Aeron Hoare, Lord of the Iron Islands, knelt before the small throne in the chamber inside Fort Stormcrown in the town of Asgard.
With him were the remaining lords of the Isles—Lord Blacktyde, Lord Goodbrother, Lord Volmark, Lord Drumm, Lord Botley, and Lord Wynch. All of them knelt with heads bowed, their postures radiating a fear that would have been unthinkable for Ironborn just a few years ago.
Harald looked at them all as he sat in the simple wooden chair that acted as his throne in the fort, which was only three-quarters constructed.
His decision to try and reform the Ironborn had borne fruit.
For the last two years, there had been major changes in the Iron Islands. One of them was the death of the faith of the Drowned God.
When Harald had defeated Dagon Hoare, who had been changed into a lurker by Hermaeus Mora, many Ironborn had witnessed it. They had seen their champion, empowered by what they thought was their god, fall before Harald. To their minds, it was Harald defeating the Drowned God himself.
Leobald had used that perception and spread the Covenant among the Ironborn. It had not gone the way he had expected. Instead of converting to the Covenant to pray to the Old Gods or the New, or even the Nine Divines, the Ironborn had done something far different.
They now saw Harald as the one who had taken the Drowned God's place. The one who had defeated and now conquered the sea itself.
Simply put, the Ironborn now worshiped him as their god. Their God of the Sea.
"Rise," Harald commanded.
Aeron, along with the others, slowly rose to their feet, though they kept their eyes lowered respectfully.
"We have come as you commanded, Your Grace," Aeron said, his voice carrying none of the old arrogance.
"You have," Harald acknowledged. "You have indeed."
Harald leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Aeron. How are things in the Isles?"
Aeron swallowed visibly. "We have followed your command for the last two years, Your Grace. We have not raided. We have freed all thralls, every single one, as you commanded. Anyone breaking these rules has been put to death, publicly, to show that your law is absolute."
He looked genuinely terrified as he spoke, as if fearing that even this report might somehow displease Harald.
Harald stood, and the lords before him visibly tensed, their fear evident.
Beside him, Edmyn Tully, who stood at his side as always, stifled a laugh at their reaction.
"I am impressed, Aeron," Harald said, and he could see the relief flood the Ironborn lord's face. "Very much so. You have done well."
He walked closer. "Now tell me, how many ships have you brought?"
"Ten are docked here in Asgard," Aeron reported immediately. "Twenty at Massey's Hook, thirty at Tarth, and twenty more at Estermont, as you commanded. The entire Ironfleet has been assembled for you, Your Grace. Six thousand men at your command, ready to sail at your word."
Harald nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Prepare to sail within two days. We will talk more when we leave for the south. You are dismissed."
Aeron and the others bowed deeply, almost prostrating themselves, and left the chamber quickly, clearly relieved to escape Harald's presence.
As the door closed behind them, Edmyn let out a laugh. "I hated that I had to see them again after what they did to the Riverlands. But to see them in this state? Groveling, terrified... I can stomach that."
They began to walk out of the chamber.
"Are you sure the Queen will be victorious?" Edmyn asked, his tone growing more serious. "Can she truly lead the Legion? She's never commanded men in battle before, never..."
Harald interrupted him with a slight smile. "I wanted to be there when Argella defeats her cousins. I'm saddened I cannot witness it firsthand. But it is going to be quite the surprise for them all when she unleashes her new power."
He grinned. "Imagine their faces when the Storm Queen calls down lightning from the sky. When she fights with power not seen since the Age of Heroes. They're expecting a puppet queen. They're going to get a goddess of war."
Edmyn nodded, though concern still showed in his eyes.
Just then, one of the Spectres approached. Five Spectres had come here with Harald, ten had been sent south with Argella, with five already there, and another ten remained in Cyrodiil guarding the city.
"Your Grace," the Spectre said, bowing. "A message from Primarch Aerion. It is marked as urgent."
Edmyn took the sealed letter and broke it open, reading quickly. Then he let out a sharp gasp.
"What is it?" Harald asked, his expression sharpening.
Edmyn looked up, his breath shaking slightly. "The Vale has crowned a new king. King Artys the Twentieth."
"Queen Sharra?" Harald asked quietly. "And the children?"
"Dead," Edmyn said, his voice hollow. "Artys claims she jumped from the Moon Door in her madness. Took both boys with her."
Harald let out a scoff. "Of course she did. How convenient for Artys."
"The Vale will surely invade now," Edmyn said urgently. "Will you delay your plans? Return to defend the Heartlands?"
"No," Harald said firmly. "You will leave for Cyrodiil immediately. Command the western and southern lords to raise their men and reinforce the eastern lords. Also, tell Aerion to use the potions from the reserve and the enchanted staffs from the vault."
He met Edmyn's eyes. "Do not let any Valemen set foot in the Heartlands until I return. Hold the passes."
"And after you do return, Your Grace?" Edmyn asked carefully.
Harald's expression shifted into something cold, a grin spreading across his face.
"The Vale would make a fine addition to the Heartlands as well, don't you think?"
==========
The sea churned around them as the ten warships of the Ironfleet sailed through the Narrow Sea.
They had been sailing for one day now, and with Harald's magical help, the ships moved faster and more steadily than any vessel in this world could. The winds filled their sails perfectly, the currents seemed to push them forward rather than resist, and even the roughest waves seemed to calm in their path.
The act had only increased the worship among the Ironborn. Harald had become the new Sea God in their eyes, and many now walked around the ships in reverence, whispering prayers to him.
"Your Grace," Aeron called as he walked forward to where Harald stood watching the sea from the prow.
Harald turned. "Aeron. It's about time we talked."
"Aye," Aeron said, coming to stand beside him.
"Do you know why I asked the entire Ironfleet to sail here?" Harald asked.
"Is it not for your war in the Stormlands, my king?" Aeron replied.
Harald nodded. "Yes, partially. But I only needed twenty ships to reinforce Tarth, Massey, and Estermont. The rest are needed for another purpose. One that I plan to have be a challenge to the Ironborn as a people, a test of whether you can truly change."
Aeron's eyes widened. The Ironborn sailors near enough to hear began to whisper among themselves, wondering what their new god had planned for them all.
"My ultimate destination is Oldtown," Harald said. "But we will have time to do other things before I get there."
He turned to face Aeron fully. "I once told you, Aeron, that the Ironborn, if led correctly, could become one of the wealthiest peoples in all the world. You are the people who call the sea your home, the best sailors in the world. Yet you used that skill to kill and rape and destroy rather than to build."
"The Old Way is done, my king," Aeron said quickly, almost desperately. "We stopped by your command. You rule the seas now. You rule us now. We are yours to command."
Harald nodded. "Good. Then I plan to give you a task. The conquest and settlement of the Stepstones."
Aeron's eyes went wide. "The Stepstones?"
"A vital point between Essos and Westeros," Harald confirmed. "I feel I will be needing those islands in the future. I want them secured, settled, and defended by Ironborn."
Harald had thought much about this. He planned to conquer and settle the Stepstones with Ironborn and use their prowess as sailors to defend them. He wanted control of those strategic islands before Aegon Targaryen took them, because he knew deep in his bones that he and the Dragon King were destined to clash in the future. Mehrunes Dagon, and perhaps Molag Bal, one of whom was now clearly Aegon's patron, would eventually send Aegon Harald's way.
Aegon had now conquered Tyrosh and was in the middle of taking Myr. A large Braavosi fleet was somewhere in the Stepstones, preparing to move against Lys to support the slave revolts there.
"So, the Stepstones. What is the current situation?"
Aeron took a breath. "The Stepstones are in chaos, my king."
He explained, "After the dragonlord began his invasion of the southern Free Cities, it has been complete chaos in the islands. Piracy has increased tenfold. Every displaced sellsail, every desperate company, every opportunist with a ship has fled to the Stepstones to prey on trade."
"The defeat of the Braavosi fleet at Myr, when the Tyroshi used fireships against them, left Braavos without a proper fleet for moons. The new fleet has only just arrived and assembled. They're somewhere in the Stepstones now, but cautious after their losses."
He continued, "The Dornish fleet, led by Prince Morgan Martell, has been trying to keep the Dornish trade routes free of pirates and protect their merchants. It's a losing battle with the numbers against them."
"Where is this prince now?" Harald asked.
"When last we had word, he was near Bloodstone, the largest island in the chain," Aeron said.
"Tell me the situation there in detail," Harald commanded.
Aeron nodded. "There are four major forces fighting for dominance in the Stepstones right now."
"The first is the Lysene Consortium. They're pirates hired and backed by Lyseni merchants and magisters, led by a man called Saathos the Perfumed. This fleet mainly battles the Targaryen and Braavosi fleets on the Essosi side of the Stepstones, trying to keep the sea lanes to Lys open."
"And the others?" Harald prompted.
"The most dangerous," Aeron said grimly, "are the pirates from the Basilisk Isles. They've formed a great fleet and elected a captain named Xhobar the Flayed as its leader. They're simply pirates using the chaos to get rich, with no loyalty to any city or cause. They've captured Bloodstone and are using it as their base to raid anyone who passes through."
"So the Martells are currently in conflict with them," Harald said.
Aeron nodded. "Aye. The Dornish are trying to end the pirates' reign but don't have the numbers. The Basilisk pirates outnumber them four to one."
Harald smiled. "Well then, I believe we shall go and help the Martells and purge the Stepstones of this Basilisk Brotherhood. We'll take the ships currently at Tarth and Estermont with us. Command the ones at the Hook to follow Lord Tarth's orders and help Argella in her campaign."
"It will be done, my king," Aeron said immediately.
"This is your test, Aeron," Harald said, his voice becoming more serious. "The test for all Ironborn. Can you conquer and hold? Can you build instead of just raid? Can you become proper rulers and fulfill your people's true potential?"
Aeron met his eyes with fierce determination. "We will not fail you, my king. I swear it by... by you."
If their worship made them loyal and obedient, he did not mind.
"Good," Harald said. "Then let us sail for Bloodstone. We have Dornishmen to save and pirates to kill."
==========
In three days, the fleet, which had now increased to sixty ships, arrived near the Stepstones.
Thirty had joined from Tarth and twenty from Estermont, their captains eager to follow their god into battle.
Harald had also been able to gain some news about the situation in the Stormlands. Baldric Durrandon was moving on Storm's End, and that meant Ormund would be forced to move as well or risk losing the prize. Argella and the Legion would reach Bronzegate soon, where their Trojan horse, Lord Wensington, was waiting to have the castle gates opened to them. With Bronzegate secured, Argella would control most of the northern Stormlands.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Harald looked ahead and saw smoke rising in the distance, along with a cluster of islands emerging from the sea.
"Your Grace," Aeron said, approaching quickly. "We've received word from the scout ship. There is a great battle happening between the Dornish and the pirates near Bloodstone."
Harald's eyes gleamed. "Prepare for battle. Show me the might of the reborn Ironborn!"
The Ironborn cheered, their voices echoing across the waves. "FOR THE GOD OF THE SEA!"
They sailed through the smaller islands, navigating the treacherous waters with expertise. Harald took his axe from his back. He could hear the sounds of battle now, growing louder, the clash of steel, the screams of dying men, the creak and crash of ships colliding.
As they rounded a rocky outcropping from one of the larger islands, they finally saw it.
A battle of around one hundred ships, maybe more. The fighting was happening between two small islands, the waters churned red with blood, debris floating everywhere, bodies bobbing in the waves.
"Looks like the Martells are losing badly," Aeron observed grimly.
Aeron was right. The Dornish fleet was outnumbered at least two to one, their ships being systematically overwhelmed by the Basilisk pirates. Several Dornish vessels were already sinking or burning, their crews fighting desperately as pirates boarded them.
Aeron also pointed toward the shore of the nearest island. "Your Grace, the Martell flagship has been beached! There's fighting on the beach itself!"
"Kill all the pirates," Harald commanded. "No mercy. No quarter."
He paused, then added with a savage grin, "I'll soften them up for you first."
Harald took a deep breath and used the full power of the Dragon Aspect shout.
"MUL QAH DIIV!"
The ethereal armor materialized around him instantly, a spectral dragon's form overlaying his body. The wings were the most impressive part, massive, translucent, glowing with colors of red, orange, yellow, and blue. They spread wide from his back, easily spanning twenty feet.
Harald crouched, then launched himself into the air with a single powerful beat of those ethereal wings.
The Ironborn watched in complete awe, many falling to their knees in worship. Their god was taking flight before their very eyes.
Harald flew toward the battle, the wind rushing past him. He spotted the densest cluster of pirate ships and dove toward them.
He landed on the first pirate ship so hard the vessel nearly broke in two, the deck splintering under the impact.
"Hi," Harald said to the stupefied pirates around him.
"KILL THE MONSTER!" one of them yelled, breaking the spell. "KILL THE WARLOCK!"
They all came at him at once, swords and axes raised, screaming battle cries.
Harald's grin widened.
He swung his axe in a wide arc. The first pirate was nearly cut in half, his torso separating from his legs in a spray of blood. The second lost his head. The third tried to block and found his sword shattered, then his skull split open.
He cut down ten pirates in as many seconds, his axe never stopping, never slowing. Blood painted the deck red.
When two pirates tried to flank him, Harald used his ethereal wings, extending them suddenly, the wing edges solid enough to impale both men through their chests. They died screaming, pinned like insects.
Harald looked at the nearby ships.
He took a deep breath and used Unrelenting Force toward the sea itself.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The shout hit the water between the ships and created something spectacular. Waves erupted upward. The waves crashed down on the pirate ships, completely sinking three vessels outright and shattering two others.
Pirates screamed as they were thrown into the water, their armor dragging them down.
Harald took flight again, his wings carrying him toward another cluster of ships. He used Unrelenting Force again and again, each shout creating destructive waves that capsized ships and sent pirates drowning into the depths.
"FUS RO DAH!"
Another three ships sank, broken apart by the power of his voice.
"FUS RO DAH!"
Pirates screamed and drowned as their vessel was torn in half, the sea rushing in to claim them.
By the time Harald reached the middle of the battle, the Ironfleet had already engaged the enemy's flank. The Ironborn proved their worth, their ships ramming into pirate vessels, their warriors boarding and killing all pirates savagely.
The pirate fleet was doomed. Caught between Harald's devastating shouts and the Ironfleet's disciplined assault, they were being systematically destroyed.
Harald looked toward the shore where the Martell flagship was beached, its distinctive orange-and-red banners visible. Fighting raged on the beach itself, Dornish soldiers in their light armor fighting desperately against overwhelming numbers of pirates trying to finish them off.
Harald took to the skies once more. The Dragon Aspect was running out, he could feel the power beginning to fade. He made haste, flying as fast as he could toward the beach.
He landed right in the middle of the battle with earth-shaking force, throwing pirates and even some Dornish soldiers off their feet from the impact.
As he landed, he threw his axe. The axe spun through the air, striking pirates one after another, cleaving through armor, cutting down three, four, five men as it carved a bloody path through their ranks. Then Harald called it back, and the axe flew into his hand.
Everyone stopped fighting.
Pirates and Dornishmen alike stared at Harald in complete shock.
"Who—" a pirate started to say, only for Harald to take his head in one strike, the axe cleaving through neck and spine as if they were nothing.
Harald looked across the beach to the man who appeared to be the leader, a man in his thirties, very handsome, fighting with a spear with considerable skill. He wore light Dornish armor in orange and red, and commanded his men with shouted orders even in the chaos.
That must be Morgan Martell, Harald thought.
Harald began to fight alongside the Martell men, cutting through the pirates that surrounded them.
He did not use his shouts or his magic. He wanted to fight using his axe alone, to feel the simple joy of combat.
Harald moved with superhuman speed and reflexes, the pirates unable to touch him. A pirate thrust at him with a rusty sword. Harald sidestepped, brought his axe down, and split the man from shoulder to hip, his torso separating in a spray of blood and entrails that spilled onto the sand.
Two more came at him together. Harald spun, the axe taking the first man's legs out from under him. The pirate fell screaming, trying to hold his severed limbs together. The backswing caught the second pirate in the face, caving in his skull.
A pirate tried to attack from behind. Harald sensed him, turned, and drove the spike on the head of his axe through the man's chest, lifting him off his feet before slamming him into the ground.
As the battle was ending, Harald saw one of the pirates moving to stab Prince Morgan from behind while the Dornishman fought another opponent.
"ZUN!" Harald shouted.
The pirate's sword flew from his hand as if yanked by an invisible rope, spinning away to land in the surf.
Morgan turned at the sound, saw the disarmed pirate, and struck his spear through the man's head in one smooth motion.
The battle was over. The last of the pirates on the beach were dead or fleeing into the water. It looked like the fighting was also ending at sea. The Ironfleet had completely decimated the rest of the pirate fleet, sinking or capturing nearly every vessel.
"YOU!" Harald heard Morgan Martell say, and the prince almost ran toward him with a huge grin on his face.
He neared Harald and then, to Harald's surprise, took his head in both hands and kissed him on the lips.
"You magnificent bastard! AHAHA!" he said loudly and happily, laughing with genuine joy. "Where did you come from? The gods themselves must have sent you!"
Harald smiled at the man's demeanor. He seemed like a fun person, full of life and energy.
"Morgan Martell, I presume?" Harald asked.
"I was looking for you."
"And you have found me!" Morgan said, still grinning. "I was expecting a dragon to arrive, but it seems a dragonborn has come instead!"
Oh, Harald thought. So they have allied with the Targaryens.
"You are him, aren't you?" Morgan continued, studying Harald's face. "The so-called heretic king. The Dragonborn. The Herald of the Gods. The King of the Heartlands." He paused, then added with a smirk, "The man the Faith wants dead more than anyone else in the world."
"Yes, I am," Harald confirmed. "And you don't need to continue with the titles. We'll be here for a while if you do."
Morgan only laughed at that.
"So you were expecting the Targaryens," Harald said, more a statement than a question.
Morgan's expression soured slightly. "I made contact with King Aegon. He promised to send one of his queens and part of their fleet here to help us deal with these pirate bastards. But it seems they are late."
Harald looked toward the southern horizon and saw a fleet approaching. "No, they're here."
Morgan followed his gaze. "Ah. What use are they now? We've already won!"
A roar screeched across the sky, and Harald felt invigorated. He grinned at the sound, looking up.
There, from the south along with the fleet, was a bronze-and-green dragon, easily four hundred feet long from nose to tail.
Vhagar.
"Looks like she's coming our way," Morgan observed.
"Good," Harald said, his grin widening. "It's about time I met one of the dragons."
"Truly, you have not seen one before?" Morgan asked, surprised.
"In this world, Morgan," Harald said. "I haven't seen one in this world."
Morgan looked confused but did not press the issue.
Vhagar landed nearby on the beach with earth-shaking force, her massive bulk making the ground tremble. Harald did not look at the rider, only at the dragon, their eyes meeting directly.
Weak, Harald's inner dragon said with contempt.
Vhagar took several steps backward, almost as if afraid. The great beast began making sounds of unease, almost fear, her head lowering defensively.
"What's happening?" Morgan asked, confused.
Vhagar was eventually calmed enough that the rider began to climb down, an armored woman.
She walked forward, but Vhagar once again began to move back, away from Harald, the dragon's unease obvious.
The rider looked back at her mount in obvious shock, clearly not understanding why her dragon was behaving this way. But she continued walking, removing her helm to reveal a very beautiful woman with silver-gold hair and violet eyes.
"Come, Prince Morgan," Harald said, beginning to walk toward her.
"Let us meet Queen Visenya."
.
.
Dragon meets Dragon next