The next morning, as the grey dawn broke over the Salt Spear, Aegon finally signed the orders for the action plan: Operation Disputed Gale.
The strategy was a surgical strike. Hugh would mount the bronze-scaled terror, Sheepstealer, and lead a fleet of twenty warships and ten cogs, carrying two thousand marines directly into the heart of Tyrosh's harbor.
First, Sheepstealer would seize the sky, raining dragonfire to dismantle the port's defenses and shatter the Tyroshi fleet at anchor. Then, under the shadow of wings, the marines would make landfall, pushing deep into the city to sack their military assets before pivoting toward the Tyroshi-held outposts in the Disputed Lands. It was a bold gamble on territory the Triarchy considered safe, where a third of the supplies from Lys and Myr sat ripe for the taking.
"Operation Disputed Gale is set for the seventh hour, on the seventh day of the seventh moon," Aegon declared.
The men gathered around the map table shared a look. The date carried a weight beyond the military.
"The seventh day of the seventh moon?" Ser Alec's brow furrowed. "Your Highness, that is the day of your own betrothal banquet."
"And the day of Princess Rhaenyra's wedding in King's Landing," Kraken Hightower added, his voice low. "Your Highness, surely Ser Hugh should be at your side. With four adult dragons and one hatchling, the Crown can handle any 'unexpected' diplomatic tensions—including the matter of Ser Hugh's bloodline."
Aegon had kept a tight lid on the fact that a common-born bastard had claimed a dragon of Sheepstealer's size. Dragonstone was his fortress; nothing left the island without his leave. He knew from his mother's letters that King's Landing remained blissfully unaware of Hugh's new status.
"Listen well," Aegon said, leaning over the table. "Tomorrow, we announce the news of Helaena's and my betrothal banquet to the capital. At the same time, we announce the formal opening of Dragonstone's new port to all trade."
He tapped the map on Tyrosh. "The Tyroshi are rats, but they are cunning rats. Their eyes will be on King's Landing, expecting me to be preoccupied with wine and vows. They will think Aemond and Daeron have followed me back to the Red Keep, leaving our flank exposed. They might even be foolish enough to gather their fleet for a retaliatory strike on Dragonstone the moment my sails disappear over the horizon."
A smirk played on his lips. "Sunfyre will feign a departure for the capital, then double back under the cover of night. I will be waiting for them here. Meanwhile, Hugh and the Gale will hit them where they least expect it."
He looked at Hugh. "A bastard taming a dragon is a fire that will singe the King's beard. I am already in for a fight with my father; a betrothal banquet is no place to bring a second war."
The joke landed with a heavy thud. The room went quiet.
Kraken Hightower was the first to find his voice. "Identity is a matter of ink and seal, Your Highness. We can restore a surname, affirm a lineage, and only then present Ser Hugh to the realm. A bastard with a dragon is a threat; a loyal vassal with a dragon is a pillar of the state."
Kraken knew the value of what sat before them. Sheepstealer was seventy years of muscle and malice. On a battlefield, he was worth ten thousand men.
"Your Highness," Kraken continued, his eyes gleaming with ambition, "your ancestors came to Dragonstone with five dragons. Now, you stand here, and it is time for five dragons to follow you once more."
Hugh offered Kraken a look of profound gratitude. Kraken returned a thin, knowing smile. Aegon watched the exchange with a cold clarity. He saw Kraken's move for what it was—an attempt to bind the new dragonrider to his own interests, forming a bloc of power.
He didn't mind. Hugh was his man, but a dragonrider needed status to be useful in the coming peace.
"I have my own designs for Hugh's future," Aegon said, cutting through the politicking. He hadn't planned on Hugh becoming a rider, but fate had handed him an adult war-machine. If Rhaenyra eventually sought to call the 'seeds' to her banners, it was better that he had already set the precedent on his own terms.
He had to win the Iron Throne first. Only then would he have the luxury of worrying about how to keep it.
"Effective immediately," Aegon announced, "Dragonstone will operate under the Round Table Council System, acting in my name as Protector of the Stepstones. Ser Hugh, I appoint you as Military and Political Councillor. Ser Kraken Hightower, you shall serve as Financial Councillor. Ser Loren of House Lannister, you are my Legal Councillor."
He turned to his sworn shield. "Ser Alec Cargyll, I must ask more of you. You will hold the portfolios for Land and Infrastructure until a suitable replacement is found."
Alec's face paled. "Your Highness, I am a knight, not a clerk. I—"
Aegon raised a hand. "It is a temporary burden, Ser Alec. I will find a man to share the load soon enough."
He looked at the others, his voice hardening. "My lords, you understand this system. You know the offices under your command. Fill them as you see fit, but mark my words: I want men of capability. If you bring me fools or sycophants to fill your ranks, do not expect me to be merciful when they fail."
He knew Kraken and Loren would reach out to Oldtown and Casterly Rock for kin and clerks to bolster their influence. He would allow it—for now. He needed their competence to build his machine.
"Your Highness," Kraken asked, "if we implement this Council on Dragonstone, what becomes of the Grey Gallows?"
"The Gallows will remain under the old ways," Aegon decided. "We will follow the feudal tradition there. We shall enfeoff the lesser lands to loyal vassals. Let them handle the reclamation and the garrisons. It will save us the coin and the headache, while keeping the heart of our power—the ports and the gold—directly under this table."
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