Chapter 12: Black Council Part 3

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Lucerys Velaryon stood near the back of the chamber, his gaze steady and unyielding as he observed the heated exchange between his mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Lord Corlys Velaryon. The tension was palpable, the weight of war and strategy hanging over every word.

The room was dimly lit by flickering torches, the shadows stretching across the stone walls like the looming threats of the realm. Lord Corlys, ever the calculating and pragmatic figure, leaned forward, his eyes sharp and assessing.

"Lord Corlys, it brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again," Rhaenyra said, her voice warm but laced with the ever-present undertones of power.

"Thank you, Princess," Corlys replied, his voice gruff, though his eyes never left her. "I am very sorry about your father. He was a good man."

Rhaenyra nodded solemnly, but her eyes flickered momentarily to Daemon, who was absent from the gathering. The prince's absence had not gone unnoticed, but it seemed a topic better left undiscussed for the moment.

"Where is Daemon?" Lord Corlys asked, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

Rhaenyra's lips curled slightly as she replied, "There were other concerns that demanded the prince's attention."

Corlys gave a curt nod, his gaze now more focused on the matter at hand. "Your declared allies?"

"Yes," Rhaenyra answered, her voice firm. "We hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark."

Corlys raised an eyebrow, his voice skeptical. "Hope... is the fool's ally."

Rhaenyra's eyes darkened slightly, her posture unwavering. "Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house," she said, her tone carrying the weight of history. "But all of them swore oaths to me."

Lord Corlys leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest. "As did House Hightower... if I remember correctly."

Rhaenyra's lips tightened, her response cutting like a knife. "As did you, Lord Corlys."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Lord Corlys, ever the strategist, did not flinch.

"Your father's realm was one of justice and honor," Corlys said, his voice steady, though his eyes were calculating. "Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. High Tower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and house. Your grace."

Rhaenyra inclined her head slightly, her expression softening as she acknowledged his words. "You honor me, Lord Corlys," she said, before turning her gaze to Rhaenys, who stood quietly beside her.

"Princess Rhaenys," Rhaenyra added, her voice tinged with the respect she had for the older woman.

"But," Rhaenyra continued, her voice firming once more, "as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war's first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand."

Lord Corlys's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing her hesitation. "You do not mean to act?" he asked, a sharp edge in his tone.

Rhaenyra met his gaze without flinching. "Taking caution does not mean standing fast," she replied, her words deliberate. "I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war."

The conversation shifted, and Lord Corlys continued, "The consequence of my... near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King's Landing."

Rhaenys, ever the pragmatist, spoke up. "I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself."

Bartimos, a trusted commander in the fleet, chimed in, "When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King's Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens' surrender."

Lucerys's gaze shifted toward the discussion, his mind racing with the implications of their words. The strategy was sound, but something about it unsettled him. He couldn't help but voice his thoughts.

"If we are to have enough swords to surround King's Landing," Lucerys spoke sharply, his voice commanding attention, "we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm's End."

Maester Orwyle, ever the dutiful servant, stepped forward and bowed. "I'll prepare the ravens, Your Grace."

But Jacaerys, ever the impulsive one, spoke before his mother could respond. "We should bear those messages ourselves," he suggested. "Dragons can fly faster than ravens, and they're more convincing."

Lucerys's voice, smooth and authoritative, cut through the conversation like a knife. "Send us," he said, his gaze locking onto Rhaenyra. The room seemed to pause at his words.

Bartimos, his voice full of agreement, added, "The Prince is right, Your Grace."

A moment of tension filled the air, but Rhaenyra's gaze softened as she considered their words. "Very well," she said, her voice steady. "Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North."

Her eyes turned to Lucerys, her expression serious. "Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And... the cost of breaking them."

Lucerys nodded sharply, the weight of his task settling over him. "I will remind them," he said coldly, "that a broken oath has its consequences."

The room was still as the words echoed in the silence. All knew the stakes, and the finality of Lucerys's words lingered in the air.

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