Book 2 Ch 36 (Patreon)

The Stepstones, 108 AC.

Four dragons attacked the island in a sudden, synchronized strike, just as a vast convoy of ships from across the known world was passing. No one aboard the vessels expected such a spectacle. They were already accustomed to the sight of Meleys, Princess Rhaenys's dragon, soaring overhead. But today, Meleys was not alone. There, too, was Vhagar, the mightiest dragon in the world, bearing Laena Velaryon. With them flew the still-young Seasmoke, mount of Laenor Velaryon, and Caraxes, ridden by Daemon Targaryen.

King Viserys, regrettably, had not permitted Rhaenyra to join the display of Targaryen and Velaryon might. Thus, four dragons collectively assaulted the small island, and all—ship captains, merchants, and sailors alike—watched as the colossal beasts descended upon the island and unleashed their fiery breath. Their coordinated assault was a precise demonstration of power, a stark declaration that the true authority on the Stepstones now resided not with endless pirate fleets, but with the two garrisons capable of summoning the most powerful creatures in the world at a moment's notice to utterly destroy any who dared to defy them.

The Velaryons proclaimed that they would henceforth guarantee the Stepstones would be free of pirates and tolls, and this spectacle was their formidable declaration of strength.

Of course, the crews of the merchant ships did not know whether the island had been inhabited, but knew that if it had, its occupants would have been utterly incinerated.

At first, a sound, dull and low, began to rumble. It was as if the sky itself slowly beat a colossal drum.

The sailors raised their heads one after another, uncertain of its source. A few moments later, the first shadow appeared from behind the clouds.

Then the second.

Third.

The fourth.

Frightened cries erupted across the merchant decks.

- Dragons...

- Seven...

- Four...

No one had expected such a multitude, and this surprise was the very core of the performance. Indeed, men had grown accustomed to Meleys; the Red Queen had been escorting large convoys for months, and sailors had gradually ceased to flinch at the sight of her scarlet wings.

But today...

Today the sky belonged to more than just one dragon. Today, it belonged to the enduring might of Old Valyria. Ahead, cleaving the air with massive, flapping wings, flew Vhagar.

Even at this distance, she appeared an island given wings. Each mighty flap raised such a current of air that the sails of nearby ships began to tremble, their masts groaning in protest.

Meleys glided behind her, swift as a crimson spear.

Slightly above, Caraxes hovered in a wide circle. His long, writhing body resembled a crimson sea serpent, determined to claim the skies for its own.

Seasmoke brought up the rear—the youngest of the four, not yet colossal, but already fearsome. They passed so low over the convoy that men instinctively ducked, cowering from the sheer immensity above.

Some sailors fell to their knees, others covered their heads with their hands. Several horses on the transport ships went wild with fear and began to strain against their tethers.

The shadow of Vhagar blanketed several ships simultaneously, and for a moment it seemed as if an eclipse had occurred.

A hot wind, smelling of sulfur, ash, and primal beast, swept over them. The collective downwash from their colossal wings made the rigging creak, snapped the flags taut, and sent ripples racing across the sea.

Then, as one, the dragons began to climb, soaring higher into the heavens. Every eye in the convoy was fixed upon them.

Four silhouettes formed a line in the sky, not chaotically, nor at random, but with each beast holding its appointed place. It was as if this were no mere flight of animals, but a perfectly rehearsed military formation.

Vhagar surged forward, folding her immense wings and beginning a rapid, terrifying dive.

The sky itself seemed to roar. Caraxes, Meleys, and Seasmoke plunged almost simultaneously in her wake. From a distance, they appeared as four falling stars, hurtling directly towards the waiting island.

A moment before impact, their colossal wings unfurled. And then, the world erupted in white.

Vhagar was the first to belch forth flame. A blindingly bright stream of fire struck the rocks, transforming them into a blazing, infernal furnace.

Almost immediately the island was engulfed by three other streams of fire, their infernos intertwining.

The flames mingled, devouring the sparse trees, the scrub, and seemingly the very air. The rocks began to crack and splinter under the immense heat. A colossal column of smoke, visible for leagues, rose above the island.

The flames roared so loudly they could be heard above the crashing waves and the creaking of masts. For several seconds, four dragons methodically swept over the island, one after another, in relentless passes.

Each approach was calculated, each fiery torrent landing precisely where the flames had not yet devoured all. When the last stream of dragonfire died down, the island was utterly unrecognizable.

It had become a vast, smoking blotch, from which dense clouds of black smoke billowed, and where even the very stones glowed angry red.

There was absolute silence on the decks; no one clapped, no one shouted. People simply watched. For one thought echoed in every mind. If there had been people on this island... Not even their bones, perhaps not even ash, would have remained.

The dragons now circled the convoy slowly, calmly.

Not as a threat to the ships, but as a demonstration of their guardianship. It was then that the ship captains began to grasp the true meaning of the display.

It wasn't an execution, it was a warning. That same day, scrolls bearing the distinctive seahorse seal of House Velaryon were distributed amongst the ships.

"From now on, the Stepstones are under the protection of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon. No tolls, no piracy. Any who dare violate this edict shall be utterly destroyed."

The captains reread the lines, then involuntarily lifted their gaze to the still-smoking island. After witnessing such a spectacle, the threat no longer seemed an empty boast.

It looked like a promise.

And everyone understood that if any pirate dared to waylay a trading cog in the coming moon and demand silver, he would need to ask himself but one question.

Is a few paltry bags of coins worth hearing the thunderous flapping of colossal wings overhead one morning?

Because dragons were no longer just weapons. They had become the law of the Stepstones. And this law was not written in ink.

It was written in fire. Dragonfire.

Pirates, after all, required ships and bases, and dragons flew swifter than any vessel. Any merchant unfortunate enough to be robbed could complain to the Velaryons in their castles on the Stepstones, and then the dragons would hunt down the offending pirate ships. And any who dared land upon the islands would soon suffer from a dire lack of supplies.

This was the essence of the strategy that Lord Eivor Frey had devised, detailing every point, ensuring that dragons would serve as a means of strategic deterrence and a swift instrument against pirate vessels.

Pirates would also be unable to concentrate large naval forces on the Stepstones. It would be pointless; plundering without ships was difficult, especially when stranded upon an island oneself.

Dragons on the Stepstones had become law; how long this new order would last remained unknown, but it would surely boost the wealth of the Velaryons, Daemon, and even the ports of the Seven Kingdoms. For the greater the trade, the more taxes could be collected for royal treasuries.

Basic economics, fully demonstrated. Though it remained unclear whether the pirates could devise any counter-strategy. Each year without tolls meant even greater wealth for the Velaryons, who traded in high-margin goods; thus, Corlys had enriched his house even further through this venture.

***

Craghas Drahar, Prince-Admiral of the Triarchy, had held absolute sway over the Stepstones since 96 AC, but his reign was drawing to a close. Westerosi landing forces began to assault the last pirate-held islands, their commanders committing every available man to storm the final stronghold.

Craghas Drahar had lost a significant portion of the Triarchy's support. The Volantene army had marched to drive the Alliance of the Three Daughters from the Disputed Lands, and the terrifying display of dragon power had eroded any chance the influential city masters had of continuing to fund the Prince-Admiral. He found himself with dwindling supplies, fewer ships, and his forces were further demoralized by a propaganda campaign launched by Eivor. This campaign guaranteed any pirate who surrendered a safe return to Tyrosh, along with any stolen gold. More still, they promised payment to any who brought back the head of a fellow pirate.

Yes, Eivor's aim was to shatter their unity, compelling every Triarchy soldier who understood their predicament to seek to save their own skin rather than fight to the bitter end. For the Velaryons, this tactic was, incidentally, far cheaper than flushing them out of their caves with steel and blood. Moreover, they acquired a host of agents who began to spread countless unsettling tales.

Once some surrendered units were indeed permitted to leave unmolested, rumors of fair treatment spread like wildfire.

No one, however, planned on letting Craghas Drahar escape; he was a symbol of piracy, and Daemon craved his head for glory. Thus, the Prince-Admiral's location became a prize, and one of his own lieutenants soon betrayed him.

Soon, the island was completely encircled by Velaryon fleets, and landings commenced under the protective shadow of two dragons. Laenor and Laena, though present earlier, were not flying their dragons in this final assault, as their control was not yet precise enough to avoid friendly fire in such close quarters.

Craghas Drahar realized the true extent of his encirclement as Westerosi forces began their landing. This was to be the final battle, and thus Corlys, his brothers, Daemon, and even Eivor were present, disembarking their troops and leading them towards the caves where the pirates had made their final stand.

It was impossible to bring out the archers; the dragons immediately decimated them. The Westerosi swiftly captured the ledges and pressed into the caves, where the final, desperate battle would be fought.

Craghas Drahar's last island was no longer a fortress; it had become a trap.

By dawn, the sea around the island was no longer visible.

Hundreds of sails obscured the horizon. The white, silver, and blue-green banners of the Velaryons stretched in an unbroken line, as if the very sea had risen in wrath against the pirates.

Not a single loophole, not a single passage. Every strait was blocked, every exit from the bay barraged by scorpions and ballistas. Any boat that dared appear from behind the rocks immediately received a volley of arrows.

At the top of the highest cliff stood Craghas Drahar.

For the first time in years, his face lacked its usual confidence. Where before he might have hoped to simply outlast the Westerosi, now death had come, stark and undeniable.

- They really came for everyone...

Below, anchors splashed into the water, one after another, and the landing boats were already being lowered.

Thousands of people. And these weren't mercenaries from the Triarchy.

These were knights, spearmen, crossbowmen, and the hardened Velaryon marines.

There were so many of them that the shore vanished beneath a tide of steel, but the real horror boomed from above. A roar, loud and ancient, boomed from above the clouds.

So loud that the very rocks vibrated. Caraxes emerged from the clouds. Long, scarlet, writhing between the air currents like a huge snake. And then Meleys, Princess Rhaenys's dragon, followed.

The two dragons circled slowly, a silent, terrifying pronouncement to the pirates below: "We are here."

Craghas watched his archers rush to their prepared positions.

- Shoot!

Several hundred arrows flew upwards, but failed to reach their lofty targets. Caraxes abruptly folded his wings and plummeted.

For a moment, it seemed Caraxes would crash into the rocks, but at the last moment, he spread his wings. A stream of fire erupted from his mouth—not a mere gout of flame, but a veritable river of fire. The rocky ledge, along with dozens of archers, vanished in a blinding, searing flash.

When the inferno receded, there was nothing left there, not even bodies, only scorched, steaming stone.

Meleys struck next, with a single, short, devastating blast. An entire section of fortifications crumbled into the sea, along with its defenders.

After that, no one dared to expose archers in the open again. Anyone who showed up in the open lived only as long as it took a dragon to make a single pass.