Night fell over Grey Gallows. Stars glittered in a clear sky.
A burning catapult stone arced through the darkness and slammed into the pirate defenses along the shore. Fire exploded across the beach.
"Enemy attack! To arms!"
The Triarchy pirates scrambled—some diving into trenches, others bolting for the caves. More stones and logs rained down, smashing barricades and setting everything ablaze.
In the firelight, dozens of black ships slid onto the beach. Thousands of men poured ashore—Dornish spears, Skagosi warriors, armored knights, and sellswords from half a dozen companies. Nearly five thousand fighters. Every man Rhaegar still had.
"Take the beach!" someone roared.
Rhaegar turned to Oberyn. "You command the main force. I'll handle the caves."
Then he spurred his snow-white unicorn forward. The beast's coat gleamed like silk under the moonlight. Four hundred Skagosi warriors in heavy armor thundered behind him, shields and maces ready. They drove straight through the pirate lines like a spear, ignoring the men trying to flank them, aiming for the heart of the defense.
From his hidden spot in the cave, the Triarchy admiral watched the silver-haired man charging on that ridiculous white unicorn and felt a cold spike of fear.
He signaled his hidden archers without hesitation.
The Skagosi raised their heavy shields and kept moving. Arrows thudded into wood and flesh. Men fell, but the wedge never broke. Rhaegar pressed on, eyes locked on the cave mouth.
The unicorn was nimble as a mountain goat. It leapt over rocks and bodies while arrows whistled past. Rhaegar lowered his lance and charged the archer line on the ridge.
"Kill him! Now!"
The unicorn slammed into the first rank, its spiral horn punching through a man's chest. Rhaegar's lance shattered on the next. He drew his Valyrian steel sword, Truth, and kept going. The Skagosi crashed in behind him.
The unicorn took three arrows before it finally collapsed. Rhaegar rolled clear, sword already swinging. He grabbed a dead man for a shield and sprinted into the cave system.
The admiral saw his chance and fled deeper into the tunnels toward a hidden exit. He never made it out.
Two sellsword companies—Rose Company and the Brave Companions—were already waiting outside. When the admiral and his guards emerged, they walked straight into a trap.
By morning the fighting was over. The Triarchy forces on Grey Gallows were broken.
Rhaegar stood on a rocky outcrop while a maester pulled arrows from his body and bandaged the wounds. His face was pale but calm. Below him, Dornish soldiers nailed captured pirates to wooden stakes along the tide line. The screams carried on the wind as crabs and the rising sea did their work.
A sellsword captain from the Brave Companions approached. "We held up our end. Pay us."
Rhaegar's voice was hoarse. "You'll get every coin. The men fought well."
Later that afternoon, on the open ground near the harbor, Oberyn Martell placed a crude crown of vines and ivory on Rhaegar's head.
In the name of Daemon Targaryen—the Rogue Prince—Rhaegar declared himself King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.
---
King's Landing. Small Council chamber.
Daeron received the raven before breakfast. Rhaegar had taken Grey Gallows, crushed the remaining Triarchy forces, and crowned himself king.
"Four thousand men and he lost half of them," Daeron muttered. "How many does he even have left?"
Tywin's face was stone. "Your Grace, Prince Rhaegar has openly declared himself king. That is a direct challenge to the Iron Throne's authority. He must be punished."
Daeron's expression hardened. "You're right. Rhaegar has gone too far. He's spitting on every law we have."
The other councillors quickly nodded, though several looked confused. Why would Rhaegar claim a crown now, after voluntarily giving up the Iron Throne years ago?
Varys spoke softly. "Your Grace, my little birds bring news from Sunspear. Prince Doran was furious when he heard about the coronation. Then he threw a feast to celebrate."
Daeron turned the combined rings on his fingers. Dorne had spent five years and eight thousand men supporting Rhaegar. Doran was probably drowning in debt and noble complaints. If Rhaegar didn't give them something to show for it, the Dornish lords would turn on him.
"House Martell is using Rhaegar as a puppet," Tywin said coldly. "They want to weaken the Iron Throne."
Daeron slammed his hand on the table. "Exactly. Dorne helped Rhaegar seize the Stepstones and now they expect to reap the rewards. The Iron Throne will not tolerate this."
He looked at Tywin. "Write a formal condemnation. Demand Rhaegar renounce the title and come to King's Landing to answer for his treason."
Then he turned to Lucerys Velaryon. "Prepare the royal fleet. If the situation in the Stepstones changes, we move."
The councillors exchanged glances. Daeron was moving fast—too fast for a simple rebuke. But no one dared question him.
Inside, Daeron was already thinking three steps ahead.
Dorne was fractured and desperate. The Stepstones were the perfect pressure point. And if he was going to take the islands for the crown anyway, he might as well let Rhaegar do the bleeding first.
He needed his own men hungry for glory. Promoting Lucerys Velaryon against Tywin's influence was just good politics.
The real war—the one that mattered—was still coming. And when it did, House Targaryen would be ready.