It was a bloody massacre of the Martell nobility. Both the reigning Prince of Dorne, Nymor, and the notorious Widow-lover Wyl perished in this horrific slaughter.
How could the Martell regime have been so naïve as to imagine that Aegon or Orys would show them mercy?
In truth, the Kingdom of Dorne had long reached its breaking point. Under the relentless pressure of the Targaryen dynasty's various tactics, both its population and the will of its people had been steadily eroded and dismantled.
Had the Targaryens continued their strategies in Sunspear—enclosures, forced relocations, public smear campaigns—the Martell regime would have inevitably been wiped from existence.
Surrender had been nothing more than a desperate, final attempt at resistance.
Orys unleashed his long-suppressed fury outside the gates of Sunspear. He mutilated Wyl, the Widow-lover who had taken his right hand, turning him into a human stake and impaling him from behind with a spear, displaying the body at the city gate.
Only the gods knew what tortures Orys had endured during his captivity to make a man so hardened become this extreme.
His brutal methods loomed over Sunspear like a heavy, oppressive stormcloud.
Behind the Head of House Bolton trailed a cloak made of flayed human skin, now over ten feet long, dragging behind him like a blood-red carpet. Faces—bloody and grotesque—would occasionally surface on the hide before vanishing again.
Orys watched uneasily as the Bolton chief skinned people alive on the battlefield. While he found grim satisfaction in seeing traitors punished, the twisted abilities of House Bolton still sent chills down his spine. He noticed a disturbing pattern: the cloak seemed to grow only when the skins of nobles were added to it.
This campaign would later be named the Battle of the Broken Spears by the scholars who accompanied the army. Following the victory, the Targaryen forces occupied Sunspear.
Orys personally took command of the royal stronghold of Dorne.
As the army marched into the city, Little Garth's sparrows scattered into every corner. Should any remnants of the Martell regime attempt an ambush, Garth would sense it instantly and alert Orys.
Orys came to realize the true terror of Garth's abilities. If he assigned one of the hundred sparrows to each of a hundred commanders, Garth could act as an information hub—transmitting messages via the birds and coordinating the forces with astonishing efficiency. During the citywide purge of Martell loyalists, this ability proved instrumental.
The severed heads of Princess Yellow Toad Meria and her son Nymor were treated with lime and sent to King's Landing under guard. Along with them, Orys submitted a letter seeking Aegon's instructions for the administration of Dorne.
Though the heads had yet to arrive, Aegon understood the outcome from Orys' report. He ordered Orys to marry Deria, Nymor's eldest daughter and heir, as a means to establish House Baratheon's claim over Dorne.
Deria was the only member of the Martell elite to be granted a pardon.
She was a plump woman, not unlike her grandmother Meria in size. For the sake of the realm's stability, Marshal Orys would have to bear this political arrangement.
In the same letter, Aegon introduced a chilling new term: "Exterminate Nine Generations."
King Aegon had always enjoyed coining new words and creating novel ideas, something the ministers of the Targaryen dynasty had grown used to. But this new term—crafted specifically for Dorne—filled every Targaryen official with dread.
The extermination of nine clans would encompass:
Four branches from the father's side—including married aunts and their children.
Three branches from the mother's side—including the entire families of both maternal grandparents.
Two branches from the wife's side—including both the father-in-law's and mother-in-law's households.
For ministers hailing from ancient noble houses thousands of years old, this punishment was nothing short of annihilation. It shook their understanding of justice to its core.
Some attempted to dissuade Aegon, urging him to show restraint—but he refused them outright.
Aegon addressed the court sternly: "Those who surrender to me and then rebel—I will make sure their entire bloodlines are erased. That was the oath I swore upon my ascension. Or do you now expect me to break that vow?"
His defiance left the dissenting ministers speechless.
Upon receiving the royal edict, Orys carried out Aegon's orders to the letter.
The harbor of Sunspear was transformed into an execution ground. Thousands of family members belonging to Dorne's rebel lords were dragged there for judgment.
After the first wave of executions—thousands beheaded by Orys himself—hundreds more followed daily. The ancient harbor ran red with blood. Swarms of sharks fed on the discarded corpses. It was a vision of hell brought to life.
For this merciless campaign, the Dornish gave Orys a grim new title:
—The Butcher with the Bloodied Hand.
To ensure that the price of rebellion would never be forgotten, Orys renamed the blood-soaked harbor "Blood Harbor."
The severed heads of the rebel lords were stacked high into towers of skulls, some over ten meters tall. Like grotesque cult totems, they loomed over the shore, their rotting eye sockets forever staring at the crimson-stained land, bearing witness to the cruel fate that had befallen them.
It is said that ever since that day, a cold mist shrouds Blood Harbor each night. And in the wind, one can hear low, sorrowful wails—the restless spirits of the slain rebels, doomed to wander, unwilling to fade.
By the end of the ninth year of the Conquest, several key structures of the Red Keep in King's Landing had been completed. The outland lords now had towers to reside in, signaling that the royal court could officially move its administrative center into the capital.
The Kingdom of Dorne had been successfully conquered. After Orys's harsh suppression and military occupation, Sunspear had finally returned to a measure of stability.
Even beyond these two triumphs, Aegon was most delighted by the news that Visenya was finally with child.
He hosted a grand feast at Harrenhal to celebrate with his ministers, and during the banquet, he announced plans to hold a great tournament when the royal court relocated to King's Landing in the tenth year of the Conquest.
The tournament would serve three purposes:
First, to celebrate the Targaryen dynasty's final unification of the continent of Westeros;
Second, to rejoice in Queen Visenya's pregnancy;
Third, to honor those who had distinguished themselves during the conquest of Dorne.
The court praised the king's decision wholeheartedly—such a monumental conquest indeed warranted an equally grand celebration.
...
At the turn of the tenth year, all the Targaryen nobles gathered in King's Landing. For many, it was their first glimpse of the Red Keep's towering, magnificent walls.
Seven massive gates had been built as the Red Keep's main entrances, each protected by iron portcullises, reinforced doors, and well-armed guards.
The lords and vassals marveled at Aegon's devotion to the Faith of the Seven, noting how even the inner walls had seven gates. Their attention then shifted to the colossal Sept of Sevenstars, still under construction in the outer city. Seeing this, they had no further doubts about the king's piety.
...
In the dining hall of Visenya's tower, the Targaryen royal family and their lovers sat gathered around a long table.
Aegon made little distinction between bastards and trueborn children. His bastards, after all, were destined for high status, and so they were permitted to dine at the same table.
Candlelight flickered in the spacious hall. At the head of the table sat Aegon, casting his gaze over his wives, lovers, and the children of House Targaryen.
He smiled faintly and raised his golden goblet. The two queens and three lovers followed suit, lifting their cups. The princes and three children, guided by their mothers, also raised their goblets and looked toward their father.
"My loves, and my children. I'm grateful that we are all gathered here as one family. The kingdom is like the rising sun—it needs the united effort of the royal bloodline to thrive and flourish. For House Targaryen, a toast." Aegon raised his gleaming goblet and took a sip.
"For House Targaryen."
"For the realm."
In their words, one could faintly hear the distinction within Aegon's bloodline.
Garth and Mond, lacking the royal surname, both said "For the realm" before "For House Targaryen."
Aegon noticed the difference.
He lowered his cup, his gaze falling one by one on his three bastards.
"You three may one day found your own houses outside the royal line—or inherit existing ones. You may rule lands and lead your own people," he said, pointing to Garth, Mond, and Maegon in turn. "But even then, I expect you to always consider yourselves part of House Targaryen.
The blood of the Dragonlord runs in your veins. You are and will always be children of House Targaryen. And if the day ever comes that House Targaryen falls...
Tell me—what will you do?"
Rhaenys reached out, gently squeezing her husband's hand, then chuckled as she addressed the children. "Aegon, you're scaring them."
Aegon turned his hand and pressed hers flat to the table, shaking his head. Then he looked back at the children, his expression solemn.
"I'm not speaking in empty threats.
Our House Targaryen hails from the Valyrian Peninsula.
In its prime, the Valyrian Freehold had over a thousand dragons.
And now? The peninsula is nothing but a scorched ruin.
No house is immune to destruction. Don't turn your backs on that brutal truth."
"If one day House Targaryen faces extinction, here is what you must do: choose a male heir from your own bloodline to carry on the great name of Targaryen. That is the duty that comes with the Dragonblood flowing in your veins."
"Father, I understand. I will remember your words," Little Garth said, rising first to show his resolve to Aegon. Then he lifted his cup and drained it in one gulp.
"Me too." Mond, a chubby little boy, followed his brother's example and downed his own cup of wine.
Maegon, with a more delicate appearance, rose and gave a formal nod to Aegon before sitting down again. As a Targaryen by name, Maegon was heir to a cadet branch destined to inherit leadership of the Free City Council.
Rhaenys withdrew her hand from Aegon's and gave his forearm a light slap, scolding playfully, "Look at you—why get so serious? It's not every day we're all gathered around the table as a family."
Then she turned to her son and said, "Aenys, as the eldest, you should take good care of your younger brothers. Come now, help Garth, Maegon, and Mond each get a slice of venison."
"Yes, Mother," Aenys said with a cheerful smile.
At the far end of the table, the children laughed and joked as they ate, while Aegon, the two Queens, and his lovers dined in leisure at the front, occasionally glancing over and remarking on who was eating the most, who was the fastest, or who was being the most mischievous.
Visenya gently stroked her slightly rounded belly, her gaze resting on Prince Aenys—whose demeanor already carried the makings of a leader. A flicker of jealousy crossed her heart as she quietly pondered.
At the table, Rhaenys was warmly chatting with Aegon's three lovers, with whom she was quite close.
Rhaenys's open nature meant they often served Aegon together with her, so their relationship was far more intimate than with Queen Visenya, who was usually cold and preoccupied with state affairs.
As the dinner neared its end, Sharra suddenly spoke up.
"Your Grace, look at how well Prince Aenys gets along with his brothers. He truly carries himself like an elder sibling."
"Indeed. And I've heard Prince Aenys is also a wonderful singer," Raedelle added with a smile, clapping her hands. She then called down the table, "Little Aenys, would you sing a song for us to close the evening?"
Hearing that it was his mother's close friend—and Garth's mother—who made the request, Aenys didn't hesitate. He cleared his throat and began to sing:
"The Father's face is strong and stern, he judges wrongs and guards the just, he weighs the fates of every soul, and smiles upon the young and small.
The Mother brings the gift of life, and watches o'er each woman's path..."
At first, Aegon smiled. But as the lyrics continued, his expression darkened. He set down his knife and fork in silence, picked up a pair of chopsticks, and slowly nibbled on a side dish, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on Aenys's performance.
When the song ended, the hall broke into cheers and applause—everyone clapped, save for two people: Aegon, and Visenya.
"Where did you learn that hymn to the Seven?" Aegon asked flatly.
"Father, it was taught to me by Septon Rolder," Aenys replied, puffing out his chest with pride.
Aegon lowered his eyes and fell silent for a moment. As High Septon himself, he had appointed every Septon in the Crownlands—and there was no one by the name of Rolder.
"Why that look? Aenys heard you were a devout follower and learned the song just for tonight," Rhaenys chimed in, displeased by Aegon's reaction. She clung to his left arm and gave it a gentle shake.
Aegon gave her a small nod and offered a simple compliment, saying Aenys's voice was deep and melodious.
Visenya, meanwhile, couldn't help but find the whole exchange amusing. Aegon's secret plan to usurp control of the Faith of the Seven was known only to a few close advisors. Rhaenys clearly had no idea and still believed Aegon had genuinely converted. In truth, Aegon deeply distrusted the church—and now, with Aenys earnestly learning their songs, it was like someone flattering a dragon and getting bitten on the leg.
Just then, Lady Argella noticed the growing tension and quickly stepped in with a smile.
"I've also heard Prince Aenys is a Maester-in-training—how clever he is. I only wish my Mond were half as bright."
Aegon's brows twitched slightly, a faint frown forming as he thought to himself: Why are they all lavishing praise on Aenys?
"Prince Aenys is humble and well-mannered, full of kingly grace. With the kingdom's Great Council approaching, perhaps we should simply announce him as the heir prince," Sharra added smoothly, smiling at Aegon as she picked up the thread of the conversation.
In that instant, the women around the table—and even the laughing children at the far end—subtly turned their eyes to Aegon, waiting to see how he would respond.
And then it all became clear to Aegon: So that's what this is all about. No wonder they were praising Aenys to the skies.
Visenya's grip tightened suddenly around her wine cup. Her face turned pale, her heart pounded wildly, and countless thoughts flashed through her mind.
Aegon fell silent, weighing Sharra's proposal. For now, he said nothing.
Rhaenys sees that Visenya is pregnant, and she knows I've kept my distance from Aenys... So now she's getting impatient, Aegon thought.
At last, Queen Visenya could hold back no longer. Her tone was calm, but her words sharp.
"Aenys is far too frail. He's already five, yet he still can't lift a longsword. What kind of king could he possibly be?"
With that, Queen Visenya lifted her wine cup and took a quiet sip.
Since birth, Aenys had been sickly and weak. His limbs were thin and fragile, his eyes always teary, and he'd cried constantly as an infant. Even the royal Maesters had worried he might not survive.
He refused to drink from a wet nurse, taking milk only from his mother. When it came time to wean him, he screamed and wailed for half a month straight.
In short, he was nothing like Aegon and had not inherited the strong physique of the continent's mightiest man.
This physical frailty had long been a point of criticism among the court's ministers.
The Targaryen dynasty was still new, and foreign wars were far from over. Knowing the Conqueror's nature, even if Westeros were fully subdued, his hunger for conquest would not end. In such an age, a weak and unmartial heir like Aenys was a glaring flaw.
Rhaenys hadn't expected her sister to shame her and her son so openly. Her face flushed red with anger.
She slammed her fist on the table and stood abruptly, shouting at her sister.
"So that's where all those whispers in court came from! You've been the source all along, haven't you?
To slander the heir prince like this—what exactly are you scheming?"
...
[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]
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