Chapter 61: The War Of The Throne Part 3

8th Month of 299 A.C. King's Landing

King Aegon VI Targaryen

There had been many battles to get them here, many people had died to ensure that this day would come. Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, Arya, they were all victims of the game, a game that had been played from the very beginning, a game he was slowly coming to terms with. Caron had proven to be a useful source of information, providing them with hints and tips about who was strong and where they were weak. Rowan's army had not stood a chance, Aegon had seen to that, he had offered the man a chance to bend, the man had refused and had suffered for that. Robb had gotten some of his anger out, which was a good thing, though Aegon knew there was still a lot of it within his cousin. Tommen Baratheon and his sister and mother had tried to flee, but they had been captured and he had had them executed. He could not and would not allow a threat of his throne to remain alive. His lords had not grumbled at that, they had understood why it needed to be done. Still that hadn't eased the sense of dread within him as he had brought them forward for the dragons to feast on.

The dragons were growing. Urrax, the dragon of ice, growing at a rate which to Aegon seems almost unnatural, the beast, which he knows to be female is large, her white wings as big if not bigger than some of the great birds he has heard tales of. Barrax, the second dragon, blue as the sky was as they flew toward King's Landing, Barrax reminds him of a sapphire he saw once long ago. Then there is Deinor, the great beast, white as snow, white as Ghost, with red eyes, the fiercest of the dragons, the biggest of them as well. Aegon is atop Deinor now, flying toward King's Landing, the city that is rightfully his, the city that he will claim before all of this over. It is a strange feeling knowing that he has dragons, that they bend to his will, that he can control them with his thoughts, with his mind. It makes him feel powerful, more powerful than he ever has done before. The knowledge that he controls three dragons, three of the six that are alive within the world, that is powerful stuff, and it fills him with happiness and a sense of being that he lacked beforehand. He knows that once in a past life he felt godlike knowing he had dragons, and that feeling is still there, it resonates with him, and fills him up. He is strong when he is with his dragons.

Aegon knows that that makes him a target, from where he rests atop Deinor, he can tell that the men on the walls of King's Landing, with their trebuchets and their ballistae and their scorpions have gathered to attack him, and only him, well him and his dragons. But the rumour that if you kill the rider and the dragon will fly away is one that he is not willing to try now. His dragons are tied to him, that is something he knows well, something he has always known, and now as his powers grow, he does not want that tie to be severed. He fears it being severed, but knows that he is the only one who could do that. No mere mortal could severe his tie to his dragons, they are his, and only his. He watches from atop Deinor as Robb Stark orders the men of the north to attack, his cousin had wanted the first charge and so Aegon had given it to him. Below, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Jaime are mounted with a troop of men, Ser Henry back at Riverrun with Sansa, as is Ser Brandon Liddle, who Aegon thinks has found the item he sent him off for.

The walls of King's Landing give way, and Aegon watches, a feeling of triumph slowly growing inside of him as the men of King's Landing, well Baratheon and Tyrell men fall to the ground and die. The usurper's get and his allies will all fall before this night is over, of that he is sure. There will be no mercy for them, nothing that would count as mercy at least. Aegon does what he can to keep his patience in check, holding his dragons back with a few choice words in his mind, their consciences are something to behold, a mess of primal energy and sophistication he thinks that they will never understand. As he sees Robb move further and further into the city, he decides that the time has come. Urging Deinor forward, Urrax and Barrax following, his men riding into the space created, he flies ahead, and soon enough the fire and ice of his beasts is unleashed onto the unsuspecting men below. He hears their cries as ice engulfs them, as fire turns them to ash, and he laughs, this is revenge, his revenge, for the years that the Baratheons forced him to live as a unnamed bastard, he does not regret growing up in Winterfell, but he loathes the fact that he had to grow up without knowing exactly who he was for a long time. That does not seem fair to him and so he adds fuel to his dragons' fire and ice, and laughs as the men below him die.

He moves his dragon onward, and the other two follow, below the Kingsguard follow his movements. His eternal shadows it seems, well that is something at least, this time they know where and what to do. He looks for Robb and sees him, moving toward Aegon's High Hill, it feels strange knowing that there is a hill named after his namesake, well after him as well. He moves his dragons forward, and when they come to a point where it seems there are enough men there to cause an entrance, he does so, lowering Deinor and Urrax and Barrax down to the ground where they land easily enough. He rests between Robb and the Baratheon men who have come down to fight and die. Aegon wears his helm, the dragon winged one his father is said to have worn, his armour glittering, he looks around and then takes the helm off. "Baratheons, Tyrells, you have fought against your rightful King, you have a choice, bend or die." he growls the words, anger and adrenaline fuelling him.

A figure wearing a crowned stag helm walks forward, wielding a hammer. "We do not recognise dragons here. I am the rightful King."

Aegon looks at the man and laughs. "You? You are nothing but an upjumped smith who has had a crown placed on his head by a man who would have killed his own nephews if it suited him. You are no King."

The stag helmed man roars a reply. "If you are so Kingly, come and fight me."

Aegon puts his helm back on and replies. "Gladly." He dismounts from Deinor with a jump, drawing Blackfyre from his back, and he begins moving toward the figure before him, the figure who wields a Warhammer as if it is nothing more than a toy.

The figure, Durran, or Gendry, whatever the fool calls himself moves forward then, making the first swing with that ungainly hammer of his. Aegon manages to move back, his litheness coming into play quite well. The hammer hits the ground, and as the bastard tries to lift it up, Aegon darts in Blackfyre in both his hands, he jabs and cuts, and manages to get a dent into the arm guard of the man, he pulls back in time to avoid getting the handle of the hammer in his face. The bastard looks put out, or at least that is what Aegon can tell from his body language, still the bastard moves forward swinging his hammer, Aegon just about manages to bring Blackfyre up in time to stop the hammer from hitting him. Sparks fly. He can tell that the bastard is applying a lot of his weight behind his hammer, given how much weight Aegon is having to apply to keeping his sword upright and locked within this combat. He moves to the left and the bastard follows him, he moves to the right, and the bastard follows, their weapons locked in combat as if they cannot break apart. Aegon leans forward, and the sudden change in movement throws off the bastard, breaking the contact between their two weapons. Aegon takes a moment to gather his breath, then he begins his attack, swinging right and left, cutting through the defence of the beast wielding a Warhammer, he hits the beast's left shoulder, then his right, before moving back, drawing the bastard forward, only to knock him back again.

The bastard comes forward, he's got stamina, Aegon will give him that, whether or not he has skill, well that is an entirely different matter. The bastard swings, Aegon ducks, Aegon swings and the bastard blocks, this dance continues, Aegon manages to land a few well timed blows to the bastard's arms and chest, he can see the armour denting, silver giving way to red, as blood begins to seep out. The bastard manages to land a few good blows onto him as well, making him wince slightly from the pain, his dark as night armour beginning to cave in on him. He takes a breath and then moves forward, swinging his sword, swing, block, swing, block, swing, block, it has become somewhat repetitive, but it is reassuring in its repetitiveness, still they fight, and it seems as if time itself has stopped, no one else seems to be moving around them, it is almost as if everyone has stopped to see how this fight progresses. Not that he can blame them for that, after all he is a damned good fighter, and the bastard, well the bastard has strength. They keep fighting, swinging their weapons, connecting or missing, but still going, pushing forward, determined to ensure something solid happens. Too much is riding on this fight, they cannot afford to allow anything else but one of them surviving to occur.

Aegon snarls, his arms are beginning to ache, but there is a determination in him, as there always has been since they set out on this mission, since they began this war. He knows what must be done, he knows who his foe is, and he is determined to end this now. He moves forward, his sword raised high, he swings his sword, catching the bastard on the shoulder, causing the bastard to move back, wincing, Aegon follows, he swings right, hits the bastard on his shoulder, swings left, gets the bastard on the helm, swings right again and the bastard raises his hammer to block the blow, a definitive clanging sounding about the space where they are. Aegon grins in his helm, he can feel the sweat beginning to pour down his face, but that does not matter, he knows how to win. He roars and lunges forward, swings right, swings left, swings right again, hits the bastard in the chest, the bastard retaliates, and Aegon finds the wind getting knocked out of him, but he manages to stagger back up, swinging his sword once more, he hits the handle to the Warhammer, then pushes his shoulder into the bastard, grimacing slightly as his shoulder hits the helm, denting it. The bastard brings his hammer up and they begin all over again.

He feels tired, exhausted even, but he knows that the false King before him is even more tired, and so he moves back, drawing the bastard toward him, the bastard takes a swing, and misses, Aegon moving to his left at the last moment. He brings up Blackfyre and manages to scrape a blow against the bastard's chest, breaking off already broken armour. He moves back, and then leans forward and does the same thing once more. The bastard's armour is falling off, his breast plate breaking apart, through the blows, his chest covered in blood. The bastard swings and misses and falls to his knees. "Yield." Aegon growls. "Yield and this will all be over." The bastard does not reply, instead he merely looks at him and tries to stagger back up, Aegon slams his sword down then, feeling his shoulders jar from the effort, but it does the trick, the bastard does not get back up, instead he slumps forward, and then falls down. His hammer dropping to the ground, blood pooling from him. Aegon stands there for a long moment, and then he plants his sword in the ground and looks around him. The bastard is not getting back up, that much he knows for sure, he leans down, and listens, there is nothing coming from the bastard's mouth, no hint of life, but just to be sure, Aegon barks out a command. "Remove his helm." His squire appears then from out of nowhere, and removes the huge helm the bastard wears. Aegon sees a rush of black hair, matted with dirt and blood and sweat, he draws Blackfyre from the ground, takes measure and then swings. It takes two swings before the head is removed from the body, and when it is removed, Aegon gestures for his squire to hold up the head, bellowing out loud, he says. "Your false King is dead. You have one choice now. Bend. Bend and I will forgive past crimes. Do not bend, and well, I have three dragons here who need to eat." There is a moment of silence and then the cry goes up. "Long Live King Aegon, Long Live the King."