The Stronghammer - CH - 54

The letter arrived at dawn, brought by a young courier who looked like he had ridden through the night. King Robert stood on the balcony of his palace in Zeagan, watching the sunrise over the Spine Mountains when the knock came at his chamber door.

“Enter,” he called, his voice steady despite the early hour.

The young courier stepped in, bowing deeply before presenting the sealed letter. “From one of your agents near Nymeris, Your Grace.”

Robert took the letter, breaking the seal with his thumb. As he read, his brow furrowed, and his jaw tightened. The news was grave: a massive Khalasar, numbering in the tens of thousands, was heading toward Nymeris, the newly developing city by Dagger Lake.

"Why would they attack Nymeris?" Robert muttered to himself. The city was barely more than a collection of partially built homes, fields, and a growing temple dedicated to the faith of Rhaenor. There was no great wealth to plunder, no treasure to seize.

"They attack because they can," Robert growled, crumpling the letter in his fist. "To sow fear, to prove their strength."

Robert wasted no time. He marched into the War Hall, where Darius and several commanders of the Blackstone Legion were already gathered.

“Nymeris is under threat,” Robert announced, tossing the crumpled letter onto the table. “A massive Khalasar is heading straight for it. We have little time.”

Darius picked up the letter, scanning its contents. “A city half-built, with minimal defenses and few guards,” he said grimly. “They’ll raze it to the ground if they reach it.”

“They won’t,” Robert said firmly. His voice carried the weight of authority and determination. “I’ll stop them before they even see the walls of Nymeris.”

The Blackstone Legion sprang into action. Messages were sent to all outposts, rallying the soldiers stationed across Stormrage. Within hours, an army was assembled—small but formidable.

Robert stood before his men, addressing them with the commanding presence of a seasoned warrior.

“These Dothraki think they can threaten what we’ve built, destroy what we’ve worked so hard to create,” he began, his voice booming across the courtyard. “But they forget—they’ve faced us before, and they’ve lost. This time will be no different. We’ll show them that no matter where they strike, Stormrage will rise to meet them!”

Everyone knew that waiting for the Blackstone Legion to mobilize and march would take too long. But no one had expected Robert Stronghammer to make the decision he announced that morning.

“I’m going alone,” Robert declared, his voice resolute, as he addressed the council in the War Hall. The room erupted in protests.

“Your Grace, this is madness!” Darius slammed his fist on the table. “Even with Cannibal, you’ll be outnumbered a thousand to one.”

“Let us ride with you,” one of the commanders begged. “We can send a vanguard ahead—”

“There’s no time,” Robert interrupted, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “By the time the Legion arrives, Nymeris will be ashes. I won’t let that happen. The people there depend on me, and I won’t abandon them.”

As the meeting dissolved into heated arguments, a deep, guttural roar echoed through the city. The room fell silent, and everyone rushed to the balcony to see what had caused the commotion.

There, in the courtyard, stood Cannibal, his dark scales gleaming in the sunlight. The massive dragon had emerged from his lair in the Spine Mountains, something he rarely did unless summoned by Robert.

The connection between Robert and Cannibal was something no one fully understood. It wasn’t mere training or command—it was as though they shared a bond deeper than words. Cannibal had sensed Robert’s distress and flown to his side.

Robert stepped onto the balcony, his gaze locking with Cannibal’s piercing yellow eyes. He felt a surge of reassurance and determination. “He knows,” Robert murmured. “He knows what needs to be done.”

As Robert descended to the courtyard, his advisors, friends, and soldiers followed, still trying to dissuade him.

“Robert, think about your son!” Darius called after him. “Eddard needs his father. Stormrage needs its king!”

Robert turned sharply. “And what kind of king would I be if I let Nymeris fall? If I let innocent people die because I was too afraid to act?”

The crowd fell silent. Even Darius had no rebuttal to that.

“You don’t understand,” Robert continued, his voice softer now. “This isn’t just about Nymeris. It’s about what we stand for. If we let the Dothraki destroy that city, they’ll see it as weakness. They’ll come for us next. This ends now.”

As Robert tightened the last strap of his armor and reached for his warhammer, he heard the voice of his father, Lord Boremund Baratheon, calling out to him.

“Robert, wait!” Boremund’s voice was firm, but there was an undeniable note of concern in it.

Robert turned to see his father striding toward him, his face lined with worry but his stance as proud as ever.

“I want to fight with you,” Boremund said, his deep voice resonating with determination. “I’m still strong, Robert. Let us take on this challenge together, as father and son.”

Robert sighed, his heart torn. “Father, you didn’t come to Stormrage to fight battles,” he replied. “You came to meet your grandchildren, to spend time with them. That’s what matters right now.”

“But—” Boremund began, but Robert raised a hand to stop him.

“Let me handle this,” Robert said, his tone soft but resolute. “I promise, I’ll return. Cannibal and I will finish this fight. Stay here, protect the family, and make sure Zeagan is secure.”

Boremund nodded reluctantly, his pride bruised but his trust in Robert unwavering. “Fine. But make sure you return, son. You’re a king now—but to me, you’ll always be my boy.”

Robert allowed himself a small smile before mounting Cannibal. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised. With a roar, Cannibal launched into the sky, his massive wings stirring the air as they ascended.

The journey to Dagger Lake was tense. Cannibal flew at a blistering speed, the wind howling around them. From the sky, Robert could see the vast plains of Stormrage stretching beneath him, but his focus was entirely on the battle ahead.

As they neared Nymeris, he could see smoke rising in the distance. The battle had already begun.

“Damn it,” Robert muttered under his breath. “Holden, you better hold on.”

When Robert and Cannibal arrived above the battlefield, chaos reigned below. The Dothraki, with their relentless numbers and speed, were pressing hard against the defenders of Nymeris.

From his vantage point, Robert could see Holden Cross in the thick of the battle, a whirlwind of steel and fury. Holden was cutting down Dothraki after Dothraki with the skill and efficiency that had made him one of the most feared warriors in the Blackstone Legion.

But the Dothraki were too many, their relentless charges threatening to overwhelm the defenders.

Robert assessed the situation quickly. The soldiers of Stormrage were mixed with the Dothraki, making it impossible to use Cannibal’s fire without risking his own men.

“We need to split them,” Robert thought.

He leaned forward and spoke to Cannibal, their mental connection allowing his thoughts to reach the dragon.

“Burn them from behind,” Robert instructed. “Force them forward, away from our men.”

Cannibal growled in understanding and veered off, heading for the rear of the Dothraki horde.

As Cannibal moved to carry out the plan, Robert signaled the dragon to lower him onto the battlefield. Cannibal descended briefly, allowing Robert to leap off and land amidst the defenders.

The soldiers around him cheered at the sight of their king.

“Stormrage! With me!” Robert roared, raising his warhammer high.

The sight of their king reinvigorated the defenders, and they rallied around him, fighting with renewed ferocity.

Meanwhile, Cannibal reached the rear of the Dothraki horde and unleashed a torrent of flame. The Dothraki, who had been so confident in their numbers, now screamed in terror as the fire consumed them.

The dragon’s attack caused chaos in the Dothraki ranks, forcing many of them to retreat toward the front lines—right into the waiting swords of the Stormrage defenders.

Robert fought like a man possessed, his warhammer a blur of motion as he smashed through the Dothraki. His years of training with the Blackstone Legion showed in every strike, every parry, every movement.

“Hold the line!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din of battle. “Push them back!”

Holden Cross fought his way to Robert’s side, his armor stained with blood. “You’ve got a flair for dramatic entrances, Your Grace,” he said, grinning despite the carnage around them.

“Just doing my part,” Robert replied, smashing a Dothraki rider off his horse.

With Cannibal’s fire breaking the Dothraki formation and the defenders rallying around their king, the tide of the battle began to turn. The once-relentless Khalasar was now a disorganized mob, their confidence shattered.

The defenders of Nymeris, bolstered by the sight of their king and the chaos in the enemy ranks, pressed forward, driving the Dothraki back.

By the time the sun began to set, the battle was over. The Dothraki who weren’t killed had fled, their once-proud Khalasar reduced to a scattered and broken force.

Robert stood amidst the carnage, his armor dented and his warhammer slick with blood. Around him, his soldiers cheered, their voices rising in a victorious roar.

Cannibal landed nearby, his dark scales shimmering in the fading light. The dragon let out a triumphant roar of his own, a sound that echoed across the battlefield and sent chills down the spines of any remaining Dothraki.

As the soldiers began to tend to the wounded and secure the area, Holden approached Robert.

“You did it, Your Grace,” Holden said. “Nymeris is safe.”

“For now,” Robert replied, looking out over the battlefield. “But they’ll be back. We need to be ready.”

Holden nodded. “With you leading us, we will be.”

As the moon cast its pale light over the battered settlement of Nymeris, Robert gathered his council of warriors in the makeshift war room—a large tent hastily erected near the battlefield. The air inside was thick with tension, and the flickering lamplight cast long shadows on the grim faces of the men present.

Holden Cross, his armor still stained with the blood of the day’s skirmish, leaned over the map of the surrounding area. “Your Grace,” he said, his voice low but firm, “we cannot wait for reinforcements from Stormrage. By the time they arrive, the Dothraki will have regrouped or moved on to another target.”

Robert nodded, his jaw set in determination. “I agree. This ends now. We cannot let them leave to wreak havoc elsewhere—or worse, return stronger. A good Dothraki is a dead Dothraki.”

The men around the table murmured their agreement. The motto of Stormrage echoed in their hearts: Victory or death.

One of the younger warriors, Jarek, spoke up hesitantly. “Your Grace, the sight of the dragon alone might scatter the Khalasar. If they see Cannibal in the sky, they may flee.”

Robert’s gaze hardened. “And if they flee, they’ll regroup and come back stronger, or attack another settlement. That’s not an option. We finish this tonight.”

The council roared their approval. The decision was made.

Cannibal rested near the edge of the camp, his dark scales glinting under the moonlight. The dragon lifted his massive head as Robert approached, their mental connection sparking to life.

“We’re flying again, old friend,” Robert murmured, running a hand along Cannibal’s snout. “This time, we finish it.”

Cannibal rumbled in response, a deep sound that sent a shiver through the gathered soldiers.

With practiced ease, Robert climbed onto the dragon’s back. “Holden, lead the charge,” he called down. “I’ll strike first, and when the camp is in chaos, you bring the men in to finish the job.”

Holden saluted. “We’ll be right behind you, Your Grace.”

Cannibal took to the skies with a powerful leap, his wings slicing through the night. Below, the soldiers of Stormrage began their march, moving silently toward the Dothraki camp.

From the air, Robert could see the flickering fires of the Dothraki encampment. The Khalasar had grown complacent, their warriors unarmed and scattered as they feasted and celebrated. They had no idea death was descending upon them.

“Now,” Robert thought, and Cannibal responded instantly.

With a deafening roar, the dragon dove toward the camp, flames erupting from his jaws. Tents, wagons, and supplies were engulfed in a torrent of fire. The Dothraki screamed in terror and confusion as chaos erupted around them.

Some tried to grab their weapons, but Cannibal’s flames were relentless. The once-proud Khalasar was reduced to a desperate mob, their famed discipline shattered.

As the Dothraki struggled to regroup, the soldiers of Stormrage arrived. Holden Cross led the charge, his sword gleaming as he cut through the disoriented enemy.

“For Stormrage!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the cacophony of battle.

The warriors of Stormrage fought with brutal efficiency, their training and discipline far superior to the disorganized Dothraki.

Robert guided Cannibal carefully, ensuring the dragon’s flames stayed away from his own men. “Burn the outskirts,” he instructed mentally, and Cannibal shifted his attacks to the fleeing Dothraki.

The battle was over almost as quickly as it began. The Dothraki never had a chance to mount a proper defense. Their horses, their lifeblood, were scattered or dead, their warriors slain to the last.

As dawn broke over the battlefield, the once-vast Khalasar was nothing more than ashes and bodies. The few surviving slaves were freed, and the camp was looted for any useful supplies.

Robert stood amidst the smoldering remains of the camp, his warhammer resting on his shoulder. Cannibal landed nearby, his dark eyes surveying the destruction with an almost satisfied air.

Holden Cross approached, his armor dented but his expression triumphant. “It’s done, Your Grace. The Khalasar is no more.”

Robert nodded, his gaze distant. “Good. Let this be a message to any who think to challenge Stormrage.”

Holden grinned. “I don’t think anyone will be foolish enough to try after this.”

Robert turned to his soldiers, his voice carrying across the battlefield. “You fought bravely today. You’ve protected your homes, your families, and your future. Stormrage stands because of you.”

The soldiers cheered, their voices ringing out in celebration.

As the soldiers began their march back to Nymeris, Robert mounted Cannibal once more. Together, they soared over the battlefield, a symbol of power and protection.

When they arrived at Nymeris, the people greeted them as heroes. Children ran after Cannibal, their fear replaced by awe.

Robert dismounted and addressed the gathered crowd. “This land is ours, and we will defend it against any who seek to harm us. Together, we will build a kingdom that no one can destroy.”

The cheers of his people echoed across Nymeris, a sound of unity and determination. Stormrage had proven its strength once again.