The dragon Balerion clung to Gendry's shoulder like a living scarf. His body was small, but his presence was overwhelming. From time to time, he let out a low roar, pale smoke puffing from his nostrils. His eyes burned a deep crimson, like smoldering embers in a dying fire.
"Old gods and new gods…" The Handsome Man stared at the little black dragon in disbelief, his eyes wide. "I never thought I would see a living dragon with my own eyes."
"The red comet appeared, and then a dragon was born," he murmured, almost reverently.
For hundreds of years, dragons had existed only in songs and dusty histories. Faiths had risen and fallen, kings had ruled and died, yet no dragon had hatched since the last sickly creature of House Targaryen perished. To see one now was enough to shake any man's belief in gods.
"Not just any dragon," Qyburn added calmly, though even he could not completely hide his excitement. "It is lively and strong. And Princess Daenerys has two more."
"That alone is enough to shake the known world," The Handsome Man said slowly. "The last dragon, hatched during the reign of Aegon the Dragonbane, was nothing like this. A green female—small, deformed, sickly, with withered wings. She could barely fly before she died."
"Dragons shaped Westeros," he continued. "They forged empires. The dragons have already recognized the Commander-in-Chief. With your army, Princess Daenerys's claim, and the dragons themselves… our return to Westeros will be far easier."
How many legal claims had Aegon the Conqueror truly possessed? Very few. Yet with dragons and his overwhelming presence, he united the Seven Kingdoms and carved his name into history forever.
"Dragons will certainly strengthen our cause," Qyburn said cautiously, "but they will also draw greed and hostility. This dragon is still small—it requires protection. Even if we intend to advance into Westeros, it must be done with careful planning."
"The news is currently confidential," Gendry replied, nodding in agreement, "but it won't remain hidden for long."
He was not worried about ordinary men attempting to steal a dragon. What concerned him were darker forces—Shadowbinders from Asshai, Warlocks of Qarth, and other practitioners of strange and dangerous magic.
"Indeed," Qyburn said quietly, his gaze lifting to the red comet blazing in the sky.
"Dragons bring us both opportunity and trouble," Gendry continued. "Even without them, what we can rely on for now are soldiers and steel. We will invade Westeros sooner or later, but there is no need to rush. We must avoid fighting on multiple fronts or being dragged into a prolonged war."
"Your Highness," The Handsome Man asked, "are you concerned about Lys and Volantis?"
"Not only them," Gendry replied. "If Braavos learns that dragons have returned, their stance will change. Our liberation of slaves aligns with Braavosi ideals, but if a single power were to stretch across Westeros, the Stepstones, the Three Daughters, and even the Dothraki Sea… Braavos would move from ally to enemy."
"That is my concern as well," Qyburn said. "Before we are encircled, we must secure a rear base."
The Handsome Man unfolded a map across the table.
"The North, the Vale, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, and Dorne all have access to the sea. Our fleet could land at any of them. Dorne and the Stormlands are closest to the Two Cities. King's Landing lies almost directly opposite Pentos. Seagard—no, Gulltown—is closest to Braavos. White Harbor, however, is far to the north."
"The North is too cold. Dorne is too hot," Qyburn said thoughtfully. "Those two should be excluded first. Prince Oberyn of Dorne has already shown goodwill toward us, and Eddard Stark is famously rigid and honorable. Both Houses Stark and Martell can likely be won over. As for the Vale, Gulltown is still rather distant."
The conclusion became obvious.
Their primary targets were the Crownlands and the Stormlands.
That left only a few critical strongholds: the Isle of Tarth, Storm's End, Dragonstone, and King's Landing.
"King's Landing itself isn't that important," Gendry said calmly. "A city of that size is difficult to defend and even harder to feed."
"Then only Dragonstone, the Isle of Tarth, and Storm's End remain," The Handsome Man said. "And of those, only Tarth would be easy to take."
"Dragonstone," Gendry said without hesitation. "That is what I want most."
Dragonstone guarded the eastern approach to King's Landing. It was the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, built on volcanic rock, its castle strong and ancient. Taking it would allow contact with Targaryen loyalists on the Claw Peninsula and beyond.
"From a magical perspective, Dragonstone is ideal," Qyburn added. "Dragons favor volcanic terrain. Dragonmont and its caves would be perfect for them."
"But Dragonstone is held by the Royal Fleet," The Handsome Man cautioned. "It will be a hard fight."
"There will be a battle," Gendry said quietly. "But it may not need to be a bloody one."
The King in the Kingswood
Late at night, outside King's Landing, a large tent stood within the Kingswood.
The King was in a foul mood.
He had not seen the white stag—only the mangled remains of wolves it had slain. The sight had lodged itself deep in Eddard Stark's heart like an ill omen.
"Damn it," the King growled, drinking deeply. "That white stag is too clever. It escaped the wolves and made fools of us as well."
"Perhaps that is a blessing," Eddard said cautiously. "The stag is the sigil of House Baratheon. A white stag could be a sign of good fortune."
"Well, I didn't expect comfort from you of all people," the King laughed. "But no matter. They say there's a monstrous bear in these woods. If I kill that, it'll make a fine story."
Once the King set his mind on hunting the bear, nothing could stop him.
By then, many had already returned to King's Landing—Prince Joffrey, members of House Royce, Balon Swann, and others. Only a small group remained with the King.
Eddard watched Robert laugh and drink, his heart heavy. The truths he carried felt like poison on his tongue. The Lannisters were weakened, but so was he. Speaking now would plunge the realm into chaos.
Worse still, a letter from the Vale weighed on his mind—Lady Lysa demanding Littlefinger's release, threatening to keep Catelyn imprisoned otherwise.
"If it's a bear," the King said cheerfully, "all the better. Bear meat to eat, bear skin for a cloak."
"A cloak for winter," Eddard said softly.
"Winter again!" the King roared with laughter. "The gods must love me—summer has lasted forever since my coronation."
"Summer never lasts forever," Eddard replied. "Winter is coming, Your Grace."
"Gods damn you," the King groaned. "First you tell me to execute Gregor Clegane, now you ruin my hunt with talk of winter."
The King's breath reeked of wine.
"Drink," Robert ordered. "More wine!"
The Lannister servants poured heavily.
Later, the King grew quiet.
"I haven't been a good father," he admitted suddenly. "So it's no wonder those children don't love me."
"You've heard rumors?" Eddard asked carefully.
Robert nodded. "War is brewing across the Narrow Sea. If that boy wins… I'll have to face him. History will laugh at me."
He ran a hand through his black hair.
"I was a hero once," he muttered. "But Joffrey on the throne… with Cersei whispering… it gives me a headache."
"You mustn't think that way," Eddard said.
"I must," Robert snapped. "I need to settle things now. You must help me."
When Eddard protested about justice, Robert exploded.
"Enough! A king must win first—justice comes later!"
They drank until Robert dismissed him.
The next morning, chaos erupted.
"The King," Jon said desperately. "He was gored by a wild boar."
Eddard felt the world tilt.
They hurried to the King's tent beneath the blazing red comet.
"An ill omen," Ser Barristan murmured.
Eddard stared at the comet.
The red comet had brought him nothing but bad news.
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