Chapter 35 Taking the Initiative
"Yes."
Viserys, keenly aware of the faint disappointment hidden within the old knight's tone, felt a slight pang in his chest.
But outwardly, he remained composed and answered steadily,
"If we truly intend to reclaim the Iron Throne, then the ships and resources we possess now are far from sufficient."
Viserys lowered his gaze briefly to the painted table beneath them, his thoughts racing with knowledge no child should possess.
Even Aegon I Targaryen had not conquered Westeros with dragons alone.
Though Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes had burned armies and castles alike, Aegon's victory had also relied on careful planning, alliances, and ground forces. He had first landed at the mouth of Blackwater Bay, establishing a crude wooden stronghold later remembered as Aegonfort on the very site where King's Landing would rise.
From there, he subdued nearby houses such as Rosby and Stokeworth, consolidating his foothold before launching the wider conquest across the Seven Kingdoms.
But now—
the Targaryens had no dragons.
Not since the last of them died generations ago.
Viserys understood this clearly.
Without dragons, attempting to retake Westeros with nothing but a fleet was nothing short of fantasy no matter how loyal that fleet might be.
And if they remained entrenched on Dragonstone, cut off from trade, allies, and fertile lands, then their strength would only continue to dwindle.
Time was not on their side.
"Your reasoning is not without merit… child. But you do not yet understand the reality we face."
However, just as Viserys prepared to continue, the old knight interrupted him.
Notably, his form of address had changed.
No longer "Your Highness."
Now
"child."
A subtle shift, yet one that carried unmistakable meaning.
Sir Geoffrey's earlier interest cooled slightly, replaced by restrained disappointment. It seemed that, despite his boldness, Viserys had not yet reached the level of insight once displayed by his elder brother.
Still…
he was young.
There was time.
If Rhaegar Targaryen had been here
No.
The thought cut itself off sharply.
Rhaegar was dead, slain upon the Trident by Robert Baratheon.
And if one were to trace the origins of this war—
the abduction, or elopement, with Lyanna Stark had ignited the flames that consumed the realm.
The rebellion, the fall of King's Landing, the deaths of the royal family
all of it followed.
For a fleeting moment, Sir Geoffrey's thoughts grew tangled.
Had everything truly been inevitable?
Or had something gone terribly wrong long before the war ever began?
His mind wavered, and his voice faltered mid-thought.
The great Hall of the Painted Table fell into sudden silence.
At the head of the table, Queen Leila sat rigidly in her chair.
Heavily pregnant, her body weary and her spirit strained, she had endured too much in too short a time. The fall of her house, the loss of her husband and eldest son, and the constant fear of pursuit had left deep scars upon her mind.
Viserys's words, though logical, struck at something deeper.
Dragonstone was not merely a fortress.
It was her last refuge.
Her last connection to everything she had lost.
And now
her own son was suggesting they abandon it.
"Impossible!"
The silver-haired queen slammed her hand down upon the painted table with sudden force. The sharp sound echoed through the chamber.
Her usually striking violet eyes once calm and regal were now bloodshot from sleepless nights, her hair unkempt, her composure fraying at the edges.
"We will not flee like beggars across the Narrow Sea!"
Her voice rose, shrill with emotion.
"Your Majesty…"
At that moment, Sir Geoffrey raised a hand slightly, attempting to interject and calm the queen before her agitation worsened further.
But the tension in the hall had already reached a breaking point.
But the emotionally overwhelmed woman ignored him completely; she had already made up her mind and would not allow such a thing to happen.
"Absolutely not! We cannot abandon Dragonstone!!"
"Your Majesty!"
Sir Geoffrey raised his voice sharply this time, cutting across Queen Leila's outburst and finally forcing her into a brief silence.
He had now interrupted both Queen Leila and Viserys in turn, yet neither dared to openly oppose him. The reason was simple
the last remaining strength of the Dragonstone fleet, the only true military power still loyal to House Targaryen, rested firmly in his hands.
Without that fleet, they were nothing more than exiles waiting to be claimed by their enemies.
Queen Leila clenched her teeth but said nothing further, while Viserys also remained silent, both fully aware that offending the commander of their only force would be disastrous.
After silencing the queen, the old knight fixed his gaze upon Viserys.
His sharp, weathered eyes studied the boy from head to toe, as though trying to see past his youth and into something deeper, before he finally spoke again.
"The reality is… Your Highness, the cities of Essos will not allow us to act so freely."
Though often called divided, the Free Cities from wealthy ports like Pentos to the merchant powers of Myr and Lys maintained a delicate balance.
On the surface, they quarreled constantly, competing through trade, intrigue, and even covert conflict.
But when faced with an external power capable of upsetting that balance
they would stand together without hesitation.
Because it was not merely politics.
It was survival.
"These cities will not welcome a foreign fleet strong enough to tip the scales," Sir Geoffrey continued, his voice calm but firm. "Even if that fleet is ours."
"Especially," he added after a brief pause, "if that fleet still carries the banner of the three-headed dragon."
The implication was clear.
A Targaryen force, even a diminished one, was not something the Free Cities would treat lightly.
If it were only Viserys and his widowed mother crossing the Narrow Sea as fugitives, then the situation would be entirely different. The merchant princes and magisters might even welcome them, offering shelter in exchange for influence—just as exiled nobles had been used countless times in Essosi politics.
After all, a displaced royal family could serve as a useful tool to create trouble for Robert Baratheon.
But, if Viserys arrived not as a beggar, but as a commander of a fleet
everything would change.
The Free Cities would see not a refugee, but a threat.
Because such a force would not only destabilize Essos, but also provoke a direct response from Westeros.
"The Iron Throne will not ignore such a development," Sir Geoffrey said quietly. "Not now… not after the fall of your house."
A surviving Targaryen claimant with ships and loyal men was not merely a remnant
it was a spark.
And sparks, if left unchecked, could ignite wars.
"The Seven Kingdoms might even strike first," he added, his tone darkening slightly. "To ensure that no such threat is ever allowed to grow."
It was precisely because of these risks that, in the past, Essos had been willing to quietly accept Viserys and his mother as exiles sending them away, even aiding their escape toward Dragonstone.
Better to let them trouble Westeros from afar
than allow them to grow powerful on Essosi soil.
"But they will never permit you to arrive there with a fleet," Sir Geoffrey concluded.
"I see…"
Viserys fell silent for a brief moment, his expression tightening slightly.
He understood the broader picture but not these finer, more dangerous details.
After all, his knowledge came from what history had recorded, from outcomes rather than the hidden negotiations and fears that shaped them.
He knew much
but at the same time, he lacked the subtle understanding of those who had lived through it.
And often, it was these overlooked details that determined everything.
"I… understand now."
Viserys inclined his head slightly.
"I apologize, Sir Geoffrey."
He remained seated, his mind conflicted. In truth, even alliances especially those within the Free Cities were never absolute. Rivalries still existed beneath the surface, and opportunities could always be found for those willing to exploit them.
But he chose not to say that.
To argue now would sound like excuse-making.
And the events of the previous night had already taught him a harsh lesson
the world was far more complex than it appeared.
He could no longer rely on assumptions or the vague certainty of "I think."
Every decision required proof.
Real understanding.
Real calculation.
For a fleeting moment, Viserys even felt a chill run down his spine.
If Sir Geoffrey had blindly followed his earlier proposal
the consequences might have been disastrous.
If their path to Essos had been cut off entirely, then he and his mother would have no escape left at all.
Raising his head again, Viserys spoke sincerely,
"It was my negligence."
However
the old knight standing before the painted table did something unexpected.
The stern, almost arrogant expression he usually wore softened slightly.
There was even the faintest trace of approval in his eyes.
"However," Sir Geoffrey said slowly,
"Your Highness's words have indeed reminded me of something."
"What?"
Viserys blinked in surprise.
He had just been immersed in the frustration of his failed attempt to assert himself, and had not expected such a response.
Then the old knight continued, his voice steady and resolute:
"We cannot afford to sit here and wait for defeat to claim us."
He lifted his hand and pressed it firmly against the map, as if anchoring his resolve into the very land itself.
"If the path across the Narrow Sea is blocked…"
"Then we must find another way."
His eyes sharpened.
"And more importantly"
"We must take the initiative."
....