Chapter 13
A new Kingdom
Lord Cregan Stark
The visages of Lord Benjicot Blackwood and his aunt Lady Alysanne were harbouring large smiles as they were introduced in the improvised Council room. Seeing the great tapestries of House Bracken replaced on every wall of Stone Hedge was generating plenty of good humour in the hearts of their hereditary rivals.
This was far from the only change happening in Stone Hedge's inner walls of course. The furniture, the banners, the accommodations and the defences, many dispositions were modified or outright ignored to signify the change of allegiance. Stone Hedge did not belong to the Brackens anymore, if the banner of the three-headed dragon floating over the dungeon did not make it clear to any food convoy and knight patrol passing by.
The whispers of conversation died down as they passed the great door, with no one missing the point the defiant horse knocker had been replaced by a finely carved dragon.
"Your Grace," said Cregan, bowing down before Queen Baela and the rest of the group he was leading bent the knee after him.
"Rise, my Lords and Ladies," the answer arrived a couple of heartbeats later. Cregan stood up, watching rapidly the new Council room and inwardly smiling at the differences between the original meeting chambers of King's Landing. Of course, Cregan himself had never had the honour and the opportunity to be invited to these walls, but there were several Southern Lords who had, and he had talked with a few.
According to them, King Viserys the First of the Name – widely nicknamed 'the Befuddled', the 'Twice-Wrong' and 'the Incapable' in the corridors of several Riverlands castles – had bought a massive wooden table decorated with gold and silver which had cost at the very least the ransom of a Prince. Seats ordered from Myr artisans, tapestries from Tyrosh, crystal candelabra from Volantis and carpets from Master Guildsmen had completed the picture. It went without saying there had also been the usual crystal glasses to serve the Arbor wine, the excellent food prepared by some of the finest cooks of the capital and several other measures to satisfy the well-being of the councillors. In short, Viserys the First's Council had thanks to the Hightowers and all the Southrons crowding the royal court become the epitome of decadence and frivolous pleasures.
The place they were in was as different from it as summer is from winter. A large tapestry illustrating a tourney organised by the Conciliator was decorating the wall with no opening to the outside and a simple table of black wood covered by a well-detailed map was in the middle. In the background, a warm fire was burning in the chimney. There was only one unoccupied seat next to the flames, deliberately implying the Council was going to happen with everyone standing on both legs. This was the sum of the ornamentation meeting their eyes. Evidently, the typical Riverlands tables and other accommodations Lord Bracken had used to entertain his desk had not been judged worthy of Queen Baela. This was a promising sign, though the Lord of Winterfell had to keep a prudent attitude. How long these modest quarters would last once the kingdom was no longer bankrupt and their young liege had some of her possessions arrive from the Vale remained to be seen.
"Since everyone is here, we can begin." Affirmed the Black Queen with a rapidity and a lack of pompous ceremony which would have horrified the courtiers having dominated the court before the civil war. This morning the young dragonlady of House Targaryen had chosen to wear a nice purple dress and a new crown with a diamond above her forehead. "First on the order of the day are the Riverlands. Lord Tully?"
Lord Kermit advanced three steps before bowing before their liege. His recent captivity in the Green prisons had left quite a few scars on his determined visage and his body was trembling in exhaustion. Not surprising, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands had been liberated less than a fortnight ago and had arrived in the middle of the snowfalls yesterday.
"Your Grace, let me thank you for my liberation," declared the Lord of Riverrun, renewing his allegiance and beginning the little exchange that renewed his allegiance to the cause of the Black Dragon. These were pretty words, but they had a layer of sincerity this time. Lord Kermit's ransom had not been cheap: two Reach Lords, two Stormlords and five knights had been released from the cells of the Black Crown to ensure his freedom. The Black Cause had the means to pay; after all they had collected over three scores of highborn prisoners at Bosworth Bridge alone and many Westerners were also awaiting their fate in many dungeons across the realm. No, the ability had been there. But there had been cousins of lesser branches with their eyes fixed on Riverrun and Kermit's behaviour thorough this war had given him uncountable enemies in the ranks of his allies.
Once the salutations and congratulations were over, the rider of Moondancer addressed her bannersmen again.
"The vacant holdings of the Riverlands must be replaced." The men and the women summoned took position around the table under the vigilant eyes of four knights of the Kingsguards, some badly dissimulating the excitation in their eyes. Cregan was tempted to roll his eyes. They had behaved the same way three days before for the Vale lands, although truly there had been far less holes to fill. The traitor lords and knights had been executed and replayed by several cousins of assured loyalty. Hopefully, the new Lords Corbray, Lynderly and some of their friends would be more dedicated to wage war for the Black Crown in the decades to come. The continental map on the table was replaced by an erudite in grey robes –albeit one without the maester chains – and a very detailed map of the Riverlands bearing the sigil of House Bracken took its place. "Six Noble Houses and eight Masterly Houses have perished in the last four years and eighty-three knighthoods left no living heirs. These losses are terrible, but we can only mourn them and pray to the Gods Old and New that their murderers are burning in the Seven Hells for all eternity."
Given how the main perpetrator was Aemond the Kinslayer, this was a very dramatic affirmation to tell in front of your own Royal Council. The Queen didn't continue, waiting for one of her bannersmen to intervene. After an instant, it was Lady Alysanne Blackwood who spoke. This day the mistress of the Black archers was a lovely vision in her black dress and Cregan had to force his vision away from her least he concentrated directly on her breasts rather than her comments.
"The fate of the lands formerly two Traitor Houses should also be decided, your Grace," told the aunt of the current Lord Blackwood in a melodious voice. No name was spoken, but every person knew it could only refer to the Brackens and the Blackwoods.
Baela Targaryen made a small smile before revealing her thoughts, which were some way between suggestions and royal demands.
"Since we have no chance to take King's Landing in a moon or two, I intend to use Stone Edge as the temporary capital of the legitimate Seven Kingdoms." Many heads nodded as this decision was only confirming the actions taken in the last moon. "The lands east of Stone Hedge which were unjustly given to House Bracken will be returned to House Blackwood." The two members of said House present did not cheer widely, but their smiles and expressions of joy spoke for themselves. The pale fingers of the Queen touched the map in several points of the central Riverlands, showing whose parts would be sworn to Raventree Hall. "The northern domain of House Strong will be divided between House Roote and House Darry." This time Lord Darry was far less discreet and cheered in his large brown beard. It was the first time his visage harboured a smile after his father's death from the wounds he had taken at Bosworth Bridge. Still, Cregan remarked that Lady Vypren and Lord Kermit had noticed the boot-shaped amount of lands remaining to be distributed.
"The other titles, castles and possessions of the houses having failed in their duty to defend their Queen will be confiscated and will form the new royal demesne of the kingdom."
The Lord of Riverrun did not look too pleased by it. Cregan understood it. In a single strike, the Black Queen had just placed under her rule some very fertile and rich lands bordering the Red Fork and the God's Eye. And the amount of loss taxes that would be removed from his purse would not be inconsequential either.
"In return, the Crown will place the Noble House of Staunton under the authority of Riverrun. Cracklaw Point, Claw Isle and Driftmark will stay under royal governance and form the new Eastern Marches."
Lord Tully's belligerent face disappeared, his mood turning to contemplative. Cregan had to give it to their young Queen, it was a good move. House Staunton's lands would extend the reach of the Riverlands while remaining less rich and prosperous than the confiscated villages and fields. Yes, the pointed questions the purple-dressed dragonlady had asked to her advisors in the last days were not just by sheer curiosity.
"Ser Allyn Melcolm will be named as the new Crown Castellan of Harrenhal. The fortress is ruined, probably cursed and completely indefensible with the forces we have left but Lord Bolton reports have insisted on the point a smaller castle could still be useful to defend the God's Eye. And we can always use the surplus stones to guard our frontiers with new holdfasts."
This last declaration did not receive a large support but nobody opened his mouth to naysay the point just raised. Harrenhal was a ruin thanks to the pillages, raiding, capture and recapture of the Dance, this was not a point the Lords of the Rivers and the Trident could disagree with. And with their lands ravaged, it would be a long time when they would have the means and the gold dragons to rebuild this black monstrosity.
By contrast, the elevations of the new Lords such as Lord Keath, Lord Ryger, Lord Lychester, Lord Mallister and Lord Frey were quick and did not cause any surprise. There were a few whispers when House Charlton became on parchment subordinated to the Twins but the reality was that said House had lost almost all its men, gold and lands at war or in a storm of dragonfire. The new Lord Charlton in the end was a cousin of dubious birth and as a consequence House Charlton was lowered to a Masterly rank. Ultimately, the Noble Houses north of the Blue Fork were Mallister, Frey, Ryger, Shawney and a new House which had distinguished in the last battles, House Terrick.
Surrounding the Trident there was not a lot of debate. Vypren, Roote, Darry, Hawick and Mooton would continue their rule over the frequently flooded plains. These Houses had had all survivors of the main lines or cadet lines which could take the burden of their predecessors. On the south-west of the Riverlands, it was a far more complicated affair.
"The Wayfarer's Fort and the approaches of the Western passes belonged to House Wayfarer. They were our kin and should go to House Piper!" This very loud proposal from Lord Piper had opened the verbal hostilities. Cregan had no stake in the quarrel and didn't intervene, but apparently plenty of the local lords had no intention to let the Pipers create a grand domain covering the western quarter of the Riverlands.
"Kin?" scoffed Lord Darry. "Next time, you will tell us you were best friends! Is it why Lord Wayfarer threw his cup in your face at the last tourney of Atranta?"
There were many chuckles at this, from the Riverlords as well as the Valemen and the Northerners. Piper's face turned red of anger.
"I have the best claim..."
"And may the Seven help us..." whispered in an amused smirk Lady Sabitha Frey born Vypren.
The next turns of hourglasses were excellent to show everyone how quarrelsome the Riverlords could be. Insults flew everywhere, and if Queen Baela had not been present, the dispute could have unravelled and turned into a fist fight. Lord Kermit's control of his bannersmen appeared to have considerably diminished with his captivity. When he would be old and senile, the Lord of Winterfell would be able to tell his grandchildren how his fellow Lord Paramount had replied to a Piper tirade by:
"Your sheep will not be welcome on Tully lands!" It was like the livestock was going to suddenly gain enough intelligence to recognise the limits of a Noble House's pasture...
"I will build a barrage on the Red Fork to make sure no trout will ever be fished at Riverrun!" Was the bitter retort pronounced by his interlocutor.
The 'Wayfarer inheritance' continued to poison the talks for the rest of the conference. It was unfortunate...for the Riverlords. They were so busy shouting at each other that men like Cregan, Lord or Lord Tollett who had no reason to shout endlessly managed to get what they wanted.
For Cregan personally, it was the opportunity to get rid of those idiots pretending to have killed Lord Borros Baratheon. It had been a good idea on the field of battle, but now scores of men were pretending to be the one having done the deed. Thanks to the Old Gods, he was able to get rid of them by giving a few knighthoods and dispersing them in the Southern Lordships of the Riverlands.
"The new southern border will be defended from west to east by the Houses of Piper, Perryn, Vance of Atranta, Wayn, Butterwell, Mooton and Staunton." This was in the end the result of this long and difficult negotiation proclaimed by the descendant of the Conqueror. "Houses Smallwood and Terrick are elevated to the status of Noble Houses. Maidenpool and Saltpans will be given Royal Charters to become cities in their own right. Are they any points left to discuss?"
The latter point was sure to be particularly hated by the merchants of King's Landing and the rest of Blackwater Bay, the Stark Hand reflected. As the capital had developed after the Conquest, King's Landing had become the centre of Westerosi trade while several lesser harbours were abandoned or saw their activity decrease. But with two new cities, the dreadful state of King's Landing and a kingdom cut in half, it was entirely likely the trade roads bypassed in the last decades could be reopened. Yes, it was definitely interesting. Cregan would have to speak to the Manderly contingent as soon as this debate was over...
"The Wayfarer lands, your Grace..."
For the first time in the entire session, annoyance was seen in the beautiful purple eyes. Lord Piper, who had just reminded the Queen of this painful point, had the dubious pleasure of receiving the royal glare straight on and took a cowed expression.
"I have heard the arguments. House Piper, House Deddings and House Vance have all their own claims, is it right?"
"Yes, your Grace," confirmed Lady Sabitha. "But the last words of Lord Wayfarer are not known to us and the Lannister host was a bit too efficient at exterminating the second and third branches of Wayfarer..."
"In this case, the Lordship will go to Ser Jonos Vance," decided the silver-haired Queen, calling the name of a cousin of the Lord of Atranta. "He has captured four Western Lords in the Battle-by-the-Lakeshore, no?"
"He has," agreed Lord Piper with what was evidently bad grace. "But-"
"The Crown will make a condition of his ascension for Lord Vance of the Wayfarer lands to marry either a daughter of House Piper or Deddings."
This shut definitely the mouth of the feuding Riverlords. In front of him, Lord Tollett was desperately trying not to chuckle at the looks of intimidation the Lords of the Trident and the Forks were sending each other. This was going to be a marriage war, of this there was no doubt.
But after Queen Baela imperious decision, the map of the Riverlands and its new lordships was withdrawn and replaced by one infamous for any highborn Lord or Lady governing lands bordering the Sunset Sea. The precision for this map was somewhat lacking contrary to the previous one. Maesters and man with drawing skills had never been welcomed with open arms to the Iron Islands and the reaver captains guarded jealously what little written knowledge they had stolen or 'convinced' enemy captains to part with.
"What is the situation in the den of pirates?" asked Lord Eon Tollett. An outside observer might be surprised by the condemnation in the Valeman's tone for a force which had previously fought for the Black Dragon, but there was no shout to protest how unfair these words were.
The end of the war between Greens and Blacks allowed the whispers of their agents to come back far faster than they had during the bloodshed and the ugliness of what the Ironborn had done was painting a spectacle of massacre and desolation. If Vhagar and Aemond would remain for decades to come the butchers of the Rivers, then Dalton the Red Kraken had grabbed the title of Despoiler of the West with ease.
"Chaos," affirmed the Frey Lady, who was directing the efforts of their spies though she had asked for a title far more impressive than 'Mistress of Whisperers'. "The rumours of King Daeron the Green burning the entire remaining fleet at Old Pyke weren't just rumours it seems. The Ironborn had the great idea to organise one of their king's elections, they call it a 'kingsmoot', in the middle of an undefended bay." The smirk on Lady Sabitha's lips made clear how stupid she considered the Ironborn for forgetting the fact they were at war. "What the Blue Queen did not burn, the Arbor fleet massacred. The surviving pirates have retreated to their strongholds but they have lost Old Wyk for sure and nine out of ten of their Lords and strongest captains."
This was a dreadful tapestry. One the Ironborn really deserved for all their atrocities. This was good news for the North of course: as more and more Ironborn fell under the Reachers and the Westerners blades, there would be far less raiders and pirates on his coast the next spring.
"Should we not send a force to capture a few islands before the Greens kill every Ironborn on these damned islands?"
The question had been posed by Lord Tully, and the tone employed suggested this was not reason which animated the red-haired Lord but vengeance for past wrongs. As it was him who had proposed the current strategy, Cregan answered without giving the time for anyone to speak.
"The only fleet we have available to attack the Iron Islands at present is the Mallister fleet, Lord Tully. I'm certainly not going to send ravens to the Mormont, Glover, Dustin and Flint ships on the western coast to sail in the middle of the winter storms!" The men and women in charge of the defences of the western coast would not obey anyway. In winter, Northern ships stayed very close to the coast. It was a simple question of survival and despite this many hulls were still lost. "And sending the ships of the Cape of Eagles would leave our entire flank undefended if the Greens tried to sail into Ironman's Bay tomorrow."
"I think we could take them." It was really funny how Lord Piper could support Lord Tully's position as long as it was a command to destroy the ravagers who had conquered the Riverlands nearly a century and a half ago.
"We would slaughter them." Agreed Lady Blackwood and Kermit's smile was more expressive until her next words. "But we would not be able to feed our own troops there. It is already difficult to pay the captains of the Narrow Sea and transport the supplies from Maidenpool and Gulltown to the villages and holdfasts which need it. The merchants and small carracks we have available are too small to transport the food of a small army."
"The Greens are in the same position as ours or worse." It was best to crush the whole idea in the cradle. As the Lord Paramount contributing the greatest amount of infantry on the field, Cregan knew whose forces would be ordered to storm the Ironborn crippled defences. In the middle of winter. Against an opponent who often had proven in the last centuries they didn't lack fanaticism when the hour came to die for their Drowned God. "The Westerlands have gold left, but almost no food to give for a long campaign. The Redwyne Navy is too far from its own bases and with winter conditions becoming hellish, they will have to return back to the Reach soon."
"Daeron has his dragon."
"A dragon and his rider can't occupy the Iron Islands by themselves. And a dragon needs to be sleep and be fed too." The flying reptiles' strengths to destroy everything had been made clear in this civil war, but so had been their weaknesses. The Lord Paramount of the North contemplated the Council and the rest of the Lords assembled in the small room. "No, my Ladies and Lords. The Greens can't conquer the Ironborn until next spring. And when the good days will return, our ships and armies will be in a better position than theirs to act."
There was a rumble coming from several Riverlords of course but the rest of the assembly showed diverse manners of relief. As they should, really. Once you had seen the mountain of corpses from Bosworth Bridge, you understood the glory of war as it was sung by the bards had never existed. Westeros and the two Kingdoms had been bled deeply by this war. They really didn't a winter campaign to make things worse.
"I find the arguments of my Hand pertinent." Queen Baela had waited the debate to quiet down before speaking her mind. "Tessarion and the Arbor fleet have broken the Ironborn and they will be no great threat for this winter. We will maintain agents on the Isles to be warned of new raids but it is my will to wait until spring. My Moondancer will be large enough by then to deal with the last longships and their forts." Low voices of assent were heard and Lord Tully and his bannersmen were satisfied...for now. It was at this moment Lord Mollen entered the room and at the invitation of the Queen hurriedly whispered something in her ear.
This time it was not annoyance, rage, joy or disgust which was seen on the traits of the Valyrian heiress but more a feeling of curiosity.
"This Council is adjourned. We will speak of the rest of the concerns next dawn."
At first, the Lord of Winterfell thought little of it as the flow of Lords and Ladies left the room and poured towards the dining hall. If there was a certainty after these Council meetings, it was your need for a meal, a drink and a seat. And not in this particular order, mind you.
But as he gently presented his arm to the lovely Lady Blackwood and they began their slow walk towards rest and warmth, a few squires were removing the saddles of exhausted horses in the courtyard and a column of men were directed inside. In other circumstances, Cregan would have thought nothing of it but the lone banner half-covered in snow was recognisable by every Northman.
Black on black, the Night's Watch black brothers had come to Stone Hedge.
King Daeron Targaryen
According to the poor men and women they had rescued from the reavers, this place had been named the King's Rock. There was apparently nothing to justify this. It was a black rock, ugly and battered by the waves and the cold winds. But according to the old tales, it was one of the many sites the Conqueror had landed Balerion during the Conquest. It was the landscape where the rider of the Black Dread had received the oath of allegiance from the Lord of Harlaw and his Great Captains.
In different kingdoms, such places had seen taverns, inns and septs be elevated to remember the terrifying dragon and its royal master. But these were the Iron Islands. The Faith never remained for long on these shores and the inhabitants weren't willing to give respect to anyone but their murderous brothers. Yes, the Conqueror had forced them to bend the knee but unlike the rest of the Seven Kingdoms these oaths had been quick to be discarded every time the iron fist of the Crown could not reach them. Thus what Daeron saw had to be the same lands, rocks and sea the first King of Westeros had watched over a hundred years ago.
Aegon had tried appeasement and counted on the scary presence of the dragons to enforce peace. Thanks to Rhaenyra's idiocy and the Ironborn very nature, all the peace efforts were ruined. Maybe if he had Seven Kingdoms under his rule and a long summer ahead of him, the relative peaceful combination of gold tithes, hostages and melting the swords could have been used once more.
But this was winter and the time of frivolities was long past. What he had ordered disgusted him, but the rider of Tessarion and leader of the Green forces knew he had never had the choice. Not if he wanted to have a western coast protected from the unending pillages of the reavers and their allies for several years.
"Your Grace, your orders have been executed," declared formally Lord Alan Redwyne, High Admiral of the Fleet. If the grey-bearded sailor had felt any reluctance to accomplish Daeron's command, there was no sign of it on his aged visage. "All the food reserves we could find have been confiscated. All the Westerosi and Essossi the Red Kraken and his reavers took as spoils of war are on their way back home. The Ironborn women which are under forty name days have been placed on our transports for Lannisport and Oldtown."
The young Targaryen King nodded darkly. Just because they had completely sunk the Iron Fleet at Old Wyk did not mean they could entirely conquer the Iron Islands. After the inferno of dragonfire he had unleashed on their sacred island, the Ironborn had finally realised adopting the same strategy was going to result in their doom. So now at the first sign of a blue wing, the courageous captains and warriors left abandoned their castles and longships to hide in the dreary caverns and other asperities of the harsh mountains.
Pursuing them had been difficult and scores of men had died – ambushed by the retreating Ironborn or killed by the cold, the rock avalanches and the fury of the elements. If they had had a proper army and it was spring, Daeron would have tried occupying these ugly pieces of rocks. These were many 'ifs'. The sailors of the Redwyne Navy were few in numbers and they were needed to manoeuvre the transports and the warships. Of the once mighty armies of the Westerlands, Lady Lannister had mere hundreds left to give and two out of three were five years younger than him.
"The men are awaiting their orders, your Grace," said tranquilly Captain Edric Lowther.
May the Gods Old and New forgive me.
He was well aware the Ironborn would damn for untold generations after the carnage he had done. The butchery of their 'kingsmoot' had been bad enough. The sacks of Old Wyk and Pyke had made the tally corpses rise to awful numbers.
There was no choice. They couldn't leave an 'Iron Kingdom' in their back for the next campaigning seasons, not with the Blacks to their north ready to exploit any weakness...
Pyke was the armoury of the Drowned God, Great Wyk was its mines, Saltcliffe was the salt and Old Wyk was the religious centre.
But Harlaw was the granary. Destroy it, and the Iron Islands were going to die. The Green King drew Blackfyre from its scabbard, the antique Valyrian sword looking like a shard of darkness in the grey light of winter.
"We can begin then. Let Harlaw burn."
"LET HARLAW BURN!" screamed a young Crakehall knight, who had lost all his family in one of the raids.
The war-cry was shouted over and by over by hundreds of angry throats and then the first torch was thrown in one of the wood piles the soldiers had slowly gathered in the last days. Harlaw had more trees than the rest of the Iron Islands but it didn't mean it was growing anywhere.
Bathed in oil, the wood burst in flames rapidly and the Drowned Priest which had been tied to the pole on top of it continued his imprecations, begging his God to save him. The prayers did not appear to provide any miracles this day. The torches flew and the nineteen other Drowned Priests tied on the other execution poles were soon engulfed in flames. Their shrieks mounted rapidly in the air and the disgusting odour of roasted human meat was smelled.
"BURN HARLAW! BURN THE IRON ISLANDS!"
The columns of men raced in the hinterlands, steel in one hand and fire in the other, the funeral pyre of the Drowned Priests in their back.
"How many of their so-called 'Kings remain at large?" He asked to Lord Alan Redwyne, sick in advance of what the bloodbath the warriors were doing in his name. Already, trails of smokes were seen mounting over the first series of cliffs blocking him the view.
"Scores." replied with a dark grimace the High Admiral. "Since we interrupted them before they crowned a King, these damned Priests have spread the word it is the will of the Drowned God that the man who will throw us back to the sea will be the new King."
This sounded indeed like the nonsense these iron-skulled fanatics liked to sprout. Daeron did not know how the idiots were going to explain their departure in a few days...he almost regretted not being here to listen to their explanations. How the fleet and the dragon they feared were gone...along with their women and their supplies.
It was cruel and amusing at the same time, but the Ironborn had really brought it upon themselves by unleashing seas of blood from the Banefort to the Shield Islands.
"And now their time of reaving is over..."
Daeron mounted Tessarion and flew eastwards, ready to add dragonfire to the torment of Harlaw.
Prince Qoren Martell
Qoren felt his arms but moving them was becoming harder. Sweat was pearling on his forehead. His legs were trembling and his breath was so loud and dolorous it was almost a cough.
It was a new morning and for the first time of the new day he asked himself whether these were the symptoms of old age or something far more sinister. The Prince of Dorne was not a young man, as the next moon would see him celebrate his two and sixty name day. Had he been able to sleep soundly at night rest after the main meals of the day and travel short distances, maybe his old bones wouldn't ache too much.
But his unruly bannersmen didn't give him time to rest. Every fortnight there was an old feud between two Houses, and it was rare blood hadn't been shed when he arrived to enforce the peace. Qoren didn't know if one of their assassins had poisoned him, but these hot-blooded bannersmen for sure poisoned his days. The streets of Sunspear and Planky Town were dens of discontent and agitation.
Whether he liked it or not, the calls to war were incredibly popular. Killing a group of treacherous nobles out of sight had done nothing to calm the bloodlust of the Dornish people.
Sometimes Qoren wondered if the venom of the Dornish snakes had destroyed at birth the intelligence of his smallfolk and his bannersmen. Replacing his night clothes by a light-orange tunic, he ordered his servant to search him more water. The pain in his head was growing worse. The ache in his chest was not getting better. Poison or age? Poison and age? How could he know? When the cold water arrived in his throat, all he felt for an instant was relief and pleasure. It didn't last. He had to sit on the chair behind his great desk.
He had to last a bit longer. Aliandra wasn't ready to rule Dorne and the Ladies and Lords conspired to begin a war they couldn't win. They believed the deaths of so many dragons and the Seven Kingdoms being divided in two gave them a chance to invade the Marches and win. And to be fair, Qoren acknowledged in his thoughts they were right. They had a chance.
It didn't mean it was a good one. For all the defiance and bravery shown in the war against the Conqueror, Dorne had paid a terrible price in blood and lands. Their armies were smaller, many marketplaces and trade outposts had been abandoned to the desert winds. Westeros was weak, weakened by years of warfare. But the Greens held three of the ancient kingdoms. Dorne was alone, and its armies were never able to counter the numbers of the fully mustered Stormlands. With dragon to support these armies, it could only end one way.
The Prince of Dorne closed his eyes. Warm. He was sweating. He tried to reopen his eyes but he was getting weaker. He was trying to speak but his mouth wasn't opening. There were voices in the distance but he wasn't able to hear what they were saying. Qoren let the darkness claim him.