A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, we are soon approaching the climax of this war arc, and then to the final arc of the story.
Thanks to Wobb Nox, filipinosberman and Ascalon on SB for beta-ing.
Chapter LX: Balerion's Blessing
29 AC
Fifth Moon
Outskirts of Mainland Tyrosh
Elaegelle Targaryen
Two months had passed since the Battle of Tyrosh City, and in that time every army had to replenish the severe losses sustained against the Midnight Scourge. With the magisters and virtually the entirety of the elite gone, the Iron Throne had to send replacement bureaucrats and nobles to govern the leaderless state and patrols to keep the peace.
The Midnight Scourge had pulled out of the region entirely, consolidating their strength in the territories of Lys and Myr and thus strengthening their grip on their portion of the Verdant Heel. This suited the Iron Throne just fine, since the sheer damage would necessitate years to truly repair.
This, however, did not mean the Midnight Scourge would allow the Iron Throne the convenience of a peaceful reprieve; several skirmishes occurred on the mainland borders, the primary targets being isolated villages and patrols.
It was quiet at first, small caravans and patrols vanishing without a trace, fort garrisons whittled down by surprise attacks, small villages raided with no survivors, the corpses taken to gods-know where. Then the attacks gradually increased with worrying frequency, and veteran troops had to be sent out to cut down the culprits.
The Sand Dragon Army was one of those dispatched to handle the marauders, and due to the sheer speed in which these attacks took place, speed was of the essence.
Elaegelle rode hard and fast at the head of her cavalry detachment, Lorrent holding on for dear life as he wrapped his arms around her stomach.
"You holding on, Lorrent?" Asked Elaegelle.
"Yes!" Lorrent squeaked, squinting his eyes hard.
"Don't worry, we'll be there soon," Elaegelle reassured, "Just hold on tight!"
The fast steeds worthy of Dothraki Khalassars soon crested the hill and beheld a burning village, plumes of smoke rising into the air from ruined black carcasses of wood, thatch and mortar. Corpses were being carried away by black-clad men in leather and cloaks, mostly armed with axe and shield, bow and arrow.
Raising her sword Zarnhiv in the air, she bellowed in a dragon's roar:
"Hrar gah-Rhoyne!" [1]
"Hrar gah-Rhoyne!" Her men repeated.
And they charged, lances levied and arrows ready.
Horses crushed against flesh and bone, momentum sending marauders flying like broken ragdolls with broken strings before they hit the ground hard like falling boulders. Long arrow shafts pierced through necks, skulls and chests, the horse archers as accurate and unerring as demigods, and swords and axes hewed them apart like wheat to a scythe. The marauders, however, were quick to rally and return the favour, killing several riders with accurate shots and sending horses tumbling down with hooked spears before maiming the downed riders with axes.
"That's enough, retreat!"
At their leader's command, the marauders were quick to withdraw, mounting their own steeds and galloping away, sending countless arrows towards the Sand Dragons as a final parting gift.
"General, should we pursue?" Asked Vilarr, the Brigadier-General grimly surveying the carnage.
"No, our priority is the village itself," Said Elaegelle, "We have our detachment rest for the night and give what aid we can to the villagers. The other Sand Dragon detachments will handle the rest."
"As you command, Milady," Said Vilarr.
Lorrent took one look at the carnage in the ruined village, and he beheld for the first time an ugly world of bloodshed and destruction far removed from the idyllic life he enjoyed in Dorne. Corpses coloured a crimson red, some missing limbs or heads, their white eyes lifeless and blankly staring at nothing and no one; fires raging in houses, the smell of burning wood and cooked flesh, rotting meat and defecation filling the air with a rancid stench; the weeping survivors who mourned those lost in the invasion.
Lorrent was scared, he breathed heavily, his eyes watery, and he buried his face in Elaegelle's back.
"Lorrent?" Asked Elaegelle.
"I-I'm okay…" He mumbled, his voice wracked with sobs.
Elaegelle knew otherwise, tenderly holding his hands.
"Master Rada, if I may?" Ser Jaehaerys asked, as he rode up to him cleaning his blade with a cloth.
"Hm?" Lorrent mumbled.
"You said that you are a healer, yes?" Inquired Jaehaerys, "We need all the help we can in healing the wounded survivors, and your water magic would be an immense help."
"I-yes, I can help," Lorrent quickly nodded, dismounting with help from Elaegelle and rushing towards the triage area where countless men, women and children littered the ground, covered in rags of crimson-stained white.
Lorrent felt the urge to gag, to vomit out his breakfast and then run away, break down and cry as the smell of blood and the wails of the wounded assaulted his senses. No songs of tales of war and battle told the aftermath, or the resulting realities that he was seeing for the first time.
"Lorrent, war ain't a walk in the park; it's a hellish place where the weaker ones die in battle or suffer nightmares. Never treat it lightly if you ever find yourself in the middle of it."
His father's words hit him hard like a battering ram, and never did his words ring truer than now.
"I want to go home…"
Ironic that after making such a heartfelt request to Elaegelle and his family to let him come here, he wanted to go home. If his family were here, they would surely understand that he was not suited for the horrors of war. And yet…
"I want to help you, Elaegelle."
He could not forget his promise to Elaegelle, the apple of his eye. He would not.
"Boy, don't just stand there! If you've come to help, then help!"
The shout jolted him out of his thoughts as he saw an elderly lady suturing [3] wounds shut with a curved needle and thread, meticulously cleaning away the blood and dressing wounds while assistants did the same, with some boiling the needles in water before heating them over a fire and quenching them in clear liquid.
"I-I can help! I've got water magic!" Lorrent blurted out.
"Well, come here then! He's losing a lot of blood here!" The elderly doctor beckoned, pointing to her patient with a nasty gash in his stomach where his guts were spilling out, "But make sure to clean your hands in hot water first!"
Following instructions by other doctors, he doused his hands in piping hot water, wincing at the burning sensation on his skin which quickly turned red. He bit his lip and powered through the pain by sheer force of will.
Once he was done he went to help the elderly lady tending to his patient, channelling water to mend wounds and stem the flow of blood. His training came easily to him, and he felt an unnatural sense of calm as his mind focused on work.
As the doctor finished stuffing his guts back into his abdomen, she beckoned Lorrent who drew a large glob of water and placed it over the open torso like a protective blanket. Before their eyes, the flesh slowly knitted itself together until it sealed shut, and the patient - unconscious from milk of the poppy - had his complexion improving.
Lorrent felt immense relief at seeing the patient grow better, but he had no time for reprieve.
"Come on, boy! We've more patients to treat!" The elderly lady reminded him.
Lorrent could not bring himself to refuse, and for the better part of the afternoon he worked hard to help heal the survivors.
For three hours, he worked under the strict, meticulous instruction of the matron physician to administer emergency care to the survivors of the ill-fated village and wounded Sand Dragons, using his water magic to help heal the more dreadful wounds first and helping to bring many back from death's door. At the same time, he underwent a crash course in cleaning and dressing wounds as medics did. Of course, there were those too late to save, and Lorrent could only watch as they expired under his watch, his last service being the covering of their bodies in drapes of crimson-stained linen.
Only once all the patients in the triage tent were treated and out of danger did Lorrent allow himself to relax, the adrenaline that kept him focused and taut like a bowstring fading from his veins.
And when he did, taking a deep breath outside the medical area, he collapsed to the ground, falling on his knees and taking in deep gulps of air as if he was drowning minutes earlier.
The dam finally broke.
Tears spilled out of his eyes, his voice wracked with sobs, and concerned soldiers quickly surrounded him and shook him gently to get his attention.
"My Lord, are you alright?"
"Stay strong, My Lord!"
Lorrent could not hear them, so strong were the emotions clouding his mind. He desperately wanted his parents and family to comfort him, for Elaegelle to offer words of encouragement.
And his wish was granted as Elaegelle called out to him.
"Lorrent? You okay?"
And Lorrent quickly hugged her, sniffing and sobbing as he buried his face into her armour and staining the fabric with tears and snot, his bloodstained hands clutching tightly to her armour.
"I'm scared… I'm so scared…" He mumbled.
Elaegelle patted his head, enveloping him in a hug.
"There, there. It's alright now," Elaegelle whispered, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
From inside the triage tent, the same old female doctor looked at the crying form of Lorrent Rada, sighing and shaking her head with understanding in her heart. She went back inside to continue her work.
Her attitude towards Lorrent did not change, even when she learned Lorrent's true identity.
IIOII
Eight Moon
Disputed Lands
Designated heir or not, Lorrent as a noble and a scion of House Rada, grandson of Arin Rada, would eternally face pressure and expectation to succeed.
And for a young man who was just beginning to see the ugly side of the world, such expectations would mercilessly crush and break his personality and self-esteem. For Elaegelle and her captains, all they could do was offer as much emotional support as they could for him.
It was the right thing to do, the only thing they could do.
And over the next three months, the Iron Throne would fend off several skirmishes on land and at sea, the attacks akin to buzzing bees who refused to stay still, stinging with non-lethal yet painful pricks. Fresh troops and officers gained the necessary experience, with veteran nobles harshly punishing and wringing out any and all trace of brown-nosing and arrogance for the sake of this campaign. Those who caused unnecessary losses and defeats for such reasons were harshly punished or executed by gruesome means.
Dornish punishment methods found especially frequent use for crimes of severity of the highest order, including the famous horse-pulling dismemberment that Arin once used on his uncle Rhodry. That one caused no small number of nightmares for green boys.
One day, as Elaegelle was asleep in her bed, she tossed and turned and sweated profusely in her bed despite wearing a light gown and the weather being cool. She panted heavily, her face flush with heat, and her mark glowed a bright red with a searing pulse of adrenaline.
And in her mind, flashes of unfamiliar images passed through her mind.
A giant dragon equal to Balerion the Black Dread in size and stature, proud and arrogant yet matronly and fiercely protective. Scales shining a brilliant azure, the colour of purity.
It flies in the air with grace and elegance, a queen of the skies. Three smaller drakes fly beside it, and it plays along with them, guiding them in the fundamentals of flying. The wind in her face, the birds anxiously swerving aside to avoid collision.
And from its maw, a brilliant gout of striking indigo-coloured flames spread, glittering with the lustre of stars and powdered diamonds.
"This is your destined dragon. Find her on the night of the full moon, and she shall stand by your side until the last of her days."
And then she awoke with a gasp, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
"A vision from Balerion himself…?" Elaegelle muttered, smiling wryly, "Trust him to send me a vision while I'm having a good sleep…"
She looked outside and saw the night sky, and it was exceedingly close to a full moon. Tomorrow night would be the time.
Huffing to herself, she went back to sleep, a strange tiredness taking hold of her as her eyes sealed shut.
IIOII
The following night…
Under the cover of night, Elagelle rode on horseback with a small retinue of twenty companions, dressed lightly in chainmail and wielding her two treasured swords Zarnhiv and Alhapdrynis by her side. Accompanying her were Ser Calderon, Brigadier-Generals Vilarr and Jamaqhor and Lorrent Rada, the last holding onto her on horseback.
"Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but are we truly finding a dragon out here in the outskirts?" Jaehaerys called over the din of drumming hooves.
"Yes, we are, Jaehaerys," Elaegelle replied, "The vision Balerion sent me says we'll find the dragon on this night of the full moon."
"Ma'am, with all due respect, you've never been one to chase dreams and visions. Why is this time different?" Vilaar questioned, a deep frown on his face, "What makes you so sure we'll find one?"
"Just trust me on this, Vilaar," Elaegelle reassured, "It's near, I feel it."
The mark on Elaegelle's right hand glowed brighter the closer they neared their destination, and Vilaar decided to hold off on his questions.
"Well, if you do get a dragon, I'd say it'd be a nice fuck-you to that asshole Maegor," Jamaqhor quipped, "I'd pay fifty gold dragons to see that look on his face."
Jaehaerys simply sighed, "You've led us this far and you've never led us astray. I'll trust you on this."
"Thanks Jaehaerys," Said Elaegelle with a smile.
Then they heard the roar of a dragon, loud and terrible, shaking the air like an earthquake. The horses were frightened and the riders had to stop and try to calm them down, and soon the flapping of wings caused a rush of air that nearly took the party off their saddles.
A huge beast loomed over them, and for the first time they beheld a living, breathing dragon.
Scales coloured a glimmering azure, its size equal to Balerion the Black Dread, two hatchlings surrounding it. Domineering and authoritative, wrapping its wings around its children, the very epitome of a protective mother.
Exactly as Elaegelle's vision had shown her.
"I don't believe it… we really did find a dragon," Jamaqhor mouthed his surprise.
Vilaar was at a complete loss for words, staring with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
"By all the Fourteen Gods, what am I looking at here?" Ser Jaehaerys mouthed.
The large mother dragon inclined its head towards Elaegelle, who dismounted and took slow steps towards it. She shivered with uncertainty, fear and bubbling anticipation, still processing if the dragons were truly real or just a figment of her imagination.
Once she was close enough, her mark glowed the brightest, shining like a lighthouse in the dead of night. As if in response, the azure dragon lowered its head until its amber eyes were level with Elaegelle's. For the briefest moment, their eyes glowed a brilliant amber before it faded, and by instinct Elaegelle touched the dragon's maw with her marked hand.
Once again it glowed a brighter shade of red, and the dragon, rather than react, simply closed its eyes and inched its head ever closer to Elaegelle, who herself felt a change occur throughout her body.
She felt one with the dragon.
In her eyes and mind, she saw the dragon's memories: Her and her brood flying through the skies a free and wanderlusting adventurer, its endless number of hunts to sate its ravenous hunger and the sheer boredom it experienced when flying the vast expanses of the world, and felt herself in the dragon's shoes.
When the bonding finished and Elaegelle opened her eyes, she saw the dragon look at her at eye-level, and she instinctively felt it smiling.
"You're a really magnificent dragon, aren't you?" Said Elaegelle, nuzzling her face into the dragon's, "And your scales are such a brilliant shade of azure… I think I'll name you Castenkair, Azure-Mother. [2]"
And the newly named Castenkair roared its approval high into the skies.
IIOII
Tenth Moon
Outskirts of Mainland Lys
Arin Rada
Elaegelle had claimed a dragon as a blessing from the Father of Dragons, Balerion.
Such news took the entirety of Westeros by storm the moment they heard of it, and responses were hugely varied from dumbfounded shock to outright denial.
The Faith of the Seven was the most vehemently opposed to it, and the Septons and Septas of the Starry Sept of Oldtown refused to believe that Balerion, father of a pagan pantheon inherently contrasting to the Faith's virtues could give a blessing and not their gods. The Maesters of the Citadel were likewise dismissive of it, the established hierarchy refusing to believe in divine intervention even though the Midnight Scourge proved that magic was not truly dead as they would claim.
Maegor Targaryen was rumoured to have thrown such a wild fit of tantrum that his mother Visenya had to step in and forcefully calm him down, threatening to draw Dark Sister on him even.
Many of House Targaryen and other Crownlander nobles - Elaegelle's childhood bullies included - suddenly found themselves the target of unwanted attention, and tried to make themselves scarce as much as possible to little avail.
The Valyrian clergy of the Izulampari (The Fourteen) had mixed responses, with some offering their heartfelt congratulations while others merely giving praise. They were confounded, however, by the sight of Castenkair breathing indigo-coloured flames, which they all agreed was a total outlier.
Arin and the rest of Houses Rada and Qorgyle were quick to congratulate her, as did Aegon the Conqueror and his Sister-Wives, who despite their busy schedules personally made the trip. Aegon had seen far better days and could not walk unaided and much of his face was disfigured, but he still refused to remain confined to bed forever, embracing her with all the fatherly love he could muster.
The rest were ambivalent to the news, though none could ignore the shift in power dynamics.
Elaegelle's dragon was a magnificent beast to behold, and all felt awe and intimidation each time they gazed upon her majesty. Now, nobles were eagerly attempting to curry favour with her, disregarding their inherent biases as if they suffered a bout of memory loss. Politics were nothing new to her, but having grown used to an environment where brown-nosing was heavily frowned upon and considered a severe embarrassment, Elaegelle had to learn firsthand the lessons of tolerance, restraint, and anger management.
Time spent away from such merciless politicking or on the battlefield was a welcome relief, and in that time Elaegelle spent months practising aerial manoeuvres and bonding closer with her dragon, her hatchlings staying close at all times.
Arin Rada had to commission the building of a dragonpit in Rhoyehom (Godsgrace) as a result, requiring dragonkeepers from Daro Villinion (King's Landing) to instruct a new generation of Dornish dragonkeepers in the care and breeding of dragons and the engineers in designing and building said dragonpit, a process said to take upwards of two years.
And since the dragon's two drakes had yet to fully mature or find bondmates, they were stuck with the Sand Dragons in the care of Castenkair.
All this, Arin thought with a wry smile as he rode with his army towards the outskirts of Mainland Lys, prepared to siege and take every single fort, village and town before advancing on the island capital itself.
"Oh, Rhoynamhari, how you and the gods love to play such pranks on us…" He muttered smilingly, "I honestly wonder what surprises you're cooking up next."
"You do realise neither the Udohanar nor the Fourteen have the habit of playing pranks on us, don't you, Father?"
Arin looked incredulously at his daughter Azella who rode beside Temujin.
"Is that so?" Asked Arin, "Then tell me exactly why we have black-clad warlocks wreaking havoc and causing mayhem in Essos, with magic capable of wounding and killing dragons, while my dear gooddaughter Elaegelle is blessed with a dragon of azure-coloured scales?"
Azella averted her eyes with a tight smile, and that was the end of that.
"In all honesty, Father, why not just take it in stride? You seem unusually tense when most people would celebrate," Temujin pointed out.
"I'm not tense, I'm just worried," Arin refuted.
"Says the man who looks like he's suffering a headache," Temujin smirked.
"Am not."
"Am too."
"Alright, fine. I am a little tense," Arin sighed heavily in exasperation, "In my past experience, whenever you get a glut of good things, the world then proceeds to fuck you over in worse ways."
"I still think you're a little too tense, Father," Temujin said, "Though at least you're not paranoid."
"Yes, I guess that'll do," Arin shrugged.
"Didn't you always tell us to lighten up every now and then?" Azella stated, "And now you're doing the exact opposite."
Arin grumbled under his breath, but said nothing.
Azella simply shrugged, and Temujin sniggered to himself.
"My Lord, movement!"
The entire army was on alert, and the time for joking banter was past.
"All troops, prepare!" Arin ordered.
And the first attack came in the form of horse archers riding on massive black steeds. Swift as the wind they galloped, allowing the horse archers to quickly get the first shots in. Many raised shields and successfully blocked them, but others were not so lucky and fell to the ground.
"Return fire!" Temujin ordered.
Hails of arrows were exchanged between the two sides, and the enemy horse archers made ample use of the false charge to wear down the Rada army with repeated attacks. The Dornish were masters of mobile warfare, however, and prepared their troops accordingly.
"Longbows and crossbows, fire!"
Composite bows firing bodkin arrows made short work of the lightly armoured horse archers, felling scores of enemies in the initial engagement. Bhreynar horse archers charged forward with Arpaz Shot [3] to wear down the enemy for the Dornish army.
Then the enemy horse archers retreated and made way for black-clad knights barreling forward like a landslide.
"Tegio formation, ready!"
Pikes moved forward, with archers firing from the safety of the square and whittling down several men. Arcanists and Hydromancers worked to create a magical barrier against mounted Black Robes, exchanging spells with bright auroras of light.
When the black knights neared lance's reach, the Dornish pulled ropes and sharpened wooden stakes emerged from the dirt, impaling the knights who could not stop in time. Pikes and swords butchered the attacking knights, though on foot the black knights were equally ferocious, taking many Dornish with them.
Still, the centre took the brunt of the damage, and Arin gave the order for the centre to slowly withdraw. The flanks held their position, funnelling the enemy deeper and deeper towards the centre, until the clashing formations resembled a crescent.
And the Dornian troops, trained to withstand extreme pressure, held firm despite the odds, and soon the time had come.
"Signal the cavalry!" Azella ordered.
A crisp note was blown on a horn, and from the distance cataphracts thundered upon the exposed rear of the Midnight Scourge's army. Never could the Midnight Scourge's troops tire in battle due to foul sorcery, but they were too invested in the battle and had no time to mount a defence, and so they could only fall and die at the hands of their enemies. They did not surrender, fighting until the bitter end, dying without so much as a scream or a grunt of pain.
Not a single one of the ten thousand-strong army of the Scourge survived the clash against the twenty-thousand strong Dornish army, which had suffered close to two thousand casualties.
"We've not seen a single horde of mutants, much less one," Arin remarked, "I don't like this."
"Maybe you were right to be a little tense, Father," Temujin admitted.
"Nevermind that, Temujin," Arin reassured, "Send word to the other armies; they must expect much heavier resistance from now on."
The fight to liberate Essos would be fraught with far greater peril from here on out. Arin could only hope Elaegelle's dragon could give them the edge they needed to tip the scales in their favour.
[1] "Hrar gah-Rhoyne!" - Translates as 'All for the Rhoyne' in Rhoynish, the official war chant of the Dornish Ducal militaries.
[2] Castenkair (Azure-Mother) was an outlier among dragons, known primarily for orange fiery breath. The subject of its brilliant indigo flames continued to be a subject of hot debate long after the war with the Midnight Scourge.
[3] Arpaz Shot - A cavalry hit-and-run tactic popularised and perfected by the Bhreynar, where horse archers would turn around to shoot their enemies while performing a real or feigned retreat at full gallop. The in-universe equivalent of the IRL Parthian Shot.