The sky was painted in a gentle orange as dawn crept over the island, its gentle hues belying the violence soon to unfold. The sea lapped at the rocky shores of Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen, a fortress built by dragonlords to withstand time and war alike. Its smooth, flawless walls, forged in fire and magic long lost, loomed over the assembled host—a host unlike any other.
Viserys Targaryen stood at the crest of the high ground overlooking the siege lines, his silver-gold hair unbound, billowing slightly in the sea breeze. His violet eyes were set upon the castle, his lips drawn into a thin line. For years, he had dreamed of this moment, of reclaiming all that was lost. Dragonstone was his by right, stolen from him by traitors and usurpers.
'Today, I'll reclaim it.' Viserys thought, glaring at the castle with maddening intensity.
A thousand Unsullied stood in formation before him—silent, disciplined, deadly. They were his to command, bought at great cost in Essos, their shields locked in unbreakable ranks, their spears glinting in the dawn's light. Behind them, siege weapons stood ready—siege towers and trebuchets. The assault was to begin with the rising sun.
But it was not just the Unsullied that swelled the ranks of his army. The Narrow Sea lords had finally answered to the true king and joined him in his struggle against the Usurper's false dynasty. Lord Monford Velaryon was the first to declare for him and provided him with valuable men and ships to purge the Baratheon fleet from the shores of Dragonstone. The Velaryon men were far more knowledgeable of the island, which helped the Unsullied keep a tight leash on the island quickly. Within a few days, all pockets of resistance within the island were destroyed except for the bunch of cowards hiding behind the castle walls built by his ancestors.
Lord Guncer Sunglass had also declared for him as well and was now in the process of raising a loyal host in the Crownlands against the Baratheons. The other Narrow Sea lords were either too scared to make a decision or in the process of swearing their support. Viserys didn't care about any of that because he knew once they saw the Targaryen banner flutter in the wind, they'd swear their allegiance without fail.
"Lord Monford, we strike at first light," Viserys declared his voice firm. "Dragonstone has held against many sieges before but never against the might of the Unsullied. We will breach those walls."
Lord Monford studied the castle's defences with a keen look.
"Their trebuchets will strike as soon as we come within range. The walls are thick. They have stores for months."
"We do not need months," Viserys said coldly. "We need only the will to break them today."
A horn sounded from the castle, a deep, mournful note. The defenders were awake.
Viserys gave the order with a sharp gesture. The ground trembled as the Unsullied advanced, shields raised, spears levelled. Behind them, the trebuchets unleashed their first volley.
Fire rained upon Dragonstone under Viserys' watchful eyes.
The castle retaliated at once. Stones the size of barrels crashed into the lines, scattering men like leaves. The Unsullied did not waver. Step by step, they closed the distance, their advance methodical and relentless. Arrows poured down from the walls, blackening the sky like a swarm of crows. Yet the Unsullied raised their shields, arrowheads drumming against the iron-banded wood as they made careful strides towards the wall.
Ever so slowly, several lines of Unsullied soldiers managed to reach the huge doors of the castle through the narrow pass by masterfully locking shields and moving as one. The defenders peppered the Unsullied with a constant barrage of arrows. The few Unsullied soldiers who managed to reach the walls faced rocks being dropped on their heads and hot oil pouring down from the battlements.
The fighting continued in earnest, with the Unsullied showing no weakness in their resolve to breach the walls. At the gates, the battering ram moved into position—a great beast of iron and oak, carried forth by sweating, Unsullied soldiers and shouting commanders. It struck the gates with a deep, resonant boom.
Again and again, the ram struck the huge gate, shaking it. But the Valyrian-built gate held strong.
More hot water and oil were thrown from the top of the wall, concentrating their barrage on the soldiers handling the battering ram. As the sun climbed higher, the battle reached a fever pitch. The defenders fought with desperate fury, pouring boiling oil upon the attackers, shooting arrow after arrow and playing any and all tricks to defend their posts. Some Unsullied managed to gain a foothold on one of the lower towers using a series of ladders and sheer courage. A knight in blackened armour led a counter-charge from the parapets, driving the Unsullied back with a hail of crossbow bolts.
Viserys cursed seeing the sole post his army occupied being reclaimed. He had not expected them to hold so fiercely against the unflinching relentless assault of his Unsullied army.
Lord Monford rode to his side, his face grim. "The walls won't fall today, your grace. You must give the order to retreat. Otherwise, the army will lose more men."
The truth burned in Viserys' chest like wildfire. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He had dreamed of this victory, of standing upon Dragonstone's battlements as the black-and-red banner of his house flew once more on the castle's towers.
But the day waned, and the walls remained unbreached.
As the sun began its descent into the sea, Viserys reluctantly gave the command to fall back. The Unsullied withdrew in perfect order, shields still raised, their dead left behind. The siege would continue, but the first assault had failed. That failure burned at Viserys more than anything else.
Viserys turned his horse away from the battlefield, his jaw clenched with utter disappointment.
'I'll take Dragonstone no matter the cost.' Viserys promised himself.
*******
Daenerys Targaryen sat upon a cushioned seat, regal and radiant, her silver-gold hair cascading down her back like molten light. Her violet eyes, so like her ancestors', were sharp and observant as they studied the Crow's Eye. Behind her loomed Ser Jorah, his face a mask of stone, and Grey Worm, still as a blade before a strike. Both Ser Jorah and Grey Worm were charged to protect her on her brother's orders.
It was a new development brought about by the arrival of the Narrow Sea lords and their men. Despite the lords of the Narrow Sea swearing oaths of loyalty to her brother, Viserys' act of assigning an additional Unsullied warrior to her retinue suggested her brother was not as impressed by the new arrivals. Either that or Viserys was warned of traitors amongst the Narrow Sea lords and their men.
After all, the value of a captured Targaryen in Stannis Baratheon's court was no secret. Anyone delivering her or her brother to Stannis Baratheon would most likely receive a lordship for their services.
Euron bowed low, sweeping off his helmet with an exaggerated flourish.
"Your Grace, I come bearing gifts," he purred, his voice as smooth as an evening tide. "Trinkets from across the world, worthy of a queen as fair as yourself."
"Be careful, your grace. The Ironborn cannot be trusted, especially this one." Ser Jorah murmured from her side.
Daenerys did not move, nor did she show she heard the warning. Considering the man standing before her was instrumental in defeating the Baratheon fleet in Dragonstone, she was careful not to cause any offence. For some reason, her brother liked Euron Greyjoy and the Red Priestess. But Dany found the man intimidating with his sole dark blue eye and blue lips.
There was a darkness to the man that made her squirm uneasily whenever Euron Greyjoy looked at her with his lone eye. If she could help it, she'd stay as far away from the man as possible, but that was no longer an option. Despite her concerns about the man, Euron Greyjoy was now an important figure in her brother's attempts to reclaim the Iron Throne.
"And what do you seek in return, Lord Greyjoy?" Dany asked, schooling her face to show passing interest. Internally, she was disturbed by the intense look in the Ironborn's eye.
Euron laughed, a rich, rolling sound that echoed through the chamber.
"Ah, straight to the point. I admire that. But must there always be a price?" He gestured, and his men heaved open a chest, revealing a fortune in jewels that glowed under the burning oil lamp in her tent. "Would you refuse such wealth from a humble admirer, your grace?"
Ser Jorah's scoff was barely concealed as he addressed the Ironborn captain.
"Humble? That is not a word oft used for you, Lord Greyjoy."
The kraken lord turned his gaze upon the Northern knight, his lips twisting into a smirk.
"And yet here I stand, making an honest offering to the most beautiful woman in Westeros. I bring no fleets of war, no armies at your tent, but only a token of appreciation for a beauty like no other." said Euron as he stepped forward, eyes never leaving Daenerys.
Daenerys shivered as she watched Euron Greyjoy stare at her body almost hungrily, dragging his sole eye over the contours of her body. It was inappropriate, but Dany didn't dare to say so in the open. Ever since Lord Greyjoy gifted her brother a Valyrian steel sword, her brother wouldn't hear anything ill of the man. After the swift victory against the Baratheon fleet, Lord Greyjoy had secured a position of greater influence with her brother.
Her eyes strayed from the hungry gaze of the Ironborn to the jewels and ornaments of silver and gold in the chest. It was a fine gift – an expensive one, for sure. If she guessed right, the chest could buy a modest fleet for Euron Greyjoy. This made her wonder how much wealth the Ironborn captain before her was holding in his ships. She knew of the wild tales circling the camp about Euron Greyjoy's apparent journey to Valyria. Brightroar was said to be recovered from the smoky ruins of Valyria. If true, then she supposed the man's wealth also came from the remains of her lost ancestral land.
"I know well of the Ironborn way. You take, you do not give. So, I'm surprised you give so much unless you want something in return, my lord." Daenerys said, tilting her head to the side while adjusting herself in her seat under the pervasive gaze of the man standing before her.
Euron placed a hand over his heart, mock-wounded.
"Your Grace wounds me. I have given this chest as a token of appreciation – a gift with hope of friendship. But, if her grace sees fit to grant me something, may I ask for your favour?" Euron bowed his head.
"My favour… for what?" Daenerys asked with a curious look.
"King Viserys has asked me to destroy the rest of the Baratheon fleet. I shall be sailing against your grace's enemies. It'd assuage my heart that I carry the favour of her grace while facing her enemies in the open seas."
The heartfelt plea from Lord Greyjoy took aback Daenerys. She considered his ability to switch from acting like a lecherous pirate to a gentle summer knight to be one of the most confusing things she knew about the man. She didn't know which was the act.
As confusing as it was, she was not as heartless as not to give her favour to a man who earnestly fights for herself and her brother. She sought to instil loyalty in her subjects. So, she'd be a poor Queen to slap away the hand that sought to fight for her cause.
Daenerys stood from her seat and walked closer to Euron Greyjoy, who was now on one knee.
"Rise, my lord." said Dany.
When Euron rose to his feet, he towered over her, making her feel small and vulnerable. But she had her sworn protectors and a small group of lady companions by her side. Once again, she felt Euron Greyjoy was staring at her with an unsatiated hunger.
"I accept your most thoughtful gift, my lord. I also grant you my favour in battle. May your enemies fall to your steel." Daenerys said, tying a piece of silk on Euron's wrist.
"You honour me, your grace. When I return to your side, I shall return with a swift victory over our enemies and lay their heads at your feet." Euron promised.
Euron knelt once more and took her hand in his. A warm sensation spread across her entire body when his fingers brushed against her palm.
Ser Jorah was about to slap that hand away, but Daenerys stopped him with a look.
"Your grace." Euron stared at her with a grin and pressed his forehead against the back of her palm before standing up.
"I see in you the storm that will shake the world. I hope to ride that storm rather than be drowned by it." said Euron as he rose to his feet, his lone blue eye never leaving her amethyst eyes for a moment.
Daenerys smiled, slow and knowing. "And yet, storms are not so easily tamed, Lord Greyjoy."
Euron bellowed out a laugh.
"They're not, your grace." Euron grinned, nodding in acknowledgement.
"May fortune smile upon you as you face our enemies." Daenerys said with a note of finality.
"By your leave, your grace." Euron dipped his head before turning to leave.
Daenerys watched the man leave her tent with his black cloak billowing behind him, taking with him the Ironborn exiles from the war camp. She suspected it would not be the last time she'd see the man. She hoped the next time they met was also on a joyous occasion with a victory to celebrate. Despite her reservations about Lord Greyjoy, the man was fighting for her House, which made the man tolerable.
*******
Waymar Royce nuzzled into the warm presence beside him to ward off the biting cold of the night. The wind howled outside the cave, carrying with it the distant cries of wolves and the ceaseless murmur of falling snow. Within the cavern's depths, the air was warmer, the glow of their small fire casting flickering shadows on the damp stone walls. But the bite of the cold on his back became almost unbearable despite the warm body hugging him.
Waymar slowly sat up against the cold rock, stretching his hands toward the flames, watching embers drift upward like fireflies.
He was in a cave far away from Mance's camp but not out of danger yet. He was still north of the Wall, but he was allowed to return to the Wall so that he could pass the message on to the Starks. His eyes fell on the woman lying beside him in the cave.
Ygritte lay beside him, her red hair splayed over the furs they had gathered. She watched him with a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
"You're thinking too much, crow," she said softly, breaking the silence between them.
Waymar turned his dark eyes to her.
"I have a lot to think about." he murmured, turning his gaze to the blazing fire in the cave.
She sighed and rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. It did interesting things to her upper half of the body that stirred his desire for her body's warmth again.
"Aye. The Wall, your brothers, the war to come." She reached out, running a delicate finger along the back of his hand. "And me."
Waymar's breath caught for a moment. She was right. He had been thinking of all those things, but mostly, he had been thinking of her—of the way she laughed, of the fire in her eyes, of the moment he had broken his vows for her. He had not thought himself weak before, but with her, he felt something different, something more dangerous than fear or longing. He felt alive. But two nights into their journey, avoiding wights and rival clans, they fell upon a cave and under the starry night, they made love. Ygritte called it stealing a mate, but to him, it was just Ygritte being a lustful wench that night.
He broke his vows that night and the consecutive nights that followed. Even now, he broke the vows he swore before taking the Black. But Waymar did not care about the vows anymore. He knew the futility of it all in the face of death. However, he knew he had to pass on the message to the Starks as soon as possible.
"Come morning, we keep going south," he murmured. "There's little time to waste."
Ygritte huffed and lay back, pulling a fur over herself.
"You always think about tomorrow, Royce. Sometimes, you should think about tonight." she said from under the furs.
He watched her as the fire crackled, casting golden light over her freckled skin. He knew she was right, but his thoughts were already beyond the cave, past the snow-covered valleys and frozen rivers. He was thinking of Castle Black, of his brothers, of the war waiting for him beyond the Wall.
Still, he shifted closer, allowing himself to hold her in his arms for this night at least. If the world would take everything from them, he would steal this one moment just for them. The snowstorm raged outside, but within the cave, there was warmth. For a bit longer, they belonged to no one but each other.
When morning came, he parted from the cave alone without Ygritte by his side. By afternoon, he came across a ranging part led by Benjen Stark. Waymar fell on his back in the snow in sheer relief at seeing the familiar faces of his fellow Black brothers.
"Royce! What happened? Did wildlings attack you?" Benjen Stark asked, shaking his shoulder.
"No, something far worse. I need to speak to Lord Stark and your nephew." Waymar croaked.
"My nephew?" Benjen raised an incredulous eyebrow.
"I have a message from Mance Rayder. It seems the new King-beyond-the-Wall is an old acquaintance of your nephew, Stark."
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf