Night fell over the Stepstones like a heavy velvet shroud, but there was no silence. The wind howled through the jagged rocks, and the sea churned with restless energy.
Under the cover of darkness, a fleet of pirate longships slipped through the reefs. Their sails were dyed black, their oars muffled with wool. They moved like phantoms, aiming for the exposed flank of the Royal Army's camp on the northern island.
It was a bold gambit. They knew the Westerosi forces would be exhausted after a day of fighting. They hoped to catch the dragons sleeping.
But they had not reckoned with the [Fire Sight].
High above, Rhaegar waited. He drifted on the thermal currents, invisible against the black sky. The [Tree Rune] had washed away his fatigue, leaving his mind sharp and cold.
He watched the pirates approach, their heat signatures glowing in his mind like embers in ash.
"Now," he whispered.
"Dracarys!"
The command shattered the night.
Three columns of fire—silver, purple, and black—erupted from the darkness above.
To the pirates, it must have seemed like the sky itself was falling. One moment, they were creeping toward their prey; the next, they were engulfed in an inferno.
The darkness that had been their ally became their tomb. The dragonfire illuminated the sea for miles, turning the black water into a mirror of hell.
The Tyroshi "boar" ships, lying in wait behind a headland, surged forward. Their decks were lined with archers who poured volleys of fire arrows into the confused mass of pirate vessels.
It wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
The dragons swooped and dove, their scales flashing in the light of the burning ships. They were faster and more agile than the pirates could have imagined. Scorpion bolts fired blindly into the night missed their marks, or glanced off the dragons' armored bellies.
The Silver Emperor, fueled by Rhaegar's will and the [Blood of Fire], was a blur of motion. He strafed a line of longships, his breath melting the wood and boiling the pitch. Men jumped into the sea, only to find the water around them turning to steam.
"Three battles," Rhaegar thought, watching a pirate galley break apart. "Three victories."
By dawn, the sea was quiet again, save for the crackling of driftwood and the cries of gulls feasting on the dead.
Rhaegar landed the Silver Emperor on the deck of the lead Tyroshi carrack. The soldiers cheered until their throats were raw.
"Long live the Prince of Dragonstone!"
"Long live the Tyrant of the Narrow Sea!"
"Long live the Shipburner!"
Rhaegar removed his helm. His face was smeared with soot, but his violet eyes burned with a terrifying intensity. He looked less like a prince and more like a god of war, carved from smoke and shadow.
He returned to the main camp on the northern island, where the Royal Army was waking to the news of the victory.
Prince Aerys met him at the edge of the command compound. The King-to-be was practically dancing with excitement.
"My son!" Aerys crows, embracing Rhaegar with a fervor that bordered on mania. "A night battle! And you crushed them! They say the sea was on fire!"
"The pirates attempted a raid, Father," Rhaegar said, his voice hoarse. "They won't try again."
"Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" Aerys turned to Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon. "Did you see? My blood! The blood of the Dragon! We are invincible!"
Tywin's face was impassive, but he nodded slowly. "A decisive blow, Your Grace."
Aerys grabbed a banner from a nearby standard-bearer—a red dragon on black.
"Kneel, Rhaegar," Aerys commanded.
Rhaegar knelt in the dust.
"I, Aerys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Hand of the King, do hereby name you Commander of the Vanguard! You have the authority to lead the assault on Bloodstone. Crush them, my son! Burn them all for me!"
He handed the banner to Rhaegar.
"I will not fail you, Father," Rhaegar promised, rising.
Later, in the command tent, Rhaegar laid out his new strategy to his captains.
"We are not going to storm Bloodstone yet," he told Ser Barristan, Ser Brynden, and Lord Jason Mallister. "The pirates are dug into caves and stone forts. A direct assault would cost us thousands of lives."
He pointed to the map.
"We are going to starve them."
"A siege?" Bronze Yohn Royce asked. "On an island?"
"A total blockade," Rhaegar corrected. "I want every ship in the Stepstones that isn't ours burned. Every fishing boat, every smuggler's skiff, every pirate galley. If it floats and it doesn't fly a Targaryen banner, destroy it."
He looked at Ser Lucerys Velaryon. "Your fleet will patrol the outer perimeter. Nothing gets in. No food, no weapons, no gold."
He looked at the Blackfish. "Your archers will secure the beaches. If they try to launch boats to fish, fill them with arrows."
"And you, my Prince?" Barristan asked.
Rhaegar smiled, a cold, predatory smile.
"I am going to be the Shipburner. I will fly over every cove and inlet in this archipelago. If I see a mast, I will burn it. By the time we are done, the Pirate King will be the king of a rock and a pile of ash."
The strategy was brutal, but effective.
Over the next week, the skies over the Stepstones were filled with smoke. Rhaegar and his dragons hunted tirelessly. They descended on hidden coves where pirates thought they were safe, turning their hidden fleets into bonfires.
The message was clear: The sea belonged to the Dragon.
On Bloodstone, the Pirate King Klarl Rhaen watched the smoke rising from his outer defenses. He realized, with a sinking heart, that the game had changed. He wasn't fighting a conventional war anymore. He was fighting a force of nature.
And nature was hungry.