A/N: On to the wars, folks! Now is the time of Aegon's Conquest!
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Chapter XIII: War to End All Wars, Part I
3rd POV:
Dragonstone
2 BC
Aegon Targaryen stood atop the ramparts of Dragonstone, mounted on his faithful steed Belarion the Black Dread who sat astride the gigantic walls of black stone. Besides him were his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys, mounted atop their dragons Vhagar and Meraxes respectively.
Before the Targaryens were an army of black-clad warriors, adorning the Dragon as their guardian zodiac [1] – a symbol of pride and luck for all – flying the black banner of the three-headed Dragon.
Then Aegon Targaryen spoke.
"People of Valyria!" He shouted, his voice carrying across the entire island, "Long has Westeros been a nation of barbarians, of petty warlords and imbeciles who fight and kill each other over the most inane of trifles and who lie, cheat and steal in this little bubble they name the Game of Thrones, not knowing that other nations have long surpassed their power and strength centuries ago! Even the Free Cities, mere leftovers of the once-great Valyrian Freehold, possess greater financial wealth and technological prowess than all of Westeros combined!"
"Hear, hear!" The troops cried.
"And now that time is about to end!" Said Aegon, voice filled with fiery passion, "This day, we end this eternal era of war and strife! This day, we go to war!"
It was a short and simple speech, but one that invigorated the soldiers with pride and enthusiasm. Nothing could stand against the Dragons of Valyria, and since the Andals in their hubris moved to exterminate magic from the continent, they had virtually nothing to resist such powerful beasts.
It also helped that as descendants of a long-gone Empire and civilisation, conquering a nation to restore that civilisation would ensure its legacy would never die out.
The troops let out a raucous cheer. They marched to war, boarding galleys bound for the coast, to conquer lands fit for the crown. For all Kings demand a Kingdom of their own.
"Pride can drive men to do so many things," Visenya muttered, "So unlike that boy I met in Dorne."
"Don't go comparing Aegon to this Askari, sister," Said Rhaenys, "Remember. He's still our husband and lord in the end."
"I need no reminder about that, Rhaenys," Said Visenya, "And I should be saying the same to you, sister."
"Are you two coming?" Aegon asked.
"You heard him, Visenya," Said Rhaenys, "Come on! Meraxes is eager to burn some idiot Andals."
Shrugging her shoulders, Visenya followed atop Vhagar, flying high in the skies.
IIOII
On a lone watchtower, two bored sentries loudly yawned, their eyelids feeling heavy and their spears held in increasingly loose grips.
"By the Seven, this is boring as fuck," Said Sentry 1, "Be a man, they said. Join the army, they said. 'Get a job so you can put food on your plate and stop being a burden!', Mother said."
Sentry 1 spat to the side.
"Jobs are boring as fuck. At least tourneys and battles are exciting."
"Hey, work's like that," Said Sentry 2, "At least you're getting paid. Far better than begging on the streets, I'd say."
"Yeah? Turns out us guards get shit pay much like any other smallfolk," Said Sentry 1.
"Hey, pay is pay, even if it is shit pay," Said Sentry 2, "I know a friend who ain't earned a single copper even though he works his ass off, and he's in the dung-cleaning business."
"Oh! That is nasty," Sentry 1 exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"Hence why you should stop moping and griping all the time, it's a damn waste," Said Sentry 2, "At least here, we got food and shelter-wait, you hear that?"
The sentries confusedly looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of a noise that gradually grew louder, of flapping wings and beastly roars that shook their nerves.
"Fuck, whatever the hell that is, it's getting closer," Said Sentry 1.
And then, up in the sky, they could see massive shapes flying above, miniscule from afar and yet more dreadful and terrifying than anything they ever saw.
On the ground, they saw a huge black mass that gradually grew closer, and the sound of thundering boots and hooves registered in their ears, flying black banners. Thousands against two, bleak odds even a genius general could not best.
"Oh shit! That's a fucking army!" Exclaimed Sentry 2, "Get the message quickly!"
"What do you think I'm doing!?" Said Sentry 1.
Soon they sent a messenger pigeon flying as swiftly as its wings could carry it, and the two poor sentries were left alone against the invasion army.
"Well, it's been good knowing you," Said Sentry 1, crying softly.
"You too," Sentry 2 said with a resigned sigh, before he and his friend were riddled with arrows and promptly slain.
IIOII
When the invaders began attacking castles and forts, they brought forth a plethora of siege engines to batter down their defences. Whenever the defenders seemed bogged down in battles of attrition, massive flying beasts swooped in, unleashing great gouts of fire that burned all unfortunate soldiers to a crisp, the stone melted to gloopy puddles as the banner of the three-headed dragon flew overhead.
Entire noble families were subject to cruel punishments – those that resisted and those who surrendered; the eldest two generations of males were executed wholesale without trial, the remainder sent to the Wall to live out their days, while all females were forcibly married into newly ennobled families [2].
Throughout the continent, all spoke of the rising power, a remnant of the glory days of old Valyria come to claim a home for its own people, and to unite a fractured continent under one single power. They spoke of its leader, Aegon Targaryen the Conqueror, and the three dragons under his command.
And they spoke of how the local families were eliminated from history, a measure that stoked the embers of fear and hate in all who heard it.
All this spoke one message: The old days are coming to an end, now came the dawn of a new age.
IIOII
Outskirts of Ifiría
The Martell war host made good on its march towards Rada lands. Twenty thousand soldiers marching on land, another ten thousand due to arrive by boat along the Greenblood River, and via the sea on former House Haro lands. A simple but effective plan leveraging House Martell's numerical superiority.
War is hardly a mere game of mathematics, and the Dornish themselves are masters of guerrilla warfare (though the name doesn't exist in Westeros). But they were to be in for a hard surprise.
Nodding to the messenger biding him to leave his tent, a weary and angry Nymor Martell slammed his fist on the table.
"Damn it all!" He cursed, "Of all the times…!"
His hand hurt badly, but his anger burned hotter than his pain, and he never noticed the new entrant to his tent until the man called out, "Prince Nymor, is everything alright?"
Mors turned to face the leader of his war host, Quentyn Sand, the old general looking concerned for the elderly prince.
"Everything's not alright, Quentyn," Said Nymor, "I've just received word that the damned Targaryens and their Dragons have let loose on the continent. They've already conquered the Hundred Petty Kings and are preparing to invade the Riverlands."
Quentyn's face instantly hardened. "Then we're in a race against time. Forget raids on Rada lands; we must force them into a head-on confrontation and quickly defeat their armies in one sweep, before we turn towards the Red Mountains. My scouts tell me that their leaders are gathered in Arsalm."
"Then tell the men we must make haste immediately," Said Nymor, "But make sure to hold the three forts we captured."
Early on in the land invasion, three fortresses guarding Maca's eastern border with House Ardera's lands were captured with nary a fight, their garrisons choosing to retreat and preserve their strength. Said fortresses quickly became supply depots, forming the start of a crucial supply chain. Were these fortresses to be taken while they marched west, they would be cut off, and the invaders forced to retreat to take them back.
"I understand, Prince Mors," Said Quentyn, "No one will get by us."
"Good, good," Said Nymor, "Do we have any established measures for fighting Dragons, Quentyn?"
The old general sighed heavily, looking reluctant to speak.
"If we had Water Wizards like in the days of Princess Nymeria, we would have a greater chance," Said Quentyn, "But the Red Princes and Andalic fanaticism [3] saw to that, and the Orphans of the Greenblood do not hold any predisposition towards serving in any noble courts."
Nymor cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as his breathing became heavy.
"However, the Dragons, while huge and powerful with their fiery breath, are slow lumbering beasts and only know this one form of magic," Said Quentyn, "According to my spies, their fire is focused in one direction in an admittedly large arc. But we can take cover behind a suitably large obstacle and force them into narrow, confined spaces, and create the perfect killing zone for these beasts."
Nymor slowly nodded, apprehensive yet hopeful, though the beads of cold sweat on his forehead failed to cease.
"A small chance of success is better than none," Said Nymor, "What about that… other thing? What's their response?"
Quentyn sighed again, his disappointment made clear as his face fell, his eyes crestfallen.
"They've vehemently rejected our proposal," He said, "They said, and I quote: 'House Martell is an ancient fossil long past its due, while House Rada, our benevolent sovereign, is the star of the future, a beacon of hope for all of Dorne.'"
Nymor now looked as crestfallen as Quentyn. His lip trembled slightly, his eyes closed in sadness, before he sighed and said, "Then there's nothing more we can do. We have to fight Rada's new vassals on the field."
"It was worth a try, My Prince," Said Quentyn.
Nymor simply nodded, then said, "For now, you're dismissed. Have the men ready to march tomorrow morning after we break our fast."
"As you command, Prince Nymor," Said Quentyn.
As the old general exited the tent, the tent flaps fluttering in the wind, Nymor could not help but feel that it was like an old magician's trick – to make something disappear with the flap of a cloth – just as how their hope vanished into thin air.
IIOII
1st POV:
Arsalm Keep
"Are you sure of this?"
"Yes, My Lord. They will arrive by tomorrow evening."
"I see… you're dismissed."
"My Lord."
I see a lone spy leave the company of Shuren as he quietly makes his exit as I enter his office. Seeing me enter, he bows in Chinese-I mean, Yi-Tish fashion, hands clasped together in front.
"Young Master," He says, "Tomorrow will be the day we bring low the Martell Army."
I nod at him, and says, "Are our men in position? With the thing I asked them to use?"
"Indeed, Young Master," Says Shuren, "Our spies have already placed the containers in the three fortresses we abandoned, and our enemies none the wiser. I must admit, with the Dornish's feared reputation as 'unrepentant snakes who'd sooner backstab us than follow the laws of chivalry' as the Andals so eloquently describe them, they seem disappointing."
"That speaks volumes of the quality of our spies," I say, "Good thing we developed that brutal training regime for our new Hashashins [4]."
"Indeed, and with the Targaryens commencing their campaign, both we and the Martells are on a strict timetable," Said Shuren, "Erkin is already in position with his blockade."
"Good. Once they reach the fortress of Choryaic [5], hold them off for three days," I say, taking a deep breath, "If possible, spare the troops under their command. If they resist… do what you have to do."
Shuren made a stoic bow. "As Young Master commands."
I nod, and turn to leave him be as he made the final preparations. There's no escaping the fact I'm about to go to war, but I can't survive by being soft and weak or being forgiving, especially to problematic nobles. Ka ni na, sometimes I hate how stupidly proud the Dornish are sometimes.
One thing that does surprise and relieve me though, is how Aegon has dealt with the nobles of the conquered Crownlands. Killing the oldest males, making survivors take the Black, and forcing women to marry into Valyrian families, that was actually pretty much the same thing I planned for Dorne when I united it under my rule. Tian ah (Oh God)! What a pleasant surprise.
Yet, I don't know if he will do the same for the other conquered Kingdoms. And Aegon is still as arrogant as ever, so who knows?
And when I think about Aegon, I thought about his sister-wife, Visenya. I remember our pleasant first interaction and her amicable demeanour. I remember her silver hair, smooth as silk, her bright violet eyes shining like gemstones and her skin as white as porcelain – like a walking, breathing goddess.
I think about how Aegon regarded Visenya, the eyes he gave her – like she is a necessary evil and not a confidant.
I feel irritated for some reason. Shouldn't Aegon give her due respect?
Oh God, no good overthinking this; there's work to do tomorrow.
"Brother?"
I turn to face Naima. My sister seemed to be troubled and sleepy, thick bags hanging underneath her eyes.
"You alright, sister?" I ask.
Naima quickly hugged me, burying her face in my chest as sniffles and sobs registered in my ears, followed by a wet sensation through my tunic.
I pat her head softly, hugging her back.
Eventually she lifts her face, and I see a trail of tears and snot, her eyes red and puffy.
"Why do you have to go?" Says Naima, "Why do you have to go to war?"
Wa lao… seeing her so worried really breaks my heart sometimes. And yet…
"I have to," I say to her, "Whether I like it or not, I have to lead men in war."
"But you can just stay here!" Exclaimed Naima, "You can just wait here in our home, while Huang Xue and Erkin do the work! Why do you have to go as well?"
I sigh, knowing the reasoning behind her words.
"True. I can do that," I say, "However, even if I'm not leading from the front, a general has to lead from the main camp to give the troops a sense of security. I can't hold a candle to my generals' talents, that's for sure, but I have to fulfil a figurehead's role as well. And I believe in the future, there will come a time when no matter what, as a Prince and future Lord, I will be expected – I have – to lead as an acting general."
"But… but if something goes wrong… you might not come back."
Now she's just twisting that knife into my heart. I hate making her worry, I hate it when she's bawling her eyes out like this over my safety.
I want to live. I want to enjoy an easy life after this. But for that, I have to overcome a series of hurdles in front of me, starting with the unification of Dorne. If I don't handle them thoroughly, not only will I die, chances are that she'll be hurt even worse than before. I don't want to end up like Scipio during the Punic Wars, or Liu Bang's son after his death during China's Han Dynasty, since his rule was very lenient.
"Naima… just trust me," I said, "Trust your brother. I'll come back safe, don't worry."
"Promise?" Asked Naima.
"I promise," I said, "After all, you won't be able to make a nuisance of yourself to me if I'm gone, could you?"
Naima smiled at that, and she hugged me back.
No words were needed in that moment.
IIOII
As expected, the Martell Army reached Choryaic by early evening, and settled down for an early dinner as the troops pitched tents and ignited cooking fires. A recently constructed fortress, its walls and towers were tall and thick, uniformly smooth and grey, outfitted with trebuchets, mangonels and ballistae, all the staples of siege warfare I'd need.
I actually designed it to be a city as well, with ample space distributed for the different districts; the residential quarter, the industrial district, the marketplace, the planned church for the Mother Rhoyne religion, and of course, the red-light district. I mean, what is Dorne without a smattering of brothels to satisfy our endlessly voracious sexual cravings?
And let's not forget the keep – doubling as a bunker and governance hall – and the barracks.
Of course, there's plenty of space for camping, since we haven't actually installed the housing and all, but there are wells and a functioning sewage system, toilets and baths, and paved roads in case rain turned the ground muddy. People might think this is quite extravagant for garrisoned troops, but if you're stuck in a siege for days, weeks, or even months on end, soldiers would take comfort in any convenience they can get.
And considering the twenty thousand troops against eight thousand in the fortress, this was not to be an easy fight.
Before the men, I stood tall and straight, proudly wearing my new plate and mail armour over light linen and steel-tipped boots. On my side was a single sabre, plain and unornamented, a round shield on my back.
The men of Rada, proudly outfitted in brigandine armour [6] and standing like statues, eagerly await my speech.
"You ready, son?"
I turn to face my father, wearing his old plate armour lovingly worn and polished and standing with confidence.
"More or less," I said, shrugging at him, "Never been in a siege battle, so I'll rely on you."
Azaz smiled, patting my shoulder. Buoyed by his support, I step forward and prepare to address the soldiers in a loud, clear voice.
"Men of Dorne!" I shout, "Today, you stand as my proud army! Today, you stand against ancient fossils who have no place in this world, who dare bring war and ruin to your homes and families, to your livelihoods we painstakingly worked to establish!"
The men jeer at the mere mention, cursing Martell's name.
"House Martell claims I'm being a traitor, for killing nobles who tramped upon your good name and planted their boots on your face!" I continue, "What good did they do for the realm, when we're doing far better than they or any of their bootlickers did!?"
"None!" The troops chorused.
"Are you going to let them trample over you?"
"No!"
"Are you going to kowtow to their bootlicking, worthless, snobbish nobles?"
"No!"
"Are you going to give them a real taste of humility?"
"Yes!"
"Then there's nothing more to be said, men!" I shout, "From today, we fight for our homes!"
And the troops let out a roar of enthusiasm.
I feel Azaz pat my shoulder, and I turn to see his encouraging smile.
"You did good, son," He said.
I nod back with my own smile.
[1] Guardian Zodiac – A term lifted from the Yi-Tish dictionary, it is said that those who adopt a lucky animal as their family insignia will be protected by the animal's guardian spirit, giving it great fortune and prosperity until it is displeased, or the family's history has run its course.
[2] Long before the Conquest, Noble families were permitted to live so long as they bent the knee, and since noble families could last centuries or even millennia, it has always been the norm. With Askari Rada's and Aegon Targaryen's ruthless culling of noble families, it sent shockwaves like never before, terrifying the nobles who believed in millennia of tradition.
By ennobling new families loyal to them and rewarding them based on merit, they were not only erasing the power and influence of established nobility, but also sowed the seeds for a stable dynastic rule over a united Westeros.
This, of course, caused high tensions with the Faith of the Seven and the Citadel, given that many powerful noble houses were their loyal patrons.
[3] The Andals, through their horrible history with the Valyrians and being gradually forced out of their home of Andalos, developed an irrdemable hatred of all forms of magic and magic-users. They drove the Children of the Forest and Giants into hiding, along with all Greenseers, and all Old Gods worshippers to the North. They were also responsible for driving the surviving Water Wizards in Dorne into hiding during the time of the Red Princes.
[4] Hashashins: In OTL Earth, they were a religious group who used hashish – dried hemp leaves – to create mystic visions. Later on, they became associated with assassinations of Christian leaders during the Crusades. Askari Rada created them as an assassin organisation directly under the Rada Family, to commit dirty deals and other subterfuge.
[5] Choryaic: Deriving its name based off the old city of Choryane, it has since become synonymous with Martell misfortune and Rada fortune, and is a famous formidable fortress that doubles as a prosperous trade city, being the site of a highway intersection. It has also become known as the 'Kitchen of Dorne', home to the Culinary Academy of Dorne.
[6] Brigandine Armour: Body armour made from oblong steel plates riveted to heavy cloth or leather, with a second layer of fabric on the inside for comfort. Standard-issued armour for most troops in the Rada armies.