Pre-Chapter A/N: More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Experimenting with two chapters a week, we'll see how long I can keep this up for.
"There's been a change of plans," Mother said, spreading out a map of Bloodstone in Daemon's command tent. He hadn't even begrudged her taking control. I guess even the infuriating and mercurial man-child could see that pissing my mother off in this situation would be even more brain-dead than his usual behaviour.
"What do you have in mind, Cousin?" he said, stepping closer to look at the map as well.
"My husband's plans, while brilliant, were overly generous to these scum of the earth. I propose a different solution. We burn them and salt the earth," she said.
"I like that plan," he said, looking at her with something in his eyes that very much should not have been there. I felt my eyes narrow even without my intending it. Hell to the fucking no, Daemon. I'd castrate him myself before I let him anywhere near her.
"So what do you need me to do?" he asked.
"We take Bloodstone. You said the pirates have taken up hiding in caves to prevent themselves from getting caught out?" she asked.
"Yes. Too deep for Caraxes' flames to penetrate, and the caves are too sturdy to collapse. We considered closing the entrances, but there was no guarantee that there were no other entrances and we'd find ourselves taken by surprise before we knew it," he said.
"So we need to take the caves from within then?"
"Yes. No chance otherwise."
"Then we do that. We focus on both the caves and the castles. We burn the castles to the ground and we see them scurry to their caves like rats. Then we go rat-hunting," she said, looking up from the map with a sharp smirk on her face. Daemon returned it even as I felt a bit queasy from the whole affair. This felt wrong in many ways, but there was little I could do to stop it. I wanted this Kingdom to become something useful, but I couldn't even fully convince myself that this was not the right course of action for that to happen. After all, who could say that it wasn't for the best to wipe things clean here to start over from the beginning? A clean slate and a fresh start for these islands. That would mean mass migration, comprehensive building projects, manpower—the whole nine yards. These islands would become a money pit. Yet, I wanted them. I wanted them more than I wanted anything else at this point in my life.
The Stepstones. They had potential. So much potential that it would hurt me to abandon them. Where others saw a collection of storm-swept rocks, I saw a Kingdom of Islands. Everything from shipbuilding to glassmaking could find its place on the islands. A Kingdom. Not big enough or wealthy enough to rival Westeros, from where I hailed, but a potential power base regardless. It would take decades. It would be long and thankless work, but I would do it. Damn it, I would do it. And I was beginning to get ideas.
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People had a misconception about dragons. They couldn't just burn castles willy-nilly. Not most of them, at least. Strong as Igneel was, he'd have difficulties burning a full-sized castle with anything less than hours of work. We didn't have the stamina for doing it in one go, and the thing did lose a lot of its awe-striking potential when you had to do it in shifts or batches. That was not the case with four dragons, though.
Especially not these four. Together, we were the most dangerous thing in the world—the four of us. It galled me to admit it, but Daemon was an above-average rider. Even with all my training and what I was sure was commensurate training on the part of both Laena and Mother, Daemon kept up with us with ease. Raw talent for dragonriding, the likes of which I would find it difficult to even comprehend. We banked in unison, coming around to the first castle on the island. This was the largest of them all. It had Valyrian roots; it was clear to see.
It rose like a jagged shadow against the sky. It was big in the way castles in this world had no choice but to be big. Maybe about the same size as Storm's End, if only slightly smaller but built in a different way. For one, it was made entirely of black, volcanic-like stone that made me think of Dragonstone, or maybe even the stones of Harrenhal, blackened and fused by the Black Dread's fury. Its surface, made of the stone, was rough, yet it seemed to fit together perfectly, giving the sense that it was hewn from a single massive block of dragon-forged rock.
It sat on one end of the island—not the end Daemon had started his conquest from, and that made sense. Lording over the island, it sat atop a steep, uneven outcrop on Bloodstone's wave-lashed coast. Its base blended so seamlessly with the natural rock that if it were not so obviously other, it would have been mistaken for something having grown from the island itself. Sheer walls rose in stark vertical lines, so straight that it spoke of otherworldly construction. The walls were punctuated by arrow slits and crenelations. It sported a single gate—one entrance to hell. It was framed by deep-set grooves around its arch and guarded by towers on either side. The towers were rectangular. Nothing in this castle was less than a straight line.
Above the fortifications sat a bouquet of spires, turrets, and buttresses, each one lifting higher and higher to the sky. It cast a fearsome figure, designed to warn away as much as it was to defend. No wonder Daemon had not even tried his hand at taking it yet and preferred to spend his time on the rest of the island. I wouldn't want to try taking this thing from the ground either. The tallest central tower drew all eyes to it. It was like a black spear stabbing straight into the sky. We had been spotted, I could tell. But what did it matter? Pirates crowded the crenelations and battlements where they could, looking up at us and pointing.
Looking at it, I had a single question. Would it burn? Laena wasted no time in getting me my answer. "Dracarys!" she roared, Vhagar roaring with her. They unleashed their unique green flames on the castle, covering most of the left wing from view. They strafed it, flying across as they released their flames. When the flames died, the black stone of the castle had reddened, but beyond that, it was untouched.
"All together," Mother ordered. I looked over at her and nodded. Igneel and I banked right while Vhagar continued above the castle, raining down fire on the top of it. Mother and Daemon went left. All our dragons spewed their flames with all the force they could. But even that was not enough to cause more than a slight reddening. On Mother's insistence, we kept it up for close to half an hour before we turned in, disappointed.
All that we had achieved was killing the men that guarded the walls and battlements. Even their screams had done little to wipe away the feeling of disappointment that nestled itself in my stomach.
"If we want that castle, we have to get men inside that bitch," Daemon said, and I feared that he was right, because that was going to be a costly castle to take, no matter what.
"Let's deal with the other castles first," Rhaenys said instead. She was just as hesitant as I was about challenging that castle, it seemed. Good. Because our dragons would not be useless. We'd be able to use them to prevent people from guarding the walls and stalling the breaching of the castle itself, but once they were inside, that was going to be a whole other story. The Stormlanders would bleed for every inch of space they took. The good part about it was that I was sure the crazy and battle-hungry bastards would at least find some enjoyment in the slaughter. They'd probably prefer it that way. I could see in Borros' eyes the hesitance he had had around Mother's plan when she had introduced it.
Someone else would have interpreted it as him not being confident it would work, but I saw it instead as him being scared that it would. If we burned all the castles and sent him to fight pirates in holes in the ground, then from where would his glory come? Borros Baratheon was a man who longed for the glory of combat. He wanted to be the tip of the spear of every cavalry charge. To be the first man over the walls at every castle's storming. To be the first man on the line in every infantry group he joined. The hunger for glory was in-built.
At least this way, he'd get to see that glory and earn it for himself. How many men could say that they'd taken a Valyrian castle—after failing to burn it with dragons, I was now dead certain that the Valyrians had built it. It was something that was right up their alley. Building a massive castle in a barren place with little else. And it made sense. If Tyrosh had been built as a military outpost, then the castle on Bloodstone could serve as some sort of early deterrent or warning system. Have a castle here to warn if any attacks were coming Tyrosh's way. With dragons, the journey could be made in less than a day—both to and fro.
The next 'castle' we came across was barely worth its name. This one had clearly not been built by the Valyrians. I found it difficult to conclude that the person building this had more than two brain cells to rub together, not with the way the thing sprawled. Three different types of stone had been used in its construction, almost as if whenever they ran out of one type, they moved on to another.
Saying it stretched to the sky would be a dire overstatement of events, so I will say it pointed at it. It had a domed roof that covered all four of its floors. Four towers—one in each direction—framed the castle's edges. It looked like two of the towers had been built first and then the others added later on. The second I formed that thought, I could see it everywhere now. The castle was like a group project, but instead of multiple collaborators working in the same space and time, it was like they were collaborators stretched across history. One person added something to the castle, and another came along and added something else. That was probably why the castle's top floor was made of a different sort of stone that looked a fair bit newer.
Someone had come along, seen the three floors, and then decided to add another. This castle—I had no doubts that it would burn. Because for all the stone it had, massive sections were made of naught but wood as well. If stone could burn, then how much more wood, of all things?
This time, there was no need to have Laena begin to test the waters. By an unspoken signal, all four dragons fired upon the castle and unleashed their rage. Almost as if they were using this castle to take revenge for the other one that refused to burn, the dragons kept going off longer than was necessary. For over half an hour, Igneel and I flew this way and that, working to set every inch of it on fire. None of the pirates even managed to make it out of the castle. It was probably because Vhagar had decided to open things up by landing atop the domed roof and smashing inwards with claw and flame.
After dealing with the second castle, I noticed that Caraxes and Meleys had begun to tire. It was nothing terrible, but it was there in the way they flapped their wings—taking a second too long, doing it with even more strain than I'd ever seen them do it before. Interesting. Igneel was still relatively fresh—most of our endurance training had focused on being able to project his flames for long periods, after all. Vhagar, to borrow a phrase from someone else, looked like she could do it all day. The bitch probably could. Somehow, Laena had managed to turn the oldest dragon in the world into a stamina and physicality monster. She was making me eat my previous expectations. Being completely honest, I hadn't initially wanted her to claim Vhagar. I felt Vhagar might have been big, but her best days were already behind her, and it was better to start with a younger, more teachable dragon that could potentially have a higher ceiling. Look at me being proven wrong in emphatic fashion.
The third 'castle' was even less worthy of the name than the second. This one was made mostly of wood, and the second Vhagar was close enough, she belched out a torrent of green flames that managed to cover half the castle with how wide they spread. She flew around it, and in a matter of minutes, the castle was thoroughly on fire. We kept the flames up to make sure that nothing within it had any chance of surviving and partially to send a message. It took what felt like less than a quarter of an hour to turn the castle to nothing but ash. This castle had fewer pirates in it from what I could tell from the screams, and that was not much of a surprise.
Only the first castle was probably fully manned. The others must have retreated to the caves once Daemon's arrival was known. It was why he had not bothered with the castles. They were nearly useless as targets, especially with how much effort it would have taken for Caraxes to do the burning on his lonesome. With four dragons, though, work that would have taken at least a few days (with rest in between), had been concluded in a matter of hours.
So, we flew back to the camp. The camp was already in motion, packing up for the next target. Some pirates had been tracked down to a cave only a dozen miles from here. They had stopped making assaults on Daemon's camp due to fear of Caraxes, the arrogant Prince had assured us, so now they waited to die in their caves. Of course, I could not necessarily see the logic in that. Sure, they bled Daemon for each cave he cleared out, but they would run out of numbers before he did. And what kept convincing the pirates that hiding in the caves was a good idea when they had word of the other caves being cleared out?
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I waited outside, trying my best not to act like I was sulking, even though I was most definitely sulking. By my side, Laena was brimming with amusement. Mother, on the other hand, was the very picture of propriety. One would not even be able to tell that this woman had screamed at me a scarce few hours ago.
I'd tried to join them in heading into the cave, and Mother had decided that she would be having it only over her dead body. Our wills had clashed, we had fought, and in case my presence here rather than inside with them didn't make it clear, I had lost.
There was a yell from the front, and the men began to troop out. Daemon was at the head, holding up a severed head with the manic smile of a man proud of his kill. He tossed it at Rhaenys' feet. She lifted an eyebrow.
"And what about this particular head is meant to mean anything to me?"
"That is…." He turned to one of the men by his side, snapping his fingers.
"Bloodbeard," the man said to him in a bare whisper.
"Bloodbeard. He's one of the fellows that thought to lay claim to Kingship of this island. He challenged me to single combat instead of having our armies fight. We fought, and I won," he said, and then came the line of prisoners. Borros led them with a smile on his face that failed to reach his eyes. The psycho was probably pissed at not having gotten to fight as much as he wanted.
"He also was kind enough to let slip that this lot have buried their treasure somewhere not far from here," Daemon continued.
"Indeed? A worthy kill then, cousin," Rhaenys praised before she stepped over the head like it was nothing. Where most women shied from blood and violence, Rhaenys Targaryen reveled in it, and she looked beautiful as she did so.
"I will address the captives," she said.
The pirates were lined up in single file. A quick headcount showed there were more than a couple hundred of them in total. And these were the ones who surrendered. To make it to the center, they'd probably had to fight through dozens of them.
"I need one of you who knows where your Captain buried the treasure," she said. She did not shout, but her voice carried. One of the fools spat in her direction. It was just his luck that the spit landed on the floor, failing to connect. Behind her, Meleys stirred. Even Igneel and Vhagar were less than pleased at the gesture. Caraxes cracked open an eye, and I could see how the pirates realized the depths of their misfortune.
Borros walked over, fist clad in a steel gauntlet, and punched the man in the face. His head snapped backwards, he fell to the floor, and Borros followed him there. The field was silent as the only sound was that of steel hitting flesh. Over and over again. Borros did not stop until the man's moans and groans had ceased, and then there was silence. He hit him once more for good measure before he stood up. The view… was not pretty.
Laena turned around, and I heard the sound of retching. Mother did not even react.
"Thank you, Cousin," she said to him before turning to the pirates again.
"Now one of you should volunteer before I get impatient." It took a few more seconds before one of them stepped forward.
"I'll show you where he buried it, milady," he said, his voice shaking. He could not be much older than I was. I watched Mother's stance soften.
"And what is your name?"
"Pate, milady. Was the Captain's servant."
"And you know where the treasure is buried?"
"Better than me own name, milady."
"Good. Please take him aside, Cousin," she said, and Borros, in an uncharacteristically obedient move, ushered the boy to the side. She straightened, returning to being the Queen That Never Was.
"For the crime of piracy, I, Rhaenys Targaryen, sentence you to death," she spoke to the crowd. None of them could react before Meleys fully straightened.
"Dracarys!"
A/N: And so we have a chapter. In case it's not clear, Rhaenys has no interest in fucking around. Next five chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)(same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.