Elaena, oh, my daughter, you look so worn. What a fright you must have had! Why did you stay so long at High Tide? You should have come home immediately!" Alicent fussed as she took the frail-looking princess into her arms.
"Mother, please, I am well. As for my stay, it would have been crass to leave while my good-brother was still in danger."
Alicent shuddered. "The realm was likely safer with that brute in bed."
The daughter of her heart gave her a disapproving look. Alicent should have expected it; Elaena hated when she spoke ill of the other side of Viserys' family.
"I'm sorry, dearest, I am just worried over the conflict with Dorne."
Elaena took a seat in the Queen's chambers and accepted a cup of watered wine from one of the maids.
"A dreadful thing, war is so wasteful and cruel. I know father must be frustrated with this ruining his clean record of peace." Elaena opined briefly as she took a sip.
Alicent nodded. "Yes, but let us not talk of such matters, it will only disturb you further."
Elaena gave her a pleasant smile. "I would normally agree, mother, and while seeing the bodies of the recently slain was disturbing, it only compels me forward. The thought that thousands could soon share that fate is incomprehensible. I need to speak with father to see if we can prevent excessive bloodshed."
Alicent took her hand. "Elaena, your kind heart is a blessing, but the King's good-son has been attacked. There will be war, whether we will it or no."
She watched her daughter look down, as if in mourning. "Even if we cannot succeed, I believe we owe it to ourselves to try. If I ask father to stand down the banners, would you support it?"
Alicent sometimes forgot just how young Elaena was. She had reached her maturity, but only barely.
My sweet kindhearted daughter, you are too pure for this world.
"I would not. I am also my father's daughter. As much as I mislike Ser Laenor, the truth is that he is married to the King's daughter. The House of the Dragon has its words: Fire and Blood. War is needed. If our enemies think us weak, they will pounce. You must use your mind to think things through. Our time to voice our views is when Dorne is defeated – to advocate for the Mother's mercy and restrain the full wrath of the Seven Kingdoms. The smallfolk of Dorne are not to blame. If you wish to influence others in the future, stay your voice for peace until the Warrior's due is paid."
Elaena blinked. "I take it that others advising father are in agreement with war then?"
"Oh yes, my own father has said that all are aligned. My cousin in Oldtown is readying an army. The Lannisters have promised gold and a fleet, in addition to many gallant knights. The Stormlands always desire conflict with Dorne, so they too have no qualms about this course."
"And your thoughts about my Uncle Daemon leading?" Elaena asked softly.
Alicent sighed. "That was unfortunate. In truth, I would rather see someone like my brother Gwayne. He has experience leading the Waywardens. They hail from a multitude of lands here in the Seven Kingdoms, and he has proven to avoid rivalries based on region. He would be perfect."
Elaena's eyes seemed to grow in focus. "An interesting idea. Shall we enter into a small bargain, mother?"
Alicent looked to her, intrigued. "What do you have in mind?"
"You speak with father and ask him to delay any sort of attack until we hear more from Dorne's envoy. In exchange, I ask father to replace Daemon with Gwayne, suggesting that Daemon, being a new father, should not be apart from Laena. I can vouch that while Lady Laena's birth went well, the stress over her brother's wounding so soon after her labors has taken a toll."
It most like won't work. But Viserys adores Elaena, perhaps she can see Daemon removed? And if nothing else, it will drive a wedge between my daughter and the Blacks.
"I can agree to this." Alicent said after a moment.
Elaena graced her with a smile, and after agreeing that each would speak with Viserys separately that evening, they moved on to more pleasant subjects. Their talk was soon interrupted by Daenora, who rampaged in and threw herself at Elaena for a hug.
Elaena caught her smoothly and twirled her around once.
"Daenora! I was going to see you and Smokey after I finished speaking with mother. What trouble have you gotten into?"
Alicent smiled as Daenora droned on about this and that. The patience that Elaena had would make her a fine mother once she was married to Ser Kevan. However, something Daenora said jarred Alicent out of her wistful thoughts of grandchildren.
"Wait, where did you say Aemond went to?" Alicent said in shock.
"He went to go see Ser Baldric! The big man who beat the Rogue Prince. He told me we couldn't play for a while."
Elaena was frowning and Alicent was in a panic.
"I need to speak with Viserys. Please forgive me, but I must go now," Alicent said, then rushed off to find where her husband might be.
***
Lord Baldric Selmy had been as shocked as anyone that the Dark Storm had been the target of Dornish assassins. It wasn't that he didn't believe the Dornish were capable of such foulness; he knew that the depths of their depravity were bottomless. What surprised him more than all else was that the desert vermin would pick a fight with the most powerful houses in Westeros, even after having already suffered a harsh lesson for their earlier attempt at meddling. House Targaryen and House Velaryon were at the peak of their power, the Stepstones war being undeniable proof. They dominated the sky and the sea, and Dorne thought it wise to strike now? Absolute madness.
Further proof that there is no reasoning with those beasts.
He had summoned his banners, as had all the Stormlands. He was a Marcher Lord, which meant that if an attack had coincided with the assassination strike on Ser Laenor, he would have been one of the primary targets. No such attack came.
Instead, Baldric had time to gather men, supplies, and make preparations. The biggest issue wasn't manpower, but wagons. Any protracted invasion of Dorne would require an immense amount of food and potentially even water to be transported.
Baldric was inspecting the men and preparations when the dragon was sighted. No word had been sent by raven to expect a dragonrider, so he craned his neck to try and spot which of them it was. The massive size and distinctive coloring soon made it clear that it was Vermithor. The only dragon close to mighty Vhagar's size, it circled thrice, each time lower as it descended into the open clearing. Baldric rode out to meet Prince Aemond.
His warhorse shied away despite Baldric's superior training. Baldric had to dismount well away and continue the rest of the distance on foot. The dragon, the sheer size of Vermithor, inspired awe like naught else. Aemond had unchained himself from the saddle and walked down the dragon's neck before finally dropping the last several feet.
"Ser Baldric, we meet again." Aemond greeted.
"Greetings, Prince Aemond. I am honored that you are here. I must admit to some surprise at your arrival, I received no advanced warning of your coming."
The boy prince shrugged. "It was a last-minute decision. For now, I am to help patrol the Marches and provide word of any Dornish massing of men. If Dorne does intend to strike out of either the Prince's Pass or the Boneway, Vermithor will feast well."
"My scouts will appreciate your aerial view, my prince. I have maps in my solar and we can refresh you from your long journey with drink and food. We have plenty of mutton for Vermithor, or alternatively he can hunt to the north-west, there's a sparce wood with deer." Baldric offered.
"Mutton will be fine. Vermithor is unused to extended travel, so it will be good for him and myself to rest for now."
Vermithor looked at him when Aemond spoke those words and let out a great exhale of air from his nostrils that nearly knocked over the boy.
Aemond stumbled, and Baldric pretended not to notice. Aemond looked back at the dragon and then continued with what he was saying.
"I'll want your input on the likely places the Dornish will have massed."
Baldric escorted Aemond to Harvest Hall and wondered exactly why the King had sent a boy barely into his adolescence to the front. He knew of Princess Elaena's desire to have the dragonriders patrol the Dornish border. But that was for peacetime.
If one thing has been made clear to me, it is that I do not understand that family.
***
Viserys had been caught off guard when his anxious wife asked him about Aemond going to the Stormlands. He had tried to explain that Aemond was perfectly safe and that his brother would ensure it remained so, but that had not eased her worries. In the end, he had to ask Grand Maester Mellos for a calming tea. Her final plea was to make sure no actual fighting took place until they had heard from the envoy arriving by ship. That was sensible enough, and he readily agreed, if for no other reason than to offer an olive branch.
Viserys was feeling a bit hounded, but when Ser Willis announced the arrival of Elaena, he smiled.
She had no sooner stepped through the door when Viserys rose from his chair and quickly enveloped her in an embrace.
"Ah, my sweet child. The horrors you must have witnessed! Are you well? They say you weren't harmed but I would hear it from your lips."
"I am quite well, father." Elaena replied in a steady voice. Viserys was already feeling better about the day, cares and worries draining from him like a lanced wound at hearing and seeing his daughter.
"Better than well once I saw my good-brother awaken. Rhaenyra was beside herself with joy and will be heading back to Driftmark on the morrow," Elaena continued.
"The Gods are good. What an incredible fighter Ser Laenor is! Truly, the bards will sing of his deeds. It's hard to imagine the Sea Snake being overshadowed in one generation, such was his legend, but it is a father's joy to see his children surpass him. I imagine Lord Corlys is eager to come to grips with Dorne and pay them back tenfold for what they have done!"
Viserys escorted Elaena by the arm to the comfortable chairs. She took her seat and gazed at him with her blue eyes.
Lord Corlys is quite eager for the war and that is why we must speak." Elaena said solemnly.
Viserys tilted his head in perplexity. "The Sea Snake will have his vengeance, his pound of flesh, as the Braavosi like to say."
"In this, father and son are not quite aligned. Ser Laenor spoke to me as he recovered his strength. He cast some doubt on Qoren Martell being responsible for the attack."
Viserys was stunned. "What? But why?"
"Ser Laenor takes justified pride in his martial accomplishments. He believes no one would be foolish enough to come after him and his powerful family so openly. Martell was shrewd enough to come to terms when the Dornish fleet was lost in the Stepstones. If he truly wished to weaken Westeros, he wouldn't have made it so obvious that the attackers were from Dorne. Instead, my good-brother believes it may be another faction within Dorne seeking to see the Martell line fail."
The possibility of this exists. But Lord Beesbury was right, Dornish pride would not let them see the Seven Kingdoms march in and destroy a vassal with impunity.
"That is a possibility, my daughter, one that the small council has pondered. We concluded that Dorne would demand incontrovertible proof before we move against one of their vassals, and since we are unlikely to obtain such proof, war is inexorable," Viserys explained.
"Normally, Laenor and I would agree. However, Laenor would not be the man he is if he did not think differently from other men." Elaena smiled. "My good-brother believes he can get to the bottom of this and uncover the truth. He wishes to look Qoren Martell in the eye and discern the truth of his words. If Martell speaks honestly, then Ser Laenor wishes to investigate personally. While Dorne may initially balk, it will be difficult to do so face-to-face with the Dark Storm."
Viserys looked away, thinking rapidly. The idea that his good-son, so soon after being gravely injured, would wish to put himself further at risk was shocking.
But should it be? This is the Dark Storm. This is the man who demolishes all obstacles in his path. If anyone can do it, he can.
"I am caught off guard, Elaena. Is Laenor even well enough to do this? I was told the poison was uniquely deadly."
His daughter made a dismissive gesture. "I heard much of what Maester Gerardys and Maester Vaelar said to each other while treating him. They were quite astonished by his recuperative abilities. Why, I think he should be fit for the dragon saddle within the week."
"Incredible. But I have qualms about sending my good-son into the scorpion's pit. The Dornish are known for their depravity, treachery, and usage of substances like said venom. Laenor has a well-deserved reputation, but he is not immortal." Viserys said, a bit shaken by the idea all together the more he thought about it.
"Ah, who says he must go alone? Forgive me, father, but the very same concerns you have brought up, I did as well. My infuriating good-brother had an answer to each objection." Elaena put on a faux voice of irritation before continuing in a milder tone. "His plan entailed having another dragonrider go with him. Potentially his mother, or perhaps his good-brother. He was not intending to broach the subject until he had your permission. Laenor would then speak in person while a dragon circles, ready to burn everyone to a crisp – I can think of no surer way to ensure nothing untoward happens." Elaena finished, flashing her teeth.
Viserys was unsure he liked his good-son speaking of such horrors to his precious daughter, but he supposed she was of age and had walked over dead bodies to give him succor.
Ah Aemma, our youngest daughter has grown so swiftly.
"He has thought this through, 'tis true. I should speak to the small council about this and see what others think of this plan. There are grave risks; the threat of Caraxes or Meleys raining down fire is formidable, but if we give Dorne time to prepare, we risk the death of a great dragon. They were successful in killing Meraxes." Viserys gave a slight chuckle. "Ah, who am I to tell you this? I imagine you know the histories better than anyone else in the family."
Elaena nodded. "Yes, I do find the written word more reliable than oral traditions. Speak with the small council then, I intend to stay in the city for a couple of more days. I need to speak with Lord Beesbury regarding the Dragon Bank and how our lending services may be impaired by a potential war. Perhaps wait until the early afternoon to meet with your council?"
"That is fine, I will wish to turn the matter over in my head as well." Viserys agreed.
"Thank you, and once the Dragon Bank's bookkeeping is sorted, I'll return with your answer to Ser Laenor on Driftmark. From there I intend to visit my betrothed at Golden Tooth. I," her face took on a bit of a red hue, "miss him."
Viserys patted her hand. "It is natural for one to want to be with their betrothed, Elaena. You do so much already, you deserve to be away from all this talk of war and assassination."
"Speaking of which… there is one other matter. As you know, my mother has delivered several children. She worries over Laena with her four. Her labors are so recent, and to have her husband involved in a war and not at her side seems dreadful. She wanted me to ask you to give leave for Daemon to return to his wife's side."
Viserys felt his temper flair a little. Poor, innocent Elaena did not realize the games being played at court.
"Does she wish her father to be put in Daemon's place?" Viserys replied with a mild bit of annoyance in his tone.
"No, she wishes her brother. And I think Ser Gwayne would be apt for the role. He is used to leading men from different realms and different masters. Oldtown is not that far from Dorne, and Dornish ships have often anchored in its harbors. His leadership of the Waywardens has led to booming trade as banditry along their patrol routes has dropped to near zero. I can show the numbers of successful trade through…"
Viserys held up his hand. "I take your points." He chuckled. "Fighting bandits is not like fighting an entire nation. Ser Gwayne is a good man and has done leal service, but is all together not an important enough figure to lead the armies. I am sorry Elaena; I know you wished to help your mother, but this request I must deny."
Elaena bowed her head. "I understand, father. Thank you for hearing me out at least."
"Always, my dear. Now, let us speak of happier topics."
They spoke for another hour, and when Elaena left, Viserys felt better than he had in months. Her presence was invigorating, as was the hope that Ser Laenor could find the culprit and turn a long, bloody massacre of a war into a more targeted affair. That would be good.
***
"He wants to do what?" Daemon asked unbelievingly.
"Ser Laenor wishes to confront Qoren personally and get to the truth of the matter. I have some misgivings over his safety and so I bring it before my council for counsel." Viserys explained.
The maegi either lied or was inept, Laenor lives and the whole Seven Kingdoms must dance to his tune.
Deamon saw hasty looks exchanged throughout the room. Tyland Lannister spoke first.
"Your Grace, if Ser Laenor wishes to do this, it will help provide understanding. If they attempt to harm Ser Laenor, we will know they are guilty. While I would not ask him to do this, it appears this is what he wishes, so I would say let it be his choice."
Daemon thought quickly. Why would the Greens participate in this farce?
Ah, they wish him dead. Hmm, I would not have my sweet wife saddened, but I must admit I am tired of being in that man's shadow.
Jasper Wylde looked intrigued. "Justice must fall upon the guilty. I mislike placing him in danger, but if he feels assured he can survive, I'll not oppose."
Daemon glanced to Beesbury who was frowning. The old man spoke with hesitation, "If, and it is truly a big if, it is not the Martells responsible, the treasury will bear the expense much more readily. No cutbacks will have to be made for royal weddings. It is up to you, Your Grace, if that is worth risking Ser Laenor's life."
"Ah, the wedding," Viserys said, "I had not realized we would need to decrease expenditures for it with the war. In truth, Lyman, I do not wish to risk any of my family. But war in Dorne will put Ser Laenor at risk regardless."
Grand Maester Mellos gave a sigh. "Others take the man, he can survive something that should be impossible, perhaps the Seven will provide yet more aid for him."
Daemon snickered. "You're more crow than man, Mellos, one day you'll get a healing forecast correct."
Mellos did not rise to the bait and Daemon saw Otto shift.
"Your Grace," Otto began, "you know how I felt about beginning the war. If we can avert the worst, the number of lives and coin saved would be immense."
Daemon felt his irritation rise. What if Laenor was successful? What if war was averted? He wanted to be the one to conquer Dorne. As unlikely as it was that a major war could be averted, did he really want to take that risk? He was about to object when another thought came to his mind.
If Laenor goes… what would happen if word were to reach the Martells that another dragon had just burned one of their vassals out of their keep? And I would have just the perfect person to do it as well. Laena has more than likely already wept tears for her brother when all thought the Andals' so-called Stranger was about to take him. She'll survive this as well.
"'Tis a fool's errand, Viserys. War comes regardless but if the worst should befall Laenor, Rhaenyra has already birthed his heirs and spares. Tell him to do as he likes; we've already agreed that the six-fold hammer blow was to be attempted as close to the same time as possible. Unless he dallies, it will not delay my plans," Daemon said, exasperation in his voice.
Now his brother would see he thought it a fool's errand, and when the time comes for Laenor to prove the fool he is, he will be able to remind the King of this day.
"Lord Strong," Viserys prompted.
"Pardon me, Your Grace, I fear I do not understand your good-son's character well enough to comment. My time with him has been brief but all know of his reputation. Why would he oppose another opportunity to lay waste to an enemy?" Daemon saw the crippled man shake his head. "It just seems out of character for him and has me concerned the foul venom may have caused damage to the mind."
Mellos shook his head. "The Maesters do not write of any damage of the like."
"As I said, I have only met him briefly, perhaps I am mistaken." Larys replied with a small upturning of the corner of his lips.
"Really, Larys," Beesbury chided, "you make it sound like he's a war monger. Ser Laenor is effective at killing yet that does not mean he enjoys it. His voice is never raised to sound the trumpets of war, in fact he was late to come to the aid of his father and only did so when it looked like Lord Corlys would falter."
Larys bowed his head slightly, "My apologies."
Viserys tapped the table nervously. None voiced strenuous objections.
"Very well. Ensure no attacks occur until my good son has had a chance to make arrangements and hold a parley with Qoren Martell. Continue the attack plans that we have," Viserys commanded.
Lyman interjected, "After review, Prince Daemon, I believe we should move the bulk of our logistical support by sea to the eastern side. Sunspear, Planky Town, and Yronwood are the major locations and all are easier to access on the eastern coast."
Daemon shrugged, not particularly caring as long as the supplies got to the men when they were needed. He noticed Larys frowning, but the Master of Whisperers did not speak up again.
He may be on our side but there's something off about him. Maybe it's the clubfoot of his, most like it reminds me of Maegor.
The meeting was now boring for him, and with Rhaenyra gone back to Driftmark, he was annoyed that he didn't have either of his two ladies available to him. He would take his pleasure elsewhere then; perhaps he would show off in the training yard. The Crownlands were mustering in King's Landing and would be setting off by ship when the time came. It was always good to remind the common soldiery just how much a Targaryen was above them.
***
Qoren Martell, Prince of Dorne, said goodbye to his children. His eldest, Aliandra, had imperiously and stubbornly refused to go, but at the tender age of six, she had no power to make her will manifest. Her two young siblings, Coryanne and Qyle, made much less of a fuss. Aliandra was to be carried to Ghost Hill and placed under the care of Lord Toland. Coryanne was to be sent by ship to Braavos. And little Qyle was to be taken to a third location that not even Qoren knew, for fear that the knowledge could be taken from him through torment should he be captured.
Gods damn Viserys the two-faced, why would we seek war with the Seven Kingdoms?!
The evidence was damning. Few in Westeros had dealings with Essos, and the poison trade was almost entirely with Dorne and the Citadel. Add to that a ship originating from Dorne carrying the assassins and the majority of them being Dornish, making it an easy assumption to seize upon. For all Qoren knew, it very well could have been one of the houses of Dorne. The investigation was ongoing, but if the assassination order had not come from a Dornish house, how could they possibly prove it or have any evidence of it from within Dorne?
It was maddening. Qoren had long feared the Seven Kingdoms. He knew they lusted after his dominion to make the continent 'whole' under one rulership. He suspected eventually Dorne would bend the knee, but he had vowed it would not happen on his watch. Now the very real possibility loomed.
Ser Artyr Dayne was a big man, taller than Qoren, but despite his frame his voice was higher pitched than most men.
"You are making the right choice in sending them away," he said softly.
"I know, but it is difficult given that it may be the last time I see them." Qoren bowed his head briefly before lifting it. "Remind me again where we stand in our preparations?"
"We have no further word from the Triarchy regarding their entry into the conflict, should it occur. I suspect that is their answer; we will not find help from them. They lost too many ships and fear the dragons. Myr has begun working on a new scorpion design that promises to increase the speed and power of a bolt by a significant margin; however, they say it is months away from testing."
"Months? Months? By then half of Dorne will be burned and our ports blockaded." Qoren said sourly.
"Until they have completed the design, we will make do with what we have. Every keep has been instructed to build as many scorpions and spear bolts that can be created. I do have good news on the sellswords' front. Both from the Summer Islands and from within the Crownlands and Westerlands, two archer companies with their goldenheart bows should arrive before any naval blockade can take place," Artyr explained.
They can't kill a dragon, but they can kill the riders and will have better fortune than any of our own bowman.
"Then we have the agreement the freeriders will turn at a critical juncture on our command?" Qoren said with hope.
"Yes," Artyr said skeptically, "we have their word. Word of those who would sell their sworn allegiance for coin. I would not put too much faith in them, but at the very least it will give us information about the enemy's movements."
Qoren would be happy with some chance over having no chance. Plus, he would go so far as to ennoble a common man if he managed to kill a dragonrider in his tent. The odds of success were extremely small, but the Targaryens were arrogant and hopefully that made them unwary.
"Are supply caches prepared?"
"Yes, my prince. As are the false ones which use poisoned food. The Red Mountains will allow small groups to operate for years, though we would not be able to share provisions with the smallfolk if it comes to that," Dayne warned.
It was the best they could do. He had long thought about what to do if the Seven Kingdoms sought to subjugate Dorne. A straight-up fight would not be winnable. Instead, they would have to wear down the invaders with a thousand cuts: nighttime raids, denial of food and water, forcing lengthy supply lines that would be attacked, preservation of their fighting power as much as could be done, and most of all, a plan to deal with the dragons.
"For the dragons themselves, where do you think we have our best chance?"
"The Stone Way." Artyr immediately answered. "We cannot field armies in the deserts or along the rivers, but we can field one there. It will prove a tempting target indeed, but have that dragon fly too low when they spew their fire? And if we time it right? We can bring the rocks down upon it."
"And our men." Qoren spoke grimly.
"Yes, but there is no better way. We will try, of course, here in Sunspear. Scorpions line the walls and we have begun work in smashing a wall in one of the towers to allow room for one to be constructed at a high point," Artyr voiced his frustration. "You must understand that dragons may be large, but the sky is so much greater. The only hope of striking one is when it dives down. It is a minuscule window, and we have to have a scorpion covering that specific area; only then do we have a chance. But it is just that – a chance. Most bolts that do strike a dragon do little harm unless it is to the eye or possibly a wing."
Qoren would do all he could, and he would lean on Ser Artyr's tactical mind often. The Sword of the Morning had a mind that outstripped Qoren's, and it was matched only by his skill at arms with Dawn. He knew he was lucky to have him by his side, but he would not countenance any surrender, no matter how bleak the knight expressed the odds.
A knight approached. "My Prince, word from King's Landing. It… it is the Dark Storm. He lives and wishes to parley with you directly, five miles from Sunspear."
Qoren's jaw dropped. Both to the idea that someone could survive manticore venom and to the notion of that same monstrous person seeking dialogue.
Ser Artyr was frowning. "This might be a trap but if there is any hope for peace, we must accept."
"I'll trade my life on that chance, perhaps they hold me personally responsible and will be content with my head." Qoren spoke lightly, though he did fear the Stranger's embrace.
I must take this chance.
"Send word in response, three-days' time, we guarantee his safety. We'll have a large pavilion set up upon his arrival and provide the very best hospitality." He paused. "Our northern neighbors are a strange folk, will we upset the crown if we offer bedtime companions to Ser Laenor?"
Ser Artyr's small laugh brought a smile to Qoren's face. "I suspect that would quite upset them," he said. "Princess Rhaenyra is his wife and the official heir to the Iron Throne."
Feeling hope for the first time since hearing of the blame for the assassination being placed on Dorne was a heady sensation. The thought of being face-to-face with such a ruthless butcher, one beyond even the reach of poison, was more than troubling. The rumors probably overstated what he had done at High Tide, but the thought of breaking apart a man's skull with one's bare hands was more than just a bit disturbing. He would not let that idea dissuade him; he owed it to his family and to Dorne.