Capítulo 5: Chapter 5: Titan’s Wroth I
At Dragonstone, with the sun at its peak, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon sat at a dining table, surrounded by those he had summoned over weeks. The recent days had cast a pall over the smallfolk of Dragonstone; many perished in their foolhardy attempts to tame dragons. Yet, some had succeeded, and they now sat with Jace.
The table groaned under the weight of lavish fare, a feast these common men and women could scarcely have imagined, let alone tasted, in their lifetimes. But they dared not touch it, for the prince had yet to partake. Among them were Hugh, Ulf, Addam, and Nettles. Jace smiled warmly upon them.
"Welcome," Jace began. "My mother was chosen by my grandsire as his heir, as his firstborn child. He held to this until the end. But then… the Hightowers usurped her throne, crowning her half-brother king. War now looms because of this treachery, and my mother is determined to fight. We cannot prevail alone. That is why you are here. I seek your strength, and in return, lands and riches shall be yours. Your sons shall be nobles, your daughters shall marry lords, and you shall be knighted. This, if you fight for the one true queen, Rhaenyra."
"For the one true queen, Rhaenyra," echoed Hugh, a smile playing on his lips.
Jace nodded at the blacksmith, his gaze sweeping over the others at the table, noting their shared agreement.
"Thank you," Jace said. "I regret my mother's absence. She remains uncertain of your loyalty. Yet now, with dragons at your command, you have the means to prove yourselves. Show her you are worthy of trust and steadfast in her cause."
Jace's eyes met each of theirs, finding no trace of deceit—at least for now.
"Know this," Jace continued, his voice steely. "Any betrayal, in any form, will be met with dire consequences."
Silence fell, broken only by the flicker of candlelight. Most avoided each other's eyes, the prince's warning heavy in the air.
"We will be loyal to the queen, my prince," Addam vowed. "We will ensure her bloodline reigns on the Iron Throne for years to come."
"Well said." Jace's smile was thin as he raised his cup of wine. "Now then, for the years to come!"
Everyone followed suit, echoing his toast.
"for the years to come!"
***
At King's Landing, Aemond journeyed through the squalid streets, his carriage rumbling towards the Dragonpit. Silence pervaded the ride, his gaze fixed on the worn seat, lost in contemplation. His reverie shattered by a dragon's roar from above, his eye darted to the sky. There, a near-grown blue dragon streaked towards the Dragonpit, vanishing into the yawning aperture atop the massive structure. Daeron, his brother, had arrived astride Tessarion.
The carriage halted at the staircase of the Dragonpit. Aemond disembarked swiftly, ascending the steps as the enormous doors creaked open. Inside, Tessarion stood, surrounded by dragonkeepers, while Daeron tenderly stroked her head. Daeron, as young as Jacaerys, bore a handsome visage, the most charming of Alicent's sons, though often overshadowed by his elder siblings. He wore a green tunic adorned with a black cloak.
Seeing Aemond, Daeron stepped away from Tessarion, leaving her to the dragonkeepers who led her into the cavernous depths.
"Brother, it is good to see you." Daeron greeted, though no hugs nor any affectionate exchange was made, after all, he is still Alicent's son. "When I heard the news of your defeat at Rook's Rest, I assumed the worst. And now that eldest brother has passed… I could only imagine the pressure."
"I am fortunate to be here." Aemond hummed.
"I am sorry about Vhagar." Daeron continued. "But I heard that you host the very monster that had slain her?"
"There are things that you need to hear, Daeron." Aemond said. "But not here."
"Very well." Daeron nodded. Both of them then walked side by side to the exit of the Dragon pit. "Though you must know, our claim is ever weaker than before. Aegon is dead, and the houses that support our cause are faltering. When I was with Lord Ormund, there were whispers of switching sides around the lords."
"I know that." Aemond said. "A child sits on the Iron Throne."
"Why is it not you?"
Aemond then stopped in his tracks. "What are you suggesting?"
"I suggested nothing." Daeron shook his head. "Merely surprised at your inaction is all. You aren't the type to wait like grandfather."
"Our side needs no more chaos," Aemond said, resuming his pace. "We must fortify our position to prevent further collapse."
"And how do we do that?"
"We wait," Aemond said. "For now."
Daeron turned his gaze at Aemond, a bit surprised. "You've changed."
"Losing a dragon might do that."
"I suppose so." Daeron hummed. "I can't imagine losing Tessarion. But we mustn't wait long."
Aemond nodded. "I know."
***
Within the council chamber, silence reigned among the assembled lords and princes. Words failed them, for Aemond had just unveiled his audacious plan to exploit the Triarchy fleet. Orwyle let the missive slip from his fingers, his sigh barely audible.
"The Triarchy will direct their assault towards Dragonstone, my prince," Orwyle intoned with practiced calm. "They have already routed the Velaryon fleet at the Stepstones and now make haste for the Gullet."
"Excellent," Aemond purred. "We proceed as planned."
"Planned? You just revealed this strategy to us," Lord Jasper, Master of Laws, protested. "My prince, we haven't assessed the capabilities of this—"
"I have," Aemond interrupted. "Rest easy, my lord. Even if it fails, significant damage will still be inflicted upon our foes."
"My prince, whispers reach us that Rhaenyra gathers dragonseeds on Dragonstone, intending to mount the unclaimed dragons," Tyland warned. "The fleet will not escape unscathed."
"I will escort them," Daeron offered.
"What is one dragon against ten?" Jasper countered.
"Hence, we must first strike Driftmark," Aemond declared, exhaling sharply. "To divert the Velaryon fleet's attention. Perhaps we might slay two or three dragons in the assault."
"Gods help us all," Jasper muttered.
Aemond leaned forward, his presence overshadowing the Ironrod. "Then tell me, Lord Jasper, what do you propose?"
The man stood in silence, his gaze cast downward. "Perhaps… we might wait for the Lannister and Hightower fleets—"
"We cannot delay any longer, my lord," Daeron interjected. "Our forces are faltering, whispers of treachery seep through our ranks. Confidence in our leadership wanes with a child on the Iron Throne. We need something to bolster morale. While I share your uncertainty about my brother's patron, using the triarchy fleet now is the only choice. As my brother said, at worst the triarchy will inflict significant damage on Rhaenyra's forces, and at best…"
"—the Blacks will crumble," Aemond finished.
The room fell into a pensive silence, each man straining to find flaws in the plan. Yet Aemond's words held weight: even if Driftmark were not destroyed, the triarchy would likely still set it ablaze.
"Very well, my prince," Tyland acquiesced, nodding. "As you command."
***
Willam stood in the middle of the Dragonpit, calmly waiting as the sky above dimmed to a waning orange, evening drawing near. The place was unnervingly quiet, each of his movements echoing through the vastness of the building. It was eerie to stand alone here for long, though he was not alone. Around him, dragonkeepers clad in black, scaly armor and armed with spears stood watch. It felt as if they were treating him like a dragon. He had finally been commanded to 'end' this so-called war.
His attire was minimal—just a green tunic and leather straps for scant protection, along with leather gloves. It was not the garb of a knight or a lord but more akin to that of a blacksmith. He bore no weapons, neither dagger nor sword, only his bare fists.
The gigantic door of the Dragonpit creaked open, spilling more light into the space and admitting a crowd of men. Willam was surprised to see them; he had expected only the prince regent, who had instructed him to wait here. Among the throng were Aemond and his brother, the small council, and the Kingsguard. They appeared tense, some even doubtful, as if they believed this was all a waste of time.
"A whole crowd, my prince?" Willam exclaimed. "I am not some spectacle to be beholden."
"Beware how you speak to the prince regent," warned Ser Willis.
Willam merely bowed his head slightly to the Kingsguard but otherwise ignored him.
"Most will not believe until they see," Aemond said. "So I brought them here, to make them see. I've grown weary of their complaints."
"I suppose you are right," Willam hummed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's not every day a strange man like me appears."
Daeron, standing beside Aemond, eyed Willam up and down. "Why are you not wearing any armor?"
"I do not need it. It only burdens me," Willam replied calmly. "Unlike you, my prince, I can escape under dire circumstances. You dragonriders are either do or die atop your beasts, especially in battle with another dragon."
"True,"
Willam then turned his gaze skyward. The light was beginning to fade, and the sky grew darker.
"I think it is time I take my leave, my lords," Willam announced. "You all might want to step back a little."
Aemond was the first to step back, and with varying degrees of reluctance, the rest followed.
Willam surveyed the crowd and sighed. Their eyes bore into him, stripping him bare with their scrutiny. He quickly cleared his mind and smiled. Invisible lightning crackled around him, his eyes began to glow, and then a blinding light erupted from his very being.
The light was so intense that everyone shielded their eyes to avoid blindness. They felt hot air pushing them away from Willam's location; those closest even felt their skin burn slightly. But it lasted only a few seconds, and then the light subsided. As they turned their gaze back to Willam, they saw only a massive shadow, shrouded in hot steam, slowly being revealed.
"By the gods..." one of them murmured, as they all took several more steps back, their bodies instinctively urging them to flee.
The steam dissipated, revealing the entire form: a fifty-foot titan, bat-like in shape with wings attached to its arms, though still looking humanoid in design. It has thick bone-like skin on its chest, and exposed flesh everywhere else. The titan's face was grotesque, etched in a perpetual scowl. It crouched, its gaze sweeping over the crowd with an air of domineering disdain.
Daeron felt it keenly; this was unlike facing dragons. With dragons, there was an absence of fear, perhaps due to their bond or his own courage. But this... this sent chills coursing down his spine.
"Can you speak?" Aemond addressed Willam, though the titan remained silent. "Then you know what to do."
A deep grunt emanated from the titan as it looked skyward. From its crouched stance, it leapt, the initial burst of flight creating a gust that nearly toppled the older men in the crowd. With a powerful flap of its wings, it soared from the dragonpit, away from King's Landing, and towards its destination.
Aemond watched Willam's ascent with his solitary eye, his gaze lingering on the sky.
"And he can become even larger?" Daeron inquired.
"You can follow, if you wish to witness it," Aemond replied, turning away and threading through the crowd towards the pit's exit. "Though I cannot guarantee your safety."
***
It was a quiet night for Baela Targaryen, though it had only just begun. These days, she patrolled the Gullet's coast, watching the mainland's movements from atop Moondancer. Since the battle at Rook's Rest, there had been little activity—save for a dragon's arrival at King's Landing, which she suspected belonged to the youngest Green prince, Daeron Targaryen. She dutifully reported this sighting, but otherwise, both sides seemed stagnant, with only her side's forces gathering at Harrenhal and reinforcing Rook's Rest.
She anticipated another uneventful night. But as the hours passed and she neared the Gullet's small islands, she saw a shadow—a dragon, perhaps—flying towards Driftmark. Initially, she tensed, suspecting Daeron's dragon, but this one was larger. She considered it might be a wild, untamed dragon returning to Dragonstone and opted to observe from a safe distance, flying low over the sea to avoid provoking it.
As they flew above Driftmark, the creature's shape became clearer, and Baela realized it wasn't a dragon at all. She blinked, certain her eyes deceived her. It had a humanoid form, not the familiar draconic one. Alarmed, she drew closer. What manner of beast was this? The grotesque sight of a half-humanoid, half-bat creature sent a shiver through her. It quickly noticed her, turning its head. Instinct screamed for her to flee. The creature was twice Moondancer's size, and Baela had no idea what it might be capable of.
Without warning, the creature lunged at her, wings snapping tight, diving legs first. With a crack of the whip, Moondancer danced through the air, dodging the attack, then swiftly turned its head and breathed a greenish flame towards the beast. The fire hit the creature's back but barely fazed it. Though Baela smelled burning flesh, and the wound smoldered with smoke, the creature still flew, turning back towards Moondancer. This time, the dragon outpaced it, flying further away. Despite its smaller size, Moondancer excelled in speed. Baela's breath came heavily; she was confused, afraid, and panicked. Fighting that creature will be the death of her if this goes on; she needed to return to Dragonstone and report it.
She glanced back and saw the creature simply staring at her, not chasing, its wings flapping vigorously as smoke trailed from its back. Then, its attention shifted to the island below, to Hull, and it dove. Against her better judgment, Baela turned once more, diving towards the town. The creature was about to attack, and she couldn't do nothing. But the beast, heavier, fell faster, and she quickly realized it wasn't stopping—it would crash into the ground at that speed. Moondancer spread her wings, halting their descent, gliding as they watched the creature plummet to its death.
But that did not happen. It happened in a singular moment: a bright flash of light erupted from the beast's body. In the next heartbeat, Moondancer was hurled skyward by a colossal force, losing control of her wings and plummeting earthward. Baela clung desperately to the chain binding her to her dragon, shouting at Moondancer to steady herself. They plummeted towards the sea, but just as they were about to crash, Moondancer managed to regain control, her legs skimming the water and soaking Baela's armor.
Baela turned her gaze back to Hull. A mushroom-shaped cloud of dust stretched from ground to sky, unlike anything she had ever witnessed—an explosion so vast and magnificent it stole her breath away. She could not think—fear, curiosity, all emotions jumbled into one incomprehensible sensation. The cloud expanded higher, and within it, she saw a shadow... a titan, standing on two feet, dwarfing everything she had ever seen. Now she understood—what she felt was fear. Before the titan, she was small, helpless, a stark contrast to her usual dominance astride her dragon.
She looked down, and she saw Hull had been devastated. A huge crater in the middle of the town, she could even hear the shouts and wail of people of the town from a distance. Half the town is completely gone, turned to ash.
She had to flee, and report this to Dragonstone.
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