Chapter 66 — War Begins! The Three Cities Alliance
Silverwing's scales shimmered like molten silver under the pale sun, her vast wings rustling against the wind. At her feet, little Prince Aegon, only two years old, laughed and crawled toward the dragon's mouth — tiny fingers reaching for the rising heat that pulsed from deep within her throat.
Every exhale from Silverwing filled the air with waves of shimmering heat, making Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, break into a cold sweat. His sea-weathered hands twitched toward the child.
> "Prince Daemon," Corlys said sharply, "you're being reckless. Silverwing could swallow the boy whole."
Daemon stood calmly, one hand resting on Caraxes's crimson scales, eyes fixed on his son.
> "Aegon has played beside dragons since the cradle," he said evenly. "He has Balerion's own hatchling for a companion. We are Targaryens — fire made flesh. Dragons know their own blood. Silverwing would never harm him."
Corlys's jaw tightened. He had come to Dragonstone with his daughter Laena Velaryon, hoping that with Queen Alysanne's death, Silverwing's bond might be passed to a new rider. But Daemon's watchful eyes left him no chance. He could only bow stiffly and turn away, leading Laena back down the winding path in bitter silence.
When they were gone, Daemon spoke in High Valyrian to his Dragon Guard.
> "Keep watch over every dragon and every egg on Dragonstone. No soul — noble or small — approaches without my leave. Should Lord Corlys trespass again, bring word to me before the moon turns."
Cradling little Aegon, Daemon ascended the steep stone steps of Dragonstone Castle — that colossal fortress shaped like a dragon itself, its towers carved from fused black stone that no hammer could break.
In the courtyard, he found his brother Prince Viserys waiting.
Daemon's expression darkened.
> "Our grandmother lies dead, and while we mourn, Corlys seeks to claim Silverwing for his daughter. He came today under the guise of feeding her — but his purpose was plain."
Viserys frowned deeply.
> "That is against the dragon laws laid down by King Jaehaerys himself. Has Corlys grown so bold?"
Daemon smirked coldly.
> "Some men grow rich and think themselves gods. If Laena had climbed Silverwing's back, Corlys would call it a child's accident — but the realm would soon whisper of a new dragonrider born of Velaryon blood."
Viserys hesitated, then sighed.
> "Since Balerion's death, I have thought of taking another dragon, but Maester Barth once told me — the bond between rider and dragon is sealed by Valyrian blood magic. A dragon will never accept one who has ridden another. Nor can a rider mount two."
Daemon's crimson eyes glinted.
> "A pity. You are still young, brother. Fire runs strong in your veins — yet you walk the earth like a man half-dead."
Viserys smiled faintly.
> "My daughter Rhaenyra grows stronger each day. Her dragon, Syrax, is nearly ready to fly. My blood rides in her veins; that is enough. Aemma is with child again — if a son comes, he too shall have a dragon."
Daemon said nothing, though he already knew how fate would twist.
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Winter Descends
A few days after Queen Alysanne's funeral, the royal fleet bore Daemon, Viserys, and Prince Baelon back to King's Landing. The death of the Good Queen broke King Jaehaerys's spirit. He withdrew from the council chamber and no longer sat the Iron Throne.
In his stead, Prince Baelon ruled as Hand of the King, while Ser Otto Hightower and his daughter Alicent crept ever deeper into the old king's household. Otto had first placed Alicent as Baelon's handmaiden, hoping to tie his blood to the royal line. When that plan failed, he sent her to attend Jaehaerys himself — a cruel calculation in service of ambition.
At the end of the year 100 AC, a white raven flew from Oldtown, its wings heavy with frost — autumn had ended, and winter begun.
Prices soared across Westeros. Grain, wine, even salt doubled in value. Yet Daemon's lands along the Blackwater Rush suffered little. Months before, he had ordered vast storehouses filled — corn, oats, salted hams, dried fish, and apples from the Reach.
While other lords tightened belts, Daemon's people ate well — and whispered his name in awe.
In the North, in the Vale, even on the Iron Islands, hunger bred desperation. Raids by wildlings and ironborn worsened with the cold, but the gravest danger came from the Stepstones, where a new power had risen — the Triarchy.
Formed by Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys, the Triarchy at first claimed to bring order, driving pirates from the sea. But once their fleets held the islands, they bared their true teeth — taxing every passing ship, enslaving captains, and taking women and men alike for Lysene brothels.
The Stepstones bled gold, and the Narrow Sea choked.
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The Small Council Convenes
The council chamber of the Red Keep echoed with anger.
Prince Baelon presided as Hand, with Daemon, Viserys, Lord Corlys Velaryon, Ser Otto Hightower, Lord Lyman Beesbury, Ser Ryam Redwyne, and Archmaester Yalar gathered around the painted table.
Corlys slammed his fist upon the table.
> "We must crush those bastards of the Triarchy! They are strangling our trade — and our honor!"
Daemon's lips curved.
> "Strange. I recall warning this council years ago that such an alliance would become a viper in our sea. Yet then, Lord Corlys spoke warmly of his 'friends' in Myr and Lys."
Color rose to Corlys's face. It was true — he had once courted their favor, profiting from early trade. But now the Crabfeeder, Admiral Craghas Drahar, nailed Westerosi sailors to the beaches of the Stepstones to feed the crabs.
The room fell silent at the mention of that name.
> "It's too late for regrets," Corlys muttered. "If we delay, our coasts will burn."
Baelon shook his head.
> "Winter stretches our strength thin. The North and Vale can spare no men, and the Ironborn grow restless. To wage war across the sea now would be folly."
Viserys added,
> "Perhaps we could appeal to Pentos or Braavos for alliance."
Corlys snorted.
> "Pentos lacks soldiers, and Braavos freezes under snow. Neither will sail this season."
Daemon spoke at last, his tone smooth but cutting.
> "Then let us strike differently."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
> "While the Triarchy festers in the Stepstones, they leave their cities undefended. Let us fly past their fleets and strike at their hearts — burn their shipyards, harbors, and farmlands in Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys. When fire rains upon their homes, they will beg to withdraw."
The chamber stirred with disbelief.
Otto gave a thin smile.
> "Prince Daemon's plan — bold and merciless. Burn the roots, not the weeds."
Corlys's expression brightened despite himself.
> "With dragons above and my fleet below, the war could end in a fortnight! Three dragons — Caraxes, Meleys, and Vhagar — the might of old Valyria reborn!"
Daemon's gaze turned cold.
> "The Stepstones are no place for Vhagar. Father will remain in King's Landing to govern. Princess Rhaenys and I will lead the assault with two dragons — swift and deadly. Your fleet may strike from Tarth to secure the sea lanes."
Baelon frowned.
> "You'd have me stay behind?"
Daemon met his eyes evenly.
> "The realm needs its Hand. Grandfather weakens by the day. If both of you fall, the realm will crumble. Let the younger blood burn."
Baelon hesitated, then nodded heavily.
---
The Fire of War
Within days, royal envoys sailed across the Narrow Sea, delivering King Jaehaerys's ultimatum to Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh:
> Withdraw from the Stepstones, or face the judgment of fire and blood.
The Triarchy answered with mockery. The Myrish admiral Craghas Drahar had the envoys disemboweled and nailed to wooden stakes, feeding their entrails to the crabs.
Negotiations were dead.
The envoys sent to Pentos and Braavos fared better. Both cities agreed to aid Westeros — in words, if not in men. Braavos promised ships once the ice thawed; Pentos offered coin, not soldiers. It would have to do.
Thus, in the third month of 101 AC, King Jaehaerys declared war upon the Three Daughters.
Daemon mounted Caraxes, whose wings spanned half the yard, the red wyrm shrieking as if eager for slaughter. He flew east to Tarth, where Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys awaited with the Velaryon fleet.
Below them stretched the Sapphire Isle, its seas blue as polished gems, its mountains jutting sharp against the mist.
As Caraxes descended, Rhaenys stood beside her dragon, Meleys the Red Queen, her hair rippling like fire.
Daemon dismounted and approached her. His voice was low, but edged with bitterness.
> "This is my mother's dragon, Rhaenys. You ride Alyssa's mount."
Rhaenys smiled sadly.
> "And you, Daemon, ride Aemon's. Fate plays cruel games. My father died here on Tarth, pierced by a Myrish arrow. Were it not for that, there would be no quarrel between us."
Daemon's eyes softened for a moment.
> "Then let us repay the blood debt — in fire."
Rhaenys's smile faded. She turned to Meleys, whose scarlet wings began to unfurl against the sea breeze.
> "Let the Triarchy learn what it means to rouse dragons from their sleep."
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End of Chapter 66
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