"Father, news from Jace and Dan." Rhaegor glanced around before stepping up to Draezell's side and speaking in a low voice.
"What are you standing there for?" Diana tugged at her eldest son's sleeve, gesturing for him to sit down.
"Mother, this is official business. Once I finish reporting to Father, I need to go handle it immediately. Please, just sit back and relax," Rhaegor replied gently, declining the seat his mother tried to vacate, and instead swapped out her mixing stick with a fresh one.
Draezell nodded in satisfaction. As his eldest son grew older and spent more time involved in the affairs of the realm, he had indeed become a fitting heir. At the very least, there was no doubt he could maintain the family's stability, and he handled crucial matters with ease.
"Let's hear it, then. What is little Aegon's boy—my dear grandson—planning to do to devour the Disputed Lands?"
"There is no real plan, Father," Rhaegor replied with a wry smile. "His Grace hasn't even gathered enough intelligence. He doesn't know who's backing the major mercenary companies near the Myrish highlands. He's unclear on the relationships between the factions within the Mangrove Coast, the Weeping Shore, Stonewood Heights, and the Myrwater Plain. He's also ignorant of the power struggles inside Myr and Lys, and of the overt and covert conflicts between House Rogare and the Iron Bank."
Draezell raised an eyebrow. Just then, Daenerys came scampering back, holding a freshly washed-faced Igon in her arms. Though mischievous by nature, she knew better than to interrupt her father's report to their grandfather. So she quietly placed her brother on the carpet next to Draezell and sat down herself, pretending to closely examine the flowers planted by her grandmother Diana.
But both Rhaegor and Diana knew full well where the girl's attention truly lay—on Rhaegor's report of military and political matters to Draezell.
She'd always been curious about such things since childhood—but her interest stopped at curiosity. Beyond that, there was no desire for further pursuit or development. For Daenerys, affairs of state were akin to her toy swords: entertaining, but not something she intended to seriously learn or follow through with.
Igon, still a young child, was starting to doze off after his sister's antics. He swayed a bit, then flopped onto the rug. Smiling, Diana reached behind Draezell to pull over a warm blanket and gently covered the boy.
Little rascal. Better at playing innocent than I ever was.
Daenerys sneakily glanced sideways and locked eyes with her brother, who was also turning his head under the blanket. She gave him a weird look, as if saying, You've got to be kidding me.
Compared to their mother, Daenerys had spent even more time with her brother. She arguably knew him better than their parents did.
He's definitely not sleeping. He's eavesdropping.
Of course, at barely five name days old, the boy couldn't understand a thing. He just found the way Father spoke when discussing serious matters oddly pleasant. And Grandfather's voice? Always a delight to hear.
"So, why is this happening?" Draezell asked, eyes closed as he basked in the noonday sun.
"Dragons," Rhaegor sighed. "His Grace is not like his father, nor like King Jacaerys I. Both former kings understood that dragons, most of the time, served as tools of deterrence rather than destruction. But His Grace isn't like Maegor the First either, at least not as history portrays him. He's chosen to use his dragon to expand the kingdom's frontiers rather than turn it against his own people."
Rhaegor chuckled lightly. He knew well that Maegor the First was not quite as the histories described. True, he had been violent and tyrannical, but his brutal suppression of the Faith and the militant orders, along with his destruction of rebellious lords, had laid the groundwork for King Jaehaerys I to win hearts and consolidate royal authority.
Right and wrong—who could say where the line truly was?
Still, pouring fire and blood into the vast continent to the east, to open up more space for the realm, was undeniably better than squandering power in civil strife.
"His Grace believes that his dragon alone can match entire armies. Prince Viserys's sons fully support his campaign, and with Dan and Jace by his side, His Grace's expedition boasts six adult dragons: Dreamfyre, Seasmoke, Vermax, Hornstorm, Sendros, and Skyfire." Rhaegor ran a hand across his smooth chin—he still hadn't taken to growing a beard. But even he couldn't hide his astonishment as he listed the dragons: "Not since the Doom of Valyria have so many full-grown dragons gone to war at once. His Grace is justified in being confident. He should be confident."
"Go on," Draezell said, still with eyes closed, his tone unreadable.
"Besides Prince Lucerys Martell and Prince Quentyn Dayne, the other Lords Paramount pledged elite forces after the Great Council. These troops are veterans, or younger sons of noble houses, well-equipped and well-trained. With dragons overhead, they'll keep to discipline. The Princes of Dorne have also begun gathering troops and ships. This war has the full backing of the realm's great lords."
"They had no reason to refuse," Draezell said evenly.
"His Grace's plan is to quickly capture Lykar Laclen on the Mangrove Coast, using it as a base to eliminate the warlords of the Weeping Shore and Myrwater Plain, then move on to the mercenaries entrenched in the Myrish Highlands and the Myr–Rhoynar Mountains."
"He has dragons, so he can do that," Draezell said, opening his eyes at last. "Especially with the mainland at his back, my dear grandson need not worry about supply lines or logistics. But all of this hinges on the full support of the families with fleets."
"The Redwynes cannot refuse the king's summons," Rhaegor nodded. "In exchange for waiving five years of wine taxes, His Grace secured the entire Redwyne fleet. The royal fleet and the Velaryon fleet have already joined up. Even the Red Sea Kraken offered the Iron Fleet. As for the Martells' so-called navy—if one can even call it that—it hardly matters."
"So my dear grandson doesn't know who hides in the cavern-riddled shores of the Weeping Coast?" Draezell couldn't be bothered to move, but still lifted his hand to stroke his beard. "Or does he really believe that the Red Kraken and the Ironborn can completely root out those stubborn rats? Those people are richer than the Ironborn, and far craftier. They've already lost the Stepstones — the Weeping Coast is their final stronghold."
Rhaegor shook his head. "His Grace doesn't know. Even if he did, with six dragons under his command, he'd still think those pirates can't stir up much trouble. Besides, the Red Sea Beast promised to dispatch ten thousand Ironborn."
Draezell's mouth twitched. "Rhaegor, if I sent you to conquer the Disputed Lands, how would you go about it?"
"I wouldn't fight a war I'm not prepared for or unsure of winning," Rhaegor replied, standing straight. "Father, our territory has the Silverblood Legion to absorb the noble sons who can't inherit land. I've already gone over the numbers with Lord Hoffa and the others. At the very least, we'll remain stable until Igon's grandson comes of age."
"If," Draezell said with a smile, "if you were the one in charge, what would you do?"
Rhaegor paused to think.
"I would do to the Disputed Lands what you did to make Dorne submit."
Draezell turned to his son. "Ha, give me details."
Rhaegor considered a moment and asked in a low voice, "Father, can you tell me whether the army I lead would come solely from the borderlands or from the entire kingdom?"
"That's up to you."
"Regardless of whether it's a force composed of the kingdom's nobles or our own men, resolving conflict through war is not the best solution. Before anything starts, I would need complete intelligence on the Disputed Lands. The warlords there are riddled with internal strife. Those mercenary bands of four to five thousand harbor deep resentment toward the larger companies. Some of the big mercenary groups are even harboring ambitions of their own. Even the Iron Bank has to show them some respect. The Khalasar of Khargo is also in that region. The seeds of discord are already sown. All we need to do is inflame those tensions, and we can reap a divided, easily manipulated Disputed Lands."
It seemed Rhaegor had understood his father's intent.
"Our proxies will bleed for us, and in return, they'll get what they already claim as theirs. And if, after that, they decide to rebel—"
His gaze suddenly turned icy.
"Dragons and steel will bring them to heel."
Draezell nodded in satisfaction. "And how do you plan to resist the urge to deal with those sinners who throw themselves at your feet, my son?"
"Easy," Rhaegor said with a smile. "I'm not alone. Dan and Orion are much better at dealing with those loathsome worms than I am."
"So, do you understand my meaning now?"
Rhaegor nodded. He understood his father well enough. It was simple. House Vaelarys would not give up its interests in the Disputed Lands, but Daeron's methods were far too crude, and House Vaelarys would not clean up after him.
So: be ready, stay on alert, but don't move recklessly. That was the rhythm the Silver Dragon would keep in this expedition.
As Daenerys stared in confusion and Igon blinked sleepily—his mismatched eyes still glimmering with curiosity—Rhaegor stepped back a few paces and exited the rooftop garden.
He left behind a warm and peaceful scene.
Diana quietly sipped her medicine-laced drink. Draezell dozed peacefully. Even the most unruly of them, Daenerys, lost interest and curled up nearby upon seeing her brother doze off for real.
Only Sebastian was still reading. Though young, he was the most studious of the third generation. Even the heavy conversation just now hadn't pulled his attention from the book in his hands.
He believed knowledge was power and particularly loved the notes his great-uncle had written on dragons.
And beneath the vast halls of Dragon's Nest, squadrons of armored cavalry mounted on Vaelarys silverblood horses trained tirelessly.
They were already prepared.