Book 3: Kings of Ice and Fire
298 AC
Harry looked at the magical map before him, projected by the table in his flagship. The massive armada of the North was assembled beneath his airship. He had split his fleet into three parts. One portion was under the command of Captain Nimpton and Elsera Snow. They had worked wonders and quickly captured Orkmont with Northern ships patrolling the waters surrounding the island.
Another assault group under Captain Simeon started the invasion of Great Wyk to cut off any vital supplies to the remaining islands. On the other hand, Harry led a small group of ships against Lordsport, where the Iron Fleet had gathered under Vicatrion Greyjoy.
Lordsport was House Botley's stronghold, which was razed to the ground during the first Greyjoy rebellion. In the second one, he spared the town by directly attacking Pyke and taking Balon Greyjoy prisoner. This time, Lordsport unfortunately became a major battlefield for the simple reason that Victarion Greyjoy decided to make a last stand on the rebuilt town. The Iron Fleet, now reduced to only a ragtag group of rotten wooden planks, was gathered on the sea, and more Ironborn were gathered at the town for a last stand.
Harry walked out of his chamber to stand at the prow of his airship, watching the enemy ships arrayed against his fleet.
"They are taking a last stand." Jon said, standing by his side as the wind rustled past them.
"Then let's make sure the Ironborn get a warm send-off." Harry said with a pointed look.
Jon nodded before going to pass on the signal to begin the attack. War drums and horns blared from his airship, signalling the fleet to commence the attack. Harry waited for a bit, and soon, he watched his fleet start bombarding the Iron Fleet with jars of wildfire. The ship-mounted trebuchets in his fleet had the advantage of an increased range, which allowed his ships to bombard the enemy from a safe distance. The trebuchets entrenched on the shores of Lordsport started to throw stones at his fleet, but nothing came close to damaging his ships.
Soon, the waters surrounding Lordsport were filled with wildfire jars. It took the Ironborn some time to understand that Harry's ships were not throwing stones at them. When they saw glass jars breaking against their ships, spilling forth a sickly green liquid, Victarion urged his ships to disengage.
"Too late." Harry said with a smirk.
A rain of stones lit in boiled oil and fire fell upon the Iron Fleet from his ships. The bombardment of the enemy fleet continued while the Ironborn ships manoeuvred to get themselves outside the range of his ships. But all it took was one spark to determine the outcome of the battle.
"Alaenera." Harry said shortly, his intent crystal clear to the newest member of the Valkyrie.
Alaenera, standing with her fellow sisters in the Valkyrie, jolted to action.
She stepped forth, brandishing the electric blue bow inherited from her predecessor. She positioned herself at the edge of the ship and pulled the bowstring while uttering a phrase that conjured a lightning bolt on the arrow. Once the bolt became energised, Alaenera released the string, allowing the bolt to soar through the air in the blink of an eye. The bolt struck the sea surface, and the lightning charge discharged into the seawater. The wildfire floating on the sea ignited with the fury of a volcano.
The wildfire employed by Harry was not the previous version of the Alchemists of King's Landing. He had some choice tweaks imbued in the potion, which made it a more potent weapon on the battlefield.
In seconds, the enchanted fire consumed many Ironborn ships, turning men to blackened husks before they could scream. The fire spread across the surface of the water, slick with hot oil, wildfire igniting a web of burning death. The Ironborn turned to face the new threat, their horns calling alarm, but it was too late. The wildfire had spread evenly across the sea, and now the trap had been sprung.
Harry could see them—men flailing in the water, clawing at each other to escape as their ships caught fire, as the very sea they worshipped betrayed them. Another longship exploded, hurling burning planks and shrieking men into the air. Then another joined its brother, turning into a plume of smoke and charred wood. The screams of Ironborn reavers pierced the sky, echoing in Harry's ears.
"It's time to end this." said Harry, nodding at Jon.
A signal went to the fleet to commence bombardment of the shores before the land invasion. The ships under his command turned their trebuchets onto the rebuilt town of Lordsport. The rebuilt stone houses and wooden huts became the recipients of a consistent bombardment of flaming stones. The town that faced the wrath of Robert Baratheon nearly a decade ago was now facing the wrath of House Stark.
From the burning harbour, black smoke began to rise in pillars. The docks of Lordsport had caught fire, having been entirely rebuilt using flammable wood. But it hardly mattered now. The invasion was a hammer strike, swift and overwhelming. The Ironborn defenders on shore had barely formed ranks before the first warships of the Northern fleet reached the beaches circling the burning wreckage of the Iron Fleet.
Harry observed the battle on the shores of Lordsport from the safety of his airship. The battle, if it could even be called that, was more of a one-sided slaughter. The half-starved Ironborn were no match for the fully equipped and well-provisioned army under his command.
Despite the overwhelming battle prowess shown by his fellow Northmen, the Ironborn battled fiercely for every inch of their land.
"I think the Ironborn need a gentle push to lay down their weapons and realise the futility of resistance." Harry said with a pointed look at his brother.
Jon understood what he meant and immediately set off from the airship atop Sundancer. The dragon rained annihilation upon the heads of the stubborn Ironborn. Their valour broke upon facing dragonfire, and the Ironborn chose to flee instead of stand and fight to the bitter end. Jon was also quick to burn away all catapults and scorpions that the Ironborn were able to hastily construct in defence of Lordsport.
Harry watched all of this from the airship and ordered the ship to land on the shores of Lordsport. While his brother and his army focused on moving further inland to gobble up a larger slice of land under their control, Harry set off to properly secure the land gains.
He put down any stray Ironborn clinging to life without an ounce of mercy. The shores of Lordsport were quickly littered with the dead bodies of the Ironborn. Harry didn't hang back and watch this time. He bloodied his sword one too many times by plunging it into the hearts of many Ironborn and watched the light leave their lives.
"My prince, look!" Anya quickly pointed at the sea, where a single Ironborn ship managed to evade the trap.
He squinted his eyes but couldn't make out the banner flying on the ship. Therefore, Harry took the telescope fastened on his belt to take a good look at the enemy ship.
"Greyjoy." Harry muttered, seeing the kraken banner on the ship.
The ship showed its broadside before catapulting a stone boulder onto the shore. Harry didn't move a muscle as the stone sailed above his head and harmlessly impacted the land somewhere far away.
But that was the only free pass he gave for Victarion Greyjoy.
He summoned the Elder Wand into his hand and unleashed gales of icy wind into the sea. His finesse with the spell was such that the first wave that encountered the spell froze and turned into ice. The entire sea around the Greyjoy ship froze under Harry's magic, trapping it for good.
"Lord Fisher."
"My prince."
"Bring me Victarion Greyjoy. I prefer the man to be alive, but if his head is on a spike, I won't be terribly disappointed." said Harry.
"It'll be my pleasure, my prince." Lord Fisher grinned wickedly before marching off with a contingent of men to capture the Ironborn ship lodged in ice.
Lord Fisher didn't take long to return, albeit with a few men short. Nonetheless, Lord Lemell Fisher looked rather proud of himself while pushing a bloodied Victarion Greyjoy to his knees before Harry.
"Good work, Lord Lemell."
"Oh, it was my pleasure, my prince." Lord Lemell grinned while smacking the flat of his blade against Victarion Greyjoy's head, making the man grunt painfully.
Harry was not surprised that Lord Lomell was most eager to have a go at the Ironborn captain. The Fishers of the Stoney Shore had defended the North for thousands of years from Ironborn raids. As such, generations of House Fisher had sacrificed in service to their homeland. Thus, the downfall of the Ironborn was an auspicious occasion for the Fishers.
"I'm afraid there won't be any second chances for you, reaver." Harry said, staring coldly into the man's eyes. "Winter has come for House Greyjoy. This time, there is no Robert Baratheon to show you barbarians any mercy."
"What is dead may never die, but…" Victarion started.
"Wrong." Harry snarled before kicking Victarion's face harshly with his boots.
"The dead will stay dead, Greyjoy." Harry glared at the fallen man, holding a broken nose with a painful howl. "I will make sure the Ironborn stay dead for all eternity. You will see."
With that ominous warning delivered, Harry ordered his men to escort the prisoner away.
His eyes then settled on the battle-ravaged town of Lordsport.
"Burn everything to the ground and kill anyone daring to look you in the eye. We shall purge this island of the plague known as the Ironborn." Harry shouted, appealing to the bloodlust of his men.
As his men rushed to obey his orders, Harry looked southward where Pyke was located. With Lordsport under his control, his army now had a direct path to Pyke. It was now only a matter of time before the entire Iron Islands were under his grasp.
******
The air in Dragonstone was dead. The banners arrayed behind Daenerys fell dead just like her brother on the funeral pyre. With her brother's death, she felt like her family's cause was truly dead. Having stayed in Westeros the last month and interacted with many of the lords and their families of the Narrow Sea, she knew they thought the Targaryen cause was lost with Rhaegar's death. For a brief moment, her brother had managed to make them believe the cause was not lost. That Rhaegar Targaryen was not the Last Dragon. The House of the Dragon had not yet met its end, and there was still enough blood of the ancient dragonlords in their veins.
She had even started to believe their cause was not just a distant dream but a possibility. She had seen with her own eyes how her brother ferociously fought for their birthright. He had shouldered the weight of the Targaryen dynasty for so long, and now that weight had crushed the life out of him. With her brother gone, Daenerys knew all hope was dead. The last true Targaryen king was dead, which also made her a widow.
She was now the last Targaryen in the world, all alone.
"Your grace."
Daenerys snapped out of the spell that took her mind elsewhere. The fear of the future still lingered in her heart, but when she saw the Unsullied guards standing by her side and Ser Jorah, some relief flooded her mind.
"The pyre is ready, your grace." Ser Jorah said softly.
"I… I see." Daenerys cleared her throat to regain some sense of control.
She took a deep breath as a gentle breeze flitted past her, rustling her silver mane and the banners of House Targaryen. Daenerys Targaryen stood at the foot of her brother's pyre, barefoot and unmoving, clad in a simple black gown that rippled like a pond under the breeze. The moon was high and heavy in the sky, casting her in pale silver light. In her hands, she held a single lock of hair that belonged to her brother.
Staring into her brother's face, Daenerys felt like he was just taking a nap. Despite her best efforts, a stray tear rolled down her cheek.
"Your grace."
Daenerys quickly wiped away the tear to see Euron Greyjoy coming next to her with a familiar sword.
"I had your brother's sword retrieved from the field, your grace."
Daenerys silently touched the sword and pulled it free from Euron. The weight nearly made her drop the valyrian steel sword, but Euron helped her hold it. The sword's weight once more underlined the fact that she was not suited to hold the weight of her family's legacy.
"Even though his grace has fallen, it's not without accomplishing his dream of reclaiming Dragonstone. The castle now flies the Targaryen banner." said Euron.
"What use is this sword or a castle?" Daenerys said with a watery chuckle.
"You are your brother's natural heir. The sword and Dragonstone now belong to you, my Queen." Euron took the knee and offered the sword. "My ships and my men are yours to command. My ships shall sail under your banner and crush your enemies in the sea."
"In victory or defeat, my sword is yours, your grace." Ser Jorah also took a knee.
Daenerys was grateful and overwhelmed by the show of support as the Unsullied army also fell to their knee before her. But she felt like she didn't deserve any of it. After all, she had to feel worthy to assume the position as her brother's heir.
Her attention suddenly shifted to the Red Priestess in service to Euron Greyjoy. The priestess stood by her side with the palm of her hand consumed with an eerie flame.
"The answer you seek… the strength you seek is in the fire." Melisandre whispered tenderly. "The Red God has brought you this far not to fail but to bring dragons into the world. This is your destiny."
Daenerys was captivated by the flame in the priestess's hand. She could feel an unseen force pulling her towards the flame, and when she gave herself in, she started hearing whispers from a voice beyond this world.
'Bring forth the dragons. Bring forth fire and blood.'
"I'm just a girl." Daenerys whispered back.
'No, you're not.'
Suddenly, she was assaulted by visions of a world filled with flames and skies full of dragons. She saw her enemies burn away while she sat upon the Iron Throne. She saw Targaryen banners hanging from all the castles from Dorne to the Wall in the North. She saw a massive army arrayed behind her with three dragons by her side while she faced off an unnatural cold and columns of bright blue eyes shining from the darkness. She saw a dragon made of ice emerge from the darkness, accompanied by wolves.
'The fate of this world depends on you. Without you, this world will yield to eternal winter. Dawn will die, and darkness will prevail.' the voice uttered from the flames.
Suddenly, Daenerys recovered her senses and no longer heard the Red God. But she knew what she had to do.
Daenerys stepped forward. She summoned her servants and made them procure the petrified dragon eggs from her tent. Collecting the eggs into her right hand, Daenerys held them against her breast while taking a lit torch in the other.
Taking a few steps forward, she lit the pyre on fire and watched the flames consume her brother. Silently, she uttered a prayer in her mother tongue, invoking the Red God. Melisandre, on the other hand, loudly uttered the ancient prayers calling forth the gaze of the Lord of the Light.
She did not cry. Not when the smoke darkened the stars, not when his figure curled inwards with the heat, not when his crown melted, pouring gold over bone. It was not grief that held her; it was something more profound. Something harder and ancient now settled in the deepest chambers of her soul, giving her a strength she never imagined herself to wield.
"Lead me from the darkness, O my Lord. Fill my heart with fire so that I may walk your shining path. R'hllor, you are the light in my eyes, the fire in my heart, the heat in my loins. Yours is the sun that warms my days, yours the stars that guard me in the dark of night."
Daenerys prayed in her mother tongue before she walked towards the all-consuming flames burning away the flesh and bones of her brother.
The fire hissed in reply.
The eggs lay undisturbed, their strange surfaces shining like polished stone as she stepped closer to the fire.
Daenerys stepped closer.
"No!" Jorah cried behind her. "Your grace, the fire!"
But she did not stop.
The fire was not hers to fear.
She stepped barefoot into the inferno, the hem of her dress catching flame. Around her, the pyre roared. Sparks and embers rose like fireflies into the black sky, and the people gathered around her gasped and fell back.
She walked into death with open eyes.
The fire did not touch her, and the cries of her followers didn't deter her from the path ahead.
Around her, the world fell away. There was only flame and smoke and the memory of blood. She saw her brother's face, twisted not with anger but longing. She heard his voice: Do you want to wake the dragon? And she answered, I already have.
She fell to her knees, arms outstretched.
The fire burned hot and clean, and the night cracked open with sound.
A shriek tore through the dark, high, sharp, and inhuman. From the ash, the eggs split like ripe fruit. From the flame, the dragons came.
One red as fire-heart, one green as summer leaves, one black as night without stars. They clawed their way into the world, full of life and writhing, steaming with heat, eyes open and ancient.
Daenerys gasped as tiny talons touched her skin. One curled around her wrist. Another settled on her shoulder, smoke rising from its nostrils. The third coiled against her breast like a child seeking warmth. At that moment, she felt their power, the ancient power of fire that forged an empire that knew no defeat. She didn't know how long she sat there amidst the fire, but it was long enough to turn her brother's bones to ashes.
The fire around her died. The pyre had become nothing more than a ring of cinders.
Euron approached slowly, eyes wide with wonder and a gleam of ecstasy.
"R'hllor, who gave us breath, we thank you. R'hllor, who gave us the day, we thank you. R'hllor, who gave us the Lightbringer, we thank you." Melisandre loudly prayed before falling on her knees and bowing with her forehead touching the ground.
Daenerys rose to her feet.
Naked and glowing in the pale light of dawn, her skin untouched, her hair glowing eerily away like a bright star, her body cradling flame-born creatures. The dragons clung to her like newborns to their mother.
She was fire made flesh.
She was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. In her eyes, no sorrow or fear of the unknown was left. The flames had taken it all and replaced it with ancient power.
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
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