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After The Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 11. The Sack of Myr
🕑 Added 2024-10-24 09:00:00 +0000 UTC30th Day, Eighth Moon, 131AC | Bloodstone - The Stepstones
VISERYS
Like he had done since the day he arrived here, Viserys toured the camp of their army. It was evening, fishing vessels were bringing in catches for the camp's evening meal. He had eaten nothing but seafood for the past six days, and frankly, Viserys was getting tired of it. Food in his captivity had a lot more variety, he had to sourly admit, but he was not going to complain. He was home now, with his sisters, he could definitely endure a few more days of eating crabs or salmon or even shark’s meat. The dragons did not seem to share his reservations however for in the distance, he spotted Silverwing and Morning diving into the sea, each of them emerging with a catch nestled in their hind limbs. They then threw said catches up into the air and bathed them in glorious dragonflame before they fell back down into their open and welcoming maws. He chuckled at the sight.
The dragons were enjoying themselves indeed; Morning especially, who was growing remarkably quickly. He swore that he could notice a difference in her size these past six days. She was already the size of a small pony and would soon be large enough for his sister to ride, probably in another half-a-year. He crushed the jealousy that threatened to rise within him. His dragon egg had not hatched yet, though it still radiated the heat indicating there was still life inside it. He had told Baela of the same, and she had reassured him that he would have a dragon soon enough. If she meant that his egg would hatch, he was not sure how that would happen since he had possessed it for the entirety of his life. If she meant that he would claim a dragon; Viserys wondered which one. There was no other dragon that remained to be ridden, except… He chuckled, dismissing the thought from his mind as soon as it came; surely his sisters did not intend to sentence him to death, they loved him.
His attention returned to the camp, to see various men milling about various tasks. There were soldiers cleaning and preparing armour, various cookfires were being started for the evening feasts, men were sitting around in circles talking of everything and nothing while playing dice, others were training and sparring with their swords. Rhaena and the army commander she had appointed, Eldric Umber, the man who had rescued him, had done a splendid job in organising this war camp. Even the slaves that had come with him from Bambarro’s manse had been given their own section in the camp. Daemon Targaryen would have been proud; it was exactly how he imagined his father had organised his forces during his conquest of the Stepstones from the stories he told him.
He walked towards the sea, the gentle waves of the even tide rolling towards the beach in a hypnotic rhythm. Like Rhaena had made common practice, three men trailed him, his sworn swords for the duration they were here. For once, he let his thoughts drift towards his beloved parents and brothers. He had not truly let himself think of them for the entirety of his time in Lys. He had plugged his ears everytime Lysarra Bazanne had come to him, with a conniving smile upon her lips, to gleefully tell him of the death of another family member.
"My husband's men killed your bastard brother and his dragon,” she had told her, soon after he came into the Bazanne’s possession.
“Your father died fighting another dragon,” she had announced that another night, when she had invaded his suite, her fat form naked as the day she was born, fully intending to have her way with him. It was only Bambarro who had saved him from that ordeal.
“Your other bastard brother tried to ride his mother’s dragon and was flung off it,” she had laughed until her ribs ached and tears were rolling down her eyes as she told her that particular piece of news, on another night where he had been invited to sup with the rest of the Bazzanne family, “even I know one cannot ride a dragon bonded to another.”
“Your mother was fed to a dragon, and your brother was forced to watch,” that had been the most gruesome one he had heard, even Lysarra had not laughed as she told him that.
He had not let himself believe it then. ‘Lysarra always lies’, he had reminded himself over-and-over again. It was a prayer he said often through the entirety of his captivity. He had convinced himself that she just wanted to break him. And he would not be broken, he would not yield to some slaver bitch.
The anguish came to him now in full force. It was all true. His sisters had confirmed all the grim tales. He would truly never see them again. Tears were stinging his eyes. He let them flow unencumbered. The beautiful form of his mother formed in his mind; exasperated from the havoc and mischief that him, Joffrey and Aegon usually caused. ‘Why can’t you boys be well-behaved like your sisters?’ she heard her voice ask, tired, her hand nestled in her hair and pulling. ‘Gods we need more girls in this castle.’ Her father had always laughed when she said that.
He could vividly hear the distinct trills and squeals of Caraxes as he rode with his father with Syrax, ridden by his mother and Aegon, next to them. He could see the red dragon and the gold weaving in and out of each other, dancing in the skies.
He felt hand on his shoulder just as was about to let out a desperate sob. He turned to see Baela, beautiful as always, her hair cut shorter than even his was now.
“Viserys,” she called, her features softening when she saw the tears in his eyes. Immediately, he embraced her, his arms wrapping around her middle while hers were around his shoulders and holding his head, as if a babe. He stayed there for long moments, letting the warmth of her gloved hands pull him into a trance, as the river that was his sorrow flowed through him, his tears staining her beautiful black woollen overcoat that had rubies and jet sewn into it in beautiful patterns.
They stayed like that for a long moment, Baela’s dexterous fingers kneading through his hair endlessly, soothing him as his mother had once done. Suddenly he felt silly. Why the fuck was he crying? Aegon had watched their mother be eaten by a dragon, while he had been safely away, in captivity yes, but still safe. His brother had witnessed the gruesome fate of their mother. He had not. Their siblings had been there when their father died. They had been there when Joffrey died. Baela had duelled Sunfyre and Moondancer had died as a result. They had all seen so much death, yet all three of them still found a way to move forward. Aegon had been crowned king and from what he heard, he did not shirk his duties. Baela had claimed Silverwing and was here, far away from home, seeking vengeance for his brother, seeking retribution for her betrothed. Rhaena had hatched a new dragon and was now dedicated to see their family returned to strength. He had no excuse to wallow in despair.
He disentangled himself from his sister, wiped his eyes, and regained his composure before saying, “Tell me Baela, what did you need?”
Baela for his part, did not dwell on his embarrassing bout of weeping. “Our envoys from Myr have finally returned,” she told him, “you are needed.”
The notion pleased him. He was the youngest among them, a prince not yet ten years old, and not even a dragonrider, yet they needed him. He was involved in every decision they made and his opinions were greatly taken into account when considering the actions they took.
“Lead the way, sister,” he replied,. Baela began to walk and the sworn guards who had stood sentinel through his weeping turned to follow.
4th Day, Ninth Moon, 131AC | Myr
BAELA
Baela spied the Free City of Myr in the distance. And not just Myr, but their fleet as well, decked out in scorpions and catapults that shimmered in the light of the morning sun. They had thought most of it obliterated after the Gullet. They looked like small tiny dots atop Silverwing’s back, but Baela knew how dangerous they could be. Trusting her bondmate to fly on her own, she took out the far eye in her saddle pack and surveyed the enemy fleet, counting them quickly. There were about fifty of them, arranged in attack formation, sailing to meet their own fleet. They probably thought they had the element of surprise. She scoffed.
They showed no signs of sighting the dragon above. Good. It was an overcast day, and it seemed that the grey of the clouds hid The Silver Queen’s form effectively. She put the far eye back into the saddle pack. She then checked the chains that secured her to the new saddle she had had made for her beloved mount soon after she claimed her. She was secure, much more secure and comfortable than she had been on the old and tattered saddle that Ulf White and most likely Alysanne, the good queen her father so despised, had used. It would not do good for her to fall off the back of the dragon, especially because she was wearing chainmail armour that would have sunk with her if she landed in the sea.
Her heart was filled with anticipation now. Finally, she was going to do it. She was going to avenge her betrothed, slaying the men who had slain him and Vermax. The entirety of Myr would remember this day. They had dared to attack their home, their realm, their house. And even when they had humbly requested reparations for that attack, they had broken guest-right instead, sending back a slave carrying a box containing their envoy’s head and a letter to serve as a warning.
‘We have slain dragons before,’ they had arrogantly boasted. ‘The bastard boy in the coast of Driftmark and your great grandfather in Tarth those many decades earlier were slain by us. Even the scorpion that slew the dragon of Aegon’s silver bitch in Dorne was made in Myr. Return to Westeros with your large pets, little girls, or you will face your peril.’
She would show them what this little girl would do. She looked up, hoping that Jace could see her now from the great beyond, as she reached for the golden chain under her armour and clothing, clutching it tightly. He had given it to her as a betrothal gift on the night he died, promising to finally marry her once he returned from battle. He never did, and she had sworn vengeance upon those responsible. “As promised, my love, they will pay,” she whispered, as if in prayer. She then kissed the jewel piece, then put it back under her chainmail and the heavy woollen garb that she had worn underneath.
She could feel Silverwing’s eagerness through their bond. Despite herself, she smiled. The seemingly dainty mount of the good and kind queen was still a dragon, hungry for blood. Today, she would oblige. Soon enough, she was directly above the Myrish fleet. Baela gave the command for Silverwing to dive, to unleash death and destruction on the fleet of the city that had dared defy them.
“Ropagon, Silverwing.”
The dragon obeyed. It had been one of the most basic lessons both her father and grandfather had taught her concerning combat involving dragons. ‘Dragons attack from above. Dragons always attack from above.’ Daemon Targaryen’s voice sounded in her head.
She could feel the wind on her face as Silverwing picked up speed through the dive. Her heart was thumping beneath her breasts, her senses feeling more alert than ever before. She felt otherworldly, getting heady from the power coursing through her from the bond she had with her dragon. At the last second, she whispered the command; the one that had been used to destroy entire cities, the command that had been used to end entire civilisations.
“Dracarys.”
It felt as if she was the dragon, as if she was the one spewing silvery white flames from her throat onto the unknowing ships below her. It was as if she had grown wings and was the one actually flying. Silverwing made a pass, torching the ships in the rear of the Myrish formation. It had been an instinctual choice, made in the spur of the moment, but it had been the right one. All the scorpions, catapults and arrows were facing one direction, expecting the attack to come from the front. They might have even had scouting boats to verify the approach of their own fleet. But it would not matter.
Men screamed as she flew back into the clouds, only to emerge once again like a demon from the seven hells and spewing flames on the right flank of the ships this time. The water had begun to boil and the mixture of steam and smoke rose to reach her. Before they could turn their scorpion engines to face her, she flew once more into the clouds, where they could not even hope to spot her.
Silverwing descended once more, now in the centre of the Myrish formation, decimating the ships there and turning the men and the wood into nothing but ash. Smoke was thick in the air now, doing enough to obstruct the visibility of the enemy fleet. Baela judged it would be enough cover for Silverwing to freely decimate the rest before they could even try and aim for her. In truth, even the caution she had employed thus far wasn’t truly needed. Silverwing was three quarters the size of her mother’s Vhagar was by the time she died; her scales were hard enough to deflect scorpions as if they were just flies disturbing her, but Baela had learned dragon riding with Moondancer, who was much younger and had scales much softer; thus the need to evade was instinctual. One could never be too cautious anyways.
This time as she dived, she let Silverwing take control, taking her through pass after pass through line after line of the Myrish formation. The Myrish fleet had made the mistake of packing themselves close to each other, presumably so that the volleys and scorpions bolts they shot at the dragon had more of a chance of hitting her. They would not get to shoot even one, Baela vowed. The men below could only look up to see black smoke and then a spark of silvery-white flame before they died.
When Baela judged the decimation complete, she urged Silverwing to ascend, up and up back into the clouds, where she belonged. She took out her far eye once more to make sure there were no survivors. There were none. All the ships were now nothing but ash or floating husks in the boiling sea. Good. Alyn and his fleet would have easy passage to land their army on the coast.
She had to stop herself from grinning like a child. The second part of the mission would be harder than what she had just accomplished. She was to make the entry into Myr as bloodless as possible for their men, and for the sacking of the city to be quick and efficient. All the men that garrisoned the city, its walls and strongholds had to be dealt with.
She flew ahead, at full speed now, far eye in hand checking for the forces that were on the outer city walls. Like the other cities built by Valyrians, it had an outerwall for the protection of the general populace and an inner city wall where the nobility ensconced themselves in all their glory. She expected the inner walls to be made of dragonstone like they were in Volantis, and dragonstone was impervious to dragonfire. Men were not.
Like the ships, the walls were littered with loaded scorpions and trebuchets. This time there would be no gambits or tricks like she had just done with the fleet, meaning she had to be more careful lest she suffered the fate of her grandmother’s namesake. For the city, there was only one way to go. Strafe the walls and destroy the opposition there, and then go on systematically, street by street dispatching the defenders there. Their army would then have little opposition in marching through and taking all its wealth. She had to take care and restrain Silverwing’s excitement and surprising blood-thirst this time. She was not to destroy the city and its people entirely, only the men who wished to defend it. They were to free the skilled slaves with the promise of them living better lives in the Seven Kingdoms.
Within less than a minute, she had reached the coasts and the city’s harbour. This time, she did not need to give the command, Silverwing already knowing her intentions and heeding them. The watchtower on the docks was bathed in silvery white flames. Stone began to crack and melt and twist, wood came aflame, and most importantly, the men inside were cooked. She stopped once she was sure sufficient damage was done.
There were numerous ships of different classes docked on the city’s harbour. Truly this city was more wealthy than they had anticipated. Fifty of their ships had been destroyed by Jace, fifty more destroyed by her today, and there were still many, many vessels docked on the harbour. These ones were not armed and the docks had been abandoned, therefore Baela did not burn them. Alyn would accomplish his assigned mission easily, he and his sailors were to seize as many of them as they could for both the crown and her grandfather’s house.
Her attention now turned to the walls of the city and the men that stood on top of them; men that had begun firing scorpion bolts at her. On instinct, she made herself as small as possible on the saddle, and Silverwing bathed them with her fires. The fired scorpions were incinerated before any reached her and the men who fired them screamed as they burned. Like she did with the fleet, she climbed high into the sky and dove on the outer walls once more, strafing a long line of flames on the defenders that were now fleeing for their lives. It would make no difference. Their fates were sealed.
Once she made sure the scorpions in range of her were obliterated, she flew low, hovering over the gates of the city, as Silverwing’s fires bathed them continuously for about half a minute. When she was done it was nothing but a pile of ash, with the gatehouse and the men inside it burned, and even the stone had begun to crack and melt from the heat. Here, Silverwing did not relent, until the gates were completely destroyed, making sure that the Dragon’s Teeth would have a clear entry. She smirked at the name of the army; it had stuck, and would be declared official once they returned home.
Once the gates were done and Baela flew into the city proper, what she encountered was pure pandemonium. Columns of soldiers had been deployed and were shooting arrows at her. What gave her pause however, were the commonfolk. It seemed that in their pride, the armies of Myr had elected to have their slaves march in front of them, using them as human shields and a last line of defence, thinking that would save them from dragonfire and the fury of the Targaryen armies. It truly dismayed Baela when she ordered Silverwing to bathe them in her flames. She had no desire of harming anyone who had done no ill against her, but she had no choice. They would make things harder for her army than they ought to be, and would also lead to them losing more lives than they had to. She went street by street, clearing each of the opposing soldiers and their human shields.
Soon enough, with flaming streets and mostly unscathed buildings behind her, she finally approached the black walls that were so famous in Valyrian architecture. For a moment Baela wondered why they had not been implemented on Dragonstone, oh right, the volcanoes served as natural walls, making the castle impenetrable.
The nobles of Myr probably thought that their Valyrian walls made the inner ring impenetrable as well. They were about to be proven wrong. Regardless of the walls being immune to dragonflame, the men atop them who were shooting scorpion bolts and arrows at her were not. One by one, they were turned to ash. The gates were also not made of dragonstone, and were thus obliterated as the gates of the outer wall had. Like the rest of the outer city, she burned any defenders that were arrayed in front of her. She was even more careful here, for the main institutions holding the greatest wealth were ensconced within the inner walls. The Myrish bank for example was incredibly wealthy in its own right, even if not as wealthy as the Iron Bank of Braavos and Rogare Bank of Lys.
Baela made endless laps above the city for about three hours more, using Silverwing’s flames to clear any more obstacles for the Dragon’s Teeth that dared to show themselves. She hoped that the slaves hiding inside the buildings and homes did not prove to be too much of a problem for their army. Rhaena had commanded them to ensure they were not to be raped or violated in any sort of way if they did not resist. They were only to take the riches their masters hoarded.
Finally, she spotted Velaryon ships landing on the docks of the harbour. She wordlessly beckoned her beloved to land on the coast, near her grandfather’s flagship, The Queen Who Never Was, watching atop Silverwing as the men dismounted and formed up in columns as they had been taught to do. The dragon landed perpendicular to the city and the sea; it would not be good for any remaining stragglers to shoot her down with her back turned.
“Men of House Targaryen,” she spoke once the five thousand of them had formed up, her voice confident and booming, “the defiant city of Myr has been opened to us. We shall take their riches as they took ours. We shall slay their soldiers as they slew ours. We shall commandeer their ships as they burned ours. Today is the day of vengeance, the day the world will know our wrath. Today is the day of retribution.”
The speech had its intended effect, with the men cheering, hooting and hollering as they marched, their columns perfect even as they dragged the hundreds of carts and wagons to be used in carrying the riches they were about to take to the ships. As always, their commander, Eldric Umber, who had taken the vanguard, did not disappoint, leading the men in what had become their signature chant.
“Strike hard and Strike True!” he yelled.
“With Fire and Blood!!” the men responded as one.
“Soves,” Baela commanded Silverwing to ascend into the skies once more. It was not truly needed, but it would be good for the armies to see a dragon flying above them. It would also deter any Myrish soldiers that had so far hidden themselves.
4th - 11th Day, Ninth Moon, 131AC
ALYN VELARYON
The Velaryon Fleet had passed through the ruins and husks of the fallen Myrish ships. All his men had their catapults loaded and arrows knocked, in case there were any stragglers who had miraculously survived the onslaught of dragonflame. It seemed there was not. Baela had been thorough. There was not even one soul clinging to a piece of floating wreckage that they had to dispatch. No. Their path towards the Myrish harbour would be a clear one.
Using his far-eye, he could see Silverwing flying above, strafing the city’s walls. After seeing what Baela had done here, he knew the Dragon’s Teeth would face little to no difficulty in their invasion.
He sighed. He had wished to finally bloody his sword in actual battle. All his life he had only fought in the training yard. The only bruises he truly earned were the burns he had gotten in his failed attempt in claiming Sheepstealer. He was not as lucky as his late older brother, who had successfully claimed a dragon, and had proven himself a true scion of Valyria, a worthy claimant to the Driftwood throne. He knew his place as heir to Driftmark was in danger, with his rival claimant being a trueborn dragonrider who had just proven herself in battle.
“What bothers you so much, cousin? Silverwing has just made this whole affair much easier for us than it would have been otherwise,” his distant cousin Monford, a descendant of Daemon Velaryon (the Old King’s uncle) through his youngest son Victor, asked him. Unlike cousins Daeron, Daemion, Malentine and Rhogar who wholly opposed his ascension and had been nothing but cold to him, Monford had been his truest friend since he and his brother had been legitimised and publicly declared as Velaryons.
“Silverwing leaves no battles for us to fight,” he told his kin, a wan smile on his face.
Monford laughed at that, “We should be grateful for that. We live longer because of it. And worry not. There’ll be no shortage of glory for the taking in these coming moons. The twins have pledged to clean up their brother’s realm from the destruction caused by the Dance.”
“And, the riches of Myr should change your mind soon enough,” Monford added, giving him a friendly pat on his back.
He was silent for the rest of the ship's journey to the harbour. Whether Monford found that unusual, he did not say. As the gangplank lowered and the Targaryen armies and Velaryon Sailors began to disembark, Alyn struggled to rid himself of all these dark thoughts and steeled himself for the task ahead. He was to capture the ships in the harbour. As Baela finished her speech and took flight once more, he got to work with the rest of his men.
The task was easier than he thought. There were few people in the ships. All those found who fought back were dispatched quickly, as his sailors seized one ship after the other. Most of them were cogs and galleys, but there were a few carracks, a relatively new ship design which had not yet begun being used in Westeros.
Within an hour, the Targaryen men emerged from the city proper with carts and wagons filled with treasures from Myr. They began as a trickle, a trickle which turned into a flood. The captured Myrish ships were to be used to store the seized loot.
There were caches of gold, silver, bronze and other precious gems, many, many rolls of Myrish lace from the industrial complex of the town, carpets and drapes sought after by the wealthy throughout the Known World. There was even Valyrian Steel, sheets of it, found deep within the vaults of the Bank of Myr, used to preserve the value of the Myrish currency since dragonsteel perpetually retained its value. Apart from the sheets found in the vaults of the Bank, there were also many, many pieces of jewellery, cutlery, furniture and other ornamentation though curiously, only two weapons were found, both of them spears taken off the ashes of the soldiers who had been incinerated.
It took seven days for the Sack of Myr to be completed, although the last days were spent organising the looted treasure into the ships they had seized from the Myrish harbour. Some carried the jewellery and the caches of precious metals, others carried the Myrish drapes, carpets and other fabric. There were even five carracks full of actual coin, taken from the reserves of the Bank of Myr, other small banks and the homes of the wealthy in the city; those would be melted down and reforged into Westerosi coin for the Royal Treasury, although he hoped a good chunk of it would be given to Driftmark to indemnify them for their losses during the Dance.
Alyn had been right about there being almost no fighting. Apart from the soldiers that Baela had already decimated, there was little resistance to their marching armies. Even the nobility seemed to have disappeared; they were suspected to have retreated to their residences and estates in the hinterlands. Continuing their invasion into the Myrish hinterlands had been suggested, but ultimately rejected by the two princesses. They were only to take the wealth of the city; the wealth of the rest of the territories would be left to the Pentoshi once they began their conquest; an agreement apparently reached between both parties.
The greatest treasure however, was not the loot, but the people. In their selfishness and self-preservation, the nobility and the rich merchants had all fled the city, leaving their slaves and armies to be burned to death. Although some had, due to the soldiers using them as meat shields, the vast majority were found hiding in the homes of their former masters and almost all of them were more than happy and willing to be freed from their yoke of servitude and begin anew in Westeros as free men. About forty thousand were skilled slaves; having expertise in architecture, glassmaking, banking, textile refinery, shipbuilding among other professions. There were even some who claimed to be Qohorik smiths who could reforge Valyrian Steel. To add to that, there was almost double that number of unskilled labourers who had all been freed and had been assured of new lives in Westeros.
“My lord,” one of the Dragon’s Teeth officers called to him.
“Last I checked my grandfather is still alive,” he replied with a smile. The man seemed to be slow on the uptick on what he meant, so he went on. “I am not a Lord yet.”
“Forgive me,” he said humbly, bowing in deference.
“Pay it no mind.”
The man got even more nervous for some reason. Truly, he had chosen the wrong person to jest with. It took a few moments before he found his words again, “The Princess asks for your audience.”
“Very well, I am not one to reject the summons of a princess,”he replied, gesturing for him to lead the way. He came upon where The Silver Queen had laid down on her wing tips, as if a giant pet. One could almost forget the terror that she had unleashed on the city only a sennight earlier… almost. Baela stood near her dragon's maw, giving her affectionate pets, the dragon rumbling contentedly, making her rider giggle. The knight who had brought him to her bowed and left, giving them a wide berth for privacy.
“One would almost think you’re petting a rather large cat.”
“Silverwing likes to know she is loved,” she said, chuckling, before turning to her dragon and saying softly, “You’re a needy dragon, aren’t you?” The dragon gave a puff of dragon’s breath in her rider’s direction while chortling, making the princess giggle once more. Alyn chuckled as well; was this what Addam felt? He asked himself.
“I wish to speak to you concerning the division of our newly acquired treasure, cousin. Our grandfather fought valiantly in the war, and Driftmark suffered many losses because of it. The sailors under your command have been crucial in this campaign as well.”
“You can rest assured that House Velaryon will be properly compensated for that by the crown,” she told him. What did that even mean? Alyn asked himself, before voicing the question out loud.
“How exactly?”
“We’ve seized eighty-five ships from the Myrish port, ten of them will be added to the Velaryon fleet. Some caches of gold and silver will be transferred to Driftmark’s treasury as well.”
That was outrageous. Ten, only ten!. House Velaryon had lost a half of their entire fleet during the battle against the Triarchy; almost a hundred ships. To add to that, Driftmark had been brutally sacked and much of it's wealth taken or put to the torch.
“Pardon me Princess, but I don’t think that is quite enough,” he replied, in as charming a manner as he could be.
“It is, cousin. Remember that most of House Velaryon turned against its lord during that battle. They were the ones to condemn their own ships to dragonflame, wouldn’t you agree? Treachery should not be compensated now should it?” she replied, her demeanour suddenly serious.
“I was under the assumption that the crown would indemnify House Velaryon for its losses during the Dance; for its fleets and wealth to return to their state before the war began.”
“This is indemnification Alyn. Of the hundred ships fielded in the Battle of the Gullet, thirty were under yours and cousin Monford’s command. Of those thirty, ten were destroyed by the Triarchy before Prince Jacaerys and the other dragonriders intervened in the battle. The other thirty-five that were destroyed alongside the Triarchy fleets had all turned their cloaks, most of them having been equipped with the same sort of scorpions that once felled Meraxes in Dorne. Those ones joined the Triarchy in trying to destroy the twenty remaining loyal vessels and shoot the dragonriders out of the sky; one of those dragonriders being your brother. The remaining thirty-five used the chaos of the battlefield to flee, and have since taken up piracy either in the Stepstones or the Basilisk Isles. And, House Velaryon currently has a hundred ships remaining in its disposal; still more than any other house in Westeros, maybe apart from Redwyne and Hightower.”
Alyn had no defence against that. Even the descendants of his great-grandfather’s and great-great grandfather’s younger brothers had turned against their lord for supporting Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne after cousin Vaemond was slain and his five other cousins had their tongues removed with hot pincers for daring to acknowledge that the her children were no true Velaryons.
Even after those false heirs had died, his grandfather had then put forward his son's bastards as the heirs to Driftmark, and everyone knew that legitimised or not, a bastard was still a bastard, even one of Velaryon blood. It was seen as a slight by the many, many trueborn scions of House Velaryon that children born out of wedlock were considered before them in the line of succession for Driftmark. Alyn sighed, two of his fingers cradling the bridge of his nose.
“Very well. If grandfather has agreed to that proposal then so do I. He is still lord and thus I cannot gainsay him.”
“He has.” Baela replied.
“Good, now that we’re in agreement, please prepare your men to set sail for Bloodstone once more. Rhaena has sent me a raven from camp, we are needed.” she finished as she went to mount Silverwing, who became immediately ready and alert.
Comments
StormyAngel
Welcome back! I'm not going anywhere, no worries. Very glad to see you posting a new chapter. :) As to the Velaryons, I don't really care if they get more rewards or not. (Generally I like them, but not more than the twins.) My point here is that Baela is establishing a precedent for her future behavior, and that precedent all her supporters are going to see is: you don't actually gain anything from supporting them (they only cover your losses). If she intends to be actually generous later doesn't really matter in this moment. So if your intention is for her to be acting out of hurt feelings that's fine, it just looks like a dumb move to me. Will it break their alliance and ruin their plans? Probably not, if she does become generous before things get too far. I just consider it inaccurate to call it generous at this point.
Neyra
I'm glad you're here. Do not leave. Viserys and his feelings for his entire family dying get downplayed a lot in canon and I want to change that here. One cannot move on just like that. Yeah, one dragon is very risky, but they have to. Luckily, Silverwing is pretty large, (almost a century old) and can handle it, especially with Baela riding her. She's larger than Meraxes was during the conquest. (And no, mentioning Meraxes here is not foreshadowing in any way) More rewards for the Velaryons will come up. 'Tis a good point. I guess, for now, Baela is kinda resentful that Colrys chose Alyn over her, that's why things are this strict. But, House Velaryon will get more. Check out chapter 14, which I've just posted.
StormyAngel
Haha! You thought you were finally free of me! (Seriously this fic lived rent-free in my brain for three days...I'm going to be here a while.) For this chapter: A very good segment showing us how Viserys is handling everything, the Dance and his return to the fold. I'm glad you started us off with this. Baela's segement: This was some nice dragon action. I’m glad they’re being so cautious about the Scorpions etc. Really, this is probably more risky of an action than they should be taking with just Silverwing to call on but they are in a position where they need to take risks to get things back under control, and I don’t think they measured this one wrong. My one nitpick: Indemnifying the loyal Velaryon’s is well and good, but they should probably also reward them for their service during the Dance and here too. Usually loyal service in war gets better treatment than “we return you to your pre-war state”. Granted she mentioned the gold and silver, but I feel like giving them more than the exact number of ships lost would be a better political move. Maybe 15 or 20. The conversation could mostly go the same, since Alyn’s clearly thinking in terms of the much larger 45 number etc. But a number larger than 10 would be even more generous under the terms she lays out and would be undeniably magnanimous.
Neyra
Yeah. But, this was the deal made because she's not getting the island. If she was, she would have been much more lenient, and much more ready to grant them that, but Corlys is sticking to his guns in his desire in having Alyn as heir. Also, in Baela's mind, these rogue Velaryon captains led to the death of Jacaerys, so she's showing them no quarter at all. It's just the place where a lot of the trades happen. Fabric Making, wine making and so on.
Archivist
"industrial complex of the town" - I doubt it could be considered a real industry. Maybe "the manufacturies". I think that Baela is a bit of a hardliner on the Velaryon ship issue - the ships themselves were the property of the House Velaryon, and you cannot blame the treachery of the captains commanding them on Alyn or Corlys - I doubt there was a Velaryon as captain of each ship.
