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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)
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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 36
Notes:
A big thank you to MARch_Of_Time for their proofreading!
Chapter Text
"Our task is clear. We must acquire competence in deploying soldiers abroad, whether we want to or not. And regarding occupation by military government, we should try to improve things as soon as possible and seek new friends…" -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 5
Laenor squeezed his eyes shut and put his face into his hands.
"I survived one assassination attempt, and now you want me to go to Dorne, alone?"
"Not alone, I'll be going with you, of course," Elaena calmly replied.
Leanor looked up at the ceiling and ran his hands down his face.
"Ah, yes. If the Dornish don't succeed in killing me, your father can instead!"
Elaena smiled, a mirthful expression replacing the usual enigmatic one in Laenor's eyes.
"It is not often I hear you jest; you have a gift for good comedic timing. You should use it more– it might help convince people that you're not always on the razor's edge of mass slaughter." Elaena suggested.
"It was no quip!" Laenor squawked, shuddering at the mere mention of mass slaughter. "Your father would be wroth beyond reason if I took you into danger."
Elaena frowned. "I disagree, and it would complicate things too much to hide my presence this time. While my father hasn't given permission, he hasn't forbidden it either. He has given his blessing for you to act on behalf of the Seven Kingdoms, and he's fine with you taking another dragonrider. As the Essosi saying goes, 'better to ask for forgiveness than permission.' Besides," Elaena continued in a reasonable tone, "if we are successful, it will benefit all of Westeros."
Can it be that she doesn't realize how grave a trespass this will be?
"Why can I not simply ask my mother? Why does it have to be you?" Laenor asked.
"Because it has to be me. Someone else might get it wrong," Elaena replied simply. "This sounds arrogant, I know, but I am an exceptional judge of character. I doubt Prince Qoren ordered the assassination, but if he did, I would give it better than even odds that I will be able to tell."
"More sorcery?" Laenor said warily.
Elaena frowned. "Do not speak of it aloud. I mislike people knowing. Be glad that I care much for my sister's happiness and appreciate your continued cooperation. It took much to preserve your life and was not at all simple."
Laenor had confronted Elaena about it earlier. The dragon egg turning to stone was the most obvious clue, but Elaena throwing men into walls hard enough to crack heads and spines was the cherry on top of the witchery pie. Magic was not well-liked by the Andals, and there was much suspicion regarding its practitioners. Laenor had never heard of sorcery being used to physically hurl people before, but he suspected Elaena had employed some form of blood magic to enhance her strength. He didn't know much about what was possible and what was not, and he did not wish to know the details. Even thinking about it made his spine chill.
"My apologies, it won't happen again." He felt some pride at keeping his voice from wavering.
Elaena nodded. "As to your question, no, not really. It is simply a talent I have. Broadly speaking, there are two types of people in the world. The rational ones who can be trusted to act in their best interests, and the irrational ones – more beast than man – dangerous and disturbing. I will be able to discern whether Qoren Martell is the former or the latter. If he is the former, then he most certainly did not send the assassins."
Leanor furrowed his brow. "And if he is among the latter camp?"
"Then we will have confirmation that he has the temperament to send assassins, who would lead his nation to its doom, and may have even done so already. Either way, leaving a man like that to lead a nation at our doorstep would not be wise. In that circumstance, Dorne burns."
Laenor shivered. Elaena was an oddity. There was a coldness to her that he feared, but on rare occasions, he could see true emotion. When she spoke of rational and irrational men, there was heat and hate. However, when she uttered the line "Dorne burns," it was devoid of any emotional significance, as if seeing thousands of people die was merely a ledger tally.
"And if he is rational and you conclude that he did not order the assassination, what then? Am I to convince my father and yours to call off the war? The King has already summoned the banners; we will look ridiculous as a nation," Laenor said, a note of despair in his voice. He did not see how war could be averted.
"That depends on various factors. I have a few alternative solutions up my sleeve, but first I need confirmation on the type of man Qoren is. Now, I trust you are up for a bit of mummery in convincing Dorne you are in fact on the razor's edge, barely restraining your desire to slaughter them all?"
"It will be easy enough." Laenor gave a wan smile, exhausted, "Put on a mask of anger and stare at the Prince of Dorne menacingly. Speak little and imply much. Don't smile. I am not unused to playing a role that comes unnaturally." He let out a strangled puff of laughter at his own words.
"Your cooperation is valued, Laenor. My hope is to save lives and keep our economic progress on track. I promise to do all I can to ensure you are safe during these discussions. I will also intervene with father if he is wroth. I honor my agreements and our work together will see our land prosperous and our family safe." Elaena told him, blue eyes locked on his.
Laenor slowly nodded. "As Joffrey reminds me, you have done naught but help my family. I thank you for saving Joffrey that night, as well as my own life. I will not pretend to be comfortable with the falsehood that has grown beyond reason, but I do thank you. I will play my part."
***
Given Dorne's reply to Laenor's offer, Daemon knew he would have to move fast. Within three days, Laenor and Rhaenys would be meeting with Prince Qoren. Officially, he would be patrolling the border and stopping by Nightsong, Harvest Hall, and Blackhaven to ensure Dorne was not preparing to raid across the border and potentially hamper the arrival of foodstuffs.
That was a ruse, though he would visit all the lords of those holdings. He only truly needed to speak to Aemond and ensure the war began. Given Laenor's prodigious abilities, Daemon assured himself that it was unlikely he would die. And should he fall, Seasmoke and Meleys would exact a dreadful toll for his death, possibly leaving Seasmoke available for a future child or for Visenya, whose egg had yet to hatch.
Flying down, he had a brief meeting with Ser Baldric. He was still angry at the man and considered asking for that second duel, but they were at war, and killing one of the Marcher Lords right before the battle with Dorne would be foolish. Instead, he was... well, not cordial, but not overly rude. The man seemed competent and had already gathered a sizable force, training the levies while organizing the supplies into wagons.
He moved on to his main purpose in visiting and spoke with his nephew alone.
"Have you been ranging into Dorne? What have you learned?" Daemon asked.
"I have, and there isn't much. There's no force preparing to invade. I've spotted small groups of mounted patrols and smallfolk heading south." His voice took on an annoyed tone. "It seems my presence here will avail nothing of note."
Perfect.
"Oh? Do you wish to change that? Do something meaningful instead of guarding a castle that will face no enemies?"
"Yes." Aemond said instantly. "I can be of great use on Vermithor. He's larger than any dragon save your wife's."
Daemon smirked. "So, you think you are ready for real battle, boy? Ready to kill? Ready to see charred corpses in your wake?"
"Of course, I am a Targaryen, blood of Old Valyria. The Conqueror's blood flows in my veins. If your concern is age, it need not be. I am more advanced, intelligent, and skilled than my peers." Aemond answered confidently.
Daemon felt a stir at that. Had he misjudged his nephew? There was fire in this boy, more so than in Rhaenyra's children, at least so far. He idly wondered where this flame had come from. Was it simply his superior Valyrian blood shining true? It could also be Otto Hightower's doing; the man was rancid with ambition and ruthlessness. Had he filled the boy's head with a lust for battle so he could one day be used against Rhaenyra?
It doesn't change anything right now, but I will keep an eye on you.
"The original difficulty remains, Aemond. Viserys has not given his permission for you to act offensively… however if you are willing to keep things secret, there is something of value you could do."
Aemond's eyes flashed in anticipation. "Speak it, then. I am no fink."
"West of the Prince's Pass lies the Torentine River. There are small villages and even a town or two along the banks before the fortress at Blackmont. Eradicate them, and we will make your cousin's assault from the Reach more successful."
Aemond frowned. "That is hardly a great deed or even particularly useful. Let me burn them out at Blackmont instead."
Daemon was tempted, but it was not out of any affection for the boy or fear of censure from his kingly brother that stayed his hand. It was the thought that Vermithor did not deserve to die charging straight into scorpions, ridden by a boy who had yet to enter manhood. Any competent dragonrider would not fall prey to Dornish defenses, but did he trust that Aemond was competent? He had no one to truly teach him, save for his brother, who was likely just as useless.
If I go through with seeing him dead, it will be better done in a way that ensures the Bronze Fury is preserved for certain.
"Now you play the overeager boy, perhaps this was a mistake…"
Aemond growled in clear irritation. "Don't play conversational games with me, uncle. I have not refused your task, and in truth, gladly cleanse the Dornish filth from the Torrentine's northern reaches."
Daemon was rarely challenged or spoken to in this way. He was tempted to cuff the boy but he also admired his forthrightness.
"If you do well with the villages and towns, we will see what else can be done. The reason you are burning those villages is that you spied on Dornish raiders traveling south from the Stormlands. Upon pursuit, they scattered and retreated to those villages, and you put them to the torch."
Aemond arched an eyebrow. "That doesn't make sense. The mountains are not so easily traversable. There's a valley east of Horn Hill; it would make far more sense if the Dornish raiders were fleeing southeast from the Reach."
Daemon didn't have a map handy but now that he recalled, from what he saw back in King's Landing, the boy sounded correct. Either way, it didn't matter. He waved the comment aside with his hand.
"That works just as well. You'll leave tomorrow night; you will not speak of this with Lord Baldric. You may face punishment from your father as well, but I will intercede and say that I would have done the same thing in your place."
Task completed, he did an impromptu inspection of the training yard and then spoke with Selmy one last time.
"All appears to be in good order, Baldric. You will soon join Lord Caron and march down the Prince's Pass, most likely two weeks from now. Young Aemond is performing vital duties, but I sense impatience in him. Do try to curb that; we don't need a dragon going wild in Dorne, as it could cause Prince Qoren to act contrary to what our battle plans anticipate."
"Understood, Prince Daemon. The young prince is eager, it is true, but I can keep him distracted in the yard. He's already a fine swordsman; once he grows into his height and reach, he will be formidable."
Daemon then headed back to his dragon. He stroked the long scaly neck.
"Soon, Caraxes, soon you will fight and feast on flesh again. I know you long for it, and you will have it."
Caraxes made his typical cross between a crooning and hissing sound as he accepted Daemon atop the saddle.
Now to see how it all unfolds.
***
Qoren Martell waited nervously alongside Artyr Dayne in the large tent. He had briefly considered sending the man away; Artyr knew all their defensive stratagems and could lead the defense of Dorne. Yet, he found he could not. He valued the counsel of his loyal knight and believed that if a path to peace could be found, Artyr would be the one to discover it.
As instructed, they were some distance away from Sunspear and had constructed a pavilion with multiple open-air furnishings as well as enclosed tents. On Dayne's advice, they had chosen not to occupy the more opulently furnished one. If the Dark Storm chose to use this meeting as a convenient way to kill the Prince of Dorne, they would not make it quite so easy.
A guard rushed in. "A dragon has been sighted; we think it is Seasmoke. It is slowly circling lower."
"Only one dragon?" Artyr asked for clarification.
"Only one, we've not seen any others, even with the Myrish far-eye."
Qoren waited, doing his best to keep his nerves in check as the dragon descended. He wondered whether he had made the right decision to dress as he had, rather than in more martial garb. Laenor Velaryon was, above all else, a fighter, so meeting him in armor seemed fitting. Yet, Artyr had advised that he should present himself as the diplomat instead... so as not to invoke any unflattering or unfortunate preconceptions in so formidable a mind as that of the Dark Storm's.
His flowing robes of deep sunset orange were made from a luxurious silk blend. Gold thread was woven into the fabric, displaying golden sunbursts along the hems and cuffs of his garb. Qoren's robe was cinched at the waist with a sash of crimson. Rings adorned his fingers, and he wore his crown of red-gold. He looked every inch the ruler of Dorne.
The guard entered again. "Ser Laenor has landed, and with him is another of Targaryen descent. We believe her to be Elaena, the second daughter of King Viserys."
Qoren's eyes widened a bit and he looked over to Artyr. "What do we know of Elaena Targaryen?"
"She is one of Viserys' more favored children. While some men view children born from the deaths of their mothers with distaste and loathing, the King of the Seven Kingdoms seems to have taken the opposite view, seeing her as the last gift of his beloved Queen."
Artyr gave a thoughtful look.
"This is good for us; it nearly guarantees that Ser Laenor is here to speak, not to kill. Princess Elaena has a mixed reputation. She is well-regarded by the smallfolk for giving skilled fighters a chance to rise to knighthood through tourneys. They call those knights the 'Knights of Victory,'" Artyr continued his explanation.
"You said mixed?"
"Yes, she is viewed as someone who is a bit eccentric as well. The first woman to have studied in the Citadel, she is not often seen at social events in King's Landing. The thought is that she is somewhat of recluse who only emerges for important court events or tournaments. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she seems to have few enemies among the nobility and her hand was eagerly sought after. She is described as beautiful and reserved and is now set to be wed to Ser Kevan Lefford, a knight of no renown in the Westerlands." Artyr finished his explanation.
Qoren was confused. "Why, then, is she here?"
"Any guess I make would be like throwing a spear in the dark; there is no way to know if I have struck my mark."
Qoren nodded and ordered the guards to bring the two to his tent. They arrived shortly after, and Qoren took note of their attire. Both wore riding leathers but were otherwise unarmored. Ser Laenor had an arming sword sheathed at his side, along with a belt knife. His expression was guarded, and his eyes first flickered to Ser Artyr. Princess Elaena, however, was a stark contrast, her expression sunny and heedless of the nervous tension carried by Qoren's guards. Her blue eyes, as vibrant as any Targaryen's violet ones, seemed to almost glow in the tent's shade.
"Be welcome, Ser Laenor, future King-Consort of the Seven Kingdoms. I am most pleased to hear of your return to health. Be welcome; I offer bread and salt, as well as wine to slake your thirst," Qoren said in a pleasant tone, a confident smile upon his face despite his inner turmoil. "And you must be Princess Elaena. Congratulations on your pending nuptials to Ser Kevan of ancient and noble House Lefford."
Laenor simply grunted, and then Elaena spoke up. "Thank you, Prince Qoren. We are pleased to be here and hope we can resolve some pressing issues. As for bread and salt, we appreciate your hospitality in the spirit it is offered, but we must decline. I am sure you understand why."
Qoren gave her a nod and a smile despite the implied insult.
In truth, I cannot fault them for their caution after what occurred.
"I do. Please allow me to introduce one of my closest advisors, Ser Artyr Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He is familiar with the ways of the Seven Kingdoms and is here to ensure I do not accidentally offend." He finished with a wry chuckle, hoping to bring a more casual air to the stifling tension in the tent.
The tent was relatively cool despite the heat outside. Designed to allow air to flow freely, it protected the occupants from the harsh sun. It would likely still be warmer than what the two before him were accustomed to, but with only a moderate increase in heat, it hopefully would not cause any tempers to flare. Given his own experience with the Dornish heat, the temperature felt nearly perfect for Qoren.
"The fabled Sword of the Morning. I have read that your sword is made of material from a falling star and is the only one equal to Valyrian steel blades. With your permission, I would love to examine it later," Elaena replied, giving Ser Artyr a glance.
"I have no objections, princess." Artyr replied respectfully.
There were seats prepared with cushions for Qoren's guests, but they refused them and stayed standing.
Qoren clapped his hands. "To business then. As I wrote to your king, I had no part in the attempted assassination of your person, Ser. I hope to uncover if anyone in Dorne may have been responsible, but my men in Planky Town have not yet met with success. Lord Dalt is well known to me and would never act in such a manner as to strike at you."
Laenor looked at him and narrowed his gaze, but did not speak.
Qoren felt a slow trickle of sweat crawl down his spine. Qoren eyed that his guards were fidgeting nervously. Swallowing heavily he continued speaking.
"I understand that your King has called his banners. I wish to avoid a costly war with the Seven Kingdoms. What can we do to resolve this misunderstanding?"
Laenor continued to stare at him.
Elaena cleared her throat. "My father has summoned his banners. You must admit that a Dornish vessel preparing to allow Dornish assassins to flee paints a disturbing picture against future peaceful relations with Dorne."
Qoren took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in his body. He and Artyr had spoken of this; they could not appear too servile or fearful of Viserys.
"My people often work as sellswords in Essos. Anyone can hire Dornish born soldiers to do their bidding with the right coin." Qoren addressed Elaena and then looked back to Laenor. "I ask again, for the sake of not just my people, but your own. We have long prepared for the specter of dragons again over the skies of Dorne. If you value the lives of your men, you will not waste their lifeblood on our sands."
Laenor's hand darted to the hilt of his blade. One of Qoren's guards let out a straining groan as they tightened their grips on their own weapons. Artyr took a step forward, moving his body between Qoren and Laenor. Elaena grabbed her good-brother's arm.
"You promised." She hissed in a near whisper.
The Dark Storm released the sword he had yet to draw, though his arm still trembled faintly with suppressed rage, and Qoren's guards relaxed somewhat. The stifling air, pregnant with violence, did not seem to dissipate despite Laenor moving back to a less hostile stance.
"Prince Qoren, while we agree that blood spilt is wasteful, threats against us so soon after loyal Velaryon guards and servants fell in battle is perhaps not wise. House Velaryon still mourns their loss and the thought that further danger would prevent Ser Laenor from exacting vengeance is absurd." Elaena remarked.
Qoren felt a suffocating heat at this delicate dance. He wiped his forehead and put on a conciliatory tone.
"I beg your pardon, then, for my aim was not to threaten anyone but merely to explain the stakes if these negotiations fail. Someone attempted to assassinate you, Ser Laenor, and it was either done by my hand or by someone who wishes to see my house fall. If the latter is true, then you will be providing a great service to those who slaughtered your people."
Laenor's expression remained stoic but he glanced at Elaena before returning his steady, and terrifying gaze to Qoren.
"Well reasoned, Prince Qoren. That is the dilemma before us. If you are not responsible for this, which we have yet to fully determine, then it may well be a matter of internal politicking within Dorne. Who among your vassals stands to gain the most should your line be… wholly extinguished, down to the last remnant?"
Qoren dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. Such a sweet voice juxtaposed with such a threat was maddening. He collected himself and then replied without a tremor in his voice.
"I have no evidence of any of my vassals conspiring to murder you, Ser Laenor. However, hypothetically speaking, House Yronwood and House Jordayne would be the ones most likely to gain should my line be supplanted."
Elaena spoke again, leaving Laenor to glower at him silently. The weight of Laenor's gaze felt like a physical manifestation, pressing down on him. Qoren wished to brush the sweat from his face again, but he was aware that doing so repeatedly could be perceived as a sign of weakness, so he refrained.
"If Ser Laenor wished to speak to these lords and determine for himself their guilt or innocence, would you be opposed?" Elaena asked.
Qoren glanced at Artyr, who stepped in.
"We can summon these lords to Sunspear and then have them speak to you." Artyr said steadily.
"Which could take time, we have dragons who can make such a journey in less than a day. If you are serious in your intent to stop a conflict, we would not wish for any delay," Elaena replied.
"Such a thing is difficult to agree to, Princess Elaena," Artyr replied smoothly. "We are not part of the Seven Kingdoms. To allow dragons to fly to various strongholds and interrogate our lords would be without precedent."
"Then we will start one now," Laenor said, his first words since entering the tent. They came out in a low, almost guttural tone.
The air itself seemed to spark with the fury and loathing in just those six words.
Qoren held up a hand, quickly but not too quickly. "Peace, please, we have not denied you outright." The fell gaze of Ser Laenor returned to him like a physical blow. His next inhalation of air filled his lungs like a thick blanket, abrasive against his throat. He almost gasped but forced himself to be composed.
"Prince Qoren, we are at an unprecedented stage in Westeros. Given the evidence pointing toward your house, any other King would not even bother with this attempted negotiation. My father is more peaceful than most Targaryen Kings, but do not think that his wrath, once roused, can be easily sated. I know not what our discussions with your vassal lords will reveal, but time is of the essence," Elaena said in a soft yet urgent voice.
Qoren glanced at Artyr, who tilted his head slightly to the right.
"Allow us some time to confer on your request. You must understand that Dornish lords are rightfully proud, and approaching them on dragonback with harsh voices and visages will only put their backs up and hinder any useful investigation." Qoren tried to keep his voice clear and confident, though he succeeded only partially.
"Not good enough." Laenor growled. "Decide. Now."
Qoren shuddered under the sheer dread suddenly stiffening his spine and wondered if his death was only moments away. He would normally never bet against Ser Artyr's prowess in battle, but the Dark Storm's ferocity and inhuman strength was now known by all to a truly legendary extent. He had four other guards in the tent, yet somehow, he doubted they could do much in such a battle.
"Laenor!" Elaena snapped. "You swore you would let me try my way first." Qoren felt a moment of respite as Laenor's gaze turned to Elaena's, a strange look coming over his face.
She met his gaze and lifted her chin. They were frozen for several moments until Laenor turned away.
Elaena sighed. "Prince Qoren, I fear my good-brother and your own guards are making these discussions far too fraught. May we speak alone and have the others step outside of the tent?"
Without thought, he quickly nodded. "Yes, that would be for the best."
Laenor shot his good-sister an incredulous look. He turned to Qoren.
"Harm a hair on her head and no one in Dorne will be left alive."
He then did an about-face and marched out of the tent. Artyr hesitated but then followed with the guards. Immediately, Qoren felt his nerves ease and his breath come easier. He experienced the ventilation of the tent again and he no longer thought he was in a forge.
Gods, I never want to be near that monster again.
From the exchange, Qoren had already gleaned some insights about Laenor. He clearly had no qualms about killing anyone who stood in his way. However, his good-sister seemed to be holding his leash. Qoren was uncertain how that dynamic had come to be, but she was family, both by blood and by marriage, and it appeared he had agreed to let her pursue diplomacy. Perhaps she was even his lover; some of the fouler stories of the Dark Storm included ones where he fucked men, women, children, and beast when his lusts arose. Artyr had advised that those grim rumors were likely spread by those embittered by the drastic losses in the Stepstones, but who could say for certain? How could one sift fact from rumor when so many tales surrounded the man?
"A good suggestion, Princess Elaena. I fear that one may not be the right sort for diplomatic dealings." Qoren said with a smile, hoping it was interpreted as charming.
"He likes to handle things personally. There may be some truth to what you say, but let us get to business. I sense in you a keen grasp of reality, so with your permission, may I be direct and cut to the quick?"
Feeling much more at ease he nodded magnanimously. "Yes, that would be for the best."
"War is coming. The Seven Kingdoms will not be made fools of. The only question is where our dragons and armies should be directed. We could attack Dorne, and we would likely be successful. The failures of the Conqueror have been studied, and a more effective course has already been charted. However, you could make our occupation painful. I have no desire to see my family do to your innocent smallfolk what would be required to pacify you for good."
Qoren was taken aback for more than one reason.
"I'll not argue or quibble, but rest assured," Qoren replied gently, "whoever told you those lies about your ability to quell our resistance is simply wrong."
"I am tempted to say that I am but a young girl who does not understand the ways of war, but that would be a lie. Prince Martell, you do not grasp how we would wage this war. The horrors in the plans being devised would chill you to your bones. I speak of a war against your land, not your people. Every shred of greenery, every tree, every harbor, and every building would be scorched to ruin. This would not be a conflict of months or even years, but a relentless effort to make the land itself uninhabitable." She shuddered. "It is a nightmare crafted by my Uncle Daemon. Your ears have no doubt heard that he commands my father's armies in this endeavor. He yearns not just for victory but for annihilation. That is why I have journeyed all this way, why I so desperately wish to avoid this conflict."
Qoren was aghast at the prospect and realized that it could indeed work. While Dorne was not entirely desert, a significant portion of it was. Along the coasts and near the rivers, food could be cultivated. Their exports of wine and citrus fruits provided grain in return, and fish from the coastal areas often served as a staple for the salty Dornish. The notion of a war aimed at targeting resources – typically desired to be seized rather than destroyed – was deeply disturbing.
"But why?"
"To leave his mark on the world, to avenge the Conquerors' lone defeat. I try not to delve into the depravity of that one's mind. As I say, I wish to prevent this, and we can do so, if we work together."
"How?"
"Why, by revealing the true culprits." Elaena said with a smile.
"You wish me to allow one of my vassals to be annihilated in my stead? That would destroy my rule and make us no better than a client state." Qoren said bitterly.
"Oh no, I said reveal the true culprit. Tyrosh. Your men did such a wonderful job in uncovering the scheme. Through sharp question you learned of the Tyroshi plot to not only gain vengeance against the Seven Kingdoms but also destabilize Dorne, a one-time ally who gave up on the military alliance after Ser Laenor torched your fleet."
Qoren sat back, thinking through just what the Targaryen princess was saying.
"Naturally, you were quite wroth over the entire affair, and in a show of solidarity with your neighbor, you will join in the war effort against Tyrosh. A portion of the loot from the conquered city will be allocated to Dorne for its timely aid and investigative prowess. This will also mark the beginning of closer ties with the Seven Kingdoms, which includes allowing the Dragon Bank to lend to your houses, a few marital arrangements, and even a joint Dornish and Seven Kingdoms force to patrol the official boundary line between our allied nations."
"But no such evidence exists!" Qoren sputtered. She spoke rapidly, envisioning a future precariously built upon a precipice of clouds.
"It does if you say it does. Evidence that Ser Laenor heard with his own two ears. Naturally, in his rage, he slew the despicable Tyroshi villain, but not before hearing and fully believing the confession." Elaena continued, gracefully gesturing with her hand. "The internal diplomacy within the King's court makes this somewhat challenging, but with Ser Laenor convinced – the victim of the assassination attempt – the Velaryon family will support him. His wife will back him. Many nobles will salivate at the prospect of the wealth from one of the Free Cities. And my bloodthirsty uncle will be appeased with the expansion of his rule over the Stepstones to include Tyrosh."
Qoren needed to speak with Artyr about this. This was a tempting offer, and if what the petite princess was saying was true, this would leave his lands untouched. Some of what she was saying was worrying, the expansion of the Dragon Bank for one, but it would easily be worth it if meant his people were not destroyed.
"But then what of the actual culprits? Who did try to have the Dark Storm assassinated? And why do you now believe me?"
Elaena gave a small shrug. "In truth, it is impossible to say who did it. Anyone capable of putting together such an attack would have covered their tracks. For all I know it might have been the Triarchy. As to why I believe you? You were logical in your rhetoric, there is no way you would have chosen to risk your life and your crown in such an attempt. And while some would say that a crafty Dornishman would know that this is how we would we perceive it and thus use it to get away with this murderous attempt, that is simply not how much of the Seven Kingdoms thinks. Were it not for my interference, such a flimsy rhetorical shield would not have saved you."
"Then why Tyrosh?" Qoren asked, still deeply curious as to what motivated the apparently quite cunning young woman before him.
"Because they are pirates and slavers who have preyed upon our mercantile fleets on numerous occasions. I hate the institution of slavery and if I had to direct our might at a target, I would rather it be them than Dorne. It will also be far less disruptive and cost less in blood and treasure than the prolonged murder of the Dornish land and people."
Qoren nodded, and while he was still uncertain how truthful the young woman before him was, it did make a certain amount of sense. The alternatives were simply too horrifying for him to fully process at the moment.
"Let me discuss it with my advisors and I will decide by evening."
Elaena accepted the delay and she and Ser Laenor took their ease in one of the outdoor pavilions. They had brought their own provisions and ate them while Seasmoke lay near their chosen spot.
When Artyr returned, Qoren explained what Elaena had told him.
"Of all the possible outcomes, this is one I did not foresee, my prince. Not knowing more about Princess Elaena, I cannot say how truthful she may be. However, if the Seven Kingdoms wished it, they could wage war on Tyrosh without our aid. I believe her description of the internal politics in King's Landing is accurate. Now the only question is: do we play along and trust, or do we fight a war we are most like to lose?" Artyr said in a resigned tone.
Qoren wished to look at the problem from all angles. They reviewed again their proposed countermeasures considering the new Targaryen strategy. Artyr saw Daemon's plan as a vile thing, but one that had the potential to be successful.
"The problem is we do not know their appetite for pursuing this. Our ultimate victory depends on their growing weary of the war. We must make it more painful for them to continue their actions. If losses and time mean little to them, they may very well succeed in devastating the land for a generation. My prince, though I am loath to support a falsehood, this is our best course of action," Artyr advised.
As they continued to consider, a soldier came bearing ill news. The Seven Kingdoms had begun their attack. It was not an assault on a fortress, or movement of armies, no it was the destruction of unimportant villages along the banks of the Torentine.
"We are in the middle of a parley and they do this?" Qoren felt his anger quicken.
Artyr sighed. "It is a tactical display of power. It is them saying that they know we dare not take vengeance even if Ser Laenor and the King's beloved daughter are vulnerable. It is to remind us we are helpless to protect our smallfolk. It is vile and foul but it makes clear the stark realities of our position."
Qoren recalled the baleful gaze of the Dark Storm. As much as he would love to repay the destruction of innocent Dornish lives, he knew he could not. He also understood that he had to play along to their tune to avoid further devastation.
"They have us. We must agree to their demands. Summon Laenor and Elaena and inform them that we are prepared to play our part in their mummer's farce."
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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 37
Notes:
A hearty thank you to MARch_Of_Time for their suggestions and proofreading!
Chapter Text
"There were times, after all, when military rationale must kneel before political and national demands." From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 12
Viserys was surprised to hear Laenor and Elaena announced. He bade the Kingsguard to admit them and turned his puzzled frown to the two leather-clad members of his family.
"Did you cut short your visit to the Tooth?" Viserys addressed his daughter first.
"There was a change of plans after I arrived to share your approval for my good-brother to investigate his assassination." Elaena paused and met his curious gaze with her blue eyes. "He thought it best to begin as soon as possible, and it dawned on me that the Dornish may feel less alarmed if I arrived with him instead of someone like Daemon or even Princess Rhaenys, who has a stern bearing."
Viserys was confused, perhaps he had misheard.
"I'm sorry my dear, could you repeat that?"
"I went with my good-brother in the hopes of providing a softer touch to the discussion." Elaena said simply.
Viserys felt his body grow cold, and then erupt in anger. He rounded upon his good-son.
"DID THE POISON ADDLE YOUR MIND?"
Laenor remained stoic. "Your Grace, I attempted to dissuade her, but her rhetoric was effective. In truth, she kept me from doing something rash – so it was quite good that she came."
"That is not the point! She could have –" Viserys was cut off as Elaena stepped between his advance and Laenor.
"Father, Laenor speaks true. He took great pains to ensure the rendezvous point was completely safe and that no harm could befall me. I would rather you not be cross with him, when I was the one who convinced him to take me."
Viserys glared over his daughter's head for a long moment before lowering his gaze to Elaena's level.
"You have no business being anywhere near Dorne! They have no honor and will stoop to the darkest depths to harm their enemies." Viserys spat out, and began to pace, needing to work out some of his anger through physical exertion.
"They weren't responsible."
"What?" Viserys jerked a half-step while mid-stride, before continuing his pacing, "You believe Qoren?" he asked after a moment with disbelief plain in his voice.
"I do, as does Laenor who oversaw the sharp questioning of some of the captured tools of our true enemy." Elaena paused and Viserys was about to ask what she meant, when she continued. "Tyrosh. They wished to pit Dorne against the Seven Kingdoms as vengeance for Dorne quitting the war so swiftly after joining them in the Stepstones, and of course against us."
He looked to Laenor, apprehension beginning to winnow through the haze of fury clouding his thoughts. "This is true?"
Laenor's face was unreadable, able to speak of brutal torture in the same voice he used when speaking of the weather.
"It is, Your Grace. Prince Qoren fully understands our initial suspicion, as it was a clever scheme, but they acted quickly and closed the net upon the Tyroshi agents. My men have been avenged." Laenor said steadily, voice monotone.
Viserys was silent as his anger redirected to consideration of what the news meant.
"Then Tyrosh must be punished." Viserys said.
"Yes, Your Grace." Laenor continued. "I have plans to present to the small council on how we can accomplish this swiftly. If my plan works as intended, Tyrosh will fall before Myr and Lys even realize it is occurring. From there we offer guarantees that the same will not happen to them, so long as they avoid a return to piracy or attempt to reclaim Tyrosh or the Stepstones."
Viserys closed his eyes for moment, the world falling silent as he pondered the image of those who would harm his beloved daughter being destroyed at the Dark Storm's ruthless hand, before he slowly nodded. "Tyrosh richly deserves their fate." he spat, his tone arctic as his rage cooled to a darker resolve. "To think that assassins were within ten feet of Elaena…" His bones creaked and shook, so clenched were his hands and jaw. His eyes turned back to Laenor. "I am still vexed with you. Regardless of the reasons, you should have sought my approval before endangering my daughter."
Laenor met the King's gaze steadily and Elaena interrupted again.
"I have reached the age of maturity, father. I fly a dragon. I have been over the Wall. I am betrothed. It warms my heart to know you hold me in such affection, but I am no longer a child that needs coddling and sheltering."
Viserys paused as memories of his daughters in their younger years flashed before his eyes, then sighed as he considered Laenor's own role in protecting them time and again. "You will always be my precious daughter. And yet, I trust Ser Laenor with Rhaenyra's happiness, I suppose he's also earned my trust in your safety. If he says the meeting with Prince Qoren was safe for you, I will accept it."
Elaena took Viserys into an embrace and it felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. His clenched hands relaxed to hold her gently, and he felt his anger wane, as if the years burdening him fell from his shoulders in moments.
He had done the right thing in not begrudging his good-son's actions. He well knew how convincing Elaena could be! She had a silver tongue, and her sharp wits could guide a man's reasoning down the path she intended. Thinking back upon the various projects and favors he'd bestowed; he realized more fully in that moment just how effective she truly was.
All turned to the good of the Seven Kingdoms, even these bloody affairs of treachery became a chance for swift vengeance and peace. I will speak with Rhaenyra at the wedding. The lords would not like her being Queen and a woman as her Hand, but like Rhaenys, Elaena must have a seat upon the small council to help advise her sister.
"Thank you, father. And now I do still need to visit my intended. I do despise being tardy to anything."
Viserys chuckled. That was certainly true. His daughter was always a structured individual and one of the few visible things that exasperated her was when others were late to something.
"Go then, with my love, Elaena. Worry not about the coming conflict, if the Dark Storm says the conflict can be ended quickly, it will be so."
***
Laenor disliked the continued mummery, but it appeared he had a talent for it. The King suspected nothing, and, true to her word, Elaena had stayed his wrath. The plans she had left him were absurdly detailed. The logistics were already in place, and since a much smaller muster would be required – the shipping of the soldiers would be straightforward. The larger muster was still of use to continue the belief, in the eyes of Westeros and Essos, that the target was Dorne, but most of the Seven Kingdoms would not be fighting.
Now, I must convince the small council, and particularly Daemon, that Elaena's plan will work.
He walked in with his back straight, his face composed, and himself ready. The faces of the council were a mix of smiles and surprise. Beesbury grinned and stood to greet him.
"Ser Laenor! I am pleased to see you have returned unharmed."
"Thank you, Lord Beesbury. I have news for the small council, along with a proposal to end this strife swiftly and with finality."
Daemon cocked his head and looked at him; his gaze was curious.
"First, I have learned that it was not Prince Qoren who plotted the assassination, and Dorne was not responsible."
There was some shock, and Laenor noted how Tyland Lannister's eyes widened, the rest of the council more subdued.
"Then who?" Daemon demanded.
"And what is the proof?" Otto asked right behind him.
"I interrogated the Tyroshi agents personally," Laenor said, pausing to look each person in the room in the eyes. "It was Tyrosh that was behind the attack on High Tide and my person. They sought to weaken the Seven Kingdoms enough to recontest the Stepstones. Should we not be sufficiently weakened after crushing Dorne, they would simply be pleased that an ally who abandoned them swiftly has suffered."
Laenor took in the reactions of everyone. The Grand Maester and Lord Beesbury looked contemplative. Jaspar Wylde looked furious; that sort of subterfuge seemed to have struck a nerve. Larys Strong simply smiled, while Otto Hightower looked perplexed. Tyland looked to the King as if for confirmation of what was being said. Daemon's face had gone still and was unreadable.
The Hand cleared his throat. "All here know, I was opposed to beginning hostilities toward Dorne, but I must confess, this sudden news alarms me. Ser Laenor, none doubt your valor in battle, but is it not possible you were deceived by the duplicitous Dornish? Simply because they fête you warmly with fine drink and entertainment does not mean they are innocent."
Laenor almost let his expression fall. Did Otto think he had been seduced by a comely Dornish lad?
Elaena would say that it is best to view people's actions based on what benefits them. Now why would Hightower be opposed to war with Tyrosh? Ah, of course, our Hand has already deduced that it would fall under the fiefdom of the Stepstones and the long history of acrimony between Otto and Daemon is well known.
"They are innocent of this. The Tyroshi agent could no more lie to me than he could escape my wrath. Do not think that I take lightly the fact that men and women under my house's banner died that night. Nor do I take lightly the fact that it was but chance that the assassins entered my room and not my good-sister's. I would not spend my fury on an innocent target, but I will expend it to the hilt against the true culprit," Laenor said, continuing the mien he had been instructed to maintain by Elaena.
Otto's cheek twitched a bit, likely contemplating just what Laenor had done to the agent. Tyland looked a bit ill as his face blanched, Jasper Wylde looking grim. Even Lord Beesbury's brows drew down and a grimace flashed across his lips, but he still tilted his head in a resolute nod to Laenor.
It is wearisome to have everyone think I am a monster.
Larys spoke then, ending the stifling silence.
"A clearer picture is being drawn, Your Grace," the Master of Whisperers addressed the King. "Dorne seemed utterly unprepared for war with us. Outside of the one border raid that was fended off by Prince Aemond, they have made no attempt to attack us, nor did they have a muster called until we called our own. I trust the Dark Storm's assessment and will begin putting more of my ears in Essos."
Border raid?
Daemon took a gulp of wine and then stood up.
"I agree, let us deal with Tyrosh, but why should we stop there? Even if Prince Qoren is innocent, it was his people who assaulted High Tide. It was a Dornish captain who gave passage and would have aided in the assassins' escape. It is well past time this continent was unified under one rule."
"No." Laenor simply replied.
"No?" Daemon questioned in surprise.
"I met with Prince Qoren, man-to-man, and he revealed our enemy. More than just that, he has offered his aid in dealing with the Tyroshi pirate scum, and their role in my plan is an important one. But more than this, my good-father, your brother, our King, does not long for war. And war with Dorne would be a prolonged one, brutal, grinding, and costly. War with Tyrosh will be over swiftly, our vengeance complete, and the Stepstones expanded to include an Essosi city. A city rivaling that of King's Landing, and under your rule." Laenor gave Daemon a meaningful look; he hoped it conveyed what he intended.
"Wait," Tyland Lannister interjected, "why would Daemon rule Tyrosh?"
"Because he and Caraxes will be instrumental in taking the city," Laenor replied, "and because it is a natural extension of the Stepstones fief."
"My nephew has the right of it; I rule the Stepstones, and Tyrosh borders it. Your brother rules more than just Casterly Rock," Daemon said, affixing his glare upon the Master of Ships.
"Before we speak of spoils, what is this plan of yours, Ser Laenor?" Grand Maester Mellos interjected.
"I plan on unleashing a lightning-fast war upon them. The plan has three primary principles. First, is utter surprise. I will require oaths from each of you to speak not one word to another – not to your liege lords, not to your wives, not even your closest friends – unless our King, or I personally grant permission. A quick resolution minimizes the cost of the war and preserves the prize to be won." Laenor began to walk around the room, directing the movements of those seated at the table. If he was going to follow Elaena's plan, he might as well take advantage of her offered wisdom.
"The second key is swiftness. We will descend upon the city with our invasion fleet and our dragons. Both we and Dorne will have our fleets massed in the Stepstones. It will seem as though a great battle is about to take place. In one night, our fleet and Dorne's will descend upon Tyrosh. At the same time, Caraxes, Meleys, and Seasmoke will strike immediately prior to our landing."
He held up a third finger. "The final key is confusion. We shall make a decapitation strike upon our enemy's leadership. We bring fire to the Bleeding Tower, slay the Archon in his manse, and tear the gates asunder with our dragons. Without effective leadership, the soldiers and sellswords shall not provide meaningful resistance. In a single night, we will make them pay in blood and expand our power into Essos."
The small council was silent for several long seconds as Laenor let his words sink in.
Beesbury rapped his knuckles upon the table. "A bold plan, a good plan! Should it succeed, the burden upon our treasury will be much diminished compared to what we would face with our original designs against Dorne."
Jasper Wylde added his support. "Such foul treachery and dastardly conduct must be punished. Swift justice is always welcome."
"How can we trust Dorne?" Otto asked. "They know of our plans, what if you are walking into an ambush? Our fleet defeated, dragons slain, a potential humiliating defeat. If Dorne is playing us false, we are falling into their trap."
Tyland was quick to agree. "Yes, I'm afraid our Lord Hand is right to be concerned. I, for one, am not convinced that this isn't some deep mummery concocted by Dorne."
"Let them try!" Daemon roared. "I welcome it, we will have three dragons, a fleet, and thousands of bold men of Westeros. If Dorne tries anything, we will see them burn alongside the Tyroshi dogs. I have been given command of the war effort, and unless my brother, our King, countermands me, this is the plan."
He drew his sword. "And as Laenor has suggested, I will have your oaths not to share the details of our war plans. Should you violate it, I will have your heads."
Elaena was correct again. He couldn't resist the plum of Tyrosh. Daemon is now fully invested.
***
"Others take you, what in the Seven Halls was that?!" Otto snarled, barely restraining his voice from rising to a shout.
Larys gave a simple shrug. "My lord, it is nothing more than a setback."
"Setback? And no, Strong, I'm not referring to the farce Ser Laenor orchestrated in there – I am talking about you not only failing to speak against it but also providing evidence absolving Dorne of responsibility for the assassins!"
"It was too late to do otherwise. By swiftly embracing the explanation, I protected my position and garnered support from Laenor." Larys wore a small smile that barely upturned the corners of his lips. It almost sickened Otto to look at. "I discerned that he had already convinced the King. Better to avoid being seen striving against the hero of the hour."
Otto snarled in frustration. He could see the sense of the man's actions, but it galled him how badly this had turned. Who could have possibly predicted that a vengeance-driven monstrosity like the Dark Storm would ally with the Dornish instead of having the decency to get himself killed!
"We must somehow give warning to Tyrosh. Perhaps the entire Triarchy can still bleed the Blacks."
"I would advise against it, my lord," Larys said directly.
"Why?"
"Ser Laenor was clear that no one is to speak of it outside these council chambers, save with express permission from Laenor or the King. If Tyrosh learns of the impending attack, it will raise uncomfortable questions. As of yet, I do not believe your faction is under suspicion. We should ensure it stays that way."
Otto felt anger suffuse him. Failure seemed to present itself at every turn.
"What I do not understand is how that sword-swallower was so misled. There couldn't have been any real evidence of Tyroshi involvement."
Larys looked startled. "My lord… I fear that in your wroth you have failed to see what is plain."
"Explain it then, before I have you tossed out of the window."
Otto mastered himself and took a deep breath. He was acting more like his departed brother, than himself. Control mattered, and he was on the cusp of losing it.
"Laenor lied. It was not the Dornish who lied to him; it was the Dornish who lied for him." Larys did not appear as if he were presenting dire news; instead, he was more animated than Otto had ever seen him. "All this time, we thought it was the Sea Snake, or maybe Rhaenys, pulling the puppet strings of the Blacks. Oh yes, Daemon floundered about in his typical gauche style, but the real scheming has always been done by others. But I was wrong – so fantastically wrong – it is not the Dark Storm's parents. It is the Dark Storm himself!"
Otto's face must have shown his confusion.
"Don't you see? Laenor is more than just a man who enjoys a tussle with comely young men, fine wine, and bloodletting. His raw prowess on the battlefield is only matched by his titanic intellect!"
"And just how have you come to this conclusion?" Otto asked, voice short.
"The bulk of the supplies for the invasion were moved to our eastern coast before Laenor went to Dorne. He knows it wasn't the Dornish or the Tyroshi, but he also knew that the war drums were beating too loudly to easily stop them. In one stroke he avoids a costly war and brings in a city that nearly rivals the size of King's Landing. He also pushes Daemon and his vanity filled tantrums even further away from Dragonstone and Driftmark." Larys went on, speaking rapidly.
Could it be?
"I would wager he was the one who pushed the match between him and Rhaenyra. We contend not with a foolish woman with wise advisors, but with her husband – the true leader of the Black faction. He will rule, not Rhaenyra, though most like none will know the truth." Larys showed his teeth. "But now we know better."
Otto was slowly nodding. "It all makes sense. I wondered who was pulling Beesbury and Elaena's strings with the Dragon Bank. It was Laenor. No wonder such charitable terms were given not just to his father in the war in the Stepstones, but even to his cousin, who went on a voyage to the farthest reaches of Essos. Your reports indicate that Elaena and Laenor are close; no doubt he saw her intellect and quickly ensured she could carry out his will." Otto's gaze hardened into a glare. "How could you not have seen this sooner?"
Larys shook his head. "You've known him longer than I have, my lord. Remember, though, if I have hit my mark, we are dealing with someone who is a master of deception and has the intellect to wield it effectively. I am but a mortal man, but as good as he may be, no one is perfect. Now that we know Aegon's true rival, we can plan."
"Plan? Plan!?" Otto raged. "How do we put a stop to a one-man army with every advantage? They are going to add Tyrosh to their holdings and be on good terms with the Dornish. The odds grow ever bleaker for my grandson!"
"There is truth in that, but Tyrosh is a poisoned fruit. Lys and Myr may hesitate in avenging Tyrosh against the full might of the Seven Kingdoms, but should we be embroiled in a civil war… well, they would jump at the opportunity to evict Daemon. Moreover, Tyrosh is also a port full of commerce. It will be even easier to slip assassins there than it will be at our other targets," Larys said in a soothing manner.
"Because that has worked oh so well," Otto replied, voice filled with derision.
Larys bowed his head in acknowledgement to his point. "Daemon may be an easier boar to skewer than the Dark Storm. But not until the intended time, as you yourself have said in the past, Daemon makes it easier for us to recruit lords against a Rhaenyra rule. Although, it grows less valuable as Laenor ascends."
Otto shook his head in disgust. "Our hopes grow dim, so we must play to every advantage we have. My granddaughter must bond with Silverwing as soon as she can be trusted with the task. Aemond must secure the Stormlands for our cause. His daughters are young yet, but a long betrothal with Boros Baratheon's eldest to Aemond will do our cause well. Viserys will be happy to have the boy away from King's Landing after his overeagerness in Dorne."
A pity that Aemond's aggression had not poisoned negotiations with Laenor, it would have solved so many issues at once.
Otto's gazed fixed on Larys. "Have word spread in the Stormlands that the King is upset with Aemond for defending the Dornish Marches from raiders. That will improve his reputation there and ensure he is made welcome."
"We must take steps to improve Aegon's reputation," Otto continued.
"To my ears' knowledge there are no issues with his reputation." Larys replied with a questioning lilt to his voice.
"Yes, but there are few who speak of him at all. He is an afterthought. Unfortunately, Ser Criston does not believe he will be a grand knight and one to win tourneys, so we must bolster his reputation in another manner."
"I see, do you have something in mind?" Larys asked.
"A few thoughts, but you'll need to plan and attend to the details. Perhaps he and Sunfyre can burn a pirate ship from Essos during one of his flights near King's Landing. Or mayhaps he is on a hunt, and 'assassins' seek to undo him, but he slays them in a manner likened to the Dark Storm. Perhaps some other non-martial means of endearing the people to him. Do not put him at any risk, but we must have an answer for the reputational prowess of Laenor. Even among the Reach, nobles who have previously spoken of supporting the rightful heir have backtracked on their word."
Larys nodded. "I will make the arrangements, and review them with you for approval."
"Success this time, or your usefulness will be at an end." Otto warned as Larys left his office.
***
Aemond was curious why the letter from his father ordered him back to King's Landing. Had his soft-headed mother convinced him it was "too dangerous" to allow him to remain on the border with Dorne after his victories? Would his prowess in battle not have proven he was in no peril?
A pity that mother was not more like the Dark Storm's mother. Princess Rhaenys would never behave this way.
Aemond acknowledged to himself that there might be another reason, yet he could not help but wonder why he was being recalled. His flight back to King's Landing was swift. Vermithor was aging, but after his sister Elaena had shown him the trick of using updrafts over certain types of terrain, long flights had become easier.
He landed and saw his brother Aegon waiting for him. Aemond greeted him and then asked, "Do you know why father has beckoned me home? I had purpose at Harvest Hall."
Aegon gave a slight shake of his head. "No, but he isn't happy. Neither is mother. Did you really burn down a town full of the Dornish?"
Aemond grinned. "Aye, I did. And a pair of villages too. That will teach the Dornish not to cause mayhem in our lands."
"So, it is true. Were you not supposed to be a tool of defense and deterrence? Why fly into Dorne itself? You could have been lured into an ambush." Aegon's voice took on an irritated note as they entered the small wheelhouse that would take them to the gates of the Red Keep.
"I'm not a fool, brother. I know what I was doing. Vermithor is more than capable of handling what the Dornish can throw at us." Aemond was weary from the flight, and not looking forward to meeting his parents. He felt it in his bones that he was going to be sidelined from the rest of the conquest of Dorne.
"Was Queen Rhaenys a fool? Was Meraxes a weak dragon? Yet they both fell in Dorne. Try to keep reign of your pride – or don't and see what happens with father." Aegon countered.
Aemond silently raged, but he would not take out his frustration on one who gave good counsel.
"I suppose you do have a point. Does father have a reason for his anger? Has he said anything more?"
"Not much. I tried to pry, but he only said it wasn't my concern. I asked Mother too, but she said only that if all her children would just listen to her, they would be safer. I found it odd, because I can think of nothing our siblings have done to put themselves in danger. She refused to answer further. In truth, I'm annoyed at not being trusted with whatever concern our parents have."
Aemond pondered the situation and the falsehoods he had agreed to tell while they rode. As they neared their destination, Aegon fidgeted and turned to him.
"Did… did you feel anything when doing the killing?"
Aemond smirked. "The killing itself brought no special joy – they were no challenge for me, so I cannot claim any particular glory. I was satisfied, however, in knowing I had taken my first step toward writing my name in the annals of history."
"And you felt no pause or concern for those you have slain? Even the smallfolk in the town?"
"No, and why should I?" Aemond questioned. "They were assets of the enemy."
Aegon frowned. "That's true, but I've talked with other knights. They say they still remember the faces of those they killed. Ser Steffon said he had nightmares for weeks after his first battle."
Aemond laughed, "I am a Targaryen, not some weak-stomached fool."
"He's a member of the Kingsguard; I'd hardly call him weak," Aegon chided.
"Perhaps he grew stronger in time. Elaena says that everyone begins weak, but there is only shame if one remains that way. I've just advanced faster than others," Aemond replied.
"That wasn't the context she… argh, why must you be like this, brother? I just wished to make certain you are well." Aegon complained.
"Your concern is unnecessary. Care for our younger siblings if you wish to do something productive."
Really now, I slept like a babe afterwards. It was hardly even a battle, I simply directed Vermithor.
He was greeted by one of the Cargyll brothers, who escorted him to the King's chambers. If he cared more, he would have learned to distinguish them, but they were of little importance.
"Father, I have come as commanded." Aemond said in a casual tone.
"Explain yourself. What happened that saw you and Vermithor cross into Dorne?" the King demanded; his tone harsh.
Aemond schooled his featured and reported. "While patrolling on Vermithor, I saw a large band of Dornish riders nearing one of the border villages. I flew down and gave them a taste of the Bronze Fury's flame and they scattered. Realizing, that if I left it at that, they would just return another day I took it upon myself to hunt them down. Unfortunately," Aemond paused as he saw his father's mien not change, "the riders scattered. They ultimately went to different locations and it took quite a bit of effort to track and root them all down."
"Track? What, did you land Vermithor and search for hoofprints in the dirt?"
"No, father. But I could see the direction they were headed and then when I flew over one of the villages, I saw some of the riders. I repeated this process and…"
"Silence your deceiving tongue this instant! You are not as clever as you think. I put my trust in Elaena's idea of giving you and your siblings some duties beyond King's Landing. Little did I know that agreeing to it would almost get her killed! I should have trusted my instincts after the attack on Laenor and kept you away from the Stormlands."
Wait, what?
"What do you mean it almost got Elaena killed? I do not understand, father."
The King scowled. "Seven Hells… forget about that. I will explain at a later time."
"You will explain now, I want…"
"BOY! ARE YOU BEREFT OF ALL YOUR SENSES?"
Aemond flushed red. One did not make demands of a King, even if he was his father.
"Forgive me, Your Grace. My concern over my sister overrode any other thought."
Those were the rights words, as his father seemed to let his anger drain away.
"You would not be a good brother if you did not have that concern. Let me assure you, she is well and safe. But the actions you take can have consequences beyond your sight. You are confined to your quarters for the next two weeks, and you are not to fly Vermithor for the next three months."
Aemond clenched his jaw. This was outrageous! It was unfair! But speaking it, could only lead to further repercussions. Better to broach the subject when his father was less aggrieved. Aemond did not know how his actions had somehow put Elaena in danger, but he would find out, and try to make amends.
"I understand, Your Grace. May I go?"
"Off with you," he said, but as Aemond neared the door, he spoke up once again. "Aemond, you have erred considerably, but I am pleased that you are whole. If you feel ill or have trouble sleeping, send for Mellos."
First Aegon and now my father. It seems clear that Targaryen blood does not always win out. They do not realize I am far more akin to Laenor and Daemon than to them.
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