Rhaegar said goodbye to Ser Arthur Dayne and set off with his two friends toward the Planky Town on the Greenblood River.
Dozens of large ships and countless longships were already anchored along the riverbank.
Before the three men could approach, two groups came forward to greet them.
"Prince Rhaegar, when do we sail?"
A tall Braavosi warrior with light green eyes and a thick red-gold beard that reached his waist spoke first. He was Mero, captain of the Second Sons.
On the other side, a middle-aged man with a weary face rode a gray warhorse. He wore dented silver-gray armor and a cloak stitched from ragged scraps of cloth. He was the Tattered Prince, captain of the Windblown. His mismatched cloak was the source of his famous nickname.
The Windblown fielded two thousand riders and foot soldiers and was the strongest sellsword company Rhaegar had managed to recruit so far.
The Tattered Prince studied Rhaegar and asked in perfect High Valyrian, "Prince Rhaegar, you failed to secure Prince Doran's help?"
Rhaegar answered half-truthfully, "Once we take Bloodstone Island, House Martell will send troops."
The Tattered Prince nodded knowingly. "They want to see your worth before they commit."
"After all, you are no longer the heir to the Iron Throne. You are simply a Targaryen prince wandering in a foreign land."
The words were blunt but carried no mockery. Rhaegar did not argue. He accepted the assessment.
The two men spoke in High Valyrian so the others could not understand and lose heart.
Mero, captain of the Second Sons, frowned and urged them to move faster. If not for the many Westerosi nobles in his company and his old ties to the Brightflame, he would never have invested in a fallen prince. Even the Red Viper's promise of gold and special gems for every man after Bloodstone fell was not enough to satisfy him.
Rhaegar remained quiet but spoke with enough skill to calm the big Braavosi. Soon the fleet was loaded and ready to sail.
Behind him stood four hundred stoneborn warriors in full chainmail, each standing over six and a half feet tall. They carried long-handled hammers, flails, and battle axes, looking as wild as the Ibbenese.
Behind them came more than two hundred Westerosi riders led by Myles and Richard.
The six-hundred-man force made the eight-hundred-man Second Sons look small by comparison.
"A dead camel is still bigger than a horse," the Tattered Prince muttered.
Rhaegar invited him aboard to discuss battle plans.
Everyone boarded the ships. After buying plenty of supplies at Planky Town, the fleet sailed down the Greenblood and into the Summer Sea.
---
Sunspear.
Prince Doran sat in his wheelchair on the balcony, pushed by his captain of the guard, Areo Hotah. A gentle breeze brushed his face as he gazed toward Planky Town.
"They're gone?"
Doran asked.
Areo answered in his deep voice, "Yes, my prince."
Doran nodded silently and said no more.
His guard captain was a huge man with a shaved head, graying beard, and a six-foot axe whose wooden haft alone was longer than most men were tall. He wore the yellow surcoat and armor of Dorne, and his bare arms bore axe-shaped tattoos—the mark of Norvos.
He had trained from childhood under the bearded priests of Norvos and at sixteen had taken his axe in marriage, dedicating his life to it and to loyalty.
Doran had recruited him as captain of his personal guard.
"Father!"
Footsteps and a bright voice came from outside the door.
Doran's stern expression softened at once. He smiled. "Areo, open the door for her."
Before the captain could move, the door flew open.
A girl of seven or eight with black hair and wheat-colored skin ran in wearing a bright yellow dress.
Doran's smile widened. He steadied his daughter as she threw herself into his arms. "What are you doing here, Arianne?"
The girl was Princess Arianne Martell, Doran's eldest daughter.
She looked up at him with bright eyes. "I heard my aunt's husband came. I want to meet him."
"You want to see Prince Rhaegar?"
Doran asked, curious.
Arianne nodded hard, cheeks flushed. "They say Rhaegar Targaryen is the handsomest man in the Seven Kingdoms, and he's my aunt's husband. He won't disappoint me."
So young, and already a little romantic.
Doran sighed. "Rhaegar has already left. I'm afraid you missed him."
Arianne's face fell into a pout.
"Wanting to see a handsome boy is natural," Doran said gently, "but there's no point sulking when you can't."
He stroked her black hair and spoke softly. "When you're older, I'll introduce you to equally handsome princes."
"Really?" Arianne brightened at once.
Doran smiled quietly and exchanged a glance with Areo.
Given Rhaegar's recent behavior, Doran should have thrown him out without ceremony. But he had not.
Rhaegar was no longer the heir, yet he was still Elia's husband and true Targaryen blood. The marriage alliance between House Martell and House Targaryen remained. Doran would not be foolish enough to destroy it.
Whether Rhaegar succeeded or failed, the Martells kept their foothold inside the royal family. There were still two younger Targaryen princes. Who could say the Martells would not marry another daughter into the royal line?
Doran ran his fingers through his daughter's hair and looked toward the horizon.
"If Rhaegar can take the Stepstones and carve out power in the Disputed Lands or beyond, it could become another opportunity for House Martell."
The Stepstones were closest to Dorne. They had once been part of the broken Arm of Dorne. If Rhaegar succeeded, the Martells could claim the closest share of new territory. At worst, they could use the islands to expand trade in Dornish goods.
"Oberyn will return soon. I'll give him eight hundred men under the guise of aiding the Second Sons and have him support Rhaegar's attack on the Stepstones."
Doran's calculations were precise.
The Narrow Sea was calm for now. The Triarchy was busy digesting gains or choosing new archons. Even the pirates had quieted. Rhaegar with the Second Sons and Windblown would surely achieve something.
---
King's Landing.
The sky was clear and cloudless.
Daeron stood inside the dragon cave, watching Caraxes finish two sheep.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes shook his long neck, scattering buzzing dragonflies.
Daeron stood nearby, turning a yellow dragon egg in his hands.
Just moments ago, this egg had shown the first faint signs of life.
It was far subtler than Drogon's hatching, but it was real.
"The most terrifying thing about House Targaryen is how quickly we snowball," Daeron murmured. "One dragon can lay at least five eggs in a clutch. During a rising magic tide, hatchlings can emerge in batches."
He tapped the yellow shell and studied the simple, bright yellow surface.
It would not be long before a yellow or golden dragon hatched from it.
Daeron did not even want to imagine how far the family would rise during this magic tide.
During the Dance there had been nineteen dragons.
Now the family had four living dragons, two eggs, one egg still reviving, and two petrified eggs.
Seven dragons at minimum.
Once Caraxes and his brothers matured, one or two might lay eggs and the numbers would grow further.
A short while later, Melisandre arrived in her red robes, escorted by two Dragon Guards.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Daeron stood beside Caraxes, one hand stroking the red dragon's jaw. The dragon shifted slightly, moving Daeron with it.
Even the strongest knight could not budge a dragon an inch.
Melisandre had seen dragons before, but standing this close made her breath catch. Her body tightened.
The pure, burning fire magic threatened to melt her from head to toe.
She found herself walking closer without meaning to.
Daeron turned his head and said calmly, "Give me your hand."
Melisandre glanced at the red dragon. Seeing no immediate danger, she placed her hand in his without hesitation.
Daeron pressed her palm against Caraxes's crimson scales.
Heat flooded her hand. Color rose in her cheeks and her body swayed.
Daeron looked surprised but said nothing. He continued calming the restless red dragon.
He needed to reach the desert oasis. He could not fly there himself and leave Melisandre to walk. He needed her to ride with him.
A dragon would only obey its chosen rider until that rider died. Most of the time it allowed only that one person to ride.
Without proper introduction, Caraxes would likely bite Melisandre in half.
Half an hour later.
On the open ground before the dragon cave.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes roared, spread his massive crimson wings, coiled his serpentine body, and launched into the sky with a powerful leap.
Daeron rode the great dragon. Behind him, Melisandre was chained to the saddle with iron links.
She clung desperately to Daeron's cloak. Her red robes billowed in the wind as she squeezed her eyes shut against the gale.
They were off—heading for the Dornish desert.
---
The Red Keep.
Varys stood in a tower room and lifted a corner of the curtain to watch the red dragon circling high above King's Landing.
The dragon wheeled once, then soared south.
Most people assumed the prince was simply returning to his fief. They had grown used to it.
Varys muttered, "Sudden trip to Dorne?"
He had been watching Melisandre closely. He knew she had packed supplies and left in a hurry.
Was Prince Daeron confident or simply arrogant?
Several Reach lords were plotting against him, yet he was flying off to Dorne without telling anyone.
"Perhaps because Lord Tywin is handling the three-kingdom merger so smoothly, he feels safe."
Varys doubted that was the whole story.
Tywin had pushed the merger through cleanly. Most Riverlands and Stormlands lords had already accepted it. Only a few stubborn minor nobles remained, and the new royal domain bill still needed to be announced.
"Dragons really are fast. Nothing beats them for travel."
Varys felt a pang of envy.
Aegon the Conqueror had rarely ridden Balerion except for war or long journeys. Dragons were simply the best way to move.
Rhaegar might not even have time to act before Daeron returned from Dorne.
"Black dragon, red dragon. The difference is obvious."
Varys sighed, let the curtain fall, and slipped away.
He needed to investigate the "treason plot."
He had placed two sets of eyes around Lady Olenna. The first had already reported that she had quietly sent someone back to the Reach to find out which lords were meeting in secret.
With her sharp mind, Olenna would see right through Daeron's plan to make examples of a few troublemakers. She would not miss the chance to remove rivals.
Varys needed to learn which Reach lords Tyrell would throw to the wolves and which ones she would protect.
"Every piece of information is another reason I can keep breathing inside this Red Keep."
Varys smiled to himself.
---
Early February.
Daeron flew Caraxes across the Stormlands and the Red Mountains and reached the end of the Boneway.
"Prince, the desert oasis from my vision should be somewhere in this area."
Melisandre pressed against his back and handed him a crude map she had drawn.
Daeron glanced at it and tossed it away.
From the Boneway to Ironwood, the coast, and the Tor, the area covered hundreds of square miles. Even with a map it would be like finding a needle in a haystack.
Daeron flew for a while and found several small, abandoned oases, but none matched the one in Melisandre's vision.
Noon, 12:30.
The sun burned hottest over the Dornish desert. The heat could cook a man alive.
Daeron made his decision and flew toward the nearest settlement—Ironwood.
House Yronwood ruled here.
According to Melisandre, the oasis was likely near Ironwood anyway.
Lord Anders Yronwood was a proud man who did not particularly like his liege lord, House Martell.
During the four-kingdom rebellion he had been among the first to join the loyalists. After the war Daeron had given him special consideration. The two had stayed in touch.
Before leaving King's Landing, Daeron had asked Maester Aemon to send a raven to House Yronwood.
By now Lord Anders should have received it.
He could use Yronwood's help to find the oasis.
At the same time he could visit Ironwood and gauge Lord Anders's true feelings toward House Martell.
---
Ironwood.
Lord Anders Yronwood received the message and prepared to welcome the prince.
At the same time, far to the south, Oberyn Martell was already on his way back to Sunspear with eight hundred men, ready to support Rhaegar's campaign under the banner of aiding the Second Sons.
The Narrow Sea was quiet for now. The Triarchy was busy with its own affairs. Even the pirates had grown still.
Rhaegar, with the Second Sons and the Windblown, was about to make his move.