Chapter 69 — Blitz on Dorne
The tent's air was thick with the scent of salve and smoke.
Daemon Targaryen worked quietly, binding the cut along Rhea Royce's forearm with an ease that belied his reputation. His violet eyes flicked upward once, catching the wary glint in her bronze-hued gaze.
Rhea studied him. The rogue prince — silver hair tousled, armor dented and scorched from battle — had always irritated her. Yet now, with his hands steady and his voice uncharacteristically soft, irritation wavered into something far more complicated.
> "For the first time," Rhea said dryly, "I do not find you entirely unbearable."
Daemon laughed — a sharp, wolfish sound.
He touched the engraved bronze scales of her armor, tracing the runes of the Old Royce Pattern, said to be blessed by the First Men.
> "Your people swear these runes turn blades," he said. "Yet your blood is the proof they do not."
Rhea bristled.
> "The runes protect against steel, not arrogance."
> "Then they've failed twice."
She glared.
> "You truly are insufferable."
Daemon spread his hands in mock surrender.
> "And yet I admire you, bronze maid. You fight like a knight, not a court lady. If you ever wished to serve with true warriors — I would gladly have you ride under my banner."
Rhea snorted, though her heartbeat quickened.
> "I have no interest in being another of your toys, Prince Daemon."
Before he could quip back, the tent flap opened.
Winds Grace "Raven" Greyjoy stepped inside, leather armor still damp from sea mist.
> "My prince, Lord Corlys summons you. The council is assembled."
Daemon rose immediately.
---
War Council in the Stepstones
The Velaryon tent was crowded with maps, tomes, and half-burned candles. A great chart of the Narrow Sea dominated the table — the Stepstones in the center, Dorne on the western edge. The wax from Corlys's candles had melted over the Dornish coastline like spilled blood.
Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake himself, looked strained — even his silver beard seemed tired. But his voice remained as steel-bound as ever.
> "We have news. Dorne has joined the Triarchy."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, clad in smoke-grey armor, arms folded across her chest, frowned deeply.
> "Dorne's ships and gold strengthen the Triarchy. Worse, their scorpions may threaten our dragons if they fortify the coast."
Daemon stepped beside her, tapping Dorne on the map.
> "Then we strike before they do. A dragon's shadow over Sunspear will remind them whom they provoke."
Corlys shook his head.
> "An attack on Dorne invites a war across half of Westeros. The Reach and the Stormlands will march the moment we give word."
Daemon waved dismissively.
> "A large host would only harden Dornish resolve. We strike fast — just dragons. A short, sharp lesson. Nothing more."
Rhaenys studied him, then nodded slowly.
> "A demonstration of fire, not conquest. Dornish pride may bend, though it will not break."
Corlys hesitated — but only for a breath.
> "Very well. Let the dragons fly."
And so they did.
---
Sunspear — Land of Spear and Sun
In Sunspear, Prince Qoren Martell paced like a tethered lion. Shadows stretched long in the heat as he waited outside his father's palace.
The steward emerged with a sigh.
> "The prince is… indisposed. The gifts from the Crabfeeder — those Lysene maidens — have kept him busy."
It was nearly noon when Prince Enrik Martell finally strode into the great hall, silk robe disheveled, his pleasure-worn face pale even beneath the Dornish sun.
Qoren approached immediately.
> "Father, Dragons could come at any moment. We must move the people inland. Shadow City, Plankytown — all are exposed."
Enrik waved him off.
> "If we flee without seeing so much as a dragon's scale, the people will call me craven. I have ordered the coastal lords to ready their scorpions and bolt throwers. We once turned back Rhaenys and Meleys at Hellgate. We can do so again."
Qoren's jaw tightened.
> "That was decades ago. Our knowledge of dragons is old — theirs of us is fresh. Daemon does not hesitate, Father. He hungers for battle."
Prince Enrik sighed, rubbing his temples.
Qoren pressed on.
> "Relocate the coastal folk now. If we wait until fire is in the sky, we will lose thousands."
After a long silence, Enrik relented.
> "Very well. I will send word. But I remain here. I will not flee my own city."
Qoren leaned closer.
> "Harren the Black said the same before dragonfire turned his towers to slag."
Enrik flinched.
But he still resisted — stubborn as the sands themselves.
---
The Dragons Arrive
The hornblast shattered the heated afternoon.
> "DRAGONS! DRAGONS OVER THE CITY!"
Enrik froze. Qoren looked up at the sky, every drop of color draining from his face.
Two shapes blotted out the sun —
Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, a serpent of scarlet shadow,
and Meleys, the Red Queen, gleaming crimson like a ruby aflame.
> "Father — go. NOW." Qoren shoved Enrik toward the stairwell. "It is too late for pride."
Scorpions fired from the ramparts, bolts whistling through the air.
Daemon barked Valyrian commands. Caraxes twisted midair, avoiding the volley with a sinuous grace.
Rhaenys guided Meleys higher, refusing to risk a repeat of her near-fatal wound at Hellgate Castle years before.
Neither dragon descended upon Sunspear.
Instead — they veered west.
Toward Shadow City.
The Dornish breathed their relief too soon.
---
Fire Over Shadow City
Shadow City was alive with midday bustle — smiths hammering iron, children chasing goats, traders hawking wine, spices, silk. A troupe of puppeteers reenacted the "Slaying of the Sand Dragon," to raucous laughter.
The laughter died when the sky turned red.
Screams erupted as dragonfire rained down — not on the crowds, but upon barracks, armories, and mustering fields.
Daemon and Rhaenys spared civilians, but war cared little for intention: burning horses stampeded through the streets, shattered carts ignited, and kitchens and stables caught flame.
Caraxes unleashed a torrent of orange flame upon a Dornish armory.
The building exploded outward, molten steel and burning soldiers hurled into the streets.
Meleys swept over the training yards, her crimson fire engulfing the cavalry stables. Warhorses, aflame, shrieked and stampeded into the alleys.
The shadow of the Red Queen passed overhead.
The cries of a city under siege rose like smoke.
---
Sunspear Watches
From the battlements of Sunspear, Qoren Martell watched in mute horror as Shadow City burned — not razed, but broken, its defenses crippled, its pride wounded deeply.
Beside him, his father trembled.
> "How… how did they come so quickly?"
Qoren did not look away from the fires.
> "Because Daemon Targaryen is everything you feared he was. And more."
The Dornish prince's eyes hardened.
> "We have provoked a dragon. Now we must decide whether we mean to outlast its fire… or be consumed by it."
The sky burned scarlet into the evening.
The Blitz on Dorne had begun.
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