Stormlands.
Lead-gray clouds pressed low over the land. The sea wind, heavy with salt, slammed again and again into the towering walls of Storm's End.
The fortress once famed for being unassailable had changed hands at last.
Young Aegon's banners had been ripped down without ceremony and trampled into the mud. In their place now flew the dragon banner of the Eastern Conqueror, Lo Quen.
Ever since word reached Storm's End of Young Aegon's defeat and execution on the Redgrass Field, the Golden Company soldiers left behind had fallen into panic.
Stripped of both employer and commander, these sellswords found themselves trapped inside the strongest fortress in the Stormlands. As reports arrived one after another of the Eastern King's armies advancing unstoppably, their morale had long since collapsed beyond repair.
When Queen Janice rode her purple dragon Duskshadow and led ten thousand troops to sweep down castle after castle like an autumn gale, finally bringing her army to Storm's End itself, the garrison's last will to resist shattered completely.
There was barely any real fighting.
The gates of Storm's End slowly creaked open.
Now, within the fortress's grand stone hall, Dragon Soul Guards clad in Valyrian steel stood at attention on either side of the entrance.
Queen Janice sat upright in the high-backed seat that had once belonged to the Great Lord of Storm's End.
She wore a deep violet velvet gown. Beneath her silver-gold hair, her neck was long and slender, her jawline sharp and clear.
After the war in Dorne, the girlish softness had faded from Janice's features, replaced by a quiet authority and hardened resolve.
"...Therefore, Your Grace, the final shipment of supplies has arrived safely from Bloodstone Isle and is now stored in Storm's End's warehouses. Grain, arrows, and armor are sufficient to support the army for several months to come."
Lord Morosh spoke in a clear, resonant voice, tinged with respect.
Once a mercenary fleet commander from Myr, he had judged the situation carefully when Lo Quen's forces took the city and chose to submit. He was subsequently placed in charge of Bloodstone Isle and the Stepstones, and after Lo Quen's landing, entrusted with overseeing logistics.
The work was tedious, but he carried it out with painstaking care.
Morosh could not help but feel quietly pleased with himself.
Kneeling on the docks of Myr all those years ago had been the wisest decision of his life.
Who could have imagined that an Eastern sorcerer would command dragons and conquer most of Westeros with such speed?
When the war was over, perhaps he could petition His Grace the King for a castle of his own. Maybe even a lordship.
The thought nearly pulled a smile from him, but he quickly reined it in, forcing himself back into a properly deferential posture.
Janice gave a slight nod. "You've done well, Lord Morosh. Keeping the supply lines open is the foundation of victory. His Grace will not forget your service."
A broad smile spread across Morosh's face as he bowed deeply once more. "It is my honor to serve you and His Grace, Your Grace."
Holding back his excitement, he continued, "In addition, Archmaester Marwyn, Maester Qyburn, and the accompanying members of the Alchemists' Guild are expected to arrive at Storm's End by ship tomorrow. They are bringing a sufficient quantity of wildfire, along with the equipment needed to produce more."
Janice had just begun to respond when a deafening roar suddenly thundered through the stone walls from beyond the high windows.
She froze for a heartbeat, then delight lit up her face.
She knew that roar far too well.
She had fed them with her own hands, ever since they were hatchlings.
"Your Grace?" Morosh asked, startled, as he watched the queen rise abruptly from her seat.
Janice paid him no attention. Gathering her skirts, she moved quickly toward the stone balcony off the great hall.
The Dragon Soul Guards at the doorway adjusted their stances slightly, their eyes sweeping the surroundings with renewed alertness, but they did not attempt to stop her.
Janice pushed open the heavy oak doors, and the fierce sea wind immediately tangled a few loose strands of her hair.
She lifted her gaze to the sky.
A massive crimson shadow tore through the clouds, diving downward at terrifying speed. It was far larger than Duskshadow, its wings fully spread, casting a shadow that seemed large enough to swallow half the castle whole.
"It's Blooddancer!"
Janice gasped softly, joy spilling into her voice. "He's back!"
The crimson dragon Blooddancer folded its massive wings and settled onto the wide observation balcony atop Storm's End's main tower. Its heavy body made the ancient stone beneath it tremble faintly.
A figure leapt cleanly from the dragon's back. It was Lo Quen, returned from Oldtown.
After dealing with the Ironborn and the mad Euron, he had left Oldtown for the Stormlands. At Nightsong, he encountered troops sent to take possession of the castle and learned that Janice had already seized Storm's End.
He had first recovered the Horn of the Dragon and the Horn of Winter from the ruins of the High Tower. Then, throughout the flight, Blooddancer had clutched the Hightower family's black stone tightly in her hind claws. Only now did he set it down in the castle's outer courtyard, where the horns and the black stone were placed under heavy guard by loyal Dragon Soul Guards.
Janice nearly ran through the corridor connecting the balcony to the great hall.
The instant she saw Lo Quen, the last trace of a queen's composure vanished, replaced by the pure joy and concern of a wife reunited with her husband. She threw herself into his open arms, wrapping them tightly around his waist.
"Your Grace! You're finally back!"
Her voice trembled with emotion as she lifted her head to study his face.
"Did everything go smoothly in Oldtown? Were you hurt?"
Her fingers moved instinctively over his arms and chest, checking for any wounds.
Lo Quen lowered his head, meeting the concern in his wife's eyes, and smiled.
He raised a hand and gently brushed aside the strands of hair the wind had blown across her forehead. "Janice, you really do underestimate your husband. You know I'm a true dragon. How could those Ironborn possibly harm me?"
Hearing the teasing hidden in his words, Janice's cheeks flushed slightly. She pressed her lips together in a smile and lightly thumped his chest in mock reproach.
"Yes, yes, my great true-dragon Your Grace."
Her worry dissolved, leaving only the sweetness of reunion.
Lo Quen lifted her flawless, pale face in his hands, his thumb softly brushing her cheek as he smiled warmly. "Oldtown is settled. Still, I truly didn't expect you to move this fast. Taking the entire Stormlands in such a short time is no small feat."
Admiration shone clearly in his eyes.
Praised by her husband, Janice smiled shyly and leaned into his embrace. "Hehe. Honestly, I just benefited from Duskshadow. Once the Stormlands' defenders saw a dragon circling overhead, most of them surrendered without much resistance. Storm's End especially. The moment they heard Young Aegon was dead, they opened the gates."
Lo Quen looked up toward the sky.
On the far side, the smaller purple dragon Duskshadow was circling nervously, dodging Blooddancer as she tried to draw closer.
Blooddancer seemed to find the chase amusing, letting out low, rumbling roars now and then that sent Duskshadow fleeing even faster.
One dragon pursued, the other fled, their figures stark against the gray sky.
Watching the two dragons at play, Lo Quen and Janice exchanged a smile, the last traces of fatigue quietly swept away.
Lo Quen took Janice's hand, and the two of them walked back into the great hall together.
Seeing Lo Quen enter, Morosh immediately bowed deeply. "Good day, Your Grace. Welcome back in triumph."
Lo Quen waved a hand. "Rise, Lord Morosh. It's been some time. Any new reports from the Stepstones or Conquest Keep?"
Still holding Janice's hand, he led her naturally toward the high seat.
Morosh hurried to his feet and replied with utmost respect. "Your Grace, all is well in the Triarchy. The sea lanes remain open. The fleets carrying Grand Maester Qyburn and Archmaester Marwyn have departed as scheduled and should arrive at Storm's End within days."
A flicker of anticipation crossed Lo Quen's eyes. "Excellent. You've done well, Morosh. Continue guarding the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones. Make certain our supply routes remain secure. When the wars of the Seven Kingdoms are finally settled, you will receive the reward you deserve."
Morosh's joy was barely contained as he bowed again. "I will obey Your Grace's command and give everything I have."
Lo Quen smiled, then his expression turned serious. "Before you return to your duties, there is one more important matter I need you to handle."
Morosh straightened at once. "Please give the order, Your Grace."
Lo Quen said, "I need you to immediately dispatch trustworthy men and ships to Oldtown. From the Citadel's library and the High Tower, gather every remaining book, scroll, and document. It doesn't matter what they contain. Crate them all and bring them back, without leaving a single item behind. I've just concluded the campaign there. Oldtown was slaughtered by Euron and his Ironborn and is now an empty city. Take whatever you need. No one will stop you."
Though the news of Oldtown left Morosh deeply shaken, he did not dare let it show. He bowed deeply at once.
"Yes, Your Grace. I will see to it immediately."
Lo Quen watched Morosh's retreating figure, his gaze dark and thoughtful.
House Hightower had dominated Oldtown for a thousand years, guarding the secrets of the Citadel and the High Tower. What had they been hiding all this time?
And the secret of that black stone.
Perhaps the answers lay buried within those vast, countless volumes.