Chapter 220: The Plan Was Perfect, but It Leaked at the First Step

The lords exchanged uncertain glances.

Your Grace, could you be a little more discreet?

Daeron smiled as he lightly traced a few lines on the ground. "My lords, I trust you, which is why I am sharing the initial strategy for this expedition with you." He glanced at Prince Aemon, the handsome but quiet knight beside him. Aemon took a step forward. He had recently risen to fame, especially after the tournament at Dragon's Nest, held by Rhaegor to celebrate Igon's name day. There, Prince Aemon had even defeated the aging Lord Aslan Rondell and Hoffa Lawkeeper to win the champion's crown.

This young knight, praised by the people as the "Dragon Knight", had won over twenty champion crown in just a few years, earning widespread admiration for his valor. Aemon's humility and striking appearance also made him the dream lover of maidens across the Seven Kingdoms.

Even though he had already formally wed the princess he deeply loved—Princess Naelys.

"His Majesty the King has made thorough preparations." Prince Aemon took the branch from Daeron. It was his role to assure these key lords that going to war with full strength would be worthwhile.

"The greatest challenge in the Disputed Lands is the complexity of its power distribution."

Dan quietly slipped behind Jacaerys, using his taller brother to shield him from view as he quickly recalled the intelligence Rhaegor had shared with them.

"There are seven large mercenary companies in the north of the Disputed Lands, each with at least ten thousand soldiers. The fertile central plains are divided among five major warlords and over a hundred smaller warlords and mercenary companies. Lykar Laclen is the most important coastal city there, currently controlled by three different factions. To the northeast roams a khalasar of forty thousand horsemen. Our greatest enemy will be those Dothraki savages." Aemon gave a slight bow toward Jacaerys with a hint of apology. "No offense meant to Khal Azul."

"Azul," Jacaerys chuckled. "He won't mind."

Of those seven major mercenary companies, at least five were backed by the Braavosi. The Iron Bank provided them with a steady flow of gold and arms. The remaining two were nominally supported by Lys and Volantis, though they also had tangled ties with the Iron Bank.

Dan quickly sorted through the intelligence on those seven companies. One of the main outlets for Iron Bank loans was to the warlords in the Disputed Lands. The bank propped up petty tyrants and warlords to rule over vast territories, and when those rulers failed to repay their loans, the bank either installed new ones or subtly encouraged the mercenaries to raid the debtors.

Braavos...

Dan narrowed her eyes.

"The Golden Hammer and the Storm Crows are backed by Lys. Lord Rogare has promised to hire both companies for our expedition. Together, they can provide twenty-five thousand well-trained soldiers, including at least six thousand cavalry. The Golden Hammer even keeps twenty war elephants."

"But Prince Aemon, you yourself said—these are mercenaries," said Lord Cregan Stark coldly. The Warden of the North still had that same stern and icy presence he carried when he marched south to King's Landing in his youth. That long winter had only deepened the solemnity unique to the northern nobility.

"Since when do we fight wars with mercenaries?"

The Winter Wolves had once earned fearsome fame for the North. Two thousand grey-bearded veterans shattered the Westerlands' lines, forcing Westeros to once again recognize the strength of the First Men's descendants.

"Mercenaries can fight for us out of greed for gold or lust for power—but they can also betray us just as easily," Cregan said, turning to Daeron. "Your Grace, mercenaries are not a reason to convince us. Neither are dragons. Occupying land requires soldiers and population."

Several other lords nodded in agreement.

"The Crownlands and Oldtown's forces will be the vanguard," Daeron said without hesitation. Prince Aemon picked up the thread. "Oldtown's army will be led by my brother, Illyon. We've mustered four thousand armored soldiers, ready to ride into battle at a moment's notice."

"The Crownlands will be commanded by Ser Will Hunter, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," Daeron added, his eyes landing on Lord Joffrey. "Lords Massey and Darklyn have already begun raising levies. The royal army will serve as the core, with three thousand troops. The Crownlands' nobility can muster twenty thousand more."

"Those twenty thousand are all the Crownlands can provide if we conscript at full strength, Your Grace," said Lord Hugh Arryn gravely. "We cannot take all our young men. This is not a war of survival. We must leave enough hands to work the fields."

"Winter is coming. The North and the Vale feel it first. We will not place our hopes on summer never ending," said Lord Cregan, his voice as icy as ever.

"House Baratheon will rally under the banner of the Three-Headed Dragon," declared Lord Royce Baratheon, though his usually booming voice was a bit more subdued. "But you know as well as I do, Your Grace—House Baratheon's will is strong, but our strength is limited. Six thousand men. That's the most the Stormlands can offer. But I can promise you—every one of them is a veteran of the Stepstones."

Daeron smiled and nodded to Lord Royce.

"I understand, my lords. That's why I'm laying out our current plan to win your support," the King said calmly. Prince Aemon moved like Daeron's second right hand, sketching and drawing in the dirt with a weirwood stick.

"The coast of the Disputed Lands is lined with vast mangrove forests. A mercenary company with a sizable fleet—the Mangrove Company—holds considerable power there and is one of the three factions ruling Lykar Laclen. I will accompany the vanguard with Aemon, Rhaegar, and Illyon. We will land at Lykar Laclen and seize the city, establishing it as our forward base for the campaign."

"What about supplies, Your Grace? And what of Prince Aegon?" Lord Cregan's questions were as sharp as ever. "Prince Aegon and Prince Viserys both ride dragons. Are they not joining the expedition?"

But Cregan did not raise another, unspoken question: What of House Vaelarys?

"My royal uncle is unwell. He will remain in Westeros to oversee supplies and defend the rear," Daeron said calmly. "Cousin Aegon will be our envoy to Braavos. Syrax will help show the Braavosi how precious peace truly is."

His gaze unconsciously drifted to Jacaerys, who had been lost in thought the entire time, and then to Dan, who seemed equally preoccupied.

"Dreamfyre, Seasmoke, and Vermax are all fully grown dragons, and even Hornstorm is intimidating enough to deter commonfolk. With four dragons, we can sweep through the coast with ease."

"Your Grace." Dalton Greyjoy, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke. The old pirate slowly stepped forward to stand beside the king, casting a cold glance at Lord Loreon Lannister and Lord Lyonel Tyrell, but when he turned his gaze to Lord Cregan, Lord Tully, and Jacaerys, there was respect in his eyes once more.

"My Iron Fleet once ravaged the mangrove coast. There was hardly any defense there." The Red Kraken spoke calmly of the feat that had nearly destroyed the Kingdom of the Three Daughters. "But Lykar Laclen is an exception. The rulers of that ancient city have fortified it stronger than steel. It's not an easy bone to gnaw."

The Red Kraken suddenly licked his lips. "Still, my Iron Fleet is at your service, Your Grace. Give me two moons, and I'll gather a thousand longships and ten thousand men with heads as hard as axes."

"All you need is permission to follow your Old Way, right, Red Kraken?" Lord Loreon cast a glance at him. "Your Grace, when it comes to the navy—the Royal Fleet, the Redwyne fleet, and the Silver Fleet are more than enough to crush any resistance on the mangrove coast. We don't need—"

"Lord Dalton, I appreciate your offer," Daeron raised a hand to stop Loreon from continuing. "The realm needs every axe, every helm, every sword."

Lord Lyonel Tyrell was helpless. In recent years, the revival of Oldtown had brought the Reach closer to its former grandeur. If not for the intermarriage with Houses Fossoway, Rowan, Redwyne, and Merryweather, House Tyrell might have slowly lost influence to the Targaryens of Oldtown.

He could not reject King's Landing's arrangements. After the Baratheons and Greyjoys, House Tyrell became the third great house to actively offer support.

"Lord Redwyne will provide the fleet," Lord Lyonel said. "Your Grace, the Reach will gather fifteen thousand armored soldiers within three moons and prepare supplies for the army."

"The realm shall allow the Iron Islands to follow the Old Way along the mangrove coast and the shores of Essos," Daeron said calmly. He needed the Ironborn's bloody raids to intimidate the warlords of the Disputed Lands.

If they fled without a fight, so much the better. If not, forcing them to unite would only make it easier to wipe them all out in one strike.

"Once we take Lykar Laclen, the mangrove coast will lie wide open to us." Daeron continued with his analysis, "Once supplies and reinforcements arrive, we'll advance along the coast. Aemon and I will lead the main force to subdue the southern warlords. Rhaegar will remain in Lykar Laclen to hold the center. Illyon will take Vermax to guard the north and prevent interference. Once the southern rabble is crushed, we'll turn to those mercenary companies and the Dothraki savages."

"It seems Your Grace already has a detailed plan," Kermit Tully smiled. "The Riverlands will prepare supplies and provide eight thousand armored soldiers. They're well-trained—adept with longswords, longbows, lances, and morningstars. They're noble second sons, third sons, and decorated veterans. I assure you, there's no army more elite."

"The Westerlands will fund the war," Lord Loreon added, seeing the other lords falling in line. "And we'll send five thousand fully-armored warriors as well."

Aside from the Ironborn's claim of ten thousand raiders, the armies provided by the Stormlands, the Reach, the Riverlands, and the Westerlands were composed entirely of armored nobles and seasoned men-at-arms. Most only needed a horse to become cavalry—or heavy infantry on horseback.

Lord Cregan gazed at Daeron, then suddenly smiled. "Your Grace, the North will also send troops. But the North is not as rich as the South—we must still conserve strength for the winter. I will dispatch four thousand well-equipped warriors. By the Old Gods, they are as fierce as the grizzled veterans of the Winter Wolves."

"If Your Grace's plan succeeds, we will all benefit. Why not join in?" Ser Hugh Arryn smiled. "The Vale will send nine hundred knights and two thousand cavalry."

Daeron nodded, then turned to Jacaerys and Dan.

"Our father sent us here, and that is our answer," Dan said with a smile as she stepped forward to stand before Jacaerys. "Jace and I, along with our dragons, will go to Tyrosh to assist the army's crossing. The Silver Fleet will provide cover for Your Grace."

The Lords tactfully avoided mentioning the matter of troops.

House Vaelarys had already offered two dragons, Sendros and Skyfyre—an enormous show of goodwill. Judging by Dan' tone, they likely wouldn't be leading any charges.

Still, it was enough.

Neither Aemon nor Daeron found anything amiss. In fact, Daeron silently approved. House Vaelarys' willingness to send both dragons and a fleet made their position clear.

The Silver Dragon stood with the Red.

And that was enough.

The Great Council had concluded less than five days ago.

News of Westeros's move on the Disputed Lands had already reached Braavos—and would soon make its way to Volantis.

Although Daeron hadn't intended to keep the matter secret, the speed at which the news spread still startled him.

What he didn't know was that, as soon as word got out, the eastern continent was practically shaken to its core. Countless envoys were dispatched from every corner of the Disputed Lands to various regions. Even more alarming, an even larger khalasar began moving south from the area near Qohor, preparing to merge with the one already stationed in the Disputed Lands.

In the secret vaults of the Iron Bank of Braavos, the keyholders sat in a circle, looking at one another in silence.

"The dragons are coming," one of the keyholders said quietly. "After nearly two hundred years, dragons will once again ravage our lands."

"You're wrong. Aegon stood with us back then. His dragons unleashed their fire upon the slave masters of Volantis. He was our ally."

"That was a long time ago," murmured a keyholder so ancient that age itself seemed to cling to him like a shroud. He tapped the table lightly, the black iron key at his waist letting out an eerie chime. His voice silenced the room.

"What does the House of Black and White say?" he asked.

"They say nothing," said a keyholder wearing the signature black-and-white mask. "The servants of the Many-Faced God do not act on what has not yet come to pass."

"But—"

"No 'but'." The old man rose to his feet. "The Disputed Lands are one of the Iron Bank's most important sources of wealth. Westeros is one of our largest clients. In principle, we are not to favor either side. But though Westeros has never defaulted in nearly thirty years, the Rogare Bank has stolen a great deal of our business."

"So, you mean to say…"

"We cannot let them get too comfortable," the old man said flatly. "The Disputed Lands have never had a single master. Not two hundred years ago, and not two hundred years from now."

"But… they have dragons."

The old man's words broke off abruptly. The room fell into a deathly silence.

It lasted a long, long time.

Until it was broken by the Sea Lord's attendant.

"The Iron Throne is sending a prince as an envoy to Braavos."

"Which prince?" The keyholders all spoke at once.

"Aegon. Aegon Targaryen, eldest son of Prince Viserys of Oldtown. Rider of Syrax."

The old man immediately stood, locking eyes with the other keyholders who had also risen to their feet.

Even through their masks, they could feel the same emotion radiating from one another.

Delight.

As the upper circles of Braavos plunged into silence, the other Free Cities, which had also quickly received word, began to take action.

Several distant cities, believing the matter had nothing to do with them, promptly washed their hands of it.

Lys began a mobilization. Myr shut its gates, hiding behind its sturdy walls. Pentos, however, joyfully opened its gates—they had long maintained good relations with House Targaryen and were not worried about their arrival.

Volantis, meanwhile, fell silent.

But the Daughter of Valyria would not remain idle for long. Though the Elephant Party favored peace and restraint, that did not mean they were willing to surrender. Not when their core interests were threatened.

The elephant is fiercer than the tiger.

The envoys of Volantis had also set out—some toward the Disputed Lands, others sailing eastward—carrying gold.

They would return with a battle-hardened army.

Dragon's Nest.

Draezell lay atop the Silverblood Tower, lazily basking in the sun. Diana sat cheerfully beside him, slowly stirring a freshly mixed drink. Daenerys held her soon-to-be five-year-old little brother, playing with him happily. Sebastian sat in the sun with a pained expression, reading a book. Osserys and Daemon were fast asleep in their cradle.

It was a picture of warmth and peace—if one ignored the fact that Daenerys had dressed Igon up like a girl.

The little boy sat expressionless as his sister played with him, not making a sound while she applied makeup to his face.

"Father, a letter from Dan and little Jay has arrived." Rhaegor carefully softened his footsteps as he climbed the garden at the top of the tower. Then he frowned.

"Daenerys, stop bullying your brother."

Daenerys immediately pulled her hands back, hiding the makeup brush behind her back. "I wasn't, Father, I swear."

"Waaaah!"

Igon suddenly burst into loud sobs. His eyes squeezed shut, his legs kicked out, and he flopped dramatically to the ground, wailing like his heart was breaking.

Startled, Diana's hand jerked, and she nearly dropped her stirring rod.

"Igon, not this again!" Daenerys instantly realized what her brother was doing. She stopped pretending to be innocent, tossed the makeup aside, and planted her hands on her hips, glaring at him. "At least try to squeeze out a few tears, you dumb little brother!"

"Hmph!" Realizing he couldn't squeeze out even a single tear, Igon gave up entirely and flopped onto his back like a little rascal.

Rhaegor frowned at his two children. Seeing her father still silent, Daenerys pouted and obediently picked up her brother to go wash his face.

Rhaegor nodded, then walked toward his father.