Land of the King

Chapter 65: Dagor Bragollach

And behold, the Third War began with a sudden flame! Dagor Bragollach we named it, for the legends of old! The name was fitting… too fitting.

4441 E.L

The Titan of Braavos was always awe-inspiring sight to see. Centuries ago, the Braavosi had commissioned Arnorian craftsman to build it after the Unveiling and it still stood to this day, a massive stone and bronze fortress that guarded the entrance to the lagoon that held Braavos, a symbol of Braavos's might and its defiance to the world.

Suddenly, as their ship approached, the Titan roared. A huge terrible roar, a groaning and grinding blast so loud that it drowned out most sounds nearby. No doubt the entire city was now aware of their presence. He honestly pitied the poor Braavosi if they had to hear that annoying and deafening sound every time a ship entered the lagoon, which judging by the number of ships he saw moored in the harbour as they passed under the Titan, was quite often.

To Túrin, the Titan, while impressive, was useless. It inspired awe and fear, but inspire was all it could do, it was nothing more than a blustered attempt to show pride and strength. The Braavosi had built it to warn off their enemies from attacking Braavos and all in the world had known they had meant Valyria. Well Valyria had dragons and a statue wouldn't stop it from destroying Braavos. Túrin had seen first-hand what the power of dragons were.

At least, that was the argument he would be presenting to the Sealord when he met him soon. Things were tense in East Arnor. His brother Ciryaher and over half a million soldiers had been deployed to the Rammas Romen, anticipating an attack in the wake of the Valyrian military build-up in the Rhoyneland.

A simple flyby of their skinchanger scouts in their bonded birds had revealed the massive armament along the Rhoyne. The former Rhoynar cities were unrecognisable now, their old buildings torn down or renovated, replaced by Valyrian fortresses and garrisoned with Valyrian soldiers. Valyrian settlers had replaced the Rhoynar entirely. Some had been driven out and had taken refuge in East Arnor or Ghoyan Drohe, others were not so lucky…

Where the Rhoynar had once dwelt as friends and allies of Arnor, dragons perched and their legions marched. Having recovered from the Second War half a century ago, the time was ripe for another reckoning. His wife's predictions had come true yet again.

Túrin turned to his left where his wife Jaenara had placed her arms as she looked out into the harbour. Her Númenórean heritage proved true for she was near as youthful and even more beautiful as the day he had met her on the piers of Gogossos a hundred and sixty-three years ago. That was a lifetime ago now, multiple by the reckoning of lesser men.

It was sad to think, almost everyone else that had been with them on that expedition was dead now. The years had taken them all away, and they lived on in their memory only now.

"The Arsenal is quite impressive," Jaenara said as she stared at the famed Arsenal of Braavos located close to the Titan.

He snorted, "For the Braavosi perhaps. In Arnor we have dozens of shipyards like it to churn out hundreds of ships of all kinds. The Arsenal is not unique. The Sealord likes to boast that it can make a galley a day, well in a single day Arnor can build an entire battle fleet if the need arises."

Jaenara turned to him and smirked, "Well you best not tell the Sealord that, we don't want to hurt his pride now do we?"

"No of course not," Túrin said, smiling. For a while they both stared awhile at each other before they could take it no longer and they started chuckling and laughing.

As Jaenara laughed, Túrin watched her fondly. She's even more beautiful when she laughs.

Around an hour later, after their ship had docked and moored, Jaenara and Túrin presented themselves in the Sealord's Palace.

"Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Túrin, Third Prince of Arnor, and his consort, Her Royal Highness, Princess Jaenara," the herald proclaimed as they were shown into the throne room.

The newly elected Sealord of Braavos, Arrego Antaryon, was seated upon the throne. His predecessor had been pro-Arnorian and had pledged Braavos's fleet to Arnor for the imminent war with Valyria. His sudden and mysterious death had been… suspicious to say the least. Túrin and Jaenara had been sent to Braavos to determine where the new Sealord's allegiances laid and whether or not he would honour the alliance.

Standing to the right of the throne was a dark-skinned man of average height, presumably the Sealord's champion and protector, the First Sword. His appearance suggested he was a Summer Islander.

Túrin frowned. That was interesting, and potentially problematic. It was intriguing that the Sealord of Braavos had made a foreigner his personal bodyguard and also potentially problematic given Arnorian ambitions in the Summer Islands.

Traditionally, Arnor had long favoured certain Islander Princes over others, giving them support in exchange for concessions and often leading to their rivals and their retinues being exiled after their defeat in ritual combat, per the traditions of the Summer Islands. If this man was one of them, he might be prejudiced against Arnor and for a man trusted as the First Sword, it t would be an issue.

"Your Excellency, my wife and I have come bearing gifts and also a formal offer written in the hand of my royal father, King Arahad," Túrin spoke, offering the sealed letter to the Sealord who broke and opened it. At the same time, their retinue brought in their gifts for the Sealord, a finely crafted Arnorian steelbow, a gold bracelet, amongst others, and perhaps most valued of all, a mithril and diamond pendant, rare beyond measure for mithril was found only in the heart of Malldolan.

"Fine gifts, but are they merely Arnorian bribes for Braavosi ships?" the First Sword asked disdainfully.

Túrin narrowed his eyes. It looked like the First Sword would be a problem after all.

"First Sword, Arnor has no need nor desire to give bribes, they are gifts freely given, testament to our great wealth and prosperity, prosperity we share with our trusted and cherished friends and allies. Of course, one cannot expect such gifts when one fails the basic requirements of being a friend and ally am I wrong?" Túrin asked dangerously.

"Yet bribe or gift, it is Braavosi ships that your father asks for nonetheless Prince Túrin," the Sealord pointed out, having read the official letter from the High King of Arnor.

"My royal sire asks only that you honour the alliance your predecessor signed, the alliance against our mutual enemy. Our shared rival which destroyed the Rhoynar League and whom your ancestors, the founders of this very city, fled from. Valyria has assembled its armies and its dragons along the Rhoyne. War is imminent."

"A war between Arnor and Valyria need not necessarily concern Braavos. Our neutrality in the wars of the great powers has long been noted."

"Are you sure about that Your Excellency? I remember a time when the purple banners of the Titan of Braavos sailed alongside the standards of the White Tree. When ships made in the Arsenal of Braavos sailed into and conquered the Valyrian colony of Lorath. You may not remember Sealord Antaryon, but Arnor does, and so does Valyria," Jaenara interjected.

The Sealord looked at Jaenara closely before reclining back on his throne and laughing, "Ah, I forget that when dealing with Arnorians, looks can be deceiving. Neither of you look a day above thirty, mayhaps even twenty, and yet your eyes show old souls. Veterans of the War for the Stepstones it seems, and famed throughout the world, Prince Túrin and his half-blood Valyrian wife."

"Tell me then, Princess Jaenara," the Sealord said then, addressing Túrin's wife in particular, "you were once a dragonlord of the House of Belaerys. Do you think the Valyria that challenges Arnor now to be as great a threat as the one Arnor and Braavos defeated together in the First War, sixteen decades ago?"

Jaenara looked exceedingly displeased to be reminded of her Valyrian name and the family she had abandoned, but for diplomatic courtesy, she ignored it to answer the Sealord's question, "No. The Freehold now is nothing like the Valyria I left behind in my youth. It is stronger, harder, and fiercer. Valyria as it is now is perhaps the single greatest threat to Arnor that there has ever been."

While Túrin admired his wife's honesty, it was a terrible thing to say when trying to convince your errant allies.

The Sealord was deep in thought, "And, do you believe, that Arnor as it is now can defeat Valyria?"

There was no hesitance in Jaenara's answer, "Yes we can. The sons and daughters of Earendil have experience with dragons, we defeated them once, we can do it again, and with your help it will be easier."

"Very well then, I have made my decision. The Free City of Braavos hereby declares its neutrality in the imminent hostilities between the Kingdom of Arnor and the Freehold of Valyria. Any violation of Braavosi territory by the warring parties will be met with extreme prejudice and a summary declaration of war on that nation," the Sealord proclaimed.

"What!?" Túrin demanded, temporarily breaking his mask of diplomatic niceties and courtesies. As all the courtiers stared at him after his outburst however, he quickly corrected his mistake, clearing his throat.

"Your Excellency, I urge you to reconsider. Arnor is a long and trusted ally of Braavos while Valyria is a traditional enemy."

"I will not send Braavosi ships and Braavosi citizens to die in a foreign war that does not concern Braavos. Rest assured however Prince Túrin. Braavos remembers its friends and enemies. We will not suffer Valyria to pass through our territory so the Arnorian people can sleep soundly knowing Valyria will not descend into the Narrow Sea from the north. However, neither will we provoke Valyria by allowing Arnorian warships into our waters or allow Arnorian soldiers to use Braavosi land as staging grounds."

"Your Excellency-" Túrin attempted to continue.

"The Sealord has spoken Prince Túrin, it is not your place to question him," the First Sword rebuked.

Túrin was quite annoyed now that this glorified bodyguard had dared to interrupt and rebuke him, actively obstructing him from speaking to the Sealord as was his right as ambassador. He, a prince and envoy of an empire a hundred times larger than the backwater little island the First Sword was exiled from!

"Nor is it yours to rebuke the Third Prince of Arnor for it, First Sword. My husband and I do not answer to you and we show deference to the Sealord only out of respect for his rule of this city," Jaenara defended him.

"Your Excellency," she said, turning to the Sealord on his throne, "You are partially right. Apart from some words of ink on a paper, Braavos has no true motive or reason to aid Arnor against Valyria. Yet the Valyrians no doubt remember that your city was founded by escaped slaves and that you sided against them in the First War and seized Lorath. If Arnor is defeated, who do you think Valyria will turn their attention to next?"

The Sealord looked worried for a while before he relaxed again, "Ah, but you said so yourself. Arnor is sure to defeat Valyria."

"Perhaps…" Jaenara drawled out, "but then, Arnor is not in the mood to give gifts to and protect false friends."

The threat was subtle but clear. The Sealord was ruminating on it seemed as he thrummed his fingers on the armrest. "May I have time to consider my decision then?"

"You may Your Excellency, but I pray your decision is swift. War waits for no one," Túrin finished.


"What do you think the Sealord will decide?" Túrin asked his wife when they were in their quarters that night.

"I'm not sure. I gave him a lot to think about. You on the other hand, were getting into a tiff with the First Sword, that would not have been good."

"He was being downright rude to us! Let alone our status as royalty of a kingdom far more powerful than Braavos, you do not disrespect envoys. Do you think Arnor treats the Braavosi envoys like that? My brothers always said I was the best of us when it came to humility, but that was too much even for me. Not my place, as representative of the High King of Arnor, to question the foolhardy decision of the Sealord to abandon a long-standing alliance? The nerve of him!"

Jaenara raised an eyebrow, "Not his place to rebuke you, the prince and envoy of an empire a hundred times larger than the backwater little island the First Sword was exiled from?"

Túrin blushed. "You read my mind!" he protested.

"Hardly. You lost control of your thoughts and it slipped out. You are quite lucky the Braavosi can't perceive thoughts the way we can. I think they would have been insulted."

"It's technically true…" Túrin tried to argue but they both knew it was a weak attempt.

Jaenara sighed as she lied down on the bed.

"It is, technically. But the way you thought it was condescending and rather arrogant. Arnor and Valyria are different in many ways but both share hubris as a flaw, I suppose it comes with being continent-spanning empires."

It seemed the comparison to Valyria had softened Túrin as he sat down on the bed beside Jaenara. Jaenara of all people would know the consequences of hubris and a belief in one's own superiority.

"You're right, it was ill of me to think that."

"It is alright for you to have your pride Túrin, Eru knows you deserve it after everything you have done. But there is a fine line between pride in one's nation and achievements and arrogance and prejudice against your enemies and those who are 'lesser'. Valyria has long since crossed that line, Arnor held back when the Loyalists won the Kin-Strife, yet hubris has crept back into the hearts of the Dúnedain," she said as she sat up.

"That man, if our suspicions are true, he has reason to bear a grudge against Arnor. Maybe not correctly but certainly understandably. Even though he was rude to you, and far out of line, you were the one who taught me to be better than to give into hubris."

"It seems that age has made you wise Jaenara," Túrin teased.

"And you less so," she retorted, unimpressed by the flattery.

"Perhaps, but then, with my beautiful wife being so wise, whoever needs my own wisdom?"

It was Jaenara's turn to blush now and she turned away to hide it. Túrin chuckled, married for over a hundred years with a daughter to boot, and he could still make her blush.

It seemed Jaenara had lulled him into a false sense of security cause in the next moment she turned around and Túrin was pinned to the bed with Jaenara atop him. Her eyes staring into his and her hands holding his own. As they stared into each other's eyes, their thoughts began to drift to less than chaste things.

"We have to report to Morlond…" Túrin tried to resist.

Jaenara smirked at him, "It can wait."

Well, who was he to resist this vixen? Morlond would just have to wait a little for their report.


"Have they made any moves?" Ciryaher asked the sentry.

"No Your Highness, we still haven't spotted the Valyrian army. it's been very quiet, almost too quiet."

"Even so, maintain the watch, the Valyrians could strike at any moment," Ciryaher ordered as they watched the sun set behind the wall in the west.

Ciryaher had been deployed to the Rammas Rómen as tensions rose once more with Valyria. Scouts reported massive camps and armouries along the Rhoyne River and of course the ever present threat of dragons.

Ever since their defeat in the Second Dragon War 44 years ago, Arnor had prepared for the inevitable third. The eighteen black stone star forts that had been built along the Velvet-Kiros corridor were all expanded and linked together with a long border wall. Together the fortifications had been deemed the Rammas Rómen, the Great Eastern Wall, their first line of defense against the long expected Valyrian invasion.

A multitude of roads had been built, linking Myr and Pentos and the other towns and cities of East Arnor to fortresses of the Rammas, allowing for a swift and easy resupply of their armies. Sadly, the expense had been too great to build the entire length of the wall in impregnable black stone but work was ongoing to rebuild key sections in black stone.

Ciryaher however feared that those construction works would not be ready in time. Word had come to Arnor only a few months prior that an attack on East Arnor was imminent. Their rangers and skinchangers had reported a vast military build-up along the Rhoyne River with large battalions and dragon thunders readied for an attack.

Immediately with such forewarning, the greater part of the standing Arnorian army had been deployed to the Rammas. As the ruling Prince of neighbouring Pentos, command of the army had been entrusted to Ciryaher while his nephew Aravorn readied a new force of reinforcements in the homeland. Aragost would have come as well, to help him lead the army as he had in the War for the Rhoyne, but with their bedridden father increasingly weak and senile, he was needed in Morlond to rule the kingdom.

Ciryaher's last and younger brother Túrin and his wife Jaenara had been sent to Braavos after the Sealord had suddenly died, their mission was to determine if the Sealord's successor would honour the alliance and also discover if any foul play was involved in the death of his predecessor.

They should be reporting soon.

Ciryaher headed back into the keep of the fortress to his quarters where the glass candle sat on the desk. The candle was tall and black with sharp twisted edges.

Running his hand over the twisted length of obsidian, Ciryaher murmured an incantation in Quenya and the candle burst into flame with an unpleasant bright light that he flinched and turned away from.

Even now after using these things for over a hundred years, he never quite got used to them. Their light did strange things to colours, amplifying them greatly into almost garish and unbearable shades. White became as bright as fresh fallen snow, yellow shined like gold, reds turned to flame, and shadows became so black that they looked like holes in the world.

In his mind, the palantiri were by far the superior device but as there were but seven of those, he had to make do with this. As the candle burned, Ciryaher cast his mind into it, experiencing the usual disorientation as the candle took him on a merry trip around the world, letting him see through mountains, across deserts and seas, to look through time itself with visions and dreams not even the Dúnedain could comprehend. It was almost like the glass candle had a will of its own but one used to bending the Seeing-stones of Fëanor to their will would not be cowed by a mere candle.

"Enough!" he roared in his mind and the candle bent to his will, allowing him to cast his gaze and thoughts to Morlond where his brother Aragost was using the Master-stone of the palantiri, greatest of the Seven.

There he linked with Aragost and his thoughts connected with his brother Aragost, which he found was already in communion with Túrin in Braavos.

"Welcome brother," Aragost welcomed him.

"And to you Aragost, and Túrin as well. How are you my brothers?" Ciryaher replied.

"We are well, but there is troubling news from Braavos. Tell him what you told me Túrin," Aragost ordered.

And so Túrin related to Ciryaher what had occurred in Braavos and of the Sealord's refusal to honour the alliance before Jaenara made him reconsider.

"This is troubling indeed. If Braavos does not join us, the north is vulnerable, even with the Sealord's oath to disallow Valyria to pass, Braavos cannot stop Valyrian passage without Arnorian aid, you must ready the homeland, and the Vale as well Aragost, they could be at risk," Ciryaher said.

"I have already started. Thankfully with how long it would take a fleet to sail from Darkos, we will have much advance warning. For your part, how goes the watch on the Rammas Rómen?" Aragost asked.

"Strangely, the Valyrians have made no move as of yet. My skinchangers have reported seeing them along the Rhoyne some miles to the east, but my sentries on the wall itself see nothing. It seems they're waiting for something, yet all of us here can tell an attack is inevitable, we just don't know when exactly. It is starting to fray the nerves of the men," Ciryaher reported.

"Aravorn is almost ready with his preparations, his army should be sailing across the Narrow Sea to Pentos soon enough. Tell your son Ciryon to expect them in a week," Aragost informed him.

"Understood," Ciryon acknowledged, even more forces to bolster his already significant force could not hurt, their supply lines back to Myr and Pentos were well secured and he could support hundreds of thousands more on the Rammas to hold it against the Valyrians, he just hoped what he had now was enough should they decide to attack soon.

"How is Aravorn? And my daughter? And the rest of our family?" Túrin inquired of Aragost.

"Aravorn and Nimloth are both well, nervous of course as are my younger children. All of them are too young to remember the horrors of the First War and I pray they need never learn of them. Arien is well also. Father… is much the same, still bedridden, still slipping more and more into senility. I have asked him why he has refused to let go still but in his few lucid moments he has told me he refuses to die and leave us behind to fight the war alone."

"Then let us make sure to win this war swiftly my brothers, so our sons and daughters need never face what we did in the Stepstones, in Pentos, or along the Rhoyne, so that our father may die in peace, knowing his kingdom is not consumed by war. This conflict with Valyria must end for good this time," Ciryaher said firmly.

Though they didn't say anything, through the link Ciryaher could feel his brothers' agreement with his statement.

"Yet how many more must die before these wars come to an end? Now more than ever I realise our grandfather was right, we should never have gone to war with Valyria in the first place, it wasn't worth it," Túrin said, reminding Aragost and Ciryaher of their grandfather Araglas and his refusal to pursue war with Valyria.

At the time they had derided their grandfather as a coward, but after their experiences in the First and Second Wars, all three brothers knew their grandfather had been wiser than them all, and his visions had proven true.

"It's too late now, to apologise to Grandfather or to never start the wars with Valyria. All we can do is to make sure that we, the generation that started these wars, see them through to the end. Go my brothers, see to your tasks, bring victory to Arnor." Aragost finished.

As Aragost cut off the link, Ciryaher found himself back in the fortress on the Rammas Rómen. Temporarily disoriented, he ran his hand over the glass candle, snuffing out its bright magical flames before he readied for rest.

Lying in bed later that night, Ciryaher recalled the last reunion he had in person with his brothers, at their father's birthday before the war. Ciryaher, with his wife and children, had celebrated with the whole family. Both of his brothers had been there, as had been their wives and children. His father, in his old age, had been much pleased to see all his sons and grandchildren. They were happier times and he drifted off to sleep thinking about them, hoping those days could come again soon.


"Wake up!" Túrin was shaken awake violently.

"Jaenara…?" Túrin asked groggily. She slapped him to wake him up faster before pressing Anglachel into his hands.

"We have to go now! They're here!"

Suddenly alert, Túrin looked around to see who "they" was. There was nobody in the room, but as he looked out the window, he saw a view that made his world shake. There were dragons in the sky, and Braavos was burning.

Realizing the danger in an instant, Túrin got up from his bed as fast as he could and bolted for the door, followed by Jaenara, only taking his sword with him. Barely wearing their smallclothes, the two of them fled like wildmen from the Sealord's Palace, but they were not alone.

In the hallways mayhem was spreading as people were rushing out of their rooms, all heading out into the streets. They all knew the same thing. If the dragons were here, the Palace was going to burn. The going was slow, elbows and shoulders used aplenty as Turin and Jaenara tried to make their way through the crowd. At several points they were almost split, but managed to stay together barely.

Suddenly however, a great cry was heard and behind them the roof of the Sealord's Palace caught fire as a Valyrian dragon passed by overhead, it's fire consuming everything in its path. Instantly, Turin, Jaenara as well as the entire crowd around them started fleeing away, trying to escape the fiery inferno that had taken over the roof of the Palace.

As the building began collapsing on them, Jaenara leaped, pushing herself and Túrin in front of her out the side door of the palace. It was a painful landing as they ended up rolling down a few stairs onto the courtyard, but apart from some bruises, they were not harmed.

The same however could not be said for everyone else. As the dust settled, the true devastation revealed itself. Where there had once been a lavish palace remained only a pile of rubble, stone melting like candlewax and wood burning like paper. The few other survivors began running into the streets in a panic. Túrin and Jaenara painfully stood up, wincing at the sharp pain from the bruises, to look around and get their bearings, and what they saw, took their breath away.

All around them, the night sky was alive with the fire of the dragons, as swathes upon swathes of Braavos burned, the Valyrians destroying everything indiscriminately. In the distance, he could see as several of them were surrounding the great Titan of Braavos, unleashing unrelenting jets of flame.

"Túrin, we need to flee the city!" Jaenara said as they took shelter in a small side street near the palace.

"Where!?" he demanded his voice full of panic and despair.

"I don't know, but we cannot stay in the city. By morning half of it will be in ash and the other half will be taken over by the Valyrians," she said, and Túrin realized that she was right. They could not stay here.

"We can't take the ships, they'll be burning anything with a sail, so we need to head into the hills," he said.

And in that moment, seemingly looking to confirm what he said, a heavy groan was heard from the direction of the harbour. Looking in that direction, they saw as the Titan buckled under the pressure, and the half-melted structure collapsed on it's back towards the harbour.

With a heavy thud, the bronze giant hit the water. Plumes of water and steam created by the impact of the heated metal on the water rose high, before coming back down in an eerie rain over the water illuminated by the dragon fire.

"Very well," Jaenara said. "The highlands it is. How are we going to get there?" she asked.

"The aqueduct goes from the mainland to the Iron Bank. It's either that or swimming," Túrin said grimly.

"So be it. It's the best chance we got," she said, and with that they started moving south, as all around them Braavos crackled and burned like firewood.

It was sheer luck that prevented them from being burned by the Valyrian dragons as they finally arrived near the Iron Bank, to find the building burned. Yet another of Braavos's landmarks had gone up in flames. Luckily however, the aqueduct seemed intact, it's solid stone structure having withstood the fire. Carefully they climbed onto it and then began making their way south towards the highlands. They were not alone, many other souls were on it, fleeing the burning city which was being consumed below them in front of their very eyes.

As they passed the Isle of Gods they saw the House of Black and White, or rather they saw it's absence. Nothing remained there but a crater. The Valyrians were not taking any chances, Túrin realized as they silently made their way.

By dawn, they were on dry land and behind them Braavos was a ruin. In just one night the greatest city in Western Essos had become a smoking ruin, as the Valyrians had landed their first devastating strike.

Jaenara had been telling all of them that this would happen for years, but he had never realised just how bad it would be. It was like the First Dragon War come again, old buried memories and traumas forcing themselves to the front of his mind. He could only shudder imagining what was to come next.


"Your Highness, you must come quickly!"

Ciryaher had just awoken and had been dressing for the day when the soldier started rapping on the door.

Annoyed, he threw open the door. "What is it?"

The soldier looked terrified, not of Ciryaher's wrath, but of something else entirely, "It's… It's the Valyrians! They're here!"

Having heard that, Ciryaher dressed as quickly as humanly possible, wearing his armour and donning his steelbow. He walked onto the battlements expecting to see his archers firing at the attacking dragons in the sky but was stunned to see no battle had started yet.

Dragons were flying high in the skies above and some scouts were watching them but they made no moves to attack as of yet. Most of the garrison was formed up on the battlements.

"Move, what are you all gawking at? Get to your battle stations, those dragons can attack at any moment!" Ciryaher ordered and the men began to snap out of their daze, moving to their posts.

"Your Highness," one man tapped his shoulder as the battlements cleared, pointing east. Ciryaher followed his gaze and his heart quailed in despair.

Arrayed in near perfect formations outside the range of the Arnorians was a host of legions, steel shining as the sun rose in the east behind their backs. The Valyrian war elephants and kataphractii were also formed up near their legions, yet Ciryaher feared them not. In fact, he barely noticed them, or even the dozens of dragons flying in the skies out of their reach.

No, what took all his attention was the monstrous beast on the field, in front of the Valyrian army. It was so huge it was practically an army in and of itself. It was massive, larger than the largest dragon, with a dragonlike shape and mouth. Even from here, Ciryaher recognised the smoky and swirly grey patterns of the Valyrian steel that armoured the beast from head to toe. It had to be a dragon, yet it was not, boasting four legs instead of wings.

"Eru save us, that beast is Glaurung come again," one of his officers said.

Even now after thousands of years, that name was ominous and terrifying and Ciryaher could not help but tremble as a myth from their legends seemingly had come to life before them. The Father of Dragons, Destroyer of Nargothrond. But it couldn't be him right? There was no way it was possible!

"Calm men, it is no Glaurung, only a pathetic imitation the accursed Valyrians have bred. We will see it dead soon enough," Ciryaher reassured his men with confidence he did not truly have.

The Glaurung stepped forward then, for there was no other name that fit it more despite Ciryaher's words, and the power of its footsteps shook the earth, making the walls of the Rammas Rómen tremble. The Arnorians quaked further but they were the sons of Eärendil, the kin of Túrin Turambar, they would not break and flee before this beast.

The Arnorian garrison began readying their artillery to fire upon the Glaurung, waiting for Ciryaher's command.

"LOOSE!" he cried and a hail of arrows, bolts, and other projectiles fired at the approaching Glaurung but they did nothing, bouncing off harmlessly. Yet it seemed the boulders launched from their trebuchets had hurt it, the blunt force injuring even through the armour and scales. The enraged Glaurung roared and then before Ciryaher's eyes, time began to freeze and his life flashed before his eyes. The Glaurung charged forward at the fortress all of a sudden, at a speed that should have been impossible for such a heavy and armoured beast.

"LOAD AND LOOSE AGAIN!" he shouted to his soldiers in a panic but then in that moment the dragons in the sky dived down upon them, their fire eviscerating them yet leaving the stone walls completely untouched. They fought back soon, sending endless volleys into the sky, all the while the Glaurung shook the earth as it charged at them. Soon the Glaurung was in range, and its maw glowed red.

Aragost, Túrin, I entrust everything to you.

Flames as hot as lava poured out of the dragon's maw, instantly vaporising Ciryaher and all the Arnorian soldiers before melting away the stoneof the fortress walls.

On 7 Girthron 4441 E.L, with the Burning of Braavos and the Breaking of Rammas Rómen, the Third Dragon War began, and the world trembled.


Author's Note: Númenóreans are telepathic to an extent. The weaker have a sort of psychic sense that allows them to sense what others' thoughts and emotions are. The stronger can 'perceive the hearts of men and bend their wills to theirs'. So yeah, their telepathy is pretty OP and when empowered by palantiri and glass candles, even more so.

As for those wondering why Arnor's glass candles and palantiri could not see Valyria's attack on Braavos or the Glaurungs in the Rhoyneland, the palantiri are not all-seeing and there are ways to veil oneself from the eyes of the Seeing-stones.

Girthron is the twelfth month in Sindarin according to the King's Reckoning, the official Númenórean and later Arnorian calendar. This is canon to LOTR. Númenor, Gondor, and Arnor all used it there as well.

Also FYI, Dagor Bragollach is a reference to Silmarillion, it is the name of the Battle of the Sudden Flame where the Siege of Angband was broken and Glaurung was revealed to the world for the first time. Psychological warfare at its finest, the name the Valyrians gave to the invasion that started the Third War was the same. It was divided into two main operations, Titanfall, the attack on Braavos, and Spearhead at the Rammas Rómen barely a few hours later.

Btw after careful consideration I started a Patrreon. My username is the same and Chapter 66 is up there for early viewing.

Now this segment of the AN is dedicated to a... certain group of reviewers who began showing themselves after Chapter 60 was uploaded. Reviewers saying this story is 'wank', 'unrealistic' and 'clumsily written'. One even compared it to Fifty Shades of Grey. Now not all such criticisms were useless like this, for the most part the reviewers by account users were, while very disagreeing and thinking it was wank, respectful, logical, and polite. The guest reviews, those were so braindead and insulting I literally laughed at some of them but they honestly got annoying after the like seventh review popped up so yes they were deleted.