ASOIAF: The True House of Dragons

King Mern stretched out his hand, pointing straight at King Loren, and scolded him with frustration: "Just look at you now, so downcast and defeated—completely unworthy of the bold spirit you showed when we first forged our alliance!"

King Loren I of the Rock kept his head bowed, jaw clenched tight, his face so dark and stormy it seemed like rain might fall from it. His right hand gripped his sword so hard that the veins bulged on the back of his hand, clearly visible.

He was fighting hard to contain the fury burning in his chest. If not for his usually decent character, he might have drawn his sword right then, beheaded King Mern on the spot, and carried the corpse to Aegon to claim credit and reward.

At that moment, Serrett, the Lord of House Serrett and a vassal of the Rock, quickly sensed the tension building in the hall.

He stepped forward at once, placing a hand over Loren I's sword-wielding hand, and spoke in a low voice, "Your Grace, please—don't act on impulse."

Loren I's face remained taut as he gave a slight nod in reply.

Mern IX stepped once more to the center of the hall, spread his arms wide, and addressed the assembled nobles with a hoarse, rallying cry:

"We must take up arms! Punish these three evil dragons and drive the Valyrian raiders from our lands!

They are vile invaders!

I know the ways of the Valyrian Freehold—they worship slavery! Just look at King's Landing, that den of chains Aegon the evil dragon is building. It's filled with slaves, forced to labor day and night.

Aegon is even more terrifying than Harren the Blackheart!

If we shrink away like cowards now, our children and their children will live as slaves. Our ancestors will spit on our names! As long as the slightest hope remains, we must not give in..."

Mern IX's speech was thunderous, filled with passion and fire—but the response was meager. Only a handful of his sons and loyal bannermen clapped and pumped their fists in support.

The rest of the nobles sat silent, the air in the room so heavy it was difficult to breathe.

The lords of the Kingdom of the Rock crossed their arms, sneering, as if watching a clown make a fool of himself on stage.

"You..." Mern IX, seeing the lack of response, erupted in rage, shaking with fury. He jabbed his finger at his own vassals, eyes wide, shouting, "Cowards! You're a coward! You! You too!"

Publicly berated by their liege lord, the nobles of the Riverlands were humiliated. Heads bowed, eyes fixed on their own feet, not one of them dared to speak.

Watching this unfold, Loren I let out a heavy snort through his nose, then turned and strode out of the council hall with the lords of the Rock following in lockstep.

The Reach lords who had already been considering surrender now found themselves stuck. They wanted to follow Loren, but feared punishment from their liege.

No one could predict what reckless move the now-unhinged Mern IX might make.

Thus, the military council between the Kingdom of the Reach and the Kingdom of the Rock ended in disarray and discontent...

After the meeting, many nobles quietly withdrew from the alliance. Some returned straight to their own lands, while others rode directly to the Targaryen camp to surrender.

Among them was Loren I of the Rock. He led his vassals and army away from the coalition without hesitation, marching straight to the Targaryen encampment.

There, Loren I knelt on one knee and raised high the golden crown that symbolized the legacy of the Kings of the Rock.

Aegon emerged at the head of the Targaryen dynasty's high officials, majestic and commanding.

Under the gaze of tens of thousands, Aegon gladly accepted King Loren's submission, reaching out to take the crown made entirely of gold. On the spot, he appointed Loren as Lord of the Westerlands.

Loren Lannister's betrayal of his allies and surrender to the enemy was met with universal scorn throughout Westeros.

People gave him a loud and damning nickname: "Loren the King Who Knelt."

Aegon promptly sent envoys to the Reach's army camp, urging them to surrender as well. He made it clear that he had no desire to slaughter those who would one day become his subjects and citizens.

Mern IX flew into a rage. Without hesitation, he executed Aegon's envoy, declaring with resolute defiance that he would rather die than surrender.

So, the very next day...

The two kingdoms' armies faced off on the battlefield, poised for a fierce and imminent clash.

This time, unlike at the Battle of the Last Storm, Aegon did not hold the advantage of high ground. The terrain here was firm, dry, and free of any mud or rainfall to influence the fight.

But that hardly mattered—the disparity in strength between the two sides was simply too great.

Even after the betrayal by the Kingdom of the Rock, King Mern still commanded nearly 40,000 soldiers. As the wealthiest region in all of Westeros, the Reach fielded the most well-equipped army on the continent.

With the addition of the 10,000 troops brought by the King of the Rock, the Targaryen army's strength had surged past 100,000. It would be a battle of 40,000 against 100,000.

On the day of the decisive battle, the wind stirred, but the sky was a cloudless blue.

In fact, not a single drop of rain had fallen in the two weeks leading up to the fight.

King Mern assigned his eldest son and heir, Edmyn, to lead the vanguard. The right wing was commanded by Lord Tarly and his knights, while the left was under the leadership of Lord Oakheart.

With no natural barriers guarding the Targaryen flanks, King Mern planned to stretch out both wings to sweep across and strike deep into Aegon's rear camp, hoping to cut down the enemy commander himself. The center of the force would launch a powerful, unstoppable charge, led by the so-called "Iron Fists"—a massive wedge of noble lords and armored knights.

It was a bold and ambitious plan.

But reality was far less kind.

As the Reach's army began its charge, some soldiers broke ranks and fled the battlefield. Many lords deliberately slowed their pace, each trying to outdo the other in charging more sluggishly. The once-cohesive force of 40,000 was quickly reduced to a sluggish, scattered mess.

Aegon had arranged his troops in a sharp spearhead formation. Infantry bristling with spears and pikes held the front line, with archers and crossbowmen positioned just behind. Light cavalry covered both flanks.

He handed over battlefield command to Orys, while he and his two queens took to the skies.

Aegon had naturally noticed that the land hadn't seen rain in many days. The grass was thick, the wheat heavy with grain… and everything was bone-dry.

At the sound of the command horn, the Targaryen army began to advance in disciplined unison, their banners surging like waves in a sea of color.

King Mern, astride a golden warhorse, personally led the central charge. At his side, his son Gawen held aloft a banner—a white field bearing a great green hand.

Driven on by the blare of horns, the loyal retainers of House Gardener roared and screamed as they charged forward, braving a downpour of arrows. But their momentum was broken as they slammed into the Targaryen spear lines, suffering devastating losses.

It was then that Aegon and his sisters made their move.

Aegon, mounted on Balerion, swept through the enemy ranks like a thundercloud, diving again and again through volleys of spears, stones, and arrows, unleashing torrents of flame. Rhaenys and Visenya flanked him in support, setting fire to both the windward and leeward flanks of the enemy.

The dry hay and ripened wheat caught fire instantly. Fanned by the wind, the blaze spread rapidly, sending thick smoke rolling across the battlefield—straight into the faces of the advancing soldiers under the Reach's banners.

The heat of the flames made the horses restless and uneasy. As the smoke thickened, neither riders nor mounts could see a thing—only the rising walls of fire surrounding them. In an instant, the once-mighty cavalry formation collapsed into chaos.

The Targaryen army, positioned upwind of the inferno, simply needed to calmly use bows and spears to finish off the stumbling, flame-covered enemies fleeing from the sea of fire.

Acrid smoke choked the battlefield. The roar of flames and the screams of dying soldiers mingled into a nightmarish symphony.

The battle ended within minutes.

In truth, only House Gardener and their closest vassals had joined the actual fight. The other lords of the Reach had lingered at the rear, never stepping onto the battlefield.

Once Aegon and his sisters incinerated the charging warriors of House Gardener, the Reach lords dismounted at once, threw down their weapons, and dropped to their knees in surrender.

But almost immediately, they saw the raging flames sweeping toward them and were forced to abandon their arms entirely, scrambling to retreat even farther. Their panic made for a pitiful sight.

Lord Loren of the Westerlands spat hard, squinting as he watched King Mern turn to a blackened husk in the dragonfire. Relief and dread churned in his chest.

If I had let King Mern talk me into fighting the Dragonlord, I'd be roasted too.

Aegon ordered Orys to take the surrendered lords of the Reach into custody.

Most had dropped their weapons and fled quickly enough, so few were seriously burned by the dragonfire.

After the battle, Aegon had the army tally the dead. Over two thousand had been burned alive, while another thousand had fallen to blades, spears, or arrows.

Tens of thousands suffered burns, and even among the Targaryens' own men, many were accidentally injured by dragonfire. A number of them would carry hideous scars for the rest of their lives.

King Mern IX, along with his sons, brothers, cousins, and extended kin, were reduced to ash. Only one nephew lingered for three days before succumbing to his burns. With that, House Gardener was no more.

The Targaryen forces had lost fewer than a hundred men. Queen Visenya had taken an arrow to the shoulder, but it had only pierced her leather armor and stuck in the cotton padding beneath—it hadn't injured her.

As the three dragons feasted on the corpses, Aegon sent men to gather up the weapons scattered across the scorched field and transport them to King's Landing. He intended to make a spectacle of the surrendered soldiers, displaying their arms in the city square as proof of his overwhelming victory.

The stench of charred flesh filled the air. Smoke billowed thick and black, cloaking the battlefield in a scene straight out of the apocalypse.

The terrifying blaze that had consumed the plains earned the battle its name: "Field of Fire," as dubbed by the maesters who had accompanied the army.

During the following days of rest, Aegon turned his thoughts to the unconquered Kingdom of Dorne in the west. He mounted Balerion and flew ahead of the main host, hurrying to Highgarden to prevent anyone else from seizing the opportunity.

As Balerion soared above Highgarden, Aegon noticed the castle was on high alert, as though someone had anticipated his arrival on dragonback.

A middle-aged man in a steward's uniform stood waiting atop the city walls. He raised a hand to stop the guards, who were poised for battle.

The steward introduced himself as Harlan Tyrell, head of House Tyrell and the one who had sent several secret letters to the Targaryen dynasty. He explained that House Tyrell now controlled all of Highgarden.

Harlan Tyrell declared that if Aegon would grant House Tyrell the title of Lord of Highgarden and the Reach, the Tyrells would kneel and swear fealty to him.

Aegon, seated atop his dragon, regarded him with a hint of amusement.

Perhaps Harlan Tyrell still doesn't know that the army of the Reach has already been defeated, and House Gardener wiped out by the Targaryens. And now he thinks he can bargain Highgarden for a noble title?

Aegon stared down coldly from the dragon's back, his expression unreadable.

"Foolish steward," he said flatly, "why would you ask me for payment for something that already belongs to me?"