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Strictly speaking, during the entire first half of Year 300 After the Conquest, Daenerys Targaryen — who, by that point, already commanded military strength not to be underestimated by the standards of the Seven Kingdoms — had essentially been… coasting.
How should one put it?
Every day she dined comfortably in the rear lines, watching from afar as the rebel lords of the North fought and bled for a throne that she believed rightfully hers. And honestly? It felt pretty good.
Then came the news: Dragonstone had been attacked.
Stannis Baratheon's stronghold, his personal seat of power, had been completely overrun by some mysterious group of pirates. The information took its time, drifting slowly down the continent until it finally reached the southernmost stronghold in all of Westeros: Sunspear, where Queen Daenerys now resided.
As soon as the report arrived, Prince Doran Martell sought her out without delay. He found the young queen in the gardens, feeding her dragons, and immediately broached the subject.
Now, from a purely political standpoint, the attack on Dragonstone — the destruction of the usurper's brother's base of operations — had very little to do with Daenerys herself. Their paths did not cross, their alliances did not overlap. But even so, they had to consider the broader implications of the incident.
Because Stannis had only one child. And that child, by chance… or by fate… had been on Dragonstone when the assault took place.
The girl's name was Shireen Baratheon. And after the bloodbath, she had vanished without a trace.
No group had stepped forward to claim responsibility for the attack. No message, no threat, no ransom. Nothing. The girl was simply gone. The rumors that had made their way south said pirates were behind it — but any Westerosi noble with a functioning brain knew that explanation didn't hold water.
Pirates value their lives and chase profit. That's their nature. So why would they storm Dragonstone, clash head-on with Stannis's garrison, and risk heavy losses… for what exactly?
The island had nothing of value. The most abundant thing there was —bird-dropping-covered rocks. And what pirate would care about that? They weren't farmers.
So, across Westeros, a quiet consensus began to form. This was no random raid. This was a calculated strike, aimed directly at Stannis Baratheon's only heir… Shireen. The pirate story? Just a convenient cover.
Which led to a deeper, more troubling question:
If some hidden force had indeed taken Shireen Baratheon, then why hadn't they used her yet?
Why not step forward with a threat? Why not declare: "We have your daughter—yield, or she dies"?
She wasn't a treasure. She wasn't a weapon. Just a little girl, barely old enough to understand her own value. And unlike a prized artifact or a castle, she couldn't be hidden away for years hoping she'd reproduce more bargaining chips.
As for how Stannis himself had reacted upon hearing the news… Daenerys couldn't say for sure. She hadn't received anything from King's Landing.
Still, one thing was certain: he couldn't have taken it well.
The man was already getting on in years. While he hadn't entirely lost the ability to father a child, his chances were dwindling fast. And with Renly's armies tightening the siege around the Red Keep, where was he supposed to find someone willing to bear him another heir now?
And so, with the sudden and mysterious disappearance of Shireen Baratheon, the already volatile political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms shifted once more. The realm descended deeper into chaos, becoming harder to predict and nearly impossible to navigate.
"Your Grace," came the report, "His Grace Clay remains in the North. There doesn't appear to be any immediate danger. From what I've gathered, he has already shown himself at Riverrun. It seems he is beginning to assert command over Edmure Tully's army."
Prince Doran Martell delivered the message to Daenerys personally. His expression was composed, but there was a trace of concern in his eyes. He explained that news always arrived late in Dorne. Isolated by both geography and politics, the southern kingdom had long remained in a world of its own. Its people cared little for the affairs of the far North, and word often reached them even later than it did the North itself.
"Mmm, it's fine. I trust him," Daenerys said with a soft nod. "We had an agreement before he left. Once he feels the North is truly under control, he'll return to Sunspear and begin planning the campaign against King's Landing."
Her tone was calm, and the gesture that followed made it clear to Prince Doran that she was not particularly worried.
Back when he first departed for the North, they had received word of Robb Stark's disastrous defeat. The news had shaken everyone. At the time, Daenerys and Doran had even discussed whether they should send someone after Clay, to bring him back before things spiraled further out of control.
But in the end, Daenerys had chosen to trust him.
She believed in her husband. If Clay Manderly had decided to head north, then it meant he was ready for everything that journey might bring. If he hadn't been… then he wouldn't be the man he was today.
And now, the strength of all Dorne had been fully mobilized.
At first, only sixteen thousand soldiers had gathered at Sunspear. But over the course of several months, with relentless recruitment and a steady flow of support from Prince Oberyn, that number had nearly doubled. At present, the total forces stationed in Sunspear were approaching thirty thousand.
Eight thousand of them formed Daenerys's royal household guard — a formidable fighting force made up entirely of Unsullied, disciplined and completely loyal. Oberyn had once attempted to broker a deal with the representative of Pentos to hire the Golden Company, but so far, no word had returned from across the Narrow Sea.
The remaining twenty thousand belonged to the armies of Dorne. The reason they had been able to raise such a large force was simple — Dorne had never needed to station large garrisons in the rear.
Historically, the Dornish had resisted invasion from the Iron Throne again and again, and those generations of defiance had forged a cultural legacy: an immensely strong militia tradition among the common folk. Almost every able-bodied man could be called upon to fight when needed. This meant Dorne could safely send out nearly its entire army to campaign beyond its borders without fear of being left defenseless.
And now, with each passing day, four great dragons soared across the sky above Sunspear — larger, louder, and more terrifying than before. The armies swelled beneath them, and the nobles of Dorne could feel the fire rising in their blood.
Their passion for war was boiling over. They could barely contain the urge to strike.
Led by House Yronwood, the lords of Dorne had begun petitioning Prince Doran and Queen Daenerys more and more frequently, urging them to launch the campaign without further delay. Their soldiers were ready. Their hearts were ready. Every battalion had taken their place, prepared to move at a moment's notice.
Every day now, Sunspear's halls echoed with the voices of assembled lords, packed shoulder to shoulder in the great meeting chambers. When they weren't feasting on roasted meats or downing cups of Dornish red, they crowded around an enormous map of the southern regions of Westeros; strategizing, arguing, and planning detailed assaults on both the Stormlands and the Reach.
The lords from the western parts of Dorne pushed for an aggressive strategy. Since House Tyrell and its vassals had concentrated their forces at King's Landing, they argued that now was the time to strike through the Prince's Pass, then pivot sharply westward and launch a direct assault on Highgarden, taking the Tyrells' ancestral seat by surprise.
Meanwhile, the nobles of the east had a different strategy in mind. They too supported sending a full army through the Prince's Pass, but their objective was not the same. They intended to turn eastward, sweeping through the Stormlands and capturing one castle after another.
The region was already weakened, its defenses thin and scattered, and they believed it could be subdued through a steady, methodical advance. Once the Stormlands were under their control, they would push onward into the Kingswood, gradually tightening the noose and waiting for the perfect moment to strike at the capital.
But regardless of which plan they supported, both sides shared the same sentiment:
Your Grace, Prince Doran… can we please stop sitting on our hands? We're tired of waiting. Let us fight.
Daenerys and Prince Doran weren't the type to be stubborn for the sake of formality. It wasn't that they insisted on waiting for Clay to return to Sunspear before launching their campaign. No, what held them back was something else… something far more complicated.
They feared that if they suddenly made a move, regardless of who they chose to strike first, it might provoke a counterattack… not from just one enemy, but from both Baratheon kings.
Because whether it was House Stark, Arryn, or Tully, or even House Tyrell — despite their alignment with Renly — they had all, in Daenerys's view, committed no unpardonable crimes. Most of them, she believed, could still be spared when the time came to rebuild the realm.
But the Baratheons… they were different.
The Baratheons knew, deep in their bones, that if House Targaryen ever returned to power, there would be no room for coexistence. It would be war to the bitter end… one house must fall for the other to rise.
So making the first move now, launching this invasion early… was, in truth, a gamble.
If those two Baratheon kings became blinded by rage and ignored what Daenerys was doing in their own lands, if they continued tearing each other apart without pause, then everything would fall neatly into place. She could strike quickly, seize what she needed, and end it before they even turned their heads.
But if, by some twist of fate, they came to their senses… if they stopped fighting and turned their swords toward Daenerys—
Then she would find herself facing not one army, but two.
And combined, their total strength could easily exceed one hundred thousand men, backed by the might of the royal fleet — still the most powerful navy on the western shores of the Narrow Sea.
That pressure… was far too great.
In that case, the Dornish army would have no choice but to retreat back to their homeland. The dragons would be forced to take to the skies in open battle, and that, in turn, would carry massive risks. Risks that would completely undermine their original intention… striking only when the enemy was weak and distracted, and avoiding unnecessary loss.
This was the reason Prince Doran and Queen Daenerys had spent all this time holding back the hot-blooded Dornish lords who now brimmed with war-lust. Of all the great houses, none hated the Lannisters more than the Martells. Their feud was soaked in blood, bound by generations of grief. The desire to march north and take revenge burned brighter in them than in anyone else.
But still… as the old saying went:
"Retribution comes not when we want it, but when the time is right."
So they waited…
But that uneasy peace in Dorne didn't last much longer.
It was soon broken… by an unexpected visitor.
Daenerys and Prince Doran stood together in the courtyard, staring with growing confusion at the young girl who stood awkwardly before them, clearly unsure of what to do. Beside her, a knight had already been disarmed and stripped of his weapons, surrounded by vigilant Dornish guards.
Neither of them could make sense of the scene… not at first.
Ordinary little girls didn't usually warrant the personal attention of both the Queen of Dragons and the Prince of Dorne. But this one… this one was different.
Because if the girl truly was who she appeared to be — Shireen Baratheon, the only heir of Stannis — then the entire situation changed completely.
Daenerys did not address the girl directly. Her gaze turned cold, her brows knitting together as she shifted her gaze toward the knight from House Tarth, who stood stiff and pale, clearly still shaken by the sight of her dragon.
"A knight of House Tarth," she said, her voice steady but filled with challenge, "why didn't your lord come in person? Why send you in his place? Was he afraid I might show him what the wrath of a true dragon truly looks like?"
She didn't shout. She didn't need to. Every word landed like a stone, heavy and deliberate.
This was the man who'd arrived in Sunspear by boat, bringing Shireen Baratheon with him.
On the way to the city, while still on horseback, he'd been caught off guard by a deafening roar from Gaelithox as the dragon swept across the skies. The sound had sent his warhorse rearing in panic, and he'd been thrown straight off the saddle, crashing hard into the dirt.
Now, disheveled and dust-covered, he was still in a daze, clearly struggling to process what he'd just witnessed.
Daenerys's voice snapped him out of his trance. As her words reached him, he jolted upright as if waking from a nightmare, sweat already beading on his forehead as he stared at the silver-haired, violet-eyed queen standing before him.
"Uh… Your Grace," he stammered, voice trembling. "Forgive my behavior. I… lost my composure. Your dragon is… unforgettable."
He spoke honestly, then gave a tight, embarrassed smile. With a helpless shrug, he gestured toward the little girl beside him and continued in a weary, almost regretful tone.
"Your Grace, House Tarth… we were tricked. Dragged into something rotten by those rose-wearing devils bound straight for the Seven Hells."
"Our lord believed he was acting under direct orders from King Renly himself. The message we received instructed us to launch a surprise attack on Dragonstone, with explicit commands to eliminate both Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen."
"So… we followed through. Gritting our teeth, we carried out the orders exactly as they were written. By the time we left Dragonstone, no one was left alive. Only the queen and the princess had been spared."
"But on our journey back, Lord Tarth began to grow suspicious. Something about the whole thing didn't sit right. So, he detained the man who'd delivered the supposed royal command and questioned him directly."
"What we discovered was horrifying. The whole thing had been staged by House Tyrell. They'd stolen King Renly's seal and forged the command, all to use us as their pawns. The real King Renly had never issued such an order at all."
"When word of the attack reached King's Landing, King Renly was very furious. He saw what we had done as a betrayal. House Tyrell, of course, denied everything. They refused to admit any part in the scheme. As for the man who'd delivered the forged order… once he was sent to King's Landing, he mysteriously died of 'sudden illness' before he could testify."
"So that was it. With the only witness conveniently dead, the truth was buried. No one left to vouch for us. And King Renly — either to protect his public image or to avoid a full-on rupture with the Tyrells — chose to punish House Tarth instead."
"Lord Tarth was stripped of his lands and titles and sent to King's Landing to face judgment. Before he left, he gave me one final order: to bring the still-living Princess Shireen Baratheon here to Sunspear, to place her safely in your hands as a gesture of House Tarth's good faith."
"And in return, he hoped that… if Your Grace ever defeats both Renly and Stannis, you might show mercy to his daughter, Brienne. She serves as one of Renly's Rainbow Guard."
The knight's voice gradually faded as he laid bare the entire truth in a single breath. His tone grew heavier with every word, and by the end, a quiet fire burned beneath it; a simmering blend of shame, frustration, and tightly held anger.
In the end, House Tarth's only crime was failing to see through the deception in time. They had acted in earnest, marching to battle under a forged banner, believing they were serving King Renly faithfully. Instead, they had attacked Stannis's stronghold, severing all chance of reconciliation and tying their fate to Renly's cause alone.
And what did their loyalty earn them? Nothing but scorn and punishment from the very king they thought they were serving.
High above, on the platform, Daenerys and Prince Doran exchanged a long look, both silent, both thoughtful. There was much to consider…
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[Chapter End's]
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