Second Battle of Meereen

Victarion stood near at hand for the duration of the battle planning, not that even he needed it explained to him what his particular role would be in the upcoming battle, and waited until Barristan finished his commands and speech. Then he made his way to Viserion’s side, resting his gauntleted hand against the ivory scales of the beast’s throat. Amoment passed between man and dragon, and then he sprang aboard, much more spryly than he had the first time - he was a resilient man, and no wound could hamper him long. His axe was in his hand, not that he would have much use of it sweeping above the field, but it felt right. He still knew only the one word or Valyrian, and that one would have to wait, but as always Viserion seemed to know his will and sprang into the sky. The pair were kept some distance from the rest of the men, for as much as the dragon’s presence could bolster the men’s spirits, it was also a source of some discomfort. Not too long past were the days in which the feral beast tore through the streets and skies of Meereen alike, killing and burning indiscriminately.

With a warlike whoop, Victarion made three great loops above the force as it surged forward, Viserion’s primal roar raising to meet his own. They would hang to the back for a few moments as the combat was joined, hoping the melee would take the attention of any anti-dragon measures the Ghiscari thought to take, but soon the ivory serpent would have his fill.

Tyrion watched from the Great Pyramid as the battle commenced. The slavers were fools. None could stand against three dragons, even if they did get incredibly lucky with one of those Trebuchets. He poured himself more wine. His failure to mount Rhaegal was disappointing but not unexpected. He had little hope of it to begin with, perhaps he would be shackled to the earth. The three dragons circled, descending ominously across the battlefield. Greyjoy was a dangerous ally at the best of times. Still, there was work to be done. Tyrion scribbled away his account of the battle, one of which would be included in the histories of the Dragon Queen he intended to write, but more immediately as accounts of the destruction wrought on this day to be sent far and wide across Essos to quell any dissent to Daenarys' policies. The more troops the Queen used up here, the fewer would be available for the retaking of Westeros. He scribbled on, finishing three glasses of wine in all. His manuscript and terms would be sent to all the slavery cities at the close of the battle.

As the unsullied ripped through the lines of the interlopers, breaking up the front ranks, Victarion urged Viserion forward. The Unsullied and Free Companies formed a sturdy line, crashing against the onrushing Quartheen and Ghiscari forces and holding fast. Then, the dragon descended. The first gout of flame ripped through the Ghiscari archers, and the second claimed one of the mighty trebuchets, but the invading forces seemed limitless. Beyond the host of marching legions, there were elephants to deal with as well. Viserion lurched under him suddenly, and he allowed the dragon to lead the way, diving near above the backs of the elephants and issuing a gout of searing flame. Perhaps it would not be the most effective method of harming the thick-skinned animals, but the men who controlled them and the ropes and platforms they stood upon would burn just like any other.

Viserion wheeled away from the arrows that flew up in a cloud from the massive war beasts below them. Most rattled off of his white scales. A few found purchase between them, or pierced a leathery wing, and the dragon roared its displeasure as scalding blood fell in a thin mist, threatening Victarion at his perch. He allowed the dragon to continue its rotation, not that he exhibited much control over it anyway, and came around again to face the hordes. After the initial impact, the two forces had locked into a stalemate it seemed. Legions of disciplined warriors were locked spear-to-shield, neither one willing to give ground. Dothraki warriors on both sides harried each other, denying any opportunity to flank or charge. Meanwhile, everywhere the elephants seemed to claim an advantage over the cities defenders, a gout of Viserion's flame would drive them back, or press the advantage on the other side. Victarion continued to do his best to harry the elephants, noting how the fire seemed to distress them.

The queen watched the battle unfold before her, from the top of her queenly seat in the pyramid. Her Hand, her would-be husband and her bloodriders were doing a good job, from the looks of it. However the sea was covered in sails, as much as the eyes could see. The queer and splendid vessels sent by the Volantene triarchs, a fleet of the Rhoynar, mighty and numerous. The Iron Fleet was strong, with three-decked warships and nimble longships, but they wouldn't be able to hold their ground for long... The last of the Targaryens called for her maidens and ser Jorah himself.

A mighty roar and a batter of leathern wings heralded the arrival of the queen, mounting the dark beast, Drogon. She was wearing a suit of scales, as the dragonriders of Old Valyria, a glimmering armor in black and red. The dragon had grown larger and fiercer of late and the queen had given him free roam all over the surrounding lands, that were now his hunting grounds, which made him bolder and stronger. Belarion reborn, black winged serpent of doom, covered the waves with its shadow as it attacked from above: Daenerys had flown high, until the sun was at her back, and then descended amidst black and fire streams of fire, covering the first line of Volantine sails with a nightmarish hell. The very sea boiled and went up in clouds of steam as flesh and armor were melted away by dragonfire, the painted wooden hulls of the warships cracking and exploding as they were covered by Drogon in a stream of his deathly breath. Flames jumped from ship to ship as the dragon flew quick, avoiding projectiles as it went back and forth, raising flight and using the sun to obscure his trajectory.

And Rhaegel, excited by the cries of the dying men, the fire and the smell of burning flesh plunged itself to the fray, unleashing its fire on the enemy lines, erratically, unlike Viserion or Drogon, who had both a master to guide them and steer their might, but wrecking the rear line and picking up men from the saddle and the back of elephants with its clawed hind legs, tearing them with tooth and nail. For the first time in centuries three dragons were fielded against an army and the grass burned and raised into the air and the fire created clouds of cinder and ash that would cover the fields after the battle was done and the dust settled.

Victarion let up a mighty warcry as the flames from the other two Dragons swept across the field, scouring the already sun-scorched earth and men alike, wheeling Viserion back towards the conflict again, to see the lines just beginning to break. Viserion divebombed one of the elephants, flame spewing from his maw in an attempt to to strike fear into them and sow discord again. Victarion could tell that the besieging lines were not holding quite so firm as their legendary discipline would have suggested they would.

Meanwhile, on the waters, the Ironborn Longships sought to capitalize on the chaos caused by Drogon's wrath. As some ships went up in flames, and others plunged to the watery depths, the sleek hulls of longships carved the water towards some of the fleeing vessels, looking to cut them off and capture them for the Queen of Dragons' cause. Boarding parties prepared, swords and axes honed, and rowers began to pull double-time to keep the cogs and transport vessels from escaping the kraken's grasp.