While a married and very pregnant couple shared their moments in their bed whilst also conducting lewd interludes on occasion... the Stepstones remain infested with monsters as it has been.
However, on this particular day... a huge ship with many trailing accompaniments was sailing close.
It was a Santa Ma-Rhea, followed by the usual Runestone ships... along with many other vessels whose insignias are varied.
To put it simply... they've all come from Houses whose volunteered to meet the enemy and proactively defend their lands that are mostly on the eastern coasts of Westeros.
Matters of fact that made Willam Royce sigh... as he captained the nominal flagship of this impromptu fleet.
The Ma-Rhea's size and speed just made it optimal to have such a position... and given that it's an identifier of the powerful Royces and the more powerful Prince Consort... these brave defenders of the realm simply flocked to the bronze sigils once they spotted it.
And as much as Willam wanted to shake them off with superior ship and navigation... or dissuade their enthusiasm... he just can't bring himself to do so.
It would be disrespectful.
Then again, they also didn't seem to heed the letters he's sent to them through the sea eagles. Letters that should have given them up-to-date details.
But, at this point, it may have just made these chasing folks no longer be in this for glory and honor...
Most probably just coasting along to try and sate their piqued curiosity.
For that, Willam could only say that. "I blame Ronan for this..."
With most of Westeros on high alert and preparing for conflict ever since the Triarchy's intent became known... who among them would've expected Ronan to actually solve it when he can?
Which was almost right away.
Without needing mass support or anything of that sort at all.
And... he did so without giving everyone else as much of a forewarning.
It was the Stepstones all over again.
Indeed, it was... but this time was somewhat different.
With the King and Small Council perhaps still discussing on what to do.
Even Runestone itself had been uninformed for some time... though the Order of Bronze had been quick to ready itself for the confrontation.
And they all would have remained blindsided... if not for those missives that came from Ronan directly...
About how he's mostly dealt with the opposition already... and he just needed a batch or so to handle some special leftovers.
To which, Willam just sighed.
Especially at the sight that he's now seeing more personally...
Wherein the stony shores of these broken islands are literally littered with so much broken wood.
Perhaps what's left of the Triarchy's fleet... the threatening fleet that Ronan simply wrote to have been sunk by his "hired tentacles".
Then again, these drifting planks should not be the leftovers that they took a trip here for...
Fortunately, a brown dragon was there to greet them when they'd rowed to shore... to serve as a growling guide that led the way.
The other knights and Lords in attendance were frankly awed at such an intelligent display... with Willam himself not spared, even though he should be used to many peculiarities that involved his cousin.
This was a dragon, after all.
One that didn't need a dragonrider or Dragonkeeper to tell it High Valyrian commands.
But there was no doubt that Ronan was pulling its strings...
In any case, Willam was eventually led towards his target for being here...
Who should be among these pitiful men huddled against a steep stone... ragged, dirtied, and starved... trembling at the dragon's presence.
Conditions and reactions that partly told the curious onlookers of what had happened here.
Accordingly, when these terrified men finally realized that there were other people present... they looked as if they found salvation.
With one of them stepping forward directly... dropping to his knees with his head smashing to the ground in complete surrender.
With the rest following suit.
Only later did Willam realize that the leading kneeler was the Prince Qoren Martell.
An actual Martell... but bowing, bending, and undeniably broken.
-----------
-----------
-----------
Then again, it would seem that the Prince's subservience was far from enough.
At least, that's what Willam assumed to be the reason for the dragons' sparing of the Dornish leader.
So that Dorne be merged with the rest of Westeros.
The Royce knight believed that to be a done deal already... especially after he himself transported and presented the Stepstones prisoners to the Red Keep.
To let the jovial King and those relieved Masters-of… to handle these momentous proceedings as the island-stuck Ronan probably intended.
Alas, it didn't go as it was surmised.
For Dorne will be Dorne... stubborn as it had been.
With their independence, resilience, and refusal to submit to foreign rule.
And they also react quite fast... for it would seem that their influential vassals were quick to shift their leadership to a new figurehead.
A babe daughter of that Qoren... with the mother as regent... while the former Prince is but a mere hostage in the Targaryen dungeons for them.
Regardless, drastic is how Willam considered these decisions. Futile as well.
Maybe even stupid.
For it only called upon terrors and devastations into their lands... their sands...
Unfortunately for them, they weren't against Aegon the Conqueror and the Black Dread that was Balerion...
They were up against his odd cousin, who has more than a hundred crazy ideas in that mad mind of his.
Long story short... it didn't take long for the castles and forts of that desert kingdom to be visited by dragons.
Starting from the likes of Wyl, Yronwood, Kingsgrave, Blackmont, High Hermitage, Starfall itself... and Sandstone...
Hellholt is said to have prepared themselves... but it was all the same...
With those beasts of flame proceeding successively to Vaith, The Tor, Salt Shore, Godsgrace, Lemonwood... even Ghost Hill...
And last but not least... their high seat of Sunspear.
All attacked by five dragons that broke established knowledge of how to deal with their kind.
Strategic but riderless...
Hiding amongst clouds...
Blending in the dark of the night...
Counter-ambushing the famous ambushers...
Breaching through gates...
Smelling their way to wherever the lords and ladies hid themselves...
And at one instance, it is said that Vermithor beckoned the current Sword of Morning for a challenge... and parried Dawn's strikes with its tail.
Willam had only heard about these supposedly exaggerated rumors... but even bolt-catching and ammunition-rethrowing dragons didn't seem that far-fetched at this point.
And with such absurdities harassing them methodically, it probably won't be long before the Dornish buckle... when they realise that their poison and cunning are of no use.
An eventuality that is already titled by the bards as The Turning of the Sands into Glass... or something along those lyrical lines.
On that note, the Triarchy should soon follow in this trajectory...
For it is said that the island kingdoms of Tyrosh and Lys were simultaneously blockaded whilst all of these draconic events were taking place.
No ships in or out... as certain monsters of the deep willed it to be.
As any form of refusal to such demands is met with a forceful summons... to the dark depths they held more dominion over.
Meaning that the Tyroshi and Lyseni are practically isolated in their homeland... with resources dwindling, given that fishing is banned by their Kraken overlords as well.
Accordingly, even Myr's bays are said to have the same restrictions... but their connection in mainland Essos is yet to be impeded...
For now...