Chapter 23: The Sun Rises on Dragon Wings
The voyage across the Narrow Sea was a monumental feat of logistics and indomitable will. Vaelyx Targaryen's Dragon Fleet, a sprawling armada of over six hundred vessels, cleaved through the waves like a dark prophecy made manifest. War dromonds from Myr, sleek galleys from Lys, retrofitted Tyroshi merchantmen bulging with soldiers, and captured Volantene behemoths now serving as mobile siege platforms and supply depots, all sailed under the three-headed dragon banner of the self-proclaimed Emperor of New Valyria. At the heart of this steel-and-timber serpent rode "New Valyria," Vaelyx's flagship, its black sails vast against the often-grey sky.
His seven dragons, now creatures of breathtaking, terrifying immensity, were a constant presence. Vorlag and Ignis, their scales like obsidian and cooling embers, often flew vanguard, their roars echoing across the waves, a sound that scattered seabirds and sent shivers down the spines of even Vaelyx's most hardened veterans. Tempest, the stormy blue colossus, seemed to command the very weather around the fleet, his presence mitigating the worst of a vicious early summer squall that threatened to scatter them. Argentus, a flash of bronze and silver, would sometimes hunt colossal squid and small whales in the deeps, his lightning strikes boiling the water, providing both a spectacle and fresh meat for his siblings. Aurumel and Astra, the golden-hued and snow-white queens, often circled high above the flagship, serene and majestic, symbols of Vaelyx's otherworldly power. Veridian, the jade hunter, was rarely seen by the fleet at large, often dispatched on long-range reconnaissance flights, a silent, unseen eye.
Vaelyx spent much of the voyage in his war council, poring over maps of Dorne and the Reach with Boros, Lyra, Ser Damon Sand, and Unsullied Commander Valerion. Grand Admiral Orzono, his face perpetually grim but his eyes now holding a grudging respect for the Dragon Lord's meticulous planning, detailed naval strategies. Lyra's network, even now, was attempting to send messages via swift, magically shielded carrier birds, though the distance made regular updates impossible. Voldemort's memories supplied Vaelyx with an encyclopedic knowledge of Westerosi noble houses, their histories, their rivalries, their strengths and weaknesses – information he cross-referenced with Lyra's more current intelligence.
As they neared the coast of Dorne, Veridian returned from a three-day scouting mission, alighting silently on the reinforced deck of "New Valyria" under the cover of a sea mist Aurumel had helped conjure. Through the jade dragon's empathic senses and its almost photographic memory for terrain, Vaelyx gained an unparalleled understanding of the Dornish coastline. He saw the watchtowers along the Sea of Dorne, the arid landscapes, the hidden coves, and the disposition of minor Martell garrisons. Veridian had even managed a high-altitude, magically cloaked overflight of Sunspear itself, confirming its formidable defenses but also the palpable air of discontent and watchful waiting that hung over the city.
Vaelyx chose their landing site with care: a series of secluded bays and a wide, defensible beach nestled between rugged headlands along the coast of the Sea of Dorne, east of the Greenblood and far enough from major settlements to allow for an unopposed initial disembarkation.
The landing began under the cloak of pre-dawn darkness, the dragons creating a perimeter of terrifying silence as they glided like vast shadows over the chosen beaches. The Aegis Guard, under Commander Valerion, were first ashore, their disciplined ranks forming an immediate, impenetrable beachhead. They were followed by the Serpent's Scale veterans and Kaelen's former Myrish Legions, who swiftly began constructing fortified encampments. The Dothraki, under Boros, their horses whinnying nervously at the strange scent of this new land, fanned out inland, establishing a scouting screen. By sunrise, tens of thousands of Essosi warriors stood on Dornish soil, a silent, disciplined army that seemed to have sprung from the very earth, while the dragons roosted on the cliffs above, their forms like new, terrible mountain peaks.
The local Dornish populace – fisherfolk, goatherds, smallholders in tiny, sun-baked villages – reacted with stunned disbelief and stark terror. They had heard whispers of war in the north, of the Usurper King, but nothing had prepared them for the sudden appearance of a colossal Essosi armada and seven living dragons, creatures of myth and nightmare. Most fled inland, carrying tales that would grow wilder with each retelling.
Vaelyx wasted no time. His proclamation, penned in High Valyrian and the Common Tongue, was dispatched by swift Dothraki riders, escorted by small contingents of Serpent's Scale, to the nearest Dornish keeps and, most importantly, to Sunspear. Ser Damon Sand, his Westerosi heritage making him a more palatable (if still intimidating) envoy, carried the message to the seat of House Martell.
The proclamation was direct, imperious, and laced with both promise and threat: "To the Lords and People of Dorne! I am Vaelyx of House Targaryen, lawful son of King Jaehaerys II, true heir to the Iron Throne, Emperor of New Valyria, Lord Protector of Essos, and Sovereign of the Seven Flames. I have come to Westeros to reclaim my birthright from the Usurper Robert Baratheon, and to deliver righteous vengeance upon those who murdered my kin, your Princess Elia Martell, and her innocent children, Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen. Dorne, ever loyal to the true dragons, will join my cause. Your spears will drink Lannister and Baratheon blood. Your loyalty will be rewarded with positions of honor and the restoration of Martell dignity. Defy me, and your sands will run red with a sorrow that will make Elia's fate seem a gentle mercy. My dragons are hungry. Choose wisely. Your rightful King has returned."
The news of this Targaryen invasion, backed by an army of Essosi and seven colossal dragons, threw Sunspear into a maelstrom of activity. Prince Doran Martell, a man of immense caution and subtle intellect, received Ser Damon Sand in his private solar. The fan-memory supplied Vaelyx with a keen understanding of Doran: a master of the long game, patient, but also capable of deep, cold fury when roused. His fiery younger brother, Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper, was predictably incandescent with a desire for immediate action, seeing in Vaelyx the instrument of vengeance he had craved for years. The Sand Snakes, Oberyn's warrior daughters, echoed his sentiments, their voices demanding Lannister blood.
Doran listened to Ser Damon's recitation of Vaelyx's terms, his dark eyes unreadable. He knew the risks. Openly siding with this new Targaryen claimant, however powerful, would invite the full wrath of Robert Baratheon and his allies. Yet, the promise of vengeance for Elia, the sheer, unbelievable power of seven dragons, and the deep-seated Dornish resentment of the Usurper, made Vaelyx's offer an almost irresistible temptation. Dorne had never truly bent to the Targaryens of old until they were joined by marriage; they would not be easily cowed, but Vaelyx was a different breed of dragon entirely.
After days of tense deliberation within Sunspear's ancient walls, a delegation was dispatched to Vaelyx's rapidly expanding coastal encampment, now a fortified city of tents and earthworks named "Nova Valyria." Leading the delegation was none other than Prince Oberyn Martell himself, accompanied by a retinue of fifty elite Dornish knights, their sand-steeds kicking up dust, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, defiance, and barely concealed excitement. Areo Hotah, Captain of Doran's Guard, a massive, stoic figure, rode beside him.
Vaelyx received them in his central pavilion, a vast structure of black silk open to the sea breeze, the sound of his dragons' distant roars a constant reminder of his power. He was flanked by Boros and Commander Valerion, their imposing presences a counterpoint to his own slender, almost deceptively unassuming figure. Astra and Aurumel were visible roosting on the cliffs behind the encampment, their golden and sapphire-white scales gleaming in the Dornish sun.
Oberyn Martell, handsome, dangerous, his dark eyes alight with a viper's intelligence, met Vaelyx's gaze without flinching. "They call you Emperor now, Targaryen," Oberyn began, his voice silken but edged with steel. "A bold claim for one who has just set foot on Westerosi soil. Dorne has received your… invitation. My brother, Prince Doran, wishes to understand your intentions more clearly. You speak of vengeance for my sister, Elia, and her children. These are words Dorne has longed to hear."
Vaelyx inclined his head slightly. "Prince Oberyn. Your reputation precedes you. My intentions are simple: I intend to reclaim my throne, punish those who murdered my family, and restore House Targaryen to its rightful place. Dorne has suffered a grievous wound at the hands of the Lannisters and the Usurper. I offer you the blade to carve out your revenge, and a place of unparalleled honor in the new order that will follow." He used his Legilimency subtly, brushing against Oberyn's mind. He found a whirlwind of grief, rage, a burning desire for retribution, but also a keen, calculating intellect assessing him.
"And if Dorne chooses… caution?" Oberyn pressed, a hint of challenge in his tone. "If we decide the price of your alliance is too high?"
Vaelyx's smile was chilling. "Then Dorne will find itself caught between the hammer of the Usurper and the inferno of the Dragon. I have crossed the Narrow Sea with an army that has humbled empires in Essos, Prince Oberyn. I have seven voices of fire and death at my command." He gestured towards the cliffs. "I desire Dorne's allegiance, its strength added to mine. I would prefer you as honored kin and valued allies. But make no mistake: I will have Dorne, one way or another. Your brother is a man of intellect. He will understand that the sun of House Martell will shine brightest when allied with the rising dragons, not when scorched by them."
He then detailed, with cold precision, the fate of those Essosi powers who had defied him. He spoke of Myr's shattered walls, Tyrosh's executed Archon, Volantis's broken pride, and Astapor's Good Masters fed to his children. He did not shout, he did not threaten overtly; he merely stated facts, his voice a soft litany of absolute power and ruthless consequence.
Oberyn listened, his expression unreadable, but Vaelyx sensed the shift in his thoughts. The sheer scale of Vaelyx's power, the cold certainty in his voice, the undeniable presence of the dragons – it was a force that even Dornish pride and caution would find difficult to resist, especially when it promised what they craved most.
While Oberyn returned to Sunspear to convey Vaelyx's unyielding position to Doran, Vaelyx did not remain idle. He sent Ignis and Vorlag on a "demonstration flight" along the coast, their roars echoing through the Dornish hills, their flames incinerating a deserted, ruined watchtower on a remote headland with spectacular effect – a display visible for leagues, clearly intended as a message. Several minor Dornish lords, whose lands lay closest to Nova Valyria, seeing this and hearing the tales of Vaelyx's Essosi conquests, hastily dispatched riders pledging their spears to his cause.
The decision from Sunspear, when it came, was delivered by Oberyn once more. Dorne would declare for Vaelyx Targaryen. Prince Doran, while maintaining a façade of cautious neutrality to the Iron Throne for as long as possible, would secretly mobilize Dorne's armies and resources in Vaelyx's name. Oberyn himself, with a significant force of Dornish knights and spearmen, would join Vaelyx's field army immediately, eager to be the tip of the spear aimed at their enemies.
Vaelyx had his beachhead. He had his first Westerosi allies, however pragmatic their initial commitment. The Dornish sun was, for now, shining upon his dragons. From Nova Valyria, his new fortress on the shores of Westeros, he prepared to unleash his Essosi horde and his seven flames upon the Seven Kingdoms. The Usurper King Robert Baratheon, celebrating his victory in King's Landing, remained blissfully unaware of the true storm that had just made landfall in his southernmost realm.