The House of Ice and Fire

Siege of the Pyke

Pyke 105 AC

Aemon Targaryen

The flight of Balerion and Caraxes, two of the mightiest dragons to grace the skies of Westeros, was a sight to behold. As Aemon Targaryen astride Balerion and his father, Daemon Targaryen, atop Caraxes, led the host of four hundred warships carrying one hundred thousand soldiers towards the main island of Pyke, the air filled with anticipation and the promise of war.

The Velaryon fleet, with their sails billowing in the wind like the wings of a great seabird, cut through the tumultuous waves of the Narrow Sea with a determined resolve. Each ship rode the crest of the waves with a steady hand, their hulls slicing through the frothy sea foam as they forged ahead toward their destination.

The ocean journey was a relentless battle against the elements, with fierce winds and crashing waves threatening to engulf the ships at every turn. Yet, under the watchful gaze of Balerion and Caraxes, the sailors of the Velaryon fleet navigated the treacherous waters with skill and determination, their resolve unshaken by the stormy seas.

As the dragons soared overhead, their massive wings casting shadows upon the churning waters below, the men aboard the warships drew strength from their presence. Despite the harsh conditions and the looming specter of war on the horizon, there was an undeniable sense of camaraderie among the soldiers and sailors alike, united by their common purpose and the unwavering leadership of their dragon riders, especially since the Ironborn had harmed those these men call dear. After the victory was had Aemon knew that for the next number of years, until the Dance of Dragons, his uncle's reign would be one of unity for not quite since Dorne had all the kingdoms had one thing to hate and focus upon, something to unite against, a chance to unite for years to come.

Through the howling winds and crashing waves, Balerion and Caraxes led the host onward, their fiery breath lighting the way through the darkness of the night. As they approached the main island of Pyke, the men's anticipation reached a fever pitch, their hearts pounding with the thrill of battle and the promise of victory.

The journey to Pyke had been arduous, spanning the better part of two days as the fleet of warships and their dragon escorts navigated the choppy waters of the Narrow Sea. The horizon had been a constant companion, an ever-changing vista of rolling waves and distant clouds, until finally, the silhouette of Pyke emerged on the horizon like a shadowy specter rising from the depths.

As the island came into view, Aemon Targaryen stood at the prow of the lead ship, his eyes fixed on the looming fortress perched atop the cliffs. The sight stirred a mix of emotions within him - anticipation, determination, and perhaps a hint of apprehension. Pyke was a forbidding sight, its jagged cliffs and rugged coastline standing as a testament to the harshness of the Iron Islands.

Turning back to Pyke, Aemon's gaze lingered on the dark, brooding landscape that stretched before him. The island seemed to exude an aura of desolation, its craggy shores and mist-shrouded hills hinting at life's harsh and unforgiving nature in the Iron Islands. Yet, despite its bleak appearance, Aemon saw an opportunity to strike a decisive blow against their enemies and secure victory for House Targaryen.

Balerion and Caraxes, the two mighty dragons of House Targaryen, soared through the storm-laden skies with an undeniable aura of majesty and power. Balerion, the Black Dread, was a colossal beast, his scales as dark as night and his wings wide enough to blot out the sun, but as the dusk settled night would soon be upon them Aemon doubted the large dragon could even be seen during the night. His roar reverberated across the turbulent waters below, a deep and ominous sound that struck fear into all who heard it.