When her advisers had gathered around the painted table, Daenerys Targaryen gave Tyrion Lannister a slight nod.
Tyrion understood at once.
He glanced over the carved map of Westeros, then addressed the others.
"We won't be marching on King's Landing immediately," he said calmly. "The Crownlands are still surrounded by the forces of the Seven Kingdoms and various noble armies. If we attack now, we risk being flanked—by land forces and by the fleet led by Euron Greyjoy."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"There's another reason. Beyond the Wall, the threat of the White Walkers is growing. Until we understand that danger, Her Grace has no intention of wasting strength in a civil war."
"First, we secure our foothold. Then we win allies—lords and houses across the realm. After that, we take the surrounding strongholds one by one, isolating King's Landing."
The plan was simple.
Steady.
Practical.
The room responded with quiet nods.
After laying out the broader strategy, Tyrion moved on to finer details, discussing deployments and alliances late into the night.
The Next Day — Driftmark
The following morning, Daenerys sailed on a smaller vessel to Driftmark.
Larger than Dragonstone by several times, the island stood as the key stronghold of House Velaryon.
By the time she arrived, word had already spread.
The harbor was packed—hundreds gathered to receive her.
Drogon's gaze swept over them.
And immediately, he understood.
Silver hair.
Pale eyes—blue, violet.
They resembled the House Targaryen almost perfectly.
These were the people of House Velaryon—
Of old Valyrian blood, though not dragonlords.
For generations, they had stood beside the Targaryens—serving as admirals, kingsguards, and loyal allies.
Even after Robert Baratheon seized the throne, they had followed Stannis Baratheon into the disastrous Battle of the Blackwater.
After that defeat, their strength had dwindled.
At the front of the crowd stood a boy of six or seven, golden-haired, flanked by a middle-aged man of similar appearance.
Their eyes lingered briefly on Daenerys—
Before shifting to Drogon perched upon her shoulder.
They had already seen the two great dragons circling Dragonstone.
But this small one…
Though smaller, his presence was no less commanding.
No one dared underestimate him.
Led by the boy, the Velaryons stepped forward and bowed in unison.
"Driftmark welcomes Her Grace, the Queen!"
Daenerys felt a rare warmth.
Among these people—who shared her blood, her heritage—
She felt… at home.
She raised a hand, bidding them rise.
The middle-aged man stepped forward with the boy.
"Your Grace, this is Monterys Velaryon, the current Lord of Driftmark," he said.
"I am his uncle, Bartimos Velaryon."
"Your Grace," the young lord said respectfully.
Daenerys smiled faintly.
Their loyalty eased the last of her concerns.
She explained her purpose without delay.
Dragonstone was too small to house her entire army.
But Driftmark—
Positioned at the mouth of Blackwater Bay—
Was vital.
A forward shield.
A gatekeeper.
She intended to station part of her forces there—both to secure the island and to guard against naval attacks from King's Landing.
For House Velaryon, the answer came easily.
Their strength had long declined.
Their lands were underpopulated.
Hosting Daenerys's army was no burden—
But an opportunity.
They agreed without hesitation.
The True Landing — Crackclaw Point
Afterward, Daenerys continued on to the mainland northwest of Dragonstone—
Crackclaw Point.
This would be the true landing site of her army.
According to Varys's intelligence, the region was harsh and fiercely independent.
Its people—descendants of the First Men—had resisted every attempt at subjugation from nearby lords.
Even forces from neighboring strongholds had failed to bring them to heel.
But history told another story.
During the Conquest, Visenya Targaryen had subdued Crackclaw Point.
Since then, they had remained bound—however loosely—to House Targaryen.
They had even followed Rhaegar Targaryen to the Trident.
Only after his fall did they retreat back to their lands.
Even now—
Though Robert Baratheon had claimed the throne under the banner of rebellion—
There were still those who recognized only Targaryen rule.
Crackclaw Point was one of them.
So when Daenerys arrived—
There was no resistance.
No negotiation.
They bent the knee without hesitation.
And welcomed her army to land.
With agreements secured, Daenerys gave the order.
More than four hundred ships carrying the Dothraki anchored along the coast.
Warriors began to disembark in disciplined waves.
Driftmark could have housed them—
But forcing the Dothraki to stare out at the sea day after day would only breed restlessness.
On the mainland, at Crackclaw Point—
There was land.
Space.
Freedom.
And for the first time since crossing the sea—
The riders of the grass could breathe again.
Even though stationing the army here would place immense pressure on nearby strongholds like Duskendale and Maidenpool, Daenerys Targaryen could no longer afford to hesitate.
Still, she issued strict orders to the Dothraki.
No raiding.
No pillaging.
No burning.
She had no intention of becoming known as a queen of plunder.
For the Dothraki, this was torture.
Fertile lands lay all around them—ripe for conquest, rich with spoils—
And yet, they were forbidden to take even a single step.
Resentment simmered.
But under the oppressive weight of Drogon's dragon aura, even the fiercest riders could only grit their teeth and endure.
Daenerys understood the truth.
Fear alone wouldn't hold them forever.
Before long, she and Tyrion Lannister began quietly discussing their next move—
Which city would fall first.
---
King's Landing — Qyburn's Workshop
In King's Landing, Cersei Lannister arrived once more at Qyburn's workshop, accompanied by Ser Meryn Trant.
The room was as chaotic as ever.
Metal parts.
Half-finished mechanisms.
The scent of oil and fire.
She wasted no time.
"How long until the scorpions are ready?" she demanded.
Qyburn set down the piece in his hand and bowed slightly.
"Your Grace, within three days, I guarantee you will see a weapon capable of killing dragons."
---
Cersei's eyes flickered with cold satisfaction.
"Good. You have three days," she said. "And I want as many of them as possible."
She did not believe any dragon—
Not even Daenerys's black one—
Could withstand dozens of giant scorpions firing in unison.
She would make Daenerys pay for daring to approach King's Landing.
Far to the south, in a lavish Dornish estate, Oberyn Martell stood with a letter in hand.
Its contents were simple.
Just one name:
Daenerys Targaryen.
He didn't need to guess the sender.
Varys—the Spider.
And he already knew the truth.
The Dragon Queen had crossed the Narrow Sea.
With an army of one hundred thousand.
And three dragons.
"Is this the one he warned you about?" asked Ellaria Sand, leaning against him.
Oberyn's gaze drifted across the courtyard.
"I didn't expect it to be her," he admitted. "All the way in Slaver's Bay… and already shaping the fate of King's Landing."
Ellaria studied him.
"And what will you do? Help her take the Iron Throne?
Oberyn didn't answer.
Instead, he turned.
"I'm going to see Doran."
The Water Gardens
Within the serene beauty of the Water Gardens, Prince Doran sat confined to his chair, his body weakened by gout, his movements slow but his mind ever sharp.
He had already heard what happened in King's Landing—
How Oberyn had slain Gregor Clegane in trial by combat.
For the first time in years—
Doran had wept.
Not from grief.
But from vengeance finally answered—for Elia Martell and her children.
Years ago, when news came of Elia's brutal death—
Doran had stopped Oberyn from marching to war.
That decision nearly tore the brothers apart.
Oberyn had left Dorne soon after—joining the sellsword company known as the Second Sons.
Five years of distance.
Five years of silence.
Since then, Doran had withdrawn from the world.
Many believed it was weakness—
That he hid his frailty.
But the truth was far heavier.
He could not face his people—
Not while Elia remained unavenged.
Now—
Oberyn stood before him again.
And this time, it was not vengeance alone that called.
Doran listened.
And then… he gave his answer.
He would not stop him.
Not again.
Because if he did—
He would lose his brother forever.
___
With Doran's blessing, Oberyn moved swiftly.
He gathered a large portion of Dorne's forces.
At his side stood Ellaria—
And the Sand Snakes.
Together, they set sail from the Dornish coast—
Their destination clear.
Dragonstone.
The game had begun.
And now—
More players were entering the board.