Chapter Thirty-One: Corlys III

Laenor passed the skin of wine to Corlys. The Sea Snake moved the skin to his chapped lips and raised his neck backwards to take a drink. The cool liquid washed down his mouth and down his throat, sending a chill down his belly when it reached there. The wine was sweet with a hint of bitterness, and the first he had tasted in a week. Before that skin of wine, he had to make do with mud filled water from the streams on Grey Gallows, the island that Corlys and the remainder of the troops were held. The wine skin emptied within a second, and no more of that heavenly drink was left. Corlys tossed the skin on the floor, and it fell by the boots of his younger brother, Vaemond.

"Driftmark is out of ships to send, we would have to wait weeks, maybe even moons until the ships are built, let alone the time it shall take to sail here." Vaemond said, dejectedly.

"Oldtown have also sent word. Whatever ships they might be able to send would take moons to even arrive, long after our rations finish. If they somehow even arrive, they would have to pass through the Broken Arm, in which Lys would no doubt intercept." Ser Thoren Hightower said, stroking his long chestnut beard. He had not trimmed his head or beard since arriving here at the Stepstones, and his long hair and beard, along with the fact his arms had grown as thick as logs, made him look like a warrior of a hundred battles. His bravery on the field as well as on deck had earned him a good reputation amongst those still left.

The same could not be said for his older brother. Ser Gwayne had also grown his hair long, but he looked more like a peasant, with his pudgy belly and sunken eyes. Despite the rations enacted, he still was in his cups most of the days and had gotten into multiple drunken brawls with Velaryon men for his bad attitude. The man constantly complained, and when he didn't, he was drinking or fast asleep in his tent. He avoided most battles, instead sleeping below decks, and was dubbed a craven by everyone there. The only reason he was not executed was on the virtue of Ser Thoren, who had refused to stage a mutiny against his brother. Gwayne stood there, his eyes red, and his mouth drooping in a frown, watching over the war table, his mind likely somewhere else.

"Then what do you suppose we do?" Ser Daeron, Vaemond's son, asked. His brother, Ser Daemion, had died when his ship capsized just off Bloodstone a few weeks ago, and that had knocked back not only the morale of Vaemond and Daeron, but the entire force there.

"We have no other choice; we must press on the attack. The Triarchy must also be down to rations, must strike before reinforcements from Tyrosh or Myr arrive." Corlys responded, wearily.

Even my motivation is dwindling. What shall my men think then? Once my resolve is gone, we would have truly lost all hope.

"And how do you suggest we do that, brother?" Vaemond demanded, but with any bite gone from his voice. In the early days of the war, everyone had taken to calling him the Master of Complaints, but now it seemed Vaemond had no energy to even complain. "We have, what, under two thousand fighting men left, and less than thirty seaworthy ships remaining. Our rations shall probably last two more weeks, not even that. Attacking would dwindle our forces even further."

"We cannot continue to stay sat on this island whilst our food finishes and our men slowly die of the flux or some other disease. The only other option is to withdraw, we have a clear patch of sea to the west where can sail north, but that is something we would never do, not since we've come this far. No... look, the majority of the Crabfeeder's forces are cut off from access back to Myr or Tyrosh or Lys." Ser Thoren said, his face deep in concentration.

He is one of the men who has still kept his resolve over the past years.

Ser Thoren squinted at the painted table eagerly, studying the small labels on the map, and the small figurines shaped into towers, seahorses, spears, and three-pronged forks.

"They may hold Bloodstone, but they are trapped on the island, just like we are trapped here. We're trapped in stalemate. Our ships block access out, the only way they can leave is up north towards Shipbreaker Bay. They would not leave there, for that would isolate them even further, and then we would hold both Bloodstone as well as Grey Gallows. Their best course of action is remain there, slowly whittling away at our forces with their unchivalrous tactics, hoping their men last longer than ours, or until reinforcements arrive from Tyrosh." He said, moving the seahorses and towers on top of Bloodstone on the map. "If we take Bloodstone-"

"We would not be able to do that, we've tried for the past couple of bloody years." Vaemond sighed.

"I can continue using Seasmoke, to burn their fleet on Bloodstone." Laenor eagerly said, the young lad that he was.

"Aye, you can burn their ships, but the Crabfeeder still use Dornish style tactics with the caves on Bloodstone. They'll just hole up there another time, and you'd be forced to bring the dragon down to head into the caves, and we all know what happened last time." Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, the Knight of Kisses said. He shared a tent most knights with Laenor, and it was clear as day to everyone they more than close friends. Corlys had reprimanded his son for that, saying that he would need to grow out of his nature, since he was betrothed to Alicent Hightower now. But the longer the war went on, the less Corlys had the motivation to stop his son from spending time with Ser Joffrey, as there were more important matters to attend to.

"Ser Laenor has the right of it... we use Seasmoke to burn most of the men, and we would be able to commandeer the empty ships placed on the island, and we would have increased our fleet by almost double." Ser Thoren replied.

The lad knows his tactics.

"It is a good plan, but Ser Joffrey raised a valid point, the Triarchy would scurry back off into the caves. We would need to draw them out of there, for Seasmoke to be effective." Corlys said to the Hightower knight.

Ser Thoren, sighed, moving one of the small figurines to Bloodstone and keeping remainder of them just behind. He took a deep breath and looked up at everyone around the table.

"We would need to send a good bulk of our men onto Bloodstone, for them to storm the caves, drawing them out of the other side. The rest of the forces will attack the other exit of the cave." He reluctantly said, knowing the implication of it.

"That would be suicide. Archers would rain hell upon the forces there, and it would be all for naught." Vaemond responded. "We would need to send at least a third of our men, and a third of our ships to ferry them over, and even then, it is a big risk."

"Yes, we would need to send a large portion of our troops there, for this to work." Ser Thoren sighed, leaning his elbows on the table.

"And if this does not work, we would have lost even more of our troops." Daeron added. "Our morale would go even lower than it would be, men may even defect, and then we would have truly been defeated."

"What other choice do we have?" Ser Thoren angrily asked. "Would you rather we slowly die of flux and starvation here, or would you rather we sail back home, our heads bowed in shame, looking like fools in front of His Grace, all before he lops off all of our fucking heads? The chance of this working is low, but there still is a chance."

"Ser Thoren is correct. Our only choice is to attack Bloodstone, and we would need to send a good bulk of our men. If we fail, at least we die in glory, rather than shitting ourselves to death." Corlys agreed, looking at everyone with his dark purple eyes. His voice had regained some of his previous fire that he had thought he had lost, thanks to Ser Thoren's suggestion.

The Hightower lad breathed a sigh of relief, now that Corlys had given him his blessing. Despite his bravery, he was still a young man, around the same age as Corlys' daughter, and younger than most of the people here. "We ferry ten of our best ships over to Bloodstone, filled with foot soldiers. We storm the cave on this side of the island, and they shall exit on the north-western side. The remainder of our ships sail around to that side and meet those trying to escape, joined by Laenor on Seasmoke. After they have scattered, we clear out any stragglers and then take control of the ships for ourselves. Those that we cannot reach, we ram into and sink them."

"They have scouts, they shall see the force coming for before. By then, they would have prepared their escape on the ships." Vaemond replied.

"Then we set sail in the black of night. We would put out as many torches on the ships as we can, to avoid them from spotting us until the last moment. It takes a few hours to sail from here to Bloodstone. The force that will arrive on the north-western side will swing west before arriving, they would leave first, for it would be a longer voyage. By the time their scouts notice our ships heading that way, they would first think we are heading home, that may drive them out of their caves. Once they realise we are sailing to them, those exiting on the south exit shall be blinded by the sunrise, and we would attack from both sides. Those escaping from the far side would be surprised by the larger force and Seasmoke, whilst our forces attacking from the northwest will have the large hill for cover, so we would not be blinded. We would flank them from both sides, victory would be assured if enact this perfectly."

"We would sail without light? Are you a fool? Half of our ships would sail in the wrong direction and the other half would crash into each other. It would not work." He answered, his voice petulant.

Ah, the Master of Complaints has returned. That shows the fire has returned to him too.

"We would sail with minimal light. We would not be going in blind, Ser Vaemond." Ser Thoren calmly replied. "I know, the plan carries its risks, it is very risky, in fact. Hundreds of us would die. Thousands. But as Lord Corlys said, the other option is that all of us would die. What else would you suggest, Ser Vaemond?"

Vaemond did not have a response to that, he instead nodded silently.

"I shall get to notifying all the men. When will we set sail, Ser?" asked Ser Qarl Correy, a household knight to House Hightower. He was also a Ser Thoren's squire, and likely a close friend to him too, as Laenor was a close friend to Ser Joffrey.

"Tonight." Corlys bluntly replied.

Everyone at the war table gasped at that.

"So soon?" Daeron asked, his hand placed on his chin.

"Yes, that soon. Would you rather wait until the morrow, when we lose some more men, or next week, when our rations finish, or the next moon, when we are all dead? Not to mention the Triarchy could send reinforcements at any time. The longer we dither, the worse it would be. Morale is low and will continue dropping so long as our situation stays the same. We make preparations to set sail as soon as we conclude this meeting." Corlys responded, glaring at everyone at the table. Ser Thoren looked determined; Vaemond had a scowl on his face; Daeron quivered in his boots; Laenor looked eager; Ser Joffrey was dejected; Ser Qarl stood stoic; Ser Lyonel Massey and Lord Bar Emmon glanced at each other; and Ser Gwayne didn't seem to have much of a reaction, his mind likely drifting off to when he would get his next cup of wine.

"Someone would need to command the first force sailing across, to lead the men, provide motivation to them." Vaemond suggested.

"I shall go." Gwayne interrupted. Everyone paused and looked at the man. He was a mess, his long hair all matted and dirty, dried wine stained his tunic and cheeks, and his hauberk was on the wrong way round.

"You cannot, brother." Ser Thoren quickly replied.

"And why is that, Thoren?" he asked. "I am useless. I have spent the last few fucking years drinking and sleeping, and not leading, leaving that to you, still half a boy. You are two-and-twenty, and you have proven yourself much better than I have, cleaning up after my mess. Let me at least go out with honour, no one would miss me."

"I would." Ser Thoren meekly said, his voice returning back to the young boy's that had first come to the Stepstones. "You have a daughter, Gwayne... no... let me lead..." he pleaded, looking his brother in his eyes.

Gwayne scoffed at that. "My daughter... I have barely seen her at all, she is more Alicent's child than mine, I was not a good father... I shall lead the Hightower contingent to Bloodstone, I am the most senior member of our house, you cannot overrule me."

Ser Thoren conceded to his brother, tears forming in his eyes.

"You shall go, brother, fine. But promise me, you will not die there. You will survive and you will go back to Jocelyn and be a good father to her. Promise me."

"I promise, Thoren." Ser Gwayne smiled, and it was the first smile Corlys had seen on the man since they arrived.

I did not expect that show of bravery from Ser Gwayne. And his face at the forefront of the forces shall certainly provide motivation to his men - If the drunk coward is brave enough to lead the charge onto Bloodstone, why wouldn't anyone else be?

"Me as well." Vaemond said, confidently. "I shall lead the Velaryon contingent of the forces onto the island, along with Ser Gwayne."

Corlys nodded to his brother and the plan was set.

Later, when the sun was setting, Corlys went to see Laenor in his tent. When he reached the tent, Ser Joffrey quickly scurried out, his tunic half ripped, clutching his doublet and his ginger hair a mess. Corlys glared at the knight as he ran off.

"F-Father..." Laenor nervously said, standing up to face Corlys. He had silvery white curly hair, that was tied up into a bun. He wore his boiled leather doublet and breeches, and he was strapping his gauntlets onto his arms.

Corlys looked at his son, he had a worried look on his face. Usually, he would be excited to ride on Seasmoke into battle, but this time, there would be no second chances. He would be safe atop a dragon, but everyone else's lives depended on him, this time.

I should not berate him about Ser Joffrey, he has heard it half a thousand times, I should rather encourage him, he clearly needs it.

"You know what we are about to do, and how there's only one chance to do it… but I have no doubt you shall succeed." Corlys calmly said.

"Yes, it hinges on me clearing the fleeing Triarchy forces on Seasmoke... as well as any archers posted. If any ships sail to provide support... I shall have to make sure to get rid of them too..." he replied, strapping on the other gauntlet, before picking up his silver breastplate, that had the Velaryon seahorse etched onto it. Corlys was already clad in his armour, a silvery blue full suit of plate, with wave etchings on the breastplate, and golden engravings on the shoulder pads. Both his and Laenor's had rusted slightly, and were stained and faded from all the blood and dirt and battle.

"You know this already, but I am telling you again, fly high, above the clouds, so their scouts shall not notice you, then at the last moment, dive down from the cover and rain hell on them... but you must time it correctly... too early, and we have lost the element of surprise... too late, and they would have reached their ships."

"I know, father, I shall be ready... I will do it..." he said, taking a breath, before carefully strapping on his steel shoulder pads, and then his round helmet.

"Good lad." Corlys replied, patting his son's shoulders when he stood up.

Corlys was about to exit the tent to give a speech to the remainder of the men, but Laenor called out to him just before he left.

"Father." Laenor said, his voice shaking. "Keep safe."

Corlys nodded and exited the tent.

He then made his way around the camp, to the side of Laenor's tent, his dragon lay there sleeping. His pale silver grey scales shone in the moonlight, and he calmly purred as he snored. After that were a row of tents belonging to the Velaryon household. He spotted Vaemond and Daeron deep in conversation with each other, and when they spotted Corlys, they both nodded at him quickly, before resuming their conversations.

On the ground everywhere were bits of armour, swords, and scabbards, broken and whole shields, fallen tents, and smouldering campfires where men had drunk and sung and argued hundreds of times. He passed by three Bar Emmon men laughing around a campfire, passing around a skin of wine. They all turned to nod at Corlys, with a worried look on their faces.

They all are shitting their breeches, and I don't blame them. I would be more worried if they were not.

Next, Corlys passed by a rack of shields hung up neatly. All of them were still intact, but the painted wood had faded, and some of it had been chipped. The majority of shields displayed the silver seahorse of House Velaryon on a field of aquamarine. There were other houses though too, the blue swordfish on a fretty silver of Bar Emmon; the seven golden stars of Sunglass; the three coloured spiral of Massey; the skulls and lips of Lonmouth; and some of the Reachmen had also left their shields here. Corlys spotted the high tower of Hightower, as well as the quartered black and yellow sigil of the Costaynes. The Hightower camp was on the other side of Grey Gallows, but the two camps intermingled regularly.

After the rack of shields, two knights that had the Wendwater sigil on their surcoat were training with swords and shields, and were so engrossed in their practice that they did not notice their commander passing by.

That is a good thing, they are focused on the battle ahead.

A septon was leading a small prayer for a handful of men, whichever ones had not abandoned the Seven many years ago. They sang a small hymn asking for the Warrior to grant them strength in battle, and for the Crone to guide them to victory, and should they die, let the Stranger give them an honourable death. A small walk after that, he spotted a man sitting in silence, watching over all the people praying, laughing, and preparing for the night, not saying a word, just shivering in the nightly breeze. Corlys pat the man on the shoulder, and a small, nervous smile appeared on his face, before he continued to stare at everyone.

The split between the Velaryon and Hightower camps were not truly separated, there was just a small rise in the bumpy hills of the small island, where they placed the war council table, and each side had set camp in the larger fields either side of it. The council table was deserted, nobody was looking at the map or the figurines or going over the strategy, everyone had known what to do, now it was just time to do it.

Corlys marched over to the Hightower side, stepping over mud and grass that he had stepped over thousands of times. Here was more of the same, some men were japing, some drinking, some sat silently, some prayed, and some practiced with the sword. He heard the hymns of a few devout men, Septon Eustace's soothing voice leading them in a prayer as well. Elsewhere, some other men sang bawdy songs about women, a reminder of what they had waiting for them when (or if) they returned home. The Reachmen all still nodded to Corlys as he passed by, there was no difference in between camps. In truth, by now, everyone was tired of the petty divisions they had made when the war stater and were just eager to get it over with and go home.

He spotted the largest tent in the area, and Ser Thoren along with Ser Robert Costayne and Alfred Bulwer engaged in a deep conversation. They were all prepared, their armour fully fitted and ready for the battle ahead. Ser Thoren noticed Corlys and walked over to him.

"Our forces are fully prepared for the first round of boarding." He said, clutching onto the hilt of sword.

"Ours are as well. Sound the horn. We leave now, then." Corlys replied.

DOOOOOOOOOOT! DOOOOOOOOOOT!

All of the stragglers that were still in their tent quickly scurried out, some still putting their armour on. But that was only a few, the majority were already prepared. Silently, all the forces gathered around the council table, and sat watching, under the moonlight, for what Corlys had to say.

Normally there would be drums. I wish there were drums.

Corlys looked at everyone in the crowd. Of the two thousand they still had, about ten looked excited for this. Most of them looked miserable, and like they just wanted this to end.

Those ten are fools, but we need more fools here if we are to win.

"Men!" Corlys called out, in his booming voice. "We have been on these bloody islands for years now. None of us have seen home since then, nor felt the touch of a woman, nor heard the music from bards, nor had a fine meal on a dining table. Now, we have a chance to return to that. If we succeed, we shall get to return home. But not all of us. A lot of us will die. Most of us, in fact. But for those of you who are unsure of what we are to do - yes, it is risky, yes, it carries the high chance of failure, and no, I will not say that we will win a glorious battle. I will not say that the singers will write songs about you, even if we win. Hell, if you all want to go home, we can sail back, our heads hung in shame, all of us broken men, traitors to the realm if we do that. What I instead offer to you all is a chance to die in battle, some of you just want any excuse to die, some of you want a chance to go into battle, that is what I offer you. I offer a chance of winning, a chance at glory, however small the chance is, it still is a chance. And it is better than what we have now."

The crowd began to nod and stomp their boots, and Corlys heard some cheers and thumping of shields and gauntlets on chests.

"We've been living on fish and stale bread and rotten cheese for the last two years. But tomorrow, when we break our fast, we shall dine on Crabfeeder stew!" Corlys shouted, to the raucous applause of all the soldiers, who began whooping and cheering, and the songs and warhorn started again. The crowd broke away, everyone heading to the boats they would set sail on, and for many of them, what would be their final battle.

Corlys Velaryon's ship, Valyrian, was the first to depart westwards, sailing out towards the Sea of Dorne, and swinging back round to hit Bloodstone from the north. The twenty ships that would sail with them were organised into five rows, four on each line. On port side of Valyrian, was the Velaryon ship Queen Alyssa, captained by Corlys' nephew, Daeron. Corlys' other nephews, the young Malentine and Rogar, would also be on that ship. To starboard side was the new flagship of House Hightower, Lady of the Tower, captained by Ser Thoren, after the carrack Honour of Oldtown had been sunk a year prior. After Ser Thoren's ship, was Red Monkey, captained by Ser Robert Costayne.

On the second row, all four ships were Crownlander ships, the centre two, Silver Sword, and Goat, captained by Lord Aethan Bar Emmon and Ser Lyonel Massey respectively. The four behind them were belonging to House Hightower, and the final four ships on the last row had two Velaryon boats, and two of House Hightower. The two on port side were belonging to Reachmen, whilst the two on Starboard belonged to Crownlanders.

The night was black and still, barely any winds attacked their boats, which was a blessing in that they would not veer of course, but a curse in that the oarsmen would have to work twice as hard. Corlys could scarcely see Queen Alyssa or Lady of the Tower to his sides, and ahead was a black abyss. All he could hear were some commands of oarsmen, and the sea sloshing underneath the boat. The boat rocked up and down as they traversed the dark sea, but sailing was smoother than they had hoped. Corlys walked from the prow to the stern, passing by the men heaving and pushing the oars, already soaked from seawater and sweat. He looked back to Lord Bar Emmon and Ser Lyonel's boats. It was dark, and Corlys could barely make out the dim torchlight from their ships, but they seemed to be in order too. Any further back, and Corlys could not see any trace of the Hightower boats. For all he knew, the could've sailed in the opposite direction, or pulled down by a bloody kraken.

Corlys looked to port side, to the west. He saw the last traces of the sun going down, leaving a small orange twinkle in the dark black sea. That was good, as they still had time until sunrise. The sun was not completely to his left, it was more towards the prow of the ship too, which meant that they had not yet veered off course. They would need to sail northwest, and make a sharp turn to sail east, to reach Bloodstone. They had to sail close enough to the island that they knew when to change their course, but far away as to make spotting them as hard as possible for the Crabfeeder. Once the sun had truly set, all they would have would be the stars to guide them. Luckily, it was a clear night, and not a cloud in sight. But that also mean Seasmoke would be visible in the night sky to those looking up.

Blessings are curses, and curses are blessings.

Corlys looked up in sight of the dragon, and he saw a tiny black silhouette in the distance, followed by some more of the same quickly following them.

It is just a gull. Let us hope when their scouts spot the dragon, they will assume it to be a gull too.

After a while, the sky was completely black, save for a few stars that twinkled. The moon shone down at them, its face cold and pale. To starboard side, behind Lady of the Tower and Red Monkey they could see the outline of Bloodstone off in the distance. However far away it was, Corlys did not know. All he knew was that they had been sailing for about three hours, and sunrise would be in roughly three and a half, so they had to make their right turn now. Corlys walked to the starboard side, his armour weighing him down as he marched.

I would not normally wear armour on a ship like some bloody Ironborn, but we are to make ground and fight in a land battle afterwards.

"MAKE THE TURN!" Corlys shouted towards Lady of the Tower, his booming voice fading away in the large, vast sea. He did not know if Ser Thoren heard his words, until he heard him shout the same to Red Monkey on his starboard, and he saw the torches of their ship turn slightly. The ships remained parallel, but Corlys felt Valyrian shift underneath him, and his weight got shifted to port side. He grabbed onto a wooden railing to keep his balance, and he heard Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, who was on port side, shout to Daeron on Queen Alyssa to turn east. He looked up to the Ice Dragon in the sky, and its bright blue eye was now in between portside and stern, which meant they headed in the correct direction.

His men shouted similar commands to Lord Bar Emmon and Ser Lyonel behind him, and after that was a constantly fading echo of men shouting to turn to face southeast. Now, ahead of them, Corlys saw the island that was Bloodstone.

That, or my mind is playing tricks with me, and that is just a very high wave.

Corlys got the intrusive thoughts out of his head and stood up and walked to the prow of the ship. It certainly was Bloodstone that they sailed to. It had a high mountain raising up on the side, and the mountain went across, which meant they were heading to the correct side of the island. He looked to the sky and saw a dark figure circling around the moon. It must have been Seasmoke, with Laenor atop it patiently waiting to make a dive down.

If I can see it, then so can the Triarchy.

"CUT THE TORCHES!" Corlys instantly said to his oarsmen, and one by one, whatever fires that were lit on ship went out, leaving them left in the dark. Corlys could scarcely see the opposite end of the ship but still walked to port and starboard and stern to relay his commands, and slowly every other boat in the fleet turned black too.

If we were to die, nobody would notice us go.

Now that all the torches were gone out, it was slightly easier to see further ahead of them. Bloodstone became clearer, the island's large hill at the centre growing bigger and bigger by the minute. When the sailed closer, he noticed some torches and campfires lit up, but not that many - they had not noticed them yet, or just had.

When the fleet of twenty was maybe half an hour from the shore, off in the distance he heard the first screams.

The other fleet has been spotted, or have landed.

Corlys shouted at the oarsmen to increase their speed of rowing, and ship rocked back and forth until they reached the island. A few ships were parked on this side, but all of them unmanned. The screams of men got louder, and he heard the commands of men shouting and even fires roaring in the distance. Corlys looked overhead, and the dragon had gotten closer, diving down to the other side of the mountain. A loud roar filled the air, and flames licked up over the mountain. The other fleet may have not arrived yet, but Seasmoke certainly had.

The pale grey dragon soared back up into the sky and circled around the island. This time, he went to the close side of the mountain, raining grey hell onto the archers and scouts posted atop the hill. Corlys could spot tiny people, smaller than ants, scurrying away. Then the dragon went and burned a few of the Triarchy ships that were parked outside of the island, and smaller fires erupted all across the island.

It is time.

They rowed closer and closer to Bloodstone, as the fires and screams got brighter and louder, until the ships slowed down. Quickly, the oarsmen jumped out from their seats and threw down smaller wooden rafts and began climbing down the ropes to board them. They landed in the black water with a splash, the water reaching chest height.

We are still not close enough.

Behind, Corlys saw Goat row careering towards Valyrian, and only just missed the side of it. It sailed to the port side of the ships, going slightly further than Valyrian did, and began throwing out wooden rafts and men continued to land. The ships at the back of the fleet spread out wide, and now instead of five rows, it was one long row of twenty ships. To starboard side, a Hightower ships locked oars with Valyrian and neither ship could go any further or backwards. Luckily, Valyrian was the furthest ship away from Bloodstone, every other ship in the fleet had stopped closer to the island.

Once all of his men had climbed out of Valyrian, Corlys vaulted the gunwale, and carefully descended the ropes. He went down one by one, his body weighed down by the armour and his axe hanging from his side. Once he was a step away from the water, he jumped down. His feet touched the seafloor almost instantly, and he almost went under because of his heavy armour. He floundered around for a moment, regaining his senses, until he dragged himself through the water and onto a nearby raft. Four men had to pull him in, and the small raft was almost knocked over by Corlys climbing on. His smallclothes underneath were dripping wet, his armour and hair and body all soaked with seawater. Corlys sat on one of the seats and used his axe as an oar as they made their way to the coast.

On the small raft were a mix of Hightowers and Velaryons. Corlys' nephew, Malentine was also there. They rowed their way up to the shore and then climbed out and marched through knee high water to the sand, which crunched under his feet. All across the beach were dead men tied to wooden stumps, their bodies half eaten. One man had his face half torn out all the way down to the bones, but the other half smiled at Corlys. Crabs were littered everywhere, some alive, some dead, some eating the men tied onto the beach, and nibbling at Corlys' boots.

Heavy smoke covered the air, from the campfires as well as from what Seasmoke had burned. Charred men, loose limbs and bones were scattered across the floor in front of Corlys. An overturned boat served as cover, half of the planks rotted and broken. He looked up to the sky, Seasmoke still roared from the other side of the mountain, and now he heard even more shouts and commands, as well as the clanging of swords and the smouldering of fire.

Just ahead the was the exit of the cave. Corlys and his men lined up in formation, to meet the Triarchy forces escaping. In an instant, floods of men rushed out of the cave, armed with curved swords, round shields, arakhs, bows, halberds, and daggers. More and more rushed out, more than Corlys had thought, but not more they could handle. They ran out onto the sand and stopped around three hundred yards from where Corlys and his forces were. Corlys looked to his side and saw Ser Thoren, Ser Lyonel, Daeron, Malentine, and other faces he knew. He signalled for his men to wait.

All of his forces stood still, those who had shields pointed them up, and the rest got into a defensive position. The Triarchy forces, meanwhile, looked scattered, and decided to run at Corlys and his men. The oncoming flood came, running down the small hill.

They carried on charging, and the endless stream did not stop pouring out of the caves. There were scores of them, at least three thousand if Corlys could guess.

We are outnumbered almost two to one.

As the horde ran at them, arrows rained down at them.

One landed by Corlys' feet, and another hit a Bulwer knight next to Corlys. Quickly, he ducked for cover, protected by one of his men who carried a shield. The arrows kept coming and coming, some twanging at the wooden shield and some hitting the ground next to him. When the arrows ceased, Corlys peeked up at the Triarchy men running at him. They were closer now, around fifty yards away.

Come on, Laenor, now!

It was as if his call was heard, because just as another round of arrows hit them, and the horde were less than twenty yards away, a loud screech came out of the skies. Suddenly, it was no longer a crowd of Essosi decorated in orange, yellow, and green, but instead a blast of grey and orange fire rose out of the ground. The sand got blasted all around, hitting Corlys in his face and almost going into his eyes.

When the dragonfire had smouldered, all that was left were a pile of charred bodies, and then more men who rushed towards them came after. Some stopped dead in their tracks, while some turned and ran back into the cave. The Triarchy men crashed into each other in the confusion, some wishing to die bravely, and some wanting to live for a few more minutes. Seasmoke let loose another blast of fire, burning the next round of people. The pale grey dragon rose away now, and flew up to the top of the hill, burning the scores of archers perched on the ledge.

"NOW!" Corlys shouted, as his and his men charged into action. He ran as fast as his old knees could take him, being outpaced by the younger knights, but he still ran.

He ran over smouldering flames, bits of broken wood, and human bones and then he met the Triarchy soldiers face to face. He went careering into a man who had a yellow doublet and a round copper helmet. His beard was a bright green but turned to red when Corlys swung his axe into his face. All around him, the chaos ensued, a flurry of mud and blood and steel. He spotted Ser Thoren hacking away at a Myrish soldier who wielded two daggers.

Next, another man charged at Corlys, this one a Dornishman. He swung at Corlys, with his curved sword, but it got stuck in Corlys' plate armour. Corlys then kicked the man to the ground and drove his axe into his ribs. The man screamed in agony, and Corlys heard his bowels let loose when he died. Then another man came running at Corlys from behind, kicking him to the floor. When the man was about to slash Corlys' face with his sword, his tongue stuck out. But his tongue was made of steel, and the man fell to the ground, with Ser Thoren pulling his sword out of the back of the man's head. He then reached out his arm, and pulled Corlys back to his feet.

Before he even realised it, Seasmoke dove down again, this time the flame narrowly missed Corlys, and bright red flames engulfed him. A cart burned next to him, as a Bar Emmon knight writhed in pain. Corlys moved his free hand to his face, and coughed as he stepped over burning fires, and piles of bodies. He quickly dodged two men engaged in a melee, then hacked away a Tyroshi who charged at him. Then, all of a sudden, Corlys found by the entrance of the caves. Some men were sitting in there, watching the battle unfold outside, too craven to help their brothers. Corlys called to some of his men and five joined him, running into the cave with him.

"Bring me the Crabfeeder!" Corlys roared, running at the crowd of men who ran further into the cave. The caverns were wide and roomy, with blood scattered all across the walls.

The Triarchy men ran further into the cave, until they were engulfed in complete darkness. Corlys ran after them, sprinting over bodies, and loose swords and shields, until he saw light. He ran towards the bright orange glow, and when he reached it, he was met by the sunrise. He was on the other side of the island now, the sun coming out of the sea in a cacophony of colours. Shades of orange, yellow, and pink rippled over the sea, and covered the entire sky. But red was the dominant colour. It was everywhere, not just to the east.

Oh. It is not the sun. Everything is on fire.

An upturned boat burned next to them, as did the men he was chasing. The sand and the crabs and the rocks all glowed a bright, angry red. Men wailed in pain, and Seasmoke dove from the air again, showering everything with even more fire. Corlys coughed at the smoke and made his way out of the shadow of the cave and onto the beach. He sprinted across the brown mud, where grass may have once been, and past men who swung at him.

The fighting was even worse here, Corlys could scarcely move without trampling across one of the deceased. He dodged falling rocks from the mountains above, and climbed onto a small hill, where he had a view of everything. He looked to the southwest, and there he saw a small crowd of around five men running away, towards the small rafts at the edge of the island. One of the men had a broken golden Ghiscari mask on his head, and was covered in grey and red scars.

The Crabfeeder.

Alone, Corlys rushed after them. They were heading to the western coast of the island, just south of where Corlys had landed on. Behind him, came sprinting another man, side by side with him, carrying a bastard sword, a shield, and in grey and black plate armour. Side by side, Corlys and the man ran to the Crabfeeder, until they were face to face with the five men.

The terrain was flat, not many bodies cluttered the ground. Off to both the left and right, battles raged on, all the while to the roaring of Seasmoke, who Corlys could hear diving down in joy, and busy releasing another load of dragonfire upon the Triarchy. Slowly, the five other men moved into a half circle position, with the Crabfeeder in the middle. Corlys looked to the man at his side. He didn't recognise him at first, but he had a scraggly chestnut beard, and a belly that protruded out of his plate armour.

Ser Gwayne Hightower nodded to Corlys, and they both rushed to meet the five. Corlys quickly swung at one of the man's legs, and took him down instantly, before caving his face in with his own mace that he grabbed. He then picked up his circular shield and blocked again another attack, whilst Ser Gwayne fought two other men, one already lying at his feet.

The man Corlys danced with was a Lyseni with pale skin and purple eyes, who swung angrily with his curved sword. The sword struck Corlys' unprotected elbow, and he dropped his shield in pain. He then swung at Corlys again, but this time the attack was parried with the mace Corlys held. Then, Corlys struck his face with his weapon, then his chest, and his guts exploded out of his brown leather tunic and through his mail hauberk.

The two men other men still jostled with Ser Gwayne, but one turned and saw Corlys coming at him, he ripped off his golden mask to reveal a hideous face beneath. Cragas Drahar had greyscale covering the right side of his face, half of his mouth had melted off, and large, red, bulging pox marks scarred the other side. The Crabfeeder raised his sword and swung at Corlys, striking him in the elbow that got hit earlier. Corlys yelped in pain, dropping the mace in his hands, and then the Crabfeeder kicked him to the ground. He stood over Corlys, ready to hack off his head, but quickly turned to block off an attack from Ser Gwayne.

The Hightower lad had defeated his other foe, but was missing an arm now, and blood poured out of his stomach. Limping towards the Crabfeeder, he swung his bastard sword at the man, and caught him in the chest. The Crabfeeder clutched his chest, before driving his sword with his other hand right down Ser Gwayne's throat. He collapsed to the floor, lifelessly, bloody flowing out of his mouth and onto the brown dirt below him. The Crabfeeder stood over his body panting and didn't realise Corlys rushing up to him and smashing the back of his head with the mace. He fell to the floor as well, and Corlys climbed onto him, swinging wildly with the mace onto the Crabfeeder's chest until his organs were turned into mush.

After that, Corlys limped over to the first man he killed and tore off a piece of the man's tunic and wrapped it around his bleeding arm. He looked at Ser Gwayne's lifeless body, with bloody covering his beard and body and legs. He had somewhat of a smile on his face, as if he was relieved to be finally free of this world.

You died an honourable death, Ser Gwayne. You may not rest.

Then, he took his silver axe out of the man's leg and walked calmly towards the Crabfeeder. With one heavy swing of the axe, Corlys took off his head. He picked up the severed head by his greasy hair, making sure not to touch his greyscale-ridden face. He took the broken golden mask with him too, and marched back to where the majority of the fighting was.

Dragging the head across, he walked to the side of the mountain atop all of the fighting. The fires had mostly smouldered by now, and the sun had fully risen. The sky was a pale blue, and specks of white clouds dotted the sky. Down below, most of the beach were covered with dead bodies, and only now Corlys could smell all of it. His nose was greeted by a whiff of blood, shit, and mud. In the heat of the battle, Corlys didn't realise the smell, but as it winded down, now it hit him. And suddenly, his entire body hurt. His cut arm, his knees, and his head pounded like a drum. He squinted and took a closer look at everyone below, most of the people still standing were in plate, and wore either aquamarine or grey surcoats. There were some in the bright Essosi colours too, but they were outnumbered by the Westerosi. It was close, but they were still outnumbered.

Seasmoke circled the air a few times, before landing beside Corlys. Laenor climbed off his dragon, covered in sweat, and breathing heavily. The grey dragon had small tears all across his wings, and a spear lodged in his body. Seasmoke squealed in pain, before letting out a spray of grey fire out of his mouth. Laenor went to his father and nodded his head, a large smile on his face. Together, they walked to the ledge and looked over it. The battle raged on below, Velaryons and Hightowers and Tyroshi and Dornish and Myrish and Lyseni all hacking swords and shields and spilling blood.

Corlys raised the severed head of the Crabfeeder in the air to show that the Triarchy's lead commander was defeated but was interrupted by a horn.

DOOOOOOOOOOT! DOOOOOOOOOOT! DOOOOOOOOOOT!

He looked behind him, from the north, came around seventy ships out the horizon. Longships, galleys, carracks, all flying bright sails and rowing towards them.

The Tyroshi fleet. Fuck.

Corlys dropped the head of the Crabfeeder and turned to Laenor.

"You must carry on fighting, get back on Seasmoke and burn the fleet." Corlys gasped to his son.

"How? He's taken a spear in the belly. He would not be able to destroy all of them. I shall…" Laenor replied, panicking, before looking over at the battlefield.

They then both looked over to the battle below, it seemed that the Triarchy had regained the upper hand thanks to the sight of their reinforcements. More of Corlys' men were dying now, and the scales had been balanced. He ran to the other side of the hill, looking over the northern side of the island. The same was happening, men in orange and yellow and brown had made a rush out of the cave, and more rows of archers rained fire on the Velaryons and Hightowers below, without the worry of Seasmoke above.

All the while, the Tyroshi fleet edged closer and closer, out from the horizon and towards them, to kill them all. Corlys rushed down the hill, along with Laenor on Seasmoke, the grey dragon dragging his wounded body down and spraying fire upon the field below, indiscriminately.

Just as Corlys thought the chaos was over, it had restarted again, just with even more fire. The Dornish archers were using fire-tipped arrows, and they hit the upturned boats below, the flames reaching ten feet up in the air. The fire spread from each wooden post to the next, and combined with Seasmoke's wild attacks, the entire northern coast was covered in a field of fire.

Westerosi and Essosi men alike rushed for the coast and tried to row their way back to their boats, but also in the direction of the incoming fleet. The Triarchy men cut down people trying to run up the hill and sent barrage after barrage of arrows down on the crowd below. Laenor hastily climbed onto Seasmoke again, and the young dragon struggled to take flight, flapping his wings desperately.

He eventually did, and flied over the archers, who unloaded a stream of arrows at the dragon. Seasmoke turned his belly up at the flurry, and yelped in pain, before bathing the archers with another round of grey dragonfire. Corlys ran down to the fiery hell below and towards the beach, where he avoided a Tyroshi with a blue beard from falling on top of him. He eventually managed to reach the coastline, where he fought side by side with Vaemond and Ser Thoren and a score of his other men. Triarchy forces came from all sides, and Seasmoke was grounded atop a hill, so he couldn't unleash fire upon them. Arrows rained down on them from above, and more and more Essosi soldiers closed in.

They had made a half circle surrounding Corlys and his troops, and behind them, the Tyroshi fleet sailed closer and closer. He swung and hacked and slashed at people coming from all sides, but little by little, his men were slowly being whittled away. Next to him, Malentine was struck by an arrow in his throat, and he collapsed to the bloody sand, whilst a Dornishman skewered Lord Bar Emmon with his curved sword. Corlys was down to maybe a hundred men, whilst the Triarchy had around double their number, and pressed them to the sea behind, all while the soldiers on the coming fleet disembarked their galleys and began to wade and row their way onto the coast.

Suddenly, someone called out.

"Draagoooonnnn!" someone called, followed by several shouts of "Get dowwnnnn!"

We already have a dragon, what do they mean?

The Triarchy men around them all froze and stopped their advances. A few of the men dropped their weapons and stared at the sky behind Corlys, their jaws stuck to the ground. Slowly, Corlys turned around and looked to the morning sky.

In the sky was the largest dragon Corlys had ever seen. It had massive bronze wings decorated with blue and green tints. Its wingspan spread across the entire Tyroshi fleet, engulfing them under shadow. There was only one dragon in the world that big.

Vhagar.

The old she-dragon then flew over Corlys, casting a shadow so large it felt as though it was midnight again. Then she clumsily turned and landed atop the hill, releasing a roar that shook the entire island.

She is even larger than when I last saw her, back when Baelon the Brave rode her.

Atop Vhagar, Corlys spotted a rider, who looked like an insect compared to the gargantuan she-dragon. The rider wore red and silver armour, that looked like a bit like dragon's scales.

Rhaenys? No... my wife is the rider of Meleys. Wait...

The rider's bright silver curly hair shone under the sun, and flapped around as Vhagar took flight again, flying back out to meet the ships arriving at the coast

Laena?! My daughter... Gods...

Vhagar then released a massive spray of blue and bronze fire upon the fleet, their massive galleys no match for a dragon. The ships exploded into a blast of coloured flames, water and wood and bodies spraying out everywhere. Vhagar then let out a long line of fire upon the fleet, decimating an entire line of ships as they suffered the wrath of the Hoary Old Bitch.

The fifty or so troops on Corlys side found a newfound fire, cheering as they watched Vhagar save them. Corlys lifted his axe and charged towards the Essosi men, swinging in delight, cutting down a man's legs, then lopping off another's heads.

"For Oldtown!" Ser Thoren cheered, as he ran into the flurry, swinging his sword at the dumbfounded Triarchy forces.

Corlys heard Rogar shout "For Driftmark!", and Daeron shout "For the Queen Who Never Was!", and Vaemond roaring out a cry dedicated to Prince Daeron as they all barrelled into the enemy, breaking their lines as well as their skulls.

"For Queen Laena Velaryon!" Corlys declared, driving his axe into the chest of a Dornish archer.

Vhagar came back for another round, releasing her massive flames onto the forces on the land, but flew too hard and too fast and went crashing into the side of the mountain.

No, no, no…

The impact smashed into the side of the mountain, taking half of it down with her. Vhagar rolled across the muddy ground, her body tumbling down to the other side of the island.

Corlys watched in horror, even though most of the Triarchy forces on the island had been cleared, the Tyroshi still had around twenty ships still afloat.

Gods, please…

Suddenly, his panic was interrupted by a massive roar, and Vhagar climbed back up the mountain, dragging her heavy body up with her. When he slowly crawled up to the top, she let out another thundering roar that ruptured Corlys' eardrums.

The Hoary Old Bitch will certainly not like that. But she survived, that is the main thing.

Vhagar then tried to lift herself from the ground and take flight. She done a small run up, running along the long hill and tried to take flight, but didn't have the strength in her wings. Corlys noticed a massive gash down her side, and her right wing was completely punctured by the rocks.

It's a bloody miracle that Laena did not get injured in the crash.

The she-dragon tried again, this time she ran across the beach and shallow water, crushing men and boats alike. This time, she managed, and flapped her broken wings in a frenzy and she somehow managed to fly. Vaemond whooped and cheered at that, and Vhagar continued her crusade, releasing hell upon the Tyroshi fleet, burning all the ships in one long breath of fire.

Within minutes, the entire Tyroshi fleet was completely extinguished, their boats a smouldering mess of mangled wood and fire. Vhagar circled the ruined fleet letting out a booming roar at the survivors below. Seasmoke, sitting on the hill, gave a similar loud screech in greeting, as if he was happy to see the old dragon.

Whatever remaining survivors from the Triarchy's forces had either surrendered or tried to go out in a blaze of glory, before being cut down by Ser Thoren or Daeron or Ser Lyonel.

Corlys looked around, and the dust had finally started to clear, and fires had finally begun to smoulder. Everything was a grey waste, bits of charred bones and mangled bodies were littered everywhere, as well as broken wood and blood stained weapons. The air smelled of burned meat and smoke, as well as piss and shit and blood.

Vhagar then landed in front of Corlys and his men, crushing a few prisoners below with her clumsy landing, feeling the impact on the underside of her wounded belly. She let out another roar of pain, spraying out dragon saliva at everyone, her mouth a wet, hot furnace.

Laena then climbed down from the dragon, her silver hair a tangled mess, and her face covered in dirt and smoke. She had an angry but proud look on her face, her beautiful lilac eyes glowing in the sun.

Gods... my daughter... you have grown so much...

When she walked towards everyone, Corlys was the first to get on his knee. Vaemond followed, then Daeron and Rogar. After that, Ser Thoren and Ser Lyonel kneeled, and so did all of the remaining survivors.

They all kneeled for a few seconds, then Corlys stood up and hugged his daughter warmly. She hugged her father back tightly, tears flowing down her cheeks and onto Corlys' steel shoulder pads. When she finally let go, Corlys kneeled again, this time offering her his axe.

"Queen Laena Velaryon..." Corlys declared, looking his daughter in her eyes. "Queen of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea!"