The War of the Kings
Chapter 44 – The War of the Kings
297 AC
For nearly a year, Aerion Targaryen and the Dragon Company remained in their camp near Braavos, recovering from the brutal battle against Khal Drogo's horde. It was a time of peace, but also of preparation.
His army, once battered and bloodied, had healed. Though their numbers had not grown, their experience had. Each of the 28,000 soldiers who remained was now a hardened veteran, a warrior who had survived the greatest Dothraki charge the world had ever seen. They were no longer just sellswords or exiles. They were brothers—bound by blood, fire, and victory.
And their camp… it had become more than a war camp.
A Village of Exiles
Aerion walked through the settlement, his black armor left behind in favor of a simple tunic. The air smelled of roasting meat and salt, and the sound of hammering steel echoed from the blacksmiths.
The Dragon Company had always traveled with its own—wives, children, and families. Now, after years in Essos, the camp had grown into something more.
A village.
Children ran between the tents, playing with wooden swords, their silver hair shining in the morning sun. Most of them were Valyrian-blooded, the sons and daughters of men who had followed Aerion across the world. They did not see themselves as mercenaries. They saw themselves as exiles, waiting for the day they could return home.
Aerion smiled as he spotted Laenor Velaryon, the young heir of the dead Monford Velaryon, swinging a wooden sword under the watchful gaze of Ser Clement Celtigar.
Clement, a giant of a man, corrected the boy's stance. "Wider feet, lad. If you want to be a dragon, you must stand like one."
Laenor adjusted, determination in his purple eyes.
Aerion watched for a moment before moving on. These were the moments he cherished, the peace before the storm. Because deep in his heart, he knew—the storm was coming.
The Arrival of Aurane Waters
As Aerion made his way toward the docks, he saw Aurane Waters approaching. The man, a Velaryon bastard, had been overseeing the Dragon Company's fleet. While Aerion and his army had marched to war, Aurane had stayed behind, guarding the women, children, and supplies with the company's marines.
He was a handsome man, his silver hair flowing like the sea he loved. A smirk played at his lips as he bowed his head slightly.
"My prince," Aurane said. "It is good to see you back where the air doesn't stink of horse."
Aerion chuckled. "And yet you still smell of salt."
Aurane grinned. "As I should. The fleet is ready, the men are strong, and we have been patient… but it seems our patience is finally rewarded."
Aerion's smile faded at the look in Aurane's eyes.
News.
Aurane had come with news from Westeros.
And by the way he spoke, it was clear—the time had come.
The time for taking.
Year 297 AC – The Realm in Turmoil
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POV: Lord Eddard Stark – King's Landing
The air in the Red Keep was thick with heat and treachery. Lord Eddard Stark, newly appointed Hand of the King, stood before King Robert Baratheon, arguing as he had done a hundred times since arriving in this cursed city.
"She is but a child, Robert," Ned said, his voice firm. "Daenerys Targaryen is no threat to your throne—"
Robert slammed his goblet onto the table, his face red from drink. "Are you a fool, Stark? She carries the blood of the Dragon! Do you think I'll sit idle while she breeds more of their kind?"
"We should negotiate," Ned urged. "If the Dragon Company continues to grow, if Aerion is truly gathering strength in Essos, then perhaps a betrothal would be wiser than war."
"Marry a Targaryen to one of my children?" Robert sneered. "I'd rather put my son in bed with a direwolf!"
Ned's hands clenched into fists. "You would rather spill innocent blood than consider peace?"
"This is war, Ned! There is no innocence in war!"
Ned saw the stubbornness in Robert's eyes and knew he would not yield.
"I will not be part of this," he declared. "I resign as Hand of the King."
Robert stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "You're a damn fool, Stark. But if you won't do it, I'll find someone who will."
Ned turned to leave, his heart heavy. He had come to save his friend from his own worst instincts. Now, he could only hope the realm did not burn for Robert's hatred.
But the storm was already brewing.
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POV: Jaime Lannister – King's Landing
The streets of King's Landing were alive with the sounds of swords and shouts. Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stood over the bleeding form of Eddard Stark, his golden armor gleaming in the torchlight.
"That was for Tyrion," Jaime said, wiping his blade clean.
It had been a foolish thing, for Stark's wife to seize his brother. Tyrion had been taken at the Eyrie, accused of attempting to murder young Bran Stark. Now, Jaime had ensured the Starks knew the price of such an insult.
Ned's men lay dead in the streets. The Kingsguard had stood aside, letting Jaime teach the North a lesson.
"You shouldn't have taken my brother, Stark," Jaime said, sheathing his sword. "Now, you've made an enemy of House Lannister."
And soon, the war would begin.
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POV: Stannis Baratheon – Storm's End
Stannis read the letters carefully, his jaw clenched.
Robert's children were bastards.
Jon Arryn had known. That was why he was poisoned. Stannis had fled Dragonstone, knowing that his life was at risk if he spoke the truth. Now, he had taken Storm's End, his true inheritance, and prepared for what must come next.
"The realm will call me a traitor," he muttered.
Davos Seaworth, standing beside him, shook his head. "No, my lord. You are the true heir. You are the lawful king."
Stannis looked down at the letter again. Robert was dead.
Joffrey, the bastard, wore the crown.
No more waiting. No more doubts.
Stannis clenched his fist.
"Then I will take what is mine. I am Stannis Baratheon. I am King of Westeros."
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POV: Robb Stark – Riverrun
"The King in the North! The King in the North!"
The voices echoed in the halls of Riverrun, but Robb Stark barely heard them. He knelt beside his dying father's sword, Ice, and swore an oath.
Joffrey Baratheon had beheaded Eddard Stark.
There was no longer a Stark in Winterfell—but that would change.
His banners had been called. The North and the Riverlands had chosen him as their king.
He was no longer just Robb Stark.
"I will take back my father's home. I will avenge him. Winter is Coming."
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POV: Balon Greyjoy – Pyke
Balon Greyjoy laughed as he read the raven's message.
War had come to the Seven Kingdoms. The wolves fought the lions, the stags turned on each other, and soon the dragons would return.
"And where is the kraken in all of this?" he murmured.
He turned to his captains, his black iron crown upon his brow.
"The Ironborn take what is theirs. And now, we will take it all."
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POV: Loras Tyrell – Bitterbridge
The green and gold banners of House Tyrell fluttered in the wind, but the Reach was divided.
The West Bloc—Hightower, Rowan, the Shield Islands, and Oakheart—had turned against Lord Mace Tyrell, seeking to separate from Highgarden.
But another faction—Tarly, Ashford, and Florent—had declared for Stannis.
The Fossoways, Caswells, Osgreys, Cranes, and Footlys wanted an alliance with the North and the Vale.
The Reach, once the most unified of the kingdoms, was now at war with itself.
"How did it come to this?" Loras muttered, gripping his sword.
His brother Garlan sighed. "Because the world is changing, Loras. And we must choose where we stand."
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POV: Lysa Arryn – The Eyrie
"The Vale is closed," Lysa Arryn whispered.
She held her son Robert close, rocking him as he whimpered.
No war would come here. No kings, no battles.
The Vale belonged to House Arryn, and it would remain untouched.
She would see to that.
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POV: Doran Martell – Sunspear
Doran Martell sat in the gardens of Sunspear, watching the orange sky fade into night.
"Dragons," he murmured.
The world was shifting, and the Martells would shift with it.
They had waited long enough.
It was time to bring fire and blood to Westeros once more.
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Seven Kings, One Crown
The War of Kings had begun.
Joffrey Baratheon sat the Iron Throne, a false king.
Robb Stark was crowned King in the North.
Stannis Baratheon declared himself King of Westeros.
Balon Greyjoy named himself King of the Iron Islands.
The Reach was torn in two, with different factions backing different kings.
The Vale had closed its borders, refusing to choose a side.
The Martells schemed in the shadows, their alliance with the dragons unknown.
Three more kings would rise.
But only one would wear the crown in the end.
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End of Chapter.