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The Lysene fleet turned tail and fled, racing out of the Stepstones before the two young dragons could close in.
Viserys wanted to give chase, but Jaehaerys cut him off in midair.
"Don't chase them. We're going to see Lord Lucerys."
"What?"
Viserys couldn't understand why they were stopping.
Jaehaerys shot him a glare. The memory of childhood beatings flashed through Viserys's head and he immediately backed down.
"Fine, fine…"
Viserys muttered under his breath.
Jaehaerys heard him but didn't bother responding.
They were dragonriders, but they still knew almost nothing about real war. They couldn't just do whatever they wanted.
Lord Lucerys might be arrogant, but his military skill was real. They needed to learn from him.
Tregar Ormollen had been routed. He abandoned his fleet at the edge of the Summer Sea and the Narrow Sea and sailed back to Lys alone.
He was terrified of dying a glorious death and watching his mansion, mistresses, and fortune get carved up by others.
Back in Lys, the governors called an emergency meeting the moment he returned.
"You coward. You fought a couple battles and then ran home with your tail between your legs?"
One of the merchant governors who had never liked the old man went straight for the throat.
Another noble governor sneered, "Three hundred ships. Two little dragons show up and you run faster than a Dothraki warhorse."
Tregar's face turned red. He knew he was in the wrong and stayed silent.
These idiots loved talking big when they were safe at home.
Two massive dragons flying right over their heads, dragonfire brushing the decks — even the braver governors would've pissed themselves.
"Enough. Both of you, shut up."
Valarr still carried real weight. One sentence brought the room to silence.
The governors exchanged glances, occasionally shooting looks at the deserter Tregar, waiting for Valarr's decision.
"The enemy has two dragons. We miscalculated."
Valarr didn't punish Tregar. His eyes were sharp with caution.
"Myr fed us bad intelligence. They were never truly helping the Triarchy. They just wanted to use us as cannon fodder to bleed the Seven Kingdoms dry."
Tregar perked up immediately. "Exactly. New Ghis doesn't have any dragonriders left. Dragon King Daeron probably went back to King's Landing to sit safe in the rear, waiting for us to walk into the trap."
The governors looked at each other, suddenly realizing the bigger picture.
Just like how the "eastern campaign" had become consensus in the Seven Kingdoms, weakening House Targaryen had become consensus across the eastern continent.
But now the Triarchy had become the frontline.
Fighting the Dragon King's family meant life or death.
The governors came from merchant, noble, and slave-owner backgrounds. Every one of them was greedy. Every one of them was afraid to die.
None of them wanted to be someone else's knife.
"Everyone… why don't we just pull back?"
Fredo Rogare looked around the table and offered a different opinion.
Just like in Myr, Lys's council was split between radicals, neutrals, and conservatives.
Fredo was neutral. When Lys had sent its fleet, he had stayed quiet and let Tregar lead.
But now the situation had turned ugly and even the fleet commander had run home.
So he could speak.
Valarr frowned. "Retreat?"
In this position, retreating was no different from surrendering.
Could you surrender and only lose half?
Fredo's mind worked fast. "Prince Rhaegar is far away in the Smoking Sea. His ceremony as Prince of Lys was never held. Why not hold it now and make it official?"
"With that connection, the Iron Throne will have to think twice before moving against us."
"You really think Dragon King Daeron will show mercy?"
Tregar scoffed.
Rhaegar had bled for the Stepstones, declared himself King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, and Dragon King Daeron had immediately made the title meaningless.
The bad blood between the two Targaryen brothers was no secret in the east.
Fredo shook his head. "This isn't about surrendering or groveling. It's about buying time to negotiate with the Iron Throne."
"Explain."
Valarr wanted to hear it.
Fredo spoke calmly.
Anyone with eyes could see that east and west were heading for war.
Especially after the Smoking Sea rumors started spreading. Volantis, Slaver's Bay, and half the eastern cities were scrambling for dragons and dragon eggs, trying to build their own dragonlord bloodlines.
The Iron Throne's eastern campaign was inevitable. It wouldn't stop.
The Triarchy alone didn't have the strength to hold them back.
In the end, the best possible outcome was both sides bleeding each other dry.
"Lys belongs to the Lyseni. Not to the rest of the eastern continent. Why should we bleed ourselves dry for other people's wars and end up with nothing?"
Fredo looked around the table, speaking from the heart.
The governors' faces changed. Some looked uncertain. Some frowned deeply.
"Tyrosh has already fallen. If we don't fight back, who's to say Lys isn't next?"
An old noble governor spoke up, eyes sharp, red beard bristling.
Fredo countered, "Who says we have to stay enemies? Why can't we find a way to coexist?"
"Coexist?"
Tregar blinked, suddenly tempted.
Fredo stood. "We raise a Targaryen as Prince of Lys. He swears loyalty to the Iron Throne on paper, the same way the Iron Throne treats House Martell. What's wrong with that?"
The governors stared at him in shock.
This bastard wasn't just talking about surrender. He was talking about selling out Lys completely.
Valarr's face darkened. He clearly didn't like the idea.
But he didn't openly reject it either.
Anyone who had lived through the Sack of Lys carried a deep fear of dragons. None of them wanted to face Targaryen dragonriders again.
They had hoped Myr's intelligence would let them strike while Dragon King Daeron was busy in Slaver's Bay. Take back Tyrosh with Myr and the Tyroshi remnants. Then the Triarchy would finally have real strength to bargain with the Iron Throne.
Instead, Dragon King Daeron never showed up, and House Targaryen had already sent two dragonriders who caught them completely off guard.
On an open battlefield, dragons meant no chance of victory.
This whole operation was doomed.
Myr and Lys were about to take heavy hits from the Iron Throne.
Valarr had no desire to relive the Sack of Lys — hiding in slave pits while dragonfire rained down.
Seeing the silence, Fredo knew he had them.
"If no one objects, I'll write to Prince Rhaegar and propose a ceasefire. We can open negotiations with the Iron Throne."
He was different from the rest.
House Rogare had once been great, then fallen hard. These descendants lived modestly now.
He didn't feel much loyalty to Lys itself.
House Rogare's glory days had come from a marriage alliance with House Targaryen. They had tasted the benefits once.
Rather than fight the Targaryens to the bitter end, he would rather bring Lys along and surrender together.
Maybe in a few generations, Rogare and Targaryen could marry again and taste those benefits a second time.
As for Prince Rhaegar —
Fredo admired him.
But Lys had never truly welcomed Rhaegar, and Rhaegar had never truly fit in.
They were stuck in an awkward middle ground.
Now Rhaegar was far away in the Smoking Sea. Whether he even made it back alive was uncertain.
Lys was in real danger.
This was the perfect moment to lock in Rhaegar's title as Prince of Lys and use his name to open talks with the Iron Throne.
Two birds, one stone.
The governors stayed silent and turned to Valarr.
Valarr looked around the table, reading every face. The problem had landed squarely in his lap.
"We can't stop fighting yet. We won't betray our allies."
Valarr thought for a moment, then gave his orders.
"Tregar Ormollen, take the fleet back to the edge of the Summer Sea. Confront House Velaryon. Keep the Iron Throne's navy tied down."
Whether they negotiated or surrendered later, they couldn't just stop fighting and tie their own hands.
From the beginning of time, no one ever surrendered and only lost half.
Then he looked at Fredo.
"I agree with holding Prince Rhaegar's ceremony early. You handle it."
"Also send a letter to the Iron Throne. Test their reaction."
"No problem."
Fredo smiled like a man who had just won.
For the next stretch of time, the Stepstones fell into a tense stalemate.
The royal fleet and the Lysene fleet faced each other across the water, watching but not striking.
Jaehaerys frowned and turned to Lord Lucerys.
"My lord, the Lyseni have stopped attacking. Shouldn't we press them?"
"Prince, war means blood."
Lord Lucerys spoke patiently.
"It's true. With you and Prince Viserys here, we hold a clear advantage. But every ship and every sailor in the royal fleet was built with the crown's and House Velaryon's blood and sweat. They won't die in pointless fighting."
As Master of Ships, he understood the young king's larger strategy.
Tyrosh and Myr were the real battlegrounds. That was where blood needed to be shed.
Here in the Stepstones, their job was simple: hold the line. Not losing was victory.
"The main front is under pressure. Viserys and I staying here probably won't accomplish much."
Jaehaerys had already made up his mind.
Dragonriders were strategic weapons, but they were still people who could think.
He wanted to become Hand of the King one day. He refused to waste time sitting idle.
"My lord, write to my brother. Ask if I can be sent to Tyrosh."
Lord Lucerys hesitated. He didn't want to lose a dragonrider.
Jaehaerys understood immediately.
"We can leave Viserys here. He'll still deter the enemy."
"Ah?"
Viserys, standing right there, looked stunned.
With that settled, Lord Lucerys couldn't refuse.
"Alright. I'll send a raven to His Grace right away."
King's Landing.
At the Small Council meeting, Daeron first received a letter from House Rogare of Lys.
"This generation's head of House Rogare is quite the man."
Maester Aemon finished reading and spoke with quiet approval.
Seeing the possibility of peace in the middle of war was no small thing.
Lord Mace blinked. "Isn't this just another flattering letter? I've gotten plenty of those from the Reach."
"Not quite."
Maester Aemon's eyes narrowed with interest.
"The letter flatters heavily and confirms Prince Rhaegar as Prince of Lys, but between the lines it's clearly testing the Iron Throne's stance."
Lord Mace shut his mouth.
Lord Corlton, serving as acting Hand, spoke up.
"Your Grace, Lys seems to want peace. If we accept, we'll have more strength to deal with Myr."
"Not yet."
Daeron shook his head and opened the letter sealed with the seahorse of House Velaryon.
The content was simple: Jaehaerys requesting to be sent to Tyrosh to reduce the cost of the war.
Daeron nodded to himself.
"Great-Uncle, send a raven to Lord Lucerys later. Move both Jaehaerys and Viserys to Tyrosh."
Viserys's brain was permanently on vacation. Leaving him alone in the Stepstones was asking for trouble.
To be safe, the two boys should stay together.
"Understood, Your Grace."
Maester Aemon answered with perfect courtesy. He never traded on his age.
Daeron looked at the letter again, quietly pleased with how far Jaehaerys had come.
The boy was almost ready to stand on his own.
"With dragonriders under my command, I can finally hold the rear without running back and forth."
Daeron felt genuine relief.
He would go to the battlefield himself when the time was right — when the war reached its decisive moment.
Appearing too early would only scare the enemy into hiding.
Two dragonriders had already appeared, and Lys was already talking about surrender.
"Your Grace, about Lys—"
Lord Corlton hesitated, still trying to read the young king.
Daeron didn't like wasting words.
"Lys isn't truly offering peace or surrender. They're probing our bottom line. They don't want to bleed, but they also don't want to get dragged in."
"Then what about House Rogare?"
Lord Corlton still didn't understand. They seemed sincere about wanting talks.
"House Rogare belongs to Rhaegar."
Daeron already had the intelligence.
"Every group has different voices. House Rogare is close to House Targaryen, but Lys's council has plenty of people who hate us."
If Lys truly wanted to surrender, they would send someone to negotiate face to face right now.
They would sit down and hammer out how much autonomy Lys would keep and what terms the Iron Throne would offer.
Not House Rogare sending one messenger for a half-hearted probe.
"In that case, isn't Lys just playing us?"
Lord Corlton's face darkened.
Daeron waved it off.
"Not quite. Lys's internal opinions are still divided.
The war just started. They haven't seen enough wins and losses yet.
Myr is still aggressive. The Triarchy isn't beaten.
Even if Lys's governors want to talk, they have to save face. They can't just drop to their knees immediately."
"Your Grace, should we send someone to contact them?"
Lord Corlton was eager to act.
"No need."
Daeron had no interest.
Pulling Jaehaerys and Viserys out of the Stepstones was already the clearest message possible.
If Lys was smart, they would play along.
Stay quiet at the edge of the Summer Sea and stop provoking.
At that moment Varys's eyes shifted. He spoke softly.
"Your Grace, Lys didn't just send one messenger. They also brought two chests of treasure and a girl from House Rogare."
Daeron raised an eyebrow.
"Someone from House Rogare?"
Varys nodded hard.
"Her name is Marana Rogare. Governor Fredo Rogare's younger sister. She says House Rogare once had close ties with House Targaryen, so they're sending her to King's Landing to rebuild the friendship."
"Is she pretty?"
Daeron's question was blunt.
Varys thought for a second, then shrugged helplessly.
"I may not count as a real man anymore, but to me she's very beautiful."
Daeron gave his orders.
"Check her character. If she passes, send her to Queen Mother Rhaella's side to serve her."
He didn't need to ask whether Marana was still a maiden.
If House Rogare had sent her, she was their best.
His two younger brothers still had no marriage prospects. House Rogare was a solid option.
He didn't trust leaving her near Shaena, so he would place her with his mother first.
"Your Grace, one more thing."
Varys accepted the order, then continued.
"Lord Paxter writes that the Redwyne fleet is about to reach Tyrosh."
Daeron's eyes lit up.
"Good."
He smiled.
"With the Redwyne fleet joining the fight, it's time for me to get moving too."
The garden waited.