The summer breeze drifted through the newly built palace in Oldtown. A silver-haired man glanced out the window at his sons sparring with wooden swords, then returned to writing his letter to his elder brother.
After Draezell returned to Dragon's Nest, Prince Viserys completed the first phase of his plan by driving a wedge into the Riverlands. Though the results were poor, Viserys believed it proved the Crown's influence had returned to the region. With the Stormlands enjoying royal support, perhaps they could be drawn into the royal fold. As for the Vale, the West, and the North, the Crown was powerless there for now.
The key now lay in the South—specifically, the Reach.
Thus, Prince Viserys requested to take control of Oldtown. Though reluctant to part with his beloved younger brother, King Aegon eventually gave silent consent to Viserys's "impulsiveness" after some insistence.
After Viserys flew to Oldtown with his wife and children, Aegon belatedly sent his blessing and approval.
He named Viserys "Prince of Oldtown", recognizing his dominion over the royal holdings there and sent supplies along with a temporary conscription order.
Having reclaimed the title of "Protector of the Realm", King Aegon now held the authority to mobilize the realm's armies. He ordered the Governor of the Reach, Lord Lyonel Tyrell of Highgarden, and Lord Redwyne of the Arbor to send troops in support of Viserys.
After months of hard-fought battles, and through the combined efforts of Redwyne's navy and Aegarax, the pirates and smugglers who had long infested the Honeywine estuary were finally wiped out, and restoration efforts in Oldtown began in earnest.
"To my dearest elder brother, His Grace King Aegon II of House Targaryen,
I have settled in Oldtown. By the Seven, had I not come here myself and faced the city's troubles firsthand, I would never have believed it. That the second-largest city in Westeros could fall to such a state! Four governors in turn, and not one has brought a single gold dragon to the Iron Throne. Frankly, I wonder if Father and you were deceived.
Of all the governors, only the fourth made any real effort. The first oversaw the great migration of the Citadel and the Faith, profiting immensely, yet left the city's economy in ruins. He died before he could fix it—straight to the Stranger he went. Seven hells, when I arrived in Oldtown, the registered population of the city proper had fallen to just over ten thousand. The actual number is surely much higher, but they don't pay taxes. The city center has nearly collapsed, but the port district is booming.
Your Grace, if our prisoners spoke true, the merchant ships smuggling through the port were even engaged in the slave trade. Not a single vessel paid taxes. With enough bribes to the governor, they even used the port's warehouses without paying rent. We found mountains of grain, coinage, silks, and countless other goods that could bring the Crown tens of thousands in gold dragons. Seven hells—I can scarcely imagine how blind or greedy the second and third governors must have been to allow such madness. But the gods punished them, too.
The first governor you appointed died of eel pie and wine—too much of both. I suspect murder, but I have no proof. The second governor was Father's pick, but surely he didn't know the man would make such a mockery of the office.
The second and third were both fools and knaves, despised by both the old and new gods. I dread to think how much they pocketed. The second died after only a few years, thanks to the Seven. The third, an imbecile, took the coin but couldn't deliver—robbed blind by the very smugglers he'd enabled. Only the fourth tried to restore order, but he offended the powerful smuggling factions and was poisoned into madness.
Still, Your Grace, rest assured. Lord Lyonel Tyrell provided me with 4,500 well-armed infantry and 1,500 cavalry. Lord Redwyne brought one hundred warships. And I have Aegarax—"
Viserys's pen halted for a moment, but then he continued writing.
"—and Prince Rhaegor's Starsong. I do not know why he flew over the Reach on dragonback, but when he saw us hard-pressed in battle—our final naval clash—he intervened. The pirates and smugglers had massed a fleet of over two hundred ships, attempting to break Lord Redwyne's blockade. Some were armed with scorpions. Aegarax, though thick-bodied and well-armored, is still young. The scorpion bolts posed a serious threat, and from safe altitude, her dragonflame lost much of its potency. The fighting was brutal. She even took a hit—Seven be praised, the spear didn't pierce her scales.
Just as the pirates were about to break through, Prince Rhaegor descended from the sky atop Starsong."
Viserys paused again, this time longer. But finally, he dipped his quill and wrote on.
"It is clear that Starsong is a unique breed. In size, armor, toughness, and firepower, she far surpasses our family's other dragons. Enemy ships that troubled Aegarax were turned to butter beneath Starsong's silvery-golden flame. Not one ship remained unscathed or afloat where she passed. Truly, Your Grace, I hope you understand what I'm trying to say—Starsong shall be, after Vermithor, the most crucial dragon of House Vaelarys."
Realizing he'd perhaps said too much, Viserys scratched out the sentence following "truly" and tore the sheet from the letter, beginning anew on a fresh one.
"With Starsong's help, the pirate fleet was soon reduced to ash. The Honeywine estuary is now clear—at least for the moment.
Prince Rhaegor declined any post-battle hospitality. He seemed in a rush to return to the frontier. I couldn't dissuade him and could only express my gratitude. After rooting out these parasites, I've begun restoring order and rebuilding Oldtown's urban economy.
Your Grace, Oldtown is the Reach's maritime gateway. The Mander is slow and full of hidden shoals. Though larger in scale and drainage basin, it cannot compare to the Honeywine's swift current and abundant flow. During the Hightower rule, they maintained the river expertly with dredging and irrigation works. We can inherit their legacy and restore the Honeywine's vital role in the Reach.
Economically, the Honeywine is irreplaceable. Lord Lyonel Tyrell's attempts to establish a port city at the Mander's mouth failed. So did Prince Rey's southern port experiment. I plan to rebuild the port district, reestablish the royal mint, and revive the city's vibrancy. If all goes well, Oldtown may soon provide the Crown with at least 700,000 gold dragons in annual taxes. This will greatly enrich the royal treasury. Furthermore, our involvement here will strongly support Lord Tyrell's administration."
Viserys wrote on at great length. The newly named Prince of Oldtown was full of ambition, while his wife, Lady Larra, looked upon their new home with excitement.
Before it was officially announced that Viserys had become Prince of Oldtown, House Rogare had already sprung into action. They promptly arrived in Oldtown to help maintain order in the city and opened a bank in the harbor district. The Rogare Bank would go on to become one of the major financial backers of Viserys's reconstruction of the city, providing the majority of the necessary funds. To accommodate Lady Larra, Viserys ordered the construction of a Lysene-style palace within Oldtown, where she would reside. He even turned a blind eye to her worship of the Lysene goddess of lust—deemed a false god by the Faith of the Seven—within its walls.
While Oldtown was experiencing a period of rapid and fervent development—
—In the Vale—
After thousands of years of raiding and resistance, the mountain clans finally met their end.
Some of the hill tribes chose to lay down their arms and leave the mountains, surrendering to the lords of the Vale. As the initial foothold of the Andals in Westeros, the Vale had long embraced Andal culture. But it had also retained many traditions of the First Men. The hill clans were descended from those very First Men—and the Vale's most powerful martial house, House Royce, had once ruled as kings of the First Men.
Even now, they kept many of their ancestors' customs.
The rest of the hill tribes resisted with ferocity. Led by the Burned Men, they fought desperately against knights of the Vale and borderland infantry from the south who specialized in mountain warfare.
But in the end, the wildlings' blood ran dry.
And the enemies just kept coming.
Until the very last of those who refused to lay down their arms were forced back to their final refuge: a towering mountain that reached the clouds.
The Burned Men took over the castle that once belonged to the mountain's original lords—a small, easily defended fortress at its peak. The wildlings scurried through the caves and launched guerrilla attacks from the thick forests that blanketed the slopes, trying to hold back the archers of the Vale and the mountain-savvy men of the borderlands.
But they were eventually driven from the caves by those same borderland soldiers—equally skilled in mountain fighting and cave crawling, but far better equipped. Almost every man wore chainmail or leather armor, and bore weapons of steel.
Lord Joffrey Arryn put a bounty on every wildling scalp and ear. Stacks of gold dragons sat ready in the Eyrie's vaults, waiting to be handed out to the soldiers of the Vale and the borderlands.
It drove the warriors mad with greed.
Every cave was soaked in blood. Every forest echoed with screams.
Still, the wildlings held on. Using the treacherous terrain to their advantage, they managed to keep control of their final stronghold.
And then—
The dragons arrived.
One. Two. Three.
The first to appear was Tyraxes the Purple. Lord Joffrey Velaryon rode him to the skies above the fortress—but he didn't attack right away. He waited for the reinforcements Lord Joffrey had promised.
In recent years, Lord Joffrey Velaryon had been busy both assembling the Royal Fleet and securing the bloodline of House Velaryon. He and Princess Aliandra had a healthy daughter. Velaryon's bastards, Adam and Erin, both seasoned captains and sailors, were also recruited into his service during this time.
They quickly rose to prominence in the Royal Fleet. It was said that the elder brother, Adam—handsome and well-mannered—won particular favor with Lord Joffrey, who was rumored to be considering marrying into his line.
Of course, these were just rumors. After all, Lord Joffrey's daughter was still a child.
The reinforcements arrived before sunset.
First came Vermithor. The tyrant beast was so massive it could rival the mountain itself. Upon landing, it set the wildlings' forest encampments ablaze. When the fires finally died, all that remained were scorched corpses and a bare, blackened mountaintop.
The last wildlings were forced to abandon their camps in the woods and retreat into the fortress.
Next came Silverwing. Valar was still a formidable warrior, but years of peace had left their mark—unlike his twin brother Draezell, Valar had begun to grow stout.
Shadowmare and Aurorae followed.
Nearly every battle-ready dragon of House Vaelarys was unleashed.
"The Burned Men will never kneel."
"Flame is our glory!"
That was the wildlings' reply after Lord Joffrey's letter of challenge was fired into the fortress.
Clearly, these illiterate fools had no idea what had happened at Harrenhal.
And they paid dearly for their ignorance.
Their reply was answered with fire.
It was said that Valar burst into laughter when he read their defiance. Draezell and Rey said nothing. Daenyra was still struggling to figure out how to wear leather armor properly.
In the end, it was Valar who gave the final reply.
"No, you fools. Fire is not your glory."
"Fire is your death knell."
But those words never reached the ears of the wildlings huddled within the fortress.
Because once the moon had fully risen, the mountain stood like a candle set alight, illuminating the night sky over the Vale.
Vermithor struck the first toll of fire.
Its golden dragonflame melted the stone walls of the fortress in the blink of an eye, turning anyone caught in its blaze into nothing more than ash.
Then the dragons took to the sky, unleashing their deadly fire in unison upon the fortress.
By the time the sun rose—
Where once the stronghold had stood atop the mountain, there remained only molten sludge from melted rock and the indelible stain of ash.
The screams had fallen silent.
The glory belonged to the flame.
But not to the wildlings. To the silver dragons.
Once again, the dragons had shown their might, just as they had at Harrenhal in ages past.
And when the dragonfire atop the mountain at last died down—
The Vale had forever parted ways with its ancient foe.
The mountain clans had become history.