Robert was a blur of motion, his warhammer a force of nature as it swung in great, sweeping arcs. He felt the impact of each blow reverberate through his arms, but he didn't stop. He couldn’t. He fought with the fury of a man who knew he was already dead, and in that acceptance, he found a strange kind of freedom. Each swing of his hammer was final, decisive, and left nothing but broken bodies in its wake.
The moonlight glinted off the blood-slicked stones, and Robert used the light to guide his strikes, aiming for any shadow that moved toward him. He had long since lost count of how many he had felled, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he kept moving, kept killing, kept them from breaking through the thin line of defenders behind him.
The Crabfeeder’s men came at him in waves, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers, but the narrow pass worked in his favor. They stumbled over each other in their rush to reach him, and Robert used their disarray to his advantage, sending them sprawling with each brutal swing. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat mingling with the blood on his skin, but he welcomed the burn in his muscles. It kept him grounded, kept him focused.
“Keep your formation!” Robert shouted to his men, sparing a brief glance behind him. They stood firm, their backs against the rocks, spears bristling like the spines of a great beast. “Don’t let them through!”
A roar from his right drew his attention, and Robert turned just in time to catch the flash of steel aimed at his head. He ducked, feeling the blade whistle past his ear, and retaliated with a quick thrust of his hammer’s handle, catching his attacker in the throat. The man went down, clutching his neck, and Robert didn’t waste a moment before turning back to the mass of enemies in front of him.
He could feel the weight of their eyes on him, the fear creeping into their movements as they realized they were facing not a man, but a monster. But even monsters could bleed, and Robert knew he wouldn’t last forever. Already, he could feel the fatigue creeping into his limbs, each swing a little slower, a little less precise. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep going, to keep fighting.
“Where’s their leader?” Robert growled, scanning the sea of faces for some sign of the man commanding this rabble. If he could take him out, maybe—just maybe—they had a chance.
The answer came in the form of a shout, one that cut through the din of battle like a knife. “There he is! The big one with the curved blade!”
Robert turned, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a man in ornate armor pushing his way through the crowd, a curved blade gleaming in his hand. The Crabfeeder’s lieutenant, no doubt. This was the one he had to kill.
With a roar of his own, Robert surged forward, crashing into the enemy lines like a battering ram. He felt blades glance off his armor, felt the hot sting of cuts on his arms and legs, but he didn’t stop. He plowed through them, his hammer swinging in wide, brutal arcs that left nothing but carnage in his wake.
The lieutenant’s eyes widened as Robert barreled toward him, and he raised his sword in a desperate attempt to block the incoming blow. But Robert didn’t give him the chance. He brought his hammer down with all the strength he could muster, the impact sending a shockwave up his arms and shattering the blade in the man’s hands.
The lieutenant staggered back, his expression one of disbelief, and Robert didn’t hesitate. He swung again, the iron head of his hammer connecting with the man’s chest with a sickening crunch. The lieutenant crumpled, his armor caving in around him, and Robert stood over him, panting, as the man’s eyes went dark.
For a moment, there was silence. The Crabfeeder’s men hesitated, their leader’s death sapping the fight from them. But then, slowly, they began to back away, the fear Robert had seen in their eyes turning to outright terror.
“Go!” Robert bellowed, raising his hammer high. “Run! Tell the Crabfeeder that if he wants this island, he’ll have to take it from my cold, dead hands!”
That was enough. The enemy broke, scattering like leaves in the wind, and Robert watched them flee, his chest heaving with each breath. He let his hammer drop, the weight of it suddenly too much to bear, and turned back to his men.
They stared at him, eyes wide with awe and disbelief. For a moment, none of them spoke, and then, slowly, one by one, they raised their weapons and cheered. It was a sound that echoed off the cliffs, a defiant roar that seemed to shake the very earth beneath them.
Robert smiled, though it was a tired, bloodied thing, and nodded. “We’re not dead yet,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “Not today.”
The men stood frozen in awe and terror as the dragon swept through the night sky, its scales reflecting the moonlight with a silvery-blue hue. The air vibrated with each powerful beat of its wings, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. The sight was mesmerizing, and for a moment, even Robert felt the breath catch in his throat. He had heard tales of dragons, but to see one, to feel the heat of its flames and the fury of its wrath, was something entirely different.
The Crabfeeder’s men had no chance. The first wave of fire had scattered them, sending them into a panicked frenzy, but now they were trapped, their escape route cut off by the sheer force of the dragon’s flames. The creature swooped low, its massive form blotting out the stars, and unleashed another torrent of fire, the heat so intense that Robert could feel it even from where he stood. The flames roared to life, devouring everything in their path, turning men to ash and steel to molten slag.
The cheers of victory died on the lips of Robert’s men as they watched the destruction unfold, replaced by a stunned silence. This wasn’t just a battle—it was a massacre, an act of divine wrath, and it left no room for celebration.
“Hold your ground!” Robert barked, snapping his men out of their stupor. “Don’t move! Stay together!”
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He could see the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty that had crept in with the arrival of this new force. But Robert had no intention of letting them fall into chaos, not after they had fought so hard to survive. They might be battered, wounded, and weary, but they were still soldiers, and they would face whatever came next with their heads held high.
The dragon circled overhead, and for a moment, Robert feared it would turn its wrath on them. He tightened his grip on his warhammer, every muscle in his body tensed as he prepared for the worst. But instead of attacking, the dragon landed gracefully on a nearby hill, its massive wings folding against its body with an almost casual elegance.
And that’s when Robert saw him. Silhouetted against the moonlight, a figure dismounted from the dragon’s back. Clad in armor that gleamed with silver and sea-blue, the rider moved with the confidence of someone who had faced death many times. Even from a distance, Robert could feel the power and authority radiating from him.
The rider approached, and as he drew closer, Robert’s breath caught again. It was a young man with silver-blond hair, his eyes a sharp violet that seemed to glow in the dim light. He carried himself with the confidence of a leader, and as he reached Robert’s men, they instinctively parted to let him pass.
“Who commands here?” he demanded, his voice strong and clear, carrying over the crackling of flames.
Robert stepped forward, planting his warhammer in the ground before him. “That would be me,” he replied, trying to keep the exhaustion from showing in his voice. “Robert Stronghammer.”
The young man looked him over, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve done well to hold out this long, Robert Stronghammer,” he said with a nod. “But you were outnumbered, outmatched. You’d have died here if I hadn’t arrived.”
Robert snorted, a hint of a grin playing on his lips. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But I’d have taken a good few of them with me.”
The rider’s smile widened, and he nodded with approval. “I have no doubt.” He gestured to the dragon, which watched them with eyes that gleamed like molten silver. “My name is Laenor Velaryon,” he announced. “I’ve come on behalf of House Velaryon to aid in this fight. My father, the Sea Snake, has sent me with Seasmoke to put an end to the Crabfeeder’s ambitions in these islands. You’ve done well to hold them back, but now it’s time to finish this.”
Robert’s heart skipped a beat at the name. Laenor Velaryon, the dragonrider. Tales of his courage and valor in battle had reached even these distant shores, and to see him here in the flesh, to have him standing before them, was more than Robert could have hoped for.
“Then you have our thanks,” Robert said, bowing his head slightly. “We’ve lost too many good men here tonight. Any help you can offer would be welcome.”
Laenor nodded, his expression softening just a fraction. “We will mourn them,” he said, his voice tinged with genuine empathy. “But know that their deaths were not in vain. We will take this island, and we will make sure the Triarchy never threatens these waters again.”
He turned back to Seasmoke, raising his hand, and the dragon let out a low, rumbling growl in response. “Gather your wounded,” Laenor told Robert. “My dragon will stand watch for the rest of the night. You’ve earned your rest, Robert Stronghammer. At first light, we’ll finish what you’ve started.”
With that, he mounted Seasmoke once more, the great beast lowering its head to allow him to climb onto its back. As they took to the skies, disappearing into the night, Robert felt a sense of calm wash over him. They had survived. Against all odds, they had survived.
He turned to his men, who were still staring at the sky in disbelief. “You heard him,” Robert said, his voice rough but steady. “Gather the wounded. Get some rest. We’ve got a battle to finish.”
And as they moved to obey, Robert allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, to let the adrenaline fade, and to simply breathe. They weren’t out of danger yet, but with Laenor Velaryon and Seasmoke by their side, Robert Stronghammer felt, for the first time, that victory might just be within reach.
The first light of dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Robert stood on the rocky outcrop, his heart still racing from the previous night’s chaos. As he surveyed the aftermath of the battle, he felt a tremor in the air, a subtle shift that prickled at the back of his neck.
Then he heard it—a distant sound like rolling thunder, growing louder with each passing moment. The men around him paused, their expressions shifting from weariness to wonder. Robert squinted against the sunlight, searching the sky for the source of the noise.
And then he saw it. Against the backdrop of the morning sky, a silhouette emerged, massive and magnificent. The dragon’s wings unfurled wide, each beat sending gusts of wind cascading across the island. The creature glided effortlessly, the sunlight catching the shimmering scales that adorned its body, reflecting shades of silver and blue like polished steel.
Seasmoke descended from the heavens, the rhythmic flapping of its wings creating a powerful cadence that resonated deep within Robert’s chest. The sheer size of the beast was awe-inspiring; its wingspan stretched far beyond what he had imagined. With each powerful stroke, the dragon sliced through the air, commanding attention and respect.
As it neared, Robert could see the intricate patterns on its scales, swirling and fluid, like waves rolling across the sea. The dragon let out a deep, resonant roar that echoed across the island, a sound both beautiful and terrifying, making the ground tremble beneath him. It was a call to arms, a declaration of its intent to defend and conquer.
With a graceful arch, Seasmoke landed on a nearby rise, its talons digging into the earth with a gentle thud that belied its immense weight. The dragon’s eyes, bright and intelligent, scanned the area, taking in the remnants of the battle and the weary faces of the men who had fought through the night.
The moment felt electric, a shift in the tide of their fortunes. The arrival of the dragon was not just a spectacle; it was a harbinger of hope, a powerful ally that promised to turn the tide against the Crabfeeder and his forces. Robert felt the energy in the air transform, filling him with a renewed sense of purpose.
“By the gods,” one of the men whispered, unable to take his eyes off the magnificent creature. Robert could only nod, his heart swelling with pride and determination. Today, they would rise again, united under the shadow of the dragon, ready to reclaim what had been lost.
As Seasmoke settled on the rise, its massive wings folding neatly against its body, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. The dragon's rider, clad in armor that gleamed like polished silver, slid gracefully down from the beast's back, his movements fluid and confident. He removed his helmet, revealing a striking visage—dark skin complemented by braided white hair that cascaded to his shoulders. The sight commanded immediate respect.
“Valar Morghulis,” the rider said, a solemn greeting that echoed through the gathered men. “I am Laenor Velaryon. I thank you all for your courage in protecting the supplies of our campaign.” His voice was smooth, yet it carried the weight of authority. “I have spoken with Captain Jason Tyde, and he informed me of your bravery.”
The men straightened, eyes alight with admiration, but Laenor’s gaze fell upon Robert, who still bore the signs of last night’s battle—scuffed armor and a warhammer resting heavily in his grip. Laenor approached, a smile breaking through his serious demeanor. “And you, warrior. Where do you hail from?”
“I am Robert Stronghammer, from the Vale, my lord,” Robert replied, pride swelling in his chest.
“Are you a knight?” Laenor asked, curiosity glimmering in his eyes.
“No, my lord,” Robert replied, humility creeping into his voice. In that moment, he felt the weight of his actions during the fight—he had fought fiercely, but knighthood was a distant dream.
“Then kneel,” Laenor commanded, his tone firm yet inviting.
Robert dropped to one knee, feeling the cool earth beneath him. The world around him faded as he focused on the man before him. Laenor drew his sword, its blade shimmering in the morning light. The air was thick with anticipation as Laenor rested the sword gently on Robert’s shoulder.
“For valour in battle, honor in service. I, Laenor Velaryon raise you, Knight of Seven Kingdoms,” Laenor intoned, his voice steady and resonant, “I dub thee, Sir Robert Stronghammer.”
He lifted the sword and brought it down lightly, knighting him. The gesture was more than ceremonial; it was a binding of honor, a recognition of Robert’s valor in battle. The men around them cheered, a roar of approval that filled the air, their respect for Robert solidified in that moment.
“Rise, Sir Robert Stronghammer of the Vale,” Laenor proclaimed, stepping back to admire his new knight. “You have earned this title through bravery and skill. May your hammer strike true, and your honor never falter.”
Robert stood, a wave of emotion washing over him. He felt the weight of his new title settle upon him, grounding him in purpose. The cheers of his comrades rang in his ears as he looked at Laenor, gratitude in his heart.
“Thank you, my lord,” he managed, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of feelings. “I will uphold this honor with my life.”
Laenor nodded, his gaze earnest. “I have no doubt, Sir Robert. Now, we must prepare for the next steps in our campaign. The Crabfeeder will not rest, and neither shall we.”