The first rays of morning sunlight passed through the colored glass of the arched windows, casting mottled shadows onto the Myrish carpet.
Daenerys woke up.
She lay on the incredibly soft velvet mattress, staring at the dome painted with stars and sailing ships; it took a long moment of dazed silence before she slowly turned her head to look around the room.
It was huge.
Larger than any "guest room" in her memory, and... different.
Exquisite Myrish carpets stretched from the bedside all the way to the walls, their colors complex and magnificent, silent underfoot.
The walls were lined with dark red velvet, hung with ancient tapestries depicting hunts and naval battles. In one corner, a bookshelf reached the ceiling, filled with leather-bound books.
In another corner stood ivory carvings from the Summer Isles; on a small table beside them, a golden goblet inlaid with rubies still held the remains of the sweet wine the maid had poured for her last night, of which she had only taken a tiny sip.
Fragments of memory surged up uncontrollably.
During the first years of exile, when the name Targaryen still held some weight across the Narrow Sea, the governors and wealthy merchants of the Free Cities were indeed willing to generously take in and treat the siblings well.
She had stayed in similar rooms, worn exquisite dresses, and used silver utensils.
But all of that was wrapped in an invisible film... a fragile decency that was a form of charity, liable to be retracted at any moment.
She could feel the disdain beneath the servants' respect, see the perfunctoriness in the governors' wives' smiles, and hear the whispers outside the door about the Beggar King and his sister.
That so-called period of decency was as illusory as a soap bubble in the sunlight—beautiful, yet shattering at the slightest touch.
But here... it was different.
Daenerys couldn't say exactly what was different.
The furnishings were equally exquisite, the service equally attentive, but the scent in the air was different.
There was no calculated flattery, nor any hidden contempt.
The maids' voices were soft, carrying genuine respect and awe.
This place gave her a feeling of... being grounded. Warmth.
Just like that small courtyard with a red door and a lemon tree, deep in her memories and already blurred.
Targaryen. Home.
These two words collided softly in her heart as Daenerys sat up gently, her silver-gold hair cascading over her shoulders.
Sunlight through the colored glass cast faint spots of light on her fair face.
The corners of her mouth curled up involuntarily, and her violet eyes shone clear in the morning light, like the finest gems.
She pulled back the silk quilt, stepped barefoot onto the soft carpet, and walked to the bookshelf.
Her fingertips brushed over the heavy spines: "Lineages and Heraldry of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms," "A History of the Rise and Fall of the Free Trade Cities"... She even pulled out a copy of "A Geography of Westeros" written in the Common Tongue and opened it to a page meticulously depicting the rivers and castles of the The Riverlands.
Study.
The words Aegon had spoken to her in Braavos suddenly echoed in her ears.
Telling her to watch more, listen more, and... study more.
Daenerys's fingers lingered on the page for a moment before she gently closed the book.
"Study..." she murmured softly, as if asking herself, or perhaps addressing the sunlight and books filling the room.
"Princess, are you awake?" came a maid's soft inquiry from outside the door.
Daenerys turned around. "Yes, please come in."
The door was pushed open gently, and two maids entered carrying a silver basin and towels, curtsying to Daenerys.
Their movements were brisk yet quiet; one attended to her washing while the other took a neatly folded dress from a tray she had brought.
"Your Highness, this has been prepared for you," the maid holding the dress said softly, unfolding the garment.
Daenerys's breath hitched slightly.
It was a gown.
The primary color was a deep black, but on the collar, cuffs, and the patterns extending from the chest to the hem, exquisite and complex designs were embroidered with dark red silk thread.
They were coiled dragon patterns, in the same vein as the Targaryen three-headed red dragon sigil, but more elegant and understated.
The fabric was top-tier silk, shimmering with a soft luster in the morning light.
The hem was even embroidered with extremely fine gold thread into patterns resembling dragon scales, which would surely glisten with shifting light as she moved.
With the maids' assistance, Daenerys changed into the black and red gown.
The fabric felt smooth and cool against her skin, the cut perfectly fitting her slender figure, which had not yet fully matured but already showed signs of grace.
The maid combed her long hair, pulling it back into a relatively simple bun secured with a silver hairpin inlaid with small Black Pearls.
She stood before the full-length mirror in the room, looking at her reflection.
The black hem flowed like the night, the silver-red patterns appearing and disappearing in the morning light; her purple eyes, set off by the exquisite clothing and makeup, appeared increasingly calm and... unfamiliar.
It was beautiful.
But an indefinable unease spread from her heart. This dress, this hairstyle, the person in the mirror... they seemed separated from the Daenerys who had been in exile for years, wearing old dresses and hiding behind her brother, by an invisible film.
Just then, the door was pushed open with a "bang."
Viserys burst in.
He too had changed into a brand-new brocade robe embroidered with the ostentatious three-headed red dragon pattern, and even wore a magnificent longsword at his waist, its scabbard encrusted with various gems and its hilt wrapped in gold.
His face glowed with an excited flush, and his eyes were frighteningly bright; he had clearly not slept all night.
"Dany! Did you see? Did you sleep well last night?"
Viserys's voice was somewhat shrill with excitement as he paced the room twice, waving his arms.
"Those ships at the docks! Those black-armored Soldiers! And this mansion! This is where a Targaryen should live! This is the decency a King deserves!"
He walked to the window, threw it open, and took a deep breath of the salty morning air, as if trying to inhale the prosperity and power of the entire city into his lungs.
"Less than half a year..."
He turned around, his face still showing traces of unbelievable shock, but even more so the burning ambition ignited by that shock.
"Dany, less than half a year! From when we left Lys until now, standing here again in a palace that belongs to us Targaryens... less than half a year!"
He walked up to Daenerys and grabbed her shoulders with considerable force. "Three Free Cities! Lys, Tyrosh, Myr! A Fleet larger than Braavos's! And the ability to make the Sealord of Braavos bow his head and obediently hand over the gold from his treasury!"
"What does this sound like?"
"It sounds like the heroic epics troubadours have sung for centuries! It's the story of Aegon the Conqueror! But now, it's real! It's happening to our family! To... my nephew!"
Viserys's tone was complex, a mixture of jealousy, pride, disbelief, and a hollow, reflected excitement.
Daenerys gently pulled away from his hands and walked to another window, looking down at the city streets that were already beginning to wake.
Wisps of cooking smoke rose, carriages and horses came and went, and the faint sounds of work songs drifted from the direction of the Port. Everything was orderly and full of life.
"The man who handed me the blood-stained laurel crown at the Lysene arena... the man who appeared in Illyrio's courtyard as if falling from the sky..."
she said softly, as if to herself.
"He's actually my nephew. And he seems... a year older than me."
This realization sent a strange ripple through her heart.
She had always thought of herself as the younger sister, the one who needed protection.
But now, that person who seemed so much more mature and powerful than her was actually her nephew.
The bond of blood and the reality of their relative strength formed a subtle sense of displacement.
Viserys didn't notice his sister's distraction, immersed in his own thoughts:
"Come, let's go have breakfast."
"Then we'll go see Aegon. As King and Princess, we need to get a good understanding of what the situation is with our territories. How many Soldiers are there? What's the treasury like? Which nobles are reliable? Which ones should we be wary of?"
He patted the ostentatious sword at his waist, his chin tilted up. "I also need to think carefully about how to reward Aegon, and those... seemingly capable people under him."
"Jon Clinton, I remember him. Although he caused the failure of the Battle of the Bells, he's loyal enough; he should be given an important post. That Luciana, a woman managing finances? But since Aegon trusts her, perhaps she can be given a position as a lady-in-waiting. And those generals..."
He began counting on his fingers, as if already distributing offices in his court.
Watching his excited profile, the warmth Daenerys had felt from the magnificent room and dress cooled slightly.
She remembered the thunderous cheers of 'Long live Prince Aegon' yesterday, the dragon shadow that blotted out the sun, and the natural, master-like authority Aegon exuded when he stood there calmly saying 'Welcome home.'
Her brother seemed... not to have fully understood whose "home" this was, and whose "kingdom" it was.
She sighed softly, suppressing her chaotic thoughts.
"Let's go, brother," she said. "Let's eat something first."
Meanwhile, the study of the former Governors Mansion had now completely become Aegon's office.
Aegon sat behind the desk, with several documents that had just been delivered spread out before him.
He had changed out of the magnificent ceremonial robes he wore for yesterday's welcome into a set of deep black everyday clothes more suited for activity, with only dark red piping embroidered on the cuffs and collar. dark sisters and blackfyre hung side by side on the weapon rack behind him.
Luciana stood before the desk, a parchment scroll in hand, reporting methodically.
"Lord Jon has sent back the latest news."
Her voice was calm and clear, without any redundancy:
"The Fleet integration is initially complete. All registered and inspected warships from Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr—a total of one thousand one hundred and twenty-seven vessels—have all been concentrated in the designated area off the coast of Lys."
"Mixed formation drills, unification of flag signals and passwords, and coordination exercises between different ship types are currently underway. Lord Jon estimates that at least two to three more weeks of high-intensity training are needed to initially form an effective coordinated combat capability."
While listening, Aegon quickly scanned a report on the progress of repairing Tyrosh's city walls, occasionally jotting down a few words in the margins with a quill.
"The main problem lies with the personnel."
Luciana continued, "The sailors from the three cities have different ship-handling habits, commands, and even different names for wind directions and currents, leading to frequent communication errors."
"The issues at the officer level are even greater. There are a total of one hundred and forty-three officers who originally belonged to the various city-state nobilities; seventeen of them have clearly shown resistance, repeatedly feigning compliance during training. Another thirty or so are clearly incompetent and unable to meet the command requirements of the new Fleet."
"Lord Jon suggests dismissing and transferring these forty-seven individuals. At the same time, he has selected forty-seven junior officers who performed excellently in previous battles and showed talent during the integration training, proposing they be promoted exceptionally to fill the vacancies."
"This is the list and a brief evaluation of each person, requiring your final approval."
She handed the parchment in her hand onto the desk.
Aegon took it, his eyes quickly scanning the unfamiliar names and short comments. He didn't look closely at each person's abilities, but rather at Jon Clinton's descriptions regarding loyalty, obedience, and courage in taking on responsibilities.
"Tell Jon to go ahead and do it."
Aegon put down the list, picked up his seal, and pressed it down firmly.
"Officers may be slightly less capable, but they must be loyal. Those who are disobedient or suspected of having ulterior motives should be cleared out; there's no need to report them again. Press on with the training; I don't have much time to wait for them to slowly mesh."
"Understood." Luciana took the list and made a note.
"Furthermore."
Aegon leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping gently on the smooth tabletop.
"Three city-states, separated by the sea, governed separately. The efficiency of passing messages and requesting orders back and forth is too low, and there are many loopholes. It's time to establish a more effective system."
He looked at Luciana. "I intend to establish a monthly Grand Council system. With Lys as the capital, this will no longer be called the Governors Mansion; it will be renamed the Princes Residence."
"On a fixed day each month, the major officials from Tyrosh and Myr—the Triarchs, garrison commanders, tax collectors, Port masters, etc.—must come to Lys to centrally report on the previous month's development progress, financial revenue and expenditure, armament status, problems encountered, and plans for the next month."
"Major matters will be decided on the spot; general matters will be summarized and initially reviewed by you, Jon, and others, then reported to me for a final ruling."
He paused. "The first Grand Council will be held the day after tomorrow. Arrange for someone to notify them immediately; the officials of both cities should arrange their work and arrive on time. From now on, this will be the standard practice."
A flash of understanding and approval crossed Luciana's eyes.
Once this system was established, it would greatly strengthen Aegon's direct control over the three cities, improve administrative efficiency, and allow for faster discovery and resolution of problems.
She quickly recorded the key points on an ivory tablet. "Yes, Your Highness. I will see to it immediately. Shall the meeting be held in the mansion's main council chamber? Does it require any extra decoration?"
"The main council chamber will do. Keep it simple and solemn; there's no need for excessive luxury. The point is to discuss business, not to put on a show."
"Yes." Luciana noted it down, then looked up, her expression becoming more serious.
"There is one more thing, Your Highness. Regarding Volantis."
Aegon raised an eyebrow slightly. "Speak."
"About ten days ago, our ships on routine patrol off the coast of Lys discovered traces of Volantene-style warships; there weren't many, it seemed like scouting."
"We increased the frequency of offshore alerts and patrols, but the other party did not reappear in the following days. Until the day before yesterday, a Volantene fast ship arrived at the Port, and an envoy came ashore, claiming to be sent by the Triarchs of Volantis, requesting an audience with Your Highness."
"Since you had not yet returned, we used the excuse of Your Highness being away on inspection with an uncertain return date to temporarily settle him in a decent hotel in the Port area, where we had him 'protected.'"
The other party has not shown any dissatisfaction or urgency; he seems to be waiting as well.
"Volantis..." Aegon's fingers stopped tapping.
The oldest and most powerful of the nine Free Trade Cities, a colossus that styled itself as the Eldest Daughter of Valyria.
After he had taken three cities with lightning speed and seized control of the straits, their reaction had finally come.
Not a Fleet pressing the borders, but an envoy sent first.
Was it a test? A warning? Or... another form of recognition?
"The Grand Council the day after tomorrow..." Aegon said slowly, a subtle, inscrutable curve appearing at the corners of his mouth.
"Aren't we meeting with the officials from various places? Let the Volantene envoy come as well. Bring him in at the end of the meeting. I'd like to hear what this Eldest Daughter of Valyria has to say to her brother of the dragon's blood."
Luciana understood perfectly; this was to place the other party in the position of a subordinate requesting an audience, keeping the initiative entirely in their hands.
She bowed. "Yes, Your Highness. I will make the arrangements."
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