In a side chamber of the throne room in the Red Keep, the small council chamber.
The morning sunlight passed through the glass windows and fell across the long table.
The people seated there wore different expressions.
The Queen Regent, Alicent Hightower, sat in the main seat—the chair that originally belonged to the king—but she did not sit steadily.
Not long ago, when the guards of the Red Keep had hung the two crudely prepared heads of Jacaerys and Joffrey on the outer walls of the Red Keep, she had stood by the window and watched for a full quarter of an hour. Only when her stomach churned violently had she been helped back to the inner chambers by her maid.
Now, she had to preside over this meeting.
Her second son, Aemond Targaryen, had used a single night to push the kingdom to the brink of civil war.
The Hand of the King, Tyland Lannister, sat in the first seat on her right. The younger brother of the Warden of the West wore a crimson robe embroidered with golden lions, his ash-gold hair combed without a strand out of place.
Grand Maester Orwyle sat in the second seat on Alicent's left. The fifty-year-old bald man felt the heavy chain of the Citadel around his neck and glanced toward the opposite side—at the empty seat.
That was the place of the Master of Coin, Lord Lyman Beesbury. The old lord of Honeyholt had not yet arrived.
The Master of Whisperers, Larys Strong, sat beside Orwyle.
A faint smile that no one could ever quite read hung on the cripple's face. His fingers were interlaced upon the table, his posture relaxed.
The newly appointed Master of Ships, Ser Elwyn Redwyne, sat beside Hand Tyland.
This noble from the Arbor in the Reach was a little over forty, with the Redwyne family's distinctive reddish-brown hair.
The Master of Laws, Lord Jasper Wylde, was a fat man from the Crownlands who had pledged himself early to the Greens.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole, stood three paces behind Queen Alicent.
He wore white armor and a white cloak, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. If one looked closely, a trace of satisfaction could be seen at the corner of his mouth.
Prince Aegon Targaryen sat in the first seat on his mother's left. He knew everything that had happened last night, and unease stirred within him.
The commander of the royal armies, Ser Willem Darklyn, sat at the end of the long table.
This knight from Duskendale in the Crownlands was forty years old. He was a man raised up by Aemond, and at this moment his expression was calm.
The meeting had already been underway for a quarter of an hour.
But no one spoke. The atmosphere remained quiet.
The door was pushed open.
All eyes turned toward the doorway at once.
Aemond Targaryen walked in.
He had changed into a clean set of black clothes, but his silver hair was still wet. It was clear he had just washed, yet the blood of last night had not been completely washed away.
Two people followed behind him.
On the left was the commander of the personal guard, Hall.
On the right was the captain of the Red Keep guards, Gwayne Hightower.
Aemond did not walk toward the empty seat.
He walked straight to the long table, braced both hands on its surface, and leaned forward, his violet eyes slowly sweeping across every person present.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Aemond.
"Everyone is here," Aemond said.
"Oh, except for Lord Lyman. He is old and moves slowly—understandable."
Alicent finally raised her head.
She looked at her son—this son who, in a single night, had killed three of his own nephews, this son who had pushed the kingdom toward war.
Her lips trembled. She wanted to say something, but all the words caught in her throat.
In the end, she only said a single sentence.
"Aemond…"
"Mother." Aemond interrupted her, his tone polite yet cold.
"I know what you want to say."
"But please allow me to finish what must be done first."
He straightened, then turned his head to look at the Master of Laws, Lord Jasper Wylde.
"Lord Jasper."
The fat man immediately stood up, replying with a flattering smile.
"Your Highness."
"Send a messenger to Tyrosh," Aemond said.
"With the king's royal decree and the decree of Queen Regent Alicent."
"Summon Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Corlys Velaryon to come at once to the Red Keep in King's Landing and explain to the regent."
"Why the vassals under her command—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, heirs of House Velaryon—attempted to infiltrate the Dragonpit, steal the dragons of House Targaryen, and commit arson and murder within the Dragonpit."
The council chamber fell completely silent.
Hand Tyland Lannister raised his brows slightly. He looked at Aemond; a trace of surprise flashed in his eyes, then turned into approval.
First place the accusation—firmly fixing the crimes of dragon theft, arson, and the killing of guards upon the other side.
The Master of Laws, Lord Jasper Wylde, bowed deeply.
"Yes, Your Highness. I will arrange the messenger at once. He will depart by ship before sunset today."
"Very good."
"Meanwhile," Aemond continued.
"Send ravens to all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms announcing that the three children of House Velaryon—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey—attempted to steal the dragons of House Targaryen and committed arson and murder. The evidence is conclusive. They were slain last night."
Jasper nodded.
Aemond then turned his gaze to the newly appointed Master of Ships, Ser Elwyn Redwyne.
"Ser Elwyn."
Elwyn immediately stood, somewhat hurriedly. "Your Highness."
"How many warships does the royal fleet currently have?" Aemond asked.
Elwyn was momentarily taken aback, but quickly answered.
"Your Highness, the royal fleet directly under the Crown currently has thirty-one warships: three triple-banked war galleys and twenty-eight double-banked galleys."
"There are also about forty auxiliary vessels for patrol and transport."
"Most are anchored in the harbor of King's Landing in Blackwater Bay, with a smaller number patrolling Crab Bay."
"How is their combat capability?"
"Well…" Elwyn chose his words carefully. "They are sufficient for maintaining order along the kingdom's coasts and suppressing smuggling, but if it comes to a large-scale naval battle…"
"Your Highness, the royal fleet has not been a priority for many years. After all, House Velaryon controls the Narrow Sea…"
"I know," Aemond interrupted. "That is why I asked you."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across Elwyn's tense face.
"Transmit my order. From this moment, all vessels of the royal fleet are to enter the highest state of war readiness."
"Supplies, repairs, and reorganization of personnel are to be completed within three days."
"Prepare to attack High Tide and Dragonstone."
When his words fell, a suppressed intake of breath spread through the council chamber.
Elwyn's eyes widened. "At—attack High Tide and Dragonstone?"
"Your Highness, even if the main fleet of High Tide is currently fighting in Tyrosh, the fleet remaining behind still outnumbers us, and their sailors are highly experienced…"
"I will personally ride Vhagar," Aemond said calmly.
With that single sentence—
All of Elwyn's words stuck in his throat.
Vhagar.
Yes, they had Vhagar.
Before Vhagar, the numerical advantage of a fleet would shrink to almost nothing. With a single diving pass and a breath of dragonfire, an entire fleet could become burning coffins upon the sea.
"I understand." Elwyn took a deep breath and nodded heavily. "With Vhagar, the advantage is ours."
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