The stars were scattered like frozen sparks across the night sky when the sound of beating wings stirred the Targaryen camp. Men looked up from their fires, from their sharpening swords, and from their whispered prayers as the shadow of Meraxes passed overhead, vast and terrible against the moon.
Rhaenys Targaryen circled once above the camp before bringing Meraxes to ground just beyond the command tents. Dust rose in a choking cloud as the dragon folded her great silver wings, her golden eyes gleaming in the dark.
Aegon was already striding toward her, Orys Baratheon at his side, when Rhaenys dismounted, her face grave.
"Your Grace," she said as she pulled off her helm. Her voice was steady, but there was a tightness to it, as if the words she bore had weighed heavily on her during the flight back.
"Princess Meria has made her answer known."
Aegon nodded, his face unreadable. "Speak it."
Rhaenys met his eyes.
"She will not fight us, nor will she kneel. 'Dorne has no king,' she said. 'Tell your brother that.'"
Orys gave a derisive snort beside Aegon, but the King only nodded again, slowly, as if a door long suspected closed had now swung shut.
"And so ends a year of words," Aegon said, his voice like cold iron. "We have offered the hand. We have spoken of peace. We have sent maesters, envoys, queens."
He turned to the gathering lords, knights, and captains who had begun to cluster at the edge of the clearing, drawn by the dragon's arrival.
"This will be the last offer Dorne will hear from House Targaryen."
Aegon placed a gauntleted hand upon Blackfyre's hilt, the sword's dark steel swallowing the moonlight.
"The time for peace is done."
His voice rose, carrying over the camp, cutting through the chill night air.
"We shall scour the sands and raze their towers. Their fields will burn, their strongholds will fall. We will bring fire and blood until Dorne lies broken at our feet."
A cheer rose up from the soldiers, fierce and hungry, like wolves at the scent of blood. Some beat their spears against their shields. Others cried for vengeance.
Aegon looked to Orys. "Ready the host. We march with the dawn."
Orys grinned, fierce and eager. "It will be done, Your Grace."
"And the dragons?" Rhaenys asked quietly.
Aegon turned to her, his expression softening only slightly.
"They fly with us. Dorne has chosen its path."
At that, Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes gave answering roars, their cries shaking the very stones of the mountains around them. The ground itself seemed to tremble underfoot.
In the sky above, the stars watched silently as the dragons prepared to unleash their fury.
And from Sunspear to Skyreach, from the Greenblood to the Hellholt, the lords and ladies of Dorne would soon learn the price of defiance.
Fire and blood.