Baelon had scarcely finished speaking when Princess Rhaenys's expression shifted. Something in his tone, soft, earnest, unexpectedly perceptive, caught her off guard, and the stern lines of her face eased.
"Sweet child… come here."
He bent toward her without hesitation, and she lifted him with a strength that made the motion look effortless. In sheer physical vigor, Rhaenys Targaryen was sturdier by far than her cousin the king, whose health frayed a little more with each passing moon.
"All right, enough of that," Viserys murmured, coughing twice as though to gather the scattered threads of his own attention. "Let us address the matter before us. Rhaenyra, cupbearer today. You will pour for us."
"Fine," the princess answered, though the word carried more resignation than obedience.
Rhaenys set Baelon upon her own cushioned chair and had a servant fetch another for herself.
Only minutes earlier she had regarded the boy with a grandmother's polite indifference. Yet the more she observed him... the quiet sharpness in his eyes, the way he carried himself, the more this nephew of hers struck her as unexpectedly endearing.
The group drew around the table. Maps of the eastern seas were spread before them, marked with inked lines tracing currents, garrisons, and the scattered grey shapes of the Stepstones. The war had dragged on for three long years. Now, at last, Viserys seemed determined to intervene in earnest, though "seemed" was generous.
To call this a council was an exaggeration. In truth, they were laying out their intelligence for Baelon, the young prince whose name would command the reinforcements soon to sail east.
Rhaenyra accepted the flagon from a waiting servant, though not without complaint. "Why am I pouring wine? There are servants for that."
One glance toward her father, however, doused any further protest. Viserys had made it painfully clear that he would not let her take part in the war in any meaningful capacity. With a frustrated huff, she moved around the table, filling each cup with reluctant precision.
Baelon spoke first. "I've brought the forces from Harrenhal's region, along with a portion of the Crab Isles' strength. Just over two thousand men, more than twenty warships, and six transports."
He recited the numbers plainly, as though presenting the terms of a contract.
"The Crownlands will need more time to muster," Viserys added. "But even so, we should raise another one to two thousand. King's Landing's fleet will supply the hulls."
His call to arms had come late, and the lords of the Crownlands were never the most unified. That the banners were to be raised in Prince Daemon's name made matters all the more uncertain. Several houses still nursed grudges against the Rogue Prince, even after years of uneasy calm.
Rhaenys folded her arms. "The Velaryons have fewer than a thousand men left. Even with Daemon's sellswords, the total barely reaches fifteen hundred."
Together, the three hosts could not muster seven thousand. Jason Lannister could raise such a force in the Westerlands without missing a night's feast.
"The Crownlands must strengthen their levies," Rhaenys said sharply. "A king who cannot assemble a proper army, what shame is that?"
"With time... they might raise three or four thousand more," Viserys replied, though his voice lacked conviction.
"What use are peasants to me?" she retorted. "I want soldiers, not men with hoes and pitchforks."
Viserys subsided into his cup, chastened.
Rhaenys then swept a hand over the map, the rubies on her rings catching the lamplight. She began laying out the war's true shape for Baelon.
"This conflict began when the Triarchy, Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys, invaded the Stepstones, seeking to control the straits. Their commander is Craghas Drahar, a prince of Myr. In the last border war, he led the Triarchy's armies against Volantis, seized the Disputed Lands, and held them."
Her finger drifted eastward across the painted seas.
"Afterward, Drahar brought the Triarchy's strength to the Stepstones. Pirates and sellsails had long made their dens there. He drove them out, one by one, crucifying the worst and drowning the rest."
Baelon regarded the map quietly.
"In the most recent battle," Rhaenys continued, "Daemon and Corlys surprised the Myrish and Tyroshi fleets off the southern shoals. They suffered great losses. Lys now commands the bulk of their naval strength. The remaining fleets of Myr and Tyrosh can scarcely defend their own waters."
Her plan was elegant in its simplicity: Baelon would sail to join Daemon and Laena; together they would break the Lysene fleet and shatter what little remained of the Triarchy's power. Without ships, the Triarchy would starve on the Stepstones, and the war would collapse under its own weight.
Viserys nodded, satisfied. Every day the war dragged on, it drained coin from the royal coffers, coin the Peaceful King would not miss once the matter ended quickly.
Baelon waited until the room settled before speaking.
"I do have a question."
Viserys looked up, mildly startled. Rhaenys tilted her head, intrigued. They had not expected strategic insight from a boy still small enough to sit comfortably in her lap only moments earlier.
"It's all right," Rhaenys said warmly. "Speak."
"It's nothing complicated," Baelon replied. "I'm only wondering, why are we wasting time in the Stepstones when we have four dragons? Why not strike directly at Tyrosh and Myr?"
Rhaenyra froze mid-pour.
Baelon pressed on. "We have dragons. Dragonfire can sweep away anything in our path. Warships, soldiers....none of it matters. And the cities of Tyrosh and Myr are wealthy. We could strip them clean."
In his former life, he had never understood why the Targaryens, lords of fire and sky, feared the Triarchy so deeply. Why should Valyria's last heirs cower before sellsails?
Viserys reacted at once. "What? Invade the Free Cities? Absolutely not."
He set his cup down with enough force to rattle it.
Baelon blinked, genuinely puzzled.
Viserys exhaled, gathering patience. "Since Aegon the Conqueror united the Seven Kingdoms, we have kept peace with Essos. Should we invade a Free City unprovoked, the others will unite against us. The Free Cities are fractious, yes, but on this, they would stand as one. Trade would collapse. The Narrow Sea would burn. For the sake of a barren chain of rocks like the Stepstones, it is a cost far too great."
To Viserys, the Stepstones were a nuisance, nothing more than a festering wound. But a continental war with Essos? That was unthinkable.
Baelon frowned thoughtfully. "But Rhaenys explained it clearly: before the Crabfeeder seized the Stepstones, he defeated Volantis and took the Disputed Lands."
"So what if…" His voice dropped, not conspiratorial but contemplative, dangerously logical. "What if we ally with Volantis?"
Rhaenys stiffened.
"If we join with them," Baelon continued, "we could strike Tyrosh and Myr together. We weaken the Triarchy. Volantis stabilizes Essos. In return, we grant them the Disputed Lands as compensation. They held them before, they have every reason to want them back."
Silence settled over the table.
Rhaenyra forgot the flagon entirely.
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A/N:The war begins here. If you think you know what comes next, you don't. BUT It's already waiting in the chapters ahead.
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