Chapter 6: Titan’s Wroth II

Dragonstone is in alert mode. Guards are passing messages in and out of the council room, reporting details from the ships near Driftmark and other sources of intelligence. Meanwhile, the council itself was quiet, unsure of what to make of the scenario. Baela sat in the corner, her hair completely disheveled, as her twin sister comforted her. Corlys stood opposite Rhaenyra, looking furious yet helpless, with Princess Rhaenys beside him, her wounds still visible from the previous battle at Rook's Rest.

"Then what is to be done?" Corlys questioned sternly. "You all sit here idly, only listening to messengers while that... monster ravages my land. Sacking a town is one thing; flattening it is another."

"I understand your grievances, Lord Corlys," Ser Alfred Broome said calmly, a grim expression on his face. "But we cannot do—"

Corlys slammed his fist on the table, making everyone in the council flinch. "We have eight dragons by my count. Let us use them!"

Ser Alfred continued. "We cannot risk losing any—"

"Oh, so you sacrifice my land and my subjects for the beasts that are meant for war?" Corlys's gaze sharpened. "Hull is no more, my lords. Soon Spicetown and High Tide will meet the same fate if we do not act, my kin will be slaughtered like farm animals yet now you still think of losses and gains?"

"There are hidden threats, Lord Corlys. The Triarchy Fleet could arrive at any moment. You said it yourself that the fleet has routed your fleet stationed in the Stepstones, and they could arrive here at any moment, which our dragons are more capable of handling." Ser Alfred continued. "But if we send the dragons to face that monstrosity, we could lose some of them and might not win the battle against the Triarchy because of it. That titan killed Vhagar alone; your wife witnessed it."

Lord Corlys scoffed. "If we do nothing about the attack on my land, then my ships will not defend you from the Triarchy Fleet."

"That is treasonous talk, Lord Corlys," Lord Bartimos Celtigar exclaimed. "How dare—"

"Enough." Rhaenyra quieted everyone. "Lord Corlys, rest assured we will send the dragonseeds to prevent further damage. But..." she paused, her eyes traveling to Rhaenys, who had been quiet the whole time. "I cannot guarantee that it will stop. When this war is over, I assure you that the crown will compensate for the damages."

"I do not want compensation," Corlys almost spat. "It's a matter of dignity. It's a matter of trust. This council has betrayed it. When my house needed aid the most, the council pondered the losses. I may be your Hand, Your Grace, but I doubt the capability of the council."

"We are at war, Lord Corlys, and in a dire position," Ser Alfred pointed out. "Forgive me, but we cannot afford to make mistakes. One wrong move and it could be the end of our cause. You of all people should know that."

"Ser Alfred, enough," Rhaenyra warned. "You are right, Lord Corlys. You have aided us in the blockade of the Gullet and given us the advantage of the sea at the start of the war. Jace, command the dragonseeds to move, but do not go yourself; you are needed here."

Jace perked up at the mention of his name. "Yes, Your Grace."

And so, the prince turned and left to find the dragonseeds, but the tension in the council still existed.

Corlys eyed Alfred and the rest of the council but said nothing more.

"Lord Corlys, I am afraid that I must ask for your aid once more. The enemy fleet is coming," Rhaenyra said. "I know that—"

"I will see to it," Corlys cut her off, his eyes still angry. He turned away from the table and walked out of the room, leaving everyone alone. Even Rhaenys still stays, and she looked a bit tense as well.

Rhaenyra could only sigh at the situation in her hands. She looked down at the painted table, towards where King's Landing was on the map, and clenched her fists tightly.

"Alert the watchtowers," she said to one of the guards. "When there's news that the titan on Driftmark has disappeared or fallen, be mindful at all times. Dragonstone might be its next target."

***

Every step the titan took flattened a part of the island, and a brief earthquake reverberated through the area. The town of Hull vanished from the map in a single moment, its buildings and docks devastated. Now, only the wailing and crying of the townspeople could be heard as they waited for their suffering to end. By the end of this attack, even if some survived, they would bear physical and psychological scars for the rest of their lives. Off the coast of the now non-existent town were the wrecks of ships, some burning, some shattered to pieces by the explosion, and some already sunk to the bottom of the shallow sea. These ships were either of trading origin or part of the Velaryon Fleet that were being repaired or built.

The titan, Willam, continued to walk, slowly flattening everything in his path as he moved towards the next town on the island, Spicetown. It was but a short distance away, yet it felt agonizingly slow for the people below. Even though the titan appeared to move very slowly, his advance seemed inevitable, for nothing could stop him unless the gods themselves intervened.

But then, roars could be heard from afar. When Willam turned his gigantic head towards the source of the roar, he saw four dragons approaching. These dragons were quite large, with one almost as big as Vhagar. Though he had never seen them in person, he recognized them instantly: Seasmoke, Sheepstealer, Silverwing, and Vermithor. To him, these dragons were the real targets, not the pitiful smallfolk on the ground. So, Willam turned his attention towards them, his massive body stopping, and his hand clenching tightly. Seasmoke arrived first, being the fastest of the bunch. Willam could hear shouts from the rider, insults and rageful comments, but he could tell that the rider was barely in control, as the dragon was rigid in following commands.

The titan moved its arms, swinging them as fast as possible toward the approaching dragon, all the while the skin of its arms emitted boiling hot steam. While the dragon managed to dodge the arm movement, it could not avoid it entirely. The steam pushed the dragon off its trajectory for a moment, and the other hand of the titan managed to grab the tail of Seasmoke just barely. The dragon struggled to escape, roaring and spitting fire in all directions without regard for the rider. With his own roar, Willam threw the dragon to the ground below as hard as he possibly could, the dragon's body dragged by the force, shattering a couple of trees before finally stopping, almost lifeless near the beach.

Then, a breath of bronze flame struck Willam from the side. His wounds healed as quickly as they could, releasing steam that covered his entire body. The titan tumbled forward, struggling to stabilize, and as he fell to the ground, he once again swung his arms, targeting the other two approaching dragons that were about to release their fiery breath at him. While Sheepstealer managed to dodge by using its flames to burn the titan's arm, Silverwing was not fast enough to dodge. As the titan fell, so too did the silver dragon, slamming to the ground, unable to bear the weight of the titan's arm. When the titan fell completely, Silverwing was crushed, and the area around where the titan fell was instantly flattened.

So the titan lay there, steam still rising into the air, but completely unmoving. The surviving dragons could only circle around the body, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Before they could even react, two had already fallen.

It was then that the arms started to move once more, pushing the very earth itself to rise. Vermithor, however, didn't let it happen. Seeing Silverwing being crushed had made the old dragon angrier than ever before. As the titan slowly stood up, the bronze dragon unleashed its fury, a fiery breath launched from his mouth to the head of the titan. Vermithor then used his claws to grab the titan's muscle, trying to tear it off. At this point, the Bronze Fury was out of control, with rider Hugh the Hammer pointlessly shouting to calm the beast to no avail.

When the dragon slammed into the titan's head, the titan's balance was once again broken, causing the titan's arm to slip and making it fall to the ground once more. This time, Vermithor was tearing at the titan's face. It was not long before a burst of steam came out of the skin around the titan's head, obfuscating the injured face and pushing the dragon away. The rider was burned to a crisp by the steam, leaving only the dragon alone.

The titan tried to stand up again, his face now more terrifying than before due to the damage. Vermithor regained his balance and once again dove straight at Willam, his mouth opening for another fiery breath or a biting attack. But the titan's arm moved fast, and with a clenched fist, Vermithor was punched to the ground so hard that every scale on his body cracked, and upon impact, it made a huge crater.

Now, it seemed that the titan could no longer hold on, and he couldn't stand. So Willam decided it was time to end it. The titan slumped to the ground, another earthquake spreading through the island.

From the nape, Willam got out of the flesh of the titan, with his face slowly starting to heal on the parts where the flesh was disconnected. He looked up above; the last dragon was now flying away from the place, probably running away. Willam could only sigh. One escaped, though he didn't mind it that much. The rest would naturally die as the war continued, especially when the triarchy fleet invaded later.

***

When Rhaenyra heard the news, she couldn't believe it. Three dragons had died in one night—a huge blow to her side. Though she was secretly thankful she hadn't sent her son, the attack had been stopped.

"And you ran?" Ser Alfred questioned the last surviving Dragonseed, Nettles.

"My lord, I would die in vain if I stayed," Nettles protested. "You have not seen—"

"Thank you, Nettles," Princess Rhaenys cut her off. "You did the right thing. We are already weak; I do not know if we could fend off the Triarchy fleet if we were to lose you."

"At least the damage to Driftmark didn't spread," Ser Alfred hummed.

"All that for sacrificing three dragons?" Bartimos said. "It is an enormous mistake to send them, only to please the ego of Lord Corlys."

"If Claw Isle were to be the next target, what would you do, Lord Bartimos?" Princess Rhaenys refuted. "Sit in silence? Pray to the gods?"

Bartimos didn't answer, standing in silence with a bit of embarrassment in his expression.

Seeing the tense atmosphere, Rhaenyra turned to her Grandmaester. "Gerardys, any word from Harrenhal?"

"There have been no replies, your grace," said the maester. "Prince Daemon is still out of reach."

The queen clenched her hands tightly and gritted her teeth. "Then prepare for a bloody battle, my lords. I will ride my dragon to aid you."

"Your grace?" Lord Bartimos looked surprised. "You cannot do that. We cannot risk—"

"If I do not join, we might as well lose this cause."

In an instant, the council room went silent. The queen sighed deeply, then turned to one of her Queensguard. 

"Ser Lorent." she called.

"Your grace."

"Tell the guards to keep watch on the sky; we might have another attack here on Dragonstone. If there is anything suspicious, prepare everyone to escape, no matter how small the anomaly."

The knight nodded and bowed his head. "Yes, your grace."