A hot, dry wind blew in from the west, carrying clouds of sand into the air.
As the brown city walls came into view, Tyrion Lannister knew that the most grueling part of their journey was finally behind them—Sunspear was within reach.
Bronn, swaying lazily on horseback, broke the silence:
"You gonna tell me why we had to come to Sunspear to catch a ship back to King's Landing?"
Tyrion muttered, "Because I need to take someone with me."
Bronn immediately caught on. "That niece of yours?"
"Niece… Well, technically, yes. She's my sister's daughter, so you're not wrong." Tyrion shrugged. "The Martells are as good as finished, and I'm not leaving Myrcella stranded in Sunspear."
"The Martells won't let you take her. Isn't she betrothed to Doran's youngest son?"
"If I've come this far, it means I've got a plan," Tyrion said with a sly grin.
Bronn shot him a skeptical look, prompting Tyrion to explain further:
"When we sent Myrcella to Dorne, I made some preparations. Did you know the Lannisport branch of my family is full of lesser Lannisters? Among them, I picked a girl with golden hair, about Myrcella's age, and a resemblance close enough to fool most people. With some makeup and a little effort, she'll pass as Myrcella."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
---
Their conversation carried them through the labyrinthine streets of the Shadow City, past the Triple Gate, and into the Old Palace.
Tyrion went straight to Princess Myrcella Baratheon and explained his plan to smuggle her out of Sunspear.
Despite her young age, Myrcella was calm and understanding. She didn't cry or panic, doing her best to cooperate with her uncle.
Wasting no time, Tyrion disguised Myrcella's maid as the princess and instructed her to pretend to be taking a nap. Then, under the cover of daylight, they quietly left the Old Palace.
Once beyond the palace gates, they headed straight for the docks.
---
Sunspear sat on a rocky peninsula jutting into the sea, with three sides exposed to water. While the north and east faced the wrath of the Narrow Sea's storms, the southern coast offered a natural harbor.
Though Planky Town, at the mouth of the Greenblood River, was Dorne's largest port, Sunspear's harbor was second in size and more significant politically due to its proximity to the Martell seat.
Ships coming from the Greenblood or the Narrow Sea often stopped at Sunspear to trade or resupply.
Centuries ago, Nymeria, the warrior queen of the Rhoynar, had burned her fleet after crossing the Narrow Sea to ensure her people wouldn't return to Essos. Otherwise, Sunspear might have boasted a formidable navy today.
As Tyrion and his group approached the bustling docks, they noticed a palpable tension in the air.
Several damaged ships from the defeated Arbor Fleet were moored there, awaiting repairs. Their scarred hulls and broken masts told silent tales of the devastating sea battle, spreading unease among the dockworkers.
Despite this, the harbor was still crowded with vessels—merchant ships and fishing boats of various sizes, ranging from massive thousand-ton freighters to tiny dinghies.
The setting sun cast a cold, somber light over the sea, as if foreshadowing an ill-fated night.
Bronn returned from scouting the docks and reported:
"No ships headed to King's Landing, but there are a few bound for Pentos and Braavos. Should we take one?"
"Yes, we leave now." Tyrion's reply was immediate. "Dorne's becoming more dangerous by the day. The longer we stay, the more trouble we'll face. We'll go to Pentos."
"Fine. Let's go."
---
They found a merchant ship bound for Pentos, paid the fare, and boarded.
As the evening tide rose, the ship unfurled its sails and left the harbor.
Watching Sunspear grow smaller in the distance, Tyrion let out a quiet sigh of relief. The escape had been so smooth it felt almost unbelievable. Of course, the Martells were likely too preoccupied with their troubles to notice their departure.
Just as Tyrion was mulling over celebrating with some wine, a shrill alarm sounded from the ship's lookout.
"What's happening?" Tyrion asked, unable to decipher the semaphore signals.
Bronn pulled aside a crew member, who explained with a note of panic:
"There's a fleet ahead—a Stormlands fleet!"
Tyrion felt his blood run cold. It took him a moment to muster a bitter smile.
"Well, that was quick. Looks like I celebrated too early…"
---
Before long, they spotted the fleet approaching from the north. The double-headed eagle banners of the Stormlands snapped menacingly in the evening wind, their silhouettes dark and ominous.
The merchant ship raised white flags, hoping the Stormlanders wouldn't attack civilians.
Tyrion and his companions prayed for mercy.
To their relief, the Stormlands fleet ignored the merchant vessels and sailed straight toward Sunspear.
As they passed within sight of the warships, Tyrion noticed the strange black barrels lining their sides.
"What are those?" he wondered aloud.
Moments later, he got his answer.
---
As the fleet neared Sunspear's harbor, the warships dropped their sails, slowed their advance, and began forming a battle line.
"I think we're about to see how the Arbor Fleet lost," Tyrion muttered.
Perhaps out of curiosity, the merchant ship's captain decided to stay and watch the unfolding spectacle. Dropping anchor at a safe distance, the crew joined Tyrion in nervously awaiting the battle's commencement.
---
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Forty warships fired simultaneously, their roars drowning out every other sound. Thick black smoke enveloped the fleet as iron cannonballs screamed through the air.
The bombardment began with the harbor. Merchant and fishing vessels bore the brunt of the assault, torn apart by the barrage. The damaged Arbor ships, still moored, fared no better, their broken hulls splitting further under the relentless cannon fire.
Screams, curses, and cries for help filled the air, only to be smothered by the deafening explosions.
Three Arbor warships, battered but not yet broken, bravely attempted a counterattack. Despite their shattered masts and scorched decks, they sailed out with a suicidal determination.
But they didn't even get close.
Overwhelmed by the concentrated firepower of forty ships and over a hundred cannons, they were sunk before they could make contact.
---
The bombardment continued unabated. The very walls of Sunspear seemed to tremble under the assault.
Although the cannons lacked the range and power to devastate the city's defenses completely, the psychological impact was undeniable. Civilians fled the harbor in droves, abandoning their homes and businesses to the flames.
Fortunately, this black powder-driven smoothbore cannon had limited power, and as long as the people in the port were not determined to stay and die with their ships, there was still time for them to evacuate.
Although the destructive power was limited, the blow this bombardment dealt to the Dornish was not to be underestimated.
The blow to Dorne's maritime trade can only be imagined.
This bombardment struck a devastating blow to Dorne's economy. Without the protection of a navy, no merchant ship would dare dock at Sunspear again.
As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the Stormlands fleet showed no signs of stopping. Cannonballs rained down relentlessly, reducing the harbor to a sea of floating debris.
From a safe distance, Tyrion watched in grim silence. The distant flames reflected in his mismatched eyes, a stark contrast to the cool night air.
Finally, he turned to Bronn, stretching his stiff neck as he spoke:
"Enough sightseeing. The Martells are finished."
(End of Chapter)