Chapter 129 – Dragons in Dorne
Beneath the black-and-red Targaryen dragon banner, the soldiers and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen stacked stones to build a fort together.
After the Destiny panel appeared, Rhaegar sensed an almost invisible thread in the dark, linking him to several vast lands.
From Westeros to the ruins of Old Valyria across the Smoking Sea in Essos, and along the desolate Rhoyne River.
Yet each of those lands felt different: Westeros was the most prosperous, though a cold wind lingered in the north. Rhaegar's bond with Westeros was deepest and the blessings he received greatest—he was Westeros's child, and the continent would bless him through Destiny.
Next came Valyria; by instinct Rhaegar knew it was a place of curse and ruin, yet also the root of all Dragonlords, and it shared a bond of blood and fire with him. Some mysterious substance deep within the Smoking Sea called to him, stirring his heart.
As for the Rhoyne, it was desolate and cursed, slightly more alive than Valyria, and its tie to Rhaegar was the weakest.
Destiny felt to Rhaegar like something unfathomably arcane. The soldiers around him were tangible, yet Destiny was an abstraction too lofty to measure.
Rhaegar checked the Destiny system; no other templates showed new boosts—it remained a mysterious attribute.
Destiny should be the union of providence and human effort. When a man grows stronger, providence gradually favors him. When heaven exalts someone, omens appear; such men's luck and fate will surge toward the sky.
Westeros was unquestionably the foundation of Rhaegar's Destiny. The Valyrian ruins and the Rhoyne banks were too perilous now. The Valyrian wasteland held only dead cities and the Smoking Sea, said to be full of curses, volcanoes, and sea monsters—countless expeditions had perished there.
The Rhoyne was slightly better, yet it too had entered the Century of Blood; its splendid civilization had been burned away, and parts of the river had become havens for brigands and runaway slaves, while whatever remained of its essence was held by Volantis.
"Magic in this world is very unstable, yet gods probably exist—otherwise the dead would not return and other miracles occur. After the Red Comet, who knows whether magical tides will trigger more miracles?
I wonder if this Destiny system clashes with the gods?
Still, deities do not appear constantly; divine power is limited. When I possess mortal kingship, even gods must step aside. Besides, when Old Valyria's hegemony stood, it never worshipped any true gods. The Dragonlords lived in luxury, blood soaked the earth, and they did as they pleased for years before Valyria finally fell."
Rhaegar pushed such thoughts aside; best raise the Destiny system first.
He still had to recover those lost treasures, he mused.
His Destiny score in Westeros was already sky-high; if he regained Aegon the Conqueror's crown and House Targaryen's ancestral sword Blackfyre, he would be Westeros's undisputed chosen of Destiny.
Aegon the Conqueror's crown was a simple Valyrian steel circlet set with large square rubies, lost when Daeron I Targaryen, the Young Dragon, died in Dorne.
Though plain, it was Aegon the Conqueror's crown, and its significance was extraordinary.
Rhaegar resolved to set in motion the Greenblood orphan Gaelin in Dorne, the Quickfinger thief Lysandro across the Narrow Sea in Lys, Magistrate Marajo of Volantis, and his own hidden agent in King's Landing, the Rat Catcher Roken, to find Aegon the Conqueror's crown and the Blackfyre sword as soon as possible.
If they could also recover the lost dragon eggs, so much the better.
Yet artifacts require fate; sometimes he might have to seek them himself.
The black-and-red Targaryen dragon banner fluttered as Rhaegar worked with the soldiers till dusk; if the prince labored, the rest joined gladly.
Among them were Ser Brynden, deputy commander of the Bloodstone construction; Ser Corlys, commander of Rhaegar's Dragon Guards fleet; and Bronze Yohn, commander of the spearmen from the Vale of Arryn.
Evening came, and Rhaegar ate with every soldier.
The dragons dined as well; whole oxen were dragged before them, and the beasts roasted the meat. Such vast appetites made a long stay in the Stepstones troublesome.
"Bring my summer red!" Rhaegar ordered.
His trip to Dorne had yielded an unexpected haul—he had relieved Gaelin of quite a few bottles of summer red.
Rhaegar was no drinker, yet he cherished his men and always shared their hardships.
"A toast!" Ser Corlys raised his cup first.
"Let us drink to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's brilliant command!"
"Victory's wine is not for me alone; my triumph depends on every soldier. Let us share this cup." Rhaegar lifted his goblet.
War raged on, making this a good day to drink with the men.
His style matched the era's—fighting on the front line, dueling one-on-one, shifting reserves, keeping morale high, seizing the initiative—yet he paid equal heed to logistics and strategy.
"Drink!"
The tent became a flowing feast; soldiers drank with joy.
Unbroken victories, the prince's charm, talent, and generosity won every warrior's love.
In any age, the truth of spear and sword is still truth. To win glory and riches, an army of absolute loyalty is indispensable.
Late at night Rhaegar still sat in his tent briefing Ser Brynden on holding Bloodstone; he would soon leave for Dorne and needed to leave nothing unsaid.
"The prince is tireless," Ser Brynden marveled.
Rhaegar only smiled; energy and stamina were the basis of great deeds.
"Press on with the Stepstones defenses, especially the Dragon's Roar Fortresses on the two famous islands. Once that line is complete, with Tyrosh wedged between Myr and Lys of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, we can hold off the Three Daughters and any returning pirates."
"May the prince bring better news from Sunspear," Ser Brynden said.
The Stepstones lay between the Stormlands and Dorne; both Lords' aid was vital. As for peace treaties, Ser Brynden deemed them a joke.
"I'll bring good tidings, Ser. I'll leave Bloodstone in your care; the others worry me. Though you'll miss the honor of riding with us, I'll bestow a greater honor next time." Rhaegar apologized.
"Then I'll wait," Ser Brynden replied, his red hair like living flame.
In Dorne, Sunspear's triple gates stood wide, crowds packed the ways, and Princess Elia Martell of Dorne with her three children and Dornish Lords warmly welcomed Crown Prince Aerys Targaryen's party.
Prince Aerys led a gathering of great Lords from many lands; Dorne had not seen such splendor in years.
At the fore stood Prince Aerys Targaryen, charming, luxurious, the stuff of legend—silver hair and violet eyes.
Other nobles were easy to spot by hair and stature:
Lord Steffon Baratheon, black-haired.
Lord Tywin Lannister, golden-haired with sea-green eyes.
Lord Mace Tyrell, tall with brown hair and brown eyes.
"Where is Prince Rhaegar?" Princess Elia Martell asked.
"Rhaegar prepares a finer gift for Dorne," Aerys replied with a smile.
At the sound of dragon wings, the beast stooped from the sky; fireballs burst above Sunspear like lightning, giving the dark-haired Dornish a small shock.
Rhaegar descended slowly from the dragon and presented the gift prepared by Prince Aerys Targaryen to the Princess of Dorne.
It was a beautiful golden sculpture of a spear piercing the sun.
A mighty cheer rolled like surf through the crowd.
Second in the Dornish party Rhaegar spotted the Lord of House Yronwood of Yronwood; the more he studied the old man, the less he liked him.
He sensed some secret in that house—
could the lost crown be hidden there?
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