A/N: Some long-time allies make their entrance, further complicating Maegor's efforts to weaken Dorne.

Thanks to Wobb Nox and filipinosberman on SB for beta-ing.

Chapter LXVII: Dragon Against Dragon, Part II

37 AC
Eighth Moon
Aryslonye (Sunspear)
Jaehaerys Calderon

Jaehaerys Calderon observed the numerous ships docking in the ports of Aryslonye, watching them disgorge their cargo after docking at port and clearing bureaucratic procedures with the portmasters. Legions of troops, cavalry and siege engines made their way towards the barracks, Summer Islanders and Daerians alike, and many sailors saluted to Dornish admirals

All were mercenaries or volunteers paid with Dornish coin, subordinated to Dornish High Command yet retaining independent command as marauding units, capable of making tactical decisions on the fly.

"They truly have come through for us. I must admit, I was sceptical of their willingness to commit in the first place."

Gongmak Phoq, Patriarch of the Tian Feng Huang, stood beside Jaehaerys, the Yi-Tish gangster boss smoking from a pipe. Jaehaerys wished he did not have to deal with such a person, but he long ago conditioned himself to ignore such biases.

"They remember that Dorne helped them far more than anyone else, and with Maegor's killing of his own brother to usurp the throne, they trust him as much as they trust a common brigand," Jaehaerys remarked, "It's ironic, really, that our enemy's mistakes lead to a greater advantage for us."

"I doubt they can help us against the dragons, not to mean offense," Gongmak Phoq shrugged, "But troops are troops, and hopefully they'll help us against the Crownlanders, and the Reachmen when they get to attacking us."

Jaehaerys exhaled through his nose; Brandyll Tarly, the Hero of the Reach, was their greatest threat second to the Targaryens. Through his reforms and support from Edmund Gardener III, the Reach's military was easily the most modernised alongside the Dornish, and the largest and most powerful. If they attacked while Dorne was fully engaged with the combined Crownlander-Stormlander forces, they would be annihilated.

Some would say the reinforcements from the Summer Isles and Daeria were more than enough to turn the tide, and while it was true that they bolstered Dornish numbers, the reality was that the number sent amounted only to a quarter of Dornish pre-war troop numbers.

The reality was that recruiting too many mercenaries and becoming overly reliant on them was a fatal flaw, for it exposed just how militarily weak a nation was in the eyes of the world and thus damaging both their legitimacy and projection of power. Unscrupulous allies could use the chance to initiate a takeover, or if they were undisciplined brigands, they would pillage rampantly without restraint even in friendly territory, further driving a country into ruin.

Thus, they had to severely limit the number of troops and ships hired.

If necessary, Dorne's allies could send more to replenish losses, but that was it.

They could only pray they would win the war in time to focus their attention on the Reach.

"Do you think any Reachmen will declare for Maegor?" Asked Gongmak.

"I doubt it," Jaehaerys answered, "Both sides are too invested in the conflict and have too much at stake to divert troops for anything else."

A polite way of saying: "They won't care."

"At least it works in our favour," Gongmak shrugged, "Latest update from the front?"

Jaehaerys grimaced with terrible severity, dark clouds shadowing his face.

"Huge movement in the Stormlands and the Narrow Sea," He answered, "This is the big one, at least we think so. Both the Grand Duke and Her Ladyship think it's just the precursor."

"Knowing Maegor, he wouldn't settle for a second-best strike before his best," Gongmak remarked, "Must be the work of that Maekar."

"My thoughts exactly," Jaehaerys nodded, "Let's hope these reinforcements are enough."

IIOII

Dornish Marches
Maegor Targaryen

The full might of the combined Crownlander-Stormlander armies gathered before him, the troops lined up in formation and proudly bearing their banners like trophies of pride. Atop his dragon Zaekos, Maegor smiled, happy that his plans were slowly bearing fruit.

"Men of the Crownlands, the Stormlands!" He roared, his voice booming like thunder, "My elite forces, now is the time we finally unleash our full might upon the desert realm!"

The men cheered uproariously, thumping their chests and thrusting fists into the air.

"They fooled us all! They made us believe they were changed, reformed from their old ways when Arin Rada led his rebellion and destroyed House Martell, uniting it and joining my father's kingdom! Arin Rada, the Black Fox, my father's - my family's - most trusted ally! He fought for us in the Stepstones, the Disputed Lands, in Volantis! And yet when my father died and the time came to reaffirm his allegiance, he instead chose to support Elaegelle, the dragonless rider, a woman of all people, and her claim to the Iron Throne!"

Many nobles roared in outrage, the trappings of a chauvinistic civilisation deep-rooted in their minds. While Elaegelle abdicating her claim to the throne to Arin was widely known, few if any ever believed a scion of the royal family would ever do such a thing, and as such was considered a hoax. And even if it were true, Arin Rada claiming the Iron Throne was an even worse thing in their minds.

And their outrage at Arin declaring for Elaegelle was an emotion that ran rife among their circles, an emotion that Maegor played to his advantage, again on advice of Maekar.

"I have forced you to bide your time, waiting as others have worked to slowly exhaust Dorne and push its armies to their limits! Now, I proudly say the time for waiting is over! Now is the time to launch a full-scale invasion and show the Dornish what it means to cross us proud Andals and Valyrians!"

Maegor's roaring at the top of his voice, his impassioned speech and genuine emotions of indignance, vitriol and genuine betrayal resonated with the troops, and even in the midst of his tirade, Maegor found himself smiling.

I have to admit, it galls me and grates against my nerves to have to reserve my forces like this, but my patience has finally paid off. Now all I need is Arin's and Elaegelle's heads, and I shall claim my birthright as a content man.

"Get into formation, we march upon Dorne!" He commanded.

As his troops marched in the direction of the Red Mountains, however, Maekar approached and saluted him, his fist thumping against his breastplate.

"Brother, what news?" Asked Maegor.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Maekar said, and Maegor frowned.

Maekar leaned in to whisper, and immediately he cursed.

"Now, of all times?" He grumbled.

"They are… unhappy with your forceful usurpation of the Iron Throne, and see you as a threat to our alliance, or so I managed to gleam from our spies," Maekar explained, looking equally betrayed and disappointed, "For that reason, they have sent military aid in the form of mercenaries."

Maegor grumbled angrily, gripping the hilt of Blackfyre tightly.

"If they want a fight, we'll give them one," He boldly declared, "...Inform our troops they will be facing bolstered enemy forces."

"As you command," Said Maekar.

"My King! A message from the Reach!" A messenger exclaimed.

Maegor was handed a sealed letter which he quickly opened, and skimming its contents he felt a smile creep onto his lips, a smile that promised certain death to his enemies.

"Brother?" Asked Maekar, "What's the good news?"

Maegor faced Maekar with a beaming smile.

"It seems we have help from an unexpected quarter."

IIOII

Ninth Moon
Elanzo Aresaryn

And here I thought in my old age, I'd have things a little easier.

Such were the thoughts of the Lord High Admiral of Dorne as his ship shuddered from glancing blows of ballistae bolts by Reach ships as they dueled in the seas off Dorne's southern coastline.

Just as the climax of the Rada-Targaryen conflict approached, the Reach had chosen the absolute worst time to intervene on the side of the Targaryens, sending fleets to invade en masse along the southern coastline of the Rhoynar Grand Duchy. Redwyne fleets under command of Lord Jason Redwyne quickly overwhelmed paltry patrols before the rest could form a proper resistance, and even then they were forced to avoid outright confrontation with the bulk of their forces tied up north, leaving the Reachmen free to rampage throughout the south.

Elanzo refused to lose to these 'flowery cunts' as he described them, eager to humble them and exact a stark toll in blood for every ship lost, though in such dire circumstances, it may as well be empty bravado.

"Focus fire on the flagship! Take it down, no matter the cost!" He bellowed, his eyes set on his prize like a hawk's.

Rather than try and engage the Reach fleets head-on, the Dornish fleets focused on their staple hit-and-run tactics and engaged their enemies piecemeal, focusing on commanding ships that coordinated the various enemy fleets. This would help break down cohesion and leave the rest more vulnerable, in theory. However, years of constant reform and study of Dornish tactics meant the Reachmen were prepared for such antics.

Elanzo had to give it to the Reachmen; they were perhaps the greatest adversary the Black Fox ever faced.

Like Lord Rada said: "Brandyll Tarly and Edmund Gardener are the most dangerous generals, capable of commanding battlefields as if war revolved around them."

As the Dornish fleet closed in on the Reach command ship like a pack of hunting wolves, they adopted a circular formation, their rams poised to attack Reach ships at their middle hulls where armour was weakest. Hydromancers worked themselves hard like slaves, using barrels of freshwater to strike against ships with extended water whips and spears.

Would that they could, the seas themselves would come under their command. Tidal waves could sweep away fleets like they were swatting flies, and the Dornish would emerge unopposed - masters of the sea and desert. Perhaps they could materialise water out of thin air, striking relentlessly like locust swarms.

The reality, however, was that their powers only extended to control of rivers and other freshwater sources, and never to sea water. Rhoynamhari's domain never extended to the sea, thus severely limiting their capabilities.

And so it fell to old-fashioned might to win the day.

"Have the flanks press forward and envelop the enemy escorts, and concentrate broadsides on any ships close enough to engage!" Elanzo ordered, "Prepare wildfire jars the moment they get within boarding range!"

At his command, several Reach ships imploded in yellow-greenish flames, sinking to a watery grave as the water surface illuminated with oversized underwater fireflies. Ship after ship was sunk, and both sides bled each other dry for causes they believed righteous. Elanzo could hardly care less about such empty pride and ego, but he would never begrudge the war of a lifetime to give the old warhorse a long-overdue exercise.

The clanking of ballistae gears, the shattering of wildfire jars, the smell of the sea and the stinging wind in his face, it was home.

Soon, they neared the command ship, and they quickly moved to surround it and its handful of escorts. Rather than go in for the kill, they swirled around like vultures, pelting more wildfire and ballistae bolts and bleeding dry their stamina. In less than fifteen minutes, the command ship went down in flames, and the fleet struggled to coordinate its retreat.

But the Dornish did not cheer, simply slumping down to the deck as fatigue took hold.

"As if the Braavosi and Pentoshi joining the Targaryens was not enough, the Reachmen have to give us such trouble… Now I truly doubt we'll last the end of the month," Elanzo muttered to himself.

For the first time in his life, Elanzo truly worried if his employer had bitten off more than he could chew. And while normally Elanzo would take the opportunity to cut ties and make himself scarce, his reputation and status meant he was a top priority target for the Reachmen, and he had to fend off countless Reachmen fleets pursuing him and claiming his head - weighing as much as diamonds.

"It's up to you now, Lord Rada…" Elanzo muttered, taking a swig of Omsyak from his waterskin.

IIOII

Rhoyehom
Azella Rada

Bhreynar cataphracts charged Crownlander formations across the river, blood staining the ground and water red as bodies piled up all around them. Thundering hooves and clouds of dust caused chaos and mayhem all across the desert, and bright plumes of fire consumed countless troops who were cooked alive in their armour.

Horse archers conducted continuous harassment against entrenched Reachmen positions, yet their arrows hit heavily armoured wagons which protected crossbowmen who returned fire. Firethrowers loosed flammable pots back at the Dornish cavalry, immolating those closest enough to be hit.

While the sands of Dorne were best suited for large-scale formations, against the rapid guerilla tactics of Dornish equestrian forces, the Reachmen adopted a new tactic: Wagon Forts.

Essentially, wagon forts consisted of wagons arranged in rectangles or circles and provided infantry, crossbowmen and archers protection from cavalry charges, allowing the Reachmen to use precise ranged weapons to slowly whittle down their enemies. Within the wagon forts themselves were ballistae or mangonels which flung bolts or pots of flammable liquid, providing greater defensive capabilities. These wagon forts served as delaying tactics, buying time to allow other Reach forces to mount counter-offensives.

With their mounted advantage negated, the Dornish had to rely on firethrowers and artillery of their own to demolish said wagon forts, or work hard to either prevent the wagon forts' completion or draw out the defenders using feigned retreats.

Azella swung her Saoidhar, lopping off a Reach commander's head which fell to the ground, his headless body spurting blood like a fountain before falling off his steed.

Lances shattered as they impacted shields, or were painted crimson as they pierced flesh. Riders were tossed off their horses, and those lucky enough to land on their necks and heads were granted a swift death. Those who landed on their bodies would be trampled underfoot, crushed by hooves into messy puddles of gore or dragged like ragdolls.

Piles of corpses - Human and horse alike - littered the battlefield, painting a macabre picture of death. Reachman or Dornishman, Smallfolk or noble, it mattered not.

All were equal in death.

"One hundred cavalry, with me! We take down that wagon fort!" Azella ordered.

Azella's cavalry led sorties against a nearby wagon fort, liberally lobbing more Tucosar Fire and setting the wagons themselves on fire. Horse archers loosed volley upon volley of arrows, subjecting the defenders to an unrelenting hail of steel. Without their protection, the defenders were forced to abandon the wagon fort, allowing the Dornish cavalry to charge and end their lives.

Yet soon they were set upon by Reach cavalry, heavily armed and armoured and sweating rivers in the desert heat.

In a battle where thousands of troops were directed like chess pieces in the hands of expert players, this skirmish of a hundred against a hundred would determine the ultimate outcome of this battle.

Their commander, an unassuming man bedecked in heavy plate, fought Azella with the skill and courage of a veteran knight, and Azella instantly knew he was no easy quarry. They parried and riposted each other's blades, and every strike was close to claiming the other opponent's life by the skin of their teeth. Few if any could boast of daring to fight and nearly best a veteran general like Azella head-on, a woman who fought the Dothraki and the zealots of the Midnight Scourge.

And yet this nameless knight managed it all. His face concealed behind his helmet, his mouth making no sound whatsoever, he was more mysterious and terrifying to any lesser man.

Azella refused to back down, yet her grit and determination were not enough, and the knight used his greatsword to bat away Azella's Saoidhar, before aiming for the kill.

Then Temujin intervened, his lance skewering the nameless knight through his torso, allowing Azella to bat away the greatsword and create distance.

His cataphracts fell upon the knights, and with twice as many troops they overwhelmed the elite Reach warriors and felled them one by one, until their side was victorious.

Soon the tide turned, and the Reachmen were forced to pull back to conserve their losses. Now out of the fire, Temujin quickly attended to his wife, inspecting her flesh wounds.

"Are you well?" Asked Temujin with concern.

"I'm fine, Temujin. Don't worry," Azella said, kissing Temujin for reassurance.

"Good to know," Temujin smiled, though his smile faded, "How many battles does this make?"

"I don't know, I lost count after ten," Azella admitted, weighed down by fatigue, "And with Maegor coming from the north, we have to hold them off for as long as they can."

"How did they even manage to finish their conflict with the Puritans so quickly, though?" Temujin wondered, "I know the Reformists have Brandyll Tarly and Edmund Gardener on their side, but this is unusually quick."

"Maybe they truly did just win that quickly, though I somehow doubt that," Azella surmised, "It could be that they agreed on a temporary truce of sorts, perhaps to concentrate their forces on us and prevent us from posing a threat?"

"If they push hard enough and luck deserts us, they could even win," Temujin grimly concluded, "And even if they don't, we'll be weakened enough that we can't mount an immediate counterattack."

"I don't think their invasion was really necessary for that," Azella suggested, "For all I know, we'd still need months to recover from all the damage done."

"Perhaps Dorne's leadership poses enough of a threat to mandate this invasion from them, and if it is, it's a logical conclusion," Temujin admitted, "Though I agree, this is much too soon."

"My Khaleesi, Ser Calderon returns!" A soldier informed Azella.

Jaehaerys returned, his armour covered in splotches of blood and his face adopting a fatigued yet satisfied expression, a small smile on his lips.

"My Lady, I am pleased to inform you that the Targaryens' supply lines have been cut off and their wagons torched, resulting in the loss of a full three-quarters of their food supplies," He said, "With any luck, Maegor will be forced into the confrontation His Lordship Rada so desires."

Feeding a large army was resource-intensive, and with the sheer loss of food suffered, the Crownlander-Stormlander forces now only had days to score a decisive and total victory against Arin Rada. If they failed to do so, they would not be able to peacefully secure a base of operations in Dorne and ensure the safety of their supplies, and thus they would be forced to retreat.

Even worse, Maegor would be dealt a humiliating blow to his reputation, having pointlessly wasted troops for a fruitless strategy and had only burnt supplies to show for it. He would never be able to recover politically from such a blow, and his vassals would be more interested in maintaining a peace than waging war.

"Then let us pray for a victory, Ser Calderon," Azella said, "May Rhoynamhari protect us."

"And may the Fourteen bless us with victory," Said Jaehaerys.