"I want to go too!"
Helena's eyes sparkled as she eagerly raised her hand.
Aemond glanced at Aegon and said enthusiastically, "I have a dragon. Take me with you."
Little Daeron, who was still shorter than the stone table, was visibly eager to join.
Rhaegar ignored him and looked directly at his father, asking, "Father, what do you think?"
The negotiations in Braavos were unlikely to yield great results. His plan was to take his siblings along, ride their dragons, and make an appearance to serve as a show of force.
Viserys furrowed his brow slightly and said calmly, "If you all go, what if something unexpected happens?"
Braavos was crawling with assassins—he wasn't willing to take such a risk.
On the other side, Rhaenys looked pleased. Ignoring her husband's objections, she suddenly stood up and declared, "Your Grace, I am a Princess of House Targaryen. I will accompany them to the negotiations."
Viserys hesitated, glancing at the children in silence.
Rhaegar saw his father's concerns. He held Daeron back and turned to Aegon and the others. "Are you sure you want to go?"
Aegon's face fell as he sighed dramatically.
He didn't want to go, but it was clear his opinion didn't matter.
Helena patted her slightly puffed-up chest and said confidently, "Dreamfyre will protect me!"
"I have no problem handling Sheepstealer," Aemond added quickly after sneaking a glance at his sister.
Seeing this, Viserys swallowed his objections. Instead, he turned his sharp gaze toward Daemon, who was watching the scene with amusement. With a burst of irritation, he ordered, "This war is your responsibility. You're going with them!"
Daemon was momentarily taken aback by the reprimand, then chuckled. "Yes, Your Grace."
At dawn the next day,
Rhaegar held Rhaenyra in his arms as she reluctantly clung to him. He kissed her forehead in farewell.
"Be careful," she urged repeatedly.
Rhaegar smiled and nodded, brushing his hand over her swollen belly before turning to leave the room.
Early that morning, Helena was already waiting outside, grinning. "Brother, we're leaving soon!"
As Rhaegar walked down the stairs, he chatted with her. "Once we reach Braavos, things might get complicated."
"I'm not afraid. I won't be a burden," Helena said proudly, furrowing her little brows. "I've been practicing my swordsmanship. Ser Arryk says I have talent."
"Oh?"
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow with interest. "Where's your sword?"
Helena gave him a mysterious smile and said cutely, "Not telling! I have it hidden on me."
Rhaegar chuckled, ruffling her hair as the two of them stepped out of the Tower of the Hand.
"Screeech!!"
A crimson-scaled dragon, Meleys, stood majestically atop the long stone bridge, craning its neck and letting out a piercing roar.
Atop the dragon's back, Rhaenys, clad in red leather armor, looked down at the younger generation and lifted her chin. "Children, it's time to go!"
"Screeech…"
"Screeech…"
From the misty sky came two more dragon cries. The dazzling Sunfyre and the hideous Sheepstealer shot out from Dragonstone, one ahead of the other.
Rhaegar grinned broadly, his heart swelling with pride.
The Targaryens were not to be underestimated.
One Day Later—Braavos.
At the bustling port, ships from all corners of the world arrived in a steady stream.
A luxurious vessel slowly pulled in, carrying a group of merchants from Pentos on its deck.
Before entering the harbor, they had to pass through a historic marvel—
The Titan of Braavos.
The Titan was a colossal statue made of stone and bronze, standing guard over the entrance to the vast lagoon leading into Braavos.
For a first-time visitor, the sight was awe-inspiring. The merchants craned their necks, gazing up at the towering figure that seemed to pierce the sky.
The Titan's feet stood on two separate rocky islands, creating a natural gateway to the city.
It wore a green-bronze war skirt around its waist, and its hollow eyes—two gaping caverns—burned with roaring flames.
One massive hand rested on the left-side cliff, gripping a large boulder, while the other reached toward the heavens, clutching the hilt of a broken sword.
Upon closer inspection, the statue's thighs were pockmarked with arrow slits, and beneath the war skirt were murder holes, revealing that the Titan was not just a symbol of Braavosi strength but also its first line of defense.
"By the gods, such an incredible structure exists in this world!"
One merchant was dumbstruck, clasping his hands together in silent prayer for a profitable journey.
"Screeeech—"
Suddenly, a thunderous dragon roar echoed through the sky. A massive beast swooped down, its thick, black tail skimming over the Titan's head.
With a loud thud, the impact sent the Titan's bronze half-helmet tumbling down like a rolling boulder, crashing into the sea below.
"Dragon!"
The sailors on the deck gasped in terror, ducking down as they watched the massive black dragon soar toward the city.
"D-Did it leave?"
Just as they let out a breath of relief, believing the danger had passed—
"Screeeech…"
A second cry rang from above. A shimmering blue-scaled dragon pierced through the clouds, its sleek body and majestic wings cutting through the sky as it chased after the black dragon.
"Screeeech…"
One after another, more dragons followed—a muddy brown beast, two massive red-scaled dragons of different sizes, and a golden dragon gleaming like the sun. They all streaked across the Narrow Sea, heading straight for Braavos.
Not a single dragon paid proper attention to the ancient Titan. Instead, they flew around it in a taunting manner, as if toying with a clumsy pet.
Dozens of merchant ships crowded near the Titan, their passengers tilting their heads upward in shock.
A single thought crossed their minds in unison—
The dragons have come!
Braavos was the most unique and powerful of the Free Cities, built upon a series of islands in the northwestern reaches of Essos.
It sat at the convergence of the Narrow Sea and the Shivering Sea.
Beyond the Titan, an endless expanse of lagoon waters stretched before them.
Hundreds of densely packed islands divide the bay into numerous narrow waterways, while many stone arch bridges span these channels, connecting the entire city.
Within the city-state, there are no trees—only stone buildings and granite statues fill the landscape.
Gray stone houses line the streets, built so closely together that they seem to lean on one another, reflecting the city's overcrowded population.
To the south of the largest port stands a distinctive cluster of towering structures.
This is the administrative district where the Sea Lord of Braavos resides—the Sea Lord's Palace.
"Screeeech—"
Amidst a deafening roar, the Devourer slowly descended, its pitch-black body blocking out the sun as it landed beside the fountain in front of the grand hall.
Boom—
With a single flap of its wings, a fierce gust of wind swept across the ground, knocking down the guards who had rushed over at the sound.
Before long, the other dragons arrived one after another, descending around the towering palace.
Thud—
Rhaegar slid off his dragon's back, calmly adjusting his robes as he gazed at the trembling guards, who dared not approach.
Rhaenys, Daemon, and the others gathered around him, their expressions mirroring his as they waited to be received.
Sea Lord's Palace, Dome Council Chamber
The Sea Lord of Braavos personally stepped forward to welcome the Targaryens and led them straight to the council chamber.
As the Sea Lord exchanged pleasantries, Rhaegar remained silent, observing the architecture of the hall alongside his three younger siblings.
The entire chamber was built from white stone, with carvings depicting ships and storms. The floor was covered in Lysene red carpets, while paintings and artifacts adorned the walls.
The décor, though simple, carried an air of historical grandeur, blending luxury with a sense of literary refinement.
"Honored friends of House Targaryen, please come inside."
The Sea Lord led them into the council chamber.
Rhaegar glanced at him briefly.
He was a typical Valyrian descendant—platinum blond, wavy hair, piercing blue eyes, and fair skin tinged with a healthy flush.
However, he was neither young nor particularly handsome, appearing to be a seasoned man in his late forties.
With thick eyebrows, deep-set eyes, and a full beard covering his chin, his voice was strong and resonant.
He introduced himself upon their first meeting—Ferrego Antaryon.
Inside the council chamber, several individuals had already been waiting.
An oval-shaped stone table sat at the center, intricately carved with seashells and smiling faces. Seven or eight people were seated on either side.
With a bright smile, Ferrego introduced, "These are the princes and princesses of House Targaryen…"
Seated at the table were representatives from Pentos, Qohor, and the Triarchy (Three Daughters).
They had arrived in advance, while the other three Free Cities had chosen not to participate in the negotiations.
After brief pleasantries, they all took their seats.
Ferrego sat on the side facing the entrance, with a lean, silent swordsman standing beside him.
Rhaegar took note of the man before walking to the seat furthest inside the room.
The seating arrangement was disrupted, forcing Rhaenys and the others to sit apart.
Once everyone was settled, Ferrego cleared his throat and spoke solemnly, "Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to resolve the conflict between the Iron Throne and the Triarchy."
Thud, thud…
Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table as he spoke calmly, "Put aside the feud between House Targaryen and the Triarchy for now. I have come to reclaim my family's dragon."
His gaze fell upon a dark-skinned, heavyset man sitting to his left.
Qaidor Attar, one of Myr's governors and the chief representative of the Triarchy in this negotiation.
Under Rhaegar's piercing stare, Qaidor's already dark complexion deepened. He cast a sidelong glance at the representatives from Lys and Tyrosh before muttering, "Prince Rhaegar, we are here to discuss war, not some masterless dragon."
Rhaegar's expression darkened. "What do you mean by 'war'? And what do you mean by 'masterless dragon'?"
His voice turned sharp as he declared, "Moghul belongs to House Targaryen. The Lyseni captured it maliciously. I can only see this as an insult, and I will answer it with war!"
Moghul—the name of the wild dragon from the Smoking Sea.
Among the ancient Valyrian gods, Moghul represented disaster and the forces of nature.
It didn't matter where the dragon had come from. Rhaegar had named it, and that made it a Targaryen dragon.
Qaidor was momentarily stunned, his plump face creased with unease. He pondered the complexity of the situation.
Lys had captured a wild dragon—one that had never belonged to the Targaryens. The Triarchy's factions each had their own motives.
But the governor of Lys had made a tempting offer.
He had gathered all the noble elites of the Triarchy, encouraging them to tame the dragon.
For centuries, only the Dragonlords could claim dragons. Now, with a wild dragon within their grasp, the Triarchy was willing to risk war with the Targaryens to try their luck.
A heavy tension settled over the chamber. Everyone present felt the weight of the moment.
Daemon glanced at a high-ranking Pentosi official beside him, then took a sip of wine, his gaze growing dangerous.
Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond sat upright, poised to follow their elder brother's command at any moment.
At that moment, Ferrego cleared his throat and attempted to ease the tension. "Prince Rhaegar, we are here for peace. I ask that you prioritize diplomacy over conflict."
Rhaenys immediately frowned, her voice cold. "Sea Lord, my cousin chose to negotiate because he values Braavos. That does not mean you can twist the truth and undermine the name of House Targaryen."
At this point, the negotiations were meaningless.
The Sea Lord of Braavos was nothing more than a scheming politician, using the guise of peace to blur the lines.
Ferrego's expression stiffened, and he hesitated to speak.
The atmosphere grew even heavier. Sunlight streamed into the room, yet an icy chill seemed to seep into everyone's bones.
Rhaegar's eyes darkened as he turned his gaze to the pale young man seated beside Helaena. His voice was like a blade:
"Lyseni, return Moghul to us—otherwise, you will know only blood and fire!"
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