I would estimate Daenerys' dragons to be roughly the size of B17s: formidable but still small compared to some of the beasts her ancestors rode.
There is a Night King here, at least in a sense, but something very different than we saw in the HBO series. More than that, I don't intend to spoil.
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"Well, somehow I managed to survive the journey." Matthew stumbled off the boat, holding his stomach. He'd spent much of the trip vomiting over the side, with nothing to relieve his seasickness. Melisandre watched him, unaffected as always.
"Everything will be prepared soon," Melisandre promised. Matthew's crew members tied the boat to the docks and marched off to enjoy what relaxation they could.
Much of the island apart from the town and docks was covered in rocks and other rough terrain. Those who fished near the shore took little notice of them, save for a couple curious glances. Fortunately, a lone ship received no attention, either from the villagers or any nearby pirates.
"I trust you've kept your mouth shut." Matthew glared. The last thing he needed was for everyone to find out his real intention. The rest of his fleet sailed off to intercept Daenerys while his sacrifice was prepared.
"Think of what we'll be able to do with a dragon! Little wonder Aegon managed to conquer six of the seven kingdoms."
"One more thing: is there any way to get Joffrey to shut the hell up? I've gotten really tired of his running commentary, especially when I have a world to save." Matthew wondered if his mouth had ever been washed out with soap upon hearing Joffrey's response.
"I will see what I can do. I'm honored by the trust you've placed in me, but there are limitations to what the Lord of Light has granted me."
"Probably the wrong word but okay." Matthew allowed Melisandre to lead him to the castle. Not even the Kingsguard traveled with him. They'd protested but would not disobey a direct order.
A pair of horses waited for them both, strong beasts but Matthew doubted either had either been ridden into battle. Both climbed onto the horses, allowing them to lead them into the castle.
Last thing I need is to be considered another Aerys. Matthew considered canceling the plan, trusting in his new technology and modified tactics instead. He'd beaten Robb Stark with fewer weapons and less experience. If she's got air power and I don't, I'm at a severe disadvantage. Even if Dorne managed to resist Aegon, I'd bet their losses were horrific.
"You seem to be troubled, Matthew," Melisandre made no attempt to hide his real name when they were alone.
"Considering what I'm about to do, no kidding." Matthew turned his head. "And my threat wasn't an idle one. If this doesn't go the way you promise. . ."
"I will gladly accept any punishment you choose for me."
Matthew kept his focus on the nearby villages, almost all of which stayed near the shore. He spotted only a handful of trees, with no orchards and few crops. Here and there, vegetation poked up through the rocks, although not enough to sustain a large population.
After a couple hours of traveling, Matthew and Melisandre arrived at Dragonstone, standing more than a hundred feet into the sky. He analyzed the castle, witnessing countless slits for archers to hide in, a metal gate more than a foot thick, surrounding rocks to hinder possible invaders. Small wonder the Targaryens used this as a base. I wouldn't want to have to attack this place, either.
"So how do we get him to reveal himself? I've never been skilled at deception." Matthew stopped a few feet away from the gate.
"Things have already been arranged. While we were traveling, Edric Storm has already been taken from his chambers and is waiting for you to awake the stone dragon. The Lord of Light will welcome him with open arms."
"I'm sure that's very comforting to him." Melisandre led them away from the gate, down a path unfamiliar to Matthew. With the twists and turns, a small part of him feared this was a trap. Should anything happen, he was alone and defenseless against a woman with her power.
"We will be alone here. A few of the Lord of Light's followers wished to be here, but I made your orders clear." The road became too treacherous for horses, forcing the two of them to travel on foot.
Sooner or later, this story is going to spread. Matthew knew all too well how difficult keeping a secret truly was. He stepped carefully, Melisandre having to grab him twice to keep him from falling. Cold wind blasted against his face as they approached, grains of sand entering his eyes.
At the foot of the beach, Edric Storm stood tied against a stake, screaming through his gag. Matthew forced himself to look despite every fiber of his being wanting to turn away. He was only a boy of eighteen, Edric's first encounter with true danger. Matthew doubted he even knew the reason they were doing this.
Unable to stare at the boy, Matthew glanced toward the stone dragon towering over all of them. At a passing estimate, it was more than thirty feet in height, wings close to a hundred feet across. He raised his hand, feeling the warmth radiating off the statue, bigger than any of the dragons Daenerys possessed.
Apart from Edric, Matthew and Melisandre were the only ones for miles. "Least this isn't going to turn into some spectacle." Edric struggled against the restraints, but Matthew knew he wasn't going anywhere.
He approached while Melisandre chanted in High Valyrian, none of which he could understand. Matthew gripped the branches, the bark cracking underneath his touch. Most were at least damped, a few of which were soaked. Maybe he'll get lucky and the smoke will kill him before the flames do.
"I know you're probably begging for your life," Matthew wasn't sure why he spoke to the boy. It wouldn't make things any either for either of them. "Nothing I say will make it any better, but I'm sorry anyway." He could feel how eager Joffrey was for the power of a dragon.
Melisandre stopped chanting after several minutes. Matthew could feel his strength growing, feeling like he could take on the entire world. The stone dragon had yet to move, save for a few trembles so brief, it could easily have been his mind playing tricks.
"The ritual requires one last act to ensure the reborn dragon stays loyal to you: your blood." Melisandre placed her hands on his shoulders from behind. "Place it on the wood, and you will achieve a power greater than any in Westeros."
Gee, what does that statement remind me of? "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me much," Matthew drew a dagger from its sheath. He placed it against his left forearm, taking a deep breath. After a few moments, he dug the dagger into his skin as deep as he dared, cutting a gash several inches long. Matthew held back a scream, but he'd endured worse pain in the past.
He sprinkled blood throughout the wood, praying the wound wouldn't get infected. Once Melisandre was satisfied, Matthew withdrew and prepared himself, still unwilling to look at Edric's face. "Lord of Light's fond of sacrifice, isn't he? Feel like I'm selling my soul."
"Your act protects us all from the coming darkness." Melisandre launched a small ball of fire from her left hand, igniting the wood instantly. Smoke and flame erupted around Edric, tears leaking from his eyes.
No turning back now. Matthew ignored his instincts screaming to put the fire out. It wouldn't be the last atrocity he'd have to commit to keep Westeros from being destroyed. The chains of commanding weighed heavy on his soul.
Edric began to suffocate within moments, each breath sending more smoke into his lungs. Matthew could barely make him out through the crackling flames, though they had yet to touch his flesh. He turned around, fearing others would witness the spectacle, telling stories of the Mad King.
The boy slumped against the pole just as the flames brushed against his skin. Edric attempted to scream, though all he could manage were soft gasps. "Any interference will ensure these efforts are for nothing," Melisandre held his hand when Matthew took a step forward.
Each second was an eternity, the fire sending smoke hundreds of feet into the air. Matthew's nose curled at the smell of burning flesh. He closed his eyes, praying what he'd done would lead to fewer deaths in the end. If this didn't work, if he'd committed human sacrifice for nothing. . .
XXXXXXXXXX
Daenerys flew above her fleet on Drogon, allowing the sight of her to boost morale. Her followers had been sailing for close to a month toward their destination, the first step to regaining the Iron Throne. Within a day or two, weather permitting, they would be in White Harbor.
She spent her days circling her fleet and looking for possible attackers, resting in Slaver's Bay and later Dragonstone at night. Daenerys had learned the hard way none of her ships were long enough for her children to take off. It forced her to stay on land, rather than be with her people.
Daenerys adjusted the visor on her head. Since the last battle, she'd learned how vulnerable a dragon rider could be. And Tyrion claims the usurper has prepared for me. I won't make the same mistake a second time.
She still doubted Joffrey would pose much danger, however. He'd never faced dragons and half the realm wanted him dead. All she needed to do was prove he could be beaten and the rest would rise up for her.
Her fleet moved frustratingly slow, but they were at the mercy of the weather. As they traveled closer to White Harbor, it became more and more difficult for her dragons to fly such distances. Viserion dived down until he was only a few feet above the water, searching for a tasty fish.
Once arriving in the North, she prayed everything would transpire the way Tyrion planned. Though she was still reluctant to give up her power, it would take more than winning battles to be Queen. Perhaps marrying a Stark could be a symbol of better days to come.
Daenerys turned to spot a fleet of ships over the horizon, barely visible from her vantage point. It took her a moment to realize they did not belong to her. She took a deep breath, knowing they could belong to none other from the usurper. He thinks to stop my invasion before it begins. She shook her head. Daenerys refused to allow that to happen.
She urged Drogon to fly higher, into the clouds where none of her enemies could spot her. Rheagal followed immediately, while it took Viserion a few moments to figure out her plan. Daenerys struggled to breathe from such a height, her grip on the riding chains loosening.
It was several minutes before her dragons hovered directly overhead the enemy fleet. I've only got one chance at this. If everything went well, she could destroy Joffrey's fleet before they even knew she was there. "Dracarys!" Daenerys commanded, though she could hardly hear her own voice.
Drogon dove steeply, nearly throwing Daenerys off her saddle. Wind blew in her eyes, obstructing her vision. Her heart echoed through her breastplate, increasing in speed every moment. Rheagal and Viserion took off in opposite directions.
Daenerys hung on for dear life, trusting her dragon to pull up in time. By this point, she could make out some of the individual sailors, alongside numerous devices of an unfamiliar sort. Every vessels possessed the same scorpions she'd faced in the Siege of Meereen, though larger and more numerous.
Before Drogon could release his first burst of flame, half a dozen bolts were launched in her direction, forcing them to turn around. One bolt came within inches of hitting Drogon's wing. Daenerys tasted vomit in the back of her throat, forcing himself to stay calm.
She redirected her dragon for another pass, only for another barrage of scorpion bolts to be launched. One impacted Drogon's chest, though he was too far away for it to penetrate more than a few inches.
BOOM! Daenerys' eardrums felt on the verge of shattering from the noise, louder than anything she'd encountered in her life. She looked down to see smoke coming from one of the vessel, the new device being reloaded.
Viserion and Rheagal succeeded in burning two ships, but they faced a similar tactic. Each time they prepared to strike, an interlocking barrage of scorpion bolts forced them to abandon it. Furious, Daenerys ascended out of the weapon's effective range, raining fire on them from above.
At such height, however, Drogon could do little more than start a few small fires, which the sailors quickly put out. Daenerys twisted and turned, allowing them to wade through the attack, but they would not allow her to stay still long enough to get a clear shot.
Daenerys flew out of range, still intent on making her enemies pay.
XXXXXXXXXX
I can't believe we survived that, Davos watched Daenerys and her dragons retreat. Based on the looks of his men, most of them felt the same way. Their fleet was almost entirely intact, unlike many that had attempted to fight dragons in the past.
Men around him scrambled to reload the scorpions, including two bolts that had thick chains attached to them. It was hoped upon impact that they would hold a dragon in place long enough to kill it. The King had high hopes for such a tactic; most sailors, considerably less.
Davos stared up at the sky, where all three dragons continued to circle. Not for a moment did he believe Daenerys had decided to retreat. This was life and death for her, just as it was for them.
Those ships beside them that suffered from the flames hastened to put them out. Davos stared out at them, ready to take in survivors should it prove necessary. Even small flames to destroy a vessel if left unchecked, especially ones carrying wildfire.
"Reload!" He screamed at those who were left frozen in shock. "We've survived so far, but we've still got a job to do!" Davos looked up at the two men in the crow's eye. "Any sign of the enemy fleet?"
"Nothing yet, sir." A teenager shouted back. He looked too young for warfare, in Davos' view, but such things were often unavoidable.
"I can't believe we drove her off," Mattias, Davos' second son, uttered what everyone was thinking.
I can hardly believe it, either. As his job was to command the fleet, however, he did not speak such words out loud. "Dragons are powerful, but they are not invincible. You've done an excellent job keeping the ship in order."
"Thank you, Father," Mattias gave a slight bow. "But I do not know if these new devices are worth all the trouble. I haven't seen them do anything to assist."
"Trust your own instincts and experience." Davos kept his eyes on Daenerys' dragons circling their fleet. The enemy could not be far away, not if she launched an attack against them. He walked from bow to stern, ensuring each of the ship's eight scorpions were loaded.
They're trying to frighten us. Few could look at the beasts with anything more than dread. Some whispered prayers, convinced they would soon die. And it's likely to work. Few have ever stood against dragons and lived to tell the tale.
"We drove her off once! We can do it again!" Davos exclaimed to inspire his men. "She's frightened of us, terrified of what we can do. Keep your nerve, and only fire when she's within range." How much good the words would do, he didn't know.
XXXXXXXXXX
Daenerys swooped down the fleet on several occasions, though always pulling up before she was in effective range of their scorpion bolts. A couple were launched in her direction, though most kept enough discipline to hold fire. Okay, I can't count on them to break, not the way I hoped.
Viserys would have charged forward, heedless of any opposition. She didn't intend to be so foolish. Rheagal and Viserions strayed away from the fleet, hovering in wait for Daenerys' next act. No matter what, she had to wipe the fleet out before they got in range of her own ships. Even a handful of lost vessels would severely impact her chances.
She could only circle them for so long. Already she could spot signs of exhaustion on Drogon, and there was no ship in the world large enough for them to take off. All right, if they've set up a crossfire, I need to find a way around it. What, though?
Daenerys worried about Viserion and Rheagal more, for they did not possess riders and had to act on their own initiative. Drogon obeyed her commands, at least most of the time. She guided him toward the rear of the enemy fleet, where she hoped they would be less prepared.
With a curse, she spotted her fleet sailing toward the enemy, against her wishes. Not that she was able to relay as such on top of a dragon, but she'd hoped those commanding the ships would have more sense. Daenerys swooped down, holding her breath and praying the new method would work.
Drogon turned to the side at her guidance, bypassing yet another wave of scorpion bolts. Another one of the strange devices went off, but she considered them a minimal threat. He needed no encouragement to burn the nearest vessel, this time daring to move in close enough to guarantee a kill.
Daenerys tried not to cringe at the sounds of the screaming sailors. However necessary it was, she took no pleasure in burning dozens of people alive. Those unscathed worked to put out the flames, but a second burst turned the vessel into an inferno. Anyone still capable jumped over the side, taking their chances in the open sea.
A scorpion bolt impacted Drogon's back, though it inflicted minimal damage. Encouraged by her success, Viserion and Rheagal moved together, torching an adjacent ship. The vessel's stern blew up, sending thousands of pieces of wood in her direction. Daenerys buried her faces into Drogon's scales, not daring to look up.
She retreated before her enemy could pin down her location, allowing what she'd done to sink in. I am the blood of the dragon. Those who remained stayed in formation, mere minutes from clashing with her own fleet.
Joffrey might have optimized his weapons, but they were still slow to reload, and their operators terrified. Daenerys flew down as low as she dared, mere feet from the narrow sea. Drogon charged directly toward a vessel, only to divert and blast the one to its left, green explosions lighting up the sky from every corner.
Rheagal swept upwards, staying out of effective range, shrieking as loud as he could. Daenerys took the opportunity to burn two more ships, though the damage on one was insufficient to cripple it.
Daenerys lost count of how many times she narrowly avoided death, Drogon twisting from one side to the other. Viserion followed more slowly, lacking the intelligence of her other two dragons. Discipline on the enemy ships faded until only a handful had enough courage to stand up to her wrath. The battle fever infected Daenerys, intent on destroying everyone who dared take what belonged to her.
Her vessels rowed in a looser formation, those commanding the ships still inexperienced. Daenerys had only managed to obtain a handful of decent sailors, with most of the Dothraki still too sick for any substantial fighting.
Means most of this is going to be up to me. Daenerys did not dare charge into the center a second time, not into a crossfire.
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"They outnumber us over two to one, and you're having us charge right into the center?" A lord Davos couldn't remember the name of turned his haughty gaze toward him.
"Right down their throats," Davos confirmed. "If we're facing them, Daenerys won't be able to hit us without risking her own ships!" It meant their death, but most of them were going to perish in any event. "Are you refusing to obey an order?"
"I refuse to listen to an upjumped smuggler!" He bellowed. Davos rushed him before he could pull a dagger, with two of his old crewmen beating him into submission.
"Row, you bastards!" Davos continued as though nothing had happened. Most obeyed, though a few could do little more than hold their oars. The dragon's roar sent trembles through his heart.
In all directions, ships and sailors burned, morale on the verge of shattering. Davos moved from bow to stern, ensuring the scorpion operators stayed at their posts. If I die today, I did not do so ill. I was a smuggler. Now I am the Master of Ships.
Their vessel slammed into the center of an enemy ship, breaking the arms and ribs of numerous enemy sailors. Archers hurried to their posts, loosing arrows as fast as they could. Davos made out Dothraki and Unsullied, neither of which he had ever encountered before.
Unsullied formed a shield wall, with few arrows succeeding in getting through, but the Dothraki were another story. Few were fit to fight, green faces visible from even his vantage. Stumbling, they struggled to fire even a single shot, wearing no armor to protect them. "Focus on them, not the Unsullied!" Davos instructed, but the archers had already adapted their tactics.
A second impact against the stern ensured the enemy ship would soon sink. Screams and curses echoed everywhere throughout the line, Davos barely able to tell friend from foe.
Before their ship could retreat, however, a corvus slammed into the deck of their ship, nailing the two together. Unsullied assembled with spear and shield, marching across in perfect formation. In full armor, falling would be a death sentence, but none were deterred by the danger.
Davos urged his men to aim at the Unsullied, but they needed no encouragement. Others grabbed swords and spears in preparation, shaking at the slave soldiers' reputation. No arrows succeeded in penetrating either their shield or armor, their enemy maintaining discipline.
Mattias dived toward one of the scorpion, turning it just as the first Unsulled set foot on their vessel. The powerful bolt penetrated an Unsullied's armor, denting the steel of the man behind him. Another man took the initiative, bodily rushing his comrade. The Unsullied impaled him without a thought, but the force of the impact sent both crashing into the sea.
Those who initially stood against the Unsullied were slaughtered within moments. Panic set in among those who remained, none of whom considered to use the remaining scorpions. Davos gripped a spear despite having minimal training in using it.
Oarsmen tripped over each other in their haste to get away, some diving into the water to escape the Unsullied's spears. Those who intended to fight were hindered by their fleeing comrades. The Unsullied only numbered ten, yet they were a match for everyone aboard the vessel.
Mattias fired a second scorpion, hitting an Unsullied in the back of the neck. None of their enemies moved quickly, an act Davos intended to capitalize on. "Stand and fight!" He screamed at those who had not yet lost their nerve. Several gripped spears and maces, though the Unsullied vastly outclassed them in skill.
Dothraki who attempted to follow were mostly swallowed by the waves, unable to stomach the strong currents. Davos stood firm against two Unsullied along eight sailors. Those in the sea strong enough to escape climbed onto unscathed ships.
Davos aimed at their unprotected neck, praying a quick offensive would put an end to the fight. The Unsullied deflected the blow with barely a thought while his fellow shoved a spear point into his belly. Even with the mail underneath his clothing, it penetrated close to an inch into his flesh.
He had no time to fight back, his leg collapsing from under him from a spear blow. Davos strained to hold onto his weapon, but his strength left him. Mattias charged forward in a blind rage, stopping only with a spear impaled in his back.
The Unsullied did not bother to finish him off, considering the threat over. Davos could do little but watch as the rest of his crew were slaughtered. Their enemy was outnumbered five to one, and they were still torn apart. Those still unscathed dived into the water, preferring it to facing the might of the Unsullied.
Davos looked over at Mattias, giving a mental apology. He opened his mouth but could not find the strength. Sounds of battle barely registered, his mind focused only on his fallen child.
Throughout it all, the Unsullied showed no emotion. Not a man cheered, or boasted, or grinned, going about their task with cold professionalism. Those who were wounded and begging they finished with a spear to the throat. Davos dimly heard those swimming in the water, desperate to reach friendly ships.
When an Unsulled saw that Davos was still alive, he did not plead or cower. His final memory was of the wife he had not seen in years.
XXXXXXXXXX
Daenerys did not dare use her dragons now, not when she could hardly tell friend from foe. Even many of the flags had been torn down in the chaos.
Green flame erupted from numerous vessels, destroying everything in its path. Others hastened to avoid the green puddles in the water, though they were only partially successful.
She did her best not to think about the countless dead and dying underneath the waves. Joffrey had suffered worse, but her own ships had taken a pounding. Viserion and Rheagal launched occasional dragonflame before retreating but neither stayed still for more than a few moments.
Even from hundreds of feet, Daenerys could hear the sounds of battle. By this point, every last ship engaged each other, some of which were forcibly entangled. Those were her people dying down there, and she could do little to protect them.
I won't stand by and watch. She trusted Drogon to be able to tell the difference between friendly and enemy ships. Daenerys moved from side to side, keeping her enemy guessing where she was going to hit next. Her armor had already taken a couple hits from lucky arrows, reminding her to thank Tyrion for the suggestion when she had the opportunity.
A scorpion penetrated Rheagal's wing, causing him to screech in agony. He attempted to turn to the side, only for a second to hit him in the neck, blood spurting out of both wounds. He struggled to get away, barely hovering in place.
Daenerys spotted a chain on the bolt, keeping Rheagal trapped. Several more shots hit him in the right wing, his chest, his legs, until he made an excellent impression of a pincushion. She immediately diverted from her previous target, desperate to save her child.
Rheagal slowly sank toward the ocean, unable to burn his opponents. The ships prepared a second wave of scorpions, more than enough to finish him off. Viserion used the last of his strength to burn the adjacent ship, forcing the operators to take cover.
Daenerys did the same on the left, but Drogon failed to move fast enough to avoid the next blow. The bolt went more than a foot into his leg, and it too possessed a chain. She closed her eyes, unwilling to look at the nightmare before her.
Drogon torched the scorpion holding him, weakening the chain enough for him to break free. "No mercy!" Daenerys ordered, taking special care to burn everyone on the ship alive. They had dared to harm her children, and now they'd pay for it.
They torched the ship four times before she was finally satisfied in its destruction. Those who had not been burned suffocated in the blinding smoke, others jumping overboard. Drogon hovered down, swallowing one of the men whole.
Rheagal used the last of his strength to break the wood, chain still attached. He gasped for breath, limping until he found a friendly ship to collapse on. His eyes struggled to stay open, none of the ship's crew willing to go anywhere near him.
Only Viserion got away clean, his energy spent. He landed on the first friendly ship he could spot, those around him hastening to give food before he decided they'd be a sufficient meal.
What remained of Joffrey's fleet retreated, with Daenerys having no strength to pursue them. She could only count a couple dozen enemy ships still undamaged, the majority either sunk or crippled. She had won.
Yet Daenerys was in no mood to celebrate. She surveyed the damage her own fleet suffered, including a few green puddles that had yet to be extinguished. She'd been told of wildfire's capabilities, a weapon her ancestors had created, one that the usurper had opted to use against her. Perhaps I'll bathe him in it when the war's over. Daenerys forced back the shudder such thoughts gave her, remembering Kinvara's words.
Rheagal curled up on the ship's deck, with none of the crew daring to pull any of the scorpion bolts out. Injuries had been treated during the Siege of Meereen, but these were far deeper. All Daenerys could do was pray her child would survive them.
At least thirty of her ships were doomed, preventing any reinforcements coming from Slaver's Bay. Most crews had suffered casualties, and a dozen more longships moved slower than the others, their masts having been destroyed in the fighting. She could not even begin to guess how many of her people had died.
Drogon circled the fleet, gradually descending onto her flagship, the newly-christened Liberator. Daenerys succeeded in landing without inflicting any damage to the ship or its crew. Unsullied hastened to give Drogon food from the additional supplies she knew they'd need. Despite being among the largest ships, her dragon covered almost the entire vessel, though he succeeded in avoiding the sails.
With an exhausted sigh, Daenerys threw off her helmet and undid her riding chains. Several Dothraki could be seen vomiting off the side, one of whom nearly falling into the sea before his fellows restrained him. All who noticed Daenerys, however, immediately went to a single knee.
"We've shown them what's coming," Tyrion waddled over, hand over his mouth. It took him a few moments before he could speak again. "Those who escaped will know what it means to cross the Mother of Dragons."
"Yes," Daenerys stared out into the ocean toward the fallen Rheagal, though she could not see him at such a distance. "I hope this plan of yours works."
"Once we're in White Harbor, we will be untouchable," Tyrion assured. "Combined with the stories of your dragons' power, the Lannisters won't last long. The Tyrells won't hitch themselves to a losing cause."
Daenerys leaned against the mast, attempting to calm herself. "Make sure we save everyone we can." She didn't know what the casualties were, but doubted they were minor. "Give the orders out if you haven't already."
"It's already done, Khalessi." Grey Worm nodded. "Many of the sailors are inexperienced, however. And what of the enemy sailors?"
Daenerys considered it for several minutes. Their food and water were stretched to the breaking point even before the attack, and taking prisoners would only make it worse. "Let them die, Your Grace," Tyrion suggested. "They would not have shown you any mercy were your fortunes reversed."
"Treat them well, and they will lose any willingness to fight against you," Beenero countered. Daenerys marveled at his ability to hide in plain sight.
"Our own people take priority," Daenerys eventually decided. "If we have the resources, we can rescue the others. If not. . . they're the ones who chose to fight against their rightful queen."
Much of the day was spent fishing men out of the water. For many, it was already too late, having died either from drowning or hypothermia. Although Daenerys did not have exact numbers, it appeared at least 1,000 Unsullied, Dothraki, and other followers perished.
One hundred and sixty-two of Joffrey's sailors were pulled onto surviving vessels with a warning of brutal punishment should they disobey in any fashion. Daenerys paid little attention to the activity around her, with all thoughts on whether Rheagal would survive. Once again, she'd been arrogant, believing that after Meereen, nothing her enemies did would take her by surprise.
By the time they'd saved who they could, the sun had nearly set. Daenerys retired to her quarters while Drogon slept. Tyrion, Beenero, and Grey Worm followed her.
"I don't recommend we announce our return just yet. Our position is still precarious and our allies few." Tyrion sat down, a bowl at his side in case he began vomiting again. "Yes, people will know of us, but we need to make sure this does not appear like an outside invasion. Not much will unify all the squabbling Lords, but a foreign invasion will."
"Are you sure the Northerners will be receptive to us?" Beenero questioned.
"Can't you see it in the flames?" Tyrion mocked.
"Enough with your quips!" Daenerys slammed her hands on the table, holding back a curse from a splinter. "I am capable of proving that I am not my father, and I will prove it to them. At the very least, we have a common enemy now."
"With the victory you've accomplished, I have no doubt the Northerners will be persuaded. Many are eager for revenge against Lannister atrocities." Tyrion lowered his head. "Joffrey's plan failed to work and now that it can be anticipated, you'll be ready for it when the time comes to face him again."
Couple more victories like this, and I'm finished. Joffrey was even more dangerous than she'd expected. There was a long war ahead, one Daenerys knew she could easily lose.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Going to have to do better than that, little sister," Jon looked down at Arya on the ground, covered in mud.
"Shut up," Arya blushed as he assisted her to her feet. Since their reunion, she'd sparred with him every day. Jon refused to have Arya be helpless again, not after such a narrow escape. She'd yet to win a match, but improved each time.
"Took me a lot of years to learn, and I still don't know everything." Jon offered as reassurance. He looked around the training yard, where men of the Night's Watch and a few wildings sparred with each other.
I hope it stays that way, Their truce was still an uneasy one at best. No deaths from fighting, as of yet, though there were numerous injuries. All it would take was for one fool to destroy their tenuous alliance.
He had forbidden Arya to ever travel alone. Not all his brothers could be trusted, especially with a girl around. Either he or Tormund watched over her like a hawk. Arya had learned to protect herself, but Jon refused to take any chances.
"We'll make a spearwife of you yet, girl," Tormund complimented, walking alongside one of Jon's black brothers. He'd welcomed them as allies quicker than both on both sides. "Wouldn't fancy being on the receiving end of that blade."
"Thanks," Arya beamed at the compliment. "So when are we going to take Winterfell back?"
"The Night's Watch is sworn to take no quarrels," Jon spoke hesitantly.
"Oh, bollocks to that!" Tormund exclaimed. "Way I see it, they already broke neutrality when he sent his bastard up here to kill you. Anyone sent a creature like that into our tribe, we wouldn't be worrying about neutrality."
"We can't forget about the enemy north of the Wall," Jon knew Westeros would be completely unprepared for their return. "We don't get help, half of us are going to die in the next winter even without their presence." He hadn't seen one for himself, but heard enough stories from survivors to realize the conflicts between men were trivial in comparison.
"And you think the man who took over that fancy castle of yours is going to care?" Tormund scoffed. "Had to kill me own son when he rose from the dead. Know he wasn't much of a man, but having to take a torch to my blood. . ."
"Can't have been easy," Jon's thoughts wandered to his Uncle Benjen, still missing. He held out hope for his survival, though the odds were mournfully good he had been added to the Others' growing army. "We're growing stronger every day, at least."
"All the more reason to march to Winterfell," Tormund pushed. "You've earned the Free Folk's respect, if not to the degree Mance Rayder managed. Enough for me to follow you, regardless of what any crows might think of it. Haven't you heard people talking?"
"Yes." Since Ramsey's attack, those who remained in the Night's Watch debated whether it counted as a breach of neutrality and what to do about it. Even now, they were without a Lord Commander. Jon hesitated to put his name forward, despite knowing the free folk would back him. I will not be seen as a usurper.
"I know the secret passageways better than anyone," Arya offered. "Most only serve Roose out of fear. They won't betray us to him."
"I hope not." Jon ended the conversation, wandering around Castle Black and taking in its state of disrepair. They'd barely survived the wildling attack. Jon doubted they'd withstand their common enemy, not when they knew next to nothing about them.
Food was an ever-present concern, with rations being cut more than once. Despite his stomach's constant growl, Jon refused to use his informal privileges. A good commander lived under the same conditions as his troops; one of the last things his father had taught him before leaving Winterfell. Hunting parties throughout the Gift caught enough to avert serious hunger, though they were teetering on the edge of it.
Inside the armory, Builders worked to construct obsidian spears, giving them a fighting chance against the others. A few wildlings more open to making common cause labored as well, and thus far, no problems had been reported among them.
He's right. Bolton's already broken our neutrality and it won't be the last attempt. For Arya's sake, I need to act. Jon paused before continuing. Love truly is the death of duty.
Even if his brother's bannermen had lost many of their forces, there were still the mountain clans, men who knew the land better than anyone else could ever hope to. His father had mentioned he'd never eaten so well as he did during his journey. Jon knew he could inspire similar loyalty, and if the free folk followed him as well, Bolton wouldn't last long within Winterfell.
Sam sprinted toward them, faster than Jon had expected him to be capable of. While still heavy, he'd lost a fair amount of weight and gained muscle since becoming a man of the Night's Watch. "You're not going to believe this, Jon!" He expressed the biggest grin ever seen on the boy.
"What's going on?" Jon asked a panting Sam.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Sam caught his breath and gulped. "I saw it and I still can't believe it. Come on!"
Jon considered arguing but decided to follow instead. Arya skipped behind him while Tormund watched with hidden amusement. A few gave them curious looks but no one said a word.
They arrived in Jon's quarters to see the wooden box near his bedside shaking. With an ecstatic grin, Sam swung it wide open to reveal the dragon egg, with pieces of eggshell littering the container.
"This can't be real," were the first words out of Arya's mouth.
"I didn't believe it, either, until I consulted the library," Sam spoke almost too fast for Jon to understand him. "According to the Maesters, dragon eggs can go dormant for decades and still hatch when you least expect them. In Essos, some believe the dragons never died out after all, and. . ."
"When did this start?" Jon watched another two pieces of the egg break. He could see something moving inside, but the room was too dim for him to make out the creature within.
"Couple hours ago," Sam bounced around. "I thought it was my imagination at first, and I know I wasn't supposed to open it, but I couldn't help myself. And there it was, a real life dragon!"
Jon opened his mouth to retort but fell silent. Dragons had been extinct for a century and a half, yet here he was witnessing one being born. Even Arya could think of nothing in response.
None of them knew how much time had passed. Arya clung to him the moment a snout became visible. "Your very own dragon, Crow," Tormund remarked. "Maybe you should have been King-Beyond the Wall."
"What makes you think it's going to bond to me?" Jon responded.
"I'd love to be able to ride a dragon," Arya beamed, growing up with tales of the Targaryen conquest.
"Perhaps you'll get a chance," Jon placed a hand on his sister's shoulder. The prospect of riding a dragon did excite him, but he doubted it would ever happen. According to the Maesters, only Targaryens could bond with them. I can't imagine having any Targaryen blood within me.
Another hour passed before the dragon was finished hatching. Red in color, egg yolk still clinging to its scales. All four stared with their mouths wide open, unable to believe their eyes. Sam was practically dancing with joy.
It crawled along the box, too exhausted to stand on its feet, but still let out an unmistakable screech.
XXXXXXXXXX
Hadn't intended to kill off Davos, but when the Unsullied boarded his ship, the fight was only going to end one way.
I know it wasn't completely one sided, but in the Battle of the Gullet, a fleet took on six dragons, some of which were far bigger than Daenerys'. They even managed to kill two of them, and even (a minority of them) escaped back to the Free Cities.
I'd meant to have Jon's dragon hatch before this, but wasn't able to work it into the story. However, I felt the result from Matthew's sacrifice of a boy with royal blood could prove to backfire on him. True to GRRM's writing, I intend to blur the lines between hero and villain when it comes to the coming conflict. It's amazing what people will do when they think there's no other option.
