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 46 – The Fox and the Huntsman

The battlefield was littered with Hightower dead, their banners trampled beneath the hooves of Tarly's advancing force. Smoke still lingered in the air, the scent of blood and burned flesh mixing with the stench of dying men.

Randyll Tarly cleaned his sword Heartsbane with a swift motion, his eyes scanning the field. The Hightowers had thought themselves clever, trying to block his path to the Stormlands. But they were fools—predictable, slow, relying too much on their numbers.

His plan had been simple—draw them in, encircle them, and break them.

He had sent a raven to Alester Florent, ordering him to hold his forces back instead of joining up as expected. Instead of charging in head-on, the Florents waited, allowing the Hightowers to engage first.

The enemy had assumed the Florents were already part of Tarly's army—after all, a few Florent knights had ridden under Hightower banners, a deception aided by Lady Florent's retainers carrying their house sigil.

Once the Hightowers committed to battle, Florent's forces struck from behind.

Tarly's men had taken barely any losses. The Hightowers were crushed, their ranks shattered. Baelor Hightower, heir to Oldtown, had barely escaped with his life, forced to retreat after losing too many men.

And the greatest victory of all—

Dickon Tarly, his son, had slain Humfrey Hightower.

Tarly cast a glance at Dickon, who rode at his side, his armor splattered with gore, his sword still red from the fight. The boy had done well—strong, disciplined, fearless. He would make a fine lord one day.

They had won. And now, nothing stood between them and the Stormlands.

Randyll turned to his officers. "We march at first light."

The war was far from over. But this was a victory they would not forget.

Viserys awoke to the warmth of Teyene Sand's body, her golden skin pressed against his as the morning sun filtered through the silk curtains of his chambers in Sunspear.

He sighed, pushing her away and sitting up. Dorne was stifling—too hot, too foreign. The Dornish feigned civility, but he could see the disrespect in their eyes. They did not kneel.

He dressed quickly, donning a robe of black and red silk, and made his way to the council chamber.

There, seated on a low couch, Doran Martell watched him with his usual unreadable expression. To his side stood Areo Hotah, ever silent, his axe resting against his shoulder. And then there was Oberyn—the Red Viper lounged lazily, drinking sweet wine, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement as Viserys entered.

Illyrio Mopatis sat nearby, fanning himself, his fat fingers covered in golden rings.

Viserys took his seat, his patience already thin.

Doran gave him a measured look. "The wedding comes first."

"The wedding?" Viserys sneered. "I have suffered for years, and now I must wait again? And for what? A dirty Dornish bride?"

Oberyn stiffened, his smirk vanishing.

Doran raised a hand, stopping his brother before he could speak. His voice was calm but firm. "It is an honor to join our houses, Prince Viserys."

Viserys exhaled sharply, but he said nothing more. He had to play the game. For now.

Illyrio cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Our allies have secured the Three Daughters."

Viserys turned to him, interest sparking in his violet eyes.

"Midas Drahar has conquered Tyrosh," Illyrio continued, "and with Dorne's aid, he holds Myr and Lys completely."

A fleet was coming. The Golden Company would soon follow.

Soon, Westeros would learn the dragon's wrath.