A grave silence settled over the Sea Lord's council chamber in Braavos.
The messenger had just finished reading the battle report from the Stone Steps Islands. His hands trembled so violently that he could barely hold the thin parchment. When it finally slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor, the sound was nearly inaudible—but in that chamber, it struck like a sledgehammer, shattering the hearts of all present.
Completely annihilated.
The invincible Braavosi armada—the pride of the city for centuries—was gone. Thousands of warships, armed with massive crossbows capable of piercing dragons, had vanished into the fog and flames of the East. Not sunk, not destroyed—but captured.
"No…"
Aquaman slumped in his massive chair, carved from the hull of a wrecked ship. His dry lips opened and closed as if trying to form words, but only a hollow, rattling hiss emerged. Age and fear drained the last remnants of vitality from his body. His cloudy eyes stared forward, pupils dilated with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
Every detail in that report struck like poisoned blades.
Three Targaryen dragons—Caraxius, Melias, and Vhagar—once symbols of the unstoppable Targaryen dynasty, had been easily subdued by a black dragon. Prince Daemon, the uncrowned queen Rhaenys, Corlys "Sea Serpent" Velaryon—all legendary dragon riders—had become prisoners of the Eastern Dragon King.
And now, Braavos' proud fleet flew the banner of the Black Dragon King.
The implications were staggering. The enemy had not only survived—they had grown stronger, their power now unparalleled.
"Your Majesty, the Sea King!"
A trembling doctor stepped forward, attempting to support him. Aquaman's hand rose weakly before falling again, his entire body sagging as if drained of moisture. He was fading, with every shallow breath a reminder of Braavos' vulnerability.
In that chamber, the most influential merchants, ship captains, and advisors sat ashen-faced. Their wealth, their control over trade routes, and their pride—everything they had believed unshakable—had crumbled in an instant.
The backbone of Braavos had broken.
The shadow of the Dragon King spread across the city like a specter, evoking memories of the Doom of Valyria from a hundred years past. Fear had returned to this secretive, fortified city, inescapable and suffocating.
---
King's Landing, the Red Keep.
Beneath the Iron Throne, the atmosphere was heavy, oppressive, almost tangible, as though the weight of the Eastern Dragon King rested upon every stone. King Viserys I leaned forward, hands clenched tightly over the armrests of the throne, face dark and stormy.
"Say that again," he demanded, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
Standing in the center of the hall, the messenger from the Eastern Dragon King remained calm, almost indifferent. His plain clothing and measured tone contrasted sharply with the tension that radiated from the room.
"Your Majesty," he repeated, his voice steady, "on the coast of Lys, Prince Daemon Targaryen, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Lord Corlys Velaryon of Driftmark have been captured by His Majesty Damian Thorne, the Eastern Dragon King, for their role in provoking the war. Their dragons—Caraxius, Melias, and Vhagar—are also under his control."
Boom!
The news detonated through the council like a cannon blast. Ministers gasped, hands clutched at their faces, and whispers erupted like wildfire. For the first time, even the King's Hand, Otto Hightower, lost his signature composure. The corners of his mouth twitched as shock and disbelief flitted across his features.
The significance of the news rippled outward. How well did Westeros know the Targaryen dragons? These were not mere beasts—they were the power that conquered the Seven Kingdoms, the cornerstone of the Targaryen dynasty.
Vhagar, the very name a legend—the dragon whose size and might rivaled mountains, whose fire had carved history into the world—now subdued and captive, alongside two other dragons and their veteran riders, by a single man from the East.
Viserys' chest heaved violently. His hands curled into fists, and rage burned in his eyes—not entirely at the Eastern Dragon King, but at the fool who had provoked this calamity.
"That damned Sea Serpent!" he growled, his voice echoing in the hall.
He was not thinking of the dragons, nor the armies lost, nor the pride of his family. His mind replayed the chain of failures that had allowed Damian Thorne to manipulate Westeros' most powerful dynasty into this trap. Every whisper of trade, every careless political misstep—the hand of a man too cunning, too precise—had dragged them into ruin.
For a moment, despair and fury battled in Viserys' mind. Then, as a king must, he forced himself to steady his breathing. He looked at the messenger, voice trembling only slightly as he asked the question that burned like fire in his chest.
"They… my brother, my cousin… how are they now? What are the conditions for their release?"
The messenger bowed lightly, unwavering in composure, delivering the response as if reciting a simple fact.
"Your Majesty, do not worry. His lord has already ordered that they be treated according to their station. Once the war in the Kingdom of the Three Daughters concludes, His Majesty Damian Thorne will personally come to King's Landing to discuss the matter in person."
The messenger's calm demeanor, even amidst such staggering news, was unnerving. His footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, seemed to press against the dignity of the Westerosi monarchy itself. When the heavy oak doors closed behind him, the tension finally erupted.
---
"House Velaryon must be held accountable! They started this war without the king's sanction, and risked the Targaryen dragons!"
"Your Majesty, the Velaryons deserve severe punishment!"
Blame and fury were cast like daggers, directed at the family now caught in an impossible position. Amongst the heated arguments, whispers, and recriminations, an unspoken truth simmered beneath every accusation: no one truly knew what Damian Thorne's plans entailed. To have captured three dragons—alive—and their riders, and to deliver them unscathed, suggested a power unlike any Westeros had ever seen.
---
In a quiet corner of the Red Keep, inside the Velaryon family's suite, Laenor Velaryon stood rigid, shaking.
"No! This is impossible!" he shouted, hurling a silver wine cup across the room. It shattered against the floor, fragments scattering like shattered hope.
His face was pale, lips trembling uncontrollably. "Father… Mother… and Lannar… they've all been captured? Vhagar… Vhagar too?"
His squire, Ser Geoffrey Longmouth, stepped forward immediately, placing a firm hand on the young man's shoulder.
"My prince, calm yourself! You must remain composed!"
Joffrey's voice was steady, firm, the anchor Laenor needed. "Panic will not help now. The news has just arrived, and we do not yet know the full details. You are the only heir of House Velaryon present in King's Landing. You must stay strong!"
Laenor gripped Joffrey's hand as if it were a lifeline, his breathing heavy and uneven. "Yes… yes… I must… I must remain calm…"
---
Meanwhile, Rhaenyra Targaryen received the news in the throne chambers. Her world spun for a moment, yet as the crown princess, she forced herself to suppress the panic rising in her chest. Uncle Damon had been captured. The thought struck her like lightning, igniting a storm of dread and responsibility.
She lifted her skirts and rushed toward the council chamber, desperate to speak with her father, to understand, to act.
Yet when she reached the heavy oak doors, she paused. Inside, voices shouted, clamored, argued—her father's anxious, almost fearful roar cutting through the heated debate of ministers and advisors. They discussed blame, consequence, and the potential cost the Velaryons and the Targaryens would have to pay.
Leaning against the cold wall, Rhaenyra inhaled deeply, her chest tight with fear. The reality outside those doors was terrifying: the weight of the kingdom, the scheming of ministers, and the looming power of Damian Thorne. She had a chilling premonition.
For Uncle Daemon… for House Velaryon…
Her long eyelashes trembled as she closed her eyes.
This time, the price the Iron Throne will pay… will be immense.
---
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