King's Landing.
Inside the council chamber.
The solemnly decorated chamber was filled with members of the Small Council seated around the long table.
Moments ago, Grand Maester Orwyle had received a series of raven messages from the Stormlands.
After being verified by Master of Whisperers Tormund, the reports turned out to be a succession of increasingly dire news.
The council members sat in silence, weighed down by an indescribable sense of oppression.
At the head of the table, King Viserys shifted uneasily, his face slightly pale, as if he were sitting on pins and needles.
The Stormlands, which had seemed to be in a favorable position, had now brought the worst possible news.
He stole a glance at Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, seated across from him. But the moment he saw Corlys's grim, terrifying expression, he quickly looked away.
Corlys sat with his hands clasped, his darkened face lowered, his eyes as deep and unfathomable as the ocean abyss.
Without the slightest regard for the atmosphere in the room, he exuded the imposing presence of a man who had embarked on nine great voyages.
Viserys glanced at the other council members, knowing they could not afford to remain silent any longer. He cleared his throat twice and spoke.
"Gentlemen, let us discuss the situation in the Stormlands."
He knocked his knuckles on the table, pulling everyone out of their stunned silence.
Then, turning to Corlys, he lowered his voice with a solemn tone.
"Lord Corlys, I won't offer you hollow words of consolation. May the Seven watch over Ser Laenor."
According to the reports, Laenor Velaryon had disappeared without a trace—neither dead nor alive.
Meanwhile, the dragon Seasmoke had gone berserk, indiscriminately attacking the inhabitants of the Stormlands, causing massive casualties within the Mistwood region.
It was clear that Laenor had been murdered.
At Viserys's words, Corlys stiffly lifted his head, his eyes burning with a barely contained fury as he spoke in a voice thick with suppressed rage.
"Thank you, Your Grace. I believe my son can survive this ordeal—just as I did when I was young."
At over fifty years of age, the Sea Snake had lived a life so rich with adventure that it could fill volumes of books.
Even knowing that his son faced almost certain death, he maintained a calm, unyielding rationality.
"I sincerely hope so," Viserys said in an attempt to console him. Then, turning to the other council members, he continued with a grave expression.
"The Dornish have taken Stonehelm. Ser Laenor is missing. The only remaining strongholds on this front are Blackhaven and the Rainwood outpost. Should we send reinforcements?"
The Mistwood, which had blocked the Dornish advance, had fallen victim to an out-of-control dragon.
Otto Hightower was the first to respond.
"Your Grace, the Crownlands' reinforcements departed not long ago. It would be unwise to divert more troops at this time."
Leonor followed closely behind.
"The Narrow Sea war has only just ended, and the various armies have already been heavily mobilized. Calling for additional levies might provoke resistance from the lords."
The Vale had contributed significantly to the conquest of Myr.
The Riverlands, the Reach, and the Westerlands had all sent additional forces for the capture of Lys.
Even Daemon's occupation of Tyrosh included a large number of soldiers from the Crownlands, Riverlands, and the North.
Lord Lyman, his aged eyes wide with urgency, interjected.
"The Triarchy committed too many troops to this war, and now the Dornish rebellion follows immediately after. Our situation is dire."
"Lord Lyman, we have conquered the Triarchy. The situation is not as critical as you make it seem."
Lord Jasper raised an eyebrow and spoke methodically.
"The Reach, the Westerlands, and the Vale should still be able to spare additional forces."
Westeros was vast—if necessary, they could always muster more soldiers.
Otto remained silent for a moment before flatly refuting his ally.
"The Westerlands need their garrisons to guard against the Ironborn. The Reach must defend the Prince's Pass. These are vital positions."
Since the Second Stepstones War, the Ironborn had grown increasingly restless, frequently raiding Lannisport and the coastal strongholds of the Riverlands.
As for the Dornish invasion, the Prince's Pass and the Boneway had always been their primary routes. Each time, the Reach had to send substantial reinforcements to defend these chokepoints.
Unless absolutely necessary, they could not afford reckless military campaigns.
Jasper, silenced by Otto's retort, sullenly closed his mouth.
"What should we do, then?"
Viserys looked around the room, seeking a satisfactory answer.
Leonor and Otto exchanged glances.
Both men were shrewd and quickly understood each other's unspoken message.
Leonor straightened his expression and took the lead.
"Your Grace, with the reinforcements already sent from the Crownlands, the Stormlands have sufficient strength to repel the Dornish invaders. Our best course of action is to maintain stability."
"That's correct," Otto added, reinforcing the point.
"The Stormlands may have lost a controllable dragon, but they still have another. That should be enough."
Their words cleverly avoided many pressing issues.
For instance, the disrupted pace of the war.
Aemond's insubordination.
Laenor Velaryon's army secretly harboring both his former lover and his current one—both of whom had now vanished.
Without a capable commander, the Stormlands' forces were in complete disarray.
Viserys, somewhat reassured by their arguments, suddenly remarked,
"Seasmoke has gone feral, causing many casualties. Perhaps he is searching for his rider."
His voice carried a deep sense of regret and disappointment.
A rampaging dragon—one that no one could control.
Not only did it disrupt the war effort, but it also tarnished House Targaryen's prestige.
And, most crucially—
Viserys feared that someone, driven by hatred for dragons, might secretly plot to kill Seasmoke while he was defenseless.
Every dragon was an irreplaceable treasure.
At this point, the discussion began steering toward a more passive approach.
The council urged the king not to worry and to trust the Stormlands to handle the situation on their own.
But not everyone was satisfied.
Bang!
Corlys's already dark expression grew even darker. Unable to suppress his fury any longer, he slammed his hand on the table and bellowed.
"We're just going to stand by and watch? The Stormlands have no competent commander. Delaying any further will only make things worse!"
He was a seasoned warrior who had survived countless battles.
Even with just the sparse details from the letters, he had already deduced that Lord Royce Caron was incompetent and that Aemond was reckless and disobedient.
Such flaws might be tolerable in peacetime, but on the battlefield, they were deadly.
A commander who could not control his troops was as useless as dung.
A dragonrider who refused to follow orders might as well throw himself into the sea and drown.
Viserys, startled, stared at Corlys in shock.
The king had nearly been persuaded by Otto and Leonor, but now his mind wavered again.
Corlys swiftly left his seat, pulling out a pre-prepared map from his sleeve. His tone was sharp as a blade.
"The Dornish dare to challenge the Iron Throne's authority because they have the backing of Braavos and the remnants of the Triarchy. Naval supremacy is the key!"
"The fleet is already stationed across the three city-states, constantly on guard against foreign threats," Viserys responded gravely.
He was well aware of the Triarchy's movements.
Within the city-states lurk treacherous rebels, while Pantos and Volantis, the two supposed allies, harbor their own ambitions.
Not only must they guard against the openly hostile Braavos, but they must also remain wary of their seemingly friendly allies.
Such is human nature.
It is unrealistic to expect that after joining the war, House Targaryen would occupy three city-states while Pantos and Volantis would be content with merely collecting port taxes.
It is only due to the Firstborn's firm stance and the presence of dragons that they dare not act rashly.
Viserys had every reason to suspect that behind the supplies being transported to Dorne, the shadow of the Prince of Pantos and the Governor of Volantis was not absent.
Old Valyria was once too powerful, leaving a deep scar on Essos.
If nothing unexpected happened in Westeros to weaken Targaryen rule, how could the city-states of free trade like Pantos and Volantis sleep peacefully?
Corlys glanced at him, pointed at the Stepstones on the map, and replied in a lecturing tone, "Rhaenys and the others are stationed in the city-states, and Prince Aegon can easily deploy a naval force of two thousand men."
Among all the high-ranking ministers, only he was truly skilled in warfare.
From the moment he received word of Lannino's assassination, he had already begun strategizing.
Viserys, hearing this, stared at the map and fell silent.
He knew little about war, but he understood the strategic importance of Aegon guarding the Stepstones, maintaining control over the southern part of the Narrow Sea, and preventing other free cities from launching a direct assault on the disputed lands from the sea.
Corlys tapped the table impatiently and urged, "Your Grace, what are you still hesitating for? The Dornish are coming in full force—this is no longer a minor issue from a few days ago."
Before Viserys could respond, Otto Hightower immediately furrowed his brows and sternly warned, "Lord Corlys, I sympathize with your loss, but I must remind you to show basic respect to the king. You are merely a minister!"
Otto was a man with his own ambitions, but he understood the importance of maintaining the king's authority in critical moments.
To him, whether it was Daemon or House Velaryon, anyone who disregarded the rules of power was an enemy.
Corlys glared at Otto, his expression darkening.
For this cautious and self-serving second son of House Hightower, Corlys held only disdain and contempt.
Sensing the rising tension, Viserys glanced between them and instinctively attempted to mediate. "Otto, Lord Corlys is simply anxious—his only concern is for the realm."
"I am merely ensuring he understands the proper decorum between a king and his subjects."
Otto responded with indifference.
"Hmph."
Corlys scoffed dismissively before turning his attention back to Viserys. Without mincing words, he declared, "Your Grace, I have serious doubts about Lord Royce's capabilities as a commander. I formally request to lead the troops into battle!"
The room fell silent at his words.
The assembled ministers fixed their gazes on him, deep in thought.
Without giving them a chance to object, Corlys laid out his strategy: "The Dornish invasion of the Stormlands can only come through Stonehelm. Given Dorne's limited resources, mobilizing twenty thousand elite soldiers would require nearly their entire military force, leaving their homeland defenses weak."
Viserys perked up, intrigued.
Corlys shot Otto a disdainful look before tracing a path from the Stepstones to Sunspear on the map. His voice carried a cold determination. "Prince Aegon will lead the navy from the Stepstones, under my full command, to strike directly at House Martell's stronghold!"
Still reeling from his son's death, Corlys's thirst for vengeance had reached its peak.
A meticulous, step-by-step strategy was too complex—the logistics of controlling sea routes and preventing secret aid to Dorne were both daunting tasks.
Thus, he had chosen the riskiest but most rewarding course of action.
A direct assault on Sunspear—eliminating House Martell entirely.
Viserys listened intently, his excitement evident. "A bold plan, but it carries immense risk."
If House Martell was destroyed, Dorne could finally be brought under Targaryen rule.
Corlys's eyes gleamed like a hawk's, his tone unwavering. "Dorne is not wealthy. We can deploy Prince Aemond's dragon—two dragons will be enough to breach Sunspear's defenses."
No castle, no matter how fortified, could withstand the fury of dragons.
Sunspear was no impregnable stronghold like the Eyrie or Casterly Rock. Its walls were made of mud and stone, and its open terrain left it vulnerable—perfect prey for dragons.
Hearing this, Lyonel and Otto exchanged glances, acknowledging the audacity of the plan and joining the discussion.
After much deliberation, Viserys suddenly asked, "Should we summon Rhaegar back?"
Corlys paused, his tone softening slightly. "The prince is still in Myr. Upon hearing the news, he should return soon."
Viserys nodded in satisfaction.
With his eldest son at his side, he felt more confident in waging an external war.
Just as the discussion grew heated, a long-silent figure, Lord Tormond, stood up and spoke in a low voice, "Your Grace, there is another piece of intelligence you must hear."
Viserys paused, turning to look at him.
The other ministers also directed their attention toward him.
Tormond, sensing the weight of their scrutiny, pulled a letter from his sleeve and handed it over with a grave expression.
"Since the beginning of the year, Dorne has suffered a major decline in food production. A large number of refugees have gathered in the Red Mountains—at least tens of thousands, including women and children. There are signs that they may soon invade the Prince's Pass and the Boneway."
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