Chapter 218: Expedition!

The Riverlands, Harrenhal.

It had been a long time since the castle was this solemn. Shortly after Lucas Lothston took over the great fortress, he began the arduous task of restoring it. With the backing of Prince Viserys behind the scenes, Lucas's restoration efforts went relatively smoothly.

Relatively. Harrenhal was simply too massive, and not even Viserys could pour unlimited support into the Lothstons' undertaking. In the end, the family only managed a preliminary restoration of the castle.

Enough to at least make it livable.

Still, the lingering curse that haunted Harrenhal seemed to remain hanging above the fortress. Old Lucas hadn't held the castle for more than a few years before he was gravely injured after a fall during the restoration of the Kingspyre, and soon after, he met the Stranger. Young Lucas, who succeeded him, gave up on fully restoring every tower and instead concentrated his gold on refurbishing the Kingspyre and the Wailing Tower.

It was a wise move.

Young Lucas hosted Prince Aegon many times in the lavishly decorated Kingspyre. Rumors had it that he had provided the prince with no fewer than a dozen mistresses.

Now riding Syrax, Prince Aegon hadn't changed much in temperament. He was still lustful, still loved chasing after every girl he fancied, even though he had already wed Rhaenya and, under his father's pressure, had shared a bed with her.

But he had no interest in his beautiful, shy wife. He preferred flying to Harrenhal on Syrax and joining his friend Lucas in chasing women.

He never forced anyone—every girl Lucas introduced to him left with a heavy coin pouch and a satisfied heart. For all his promiscuity, Prince Aegon was capable of intense infatuation.

For instance, he was especially smitten with Lady Melissa of House Blackwood and Lady Barba of House Bracken. The two, however, responded to him quite differently.

House Bracken had been drained of its strength during the Dance of the Dragons and struggled to recover for decades. Though it had since stabilized, its rapidly growing number of descendants proved to be a burden.

This made Lady Barba unusually forward in her affection for the prince.

House Blackwood, on the other hand, was flourishing under the rule of Lord Benjicot. Their strong ties with House Vaelarys brought them considerable prosperity. When Benjicot discovered that Lady Melissa had been seduced by Aegon's charm and become his mistress, he flew into a rage. Had he not been a relatively rational man, any other Blackwood might've raised an army and marched straight to Harrenhal.

But Benjicot was rational.

Though bloodthirsty, he wasn't a madman. He used his wife's illness as an excuse to summon Melissa home and placed her under house arrest.

What he didn't expect was that Melissa would attempt to escape twice. Forced into a corner, he appealed to Queen Samantha for help. Eventually, Melissa returned to Raventree Hall.

But she didn't return alone.

Lady Melissa was pregnant.

And since she showed not the slightest hint of blaming Prince Aegon, Benjicot could only swallow his bitterness.

So when Daeron convened the Great Council at Harrenhal, many of the Riverlands lords arrived carrying at least a touch of resentment. Still, after years of trials, they had learned the value of compromise and calm.

Which made the freshly arrived Jacaerys and Dan suck in a sharp breath.

"Seven hells," muttered Dan, eyeing the sea of tents pitched outside Harrenhal and patting his dragon Sendros nervously. He was always afraid the beast would get excited and torch someone. "What is Daeron trying to do? Is he really going to march on the Disputed Lands?"

"What makes you think that?" Jacaerys asked, puzzled. He had seen the banners of all the Riverlands houses. This council could rival the Great Council of 101 AC. Even House Umber from Last Hearth in the North had come south to Harrenhal.

Virtually every noble house in the Seven Kingdoms had come.

"Every noble house in the Seven Kingdoms is here," Dan said, pointing toward his own lands.

Even the vassals of House Vaelarys had responded to the call. With Rhaegor's approval, the marcher lords and those from Dorne had traveled north together and gathered at Harrenhal.

"If Daeron wants to solve our current problems, there's only one path forward," Dan said coolly. "War."

Jacaerys, sensitive to the scent of war, instantly understood what his younger brother meant.

He couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement.

The Kingspyre Tower, Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

More than thirty years ago, it was here that Prince Daemon gathered the lords of the Riverlands to rally them to fight for Queen Rhaenyra.

Today, King Daeron had summoned all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to this same hall.

Lord Cregan Stark of the North had come south once again. This time, however, he brought not the snarling winter wolves of the past but a retinue composed entirely of Northern nobles.

From the Vale came Lord Hugh Arryn, leading the shining-armored nobility through the Bloody Gate. The older generation of lords had all but faded away—Lord Joffrey had closed his eyes during this long summer, and Hugh Arryn had taken his place.

From High Tide came Lord Joffrey Velaryon, who gathered with nobles of the Crownlands in a corner of the great hall. Now in the twilight of his years, Joffrey looked with pride upon his grandchildren, who once again bore the silver hair and purple eyes of old Valyria. He felt his time had come.

Yet his body remained stubbornly strong.

Even his son-in-law Adam had not outlived him, despite being years his junior.

From the Stormlands came Lord Royce. From the Reach, Lord Lyonel. From Riverrun, Lord Kermit. From the Westerlands, Lord Loreon. Even Dalton Greyjoy arrived with a delegation from the Iron Islands.

A rumbling growl echoed through the hall.

Dreamfyre stretched lazily, the ancient dragon who had lived since the final years of the Conqueror's reign. It had been a long time since she last visited this familiar castle.

It felt like coming home.

Though the presence of other dragons irritated her, Dreamfyre knew this was not a time to act on such feelings. And even if she did, there were others outside—Skyfyre, Sendros, and Tyraxes—that would give her trouble.

Besides Dreamfyre resting in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, Syrax, Seasmoke, and Vermax circled Harrenhal's skies.

The lords had grown accustomed to so many dragons in both sky and earth. Still, when they saw Dreamfyre coiled around the great hall, the elders among them could not help but remember the scene from nearly forty years ago.

Back then, it was also in this hall—only it had been Vermithor who held the stage.

From the throne, King Daeron spoke at length, of the kingdom's current predicaments and the riches of the East.

But the heart of his speech came at its conclusion.

"My lords, today, both Tyrosh and Lys have bent the knee to our swords. The Stepstones are indisputably sacred land of the Kingdom. There is no longer any force in the East that can threaten us by sea.

Thousands of years ago, the First Men, Andals, and Rhoynar crossed from Essos to Westeros. Two hundred years ago, so did my ancestors. And still, the East remains rich beyond compare. Even ravaged by war, the Disputed Lands hold plains and fertile fields no less vast than the Riverlands or the Reach.

Consider it, my lords—a place torn into pieces, hundreds of warlords and mercenary companies squabbling for scraps. It is fragile. Our knights can sweep away any would-be tyrant there. If they can take root in that soil, why can't we?"

As the words stirred him, Daeron stood up.

"My lords, I know your sons need land. I know the nobility of the realm longs for glory. By the Seven, I know the Seven themselves yearn to see their light shine again upon the lands of the East!"

"Your Grace, you mean...?" It was Lord Lucas Roxten who stood first.

"An expedition!"

Daeron nodded with satisfaction and declared in a loud voice to the gathered nobles:

"I have summoned you all here to ask your support for my plan—an expedition into the Disputed Lands. In the name of the Seven, I swear that all spoils from this campaign will be shared among those who take part—lands, castles—whatever you can conquer, I will grant in fief!"

"Your Grace… this…" Some of the lords began to hesitate.

The King raised his hand, and Dreamfyre understood—she gently rested her enormous head beside Daeron's outstretched hand.

"Fear not, my lords."

Daeron stroked Dreamfyre's snout softly.

"We have dragons," he said, his eyes suddenly gleaming.