The Son of Ice and Fire: Lost in Time pt.2

“Damn it, Daemon,” Corlys Velaryon growled under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he stood on the cliffs of Bloodstone, watching the vast enemy fleet spread across the horizon. The banners of the Triarchy—Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh—fluttered in the wind, accompanied by the distinct sails of Dornish warships. Their numbers were overwhelming, the sea darkened by the mass of ships, their approach like an ominous tide slowly but surely closing in.

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. The attack had been unexpected—they’d had a tentative peace with the Triarchy for a year—and now, without warning, they were upon them.

Corlys could almost hear Daemon’s mocking laughter, as if the rogue prince were standing beside him, saying he had warned him not to trust the Triarchy.

“My lord,” a voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He turned slightly, recognizing one of his captains approaching. The man, weathered by years at sea, had a face etched with concern, his armor stained from days of hard fighting. He looked as if he had been through hell—and they weren’t even at the worst of it yet.

“There’s still no word from Torturer’s Deep, my lord,” the captain said.

Corlys turned, his brow furrowing, though he suspected the answer. “Nothing?” he repeated.

The captain shook his head. “I believe it must be under siege as well. If they’ve taken it, they’ll control the entire eastern passage. Our lines are stretched too thin.”

Corlys cursed under his breath, his thoughts racing. They had already been pushed back to Bloodstone, their last stronghold in the Stepstones. Every island to the east had fallen, one by one, and now the enemy’s grip was tightening around them like a vice.

“They must have heard of King Daemon’s absence,” the captain muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.

Corlys nodded grimly, knowing full well that was exactly why the enemy had been emboldened. The Triarchy and their Dornish allies would never have dared an attack like this if Daemon and Caraxes had been here to guard the skies.

He turned back to the sea, raising his far-eye to scan the approaching enemy fleet. The enemy ships formed a near-perfect line, clearly intending to cut off every possible escape route and close in around Bloodstone. The Velaryon fleet—what was left of it—was heavily outnumbered, forced into a defensive position with little maneuverability. And without Torturer’s Deep, their supply lines were in tatters.

Corlys let out a slow breath, the situation growing clearer, though more hopeless with each passing moment. “We’re being cornered,” he said.

“Aye, my lord,” the captain replied. “They aim to break us before we can regroup.” He stepped forward, looking out at the fleet slowly creeping closer.

Corlys was silent for a moment, considering their options. Bloodstone's defenses were strong, the island heavily fortified, but even the best defenses wouldn’t hold if they were completely surrounded and cut off from all support.

He had prepared for many contingencies—for setbacks, for betrayals—but he hadn’t anticipated facing such a relentless assault without the firepower of a dragon to tip the scales in their favor.

“We must hold the island,” Corlys said finally, his voice steady, though there was a hard edge to it. “We’ll have to fight them off for as long as we can until—” He paused, staring at the horizon, wondering if Daemon would return in time, or if he’d even return at all.

Damn him and his search for that so-called dragonlord, Corlys thought bitterly, shaking his head. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

The captain, sensing his lord’s uncertainty, stepped closer. “My lord, do you think King Daemon will—?”

“He’ll come,” Corlys interrupted, his voice firm, though the uncertainty gnawed at him from within. “He was supposed to return this moon. He will come.”

The captain nodded, though the doubt was still plain in his eyes. “And if he doesn’t?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Corlys turned to face him fully, his gaze hardening. “Then we die fighting,” he said, his voice low but filled with resolve. “Bloodstone won’t fall while I live. We’ll give them a battle they’ll never forget.”

The captain straightened at that, his face mirroring his lord’s determination. “Aye, my lord. We’ll make them pay for every inch they take.”

Corlys turned back to the sea, watching the Triarchy’s ships coming closer. He could hear the distant rumble of war drums echoing over the water—the unmistakable signal that battle was imminent.

“Prepare the men,” Corlys said. “We’ll hold them here, no matter what it takes.”

The captain nodded sharply and turned, moving quickly to relay the orders. Corlys stood alone, the wind whipping around him, his eyes never leaving the horizon. His mind raced through their defenses, the strategies he would employ, the weak points they had to hold. Bloodstone would not fall—not today.

The fate of the Stepstones, and perhaps even House Velaryon, depended on how long they could hold out against the storm that was about to crash against their shores. He only hoped Daemon would come—Daemon and Caraxes, with fire and fury to turn the tide. But hope was a dangerous thing. It softened a man’s resolve.

Until that moment, it would fall to him, and his fleet, to stand firm.

“Let’s see if the Triarchy can break a Velaryon,” Corlys muttered to himself, his eyes locked on the approaching fleet.

=====

Corlys Velaryon returned to the fort. He gathered his captains and commanders in the war room, where a large map of the Stepstones lay spread across the central table, weighed down at the edges by metal figurines representing their forces and those of the enemy. The room was dim, lit by flickering torchlight. Every man there knew that they were facing a reckoning.

Corlys stood, his eyes fixed on the map, studying the details as the captains gathered around. He could hear the murmurs, the fear, and the uncertainty lingering beneath their words.

“We’re pinned down here,” Corlys said, his finger tracing the line of the enemy fleet on the map. “They’re positioning themselves to cut off every possible escape route.”

One of the captains, a man named Damon Waters, leaned over the table, his brows drawn together. “My lord, their numbers are overwhelming. They’re not merely blockading—they’re going to attack.”

Corlys nodded grimly. “Our supplies are running low,” he admitted. “If they’re attacking the island itself, we may be facing a siege. We can’t rely on holding them off forever. Any word from Torturer’s Deep?”

Another commander, Ser Maelor, stepped forward, shaking his head. “No word, my lord.”

“There is a chance that Port Corlys is being attacked,” Ser Maelor continued. “We could be besieged from both sides.”

Port Corlys was on the other side of Bloodstone. Maelor was correct; that would be disastrous.

The room fell silent, every man staring at the map, as if searching for a miracle hidden in the lines drawn across the parchment.

Suddenly, the heavy doors of the chamber burst open, slamming against the stone walls. A breathless messenger rushed in, his eyes wide, his face flushed.

“My lord!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the chamber. “A dragon! A dragon has been spotted to the east!”

A murmur of shock ran through the room, and Corlys’ heart skipped a beat. He turned to the messenger, his eyes narrowing. “A dragon?” His voice was low, but there was a thread of hope that he hadn’t dared feel in weeks.

“Daemon,” 

The messenger nodded, his face flushed with excitement. “I do not know, my lord, but it is coming toward the fleet.”

Hope surged through Corlys, a flame rekindled in his heart. He straightened, his eyes flashing. “Come,” he said, brushing past the captains as he rushed out of the war room and onto the cliffs overlooking the sea. The cold wind whipped at his face as he stepped up to the lookout point. He snatched the farsight from the hands of one of his men, bringing it up to his eye.

He scanned the sky, his heart pounding as he hoped to see the familiar crimson scales of Caraxes with Daemon riding proudly atop. His gaze swept across the horizon—and then he saw it.

A dragon indeed flew across the sky, but it was not Caraxes. This dragon was massive—far larger than any he had ever seen before. Its wings cast a dark shadow across the waters below, its scales dark as the midnight sky, shimmering like black steel. The sheer size of the beast made Corlys’ breath catch in his throat.

“By the gods…” he whispered, his heart skipping a beat. He had seen Balerion in his youth, the Black Dread that had loomed over King’s Landing like a living shadow, but this creature—this dragon—was even larger. It was as if Balerion had been reborn.

Corlys turned his gaze toward the Triarchy’s fleet, their sails raised in a chaotic formation. The enemy ships were in complete disarray, their formations breaking apart as they tried to reorient, their crews surely having spotted the monstrous dragon approaching.

Then he heard it—a roar, deep and powerful, that shook the very sky and echoed across the sea. It was a roar unlike any other, a sound that reverberated in Corlys’ bones and filled the air with the promise of destruction. The dark dragon swooped low over the water, and Corlys watched as its wings blotted out the sunlight. The Triarchy’s fleet was thrown into chaos, sailors scrambling across the decks, fear gripping them.

Then another roar to the east. Corlys turned the farsight, his breath catching as he saw the familiar serpentine form of Caraxes undulating through the sky, his scales glistening crimson in the sunlight.

Corlys couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “So, you did find him, Daemon,” he murmured. The dragonlord was real after all.

He watched as the two dragons converged, the larger, midnight-scaled dragon roaring again, the sound like a thunderclap that reverberated across the sea. The Triarchy’s ships moved frantically, their sails catching the wrong winds as sailors struggled to regain control.

Panic had gripped their fleet.

The first blast of flame struck, and it was as if the sun had descended upon the sea. The massive black dragon swept over the center of the Triarchy fleet, its fire a great torrent of molten death. The ships below exploded into flames, their wooden decks turning into charred wrecks, masts snapping like twigs under the intensity of the heat. The screams of men echoed across the water as smoke rose in great pillars.

Then Caraxes dove, the Blood Wyrm moving with deadly precision. Corlys could almost hear Daemon’s laughter, his unrestrained joy in the midst of destruction. Caraxes let loose a stream of fire, the flames engulfing a line of Dornish warships attempting to regroup. The vessels cracked and splintered under the intense heat, their sails disintegrating in the inferno.

The dark dragon, flown by the mysterious dragonlord, did not relent. It swooped back, its massive wings beating powerfully as it let out another earth-shaking roar before unleashing another blast of fire, reducing even more ships to smoldering ruins.

The Triarchy's flagship—the proud symbol of their combined strength—was caught directly in the dragon’s path. Corlys watched as the banner of the Triarchy turned to ash, the proud ship becoming nothing more than a blazing wreck.

The two dragons worked in perfect tandem, as if their actions had been choreographed. Their flames crisscrossed over the water, leaving nothing but charred ruins and blackened waves in their wake.

The once-mighty fleet of the Triarchy had been reduced to chaos and ashes.

Corlys felt his heart swell with hope and triumph. He turned to the men around him, knights and sailors of House Velaryon, and raised his voice, his eyes blazing. “To the ships! The battle is ours! Let us finish them off!”

A cheer erupted from his men, their voices filled with newfound life, renewed by the sight of their salvation. They hurried down the stone steps, rushing toward the ships docked in Bloodstone’s harbor. Corlys himself moved with them, invigorated by the sight of Daemon and their newfound ally.

The Velaryon fleet set sail, their sails unfurling as they moved out to finish what the dragons had begun. The Triarchy had no fight left; their forces were scattered, the sea filled with the wreckage of their ships and the bodies of their men.

The few vessels that remained intact were quickly surrounded and boarded by the Velaryon forces. From the deck of his flagship, Corlys watched as his men celebrated, shouting and raising their swords in triumph. Their ships moved through the wreckage, capturing survivors and finishing off any remaining resistance.

This victory could break the stalemate. The Triarchy and Dorne had believed Daemon was gone, and they had brought their entire fleet to bear. They had gambled, and now they had lost everything.

“Yes,” Corlys thought, a smile touching his lips as he watched the dragons continue their deadly dance in the sky. They had won.

====

Returning to shore, Corlys Velaryon stepped off the ship and headed towards the beach. The salty breeze swept around him, and the victorious cries of his men echoed behind him as they disembarked. Corlys looked out over the sea—now filled with the debris of the Triarchy’s once-grand fleet.

The unmistakable shape of the Blood Wyrm descended from the sky, his red wings outstretched as he landed on the beach, his massive talons sinking into the sand. Behind him, the larger dragon followed, its wings casting an immense shadow as it landed, its massive form dwarfing even Caraxes.

Corlys stared, unable to keep the awe from his face as he looked upon the larger beast. The contrast between the two dragons was stark—Caraxes, with his thin, serpentine neck and crimson scales, looked fierce and formidable, but this new dragon… It was a creature of pure terror, dark as midnight, its power evident in every movement, each breath.

As the dragons settled, Daemon Targaryen dismounted from Caraxes, and Corlys noticed another figure approaching from the larger dragon—the dragonlord of Slaver's Bay.

Corlys watched as the two men strode towards each other like two old friends reuniting after a long separation. Daemon’s face split into a wide grin, and he called out to the other man, his voice filled with laughter, clasping his arm in a gesture of camaraderie. They spoke for a moment, the laughter carrying across the sand.

‘Daemon has befriended this dragonlord,’ Corlys thought as he watched them interact.

As they approached, Corlys got a better look at the dragonlord. He was tall, his silver hair catching the sunlight, and his armor… Corlys paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. The armor appeared to be made of Valyrian steel. The dragonlord carried two swords—one strapped across his back and the other at his hip.

Daemon and the dragonlord walked closer, and Corlys stepped forward. He let a wide smile spread across his face as he yelled out, “About damn time!” His voice carried across the beach, filled with a mix of relief and joy.

Daemon looked up, his grin widening. “Corlys!” he called out, his voice booming. “We have won, my friend!” Daemon rushed forward, pulling Corlys into a tight embrace, his laughter echoing in Corlys’ ears.

Corlys clapped his friend’s back, his eyes darting towards the dragonlord, who stood just behind Daemon with a smile on his lips. He noticed the man's eyes—gray instead of the violet, lavender, or blue that marked those with pure Valyrian blood—and his armor. It was indeed Valyrian steel, there was no mistaking it.

Daemon finally pulled back, keeping an arm around Corlys as he turned, pulling the dragonlord into a one-armed hug. “This, Corlys,” Daemon said, his eyes alight with excitement, “is Maekar. Dragonlord Maekar Belaerys.”

Corlys’ eyes widened slightly, his gaze snapping to the dragonlord. “Belaerys…” he repeated, the name echoing in his mind. Daemon’s grin only widened.

“Yes,” Daemon confirmed, his eyes gleaming. “That Belaerys. A true and tested dragonlord, from before the Doom itself.”

Corlys blinked, struggling to understand what Daemon had just said. “From before the Doom?” he muttered under his breath, bewilderment coloring his words. Was that even possible?

Maekar stepped closer, extending his hand to Corlys, his expression friendly. “The famous Corlys Velaryon,” Maekar said, his voice smooth, carrying a hint of humor. “Daemon has told me much about you.”

“Aye,” Corlys replied, accepting the hand, his grip firm as he sized up the man before him. “And I’ve heard much about you, though I’ll admit, I thought you were nothing but a story.”

“Thank you for easing the tolls from Qarth. It has made things far easier.”

Maekar smiled, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I can see that the Triarchy is beaten,” he said, glancing out at the wreckage of the fleet still smoldering in the distance.

Before Corlys could reply, Daemon clapped both men on the shoulders, pulling them in closer, his excitement contagious. “Corlys, my friend, it is time for a celebration!” Daemon declared, his eyes glinting.

But Corlys shook his head, his face growing serious. “No, Daemon. The Triarchy has attacked Torturer’s Deep and the other islands as well—including Port Corlys,” he said, his voice grave. He needed Daemon to understand that their fight wasn’t over.

Daemon, however, merely smiled, his confidence unwavering. “We took care of the fleet at Torturer’s Deep,” he said, his voice almost casual. “And we’ll deal with the rest soon enough. But tonight,” he continued, his smile broadening, “tonight we celebrate.”

Corlys sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders slightly. Fine. Perhaps Daemon was right. Perhaps they had earned a moment of celebration.

Corlys nodded slowly. “Fine, Daemon,” he said at last, though his eyes remained fixed on Maekar, curiosity burning within them.

Daemon had a lot of explaining to do about this Maekar.

But for now, they had a victory to celebrate, and Corlys knew that their men—men who had faced death—deserved it. The questions could wait for another day.

“Come,” Daemon said, his grin wide, his arm still around Corlys’ shoulder, his other arm gesturing towards the beach. “We’ve dragons to toast to, enemies to curse, and wine to drink until dawn!”

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Split the chapter in two will post the next one soon
Maekar finally arrives in Westeros and meet Leana.