Chapter 440: Conquering Kingsgrave

Rhaegar took off his black robe and casually placed it on a stone bench, just as he would in the sacred forest of the Red Keep.

He looked at Mors, who was staring back at him.

Rhaegar appeared calm and natural, surveying Mors with a measured gaze. "Lord Mors, is this how House Manwoody treats their guests, with indifference?"

Mors' expression stiffened, and he cursed inwardly.

You're the indifferent one. You have my children in your hands, and there's a dragon glaring at us. If I had eaten breakfast, I would have shit my pants by now.

Clatter...

A group of soldiers hurried over, armed with crossbows, surrounding the garden. About fifty of them, by a quick count.

Mors regained some confidence and shouted, "What do you want? People of Dorne never threaten children!"

The soldiers' faces tightened, loading their crossbows.

"Roar..."

Before anyone could make a move, a low, rough growl echoed through the garden. The Cannibal stretched its neck, its dragon head looming near the willow tree, green pupils surveying the scene with indifference.

A bunch of little bugs, so fragile.

One glance from the dragon, and Mors broke out in a cold sweat.

"Cannibal, you scared them," Rhaegar said, glancing back at the dragon as if reprimanding it.

The Cannibal snorted heavily, its tail sweeping across the flowerbed, scattering petals in all directions.

Rhaegar smiled, placing the little girl down. "Lysa, go play over there," he said gently.

Lysa stared at the falling petals, her short legs hesitant to move.

Mors watched the scene, his heart in his throat.

Rhaegar spread his hands, sighing. "First, I was knighted this year. I won't harm the young or the old."

"Second, I'm here for peace. You should be a little more polite to a Targaryen."

He patted Lysa's bottom, urging her to go find her parents.

"Father..." Lysa's sweet voice called out, her eyes lingering on the candy Rhaegar held.

That was for my brother. My brother didn't want it.

Mors pursed his lips, torn between calling his daughter back and keeping his word.

He glanced at his son under the willow tree, his expression growing even darker.

They've got them all.

Rhaegar's voice remained calm. "Surrender. For the sake of your children, don't resist."

"No way!" Mors exploded, pointing at Rhaegar. "You think you're Visenya, but I'm not some weak bitch from the Vale!"

During the Conqueror's War, Queen Visenya had ridden Vhagar to The Eyrie, single-handedly subduing the Vale. Her achievements were legendary.

Rhaegar frowned slightly, meeting Mors' guilty eyes. "The Vale is my mother's home, and your words are vulgar. I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself and kill you," he said seriously.

Mors bristled, the last trace of defiance making him glare back at Rhaegar.

"Alas, I've said I came for peace," Rhaegar sighed. As a sign of good faith, he removed Truefyre from his belt and placed the sword's hilt against his black robe, a symbol of war that he wore for major battles. Removing both was a gesture of sincerity.

The entire audience watched with bated breath. Dickon's breathing quickened as he eyed Truefyre. He was only a few steps away from the stone bench, and he could grab the sword in an instant.

Rhaegar didn't even glance at him, his every move exuding confidence.

Mors' face darkened as he gritted his teeth. "Even if you are the reincarnation of a conqueror and Visenya herself has possessed you, Kingsgrave will never surrender!"

"Don't be so quick to judge. What room for resistance do you have?" Rhaegar asked, rubbing Lysa's little head. "House Martell is too busy to worry about Kingsgrave. It's just a throwaway city. Why bother preserving the House Manwoody name?"

His tone was flat, as if discussing a trivial matter. He could easily burn Kingsgrave to the ground with his dragons, but subduing House Manwoody held more value.

Mors didn't answer but gave a subtle wink. Then, with a loud shout, "Lysa, come back to your father!"

In an instant, Dickon sprang up, pouncing on Truefyre like a hungry tiger.

Click!

The soldiers raised their crossbows, aiming at the silver-haired youth under the willow tree. Rhaegar remained calm, unshaken by the unfolding events. He didn't care if Dickon took Truefyre.

Lysa, startled by the roar, stood frozen. Rhaegar gently turned her towards Mors, whispering, "Go to your father, you little fool."

Lysa, confused, shuffled forward.

Swish!

Dickon drew Truefyre, the black blade glistening with a myriad of stars, and pointed it at its original owner. Rhaegar smiled faintly, looking past Manwoody and his son, and said calmly, "There's something, but not much."

"Roar..."

Cannibal growled, pressing its jaw against the crown of the willow tree, dark green Dragonfire accumulating in its mouth. Behind the thick willow, the dragon's massive body loomed, casting a shadow that covered half the castle.

At that moment, Rhaegar slowly stood, the smile vanishing from his face.

He didn't attack immediately. Instead, he watched as Lysa walked clumsily halfway across the room. Then he whistled.

"Zila!"

The ruby at the end of Truefyre's hilt glowed red, and heat spread from the hilt to the tip of the sword.

"Ah!"

Dickon screamed, his palm nearly burning through, and Truefyre fell to the ground.

Rhaegar reached for his belt with his right hand, a dark light flashing like lightning and striking Mors in front of him.

Crack!

The black dragon-taming whip wrapped around Mors' neck, tightening and then suddenly retracting. Mors was yanked back like a fish on a hook, pulled towards Rhaegar at lightning speed.

"Come on!" Rhaegar called out, raising his right foot.

Mors landed at his feet, cushioning his fall.

"Stop!"

"Let go of the Lord!"

Dickon was horrified, and the soldiers cried out in unison.

"Roar..."

Cannibal's green eyes flashed with malice, and a burst of Dragonfire engulfed all the soldiers in the garden. The wailing stopped abruptly, replaced by a loud cry.

"Waa waa..."

Three-year-old Lysa cried out in fear, running back on her short legs.

Rhaegar, stepping on Mors, tightened the dragon whip and said with regret, "Look what you've done."

He had taken off his black robe, showing he had no intention of killing anyone.

Mors, terrified but still stubborn, insisted, "I won't surrender. Don't waste your time!"

At that moment, he finally understood why the Vale had surrendered to Visenya. A dragon flies into your backyard, and the dragon's owner is holding your child. You try to fight back, but the dragon's Dragonfire burns all your soldiers. And the most outrageous thing is that you can't even defeat the dragon's owner. You are captured like a pig.

Rhaegar smiled.

He let go of the tightening dragon whip, hanging it back on his waist. Ignoring Dickon 's angry, hateful gaze, he picked up Truefyre from the ground.

Finally, he lifted the black robe with one hand and the sobbing Lysa with the other. Looking down at Mors, he said, "No one can help you. Think of your children. They still have a bright future."

He was giving Mors a choice. The black robe or his daughter?

Mors got up unsteadily and said, "What do you want? I am a noble of Dorne, and I have my own Lord. I cannot pledge my loyalty to the Iron Throne."

"Qoren is nothing but a warlord using this war to weaken the noble families," Rhaegar replied, hitting the nail on the head. He then offered an olive branch: "Serve the Iron Throne, and I will make you a Lord, expanding the territory of House Manwoody."

He pinched Lysa's nose gently and added with a smile, "Fight for the Iron Throne, and your son can become my squire, while your daughter can be sent to Dragonstone to be a companion to the Princess of the Targaryens."

Quite generous terms.

Mors paused, skeptical. "Are you sure? On what basis?"

He couldn't believe such an opportunity had just fallen into his lap. If Dorne surrendered to the Iron Throne, it would break its back and face rejection from its sworn enemies in The Reach and elsewhere.

Rhaegar replied calmly, "My child is about to be born, and there may be a daughter as well." Half-true, half-false, but sincere in spirit.

Mors looked at his children and glanced at the terrifying black dragon. His heart sank. He had no energy left to resist. He gritted his teeth and asked, "You will keep your oath?"

"Of course."

"I will not bow to the Iron Throne, but I can bow to you."

"Why?"

"Seeing you, I see the conqueror of a hundred years ago. Calm and composed, decisive and tolerant. I want to offer you my loyalty."

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. He understood that Mors probably didn't trust the Iron Throne and was joining him personally, not the institution. Rhaegar smiled and said, "Swear it."

He knew that as the future king, the House Manwoody would remain a vassal of the Iron Throne. All of Dorne would eventually bow to him.

Plop!

Mors knelt on one knee, lowering the proud head of House Manwoody, and said solemnly, "I swear by the old and new gods to serve Rhaegar of House Targaryen, to honor him, and to fulfill his mission at all costs!"

The oath was sacred and irrevocable, and Mors spoke it in one breath.

Rhaegar's expression remained impassive as he took the hilt of Truefyre and turned it towards Dicon. "Hold it. This sword."

Despite his burned hands, Dickon obediently took the scabbard.

Swish!

Truefyre was unsheathed, its cold light flashing.

Rhaegar held Lysa in one arm and placed the sword on Mors' shoulder with the other. "I swear by the old gods and the new that I accept your loyalty. You will be the cool breeze of summer and the oar of a far-reaching ship. You will honor your oath and never be stained by the filth of the world. You will always have a place by my hearth, today and every day."

Then he pressed the black blade against Mors' shoulders.

With a snap, Truefyre was sheathed.

Mors took a deep breath, accepting the fact that he was now a Targaryen vassal. He was scared but also excited. He stood up and bowed. "My Prince, Kingsgrave will fight for you. Please give your orders."

Rhaegar glanced back and said sternly, "Open the gates. Kingsgrave will serve as a staging post for the army."

Mors gritted his teeth and said, "Yes, Prince!"

He walked straight out and ordered the soldiers to open the gates of this dangerous city.

Below the cliffs, the Reach forces had been waiting for a long time.

(Word count: 1,777)