Check Fate

'Sometimes all we have is a fool's gambit.'

-Taken from 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers

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The island of Dragonstone, a smoldering sentinel in the midst of Blackwater Bay. Its volcanic terrain was always wreathed in wisps of smoke, and the very ground pulsed with heat. A fitting abode for the noble House Targaryen and their mighty dragons.

Well away from the imposing castle that crowned Dragonstone's cliffs, a flurry of activity unfolded on the island's eastern shore.

A pavilion was set up on a hill overlooking the coast. Inside, a group of young lads aged 9 to 18 watched in awe as their two seniors played a board game.

The two men were clad in maester robes.

"What a fascinating game our prince has invented," remarked Eldric as he made a move with a black piece. His voice had a snakelike rasp as if he were whispering at room temperature. His pale skin, though old, seemed oddly youthful against the ashen backdrop of Dragonstone, his shaved head gleaming, "Chess, he calls it?"

"Technically, it's CHESSRHA," corrected his opponent, moving a white piece.

"You're quite skilled, Theodore Reyne," said Eldric. "Could you be the source of our prince's stratagem?"

Theodore, his ginger hair disheveled from a lack of sleep, shrugged off the compliment. "Hardly. I have no patience for the subtleties of personality, be it on the battlefield or at court. Numbers are much simpler. Numbers never lie."

"A pity," mused Eldric. "And here I thought lies were my only constant."

The young lads were still in the early stages of learning to read and write. But they understood Chess, and they marveled at each move on the board. 

Only one man at the pavilion had his attention diverted from the game. Standing with his arms crossed, he gazed out at the field before them.

Adorned in the standard scaled armor of the Rhaenari legion, the gold cape draped over his back signified his rank as a captain. 

What caught his eye was the rabble taking place on the field. A raucous crowd gathered in a circle to make an impromptu arena, their cheers caught with the clang of steel. 

"Tch!" 

Asher clicked his tongue. The young would-be scholars all stiffened at his agitation.

"Does something trouble you, Captain?" inquired Theodore.

 "Trouble is all I have," Asher said stoically.

"Get some rest," said Theodore.

"You jest. How can I sleep when the time is at hand?"

It had been two moons since they sealed the tunnels. That's when the screams began. They echoed relentlessly in Asher's mind, growing louder with each passing day. 

Lately, even the Dragonmont itself had begun to quake, the ground rumbling beneath their feet. These tremors originated from the deepest depths, it felt, accompanied by a thunderous roar as if the seven hells had storm clouds.

"Prince Rhaenar really thinks this will work?" Asher questioned, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Theodore's eyes remained fixed on the chessboard, his expression unreadable. "Have faith, Captain. Our operation has been planned meticulously."

That assurance was perhaps the only thing that gave Asher solace, aside from his unyielding faith in their leader.

"I swore to follow Prince Rhaenar to the grave if need be," Asher declared, resolute. "I just didn't expect my oath to be tested like this."

Eldric chuckled, the sound sibilant as it escaped through his teeth. "Such is our fate. Ah! Checkmate, I presume? Well played, Reyne."

Eldric scooped up his defeated king and pondered aloud, "White holds such an advantage, being able to move first. I wonder, Reyne, how your defense would fare with the black pieces."

Theodore paid the comment no mind, "Who cares? I much prefer Cyvasse anyhow."

The soldiers on the field cheered a commotion so loudly that Asher could no longer take it. He strutted down the hill to the crowd of soldiers.

Inside the arena, soldiers sparred with fervor, their practice swords clashing and clattering in the salty breeze. 

At the center of the melee stood a lone warrior, his form a blur of motion as he deftly wielded two blades against his adversaries. 

Despite being outnumbered five to one, he danced through the fray with ease, his every move calculated and precise. Sweat glistened on his brow, cold contempt in his eyes. 

"Again!" he barked, his voice cutting through the din of cheers. 

His challengers, some nursing bruises and others gasping for breath attempted to muster the courage for another round. They knew it was folly to continue, but the fear of facing a fate worse than embarrassment spurred them on.

With a nonchalant yawn, the warrior allowed his stumbling opponents to surround him. Before the crowd could even finish placing their bets, his opponents found themselves planted firmly on their backsides.

"Too easy!" exclaimed one soldier. "That's Sari for you. When it comes to blows, he's unstoppable!"

Sari Sicai wiped the sweat from his brow and let out a sigh. "Is there no one who can challenge me?"

Just then, Asher of Maidenpool said, "Cease this nonsense, you bloody ingrates!"

Zane, the troublemaking ringleader of the sport and Asher's childhood companion was doubled over with laughter, his big belly jiggling. 

"Oh, lighten up, will ya? The men need to blow off some steam now and then."

Asher rubbed his temples in frustration. "Fools! Do you know how important our position is? Why do you think our best soldiers are stationed on the East Coast?"

Zane waved his hand dismissively. "Not all of us can wait so patiently like you."

Veins bulged on Asher's neck, "Enough. Everyone, back to stations!"

The troops groaned and sulked their way back to their positions, makeshift towers that dotted the coast like wooden fingers. 

Yet, their eyes weren't fixed on the horizon for passing ships or would-be pirates.

No, their duty compelled them to fix their gaze inward, toward the volcanic mountain known as the Dragonmont. 

Satisfied, Asher began to reiterate the importance of their mission, "You all know the drill. If the bookies are right, it is our position that will have the thick of it. Do your job, and maybe I will see my wife and child again."

Eldric and Theodore could hear Asher's voice even from the vantage point of the pavilion. They stood and watched. The young lads clamored for position as close as possible so they could take in their conversation.

"I had no idea the East Coast was so integral to the plan," said Eldric.

"Of course," said Theodore, "Why do you think we're here? It's the most likely place where we can enjoy the show."

That's when the boom happened. BOOM! The ground shook terribly, reverberating like a giant's war drum. Then, the side of Dragonmont burst asunder and rocks and dirt went flying.

"Stations!" Asher's roar cut through the chaos, and suddenly the entire camp was riled into action.

Out it came, a winged black mass of terror. It roared as its obsidian scales were once again bathed in sunlight. A symphony of rattling chains filled the air as the beast swung wildly, attempting to shake off its bonds.

"It's the Cannibal!"

"By the gods," Asher gasped, "We rigged that whole tunnel like it was a spider web. How can it still move so quickly when it's so wrapped in chain?!'

Despite the fear gripping their hearts, everyone remained disciplined, awaiting Sari Sicai's orders. 

Across the landscape, whether on the field or in the makeshift towers, manned scorpions stood vigilant — crossbows large enough to launch bolts capable of piercing a dragon's scales, if the theory held true.

Sari Sicai swiftly directed his scorpion into action, bellowing, "Aim and let loose, you fucks!"

His command echoed across the entire coast. Dozens of scorpion bolts were unleashed at the Cannibal as it began to take flight, feeble attempt to restrain it with a muck of chains having no effect.

Many of the oversized bolts missed their mark as the dragon soared through the air. Those that struck merely glanced off its hardened skin.

"Damn!" Zane cursed. "That's one tough bastard!"

"The wings!" Sari shouted, "Aim for the wings!"

"Reload!" Asher ordered, though he knew it was likely too late. Enraged by their assault, the Cannibal turned its attention toward their position. 

The dragon's grin twisted menacingly as it rapidly closed in, flames flickering between its teeth.

From the pavilion, Theodore watched with bated breath. "Even from this close, we can't to penetrate its scales."

"Not yet," Eldric said, "we still have that. I coated it with a special poison. One nick of the flesh, and even a dragon will topple."

Back on the ground, Asher turned to their trump card and said, "Ronny!"

"On it!"

Ronny, the greatest archer in the army, sprang into action.

Though more cumbersome, his scorpion was three times larger than the rest, and Ronny had been tracking the Cannibal's flight path accordingly.

This was their only chance; he couldn't squander it. With balls of steel, Ronny licked his dry lips and watched the Cannibal come closer in his scope.

Then the dragon got too close even for the agreed-upon distance they rehearsed. Zealous, the archer said, "They don't call me 'Deadeye' fucking Ronny for nothing!" and shot the scorpion.

Like a blur, the poisoned bolt whizzed toward its target. For a moment, it looked like it would be a head shot, but the motion the Cannibal flying made its head rise at the last moment.

The bolt simply grazed the Cannibal's scales on the torso, its route diverted, and it crashed heavily into the mountain behind with a thump.

Theodore couldn't believe his eyes, "It's still not enough?!"

It was in that moment that Deadeye Ronny saw death in the eyes. He gulped.

"Shit!"