A Rogue Dragon's Flight Chapter 3 (ASOIAF Daemon Tragryen SI) (Patreon)

The Beginning of the end for the Mountain Clans

The mountain clans or hill tribes are a culture, divided into clans of varying size and strength, who live in the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, in the Vale of Arryn. Descendants of the First Men, they are considered primitive by lowlanders but despite that, no man in Vale would say that they don’t have strength.

For clarity’s sake below is a brief note on the ambiguous nature of other names that they are called:

• The Vale's clans are sometimes called wildlings, like the free folk who live beyond the Wall. They should not be confused with the northern mountain clans (who live north of Winterfell), who are more respected and whose clan chiefs are sometimes regarded as petty lords.

While most Clansmen lived around the Gate of the moon and by extension the Mountains of the Moon, the nature of their society as nomads and brigands take the Clansmen all around Vale, despite saying this the Mountain Clans don’t all travel together most break off into their own warbands to pillage and take spoils back to the main encampment. The spoils are women, food, and weapons (in order of importance). They need all these things to survive and thrive as a clan without women would soon see itself reduced, a clan without food would have subpar warriors, and a clan without proper steel weapons would never be able to challenge the knights of the Vale.

Daemon Tragaryen’s innovation in agriculture made the acquisition of both women and food harder on the Clansmen that were moving through Runestone and Gulltown, with merchants no longer moving through the dangerous paths on their way to these places the Clansmen found very little food to sustain themselves and very few women to rape, as the year 98 AC started the Mountain Clans became more desperate and thanks to this, scouts in the service of Gunthor Royce found the encampment of the Howlers one of the largest Clans that remained since the era of the First Men.

Without wasting any time both ‘The Bronze Giant’ and the aspiring ‘Dragon Knight’ moved to end what little remained of the people that once ruled the Vale, Six Hundred knights departed from Runestone to put an end to the predations of the Howlers and it marked the beginning of the end for all the Clansmen in Vale…

Excerpt from the book ‘Fire in the Mountains: The end of the First Men in Vale’ by Archmaester Andar

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Daemon Targaryen

Two days of preparation after the party had passed, the men that accompanied us had spent that time readying themselves and fucking their wives, some would say that lovers spending what time they could together was romantic but the more cynical part of me knew that it was more than likely that the baser part of their brains wanted to continue on the species.

My armor hung loosely on my frame, well I said armor but in reality, it was a black stained chest plate and vambraces for my forearms along with some gauntlets modified to my specifications along with a pair of cruises, it all protected my most vital areas while letting me move as nimbly as possible. The helmet I bore was probably the most traditional part of my armor and it was still unconventional as I had it styled in roman like manner all it was missing was the headpiece made of plumes and to finish all of it, I had a golden cloak.

I sat upon a horse gifted to me by Gunthor, it was a massive beast black as coal and with a great temper but surprisingly it had taken little time for it to accustomed itself to me, then again, I spend a lot of time feeding it apples and I made sure that the fucker was as comfortable as it could be on the stables as long as I was there. Rhea wanted me to name it something suitably poetic or majestic but I had no creativity, not when it came to names.

In the end, I decided to name it Blackfyre like my brother’s sword and told Rhea that I had named it thus as a way to say that I would run down the enemies of my brother just as his sword would, truly what I lacked in creativity when it came to names I more than made up for it in my ability to say bullshit.

Speaking of bullshit, Gunthor had been shitting on my militia, sure they were not the best equipped but they more than made up for it with their fanatism. When I thought about the loyalty some people showed to the Targaryens across the years in this life and in the books I thought it an exaggeration but there was something in the people of old Valerya that made us…more.

Sure I had spread some propaganda by having people talk about me and what I did to help the peasantry and those in my militia were gifted with a golden-colored cloak just like the original Daemon would have done with the city watch but the amount of adoration I saw in the faces of those that worked for me directly was off-putting and just like Gunthor had mentioned before knights like Willam had become very enthusiastic in following me as despite caring little for chivalry I was a good example to follow.

I was brought out of my thoughts when one of the scouts attached to my group approached me.

“My prince, the wildlings are still there! If we hurry then we can put an end to this before they can retaliate. Lord Gunthor should also be in position to flank them” the overly excited man blabbered on and I was amazed by his ability to talk without taking a single gulp of air.

“Then the terrain is favorable?” I was not an expert in warfare but I knew that charging into a bunch of trees with cavalry was a bad idea.

“There are some stumps from trees the Clansmen have brought down but otherwise it’s just like any other part of the mountains around us. This must have always been the place where they make camp as there is one of those heathen trees close to the pond where they take water from!”

It was amazing what some people could see without a telescope or as they called it here a far-eye, copying that and finding a way to farm both sugar and salt should be my next project.

“Then let’s not waste any more time” I moved my horse through the lines of men and spoke as hard as I could “Men! We have come here to put an end to a plague, a most ruinous and detestable one! Today you all will make history, no matter what happens to you!”

I paused for dramatic effect before going back to the head of the column, the eyes of three hundred men followed my every move as they drank in my every word, I just had to finish it with style.

“Do what you have to do! Give no mercy and no matter what you may see or do, no matter what others may say about your methods or actions I want you to remember this. You’re all heroes to me!”

A cheer rose from the knights, I raised Dark Sister into the air as my horse started to run “Atack!”

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Rolf son of Ulf

Every day he spent without a woman warming his side was another day that Rolf thought about killing the current Chief of the Howlers when they had followed Umar son of Conn to this place he had promised them all women, food, and weapons that would help them drive out the Lowlanders from their rightful lands but instead all they had found was misery.

Day by day more children died and Rolf had finally become numb at the wailing sound that came from the mothers whose children starved to death, some of the more desperate of their people had even thought about cannibalism but they were quickly silenced as doing such was an affront to the Gods, that, and because every family would begin in fighting and deplete them of any remaining strength they still had.

There was a crowd around the Weirwood, another man sought to take the spot of chief from Umar and perhaps this time the challenger might succeed, Umar was a big man and the lack of food had surely affected him more than other men, but the same could be said of his opponent or of any other man that was on this side of the mountains.

With nothing better to do and to distract himself from his hunger Rolf decided to take a look, the rumbling sounds his belly made as he approached the rest of the crowd was soon echoed by more people.

“Hear me Umar son of Conn! Your leadership has brought us nothing but empty bellies and dead children! Today I strike you down in front of the Gods” the challenger spoke with a raspy voice, it was an older man that had been part of the Howlers since Rolf was born, and his voice was a shadow of what it had once been, even so, it carried power as it was filled with determination.

Coratt had once been a candidate for chief but had turned down the position, his eyes were now sunken in his face and the white beard he sported was the only hair on his head, despite all of that his body looked as if it was still in his younger years, a serrated piece of steel was his weapon of choice and for many years he had used it to drown the ground in the blood of the invaders.

“I, Umar son of Conn accept the challenge of Coratt son of Cheyk! The Gods will decide who is in the right! Only strength matters!” usually cheers or jeers would have followed but the people of the clan were so hungry that the only sound they made came from their rumbling bellies.

Umar was tall, broad, he was young, and more importantly, he had a hammer so big that a single hit was enough to send the insides of a man flying out from the body, Rolf knew it was so because he had seen it happen a few days prior.

After a single beat passed both warriors launched themselves against the other, Coratt moved with surprising speed and dexterity as he tried to strike the side of Umar but the chief wasn’t a fool and easily blocked the strike with the handle of his hammer then he pushed forward intent on making Coratt fall, the old man proved his experience by getting out of that situation quickly.

Slowly they circled each other and the anticipation in the air grew, they had both come out unharmed after the first exchange, it almost made it possible for Rolf to forget that he hadn’t eaten anything in days. Distantly he heard a sound like thunder, Rolf turned his head towards the clouds but his sight was greeted by a cloudless sky. Instincts long used to escape from danger sprang up and without delay, Rolf made his way out of the circle and away from the crowd.

No one else had noticed what he had, they were all too busy looking at the ensuing fight. Their minds were probably numb from hunger but Rolf had long ago learned that the true way to survive in the mountains was to be smart, brave men made legends but smart men lived longer and Rolf didn’t care about legacy, he cared about life, let those that remain worry about such things.

The sound kept going and it was getting louder with barely restrained panic Rolf started running to the other side of the clearing as far away from the Weirwood as was possible, then he saw them.

Clad in steel and atop their war beast the men of the lowlands barged into their camp, Rolf realized then that any other incursion by the rest of the clans would useless, without food or water they would starve before ever reaching any of the villages around here.

The crowd that was watching the fight with rapt attention was soon trampled the screams of men and women were carried by the wind along with the stench of death that came after their souls had joined the trees. Umar felled one of the war beasts along with its rider but in response, he was impaled by three spears. The last Rolf saw of his chief was his angry face as swung his hammer one last time.

“Run!”

“Higher into the mountains! Move”

“Ah!”

“Not my daughter please!”

Coratt weaved in between the riders taking down three horses before a massive black beast trampled him, atop it was a man, unlike any Rolf had ever seen, and in his hands, he held a sword that was a shadow made real.

“Die you lowlan-!”

“Try to kill me if you dar-“

“You cocksu-“

The screams of the men and of the women as they cursed their killers came and went, like bad weather or a bad dream their words disappeared leaving only the cursed sound of those war beasts stomping the ground.

Once he had heard from an old man that their people were cursed, they had lost against the invaders generations ago and they refused to submit to the strong, that their fight was a doomed one and one day they would all perish for it. Rolf had once thought it the mad ramblings of a man too old to fight but too stubborn to die, perhaps there was truth in his words.

Rolf watched from a distance as the men of the lowlands felled everything in their path, what few warrior women were left were captured no doubt to inflict on them what the clansmen planned to do to the women of the lowlanders, it was funny in a way.

The thundering sound came again but this time from behind him, Rolf turned around to see a man even bigger than Umar mounted on one of their beasts, the last thought that passed through his mind was that what happened to his people really was funny.

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Gunthor Royce

Gunthor spat on the corpse of one of the clansmen, the fool had died laughing. Daemon had wanted to be more lenient but with scum like these who laughed in the face of death it was wasted, the women of the clans were ugly but the men in his service deserved a reward and many of them had lost family to the clans over the years, they would exact their righteous vengeance upon the bodies of the woman that bore such animals into the world.

The protector of Runestone moved toward the prince and was glad to see that despite his weak will in seeing things through he hadn’t wasted his pity or what was in his belly on the animals that delighted in ransacking the Vale.

“It was over far quicker than I thought it would take” Daemon smiled at him “as you know I don’t have experience with things that end so quickly”

Gunthor raised his fist in warning but the smile on his face made sure the princeling knew it was in jest “another word about my niece and I will show you a short fight.”

Daemon raised one of his eyebrows in response “So certain of your defeat uncle”

The men around them laughed as Gunthor grumbled “Once I have some time I will show you what training is really like, for all his technique Willan lacks strength, I will see if you’re just as speedy in a duel as you are with your words”

Daemon raised his hand in surrender but the mirth in his eyes and the smile he held made it all seem inconsequential, Gunthor had noticed it before with both the King and Queen who in their younger years visited the Lords Paramount once every few years but the dragonlords had something that made it hard to stay mad at them. Gunthor remembered the day he had first seen Queen Alysanne, he had been ready to challenge the King for her hand, and many days he spent looking out a window hoping to see her atop her dragon flying by.

“No need to look so pensive Gunthor, we’ve made history today we have ended one of the Mountain Clans in its entirety. Our names will be remembered by those that come after us, taverns and whorehouses from every part of the Vale will toast in our honor and more importantly, women will throw themselves at us!”

Another cheer erupted from the men, even those that had been busy rutting into the captured women were cheering, the blasted fools probably didn’t even know what they were cheering about but they did it anyway.

“You have a wife Daemon, my niece”

“And believe me, uncle, once I’m back on Runestone she will throw herself at me!”

Once again the men cheered and Gunthor was starting to get tired of it, it seemed like the knights were forgetting to whom they swore their oaths. He would make them train twice as hard when they were back in the castle.

“Let’s go back before night comes, I don’t want any of you to die just because you couldn’t see where the horse was walking!” Gunthor screamed out to much grumbling from the men that were enjoying their spoils “And if I find out that you didn’t kill those women after you’re done with them then I’m going to have you cleaning the stables as if you were squires again!”

Daemon stared at him with surprise and perhaps a hint of a frown on his face but the prince wisely stayed quiet instead of saying whatever was on his mind, chivalry had its place but it wasn’t here in the mountains.