"Five hundred and twenty-nine dead, eleven ships lost, but we gained twenty-three from the pirates," Aeron Hoare reported.
Harald sat in the largest chamber inside the fortress they had just captured. With him were Aeron Hoare and Morgan Martell, and across from Harald sat Visenya, with two high-ranking members of her fleet flanking her. One was a Braavosi admiral, and the other was Daemon Velaryon, who was also Visenya's uncle, an older man with silver hair and the proud bearing of old Valyrian nobility.
"And the captives?" Harald asked.
"All two thousand are alive and safe," Aeron confirmed. "We only lost three men during the infiltration."
Harald nodded, looking around at everyone assembled. "Well done, all of you. This was a clean operation, executed perfectly."
Daemon Velaryon spoke up. "The Basilisk Brotherhood has been broken. Their leader is dead, their fleet destroyed. But Saathos remains a threat."
"I did offer my help, didn't I?" Harald said, looking at Visenya. "And I shall help. But first, we must decide on the fate of these islands. I came here to conquer the Stepstones and secure trade in the Narrow Sea. It seems you and your family thought the same."
He gestured to the crude map that had been drawn on parchment, showing the division of islands. "I believe the partition I have put forth is more than fair. The islands closer to Essos go to the Targaryen Freehold, the rest to the Heartlands."
Visenya spoke up immediately, her voice sharp. "Fair? You call that fair?"
"I believe it's fair," Harald interrupted calmly, "and Prince Morgan agrees. You have to understand, this is a joint collaboration between House Stormcrown and House Martell. In a way, it's a three-way split of the Stepstones. It is just that House Martell has agreed to cede their claim to me in exchange for guaranteed safe passage for Dornish ships and no tolls on their trade."
Visenya was about to speak when Lord Velaryon put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her.
"It is not entirely fair, King Harald, and you know it as well as I do," the old Velaryon said diplomatically. "However, I believe we could accept this division if you were to relinquish Little Tyrosh to us as well. Strategically, it makes more sense under Freehold control."
Harald leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard as if this were a difficult choice requiring careful consideration.
Aeron spoke up on cue. "My king, Little Tyrosh is quite close to the city of Tyrosh itself, practically within sight of the Freehold's newest conquest. Perhaps Lord Velaryon has a point about strategic sense."
Harald looked at Visenya, then at Lord Velaryon. He had claimed Little Tyrosh knowing this fact so that, when they negotiated, he could simply give it away. "Fine. We are in agreement then. Little Tyrosh will be given to the Freehold."
Daemon looked at Visenya with an expression that seemed to plead with his niece to accept the offer. The old man had heard what Harald could do and had seen it with his own eyes when Harald had used his shout to disperse the storm that had been approaching the island the day before, turning dangerous winds into calm skies with three words of power. That alone had been enough for Daemon to believe all the other stories he had heard were true as well. This was not a man to make an enemy of.
"Agreed," Visenya said reluctantly, the word seeming to pain her.
Harald clapped his hands together and laughed warmly. "Excellent! I hope this will be the beginning of a long-standing peace between the Freehold, the Heartlands, and Dorne. Trade will flourish, piracy will be eliminated, and all our peoples will prosper."
Visenya stood abruptly. "I expect you to fulfill your other promise as well, helping us find Saathos and his fleet."
Harald nodded. "Of course. A deal is a deal."
Visenya walked out, with Daemon and the Braavosi admiral following her.
Once they were gone, Harald turned to Morgan. "Are you returning to Dorne soon?"
"Not yet," Morgan said. "I'll stay here for a few more moons, make sure the freed captives get home safely, and make sure Dornish interests are secure."
"Perhaps I will visit Dorne one day, and you can show me your beautiful home," Harald suggested.
"You need only ask," Morgan said with a smile.
======
"Don't take this off," Harald said as he watched Aeron put on the necklace he had just given him.
They stood at docks that were in the middle of being rebuilt and expanded, filled with ships. Nearby was Jace Starling's ship, a sleek vessel built for speed, which Harald planned to use to get to Oldtown.
Aeron looked at the necklace with a bit of confusion, almost mortified. "What is this, my king?"
"Don't worry," Harald assured him. "The group of maesters I'm hunting has magical means of tracking where I am. The moment you put on that necklace, any time they try to scry for me, they will see where you are instead. As far as they are concerned, you are Harald Stormcrown."
"I see," Aeron said, understanding dawning. "I am to be a decoy."
"Exactly. They will see 'me' consolidating my conquest here in the Stepstones, organizing defenses, meeting with lords. I can reach Oldtown undetected."
"Oi! Are we leaving or what?" Jace Starling called out, walking over with his swaggering gait.
Aeron suddenly snapped at him. "Have some respect! This is your king!"
"Not really," Jace said cheerfully. "I am a free man, like the sea before you."
"Aeron," Harald said, placing a calming hand on the Ironborn lord's shoulder. "Work with Morgan on establishing proper governance here. I trust you both to—"
Harald was interrupted as Vhagar appeared in the sky, her massive bronze-and-green form flying toward them.
"Oh fuck," Jace said eloquently, and immediately ran toward his ship.
Aeron immediately tensed, as did everyone around the docks. Sounds of fear and awe spread all over as the great dragon approached, workers dropping tools, sailors backing away, some running to hide.
Harald stood unmoving, his eyes watching calmly as Visenya landed Vhagar on the beach near him.
The dragon still was not comfortable around him. Her head stayed low, her eyes wary, but she was no longer actively fleeing in terror as she had during their first encounter.
Visenya climbed down from her saddle and walked over, her expression neutral. "I found Saathos. He was exactly where you said he would be."
"Good, so the spell worked," Harald said with satisfaction.
"Shouldn't you be out there hunting him down?" Harald asked.
"Yes, we will leave soon," Visenya confirmed.
Harald was confused. "So you came all this way just to tell me that?"
She walked closer, and for the first time since they had met, Harald saw genuine uncertainty in her violet eyes.
"What are you?" she asked quietly. "Truly. What are you?"
Harald raised an eyebrow. "I've told you. I am—"
"Life was more predictable before you came along," she interrupted. "We were going to conquer Westeros, build something new. The future was more clear. But now..." She trailed off, looking troubled. "Everything has become more complicated."
"I think what you're doing in Essos is admirable," Harald said honestly. Then his expression changed from friendly to serious. "But I also know what is influencing you and your family. This so-called god you now worship."
"I worship nothing," Visenya said sharply.
Harald was genuinely surprised by her response. "Why don't you? Your brother claims to be the chosen one of R'hllor, doesn't he? Why do you not believe?"
Visenya was silent, her jaw clenched.
Harald stepped closer, his voice taking on a warning tone. "Listen well, Visenya. What your brother is being influenced by is a being of great evil. Yes, I can see how it has given you power, power wielded to conquer, power you think you can control well into the future. But you're wrong."
"Mehrunes Dagon is a being of change and revolution, of overturning the old order and building something new from its ashes. That sounds noble, doesn't it? Perhaps that's why your brother was drawn to him, why he accepted whatever bargain Dagon put forth."
Harald's expression darkened. "But Dagon is also a being of destruction for its own sake. He doesn't care what you build afterward. He doesn't care about your New Freehold. He only cares that the old order burns. And when you've finished burning the old world, when there's nothing left to tear down, he will whisper in your brother's ear about new things that need destroying. And the cycle will never end."
"You will conquer all of Essos, I'm sure of it. But you may not like what comes after."
Visenya turned away from him, walking a few steps as if contemplating something.
"I feel that you're too far in now to break away from Dagon's influence, so let me give you a message to deliver to your brother: tell him to stay on his side of the world, and I will stay on mine."
"But if he chooses otherwise, if he decides that Westeros must fall under his rule as well, assure him that even with Dagon's power behind him, even with all three dragons and the might of your new Freehold, he cannot win against me. This is not a boast, it is simply the truth."
Visenya turned to look at him, their eyes meeting.
"Peace between us serves everyone. War serves only beings like Dagon, who would rather watch us destroy each other for their amusement. Make sure your brother understands this."
Harald's voice softened slightly. "I wish you and your family the best in all battles to come."
He turned and began walking away toward Jace's ship.
"Wait," Visenya said.
Harald turned. He could see a very different expression on her face now, one of reluctance mixed with genuine fear.
She seemed to struggle with her words, her composure cracking. "This Dagon you speak of... does he... does he look like..." She took a breath, forcing the words out. "I have dreams sometimes. I am haunted by a monster that is part bull, part reptile, adorned with horns and fangs and claws." She shuddered. "It looks skeletal, as if the flesh has been flayed away in places."
Oh fuck, Harald thought.
Aegon was being influenced by Mehrunes Dagon, that was confirmed. But this was something else.
This was Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of Domination, the King of Rape, the creator of vampires, and the architect of endless suffering.
If both Dagon and Bal had their claws in the Targaryens...
"I think," Harald said carefully, his mind racing with implications, "we should talk a bit more."
.
.
.
Lord Thaddeus Rowan sat astride his destrier, surrounded by four of his fellow lords, Meryn Oakheart, Alyn Crane, Uthor Uffering, and Jon Wythers, as they heard the report from the scout who had ridden hard to reach them. Alyn Crane and Uthor Uffering were young men, barely past their twentieth namedays, eager for glory and their first real taste of battle. The older lords, Thaddeus, Meryn, and Jon, had taken charge as the most experienced.
"You must be mistaken," Meryn said, shaking his head, his alarm causing his horse to shift nervously beneath him.
"No, my lords," the scout insisted, his face pale and sweating despite the cool morning air. "They have indeed passed the Golden Fields. I counted twelve thousand men, more than eight thousand mounted, and three thousand five hundred infantry. The king himself is leading the vanguard."
"It's unnatural," Uthor said. "It's not right. How can they move so fast?"
"They were on the Gold Road two days ago!" Alyn Crane protested. "How have they marched two hundred miles in two days? It's impossible! You must be wrong."
"My lords, my lords," Lord Thaddeus spoke up, and the others looked to him. "King Loren has already outmaneuvered us when he decided to march through the Gold Road and invade through my lands. We all expected him to use the Ocean Road and invade through Lord Meryn's lands. But we adapted to that, and we shall adapt to this as well."
"Thaddeus, this is not natural," Meryn insisted. "No army can move that fast."
"Of course it is not," Thaddeus interrupted. "Loren has allied himself with the sorcerer king. We do not know what dark magic he has used to achieve this feat, but we cannot falter now. We still have numbers on our side. We have four thousand more men than they do."
The others nodded, though their expressions remained troubled. They would have had eight thousand more men there, but those forces would not arrive for another five days. They had expected Loren to arrive in a week as well, giving them time to concentrate their strength. But now the Lion King himself was leading a vanguard of twelve thousand and would arrive within hours.
"We do what our king commanded, as the lords of the Northmarch have done for thousands of years," Thaddeus said, his voice rising with conviction. "We are not here to win a decisive battle. We are here to bleed them. We make them pay for every mile they advance, and when they are battered and bruised, we deliver what remains of their army to the one hundred thousand brave Reachmen who wait, led by our king."
The lords cheered at that, their spirits lifting.
"Let us prepare," Thaddeus commanded. "He will be here before noon."
The Reach lords deployed their sixteen thousand men in a defensive formation.
An hour passed. Then two. Septons moved among the soldiers, blessing weapons and offering prayers.
They could hear the enemy now as they approached, and soon they were visible.
"THEY'RE HERE!"
Lord Thaddeus rode forward to see for himself, and his breath caught.
There, emerging from the tree line like a golden tide, was the Lannister vanguard.
King Loren Lannister himself led it, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight, his crimson cloak billowing behind him. Twelve thousand men followed, their banners displaying the golden lion on crimson fields.
Loren did not wait as the golden host surged forward.
"BRACE!" Thaddeus screamed.
The Lannister cavalry hit the center. Every plan shattered after that.
Men screamed and died in the first terrible seconds. A pikeman beside Thaddeus took a lance through the throat, blood spraying across the grass. Another disappeared beneath churning hooves, his scream cut short by the sickening crack of bone.
Thaddeus found his men being pushed back. The Lannister horsemen cut down all in their path.
"PIKES FORWARD!" Thaddeus roared. "PUSH THEM BACK!"
His men echoed the commands, and the infantry tried to reform, but the momentum was already against them, and the Lannisters pressed their advantage without mercy.
On the left flank, Lord Meryn Oakheart led his horse in a sweeping charge to relieve pressure on the center.
"With me!" Oakheart roared, his sword raised high. "Drive them back!"
They thundered forward, engaging the Lannister right wing. The two forces collided with a thunderous crash. Within moments both sides pulled back, wheeling to regroup.
For the first few minutes, it went as cavalry battles were supposed to go, charges, brief intense combat, then both sides pulling back to regroup and catch their breath before charging again.
But the Lannisters did not pull back.
"Reform! Reform!" Oakheart commanded as his cavalry tried to disengage.
The Lannister cavalry pursued immediately, giving no respite. When Oakheart's men tried to wheel around for another charge, they found their horses were already winded, struggling, while the Lannister mounts seemed impossibly fresh.
"How?" Oakheart gasped, his sword arm already aching from the constant fighting. What sorcery is this?
On the right flank, young Lords Alyn Crane and Uthor Uffering commanded their men against the Lannister left wing. The battle there was also going poorly, the young lords' inexperience showing as they struggled to maintain cohesion.
One thing became horrifyingly clear across the entire battlefield: the Reachmen were tiring rapidly while the Westerlanders barely broke a sweat. From the men to the horses, the Lannisters seemed to possess inhuman endurance.
Loren had now commanded his infantry forward to finish off the center, and Thaddeus watched in growing horror as they annihilated his men.
"WYTHERS!" Thaddeus roared desperately. "COMMIT THE RESERVE! NOW!"
Jon Wythers led his 1,500 men down from the hill, crashing into the Lannister center in a desperate attempt to shore up the collapsing line.
It bought them minutes. Nothing more.
Thaddeus saw King Loren himself leading a contingent of his best knights directly toward him.
"My lord, we must retreat!" one of his captains pleaded, grabbing his arm. "The battle is lost!"
"No," Thaddeus said quietly, his eyes fixed on the approaching golden figure."This ends today."
The thunder of hooves announced Loren's approach.
The King of the Rock rode at the head of his household knights, his golden sword gleaming.
"Lord Rowan!" Loren's voice rang clear across the battlefield. "Surrender, and your men will be spared!"
"The Reach does not yield to Lannister scum!" Thaddeus roared back, raising his sword.
"Then come and test yourself against the Lion," Loren replied.
They charged at each other. Their swords met with a resounding crash. Loren's golden blade sheared through Thaddeus's guard, forcing him back. They circled and struck again, their horses wheeling and turning.
In the haze of battle, both men were unhorsed. Thaddeus's mount took a glancing blow and reared, throwing him. Loren leaped from his own horse to meet him on foot, refusing to take the mounted advantage.
Loren pressed the attack, and Thaddeus found himself unable to properly defend. The sword moved fast, too fast. His vision blurred, his sword arm sluggish as he struggled to track Loren's movements. Loren's blade sliced through his armor like parchment, cutting deep into his shoulder.
"How..." Thaddeus said, stepping back, his hands shaking from the duel.
"A gift from my new friend," Loren said, raising his sword.
"Damn your sorcery!" Thaddeus screamed, ignoring the blood running down his arm. He lunged forward in a desperate, all-out attack, putting everything into one final strike.
Loren sidestepped, and his golden sword took Thaddeus's head from his shoulders in a single clean cut.
It was over.
Seeing their lord fall, Thaddeus's men completely broke, soldiers throwing down weapons and fleeing or falling to their knees in surrender.
To the left, Lord Oakheart's horse stumbled. Lord Reyne's blade found his neck before he could rise. His cavalry scattered in panic.
Young Ser Alyn Crane, watching the carnage from the right flank, made his decision. "RETREAT! SAVE WHAT YOU CAN!"
His forces began a fighting withdrawal, Uffering's infantry covering their retreat.
Within two hours of when it began, the Battle of Goldengrove was over.
The butcher's bill was devastating for the Reach: less than 2,000 dead on Loren's side, but more than 5,000 Reachmen dead on the field, with another 4,000 captured and the rest scattering in panicked retreat.
The Lion had drawn first blood. Now it turned south toward the heart.