Chapter 36: Interlude: SouthChapter Text
"With the end of the Greyjoy threat, the forces of the west were free to march or sail east, moving to encircle the Dorne-Triarchy land army. They would arrive two months after the Battle of Driftmark, so the Dorne-Triarchy alliance were forced to take desperate moves to avoid defeat."
-Excerpt from 'The War of Four Directions', by Maester Daenys Fyre
107 AC, Kingsroad, Border between Crownlands and Stormlands.
They'd lost the Stormlands, but now things had turned around.
When the war began, King Viserys was desperately trying to sue for peace, hoping for a diplomatic solution. Alas every envoy he'd sent was gruesomely executed by the Dorne-Triarchy alliance.
However, by the time he stopped dithering and called the banners, Dorne and the Triarchy had sacked and crushed near every castle and holdfast in the south-eastern third of the Stormlands.
Despite the Small Council's expectations, the Triarchy fleet didn't return to the Kingdom of Thee Daughters after it finished ferrying men into Dorne. Instead they proceeded to sail for Tarth and Estermont, seizing both in lightning raids. Granting them anchorage to launch attacks on the eastern coastline.
And in the Lord Commander's opinion, which Rhaegar found sound, there was little that drained as many men as coastal defence. Men had to be garrisoned across the entire coast in a defensive line, with sufficient numbers in each fortification to prevent themselves from being overrun by costal attackers, whose greater mobility meant that they could concentrate their forces and strike hammerblows far faster than land based forces could defend.
The worst part was that even that wasn't the worst news. The Triarchy hadn't just committed over half their fleet and army into the war, but what must have been the entirety of the Myrish Sapper Corps.
The ancient Legions of Valyria were considered the finest armies in the known world. Their foot was modelled on that of their Ghiscari enemies, whose lockstep legions were famous till this day, but it they were not what made the Legions of Valyria famous. Every Legion was made up of two parts infantry, one part heavy infantry, one part calvary and one part sappers. And it was the last that truly set them apart from the rest of the world.
Sappers were both fortification and siege engineers. Each trained to rival a maester with several steel links in engineering. They could raise great fortified camps from little more than forest and earth, build bridges and roads for the legion to march on and a hundred other things that made war easier to wage. But more importantly, they were trained in siege mechanics. How to build and fire great siege engines. Massive trebuchets, great ballistas, lethal scorpions and more. Before them, even fortress walls were little more than a palisade.
These engineers were considered so valuable in the Legions of Valyria, that their tents were placed in the centre of their camps, in a reinforced camp-within-a-camp. And according to Legion manuals, one of which was in Dragonstone's library, there were two 'red lines' of a legion that dictated its fighting effectiveness. One was too few soldiers, the other was too few sappers. Crossing one red line would cripple a legion. Crossing both meant that the legion was no longer a fit fighting force. That was how important the sappers were.
In modern times, only Myr and Volantis still fielded sappers, being the only two cities with sufficient engineering knowledge to do so, and the Myrish Sapper Corps was proving why their forebears were so valued by the Valyrians.
Bronzegate was a fortified castle with tall curtain walls and a great gate of bronze that gave it its name. It fell within a day. The Triarchy's ships had landed on the coast, and the sappers quickly assembled three massive trebuchets from pre-assembled parts held in their holds. Bombardment began at noon, hurling massive boulders the size of bulls. The curtain walls were swiftly and mercilessly reduced to rubble, with bombardment continuing until the castle was rubble, and the defenders all crushed by stone.
And it wasn't just that one castle. The Dorne-Triarchy force had split into smaller hosts, each marching on the castles and forts of the Stormlands. The sappers accompanying them swiftly and mercilessly crushed said castles. With them, the Marcher Lords, those famed men whom were the first line of defence against Dornish incursions for millennia, had been defeated in mere weeks.
There really was no way for the unprepared Stormlands to defend against the invaders, or even muster in sufficient numbers. So most of the garrisons were concentrated in the fortresses and castles, hoping that walls would put steel into their conscripts' spines and allow them to wait out the Dorne-Triarchy armies in a siege. Alas, the enemy was unwilling to be gentlemanly, and brutally brought down the castles atop their garrisons' heads.
They weren't intending to hold the land, Ser Westerling had told Rhaegar. They were bent on putting the Stormlands to the sword, not keeping it. As things stood, the only castle south of Bronzegate that hadn't been reduced to rubble was Storm's End itself.
It was a different sort of war than what the Seven Kingdoms was used to. Lords and Kings were disinclined to let sweaty soldiers loot their palaces and manses, raping their wives and daughters. So wars were preferably settled out on the field, as peasants could be expected to breed themselves back up in a generation or so. If a castle was put under siege, nine times out of ten, the defenders were starved out peacefully, such that the castles may be claimed undamaged for the next lord the victor installed. Such was the unspoken etiquette of war, with any whom broke it considered foolish, tyrants or savages.
Clearly, the Triarchy didn't care about such manners, uncouth slavers and barbarians one and all.
"What are the Reachlords doing?" Rhaegar had asked the man he was squiring under one night. "Twenty thousand men sit atop Prince's Pass. Can they not invade Dorne and sack it in retaliation for what they have done to the Stormlands?"
"They tried that, but were repulsed." Ser Harrold Westerling explained. "Skyreach in the southern end of the Prince's pass has been bolstered by near a hundred Myrish siege engines and eight thousand Dornishmen. Lord Tarly's probing attack cost him two thousand men and none of them even reached the walls of Skyreach."
"Princess Rhaenys and I flew down there to take a look." Shaeterys added. "Dozens of ballistas, all pointing at the sky, with those strange 'searchlights' Myr invented. By the time our dragons gets in range to burn the castle, they'll be riddled with spears."
"So there's no way to force the pass?" Rhaegar pressed his brother.
"According to Rhae, there's no point anyway. Dorne's a deathtrap. Even if we force Skyreach, the garrison will vanish into the countryside and harry us until we lose our armies to sheer attrition." Shaeterys elaborated, Ser Harrold nodding at his words.
"The Prince spoke truly. She spoke to Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys about this." Ser Criston collaborated. "Before the Prince vanished with eight dragons, the three of them sat down and had a talk about calling Dorne to heel, and the one thing the Prince was adamant about was her refusal to commit troops into Dorne.
"According to her, she'd lose thousands of men just taking it, and five times as many holding it. The Dornish are unyielding and vicious, their mastery of the irregular warfare making them impossible to fight on their own home territories." Ser Criston elaborated.
"Then what happened with Lord Tarly?" Rhaegar asked. "Is he just going to spend all winter down there?"
"No, Lord Tarly has left half the army there as a defensive force, and taken the other half north, but hasn't has much luck getting more men. Nobody wants to commit to the east, when the Ironborn could hit them in the undefended west." Ser Westerling spoke up. "And without those reinforcements, even a smaller detachment could crush them."
Their army also faced a similar conundrum. Ser Harrold Westerling had been given command of the joint Crownlands-Riverlands forces. Thirty five thousand men, swelled by four thousand and change Stormlands survivors and the odd Reachlord, but all they could do was hold at the border, as the Dorne-Triarchy alliance numbered ninety thousand soldiers in the Stormlands. Even with near half their number broken up into smaller hosts throughout the lands, their main host still outnumbered them by ten thousand, and twentyfold in siege engines. If the Targaryen army got into a siege or even a field battle with them, their host would be crushed.
But then news began trickling in. First, Rhae scared the Wildlings into bending the knee. They had surrendered and were now recognised citizens of the Seven Kingdoms. Then, Ser Criston and Shaeterys were deployed to the Iron Islands to offer terms to Lord Walton Greyjoy, but when they returned, they spoke of Pyke scoured and the Iron Islands cowed by Rhae. Two months later, and the news now came from the east. The Triarchy fleet had attacked Driftmark, nearly winning the Battle of Driftmark before Rhae swooped in at the last moment to burn their ships and save the day.
Now, with the other fronts ended, the Seven Kingdoms could now concentrate all their might on the Stormlands.
The Royal Fleet, or what was left of it anyway, had moved swiftly. Backed by eleven dragons, they struck surprise victories on Tarth and Estermont, reclaiming them from the Triarchy before relieving the Siege of Storm's End.
Lord Rickon Tarly mustered the eastern Reach behind him, swelling his host to fifty thousand before marching into the Stormlands. Marching south, moved to blockade the Boneway, to prevent an easy retreat for the Dorne-Triarchy alliance.
The Redwyne and Iron Fleet were bringing over the men of the Westerlands, Reach and Riverlands, intent on retaking the coastline, and further hemming in the Dorne-Triarchy forces. Lord Tymond Lannister led ten thousand Westermen, Lord Matthos Tyrell thirty thousand Reachmen and Lord Lymond Mallister ten thousand Riverlanders. A host of fifty thousand ready to knife the invaders in the side.
Meanwhile Lord Lucius Serrett mustered other half of the Westerlands, a host of twenty thousand, and marching to reinforce Ser Westerling's army.
In an estimated two months time, the forces would arrive, and there would be nothing that could save the Triarchy and Dorne from encirclement and outnumbering.
Desperate to win the war, the Dorne-Triarchy alliance made one last desperate gamble. Mustering all ninety thousand men they had committed into the offensive, they marched up the Kingsroad, intent on sacking the capital.
Only Ser Westerling's army stood in the way, outnumbered and outmatched.
———
107 AC, Kingsroad, Border between Crownlands and Stormlands.
Ninety thousand men stood against forty thousand. The Dorne-Triarchy army had arrayed themselves in a long line. The vanguard was made up of their skirmishers. Crossbowmen, archers and javelineers, ready to unleash ranged fire on the Targaryen vanguard before retreating behind a shield wall. The center was long, filled with sellswords, Dornish conscripts and the slave soldiers. Unfortunately, routing them would prove difficult, as not only were the Dornish men-at-arms spread throughout the center as a backbone, on the wings were steadier soldiers. Unsullied on the left, Triarchy professional troops on the right. And behind them stood the sappers, hastily assembling the siege engines.
Thier calvary stood to the side, ready as reserves to plug any breach and break any lines. Eight thousand light Dornish calvary, backed by five thousand light sellsword horse and four thousand heavy Triarchy horse.
Facing them was Ser Harrold Westerling's forces. A vanguard of vengeful Stormlanders, all frothing at the mouth for Dornish blood for the ruin they visited upon their homeland. Behind them stood Crownlanders to the left, Rivermen to the right. The rear was their archers and crossbowmen, ready to rain arrows upon the enemy.
Ser Criston Cole had the calvary, eight thousand heavy horse, poised to intercept Dorne and the Triarchy's own horsemen.
The Targaryen army had managed to surprise the Dorne-Triarchy army, moving out of their fortified positions and successfully catching them with their pants down. To the enemy commander's credit, despite being caught mid-march, he was still able to reprganise the lines and make ready for battle.
Rhaegar Fyre had been given the honour of starting the battle, as the squire of the Lord Commander. He picked up the ornate warhorn and brought it to his lips. Taking a deep breath before blowing into it.
Immediately, energy rippled through his frame, his lungs burned with heat as his blood boiled and sang. But it did not feel uncomfortable or painful. It was like his body had warmed up and was ready for his daily training in arms. Like he had woken up from a deep sleep and was ready for the day ahead. Call. The horn ordered.
Over a dozen dragons answered.
———
107 AC, Kingsroad, Border between Crownlands and Stormlands.
Call. The dragon horn ordered. All of their dragons obeying and accelerating out of their hiding spots behind the clouds.
Daenys didn't like war, but understood its necessity. Dorne and the Triarchy had offered surrender after the Battle of Driftmark, but while Viserys gratefully accepted, Rhaenyra furiously declined. Their armies had butchered the Stormlands. So she couldn't let them go scot-free. She'd face rebellion if she did so.
That was, Daenys realised, another trap the vicious snakes in the south had tried to pull. Hoping that peacemonger Viserys would fall for it and doom himself to rebellion or civil war for refusing to seek justice. And after the king, or more likely the prince, finished putting down the civil war, Dorne and the Triarchy would strike again, with their largely intact army.
Which was why Rhaenyra, ordered no quarter be given. Rhaenyra, whom gave Wildlings citizenship and protection. Rhaenyra, whom pardoned any Ironborn whom knelt. Rhaenyra, whom granted legal rights and recognition to the Vale Mountain Clans in exchange for fealty. Rhaenyra, whom always spilled as little blood as possible, was now ordering a massacre.
It made Daenys shiver. Just how bad was the situation that even agreeable and merciful Rhaenyra would order the deaths of tens of thousands of men instead of any alternatives?
Still, Daenys was just a Dragonseed, so she obeyed her prince's instructions.
The battle began high in the sky, far higher than any ballista bolt could hope to reach. They carried five skycarts between them. Vermithor and Silverwing held one, Caraxes and Dreamfyre another, Vhagar and Meleys a third. Their eight adolescent dragons, including Seasmoke, Artys and Balefyre, carried the last two between them.
Once they reached over the drop zone, orders were shouted, and the five skycarts opened up, the knights within throwing barrel after barrel of Wildfire out, the Alchemist's Guild's entire stockpile, mixed with the occasional torch to ignite the substance. In order to prevent them from being as easily spotted and shot down by the enemy sappers, these barrels had been painted light blue, allowing them to blend in better with the sky.
They struck the enemy sappers, bursting into green liquid and splattering their targets. Then the burning torches struck the ground, igniting the substance and burning their siege engines in an instant.
The bombing run complete, the dragons retreated, landing away from the battle and dropping off the skycarts before returning to the fray. Without the siege engines, the enemy was little more than sitting ducks.
The dragons started with the horsemen, Caraxes, Dreamfyre and Meleys struck first, drawing a ring of fire around the riders with their dragonfire, encircling and trapping them. Next, Vhagar, Vermithor and Silverwing descended, unleashing their flames on the trapped horsemen, reducing thousands of men into cinders instantly.
Next the dragons moved to encircle the bulk of the infantry, enflaming their surroundings and trapping them between a blazing inferno and Ser Harrold's forces.
This wasn't like the Field of Fire, Daenys realised. Unlike Aegon, whom left the Coalition army escape routes though the blaze, Rhaenyra was sealing them in, intending for there to be no survivors. A massacre.
Terrifed and surrounded by fire, the foreign army lost all cohesion, rushing towards Ser Harrold's lines. The Lord Commander met them with steel and arrows. The shield walls held against the frantic crush of bodies, pikes and spears skewering countless men whom were forced onto them by the horde behind them shoving them forwards in their desperate rush to escape.
The archers and crossbowmen unleashed volley after volley of arrows and quarrels into the horde, killing countless where they stood, the press of bodies so great men that died remained standing.
Ser Criston's horsemen circled the blaze, cutting down anyone whom crawled out of the inferno.
Trapped between the fire and the shield wall, drowning in arrowfire and squeezed together with no room to move, the Dornish and Triarchy forces died in droves, trampling each other as they fled from the fire and into Targaryen blades. The dragons continued making strafing runs, reducing countless men to cinders from the rear. Again and again they struck, fighting furiously for hours upon hours.
And when the sun set, the Kingsroad was littered with over seventy thousand dead.
———
That night, five months after the wedding of King Viserys, the southern front ended.