3 Moons later
King's Landing, 96 AC
The King's private solar was dim, lit only by the glowing embers of the hearth and a few candles.
Just four men sat around a heavy oak table. The Old King, his two eldest sons and Lord Corlys Velaryon.
Corlys did not hold a seat on the Small Council. Technically, he was merely a vassal. But tonight, he sat equal to the pomp of the lords on the Small Council, his fingers resting on a thick, leather-bound ledger.
"The inventory is finished, Your Grace," Corlys said, his voice low. "The thirty-five ships of the Third Expedition have been offloaded at Dragonstone and Driftmark. Now safe behind the new vaults."
Jaehaerys leaned back in his chair. He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I have heard the numbers are a sight to behold."
"It is... substantial," Corlys admitted. "The market price for saffron in Oldtown has already plummeted based on rumours alone. Even after deducting the Consortium's operating costs, the yield is-"
"Enough to clear the Riverroad debts and refill the treasury twice over," Baelon cut in.
"Yes," Corlys agreed, nodding toward the Prince.
"That is good," Prince Aemon said. The Master of Laws sat straight, his face grim. "Because it is the last haul we will see for a long time."
The mood in the room shifted instantly. The warmth of the gold evaporated, replaced by the cold reality of the situation facing the continent.
Baelon stood up and pushed a large nautical chart of the Stepstones toward the center of the table. It was heavily marked with black charcoal and red wax.
Baelon tapped the southern chain of the Stepstones.
"The ambush three moons ago destroyed their forward fleet," Baelon said. "But the strategic outcome has been negligible. We did not rout them. We simply stripped away their pretense."
"How so?" Jaehaerys asked.
"The mask is off, Father. There are no more pirates," Baelon said, tracing a line across the islands. "The Triarchy has all but declared the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea their sovereign territory."
"The ships attacking our merchants now fly the banners of Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys openly," he continued. "They have formed an official naval blockade in all but name."
"They learned their lesson with Caraxes and Vhagar," Aemon chimed in. "They have dug into the islands. Reports say they are fortifying the caves, dragging iron chains across the channels to block any heavy ships, and setting up scorpions and catapults on the ridges."
"And the Dornish?" Jaehaerys asked, looking up from the table.
"They seem to have truly joined hands," Baelon said grimly. "Our scouts have recovered wreckage from some of the skirmishes. The rudders are modified for shallow water, Dornish designs. And we've found bodies. Dornish sailors. They are guiding the Triarchy ships. They know the tides, the hidden coves, the wind patterns."
"It is worse than that," Aemon interrupted, his voice darkening. "I received a raven from Lord Baratheon this morning. Worrying movements have been sighted across the Red Mountains."
Jaehaerys sat up straighter. "So, they really are going for our necks."
"Yes," Aemon confirmed. "There are reports of heavy troop movements outside the Prince's Pass and the Boneway. Campfires in alarming numbers. They aren't attacking yet, but it seems only a matter of time. Lord Tyrell writes that Yronwood men have been spotted testing the defenses near the marches."
"A pincer," Baelon commented, leaning back in his chair. "They are pinning us down. The Stormlands and the Reach cannot dedicate their full force to the Stepstones because they are terrified of a Dornish invasion force sitting on their doorstep."
"It will be effective, I fear," Jaehaerys noted, gazing at the embers in the hearth. "The Redwynes are already screaming for us to intervene, but the Tyrells will resist releasing the Arbor fleet to join our Navy. Even the Lannisters would hesitate to send their best while an invasion is threatened."
Baelon sighed. "But they will still demand that we drive out the Triarchy. Any force we muster would be stretched thin across both fronts. If Dorne descends to war, we can be assured that the Triarchy will bear down on us by sea. And if we fail to stop them at the Stepstones, their ambitions might not end there."
Jaehaerys remained silent, staring at the map.
"It is a siege, Your Grace," Corlys added. "They are already bleeding the independent merchants. The Consortium convoys are too large and well-guarded to attack, so they are targeting the smaller merchants. Grain from Pentos. Iron from Braavos. The rates for some crops have already tripled in a moon. They intend to starve the Westerosi economy until we are forced to sue for peace."
The four men fell silent.
It was a long moment before the Old King spoke.
"Aemon."
Aemon raised his head to meet his father's eyes. They held a steely resolve.
"Send a raven to Lord Boremund. Tell him to prepare his banners. Order him to double the scouts in the Red Mountains. I want to be informed of every movement from Dorne."
"As you command, Your Grace," Aemon said, bowing his head.
"Send it at the earliest," Jaehaerys said, pausing for a beat. "Then send a raven to Highgarden. Inform Lord Matthos to stockpile all grain and produce for the foreseeable future. Tell him to prepare to raise his banners as well."
Aemon nodded.
"Send another to Tymond Lannister. Tell him to increase the production of weapons and marshal his gold. Prepare the West."
The Old King paused for a moment.
"Is that all?" Aemon asked.
"No," Jaehaerys replied. "By the end of this moon, you must go to these Kingdoms. Assess their situation yourself should the war be immediate. Fly to the Stormlands first and examine the Red Mountains, but do not venture deeper than the border."
"I will," Aemon promised.
Jaehaerys turned to his second son. "Baelon."
"Father."
"You are the Master of Ships. You are responsible for the sea. Work with Corlys. Determine how many of the Consortium ships can be converted to warships. Find out the strength of the Triarchy fleet around the Islands. We must prepare enough ships to hold the line until the dragons arrive."
He turned to Corlys. "I presume I have the complete support of your House in this matter."
Corlys stood and bowed. "House Velaryon is at your call, Your Grace. My ships are your ships."
Jaehaerys nodded, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his face. "Go then. I will have Barth handle matters in the Crownlands. I expect a report at the earliest."
The other two men stood. Only Corlys bowed one last time before they left the room, leaving the Old King alone with the map.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
The sun was setting over King's Landing.
The sky was a deep, darkening orange, the last light of the day falling over the Blackwater Bay.
Prince Rhaegar stood on the balcony of his solar in the Red Keep. The wind was picking up, cold and carrying the salty smell of the sea, but he did not move.
He was not in the King's solar. But he did not need to be. He could anticipate most of what went on.
His gaze had been fixed on the sky for a long time, the expression on his face complicated.
His eyes fell on the Hill of Rhaenys.
Rhaegar stared at it until the sun vanished beyond the horizon.
Plans were going to change. And some reckless behaviour was long overdue.