Tyrosh, The Archon's Fortress.
Across the Narrow Sea, in Tyrosh.
The city, conquered only half a month ago, was still permeated with the scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
The Velaryon fleet controlled the harbor, and Black soldiers patrolled the streets. The surrendered Tyroshi army was massing in the plazas, being drilled by Black officers.
Inside the Archon's fortress, however, the atmosphere was more oppressive than the streets outside.
Rhaenyra Targaryen sat upon the throne, clad in a black gown, cradling her one-year-old son, Viserys.
Three-year-old Aegon stood by the throne, his small hand gripping his mother's skirt.
Both children sensed the tension, their small faces tight and silent.
Below the dais stood five people: Prince Daemon Targaryen, silent and watchful; Corlys Velaryon, the "Sea Snake," his face a mask of stone; Rhaenys Targaryen, the "Queen Who Never Was," standing beside her husband; Mysaria, the Master of Whispers, kneeling with her head bowed low; and finally, a messenger soaked in seawater, newly arrived from Dragonstone via a fast ship.
The messenger trembled as he repeated the report from Ser Robert Quince.
"...The heads of Prince Jacaerys and Prince Joffrey have been hung upon the outer walls of the Red Keep. Prince Lucerys is lost at sea, his fate unknown. The Greens proclaim that the three Princes infiltrated the Dragonpit to steal dragons and commit arson, and were killed on the spot."
The messenger finished, pressing his forehead to the floor, not daring to look up.
A deathly silence filled the hall.
Rhaenyra sat motionless. Little Viserys, sensing his mother's rigidity, shifted uneasily and let out a tiny whimper.
Little Aegon looked up, whispering, "Mother..."
Rhaenyra did not respond. Her eyes stared straight ahead, but her pupils were hollow, devoid of focus.
Her face was like fine porcelain, pale and utterly still.
Seconds passed. Then a minute.
Daemon, seeing her state, moved first. He stepped forward to offer comfort.
"NOOOOO!!!"
A shriek, so piercing it didn't sound human, erupted from the throne.
Rhaenyra surged to her feet. Little Viserys was so startled by the sudden movement that he burst into tears.
She ignored him, setting him down on the throne and clutching her own hair, tearing at it frantically.
"No, no, no, no, !!!"
She screamed as tears flooded from her eyes like a dam breaking. She stumbled down the steps, her feet catching on her skirts.
Daemon rushed to catch her, but she shoved him away with surprising strength.
"My sons!! My children!!!" Rhaenyra's voice was shattered.
She turned toward the kneeling Mysaria, her eyes flashing with a manic, murderous hatred.
"You! You arranged this! You let Jacaerys go to steal the dragons! You killed them!!!"
She lunged at Mysaria. Daemon grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms.
"Rhaenyra! Calm down!"
"Let me go! I'll kill her! I'll tear her apart!! Piece by piece!!" Rhaenyra struggled violently in Daemon's arms, her nails clawing at the air.
"She killed my sons! Three! Three of them!!!"
Mysaria remained kneeling, neither flinching nor defending herself.
She allowed the Queen's curses and hatred to rain down upon her.
Corlys and Rhaenys stood in silence, their backs seemingly hunched by a sudden weight of years.
Rhaenys's lips trembled as tears fell silently. Corlys closed his eyes, his resolute face finally showing cracks of grief.
Jacaerys. Lucerys. Joffrey. Their grandsons.
Though not of their blood, they were the children who had called them grandfather and grandmother for over a decade.
Now, two were confirmed dead, and one was lost.
"Daemon, let me go!!!" Rhaenyra continued to scream, her reason entirely gone.
"Will you stop me from taking revenge?! My sons are dead! Dead!! I am going back to Westeros! I will ride Syrax and burn those Greens to ash! I will tear Aemond apart!!!"
"Mother... waaaaah!"
By the throne, little Aegon was terrified, watching his once-gentle mother transform into a screaming specter.
Little Viserys joined him in a chorus of cries.
Their weeping acted like a blade, piercing through Rhaenyra's madness. She stopped struggling and turned to look at the throne.
Her two youngest sons, the only sons she had left, were weeping with heart-wrenching fear. Little Aegon's eyes were filled with terror at the sight of her.
Rhaenyra's shoulders began to shake. She pushed Daemon away and stumbled back to the throne, gathering Viserys into her arms and pulling Aegon into her embrace.
She buried her face in their soft silver hair, her body racking with deep, guttural sobs.
The hall echoed only with the mother's stifled weeping and the children's fading cries. Eventually, Rhaenyra looked up.
Her face was tear-stained, and her eyes were swollen, but the hysteria had vanished, replaced by a bottomless, cold.
She looked at Mysaria.
"It was my fault."
Mysaria looked up in surprise.
"I let the plan proceed. I gave my consent," Rhaenyra said, her eyes opening with a chilling clarity.
"I do not blame you. Stand up."
Mysaria stood in silence and bowed deeply. Rhaenyra handed the children to the handmaidens, ordering them to be taken to the rear chambers.
She then turned back to the four people below.
"Now?" she asked, her voice raspy.
"What do we do?"
Corlys spoke first, his voice regaining its command.
"Our primary task is to consolidate Tyrosh. The resistance inside hasn't been fully purged. If our rear is on fire, we can do nothing."
Rhaenyra nodded.
"Continue."
"Simultaneously, we send ravens to every Black-aligned House in Westeros," Corlys said.
"Tell them the Greens have staged a coup. Tell them King Viserys has been drugged and manipulated. Tell them you only relinquished the succession for the sake of peace, but now the Greens have murdered your sons, the King's own grandsons. It is an unforgivable crime. You will yield no further."
Daemon interjected, "That propaganda takes time. The Greens won't give it to us. Aemond struck this hard because he intends to take High Tide and Dragonstone before we can react."
Corlys's face darkened. High Tide. The root of House Velaryon for centuries.
"Our navy..." he said, his voice dry.
"Most of our sailors' families are on Driftmark. If the Greens use them as leverage... the morale of the fleet will collapse."
"Rhaenys and I will fly back on our dragons," Daemon said, gripping the hilt of Dark Sister.
"Together, we can face Vhagar. But I don't know if they've already taken the islands."
Just then, a guard's voice echoed from outside:
"An envoy from Braavos seeks audience!"
Rhaenyra quickly wiped her face and took a breath, forcing a mask of calm.
She could not appear broken before the Braavosi.
"Let him in."
A middle-aged man in deep blue silks with a silver chain walked in. He had the sharp, shrewd face of a Braavosi.
Behind him were two Water Dancers, elite swordsmen of the Free City. The envoy offered a bow that held little reverence.
"Noble Princess Rhaenyra," he said with a Braavosi accent.
"I am Terrio Eranis, sent by the Sealord to... discuss certain matters."
"Speak, Lord Terrio," Rhaenyra said.
"Braavos notes the situation in Westeros with concern," Terrio began.
"We have heard of succession disputes and... violence. But we are more concerned with the situation here in the East. Your alliance with Volantis to take Tyrosh. Does this mean the Black faction intends to support Volantis's ambition to rebuild the Valyrian Freehold?"
Daemon stepped between them.
"Lord Terrio, our cooperation with Volantis is temporary, aimed at our common enemy, the Triarchy. Nothing more."
"Temporary?" Terrio smiled.
"The Archons behind the Black Walls of Volantis want the entire territory of Old Valyria. The whole world knows this."
"That is Volantis's business," Daemon shrugged.
"We only want Tyrosh. We have no interest in your ancient feuds."
Terrio shook his head slowly.
"You do not understand Braavos. We are a city of commerce and freedom. We will not allow any power to threaten our independence. If the Blacks continue to expand with Volantis, Braavos will be forced to take action."
"Action?" Daemon raised an eyebrow.
"What action? Send your fleet to Tyrosh? Or to Dragonstone? I remind you, we have dragons. Many dragons."
"Dragons fly, but ships do not," Terrio countered calmly.
"Our navy may not defeat a dragon in the sky, but we can blockade your routes, strike your supplies, and paralyze your trade entirely. Furthermore..."
He paused meaningfully.
"We hear you have... troubles in Westeros. Internal disputes? Perhaps we might find common allies."
The air in the hall dropped to freezing. Daemon's smile vanished.
He stepped close to Terrio's face.
"You can try. You can see if your walls are thicker than the heat of dragonfire."
Terrio did not flinch. "Are you threatening to attack Braavos, Prince?"
"I am stating a fact," Daemon said.
"If Braavos stands with our enemies, you are our enemy. And I have no mercy for enemies."
They stared at each other until Terrio finally looked away.
He turned back to Rhaenyra.
"Braavos has no wish for enmity with the Blacks. We only wish to ensure the balance of the East remains. If you can guarantee that you will not expand further and will not participate in Volantis's military actions... then Braavos may consider recognizing your rule over Tyrosh."
"I need time to consider," Rhaenyra said.
"Of course," Terrio bowed.
"But do not be too long. The Sealord's patience... is not infinite."
He turned and left the hall with his guard.
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