The Dornish Desert is an unforgiving land, with oases few and far between.
Desperate commoners, unable to survive, have been flooding into the Vulture Mountains.
This issue had been reported earlier in the year, but now it had escalated into a serious problem.
Viserys furrowed his brows and asked in confusion, "Just a rabble of refugees, right? Even if there are tens of thousands of them, the two fortresses should be able to hold."
The Boneway is treacherous, and Blackhaven sits in the middle of the route—an impenetrable stronghold where a single defender can hold off a thousand attackers.
The Prince's Pass exits into the Dornish borderlands at Nightsong, the ancestral seat of House Caron.
To the west, House Tarly provides reinforcements, and to the north, the pass leads directly to Highgarden.
Whenever Dorne revolts, the Reach dispatches a considerable garrison to defend its borders.
Tormund let out a sigh and explained, "Lady Jeyne of the Eyrie has sent word that the Sealord of Braavos has recruited over ten thousand mercenaries and smuggled them into Dorne as reinforcements."
Ten thousand men might sound like a lot, but in reality, it would only take a dozen ships, making several trips, to ferry them over.
Dorne, allied with the Three Daughters, had always been adept at using mercenaries in battle.
Viserys stiffened, sensing the danger immediately.
He rose to his feet, eyes scanning the map, before pointing out, "The Dornish main force is invading the Stormlands, while mercenaries and refugees are pouring into the Vulture Mountains. Are they trying to wage war on two fronts?"
As he spoke, his fingers moved over the Disputed Lands and the Iron Islands, his expression darkening. "The Three Daughters are tying up our main forces, and the Ironborn will seize the opportunity to invade the Westerlands and the Reach. We'll be caught in complete chaos."
The weaker a person's nature, the more likely they are to envision the worst possible outcome.
And sometimes, those fears are disturbingly close to the truth.
Leonor and Otto stood up almost simultaneously, moving closer to inspect the map.
Corlys' face darkened, his hand gripping the table with concealed tension.
The king's speculation was, in fact, highly plausible.
Otto cast a glance at Corlys and said evenly, "Given the current situation, Dorne appears to be launching a full-scale invasion. The Vulture Mountains will be a major problem."
And that meant something else.
With Dorne investing so heavily in this assault, the likelihood of their forces executing a successful sneak attack on Sunspear was significantly reduced.
After all, Qoren Martell was no fool who would expose one front while covering another.
Corlys' expression darkened further. He couldn't be bothered to argue and instead proposed, "The Stepstones can deploy forces without issue. A naval assault on Sunspear or sending reinforcements to the Stormlands by sea would be easy."
If the Vulture Mountains were in turmoil, then the war in the Stormlands needed to be resolved as quickly as possible.
The Sunfire Fleet and its two thousand naval troops were far more valuable than a hastily assembled five-thousand-man levy from the Crownlands.
"What about the Vulture Mountains?"
Viserys asked bluntly, his gaze carrying an unreadable expression.
Tormund responded, "Send word to Highgarden and Blackhaven to reinforce the strongholds."
"Ten thousand mercenaries, tens of thousands of refugees, and siege weapons secretly provided by Braavos…"
Viserys lifted his head, reciting the list of Dornish assets word by word before concluding, "With such thorough preparation, Blackhaven and Nightsong might not hold."
"Your Grace?"
Tormund was momentarily stunned, uncertain of the king's meaning.
Otto and the others also exchanged perplexed glances, staring at Viserys in surprise.
Historically, there had been instances where both fortresses had fallen. But…
Why did the king sound almost as if he wanted them to fall?
"Ahem…"
Noticing their stares, Viserys coughed lightly to cover his discomfort before quickly shifting to a more serious tone. "The Vulture Mountains are treacherous terrain. Refugees hiding in the region would be difficult to root out—we need a dragon to assist the defenders."
Otto's eyes flickered. "There are indeed many lawless outlaws in the mountains who evade taxation, but these refugees are looking to take the fortresses—they will reveal themselves."
A sharp rebuttal, exposing the flaw in the king's reasoning.
Leonor nodded. "We also don't have many dragons to spare. We might have to wait for Prince Rhaegar to return to the mainland."
With Laenor's fate unknown, it was unreasonable to expect Laena, who had just suffered childbirth complications, to fight.
With Rhaenys and Daemon holding the Free Cities, the only dragonriders available for deployment were Prince Rhaegar and Prince Aegon.
Seeing the opposition from his council, Viserys straightened his back, his determination hardening. "Gentlemen, don't forget—your king is also a dragonrider!"
As he spoke, he wiped the fatigue from his face, replacing it with a resolute expression.
Otto said, "Your Grace, the betrothal feast of Prince Aegon and Lady Serlana has yet to take place. Perhaps that deserves more of your attention."
"Enough of that nonsense! I don't want to hear about such trivial matters right now."
Viserys' face immediately darkened with irritation.
The scheming way in which House Hightower had secured his son's engagement disgusted him.
And Alicent constantly pestering him to summon Aegon back only made him more irritable.
Leonor spoke up, "Dorne and the Iron Throne have been mortal enemies. Over a century ago, the Dornish War claimed a queen and a dragon. Now, over a hundred years later, another Valyrian dragonrider has fallen."
"Forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but the kingdom cannot afford to lose a king—even if the chances are low."
"Leonor…"
Viserys was momentarily furious, wanting to argue back.
But Lyman, who had been silent all this time, suddenly spoke, his tone slow and deliberate. "Your Grace, the defenses of the Reach are not as fragile as you believe."
Viserys nearly choked in frustration, slamming his fist on the table. "I am a dragonrider! My mount is Vhagar. I even once rode Balerion! Do you take me for some useless coward?!"
All he wanted was to fight in a battle. Why did everyone act as if it was inevitable he'd meet disaster?
His eldest, second, and third sons had all fought in wars—was he, as their father, expected to do nothing but sit and watch?
The room fell into an uneasy silence. No one dared respond to the king's pointed words.
A king could be incompetent. A king could be morally corrupt.
But one thing a king could never be accused of was cowardice.
After a tense pause…
Corlys glanced around, then suddenly let out a hearty laugh. "Look at that! Our king is truly fit to rule—undaunted and ready to crush his enemies."
Honestly?
It was quite impressive.
He still thought that his cousin and king was a weak-willed man—a coward who hesitated and second-guessed himself when faced with challenges.
Now, it seemed, things were very different.
Viserys's expression was solemn. "I will ride Vermithor south along the Boneway, while Lord Corlys can launch a naval assault on Sunspear."
A strategy that balanced both defense and offense.
Corlys stopped laughing, looked around the room, and said in a deep voice, "Vermithor is the most powerful dragon after Vhagar. I support His Majesty's decision."
The name "Bronze Fury" had resounded across the continent for decades, deeply ingrained in people's minds.
At least in Westeros, Bronze Fury's reputation surpassed even that of Deathwing.
With supporters rallying behind him, Viserys felt emboldened. "I will lead the charge myself—just like the Conqueror."
"..."
The court fell silent. The officials exchanged furtive glances but found no reason to object.
A king willing to ride into battle and take responsibility for the realm's defense was a good thing.
In Westeros, a courageous lord was one worth following.
The prince, known for his bravery and skill in combat, was the perfect example.
Every lord admired him and was willing to charge into battle by his side.
The council chamber remained silent for half a cup of tea's time, and still, no one spoke against the proposal.
In the end, the king's plan was approved.
---
Outside the tightly closed doors of the council chamber—
Two Kingsguard knights stood tall, guarding the entrance.
Nearby, Alicent, dressed in a flowing green gown, waited anxiously, nervously picking at her fingernails.
Helena crouched beside her, pressing her freckled cheek against the door, trying to listen in on the meeting inside.
She had returned to King's Landing from Harrenhal the previous night.
Hearing early that morning about Lannino's trouble and Aemond's defiance of orders, she had come specifically to eavesdrop.
When the conversation inside finally ended, the young girl straightened up, her expression calm.
Alicent lowered her head and noticed the faint dark circles under her daughter's eyes. She stepped forward with concern. "Did you not sleep well?"
It was an instinctive gesture.
Only when caring for her children did she feel any real sense of presence within the vast Red Keep.
Helena shook her head.
Alicent reached out and gently touched her daughter's soft, bouncy cheek. "Don't worry. Aemond will be fine, and Ser Lannino will have the Seven's protection."
"I'm not worried about Aemond. His fate is already set."
Helena's words sounded normal enough—at first.
Then, her brows furrowed, and she murmured cryptically, "I saw a fishmonger working on a blue island."
"What does that mean?"
Alicent was utterly confused.
"Nothing."
Helena quickly recovered, turning away and walking off, muttering under her breath so only she could hear, "I need to check on something… and warn Aemond."
---
Day after day, time flew by.
Stormlands, Eastern Coast.
Screeeech—
White clouds scattered as a massive black dragon soared into the sky, its vast wings casting an immense shadow below.
"Faster!"
On the dragon's back, silver-haired Rhaegar's black cloak billowed in the wind.
The Devourer's slit pupils gleamed coldly as it flapped its wings, crossing the lush rainforest below, sending countless birds fleeing in terror.
Man and dragon moved with incredible speed, heading toward Crow's Nest.
Halfway there—
Screeeech!
A sharp cry rang out as a blast of orange and pale-silver dragonfire shot into the sky.
The Devourer's pupils flickered with a chilling light, and its flight slowed slightly.
Rhaegar's heart tightened as he gazed into the distance.
To the south of the rainforest, a massive grayish-blue castle stood tall.
At this moment, a pale-silver dragon circled the sky, relentlessly spewing dragonfire, bombing the castle with tireless fury.
Boom!
The castle's towers were charred black, stained glass windows shattered, thick smoke billowing into the sky.
Not a single soldier stood guard on the high walls. Even the banners had been carefully retracted.
The defensive battlements had crumbled in large sections, leaving the fortress in ruin.
"Sea Smoke?!"
Rhaegar blurted out.
Even from a distance, he recognized both the castle and the dragon.
Mistwood, the seat of House Mertyns—and Sea Smoke, now without a rider.
Screeeech…
Sea Smoke sniffed the air as if detecting a threat. Its wary gaze snapped toward the approaching black dragon.
A flicker of ferocity passed through its slit pupils, and it let out a warning roar.
Then, with one last burst of dragonfire at Mistwood below, it turned and soared in the opposite direction.
Though enraged, it still remembered the terrifying might of a dragon-eater.
Watching Sea Smoke retreat, Rhaegar's mind raced. He quickly commanded, "Devourer—pursue it!"
Screeeech!
The Devourer's green eyes darkened ominously. With a powerful beat of its vast black wings, it shot forward in pursuit.
A young dragon, barely a third of its size, dared to challenge it.
How reckless!
One dragon pursued while the other fled, soaring across the territory of Mistwood City.
Hazy Smoke flew swiftly, but its behavior was strange.
Every time it passed over a village—no matter how insignificant—it would lower its altitude and dive.
"Hiss—Screech…"
A sharp, piercing roar echoed as dragon fire mercilessly scorched the village.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 421: An Unexpected Encounter with Haiyan
The Dornish Desert is an unforgiving land, with oases few and far between.
Desperate commoners, unable to survive, have been flooding into the Vulture Mountains.
This issue had been reported earlier in the year, but now it had escalated into a serious problem.
Viserys furrowed his brows and asked in confusion, "Just a rabble of refugees, right? Even if there are tens of thousands of them, the two fortresses should be able to hold."
The Boneway is treacherous, and Blackhaven sits in the middle of the route—an impenetrable stronghold where a single defender can hold off a thousand attackers.
The Prince's Pass exits into the Dornish borderlands at Nightsong, the ancestral seat of House Caron.
To the west, House Tarly provides reinforcements, and to the north, the pass leads directly to Highgarden.
Whenever Dorne revolts, the Reach dispatches a considerable garrison to defend its borders.
Tormund let out a sigh and explained, "Lady Jeyne of the Eyrie has sent word that the Sealord of Braavos has recruited over ten thousand mercenaries and smuggled them into Dorne as reinforcements."
Ten thousand men might sound like a lot, but in reality, it would only take a dozen ships, making several trips, to ferry them over.
Dorne, allied with the Three Daughters, had always been adept at using mercenaries in battle.
Viserys stiffened, sensing the danger immediately.
He rose to his feet, eyes scanning the map, before pointing out, "The Dornish main force is invading the Stormlands, while mercenaries and refugees are pouring into the Vulture Mountains. Are they trying to wage war on two fronts?"
As he spoke, his fingers moved over the Disputed Lands and the Iron Islands, his expression darkening. "The Three Daughters are tying up our main forces, and the Ironborn will seize the opportunity to invade the Westerlands and the Reach. We'll be caught in complete chaos."
The weaker a person's nature, the more likely they are to envision the worst possible outcome.
And sometimes, those fears are disturbingly close to the truth.
Leonor and Otto stood up almost simultaneously, moving closer to inspect the map.
Corlys' face darkened, his hand gripping the table with concealed tension.
The king's speculation was, in fact, highly plausible.
Otto cast a glance at Corlys and said evenly, "Given the current situation, Dorne appears to be launching a full-scale invasion. The Vulture Mountains will be a major problem."
And that meant something else.
With Dorne investing so heavily in this assault, the likelihood of their forces executing a successful sneak attack on Sunspear was significantly reduced.
After all, Qoren Martell was no fool who would expose one front while covering another.
Corlys' expression darkened further. He couldn't be bothered to argue and instead proposed, "The Stepstones can deploy forces without issue. A naval assault on Sunspear or sending reinforcements to the Stormlands by sea would be easy."
If the Vulture Mountains were in turmoil, then the war in the Stormlands needed to be resolved as quickly as possible.
The Sunfire Fleet and its two thousand naval troops were far more valuable than a hastily assembled five-thousand-man levy from the Crownlands.
"What about the Vulture Mountains?"
Viserys asked bluntly, his gaze carrying an unreadable expression.
Tormund responded, "Send word to Highgarden and Blackhaven to reinforce the strongholds."
"Ten thousand mercenaries, tens of thousands of refugees, and siege weapons secretly provided by Braavos…"
Viserys lifted his head, reciting the list of Dornish assets word by word before concluding, "With such thorough preparation, Blackhaven and Nightsong might not hold."
"Your Grace?"
Tormund was momentarily stunned, uncertain of the king's meaning.
Otto and the others also exchanged perplexed glances, staring at Viserys in surprise.
Historically, there had been instances where both fortresses had fallen. But…
Why did the king sound almost as if he wanted them to fall?
"Ahem…"
Noticing their stares, Viserys coughed lightly to cover his discomfort before quickly shifting to a more serious tone. "The Vulture Mountains are treacherous terrain. Refugees hiding in the region would be difficult to root out—we need a dragon to assist the defenders."
Otto's eyes flickered. "There are indeed many lawless outlaws in the mountains who evade taxation, but these refugees are looking to take the fortresses—they will reveal themselves."
A sharp rebuttal, exposing the flaw in the king's reasoning.
Leonor nodded. "We also don't have many dragons to spare. We might have to wait for Prince Rhaegar to return to the mainland."
With Laenor's fate unknown, it was unreasonable to expect Laena, who had just suffered childbirth complications, to fight.
With Rhaenys and Daemon holding the Free Cities, the only dragonriders available for deployment were Prince Rhaegar and Prince Aegon.
Seeing the opposition from his council, Viserys straightened his back, his determination hardening. "Gentlemen, don't forget—your king is also a dragonrider!"
As he spoke, he wiped the fatigue from his face, replacing it with a resolute expression.
Otto said, "Your Grace, the betrothal feast of Prince Aegon and Lady Serlana has yet to take place. Perhaps that deserves more of your attention."
"Enough of that nonsense! I don't want to hear about such trivial matters right now."
Viserys' face immediately darkened with irritation.
The scheming way in which House Hightower had secured his son's engagement disgusted him.
And Alicent constantly pestering him to summon Aegon back only made him more irritable.
Leonor spoke up, "Dorne and the Iron Throne have been mortal enemies. Over a century ago, the Dornish War claimed a queen and a dragon. Now, over a hundred years later, another Valyrian dragonrider has fallen."
"Forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but the kingdom cannot afford to lose a king—even if the chances are low."
"Leonor…"
Viserys was momentarily furious, wanting to argue back.
But Lyman, who had been silent all this time, suddenly spoke, his tone slow and deliberate. "Your Grace, the defenses of the Reach are not as fragile as you believe."
Viserys nearly choked in frustration, slamming his fist on the table. "I am a dragonrider! My mount is Vhagar. I even once rode Balerion! Do you take me for some useless coward?!"
All he wanted was to fight in a battle. Why did everyone act as if it was inevitable he'd meet disaster?
His eldest, second, and third sons had all fought in wars—was he, as their father, expected to do nothing but sit and watch?
The room fell into an uneasy silence. No one dared respond to the king's pointed words.
A king could be incompetent. A king could be morally corrupt.
But one thing a king could never be accused of was cowardice.
After a tense pause…
Corlys glanced around, then suddenly let out a hearty laugh. "Look at that! Our king is truly fit to rule—undaunted and ready to crush his enemies."
Honestly?
It was quite impressive.
He still thought that his cousin and king was a weak-willed man—a coward who hesitated and second-guessed himself when faced with challenges.
Now, it seemed, things were very different.
Viserys's expression was solemn. "I will ride Vermithor south along the Boneway, while Lord Corlys can launch a naval assault on Sunspear."
A strategy that balanced both defense and offense.
Corlys stopped laughing, looked around the room, and said in a deep voice, "Vermithor is the most powerful dragon after Vhagar. I support His Majesty's decision."
The name "Bronze Fury" had resounded across the continent for decades, deeply ingrained in people's minds.
At least in Westeros, Bronze Fury's reputation surpassed even that of Deathwing.
With supporters rallying behind him, Viserys felt emboldened. "I will lead the charge myself—just like the Conqueror."
"..."
The court fell silent. The officials exchanged furtive glances but found no reason to object.
A king willing to ride into battle and take responsibility for the realm's defense was a good thing.
In Westeros, a courageous lord was one worth following.
The prince, known for his bravery and skill in combat, was the perfect example.
Every lord admired him and was willing to charge into battle by his side.
The council chamber remained silent for half a cup of tea's time, and still, no one spoke against the proposal.
In the end, the king's plan was approved.
---
Outside the tightly closed doors of the council chamber—
Two Kingsguard knights stood tall, guarding the entrance.
Nearby, Alicent, dressed in a flowing green gown, waited anxiously, nervously picking at her fingernails.
Helena crouched beside her, pressing her freckled cheek against the door, trying to listen in on the meeting inside.
She had returned to King's Landing from Harrenhal the previous night.
Hearing early that morning about Lannino's trouble and Aemond's defiance of orders, she had come specifically to eavesdrop.
When the conversation inside finally ended, the young girl straightened up, her expression calm.
Alicent lowered her head and noticed the faint dark circles under her daughter's eyes. She stepped forward with concern. "Did you not sleep well?"
It was an instinctive gesture.
Only when caring for her children did she feel any real sense of presence within the vast Red Keep.
Helena shook her head.
Alicent reached out and gently touched her daughter's soft, bouncy cheek. "Don't worry. Aemond will be fine, and Ser Lannino will have the Seven's protection."
"I'm not worried about Aemond. His fate is already set."
Helena's words sounded normal enough—at first.
Then, her brows furrowed, and she murmured cryptically, "I saw a fishmonger working on a blue island."
"What does that mean?"
Alicent was utterly confused.
"Nothing."
Helena quickly recovered, turning away and walking off, muttering under her breath so only she could hear, "I need to check on something… and warn Aemond."
---
Day after day, time flew by.
Stormlands, Eastern Coast.
Screeeech—
White clouds scattered as a massive black dragon soared into the sky, its vast wings casting an immense shadow below.
"Faster!"
On the dragon's back, silver-haired Rhaegar's black cloak billowed in the wind.
The Devourer's slit pupils gleamed coldly as it flapped its wings, crossing the lush rainforest below, sending countless birds fleeing in terror.
Man and dragon moved with incredible speed, heading toward Crow's Nest.
Halfway there—
Screeeech!
A sharp cry rang out as a blast of orange and pale-silver dragonfire shot into the sky.
The Devourer's pupils flickered with a chilling light, and its flight slowed slightly.
Rhaegar's heart tightened as he gazed into the distance.
To the south of the rainforest, a massive grayish-blue castle stood tall.
At this moment, a pale-silver dragon circled the sky, relentlessly spewing dragonfire, bombing the castle with tireless fury.
Boom!
The castle's towers were charred black, stained glass windows shattered, thick smoke billowing into the sky.
Not a single soldier stood guard on the high walls. Even the banners had been carefully retracted.
The defensive battlements had crumbled in large sections, leaving the fortress in ruin.
"Sea Smoke?!"
Rhaegar blurted out.
Even from a distance, he recognized both the castle and the dragon.
Mistwood, the seat of House Mertyns—and Sea Smoke, now without a rider.
Screeeech…
Sea Smoke sniffed the air as if detecting a threat. Its wary gaze snapped toward the approaching black dragon.
A flicker of ferocity passed through its slit pupils, and it let out a warning roar.
Then, with one last burst of dragonfire at Mistwood below, it turned and soared in the opposite direction.
Though enraged, it still remembered the terrifying might of a dragon-eater.
Watching Sea Smoke retreat, Rhaegar's mind raced. He quickly commanded, "Devourer—pursue it!"
Screeeech!
The Devourer's green eyes darkened ominously. With a powerful beat of its vast black wings, it shot forward in pursuit.
A young dragon, barely a third of its size, dared to challenge it.
How reckless!
One dragon pursued while the other fled, soaring across the territory of Mistwood City.
Hazy Smoke flew swiftly, but its behavior was strange.
Every time it passed over a village—no matter how insignificant—it would lower its altitude and dive.
"Hiss—Screech…"
A sharp, piercing roar echoed as dragon fire mercilessly scorched the village.
(End of Chapter)