Chapter 24: Sunspear's Shadow and First Blood
The arrival of Prince Oberyn Martell at Nova Valyria, not as a supplicant but as a keenly assessing envoy of a sovereign power, marked the true beginning of Vaelyx Targaryen's Westerosi campaign. Oberyn, the Red Viper, with his predatory grace and eyes that missed nothing, was not a man to be easily awed, even by the sight of Astra and Aurumel roosting like incandescent statues on the cliffs overlooking Vaelyx's burgeoning encampment. He had come to weigh the soul of this new Targaryen, to gauge if his fire was potent enough to consume their shared enemies, or if it would merely scorch Dorne in its recklessness.
Vaelyx, understanding the Dornish psyche – their pride, their deep-seated thirst for vengeance, their historical wariness of outsiders – did not receive Oberyn with the same overt displays of draconic terror he had employed in Essos. Instead, he projected an aura of cold, unshakeable certainty, the gravitas of a rightful king tempered by the chilling promise of Voldemort's intellect. Their private parley, held within Vaelyx's command pavilion, was a masterclass in verbal sparring. Oberyn spoke of Dorne's grievances, the unending pain of Elia's murder, and the cautious wisdom of his brother, Prince Doran. Vaelyx, in turn, laid out his vision: not just vengeance, but a new order, a restored Targaryen dynasty with Dorne as its most honored and powerful pillar. He spoke of justice, of retribution, and of the inevitable triumph that seven adult dragons would bring.
His Legilimency, used with utmost subtlety, confirmed Oberyn's burning hatred for the Lannisters and his pragmatic recognition of Vaelyx's overwhelming power. The Red Viper was convinced. He pledged his personal spear and the might of Dorne – secretly, for now – to Vaelyx's cause. It was agreed that Prince Doran would maintain a façade of reluctant neutrality towards King's Landing, buying Vaelyx time to consolidate, while covertly mobilizing Dorne's full military strength.
The following weeks saw Nova Valyria transform. Dornish lords, summoned by ravens bearing Prince Doran's coded endorsements and Oberyn's more direct persuasions (often accompanied by a "casual" flight of Veridian or Argentus near their keeps), began to arrive. Some came eagerly, their ancient loyalties to House Targaryen rekindled by the promise of dragons returned. Others came reluctantly, their fear of Robert Baratheon warring with their terror of Vaelyx. A few minor houses in the western Dornish Marches, known for their stubborn independence and ties to Stormlands lords, initially demurred. Vaelyx, guided by Oberyn's counsel on who could be swayed and who needed a sharper lesson, dispatched Ignis on a "punitive patrol." The castle of Lord Qorgyle of Sandstone, who had sent a particularly insolent refusal, was reduced to a molten ruin overnight, its formidable sandstone walls running like wax under Ignis's scarlet fury. News of Sandstone's fate, and the swift, fiery end of its defiant lord, spread through Dorne like a desert wind, and any remaining reluctance among the nobility evaporated. Sunspear's shadow fell fully behind the Dragon Emperor.
Soon, Nova Valyria teemed with Dornish levies: thousands of lightly armored spearmen, their round shields emblazoned with the sigils of a hundred desert houses; nimble archers with powerful Dornish recurve bows; and squadrons of swift light cavalry mounted on hardy sand steeds, their dark eyes burning with anticipation. Oberyn Martell, now a formal commander in Vaelyx's growing army, took charge of integrating these Dornish forces with the Essosi legions.
Joint training exercises commenced under the blazing Dornish sun. Dothraki screamers, initially contemptuous of the Dornish skirmishing tactics, soon learned a grudging respect for their resilience and knowledge of the harsh terrain, especially when Boros pitted them in mock battles. The Aegis Guard's phalanxes drilled alongside Dornish spear formations, creating an almost unbreakable wall of infantry. Myrish crossbowmen exchanged techniques with Dornish archers. Even Ser Damon Sand's Golden Company found common ground with some of the more mercenary Dornish houses. The cultural clashes were undeniable, the cacophony of languages – High Valyrian, Dothraki, the Common Tongue with a dozen Essosi and Dornish accents – a constant hum, but Vaelyx's iron will, Oberyn's charismatic leadership, and the ever-present, awe-inspiring oversight of the dragons forged them into a surprisingly cohesive force.
Supplying this colossal army in arid Dorne was Vaelyx's first major Westerosi challenge. Malakai, operating remotely from Myr through a chain of magically shielded raven messengers and Lyra's most trusted agents, worked with Prince Doran's stewards to tap into Dorne's hidden wells, ancient cisterns, and carefully managed food stores. Ships from Vaelyx's Essosi ports began to arrive with grain and supplies, a reverse flow of resources now feeding his Westerosi ambitions.
With Dorne secured as his primary base and its forces swelling his ranks to nearly eighty thousand, Vaelyx convened his war council to plan their first major campaign beyond Dorne's borders. Lyra's latest intelligence, corroborated by Prince Doran's own extensive spy network, painted a clear picture of the neighboring regions. The Dornish Marches, the historically contested borderlands, were held by proud, martial houses loyal to Storm's End and Highgarden. Beyond them lay the fertile plains of the Reach, ruled by the powerful and opportunistic House Tyrell, and the Stormlands, Robert Baratheon's own seat of power.
"The Tyrells of Highgarden were Targaryen loyalists until the very end of the Usurper's rebellion," Ser Damon Sand noted, his knowledge of Westerosi politics proving invaluable. "Mace Tyrell is a vain, ambitious man, but no fool. He commands the largest armies in Westeros, second only to what you have assembled, my Emperor. He will not declare for us easily, but neither will he rush to Robert's aid if he sees a chance for greater gain under your banner."
Oberyn Martell's eyes glittered. "The Reach is fat and complacent. Their knights are famed, but their lands are vulnerable. A swift strike through the Marches, a few key castles taken, and Mace Tyrell will be forced to show his hand. And the Marcher Lords… they have long been a thorn in Dorne's side. It would be a pleasure to… pacify them."
Vaelyx listened, his gaze fixed on the map. "We will not merely pacify the Marches, Prince Oberyn. We will make them a testament to the cost of defying the Dragon. We will advance north through the Prince's Pass, secure the western Marches, then strike into the heart of the Reach. Our first major objective will be Horn Hill, seat of House Tarly."
A murmur went through the council. Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill, was renowned as one of the finest battlefield commanders in Westeros, a hard, unyielding man.
"Tarly is a formidable soldier," Vaelyx acknowledged. "Defeating him and taking his castle will send a clear message to Mace Tyrell and the rest of the Reach. It will also secure our flank before we consider a wider campaign."
The Dragon Emperor's army, a fearsome river of Essosi steel and Dornish spearpoints, flowed out from Nova Valyria and into the treacherous terrain of the Prince's Pass. The seven dragons soared above, their shadows fleeting across the red mountains, their presence a suffocating blanket of dread over the borderlands.
Their first target was the ancient castle of Skyreach, seat of House Fowler, one of the most powerful Marcher Lords sworn to Dorne, but historically independent-minded and needing a firm reminder of where their new allegiance lay under Martell's pact with Vaelyx. Lord Fowler, after a "visit" from Oberyn accompanied by Veridian (who merely roosted silently on his castle's highest tower, its jade scales shimmering), swiftly reaffirmed his loyalty and opened his gates, adding his hardy warriors to Vaelyx's host.
The true test came as they crossed into the lands sworn to Storm's End. Blackhaven, seat of House Dondarrion, was the first to offer open defiance. Its young lord, Beric Dondarrion, though not yet the lightning-kissed figure of later fame, was a man of courage and loyalty to his Stormlord overlord, Robert Baratheon. He refused Vaelyx's summons to surrender, his walls manned by grim-faced knights and archers.
Vaelyx decided Blackhaven would be his first Westerosi example. The siege was brief, brutal, and terrifyingly efficient. Myrish engineers, under the direction of Commander Valerion and his Unsullied, began constructing siege lines, a conventional display that lulled the defenders into a false sense of familiar warfare.
Then, the dragons attacked.
Vorlag and Ignis, working in tandem, descended upon Blackhaven's formidable stone walls. Their combined fire, one black-red and consuming, the other scarlet and piercing, turned sections of the ancient ramparts into glowing slag, stone running like water. Towers that had stood for centuries crumpled into ruin. Argentus, with precise blasts of lightning, shattered Blackhaven's trebuchets and silenced its archers. Aurumel cast a shimmering golden veil over the Aegis Guard as they advanced towards a breach, deflecting the panicked volleys from the surviving defenders.
Lord Beric Dondarrion, leading a desperate sortie from a side gate, found himself confronted not by soldiers, but by Tempest, the stormy blue behemoth, who landed before him with a ground-shaking impact, its roar scattering his knights like leaves. Tempest did not incinerate them, but its sheer, terrifying presence and the hurricane-force winds from its wingbeats broke their charge and their will.
The final blow was delivered by Astra. As Lord Dondarrion and his household guard made their last stand in the castle's inner keep, the snow-white dragon unleashed a single, precise beam of her colorless energy. The keep's main gate and a section of its wall simply… ceased to be, leaving a gaping, smoking hole.
Through this, Vaelyx himself, flanked by Oberyn Martell and his Serpent's Scale elite, rode into the courtyard. Lord Dondarrion, wounded and defeated, was forced to yield. Vaelyx was tempted to execute him as a lesson, but Oberyn, surprisingly, counseled a display of calculated mercy alongside the terror.
"This one fought bravely for his lord, Emperor," Oberyn murmured. "A dead hero inspires defiance. A living, humbled enemy who speaks of your power… that breeds a more useful fear."
Vaelyx considered it. Voldemort would have killed him without a thought. But this was Westeros, a land of complex loyalties. He needed to not only conquer but also to rule. "Lord Dondarrion," Vaelyx said, his voice cold. "You have fought with courage, however misplaced your loyalty. Swear fealty to me now, add your swords to my cause, and Blackhaven will be spared further… redecoration. Refuse, and your line ends today, your castle a pyre to your folly."
Beric Dondarrion, seeing the smoking ruins of his home and the seven colossal dragons now roosting on its shattered towers, chose life and service, however grudging.
The fall of Blackhaven, and the subsequent coerced allegiance of its lord, sent shockwaves through the Dornish Marches and into the Reach and Stormlands. King's Landing soon received garbled, terrified reports of a new Targaryen, an army of Essosi savages, and dragons – not one, but seven – laying waste to the Marches. King Robert Baratheon, it was said, initially dismissed the tales as Dornish fear-mongering or drunken sailors' yarns. But Jon Arryn, his Hand, a man of caution and wisdom, was reportedly deeply troubled.
Vaelyx stood on the partially ruined battlements of Blackhaven, the banner of House Dondarrion now lowered, his own three-headed dragon standard raised above it. His dragons circled in the sky, their cries echoing through the mountains. Dorne was his, the Marches were rapidly falling under his sway. The fertile, wealthy lands of the Reach lay before him, Horn Hill his next stepping stone. Westeros had received its first taste of his fire, and it was only the beginning.