Chapter 35: Lord Tarly's Advice
Knowing that his son Alan was studying governance under a maester retained by House Varezes and also had a dedicated master-at-arms, Lord Donald Tarly felt reassured and did not specifically summon him. Instead, he went directly to the Dragonpit with his daughter.
The Dragonpit of Dragon Nest City had no outer gate. One had to traverse an extremely narrow mountain path, pass through the black stone portal scorched open by Vermithor's flame, and then descend from the castle tower into the underground cavern.
Lord Tarly gently touched the blackened stone railing fused by dragonfire. He could not determine what manner of material it had become, and when he looked up toward the rising City of Nine Towers above, reverence filled his gaze.
Father and daughter passed laborers shaping gates and carving battlements. Within the walls, workers raised structures of black stone and timber. Many bore silver or pale gold hair, though some men had dyed theirs in bright colors. Among them, Lord Tarly also noticed familiar shades of brown, black, and red where a sept and a godswood were being constructed.
He frowned.
Then came the voice of a barefoot septon preaching tirelessly:
"Sevenfold blessings, sevenfold glory. May the Seven Who Are One guard our Prince. The Father grants judgment. The Crone grants wisdom. The Mother grants abundance. The Warrior grants victory. The Smith tempers this holy city in divine flame. The Maiden blesses its growth. The Stranger walks among us, yet even He does not deny this place."
Many of the Borderlands workers devoutly traced the seven-pointed star upon their chests. The naturalized foreigners bowed their heads respectfully before returning to labor.
"Something is amiss," Lord Tarly murmured. "Diana, that septon's tone is wrong. He is directing devotion meant for the Seven toward Prince Dragonzel. Would the Starry Sept approve?"
"The Starry Sept in Oldtown will either never know, or it will pretend not to," Diana replied calmly. "Septon Corlen now holds dual recognition from the Crown and the Most Devout. He has been named Bishop within the Summer Prince's domain. With His Highness's patronage, he has secured influence in a distant bishopric. After all, the High Septon's crystal crown does not adorn itself without generous offerings."
Lord Tarly sighed softly. "Perhaps I am old. Perhaps this generation truly will change the order of things."
They entered the unfinished tower interior. A laborer offered bread and salt, which Lord Tarly accepted and consumed.
Escorted by the Silver Guards of the Dragonpit, they descended into its depths and found the Dragonzel brothers resting beneath their dragons after tending their scales.
Vermithor opened one eye as Lord Tarly approached, then closed it dismissively. Silverwing regarded him with mild curiosity before settling again.
"Lord Donald, you came without notice," Dragonzel said politely. "Forgive our lack of formal reception. Diana, offer Lord Donald bread and salt."
Dragonzel's gaze flicked briefly toward the object wrapped in black cloth in Lord Tarly's hands.
Heartsbane.
The ancestral Valyrian steel blade of House Tarly.
"You are generous," Lord Tarly replied. "Though I have already eaten within your city, which I count as hospitality."
"That was commerce, my lord," Dragonzel answered with a faint smile. "But I accept the sentiment. You would not have come in haste without purpose."
Lord Tarly admired the composure in the young prince's eyes.
"Your Highness," he said directly, "use House Weel's raid upon Blackhaven as your cause. March into Dorne openly. The marcher lords have long awaited such a banner. If you ride Vermithor and raise your sigil, every warhorse and blade in the Borderlands will answer."
Dragonzel rose slowly.
"Lord Donald, I understand the anger of the marcher lords. But conquest, annihilation, and governance are not the same."
Using the long iron tongs meant for removing stone shards from Vermithor's scales, Dragonzel began sketching routes across the blackened ground.
"I could burn ports, oases, and orchards. I could poison the Greenblood, salt fields, collapse wells, and leave Dorne starving. But then what? Even if every Dornishman perished, we would inherit only desert and eternal hatred."
Lord Tarly nodded grimly.
"During the First Dornish War, Aegon I Targaryen and Queen Visenya could have destroyed the wells and oases. They did not. They sought submission, not extinction."
Dragonzel continued, "Dorne's strength lies in water. In oases. In hidden valleys. Destroy those, and resistance dies—but so does the land itself."
"So your intent is different," Lord Tarly said slowly.
"Dorne has more than Prince Corwin," Dragonzel replied, pointing first toward imagined Sunspear, then toward the Red Mountains. "It also has ambition, resentment, and rival bloodlines."
"The Vulture Kings," Lord Tarly breathed.
The title had plagued the Red Mountains for generations. Each uprising forced conflict, and though House Martell always publicly distanced itself, suspicion lingered.
Dragonzel drove the tongs down at the imagined location of Weel City. The metal bent.
"To kill a viper," he said quietly, "wait until it exposes its belly. Surround it so it cannot strike head or tail."
Lord Tarly extended his hand.
"Horn Hill will provide six hundred armored cavalry, three thousand infantry, and twelve hundred longbowmen. The western marcher lords I influence can raise three hundred cavalry and two thousand foot."
Dragonzel inclined his head.
"The eastern marcher lords are divided. House Tarth and House Selmy will commit fully. House Swann and House Caron hesitate. The rest follow Storm's End."
"Lord Borros Baratheon will not commit easily," Lord Tarly said.
"You have a dragon," he added, glancing at Vermithor. "When the Bronze Fury flies, Dorne will scatter."
"When the time comes, Valarr will ride Silverwing across the mountains," Dragonzel said. "That will be your signal."
"Then I shall await it," Lord Tarly replied with grim satisfaction. "May the Seven Who Are One grant victory."
Dragonzel only smiled.
High Hermitage
High Hermitage, a cadet seat of House Dayne sworn to Starfall, possessed deep wine cellars beneath its pale towers.
When the hidden door opened, figures clad in black poured in silently.
Several young men and women were already inside, aiding the intruders—men concealing heavy armor beneath travel cloaks.
Their leader ascended the main tower and kicked open the chamber door.
Ser Oberon Dayne lay propped against pillows. He knew who had come.
The hood fell back.
"Obara," he sighed. "You are fit to wield Dawn, but I yet live. Could you not wait?"
"Great-uncle," Obara said coolly, placing one leg upon his desk, "you can no longer lift Dawn. I can hear the sword's longing."
"What do you intend? Where is my son?"
"I have committed no kinslaying," she replied calmly. "Uncle is merely confined. Young Quinlan now governs in his stead."
The door opened again. A thirteen-year-old boy entered, eyes burning.
"Obara, when do we move?"
"Quinlan? You involve a child?" Oberon rasped.
Obara's smile sharpened.
"When Starfall raises our banner, the King of the Torrentine shall rise again. Why must House Martell alone bear a crown? Did not Nymeria wed into our blood?"
Oberon closed his eyes.
"And Prince Corwin?" he whispered.
"He will be occupied elsewhere," Obara answered softly.
Starfall
The same pattern unfolded within Starfall itself.
Even the strongest fortress fails from within.
The obese Lord Dayne was confined in a chamber beside the kitchens, watching helplessly as his eldest son dined calmly.
"For the crown, Father," the young Dayne said fervently. "The crown of the King of the Torrentine returns to us."
"You fool!" the lord roared against the stone door. "At least leave me food!"
The door did not open.
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