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Chapter 41: Chapter 31: SurrenderChapter Text

"Our wanderings are at an end. We have found a new home, and here we shall live and die."

-Nymeria ordering her ten thousand ships burnt

110 AC, Sunspear, Shadow City

Songs like to say that the death of a nation was a splendid thing. One last gasp. One last muster of strength. Defiance to bitter end.

But no, the Principality of Dorne died not on the battlefield, but at the foot of Sunspear, outside the walls of the Shadow City, when Prince Qoren Martell and over a hundred Dornish lords and ladies knelt before me. Under the eyes of countless city denizens, Prince Qoren laid his crown at my feet.

There was no final battle. No last stand.

Dorne couldn't be called to heel by force of arms. Instead, it was humbled through its moneybags. The War of Four Directions had cost them a large amount of coin, as well as nearly all of their adult men, either in graves or chains. Then I'd exacerbated the problem by ordering a blockade of Dorne, while my Ironborn sacked every town on the shoreline.

Dorne wasn't self-sufficient. They couldn't grow enough food to feed themselves, relying on trade to buy what they needed. Oh sure, they had farms that worked throughout the year, no matter the season, given the warmth, but those weren't enough to feed everyone in Dorne. The granaries had been filled in autumn, and the War of Four Directions had cost them a significant chunk of their population, so they theoretically had enough to feed everyone through winter, but in practice not really.

Starvation set in in the desert and mountain holdings, those without farms to help feed themselves. And when carts full of food was brought into their holdings, to be distributed for free, the only cost being to kneel? It was hardly even a choice.

One by one, the proud and unbroken Principality of Dorne fell apart. Bleeding entire chunks of territory and holdings. And now Sunspear had fallen. It's granaries and farms no longer able to support its large population. And with the submission of Sunspear, the last levies had broken. Near all of Dorne had followed suit. There were about a dozen holdouts, but they were all too weak to do anything significant.

House Dayne had been trying to rally a resistance, but I'd threatened to melt Dawn down for jewellery unless they knelt, and so kneel they did. I didn't bother take a hostage. I'd already took one worth more than every scion of that House combined off the Sword of the Morning's corpse in the Rout. They'd get Dawn back after a decade of loyal service.

And thus here we were. Near every highborn in Dorne was kneeling before me at the foot of Sunspear.

It made a picturesque scene. A hundred Dornish lords and knights, surrounded by the masses of their people, with Sunspear behind them. On the other side stood the might of the Seven Kingdoms. The First Legion of Westeros, the first in my standing army. Five thousand men and women sworn to defend the Royal family and the realm, above all petty politics. Above us flew sixteen dragons, mounted by nearly half the Dragonseeds. 

And there at the very front, surrounded by seven white knights. Was Prince Rhaeneyra Targaryen. I'd grown into a tall and beautiful thirteen-year-old, taller than I used to be when I was thirteen, but I'd only really shot up in height at age fifteen, so that wasn't saying much. I'd grown my hair back out, allowing it to reach my upper back, and tied my electrum hair up in a simple ponytail. I wore a suit of black plate, polished to a mirror shine but otherwise without ornament. A cloak of red wool descended from my shoulders, clasped with dragonbone. I wore my chain like a belt, hanging Dark Sister on my left hip and my knife on the right.

Rightfully speaking, it was my father that was supposed to be here, but he had given me the honour of doing so in his stead. I was the one that broke Dorne, not him, and he didn't want to dilute my greatest victory. However Alicent had insisted that he go in person, and he actually caved in, making plans for a flight to Dorne. But then, unexpectedly, Alicent entered labour three weeks ahead of schedule, and Viserys dropped everything to be at his wife's side. And thus we reverted back to the initial plan, and I came to Dorne for the surrender and not my father.

It was as though the gods themselves had cursed Alicent, punishing her for grasping at a victory that wasn't hers. And rumours about that book of medical spells in my room, the one with a bookmark on the 'Inducing Labour' chapter, was base and malicious slander.

As my father's representative, I had been granted the full honours of the role. Aegon the Conqueror's crown of Valyrian steel and ruby sat atop my brow, and in my hands was Blackfyre, the blade of the Kings and Heirs to the Iron Throne. The High Septon stood beside me, here to be the gods own witness to the surrender. Seven white knights, the full muster of the Kingsguard, stood behind us, hands on their swords, ready to punish any Dornish treachery with steel and blood.

Lord Commander Criston Cole, his achievements and competence in the War of Four Directions having granted him the role. Ser Steffon Darklyn, the most veteran member of the White Cloaks. The Cargyll Twins, whom truly shone when fighting beside each other. My personal Sworn Shield, Ser Jessamyn Redfort. And then there were the replacements.

Ser Westerling fell in the Rout, a mutual kill with the Sword of the Morning. His replacement was Ser Willis Fell. The man had squired under a Hightower and was Alicent's creature body and soul. Ser Jonquil died last year, defending me from an assassination attempt. Alicent tried to name Ser Rickard Thorne as her replacement, but I leaned on my father to request for a female bodyguard. Ser Alys Royce came highly recommended from Jeyne Arryn, Rhea Royce, Shaeterys and the older Dragonseed twins. A cousin of the main branch, she had distinguished herself against the Vale Mountain Clans and was eager to serve at my side.

There was bitter weeping and groans of anguish from the assembled Dornish as the circlet of red gold with flame-like points, crusted with topazes and garnets, was picked off the ground by their conqueror, and I turned it around in my hand, contemplating the item.

This crown had once belonged to Nymeria herself. Over eight hundred years old, it had been reforged and reset countless times over the march of time.

Princess Nymeria herself had worn the yellow gold crown of Ny Sar when she fled the Rhoyne. And the ancestral weapon of House Martell was an ancient bronze spear, long retired from the battlefield and used as a ceremonial symbol of authority in the style of a sceptre. Both had been melted down the day of the wedding between Mors Martell and Nymeria and combined, with two red gold crowns forged from the metal. A crown topped with flames for Nymeria, and spears for Mors.

They were later set with the jewels taken from defeated enemies during Nymeria's War, where Mors Martell and his wife unified the countless petty lords and kings of Dorne under the Sun and Spear of House Nymeros Martell.

When Mors Martell fell in battle, he was buried with his crown, and so only Nymeria's remained to be passed down their line.

This ancient crown, representing the joining of both Andal and Rhoynar peoples, was emblematic of the Dornish spirit. Unbent, Unbowed and Unbroken.

I was divided between destroying the crown, to permanently shatter the Dornish spirit, or keeping the crown, presumably for a museum. In the end, I decided that destroying the crown would be an unforgivable insult to the Dornish, and would permanently sour relations between them and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Plus, I really respected Nymeria, and decided that desecrating her crown was just crass.

"I receive your surrender, Prince Qoren." I finally spoke, looking down at the kneeling nobles. "Swear the vows of fealty, and you shall all rise as lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms. With all lands and titles intact."

They did so, spitting out the words between clenched teeth, weeping bitter tears and groaning in anguish and despair. Still, once they did so, I reached out and helped a weeping Lord Qoren to his feet. Allowing them all to rise and regain some modicum of dignity before stepping back and speaking once more.

"As promised by my Father, the King Viserys, I shall return to Dorne those captured during the War of Four Directions."

As I spoke, Daenys held a glass candle behind me, relaying my orders to the respective people. Immediately, ships on the Greenblood behind me lowered their gangways, and seven thousand Dornishmen were led off. Their chains were undone, and they were allowed to walk back to their people.

"Dorne shall have food for winter."

The ships now began unloading boxes full of bread, crates of apples and turnips, barrels of water, casks of ale, herds of cattle, cages of chickens and baskets of eggs.

"Dorne shall have men to fill their towns anew."

Thousands of men filed off the ships, from the length and span of the Seven Kingdoms. We'd emptied out the slums of King's Landing, Oldtown, Lannisport, Gulltown and White Harbour, as well as dozens of other towns and villages. While a good proportion of them went to the Stormlands, the rest were to be sent to Dorne. For new lives in the south.

"Dorne shall have gold to rebuild after the war."

The five skycarts in the air landed, and were opened, revealing chests full of gold.

"Dorne shall have favourable trade deals with the rest of the Kingdoms."

Rhaegar stepped forwards, bearing a chest full of scrolls and contracts.

"The blockade of Dorne shall end. And last but not the least, Dorne shall be given new incomes, to compensate for the loss of trade revenues caused by the construction of the Great Canals."

Daenys stepped forwards with the Glass Candle, projecting a hologram to show what I had planned. Jaws dropped, eyes bulged and breathing intensified.

"Can... can this be done?" Lord Qoren Martell gasped.

"Yes. Both Myr and Volantis assure me it's quite doable." I agreed. "Lord Jonas took dozens of maesters to the site, and they concur that it can be done."

"Can we even afford this?"

"It'll be the single most expensive project the world has ever seen, but everyone from Hardhome to the Arbor is invested in it. And not just on our side of the Narrow Sea." I spoke. "The Triarchy, Braavos and Volantis have agreed to help fund it. Pentos, Qohor and Norvos are also interested, and have roped Lorath in for good measure. Every single Daughter of Valyria is aboard."

"I see. Then what about time? How long will it take?"

"Volantis told me that the one they built took them nearly a decade. But now technology has advanced, new methods devised and the population boomed. And we have giants and mammoths. If we build from both ends for the four of them, with sufficient manpower, we should be capable of doing it in half a decade."

"I see. Yes, this indeed will be more than enough to compensate us for the loss of the traders." Lord Qoren smiled. "When will we begin?"

"The construction itself? Once it is summer. We'll try settle all other practicalities in winter and spring first though."

"Very well then." Lord Martell extended a hand. "I look forward to aiding you in this endeavour."

I shook it.