Chapter 373: War Horn

Dawn at Gulltown Harbor

As the sun rose and the sea calmed, Gulltown Harbor came to life. Two giant dragons, one black and one light blue, glided down in a synchronized descent, their wings unfurling gracefully like dancers in a choreographed routine.

Boom...

Their massive bodies touched down, kicking up clouds of dust and smoke, the impact sending ripples through the air.

After a tumultuous night, the harbor buzzed with activity. People filled boats and ventured out to salvage what remained of the charred debris that littered the bay.

"Rhaegar, you're back at last," Jeyne called, her voice filled with relief and joy. She approached briskly, her skirt swishing around her ankles, having remained vigilant through the night, fulfilling her duties as Lady. When she saw Rhaegar, her loved one, a comforting peace filled her heart.

"Jeyne," Rhaegar greeted her, his arms wide open for an embrace. His smile was weary, a shadow of concern creasing his brow as he scanned the crowd, his gaze settling on the slumbering figure of Sunfyre in the background.

As they embraced, Jeyne, with her sharp instincts, whispered close to his ear, "Aegon took Sunfyre out last night to scout the Bay of Crabs. They managed to burn quite a few remnants of the enemy."

Rhaegar's eyes flickered as he nodded, acknowledging her words with a soft, "Uh-huh~!"

Breaking the embrace, he bypassed the crowd that had gathered to greet him and walked directly to Sunfyre.

Aegon, nestled beneath the dragon's wing membrane, shivered involuntarily, awakening from his slumber in a daze. Raising his head, he saw a bare-chested Rhaegar approaching, his expression ferocious.

"Rhaegar, I'm sorry for last night--" Aegon began, his voice shaking as he scrambled to his feet, trying to apologize.

But Rhaegar, fueled by a mixture of relief and lingering anger from the night's dangers, grabbed Aegon by the collar and delivered a powerful blow to his pale face.

Bang...

Aegon was thrown backward, hitting the ground hard and rolling twice before coming to a stop.

Rhaegar stepped forward, his anger palpable as he grabbed Aegon's silver hair, forcing his brother's gaze to meet his own. "I sent you to patrol the Narrow Sea and instead you were in a brothel! Is your brain filled with dragon dung?" he spat, his voice thick with contempt.

Rhaegar was haunted by the scenes of devastation he had witnessed at White Harbor and the Three Sisters Islands. White Harbor, though quickly defended, had been severely damaged by fire, its fleet nearly destroyed. As one of Westeros' most important ports, its ability to aid in the Narrow Sea War was now severely compromised.

Aegon's cheek swelled rapidly, a bright red mark blooming across his face as he replied in a trembling voice, "I didn't expect this."

"What else did you expect?" Rhaegar roared back. "Your carelessness allowed Braavos' mercenaries to strike at our heart! Because of your recklessness, because you couldn't keep your pants on, Gulltown nearly fell!"

Rhaegar's grip tightened, his eyes burning with anger. "You endangered not only yourself, but Sunfyre, the dragon you grew up with-all for a moment of lust!"

He saw the horrible situation Aegon had found himself in: trapped in a brothel by mercenaries, barely saved by Sunfyre, who nearly fell to crossbow bolts itself. A Targaryen dead and a fallen dragon - that would have been an unacceptable loss.

Aegon's gaze was hollow, his body shaking. "Rhaegar, I never intended any of this. I tried to help."

"You had better realize the gravity of your mistake," Rhaegar pressed, his forehead almost touching Aegon's as he spoke sternly. "You are my brother, and it is my duty to punish you for your mistakes, you should not die to some lowly mercenary."

"I'm sorry," Aegon murmured, his head bowed, overwhelmed by the weight of his actions.

"Prepare yourself," Rhaegar commanded, his tone unyielding. "You will leave Gulltown to Helaena's command. You and I are going to the front lines."

With those final words, Rhaegar turned and walked away, leaving Aegon to gather himself amidst the dust and the dawn.

...

Dragonstone Island

Knock knock...

A soft knock sounded outside the lord's bedroom door. Inside, Rhaenyra lay draped over a couch, caught in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness. She had slept lightly these days, stirred by the sound of Rhaegar's nightly departures.

"Enter~" she called softly, her voice tinged with a sleepy haze.

Crunch-

The door creaked open as Sara, her handmaiden, entered. She was balancing a breakfast tray in one hand and a letter in the other. Her brow was furrowed in concern. "Princess, there's a secret letter for you from Lys."

"Lys?" Rhaenyra's interest piqued, her sleepiness fading. She rarely visited the free trade city-states and certainly didn't cultivate foreign alliances like her adventurous Uncle Daemon. "A letter from Lys?" she repeated, wondering who could be writing to her from there.

Sara set the breakfast tray on a nearby table and carefully slit open the letter, making sure it was safe from any hidden dangers. Rhaenyra noticed the seal on the letter - two intertwined roses, an unusual emblem that piqued her curiosity.

After inspecting the contents, Sara handed the letter to Rhaenyra with a puzzled look on her face.

Taking the letter, Rhaenyra unfolded it and read quietly. The contents were so intriguing that she read through it several times, her brow furrowing slightly with each pass. Finally, she closed the letter, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.

"A strange friend," she mused aloud, her curiosity obviously piqued by the unexpected correspondence.

...

Time passed and half a month passed.

Bloodstone Island

Nestled against the cliffs of a barren mountain and backed by the beach, a striking structure with a pitch-black exterior rose ominously. This massive building, in the shape of a bloated dragon lying prostrate on the cliffs, overlooked the vast sea. Upon closer inspection, the dragon's body served as a three-story castle, its head as a watchtower, and its sprawling wings as armories and warehouses.

A massive circle of towering black walls encircled the perimeter, interspersed with a dozen dragon towers that doubled as archery towers and other defensive fortifications.

Access to Black Stone Castle was daunting; one must first climb the steep, barren mountain. The castle encompassed the entirety of the mountain's cliffs, with only one narrow entrance through bronze gates that could hold a hundred people at most, crammed tightly together.

Thus, any enemy who wanted to attack Black Stone Castle could only send small teams at a time, making it a fortress that was easy to defend but difficult to attack.

"Roar..."

Sunfyre hovered in the air, his golden scales shimmering in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the dark facade of Black Stone Castle.

On the beach below, in the shadow of the black walls and in the castle's vestibule, thousands of soldiers stood at attention, their eyes filled with awe as they gazed upon Dragonstone Castle. They had witnessed its construction - a marvel of speed and magic.

The giant dragon had scorched the mountain's vegetation and blasted the cliffs with dragonfire until the rocks melted into a smooth surface. Thousands of workers and soldiers scaled the cliffs with loads of dragon dung and stones, using mysterious magic to fuse them into solid black dragonstone and quickly and efficiently build the massive castle.

On the black wall stood Aegon, lost in thought as he gazed out upon the fortress.

Laenor put an arm around Aegon's shoulder and asked warmly, "How does it feel to have a castle of your own?"

"Not bad," Aegon replied, his voice tinged with resentment. "Cousin, am I in complete exile here?"

While the castle was indeed impressive and majestic, Aegon couldn't help but wonder about the practicalities of living on such a remote island. "What will I eat and drink here?" he wondered aloud.

Laenor, always the shrewd one, replied with a knowing smile, "Once we defeat the Triarchy, the Stepstones will become a critical maritime hub between the realm and Essos. Just collecting taxes here will make you rich beyond measure."

As a Velaryon, Laenor understood the immense wealth the Triarchy had amassed during their control of the Isles of the Stepstones. He truly believed that Aegon was fortunate: a second son granted such strategically valuable territory was rare.

In fact, Daemon had originally married Lady Rhea only in the hope that his descendants might inherit Runestone, but he never officially held any territory of his own. Though once dubbed the "King of the Narrow Sea," Daemon lacked a supportive older brother to help him build a castle and eventually returned to King's Landing in disgrace.

...

Twin Castles

In the austere hall of the newly named Twin Castles, Rhaegar sat alone in the only chair. The castle on Bloodstone Island was complete, while its counterpart on Grey Gallows Island was still in the planning stages. These fortresses would guard the gateway to the Stepstones, standing like watchful siblings over the treacherous waters.

There was another layer to the name. Rhaenyra, who bore twins, had inspired the name of the castles, symbolizing both protection and new beginnings.

"Prince, Volantis has agreed to send troops; they're joining forces with Lord Corlys," Tormund announced as he entered the hall, his demeanor serious.

Rhaegar, holding a letter from Dragonstone Island, answered without looking up. "Has Daemon set sail?"

The strategic positioning of the Twin Castles had solidified the defense line across the Stepstones. Daemon and the Sea Snake had divided their forces, each blockading the seas near Tyrosh and Lys.

The fleets from these city-states, reluctant to engage directly with dragons, adopted guerrilla tactics reminiscent of those used during the First Dornish War. However, unlike the Dornish who had been willing to sacrifice everything, the people of Lys and Tyrosh could not bear such severe losses.

Rhaegar's strategy was ruthless yet effective: he used two dragon-supported fleets to sever the sea links between the city-states, isolating and overpowering them one by one. The goal was not merely to attack the cities, but to strike directly at their hearts, a true display of power designed to break the enemy's spirit.

"Daemon has already left. I've also coordinated with Pentos and Princess Rhaenys to send reinforcements to block the Tyroshi Sea," Tormund confirmed.

Known for its political turmoil and as a haven for mercenaries, Tyrosh relied heavily on collusion between its Archon, wealthy merchants, and corrupt officials to oppress its lower-class citizens.

Rhaegar's immediate focus was Lys, where he sought to recapture the wild dragon Morghul. His strategy for Tyrosh was to encircle but not engage, using the fall of Myr and Lys as a warning to incite an uprising against their oppressive rulers and force them to yield to the Iron Throne.

Rhaegar handed the letter to Tormund and mused aloud, "Braavos has struck; Dorne remains a wild card. We must secure Lys quickly."

After the decisive battle at the Bay of Crabs, Braavos's mercenaries had been decimated. Yet, the Sealord Ferrego Antaryon denied any involvement, maintaining a facade of neutrality.

Frustrated but not discouraged, Rhaegar knew that the real conflict lay not in Braavos but in securing control of the Narrow Sea.

He now had a slight advantage. Braavos was unlikely to commit more forces soon, buying precious time for his campaign against the notoriously elusive and dangerous Dorne, whose lords, the Martells, lurked like vipers in the sand, ever ready to strike the Iron Throne.

Tormund read the letter, his expression changing to one of mild astonishment, and he offered a slight smile. "If this can really be accomplished, securing Lys will be much easier."

"Exactly," Rhaegar confirmed, his gaze sharp. Then he abruptly changed the subject. "Bartimos of Claw Isle has been escorted to King's Landing. The Small Council is now deliberating whether to charge him with smuggling or treason."

Bartimos Celtigar had been involved in illicit trade with the free city-states, actions that could very well merit a charge of treason, punishable by death.

However, given the wartime demands on the Celtigar House's resources, a final decision on his fate had yet to be made.

Tormund paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "What are you suggesting?"

Rhaegar's voice took on a serious tone. "Tormund, do you wish to restore your family's name?" Skylar and Tormund were siblings and bastards descended from Bartimos' lesser-known offspring, carrying the Celtigar blood.

Lost in thought for a moment, Tormund finally pursed his lips and shook his head. "Prince, I have grown accustomed to a simpler life."

He understood the underlying implications: the execution of Bartimos could potentially implicate his rightful heir, paving the way for a less direct descendant like himself to ascend to power on Claw Island - a maneuver not uncommon among the nobility.

This tactic, facilitated by Rhaegar's influence in the Small Council and his powers as regent, was well within their means. Tormund, however, was reluctant to let Rhaegar suffer any political consequences and had no interest in entangling himself with the Celtigar House.

Rhaegar studied him for a moment, then his smile faded. "Forget it then, I won't press the matter."

He had hoped to reward his loyal confidant while consolidating Targaryen control over the maritime assets by placing Claw Isle under a friendly regime. If Tormund was unwilling to claim his birthright, perhaps supporting Bartimos's eldest son would be the easier route.

In the end, it mattered little who ruled Claw Isle; the real importance was to ensure that its ruler was aligned with his strategic interests.

(Word count: 2,255)