Chapter 91 — Restraining Dorne, The Dragon War
The map room was thick with the warm scent of burning candles, their light dancing across the carved surface of the great wooden table depicting the Seven Kingdoms. Rivers glimmered like threads of silver; mountains cast jagged shadows; and the castles of Westeros stood as miniature sentinels of carved stone.
King Jaehaerys I, pale with age but still sharp of mind, leaned against the table for support. Beside him stood Prince Viserys, Princess Rhaenys, The Sea Snake—Corlys Velaryon, Duke Beaumont Baratheon, Grand Maester Runciter, and the king's daughters Aemma and Gael.
At the head of the table stood Prince Daemon Targaryen, Dark Sister at his hip, moving carved sigil pieces with precise, deliberate motions.
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Tying Down Dorne
Daemon placed two sigils along the narrow snake-like pass cutting through the Red Mountains—the lightning bolt of House Dondarrion and the black-and-white swan of House Swann.
"To secure the Stepstones, we must first pin the Dornishmen in the mountains. Duke Beaumont Baratheon, you will march to the Boneway with the Stormlands host and join Dondarrion and Swann. Raids and feints along the ridge-line will force Houses Wyl and Yronwood to remain entrenched in their mountain watchtowers."
The Boneway—once simply the Stone Way—had earned its grim name from the piles of bones left by centuries of conflict. No other road in Westeros had swallowed so many armies.
Duke Beaumont scoffed.
"Give me dragons and the Stormlands banners, Your Grace, and I shall sweep the Red Mountains bare—take the Boneway, seize Wyl and Yronwood, and burn their lands to ash."
Daemon's expression did not change, though several others exchanged troubled looks. Beaumont's pride had always outweighed his sense.
King Jaehaerys said gently,
"Dorne is not conquered by fire alone. Many Storm Kings died trying. Even Orys Baratheon lost his hand to House Wyl on this very road. A rash assault will only feed the mountains more bones."
Beaumont stepped back, chastened.
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Prince's Pass: Cutting Off the Western Reinforcements
Daemon moved to the opposite side of the map, placing the nightingale of House Caron and the wheat stalk of House Selmy near the Prince's Pass.
"Caron and Selmy will raid the highland valleys near the Prince's Pass, forcing House Fowler and House Manwoody to hold their strength at Kingsgrave. We divide their forces, bleed their attention, and deny them the unity they require."
Viserys nodded. The plan was becoming clear: Dorne wouldn't be crushed—it would be immobilised.
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The Reach Enters the Game
Daemon shifted south across the map. At Horn Hill, he placed the Huntsman of House Tarly, the Flowering Fox of House Florent, the Triple Castles of House Peake, and lastly, the golden rose of House Tyrell.
"Upon returning to Highgarden, Duke Marthos Tyrell will gather his levies and march east. Border raids into the Dornish Marches will stretch the Dornish thin. They will have no choice but to defend their villages, wells, and river-passes."
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The Naval Blockade
Daemon then stepped figuratively across the Summer Sea, placing the grape cluster of House Redwyne and the blazing tower of House Hightower near Starfall.
"Redwyne and Hightower fleets will blockade the mouth of the Torrentine. The Ironborn will seal the Brimstone. Starfall, High Hermitage, and Blackmont will lose their sea trade."
Grand Maester Runciter hesitated.
"But, Prince Daemon, the Dornishmen store food in their caves. They survived Aegon's wrath. Should we not blockade the Greenblood River, where most Dornish towns lie?"
"If we blockade the Greenblood," Daemon replied, "the Triarchy will intervene. The Stepstones will become a battlefield of three kingdoms. Once we hold the Stepstones, the Greenblood can be blockaded at will."
King Jaehaerys smiled faintly.
"A measured hand. Good."
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Phase One: Bloodstone
A smaller map was brought forward—the Stepstones, the nearby Free Cities, and the Disputed Lands.
Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister, pointing its shadow toward Bloodstone.
"Phase one: we strike swiftly. Westeros takes Bloodstone."
Viserys leaned closer. "Why not seize the Isle of Cedars? It lies close to Tyrosh."
Daemon turned the blade toward him.
"Because capturing the Isle of Cedars is an act of war against Tyrosh itself. The Triarchy would retaliate in full. But Bloodstone? Its ownership is contested. They will argue among themselves before they act."
Viserys murmured in agreement.
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The Question of Dragons
King Jaehaerys cleared his throat.
"Dreamfyre, Meleys, Caraxes—these will go to war. And… Silverwing and Vermithor."
The Sea Snake's expression hardened. He knew exactly what this meant. If Silverwing and Vermithor flew with Daemon, the path for Daemon's future children to claim these ancient dragons would be wide open.
Princess Rhaenys frowned.
"Grandfather, surely you do not mean to ride Vermithor yourself? You have not flown in years."
Jaehaerys shook his head.
"No. I only wish Silverwing and Vermithor to lure Vhagar back. She may already be roaming the Stepstones or Disputed Lands."
Corlys spoke coldly.
"And you believe that—because Daemon says it?"
Daemon bristled.
"Vhagar returned to Dragonstone the moment Viserys was named Prince of Dragonstone. All dragons roared in response—Caraxes, Meleys, Vermithor, Silverwing. Vhagar has always been tied by blood to our house."
Runciter lifted a hand.
"But which dragon did she answer? All roared. All responded."
Corlys pressed the point.
"If blood matters, then why not Meleys, who once belonged to Baelon's beloved wife Alysanne? Why send Vermithor and Silverwing at all?"
Tension crackled like wildfire.
Aemma stepped forward softly.
"Your Majesty… Silverwing and Vermithor belong to you and the late Queen Alysanne. They watch over King's Landing and Dragonstone. If they leave now… the people may feel abandoned."
Even Rhaenys nodded reluctantly.
Suddenly, Daemon's plan teetered.
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The Demonstration
Daemon's jaw tightened.
"Then let the dragons choose."
They moved to the base of Dragonmont, where Vermithor and Silverwing rested. Their bronze and silver scales shimmered in the morning light.
Daemon stepped forward, his voice low.
"They will show you."
Vermithor roared first, beating his colossal wings and launching skyward. Silverwing followed, arcs of wind whipping across the ground.
Then fire fell.
A torrent of molten flame scorched the black volcanic earth, burning grooves—lines—symbols.
Daemon staggered, sweat beading his brow. The strain of controlling two ancient dragons nearly tore him apart. Visions swam before him—Aegon the Conqueror smiling, Queen Rhaenys singing, Visenya's cold gaze, Queen Alysanne's sorrowful eyes, Maegor's silent judgment.
The ground steamed. The Sea Snake recoiled in shock.
Carved into the charred rock by dragonfire itself was a single word in Valyrian runes:
VHAGAR
The dragons roared together, shaking the mountain.
The Sea Snake stumbled backward.
"What… what sorcery is this?"
Daemon said nothing.
But the message was clear:
Silverwing and Vermithor were calling for Vhagar. And Vhagar would answer.
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