The salt spray kissed Lord Corlys Velaryon's weathered face as he stood upon the forecastle of his flagship, the Sea Snake, watching the endless expanse of azure waters part before their mighty fleet. The wind had blessed them this day, filling their sails with favorable gusts that drove them ever closer to their destiny among the Stepstones. His weathered hands gripped the ship's rail as he barked orders to the quartermaster, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had commanded the seas for decades.
"Set full sail!" Corlys commanded, his deep voice cutting through the symphony of creaking timber and snapping canvas. "The winds favor us today, and we'll not waste such a gift from the gods!" The quartermaster, a grizzled veteran of countless voyages, nodded sharply and began relaying the orders to the crew. Men scurried across the deck like ants, their movements precise and practiced as they adjusted rigging and unfurled every inch of available sail. The Sea Snake surged forward with renewed vigor, her bow cutting through the waves with the grace of her namesake.
Corlys reached for his Myrish far-eye, the exquisite piece of craftsmanship that had served him well during his nine legendary voyages to the far reaches of the known world. The brass and crystal instrument felt familiar in his hands as he raised it to his weathered eye, focusing the lens upon the distant islands that had become the bane of his trading ventures. The Stepstones loomed ahead, their rocky shores and hidden coves having sheltered the Triarchy's pirates for far too long. These waters, which should have been highways of commerce bringing wealth to Westeros and beyond, had instead become graveyards for merchant vessels and honest sailors.
As the islands drew nearer through his far-eye, Corlys could make out the crude fortifications and ramshackle docks that the pirates had constructed. Smoke rose from their fires, and he could see the dark shapes of their vessels anchored in the protected harbors. For years, these scum had terrorized his trade routes, capturing his ships, enslaving his crews, and demanding tribute from any merchant brave enough to attempt passage through these waters. The very thought of their continued existence made his blood boil with righteous fury.
Suddenly, the brilliant afternoon sun vanished as though the gods themselves had drawn a curtain across the sky. A massive shadow fell across the entire fleet, so large and encompassing that it
seemed to swallow the very light from the world. Corlys lowered his far-eye and craned his neck skyward, his heart racing with anticipation despite having expected this moment. What he saw filled him with pride and a thrill of impending victory.
Four magnificent dragons soared overhead in perfect formation, their massive wings beating in rhythm as they cast their terrible shadows upon the waters below. At their head flew Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, his scales gleaming like burnished copper in the filtered sunlight. The ancient dragon's roar echoed across the waves, a sound that spoke of power beyond mortal comprehension. Beside him flew Dreamfyre, her blue and silver scales shimmering like captured starlight, her graceful form a stark contrast to Vermithor's raw might. Next to them his wife Rhaenys rode Meleys, the Red Queen, whose crimson scales seemed to burn even in shadow, while young Laenor commanded Seasmoke, the pale dragon's smoke-gray hide barely visible against the clouds.
The sight of the Bronze Fury made Corlys's thoughts turn inevitably to its rider, his good son Prince Aurion Targaryen. Even now, as he watched the great dragon's powerful wings carry it toward the enemy islands, Corlys marveled at the young man who had so unexpectedly entered his family and changed the course of their destinies. From the moment he had first laid eyes upon the boy, Corlys had recognized something special in those violet eyes – an intelligence, a calculating mind which knew far more than what it lets on. The circumstances of Aurion's birth had been scandalous, certainly, but Corlys had long since learned to judge men by their actions rather than the circumstances of their conception. The boy had never allowed the absence of his father's affection to embitter him or diminish his resolve. Instead, he had channeled that potential resentment into an iron determination to prove himself worthy of the Targaryen name through his own merits. During those long years on Dragonstone, while Princess Viserra raised him with the fierce love of a protective mother, Aurion had devoted himself to his studies with the single-minded focus of a maester, and to his martial training with the dedication unheard of.
But Corlys had seen something else entirely in those early years. While other nobles' sons played at swords and horses, young Aurion had applied himself to his lessons with a dedication that bordered on obsession. Even as a child, there had been something different about him—a gleam of intelligence in his violet eyes that seemed to pierce through appearances to the truth beneath, a quiet intensity that spoke of wheels turning behind his placid expression. Where other princes might have grown bitter or broken under the weight of their father's neglect, Aurion had simply adapted. The boy had squired faithfully for Ser Ryam Redwyne himself, the most skilled knight to exist in the Old king Jaehaery's Kingsguard. Under the White Sword's tutelage, Aurion had learned the art of war and mastered the sword and morningstar and learned to ride horse like a dothraki screamer. Corlys had watched the transformation with growing admiration, seeing in his future good-son the qualities that marked true greatness rather than mere noble birth.
The proof of Aurion's True skill at arms came just a year later, when the notorious Band of seven were terrorizing the nobles of the Westerlands. These outlaws had made their stronghold in the deep forests near the Crakehall seat. , using their knowledge of the terrain and their superior numbers to ambush smaller parties and waylay any nobles unfortunate enough to travel through their domain. Their leader, Simon Toyne, had been a particularly vicious sort, delighting in the humiliation and torture of his highborn captives. The Outlaw fiends had grown so bold and so dangerous that King Jaehaerys himself had been forced to take action. After recieving the message from Lord lannister who was requesting the King to send reinforcements to deal with this brutal horde of bandits who were evading his men time and again King jaehaerys chose a party of knights with Ser Ryam Redwyne of the Kingsguard to lead the royal contingent against the outlaws, and Aurion, as his squire, had accompanied the knight in this expedition. But where other commanders might have simply burned the forest and slaughtered anyone they found within, Ser Ryam had shown the wisdom that had earned him his white cloak. Understanding that the smallfolk of the region supported the Brotherhood only because they believed the outlaws were their sole protection against the depredations of cruel lords, Ser Ryam had set about winning their hearts and minds Instead.
The Kingsguard knight had promised the smallfolk to petition King Jaehaerys for better rights for the common people, ensuring that royal forces paid fair prices for any supplies they requisitioned rather than simply taking what they needed. This simple act of justice had swung the allegiance of the smallfolk to the royal cause, stripping away the Brotherhood's network of informants and sympathizers. Suddenly, the outlaws found themselves hunted rather than hunters, their movements reported to the royal Forces by the very people they had claimed to protect. It had been during the final confrontation with the Brotherhood that Aurion had truly distinguished himself. Anders wyl , The right hand man of the smiling knight, was about to kill rogar reyne - the squire of lord crakehall and only son to the lord reynard reyne, the young prince intervened and swung his sword to defend against the massive two-handed sword wielded by the fiend, headed towards Rogar Reyne who was killing a fair share of the bandits himself. thereby saving the Reyne heir and gaining a friend for life in the martially inclined lordling.
The duel had been a thing of beauty and terror, the young prince's speed and skill matched against the outlaw's brute strength and cunning. Aurion had fought with a cold precision that had reminded Valyrian steel – flexible yet unbreakable, sharp beyond measure, and utterly without mercy when the moment demanded it. When Wyl had finally fallen, his lifeblood staining the forest floor, it had been to the prince's blade that had found the gap in his stolen mail. Even more impressive had been Aurion's brief crossing of swords with the dreaded Simone Toyne , that mad butcher whose very name had struck fear into the hearts of knights throughout the realm. Though Ser Ryam had ultimately been the one to end the Smiling Knight's reign of terror, Aurion had held his own against the madman long enough for his outlaw friends to get killed by the royal party. When the battle was finally won, Ser Ryam had knighted Aurion on the field, touching the boy's shoulders with his bloodied sword as the Lord crakehall knighted his squire Rogar reyne, both young and fierce lads emerged as chivalrous knights of the seven kingdoms that day. After the Great Council had confirmed Viserys as heir. He and his wife Rhaenys decided to marry Laena to Aurion and went with the proposal to Viserra, who was delighted on hearing this proposal.
Weeks later, Aurion had been betrothed to his sweet Laena, and the young prince and his mother had been ordered by viserys to move out of dragonstone upon becoming the Prince of dragonstone. Viserra and Aurion moved into Driftmark post the betrothal ceremony. Aurion had requested able bodied men from Driftmark to swell the ranks of his growing mercenary company. Corlys had been happy to oblige. Aurion had provided his recruits with proper armor, regular meals, and comfortable quarters on Driftmark itself, treating them not as expendable fodder but as valued soldiers whose Loyalty was worth earning.
The smallfolk who joined Aurion's company had done so with genuine pride, understanding that they were not merely serving any lord but the Dragon Prince himself. They had trained with a dedication that had impressed even Corlys's most experienced captains, transforming themselves from farmers and fishermen into disciplined soldiers under Aurion's patient guidance. The prince had been present for every training session, every drill, every lesson in swordplay and tactics, earning their respect through his own sweat and effort rather than demanding it by right of birth.
When old King Jaehaerys had finally passed to his rest, Aurion had claimed Vermithor in a display of courage that had become songs sung by bards throughout the realm. The Bronze Fury had been the Old King's mount for decades, a dragon so temperamental and powerful that many had believed he would never accept another rider. Yet when Aurion had approached the great beast in the Dragonpit, Vermithor had accepted him, as though recognizing in the young prince something that others could not see. The sight of Aurion astride the Bronze Fury had sent ripples of excitement and fear throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Here was a new dragonrider, young and ambitious, with the blood of Old Valyria in his veins and the great dragon as his mount, second only in size to Vhagar. That he had chosen to use Vermithor's flames to cremate his grandfather's remains had been seen as both a gesture of respect and a statement of intent – A gesture to spite the old king who went to great measures to see Viserys get crowned and strengthen him by having him claim the greatest dragon alive.
At Princess Rhaenys's request, her uncle Lord Boremund Baratheon had provided troops and knights for Aurion's ventures, the Lord of Storm's End recognizing the value of having a dragonriding prince in his debt. These Stormlanders had proven their worth time and again, their discipline and ferocity in battle earning them places of honor within Aurion's growing army.
Taking young Laenor as his squire, Aurion had then embarked upon an extended progress through the Vale, Riverlands, Westerlands, and Reach, participating in tournaments and melees wherever they could be found. But these had been no mere pleasures jaunt – every event had been carefully chosen to maximize Aurion's exposure to the lords and knights of the realm. The prince had made connections, forged friendships, and recruited second sons and landless knights to his cause with his easy charisma.
Corlys had heard the reports of Aurion's victories in the lists with growing pride. The young prince had proven himself not merely competent but exceptional, defeating seasoned knights and celebrated champions with a combination of skill, intelligence, and sheer determination that had drawn comparison to the greatest warriors of legend. Each victory had added to his reputation, and each new friend had brought additional resources and influence to his cause.
Perhaps most impressive of all had been Aurion's secret campaign to Lys and Tyrosh the previous year, where he had posed as a common Westerosi sellsword accompanied by Rogar reyne to gain firsthand knowledge of the free cities politics and their defense. The prince had five moons in the Free Cities, on a contract as a free company to defend against the Volantis attack on Tyrosh. studying their defenses, learning their weaknesses, and understanding their politics with the thoroughness of a maester and the cunning of a spymaster.
When he had finally returned to Driftmark, his intelligence had been so complete that Corlys had felt as though he knew every stone of every fortress they would soon assault. Three years of rigorous drilling, careful recruitment, and meticulous planning had transformed Aurion's ambitious dream into a legitimate fighting force of three thousand men-at-arms and three hundred knights. landless and hedge Knights from across Westeros all united under the banner of the Bronze Prince. Aurion named them The Bronze company in Honor of his dragon The Bronze Fury and the company's coat of arms had been a bronze three-headed dragon in a field of black. Despite their experience in combat being the triarchy defense against the Volantis the last year, they had much better discipline than other sellsword companies, had much better armour, arms, and standard pay without delay, which is rare for a sellsword company
Corlys shook himself from his reverie as the dragons reached their targets, and what followed was a display of aerial warfare that would have made the dragonlords of Old Valyria weep with pride and terror in equal measure. The Bronze Fury opened his great maw and released a torrent of flame that seemed to capture the very essence of the sun itself—golden fire shot through with bronze that turned the morning air into a furnace of destruction. Dreamfyre answered with her own deadly breath, silver-blue flames that danced and writhed like living serpents as they consumed everything in their path.
The effect upon the pirate camps and ships anchored in the harbors of Grey Gallows and Torturer's Deep was immediate and absolute. Wooden vessels that had weathered a hundred storms and
survived countless battles were reduced to skeletal frameworks of charred timber in mere moments, their sails vanishing in great gouts of flame that sent pillars of black smoke climbing toward the
heavens.
The pirates themselves—those cruel sea-wolves who had terrorized honest merchants for so long—died screaming as dragon fire turned their stolen strongholds into funeral pyres that could be seen for leagues in every direction.
Meleys and Seasmoke took their assigned targets with equal efficiency, the Red Queen's scarlet flames and the young dragon's pale fire adding their voices to the symphony of destruction that
echoed across the water. For half an hour, the dragons worked their terrible artistry, methodically reducing six islands to smoking ruins while their riders guided them with precision that spoke of long planning and careful coordination. This was not the random violence of conquest but the calculated application of overwhelming force—warfare elevated to the level of art by minds that understood both strategy and dragon-lore.
When the flames finally died away, Grey Gallows, Torturer's Deep, and four smaller islands had been transformed into monuments to Targaryen power. The sea around them was littered with the burning remnants of the Triarchy's fleet, wooden skeletons that hissed and steamed as they settled beneath the waves to join the countless wrecks that already carpeted these treacherous waters.
The air itself seemed to shimmer with residual heat, and the stench of burned wood and charred flesh created a miasma that spoke eloquently of the fate that awaited all who would dare challenge the dragons' might. Only Bloodstone and one other island remained untouched by the flames, standing like lonely sentinels amid the devastation—exactly as Aurion had planned. The strategic brilliance of the assault was not lost on Corlys; his good-son had chosen his targets with the precision of a master chess player, eliminating the pirates' naval capacity while preserving the infrastructure he would need for his own purposes. The fortress on Bloodstone would serve as the foundation for a new stronghold, a base from which to project power throughout the Narrow Sea without the need to build from scratch.
The quartermaster's voice cut through Corlys's contemplation, announcing their approach to the landing zones with the practiced efficiency of a man who had seen countless amphibious operations.
The sails were adjusted to account for the changing winds, and the great fleet began the complex process of finding safe harbor among the treacherous reefs and currents that guarded the Stepstones. Many of the burned pirate vessels had already vanished beneath the waves, claimed by the relentless sea that cared nothing for the ambitions of men or the fury of dragons. When the Sea Snake finally made landfall, Corlys was the first to set foot upon the conquered shore.
The island reeked of death and destruction, the very air thick with the smell of charred flesh and smoldering wood. Burned bodies lay scattered among the ruins of what had once been the pirates' camps, their forms twisted and blackened by the terrible heat of dragonfire. It was a grim sight, but one that filled Corlys with satisfaction rather than revulsion – these men had earned their fate through years of cruelty and rapine.
"Clear out these bodies immediately," Corlys commanded his men, his voice carrying easily across the devastated landscape. "Search through the ruins for anything of value and bring it to me for accounting. We'll have proper records of everything we recover from these scum." His soldiers moved quickly to obey, their discipline evident in the efficient manner with which they began the grisly task of clearing the battlefield.
"We've made it through the first phase of the campaign bloodlessly," came a familiar voice from behind him. Corlys turned to see Rogar Reyne approaching, the young knight's armor still bearing the dust of travel. Willem was Aurion's Closest friend, a relationship forged in the Grit of battle and bloodshed. The knight's presence here was a testament to the loyalty that Aurion inspired in those who knew him well. "Bloodless indeed," Corlys replied with a wry smile, gesturing at the devastation around them.
"Just that we had to burn them completely to avoid spilling blood ourselves." The irony was not lost on him – they had achieved their objective without losing a single man, yet the carnage around them was complete and total. He continued, a thoughtful expression crossing his weathered features. "Don't you think we brought such forces for naught, Lord Rogar? All these soldiers, all these ships, and the dragons did all the work themselves."
Rogar's response was immediate and confident. "We both know that the prince intends to take Bloodstone's fortress without burning it, to build his stronghold upon its foundations and save the time we would need to start from scratch in building proper infrastructure. I do have some semblance of intelligence, Lord Corlys." The Red lion's understanding of Aurion's strategy was complete, demonstrating the level of trust and communication that existed between the prince and his inner circle.
Corlys chuckled at the young man's directness. "I know you're indeed intelligent, Rogar. I just want to understand the thought process of the man who's trusted much by my good-son." They began walking along the island's rocky shore, stepping carefully around the debris of battle while the velayron men continued their methodical clearing of the area. In the distance, they could see Bloodstone rising from the sea like a dark tooth, its wooden fortress perched upon the highest point of the rocky island. Even from this distance, Corlys could make out the tiny figures of men moving frantically along its walls, no doubt trying to prepare some defense against the inevitable assault. The lack of ships in the harbor told its own story – these pirates were trapped, with nowhere to run and no hope of escape.
"Just you wait," Rogar said with grim satisfaction, his eyes fixed upon the distant fortress. "We would have a swell time tomorrow, carving you slaving filth from these lands." The anticipation in his voice was palpable, the eagerness of a fierce warrior who had trained long and hard for this moment.
A tremendous roar echoed across the water, causing both men to look up and see the dragons returning from their mission. Vermithor led the formation, his massive bronze form unmistakable even at a distance, while the other three dragons followed in perfect formation behind him. They approached the island with the practiced precision, their riders clearly visible upon their backs.
Aurion was the first to land, and in a display of the casual confidence that marked everything he did, the prince leaped from Vermithor's back before the great dragon had even touched the ground. His boots hit the rocky shore at a run, and he was already removing his helmet and striding toward them before Vermithor had fully settled his enormous bulk upon the beach. Princess Rhaenys landed Meleys with the practiced grace of a veteran dragonrider, her dismount smooth and efficient. Princess Viserra brought Dreamfyre down nearby, the blue dragon's landing as elegant as her rider. Young Laenor was the last to land, Seasmoke settling onto the beach with the careful precision of a newer dragonrider still mastering his bond with his mount.
"Aurion!" Princess Viserra's voice carried the sharp edge of maternal concern as she watched her son's casual dismount. "Must you always leap from Vermithor's back before he's properly landed?
One day that carelessness will see you with a broken neck, and then where will all your grand plans be?" The prince's response was immediate and unrepentant, his grin visible even from a distance. "Mother, if I waited for Vermithor to settle completely every time I needed to dismount, I'd spend half my life sitting on a dragon's back waiting for permission to act. Besides, He and I understand each other perfectly - he would never let me fall."
As aurion approached, Corlys took a moment to study his good-son with the eye of a man who had learned to read character in the faces of those he dealt with. The prince bore himself with the
confident stride of a man who had just achieved a significant victory, but there was no arrogance in his manner. Instead, there was the calm satisfaction of a commander who had seen his plans executed flawlessly and was already thinking ahead to the next phase of the campaign.
"What's our situation?" Aurion asked without preamble as he reached them, his violet eyes already scanning the devastated landscape around them. Even in the aftermath of victory, his mind was clearly focused on the practical matters that would determine their continued success.
Corlys and Rogar quickly briefed him on the clearing operation and the state of the remaining enemy strongholds. "Bloodstone and the other island have no way out," Corlys reported. "We can decimate them on the morrow whenever we choose to move."
Aurion nodded thoughtfully, then surprised them both with his next words. "We might be done with them tonight itself, if possible. Have the soldiers rest in shifts and be ready for action. We might attack during the night hours." Rogar's eyes lit up with understanding. "An unexpected strike on sleeping soldiers who aren't rested and already fear the dragons would make them easy prey," he said approvingly. "They'll be looking up at the sky all night, jumping at shadows and exhausting themselves with paranoia."
"Exactly ," Aurion confirmed. "Fear is as much a weapon as fire, and we've given them plenty to fear today. Let them spend the night in terror, and when we come for them in the darkness, they'll break like waves against stone." With their immediate plans settled, Aurion dismissed them to see to their preparations and report to him in the evening. Corlys made his way to the makeshift camp that had been established for the army's commanders, his mind already turning to the logistics of the night assault. As he settled into his temporary quarters, he found himself reflecting on the events of the day and what they meant for the future. The conquest of the Stepstones was proceeding exactly as Aurion had planned, with a precision and efficiency that spoke of meticulous preparation and natural tactical genius. In a single afternoon, they had eliminated the majority of the Triarchy's naval forces and reduced their strongholds in the narrow sea to ash and rubble. The remaining pirates were trapped and demoralized, facing an enemy they could neither fight nor flee from. But Corlys knew that this was only the beginning. The Stepstones were merely the first step in Aurion's greater plan to dominate the Narrow Sea and establish a powerbase for his future plans and campaigns . The young prince had spoken of conquering Tyrosh and Lys, of bringing the entire Triarchy under his control and creating a new maritime empire that would span the eastern waters and have complete control over the trade routes which has ships sailing from west to east and from east to west.
As the evening sun began to set over the conquered islands, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson that seemed to echo the colors of dragonfire, Corlys allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. His good-son had proven himself to be everything he had hoped for and more – a worthy match to his daughter and a prince who would carry their family to heights they had never imagined possible. The sea had always been in Corlys's blood, calling to him with its endless possibilities and infinite horizons. Now, through his alliance with Aurion, those possibilities had expanded beyond his wildest dreams. Together, they would forge a new age of supremacy, with dragons ruling the skies and the Velaryon fleet controlling the seas beneath them. Tomorrow would bring new challenges and new victories, but tonight, as he listened to the sound of waves lapping against the shore and breathed the salt air that had always been his comfort, Corlys Velaryon felt the deep satisfaction of a man who had chosen his allies well and was about to see his grandest ambitions realized at last