Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 438: The Fall of Qoren (I)

Chapter 438: The Fall of Qoren (I)

The Next Day, at Dawn

The harbor was shrouded in smoke, and the wreckage of the shattered ships littered the sea.

"Roar..."

Caraxes circled the sky, twisting like a snake, patrolling the bay in the morning sun.

In the harbor, the garrison labored to remove the remains of the Braavos sailors.

Prince Reggio surveyed the scene in a daze, as if caught in a dream. Braavos's most powerful fleet of purple-harbor warships had been destroyed overnight.

Daemon strolled over, his black steel helmet under his arm and a smile on his lips. "Did you have a good dream last night, prince?"

Reggio, as if waking from a trance, hurried forward. "Prince Daemon, thank you for your help. You are as great as your ancestor, the Conqueror."

"Oh, it was nothing," Daemon replied, raising his chin, clearly pleased.

During the Century of Blood, the fleet of Volantis had occupied Lys and invaded Myr. When they attempted to conquer Tyrosh, they faced fierce resistance. Conqueror Aegon had ridden Balerion across the Narrow Sea, burning the Volantis fleet and turning the tide of the war. Daemon's rescue of Pentos was a similar feat.

Reggio took Daemon's hand, welcoming him warmly. "Please come to the Prince's Palace. I must treat you well."

"Just hospitality?" Daemon's smile didn't reach his eyes, his tone questioning.

Reggio slapped his forehead and quickly added, "Tyrosh has just regained its peace. I am willing to provide sufficient supplies to forge an unbreakable friendship between our cities."

Daemon's mouth curled up as he listened to Reggio's flattery. Both sides needed resources—one required armed protection, the other, supplies. They formed an alliance.

"Daemon!"

Rhaenys, clad in red armor, approached. After a night of mourning, her face was haggard, her expression downcast. The pain of losing her son was evident.

Daemon raised a hand, silencing Reggio, then turned to face her.

Rhaenys' eyes were red and swollen, but she forced a smile. "Braavos has been repelled. I must return to Westeros."

"Back to Westeros? Does my dear nephew know?" Daemon frowned. The three Free Cities had only just been recovered and remained unstable.

Rhaenys shook her head. "Laenor was killed, and Myr and Lys need you to look after them."

"You really have faith in me," Daemon muttered.

"You are a Targaryen. You will not disappoint Viserys' expectations," Rhaenys said, looking around at the devastation, her heart aching. "I have to find my child. I want to see him alive or at least find the body."

She still couldn't accept her son's death. Such a vibrant life, taken not in war, but by betrayal.

Daemon remained silent, uninterested in responding.

"It's settled then. You watch over The Disputed Lands," Rhaenys declared, ignoring his mood. She embraced Daemon, forcing a smile, then turned and walked away.

Meleys, on all fours, lowered its horned head for the rider to climb.

"Roar!"

Moments later, Meleys soared into the sky, disappearing swiftly over the vast ocean.

Daemon watched, his eyes dark and uncertain. It felt inhumane to be left alone beyond the Narrow Sea. He lowered his head, rubbing his blood-stained fingertips, and muttered, "Dorne rebels, Qoren..."

Qoren fell silent. Volantis was no better, merely seeking to protect its interests against the Targaryens, using Dorne as a distraction. The same principle applied here. Qoren's war against the Iron Throne was driven by fear that the Iron Throne would unify the lower half of the Narrow Sea and turn its sights on Dorne.

But cunning plans had unraveled, and now, both Braavos and its secret allies were abandoning Dorne to its fate.

Qoren pondered for a moment and then asked quietly, "What does Braavos need?"

The forces beyond the Narrow Sea would not allow Dorne to fall; otherwise, the Iron Throne's Dragonfire would turn toward them next.

The young man replied, "Wait. The Sealord has a plan and is preparing an ultimate weapon."

"An ultimate weapon?" Qoren was taken aback. "What could that be?"

The young man shook his head. "I don't know either. The Sealord is keeping it a secret, causing dissatisfaction among the bankers at the Iron Bank."

The Sealord's secrecy had strained relations, and the Iron Bank had drastically reduced his war budget in protest.

Qoren waved his hand dismissively. "I understand. Dorne will defeat the Reach Alliance on its own, and we'll discuss funding afterward."

Ultimately, Dorne needed to prove its worth as a financial partner. Despite losing over 10,000 soldiers in the Stormlands, Dorne was far from a position where it would lose its funding. With the Red Mountains' natural defenses, the major nobles could easily block the Reach Alliance.

"Then I will take my leave," the young man said, departing the palace under the disapproving glances of the guards.

Once he was gone, Qoren slumped back against the throne, feeling the weight of his predicament. Braavos was clearly sending a warning to prevent him from taking their support for granted.

"Alas, a tough battle lies ahead," Qoren muttered helplessly.

Davos Dayne, the Prince's personal guard, spoke up, "Skyreach and Yronwood are easy to defend but hard to attack. They are supported by Hellholt and Sandstone."

Dorne has many powerful noble lords. In the Red Mountains, there are also House Blackmont and the Starfall, which are located in remote areas. As long as they sail into The Summer Sea and enter the mainland via Brimstone, you can join forces with Hellholt.

Qoren sighed sadly. "Tell Lord Uller to recruit soldiers and be ready to attack at any time. There are no regular troops, but we have many temporary recruits. The people of Dorne are fierce and tough. With the armor provided by Braavos, they are no worse than the seasoned soldiers of The Reach."

"Yes, Prince," Davos replied, nodding before leaving to carry out the order.

...

Time passed quickly.

The negotiations in Sunspear were over, and the Braavos merchant ship docked in Planky Town slowly sailed out of the harbor. The ship sailed down the river, along the estuary, into the Summer Sea.

The sun was scorching, and the sea breeze was salty and damp.

Suddenly, a warship flying the flag of the Seahorses appeared on the horizon.

The lookout on the deck of the merchant ship gasped and cried out in terror, "A warship! A warship of House Velaryon!"

But it was too late. A warship appeared, followed by a second, a third... until a dozen ships came into view, their decks filled with soldiers in full armor.

The Sea Snake, clad in silver-gray armor, stood at the bow of the lead ship, his expression solemn. "The ships are approaching. Attack!"

"Roar..."

As soon as the command was given, a golden dragon glided in, its pale pink wings flapping in the wind.

"Dracarys!"