Chapter 25: Heartsbane's Lament
The fertile plains of the Reach, a vibrant tapestry of green fields, flowering orchards, and meandering rivers, unfurled before Vaelyx Targaryen's invading host like a banquet laid for a conquering king. It was a stark contrast to the sun-baked austerity of Dorne and the rugged desolation of the Dornish Marches. This was the breadbasket of Westeros, a land of ancient chivalry and immense wealth, its bounty now ripe for the taking. The smallfolk of the Reach, tending their fields and vineyards, looked up from their labor to see a rolling tide of dark Essosi steel, outlandish Dothraki screamers, stoic Unsullied, and proud Dornish spears, all moving under the shadow of seven colossal dragons that wheeled and soared in the clear blue sky. Terror, swift and absolute, sent them fleeing towards the nearest castles, their panicked cries heralding the arrival of the Dragon Emperor.
Vaelyx, however, had issued strict edicts against indiscriminate pillaging, much to the initial chagrin of Boros and his Dothraki. "This land will feed our armies and enrich our empire, Great Shepherd," Vaelyx had stated, his voice cold. "We are not mere raiders; we are conquerors. Its people will learn to fear us, then serve us. Burn their fields, and we all starve. Control their granaries, and they will kneel." Discipline, enforced by the ever-vigilant Serpent's Scale veterans and the terrifying threat of draconic retribution for disobedience, largely held.
Their target was Horn Hill, the formidable seat of House Tarly, a fortress renowned for its strong stone walls and the even stronger will of its master, Lord Randyll Tarly. Lyra's scouts, now augmented by swift Dornish outriders who knew the borderlands, provided Vaelyx with meticulous intelligence. Horn Hill was heavily garrisoned, its larders full, its lord a man who had never known defeat and held Targaryens in no special reverence, having fought for Robert Baratheon at the Battle of Ashford, albeit against other Baratheon loyalists under Lord Cafferen. Prince Oberyn Martell, who had clashed with Reach lords many times, confirmed Tarly's reputation. "He is a hard man, Emperor," Oberyn had said, a glint of respect in his dark eyes. "Disciplined, ruthless, and a master of war. He will not yield easily. His Valyrian steel greatsword, Heartsbane, has tasted much blood."
"Then it shall taste defeat," Vaelyx had replied, a predatory stillness about him. Breaking Randyll Tarly would be a message far louder than the razing of a dozen lesser keeps.
When Vaelyx's vast army, now a disciplined force of nearly eighty thousand, arrived before the ancient, grey walls of Horn Hill, they found it ready. Lord Tarly's banner, the striding huntsman, flew defiantly. The battlements bristled with archers and scorpion crews. Vaelyx sent forth a herald – a Myrish lordling fluent in the Common Tongue – offering Lord Tarly the chance to swear fealty and retain his lands and title under the Dragon Emperor.
The herald returned, pale and shaken, bearing Lord Tarly's unambiguous reply, delivered personally from the ramparts: "Tell your foreign pretender that Randyll Tarly kneels only to his rightful king, Robert Baratheon. Tell him the men of the Reach will send him and his pet lizards screaming back to the hells they crawled from. If he wants Horn Hill, he must take it from my corpse, over the corpses of every man, woman, and child within these walls."
Vaelyx listened to the report, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "A man of conviction. Admirable, in its own foolish way. He shall have his wish, though perhaps not in the order he imagines."
The siege of Horn Hill began not with an immediate, overwhelming dragon assault, but with a display of terrifying, methodical power. Vaelyx's Myrish engineers, under the watchful eyes of Commander Valerion and his Aegis Guard, began constructing vast siege lines, erecting trebuchets of a design Westeros had never seen – larger, more accurate, and imbued with subtle enchantments by Vaelyx himself to enhance their power and range. These engines began a relentless bombardment, their massive stones, some inscribed with glowing Valyrian glyphs that exploded on impact, pounding Horn Hill's outer defenses.
Randyll Tarly, a master of conventional warfare, responded with disciplined volleys from his own siege engines and archers. He had even constructed several immense, reinforced ballistae on his highest towers, clearly intended as anti-dragon weaponry.
Vaelyx allowed this initial exchange, gauging Tarly's defenses, the morale of his garrison, and the effectiveness of his own conventional forces. Dothraki outriders, under Boros, harried the surrounding countryside, ensuring no supplies or reinforcements reached Horn Hill, while Veridian, the jade dragon, conducted high-altitude, magically cloaked reconnaissance, its empathic senses probing for weaknesses within the castle walls, the state of their supplies, the undercurrents of fear amongst the defenders. Veridian reported that while Tarly's iron discipline held the garrison firm, food and water were already being strictly rationed, and the constant, earth-shaking roars of the seven dragons circling just beyond bowshot were taking a heavy toll on morale.
After three days of relentless bombardment and psychological pressure, Vaelyx judged the time was ripe. He ordered the main assault.
It began with dragon fire, but not the indiscriminate annihilation he had unleashed in Essos. This was a calculated, terrifying demonstration. Vorlag and Ignis, their black-red and scarlet flames searing the sky, targeted specific sections of Horn Hill's formidable curtain wall, not to melt them instantly, but to superheat the stone, causing it to crack, buckle, and then explode outwards in showers of superheated shrapnel. The Tarly ballistae, brave but futile, loosed their massive iron-tipped bolts; Tempest, with casual flicks of his colossal wings, created wind shears that sent them tumbling, while Argentus, with crackling precision, vaporized their launching mechanisms with bolts of lightning.
Through the smoking breaches, the Aegis Guard advanced, their disciplined phalanxes moving with the inexorable rhythm of a death march. They were met by Horn Hill's garrison, men fighting with the desperate courage of those defending their homes, led by Lord Tarly himself, Heartsbane a silver gleam in his hand. The fighting in the breaches was a brutal, grinding affair, spear against sword, shield against axe.
Aurumel, the golden dragon, swept low over the attacking Unsullied, its shimmering aura deflecting arrows and slingstones, its light seeming to imbue them with an unnatural resilience. Simultaneously, it cast illusions of phantom Dothraki charging other, weaker sections of the wall, forcing Tarly to divert precious reserves.
Randyll Tarly was everywhere, a lion of a man, his voice a harsh bark, his Valyrian steel greatsword reaping a bloody toll. He rallied his men, plugged gaps in their defenses, and fought with a ferocity that inspired even his most terrified soldiers. For a time, it seemed his iron will alone might hold the breaches.
But Vaelyx had yet to play his queen.
As the battle in the breaches reached its bloody zenith, Astra descended. The snow-white dragon, an embodiment of regal, terrifying power, ignored the general melee. Her sapphire eyes fixed upon the central keep of Horn Hill, where Lord Tarly's personal banner flew. With an almost imperceptible nod from Vaelyx, who watched from his command pavilion with Oberyn Martell at his side, Astra unleashed a single, focused beam of her colorless energy. It struck not the keep itself, but the massive oaken portcullis and stone gatehouse barring entry to its inner courtyard. They simply… ceased to exist, vaporized into a cloud of fine dust, leaving a gaping, undefended entrance.
Through this impossible opening, Ser Damon Sand led the Golden Company, their heavy infantry charging into the heart of Tarly's defenses, cutting off his retreat and striking at his reserves.
The fall of the inner gatehouse, combined with the relentless pressure at the main breaches, finally broke the back of Horn Hill's defense. Tarly's men, seeing their keep compromised and their lord now fighting a desperate battle on two fronts, began to waver.
Randyll Tarly, realizing the situation was hopeless, attempted to rally his household guard for a final, suicidal charge. But Vaelyx had other plans for him. Veridian, slipping unseen through the chaos, directed a small, elite unit of Serpent's Scale assassins led by Lyra, who infiltrated the keep through a hidden postern gate Veridian had located. They cornered Tarly in the great hall, not through force of arms initially, but with poisoned darts and weighted nets. Heartsbane clattered to the stone floor as the fearsome Lord of Horn Hill, overcome by fast-acting toxins that sapped his strength, sank to his knees, roaring defiance even as his vision blurred.
Vaelyx, accompanied by Oberyn Martell and his personal guard of Qohorik Unsullied, entered the captured keep. He found Randyll Tarly bound, but still glaring with unyielding hatred.
"Lord Randyll Tarly," Vaelyx said, his voice soft, yet carrying an undeniable menace. "You fought with the courage of a cornered boar. Your castle is mine. Your men are dead or captive. Your Valyrian steel sword… will soon be mine as well." He gestured, and one of his guards retrieved Heartsbane. "What say you now, Lord of Horn Hill?"
Tarly spat blood onto the floor. "Damn you, Targaryen pretender. Damn your foreign witchery and your unnatural beasts. Robert Baratheon will see you flayed for this."
Vaelyx's eyes narrowed. "Robert Baratheon will kiss my feet and beg for the mercy I will not grant him. You have a choice, Tarly. A swift death, here and now. Or… bend the knee. Swear fealty. Your martial skill is undeniable. Serve me, and you may yet live to see your sons inherit Horn Hill under my new order. Defy me further, and your line dies with you, your name a footnote in the history of my conquest."
Randyll Tarly, a man forged in iron and discipline, who valued strength above all, looked at the Targaryen before him – slender, almost ethereal, yet radiating an aura of power that dwarfed any king or warlord he had ever known. He saw the seven dragons now roosting on the shattered towers of his ancestral home. He thought of his wife, his children (even the disappointing Samwell). His defiance, however profound, was futile. With a visible, agonizing effort, the Lord of Horn Hill, master of Heartsbane, bowed his head. "I… yield, Targaryen. Horn Hill… serves." His voice was a raw rasp, the words torn from him.
Vaelyx allowed a flicker of triumph. Breaking Randyll Tarly was a victory far greater than merely taking his castle. He would ensure Tarly's loyalty through magical means if necessary, but the symbolism of such a renowned commander bending the knee would resonate throughout the Reach.
The fall of Horn Hill, and the submission of its notoriously unyielding lord, sent a fresh wave of terror across the Seven Kingdoms. Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, who had been cautiously mobilizing his own vast armies, now faced an agonizing choice. King Robert Baratheon, in King's Landing, finally roused himself from his cups and his dismissiveness, his rage reportedly shaking the Red Keep. He called his banners, demanding that his lords march south to meet this unprecedented threat. Jon Arryn, his Hand, desperately tried to coordinate a defense, but the news of seven Targaryen dragons, each a beast of legend, and the defeat of Randyll Tarly, had thrown the realm into panic.
Vaelyx Targaryen stood on the battlements of Horn Hill, Heartsbane now presented to him by a humbled Tarly. The fertile plains of the Reach lay open before him, a path to Highgarden and beyond. His dragons cast long shadows in the setting sun, shadows that were beginning to envelop all of Westeros. The war for the Seven Kingdoms had truly begun, and its first major battle had ended in a resounding, terrifying victory for the Dragon Emperor from the East.