Chapter 382: Aemond at Storm’s End

That night, the moon and stars were sparse.

Planky Town, once a bustling harbor, now lay empty, with crimson bonfires lighting up the dark night.

Qoren stood at the forefront, leading a group of Dornish soldiers clad in tawny armor, gazing out at the lights on the pale sea.

In the distance, hundreds of warships sailed into the mist, resembling a swarm of sandy scorpions emerging from their nests.

The Dornish, known for their exuberant character, acted swiftly and decisively. Having agreed to fight during the day, they went directly to war by night.

Qoren stood with his arms folded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Lys has reenacted the Battle of the Hundred Candles, creating unprecedented conditions for Dorne."

With the Iron Throne's main army outside the Narrow Sea, the garrisons were cut off from support.

Daemon, the madman, was in the disputed lands with the Young Heir Prince, leaving Westeros under the care of women, children, and old men unseasoned in battle.

Braavos would join forces with other free-trade city-states to pressure the Iron Throne.

The chaos in Myr and Lys, with their repeated rebellions, kept the Queen Who Never Was and the Heir Prince occupied.

As long as Tyrosh withstood the pressure from the Iron Throne's besieging army, the Dornish forces could launch a three-front attack into the Stormlands and the Riverlands.

The Iron Throne would then face a dilemma, unable to decide whether to attack Tyrosh or support Westeros.

A dangerous glint flashed in Qoren's eyes as he murmured, "Bambaro, you died well. If Lys hadn't fallen, Dorne wouldn't have had the chance to send out troops."

The Iron Throne's seizure of two city-states was a hot potato.

The nine Free Trade city-states, former colonies enslaved by Ancient Valyria, were surprisingly resilient once their ports were controlled.

Destroying the political structure and occupying the city-states was one thing, but as long as there were wealthy people and civilians resisting colonization, the fight against invaders would never end.

Seizing this opportunity, Dorne was able to sweep through the Stormlands and the Riverlands, throwing the Iron Throne into chaos.

This unyielding will to harm the enemy, no matter the cost, was the fundamental factor that allowed Dorne to gain its independence in the First War of Conquest.

"Father, my brother is freezing. Let's go back."

Aliandra, clad in a thick ermine cloak, tugged at her father's sleeve.

When Qoren looked down, he saw his daughter's indignant little face.

Behind Aliandra stood a four- or five-year-old boy with dark hair and brown skin, shivering and blue from the sea breeze. This was Qoren's eldest son, two years younger than Aliandra. He also had a three-year-old daughter who was too weak to be brought along.

"Prince, let's go back," spoke a middle-aged man with black hair and gray eyes.

He was tall and bulky, with thinning black curly hair and a full beard. His gray eyes sparkled with intelligence. On his chest, he wore the yellow and crimson interlaced flame pattern of House Uller from Hellholt, one of Dorne's ancient and well-known families.

Qoren playfully grabbed his son's face, smiling. "Olyvar has left. Let's go too."

Harmen Uller, with his big belly, followed behind and asked, "Prince, Storm's End has nothing but a bunch of cowards left. You let Olyvar send troops-aren't you just giving him the glory?"

There was a hint of complaint in his voice, disguised as a casual question.

Before Dorne was unified by House Martell, House Yronwood was recognized as the strongest house, known as the "Lords of the Stone Way", the Uller House were bannermen to House Yronwood.

When Nymeria, the warrior queen of the Rhoynar, crossed westward with ten thousand ships, she married Mors of House Martell and initiated a war to rule Dorne. Mors Martell died in the War of Unity, but Nymeria completed the conquest bycapturing the then king of Yronwood.

At the start of the war, House Uller betrayed their liege lords, House Yronwood, dealing them a significant blow. This conflict persisted, still simmering under Martell's rule.

As he listened to Harmen, Qoren's eyes grew intense. "Take the long view. We have more battle lines than just the Stormlands."

Harmen choked on his words and followed the group quietly.

Prince Qoren was a ruler who met the expectations of the Dornish people admirably. Brave and skilled in battle, highly intelligent, and crucially, he was willing to heed his bannermen's advice to start a war, maintaining the martial honor that defined Dornish culture.

...

Cape Wrath, Clifflands by the Sea

Clash...

A three-masted warship rode the wind and waves, Dornish flags—such as the A red sun pierced by a golden spear and the black gate—flying high from the cabin.

At the prow of the magnificent vessel, Olyvar, clad in iron armor, stood on the deck, his eyes fixed on a sea cliff.

His blue eyes smoldered with a cold aura, as if he were the night lord in the darkness.

"Lord Commander, there is only one watchtower on the cliff bank. We can climb it using hook locks," a dark-skinned youth in full armor reported respectfully.

Olyvar looked around the surrounding waters. A blanket of fog had risen, reducing visibility to a mile. They had avoided House Swann's patrol fleet and abandoned plans to attack from the pier near the family's estate.

A direct assault would result in wasted casualties; avoiding the enemy was the best strategy.

After reviewing the situation in his mind, Olyvar drew his sword and ordered, "Elite forces, climb the cliff and destroy the defenders in the watchtower!"

"Yes, Lord Commander!"

The officer relayed the command, and several small boats silently approached the cliff, their occupants flinging hook locks to secure themselves to the towering cliff face.

With everything ready, dozens of Dornish elites began to climb.

Olyvar watched from afar. The fog obscured his vision, and he could only make out a cluster of fires in the watchtower.

Half a bell later, the fires dimmed and then two clusters of lights crossed, signaling a successful invasion.

Olyvar felt a surge of satisfaction but remained composed. "Climb the cliff with me and circle around to attack Stonehelm!"

Two dozen warships approached the cliff, and thousands of Dornish soldiers began scaling the rock.

The rest of the fleet pulled anchor and sailed towards the docks of Stonehelm.

A dual attack—one by land, one by sea—was underway.

...

The Next Day, Before Dawn

The battle at Stonehelm Pier had concluded, and all the defenses along the road had been neutralized by the surprise attack.

The garrison soldiers were routed, retreating to the stronghold of House Swann in Stonehelm to fend off the Dornish siege.

The Dornish forces, nearly at full strength, executed their cunning strategy with such precision that the original defenses were overwhelmed.

In the end, tens of thousands of Dornish soldiers converged from all directions, surrounding Stonehelm, a city made of green-hued rocks.

Lord Swann guarded the city gates with strict vigilance, releasing a dozen raven messengers to plead for aid.

...

Storm's End Castle

"Roar..."

In the castle's courtyard, an ugly, brown, clay-colored dragon lay prostrate on the ground, its withered head turned east.

"Baa~~"

A dozen goats bleated and wiggled their fat butts as they were herded nearby.

With a sour expression and a goat whip in his hand, Aemond muttered to the dragon, "Eat, eat, eat, you ugly thing."

"Roar..."

The Sheepstealer, as the dragon was called, rose, its mud-colored wings spread wide and its neck stretched out. Its vertical pupils gazed condescendingly at the silver-haired boy before opening its jaws and spewing dragonfire to roast the sheep.

The dragon crawled slowly to the ground, wings outstretched, then lowered its head to pick up the charred lamb and began to nibble.

Aemond pursed his lips and took a few steps closer to touch the dragon's scales. The Sheepstealer's scales were rough and lumpy, like jagged stones.

However, with no other dragons to touch, he made do.

Snap!

As soon as he got close, the dragon's thick, longtail whipped around and knocked him to the ground.

Aemond saw the blue sky spinning above him before landing hard on his back.

"Sheepstealer!" he yelled furiously.

"Roar..."

The Sheepstealer shook its head, finishing the lamb in one gulp, completely ignoring the irate silver-haired boy.

Frustrated by the lack of response, Aemond scrambled to his feet, pointing angrily at the ugly dragon before stomping back into the castle in indignation.

Entering the castle gate, he ran into Cassandra, who was dressed in a long pink and white dress.

"Aemond, where are you going?"

"None of your business, stupid woman!"

Cassandra had just opened her mouth and was almost left breathless by her fiancé's harsh retort.

As the two brushed past each other, Aemond huffed and puffed his way up the stairs without a thought of conversation.

Cassandra looked back at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

Aegon Targaryen had been a notorious prodigal who didn't want to marry the sisters. Yet, she hadn't expected for him to be replaced by Prince Aemond, who, though gentle and generous on the surface, revealed his true colors as soon as they were betrothed.

A political marriage, devoid of any genuine emotion.

...

Aemond returned to his room and slammed the door shut with a bang. He didn't care if his so-called fiancée was sad or angry. His mission was to fulfill the marriage contract, not to be a doting husband.

Not to mention that Cassandra was a self-righteous, foolish woman, even worse than her older sister, Helaena, who always had a dopey demeanor.

Walking over to the bed, he tilted his head back and plopped down onto the soft goose feather mattress. As soon as the white skin of his neck touched the fabric, a damp coolness hit him instantly.

"Damn this place!" Aemond cursed, flopping onto his side in annoyance.

Although the Red Keep was also built by the sea, it had been restored by Maegor I and Jehaerys I, boasting an atmospheric appearance and comfortable living conditions.

Storm's End Castle, on the other hand, was a thousand-year-old fortress perched above the sea and surrounded by rough waves on all sides. When it rained, water seeped from the chimneys and the dampness was everywhere.

After tossing and turning for a while, Aemond lay on his back, staring lifelessly at the green ceiling.

Storm's End was a strategic location, receiving countless letters daily. He learned of the construction of the Twin Castles on the Stepstones Islands and of his older brother Rhaegar's overwhelming conquest of Myr and Lys. It seemed that Tyrosh would soon submit to Rhaegar as well.

"I want to go to war," Aemond muttered, full of grievances. "Aegon has a castle, but I still have to guard this miserable place."

His brother Rhaegar had single-handedly built a dragonstone castle, or rather two twin castles in one. Aemond was full of envy.

Knock, knock...

A knock sounded on the door, and Maester Fett's urgent voice came from outside. "Prince, a distress letter from Stonehelm Castle."

Aemond's eyes lit up at the words, and he jumped up quickly, shouting, "Come in!"

The door opened and the young Maester Fett entered, handing him an unsealed letter. "The Dornish have invaded in force. Stonehelm City is under siege, and the Lady has asked me to summon you for a meeting."

Aemond snatched the letter and examined it with a furrowed brow. It was a plea for help from Lord Swann, stating that the Dornish had taken advantage of the night to land and were now beseiging Stonehelm. He hoped that Storm's End would mobilize troops to support them.

"Heh," Aemond scoffed. "The Swann House is finally afraid?"

He hadn't forgotten about Lord Swann supporting that bastard son's rise to power.

"Prince, it is better for you to go to the hall to join the Lady first," Maester Fett advised cautiously.

"Of course," Aemond said, jumping out of bed and strutting out. "Finally, something useful for me to do."

(Word count: 2,009)