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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warnings:
Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death
Fandoms:
Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. MartinA Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)
Characters:
Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon
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WarOriginally Posted Elsewhere
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,505Chapters:58/?Comments:1,545Kudos:3,724Bookmarks:1,071Hits:221,087
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 34
Chapter Text
"Deception, disguise, information warfare. It's what you officers are here for, right?" From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 5
Rhaenyra was nervous as she approached the small council chambers. She had once served here as her father's cupbearer, but that had been years ago. She knew there were few allies in that council. Lyman Beesbury and Larys Strong were the only ones who did not wish her ill.
Father loves me and Daemon will also be there. All will be well.
She entered, and her father gave her a smile.
"My daughter will be joining us on the matter of Dorne," her father announced.
Tyland Lannister kept his face impassive, as did Otto Hightower, but Grand Maester Mellos frowned openly.
"I have here a reply from Dorne. Prince Qoren denies having a hand in the assassination. Here, Grand Maester, read it out so the rest can hear." The King handed over a parchment.
The Maester did so, and Rhaenyra considered the words Elaena had spoken to her. Was it possible that some other power in Dorne, perhaps a rival to the Martells, had sent the assassins?
Jasper Wylde snorted. "The Dornish cannot think we are so foolish as to believe this?"
"Mayhaps, they hope that my brother and his peaceful ways would look for an excuse to avoid war," Daemon replied with a tone of derision. "Fortunately, we have a King who sees through their ploys."
Rhaenyra chewed her lip. The other members of the council were all nodding in agreement. Everyone seemed set on the course of war. She wished she had spoken to Daemon prior to the council meeting, but it had come too swiftly.
"My lords," she began hesitantly, but then felt her resolve strengthen, "we owe it to my husband to punish those responsible – the ones who actually sent the assassins."
"That is what we are doing, princess." Beesbury said with a hint of confusion in his elderly voice.
"That the assassins were Dornish is clear, but how can we be certain it was the Martells and not another power within Dorne?"
Rhaenyra looked at the reactions. Daemon was scowling. Larys had a slight smile. Mellos frowned again. Lannister looked confused. Wylde appeared thunderous. Her father and Otto looked surprised.
"Rhaenyra, what are you saying?" Daemon demanded.
"That perhaps Prince Qoren has written to us truly. I am not saying I believe this, but it is something to consider. What we should also consider is that if the Martells did send the assassins, they would likely know a punitive response would come. If that is the case, they will have prepared for this and found a way they think might neutralize our dragons." Rhaenyra looked her uncle, and lover, in the eye.
Many began speaking, but the King raised his hand and silence settled over the room.
"My daughter speaks sensibly, Larys what have you learned?"
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but such things take time. It has been less than a week since the despicable attack occurred. News travels from mouth to ear slowly before it can be sent by raven," Larys replied.
"Lord Corlys had the ship captain and his crew put to the question. They were given gold through intermediaries and swear that they thought some mischief was afoot on Driftmark, but they believed it was thievery or a disgraced noble who was a 'guest' needing quick passage. They did not realize they were part of an assassination," Rhaenyra shared.
"Let me speak with the wretches, and I'll learn the truth." Daemon vowed.
"You had already left, Daemon, so alas, you missed that opportunity," Rhaenyra needled, before realizing that it was a mistake to do so in this setting. Amongst her, Laena, Laenor, and Harwin, such sharp remarks were occasionally made in jest, but never in front of those who wished them ill.
Daemon's eyes widened slightly, but before he could speak, Beesbury stood.
"It does not matter! Ser Laenor was struck by Dornish assassins. Princess Elaena was close to being slain as well! The nest of adders must be dealt with. Say it was a powerful house such as Yronwood or Allyrion. Will Martell acquiesce to us laying waste to one of his vassals? In either case we will have war with Dorne."
Rhaenyra was a bit taken aback by his vehemence. She thought back to some of her conversations and realized Beesbury had been a friend to House Velaryon, ensuring they had coin for their war in the Stepstones.
Otto added, "Lord Beesbury may be right. We may never find true proof of who was responsible. Do we tell our armies to wait and do nothing until this evidence materializes? Do not place that much faith in Lord Strong's whisperers; they are not all-knowing."
Daemon was looking angrily at Rhaenyra, but the words of the Hand distracted him.
"What are you counseling then?" Daemon asked.
Otto nodded his head in Daemon's direction. "That if certainty is what the King requires, we will not be able to go to war. Lord Larys can search, but we should continue our preparations."
She had to speak up again, both to clarify and to be certain they heard the warning. What Elaena had said, made sense. If Prince Qoren had done it, he had to know dragons descending would be the result.
"By all means, begin the preparations. I know it takes more than a week to gather armies. I will repeat that I do not know if Martell is responsible, but if they are, then I urge you all to realize they must have some sort of plan for our attack. Do not think it will be an easy road and move with overconfidence."
"My lords," Ser Jasper began, "a woman's heart is made to worry. And I will not fault her for it. But when it comes to planning the invasion and enacting our vengeance, we cannot be paralyzed by a woman's worry."
Rhaenyra felt a spike of molten ire fill her.
You will be gone from this council before my father's body is cold you iron brained cur.
She did not like to think about her father's eventual death. But her meeting with Hamish had stirred thoughts as to what her council would look like.
"Have care, Wylde," Daemon warned, "you are not family. If Rhaenyra's worries interfere, I will speak, until then you will remain silent."
Her father rubbed at his temple. "Enough squabbling. We will move forward with our plans for Dorne as we had been. We will allow the emissary to arrive here without harm and speak for Dorne. None of your plans involve an immediate strike, yes?"
Daemon shook his head.
"Then we will proceed. Daemon, have you been supplied all that you need from the Master of Coin and my Hand?"
"I have, Your Grace." Daemon replied. "I cannot find fault with either. Gold and supplies are being marshaled as we speak."
The King nodded. The council moved on to more specifics; Rhaenyra paid note to them but did not further add to the discussion. Numbers and figures were bandied about in terms of how many supplies were needed. In all, there were six separate attack groups planned: three by sea and three by land. When the council meeting ended, Rhaenyra felt the need for a strong drink, but Larys lingered and asked for a private word in a moment. Before that, she spoke with her father.
When they were alone – save for Ser Harrold – her sire turned to her.
"It was good of you to come. Tell me, how fares Elaena?"
Rhaenyra blinked in surprise, she thought he would have asked over Laenor. "Elaena? She is weary, for she refuses to leave Laenor's side."
"Ah, poor girl. It sickens me that she was so close to the violence. I pray her nightmares are not too dreadful. Larys suggested we announce how she went to Ser Laenor's aid and acknowledge her bravery. I wished to wait until we learn of the final outcome."
Rhaenyra nodded. "I like that idea. I worry over Elaena; she cares and feels so deeply. But I can at least assuage some of your concern for her. Elaena is in her books and her own little world. She sees a problem before her and bends her mind to its undertaking; her own safety most like never crossed her mind once she saw that Laenor needed aid." Rhaenyra gave a small laugh. "'Tis not funny, but I do believe two knights could be dueling to the death in front of her, and if she needed to figure something out, she would give them scarce notice!"
Her father took her hand and squeezed. "Her focus is a great strength of hers. Is there any more news of Laenor? Is hope truly lost, or might he survive?"
"There is hope, father. The Maesters admit they have pushed their art to the limit and cannot say for certain, but they say his condition has improved somewhat. Elaena also says there is hope."
Her father looked gladdened at that and Rhaenyra went to see what the Master of Whisperers wished of her.
***
Daemion groaned as he slowly awoke, his head aching. His awareness sharpened when he realized he was bound and gagged. He tried to shout, but his mouth was stuffed with some kind of cloth. Glancing around the room, he noticed one of the men he had been drinking with was similarly tied up. Steffon struggled, trying to wriggle free from the ropes that restrained him.
Before he could truly get a chance to try his own bonds, the door to the room opened, and a man adorned with tiger fur entered. Behind him came two men of smaller stature in simple robes.
"Well, what do we have here? A West'rosi far from home." The man's voice was accented oddly to Daemion's ear.
The wine, it must have been laced with something.
"I have people who watched your ship. You gave commands. Are you the captain? No lies, or I'll take your eyes."
Daemion hesitated but then nodded. They had quite a bit of gold in the hull of his ship, and in the other two vessels he had brought on this expedition. The fact that he wasn't dead and was being asked these questions meant he was being held for ransom.
"Good." The man gestured, and the two other men undid the gag. "What trade goods do you have? If you have something of value, you may yet live to see your homeland again."
"Very little, but we do have some gold. A thousand gold dragons and I will not speak of my treatment to the Civic Guard."
He had significantly more than a thousand dragons, but he would be damned if he would give more to this accursed savage.
"That is all? A captain all the way from Westeros with no trade goods, and you expect me to believe that is the extent of your wealth?" The man smiled, and white teeth shone in the gloom of the room. "For a thousand gold, I'll return you blinded and a eunuch."
Daemion began to sweat. He believed the man.
"Two thousand! I need some for provisions to return home. Please be reasonable; two thousand gold dragons is a princely sum!"
"Three thousand and you will return with all your parts."
Daemion's jaw clenched; the indignity of this was infuriating. Important nobles had been ransomed for less, and here he was bartering with this Quartheen. He lowered his head. "Fine, but how will this be done? I will not have my men give you gold only to have my throat slit later."
The man laughed. "Certain assurances can be given, but first we will need to let your ship know. Your man here will go and tell your crew, and then we will complete our business."
They blindfolded Steffon and then undid his bindings. They then gagged Daemion again and left him alone in the room. Daemion grew frustrated with himself as the hours passed by. He should have never gone for a drink with just one of his crew with him. He had not picked a dangerous looking place for a drink, but then how was he to tell what was dangerous in Qarth?
The door opened again, and two men in copper-scaled armor entered. Behind them came a man dressed in rich silks – an older man, bald with gold adorning his ear. Daemion could see that behind him were several other guards who awaited outside.
The man spoke in a language Daemion did not understand but he found himself unbound and ungagged and helped to his feet. The pale man lowered his head.
"I am Aedos Alkaran of the Thirteen. I apologize for your unfortunate and accidental inconvenience. As soon as I was informed that a fool had accosted you, we rectified the error." Aedos made a gesture, and one of the guards from outside entered with a squarish chest. It was opened, and the thug who had threatened him earlier had his severed and mutilated head inside it.
"I don't understand." Daemion said in shock.
"You are far from home, but we would not hazard your master's sting. Please accept the apologies of our city. For your troubles, you will be compensated with saffron and ivory. Such items are quite valuable in Westeros."
The young Velaryon was a bit unsteady due to the lingering effects of whatever he had been drugged with. He felt relieved but also confused.
"My master?"
"My guards don't even speak the common tongue of your land, so there is no need to dissemble." Seeing the expression on Daemion's face, the man waved it off. "As you will; again, we wish no enmity. Have amends been made?"
Daemion hastily nodded.
"Your men are downstairs; may your journey be safe and profitable."
He was then led down and to the awaiting Ser Lucious Hill.
"Are you well, ser?" Lucious asked.
"Confused but relieved."
"In the future, you should keep me or Ser Alven around. Princess Elaena sent us with you for a reason."
Daemion could see the sense in that after today's unfortunate turned fortunate events. The idea of having a bodyguard on the wealthy side of a city was strange, but he had learned his lesson. The goods that had been directly gifted to him would not be enough to make the voyage a success on their own, but they were an excellent start. He planned on leaving this city posthaste and then making for Yin. Qarth was a strange city, and he feared that Aedos had mistaken him for someone else.
Who else from Westeros has come here recently or is expected? It isn't like we aren't obvious compared to these people in dress and tongue. This city is mad with their queer clothing and absurd intrigues.
***
Laenor felt the cold clarity of consciousness arise instantly. This was no slow, gradual waking from sleep, with half-formed memories of dreams lingering. One instant, he was unaware of his surroundings, and the next, awareness struck alongside a deep inhalation of air.
His body was weak, and trying to sit up was difficult. Elaena's shimmering blue eyes greeted his, and he started. Laenor felt Joffrey's presence and the touch of his hand, easing the tension in his body. Memory flooded back: an attack in the night, a cut across his chest, and a man being thrown bodily across the room like a child's toy.
"We don't have much time before the Maester returns. It is important your story aligns: plead that your memory is dim, but that you slew men in the hall and in your room. That detail is important," Elaena commanded.
Laenor had many questions, but he instinctively nodded.
"Was anyone else hurt? My wife, or my family?"
"Some loyal guardsmen and servants were slain, but none of your kin. You seemed to be the target," Elaena replied.
Laenor exhaled with relief.
The reputation you gave me led to this, but I don't have the courage in me to say that to her face.
"You'll need to recover swiftly, as I'll have need of you."
Laenor groaned, partially from his weakness and partially due to concern over whatever else she would ask of him.
"Don't be like that. Were it not for my intervention both you and Ser Joffrey would be among the dead."
"I did not say I would refuse," Laenor said softly, his throat raspy. Joffrey held a cup for him, and he painfully swallowed a few sips.
"Excellent. I must find out what sort of mess has been going on while I stood vigil here. Recover your strength swiftly, good-brother."
Elaena left and Joffrey embraced him.
"Everyone thought you were to die from the poison." Joffrey said, tears in his eyes. "I have been so worried."
"What happened? I remember fighting, and then Elaena, a horrific sea of pain, and now this," Laenor asked.
Joffrey nodded with sympathy. "The first night was the worst, the poison was designed to inflict cruel agony before death. A dozen Dornish were in on this plot, I believe Elaena slew at least half of them. How is it possible? She has reached her maturity, but how does a girl so slight kill men so easily?"
Laenor laughed but then winced, he felt achy everywhere.
"I don't know what she is, but think back to the stories of the Age of Heroes. Can a mere human slay fifty knights in one battle like Roland of the Horn? Can a man really slay a dragon with his own might like Davos the Dragonslayer? Brandon of the Bloody Blade slew giants – giants!"
Joffrey looked at him in confusion. "What of it?"
"Just that if those stories are even half-true, then these were not regular mortals. They were gifted – by chance – or by the Gods to be stronger, swifter, more cunning, and able in ways we are not. Elaena is like those champions of old." Laenor explained. He had thought about this long and hard, and it was the only conclusion he could wrap his head around.
Joffrey wore a look of contemplation, but then gave himself a shake.
"Regardless, I think we should be sure to do as she says. We do owe her." Laenor's lover reminded him.
Laenor agreed and then two Maesters came in.
"Remarkable, you showed no signs of waking ten minutes ago and now you are fully conscious!" Gerardys exclaimed.
The man's fingers found his neck. "Heartbeat is strong."
Maester Vaelar examined him, and the two continued to express surprise. They then had him consume tea with supposed restorative properties.
"We'll begin with light foods and then move to those of more substance. Despite this virulent poison, your body seems to have fought it off and healed most of the damage. Ser Laenor, you are truly endowed with a constitution beyond any I have witnessed," Gerardys said with full sincerity.
Wait… was this Elaena's work too? I am a hearty man, but not some paragon of endurance.
Discomfited, Laenor listened to the Maesters drone on a bit, before the door opened again and his mother and father arrived. His mother embraced him as well as she could with him still limp on the bed.
"My son, my son, the Gods are merciful."
The Gods? Or Elaena?
His father, Lord Corlys of Driftmark, stood erect and proud. "The Maesters thought your fate sealed, but my blood is no easy meat for assassins to feast upon. Welcome back, Laenor. Dorne will tremble when they hear of your survival."
Laenor basked in his parent's happiness. Not seeing his sister, he asked of her.
"Your sister is well, but exhausted," his mother replied. "She nurses Visenya and gets little rest due to her worries. Now that you are well, I am sure she will be comforted and will be able to see you in a day or two."
"That is good, and little Visenya is still healthy?" Laenor asked.
"Aye, your niece is a fierce thing. We have also replaced the dragon egg, but this one is older and we are uncertain if it will hatch."
Laenor frowned and then caught sight of the egg near him.
"This… this was Visenya's egg?" Laenor could tell it had turned to stone.
His mother nodded. "Yes, we are keeping that a secret for now. It seems you drew strength from it, but it is hardly like the blood magic stories of Old Valyria. Yet some would interpret it as that, and we would not wish for false accusations to take flight."
Blood magic…
His mother was telling him that Rhaenyra was in King's Landing, but he scarcely paid attention. Instead, his pulse thundered in his ears. He told everyone there that he was glad to see them, but wished to rest now.
Blood magic…
Laenor shuddered as they left. A whole new concern about Princess Elaena washed over him like the squall of a bone-chilling nightmare.
***
"Have you any idea how full and complete your failure is?" Otto spoke with an icy tone to the Master of Whisperers.
Larys appeared contrite. "My lord, Ser Laenor's survival was a complete surprise to everyone. I didn't think…"
"No, you didn't think! This is the Dark Storm! Why send a dozen when you could have sent a hundred? Why not burn the whole place down, as you did with Harrenhal?"
"Harrenhal wasn't completely burned – just the living quarters of one tower. But again, I must ask you to be reasonable. The more men involved, the higher the risk of treachery. The more men involved, the harder it would have been for them to go unnoticed. The plan was sound, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it would have succeeded."
Otto paced the floor of his office. "This is a disaster, Strong. Laenor's reputation will be greater than ever! The man who survived the impossible, the man who kills assassins with his bare hands. If I had a difficult time convincing the lords to back Aegon before, it will be impossible now!"
Larys kept a smooth and impassive face, much to Otto's ire. The man did not appear the least bit discomfited with the outcome.
"There is plenty of time to rectify this. The Dark Storm, being who he is, will likely be in the thick of it. My ears report tension between Daemon and the other Blacks. We can exploit this. Perhaps our targets should be what ties Daemon to them."
Otto furrowed his brow. "You mean Laena Velaryon?"
"Yes, she does not have the ability to fend off a dozen assassins. Daemon will be busy with the war. Imagine, if you will, what Daemon's reaction would be when his wife falls as he is in the middle of the invasion? Imagine Ser Laenor's when his beloved sister dies. They will throw caution into the wind."
Otto shook his head. "No, no, no! This won't work. If we unleash multiple attempts, they will be on guard for decades. The only way our eventual plan succeeds is by eliminating as many dragonriders as possible. If they all have food tasters and loyal guards constantly vigilant, it will be that much harder in the years to come. No more assassination attempts on the home front."
Larys bowed his head. "But in the field?"
"Yes, if you can catch any of the Black riders unwary during the war, do so. Everyone will suspect Dorne will try doing the same, so I mislike your chances of success."
Larys gave a shrug. "I can make no promises to success, but we only need be lucky once."
Otto did not agree. There were simply too many dangerous enemies among the Blacks. Killing Daemon would remove a political weapon Otto could use to entice the Vale and other lords Daemon had offended. That would still leave Vhagar and Meleys among the great dragons aligned with the Blacks. Given Ser Laenor's prowess, he considered Seasmoke of similar strength despite being significantly smaller. To counter them, his faction had Vermithor. Technically, they also had Dreamfyre, but Otto doubted Helaena would fight.
I will need to push Alicent again for Daenora to claim Silverwing. The child is not like Helaena, there is more fire in her. Given the right push she could be a dragonrider combatant.
Sunfyre and Tessarion were smaller dragons, but his foes had smaller dragons as well. No, for victory to be likely, at least two great dragon riders from the Blacks must fall.
"Do what you can. Viserys was far more animated about this war than I thought. I had expected the Stormlands and the Velaryons to bear the brunt of the battle. The Reach, Westerlands, and Crownlands are all now participating. I do not think Dorne will be able to hold up long."
Larys smiled one of his disturbing smiles. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that. My network will be in all their camps, and Dorne will know exactly when and where we will strike. When our armies arrive, they will find nothing. When a dragon descends, it will be met with scores of scorpions. This war will drag on. If the Conqueror couldn't subdue them quickly, Daemon will be no more successful."
You underestimate our enemies. Laenor has done the impossible once, and if his remarkable return to health is true, he will bring ruin to the Martells faster than you can imagine.
He didn't wish to argue and demoralize the man's efforts. His web of connections was an important asset and Otto relied on him greatly. Aegon and Aemond were still children. Alicent was a fool. Jason an egotistical imbecile. Tyland was the wiser brother by far, but overly cautious. Otto had few he could lean on for his plans save for the crippled Strong.
"I will insist we keep the royal weddings on their current timetable. That should complicate things and may push for unnecessary and dangerous haste." Otto said. "Some rumors and word that the King will be wroth with anyone who misses the wedding, regardless of reason, should be spread."
Larys nodded. "That should light a fire under some of the lords participating in the war. It may even tangle the logistical efforts, though, worryingly, the Sea Snake knows what he is doing. Yet another reason why Laena's absence from Daemon's side would be…" He held up his hands at Otto's look. "Forgive me, I will not bring it up again."
Otto tired of the plotting and left Larys with one final command. "With Ser Laenor alive and with his reputation, some of the lords will not side with Aegon from fear. However, familial bonds can force their hand. We will do away with further sibling marriages after Aegon and Helaena. We must use Aemond, Daeron, Daenora, Uthor, and Baelon. It is quite early for the younger ones, but a betrothal contract to lock in a potential marriage can serve our ends as well. Make me a list of lords who are still on the fence, but would side if their son or daughter were married into the royal family."
Larys stood up, limping on his clubfoot. "I shall see to it, my lord. It may be a difficult leap, but the Lord of Storm's End only has daughters. His blood connection to Rhaenys is an impediment, but word has reached my ears he had complained of neglect. If we match Aemond or Daeron to his daughter and then Lord Borros falls in battle or tourney…"
"Make me a list, and I shall decide," Otto said, contemplating the matter. The idea had merit. For Aemond, being a Paramount lord would do much to appease him. The boy was a danger to his brother; their rivalry had concerned him. He already knew Aegon was to be king, and it clearly chafed him that Aemond's less apt brother would wear the crown while he had naught yet to his name.
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Fandoms:
Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. MartinA Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)
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Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,505Chapters:58/?Comments:1,545Kudos:3,724Bookmarks:1,071Hits:221,087
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 35
Notes:
Big thanks to MARch_Of_Time for proofreading support!
Chapter Text
"You just saw them getting manipulated like puppets by something that doesn't exist, a little bent light." From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 1
"Elaena, oh, my daughter, you look so worn. What a fright you must have had! Why did you stay so long at High Tide? You should have come home immediately!" Alicent fussed as she took the frail-looking princess into her arms.
"Mother, please, I am well. As for my stay, it would have been crass to leave while my good-brother was still in danger."
Alicent shuddered. "The realm was likely safer with that brute in bed."
The daughter of her heart gave her a disapproving look. Alicent should have expected it; Elaena hated when she spoke ill of the other side of Viserys' family.
"I'm sorry, dearest, I am just worried over the conflict with Dorne."
Elaena took a seat in the Queen's chambers and accepted a cup of watered wine from one of the maids.
"A dreadful thing, war is so wasteful and cruel. I know father must be frustrated with this ruining his clean record of peace." Elaena opined briefly as she took a sip.
Alicent nodded. "Yes, but let us not talk of such matters, it will only disturb you further."
Elaena gave her a pleasant smile. "I would normally agree, mother, and while seeing the bodies of the recently slain was disturbing, it only compels me forward. The thought that thousands could soon share that fate is incomprehensible. I need to speak with father to see if we can prevent excessive bloodshed."
Alicent took her hand. "Elaena, your kind heart is a blessing, but the King's good-son has been attacked. There will be war, whether we will it or no."
She watched her daughter look down, as if in mourning. "Even if we cannot succeed, I believe we owe it to ourselves to try. If I ask father to stand down the banners, would you support it?"
Alicent sometimes forgot just how young Elaena was. She had reached her maturity, but only barely.
My sweet kindhearted daughter, you are too pure for this world.
"I would not. I am also my father's daughter. As much as I mislike Ser Laenor, the truth is that he is married to the King's daughter. The House of the Dragon has its words: Fire and Blood. War is needed. If our enemies think us weak, they will pounce. You must use your mind to think things through. Our time to voice our views is when Dorne is defeated – to advocate for the Mother's mercy and restrain the full wrath of the Seven Kingdoms. The smallfolk of Dorne are not to blame. If you wish to influence others in the future, stay your voice for peace until the Warrior's due is paid."
Elaena blinked. "I take it that others advising father are in agreement with war then?"
"Oh yes, my own father has said that all are aligned. My cousin in Oldtown is readying an army. The Lannisters have promised gold and a fleet, in addition to many gallant knights. The Stormlands always desire conflict with Dorne, so they too have no qualms about this course."
"And your thoughts about my Uncle Daemon leading?" Elaena asked softly.
Alicent sighed. "That was unfortunate. In truth, I would rather see someone like my brother Gwayne. He has experience leading the Waywardens. They hail from a multitude of lands here in the Seven Kingdoms, and he has proven to avoid rivalries based on region. He would be perfect."
Elaena's eyes seemed to grow in focus. "An interesting idea. Shall we enter into a small bargain, mother?"
Alicent looked to her, intrigued. "What do you have in mind?"
"You speak with father and ask him to delay any sort of attack until we hear more from Dorne's envoy. In exchange, I ask father to replace Daemon with Gwayne, suggesting that Daemon, being a new father, should not be apart from Laena. I can vouch that while Lady Laena's birth went well, the stress over her brother's wounding so soon after her labors has taken a toll."
It most like won't work. But Viserys adores Elaena, perhaps she can see Daemon removed? And if nothing else, it will drive a wedge between my daughter and the Blacks.
"I can agree to this." Alicent said after a moment.
Elaena graced her with a smile, and after agreeing that each would speak with Viserys separately that evening, they moved on to more pleasant subjects. Their talk was soon interrupted by Daenora, who rampaged in and threw herself at Elaena for a hug.
Elaena caught her smoothly and twirled her around once.
"Daenora! I was going to see you and Smokey after I finished speaking with mother. What trouble have you gotten into?"
Alicent smiled as Daenora droned on about this and that. The patience that Elaena had would make her a fine mother once she was married to Ser Kevan. However, something Daenora said jarred Alicent out of her wistful thoughts of grandchildren.
"Wait, where did you say Aemond went to?" Alicent said in shock.
"He went to go see Ser Baldric! The big man who beat the Rogue Prince. He told me we couldn't play for a while."
Elaena was frowning and Alicent was in a panic.
"I need to speak with Viserys. Please forgive me, but I must go now," Alicent said, then rushed off to find where her husband might be.
***
Lord Baldric Selmy had been as shocked as anyone that the Dark Storm had been the target of Dornish assassins. It wasn't that he didn't believe the Dornish were capable of such foulness; he knew that the depths of their depravity were bottomless. What surprised him more than all else was that the desert vermin would pick a fight with the most powerful houses in Westeros, even after having already suffered a harsh lesson for their earlier attempt at meddling. House Targaryen and House Velaryon were at the peak of their power, the Stepstones war being undeniable proof. They dominated the sky and the sea, and Dorne thought it wise to strike now? Absolute madness.
Further proof that there is no reasoning with those beasts.
He had summoned his banners, as had all the Stormlands. He was a Marcher Lord, which meant that if an attack had coincided with the assassination strike on Ser Laenor, he would have been one of the primary targets. No such attack came.
Instead, Baldric had time to gather men, supplies, and make preparations. The biggest issue wasn't manpower, but wagons. Any protracted invasion of Dorne would require an immense amount of food and potentially even water to be transported.
Baldric was inspecting the men and preparations when the dragon was sighted. No word had been sent by raven to expect a dragonrider, so he craned his neck to try and spot which of them it was. The massive size and distinctive coloring soon made it clear that it was Vermithor. The only dragon close to mighty Vhagar's size, it circled thrice, each time lower as it descended into the open clearing. Baldric rode out to meet Prince Aemond.
His warhorse shied away despite Baldric's superior training. Baldric had to dismount well away and continue the rest of the distance on foot. The dragon, the sheer size of Vermithor, inspired awe like naught else. Aemond had unchained himself from the saddle and walked down the dragon's neck before finally dropping the last several feet.
"Ser Baldric, we meet again." Aemond greeted.
"Greetings, Prince Aemond. I am honored that you are here. I must admit to some surprise at your arrival, I received no advanced warning of your coming."
The boy prince shrugged. "It was a last-minute decision. For now, I am to help patrol the Marches and provide word of any Dornish massing of men. If Dorne does intend to strike out of either the Prince's Pass or the Boneway, Vermithor will feast well."
"My scouts will appreciate your aerial view, my prince. I have maps in my solar and we can refresh you from your long journey with drink and food. We have plenty of mutton for Vermithor, or alternatively he can hunt to the north-west, there's a sparce wood with deer." Baldric offered.
"Mutton will be fine. Vermithor is unused to extended travel, so it will be good for him and myself to rest for now."
Vermithor looked at him when Aemond spoke those words and let out a great exhale of air from his nostrils that nearly knocked over the boy.
Aemond stumbled, and Baldric pretended not to notice. Aemond looked back at the dragon and then continued with what he was saying.
"I'll want your input on the likely places the Dornish will have massed."
Baldric escorted Aemond to Harvest Hall and wondered exactly why the King had sent a boy barely into his adolescence to the front. He knew of Princess Elaena's desire to have the dragonriders patrol the Dornish border. But that was for peacetime.
If one thing has been made clear to me, it is that I do not understand that family.
***
Viserys had been caught off guard when his anxious wife asked him about Aemond going to the Stormlands. He had tried to explain that Aemond was perfectly safe and that his brother would ensure it remained so, but that had not eased her worries. In the end, he had to ask Grand Maester Mellos for a calming tea. Her final plea was to make sure no actual fighting took place until they had heard from the envoy arriving by ship. That was sensible enough, and he readily agreed, if for no other reason than to offer an olive branch.
Viserys was feeling a bit hounded, but when Ser Willis announced the arrival of Elaena, he smiled.
She had no sooner stepped through the door when Viserys rose from his chair and quickly enveloped her in an embrace.
"Ah, my sweet child. The horrors you must have witnessed! Are you well? They say you weren't harmed but I would hear it from your lips."
"I am quite well, father." Elaena replied in a steady voice. Viserys was already feeling better about the day, cares and worries draining from him like a lanced wound at hearing and seeing his daughter.
"Better than well once I saw my good-brother awaken. Rhaenyra was beside herself with joy and will be heading back to Driftmark on the morrow," Elaena continued.
"The Gods are good. What an incredible fighter Ser Laenor is! Truly, the bards will sing of his deeds. It's hard to imagine the Sea Snake being overshadowed in one generation, such was his legend, but it is a father's joy to see his children surpass him. I imagine Lord Corlys is eager to come to grips with Dorne and pay them back tenfold for what they have done!"
Viserys escorted Elaena by the arm to the comfortable chairs. She took her seat and gazed at him with her blue eyes.
"Lord Corlys is quite eager for the war and that is why we must speak." Elaena said solemnly.
Viserys tilted his head in perplexity. "The Sea Snake will have his vengeance, his pound of flesh, as the Braavosi like to say."
"In this, father and son are not quite aligned. Ser Laenor spoke to me as he recovered his strength. He cast some doubt on Qoren Martell being responsible for the attack."
Viserys was stunned. "What? But why?"
"Ser Laenor takes justified pride in his martial accomplishments. He believes no one would be foolish enough to come after him and his powerful family so openly. Martell was shrewd enough to come to terms when the Dornish fleet was lost in the Stepstones. If he truly wished to weaken Westeros, he wouldn't have made it so obvious that the attackers were from Dorne. Instead, my good-brother believes it may be another faction within Dorne seeking to see the Martell line fail."
The possibility of this exists. But Lord Beesbury was right, Dornish pride would not let them see the Seven Kingdoms march in and destroy a vassal with impunity.
"That is a possibility, my daughter, one that the small council has pondered. We concluded that Dorne would demand incontrovertible proof before we move against one of their vassals, and since we are unlikely to obtain such proof, war is inexorable," Viserys explained.
"Normally, Laenor and I would agree. However, Laenor would not be the man he is if he did not think differently from other men." Elaena smiled. "My good-brother believes he can get to the bottom of this and uncover the truth. He wishes to look Qoren Martell in the eye and discern the truth of his words. If Martell speaks honestly, then Ser Laenor wishes to investigate personally. While Dorne may initially balk, it will be difficult to do so face-to-face with the Dark Storm."
Viserys looked away, thinking rapidly. The idea that his good-son, so soon after being gravely injured, would wish to put himself further at risk was shocking.
But should it be? This is the Dark Storm. This is the man who demolishes all obstacles in his path. If anyone can do it, he can.
"I am caught off guard, Elaena. Is Laenor even well enough to do this? I was told the poison was uniquely deadly."
His daughter made a dismissive gesture. "I heard much of what Maester Gerardys and Maester Vaelar said to each other while treating him. They were quite astonished by his recuperative abilities. Why, I think he should be fit for the dragon saddle within the week."
"Incredible. But I have qualms about sending my good-son into the scorpion's pit. The Dornish are known for their depravity, treachery, and usage of substances like said venom. Laenor has a well-deserved reputation, but he is not immortal." Viserys said, a bit shaken by the idea all together the more he thought about it.
"Ah, who says he must go alone? Forgive me, father, but the very same concerns you have brought up, I did as well. My infuriating good-brother had an answer to each objection." Elaena put on a faux voice of irritation before continuing in a milder tone. "His plan entailed having another dragonrider go with him. Potentially his mother, or perhaps his good-brother. He was not intending to broach the subject until he had your permission. Laenor would then speak in person while a dragon circles, ready to burn everyone to a crisp – I can think of no surer way to ensure nothing untoward happens." Elaena finished, flashing her teeth.
Viserys was unsure he liked his good-son speaking of such horrors to his precious daughter, but he supposed she was of age and had walked over dead bodies to give him succor.
Ah Aemma, our youngest daughter has grown so swiftly.
"He has thought this through, 'tis true. I should speak to the small council about this and see what others think of this plan. There are grave risks; the threat of Caraxes or Meleys raining down fire is formidable, but if we give Dorne time to prepare, we risk the death of a great dragon. They were successful in killing Meraxes." Viserys gave a slight chuckle. "Ah, who am I to tell you this? I imagine you know the histories better than anyone else in the family."
Elaena nodded. "Yes, I do find the written word more reliable than oral traditions. Speak with the small council then, I intend to stay in the city for a couple of more days. I need to speak with Lord Beesbury regarding the Dragon Bank and how our lending services may be impaired by a potential war. Perhaps wait until the early afternoon to meet with your council?"
"That is fine, I will wish to turn the matter over in my head as well." Viserys agreed.
"Thank you, and once the Dragon Bank's bookkeeping is sorted, I'll return with your answer to Ser Laenor on Driftmark. From there I intend to visit my betrothed at Golden Tooth. I," her face took on a bit of a red hue, "miss him."
Viserys patted her hand. "It is natural for one to want to be with their betrothed, Elaena. You do so much already, you deserve to be away from all this talk of war and assassination."
"Speaking of which… there is one other matter. As you know, my mother has delivered several children. She worries over Laena with her four. Her labors are so recent, and to have her husband involved in a war and not at her side seems dreadful. She wanted me to ask you to give leave for Daemon to return to his wife's side."
Viserys felt his temper flair a little. Poor, innocent Elaena did not realize the games being played at court.
"Does she wish her father to be put in Daemon's place?" Viserys replied with a mild bit of annoyance in his tone.
"No, she wishes her brother. And I think Ser Gwayne would be apt for the role. He is used to leading men from different realms and different masters. Oldtown is not that far from Dorne, and Dornish ships have often anchored in its harbors. His leadership of the Waywardens has led to booming trade as banditry along their patrol routes has dropped to near zero. I can show the numbers of successful trade through…"
Viserys held up his hand. "I take your points." He chuckled. "Fighting bandits is not like fighting an entire nation. Ser Gwayne is a good man and has done leal service, but is all together not an important enough figure to lead the armies. I am sorry Elaena; I know you wished to help your mother, but this request I must deny."
Elaena bowed her head. "I understand, father. Thank you for hearing me out at least."
"Always, my dear. Now, let us speak of happier topics."
They spoke for another hour, and when Elaena left, Viserys felt better than he had in months. Her presence was invigorating, as was the hope that Ser Laenor could find the culprit and turn a long, bloody massacre of a war into a more targeted affair. That would be good.
***
"He wants to do what?" Daemon asked unbelievingly.
"Ser Laenor wishes to confront Qoren personally and get to the truth of the matter. I have some misgivings over his safety and so I bring it before my council for counsel." Viserys explained.
The maegi either lied or was inept, Laenor lives and the whole Seven Kingdoms must dance to his tune.
Deamon saw hasty looks exchanged throughout the room. Tyland Lannister spoke first.
"Your Grace, if Ser Laenor wishes to do this, it will help provide understanding. If they attempt to harm Ser Laenor, we will know they are guilty. While I would not ask him to do this, it appears this is what he wishes, so I would say let it be his choice."
Daemon thought quickly. Why would the Greens participate in this farce?
Ah, they wish him dead. Hmm, I would not have my sweet wife saddened, but I must admit I am tired of being in that man's shadow.
Jasper Wylde looked intrigued. "Justice must fall upon the guilty. I mislike placing him in danger, but if he feels assured he can survive, I'll not oppose."
Daemon glanced to Beesbury who was frowning. The old man spoke with hesitation, "If, and it is truly a big if, it is not the Martells responsible, the treasury will bear the expense much more readily. No cutbacks will have to be made for royal weddings. It is up to you, Your Grace, if that is worth risking Ser Laenor's life."
"Ah, the wedding," Viserys said, "I had not realized we would need to decrease expenditures for it with the war. In truth, Lyman, I do not wish to risk any of my family. But war in Dorne will put Ser Laenor at risk regardless."
Grand Maester Mellos gave a sigh. "Others take the man, he can survive something that should be impossible, perhaps the Seven will provide yet more aid for him."
Daemon snickered. "You're more crow than man, Mellos, one day you'll get a healing forecast correct."
Mellos did not rise to the bait and Daemon saw Otto shift.
"Your Grace," Otto began, "you know how I felt about beginning the war. If we can avert the worst, the number of lives and coin saved would be immense."
Daemon felt his irritation rise. What if Laenor was successful? What if war was averted? He wanted to be the one to conquer Dorne. As unlikely as it was that a major war could be averted, did he really want to take that risk? He was about to object when another thought came to his mind.
If Laenor goes… what would happen if word were to reach the Martells that another dragon had just burned one of their vassals out of their keep? And I would have just the perfect person to do it as well. Laena has more than likely already wept tears for her brother when all thought the Andals' so-called Stranger was about to take him. She'll survive this as well.
"'Tis a fool's errand, Viserys. War comes regardless but if the worst should befall Laenor, Rhaenyra has already birthed his heirs and spares. Tell him to do as he likes; we've already agreed that the six-fold hammer blow was to be attempted as close to the same time as possible. Unless he dallies, it will not delay my plans," Daemon said, exasperation in his voice.
Now his brother would see he thought it a fool's errand, and when the time comes for Laenor to prove the fool he is, he will be able to remind the King of this day.
"Lord Strong," Viserys prompted.
"Pardon me, Your Grace, I fear I do not understand your good-son's character well enough to comment. My time with him has been brief but all know of his reputation. Why would he oppose another opportunity to lay waste to an enemy?" Daemon saw the crippled man shake his head. "It just seems out of character for him and has me concerned the foul venom may have caused damage to the mind."
Mellos shook his head. "The Maesters do not write of any damage of the like."
"As I said, I have only met him briefly, perhaps I am mistaken." Larys replied with a small upturning of the corner of his lips.
"Really, Larys," Beesbury chided, "you make it sound like he's a war monger. Ser Laenor is effective at killing yet that does not mean he enjoys it. His voice is never raised to sound the trumpets of war, in fact he was late to come to the aid of his father and only did so when it looked like Lord Corlys would falter."
Larys bowed his head slightly, "My apologies."
Viserys tapped the table nervously. None voiced strenuous objections.
"Very well. Ensure no attacks occur until my good son has had a chance to make arrangements and hold a parley with Qoren Martell. Continue the attack plans that we have," Viserys commanded.
Lyman interjected, "After review, Prince Daemon, I believe we should move the bulk of our logistical support by sea to the eastern side. Sunspear, Planky Town, and Yronwood are the major locations and all are easier to access on the eastern coast."
Daemon shrugged, not particularly caring as long as the supplies got to the men when they were needed. He noticed Larys frowning, but the Master of Whisperers did not speak up again.
He may be on our side but there's something off about him. Maybe it's the clubfoot of his, most like it reminds me of Maegor.
The meeting was now boring for him, and with Rhaenyra gone back to Driftmark, he was annoyed that he didn't have either of his two ladies available to him. He would take his pleasure elsewhere then; perhaps he would show off in the training yard. The Crownlands were mustering in King's Landing and would be setting off by ship when the time came. It was always good to remind the common soldiery just how much a Targaryen was above them.
***
Qoren Martell, Prince of Dorne, said goodbye to his children. His eldest, Aliandra, had imperiously and stubbornly refused to go, but at the tender age of six, she had no power to make her will manifest. Her two young siblings, Coryanne and Qyle, made much less of a fuss. Aliandra was to be carried to Ghost Hill and placed under the care of Lord Toland. Coryanne was to be sent by ship to Braavos. And little Qyle was to be taken to a third location that not even Qoren knew, for fear that the knowledge could be taken from him through torment should he be captured.
Gods damn Viserys the two-faced, why would we seek war with the Seven Kingdoms?!
The evidence was damning. Few in Westeros had dealings with Essos, and the poison trade was almost entirely with Dorne and the Citadel. Add to that a ship originating from Dorne carrying the assassins and the majority of them being Dornish, making it an easy assumption to seize upon. For all Qoren knew, it very well could have been one of the houses of Dorne. The investigation was ongoing, but if the assassination order had not come from a Dornish house, how could they possibly prove it or have any evidence of it from within Dorne?
It was maddening. Qoren had long feared the Seven Kingdoms. He knew they lusted after his dominion to make the continent 'whole' under one rulership. He suspected eventually Dorne would bend the knee, but he had vowed it would not happen on his watch. Now the very real possibility loomed.
Ser Artyr Dayne was a big man, taller than Qoren, but despite his frame his voice was higher pitched than most men.
"You are making the right choice in sending them away," he said softly.
"I know, but it is difficult given that it may be the last time I see them." Qoren bowed his head briefly before lifting it. "Remind me again where we stand in our preparations?"
"We have no further word from the Triarchy regarding their entry into the conflict, should it occur. I suspect that is their answer; we will not find help from them. They lost too many ships and fear the dragons. Myr has begun working on a new scorpion design that promises to increase the speed and power of a bolt by a significant margin; however, they say it is months away from testing."
"Months? Months? By then half of Dorne will be burned and our ports blockaded." Qoren said sourly.
"Until they have completed the design, we will make do with what we have. Every keep has been instructed to build as many scorpions and spear bolts that can be created. I do have good news on the sellswords' front. Both from the Summer Islands and from within the Crownlands and Westerlands, two archer companies with their goldenheart bows should arrive before any naval blockade can take place," Artyr explained.
They can't kill a dragon, but they can kill the riders and will have better fortune than any of our own bowman.
"Then we have the agreement the freeriders will turn at a critical juncture on our command?" Qoren said with hope.
"Yes," Artyr said skeptically, "we have their word. Word of those who would sell their sworn allegiance for coin. I would not put too much faith in them, but at the very least it will give us information about the enemy's movements."
Qoren would be happy with some chance over having no chance. Plus, he would go so far as to ennoble a common man if he managed to kill a dragonrider in his tent. The odds of success were extremely small, but the Targaryens were arrogant and hopefully that made them unwary.
"Are supply caches prepared?"
"Yes, my prince. As are the false ones which use poisoned food. The Red Mountains will allow small groups to operate for years, though we would not be able to share provisions with the smallfolk if it comes to that," Dayne warned.
It was the best they could do. He had long thought about what to do if the Seven Kingdoms sought to subjugate Dorne. A straight-up fight would not be winnable. Instead, they would have to wear down the invaders with a thousand cuts: nighttime raids, denial of food and water, forcing lengthy supply lines that would be attacked, preservation of their fighting power as much as could be done, and most of all, a plan to deal with the dragons.
"For the dragons themselves, where do you think we have our best chance?"
"The Stone Way." Artyr immediately answered. "We cannot field armies in the deserts or along the rivers, but we can field one there. It will prove a tempting target indeed, but have that dragon fly too low when they spew their fire? And if we time it right? We can bring the rocks down upon it."
"And our men." Qoren spoke grimly.
"Yes, but there is no better way. We will try, of course, here in Sunspear. Scorpions line the walls and we have begun work in smashing a wall in one of the towers to allow room for one to be constructed at a high point," Artyr voiced his frustration. "You must understand that dragons may be large, but the sky is so much greater. The only hope of striking one is when it dives down. It is a minuscule window, and we have to have a scorpion covering that specific area; only then do we have a chance. But it is just that – a chance. Most bolts that do strike a dragon do little harm unless it is to the eye or possibly a wing."
Qoren would do all he could, and he would lean on Ser Artyr's tactical mind often. The Sword of the Morning had a mind that outstripped Qoren's, and it was matched only by his skill at arms with Dawn. He knew he was lucky to have him by his side, but he would not countenance any surrender, no matter how bleak the knight expressed the odds.
A knight approached. "My Prince, word from King's Landing. It… it is the Dark Storm. He lives and wishes to parley with you directly, five miles from Sunspear."
Qoren's jaw dropped. Both to the idea that someone could survive manticore venom and to the notion of that same monstrous person seeking dialogue.
Ser Artyr was frowning. "This might be a trap but if there is any hope for peace, we must accept."
"I'll trade my life on that chance, perhaps they hold me personally responsible and will be content with my head." Qoren spoke lightly, though he did fear the Stranger's embrace.
I must take this chance.
"Send word in response, three-days' time, we guarantee his safety. We'll have a large pavilion set up upon his arrival and provide the very best hospitality." He paused. "Our northern neighbors are a strange folk, will we upset the crown if we offer bedtime companions to Ser Laenor?"
Ser Artyr's small laugh brought a smile to Qoren's face. "I suspect that would quite upset them," he said. "Princess Rhaenyra is his wife and the official heir to the Iron Throne."
Feeling hope for the first time since hearing of the blame for the assassination being placed on Dorne was a heady sensation. The thought of being face-to-face with such a ruthless butcher, one beyond even the reach of poison, was more than troubling. The rumors probably overstated what he had done at High Tide, but the thought of breaking apart a man's skull with one's bare hands was more than just a bit disturbing. He would not let that idea dissuade him; he owed it to his family and to Dorne.
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