Chapter 37: The Dragon's Shadow: Reactions and Retribution
The fall of Stokeworth, swift and brutal, accomplished with the terrifying, unprecedented power of six living dragons, sent a shockwave through the war-torn Seven Kingdoms. In the weeks that followed, Castle Stokeworth, now renamed "Aegis West" by Viserys in a defiant echo of his Essosi sanctuary, became a hive of frenetic activity. The Targaryen banner, a fierce, three-headed black dragon on a blood-red field (Viserys had chosen this over the Phoenix Company's emblem for their Westerosi standard, a clear statement of intent), flew from its highest tower, a stark challenge visible for leagues, its shadow falling long over the Crownlands. Viserys, now truly Lord of his first Westerosi perch, felt the immense weight of his audacious gambit, the Dragon's Shadow he now cast, and he knew that the reactions of his enemies, and potential allies, would dictate his next move, even as he planned his own retribution.
Xaro Xhandar, with his characteristic manic energy, directed the refortification of Stokeworth with astonishing speed. Local timber was felled, stone quarried, and the castle's ancient, crumbling walls were reinforced with ditches, sharpened stakes, and cleverly concealed obsidian caltrops. Phoenix Company engineers, alongside conscripted local labor (paid a fair wage in silver, a novelty that earned Viserys a measure of grudging goodwill among the terrified smallfolk), worked day and night. The port facilities were expanded, dredged, and protected by newly constructed sea-facing ballistae emplacements, ready to receive the regular supply convoys Viserys had already scheduled from Dragon's Aerie.
Ledger, ever the meticulous Factor General, had taken firm control of Stokeworth's resources. He conducted a swift, thorough census of the town and surrounding lands, inventoried every bushel of grain, every head of livestock, every cask of wine. A strict but equitable rationing system was imposed on the occupying army, ensuring the local populace was not starved – Viserys knew he needed Stokeworth as a functioning supply base, not a resentful, famine-stricken ruin. Lord Gregor Stokeworth himself, now a pale, trembling puppet, was confined to his private chambers under heavy guard, forced to issue daily proclamations urging his bannermen and people to swear fealty to "His True Grace, King Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name." Few came willingly, but fewer still dared to openly resist, not with the memory of dragonfire still scorching their nightmares.
Lyra of Lys, assisted by Daenerys, established a surprisingly efficient infirmary, treating not only the Phoenix Company wounded but also those Stokeworth soldiers and civilians injured in the brief, brutal assault. Her knowledge of Essosi and island herbs proved invaluable, and her quiet compassion, particularly Daenerys's gentle tending to the women and children, began to sow the first, tentative seeds of something other than pure terror among the conquered. Alistair Finch knew that winning the peace, or at least a sullen acquiescence, was as vital as winning the battle.
The first, and most critical, reaction came from King's Landing. Kipp's agents within the capital, their messages now relayed with breathtaking speed by dragon-back courier (Viserys had assigned two of the smaller, swifter Firewyrms, Tempest and Obsidian, to this perilous duty, their riders select Shadow Legionnaires with nerves of steel), reported a city consumed by panic, disbelief, and frantic Lannister maneuvering. King Joffrey, it was said, had flown into a hysterical rage upon hearing of dragons and a Targaryen landing, demanding that his Kingsguard ride out immediately and bring him the "pretender's" head. Queen Cersei was reportedly prostrate with terror, alternating between bouts of weeping and drunken fury.
It was Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, who reacted with his customary cold, calculating pragmatism. He did not dismiss the reports, however outlandish. He was a man who understood power, and dragons were the ultimate power. While simultaneously sending ravens to his commanders in the Riverlands (where the bulk of his forces were engaged against Robb Stark) and to his brother Kevan, urging caution and the gathering of more intelligence, he dispatched a strong reconnaissance force towards Stokeworth. This force, some five hundred mounted knights and men-at-arms, was led by Ser Addam Marbrand, a capable and trusted Lannister bannerman, with orders to ascertain the true strength and intentions of this new Targaryen claimant, to probe their defenses, but to avoid a decisive engagement until Tywin could assess the full strategic picture.
Varys, the Master of Whispers, true to Viserys's cynical expectations, began to play his own intricate game. Through the same Tyroshi merchant channel, he sent a new, heavily coded message to the "Lord of the Southern Phoenix": "The lions of the Rock are much vexed by the sudden flight of fiery birds so close to their den. Some counsel immediate swatting; others, more prudent, seek to understand the nature of the flock and its ultimate destination. A certain Spider might offer insights into the den's vulnerabilities, should the Phoenix prove… amenable… to shared warmth." It was another veiled offer, another test. Viserys, after careful consideration with Archivist, sent back an equally cryptic reply: "Phoenixes nest high and see far. They appreciate those who can point out hidden vipers, but they do not share their roosts with spiders, however silken their webs. Information will be rewarded based on its veracity and utility. Treachery will meet with fire." He would use Varys, but he would never trust him.
The reaction from Stannis Baratheon on Dragonstone (the original) was, as anticipated, one of grim fury. A raven arrived at Aegis West, bearing Stannis's black stag seal. The message was blunt, uncompromising: "To the pretender calling himself Viserys Targaryen. By the laws of Gods and men, the Iron Throne is mine. Your dragons are abominations, your claim forfeit through the madness of your sire and the defeat of your brother. Bend the knee, surrender your beasts and your forces, and you may yet receive the King's justice. Defy me, and you will burn, as all heretics and usurpers must." Melisandre, Stannis's Red Priestess, had undoubtedly seen Viserys and his dragons in her flames, and her interpretation was clearly not favorable. Stannis saw not a potential ally against the Lannisters, but another rival king, another obstacle to his divine right. Viserys crumpled the message with a humorless laugh. "The Stag preaches of justice while clinging to a stolen throne," he remarked to Daenerys. "He will learn the true meaning of fire soon enough." He sent no reply. His actions would be his answer.
News from the North was slower to arrive. Robb Stark, still embroiled in his desperate war against the Lannisters, reportedly received the news of a new Targaryen claimant with dragons with stunned disbelief. Some of his bannermen, particularly the more pragmatic like Roose Bolton, might see it as a potential strategic advantage, a new enemy to draw Lannister forces. Others, remembering the Mad King, would counsel extreme caution. For now, the Young Wolf had too many immediate concerns to address this new, distant threat. Doran Martell, in Sunspear, remained silent, watchful. The Dornish had long memories and a deep-seated hatred for the Usurpers, but they were also masters of the long game. They would not commit to a new Targaryen claimant, even one with dragons, until they were certain of his strength, his sanity, and his chances of victory.
Viserys, from his new perch at Aegis West, began to issue his first Westerosi decrees. He declared the lands of Stokeworth and its immediate environs to be under the direct protection of King Viserys III, promising justice, order, and an end to the "tyranny of the Lannister regime and the chaos of warring pretenders." He abolished certain excessive taxes imposed by Joffrey's regime, offered amnesty and land to any smallfolk or lesser knights who had been dispossessed by the ongoing war (provided they swore fealty), and established a system of regular patrols by his Phoenix Guard to suppress banditry and ensure the safety of the roads. These were measures Alistair Finch knew were crucial for winning a degree of popular support, or at least grudging acceptance. He also made it clear that any active resistance would be met with overwhelming force. The dragons, soaring daily over the countryside on "training flights" with Viserys and Daenerys, were a constant, terrifying reminder of that promise.
The dragons themselves seemed to thrive in the Westerosi air, their growth still accelerating under the potent influence of Viserys's blood and the thrill of their new, vast hunting grounds (the King'swood teemed with game, which they were now skilled enough to hunt themselves, reducing the strain on Aegis's livestock). Balerion, Rhaegal, and Viserion were now easily capable of carrying their riders for hours, their fiery breath becoming more focused, more destructive. The three Earth-Drakes – Terrax, Tempest, and Obsidian – proved invaluable for reconnaissance and ground support, their unique abilities (Terrax's earth-shaking roars could now crumble small stone walls, Tempest could summon localized hailstorms, and Obsidian's hide was almost impervious to conventional arrows) adding a terrifying new dimension to Viserys's arsenal.
Daenerys found her place in this new, hostile land with a quiet strength that impressed even Viserys. While horrified by the fear their dragons inspired, she understood its necessity. She focused her energies on easing the suffering of the Stokeworth populace, working alongside Lyra of Lys in the infirmary, organizing food distribution, and even intervening to prevent excesses by Kiera Redfin's more unruly Corsairs. Her gentle compassion, her regal beauty, and her undeniable connection to the magnificent beasts that now dominated their skies began to create a counter-narrative to Viserys's more fearsome reputation. She was becoming Daenerys Stormborn, the Dragon Princess, a figure of hope and awe, not just terror.
The Lannister reconnaissance force, led by Ser Addam Marbrand, arrived sooner than Viserys had anticipated. They were a disciplined column of five hundred heavy horse, their crimson and gold banners a stark contrast to the green fields of the Crownlands. Marbrand, a cautious commander, established a fortified camp some ten leagues from Stokeworth, sending out mounted patrols to probe Viserys's defenses.
Viserys decided this was the moment for his first act of Westerosi "retribution." He would not allow the Lannisters to dictate the terms of engagement. He would not cower behind Stokeworth's walls. He would meet them in the field, on his own terms, and make an example that would resonate throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
His plan was swift and brutal. He would lead the assault himself, not with his full army, but with a select force: five hundred of his elite Shadow Legionnaires, their obsidian weapons gleaming; two hundred Phoenix Guard heavy infantry, veterans of the Pentos campaign; and crucially, himself on Balerion, Daenerys on Rhaegal, and Morrec (who had shown a surprising affinity for the creature) riding the terrifying, earth-shaking Terrax. Viserion, Tempest, and Obsidian would remain to guard Aegis West.
Under the cover of a moonless night, this strike force moved out from Stokeworth, guided by Shadowfoot's scouts who had been tracking Marbrand's patrols. They bypassed Marbrand's pickets with ease, the Shadow Legion moving like wraiths through the darkness. As dawn broke, they fell upon the unprepared Lannister camp like a thunderbolt.
Viserys and Daenerys, on Balerion and Rhaegal, were the first to strike. Their dragons descended from the sky with terrifying roars, their fiery breath turning tents and supply wagons into instant infernos, sowing chaos and panic among the awakening Lannister soldiers. Horses screamed and bolted, men stumbled from their bedrolls directly into a nightmare of fire and shadow. Terrax, with Morrec on his back, landed heavily in the center of the camp, his ground-shaking roars and obsidian-hard scales breaking the Lannister formations before they could even form.
Then came the Shadow Legion. They poured into the burning, chaotic camp from three sides, their disciplined ranks a stark contrast to the terrified, disorganized Lannisters. Their obsidian blades, preternaturally sharp, sliced through leather and mail with horrifying ease. The Phoenix Guard followed, their steel weapons and heavy shields forming an unbreakable anvil against which the Shadow Legion hammered their foes.
Ser Addam Marbrand, a brave and capable knight, attempted to rally his men, but it was a hopeless endeavor. His knights, trained for conventional warfare, had no answer to the terrifying aerial assault of the dragons, nor to the silent, disciplined ferocity of the obsidian-armed Shadow Legion. The battle, if it could even be called that, was short and brutally one-sided. Viserys, circling on Balerion, directed the slaughter with cold precision, ensuring any attempt at organized resistance was instantly incinerated. He felt a savage joy, a dark exultation, in unleashing his power, in watching his enemies break and flee before the might of the dragon. Alistair Finch's academic distaste for bloodshed was now a distant, irrelevant echo. This was conquest. This was retribution.
Few Lannisters escaped. Ser Addam Marbrand himself was captured, wounded and humiliated, by Draq. Viserys allowed a dozen terrified, disarmed survivors to flee back towards King's Landing, their task to carry the tale of the Targaryen dragons and their invincible obsidian warriors. The message had to be clear, unambiguous.
In the aftermath of the slaughter, as the Phoenix Guard and Shadow Legion methodically stripped the Lannister dead of their armor and weapons, Viserys confronted the captured Ser Addam Marbrand in his field tent. Marbrand, though defeated, still carried himself with a proud Westerosi lord's defiance.
"You are a butcher, Targaryen," Marbrand spat, his eyes filled with hatred. "Not a king."
Viserys smiled, a cold, humorless expression. "Kingship, Ser Addam, is often bought with butchery. Your Lannister masters understand that better than most. You have a choice. Swear fealty to me now, and you will live to serve a true king. Your knowledge of the Westerlands and Tywin Lannister's strategies could be… useful. Refuse," his smile vanished, "and you will serve as a more permanent message to your former master."
Marbrand, despite his bravery, was no fool. He had seen the dragons. He had seen the Shadow Legion. He knew the game had changed. After a long, tense silence, he slowly knelt. "I… I swear fealty… to King Viserys Targaryen." His voice was hoarse, his pride broken.
Viserys accepted his oath with a curt nod. He had his first high-value Lannister captive, a potential source of invaluable intelligence, and a symbol of his growing power.
It was shortly after their return to Aegis West, the news of Marbrand's defeat already spreading like wildfire towards King's Landing, that Varys's agent arrived. He was not a known courtier, but a nondescript Lysene merchant Viserys's guards initially almost turned away. Only a specific coded phrase, one Varys had used in his previous communications, gained him an audience. The man, introduced as Maelys of Lys, possessed the dead eyes and subtle mannerisms of a long-time operative of the Spider.
Maelys delivered Varys's message with unctuous deference. "Lord Varys sends his profound felicitations on your… successful… arrival in Westeros, Your Grace. He wishes to reaffirm his unwavering, if discreet, loyalty to the true royal line. He offers his extensive network within King's Landing to facilitate your… reclamation… of the Iron Throne. He suggests that the city is ripe for plucking, its defenses compromised by internal division, its people weary of Lannister rule. He can arrange for certain gates to be opened, for key figures in the City Watch to stand aside, should you choose to make a swift advance on the capital."
Viserys listened, his expression unreadable. Alistair Finch's mind screamed warnings about the Spider's treachery, his history of manipulating events for his own enigmatic ends. Yet, the offer was tantalizing. A swift, relatively bloodless capture of King's Landing, facilitated by internal betrayal, was a far more appealing prospect than a protracted siege.
"And Lord Varys's price for this… invaluable assistance?" Viserys asked, his voice soft.
Maelys smiled, a thin, reptilian expression. "Lord Varys desires only what is best for the realm, Your Grace. Peace, stability, a just ruler on the Iron Throne. And, of course, a position of… continued usefulness… in the new order."
"Tell your master," Viserys said after a long pause, "that I appreciate his… counsel. His information regarding King's Landing's vulnerabilities will be… considered. Should his 'little birds' prove as useful as he claims, they will be rewarded. But tell him also that the Dragon flies its own course. I will not be a puppet dancing on anyone's strings, least of all a spider's." He dismissed Maelys, knowing the message, and its underlying threat, would be clearly understood.
The Dragon's Shadow had indeed fallen heavily upon Westeros. Stokeworth was his, a Lannister reconnaissance force annihilated, and the Master of Whispers himself was now cautiously extending a silken, venomous olive branch. Viserys Targaryen, Lord of the Aerie and King of his own burgeoning destiny, stood on his captured battlements, the roars of his six dragons echoing in the Westerosi sky. The Iron Price for his throne was being paid, in installments of fire, blood, and fear. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that King's Landing, the ultimate prize, was now within his grasp. The game was far from over, but the most dangerous piece had just been decisively played.