Myr had struck first, and Lys wasn't about to sit idle.
Summer Sea.
Lord Lucerys Velaryon stood on the deck of the Sea Dragon, a hundred warships fanning out behind him in a wide V as they sailed to meet the Lysene fleet.
"Attack! Take back the Stepstones!"
Tregar Ormollen led the Lysene armada himself, ships charging forward in force.
Daeron had called it right.
After the fall of New Ghis, the Triarchy had smelled blood in the water like sharks. Tyrosh was one of their key cities and held major holdings in the Disputed Lands. Myr and Lys had met in secret, agreed on one thing, and moved fast while the Dragon King was away.
Myr would hit Tyrosh hard. Lys would split its fleet— one force under Tregar Ormollen striking for Grey Gallows, another using Tyroshi pirates to swing around and hit Bloodstone.
Three battlefields lit up at once.
King's Landing.
Varys brought the news first and laid it out in the Small Council.
"They're attacking?" Daeron asked, a spark of satisfaction flashing across his face before he smoothed it away.
"Yes, Your Grace," Varys replied, his tone measured. "Myr and Lys have joined forces. They're working with the surviving Tyroshi pirates and throwing everything they have at Tyrosh and the Stepstones."
Lord Corlton started to speak, but Daeron cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"No need to say it. Myr and Lys have gone too far. They think their little Triarchy alliance lets them do whatever they want in the Disputed Lands."
He stood. "I'm calling the banners. The North, the Vale, and the Reach will march. We strike Lys first, then Myr."
The order went out immediately.
The councillors exchanged glances. The young king didn't look angry. He looked like a man who had just been handed exactly what he wanted.
Lord Staunton muttered under his breath, "One mention of war and the blood goes straight to his head. Is this his true nature showing?"
Daeron turned his head slowly. "What was that, Lord Staunton?"
Staunton froze, face going pale. "Nothing, Your Grace! I support the war completely. I was just—"
Daeron stared at him for a long moment. Everyone in the room knew Staunton's reputation. The "Shit-and-Piss Minister." The "One Copper Star Minister." The "Winged Red Crab." Five years of cleaning up King's Landing, forcing people to use public toilets, collecting gate taxes, and registering households had earned him every nickname.
Daeron finally spoke. "Before a major war, you're already spreading defeatist talk?"
Staunton looked ready to faint.
Lord Corlton jumped in quickly. "Your Grace, Lord Staunton spoke without thinking. He didn't mean it."
Mace Tyrell added helpfully, "He just… has a habit of saying the wrong thing."
Daeron let the silence stretch, then gave a thin smile. "Since you're both pleading for him, I won't be harsh. War is coming, and the Small Council needs to stay united."
He looked straight at Staunton. "Lord Staunton, you will receive the allied armies from the North, Vale, and Reach. You will accompany them when they sail south to fight the Triarchy pirates. Consider it your chance to redeem yourself."
Staunton's mouth opened and closed. "Me? Fight the Triarchy at sea?"
"That's right," Daeron said. "And you will not refuse."
He had his reasons. A full-scale eastern campaign needed to look justified. Sending an old, unpopular minister along with the allied forces gave the whole thing the appearance of unity while also keeping Staunton from causing trouble at home.
Staunton sat down hard, looking like he might be sick.
Daeron stood. "Lord Alliser, Lord Owen. With me."
The real work was about to begin.
The war against the Triarchy was no longer just about the Stepstones. It was the opening move in a larger conflict between the two continents.
Afternoon. Mud Gate.
Ships from White Harbor and Gulltown docked one after another. Northern and Vale soldiers filed down the gangplanks, many of them still green from the voyage.
Eddard Stark stepped onto solid ground with Ice on his back and immediately heard violent retching behind him.
"Lord Karstark, we've reached land."
"I know," Rickard Karstark groaned, looking half-dead. His white beard was stained and his face was the color of old parchment.
Eddard patted the older man's shoulder without a word. He had chosen to sail from White Harbor instead of the long land route. Karstark and the Umbers had brought the strongest fighters. Three thousand five hundred men in total—every one of them worth ten southern soldiers in his eyes.
More ships arrived. Bolton and Corbray banners appeared. The moment the soldiers from different regions started mixing, the sound of retching spread across the docks like a wave. Northerners and Valemen were not sailors.
"Gods damn it," grumbled Lord Lyn Corbray, wiping his mouth. "Why did the king call us here? Vale knights aren't meant to be sailors."
Eddard ignored him. He gathered his lords and headed straight for the Red Keep.
The Northern and Vale forces wouldn't stay in King's Landing long. Once they saw the king, they would be back on ships and sailing south toward the fighting.
The next day at noon, Eddard's prediction came true.
The Northern and Vale ships turned and sailed out of Blackwater Bay again. Behind them came a much larger and better-equipped Redwyne fleet.
Lord Paxter Redwyne walked up to Hoster Tully with a chart in hand. "Lord Tully, if the wind holds, we should reach the Disputed Lands in seven days."
Hoster Tully stared at the map but didn't answer. His eyes stayed on King's Landing shrinking behind them.
If the king trusted them with this campaign, this eastern expedition could be the moment House Tully washed away old shame and earned real glory again.