While some men rejoiced that night, others could not shake their dread.
A long breath shuddered through the lamplit tent.
Ser Entt Staunton sat hunched at a campaign table, frowning so hard the lines carved deep into his brow.
As the younger brother of the Lord of Rook's Rest, he had come on this expedition not by merit but by misfortune. His brother... gods curse his drunken boasting, had recommended him to King Viserys as Commander of the fleet. Both Viserys and Lord Staunton believed him loyal, capable, and useful: a man who could keep an eye on Prince Aegon and guide him, if need be, into the mire of war.
All lies, Entt thought miserably.
He had no such talents. His brother had believed every empty word he had slurred while drunk, and now here he was, wearing a title he could not possibly bear.
Until this evening's banquet, he had convinced himself it would not matter. They had come to the Stepstones with four dragons. With such strength behind him, he need only pretend at competence and cling to the victories of others.
But after the feast, everything had changed. The captains and sailors, men who had earlier saluted him, now scarcely obeyed him at all. If King Viserys learned that his appointed commander had been cast aside the very day they arrived in these isles, he would have Entt's head for it.
He raked both hands through his hair until it hurt, as if trying to convince himself that his head still sat safely on his shoulders.
"What do I do, what do I do… gods, work, damn you!" he muttered, pacing in agitation.
A sudden thought struck him, bright as a spark. "I could defect," he whispered. "I could throw myself at Prince Aegon's feet."
The spark died as quickly as it came.
"No… I am nothing. A second son with no skill, no inheritance, no power. Why would Prince Aegon want me?"
He was still wrestling with that fear when footsteps sounded outside the tent. The flap opened, and Arryk stepped through.
"Good evening, Ser Entt. His Highness requests your presence. He says the matter is important."
"His Highness… wants me?"
Entt's heart clenched. Now that he had been cast aside by the fleet, would Aegon simply have him tossed into the sea? It was no paranoid fancy, the Stepstones were chaos incarnate. Should Aegon wish him gone, there were a hundred ways for a man like him to die quietly.
"That is correct," Arryk said. "His Highness asks that you come at once."
"I… yes. At once."
Though every instinct told him to flee, Entt forced himself to follow. Arryk led him through the darkened camp to Prince Aegon's command tent.
Inside, torchlight flickered along canvas walls. Aegon sat at the head of a low table. Opposite him sat Nicks, and at the sight of the man, Entt's heart sank like a stone.
He has already found my replacement.
"Come, sit," Aegon said, beckoning.
Entt forced a smile and lowered himself beside Nicks. The prince took a slow drink of water, then lifted his head and studied him with raised brows.
"You seem very nervous."
"Is… is that so?" Entt stammered.
Aegon stared at him for a beat, half amused, half exasperated. "What do you think?"
Entt swallowed. Aegon had always regarded him kindly, or at least saw him as manageable. A man without strong convictions was, after all, a man easy to direct.
"Enough of that," Aegon said at last. "I intend to send Nicks with ten warships to Grey Gallows Isle and raise him to Deputy Commander of the fleet. You are Commander-in-Chief, so I've called you to discuss it, and to hear whether you foresee any difficulties."
Entt's mouth twitched. If I say no, he'll throw me to the sharks by morning, he thought bitterly. Why could Aegon not simply give the order? Why drag him here to feign deference? Yet outwardly, he bowed his head.
"You may command as you wish, Your Highness. Though I hold the title, you are the true commander of this fleet."
"Good. Then it is settled. Nicks sails at first light with half a month's supplies."
Aegon's tone carried thoughtful calculation. Half a month of supplies, enough to keep Nicks dependent, enough to keep the fleet's reserves for other plans. If the escaped slaves of Tyrosh proved useful, Aegon might aid them. If they proved as scattered and helpless as rumor claimed, he would not squander stores on them.
Support from House Hightower and House Lannister would take another fortnight at least. For now, every barrel, sack, and salted fish was meant for the provisional port they were constructing on Bloodstone Isle.
*
A week Later
Seven days passed, swift as a gale.
The news of Tyrosh's destruction by dragonfire tore across western Essos like a hurricane. Pentos heard it first; then Braavos, Myr, Lys, and Volantis in rapid succession.
But none were more baffled than Myr.
The ravaging of Tyrosh had scarcely sunk in when word arrived that Lys had also been attacked by dragons. Panic clashed with uncertainty. Tyrosh and Lys cried loudly for war against the Targaryens, yet Myr itself had not been touched.
They had all seen it: four dragons descending upon Myr, wheeling above the city three times… and not a single breath of fire unleashed.
The Governors of Myr
Myr's Governor's Palace, seat of the city's ruling council, a triumvirate of merchant lords and nobles.
"What are we to do?" muttered Ruven Polk for the tenth time, clutching a letter in his hand, the missive from old Nekania of Tyrosh.
"I say we should not join this war," snapped Vassily Cox, face reddened. "The profits of the Stepstones were always Tyrosh's to hoard. They never shared them with us, but now, with four dragons at their throats, they remember Myr! And have you not heard the tales? Must we wait until Myr becomes a corpse-city like Tyrosh?"
Ruven sighed. "Do not work yourself into a rage, Vassily. We are merely discussing."
"Am I enraged?"
"Yes. But let that be."
Ruven turned to the third man. "Governor Felix. Your thoughts?"
Felix Bowers, scion of an ancient family whose lineage reached back before the Doom of Valyria. His voice carried the weight of centuries.
"We must help," Felix said. "Not with soldiers, no, that would be folly, but with supplies. If Tyrosh falls entirely, Myr will suffer in the aftermath."
Both Ruven and Vassily fell quiet. Felix's judgment held great influence, and his argument struck uncomfortably close to the truth.
But then the old governor's expression tightened.
"One thing troubles me. Why did Aegon Targaryen not attack us?"
The question hung heavy between them.
"When the dragons circled above us, the city was already in chaos. It would have been the perfect moment to strike."
Ruven tapped the table. "Is it not possible that Aegon Targaryen seeks to sow discord among us?"
Felix inhaled sharply. "If Myr alone remains unscathed… those Tyroshi hotheads may indeed claim we are colluding with him."
"Then what?" Vassily asked bleakly. "Do we truly send men into battle? But what if Aegon aims only for Tyrosh? Wouldn't we invite disaster upon ourselves? And the attack on Lys was minor, only a few ships and warehouses burned. Tyrosh alone suffered devastation."
Neither Ruven nor Vassily wished to risk Myr's armies.
Felix saw it plainly, and could not help the grim admiration curling in his chest.
Aegon Targaryen understands us too well. Understands the Triarchy too well.
Even knowing this was likely manipulation, they all wished to gamble that Myr would be spared again.
Felix felt that temptation too.
For Myr had not taken a single wound. And should Myr suffer dragonfire through his misjudgment, his rivals would destroy him. House Bowers had warred bitterly with House Hosston for years. A single calamity, a single failure, would give the Hosstons all they needed to pull him down.
He would not allow that.
Not when his family's ascendancy was within reach.
Even if Aegon Targaryen was indeed playing them against one another, Felix would wait. First he must crush the Hosstons completely. Only then could Myr consider military action.
After all, what were the interests of Myr, compared to the interests of House Bowers?
Had he not won the governorship for the sake of his family's power?
Family above all.
Such had always been the Bowers way.
--------
A/N: Aegon's ambition has begun to stir.As his power grows, so do his foes, traitors, and enemies rising with blades already drawn.
Will he truly succeed… or be crushed before he can claim it all?
If you want to find out, read ahead on Patreon.19 advance chapters available, the first 2 are free.
patreon.com/Captain_Lag