Jon_Coat

In a realm torn apart by war and betrayal, Aerion Targaryen, the Starborn rises from the shadows, a child of fire and blood. Born of the Mad King Aerys and the mysterious sorceress Melisandre, his fate is bound to the flames of destiny. With ancient powers stirring and enemies on all sides, he must carve his path through a world that fears and hungers for dragons. As alliances shift and kingdoms burn, Aerion will either forge a new ers or be consumed by the storm.

This is a Fanfiction of A game of Thrones, the rights of everything except Aerion Targaryen belongs to George R.R. Martin and HBO.

A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 40 – The Blood Price (Part III)

Steel clashed against steel. Screams filled the air, mixing with the stench of blood and sweat. The muddy ground, once slick with rain, was now a crimson swamp of corpses and shattered weapons.

Aerion fought at the heart of the storm, his black armor drenched in blood. Starfyre, his Valyrian steel blade, gleamed dark red as he carved through the enemy.

He moved like a wraith, too fast, too precise—a storm of steel and death. His men watched in awe, their courage rekindled by his sheer fury.

Beside him, Ser Barristan Selmy fought with the grace of a legend, his blade a silver blur, his armor unstained despite the carnage around him.

To his right, Ser Clement was a force of nature, his massive axe crushing skulls and splintering bone with every strike. Blood soaked his armor, but he fought on, grinning like a madman.

Despite their heroics, the battle was taking its toll.

Aerion stole a glance toward Monterys Velaryon's cavalry.

They had done their duty—luring away the Dothraki flanks—but they were paying the price.

The Dothraki were demons on horseback, and even a well-trained knight was no match for a lifelong rider in an open fight.

Monterys' forces were bleeding heavily, struggling to hold their ground. The Dothraki flanks, though isolated, were still strong.

Even if they won today, the Dragon Company would be shattered.

There was only one way to end this battle before it cost them everything.

He turned to Barristan and Clement, his breath heavy but his voice firm.

Barristan nodded without hesitation. He understood.

Clement wiped blood from his axe and grinned. "About time."

Aerion gestured to a few nearby men. "You, with me."

They pushed forward, cutting their way through the chaos, ignoring everything else.

Aerion's sword sang its deadly song, slashing, stabbing, hacking—his mind focused on one goal.

And then, over the din of battle, a shout rang out:

Aerion whipped his head around, following the voice.

A Dothraki warrior, his braid so long it nearly touched the ground, was tearing through Aerion's soldiers like a scythe through wheat.

His eyes burned with fury, his massive arakh gleaming with fresh blood.

And beside him lay his dead black stallion, its throat slashed.

A shame beyond words for any Dothraki—a **humiliation that only fueled

Drogo was unstoppable, unstoppable.. unless someone stopped him.

Aerion pointed his blood-soaked blade at the Khal.

"There," he growled to Barristan