The news of King Jason's steel armada surged across the Narrow Sea faster than the ships themselves. In Braavos, the air in the Sealord's Palace was thick with a tension they hadn't felt in centuries. The dignitaries, men who built their empire on the mastery of timber and sail, were paralyzed by the reports. They could not fathom a warship forged entirely of iron and steel that did not sink—it defied the "God of Seven Faces" and the laws of nature as they knew them. The Braavosi realized that their maritime hegemony, the very foundation of their wealth, was effectively over.
Fearing Jason might turn his gaze toward their harbors after taking King's Landing, the Sealord summoned his council to prepare a mission of total submission, armed with gifts that would satisfy a king from another world. They had heard the rumors: Jason was a "favored one," a merchant who could step between realities to bring back magical artifacts like the "white fire" of the modern world and these impossible steel leviathans.
While the Free Cities trembled, the Easter I continued its steady, vibration-heavy trek south. After two days and nights of cutting through the waves at a constant 20 knots, the fleet arrived within 30 nautical miles of Dragonstone.
Inside the destroyer's command center, the dim glow of monitors replaced the cold northern sun. Jason stood with his advisory group, watching high-definition footage transmitted from a ship-borne drone hovering miles ahead. The nobles of the North stood behind them, their breath catching as they saw the "God-eye" view of the sea.
On the screens, thousands of wooden hulls—the combined strength of Daenerys Targaryen's fleet—clogged the waters around Blackwater Bay.
"Order the fleet to flank speed," Jason commanded, his voice echoing in the metallic room. "I want to see the Mother of Dragons before the smoke clears". He felt a flicker of genuine curiosity about the seventeen-year-old girl who had conjured an army from the ashes of the Dothraki sea.
In the heart of the bay, the sea was no longer blue; it was a churning graveyard of splintered oak and blood. Tywin Lannister had made a devil's bargain to save his legacy, granting the Iron Islands independence and promising a Lannister bride to Euron Greyjoy in exchange for the destruction of the Targaryen fleet.
The Ironborn, the most vicious sailors in the world, were in their element. Euron's Silence led the charge, its ramming prow shattering Daenerys's transport ships as if they were made of dry twigs.
"Drogon!" Daenerys's voice cut through the sound of crashing timber.
From the clouds, a shadow fell that made the Ironborn captains pause. The black dragon, a forty-meter beast of scales and fury, dived through the smoke. Ser Barristan Selmy shouted for the Queen to remain on the command deck, but Daenerys was already climbing into the saddle, driven by the desperate need to save her people from the Ironborn slaughter.
Euron Greyjoy, his one eye reflecting the carnage, laughed as the sky turned to fire. "Smash them!" he roared, swinging a blood-slicked axe. "Let that girl know who truly rules the salt and the spray!".
His triumph was cut short as three dragons—Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion—swooped in a coordinated arc. Torrents of dragonfire, hotter than any forge in King's Landing, rained down on the Iron Fleet. A dozen warships erupted instantly into pillars of flame.
"Scorpions! Aim for the eyes!" Euron bellowed.
His crews unleashed the heavy crossbows mounted on the decks. While the bolts were massive, they were standard Ironborn hardware, lacking the precision and power of the dragon-hunting engines Jason had seen in other timelines. The bolts rattled off the dragons' scales like pebbles against stone. The dragons roared in irritation, their subsequent breath turning the Royal Navy's flagship into a drifting cinder.
"Push forward! They're breaking!" Ser Jorah Mormont and Grey Worm shouted from their respective decks, sensing the shift in the tide.
Euron Greyjoy felt the first cold prickle of panic. His fleet was being incinerated, and his wooden walls offered no protection against the sky-born gods. But as the dragons circled for another pass, a new sound began to drown out the screams of the dying: the deep, rhythmic thrum of massive diesel engines.
On the horizon, the steel prows of the Easter I and her frigates appeared, cutting through the waves with a terrifying, mechanical indifference.