Chapter 106-Shadows Between Brothers, the Choice Between War and Peace
Prince Daemon's conquest of the Stepstones shook the Narrow Sea.
The war had elevated him to heights no living Targaryen—save King Jaehaerys in his prime—had reached. Wealth, renown, and fierce loyalty followed him wherever his banners flew. The Velaryon fleet had grown fat on plunder, the Ironborn and Sistermen had tasted sanctioned bloodshed, and sellswords from across Westeros and Essos now spoke Daemon's name with awe and fear.
Second sons, landless knights, exiles, and adventurers flocked to him in droves. In the Stepstones, Daemon was not merely a prince—he was a conqueror.
And that frightened many.
Oldtown's Shadow
No house watched Daemon's rise with greater unease than House Hightower.
Oldtown commanded the richest port in Westeros, yet the spoils of the Stepstones had flowed almost entirely into the hands of House Velaryon and Daemon's followers. The Hightowers had contributed gold, counsel, and political pressure—yet gained nothing tangible in return.
Ser Otto Hightower understood this better than anyone.
As a second son, Otto had no inheritance awaiting him in Oldtown. His elder brother, Lord Hobert Hightower, ruled the city, and Otto's power existed only so long as he held influence in King's Landing. Daemon's triumph threatened that balance.
Otto was acting Hand of the King only because Prince Daemon was absent.
Once Daemon returned, Otto's chain would be stripped from his neck.
Unless Otto proved indispensable.
The Iron Throne
The Throne Room lay half in shadow.
Prince Viserys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, sat uneasily upon the Iron Throne itself—ruling in his grandfather's stead. Above him loomed the skull of Balerion the Black Dread, hollow eyes staring down like a silent judgment.
Ser Otto Hightower stood before him, composed and resolute.
"Your Grace," Otto said, "the army is already assembled along the Dornish marches. The Stormlands and the Reach are prepared. If we strike now, Dorne will fall."
Viserys shifted uncomfortably.
"Our forces were sent south to contain Dorne," he replied. "They served their purpose. Dorne did not aid the Triarchy. The Stepstones are ours again. Why spill more blood?"
Viserys had no love for Dorne—its heat, its customs, or its wars—but neither did he desire conquest for its own sake.
Otto pressed on.
"The Triarchy is treacherous. They broke treaties before and will do so again. The Stepstones cannot be held indefinitely by garrisons alone. Once our forces withdraw, Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh will return—with Dorne at their side."
Grand Maester Runciter inclined his head.
"The armies are eager, Your Grace. Lords Baratheon and Tyrell both press for action. Opportunity such as this does not return easily."
Otto and Runciter had spoken beforehand. Viserys knew it.
The Weight of Peace
"My grandfather brought fifty years of peace to this realm," Viserys said quietly. "King Jaehaerys entrusted that peace to me. I will not shatter it lightly."
He remembered the bodies returned from the Stepstones. The maimed. The widows. The silent prayers in the Great Sept, where he and Lady Aemma Arryn had stood among the smallfolk.
Daemon thrived in war.
Viserys endured it.
"Even Aegon the Conqueror failed to subdue Dorne," Viserys continued. "With dragons, queens, and armies hardened by conquest. Do you truly believe we will succeed where he did not?"
Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, spoke with restrained fervor.
"Knights are forged in battle, Your Grace. The men who followed Prince Daemon were green as well—yet they prevailed."
"The Stepstones are rocks and pirates," Viserys replied. "Dorne is an ancient land that learned how to bleed dragons."
He rose.
"This matter is settled."
Otto's True Fear
The Small Council dispersed, but Otto remained.
As Viserys descended the steps of the Iron Throne, Otto intercepted him.
"Then recall Prince Daemon," Otto said quietly.
Viserys frowned. "Daemon is needed in the Stepstones."
Otto hesitated—then spoke plainly.
"Daemon is gathering power beyond measure. Rumors spread across the realm: that he sacrifices captives to strange gods, that he listens to witches and priests of foreign faiths, that his followers urge him to take a crown."
Viserys' eyes hardened.
"You would compare my brother to Maegor?"
"I speak of perception," Otto replied. "Not truth. Perception is power."
He leaned closer.
"Daemon commands fleets, armies, and dragons. He inspires loyalty you cannot command with decrees alone. When King Jaehaerys passes, others may begin to ask dangerous questions."
Viserys' jaw tightened.
"I was chosen at the Great Council. Daemon supported me."
"Yes," Otto said softly. "But precedent favors men—and you have no son. Only Princess Rhaenyra."
That struck deeper than Otto intended.
The Old King's Wisdom
Viserys left Otto without reply and walked instead to his grandfather's chambers.
King Jaehaerys I Targaryen lay frail but lucid, his eyes sharp despite his weakness.
"Daemon has taken the Stepstones," the old king said faintly. "Good. The Narrow Sea is safer for it."
Viserys explained the envoys, the pressure for peace, Otto's fears.
Jaehaerys listened.
"Once Daemon takes Tyrosh," he said, "the Free Cities will unite against him. Braavos will never allow dragons to rule Essos unchecked."
Viserys nodded.
"Otto fears Daemon more than he fears war."
"And that," Jaehaerys replied, "tells you everything."
The king rested his head back against the pillows.
"Daemon fights our enemies where they live. Let him. If peace comes, it will be because they fear dragons—not because we begged for it."
Viserys bowed his head.
The shadow between brothers remained.
But for now, the choice was made.
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