Chapter 62: The Bloody Dragon Lair
"High as Honor!"
"Long live the Eyrie!"
"Long live House Arryn!"
"Savages, the noble knights have arrived."
It was the knights of the Vale; Lord Jon Arryn's reinforcements had arrived.
Rhaegar saw the cavalrymen of the Vale shouting their battle cries. Wielding meteor hammers, longswords, spears, blunt axes, and spiked maces, they charged into the Mountain Clansmen like a storm.
The knights of the Vale bypassed the front-end barricade of boulders and timber and rushed into the High Clansmen's ranks to rescue the Prince and the Eagle Guards.
The mountain path was rugged and constantly shifting, but fortunately, the situation had not yet turned disastrous.
Blue-and-white cavalry crisscrossed the battlefield, splitting it apart. This had become the High Clansmen's nightmare.
Fresh and rested, the knights of the Vale mercilessly cut down the savages. Wherever they passed, cries of rage and despair echoed, bodies falling like harvested wheat.
Rhaegar noticed the battlefield drenched in color—blue, white, red, silver, and black.
Crescent falcon banners snapped in the wind. Sky-blue cloaks fluttered. Silver and black armor gleamed amid rivers of bright red blood.
Today, Rhaegar truly witnessed the might of the knights of the Vale. Their reputation was well deserved.
The knights of the Vale were famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Rhaegar let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. With the Vale knights entering the fray as fresh reserves, the outcome of the battle was decided.
Lord Jon Arryn led the reinforcements personally, sealing the victory.
The battle had dragged on far too long. Both the Mountain Clansmen and the Eagle Guards had reached the limits of their endurance.
Wave after wave of savage charges had ground down the Eagle Guards' stamina and will.
Even Rhaegar, with the Blood of Fire coursing through him, felt the strain. Repeatedly drawing the dragonbone greatbow, dodging arrows, and avoiding falling stones had exhausted him greatly.
Brynden, Cesar, Barristan, and the others were likewise drained.
Rhaegar was still holding on relatively well; the Eagle Guards endured through sheer willpower alone. Without the Fire Seed, Rhaegar would have collapsed long ago.
A battlefield ultimately comes down to who can last longer—who is faster, stronger, and more ruthless.
The arrival of fresh forces instantly reignited the Eagle Guards' spirits. The tide of battle reversed at once.
"Long live Prince Rhaegar!"
"Long live Lord Jon Arryn!"
"We survived!"
The Eagle Guards roared with renewed fervor, lifting their weapons and charging forward once more.
The Mountain Clansmen, who had tried to tighten their encirclement, were now in full rout.
Bloody flowers bloomed as their formation was completely torn apart.
Rhaegar led the Eagle Guards charging outward, while the knights of the Vale assaulted from the outside. The inner and outer forces converged, bursting through the center as the Mountain Clansmen dissolved into chaos.
The battlefield turned into a one-sided slaughter. The combined forces crushed the enemy utterly, dealing a blow that would cripple the Mountain Clansmen's ability to raid for decades.
Longbows were abandoned. Eagle Guards surged forward with shields, short spears, and longswords.
Rhaegar rode through the blood-soaked mud, trampling over corpses of men and ponies alike, his blade flashing. Barristan Selmy, Brynden Tully, Jeff, and Cesar followed close behind.
The battlefield was merciless. Death showed no favor.
Rhaegar, born of a line of great warriors, carved his way through flesh and bone without hesitation.
Together, the knights of the Vale and the Eagle Guards fully pacified the battlefield, capturing several important targets.
Aside from a handful who managed to escape, the campaign ended in overwhelming victory.
"Prince, you must have been shaken," Lord Jon Arryn said as he dismounted beside Rhaegar.
Lord Jon removed his eagle-crested helm. Wings flared from its sides, a faceguard leaving only a narrow slit. The golden helm was painted blue, adorned with crystal and gemstones, crowned with a winged falcon set with sapphire eyes.
His armor was equally magnificent—heavy steel reinforced with copper at the joints, painted blue and white. Falcon sigils adorned his shoulders, securing a sky-blue cloak.
Rhaegar caught the anxiety still lingering in Lord Jon's expression. Eight or nine hundred Mountain Clansmen mobilized at once—this had been no small affair. Had anything happened to Rhaegar, the Vale would have been plunged into catastrophe.
"You arrived just in time, my lord," Rhaegar said calmly.
On the battlefield, fortune ruled all. Stray arrows, falling stones, traps, landslides—many Lords of the Vale had met untimely ends in such chaos.
"Congratulations, Prince," Lord Jon said solemnly. "By leading from the front, you have shown the true soul of a knight."
His expression held both fear and admiration. Without question, the greatest heroes of this battle were Rhaegar and his Eagle Guards. History always honored those who charged first and shattered the enemy's lines.
Rhaegar still felt a lingering chill. War arrived too suddenly, too violently. The most troubling thought was the possibility of leaked intelligence.
Still, victory was victory—and the spoils were plentiful.
All around, Eagle Guards, Vale knights, Brynden Tully, and Barristan Selmy looked upon Rhaegar with unmistakable respect.
A commander who leads his men to victory silences all doubt. Youth and recklessness mean nothing before success. As long as Rhaegar continued to win, loyalty would follow.
"Rhaegar the Victor!" Lord Jon Arryn raised Rhaegar's arm and shouted.
"Long live Prince Rhaegar!"
"Long live Prince Rhaegar!"
"Lucky Rhaegar!"
Swords were raised skyward, voices echoing across the valley. For a moment, it felt as though Rhaegar stood upon a coronation ground.
Rhaegar Targaryen—true dragon of House Targaryen.
As the battlefield was cleared, reports came in.
Umar of the Moon Men was dead.
The leaders of the Stone Crows, Black Ears, and Milk Snakes had escaped with remnants of their forces.
Thrimm of the Burned Men had been captured alive.
Over eight hundred corpses littered the ground.
Rhaegar looked at the fallen Eagle Guards. Three had died to stray arrows and blades; one had fallen from his horse and broken his neck.
The losses were light—but each death weighed heavily.
Warriors had died for him.
Rhaegar removed his sky-blue cloak and covered the fallen. Barristan, Cesar, and Brynden followed, laying their own cloaks beside his.
The battlefield was cruel, and compassion mattered all the more.
"I want to duel you, child of the Demon Dragon," Thrimm suddenly roared, his single ear twitching as soldiers pressed spears to his throat.
"I want to fight you!"
Nearly nine hundred warriors had followed him to their deaths. He could not return.
"You have no right to bargain," Rhaegar said coldly.
"If I lose, kill me as you wish. If I win, grant me safe passage," Thrimm snarled.
"I am bound for the Fire Priestess's holy land," Rhaegar said, stepping forward.
Thrimm gritted his teeth. "Then give me a proper sword."
"Give him one."
"Prince," Barristan Selmy said, "allow me—"
Rhaegar waved him back.
Steel rang as Thrimm struck, his blade darting like a serpent.
He was a seasoned Red Hand warrior—but utterly spent.
Rhaegar met him head-on, stronger, faster. Their blades clashed once—twice—and then Rhaegar struck, knocking Thrimm's sword into the mud.
"You've won," Thrimm said dully.
The path to the Dragon Lair had been opened.
Through blood and fire, Rhaegar claimed the key.
.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics