Land of the King
Chapter 69: Drowning
"Your Grace, Isildur's Hill has fallen!" the messenger rushed to say to Aragost.
"Fallen?" he asked in disbelief. That was bad, very. Very bad. He knew that if the Valyrians took it Fisher's Landing would follow, and from there Elendil's Hill would soon be cut off and eventually starved to death. The implications of losing all of North Morlond were too ghastly to consider, Aragost knew.
Further north, he knew his son was preparing a counterattack that should cut off the Valyrian supply and hopefully force them out of mainland Arnor. And yet that attack would be in grave peril if the Valyrians could free up all their troops tied up in North Morlond, and even if it still succesded, the Valyrians could just pull back into the city, and repair its port for resupply. And from there the legions of Valyria would have control of the capital, a position that would allow them to threaten almost all of Arnor.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The Valyrians threw everything they had at the hill. Our artillery still hadn't fully recovered the earlier attacks and could barely hold the dragons at bay. And with all the troops the Valyrians sent they managed to overwhelm us and take the hill."
"Did they manage to pull back?" he asked.
"Some did, Your Grace. Lord Boromir managed to maintain cohesion and prevent an all-out rout. He and his men dug in into Fisher's Landing. However, they had to abandon all their heavy equipment," the man finished, and it took a while for Aragost to figure out what exactly did that mean.
"Did the Valyrian capture the artillery?" he said, praying to Eru it was not the case.
"They did," the man replied somberly.
The news was almost shattering. With that artillery, Fisher's Landing would be critically exposed, and the artillery there and on Elendil's hill would now have to fight the Valyrian artillery too, besides their dragons. In that moment, Aragost knew what he had to do, if he was to win the battle. Whatever the price, it is worth it, for Arnor.
"We need to mount a counterattack," he said firmly, to the flock of subordinates that had gathered around him in the meantime.
"But Your Majesty, Lord Boromir barely has enough men to hold the landing, let alone mount a counterattack," one of his subordinates said.
"How many people do we have here on this bank, ready to fight, Lord Reyne?" he asked firmly.
"Around thirty thousand," the man replied.
"That should be more than enough to take the hill," he said firmly.
"But Your Majesty, by the time nightfall comes and we can ferry them across the Valyrians will have fortified the hill. It's not even noon, they'll have ten hours at least to build fortifications that we shan't have a chance to breach."
"Aye, that is correct. Which is why we shan't cross this evening, but now. Gather every boat, skiff, barge and raft we have, we're crossing within the hour" he said resolutely, looking at the men around him.
"But Your Majesty, hundreds if not thousands would die in such a crossing!," Lord Reyne protested.
"No doubt," he replied grimly. "But it is our only choice. I shall be leading the troops," he added. At that, none commented, and they all went to do as told. And as ordered, within the hour, a good part of their army was standing on the Rivershore, with all manner of ships nearby, from the complex to the rudimentary. It wasn't all of the troops, but it was all they could transport, the rest standing back alongside the artillery forces responsible to covering their crossing.
So far, he had commanded from the south bank, knowing that if he died the army would be paralyzed. However, it was now time to throw the dice and go all in. If they couldn't take the hill back, it wouldn't matter if he was alive or dead.
Aragost stood on the bridge of a river galley, wearing all the armor and battle regalia befit the King of Arnor. King of Arnor… the thought still sat badly with him, and yet he knew there was nothing he could do about it, except fight and gain vengeance for the death of his father and brother.
"Sound the horn," he said to one of the men nearby. "Row, for Arnor!" he shouted, and in that second, a long piercing horn was heard by his side. In that moment, over twenty thousand mean pushed their ships and as one begun to move cross the river.
And yet almost immediately a great roar was heard, and the dragons that had been circling Isildur's hill moved towards them, a mass of wings heading straight at them. However, even in that moment, behind them, he heard the artillery on the shore get ready.
"MAGES! PREPARE SHIELDs!" he ordered, as the dragons approached.
And yet as they came towards them, all in all what must have been four dozen dragons, several of them started falling. Looking down, he saw as the artillery at Fisher's Landing fired upon the dragons, who in their rush to destroy Aragost's ragtag fleet had exposed themselves. And yet it was not enough, as the dragons came at them, and unleashed their flames upon them. And yet the water mages were ready for them, and with so much water beneath them, they did not have an issue putting the proper shields up. And yet not all boats had mages on board or were protected by one of the nearby ones, and here and there some of the smaller ones were caught in the dragon breath, their occupants instantly dying.
But it was not near enough to stem their force, and all at once, whistling from behind Aragost marked their artillery retaliating, scoring countless hits. In that moment, he saw as several things happened, as one of the biggest dragons was hit several times, and instantly collapsed, impacting the river not one hundred feet from Aragost'g galley, pulverizing several boats and rocking even Aragost's with the force of its impact, before it fell into the river.
It seemed the incident impacted the Valyrians more than them however, as the dragons quickly pulled away and did not come back, instead flying somewhat disorganized towards the city, though this time avoiding the artillery at Fisher's Landing.
And yet, even as he and everyone on the ship breathed a collective sigh of relief, suddenly a great splash was heard, and a few hundred feet away, a tower of water rose. Looking up ahead, he saw as boulders came flying towards them, impacting the water with heavy splashes that rocked the ships around them, and pulverized the ships under them.
All around them, ships were hit and sunk, some of their soldiers dying, while other tried swimming away and holding onto bits of wood.
"Keep going. We can't afford to linger" With any luck, those who could swim would be pushed by the river to the ruins of the bridge where they could sit safely and await rescue. And yet, what if they didn't? How many men had he just condemned to die? It was a question he didn't want to know the answer to. He couldn't look back. He had to keep moving forward, only forward. For Arnor, he told himself, as up above a roar was heard in the distance.
With a heavy heart he looked up and saw a mostly predictable image of countless of dragons high above, all of them no doubt carrying rocks and other debris to let go in their direction. He knew there was nothing he could do about them, but soldier on.
On and on the rocks fell, from both the catapults on Isildur's hill and the dragons way atop them, though the dragons very quickly ran out of rocks and departed. And all the while thousands of men died all around him, though mercifully their ship held, even if it was a close miss several times.
Finally, after what felt like years, the boats finally reached the landing, and he saw as the men quickly disembarked, many of them kissing the land. Aragost refrained from doing that, but only just. Instead, he strode with purpose, towards where he saw Steward Boromir, injured but alive.
"Your Majesty," he said with a bow.
"Boromir, good to see you. How many of your men are still in fighting order?"
"Almost ten thousand," he replied instantly.
"And how many could you spare without compromising the security of the landing or the artillery?"
"Maybe five thousand," he said. "Do you mean to counterattack Sire?" he asked, looking at the reinforcements.
"Aye. You'll keep command of the forces you need to hold the landing here, while I'll lead the attack with everyone else." At that Boromir only nodded.
"I'll have the men assemble in the market… Good luck," he added at the end softly.
"Thank you. May we both see tomorrow," he replied. And with that, the Steward of Arnor went on his way, while Aragost left his men to slowly disembark, while he quickly made his way to the market central to the Landing.
The former fish landing had now been cleared of all the fish-laden stands that had used to define it. Now there was just a large empty expanse where the soldiers were gathering, while all around the half-ruined buildings that surrounded the market were fully fortified, with archers filling the building, ready to repel any attacks and rooftops filled with artillery and mages ready to strike down any dragons that came too close.
Slowly, the men assembled in it. All told, there was less than twenty thousand, even with the men Bormoir had provided. 'Just twenty thousand,' he thought. There were over a hundred thousand in and around the city, and millions who served under the standard of the White Tree and yet it would all come down to these twenty thousand. And yet as they slowly trickled in and filled the market, he saw that already despair had filled the men.
"MEN OF ARNOR!" he said, taking off his helm so his men could see him better. "It is in Arnor's darkest hour that I ask you to one more time stand and fight. I see in your faces fear, despair and sadness, and understandably so, for the enemy has made advance after advance. Hundreds of thousands of our brethren now lay dead in the bloody fields of Essos, and millions of civilians are currently living under the Valyrian yoke. But we are not yet defeated!" he said, as the silence carried his voice all through the market.
"The enemy has been repulsed at Osgiliath, and our brave brothers in the Vale are holding the line against the barbaric invader. But it is not them that will decide the outcome of this great struggle. It is us and it is here. Here and now, shall the fate of our country be decided. Here the fates of us all, of your wives and children, and of their freedom shall be decided. We are the people of Elendil, of Isildur and Anarion. Let them look down at us all, their descendants with pride. Now or never let us prove that the blood of Númenor still flows through our veins!" he said, and was met with a great roar.
"FOR ARNOR!" he said, and was met with a matching cry.
"Have the men march out, and make ready to assault the hill," he ordered to one of his subordinates.
And soon, as one, the men began to move under their serjeants, forming up in small groups at the base of the hill. In front and above him, he could see that the Valyrians had not had the time to entrench themselves, or make ready in any way. No doubt the daylight counter attack is an unpleasant surprise to them, he thought. Wishing to capitalize on that, as soon as the men had arrayed themselves outside the market, he gave the order for the horn to be sounded and the push to be made.
There was an eerie moment of silence just before, as the Arnorians and Valyrians stared at each other, before the horn was heard, a long mournful sound that breached the silence. And after it a great roar, as his soldiers began to move up the hill.
Aragost and the men directly under his command, all told around two hundred were moving down the main road that linked Isildur's hill to Fisher's Landing, with all the soldiers keeping their shields up, knowing what was to come.
Indeed, as they approached the hill, projectiles began to be fired in their direction, and yet in the ruined city, cover was plentiful, and more often than not the projectiles hit the buildings. And yet, often enough they hit the men, crushing dozens at a time, and leaving bloody swathed through the ranks.
Then with a great roar, the dragons descended towards them, coming into view from behind Isildur's hill, the great beasts of death flying straight for them. Immediately however a great thump was heard from behind them as the artillery in Fischer's Landing launched all it's projectiles at the incoming dragons. A few were downed, and Aragost noticed with glee as they crashed into the Valyrian lines.
"MAGES!" he shouted. And while it took longer, being further away from the river, by the time the dragons launched their fiery breath, the shields were in place, helped by the uneven terrain with plenty of cover.
As the dragons passed above them, the watery tendrils shot out, however, all of the dragons managed to avoid them or burn through them. Even so, the dragons were then met with another wave of projectiles, which forced them to retreat.
They had survived, and looking up ahead, he could see the dragons had caused more damage to the Valyrians than to their own forces. The time is now, he realized, before they can make another sweep. Once they engaged the Valyrians, the dragons couldn't rain fire on them without killing their own troops in the process.
"FORWARD, CHARGEEEE!" he shouted as the dragons passed from view, breaking into a run up the street towards the hill, quickly followed by the rest of the army, all running like wildmen towards the hill.
However, as they did, they were instantly met by a volley of arrows, as the Valyrians unleashed hell, their small projectiles killing countless, littering the road with the dead. But Aragost did not care, could not care. It was now or never, he knew, as several of his men fell to the arrows by his side, and yet the run continued, up the hill, regardless of the casualties.
Soon, Aragost reached what was the Valyrian line, and he saw to his relief that they hadn't managed to dig in or even create a pike wall, instead all they had was a shield wall with archers behind them. Just as they came up on the shield wall, the archers let out one last volley that hit countless, with three different arrows hitting Aragost's plate armor, but they all bounced off harmlessly.
Moment later, Aragost's and his surviving men hit the shieldwall with incredible force, a force which he felt pushing at his back as he began to cleave through the soldiers behind the wall. For a moment, the battle was in frenzy as Aragost hacked and slashed at the enemies, each one seemingly being replaced by another to lock shields, but soon enough, he saw some of the enemies break and run under their momentum, and then more and more, before soon the shieldwall disintegrated and the shieldwall broke.
"AFTER THEM MEN! CHASE THEM DOWN!" he shouted, and yet in that moment, a horn was heard, and on the other side of the large market that market the top of the hill another Valyrian force arrived. Reinforcements, he realized gloomily.
He knew that this would be it, the deciding fight, and he also knew that there was no time or space for fancy maneuvers or formations.
"Form up!" he shouted, an order that reverberated across the line, as instead of fleeing the now thoroughly broken shieldwall, the men formed up in a somewhat cohesive line just in time as the Valyrians came upon them. And just like that, the two lines made their way for each other and engaged.
Immediately the melee was fierce, cutting and slashing at nameless enemy soldiers one after the other, the momentum of their forces keeping Aragost firmly on the front lines, as his sword and armor were bloodied by all the slain, while his shield was slowly battered by the enemy blades, though still holding.
All around him, he saw the battle was at an impasse, the two sides engaged in fierce melee with none of the two sides giving ground. Instead, all that Aragost could do was make a bloody path through the enemy, hoping that it would matter, that it would be enough. At the very least, it seemed to matter as the Valyrians made their way away from his position.
And yet, in that moment, he felt a sudden crippling ache, as a mace came into his sides, and even through the plate, he could tell that it broke ribs. Immediately the thrust his shield against the face of the man, before brining his sword into his neck, killing him on the spot.
And yet even so, he wondered if this rate of battle could be maintained. The Valyrians might even have more reinforcements. They could not afford to wait. They needed to push now.
"MEN! WITH ME! ONE LAST PUSH!" he shouted, and using the thinned-out line near him, he started making his way through the Valyrians with all he had. His men quickly followed with a roar, as they started going through the Valyrian line. There were no more tactics, no strategy, just endless bloodshed as he cut his way through more and more enemies. Slowly, their part of the battle began to push forward more and more, until they managed to cut their way to the very peak of the hill, where a mast lay.
"A FLAG. SOMEONE GET A FLAG THERE!" he shouted as more and more Valyrians came at him, and he felt as fatigue began to reach him, and the pain on his sides flared up.
But then the flag was brought and raised atop the mast, flying proudly and defiantly in view of all.
"FOR ARNOR!" he shouted. The men around him took up the cheer. "FOR ARNOR!" they all shouted, with renewed vigor at the sight of the flag, all chanting for the motherland.
And with it, he saw as the fight went out of the Valyrians at the renewed onslaught, and here and there a few men lost heart and turned, and then more and more and more, until soon they were all throwing their weapons and running for their lives, finally routing completely.
"Quick," he ordered, "man the artillery, set up the defenses."
However, even among the pragmatism, jubilation rushed through him, they had won, despite the odds and the costs, they had won!
With the King's by now legendary counterattack, the situation in King's Landing had been stabilized. The same day as the counter attack, the Valyrians had made two more attempts to take back Isildur's Hill, however they had failed. And not four days later, Arnorian forces in the North had launched their attack, and managed to push hard enough to even reconquer Duskendale leaving the Valyrians cut off, forcing them to evacuate the mainland by ship at Rosby.
A meeting had been called in one of the few intact buildings left in Morlond to discuss what was to be done now that the Valyrians had been driven from mainland Arnor. King Aragost had been seated on his throne-like chair when Boromir arrived and took the seat at his right hand as was his place as Steward.
Boromir observed his liege, who showed no signs of pain or discomfort despite the injuries he had suffered when the hill had fallen. The King had been injured himself too after all. Thankfully it was not a major injury, but Boromir had noted that it still pained the King slightly in their private meetings prior to this war council.
As the last officer entered the room, the King stood up, his expression not giving away the slightest hint that his injury hurt him in any way though Boromir heavily suspected it was just a facade.
Addressing all of them, the King spoke, "My lords, you all know what you are here for. We have come to a crossroads in the war.
In the Vale, our armies, joined with the strength of the Northmen have secured the Bloody Gate and the Gates of the Moon, preventing the Valyrians from breaking through for the foreseeable future. My son Prince Aravorn has just reported to me that he has seized the last Valyrian stronghold in Nammatil.
To the east, in Essos, resistance to Valyrian rule in Braavos continues with my brother Prince Túrin leading their efforts. Myr remains under siege, barely holding on with resupply from the Stepstones as the Valyrian Navy continues to push southwards. With the loss of Lys, there are many concerned that the Stepstones may soon come under attack from both the north and south.
However, the Valyrians still hold the islands of the Narrow Sea and with them they not only secure their supply line to the Vale and have a potential launching point for another invasion, but they also control the Narrow Sea and limit our access to Myr and the Stepstones.
Suffice to say that all our efforts in Essos and the Stepstones may be at risk if something is not done to drive the Valyrians off the Isles of Morfalas and therein lies the primary obstacle to our war effort. So long as the Valyrians control Blackstone and Driftmark, they can choke any attempt to relieve Essos and East Arnor and all our people there are as good as dead. The tide of war has turned, but if we are to capitalize on that we need those islands."
"Your Majesty, is not the costly but only possible course of action to take the islands by storm? We have no other choice, surely Prince Aravorn has enough men in Nammatil to lead an assault on the islands? They do not have many dragons anymore do they?" the Prince of Dol Amroth, Edrahil asked.
"It's impossible, putting aside the unfeasibility of an amphibious assault on the isles, we don't even have the ships. The Valyrians annihilated the Eastern Fleet during their invasion. There is no armada, either here in Blackwater Bay or in the Bay of Crabs that is large enough to carry an army to assault the isles. And lastly, this came by raven from Blackstone this morning," the King finished as he sat down, drawing out a letter from his breast pocket and handing it to Boromir who stood up and read it.
"To the armies of Arnor, know this. Any attack upon the isles of Dragonstone and Driftmark will be met with extreme prejudice by our dragons and will be weighed against the lives of the inhabitants of those isles.
Signed, Baela Belaerys, Lady Freeholder of the House of Belaerys."
"This is outrageous! I say let's bring all the fleets from the west and then storm the islands and put this Baela Belaerys and all her dragonspawn allies to the sword!" one hotheaded officer shouted. Some others chorused in agreement.
Boromir interjected. "Such a course of action would be nothing short of foolishness! It would take months to bring the western fleets through the canals and prepare an army capable of assaulting the isles! And then for what!? For all our men to die in a costly assault and for the Valyrians to carry out another massacre like Rosby?" he finished to the grimaces and dark expressions of all.
When the Battle of Morlond had ended, the Valyrians had used their dragons to blast their way out of the encirclement north toward Duskendale, where their scouts had reported their fleet had shipped the Valyrian army back to the islands of Blackstone and Driftmark. As they left Rosby, the Valyrians had sacked the town, looting and plundering all its wealth and massacring its people before they had reduced it to rubble with dragonfire, all but extinguishing the House of Rosby save for some distant cousins. The reports had said that the fires could be seen burning for days as an entire settlement was wiped from the face of the earth. The death toll was catastrophic, with at least two hundred thousand civilians, if not more believed dead.
"But my Lord Steward? Surely our forces can reclaim the Isles? And though many of our people will die in the chaos, may Eru rest their souls, many more would rise up and greet our forces as liberators! We can reclaim the isles!" the same rash officer suggested.
Boromir opened his mouth to speak but the King answered first, "Ordinarily we would agree with you Colonel, but not in this. The Isles of Morfalas are near impregnable to storm, only dragonfire and our unpreparedness let the Valyrians take them in the first place and with dragons, no ship can approach those islands, not even with water magic.
As Lord Boromir and myself have noted, we do not even have the ships to launch that attack in the first place. It would take months to rebuild all our infrastructure and to move ships from the western fleet. Even with sheer numbers I fear that will not be enough. We cannot reclaim the Isles by storm and if by some miracle we do, what then?
By that time, Myr would have fallen and we would have bled so dearly to reclaim the Isles, we might not even have the strength to defend Raumdor, Vinyambar, or the Stepstones should the Valyrians choose to attack there next."
"Your Majesty, if I may?" interceded one of the few women at the table, a water witch by the name of Elurdis and one of the senior commanders of the water mages.
"You may, Captain," the King said, giving his permission. Some male officers grumbled at that, wondering aloud what a woman would know of strategy but Boromir's glare shut them all up.
With the King's permission, Captain Elurdis began to speak, "I had a conversation with one of my acquaintances in the Skinchanger Corps, she said that their scouts had found the Valyrians reinforcing the Isles of Morfalas with more and more dragons, men, and ships. Is this correct?"
"It is. We hope to have reclaimed the Isles before it is too late somehow, but it may soon become completely impossible for us to do so in any way," Boromir answered.
"So with every day that passes, the Valyrian garrison on the Isles will become stronger and harder to overcome. Even if we gave the order now, by how soon could we have an armada ready to assault the Isles? Months at least, maybe even longer with how destroyed our infrastructure is. And in that time the Valyrians could have exponentially increased their number of dragons and men, ensuring we could not hope to take it back, conventionally at least."
"Conventionally?" the King raised an eyebrow.
"Yes Your Majesty. Correct me if I am wrong, but you fought in the War for the Rhoyne did you not?"
The King narrowed his eyes at her question, "I did, why do you ask?"
"Because the primary tactic that the Rhoynar used in that war is relevant here. Just like how Garin the Great flooded Valysar and Volon Therys with water magic, just like how he called upon Mother Rhoyne to drown Chroyane in the Sorrows, I am proposing that we coordinate our water mages in Nammatil… to drown the Isles of Morfalas."
For an instant, there was a dead silence in the air before pandemonium ensued. Almost everyone at the table stood up from their seats and began roaring against and in support of the idea.
"Are you insane woman? You would have us drown the Isles of Morfalas?" Prince Edrahil demanded
"It's a cruel plan but it's the best we have!" another water mage defended Captain Elurdis.
"By Eru this is like Akallabêth come again! You suggest madness, to drown Blackstone and Driftmark like Númenor!?"
The voices grew so loud and combatant, that Boromir could not even hear himself think and he was on the verge of snapping before the King barked at all of them to shut up.
"Enough! Take all your seats gentlemen, I would hear Captain Elurdis's defense of her plan first."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I beseech all of you to think about it more. How many of our soldiers will die if we are forced to storm the Isles? What is at stake if we fail? If the Valyrians keep control of the Isles, we can forget about Essos, Westeros will remain under threat forever. Our capital will be forever blockaded and at risk from a Valyrian attack, in fact the whole East Coast will be! And as we are distracted and paralyzed, unable to act, the Valyrians will mop up Myr and the Stepstones, maybe even start landing in Raumdor and Dorne, and we will have lost this war."
The officers sagged into their seats, unable to deny the truth in her words, as bitter as it was.
"Still though… how cruel must we be, to condemn a million souls to die? Who can make that decision?" Prince Edrahil asked in despair.
Boromir laughed soullessly, "There is only one man that can give that order and expect it to be obeyed."
All eyes turned to the King whose mask of stone-faced calm and passiveness had been torn off by horror at the realization that this cruel decision rested entirely on his shoulders.
"Is there any other plan, any other suggestion that that any of you may have?" he asked almost… pleadingly. But Kings did not plead and the mask of the stern King fitted back on when not a word was said in reply.
"Then what use are any of you? Out! You are all dismissed from my presence," he barked in anger.
Fearful of their King's wrath, all of them scurried to leave, but as Boromir made to do so, he was ordered to remain.
"Not you, Boromir."
Obeying his King, Boromir returned to his seat at the King's right. As he did so, a startling realization came to his mind.
"Your Majesty, you had already thought of Captain Elurdis's plan before this council, didn't you?" he asked. It made sense, why else would he pose a question to the council that had no other solution? He had known about it before and had hoped to learn of a better option, clearly though, there was none.
"I did yes. Every single time I thought of an answer, that was the only thing that came to mind. I had hoped that the 'fine officers of the King's Army' could give me a better solution, but they couldn't. It all leads back to the same thing. Tell me Boromir, what am I to do?"
"You will do what you must, as you always have Sire," Boromir answered neutrally. Outwardly he did not presume to tell the King what to do on this dire matter but they both knew what had to be done and Aragost understood the hidden meaning in his reply immediately.
"Dutiful to the end… yes," Aragost said with a sigh, crumpling further into his seat. "That is how my father trained me, how he trained all of us. Arnor comes first before everything. If only he had kept to his own philosophy before he dragged all of us into these never-ending wars. How foolish he was… how foolish was I."
A courier entered the meeting room then, his pace urgent and hurried as he handed the King a note.
King Aragost opened the message and read it before asking the courier, "This has been confirmed?"
"Yes Your Majesty, by both our scouts and the palantir."
He crumpled the piece of paper as he balled his hand into a fist and slammed it on the table.
"You have my gratitude Boromir, for your steadfast service and counsel. I trust the realm will be in good hands with you and your son to advise Aravorn when this war is over," the King said, his decision seemingly made, as he stood up from his seat, wincing slightly at the pain from his ribs.
"Your Majesty…?" Boromir was confused.
The King smirked bitterly, "Come now my lord Steward, you do not truly think that Arnor will suffer me as its king when the war is over? If I must save Arnor by making it hate me, then so be it. I will live up to my namesake and all shall dread me, be they foe… or friend."
As the King left the room, Boromir opened the crumpled note and read it. The note was a report on the estimated numbers of dragons, men, and ships on the two isles. But what drew Boromir's attention the most, was the first line.
Wingless armoured dragon spotted on Blackstone.
When Aravorn had received the order, he could scarce believe it. It was so radical, so ruthless… and yet so necessary. He knew it in his heart, there was no other way, yet that did not mean he liked it.
For the Royal House to survive, Aravorn knew his hands had to be clean of this atrocity as much as possible, which was why he had relayed the orders to the commander of his water mages and retired to a nearby cliff, sitting on the edge as his aide Cirion stood with their guards behind him.
In the coming days, much would have to be done to land troops on the flooded isles before the Valyrians did, with anything they could find. Fishing boats, merchant vessels, maybe even rudimentary rafts.
Yet for now, they could do nothing but wait. The water mages had taken what few water-craft they had and rowed out as close to the islands as they dared. It was a dark moonless night, with any luck the mages would be able to sneak close enough to the isles without the dragons detecting them, though Aravorn wondered if he actually wanted them to succeed given their mission.
Miles to the south, thousands of water mages snuck up on two unsuspecting islands, using their magic to calm the sea. It was dark and cloudy, with not a dragon in sight, though a few skinchangers had accompanied them to help watch the skies as the mages began their cruel task.
Soon the waters rose, thousands of mages working in tandem to gather two massive waves off the coast of Nammatil, one for each island. Ever so higher the wave climbed into the sky, gathering more water and energy as it rose hundreds of feet into the air, pulling the water from the beaches into it… and then it was done. With a push of their hands, the water mages sent the wave forward. Back on the cliff-side, Aravorn saw the water pulling from the beach, and he knew the moment had come. The hourglass had been turned. It was only a matter of time.
