It was midday, and the sun was shining brightly.
King's Landing.
The streets were packed with citizens, blocking the main roads from the Red Keep all the way to the Mud Gate.
A black carriage, drawn by five sleek warhorses, was draped in a layer of black gauze. Inside, it carried a massive black-and-silver dragon's head.
In just a few short days, news of Rhaegar's victory over Lys and the liberation of hundreds of thousands of slaves had spread throughout King's Landing.
The people shared in the glory, eager to witness the triumphant procession with their own eyes.
They hoped the Crown Prince would soon conquer the entire Three Daughters.
---
### The Red Keep – Council Chamber
Viserys sat at the head of the table, resting his elbows on the desk, his face carrying a satisfied smile.
Hand of the King, Lyonel, rose to report:
"Your Grace, Moghul's dragon head has been transported from the port. Should we parade it through the streets?"
Seated at the far end of the table, Lyman nodded slightly, observing the King's reaction.
News of the brutal siege of Lys had already reached the Red Keep, and they had all heard of the battle's difficulties.
Hundreds of well-equipped mercenary warships defended the port, while thousands of soldiers held their ground.
The Lyseni had even managed to tame the wild dragon Moghul, forcing it into a brutal battle against another dragon.
It was thanks to Prince Rhaegar's bravery that the day was won. Riding Devourer, he slew Moghul, shattering Lys' last hope of survival.
The battle of the two dragons had become the talk of both sides of the Narrow Sea. In Essos, it was known as the Battle of the Demon Dragons.
Rhaegar and Devourer's names had shaken the world—titles like The Ash-Maker and The Wing of Death were now whispered with awe and fear.
Viserys listened intently before responding firmly:
"There will be no parade. Moghul was a Targaryen dragon. Transport it to the Red Keep and store it safely in the cellar."
Lyonel nodded solemnly. "The craftsmen are ready, awaiting the dragon's return."
Viserys nodded, a flicker of regret in his eyes.
Moghul had been a wild dragon of the Smoking Sea—an unclaimed treasure.
The Targaryens had missed their chance, allowing it to fall into the hands of the despicable Lyseni.
In the end, Moghul had to die.
That dragon should have belonged to House Targaryen. Instead, it had become nothing more than food for Devourer.
The thought of losing a dragon in such a manner pained Viserys deeply.
"At least the dragon did not fall into foreign hands… and Rhaegar is safe."
With that thought, he felt some relief.
To him, his eldest son was his greatest treasure—more valuable than any dragon.
---
Otto, his expression serious, spoke next:
"Your Grace, in the war across the Narrow Sea, we have taken Myr and Lys. A great number of wealthy citizens have been slaughtered, leaving the city-states primarily populated by commoners and freed slaves.
Pacifying these people will require an astronomical amount of grain from the kingdom."
This was no exaggeration—this was the hard lesson learned after the siege of Myr.
Both Myr and Lys had once held vast reserves of grain, but much of it had already been hoarded or transported away by the wealthy elite.
By the time the cities fell, the wealthy had either fled or been slain. While their riches had been plundered, their hidden stockpiles of grain were nowhere to be found.
Excluding the commoners, there were still hundreds of thousands of freed slaves—mouths crying out for food.
The fastest and most efficient way to acquire grain was to buy it from the other Free Cities.
But this was a war of conquest. The remaining Free Cities refused to sell food.
Even Pentos and Volantis, supposedly their allies, demanded outrageously high prices—more than ten times the normal rate.
Their greed was one factor, but Braavos played a major role as well.
Using the Iron Bank's influence, they deliberately drove up grain prices, ensuring that Myr and Lys would struggle to secure food, even after restoring their ports.
Viserys hesitated for a moment before asking,
"How much grain are we talking about? Can we requisition enough from the Riverlands and the Reach?"
Hundreds of thousands of mouths sounded like a lot, but it was no more than the permanent population of King's Landing.
The Riverlands and the Reach were Westeros' agricultural heartlands. They could easily supply grain for an army of a hundred thousand on short notice—feeding slaves should not be an issue.
Otto furrowed his brows and pondered.
"Your Grace, Braavos has raised the price of grain too high. The noble lords would rather sell their grain to the Iron Bank at inflated prices."
Braavos and Pentos had long been the Free Cities with the closest ties to Westeros.
The great noble houses maintained trade relations with them.
Many younger sons and bastards of lesser lords left Westeros to become high-paid mercenaries in their armies.
Even struggling nobles often borrowed money from the Iron Bank.
During the reign of King Jaehaerys I, the Crown had borrowed heavily from the Iron Bank to fund the construction of the King's Road.
If the royal treasury had once borrowed from Braavos, it was clear how much influence the Iron Bank held.
Viserys' face darkened instantly. His tone was resolute:
"The kingdom is at war. The Riverlands and the Reach must supply grain without charge. This is not up for discussion."
His children were fighting on the frontlines—he would not allow any trouble at home.
"I will find a way. I will ask Lord Mander Hightower to convene a requisition council in Oldtown."
Otto considered the idea for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
Lyman, who had remained silent until now, frowned slightly and interrupted:
"Lord Otto, the Duke of Tyrell is the ruling lord of the Reach. The requisition council should not overstep his authority."
The elderly lord was from Honeyholt, a castle in the Reach. He was its ruling lord, sworn to House Hightower.
By all logic, he should have supported Otto's plan.
But Lyman had sworn loyalty to the Crown above all else. His sense of duty dictated his actions.
Hearing this, Viserys realized his mistake. He glanced at both Otto and Lyonel before reminding them:
"Notify the Duke of Tyrell and the Duke of Tully immediately. We must not delay the war effort."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Otto's face remained stiff as he agreed.
Lyman snorted in satisfaction and sat back in his chair.
Since the king had married Otto's daughter as his queen, the Hightower family had become increasingly arrogant.
Furthermore, the Tyrell family of Highgarden was small in number, and the old duke was a mediocre man.
As a result, the Hightowers of Oldtown carried an inexplicable confidence, as if they were the true rulers of the Reach.
Bang! Bang!
At that moment, two heavy knocks suddenly echoed through the room.
Viserys looked up in surprise and saw Tormond, clad in a black-and-white robe, striding in with a grim expression.
"What happened?" Viserys asked as usual.
Tormond bypassed the conference table and approached, his gaze solemn. "Your Majesty, Dorne has made a move. They've crossed Windwhisper Point and are besieging Stonehelm."
Storm's End was still some distance from King's Landing, which meant the raven carrying the news had taken some time to arrive. It had just reached the rookery at the Red Keep.
Aemond detailed the report and handed over the letter.
Immediately, a storm of thoughts swept through the council chamber.
Leonor was the first to speak, his expression tense. "I suggest we immediately muster a contingent of royal forces and keep them on standby."
"It's Stonehelm that's under siege. We should deploy troops from Storm's End," suggested Lord Jasper, the Master of Laws, offhandedly.
Leonor remained composed, stating firmly, "Dorne's invasion of the Stormlands could be a turning point in the War of the Narrow Sea. The Crownlands must station a ready force for any contingency."
Whether to quell internal strife or to support battles beyond the Narrow Sea, troops had to be prepared.
Jasper fell silent, realizing the gravity of the situation.
Viserys nodded in agreement. "Issue the order. Gather a force of three thousand men."
Otto followed up, "The Dornish advance is aggressive. Their besieging army alone numbers ten thousand. Storm's End must send reinforcements immediately."
Stonehelm was merely a county seat, with no more than five hundred knights and fewer than three thousand soldiers, including archers and infantry.
With the city under siege, the food supply within the castle might not last long.
The Small Council moved efficiently, quickly formulating a detailed response plan.
At the start of the War of the Narrow Sea, Rhaegar had anticipated Dorne's involvement and had discussed countermeasures extensively with his ministers.
Now, they simply needed to implement those strategies—swift and effective.
Tormond's expression eased slightly, but he hesitated before saying, "Your Majesty, Prince Aemond has also sent a letter requesting permission to ride into battle with his dragon."
"Aemond?"
Viserys was momentarily stunned before sighing in frustration. "He's still so young. He's not even as steady as Helaena. Tell him to stay put at Storm's End."
Helaena's dragon-riding feat in the defense of Gulltown had long been spread across the Crownlands and the Vale, second only to Rhaegar in prestige.
Viserys had gained newfound respect for his previously overlooked daughter.
Aemond shook his head and smiled wryly. "That might be difficult. The prince stated in his letter that he has already mobilized the Stormlands' troops and is preparing for a counterattack."
As the son-in-law of House Baratheon, Aemond had the authority to do so with Lady Elenya's cooperation.
"That reckless brat!"
Viserys felt his head was about to explode. He cursed angrily, "He's never even been on a battlefield! What the hell does he know about commanding troops?"
Only three figures had proven their leadership in the conflicts of the Stepstones and the War of the Narrow Sea:
The Sea Snake, Daemon, and Rhaegar.
Even Rhaenys, known as the "Uncrowned Queen," had never commanded an army—she had only participated in battles alongside those three.
Tormond remained silent.
Internal royal matters were not his concern—he only dealt with intelligence.
Viserys' chest heaved with fury. His violet eyes flickered as he suddenly declared, "I will ride Vermithor to the Stormlands and use the dragon's power to drive out the Dornish."
"No!"
Leonor immediately objected.
Otto raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Your Majesty, you are the ruler of the realm. You should not put yourself in such danger."
The other council members nodded in agreement.
Viserys' cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and irritation. "It's precisely because I am king that I should fight for the peace of the realm."
He was no longer the ordinary man he had been years ago. He had inherited his grandfather Jaehaerys' legendary "Bronze Fury."
Leonor stood firm. "Forgive me for speaking bluntly, Your Majesty, but compared to the reckless Prince Aemond, you are of far greater concern."
"You are not a warrior," Lord Lyman added.
Jasper nodded thoughtfully. "The Dornish are cunning and deceitful. Your every move affects the entire kingdom. It's best not to take such risks."
One by one, the councilors voiced their opposition, rendering the eager king speechless.
Viserys' face turned red with frustration. Finally, he snapped, "Fine! I won't go!"
With that, he stormed out of the chamber, leaving his ministers behind.
The king's sudden outburst caught the council off guard. They exchanged glances, unsure how to react.
After a moment, Lyman asked methodically, "Should we still allow Prince Aemond to go into battle?"
"Of course. Even the youngest Targaryen is still a Targaryen—especially since he has tamed a dragon," Jasper quickly replied, casting his vote in favor.
His own family was based in the Stormlands, after all.
Leonor and Otto exchanged a glance, recalling the image of the king storming out of the room. They said nothing but silently agreed.
A prince on the battlefield was far preferable to a king leading the charge.
Before departing for the Narrow Sea, Rhaegar had already given Aemond permission to fight with his dragon.
"Sigh… I'll start drafting letters to requisition supplies," Leonor muttered.
He sighed, rising from his seat.
Running a hand over his balding curls, he felt the smooth patch at the center growing larger, spreading ominously.
In his heart, he silently recited: "To serve with devotion until the very end."