The Red Viper watched the approaching fleet with emotions tangled deep in his chest—admiration, unease, and no small measure of shock.
If such warships were encountered on the open sea, they would be no different from floating fortresses. Their hulls were thick, their oars numerous, their decks crowded with soldiers and siege weapons. Unfortunately for Dorne—and much like the North—there was no true navy to speak of.
Ever since Nymeria had burned her ships upon landing in Westeros, the Dornish had effectively abandoned naval power. Aside from the orphans of the Greenblood River, who relied on small rafts for fishing and transport, Dorne possessed nothing that could be called a fleet. Those vessels were never meant for war and would be torn apart in moments by real warships.
Before him now lay the true strength of the Triarchy.
The most magnificent among them belonged to the Alliance of the Twin Cities Fleet: massive four-hundred-oar flagships like the Wolf Pack, two-hundred-oar frigates, and the long, narrow one-hundred-oar warships constructed at Myr Fortress. Surrounding them were numerous smaller, swifter vessels of the Narrow Sea Fleet—lean ships designed for speed and maneuverability.
"How many warships do you command?" the Red Viper asked Gendry, unable to hide his curiosity.
"The Alliance Fleet has roughly four hundred vessels," Gendry replied calmly. "The Narrow Sea Fleet has another three hundred, though most of those are light ships. They're best suited for the Stepstones rather than full-scale naval engagements."
The Red Viper silently assessed the numbers.
The Triarchy's fleet was at least equal to the combined naval power of Westeros—and far superior to the Royal Fleet alone. Worse still for their enemies, Westerosi naval strength was scattered across different houses, while the Triarchy's ships now operated under a single command.
"Your Highness," Moros of Myr said as he disembarked from the Wolf Pack, spreading his arms dramatically, "it is truly regrettable that my beautiful warships will not be the main force in this battle."
"They will have their moment," Gendry replied.
Moros sighed theatrically. "That would be ideal. Though I would rather face the Lyseni or Volantenes than fight my old friend Davos."
"I imagine the Onion Knight would say the same," Gendry replied with a faint smile.
Gendry then turned serious and addressed the Red Viper directly.
"Prince Oberyn," he said, "your task will be no less difficult. Khal Drogo has been bogged down for days now. The time is ripe."
"I intend to divide our forces into three routes," Gendry continued. "We will annihilate the Dothraki completely."
The Red Viper straightened at once.
"Give the command," he said. "I will not fail."
"For the first front," Gendry said, "the Alliance Fleet will transport the majority of our cavalry. I will personally lead them to strike Khal Drogo's main army from the north."
"For the second front, Lord Gilo will lead the reserve forces from Myr Fortress, advancing head-on with the Unsullied."
"And for the third—" Gendry turned to the Red Viper, "—you."
"The Narrow Sea Fleet will sail into the Myr Fortress River. You will advance upstream and strike Drogo's Khalasar from the south. The elderly, the wounded, and most of their wealth are there. Once the Khalasar is attacked, the Dothraki will collapse far faster."
This plan was no accident.
The flat terrain of the Disputed Lands made flooding tactics impractical, but the rivers—though modest compared to the Rhoyne—were sufficient for long, shallow-draft warships.
Gendry had briefly considered sending allied Dothraki riders with the Red Viper to burn Drogo's Khalasar, but Dothraki superstition regarding the sea made that impossible. The task was instead entrusted to Jihha and the Narrow Sea Fleet.
"Leave it to me," the Red Viper replied confidently. He understood the terrain well—and the cruelty of such a strike.
This was not merely a hammer-and-anvil tactic.
It was an enhanced execution.
The more Khal Drogo exhausted himself against the Unsullied's shield wall, the more devastating the final blow would be. The Dothraki had already suffered attrition at Myr Fortress. Now, after days of futile charges, their momentum was fading.
Gendry nodded.
"I will assign you one thousand heavy cavalry, one thousand light cavalry, and the reinforcements from Pentos, Norvos, and the Ghiscari cities. It is time they earned their keep."
"As you command," the Red Viper said. With his own five hundred Dornishmen, the force was more than sufficient to devastate a Khalasar.
"I will bring you news of victory," he vowed.
"Board the ships," Gendry ordered.
The wind was favorable, and the distance short. Soon, the warships quietly transported Gendry and his cavalry to a hidden stretch of coast behind the Dothraki lines.
The knights disembarked swiftly, leading their horses onto the flat plain. Without scouts to warn them, the movement went unnoticed.
Like a forest of iron, the cavalry surged inland.
Khal Drogo would never have imagined such a disregard for traditional martial honor—but war did not reward honor. It rewarded victory.
"Advance," Gendry commanded.
At his side rode Anguy and Longspear. Behind him thundered his elite cavalry—five thousand heavy horse and two thousand light riders—an iron fist forged with gold, discipline, and blood.
These men were expensive. Painfully so.
But Gendry had forged them into a force worthy of any age.
The cavalry galloped southward. The shoreline was soft and treacherous, forcing caution, but soon the terrain flattened into endless plains. Western Essos had always favored the horse, and now that strength would be turned against the Dothraki themselves.
The moment arrived like a drawn blade.
A war horn sounded—low, desperate, urgent.
Gendry's heart tightened.
This was the signal agreed upon with Gray Wolf and Steel Fist.
More than nine charges had struck the shield wall.
The time had come.
"Accelerate!" Gendry roared.
The quartered banner unfurled behind him, snapping in the wind.
Ahead, the Unsullied formation stood firm, blood-soaked and bristling with spears. Longspears impaled charging riders, arrows fell in volleys, and yet the formation did not break.
Khal Drogo led charge after charge.
The shield wall had endured twelve assaults.
The Unsullied, numb to pain, held firm. The levy infantry behind them bled, but did not flee.
As the horn grew clearer, Gendry ordered his cavalry to sound their trumpets in reply.
Reinforcements had arrived.
Black-armored knights surged forward, their quartered emblems vivid—warhammers, dragons, broken chains, running wolves.
"Five hundred years of humiliation end today!" Gendry shouted. "The Dothraki made us kneel—but today, you will stand!"
"Long live the warhammer!"
The cry thundered across the battlefield.
The iron tide crashed into the Dothraki Screamers.
Khal Drogo recoiled in fury.
"Cowards!" he roared. "Stone-dwelling milk men!"
He understood at once.
The enemy had been transported by sea.
A cunning, unforgivable trick.
But there was no time to dwell.
"Turn!" Drogo commanded. "Destroy them!"
Arrows fell like rain, but the Dothraki quivers were already depleted. Some knights fell. Horses screamed. But the wedge held.
Then came the slaughter.
Gendry's warhammer fell like judgment. The beaked side crushed skulls; the weighted head shattered ribs. Armor was useless against such force—Dothraki leather stood no chance.
He met Khal Drogo amid the chaos.
The Khal was unmistakable—taller than any man, bells ringing, gold gleaming.
"Coward!" Drogo spat, charging.
Their weapons clashed.
Drogo was fast—faster than any opponent Gendry had ever faced. His arakh sang through the air, seeking gaps in armor.
But Gendry held.
Steel rang. Sparks flew.
The shield wall roared behind them. Screams echoed everywhere.
Then fire.
Behind Drogo, flames rose.
His Khalasar was under attack.
Rage consumed him.
He struck with everything he had—but exhaustion, wounds, and despair slowed him.
Gendry waited.
Then he struck.
The warhammer smashed into Drogo's shoulder.
Blood flowed.
Drogo staggered—but did not fall.
The battle around them raged on.
Victory and defeat balanced on a single breath.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)