Pre-Chapter A/N: Here we go with another chapter, coming in right on time. Next three chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
XXXXXX- ICARUS JORDAYNE, OUTSIDE STARFALL, LATE 120 AC
When the dragon came, the battle was over. Well, it was over as a contest, but not over as a set of actions. Igneel banked downwards, and that massive maw opened. From it came hell. Fire so hot that in seconds, the stone on the walls began to visibly redden. The fire smote down the men who remained above the gate, and then the dragon was gone, rising again for the inner walls and towers.
The scorpions, those massive weapons that the Dayne group had been building en masse for years now, began to turn to track the dragon. So they had kept the men to man them even though the dragon had been nowhere in sight. How cautious of them. But it mattered little. Two managed to fire off their bolts, and credit to them, they both managed to hit, but their bolts did nothing, clanging against scales that were harder than steel and falling to the ground, mangled. The dragon burned the tops of the towers that housed them before any of the others could even manage the shot.
Icarus felt a smile build on his face as the dragon mounted the palestone tower, the great symbol of Daynish power, and roared out before turning downwards and beginning to fire down those blue flames. The fire hit the tower, and from on top of it, like a vengeful god more than a creature of flesh and blood, the dragon cast down the tower. Igneel the Castle-smiter indeed. When the tower fell with those within it, the battle came to an actual end.
Dayne men-at-arms put down their weapons and fell to their knees. The gate was opened with no contest, and in an hour, Icarus was riding through it to see his new hostages. His smile was small, but it belied the joy he felt within. Most of it was the joy caused by relief. Velaryon had come, unlike what Oberon had feared would happen. And unlike what Yorren had feared, the Castle-smiter had not smitten the castle. Their new plan required Starfall to still stand, after all. Just the castle, though. Not the people.
Yorren would keep the castle for his own House in addition to Yronwood to strengthen his powerbase and project power in this part of Dorne that was so distant that it might as well have been a kingdom unto itself.
When he reached the courtyard, he found the dragon just there. It was not moving all that much, just lying still with eyes that flicked from left to right, watching everyone that passed. And everyone that passed watched it in return, giving it a wide berth out of some mixture of fear and respect. A creature that could smite a castle could kill a man in a blink. It was a humbling experience walking past something capable of so much destruction and it just lying there almost without a care in the world. Just watching, waiting.
Icarus would never admit it out loud, of course, but he breathed easier as he stepped through the massive doors and into the castle proper, away from the courtyard and the gaze of the dragon that seemed to follow him and strip him bare of all that he had and all that he was. His hand, now no longer shaking, reached for his flask, and he downed half of its contents in one swig, the familiar wine flowing easily down his throat and soothing his worries. The throne room was one turn off from the entrance, and as he walked the way, he remembered all the times he had dined in this hall. He and Yorren, hostages alike, walking side by side. And their captor, and in some ways father, Qoren, leading the way for them. The Prince of Dorne here to dine with his vassals. The revelry had been phenomenal.
But there was no revelry here today. His walk was not watched by courtiers and servants, but by soldiers. Men who had bled, fought, and lost friends to take this castle. And their gazes were far from excited. The doors to the throne room had been left wide open. Milling about them were Dornish men, his men, in their dozens. His castle, he realised. He'd taken it.
And so when he stepped past those doors and found Laenor Velaryon sitting upon the Throne of the Daynes, holding the blade Dawn while he conversed with the Daynish household with an almost affable tone, he was justifiably struck by the appearance. He had expected him here, of course. But sitting on the throne? He was sending a message. Icarus passed Oberon on his way to said throne, and his brother gave him a look that told him he was far from the only one to see the message being sent.
"The last to wield it was my own grandsire, Galahad. And before him was my many-times great-grandsire, Gawain. The blade is not idly swung," Percival Dayne, lord of this fallen House, said, not being subtle about the disdain he felt for the man that now held his family's prized possession like it was an idle curiosity. Icarus remembered seeing the blade hoisted above the throne when he had last visited. Now it was brought down, and not by a legendary Dayne warrior like tradition demanded, but by a Dragonlord.
"Fascinating. And it has not been brought down once since then. But no wear. No damage at all. If I did not know better, I would think this to be Valyrian steel. But your ancestors had no dragons. Only star metal," he said. And his voice did make him out to be what he said he was: fascinated. Icarus could not tell yet whether that was a good or a bad thing. Or perhaps one of those things that was neither good nor bad. Just was.
"Lord Velaryon," he said in greeting when it seemed the man would not address him even with him having closed the distance to the point where he was mere paces away from the waiting Daynes—the Lord Percival, his wife Genevieve, and his son and heir, Gareth. Icarus silently noted the absence of both the spare and the bastard. That would have to be figured out eventually.
"Lord Jordayne. You look well," he said. And then his attention returned to the Daynes.
"The blade. Is it all of it? The legends say, but was there no more? I can't imagine a meteor crashed and only gave enough metal for a single sword. Quite a magnificent sword, but still..." he said to Lord Dayne, and the man flushed but said nothing.
"Lord Velaryon, if we could take a moment to speak," Icarus said, speaking again and returning the attention of the Velaryon to him. The Dragonlord was a formidable man, but here in this castle, he was just a man. And he was a man that had come alone. All these men, these armed men who surrounded them, were Icarus'. And Icarus would not be dismissed in front of his own army.
"Of course, Lord Jordayne, but I have some business to conduct before we do so. Now, Lord Dayne was about to do something for me," he said, turning to Percival. Do what? What had they discussed before his arrival? The man looked towards his wife and heir before flushing further and stepping before the Dragonlord. He took a knee. What was going on? What the hell was going on here?
"I, Percival Dayne, Lord of Starfall, Lord of the Torrentine, Head of House Dayne, do solemnly make oath to Lord Laenor Velaryon of Driftmark. I pledge the faith of House Dayne. Hearth and heart and harvest we yield to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you," he said, and Icarus' stomach sank farther and farther with every word. They were being betrayed. Velaryon had betrayed them.
He saw red. He wanted to order the man's death. He had the men. He had the men to do it. Armed with swords and spears and bows, his men would fell the greatest knight in Westeros in a matter of moments, but then he saw those eyes in his own head. Those eyes that had tracked his every step here. That dragon. It would kill them for it. No one knew how the bond between dragon and rider truly worked, but Qoren had studied the creatures. It would feel it if its rider died. And if that happened, there was nothing stopping it from bringing this castle down on their heads. Velaryon held them all hostage, and the only blades he had were the one strapped to his hip and Dawn.
"I, Laenor Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, receive your oath, and pledge you the hearth and meat and mead of Driftmark. I swear that you shall have my protection and my justice whenever you have need of them through the turn of the seasons and the years to come, against all foes, near and far," he said, and then he brought the sword, Dawn, to bear and placed it against Lord Dayne's neck. The man did not flinch. One wrong move would have spelt his death. Velaryon moved slightly, drawing blood from the man's neck, and then he brought the blade back around, wielding the massive thing with a grace that bordered on the inhuman. He cut himself with the blade as well.
"My blood and your blood, both drawn with this blade of your ancestors, come together to bind this oath for us, Percival. Let the gods, old and new, Valyrian and Rhoynar and Andal, bear us witness," he said, and Icarus flinched as the blade itself glowed. An ethereal light shone forth from the blade, piercing the grimness of the castle for a moment. Just a moment. And then it was gone. Icarus would almost have believed he had dreamt it if not for the faces of all those around him. They were as shocked as he was. So was Velaryon.
----
They met in Lord Dayne's solar in the end. Lord Velaryon had retired the both of them here moments after the oath was sworn and he had given some orders to Lord Dayne. Icarus stayed his brother's hand even as Oberon looked confused as to whether to attack the Lord Velaryon or the Lord Dayne. For now, it would be neither. But Icarus was a patient man. And he did not abide betrayals.
Lord Velaryon moved around the solar like he had been here all his life even though it was his first time. He sniffed a jug of Arbor red and poured some for himself in a goblet, before pouring some for Icarus.
"No, thank you," he said to the offer. Drinking anything from a seized castle was risky. Drinking without a taster testing it first was foolhardy. And that was exactly what Laenor Velaryon did. He drank it, meeting Icarus' gaze all the while. He was confident. Too confident. And so Icarus could not help but ask.
"Did you always plan to betray us?" he asked.
Velaryon chuckled, finished his drink, and dropped the goblet before responding.
"I did no such thing. Betray you, that is. You asked for my help and I brought it. You wanted Dayne neutralised and I did exactly that for you. You wanted Starfall spared, and the castle still stands. You wanted reduced casualties and I delivered that. I have given you all that you wanted, Icarus, so how could I have betrayed you or your lover?" he asked. Icarus saw red again, and this time, there was no dragon in his head calming him down. He rose and slammed his hands down on the table.
"We wanted Dorne, damn you. We wanted a united Dorne. United under Yronwood. And you have made that impossible. You have cleaved the kingdom apart for no reason other than to amuse yourself." He felt nothing but venom in him as he spoke, because it was true. Laenor Velaryon gained nothing from making Dayne a vassal. He did it only because he wanted to.
"I will ignore the tone today, Icarus. But once is enough. No more," he said. His voice was near a whisper, but hearing it made Icarus feel like he had just narrowly escaped death. There was a chill in the room now. Icarus slumped against his chair.
"So what you need to understand is that I am not a tool to be invoked for the purposes of you and your lover and then put back in the bottle. I agreed to make Yorren Prince of Dorne, but I never did tell you what I would ask in return," he said.
"Starfall? That is your price?" he asked, near scoffing.
"No. You think too narrowly, Icarus. I don't want just Starfall. Think about it, Icarus. What do I want?" he asked, his tone warmer now, but still almost reptilian in how he lingered over his words. Icarus knew what he wanted. He had known it since the first letter. He had known it since they had killed Qoren. Since Starfall had burned. Even back then he had been laying the groundwork. Laenor Velaryon wanted only one thing.
"Dorne," he said, wanting to curl up and cry now. He had failed Yorren. He had done it. Invited the dragon into their bed and doomed their plan from the very beginning.
"Yes. Yes. I want Dorne. But I am not cruel, and I am far from unjust. Yorren wants to be Prince of Dorne. And he will be. What he does not know yet is that he will only be Prince because Dorne will have a King standing above even him," he said. Icarus looked over him, and his hopelessness was replaced by rage. And rage for him made his brain work better than ever. It showed him the obvious.
"And I assume Viserys Targaryen will be pleased to know this? To know of your plans to declare independence from his Kingdoms?" he asked, guessing at the intentions. He had privately wondered why it had not happened since the Stepstones grew to full self-sufficiency. Men like Laenor Velaryon had knees that did not enjoy bending.
"He will never learn of them because you will never tell him. If you do, he will not believe you. And while I assuage my cousin's fears and doubts, I will tell him to allow me to prove my loyalty by bringing an end to the scheming Dornish. You have built so much in the Tor. So, so much. Your father's hovel now stands as a castle worthy of the name. It would be a shame for your actions to bring it crumbling around you. But the Tor has burnt before. It is used to suffering. I am sure you can even convince yourself that it was worth it, but I wonder if Yronwood will be willing to lose his own castle. To have Yronwood turn into the next Sunspear. And then imagine my return after that. Imagine just how much of Dorne I will burn again. You are no Martell. You will not see Dorne burnt to see it unbent. You have the wisdom to know that just because a thing bends does not mean it is weak," he said, delivering the threat with a calm assurance that did more to frighten Icarus than any screaming ever could.
It was clear that he could and would do it if the chance came. And the dragon outside. It could do it. The thing was the size of a hill, and its fire? It was called the Castle-smiter for a reason, and Icarus would not see his or his friend's castles fall to that fate. That meant he had only one choice. Only one option. And that was to bend. But even if he bent, Yorren was another matter.
"I see that you are beginning to understand your situation. The odds are not in your favour. Your balls are in a vice, and I alone can free them. And I will, but you will grant me your loyalty."
"Dorne would rather burn than bow to a Dragonlord. Even the houses who join us now will cast us aside once your role is revealed," he said.
"Then they will not know. Worry not. I have no intention to wear a crown until my cousin no longer sits that throne. So you and Yorren will have all the time in the world to prepare your people for what is coming. To ready them for my eventual rule. That is why Dayne swore to me directly. For the time being, he will be the only one to do so. And when I am ready, I will come for the rest of Dorne," he said, and Icarus resisted the urge to smile. This he could do. All he had to do was ensure that Lord Velaryon did not live long enough to come claim this throne of his. And that was something he could arrange.
"Yorren will not be happy to hear this," he said instead. Appearing to agree too easily would be suspicious. No self-respecting Dornishman would give up their independence as a kingdom. It did not matter what was threatened. Icarus was personally not of that ilk, but he knew capitulation even from him would be looked into if it came too easily. Let Laenor Velaryon browbeat it out of him. And then he would never fear the knife that would find his back before it was too late.
"I think a prince will have a lot of things to be happy about. This will be his first lesson. But I tire of speaking on this for now. You will bend the knee, as will your lover, or you will die," he said.
"Why do you even want our kingdom? I thought you a reasonable man. Surely you know Dorne will never bow to you. It does not matter whether you hide the truth for a decade or a century. Once it is out, all that you build here will crumble like dust in the face of the wind."
"Do I need to repeat myself? If you are truly opposed to bowing, leave here now. Tell me it is all over. Tell me our alliance is done. That you and Yronwood will conquer this kingdom all on your own. And if you cannot do that, be silent, keep your seat, and let me explain the rest of my plan to you," he said, lips pulling into a smile that widened as Icarus did not rise.
A/N: We get some understanding of the scope of Laenor's ambitions here. But only some understanding of it. Next chapter comes on here by Wednesday night. Next three chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), you can support me there and read them early.