Helaena Targaryen
Truth be told, as she sat in the corner, Shelly the trilobite in her lap, there was not much that she could add to the discussion. Her husband was quiet, calm and hard to dream of when he was not fully aware of her, in which case he posted helped her and traveled with her in the sleeping realm. Even when they were just aunt and nephew, this had been true. But she was able to rest, the gentle ambience of the thunderstorm. The booming of his easy laughter, joy tossed about on sea waves and gale winds, and yet so strong and sheltering.
She cuddled Shelly, as the storm shifted, as the seas lurched and shapes stirred in the depths, rising with the music. They were still talking, father enraged for once. He and Mavon were so similar in that way. They were peaceful souls, even if her beloved could not be called a gentle soul. Oh, he could be gentle enough, but perhaps it was best to say that he was not tame. He was as wild and changeable as the sea and with as many layers, most of them hidden. It was not until Daemon spoke, that she giggled, looking at the shifting chitin.
Oh, he was yelling about of course she showed her aunt, wounded and near death by Dornish assassins, the child she was bearing born early and misshapen, no respect, that she reveled in her half-sisters pain despite the fact she was to marry her son. "Oh no uncle. Its that that you think there is glory to be won that is so funny."
She was not afraid, as he narrowed his eyes, as he snarled and stalked forward. After all, it had been a painful time in the last year, with family and friends meeting their ends in accidents and 'accidents.' No, she was busy looking at the shifting layers of armor plates, Shelly chittering as she ate the little star fishes. "And why is that... niece."
Oh, he wanted to call her a slut or a whore. Really, he was not very creative when it came to insulting people was he? So, she looked up, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I did manage to talk him down, which is why Dorne hasn't drowned." She paused. "And why he isn't going to kill every living thing over six years old or chop off all of their right arms..." She paused, as all eyes were on her, and she raised an eyebrow. Yes, she dreamed and many things were more interesting than people, but. "Do not tell me that you failed to notice that Mavon was not here?"
Now, they were shouting and screaming, and she rolled her eyes. "Grandfather. Your plans have a fatal flaw." She didn't really care if they paid much attention to her, or listened to her words. They rarely did anyway. No, she booped her trilobite on the 'nose,' cute little legs swaying as she chittered. "You assume that Mavon would care about the consequences of killing you and tearing the hightower down before making each and every person with a direct involvement in this drown in their own blood."
"Sister, what are you talking about?" Ah, it was Aemond.
"He doesn't care if he sits on the throne someday. He supports his mother because she is his mother, because like us, she is family."
They had gone quiet again, even as grandfather spoke, though from his face, well, Aemond could have just as easily said the words. "What do you mean dear one, that he does not care if he sits on the throne one day?"
But, she was a dutiful daughter and so would tell him the truth. "Uncle Daemon was called the King of the Narrow seas. But tell me uncle, do you know how deep the waters of that kingdom run? Of what can be found in the deeps?" She smiled, calm and amused as she looked up. "Mavon has shown you his forges near Dragonstone. Two years confined to his home father?" Oh, she laughed, as there was realization in their eyes. "He has spent precious little of that time above the waves. Dorne will fall. He merely needs to redirect some of his stone legions from his little ongoing dispute with the Drowned God."
Their eyes widened, as she played with the pet her beloved nephew had gotten for her. Really grandfather, for all that Big Sister is annoyed with mother, she was not going to have them killed if she won the throne, because regardless of anything else, they were family. Now... would Shelly like oysters, or those little wiggly worms? She just started humming, as the storms thunder boomed.
Qoren Martell
The fighting was desperate, as they tried, and failed, to repel the marching statues. Each of them so far were armed merely with halberds, and yet the damning truth was that given how they emerged from the water in lockstep, in vast numbers that fell on their positions with cold and emotionless weight... they did not need a great assortment of weaponry to be effective. They could trip or break one down... but their numbers were endless and they did not tire. "Tubes are rising from the bay!"
What sort of... the air shook, a wall of noise, the stench of something burning, the roar of something moving, walls crumbling as something struck them and explosions, towers and fortifications erupting and exploding, everything was noise and chaos, fire and smoke and blood! And then the world roared again. "The tubes, smoke and something, siege!"
The lookout never manages to speak again, a scream as flying stone creatures, gargolye armed with hooked polearms, impaled him and tore him apart. Dozens more of the flying creatures had the polearms as they descended. Hundreds more had long tubes in their hand, tubes that erupted in smoke and spewed forth smoke and death. The last sight of the prince of Dorne beheld was a banner. A blue sea dragon on a black background.
A choking laugh tore its way free of his lips. Of course the Sea Dragon would come to avenge his mother.
On The Drowning Of Dorne
The Drowning of Dorne, as it has become known, was the great conflict prior to the Dance of Dragons. Truthfully, one could describe the Dance as the terrified reaction of elements inside the Greens who had realized that they would most likely lose the conflict. It was the Drowning that brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms, and it was accomplished in a week. While stories claim that it was the endless stone legions of Prince Mavon emerging from the sea, the existence of which has been thoroughly proven false, it was in truth the first, and one of the few, deployments of explosive powder weapons.
Weapons that House Targaryen wisely kept under strict control until the decline of their dragons due to the simple fact that they posed a serious risk of killing a mature dragon. Likely using Iron Born that saw him as one of their gods, they would have used the shock and awe that the weapons created along with the high speed and maneuverability of the iron fleet to devastate their targets and eliminate resistance.
By the end of the week, only Sandstone and Skyreach, both far from the sea, remained free of occupation, another strike against it being performed by an army of tireless stone warriors, who would not have overly bothered by the distances from the sea or rivers, but mortal iron born reavers, dependant on their ships for their mobility, would have. It is also likely that the vast majority of the prepared weapons had been used, the armory of decades, if not centuries, and so they could not take the final holdouts on the end of their logistical lines.