The fleet of nearly four hundred ships never came close to Drakoncrest.
Out on the open sea, Sunfyre descended like a living sun, his golden wings blotting out the sky. Dragonfire tore through hull and sail alike. Warships burned, shattered, and sank screaming into the waves. By the time the smoke cleared, nothing remained but drifting wreckage and blackened corpses.
Not a single enemy vessel reached Drakoncrest's waters.
Kraken and Loren stood amid the aftermath, overseeing the grim work of clearing the sea lanes. Both men wore expressions of awe as they surveyed the destruction Sunfyre had wrought.
"A pity," Loren said at last, clicking his tongue as he watched broken timbers bob in the surf. "If even a handful of their warships had survived intact, they would have been useful."
His words sounded regretful, yet the corner of his mouth betrayed a faint, satisfied smile.
Compared to Drakoncrest, which had been fortified with contingencies upon contingencies, Tyrosh was fated for a far crueler end.
Nekania had abandoned the city the moment Recharino sailed. Under cover of night, he evacuated with his household and fled aboard a fast ship toward the Disputed Lands.
Barely had his sails vanished beyond the horizon when Hugh Hammer arrived.
Sheepstealer descended upon Tyrosh like an omen of ruin. Before the city could muster any meaningful defense, dragonfire swept the harbor. Ships burned at anchor. Towers collapsed. The fleet landed unopposed.
Then the slaughter began.
Nekania's desperate gamble had stripped Tyrosh of all defenses. Soldiers surged through the streets, cutting down any who resisted. Slave collars were torn away, iron clattering to the stones. Freed men and women screamed in wild joy, seizing knives, clubs, and whatever weapons they could find.
They killed. They looted. They took vengeance without restraint.
Meanwhile, the soldiers bypassed the slums entirely, marching straight for the painted mansions and marble estates of Tyroshi nobles.
Above it all, Hugh circled on Sheepstealer, black wings beating slowly against the sky. Whenever pockets of resistance formed, dragonfire answered them. Walls melted. Courtyards burned. Courage died screaming.
Only when dusk fell did Hugh finally sound the retreat horn.
By then, the holds of the fleet were overflowing. Silks, gold, gems, spices, porcelain, and luxuries beyond counting filled every ship. Even the common soldiers staggered under the weight of stolen finery.
Before departing Tyrosh, Hugh rode inland to the Lango Highlands, where he delivered a sealed letter to Hidolf, unseen by any but the wind.
Order in Tyrosh had ceased to exist.
At Prince Aegon's command, Hidolf soon occupied the city in the name of the Rebel Army, standing defiant against the Disputed Lands and Myr across the sea.
Fate proved cruel to Recharino. On Hugh's return voyage to Drakoncrest, the fleeing lord was sighted and taken alive, hauled aboard in chains.
Upon reaching Drakoncrest, Kraken confined Recharino alongside the broken and despairing Taylor, sealing them both away.
Once the plundered gold and silver were sorted and secured, Hugh wasted no time. He led the fleet back toward the Tyrosh landing site once more.
Because the ships now carried massive stores of supplies, the return voyage dragged on. Worse still, the winds turned against them, slowing progress to a crawl.
Alicent sat pale-faced in her cabin, one hand gripping the edge of the table.
"How much longer?" she asked quietly.
Aegon stood beside her, his posture relaxed, gaze steady.
"The wind is against us, and the ships are heavy," he said. "Another day, perhaps."
Alicent nodded, though her lips tightened. She lifted her cup, took a sip, then set it down again, swallowing hard.
Aegon peeled an orange with careful fingers. He pressed the fragrant peel into her palm and gently massaged the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger.
"Breathe it in," he said softly. "This helps."
Reluctantly, Alicent obeyed.
When Drakoncrest finally appeared on the horizon the following day, she nearly wept with relief.
She had scarcely recovered from her seasickness when her attention was seized by the harbor below.
True Dragon Port teemed with life. Ships crowded the docks. Cranes swung overhead. Workers shouted orders as carts rolled through the streets.
Alicent stared, stunned.
"This is… the Stepstones?" she asked.
"Yes," Aegon replied. "Though only Drakoncrest thrives like this for now. Grey Gallows Isle remains barren. I still need people."
Drakoncrest demanded supplies without end. Grain, farm tools, young livestock, all were precious beyond gold. Spices, silk, wine, and ore flowed in as well, though in smaller measure.
A sharp hiss cut through the air.
Tessarion descended toward the harbor. The dragon's presence cleared the docks in moments, merchants and workers scattering with practiced ease.
The locals barely glanced up. They were used to dragons.
Foreign traders were not.
They watched in reverent silence as Tessarion landed. Deep cobalt wings folded neatly at her sides. Her claws gleamed. Crowned head held high, copper-bright scales along her belly caught the sun.
"Brother! Mother!"
Prince Daeron waved enthusiastically.
Once Daeron dismounted, Tessarion took to the air again, vanishing beneath a chorus of awed murmurs.
"Let us return to the manor," Aegon said.
Daeron hurried to Alicent's side and took her hand.
"There are still empty rooms," he said eagerly. "I will show you."
Alicent smiled, squeezing his fingers. "Then I thank you, my sweet Daeron."
Daeron's eyes flicked briefly toward Aegon. A sly grin tugged at his lips before he turned away.
Aegon watched him go, brow faintly creased.
That look boded nothing good.
At Golden Dragon Manor, Daeron led Alicent upstairs to choose her rooms. Not long after, Helaena and Aemond arrived as well.
"It feels good to be back," Aemond said, sinking into a chair.
"You and Daeron may rest for three days," Aegon replied. "After that, seek out Ser Arryk and Ser Kraken."
"I will find Ser Arryk tomorrow," Aemond said at once.
Unlike Daeron, Aemond lived for discipline and steel.
"Skill with a sword wins battles," Aegon said calmly, folding his hands. "But only a sharp mind wins kingdoms."
Aemond stiffened.
"You will not rule Myr with dragonflame alone," Aegon continued. "Taking the city is easy. Holding it is not."
Aemond's eyelid twitched.
Upstairs, Daeron abruptly seized Alicent's sleeve as she moved toward the stairs.
"What is it?" she asked, puzzled.
"I… wanted to show you my room," Daeron said brightly.
In truth, he had heard Aegon's voice.
Like Aemond, Daeron found that voice unbearable.
Down below, Aemond slumped under the weight of the lecture. Even Jasper sat glassy-eyed.
Aegon only fell silent when Kraken entered the hall.
"Your Highness," Kraken said with a grin. "Welcome back."
"Delayed," Aegon replied. "Where is Hugh?"
"He returned once already. After plundering Tyrosh."
Aegon's interest sharpened. "He brought much with him?"
Kraken nodded and recounted everything in detail.
When he finished, Aegon tapped the armrest thoughtfully.
Luxuries, gems, silk, spices. Fine things, but useless.
Grain mattered more.
For three months, Drakoncrest would support one hundred thousand souls. Every seed had been counted. Every field planned.
The Stepstones could sustain them.
After three months, Tyrosh would be purged.
And then, Aegon would claim it.
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A/N:
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