Chapter 9: Black Council 2

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In the grand chamber of Dragonstone, tension hung thick in the air. Daemon stood before Queen Rhaenyra, his voice cutting through the stillness with urgent strength. "Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm," he declared.

"Your Grace," Baela offered respectfully, anxiety hidden beneath her tone. "Wine, my queen," Rhaena interjected, pouring a goblet for Rhaenyra. "Thank you," Rhaenyra replied, clutching it tightly as she steeled herself for what was to come.

"What's our standing?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice firm.

Daemon wasted no time. "Thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms. Dragonstone is defensible, but as an instrument of conquest, our army is lacking. We've sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch, but I can't speak to their numbers. We have declarations from Celtigar, Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon."

"My mother was an Arryn," Rhaenyra reminded them. Lord Lyman added, "The Vale will not betray its own. Riverrun was always loyal to your father."

Lord Celtigar leaned in, his eyes burning with purpose. "I've sent ravens to Lord Grover. He can be swayed, but he needs to see our strength. I'll treat with him myself."

"And what of Storm's End and Winterfell?" asked one man.

"There has never been a Stark who forgot an oath," another replied. "And House Stark will follow the North. Baratheon must be reminded of his father's promises."

Daemon inhaled deeply. "What news from Driftmark?"

"Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone to declare for you," Rhaenys answered. "The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's command. He decides where they sail."

"We'll pray for both your support," Rhaenyra said. "There's no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare defy the Velaryon fleet."

Lord Lyman's eyes sharpened. "We have no allies among the Lannisters. Tyland is too loyal to the Hand. Otto needs the Lannister fleet. Without them, we'll have no support west of the Golden Tooth."

"Agreed," Rhaenyra said, her voice cold.

Lord Celtigar responded, "Talk of men is moot. Your cause possesses power unseen since Old Valyria." Daemon added, "We have numbers, but with dragons, we control the skies. The Greens have dragons, yes, but so do we: Syrax, Caraxes, Meleys, and your sons’ dragons—Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer."

"But none of our dragons have fought in war," Rhaenyra warned.

Daemon replied, "We also have unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke is still on Driftmark, and Vermithor and Silverwing still reside on the Dragonmont. There are three wild dragons nesting here."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "Who will ride them?"

"Dragonstone has thirteen dragons to their four," Daemon said. "I also have eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. We need a place to gather—Harrenhal. We cut off the west and surround King's Landing with dragons. We could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the moon rises."

A guard interrupted, breathless. "A ship has been sighted offshore—a lone galleon, flying the banner of a three-headed Green dragon."

"Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies," Daemon commanded, his jaw tight.

Lucerys spoke, determination rising in his chest. "We can’t wait. If the Greens are moving, we strike first. I’ll rise Arrax for a quick raid to reclaim our strength and send a message."

Daemon raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Bold. You’d ride to battle so soon?"

"I'll show them our might, even if it’s brief," Lucerys said. "We need to intimidate them and remind the realm of our power."

"Then it’s settled," Daemon said. "Lucerys will ride Arrax. We'll draw them out. The dragons will mark our territory."

The chamber buzzed with anticipation as the plan took shape. Lucerys felt the weight of history press upon him. "Arrax!" he called, his voice echoing in the courtyard. His dragon lay in the sunlight, its scales gleaming like polished turquoise.

Lucerys approached, reverence in his movements. "Let’s show them what we can do," he whispered. Arrax turned his head, eyeing him curiously. Lucerys climbed onto his back, feeling the rush of adrenaline as the dragon’s wings unfurled, propelling them into the sky.

Flying alongside Syrax, the two dragons formed an imposing display of Targaryen might. Lucerys focused on maintaining position, feeling the power of the air and the bond with his dragon.

As they approached the grand hall, Lucerys marveled at the sight. Dragons were a symbol, a force, and now, they were a part of him.

"Let’s make an entrance," Lucerys urged. Arrax responded with a mighty roar, shaking the chamber as they landed. The council members stared in awe. Lucerys dismounted with a flourish, looking to Rhaenyra, who beamed with pride.

The air in the hall was thick with tension. Otto Hightower entered, his calculated demeanor at odds with the power surrounding him. "I come on behalf of Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon. She has directed me to deliver her message to Princess Rhaenyra. Where is the Princess?"

A deep roar answered him. Syrax and Arrax bellowed in unison, a clear warning.

"I’m Queen Rhaenyra now," she declared firmly. "And you are traitors to the realm."

Otto spoke, offering terms: Aegon would confirm Rhaenyra’s possession of Dragonstone and her son Jacaerys as heir, but only if she swore fealty. "Your sons will serve the King—Lucerys as squire, Viserys as cupbearer."

Daemon’s fury flared. "I’d rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them serve your usurper king."

Otto remained unphased. "Aegon wears the crown. He was anointed by the Faith. The realm recognizes him."

Lucerys stepped forward, disdain in his voice. "You mean the same tired old schemes that boiled down to the same wretched men selling their souls for a piece of gold? It's like asking a rat if it prefers cheese or mold. How utterly pathetic."

Rhaenyra’s resolve remained unshaken. "Stark, Tully, and Baratheon all swore oaths to me."

"Stale oaths won’t put you on the Iron Throne," Otto sneered. "The succession changed when your father had a son."

Rhaenyra snapped, "You are no more Hand than Aegon is King. You’re a fucking traitor."

Otto handed her a letter, invoking past bonds. "Queen Alicent hasn't forgotten your shared love. No blood need be spilled."

Daemon’s rage flared. "She can have her answer now, stuffed in her father's mouth along with his withered cock. Let's end this mummer's farce. Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself."

Rhaenyra raised her voice, silencing them. "King’s Landing will have my answer tomorrow." She turned to her council, the room alive with determination. The dragons were rising. Targaryen power would not be ignored.

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