Rhaegar cast his gaze in the distance, faintly hearing a series of agonized screams.
"Helena!"
That was the area where Helena was patrolling with her dragon—it seemed she had encountered another group of enemies.
Glancing down, he saw the mercenaries being slaughtered, their weapons and armor abandoned in disarray. The battle was as good as lost for them.
"Glutton, add more fire to it."
Rhaegar patted the dragon's back and gave the command.
"Hiss—Gah!"
Glutton dove down, releasing a sweeping burst of dragonfire along the road, forming a blazing barricade.
The panicked mercenaries, who had been fleeing, were forced to halt as the intense heat drove them back.
"Charge!!"
Mond followed closely behind, leading the cavalry in a full assault.
On the ridge, two watchtowers burst open from within, and more than three hundred garrison soldiers rushed out with weapons in hand, cutting off the mercenaries attempting to scale the mountainside.
With coordinated efforts from both above and below, the mercenaries on the mountain had no escape.
"Glutton, let's go!"
Rhaegar didn't linger to watch and confidently departed.
Out at sea, dragons might still be somewhat cautious.
But in open terrain—especially at a dead-end pass like the Prince's Narrows, where a single road led straight into a trap surrounded by mountains—no matter how many soldiers poured in, they were nothing but fuel for the fire.
"Hiss—Gah!"
Glutton arrogantly swung his head, spread his wings, and soared high into the sky, flying toward the other end of the road.
---
### Elsewhere
A small fortress, built snugly against the mountainside, guarded a narrow passage.
The stronghold consisted of two sections.
A tower, shaped like an overturned sea bowl, was constructed on the mountainside.
One side extended outward with stone walls about ten feet high, connecting to the opposite mountain.
The walls had arrow slits, and a thick iron gate reinforced the center.
A classic strategic choke point.
"Hiss—Gah!"
A dragon's roar pierced the air as orange and pale blue flames struck the fortress walls.
"Crossbows! Take aim quickly!"
"Keep the fire oil stored—don't let it ignite!"
Inside the fortress, hundreds of mercenaries shouted in terror, gripping their triple-shot crossbows with trembling hands.
"Hiss—Gah!"
A sleek, pale-blue dragon elegantly circled above, drenching the walls in fire before turning its wrath upon the tower on the mountainside.
"Dragonfire!!"
Helena's expression was serious as she gave the order.
Dreamfyre shrieked, unleashing its flames upon the tower, setting the heavy wooden doors ablaze.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Bolts fired from the tower's arrow slits, trying to strike the airborne dragon.
"Hiss—Gah!"
Dreamfyre flapped its wings and soared higher, allowing the bolts to glance off its armored chest, sending sparks flying.
As a dragon on the verge of reaching its peak, its scales were as tough as steel. Ordinary arrows were no more than an irritation.
If it weren't for protecting its rider, it would have already swooped down to wreak havoc.
"Dreamfyre, don't let them escape," Helena suddenly ordered, her sharp eyes locked onto the mercenaries fleeing beyond the fortress walls.
"Run! Head deeper into the mountains!"
"Our bolts are useless—just run!"
The tower doors burst open, and a horde of mercenaries ignored the dragonfire at the entrance, scrambling up the slopes in desperation.
A glance showed their numbers to be no fewer than a thousand.
Helena furrowed her brows and urged her dragon to pursue.
The mercenaries had allied with the Dornish, seizing the fortress and stationing troops to hold it until reinforcements arrived with siege equipment.
Even among them, the displaced refugees counted as part of their attack force against the Reach.
"Hiss—Gah!"
Dreamfyre's cold, slit pupils narrowed as it pursued the fleeing vermin, spewing dragonfire in their wake.
But the insects were too many—burn one group, and another took its place.
Helena grew anxious. She didn't want a single villain to escape.
"Hiss—Gah!"
Suddenly, Glutton streaked across the sky like a massive, obsidian meteor, cutting through the barren, red-hued mountains.
"Dragonfire!!"
Rhaegar spotted the sea of fleeing enemies and showed no mercy.
A glint of cunning flashed in Glutton's emerald eyes as it unfurled its wings like a veil of night, skimming low along the mountainsides.
Boom!
A torrent of eerie green flames erupted, rolling across the mountains like an unstoppable tide.
Every mercenary clinging to the cliffs was swallowed by the inferno.
Within the Prince's Narrows, the wails and screams of the doomed echoed relentlessly.
Nightfall
The armies of the Reach occupied the Prince's Narrows, reclaiming one stronghold after another.
Further back, in Nightsong.
A war council was underway.
"Send a raven to Blackhaven and Storm's End—order them to maintain their defensive lines at all times."
Rhaegar tapped his fingers on the table. "Pull five thousand troops from the Westerlands and the Riverlands. Have them rendezvous at the Prince's Palace."
"Understood, my prince."
"The Riverlands Coalition Army Has Breached the Prince's Pass—Boneway and Greenblood Must Be Taken to Divide Dorne into Three Battlefronts."
Rhaegar wore a solemn expression as he meticulously analyzed the battlefield.
The Prince's Pass and Boneway concealed foreign mercenaries and tens of thousands of displaced refugees.
Now that the mercenaries had been repelled, the Riverlands coalition army occupied the entrance and the first half of the Prince's Pass. Their strategic objective was to advance into Dornish territory.
Beyond the second half of the Prince's Pass lay Kingsgrave.
At the pass's exit stood Starfall—a fortress that was easy to defend but difficult to attack.
The Fowler family of Starfall, descendants of the First Men, was one of Dorne's most prestigious and powerful noble houses.
Among their many titles were "Lord of the High Road" and "Guardian of the Prince's Pass."
They ranked alongside House Yronwood—known as "Blood of the Pure" and "Warden of the Stoneway"—as the most formidable bannermen under House Martell.
Donald suggested, "Prince, we have two unstoppable dragons. We can take Kingsgrave first and then move on to Starfall."
Helena, who had been listening quietly, perked up, nodding eagerly.
Rhaegar pondered briefly before murmuring, "Breaking the castles is not an issue."
The power of Gluttonous and Dreamfyre was unquestionable.
When the two dragons fought together, their combat prowess surpassed even that of Quellon and Meraxes across the Narrow Sea.
Rhaegar pointed to the fortifications on the war map, his tone grave. "But here—this area is crowded with tens of thousands of refugees. They block the army's advance."
"Just drive them away," Mors said indifferently.
They were just refugees—who would spare them a second glance?
Rhaegar shook his head. "Their numbers are too great. Forcing them out will only lead to chaos. It would be no different from slaughtering them all."
His keen eyes had already spotted an alternative solution.
Mors scoffed, frowning. "Then what do we do? Kill them all?"
That was tens of thousands of people—even if they were Dornish.
The traditions of Westeros dictated that knights were meant to protect the weak, not slaughter innocent civilians.
"We cannot kill them. I will not repeat the mistakes of the First Dornish War."
Rhaegar shook his head once more.
Dorne was an extraordinary land.
Its native population was unremarkable, resembling the short, dark-skinned stone folk of the Red Mountains.
But everything changed when Nymeria, the Warrior-Queen of the Rhoynar, led her people across the sea and merged their bloodlines with the Dornish.
The Rhoynar had once resisted the invasion of the Freehold of Old Valyria on the continent of Essos.
During the War of the Rhoyne, their water sorcerers controlled the rivers, slaying three dragonriders.
The Freehold was furious. In retaliation, they dispatched no fewer than three hundred dragonriders into battle.
The Rhoynar fought to the death. Prince Garin rallied an army of 250,000 warriors to resist.
They were brave—but bravery was not enough.
Three hundred dragons, like harbingers of doom, incinerated the Mother Rhoyne, boiling it dry.
The entire army of 250,000 Rhoynar perished—burned alive or slaughtered.
Prince Garin was captured alive, locked in a cage like a dog, and forced to watch as his people were massacred.
After this catastrophe, Nymeria led her remaining people across the sea in ten thousand ships, fleeing the Valyrian Freehold's wrath.
Even now…
The Dornish had inherited the Rhoynar's defiant spirit. They feared neither death nor war and would fight to the bitter end to defend their homeland.
Rhaegar sighed softly and muttered, "If the other six kingdoms had been as stubborn as Dorne, the Conqueror would never have set foot in Blackwater Bay."
When faced with invasion, the other six kingdoms either fractured from within or surrendered to the dragons.
Only Dorne stood unyielding.
"To conquer a land, brute force alone is not enough."
Rhaegar spoke with conviction.
He was a Targaryen—the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and the future king of the Seven Kingdoms.
Dorne was essential to his rule.
"I want Dorne. But bloodshed alone will not grant me dominion over it—I need wisdom and mercy as well."
Rhaegar closed his eyes, silently contemplating his decision.
Helena watched him from the side, her small hand quietly slipping into his, her head resting against his arm.
The weight of accomplishing what even Aegon the Conqueror had failed to do was an immense burden for any Targaryen to bear.
Mors' eyes darted around before he impatiently urged, "Prince, we must act swiftly. Why not drive the refugees toward Kingsgrave?"
Send them back where they came from.
Rhaegar's eyes snapped open. He countered, "A starving man, knowing there is food ahead, would never willingly turn back."
"If we don't remove them, the army can't advance—and they'll become a constant nuisance."
"But we can't just drive them away."
Rhaegar took a deep breath, as if steeling himself, before declaring, "We will provide them with food, designate a settlement area, and station guards to oversee them."
"What?!?"
Mors' voice rose sharply. He demanded, "You're feeding the refugees? Those are Dornishmen! Duke Tyrell was just assassinated!"
Noble honor forbade them from butchering refugees—but that did not mean they considered them people.
Dorne was in rebellion—why should they provide aid to the very people who harbored its insurgents?
"Lord Mors, please calm down," Helena interjected, frowning as she shielded Rhaegar like a mother hen.
Her brother must have had his reasons.
Even their great-uncle had no right to challenge him.
Mors' face twisted between shades of blue and purple before he finally turned away in frustration.
Rhaegar, unfazed by the outburst, patiently explained, "Dorne's rebellion must be punished."
"Duke Tyrell was assassinated—both House Martell and Dorne will face fire and blood."
Strategy was important, but one could not ignore reality.
This war had two primary objectives: defeating Dorne and avenging Tyrell.
At this, Mors' expression softened slightly, and Donald and the others let out a breath of relief.
They had feared the crown prince might have gone soft and abandoned revenge altogether.
Rhaegar's gaze swept across the room before he continued, "Kingsgrave and Starfall must fall—but the refugees shall not be slaughtered or expelled. Treating them well may yield unexpected rewards."
If force failed, a gentler approach might work.
Looking back at history, Aegon the Conqueror had crushed six kingdoms and grown arrogant.
During the First Dornish War, it was the common people of Dorne who inflicted the greatest losses on his forces.
Of course, the failure to conquer Dorne had been due to many factors.
But Rhaegar understood the current reality.
The Iron Throne had ruled Westeros for over a hundred years—there were no longer six rebellious kingdoms secretly aiding Dorne.
And now, there weren't just three dragons—there were more than a dozen.
Breaking House Martell, destroying the resisting Dornish strongholds, and winning over the common folk—
These three steps, in no particular order, were the key to claiming Dorne once and for all.
(End of Chapter)