"Attack!" Lyonel and Otto said in unison. There was no reason to let the Free City-State go from any angle.
"Your Majesty, we can't stop the unrest in the Narrow Sea. Why not take Myr?" Otto said solemnly.
"Your Majesty?" Viserys looked at Lyonel.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Lyonel nodded. This was the best solution to the current situation.
"Very well, then." With the approval of his two most important ministers, Viserys grew confident.
Otto's eyes flashed as he asked, "Your Majesty, if we manage to take Myr, who will rule it?"
"Aemon, of course," Viserys replied matter-of-factly.
Otto shook his head. "Prince Aemon is powerful and has the right to rule the Vale and the Stepstones. It wouldn't be fitting for him to rule another free city-state." Viserys opened his mouth but hesitated. It made sense, but he felt uncomfortable hearing it.
"Your Majesty, I agree with Lord Otto." Lyonel hesitated before adding his final words.
"Why?" Viserys frowned.
Lyonel explained, "Prince Aemon is too young. He's only fifteen." At that age, most Targaryens were still obsessed with knights or women. Aemon's achievements were impressive, but he had developed a spoiled temperament. A little restraint wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.
"I admit, you have a point." Viserys nodded and asked bluntly, "If Myr isn't given to him to rule, what justification would there be for the kingdom to dispatch him to risk war?" After all, he was a petty, shrewd brat.
"You are the king. He should obey your orders," Otto said sternly.
Viserys rolled his eyes. He only talked about contributions, not benefits. His nephew would disagree, as would the nobles who chanted, "Long live the king!"
"Your Majesty, you'd better communicate more with Prince Aemon," Lyonel warned.
"I will." Viserys smiled perfunctorily and said, "We'll discuss this matter after that boy conquers Myr." As a sensitive man, Viserys could sense that there was something wrong with his relationship with his nephew. A middle-aged king and a young, promising regent. A clash of power was inevitable. Viserys restrained himself to protect his nephew. In turn, his nephew suppressed his emotions, enduring the frustration of being subordinate. Neither side had found a complete solution, however.
Seeing this, the two ministers stopped talking. There was a pause of several seconds. Otto raised his chin and said in a deep voice, "The Sea Serpent and Daemon have threatened the authority of the Iron Throne."
"I know!" Viserys's face darkened. The two men were as strong as the threat they posed.
"I suggest sending someone to communicate with the Sea Serpent," Lyonel suggested. Compared to Daemon, the wily Sea Serpent was clearly more rational. Furthermore, since the Sea Serpents are now in Tyrosh, they are easier to appease because their power is saturated.
"What will the people of the Seven Kingdoms think of this lowering of their status?" Otto frowned. This was the first time he had disagreed with the Hand that day. He was a relative of the king and had a personal stake in the Iron Throne. As such, he was a staunch supporter of the Iron Throne and could not bear to see Viserys lose face.
Viserys nodded slightly. Actively courting the Sea Serpents would be even worse than handing the Iron Throne to Daemon.
"In that case, we can only do our utmost to prevent trouble before it happens," Lyonel said, making a concession. "Speed is of the essence. Conquer Myr, and many difficulties will be easily overcome." Otto's eyes were penetrating. After a pause, he said, "Prince Aemon needs an army, and we can send the right people to help."
"Oh, who are the candidates?" Viserys became interested. As they talked, Viserys mentally labeled the Sea Serpents and Daemon as rebels. He must be extremely vigilant.
A few days later:
Lys, the Perfumed Gardens. The pavilions and towers of the white marble building were draped with silk ribbons, and their domes were inlaid with gems the size of dragon eyes. On top of the towers, the three-headed red dragon, the symbol of the Targaryen race, flew. The courtyard was bustling with activity and filled with guests attending the ceremony. Today was the coronation of King Lys.
Daemon knelt on one knee on the dais in traditional black and red attire, smiling broadly. Corlys held a golden crown, the same one Viserys wore, with a solemn expression. In the eyes of the crowd, he placed it on Daemon's head.
Clap, clap, clap... The guests applauded. Lysandra, beaming in the crowd, adjusted the Hand of the King badge on his chest. From that moment on, Lys returned to the fold of the Dragon King and House Rogare became true Valyrian nobility. Second to none, above all.
The ceremony was lively, and the main figures left early. In the King's Hall, Daemon held a cup and shared his joy: "Corlys, I have accomplished what my ancestors did: I have conquered a city."
"Congratulations, Daemon the Conqueror!" Corlys chuckled.
Daemon drank the wine in one gulp and admired the throne in front of the hall. It was an iron chair made of black steel and modeled after the Iron Throne.
"You can try sitting on it." Corlys smiled.
Daemon glanced at him, walked up the steps in front of the throne, and touched its sharp, non-existent armrests. His fingertips brushed the sharp blade gently, as if touching the skin of a young girl. He was intoxicated by it. For a long time, Daemon secretly shook his head and gave up on sitting on this cold iron chair. Sitting on it would make him feel like a funny jester imitating his brother, Viserys.
"It has form, but no spirit." He laughed at himself.
Corlys came over and praised him, saying, "God bless you! You have not been controlled by illusory power." The chaos in the Narrow Sea is not over yet. They are still in danger.
Daemon regained his composure and calmly asked, "Lord Corlys, did you summon me just to see me laugh, or is there something else?"
Corlys's smile faded, and he asked solemnly, "Did you receive a letter from Sunspear?"
"That despicable scoundrel, Qoren, gained the boy's trust somehow, and now he's trying to use the so-called trade to stow away on our ship." Daemon already knew this.
"I've been thinking about how to reconcile with the Iron Throne, but I'm afraid the king considers me his greatest enemy." Corlys stated.
"My brother has never been good at such things." Daemon took a sip of his wine.
"What is it?" Corlys asked.
Daemon raised his eyelids and calmly replied, "Matters of statecraft." Both he and Corlys were capable ministers, yet they shared the common fate of being mistrusted. If his brother listened to him, with the Gold Cloaks he had rebuilt, King's Landing would reach its peak of security. If he were named heir, no one would dare covet the Iron Throne. Alternatively, if Rhaenyra were married to him and Laena were married to that boy, the kingdom would reach its peak of prosperity. He might have felt lost in the past. Now, with Lys as his wife, he had proven his ability. He was more suited to rule than his brother!
Corlys agreed and continued, "The Dornishmen are ambitious, but your son is like a greedy dragon, ready to devour Myr." "When he captures Myr and the forces of the Iron Throne intervene in the Disputed Lands, our power will be threatened." "I will not allow my hard-earned gains to be hindered while our king enjoys feasts, balls, and tournaments and reaps the fruits of his labor."
Daemon said expressionlessly, "I can judge my brother however I please, but you cannot." Corlys was stunned by this. The other man was truly capricious. Clearly jealous of his son and resentful of his brother, he pretended to defend them in front of outsiders. However, he didn't bother to meddle.
Corlys changed his tone: "Join forces with Prince Qoren to reclaim your Stepstones. We'll control half of the Disputed Lands." "After a period of hibernation and recuperation, you and I can challenge the Iron Throne." Daemon's eyes flickered. It sounded tempting.
"With the ability to challenge the Iron Throne, we can make offers," Corlys said excitedly. "We will remain vassals of the Iron Throne, but the city-state will rule independently, just as your son declared himself King of the Vale." If handled properly, they might even become regents. They could even change the kingdom's antiquated monarchy.
Daemon remained silent, but his eyes betrayed his desire to prove himself.
"How about it?" Corlys asked knowingly. This idea had been inspired by a Tyroshi merchant. Perfect!
"Haha." Daemon suddenly laughed. Corlys laughed too and raised his hand to clink glasses.
Just as the two reached an agreement, Rhaenys appeared at the end of the hall, looking disappointed, and left. She had come to celebrate with her cousin, Daemon, and congratulate him on achieving his dream. Unexpectedly, she overheard a conspiracy. They were backstabbing their only son and son-in-law. They were truly two promising politicians. She would teach them a lesson.
Half a month later:
Mill Bay.
A flat-bottomed cargo ship slowly moved along with a black rose flag hanging from its mast. On the deck, a group of sailors gazed at the approaching city-state.
"We shouldn't be so impulsive." Corlys's face was gloomy and anxious. Instead of the silver armor and white robes of the Kingsguard, he wore a gray patchwork suit that made him look like a country bumpkin.
"Don't panic. Didn't my father say that there are people in Myr to help us?" Gwayne narcissistically toyed with his golden hair; he wasn't at all worried about the mission. He was dressed very brightly in a gorgeous pale yellow suit and hat. The two stood together like a wealthy young master and an exploited serf.
Cole glared at him unfazed. "According to the king's orders, we are now commanding the royal navy of Dragonstone, not leading a group of undercover agents." Cole had mentally prepared himself for a tough battle and a chance to achieve great things when he received the order. But before he even left the mud gate, Prince Aemon changed his orders. Cole had completely overwhelmed Gwayne.
"Listen, White Knight," Gwayne feigned seriousness and lectured. "Whether we lead the navy or go undercover is not up to us to decide." His sister was the queen, and his father had once been the Hand. He was going undercover, yet he hadn't said anything.
"I'd rather die in battle than take even the slightest risk as an undercover agent." Cole said, his self-important opinion high.
"Don't think so." Gwayne pointed at their figures and teased, "A Hand's son, a White Knight born a commoner—we're a perfect match."
Cole's face darkened. Throughout the journey, Gwayne had been mocking his background, both overtly and covertly. The son of a noble was so arrogant and rude.
"Get ready. The ship is about to dock." Gwayne patted his shoulder.
Behind the two of them, Eryk and Arryk, also dressed in old-fashioned clothes, looked at each other and sighed simultaneously. It would be difficult to carry out a mission with these two enemies.
Half an hour later:
They arrived at Myr, the mansion of a former governor. Cole and the others took off their disguises and walked into the hall under the guidance of the maid. Coincidentally, a group of Myr people dressed in luxurious clothing walked out together. They had worried looks on their faces. Gwayne was of noble birth and recognized some of them: They were wealthy businessmen, bankers, and manor owners. They were Myr's second most powerful echelon, in addition to the nobles and governors.
The two groups passed each other. Soon, they saw a beautiful woman in a black veil. Her pure face exuded charm. Her slender waist was full and round, like a plump peach. She rested one hand on the table, and her waist-length black hair half-covered her arm, circling around her fingertips.
"First, you will settle into the mansion and await His Royal Highness's orders." Johanna smiled as she clearly arranged the helpers' positions. Those the prince didn't want, she would... She would work hard to turn waste into treasure.
Cole and the others looked at each other, waiting for instructions. There were twenty of them, all highly skilled.
"All right, His Royal Highness is at the Stepstones and won't keep us waiting long," Johanna instructed, rising and returning to her quarters. She acted swiftly and decisively, leaving only her seductive, graceful back for all to see.
Meanwhile, Stepstones, Bloodstone Island.
"Hiss!"
"Hiss..."
Several giant dragons circled and danced in the azure sky, emitting loud roars from time to time. Aemon stood on the golden beach with several armies ready for battle before him: There were 2,000 Gulltown navy, 3,000 Second Sons, 5,000 Unsullied, 5,000 Royal Fleet, 3,000 King's Host, and 12,000 Vale allied forces. A total of 30,000 men and over two hundred ships of all sizes.
"Shh!" A pale gray subadult dragon landed on the rocky beach, its sapphire-blue eyes glaring with curiosity. It was a wild dragon—Grey Ghost—that had settled in the Vale. Now, it was forced by the unscrupulous prince to work as a laborer. After years of growth, it reached a height of over twelve meters. It could carry people and also possessed considerable offensive power.
"Aboard, target Myr!" Aemon shouted, drawing the Lady of the Empty.
Thump, thump, thump! Led by the Unsullied, 30,000 soldiers boarded the ships.
"Aemon, all ready," Rhaenyra said excitedly, stepping over the soft gravel. She wore black and red soft armor with hard armor on her shoulders, arms, and legs.
"Roar!" Syrax followed closely behind her rider, her eyes alert. It stood nearly thirty meters tall, its massive frame casting an imposing shadow.
"Remember to protect yourself," Aemon warned, glancing up at the sky.
Bronze and silver-gray intertwined. Vermithor and Silverwing soared side by side, their wings covering much of the sky as they circled Bloodstone Isle.
"Four dragons at once—I wonder if Myr could handle it?"
With a thought, Vermithor slowly descended. Aemon stepped onto the dragon's shoulder, preparing to climb onto its back.
Suddenly, a mighty wind swept over the sea, and two massive creatures soared from the horizon.
"Hoo-hoo!"
"Hoo-hoo!"
Their roar was deafening. Startled, Aemon looked closely. Vhagar flapped her vast wings, breaking through the thin clouds with unstoppable force and soaring toward them. She was a majestic, scarlet dragon, even faster than a 160-year-old dragon, with a waist bent like a spring.
"Laena!" Aemon said in confusion as he saw who was coming, "And Aunt Rhaenys?"
Suddenly, he realized what he had agreed to do in Driftwood. Aemon smiled.
Six dragons!
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