might and Aemond's ambition.
Vhagar's approach on the castle prompted two dragons to emerge from the clouds. Vermax, with Prince Jacaerys astride, and Vermithor, the bronze fury, with Rhaenerys commanding, appeared poised for battle. Prince Aemond's gaze shifted between the pair, his resolve unwavering.
Rhaenerys spoke calmly, "Aemond, I offer you one final chance to end this strife."
Aemond's silence was telling. Rhaenerys nodded, anticipating his next move.
In an instant, Aemond urged Vhagar toward Vermax, seeking to vanquish the weaker dragon first. A calculated tactic, foreseen by Rhaenerys.
---
Before the Battle of Rook's Rest, a strategic gathering convened, attended by Rhaenerys, Jace, Baela, Rhaena and Ryker. An architectural model of Rook's Rest lay on the table.
Baela marveled, "Where did you procure this, Rhae?"
Rhaenerys smiled, "Commissioned two years ago, during my preparations. I've cultivated connections with skilled artisans."
Jace asked, intrigued, "How vast is your network?"
Rhaenerys replied, "As extensive as necessity demands."
Rhaenerys continued, "Recall Rhaenys Targaryen's demise. Her dragon, Meraxes, fell victim to a lucky scorpion bolt, striking its eye and brain mid-flight. Rhaenys met her end in the ensuing fall, a stark reminder of war's unpredictability."
Ryker inquired, "What manner of weapon is this scorpion bolt?"
Rhaenerys elaborated, "A scorpion bolt is a mighty crossbow, capable of piercing a dragon's skull from afar. Though ideally served by multiple hands, a lone soldier may load and fire it."
Jace pondered, "Shall Ser Cole employ these bolts in battle?"
Rhaenerys replied, "I deem it unlikely... yet we shall utilize them. Two years past, I commissioned a skilled smith to forge one at considerable expense."
Rhaenerys continued, "Upon Aegon's downfall, Jace and I shall confront Aemond. Our engagement must occur within five hundred yards of the ballista."
Turning to Jace, she said, "Aemond shall target you first, perceiving weakness. We require a keen observer to signal his attack, that we may swiftly down Vhagar."
Baela offered, "I wouldst lend aid, were I able."
Rhaenerys smiled. "Your recovery takes precedence, dear sister."
Lucerys volunteered, "Permit me to assist."
Rhaenerys declined, "Your presence may introduce unforeseen complications, given your history with Aemond."
Rhaenerys addressed the assembly, "Princess Rhaenys shall man the ballista upon her retreat. Mayhap she shall return before Aemond strikes."
Jace cautioned, "What if Aemond targets you instead, driven by arrogance?"
Rhaenerys explained, "Aemond's cunning tempers his pride. He shall strike the weaker foe, seeking strategic advantage."
Baela concluded, "Our path is chosen."
Rhaenerys nodded.
Ryker observed, lost in contemplation.
___
As Vhagar lunged toward Jace, her massive jaws agape, a scorpion bolt pierced her neck, jolting her entire frame. Aemond's enraged gaze scanned the horizon, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Where are you, coward?" Aemond bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. "Show yourself!"
Another bolt struck Vhagar, closer to her spine. Aemond's eyes locked onto Ryker's position, his face twisted in rage.
"Vhagar, dracarys!" Aemond commanded, his voice echoing off nearby hills.
Vhagar lunged, flames engulfing the trees surrounding Ryker's position.
"No!" Rhaenerys rammed Vermithor into Vhagar, the impact sending shockwaves through the air.
"Dracarys!" Rhaenerys shouted, her voice carrying above the chaos.
Vermithor's claws tore into Vhagar's flank, scales shattering beneath the assault. Aemond's cries mingled with Vhagar's pained bellows as the dragons clashed.
The battle raged on, flames scorching the landscape. Vermithor's jaws locked onto Vhagar's neck. Aemond's face contorted, his screams lost amidst roaring flames.
"Lykiri, Vhagar! Retreat!" Aemond yelled, his voice laced with desperation.
Vhagar hesitated, then fled, vanishing into the smoke-filled horizon.
Rhaenerys flew toward the burning forest, dismounting Vermithor beside a fallen tree. Ryker lay still, charred branches hiding his battered form.
"Ryker!" Rhaenerys cried, rushing to his side. "Answer me!" No response.
Panic crept into her voice. "Ryker, speak to me!"
Rhaenerys dropped beside him, cradling his head. Ryker's chest rose weakly.
"Oh, thank God," Rhaenerys whispered, relief washing over her. She'd temporarily slipped into familiar prayer which was in contrast with Westeros' dominant faith.
Ryker's eyes fluttered open. "Nerie?" he rasped.
Rhaenerys embraced him tightly. "I thought I'd lost you," she whispered.
Jace arrived, relief etched on his face at the sight of Ryker breathing.
"Ryker, can you rise?" Rhaenerys asked.
Ryker nodded, coughing.
With Rhaenerys' aid, Ryker stood, his gaze falling upon his singed garments.
"Vhagar?" Ryker inquired.
Rhaenerys' expression turned grave.
"We'll speak of this later. Your wounds need attention," she said.
Ryker's eyes met Rhaenerys', understanding passing between them.
"I'm alive," Ryker whispered.
Rhaenerys smiled.
"For now, that's all that matters."
In the distance, survivors stumbled from the ruins, their cries and wails carried on the wind.
Amidst the chaos, a distant carriage thundered across the blood-soaked landscape, its occupants fleeing in haste. Ser Criston Cole, his face grim, grasped the reins, urging the horses onward. Beside him, Ser Gwayne guarded the precious cargo - King Aegon, barely clinging to life.
Aegon's once-majestic armor now hung in tatters, melted sections fused to his charred skin. Burns covered his face, his eyes swollen shut. Labored breathing escaped his parched lips.
Cole's jaw clenched, his mind racing with the implications of their defeat. "Faster!" he urged the horses.
Soldiers clad in gold and crimson armor surrounded the carriage, their weary eyes scanning the horizon for pursuers. The carriage's wooden wheels creaked, protesting the frantic pace.
As they vanished into the fading light, the sound of pounding hooves and rattling wood grew fainter. Their escape went unnoticed amidst the devastation.
Rhaenerys, surveying the aftermath, remained unaware of Aegon's fate.
Yet, in the shadows, Ser Criston Cole's determination burned brighter. The battle may be lost, but the war for the Iron Throne raged on.
"We must reach Maegor's Holdfast," Cole whispered to Gwayne. "The Red Keep's maesters can save him."
Gwayne nodded, his expression resolute. "We'll get him to safety, Ser Criston."
The carriage disappeared into darkness, leaving behind a trail of uncertainty and the promise of impending strife. Aegon's fragile grip on life hung in the balance.
Ser Criston Cole's thoughts darkened. "Another defeat." His gaze fell upon the cart rushing the critically wounded King Aegon toward the Red Keep. Above him, Vhagar's absence hung like a specter, her own fate uncertain.
"What now?" Cole wondered, his mind reeling with consequences.
The king's life hung by a thread, and Vhagar's injuries seemed equally dire. Their fortunes dwindled.
Cole's horse galloped onward, the Red Keep's walls looming ahead. Anxiety gripped his heart.
"The realm teeters on collapse," he thought.