Chương 46: Chapter 42: Not As Planned
"Do not blame the 'dragon blood' for your short temper."
The castle sept of Blackhaven was a modest thing. Smaller than the castle sept of the Red Keep, it lacked the large glass windows and intricate decorations and massive statues, but that was to be expected. Blackhaven was the seat of a lord and not a king, after all. Instead of elaborate decorations, the stone floors were kept clean, the bare walls covered with pious tapestries. Depictions of Hugor unifying Andalos, images of the Seven, that kind of thing.
And instead of great statues, there were only shrines. Seven shrines, built into the corners of the sept with the faces of the Seven carved into the stone walls themself. It was a clever idea, I had to admit. When the congregation gathered, they were enveloped and surrounded by the grace and love of the Seven.
On almost any other day, I would have loved to attend a service there.
Tragically, I was there to wait.
Waiting for the castle maester to inform me that the hour of the wolf had come. Waiting for everyone to be in position before I left.
Waiting to go to war.
"Father, grant me strength to see this through," I intoned in front of the shrine to the Father. A ring of candles surrounded the polished stone shrine, adding a soft glow to the otherwise dark sept, though the other six shrines let out a similar amount of light. Well, five of them. The shrine to the Stranger had only a single candle.
The one I had put there.
"Mother, grant mercy to the men who come to do harm to my father's lands," I intoned before the shrine of the Mother. Unlike the serious visage of the Father, this one seemed… sad. Mournful. Like something was missing.
"Warrior, guide my hand in this war," I intoned before the war-like face of the next shrine, but its face was anything but eager. Resigned, if anything, but committed to doing its duty.
"Maiden, do not let this war taint our innocence," I intoned before the almost child-like image. The expression felt mocking, as though it knew something I did not. A joke to which I was not privy.
"Smith, do not let our equipment fail us," I intoned before the image that seemed almost insulted at the implication, as though it were possible for the things he crafted to fail.
"Crone, grant me the wisdom to see this done properly," I intoned before the image whose ironic smile suggested that it would certainly take the intervention of the Seven themselves to see it done.
"Stranger…" my voice faltered as I stood before the shrine whose image, shrouded in mystery in accordance with ancient tradition, looked ever so familiar. I had passed by it so often, yet it still made my breath hitch. The face of the Seven whose role was tied ever so closely with death, and they looked familiar? On the ever of battle?
What could possibly go wrong?
"Stranger, please let it be quick," I intoned. Whom did I pray for? My enemies, forced to choose between being burned to death or drowning? My family, whose brush with death I did not wish to extend any more than necessary?
Myself, whom I did not trust to handle this properly?
Already, I was back at the Father's shrine.
"Father, grant me strength to see this through," I intoned for the… tenth time? Twentieth? I had lost count. I appealed my case to Seven, and I had waited. That was all I knew. Mayhaps this cycle of the sept would be the last?
It was another three cycles before the doors finally creaked open.
"Your Grace?" the furtive tones of a castle messenger interrupted my prayers. His hesitance was almost amusing. Did he really think I would be angry at being interrupted? Honestly, how unreasonable did he think I was? "Maester Pate wishes to inform you that it is time."
"Of course." I did not want to waste time, but I still completed that final round of prayer. It would not do to offend the Seven on the eve of battle.
The jangling of my armor was my only companion as I entered the courtyard. The messenger must have fled as soon as his task was complete, but I did not mind. The only company I needed… no, the only company that I was going to get was not far away.
Really, he was nearly at the front steps of the sept.
The Cannibal had claimed the courtyard as his temporary roost, the hard-packed earth already showing numerous furrows the great beast's claws had left as he had curled up for a quick rest. Part of me, no doubt that small grain of wisdom I had inherited from Father, did not want to wake the sleeping dragon but there was work to do.
"Cannibal," I called out softly. Despite the low volume, a single pale green eye opened and focused on me without hesitation. In the near darkness of the new moon, the iris was almost large enough to be mistaken for a sane dragon's. A sane dragon in broad daylight, at least. "It is time for war."
Giving a pleased rumble, the Cannibal unfurled himself, the saddle still strapped to his neck. Even if I could ride him without a saddle, had ridden him more than once without a saddle, it was a precarious experience. Not something I would want to do while dealing with a hail of arrows and bolts.
Still, at least I could appreciate the Cannibal's eagerness. Even after being told he would fight alongside other dragons, there was a suspicious lack of reticence. Was it a need to prove his strength? Or was it simple bloodlust?
His great head lowered, and the horns carved yet more furrows into the dirt. A great weight began to settle into my stomach as I pulled myself into the saddle. Heavy iron chains were looped across my chest, waist, and legs, each binding me to the heavy leather saddle. Each latch was checked twice, opened and closed to verify everything worked and then checked twice more.
Only then did I put on the helmet that would keep my face mostly safe from the wind.
I fumbled for the whip at my belt, my finger feeling like wood.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves. I was flying to war. And after that, I would voluntarily join another. All I needed to do was fly and trust the Cannibal to light the correct people on fire. Simple as.
I forced my mind to focus on the individual spikes that framed the Cannibal's head, hoping my body would simply act according to habit. I did my best not to overthink things- or think at all, for that matter- and eventually, my whip found its way into my hand.
My movement felt stiff, but I still managed to signal the Cannibal to take off, the crack of the whip resounding clearly. The dragon, thankfully, obeyed the signal and took off with a loud and proud roar.
A few more cracks of the whip and the Cannibal was flying towards the sea.
And thus, I waited. There was not much else I could do, really, beyond trying to keep the Cannibal staying his course. Oh, it was a beautiful night. The water below was as dark as the night sky, liberally streaked with silver as the reflected starlight wavered as the waves shifted and broke.
But I could not stare at it for hours on end.
And the Cannibal made for poor conversation.
Thus, all I had was myself and the steadily growing pit of nervousness that was lodged in my stomach. Could I do this? Could I fly head-first into danger?
Did it matter?
On the one hand, the Cannibal would do the hard work. I was merely there to direct him. As much as that was possible, at least.
On the other hand, I was guiding his efforts. Every life snuffed out by the dragon was done with my active help. Was I ready to… to kill people? In what was quite possibly the worst possible way? Even if it was to help my family and to protect the realm?
There was no easy answer. All I could do was pray that all would be well as the Cannibal soared over the sea until the horizon eventually changed from the monotonous silver-speckled black that made it impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began.
The sea grew more jagged as the ships of the great Martell fleet drew closer and closer. Even from a distance, it was clear that my brothers and my father had found them first, little pinpricks of light dancing among the dark ships.
It was not much longer until the Cannibal came close enough for me to get a good look at the battlefield. The small pinpricks of flame had grown to raging fires that raced along the edge of the fleet. Vermithor's dark shape wreaked havoc on the right of the assembled Martell fleet, while pale red Caraxes did the same to the right, each rising high into the sky before diving rapidly to bathe a group of ships in flame.
Vhagar was in the dead center of the assembled ships, venting her fury on the Martell fleet.
Reckless.
Very reckless.
Well, I suppose I could distract the Dornish from my brother.
"Onwards," I whispered, more to myself than to the Cannibal, and directed him onwards with a crack of the whip. He roared once more and began to dive towards the rear of the fleet. The wind howled as it raced through the breaths and eye-slits of my helmet, tearing at my eyes as I tried to keep my eye on the ships I was so rapidly approaching.
Closer and closer the Cannibal flew, until I could see the individual sailors scurrying about on the deck of the nearest ship. They had heard the Cannibal coming, panic writ clear in their movements, and the scorpion mounted at the bow of the ship slowly swiveling towards us as soldiers desperately tried to change targets.
But it was too slow.
A handful of men were trying to load crossbows, but they never had the chance to unleash the bolts as the Cannibal unleashed a gout of pale green flame that washed over the deck of the ship, setting fire to wood, cloth, rope, and man alike.
Signaling with the whip, I was wrenched in my saddle as the Cannibal swerved to change targets, venting the same hellish flame upon the next ship over.
He raced along the rear of the fleet, setting fire to ship after ship after ship, the green of dragon flame swiftly replaced by the more mundane yellows and reds of burning ships as bolts flew all around, as much a threat to me as a splinter might be. The Cannibal roared in triumph as he finished his pass and began to climb once more, and I found myself shouting along with him.
To think I had been afraid! To think I had been nervous!
At my direction, the Cannibal descended once more, setting another line of ships aflame, the rear of the fleet quickly changing from a reserve to an obstacle as the ships quickly fell apart, their debris littering the sea. The fleet had been tightly packed, to better deliver the men the ships carried to a single point.
That same idea now doomed them, the burning mast from one ship tipping to slam into its neighbor. The first ship to be attacked by the Cannibal was already starting to shed its rigging, its sails, the planks that made up the ship, as the flames consumed the vessel.
Morion Martell had thought this would be enough to take us unaware? He had thought this pitiful display of might would be enough to defeat the might of my house and the dragons we commanded?
I could feel the rush of battle singing in my veins, that feeling of invincibility that the singers seemed to love to include in their ballads. This was glorious! With power such as this, why did the Cannibal fear anything?
He growled beneath me once more, and I could almost feel him protesting the assessment. It was not people he feared, he seemed to say, but dragons. Beasts that could match his power. It was only logical. Why would any sane creature try to fight fire-made-flesh? Why risk a lucky bite to the neck or talon to the throat or lash of the tail to the spine or a burst of flame to the eyes?
But against mere men and their ships?
We had nothing to fear!
Was this why Alyssa loved to fly so much? The feeling of invincibility? The might at your command? Blessed Seven, this was too good a feeling not to share! Where was Baelon? No doubt he could relate.
There, still in the center of the fleet, Vhagar was still plying every last ounce of her considerable lethality onto the enemy fleet. So reckless, dear brother, so wasteful. Why not swoop and dive and bring down a dozen ships with every pass?
Once more, we rose to the skies, ready to join the largest of the tamed dragons to wreak havoc on the center of the enemy fleet, hesitancy making our limbs feel heavy as lead, our mind screaming at us to turn back. No, this fear was foolish, unfounded. Baelon was a fine rider. Vhagar was used to being ridden. They would never hurt us.
Never.
We dove down, tracing a line of dragon flame through the center of the enemy fleet, getting ever closer to Vhagar. For the briefest of moments, her head twisted in our direction, and panic filled our bones.
She had seen us.
Large dragon.
Angry dragon.
Larger than us.
Dangerous.
Flee.
Avoid.
Survive.
We pushed the panic to a distant corner of our mind as a new niggling doubt rose. No, not doubt, concern. Fear of a different kind. For Vhagar to behave so madly, so driven by instinct to be distracted from battle, something must have happened to Baelon. He usually kept her under control. Why was he not doing so?
It was on the next pass that we saw Baelon.
Still strapped to his saddle.
His arms limp by his side.
His fine armor almost pristine, save for the crumpled breastplate and the long pole that had pierced through him and out his back.
No wonder Vhagar was being so reckless, so angry.
We could sympathize.
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