Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon
The assault began under the cover of night.
In this age, there were no lighthouses. Out at sea, everything relied entirely on the watchful eyes of sentries scanning the darkness.
But unfortunately, on this particular night — the night Lord Tarth chose to strike — there was no moonlight at all.
Over ten years ago, the last princess of House Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn, had come into this world upon this very island.
And now, more than a decade later, another princess, this time belonging to a different royal dynasty, was about to face a crisis of life-and-death upon these same shores… only she remained completely unaware of it.
"Quick! Hurry! Bring her in! Secure the main gate of Dragonstone Castle at once! We must not allow them to shut it!"
The southern side of Dragonstone boasted a fine deep-water harbor. The large ships all docked here, and the island itself had long been equipped with well-built piers and landing facilities.
But the fleet that had once been stationed here? They were all stuck at King's Landing now, fighting for their lord's claim to the throne. As a result, the docks lay completely deserted. No one had expected an attack — not here, not now.
The first ship slid smoothly alongside the pier. Soldiers from Lord Tarth's force had already set foot upon the wooden planks, their boots silent upon the weathered boards. Overhead, the lights of Dragonstone Castle burned brightly, standing out starkly against the black night sky.
No banners were raised!
If no one recognized them for who they were, then for now, this would all look like the work of pirates. Of course, in the end, the truth would slip out. With so many people involved, there was no way to seal every mouth.
But that… that was a problem for later.
By then, King Renly would already be seated upon the Iron Throne — and this little incident? It would hardly matter at all.
Before leaving, Stannis had nearly emptied the island's garrison, taking almost all the soldiers with him to fight for his claim. Only a little over a hundred men had been left behind to defend Dragonstone Castle.
And therefore, it wasn't until Lord Tarth's soldiers had crept right up to the gates that the sentries finally noticed something was wrong.
Catching sight of the vague, shifting mass of human silhouettes emerging from the dark, the guards instantly understood what was happening.
They had barely opened their mouths to raise the alarm when two sharp crossbow bolts sliced through the air, whistling out of the shadows.
With a muffled thud, the steel-tipped bolts struck home, piercing both men clean through their throats.
The bitter, metallic scent of blood spread swiftly through the night air. Clutching at their necks, the two guards collapsed soundlessly to the ground. It was a clean and lethal shot, the sort that left even the maesters shaking their heads in quiet resignation. There was no need to fetch milk of the poppy. The only thing left to prepare… was the eulogy.
And just like that, so effortlessly it almost seemed unreal, the final gate of Dragonstone Castle fell to Lord Tarth's army without the slightest resistance.
The soldiers marched swiftly up the long stone staircase that wound its way from the main gate toward the fortress at the summit. But this time… their luck ran out.
They had been discovered!
A shrill, piercing shout tore through the stillness of the night. From the heart of the stronghold, a guard bellowed at the top of his lungs, the single, dreaded word that shattered the silence.
"Enemies!"
In an instant, the entire Dragonstone was thrown into chaos.
All over the island, people jolted awake from their sleep. The men scrambled for their weapons, rushing up to the ramparts, while the women cowered in their chambers, trembling with fear, whispering frantic prayers to the Seven… and to the Red God, who had only recently arrived in their hearts.
Since the element of surprise had been lost, Lord Tarth's soldiers no longer bothered with caution or subtlety.
The officer leading the charge drew the longsword from his belt, raised it high, and pointed toward Dragonstone Castle, his voice roaring through the night, thick with the iron scent of blood.
"Charge!"
The castle gate had already fallen, and so the battle plunged straight into brutal, close-quarters combat from the very first moment. The dull, sickening sound of steel slicing through flesh echoed ceaselessly. Screams of agony filled the night, stretching across the island like a suffocating fog.
More than a decade ago, this place had borne witness to another desperate slaughter.
Back then, the Royal Fleet had turned on its master, launching a treacherous assault upon Dragonstone with overwhelming numbers. The warriors clad in black tunics emblazoned with the red dragon of House Targaryen had fought fiercely, spilling their blood across every corner of the fortress.
And now… today, the crowned stag of House Baratheon was leaving its blood upon these ancient stone dragons carved across Dragonstone Island, staining each lifelike sculpture crimson.
But the stone… the stone held no emotion.
It was only a witness, standing silent and unmoved, watching mankind repeat its endless cycle of betrayal, slaughter, bloodshed, and death.
Within the castle, the maester wasted no time. The moment the attack was confirmed, he released the raven, sending a message straight to Stannis in King's Landing.
He knew full well that Stannis was at the most critical stage of his campaign. But he also understood, with a clarity born of survival instinct, just how important Shireen Baratheon was to Stannis and his entire faction.
She was the future queen, wasn't she?
If anything happened to this young lady… no one present would be walking away alive. Because she was Stannis's only weakness. Everything else? The man didn't care about any of it.
The garrison of just over a hundred men had relied on Dragonstone's towering walls to hold off the invaders for a brief moment. But after the enemy crossbowmen picked off more than ten of them with ruthless efficiency, the defenders had no choice but to retreat inside the castle, falling back to continue their resistance from within.
And with their retreat, Lord Tarth's soldiers wasted no time.
They seized control of the inner gate immediately. The rest of the troops surged in behind them, pouring into the heart of the castle, making straight for the central Stone Drum Tower — the very core of Dragonstone Island.
The fighting erupted first in the great hall.
When House Targaryen built Dragonstone Castle all those years ago, they had shaped the fortress in the image of a mighty dragon, lying low with its belly pressed to the earth. The castle's main gate was the gaping maw of the beast.
The guards shoved over the long tables, drew their longbows and crossbows, and launched a swift counterattack. For a time, the defenders held their ground, unleashing a storm of arrows upon the advancing invaders.
More than a dozen of Lord Tarth's men were struck down on the spot, their bodies collapsing across the blood-soaked floor of the hall as though they had been swallowed whole by the dragon's crimson jaws.
But this kind of resistance… it could never last.
They simply didn't have the numbers!
The moment the ironclad soldiers, their heavy armor gleaming darkly, stormed through the arrow fire and crashed into the hall, the defensive line collapsed.
The guards who hadn't managed to retreat were stabbed to death where they stood, overwhelmed by Lord Tarth's men before they even had the chance to beg for their lives.
The soldiers didn't stop there. They charged into the kitchen that connected to the great hall, where pots still bubbled on the stove, stew simmering forgotten over the flame.
They, of course, wouldn't let such an opportunity pass them by.
Grabbing whatever food could be eaten straight from the pot, they tore into it without hesitation, stuffing their mouths greedily.
Some of the soldiers, meanwhile, were busy searching the cupboards and storage rooms. It wasn't long before they found several kitchen maids trembling in fear, hiding within. Their ages varied, their appearances were different — but none of that mattered to the soldiers.
In times like these, there was no one left to hold them accountable for their actions.
And so, the women's terrified screams echoed through the kitchen, mingling with low, broken sobs… but before long, even those sounds faded into silence.
"Damn it, I told you to be gentler… now look, dead already. What are the brothers behind us supposed to do now?"
"Forget it, forget it. There's plenty more to find. Keep searching the rest of the place. Tonight, we aren't some respectable Stormlands army… we're ruthless pirates, remember? No one's going to care."
"You're a real bastard… Come on, let's go!"
Their voices drifted off into the distance, leaving behind nothing but a floor slick with blood… and the motionless corpses of those poor women.
They deserved pity — but sadly, there was no one left here to offer them any.
Dragonstone had once housed a Sept dedicated to the Seven, but ever since Stannis had pledged himself to the Red God, the statues of the Seven in the Sept had been torn down. In their place now stood the image of R'hllor.
Lord Tarth's soldiers had trapped over twenty of Stannis's remaining guards inside the Sept. But because of the terrain and the building's sturdy walls, they had suffered more than twenty casualties themselves and still failed to break through.
Just as the ordinary soldiers were growing frustrated and helpless, their commanding officer arrived.
He glanced at the situation, taking in the barricaded Sept and the blood-slick ground, then turned his eyes to the altar within and the strange, foreign god now enshrined there.
A cold, mocking smile crept across his blood-smeared face.
"Well… since Stannis has chosen to worship this heretical Red God, so be it. Let's burn the whole place down, and those soldiers inside… they'll be sacrifices to their false god. Seems only fair, considering how stubbornly they've resisted."
"Men!"
It didn't take long to gather flammable materials. The soldiers quickly piled straw, wood, and kindling in every corner of the Sept. Once they'd sealed the main doors shut, the officer snatched a torch from one of his men and tossed it onto the heap of dry fuel.
In an instant, the flames roared to life, casting a blinding glow across half of Dragonstone Island. Against the dark night sky, the fire blazed like a beacon, towering columns of black smoke curling upward into the heavens, carrying with them drifting ashes that fluttered through the air like a silent snowfall.
The gardens, once named for Aegon Targaryen, were now filled with corpses and flames. Inside the Sea Dragon Tower, a maester — who could barely lift a weapon — was run through the heart by one of the invading soldiers from across the sea.
But before this, he had released every raven he could.
He would never allow anyone to send false messages beyond these walls, claiming to speak in the name of Dragonstone.
The soldiers stormed into the hall where Aegon Targaryen had once sat upon the massive Stone Throne before his conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. One after another, they let out cruel, jeering laughs as their filthy boots stomped across the dark stone of the ancient throne, leaving behind muddy footprints.
This was no battle!
It was a brutal massacre!
Aside from the one person Lord Tarth had been ordered to take — Shireen Baratheon — there would be no survivors left on Dragonstone Island.
In the end, Lord Selwyn Tarth pushed open the door to Shireen Baratheon's chambers.
It was a typical lady's bedchamber, soft and delicate in its furnishings. Inside, there were three people.
A handmaid, trembling in fear. A noblewoman, her posture graceful and composed, her clothes rich and elegant. And a little girl, her left cheek and neck marred by patches of black, hardened skin.
"Selwyn… I didn't expect it to be you. Aren't you afraid… afraid of being punished for what you've done?"
The one speaking was Selyse Florent, now Stannis Baratheon's queen, and Shireen Baratheon's mother.
"No, my lady. I will not be punished… because I am the victor."
"Punishment… is nothing more than the desperate curse of the defeated, cast upon those whose only crime was to win."
Selwyn Tarth shrugged casually and approached the mother and daughter.
As for the handmaid… she had already been dragged out of the room. He had no interest in her fate.
"Renly sent you, didn't he… I never thought… I never thought he would be this kind of man."
Selyse Florent sighed softly. From the moment she laid eyes on Selwyn, she had known. She wasn't walking out of this room alive.
Lord Selwyn Tarth remained silent. Truth be told, he had no desire to witness this scene, either.
But he was Renly's bannerman.
And there were things that, no matter how unwilling… had to be done.
"Come, Lady Selyse… young Lady Shireen… you both… need to leave this place."
With those words, Lord Tarth turned away, not sparing them another glance.
As he stepped outside the door, the blood of the handmaid seeped all across the floor, staining his boots dark red.
His bloody footprints stretched forward… vanishing into the distance… with no end in sight.
**
**
[IMAGE]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chapter End's]
🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍
Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:
https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst
Extra Content Already Available