Chapter 114: Allies of Tyrosh
Below the stone mountain of Bloodstone, the King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones lay headless and alone.
The pirate had been king for a day, and he chose to die with that honor.
Bronze Yohn led the search party into the caves beneath Bloodstone's stony peak; apart from starved corpses they found nothing alive. The bodies, pirate banners, remnants, and weapons were dragged out and arrayed at the cave mouth.
Rhaegar said nothing; before the assembled host he lifted the blood-scented golden crown and displayed it for all to see.
The King of the Narrow Sea is dead—Bloodstone is pacified!
Rhaegar drew his sword. "The false king who styled himself Lord of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones has been slain. The Stepstones are broken, and Bloodstone will no longer be a pirates' lair but a domain of the Iron Throne. So let it be—Dragonflame!" He pointed his blade at the mountain.
The dragon wheeled overhead and spat fire; the stony height became a tide of flame. Broken pirate banners, Lysene pennons, and the starved dead were all consumed.
Flames roared, the dragon circled. There was no King of the Narrow Sea—only a dead pirate.
[Title: Crown-Breaker. Crowns are not unbreakable; blood and fire can shatter them. Only a true king is worthy of a crown.]
I have smashed two crowns already, Rhaegar thought: the hill-chieftain's, the sea-pirate's. But they were false kings; next, perhaps, the Free Princes of the Free Cities.
The great host parted. Prince Aerys Targaryen, Lord Tywin, and Lord Steffon Baratheon rode through the lane of spears, then dismounted in deference to the commander and walked the last steps to Rhaegar.
Rhaegar noted their gorgeous armors—opulent, extravagant. Aerys' black plate was inlaid with three rubies shaped like a three-headed dragon, and his crimson cloak flowed like living flame. Lord Tywin wore red silk over dark-enamelled steel, his helm a lion wrought in pure gold. Lord Steffon seemed a stag himself: silver plate chased with gold, antlered helm of gold, and a yellow cloak embroidered with a running stag.
Rhaegar placed the crown and the boxed head of the King of the Narrow Sea into the hands of Prince Aerys Targaryen—and thus before the triumvirate.
"The honor is yours, my boy." The prince raised Rhaegar's arm. The three had commanded the war, yet its greatest glory belonged to Rhaegar; even had they led the line themselves, they could have done no better.
Aerys, Rhaegar, Tywin, and Steffon stood together, their helms and armor blazing like molten metal beneath the sun.
"Long live King's Landing!"
"Long live King Jaehaerys II!"
"Long live House Targaryen!"
The soldiers shouted, fists or blades aloft; trumpets and war-drums answered them.
A river of steel roared, a shout that split the sky.
Bloodstone was scourged clean, but the aftermath remained. The glittering pavilions of Prince Aerys Targaryen, Lord Tywin, and Lord Steffon Baratheon now crowned a ridge, with the lesser tents of vassal knights and lords below.
Rhaegar, front-line commander, kept his tent closer to the sea, amid his own soldiers.
Inside, lords and knights crowded round a table map of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones. Rhaegar lifted off his black helm: silver-haired, violet-eyed, handsome, resolve blazing in his gaze. Every man was a sword, but Rhaegar was the brightest flame, the keenest blade. Lords and knights looked on him as on a god; his courage in the fire of war could tip any soldier's heart.
Nearest the inner ring of the chart-table sat the great lords' heirs and famed knights: Ser Barristan the White, Ser Brynden of the Riverlands, Bronze Yohn and Lyonel Corbray of the Vale, Lord Mace Tyrell of the Reach, Prince Lewyn of Dorne, Lord Corlys Velaryon of Driftmark, the Lord of Maidenpool of the Crownlands, and others from the Stormlands and the Westerlands—an assembly of worthies.
Victors earn every praise and fear. Rhaegar was youngest, yet none dared gainsay the prince. Battle of the Valley Road, victory at Maidenpool, three triumphs in a single day across the Stepstones, and now the slaying of the King of the Narrow Sea—his laurels outshone those won by many men in decades of campaigning.
"Lord Corlys, Lord Mace—I hear my father has ordered you to raise the tolls on passing ships?" Rhaegar's first words were not of politics but of taxes, and he named them both.
"Yes, Your Highness. This war over the Stepstones has cost us dearly—men and ships—so levying a bit of tax on these merchant vessels is only fair," Lord Mace Tyrell said. The Fat Flower was beaming; good news put him in high spirits.
"Once Bloodstone is pacified, the Iron Throne will control both the Stepstones and the sea-lanes. We'll have no rivals, but the campaign has also devoured a mountain of gold dragons. We can't tax thin air. Prince Aerys originally wanted to push the tariff to the limit; it was Lord Tywin who talked him down to something reasonable," Lord Corlys added. Part of the fleet answered to him, so he had skin in the game.
Rhaegar remained silent. In this age, raising taxes was branded tyranny; the Iron Throne had taken plenty of abuse for it in the past, and the prince could hardly be unaware of that fact.
No doubt Aerys reasoned that if he dared not raise levies back in Westeros, he could still squeeze the merchantmen at sea. Yet once maritime duties rose, the outcry from the Free Cities would swell—those were mercantile states where merchants carried real weight.
Rhaegar had privately urged caution and left it at that. An army with two commanders could ill afford open dispute; it would only erode both their authorities. Prince Aerys had entrusted him with field command, let him dispense rewards and punishments, and had Tywin and Steffon cooperate—already a light hand on the reins. On the matter of new taxes, let Tywin play the villain for once. Besides, to most Westerosi, the Free Cities were little better than infidels and pirates.
"My lords, the flames in the Stepstones have only been quenched for the moment; the war is far from over. I order you—stay ready. I will not have the men grow slack!" Rhaegar said.
The captains exchanged glances yet all assented.
Rhaegar kept the fleet, the longbow companies, and the spearmen drilling without respite, watchful for enemies returning by sea.
When everything was arranged, Rhaegar mounted his dragon and took to the sky, circling the Stepstones.
Blue fire blossomed from both his hands. Beneath that flame, the Stepstones saw only merchant traffic flowing unhindered; pirates now fled at the mere rumor of his presence, while Lyseni and Myrish hesitated.
After a time aloft, he brought the dragon down on a small, uninhabited reef not far from Tyrosh and watched the quiet sea roll eastward.
Tyrosh itself lay within reach of the Stepstones, the closest of the Three Daughters among the Free Cities.
Presently a Tyroshi cog hove into view and moored beside the reef.
The Archon's fair daughter, his ally Lady Shireen, stepped ashore to meet him.
Two radiant youths, bright as fire, as dazzling suns: a silver-haired, violet-eyed warrior and a sea-green-haired girl who might have been a princess.
"They call you the Butcher of the Narrow Sea now, yet thanks to your slaughter the pirates have vanished—and never was a butcher so handsome," Shireen said with a smile.
"I am no court darling, Princess Shireen. A warrior earns mostly fear and curses; many name me tyrant or butcher, while they praise you as the Pearl of Tyrosh," Rhaegar answered lightly.
"Princes are ever handsome—and ever teasing. Tyrosh has no boy so charming. Your victories make me forget your years..."
They soon returned to graver matters.
"Lys and Myr have joined hands: fifty war-galleys are sailing for the Stepstones," Shireen reported solemnly.
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