The morning sun rose, casting a golden glow over the calm sea.
Seagull Town, Harbor.
Two dragons, one black and the other a pale blue, glided down in synchronized flight, their wings slicing through the air as they descended like a dance.
Boom!
As their massive bodies landed, a gust of wind kicked up dust and smoke.
After a chaotic night, the harbor was now crowded with people salvaging charred wreckage and corpses from the bay.
"Rhaegar, you're finally back."
As soon as he dismounted from his dragon, Jeyne ran toward him, lifting the hem of her dress. Her face lit up with joy.
She had stayed awake all night, fulfilling her duties as the Lady Duchess. Seeing the face of the man she loved brought her an immense sense of relief.
"Jeyne."
Rhaegar responded with a single word, opening his arms to embrace her.
He forced a smile, but the shadow in his gaze lingered.
His eyes swept over the gathered crowd before quickly locking onto Sunfyre, who was curled up in the back, resting.
Jeyne hugged him tightly, then glanced back with keen intuition.
Seeing that it was Sunfyre, she leaned in and whispered, "Aegon rode his dragon last night to scout Crab Bay and burned down a good number of the remaining enemies."
Rhaegar's eyes flickered slightly, and he nodded. "Mmm."
After the embrace, he ignored the people bowing in greeting and strode directly toward Sunfyre.
Aegon was curled under Sunfyre's wing, fast asleep, but a sudden chill jolted him awake.
As he groggily lifted his head, he saw Rhaegar approaching, shirtless and radiating fury.
"Rhaegar, I—about last night…"
Aegon's eyelid twitched violently, and he scrambled to his feet, trying to explain.
Thud!
Before he could finish, Rhaegar grabbed him by the collar and delivered a fierce punch to his pale face.
Boom!
Aegon was sent flying, rolling across the ground.
Rhaegar followed swiftly, seizing him by his silver hair and forcing him to meet his gaze. His voice was filled with disappointment and anger.
"I ordered you to patrol the Narrow Sea, and you went to a brothel instead? Is your brain clogged with dragon dung?"
He had seen firsthand the devastation at White Harbor and the Sisters.
White Harbor had been hit first in a surprise attack. Fortunately, the defenses had held, and the garrison had managed to prevent a complete takeover.
Even so, half the harbor had been reduced to ashes, and nearly every ship had been burned.
Among the five great ports of Westeros, White Harbor was the smallest.
Its economy was already strained due to the harsh Northern climate, making it no wealthier than a typical major noble house.
With this attack, its ability to support the war in the Narrow Sea was now almost negligible.
Aegon's cheek swelled rapidly from the punch. His eyes darted about anxiously as he muttered, "I… I didn't expect this to happen."
"You didn't expect it?"
Rhaegar was livid, his voice booming. "While you were busy whoring, Braavosi mercenaries launched a raid on our harbor!"
"Because you couldn't keep your cock in check, Seagull Town nearly fell!"
His grip tightened, eyes blazing with fury. "For a moment of pleasure, you nearly got yourself killed—and your dragon along with you!"
He had learned what happened to Aegon the previous night.
Trapped in a brothel, surrounded by mercenaries.
Sunfyre had rushed in to rescue him, barely escaping a fatal volley of crossbow bolts.
The death of a Targaryen. The loss of a dragon.
That was not a price they could afford in this war.
Aegon's eyes were unfocused. His body trembled. "Rhaegar, I didn't mean for this to happen. I tried to make up for it."
"You'd better have truly learned your lesson!"
Rhaegar's gaze was sharp, his forehead pressing against Aegon's as he growled, "You are my brother. If you make a mistake, it is for me to punish you—not for some lowborn mercenaries to take your life."
"I'm sorry."
Aegon lowered his head, feeling as though his heart was clenched in a tight grip. He barely dared to breathe.
"Get ready. Helena will hold Seagull Town. You're coming with me to the front lines."
Rhaegar threw out the command, then turned and left without another word.
Dragonstone.
Knock, knock…
Outside the lord's chamber, a knock echoed through the heavy wooden door.
Rhaenyra lay on her side on the bed, drifting in and out of sleep. She murmured softly, "Enter."
Her sleep had been light lately, and she had heard Rhaegar leaving in the middle of the night.
Creak—
Sara entered, carrying a breakfast tray and a sealed letter. She kept her head slightly bowed. "Princess, a secret letter from Lys has arrived."
"Lys?"
Rhaenyra frowned slightly in surprise.
She rarely involved herself with the Free Cities, unlike her uncle Daemon, who cultivated many friendships across the Narrow Sea.
Who would be sending her a letter from Lys?
Sara placed the breakfast tray down, then carefully examined the letter, checking for hidden traps or poisons.
Rhaenyra saw the wax seal—a crest of two entwined roses.
Sara studied it closely before handing it over, her expression turning slightly odd.
Rhaenyra, puzzled, took the letter and read it.
A long silence followed.
Then, with a soft snap, she closed the letter, the corners of her lips curling into a smile.
"A stranger… yet a friend."
Time flowed swiftly.
Half a moon had passed in the blink of an eye. Bloodstone Isle
Against the backdrop of a desolate mountain cliff facing the beach, a strange, pitch-black structure stood.
The massive building resembled an enormous, bloated dragon, crouching on the cliffside, gazing out at the vast ocean.
Upon closer inspection, the dragon's body was a three-story castle, its head forming a watchtower, while its outstretched wings served as warehouses and armories.
A towering black wall encircled the fortress, with a dozen dragon-shaped towers interspersed throughout, functioning as arrow towers and other defensive structures.
To enter Blackstone Castle, one first had to scale the steep and rugged mountain.
The castle occupied nearly the entire cliffside, leaving only a narrow bronze-gated entrance, barely spacious enough to accommodate a hundred men at once.
This strategic design meant that any enemy attempting to attack Blackstone Castle could only send in a small force at a time—making it incredibly easy to defend and nearly impossible to breach.
"Hiss… Screech…"
A golden-scaled dragon circled above, its shimmering body glinting in the sunlight, creating a stark contrast against the dark Blackstone Castle below.
On the beach, beyond the black walls, and in the castle's front courtyard…
Thousands of soldiers stood in awe, gazing at Dragonstone Castle with deep reverence.
They had personally witnessed the castle's construction.
A mighty dragon had incinerated the mountain's vegetation, and its flames had repeatedly scorched the cliffs, melting the rock into a smooth, flat surface.
Thousands of laborers and stationed soldiers had carried dragon dung and stones up the cliffs, using mysterious magic to fuse them into black dragonstone, pouring it like mortar to shape the grand fortress.
The speed of construction was unparalleled.
From atop the black walls, Aegon stared blankly at Blackstone Castle, lost in thought.
Leaning in, Laenor draped an arm over his shoulder and asked with a smile, "So, how does it feel to own a castle of your own?"
"It's… not bad," Aegon responded absentmindedly, then hesitated. "Cousin, does this mean I've been completely exiled?"
The castle was undeniably impressive, towering and majestic.
But it was still a castle on a remote island—how was he supposed to eat and drink out here?
Laenor, far more cunning than him, chuckled. "Once we conquer the Three Daughters, the Stepstones will serve as the kingdom's naval trade hub with Essos. Just from collecting taxes, you'll be swimming in gold."
As a Velaryon, Laenor knew better than anyone how much wealth the Three Daughters had amassed while controlling the Stepstones.
To be honest, he thought Aegon was incredibly lucky.
A second son being granted such a prime territory?
Daemon had once married Lady Rhea in an attempt to secure his descendants' inheritance of Runestone.
And to this day, the king's brother still didn't hold a formal fief of his own.
Of course, there had been a time when Daemon claimed the Stepstones, styling himself "King of the Narrow Sea."
But unlike Aegon, Daemon didn't have a brother building him a castle—eventually, he had to retreat to King's Landing in defeat.
Twinhold
Inside the vast and empty great hall, Rhaegar sat alone on the only chair.
He had named this black stone fortress "Twinhold," with one located on Bloodstone Isle and the other planned for Grey Gallows Isle—though construction on the latter had yet to begin.
These two castles would serve as the gateway strongholds of the Stepstones, standing together like brothers.
There was also another layer of meaning behind the name.
Rhaenyra was carrying twins, and he saw it as a good omen.
"Prince, Volantis has agreed to send troops. They are currently rendezvousing with Lord Corlys," Tormund reported as he entered the hall, his expression solemn.
Rhaegar absentmindedly toyed with a letter from Dragonstone in his hand. "Has Daemon set out?"
With Twinhold established, the defensive line across the Stepstones was now complete.
Daemon and the Sea Snake had split their forces, each tasked with hunting down the Tyroshi and Lyseni fleets.
The two Free Cities' navies refused to confront the dragons head-on, instead hiding across the many islands of the Narrow Sea, launching ambushes like a scattered fishing net.
It was a strategy borrowed from the First Dornish War.
But there was a key difference.
The Dornish were willing to sacrifice everything, burning their own cities and slaughtering their own people to resist conquest.
Lys and Tyrosh, on the other hand, could not afford such a high price.
Rhaegar's counterstrategy was simple: the fleets would sweep the sea in coordination with the dragons, isolating the two city-states and cutting off their ability to support one another.
Then, when the time was right, the dragons would burn one city to the ground—forcing the other to surrender.
A siege was the last resort; breaking their spirits was the true objective.
Sheer, overwhelming force. An open strategy that could not be countered.
Tormund nodded. "Daemon has already set out. I've also informed Prince Pentos and Princess Rhaenys to deploy forces to blockade the Tyroshi waters."
Tyrosh was a haven for mercenaries and a city rife with political chaos.
Its ruling Archon relied on bribery and the oppression of commoners to maintain his wealth and power.
In Rhaegar's plan, the primary battlefield would be Lys—where he intended to reclaim the wild dragon, Morgul.
Tyrosh, on the other hand, would be surrounded but not attacked directly. Instead, by showing the devastation wrought upon Myr and Lys, he intended to turn the Tyroshi people against their rulers and force them to surrender to the Iron Throne.
Handing Tormund the letter, Rhaegar mused, "Braavos has already made its move. Dorne is stirring. We must take Lys quickly."
After the Battle of Crab Bay, Braavos' mercenary forces had been utterly annihilated.
Yet Sea Lord Ferrego continued to feign neutrality, despite clear evidence of his involvement.
Rhaegar ground his teeth in frustration, but since the war was not taking place in Braavos, he had no choice but to fortify the northern waters of the Narrow Sea instead.
Still, there was one upside.
For now, Braavos wouldn't risk sending more troops, buying valuable time for the invasion of the Three Daughters.
The real concern was Dorne.
House Martell remained silent, lurking like a viper beneath the desert sands, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Tormund scanned the letter, then raised an eyebrow in surprise. "If this works, taking Lys will be much easier."
"Exactly."
Rhaegar's expression shifted suddenly. "Bartimos Celtigar has been sent to King's Landing. The Small Council is debating whether to charge him with smuggling or treason."
Bartimos Celtigar had been caught smuggling goods—selling them to the Free Cities, no less.
By all rights, he should be executed for treason.
But given the ongoing war, his family's resources were still valuable, so no sentence had been passed yet.
Tormund hesitated. "Your Grace, are you suggesting…?"
Rhaegar's gaze sharpened. "Tormund, do you wish to reclaim your family name?"
The Baelish siblings were Bartimos' illegitimate children—his blood ran through their veins.
Tormund's thoughts drifted. He considered the implications, then shook his head. "Prince, I have grown used to being a commoner."
He understood the hidden meaning.
If Bartimos was executed, his legitimate heirs would be disinherited, and Tormund could be installed as the new lord of Crab Isle.
But he had no desire to see Rhaegar take the blame for such political maneuvering—nor did he wish to be entangled with House Celtigar.
Rhaegar studied him, then chuckled. "Very well, I won't force you."
Instead, he would support Bartimos' eldest son as heir.
Who ruled Crab Isle mattered little—only their loyalty did.
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