As Alec hurried to begin the "Three-Year Plan," Aegon turned his attention to the predatory cousin of the Hightower line.
"Once the heralds announce the birth of our new Dragonstone," Aegon said, "we strike. We will scour the Stepstones of every pirate nest from here to the Disputed Lands."
He leaned over the map. "You and Ser Ent will each command ten warships. I will have Sunfyre shadow your fleet."
Kraken Hightower's brow furrowed instantly. "Your Highness, the Stepstones are a chaotic graveyard. You are the heart of this venture. You must stay here and oversee the expansion. If you fall, the Greens fall with you."
Kraken wasn't merely being protective; he was being practical. If a dragon rider was needed for a meat-grinder naval battle, better to send the second son. "Send Prince Aemond on Vhagar. She is a veteran of a thousand blood-lettings. Even if—Gods forbid—the unexpected happens to a second son, the foundation of your House remains intact."
Aegon offered a thin, knowing smile. "I never said I would ride. Sunfyre is... intelligent. Nearly as clever as I am. He doesn't need me in the saddle to tell a Hightower sail from a pirate's rag."
Kraken stared at him, genuinely baffled. "Your Highness, I know dragons are beasts of high spirit, but I have never heard of one distinguishing friend from foe in the heat of a boarding action without a rider's hand. Forgive me, but if you are truly concerned for the fleet, let Prince Aemond accompany us."
Aegon laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "Fine. It will be good practice for the boy. Go, prepare your ships."
Kraken and Ent bowed and retreated. Ent, for his part, was quietly ecstatic. He knew nothing of naval warfare; having a Hightower to do the heavy lifting meant he could collect the glory while Kraken took the risks. Perfect, he thought, I'll just find an excuse to hand him the lead and nap in my cabin.
Aegon gathered his siblings in the central pavilion. Helaena was quietly observing a beetle, while Aemond and Daeron were already mid-argument.
"The foundations are laid," Aegon announced. "Now, we clear the seas. I am formally declaring our sovereignty to the world by blood."
Aemond's eye flared with a sudden, predatory light. "Action against the pirates? Let me go! Vhagar hasn't tasted salt-blood in years!"
"Stop your yapping, you'll get your turn," Aegon barked, though he couldn't help but notice the smug look Aemond shot Daeron.
Daeron had been strutting around the camp for days, retelling the story of his skirmish with the Lighthouse fleet to anyone who would listen. Aemond, competitive to his marrow, was itching to one-up his younger brother.
"What about us?" Helaena asked, looking up from her insect.
"You and Daeron will go together," Aegon said, reaching out to idly twist a lock of her long, silver-gold hair. "Daeron will be the eyes—reconnaissance and scouting. You and Aemond are the teeth. You handle the combat."
"Scouting?" Daeron jumped up, face turning a bright shade of Targaryen pink. "I've already proven myself! I burned a galley! Why am I back to patrolling?"
Aemond let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Because you're six, little brother. Children should act like children. Leave the war to the adults."
Daeron looked ready to explode. The indignity of being sidelined while Aemond won glory was more than he could bear.
"I'm letting you patrol for practice," Aegon said, his tone softening but remaining firm. "But you wait until Helaena or Aemond have cleared the field and confirmed the area is safe before you engage. Understood?"
Daeron pursed his lips. "I understand. You're worried about the scorpions. The 'Dragon Bolts.' But they're just oversized crossbows. How could they hit something as fast as Tessarion?"
Aegon reached out and rapped Daeron sharply on the head. "What do you know of war, boy? A Dragon Bolt costs twenty gold dragons. A bolt is cheaper than a meal. But we only have four dragons. If anything goes wrong, ten thousand gold dragons wouldn't buy back a single wing."
Aegon knew the math. A ballista was a simple machine, but it was a machine designed for one purpose: killing what flies. Vhagar and Dreamfyre were massive, their hides thick with decades of growth; a bolt to the chest would be an annoyance. But Tessarion?
Tessarion was young. A well-placed bolt could punch through her breastplate and bring her down into the sea. If the dragon died, Daeron might find another, but the pirates wouldn't let a six-year-old prince float away.
He looked at his siblings. He didn't lack for dragons—there were wild ones on Dragonstone and a steady supply of eggs—but he lacked riders. He had even considered letting Hugh, his loyal brute, try to claim a mount. But he knew Viserys would never allow it. The King kept the Dragonseeds and the Dragonmont under a tight lock, fearing exactly what Aegon was currently building: a private, loyal air force.
"Be smart," Aegon warned them. "The Stepstones are not the Red Keep. Here, the only thing that matters is that we land together. Now, go to your dragons."
30+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @patreon.com/Authorzero
Patreon access is now just $9.99!