Divide and Conquer, Chapter 32: Shadows and Sands

First Moon, 123 AD (22 AC)

Aegon

Their passage through the Stepstones had been completely unchallenged. Though the island chain was entirely occupied and controlled by the fleets of Braavos, Pentos, and Tyrosh, none of the three Free Cities had dared to even demand tolls, too fearful of the power of his family’s dragons and the idea it would be turned upon them.

Only recently had Essos been reminded of that power. A scant few months ago, Aegon and his family had orchestrated the destruction of the Faceless Men.

After the defeat of Brandon Snow and his Wolf’s Teeth and with their mastery over their ancestral magic strengthening every year, the last organized magical threat they had foreseen for their family had been the Faceless Men. A cult of sorcerous death fanatics that they had worried might act against their plans for the future of the Free Cities.

Yet all cults had their weaknesses and their slavish obedience to the sacred tenets of their order, the tenets mandating that they unanimously agree on which contracts to accept the minimize the bias and prejudice for who received the gift, had presented an opportunity Aegon and his family could not pass up on.

With the aid of their Eyes, they had created a scenario wherein their agents had put in a request for a hit on some random Pentoshi man and created some story to accompany it. Then when they scryed with their glass candles that all the Faceless Men had gathered in the House of Black and White to discuss the contract, they struck. The House of Black and White had burned, wood incinerating and stone melting as everyone within, pilgrims, acolytes, and assassins alike were all wiped from the face of the earth.

In the months since they had used their glass candles as a precaution, sensing the minds of all those around them as their candles could see through the glamors of the Faceless Men. No Faceless Men had ever appeared to take vengeance however, the order was well and truly dead, and with it the last major threat to Aegon’s family. The shadowbinders, the red priests, the warlocks of Qarth, and all the rest were nuisances at best. Half of their magic was derived from Valyria’s to begin with.

Once they had safeguarded themselves from the threat of the Faceless Men, Aegon and his family had finalized their preparations for the war. Years of hard work had paid off, assembling a total military strength of at least twelve legions, over 150,000 levies, and a fleet of half a thousand warships, a military force strong enough to not just conquer Dorne but to humble and pacify all the Free Cities as well. Two consecutive campaigns, one final War of Conquest before the first great work of Aegon’s life was finally complete and his Iron Throne could at long last be forged.

Forging the Iron Throne would only be the beginning of course, it would be the work of decades more, lifetimes even, before the Empire was truly solidified and made into the realm he envisioned in his dream, but the first of many steps would be complete.

And the final pathway to that first step began right here, in Dorne. Where his other self had experienced his greatest failure, losing Rhaenys and leaving behind a permanent enemy that would trouble his descendants for the next two hundred years.

He would not fail as his other self did. No matter what, Dorne’s days were numbered, and Aegon had spent years, decades even, drafting the strategy that would see its independence ended forever.

Their invasion was in three prongs. Rhaenys, Valaena, and Aenar were marching down the Prince’s Pass with three legions and twenty thousand levies. In the Boneway, Visenya, Aerion, and Daena commanded a similar force. And unbeknownst to Dorne at large, both of their armies would be aided by the Daynes and the Yronwoods, whom Aegon had spent years secretly negotiating with through his Eyes.

The Daynes and the Yronwoods would turn upon their fellow Dornishmen at the last minute, crushing their armies from behind and exposing their hidden hideouts and refuges in the Red Mountains and the deserts, greatly expediting the conquest of Dorne. And all it had cost Aegon was two Wards, the Torrentine for Dayne and Redmarch for Yronwood.

Last of the three prongs, was the army Aegon himself led with Aegor, Rhaena, Aemon, and Elaena. Another three legions and twenty thousand levies carried by a fleet of four hundred warships out of bases in the Stormlands and Riverlands. Their target was the Greenblood, to do as Alyn Oakenfist had done in another time and world and cut the kingdom in half, burning and conquering their way up the river like a knife into the heart of Dorne itself.

And when the Conquest of Dorne was complete and the desert kingdom pacified, all of their armies and ships would be in the perfect position to strike into the Stepstones and then into the Free Cities. But that was for later.

First, Aegon thought as his fleet passed by Sunspear, there was a score to settle.

It was unlikely that they would be killing anyone of course. Their Eyes had reported and their glass candles had verified that the Martells had utterly deserted Sunspear and fled into hiding in some desert holes like the rats they were, just like they had in that other world. But this time, Aegon would not let Sunspear stand for whatever incomprehensible reasons his alternate self had.

The Martells had already fled the castle and dispersed into the countryside as they had hoped to prevent the other royals from doing so in the previous conquests so nothing stopped them from obliterating the castle in that regard. In addition, the castle’s position was nowhere near as strategic and valuable as some of the other former royal capitals were.

Even Winterfell had been strategically located, so much so that Aegon had reluctantly had the castle rebuilt with the same name in the Valyrian style, but Sunspear had no such value. It would be utterly destroyed and its blasted ruins would forever after serve as an example of the power of the dragons, just as the melted ruins of the Hightower did in Oldtown and Harrenhal had in another world.

Strategic necessities had prevented them from making any proper long-term example out of any of the North’s castles but at least they could satisfy their rage and hatred for at least one of their enemies. Though Brandon Snow and his skinchangers would forever be Aegon and his family’s most hated foe, Dorne and the Martells had been the foe they had hated the longest and ever since the children had all been told of the other world and its history, they too had developed that hatred.

Astride Balerion, Aegon urged his dragon away from where the fleet was sailing past the deserted fortress and his children followed his lead. As one they descended upon the castle, and the power and flames of Balerion, Aegarax, Quicksilver, Telarion, and Dreamfyre all combined.

Sunspear swirled with black, green, gold-red, and blue. The flames melted through the Winding Walls, they consumed the shadow city and all the bazaars, alleys, and labyrinths in the mazes within the walls. And finally, the Sandship itself and the great towers of Sunspear were obliterated, melting and twisting as they crumbled, like wax dripping down a candle. All the while, the fleet, and all the sailors and soldiers within watched with awe from the nearby coast.

For hours, they burned and burned, unleashing the full fury of their dragons’ flames upon the fortress of House Martell. Intent on leaving no hope at all that the castle could ever be rebuilt, they reduced every single structure within it to rubble with their dragons. Hemp, straw, and wood all burned like kindling, stone and metal melted, twisted, and crumbled until Sunspear was completely unrecognizable.

When the work was finally done and their rage sated, Aegon thought to himself that this was only the beginning. Everything that his family, his house had endured because of Dorne in another world would be avenged in this one.

Sunspear was close enough to the Planky Town that they could reach the latter by nightfall despite the delay they had taken to destroy the former. When their fleet finally arrived at Dorne’s largest settlement however, instead of finding it deserted or hostile to them, they found it populated and welcoming.

It was perhaps the greatest irony of this whole conquest and his finest triumph over the hated Martells. For due to their own misdeeds, for the centuries of persecution and oppression of their own people that Nymor Martell had intensified out of his own misplaced pride, the last true Rhoynar in the world had willingly chosen to serve the heirs of Valyria over the heirs of Nymeria.

Water magic was dead and gone, the Martells’ desperate rampages had all been for naught and Aegon was glad for it as it would have posed a threat to his family’s dragons and that could have complicated this alliance. Without it however, he had had no qualms at all in allying with the Orphans of the Greenblood.

The Eyes had done the negotiating of course, not that they had been very difficult. All it had taken to win them to his side was some promises that their religion and their right to practice their own customs and speak their own language would be honored. Promises Aegon had been glad to make and had even been able to prove, pointing to the long history of diverse peoples, cultures, and customs within his realm.

The only things he had asked in return was for their fealty and their aid against the Martells and their loyalists, and such was their grudge against them that they agreed to those conditions gladly.

All the non-Orphan inhabitants of the Planky Town had either fled or been dispersed and the Orphans housed and feasted them in the town that night. In the following days, the Orphans would continue supporting them with information, guides, and supplies as their army and fleet moved up the Greenblood to conquer all of Eastern Dorne.

Unlike the Martells, Aegon fully intended on honoring his promises. There was little harm at all in letting such a small group of people keep their unique customs and language within his Empire and the Planky Town would make a fine city with a new charter and new stone buildings to accompany or even replace the poleboats and lashed-together ship-houses that currently made up the town.

His chosen Warden for the region, House Pendaerys, would rule from the stone citadel the Martells had built on the shore nearby to guard the settlement instead of the destroyed Sunspear and he had impressed upon Pendaerys the importance of honoring the agreement with the Orphans.

Though the Orphans had been nervous at the idea of being ruled by some Lyseni lord, Aegon had promised them that they would always be able to petition him directly should they be treated unjustly while the Lyseni House Pendaerys had their own interests in ensuring the Orphans did not grow too mighty and their Rhoynar culture did not become a breeding ground for regional separatism. A dynamic that would ensure both the Orphans and the Pendaerys were kept in line and remained loyal and peaceable.

Just the way Aegon liked it. Divide, conquer, and rule.

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The Sword of the Morning

As he watched Queen Rhaenys methodically root out the Blackmonts, Fowlers, and Manwoodys from their castles and hidden refuges in the Red Mountains, Joffrey knew he had made the right decision.

He held no grudge against the Targaryens. Even during the wars between the Faith and the Targaryens, Joffrey had been among those Dornish that had taken advantage of the chaos to raid the Reach instead of their more pious peers who had sent aid and men to the support of the Faith Militant. In a way, he had almost been the Targaryens’ ally

So, when their spies had begun feeling him out about switching sides and joining them when they inevitably invaded Dorne, it hadn’t taken much to convince him. He had seen just how powerful the Targaryens had become with their magic, how their dragons grew and their legions swelled each year, how every single kingdom that had dared to stand against them had been utterly broken and crushed underfoot.

And the Martells had thought that they would be the exception when all others had failed? Hah. Joffrey knew a lost cause when he saw one. He had almost jumped at the opportunity to be on the winning side. To not only keep his existing lands and titles but have them more than doubled as well, just as the Reynes’ had been.

For treason against House Martell, Joffrey had been promised all the lands of the Torrentine river valley that his house had long coveted and competed with the Blackmonts over. Now House Blackmont was torn down and destroyed, the survivors exiled to the silent sisters or Hardhome. And House Dayne’s banner flew over every inch of the valley as Wardens of the Torrentine.

It had been easy, almost too easy. In truth, Joffrey was uncertain of how much the Targaryens had even needed him and the information and soldiers had provided. Queen Rhaenys and her army had an almost uncanny intuition on where all the hideouts of their enemies were and many a Dornishman burned to death in their cave thinking they were safe as the campaign progressed. He shuddered, thinking on just how easily that could have been him and his family.

As his thoughts dwelt on his family, his mind naturally turned to his children, Clarisse and Addam, and their future under Targaryen rule.

The Red Mountains were traditionally the most Andal and First Men in blood and custom but even here the influence of the Rhoynar could be felt and House Dayne was descended from Nymeria herself through her third husband, Ser Davos Dayne. It had never been a question to Joffrey on whether or not his daughter should succeed him instead of his son since she was the elder… until now.

With the Targaryen conquest of Dorne, the traditional predominance of Rhoynar customs was being called into question. The Targaryens had given all the Dornish who had joined them the choice to choose for themselves once and for all what custom they would follow for succession.

The Yronwoods had immediately chosen male preference, the ways of the Andals, First Men, and Valyrians, as they were wont to do, while the Orphans of the Greenblood had of course chosen the Rhoynar customs. Joffrey was uncertain what to choose for House Dayne, however.

Both of his children were still very young, barely out of the cradle, and it was hard to determine who would be the better heir at that age. Joffrey wouldn’t lie that because of his family’s history and descent from Nymeria, he had long been accustomed to thinking of Clarisse as his heir and had been raising her as such but she was all of four and it was hardly too late to make a change.

The thought of raising his son Addam to succeed him not just as the Sword of the Morning but also as the Lord of Starfall was very tempting as well. Especially as he wondered how well Clarisse and other future ladies of their house would do ruling in their own right instead of their younger brothers when none of their neighbors would be following that custom anymore. Not to mention, House Dayne, despite its descent from Nymeria, was very much of the Red Mountains and thus raised in the culture and traditions of the Andals and First Men.

Perhaps it would be better for House Dayne’s internal stability and their future within the Targaryen realm for them to adapt to the times. Just as they had adapted to the coming of Nymeria and the Rhoynar. Now they would adapt to the rule of the Targaryens and their Valyrian nobility.

His family’s mysterious tendency to have purple eyes and at times even silver hair would also hopefully help them fit well into the new ruling class of Westeros and regardless of which succession custom he chose, Joffrey intended to arrange matches with Valyrian Warden families favored by the Targaryens for both of his children and any younger siblings they might have.

It was his hope that if his grandchildren looked more Valyrian and practiced more of the culture of that people, they would be shown favor and allowed to keep their status. It was the same thing House Dayne had done when they had been sworn to the Martells, currying favor by adopting Rhoynar customs and marrying into Rhoynar houses.

No matter what, Joffrey would ensure that House Dayne thrived in the new order that the Targaryens were building, just as the Reynes were.

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Daena Targaryen

Daena returned to her chambers inside Castle Wyl, tired and aching, yet unable to stop herself from smiling. Today had been a good day after all, a very good day.

After so many weeks of hunting and searching, they had finally hunted the Widow-lover, the Wyl of Wyl, and his eldest son Walter. The information the Yronwoods had provided had been invaluable and their Eyes and glass candles had been able to narrow it down even further to hidden refuges and caves in the Red Mountains and the Boneway.

Even better, they had been able to capture the Wyls alive instead of simply burning them in their caves. And that had made it even more satisfying.

She, Aerion, and their mother, had personally watched and taken part in the brutal but very much deserved execution of the Widow-lover and his son. For all the crimes that House Wyl had done in another world and time as perhaps the very worst of Dorne, crimes they had tried to replicate in this world as well, they had given them a death most excruciating. They’d used their swords and personally castrated both men before having them slowly flayed and then torn apart by horses.

Personally, as she thought of what Dorne had done to her aunt in another world, of how Wyl of Wyl had maimed her uncle Orys and raped a bride and her handmaids at a wedding before selling them into slavery, Daena thought the Wyls’ deaths hadn’t been brutal enough.

Alas her mother had ordered it be done quick enough to finish in a day, not wanting them distracted from their mission for any longer.

They were better than these animals, her mother had reminded her with a gentle rebuke when she had protested. Able to rise above their base desires and depravity to fulfill greater purposes instead of squandering it all for simple cruelty and revenge.

At times like this, Daena wished that she had been assigned with Aenar for this campaign. She missed him and their children that they had left behind in Summerhall so very much.

Aenar never failed to make things better. Even when she returned to him exhausted and filthy after a long day in the training yard, something that always filled her with guilt because she knew how much he hated it ever since the rats had swarmed him on that day, he never hesitated to embrace her. He always knew how to calm her down with a song or a kiss and when she had Daenora and Viserys in her arms, Daena’s mind would always dwell on them and peace instead of thoughts of darkness, violence, and revenge.

She looked down at her hands, at the marks that had never healed no matter how much they had tried. For the longest time her parents had feared she might even be crippled yet she had been too strong-willed for that, and she had fought to strengthen her fingers enough to still hold a sword and shoot a bow, and when they had found the vault of Maegon, her hands had been restored to full function.

Yet the scars remained. A permanent reminder of a terrible betrayal. Her childhood pet, the dog she had raised since it had been a pup had turned on her and tried to kill her. It had savagely attacked her, almost biting through her fingers entirely as she had desperately protected her face and throat from the canine before the Dragonguard had finally saved her.

Though she knew it hadn’t truly been the dog’s fault, the experience had scarred her for life, in ways both seen and unseen. She had never had another pet, and the only animal she was truly comfortable with these days was Vermithor. Even when she had to ride horses, she always felt uncomfortable and paranoid somewhere deep down.

It was the same for all of them really. Their childhood had ended that day and all of her siblings had adapted to that in different ways.

Aerion, Valaena, Aegor, and Rhaena had become colder, harsher, and more brutal. Aemon had dedicated himself to becoming the chivalrous and heroic knight he’d wished had saved him that night. Elaena weaved her webs of intrigue through the court, collecting information and manipulating courtiers with a smile and an extravagant dress to make sure she was never threatened again, and Aenar wrote songs to escape from the memories, to pretend like he could still feel safe, still feel clean as the feeling of vermin all over his skin still haunted him.

Daena had adapted as well. She’d thrown herself into the yard, mastering the bow and the sword. She had always been interested in them, having idolized her mother from a young age, yet after what had happened on that day, it hadn’t been admiration but survival driving her.

She had sworn to herself that she’d never let herself be caught off-guard like that again. Never let herself be so defenseless and weak. In the end, her efforts had been rewarded. Though she was not nearly as strong as any of her brothers, her prowess with weapons matched all of theirs and with magic she could often make up for the physical disadvantage.

Daena’s skills had been recognized by her parents as well, and on her sixteenth nameday, they had gifted her most treasured possessions to her. Lady Forlorn, the Valyrian steel sword that had once belonged to House Corbray, and a fine dragonbone longbow.

In all honesty, the gifts weren’t unique. Aerion wielded Orphan-Maker, Aegor Heartsbane, Aenar Lamentation, and Aemon Vigilance, the former ancestral Valyrian steel swords of Houses Roxton, Tarly, Royce, and Hightower respectively. Her sisters were not nearly as skilled with or passionate about swords and so had been gifted Valyrian steel daggers for their self-defense and all of them including their brothers and Daena had jewelry made out of the magical metal and dragonbone.

The Dragonguard and the Rangers used dragonbone as well. Longbows, hilts, and handles for the former and composite recurve bows made out of unicorn horns and dragonbone for the most distinguished of the latter. Prestigious and powerful symbols bestowed upon them in recognition of their loyal service and closeness to House Targaryen.

Daena treasured her gifts no less despite the lack of uniquity, however. What other daughter could boast of such priceless possessions? The fact that her siblings and their most loyal servants possessed items made from the same materials did not lessen but rather enhanced the value of the gift as a reminder of how wealthy and powerful her family was and her place within it.

She held them both in her hands once she had bathed and settled down for the night. Sitting on her bed, she ran her fingers down the spine of her bow, feeling the metallic iron-black texture beneath her skin. Setting the bow aside, she wrapped her hand tightly about the handle of Lady Forlorn, admiring the smoky grey ripples of the Valyrian steel blade and the heart-shaped ruby in its pommel as she brought it up to eye level. Finding comfort and enjoyment in how easily her arms moved the blade about despite her tiredness, like an extension of her own body.

It was a ritual she practiced sometimes, whenever she needed to remind herself that she wasn’t that defenseless little girl anymore. That she was strong now, talented, skilled. A fearsome dragonriding warrior princess with deadly weapons and magic. Always ready for a fight, to protect herself and her family at any moment.

Not since the day Brandon Snow and his skinchangers had been vanquished for good had any enemy or would-be assassin ever come close to even threatening Daena or any of her family members. Yet still she maintained the habit, finding comfort and calm in the routine.

She had been about to go to bed when a sudden gust of wind blew in through the window, snuffing out some of the candles she had lit for light. It was cold all of a sudden, far colder than it should be this far south. And Daena could have sworn she saw something move in the shadows.

In an instant, she acted, slicing Lady Forlorn across her palm to draw blood before she spun around in a fluid movement honed by years of training and experience. And not a moment too soon as the Valyrian steel sword clashed into a dark shadowy blade mere inches away from where her throat had been but a few seconds prior.

Willing her blood to ignite, a stream of brilliant red flames soon lit up Lady Forlorn and Daena slashed the fiery blade straight through the shadow, dissipating it in an instant.

‘A shadow child?’ she thought to herself. The rumors of the Martells’ pet shadowbinder had been true it would seem. They would pay dearly for this foolishness, she thought, the audacity of the assassination attempt outraging her.

There should have been little chance of the shadows posing any true threat to her family, well versed in magic and experienced from the battles against the skinchangers as they were. Daena wasn’t even half the magical scholar her sister Rhaena was but she could already deconstruct how the spell worked and how to easily set up wards that would counter it in the future.

Even fools could get lucky sometimes however, and Daena feared the worst, her mind flashing back to another dark day long ago. She immediately ran out of the room, intent on finding her mother and brother and making sure they were safe.

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Author’s Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! At long last, we have another Harrenhal-style example to go with the Hightower, and it’s none other than Sunspear!

Joffrey and Clarisse Dayne are actually canon characters btw. Hope you guys liked them being included!

And it seems that Chekov’s Melony/Melisandre has finally fired. It seems the Targaryens are quite prepared for her shadowbinding on a magical level however? Let’s see how the shadowbinder from Asshai faces off against the Last of the Forty Families!

Please me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below, back on Patreon, or over on Discord! If you comment here, remember to toggle the notification bell so you get notified when I reply!