The Narrow Sea...
From a high vantage point, Aeonar continued to survey the unfolding scene below; a sense of satisfaction washed over him. Every piece of his plan was falling into place. The Velaryon fleet encircled the Triarchy remnants' armada, trapping them like helpless prey in a spider's web. Their desperate attempts to break free only served to tighten the noose around their necks with no hope of escape. Once the Triarchy's fleet was wiped out, the alliance between Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh would crumble. In a meticulously cold, calculated strategy, the Young Dragon saw this as only the first step in his grand plan - Project Shadowhand. The ultimate objective of this diabolical scheme was nothing less than the total annihilation of the Triarchy. Plan Zero had already dealt a significant blow to their power. But now, with Project Shadowhand, Aeonar intended to deliver the final, crushing blow. As soon as the Triarchy's fleet was decimated, his connections in Pentos and Volantis would swiftly seize the opportunity to claim territories in the Disputed Lands for themselves. Meanwhile, his agent - the Black Swann - would begin the second phase of the operation.
However, Aeonar's ambitions extended beyond this. He would crush his enemies and reshape power distribution across an entire continent. Aeonar envisioned a new era in which he would reign supreme from the shadows, exerting his influence far and wide. He would establish a new empire - his empire, a new Valyrian Freehold.
Time to remind these malcontents of Vaelor's power, the might... of the Black Dread's blood. "Dracarys. lēda kostion. (Full power.)"
Vaelor's mouth curled upwards, his fangs as long as swords, and he opened his jaws wide to take a deep breath. His throat glowed with intense heat as the fire built up in his belly. Arching his head backward, the Swiftrunner abruptly lunged forward and let loose with an unyielding conflagration. His neck extended to allow the surging flames to obliterate anything in its path, creating a deafening roar and engulfing the air in a scorching inferno with otherworldly energy, crackling and flickering with intense heat. But as the initial dark orangish hue continued ravaging the Narrow Sea, a transition occurred as if the very essence of the dragonflame was evolving before their eyes. The outer layer of the pulsating inferno gradually morphed into a sinister black coating, giving them an ominous appearance as if the very essence of darkness had been unleashed upon the world. Within this obsidian flame, subtle hints of dark red swirled and danced like veins of molten lava coursing through the heart of a volcano, adding an eerie and malevolent aura to the dragon's destructive power. He could see the fear in these humans' eyes, which only fueled his desire to destroy them. His wings beat furiously, sending gusts of wind that added to the chaos of the battle.
As the dragon continued to rain destruction upon the Triarchy armada, the Velaryon sailors knew they had to act fast. They quickly maneuvered their own ships away from the path of the dragonflame, trying to avoid being caught in the crossfire and knowing they, too, could be next. Some of the more daring sailors even attempted to launch their own attacks, hoping to take advantage of the chaos caused by Vaelor's onslaught.
"What are you fools doing?! Get out of there!" Addam warned.
The explosions that followed were nothing short of spectacular, lighting up the sky with a fiery display that mesmerized all who witnessed it. The few ships caught in the blast had exploded into countless fragments, sending debris flying in all directions. The sound of the explosions echoed across the sea, a deafening roar that could be heard for miles. The immense power of the flames sent shockwaves rippling through the air, reverberating with a force that seemed to shake the Narrow Sea. These shockwaves, like invisible tendrils, reached out and touched both the Triarchy and Velaryon fleets, causing chaotic disturbances that sent waves of panic and confusion through the ranks of sailors and corsairs alike. The ships were tossed about like toys in a storm, their crews struggling to maintain their balance and keep their vessels afloat. The sea boiled and churned as if angry at the destruction wrought upon it. The explosions and shockwaves shattered their formations, scattering their ships and disrupting their carefully laid plans. The ensuing chaos starkly contrasted with the disciplined and coordinated maneuvers they had executed just moments before.
The Velaryon fleet, too, was not spared from the effects of the dragonfire and its subsequeent shockwaves, but it had managed to avoid the worst of the dragonfire. The once steady and composed sailors now struggled to maintain their footing as the sea beneath them churned and heaved. The ships rocked violently, threatening to capsize and plunge their crews into the treacherous waters below. The chaos that had befallen the Triarchy's ships now threatened to engulf the Velaryon fleet as well.
As the battle raged, Aegon slew another high-ranking Triarchy commander. However, the tumultuous sea beneath him threatened to disrupt his balance. The undulating waves crashed against the sides of the ship he was on, causing it to sway violently, its wooden frame creaking and groaning under the strain. Aegon, caught off guard by the sudden movement, felt his footing falter, his body swaying dangerously from side to side. "Whoa, whoooooaa!" he exclaimed, grappling onto a taut sailing line tightly wound around the mast as he fought to stay upright. With a firm grip, he clung on for dear life, his muscles straining against the relentless force of the waves. Father, what are you doing?! Stop! I'm still on the ship! His grip tightened, his knuckles turning white as he fought against the relentless sway of the vessel. The wind whipped through his hair, his eyes squinting against the salty spray that assaulted his face. Through sheer force of will, Aegon managed to steady himself, his body swaying in sync with the ship's movements.
Aemma fearlessly guided Silverwing through the blazing inferno of her father's dragon, showing little concern for the raging flames. The scorching heat licked at her skin, but she remained unaffected by the fire, her resolve unyielding. Aemma was the blood of Old Valyria, like her father and brothers. She was trained for this moment, honing her skills as a dragonrider, and now it was time to put them to the ultimate test. "Grab hold!" she called out, flinging a lengthy rope into the air, its fibers billowing and dancing in the wind. It arced gracefully, weaving through the flames like a serpent, seeking its target.
When Aegon saw the rope, he immediately made a beeline for it, his agile footwork perfectly in sync with the swaying motion of the ship. With the elegance of a cat, he gracefully maneuvered himself towards the railings just as another powerful wave surged towards the Triarchy vessel. Sensing the imminent danger, Aegon swiftly leaped into the air, his body propelled by his fight-or-flight instinct. With a firm grip on the rope, he could feel a sudden jerk as it pulled him upwards. Aegon clung to the rope, his grip unyielding, as Silverwing ascended higher into the sky. The wind whipped around them, carrying the acrid scent of smoke and the distant cries of those left behind. With all his strength, he pulled himself up the rope, hand over hand, until he reached the top of Aemma's saddle. Aegon glanced downwards, his feet suspended mid-air, witnessing the tremendous impact of the next wave from the Narrow Sea crashing against the Triarchy vessel, now helpless and vulnerable. The towering waves crashed against its hull, mercilessly battering it from all sides. The remaining crew, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, desperately clung to anything they could find, their screams drowned out by the roaring tempest. The wave's immense force crashed against the ship with such intensity that it ultimately capsized, swallowed entirely by the unforgiving sea. The sea churned below him, a maelstrom of swirling water and debris.
Jaehaerys, perched upon Vermithor's back as he gripped the reins tightly, occupied his saddle. As casualties continued mounting with each passing moment, the Silver Dragon turned his gaze towards his sister's audacious endeavor to rescue their brother Aegon. Good, she's got him. Satisfied, he observed the sinking vessel that Aegon had been trapped on. Father, what is wrong with you? This is madness! To defeat the enemy, you're risking the lives of our comrades. He couldn't believe his father, King Aeonar, had lost touch with reality that he'd allow such madness to unfold. The once tough but fair man they once looked up to for guidance had been consumed by his obsession with defeating his enemies, real or imagined. Even the lives of his own men were deemed expendable in this pursuit. For a fleeting moment, he never thought Aeonar would stoop so low upon succumbing to the Targaryen madness. Now Jaehaerys saw him as a shell of the man he once was. Was his father so far gone that he was beyond redemption?
But even as he thought these things, Jaehaerys couldn't bring himself to give up on his father completely. He knew that Aeonar had once been a good man, respected by his people, with the makings of a good king. Yet fate, in an act of cruelty, had a different idea. Perhaps there was still a chance for him to redeem himself, to make him see reason and understand that there was more to life than just winning. He couldn't let his father's obsession with victory continue to endanger their subjects. For now, though, Jaehaerys could only focus on the task at hand.
Vermithor grumbled beneath him as if sensing his rider's thoughts. The bond between dragon and rider was strong, a symbiotic connection beyond words. They were partners in this battle, relying on each other's instincts and skills to navigate the treacherous skies. With each beat of his great tan wings, they soared higher into the sky, the dragon's immense strength propelling them forward.
"Dracarys, Vērmithari! (Vermithor!)"
As he swiftly flew by, Vermithor unleashed a powerful torrent of fiery tan and gold upon the Triarchy vessels beneath him. His fiery breath consumed ship after ship, turning the sea into a sea of fire. The Triarchy corsairs, panic-stricken, jumped overboard, hoping to escape the inferno that raged around them. But the dragons were relentless, their flames reaching even the furthest corners of the Triarchy armada, their sails tattering, and their hulls crumbling.
Rhaenyra, mounted on Syrax, followed suit. "Dracarys!" Together, they unleashed a torrent of dragonflame that scorched the Triarchy ships to their very core before swiftly retreating to a safe distance.
Aemma, having successfully rescued Aegon, soared through the skies on Silverwing. "Dracarys!" With each beat of her wings, the elder she-dragon unleashed a blazing inferno of blue and orange, obliterating any ship unfortunate enough to be in her path. The Triarchy forces, their morale shattered, could only watch in horror as the might of the Targaryen dragons decimated their fleet.
Nettles, perched atop Sheepstealer, set yet another ship ablaze. "Dracarys!" The wild dragon's flames licked at the sails and devoured the wooden hull. The Triarchy, now in a state of utter chaos, scrambled to find any means of escape from the dragons' wrath.
Viserys, riding Maelyx, followed closely behind them, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. "Dracarys!" His dragon's flames danced through the air, turning targeted Triarchy ships into floating pyres.
When Jacaerys swept down upon a line of Lysene galleys on Vermax, a barrage of spears and arrows greeted him from below. The air was filled with the whistling sound of projectiles slicing through the air, creating a deadly symphony of impending doom. The Lysene sailors, known for their skill with ranged weapons, unleashed their deadly arsenal with precision. "Dracarys!" Vermax responded to the attack by unleashing a torrent of flames, engulfing several enemy ships in a sea of fire. One ship took fire, and then another.
Still, the men of the Free Cities fought on. Their surviving ships regrouped, forming a defensive line against the dragon's onslaught and the Velaryon fleet's assault. They unleashed a volley of arrows, aiming for Vermax's vulnerable underbelly... Then a shout rang out, and they looked up to see more winged shapes coming around and turning toward them. The sea around them soon filled with screams and cries for help as some sailors struggled to stay afloat amidst the wreckage. Some were fortunate enough to find refuge in the unforgiving sea.
Others were not so lucky, succumbing to the relentless flames or being crushed beneath the weight of collapsing vessels before drowning. Facing a single dragon is one thing; facing seven at once is another.
The sound of clashing steel echoed through the air as Racallio continued to fend off the Velaryon sailors, skillfully wielding his dual blades in a synchronized dance of defense and offense. His movements were fluid and precise, each strike calculated to take down his opponents with maximum efficiency. Despite being outnumbered, the Tyroshi general showed no fear or hesitation. With a swift parry, he deflected one attacker's strike before swiftly retaliating with a lethal slash to the exposed neck of his opponent. However, the Velaryon sailors were relentless and continued to press forward, determined to take him down.
"Surround him, men!" one of the Velaryon sailors cried out.
"He's just one man! Overwhelm him with superior numbers!"
Racallio's eyes darted back and forth, scanning the battlefield for any weaknesses he could exploit. He saw an opening and lunged forward, thrusting his sword into the chest of another sailor. With every clash of steel, Racallio effortlessly parried their strikes, his movements fluid and graceful. He seemed to anticipate their every move, countering their attacks with lightning-fast ripostes that left them reeling. "Is there no one else?!" he laughed tauntingly, mocking their feeble attempts to best him. "Come on, I'm just getting started!" With each defeated opponent, his reputation as a fearsome warrior grew, spreading like wildfire among the Velaryon ranks.
"He's too strong!" they warned.
As the Velaryon sailors hesitated, their confidence shaken by Racallio's display of skill and power, a few stepped forward, determined to prove their worth. Racallio welcomed their challenge with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with excitement and arrogance. He lunged forward, his blades slicing through the air with deadly precision, each movement calculated and deliberate.
"It's no use!"
"Pull back! Pull back!"
Yet Racallio's skill was not limited to his physical prowess alone. He possessed a keen intellect and a strategic mind, always one step ahead of his enemies. He exploited their weaknesses and gaps in their defenses and even turned their own attacks against them. It was as if he could see the battle unfolding slowly, his mind working rapidly to calculate the best course of action.
Despite this, thick pillars of dark smoke rose from the water. Racallio knew the battle was lost... all was lost... The Triarchy remnants were losing too many men and almost their entire fleet. Nevertheless, even in the face of imminent defeat, Racallio believed that his time had not yet come. He knew surrender was not an option but refused to accept the inevitable either. His men, weary and battered, looked to him for guidance. They saw the fire in his eyes, the unwavering determination burning within him. Racallio rallied his troops, his voice booming across the deck, urging them to stand firm and never give up.
Sharako Lohar, who had survived the destruction of the Hydra's Lament, climbed aboard the deck. "What the hell do you think you're doing?! How dare you seize my fleet as if it were your own! You, a mere Myrish opportunist, have the audacity to claim what rightfully belongs to me!" He bellowed with fury, his fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white with the force of his rage.
"You had your chance, admiral, and you failed," Racallio retorted, his words laced with a hint of satisfaction. "Look around you: the Velaryons and Targaryens have trapped you with no chance of escape. Every single one of these men, every single one of these ships, met their demise due to your stupidity. Your arrogance and incompetence have cost us dearly, admiral."
Sharako's eyes scanned the faces before him, searching for any sign of remorse or regret. But all he saw was defiance and arrogance. Emboldened by their newfound authority, the crew refused to back down. A bitter smile tugged at the corners of Sharako's lips as he realized the depth of their delusion. "You think you can command this fleet? Do you think you can fill the void left by the fallen? You are nothing but fools, blinded by your own greed and ambition!" His voice boomed across the deck, carrying with it a sense of finality.
The Triarchy is lost. It seems that my destiny lies elsewhere. "Prepare to fire the grappling hooks! Target the smaller ones!" Racallio instructed his men, his voice carrying over the chaos of the battle. His soldiers, trained to follow his every command without question, immediately sprang into action.
"Belay that order!" Sharako commanded.
"Ignore the admiral. Just do it!"
"Yes, general!" numerous Myrish troops acknowledged in unison, their voices filled with unwavering resolve. They resumed their positions, ready to launch the grappling hooks and aim the scorpions.
Sharako's voice echoed with fury as he bellowed, "Traitors! Mutineers! I said belay tha― Ngh!" However, his words were abruptly silenced as Racallio swiftly thrust his sword into the Lysene admiral's abdomen. The blade, sharp and deadly, pierced through the flesh, tearing through organs and muscle, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. As the sword emerged from Sharako's back, a spray of crimson erupted, staining the pristine deck of the ship. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the salty sea breeze. Sharako's body convulsed in pain, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. He desperately reached out, his trembling hand grasping at Racallio's shoulder. But it was futile.
"You really don't know when to shut up, Lysene," Racallio looked down upon him.
Blood, thick and dark, surged forth from Sharako's mouth, drowning his words and staining his lips. His grip on Racallio's shoulder weakened, his strength draining away with each passing moment. The life force within him ebbed away, leaving him motionless and lifeless on the blood-soaked deck. Silence descended upon the ship, broken only by the lapping of waves against the hull. Racallio slowly withdrew his sword from Sharako's lifeless body. The blade, now painted red with blood, hit the deck with a metallic clang, hitting the deck reverberated through the silence, a haunting reminder of the brutal act that had just taken place. Blood dripped from the tip of the sword, forming a macabre pool at Racallio's feet.
Aeonar, perched upon his dragon, witnessed the unexpected betrayal unfolding from above. Despite its unforeseen nature, this mutiny was not a disruption but seamlessly aligned with the meticulous strategy he had crafted for Project Shadowhand. With a calculated mind and a heart devoid of mercy, Aeonar knew that Sharako's murder would serve as a catalyst for the ultimate victory he sought. The Young Dragon's lips curled into a wicked smile, reveling in it. Good, good. This will do quite nicely. Once the battle is won, the Black Swan will receive word of what transpired here. Disseminate this information, Lady Johanna, and let the magisters know who was responsible for their defeat. Don't exaggerate. Let the unadulterated truth be known.
Meanwhile, Jacaerys and Vermax readied themselves for another attack, this time targeting a Myrish galley. With precision, the Velaryon prince directed his dragon towards the vessel. The young dragon's wings beat powerfully, propelling them forward at an incredible speed. Jacaerys held tightly onto Vermax's reins, his heart pounding with anticipation. "Dracar―"
However, as Vermax continued his rapid descent towards the ship, his jaws wide in anticipation of a fiery attack, the Myrish sailors stood their ground, their faces determined and unwavering. With precision and expertise, the sailors swiftly aimed their scorpions mounted on the ship's deck, their deadly bolts ready to be unleashed upon the approaching beast. As Vermax soared past the crow's nest, the Myrish sailors wasted no time. They activated the grappling hooks embedded within the mortar, launching them toward the dragon one by one. The sharp and sturdy hooks were designed to latch onto the scales of a dragon, providing a means to restrain and control the creature. Miraculously, one of the hooks found its mark, wedging itself firmly between two scales, propelled by the dragon's immense velocity.
"*Reeeeeeeeeee!*" Vermax let out a piercing screech of agony as one of the hooks caught him off guard and dug deep into his flesh. The sharp pain radiating from the hook sent waves of agony through his body, causing his muscles to tense and his movements to become jerky and uncoordinated. The sudden attack brought his mid-flight to an abrupt halt, causing him to strain against the sharp prongs that dug into his scales. With each flap of his wings, the hooks dug deeper into his flesh, tearing through scales and drawing rivulets of crimson blood. The hook seemed to tighten its hold with every passing moment, threatening to tear through his flesh. His once graceful flight turned into a chaotic struggle for survival, his wings beating erratically against the air. The young dragon twisted and turned, his body contorting in unnatural angles, desperately trying to free himself.
"Direct hit!" a Myrish sailor exclaimed, quickly coiling his end of the chain around the mast. The ship's weight and Vermax's wings tore a long, jagged gash in the dragon's unprotected right flank.
"We've got them now!"
"Hit 'em again!" Racallio ordered.
"Fire!"
On command, the Myrish galley's scorpions launched a fresh wave of metallic pronged hooks aimed at Vermax. The hooks struck his back legs and left shoulder with a loud thud, causing Vermax to roar in pain. The sharp pain from the hooks made it difficult for the dragon to move, and he struggled against the grapnels' hold on him.
"Vermaks! (Vermax!)" Jacaerys cried out. His voice echoed through the air as he desperately reached out to grab one of the hooks. Leaning over from his saddle, he strained to free the metal prong that had embedded itself into his dragon's flesh. However, the hooks stubbornly held on, digging deeper and refusing to release their grip. "Ngh!" Frustration and discomfort filled Jacaerys as he grunted with each pull. "Argh, no, come on, Vermax! Nnngh! Aderī! Sōvēs, Vermaks! Hepās, vēzot (Quickly! Fly, Vermax! Climb, upward!)"
Vermax exerted all his strength, but his attempts to budge were futile. Despite vigorously flapping his wings, he couldn't move. "*ReeaArarar!*" he screeched again. The prongs embedded themselves further with each desperate struggle, causing Vermax to grow increasingly distressed. Panicking, the young dragon lets out a resounding cry for help. "*RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!*"
Vermax's cry pierced the still air, reverberating across the vast expanse and alerting the other dragons who were soaring high above - Vermithor, Silverwing, Vaelor, Syrax, Sheepstealer, and Maelyx - along with their riders. Jaehaerys, Aemma, Aegon, Aeonar, Rhaenyra, Viserys, and Nettles all heard the distress in Vermax's voice and looked over to investigate. As their heads turned, they saw that the young dragon was entangled in a thick net, its barbed hooks digging deeper into his scales with each frantic movement as the Myrish sailors below began to reel him in towards the unforgiving waves of the ocean.
"Oh no," Jaehaerys gasped.
"JACE!!" Rhaenyra's eyes went wide with horror, her maternal instincts shifting into overdrive.
"Jace!" Aemma and Aegon shouted in terror.
"Ah, fuckin' hell," Nettles cursed.
"Hold on, Jace!" Viserys called out to him.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Rhaenyra guided her dragon into a swift descent toward the Myrish galley, hoping to rescue her son. Jacaerys was her firstborn child, and the mere thought of losing him or any of her children in this dangerous situation was unbearable. "Hold on, Jace! I'm coming!" Syrax elegantly tucked her wings against her body, propelling herself forward as the she-dragon descended rapidly toward the ship.
"Here comes another one, general!" one of the sailors called out.
"Ready the scorpions. Take them out," Racallio instructed.
Viserys steered Maelyx toward Rhaenyra, Syrax, and the Myrish galley. Despite being slightly smaller than Syrax, Maelyx swiftly closed the distance between them. As they approached, Viserys couldn't help but notice the increasing number of Myrish crossbowmen along the vessel's crow's nest and scorpions aiming at them and Vermax. "Aunt Rhaenyra, they're targeting us!" he alerted her.
Rhaenyra's attention was utterly fixated on Jacaerys, causing her to overlook their presence. It didn't take long before Silverwing, Sheepstealer, and Vermithor swooped into the chaotic scene. Leading the charge was the mighty Bronze Fury, being the largest and most formidable of them all. One of Vermithor's notable advantages was his sheer size, which rendered him impervious to the feeble attempts of small weaponry to drag him down. Additionally, his advanced age had hardened his scales, effectively making them into an impenetrable armor shielding him from crossbow bolts or grappling hooks attempting to latch onto him.
Vermax let out a piercing screech as he plummeted, his wings failing to keep him aloft any longer. As he crashed into the vast expanse of the sea, he found himself entangled in the rigging, desperately clawing at the water in a futile attempt to regain his flight. The young dragon's powerful thrashes created a tumultuous disturbance on the surface of the Narrow Sea as he fought against the unforgiving currents. Meanwhile, Jacaerys managed to leap free just before the water impact. He clung onto a smoldering piece of wreckage, his heart pounding in his chest. However, his respite was short-lived, as a fleet of Triarchy ships swiftly closed in on his position, encircling him with their menacing presence.
"We'll hold them off! Give Jay some cover so he can get Jace!" Aemma advised.
At the signal, Silverwing, Maelyx, and Sheepstealer veered off and flew in circles, attacking a raging fire on the Myrish ships that had gathered to protect Jacaerys. Rhaenyra was devastated by the turn of events, but she had faith in her niece and nephews to assist in rescuing her son, and she directed Syrax to aid them in keeping the Triarchy's troops at bay.
Jaehaerys clenched the reins of his saddle with a vice-like grip, his mind racing. Shit, shit, shit! I'm not going to make it! "Jacaerys!" he called out urgently, hoping his cousin would hear him. Come on, go, go, go! I'm almost there! As he spotted the Myrish crossbowmen, his eyes flashed with fury. "Get away from him! Dracarys, Vērmithari! (Vermithor!)"
Responding to his rider's commands, Vermithor released a scorching inferno toward the crossbowmen to protect Jacaerys. With the assistance of Syrax, Sheepstealer, Maelyx, and Silverwing, the Triarchy troops were momentarily distracted. Jaehaerys skillfully maneuvered his dragon, inching closer to his cousin.
"Yel ondurilāt, Vērmithari! (Grab him, Vermithor!)"
"*Ruuuuuuuuu!*" Vermithor closed the distance near his target, extending his wingspan to slow himself down while outstretching his clawed feet.
Jacaerys shielded his face from the scorching heat, still adrift amidst the debris. Vermax, still entangled in the rigging, desperately thrashed against the water as he fought to free himself. The young dragon clawed at a burning galley, hoping to find some leverage. As wood splintered and the mast came tumbling down, Vermax, still thrashing in the water, became trapped. When the ship tilted and sank, the young dragon fell with it.
However, the sinking mast's powerful pull yanked Jacaerys away from the wreckage, dragging him beneath the water's surface. His arms flailed against the dark and murky depths of the Narrow Sea. His vision was blurred and stinging from the saltwater; he couldn't see anything except the fiery glow of dragonflame above. The wreckage of the galley had vanished beneath the waves, leaving no trace of Vermax anywhere. Jace's heart sank, realizing he was alone in the vast expanse of the Narrow Sea. As the seconds ticked by, bubbles escaped his lips; his chest began to constrict tightly, his lungs began to burn, his body ached, his muscles screamed in protest, and his arms frantically sliced through the water. Jace was running out of air, and his body grew weaker with each passing moment.
Just when Jacaerys thought he couldn't hold on any longer, he felt something big seizing his midsection and forcefully yanking him upwards. Upon breaking the surface, Jace gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. "Ack, ack, ack!" With salty seawater stinging his eyes, he focused his gaze on the receding surface of the Narrow Sea. "What the...?" Jacaerys, still catching his breath, felt an uncomfortable pressure surrounding him. Upon touching it, he noticed it was wet and covered in scales. It was a dragon's foot. Looking upwards, he saw that Vermithor was carrying him off to safety. "Ja... Jay...?"
Jaehaerys, however, due to having gotten close to save Jacaerys's life, was struck by two crossbow bolts-one pierced his pectoralis major, while the other lodged itself in his anterior deltoid. "Urgh!" By the gods, this hurt so badly. Jaehaerys groaned in agonizing discomfort. The pain was a constant reminder of the danger he faced, but it only strengthened his resolve. Gripping the reins tightly, he pushed through the pain, his fingers trembling with the effort.
Aemma and Aegon on Silverwing, Viserys atop Maelyx, and Rhaenyra on Syrax flew up to ride beside them.
"He got him!" Aegon noticed Jacaerys in Vermithor's grip.
"Jace!" Rhaenyra called out. Tha... Thank you, Jaehaerys. Aegon, Viserys, Aemma... thank you so much. You saved both my sons.
"Oh gods, brother! You're hurt!" Aemma noticed the extent of Jaehaerys' injuries.
"How bad is it?" Viserys inquired.
"I'll... I'll be fine," Jaehaerys said, clenching his teeth tightly. He endured the pain, but his primary concern was Jacaerys's safety - that was the most important thing. Looking over his shoulder, he observed the battle reaching its decisive climax. Father...
Racallio observed the dragons taking flight while the Myrish galleys began to sink in the fiery inferno caused by dragonflame. The Tyroshi general contemplated his next course of action as the Velaryon fleet dispersed. With the Velaryon fleet quickly scattering, the double envelopment had been broken. Racallio had no place with them any longer, with the Triarchy remnants' armada decimated.
But Aeonar wasn't done. "Burn them all!" he commanded. "BURN THEM!!"
"*ROOOOOOOOOAAAA!!*" Vaelor let out a thunderous roar, harnessing his incredible speed and strength. He unleashed a torrent of scorching flames upon the Triarchy ships that still lingered, making sure none could evade his wrath. In a swift motion, he circled around, determined to prevent any escape. Amid the chaos, the Swiftrunner's piercing gaze met Racallio's, their eyes locked in intense confrontation. Vaelor's jaws glowed with a vibrant obsidian and dark reddish hue, signaling his readiness to unleash yet another devastating blast.
"Hm-hm-hm-hmm. General Racallio Ryndoon, I expected more... again," Aeonar said, letting out a dark chuckle to express his disappointment. "Dracarys."
Racallio leaped off the ship and plunged into the depths of the water, swimming as far down as he possibly could. He swam deeper and deeper, the pressure building in his ears as he descended into the abyss. The water grew colder and darker, but he pushed on, determined to escape the chaos above. At that moment, Racallio vowed to himself that he would never cross paths with the Targaryens again. Meanwhile, the ocean's surface was engulfed in dragonflame, causing the water to heat up and steam to rise. After the intense battle ended, the once vibrant and lively ocean had become a desolate and eerie graveyard of burnt wreckage and debris from the ships; the lifeless bodies of sailors from both sides floated in the water, their bloated forms a haunting sight.
No longer considering the Triarchy, its remnants, or whatever the political union between Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh preferred to call themselves a threat to his domain, the Battle of the Gullet served as a stark reminder to anyone who dared enter the dragon's lair to challenge the might of House Targaryen.
The House of the Dragon would never forgive or forget such audacity.
And as long as Aeonar Targaryen ruled the Seven Kingdoms, no one was safe from his vengeance.
There is no escape...
...from the Young Dragon.