Daenerys Targaryen
As they neared Volantis, the fleet was caught in a storm. Their ships were badly battered. Worst hit of all were the Dothraki, unaccustomed to the sea and such savage weather. Nearly a thousand of them perished.
In Volantis, they were forced to linger — the leaking ships needed repairs, and the men needed time to recover themselves. Oberyn Martell did not bother hiding his displeasure. The delay gave their enemies time to prepare.
"The enemy does not know the true size of our host," Daenerys remarked as she and Oberyn stood upon the stone quay. Numerous guards surrounded them, shielding them from the unwanted attention of idlers and the common folk. Behind them stretched the Long Bridge — a colossal structure spanning the Rhoyne, one of the greatest rivers in the world. "Or do they?"
"Once, Westeros had but a single master of whisperers. Not long ago, the king established a service of his own. So he knows all he needs to know. I suspect they have already settled upon their chief strategy — what to expect from us, and how best to answer it," Oberyn replied reluctantly. A furrow creased his brow.
***
Sunspear greeted her with blistering heat and the joyful cries of those who had gathered to welcome her.
Doran Martell had overcome his affliction well enough to attend in person. He sat amidst the brightly clad crowd in a wheeled chair, surrounded by several bodyguards while servants tirelessly fanned him with great feathered fans.
Unlike his younger brother, the man did not give the impression of a dangerous warrior or a ruthless foe. Yet Daenerys swiftly discovered that his mind was even sharper and more measured.
For three weeks she recovered her strength while acquainting herself with the most noble and respected houses of Dorne. She was introduced to the Yronwoods, the Fowlers, the Manwoodys, the Qorgyles, and many others.
Each evening there was a feast, and every lord considered it his duty to present her with some gift — books and jewels, exotic beasts and birds, gowns and curious trinkets. All of them sought to purchase her favor and attention.
Then, during one of the councils, the Martells insisted that she and her dragons strike at the Red Keep and attempt to behead all their enemies in a single blow.
Daenerys disliked the plan. She did not wish to risk her dragons or expose the smallfolk to such danger.
The Martells, however, knew how to be persistent and persuasive. The war promised to be no simple matter. To refuse such an opportunity would be folly.
By Doran's command, a small model of the Red Keep had been specially crafted for her. She spent long hours memorizing its layout and determining which structures must be attacked first.
The main host marched toward the Boneway, whilst she mounted Drogon and flew north. She made her first halt at Wyl, where she fed her dragons and allowed herself a brief rest.
She departed the castle at dusk and flew north through part of the night, guiding herself by the stars. Deep in the darkness, she spotted a low hill and gave her dragons leave to rest.
In the blackness of the night, she nearly overshot the Red Keep entirely and lost another hour circling back in search of it. Blackwater Bay served as her guide.
And then she unleashed her children.
It was magnificent — Daenerys felt herself an ancient queen, mighty and unconquerable. The dragons roared and bathed the castle in flame. And though she pitied the common guardsmen somewhat, and even the castle itself, she delighted in the panic that seized her enemies below. Down there, Baratheons and Lannisters screamed and burned alive — all those who had robbed her father of his life and crown.
Yet her triumph did not last long. Surely the gods themselves must have guided the bolt that struck Rhaegal. The dragon cried out in agony and plummeted somewhere into the city below.
Horror seized her. At that very moment, she realized she might lose one of her dragons. Her children went mad with fury, and so did she. A crimson veil descended over her eyes, and only a single thought remained in her mind: Rhaegal could still be saved! Her dragons were the most precious things in all the world to her.
She forgot everything — the danger, the deaths of innocents, what would come after, and what men would say of her. Rhaegal had to be saved — the greatest wonder in the world could not be allowed to perish.
Daenerys tore through the city like a storm of fire and blood. Time and again, Drogon burned the great scorpions the enemy dragged toward the wounded dragon.
By that morning, she reeked utterly of ash, smoke, fire, and death…
She did not save Rhaegal.
Slowly, the frenzy of battle faded. The girl came back to herself and realized with horror what she had done.
The city — her city — was burning!
Not a soul remained untouched by the destruction. Not one man or woman remained who did not curse the name of Targaryen.
Cursing and hating the Martells, she nevertheless returned to them — for she had nowhere else to go. Though grieved by the loss of one dragon, the Martells immediately proposed the next stage of their design. Yes, they had taken her neatly in hand. Daenerys could feel how subtly and skillfully they manipulated her…
There was no turning back now.
The dice had been cast, yet victory still lay far away. And now, if she wished to continue the game and somehow win it, the stakes would have to be raised ever higher.
The host marched forth from Dorne into the Reach, setting castles aflame and seizing lands as it advanced. The Martells had no intention of marching upon King's Landing itself. Their strategy, they claimed, was to lure Joffrey out of the capital.
And it bore fruit.
The enemy could not remain cowering behind their impregnable castles and rode forth to meet them. Then came the Battle of Cloverfield.
(End of Chapter)
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