Chapter 43: Prelude to the Battle
"Shut your mouth."
Lord Boremund Baratheon slammed the armrest of his chair. His slightly curled beard trembled with anger.
"I am not dead yet. It is not your place to be insolent. Guards! Guards!"
Guards wearing the crowned stag of House Baratheon rushed into the hall. Confusion and concern appeared in their eyes as they saw the tense confrontation between father and son.
"Take him back to his chambers. He is not allowed to leave without my permission. No stable is to provide him with a warhorse, and lock away his hammer and armor as well!"
"Father, you cannot do this!"
Borros Baratheon finally began to panic when the guards seized him tightly.
"By the Seven Gods, I only want to fight the Dornish!"
"Seven Hells…"
Boremund slowly rose from his chair, forcing his gout-stricken legs to support him. The pain was truly like the Seven Hells themselves.
"You are my son. I know exactly what you are thinking."
"This matter must remain limited to Prince Dragonzel's faction. Enough. Take him away."
The lord waved impatiently, enduring the pain while the guards dragged Borros out of the hall.
"Watch this fool carefully. If he escapes, I will use your heads as balls."
Even as he was dragged away, Borros continued shouting that he would go fight the Dornish.
"Maester."
Boremund raised a hand and summoned the grey-robed scholar waiting nearby.
He accepted a cup of milk of the poppy, slowly sipping the bitter medicine. This painkiller was widely used by maesters—effective, but dangerously addictive.
Yet the elderly Lord of Storm's End could no longer live without it.
"I will dictate. You will write."
The maester prepared parchment and quill.
Unlike his illiterate son, Boremund could read, but the habits of nobility remained unchanged.
The maester spread the parchment and nodded respectfully.
"My lord, we may begin."
"To His Grace the King," Boremund began.
"A civil conflict has erupted within Dorne, involving Prince Dragonzel and several marcher lords. To safeguard the borders of the realm, I request that the Stormlands be permitted to raise additional levies and strengthen our frontier defenses."
"Yes, my lord."
After the letter was written and checked, Boremund handed it to an attendant.
"Send this by raven to King's Landing."
Then he continued dictating.
"To Lord Royce Caron of Nightsong: hold the Prince's Pass. If necessary, provide support to Prince Dragonzel in the name of the marcher lords."
"To Lord Kevan Swann of Stonehelm: cooperate with Lord Lorent Grandison of Grandview to defend the southern marches and be ready to receive Stormlands forces at any time."
The maester finished the letters and sent them off.
Only then did Boremund finally sigh in relief.
He had not expected events to escalate so quickly. Dorne had erupted into internal conflict, and even the usually cautious Prince Qoren Martell had been forced to muster troops.
What exactly did Dragonzel do?
"I merely lit a fire."
Prince Dragonzel smiled as he met the eyes of Lord Donald Tarly.
"The conflicts inside Dorne have always existed. No one had simply ignited them before."
"We were too hasty in our previous wars with Dorne," Lord Tarly replied thoughtfully.
"We gave House Martell the chance to unite the Dornish against an external enemy."
He leaned closer.
"What did Your Highness promise Lewyn Yronwood and those young Daynes? Gold? Soldiers? Or a crown?"
"All of them."
Dragonzel nodded calmly.
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon approached with a jug of fruit wine and poured cups for the two men.
Lord Tarly raised his cup in greeting to the prince.
Jacaerys bowed slightly and withdrew, though he remained close enough to quietly listen.
"Empty promises will not impress Dornish vipers," Lord Tarly remarked.
Dragonzel drank from his cup.
"That is true."
Tarly nodded.
"So what is our next step?"
Dragonzel rose and walked toward the war map hanging in the center of the tent.
"Our army will deploy on the plains south of the Red Mountains. The terrain is open and it is the only route north."
"Our enemies include fifteen hundred infantry from House Dayne, four hundred surviving cavalry of House Wyl, eleven hundred riders from House Toland, and four thousand soldiers from House Uller."
"I will ride Vermithor to scout their formations."
Dragonzel pointed to another section of the map.
"Lord Aslan Longdel and Lord Lynn Valtaken have reinforced us with two hundred cavalry and eight hundred infantry."
"Our forces now include:
Six hundred cavalry and two thousand infantry from your lands
Three thousand infantry and six hundred cavalry from my house
Three hundred cavalry and twelve hundred infantry from the marcher lords
Three hundred cavalry and eight hundred infantry from Lord Edric
Three hundred and fifty armored soldiers from Lord Selmy"
"In both cavalry and total numbers, we hold the advantage."
Dragonzel looked toward Tarly.
"Lord Tarly, I ask that you and Lord Aslan command the cavalry on the left and right wings during the battle. Would that be acceptable?"
"I could ask for no greater honor," Lord Tarly grinned.
"I will bring victory back to you."
"Have no fear," Dragonzel replied.
"Prince Valarr's dragon and mine will scout ahead for the army."
He glanced toward the listening Jacaerys.
"Jacaerys, there is no need to rush. Within a year Vermax will be strong enough to fly high and fight. Then you will have your chance to ride a dragon into battle."
Late Night
The Princes' Tent
This tent had been specially prepared by Dragonzel for Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon.
It was cleaner and more comfortable than the tents used by other nobles. Unsullied guards stood watch outside.
Yet the two boys had refused special treatment, insisting they were merely attendants of Dragonzel and Valarr.
Only when changing clothes or resting did they use the tent.
Now the brothers were helping each other fasten their armor.
"Jacaerys… Dragonzel…"
Lucerys hesitated.
"Did Great-Uncle say when the battle will begin?"
Jacaerys quickly covered his brother's mouth and glanced around.
"That is military secret. You must not speak of such things."
"Great-Uncle Valarr said the same thing," Lucerys muttered apologetically.
"If our dragons could fight, Great-Uncle Dragonzel would surely tell us."
"Even Silverwing could swallow our dragons in a single bite," Jacaerys said seriously.
Their dragons' scales could barely deflect arrows yet, let alone fight in war.
"They will need at least another year before they can safely burn enemies."
He finished fastening Lucerys' armor straps.
"When we return to Dragonstone, Mother will surely be proud of us."
Lucerys helped secure his brother's armor.
"I also want to see Joffrey's expression," he laughed.
"His brothers are marching to war while he is still playing with toys."
"Princes."
Hofa the Law-Holder, his golden eyes stern, stood at the entrance.
He had become Dragonzel's sworn shield together with his brother Adams the Law-Holder.
His duty was to protect the prince personally.
"We should prepare to depart."
"We will be right there," Jacaerys replied.
The boys exited the tent.
Hofa held his Valyrian steel spear, The Lawful.
"Princes, His Highness has ordered that you remain with me in the center."
"But we agreed to ride with the cavalry on the left flank," Jacaerys protested.
"Lord Lynn is being foolish," Hofa replied sternly.
"You are not yet of age. The cavalry will carry the heaviest responsibility. Protecting you during battle would become a dangerous distraction."
"Come with me."
"Understood."
The princes nodded and followed him.
Under the cover of darkness, the army began marching toward the battlefield.
Yronwood Castle
Lord Lewyn Yronwood narrowed his eyes at the silver-haired youth before him.
Tigaro Dagareon.
This young poison master had impressed him greatly.
Few men dared drink wine mixed with scorpion venom and mushroom extract in one gulp.
Fewer still could identify and neutralize poison as swiftly as Tigaro.
This test alone forced Lewyn to treat the envoy from House Varezes with seriousness.
"You claim the main Martell army is stationed near the Great Sand Dunes?"
"This information came directly from Prince Valarr's dragon reconnaissance," Tigaro replied calmly.
"This is your opportunity."
"The Martell host has only recently assembled. Their army must cross the difficult terrain of the dunes."
"If you strike now, no one will question the Blood Royal of Yronwood claiming the crown of High King of Dorne."
Lewyn studied him carefully.
"Does Prince Dragonzel still honor his promise?"
"Of course."
Tigaro smiled.
"A golden crown is merely the beginning."
"Prince Dragonzel will destroy the eastern Dornish lords allied to Martell. If you defeat the Martell prince's army, House Yronwood may expand freely across central and eastern Dorne for at least ten years."
"Prince Dragonzel will also establish trade with the High King of Dorne."
"After all, it was a Martell who launched the last great invasion, not a Yronwood."
"And House Fowler?" Lewyn asked coldly.
"What if they strike our rear?"
"You may send as many scouts as you wish," Tigaro replied calmly.
"Fowler is not the only power watching Prince's Pass."
Lewyn finally nodded.
"Return and tell your young prince this."
"Do not trust the words of Dorne—trust the spears of Dorne."
"House Yronwood thanks House Varezes for its support. The Martell who rules through a woman will soon pay the price."
"But remember: a small favor will never buy the loyalty of Dorne."
"The spears of Dorne belong only to the Dornish."
Tigaro spread his arms slightly.
"If that day comes…"
"We will be ready."
The early morning plains were dry and barren.
Only scattered desert shrubs grew from the cracked earth.
Marcher knights slowly climbed a ridge, watching the Dornish host advancing northward.
The first figures visible were lightly armored militia carrying spears.
Behind them marched heavily armed desert warriors.
Dornish sand cavalry appeared on both flanks, banners snapping in the rising wind.
The sun slowly climbed into the sky.
Lord Tarly watched the enemy army coldly.
Heartsbane was already drawn.
Within the infantry ranks, Jacaerys Velaryon strained his neck trying to glimpse the opposing army, his hands gripping the reins with sweaty palms.
High above the clouds—
Hidden within the mist—
Two dragons had already arrived.
Silently waiting.
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