𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

39

"Riverrun has always been a close friend to your father, Your Grace," the maester said, eyes fixed on the Queen. "With Prince Daemon's acquiescence, I've already sent ravens to Lord Grover."

Rhaenyra parted her lips, drawing a deep breath before speaking carefully. "Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced not only of our strength but of the support he can expect, should this come to war."

Daemon muttered under his breath, "I will treat with him myself."

"What of Storm's End and Winterfell?" Lord Bartimos asked.

"There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath," the maester replied without hesitation. "And where House Stark leads, the North will follow."

Rhaenyra's gaze shifted to the map. "Lord Borros Baratheon will need reminding of his father's promises." Then she looked toward Rhaenys. "What news of Driftmark?"

"Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone," the princess replied.

"To declare to his Queen," Daenaera corrected sharply, drawing all eyes.

"The Velaryon fleet answers to my husband," Rhaenys said coolly. "He decides where they sail."

"We shall pray for both you and your husband's support," Rhaenyra said firmly. "Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake's return to health. No port on the Narrow Sea would dare make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet."

She turned back to the council. "And of our enemies?"

"We have no friends among the Lannisters," Daenaera said, her voice steady. "Tyland has served the Hand too long to betray him."

Daemon looked away. "And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet."

"Without the Lannisters, we will find no allies west of the Golden Tooth," Rhaenyra added grimly.

"No," Daemon replied quietly.

"The Riverlands remain essential, Your Grace," Daemon said without meeting her eyes.

Lord Bartimos cleared his throat, blunt as ever. "Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause wields a power unseen since the days of Old Valyria."

"Dragons," he finished.

"The Greens have dragons too," Rhaenyra said sharply. "Three adults, by my count."

"We have Syrax, Caraxes, Sylvarion, and Meleys," Daemon began.

"Your sons ride Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes," Rhaenyra added. "Baela has Moondancer."

"Daemon," she said sternly, "none of our dragons have been to war."

"Except Caraxes, Sylvarion—my late father's mount—and Meleys, Your Grace," Daenaera said with conviction. "There are also unclaimed dragons: Vermithor, Silverwing, and Seasmoke, who still rests at Driftmark."

"Then there are the three wild dragons nesting here," Daemon added, eyes dark.

Rhaenyra's voice was steady but cold. "And who will ride them?"

"Dragonstone has fourteen dragons to their four," Daemon stated. "I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. But we need a stronghold, a toehold large enough to house a sizeable host. Here—at Harrenhal. From there, we cut off the west, surround King's Landing with dragons. We could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the moon turns." His voice dripped with venom.

"Your Grace!" A knight burst into the room. "A ship has been sighted offshore—a lone galleon flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon."

"Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies!" Daemon barked, drawing Dark Sister. "Daenaera, come with me."

They left the hall, meeting the dawn wind at the castle's edge.

Otto Hightower awaited, standing tall and unyielding. "I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of His Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. I have been directed to deliver her message only to Princess Rhaenyra."

Daenaera scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Where is the Princess?" Otto asked.

Syrax soared behind the castle, landing deftly near the Greens. She walked toward her husband and cousin.

"I am Queen Rhaenyra now," the Black Queen declared, voice cold steel. "And you are all traitors to the realm."

"King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name," Otto began, "in his wisdom and desire for peace, offers terms. Acknowledge Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone, to pass to your trueborn son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark and all lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Your sons by Prince Daemon will be given places of high honor at court: Aegon the Younger as the King's squire, Viserys as his cupbearer. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent."

Daemon snarled, stepping forward, voice thick with rage. "I would sooner feed my sons to dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a king."

Daenaera rolled her eyes once more.

"Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne," Otto said, voice rising. "He wears the Conqueror's crown, wields the Conqueror's sword, and bears the Conqueror's name. He was anointed by a septon of the Faith before thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him."

"Wields a sword? Can he now?" Daenaera's sarcastic tone brought a faint smirk to Daemon's lips.

"There is Stark, Tully, Baratheon," Otto continued. "Houses that have also received—and are considering—generous terms from their king."

"Stark, Tully, and Baratheon all swore to me," Rhaenyra said, voice like iron. "When King Viserys named me his heir."

"Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess," Otto stepped closer, taunting. "The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret you and he were last to see the truth."

Rhaenyra advanced, snatching his Hand's badge and flinging it to the ground. "You are no more Hand than Aegon is king. Fucking traitor."

"Grand Maester," Otto called. The maester approached with a folded parchment.

"What is this?" Daemon growled.

"Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once shared. No blood need be spilled so the realm may carry on in peace. She eagerly awaits your answer."

"Tell her she can have her answer now," Daemon spat, drawing Dark Sister. "Stuffed in her father's mouth, along with his withered cock."

"Let's end this mummer's farce," Daenaera scoffed, drawing her sword.

"Ser Erryk," Daemon said, voice low and dangerous, "bring me Lord Hightower. I will take the pleasure myself."

Syrax roared in fierce approval.

"No!" Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension. "King's Landing will have my answer on the morrow."

She turned away, leaving the Greens to seethe in silence.