The sea frothed white with foam as the Golden Company's fleet broke from the morning mist like the gods of war, sails taut with wind, prows slicing through the narrow straits between Estermont and the mainland. Warhorns roared across the water—deep, haunting sounds that stirred gulls into screaming flocks above the cliffs. At the head of the armada sailed the Golden Wyvern, a ship with the gold standard of the company stitched into her sail, and upon her prow Ser Harry Strickland, Captain-General of the Golden Company.
Greenstone rose before them, stout and grim atop a rocky cliff, its walls cloaked in moss and salt-stained with age. Banners bearing the green sea turtle of House Estermont flapped defiantly in the rising wind. Its gatehouse was narrow and heavily fortified, with a treacherous path of switchbacks leading up from the beach below. No army had supposedly breached it in three centuries.
Ser Harry watched the castle draw closer while he grinned beneath his gilded helm. Seeing the land again brought some relief to him, although what awaited him was not to his liking. He was no great fighter, at least he pretended not to be. He was more comfortable with managing the finances of the Golden Company. But the unexpected death of Ser Myles Toyne propelled him to the position of Captain-General.
In his stead, he placed Gorys Edoryen as the Paymaster of the Company—a worthy man with proper skill with coin and an axe.
He had sailed the Company through the treacherous seas and hellish storms to land in Westeros to fight for the dragons. In all the vaunted history of the Golden Company, they had fought for the black dragons. But he was breaking from tradition to fight for the red dragons.
Frankly, he cared not what colour of banners they fought under. It didn't make much of any difference whether the Company fought under the Blackfyres or the Targaryens. The men of the Company didn't care either. Most of them were born in exile from Westeros, and they had not seen a living Blackfyre in decades following the demise of Melys the Monstrous.
Harry Strickland and his band of exiles came with one goal in mind. To reclaim what their ancestors lost and leave behind the life of uncertainty and constant warfare in Essos. When Illyrio Mopatis and Jon Connington came to him and his former Captain-General with the proposal of a Targaryen restoration, he was sceptical. But now, events had aligned in a way that it was a distant possibility Aegon Targaryen could ascend the Iron Throne. This was the only reason why he chose to break a contract with Volantis and sail the Company to Westeros.
Besides, Volantis, Lys and Tyrosh were evenly matched on the battlefield. Getting themselves involved in the conflicts left in the wake of Myr's destruction was not a sound strategy.
Therefore, he and his men sought their fortune in Westeros under the Targaryen banner.
"We shall break the turtle's shell and claim the castle in King Aegon Targaryen's name." Harry said, turning to his captains gathered behind him. "Today, we begin reclaiming what our fathers and grandfathers lost."
It took them three days to set up a proper war camp on the shores of Greenstone. They foraged the nearby settlements for supplies and forced the knights on the island to take refuge in the Estermont castle. On the fourth day, at early dawn, the beach was alive with the grind and groan of siege engines.
Three massive trebuchets hurled stones at Greenstone's gatehouse and south tower. With each impact, dust and stone fragments rained down upon the defenders. Estermont archers retaliated with arrows at the engineers below, but the men of the Golden Company raised their pavises and huddled together to protect their crews.
Harry Strickland was thankful he had the foresight to bring parts of the siege engines with their ships. This made it easier to assemble the catapults within a handful of days before the castle could construct countermeasures. This advantage was clearly visible on the battlefield as the Estermonts huddled behind their measly wall with nothing but the hope that their walls would hold strong.
As the bombardment continued into the evening, with occasional breaks to the catapults for repairs, the Estermonts came to the realisation that their wall was not going to hold on for much longer. Ser Aemon Etsermont, the son and heir of Lord Eldon Estermont, rallied the men in his castle and rode out of the front gates, charging straight for the catapults.
Harry Strickland was expecting this all along. He ordered a pause to the catapults and allowed the men managing the contraptions some respite.
"Archers!"
Archers assembled before the catapults in orderly lines with their bows ready and quivers full of arrows.
"Let's greet the Stormlanders with a storm of our own."
The first volley of arrows fell upon the hard-riding knights of House Estermont. Fresh screams pierced the battlefield as some of the arrows found purchase in the poorly armoured knights of House Estermont. When Harry observed the Estermont knights remained committed to the attack, he sprung the trap.
"Unleash the elephants." Harry roared at the top of his lungs.
From behind the trees, three war elephants were led out, accompanied by spearmen guarding the beasts' flanks. The beasts trained in warfare sounded their trumpets as they charged straight towards the horses.
The Estermont knights, led by Ser Aemon Estermont, partly halted their charge, seeing three mad elephants armoured to the teeth charging at them. There was a total breakdown of discipline among the Estermont knights, and those crucial few minutes gave the elephants the time to gain some distance.
By the time Ser Aemon decided to turn his knights around, Harry watched the elephants come close to the enemy. Even when Ser Aemon and his knights rode back to the castle at their best speed, the elephants refused to back down. They remained committed to the chase and closely followed the fleeing knights.
"Company cavalry. Charge!" Harry yelled with his sword raised high.
Harry kept his catapults targeting the walls, providing necessary cover for his elephants and his cavalry.
His plan worked almost seamlessly. Since Ser Estermont and his knights were riding hard to get in, the castle gates were left open. Despite the Estermont men trying their best to secure the gate with all the locks in such haste, they were unable to do so in time. And that lapse was enough for his three elephants to smash into the gates and push them open.
The cavalry charged into the castle through the wide-open gates, and the castle of House Estermont drowned in the screams of dying men. The slaughter began in earnest as his battle-hardened soldiers cut a bloody swathe through the summer knights of Greenstone.
"House Estermont is the maternal family of the Usurper, King Aegon's enemy. Leave nothing in your wake." Harry declared to the approving shouts of his men.
For two days, the men of the Golden Company looted the castle and did what any victorious army did to the defeated. They killed, fucked and stole without limits. Harry allowed this only for those two days. On the third day, he pulled his men back to order and established discipline.
All Estermonts were captured and put in cells for the time being. Harry knew enough about the value of hostages in a war. Now, he just had to secure the island under the total control of his men while making contact with King Aegon.
Harry breathed in the salty air of Estermont and smiled as the banners of green tortoise fell, only to be replaced by the golden banners of the Golden Company. This was undoubtedly one of his best accomplishments to date. He hoped to continue the winning streak in the days ahead.
******
Morning dawned grey and cold. Smoke still curled from the burned trees on the eastern ridge. The battlefield had quieted, though the air remained thick with the stench of death.
Aegon watched as the Dornish commanders ordered the trebuchets brought forward.
Four siege engines, massive constructs of timber and iron, were rolled to the front lines, their throwing arms primed with stones, clay pots of burning pitch, and barrels of Dornish wildfire.
"The walls of Stonehelm had never been breached in living memory." said Jon Connington from beside him.
Aegon looked at the knight out of the corner of his eyes.
"That will change today." Aegon said confidently.
"It didn't happen the last time." Jon muttered.
Aegon saw his loyal caretaker eyeing the Dornish army suspiciously. Even after fighting side by side in the last month and a half, he could see Jon's suspicious gaze linger on the Dornish soldiers working the catapults bombarding the castle.
Archers lit the pitch barrels. Drummers beat a slow rhythm and ended on a high note when the volley was ready. The first shot of the day arced high, a flaming trail across the sky, and smashed into the curtain wall with a deafening roar. Bright red fire bloomed like a ghostly sun on the fall, followed by a few bricks and stones coming loose from the wall.
Aegon watched as the second and third barrels followed, hammering the gatehouse and shattering parapets. The defenders responded with arrows, but their walls began to crack, and they were a bit out of range to have any effect.
Then came the ladder teams.
Dornish spearmen, nimble and light-armoured, raced forward under a relentless barrage on the towers.
Archers rained arrows on the defenders from the bottom of the wall, providing ample support to the men trying to take the wall.
Ladders slammed against the walls. Men scrambled upward into a hail of arrows. The first few fell, but more followed. One ladder reached the battlements. Oberyn Martell was first up, his spear flashing in the sun. He vaulted onto the wall and struck down a crossbow guard before the man could release a bolt.
More Swann guards poured into the section of the wall breached by the Dornish prince, and a long battle commenced. Till noon, the sky of Stonehelm was drowned in the cries of dying and injured men. The grey stones of the wall were tinted red as blood flowed uninterrupted. One by one, the guard towers of Stonehelm started to fall under the relentless assault of the Dornish army. To the Swann men's credit, they fought valiantly. Aegon had the honour of crossing swords with their household knights on the battlefield, and he appreciated their mettle.
But that didn't diminish his will to emerge victorious. He fought side by side with Jon Connington and shed blood of the Stormlanders.
By evening, before the sun was down, the eastern tower had fallen.
When the sun was just about ready to disappear from the horizon, the gatehouse was breached.
And by the time the sun left, drowning the land in the dark, Aegon Targaryen entered Stonehelm through the broken gates, his banner held aloft beside the sun and spear of House Martell.
Ser Donnel Swann and his household had surrendered, seeing the folly of continued resistance. The action saved a few, as a good toll in blood was already extracted by the time Ser Donnel came to his senses.
Nonetheless, Aegon was inclined to accept the surrender to save lives. Besides, he had no intention of keeping a permanent garrison to take command of Stonehelm. Such a move would undoubtedly diminish their numbers going ahead. In the absence of Lord Gulian Swann, the best possible outcome was taking hostages to keep House Swann from acting out.
As such, Aegon took Lord Gulian's niece, Evelyn Swann, as a hostage. The plan was to send the girl to Sunspear to serve as Princess Arianne's handmaiden.
Oberyn stood beside him in the ruined great hall, drinking from a goblet of Dornish red.
"You've taken another stone from Stannis's wall," he said. "Soon the entire Stormlands will bow before you, nephew."
Aegon nodded, though his eyes were distant.
"I will not rest until Storm's End falls. I will raze the Usurper's home to the ground. "
Oberyn smiled and patted Aegon's shoulder.
"Good. Then we'll see if storms burn as easily as stone."
"I'm afraid that'll have to wait." Jon Connington said, walking into the hall with long, purposeful strides.
"Connington." Oberyn said tightly.
The palpable tension between the two was easy to read, and sometimes Aegon felt like the two men were ready to tear each other apart. The root of the tension between the two men stemmed from his father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Even though the two men refused to say anything to him, he could still read them easily.
"What is the matter, Ser Jon?" Aegon asked, before the two men ended up saying words they'd later come to regret.
"A messenger came with good news from our friends across the Narrow Sea. The Golden Company has made landfall in Westeros." Jon declared, and that changed their plans instantly.
"Where did they land?" Aegon asked.
"Varys says the company was forced to spread out their landing along the coast of the Stormlands as the seas were far from welcoming. It'll take time for them to gather themselves into a single army. But the bulk of the Company managed to land on Estermont. Harry Strickland led them against House Estermont and captured Greenstone."
"That was quick." Aegon said with wide eyes, impressed by the swift victory of the Golden Company.
"Their numbers?" Oberyn asked.
"Five thousand strong and eight elephants. But they'll need horses to be effective in combating the Stormlords." Jon answered.
"Well, they will be good for at least drawing the attention of Stannis Baratheon. If Varys is right, Stannis will see them as a threat as they're far closer to Storm's End." said Oberyn.
"That leaves us in a good position to strike at the Baratheon loyalists in the Reach. This is indeed a favourable outcome, and we are perfectly positioned to draw supplies and men to our cause." said Jon.
"Are we?" Aegon questioned. "Ser Rolland Storm and his band of traitors are still at large. The last we heard, the man was seen fleeing in the direction of the King's Mountain. If we stay here, there is a chance we might get surrounded."
"My nephew is right. This land is landlocked between the mountains, and we have our backs to the River Slayne. Though we control the pass through the mountain, that can change if we give enough time to a wily enemy like Rolland Storm." Oberyn mused aloud.
"So, we retreat after we forage anything useful from Stonehelm and gather our strength at a place fit to strike at the heart of the Reach or Storm's End." Jon said softly.
Oberyn nodded with a thoughtful look, having understood the location of such a place.
"I guess it's time that the Targaryen banners flew over what remains of Summerhall."
Aegon looked between the two men and took a deep breath. He realised they were about to step into a different form of warfare. So far, he had been a participant in only siege warfare. From now on, that would change. Aegon anticipated pitched battles from now on, and those were the most dangerous for knights, lords and kings.
******
Sunspear gleamed in the light of dusk, its sandstone face painted gold and rose by the lowering sun. The sea had calmed for once, and the scent of lemon and brine drifted in from the garden.
Arianne Martell stood by the arched window of her solar, her long, dark hair loose around her shoulders, catching the final warmth of the day. Her eyes were bright with expectation, for she had been summoned by her father, Prince Doran Martell.
The words he spoke still echoed within her chest, drumming like a heartbeat: "The day is set. You shall wed Harrion Stark half a moon from today. Lord Stark has agreed to hold the marriage ceremony in Sunspear, observing both Andal and First Men customs."
The North and Dorne—snow and sun—would be bound together, not through war or blood, but through love, or at the very least, an alliance intended to liberate their kingdoms from the Iron Throne. And she, Arianne Nymeros Martell, would be at the heart of that union. She would no longer be the princess hidden away behind locked doors and caution. She would be the lady of Avalon and, in time, the Princess of an independent Dorne.
The door creaked behind her. Nymeria Sand stepped lightly into the room, barefoot as always, her rings clinking softly. She took one look at Arianne's face and grinned.
"So," Nymeria said, settling onto a cushioned bench. "It's true. The date is set."
"Yes." Arianne laughed, the sound rich and sweet.
Nymeria clapped her hands together, smiling from ear to ear.
"Then let us begin. There is much to do. Dresses to choose, silks to dye, musicians to bribe, and gods to appease."
Arianne turned toward her cousin with fire in her eyes.
"The wedding will not be quiet, nor modest. We are Dorne. Let the North see us in all our splendour."
By the next morning, the halls of Sunspear hummed with purpose. Couriers galloped to the Free Cities to fetch the finest Myrish lace and Lyseni perfumes. Seamstresses arrived from Ghost Hill, Godsgrace, and even across the Greenblood. The princess would have no less than five dresses made, each one a marvel of Dornish craftsmanship and foreign decadence.
One would be ice blue, embroidered with blazing suns; another, deep crimson, with serpents coiled in silver thread. But the favourite-the one Arianne lingered over the longest—was dyed in golden hue, the colour of the evening sun, with black trimming the bodice and a thousand tiny pearls sewn in to mimic glittering stars.
"Do you think he will like it?" Arianne asked one afternoon as Nymeria adjusted the laces.
"I don't think he'll like it enough not to tear it off your body during the bedding ceremony." Nymeria said with a giggle.
Tyene and Sylva laughed again, as they often did during those weeks, their voices echoing down marble halls that had too long been silent.
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf