Land of the King

Chapter 58: At War's End

The Sea of Myrth was calm and peaceful as they approached Myr. As they did so, Ciryaher whispered a small prayer that they would be able to take the city once more for Arnor, and maybe with any luck keep it this time around.

However, before they could that, they had to first reach the city, and finish crossing the Sea of Myrth, which Ciryaher knew was by far the most dangerous part of their plan. The first three days after departing Pentos had not been an issue, as they sailed through the Narrow Sea. However, that part was now behind them, and they were going through the riskiest and most dangerous part of the plan.

To reach the city of Myr, the fleet had to sneak by Tyrosh and the Stepstones, and hope no patrolling Valyrians caught them. He knew what would happen if they did, and for that reason, Ciryaher had ordered the fleet to be on standby at all times, with men manning the anti-dragon weaponry at all times, the water mages watching the skies, and the skinchangers scouting out their surroundings. If any dragons came close, Ciryaher was determined to shoot it down. He could not allow this chance to pass. The dragons stationed in Myr had all sallied forth to hunt down their raiding parties. The window of opportunity was narrow and closing but it was there and Ciryaher would be damned if he let it slip through his fingers.

"Dragon to the south!" one of the spotters declared, and sure enough a dragon was flying a few hundred yards to the south of their armada.

"Damn it, how the hell did it get so close without us noticing!?" Lieutenant Darklyn exclaimed in annoyance.

"It doesn't matter, shoot it down!" Ciryaher ordered.

It seemed that the dragonlord had not expected to find a hostile fleet so close to Tyrosh because their attacks took them by surprise. In a quick volley, the dragon dodged almost every missile the Arnorians shot at it. Before it could turn to flee however, a massive array of watery whips rose from the sea to latch onto its body. As the dragon bellowed a flame to free itself, a second volley cut through its wings and rider before the water mages dragged the dragon down to its death.

As the dragon crashed into the sea, Ciryaher let out a breath he didn't even realise he was holding. That was a close call. If the rider had reacted just a little quicker, the dragon could have ferried them both back to report to Tyrosh and their fleet would be sitting ducks. Sure they would have alleviated the Stepstones, but that would be small comfort to him if he and the rest of the fleet were ashes at the bottom of the sea.

The rest of their journey was less exciting. With their skinchangers working even harder to prevent another incident from occurring, the fleet was able to sneak by Tyrosh and when Myr was sighted a day later, Ciryaher let out a sigh of relief. Next to him, Lieutenant Darklyn's face was one of disbelief, as if he couldn't believe his plan had actually worked.

As they neared Myr the skinchangers reported back to the fleet. No dragons seen in the city. The sailors and soldiers all cheered, believing their victory was now all but assured. Ciryaher was not as optimistic but not even he could resist the smile that broke out on his usually grim face.

"Well done Lieutenant. Your predictions were correct," Ciryaher congratulated the stunned Lieutenant.

"T-Thank you, Your Highness. I do believe however, that we should leave the celebrations for after we take Myr. We mustn't count our chickens before they hatch after all."

Ciryaher smirked, "You're right." Turning around, he addressed the men of their ship and those in the rest of the fleet that could hear him.

"Myr lies open for us! There may be no dragons but that does not mean the battle will be an easy one. But who are we men!?"

"ARNORIANS!" they all responded in a great shout.

"That's right! We are Arnorian! Dúnedain! We are the sons of Elendil! And the sons of Elendil do not shy from a fight against the Myrish of all people! Go and bring this war to an end! Bring glory and victory to your homeland!" Ciryaher shouted to the cheers of the men who began chanting and shouting their allegiance, 'Arnor! Arnor!' they shouted.

It had been a long time since Ciryaher had truly believed in what he had said. A part of him suspected the men believed even less, and were just putting on a good show. Yet if they won here, if they took Myr, it would in all likelihood end the end of this blasted war, and there wasn't anything more Ciryaher wanted. Or dreaded. For as much as he wanted the war to end, he couldn't help but dread what he'd return too. Would people consider him a butcher? Or worse, a hero? He didn't know, so he instead he focused on the task on hand.

Soon their fleet arrayed itself in a battle formation outside of the docks and the seaside of Myr. Inside the city he could see the surprise had been near total, the Valyrian armies and the Myrish city guard were quickly mobilizing towards the seashore. The Valyrian armies, Ciryaher could see, were much faster and better prepared. While still not at the level of their Arnorian counterparts, the war had taught the Valyrians much, and their once ragtag conscripted armies had become an experienced and skilled fighting force.

It wouldn't be enough however. As they closed the distance, the onagers and catapults aboard their ships begun to open fire, targeting the city, the docks, the concentration of troops and above all else, the seaside fortifications.

In reply, several Myrish catapults begun to loose as well, however, as soon as they did, the Arnori scorpions opened fire towards them. In just a few minutes the scorpions had done their job, and all the Myrish artillery was silenced, leaving theirs to do as it pleased. For almost half an hour, they pounded the Myrish shore, disorganizing the defenders even more.

Finally, Ciryaher gave the orders to move on to the next stage, and at once, the transports carrying the footmen and the archers begun to move towards the shore as well. Ships were not by far the best platform for archers, quite the contrary, however even so an Arnori archer on a ship beat any other kind of archers, save perhaps those with goldenheart and dragonbone bows, none of them however were in use here.

And so, as their archers were the first to get in range, they unleashed volley upon volley of arrows upon the enemy. First to fall were the enemy archers, many falling before they even had a chance to loose any arrows back at them. It wasn't long until most enemy archers were dead, at which point the footmen transports moved in.

It was there that the bloodiest fighting would occur, he knew. And true enough, as his troops landed, the Valyrian soldiers threw themselves in a fierce melee, determined to not give a foothold. Behind them, came the more reluctant Myrishmen, who nevertheless also joined the melee. However, while the Valyrians were experienced, they still weren't evenly matched with their forces, and with the archers still reigning arrows from their boats, it was only ever going to end one way.

Slowly but surely, the infantry men pushed from the shore making their way to the harbour. It was at that moment, once enough space had been cleared, that Ciryaher gave the order for the knights to land. Carrying horses on ships was no easy feat, but he knew it was about to pay off, as soon the ships landed on the beachheads, and the knights came down. There weren't many of them, only a few hundred, but they would be enough. As the war had raged on, Valyria had adapted to many of their strategies and tactics, however one thing they had never truly learnt to deal with was their heavy cavalry, other than with dragons. Ciryaher hoped they never did learn how to deal with them as the knights assembled on the beachhead.

Suddenly, at the sound of the horn, their infantry created gaps in their lines, and the cavalry charged through. It was a storm of steel that smashed head on into the weary Valyrian lines. The effect was instantaneous. As the iron thunder of the charge was brought down upon their forces, the Myrish broke in an instant. And as the cavalry smashed through their lines, and with all their support gone, it was only a matter of time before the Valyrians broke as well.

What followed then was just a one-sided slaughter, as the few remaining hold outs were systematically killed off. So sudden was their victory that the Valyrians didn't even manage to retreat inside the inner walls, with their cavalry managing to make it before the Valyrians closed the gates.

And so, their victory was complete, and, much like Pentos had been two years ago, and Myr itself had almost been as well, the city was theirs. Ciryaher could only hope this time it would remain that way.

"Why are we withdrawing!?" Aelyx demanded. They could smell the victory in the Stepstones, what volcanic fumes had the Senate inhaled to make them order them to pull back now of all times?

"Our plan failed, or rather it worked too well. The Arnorians pushed toward Myr as we expected and our dragons there were deployed to hunt them down and destroy them. However, in secret, an Arnorian armada sailed down the Narrow Sea and right into Myr. After a brief fight with the garrison, the Arnorians seized the city with minimal resistance from the civilian populace," Viserys reported.

Aelyx slammed his fist on the desk, "Balerion damn it! Myr has been rebellious ever since… well since forever hasn't it? And the Arnorians exploited that to take the city with little resistance. That doesn't explain it all however. Why was Myr not garrisoned? Not all the dragons would have been needed to hunt down and destroy the Arnorian forces. And how in Vhagar's name did the Arnorian fleet sneak past Tyrosh right under our noses?"

"In hindsight, we should have seen the signs. The Arnorians did not send their land forces as one contiguous army, but rather split it up into a series of raiding parties that started burning and raiding all the farms outside of Myr, threatening our logistics again.

I made the decision to send all the Myrish dragons out to hunt them down, so that the rest of us here could focus on bringing the Stepstones to heel. It was my mistake, and because I didn't see the chance of them daring to send a fleet right under our noses, I neglected to properly set patrols. That was my mistake. The Arnorians exploited it to take Myr and the Senate is now suing for peace."

Viserys put his face in his hands, "I lost us the war Aelyx." His voice was full of pain and regret, and all the willpower that had so driven them all, seemed to be gone. Their greatest of generals, the iron force behind their campaign, he saw, was brought low, by his failures, but above all else, by the Senate.

Aelys's rage had flown through him, but now it was no longer directed at his brother in law. He would not hold his friend's mistakes against him. Aelyx had also been the supreme commander at one time, he knew full well how a single mistake could cost you everything. He was not angry at his friend anymore. No, his anger was redirected at someone else.

"It's not your fault," He said sombrely, but firmly. "Yes, Myr was your mistake, but it was not fatal. It would have been a simple matter to relocate some dragons to take back Myr, or intensify our assault on the Stepstones and take them to get ourselves a better position at the negotiating table. The Senate refused to see those possibilities and like cowards they threw away all our sacrifices and sued for peace," he said, comforting his old friend. "Valyrian heroism is sinking into ignominy, all became of those worms. The arrogance of power has corroded their judgement," he finished.

As he said that, he hid his own feelings towards the war from his friend, knowing that it would only make Viserys feel worse if he spoke of what had happened with Jaenara.

After so many battles, Aelyx had finally pinned Jaenara down in a battle she couldn't run from, and with a strength he hadn't known he had possessed, he had severed his attachment to his beloved sister and killed her and her dragon. It had torn him apart, to reject her as she pleaded for mercy. He had hardened his heart and watched her fall to her death.

It had hurt, so, so much. Yet Aelyx had done it regardless, believing that his sacrifice would have helped Valyria win the war and now… it had all been for nothing?

Aelyx searched for someone to blame. It hadn't been his fault he thought to himself. The Arnorians had started the war, the Senate had sent them out there without the proper support or planning. It was the Arnorians and the Senate who were responsible for everything. The Arnorians had started the war and had killed his wife, his family, and his friends.

Yet it had been the Senate who had been incapable of leading them, too riddled with corruption, gridlock, inefficiency, and cowardice. Too weak. It wasn't Aelyx or Viserys who had lost Valyria the war, it had been the Senate, the moment they had decided to spit on all of their sacrifices and accept defeat when they had been on the brink of victory. And as his heart burned with rage, Aelyx swore a vow to himself. The Senate would pay for betraying Valyria.

"It was the Senate that stabbed us in the back, Viserys, not you, and it is them that deserve the wrath of the dragons."

"She looks like she's at peace," the healer said, "I wonder what sweet dream she's having?"

"It might just be because you're healing her. I'm sure it feels good," Túrin replied, his face grim.

It had been ten days since he had watched Jaenara plummet out of the sky. Her brother and his dragon had torn Terrax apart and Jaenara had slipped off in the chaos, falling to her doom in the sea below.

Though they had been in the middle of fending against the other dragons, Túrin had begged the water mages to save Jaenara when he had seen her falling. They had acted too late however. The water spout had not risen high enough to break her fall and it had only caught her when she had almost hit the surface. The distance from the island and the ongoing battle had made it too difficult to retrieve her and Túrin had thought that she was surely dead.

Nevertheless. he had been determined to give her a proper burial. After several hours, the dragons had been beaten back by the arrival of reinforcements and Túrin had gone to find her body. It turned out that the reinforcements had picked her up, still alive by some miracle, latched onto a piece of Terrax's wings that had been floating in the water. Even in death, the loyal old dragon had saved its master.

In their grapple, Terrax and the other dragon had plummeted from the great heights they had previously been fighting at and Jaenara had only fallen about a hundred feet. A great height by any metric but one that was not unheard of for people to survive. The water spout that the mages had raised had also played a part no doubt.

Yet though she had survived, she had not escaped unscathed. Her ribs had fractured. Blood vessels had ruptured and bones had broken all over her body. Words could not describe just how lucky she was to be alive. It was a miracle her injuries hadn't paralysed her.

Túrin knew, that if there was any place where she might heal, it was in Arnor, with the finest healers in the world, and best magical and non-magical means of healing. He had given express importance to her healing, and none had dared question that order. And yet, she still hadn't woken up.

The healer continued her work, weaving the water like an extension of her own body as it wrapped around Jaenara and healed her body, giving it the strength and energy needed to speed up its own natural healing process. When he had been a child, Túrin had been interested in water magic and had studied it. Though he had never studied enough to be as capable as this healer and there was always some natural talent and affinity needed to be truly adept at the art, he knew the basics well enough.

Water was the element of life. Every single living thing in the world, from the smallest and most insignificant little weed and rodent to the most massive and mightiest trees, whales, or dragons, all needed water. Water represented life and those with the affinity could use it to restore and destroy life.

Water magic being connected with life had some correlation to the gender of its practitioners. Female water mages, water witches, were far more common and usually more powerful than their male counterparts. This had long been believed to be due to women being able to bear life as the carriers and bearers of the next generation. They were naturally more attuned and adept at water magic though a hardworking enough male might become a capable wizard. It was why the Rhoynar had given equal rights to women, something that Arnor had yet to truly adopt even now, with thousands of water mages.

All things came at a cost however, and the ability to heal, or raise great spouts of water to drown your enemies was no exception. Like any other magic, if used sparingly, water magic would tire and eventually exhaust the user, akin to the way one might feel tired after a long day of strenuous physical activity. If overused however, the very life force of the mage could deplete, sapping their fertility and lifespan. It was one of the reasons that the Valyrians had turned to slavery and blood rituals to make their magic more powerful without negatively affecting them. The Dúnedain were able to work around these limitations somewhat due to their inherently magical nature and longevity, but they still applied. Magic came at a price, and nothing and no one could escape that. And sometimes, there were some things magic could not do. Some wounds it could not heal and some enemies it could not defeat.

"Your Highness, I am sorry. My fellow healers and I have done all we could. Her body is recovering, the internal bleeding has stopped and her bones are beginning to mend. Perhaps, with our magic speeding up the process, her body could be fully healed in a few months' time. That all means nothing however if she does not wake," the healer, Lidriel reported to him.

"Is there truly nothing more you can do for her?" Túrin asked, desperate?

"I am truly sorry but there is nothing. We have healed her body but what ails her now is not a sickness nor injury of the body, but rather of the mind, of the spirit. There is naught we can do for her. We have helped her as much as we can. It is up to her if she wishes to live or not," the healer said as she took her leave.

Túrin turned to Jaenara, lying peaceful but still on the bed. Her slight breaths were the only indicator that her heart still beat, that vitality and life had not yet left her.

"Please wake up Jaenara. I… I love you," Túrin whispered hesitantly to the sleeping woman.

When had it happened he wondered? He had known Jaenara for all of nine years, a short time to the long-lived Dúnedain. She had been an annoying companion in Sothoryos, one they had all thought to be a spy sent to watch them. By the end of the expedition, she had become one of them. A member of the crew and a trusted friend and ally, so much so that Túrin had asked her to come back with them to Arnor.

She had refused then, and they had returned without her. Yet for the five years he did not see her, she had never left his mind. He had always wondered what could have been if she had chosen to join them, if she had chosen him.

Then came the war. She had taken part in the Battle of Tyrosh as was her duty as a Valyrian dragonlord. When Aelyx and his fellow dragonlords had killed the prisoners, it had been only Jaenara who had objected, only Jaenara who had refused to participate in such unjust and wanton slughter. It had been Jaenara who had saved him. When he had been certain he was about to die, alone in that cell, abandoned by his own father and brothers, it had been Jaenara who had become his light in the darkness, freeing him from his doom and giving his life back to him. She had turned her back on her nation, her family, and her friends, turned her back on everything she had ever known for him.

Perhaps it hadn't been one moment in particular that Túrin had fallen. Perhaps it had come, little by little, as they saved each other and bonded in friendship. As they fought alongside each other, first in Sothoryos and then in the Stepstones. As they became each other's confidant. Perhaps it had been there, growing in his heart all the while, yet he hadn't truly realised how much she meant to him until he had almost lost her.

His namesake had lost his love because of his own foolish mistakes, never realising just how much he had loved her until he had lost her. Túrin did not want the same fate, he refused to accept it.

"I love you Jaenara. Please… come back to me," he said, the hesitation gone and firm in his conviction.

But Jaenara did not wake, and he did not know if she ever would.

Author's Note: Once more, I give thanks to wiwerse for his help in beta'ing several chapters and to my new second beta, GeekyOwl as well.