Randyll Tarly understood war and had a sharp sense for politics. Lower lords might think this was just the Iron Throne defending Tyrosh. The great houses knew better. This was the beginning of Daeron's eastern campaign. Drive off the attackers, then take Myr and Lys.
Randyll had no seat at the Small Council like Tywin or Mace. He couldn't bargain directly for his house. But he was a military lord. He didn't mind walking into fire if it meant glory.
Red Keep.
Daeron had just seen the allied armies off when Lady Olenna Tyrell arrived.
"I hope I'm not disturbing your afternoon rest," she said, settling into a chair across from him without waiting for an invitation. "At my age, it's hard to sleep at midday anyway."
Daeron glanced at her but said nothing. He hadn't offered her a seat.
"Oh, was I too forward?" Olenna asked, half-rising as if to start over.
Daeron waved her back down. "It's fine."
She sat again, looking perfectly comfortable. The Tyrells and Redwynes had answered the call. Their contribution in men and ships already outnumbered what the North and Vale had sent combined. In her mind, that earned her the right to sit.
Daeron leaned back. "What brings you here, my lady?"
"Straight to business. I like that." Olenna pulled a folded letter from her sleeve and slid it across the table. "Doran Martell's latest proposal."
Daeron read it quickly. Doran wanted to betroth his second son, Trystane, to Margaery Tyrell.
Olenna's lip curled. "The man has the nerve to offer his spare son for my granddaughter. A toad dreaming of swan meat."
She would have considered it if he had offered Arianne for Willas. But a second son? Not a chance.
"Doran loves his marriage games," Daeron said, unsurprised.
Doran had spent years binding himself to Rhaegar and squeezing every advantage he could. Now that Rhaegar was failing, he was looking for new partners. Reaching out to the Tyrells, who were also out of favor with the crown, made sense.
"I won't send my granddaughter to Dorne," Olenna said flatly. "The Dornish are rough company."
Daeron stayed quiet.
She leaned in. "Janna still hasn't married. She's hiding in Oldtown playing the septa. Why not follow Rhaegar's example and take her as a wife? She's my daughter. She deserves better than that life."
Daeron shook his head. "The war has just started. I'm not thinking about that."
Shaena was pregnant. He had no interest in adding more wives right now.
Olenna sighed dramatically. "So cold. You really are Tywin Lannister's student."
She sat back, then tapped the letter still on the table. "Let's speak plainly. You have the ambition of a conqueror. You want to lead the realm east and win glory. House Tyrell will follow you without hesitation, no matter the cost in blood."
Daeron waited.
"You called the Starks, Boltons, Corbrays, and Tullys," she continued. "North, Vale, even the Dornish marches. Very fair. Everyone gets a share of the glory. So why leave Dorne out completely?"
Daeron understood. She was acting as Doran's messenger.
He gave a small smile. "Dorne is still part of the Seven Kingdoms. If Dornish lords want to fight for the Iron Throne, I won't stop them. But they will follow orders. No independent actions."
Olenna's eyes sharpened. She heard exactly what he meant: Prove your loyalty first.
"Understood," she said. "I wish you victory, Your Grace."
She stood to leave. Daeron called for Ser Jon to escort her out.
The probe was over.
Stepstones.
"Hold! Don't loose the catapults yet. Wait until they're closer!"
Lord Lucerys Velaryon had been fighting the Lysene fleet for days. Today the enemy was trying another probing attack.
"My lord, they're coming in fast," a lookout shouted from the mast. The Lysene ships were using their secret wind-rider sails, closing quickly with scorpions and catapults ready.
Lucerys's face hardened. "Fire!"
Dozens of catapults loosed at once. Stones arced through the air toward the Lysene line.
Tregar Ormollen watched from his flagship, scowling. The royal fleet was proving stubborn. Most of the ships belonged to House Velaryon and had been upgraded with the expensive secret sails Daeron had bought in Myr. They were fast and well-armed.
The Lysene fleet was larger, but breaking this defense was proving costly.
Then a shadow passed over the water.
Tregar looked up.
A lean green dragon dropped out of the sky like a spear. Viserys Targaryen sat in a bronze saddle, eyes bright with excitement.
"Dragonfire!"
Alex opened his jaws and poured a stream of orange flame across the deck of a Lysene warship. Men screamed as fire swallowed them.
Viserys whooped with pure joy and pulled the dragon up and away.
"Stay with me, Viserys!" Jaehaerys shouted as his bronze dragon Valar swept in behind him.
Jaehaerys had been ordered to bring his reckless little brother to the Stepstones to practice fighting scattered pirates. Instead they had flown straight into a full Lysene assault.
Viserys wasn't listening. He wheeled Alex around for another pass, laughing as he burned a second ship.
Jaehaerys cursed under his breath.
Two young dragons—neither yet fully grown—weren't enough to destroy a fleet of hundreds. But they didn't need to. The sight of dragonfire was enough.
Panic spread through the Lysene ships like wildfire.
"Two small dragons!" Tregar Ormollen shouted, trying to steady his men. "That's all they are!"
No one listened.
Half the Lysene fleet was already turning to run. Sailors who had faced Daeron before remembered what real dragons could do.
Tregar's second-in-command grabbed his arm, sweating. "My lord, we should withdraw."
Tregar raised his sword, furious—then a jet of red-gold flame from Valar scorched past the mainmast of his own ship. The secret sails caught fire in several places.
Tregar swallowed hard. His face went white.
"Retreat," he said hoarsely. "Sound the retreat."