Unlike the almost playful clash in the Lango Highlands, what unfolded off the coast of Tyrosh carried no trace of restraint.
A hundred miles from the island's painted walls and purple sails, the Narrow Sea lay restless beneath a gathering storm. Heavy clouds pressed low against the horizon, their bellies swollen with rain, the wind sharp with salt and promise of blood.
Loren stood at the prow of the ship, boots braced wide as the deck rose and fell beneath him. His cloak snapped behind his shoulders, crimson and gold flashing with each gust. He did not blink as he studied the distant line of sails cutting across the sea toward them.
The Lannister fleet advanced at full speed, holds emptied of cargo, decks cleared for war. Oars beat the water in disciplined rhythm, hulls aligned like the teeth of some vast steel trap closing its jaws.
Loren's lips curved faintly upward, not quite a smile. There was something cold and dismissive in his eyes, as though he were watching an insect struggle against an inevitable end.
"They came faster than expected," muttered a knight beside him.
Loren did not turn. "Tyrosh has never lacked for eagerness," he said calmly. "Only for wisdom."
On the horizon, fifty Tyroshi warships fanned outward, their painted hulls bright even beneath the darkening sky. Drums thundered from their decks, echoing over the water like the beating of an anxious heart.
Loren raised one gloved hand.
"Sound readiness," he said, his voice carrying easily over the wind. "Raise the attack flag. Let Prince Aemond greet them first."
At once, sailors sprang into motion. Ropes were hauled, canvas snapped, and the silver and crimson standard climbed the mast of the Golden Lion. Warships shifted formation, sliding forward like wolves scenting blood, while the slower merchant vessels peeled away and fell back.
"Ballistae and catapults loaded," Loren continued. "Do not fire until ordered."
Above the cloud cover, Prince Aemond Targaryen circled patiently.
Vhagar's vast wings beat the air with slow, thunderous power, each stroke sending ripples through the clouds around her. From the saddle, Aemond leaned forward slightly, his good eye fixed on the shifting lights below. The fleet beneath him looked small, fragile, like toys scattered across dark glass.
The silver signal flag bloomed against the sea far below.
Aemond's fingers tightened on the reins. His jaw set, and Vhagar seemed to feel the change in him. She rumbled low in her chest, a sound that vibrated through bone and leather alike.
"Down," Aemond murmured.
The great dragon folded her wings.
Clouds shattered as Vhagar plunged, her immense bulk cutting through vapor and wind. For a heartbeat, she vanished into twilight, swallowed by the gloom.
Then she roared.
The sound rolled across the sea like the voice of a god awakened in fury. Dragonfire followed, a blinding torrent of molten gold that tore through the darkness.
The largest Tyroshi warship vanished in an instant. Its deck erupted, masts splintering as fire devoured wood, sail, and flesh alike. Men did not scream. They simply ceased to be, reduced to ash and smoke that drifted down upon the waves.
Vhagar did not slow.
Her head swept sideways as fire poured again, then again, three ships breaking apart like kindling beneath a forge bellows. Hulls cracked open, water rushing in as burning debris rained from the sky.
Aemond straightened in the saddle, lips parted in something close to satisfaction. He glanced back once, chin lifted, the faintest trace of arrogance in the tilt of his head, before hauling Vhagar upward into the night.
Below, chaos erupted.
On the deck of the Tyroshi flagship, Akeman stamped his foot against the planks, his face pale beneath the torchlight. His hands trembled as he clutched the rail, eyes fixed on the burning sea.
"This was not in the report," he snarled, voice cracking. "Not a word about a dragon of this size."
He turned on his officers, spittle flying as he shouted. "Elville swore there were no monster dragons. No dragons at all."
A junior captain swallowed hard. "My lord, the signal fires confirmed only ships."
Akeman slammed his fist into the rail. "Damn Elville. Damn him to the seven hells."
If he had known Vhagar herself would descend upon them, Akeman would never have accepted command. Facing a dragon on open water was not battle. It was execution.
"Orders," he snapped, forcing himself upright. "Load all ballistae. The moment you see her shadow, fire. Do not wait. Do not aim. Fire."
Crews scrambled, hands slick with sweat as they cranked the massive weapons into place. The night pressed in around them, visibility reduced to moonlight and flame.
Akeman clasped his hands together briefly, knuckles whitening. "Gods," he whispered, then louder, "Gods bless us."
A roar split the air.
"There," Akeman shouted, pointing upward. "She comes again."
Vhagar emerged from the clouds like a falling star, her silhouette blotting out the moon. Shouts rippled across the fleet as captains screamed warnings, voices hoarse with terror.
Ballistae fired in ragged unison.
Bolts vanished into the night, streaking past empty air. None came close. Vhagar twisted effortlessly, fire already gathering in her throat.
Flame fell like judgment.
Five more warships were consumed, their decks engulfed as men leapt screaming into boiling water. The sea itself seemed to recoil, waves surging outward beneath the heat.
Akeman's vision blurred with rage and despair.
"At this rate," he shouted hoarsely, "we will all die here."
He spun toward the helmsman. "Signal retreat! Scatter! Turn and run while fighting-!"
The order had barely left his mouth when the shriek of incoming fire cut through the air.
Dozens of ballista bolts slammed into his ship from the side. Wood exploded, timbers snapping as sparks showered the deck. A burning stone arced overhead and crashed into the sea beside them, sending up a wall of steaming water.
Akeman staggered as the deck lurched beneath his feet.
The Lannister fleet had arrived.
Warships surged forward, their hulls bristling with siege engines. Drums beat a relentless rhythm as bolts and stones tore into the already broken Tyroshi formation.
Akeman stared at the oncoming ships, shoulders sagging.
"There is no escape," he whispered.
His face twisted with fury. "Elville," he spat, voice raw. "You have murdered me."
The deck tilted sharply as water poured into the hold. Akeman ripped free a lifeboat rope, fingers clumsy with panic, and threw himself over the side.
The sea swallowed him whole.
Cold knifed through his limbs, stealing breath and strength, but terror drove him onward. He thrashed toward the lifeboat, lungs burning, mind screaming with the need to live.
My wife. My children. My lands.
He clawed his way onto the boat, collapsing over the edge. Shaking, he seized an oar and began to paddle, sobbing breath tearing from his chest.
Something burned bright above him.
And a flaming stone struck.
Pain vanished in an instant. As darkness closed in, Akeman saw his children's faces, felt the imagined warmth of his wife's hand.
Then the sea claimed him.
A thick tentacle coiled around his body, dragging him down into blackness.
At the bow of the Golden Lion, Loren exhaled slowly.
Dragonfire painted the sky in gold and crimson, reflected in his eyes. He had known dragons were powerful. He had not known they were this absolute.
"No wonder the Ironborn endured," he murmured.
A captain glanced at him, uncertain.
Loren continued, half to himself, recalling old lessons. The Ironborn, bound by their Old Way, had once reaved with impunity, paying the iron price instead of gold. Before the Conquest, their sails had darkened coasts from Oldtown to the Free Cities.
They had climbed castle walls with hooks and ladders, scorning sieges and starvation. They had mocked farmers and miners, praised only fishermen and warriors.
Then Aegon the Conqueror had come.
Dragons had ended the Old Way in fire.
Loren gave a quiet, humorless scoff.
"Beat the drums," he said, turning back to the sea. "All ships advance... And Devour what remains."
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A/N: Okay, I know the pacing's been a bit slow lately, and yeah, that one's on me. But I am fixing it in the upcoming chapters.
Small spoiler: around Chapter 85, things explode.Blood gets spilled. People die.And it happens right in front of the King in the throne room.
So if you're sticking through the slower burn now, trust me, it pays off.
Read ahead on Patreon, 22 advance chapters available, with the first 2 free.patreon.com/Captain_Lag