Chapter 93: The Dragon Battles over
Stepstones Again
King's Landing, the Red Keep.
Rhaegar surveyed the Red Keep from the sky. As he rode the magic dragon, soaring across the heavens, viewing the flowing clouds and the vast sea, he felt the Red Keep was minuscule, the sky magnificent, and the Red Keep itself cramped and stifling.
Only one thing flowed within the Red Keep that the sky lacked: the tremor of power.
While Rhaegar circled and patrolled the skies above King's Landing, Ser Barristan Selmy, Cesar, Ser Thalassar Velaryon, and others had already led the troop transports into the harbor and proceeded into the Red Keep ahead of him.
Staying in the Red Keep for too long was not the best choice. Rhaegar preferred to tour on dragonback, like his ancestors Jaehaerys I the Conciliator or Aegon the Conqueror. Only by deeply cultivating the land and the people would the crown become firmer.
The three dragons landed sequentially on the Red Keep. It wasn't that they couldn't afford one Silver Dragon, but that three magic dragons offered better value.
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and others were waiting below: Ser Barristan Selmy, Brynden Tully of the Riverlands, Cesar, Jon Arryn of the Vale, Ser Thalassar Velaryon of Driftmark, Bronze Yohn Royce of the Vale, and Lyonel, the eldest son of House Corbray.
My dream team, Rhaegar thought. The knights had different hair colors and different origins, but they all fought alongside me.
Rhaegar felt a heroic pride—as if the world's finest warriors were gathered beneath his banner. It was a kind of collector's satisfaction.
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, led Rhaegar and his company into the brightly lit Throne Room.
Rhaegar was dressed in black brocade and a black cloak, upon which silver and red magic dragons were embroidered, appearing lifelike and brimming with vitality.
He had silver hair and purple eyes; his smile was sharp, like the edge of a blade.
Ser Gerold gazed at the young man before him—the descendant of the Dragon Kings who displayed the most inhuman Targaryen beauty in recent decades, and also the greatest martial potential.
The Iron Throne stood upon a high dais in the Throne Room. Cast from twisted blades and cruel spikes, it was less a seat than a monument to conquest. Its back rose like a maw of iron teeth, and the steps beneath it were narrow and steep.
Though called a throne, it was more a warning.
King Jaehaerys II Targaryen sat upon it carefully.
Several Kingsguard stood upon the dais, guarding the King.
It was widely rumored that the Iron Throne judged its rulers—cutting those it deemed unworthy—so caution was always required.
Rhaegar also saw many massive dragon skulls mounted upon the wall behind the throne. Among them was the skull of Sheepstealer, which Rhaegar himself had recovered.
The hollow eye sockets stared coldly at the hall below, silent reminders of a time when dragons ruled men absolutely.
Lords and knights filled the chamber, along with a few wealthy merchants granted audience. Their conversations overlapped, nearly all of them revolving around the Stepstones.
Aside from the King, the royal family, and senior councilors, everyone else either knelt or stood according to rank. Order and hierarchy were strictly maintained.
Gold cloaks and Red Keep guards stood watch throughout the hall.
When Rhaegar entered with his companions, thunderous cheers erupted.
Rhaegar saluted King Jaehaerys II and acknowledged the assembled Lords.
"My son has returned. Let the council continue," Prince Aerys of Dragonstone said with evident satisfaction. War was approaching, and his authority as Master of Ships was finally coming to the fore.
"Continue," King Jaehaerys II said calmly.
The discussion returned to the Stepstones. After the defeat of the Ninepenny Kings, the islands had once more become a nest of pirates.
This was nothing new. The Stepstones had always been so—a powder keg between Westeros and Essos.
For that barren chain of rocks, House Targaryen had lost princes, and the Kingdom of the Three Daughters had lost admirals.
"The pirates were not especially powerful at first," Prince Aerys continued. "But during the recent magisterial election in Lys, a failed candidate—Kral Rheen—fled the city with his wealth and ships. He joined the pirates and proclaimed himself King of the Narrow Sea. That is when their strength truly grew."
Rhaegar listened carefully. This aligned with what Marajo had told him. Lysene elections were infamous for poisonings and assassinations. That this man had survived and escaped meant he possessed both influence and resources.
The timing was no coincidence. House Targaryen was numerically weakened, and the Velaryon fleet had declined sharply.
The Iron Throne's usual policy toward the Stepstones was patience until piracy became intolerable—then overwhelming force.
"The Lyseni are cowardly and disgusting," Lord Mond spat. "They rely on poison, plots, and whoring."
Many voices echoed his sentiment.
Most Westerosi despised the Free Cities—foreign gods, foreign customs, and no respect for knighthood.
"The pirates have resumed open extortion," Lord Tywin Lannister said coldly. "They seize cargo, demand tribute, and require ships to surrender young boys and girls to be sold to the pleasure houses of Lys."
Murmurs of outrage spread through the hall.
"The Stepstones are vital to trade," several minor lords complained. "This piracy threatens us all."
"The good news," Grand Maester Pycelle said, "is that Lys and Tyrosh are at odds, and the Kingdom of the Three Daughters no longer exists. We face only a rabble."
"But Lys can still hire sellswords," Lord Tywin replied sharply. "And Myr's position remains unclear."
A lord stepped forward. "The Archon of Tyrosh has a daughter. She is said to admire Prince Rhaegar. If the Prince were to win her favor, Tyrosh might support us."
"What nonsense!" Prince Aerys exploded. "My son will not marry a blue-haired Tyroshi girl who reeks of dye and worships foreign gods!"
"The Prince cannot marry into the Free Cities," Lord Tywin said flatly.
"My lord speaks truly," Pycelle added. "History shows that gaining one Free City's favor earns the hatred of several others. Prince Daemon learned this. So did Daeron the Young Dragon."
Rhaegar listened in silence. He knew this pattern well—alliances in Essos were fragile and treacherous.
"Then we fight," King Jaehaerys II declared, ending the debate.
"Your Grace is wise," the hall answered as one.
"The Three Daughters are gone."
"Our strength surpasses theirs."
"And we have dragons."
Confidence filled the chamber.
Rhaegar felt the war had come sooner than expected, but it could not be avoided.
"The Prince's dragon is too small," Lord Mond said cautiously.
Everyone remembered that the Three Daughters had once killed dragons—and princes.
"This is not their golden age," another lord argued. "And Prince Rhaegar has three dragons. Their speed and mobility will be invaluable."
All eyes turned to Rhaegar.
"My lords," he said calmly, "the magic dragons will indeed fly over the Stepstones again—but not yet. I require time."
He already had a plan.
First, the Stepstones.
Then Volantis.
And the Black Wall.
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