A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 16: The Tiger of Volantis

The return to Volantis was supposed to be a triumphant one.

Instead, they arrived to fire and ruin.

The great encampment of the Dragon Company, which had stood outside the city walls for years, was gone.

Nothing remained but ash, broken steel, and rotting corpses.

Aerion sat frozen in the saddle, staring at the devastation. Eight thousand men, butchered. Six thousand freed slaves, executed like cattle. The banners of the Dragon Company, once proud, were now trampled into the bloodied earth.

The only sound was the wind whispering through the dead.

Clement cursed, gripping his sword hilt. "Gods... this was no raid. This was a slaughter."

Naeron Qoherys, his black hair whipping in the wind, dismounted and crouched near a pile of corpses. His gloved hand brushed across a familiar sigil—a torn, blood-stained tabard.

His voice was low, deadly. "Stormcrows."

Aurane Waters frowned. "You're certain?"

Naeron nodded. "Look at the wounds. Curved blades. Dothraki steel."

Guncer Sunglass, his usual levity gone, turned to Aerion. "And Thoros? You left him here with two thousand men. Where is he?"

Aerion's jaw tightened.

Thoros of Myr was missing. Either dead or taken.

He turned to the city of Volantis, where the black walls of Old Volantis loomed like a fortress of shadows.

There would be answers there.

They rode into Volantis under the cover of night. Their cloaks were drawn tight, their hands resting on their hilts.

At the Tiger Gate, Aerion demanded to see Triarch Malaquo Maegyr, the ruler of the city.

But instead of diplomacy, they were greeted with blades.

The moment the gate opened, a full company of Tiger Guards surged forward, swords gleaming in the torchlight.

"AMBUSH!" Clement roared, drawing steel.

The Tiger Guards crashed into them like a tide of bronze and steel, forcing Aerion and his men back into the narrow streets. Outnumbered. Outmatched. Betrayed.

Naeron parried a thrust, his black blade cutting through a soldier's throat. Guncer, despite his heavy frame, moved like a storm, splitting helmets with each swing.

Aurane blocked an axe strike, kicked his attacker into the gutter, and drove his sword through another's gut.

But there were too many.

A robed figure appeared in the chaos, a red jewel gleaming at his throat.

Aerion recognized him immediately.

Benerro. A High Priest of R'hllor.

"This way!" Benerro shouted. "The Red Temple can shelter you!"

Aerion hesitated.

But the Tiger Guards were closing in, and he had no choice.

"GO!" he ordered.

The moment they entered the Red Temple, Aerion knew something was wrong.

Hundreds of Red Priests lined the great hall, their faces unreadable.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

And then, a slow clap echoed through the temple.

Malaquo Maegyr emerged from the shadows, smiling.

"You should have stayed away, boy."

Aerion's blood ran cold.

Malaquo strode forward, flanked by his personal guards. "Your presence here no longer benefits me, Targaryen. The Faith of R'hllor calls you a god, and my power diminishes because of it. You disrupt the slave trade. You weaken Volantis. You are a problem."

Aurane spat. "You snake."

Malaquo sighed dramatically. "It is nothing personal, I assure you."

He gestured to Benerro. "You will be handed over, and your army will be mine. In return, I will spare what remains of your people."

Clement gritted his teeth. "Seven hells... It was a trap all along."

Aerion's fingers curled into fists. "You will burn for this."

Malaquo smirked. "No, boy. You will kneel."

At his command, the guards dragged a prisoner forward.

Thoros of Myr.

The Red Priest had been beaten bloody, his robes torn and his hands bound in chains.

Malaquo placed a dagger at his throat. "Drop your sword, or he dies."

For the first time, Aerion felt trapped.

Thoros looked up, blood dripping from his lips. His eyes, despite the pain, still burned with fire.

And then, he smiled.

"Valar Morghulis"

Before anyone could react, Thoros tilted his head forward and dragged his own throat across the blade.

The dagger sliced deep, blood spraying across Malaquo's chest.

Aerion's mind shattered in rage.

The flames of the torches roared higher.

His hand tightened around his sword hilt.

He did not hesitate.

He cut into his own palm, feeling the warmth of his blood—and suddenly, the swords of his sworn brothers ignited in flame.

Clement's blade burned red.

Naeron's sword glowed like molten steel.

Guncer's axe became a torch of death.

Malaquo stumbled back, his eyes widening in horror. "Kill them!"

Aerion roared, his voice shaking the temple.

The Dragon Company charged forward, their flaming weapons cutting through the Tiger Guards.

Naeron beheaded three men in one swing.

Clement plunged his burning sword into a Volantene captain's chest, watching him scream as fire consumed him.

Aurane cut down a priest who tried to run, whispering, "No mercy."

The temple was a battleground of fire and blood.

Malaquo, realizing his mistake, turned and fled.

Aerion let him go. For now.

His gaze turned to Benerro, the traitor priest.

Benerro tried to crawl away, his red robes drenched in blood.

Aerion grabbed him by the throat.

"You will burn in the seven hells for this."

Benerro gasped. "I... I only followed the Lord's will—"

Aerion slammed him against the altar. "Then let your god save you."

His sword plunged into Benerro's chest, flames consuming him.

The traitor died screaming.

The battle was over.

The Red Temple was stained with the blood of its own priests.

But Thoros was gone.

Aerion stood in the center of the ruined temple, his hands still slick with blood, his mind burning with vengeance.

Clement sheathed his sword, breathing heavily. "What now?"

Aerion turned toward the greatest city of the east, its towers glowing in the night.

"We have to get back to Ser Barristan and the others. The Stormcrows still have a dept to pay "

The streets of Volantis ran red.

Aerion Targaryen and his men had cut their way through the Red Temple, but the battle was far from over.

The Tiger Guards, now reinforced by fresh troops, were closing in from all sides. Bronze-armored warriors poured into the alleyways, archers firing from the rooftops, and bells rang across the city, calling more Volantene soldiers to the slaughter.

Three hundred men had entered the city with him.

Now, they were fighting just to make it out alive.

Clement Celtigar drove his flaming sword through a Tiger Guard's chest, twisting it before yanking it free. "We need to move!" he shouted.

Naeron Qoherys parried a halberd strike, severed the wielder's arm, and kicked him into the gutter. "The eastern gate is closer!"

Guncer Sunglass, his axe slick with blood, shook his head. "Too many of them. We'll be cut down before we reach it!"

Aerion knew they had no time to argue.

The air was thick with smoke, the fires of battle burning bright against the blackened sky.

"Through the fish market!" he ordered.

They pushed forward, cutting through lines of Tiger Guards and Volantene spearmen. Blood splattered the cobblestone streets as the Dragon Company hacked their way to freedom.

A volley of arrows rained down from above.

Aurane Waters yanked Aerion back just in time as a shaft buried itself in the ground where he had stood.

"Too many archers!" Aurane cursed.

"Then burn them."

Aerion raised his hand, blood still dripping from the cut on his palm. He clenched his fist, and flames erupted from the torches along the rooftops, leaping onto the archers above.

Screams echoed through the night as the Volantene bowmen were engulfed in fire, their bodies crashing down onto their own men below.

Still, the enemy was relentless.

More Volantene soldiers poured into the alleys. A massive elephant, its tusks gilded in gold, charged through the marketplace, crushing men beneath its feet.

Clement rolled out of the way, barely avoiding being trampled.

"Fucking elephants?!"

Naeron launched a spear, striking the beast's eye. The elephant bellowed in agony, veering wildly before crashing through a line of Volantene pikemen.

They were close to the city gates now.

But by the time they reached it, only 130 men remained.

The survivors rode hard to their main encampment, where the bulk of their army waited—Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Monford Velaryon, Ser Guncer Sunglass, and the rest of the Dragon Company.

Monford met them first, his silver armor gleaming beneath the torchlight. His face darkened as he saw how few returned.

"Seven hells… what happened?"

Aurane dismounted first, his clothes soaked in blood—none of it his own. "Volantis betrayed us."

Naeron spat onto the dirt. "Malaquo Maegyr set the trap. Thoros is dead."

Ser Barristan stepped forward, his face grim.

"Then the war has begun."

That night, as the army prepared for war, Aerion sat outside his tent, staring into the flames of a small fire. His sword rested across his knees, still stained with the blood of Volantene men.

Ser Barristan Selmy sat beside him. The old knight looked tired—more tired than Aerion had ever seen him.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Aerion said, "He didn't have to die."

Barristan took a long breath. "No, he didn't."

A heavy silence followed. Thoros had been more than just a commander—he had been a friend. A drinking companion. A man who had laughed through every battle and never lost faith in fire or steel.

Aerion clenched his fists. "He should have let me trade myself. He should have lived."

Barristan looked at him then, his blue eyes full of quiet sorrow. "Thoros was a fool in many ways. But never when it came to loyalty."

Aerion swallowed hard. "I will burn Volantis for this."

Barristan sighed. "War is coming. But do not fight for vengeance alone, My Prince. Thoros would not want that."

The young prince said nothing, his red eyes reflecting the firelight.

Inside the flames, he swore he could almost see Thoros, laughing, cup in hand.

"Valar Dohaeris" Aerion whispered.