King's Landing, the Red Keep.
Rhaegar looked down upon the Red Keep from the sky. Riding a demon dragon, soaring above drifting clouds and the vast sea, he felt the Red Keep was unbelievably small, while the heavens were magnificently grand—and the castle itself narrow and suffocating.
Yet inside the Red Keep flowed something the open sky lacked: the tremor of power.
While Rhaegar circled over King's Landing on patrol, Ser Barristan, Sessa, Ser Sarasa, and the others had already led the transport columns into the harbor and entered the Red Keep ahead of him.
Staying in the Red Keep too long was not wise. Rhaegar preferred to ride his dragon and tour the realm, like his ancestor Jaehaerys I had done. The Conciliator—or Aegon the Conqueror? Only by truly treading the land and knowing the people could the throne become more secure.
The three giant dragons landed on the Red Keep in sequence. It was not that they could not "afford" a silver dragon—rather, three demon dragons were simply a better bargain.
Waiting below were the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold "White Bull" Hightower, and the rest: Ser Barristan ("the Bold"), Ser Brynden Tully of the Riverlands, Sessa, Ser Joffrey Arryn of the Vale, Ser Sarasa Velaryon of Driftmark, Bronze Yohn of the Vale, and Lionel, the heir of House Corbray.
"My dream team," Rhaegar thought. Different hair colors, different births—yet all had fought at his side.
A heroic pride rose in him, as though every hero in the world had gathered into his hand—a collector's delight.
Led by the White Bull, Rhaegar and his companions entered the brightly lit Throne Room.
Rhaegar wore black brocade and a black cloak embroidered with silver and red demon dragons, vivid as living things.
Silver hair, purple eyes—his smile was sharp as a blade.
Ser Gerold stared at the young man before him: a descendant of dragonlords, bearing the most inhuman beauty House Targaryen had shown in decades, and the makings of an even greater warrior.
The Iron Throne sat atop its dais. The most striking thing in the hall was that chair—cast of steel, bristling with ugly spikes and twisted metal, the jagged points along its back like fangs.
Though called a "throne," the Iron Throne was truly immense, awe-inspiring. The seat itself occupied only the highest platform, with steps leading up beneath it. The chaotic, hideous spikes made it unforgettable.
King Jaehaerys II sat upon it carefully.
Several White Knights stood on the dais as well, guarding the king.
Rumor claimed the Iron Throne had a temper; if it did not accept a king, it would cut him down—so men must sit with caution.
Rhaegar also saw, mounted high along the wall behind, many enormous dragon skulls. The skull of that sheep-stealer he had found had been placed among them as well.
Those vast dragon skulls stared coldly at the world—empty sockets, empty gaze. Only their grotesque shapes proved that they had once ruled mankind.
Across the hall stood lords and knights—and even some wealthy merchants eager to involve themselves—whispering among themselves. Most talk revolved around the Stepstones.
In the Throne Room, aside from the king, the royal family, and a few ministers, other nobles, knights, and merchants either knelt or stood. Every man kept his proper place by rank, maintaining solemn etiquette.
Guards in gold or gray cloaks also stood within the hall.
When Rhaegar led his followers in, thunderous cheers erupted at once.
Rhaegar saluted King Jaehaerys II and acknowledged the assembled lords.
"My son has returned. Let us continue the meeting," Crown Prince Aerys said delightedly. The storm of war was coming, and he felt his position as "naval commander" beginning to shine.
"Continue," King Jaehaerys II added.
The focus remained the Stepstones. After the War of the Ninepenny Kings ended and the last pretenders retreated, those islands had once again become a pirate's nest.
That was only natural; the Stepstones had always been so.
A powder keg between Westeros and Essos. For those barren rocks with their crucial position, House Targaryen had lost princes, and the so-called Kingdom of the Daughters had lost admirals.
"The pirates were not powerful at first," Crown Prince Aerys continued, "but during the election in Lys, a failed candidate for Archon—Klarl Rhaen—fled Lys with his wealth and ships. He joined the pirates and crowned himself King of the Narrow Sea. From then on, pirate influence truly began to grow."
Rhaegar listened carefully. This was likely the Lysene turmoil Malaho had warned him about. Lysene elections were notoriously bloody—poisonings and assassinations were common. For such a candidate to compete at that level and still escape Lys meant he had real strength and real connections.
The Lyseni had picked their moment well, exploiting House Targaryen's small numbers and the severe decline of the Driftmark fleet.
The Iron Throne's approach to the Stepstones was always the same: endure—or do nothing—until the pirates swelled, then launch a massive extermination campaign.
"Cowardly, vile Lyseni only love hidden weapons, poison, and whoring," Lord Ormund cursed.
His words drew broad approval.
The duke's opinion reflected most of Westeros. Rhaegar knew that most Westerosi resented the Free Cities: their gaudy gods, their contempt for chivalry, their reputation as sly thieves and assassins.
"The most urgent task is to deal with these pirates," Lord Tywin said in a low voice. "They've returned to risk-free business—robbery and extortion—and they demand that every ship provide handsome men and pretty women to be sold to Lys's pleasure gardens."
Some lesser lords began to complain, because the shipping lanes through the Stepstones were vital, and rampant piracy was damaging their interests.
"The good news is that Lys and Tyrosh are in serious conflict, and the Kingdom of the Daughters has long since fallen apart," Grand Maester Pycelle interjected. "We need only face a rabble."
"But the Lyseni can hire sellswords now," Tywin countered sharply, "and the stance of the Meereenese is ambiguous."
"I have a plan that could greatly ease our burden and win Tyrosh's support," a lord suddenly proposed. "The Archon of Tyrosh has a daughter. I believe she has a favorable impression of Prince Rhaegar. If we offer a rose—if the prince wins her heart—we can secure an alliance with Tyrosh and reduce the pressure greatly."
"What are you saying?" Aerys erupted, springing to his feet. "How can my son marry a blue-haired woman stinking of Tyrosh? They even worship that dreadful three-headed god!"
"The prince cannot marry a Tyroshi woman," Tywin said flatly. "What kind of propriety is that? The realm has not sunk so low."
"My lords, this notion is without reason," Pycelle stressed. "History proves the Free Cities are full of scoundrels. Win one city's favor and you provoke two or three others; it is not worth it. Prince Daemon learned this—so did the Young Dragon Daeron when he tried to wed his sister to the Sealord of Braavos."
Rhaegar listened in silence; he understood the pattern well. The Free Cities worked like that: friendship with one guaranteed hostility from others, trapping them in a cycle of mutual conflict. Common opinion also held that a prince should keep his distance from Free City maidens.
"Then we go to war," King Jaehaerys II declared, ending the dispute. He was used to preparing early. Raising armies took time, and they could not allow adventurers and opportunists to swell Lys's forces.
"His Majesty is wise!" the hall cheered in unison.
"The Three Daughters are already shattered; we face only a rabble!"
"Our strength is greater—and we have dragons," the lords said confidently.
Rhaegar felt war had arrived too quickly, but since it was here, he had to prepare. From the Pale Mountains to Maidenpool to the Stepstones—he suddenly felt as if he were fighting enemies across the whole map.
"The prince's dragons are too small—they can't win!" Lord Ormund said.
The Kingdom of the Daughters still held real strength. Westerosi tongues were harsh, but all remembered the daughters' achievements in killing dragons or assassinating Targaryens.
"While that is true," another insisted, "this is not the Three Daughters at their peak, and only Lys is truly involved—led by a disgraced candidate. The prince's three dragons are swift and agile and can provide ranged support. That makes the matter far safer."
An amphibious landing did, in truth, benefit from air support. Since this was not the daughters at their height, there remained a window of manageable risk.
All eyes turned to Rhaegar. They needed the prince's view.
"My lords, demon dragons can of course fight the Stepstones again," Rhaegar said, his tone deliberately enigmatic, "but not now. I need time."
He already had a plan: first, break the Stepstones' pirate-kingdom—but early preparation was essential. After that, he would contact Malaho and investigate Volantis's Black Wall techniques.