Rewriting Targaryen History

Rhaenys had not been gone half a day before the sky above Honeyholt felt emptier.

Meleys had been more than another dragon beside our army. She had been an answer. While the Red Queen remained near the walls, Ormund Hightower could not easily believe Vhagar or Sunfyre would command the air without resistance. With Rhaenys flying for Driftmark, that balance rested upon Dravvaxx and me.

It was not a comforting burden.

Dravvaxx was large, powerful, and older than Tessarion or Sunfyre, but Vhagar was a different measure of danger. If Aemond appeared, I could not rely upon strength alone. I would need speed, height, discipline, and enough fortune to fill the space between them. Sunfyre was smaller, but Aegon did not need to be a brilliant rider to make dragonfire deadly over men trapped in formation.

Ormund remained beneath the forest canopy, and the hidden ballistas that had killed Moondancer were still somewhere among his wagons. The Reach had not grown kinder while our attention divided.

The first sign that Ormund was moving came from scouts watching the southern edge of the forest. They reported columns slipping along the covered roads before dawn, banners furled and armour muffled where possible. Wagons moved between the trees. Mounted officers were seen directing men toward a broader road that ran south-west before bending toward Oldtown.

At first, it might have been another deception. By midday, three separate patrols had seen enough to remove doubt. Ormund was withdrawing his host from the forest in stages. Not toward us. Not toward Highgarden. South. Toward Oldtown.

I gathered the senior officers inside Honeyholt’s hall as soon as the third report arrived. The place still bore the scars of siege, though the table had been cleared and repaired well enough to carry maps without collapsing beneath them.

Black Rat stood opposite me, silent until Grey Worm translated. Dick had already placed his ledgers beside the map, because even the movement of an enemy army somehow required numbers to become real in his hands. Landrey arrived last, mud on his boots from the outer patrols.

I moved the Hightower markers along the southern road.

"If Ormund reaches Oldtown with the bulk of his host intact, he can place more than sixteen thousand effective men behind the city’s walls," I said. "Perhaps more, depending on how many wounded recover and what fresh levies gather on the way."

Landrey studied the line. "Oldtown is too large to encircle easily."

"And too rich to starve quickly," Dick added. "The Honeywine, harbour, surrounding lands, and stores make a long siege expensive before one considers the walls."

"We would also be fighting beneath the Hightower’s shadow," I said. "If Vhagar and Sunfyre return there, taking the city without dragonfire becomes a slaughter. Taking it with dragonfire would be worse."

No one needed the picture explained.

Oldtown was not a minor castle surrounded by empty land. It was one of the greatest cities in Westeros, packed with septons, maesters, merchants, sailors, labourers, children, and families who had never been asked which son of Viserys should wear a crown. Burning its gates open would kill the guilty and innocent without distinction. Storming the walls would cost thousands even before Hightower dragons joined the defence.

Black Rat spoke in High Valyrian, his tone flat and practical.

Grey Worm translated. "He says the enemy must not reach the city in good order. If they are stopped on the road, they remain an army with limited supply. If they reach Oldtown, they become a garrison with walls, ships, and stores."

"He is right."

Landrey pointed toward the forest’s southern edge. "The vanguard has already begun leaving cover. If we move cavalry around the eastern side, we may strike the road before the main body follows."

"And expose the cavalry to whatever Ormund has placed beyond sight," I replied. "He has already shown he understands bait. If we rush ground troops after the first visible column, he may turn from the trees and crush them before the army can support."

Landrey did not like it, but he did not argue from pride. "Then we advance the whole host."

"No."

That answer drew every eye.

"Our army remains where it is," I said. "Honeyholt is secure, but the forest still conceals most of Ormund’s strength. We do not know whether the movement south is a withdrawal, a feint, or the beginning of a trap meant to pull us away from prepared ground. No infantry leaves the defensive lines. No cavalry chases retreating banners. No man mistakes movement for collapse."

Dick looked at the map, then at me. "You intend to stop the vanguard yourself."

"Yes."

The room grew quieter.

Grey Worm spoke softly with Black Rat. Black Rat’s expression remained unreadable, though his eyes shifted toward the window as if measuring the distance between Dravvaxx and the forest.

Landrey folded his arms. "Without Meleys."

"Without Meleys."

"With hidden ballistas already proven capable of killing a dragon."

"Yes."

"That is a poor plan."

"It is the least poor plan available."

He exhaled through his nose. "I expected you to say something irritatingly sensible."

"I can become less sensible if that helps."

"It would not."

Black Rat spoke again, longer this time.

Grey Worm listened carefully before translating. "He says if you fly, the army must have one commander whose orders cannot be mistaken. He also says that if you die, uncertainty will spread faster than truth."

"I am giving command of the field to Black Rat."

Dick looked up sharply.

I continued. "While I am in the sky, Black Rat commands the army. The Unsullied hold the centre and Honeyholt’s immediate approaches. Legion companies remain in their assigned lines. Landrey controls the cavalry but does not advance beyond the marked boundary unless Black Rat orders it."

Landrey nodded reluctantly.

"Dick," I said, "you control supply, messages, signal confirmation, and the defensive reserve. Every horn call is repeated through your runners so no company decides it heard an advance that was never ordered. If Ormund’s men emerge elsewhere, you support Black Rat in shifting the lines without emptying Honeyholt."

Dick stared at me. "You are giving a ledger keeper responsibility for preventing thirteen thousand men from doing something stupid."

"You have spent years preventing thousands of men from doing stupid things with grain. This is only louder."

"I dislike the confidence you place in me."

"You may complain after I return."

"And if you do not?"

"Complain to Vaeron. He will appreciate the consistency."

Dick’s face tightened, but there was fear beneath the irritation. "Return, then. I have no desire to explain to your brother why I let you die above a forest."

"You are not letting me do anything. I outrank your objections."

"That has never made your decisions wiser."

The exchange steadied the room more than reassurance would have. Men trusted familiar irritation because it sounded less like farewell.

I turned to Black Rat and spoke in High Valyrian so there could be no distortion in translation.

"You hold the army. Even if the vanguard breaks, you do not pursue. Even if Ormund’s banners appear to flee, you do not pursue. If Vhagar or Sunfyre comes, spread the men according to the dragon signals and keep them away from the castle walls where fire could trap them. If I fall, the army withdraws toward Honeyholt’s prepared lines and waits for Rhaenyra’s command."

Black Rat listened, then answered with the bluntness I expected. "If you fall, your dragon may fall among the army. Do not bring him down over us."

"I will try to choose a more convenient death."

He did not smile. "You are not permitted to die for convenience," Grey Worm translated after Black Rat’s next reply. "He says you are required to return because replacing commanders wastes time."

"That sounds like affection from him."

"It was not."

"Good. I would worry otherwise."

The orders moved through the camp before I left the hall.

Every company was told the same thing: hold position. Archers remained prepared. Cavalry horses were saddled but not sent forward. Unsullied ranks tightened along the approaches south of Honeyholt. Legion scouts continued watching the forest from distance, but none entered. Men could see movement beyond the trees, and that visibility made the order harder. Soldiers hated watching an enemy escape more than they hated waiting for one to appear.

They obeyed anyway. That was why they were still alive.

I found Dravvaxx beyond the eastern wall.

He had felt the change in me long before I reached him. His head was raised, silver eyes fixed southward, wings slightly open as if the air itself had become a warning. The dark amethyst of his scales looked almost black beneath the afternoon cloud.

I placed both hands against his neck. "We are going close again," I said. "Closer than I would like."

Smoke curled from his nostrils.

"The men leaving the forest cannot reach Oldtown. We burn the front, not the trees. We stay high until the last moment. The machines will be waiting."

Dravvaxx rumbled, the sound passing through my armour.

I checked the saddle myself. Every buckle. Every strap. The fastening across my thighs. The signal horns secured near my side. My armour was practical rather than ceremonial, dark steel with gold detailing dulled enough not to catch every shaft of light. Duty’s Thorn was with Vaeron, but the sword at my hip was sharp, though steel mattered little in the work ahead.

I mounted.

Honeyholt’s walls were crowded despite orders for men to remain at their posts. They wanted to watch. Some wanted to see punishment for Moondancer. Others wanted proof that the Hightower army would not reach Oldtown while they stood trapped behind orders.

I gave Black Rat one final signal from the saddle. Hold. He answered with the Unsullied horn.

Dravvaxx took to the sky.

We climbed north first, away from the forest and the expected direction of attack. I wanted height before turning south, and I wanted Ormund’s watchers uncertain whether I meant to circle, scout, or leave entirely. The wind strengthened above the clouds. Honeyholt shrank beneath us. The forest became a dark patch of green crossed by narrow openings and thin lines of movement.

From above, the withdrawal showed itself more clearly.

Ormund was sending the vanguard through the southern exit in a long column. Infantry came first, then cavalry, then wagons. More men waited beneath the canopy behind them. The road beyond the forest opened into fields before bending toward the south-west. Once enough troops reached that open ground, they could spread and protect the movement of the rest.

The visible column was already several thousand strong. I kept Dravvaxx high and turned east, placing the clouded sun behind us. The ballista crews would be searching the obvious approaches from Honeyholt. I would not give them one.

Below, horns sounded. They had seen us.

The vanguard began changing formation. Men scattered from the road where officers had enough command to make them move. Wagons turned sideways. Canvas covers fell from several shapes near the forest edge, though distance prevented me from counting machines clearly. I saw long arms lifting and knew enough. Scorpions. More than three.

Dravvaxx folded one wing and began to descend.

The first bolt passed far below us, loosed too early by a crew frightened by the angle. The second came closer, a black line rising through the air ahead of Dravvaxx’s left wing. He twisted with a speed his size concealed until needed, and the bolt passed through the space where his chest had been.

The third forced us higher again. I did not rush. That was what Ormund wanted. A straight descent, rage given shape, a dragon committed to one line while hidden crews measured speed and distance. I turned wide, then wider still, making the machines follow us. Some could rotate. Others had to be dragged by teams to shift their firing angle.

Men below scattered farther from the road. The vanguard was becoming disorderly before the fire touched it.

I brought Dravvaxx around from the north.

This time we descended with the wind behind us.

The first line of soldiers saw the shadow and broke before officers could stop them. Men ran into wagons. Horses reared. A company tried to form shields as if wood and leather could protect them from what came.

I aimed Dravvaxx along the road rather than across it. "Dracarys."

Fire rolled over the vanguard.

Dark purple-black flame struck the forward companies, swallowing men, horses, carts, and banners in one long pass. The road disappeared beneath heat and smoke. Men who had been running south turned back toward the forest, only to collide with those still emerging from cover. Wagons caught. Oil, rope, timber, grain, and dry canvas fed the blaze until the column became its own obstacle.

I pulled Dravvaxx upward before the scorpions could correct. Bolts followed.

One passed beneath his tail. Another struck the air close enough to make him roar and bank hard. A third tore through the edge of his right wing membrane, not deep enough to cripple, but enough that I felt the shock through his body. He climbed despite it, anger entering the bond between us like hot metal.

"Stay with me," I shouted. "Do not dive yet."

He wanted to. I felt that clearly. The machines below had hurt him, and dragons did not separate pain from vengeance with the care rulers asked of men. I pulled the reins and pressed my hand against his neck, turning command into contact.

We climbed into cloud. For several breaths, the battlefield vanished. Smoke followed us upward in dark columns. Dravvaxx’s breathing was heavy but steady. The wing still held. I looked along the membrane and saw a narrow tear, bloody at the edges, painful but survivable.

Below, Ormund’s vanguard was trapped between flame and forest.

I turned Dravvaxx again.

The second pass struck the wagons and cavalry forming to the west of the burning road. Men had spread wider now, but horses made larger targets, and panic did the rest. Dravvaxx’s flame swept through mounted ranks before cutting across three scorpion wagons positioned beyond the field. One machine vanished in fire. Another crew abandoned theirs before the flame reached it. The third loosed as we crossed.

The bolt came close enough for me to see the iron head. Dravvaxx rolled sideways. For one sickening moment, the world became smoke, ground, sky, and flame turning around me. My saddle straps held. The bolt passed above his shoulder and disappeared into the cloud behind us.

We climbed again. The field below had become ruin.

The forward two thousand men of Ormund’s withdrawal had carried the worst of it. Some died beneath the first fire. Others burned in the wagons. Many were trampled, thrown from horses, or cut down by their own panic as the column tried to force itself back beneath the trees. I could not count them from the sky. Later reports would estimate near two thousand dead.

From above, numbers became shapes. From the ground, they would become names. That distinction did not make the work easier.

The forest edge filled with men retreating into cover. Officers abandoned the attempt to move south and ordered the surviving vanguard back among the trees. The road to Oldtown was blocked by burning wagons, dead horses, scattered weapons, and flame still consuming the fields nearest the exit.

I made one final pass. Not over the soldiers. Over the road.

Dravvaxx burned the remaining supply wagons and scorched the open ground between the forest and the southern route. I wanted Ormund to understand that every renewed attempt to move in daylight would face the same danger unless he found another answer.

Then I pulled away. I did not descend into the forest. I did not burn the canopy. I did not chase fleeing men beneath leaves where ballistas waited, and Baela might still lie alive or dead among them.

Ormund’s host disappeared once more beneath the trees. Dravvaxx and I returned toward Honeyholt. The flight back felt longer than the attack. His wounded wing worked, though each downward beat carried a tremor through the saddle. I kept our pace measured and our height sufficient in case another machine had been placed beyond the expected field.

No dragon rose to meet us. No Vhagar. No Sunfyre. That absence bothered me almost as much as their appearance would have.

Black Rat’s formations had not moved.

From above, the army remained exactly where I had ordered it, ranks arranged around Honeyholt, cavalry held back, no excited companies racing toward the smoke in search of glory. Dick’s runners moved between positions. Horn signals carried restraint instead of advance.

I felt a surge of gratitude sharp enough to resemble pain.

Dravvaxx landed beyond the walls.

The impact jarred his injured wing, and he roared, turning his head toward the tear as if anger alone could repair it. Dragonkeepers and healers approached cautiously once I dismounted. I kept one hand against his side until he settled enough for them to examine the wound.

Black Rat came first. He spoke in High Valyrian before Grey Worm arrived. "The army held."

"I saw."

"The enemy did not strike elsewhere."

"Not yet."

His gaze moved to Dravvaxx’s wing. "You were hit."

"Grazed."

"Men call wounds grazes when they want praise for surviving them."

"I do not want praise."

"That is good. You will not receive it."

Dick arrived moments later, pale beneath his usual irritation. "Reports from the southern scouts estimate the enemy’s vanguard has been destroyed or driven back," he said. "The road is blocked. Ormund’s main force remains in the forest."

"Losses?"

"Ours suffered none because we did exactly as ordered and remained here like sensible men."

"That sounded almost accusatory."

"It was entirely accusatory."

He looked over me once, confirming for himself that I had returned in one piece. "The first scouts estimate nearly two thousand Hightower men dead," he continued. "Perhaps more wounded. The survivors withdrew beneath cover. No further southward movement has been seen."

I looked toward the distant smoke beyond the fields. Ormund had tried to escape toward Oldtown. I had denied the road.

His host remained trapped beneath the forest canopy, too large to stay there forever and too exposed to move openly while Dravvaxx controlled the southern sky. He still held superior numbers. He still possessed hidden ballistas. He still had routes we had not found and perhaps allies moving toward him from beyond our sight.

The vanguard had burned. The army had stopped. For now.

I placed my hand against Dravvaxx’s neck as the healers began working on the torn wing. His silver eye watched me, angry, tired, and alive. Ormund’s men remained in the forest.

How long they would remain there was the next question.