Divide and Conquer, Chapter 16: Submission at the Eyrie

They almost made it too easy, Rhaenys could not help but think. Almost the entirety of the Vale’s army had massed at the Bloody Gate...

Seventh Moon, 107 AD (6 AC)

Rhaenys

They almost made it too easy, Rhaenys could not help but think. Almost the entirety of the Vale’s army had massed at the Bloody Gate, cramming its battlements and barracks to the brim and filling the valley behind it with their tents. The Vale’s army stood in a perfect formation, ready to throw back their own army marching up the road, as they had thrown back and bloodied every invader in history, earning the gate its name.

But they were not like all the other invaders of ancient times’ past. For in the skies above their army, Rhaenys and her siblings rode astride the greatest dragons the world had seen since the Doom. Her darling Meraxes shone in the noontide sun, resplendent like a true queen, as befit the epithet she had been graced with in recent years. The Silver Queen would see glory and battle again soon alongside Vhagar the Bronze Fury and Balerion the Black Dread.

Their riders were as renown as they were. Rhaenys herself had been known as the Ruthless ever since her brutal campaign in the Iron Islands for all that the court of Summerhall preferred the more polite and appreciative ‘Radiant’ in reference to her beauty. Visenya was herself known as the ‘Valiant’ for none could deny her bravery despite her early retirement from the Iron Islands campaign and Rhaenys was sure that she would cement ‘Victorious’ in her reputation soon enough as well. And for all that their enemies liked to slander her as the Witch-Queen for her sorcery and supposed cruelty as their kingdom’s spymaster, Visenya didn’t mind that moniker either.

And then there was their lord husband Aegon. Already known as Aegon the Dragon, as Aegon the Conqueror after his conquest of three Westerosi kingdoms. Rhaenys could only dream of seeing how much higher his legend could rise. One day, all of Westeros from Dorne to the Wall would hail him as Aegon the Great, the Unifier, and she would be the first to bow before him and call him her emperor and king.

She knew all of their epithets and reputations intimately. As the Mistress of Words, it was one of her duties alongside Visenya’s to maintain and cultivate them after all. She was the one who had created most of the epithets anyway, discreetly paying bards in taverns to sing songs in their name and spread word of their legend around. Fame was a power all on its own, able to make men rise and die for you and to make your enemies surrender at simply the sight of you.

And what did the Valemen seek to wield against their power? Against their majesty and splendor, their loyal armies and above all their great dragons? They thought themselves prepared for their coming, their ranks bristling with their scorpions, crossbows, and longbows. Weapons they held so tightly they almost began shaking as the fear set in.

The Vale had thought themselves strong. They thought wrong.

As if with one mind, Rhaenys and her siblings urged their dragons down into a dive. The world burst to life with beautiful colors. Black-red incinerated through the gates and eviscerated the battlements. Silver-gold tore through the barracks. Blue-green immolated men in their armor, cooking them alive before they turned to ash and then nothing.

When the dust settled, when the fires finally burned out, nothing remained of the Vale’s army. The famous Bloody Gate had been cracked open like an egg and the way was open to the Eyrie. As Harrenhal and Casterly Rock and all the others before had shown, no fortress or army could withstand their dragons, and with every example they made, their fame and infamy would only grow. Just the way Rhaenys wanted it.

Their army had grown in the years since the conquests of the Westerlands and Iron Islands. They now fielded three legions and two companies of knights, and nearly sixty thousand in feudal levies and banners besides. Only a third of the feudal banners had been summoned for this campaign however, along with all three legions and one knight company. The remainder of the knights and banners had been left back home, under the command of Rhaenys’ nephew Aerion and her daughter Valaena.

Thinking of them settled some of Rhaenys’ usual unease at the thought of the children all alone without any of their parents at home with them. Valaena and Aerion had grown up into responsible young adults and though they were only three and ten and not yet of age themselves, they were already old enough to look after themselves and their younger siblings and that put her heart more at ease.

She knew Visenya and Aegon felt the same. Valaena and Aerion’s age ensured that the three of them could focus on this campaign with no distractions.

Once their army had collected what could be salvaged from the enemy army’s encampment (which included nearly all of their supplies, Rhaenys and her siblings were nothing but precise), they continued their march and within the week they were at the Gates of the Moon.

The Giant’s Lance speared high into the sky, the Gates of the Moon stout and strong at its base, the three waycastles of Stone, Snow, and Sky on the road snaking its way up the mountain, and six hundred feet above Sky, accessible only by winch or treacherous handholds carved into the face of the mountain was the Eyrie itself. With defenses like this, it was easy to see why all in Westeros thought the Eyrie impregnable. But then, they had said much the same of the Bloody Gate, Casterly Rock, and all the others now hadn’t they.

Yet for all of her intent to make more examples of the might of their dragons, Rhaenys could not bring herself to desire the Eyrie’s destruction. The castle was so beautiful, seven fine marble towers stretching into the sky atop an idyllic mountain. The romantic in her sang at the sight. It was not every day that you saw a castle straight out of all the tales you had grown up on as a child. Who better to have a castle in the sky than the dragonlords born to master the skies?

She hoped the Arryns chose wisely. It would be a shame to destroy such a lovely castle even if the example it would set would only cement the dominance and invincibility of dragons in the minds of the Westerosi.

“Shall we?” Rhaenys said, turning to her siblings.

“Yes,” Aegon replied before he urged Balerion into the sky. Rhaenys and Visenya were quick on their tail, Meraxes and Vhagar eager to catch up with their mate.

The Giant’s Lance rose three and a half miles above the valley below and the Eyrie stood astride one of the mountain’s shoulders, thousands of feet above the plain but dragons made short work of such distances. Soon enough, they had reached the Eyrie and the castle looked no less beautiful up close than it had from afar.

Rhaenys and Visenya descended, landing their dragons in the courtyard much like Visenya had done in another world. Unlike that time however, where she had taken the risk of a single arrow slaying her alone, this time there were two of them and Aegon still circling the castle with Balerion. They also were not dismounting from their dragons in case they needed a quick escape. The risks were great nonetheless though and Rhaenys knew none of them were pleased to be taking them but they had judged it necessary for their plans to succeed.

The fearful and panicked Arryn guardsmen were shaking in their boots as they cried out. “Inform King Ronnel Arryn, his mother Queen Regent Sharra, and his brother Prince Jonos that their presence is expected in the yard at once!” Rhaenys shouted.

“Don’t leave us waiting,” Visenya warned with an edge in her voice.

They did not. Within a few minutes, the Arryns had arrived in the yard. All of them clearly on guard yet doing their best to act the picture of stern royals and not show it. King Ronnel especially did well pretending to be brave for a fourteen-year old boy, while his younger brother Jonos carried a short bow in his arms.

“Why have you come and declared an unprovoked war on my kingdom Targaryens?” he asked.

Because we want your kingdom. Because you are soon to marry your Gardener bride and we cannot allow your alliance with the coalition to the south to solidify. Because with you and your family in our custody, your southern allies will stay their hand and the Vale will surrender easily to our armies.

But Rhaenys did not say any of that, instead she said, “The reasons do not matter. All that does is that we have an army beneath your mountain and three dragons at your castle. The choice for you is simple King Ronnel. Surrender. Submit yourself and your kin to our custody where you will be treated with honor and order your castle and your kingdom to yield to us.”

“And if I refuse?” Ronnel asked defiantly.

“Then we will destroy the Eyrie with you and your family in it,” Visenya retorted.

“If we’re going to die anyway, why don’t we take you down with us?” Jonos Arryn demanded brashly, nocking an arrow and drawing his bow as he aimed straight for Rhaenys.

Instantly Meraxes and Vhagar growled, their wings moving to shield their riders.

“Try it if you dare!” Visenya snarled. “But know this Jonos Arryn. Our husband still flies in the skies above this castle. No matter the outcome of this, your death and that of everyone you love will be neither short nor painless!”

“Boys! Enough! It is over. We tried and we lost. Now it is time that we protect our family and ourselves by yielding,” Sharra Arryn spoke at last and her two sons relented under her will.

Addressing the two of them, she asked. “Do I have your word that my sons will not be harmed if we kneel?” She asked not for herself but only for her sons Rhaenys could not help but notice.

Feeling herself filled with respect, she answered. “Yes. On my word as one mother to another. They will not be harmed.”

“Then I yield this castle and this kingdom to you Rhaenys Targaryen,” she said before she kneeled, dragging her two sons by the scruffs of their stubborn necks down with her.

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As soon as the Arryns had surrendered, they had immediately taken Ronnel and Jonos hostage to ensure their mother and the garrison’s compliance with the surrender. Within the day their forces had secured the entire complex from the Gates of the Moon through the three waycastles of Stone, Snow, and Sky all the way up to the Eyrie itself, disarming the garrisons and taking charge of the castles for themselves.

Aegon had then personally flown the Arryns back to Summerhall where they would live securely as their hostages under house arrest until the Vale was pacified and they could be sent to the Wall or Silent Sisters. Meanwhile Rhaenys and Visenya had set about consolidating their grip on the Eyrie even more and began dispatching ravens across the Vale announcing the surrender of House Arryn and demanding the submission of their vassals.

Few had actually agreed to submit but that suited them just fine. There would be plenty of castles to give out to their loyalists.

Now with Aegon having just recently returned from Summerhall, they were holding their first major meeting with their commanders ever since the Eyrie had surrendered. And what better way to demonstrate who the new rulers of the Vale were then by holding that meeting in the Eyrie’s very own High Hall?

“Announcing His Grace! Aegon of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Rivers and Hills, King of the Isles and Rock, King of Mountain and Vale, Lord of Summerhall and Dragonstone Shield of His People, and Protector of the Realm!” Rhaenys announced with glee.

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The Other Arryn

“Ser Hubert, what are we going to do?” one of the men asked desperately.

Hubert didn’t answer, giving in to despair as he realized what had happened to his beloved kingdom. As he finally understood just how close he had come to death. He had been there at the Bloody Gate just days prior to the Targaryen assault, having been sent away for a routine supply run before they had attacked.

By the slightest chance of fortune he had escaped where everyone else had died and his own cousins had been taken prisoner and the Eyrie itself now served the invaders. What hope was there for the Vale now?

Yet as he looked at the men around him, saw the desperate looks on their faces, Hubert found some measure of resolve harden within his spirit. He was the last free Arryn now. Someone had to lead these men and give them hope in these dark times.

The Faith Militant stood with them as well he reminded himself, seeing their banners in the room and he took heart, remembering the promise of aid the Faith, the Reach, and the Stormlands had given his cousins before the Targaryens had invaded.

As his resolve continued to grow, he began to realize that perhaps the Seven had spared him for a glorious purpose. To fight and free the Vale from the incestuous heathen invaders in their name. Why else would he have lived when so many others had died? No, he was meant for something more.

Hubert took stock of their situation, his despair fading away as he calmed himself down from his panic enough to think. Right now, they were hiding in one of the refuges that had been built in the Mountains of the Moon after they had destroyed the mountain clans a few years earlier. Like all the others that had been built, the refuge was well-stocked with supplies, weapons, and armor and there were many scouts among his men who knew the routes and pathways to the other refuges where other survivors had no doubt fled.

Together they stood a chance, to strike back against the Targaryens, to bleed them dry for the dire mistake they had made invading the Vale. And when their allies in the south came to their aid, they would crush the Targaryens.

“Men of the Vale! Warrior’s Sons! Poor Fellows” he called out, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could. All the men in the refuge turned to look at him, paying him rapt attention, as he continued his speech.

“I know our situation seems hopeless. That we will never be able to throw off the yoke of these heathen and accursed invaders. But take heart, for though thousands of our countrymen lay dead at the Bloody Gate, tens of thousands of our brothers and sisters in the Seven rally to our aid from the Reach and Stormlands even as we speak!

“We need only prove our faith and hold out long enough for them to muster and we shall be delivered! So the Seven will it!”

“So the Seven will it!” the Faith Militant chorused.

“Take heart!” he continued. “For though my cousins are imprisoned, I am still with you! I am the nephew of King Joffrey, the cousin of King Ronnel, and in the absence of any other heirs to the Weirwood Throne, I hereby declare myself Prince-Regent of the Vale!

“Follow me, and I swear that I shall not rest until the Vale is freed from the invader! For the Seven! For the Vale! As High as Honor!”

With the will to fight stoked in their hearts once again, the men all rose to their feet.

“FOR THE SEVEN!! FOR THE VALE!! AS HIGH AS HONOR!!”

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Author’s Note: Thank you all for being so patient with me with the monthly updates and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!

The middle section of this chapter was basically just the steamiest and filthiest smut I’ve ever written… As a writer exploring new things, I can’t help but feel proud of what I have accomplished (and as a reader I’m pleased for other reasons lmao). At the same time, I can’t help but be disbelieving that I wrote something like this even now. I create… but at what cost?

Thanks to Jordan Redstark for making the maps!

Let me know what you thought about that scene and the rest of the chapter, as well any of your other thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord! https://discord.com/invite/NSEwuzpcWm