Evening fell after dinner.
Viserys finished reviewing official reports and returned to his chambers in low spirits.
"Your Grace."
Inside the room, Alicent had been waiting for some time. Two romantic red candles flickered atop the round table.
"You're still up?"
Viserys forced a smile as he noticed his wife, elegantly dressed, and the suggestive atmosphere she had created.
His body reacted slightly before quickly calming down.
With the war underway, his stress had only intensified.
Rhaegar had seized Myr and Lys, while Helaena had rushed to defend Gulltown—good news kept coming, but it never eased his nerves.
His emotions swung between fear and relief, constantly straining his already fragile state.
In the past month, his nights with Alicent had become his only way to vent.
Yet, despite his wife's beauty, his already weakened body was struggling to keep up.
Standing at the door, Viserys felt a little awkward.
Alicent arched a delicate brow and smiled. "Come sit. I made snake soup for you. The maester said it's good for your health."
"Thank goodness for you."
Viserys responded absentmindedly, feeling an odd sense of unease.
"You're the king. Your health comes first. Get some rest early tonight."
Alicent personally ladled a bowl of soup, subtly easing her husband's tension.
She was not a woman consumed by desire. Whether or not her husband sought her affection didn't matter to her. In fact, she found his frequent advances rather tiresome.
"That's good to hear. I can't wait to try it."
Viserys sighed in relief and took a hearty sip of the soup.
Alicent sat close beside him, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers as she asked softly, "Is Aemond going to war as well?"
Viserys's hand froze mid-movement, his annoyance resurfacing as he recalled how his council had rejected his orders. His tone turned sharp. "That boy acted without my permission. Even as his father, I can't stop him."
One by one, his children were proving themselves, making him feel like an idle ruler who merely stayed behind to hold the fort.
He, too, longed to mount Vhagar and fly from King's Landing, to relive the days when kings and princes fought side by side, as they had in the age of Jaehaerys the Conciliator.
Alicent picked up on the resentment in his words. She lowered her gaze and spoke in a gentle yet sorrowful tone. "Aemond is still young. He only wants to defend the realm for his father and earn your recognition."
"Ugh…"
Viserys was momentarily speechless, unable to argue.
It was true that he hadn't given his younger sons and daughters the same attention. Aemond's desire to follow in Helaena's footsteps was understandable.
A distant look crossed Alicent's eyes as she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow, "All my children are on the battlefield… except little Daeron."
The unintended sigh was laced with deep worry.
Viserys set down his spoon. Suddenly, the fragrant snake soup no longer seemed appetizing.
Pulling his melancholy wife into his arms, he tried to comfort her. "They've grown up. They have their own choices to make."
"Viserys, I am their mother. How could a mother not worry for her children?"
Alicent pulled away from his embrace and looked at him seriously. "Don't you understand? They go to war for you, for the future you have entrusted entirely to Rhaegar."
She had intended to play the part of the concerned wife, hoping to win her husband's sympathy.
But Viserys was an expert at feigning ignorance. If she didn't speak plainly, she knew he would continue to evade the issue.
She had to make him understand—her children were risking their lives for him!
Viserys's face stiffened, his voice turning heavy. "Rhaegar is your child too."
Alicent's eyes filled with grievance. "Has he ever treated me as his mother?"
"And have you ever treated him as your own?" Viserys countered bluntly.
"I… At the very least, I have done my duty."
Alicent's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her fingers unconsciously clutching at each other.
People often spoke of the cruelty of stepmothers, but who ever considered their struggles?
Rhaenyra wished for nothing more than to tear her apart, so how could Rhaegar, whom she had raised, ever feel close to her?
Unlike the cold indifference from Rhaegar and his sister, she—the so-called stepmother—had been the one making endless compromises.
Just as the Hightower family had taught: honor, sacrifice, and duty.
Viserys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. "It seems that once this war is over, we'll need to hold a family meeting."
Weak-willed people were often more sensitive to emotions.
The conflict between his eldest children and Alicent had been building for years, and sooner or later, it would erupt into something uncontrollable.
Fortunately, Rhaegar was competent enough to maintain authority over his half-siblings.
Even if the grievances were laid bare, Viserys wasn't worried about an immediate fallout.
Alicent's frustration peaked. She clenched her teeth and said, "And what would that accomplish? Another excuse for favoritism?"
"I am doing my best to be fair."
Viserys, physically and mentally drained, spoke more firmly. "Until then, no more arguments."
Alicent pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, and turned away.
Arguing was pointless. Her husband was not the type to resolve conflicts through confrontation.
Silence filled the chamber.
Only when the soup had long gone cold did Viserys's tense expression finally soften. He attempted to reassure her once more. "Look on the bright side—the war is going well. Our children are safe."
He deliberately emphasized the words "our children."
Alicent scoffed internally but maintained a demure expression. She murmured, "The Dornish are ruthless and cunning. They've taken down dragons before. Aemond is not as safe as you think."
"That was because Meraxes flew too low. It was an unfortunate accident."
Viserys sighed in exasperation and asserted, "Dorne is attacking the Stormlands. The battlefield is open plains. Dragons are unstoppable there."
During Aegon's Conquest, the Field of Fire had burned ten thousand men from the Riverlands and the Westerlands.
In the open fields of war, Viserys had absolute faith in the dragons.
"Viserys, do you still not understand what I'm saying?"
Alicent sighed in exasperation, rubbing her forehead. "My children have sacrificed for you, for… never mind, let's just say for the good of the kingdom."
She locked eyes with Viserys and emphasized, "I just want to say, don't focus only on your own children—show some care for mine as well."
"They, too, have given and sacrificed!"
Viserys' expression was complicated, and he remained silent.
It seemed he understood Alicent's intentions.
With the conquest of the Three Daughters, the kingdom's territory had expanded, and granting rewards would soon become a pressing matter.
Alicent was advocating for "her children" to receive their due compensation.
Viserys averted his gaze, his tone filled with melancholy. "I have taken it to heart."
"If you don't say it out loud, you'll choose to forget it," Alicent remarked quietly.
Viserys shook his head with a bitter smile. "Think what you want, but I won't neglect the children. Rhaegar won't either."
As his words faded, silence filled the room once more.
After a long pause, Alicent wiped the corners of her eyes. Ignoring the blood under her fingernails, she helped her husband up and guided him back to bed.
Before extinguishing the candle, she spoke again. "Helena wrote to me—Laenor has returned to Tidehead Island. Rhaegar reassigned her to Dragonstone to accompany Rhaenyra."
"Are the sisters getting along?"
"Rhaenyra is heavily pregnant, and her attendants are taking good care of her."
"..."
The Next Morning
News of Dorne's invasion reached Lys, with the message landing on the governor's desk.
"Screech—"
Slax flapped its wings chaotically, its oversized head shaking as it struggled into the air.
Rhaegar read the letter and casually smacked the dragon's head, pinning it down instantly.
"Grrr…"
Slax's hind legs kicked wildly as its mist-colored wings sprawled across the desk. It let out an indignant cry.
"Go play somewhere else."
Rhaegar grabbed its tail and tossed it aside, leaving the young dragon to flail midair, struggling to regain balance.
Slax bared its crimson jaws, intent on retaliating against its bondmate.
Without even lifting his head, Rhaegar exuded an indescribable pressure.
Slax froze, instinctively snapping its mouth shut.
Boom!
A small burst of dragonfire ignited inside its throat, sending a tremor through its tiny body.
The sudden explosion dazed Slax, leaving its mouth smoking as it crash-landed onto the floor.
"Hehe, what an amusing little creature."
Johanna had been watching the entire scene unfold, her affectionate gaze shifting between the dragon and its rider.
Since pledging loyalty to the Iron Throne, her power and status had risen steadily.
Once merely the former governor's mistress and spymaster, she had now ascended to become the Grand Steward of Lys under the heir to the Iron Throne.
Rhaegar glanced at her indifferently. "Are you finished with your work?"
Johanna's smile faltered slightly, and her elegant demeanor nearly slipped.
With over a hundred thousand mouths to feed, she was never truly free.
Unbothered, Rhaegar pulled out paper and ink, preparing to write letters—one to King's Landing, another to Storm's End.
Dorne's invasion was expected, though the timing was surprising.
He had assumed they would strike when Lys was under siege, triggering a two-front war.
This proved that the so-called alliance between the Three Daughters and Dorne was merely an arrangement of convenience, each side pursuing its own interests.
Johanna, resigned to her duties, asked, "Prince, Tyrosh has been under siege for a long time. Daemon has sent multiple urgings."
"Is the Archon of Tyrosh still as stubborn as ever?"
Rhaegar continued writing as he spoke.
Johanna straightened slightly. "Milov is a former sellsword who lives by the blade. He won't surrender easily."
"And what about Tyrosh's wealthy elite and commoners?"
Rhaegar considered a different angle.
The fleet had blockaded the port, cutting off all trade.
By now, both the money-driven elite and the fearful commoners and slaves should have started to react.
Looking at Westeros' history of sieges—and the chaotic wars in his dreams—one truth was clear: winning hearts was more effective than brute force.
He and his aunt, Rhaenys, were stationed in Lys and Myr, respectively. Simply waiting would be enough to starve out the Archon of Tyrosh.
Johanna frowned slightly. "Milov has been using the destruction of two city-states to incite the populace against the Iron Throne's forces. Meanwhile, he keeps the elite and slaves under strict control."
Common folk, in any era, were blindly obedient to their rulers.
The elite and the enslaved, on the other hand, were much harder to manipulate. They would be dealt with through sheer force.
Hearing this, Rhaegar chuckled. "Tyrosh relies on its wealthy elite to govern. If Milov is coercing them, he's slowly digging his own grave."
For generations, Tyrosh's Archons had secured their positions by bribing the nobility and wealthy merchants.
This tradition persisted, and the Tyroshi saw nothing wrong with it.
By their logic, anyone incapable of bribery was unfit to lead them in making money.
Johanna smiled, fully in agreement.
One should never underestimate the customs and culture of a place—those were the true keys to governance.
Rhaegar swiftly finished writing his letters and gave his orders. "If Braavos remains neutral, Tyrosh won't last much longer. Inform Daemon to maintain the siege for another half a month."
That should be the limit before Tyrosh's elites could no longer endure the blockade and turned against Milov's rule.
After a moment of thought, Rhaegar added, "Dornish warriors are fierce, and their soldiers fight with unwavering determination. Aemond may struggle under the pressure."
The war in the Narrow Sea was at a critical juncture, and it was best for his father and Helaena to remain in King's Landing and Dragonstone.
Beyond the Narrow Sea, there were five dragonriders in total.
He and Rhaenys each guarded a city, making them difficult to move.
Aegon was stationed at the Stepstones, safeguarding maritime trade routes—an essential role.
Daemon, of course, was perpetually locked in the siege of Tyrosh, and not even orders could pull him away.
Rhaegar raked his fingers through his silver hair, considering carefully. "Send a letter to the Sea Snake—have Laenor return to the Stormlands. There's no future in patrolling the seas."
Johanna's gaze flickered, and she complied obediently. "Yes, Prince."
She appreciated a sharp-minded partner.
Especially one with Rhaegar's composure and strategic foresight—far superior to her previous associates.
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