King's Landing.
The news of the great victory at Myr spread like a storm throughout the entire city as the ravens returned.
Both nobles and commoners alike felt an unprecedented sense of confidence in the war across the Narrow Sea.
The Targaryen dragons and prince had secured a vast territory for the kingdom.
The Red Keep, the Council Hall.
Viserys beamed with joy, holding a letter in his hands, reading it over and over without tiring of it.
He had braced himself for prolonged hardship, yet in less than half a month, his eldest son had led the army and seized Myr.
That was no ordinary feat—it was one of the renowned Free Cities of trade.
Back in King Jaehaerys' time, the Three Daughters had caused chaos, and it took an immense toll to achieve even temporary peace.
His uncle, Prince Aemon Targaryen, was assassinated because of it, and his father, Baelon Targaryen, was suspected of being poisoned.
But now, his son had conquered Myr, with the potential to wipe out the Three Daughters entirely.
"Hahaha! Myr's lace and dyes are the finest, and from now on, they belong to House Targaryen!"
Viserys laughed uncontrollably, a look of pride flashing across his face as he glanced at the gathered Small Council.
He could hardly wait to announce his son's achievement to the entire realm.
With that thought in mind, Viserys turned to a tall, thin maester in the corner of the council chamber and said with a smile, "Maester Mukun, record every detail of the siege of Myr in the royal chronicles. Not a single detail must be left out."
A rare smile appeared on Mukun's otherwise stern face as he responded, "Yes, Your Grace."
He opened the thick royal chronicles and began writing diligently.
The first words highlighted the reigning king, "Viserys I," followed by the key events of the regent prince's dragon-led conquest of Myr.
Viserys was pleased and let the man continue recording.
Over time, he had come to appreciate Mukun as a capable and reliable man—more loyal than the shrewd Mellos, yet more considerate than the dull Owell.
It often made him wonder why the Citadel hadn't chosen Mukun to be the Grand Maester.
Flattening the slightly creased letter on the table, Viserys felt a surge of satisfaction. He turned to the Hand of the King, seated at his left, and said loudly,
"How are the ports and fleets across the realm preparing? We cannot afford delays on the front lines."
Leonnor sat upright, responding with precision, "White Harbor and the Three Sisters have formed an interception fleet, strictly controlling the upper Narrow Sea and blocking Braavosi fleets and trade."
"House Grafton of Gulltown has prepared a large supply of provisions and ships. Once the prince retakes the occupied Stepstones, they will immediately provide logistical support."
Viserys nodded repeatedly, satisfied with the thorough preparations.
In the past, he never concerned himself with war logistics—it only gave him headaches.
But now, hearing all this, he felt his blood boil. He even had the urge to ride Vermithor to the battlefield, unleash a few blasts of dragonfire, and then return to the Red Keep to enjoy himself.
Leonnor paused before adding, "Lady Jeyne of the Eyrie takes the war across the Narrow Sea very seriously. She has summoned her vassals and is personally overseeing operations in Gulltown, forming a second naval defense line with Setegas' fleet from Crab Isle."
Viserys smiled, his expression subtle. "Of course, Lady Jeyne takes this seriously. The Arryns never betray their kin."
"Indeed, Your Grace."
Leonnor's eyes flickered with resignation as he continued, "The fleets from across the realm have been at sea for some time and should arrive within half a month."
"Excellent." Viserys was thoroughly pleased.
At that moment, Otto Hightower, seated at the leftmost position, spoke up, "Your Grace, I believe you should be aware of the situation in the Stormlands and Dorne."
"What's the issue?" Viserys stiffened slightly, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy.
Once, he had two great concerns—
Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, and Qoren Martell of Dorne.
Now, with his son Rhaegar firmly carrying the Targaryen banner and Alicent having given him four children, the Velaryons were no longer a threat.
But the Martells of Dorne continued their annual border incursions, often keeping him awake at night with worry.
Otto's sharp eyes glanced across the table at Tormund before he reported, "Prince Aemond is holding Storm's End, but House Swann of Stonehelm and House Dondarrion of Blackhaven are refusing to follow orders."
"Are they still causing trouble over the matter of the bastard?" Viserys frowned in displeasure.
In the Stormlands, both Stonehelm and Blackhaven were key border strongholds—
One guarded the sea routes near Windward Point, while the other had defended the perilous Boneway for generations.
Otto nodded. "These two houses refuse to recognize Lady Cassandra's inheritance of Storm's End. Their defiance of royal authority warrants severe punishment."
Viserys hesitated, instinctively looking toward his right, where the Master of Whispers sat.
Tormund smiled softly, his voice smooth and soothing. "Your Grace, while these two houses resist Storm's End's orders, they are strictly adhering to Prince Rhaegar's defense strategies, keeping Windward Point and the Boneway secure. It is not as egregious as Lord Otto suggests."
Ancient houses often held deep respect for tradition and duty.
Protecting their lands and the kingdom was their responsibility, and they would not forsake their obligations simply to oppose a decision.
Hearing this, Viserys let out a relieved sigh, his smile returning. "That's good. We'll deal with this matter after the war."
He took a careful look at Tormund.
Dressed in black-and-white robes, his youthful, gentle features stood out from the older council members. A white falcon perched on one shoulder, a black raven on the other.
Despite his different demeanor from veterans like Leonnor and Otto, his efficiency in handling affairs was surprisingly reliable.
Otto frowned slightly, his chance to press the issue cut short by the king's casual dismissal.
But Viserys was in high spirits. Seeing that there were no further pressing matters, he decided to adjourn the meeting.
Just before leaving, Otto hesitated for a moment before saying, "According to my brother, Lord Monford, the Ironborn have been seen raiding near Lannisport and Fair Isle. It could be a problem."
Viserys scoffed at the idea of undisciplined raiders being a real threat and waved his hand dismissively. "Lord Jason Lannister will deal with those pirates."
Nightfall, the King's Bedchamber.
The bedframe creaked rhythmically, accompanied by hushed murmurs and laughter.
After more than half an hour, all fell silent.
Viserys leaned against the headboard, wrapped in a white-spotted night robe, his face flushed as he drank cold water.
Tonight, he felt fantastic—no aching back, no sore legs.
He wondered if his younger brother, Daemon, had finished his own business by now…
"My love~"
Alicent's clear voice rang out as she nestled into her husband's embrace.
Viserys set down his cup of water, gently stroking his wife's soft, reddish curls. With a cheerful smile, he said, "Go ahead, just say it."
Alicent lifted her face, her fair skin tinged with a rosy hue, and asked eagerly, "The war across the Narrow Sea isn't over yet. Do you think Rhaegar can conquer all three of the Free Cities?"
"Who can say for sure? The gods will decide."
Viserys smirked, his expression filled with pride. "But Myr is already in our hands, isn't it?"
The Free Cities numbered nine in total, controlling the wealthiest half of Essos' coastline.
Among them, the Three Daughters—situated in the disputed lands—had combined strength second only to Braavos.
Any one of the three cities boasted prestige, population, and wealth comparable to a Westerosi duchy.
After all, in Westeros, only the Crownlands, the Reach, and the Westerlands were truly rich.
The Vale and the Riverlands followed closely behind, while the North was the most desolate and frigid region.
Alicent's eyes flickered with thought as she murmured, "War brings disaster. I only hope Rhaegar can take the Three Daughters. The royal family needs more land."
The Crownlands were small, but House Targaryen was never short on territory.
What they truly lacked was wealthy land capable of generating enough prosperity.
Otherwise, what? Would they cast a highborn Targaryen prince out of King's Landing to live in the countryside, struggling to make ends meet?
That would be far worse than staying in the capital and enjoying the prestige of royalty.
Viserys caught the implication and glanced down at his wife in surprise. "I thought you despised war—the way it leaves people homeless and suffering."
"But the war has already begun. It's not something a court woman like me can control," Alicent said softly.
Viserys chuckled, unconcerned.
Even if the Three Daughters were conquered, he wouldn't have the sole authority to decide their fate. That would require Rhaegar and the Small Council's deliberation.
The couple embraced, though their thoughts were entirely different.
After a brief silence, Alicent suddenly said, "Aegon has come of age, but his marriage remains unsettled."
Viserys sighed, rubbing his temple. "That boy doesn't like Helaena. We shouldn't force our children into marriages they don't want."
It had been different when Rhaenyra was still heir—her arranged marriage to a great noble was a necessity to maintain royal authority.
But now, Viserys wanted to respect his children's wishes, at least ensuring that their marriages would last.
Aemond, on the other hand, was trouble. He constantly tormented his betrothed, Cassandra, acting like a little Daemon in the making.
Alicent let out a weary sigh and said in a detached tone, "I know. Aegon is a libertine. As for Helaena…"
She trailed off when mentioning her only daughter.
As a mother, she had keenly noticed that Helaena felt no romantic attachment toward any of her brothers.
Yet, toward her half-brother Rhaegar, she had shown an inexplicable admiration and adoration since childhood.
It drove Alicent mad!
Viserys frowned in confusion. "What about Helaena?"
His attention was primarily on his eldest son and daughter. He only occasionally acknowledged Aegon and Daeron, while his remaining two children rarely crossed his mind.
"Nothing," Alicent said with a scoff, unwilling to elaborate. Instead, she shifted back to the topic at hand. "Lord Jason Lannister—he has a daughter. She might make a fine match."
Viserys was taken aback. "The Lannister girl—she's what, eight or nine years old?"
"Age doesn't matter. They can be betrothed first," Alicent suggested.
But Viserys shook his head firmly. "No. Aegon isn't suited to marry a duke's daughter. You should pick someone else."
The Lannisters had long coveted Targaryen power and dragons.
Besides, Aemond was already betrothed to the Lady of Storm's End. Aegon marrying a noblewoman of lower rank would suffice.
Unwilling to give up, Alicent mused, "What about Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden?"
Viserys's gaze turned amused. "I heard the old Lord Tyrell recently took a new wife."
During the tourney at Harrenhal, Lord Tyrell had feigned illness and sent his daughter Margaery to represent Highgarden.
Meanwhile, he had stayed behind, marrying a young noblewoman in hopes of siring a male heir.
If that happened, Margaery's path to power would be infinitely more difficult than that of Jeyne or Cassandra.
Alicent's eyes flickered, and she remarked casually, "House Hightower—one of my distant uncles has a daughter. She's well-educated and of marrying age."
"Hightower?" Viserys hesitated for a moment, uncertain.
He had already married a Hightower. He wasn't too keen on having his son do the same.
Not that Hightower women weren't excellent—they were, in fact, very devoted wives.
But his second son should marry from another noble house, securing new alliances for the royal family.
(End of Chapter)